once, if my memory serves me well, my life was a banquet where every heart revealed itself, where every wine flowed.
One evening I took Beauty in my arms-- and I thought her bitter-- and I insulted her.
I steeled myself against justice.
I fled. O witches, O misery, O hate, my treasure was left in your care...
I have withered within me all human hope. With the silent leap of a sullen beast, I have downed and strangled every joy.
I have called for executioners; I want to perish chewing on their gun butts. I have called for plagues, to suffocate in sand and blood. Unhappiness has been my god. I have lain down in the mud, and dried myself off in the crime-infested air. I have played the fool to the point of madness.
And springtime brought me the frightful laugh of an idiot.
Now recently, when I found myself ready to croak! I thought to seek the key to the banquet of old, where I might find an appetite again.
That key is Charity. (This idea proves I was dreaming! )
"You will stay a hyena, etc....," shouts the demon who once crowned me with such pretty poppies. "Seek death with all your desires, and all selfishness, and all the Seven Deadly Sins."
Ah, I've taken too much of that; still, dear Satan, don't look so annoyed, I beg you! And while waiting for a few belated cowardices, since you value in a writer all lack of descriptive or didactic flair, I pass you their waste pages from the diary of a damned soul.
A Season of Hell translated by Wang Yipei
In the past, if I remember correctly, my life was once a feast, where all my hearts were open and all the wine overflowed.
One night, I sat Beauty on my knees. -I feel her bitterness. -I insulted her.
I took up arms against justice.
I fled. Oh, witch, suffering, hatred, my treasure entrusted to you!
I finally disillusioned human hope in my spirit. I jumped silently over joy like a beast, in order to seize the throat of hope.
I called the executioners to bite their butts before I died. I called disaster to suffocate in sand and blood. Misfortune was my god.
I fell in the mud. I dry myself in the air of sin. I'm joking wildly.
spring brings me an idiot's grimace.
But recently, when I was out of tune for the last time, I dreamed of pursuing the key to that ancient feast, where I might have an appetite.
Kindness is the key. This inspiration confirmed my dream.
"You will still be a villain ..." The demon king shouted again-he put such a beautiful poppy crown on me. "Use all your appetites, your selfishness and all your deep sins to win death."
ah! I am too rich:-But dear Satan, I beg you not to glare! I know you don't like writers to describe or teach people; Before a few little cowardice appeared, I, a man in hell, tore these disgusting pages out of my notebook for you.