paris

Parisian Dream

To Constantin Guys

By Baudelaire

I

Of this fantastic landscape,

That no mortal ever dreams

This morning again the image,

Distant and vague, delights me.

Sleep is full of miracles!

… By a simple decision

I banned from the spectacles

All the wild vegetation,

And, proud of my creative genius,

my painting tasted like thus

An intoxicating uniform ether

Of steel, and marble and water.

Towers of stairs and arcades,

Were an infinite palace

Full of pools and waterfalls

Raining polished and matte gold;

And massive cataracts,

Like crystal curtains,

Were suspended, dazzling,

To thick high steel walls.

No trees, but colonnades

surrounded sleepy ponds

Where gigantic naiads,

Like women in mirrors, reflected.

Water expanded, blue,

Between pink and green jetties,

as long as millions of leagues,

To the ends of the universe:

They were precious stones

In magic waves, they were

Immense dazzling mirrors

For all that they reflected!

Carefree and reserved,

From the Rivers in the firmament,

Flowed the treasure inside their urns

Into abysses of diamonds.

Architect of my Fantasy,

I did, at will,

Under a tunnel of jewels

Pass a tamed ocean;

And everything, even the colour black,

Seemed polished, clear, iridescent;

The liquid enshrined its glory

In crystal rays.

No other star, no remnant

Of sun, even at the end of the sky,

To illuminate these wonders,

Which shone from their internal fires!

And on these evolving wonders

Hovered (fantastic creation!

Everything for the eye, nothing to hear!)

The silence of eternity.

II

Opening my eyes full of flame

I saw the horror of my hovel,

And felt, entering my soul,

The sword of cursed angsts;

The clock with its funereal stress

Brutally struck midday,

And the sky poured darkness

On this sad numb world.

- Charles Baudelaire

(Translation/Adaptation by Jules Letambour)

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