by Charles Baudelaire
Extract of The Flowers of Evil
| Download PDF |
French Literature – French Poetry – Charles Baudelaire
< < < Weeping and Wandering
At One o’Clock in the Morning > > >
Already!
A hundred times already the sun had leaped, radiant or saddened, from the immense cup of the sea whose rim could scarcely be seen; a hundred times it had again sunk, glittering or morose, into its mighty bath of twilight. For many days we had contemplated the other side of the firmament, and deciphered the celestial alphabet of the antipodes. And each of the passengers sighed and complained. One had said that the approach of land only exasperated their sufferings. “When, then,” they said, “shall we cease to sleep a sleep broken by the surge, troubled by a wind that snores louder than we? When shall we be able to eat at an unmoving table?”
There were those who thought of their own firesides, who regretted their sullen, faithless wives, and their noisy progeny. All so doted upon the image of the absent land, that I believe they would have eaten grass with as much enthusiasm as the beasts.
At length a coast was signalled, and on approaching we saw a magnificent and dazzling land. It seemed as though the music of life flowed therefrom in a vague murmur; and the banks, rich with all kinds of growths, breathed, for leagues around, a delicious odour of flowers and fruits.
Each one therefore was joyful; his evil humour left him. Quarrels were forgotten, reciprocal wrongs forgiven, the thought of duels was blotted out of the memory, and rancour fled away like smoke.
I alone was sad, inconceivably sad. Like a priest from whom one has torn his divinity, I could not, without heartbreaking bitterness, leave this so monstrously seductive ocean, this sea so infinitely various in its terrifying simplicity, which seemed to contain in itself and represent by its joys, and attractions, and angers, and smiles, the moods and agonies and ecstasies of all souls that have lived, that live, and that shall yet live.
In saying good-bye to this incomparable beauty I felt as though I had been smitten to death; and that is why when each of my companions said: “At last!” I could only cry “Already!“
Here meanwhile was the land, the land with its noises, its passions, its commodities, its festivals: a land rich and magnificent, full of promises, that sent to us a mysterious perfume of rose and musk, and from whence the music of life flowed in an amorous murmuring.
Translated by F. P. Sturm
< < < Weeping and Wandering
At One o’Clock in the Morning > > >
French Literature – French Poetry – Charles Baudelaire
Copyright holders – Public Domain
| If you liked this article, subscribe , put likes, write comments! Share on social networks Visit us on Facebook or Twitter |
- Poèmes et peinture, semaine du 14 décembre 2025
- Poems and painting, Week of December 14, 2025
- Poèmes et peinture, semaine du 7 décembre 2025
- Poems and painting, Week of December 7, 2025
- Poèmes et peinture, semaine du 30 novembre 2025
- Poems and painting, Week of November 30, 2025
© 2023 Akirill.com – All Rights Reserved
