The Flowers of Evil 1732 Studios

French · Spleen and Ideal

J'aime le souvenir de ces époques nues

I love the memory of those naked ages

40 lines · 18 notes

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    I love the memory of those naked ages,

    J'Ije · pronoun, singularsubject of aime
    aimeloveaimer · verb, present, indicative, first-person, singularmain verb of the sentence
    lethele · determiner, masculine, singulardeterminer of souvenir
    souvenirmemorysouvenir · noun, masculine, singulardirect object of aime
    deofde · prepositionpreposition marking époques
    cesthosece · determiner, pluraldeterminer of époques
    époquesagesépoque · noun, feminine, pluralmodifies souvenir
    nuesnakednu · adjective, feminine, pluralmodifies époques
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    whose statues Phoebus took pleasure in gilding.

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    Then man and woman, in their agility,

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    took their pleasure without lie and without anxiety,

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    and, the loving sky caressing their spines,

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    they exercised the health of their noble engine.

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    Cybele then, fertile in generous yields,

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    did not find her sons too onerous a burden,

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    but, a she-wolf with heart swollen with shared tendernesses,

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    she watered the whole universe at her brown teats.

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    Man, elegant, robust, and strong, had the right

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    to be proud of the beauties who named him their king;

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    Fruits pure of all outrage and virgin of cracks,

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    whose smooth, firm flesh invited the bite!

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    The Poet today, when he wishes to conceive

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    those native grandeurs, in the places where there are shown

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    the nakedness of man and that of woman,

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    feels a tenebrous cold envelop his soul

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    before this black picture full of dread.

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    O monstrosities weeping for their clothing!

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    O ridiculous trunks! torsos fit for masks!

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    O poor bodies twisted, scrawny, potbellied or flabby,

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    whom the god of the Useful, implacable and serene,

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    swaddled as children in his swaddling-bands of bronze!

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    And you, women, alas! pale as altar candles,

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    whom debauchery gnaws and feeds at once, and you, virgins,

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    dragging the heredity of your mothers' vice

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    and all the hideousnesses of fecundity!

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    We have, it is true, corrupted nations that we are,

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    beauties unknown to the ancient peoples:

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    faces eaten away by the cankers of the heart,

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    and, as one might say, beauties of languor;

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    But these inventions of our belated muses

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    will never prevent our sickly races

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    from rendering deep homage to youth,

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    — to holy youth, with its simple air, its gentle brow,

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    to the eye limpid and clear as running water,

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    and which goes scattering over everything, carefree,

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    like the blue of the sky, the birds, and the flowers,

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    its perfumes, its songs, and its sweet warmths!

The particulars

The text
Les Fleurs du mal, Charles Baudelaire. Spleen and Ideal.
Translation
Public-domain French (Baudelaire, d. 1867). English translation © 2026 1732 Studios, LLC.
Words
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Data
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Two whoopie pies and a pine. An inside joke.