Baudelaire, Charles, 1821-1867 -- Translations into English; French literature -- Translations into English
I was travelling. The landscape in the midst of which I
was seated was of an irresistible grandeur and sublimity.
Something no doubt at that moment passed from it into my
soul. My thoughts fluttered with a lightness like that of the
atmosphere; vulgar passions, such as hate and profane love,
seemed to me now as far away as the clouds that floated in the
gulfs beneath my feet; my soul seemed to me as vast and pure
as the dome of the sky that enveloped me; the remembrance of
earthly things came as faintly to my heart as the thin tinkle
of the bells of unseen herds, browsing far, far away, on the
slope of another mountain. Across the little motionless lake,
black with the darkness of its immense depth, there passed
from time to time the shadow of a cloud, like the shadow of an
airy giant's cloak, flying through heaven. And I remember that
this rare and solemn sensation, caused by a vast and perfectly
silent movement, filled me with mingled joy and fear. In a
word, thanks to the enrapturing beauty about me, I felt that
I was at perfect peace with myself and with the universe; I
even believe that, in my complete forgetfulness of all earthly
evil, I had come to think the newspapers are right after all,
and man was born good; when, incorrigible matter renewing its
exigences, I sought to refresh the fatigue and satisfy the
appetite caused by so lengthy a climb. I took from my pocket
a large piece of bread, a leathern cup, and a small bottle
of a certain elixir which the chemists at that time sold to
tourists, to be mixed, on occasion, with liquid snow.
I was quietly cutting my bread when a slight noise made me
look up. I saw in front of me a little ragged urchin, dark
and dishevelled, whose hollow eyes, wild and supplicating,
devoured the piece of bread. And I heard him gasp, in a low,
hoarse voice, the word: "Cake!" I could not help laughing at
the appellation with which he thought fit to honour my nearly
white bread, and I cut off a big slice and offered it to him.
Slowly he came up to me, not taking his eyes from the coveted
object; then, snatching it out of my hand, he stepped quickly
back, as if he feared that my offer was not sincere, or that I
had already repented of it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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