• Document: BAUDELAIRE THE FLOWERS OF EVIL. Les Fleurs du Mal. Edited, translated and adapted by John Tidball
  • Size: 3.07 MB
  • Uploaded: 2019-07-20 07:04:58
  • Status: Successfully converted


Some snippets from your converted document:

THE FLOWERS OF EVIL BAUDELAIRE THE FLOWERS OF EVIL Les Fleurs du Mal Edited, translated and adapted by John Tidball Translations © 2014 by John Tidball All rights reserved CONTENTS Page 7 : Foreword Page 9 : Les Fleurs du Mal — The Flowers of Evil Page 10 : Dédicace — Dedication Page 12 : Au Lecteur — To the Reader Page 17 : Spleen et Idéal — Spleen and the Ideal Page 229 : Tableaux Parisiens — Parisian Scenes Page 291 : Le Vin — Wine Page 307 : Fleurs du Mal — Flowers of Evil Page 335 : Révolte — Revolt Page 351 : La Mort — Death Page 375 : Pièces Condamnées — Banned Poems Page 400 : Épilogue — Epilogue Page 403 : Table alphabétique des poèmes Page 407 : Alphabetical index of titles and first lines Foreword Charles Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal marked an important turning point in the history of world poetry, providing a crucial link between romanticism and modernism. The first edition appeared in 1857, but almost immediately after publication Baudelaire and his editor were prosecuted and condemned for ‘vulgar realism offending against public decency’. Six of the poems were banned by the court and the two men received heavy fines. The first edition, including the six banned pieces, contained a hundred poems. In 1861 the second edition, of which this is the translation, was published, without the banned poems but with thirty-two new ones. I have also translated the six banned poems from the first edition. The translations are followed by all of the original French texts. As an epilogue I have included Recueillement, a beautiful sonnet which is probably the best known of all Baudelaire’s poems. In 1868, after Baudelaire’s death, a third edition of Les Fleurs du Mal appeared, published by some of his friends, notably the poet Théodore de Banville. This edition is discounted by most scholars because it contains poems that do not belong to the ‘secret architecture’ of the 1861 edition. This new translation preserves the metre and rhyme scheme of each original poem. Some of the poems are very beautiful, while others are not for the faint-hearted. Taken as a whole, they convey the spleen or ennui which Baudelaire felt so keenly, a state of mind that echoes the mal du siècle of early 19th century France. [7] All of the translations in this book are new, dating from no earlier than 2014. It is hoped that they will give anglophone readers both pleasure and new insights into these remarkable verses, which represent just a small but very important part of the great wealth of 19th century French poetry. John Tidball, November, 2014 [8] LES FLEURS DU MAL THE FLOWERS OF EVIL 1861 Dédicace Au poète impeccable Au parfait magicien ès lettres françaises A mon très-cher et très-vénéré Maître et ami Théophile Gautier Avec les sentiments De la plus profonde humilité Je dédie Ces fleurs maladives C.B. Dedication To the impeccable poet To the perfect magician of French letters To my very dear and very revered Master and friend Théophile Gautier With sentiments Of the most profound humility I dedicate These sickly flowers C.B. Au Lecteur La sottise, l'erreur, le péché, la lésine, Occupent nos esprits et travaillent nos corps, Et nous alimentons nos aimables remords, Comme les mendiants nourrissent leur vermine. Nos péchés sont têtus, nos repentirs sont lâches; Nous nous faisons payer grassement nos aveux, Et nous rentrons gaiement dans le chemin bourbeux, Croyant par de vils pleurs laver toutes nos taches. Sur l'oreiller du mal c'est Satan Trismégiste Qui berce longuement notre esprit enchanté, Et le riche métal de notre volonté Est tout vaporisé par ce savant chimiste. C'est le Diable qui tient les fils qui nous remuent! Aux objets répugnants nous trouvons des appas; Chaque jour vers l'Enfer nous descendons d'un pas, Sans horreur, à travers des ténèbres qui puent. Ainsi qu'un débauché pauvre qui baise et mange Le sein martyrisé d'une antique catin, Nous volons au passage un plaisir clandestin Que nous pressons bien fort comme une vieille orange. Serré, fourmillant, comme un million d'helminthes, Dans nos cerveaux ribote un peuple de Démons, Et, quand nous respirons, la Mort dans nos poumons Descend, fleuve invisible, avec de sourdes plaintes. [12] To the Reader Stupidity, error, parsimony and vice Consume our consciousness, and waste our body's force, And we are wont to feed our affable remorse Like unwashed beggars giving sustenance to lice. Our sins are obstinate, and our repentance faint And when we do confess, we want a hefty fee, And gaily we return to our debauchery, Believing by false tears to wash away our taint. Upon his evil pillow, Satan Trismegist Lulls us and

Recently converted files (publicly available):