The Flowers of Evil 1732 Studios

French · Spleen and Ideal

Un Fantôme

A Phantom

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    I The Shadows

    III · roman numeralsection number
    Lesthele · determiner, pluraldeterminer of Ténèbres
    TénèbresShadowsténèbres · noun, feminine, pluralhead of the phrase (title)
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    In the vaults of unfathomable sadness

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    where Destiny has already banished me;

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    where never enters a ray rosy and gay;

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    where, alone with Night, that sullen hostess,

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    I am like a painter whom a mocking God

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    condemns to paint, alas! upon the shadows;

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    where, a cook with funereal appetites,

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    I boil and I eat my own heart,

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    At moments there gleams, and stretches, and spreads

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    a spectre made of grace and splendor.

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    By its dreamy oriental bearing,

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    when it attains its total grandeur,

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    I recognize my beautiful visitor:

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    It is She! dark and yet luminous.

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    II The Perfume

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    Reader, have you sometimes breathed in,

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    with intoxication and slow greed,

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    that grain of incense which fills a church,

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    or, from a sachet, the inveterate musk?

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    Deep, magical charm, with which there intoxicates us

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    in the present the restored past!

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    Thus the lover, on an adored body,

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    plucks from memory the exquisite flower.

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    From her hair, springy and heavy,

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    a living sachet, a censer of the alcove,

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    a scent would rise, savage and wild,

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    And from her clothes, muslin or velvet,

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    all steeped in her pure youth,

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    there breathed forth a perfume of fur.

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    III The Frame

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    As a fine frame adds to a painting,

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    though it be by a much-praised brush,

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    an I-know-not-what of strangeness and enchantment,

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    by isolating it from the immense expanse of nature,

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    so jewels, furniture, metals, gilding,

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    fitted themselves exactly to her rare beauty;

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    nothing dimmed her perfect brightness,

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    and everything seemed to serve her as a border.

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    One might even have said at times that she believed

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    that everything longed to love her; she drowned

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    her nakedness voluptuously

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    in the kisses of satin and of linen,

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    and, slow or abrupt, with each movement

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    she showed the childlike grace of the monkey.

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    IV The Portrait

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    Sickness and Death make ashes

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    of all the fire that blazed for us.

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    Of those great eyes so fervent and so tender,

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    of that mouth where my heart drowned,

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    Of those kisses potent as a balm,

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    of those raptures more vivid than sunbeams,

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    what remains? It is dreadful, O my soul!

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    Nothing but a very pale drawing, in three crayons,

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    which, like me, is dying in solitude,

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    and which Time, that insulting old man,

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    each day rubs away with his coarse wing...

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    Black assassin of Life and of Art,

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    you will never kill within my memory

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    her who was my pleasure and my glory!

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.