‘Of Flowers, Poisons and Sorceresses…’
[Image: Circe, Franz von Stuck, circa 1913.]
‘Of Flowers, Poisons and Sorceresses…’
Of all the goddesses, sorceresses, enchantresses, it seems that Circe (Κίρκη) had the easiest job of all: she need only turn men into swine. Why, her job was practically completed before she’d begun ! Thirsty, marooned sailors would wash upon the shore of her island, and she would offer them the beguiling elixir that would eventually transform them into pigs (which they certainly deserved, having been most gluttonous at her table, when she was trying to be the consummate hostess; her generosity being grievously offended). Only the sailor’s leader, the brave Odysseus, evaded her trap and later secured his men safely back in their original forms, but only after having sought forgiveness and clemency from the powerful Circe for their unfortunate behavior.
The use of poisons, herbs, elixirs, etc., have been the province of womankind since prehistoric times. Under the tutelage of the flowers of field and forest have women charmed the secret natures of flower and herb into an arsenal of powerful tools; have come to know the ways in which Eros or Thanatos are to be invoked therefrom. Whether Lilith or Circe or Hecate, one must bestow upon these powerful sorceresses a tribute of flowers, even when these very flowers might mean one’s own end. But, make no mistake, these goddesses are the firm and confident masters of these substances, and are immune to their fatal powers…
[English translation is preceded by the original French version]
XVII
‘Les Poisons Inutiles’
J’avais pris en dégoût les fadeurs de la rose,
Héliotropes, lis, violettes, œillets.
C’étaient les sombres fleurs que de pleurs on arrose.
C’étaient les fleurs de deuil qu’en ce temps je cueillais.
Absinthe blanchissante aux feuilles découpées,
Ombelles de ciguë à l’ombre des vieux murs,
Langues de jusquiame ayant des fils d’épées,
Pommes de mandragore, astres des lieux obscurs,
Ellébore de nuit qui rosis les collines,
Aconits d’or, ors verts, ors jaunes, ors vermeils,
Datura, dont le fruit armé de javelines
Berce en son orbe creux un nid de lourdes sommeils,
Pétale blanc piqué de points noirs, belladone,
Fleurs de deuil, fleurs de mort, embaumant les poisons,
Vous formiez le bouquet dont j’ornais ma Madone,
Vous qui soulez les cœurs et tuez les raisons.
J’espérais la dompter quand elle serait morte,
Et je comptais ainsi n’en être plus jaloux.
Mais plus que vos poisons la Madone était forte.
Elle riait, montrant ses dents comme les loups ;
Elle noyait sa face au fond de vos calices,
Buvait à pleins poumons la mort qui débordait.
Et sa bouche si rose, avec d’âpres délices
Était plus rose encore quand elle vous mordait.
Jean Richepin, Les Caresses, 1882.
XVII
‘Useless Poisons’
I had sampled in disgust the vapidities of roses,
Heliotropes, lilies, violets, poppies.
These were the dark flowers that one waters with tears.
These were the flowers of mourning that I’d gathered back then.
Slashed leaves of whitening Absinthe,
Umbels of Hemlock in the shadows of old walls,
Tongues of Henbane with sword-shaped filaments,
Apples of mandrake, stars of the dark places,
Night Hellebore that reddens the hills,
Aconites of gold, green golds, yellow golds, vermilion golds,
Datura, its fruit armed with javelins
Cradling in its hollow orb a nest of heavy slumbers,
White petals tipped with black points, Belladonna,
Flowers of mourning, flowers of death, embalming poisons,
You formed the bouquet with which I garlanded my Madonna,
You that satiate the heart and murder reason.
I had hoped to subjugate her when she seemed to be dying,
Thus had I hoped that she not be yet more jealous of you.
But the Madonna was stronger than even your poisons.
She laughed, showing her teeth as wolves would do;
She drowned her face at the bottom of your calices,
Drank in deep breaths your overflowing death,
And her mouth so pink, with biting delights,
Was pinker still when she bit into you.
Jean Richepin, Caresses, 1882.
[Traduction Anglaise: Raymond E. André III, 2010]
[This English translation dedicated to Mlle. Mel Nerell]
‘Of Flowers, Poisons and Sorceresses…’
Of all the goddesses, sorceresses, enchantresses, it seems that Circe (Κίρκη) had the easiest job of all: she need only turn men into swine. Why, her job was practically completed before she’d begun ! Thirsty, marooned sailors would wash upon the shore of her island, and she would offer them the beguiling elixir that would eventually transform them into pigs (which they certainly deserved, having been most gluttonous at her table, when she was trying to be the consummate hostess; her generosity being grievously offended). Only the sailor’s leader, the brave Odysseus, evaded her trap and later secured his men safely back in their original forms, but only after having sought forgiveness and clemency from the powerful Circe for their unfortunate behavior.
The use of poisons, herbs, elixirs, etc., have been the province of womankind since prehistoric times. Under the tutelage of the flowers of field and forest have women charmed the secret natures of flower and herb into an arsenal of powerful tools; have come to know the ways in which Eros or Thanatos are to be invoked therefrom. Whether Lilith or Circe or Hecate, one must bestow upon these powerful sorceresses a tribute of flowers, even when these very flowers might mean one’s own end. But, make no mistake, these goddesses are the firm and confident masters of these substances, and are immune to their fatal powers…
[English translation is preceded by the original French version]
XVII
‘Les Poisons Inutiles’
J’avais pris en dégoût les fadeurs de la rose,
Héliotropes, lis, violettes, œillets.
C’étaient les sombres fleurs que de pleurs on arrose.
C’étaient les fleurs de deuil qu’en ce temps je cueillais.
Absinthe blanchissante aux feuilles découpées,
Ombelles de ciguë à l’ombre des vieux murs,
Langues de jusquiame ayant des fils d’épées,
Pommes de mandragore, astres des lieux obscurs,
Ellébore de nuit qui rosis les collines,
Aconits d’or, ors verts, ors jaunes, ors vermeils,
Datura, dont le fruit armé de javelines
Berce en son orbe creux un nid de lourdes sommeils,
Pétale blanc piqué de points noirs, belladone,
Fleurs de deuil, fleurs de mort, embaumant les poisons,
Vous formiez le bouquet dont j’ornais ma Madone,
Vous qui soulez les cœurs et tuez les raisons.
J’espérais la dompter quand elle serait morte,
Et je comptais ainsi n’en être plus jaloux.
Mais plus que vos poisons la Madone était forte.
Elle riait, montrant ses dents comme les loups ;
Elle noyait sa face au fond de vos calices,
Buvait à pleins poumons la mort qui débordait.
Et sa bouche si rose, avec d’âpres délices
Était plus rose encore quand elle vous mordait.
Jean Richepin, Les Caresses, 1882.
XVII
‘Useless Poisons’
I had sampled in disgust the vapidities of roses,
Heliotropes, lilies, violets, poppies.
These were the dark flowers that one waters with tears.
These were the flowers of mourning that I’d gathered back then.
Slashed leaves of whitening Absinthe,
Umbels of Hemlock in the shadows of old walls,
Tongues of Henbane with sword-shaped filaments,
Apples of mandrake, stars of the dark places,
Night Hellebore that reddens the hills,
Aconites of gold, green golds, yellow golds, vermilion golds,
Datura, its fruit armed with javelins
Cradling in its hollow orb a nest of heavy slumbers,
White petals tipped with black points, Belladonna,
Flowers of mourning, flowers of death, embalming poisons,
You formed the bouquet with which I garlanded my Madonna,
You that satiate the heart and murder reason.
I had hoped to subjugate her when she seemed to be dying,
Thus had I hoped that she not be yet more jealous of you.
But the Madonna was stronger than even your poisons.
She laughed, showing her teeth as wolves would do;
She drowned her face at the bottom of your calices,
Drank in deep breaths your overflowing death,
And her mouth so pink, with biting delights,
Was pinker still when she bit into you.
Jean Richepin, Caresses, 1882.
[Traduction Anglaise: Raymond E. André III, 2010]
[This English translation dedicated to Mlle. Mel Nerell]