Oh yes, the list goes on and on. The 19th century is totally dominated by French and Russian literature, so much so that I can't bring myself to read anything of sustained length written in England at that time. Rimbaud, Ducasse, and Baudelaire are the spiteful, evil, beautiful, fearsome and dark gods of my idolatry. How could a whole generation write so beautifully about so much spleen, boredom, self-laceration and self-loathing. Here is Arthur Rimbaud:
Mark Treharne's translation:Mauvais Sang
J'ai de mes ancestres gaulois l'oeil bleu blanc, le cervelle 'etroite, at la maladresse dans la lutte. Je trouve mon habillement aussi barbare que leur. Mais je ne beurre pas ma chavelure,
Le Gaulois etaient les ecorcheurs de betes, les bruleurs d'herbes les plus ineptes de leur temps.
D'eux, j'ai: l'idolatrie et l'amour du sacrilege;- oh! tous les vices, colere, luxure, - magnifique, la luxure; surtout mensonge et paresse.
J'ai horreur de tous les metiers. Maitres et ouvriers, tout paysans, ignobles. La main a plume vaut la main a charrue.- Quel siecle a mains! Je n'aurai jamais ma main. Apres, la domesticite' mene trop loin. L'honnetete' de la mendicite' me navre. Les criminels degoutente' comme de chatres: mo, je suis intact, et ca m'est egal.
Mais! qui a fait ma langue perfide tellement, qu' elle ait guide' et sauvegarde jusqu'ici paresse? Sans me servr pour vivre meme de mon corps, et plus oisif que le crapaud, j'ai vecu partout. Pas une famille d'Europe que je ne connaise.- J'entends de failles comme la mienne, qui tiennent tout de la declaration des Droits de l'Homme.- J'ai connu chaque fils de famille!
I could spend whole night sitting here quoting from Lautreamont. I once wrote a term paper on Maldaror incorporating paintings from Goya and the Surrealist school, must be the most enjoyable task I ever undertook during my academic years.Bad Blood
From my ancestors the Gauls I inherit pale blue eyes, a narrow skull and a lack of skill in fighting. My clothes seem to me to be as barbaric as theirs were. But I don't use butter on my hair.
The Gauls were the clumsiest flayers of beasts and burners of grass of their time.
From them I inherit: idolatry and love of sacrilege;- oh! all the vices, anger lechery, - wonderful thing, lechery;- annd above all lying and laziness.
I loathe all trades. Foremen and workmen, peasants the lot of them, debased. The hand that wields the pen is as good as the hand steering the plough.- What a century of hands! - I shall never get my hand in. And then, the servitude goes too far. The decency of begging distresses me. Criminals are as disgusting as men without balls: I've got mine and it's all the same to me.
But! who has given me such a treacherous tongue that, up to now, it has guided and protected my idleness? Without using even my body to make a living, lazier than a toad, I have lived everywhere. There's not a family in Europe I don't know.- I mean families like mine who owe everything to the Declaration of the Rights of Man. - I've known every young man of good family there is to know!



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, but I've wanted to do something with 19th century French realism for maybe the last four years or so--not as a sale piece, really, just to do some litcrit I care about--and though I agree with you that *universality threads* aren't easy to articulate, something tells me that they are there. Whether you take disability (they all treat the issue, even Flaubert), or city themes, as wessex mentioned close to the start of the discussion--there is just something which comes through, even in translation, as annoyingly French! Hopefully I will catch it in a nice effort. I am into the first paragraph, and will no doubt discover the idiocy of my ignorance along the way. That can be a good thing.


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