Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened, where all wines flowed.
One evening, I sat Beauty upon my knees
- And I found her bitter
- And I insulted her
I armed myself against justice
I fled
O sorcerers, O misery, O hate, it is to you that my treasure was entrusted!
I managed to make all human hope disappear in my spirit
I did the deaf leap of the ferocious beast on every joy to strangle it
I beckoned executioners to bite into the butts of their rifles as I perish.
I sent for plagues to smother me with sand, with blood.
Misfortune was my god.
I lay down in the mud.
I dried myself in the air of murder.
And I played some good tricks while mad
And the springtime supplied me with the awful laugh of an idiot.
But, very recently, I was found on the point of making the last bum note[?]
I thought of searching for the key of the ancient feast, where I would perhaps capture my appetite again.
Charity is this key.
- This inspiration proves that I dreamed!
"You will remain a hyena, etc..." exclaims the demon who will crown me with such lovely poppies. "Win death with all your appetites, and your egoism and all the seven deadly sins."
Ah! I took it.
- But, dear Satan, I beseech you, a less irritated pupil! And awaiting some small cowardice late, you who loves the absence of descriptive and instructive faculties in the writer, I detach for you some hideous pages of my notebook of damnation.