Maldoror and Poems

by Comte de Lautreamont

  12

  Listen, human beings, to the thoughts which came to me in my childhood when I awoke with my red verge: 'I have just awoken; but my thoughts are still dull. Each morning I feel a heaviness in my head. It is rare for me to be able to rest at night; for frightful dreams torment me when I manage to get to sleep. In the day my mind is weary with strange meditations, while my eyes gaze aimlessly into space; and at night I cannot sleep. When shall I sleep then? And yet nature needs to insist on its rights. Since I disdain her, she makes me face pale and makes my eyes glow with the bitter flame of fever. Besides, there is nothing I would like better than to be spared exhausting my mind by continual reflection; but even if I did not want to, my dismayed feelings would irresistibly drag me down this slope. I have noticed that the other children are like me; but they are even paler and their faces are distorted by permanent frowns, like grown men, our elder brothers. O Creator of the universe, I will not fail to offer you up this morning the incense of my childish prayer. Sometimes I forget it and I have noticed that on these days I feel happier than usual; my heart opens out, free of all constraint, and I breathe more easily the balmy air of the fields; whereas whenever I accomplish this painful duty, imposed on me by my parents, of addressing a song of praise to you every day, I am always bored by the tedious necessity of laboriously inventing new versions, and so I feel sad and irritated for the rest of the day; for it does not seem to me to be either logical or natural to invent what I do not really think, and then I seek isolation, immense solitudes. If I ask them for an explanation of this state of soul, they do not answer me. I should like to love and adore you; but you are too powerful, and there is fear in all my prayers. If simply by the manifestation of your thought you can destroy or create worlds, my weak prayers will be of no use to you; if whenever you wish you can send cholera to ravage cities, or send death to carry away in its claws, indiscriminately, people of all ages, then I wish to have no truck with one so fearsome! Not that hatred dictates the thread of my arguments; on the contrary, it is your hatred I fear which, at a capricious command, may suddenly emerge from within you and become vast as the wing-span of the Andean condor. Your questionable amusements are beyond me, I would probably be their first victim. You are the Almighty. I am not disputing your right to that title, since you alone have the right to bear it and you are yourself the end and limit of your own desires, be their consequences disastrous or beneficial. That is precisely why it would be painful for me to walk beside you in your cruel, sapphire-inlaid tunic, not as your slave but with the risk of becoming your slave from one moment to the next. It is true that when you look into your soul to examine your sovereign conduct, if the ghost of a past injustice towards wretched mankind, which has always obeyed you as your most loyal friend, should raise up before you the motionless vertebrae of and avenging backbone, then, too late, your haggard eyes weep tears of remorse, and then your hair standing on end, you really believe in the resolution you make; which is: to suspend forever in the undergrowth of nothingness the inconceivable diversions of your tigerish imagination; an idea which would be ludicrous if it were not pitiable; but I also know that constancy has never fixed like strong marrow in your bones the harpoon of its eternal habituation, and that quite often you and your thoughts, covered in the black leprosy of error, relapse into the dismal lake of dark maledictions. I would like to believe that these maledictions are unconscious (although that would in no way dilute the deadliness of their venom) and that good and evil joined together burst in reckless leaps from your gangrened breast, like the mountain stream from the rock, by the secret spell of some blind force; but I have no proof that this is the case. Too often I have seen your vile teeth chattering with rage and your august face, covered with the moss of time, reddening like a burning coal because of some trivial misdemeanor of men; I have seen this too often to be able to stand for long before the signpost of this innocent hypothesis. And so, every day, my hands devoutly joined, I shall offer up to you my humble prayer, since it has to be. But, I implore you, do not include me among the objects of your providence; leave me out of consideration, like the worm which crawls beneath the ground. I would prefer to feed greedily on marine plants, washed by tropical waves on to the shores of wild an unknown islands in the heart of those foaming regions; I would prefer this to the knowledge that you are observing me and that your sneering scalpel is probing my consciousness. It has just revealed to you the totality of my thoughts, and I hope that you, in your prudence, will generously approve of the good sense ineffaceably stamped on them. Apart from these reservations about the more or less intimate relations between us, my mouth is ready at any hour of the day to exhale, like an artificial wind, the wave of lies which reverence for your halo rigorously requires of each human being, from the moment when bluish dawn breaks; seeking the light in the satin folds of twilight as I seek good deeds, spurred on by love of the Good. My years are not many and yet I already sense that goodness is nothing more than a couple of sonorous syllables. I have not found it anywhere. Your character is easy to read; you make it too blatant. You ought to hide it more skillfully. Yet perhaps I am mistaken and you are doing it deliberately; for you know better than anyone else how ought to act. Men pride themselves on imitating you; that is why holy goodness finds no tabernacle in their wild eyes: like father, like son. Whatever one should think of your intelligence, I am only speaking as an impartial critic. I would be delighted to be shown that I have been led into error. I do not wish to show you the hatred I bear you, which I lovingly brood on like a cherished daughter; it is better to hide it from your eyes and in your presence only to assume the appearance of a severe censor, with the duty of checking on all your foul actions. Thus you will break off all active intercourse with my hatred, you will forget it and you will destroy completely this maggot which is gnawing at your liver. Rather I would prefer you to hear words of reverie and meekness... Yes, it is you who created the world and all that is in it. You are perfect. There is no virtue which you do not possess. You are very mighty, as everyone knows. May the entire universe sing your eternal hymn through every hour of time. May the birds bless you as they soar over the countryside. The stars are yours. Amen!' How astonished you will find me as I really am!

  13

  I sought a soul akin to mine, but I could not find one. I searched every corner of the earth; my perseverance brought no reward. Yet I could not remain alone. Someone had to approve of my character; someone had to have the same ideas as I. It was morning; the sun rose in all its magnificence on the horizon and before my eyes a young man also arose whose presence made flowers grow as he passed. He approached me and, holding out his hand, said: ‘I have come to you who seek me. Let us bless this happy day.’ But I answered: ‘Go away. I did not call you; I do not need your friendship.’ It was evening; night was beginning to spread the veil of its blackness over nature. A lovely woman, whose form I could only just make out, was exerting a spellbinding influence over me, and looking at me, I said: ‘Come closer, that I may make out clearly the features of your face; for the light of the stars is not strong enough to show them, at this distance.’ Then, with her eyelids lowered, she stepped chastely across the lawn in my direction. As soon as I saw her I said: ‘I see that goodness and justice have dwelt in your heart. We could never live together. Now you admire my beauty, which has distracted more than one; but sooner or later you would repent of having given your love to me; for you do not know my soul. Not that I would ever be unfaithful to you; to her who gives herself to me with such trust and abandon I will give myself with equal trust and abandon; but get this into your head and do not ever forget it: wolves and lambs do not look lovingly at one another.’ What did I need, I who had rejected with such disgust the loveliest of mankind! What I needed I could not say. I was not yet in the habit of keeping strict note of my mental phenomena according to the methods recommended by philosophy. I sat down on a rock, by the sea. A ship had just set all sails to leave those parts: an impenetrable point had just ap
peared on the horizon and was gradually approaching, driven on by the gust of wind, and growing rapidly in size. The tempest was about to begin its assaults, already the sky was growing dark, until it became black, almost as hideous as the heart of man. The ship, which was a big man-of-war, had just dropped anchor to avoid being swept on to the rocks. The wind was whistling furiously from all directions, tearing the sails to shreds. Thunder was bursting amid the lightning flashes, and could not drown the sounds of lamentations heard in this house with no foundations, this moving sepulchre. The rolling of those watery masses had not yet broken the anchor-chains; but their buffetings had opened a way for the water in the ship’s sides. It was an enormous breach; the pumps are unable to bail out the flood of salt water which comes foaming and beating down on the bridge like mountains. The ship in distress fires the cannon to give the alarm; but it sinks slowly...majestically. He who has not seen a ship sinking in a hurricane, and flashes of lightning alternating with the deepest darkness, while those who are in it are overwhelmed with the despair you know of, that man knows nothing of the accidents of life. At last a universal wail of immense pain goes up from the sides of the ship, while the sea redoubles its dreadful attacks. It is the cry of men who have no strength left. Each man wraps himself in the cloak of resignation and leaves his fate in God's hands. They huddle up together like a flock of sheep. The ship in distress fires the cannon to give the alarm; but it sinks slowly...majestically. The pumps have been going all day long. Vain efforts. Night, thick and implacable, has come to put the finishing stroke to this gracious spectacle. Everyone says inwardly that once he is in the water he will not be able to breathe; for as far as he can recall, he knows of no fishes among his ancestors. But he resolves to hold his breath for as long as possible, to prolong his life by two or three seconds; that is the avenging irony with which he wishes to confront death...The ship in distress fires the cannon to give the alarm; but it sinks slowly...majestically. He does not know that the sinking vessel causes a powerful circumvolution of waves; that murky undercurrents have joined the troubled waters and a force from below, the counterpart of the tempest raging above, is making the movements of the element nervous and spasmodic. Thus, despite the store of composure which he is gathering in advance, the future drowned man, after mature consideration, ought to feel happy if he can even prolong his life amid the eddying deeps by the space of half a normal breath for good measure. He will not be able to flout death, which is his supreme wish. The ship in distress fires the cannon to give the alarm; but it sinks slowly...majestically. I am wrong. It is no longer firing its cannon, it is not sinking. No! the cockle shell has been completely engulfed. O heaven! how can one go on living after experiencing such delights! I had just been given the privilege of witnessing the death-throes of several of my fellow-beings. Minute by minute I followed the vicissitudes of their agony. Now the bawling of some old woman, mad with fear, was at a premium. Now only the yelling of a child at breast prevented the steering orders from being heard. The vessel was too far away for me to hear distinctly the sound of groans carried on the gust; but I brought it nearer by an act of will, and the optical illusion was perfect. Every quarter of an hour, when a gust stronger than the others, uttering its mournful tones above the cries of fear-stricken petrels, broke up the ship in a longitudinal crunching movement, increasing the laments of those about to be offered as sacrifices to death, I dug a sharp metal point deep in my cheek and secretly thought: They are suffering more! In this way I at least had a point of comparison. I apostrophized them from the shore, hurling threats and imprecations at them. It seemed that they ought to hear me! It seemed that my hatred and my words, over-leaping the distance, were abolishing the physical laws of sound and distinctly reaching their ears which had been deafened by the roaring of the angry ocean. It seemed that they ought to think of me, and breathe vengeance in impotent rage! From time to time I looked up towards the cities slumbering on firm land; and seeing that nobody suspected that a ship was going to sink some miles from shore, with birds of prey for a crown and ravenous aquatic giants for a pedestal, I took courage again and hope returned to me: so I was certain of their destruction! They could not escape! To make assurance doubly sure, I had gone to fetch my double-barreled rifle so that if some survivor was tempted to approach the rocks of the shore to escape imminent death, a bullet in the shoulder would shatter his arm and prevent him from carrying out his plan. At the moment of the tempest's greatest fury, I saw a head, its hair standing on end, frantically bobbing up and down in the water. The swimmer was swallowing litres of water and, buoyed up like a cork, was sinking into the deep. But soon he would reappear, his hair streaming, his eyes riveted on the shore; he seemed to be challenging death. His composure was admirable. A huge bleeding wound caused by the jagged point of a hidden reef had gashed his brave and noble face. He could not have been more than sixteen years old; for the peach-like down on his upper lip could just be made out by the flashes which lit up the night. And now he was only two hundred yards from the cliff. I could easily get a clear view of him. What courage! What indomitable spirit! How the determined set of his head seemed to flout destiny as he vigorously cleaved the waves which did not easily give way before him. I had made up my mind in advance. I owed it to myself to keep my promise; the last hour had tolled for all; none must escape. That was my resolution; nothing would change it...a sharp sound was heard, the head went down, and did not reappear. I did not take much pleasure in this murder as one might think; it was precisely because I was sated with all this killing which I was doing out of pure habit; one cannot do without it, but it provides only a slight enjoyment. The sense is dulled, hardened. What pleasure could I feel at the death of this human being when there were more than a hundred who, once the ship had gone down, would provide me with the spectacle of their deaths and their last struggle against the waves? This death did not even have the appeal of danger; for human justice, rocked by the hurricane of this dreadful night, was slumbering within doors, a few steps from me. And now that the years are weighing down on me, I can sincerely speak this simple and solemn truth: I was never as cruel as men afterwards said I was; whereas many times their persistent acts of wickedness went on wreaking havoc for years on end. Then my rage knew no bounds; I was possessed by fits of cruelty and I became fearsome to anyone who came within sight of my haggard eyes--that is, if he was of my race. If it was a horse or a dog, I let it pass: have you heard what I have just said? Unfortunately, on the night of that tempest, one of those fits had come upon me, my reason had abandoned me (for normally I was just as cruel, but more cautious); everything which fell into my hands that night would have to die; I am not claiming that this excuses my misdeeds. The fault is not entirely with my fellow-creatures. I am only stating things as they are while I wait for the last judgment, which makes me scratch my head in advance...What does the last judgment matter to me! My reason never abandons me, as I have just claimed in order to deceive you. And when I commit a crime, I know what I am doing: I did not want to do something else! Standing on the rocks as the hurricane lashed my hair and my cloak, I watched ecstatically as the tempest's might bore down on a ship beneath a starless sky. I followed all the peripeteias of this drama, from the moment when the vessel dropped anchor until the moment when it was swallowed up, a deadly garment which dragged into the bowels of the sea all those who had put it on as a cloak. But the moment was approaching when I myself was to be involved in these scenes of nature in tumult. When the place where the vessel had been struggling clearly showed that it had gone to spend the rest of its days on the ground-floor of the sea, some of those who had been carried off by the waves began to reappear on the surface. They held one another around the waist, in twos and threes; it was a good way of not saving their lives; for their movements became entangled and they went down like leaking jugs. What is this army of sea-monsters cleaving the water so rapidly? There are six of them; their fins are strong and they are forcing their way through the heaving seas. The sharks so
on make an omelette without eggs of all the human beings moving their limbs on the unstable continent; they share it out according to the law of the strongest. Blood mixes with water, and the water mixes with the blood. Their wild eyes light up well enough the scene of carnage. Yet what tumult is that there, yonder on the horizon? You would take it for a whirlwind approaching! What flailing! I see what it is. A huge female shark is coming to partake of the pate de foie of duck and cold beef. She is wild with anger; for when she arrives, she is starving. A struggle ensures between her and the other sharks, fighting over the few palpitating limbs which are floating here and there dumbly on the surface of the red cream. She snaps and bites to the right and to the left, wounding fatally all that she gets her teeth into. But there are still three living sharks around her and she is obliged to turn in all directions to foil their tricks. With increasing emotion, such as he has never felt, the spectator follows this new kind of naval battle from the shore. He is staring at the courageous female shark, whose teeth are so strong. He no longer wavers, but shoulders the rifle and, with his customary skill, lodges his second bullet in the gills of one of the sharks as it appeared above the waves. Two sharks remain who, seeing this, go to it all the more eagerly. From the top of the rock the man with the briny saliva flings himself into the sea and swims towards the pleasantly-coloured carpet, holding in his hand the steel dagger which he always carries with him. From now on each shark has an enemy to deal with. He advances on his weary adversary and, taking his time, buries the sharp blade of his knife in its belly. The moving citadel easily accounts for her last adversary. The swimmer is now in the presence of the female shark he has saved. They look into each other's eyes for some minutes, each astonished to find such ferocity in the other's eyes. They swim around keeping each other in sight, and each one saying to himself: 'I have been mistaken; here is one more evil than I.’ Then by common accord they glide towards one another underwater, the female shark using its fins, Maldoror cleaving the waves with his arms; and they hold their breath in deep veneration, each one wishing to gave for the first time upon the other, his living portrait. When they are three yards apart they suddenly and spontaneously fall upon one another like two lovers and embrace with dignity and gratitude, clasping each other as tenderly as brother and sister. Carnal desire follows this demonstration of friendship. Two sinewy thighs press tightly against the monster's viscous flesh, like two leeches; and arms and fins are clasped around the beloved object, while their throats and breasts soon form one glaucous mass amid the exhalations of the seaweed; amidst the tempest which was continuing to rage; by the light of lightning-flashes; with the foaming waves for marriage-bed; borne by an undersea current and rolling on top of one another down into the unknown deeps, they joined in a long, chaste and ghastly coupling!...At last I had found one akin to me...from now on I was no longer alone in life...! Her ideas were the same as mine...I was face to face with my first love!