La Brute et les cloportes (MON PETIT EDITE) (French Edition)

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Bored aristocratic Parisian couples begin affairs with each other which only brings trouble. Whilst a party of aristocrats are enjoying themselves in the Bois de Vincennes, the French Revolution is beginning to get underway. At the insistence of her father, Alain Revent, a seductive and refined man, derives a peculiar satisfaction from debasing his wives. The first, driven to the brink of despair, throws herself out of a window.

Enlisting the help of an equally perverse casual acquaintance, Dino, the "handsome brute" proceeds to emotionally torture his second wife, Nathalie. As he had been furiously devout, he became passionately atheistic. He was at once all the artists he had studied and all the books he had read, and yet in spite of this actor's faculty he remained profoundly original. Baudelaire, for all his aloof, unconcerned pose, was swept into the whirl of politics ; the Revolution occupied all his thought, and, contrary to our expectations, it was the democratic side which enlisted Baudelaire's sympathy.

In his Fusees he refers to his action: What was the nature of this intoxication? Taste for vengeance ; natural pleasure ; destruction in literary intoxication ; recollections from reading. This paper was very short-lived, and after its failure he tried to found another, but with equal unsuccess. Already he was becoming less productive ; 1 Cp. Note to Reniement de Saint-Pierre, where he lays it down that the poet has an absolute right, that it is his duty, even ' as an actor does, to fashion his mind to fit every sophism, every corruption.

Some of the poems had already appeared; in L? The Fleurs du Mai created at once a great sensation, and also a certain amount of scandal. Baudelaire was prosecuted on the ground of offence to public morality, and his publishers were fined. It was about this time that Madame Sabatier came definitely into his life. The episode is singularly char- acteristic of the man. Here was a woman, beautiful, gifted, and sympathetic, and who practically offered herself to him. It was the fall of the idol. Baudelaire begins to analyse and to doubt. He writes to her: And to-day I add this, he only will suffer who is fool enough to take seriously the things of the soul.

You see, ma belle cherie, I have odious prejudices against women.

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In short, I have no faith. You have a beautiful soul, but after all it is a feminine soul. And then, and then, a few days 1 List quoted by M. Now you are a woman. And if to my cost, I were to acquire the right of being jealous! How horrible even to think of! But with one such as you with eyes full of smiles and graciousness for every one, it must be martyrdom! That you do not love me! I reason strongly with it so as not to tire you too much with its weaknesses. I shall be able to force it to descend to the temperature you have dreamed of.

It is very certain I shall suffer, but to please you I will resign myself to bear all possible sufferings.

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Baudelaire continued to visit Mme. Sabatier up to his departure for Brussels ; and in his tragic last months she was constantly with him. A few days after his prosecution Baudelaire published some prose pieces in Le Present: Artiste his article on Gustave Flaubert. In appeared his translation of the adventures of Arthur Gordon Pym, and the first part of the Paradis artificiels, and in his article on Theophile Gautier.

At this moment Poulet Malassis' own affairs were in such a bad way that he seemed on the verge of bankruptcy, and Baudelaire, in search of new ways to make money, busied himself with plans for writing a drama. He was in the habit of re- citing his poems at various gatherings, and a favourite piece was ' Le Vin de PAssassin. Here is the plan as Baudelaire describes it in a letter to Tisserand: J'ai decidement adopte une pro- fession lourde, triviale, rude: Ce qui m'y a presque force, c'est que, j'ai une chanson dont 1'air est horriblement melancolique et qui ferait je crois un magnifique effet au theatre, si nous mettons sur la scene le lieu ordinaire du travail, ou surtout si, comme j'en ai envie, je developpe au troisieme acte le tableau d'une goguette lyrique ou d'une lice chansonniere.

Cette chanson est d'une rudesse singuliere.

Rien n'est aussi-z-aimable Fanforu crancru lou la lahira Rien n'est aussi-z-aimable Que le scieur de long. Mon homme est reveur faineant ; il a ou il croit avoir des aspira- tions superieures a son monotone metier et, comme tous les reveurs faineants il s'enivre. Les deux premiers actes sont remplis par des scenes de misere, de chomage, de querelles de menage, d'ivrognerie et de jalousie. Vous verrez tout a 1'heure 1'utilite de cet element nouveau. C'est Ik qu'il lui arrache un rendez-vous pour le lendemain soir dimanche.

Quant a 1'execution je vous la raconterai avec soin. Vous voyez comme le drame est simple. Pas d'imbroglios, pas de surprises simple- ment, le developpement d'un vice et des resultats successifs d'une situation. It is interesting to remark in passing that in dramatic form this work is no more successful than in the plans of Baudelaire.

It is almost identically the same as that of Petrus Borel's ' Passereau 1'Ecolier ' ; we will therefore not quote in detail here, but return to it when we come to study Borel. Baudelaire's drama was never written ; he had not the essential dramatic gifts and recognised the fact. In 1 86 1 appeared the second edition of the Fleurs du Mai, and the article on ' Richard Wagner et Tannhauser. It was in this year, too, that he decided to present him- self as a candidate for the Academy.

As was only to be supposed, this candidature led to violent opposition, and in the end Baudelaire avoided inevitable defeat by withdrawing. And now that Paris which he had observed with such enthusiasm began to tire him, and then to disgust him, and his financial outlook became more and more gloomy.

Finally, in , Baudelaire left Paris to settle definitely in Brussels. He believed that he would be able to make money in Belgium, firstly by his writings, and secondly by giving lectures a dream that he never realised. His letters 1 UAssommoir drame en cinq actes et neuf tableaux. He was never able to make money in twenty- six years he made less than sixteen thousand francs or, as M. Catulle Mendes worked it out, about one franc seventy a day!

The Belgians were always entirely uncongenial to him ; he soon conceived a violent hatred for them. He writes to Manet in I have been the victim of the most impudent fraud. Here deception is the rule, and is no dishonour. Never believe what you are told about Belgian good humour. Cunning, distrust, false affability, rudeness, knavery yes! Many people flocked with idiotic curiosity around the author of the Fleurs du Mai The author of the Flowers in question could not be other than an eccentric monster.

All these blackguards took me for a monster, and when they saw that I was cold, moderate, and polite, that I had a horror of free-thinkers, progress, and all modern foolishness they decreed I suppose that I was not the author of my book. What a comic confusion between the author and the subject! This unhappy book of which I am very proud is then very obscure, very unintelligible! I shall long bear the punishment for having dared to paint evil with some talent! But here that is not enough, you must be coarse to be understood!

What a set of blackguards! I am as at home in dishonour as a fish in water! I have withdrawn from all society. I much prefer complete solitude to brutal, stupid and ignorant companionship. He tells us that if it had not been a Belgian town with a Flemish population he would have liked to live, and, above all, to die there.

It appealed to him in just the same way as Bruges to Rodenbach ; these words of Baudelaire might well have come from the pen of the later writer: I discovered a marvellous Jesuit church that no one visits. In a word, I was so happy that I was able to forget the present, and I bought there some pieces of old delft. The reason was not indolence, the poet's health had begun to fail. The letters of the latter part of the year have frequent references to his ill-health, to the doctors' advice to give up stimulants, and to avoid worry and mental fatigue, and to his own inability to pay for the necessary remedies.

In he began to make plans for returning to Paris, but the journey was continually postponed. It was in March of this year that the crisis came. The father-in- law of Felicien Rops invited Baudelaire to Namur, an invitation which the latter gladly accepted, delighting in an opportunity of revisiting the old church of Saint-Loup. It was while he was making a tour of this church that he was suddenly seized with giddiness and fell. He recovered himself for the moment, but the next day it was clear that he was suffering from some mental trouble aphasia and paralysis set in he was taken back to Brussels and installed in a sanatorium there, but it was the beginning of the end.

His mother came to Brussels to nurse her son, and found that he needed tending, to use her own words, 'as quite a little child. Baudelaire in his last years is one of the most tragic figures in all literary history. Deprived of memory, wasted and changed to the extent of being unable to recognise himself in a mirror, for him, who had boasted that the inexpressible did not exist, who was in truth a ' lord of language,' now unable to express his simplest thoughts, for him indeed death could only bring consola- tion in releasing him from his suffering in September By nature Baudelaire is above all the man of sensation.

Unhappily we have no medical documents here. At that time no one studied a writer from this point of view as has been done since for example, Dr. Toudouze's study of Emile Zola. But perhaps after all his poems are as weighty documents as a doctor's diagnosis. And these reveal an excessively, even unhealthily, sensitive nature. We have also the testimony of his contemporaries and critics who tell us that Baudelaire's nerves were extra- ordinarily acute, and that his faculty of smell was developed to the highest point.

Some of his most famous lines are written on the subject of perfumes: On dirait qu'ils penetrent le verre. En ouvrant un coffret venu de 1'orient Dont la serrure grince et rechigne en criant, Ou dans une maison deserte quelque armoire Pleine de Pacre odeur des temps, poudreuse et noire, Parfois on trouve un vieux flacon qui se souvient D'ou jaillit toute vive une ame qui revient. The paradis artificiels contain little beside the account of De Quincey's experience and life. The paintings on ceilings, whether they be delicate, mediocre, or even bad, will be clothed with fearful life ; the most crudely painted papers on a hotel wall will hollow them- selves into magnificent dioramas.

Nymphs with dazzling flesh look at you with their great eyes that are more profound than sky or water ; the characters of antiquity, muffled up in their sacerdotal or military garb, by means of a simple look exchange the most solemn confidences with you. In the meanwhile, there develops that mysterious and temporary state of mind wherein the profoundness of life, studded with its countless difficulties, is revealed in the spectacle, be it never so trivial, one has before one's eyes: Fourier and Swedenborg, the former with his analogies, the latter with his corre- spondances incarnated themselves in the vegetable and animal which meets your eyes, and instead of teaching by the voice they inculcate their doctrine by means of form and colour.

Hashish then spreads itself over the whole of life like a magic varnish, painting it in solemn colours and lighting up all its depths. The best proof of this is the feeling, not of indifference, but of disgust produced in any Calvinistic mind whenever the name of Baudelaire is pronounced. Such see in him an agent of Satan escaped from a modern Babylon.

There is no theory more dear to Baudelaire's heart than that of original sin. In a letter to Toussenel he wrote: In this way the whole of nature participates in original sin. Everything fine and noble is the product of reason and calculation. Crime, for which the human animal acquired a taste in his mother's womb, is originally natural. The prose poem Le Mauvais Vitrier is a good example of Baudelaire's treatment of the theme of the Imp of the Perverse.

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In this way, too, woman, who is far more a creature of natural impulse than of reason, calls down all the wrath of Baudelaire, who calls her 'natural, that is to say, abominable. J And nature takes on the aspect of the Catholic cere- monial: As La Bruyere has said: And withal the analyst in him is ever on the alert ; his highest ecstasy never destroys the analysing faculty. We have already seen, in the Madame Sabatier episode, how the truth of that wise remark ' our doubts are traitors ' applies to Baudelaire, and in his poems we find fresh proofs of the fact that the analysing spirit in Baudelaire is, by its very power, his worst enemy.

He furnishes a proof of that passage of Guy de Maupassant, who says: Every- thing he sees, his joys, pleasures, sufferings, and despair, all become instantly subjects for observation. In spite of everything, in spite of himself, he is for ever analysing hearts, faces, gestures, voice intonations. He lives under the sentence of being a continual reflection of himself and others, under the sentence of watching himself feel, act, love, think, or suffer, and of never suffering, thinking, loving, feeling like any one else honestly, frankly, simply, without self-analysis after every joy or every sob.

In his poems in prose he describes the power of this feeling in him: She was evidently forced by her absolute solitude to habits like those of an old bachelor, and the masculine character of her ways lent a mysterious piquancy to their austerity. I know not in what miserable cafe she had breakfasted, nor how. I followed her to the reading-room, and I watched her for a long time while she sought among the papers with eager eyes, once tear-scalded, news of some great personal interest.

In the end in the afternoon, under a charming autumn sky, one of those skies from which a host of recollections and regrets descend, she sat in a garden, far from the crowd, to listen to one of those concerts with which regimental music charms Parisian people. Ces monstres disloques furent jadis des femmes, Eponine ou Lais! Monstres brises, bossus Ou tordus, aimons-les!

Ce sont encor des ames. Telles vous cheminez, stoiques et sans plaintes, A travers le chaos des vivantes cites, Meres au coeur saignant, courtisanes ou saintes, Dont autrefois les noms par tous etaient cites. Vous qui futes la grace ou qui futes la gloire, Nul ne vous reconnait! Honteuses d'exister, ombres ratatinees, Peureuses, le dos bas, vous cotoyez les murs ; Et nul ne vous salue, etranges destinees! Debris d'humanite pour Peternite murs! II traversent ainsi le noir illimite, Ce frere du silence eternel. Pendant qu'autour de nous tu chantes, ris, et beugles, Eprise du plaisir jusqu'a 1'atrocite, Vois, je me traine aussi!

Que cherchent-ils au Ciel, tous ces aveugles? Baudelaire never spoke of himself we have the testimony of his contemporaries for that; it would have been against his principles to let his sufferings be seen. As he says in ' Le Dandy ': First of all, then, he lays down the ' art-for-art ' theory, rigorously banishing any idea of didacticism: Poetry has no other aim than Herself ; can have no other ; and no poetry will be so great, noble, and truly worthy of the name of poem as that written for the mere pleasure of writing a poem.

Let me be well understood. I do not mean to say that poetry cannot ennoble morals: I do say that if the poet has pursued some moral aim, it is no imprudence to predict that his work will be bad. You are too afraid of passion it is a theory with you. You make too much con- cession to management. Let yourself alone, do not fear to feel as others feel, never be afraid to be too ordinary. Yet Baudelaire did perceive the danger lurking in the ' art-for-art ' theory, even though it was only in passing humour that he wrote: The frenzied passion of art is a canker which devours all else, and the frank absence of the just and true in art comes to the same as the absence of art, the whole man vanishes ; the special- isation of one faculty leads to nothingness.

I understand the fury of iconoclast and mussulman against images. I realise the remorse of Saint Augustine for excessive joy of the eye. The danger is so great that I excuse the suppression of the object. The time is not far off when it will be understood that all literature which refuses to walk fraternally between science and philosophy is a homicidal, suicidal, literature. If you permit, I will apply my ideas to a sensible object, for example, to that most interesting object in society, a woman's face.

A seductive, beautiful head, a woman's head I mean, is a head that gives rise, in some confused way, to dreams at once voluptuous and sad; it brings with it a hint of melancholy, of lassitude, of satiety even or else the contrary idea, that is to say, an ardour, a desire of life associated with a bitterness like the ebb-tide from privation or hopelessness.

Mystery, regret, are also characteristics of the Beautiful. I do not mean to say that Joy cannot associate with Beauty, but I do say that Joy is one of her most vulgar ornaments. While Melancholy is, so to speak, her noble companion, and so much so that I can scarcely conceive of a type of Beauty where there is not some Unhappiness.

Je t'aime surtout quand la joie S'enfuit de ton front terrasse ; Quand ton cceur dans 1'horreur se noie ; Quand sur ton present se deploie Le nuage affreux du passeV An almost inseparable attribute of this beauty is Horror: It is, however, a feature common to so many of the young romantics that it cannot be called exclusively Baudelairian. It was the same desire to epater le bourgeois which made Theophile Gautier bring out his famous Gilet rouge, which led Petrus Borel to adopt his startling costume, and produced such startling names as Philothee O'Neddy, or a host of other pleasant extravagances.

Certainly Baudelaire carried the taste for mystification somewhat far, as when he ordered a certain blue coat, and then when that was finished ordered a dozen like it 'just to astonish the tailor. In his Salon of , he said: The whole question is to know by what means you wish to create or feel astonishment. Because the Beautiful is always astonishing it would be absurd to suppose that what is astonishing is always beautiful. Now, our public which is singularly powerless to feel the happiness of reverie or admiration sign of small minds wants to be astonished by means foreign to art, and artists obediently conform to its taste ; they seek to strike it, surprise it, stupefy it by unworthy stratagems, because they know it incapable of feeling ecstasy before the natural tactics of true art.

Professional philosophers are unwilling to admit that a poet may be a philosopher. A man who does not make use of the approved scholastic dialectic methods appears to them little else than a heretic entering the holy of holies. Let us acknowledge at once that Baudelaire never posed as a philosopher.

He put the best of himself into his poems in prose or verse, and the two collections of his reflections Fusees and Mon Cceur mis a nu cannot be compared to that profound Journal of Alfred de Vigny. But if, as Nietzsche has it, the philosopher is he who gives a new meaning to the universe, Baudelaire has certainly a claim to be accounted a philosopher. For Nietzsche, as M. Lichtenberger x points out, nothing in Nature is of worth in itself: In this way the true philoso- pher is that man whose personality is strong enough to create a world which interests mankind.

Now, has not Baudelaire created just that a world which interests mankind a world which is disconcerting, mysterious and sorrowful, a world in which an intellectual epicureanism combines with true stoicism and catholic mysticism, a world in which so many souls have lived, a world which would seem the living triumph of will.

From this point of view Baudelaire seems to be the hero that Nietzsche 2 called for, he who brings new 1 La philosophic de Nietzsche. We cannot do better than refer our readers to this delightfully written study. Beaunier seems to have arrived at the same conclusion as ourselves when he says, unfortunately only en passant: We will go further. Baudelaire's ideas looked at in the light of Nietzsche's philosophy take on a singular refulgence, and, under the rays of the German thinker's ideas, reflect such curious lights that we will venture to compare the two writers.

A certain resemblance is at once perceptible between Nietzsche's philosophy, which makes ceaseless effort to raise oneself above oneself the great task imposed on the will, and Baudelairism, which is founded above all on the will being always strained to despise feelings which are the outcome of pure nature. No poetry is more conscious than that of Baudelaire, and this is an important point since critics have portrayed Baudelaire as a kind of opium-eater incapable of self- command. Here is a poet who maintains that his poem has been composed in accordance with his theory of poetics.

Certainly he had great genius and more inspiration than any one else, if by inspiration is understood energy, intellectual enthusiasm, and the power of keeping the faculties awake. But he also loved work more than others ; he liked to repeat, he who was so perfectly original, that originality was a matter of apprenticeship, which does not mean that it is something transmitted by teaching.

Chance and the in- comprehensible were his two great enemies. Did he, by some strange amusing vanity, make himself out less inspired than he was naturally? Did he dimmish the gratuitous faculty which was in him to show the part of will the finer? I should be rather inclined to believe it ; though at the same time it must not be forgotten that his genius, ardent, active as it was, had a passionate love of analysis, intrigue and calculation.

One of his favourite axioms was this: A good author has already got his last line in his head when he writes his first. Amateurs of delirium will perhaps be revolted by these cynical maxims: It will always be good to show them what advantages art can draw from deliberation, and to make men of the world see how much toil is exacted by that luxury called poetry.

A happy discovery is simply the consequence of a good piece of reasoning with the intermediate deductions passed over, just as a mistake is the result of false reasoning. What is that paradise bought at the price of eternal salvation? For Nietzsche sensation is the ' scales, the weights and the weigher,' that is everything. Jules de Gaultier well puts it: The part of itself it allows to be realised is revealed in sensation.

Sensation, as regards consciousness, is the penumbra out of which rises the external world. But would he not also have declared that, in his eyes, sensation was all- important, that we must continually subtilise those we experience, or better still, create new ones, marking mean- while the delicate connections between those of hearing, sight, and smell? In the classical ages the mind hides as much as possible from the commerce of the senses, sensation in the intellect's crucible becomes abstract sentiment.

But in Baudelaire, on the contrary, sensation passes through his mind to settle, all quivering on the page before him, like a butter- fly which the writer has surprised as it flew, and through whose frail body he hesitates in his happiness to drive a pin.

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And in this way Baudelaire was really the first of the impressionists. Think how he speaks of perfumes, dividing them into three classes according as they call up different ideas, sensations, or recollections. And his interest in drinks and poisons, what is it if not the very instinct of the ' man of sensation ' in pursuit of what he has not yet felt?

Sensation is of capital import- ance, since it brings an escape from the oppressiveness of reality. Everything is in that ; it is the only question. In order not to feel the horrible burden of Time that is breaking your shoulders, bending you earthwards, you must be ceaselessly drunken. With wine, poetry, or virtue, as you will only intoxicate yourself; and if sometimes, on the steps of a palace, or the green sward of a grave, or in the mournful solitude of your room you wake to find the intoxication diminished or vanished, ask of the wind, or the wave, or the star, or the bird, or the clock, or all that flies, all that groans, all that rolls on, all that sings, all that speaks, ask what time it is ; and the wind, wave, star, bird and clock will tell you: With wine, poetry or virtue, as you will.

He penetrates into sensation to the utmost limit, then, as Barbey d'Aurevilly says, hurls himself against that mysterious gate of the Infinite which he cannot open, and in his rage turns on language and exhausts his fury there. And let us acknowledge that out of this he produced wonderful effects, was able to present objects to us, to express feelings which till then defied description. What sonnet, or rather what thought, was ever more fertile in consequences? When could philosophy boast of having renewed the inspiration of prosody and paint- ing as this theory has done?

Do not our modern painters make use of a musical terminology? And is not one of their cherished ideas that of having made progress like that of the symphonic orchestra: We have only to think of certain pictures of Whistler, where a grey note is supported by united harmonies of the same tone. And such pictures are legion. And then think of the so-called ' verlibriste ' poetry, the breaking up of traditional metres, an instrumen- tation which is at every moment varied, contrasted, disconcerting.

This Revolution is doubtless not due to a single man, yet might it not justly have inscribed upon its banner the sonnet of Baudelaire?

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The pursuit of sensation must necessarily lead to what Baudelaire calls degout de la me extase de la me. An attitude Nietzschean par excellence. Degout de la me. No man ever felt it more than Nietzsche ; for was he not at first a fervid disciple of that greatest of pessimists, Schopenhauer?

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But, the influence of Schopenhauer admitted, what does it explain? We accept only these doctrines which already exist forcibly in ourselves, or, as Nietzsche said, ' there is no philosophy that is not supported by a state of mind which is the outcome of our instincts. Baudelaire is perhaps the greatest pessimist of his pessi- mistic nation. As such too, he has portrayed himself in his work ; he took pleasure in describing his soul's darkness to us: Et de longs corbillards, sans tambours ni musique, Defilent lentement dans mon ame ; 1'Espoir Vaincu, pleure, et PAngoisse atroce, despotique, Sur mon crane inclined plante son drapeau noir.

Finally his pessimism grows so deep that he knows not where he shall turn, and his soul becomes une vieille gabare sans mats sur une mer monstrueuse et sans bords, and hope deserts him: Take, for example, the close of ' L'Irreparable ': La femme, esclave vile orgueilleuse et stupide, Sans rire s'adorant, et s'aimant sans degout, L'homme, tyran goulu, paillard dur et cupide, Esclave de Pesclave et ruisseau dans 1'egout ; Le bourreau qui jouit, le martyr qui sanglote, La fete qu'assaisonne et parfume le sang ; Le poison du pouvoir dnervant le despote, Et le peuple amoureux du fouet abrutissant ; Plusieurs religions semblables k la notre, Toutes escaladant le ciel ; la Saintete, Comme en un lit de plume un delicat se vautre Dans les clous et le crin cherchant la volupte.

L'Humanite bavarde, ivre de son genie, Et, folle maintenant comme elle 6ta. Tel est du globe entier 1'eternel bulletin. Amer savoir, celui qu'on tire du voyage! Le monde, monotone et petit, aujourd'hui Hier, demain, toujours, nous fait voir notre image Une oasis d'horreur dans un desert d'ennui. An unhappiness has failed to befall thee: For Nietzsche, as for Baudelaire, beauty can redeem all sorrow.

It is this point of view which gave birth to Nietzsche's conception of the spirit of Apollo and the spirit of Dionysus, as M. Jules Gaultier has excellently explained in his book De Kant a Nietzsche. Just as Nietzsche attributes to the Greeks a certain mental attitude which he calls the union of the Apollonian and Dionysian spirit, so it pleases us to find in Baudelaire the pessimist conception of life leading to a dream of beauty.

The Greek, says Nietzsche, knew suffering, but sur- mounted it by the creation of art. Between reality which wounds him and his own sensitiveness, he places the world of beautiful forms, the world of beautiful verse the Apollonian world. But the Greeks went further: Thus Dionysian art in making him understand the identity of spectacle and spectator has justified life in his eyes.

Thus suffering becomes joy, and the phenomenon makes itself felt before every tragic drama. The poet understands that art is the great consoler, and while decrying life for its cruelty, at the same time celebrates it for its beauty, celebrates it because it is life.

A ray of sunshine strikes across town and fields. The poet has gone in search of ideas, and at first he sees only the closed shutters which lend an air of suspicion to the houses he loses himself in a maze of dark, dank streets, where the houses look evil and diseased.

But is not the poet like the sun which deifies all, shining alike on slum or temple, shedding its golden glory on the dunghill and on the flowers. In truth, when we come to reflect about this subject, we find nothing is more interesting than these two minds, the one French, the other German, both seeing life in sorrowful light, then both transforming their philosophic feelings into assthetic feelings, eager to prolong the spectacle, and to describe it, and while maintaining a profound disgust of life at the same time adoring it in that it is life.

And the two minds destined to tread the same path arrive inevitably at the same resting-place of thought. The one will say: The other will say to men: Also amongst men there is a beautiful brood of the warm sun, and much that is marvellous in the wicked. Strange as a comparison between Baudelaire and Nietzsche may seem at first sight, the strangeness tends more and more to disappear when we remember another point of agreement between the two writers: What would be my love of the Superman if I spoke otherwise?

Fluent style with horror. Progress with horror' And he returns to the question of progress in a char- acteristic note on Laclos: No, energy for wickedness has grown less. And stupidity has taken the place of wit. Having seen the unjust contempt with which certain pedants would overwhelm the ideas of Baudelaire, we have found pleasure in comparing him with the philosopher who is most in vogue at this moment.

When we come to think upon it, we see that life, varied as it may seem, turns ever on the same round, and the same conditions of mind reappear across the centuries. There remains always, however, a fairly great difference between Nietzsche and Baudelaire: Nietzsche declared war to the knife on Christianity, in which he saw a religion of slaves ; Baudelaire, on the other hand, saw in Catholicism the only doctrine that could render the universe intelligible.

Nietzsche, in virtue of his atavism and his education, always took renunciation as the typical Christian action ; his philosophy, and above all, his pathological condition led him towards the end of his life to make the instinct of greatness the principle of all morality, and thus he could not do otherwise than condemn the Christianity sur- rounding him. Quite different is the position of Baudelaire. In the first place, without any strong positive beliefs, like every Parisian, he was led by his moral preoccupation to attach a very high importance to the conditions healthy, or unhealthy of the human being, or, let us say to those morbid conditions into which vice leads him.

With Baudelaire sin is always followed by remorse, anguish, disgust, despair, and is punished by itself, which is the greatest suffering. Every writer who takes an interest in the human personality is led inevitably into ethics ; we have only to think of Taine setting out with an entirely negative philosophic conception, but at the end of his life admitting the reality of virtue and vice, and asking to be given a religious burial. After all, what matters it whether the philosophy of Baudelaire be profound or superficial? We shall still be attracted by the bitter-sweet fruit of his poems.

Shall we go to them to find precepts of life, or a picture of the decadence of the second Empire, or a healing for our suffering? His irony, his misanthropy, his pessimism only serve to make us understand from what heights the poet must have fallen. Doubtless we should have liked to think that towards the evening of his life he freed himself from the bands of opium, hashish and alcohol. Cured, would he have composed his masterpieces? Better still, who knows but that through him certain minds have not arrived at a surer conception of their obligations?

Who shall pronounce on either success or happiness save ev At the outset of this study we declared that Baude- laire's marvellous style would suffice to explain his influ- ence. He expressed his flexibility to make this work, stressing that these analysts were his priority. He was feeling the deadline pressure, but remarked that the investigation was moving aggressively. He did not yet foresee a problem with approval, but he informed the Ambassador that the UNIIIC budget was short two to three million dollars and he had requested approval for a supplementary budget.

Time is of the essence, but we do not want to strike prematurely. Bellemare proposed that the analysts work out of The Hague, where he said space was not an issue, on a contract basis. If I have to prioritize, I need the criminal analysts the most. He noted that he had started contacting organizations to see if they will agree to transfer their contracted personnel to The Hague, to which he had received positive responses.

He explained that he had to have his new spokesperson respond to the press report, though he usually preferred to remain silent. He suggested that the Ambassador could be helpful in letting political figures know that these kinds of articles are unhelpful. He added that in the coming two months, UNIIIC investigators would be more visible as they conduct interviews with political figures. It was not a problem yet, he said, but he wanted to make the Ambassador aware in case the amount was not approved. Eux se feront un plaisir de les montrer le moment venu. Il est trop tard pour jouer les durs.

News reports affirme que le fondateur de WikiLeaks se cache en Angleterre. Il suffit de laisser faire… les journaputes. Plus simple, tu meurs. Adieu les jours heureux. Et le mail se poursuit ainsi: Cassese est un fervent partisan de la colonisation juive de la Palestine. Plus grave, le juge Cassese incarne une conception du droit international qui fait clivage au Proche-Orient. Le puzzle est presque complet. Yes, indeed my dear. Paul Louis Courier dirait: Pourquoi seulement enculer, pourquoi pas empaler? Staline, quand tu nous tiens! Yeah, you got satin shoes.

Yeah, you got plastic boots. Yall got cocaine eyes. Yeah, you got speed-freak jive. Cant you hear me knockin on your window. Cant you hear me knockin on your door. Cant you hear me knockin down your dirty street, yeah. Help me baby, aint no stranger. Cant you hear me knockin, ahh, are you safe asleep? Cant you hear me knockin, yeah, down the gas light street, now. Cant you hear me knockin, yeah, throw me down the keys. Hear me ringing big bell tolls. Hear me singing soft and low. Ive been begging on my knees. Ive been kickin, help me please.

Im gonna take you down. Yeah, Ive got flatted feet now, now, now, now. And all, all around your street now. And all, all around your town. Les deux font la paire. Le colonel James Maitland en vingt missions de combat. On pouvait difficilement faire plus magistrale erreur de tir. Du 25 au 28 octobre Christian nous signale ce papier de Bloomberg: Le gouvernement ignore la contestation. Les preuves sont massives et incontestables: Le blocus de Gaza est injuste. La poursuite de la construction de colonies est injuste. La guerre en Palestine est une science.

Cependant, tous les psychologues modernes vous diront que votre distinction est insoutenable. Quel est ce point de vue? Le moi se constitue comme un dialogue avec celui-ci. Elle est synonyme de corruption et de bureaucratie. Ils sont donc si fiers de leur Sarkoland ces trou-du-cul. Comment oser comparer le petit homme du Sarkoland avec le grand homme de la Russie? Elle respecte toutes les croyances. Qui sont les fascistes? Feront-t-il seppukku de retour dans leur bureau?

Ces armes parlantes et cette devise font allusion au proverbe: Les principaux protagonistes en sont Alfred Marshall, pour la tradition anglo-saxonne, et sans aucun doute Leon Walras en Europe continentale. Interview de Jacob Cohen. Quousque tandem abutere, Corroiius, patientia nostra? Que peuvent bien contenir ces enregistrements? Le fantastique rendement de cette abominable machine: Or il ne nommait rien. Ce mot avait un sens, cependant, il ne nommait rien Quine. Maqam Bayati starts with a Bayati tetrachord on the first note, and a Nahawand [notre mode mineur] tetrachord on the 4 th note the dominant.

The secondary ajnas are the Ajam trichord on the 3 rd note, and another Ajam trichord on the 6 th note. These are often used in modulation. Les ajnas secondaires sont le trichord Ajam sur la note 3, et un autre trichord Ajam sur la note 6. Vous ne regretterez par votre argent. Craignez la vengeance du trotskiste: Ainsi il mourut au cours du bombardement. Vous noterez aussi la fine allusion: Il me disait toujours: Marianne va nous donner ces pages.

Mais sais-tu pourquoi, pauvre agneau innocent?