Le Rêve d'un Curieux



À Félix Nadar



Connais-tu, comme moi, la douleur savoureuse

Et de toi fais-tu dire: «Oh! l'homme singulier!»

— J'allais mourir. C'était dans mon âme amoureuse

Désir mêlé d'horreur, un mal particulier;



Angoisse et vif espoir, sans humeur factieuse.

Plus allait se vidant le fatal sablier,

Plus ma torture était âpre et délicieuse;

Tout mon coeur s'arrachait au monde familier.



J'étais comme l'enfant avide du spectacle,

Haïssant le rideau comme on hait un obstacle...

Enfin la vérité froide se révéla:



J'étais mort sans surprise, et la terrible aurore

M'enveloppait. — Eh quoi! n'est-ce donc que cela?

La toile était levée et j'attendais encore.



— Charles Baudelaire

The Dream of a Curious Man



To F.N.



Do you know as I do, delectable suffering?

And do you have them say of you: "O! the strange man!"

— I was going to die. In my soul, full of love,

A peculiar illness; desire mixed with horror,



Anguish and bright hopes; without internal strife.

The more the fatal hour-glass continued to flow,

The fiercer and more delightful grew my torture;

My heart was being torn from this familiar world.



I was like a child eager for the play,

Hating the curtain as one hates an obstacle...

Finally the cold truth revealed itself:



I had died and was not surprised; the awful dawn

Enveloped me. — What! is that all there is to it?

The curtain had risen and I was still waiting.



— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)



Dream of a Curious Person

To F.N.



Have you known such a savoury grief as I?

Do people say "Strange fellow!," whom you meet?

— My amorous soul, when I was due to die,

Felt longing mixed with horror; pain seemed sweet.



Anguish and ardent hope (no factious whim)

Were mixed: and as the sands of life ran low

My torture grew delicious yet more grim,

And of this dear old world would not let go.



I seemed a child, so keen to see the Show

He feels a deadly hatred of the Curtain...

And then I saw the hard, cold truth for certain.



I felt that dreadful dawn around me grow

With no surprise or vestige of a thrill.

The curtain rose — and I stayed waiting still.



— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)

