Buku Maldoror (Les Chants de Maldoror) by Conte De Lautreamont

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Maldoror (Les Chants de Maldoror) by Conte De Lautreamont

Author:Conte De Lautreamont [Lautréamont]

Language: eng

Format: epub

ISBN: e9780811225441

Publisher: New Directions

Published: 2015-07-10T16:00:00+00:00

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Maldoror (Les Chants de Maldoror) by Conte De Lautreamont

A gibbet rose from the ground. A man was suspended from it by his hair, his hands tied behind his back. His legs had been left free to increase his torments and make him wish for anything rather than the binding of his arms. The skin of his forehead was so stretched by the weight of the hanging that his face, condemned by the circumstances to the absence of its natural expression, resembled the stony concretion of a stalactite. For three days he had suffered this torture. He cried out:

“Who will untie my arms? Who will untie my hair? I disjoint myself in movements that do nothing but drag the roots out of my scalp all the more. Hunger and thirst are not the chief causes of my inability to sleep. It is impossible that my existence should be prolonged beyond the limits of another hour. Someone come and slit open my throat with a sharp stone!”

Each word was preceded and followed by intense shrieks. I rushed forward from the bushes where I was taking shelter and hastened towards the puppet or flitch of bacon attached to the gibbet. But from the opposite direction two drunken women came dancing. One carried a sack and two whips with leaden lashes, the other a barrel full of tar and two brushes. The greying hair of the elder woman floated on the wind like the rags of a tom veil, and the feet of the other clattered like the tail of a tuna on a ship’s poop-deck. Their eyes shone with a flame so strong and black that I thought at first these two women did not belong to my own species. They were laughing with so egotistical a self-possession, and their features inspired so much repugnance, that I doubted not for a single moment that I was face to face with two of the most hideous specimens of the human race. I re-concealed myself behind the bushes and kept silent like the acantophorus serraticornis, which shows only its head outside its nest. The women approached with the swiftness of a flood. Applying my ear to the ground I distinctly perceived the sound of the lyrical concussion of their tread.

 

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Maldoror (Les Chants de Maldoror) by Conte De Lautreamont

Author:Conte De Lautreamont [Lautréamont] , Date: July 11, 2019

,Views: 29

Author:Conte De Lautreamont [Lautréamont]

Language: eng

Format: epub

ISBN: e9780811225441

Publisher: New Directions

Published: 2015-07-10T16:00:00+00:00
A gibbet rose from the ground. A man was suspended from it by his hair, his hands tied behind his back. His legs had been left free to increase his torments and make him wish for anything rather than the binding of his arms. The skin of his forehead was so stretched by the weight of the hanging that his face, condemned by the circumstances to the absence of its natural expression, resembled the stony concretion of a stalactite. For three days he had suffered this torture. He cried out:

“Who will untie my arms? Who will untie my hair? I disjoint myself in movements that do nothing but drag the roots out of my scalp all the more. Hunger and thirst are not the chief causes of my inability to sleep. It is impossible that my existence should be prolonged beyond the limits of another hour. Someone come and slit open my throat with a sharp stone!”

Each word was preceded and followed by intense shrieks. I rushed forward from the bushes where I was taking shelter and hastened towards the puppet or flitch of bacon attached to the gibbet. But from the opposite direction two drunken women came dancing. One carried a sack and two whips with leaden lashes, the other a barrel full of tar and two brushes. The greying hair of the elder woman floated on the wind like the rags of a tom veil, and the feet of the other clattered like the tail of a tuna on a ship’s poop-deck. Their eyes shone with a flame so strong and black that I thought at first these two women did not belong to my own species. They were laughing with so egotistical a self-possession, and their features inspired so much repugnance, that I doubted not for a single moment that I was face to face with two of the most hideous specimens of the human race. I re-concealed myself behind the bushes and kept silent like the acantophorus serraticornis, which shows only its head outside its nest. The women approached with the swiftness of a flood. Applying my ear to the ground I distinctly perceived the sound of the lyrical concussion of their tread.

When the two female orang-outangs arrived beneath the gibbet they sniffed at the air for a few seconds. They showed by their exaggerated gestures the really remarkable amount of stupefaction which resulted from their experience when they became aware that nothing had changed here: the arrival of death, according to their desires, had not occurred. They had not deigned to raise their heads to see if the boloney was still in the same place. One of them said:

“Is it possible that you are still breathing? You have nine lives, my beloved husband.”

As when two choristers in a cathedral intone alternately the verses of a psalm, the second woman replied:

“So you won’t die, my gracious son? Tell me what you did (surely some witchcraft) to scare away the vultures? Indeed, your carcase has grown so thin! The breeze swings it like a lantern.

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