The Flowers of Evil 1732 Studios

French · Wine

Le Vin de l'assassin

The Murderer's Wine

52 lines · 25 notes

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  1. 1

    My wife is dead, I am free!

    Mamymon · determiner, feminine, singulardeterminer of femme
    femmewifefemme · noun, feminine, singularsubject of morte
    estisêtre · auxiliary verb, present, indicative, third-person, singularcopula linking to morte
    mortedeadmort · adjective, feminine, singularpredicate complement of est
    jeIje · pronoun, singularsubject of suis
    suisamêtre · auxiliary verb, present, indicative, first-person, singularcopula linking to libre
    librefreelibre · adjective, singularhead of the phrase
  2. 2

    So now I can drink my fill.

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    When I would come home without a penny,

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    her screaming tore me to the core.

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    As happy as a king am I;

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    the air is pure, the sky sublime...

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    We had a summer just like this

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    when I first fell in love with her!

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    The horrible thirst that rends me

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    would need, in order to be slaked,

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    as much wine as could be held

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    by her tomb; — and that is saying plenty:

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    I threw her down to the bottom of a well,

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    and I even shoved down on top of her

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    all the paving-stones of the well's rim.

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    — I will forget her if I can!

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    In the name of the vows of tenderness,

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    from which nothing can release us,

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    and so as to reconcile us

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    as in the fair days of our drunkenness,

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    I begged of her a rendezvous,

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    in the evening, on a darkened road.

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    She came there — the mad creature!

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    We are all of us more or less mad!

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    She was still pretty,

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    though very worn out! and I,

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    I loved her too much! that is why

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    I said to her: Get out of this life!

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    No one can understand me. Has a single one,

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    among these stupid drunkards,

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    ever dreamed, in his morbid nights,

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    of making a shroud out of wine?

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    This invulnerable rabble,

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    like the engines of iron,

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    never, neither in summer nor in winter,

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    has known true love,

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    with its black enchantments,

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    its infernal train of alarms,

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    its vials of poison, its tears,

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    its noise of chains and of bones!

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    — Here I am, free and alone!

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    Tonight I will be dead drunk;

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    then, without fear and without remorse,

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    I will lie down upon the ground,

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    and I will sleep like a dog!

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    The cart with its heavy wheels,

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    loaded with stones and with mud,

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    the raging wagon may well

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    crush my guilty head

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    or cut me in two at the middle,

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    I care no more than I do for God,

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    for the Devil, or the Holy Table!

The particulars

The text
Les Fleurs du mal, Charles Baudelaire. Wine.
Translation
Public-domain French (Baudelaire, d. 1867). English translation © 2026 1732 Studios, LLC.
Words
Every word of the text, by letter.
Data
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