Night In Hell

A. Rimbaud

Appears On:

This is Steve reading Professor Wallace Fowlie's translation (from "Rimbaud: Complete Works, Selected Letters," 1966, The University of Chicago Press) of "Night In Hell" by Arthur Rimbaud (part of A Season In Hell).

Night In Hell
by Arthur Rimbaud

[rev. July 13, 2009]

I swallowed a monstrous mouthful of poison.—Thrice blessed be the idea that came to me!—My entrails are burning. The poison's violence twists my limbs, deforms me and hurls me to the ground. I am dying of thirst and choking. I can't cry out. It is hell, an eternal punishment! See how the fire rises up again! I am burning as I should. Come on, demon!

I'd caught a glimpse of my conversion to the good and to happiness, salvation. How can I describe the vision? The air of hell does not permit hymns! There were millions of charming creatures, a sweet spiritual concert strength and peace, noble ambitions, how can I know what?

Noble ambitions!

And this is still life!—And damnation is eternal! A man who tries to mutilate himself is surely damned, isn't he? I think I am in hell, and therefore I am. It is the result of the catechism. I am a slave to my baptism. Parents, you have caused my misfortune and your own. Poor innocent!—Hell has no power over pagans.—This is still life! Later, the delights of damnation will be all the greater. A crime, quick, so I can drop into the void in accordance with the law of man.

Be quiet! Will you be quiet! ... Here, there is shame and reprobation. Satan says the fire is contemptible and my anger totally ridiculous.—Enough! ... They are whispering errors to me, magic, strange perfumes, childish melodies.—And to think that I have truth, that I see justice. My judgement is sound and certain, I am ready for perfection ... Pride.—My scalp is drying up. Pity! Lord, I am afraid. I am thirsty, so thirsty! Ah! childhood, grass, rain, lake water on the pebbles, moonlight when the bell tower rang twelve ... The devil is in the tower at this moment. Mary! Holy Virgin! ... —The horror of my stupidity.

Back there, are they not good souls who wish me well? ... Come ... A pillow is over my mouth. They cannot hear me, they are ghosts. Besides, no one ever thinks of anyone else. Let no one come near. I'm certain that I smell scorched.

There are countless hallucinations. In truth, it is what I've always had: no faith in history and the forgetting of principles. I will not speak of this: poets and visionaries would be jealous. I am the richest a thousand times over. Let me be as avaricious as the ocean.

Why! the clock of life stopped just now, and I'm no longer in the world.—Theology is serious, hell is certainly down below—and Heaven up above.—Ecstasy, nightmare, sleep in a nest of flames.

Oh! the malice in attentiveness to the country ... Satan, Old Nick, runs about with the wild grain ... Jesus is walking over the scarlet brambles without bending them down ... Once Jesus walked on the troubled waters. The lantern showed him to us, standing and pale, with long dark hair, beside an emerald wave ...

I intend to unveil all mysteries: religious mysteries or those of nature, death, birth, the future, the past, cosmogony, the void. I am a master of hallucinations.

Listen! ...

I possess every talent!—There is no one here, and there is someone. I would not like to expend my treasure.—Do you want primitive songs or houri dances? Do you want me to disappear and dive after the ring? Do you? I will make gold and remedies.

Then trust in me. Faith relieves and guides and cures. Come all,—even the little children.—I will comfort you, and pour out my heart for you—my marvelous heart!—Poor men, workers! I am not asking for prayers. With your trust alone, I will be happy.

—Just think of me. This hardly makes me miss the world. I am lucky enough not to suffer any more. My life was only sweet madness, and that is too bad.

Bah! Let's make all possible faces.

Decidedly, we are out of this world. No more sound. My touch has gone. Ah! my castle, my Saxony, my willow grove. The evenings, the mornings, the nights, days. How tired I am!

I should have my hell for anger, for pride,—and the hell of caresses; a concert of hells.

I am dying of weariness. It is the tomb, I am going to the worms, horror of horrors! Satan, joker, you are trying to dissolve me with your charms. I object. I object! Give me a poke with your pitchfork! A drop of fire.

Ah! if I could rise again into life! and cast my eyes on our deformities. And that poison, that kiss damned a hundred times. My weakness, the world's cruelty. Pity, God, hide me, I misbehave!—I am hidden and I am not hidden.

The fire rises up again with its damned.


Original French:

NUIT DE L'ENFER

    J'ai avalé une fameuse gorgée de poison.—Trois fois béni soit le conseil qui m'est arrivé!—Les entrailles me brûlent. La violence du venin tord mes membres, me rend difforme, me terrasse. Je meurs de soif, j'étouffe, je ne puis crier. C'est l'enfer, l'éternelle peine! Voyez comme le feu se relève! Je brûle comme il faut. Va, démon!
    J'avais entrevu la conversion au bien et au bonheur, le salut. Puis-je décrire la vision, l'air de l'enfer ne souffre pas les hymnes! C'était des millions de créatures charmantes, un suave concert spirituel, la force et la paix, les nobles ambitions, que sais-je?
    Les nobles ambitions!
    Et c'est encore la vie!—Si la damnation est éternelle! Un homme qui veut se mutiler est bien damné, n'est-ce pas? Je me crois en enfer, donc j'y suis. C'est l'exécution du catéchisme. Je suis esclave de mon baptême. Parents, vous avez fait mon malheur et vous avez fait le vôtre. Pauvre innocent!—L'enfer ne peut attaquer les païens.—C'est la vie encore! Plus tard, les délices de la damnation seront plus profondes. Un crime, vite, que je tombe au néant, de par la loi humaine.
    Tais-toi, mais tais-toi!... C'est la honte, le reproche, ici: Satan qui dit que le feu est ignoble, que ma colère est affreusement sotte.—Assez!... Des erreurs qu'on me souffle, magies, parfums faux, musiques puériles.—Et dire que je tiens la vérité, que je vois la justice; j'ai un jugement sain et arrêté, je suis prêt pour la perfection... Orgueil.—La peau de ma tête se dessèche. Pitié! Seigneur, j'ai peur. J'ai soif, si soif! Ah! l'enfance, l'herbe, la pluie, le lac sur les pierres, le clair de lune quand le clocher sonnait douze... le diable est au clocher, à cette heure. Marie! Sainte-Vierge!...—Horreur de ma bêtise.
    Là-bas, ne sont-ce pas des âmes honnêtes, qui me veulent du bien... Venez... J'ai un oreiller sur la bouche, elles ne m'entendent pas, ce sont des fantômes. Puis, jamais personne ne pense à autrui. Qu'on n'approche pas. Je sens le roussi, c'est certain.
    Les hallucinations sont innombrables. C'est bien ce que j'ai toujours eu: plus de foi en l'histoire, l'oubli des principes. Je m'en tairai: poètes et visionnaires seraient jaloux. Je suis mille fois le plus riche, soyons avare comme la mer.
    Ah çà! l'horloge de la vie s'est arrêtée tour à l'heure. Je ne suis plus au monde.—La théologic est sérieuse, l'enfer est certainement en bas—et le ciel en haut.—Extase, cauchemar, sommeil dans un nid de flammes.
    Que de malices dans l'attention dans la campagne... Satan, Ferdinand, court avec les graines sauvages... Jésus marche sur les ronces purpurines, sans les courber... Jésus marchait sur les eaux irritées. La lanterne nous le montra debout, blanc et des tresses brunes, au flanc d'une vague d'émeraude...
    Je vais dévoiler tous les mystères: mystères religieux ou naturels, mort, naissance, avenir, passé, cosmogonie, néant. Je suis maître en fantasmagories.
    Écoutez!...
    J'ai tous les talents!—Il n'y a personne ici et il y a quelqu'un: je ne voudrais pas répandre mon trésor.—Veut-on des chants nègres, des danses de houris? Veut-on que je disparaisse, que je plonge à la recherche de l'anneau? Veut-on? Je ferai de l'or, des remèdes.
    Fiez-vous done à moi, la foi soulage, guide, guérit. Tous, venez,—même les petits enfants,—que je vous console, qu'on répande pour vous son cœur,—le cœur merveilleux!—Pauvres hommes, travailleurs! Je ne demande pas de prières; avec votre confiance seulement, je serai heureux.
    —Et pensons à moi. Ceci me fait peu regretter le monde. J'ai de la chance de ne pas souffrir plus. Ma vie ne fut que folies douces, c'est regrettable.
    Bah! faisons toutes les grimaces imaginables.
    Décidément, nous sommes hors du monde. Plus aucun son. Mon tact a disparu. Ah! mon château, ma Saxe, mon bois de saules. Les soirs, les matins, les nuits, les jours... Suis-je las!
    Je devrais avoir mon enfer pour la colère, mon enfer pour l'orgueil,—et l'enfer de la caresse; un concert d'enfers.
    Je meurs de lassitude. C'est le tombeau, je m'en vais aux vers, horreur de l'horreur! Satan, farceur, tu veux me dissoudre, avec tes charmes. Je réclame. Je réclame! un coup de fourche, une goutte de feu.
    Ah! remonter à la vie! Jeter les yeux sur nos difformités. Et ce poison, ce baiser mille fois maudit! Ma faiblesse, la cruauté du monde! Mon Dieu, pitié, cachez-moi, je me tiens trop mal!—Je suis caché et je ne le suis pas.
    C'est le feu qui se relève avec son damné.


A Comparison of Various Translations of the First Paragraph

Wallace Fowlie ["Rimbaud: Complete Works, Selected Letters," 1966, The University of Chicago Press]:

      I swallowed a monstrous mouthful of poison.—Thrice blessed be the idea that came to me!—My entrails are burning. The poison's violence twists my limbs, deforms me and hurls me to the ground. I am dying of thirst and am choking. I can't cry out. It is hell and eternal punishment! See how the fire rises up again! I am burning as I should. Come on, demon!

John Sturrock & Jeremy Harding ["Arthur Rimbaud: Selected Poems and Letters," 2005, Penguin Classics]:

      I've swallowed a tremendous dose of poison.—Thrice blessed be the counsel I received!—My tripes are on fire. The strength of the poison racks my limbs, deforms me, knocks me flat. I'm dying of thirst, suffocating, I can't cry out. It's hell, eternal torment! See the flames rise! I'm seared to perfection. Come on, demon!

Wyatt Mason ["Rimbaud Complete," 2003, Modern Library Classics]:

      I swallowed a gollup of poison.—May the advice I received be thrice blessed!—My gut burned. The violence of the venom wracked my limbs, left me deformed, threw me to the ground. I die of thirst, suffocate, can't even cry out. It's hell; eternal suffering! The flames rise! I burn, as you'd expect. Demon, do your worst!

Jeremy Denbow ["A Season in Hell: An English Translation from the French," 2004, AuthorHouse]:

      I have swallowed a famous draught of poison.—Three times blessed be the counsel that came to me!—My entrails are on fire. The violence of the venom wrings my limbs, deforms me, fells me. I am dying of thirst, suffocation, I cannot cry out. This is hell, the eternal punishment! Mark how the fire surges up again! I am burning properly. There you are, demon!

Enid Rhodes ["A Season in Hell and The Illuminations," 1973, Galaxy Books, Oxford University Press, USA]:

      I have swallowed a first-rate draught of poison.—Thrice blessed be the counsel that came to me!—My entrails are on fire. The violence of the venom wrings my limbs, deforms me, fells me. I am dying of thirst, I am suffocating, I cannot cry out. This is hell, the everlasting punishment! Mark how the fire surges up again! I am burning properly. There you are, demon!

Louise Varese ["A Season in Hell and The Drunken Boat," 1961, New Directions Publishing Corp.]:

      I have swallowed a monstrous dose of poison.—Thrice blessed be the counsel that came to me!—My entrails are on fire. The violence of the venom twists my limbs, deforms and prostrates me. I die of thirst, I suffocate, and cannot scream. It is hell, eternal punishment! See how the fire flares up again! How nicely I burn. Go to it, demon!