' Les fleurs du mal ' by Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)
' Les fleurs du mal ' Avec une étude sur la vie et les , 1917
by Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)
ıllustrated by Tony -George Roux
Gravur by CH. Clement
還有 10 張
Musa Emektr 在 Tony-George Roux (1894-1928) 相簿中新增了 14 張相片。
' Les fleurs du mal ' Avec une étude sur la vie et les , 1917
by Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)
ıllustrated by Tony -George Roux
Gravur by CH. Clement
https://archive.org/deta…/lesfleursdumalav00bauduoft/page/n9
Max Retallack
Carlos Schwabe : Remorse : The Flowers of Evil
http://fleursdumal.org/
FleursDuMal.org
Fleursdumal.org is dedicated to the French poet Charles Baudelaire (1821 - 1867), and in particular to Les Fleurs du mal (Flowers of Evil). The definitive online edition of this masterwork of French literature, Fleursdumal.org contains every poem of each edition of Les Fleurs du mal, together with multiple English translations — most of which are exclusive to this site and are now available in digital form for the first time ever.
QuickStart. If you're new to Baudelaire, or if you're not interested in the nuances of the various editions of the Flowers of Evil, you should browse poems using the 1861 Table of Contents. This is the definitive edition of Les Fleurs du mal and contains most everything the casual browser would want to read, except perhaps the "condemned poems" which you can find in Les Épaves (scraps).
The advanced reader of Baudelaire will want to take advantage of the different ways to view the poems that make up Les Fleurs du mal.
» 1857 Table of Contents
This was the first edition of Les Fleurs du mal and contained a hundred poems written in the 1840s and 1850s. (Note that this table of contents reflects the original order of the 1857 edition. However, the French poems to which it links are the later "definitive" versions of the poems published in 1861.)
» 1861 Table of Contents
This second edition contained thirty-five additional poems and the new "Tableaux parisiens" section. However, it lacked the six poems censored from the first edition.
» 1866 Les Épaves
While living in Brussels, Baudelaire and his publisher decided to put out this collection of "scraps" containing a miscellany of poems. Most important, it included the six poems censored from the first edition of Les Fleurs du mal, which were illegal to publish in France until the 1940s.
» 1868 Table of Contents
This edition of Les Fleurs du mal was prepared after Baudelaire's death by two of his friends. Modern scholars reject this version because they question some of the changes the friends made. Preference is therefore given to the last version overseen by Baudelaire himself, which was the 1861 edition.
All of the tables of contents give the titles in French, with literal English translations of the titles in smaller type. Please note that Supervert has made every effort to be accurate in handling Baudelaire's poetry. If you happen to notice any errors, no matter how small, please let us know.
http://fleursdumal.org/1861-table-of-contents
Charles Baudelaire. THE POEMS AND PROSE POEMS. THE CORPSE.幾種中文本 巴黎的憂鬱
THE POEMS AND PROSE POEMS
OF
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE
WITH AN INTRODUCTORY PREFACE BY
JAMES HUNEKER
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
PUBLISHERS
1919
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE by James Huneker
THE FLOWERS OF EVIL
The Dance of Death
The Beacons
The Sadness of the Moon
Exotic Perfume
Beauty
The Balcony
The Sick Muse
The Venal Muse
The Evil Monk
The Temptation
The Irreparable
A Former Life
Don Juan in Hades
The Living Flame
Correspondences
The Flask
Reversibility
The Eyes of Beauty
Sonnet of Autumn
The Remorse of the Dead
The Ghost
To a Madonna
The Sky
Spleen
The Owls
Bien Loin D'Ici
Music
Contemplation
To a Brown Beggar-maid
The Swan
The Seven Old Men
The Little Old Women
A Madrigal of Sorrow
The Ideal
Mist and Rain
Sunset
The Corpse
An Allegory
The Accursed
La Beatrice
The Soul of Wine
The Wine of Lovers
The Death of Lovers
The Death of The Poor
The Benediction
Gypsies Travelling
Franciscæ Meæ Laudes
Robed in a Silken Robe
A Landscape
The Voyage
LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE 巴黎的憂鬱
The Stranger
Every Man His Chimæra
Venus and the Fool
Intoxication
The Gifts of the Moon
The Invitation to the Voyage
What Is Truth?
Already!
The Double Chamber
At One O'clock in the Morning
The Confiteor of the Artist
The Thyrsus
The Marksman
THe Shooting-range and the Cemetery
The Desire to Paint
The Glass-Vendor
The Widows
The Temptations; or, Eros, Plutus, and Glory
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/36287/36287-h/36287-h.htm
THE THYRSUS.
TO FRANZ LISZT.
What is a thyrsus? According to the moral and poetical sense, it is a sacerdotal emblem in the hand of the priests or priestesses celebrating the divinity of whom they are the interpreters and servants. But physically it is no more than a baton, a pure staff, a hop-pole, a vine-prop; dry, straight, and hard. Around this baton, in capricious meanderings, stems and flowers twine and wanton; these, sinuous and fugitive; those, hanging like bells or inverted cups. And an astonishing complexity disengages itself from this complexity of tender or brilliant lines and colours. Would not one suppose that the curved line and the spiral pay their court to the straight line, and twine about it in a mute adoration? Would not one say that all these delicate corollæ, all these calices, explosions of odours and colours, execute a mystical dance around the hieratic staff? And what imprudent mortal will dare to decide whether the flowers and the vine branches have been made for the baton, or whether the baton is not but a pretext to set forth the beauty of the vine branches and the flowers?
The thyrsus is the symbol of your astonishing duality, O powerful and venerated master, dear bacchanal of a mysterious and impassioned Beauty. Never a nymph excited by the mysterious Dionysius shook her thyrsus over the heads of her companions with as much energy as your genius trembles in the hearts of your brothers. The baton is your will: erect, firm, unshakeable; the flowers are the wanderings of your fancy around it: the feminine element encircling the masculine with her illusive dance. Straight line and arabesque—intention and expression—the rigidity of the will and the suppleness of the word—a variety of means united for a single purpose—the all-powerful and indivisible amalgam that is genius—what analyst will have the detestable courage to divide or to separate you?
Dear Liszt, across the fogs, beyond the flowers, in towns where the pianos chant your glory, where the printing-house translates your wisdom; in whatever place you be, in the splendour of the Eternal City or among the fogs of the dreamy towns that Cambrinus consoles; improvising rituals of delight or ineffable pain, or giving to paper your abstruse meditations; singer of eternal pleasure and pain, philosopher, poet, and artist, I offer you the salutation of immortality!
****
THE CORPSE.
Remember, my Beloved, what thing we metBy the roadside on that sweet summer day;
There on a grassy couch with pebbles set,
A loathsome body lay.
The wanton limbs stiff-stretched into the air,
Steaming with exhalations vile and dank,
In ruthless cynic fashion had laid bare
The swollen side and flank.
On this decay the sun shone hot from heaven
As though with chemic heat to broil and burn,
And unto Nature all that she had given
A hundredfold return.
The sky smiled down upon the horror there
As on a flower that opens to the day;
So awful an infection smote the air,
Almost you swooned away.
The swarming flies hummed on the putrid side,
Whence poured the maggots in a darkling stream,
That ran along these tatters of life's pride
With a liquescent gleam.
And like a wave the maggots rose and fell,
The murmuring flies swirled round in busy strife:
It seemed as though a vague breath came to swell
And multiply with life
The hideous corpse. From all this living world
A music as of wind and water ran,
Or as of grain in rhythmic motion swirled
By the swift winnower's fan.
And then the vague forms like a dream died out,
Or like some distant scene that slowly falls
Upon the artist's canvas, that with doubt
He only half recalls.
A homeless dog behind the boulders lay
And watched us both with angry eyes forlorn,
Waiting a chance to come and take away
The morsel she had torn.
And you, even you, will be like this drear thing,
A vile infection man may not endure;
Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring!
O passionate and pure!
Yes, such will you be, Queen of every grace!
When the last sacramental words are said;
And beneath grass and flowers that lovely face
Moulders among the dead.
Then, O Beloved, whisper to the worm
That crawls up to devour you with a kiss,
That I still guard in memory the dear form
Of love that comes to this!
**
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