THE TEMPTATIONS; OR, EROS, PLUTUS, AND GLORY.

Last night two superb Satans and a She-devil not less extraordinary

ascended the mysterious stairway by which Hell gains access to the

frailty of sleeping man, and communes with him in secret. These three

postured gloriously before me, as though they had been upon a stage--and

a sulphurous splendour emanated from these beings who so disengaged

themselves from the opaque heart of the night. They bore with them so

proud a presence, and so full of mastery, that at first I took them for

three of the true Gods.

The first Satan, by his face, was a creature of doubtful sex. The

softness of an ancient Bacchus shone in the lines of his body. His

beautiful langourous eyes, of a tenebrous and indefinite colour, were

like violets still laden with the heavy tears of the storm; his

slightly-parted lips were like heated censers, from whence exhaled the

sweet savour of many perfumes; and each time he breathed, exotic

insects drew, as they fluttered, strength from the ardours of his

breath.

Twined about his tunic of purple stuff, in the manner of a cincture, was

an iridescent Serpent with lifted head and eyes like embers turned

sleepily towards him. Phials full of sinister fluids, alternating with

shining knives and instruments of surgery, hung from this living girdle.

He held in his right hand a flagon containing a luminous red fluid, and

inscribed with a legend in these singular words:

"DRINK OF THIS MY BLOOD: A PERFECT RESTORATIVE";

and in his left hand held a violin that without doubt served to sing his

pleasures and pains, and to spread abroad the contagion of his folly

upon the nights of the Sabbath.

From rings upon his delicate ankles trailed a broken chain of gold, and

when the burden of this caused him to bend his eyes towards the earth,

he would contemplate with vanity the nails of his feet, as brilliant and

polished as well-wrought jewels.

He looked at me with eyes inconsolably heartbroken and giving forth an

insidious intoxication, and cried in a chanting voice: "If thou wilt, if

thou wilt, I will make thee an overlord of souls; thou shalt be master

of living matter more perfectly than the sculptor is master of his clay;

thou shalt taste the pleasure, reborn without end, of obliterating

thyself in the self of another, and of luring other souls to lose

themselves in thine."

But I replied to him: "I thank thee. I only gain from this venture,

then, beings of no more worth than my poor self? Though remembrance

brings me shame indeed, I would forget nothing; and even before I

recognised thee, thou ancient monster, thy mysterious cutlery, thy

equivocal phials, and the chain that imprisons thy feet, were symbols

showing clearly enough the inconvenience of thy friendship. Keep thy

gifts."

The second Satan had neither the air at once tragical and smiling, the

lovely insinuating ways, nor the delicate and scented beauty of the

first. A gigantic man, with a coarse, eyeless face, his heavy paunch

overhung his hips and was gilded and pictured, like a tattooing, with a

crowd of little moving figures which represented the unnumbered forms of

universal misery. There were little sinew-shrunken men who hung

themselves willingly from nails; there were meagre gnomes, deformed and

under-sized, whose beseeching eyes begged an alms even more eloquently

than their trembling hands; there were old mothers who nursed clinging

abortions at their pendent breasts. And many others, even more

surprising.

This heavy Satan beat with his fist upon his immense belly, from whence

came a loud and resounding metallic clangour, which died away in a

sighing made by many human voices. And he smiled unrestrainedly, showing

his broken teeth--the imbecile smile of a man who has dined too freely.

Then the creature said to me:

"I can give thee that which gets all, which is worth all, which takes

the place of all." And he tapped his monstrous paunch, whence came a

sonorous echo as the commentary to his obscene speech. I turned away

with disgust and replied: "I need no man's misery to bring me happiness;

nor will I have the sad wealth of all the misfortunes pictured upon thy

skin as upon a tapestry."

As for the She-devil, I should lie if I denied that at first I found in

her a certain strange charm, which to define I can but compare to the

charm of certain beautiful women past their first youth, who yet seem to

age no more, whose beauty keeps something of the penetrating magic of

ruins. She had an air at once imperious and sordid, and her eyes, though

heavy, held a certain power of fascination. I was struck most by her

voice, wherein I found the remembrance of the most delicious contralti,

as well as a little of the hoarseness of a throat continually laved with

brandy.

"Wouldst thou know my power?" said the charming and paradoxical voice of

the false goddess. "Then listen." And she put to her mouth a gigantic

trumpet, enribboned, like a mirliton, with the titles of all the

newspapers in the world; and through this trumpet she cried my name so

that it rolled through space with the sound of a hundred thousand

thunders, and came re-echoing back to me from the farthest planet.

"Devil!" cried I, half tempted, "that at least is worth something." But

it vaguely struck me, upon examining the seductive virago more

attentively, that I had seen her clinking glasses with certain drolls of

my acquaintance, and her blare of brass carried to my ears I know not

what memory of a fanfare prostituted.

So I replied, with all disdain: "Get thee hence! I know better than wed

the light o' love of them that I will not name."

Truly, I had the right to be proud of a so courageous renunciation. But

unfortunately I awoke, and all my courage left me. "In truth," I said,

"I must have been very deeply asleep indeed to have had such scruples.

Ah, if they would but return while I am awake, I would not be so

delicate."

So I invoked the three in a loud voice, offering to dishonour myself as

often as necessary to obtain their favours; but I had without doubt too

deeply offended them, for they have never returned.

The Poems and Prose Poems of Charles Baudelaire with an Introductory Preface by James Huneker · 第 96 / 97 题