# Le Rêve d'un curieux · The Dream of an Inquisitive Man

Les Fleurs du mal · Charles Baudelaire · Death

Source: https://1732studios.com/books/baudelaire/le-reve-d-un-curieux. Data: https://1732studios.com/books/baudelaire/le-reve-d-un-curieux.json.

**1** À Félix Nadar  
To Félix Nadar


**2** Connais-tu, comme moi, la douleur savoureuse  
Do you know, as I do, the savorous pain,
> Inversion for a question: «Connais-tu» is «tu connais» ('you know') with subject and verb inverted — the literary way to form a question, where everyday French would say «Est-ce que tu connais». «connaître» is 'to know' in the sense of being acquainted with something, as against «savoir» (to know a fact). The poem opens by turning to a confidant, «tu», and asking whether he too has felt this.
> «savoureux» — savorous: «savoureux» means 'tasty, full of savor, delicious' (from «saveur», 'flavor'). Paired with «la douleur» ('pain, grief') it makes a deliberate oxymoron — a pain one relishes. This taste for an exquisite, half-pleasurable suffering runs through the whole sonnet, which calls the same feeling «âpre et délicieuse» two stanzas on.

**3** Et de toi fais-tu dire: «Oh! l'homme singulier!»  
and do you make them say of you: "Oh! the singular man!"?
> «faire» + infinitive — the causative: «faire dire» is the causative «faire» + infinitive: 'to make (someone) say, to get (it) said'. With the inversion «fais-tu», the line asks 'do you make people say of you…'. «de toi» ('of you, about you') is what they are made to say — that you are «l'homme singulier», the strange, one-of-a-kind man set apart by this rare delight in pain.

**4** — J'allais mourir. C'était dans mon âme amoureuse  
— I was about to die. It was, in my enamored soul,
> «aller» + infinitive — the near future in the past: «j'allais mourir» uses the imperfect of «aller» ('to go') plus an infinitive to mean 'I was going to die, I was about to die' — the past counterpart of «je vais mourir» ('I am going to die'). The em-dash and the abrupt shift into narration mark the turn: the speaker stops questioning «tu» and begins to recount his own dying.

**5** Désir mêlé d'horreur, un mal particulier;  
a desire mixed with horror, a peculiar ailment;
> «le mal» — ailment, sickness: «un mal» here is an ailment or sickness (the same «mal» that titles Les Fleurs du mal, where it also means 'evil'). «particulier» means 'particular, peculiar, distinctive' — a malady unlike any other. It stands in apposition to «Désir mêlé d'horreur» ('desire mixed with horror'), naming that contradictory mingling as the disease itself.


**6** Angoisse et vif espoir, sans humeur factieuse.  
Anguish and keen hope, with no rebellious temper.
> «factieux» — seditious, rebellious: «factieux» means 'factious, seditious, mutinous' (from «faction»). «sans humeur factieuse» — 'with no rebellious temper' — says the dying man feels anguish and sharp hope but no urge to revolt against his fate. He awaits death the way the next stanza shows: not fighting it, but watching, curious, for what lies behind the curtain.

**7** Plus allait se vidant le fatal sablier,  
The more the fatal hourglass kept emptying,
> «Plus … plus …» — the more, the more: «Plus …, plus …» is the correlative 'the more …, the more …', spanning this line and the next: the more the hourglass empties, the more delicious the torture grows. «allait se vidant» combines «aller» with a present participle, an old, literary turn meaning 'kept emptying, went on emptying' — the sand draining slowly, in continuous motion.

**8** Plus ma torture était âpre et délicieuse;  
the more my torture was harsh and delicious;
> «âpre» — harsh, bitter: «âpre» means 'harsh, rough, bitter, acrid' — sharp on the tongue or to the senses. Yoked to «délicieuse» ('delicious, exquisite'), it completes the oxymoron set up by «la douleur savoureuse» in the first line: the agony is at once bitter and a delight, growing sweeter as the end nears.

**9** Tout mon coeur s'arrachait au monde familier.  
My whole heart was tearing itself from the familiar world.
> «s'arracher à» — to tear oneself from: «s'arracher» is the reflexive of «arracher» ('to tear out, to wrench away'): 'to tear oneself away'. With «à» it means 'to wrench oneself from' something. The imperfect «s'arrachait» shows the heart in the act of being torn, painfully and gradually, from «le monde familier» — the familiar, everyday world it is leaving behind.


**10** J'étais comme l'enfant avide du spectacle,  
I was like the child greedy for the show,
> «avide de» — greedy, eager for: «avide» means 'greedy, avid, hungry' and takes «de» for what one craves: «avide du spectacle», 'eager for the show, the spectacle'. The simile casts dying as a night at the theater — the speaker is the impatient child longing for the play to begin, which is what makes him a «curieux», an inquisitive man straining to see.

**11** Haïssant le rideau comme on hait un obstacle...  
hating the curtain as one hates an obstacle...
> «haïr» — to hate (present participle and «on»): «haïr» is 'to hate'; the diaeresis on «Haïssant» (present participle, 'hating') marks that the «a» and «i» are sounded separately. «comme on hait un obstacle» — 'as one hates an obstacle' — uses the impersonal «on» ('one, people') for a general truth. The «rideau» (theater curtain) is the only thing in the way of the longed-for spectacle of death.

**12** Enfin la vérité froide se révéla:  
At last the cold truth revealed itself:
> «se révéler» in the passé simple: «se révéler» is the reflexive 'to reveal itself, to be revealed'; «se révéla» is its passé simple — the literary past tense of a single, decisive event. «Enfin» ('at last') and the colon hold the breath for the disclosure to come: after all the eager waiting, the «vérité froide» (cold truth) finally shows its face.


**13** J'étais mort sans surprise, et la terrible aurore  
I was dead without surprise, and the terrible dawn
> «l'aurore» — dawn: «l'aurore» is the dawn, daybreak — usually a hopeful image, here made «terrible» ('dreadful, awe-inspiring'). The light that breaks over the newly dead is not the soft glow of a curtain rising on a play but a cold, appalling daybreak, the first thing the «curieux» sees once death's veil is gone.

**14** M'enveloppait. — Eh quoi! n'est-ce donc que cela?  
wrapped me round. — What! is it then only this?
> «ne … que» — only, nothing but: «ne … que» is the restrictive 'only, nothing but': «n'est-ce que cela» = 'is it only this?'. «donc» ('then, so') sharpens the disbelief. After a lifetime of curiosity about death, the great revelation is a flat anticlimax — the dead man finds nothing, no spectacle at all, only this.

**15** La toile était levée et j'attendais encore.  
The curtain was raised, and I was still waiting.
> «la toile» — the (stage) curtain: «la toile» is literally 'cloth, canvas', and in the theater 'the curtain, the drop-cloth'; «lever la toile» is to raise the curtain and begin the play. The final irony lands here: the curtain is already up — death has arrived, the show should have begun — yet «j'attendais encore», 'I was still waiting'. There was nothing behind it to see.

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Source text: public domain (Charles Baudelaire, d. 1867). English translation: © 2026 1732 Studios, LLC — original draft, pending editorial review.