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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bénédiction (Benediction)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lorsque, par un décret des puissances suprêmes,<br>Le Poète apparaît en ce monde ennuyé,<br>Sa mère épouvantée et pleine de blasphèmes<br>Crispe ses poings vers Dieu, qui la prend en pitié:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">— «Ah! que n'ai-je mis bas tout un noeud de vipères,<br>Plutôt que de nourrir cette dérision!<br>Maudite soit la nuit aux plaisirs éphémères<br>Où mon ventre a conçu mon expiation!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Puisque tu m'as choisie entre toutes les femmes<br>Pour être le dégoût de mon triste mari,<br>Et que je ne puis pas rejeter dans les flammes,<br>Comme un billet d'amour, ce monstre rabougri,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Je ferai rejaillir ta haine qui m'accable<br>Sur l'instrument maudit de tes méchancetés,<br>Et je tordrai si bien cet arbre misérable,<br>Qu'il ne pourra pousser ses boutons empestés!»</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Elle ravale ainsi l'écume de sa haine,<br>Et, ne comprenant pas les desseins éternels,<br>Elle-même prépare au fond de la Géhenne<br>Les bûchers consacrés aux crimes maternels.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pourtant, sous la tutelle invisible d'un Ange,<br>L'Enfant déshérité s'enivre de soleil<br>Et dans tout ce qu'il boit et dans tout ce qu'il mange<br>Retrouve l'ambroisie et le nectar vermeil.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II joue avec le vent, cause avec le nuage,<br>Et s'enivre en chantant du chemin de la croix;<br>Et l'Esprit qui le suit dans son pèlerinage<br>Pleure de le voir gai comme un oiseau des bois.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tous ceux qu'il veut aimer l'observent avec crainte,<br>Ou bien, s'enhardissant de sa tranquillité,<br>Cherchent à qui saura lui tirer une plainte,<br>Et font sur lui l'essai de leur férocité.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dans le pain et le vin destinés à sa bouche<br>Ils mêlent de la cendre avec d'impurs crachats;<br>Avec hypocrisie ils jettent ce qu'il touche,<br>Et s'accusent d'avoir mis leurs pieds dans ses pas.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sa femme va criant sur les places publiques:<br>«Puisqu'il me trouve assez belle pour m'adorer,<br>Je ferai le métier des idoles antiques,<br>Et comme elles je veux me faire redorer;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Et je me soûlerai de nard, d'encens, de myrrhe,<br>De génuflexions, de viandes et de vins,<br>Pour savoir si je puis dans un coeur qui m'admire<br>Usurper en riant les hommages divins!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Et, quand je m'ennuierai de ces farces impies,<br>Je poserai sur lui ma frêle et forte main;<br>Et mes ongles, pareils aux ongles des harpies,<br>Sauront jusqu'à son coeur se frayer un chemin.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Comme un tout jeune oiseau qui tremble et qui palpite,<br>J'arracherai ce coeur tout rouge de son sein,<br>Et, pour rassasier ma bête favorite<br>Je le lui jetterai par terre avec dédain!»</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Vers le Ciel, où son oeil voit un trône splendide,<br>Le Poète serein lève ses bras pieux<br>Et les vastes éclairs de son esprit lucide<br>Lui dérobent l'aspect des peuples furieux:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">— «Soyez béni, mon Dieu, qui donnez la souffrance<br>Comme un divin remède à nos impuretés<br>Et comme la meilleure et la plus pure essence<br>Qui prépare les forts aux saintes voluptés!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Je sais que vous gardez une place au Poète<br>Dans les rangs bienheureux des saintes Légions,<br>Et que vous l'invitez à l'éternelle fête<br>Des Trônes, des Vertus, des Dominations.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Je sais que la douleur est la noblesse unique<br>Où ne mordront jamais la terre et les enfers,<br>Et qu'il faut pour tresser ma couronne mystique<br>Imposer tous les temps et tous les univers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mais les bijoux perdus de l'antique Palmyre,<br>Les métaux inconnus, les perles de la mer,<br>Par votre main montés, ne pourraient pas suffire<br>A ce beau diadème éblouissant et clair;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Car il ne sera fait que de pure lumière,<br>Puisée au foyer saint des rayons primitifs,<br>Et dont les yeux mortels, dans leur splendeur entière,<br>Ne sont que des miroirs obscurcis et plaintifs!»</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Benediction</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When, after a decree of the supreme powers, <br>The Poet is brought forth in this wearisome world, <br>His mother terrified and full of blasphemies <br>Raises her clenched fist to God, who pities her:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">— 'Ah! would that I had spawned a whole knot of vipers<br>Rather than to have fed this derisive object!<br>Accursed be the night of ephemeral joy<br>When my belly conceived this, my expiation!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Since of all women You have chosen me<br>To be repugnant to my sorry spouse,<br>And since I cannot cast this misshapen monster<br>Into the flames, like an old love letter,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shall spew the hatred with which you crush me down<br>On the cursed instrument of your malevolence,<br>And twist so hard this wretched tree<br>That it cannot put forth its pestilential buds!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus she gulps down the froth of her hatred, <br>And not understanding the eternal designs, <br>Herself prepares deep down in Gehenna <br>The pyre reserved for a mother's crimes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">However, protected by an unseen Angel, <br>The outcast child is enrapt by the sun, <br>And in all that he eats, in everything he drinks, <br>He finds sweet ambrosia and rubiate nectar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He cavorts with the wind, converses with the clouds, <br>And singing, transported, goes the way of the cross; <br>And the Angel who follows him on pilgrimage <br>Weeps to see him as carefree as a bird.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All those whom he would love watch him with fear, <br>Or, emboldened by his tranquility, <br>Emulously attempt to wring a groan from him <br>And test on him their inhumanity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With the bread and the wine intended for his mouth <br>They mix ashes and foul spittle, <br>And, hypocrites, cast away what he touches <br>And feel guilty if they have trod in his footprints.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His wife goes about the market-places <br>Crying: 'Since he finds me fair enough to adore, <br>I shall imitate the idols of old, <br>And like them I want to be regilded;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shall get drunk with spikenard, incense, myrrh,<br>And with genuflections, viands and wine,<br>To see if laughingly I can usurp<br>In an admiring heart the homage due to God!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And when I tire of these impious jokes, <br>I shall lay upon him my strong, my dainty hand; <br>And my nails, like harpies' talons, <br>Will cut a path straight to his heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That heart which flutters like a fledgling bird <br>I'll tear, all bloody, from his breast, <br>And scornfully I'll throw it in the dust <br>To sate the hunger of my favorite hound!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To Heav'n, where his eye sees a radiant throne, <br>Piously, the Poet, serene, raises his arms, <br>And the dazzling brightness of his illumined mind <br>Hides from his sight the raging mob:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">— 'Praise be to You, O God, who send us suffering<br>As a divine remedy for our impurities<br>And as the best and the purest essence<br>To prepare the strong for holy ecstasies!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know that you reserve a place for the Poet <br>Within the blessed ranks of the holy Legions, <br>And that you invite him to the eternal feast <br>Of the Thrones, the Virtues, and the Dominations.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know that suffering is the sole nobility <br>Which earth and hell shall never mar, <br>And that to weave my mystic crown, <br>You must tax every age and every universe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the lost jewels of ancient Palmyra,<br>The unfound metals, the pearls of the sea,<br>Set by Your own hand, would not be adequate<br>For that diadem of dazzling splendor,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For that crown will be made of nothing but pure light <br>Drawn from the holy source of primal rays, <br>Whereof our mortal eyes, in their fullest brightness, <br>Are no more than tarnished, mournful mirrors!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by William Aggeler</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Benediction </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When by an edict of the powers supreme <br>A poet's born into this world's drab space, <br>His mother starts, in horror, to blaspheme <br>Clenching her fists at God, who grants her grace.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Would that a nest of vipers I'd aborted <br>Rather than this absurd abomination. <br>Cursed be the night of pleasures vainly sported <br>On which my womb conceived my expiation.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Since of all women I am picked by You<br>To be my Mate's aversion and his shame:<br>And since I cannot, like a billet-doux,<br>Consign this stunted monster to the flame,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'll turn the hatred, which You load on me,<br>On the curst tool through which You work your spite,<br>And twist and stunt this miserable tree<br>Until it cannot burgeon for the blight.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She swallows down the white froth of her ire <br>And, knowing naught of schemes that are sublime,<br>Deep in Gehenna, starts to lay the pyre <br>That's consecrated to maternal crime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet with an unseen Angel for protector <br>The outcast waif grows drunken with the sun, <br>And finds ambrosia, too, and rosy nectar <br>In all he eats or drinks, suspecting none.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He sings upon his Via Crucis, plays <br>With winds, and with the clouds exchanges words: <br>The Spirit following his pilgrim-ways <br>Weeps to behold him gayer than the birds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those he would love avoid him as in fear, <br>Or, growing bold to see one so resigned, <br>Compete to draw from him a cry or tear, <br>And test on him the fierceness of their kind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In food or drink that's destined for his taste <br>They mix saliva foul with cinders black, <br>Drop what he's touched with hypocrite distaste, <br>And blame themselves for walking in his track.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His wife goes crying in the public way<br>— 'Since fair enough he finds me to adore, <br>The part of ancient idols I will play <br>And gild myself with coats of molten ore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I will get drunk on incense, myrrh, and nard, <br>On genuflexions, meat, and beady wine, <br>Out of his crazed and wondering regard, <br>I'll laugh to steal prerogatives divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When by such impious farces bored at length, <br>I'll place my frail strong hand on him, and start, <br>With nails like those of harpies in their strength, <br>To plough myself a pathway to his heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Like a young bird that trembles palpitating, <br>I'll wrench his heart, all crimson, from his chest, <br>And to my favourite beast, his hunger sating, <br>Will fling it in the gutter with a jest.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Skyward, to where he sees a Throne blaze splendid,<br>The pious Poet lifts his arms on high, <br>And the vast lightnings of his soul extended <br>Blot out the crowds and tumults from his eye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Blessèd be You, O God, who give us pain, <br>As cure for our impurity and wrong — <br>Essence that primes the stalwart to sustain <br>Seraphic raptures that were else too strong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know that for the Poet You've a post, <br>Where the blest Legions take their ranks and stations, <br>Invited to the revels with the host <br>Of Virtues, Powers, and Thrones, and Dominations</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That grief's the sole nobility, I know it, <br>Where neither Earth nor Hell can make attacks, <br>And that, to deck my mystic crown of poet, <br>All times and universes paid their tax.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But all the gems from old Palmyra lost, <br>The ores unmixed, the pearls of the abyss, <br>Set by Your hand, could not suffice the cost <br>Of such a blazing diadem as this.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Because it will be only made of light, <br>Drawn from the hearth of the essential rays, <br>To which our mortal eyes, when burning bright, <br>Are but the tarnished mirrors that they glaze.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Roy Campbell</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Benediction</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When by decree of the almighty powers, <br>The Poet walks the world's wearisome sod, <br>His mother, blasphemous and fearful, cowers, <br>Clenching her fist against a pitying God:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">— 'Ah, would whole knots of vipers were my spawn <br>Rather than this woeful abomination! <br>Cursed be the sweet swift night and evil dawn <br>Wherein my womb conceived my expiation!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Since of all women Thou hast chosen me <br>To be my sorry husband's shame of shames, <br>Since I may not toss this monstrosity <br>Like an old billet-doux into the flames,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy heavy hatred I shall vomit back <br>On the damned tool of your malevolence, <br>Twisting this wretched tree until it crack, <br>Never to sprout in buds of pestilence!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus she gulps down the froth of her despair, <br>Nor knowing the eternal paradigms, <br>Sinks deep into Gehenna to prepare, <br>Herself, the pyre set for a mother's crimes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet guarded by an unseen Angel's favors, <br>The outcast child is fired by radiant suns, <br>In all he eats and all he drinks he savors <br>Ambrosial gifts and nectared benisons, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He sports with winds, he talks with clouds, he keeps <br>Singing along the road to Calvary, <br>While the bright Angel in his traces weeps, <br>Beholding him as free as birds are free.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All those whom he would love watch him with fear, <br>Or else, made bold by his serenity, <br>Wring groans from him that float sweet on the ear <br>Making him touchstone of their cruelty.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With his due bread and wine, hypocrites, they, <br>Mix ashes and fat gobs of spittle; grim, <br>What he has touched, these humbugs cast away, <br>Deeming it guilty but to follow him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His wife cries in the market place: 'Behold <br>Since he adores me, I am fair, and fain, <br>As idols did, and images of old, <br>To be regilded and adored again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I shall be drunk with spikenard, incense, myrrh,<br>With genuflections, viands and wine to see<br>If, as a glad usurper, I may stir<br>His heart to pay God's homages to me!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tired of these impious japes and of their butt,<br>My strong lithe hand's caress with subtle art<br>And my sharp nails like harpy claws shall cut<br>A mortal path straight to his quivering heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That heart which flutters like a fledgling bird, <br>I shall tear, bleeding, from his breast, to pitch <br>It blandly in the dust without a word <br>To slake the hunger of my favorite bitch.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To Heaven where he spies a splendent throne, <br>Serene, the Poet lifts rapt arms; and bright <br>Luminous thoughts that shine through him alone <br>Conceal the furious rabble from his sight:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">— 'Blessèd, O God, who send woe for a cure, <br>A balm divine for our impurities, <br>Of essences the noblest and most pure <br>To school the strong for holy ecstasies!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know the Poet has his place above <br>Amid God's saintly hosts and congregations, <br>Guest at the everlasting banquet of <br>The Thrones, the Virtues and the Dominations.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sorrow alone is noble and august, <br>A force nor earth nor hell shall ever mar, <br>To weave my mystic crown I know you must <br>Tax every age and universe that are.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old Tadmor's vanished gems beyond all price, <br>Metals unknown, pearls from the richest sea, <br>Set by Thy holy hand, cannot suffice <br>To match this dazzling chapter's splendency;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This diadem shall be of sheerest light, <br>Drawn from the sacred source of primal rays, <br>Whereof our mortal eyes, however bright, <br>Serve but as piteous mirrors dull with glaze.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Jacques LeClercq</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Benediction</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When, on a certain day, into this harassed world <br>The Poet, by decree of the high powers, was born, <br>His mother, overwhelmed by shame and fury, hurled <br>These blasphemies at God, clenching her fists in scorn:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Would I had whelped a knot of vipers — at the worst<br>'Twere better than this runt that whines and snivels there!<br>Oh, cursèd be that night of pleasure, thrice accurst<br>My womb, that has conceived and nourished my despair!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Since, of all mortal women, it would seem my fate<br>To be my saddened husband's horror and disgust;<br>And since I may not toss this monster in the grate — <br>Like any crumpled letter, reeking of stale lust — </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Upon his helpless form, whereby Thou humblest me,<br>I shall divert Thy hatred in one raging flood;<br>And I shall twist so well this miserable tree<br>That it shall not put forth one pestilential bud!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus did she foam with anger, railing, swallowing froth; <br>And, unaware of what the mighty powers had willed, <br>She set about to draw Gehenna on them both, <br>Eyeing the fire, considering how he might be killed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Meantime, above the child an unseen angel beats <br>His wings, and the poor waif runs laughing in the sun; <br>And everything he drinks and everything he eats <br>Are nectar and ambrosia to this hapless one.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Companioned by the wind, conversing with the cloud, <br>Along the highway to the Cross his song is heard; <br>And the bright Spirit, following him, weeps aloud <br>To see him hop so gaily, like a little bird.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those whom he longs to love observe him with constraint <br>And fear, as he grows up; or, seeing how calm he is, <br>Grow bold, and seek to draw from him some sharp complaint, <br>Wreaking on him all day their dull ferocities.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cinders are in his bread, are gritty in his teeth; <br>Spittle is in his wine. Where his footprints are seen <br>They hesitate to set their shoes, mincing beneath <br>Hypocrisy; all things he touched, they call unclean.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His wife in public places cries, 'Since after all<br>He loves me so, that he's the laughingstock of men,<br>I'll make a business of it, be an idol, call<br>For gold, to have myself regilded now and then!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And some day, when I'm drunk with frankincense, rich food, <br>Flattery, genuflexions, spikenard, beady wine, <br>I'll get from him (while laughing in his face, I could!) <br>That homage he has kept, so far, for things divine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And, when my pleasure in these impious farces fails, <br>My dainty, terrible hands shall tear his breast apart, <br>And these long nails of mine, so like to harpies' nails, <br>Shall dig till they have dug a tunnel to his heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Then, like a young bird, caught and fluttering to be freed, <br>('Twill make a tasty morsel for my favorite hound) <br>I'll wrench his heart out, warm and bleeding — let it bleed! — <br>And drop it, with contempt and loathing, to the ground.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Meanwhile toward Heaven, the goal of his mature desire, <br>The Poet, oblivious, lifts up his arms in prayer; <br>His lucid essence flames with lightnings — veiled by fire <br>Is all the furious world, all the lewd conflict there.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Be praised, Almighty God, that givest to faulty me <br>This suffering, to purge my spirit of its sin, <br>To fortify my puny strength, to bid me see <br>Pure Faith, and what voluptuous blisses dwell therein.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I know that in those ranks on ranks of happy blest <br>The Poet shall have some place among Thy Seraphim; <br>And that Thou wilt at length to the eternal feast <br>Of Virtues, Thrones and Dominations, summon him.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I know, Pain is the one nobility we have <br>Which not the hungry ground nor hell shall ever gnaw; <br>I know that space and time, beyond the temporal grave, <br>Weave me a mystic crown, free from all earthly flaw.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Not emeralds, not all the pearls of the deep sea, <br>All the rare metals, every lost and buried gem <br>Antique Palmyra hides, could ever seem to me <br>So beautiful as that clear glittering diadem.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Of Light, of Light alone, it will be fashioned, Light <br>Drawn from the holy fount, rays primitive and pure, <br>Whereof the eyes of mortal men, so starry bright, <br>Are but the mirrors, mirrors cloudy and obscure.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>— Translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Charles+Baudelaire">Charles Baudelaire</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=354404" data-title="Bénédiction (Benediction) de Charles Baudelaire" data-description="Lorsque, par un décret des puissances suprêmes,
Le Poète apparaît en ce monde ennuyé,
Sa mère épouvantée et pleine de blasphèmes
Crispe ses poings vers Dieu, qui la prend en pitié:

— «Ah! que n'ai-je mis bas tout un noeud de vipères..."></div>
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