The Flowers of Evil 1732 Studios

French · Flowers of Evil

Une Martyre

A Martyr

61 lines · 33 notes

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    Drawing by an unknown Master

    DessinDrawingdessin · noun, masculine, singularhead of the phrase
    d'byde · prepositionpreposition marking Maître
    unanun · determiner, masculine, singulardeterminer of Maître
    MaîtreMastermaître · noun, masculine, singularobject of d', modifies Dessin
    inconnuunknowninconnu · adjective, masculine, singularmodifies Maître
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    Amid the phials, the lamé fabrics

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    and the voluptuous furnishings,

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    marbles, paintings, perfumed gowns

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    that trail in sumptuous folds,

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    In a warm chamber where, as in a hothouse,

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    the air is dangerous and deadly,

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    where dying bouquets, in their coffins of glass,

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    breathe out their final sigh,

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    A headless corpse pours out, like a river,

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    onto the slaked pillow

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    a red and living blood, on which the linen drinks

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    with the greed of a meadow.

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    Like the pale visions that the shadow breeds

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    and that fetter our eyes,

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    the head, with the mass of its dark mane

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    and its precious jewels,

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    on the night table, like a buttercup,

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    rests; and, empty of thoughts,

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    a gaze vague and white as the twilight

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    escapes from the rolled-back eyes.

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    On the bed, the naked trunk, without scruple, spreads out

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    in the most complete abandon

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    the secret splendor and the fatal beauty

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    with which nature endowed her;

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    A pinkish stocking, trimmed with gold clocks, on the leg,

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    has stayed on, like a keepsake;

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    the garter, just like a secret eye that blazes,

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    darts a diamonded glance.

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    The singular aspect of this solitude

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    and of a great languorous portrait,

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    with eyes as provoking as her posture,

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    reveals a shadowy love,

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    a guilty joy and strange revels

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    full of infernal kisses,

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    in which the swarm of evil angels delighted,

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    swimming in the folds of the curtains;

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    And yet, to see the elegant leanness

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    of the shoulder with its abrupt contour,

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    the slightly pointed hip and the dashing waist

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    like an angry reptile,

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    she is still quite young! — Her exasperated soul

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    and her senses bitten by ennui

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    had they half-opened to the thirsting pack

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    of wandering and lost desires?

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    The vengeful man whom you could not, while living,

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    despite so much love, satisfy,

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    did he glut, upon your inert and yielding flesh,

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    the immensity of his desire?

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    Answer, impure corpse! and by your stiff tresses

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    lifting you with a feverish arm,

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    tell me, frightful head, did he, on your cold teeth,

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    pressed the supreme farewells?

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    — Far from the mocking world, far from the impure crowd,

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    far from the prying magistrates,

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    sleep in peace, sleep in peace, strange creature,

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    in your mysterious tomb;

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    Your husband roams the world, and your immortal form

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    keeps watch beside him when he sleeps;

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    as much as you, no doubt, he will be faithful to you,

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    and constant unto death.

The particulars

The text
Les Fleurs du mal, Charles Baudelaire. Flowers of Evil.
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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