(Maurice Blanchot) Lautréamont and Sade (B-Ok - CC) PDF

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  

 

ERDN

Css Ass

Werner Hamacher Editor

 

l by  Kll  Mll Kll

Stanrd Universi Press

Stanrd Calrnia

  

LAUTREAMON AND SAD

uc c

 

Stanford University Press Stanford, California English translation © 2004 by the Board ofTrustees of the Leland Stanford Junior University. All rights reserved No part of this book book ma be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, includ ing photocopying and recording, or in any information stor age or retrieval system without the prior written permission of Stanford University Press This book as been published with the assistance of the French Ministry of Culture-National Center for the Book Lautre  amont and Sad  was originally published in French in 1949 under the title Lautamont  t Sad © Les ditions de Minuit, 1963.

Printed in the nited States of America on acidfree, archivalquality paper Library of Congress CataloginginPublication Data Data Blanchot, Maurice [Lautramont et SadeEnglish] Sade English] Lautramont and Sade I Maurice Blanchot ; translated by Michelle Kendall and Stuart Kendall p. m m- (M (Mer erid idia iann : cr cros ossi sing ng ae aest sthe heti tics cs)) Includes bibliographical references ISBN -8047-4233-2 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN -8047-5035-1 (pbk  alk. paper) . Lautramont, comte de, 84687.

Sade, marquis de, 1740 1814. ITitle II Meridian (Stanford, Cali) ITitle 2.

PQ2220.D723Z63 2004 81' 8DC22 200400688

Tpeset by Tim Roberts in 109 l3 Adobe Garamond Original Printing 2004 Last gure below indicates y ear ear of this printing: 13

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Contents

Preece What is the Puose of Criticism Pr



Sade's eason 7 Thee Experi Th Experience ence o Lautramon Lautramontt 43 Notes

IS

I

6

05

04

 

Preface: What s the Purpse of rtcsm?

I cannot cann ot address many many o the the implication impli cationss o this this quest questio ion. n. One On e o them the m deals with the senselessnes sensel essnesss o criticism itsel. itsel. When When we seriously serio usly contemplate contemplate literary criticism, we are under the impres sinn tha si thatt our contemplation concerns nothing no thing serious seri ous.. Journalism and the academy constitute the entirety o its reality. Criticism is a ompromise between these to orms o institution. Everyday kowledge, which is prompt, capricious, eeting, and scholarly kowledge, which is permanent and certain, unite one with the oher and commingle, sometimes successully, sometimes not.

Lterature remains the object o criticism, but criticism does not ani st literature. Criticism is not one o the ways in which lit emy and and academy wh ich h  the acad way   in whic But i t   is a way asserts   it itssel But ertu re asserts erture rom   the importan portancce rom  es its im derives and  it deriv ar m ed, and nalism  are arm j our ou rnalism  ominnc o bo o ese consderabe nsttuton, o tt

te other dynamic, both o them rmly directed and organized. Nturally, we may be able to conclude rom this that criticisms rle is not inconseuential, since it consists in linking literature wth equally important realities. This would make its role a medi atng at ng one, on e, and the the critic an honest broker. In I n other cases cases,, jjournal ournal ism counts or less than other orms o political and ideological oganization criticism, in this case, is composed in oces, in poximity o the highest values that it must represent the inter ediary role is reduced to a minimum the critic is a spokesper   

2

Prce

son who applies, sometimes artfully and not without a margin of freedom, general general instructions instructions.. But is it i t not the same sam e in ever everyy sec tor of life? life? We We are ar e talking talking about abou t a mediatio me diationn practiced p racticed by the crit ic in i n our o ur Western Western culture: How does it i t wo work, rk, what what does it mean, what does it require? requi re? A certain level level of o f competency compe tency,, a certain facil ity for for writing, qualities of conformity conformity,, and of o f good will. will . But this is to say little, which is not to say that it is nothing at all.    e a te dea tat cticism is lacki  almost any substance sub stance of o f its ow own. n. A n idea that is itself b u t a shad shad ow of a larger one. Here we should immediately add that such a pgng ew as ts one does not uster criticism. It openly welcomes itit,, as i on the contrary contrary, this very lack reveal revealed ed its deep de ep est truth. When Heidegger comments on Hlderlins poems, he says (I paraphrase): atever commentary might be, it will always, in regard to the poem, remain superuous, and the last, most difcult step of interpretation is the one that leads it to become transparent before the pure afrmation of the poem. Heidegger Heidegg er also makes makes use o f ths gure: i n the noisy tumult of nonpoet nonp oetic ic llang angua uage, ge, a poem po em is like li ke a bell suspended in mi miai air,r, one

on a light light sn snow ow falling falling woul wo uldd b e enough en ough toofmake it chime, chime , an whch imperceptible crashing nevertheless capable harmoniously upsetting it to the pont of dscord. Peraps Peraps commenta comme ntary ry i just a little snowake making the bell toll. 2 Critical discourse has this peculiar characteristic: the more it exerts, develops, and establishes itself, the more it must obliterate itself; in the end it disintegrates. Not only does it not impose tselfattentive to not taking the place of its object of discus sionit only concludes and fullls its purpose when it drifts into transparency. And this movement toward selfeffacement is not simply si mply done at the discretion disc retion of the servant who who,, after after fullling fullling his role and tidying up the ouse, disappears t i the very meaning of its execution, which has proscribed in its realization that it eclipse itself. ll in all, the dialogue beteen critical and "creative discourses is strange. ere is the unity of these to? Is it a historical unity? Is te critic there to add sometng to te lterary work: to brng

 

Prce

3

out its latent meaning (present as an absence) and to indicate its development within history, little by little raising it toward truth, where in the end the work may become stagnant? But why might the critic be necessary or this task? hy, beteen the reader and the work, between history and the work, should this mediocre hybrid o reading and writing in inser sertt itsel with the help he lp o this crit ic who oddly specializes in reading and who, nevertheless, only knows how to read through writing, writing only about what he reads, and who must at the the same time give give the impressio impress ion, n, through writing, reading, that he does nothing, no thing, nothing no thing but let the depth depth o the literary work, that which resides therein, always more clearly and more obscurely, speak? egardless o whether one looks at criticism and the critic rom a historical or literary literary perspective, perspective, one grasps grasps them the m only through through their penchant or seleacement, through their existence always on the verge o extinction. On the side o history, insoar as histo ry takes shape within more rigorous r igorous and also more ambitious dis ciplines,, and is present there, not as a comp ciplines completed leted service, but as an open and uid totality, criticism qickly relinquishes itsel o

itsel  truly sensin itsel sen singg that that it has has no n o right to sp speak eak in the name o o  his tory, that the socalled historical sciences and the science o his torical interpla interp lay yi i it existe existedcan dcan and could c ould uniquely delineate deli neate the literary wors place in history as well as its genesis within it, but might moreover pursue its indenite advent across the widest possible range o the general movement (including the realm that the physical sciences have opened up to us). Thus the mediating roe o o  criicism criicism is imi o  immi resent, it belons to the passing day and is connected to the anonymous and imper sonal murmur o daily lie, the understanding that runs through the streets o the world and that allows or everyone to always know everything in advance, although every individual person may still know nothing. It mig m ight ht sseem eem that th at criticism criticis m is a task o arduous arduous vulgari vulgariza zation tion.. Perha Per haps ps.. Bu t le t us take take a look at the literary literary side o it all, all, wheth whether er a novel novel or a poem. poe m. Consid Con sider er or or a moment the delicate deli cate image image that that we were conjuring: the snowakes that made the bell toll. This

 

4

Prce

empty movement, impalpable and a bit icy, disappears within te heated agitation it instigates. Here, critical discourse, having neitherr lastin the las tingg eect eect no norr reality reality, would wo uld like to dissolve diss olve within creative creative armation: it is never criticism that speaks, when it speaks; it is nothing. This is impressive modesty, and yet, on the other hand, perhaps not so modest. Criticism is nothing, but bu t this this nothingness is precisely that in which the literary work, silent and invisible,  e  e at it is radiance and discourse, armao and presence, speaking seemingly about itsel without altering, in this void void o great quality that that it is critical critical interventio interventionns mission miss ion to prouce. Critical iscourse s ths space o resonance with which the unspoken, indenite reality reality o the work is momentarimom entarily transormed transormed and circumscrib circums cribed ed into words. And as such, suc h, due to the act act that that it claims modestly m odestly and obst obstinately inately to be b e nothing, no thing, criticism ceases bein distinguishe rom the creative iscourse o which it would be the necessary actualization or, metaphorically

speaking, the epiphany. Neverthelesss we eel Nevertheles eel sure s ure that the the image o snow sn ow isis just j ust an image and that we have yet even urther to go. I criticism is this open space into which the poem moves, i it seeks to isappear in ront o this poem, so that that this poem may m ay tru truly ly appe appear ar,, this is because this space and this movement toward seleacement (which is onee o on o  the wa ways in i n which this space maniests maniests itsel) itsel ) may already already belong bel ong to the reality reality o the literary lite rary work an also be at work withwithin it, while it takes shape, only moving outside it when it has achiev ach ieved ed its purpos purposee and to accomplish that that purpos purpose.e. In the same way that the necessity o communicating is not a quality added to the book, with communication, at every turn o the boos creation, catalyzing the very creation process, similarly this sort o sudden distance in which the completed work reects itsel and which the critic is called upon to gauge, is only the last metamorphosis o this opening which is the literary work in its genesis, what one might call its essential noncoincidence with itsel, everything that continuously makes it possibleimpossible. All that criticism critici sm oes then is repre represent sent an ollow ollow outsie what, what, internally, like a shredded armation, like innite anxiousness,

 

Prece

5

lik co connic i ct ( o r ev e ven i n a  oth theer o rms) rm s) does does   n o t  cease  ce ase to be p res res 

e t as a l iv et ivii ng rese eservo rvoir ir o  e mp mptitinn ess es s  o   space sp ace   o  o  err er r or or be better tter ytt  as lit y liter eraature's ture's uniq ni q ue po pow wer to dev evelop elop   ititss el whi while le rem remainin ainingg prp tually in deault. deault. He rein lies Herein  lies i i  you wi you  will ll the the ultim ultimat atee  conse  con seqque uennce (and a (and a singu s ingula larr  manni ma ieestation station))  o this movem mov ement ent o o  sele eleacem acemeent whic which h is i s o  one ne o  o   te indication in dicationss o crit criticisms presence resence:: through through its dis disappeara appearance nce bore b ore the the lit literar eraryy work work critici criticism sm recovers ecovers itsel itsel again again in  in the the work a one on e   o its  its  ess es s ential mo mom m ents. ents.   He Here re we we   lo loccate a proc process ess tha thatt ou ourr

ea has seen develop in various ways. Criticism is no longer an eternall judgment eterna j udgment placing the literary literary work work in a positio pos itionn o valu valuee ad bestowing its opinion aer the act on this value. It has come t be inseparable inse parable rom rom the internal working o the text belonging belo nging to the moment when it becomes what it is. Criticism is the search

r and the experience o this possibility. However (to avert any isund rstanding) criticism does not have the restrictive meaning tat Val Valry ry gives it when he sees it as part o the intellect: intelle ct: the cre aiv a ivee wors value only be b einconstrued the clrity o a requirement thoughtul that mind.its "Criticism the sensewithin intended hre may evn now be closer (but the similarity remains decep tie) to the Kantian meaning o the word. word. Kant Kantss critical reasoning i experi scie ienntic exper possib ilityy o sc the   possibilit  condition tionss or the  gates th thee  condi it errogates iterro poss ibilityy  or the possibilit search or onnnected  ected  to the search st as  as  criticism criticism   is c on ecce ju e just oreticall pur only ly a th theeoretica searchh is not on e but  but thi this searc erience iterary rary exp experienc o lite and  periennce and experie literary ex tuting   the lite  constiituting rocesss const the very proces suit i t is the    os ossi sii i i i s cons co nsi i   ro ro    in in n n  contestn i i 

trough creation creation.. "Searc "S earch h is i s a word that should sho uld not be understood understoo d i an intellectual sense but as an action taken within and in light o cre creati ative ve space. Hlderlin H lderlin to again use him as an example talks talks aou a outt the priests o Diony Dio nysus sus wandering wandering about in i n the sacr sacred ed night. 3 T  search or creative criticism is this same errant movement this thee pro pr o ss and and is th darkness the   darkne op enss   up the cess   that tha t open proocess labbor oriious pr sme  me  la en d le lesss ingg   the the   end riskss be bein bu t that th at also risk diatii o n  but  mediat thru russ t o   me gessiv ge ssivee th

ailure   on ly ailure ctic procurin procuringg only  dialectic r uins every every diale thaa t ru r e c o m m n c m n t th nt. sement. no r  its appea appeaseme mea sure   nor er its  its  measure therein ein neith neither n ding ther ad  nd ad 

 

6

Prce

I cannot take this analysis any urther here I would howeer like to make one last point that appears essential We complain about criticism no longer knowing how to judge But why? It is not criticism that lazily reuses to evaluate, it is the novel or th poem that shirks evaluation because it seeks armation outsie every value system And, insoar as criticism belongs more ini mately to the li l iee o o  the literary work, it turns tu rns what is not n ot able o b e evaluated into

grasps it work, it grasp rence o te work, e expe experence

as

thee  th

 depth, depth an d al also so  othe th absenc ab  sence de which w value  hich   eludes elu deschall every every    s y s t  n n llenging enging    and cha o value hatp th, is o side side eoo w dep n ethe the  , being being  o valu, eand value to  andss  o n  it to  ge t its hand ke to to   get  wouuld lilike tha t wo ti on  that rmaatio arm  e very er y a ancee ev advvanc ad to   b to   m e to see ems to atures literature icismliter se , cri critt icism is   sen se n se, this it   I n th valida alidate it  sks     nt,,  ta tasks rtaant b u t impo im port

im po t a cuult, b u t impo dic thee  m ost di ith   o n e o th iatedd with as asso socciate th e ta t a s k  vemee nt nt:: the gue mo movem arily va  vague ne cessarily outt  i inn a  necess played ed ou tim e, play o u r time,  vale, e, otionn o   val ughtt rom ro m the n otio h o ugh liberating   ho ing   and an d  o  liberating preserv pr eserving

cons equently also o consequently o  openin ope ningg history histo ry up to what what all these orms  value have already released into it and to what is taking shape s an entirely ent irely di dierentstill erentst ill un unoresee ore seeabl ablek ekind ind o o  armati armatioo n 

 

§

Sade's Reason

In 17 9 7 La Nouvel Nouvelle le justine justin e ou les Malheurs Malheurs de  Vrtu suivie sui vie de de  listoire dejuliette sa soeur soeur  published in in Holland.  This This monumental umen tal work workne nearl arlyy our our thous th ousand and pages pag es long, lo ng, which its author wrote in several drats, augmenting its length ever more, almost endlesslyimmediately horried the world. I there is a Hell in libraries,, it is or such libraries s uch a book. One On e can say that no other literature literature o any other time has seen as scandalous a book appear, that no other book so prooundly wounded the sensibilities and convictions o men. Who in this day and age would dare compete with Sades licentiousness? Yes, it can be claimed that here we have the most scandalous work ever written. Is this not enough to warrant its close examination and our preoccupation with it? We have the opportunity to know a work that no other writer, during any     r  u o. W a, refor,  some way, within our grasp, and in the so very relative world o literature,, a veritable literature veri table absolute, absolu te, and yet, incomprehe incom prehensibly nsibly,, have have we not sought to interrogate and examine it? We do not even dream to question it, to ask it why it is so unsurpassable, to ask what is in it that makes it so excessive and eternally too much or man to take? An extraordinary negligence. But perhaps the scandal is so pure simply because o this negligence? hen we take into account all the precautions history has taken to make Sade a prodigious enigma, when we contemplate his twentyseven years 7  

8

Sade' Reason

in prison, his conned and restricted existence, when sequestr tion acts not only a mans lie, but his aterlieto such an extent that cloaking his work in secrecy seems to condemn him too, to o, even even while whi le still living, to an eternal eter nal prisonw pri sonwee come co me to won der i the censors and the judges who claim to lock Sade up, are not actually in Sades service, and are not ullling the burning desires desir es o o  his lib l ibertinage, ertinage, Sade, who has alwa lways longed or or soli s olitude tude i  p o eTen eart, orover, the mystery o a suberre  reclusive existence times Sade ormulated the idea that

mans greatest excesses called or secrecy and the obscurity o the abyss s, the inviolable solitude aby so litude oo a j ail cell cell  Now, strangely enough, eno ugh, it is the guardians o morality who, in condemning him to the seclusionn ound within prison seclusio pri son walls, have made themselves accom acc om plices to intense immorality It is his motherinlaw, the puritani cal Madame de Montreuil, who, by turning his very lie into a prison, makes it a masterpiece o debauchery and inamy Similarly, i ater so many years justin justinee et julie juliee e continues to be thee most scanda th scandalous o books books one can can read read  though though reading reading it is nearly impossibleit is because the author and the editors, with the help o o  universal Morality Mo rality,, have taken every every measure to t o eens nsure ure that this book remains a secret, a perectly unreadable work, as unreadable or its length, its composition, and its ruminations as or the orce o its descriptions, the indecency o his savagery, whic wh ichh cannot cann ot but bu t hurl hurl it to Hell H ell A scandalous, scandalou s, virtually untouch unto uch able book that no one can render public But the book also illus trates that there is no scandal where there is no respect, and that where the scandal is extraordinary, the respect is extreme is more respected than Sade? How many o us, even today,ho deeply believe that just holding this accursed book in our hands or a moment or two would make ousseaus disdainul allegation come true that any young girl who reads even one page o tis book will be lost? Such respect is certainly a treasure or a litera ture and a civilization civilization Moreover, Moreover, to all his pres p resent ent and uture uture edi tors and commentators, can we not stop ourselves rom discreetly uttering tis avowal in Sae, at least, respect te scanal Fortun For tunately ately,, S ade deend deendss himsel him sel quite quit e well well  Not only his his work,

 

Sade' Reason

9

but also his thought remains impenetrableand this is despite the act that theoretical developments abound therein, and that he repeats them with disconcerting patience, and that his reasoning is crystal clear and suciently logical. A taste and even a passion or systems animates him. He explains, he arms, he proves he returns a hundred times to the same problem (and a hundred times is an understatement), he examines it rom all angles, he

exploresand every objection, he responds to them, even others, responds to them in turn. And since he what he uncovers is saying is generally rather simple, since his language is copious, though specic and consistent, one might think there should be nothing easier than understanding Sades ideology which, in him, him , is insep i nsep arable rom the passions. And yet, what is the basis o Sades thought? What exactly has he said? Where is the order o this sys tem, where does it begin, where does it end? Is there anything more than a shadow o a system in the approach o this thought that is so obsessed with reason? And why do so many very well coordi coo rdinated nated principles not not succeed in i n orming orming the solid so lid whole whole that that they should and that they in act seem to construct? This too remains remai ns unclear. This is Sades primary pri mary and main peculiari pe culiarity: ty: that, at every moment, his theoretical ideas release the irrational orces that are bound up with them. These orces at once animate and rustrate his ideas, doing so with such impetus that his ideas resist these orces, and then yield to them, seeking to master this impe tus, which eectively they do, but only while simultaneously releasing other obscure orces, which will lead, twist, and pervert m n.oT rs id, hich silater is clear sms rting utled e ey omet ometing ingisunsaid, unsa a bit is revealed revea and at is again aga in incorporated inco rporated by the logic, bbut, ut, in i n its turn, it obeys the move move ment o a still hidden orce. In the end, everything is brought to light,, everyt light everything hing comes to be b e said, but this everythin everythingg is also again buried bur ied within the obscurity ob scurity o unre unreectiv ectivee thought thought and un un ormu latable moments. The readers uneasiness when aced with this thought which is only claried by a urther additional thought which, at that moment, cannot itsel be claried, is oten very intense. The read

 

10

Sade' Reason Reason

ers uneasiness increases even more ecause Sades declared priniples,, which we might ples might call his asic philosophy philo sophy,, appear to e si�plicity itsel his philosophy philos ophy is one o selin selinterest, terest, then o o  coplete egoism. Each o us must do what pleases us, each o us hs no other law ut our own pleasure. This morality is ounded n

the primary act o asolute solitude. Sade said it and repeated it in sor all its orms: nature creates alone, there is entl, no ,connectin the on the on  sequentl her. Con Co n sequ another. anot oe   ma oe man n  to us   g g r   so asu r e , give  m e pl asur things   that tha t give  that I avor all things  conduct uct is that rule   o   cond rule migt this is choice choice migt that th conn sequence sequencess that o  the co rationn o the houut conside con sideratio wittho wi les s  tan m    counts less  alwa   s coun pain alwa  greateest pain  Their great the other.. Their hold for the other ay  r pr icee   I mu st pay  the   pric atter, er, i the  ally   matt really do e s i t re leaasur su re . What doe p le hi deous  eous  o   hid us a ssortme ssort mennt o  outrageo ageous joy  is an outr slightestt joy  even   m   slightes even o  y  y   thee eects eects o yet th is  i n m e, yet d elights  lights   m e , it is  this j oy de rimes,s, since sin ce this crime crimes do not touch me in the least, they are outside me. These principl pri nciples es are clearly clearly stated. stated . We We nd them develope developedd in a million ways throughout tenty volumes. Sade never tires. ht he most enjoys is holding these principles up against the ideas  his contemporaries, their theories that all men are created equl eore nature and eore the law. Thus he proposes some reasoning along these the se lines: lines : Given Given that that all eings are equal equal in the t he eyes eyes  Nature, this th is act act allow allowss me m e the right not to sacrice mysel to prpr serve others, whose whose ruin is indispensale in dispensale t my happi happines ness.s. O r etter yet, he drats a sort o Declaration o the ights o Eroticis, with this maxim as its undamental principle, applicable as muc or women or men: Give yoursel overdo to Ialldo,those d si you, take allasthose you desire. "What evil whatwho crime d I commit when, greeting a beautiul creature, I say: Give me te part o your body that can satis me now, and i you like, pleaure yours yoursel el w with ith the the p art o o  my my    ody ody that th at m ight b e p leasing leasi ng t yours? your s? Such S uch propositi prop ositions ons appea appearr irre irreuta utale le to S to Sad ade. e. Fo Forr pa p ages on on endd  h e   invokes en inv okes   the the   equality equ ality   o    i ndividu nd ividuals, als, the reci reciproc procity ity o f   rights, rig hts,   wi witho thout ut p e rc rceivi eiving ng that that   his re reas asooning, ning , ar ro rom m  b i n g   streng stre ngthen thened ed   y t y  thh e s e  p  prr opo op o s i t ions, ions , isis   tra tr ans nsform formed ed   into in to c o m pl    nonn s e nse no ns e . "N "Nev ever er can can   an  an  act act o  po poss s e ssion ssio n b e exe xercise rcisedd o n a re human uman ein  eingg , he  he  writes rite s . But  But what concl oncluusions  sions  does h e draw draw ro m 

 

Sade' Reason



this Not Not that it i s orbie orbienn to co com mmit a vio vi olent act act against

aother human being an to enjoy hurting them, inicting them ith ith pain  pain again against st their their will, wi ll, but rath but  rather er that that no one no  one has has th thee right right to

us e  an exclu use exclusive sive relatio relationship nship,, one on e o p ossession os session,, as an excu excuse se to reuse reuse   the th emselves mselves to to him. hi m. The equa equality lity o  bbeing eingss is the right right   to make equa equall use o all o  all beings beings;; reedom reedom is the the power power to subject subject each

erson to his own will and wishes. In seeing similar ormulations one ater another, we begin to think that that there is a iscrepancy in Saes Saes thought, something so mething miss ing, a maness. maness . We We sense sen se a proounly proounly eranged thought, bizarrely suspene over the voi. But, suenly, logic assumes control, our bjections vanish an the system gradually takes shape. Justine, ho, we know, represents worlly virtue, an who is tenacious, umble, always oppresse an unhappy, yet who is never con i ince nce o the worls worls wrongs, eclares eclares suenly in a very very reasonable shio shion n You Yourr principles principl es suppose power pow er i my happiness happine ss cons c onsists ists in in never taking into account the interests o others, in occasionally urting them, will not no t one o ne ay arrive arrive when the interests in terests o o  others cnsist in hurting e on o n wat grouns will will I bbee able to protest "I "Iss the iniviual who isolates himsel able to struggle against all o umanity? umanit y? This, This, we unerstan, is a classi classicc objection object ion.. The Saean Saean man both bo th implicitly and explicitly respons in numero nu merous us way wayss that myy he  says   at rst, m se. Yes, Yes, he says universe. heart   o  his univer lea to the heart rauall ra uallyy lea tially ly ssential anity ity i iss essen eann hum  h uman Sa ea , i n act, Sa An, pow er.   An that o   power. rght is that rght the will men, who had the owerul men, alll-ppower numberr o al  small numbe mposee  o a small cmpos

toc raise   raise   themselve them s abov above laws lawsh  an an    place  lace hem selves  elves   o utsi utsise ture prej prej u re tu viio deviio de ohems   he  bec bec use  to wor urll l e worh url e who wh o  eelselves i ic

create in them, an who see satisaction in every way possible. hese extraorinary men generally belong to a privilege class tey are dukes, kings, even the pope himsel is descended rom obility they take advantage o their status, their ortune, the ipunity that that their situation assures them. them . They owe to their birth b irth te privileges o inequality, which they are happy to perect poweru werull the   most po potism.. They are the espotism implaccable es through  impla through eop le,   callll th thee People, cial classs . "I ca oweru erull s o cial clas  are   par pa rt o   a pow hey are b e cause cau se they sys   o n e o   the sys th em, "that "that vile vi le an an epl ep lorab orable le s ocia ociall cla class ss that ma makes kes

 

12

Sade' Reason

its living only through pain and sweat all who breathe must oin

orces against this abect social class. But there i s n o doubt about it, even even though though these Sovereigns Sovereigns o debauchery oen consolidate within themselves and to their own advantage the ull range o inequality among the classes, this is only the expression o a historical circumstance that Sade is not taking tak ing into in to account acco unt in i n his value j udgments udgments.. He is ully ully awar awaree that,   stoca  stoca moment mom ent o o  hs wrting, power is a socal caegory, that it is inscribed within the organization o society as it existed beore and ater the revolution, but he also believes power (likee solitude) to be nnot (lik ot only a state, state, but a choice and and a conquest a man is powerul when he knows how to become so with his energy. In reality, his heroes are recruited rom to opposite milieux mili eux the highest high est and the lowest lowest,, rom the mos m ostt privileged class class and rom the most disadvantaged class, rom among the worlds great individuals great individuals and rom rom the cessp ce sspool ool o o  society soc ietyss dregs dregs . Both Bo th sets o individ individuals uals nd, at the point po int o departure, something so mething extreme extreme promoting them the extreme o misery is as powerul a stimulus as the exaltation o ortune. hen oe is a Dubois or a Durand, one rises up against the laws o the land because one is so restrained and too ar below the laws to be able to conorm to them without perishing. And when one is a SaintFond or the Duke de Blangis, one is too to o a ar above above the law law to be able to subm s ubmitit to it i t without demeanin demea ningg onesel on esel This is i s wh why, in Sades works, works, the or ustication or or crime cr imeis isa an exo pression ion ocertain contradictory contradict principles some, inequality actexpress nature menory areprinciples necessari- ly slav slaves es and victims, they have no rig ri ghts, hts , they are are nothing, no thing, against against them the m everything everything is permiss per missible ible.. Conseque Cons equentl ntlyy, there ther e are the crazed crazed eulogies to tyranny, the political constitutions intended to make the revenge o the weak and the enrichment o the poor orever impossible imposs ible.. "Let it be b e clearly clearly understood, understood,  says Verneuil, "that "that it is among amo ng Nature Naturess intent in tentions ions that that there necess nec essarily arily be be a class o indiindi viduals who by their birth and inherent weakness shall remain essentially subect to the other class."The laws are not made or the people peopl e . . . The basic precept o any wise governmen governmentt is to make certain that the people shall not encroach upon the author

 

Sade' Reason

13

ity ity o the masters.  And SaintFond: "The people shal shalll be ke kept pt in a state o slavery that will make it quite impossible or them ever to attempt to dominate d ominate the wealt wealthy hy or debase their th eir properties proper ties and and thatt goes under u nder the name o o  crimes o possessions.  Or aga again: "ll tha libertinage shall never be punished, save in the slave casts. Here we we are, are, i t seems, i n the presence presence o  the the most insane theory theory o the most absolute despotism. Nevertheless, the perspective b rusquely changes changes.. hat hat does does Dub D uboi oiss say? say? "Nature "Nature caused us aallll to be equals born; i ate is pleased to intervene and upset the primary scheme o things, it is up to us to corect its caprices and, through our own skill, skill, to repair the usurpations o the strongest strongest . . . So long as our good aith and patience serve only to doube the weight o our chains, our crimes will be as virtues, and we would be ools indeed to abstain ab stain rom them when they can can lessen le ssen the yoke wherewherewith their cruelty bears us down. And she adds: or the poor, crime alone opens or injustice, just up as doors thet in is lie; the villainy revenge isotheir thecompensation dispossessed. Thereore, this has been early delineated: equality, inequality, reedom to oppress, rebellion against the oppressor are only completely provisional arguments through which the Sadean mans right to power is armed, given the dierence in social strata. Besides, soon the distinction made beteen those who need to commit crimes to live and those who take pleasure in living only when committing crimes, dissolves. Mme. Dubois becomes a baroness. Mme. Durand, the worst kind o poisoner, rises above even princesses on the social ladder, the very princesses that Juliette os no si o scric o r. Cons ecome gag leaders, crooks (as in Felange elange , or even innkeepers to better rob and kill simpletons simpleto ns.. (Though (Though most mos t o the victims victims o o  libertina liberti nage ge are ound ound in the aristocrac aristocracy, since they must be o noble nobl e birth. b irth.  the Marquis de Bressac declares with marvelous contempt to the countess, his mother: "Your days are mine, and mine are sacred.) Now, what is happening? Some men have become powerul. Some were so by birth, but they also demonstrate that they deserve deser ve this t his power by the way they accrue accrue it i t and enjoy enj oy it. Others have become powerul ater having had recourse to criminal

 

14

Sade' Reason

behavior, and the sign o their success is that they use this powr to acquire reedom to commit every crime. Such is the world some have ascended to the highest ranks o societyand around them, ad innitum, is a nameless dust, a countless number o individuals who have neither rights nor power. Look at what becomes the rule o absolute egoism. I do what pleases me, says Sades hero, I know only my pleasure and, to guarantee that I get t, I tortre d kll. Yo threaten me with a similar ae the   happe ha ppenn to meet someo so meone ne whos whosee pleasure is ound ound in torturing torturi ng and and killing me. But I have acquired this power precisely to rise above this threat. en Sade oers us answers along these lines, we eel like we we are completely c ompletely slipping slip ping toward toward a side o his thought that is held together only by the dark orces hidden within it. at is this power that ears neithe chance nor law, that disdainully exposes to theasterrible risksme o as a rule thus wil hurt youitsel as much I like, hurt much as conceivedI you are ableon the pretext that this rule will always turn in its avor? Now, note that or or the principles to dissolve, onl o nlyy one exception exception is needed ne eded i only once the Powerul nds misortune in the pursuit o his pleasure alone, i j ust on once ce while exerting exerting his tyra tyrann nnyy he becomes be comes a victim, he will be lost, the law o pleasure will appear to be a scam, and men, instead o wanting triumph throgh excess will begin again to live mediocre ives earing the least evil. Sade knows this. "nd i your luck turns sour? Justine asks. He will thereore descend deeper into his system and show that nothing evil will ever happen to the man actively connected to evilil.. This is the essential ev esse ntial theme o o  Sades work work to virtue, all mis ortune, ortu ne, to vice, the happiness happines s o constant cons tant prosperit pros perityy. Sometime Some times,s, especially in the rst drats o justine, this armation seems like a simple, contrived thesis that the design o the story, o which the athor is master, illstrates in the gise o proos. It seems that Sade is telling tales and believing them when he places too much store in a black Providence, which will lead those who choose to do the the wors worstt to the best. But, in La Nouvelle justine and i n juliette, everything changes. It is obvious that Sade now has this proound conviction that the man o absolute egoism will

 

Sade' Reason nver al alll prey to to  misortune, misor tune, that that h will will even  even  be happy happy to the the  full s t e x t ent and  and  he w i ll always always be so, so , withou witho u t exception. excep tion. add ness? Perhaps. a Perhaps.   But wit with Sade this tought tought is  is   connec connectted to  r c s o suc s uchh violenc  violencee  that they they end up maki making, as a ar as he is cncerned, cnc erned, the the ideas ideas that support su pport them them irre irreutable. Actually Actually,, this t eoretical te oretical certa certainty inty does does   not easily easily ma make ke its its transiti transition on into in to dococ ti t ine. Sade Sade takes recourse recourse in i n se sevral vral solutions, solu tions, wh which ich he  he   te tests sts

entlessly, but he nds none to be satisactory. The rst is purel verbal: it consists in rejecting th social contract that, accordig to him, is the theoretical saeguard o the weak, and or the pw rul constitutes a serious theoretical threat. In eect, the Pwe P wer rul ul one knows very well how to make use us e o o  the law to con c on-slidate sli date his arbitrary power. power. But then he is only power powerul ul through t law, and it is the law that then, theoretically, incarnates the pw Assovereign, long as anarchy andiwar reign,him the toSoverign is only r.the or even the do lawnothelps crush the eak,, it is nevertheless eak nevertheless through through an authority created in the name o th weak and substituting the alse bond o a contract or the rc o a single individual. "My neighbors passions righten me initely less than t han the injustice inj ustice o the law law, or my neighbors passons are contained by mine, whilst nothing constrains, nothing cecks cec ks the in i nj ustices o the law. law. Not Nothing hing arrests the law law, because be cause always ys above above ore, it is alwa there ereore, law, w, and and th ab ove the the la thing   abo tere t ere is i s n o thing  e . This is w Thiss ppresses me. Thi it   o ppresses aw serve  servess me, it  even i the law whhy, even is also  also   why, why, i  SSaade wa wass   ind in d eed ee d   ab abll e to to   s e e   hi hims msee l  aass sh sharin aringg an an   tion Revolution  as the  the Revolu insoar as only insoar Revolutionn , it was only  a f n i t y with t he Revolutio st o som tim, wn  mo rom on  o

lws to another, the possibility o a lawless regime. He expressed ieas along these lines lin es in these thes e peculiar remarks: remarks: "The rul o law law is in ineri erior or to that that o ana anarch rchy: y: the m most ost obvious proo proo  o what what I asert is the act that any government is obliged to plunge itsel ito anarchy whenever it aspires to rmake its constitution. In ann ul its ormer ormer laws, it neds to stablish stablis h a revolutionrevolutionod r to annul aend, y regime there isnevertheless no n o law: this this regime gives givesstate birth, in the to newwherein laws, though second is necessarilyy less pure than the rst one since saril s ince it i t is derive derivedd rom rom it. it . 

 

16

Sade' Reason

In fact, fact, Power Power accommodates itself it self to any regim regime.e. It denies den ies eac one autority and, in a world made unnatural by te law, it cre ates a aven wherein all law is silenced, a closed place wheren legal sovereignty is ignored rater tan combated. In te statutes of te "Society "S ociety of te Friends of Crime,  tere is an article wi forbids all political activity. "Te Society respects the governmet under which it lives, and i it places itsel above the law, it is because beca use one on e of its ls scies that man man lacs te ower ower o make laws tat go against the laws of o f nature, but bu t te alwa always ys inte inter r nal disorder of te Societys members must never scandalize te governed or te government. nd if it does appen in Sads writings that Power carries out some political act and mixes wi h the revolutiona revolutionass is i s the case case with Bo Borcha rchamps mps,, who conso con sorts rts wih wih the Loge duthat Nord to overtrow the Swedish monarchyte motivations inspire it have nothing to do with the will o emancipate the law. "at are te reasons that make you so hate Swedish despotism? one of the conspirators is ask d."J alous, ambit am bition, ion, pride, the despair of being dominated, the desire to ty ty annize oters mysel"In your opinion does the appiness f te peopl pe oplee count for someting some ting? ? "I only ave ave my own own a  app pp  ness in mind. mind. In extreme circumstances, Power can always maintain that it hs noting not ing to fear from from the common com mon man wo wo is weak, weak, and nothig no thig to fear from te law, te legitimacy ofwic ofwic it does nnot ot recognize. Te real problem is te relationsip between Power and power. These extraordinary men, originating rom either high up te social ladder or from societys dregs, necessarily come in contat with ith one  one anot another: her: thei theirr similar sim ilar tastes tastes bring bring them them toge together ther the at at   that they they   are the the excep exception tion,, setting setti ng them ap apart, art, bring b ringss te  te  toggether. But what to But  what co com m mona monality lity can  can there there be  be bete be teen en excepti exception? on? Tis T is questio questionn ob obviou viously sly pre p reooccupied ccup ied Sade. S ade.   As always, lways, h e procee pro ceess from on o n e possib possible le solution so lution   to to anot  anoter, er, wen n naally, at the th e end 6f 6f han isylo logi giccp,orta  e  s  sum ummo ug  nth t hise einigm nigma a  the o nly nlet  y word wo  that s -s any im imp ortanc nce e mons fo r ns tro  i troug m. W en e nv nvents ents  a  secret secr s o crd tha ie iety, ty, reg rteglated by lated  by rig ri gorou orouss conv  conventio entionn s that that are im i m p ose os e d to tempe emperr exce  excess ss tere t erein, in, he as t tee  ex excc us usee   of follo ollowi winng te te ex exam ampl plee   o f society society n

 

Sade' Reason

7

hi day, or Sade lived in a time when the reemaonry o liberti nage, and reemasonry pure and imple, gave rie, at the heart o a ociety in ruin, to a large number o ecret ocietie and clan detine college, ounded on the complicity o the paion and the mutual repect or dangerous idea. The "Society o the Friends o Crime is an eort along these lines. Its statutes, ana lyzed and tudied extenively, prohibit it member rom giving in to their avage paion among themelve, peciing that thee paion are only able to be atised in two eraglio whoe popu lation are aured aured by the virtuous clae. clae. Among Amon g themelv themelves, es, the members mut "give in to all their antasies and do everything, except that, Sade says, they must not give in to their passion or cruelty crue lty.. We can clearly ee why: it i i  a queti que tion on o o  p revent reventing ing at all cot the t he encou enc ounter, nter, on the ground gr ound that they would u uer evil, evil, o thoe who only derive pleaure rom evil. The uperior libertine rally together, but do not encounter one another. Such a compromise cannot ati Sade. It i alo neceary to note that, although the heroe o hi book contantly join orce through convention convention  that that limit their power and and uperimpose uperimpo se order o rder on their diorder, the posibility o betrayal remain constant: between accomplice, tenion never ceae to grow, to the point that they they,, in the end, en d, eel le connected con nected by the oath o o  allegiance that unite them than by the reciprocal need to break thi oath. Thi ituation makes the entire lat ection o juliee very dra matic. She has principles. She ha repect or libertinage and when he encounter an accomplished villain, the perection o the crim cr im s ri ri ss o im  ower o destructon des tructon tat e re  resent, not only lead her to join orce with him, but, even en this association becomes dangerous or her, lead her to spare his liee i li i  he can. can . So, although in danger o being killed by the mon ter, Minki, he reuses to have him killed. "This man is too much o a nuiance to humanity hu manity or or me m e to deprive the univere o him him. .  But then the nand there therye, e i another chara character cteracrice who think thinkhim,  up lecherou materpiece, in the end he but only

becaue he saw that upon leaving thee bloody orgies he uually went to church to cones and puri hi oul. Thereore, would

 

8

Sade' eason

te perfect criminal be protected by te passions tat consue him? Would tere remain one o ne last principle pri nciple that stipulates that the libertine can never be te obect or the victim of is own liberti nage? "You "that have told me a do hundred times, saysoter MmedoDeyou Donis to Juliette, libertines not arm eac go against tis maxim? Her response is clear: se contradicts te mxi m xim m Mme de Donis Doni s is sacri sacriced ced and then one by one her most mos t ele el e ccmplices, ccmplices, her most mos t respected compatrio compatriots ts in debauc ery peris as victims eiter eit er ooff teir delity de lity,, or of their perjur perj ury, y, or of teir lassi lassitude, tude, or even of o f te ferv fervor or of teir feelings. Noting can save them, noting exonerates tem. Juliette no sooner as tens er best friends deat tan se sets er sights on new allies and excanges a vow of eternal allegiance with themvows they themselves have mocked, since they are fully aware tat they are puttingg limits on teir puttin t eir excessive beavior beavior on only ly for the seer see r enjoy enj oy ment of breaking breaking tese limits Te following conversation between a few of the masters of crime summarizes te te situation quite well. well. One On e of them, Gernand, says tis about his cousin Bressac: "Well, he will receive an inheri tance from from me and I wager tat my life life does d oesnnt irritate irritat e him: him : I have the same same tastes tast es,, the same same way way of thinking he is i s sure sur e to nd nd a frien friendd in me. Certainly, says Bressac, I will never hurt you in the least. Meanwhile, the same Bressac notes that another of his relatives, dEsterval, wo specializes in gutting passersby, was very close to killing im. "Yes "Yes,,  says dEsterval, d Esterval, "b " b ut as as a relative, relative, never as a com com  patriot of debauchery. But Bressac remains skeptical, and every one cat help but agree that this cons co nsider ideratio ationn very very nearly nearly faile failedd to restrain Dorothy, dEstervls wife. Now what was Dorothys response? "Your eulogy is in your death sentence. I have this terri ble abit abi t of sacricing te men I am attracted attracted to, which traces your your deat sentence back to my declaration of love. l tis is clear.

But, under underoftese tes e conditions, condition s, wat waof t becomes bec of Sades Sade s teory taeory te pleasures Evil, what becomes thisomes certainty that manofwho as all vices will be continuously appy, wile te man wo as even a single virtue will necessarily be plagued by misfortune? In truth, his h is writings writings are littered littered with with the corpses of libertines liberti nes,, struck

 

Sade' Reason

down at the height o their glory. It is not uniquely Justine that misortune pursues, but the superb Clairwill, Sades most powerul and tireless heroine, and SaintFond, killed by Noirceuil, and the licentious Borghese, thrown intostrange thenge pitdenouements o a ements volcano,and andunusuhundredss o perect dred per ect criminals. criminals . What stra denou unus u triumphs o these perverted perverte d men! How can can Sades deranged reareasoning be blind to all the glaring contradictions it contains? Neve Ne vert rtheless, heless, these the se contradic contradictions tions are, in act, act, proo and conrmaconrmation o his reasoni reasoning, ng, and this is i s why: why: en we read justine absentmindedly, we let ourselves be taken in by a rather vulgar vulgar piece piec e o o  literature. lite rature. We see this young virtuous girl continuously raped, raped, beaten, tortured, the victim o a destiny that is bound to destroy her; and when we we read juliette, we see a young, lecherous girl it rom pleasure to pleasure. Such a plot hardly convinces us. We have, however, not paid close enough attention to its most important aspect: being attentive only to the sadness o the ormer and to the satisaction o the latter, we neglected to notice that at base both stories o the two sisters were identical, that everything that happens to Justine happens to Juliette, Juliet te, and that that both o them endure the same experiences, experien ces, overcome the same diculties diculties.. Juliette is also thrown thrown in prison, pris on, beaten be aten up, promised torture, and tortured endlessly. Hers is also a horribe existence, but here is the dierence: these evils give her pleasure, these tortures enthrall her. "How delicious are these implements o torture, o the crime that we love love .  And we we are not even even talking about those unusual tortures that are so terrible or Justine   c g r J.   cr  

episode, which takes place in the corrupt judges chateau, we see the unortunate unortunate Justine subjected s ubjected to truly tr uly abominable abomin able torture; torture ; her he r suering su erin g is unheardo; unheardo; we can only think it a consider con siderable able injusinj ustice. Then what happens? A completely lecherous girl, who is

observing the goingson, becomes enraged by this spectacle, demands that she be made to withstand, withstand, then and there, the same torture. And she derives innite pleasure rom it. It is thereore absolutely true that virtue gives rise to mans misortune, but not because it expose exposess man to un u nortunate ortunate ev events. ents . It is becau b ecause se,, i one

 

20

Sade' Reason

is stripped of one's virtue, what was previously misfortue becomes an opportunity for pleasure, and what was torme�t becomes voluptuous. For Sade, the sovereign man is inaccessible to evil because o one can ur him. He is he man consumed by every passion, and his passions take pleasure in everything. We occasionally accepte accepte, as the expression of a paradox oo spiriual to be true, Jen lt t   ol ism,   a o ade's e's sad sadism, nd Sad a, , bei beind o a olsio 's  olsi P  's  P  s    this is idea idea s s, that that th theles less,  none nethe see, no ed.2 W e see, ar ed.2 hantt appe appear   penc nchan posite ite pe oppos op ma   goism ism is a ma lete te eego comple o f comp system tem.. The man of Sade's de's sys  of Sa thee heart th he art of pugrepuglll re astes, l te into into tastes istaste r m all distas sfor  transfo t  tran ows   ho w   t  knows  whoo  kn  wh room,, � bedroom the   bed pherr of   the losophe philoso the  phi Like   the  ns. Like ctions. ce into attr actio nance nan assserts: as erts: "I love love   it all, I  enj enjoy oy m yse  yself lf w ih ih e very thing, thing, I  wa  wan n t

ds�"   kinds�" all  kin ple of all people and   peo gs,   and thinngs, aces,  thi endeers, r aces, gethher gend brinng toget bri

acco o-ut acc sets ts abo about m , se  ays ofSod  ofSod oom Thee I20 I20   D  in   Th hy  Sade,  Sade, in is is is w hy  nd this A nd th

rating ing e vey   nume merat tely ly enu omple plete ormou ouss task   of com he   en enorm plishin lishingg the

 y.3  He mut ossibilit ibilit y.3 human poss tion, n, e ver  y hum distractio nomaly  maly , e very   distrac ano o  of nothing. othing. "Y o mercy  of  to be at the the mercy  order  to thing in order  perience nce e very thing experie ex

 will know nothing if you have no known everyting, and, if yo are timid enough to content yourself with nature, it will forever  outside your grasp. Weshould understand whycannot the forlorn Justine's objection, nd if yor yca or luck change?, rouble the criminal heart. Luck change and become bad luck, but then it will be a new and di ferent luck, just as desired, as satising as the previous one. Bt  you risk going to the scaff scaffold! old! You might perhaps meet your n in one of the most ignominious of deaths!This is indeed y mos cherished desire, the libertine responds. "Oh, Juliete, ss

Borghese, "  would like my deviations to guide me as if   were te last of all creatures to the fate to which their abandon carries the The gallows would be for me a throne of voluptuousness. Ther,   would brave death while delighting in the pleasure of expiringa  victim of my horrendous crimes. And again: "The true t rue lib rti lo ves even even the repr ooaches aches he  he re receives ceives f or  or  the uns unspe peakable akable de deeds eds e

has done. Have we not seen some who loved the very torturs human vengeance vengeance w   w as as ready ing ing for hem, hem, who who submited submited to t h m

 

Sade' Reason

2

 joyf ully, w ho ho be b eheld the sca scaold old   as a th throne rone  of glo glory upon upon w hich tey w  tey  w ould  ould  be most gr  gr ieved  ieved  not to to  per iish sh wit with the  the  same same   cour age te e y had ha d dis di splay  ed man in  inan   the loath loathsome some    exe exer  r ccise isee of of medit thedita eir aheino h einou us ct ime imes s? The Th ere is the is  m at the  at the  ultim ultimate ate degree degre mtheir ted corcorrptiion." rpt on."  A gainst gainst such such a P o wer,  wer,  w hat hat can the the law  do? It It inte  inten nds to  to  pnis pni s   suc suc  a man, but but  it re w ards ards im, an and it trills rills   im b y   demeani meaning him him. An And d, lik ew  ew ise, w  ise, w hat hat can th thee liber tine d doo again  against hs counterp counterpaart? One One da y he betra y s him and him and sacri acricces him, im, but but tis be betrayal trayal   arouse rousess inten  intense se plea pleasure f or te one wo wo falls  falls  victim  victim 

to it,  it,  and e sees sees all is is suspic suspicions ions con conrmed rmed   terein terein   and dies dies i inn te volup voluptuousn tuousneess of te te toug  tougt t of  of av ing ing been t been te e excus excusee for a  a  ne w crime crime (not to m to mentio entionn te ote oter titillati titillations ons inv olved). One One of

Sde's most most curi curioous eroin eroines, es, Aml Amlie, ie, lives in in Sweden  Sweden;; one day, day,  se ges looking looking for  Borcamps,   Borcamps, te conspirato conspiratorr we mentioned mentioned earliearlie; te one wo, in opes of a mass execution on a monstrous sale, as just delivered all te members of te conspiracy to te rigning sovereign, te king. His betrayal as excited te young oman. "I love your ferocit, ferocit , se tells im. "Promise me tat one dy I too will be your victi victim; m; since te age of fteen, my mind as ben obsessed wit te idea of perising te victim of te cruel pssions of libertinage. Of course, I ddoo not want ttoo die tomorrow;

my eccentricit does not wile go tatexpiring, far; but te I doexcuse only want die in tis manner: becoming, for a tocrime is a idea tat makes my mout water. A strange mind, truly worty of tis response: "I am crazy in love wit your mind, and I tink we will do amazing tings togeter." togeter."Se Se is rotten, putre,  r  rc c!

Tus, everyting is beginning to crystallize: for te integral man, wo is all men, no evil iiss possible. If e inicts pain on otes, wat exquisite pleasure! If oters inict pain on im, ow dligtful! Virtue deligts im, for it is weak and e cruses it. And vice also pleases, because e derives satisfaction from te disorder it invokes, even toug it is at is expense. If e lives, tere is absolutely no event or occurrence tat e is unable to transform into pure appiness. If e dies, e nds an even greater appiness i deat, te consciousness of is destruction becoming te coro

 

22

Sade' Reason

nation of a life that alone justies the need for destruction He is therefore inaccessibe to power othersofNo onecontained can undermine him, nothing can take away his being within a body and enjoying himsel himsel Such is the primary meaning of his solitude Even if e, in turn, seemingly becomes a vctim and a slave, the  violence of the passions tat e knows how to assuage in any circi rcumstance assures him of his sovereignty, makes him feel that in any crcumstance, crcumstance, n fe an in eath, he shal emain aa ful Despite the similarity of descriptions, it seems right to allow SacherMasoch the paternity of masochism and Sade that of sasm or Saes eroes, te peasure of egradation never taints their supreme selfmastery, and abjection exalts them All these feelings, shame, remorse, a fondness for punishment, remain foreign to them  SaintFon SaintFondd declares to Juliette: "M "Myy pride is such that I woud like those who serve me to knee, and never to speak to them except through a spokesperson And she responds (not ironically) with this question: "But do not the caprices of libertinage free you from this haughtiness? "For  " For minds assembled like ours, answers Saintond, "tis umiliation caters deiciousy to our pride And Sade adds in a footnote: "Tis is easiy understood; one doesmoral whatlevel, no one are therefore unlike any other On the theredoes; is thewesame proud satisfaction in the feeling of being ostracized ostracized from humanity: humanity: "It is necessary for the world to tremble upon learning of the crimes we wil ave

committed We must force men to bus for belonging to te same species as us I demand that a monument be built commemorating this crime to the universe and that our names be engraved on it by our own hands A Unique Being, unique among men, this is truly a sign of sovereignty, sovereignty, and we will see ju just st how far Sade wants to push this status Everythingg is now beginning to become even clearer, but at this Everythin point we also have the sense that everything is beginning to become extremey obscure Te agie move wit wc te Unique Being eludes te oters grasp is far from transparent rom certain anges, it can be seen as a kind of stoic imperviousness, which seems to suppose mans complete autonomy with

 

Sade' Reason

23

epec  e wld. Ye, a e ame me,   e exac ppe: nce e Beng i ndependen f e w can am m, he Unque uddenly ae a elan f neve ablue dmnan ove hem. And e can do i n becaue e ave nng n him excep a dagge,  oue, and n becaue ei cheme f debaemen leave im inac, bu becaue he can do anyhing o em,  a even e pan ey caue m pvde m w e pleaue f pwe and elp im exe  veeign Nw, hi uan  ae embaang. Wen "beng he mae f myelf mean "beng he mae f e, wen my ndependence de n n  cme fm my aunmy aunmy,, bu fm e dependence f he n me,   bvou a I foeve eman cnneced  e and a I need em, even f nly  bleae bleae em. Suc a difculy a fen been evked in egad o Sade. I i n clea a Sade Sad e  even cn cncu cu f , and ne f e nnv nnva an n f h "excepnal ug peap gnae wi  pn wen ne  n Sade,   a cucal pblem, ug whc elan f ecpcal lda beween mae and lave ae enduced; bu wen ne  Sade, hee  n pblem and  i meve mpble  ee a pblem n any f . We aeeac ncapable f examnng, e exen ha wuld be neceay, f Sade' numeou ex (eveyng i alway in abundance wen  cme o Sade) a make efeence o  -

uan. In u, cnadcn abund. On a few ccaon, he fev f  f e lbenage eem auned by  cnadcn f  pleaue. Te lbene knw n geae pleaue an an accng  c,   r   r   rc

 w le annlang  vey cau  wle caue. e. "T "Tee pleaue f kllng a  wman, ay ne, " "  n ve; e n lnge feel anyng  wen he  dead; e pleaue f makng e uffe dappea alng w e lfe... lfe... Le' band e (w a ed o n), le' mak he ndelbly; w  depvan he wll uffe  e la mmen f he lfe and u lu, nnely plnged, will heeby becme even me delicu. Smaly, SainFnd, diaied  wh mple mehd f ue, deie a kind of pepeual dea f eac being. Thi i why, hough an ncneably ingeniu

 

Sade' Reson

system, devises to get is ands on Hell, to ave at isresource disposal in oureworld, at is victims victims' ' expense, tis inexaustible for metods of torment We discern erein, assuredly, just wat sort of inextricable alliance oppression created between te oppressedd and te oppressor oppresse oppressor Te Sadean man draw drawss is ex existence istence from te deat tat e inicts and at times wen, desiring eternal life, e dreams about a deat e can continuously impose Ten,  onr and te victim, one foreve facn te te, ee one anoter bestowed equally wit wi t te same power, wit te same divine attribute of eternity We would not know ow to argue  wit te fact tat suc a contradiction is part of Sade's tougt Yet, even more oen, e passes beyond all tis by means of reasons tat open up for us a more profound view of is world Clairwell scolds SaintFond for wat se calls is unforgivable eccentricities, and setting im anew on te rigt pat se gives im tis word of advice: Get rid of tat voluptuous idea tat warms your loins te idea of indenitely prolonging te torture of te Being you intend to killand replace it wit a greater number of murders Do not drag out te murder of one individual, wic is impossi-

ble, but is, killinmany tem,perfect wic solution is very feasible Te uman greater number fact, of a more To consider beings from te standpoint of quantity kills tem more completely tan does te pysical violence tat anniilates tem Te criminal unites, peraps, in an indissoluble way wit te man e kills But even wile sacricing s victim, te libertine, on te oter and, only experiences te need to sacrice a tousand more He seems strangely free of any connection to is victim In is eyes, is victim does not exist for im or erself, is victim is not a istinct being, but a simple component, indenitely excangeable,  witin an enormous erotic equation To read declarations like tis oneNoting is more enjoyable for me, noting excites me like a large number of bei beings ngswe we be better tter understa understand nd wy Sade makes use of te idea of equality as support for so muc of is argumentation ll men are equal: tis means tat no creature is wort more tan anoter, every being is intercangeable, eac one as only te meaning of one unit witin an innite number Before

 

Sade Reaso

25

t Unque Beng, bengs are equa n wortessness, and ts te Uqu Beng, as ea reduces tem to notng, ony makes ntngn ss manfest. s s wat makes Sades word so strange. Scenes of ferocty suc

d  d  scenes scenes   of

ferocty  feroc ty . Te rep repettons ar e endess endess and  and fab fabu u-

o1s. In o1s. In a snge snge scene, scene, eac bertne bertne fr equenty tortures and massares four or ve undred vctms; ten t starts over agan te net day; ten, tat evenng, a new ceremony. Te proceedngs  va y  y sgty, sgty, tngs get eated up agan; and massacr massacree compounds mssacre. But s t not obvous tat tose wo meet ter end n tse outrageous murders, murders, tose wo de, aready ack te sgtes bt of o f reaty reaty,, and f tey dsappear dsappe ar at te ands of ts dersve fat tey were annated beforeand by an act of tota and aboute destructon, tey are tere and tey do de, but ony to b r  wtness to ts knd of orgna catacysm, ts destructon tt s not only ter own, but aso everyone eses? Ts s strkng te word n wc te Unque Beng exsts s a desert; te b �ngs e encounters tere are ess tan tngs, ess tan sadows. Ad we tormentng tem and destroyng tem, e does not

smst z upon ternonexstence, fe, but veres notngness. He becomes r of ter andter e draws great peasure from te  of te  at te te da wn of gs say, at de Bangs does te  te Duk e de Ban ten does ts.. Wat ts W at ten four re of te te four peasure re for te te peasu ered d te tere en gat  gatere te wom  women 120 day ss,, to te and are, and  are,, w woo w e are, o you are uaton, on, w o you  your ur st stuat  xamne  xam ne yo lib r tin s? "E  outsde   be;; you  you  are no w outsde trembe you trem ts   to mak e you tougts tese   toug a w tese

forest, rest,   abted ted fo unn nab eart art of   an un rance ce n te e border  rder s of Fran t bo ways hav havee  passagew whosee  passage mountaii ns whos d  pointy pointy   mounta and the   steep an b e�ond the

en ostructed mmedatey ate aterr you crossed tem; you are sut U wtn an mpenetrab mpenetrabee ctade; woever t s you tnk you are,  you are dden from your frends, from your famy;  you are Tss worl"   T ead t o th thee worl" a lr  lr   ady  d ead

tese  en teray: teray: tese  must must be tak en

 wmen are aready dead, emnated emnated,, ocked up n te absoute were tes   and  and  were penetrates onger  nger   penetra ce no o er e exsten exstence aste e w er  d of a bast  vod  vo quaty of fest ts ts quaty manfest se tan tan to man oter er purpo purpose serv e no ot t hdr ves serv 

nge. e. nterm rmng  no w nte ves no  terr ves  wc te  wt  wc dy  dead"  dead" wt area a ready  oug g  atou hch, at paa w hch, necrop stores res of   necro  asdee te sto settng asd i are settng

 

Sade' Reason

numerous in Sade's work, seem rather far from the "normal propensitiess o his heroes. Besides it would be necessary to indicate propensitie that, when his heroes exclaim '  what a beautiful cadaver! ad become excited excited by the imperviousness of death, they have, for tte e most part, begun their careers as murderers, and they are, in fat, striving to extend the effects of this capacity of aggression beyod death. It is undeniable that what characterizes Sade's world is not     nnes nnes r r ecomng one with the immobized and ptried existence of a corpse, nor is it the attempt to slip into te pssivityrel of arealty, form representing of any of mencompletely taken from the the sence uncertanty of form, lfe an  while incarnating the ultimate unreality unreality.. On the contrary contrary,, the center of Sade's world is the necessity for sovereignty to afrm itslf through an enormous negation. This negation, which is carrid out on a massive scale, which no individual instance is enough to satis, is essentially destined to surpass the plane of human exs-

tence. lthough lthou gh the Sadean man uses his power to impose himslf on others with the intention of destroying them, if he gives the impression independent evenforever when capable displayig the necessityof tobeing annihilate them, ofif them, he seems f doing without them, it is because he has set himself apart, on a level where he no longer has anything in common with them, ad because once and for all he has placed himself on this plane to make the scope of his destructive project into something that etrnally surpasses man and his puny existence. In other words, insofar as the Sadean man appears urprisingly free in relation to is  victim, upon whom however his pleasure depends, it is because te  violence  violen ce is directed direct ed at somethi something ng other than his victims, victi ms, it goes truly beyond them and only assists in veriing frenetically, innitely, with each individual case, the general act of destructin through which he reduces God and the world to nothing. Obviously, with Sade, the spirit of crime is connected to te dream  of unlim dream  unlimited ited nega negation tion that that   weak, practical possibilit ossibilitie iess nev er er cease  cease  to debase debase and dishon dishonor. or. The The most mag magnicent nicent   cr ie ie in this w orld is the the   sort of   tribulati ribulation on   that ma makes the li libertie bertie

blush. bl ush. There There is not  not one amo among ng them who, them who, lik e the monk monk Jeroe, Jeroe,

 

Sade' Reason

oes not ee same at te tougt o te meocrty o s orrenous crmes an seeks a superor crme to any tat man mgt commt n ts wor n unortunately, e says, "I ave not oun one; a tat we o paes n comparson to wat we wou ke to be abe to o "I wou ke, says Carwl, "to n a crime whose continual effects are ongoing, even when I am no longer enactng tem, so tat tere w never be one snge moment n my e wen, even we I seep, I am not creatng some sorer or anoter An ts sorer sou exten to te pontater categorca tat even atoergenera I e tte ecorrupton eects wlorstsuc reverberate reverberate  T Toosrupton wc Juette gves ts very proper response, peasing to te author o L a Nouvelle justine justine : "Try commttng a mora crme, one tat can ony e accompse troug wrtng I n s system Sae reuce te t e peasures o te mn aass muc as e possby cou, 

e amos amostt competely competely  away aw ay w wt t the erotic eroticsm sm o te imagna imagna-ton (ecause s own erotc ream conssts n projectng, onto caracters tat o not ream but nstea act out n reaty, te unrea movement s pleasures: Sade'spart, erotcsm dreamed eroticsm, snce it soreaze, oor the most ony inswords; yet te more ts erotcsm s tat o a ream, te more t emans narraton from wc te ream s banse, weren ebauce ebaucery ry s reaze an ve),  Sae as owever eevate, n an exceptona way, te magnary, t s because e compreens wonderuy tat te bass for so many mperect crmes s an mpossbe crme wc te magnaton aone can contempate An ts s   v i  Br  : " , u uiette, iette, ow deici deicious ous are te peasures peasu res o te magnat magnaton! on! Te entre eart beongs to us n tese woneru moments; not one snge creature ressts us, we evastate the word, we repopulate t wt new objects wic we agan sacrice; we ave te capacity o orr a tese crmes, we w e enjoy every bt o t, we mutpy te orror by a unre In a coecton o o  essays tat not ony expresses some o te most poweru power u tougts about Sae but aso about a te probems tat Sae's exstence can car, erre Kossowsk expans te very compex caracter o te reatons tat te Saean conscousness

 

28

Sade' Reason

maintains with God and his neighbor4 He shows that these relations are negative, but that, nsofar as this negation is real, it reintroduces the notions that it abolishes: the notion of God and the notion of the neighbor, Kossowski says, are indispensable to the libertine's consciousness We could discuss this endlessly, because Sade's work is a chaos of early stated ideas in which everything is said, though in which everythng s also hidden ter all, Sade's orgnalty seems to be in the extremely rm assertion of foundng man's sovereignty sovereignty the upon transcending transcen power power that depends in noonway theding objects thatofitnegation, destroys,awhich, in order to destroy them, does not even suppose their existence beforehand, beforeha nd, because when t t destroys them it has always previously considered them as nothng Now, this dialectic uncovers simul-

ly considered them as noth ng Now, this dialectic uncovers simul taneously its best example and, perhaps, its ustication insofar as the Almighty Almighty Sade is afrmed with respect to the di divine vine Almighty Almighty Maurice Heine has celebrated the exceptional resolution of Sade's atheism atheism55 But But,, as Pierre Klossows Klossowski ki frequently frequently observes, observes, this God atheism appears is by innoeven means thedispassionate most tranquilThe of passages, moment the the language name of suddenly begins to burn, the tone rises, the impelling force of hate directs the words, overturns them It is certainly not through the scenes of lust and lechery that Sade's passion is revealed, and each time the Unque Being perceives some vestige of God in his path, it is then that violence, contempt, the fervor of pride, and the anxiety of power and desire immediately ensue In some ways, the idea of God is the inexpiabe fault of man, his original sin, the proof of his emptiness, what usties and authorizes crime, for we cannot be too forceful in our efforts to annihlate a being who is  willing to bow down and prostrate himself before God God Sade  writes: "The idea of God is the one wrong that I am not able to forgive man man  Decisive words and a ke keyy to his system Belief in an almighty God who allows man only the reality of a wisp of straw, of an atom of nothingness, imposes on the complete man the obligation to seize this thi s superhuman power, and to himself exert, in the name of man and on men, the sovereign right that these men have recognized to be God's When he kills, the crimnal is God on

 

Sade' Reason

Earth, for he realzes between hmself and hs vctm the relatonshp of subordnaton wheren he sees the denton of dvne soveregnty. When a true lbertne dscerns, even n the mnd of the most corrupt debauchee, the slghtest bt of relgous fath, he medately decrees hs death: for ths poor mmoralst has already destroyed hmself, by surrenderng to the hands of God. He cosders hmself to be nothng, so he who klls hm s only regulatng a stuaton that appearances barely vel. The Sadean man negatesofmen, and ths carred out through the ntermedary the noton of negaton God. He smomentarly becomes God, so that, when n hs presence, other men become

nconsequental and then realze exactly to what extent a beng before God s sheer nothngness. "Do you not love men, my prnce? asks Julette" deplore them. There s not one nstant  wheren I am not concoctng the mos mostt volent ways to harm them. In fact, there does not exst a more pathetc race ... How base, how  vle man s, how dsgustng!" dsgustng!"But But you, Julette nterru nterrupts, pts, "do  yu really beleve that you are one of them, that you are a man? Oh, no, no, when you domnate them wth such force, t s mpossle that you are one of them."She s rght, says SantFond, "yes, we are gods. Meanwhle, the dalectcal movement perseveres: the Sadean man assumes the power to rse above other men, ths power stupdly gven to God by these same men. The Sadean man does not forget for one moment that ths power s entrely negatve. Beng God can only mean one thng: crushng men, annhlatng crei. "  ik   Pr' x SaintFond says, "so that the evl released my heart destroys and that everya bengallndvdually. And from Verneul says ths: "If t each was true God exsted, would we not all be hs rvals destroyng as we do  what he has molded? Ths s how an ambguous concepton of the Almghty s gradually conceved, though there can hardly therefore be any doubt about ts mplcatons. Klossowsk emphaszes the theores of SantFond, whose vews we have just ntmated and who, among all of Sade's heroes, presents the sngular trat of belevng n the Supreme Beng only ths God n whom

 

30

Sade' Reason

he beleves s not very good, but "very vndctve, very barbarc,  very mean, very unfar, and very cruel; cruel ; t ss the Supr Supreme eme Beng of meanness, the God of evl acts. Sade has drawn all knds of bllant developments from ths dea. He magnes a Last udgmet  whch he descrbes wth all the resources of the ferocous huor or he possesses. We hear God berate these ne men wth the followng words: "When you have seen that everythng on earth s  v  cous cou s and crmna crmnal, l, wy   wy   whch ddch  you yo uI stray    on onto toe ppat aths hs er  rtue Has  be�n eoof r fse sev rtue? not ?be�n  unv  loak ak the th clo n    dd n wh msery m sery etual ual perpet perp the

that y 6 u nd  that sorde rderr and  hat   I lov e only   dso  you   that nce  you conv nce gh   to to   conv  enough enou ish    f u ur  r nish  day  f   very  ry  day  ot e  e ve  not id  I n hap ppy ? Did  to maak e me ha  me to m nno y  me  to a  an av e to structee? u not destruct you  W y ar e yo on? W destructon? pless of   destruct example th exam ou w th  y ou

mbecle! Can't you just mtate me!

t hs cous tha  thatt ths  obvo bvous e, t s s o he for   for e,  to the ghtt tthhss to brough  havn avngg brou But h But

c dalec alecc moment n the d ernal God s only   a  mom pton on of an nf ernal cept ce

name  o f   an   n the name  ng man pudatng an,, afte afterr r eepudat superman ade's   superm  w heren heren Sade's

the n a q   ects hm hm n the rejects  then,, n turn n turn,, rej God and  and then meets God nally meets God, nally

f

of Nature, only to, n the end, renounce Nature, equatng t w h the sprt of negaton. n the evl God, the negaton, aer havg  just extermnated exte rmnated the t he not noton on of man, takes tak es a short breather, so o speak, before turnng ts attenton nward, on tsel In becomg God, SantFond smul smultaneou taneously sly makes God become SantFon. And the Supreme Beng, nto whose hands the weak have delered themselves as examples to compel the strong to abd te themselves as well, no longer reafrms Hmself except as te ggantc pressure of a bronzelke transcendence whch crus s each beng n proporton to hs weakness. Ths Yet, s thehavng hatredj 4f man hypostatzed, rased to ts hghest degree. st attaned absolute exstence, the sprt of negaton, havng as sh become conscous of tself as nnte, now has no other cho than to turn aganst the afrmaton of ths absolute exstence, prhaps now the only object on the same level as nnte negato. Thss hatred of Th hatred of men  men  was emb emboded oded b y   God. God. N Now ow ts hatred ts hatred f f God lbe lbera rates tes hate from God. God. Such aggressve aggressve hate  hate seems seems at ev e� y

moment oment   to be pro proectng ectng   the real realty ty of w at t den denes, es, to  to  b tter af  rm and and just  tself.  tself. "If  "If  ths  ths exs exstence-  tence- God's God's exstenc exstence-  e-  wee   wee 

 

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31

proven true, I must admit, says Dubois, "the sheer pleasure of perpetually irritating such a being would necessarily become the most precious compensation for the fact that I would nd myself beieving in him. But does such a scalding hate afrm, as lossowski seems to believe, a faith that had forgotten its name and resorted to blasphemy in order to force God to end his silnce? We are not fully convinced that this is the case. Everything Ev erything

indicates the contrary cont rary, his predilection for the erce hatred of, that Godthe wasonly thatreason in Himbehind he found a privileged pretext and aliment. For Sade, God is obviously only the mainstay of his hatred. His hatred is too great to be contained by just one object; since it is innite, since it always goes beyond every limit, it takes pleasure in itself and becomes ecstatic in this innitude to  wich it give givess the name God ("Your syst system, em, Clair Clairwill will says to SaintFond, "is based only on the deep horror that you have for God.). But this hatred alone is real and, in the end, it will focus its attention on Nature with as much boldness as it displayed against the nonexistent God it abhors. Indeed, if all things religious, if the very name of God, if priestlike these "Godmakers excite Sade's most tempestuous passions, it is because the words of God and religion embody nearly every form of his hate. In God, he hates the nothingness of manwho created such a master for himselfand the thought of this nothingness so irritates and enrages him that he is left no other choice than to work with God to sanction this nothingness. He furthermore hates God's omnipotence, in which he sees what is rightful i o,  inGo te c,       atred. Fnally, Godco e ates misery and misfortune of God, the pointlessness of an existence that, for as much as it arms itself as existence and creation, is nothing. For wht is great, what is everything, everything, is tthe he spirit of destruction. destruction. This spirit of destruction, in Sade's system, is identied with Nature. With this point Sade grappled and groped, and in fact he had to renounce the thenpopular atheist philosophies, for which he particularly felt an afnity and wherein his reasoning, thirsty for arguments, found inexhaustible resources. But insofar as he

 

32

Sade' Reason

 was able to go beyond naturalist ideology, ideology, and insofar as he never fell prey to outside analogies, he proves that in him logic was brought to its end without giving way to the t he dark forces and ominous gures that supported it. Nature is one of the words that he  writes, like so many writers of his time, the most willfully willfully.. It is in

the name of Nature that he leads the struggle against God and against all thats Godpont represents, morality in particular. We ndde no  s any urther, gven that the amount himself wrote on this subject is vertiginous. Nature is rstly, for him, universal life and, for hundreds of pages, his entire philosophy onsists in repeating over over and over tht nly imoral instin instints ts are good, since they are facts of Nature, and the rst and nal athority is that of Nature. In other words, that there is no morality is the reigning fact. But then, irritated by the equal value that he feels obligated to accord virtuous instincts and evil impulses, he attempts to establish a new hierarchy of values with crime at the summit. His principal argument states states that crime iiss more on the side of Nature, because it is movement oor,r, in other words, it is life Nature, which thrives on creation, he says, needs crime, which destroys. All this is established in a very detailed way, at endless length and sometimes with rather striking proofs. However, by continually talking about Nature, nding himsel constantly confronted with this insurmountable and sovereign presence, the Sadean man gradually becomes aggravated. This irritation fuels his anger and crystallizes his feelings for Nature into intense hatred. Nature, now completely unbearable becomesyes, the Ifocus of his anathemas and negations. "Yes,to him, my friend, abhor Nature. This insbordination has two deepseated motivations. On the one hand, he nds it intolerable that the power of incredible destruction, which he represents, has no other purpose than to authorize Nature to create. On the other hand, insofar as he is himself part of Nature, he senses Nature evade his negation, and the more he outrages Nature and the more he serves it, the more he annihilates it and the more he submits to its law. From then on, hatelled screams, a truly mad rebellion.  you, blind and mindless force, when I have exterminated allthe creatures that

 

Sade' Reason

33

cover te eart I w st b e truy far from m y goa snce I woud cover ave served you crue moter and snce I ony aspre to avenge mysef of your neggence and meanness wc you nct on men

 we furnsng tem wt te means means to free temseves from te frghtfu penchants that you nspre n them. Wt ths we see the expresson of a prmorda and eementa sentment to outrage naturestronger tmes s man'sthan deepest te necessty; one e asts to rrtate need sGod. n hm "Inaatousand tat we do tere are ony offended dos and creatures but Nature s not one of tem and Nature s te one I reay want to outrage; I  woud ke to upset ts pans to fo ts proceedngs to stop the orbt of the stars to dsrupt the panets tat oat n space to destroy a that serves t to protect a tat arms t n a word to nsut te core of Nature; and I am ncapabe of ts. And yet n ts passage Sade takes te berty of ntermngng Nature wt ts great aws wch aows m to dream of a catacysm that coud destroy tese very aws. But s ogc rejects ts compromse and  wen esewere e magnes an engneer nventng a machne to puverze te unverse e must confess that nobody ese s more deservng of nature than hm. Sade s y aware that annhatng a thngs s not te same thng as annhatng the word because te word s not ony a unversa afrmaton but unversa destructon as we. In other words te entrety of beng and the entrety of notngness revea t equay. Ts s wy man's strugge wth nature s engendered wthn the hstory of man at a daectca truymnizn su peror togthat superor hsg strugge wt wthh God. s of  mi g s stage i  Sade s oneWe of te rst to ave seen n te dea of te word te very markngs of transcendence snce wth the dea of nothngness beng part of the word we can ony consder the nothngness of the word  wthn a tota totaty ty wch s aways the wor word. d. If crme s the sprt of Nature there can be no crme aganst nature and consequenty no crme s possbe. Sade asserts ths sometmes wt great satsfacton sometmes wth ery rage. Denyng the possbty of crme aows hm to deny moraty God and a uman vaues but te dena of crme aso entas

 

34

Sade' Reason

relinquishing the spirit of negation, admitting that this spt

ould itself be usurped. He vigorously opposes this onlusion,  whih leads him gradually to remove remove all reality from Nature. In the last volumes of L a Nouvelle justine (most notably not ably in V Volumes olumes VIII and IX), Juliette renounes all of her previous oneptions and makes amends in the following way: "What "W hat an imbeile I was, before we parted ways I was still part of Nature, but the new systm I'v dptd sne ten ave reeved me o Natue...  Nature, she says, has no more truth, trut h, reality reality,, or meaning than God Go d himself: ! Bith, you are perhaps deeiving me, sine I was deeived so in the past, with the infamous deied hmer to  wih, we were were told, you were subjeted; we are not depending on  you any more more than on im; the auses have peraps no relation to the effets... effets...  Thus Nature disappears, altough the philosopher plaed muh store in it and although Sade found the idea of making formidable mahine out goal. of universal lifeas verypursud agreeable.a Yet nothingness aloneof isdeath not his What he by pushing the spirit of negation to its limit is sovereignty sovereignty.. So tat t at this negation would be felt in te most extensive way, e used alternately men, God, and and Nature. Men, God, and Nature: W When hen negation rosses with eah of these notions, it appears to bestow on them a ertain kind of value, but if we take tis experiment into aount in its entirety these t hese moments no longer ave te lest bit of reality, beause the peuliarity of the experiment onsists anoter. speiallyat in obliterating exatly are these men, moments, if they areannihilating the vast nothingness one after before God? Wat is God, in the presene of Nature? Wat is Nature, wih is fored to disappear by man's need to outrage it? And so the irle loses. Some men, inluding us, return to being men. Only one man in partiular now has a new name: he is alled the Unique, the man who is unique in his speies. Having disovered that in man negation was power, Sade laimed to found man's future on extreme negation. To rea this point of extreme negation, he ame up with a prinipleborrowing from the voabulary of his timewhih, by its very ambiguity, illustrates a very ingenious oie. This priniple is Energy.

 

Sade' Reason

35

Eer g y s, n fact, n fact, a  a hghy  eqv oca not noton. on. It  It s, at on once, a reserve reserve ad an  an exend exendtre of of force, an afrmaton afrmaton that s co comet meteed ony   troggh neg tro negaaton, t t s  s o w er er tha that s des destrcto trcton. n. t s s  both f act act and a w, data data and v ae. It s try   strkng strkng  that, n n ths n nverse o f rv sc s c   n c and and   of ass asson, Sad Sade, far fr oom m de dessgnatn gnatngg desr e  as

te hghest hghest vae, vae, makes makes t of secondary  secondary   mortance mortance and  and  even  jgees t ss  jg ssect ect Ths Ths s  s beca becase se desre desre denes  denes sotde sotde aand nd eads to a dangero dangeross arecaton arecaton o the o the wor d d of others others Bt  when S  intFond intFond   decare decares:s: "My assons, assons,  when co concentrat ncentrated ed on one one artcar ont, ar e ke ray s of ght ght from a star gathered gathered wthn wthn a agnng gass: they qcky gnte any object they nd n ther ath, we ceary see how destrcton can aear synonymos  wth ower, wthot the destroyed object ectng even the sghtes vae from ths oeraton Another advantage of ths rnce: rnc e: t gves man a ftre, wthot mosng on hm an awareness of so sort of greater or hgher beng, wthot any dea noton Ts s one of Sades merts He has camed to knock the mora-

 of the Good ot of the heavens, off ts edesta, brngng t

dwnn to earth, bt, de dw deste ste a few rovocatve aarmatons, he took wrtes:: great care not to reace t wth a Gose of Ev When he wrtes "erythng s good when t s excessve, we mght reroach hm fo the ack of recson of hs rnce, bt we cannot fat hm ng  wanting fo   wanti

 vereig nty of man on  on the the so vereignty acy of man th suprem supremacy to found found th

 Here Here no hmse natee hmse orev er er sbord sbordnat wod f orev  hch he  he  wod tons   to w hch ntons n  an n yto   do do a  choos oosee to   we   can can ch eged:  we be r   r eged: redd to be re c  n duct satconsde con mose ose be   to m n   dong dong t, w e be abe atters att ers s s that, n  what msde tng; t ng;  wh rmaafrmahe gre reaatest af ruction   and tthe st dest destruction reatest sly the the   greate ltaneously siultaneou siu

tn Essentay, ths s try what haens n Sades noves t s nt the amont of vrte or vce that determnes whether bengs ar hay or nhay, bt the energy they exend; becase, as he  wrtes, "haness s n keeng wth the energy of rnces: t r  wod be none of any of t  t for the beng who oats endessy SantFond rooses a an to Jette to devastate two thrds o France throgh starvaton She hestates and s frghtened: medatey, she s threatened Why? Becase she s vng roof Santed, and and Santdmnshed, eng  has dmnsh tenor   of her beng  o w eakness, eakness, the tenor 

 

Sade' Reason

Fond's greater energy is prepared to make her his victim. This is even more clear in the case of Durand. Durand poisons; she is incapable of the slghtest virtue; her corrupton is absolute. But then one day the government government of Vence asks her to spread plage. The project frightens her, not because of ts immorality, ut because she fears the risks that she herself might run. mmediatly mmediatly,, she is condemned. She does not have the energy; she found her ae, ad e aer  death. en leang a angerou e, says Sade, what is important is to never "lack the necessary strength to surmount the nal limits. We might say that this strange world is not comprised of indivduals, but of systems of forces, of more or less elevated tenson. Catastrophe is therefre inevitable. Furthermore, it is not necesary to dstngush the ifference between the energy of nature and man's energy: lust is a kind of bolt, since lightning nature'swilllewdness;  weak willlightning be the victim of both, and theis trong emerge the triumphant. Justine is truck down, Juliette is not; there is no prvidental arrangement in ths denouement. Justine' weakness seres as an appeal to the same lghtnng whch Julette's energy deects away from her. Simlarly, everything that happens to Justne makes her unhappy, because everything that affects her diminishes her; about her, we are told that her inclinatons were virtuous but base, and th must be taken lterally. To the contrary, everythng that happens to Julette reveals her power, and she takes pleasuree in t as an expansio pleasur expansionn of hersel Ths s why why,, if she were to de, her death would draw her to the lmt of power and exalaton, thus allowing her to experence total destructon as the total expenditure of her mmense energ. Sade completely understood that man's energetic sovereignty, to the extent that man acquires this sovereignty by identing wth the pirit of egaton,  a paadoxcal tate. The complete an, completely afrmed, s also completely destroyed. He s the man of all passons and he s unfeelng. He began by destroyng hmsl rst as hethe wasUnque. man, then as God, as Nature, thus insofar he became Now he canand dothen everythng, for and the negaton in hm overthrew everything. To account for ts fora

 

Sad' Rason

37

tion, Sade resorts to a highly coherent concept which he gives the classical name of "apathy. Apathy is the spirit of negation applied to the man who has chosen to be sovereign. tt is, in a certain wa way, y, the cause and the principle of energ. Sades argument advances approximately in this way: todays individual represents a certain amount of force; most of the time, he disperses his forces, alienat ing them for the benet of these simulacrums which are other peo ple, God, ideals. Through this dispersion, he makes the mistake of exhausting his possibilities, wasting them, but even more of found ing his behavior on weakness, for if he exhausts his energ energ for oth ers, he does so because he believes he needs their support. A fatal mistake: he is weakened by vainly expending his forces because he believes himself to be weak. But the true man knows that he is alone and he accepts this; he renounces everything within himself that existsofonly in relationship to others,pity, to agratitude, tradition of centuries cowardliness; for example, andseventeen love are all feelings he destroys; by destroying them, he amasses together all the strength he would have had to consecrate to these debilitating impulses and, what is even more important, from this destructive  work he draws the beginning of a true energ. t is indeed necessary to fully comprehend that apathy does not only consist in ruining "parasitic affections, but also in opposing the spontaneity of any passion whatsoever. The lecherous man  who immediately immediately gives in to his vice is but a runt that will be sac riced. Even gifted debauchees, perfectly skilled at becoming monsters, if they are happy giving in to their weaknesses, will be este fo tstoe. Se s e m  c  s p or pas sion to become energ, it is necessary that t hat it be constricted, that it be mediated by passing through a necessary moment of insensi bility; then it will be the greatest passion possible. n the initial stages of her career, Juliette was continually scolded by Clairwell: he reproaches her for only committing crimes with enthusiasm, since she thereby ignites the ame of crime only from the ame of passion, she places lust, the effervescence of pleasure, above every thing. These are dangerous potentialities. Crime matters more than lust, and the coldblooded crime is valued more than the

 

Sade' Reason

crime committed in the heat of the moment; but what mattrs more than anything is the dark and secret crime "committed by hardening one's sensitive pars, because it is the act of a soul that, having destroyed everything within itsel accumulated enormous force, which will be identied with the move toward total destruction that it prepares All the great libertines, who live only for pleasure, are great only because they have obliterated within them vry  o sure is is wy they resort to frightenng anomalies: otherwise the mediocrity of ordinary voluptuousness  would be enough for for them But they have become become unfeeling: they expect to nd pleasure in their insensitivity, in this rejected sensitivit, and they become ferocious Cruelty is only the negation of te sel carried so ar tat it is transormed into a destructive explosion; insensitivityinto makes the entire beingwhich tremble, says metaSade; "the soul transforms a form of apathy is soon morphosed into pleasures a thousand times more divine than the ones that that pander to their their weakne weaknesses sses We understand that, in this world, principes play a major roe The libertine is "thoughtful, selfcontained, incapable of being moved by just anything He is solitary, does not put up with noise or laughter; nothing must distract him; "apathy, indierence, stoicism, the solitude of the self, these are the conditions necessary for him to attain his proper soul Such a transformation, such a selfdestructive work is not accomplished without extreme difcuty juette is a kind of Bildungsroman, an instructional manual that teaches us to recognize the slow formation of an energetic soul Apparently, Juliette is, from the beginning, competely depraved But in reality se has only a few pencants and her head is intact; there still remains an enormous eort for her to make, because, as Balzac Balza c says,  a person who desires cannot can not be  destroye  destr oye Sade points out that there are very dangerous moments in working toward apathy For example, it happens that insensitivity putsvery the debauchee in such an obiterated of of mind sometimes that he could easly, at this moment, return tostate moral living: livin g: he thinks he is hardene hardened, d, that he is only weakness, weakness, a dupe fully primed for remorse; or one lone virtuous impulse, revalidat

 

Sade' Reason

39

ng the unverse o man and God, s enough to overturn all hs power; as elevated as he mght be, he collapses and, generally, generally, ths all s hs death. On the other hand,  n ths prostrated state,  wheren he experences only a eelng eelng o bland repugnance oor the orst excesses, he musters up one nal surge o orce n order to agment ths nsensblty by nventng new excesses that repulse hm even more, then he wll sht rom an oblterated state to an omnpotent one, rom hardenng and nsenstvty to the most extreme pleasure and, "moved at the very core o hs beng, he  wll soveregnly delght hmsel hmsel  beyond bey ond all lmts. One o o  the surprsng aspects o Sade and o hs destny s that, athough there s no better symbol o scandal than he, the entrety o the scandalous audactyto o hs thought has that remaned long unknown. It s unnecessary enumerate themes he dscoveed that even the most darng mnds o centures to come wll eploy all ther audacty toward rearmng: we acknowledged them n passng, and yet we restrcted ourselves to the task o layng bare the development o Sade's thought by hghlghtng ts esental ponts. e mght just as easly have chosen hs concepton o the dream, wheren he sees the mnd workng to return to ts nstncts and escapng the moralty o the dayor o all hs toughts that outstrp Freud's, let's take ths one or example: "It s n the mother's womb that organs are made. Ths must necessarly make us susceptble to some antases; the rst objects presented to us, the rst dscussons heard, end n delneatng ts ter g  g  so, s o,   canges nong at all. Tere exsts n Sade a purely tradtonal moralst, and t would be easy to asemble a selecton o hs maxms whch would make those o La cheouca che oucauld uld appea appearr weak and unce uncertan rtan.. W Wee reproach reproa ch hm or rtng badly and he does ndeed oten wrte n haste and wth a prolxty that exhausts our patence. But he s also capable o a bzarre humor, reaches a glacal jovalty, sortVoltare' o colds nnocence wthnhshsstyle excesses, whch we preer to alla o

rony and an d whch s  s ound ound n no other French wrter. All these mer ts are exceptonal, but they have been useless. Untl the day when

 

40

Sade' Reason

Apollinaire, Maurice Heine, and Andr retonwith hi inighful conception of the hidden force of hitoryopened the w toward him, and even later, until the latet writing of Georg t   t Bataille, Jean Paulhan, and Pierre oowki, Sademaer of major trend of thought and of the modern enibilitcontinued to radiate like an empty name. y? It i becaue hi hi thougt i the work of madne, becaue it had a it mold a depravity tht ught    Sade' e' tho thought nally, lly, Sad Addto dtona ace. Ad reay y to f ace. a not rea   oo a

 y, t bon on cop y, epr avity,  avity,  it i it car b depr  theory of thi d d a the the   theory preented preente ee   omplee nomaly into a compl epugnantt anomaly ot r epugnan poe e the m the mot tranpo claim claim to tran ph world rld,, ph thee  wo es of   th or e the the  ey es time,, bef or  rst   time the  rst For the  ew .  For  w orld orld v iiew  andd t ,6 an illne,6 roductt of illne the produc ivedd a the conce ceive been n con ha bee ophy  hy   ha loop lo ytem   w h s e ght   a ytem ical   thou thought ogical  ver ally ally log ly afrm afrm a uni ver  hame ha letion i ual.l. ividua rr ant ant ind individ  an aberr  eferencee of  an abe  i the pr eferenc only on lymele cau caution

ic feature feature.. W  teritic ot   charac characterit Sade'' mot er one one of Sade another Thi i anoth Thi text  writing ting a text ugh wri py thro through therapy  hi ow n thera formed hi an ay  ay tha thatt he per formed can on and  and w h obeion e to hi hi obei ll hi hi referenc reference ne aall  which ich he con he conne in wh in

re-

in he earche for the kind of coherence and he kind of logic tht hi obeive remark reveal. Yet, on the other hand, he wa the rt to prove, and to do oo with pride, tha thatt from a certain p roal and even montrou way of behaving he might rightfully gain  rather ignicant view of the world, which even great thinker f the day, crambling olely o nd the meaning of the human codition,, were able to do nothing dition nothing more than reafrm in it main p pective and back up it validity validity.. Sade had been brazen enough to afrm that, while courageouly accepting hi peculiar tate an auming them to be the point of departure and the principle r all reaon, he wa giving giv ing philoophy philoophy the rmet rme t foundatio foundationn that he could fahom, and he began to interpret human detiny in i entirety in in a profound profound way . Such a preteni a pretenioon i und undoubtedl oubtedl y   y   no no longer long er held to frighten to frighten u,  u, but  but  we we are only jut beginnin beginningg to  t o take

ikeep t erioul and, who fo forr awere longintereted time, thi thiin  preten pretenion wa eenough nough t  even  yythoe Sade ation a ditance. Firtly , what w a a he? A  montr    montr ou ou excep exception, completely  completely   ouide hu humanit  y. y. "Sade  "Sade'' uniqu uniquen ene, e, Nodier Nodier ai aid, d, "i having c o  -

mittedd uch a mitte  uch a mon  mon rou rou o  o ene ene th that at we h we have ave be been unab unable even even to

 

Sade' Reason

41

caracterze t a ae (Wc, n ome way, wa n act one o Sade' ambton: to be nnocent throug cupabty; to ue  exce exc evene vene  to mah apart, for good, the norm, the aw  aw whch whch coud ave judgedfrgten Anoter of h contemporare, Ptou,  wrt  wrte e n n a rater fr m gtenng ng way way:: "Jutce ad reegated ree gated hm to a prson corner gvng every prsoner permon to rd the word of t burden en we ten aw n hm the exampe of an anomay ao ound n certan ndvdua, we rued to hut hm up n th unnameabe aberraton, for wch ony th unque name eemed to be utabe Even ater, when we made Sade mert th anomay, wen we aw m a a rater berated man or havng nvented a new knowedge and, n every way, an exceptona man n bot h detny and hs preoccupaton, wen, nay, n adm, we aw omethng poby o nteret to a of humanty, t we contnued to negect  tougt, a  we ad been ure that tere wa more orgnaty and autentcty n adm than n the way Sade hmef wa abe to nterpret t Now, upon coer npecton, t  cear that th thought  eenta and that, even urrounded by contradcton, t evove, t brng u, troug te probem utrated by te name Sade, vew more gncant than anythng te mot atute and ucd tougt ha been abe to conceve, even to th day We are not ayng tat th thought   vabe  va be But t doe doe  how ho w u th that at between the nor norma ma man who ock te adtc adt c m man an up n an mpase mpa se and and the adstc adst c man who turn th mpae nto an ecape hatch, the atter  the one who  nearer near er to te trut trut, , who underta undertand nd te ogc og c o h tuaton,   s  p inignc   ont of ben abe to ep te norma man undertand hmef, by hepng hm mod te oundaton of a percepton

 

§

The Experence of Lautramont No .. let us lead the haggard matock-and-trench mob no deeper through the exposable mines of this impious canto! -M ld  

. the author hopes that the reader infers .

-Psis

The Demand for Sep aration

Can one comment on Maldoo? Undoubtedly Every commentary on an important work w ork is necessarily at fault in relation to that work, but commentary commenta ry is inevitable The feeling feelin g is inevitable that, sooner or later, propels the reader before that which he most admires, to substitute himself for that which he admires, to secretly believe himself a little more erudite than the work, a little more real thanand thedepends author, on duehis to reasons the fact f actfor thatadmiring the workit,completes itself in him reasons which are themselves a product of the times and his own work In the presence of a tree resembling the tree of life, the commentatora particularly suspect characterhastens to pluck its      nce nd e avor o hs ngular

thng having mete in his mouth he might be able to nd in its place a knowledge in which he delights even more, as if therein he had a superior kind of fruit, one born of him and capable of giving him the power to recreate, should he so desire, the tree itsel In the state of original sin, the commentator would therefore bring with wit h him a aw; but which one? This is not so clear clear Would it be that of wanting to penetrate the secrets of "life, of asking creation for the power to do it again? Today this temptation has truly faded: we ourselves forget it, but the only arrogant ages are the classical ages, wherein the authors of  at poique, poique, perfectly 43  

44

The Exper perien ience ce f Lautramnt Lautramn t

clear o te rules a problems of compositio, are very ear to believig of te secret of of creatio Suc arrogace temselves is pai fortobybea masters metoical abasemet te creatie act ut toay we are far from ts pretesio a te commetator, rater ta eplaiig ow oe easily writes great books, feels te ecessity to provoke, arou complete works, all te problems tat make tese works impossible to create After all, a commetator s capabe capabe of um umty ty e ca ope to sapear sapear eh e h  wat  w at e reveals re veals e woul wo ul lov lovee to be a rea reaer er wo is i s abs abse ett from is reag, a barely visible presece, te most moest a reuce tat it is possible to be, to te pot of becomg, ot the eye of te strager strager tat juges, gauges, ees a oes  oes away wit  wat e sees, but te tig itself augmete by a gaze Ufortuately, erei lies is error Clearly, oe must cosie reaig as ecessary to te work ut ere a reaer appears wo, iasmuc as e reas, also writes, a, suspeig te iterio movemet movem et troug wic wic e gives meaig, life, a a freeom t a realty compose of wors, substitutes substitutes terei ew writte wri tte relatios, a system of stable epressios estie to forever maitai te movig power of te work from witi a perspective were te workistops, so tat it appears maifest, maifest , more clear, m more ore simple, a repose all too similarmore to eat Naturally, oe migt say tat tis eat is te life of works, tat reaig, to be rea, ees to pass troug te ow of te worl, a tat comme-

tary, writte or oral, is tis survival witout wic reaig woul be oly te vai meetig of a saow saow a a trasparecy trasparecy t is true true A tis s wy, early or late, t s evitable tat commetary come to works as teir glory a te isavowal of tat glory y commet comm et o a book? To make it mor moree reaa reaable ble Te crit critic ic igeiously obeys te iea tat te reaer is somethig very umble, te book sometig rater elevate a tat, i orer to brig tese two etremes closer togeter, a itercessor s ecessary Te commetator plays a "mie role  te commetator, te reaer's passio a te autor's overpowerig overpowerig luciity are uite Te commetator as te sovereig passivity of someoe wo reas a te cotrolle freeom of someoe wo writes writ es Te commetator commetator

 

The Experen per ence ce ofLautramont

45

akes h hmself master of a text text by aba abadog dog  hmse hmself to t t (as s rop r  r  to good  good readg adtha haet lberates lberat es hmse  hmself  lf   from t t   awhle  whle b i  g  subm submssve ssve  readg) to   a o)ther to thhe t cr eates A mbgu bguo ous cre crea ture, 

comple complete ad t ad too oo complete, complete, uhapp y  hermap  hermaphrodte hrodte who,  who,   hs osto  sto  as co coclator  clator , ofte ofte  feels code codem med to to   solt soltuude (as, (as,  

trough a abudace of orgas, to sterlty) As the the  reader'  reader' s delega delegate, the  the  crtc suffers suffers th the tempt temptato ato to  to  �tcpa tcpate te ad  ad to to prepar e the meet meetg g of   these these o o power s at the

lwest pot; po t; he husbads the dleess of the reader whom he rep rsets; he dulges hs horror of the uexpected, hs taste for ommodtes, hs rght to dverso Ths submsso to gravty s art of hs role, ad he resgs hmself to t, eve f he wats to 9vad t Oe of the scruples that he ds  hmself s  fact the llowg:: so that the readg s real ad remas what t must be, llowg  sovereg passvty, s t ot ecessary that the dstace betee the work ad the reader rema the greatest possble dstace s ommucato true tru e oly sofar as t s doe from a te ds ace, whe, for two begs, t becomes the perspectve of a ds acg that brgs together, the place of a comesurable ake for a commo measure From here certa aalysts, avely, vervalue But what resultsopaque, from ths The trasparet ork that obscurty the commetary reders far from beg co rmed  the august realm where, beyod the reach of easy set

thatt t place t-so tha ould lke lke to place good d fath fath   w ould crtc  goo ets, s, the  the  crtc �et

d ad   ths  so profou p rofoud has, by  ths  red has, see   ad adm ad  admred  better see ght be better ght hat   to to that earth, rth,  ess   falle falle   to ea ethel theless ary , o oe etary  commet levated   comm o   elevated o  certa cato to s certa mmu muca Com call reaso reaso Co eoretca mo to th to theoret commo r g i o  com

l redered ucomfortable because a perfected system of dams d screes has bee substtuted for the wrechg power of the ork. Ad ths system dscomforts the reader all the more because t s o hs level ad because there he ds ether the force or he mometum or the vertgo to fall ad a d leave hms hmself elf behd  playg hs role, the crtc, as a approxmato of hs ame ould have tto crtcze s to separate, to dsjos ecessar l a destroyer He ecessarly separates the work He destroys t, ot by seeg t as smaller tha t s, but by rederg t vsble to

 

The Expeience ofLauamon ofLauamon

tsel by settng t a lttle behnd so that t apperceves organzng a slght vod nn retreat the work a vod that s s momentarly xed meanng n relaton to the tmes to tastes and to deas. Always at fault n relaton to the work the crtc must at least strve to see t n ts most mportant lght to seek the pont  where t s  s the great greatest est the most true the rchest rchest Ths ttask ask s the sole justcaton for the crtc. The absolute value of a book? We      so ar ar are we rom rom recognzng n posterty an e power an nfallble hadamanthys1 capable of unmaskng the false masterpeces and perpetuatng that whch s beautful Posterty begns wth the rst reader and the rst crtc To the extent that ths reader and ts crtc mantan the work tat they read at ts hghest level ths hghest level s momentarly just t consttutes a pont of equlbrum that the course of hstory wll naturally shft but whch wll account for t even n dsmssng  Nether a crtc nor a reader are ever entrely wrong about a work  when they overestmate tt provded that rather than thr through ough van prase t be through effort even exaggerated effort to recognze theren the work of an mportant trut. Undoubtedly the crtc has theBad rght notdotonot lkeequal many Butthattoone dengrate y? works all books. the faults says of them? them

y? ad wo ks do not equa a the au ts that one says o them nor every fault that offers tself to be sad. Even speakng about t s too much It s true that of the books that he loves best the crtc also prefers not to speak. Because he does not always have the desre to dstance hmself from from them to engage them n ths strange wor through whch he destroys them whle realzng them he dmnshes them whle exaltng them he smples them whle deepenng them he gves them so much meanng that the author s surprsed and annoyed by ths unknown rchness and plantvely protests aganst a generosy tat effaces hm and rduces m to nothng. The crtc because of ths s by nature on the sde of slence knowng better tan oters why e loses what e uncovers and how much the readng of what s most dear to hm wll become dfcult for hm snce t wll be necessary for hm to recover there the sad movement of hs own sentences

 

e perience ofLautramont ofLautramont

47

y Darkess A tme alway come when even the mot cloed book are opened. For a long tme Maldoror, more admred than com mented upon, known but not explaned, deed urpre, and for a reaon that  at the heart of uch a work. ecaue reading it uppoe the exalted conent to a furou lucdty, of whch the envelopng movement, movement, purung telf wthout truce, let telf  telf be recognzed only at t end and a the accomplhment of an abolute meanng, ndfferent to all the momentary meanng through whch moreover the reader mut pa o a to attan the repoe of a upreme, total gncaton. An already ngular movement. But readng the book  tranger tll. There are many other, of whch the meanng, hdden from the deal clarty of  word,  only the nal obeve fear, mpreve mpreve and hauntng, of a power n dcord wth all poble meanng In thee work, rup rup  ture  nearly effected wth dcoure, a manfet rupture, therefor thereforee dangerou, becaue, exaggeratedly vble, t aborb all attenton and become the end rather than the prncple of a new reaon.

ut Maldoror , nnoall development t part, full oofthat f meanng. no pecal phrae that  not clear,  not There lnked:no effect, no leap; the ame trangene of gure and bzarrene of cene depend on motve that are hown to u. The reader, far from eeng hmelf undone by contnute formed wthout h awarene, whch he ould uffer through wthout undertandng,  urrounded by a uperor vglance, alway ready to repond to   e  a eaon, awa peent i he want to ee it, and  whch at the ame tme make hm forget hmelf o completely that the paon of readng appear here to drag hm uncontrol lably toward a radcal change, toward an ext at the end of whch n t beng read wll ubttute the entrely new act of a beng, profoundly foregn to the ambton of undertandng. Readng Maldoror  a vertgo. Th vertgo eem to be the effect of an acceleraton acceleraton of movement that, jut lke the encrclng of re, at the center of whch we nd ourelve, provde the mpreon of a amboyant vod or of an nert and omber plen

 

The E Epe peri rien ence ce ofLautramont ofLautramont

tude Sometimes we see ourselves at the heart of an exceptionaly active, sarcastic consciousness that it is hardly possible to fault Sometimes this omnipresent agility, this whirlwind of lightning bolts, this storm overloaded with meaning, no longer offers the idea of a spirit in any way, but of a lumbering, blind instinct, of a dense thing, of this tenacious heaviness, proper to the body that undoes itself and to substances seized by death dea th These o impressions ar sup rimp osd; ey necessary o together They ve he reader a drunkenness that races to its fall and an inertia docile at his stagnation how couldtohediscern have the desire, and the means,ntothese regainconditions, enough equilibrium where he is falling? He proceeds and he sinks Therein is his commentary One must not therefore misunderstand the remarks that follow They do not constitute a search for the "true meaning of Maldoror nor even an attempt to interrogate what the work says  while countering it insidiou insidiously sly with itself We would simply like to prove to what extent one can follow a text and at the same time

lose it, being at once the one who understands and the one who understands him, a world, who speaks about it as f he were outside; outside ; inman, sum, inside to prot from the bizarrenes bizarreness s of a double  work and of an author split in two, absolute lucidity and thick darkness, consciousness that knows everything and knows not  where it goes, so as to feign the illusion of a commentary entirely conscious of not being able to explain anything and at the same time uniquely preoccupied with making everthing reasonable Roger Caillois puts it well at the beginning of his essay: "Here is a work that contains its own commentary2 And he rightly adds: "It is also very difcult to talk about about  But the third third sentence opens a reection "More precisely, the author has already said everything that one can say, and in this same work Perhaps At the same time, if the "lucidity' of Lautramont is so great, if it is "admirabl "admi rable, e, it cannot ignore that this interior commentary that it offers us, present in a way that is visible in many passages and again apparent when it does not appear, in such a way that it seems to pump life into the entire work, like mercury owing by leaps and by capriciousness, like a substance that would be in

 

Te Experien per ience ce ofLautramont Lautramo nt

49

tely lvely ad yet heaver tha blood, ths commetary that s art of the work caot serve to judge t or to dee t "exactly, because t helps shape t, there modg t, ad sce ths chace, ths progressve trasformato that t provokes, chages s very ow bearg ad strps all ts power to reveal reveal to us the al  al character of a work at the heart of whch t s sezed. The "judgmets, the "expressos we d  Maldoror caot be "precse ecause eve f oe oly wats to see them as sarcastc streaks esged to ope a vew, whle laceratg what s revealed, oe must s owcompletely take to mod accoutthe these streaks the lacerato eratos value of thethrough mages,whch recogze ths "exacttude, ecessarly false because t caot recogze tsel It s certaly probable that Lautramot's clarvoyace was also the clarvoyace of a crtcal judgmet. We d proof of ths  the oies, ot  the parts where he codems hs work, but  those

 where he dees d ees t. t . There we see that ths author autho r has ot gored hat he has doe, or how he dd t. But f hs roy s the lucdty of a wrter capable of dstacg hmself wth respect to what e wrtes mometar mometarly ly settg apart wth a ruse, t do s eve more suread thatofthese dffereces, theset vods, ths absece, ot csttute clarcations of the work wthout a relato to t, but are the work tself ad, by these meas, ute t wth etrely cotrary movemets. What would Lautramot's lucdty be f t had ot bee dscered  all these "precse judgmets, corporated  crta seteces as smlar phrases verted, a power of dete flscato that falses these judgmets ad elmates from tem every power to thougtfully skm them? I Te Cantos, he tells us, "Everythg s explaed, mportat etals as well as mor oes ( 14) A setece that would be a spreme hoot f the mpresso was that everythg s sad, that "he secret s dscovered (as he aga afrms t), that what would therwse be dssmulated here dvulges tself. Ths mpresso was  fact so vvd that oe o e comes to wat to terrogate the text from eery agle for the sole pleasure of hearg t respod. Regardless of ths temptato, the terpreter ca oly defed hmself by vokg Lautramot agast hmsel At the ed of the secod

 

The Experience ofLauramon ofLauramon

ther eree s a troublng troub lng orsel orse l that the the commentator com mentator can harCano, th ly forget: "No ... , Maldoror says, "let us lead the haggard matockandtrench mob no deeper through the exposable mnes f ths mpous canto! The crocodle wll change not a word of te vomt that gushed from from hs cranum cranum (1 (100 5 ) . hat hat crtc crtc would would nt feel targeted by such a furous echo, such a drect response to te ueston that prevents all others? And at the same tme, how cn gt  ze a respons res ponsee l gt recognze warnng?? Here, to recogn ths warnng ac countt o r ths  e accoun  aldoror or s also to recogn mately ately  g gvv en by M by Mldor ldoror or on on  M aldor recognze ze that that te te no   nce no entrance oree to acc accept entra s   theref therefor ate. It s  s   legtm legtmate. rogaton gaton   s  nterro nter yeld   o   to yeld  alyss,, and to analyss  that  s all an avatonn  that exccavato s task  task  of ex pous the "m " mpou laned,,  v  explaned "everythngg s exp belevee that  f n fact "everythn to  belev the de desre to  c rtc, t h For the crtc, expla ned. Fo be  expla mus t  not be  rythngg must everythn mus t  be: eve ths must th

emptato ptatonn  hs ts   the ttem ho   ress ressts and he who nevtab le, and tcome ome ss nevtab outc ou

already succumbed. succumb ed.

Source urce : The Mirage of So

Te Book ofRev Revelelat atoonn 

Oen the obscurty of a work s protected by our gnorance f ts sources s ources.. One sees n the work work a meteo me teorr wthout wthout orgn, a trae trae of re wthout wthout any any hearth. hearth. But the "lterary "lte rary source s ourcess of o f the Cants are perfectly known to us, "explaned by Lautramont hms  We know ex extremely tremely well where hs book s comng com ng from from:: " ha sung of evl as dd Mckewcz, Byron, Mlton, Southey, A.  Musset, Baudelare, etc. H. R. Lnder, n an occasonally suprsng but metculous and attentve work, dscovered a n  source: The Book of Revelaion. "Black Revelaton, he says f Lnder dem de monstra onstrates tes that th thee str strangen angeness ess of o f ths characharater te r  com co m es,  n p art, from from   the  the   ark ark vsons vs ons   o f St. John John the Dve ve and from the from  the nav nave way he h e ncarn ncarnates var varous apo apocalyptc calyptc   appar appar-to t o n s. Maldoror Maldoror s at at once Satan, S atan, the the enemy  enemy of God God and  and the  the Angel of the abyss, who who represents repres ents God's Go d's anger anger, and the the Horsem Horseman of te Apocalyypse, dv Apocal dvne scou sco urge sent sent to punsh pun sh man's man's gulty rebello gulty rebello . Froom th Fr ths s supe su per rm m po post ston on o f c o ntrary ntrary   mean me anngs ngs,, L a utrea utream m ot o b tans the the amb am bguo guouus char character acter   of hs hs  symb sym b olc gure. gure.   Ths Th s s s   an nte an nterpr rpretat etato onn  that   that  La Lautr utram amont ont au autthor horze zess , sn snce ce e M aldor  aldoror. or.

 

The xperien per ience ce ofLautramont Lautramon t

5

talks about ths subect nearly as much as hs nterpreter does n numerous passages passages,, Maldoror dentes hmself wth wth the Prnce of of arkkness, beng ar ben g of "d "dv vne ne essence, ess ence, nhabtn nhabtngg superor spheres, and beng more powerful than the great Satan hmsel 6 n other cases, he presents hmself as a Horseman of the Apocalypse/ Elsewhere stll, he s more a punshment for the rebellous man than the motvatng force of hs rebellon  l of these varous roles need not be ucovered: they are openly afrmed As for the gam game e of o fofechoes, echoes , eachofofknowledge us can gve and ourselves ourselngenuty ves to t endlessly: t stoa matter readng, Accordng Lnder, the stanza of the "pact wth prosttuton, canto , was

directly nspr ns pred ed by the famou famouss passage pas sage n Revelation on the Great ore, the one "who s seated on many waters, "Babylon the great,t, mother grea mother of whores whores and of o f eart earth hss abomnatons abomnatons    The battle between the dragon and the eagle evokes the mage of the Beast that receve "power, the throne, prestge from the "Dragon, the name of o f whch s the myste mystero rous, us, human number 666, or, accord ng to to certan certan manuscrpt manuscrpts,s, 616    The louse of canto    would only be a modern mod ern varaton of the sco sc o urge of locu lo cust sts,s, called forth forth by the trumpet of the fth angel (Rev 9 : 3 ) . Lets admt t But how can we stop ourselves once on ths path? Who would prevent us from from seeng, se eng, n our o ur turn, turn , the cruel repast of o f the Creator ( 7 57 ) as a recollecton recollec ton of the verse n John where the angel sum mons the brds b rds and says to them: " Come, Com e, gather for for the great sup per of God, to eat the esh of kngs, kngs, the esh of o f captans, captans, the esh of the mghty mghty, the esh of horses hors es and of o f ther rderssh of o f all all , r an sae, sma an great ev 1 9  -19    n Poses, Lautramont refers us more precsely to cruel ndan dvntes, to Moloch, to the "mantous Mancheans, soled wth brans, who rment the blood of ther vctms n the sacred pagodas of the Hndustan, to the "snake, the "toad, the "crocodle, "dvn tes, consdered abnormal, by ancent Egypt, "Vscous Gods vomted by the prmtve prmtve magnat magnaton on of the barbarous peoples peoples   Nevetheless Neve theless,, even whl admttng that that L Lautra autramon montt s  s nspred nsp red by Revetion and that, for example, hs dragon mght really be a rencarnaton of the Beast, t s stll necessary to notce, n

 

2

The Ex Experie per iene ne o fLautramont

Maldoror, a constant exchange between the to powers, top and bottom; now t s God who s the Beast, and he does not stop grovelng gro velng.. Maldor Mal doror or s, s , eff effectvely ectvely, rarely a snake sn ake (we ( we are told to ld of o f hs scales a few tmes tmes  ) , but b ut God sometmes be becomes comes a drag dragon on,, somes ometmes a snake, and s nally an "eccentrc python, a boa wth a "trangular head who has all the characterstcs of the ancent snake.  n ths same stanza, there s a great temptaton to search

or scatterethat, eatures nverted magesdragon, rom eeaon. remembers n St. oJohn, "the great the ancent ne ser-

pent, who s called called the Devl and Satan Satan (Rev (Rev 1 2 : 9 ) , pro proected ected on earth, pursues the Woman, who, wth her son, escapes nto the desert where the Beast plans to devour her (Rev 1 7 =16) But Maldoror says to the python (that s, to God): "You had better retreat before me and go and wash your mmeasurable shame n thee blood th blood of a new newbor bornn chld: chld: such such are your hab habt tss . . . . Cross desert sands tll tl l the end ooff the world swa swallllow owss up the th e stars n nothngness (1 7 2) And, to carry carry the these se con con ectures to ther end, notce agan n  n "my young young wfe wfe and my very youn youngg son s on that Maldoror Maldoro r advses adv ses hs h s adversa adversary ry to lve l ve from from the shards of memores memo res drft drftng ng and detached from the same tableau.

Baudelaire Whether or not mages from Reelation bounced around n Lautramonts head may perhaps be mportant, but the mages themselves are less mportant than the reversal that they undergo heren, where the ntended mockery, though mmedately vsble, fals als to account for for them. them . On ths t hs pont, po nt, the crtc sure su rely ly hhas as much mu ch to say. say. But But snce s nce we are are at the source sourc e of these mages, mages , why why does H. H. R. Lnderwho, whle exaggeratng Maldorors Lucferan stature, seems to be at a loss to explan ts orgn, so much so that he returns to Reetion each tme he perceves a demonc shadow on the character n uestonwhy does he not move a bt closer: not only to Mlton (whom Lautramont mentons), to Byron (whom he also mentons), or to Lews, but to Baudelare, who transformed Satan nto such a dynamc poetc gure that any

 

The Experi perien ence ce ofLauramont Lauramo nt

53

young magnaton at the tme, tm e, f t wanted wanted to return to the myth c, ancent rebellon, could not fal to pass through The Flowers Flowers of Evil ? Do Does es ths need to b e pro p rovven? en ? Anyone who was was twenty twenty years years old n 1 8 6 5 and had hs head n the clouds, dreamng of almghty evl, must necessarly reach for the works of Baudelare, wheren s breathed the most ntense satanc densty n our lterature And, for Lautramont, Lautramont, Baudelare Baudelare s not onl o nlyy a source of o f prncples, prncples , but

a hall ofstanza memores; t. The famous aboutany the attentve ocean s readng hauntedwould by theshow memory of "Homme et la Mer Mer (Man and the Se') Se') . f we consult consult the tex text,t, we nd the mage of the ocean's "dscreton: "You are both dark and dscreet, says Baudelare; "You are modest, says Lautra mont (3 8) Then Maldoro sh to parody begns: "Yes, whch s the deeper, the more mpenetrable of the two: the ocean or the human heart? 40) And Baudelare:

Man, no one one's's eve everr plum plumed ed the depths ooff yo your ur ayss,

 sea,oth no preserve one can know your hidden treasury, You your secrets with such jealousy! " detest you, says Lautramont. " hate you, Ocean! says Baudelare ("Obsesson). nswer me, ocean, says Lautramont, "do you want to be b e my brother? brother?  Baudelare: Baudelare:

Free man, eside the sea that you'll forever cherish!

 you eternal wrestlers,  rothers without peace! y,  m ar  es wou seem to e numerous. n te stanza on prosttuton, Hans Lnder sees a recollecton of "the Great Prosttute. Wth good reason, perhaps. But regardless of whether he s recallng the sonnet Remords posthume" ("Posthumous Remorse), he wll see theren the exact settng of that stanza: the tomb, the beautful woman whose name s Prosttuton ("My lovely, dusky slave, says Baudelare, "awed courtesan), and, nally, the "worm' that appears n both texts as the powerful adversary of beauty and, representng God, man tans moral dscourse (n Remords posthume," the tomb speaks,

 

54

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

but n Lautramont, the worm n a certan way becomes te tomb: t s "large lke a house, and, f t glows, t s wth "an mmense lght of blood). Naturally, from one text to the othr, the changes are sgncant, but we never hear t proven tht Lautramont, puttng to work hs theory of plagarsm, took the

resources of hs nventon from a precursor. The contrary s moe lkel lkely. y. There Thesreaso where we we te surpr sur prse sengeness hm heness m n othe thfehs agrant delght scece were stra s trang work explode ex plodes,s,ofarelong wthh the unue wt unu e power power of o f hs vson and the sngular workn workngs gs f f hss lucdty h lucdty.. Havng Havng voced ths reservato reservaton, n, f we recall ths passage"One should let ones ngernals grow for a fortnght. O! how sweet swee t to snatch s natch brutally from from h hss bed b ed a boy who who has yet nothno thng upon hs upper upper lp . . . And And all of a sudden, sudden,  ust when he leat expects expec ts t, to snk your your long lon g nals nto hs tender tende r breast   " ( 3 1 )  how can we not nvoke ths mage from "Bndcton ("Benedcton):

hen I am nally ored with impious mockery, I'll occupy my frail and forceful hand with sport A harpy harpy's's ngernails my ngernails wil willl e To excava excavate te a trough iinn to his hi s ve very ry heart The gallows of "Un oyage  Cythre ( Voyage to Cyther, tself taken from Grard de Nerval, can hardly be forgotten when we consder the terrble gallows n canto  from whch a man s hung by hs har. Lautramont was unuestonably capable f ndng such an mage on hs h s own ow and an dcorrespondence dev developng elopng t accordng accord nghed o th the e uctua uctuatons tons of hs h s desre. But Bunt the establshed establs by Baudelare, between betwe en te "gos "gostt of the acent ace nt Venus (of (o f womanly love) and te hangg body devoured devoure d by brds, brds , reappears vebatm n the pages pages of Maldoror. We must see t as an ob obse sess sson on sutaned n common. t s mpossble that an magnaton as extremely aware of anmal metamorphoses as Ducasses had nt been spred by suc verses:

A few ferocious irds were perched on their reection And a rage destroyed aorcorpse already Eachinused u sed a lthy eak ffor gougi gouging ng like afoul to tool ol Into each l loody oody cranny of the pputref utrefaction action

 

The Exerience ofLautramont ofLautramont

The eyes were wo leak holes, and through the ruined skin The ponderous intestines dangled on the thighs His executioners, gorged on their hideous prize, With sn snap appings pi ngs of the eak slowly castrated him

55

Lauamon's hanged man Lauamon's man also  also grapple grappless  wih he he misfor  misforun unee of csrai c sraioo n and he p unishme unish menn  o f  im impp oence oenc e . And M ald aldoror, oror, for is reched man wh who o ma he sa ves and  sympah cares for  fory, wih per perfec char cha r eels he  he  inklings i  y fw inklings    of myserious mysaves serious  sympahy, he same sa mefec sym sympa pa

y ha Baudelaire expresses:

diculous cadaver, your sorrows are my own! Sill   more Sill more o n he h e mi mirage rage   o f s ourc ources: es: n  n he h e ep episod isodee o n   G o ds

rpas, we waned o see an allusion o Revelations, hen, accord Lauramon, an allusio allusionn o orienal my myhology hology..   Bu now ig o Lauramon, also discover herein a recolle recollecion cion of he following following san we would also zas from "Reniemen de sain Pierre ("S. Peers Denial):

at does God Go d do ao aout ut the ood ooff oloquy That rises every day around his Seraphim? Like a good tyra tyrant nt gorg gorged ed oonn wine and venison, He fa falls asleep to the sweet sounds of our l lasphemy asphemy   The sos of martyrs and the eaten felon's cry Provide intoxicating symphonies, no dout Despite the spate of loo loodd spilled at their sensuous out, The heavens never have eno enough ugh to satis! a  to to   a m av  av  a asm r m  an annn   as sa m rm hat th th   sam r a tthat Bt        ra

clssic scene in Danes Inrno (and Maldorors imaginaion, we hve acknowledged, loves o see heaven where ohers pu hell), if we remember ha Malraux seized upon he origins of he same viion in a very popular English engraving from 86, The Red D vil- image ha, hrough he same impulse, Ducasse would hve urned precisely on is head, subsiuing God for he D monif we recall hese hings, we will perhaps be emped o o f  b egin egin rancee of im poranc  andd f  fai aih h i inn he impo eferences nces an  for rrefere ke he he search search for ke  nngs n ngs for aann illusion illusion.. A pruden prud en conc conclusio lusion, n, hou houggh, oo o o , p ossibly ossib ly accep cep image   and o ac onee image sources for on cover ver e enn sources disco cepive . To dis decepive.

 

The Ex Experien per ience ce f Lautra Lautra  n t

them all s, n tself, more reasonable than gvng credt to only

one. The delrum of nterpretaton, to whch every nterpreter occasonally falls prey, begns wth the need to restore reason, through one sngle prncple or through a concurrent system of cause cau ses,s, to all the th e detals detals or to tthe he greatest greatest number of o f possble poss ble uctuatons tuat ons,, to words and gures, gures, as f the solemn solem n unty unty of the work dd not no t dstort ths multplcty on the bass of whch we we clam clam to    t, or as  the precson prec son o the explanaton was was not, no t, accorng to a certan measure (but by what what measure?) measure? ) , guaranteed by ts falure and the reservaton that secretly arranges theren the moment o ts dsavowal. And yet ths last precauton must also seem suspect, because an nterpretaton, capable of explanng everythng, even everythng that cannot be explaned, testes to such an mplacable wll to clar everythng that we must recognze heren here n the powerful powerful systematzaton ooff desre, whch the mnd attempts to understand attempts understand under the name of madness. f we nd ten t en ref reference erencess behnd beh nd the same s ame mage mage n Maldrr,  f thesee ten archet thes archetype ypess or models are ar e so many m any masks masks overla overlappng ppng and montorng one another, wthout any one reference appearng as the true mold of he face t recalls or appearng completely alen to t, ths s the sgn that Lautramont was n agreement wth the few rare ponts of the space where the collectve power of the magnaton and the unue power of the book see ther resources combned. He who touches upon these ponts upsets, wthout knowng t, an nnte number of analoges analoges and of related mages mages,, a monumental past of tutelary words toward whch he s drven, unbeknownst unb eknownst to hm, lke a man endorsed by an eternty of fables. ble s. Andd he who knows An knows ths, ths , who s famlar wth wth the th e lterary cha chan n of certan gur gures, es, s, due to the ac actt that that he touches these thes e ponts po nts,, led le d beyond bey ond all al l the certantes of o f hs personal pe rsonal memory m emory and sezed by an mpulse that transforms hm nto the agent for a knowledge that he never never had. Lautamont was undoubtedly a cultvated adolescent. He passonately s onately read all the works that lfe lfe n hs day d ay made great and fasfascnatng. Hs magna magnaton ton s surrounded by books. bo oks. And A nd yet, yet , as fa far as possble from beng booksh, ths magnaton seems to pass

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

57

hrough books ony o reconnec wih he grea conseaions of which whi ch he books b ooks guard guard he inuence, inuen ce, bundes of impersona imag imag inaion ha no singe auhors work can ha or monopoize o his or her advanage.  is shocking ha Lauramon, even if he fo ows he rend of his ime, even when when he expresse expresses,s, wih he inso ence en ce ofyouh, of youh, biases and circumsania circumsania passi passions ons,, he goricaion goricaion of evi, a ase for he gruesome, a Luciferian chaenge, he undoubedy does no no beray beray hese sources, sources , bu, b u, a he he same ime, seems o be hauned by a he maserpieces from every cenury, uimaey uimae y app appearin earingg as if he were meande me andering ring in a word of cion c ion wherein vague dreams of forgoen reigions and myhoogies, shaped by everyhing and desined for everyhing, reconnec and are conrmed.  when he aks abou Saan, we udge him o be inspired by Revelation raher han by Baudeaire, his error in percepion is us, because oi The reveas ha,ofEvi knowing ierary inven ion uniue Flowers Flowers ofwihou Evi i resurfaced, resurf aced,he across ac ross Baudeaire, B audeaire, hrough he power p ecuiar o his image of o f Saan, in he kingdom of myhs ha ha opens up a he beginning beginning and he end of he sory. sory.   And if Maraux perceives, beneah such a scene, no a ierary mode, bu he visua visua inuence inuenc e of a paining, paining, even even if Laura Lauramon mon neverr knew The Red neve R ed Devi Devill and if on he conrary he was subec ed o he counershock of o f a poeica po eica ex, he power of he image never ceases o be a work in him, he power by which words are deached, deached from heir empora origin, from he memo ries ha animae books, and caugh up wihin he movemen of an mmen mm ense se dream memor memo r he asic moher mo her of o f nighmar nighmares es and of cerain painings.

In Search of a Method of Exp oration One migh m igh refu refuse se o descend des cend ino Maldoror due o he fac ha no anaysis of i is possibe. a migh an anaysis aain? A sory? No one wans his, and besides, excep for cano V, here isn any. A subec? Bu he subec, if we isoae i in order o grasp i, if we reduce i o some kind of Manichean srugge, is a

 

Th Exprnc ofLautramont ofLautramont

smp le theoretcal smple theor etcal reecton that th at dsregards dsregards the entrety of the po found lfe lfe of o f the work. No one o ne s nterested ntere sted n that. So a method cal search for for the cconten ontentt of scenes scene s for the meanng me anng that rumbes theren for the sensblty that comes to lght? We would for nstance brng up a sentence: " set my genus to portray the peasures of cruety (29. Then we woud search anew for all the decaratons that refer back to ths phrase: "nnate cruelty whose on os not  wth me"an etreme and nstncte cruelty of whch he hmself s ashamed" was not as cruel as has been recounted among men etc. From ths perspectve one would rst eamne al the epsodes: all the scenes weren  schema sch ema manfest manfestng ng cruelty appears (th (thee razor razor that lacerates a fface ace the nals that dg nto a chest the lttle grl thrown aganst a wal or threatened wth such the castaway blown apart by two gun shots etc.) those wheren thethe cruel ntenton s alsoon obv ously ous ly an erotc onescenes (the attack wth bulldog the attack the t he world n the stanza stanza about pederasts) pederasts) the scenes wheren the erot c cruelty dssmulates tself beneath neary transparent forms (all of actve actve or magned volence aganst agans t amable adolescents adolesce nts:: almer almer Elseneur Regnald Mervyn). er ths rst attempt we would le away all the devastatng scenes and arbarc acts ntated by others and condemned by Maldoror: dvne ferocty (Gods cruel repast the stanza about the red lantern and the young man tor mented to death by God) the cold malce of men (the stanza aboutt the omnbus) abou omnb us) the erotc vcousn vcousness ess of o f women (the torture of the hanged man the beetles msfortunes). Then shng from the scenes n general to ther detals from epsodes to mages we would see se e that n addton to the t he pleasure Madoror feels feels when evl evl s ncted on others he nearly always epresses ether moral malase regret shamefu repentance or a strange thrst for for gveness. (For eample at the end of the stanza about the nger nals  know tat our orgeness was as mmense as the un verse; after the evocaton of volent acts aganst the young grl: "The unknown to keep forces faded after af ter tth he att attack owas n amer: anot mer:able "How benevo benets volen lent t h hsand voce voce s . . awa; . . Has he therefore forgven me? etc.) Moreover t seems that f

 

The Eperience o Lautramont

59

Maldoror inicts harm he h e immed imme d iately feels feels the  the  need to  to  harm his hi seelf: h e had ad   bar ba rel elyy  nishe ni shedd ri rippi pping ng a  ch child ild apa apart rt whe henn h e d eamt of o f being  being   torn apart ap art by that t hat child chil d himsel himsel For  For   you wil will re re d me incessantl in cessantlyy with both b oth teeth teeth and na nails . . . ;  and to together gether we shall shall suer you you through through tearin tearing me apart ap art  thr through being being torn  torn  aart . o. w " ound ( 3 2-3s3.) .TH as m  that uc uch ht  the th one e rth whoreminds is w wou ounnhim de dedd as the  oaa  ertwho wh ounds hee is blood lood  tha spiellson spills orth o remi nds o  the h his is   on b lo looo d the the tears tears that that h e ma makes kes fall taste taste like his own. own.  o is t  e   victim? victim ? Wo the execu execution tioner? er? The Th e ambigu mbiguity ity is perfec pe rfect.t.

Smetimes the pleasure of atonement is concealed but for even ore shocking research: here Maldoror watches a shipwreck the sceams the moaning from this immense misfortune thrill him. e seems to be at the height of pleasure; but what does he do? ve  very ry uarte uarterr of o f an hour hou r or so so  whenev whenever er a gust gus t ofwin of wind d stronger tan the rest keening its dismal dirge amid the cries of startled ptrels struck and cracked the ships length and increased the mans of those about to be offered up to deathbyholocaust  would ab a sharp iron point into my cheek secretly thinking: 'h y suer still more! Thus at least  had grounds for comparisn (9 6. An admirable digression The same perspective could acommodate the various various epis e pisodes odes wherein wherein we see Maldoror hurtig himself while struggling s truggling with another as when when striking down down whe n    in himsel as whe within   himsel Ho pe within strikes down Hope ragon h e strikes te D ragon te venes nes hhee  for interve eception inter irror's   d eception where in the mirror's rall scenes scen es where seera see gts to recog to recognnize himself himself in the in  the re reected image and con continues tinues  with thaat tand i n g that at th nderss tandi gh a  m i s u nder through usati ons throu ac c usati hs acc actts are des violent ac and viole remarks and rcastic astic  remar sarc evealss that h is sa om o m ent reveal

tied for none other than Maldoror himself.   Continuing this inuiry we would uncover the scenes the iages wherein cruelty is initially inicted upon others (then reprimandedd in others) rimande others)  but is i s observed o bserved within within them wi with th an at once complicit and indignant complacency before (or simultaneously

imsel   aldororr h imsel by  Maldoro st Mald Maldooror by  against is   turned tu rned again this  cr cruuelty is  as) this 

eiher to punish himsel or to make himself feel good or to make make uggest   the th e or nally to suggest hi mself or p uniishing him goodd in pun h mse hm sell f feel goo ot her perso personn is ne cauuse th thee other beca ensibilitybe lies   o f the the s ensibility continua cont inuall lies 

 

6

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

ess arlyy mes essarl mes volen, sunnng sun nng cruely cr uely falls falls back b ack no a dsmal sufferng, becomes an ndene snkng, wou pleasure or oragee . Of s suf rag su fferng, e monumenal mon umenal mage s a of Maldorr, suck wn e mmobly of a ree, permng mself o  e slowly devoured by monsers "ssued fromJob's e kngdom of powr, vsco  y. Te gure evokes Job, bu replaces demandng s frenec rene c fa fa n e ef e ffecveness ecvenes s of msf ms foru or une, ne, w an uns u nsppken ws for nera and dea.  And ye, wn s mmene capable ss, remans rema ns capable  persss, cvee consen consen pers e  am a me o f an acv passsvy pa svy,, e  s sufferng suffe rng     r o u me com comee s ,   all s enn  e  e  m rnng, g, we o f overu overurnn

seee   e  yo u  se nk   . . . Even as you an  yo u nk nge  an ange o  : " Hae  s   s a  o eadd n ngg : a eave venn ,   ea  wall allss of ea very w e   very ays   o o   e orays mak ke for  ll ma can  s ll ow I  I   can now s   p o s  ure aannd m e d&s resumee  o   resum reurn o and  reur ssassn assns,s, and le legon gon   o f aass mage age   of �n  engeance" ( 1 43 ) . Te m plaa n s of vengea lofy   pl anew  u p o n lofy ae ae   anew energec ener gec   p a ann also also reman re mans,s, lke lke e e remnd re mnder er of a srug s ruggle gle so s o o rd a a a cudged swo sword doub leedged of a  a   doublee e mage of recomme menn ce: e o recom

nng adversary mpales vercally up Maldoror's back, along s spnal column. (Mrage of sources: Kaka descrbed precsely e same suaon n a sor sory, "Te Sword kng's gre and ancesral sword was embedded up e leng of my back o e l, bu, wou avng been able o undersand e reaso for ,  , e blade was slpped slp ped n be be ween e skn and es wo wo  creang crea ng any wound. woun d. Tere wasn' wasn' any more lef lef on o n my neck a  e pon were w eroccurs e  ad ad pene raed eddarkness, . . .   ) naMaldoror as n   operaon n penera a srange momenary lossKaka, of memory: "  ddn' ddn' see anyng anyng,, for a sor momen momen  . . .  Bu so soon on erafer, e power awakens, a uake a sakes bo ear and sk: "Ts sarp wnyard bured self o e l beween e soulderblades of e esa es a bull, bull , wose wos e frame frame suddered lke a remo ( 1 43 ) . Wa ere erefore fore s s s mage mage,,  as as e  e noble no ble beas beas   o f co co n-

ba,  fals o evoke voke e  e b ull of e e  oloc olocau auss,  ee b ull wo wose se sa4 sa4 r rc cee s  ee  mmo m molao laonn o f e e suprem supr emee pow ower, er, so s o a,  a,  sn s nce  e  bull   ere s Mald bull Ma ldoror oror,,  one m us s uspec uspec a deeply deeply ambg mbguuous rel�ons  onsp p   b e ween ween Mal alddoro or or and  nd  e  e powers ow ers   abov abovee , as well  ell   s  s  b ewe eweeen e  e el h ha one one  pro pro okes and he evl evl o whch on o n e sum ss . Te s s  a nz nzaa  a  abo bouu  " "  e e no norm rmou ouss  suc su c  on oncc up upss ,    abou ab ou  oo e

 

The Experien per ience ce ofLautramont

6

ten years of night thro through ugh the course co urse of which "the old spider of the great species keeps the sleeping one under his immobile power marks an improvement a completion of this inert suffering. In the case of the tree there is still consent secret will and deviation fromd hatred but here believes himself by to have authorized authorize the nightmare in the vaindreamer the permis per missio sion n granted the dream is no more than an illusion denounced in the end To these two scenes where Maldoror seems to be no more than a suffering passivity or more precisely a force ordered paralyzed by suering we should add the sketches of these scenes (some of them essential esse ntial)) where where struggling struggling with his hi s sleep he appears appears behind b ehind this sleep that immobilizes him and some grim scenes wherein rather than dead he appears appe ars behind his death death his "cad "cadav averesue eresue existence held by an unusual force euidistant from the possibilities of life and death (but we will encounter these possibilities again later) later).. at is the value of such analysis? First it demands that one pursue it to the end. With regard to these digressions on the subect of cruelty it would be necessary to delineate the course of completely different feelings. Maldoror who nds his cruelty "delightful "delightf ul  is in fact a character overow overowing ing with good deeds. deeds . He corrupts young souls but he also comes to their defense. He smashes the heads of o f castawa castaways ys but he saves those t hose who are drowning andforgotten after resuscitating them recognizes be precious beings friends: a signicant rewardthem for iftoMaldoror carries a moral of bitter pessimism we could see the fatalism of ingratitude and resentment behind these good deeds. Maldoror is instictivvely on the insticti t he side si de of human kindness t the he stanza abou ab outt te omnibus) omnib us) on the side of o f the w wea eakk ag agains ainstt the strong. f he sees a wretched man hanging from the gallows and abandoned to every reprisal of feminine desire though he possibly draws some exuisite pleasure from this remarkable spectacle in the end he comes to the aid of o f this unfortunate unfortunate man treats him with a nearly matermaternal gentleness his concern is extremely serious. serious.  Strange hero of evil! Evil is far from his original passion. He often says in a curi-

ouss w ou way ay:: Meanne Me anness ss arises arise s in him at the same time as pity the sight

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

of ijustic ispis isp is ht i him, d this htd htd p ushs him hi m to tibl xtms, of which o by o God, m, d himslf  th isufcit victims. Sig God occupid with his ppllig ciblistic h xpics  imms ththis flig of pi tht wok, gds pity fo  gt ijustic";pi, With flig of pi is joid  its fuy gist this mtlly cul tigss, whos hdd cubs kow oly how to cus d to iict  i i.. " Th ol xcus h ds fo fo ths cimil cts is th sm tsfc, th sm motiol xtms: I ws ot s cul s m lt ltd; but somtims thi wickdss wks its nduing vgs fo ys o d. So my fuy kw o limit; I ws sizd with  ccss c css of cult cult d stuck stuc k w w i yo yo (of my ow c) who wh o might migh t hpp to mt my hgg hggd d ys" ys" ( 9 7  Somtims, it is tuly piful fo him to ld th w gist his ow popl: po pl: Two Two fids fids stubbo st ubbol lyy tyig to dstoy o othot h, wht  dm! dm!"" (1 3 3 ) . But th combt is ivitbl. His sympthy fo m m  who upst his hi s ss s sib ibilit ility, y, th gtw gtwyy to xtm violc, lc , mbiguous violcs which, i light of th htd thy thy ppst,t,  j ustid by ctios s ctios o uivsl uivsl guilt, but which so so hv  soft hv soft pssiot pssio t sid tht codms him him to mos,  mos, makig him fl fl th iit iit vlu of o f m d th ijustic of th vil do do  to thm. I sum, h is focious bcus td, d pitilss fom t oLt much popityyh. . . Ou us stop us stpit h Ou  lysis lysis hs bought bo ught us us to th poi po itt wh citicism bcom b comss sy sy.. Udoubtdly, such plimiy wok of clssictio d compiso c t lst o us  cti id of th ssibility of Maldor. Ev wh illgitimt, such lytic pocdus mi vlubl, if w itd to itogt  wok ccodig to th mj mj o  commo co mmoplcs plcs o o  which lif lif d  d tditiol kowldg kowldg tu. Fo xmpl xmpl,, th qustio of Lutmot's Lutmot's sdism sdism might b isd, it might b b  hstily sttld, with th hlp of  typicl typicl phs

o with o  sig sc i mid. Aysi Aysiss tcks tcks ths cusoy j udgmts. It vls vls tht tht th thotic ittio tht is  g dcltio of o f w,  uivsl uivsl pomis po mis of violc, is ot i kpig with wit h th pticul movmts ooff  wok. wo k. Th cti

 

Thee Experi Th pe rien ence ce oLaut Lautra ramon montt

ly are excessively brutal acts, but soon thereaer they are compensated with remorse, with a vigorous afrmation of human generosity and, on a level of the deepest sensibility, with a bizarre transfo transf o rmation rmatio n that procee pexaltationto roceeds ds from suff suf feringresearched tasted with voluptuous a dark and paralyzingand oppression si on.. It is fairly airly obvious that tha t Maldoror is incapable of sticking with with evil, that, once he commits an evil act (which is, in fact, rather rare), he pulls away from it with an uncontrollable movement, a movement that is like the reux of evil onto him and which he experiences in the double form of repentance and the pleasure of selflace self lacerat ratio ion. n. From the poin po intt of o f view view of intention intention,, Lautramo Lautramont nt is very far from Sade. In Laut§amont, there is a natural rebellion against inustice, a natural tendency toward goodness, a power elation that is, from the start, characterized by neither perversion nor evi. In this, undoubtedly, he is even extremely far from Baudelaire.2 Baude laire.2 And An d yet, yet, it is true that that something so mething myster mysterious ious must be be happening in Lautramont: in the moment of struggle, he suddenly throws throws hhimse imself lf utterly into the evil evi l that he forceful orcefully ly rre eects ects,, the evil for which he lacks even the religious soul's consideration as sin, thereby surpassing in excess all the excesses that he condemns. I am here to defend man," he says. But the outcome of thee ghting negates the th th e reason for ghting: the th e struggle struggle for for ma man' n'ss freedom makes man unbearable to him and, becoming his executioner, he crushes man while liberating him.

The Perp etual Mov Movemen ementt of Ana Analyi lyi Now, we understand that commentators have had the choice of searching for the true meaning of Maldoror as a ppoetry oetry ooff aggresaggressive intoxication, which would be its own end, all narrative ustications,, given aer the fact, cations fact, o such elation becoming negligible, negligibl e,

or, on the contrary contrar y, adhering strictly strictly tochose the manifest manif est conten con tentt ofand the poetry. Gaston Bachelard forcefully the rst approach, what he wrote on this subect certainly has tremendous general value, but the focus focus of his persp p erspecti ective ve ed him hi m to overestimate overestimate the brutal impulsions in Lautramont's work and blinded him to the

 

Te Experience ofLauamon ofLauamon

suberre life o he obsessio wih sleep o his sympy lled wih horror for he kigdom of viscosiy h plys o less le  impor impo  role roHe le i heesex. Thus Thh us heudergoes could wri wrie: e: Mldoor 24 whers is ssbove suffr suff erig. cuses cus rher i our nlysis hs jus show us Mldoror prciclly ever idues suffferig wihou suf wihou  receivig i soo so o herefer herefer d very ofe he is he oly oe who edures sufferig wih  silless o unlike biee .  2 5 As  i he h e -hey bi iges -he no   iges sse's e's e eings o no "Duc ucss deth. "D he    sucio  of he mmese sucio hhe immese ror w h of  Maldoror wss o h world   i  Maldo world p.26 er slee sleep.26 Hee is ev ever io. H iorr  bsorp bso rpio.  ierio opuses uses o f  ier ocop gripp of oc gri bu if sl eepi ep igg ; bu oee is sle h  o wre h uw egg u ep   i s be sl eep  beei igg sle i b Yes  i hee b o   o m   o f s upoo r  h diy y if i  is he sup  l uciidi igg  luc o  i hee  c o leep ep is h sle  ldororr s sleepp  if i slee i    is he re rem how c c  o  e   o s e e M a ldoro ul l reprepforcefull orkk h h  forcef slee p  s  wor eed wih sleep reg emely ely imp i mpreg suprem supr e her of e sruggle ggle  he her zed sru  he prly prlyzed rged ed o f he es   he rg re resses pshigg is sim s impp ly ps aldoror ror  o hi h gi gi  : I M aldo  his is w is  wh iggh? Ad i Ad his

sve ... nohng is wed.27 This s o neglec he chrcer of enless wng h s lws progressvely mosng self from sz o sz n h rnsforms he rs ve cos io  obsessive shufig bck d forh before  lwys impedig d iccessible iccessible resoluio resoluio. . Hs Rudolf welcomed hewheren hesis ofe Lurmon whoLinder kowscourgeously wh he sys of  work sruggle gis God is ruly  sruggle gins God  gigic srugglee o d he secre sruggl se cre of beig d lly lly o expose expo se he reso for sovereign evil while devoig himsel him selff o evil while forc forcig ig evil wih  kid of o f sympheic sorcery s orcery.. n opin op inio io h he comco mmenor eloquely defes someimes persusively hough e

pushes i so fr h i he ed we see Lurmo s blsphey chnge io  gloricio of heven  his isole ghing ino  serch for for God. 28 These wo commeries udoubely go beyod he movmes me s of our lysis. lysis. Bu precsely p recsely hs nl nlsis sis lhough  mgh oly hve bee roughly skeched ou d  empy shell hs quickly progressed beyod is prescrip d demosred  propesi o rehik he work s  whole from  isoled moif

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

wiin i. T work as in som was n rviwd wi is m ii fc fcom om its j udgi udginn mind. Around Aro und i, our anal analsis sis ateempted to at to recom  recompp ose te work, pr prfral in a in  a cor core manmannr,, so nr s o t ta t pr p r oof mig migt  compltd compltd   mas  mas  of a ru  ru  cn-

t and not a ariraril cosn dail. A dangrous deviation, ut u t on ta is al o correc islf  is on   impus on impus.. Onl   mat  matic ic analsis  analsis   of cru crul l lads us  us  o  p oiin in  wr wr   tat tat anal analsis sis is no log logrr enoug noug. . W av av   oucd oucd   u�on t t nigm nigmaic aic mom  momn n wr Ma Maldoror, ldoror, s  sim imulan ulanous ousl l crul crul an� nd ndr, r, rls rls agains gains   vil vil and is is  rilld rilld o d o so. H H  is dissadissai s   d  if  do es vil, u u fro from m is dissais dissaisffac acio ionn ddligt ligt is xtracd udirected aggressivit ad unwillful passivi taking asolut-

l o plasur in causing vil or in nduring vil, no mor so an  sms to xprinc, poinlssl olding on to t rasons for at  dos, wil narl alwa alwas s losing sig of m. m .   ar told a  nigma is sorlivd, tat t analsis nds i an arra of conradicions caus i aks vring ino ac¢ount, excp for te sarcastic conradictio prsn i ever m?mn of  work. T sriousnss of te analsis, avig all  wd wd  asnc of  sriousnss of  iron o scap, is rul surprisd o discovr is cs wiin is accumulaion of co coradicor io i oraso. wic Iron i now no wis,lo looks oks in i n vain,a afr afdradful r a avvin radicor nglcd tougts, is principal assurdl, adrsar for analsis, wic ss t rig o consider ac m�mn sparatl and o d is con vanis ito in air. Eumration is oo longer lo nger possil poss ilee if  manig of ac dail dail is  i  mking innin i n n s  sss i i  (is is

¢ as of o f  difculis) difculis) , u opns op ns i up in an amiguous amiguo us wa o  an unded oscillation of improale manings. Now, wr w se rmors w av possil forgotn to s a codmnation of rmors, and tr tr wr wree w s rmors com c om a mockr mockr of itslf w do not se te artreak at resalises, at  ar of sarcasm,  powr concald con cald  remors. And so o for ververng else, edlssl. T powerful marvl of iron: a admiral d nse agains  pculiariis of discours disco urs and agains  invsi atio ationn of a oo simpl raion rai onali ali.. But a power tat tat is, ow owv vr,r,

 

66

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

vulnrabl, bcaus it cannot show somthing trur than itsl mor lastingly ral than all its innitly divrs rsourcs; it was only this ngativ constancy that in th nd rfrrd us back to crulty and movs us toward a nw xamination of this thm Analysis is a machin that is not asily stoppd. Th dicultis that impd it bcom for it i t a nw path that it travrss travrss to th nd with th crtainty cr tainty of its undtrrd gait. Anal Analysi ysiss ncountrs irony, irony,    limm f dat invntd spcicall to disup m nisms nis ms lik its own. own . But far from ltting lt ting itslf itsl f b disturb dis turbd d by ths obstacls, analysis curiously mbracs thm, counts thm, classi s thm, th m, and, at th nd of o f this thi s nw procss pro css,, conf confronts ronts th rsults of this xamination with th prvious conclusions, wisly sc tiond of during this work, btwn parnthss. Lt's assum ths rsults hav bn clarly stablishd. Admitting that thy mthodically show us what th brifst rad ing prmits us to undrstand: that irony is not vnly sprad throughou throug houtt th work, work, that at tims it is crtainly crtainly nonxistnt or o r at work mor mo r than vr vr,, but that it also has its mom m omnts nts of wakn waknss ss,, that at crtain crtain tims it bcoms so tnuous tnuou s that, that, lik l ik a wa wakk dos of poison, poi son, it conrms con rms maning ma ning rathr than tha n wakni wakning ng it. W will also softn  thatan iron iro xorbitant ny, rarly a way simpl simpof l critical powr, is on o n th contrary mosts arming, an xcss whr sri ousnss is undoubtdly displacd, but only in ordr to rgain itsl in this sphr of ruptur, in th form of vrtigo and of th j joyo oyous us cris of o f nothingnss nothingnss.. " It is crtain crtainly ly not asy to rconqur

th logical lmnts of an afrmativ word within such a dispr sal; analysis rcognizs this, but, without ntring into th dtails o f what rightf rightfully rmains of o f it, analysis maintains, maintains , in an anyy cas, th gnral possibility of apprciating th contnts of th work, of sarching sarch ing for for its maning mani ng from from th maning ma ning manif ma nifst stdd by crtain phrass and by crtain stanzas or, if on rjcts as valulss th work's immdiat maningwhich, w might add, was also muti latd by th clashs of a pculiar compositionof sarching for this maning as it tem tem om the th e coniten coniten  ofmot ofmot om an obe ion wit device om the tal rern ofword ofword and ima image ge wic wichh i to a of ofrm rm

 

The Experience ofLauramont ofLauramont

The entatrs therere n theseves ae with tw principal paths establishe r the by analysis. Se  the like H. R. Linder will think that that a wrk wherei the hero speds st f his tie struggling with G has soething t o with G and that sine this wrk in the opinion of thse that enter into it has a usettlig power ad reality we he the right to want t grasp the highest pssibility ealing with the st tragially iprtant questins or the huan onitin that is penly at stake in this this wrk. But others will estiate that the distressdistressing pwer  this bk learly at s with the gals  the isurse that has n are r rer unity r lgial peranene a bo ok that is a ule  senes book sene s wors an iages the ef efetiveetiveness  whih ertainly extraorinary is peretly iniferent to the apparent eaning that suh a pwer will be lst i ne ntinues t pae pa e it i t at the eve    the great questins an  the great thughts that this bk has let behin questions that it perhaps use as a suning bar but regarding whih it presents a furius prigius leap a saring int the vi. If analysis wants t o soething useful it ust not lok to what Laut§ant said but t what was expresse behin b ehin his wrs with the help f this new language ae up  chie iages the privilege aassing  wors an the llusin f ertain thees. O this level irony itsel eases t b e friabl friable:e: we an nsier elaratins n evil

n G as ubius We an als regar as perfetly reign t Malrr the atins that are attribute t hi as well as the preilectins that he osters: r exaple I o nt like wen! Nr vn rmris! rmris! I v s kn n inms nc t pae yungsters in shs an the sicky ihiren!" ( 174) . But i i in rer  rer to ipleent ip leent the inlinatin in linatin o  his ckery ckery he ust always appeal t ertain gures i behin his violene which nstantly sashes aration against aration sene against scee he has n choice but b ut to allw another worl to take take shape a world shaped by his preferene fr such iages by the bsessive attratin that they exert n hi this is pr that his kery is pwerless against ertain niptent nipt ent ores ores those that that are afre thrugh wrs that woul like to prevent all afra

 

68

The Experience ofLauramont ofLauramont

io d, behid heir logicl deh, brehe life io imgiry vlues d moivios. As such we c judge his sruggle wh God, pprely uderke uderke o o help me, s meigless meigless,,  sruggle h leds leds eqully o  coiul co iul evocio of o f God s oo  coiul explos explosio io gis gis me. Bu wh he becomes meigl is h, hroughou his ble, he work llows isef o e ivded icremely by  obscure cofusio of memorphosed bing, it giv y  mrshy phoms,  pe of ocopss, o ods, of crbs, crbs, spiders spiders h hum, leeches leeches h suck blood, blood , cou couless skes. skes . urmo's p oery revel revelss perhps o ohig hig o someoe who ively quesios  bo od d bo evl, b  revels iself hrugh is edecy o be ble o spek bou God oly o ly by mes of fsicl sicl iml gures guresd d o o o  lk o us us bou i, o forge o lk o us bou i, while beig codesed roud r oud hick  hick ivig subsces, which whic h re  oce o ce over overbud budly cive d of  iermible ieri. i eri. We should sho uld sy h er ll ll is sid s id d doe do e here is o much mu ch of  diff differece bewee be wee hese o r rjec jecories ories of ly lysis sis (lhough hey seem o oppose oe her) d more precisely h hese diereces  exis oce we sop ryig o exchge he logicl oios cese h urmo proposes i  more or less mockig

wy for he immediely percepible meigs. Bu, if we see i heir coscy hemes h mus i fc revel somehig, he meigg of which, mei which, behid he ppre meig, mei g, mus mu s be pu o he es, hrough  kid of experime, hrough he scees where hese hemes re preseed, i is o he useess o w o kow, oce gi, why urmo, i his gh, chooses God s his dversry, God rsformed io  pyho or  drgo, d o direcly he drgo, he pyho, or he rhioceros. We co houghlessly dismiss he ogicl forms of he book, eve if he gol of he book is o move o  fr superior discursive level. We re ble o dismiss hese forms, becuse, i  sured work, here re o preexs, everyhig is of equl imporce d, i y cse, we co kw kw hed of o f ime if hese lo logicl gicl forms forms do o lso represe illogicl vlues wih  exrordirily poeic efciecy.2 We sw i our lysis  resolue mchie,  mech

 

The Experien per ience ce ofLauramo Lauramon n

nim completely condent about the future of its motion, only making aking up for fo r what  what  is is illegi  illegiti tim mate in its in  its m met ethod hod (w (which separate sep aratess ou the ense ou ensemble mble of  of  the text)  text)  through through   its excesse excesses and the the  indenie prolon prolongat gation ion of its of  its   operation operation Begin Beginnning from fro m one poin pointt  of viw, analysis must must shu shu e throug through the en entire work work to  to test  test  it out en it i t s insuc insuciency bec be c omes ap apparen, i mus o ne by on one

examine all the examine t he possibl po ssiblee perspect p erspectiv ives es through through which which the book bo ok will, will, eah time, be entirely and indenitely interrogated and set back in mtion This is clear, the perpetual movemen alone usties the anl an lysis; ysis; once it stops, all all of o f its dangling conclusions, conclusions , its expected expected exlications, take on a denitive value, and the work, violently searated from itself, breaks apart to make room for a rudimentary nfrastructure, clumsily reconstructed from without

Aalyi and the Future of the Wor nd yet, the most serious part remains At fault because of its aritrary divisions, but making up for these divisions" by multipling" them, analysis sinks to is essential defect If it wants to

compensate for through its limits,the it needs to eve expand, in every butt in o rder to pass work work in every ry sense, sen se, i has sense, to neglect neglec wat makes makes it a creative creative progressio pro gression, n, the irreversible movement movement of ithin the  the matioo n within an afrmati er it be an afr pmeent wheth whether developm a order o rder   o f develo nott wanwancourse urse of of  action, no tes,s, or th the open co emanate slowly emana b ok tha thatt slowly en d an   end tow ardd an spiring   towar butt aspiring mad nesss bu garies ies o f madnes th e va vagar ng like  like  the deing dei

th-elf and and for oth itself it  for its unveils it for hetheer it un light,   wheth gs to  to  light, brings th t it brin tht er,  mig ony be understood" in relation to the ow of time Tisis is precisely what T what analysis analysis must necessarily disregard, disregard, especialespe cially f it wants to be as exact as possible, which is to say exhaustive, beause, be ause, wanting wanting to grasp grasp the boo b ookk in every possib po ssible le wa way, analysis analysis

that like  a thing thi ng that zone,, like  ous, immobile immobile zone hom mogen ogenous, eat i i  as a  a  ho mst tr treat eaningg tly  of the  the  meanin ependen endently indep ng, sou sougght ind itss meani meaning, xisted , it alayss existed, alay

wh ich movemen ementt by which ular he  he mov articular ting in partic ntion, n, neglec neglecting its intentio o  its inte kindss  leads ads to  to  abuses o f  all kind ifculty,, that le maorr difculty it is made A  mao o f  cruthe m e of sis of  of  the them analysis t h e analy  underr took th w e  unde emindss us we W  i c h r emind gainst   elty against cruelty category cru by  catego el ima images by cruel iing   the cru classiing ely by class

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

others, gist oesel cruelty cruelty of  erotic ture. But But sig ct omissiothis ttetio to order completely eglected he order of the book, d the evets, tke rdomly, hve be rrged rr ged together ccordig to their ture, s if this ture by o mes depeded o their chroologicl situtio i the wok. Similrly, Bchelrd lys out utrmots remrkble bes iy, but this bestiry puts forwrd its kow fcts i the timeless hev e of lysis, d ech imge, ssessed d weghed dvduy, with pistkig cre d limitess ttetio, is tke from y hodil prt of the book, o which it sheds light differr e ce diffe perfecct i me   perfe   ithi through o thers d withi ll the ot with ll mpriso with comp

uiq e   itio i t i  thhis uiq ompo poss itio ppeers i the c om htt it  i t pp met t th the   mo mome for the re ct th erefore we  therefo  off  lysi lysis,s, we  rictors tors o oror. A  fb ric clled ed Mald oror. otlity cll tot

s if, if, workig i  world upset ups et by  ctclys ctclysm, m, iitt we were re ecess ec essry ry o o r us, i order to piece it bck together, to rely o the oly objectve chrcteristics of these frgmets, the true order of which hd othig to do with the disorder bor of the rdomess of thir

dispersio. It is true t rue tht Maldoror mkes us thik precisely bout  gure egedered by the cpriciousess of  prodigious c s rope: without y ppre pprett uity uity, iitt seems seem s to f frm  perpe pe rpetul tul ruptu rupture, re, to which we would oly kow how to respod by surrederig ourselves to  fudmetl lietio This, i fct, is obvios. But this is lso why it is very importt, for those who wt to tti the meig" of such  book, to etrust oeself to te ufoldig of evets, i its temporl meig." A work is md with time: this certit t lest, edures. 0 We my or my ot see se e

Mald oror oror s

 ms m stterpiece erpiece   o f  utom  utomtic tic writi  writig, g, b ut i ei er  er  

cs e, we re cse, re cod codeet tht tht t  certi certi m moo m et ii tie utr ut rmot mot   beg be g to to write, rite,   tht tht t other  other   mome opp  d omett he s opp writi ritig, g,   d  d th  t h t the the dur durti tioo o f  his work work,, this this progr rogress essive ive bri b rig g ig to to light light   of  of wor wo rds, ds , i pr p rtt coic coicided ided  with the the i imp mpul ulse ete,, se to c r ete

i other ot her words ords,, with with   the progre pr ogress sio o f tra trasform sformatio atioss  hroug hroughh whic hichh  the  the  wor workk, wh whiile beig made ade,, wa wass dire direccted towa oward rd   o n e   meai eaig m o re th thaa ao aother ther,, so tha that this th is   me m eai aigg" here he reafte afterr as as   p art o f  th  thee  me meaai igg" o f  the  the   wor ork k  ad a d  co co  stitu stituttes p erh rhaaps t tee 

 

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71

cearest p art of its signication. signicatio n. Ther Theree iiss in Maldoror an enormous continuity contin uity an enormous disconti d iscontinuity nuity;; everyone senses sense s this. this . Each stanza is profoundy connected to such an etent that we easiy view it as having een written y a singe hand that never stops. And yet etwee etweenn stanzas stanzas as etwee etweenn cantos cantos the white white of o f the page that separates them introduces an insurmountabe distance and the mind m ind jumps j umps from one on e to the net net with with the aniety of a wa wakker that truy knows he is forging ahead who knows that time is passing" ut knows nothing more.

The Central Exp erience of Maldoror For some years years critics critics  ike Rmy Rmy de Go Gourmont urmont seeming seemi ngyy est informe inf ormedd on what might mig ht ee the function function of ucidity ucidity in the work work acknowedged a compete asence of ucidity in Ducasse Today

writers ike Roger Caiois no ess informed on the characteristics of a ucid mind rst admire his cairvoyance" his insight" his unique strength as an author to not ony know what he is saying ut whie saying to consider comment on and itcorrect himse2 Others whieitsharing this admiration justi with competey opposed reasons. Juien Gracq for eampe sees in Maldoror the vengeance of o f the irrationa the dazzing dazzing afrmation afrmation of dark forces the vocanic eposion of suterranean incandescent ayers. Perhaps one must e amazed y a work wherein a ucid reader recognizes at once a contemptie and an admirae asence asen ce of o f ucidity uci dity and a creatio creationn that is admiray conscious cons cious and mib in  cnscsnss

The signs of conscious writing aound in Maldoror. There is nt one on e singe sentence as ong and as as intricate as as it might e that does not direct a visie reasonae meaning There is not one stanza wherein the inkage of sentences is not justied ogicay. The reader in search of straightforward rationaity nds everything that is necessary to foow a tet one that corresponds with a of its meticuous syntactica agreements with a thought that is perffecty assured of its cours per c oursee . Additiona Addition ay y it is to e eieved eiev ed that if the mocking tone competey infused an unfoding discord into

 

72

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

the discerig" level of the laguage, this iroy would, however, iclude, eve whe it becomes a truly fabulous power, a guara tee of lucidity: mockery that crosses out ad reouces the se tece i progress progress,, is theref therefore ore coscious cosc ious of the setece, assesse a ssessess all of its uaces, ua ces, sice it corrects themad if this correctio, co rrectio, while picki pi ckig g apart the the iitial thought, tho ught, brigs b rigs with with it a dagerous dagerous imbal i mbal ace, iroy, highly coscious of such a divergece, seizes upo s grssos, grsso s, as them, i a prof pro foud ou d way, ad a d retroducs them itois astoishigly the esemble solid as itetioally seseless surprises.reader Yes, reaso" i autramot, o ratioal ca doubt this. But this reaso is, ustly, so powerful, it is so overarchig that it also seems to embrace every foolish impulse ad to be able to

understand the stragest aberrat forces forces,, the subterraea subte rraea costel latios by which it is guided ad which which it oetheless  oetheless carries with with it without losig itself or them. If we see autramot autramot as a writer writer blided or elighteed elighteed by dark dark forces aloe, we must the attribute the ability to write as much to these ukow forces as to the most thoughtful art. Not oly does he who advaces i readig Maoror always d, i order to draw o a meaigful itetio, the movemet leadig ad coordiat ed by a meaig meaig that, that, if it is ot yet yet apparet, is promised, p romised, but h meets, midst the rubble of traditioal ruls, the precautios, the coscietious predictios of a laguage that udoubtedly kows where it is goig, eve if it is always sayig what it is doig, if it always actualizes what it aouces, i£ perfectly scorful of dis cocertig the reader too easily, it ever leaves a uexplaied

eigma. compositio of Maldoror is ofte shrouded i iter mys tery tery.. It is The ot ucommo uco mmo that such developmet be abruptly abruptly ruptedthough without iterruptig th cotiuity of the dis coursegivig way to aothr scee, deprived of ay connction with this developmet. O the theme, I was lookig for a soul that resembled my ow ad I was uable to d oe" (93), oe staza egages a log, methodical search, which it suddely aba dos i order to udertake a story of shipwreck, shipwreck, of oc ocea, ea, of storm, storm , ad this story s tory,, havig havig othig o thig to do with the rst part of the stan

 

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z, leds leds us so s o fr d for for so s o lo l ogg tht we we hve log lo g for forgotte gotte from whece whe ce we cme whe, i th thee l lilie es,s, the t he writ writer, er, retyi retyig g the th e ed to the th e begiig, permits the com commo mo thred thred,, which he hs h s ev ever er give wy, to ppe p per r:: t lst I hd fou foud d someo som eoe e who who resembl rese mbled ed me" (99). My stzs, behid their disorderly surfce, hve the sme vigilt vigilt composi com positio tio.. We We do ot kow where we re goig, we lose ourselves i pitiful mzes, but the lbyrith tht leds us stry is reveled to hve bee costructed precisely to led us stry, to led us stry further still, so s to llow us to thik we hved foud ourselves gi. I my of these cses, cse s, Lutrmot visibly trsports devices of mystery uique to populr po pulr ctio d m mystery ystery ovels ovels ito i to his style.

It is his ow lguge tht becomes  mysterious plot,  ctio sequece mrvelously uited with  detective ovel, where the most powerful obscurities re the uforesee momets, where the coups de thtre re replced with imges, uusul murders by violet cts of srcsm, d where the guilty prty merges with the reder, who is lwys tke to tsk. These itetios explode i the sixth book, whe Lutrmot sys, er Nervl, his rosry of beutiful beutif ul hermetic phrses, phrs es, which he clries oe t  time, time, though with  bizrre disiterest tht seems to wt to permit doubt to hover over over the ture of o f these prctices, prc tices, sice sice he oly ol y ever ever grsps  eetig stility, the ture of whic does ot elog to him.

he Ho p e of  Mind t goes goe s wto wtout ut syg tt tt we do ot o t ted te d to expl ll o o  th mysteries of the compo mysteries com posit sitio io of myster mysteries ies of the mos m ostt disturbig kidsolely by mes of the forethought of the uthor, lwys more kowledgeble th the reder, more cpble of foreseeig  outcome of which the reder is igort, d wherei he freely uses this igorce s the pth ledig to the outcome. But this, t lest, seems certi: which would be difcult to prise s the work of  mid bset from itselfssumes itself ssumes withi it, t the th e highest level, ll l l the th e qulities tht Lutrmot justly proclims for the self: cold" ttetio,

 

74

The Th e Ex Experien per ience ce ofLauramont ofLauramont

implcbl logic" rltlss cutio" rvishig clrity" (whih multiplis migs whil complictig th lbyrith of its iu c); ll th qulitis h dcrs h mstrd through commc with mthmtic sits" who wr iitilly forig" to hi. Th solmity Th sol mity with with which which h vrts vrts us from rso rso  is i fct fct thr to tch us tht rso is somthig forig to him d tht tis rtiolit for Lutrmot s for vryo but for him mor o thn fortru othr, oy(8 3rprsts  log trgc d obs  towrd rso ff.).

Th mor w multiply th istcs ofLutrmot ofLutrmot s powrl lucidity luci dity th mor mo r th obs o bscurity curity o f this wor th dr forc forc f which is xtrm is bl to m us obscur; if w must xpl this drss through th gm of rvishig clrity clrity " if through it it lo th imprssio imprss io coms to us tht  ightmr hs t ho1d of th p" this crity wil i th d oly dp th mysty. Rgrdlss of whthr Lutrmot dlibrtly md Maldoro  stupig boo it is ot ot bcus b cus h ssurs us tht tht w must must doubt dou bt it. H sys so thrfor it is tru.4 But if h ts us this it is bcus it is ot xct xctyy tru; moro mo rovr vr from th momt mom t tht h shmlssly ms clr his ittio to surpris us this surprs cot b softd by our owldg of it. It is o th cotrry id to our xpcttios to its dmoitio l th mor ffc tiv sic sic  hittig us i th ight of dy ot uxpctdl uxpctdly it strip stripss us of ll hop ho p of vr shidig oursvs from from it. I th l stz of th boo b oo t  momt wh Lutrmot Lutrmot him imssl hvi hv igg  rch  rchdd th th d  d   xp xpric rics s i his i his wy w y th th flig fli g

or f  somo  sdr  omo  who o ds his pth h4)  . ou oucs cs m toot i i s rdr   tht  tht  h h    w wo  td t  dlogr   to crtiis cr tiis"his  " h  im ( 21h I    Lutr Lutrm rt thr hr th t h th  th  brut rutit ityy of impu im pudd  c c th th fct  fct   tht th t thr thr is s siil s o mt thhig i g vs vsiv iv mbig mbiguuous d tig tig   i suc uchh powr ow r l blowss  is bi blow bizarr zarr . To st stu u th th ra r adr? Prha rhapp s  b u t how how? Stu St upidi pidiyy h  sa s ays ys is o  o t    o ugh ugh    or is  is xha xhauustio stio;; o must als als o hav av mgnttic powr, n wr,   on must ust   do dom m inat inat  th  th   dra ram m  tha that n ndds not not  in stpi pidd ity, b ut i n   stu stupp o r,  r,  that that   is, within within   th  th   pass passiivity vity   of a  a   co conn sc scio iouu s nss t hat ss vry vrytthin hingg  and and   can can   do n oth othin ing. g. 35  35  W a r r mi minn d d d   t h at hypn ypnoo tism tism   wa wass   vr v r y  much in  in   vog vo g u at th th   ti tim m . B ut t  

 

Te perience ofLautramont ofLautramont

75

im p otan imp otantt thing hing i iss  not tha thatt Laut Lautamo amont nt migh  mightt have ha hadd the  the  idea id ea to tansfo  tansfo m langua language and liliteatue teatue   into a po poweful entepis en tepisee o f mgneti gneticc numbin numbingthe gthe i d ea of associatin sociatingg  poety a nd magn magnetisis  is pesen pese nt in Bau Baudelaie an and Poethough Poethough   it shows, shows , within it its d  sign , a  b oldn oldnes esss that  that w  will ill not no t be sup supassed assed   even ev en by Sue Sueali alism, sm, dnk b dnk  byy the ma magnetic s u n. In th th is afma afmation wheein wheein the the eade discov discoves es himse him sellf suddenly suddenly unde  unde   the powe the  powe o f  a gaze, gaze, the the m lucid luc idity ity of wh which is go going to ob o b scue his his own, the thee is something som ething

m   e asto astoni nisshing, mo m o e toublin toublingg than  than  an allusi an allusion on to a new new litel ite-

a esouce. We see ouselves in it soon enough: the situation in wich he claims to push his eade is the same situation as that in wich Maldoo is engaged. The eade of Maldoror ecognizes, as onee of on o f its pevasive pevasive themes, th emes, the fea fea,, the theat of sleep sleep:: a stang stangee slep, which Maldoo efuses, against which he ghts with a eakable fevo," but which is incessantly able to cay him off bcause within the efusal to sleep, sleep aleady exists; in insomni, it tiumphs. The motif of I am not sleeping,  am neve sleping," if it plagues the whole of the book, specically makes itself head in the stanza about sleep and in the last stanza of Cnto V the stanza about the spide and the immense sucking).6 Aoss these pages one sees how Maldoo, fallen into a kind of mgnetic mgne tic tap, is in the th e gip, gip, not of any any old nightma nightmae, e, but of the  against inst  stuggling gling aga idity stug that ofluc o flucidity and night, ni ght, that o f day and cetal cet al taged tagedyy of

itelf, against becoming something else. Lucid Maldoo shows lucidityy andd to b e o f a lucidit an y price, price, an to be  at an y h e wants wants to at he is, that that he that th ity is lu cidity pow efull lucid this is too powefu et imes   th ut   s o m etimes ecants; ts; b ut h  nev neve e ecan bnsupised bcms b cmsby sleep    sometimes  inss inss by spss ties, o death oni even sommadnss), it continues, an eye that neve shuts," at the heat of the dcompo dco mpositi sition on of o f etenity, etenity, at the depth of an empty head, behind behi nd econnes, it  it is eco pesevees, ea son" it peseve eous   eason" the cadav cadaveous in the a ead m  ead mii nd, in

it   awa away. p ushe sh ed it ncee  t  tha hatt pu absenc  i n the abse pesentt in ays   newly newly pesen s  u   e d, alw always ionn , we iptio desccipt ationn of this des exaain inatio to an ex eingg in into en tein Without ithout   ent

ionn to e solutio a med esolut cessanttly a incessan Fist, an in stak e. Fist s e  w h at is at stake

eeling,, petomented feeling cloudyy,  tome the  cloud heeaftte the  aly; theeaf clealy; always see cle always luciditt this  lucidi o f this  the  b ase of that is at the  by  the tap th ecogniized by ciely ecogn

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

bcus through th cotiul distcig of slp it wlcoms  mor trgic slp it bcoms tht slp  prisor of th codi tioig tioi g t th hrt of which it rsids. rsids . Lutr Lutrmo mott thiks tht clirvoyc triumphs i th d but h kows d h discovrs th strg struggl this victory oucs d through whos

trsformtios lucidity must sk trsformtios s k itslf itslf si s ic c th th  chtmt tht prlyzes lucidity t prcisly th possibility which it ds   o o yig wit witho hot t yigw yigwhc hchh rvls t to b prs pr stt i th most mos t sombr momts of o f th ight From ths sigulr pgs w oly d for th momt to p this i mid tht btw lucidity d obscurity  th xpric of Mldoror ll kids of rltioships xist disturbig d v trgic rltioships hostilitybsd hrmoy hostil complicity; victory tht is filur. Ad t th sm tim ths pgs corm tht v i this octurl dsity whr dy sms to b lost light Lutrmot cotiuig his prsistt strugg l vr md  pct with drkss: struggl drkss: h hs oe o e solitry s olitry co cr ot to succumb to gt out of this bd  mor difcult problm th o might thi (169). I recllig such  situ tio w will judg it lss strg tht Maldoror, prcisly whr this situtio pprs might simultously tsti to its uthors powerful cosciousess d to sik depr d dpr ito drk rgios where poitlss pssio prvils throgh wild istict. Lucidity prvds vry prt of th book it drivs it composs it. But th worklu workluci cidd pr xcl xcllc lc i th th  ss tht t ht lucidity lucidity is ts  ts pric pricipl rcours rcours  s wll wll s big b ig tht throughout which which is t stk s tkbcus bcus of thisipllcidity ovrows with clrity frms it sks it loss l oss it th ds ds it d lly lly doucs it. Prhpss this Prhp th is is ot vry my mystrious strio us W r r ow usd to th t h fct fct tht words lik lucidity cosciousss d rso do ot corre spod to o simpl usg tht lucidity c b prst d bst tht it somtims dispprs whil cotiuig to wtch ovr th work tht it looks out from bhid distrctio tht it cts pssivly lik Lycus who kps wtch ot from th top of  towr but whil t work i subtrr dpths Ad w r ow usd to th fct tht th most coscious writr isofr s th

 

The Experience ofLauramon ofLauramon

77

bo ok that he comp book c omposes oses brings a profound profound part pa rt of o f him into i nto play play, by no means dismisses the powers of his mind, but, on the contrary tra ry,, summons summ ons them into association assoc iation with this book bo ok and asks the book to help and deepen these powers. Between his work and his

lucidity, he establishes an impulse to compose and to develop, mutually, an extremely dicult task, important and complex, a task that we call experience at the end of which the book will not only use the mind m ind but b ut will wil l hav havee been be en used by it, in such suc h a way that the book can be said to be absolutely lucid, if i is he work of ucidi and if ucidi is is work. We will not hesitate to say that Maoror appears to be the most remark rem arkabl ablee example example of this type type of o f work, work, a model m odel of this kind k ind of of literature that does not entail a model, more striking, because of it itss scope and an d it itss developments developments (because ( because duration duration is essential in this enterprise), than Rmbaud's Iuminaions powerful, in a certain way, for the mind, the Iuminaions leave the mind with nothing but the memory of a dazzling experienceand A Season in He which, rather than being an experience, is the ri of an experience This is why it seems so important to read Madoror as a progressive creation, created in time and with time, a work in progress" which Lautramont undoubtedly drives where he wants, but which also drives him into the unknown, about which he says Let's follow the current that drags us along" not because he lets himself be dragged along, drifti drifting ng with with ferociou ferociouss and blind bl ind forces, orc es, but because the s sweeping" weeping" force of the work is its way way of being ahead of itself, of preceding itsel the future even of its anomaon omaon..  ii in   o an at did Lautramont have on his mind the night that he scribble scri bbledd the the rst rst word words:s: May May it please please the the hea heave venn that . . . " ( 27 ) ? It i s not enough en ough to say that, that, i n this this initial moment, Lautramo Lautramont nt had not completely formed the memory of the six cantos that he was going to write. We have to say more: not only were the six cantos not in his mind, but this mind did not exist yet; the only goal that he could co uld have was that distant mind, that hope of o f a mind that, at the moment mome nt when    would be b e written, would lend len d him all the strength he would need to write it.

 

The Expei pe ien ence ce oLa Laut utam amon ontt

It is o doubt dmirbl tht, s  compltd work, Maldoo prsts itslf s  totlit without crcks, lik th bsltic block

o which Mldoror sdl rcogizs th solidit of his ow xistc, drw from from ll dissolutio dissol utios s.. Is thr othr work lik this o, o th o d compltl t th mrc of tim, ivtig or discovrig its mig whi it is big writt, writt,  ccomplic ccomplic  closl likd to its durtio, tht rmis mwhil  mss i  inning or  d,  timlss substc,  smutit of words, whri vr trc, bfor d ftr, sms to hv b rsd, d forvr forgott? Thri lis o of th grt surpriss of this book, but o tht w must, for th momt, try to voi void. d. Rthr, Rthr, tht w might might glimps glimp s Lutrmot Lutrmo t hims himslf lf,, prp rhps w should look for him t th momt wh, with o o thr, o th h oor i  mpty room, lit b  sigl cdl ickig o th whit pg, o hd,   crtil o vr butiful itslfiirspos solitud to to ths writ, v M it pls hv tht ...hd, ," dforms to writ words.8

The Firt Canto: Dazet Lutrmot pcd  ctgoricl brk btw th rst v ctos d th sixth. Th diffrc bw ths two rts is, i fct, strikig. W lso kow tt th circumstcs of uictio lso plcd  brk btw th rst cto d th othr v, th rst th cto hvigm b ttchd), publishd lo (i th August d s without uthors whrs tir1868 work, w kow it, pprd udr th m of th Comt d Lutrmot th followig r (bfor Octobr  8 69  , though, thks to th polic po lic,, it w ws s vr off offrd ffor or s s l . Ths Th s circumstcs m sm s m uimportt, uimp ortt, d i fct th hrdl hrdl r, but th th  sm to imprt i mprt  sig to us. First, w c coclud from this iitil publictio tht, t th tim it ws rrgd, oly th rst cto of Maldo hd b writt. This is t lst vr probbl. Th rst cto dos ot form mor of  totlit th thos tht follow it. Sic Ducss th sms so curious to b pubishd, h might just s wl hv hd th rst wo ctos pr togthr, or mor, if h

 

Th Expinc ofLautamont ofLautamont

79

hd writ written ten more more . But he h he  had ad as of of yet only w only written ritten th this one. The The hnd that scribbled sc ribbled   May it please please heav heaven that . . . " has therefore herefore   sribbledd   only th sribble the ftyt ftyto pages pages that wo would be set on th the B lilitout tout ppri rinnter's plate plate then mysteriou my steriously sly the hand hand stoppe stopped. d. Why? Fr how how long? o coul could say? When When it on o nce again again  began to wrie to wrie tere t ere is reason reaso n to believe believe that the the rst canto canto was bein beingg readie  readiedd fo r prin  even that prin that it had had   already ap appeared peared already dried dr ied iint ntoo  sil si l ence this  this  because because   beginni beginninn g canto canto II what what does this this hand

rite? Precisely those words that evoke the uncertainties of an uncertain publication: at became of Maldorors rst canto since his mouth lled with leaves of belladonna let it slip in a moment of meditation across the kingdoms of wrath? What happned to that canto? ... We do not precisely know" ( 5 9  .  In fact tis can only be either an allusion or a prophecy. We also know that beteen the rst edition of the rst canto ad theformal text of changes this cantoappeared. as it wasSome revealed the textcorrections.4 as a whole0 sveral werein minor th the exception however of one: so impressive it is in a sense so unexpected that that  without exaggeratin exaggeratingg its revelato revelatory ry impact impact ad since it distracts our eyes from from a spectacle spe ctacle that we do not have p oint   linger   on this point rs not no t to linger ally prefe p refers eeone one gener generally right to ssee te   right te  wh ere in in passagess where in  all the t he passage lowin g: in all ange is  is the th e fo llowing: T he ch change tooo long. to lon g. The

 into    gures res com comee into  an imal gu the animal strangest  of the  edition ion the strangest itive edit te den denitive in the p ressence in through   their pre ons or  or   through invocations throug h invocati play eithe play eitherr through out  hosee sn snout  lophu phu s w hos hino no lo nce,  the the   hi gnce, oft   he silken silkeng the he octop u s oft  t ort tor is top  is top  d bbyy  a hor  a hor ss ho-sh  ho-sh a  ap p d  d crst   , th nrabl bl lou  lou s  ,, the ad  in thee vnra the   t ooad  ab  in s ab  ha aus ao t  ha au u u ao lly,, the  the   nd,, fna fnally tanza, nza, aand f nal ssta tee fnal t

te last sentencete text o te previous version interects in tese places the name Dazet (Georges Dazet was a fellow student a the Ly Lyce de Tarbes Tarbes with Ducasse; Ducasse ; his name also appears a ppears in the ddications ddicat ions of the the Posis; he died we are told in 1 9 1 9  . This Dazet is a surprise. It is like like a slice o f re reali ality ty introduced introduced ito the most mos t unreal book bo ok that we possess poss ess;; a little fragment fragment of the but they   o thers but they ed there there are others orated visibly incorp in corporat al Ducass Ducassee visibly hsstoric h torical

can can    o nly be  suu spected) specte  into the the myth  myth o fLautra mont. hen  hen   h e  ldoo r of o. 4f1  M a ldoo inggramont  autho  author the emerg e ofLaut mergin  see ee that  that  canto tod) into we s we s the rst thebe s  rst can bgins bgin

 

8

The Experience of ofLautramont Lautramont

still kows th m of Dzt tht h wts ot oly to ssocit it with his work but bu t to hv it pl ply y  rthr rthr micbl rol ro l tht of  fridship tht hs lrdy wthrd storms d is  urly vr mbiguous. I othr words th unchanged m d fc o f Dzt ptrt ptrt it itoo th th  idl mid of Lutr Lutrmot. mot. It sms tht som critics wr privtly bothrd ot by tis mmory but by th dltio bhid th xtrordiry utrsltld   ich rv rvld  nglance, wh which silkeenglanc tpuss of the silk   tpu imaae      able im �l.. ho�l lssmt fro m   s c ho idd   clssm t?? A  ki wht g    dd wh t hig  r ws ws s o m thi thr th  w�s  h d w ublilim m    hd th s ub d t thh t th cl udd ly c o clud rtbly com mfo rtb cs uco h   criti cr itics Th as   thorr who as an  autho andd b  an au l han bnl n   o h er bn lke   n en lke drven er ll drv er  igss o r othig ty oth pretty es to pret ames tty am pretty ow give pre appyy to  we kow happ th  is th �    ht   th higss . Wht ry thig diry ordi ms to t h   m o s t or trgg m str th�   g    b  h i  d th lgu gug igg  l rv rvi u lyy b  h i  d  l l this u ivl di  ittiv gge ? ld   ch ld ch sc c tsisths h s ggur g urs whr whri hi hik k    i sth thlgu  wuorg fo llos?   fo llos? lg ich sthi th wh  w id  wfro frotm mi  mid   o i s  th goi goig W Dztt.  littl  Dz mor   th  littl  thig mor  o thig  S dly o  b  h f ol  b  wouu ld ol  ffdd u s . W wo do s ot ot o ff sily. y. But this do Posssil Po ts�i-ddl cm to us to ts�i ogg go go s uddl   from l lo so mo m o  from surprisd surp risd   if so rus s rhus''  c crus Rhiolop olophus  foo r? Rhi r you yo u lookig lookig f wht r :  B ut th th wht ros' (which (which is rhiocros' schoo l; rhioc s from school; t ickm ickms sig ict coppt' i sigic co m t  t  s ick ickm istis cto V) , is Mr. Histi kow w i  i  c s   w ko God s God

profssor of rhtoric." This would ot b of y grtr itrt v lss i fct th th rfrcs to Revelations or o ulgore Budlir. As fr s words go th rhiolophus d th  fulg ltr holdr crtily hd to com from somwhr if thy cm from from  turl turl history histo ry b ook from octurl rumintio ruminti o r from  dolsct jok j ok it hrdly hrdly mttrs mttrs th importt imp ortt thig thig is ot kowig th fortuitous origi of th words d imgs us d by Isidor Isido r Ducss D ucss b ut gr grspi spig g how how ths rdom word wordss bc th rst words d foud  w d primr origi i th s ll oxistt Lutrmot to whom thy simultously gi birth. Fr from rcogizig th word octopus" usd i plc Dzt  grt os to  wit litrry w s pro tht th t Ms a ldororws  ldoro rws ot  work  work without hout rtic coss quc co qucs s fthri h rf, or its a upro tht it rvld vld     umb umbrr of of thigs  thigs   to  to   him tht tht it  it chg chgdd h i  ,

 

Te Experience ofLurmont ofLurmont

1

ransforedd hi, and ha, hrough his experiene, ransfore experien e, Daze hhaving aving eased eas ed being Da D aze, in his sead, sead, beneah ben eah his appearane, eerged, fro he dephs, dephs , te octopu octopuss of te silkengnc silkengnce.e. The uni of he Canosa leas of he rs ve of he seems ver srong, o suh an exen ha fro beginning o end we soeies so eies have have he feeling feeling of an imob im obile ile verigo verigo,, as if i f noh ing was ever going o hange. Therein, however, lies onl one aspe of he ruh. Wih a lile indfulness, we noie, o he onrar, hrough he ourse of he book, while i progresses, an undeeable bu onsan and deep ransformaion. Even he aosphere beoes soehing oher, even he language, even he iron. I is onl in ano IV ha he long, isleading dis ourses begin, he runon senenes, he innie wiss and urns ha,, in searh ha sear h of o f heir own divergene, suddenl s uddenl freeze reeze iinn a blak iensi; reaining sraighforward beoe unbeliev unbelieva able;42 blehe ;42 he iron ha unil hen wasiages saisedhen o ski he h e surfae of he work, hrough a ounereaning, he eaning of a word, skis over iself, exals in he whirlwind of negaing g ures hrough whih he os glorious afraions slip. Te air ha we breahe is no longer he same: i is an air of suh an exree anial densiy ha he eaorphoses, whih were so rare and, in he beginning, ore skehed han realized, are aoplished in he open whil whilee exposi exposing ng he he deph, impossible impossib le o see, of heir subsane. If we read onl he rs ano, and as i rs appeareda legi iae reading, sine Duasse hoped for iwe us sa ha, hil h li mnin of hes s emains exreml ow eru,, and ahough so eru s oee of o f he faous faous eleens eleens of he ook o ok are found herein, we do no e see he ransforaive power in aion, he power ha, a a erain oen, will hange hese adirable words, hese burlesque senes, and hese supein g iages ino a world before he world, fabulous darkness, insribed ino language, an iense exisene reurned o is origins. The rs anofrom is no wouldha naurall ipossible iagine, hisquie ex,his. he I proje Duassebehas in ind, oif he has one. Bu we an oen on i. Firs, a his oen in

 

The Experience ofLauramont ofLauramont

th wo th stoy of Maldoo th vampi is mo cla ad mo stabl tha i ay oth sctio. This Maldoo visibly follows vy id of accusd chaact that macab litatu placd withi th gasp of th imagiatio. H plays his Byoic ol with covictio issd foaccodig th most litay. uls Th tmptatio tmpta tioa sc whil wh il that composd compo accod ig topat th taquil of at at  is oly a sigula vsio of Goth Go th's's  Elig" (44-49).3 Hamlt havig bcom a Th gravdiggrs s is odd bcaus Hamlt vampi a witig o sulls also wats to slp i th gavs 9-54). Th mystious Lucifia dialogu btw Maldoo (49-54). (4 fall ahal ad th toad that implos him to mmb hs oigi is i th st vsio a staightfowad dialogu btw too fom t fom classmats; th toad at this paticula paticula momt mom t is oly o ly Dazt ad Dazt mo tha th pstativ of God appas to b a sic wllittiod fid who dos ot sha i his compaio's idas scolds him fo his bad bhavio is fightd by th stagss of his sic mid ad who also would li to b lovd lovd mo.  Mawhil Mawhil  th dialogu ad th cato d  d with ths toublig wods fom Dazt: Fawll th do't hop to d Dazt agai o you jouy. H is goig to di with th owl o wld dg g that you you did ot  ot lov him. him . y y am I coutd cout d amog xistcs if Maldoo dos ot thi about m! You will s a pocssio pass by this oad that o o accompais; you say: It's him!' You hav b th caus of my dath." Th tuth is that at this momt Dazt ffctivly dis ad dis so compltly that th had that that pushd him ito othigss  othigss will lat tu tu to th past to as vy tac of his xistc.

Between Ducasse and Lautramont It is udiabl that that this this st  st cato cato is clos tha th th oths oths to th litatu of its a mo submissiv to litay iucs that Baudlai appas thiMacl as do Ja Datadad Byo ad Goth advisibly Su ad Shaspa. pad Mzi who hav both sought to costuct Lautamot's pojct" thi that i this st boo wh th patal lif of ma ad of

 

The Eperience ofLautramont ofLautramont

te world would e sketed out, Duasse as intentionally inspet ins peted ed te masterpiees masterpi ees of umanity uman ity,, wi e as depos dep osited ited in ea stanza like a gurative transposition. For example, say tese ritis, stanza stanza VIII II I (pgs. 3 4-3 7 , wrein dogs owl and gt a testanza grip of o fonsome of o f, israge, i s te stanza IXtis (pgs.is t e sort te oean oe an, teis ss!lia e.5 Naturally, 3oter 7-43 in, te possile, ut we are not onvined, rst eause su a plan, astrat, mtodial, autorial, seems from te outset intolerale, in advane, to reative fore. We are sure that the phantom of Lautramon Lautra montt would av avee redued Isidore Is idore Duasse to silene, si lene, if e had expeted to impose suh a plan on im; or, in other words, Lautramont would ave remained eternally on te oter side of tee wite t wite page, tis seet of p aper taked taked to te wall, silently uttring in te eat of the andle, su tat, troug te quiet rustling, Duasse, te young man wo yearns for glory," ould still ear te unorn names Maldoror and Lautramont. If allusions allusions to masterwo masterwork rkss are ar e visile in te t e rst anto, it is sims imply tat tat tis anto anto is te t e rst, rst , that that the work has yet to do its work, work, su tat te young man tat yearns for glory' is still very lose to te glory of oters. oters.6 6 He only has has a sligt inkling of wat wat e must eome, at te eart of a reation reation tat ta t will reate im so s o that that e an reate it. It is terefore remarkale tat tis rst text, wen i appeared, appeared witout a name: eind it, no one, no autor; eause Lautramont still does not exist, and Duasse, already,, is dying (like already (li ke Dazet) ..77 Everyone Everyone who writes will wi ll reognize reog nize te agonizing strangeness of tis solemn momentnot anguish bfor th or to  don but efore th being to beome, the eing tat one would know ow to e only y mans of a long, persevering, and exalting exalting movement in the void, during whih whih this eing tat jumped will no longer e someone, ut e the jump. Our impression is tat Duasse jumped o from a rater simple projet, proj et, inspired insp ired y te literary literary onerns of o f is day, y a theoretially y vague reverie on o n Evil the asurd a surd viissitudes ofwork Existene Existene, aall rever reverie ie that, in order o rder to e and e sustained, s ustained, hooses hoos es a frame framework withwith-, in the grasp of every young imaginationut dangerously unde-

nedtat of te Aursed One, alternately a vampire, a fallen

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

ngel   blck mn cut ngel c ut of o ff from ro m the commu co mmuni nity ty in every wy wy  mbiguous power tht torments others becuse of the torment t withstnds Now if we return the isrst nd ifwe were inspect to kno wht is lredy there towht notbook yet there led toitdifferent considertions consider tions Compred to the cntos cntos of mtur mturity ity " it undoub edly stnds out due to its literry seriousness Long sections for  rdere deredd nd studied compositions tht tht resemble prose poems p oems e e know tht Gaspard de la Nuit ws found t Montevideo in Ducsses fthers librry; Budelires Petit pomes en prose begn to pper in ; Paroles dun Croyant in 48) The stnz o the dogs in the moonlight mo onlight visibly spires to poetic po etic eff effect Even te gret serious nd cold" stnz on the ocen is spurred on by  idel of lyricl eloquence by  concern for beutiful" lngue tht irony does not lter This preoccuption will not dispper with the rst cnto n cnto  the nrrtives re no less writerly nor the literry mbitions less present nd such concern persiss throughout the entire work  certin linguistic premedittion resources of  blnced composition musicl rrngements e found throughout; the meticulously clculted refrins conr them Sometimes Lutrmont delibertely constructs disordr with order s in the lmer stnz in which following the proces Budelire used in Harmonie du Soir (Evening Hrmony) te lnguge unrvels nd comes together gin in  movement sim lr to the t he cycle cycle of the eternl return return ( ( ))  ll this conrms te skill of Ducsses writing Except tht it ppers s i t the begi ning the literry literry precutions do not im towrd towrd much mo more re th the cretion of  beutiful work; lter nd proportiontely s te world opens up these precutions re going to tke the mind  ther thn it knows how to go these precutions will help it thn to the certinty certinty of  concerted lnguge lnguge to persever pe rseveree in i n the void to lose los e itself i tself nd to seize itself itsel f new new

"Toward the Unnown ssuredly in this rst cnto we my be struck by the lck f ironyy by the bsence of metmorphose iron metmorph osess by the vvery ery wek wek hints o f

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

imal life life and altenative altenativel l b the alms almstt t seius sei us aunt f te mal stangeness f the wld an aunt that in this gene g ene   f  m  will nt be ep epeated aga again49 But Bu t if we an fget fget  the aldoror

fstikes what fllws think eigning tue t ue what what us i s theand i n and in  andnl the abut the s undte unhead unh ead flite this this

in this hash ld utting f the wds exatl like a az sss a fae fae this utting ut ting deisi dei sinn that alead alead afms afms itself itsel f and if s i i ha  hass nt et et invete invetedd languag la nguage e tuns tuns it int int a  a blade blade s  shap shap tthhat  what whateve eve side side ne gasps gasps i t it uts u ts iitt leaves leaves 5° What 5°  What stikes stikes us

lead b means f mpaisn  alleg is the appah f nimal ealities The shak is thee fm the send stanza like te shak in the dak ne ai" (28. And fm the st the whil ind f  f anes that will will late impse imp se the law f its mvement n the entie enti e wk is feshadwed feshadwed in i n the staig staight ht ight ff the hill anes Fm the eighth Mald Mald  meets his st female female shak shak""  stange meeting beause in the fllwing ant he is ging t ate with this female thugh atuall he wuld like t beme he sn If it had been up t  Id fa athe have been the sn female shak whse hunge is the fiend fiend f  f tempests tempests  and f ¥ a female te tige whse uelt is wellknwn I wuld nt be s wiked" (6. A banal metaph? Tue but ustiabl s; at this mment hen we ae in fat within the alm mpnent f the metaphial intelligene a me seius phenmenn is p dued The metaph expldes and withut withut an the piming as si gns ff st signs u asse the st zed b b Iside Iside D uasse the n sei seized ethingg was wa s then i i  sm s methin him   while that at peti peties him hange  th a  hange  ap pea in i n him a  hange   appea bizae   hange �  bizae sn th  th  et sn  N   hs et na   dths dths N tna h m wth  wth   s  b t lk l k   hm ing fm fm m ptuding the b n es ptud d; n n the b fehead; ss ues  n m fehea e en ssues ee  t the the  sh  s m e huge sh s piky ns f sm akin t  t  the spiky ae featue featuess akin sae s

akin t"s pe dubt the akin the  seashe seashe"" ( 3 6). N  dubt ve  the  ks that ve  et bkee n    es ae nt n t et bk ties a easn;  eas n; the ti  dina nntat with with din eve the  the  seve

dwnn hed dw  u uhed Mald pesent Mald ead a t pesent  ntinuee t ead Bu t lets But lets ntinu ause se ides es be beau ee   he hid (whee avenn (wh bttm ttm  f  a ave st anding  nding  at the b hen sta ght    m i ight  slwl fm ea d sl ed as tun tuniing his head desib ibed glin esss ) is des  f his uglines

stange   h this stange nd" (3 7) . h n  end" f hu hus n e ight   f t ight m m  left t   lef left f el at at this peisel fe  peis  me  t the fe wh  des itit   m And  wh  havi ? And  & ehavi the   feelin g the sivit feeling ge pa pass sivit is   stan stange this ppah th ent? IIff  we t t appah ment? m

 



The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

extent to which time is slowed by it, perhps we will sense wht kind ki nd of prof pro found oun d inerti is beginning beginn ing to immo i mmobilize bilize Mldoror, Mld oror, t theng? hert spce wherein ctions comein prt. he goi going? We Weofdonot no t kno know. w. But Bu t ifhis such  chnge time"ere might ishve something to do with the seed of the dngerous chnges in the metphor kin to," this is wht we foresee: the imge opened up  brech in Mldoror's humn life spn; something begged to hpp n  sy, the experience concudes nd te voent blow tht th t strikes strikes him on the th e hed throw throwss him hi m bck into the world world.. ht is, t this moment, so impressive for the reder who knows wht is going to hppen, is tht Ducsse is in dnger nd he does not see it. He is surrounded by bnl gures of rhetoric, he summons dogs, the glowworm, the rven, the immortl peli cn, the viper, the tod, the whle, the hmmer, the deformed sh, nd everythi everything ng is there under the ressuring pretext of o f morl nl o. 52 e however ppers not to know tht they only cme so quickly becuse summo s ummoned ned by  force force stronger strong er thn he is; i s; the theyy re  tempttion, tempttio n, the fer fer of  possibi poss ibility lity,, not yet yet identied identi ed nd lost in the depths of  still impenetrble pst. From the beginning, it is this impulse tht severl stnzs would let us glimpse, more thn nything else, the gret prise of the ocen. No doubt  similr hymn, returning to thethisinnitude of the domintes the entire cnto. glory Through celebrtion, thewters, book frms its ccord with the underwter depths, proclims their sovereignty over it nd its sovereignty over these depths; it knows tht its pth will pss by this kingdom of viscosity' nd tht this byss will be its byss. The mythic riches of the ocen being inexhustible, every imge cn nd its origin therein. Mrcel Jen nd Arpd Mezei tell us tht the the ocen o cen is the unconsc unc onscious ious nd tht the hymn hymn

is to its glory. Very well. H. R Linder tells us tht the ocen is the imge of lost identity identi ty,, of  prdisil p rdisil Unity Unity for for which the lcer tions of this world, the cruel struggle of good nd evil, mke Lutrmont nostlgc. y not? Lutrmont does not mke  mystery of it: Old ocen, you re the symbol of the identity: lwys equl unto yourself"(3). And this unity, this elementry" geometry, pleses him like wht he found metphoriclly stis

 

The Experience ofautramont ofautramont

in in the demands of a reason thirsty for exatitude. It is true, too, that the oeanthe wave wavess of whih are rystalline rystalline,, while the depths impenetrablethe represents uniquee are uniqu luidity lui dity, , if his luidity l uidity isoean suh s uh truly that larity addedMaldorors to larity produes therein, and spreads, the blakest shadows. But what is the importane of these little bursts of meanin? Lautramont arefu ar efully lly informs us us  her here,e, there are no n o limits lim its,, A fformi ormidable dable ma maw. w. It must be vast toward the bottom, in the diretion of the unknown!" 41) It is therefore this diretion that it desinates for us and, and, at preisely this this moment mo ment,, he h e himself enters therein. Up to this point, in this stana, the pararaphs follow one another in an orderly fashion and with a ontrolled almness. But the unknown suddenly passes into Maldorors voie and a name, like the revelation of the primordial oean, reveals to Duasse what he had not yet seen see n the old  old oean, o ean, reat reat elibate" elibate" breaks breaks wit withh all the pre p reededin lassi ures. l of a sudden, for the rst time, appears the dark mystery of o f a taiturn virili vi rility ty,, o f an almihty solit so litude ude that tha t would searh in vain for the onsolation of the ouple, a kind of solitary Father that he ompares to the veneane of God,"5 but whih is no more the imae of God than God is the imae of the father, if in these ures we expet to introdue distint and preatebeause ateories ories.. The important imp ortant not innottheand meanin ohave f suha aise power, obviously thisthin poweris does annotof xed and lear meanin. What matters is the movement that arries Lautramont toward it and pushes him to propose an alliane withh it nswer me, Oean, wit Oean , do d o you you want want to be my brother? bro ther?"" 42) sp An immi s i  cins  ratrny an, sp-

ially, with purely eroti impulses), he will happen upon the possibili sib ility ty that the perspetive perspetive of suh a union unio n opens up; a tremblin, a furor, and a transformative violene respond, in suh a way that the oean beom b eomes es the aner of the oean, o ean, the imae of unleashed enerry, of this madness ene madne ss in i n the ourse our se of o f whih, fo r Maldoror, feelins hane sins, love beomes hate, hate friendship, remorse already beins, and the symptoms of a possible metamorphosis appear. appe ar. For, we see, see , it is initiall initiallyy only a question of one sinle sinle ure the laws of the oean. What ould be more lassi?54 But

 



The Experience ofLauramon ofLauramon

ths clws tk d d shp, d th dgo of stz II II (77 f) isoigi ( ldy ldyd sktchd, h civig civigtu th gut omomt, f his hi s lmty of his mgict" At this of Ducsss lwys mgictly gultd stc stuctu is, i lity, py to th most cotdictoy movmts: th oc s hidous," this ugliss" tht, w kow full wll, is Mldoos pticulity d obsssio Howv, th oc, with its fomidl s t th ht of which mos c b h, thows Lutmot ito dmitio d lov Thd lmost s sooi  compltly coty stimt, bcus such mjsty, big mibl, voks so cly, i cotst, th bsss of m::  I cot lov m lov you, I loth lo th you 42) But ht i tu is too gt; it, too, immditly bcoms fidship, d v mo: codtil pssi p ssio, o, dsi ds i,,  thist fo fo itim iti mccy Y You ou sct s ct dsti tiy y I kow kow o ot:t: l lll th thtt coc cocs s you it it st stss m    So tl m     Tll m vythig    Tll m (m lo) 42) All ths movmts my pp to lysis s t oc highly xplicbl d of mdioc mig, which th ifomlity of ioy would dimiish oc gi Ad, i fct, h it is hdly  qustio of psychology psychology o otolo ot ology gy;; th commttos comm ttos hv hv b

busy t,yig showlthough tht, gh i itthis d, Mldoo oc,tyi oc it g is bcus, bto cus, lthou Uity Uityif, uity u ity itslf its lfdos b igjct oly o ly th th oppo op posit sit of o f divsity divsity, it is ldy ldy ccou c cout tdd fo fo withi th dilctic of th multipl d would ot b bl to stis his dsi fo uio (h w s which xgsis w might follow) But who fls

tht th th itst lis lswh? o ss th tsio tsio  tht violc plcs o his lgug d o his big,  violc so powful tht it dos ot mit y spit i th xcssivss of o sigl ssio d tht this istbility, which focs it to go byod th fom of fligs, is bl to big it byod vy fom? Who lso hs th pmoitio of th kid of vtigo though which Mldoo ts ito cotct with this idtmit pow tht is th oc, th pimodil ct of mtmophoss,  oigilly pu lmt,  oigilly vgu, difsd substc, fomlss d dy to tk o y fom,  xistc s compct s ock, but livig,  llss lwys o d lwys oth, d

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

herein he who enters ecomes an other In this stanza there is i fact an imme imm e nse transference transference   from Ma Maldoror to the oc ocean eteenn ot etee othh gur gures es an inde indecision cision and we we do not no t no now w an an m o re re   thann confus tha c onfusedl edl to who whom m this this h ideou ideousn sness ess elo e lonngs-t gs-too w who hom m  the  the a n ger, to to   whom who m the remo remorserse-as as if Lautr Lautramon amontt to maint maintain ain his his euilir u iliriu ium m had ha d to ulo u load ad ont ntoo anoth another er his his violen iolentt exces excesse sess so that the th e ocean o cean sketc sketches hes the th e eginnin  eginnings gs of erso er sonn icatio ication n while at at thee same th sa me time time Maldo Maldoro rorr  sees him h imsself lose los e his his erson erso n  which which   he is

tring to gras withi innit ersonied

he Gravitation ofThemes, the Pulverization of Images We have imagined that Ducasse set out from a rather simle design What is alwas outside the oint of dearture lets itself e rcognized in i n various variou s was: wa s: throug th roughh the nearl astract form form within which the theme of evil is still resent; through the role laed  the Maldoror vamire storline; through the inuence exerted  oular literar wors of the da which act if not as models at ast as stimulants That from the eginning this design is someting other than literar literar and that ehind the masteriece aout a out to e writtena traditional adolescent dreamDucasse senses an oligation a dut an exerience to suffer through this is ovious

aldoror is not no t ust  ust an Accurs Accursed ed One One  he is the Montevideen, and i is recisel in these ages that the connection etween the to eole is exlicitl conrmed It does not follow that the hero of renouncess ever ever mthcal mthcal exstence: sometmes so metmes Mad aoror renounce i siml siml a human I  I  " as close as as ossile oss ile to Ducasse's ersonal erso nal hishisr (as we might susect it to e); sometimes he is trul a mthial character this cases shift to doesisnot distance his author and inBut man themth oosite true We seehim in from this new dimensio dime nsionn and in this accessio accessionn into mthic mthic time one of o f the forms forms fLautramont's exerience: either through distancing himself he i forced to see himself in the strangest light or through this ias he shift maes earale the disclosure of a realit that would othrwise rwi se exose him hi m to too great dangers

 

90

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

The romtic theme of evil is certily  literry theme, d perhps Ducsse believes he chose it for this reso loe. But f he is deceived o this poit, or if he is mistke, eve more iv ly, i imgiig tht, through his book, he is goig to dvc thee problem th pro blem of evil," evil, " 5 5 how would would he ot t the sme time ko tht evil" is for him ot simply  bstrct ctegory, but tht thi word must lso hide  more mo re persol perso l truth,  hypot hypotizi izigg myster myster srouded i is pst, towrd which he is crried  he desir wht i fct, wht light? I fct, erythig ig ito ito the light? drw w ev everyth re, to  to  dr it itself self obscu o bscure, remrkble remr kble from from the very ver y beg begi iig ig of o f Maldoror is the th e moveme, moveme,

t o  ce obs ob s tite  tite  d i i itel itely cuti cutious, ous, tht th t c cccompli omplishes, st� st � g coveri ig of ; ucover och,   the u pproch, et, th the ppr ggemet, eggem tz,,  the e z by s by stz es the b o o    ht giv  gives emet et ttht movem  thigs igs,,  mov i dde th er of of  hhidde u mber cer ti   umb certi w tht i  i   cto  Wee ko kow sitio. W blee compo  comp o sitio. dmirbl ge ge d  d  dmir its str str

escc ribig  ribig  h  edd" exctly, exctly,   by des expli xplie ty h hss e ot's t's lucidi lucidity Lu trmo Lutrm ight of the strligs, the oddities of this compositio (1 5 960, how it respods to the complex formul of whirlwids, tht fol low two proclivities t oce:  tedecy to retr to the ceter i other words, to be cocetrted roud the poit where th

pssge the most sweepig movemet stteof restdisi boutt tofrom bou tke plced  projecti proj ective ve tedecy, tedecyto, result oof f the

plc emett from plceme from the ceter by the sme forces forces tht seek, tht desir this ceter, d yet, lmos lmostt t the limit, rej rej ect it d iitum Thi descriptio hs l descriptio lw wys ys ispired the dmirtio o f experts experts:: o f psy choly cho lysts, sts, who see there therei i  gure of o f cyclic obsessio obse ssio; ; of Mrce Je d Arpd Mezei, who discover herei  geerl priciple o explictio,, tht  explictio tht  of cover coverge gecediv cediverg ergece, ece, d d poit out out its  its sci sci  etic eti c vvlue 5 6 It is, i fct, fct, hrd  hrd  ot ot to  to be m m  zed, whe whe oe see  see  this d dolesce olescett offer the the most st s tisig elucidti lucidtioo  from th the m o s t   o bscure si side of his his work (o (obscure, bscure, becuse it it eludes t he clrity clrity  o  trditio r ditio ll forms forms  d  l so bec becuse use the th e  most  most   s ombe omberr eleme eleme ts o himself himse lf  re t  t work wo rk here hereii), whe where re purely purely poet  poetic ic lucidi lucidity ty is  is ui uiee  with wi th purel purelyy rtio rtio l lucidi lucidit t It is i  fct fct t this m this  mome omett tht t ht o� o � feels b o ud to to lik re reso so d d m  mdd ess, clr clrity ity d d opc opcity ity,, with� i hi him m We shou should ld   ot ot,, howev owever er,, forget forget tt  tt t  the he img imgee of of  th thee str str liligs oly app appears ears   i ca cato V  at the mom mo met et   whe whe exp exper eriec iec

 

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itslf shis so visibly fom fom th ct tht it is ough fo fo D uc ucss ss to simply obs obs v v th volutio volutio of his wok to dciph its m ig d, thks to th lucidity of his thought, to gt this m ig th idl pcisio pci sio of  fomul fomul If ch stz is dvlop dvlopd d ccodig to  od od  whi t is occsiolly occsio lly visibl, th smbl of th stzs stzs dos ot follow  ppt od ut istd pptly follows  iclitio towd disod d discotiuity It is cl, fom th stt, tht Ducss mt to cut his book, to divid it up ito fgmts tht w to b sptd by isumoutbl itvls y this gu ltd bkig, this v w poit of dptu, which h sms to wt to impos o himslf ch tim? Fo th shock vlu (s h sys i cto VI)? A quimt imposd by th vy divisio of th txt ito stzs stzs i i  od to iv iv t  sis of th shot pos poms? Possibly But th gmt ito stzs dos ot pvt him fom costuctig, wh h so chooss (i th lst cto),,  shot cto) sho t txt simultously sim ultously f f d poss p ossss ssdd of o f  vy vy suf suf cit, logicl cohc, xctly th sm kid of compositio tht pps i th itio ogiz ogiztio tio of ch stz As fo su

pisig th d, this poccuptio did, i fct, pls Ducss, but it plsd him fo  so which h soo sw th d is him d wht wht h must mus t supis is i s th tomtd tomt d ct ooff himslf, himslf, i ight towd th ukow To mk Lutmot Lutmo t sy mo mo  th h sys, to giv  xps sio to ou mod of wht h hs himslf put ito wods, is p hps ot  ttig ttig mthod But th tmpt tmpttio tio is stog Bcus, eg M oe ee  ery obcre  ge om wtout to to withi,  lttio iddld with ppitios d dispp cs, with impulss of o f bo both th ttctio ttctio d pulsi pulsio o,, such  com co m plx systm of clipsig d bightig sts tht o d is bl, t y pticul momt, to sist th dsi to hst such  lucidtio, o to gt his imptit hds o th lity tht hs yt to mg Hc, so my of th itpttios, which w ouslvs  mkig,  but itmdiis, upsugs of mig, dstid to dict us towd th sol tm tht w might dm of ttiig, bcus it dos ot xist fo us

 

92

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

There is undoubtedly no book wherein, so obstintely, the situtions, the scenes, the thees, the iges, re ll repeted, everything lwys returning to the surfce, then going bck into the depths, then eerging once ore, nd once gin pulling wy. One thinks of  kind o f plnetry plnetr y grv grvittion ittion tht, through extreely coplex rules, would ipose, t precisely clculted periodic oents, the return of ll these corpuscles before our , o t ot ntnt when they coe togete  o  visible enseble, before breking prt in order to coplete the nocturnl prtteof whirlwnds, their trjectory. But this gure is still lessspekexct tan tat o which is itsel£ denitively ing, hrdly exct. Becuse these corpuscles, if they do repper with  potentilly clculble regulrity, repper otherwise thn they were: they hve often gone through  rdicl trnsfortion, it is like they exploded en route or borrowed fro their pssing ssocitions with other new possibilities of chrcter nd gure. We sid tht everything repets itsel£ but neither is nything

repeted, nd the thees, the situtions undergo, through the oveent tht ssures their return, a chnge tht prevents their return: wht returns is nother sitution nd nother thee tht we do not recognize. It would, certinly, hrdly be exct to copre these phenoen to the clculted enchntents of  usicl coposition: rst, becuse, s both literture nd poetry re not usic, u sic, these nlogies re lw lwys ys iproper ipr oper nd generlly generlly stite us with n illusion illusi on;; oreover, oreover, if it so hppens tht we we re ble to isolte is olte within lnguge its pure usicl essence essenc e nd to igine, fro this essence, prticulr cobintions tht cn be sid to be proper to usic, nothing like this tkes plce in Maldoror, wherein the returns, repetitions, nd trnsfored identities follow entirely dierent necessities nd iply n ever ore intense tension between the lighty lucidity of the outside nd the trecherous lucidity of within, which,  prisoner of itself, is lso n ccopli c coplice ce of its prison. p rison. As uc s the repetitions of lngugethe I hil you, Old Oce''nd Oce'' nd of for pper concerted to us, the repetitions o otifss nd otif  nd of o f iges iges see se e to elude every every deliberte deliberte decision decisi on nd  nd to

 

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rie again from a much more obcure zone, from thi trick of concioune that at once ee and doe not ee, know and doe not know. A good example of thi i found in the tanza that follow the hymn to the ocean. Thi tanza i looely attached to the preceding one through thee word: I want to die, cradled on the wave of the tormy " 43 )  But thi I wnt to die" i rathr unique. In a certain way it tear apart time, o that, through thi tear, Maldoror ee himelf lready in hi funeral chamber and actuallyy laid out on hi deathbed, nding thereby actuall thereby the poibility po ibility of exitence o n thethat on other ide of dath dat h andthi of xtracting xtracti a preent lif lifee from the event denitively render life pat.ngThi ituation i natural enough here becaue it correpond to tht of the vampire (who i a dead man in whom death live), and thi precie ituation once again launche u into the tory of Maldoror a vampire, a progreion that carrie u through to two entence from the end. There, everything change. Maldoror, awoken by the

rhinolophuDazet in the rt verioneeing himelf till alive, hould conclude that all thi wa nothing but a dream, yet the irony, through a rctic concern for coherence or for a more eriou reaon reaon,, only ubtitute ubtitute the idea ooff a paing illne" for death, and the tanz conclude with an enigmatic detail that reconcile preciely the the ida ooff  dream with that of ickne ickne:: it i that the rhinolophu nolop hu ha take takenn advant advantage age of lep in order to uck hi bloo b lood d Thii i alread Th alreadyy  telling epiode, epio de, ince in ce,, howeve howeverr peculiar a vampire vampire Maldoror may be, he ha hi own blood ucked, eemingly to hi great atifaction atifaction (why i thi hy hypo pothei thei not reality!" reality!" [ []] ) .   to t o t bi b innin nnin o f cnto II I I tnz tnz   we   e n  aten to a quite different cene. Ducae ha begun working again. break, Yet he aibolt unable to write:come hi pen remain torm of lightning to cut in two,inert" in the61) face,A Mldoror, who in thi very moment ubtitute himelf for Ducae abruptly vaporized. A wonderful wound. Blood guhe forth; a dog lap up thi blo b lood od that i getting getting all all over over the carpet; carpet;"" the dog diplay even more zeal: Enough, you greedy dog, e n o ugh ! . . . your belly full" 62) A for Maldoror, who ha lot a lot of blood, hi forehead reting againt the ground, what i

 

94

The Experience ofLauramont ofLauramont

bcomig of him? H is compltly hald: his woud is  much mor mo r tha a scar, scar, a dish scar that bcoms a distat allusi sio o to to a a torm torm tt al alrrad ady lost lost . . . i th ight of bygo tim" 62) His frid Lma, whos prsc w still prciv, is ivtd to tidy up, whil Ducass bgis writig i blood, his frag�l woud suddnly ro ig ig.. Th aalogy of th to scs sc s is iidt. I both, bo th, troubld tim assurs assurs Maldoror Maldo ror of th possibility f liv i   t h  p  hm, m, o   livi scapii  g th d   o f  scap iuai uai o n s ad in o i ing ing   ino n n (bcau  t muom om t as if pr st w as  th p rp rpig tually tuall  bhid  bhi d him  him   s"),    f  s "), f  ti tim m bygo by go ht  yof ight   isis  th stak ak was is pr at  at  st   wif  hat ha tthis btdly bt dly  dou udo th  m o if ovr,, th   haald. M o r ovr add  h sick,,  a dad, sick ouusly dad, ultao  sim multa ig si big r r with a ma irctt ma lly   dirc bru tally i   a bruta tch d   i sk tchd rizati atioo  , sk piriz v ampi o f t h  vam    th    ly   i  i   th siv sivly xt pdd   m o r xt vlop is  dvlo ato   I, is  i   cato words   i  fw  words

th b l o o, riks ks th dogg dri cal al it: th do co c that co to urss that ugh   dtour ,, thro through sc sc  aly whichh is raly bloodd , whic ut   t h  bloo suckss i t, b ut ophus hus   suck hio oll op ustt   as as   t h  rhi j us dos  0t whichh  dos  himwhic to  him forig to  bcom for lrady   bcom oror'ss ,  has alrady Malldoror' Ma a d,   rabl a d sii rabl how w  as as b o th ds  b ig g ssho roccdur dur fro m  bi prvt rvt th p ro hss rhiolop ioloph t hatt th rh ful.l. It is is c lar tha paifu straglyy pai log g ru, ru,   stragl th   lo th

(which Dazt  (which Dazt was wa s bh bhid id arli arlir) r) has has ow b ow b  split split i t i  too ad  a d  ss prptuatd i both th dog ad Lma, this frid who woud fuctio qually qua lly wll as a housk ho uskpr pr ad a wif. wif. Latr, a similr s imilr splittig i two will tra traspi spir, r, i such suc h a way way that th rotic maig will b rcly paradd about: i th cours of th scn whri w s Maldoror aidd, i a rap, by a agry" bulldg ( 4-1 5 . All ths vry strag dtails d  nd o sothig ls, to which thy ar likd ad that is still mor otworthy: t impossibilit imposs ibilityy of o f writig, which striks Ducass D ucass ad which dom-

at ats tir t ir sc sc .cato, . A maig ma ful al aralysi aralysis s that rappar rapVpar i mays th forms i ach upigf to th sc of will Cato wh it is doucd: a paralysis that is itslf th paralysis of a chatmt, chat mt, " of itrio it riorr lucidity, lucidity, likd by what it kows kows a rfuss to say. Obviously, Ducass is alludig to a vritabl rs to spak, th powr of which h xprics withi himsl a rfusal that is th igitig forc of his book, th pricipl of hs work, w ork,"" which h ca oly o ly ovrco through tricks tricks ad y appartly givig i to this passivity. How dos h ovrcom this impo

 

The Experien per ience ce ofLautramont Lautramo nt

95

e er ere? n a re rearka arkalle wa   ariu  ariuing e reoni eoni ili  r i exie exiene ne o o an exern exernal al ore ore,,  a divine divine   o o ande a nden n,, o i i i er i  era a a aoo iae iaed, d, u wi wi o  o  aure auredl dl o er e avanag avan agee o aking i i ruggle ruggle oil  oilee or i. i .   One a an rug ge w ge  wi i Go God, r roong a e a  e.5 e. 5 8  Ti  Ti   i w w even even    ee lig lig l i n g a ul ulveriz verize e   Du Du a ae e and nd   e  e  w ou ounn d a annii an niila lae Maldo aldoro rorr rer  rere eeen, in i n reali eali,, a or  or   o   reu  reue, e,   and i alread lread a  a  ;oover, e ; e aue, ro roug ug hi hi evil" r rojeed o uide o o  i, e ul egin o enerae i own evil and o ake e ronier o adne and oe renzied oug a kill lowl reede reiel deried deri ed a u in e ae anza. 5 Fear i one o e rare enien in Maldoror Te wo do

ian dio ian di oi iion ion are an exreel ore oreul ul ur ur and an exreel ltargi aivi; onrar oveen a, owever, do no ooe one anoer  ur iliae e deire or oa and e will o lierae oneel i deire i  ur urio iou u;; " in ooer er word word , i i no onl a ruggle again evil or adne," u alo evil and adne heelve eoming ean, aion or uggle. And lilikewie, kewie, aivi and learg do no rereen ure and ile aandonen aandon en o agneizing  ower; ower; e are ill a ilen wa o ruggling, a aien rue, an uliae oiiliy or reellion ad airvoane. Tee nuane u e reen in our ind i we ion alulaion ion or e e i o alula inenion ae e e role rol e o inen areiae an o arei

e and rea rea arane e diae diaearan roug roug e ae,  d, in  in   D uae, revealed, ha i reveale ure ixure  oi . Te ix rizaion aion o   oi e ulve  ulveriz  and e ee and arane  o ee earane  roug   rualli roug aor   rua revelaor andd  revel auionn   an reauio inalle re iner ina o   iner o ound ropi pinn  aound enddle ro w an en he   ho how omen en he ve   m om hich hic h  eve

 eing a aodoe no aear, direio direion n rou roake u iwi wi e emeing o wn aenuae rue in order o eer ur rie (and e oenaiou doei violaion, e auoriaive vie a e aue in order o ell ere ing a eaven, iending o rovoke), are wo unning ae o e ae ruggle r e ligh. And, wen e ee o ave aid everhin, a in  and i and i orro orrorr  adoleen een ae o r adol  werein ein i i ae ion wer ooe voiera  voieraion

vi oun a a vi i an an alo oun ineri exe o iner u an exe o  wo o wo en  a, u l e id id  are no n o le ing are  ee drea dreadded ing eau auee  laion, e   r   o  dii diiuulaion,

 

The xperience ofLauamont ofLauamont

de whe afrmed exaggeratedly tha whe deied O the cotraryy, i cee wherei the errace of laguage trar laguage appear appe ar to cree hi lucidity, lucidity, it i the perhap cloet c loet to what it i eekig, becaue, becaue , beeath thi tragee of image ad of word, it ee itelf become other ad prepare for it metamorphoi I a geeral way, it i the prudece, the rue of Lautramot thatt are particu tha particularl larlyy hock ho ckig ig Althou Although gh he may ma y be tempte te mptedd by the t, e ae the feelig that, i momet of ett bl made, wherei eerythig lead to the fear that a premature reel re elatio atio,, prooked prooked by thee ery idicretio of laguage, for-

eer ilece him, eer him , he alway alway kow kow ot oly o ly what what hould hou ld be b e aid, aid , but what he till mut igore The diiio ito apparetly dicoected taza, i i  thi repect, i a great reource reource Feigig to al alw way ay pick pi ck up up agai at the begiig, beg iig, he i ot obligated o bligated to agai take up hi deeloped theme, or to do o i the form i which the tory t ory ha already dealt with them, a form form that, if it wa wa orgaized logically, i a maer that wa too literary, might rather quiclyy be corrupted ad o lo quicl loger ger hae hae the leat bit of o f magetmagetizig" alue But ut a he ca alway abruptly abado the themeif it rik, at a time whe the other elemet hae ot reached ufciet maturity, beig maifeted too excluiely ad too opelythe retur to it, alway i a differet rm, o that the literary" accomplice might be reduced to a miimum, e d it agai at it true eolutioary poit, without alibi ad without fale ligt

The Theme Theme of Childh Childhoo oodd Near the begiig of the book, i the third taza, Ducae write: I hall et dow i a few lie how upright Maldoror wa durig hi early year, whe he lied happy There: doe" (9) The doe,e,"" a iroic, bitig do biti g break, idicate that the the pat actually doe ot wat to hae it ay The theme of childhood, i fact, diappear from cato I Not completely, howeer It i maifeted, i a diguied maer, i the form of memorie or recollectio: By moolight ear the ea, i iolated coutry place, oe ee (whe

 

The Experience ofLauramont ofLauramont

9

unk in bitter b itter reection) reection) all thing thing aume yellow yellowih ih hape hape,, imprecie and fant fantatic atic. . . . In day day gone go ne by by, borne bo rne on the wing of youth, thi made me dream, dream, eemed trang trangee to me . . . " (3 (3) ).. One dday ay my mother, glay glayey eyed, ed, aid aid to me: m e: enever you ar aree in bed and hear the dog' howling in the eld, hide under the cover, don't deride what they do they thirt inatiably for the innite, like you, like me . . . " (3) (3 ).. Not long ago ago I aw the ea again and trod trod the the dec deck k of hip h ip,, and my memorie mem orie are a green a if I'd left left the ea only ye-

terday'(3). And of coure nothing prove that thee recollection are authentic, but, but , ditort d itorted ed or not, no t, they t hey nonethele no nethele reveal reveal the fear fear of thee day gone by a well a the need to recall it. An inidiou, maked need that i not openly welcomed in the text, but make itelf felt only parenthetically parenthetica lly or demand a guarantee from from literary model. In thi way it become apparent in the family portrait of tanza X ( ( 9) 9),, which clearly clearly imitate imitate Goethe. Goethe . Thi emulation i like a trap into which the author let himelf fall, becaue it i directed toward convincing him that literature" alone i in quetionand nothing ele. It i in thi cene that Maldoror, conformconforming to hi role, throw himelf into thi, rt to educe a young child.. But if Maldoror, child Maldo ror, lo looking oking to carry c arry the young Edw Edwar ardd aw awaay, i the Lautramont of tomorrow returning to the Ducae of earlier day, i the Ducae of today tormenting hi own memory, we gue that in realit it i the child and childhood that are temptation the tempter, excited by the innocence of the eductive image he put forth and that encourage in him, in the guie of Mrchen, the notalgic nota lgic regret regret for for an a n idealized ide alized pa p at.t. 60  the canto progree i cms of m mhappy ic ps done" i siino s  memorie then earlier day. The longer enough to drive them away. We can eaily imagine our childhood a dead, but uch a death alw alway ay manage manage to be b e hrouded in doub d oubt.t. Ha the young Edward, trangled by the educer with a cry of boundle bo undle irony," irony," expired? If I f the power power the infe infern rnal al demon demo n have have granted him (or rather that he ummon from within himelf) i effective, then before the night lip by thi child hould be no more"" (9). more (9) . I Iff the the power ... . . ii eff effecti ective ve. . . . " Th Thu u the ironic ironic cr cryy reache, before any other, the one who hurl it.

 

The Experience ofLautaont ofLautaont

And so pprss if indvrtntly, in n numrtion tht, bhind  rigorous pprnc, uthorizs  dngrous instinctiv impulsth llusion to th violnt incidnt tht puts n nd to childhood:

hen h en a o oarder arder at a    is rruled uled ffor or yea years rs (whic (whichh are centur centuries) ies) , ffrom rom

morning till night and night till ti ll morning, y an outcast ooff civil civilizat ization ion whose eyes are constantly uponheavy him, fumes he feelsto tumultuous torrents of an undying hatred mount like his head, which seems aout to urst From the moment he was hurled into prison, until that time near to hand when he will leave it, a high fever yellows his face, knits hhisis rows, and hollows his eyes At night he muses, mu ses, ecause he does not want to sleep By day his thoughts vault over the walls of the aode of degradation, toward the moment when he escapes this perpetual cloister or they expel him from it like one stricken y plague (0)   This is nithr  divrgnc nor  prtxt. Th rsntmnt of Ducss, who wh o is rj rj ctd by his fmily nd lock lo ckdd up in th th prison of th collg, collg , is xprssd xprssd in th m most ost dirct dir ct wy wy:: w will kn know ow,, now, whn h throws into his fbls th img of prison, which is on of his mnings, on of his sourcs; w s how prison, onc th fmily is lost, is vryhr, bcus it not only upsts th bord bo rdrr t  c to s himslf lockd up in th prptul prptul cloistr," it upsts him no lss to lv it, bing vrhr outsid himsl From this w know both sids of his rsntmnt: undying ht," his hd tht sms bout to burst," but lso th innit witing, th stupfction, th ptinc of  to slow through th cours of which thnd dlibrt intntion s fvr, clrly pprs for th rst tim, th implcbl rfusl of slpt night h muss, bcus h dos not want to slp" ). t is rmrkbl in this conding is its spct s n nclv within  txt whrin it hs no plc.62 Somthing ws sid tht should not hv bn sid. Thus, in cnto II, whn th th of childhood chil dhood bcoms th th  principl principl thm thm,, if th th  sm rs rsntm ntmnt nt is frmd, it is bnth  disguis tht chngs its chrctr. Th scn bout bou t th omnibu omn ibus,s,  burlsqu fnt fntsy sy,, is jjustid ustid ssolly olly by by this nd to tlk, which is lso  nd to concl: th child who

 

The Experien per ience ce ofLautamont Lautamo nt

99

prsues the BastilleMadeleine" is the child rejected from the failial ailial boso bo som m (M ( My parents parents have have abandoned me" [ []] ) , the adoadolesent seeking in vain to return to the past, (I've made up my mnd to return home" []). The obsession is therefore always

raher strong. But it is no longer possible to return, and the farcical omnibus, wherein egoism and indifference transform the travelrs into turtles and dead sh, is like a dream invented to deect oto humanity in general the responsibilit for his abandonment an simultaneously to delineate the irreducible distance from chldhood, because, even as he runs, the child is already no more thn a formless mass." ucasse's complicity with childhood, sometimes openly acnow ac nowledged, ledged, is som s ometimes etimes seen se en lurking behind behin d his repulsion repu lsion for for wat grows up. If the ten year old girl" who, in the new stanza, p rsues Maldoror Maldoror with tenacity tenacity (a ( a pursuit in every way similar to th pursuit of the omnibus), is really only ten years old, her appearance is thereby friendly, she charm" is slim, her engaging an inquisitive," she has childish ().eyes But are if this nave fae is but a mask, if, by chance, she were twenty years old Horrible! Horrible!" answers Maldoror. Hence, we see under wich mask appears the idea ide a that that childho childhood od is lost, that time passli tthee liteightt years years o ld, th the omni om nibb us is eigh child ild oonn the g: the the ch e s ,  is lurkin lu rking: ld ,  years ars o ld, eighteen teen ye sh e is eigh bruptly ptly   she then en abru an d  th  yeears old old,,  and  girll ten ten y tl gir tl

distic   hate, es a sa sadistic becomes sympathy  becom Maldoroor's sympathy twenty,, and Maldor mybe twenty theeme th e  th isi bly,, the ncee . Visibly pre senc adu lt   prese atee  this th is adult ihilat an nihil ea ger   to ann dlyy  eager wilildl of   ind of  he  kind more re:: the  veall mo revea ginss to re oess   he. H e b egin tures,, " as d oe aatures 

               s s h ma manat naton on to assocassocgure. Wen gendered dered   gure. ely gen som me strang st rangely olescenc scencee with so at aole the    h o rrirceives ives in her the alreaddy ppeerce gi rl, h e alrea sees   a little li ttle   gir ldooror sees Mld M

risk  wnupp girl. The risk grownu ompleetely gro a  c ompl form  o f a  angeroous form b l  l "  and danger ul fo rm  rm  dreadful es   the  the   dreadf assumes nt on, assum that   mome mo ment up , fro m that o f growin rowingg up,

oa truly other existence. urity   maturity this idea idea of mat ly turn  turn  this autious iously is   go goii ng to caut casse is Now D u casse folloows, iiff it is thaat foll mptat ptatiion th tem scene  of te new  scene the new  d, so that th ar6und, ar6un

ferent..  dffferent turninng, is also d returni canto re the   rst ca fro m   the  scen e from s iply the scen Tee child has T  child has le l e ft the  the famil familyy, he is is   outd outdoo ors ("H (" How nice hhee  is, th thii s

 



The Experience ofLautraont ofLautraont

child std o  bch i th Tuilris Grds!" [9]) Thr is o logr y qustio of killig him, but rthr of xpdig

him with  impss im pssiod iod frzy rzy tht, t worst, worst , will lst thr ds Mldoror's dvic is itdd lss to corrupt him th to mk him strogr, to rm him gist th ijustic of growups, to prpr him to mk your ow justic" (7 0). From th prspc tiv of experience, w c cosidr ths thorticl dvlopm s

u tht  tht th th   D ucs tru tu r, d d it is tr rd   tur, crd lg m o r  c s sg sglg boook o    "   wr it  bo io to to   writ th itt i ttio of cto cto II is ot fr of th lalyy to  s c lal dsir to  tht  th ds tru tht  but  it is lso tru roblm   of vvil" but  roblm til l or rti tho succh   th grr su o   l o g ich is o bl m , which robl this is   p ro ts ts   th prrm p h  p ths,s,   p h  hpp ppyy dpth uh i   th th u oott  i  ig   roo tkig com om s, tk butt b c ig i gm, bu  syigg  ithoutt  syi it  gos withou Morovr, it gos  iwrdd Mor utsid iwr th outsid fro m th o l l dig from ir to s  dsir ric, ic,"" th ds xpr th  trms trms   xp mploy ploy   th tht wh wh w m mkigg us  f ios,, w r mki xprssios othrr xprss som m  o f o u r oth rly," ," d so clrly cl

words thtbout r tfr toomot? ctgoricl, lthough hrdly t w kow bou Lutrmot? Lutr Oly this this tht h is xd writig  bok book d tht through this ook somthig i him is ig xprssd tht slowly rcivs  gur, shiftig shiftig from from o form to othr,  such  wy tht this spch bcoms cotiuously mor mp, mor profoud, d mor coscious of its powrful origis W cot igor tht  lrg prt of cto II grvitts roud t thm of childhood  child jctd from childhood y his o fmily, by th ftlity of g childhood tht discovrs th cruly of m, th crulty of God (i th stz bout God's crul rpst) childhood slippig wy from itsl  rout to dols cc, s if suspdd btw msculi d fmii tus d, bcus of this, codmd to solitud (i th stz bo th hrmphrodit) hrmphrodit) childhoo childhoodd withi which th h h ppiss of  iitil udrstdig is rvld d for which kowldg rp sts th th rst vlul vlul ms m s to towrd wrd lvi lvig g th sl towr sl towrdd growig up, but shltrd by th world, bcus this kowldg is i slf

 sp sp rt d  d  cold wo world (i th stz stz out  out  mthm mthmtics  D urig urig   my chi hilldhoo dhoodd , you  you   pp pprd rd   to m , o o  moo moolilitt My My ig ht   . "  [ 4]); igh  4]);  cildh  cildhoo o d tt t t,, i tth h   d d,, rcogi cogizs zs th th  o p p rssio   o f sup sio su prior rior   p owr owrss ,  God, Go d, grow grow  ups, up s, r rm mors, ors, d d,, wit ithh

 

The Expeience ofLautramont ofLautramont



th li of pryr, is tught to form  duplicitous soul, in pushing th rlity rlity of o f vil outsid o utsid th sl s l th intimcy of which up to now n ow hppinss ssurd (in th stnz bout pryrHr, mnkind, th thoughts of my childhood, whn I usd to wk ... " [9]). This ntir logic"  logic" n o doubt hlps th progrssion progrssion o f th stnz stnzs, s, but it is not th logic tht is rlly importnt, or it css to hv ny importnc whn it is rducd in this wy to n orgniztion l pln. I on th contr contrrry, rnouncing our considrtion considrtion of this lo logic gic s n bstrc b strctt id of uniction, uniction , w truly wnt to rcogniz it s th work of  powr tht, through vritions on  common thm, prprs othr vn strngr ids, tsts gurs, ugmnts th crystllizing violnc of lngug, intnsis words, mks thm mor chrgd with mning nd mor unstbl, nd chngs thm into constlltions, th diffusd rdition of which is lik  light mittd from from blow b low th horizon, horizon , w will will bttr b ttr com prhnd this thm prticulr dos follow contin th dvlop mnt of tht crtin thtstnz on o n might fnot ollow nd discovr gin ltr in th book, bcus this thm, which ostnsibly rrs its hd (nd which w so sily dciphr bcus w isoltd nd lbld it) , is lso ls o th movmnt movm nt nd th ffutur utur of th ntir work.

Provokin g Metamorp hosis Th notio Th not ionn of o f thms is dngrous whn whn it xtrcts xtrcts from from  txt only thbout shn of,itsblight, surfc. It is nd of littl intrstoftoyouth not tht pisod pi sod bou t lic, lic curss, th worry ttk kssth its pc n ts sm contnuum on i r vn tt it irni clly turnd into th cnniblistic img of th Crtor (bcus th innitly smll, which, lik th innitly lrg, lrg, dvours dvours bings, bi ngs, is, lik him, thir sovrign ldr). Poticlly, it is lrdy mor importnt to rcogniz, btwn th chrming nd discrt pris of th hrmphrodit nd th pris of mthmtics,  curiously similr light, nd, in both worldsslowly rising, in such  wy tht th young bing  doubles (in whom both prcding imgs hv mldd, th img of th child from th omnibus nd th img of th littl littl tnyrold girl), girl) , who is dscribd ds cribd to us t onc

 

02

The E Eperie per ience nce o fLautramont

as cazy cazy ad ichd ich d by all th huma scic sci cs, s, 6 but codm co dmd d to isolatio ad to th misfotu of powlssss (sug, it is tu, lik a faiytal)is ow afmd afmd,, i th t h gadios tiity tiity,, " th lumious lumio us tiagl, tiagl , " aithmtic, gomty gomty, th magical magical pows of which hav ovcom, says Lautamot, vythig that was vagu," dull" i his mid: w thfo discov, i this iitiatio,"64 madss but madss ovcom, kowldg havig com a mas of combat, a pow capabl of coquig t Omipott, ad ally th solitud of a vigial" ad spaatabsac atabsac wold, wold, which is howv howv stgh ad happ happi iss ss..  ca us to s hat this pogssio om staza to staza maks h pogss po gss of a pow a wok. W W may  udg it ppf fab abl l o aibu a movmt tha holds islf up as supio o vy usticatio to th abitaiss of pu catio. But assigig this ol to fatasy is o mo potically lgitimat tha xaggatig th pat playd by h logic of th thms. Fom h poic poit of viw, it is phaps valid to sk o asoabl" coctio btw o such pisod ad aoth. Bu, fom this sam poit of viw, wh o ss Maldoo, i cato I (i th staza aboutt dath) abou dath),, suddly su ddly appa abov abov m as a appallig comt, " i th bloodstaid spac" (), a imag tha cofoms to his suphuma ol, th, fom staza to staza ad fom cato to cato, this sam imag is asfomd whil psvig[to th littl gil,hai, Maldoo as a th hmaphodit's which appas o must otbuig touch, comt;"65 is th astoid's halo;66 swams swa ms of o f lic, sovigs sovigs of o f th had, kigs kigs of th whol whol had of hai, hul thmslvs up to th top i th ai ad bcom stoy mois;67 vgful ys" of cosciousss, which salk ma vywh whil xtdig a livid am," igoat scic" calls" thm meteo (2); th imagiay bigs," Lma, Lohgi, Lombao, Holz, shi wih a adiac maatig fom thmslvs" ad di stillbo, lik hos spaks whos apid xtictio th y stais to follow" (  7) ; lat lat, , a h had ad of hai hai  wi willll b chagd with a oply otic maig ad th hai, spaatd fom th had, will bcom h hlplss witss of scs of dbauchy,, whil sim dbauchy simulaously ulaously bcomig bcomi g th th mmoy mmo y of pow

 

The Experience ofLauramont ofLauramont

3

erlessnes s ; 68 gi erlessness ginn lter, lter, Mldorors crime pr p r excellence, excellence, the t he crime whose evoction moves him deeply, to the point tht we no longer know kno w if he believes he h e is guilty guilty of it becuse b ecuse he h e ws only on ly  victim victim of it, is  crime ginst the hed of hir grsped him by the hir with n iron grip nd whirled him loft so quickly tht his sclp remined in my my hnd    " ( ( )n )n imge wherein wherein we gin gin nd the two elements, the centrifugl movement nd the hir, both of which re lredy present in the gure of the comet;6 through to the lst imge in Maldoror, when Mervyn, fr from being the victim of  simple, instinctive ggression, becomes the hero of  methodicl grnd nle nd is seen projected into the sky, er  mjestic evolution,  comet triling fter its ming tril" () en we recognize not only the persevernce of such n imge, but its trnsformtions, which re not rbitrry, but lwys oriented in see n how, even round more expnsive drmtic diection, when we it, ll the nd ides,more ll the obsessins nd even the turbulent form of the book come to be kno  know wledged, we must recognize, in the successive stnzs, stnzs, someting other thn purposeless inventions of n irresponsible fntsy, but rther the movement movem ent of o f  pursuit purs uit tht is going som s omewhere, ewhere, towrd the unknown" Considered s  vrit vrition ion on o n the theme of o f childhoo childhood, d, the episode bout the lice shows nothing more thn Ducsses burleque leq ue power mgnicently mgnicently purging  bd childho childhood od memory m emory nd ingeniously ingenio usly celebrting the sovereignty sovereignty of the hed represented by themtics But Ducsse is not just n inventor of fntsy, or  clever uthor piercing n eness stm f sbtnn  from one text to nother, nd we discern tht wht is hppening is much more mo re serious serio us This kind of ll llegor egoryy of lth, this t his pology pol ogy fo the revolting virginit (n inversion of the hermphrodites luinous virginity), culmintes in movements inscribed with  siniction tht lcks  reltionship to mnifest things The imense lth sets out, it livesnd, through it, one of the strngest forces in Maldoror tkes shpe: something inert, dull, imobile,  slowing down of time, time , sleep in the middle of o f the dy dy, the slow rumintion of  stupeing, decomposing force The

 

104

The Experiece ofLautramot ofLautramot

lous is ot hpp pidl suckig blood lik th hiolophus70  th suctio bcoms bcom s  vdig movmt, movmt,  ptit poli pol itio tht pmts th light of d, poctig itsl fom sbt dpths, ito th wold bov d chgig ito  tiig d oppssiv mss Bth this h dsit, lgug dulls itslf Though th hidous" cotmpltio,  substc both liv d dd iss,  spt of mcu' tht xts h  dd   dd u doubtdl   wo ds: udoubt o    wod scittio o gous fsci most   g most ill Lt,   w i icipt  Lt, ticipt ibilit  w t pos s ibilit s  poss vld s c   is v imm im mic h   stz stz ghtt  (i th h   liligh i   ot oth ibilit ilit,, b ut i os s ib this  p oss ss this  gi gi  ss alligg tim me falli of  ti ead   of  istead e, ist hee, [9 3-9 9 ] ) . The weeck [93 shipw ut the ship about abo  l g, i s l thig,  vthi ig v dstoig th t, dsto w th gig p ow m,,   th gi th ti t i m th b  tim m, ill gth o f ti  lgth  v l fo m d v  v fo d v  b oo d  d b bov d to is bov

bth ck ck owld owl d I t cto c to  woms  wit wit ss quiv th thuivoc  ocll mll, bi bigguous uo us m g g ssf  d d oss  , th s,,ss u uq com pst st  Ib, c tm mp  gd  th th   ; hdg th o c htd, bouddlss h oo's   bou Mldoo's  oc : Mld th oc  m    d th btw m shd btw ihiltig fihilti pbl o  of cpbl th o ught c to  b th  o ugh to sts,"  fu g t o c csts," nc this violnc tl fz fz,, this viol this lm lmtl uth, this phsics " 7 1 Futh, th lws of phsics tht thows him outsid hum limittios, ops up fo him  th st tim, though ud th guis of th mol log  quick nd dcisiv w out, towd quit oth xistc h log, chst, d hidous couplig" (99) with th fml shk tus Mldoo ito  muk muk, goo go o mss suoud suo uddd b fums of ottig vgttio72 This dos ot lst log d th stz quikl cocluds But th vt sufcit mks th light i whih hop pps, o th tht of this oth xistc, th movmts of which ssocit ssoci t it with with otic guish, d how th img of t oc, fom th clw" sid of th violt s to k d vous movmts," th though its siltld dpths, th mu wt of its lit, uits both spcts of th xpic, i  costt povoctio towd mtmophosis, whos goudwk is big lid D uig th shipwck, shipw ck,  M M ldoo, with his muskt, bshd t t hd o f   sixt of sixtold old  dolsct, i his  dolsc his   istoc istocttic d bo b o ld fc c Th Th    follow followig stz st z   show howss us his cop copss  , bu butt it is  is   o  b o  dow dow dd in th th  Sin Si n,, pssi pssig tim tim  d  d   gi ud u d t  t 

 

The Experien per ience ce ofLautramont Lautramo nt

arch ar che e of brid  bridgge, a a in anothe otherr  tanz tanza whe wherein the lam lamp from ro m a  cathedral cathe dral with the the ilv  ilveer bu b urner, rner, the the an anggel aga againt int w  whic hichh M  Maaldor ld oroor i i   g ghht ing, ing,   follo follow w the coure ure   o f the th e curren rrentt   fro rom m   the  he   Pont on t

d' d' uter terlilitz tz to  to  the Pont de !'Al !'Alma ( 8 690 690)) . Until the then, Duca caee  hd

unuccef un ccefully attemp ttempted to to  beg be gin  in   the the tory  tory  o f the frate fraternal rnal   cupl uple;e;   every eve ry  tim ti me he expecte pectedd to ketch etch i itt out, out, an abrupt brupt b reak reak  or

 igr igreio eionn   return returned ed him  im   to the the ch c ho."7 o."733 A  in ingu gulrly lrly   difc ifcul ultt b i r   h . Th Thee  the th eme i  ,   in it t o  ow w n  w  waay, a yo yo un ungg d  dyi yinn g  b oy oy w  who ho   u utt b    con ontt inuou in uouly ly reu  reucitat citated ed,, an andd it will ill   tak ta ke the wh wh ole effort effort   o f thre th reee othe other cant canto to l to lead ead it, i t,   na nally lly,, into int o  full full-e edge dgedd reali realitty. No Now w, the tr trnge nge,, eroti roticc urge urge   tht the th e lo long ng,, ch ch te, te, nd nd   hi hiddeou eo u coup llnn g . . . o f broth brother er to  to  i iter" ter"   repree re preennt, mk mke e  ne new ttem ttempt pt t h theme po p o ible, but b ut throug through the mot mot dicr dicreet img imge: the  the 

mteriooMldoror mteri u brother" brother" i t  t  him rt noth not h ing  cdver,  cdver, n  n unkn unknown crpe. bring bck to but life through undoubtedly rher equivocl mneuver4the fble uthorize themnd wen the blond, phyxited corpe, who i only eventeen yer ol, coming bck to life, llow himelf to be recognized  the dret of friend, the notion of the crime committed gint hirel or erotici completely kipped over,5 in uch  wy tht Mldoror ction ume the ppernce of  mgnicently vi uou ct (How ne to ve  life! And how the ct tone for ifo n e relly relly wnt wnt to i!" [O [O]] , word through which irony lip, ifo udertnd the mbiguou mening of thi ct.").  thi hppn within the clrity of  literr pn lit erry" y" rcit Then, both friend ridin off together, brup ly the tnz end, nd we enter into the mst sombe  gge i Md Te os soo fll into the emidrkne of o f inomni ino mni;; they get tuck, nd their eort eort to trck trck down obcurity only reult in n endle puruit, in the inconitency of  drem tht trnform trnform itelf  oon  you you touch it, i t, in th ftlity of  deth tht i lwy it own reurrection, in the ftigue of leep leep t the hert of which the impo imp oibility ibility of leep leep i

dicovered. Wht iit hocking i e tht thetopreviouly w w, , now give giv birth bi rth repril repri l ofdecribed the mot eiode, virtuou d   edful

of mee imge imge of n, the  the  m mrked ked retur return, le  mr ore nd, nd,  n o le  rem re mor

h o net, eitther pure pure   nor ho r, thi thi time nnei repp er, body reppe h  drow drownned body

 



Te Ex Exper perien ience ce of o fLautramont

but carrid away by a lugubrious rivr whri imms tbrous sprmatozoa ow. Evrythig happs as if th drowd boddy whom Maldoror has just bo jus t rsurrctd rsurrctd cotiud cotiu d its xistc as a corps ad rvald its tru atur to us i th implacabl light of rmors ad cosciousss a tragic light that sstially rdrs rd rs dath dath ad slp slp impossi impo ssibl bl.. 76 M  this livid am" am" i vai. his misrabl huma atlop" i vai tris to push his ad    t arty arty trcacis trc acis o o  a hol"; hol" ; lik a drop o thr t xcavatio vaporats" (). Or bttr yt h throws himslf from th top of a promotory ito th oca ad Now for th miracl: th xt day th corps rappard o th surfac of th oca which which bor b or this shy otsam back b ack to sshor hor.. Th ma frd frd himslf from th t h mould of sad hollowd h ollowd by his b ody ody wrug wru g th watr out of his drippig hair ad dumbly with lowrd brow rsumd lif' lif'ss jour jo ur' ''' () ( ) . If this ma dos ot succd succ d i hardhardig himslf hims lf i ordr to lud th vgful vgful clarity clarity it is also to o avail that Maldoror sks to abolish cosciousss. Trribl struggl. Crtaily h ovrcam his my h rducd cosciousss to othig h houdd th woma [cosciousss] from my hous" h drowd hr h gawd ito hr skull but h must always aihilat mor. Itdig to shattr cosciousss h throw thr owss himsl h imsl alog with it from th top of a towr: a profoud dramfall. Th h gathrs" it up xtracts it himslf from th abyss h rsuscitats it i whatvr way bcaus h still wats to mak it a witss to his crims. A iit cotradictio: th frdom of th crim dmads th disapparac of such a witss but th possibility of th crim dmads its survival. Ncssarly th dath of cosciousss always has th cosciousss cotiuo usly usly rvi rviv vd d of dath o its horizo. horizo . This sc too caot caot d: thr tims Maldoror plac placss hr had udr th guilloti; thr tims  triumphs ovr th guilloti's blad a victory ovr th kif also  dnitive marksof txtrm t  impossib impos ilit t of ending t  Sucthat a cotiuum o mags xtr msibili dramlik saturatio saturatio

idicats th xtt to which th dgr of discord tat w so calmly calld Lautramot' Lautramo t'ss ght for for th t h light o f day his will to s clarly riss. Lucidity/7 too pur a word appars hr i its

 

The Experience ofLaumont ofLaumont

1 07

perverse duplicit as the gaze that gives birth to the crime ad the crime itsel, which has the itimacy o the eye, which makes the most righteous view guilty, a accomplice to that which it codems. It also appears, as we oresaw, that Lautramots experiece seems to drive him to a iexorable cotradictio seeig clearly, dimiishig sleep ad dreams, slowly drawig the reality o evil" out ito the ope, yes, without a doubt, ecessarily but, simultaeously, the ueasiess o a radical trasormatio is asciatig ad attractive to him, whe, be it aguish, desire, or methodical methodic al will, will, he must slip  ito the maw o space," space, " ito the itermittet aihilatio o the huma aculties." The huma atelope would also really like like to become beco me a wre wreck ckag agee o the esh, a blo ocka ad this precisely p recisely i order odoes rderot to ee eerr" e the lightA o oight  day day adearthy shakeblock cosciousess that (). that is the commo lot, carried out i misery, terror, ad cowardliess. Maldorors role is to substitute the provocative decisio, a act o deace ad struggle, or this ight. I deed death ad divie vegeace with a supreme howl" (). The struggle" is thereore truly a audacious armatio o sovereigty, ad assuredly it leads him to struggle i a certai way agaist lucidity, to track dow ad to strike the hollowed corpse" o cosciousess, but so as to make a ew light spout rom it, the remaiig scraps o itelligece" that the Creator did ot o t wat to give ma.7 ma .788 Fially F ially,, Maldorors Maldo rors mysteri mysterious ous att attack ack agaist his head, his eck bared three times to the kie o the guillotie that shook sho ok him to his core core,, " is like a tragi tragicc experimet experimet to  o it i ciit cii ty b  o o to  it  orio orioy y r

mouted experimet, rom which he emerges uharmed, i without hope," ad with oe last coset to die o his lips. Thus, there really really was a victory victory, ssic icee the head resisted beig be ig los lost,t, though the loss was also desired; this is why victory is hopeless.

Hece somber, resiged words that roused coclude catolaudable II It cat bethe helped i some urtive shadow, by the aim o avegig the humaity I have ujustly attacked, surreptitiously opes the door o my room ad, brushig agaist the wall like a gulls wig, pluges a dagger ito the ribs o the wrecker,

 

8

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

the plunderer of celestil otsm! Cl m just s well dissove its toms in this mnner s in nother" (6)

Lautramont and God Lutrmont's reltionship with God is mrked  this strnge fct: the prt of his work wherein eroticism is the most direcl present is lso the prt wherein God pls the most ctive role. In the fmous stnzs wherein God is invoked  turns s the ,  Aig, nd h elestil Bndit, give w to  drinking inge nd to the most villinous deucher, the pprent ll this is to ssocitenwht is the most reputed high with cts intention of whichofmnnd especill dolescentis to e the most shmed. The pprent intention nevertheless remins msteriou msterious.s. The suppressed supp ressed memor memo r of  degrding stor ots over such scenes, nd everthing sinks into this degrdtion. At the sme time, in the depths of this degrdtion, it seems tht there is n endless exceeding,  superhumn possiilit tht cn onl e expressed through the evoction of n irreducile trnscendence. God flling into drunkenness, into prostitution, is undoutedl the dolescent who, giving himself over to these immorl sttes, seeks to drg supreme morlit there, so tht, destroed, this morlit cn no longer judge him. But Lutrmont lso ttriutes  trnscendent mening to these sttes, recognizing therein the equivlent of divine vision. visio n. The God in Maoror is the most mistreted in literture. All crimes nd ll vile cts re ttriuted to him. He is  kind of sovereign cnnil, priding himself hims elf on humn humn excreme excrement, nt, his feet in  lth pon po n d. To the fll fll of Lucif Luc ifer, er, to the fll fll of mn, m n,

Lutrmont dds the divine fll. This gret existence is no more thntht  eggr to rwhom offers even fellnt so low Mldoro Ml doror comesone to tk his his lms. siside de inSovereignt this lst er rmn rmnnt eings , ou re en  eg ou ou spre sp re this  humn eings, enn nts ts terrible ut I eg Gret Being who hs not et don don  sleeping sleep ing off off te ef efffects of lt liquor.. . . Oh! You will never know how difcult liquor difcult  thing it ecomes e comes,, constntl to e holding the reins of the universe!" ()

 

The Experience ofLauamont ofLauamont Surr prsng Su prsng comp co mpasson asson,, ut ut t s  s   ve veed     an an mpen  mpenetr etrae ae r ron on,,

cause t s aso a na wa to thwart ths great enem whe takn hmateto hm e equa equa worth of pth ts, sense, wh whch ch sLsautram howeve howeverront's dest de stne ned hm hma evenfurther ev furth er In tht autramo God  to God s uch ch more de d e ad than  than the dead dea d  God  God,, and aone, aone ,  somer  somer,, degraded, and an d hdeous hdeous,, " h e has cro crossed ssed the the bounda b oundares res  of heave heavenn , " a rhrhnce n cerr os rdded rdded wth  wth    uets, an an o d man man reverted everted   to  to  chdh chdh o o d , fr�ghtened fr�ghten ed  h h s own scandas, candas,   pteous pteous    suject sujected to Sa Satan's reroaches, he verges upon the rdcuous and mmora gures asocated (we are tod)  Kaa wth the memor of ost transcndence In fact, what s the resut of ths fa? Nothng, and when God, Go d, returnng to the scenes of o f hs h s crmes to tr to erase an remanng trace, recommences hs vrtuous es and shfts to man te pentence for hs own msdeeds, t s assured a queston of one na ow to morat, though he aso extracts the certant tat, as ow as the stor goes, the daogue etween good and ev can on contnue unpertured here s an engma engma aout a out God Go d n Maldoror It does doe s not n ot howev howev-er seem that ths engma touches drect upon the feengs that Dcasse coud have fet for God Between Kaka and Ducasse, the dtance remans mmense: heren there s nether a nostaga for te o ost aw  aw   n9o rLa an angushed angu shed    frg frght be before fore power  power ces tmes s of paces paths nce the sometme some osehtdea deance mon n t, whose wh Lautra utramo stde death7 ath79 ept ept wth pa r wth ostt often often   o n a par gh mos though  eow   God, thou tte aove o r  eow h   a tte ct a enact orderr to ena dversar   n orde su perorr adversar ths  supero t need needss ths  ,, n rea reat h

hs  fur hrouggh H  m , hs  hmse Throu surpaass hm eren   he w surp wheren struggge wh stru smes  sem imesio  e experie i

aother poss pos st t, he h e gauges gauges the momentum mome ntum needed to overcome a nnte space Between ths Great Beng and Madoror, there s a ontnuous exchange of stuaton, of nature, and of power Sometmes God vs assumes hs pace and ecomes the magstea fo tea form, rm, ut ut so somet metmes mes oone ne can co com maat and  and  de de   ose osesson ssonss a dor oroor eren n Mad enee  wh where thee sc scen thus , o nto th epth s (thus, ured   d epths add o  s cured  a g, s u dog, hs  udo the   he he p o f hs  ung   gr g r, wth the es a o oung crces eadfu fu   s acrc dead d

actonss   o f dstracton same dstr red  amp: the same the red  sce ne of the posed   the scen permposed sperm etmes es,,  egsters sters))  S o m etm dffereent reg ed out o n   dffer aed snee ss a r e pa weres ressn pwe p

 



The Ex Experien per ience ce o fLautramont

behind God nd therefore shielded, under the cover of this selfmotivted motivt ed God, Go d, Mldoror is fullled nd nd becomes bec omes wht he dres dres of being. Thus between them  symmetry symmetry nd even even n indecisio indecis ion, n, which Lutmont delinetes lwys more consciously hrougout Maldoror nd concludes in the scene of cnto V wherein oe of them is recognized recognized in the other oth er nd ech believes believes the other o ther o be himsel 80 This is why  critic like H. R Linder cn conclue veeervice, ce, i iee e ve servi es t  t G Goo d 's se om etimes  ' ro ro w  ometim       servic,, oror's   servic is   t Ml M lddoror's God  is  though   God  oclyp se,, though thee poclypse ngels  o f th ful ngels 

wherein   he cn irror  wherein bulouss mirror  thee fbulou o ering ering h i m th po int of o f o to the the point it  (becuse it imge (becuse redfuul img dimennsions o f his dredf true  dime the true  ntempp lte the contem co

superbly emerged from his limits).

ionn tht tht   o ccurs h r o ugho   denstio erootic con co n denst rdinry inry er xtrord Th e extro The linow,, comes comes lierience, nce, now is exp exp erie trtess how th how  this  illustrte III   nd tht nd  tht illus cntoo III  cnt  off n other other exissibility ility o t he po possib  shoows tht tht the lso sh light,, lso tle by littl by littlee to light  this   movmovnguishh o f  this desiree or to the nguis to   the desir connnected nected to tence ten ce is co

ment. I cross these stnzs, something secret is sid, this s understndbl understnd ble.e. But if something so mething is lso lso hidden hidden,, this is no less viible, nd the brod dylight," which intends to clri the fol deed" committed ginst the poor mdwomn's dughter, ironclly thishelight is, moreover, deceptive one. Te detilsemphsizes tht ppertht fter hs ung himselfupon the young gil (s into the ocen), Mldoror's deception when he gets up dissised, is ed, "  dissti di sstisf sfction ction tht seems to follow from from  filure, filure, 8 1 te ppel tht he then mkes to the bulldog, who gives life nd for

to the bestility of these bse" things, nlly the mdness tht lone held the memory of this story,82 ll these llusions, repetd nd developed developed in i n the scene sce ne bout bo ut the red lmp (where, (where, for  lre prt of the stnz, the identity of the divine chrctr is dissimlted for  for  u s, He is is presente presentedd  s  di distinguih stinguiheed foreign foreigner,"   f fo r ll thi thiss t ime, H e were were not som so m eone w eone  who, ho, iitt i s divu divulg lged ed in in   te end, en d, hd h d p prticipt rticipted ed in  in the scene), do do  not beco bec o me n nyy c  clerer, lerer, b b t they th ey   re p roject ojected ed   ont ontoo n imm immen enss e scree screen, n, whe where, re,   e v e r y   h i igg pperi pp ering ng   on  supe superi rioor scle scle,, even even   the  the   filin filings gs"" testi testi  to  to    k i d   of superpo up erpow wer. Th Thus the the gig gignt ntic ic hir hir,, wh which ich D  Duucsse csse tk tkes es cre cre   oo desc de scribe ribe me meticulo ticulouusly so  so   tht tht we w e cnno nnott ignor ignoree its true true ntur nturee ; f,

 

The Experence ofLautramont ofLautramont



whie the bodiy b odiy desires ooff both bo th partners" gr grow ow,, he hi himsef msef sense sensess his strength diminish," if he coapses" and nay detaches the hair from the iustrious head, this fa, this sefmutiation, becomes beco mes an event of fabuous ampitude, th thee mythic mythic immensity of which whi ch competey competey masks masks the t he modest mod est incident that that et it occur. 8 It is then signicant signi cant that, that , when the lmig lmight htyy, seeing seein g that he is hardy might migh ty, 84 comes to con c onffess his h is shame, he appea a ppears rs bef b efore ore his hair,"" having become hair, bec ome,, in a way, his conscience, consci ence, which j udges hi him, m, as if, throughout the story, the hero discretey reveaed that the ony possibe absoution was to be sought from enigmatic and capricious erotic power. In the end, madness is no ess present in this scene; and this madness, which is the madness of the nuns" shaken by the terribe spectace, is described to us with particuar nuances, ike a ucid obses ob sessio sion, n, a fear fear that refuses refuses every repression and, through through this madness, madnes s, retaining retaining the meaning and and the memory of this madness, contempates its cause, even its fascination85fear that singuary responds to the image of ucidity fashio shioned ned by Madoror and to the miseries of a consciousness that, being unabe to either forget forget itsef or to forget a dark past, cruey cruey makes another attempt. Through a detai, Lautramont has suggested that this entire scene, we remembrance are seeing in the present, was in reaity a reading of thewhich past, the of an event that, before being recounted, even before taking pace, we might ob scure angua anguage ge ( (in in Hebrew Hebrew understand hrough the code of the obscure

characters" [122] that conceas it. The inscription on the piar, which divuges the unfortunate fate of the genius adoescent to us  dve-e me  spn sm c moments n te house and was sady acerated by the debauched divinityceary audes to D ucasse, 86 and, and, nevertheess nevertheess,, this this story s tory of yesteryear, in which whi ch he had been bee n a victim, victim, he present watches through the bars of a gried window, a witness to himsef through a the mythica ayers of the rt in his mind. 87 The excessiveness that the erotic signs reach is not ony an aibi and a compensation. It is through these reations that Madoror aso experiences excess, and this entire fabuous scene, where the organs start to grow, to act of their own accord, where every rib

 

liZ

The Experience ofLauamont ofLauamont

bon of sh chngs nd hs n obscur, utonomous xistnc, whr gsturs tk tk possssion p ossssion of th limbs tht xcut xcut thm, nd movmnts ssum shps, forcing thm to bcom n morphous substnc rdy for xtrordinry chngs, such  scn is th most conscintious prprtion for mtmorphosis, th prmonition of which guids th book. This is clrly indictd: ths unprllld swying hips," through which God himslf   ntty,"  combnton forcd by both bng,  n incommnsurbl byss sprts," rprsnts  climx tht opns th wy for th trnsgrssing oflimits" nd, through crim, fury, mdnss, nd dgrdtion, nnouncs unccustomd chngs," th bsis for mystry." Royl soul," writs Lutrmont, surrndrd in on forgtful instnt to th crb of dbuch, th octopus oc topus of wknss of o f chrct chrctr,r, th shrk of o f individull bsmnt, th bo of bsnt mor u mo rls, ls, nd th monstrous ssnil nil of idiocy!" (). If ths r th imgs, w s, through thir common origin, through thir ntur, which rturns ch img to  similrly viscous, viscous , prolif prol ifrting rting xistnc, xistnc, cpbl of o f indnit nd substntil growth, utomtic nd indtrmint, how ths mor mo rll mtphors, mtphor s, whil signiing  twof twofold old physicl opprssi oppr ssion on,, from within nd from without, strongly ttrct th bing to th

hrt of mtmorphoss mtmorph oss,, in th miliu miliu th most chrgd with with lmntry powrs, origin of formlss dpths nd of limitlss rlity rlity.

Mtation Mt ation of La Lanngage Fcd with such  horizon of chng, it is invitbl tht the cantos ncountr th momnt whn thy thmslvs chng nd whn th ttmpt, up to now only grzd, grz d, towrd towrd  rdic rdicll trnstrnsformtion bcoms  conscious ttmpt nd  mthodicl xprinc. From th bginning of cnto I th victorious rpidity of th ttck indicts tht th tim hs com: "A mn or  ston or  tr tr is bout to bgin th fourth cnto" cnto" ((3 3))  nd lmost immditly Lutrmont opns himslf to imgs tht push him towrd this chng, whil clriing its ntur. n th foot slithrs on  frog, on fls  snstion of disgust but on's hnd

 

Te Experience ofLautamont ofLautamont

3

ha s are has are to stroke stroke the th e human od o d efore efore the t he skin ski n of o f the ngers ngers raks ike akes akes from a ok of o f mia eing sm smashed ashed  hammer ows o ws    "  3 3))  The foot sithering sithering on the reptii reptiian an and atrahiatrahian reait, this od, amm, and penetrating touch, is the eginning of a feeing of horror, inspired b the human od, and he who experiences it sees himsef as chnged, through the disgust tat he fees fees,, within the oet o et of his disgust, eomes viscous visco us ike this thing, eomes this thing. At this moment anguage aso sucums to  new anxiet, and the arinth that it seeks to e, the soemn and endess progression of words, images that, at the ver moment mom ent when w hen theonsntax, sn ontinuo on tinuous sower, er, seems seem e soost o stthat in assitude, foow, thetax,ontrar, anus eversow more rpids to rate, we no onger have the time to experiene them ompete and we eave them unnished, aknowedging them ess for what the signi than for their movement, the ontinua pssing of one into nother, a pssage even more vioent than the contrast of these images, though awas inked together  the strong oherene of the disourse and b a seret onnivane: such disorder, suh order, suh an effort to use ogic to distrat and in order to push speeh a itte outside of its meaning, impies the imminene of a

transformation, after which anguage wi itsef have stepped into another existene Iron, throughout anto III, has aread deep changed its nature. A kind of reservoir, of distant reserves, intervenes in the desription of the ess habitua events The raz mother, reounting her daughter's torture, speaks with a modest and i good nature. The osing speech, pronouned  the great tn inst God fter the excesses to which he succumbed, audes to them ike ompete ordinar grievanes: He said he wass great amazed wa amazed  . . He said that that the the Creator Creator .  . conduted himsef with considerabe evit to sa no more)" (). Thus the derangement of o f a situation is manifested, manifested, wherein wh erein the iggest  iggest mistake an on give rise to reproahes expressed in a enign tone Here iron takes itsef for its oect. And Maldoror, the poetr o f Maldoror, takes itsef as its obet. Whie anguage seems to want to deveop outside of ear onsiousness, a onsciousness extended further further around the work reomposes reompo ses itse It is the work

 

Te Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

that cotmplats itslf ad iroically afrms itslf sic ol iroy, from slip to slip, through ach xprimt it mad of a simultaity of possibl maigs, ach kpt apart from th otrs, ca tak tak possssio possss io of this this distac distac ad mak mak it visibl. visibl . A ths digrssios ths digrssi os,, ths bifurca bifurcatio tios,s, ad this prptual rro rrorr witwiti which which potry po try is rcovrd rcovrd ad aoucd, aou cd, 88 do ot cocal co cal th fact that thy prtai to a scrt aroud which th words tur, al th whil without dig o com os to it. Naturall o s tmptd to spci mor tha would b rquird. But wh o ss imag th two pillars, Lautramot, which ar alsoaftr two havig baobabsgraspd ad twothpis adofwhich woul latr bcom th trribl gallows gallows of rotic tortur), tortur) , los himslf himslf i craz cr azyy discussios about how to kill bugs ad rhiocross rhiocros s,, wh al of a sudd w har him suggst that this frivolous" subjct i dvlop dv lopd d i plac plac of a kot kotty ty problm . . . of itral patholog patholog, " th, havig, alog th way, glctd to talk about th rhiocros, ackowldgig, shamlssly full of iudo: This upr

mditatd omissio, which will astoish o o who has sriousl studid th ral ad th ixplicabl cotradictios that ihabi th lobs of th huma brai" (3). It is difcult ot to b troubld by this allusio allusio, , bcaus at th th d of Maldoror, thr will will jusj ustiably b a attmpt to rally rally kill kil l th rhiocros, rhio cros, " i whom whom Go Go has th th  foud foud rf rfug ad, a d, alog alo g with with God, all th th  srious powr powr of maturity, all th authoritis of th world ad of th thrworld.. 8 If h accordigly world a ccordigly forg forgot ot to xami hr h r how, aftr aftr havi killd th is, h could kill th itrstig pachydrm, thi uprmditatd omissio," which h prsts as ixhaustibl food oo d for for thought," thought, " appars appa rs as th strag apparitio apparitio  of o f forgtti, cosc coscious ious ofthis what whavry is forgott fcosciousss. orgott ads.dissimulatig d issimulatig its srio s rious us maig bhid vt ry cosciouss I  th t h m middl iddl this pro p rologu logu, , whr whri i h  h s ms  ms to b  happ ha ppyy saysayig   what ig hatv vrr suits suits his fac facy, y, Lau Lautram tramoo t all  all  of a sud udd d writ writ tragic trag ically: ally:  Th ida ida that  that   I hav hav   volunta oluntarri90 fall ll  as  as  low lo w as m fllow m , a ad hav hav lss right right tha tha   ayo ayo ls ls to uttr ttr com com plaits pl aits   about ab out o u r lot  lot   (whic whichh rma rmai iss shack shackld ld to to th hard ha rd   crus cr ustt of a pl  p l at) at)   ad a d o u r prv prvrs rs soul  soul's's ssc ssc, , pirc  pircs s   m lik ik a

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

frge nail" (3). And again One has seen redamp explosions annihilate entire families; but their suerings were brief because dath was almost instantaneous amid the rubble and poisonous gses I exist forever, like basalt!" (3). And then this In the midde as in the the beginning of life life,, the angels resemble themse themselves lves how lng ago it is since I re resembled sembled myself! myself! Man and I, immured in the liits of o f our intelligence" intelligence " (3) ( 3) . A text with with a moving subtlety that sows that at this moment, at every level in the book, on the level o theoretical reection as in the imaginary imaginary region regions,s, the movement tat is in is caught again contradictions andno itst ipossi ip ossible bleplay demands. demands . The once idea of willful willfin ul its degeneration, an idea not clml cl mlyy contemplated, but piercing p iercing like lik e a forge forge nail nail,, and a nd as suc suchh it sems likely to break off, through horror, the condition of which it however conrms the indestructible permanence. The passion r change becomes the passion for nothingness. The feeling aking this change and this nothingness impossibleof an exis-

tnce forever hardened, and this eternity of stone that is our own, aso pronounces the powerlessness of the freedom of the mind, absen ce likewise,   the absence rison;; likewise, itself only  only   a p rison m is itself this freedo freedom because this because o  identity that that strikes strikes us conrms our degeneration without rend ring

ti ghtening htening is  tig icular ar kno kno t that is  the  particul we feel   the part free.. Here Here we feel us free

hicch travtrav maan , " 9 1 whi thee fellow fellow m fear   of th ontt . The fear autramon ar ounnd Lautram arou ng septhe  Bei eing of  the B he solitud solitudee of o nly tthe expres presss only not   ex work, rk, doe d oess not ses the wo er erses co mch   fo r a  com search eratee sear he   desp de sperat ates es the in dicat er s  it it   indic ot hers from   oth arated rated from  ngi ng   nch anging or ds, fo r  uncha ther er word nge , i n oth xchaange, rnall exch raterna unio ionn, fo r  a  frate un rom m   b o th ar ises fro that ari ction   that radiction conntradi neouusly, the co uion Simultaneo ion.. Simulta oth h- " ! o ft th ot lcdd o l p lc ctl ict s si sii ttios lm m ttio s l ts t

eist forever, like basalt!," How long ago it is since I resembled myself!"shows where, a certain this hneed to get out, an of oe's self sel f comes from rom  it isinwithin with in the way, self se lf,, which whic is forever orev er lost, lost alusion to the nostalgia for the mythic identity, which the plenitde of the ocean o cean already already expressed expressed,, the memory memo ry of childhood, childhoo d, the hrror of the duplicity symbolized by prayer, a dupicity that is hpocriticaly insinuated everwhere and, having become the unide mannds il, throug throughh dema gooo d, ev evil, Go d, m en, go the na n ame o f God, rsal law,  law, in the vrsal v ev en in  in   o ur uces   even introduces irrors,,  introd wi th m irrors trickss  wit throughh trick clari ty, throug f r clarity,

 

6

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

slvs spio d dissmblc I dos o howv sm h h omic id of pdis los hd  posiiv mig fo Lumo, o ha i pss  xmply idl slvgd fom h uivsl uivsl wckg wckg If Mldoo Mldoo cosvs, co svs, wihi him sl s h oo o o of o f his fligs fligs d h jusicio jusi cio of his ocii o ciis,s, h mmoy of  foff xisc o spad fom him, his ffo dos o id o go bck bu o d, wihi h ps momn, n a s spaa d dvdd, y pp vy p,fullss houghd xcsss, hough lik hig giv  scp hchils io d h ibulios, void ssudly, h fal cociliio wih ohs is  ggg impuls  himTwo fids subboly yig o dsoy o oh, wh  dm!"bu s his dsi sms o hv is souc i 

v blud by is ow llig,  v h poisos pcisly his souc so uc d cuss cuss his dsi o b, o h clm app appl l of sim iliis, bu h dcomposig d fuious dliium of oh xisc, s  sul, h cociliio is ohig mo h  spc of h discod, d is impossibl dsi oy ds h sch fo i mo bsud Wh w w sy h h h sm movm, houghou h wok h is wiig, lds l ds Lumo o shd fsh fsh ligh o o  his dk v v is d o ucov ucov,, i h vy vy hoo ho o wh wh,, wh h slips, slip s, h s sss himslf o fom his limis,  w possibiliy h h dmads, h h poclims, poc lims, d h h pusus, i h d, s  volu voluy y xpic, w sy ohig h h dos o sy himsl bu his would b o misudsd m isudsd h u of o f such  movm, which would lik o pcisly disiguish h mom wh h hoic slippig is iumphly covd, lik cocd pojc, i h xpic of h mmophosis mmopho sis  Jus s s lucidi is owih cold hoicl cio, d s i pms so pofoudly h dak ss whi i sms o los islf whil i is discovig his vy dkss, d kss, j us s wh wh is voluy voluy i his impu i mpus,s, which h ks s f flig li g ousid ous id of o f himsf hims f,, mais is is l l fom fom h aguish h dov him h, fom h mlis h ld o i, i oh wods, fom h pows mos likly o sup vy dcisio d o ifc  libd dsi wih fli Bu oly his vigo

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

7

remains at a certain cert ain moment moment  Lautramont mak makes es it his own and a nd this almighty adhesion assures in the beyond of degradation and in those tho se zones wherein all all personal pers onal stability is shattered the main tenance of his sovereignty and the coherence of his incredibly extended ex tended mind.

The To Dis p ositions of Metam Metamor orp hosis r st words rst wo rds of othe f stanza are ar e I  I am lthy" lthy" () Since theThe episode about lice  whenXcolossal lthiness was  set in motion it certainly made strange advances. Now Maldoror immobilized imm obilized in the earth by the the tenacity tenacity of his own own inertia a tree

riddled with parasites (like the body of the unfortunate hanged man in the preceding stanza but his hanging having become his strength) has transform strength) transformed ed himself hi mself into a collecti co llective ve system of o f ani mal lives all of o f which are issued is sued from from the kingdom of viscosi viscosity ty""  toad chameleon viper crab jellysh The rst attempt is outdat ed as we have seen; Maldoror deep in shadow turns his head slowly left and right for hours on end." Here we have four cen turies of immobil immo bility ity voluntary immobi imm obilit lityy which has suspen suspended ded time and at the heart of a passivity similar in every way to death has retained an unwavering tension so that the decomposition of the Being through numbness and sleep is insidiously taken into account as a deliberate attempt. Lautramont did not stop having this premoniti p remonition on if the paroxysm paroxysm of o f frenzied violence while pro ducing a rupture rupt ure can tear him from himself himself the power of an in nte pavt pavt, n uppren up pren tme,  n le le  apale o en ennter nter ing the undetermined moment beteen life and death when the same disappears and the other approachesa double possibility the progressive progressive experience of which is the prof pr ofound ound experience of Maldoror Here it is nevertheless hatred" stranger than you think" rebellion and the will to ght that transformed him into this cadaverous Job again an uncertain cadaver But that the will the apparently free decision is partly a prisoner or the vow to live diseased" until I had overcome the Creator" is also dis eased this is what Lautramont will discover later and what he

 

8

The Ex Experien per ience ce of o fLautramont

declares from from this this mome m oment nt on with the strange episode epis ode of the doudou bleedged sword ertically impaled through his loins by a ma who silently came up from behind him. Now this blade is stuk so deeply into his body that no one is able to extract it not the philosopher or the doctors. It truly seems that it might be ths blade that restricts restricts him to immobi im mobility lity and that that this splitting point po int lodged in his ertebrae this gigantic thorn that cannot be withrawn es s kein an tohthe hate toa strange rom presence presens ce embedded his alusion past pas t which whic he isspear also also o seeking s eeking

extract but against which he must oluntarily lean in a certan way n order to reman standng. When faced with this recollection the memory buckles. I do not een remember it clearly" says Lautramont and this memory he reiterates i iss pos possib sibly ly  ust a dream. " "55 But B ut since the ffollow ollow-ing stnza will dangerously put these intentional refusals to remember to the test6 ust as it will push further to the point of hallucination the th e distortion disto rtion of lucidity lucidity all al l while while clearly warning Maldoror that his struggle is a struggle against the self and that he is only proecting his own defects and his own impulses onto hs imaginary adersaries after this outrageous and silent interrogation " the dream a kind of alibi that tion that he momentaril mom entarilyy allows himsel recognizes in its own right that that it is the image the story of hs desire and then Lautramont triumphantly accepts the responsbility for for this thi s desire des ire in a glorious frenzy renzy that that opens open s up the doo doors rs of metamorphosis for him. I was asleep on top of the cliff" ( 148). This is the rst sleep in Maldor that is eneloped in an immense insomnia. Sleep mixed the refusal to sleep to beStrange fed tosleep lie. Itweis said. compared to the with catalepsies of magnetism and is in short sh ort  ust another expression expression of the methodical methodical apathy of the four centuries" during which Maldoror became a tree.7 At the center of sleep metamorphosis fully takes form: It had come at last the day I became a hog! I tried out m teeth on treebark; my snout I contemplated with delight" (149). It is necessary to note howeer that the meaning of such a transformation whether it is fortunate or unfortunate still remains undecided: a curse or a soereign reward? Degradation inicted upon me

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

9

 y   divine divine  ustice ustice"" or desire's de sire's   s uprem upremee  conqu conquest pl plaguy aguy  oys"? L aur aur a m o n   afrm frmss both both   of the these the thenn s udd ddenly enly   h e chooses ho oses  n d   as at  at  his very very own highest hi ghest   p oint oint   d runk runk  with a  a  degene egenera ration tion tat t at wit withdraw hdrawss ever  everyy b bit it o f  divinit ivinit'''' from fro m  hi  him m eleva elevatin tingg his hi s s oul ith ith   t h e ece ecessive ssive height he ight o f  that ineffab in effable le sens  sensua uall bliss bliss  "   he p ro ro nounce no uncess the word wo rd that  that tra  transfor nsforms ms   fatalis fatalism m into  into   freedom eedom:: To my my  yes   th yes thee meta me tamorp morphhosis nev never er appe appeared ared as anyth anythin ingg but bu t tthe he ealt ealt agnanim m ous ech echo of a p erfect happines happinesss d and magnani

I had l o ng waited" (149). Through this choice of degraded sovereignty rduced to nothingness a greeted sovereignty is created of base ness and of nothingness nothing ness from which Maldoror receives unequaled srength Freed fro srength from m every law law nally re reecting ecting the hurdle hurd le of o f con siousness88 hhee is the embodiment of siousness o f power the int intoicati oication on of unrestrained combat: I was the strongest and gained all the vic tries" (149). And yet so great is his lucidity that in the etreme ircums ance of this aniety when he attains the height of tri umph of movement and oy this is when he also becomes aware tat this movement is immobility this oy solitude and this tri umph sterile Thus he falls from metamorphoss through the dream into the simple dream of metamorphosis But if the dream has a deeper meaning it is seen through this  ature: transformed into a hog Maldoror still appears to be aught in a rather course moral mo ral allegory allegory Though Thoug h in fact fact a strange andd atter an dead matter ituree o f dead m ucible mitur irredducible m bed it as an irre desc ribed o g  h e descri og or metamor es while  while  the metam passes twicee pass which ich the the tide twic  over wh ving ing esh" esh" over lv the gran  againnst the  teningg  agai attenin frighttful at a  frigh scribeed as a  itself is describ hoosis itse h iof e'sthe bbey ey"100"100-an an   g that atI,rfr rbehind fr u which that t o   the oct octo op u uss ge e  th ac toistha silkenglance in canto Dazet:

 octopus of the silkenglance! You whose soul is inseparale from

 mine you the most handsome hands ome inhaitant of the terr terrestr estrial ial gloe, gloe, wh whoo govern a seraglio of four hundred suction cups you in whom are noly enthroned as in their natural haitat, y common consent and an indestructile ond, the sweet virtue of communication and the divine graceswhy are you not with me, your quicksilver elly against my reast reast of aluminu aluminum, m, o oth th of us seated oonn some rock y the the shore    (37)

 

20

The Ex Experie per ience nce o fLautramont

Mald oror Maldor or is there t here,, likewise, lik ewise, asleep aslee p on the top of the clif clif ")  can justly say: it is during this very drea that Lautramons hand recalls the name of Dazet from canto I in order to replace it with the image of the octop oc topus us with with four four hundred hundre d suctionc suct ioncups ups o has now become, along similar lines, the hog that Maldoror h d been changed into, and is also transformed, metamorphosed ino

this muddy muddy heap, heap, over which which the deep forces o f the ocean ocea n pass. pass . 101 ts s phoo ss"  ss"  1 5 0 , t etaam o rph ineed met ruin right,t, m y ru m y righ resu me,, a s my  o resume  an,  longer  b e put o   an,  it   cannot cannot longer   apparentt that it is   now s o  apparen p roject roject   is

te fro m te moving fro rmedd, movi conrme ext, it  it   is con to  the nnext, stanza to  from one sta of  te te are, e, of lly aw  awar ct,, f  fuully  obbj ect he o uch h is the lity.. Suc eality dream  to rea doubtt o f the dream doub us   cevious thee o bvio onss te ter,r,""  one o f  th tain inss a  m on h con onta whic ich za,, wh tanza new  ew  stan sti1l doro rorr, sti1l  Mal aldo  when hen M ct , w in  faact, me nt,, in f this m o ment i s at  at  this k. It is thee wor work. ters ters   of th int ixed ed int h im,, mix ng tow  towaard him oming sees  comi  cliff, sees   the toop o f a cliff ding ng on o n  the t stan ta ndi

olphinn , who  e ike a dolphi just  like beingg just l hu man bein o cean, a  hum with the oc mateely with mat

way foo r m n   correct way f the correct lly show shownn to us as the logically orph phoo sis is logica metam etamor

to expa xp and his h orizon orizo n s :   like  like  the th e free fre e future of hum hu manit anit Lautramont enumerates all the reasons for such an aspira io : moral reasons, freedom from crime, objective reasons, evolutio, the appropria appropriation tion of the place, the instabili instability ty of the human orga orga ismtoo complex to be denitively determinedreasons dran from a poetic dream, a premonition of the possibilities that  places in i n human existence, at least on the level level of o f the imaginatio, its agreement with elementary powers, water, air, earth. 1 02 But te true origin of this project is not here: it isLautramont reveals t

in a very mannerin theglimpsed aberrant the states that he himsef tested and,explicit through this process, possibility of su pending or of diverting the laws of nature. In this afrmatio, once again, both irreconcilable and inseparable positions ae implicated, both completely necessary in order to propel Bei g outside itself: these ts of anger and diseases patients) of prid  the forceful pressure of the will" and the absence of its effectie collabo colla borration."  An Andd in order o rder to  to make make i tself more m ore distinc distinct,t, the the all-

sion develops, while revealing, in the language of Maldoror, te same contrast, in a double aberration of duration, having becoe at once excessively speedy and innitely slow. 1 0 

 

Te Experience ofLautamont ofLautamont

121

The amphibian, with its viscous body, its large ducklike feet, surrounded by aquatic strata and schools of sh, once again links the depths of the sea with metamorphosis. 1 04 Meanwhile, insofar as these images are too specically and too directly used in shap-

ing a literary ction, their importance diminishes, so that the metamorphosis is now less where it appears than already dispersed disper sed in the world, in the ffact act that those who see it see the invisibl invisiblee and those who do not see it become others. Furthermore, behind this type of human hope and from the perspective of the future, the premonition of a troubled past slips in, a past that is the origin of it all, as if it were were alwa always ys becom be coming ing more m ore certain cer tain that to the extent exte nt thatt this past tha p ast wil not have been bro b rough ughtt to light, it will will render this experience null and void, and as though it were necessary for reason to be made the mistress of its aberrationswhich allowed this perspectiv pers pectivee to appearnot in order o rder to to erase them but bu t to overcome them, in other words, to go beyond them. The amphibian is now what is monstrous in the past: plunged in the past, he resembled a reef" ( 1 54) . And when he recounted recou nted how he sought so ught his fr freedom eedo m within the sea, the sea again seems to want to swallow him up in former reminiscences of a life lived fatally' (1 5 5) . The very story the monste mon sterr tells tells brings bri ngs together togeth er diff different themes and images. images . The progression has remained uncertain up to now. Certainly, when we read how the illf ill fated man was lost los t as a result of his twin brothbro ther's jealousy, how his parents, who loved him deeply, were persuaded by the slander of this bad brother, how, then, imprisoned for een years in a dungeon, tortured, succeeded escaping awinfom the  to to t s sc he  so g msl p ure tradition of the popular po pular novel, nove l, may seem suf s ufciently ciently j ustied by its origin, but it is not no t as ction that that it is important ttoo us. us . The theme of the fraternal pair, also taken directly from the tradition of ction, ction , nevertheless nevertheless allows allows us to foretell, by its obsessive obs essive nature and the interest that weighs this obsession down, that Ducasse's sensibility sens ibility is interested in it. In the very very conventional story of the amphibian, amphibia n, seve several ral previously previously used elements elements charg charged ed wit withh a burnb urning meaning are discovered: the image of the prison refers us to the college dungeon (wherein, for Ducasse, the very meaning of

 

22

The x xper perie ience nce o fLautramont

frdom prishd),  priso to which h hd b codmd by his prts, d i th ttutig circumstcs tht th prst

fbl ttributs ttribut s to th fthr fthr d mothr, thr xists th mmo m mory ry of  childlik tdrss,  tdrss tht, vry tim h drws  fmily pictur, v with th most prodic ittios, obligts him to cotiuously modi th crulty of his dscriptios with  crti idulgc.  th mphibi wts to b st fr, this frdom will ot oly cosist i gttig him out of th dugo, but, th th  txt txt sys, sys, out of th th  tripl pillory pillo ry:: th thtt of o f th th  progrssiv progrssiv wkig of th body, tht of solitud, d,  usttlig dtil, tht of his ffctio for his ow popl, which suggsts tht, for Ducss, big fr is rstly frig oslf of mmoris d os tlgi for o's childhood.

The Work and the irlwind

Th img of th scrt crim" 1 0 5 tht o dy ptrtd th hrt of brothrhood, corruptd it d ow mks it  plc of ht d rgrt, is too costt, too prmtd with pssio ot to possss th most importt mig. Which mig is th most importt imp ortt o? o ? W W do ot kow. kow. Dciphrig D ciphrig it would hv hv o othr objctiv th tht of brigig it ito th rlm of com mo xpric, sic this obscur icidtprhps drmd is, for Ducss, D ucss, uiqu d cocld from from ll dirct xprssi xprssio o.. It

Maldoror forc. is this img prstl prs tly y tris to coti thtbout pos ssss it withtht uquld Throughout th d stz lmr, which closs cto I it trs ito  w phs: th crim gist  brothrly dolsctbrochd for th rst tim i th pisod with Lohgri s  ttmpt, though dismissd, d briy mtiod  fw pgs prviously, i th stz bout th mirror m irrorw without y possib po ssibl l doubt doub t is fullld ii  w whirlw hirlwid id of mmoris mm oris tht ivok ivok it, simultously sim ultously divulgi divulgig g th pssio pss io t mig of this crim, bcus hcf hcforth orth it bcoms  crim gist hir. O dy, Mldoror, grbbig  butiful blod do lsct fourtyrold boy by th hir, whirld him loft so quickly tht his sclp rmid i my hd" (). Th motif of

 

The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

1 23

hird spciy spc iy of scpd sc pd hir hir cutis cutis o of ths ths tics tics tics  dd tics  tics  "  obsssi ob sssiv v motif tht tht Lutr Lutrmot mot doucs do ucs i his Prce  un livre livre t tur ur (Prece (Prece to a Future Future Book Book , s th ftity of potry. Th gigtic hir dtchd from th iustrious hd d th f of which is t oc th uishmt of divi xcss d th xprssio of th powrssss coctd to this xcssivss  bit tr bcoms th hir of th m hug from th gws d mor prcisy hug by his hir. H ws howig o' uti my rms my hir? With ch mov I disoct my bos but my hir is svrd mor sory from my scp" (138). This ufortut m victimizd by two druk wom two fm orguts" his wif d mothr ss himsf s codmd to b b  torturd trrd d w whippd hippd so s to scp icstuous dsirs. Hr Maldoro iroy offrs th most ittio of wiks wi ks t psychoy psychoysisis.s. Th T h tortur to rtur ot oy o y rv rvss th th horrid rcoi bfor orm sxu rtios but th iroy shows tht ts rtios istd of procdig o  ordiry v rtur to th pst d tht mrrig cojugy u d void skig  uio btw mothr d so is divrtd d moopoizd by th drm of  icstuou icstuouss uuio io   uio tht is itsf ckig i such  wy wy tht th t th puishmt p uishmt is so  so tht th t of impotc impo tc.. To To fr th victim victim Mdoror cuts his hir. hir. 6 But i th stz bout th mirror ftr hvig viy cosidrd his ow hd s though it bogd to somo som o s h discovrs discovrs himsf scpd d this this 7

migfu ck of gi hir" ssocitd with th img of priso which pprs oc ds to  compstory rvri of ui tucto. t gos wthout s tht uch ttios must m ust ot ot rmi ikd to migs tht th thm momtriy tri y pprs pp rs to wc wcom om.. As strtig s s th tics" r mor stust uig sti is th fct tht ths obsssiv gurs oby  w of ssurd dvopmt xpdig up to th momt wh hvig ttid mturtio thy disppr bsord ito  mor xpsiv gur. I th stz bout mr th ssti vt is th mrgig of o f th hir motif with with th movmt of o f th whirwid whirwid th ctrifug spiig tht wi soo b rcogizd s th vry w of compositio i Maldoror Evrythig hpps s if th

 

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The Experience ofLautramont ofLautramont

image of hair was here attaining its culminating moment an, shifting shif ting with all of its emotio e motional nal saturation into the simpler, sim pler, moe p ure and mo more re comprehensive comp rehensive image image of the whirlwind, as if it w ws s now going to be obscurely perpetuated as one of the emotionl nuclei nucl ei of this new image. Through his work, Lautramont passes from the implicit to te explicit, from the obscurity of a secret to the clear consciousne  s  wherein herein   n ever  velation lation w reve clarity of a re then en to the the   clarity urity, th of obsc ob scurity, evelops a r i d gure that that develops sumptuou tuouss gure ity reside residess . 1 0 8 The sump o bscurity less obscur entl tl   resen thi p res show owss thi g   sh starling the starlin ht   o f  the  ight irlwindd ig thee wh w hirlwin e th anal nale one cyclone ent   o f the cycl vement movem the   mo er,   the Falm mer, ab outt  Fal tanzaa abou I n the stanz tionn ad narratio th e narra nteent  nt   o f  the in   th thee cont ith hin sly  wit ltane neoo usly w si m ulta essedd  sim exprresse exp de r 
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