“With heart at rest I climbed the citadel'sSteep height, and saw the city as from a tower,Hospital, brothel, prison, and such hells,Where evil comes up softly like a flower.Thou knowest, O Satan, patron of my pain,Not for vain tears I went up at that hour;But like an old sad faithful lecher, fainTo drink delight of that enormous trullWhose hellish beauty makes me young again.Whether thou sleep, with heavy vapors full,Sodden with day, or, new appareled, standIn gold-laced veils of evening beautiful,I love thee, infamous city! Harlots andHunted have pleasures of their own to give,The vulgar herd can never understand.”
In this excerpt from Charles Baudelaire's poem "The Seven Old Men," the speaker reflects on the city as a place of both beauty and corruption. The language used is vivid and evocative, painting a picture of a city filled with temptation and sin. The speaker's conflicted feelings towards the city are palpable, as they are drawn to its dark allure despite knowing its dangers.
In this poem by Charles Baudelaire, the speaker explores the complex and contradictory nature of urban life, particularly in the city of Paris. The speaker describes the city as a place filled with diverse experiences, from the beauty of the architecture to the darkness of its underbelly. The use of imagery, such as comparing the city to a hospital, brothel, and prison, illustrates the multifaceted aspects of city life. Additionally, the speaker's relationship with the city is portrayed as both twisted and passionate, with a sense of longing and desire for the alluring yet destructive qualities of urban existence. The speaker's admiration for the city's beauty, even amidst its corruption, reveals a fascination with the dichotomy of pleasure and pain that the city has to offer.
In his poem, Charles Baudelaire explores the complex relationship between pleasure and pain, sin and desire, in the city environment. The speaker's contrasting emotions towards the city, from admiration to disgust, reflect the modern struggle of navigating a world filled with temptation and corruption. This dichotomy of urban life continues to resonate with contemporary audiences, who often find themselves grappling with similar existential questions and inner conflicts.
Upon reading this poem by Charles Baudelaire, one is struck by the raw and provocative imagery used to describe the city and its inhabitants. The speaker's complex relationship with the city, embodying both disgust and desire, raises questions about human nature and the nature of sin. Consider the following reflection questions:
How does the speaker's portrayal of the city as a combination of "hospital, brothel, prison, and such hells" reflect his own inner turmoil and conflict?
In what ways does the speaker's relationship with the city mirror his relationship with Satan, as described in the poem?
What do you think the speaker means when he describes the city's "hellish beauty" as making him "young again"? How does this tie into his overall perception of the city?
How does Baudelaire's use of imagery and language contribute to the themes of temptation, desire, and the darker aspects of human experience in this poem?
How does the speaker's perspective on the city's inhabitants, specifically harlots and the hunted, challenge traditional notions of sin and morality?
Take some time to reflect on these questions and consider how they illuminate the deeper meanings and themes present in Charles Baudelaire's evocative poem.
“Laments of an IcarusThe paramours of courtesansAre well and satisfied, content.But as for me my limbs are rent Because I clasped the clouds as mine.I owe it to the peerless starsWhich flame in the remotest skyThat I see only with spent eyesRemembered suns I knew before.In vain I had at heart to findThe center and the end of space.Beneath some burning, unknown gazeI feel my very wings unpinnedAnd, burned because I beauty loved,I shall not know the highest bliss,And give my name to the abyssWhich waits to claim me as its own.”
“And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, "Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!”
“Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul,that soft summer morninground a turning in the path,the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones,its legs in the air like a woman in needburning its wedding poisonslike a fountain with its rhythmic sobs,I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound,but I touch my body in vain to find the wound.I am the vampire of my own heart,one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughterwho can no longer smile.Am I dead?I must be dead.”
“This life is a hospital in which each patient is possessed by the desire to change beds. One wants to suffer in front of the stove and another believes that he will get well near the window. It always seems to me that I will be better off there where I am not, and this question of moving about is one that I discuss endlessly with my soul "Tell me, my soul, my poor chilled soul, what would you think about going to live in Lisbon? It must be warm there, and you'll be able to soak up the sun like a lizard there. That city is on the shore; they say that it is built all out of marble, and that the people there have such a hatred of the vegetable, that they tear down all the trees. There's a country after your own heart -- a landscape made out of light and mineral, and liquid to reflect them!" My soul does not reply. "Because you love rest so much, combined with the spectacle of movement, do you want to come and live in Holland, that beatifying land? Perhaps you will be entertained in that country whose image you have so often admired in museums. What do you think of Rotterdam, you who love forests of masts and ships anchored at the foot of houses?" My soul remains mute. "Does Batavia please you more, perhaps? There we would find, after all, the European spirit married to tropical beauty." Not a word. -- Is my soul dead? Have you then reached such a degree of torpor that you are only happy with your illness? If that's the case, let us flee toward lands that are the analogies of Death. -- I've got it, poor soul! We'll pack our bags for Torneo. Let's go even further, to the far end of the Baltic. Even further from life if that is possible: let's go live at the pole. There the sun only grazes the earth obliquely, and the slow alternation of light and darkness suppresses variety and augments monotony, that half of nothingness. There we could take long baths in the shadows, while, to entertain us, the aurora borealis send us from time to time its pink sheaf of sparkling light, like the reflection of fireworks in Hell!" Finally, my soul explodes, and wisely she shrieks at me: "It doesn't matter where! It doesn't matter where! As long as it's out of this world!”
“The old Paris is no more (the form of a city changes faster, alas! than a mortal's heart).”
“You shall suffer for ever the influence of my kiss. You shall be beautiful in my fashion. You shall love that which I love and that which loves me: water, clouds, silence and the night; the immense green sea; the formless and multiform streams; the place where you shall not be; the lover whom you shall not know; flowers of monstrous shape; perfumes that cause delirium; cats that shudder, swoon and curl up on pianos and groan like women, with a voice that is hoarse and gentle! And you shall be loved by my lovers, courted by my courtiers. You shall be the queen of all men that have green eyes, whose necks also I have clasped in my nocturnal caresses; of those who love the sea, the sea that is immense, tumultuous and green, the formless and multiform streams, the place where they are not, the woman whom they do not know, sinister flowers that resemble the censers of a strange religion, perfumes that confound the will; and the savage and voluptuous animals which are the emblems of their dementia.”