French · Flowers of Evil

La Béatrice

The Beatrice

30 lines · 21 notes

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1
In ashen lands, burnt black and bare of green,
Dansindans · prepositionpreposition marking terrains
dessomeun · determiner, pluraldeterminer of terrains
terrainslandsterrain · noun, masculine, pluralhead of the phrase
cendreuxashencendreux · adjective, masculine, pluralmodifies terrains
calcinésburntcalciner · verb, past, participle, masculine, pluralmodifies terrains
sanswithoutsans · prepositionpreposition marking verdure
verduregreeneryverdure · noun, feminine, singularobject of sans, modifying terrains
Wordcalciné «calciné» = 'charred, calcined, burnt to ash', the past participle of «calciner». It pairs with «cendreux» ('ashen') and «sans verdure» ('without greenery') to build a scorched, lifeless waste — a hellscape of cinders before the poem's vision begins. The three adjectives all agree with the plural «terrains» ('grounds, plots of land').
2
As one day I was complaining to nature,
GrammarPronominal «se plaindre» «se plaindre» is the pronominal verb 'to complain, to lament', here in the imperfect «je me plaignais» ('I was complaining'). The reflexive «me» is part of the verb's fixed form, not a separate object. Construed with «à» it means 'to complain to' someone — the poet pours out his grievance «à la nature». The «Comme» opening means 'As / Just as', setting the scene in time.
3
And while, with my thought wandering at random,
Grammar«Et que» — repeating the «Comme» «que» here picks up and continues the «Comme» ('As') of the line before, so the clause reads 'and as / and while…'. French often replaces a repeated conjunction with «que» to avoid saying «Comme» twice. «en vaguant» is the gerund of «vaguer» ('to wander, roam'), an old, literary verb: 'while wandering at random' («au hasard»).
4
I slowly whetted the dagger upon my heart,
Wordaiguiser «aiguiser» = 'to sharpen, whet (a blade)', in the imperfect «j'aiguisais» ('I was sharpening / kept sharpening'). The image is grim and self-wounding: the poet hones «le poignard» ('the dagger') of his own thought «sur mon coeur» — against, and upon, his own heart. The inversion places the verb and adverb before the object, holding back «le poignard» to the line's end.
5
I saw, in broad noon, descend upon my head
GrammarPast historic + infinitive of perception «vis» is the «passé simple» (past historic) of «voir», 'I saw' — the literary narrative tense. «voir descendre» is the perception-verb-plus-infinitive pattern: 'to see (something) descend'. The thing seen, «un nuage funèbre», is delayed to the next line, so the eye watches it falling before it is named. «en plein midi» = 'in the middle of noon, in broad daylight'.
6
A funereal cloud, swollen with a storm,
Word«gros de» — swollen / pregnant with «gros de» is an idiom meaning 'swollen with, big with, pregnant with' — the cloud is «gros d'une tempête», heavy and about to burst with a storm. «funèbre» = 'funereal, mournful, of death'. Together they make the noon sky go black, as if a hearse-cloud were lowering over the poet's head.
7
Which bore a herd of vicious demons,
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Like cruel and inquisitive dwarves.
Wordcurieux — prying, not just curious «curieux» means 'curious' but leans here toward 'prying, inquisitive, nosy' — the demons are «cruels et curieux», cruel and avid to gawk. «Semblables à» = 'similar to, like', agreeing with the plural «démons». The simile shrinks the tormentors to «des nains» ('dwarves'), small and spiteful gawkers rather than grand devils.
9
They set themselves to eye me coldly,
Grammar«se mettre à» in the past historic «ils se mirent» is the «passé simple» of pronominal «se mettre», and «se mettre à + infinitive» means 'to begin to, to set about (doing)'. Read with the fronted «À me considérer froidement» it gives 'they set about coldly studying me'. Don't confuse this «mirent» (from «mettre») with «se mirer» ('to look at oneself in a mirror'); the «à» before the infinitive is the giveaway.
10
And, like passers-by over a madman they marvel at,
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I heard them laugh and whisper among themselves,
12
Exchanging many a sign and many a wink of the eyes:
Word«maint» — many a «maint» is a literary, archaic-flavored adjective meaning 'many a', used without an article: «maint signe» = 'many a sign'. Repeating it («maint… et maint…») heaps up the gestures. «un clignement d'yeux» = 'a blink, a wink of the eyes'; the demons trade knowing signs and winks like gossips. «En échangeant» is the gerund, 'while exchanging'.
13
— "Let us contemplate at leisure this caricature
GrammarFirst-person plural imperative «Contemplons» is the «nous» imperative of «contempler»: 'Let us contemplate / behold'. The em-dash and «guillemets» («…») open the demons' speech, which runs to the end of the stanza. «à loisir» = 'at leisure, at one's ease' — they invite one another to take their unhurried time mocking the poet, here belittled as «cette caricature».
14
And this shade of Hamlet mimicking his stance,
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His gaze irresolute and his hair in the wind.
16
Is it not a great pity to see this bon vivant,
Grammar«grand'pitié» — an old elided spelling «grand'pitié» (with an apostrophe) is the older orthography of «grande pitié», 'great pity'. In medieval and classical French «grand» kept one form before feminine nouns, and the apostrophe later marked the supposedly 'missing' e. «N'est-ce pas… de voir…?» = 'Is it not… to see…?', a rhetorical question. «ce bon vivant» names the poet as a 'bon vivant', one who loves life's pleasures — said here with a sneer.
17
This beggar, this idle ham-actor, this rascal,
Wordun histrion «un histrion» is a contemptuous word for a 'ham actor, ranting player, mountebank' (from Latin histrio). «en vacances» literally 'on holiday', i.e. 'idle, out of work'. The line piles up scorn in three appositives — «ce gueux» ('this beggar/wretch'), «cet histrion en vacances», «ce drôle» ('this rogue, scamp') — each a name the demons fling at the poet.
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Because he knows how to play his part artfully,
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Wanting to interest, with the song of his sorrows,
GrammarThe infinitive that completes «de voir» This bare infinitive «Vouloir» ('to want') hangs from «N'est-ce pas grand'pitié de voir… ce bon vivant… Vouloir…» four lines back: 'is it not a pity to see this man… want to…'. French can stack such infinitives across many lines. «intéresser X à Y» = 'to interest X in Y' — the poet wants to make «les aigles, les grillons…» (next line) care for «le chant de ses douleurs», the song of his griefs.
20
The eagles, the crickets, the brooks and the flowers,
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And even us, authors of these old rubrics,
Wordles rubriques — set tricks of the trade «une rubrique» is literally a 'heading, rubric' (the red title in old manuscripts), but figuratively a 'stock device, well-worn trick'. The demons call themselves «auteurs de ces vieilles rubriques» — the seasoned 'authors' of these tired theatrical routines, claiming they invented every pose of suffering the poet now apes. «même à nous» = 'even to us'.
22
Recite, howling, his public tirades?"
GrammarSecond infinitive + gerund «en hurlant» «Réciter» ('to recite') is a second infinitive governed by «Vouloir», so 'wanting to interest… and to recite'. «en hurlant» is the gerund of «hurler» ('to howl, yell'), meaning 'while howling, by bellowing'. «tirades publiques» = 'public tirades', long declaimed speeches — the demons close their taunt by accusing the poet of bawling his sorrows aloud like a street-corner tragedian. The «guillemets» and «?» shut the quoted speech.
23
I could have (my pride as high as the mountains
GrammarConditional perfect «j'aurais pu» «j'aurais pu» is the conditional perfect of «pouvoir»: 'I could have, I would have been able to'. Its action — «Détourner… ma tête souveraine» ('to turn aside my sovereign head') — waits two lines down, the long parenthesis «(mon orgueil… des démons)» pushing between. The whole sentence sets up a defiance the poet almost manages: he could have ignored them, were it not for what he sees next.
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Towers over the storm-cloud and the demons' cry)
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Simply have turned away my sovereign head,
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Had I not seen, among their obscene troop,
GrammarPluperfect subjunctive «n'eusse pas vu» «n'eusse pas vu» is the pluperfect (second-form) subjunctive of «voir» — a literary tense that stands in for the «si»-clause of a past unreal condition, 'if I had not seen'. In ordinary speech this would be «si je n'avais pas vu». Paired with the conditional perfect «J'aurais pu», it makes the classic contrary-to-fact frame: 'I could have turned away… had I not seen…'. The «pas» splits around the auxiliary «eusse».
27
A crime that did not make the sun reel!
Wordfaire chanceler «chanceler» = 'to totter, stagger, reel'; «faire chanceler le soleil» = 'to make the sun stagger'. The line is an outraged aside — that such a betrayal did NOT shake the sun from its course is itself the scandal. «Crime qui…» stands in apposition to the horror the poet is about to name, the relative «qui» ('that, which') marking it as the very deed seen in the line above.
28
The queen of my heart with her peerless gaze
Wordnonpareil — peerless «nonpareil» = 'matchless, peerless, beyond compare' (literally 'not-equal'). «au regard nonpareil» uses «à» to mean 'with, having' a feature — 'the one with the peerless gaze', the Beatrice of the title. The naming of «la reine de mon coeur» ('the queen of my heart') is the crime withheld since «Crime qui…»: the beloved herself stands among the jeering demons.
29
Who laughed with them at my dark distress
Grammar«rire de» — to laugh at «rire de quelque chose» = 'to laugh AT something' (not 'with' it). Here «Qui riait avec eux de ma sombre détresse» means 'who laughed, along with them, at my dark distress' — «avec eux» ('with them, the demons') is her company, «de ma… détresse» her target. The imperfect «riait» ('was laughing, kept laughing') stretches the betrayal across the moment.
30
And now and then lavished on them some foul caress.
Wordverser — to pour, lavish «verser» literally 'to pour'; figuratively 'to bestow, lavish'. «leur versait… quelque sale caresse» = 'poured / lavished on them some foul caress', the indirect object «leur» ('to/on them') being the demons. «sale» literally 'dirty', here 'foul, vile, sordid'. The closing image — the beloved dispensing dirty caresses to the poet's tormentors — is the final, deliberate degradation the poem builds toward.

The particulars

The text: Les Fleurs du mal, Charles Baudelaire. Flowers of Evil.
Words: Every word of the text, by letter.
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