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Tendrils VINE
 Formerly, the nightingale does not sing at night. He had a nice thin voice and used it with skill from morning to
evening in the spring . He rose with his comrades in the gray dawn , and blue , and shook the startled awake beetles
asleep at the underside of leaves of lilac .
 He lay on the stroke of seven , half past seven , anywhere , often flowering vines that smell the mignonette , and did a
short overnight.
 One spring night , the nightingale slept standing on a young shoot , the crop into a ball and head bowed, like a
graceful torticollis . During sleep, the horns of the vine , the tendrils rough and tough, with the acidity of fresh sorrel
irritates and quenches the tendrils of vines pushed so hard , this night the nightingale woke bound, legs tangled links
forked wings impotent ...
 He thought he died, struggled and escaped only at the cost of infinite pains , and all spring vowed not to sleep, so that
the tendrils of the vine would grow .
 The next night , he sang to keep awake :
 As long as the vine grows , grows , grows ...
I do not sleep any more !
As long as the vine grows , grows , grows ...
He varied his theme, the vocals wreathed , fell in love with his voice, the singer became distracted , drunk and panting,
we listen with the unbearable desire to see him sing .
 I saw a nightingale singing in the moonlight, a nightingale is free and does not know who watched . He stops
occasionally the neck bent , as if listening to him as the continuation of a note off ... Then he took all his strength ,
swollen throat reversed , with a look of despair in love . He sings to sing , he sings such beautiful things he does not
know what they mean . But I still hear through the golden notes , the sounds of a flute major , tremulous and
crystalline trills , screams pure and strong, I remember the first song of the nightingale naive and scared to take
tendrils Vine :
 As long as the vine grows , grows , grows ...
 Brittle -tough, the tendrils of a vine tied me bitter , while I was sleeping in my spring a nap happy and unsuspecting .
But I broke up , startled by a burst , all those twisted son who was already standing in my flesh , and I fled ... When
the torpor of a new night of honey has weighed on my eyelids , I feared the tendrils of the vine and I threw a loud
complaint that I found my voice .
 All alone , awake at night , I look this up before me the voluptuous star and dull ... To defend myself from falling
back into a happy sleep, lying in the spring when the vines bloom hooked, I listen to the sound of my voice.
Sometimes I cry feverishly what we are accustomed to silence, which is very low whisper , - then my voice to a
whisper languished because I dare not continue ...
 I want to say , say, say what I know , all I think everything I guess , all that enchants me and hurts me and wonder ,
but there is always, to the dawn of this night noise , a good cool hand landed on my mouth , and my cry that became
excited , goes down the verbiage moderate and talkative child who speaks up to reassure and drown ...
 I do not know the sum happy, but I no longer fear the tendrils of the vine.
 PASSION FOR NEW YEAR
 All three of us go back powdery me, the little bull and shepherd Flemish ... It snowed in the folds of our robes, white
epaulettes have a background in fine sugar hollow muzzle snub of Tiny, and the shepherdess Flemish sparkles any of
its pointed snout to tail in a club.
 We were out to gaze at the snow, real snow and real cold , Parisian curiosities , opportunities almost impossible to
find , end of year ... in my deserted neighborhood , we ran like three crazy , hospital and fortifications , the
fortifications decried have seen , the Avenue des Ternes at the Boulevard Malesherbes , our joy panting dogs
unleashed . From the top of the slope, we looked at the ditch that was filling a purplish dusk whipped swirls white we
contemplated Levallois black quilted pink lights , tracked behind a veil of a thousand white flies live , cold- like
flower petals , melting on the lips , eyes , lashes retained a moment , to down the cheeks ... We scratched our snow ten
feet intact , brittle, leaking under our weight with a rasping cherishing taffeta . Away from all the eyes we galloped ,
barked, snapped up the snow flying , tasted his sweetness of vanilla sorbet and dusty ...
 Seated at the gate now burning , we are silent all three . The memory of the night , snow , wind raging behind the
door , back in our veins and we are slowly slipping to sleep suddenly that rewards long walks ...
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 The Flemish shepherdess , who smokes like a foot bath , has regained its dignity tame wolf , seriousness false and
courteous . With one ear , she listens to the whisper of snow along the closed shutters of the other she watches the
tinkling of spoons in the office . His sharp nose quivers, and his copper-colored eyes , opened fire on the right ,
moving constantly from right to left , left to right, as if she read ... I study a little suspicious, this newcomer , this bitch
Women and complicated that keeps well, laughed often, behaves like a person of sense and receives orders,
reprimands without saying a word , with an impenetrable gaze and full of ulterior motives ... She knows how to lie ,
steal - but she screams in surprise As a young girl is frightened and almost hurt emotionally . Where did she , this little
wolf down to the kidney , the Walloon country girl , his hatred of evil people and put his aristocratic reserve ? I
offered him a place in my fire and my life, and maybe she loves me , she already knows to defend myself ...
 My little childish bull in the heart sleeps, thunderstruck sleep , fever in the muzzle and paws. The gray cat is aware
that snow since breakfast and I have not seen the tip of his nose buried in the hair of his belly. Again here I am , in
front of my fire , my solitude , in front of me ...
 One more year ... Why bother counting ? This Year's Eve in Paris do not remember anything of January 1 of my
youth, and who could make my childish solemnity of the days of old New Year ? The shape of the years has changed
for me during that , I was changing. The year is not the road undulating ribbon that held that since January , rising to
the spring, rose, rose toward the summer to flourish in peaceful plains, hot pre cut blue shadows , stained geraniums
dazzling - and then fall down to a fragrant mist , smelling the swamp , the ripe fruit and game - and then plunged into
a dry winter , sound , shimmering ponds frozen , snow pink under the sun ... Then The corrugated ribbon running
down , dizzy , break up short before a date beautiful , isolated , suspended between the two years as a flower of frost
on the day of the Year ...
 A beloved child , between parents not rich , and lived in the countryside among the trees and books, and who knew
neither want expensive toys is what I remember , as I leaned on my past tonight ... A child superstitiously attached to
the festivals of seasons , the dates marked with a gift , a flower , a traditional cake ... A child who instinctively
ennobling of the pagan Christian holidays , love only branch of boxwood, red Easter egg , Rose petals in Corpus
Christi and altars - syringas , aconite , chamomile - the offshoot of Hazelwood ordered a small cross, blessed at the
Mass of the Ascension and planted on the edge of the field that houses hail ... A girl in love with the cake five horns ,
cooked and eaten on Palm Sunday , the pancake in carnival of the stifling smell of the church during the month of
Mary ...
 Old priest without malice gave me communion , you believe that this silent child , with eyes open on the altar ,
waiting for the miracle , the movement of the elusive blue scarf that encircled the Virgin? Is not it ? I was so good! ...
It is true that I dreamed miracles, but ... not the same as you. Numbed by the incense of flowers warm , delighted with
the perfume of death, decay musk roses, I lived, dear man without malice , a paradise point than you imagine ,
populated by my gods , my animals , talking to nymphs my goat and my feet ... And I listened to you talk about your
hell , thinking of the pride of the man who for his crimes for a moment , invented the eternal hell ... Oh ! there was a
long time! ...
 My solitude , the snow of December, the threshold of another year does not make me the thrill of old, while in the
night I watched the quivering long distance, mingled with the beating of my heart, Drum City , including, early
morning of 1 January, the sleepy village to serenade ... The drum in the cold night , about six hours , I feared , I called
the bottom of my crib, with a nervous anxiety close to tears teeth clenched , stomach contracted ... The drum alone,
and not the twelve strokes of midnight sounded to me the brilliant opening of the new year, the mysterious arrival
after which the world gasping , hanging in the first rrran the old hustler in my village .
 He went on, invisible in the morning close , throwing to the wall and his funeral alert little serenade , and behind him
a life again , new and bouncing around twelve months new ... Delivered , I sprang from my bed by candlelight , I ran
to the wishes , Kisses, candy, books slices of gold ... I opened the door to the bakers on the hundred pounds of bread
and until noon , serious , filled with commercial importance, I tended to all the poor, true and false , the loaf of bread
and decimating they received without gratitude and without humility ...
 Winter mornings , red light in the night air still and bitter before sunrise , garden guessed dawn dark , shrunken ,
choked with snow, fir trees that let overwhelmed , by the hour , sliding Avalanche load of your black arms - a fan
blows passerine scared and worried about their games in a crystal powder thinner , more glitter than the iridescent mist
with a spray of water every winter ... Oh my childhood A winter day just to get to me! This is my face once I'm
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looking in the mirror oval before a listless hand , and not my wife 's face , a woman younger than his youth will soon
leave ...
 Magic still my dream, I am surprised to have changed , have grown old while I was dreaming ... one brush moved I
could paint on this face , that of a fresh sun- scorched child , rosie cold, elastic cheeks finished in a narrow chin ,
eyebrows moving quick to wrinkle , a mouth whose corners wily belie the short lip ingenue ... Alas , this is a moment.
The lovely pastel rose velvet crumbles and flies ... The dark water of the small mirror retains only my image that is
like , exactly like me, marked nail light blows , finely engraved on the eyelids , the corners lips, between the eyebrows
stubborn ... An image that does not smile nor grieves , and murmurs, to myself : "It must grow old. Do not cry, do not
join hands in supplication, do not revolt we must grow old. Repeat these words now , not as a cry of despair , but as a
necessary starting point . Look around, look at your eyelids , your lips, on your temples raises the curls of your hair
already you begin to move away from your life , do not forget, it must grow old!
 Walk away slowly, slowly , without tears , forget anything ! Punch your health , your cheerfulness , your vanity , lack
of kindness and justice that has made you life less bitter , do not forget ! Go dressed , go soft, and do not stop along
the road irresistible , you would try in vain - as it must grow old! Follow the path, and not thee only to die layer . And
when you shall spread abroad across the steep undulating ribbon , if you have not left behind you one to one in curls
your hair or your teeth one by one, or your members one to one worn, if the powder eternal n Has not, before your last
hour , cut off your eyes wonderful light - if you till the end kept in your hand the friendly hand that guides you , lie
down , smiling , happy sleep , sleep inside ... "
SONG OF THE DANCER 
You who appointed me a dancer, know today that I have not learned to dance. You have encountered little playful ,
dancing on the road and driving before me my blue shadow . I virais like a bee , and pollen from a white dust
powdered my feet and my hair color way ... 
You saw me return to the fountain , lulling the amphora in the hollow of my hip while the water , the rhythm of my
footsteps , jumping on my shirt in tears round, silver serpents , in which short curly rockets mounted , frozen , until
my cheek ... I walked slow , serious , but you called me not a dance . You do not look at my face , but you followed
the movement of my knees , rocking my size , you read the form on the sand with my bare heels , the imprint of my
fingers apart , you appear as that of five beads unequal ... 
You said: " Gather the flowers , pursue a butterfly ... "because you called my race a dance , and each bow of my body
bent over the eyelets in purple, and gesture, every flower again , throw on my slippery shoulder scarf ...
 In your house , only between you and the high flame of a lamp , you told me: " Dance , "and I have not danced .
 But naked in your arms tied to your bed by the ribbon of fire fun, yet you called me a dancer, leaping to see under my
skin, my throat thrown at my feet bent , pleasure inevitable ...
 Lasse, I renewed my hair , and you looked at , docile, to wrap my head like a snake charming flute ...
 I left your home for you whispered : "The most beautiful of your dances , not when you hasten , breathless , full of
desire already irritated and twitching on the road , the staple of your dress ... is when you walk away from me , calmed
down and knees bending , and that will lead you far you look at me , his chin on his shoulder ... Your body remembers
me , wobbles and hesitates , your hips I regret and your kidneys thank me ... You look at me , his head turned , but
your feet feeling their diviners and choose their way ...
 " You go away , ever smaller and painted by the setting sun , till it is at the top of the slope , very thin in your orange
dress , a straight flame , which imperceptibly dance ... "
 If you do not leave me, I 'll go , dancing to my white tomb .
 On a dance every day and involuntary slow , I greet the light that made me beautiful and I loved living .
 A tragic last dance for me will face death, but I will fight only to succumb gracefully .
 May the gods grant me a fall harmoniously joined arms above my head , one leg bent and the other body , as if ready
to cross, a light bound , the black threshold of the kingdom of shadows ...
I appointed you a dancer , and yet I can not dance ...
WHITE NIGHT 
There is a bed in our house , too big for you, a little narrow for us. He is chaste, all white , all naked drapery does not
sail in broad daylight , his honest candor. Those who come to see us watching him quietly , and do not divert the eyes
of a conspiratorial air , because it is marked in the middle of one sweet valley , like the bed of a young girl who sleeps
alone . 
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They do not know , those who come here every night the weight of our two bodies joined dig a little more voluptuous
in his shroud , this valley , no larger than a grave . 
O our bed naked ! A brilliant light , looked at him, still undressed . We do not seek at dusk , the shadows learned , a
gray spider that filters a canopy of lace , or the light pink color of a night without dawn Astre shell ... and without
decline , our bed continues to blaze that to sink into a deep , velvety night . 
A halo halo perfume . It smells sweet , hard and white, like the body of a deceased blessed . It is a complicated
fragrance is surprising that we breathe carefully , taking care to distinguish them in your soul blond tobacco favorite
flavor of your skin more fair so clear, and it burned sandalwood that s ' exhales me , but this rustic smell of crushed
grass , which can tell if it is mine or yours? 
Get us tonight , oh our bed, and fresh concrete valley widens a bit more under the feverish stupor we drunk a spring
day in the gardens and woods . 
I lie motionless , his head on your soft shoulder . I 'm definitely going up tomorrow , get to the bottom of a dark sleep ,
a sleep so stubborn , if closed, the wings of dreams will come to fight in vain . I 'm going to sleep ... Just wait till I'm
looking for the soles of my feet burn and swarming , a place dry ... You have not budged . You breathe in long lines ,
but I feel your shoulder still awake , attentive to dig under my cheek ... ... Let's sleep the nights of May are so short .
Despite the dark blue that bathes us , my eyes are still full of sun , flames, roses, moving shadows , swaying , and I
contemplate the day my eyes closed, as we look behind the shelter of a blind , a stunning garden ... 
As my heart beats ! I also hear yours in my ear . You awake? I raise my head a little , I guess the pallor of your
upturned face , the shade of your tan short hair. Your knees are like two fresh oranges ... Turn around to my side , so
that they fly mine this smooth cool ... 
Ah sleep ! ... thousand times a thousand ants running with my blood under my skin . The muscles in my legs fly , my
ears twitch , and our soft bed tonight, it is strewn with pine needles ? Sleep ! I want ! 
I can not sleep . My insomnia happy beats, cheerful , and I guess , in your stillness , the same dejection trembling ...
You do not budge . You hope I'm asleep . Your arm tightens around me sometimes , usually by tender , and your
charming feet entwined with mine ... sleep approaches, my brushes and fled ... I see! It is like this butterfly heavy
velvet that I pursued in the inflamed iris garden ... Do you remember ? What light , what impatient youth exalted
whole day ! ... A breeze threw acid and pressed into the sun with smoke clouds of fast fading going too soft leaves of
linden trees, and flowers of walnut caterpillars fell in our hair scorched , with the flowers of Paulownia , a purple rain
from heaven ... The Parisian blackcurrant shoots you crumpled , sorrel wild rose from the grass , mint very young ,
still brown , downy sage as a hare's ear , - All overflowing with juice and pepper and energetic , which I mixed on my
lips the taste of alcohol and lemongrass ... 
I knew that laugh and cry , trampling the long grass stained my dress juicy ... Your quiet joy watching over my folly ,
and when I reached out to achieve these wild roses , you know , a pink so moved , - yours has broken the branch
before me, and hast taken , one by one , small curved spines , coral-colored , shaped claws ... You gave me flowers
disarmed ... 
You gave me flowers ... You gave me disarmed , is for me to breath, the best place in the shade under the Persian lilac
to ripe grapes ... You've picked the large blueberries baskets, flowers enchanted with fragrant apricot hairy heart ...
You gave me the cream of the pot of milk at tea-time when my fierce hunger made you smile ... You gave me the
bread as gold , and still see your hand in the transparent sun, rose to chase the wasp which sputtered , caught in the
curls of my hair ... You threw a cloak over my shoulders lightly, when a cloud longer towards the end of the day ,
Spent idling , and I was thrilled , all sweaty , drunk with pleasure every nameless among men , the pleasure of naive
animals happy in the spring ... You said: "Come back ... stop now ... Let's go ! " You told me ... 
Ah If I think of you , you've had my rest. What time is ringing ? Here the windows blue. I hear buzzing my blood , or
is the murmur of the gardens, there ... You sleep ? not . If I approached my cheek to yours , I feel your eyelashes
quiver as the wing of a fly captive ... You do not sleep . You watched my mouth . You protect me against bad dreams,
you think of me as I think of you, and we pretend , by a strange modesty sentimental , a peaceful sleep. My whole
body surrenders , relaxed , and my neck hanging over your soft shoulder, but our thoughts love discreetly through this
blue dawn , so ready to grow ... 
Soon the light bar , between the curtains will brighten , blush ... A few more minutes and I can read on your beautiful
forehead, your chin delicate , sad on your mouth and your eyes closed , the desire to appear to sleep ... This is the time
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when my fatigue , my insomnia enervated can not remain silent , when I throw my arms out of bed this feverish , and
my heels already preparing their wicked sly kick ... 
Then you pretend to wake ! Then I can take refuge in you , with complaints of unfair confused , exasperated sighs , the
tensions that already curse the day came at night so quick to finish , the sound of the street ... For I know that then you
tighten your embrace, and that if the swinging of your arms is not enough to calm me , your kiss will be more
tenacious , more love your hands , and that you will grant me the pleasure as a relief, as the sovereign exorcism
hunting my demons fever , anger , anxiety ... You give me pleasure, leaning over me , eyes full of maternal anxiety ,
you who are looking through your friend's passionate , the child you have not had ...
GREY DAY 
Leave me. I am sick and nasty , like the sea around my legs Tightens the plaid, but carries the steaming cup , which
smells of wet hay , lime , violet fade ... I do nothing but look away and never see the sea or the wind short , visible,
rippled sand , powdered sea water Sometimes he hums , patient and content , hidden behind a dune, hidden beyond the
horizon ... Then s Slenderness , with a warrior cry , shake humanly flaps , and pushed under the door, fringe
impalpable dust its not forever ...
 Ah it hurts! I have in me a secret place , a sheltered corner , and my hands flat on my ears cool and prevent it crosses
my mind ... Naked, swept, dispersed in vain I shed my rags thought - she escapes , thrilling , like a torn coat , which is
like a seagull into the legs and which is issued by snapping wings ...
 Let me , you who have gently , pitiful , put your hands on my forehead . I hate everything, and above all the sea! Go
watch , you who love her ! It beats the terrace , it ferments, fuse yellow sponge , it sparkles, the color of dead fish , it
fills the air with the smell of iodine and fertile rottenness. Under the leaden wave , I guess the people abominable
creatures without legs , flat, slippery , icy ... You do not sense that the tide and wind wear , even in this room , the
smell of spoiled shellfish ? Oh ... ! return, which you can almost everything for me! Do not leave me alone! Give
under my nose pliers and the disgust fades , give your perfumed hands , give your fingers dry and warm and fine as
lavender mountain ... Come back! Stand close to me , ordered the sea to get away ! Make a sign to the wind, and come
and lie on the sand, play around with the shells ... Make a sign, he will sit on the dune , light , and have fun , a breath ,
to change the shape of moving hills ...
 Ah you shake your head ... You do not want - you can not . So, go away , abandoning me helpless in the storm , and it
reliefs the wall and between it and me! Leave the room , I hear more noise in your not useless . No , no , no hugs !
Your hands magicians and damning your eyes and your mouth, which dissolves the memory of other mouths , would
be powerless today . I regret now , someone who possessed me before all, before you , before I was a woman .
 I belong to a country I left. You can not prevent that at this moment in the sun all flourish hair fragrant forests .
Nothing can stop at this hour are buried deep grass off the trees , a delicious and soothing green that my soul thirsts ...
Come, you who do not know, just what I say softly perfume woods of my country equal strawberry and pink ! You
swear , when brambles are in bloom, a fruit ripens knows where , - there, here , near, - a result that aspires elusive
opening nostrils. You swear , when the autumn enters and leaves fell bruised , overripe apple that comes from falling ,
and you look for it and you smell it , here, there , near ...
 And if you passed in June , between the hay meadows, at a time when the moon runs down the millstones round the
dunes that are in my country , you would feel their fragrance, open your heart . You close my eyes , with that pride
which you serious delight your sails , and you 'd drop your head, with a silent sigh ...
 And if you were arriving , one summer day in my country at the bottom of a garden I know , a green and black garden
without flowers turn blue if you looked at the distance a round hill , where rocks, butterflies and thistle purple dye of
the same blue and dusty , you forget me , and you 'll sit there , just to move until the end of your life .
 There are still, in my country , a narrow valley as a cradle at night , stretches over a fleet of fog, mist thin , white ,
living a graceful spectrum of mist lying on the damp air ... Anime a slow motion wave , it melts into itself and is in
turn cloud, Sleeping Woman , languid snake , horse neck chimera ... If you stay too late leaning toward him on the
narrow valley to drink the cold air with that fog like a living soul, a shiver , seize thee , and all night your dreams will
be crazy ... 
Listen again , give your hands in mine , if you went in my country, a small road I know , yellow and bordered with a
pink hot digital , you should feel delighted climb the path that leads out of life ... Leaping song hornets filled velvet
leads you there and beat your ears like the very blood of your heart , to the forest up there, where the world ends ... 
It is an ancient forest , forgotten men , and any such paradise, listen carefully, because ... 
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How you are pale and eyes wide ! What have I said ! I do not know ... I talked, I talked about my country , to forget
the sea and wind ... There you are pale, with envious eyes ... You remind me of you , you feel so far away ... I have to
redo the road Must once again I pull from my country, my roots all the bleeding ... 
Here I am ! I belong again . I did not want that to forget the wind and the sea I spoke in a dream ... What did I say ?
Do not believe it! I 've probably talked to a wonderland , where the flavor of the air intoxicated ? ... Do not believe it !
Do not go : you seek in vain. You should see a campaign a little sad , darkened forests , a peaceful village and poor, a
humid valley , a mountain blue and naked, and do not even feed the goats ... 
Rebuke me here I am back. Where is the wind going in my absence ? What hollow dune he sulks , tired ? A ray acute,
sandwiched between two clouds, sea pike and bounces here in this bottle when he dances to narrow ... 
Take your blanket suffocating me , see! Sea greens already ... Open the window and door, and run towards the end of
this golden gray day , because I want to pick flowers on the beach in your country made by the wave - imperishable
flowers petals petal pink pearl , O shells ... LAST FIRE
 Turns in the hearth, the fire last year! The sun and the flame will illuminate your entire face . Under your gesture, a
bouquet ardent gushes , beribboned smoke , but I no longer recognize our winter fire , our fire arrogant and verbose ,
fed dry firewood and stumps rich. Because a star more powerful jet entered through the open window , lives in our
master bedroom , since this morning ...
 Look! it is not possible that the sun helps , as ours , the other gardens ! Look carefully ! for nothing is the same here
in our pen last year and this year , still young and trembling , already takes care of changing the scenery from our
gentle retired life ... It lengthens, a bud horned varnished each branch of our pear , a tuft of pointed leaves each lilac
bush ...
 Oh especially lilacs , see how they grow ! The flowers that you kissed in passing last year , you do not breathe , May
income that you raising on tiptoe , and you should raise your hands to lower their clusters to look at your mouth ...
well the shadow on the sand of the path, drawn by the delicate skeleton of tamarisk : next year , you do not recognize
it more ...
 And violets themselves hatched by magic in the grass, this night, do you recognize ? You lean, and like me you
wonder , are they not , this spring , more blue? No, no, you 're wrong , last year I saw less dark , a purple azure , do
not you remember ? ... You protests , you nod your laughter with serious, the green of the new grass water discolors
reddish brown of your eyes ... ... no more purple , blue more ... Stop this teasing ! Door rather unchanging thy nostrils
the scent of violets and changing looks , inhaling the potion that abolishes the years , looks like me revive and grow
before you spring your childhood ...
 More purple ... no, not blue ... I see meadows , deep woods that the first outbreak of a green buds fogs elusive - cold
streams , springs lost, consumed by the sand as soon as born , primroses Easter , in the heart of the sleeve yellow
saffron and purple , violet , violets ... I see a child of silence that spring already enchanted with a wild happiness , a
sad and mysterious joy ... One child prisoner , day in school, and who traded toys , pictures , against the first violets of
the woods, tied with a red cotton thread , reported by the shepherds of small farms surrounding ... Violets short stem,
purple and white violets; and violet cuckoo anemic and wide, that increase on their long stems pale corollas
odorless ... Violets February, flowers in the snow , torn , scorched gel , ugly , poor women ... O fragrant violets of my
childhood! You go before me , all you trellis milky sky in April , and the throbbing of your little faces countless drunk
...
 What do you think , you , her head thrown back ? Your quiet eyes rise to the sun ... But they are brave to follow only
the first flight of the bee , numb, lost , in search of a peach blossom honey - hunting ... there! she gets caught up in this
veneer of chestnut bud ! ... No, she is lost in the blue , periwinkle color of milk in the sky hazy and yet pure, which
dazzle ... O you who can satisfy you Be of this flap azure sky that rag bounded by the walls of our little garden , think
that there is somewhere in the world, a place of envy when you discover all the sky ! Remember , as you thought of a
realm inaccessible dream on the edge of the horizon, the sky fading delicious joined the earth ... In this day of Spring
hesitant , I guess there through the walls, the poignant line , barely wavy , what a child I called the end of the earth ...
She blushed , then turns blue , a gold heart softer than the juice of a fruit ... Do not pity me , miserable beautiful eyes ,
to evoke so strongly that I want ! My voracious desire creates what he wants and it feeds . It is I who smile , charitable
, to your idle hands , empty flower ... Too soon, too soon! We and the bee and the flower of the peach , we try too
early in the spring ...
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 The iris sleeps , curled under a triple cone in green silk , peony pierces the earth with a steep bright coral branch , and
rose again that dare not suckers for a chestnut rose, a vibrant color Gather worm ... yet ahead of clove brown tulip, it is
colorful , booby and wearing a velvet sound , like a Digger ... Not trying thrush again , between two halves of leaves,
elongated shells of mussels, mysteriously s ' round pearls of oriental greens, where the odor flow sovereign ...
 The sun has walked on the sand ... a breath of ice , which feels hail , rising from the east purplish . The peach
blossoms fly horizontal ... As I'm cold! The Siamese cat , all at the dead hour of warm comfortable on the wall ,
suddenly opened her sapphire eyes in his mask ... Long dark velvet , his belly close to the ground , she crawls toward
the house , bending over her his neck chilly ears ... Come ! I fear what purple cloud edged in copper , which threatens
the sunset ... The fire that you lit earlier in the dance room, like a merry beast prisoner who awaits our return ...
 O fire of last year ! The last and most beautiful! Your pink peony , disheveled, fills the firebox of a blossoming
bouquet shortly . Let us bow to him , tend him our hands and that its light passes through ... There is no bloodshed in
our garden, a flower more beautiful than him, a tree more complicated, a more mobile grass , a vine as treacherous as
compelling ! Let's stay here , pamper changing this god who is dancing a melancholy smile in your eyes ... Just now
when I leave my dress , you'll see me all pink , like a painted statue . I will stand motionless before him, and under the
glow my skin will look animated breathless , thrilling and moving as the hours when the love of a wing inevitable falls
on me ... Let's stay ! The fire last year invites us to silence, idleness, sweet rest . I listen , head on your chest, beat the
wind , the flames and your heart, however, that the glass black cap immediately a branch of peach pink , half leafless ,
and defeat like a frightened bird in the storm ...
 LOVES
 The red - throated triumph. Then he went to sing his victory cries dry , invisible in the thick of the chestnut . He did
not shrink the cat. It was held suspended in the air , a little above it vibrated like a bee , however, that he threw , for
short bursts , speech intelligible to anyone who knows how presumptuous of the robin , and his bravery: " Fool !
Tremble! I am the red bra ! Yes, the robin himself ! One more step, a gesture toward the nest incubating my
companion , and this bill , I 'll kill you eyes ! "
 Ready to speak, I watched , but the cat knows that robins are sacred , she also knows that tolerate an attack bird , a cat
may ridicule - she knows so much ... She beat the tail like a lion , he groaned back, but gave way to frantic little bird ,
and we resumed our walk both dusk . Drive slow , pleasant , fruitful , and the cat discovered , and I learn . Frankly, it
seems to discover . It fixes a point in space, stopped short at the invisible , because the noise startled that I do not see .
So it's my turn and I try to invent what holds it carefully .
 To attend the chat , no risk rich. Pressed it by calculation that for half a century, I seek his company ? I never had to
look far: he was born under my feet. Lost cat , cat farm tracker and tracked , thin insomnia, cat bookseller fragrant
ink , cats dairies and butcheries , well fed , but chilled the plants on the floor , winded cats of the petty bourgeoisie ,
swollen MOI , happy cats despots who reign over Claude Farrere on Paul Morand - and me ... All you ever meet me
without surprise , not without happiness. Between one hundred cats , she testifies, one day, for me, this cat wandering
and hungry that faced , yelling at the crowd thrown up in the evening , the subway Auteuil . She discerned ,
recognized me , "Finally , you ... As you slow , I'm exhausted ... Where is your house ? Go , I 'm ... " She followed
me , so sure of myself that the heart was beating me . My house frightened her at first because I was not alone . But
she became accustomed , and remained four years , until his accidental death.
 Far from me to forget you , dog friendly, somewhat bruised , bandaged anything . How am I spend with you? I am so
necessary ... You make me feel I'm worth the price . One is therefore still be , for whom I replace it? This is wonderful
, comforting - a little too easy . But , this being the hide - the eloquent eyes , hide it, when it undergoes its seasonal
and loves a link painful side of female to male ... Quick , a screen, a tarp , a beach umbrella - and , Moreover , let us
go . And do not return for eight days , after which "He" not " The " not even recognize " the friend of man " is rarely
the friend of the dog.
 I know more about the commitment he has for me and the excitement that draws only on the love life of the dog .
This is my favorite among ten races that have my respect, to whom the chances of pregnancy are prohibited .
Sometimes the basal Brabant , the French bulldog - types Reaper has large skulls , which often die giving birth -
instinctively to forego profits voluptuous semi . Two of my dogs bit the Bulldogs males , and not accept them for
playing partners in times of innocence. A poodle, too subtle , refused all political parties and voluntary sterility
consoled her by pretending to feed a puppy red rubber ... Yes , in my life, there were lots of dogs - but there was the
 8

cat. In this case a cat, I am indebted to a certain kind , honorable, concealment, a great influence on me, a marked
aversion to brutal sounds , and the need to keep quiet long .
 This cat, who just played in "big top "in the novel that bears his name, the cat in the robin, I do with the famous
reserve, with disorder . For , if it inspires me , I was obsessed . Unwittingly , I have drawn out of the feline world . She
returned there when the loves , but the beautiful Parisian cat , the stallion who " goes to town , "provided his pillow, a
dish of sawdust, its menus and ... his bill, that makes him my pussy ? The same job of cropping of ears that goes wild ,
the fields , through the hole in the hedge . A job fast , furious and full of contempt . Chance unites this indifference to
strangers . Loud cries reached me , war and love, like heart-rending cries of the Grand Duke, who announces the
dawn. I recognize the voice of my cat , his insults, his snarling , who put all things right and humiliate the winner
meeting ...
 In the countryside, it recovers some of her coquetry. It becomes light, gay, unfaithful to several males to which it
gives and takes without scruple . I am glad she is still , at times , being only " a cat " and not " the cat " , this friendly ,
lively and poetic mind , absorbed in the true love she got doomed .
 Between the walls of a narrow garden Ile- de- France , she romps , she surrenders . She also refuses . Intelligence has
removed his body to the common frenzies . It is like ice when its burning . But she dreamily called love there three
weeks already empty nests , among kittens born two months earlier, and mingled with the cries of his complaints
mésangeaux gray. Love does not tell him twice . Then came the old conqueror striped with oversized canines , dry ,
bald in places , but endowed with experience, a decision without a second , and respected even by rivals. The young
striped followed closely , resplendent with confidence and stupidity , broad nose , low forehead and beautiful as a
tiger. On the ridge tile wall finally came the cat farm , wearing headbands with two gray spots on white dirty, with a
look half-awake and incredulous : " Dreamed I? It seemed to me that informed me of emergency ... "
 All three entered the lists , and I can say they saw harsh . The cat was first hundred hands to slap , a hundred little
blue hands , swift , clinging to the fleece shaved and the skin they covered . Then she curled into a figure eight . Then
she sat between the three toms and seemed to forget length. Then she went out of his dream lofty perching on a
crumbling pillar in the marquee , which defied all his virtue attackers. When she deigned to descend, she stared at the
three slaves with a childlike wonder , suffered only one of them , nose , kissing her nose and beautiful blue . The kiss
was prolonged , she broke it by pressing a cry , a sort of barking cat, untranslatable, but which three males responded
with a break down . Whereupon , the cat began an elaborate toilet , and the three Adjourned lamented wait . Similarly,
they showed signs of fighting , to pass the time around a cat cold and dull .
 Finally, abandoning the lies and games , she became cordial, stretched length , and not a goddess , joined the common
man .
 I did not stay there to learn more. Although the feline grace so free from all risks, why submit to the supreme test ? I
gave the cat to her demons and turned instead to wait it leaves either by day or night when I work slowly and with
difficulty - the table where assiduously silent on miracle, but a resonant low murmur of happiness , lies , lies under my
watch or lamp pussy , my model, the cat, my friend .
 A DREAM
 I dream Dark smoky clouds of very dark blue , which spend geometric ornaments which still lacks a fragment , or
perfect circle , from their three angles, enhanced spirals of fire. floating flowers without stems or without leaves .
Gardens unfinished ; reign throughout the imperfection of thought , the atmosphere of a petition, waiting and disbelief
Point of characters. - Silence, then a barking sad , choked .
 MOI a start. - Who barks ?
 A DOG . - Me .
 ME . - Who are you ? A bitch ?
 SHE . - No. Bitch.
 ME . - Sure , but what bitch?
 SHE with a suppressed groan. - There is another ? When I was not even the shadow that I am here , do not call me
that " the bitch " . I am your dead dog .
 ME . - Yes ... But ... What a dead dog ? Forgive me ...
 SHE . - Here I forgive you, if you can guess I 'm the one who deserved to return .
 9

 MOI unthinkingly. - Ah I know ! Are you Nell , who fatally shook the most subtle signs of departure and separation,
which lay on the white cloth in the trunk compartment and said a prayer to become white , so I took him without
seeing ...
 Ah Nell ... We deserved that last night remind you of where you was lying ...
 Silence . The dark blue clouds cheminent on the black background .
 SHE a low voice. - I 'm not Nell .
 MOI remorseful. - Oh! I hurt you ?
 SHE . - Not much . Much less than before, when a word , a glance , you shattered me ... And then , you did perhaps
not well understood : I am the bitch , I tell you ...
 MOI suddenly illuminated. - Yes! Yes ! bitch! Where was I thinking? That of which I said , entering : " The dog is
there ? " As if you had no other name , as if you did not call you Lola ... The dog that traveled with me always knew
that birth how to behave in the car to the hotel in an ugly box of music hall ... Your nose end facing the door , you
expect to wait ... You're losing weight ... Give it, your muzzle end which I do can not see! Give me the key , I would
recognize your coat from a hundred others ... (A long silence . Some of the flowers without stems or leaves off
without. ) Where are you? Stay! Lola ...
 SHE a barely audible voice. - Alas ... I 'm not Lola !
 MOI lowering his voice as. - Are you crying?
 SHE well. - No. In the place where no color I have never ceased to expect, that's all for me to tears , you know , those
tears like humans to crying and trembling in my eyes the color of gold ...
 MOI interrupted. - Gold ? Wait! Gold , gold rimmed darker and sparkly ...
 SHE gently. - No , stop , you 'll still call me a name I've ever heard . And perhaps while away the shadows of sleeping
dogs thrill of jealousy, would rise , would scrape the bottom of a door does not open that night for them. Do not look
for me more. You'll never know why I deserved to return. Do not fumble , sleeping in your hand in black and blue air
bathes me , you will meet not my dress ...
 MOI anxious. - Your dress ... the color of wheat ?
 SHE . - Shh! I have no dress. I 'm just a line, a sinuous line of phosphorus , a throb , a complaint lost a beggar that
death does not put at rest , the remainder mourning , finally, the dog among dogs , the dog ...
 MOI crying. - Stay! I know! You're ...
 But my cry awake , dissolved the dark blue and deep, all unfinished gardens , creates the aurora and scattered ,
forgotten , the syllables of the name carried on the floor among the ungrateful bitch who deserved to return the bitch ...
 NONOCHE
 The sun sinks behind the mountain ash , green fruit 'grapes here and there that turn pink sour . The garden is slowly
recovering from a long hot day, with soft leaves of tobacco remain vanished . The blue aconite has certainly faded
since this morning, but the gage , green yesterday in their silver powder have all tonight , a play of amber .
 The shadow of pigeons swirling , huge , warm on the wall of the house and awakens all of a sudden a fan , Nonoche
asleep in her basket ...
 His hair has felt the passing shadow of a bird ! It is unclear what happens to him . She opened her eyes too fast
Japanese green that puts the water under the tongue . She looks stupid as a young girl very pretty, and Portuguese
pussy spots seem more messy than ever : an orange circle on the cheek , a black band on the temple , three spots at the
corner of the mouth , near the White flowers with pink nose ... She looks down and the memory of all things back to
her face in a smile triangular against her, drowned her, drove like a snail , sleeping son.
 " How beautiful! she thought . And big ! None of my children has been so beautiful. Besides, I do not remember them
... It keeps me warm . "
 It deviates hollow stomach before getting up , so that his son does not wake up . Then they bomb a camel , sit and
yawn , showing fine striations of a palace thrice stained black .
 Despite many pregnancies , Nonoche retains an air of childish mistake on his age . Her beauty will long solid young ,
and nothing in his approach, his slender figure and flat, it was not revealed , in four litters, eighteen times mother.
Assisi, it inflates a bright crop , colored orange , black and white plumage of a rare bird . The end of her short hair and
provide shine, iridescent in the sun as is the ermine . His ears, a little long, graceful add to the astonishment of his eyes
and leaning his thin legs , armed with scimitar claws short , know the melt confident friendly hand .
 10

 Futile , dreamy , passionate, greedy, affectionate, authoritative Nonoche repels the profane and gives insider 's
marked only the sign of the Cat . Even those do not understand it right away and say : " What beast capricious ! "
Caprice ? point. nerve hyperesthesia only . The joy of Nonoche is close to tears , and there is little wild game ball of
string or wool that does not end in little hysterical , with bites, scratches and harsh growls . But this same crisis yields
to well-placed strokes , and because a skilful hand has touched her small breasts sensitive Nonoche furious collapse on
the side , softer than a rabbit, a vibrant hum any crystalline file it too steep and sometimes makes her cough ...
 " How beautiful! " said she, gazing at his son. "The basket is too small for us both . It's a bit ridiculous , a child who
sucks so much more. It sucks with sharp teeth ... now he knows the saucer to drink , he can roar with the smell of raw
meat , he scratches at my example sawdust Flat, anxious and hasty manner in which I find any ... I see nothing to do
for him except to wean . As my third nipple deep right! It is a pity. The hair on my belly , all around, like a field of rye
paid in the rain ! But what ? when this great little falls on my belly , eyes closed as a newborn when it settles into a
channel around the nipple her tongue became too broad to me ... he plunders and bite me and my drink , I no power to
stop him !
 Nonoche 's son sleeping in his striped dress , dead paws and throat backwards . One can see under the raised lip tip of
her tongue , red having suckled and four small teeth very hard , cut in a transparent flint .
 Nonoche sighs , yawns and straddles his son carefully out of the trash . The warmth of the porch is pleasant to the
legs. A dragonfly in air crackles , and coarse gauze wings brush against bravado Nonoche ears quivering , frowns and
threatens the eye throughout the animal body mosaic of turquoise ...
 The mountains turn blue. The bottom of the valley s'enfume a white mist that tapers , swings and spreads like a wave .
A fresh breath of the lake rises already impalpable, and nose Nonoche brightens and moistened . In the distance, a
familiar voice shouted indefatigably acute and monotonous : " Let v'nez - v'nez going - going v'nez ... my cows ! Let
v'nez - v'nez going ... " The bells are ringing, the wind carries the smell of a peaceful stable and Nonoche think the
bucket trafficking, empty bucket which she lick the crown of foam glued to the edges meow ... A lust and idleness
eludes him . She 's bored. Lately, every sunset brings melancholy annoyed , this vacuum and vague desire ... A little
toilet? " As I 'm done " And the thigh in the air, copy this classic figure Nonoche heckling called "carrying weapons ".
 The first bats zigzag swim in the air . It flies low and Nonoche are two eyes of rats, the red velvet belly fig ... This is
another of those beasts which understands nothing and whose conformation inspires anxiety contemptuous . By
association of ideas , Nonoche think the hedgehog , the tortoise, the riddles, and passes on his ear a foot wet with
saliva , heedless to predict rain for tomorrow.
 But something stops short gesture , something orients his ears forward , darkens the acid green of her eyes ...
 From the depths of the wood when night fell a massive block , above the Golden still trellises, through all sounds
familiar , it did not hear it coming up , dragging , wild , musical , insidious - Call of Matou ?
 She listens ... Nothing . She was wrong ... No ! The call rang again , distant, harsh and sad to cry , unmistakable . The
Hastening Nonoche seems a statue of a cat, and his mustache only stirred feebly , to the beat of his nostrils . Where is
it , the tempter? He dares ask and promise ? He increased his calls, the module is soft , menacing, and yet he
approaches remains invisible , his voice exudes dark wood, like the voice of the shadow ...
 "Come ... Come! ... If you do not come your rest is lost . This hour is only the first , but think that all the hours that
follow will be similar to this one , filled with my voice and messengers of my desire ... Come ...
 "You know, you know that I can lament over all night , I will not drink , I do not eat any more because my desire is
enough to my life and I love gives me strength ! Come ...
 "You do not know my face and who cares! With pride , I tell thee who I am : I am long Matou ragged ten summers ,
hard winters by ten . A box of my legs in memory of an old wound , scarred grin my nostrils and I have only one ear ,
festooned by the teeth of my rivals .
 By dint of lying on the earth , the earth gave me his color . As I prowled my legs semellées horn sounded on the path
like the hoof of the deer . I walk in the manner of wolves , the hind stockings, followed by an almost bald tail section
of sides empty ... My touch and my skin slides around my muscles dry , trained in kidnapping and rape ... And all this
ugliness I am like the Love ! Come ... When I appear in your eyes, you will not recognize anything about me - that
love !
 " My teeth bend your stubborn neck , I sully your dress , I strike you as many bites as caresses , I will destroy thee
into the memory of your house and you will , for days and nights , my wife howling wilderness ... Until the darkest
hour where you 'll find yourself alone, because I mysteriously fled , tired of you, called by that I do not know that I
 11

have not owned yet ... Then you return to your cottage , Hungry , humble , mud- dressed , pale eyes , the backs carved
as if it already weighed your fruit , and you take refuge in a deep sleep where dreams quaking resurrect our love ...
Come ...
 Nonoche listening. Nothing in his attitude does not detect it struggles against itself , as the tempter could see through
the darkness , and the lie is the first set of loving ... She listens, nothing more ...
 In her basket, the darkness gradually awakens her son being held , hairy caterpillar , and tends legs groping ... He
stood , awkward , sits wider than tall, with a majesty childish . The blue eyes and hesitant , which may be green ,
maybe old gold , is troubled concern . It expands to more screaming , which lead her nose buff all stripes converge on
her face ... But he is silent , malicious and reassured that he saw the mottled back of his mother , sitting on the porch.
 Standing on its four legs stumpy , faithful to the tradition that he learned this dance barbarian, he approached the ears
reversed, humped back , one shoulder hunched in little leaps toy terrible, and build on that Nonoche s Were waiting
not ... Good joke! She almost cried. It will surely play like crazy until dinner .
 But a wave of nervous leg assailant threw the bottom of the steps and now a shower of dry taps fell on him, spitting
tours of wild and angry eyes ! ... The head buzzing , powdery sand , the son Nonoche of rises, so amazed that he dared
not ask why or who follow that will never be his nurse and goes very dignified, along the small dark alley , towards
the woods haunted ...
TOBY - DOG SPEAK 
A quiet little home . As an aside , rumors of cataclysm . Kiki la Doucette , cat Chartreux , clings vainly to sum illusion
. A door opens and slams in an invisible hand , after having given passage to Toby , little bull demoralized . 
KIKI- THE -DEMURE stretching. - Ah ah What you have done ? 
TOBY - DOG sorry. - Nothing. 
KIKI - THE - Doucette . - At other ! With a face like that ? And those rumors of disaster ? 
TOBY- DOG . - Nothing, I tell you ! Would to Heaven! You believe me if you want, but I 'd rather have broken a vase
, or ate the small Persian rug which she is so strong . I do not understand. I grope in the darkness . I ... 
KIKI- THE -DEMURE royal. - Heart weak! Look at me. As a top star, I consider this world . Imitate my divine
serenity ... 
TOBY - DOG Interrupting ironic. - ... And lock yourself in the magic circle of your tail, is not it? I have no tail, me,
or so little? And I never felt my back so tight.
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE interested, but feigns indifference. - Tell .
 TOBY- DOG . - There . We were very quiet , she and I, in the study. She read letters, newspapers , and these
clippings pasted that She pompously called the Argus Press , when suddenly : " Damn! She cried . Even goat dung ,
"and under his fist bombarded the table vibrated, the papers ... She flew up, walked to the window to the door, bit his
fingers , scratched his head, rubbed the nose rudely .
 I lifted the carpet from the front of the table and my eyes sought his ... " Ah ! here you are , " she sneered . " Naturally
, there you are . You have the sense of situations . That is the moment you hair with Oriental drapery Turkish skull and
fringes that fall - ball , ball - fringe - fringe bull , of course! This dog makes puns , now! I only missed it ! " In a flip,
she rejected the edge of the carpet that my hair , then raised his arms towards the ceiling of pathos : " I've had
enough ! " she cried . "I want ... I want ... I want to do what I want! "
 A dreadful silence followed her cry, but I answered from the depths of my soul : " Who keeps you worry , O You
who reigns over my life , You who can almost all, Thou who, a voluntary puckering your eyebrows getting close in
the sky the clouds ? "
 She seemed to hear me and left a little calmer , "I want to do what I want. I want to play the pantomime, even comedy
. I want to dance naked , if the jersey annoys me and my humble plastic . I want to retire on an island , if I please , or
frequenting ladies who live by their charms , provided they are cheerful , whimsical, even melancholy , wise , as are
many women of joy. I want to write books and chaste sad , when there will be as landscapes , flowers , grief , pride ,
and the charming innocence of animals which are disturbed by the man ... I want to smile at all friendly faces , and
depart ugly people , dirty and smelly . I want to cherish that love me and give everything to me in this world : my
rebellious body sharing my heart and my sweet freedom! I want ... I want ... I think that if someone tonight, ventured
to say : " But still, my dear ... " Well , I'll kill him ... Or I removes an eye. Or I put it in the cellar .
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE for himself. - In the basement? I would regard this as a reward , because the cellar is an
enviable living room, a dark blue through the window , the fragrance of moldy straw and garlic odor of rat ...
 12

 TOBY - DOG without hearing. - " I'm tired , I tell you ! "( She was screaming this at invisible people , and me , poor
me , I was shaking under the table . ) " And I never see these turtles there! "
 KIKI - THE - Doucette . - The ... what ?
 TOBY- DOG . - These turtles here, and I 'm sure the word. What turtle ? She hides so many things ! "... These turtles
here! They are two , three , four , - cute warblers nest ! - hung with him, and him and coo He writes : "My darling ,
you marry me if she dies , say ? "I think so! He married already , one after another . He could choose . He prefers to
collect . He must - because they are asking ! - Women 's World Cup - Dew - dealing and music that makes spelling
mistakes , the virgin who writes ripe , a quiet accountant hand , the thousand z'horreurs - the American flat brown
thighs , and the whole gang of small sacred cracked -collar flat and short hair coming up, eyelashes lowered and
quivering loins , "O sir, is I who am the real ... Claudine " Claudine True ! minor and false , you bet!
 " All they want my death , contrive me of lovers , and they surround their frantic round Him low , he, fickle lover and
the love He inspires , He that tastes so much this game feel entangled in a hundred little crooked fingers of women ...
He issued each nit- poor and unscrupulous subdued - so little! - Through education , they have lied , committed
adultery , cuckold , with joy and fury of harpies , as much by hatred of me for love of Him ...
 "So ... bye all! Farewell ... almost everything. The I left them . Maybe someday he will see as I see them with their
greedy faces of small sows . It will flee , terrified, trembling, disgusted with Vice useless ... "I panted as She, moved
with his violence . She heard my breath and fell on all fours , his head under the tablecloth , against mine ...
 "Yes , useless ! I repeat the word . This is not a little bull square that will make me change my mind, again! Useless if
He does not love enough or if He ignores the true love ! What? ... my life is so useless? No , Toby . I like . I so love
everything I love ! If you knew how I embellish everything I like, and what gives me pleasure I desire! If you could
understand what strength and what fills my fault that I love ... That's what I call the rustling of happiness . The rustle
of happiness ... impalpable caress that digs down my back a smooth groove , like the tip of a wing -wave hollow ...
Chill mysterious ready to burst into tears , slight anxiety that I seek to reach me and a cherished landscape silver mist,
before a dawn sky where blossoms , in the woods where autumn blows a blackberry , musky breath ... voluptuous
sorrow for days , without bouncing due to a heart more mobile than deer You 're even the rustle of happiness , you
who lie within hours ... and fuller look to the bottom of my safe friend ...
 " You dare say my life useless? ... You will not mash tonight ! "
 I saw the mist of her hair dancing around her head that She nodded furiously . She was like me on all fours , flattened
like a dog that will jump, and I hoped she would bark a little ...
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE rebel. - Barking , It ! It has its faults , but still , barking! ... If it was about four -legged , she
whined .
 TOBY - DOG prosecutor. - She barked point, indeed . She sat up with a bound, threw back the hair that swept the
face ...
 KIKI - THE - Doucette . - Yes , It has the head angora . The head only .
 TOBY- DOG . - ... And She began to talk incoherently: " So , voila! I want to do what I want. I do not wear short
sleeves in winter , or high collars in summer. I would not put my hat on backwards , and I will not go to tea with
Rimmel 's not ... Redelsperger , no ... thing , finally. And I will not go to openings . Because we will walk through a
lot of people in the afternoon and that morning there are claims under the arches where a shivering and naked people
numb with statues, including the basement and the smell of fresh plaster ... It is a time when few women were cough,
thin dresses , and few men wander , with green the mine having spent the night there, without shelter and without
bed ...
 " And the monotony of the first public no longer sees my smile shot , my eyes are widening the length of
intermissions and effort it takes to keep my aging face - reflected efforts by one hundred female faces , stiffened
fatigue and defensive pride ... You hear me , " cried she , "you hear , toad brindle , too little bull attack! I will not go to
the first - if not the other side of the ramp . For I dance again on stage , I will dance naked or dressed for the sake of
dancing , to give my movements to the rhythm of music , turning, burning light , blinded like a fly in a radius ... I will
dance , I will invent beautiful slow dances when the veil cover me sometimes , sometimes surround me like a spiral of
smoke, sometimes tend to run behind my canvas like a boat ... I 'm the statue , a vase of vibrant , bouncy beast The
tree balanced, the slave drunk ...
 "Who has dared to whisper , too close to my ear irritable words of disqualification, debasement ? ... Toby, dog of
common sense , listen well, I 've never felt more worthy of myself ! From the bottom of the severe retreat that I made
 13

in my heart , I sometimes laugh out loud , wake up from the cordial voice of an Italian ballet master : " Hey , my
minions , what you think ? I say: Basque breaks , two! and quick to finish! ... "
 " The familiarity of this professional glossy Southern does not hurt me , nor friendly inertia of a poor little walker and
fifty francs per month, lamenting , resigned : "We artists , is it not, we not always as we want ... "and where the
commissioner turns to me during a rehearsal, his good-natured dog 's muzzle in morsels : "It's unfortunate that you can
not shut your mouths , all ... " I does not think me angry , provided the return , when I throw my hat on the fly on the
bed, a beloved voice , slightly husky , whispering : " You 're not too tired , my love ? ...
 Her voice had softened it with these words . She repeated , as she herself, with a suppressed smile , "You 're not too
tired , my love? "and then suddenly burst into nervous tears , tears bright , round , pressed , drops glistening on his
cheeks leaping Joyfully ... But me, you know, when she cries, I feel the life leave me ...
 KIKI - THE - Doucette . - I know , you began to scream ?
 TOBY- DOG . - I mingled my tears with hers , that's all. I did so badly ! She grabbed me by the scruff of the neck
like a small square bag , cold injuries and fell upon my innocent head : " Evil higher . Dog hysteria. Sausage
larmoyeur . Toad heart of veal. Seal obtuse ... " You know the rest . You heard the door she threw the poker into the
wastebasket , and the coal scuttle which rolled gaping , and all ...
 KIKI - THE - Doucette . - I heard . I even heard , O Dog , which did not reach your understanding of bull simpleton .
Do not try . She and I despise most often to explain . Sometimes , when a hand caressing my inexpert down ,
disrupting a peaceful and sincere purring by khh ! fierce, followed by a sudden lightning claw like a spark ... " What
this cat is a traitor , "cried the fool ... na He saw the claw, he did not guess the nervous exasperation or suffering
Lancine acute skin of my back ... when she acts foolishly , she does not say , shrugging your shoulders square , "She 's
crazy ! " Instead , look for the clumsy hand , stitching and hidden unbearable that manifests itself in cries , in
laughter , racing blind to all the risks ...
DIALOGUE OF BEASTS 
In the countryside , summer . She dozes on a couch rattan . His two friends , Toby the Bull, Kiki la Doucette cat , litter
the sand ... 
T0BY -DOG yawn. - Aaah ! ... ah ... 
KIKI- THE -DEMURE awake. - What ? 
TOBY- DOG . - Nothing. I do not know what I have . I yawn. 
KIKI - THE - Doucette . - Sore stomach? 
TOBY- DOG . - No. Since one week we are here , I'm missing something . I think I no longer love the campaign. 
KIKI - THE - Doucette . - You never really liked the campaign . Asnières Bois- Colombes limited your desires rural .
You were born suburbanite .
 TOBY - DOG does not listen. - Idleness weigh myself . I want to work !
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE continuing. - Commuter ... , I say , and megalomaniac . Work ! O Ptah , you hear it , this dog
unnecessary . Work !
 TOBY - DOG noble. - You can laugh . For six weeks, I have gained my life , the Folies - Elysian , with her.
 KIKI - THE - Doucette . - ... It 's different . She does as he pleases . She is stubborn , dispersed, extravagant ... But
you ! You the draft, the indecisive, now , Snag vacuum , the ...
 TOBY - DOG theatrical. - You have nothing else to say ?
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE ignores Rostand. - Yes, certainly !
 TOBY - DOG arrogant. - Well , it goes . And let me just my bitter regret , my aspirations for an active life , about my
life the past month. Ah beautiful evening ! ah my success ! ah the smell of the basement at the Folies- Elysian ! This
long cellar divided into cramped cubicles , like a ray of laborious and populous hive thousand smaller workers
hurrying by transvestite blue embroidered with gold, a harmless dart to the side , topped with frothy feathers ... I can
still dazzling, this table Entente Cordiale where an army of generals paraded with round thighs ... Alas , alas ...
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE apart. - Toby is the Brichanteau music hall .
 TOBY - DOG which melts. - It was at this time moving the parade as we arrived , she and me. She shut herself up ,
hurry bee in his cell and began to paint the face to look like beautiful little general , above our heads , pounding the
stage with a heel undecided. I waited . I was waiting , sheathed in a gold jersey color beetle , it re-opened his cell on
the feverish corridor ...
 14

 Lying on my pillow, I was panting a little , listening to the sound of the hive. I heard heavy feet Merovingian warriors
, these terrible beings , iron helmets and wings of owls , which arose at the last table, under the sacred oak ... They
were armed with trees uprooted , mustachioed tow blonde - and they sang , wait ... the lovely slow waltz !
 As soon as dawn appeared in the distance ,
Everyone hurries through the forest
For the exquisite joys of hunting
Which we never tired! ...
They gathered there to kill
... In the woods
Throngs
Gazelle
And ten- horns at bay ...
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE apart. - Poetry, poetry! ...
 TOBY- DOG . - Farewell, all! Farewell , my friend glitter , Madam Bariole - Thugs ! You appeared more beautiful
than an army in battle array , chauvinistic and my heart , my heart swells in bull very French , remembering the fiery
verses that you glorify the Entente Cordiale ! Crete ... pink, blue sash , white dress, you were such a beautiful hen
Gallic , and yet you remain
 La Parisienne, red star ,
Bringing his sunbeam !
La Parisienne , the am!
For cha- a - sser spleen
As soon as it is there
All hearts light up !
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE interested. - Who are these worms ?
 TOBY- DOG . - I do not know. But their core rhythm in me reopens sources of bitterness .
 I waited the hour when the Élysées- Girls, lean and hungry players , fall back from their Olympus to hold me, one
after another on their throats flat and hard , leaving me choking, smug , hair mottled plates pink and white ... I waited ,
my heart shook , the last time when she would rise , in turn , of indifference, masked a fierce gaiety impenetrable to
the plate , towards the furnace of light intoxicated ... Listen , Cat , I saw in my life, many things ...
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE apart, pitying. - That he thinks .
 TOBY- DOG . - ... But nothing in my album of memories , this room of the Folies - Elysian , where everyone was
hoping my coming, where they greeted me with a roar of cheers and laughter ! Modest - indeed myopic - I was right in
this strange, disembodied head , whisperer , who lives in a hole at the edge of the stage . Although I had made my
friend, I was amazed every night of his monstrosity , and I cast on him my eyes bulging lobster hello ... My second
was this frisky creature was called Carnac and the teacher seemed place , welcoming all comers the same smile , white
teeth , the same " ah " welcome. I liked all others. Offstage , his young cast painted mouth in a burst of laughter ,
words that seemed fresher than flowers wet ' em to bugger ... poté , sacred little mac ... Old camel dresser , she said
fucking between the legs a zipper that cut my ... " I forgot the rest. After that I had a courteous tongue , licked fingers
menus in this delicate child , I ran from one to another stage- pressed to choose candy that I held out for that simpering
it , barking for that one ...
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE apart. - Entertainer , go !
 TOBY- DOG . - ... And then I forget the time I spent in the preliminary stage right at the bottom of a fold of chiffon
and sequins , cradled against a throat hung heavy necklaces? ... But it disturbed too early My joy came , having spoken
and sung , I err on the skin of the neck, take me back in soft gloved hands who wanted to keep me ... This wonderful
hour ends in absurdity, as she waved to me in the eyes of an audience cheered , shouting: " This, ladies and
gentlemen ! dirty mutt who fact the preliminary stages , "she laughed too, ironical mouth and eyes distant , aggressive
and with that look gay used to mask his real face , you know ?
 KIKI- THE -DEMURE brief. - I know .
 TOBY - DOG prosecutor. - We went down , after , to his cell where light She wiped her face of color , the blue gum
eyelashes ...
 15

 She ... (watching her sleep) . It is there scope. She sleeps. It seems no regrets . There on his face an air of relaxation
and happy arrival. But when she dreams of long hours , his head on his folded arms, I wonder if she does not mention,
like me , these bright spring evening in Paris , all festooned with electric pearls ? ... It may be that shining in the
depths of his eyes ? ...
 KIKI - THE - Doucette . - No. I know myself . She spoke !
 TOBY - DOG jealous. - For me too , she tells me .
 KIKI - THE - Doucette . - Not in the same way . She 's talking about the temperature of the bread they eat , the bird is
flying . She says "Come here. Beware of your behind. You 're beautiful . You 're ugly. You 're my toad brindle , my
friendly frog . I forbid you to eat that dry manure ... "
 TOBY- DOG . - It's already very nice, do not you think ?
 KIKI - THE - Doucette . - Very nice. But our confidence, from her to me , from me to her, are of another kind . Since
we're here , she confided , almost without words, my instinct seer . She delights in a sadness and loneliness tastier than
happiness . She never tires of watching the color change of hours. She roams a lot , but not far , and its activity has
stalled ten hectares confined walls in ruins. You see sometimes standing on the tops of our mountains , carved in her
gown with the wind love the hair turns sleeping as the rights and ears of rye , and like a little genius of Adventure ? ...
Don 't not in emus . His eyes did not defy the space there looking , there only threatens the intruder walking towards
his house, the assailant of his retirement ... I say love?
 TOBY- DOG . - Say it.
 KIKI - THE - Doucette . - She does not like the unknown, and not without trouble that cherishes old place , removed ,
the threshold used by its not childish , this park sad that his heart knows all aspects . You think sitting there beside us ?
She sits at the same time on the warm rock , the other side of the valley, and also on the lower branch of fragrant
pine ... You think she 's asleep? she picks at this moment in the garden, strawberry white ant feels crushed. She
breathes in the arbor of roses , oriental smell of a thousand roses and edible vinous , blackberries in a single day of
sunshine . Motionless and eyes closed, she lives every lawn , every tree and flower - she looks at once like the air blue
ghost in all the windows of his house hairy vine ... His mind runs like a subtle blood along the veins of all leaves
caress the velvet geraniums , cherry varnished , and rolled up the black powdery dust , deep in the yellow trail ... This
is why you see so wise and eyes closed , because his hands dangling , which appear empty and gin all have moments
of this beautiful gold and pure slow day .
MAKEUP 
- At your age , if I put the powder and lipstick , gum and eyelashes , that would have told me my mother? You think
it's pretty, this variegation , this ... this mask of Carnival, these ... these exaggerations that you get older? 
My daughter did not answer. As expected, at his age, my mother had finished his sermon . In silence alone, I guess a
certain irreverence , as the eye of a young girl , glossy , bright , narrowed between curves lashes like the thorns of the
rose , is easily garbled . It would , moreover , that she call her my loyalty , that I question her in a straightforward
manner : " Frankly , you find it ugly? You think I'm ugly ? "
 And I would make the weapons. But it is silent finely and drop " in the cold " my verse on the respect due to the
beauty girl . I would even add , while I am , something about " propriety "and, lastly, I invoke the wonders of nature,
Corolla , pulp, eternal examples - do we imagine the painted pink , cherry painted ? ...
 But time is long past when a shrill girls in the provinces, dipped their fingers into hiding in the flour jar , crushed their
lips geranium petals , and collected under a plate that had licked the flame of a candle , a black smoke as black as their
dark little soul ...
 They are skillful , our girls today ! Cheek shaded darker than pink , an eye elusive , filling , blue or gray, or dull green
, the orbit , the eyelashes in the mouth and striking pins , they are fearless . They are much better makeup than their
elders. For often the woman of thirty or forty years hesitates : " Will I have thirty or forty? Or twenty-five? I call it my
help to the colors of the flower , they fruit? " This is the age of testing, trial and error , errors , and confusion that casts
women in an institute to academy , massage to the sting of the acid to smooth , and anxiety to despair.
 God thank you , they take heart later . Since I treat my makeup and contemporary , I have not met a woman of fifty
who was discouraged , nor a sexagenarian neurotic . It is among these champions it is good try - and achieve - the
miracles of makeup. Where are the old red currant and bitterness , the ungrateful white , blue - child - of - Mary? We
have some lines to intoxicate a painter . The art of arranging the faces, the cosmetics industry which produces , move
almost as many millions as the cinematography . More time is hard on women, more women , proudly , stubbornly
 16

hide it suffers . Trades overwhelming tore his brief rest before the day that was called "frail creature. Heroically
hidden under her paint tangerine, eyes enlarged , a small red mouth painted on his pale lips , the woman gets through
his lie daily, a daily dose of stamina, and pride will never admit ...
 I never gave much esteem for women, since as much admiration as I see it up close , since I am , lying under the light
metallic blue , his face without secrets , full of expression , varied in its wrinkles agile , or new and refreshed to have a
moment left his foreign color . O wrestlers ! This is the fight that you stay young. I do my best, but as you help me!
When some of you I whisper their true age , I am dazzled. One rushes to my little lab as a barricade . It is biting,
rabble , superb:
 - the Job ! Get to work! She exclaims . I have a sale difficult. Is about thirty years now - and all day!
 For his valiant optimism , sometimes I spend the time to set aside a curtain at one of those girls who have stealth , the
greyhound , the hungry , the reluctant eyes and velvety , and who speak little but through it, a finger expert , make-up
keyboard :
 - That one ... And that one ... And then the thing to z'yeux ... And the dark powder ... Ah ! And then ...
 It is I who shall :
 - And when you add you 're my age ?
 One of them got up on my face a long look disillusioned
 - Nothing ... If you think it amuses me ... My dream is to be made up once and for all, for life, I make up a very
strong, so as to have the same figure in twenty years. That way , I hope we will not see me change .
 One of my greatest pleasures is discovering . You would never believe that so many female faces remain in Paris until
middle age, as God created them . But it's time dangerous , and a kind of panic , envy not only endure, but to be born ;
just bitter, late spring of hearts, and strength that moves mountains ...
 - Do you think ... Oh! There is no question for me to change into a young woman , of course ... But anyway , I would
try ...
 I listen , but mostly I watch . A large brown lid , an eye without knowing it , a Roman plays , a little broad , but still
firm, all this beautiful land to explore , enlighten me ... Envy , I have great rewards after makeup : sigh of hope ,
wonder , the arrogance that point , and this look forward to the street, towards " Indeed it will , to the risk ...
 As I write , my daughter is still there. She reads, and his hand is a basket of fruit in a box of candy . It is a child now .
The gold of her hair, I am totally responsible ? It was a peach complexion clear, before becoming, in spite of winter , a
nectarine very dark under a red powder as the pollen of fir ... She feels my eyes , slyly responds , and close to light a
bunch of grapes , black under his ethereal blue haze of bloom :
 - He, too , she said , it is powder ...
BEAUTIFUL DAY - OF - 
The wasp eating jelly gooseberry pie. She put forward a systematic and greedy , head down, legs stuck , half
disappeared in a small bowl pink walls transparent . I was surprised not to see it swell, swell , become round like a
spider ... And my friend did not come, my friend so greedy , just try hard with me , because I pampers its little quirks ,
because I listen to gossip, because I 'm never his opinion ... With me she rests, she willingly told me in a tone of
gratitude that I am not flirt, and I peel his cap or not her dress , an aggressive female eye ... She is silent , when people
say bad things about me with her other friends , she goes to exclaim : " My children , Colette is cracked , it is possible,
but it did is not so nasty that you do ! " And she loves me . 
I feel , to contemplate , that pleasure pity and irony is a form of friendship . We have never seen a woman more
blonde or whiter , or more formally , wearing nothing more ! The color of her hair , her real hair, gently hesitates
between silver and gold , we had to come from Sweden 's hair ringed with a six year old girl , when my friend wished
the " fuss " regulations that require our hats. Under this crown of a metal so rare , the complexion of my friend, in
order not to turn yellow, powder pink brightens , and eyelashes, brown brush , protect a mobile gaze , a look gray ,
amber , may also be brown , a look that can arise , cuddly and supplicant , on male eyes , coaxing and begging . 
This is my friend, which I said all I know , if I add her name is Valentine, with some bravado , by the short time where
small diminutive names of women - Tote , Moute , Loche - have chosen evil sounds of hiccups ... 
"She has forgotten , " I thought patiently. The wasp , asleep or dead congestion , got stuck , upside down in the bowl
of delicious ... I was going to reopen my book, when the bell shivered , and my friend appeared. In a volte she
wrapped her legs too long and her skirt fell down around me , the parasol across his knees , a gesture learned an
actress, model, almost balancing , that my friend succeeded so well each Once ... 
 17

- This one hour for lunch ! You are amazing , you who live between your dog, your cat and your book ! I think you
will succeed Lelong loves dresses without me trying ? 
- ... Come eat and shut up. That ? it 's not dirty , it's a wasp. Imagine she has dug herself this little pit! I watched her ,
she ate it all in twenty-five minutes. 
- What, you have watched ? What a disgusting creature you are , anyway! No , thank you , I 'm not hungry. No , no tea
either. 
- So I rang for the toasts ? 
- If it's for me , do not bother ... I'm not hungry, I tell you . 
- You have tasted elsewhere, little bitch ? 
- Word , no! I am anything, I do not know what I ... 
Astonished , I looked up the face of my friend, that I had not isolated from his crazy hat , big as a parasol, bristling
with rocket blown feather , hat fireworks, big - water Versailles , a giant hat that had overwhelmed the small head to
the shoulders of my friend, without the famous chichi ... The Swedish blond - powdered cheeks pink , bright lips and
rouged , her eyelashes stiff composed his fresh little face as usual, but something down there, seemed changed , off ,
absent. On top of a powdered cheek least , kept a groove purple mother of pearl, lacquered recent tears ... 
This masked grief , the sorrow doll courageous I moved suddenly , and I could not stop myself from taking my friend
's shoulders in a gesture of care which is little bet between us ... 
She drew back , blushing under her pink , but she had no time to recover and sniffed in vain for his sob ... 
A minute later , she cried, wiping theinside his eyelids with the horn of a tea towel . She wept with simplicity , careful
not to stain her dress with tears crepe de chine , not to rid her face , she wept carefully , strictly , little martyr of
makeup ... 
- I can not help you? I asked softly. 
She shook her head , sighed, trembling, and handed me a cup of tea when I poured cold ...
 - Thank you, "murmured she, "you are very kind ... I beg your pardon, I 'm so nervous ...
 - Poor kid ! You do not want to tell me ?
 - Oh! God so . This is not complicated , go . He loves me more .
 It ... her lover ! I had not thought of . A lover she? and when ? where? who ? This ideal model undressed , in the
afternoon , for a lover ? A bunch of absurd images rose , - went to bed - before me, as I drove away , exclaiming :
 - He loves you more? It is not possible !
 - Oh! A great scene if ... ... ( She opened her mirror gold , powdered , dried her lashes with a wet finger .) A great
scene , yesterday ...
 - Jealous ?
 - He, jealous ? I 'd be too happy ! It is evil ... He blames me for things ... I can not help , though!
 She sulked, the double chin on his high collar:
 - Finally , I make you judge ! A delightful fellow , and we never had a cloud in six months, not a tear, not this ... He
was sometimes nervous , but in an artist ...
 - Ah he is an artist?
 - Painter, my dear. And very talented painter . If I could name it , you 'd be surprised . He has in him twenty blood
from me, hat , without hat , in all my dresses ! This is a removed, a wispy skirts ... The movements are wonderful ...
 She brightened a little defeat, his nostrils thin shiny with tears and wiped a small beginning of rosacea ... His
eyelashes had lost black gum , carmine lips them ... Under the ridiculous , stylish hat , in the chichi wig, I experienced
for the first time a woman, not very pretty , not ugly either , if you like bland , but touching , sincere and sad ...
 His eyes reddened suddenly.
 - And ... what happened ? I ventured .
 - What happened ? But nothing ! We can say nothing, My dear ! Yesterday, he greeted me with a look ... a funny look
doctor ... And then suddenly amiable : " Take off your hat , darling ! " he said . " ... I keep you for dinner , eh? I bless
you all your life if you want " it was the hat , precisely, and you know it's a terrible affair to install and remove ...
 I do not know , but I nodded , impressed ...
 - ... I 'm a bit mine. He insists, "I devote myself , I start off my pins and one of my fuss is made in the cap of the hat,
there, hold ... That I did not care , we know that my hair , is it not , and it better than anyone! Yet he who blushed ,
hiding . Me, I replanted my frills, like a flower , and I kissed my friend long arms around his neck , and I whispered to
 18

him that my husband was at Dieppe circuit , and that ... you know ! He said nothing . And then he threw his cigarette
and it started . He told me ! He told me ! ...
 Each exclamation, she knocked his knees with his hands open in a gesture people and discouraged, as my maid when
she said her husband was beaten again .
 - He told me some amazing things , my dear! He was holding first, and then he started walking talking ... "I ask
nothing better , dear friend, to spend the night with you ... (what nerve! ) but I want what I want ... you must give me
what you can give me ! ... "
 - What, Lord ?
 - Wait , you 'll see ... " I want the woman you are nowThe long graceful little fairy crowned with a gold so light and
abundant foam that his hair to the eyebrows . I want this dyed fruit ripened in the greenhouse , and these eyelashes
paradoxical , and all this beauty school English ! I want you, as you are , and not as cynical as the night you give me !
As you come, - I remember! - You come spousal and tender , without crown or curl, your hair untouched by iron, all
flat , twisted into braids. You will come early , no heels , your eyelashes déveloutées , washed your powder , you
come unarmed and sure of yourself , and I will remain amazed at this other woman ! ...
 "But you knew that yet , "he cried , you know ! The woman I wanted, you, as you are, almost nothing in common
with the sister and poor simpleton who goes out of your dressing room every night ! What right do you change the
woman I love ? If you care about my love , how dare you deflower what I love ? ...
 He said, he said ... I did not move , I looked, I was cold ... I did not cry, you know! Not in front of him.
 - It was very wise, my child , and very courageous.
 "Very brave, "she repeated , lowering his head . As soon as I could move, I slipped ... I even heard some terrible
things about women , all women , and on the " extraordinary ignorance of women, their short-sighted arrogance , pride
of brutes who still think Basically it will be good enough for the man ... " What would you have answered you?
 - Nothing.
 Nothing is true. What say ? I am inclined to think like him , him, the man and pushed crude to the end ... It was
almost right . "It's always good enough for the man ! " They are without excuse. They gave the man all the reasons to
flee , to deceive , hate , change ... Since the world exists , they have inflicted on man, in the curtains , a creature less
than he wanted. They steal it shamelessly , in the days when hair reinforcement , corsets rigged , are the least ugly
sticking a "little woman amazing .
 I listen to my other friends, I look at them and I live for them confused ... Lily, the charming , this page with short
curly hair , requires her lovers , the first night , the nakedness of his skull battered felt brown snail , snail fat and foul
the curler ! Clarissa keeps her complexion, in his sleep by a layer of cream with cucumbers, and Annie is all Chinese
to her hair tied with a ribbon ! Suzanne coating her delicate neck lanolin and bandaged with old clothes worn ... Minna
never sleeps without his chin , to delay the thickening of the cheeks and chin , and she sticks to each temple a star in
paraffin ...
 When I am indignant , Suzanne raises his fat shoulders and said:
 " Do you think I am engulfed the skin for a man ? I have no skin replacement. If he does not like lanolin , let him go .
I'm not forcing anyone. "And Lily said , impetuously : "First , I'm not ugly with my curlers ! It's curly girl for
distribution of prizes! " Minna replied to his "friend "when he protested against the chin : " My darling , you're pond.
Yet you are quite happy , shopping, behind you when you say : "This Minna , it is still of virgin oval , "and Jeannine,
who is the night a slimming belt ... And Marguerite ... no, that one, I can not write it ! ...
 My girlfriend, ugly and sad , thinking vaguely listened and guessed that I do not complain enough . She rose
 - That's all you say ?
 - My dear boy, what do you expect me to say ? I believe that nothing is broken , and that your painter lover scrape at
your door tomorrow , maybe tonight ...
 - Maybe he has called? He is not mean at the bottom ... it is a bit crazy, it's a crisis , is not it ?
 She was standing now, all lit up with hope .
 I say " yes " every time , full of goodwill and desire to meet ... And I watched her glide along the sidewalk , its not
shortened by the high heels ... Maybe , in fact , love does ... And if he loves her , time will return when, despite all the
preparations and fraud , she will return for him helping the shade , the faun hair free, the nymph feet intact , to the
beautiful slave flanks without folds, naked as the love ...
WHAT IS THE WHAT IS THE AIR 
 19

- What you do , tomorrow Sunday ? 

- Why do you ask that ? 
Oh! for nothing ... 
My friend took Valentine to inquire about the use of my Sunday , an air too indifferent ... I insist: 
- For nothing ? sure? Come on , tell all ! ... You need me ? 
She gets away with grace, cunning , and replied gently . 
- I always need you, my dear . 
Oh that smile ... I have a little stupid , like every time her little worldly duplicity plays me . I would rather give
immediately: 
- On Sunday , Valentine , I 'm going to a concert , or I go to bed . This year, I often lie because Chevillard is poorly
housed and because the Colonne concerts which follow , are similar . 
- Ah you see ?
 - I think . When we visited Bayreuth , once quite hard when you have enjoyed and Van Rooy as Wotan in Siegfried
Burgstaller suffered , there was no pleasure, but none find it in Column in civilian clothes with his quickdraw sacristan
frenetic childish curls crowned his old lap dancer and her sentimentality seminarian ... An evil chance we meet at
Chatelet , he on the scene , me in the hall a few weeks ago , and I had heard the bellowing - twice ! - A " Ich nicht
grolle " Ms. Maupeou dare to serve parents of province! Before the end of the concert, I fled to the great relief of my
right , the " lady " of an alderman of Paris , my dear !
 - You will Géniez ?
 - I gave him warm . She knows me well, since a separation and property exchange as me . She trembled whenever I
moved an eyelash, let me kiss her ...
 - Ah I understand ! ...
 She understands! ... eyes downcast, my friend Valentine pats clasp purse of gold. It is - but I have told you already - a
vast and tall hat , which abound in the hair of a blond ruinous . Her sleeves make it to the Japanese arm of Penguin ,
skirt, long and heavy , covers her feet pointed, and it takes a terrible stubbornness to look charming under such horrors
... She just said , as if against her:
 - I understand ...
 - Yes, you understand . I 'm sure. You must understand this ... My child , you do not go home ? It's late and your
husband ...
 - Oh! it is not nice to you ...
 Her eyes blue -gray - green-brown , humble, begging me , and I repent immediately .
 - It's a joke , stupid! Well, what did you do my Sunday ?
 My friend Valentine spreads her little arms penguin , comically :
 - Well , here, precisely, it is as if on cue ... Just imagine , tomorrow afternoon , I'm all alone , all alone ...
 - And you complain ! ...
 The word escaped me ... I almost feel sad, this young doll . Her absent husband, her lover ... busy , his friends - real , -
celebrating the Lord closed doors , or spin in a car ...
 - Did you come to me tomorrow , my boy ? But come on! This is a very good idea .
 I do not believe a word, but she thanks me with a glance own dog lost touch me , and it goes away quickly, pressed,
as if she really had something to do ...
 SUNDAY. - My dear lazy Sunday and warm bed and my Sunday gluttony, sleeping, reading, here you are lost,
wasted, and for whom? For an uncertain friend who vaguely feel sorry ...
 Do not sleep , my gray cat satiated, because my friend Valentine is going to ring and enter, rustle , exclaim ... She will
spend her gloved hand on your back , and you shudder to the spine , lifting her eyes on murderers ... You know she
does not love you , you my rustic fur shaved , she went into raptures at the angora capes that have collies and favorites
like Chauchard ... Because you've scratched one day , it s Departs from you , she does not know your little soul violent
, delicate and vindictive gypsy pussy . As soon as it comes, it turns your back - striped , rolled up into a turban against
my feet on the satin frayed by your curved claws that have the shape of wild rose thorns ...
 Shhh ! she sounded ... Here ! She shivers and asks randomly on my face her little nose glossy - it embraces so bad !
 - Lord! your nose has lost consciousness , my darling . Sit in the fire , please .
 20

 - Do not laugh , it's terrible outside ! Do you have a chance , anyway, to be lying ! Four degrees below zero ,
everyone will die.
 In fact, my friend 's face turned to purple , lilac, green plums just starting to mature ...
 A beautiful suit, velvet mice, mold, wife of the neck to feet . The jacket especially , oh the jacket ! ... narrow above,
widened below, the Basque embroidered flying knee, like a second little skirt ... and they threw it, four degrees below
zero, a sable stole an expensive useless scrap of fur - and die of cold and his nose was purple.
 - Small tip ! You could not put your coat in Broadtail , at least?
 She turns half, hat in hand , lost in her veil :
 - No, I could not ! With this method of long jackets , the skirts of it beyond under my coat Broadtail , then I ask you ,
what are we to look?
 - It should extend Broadtail overcoat .
 - Thanks! what next ! Max is very smart , and not too expensive , but still ...
 - There was a sable ... buy more ...
 My friend turns to me as if she would bite me.
 - An ... a sable greater ! I 'm not Rothschild , me !
 - Me neither . Or ... wait ... you should have a serious coat , fur cheaper , which would not sable ...
 Dépêtrée of her veil, my friend dropped his arms tired .
 - Another fur ! ... There is no fur really smart , really dressedOutside of the sable ... A smart woman without sable ,
seriously, my dear , what does it look ?
 What , indeed, can she look like? I do not know. I'm looking , caressing toes, my bed , my " ball of rubber ...
 The fire crackles and hisses , fire and rustic shamelessly Farting and launch small embers roses ...
 - Valentine , you 'll be very nice and take care of the household. Take the tea-table against the bed. The water is
boiling before the fire ! sandwiches , the frontignan , everything is there ... you will not have to ring Francine , I will
not be forced to get up , it will be quiet , greedy , lazy ... Take off your hat, you can support your neck cushions ...
There So !
 She's nice, no hat . A little dressmaker , a little model, but nice . A beautiful golden hair falls roll up his brown
eyebrows and supports a large wave wavy - above , there is still a smaller wave , and then again above , backward
loops , loops , Loops ... It appetizing , clean , both creamy and sharp , complicated desserts like a wedding meal ...
 The lamp, - I have done close blinds and curtains - throw in the faces of my girlfriend a pink blush , but in spite of
powder and velvet ribbon equal , despite the red lips, I guess the drawn faces stiff smile ... It is based on cushions with
a sigh of fatigue ...
 - slammed ?
 - completely slammed .
 - Love ? ...
 Shrug of the shoulders .
 - Love? Ah there there ... No time. With the "first " , lunches, dinners , lunches in the car around , exhibitions and teas
... It is terrible , this month!
 - You go to bed late, eh?
 - Alas ...
 - Get up late . Or you will lose your beauty , my boy .
 She looks at me in astonishment :
 - Got up late ? You talk to your home . And the house? And give orders ? And the accounts of suppliers ? And
everything ... And the maid knocking at my door twenty-five times !
 - Pull the lock , and say that you alone .
 - But I can not ! Nothing would work more at home , this would be the casting , organized theft ... Pull the bolt ! I
think the figure would be behind the door, my big butler who looks like John Bonnefon ... What do I look?
 - I do not know me ... From a woman who sits ...
 - Easy to say ... "she sighed in a nervous yawn . You can pay for it , ye who are ... ...
 - On the margins of society ... 
She laughed with all his heart suddenly rejuvenated ... Then , sadly
 - Yes, you can . UsWe do not allow it .
 21

 Us... Plural mysterious freemasonry imposing those mesmerized the world , overwork and discipline ... An abyss
separates this young woman sitting in dress gray suit , this other woman lying on her stomach , hands on his chin . I
enjoy silent , my enviable inferiority . Softly , I think:
 "You peopleYou can not live anyhow ... This is your punishment , your pride and your loss . You have husbands who
lead you , after the theater , dinner , - but you have children and maids who are pulling you in the morning out of bed .
You have dinner at Cafe de Paris , next to Miss Xaverine Choisy , and you leave the restaurant at the same time , a
little gray , slightly cracked , nerves dance ... But Mademoiselle de Choisy , home, sleep if it likes , she likes it if he
coos, and throws her maid fell asleep faithful : "I hit the sack for up to two hours of the afternoon , and we do not get
bored before or I record eight days everybody ! " Having slept nine hours of rest a fair , Ms. de Choisy awakening ,
fresh , lunch , and is in Rue de la Paix , where she meets you, you, Valentine , all you Valentines to you , my friend,
been up since half past eight in the morning , already on the ball , pale and hollow eyes ... And Miss de Choisy , good
girl , slips in confidence to her dressmaker : "She has a mine, Ms. Thing Early Valentine ! She should stick it one of
the wedding ! "And your husband and your lover at dinner next compare petto, too, freshness rested Mademoiselle de
Choisy your obvious tiredness. You think , angry and reckless : " They are steel , these women ! " Let not, my friend !
They rely more than you. What demimondaine resist the daily grind of some women of the world or even some
mothers ? ...
 My young friend has boiled tea, and fills the cups of a skilful hand . I admire his style a bit you want, just his actions ,
I am grateful to walk silently , while her long skirt precedes and follows a stream obedient and watered ... I am
grateful to confide in me To return , thereby endangering the correct position of a woman who has a husband and a
lover to return home with a loving stubbornness that borders on heroism ...
 The tinkling of spoons , my gray cat has just opened its snake eyes .
 She is hungry . But it does not rise immediately , for the sake of pure cannot. Begging, like a plaintive and cuddly
angora , on a minor melody , fie! ... What does it have air ? ... Valentine said as I handed him a corner of toast burned ,
creaking under his teeth as flint bluish-white , pearl purr and double that of the kettle ... For a long moment , a
whisper-quiet provincial shelters us . My friend sits , arms fallen ...
 - You hear anything , "she whispered carefully.
 I told him not to mention the eyes , softened heat and laziness . It is time ... But would it not better still , if my friend
was not there ? She will talk about is inevitable . She will say : " What is it that looks? " It's not his fault , it was high
like that . If she had children she would defend them to eat their meat without bread, or hold their spoon with his left
hand : "Jacques , you really want ! ... What do you look? "
 Hush! ... she does not speak . His eyelids flutter and his eyes seem to disappear ... I have before me a figure almost
unknown , that of a young woman, drunk with sleep and falling asleep before he closed his eyes . The smile fades
wanted the lip sulks , and the little round chin crashes on the neck embroidered with silver.
 She is sleeping soundly now. When she wakes with a start , she apologizes , exclaiming : " Falling asleep on a visit,
on a chair! What it does is it look like? "
 My friend Valentine, you look like a young woman is forgotten as a poor cloth graceful . Sleep between the fire and I,
the cat purring , the slight rustle of the book that I read. No one will enter before you wake up , nobody will cry , and
looking sullen sleep and my unmade bed : " Oh ! what it does it look ! "because you might die of confusion . I bless
you with a warm , friendly a pity I watch over your constant and virtuous concern for theair that it could ...
HEALING 
The gray cat is thrilled that I do theater . Theatre and music hall , it does not have a preference . The important thing is
that I go away every night , the chop is swallowed, only to reappear around half past midnight , and we again seated in
front of the thigh of chicken or ham pink ... Three meals a day instead of two! She no longer thinks , after midnight ,
to conceal his glee . Sitting on the ground , she smiled without concealment , the corners of his mouth turned up , and
his eyes, flecked with glittering sand , wide open and confident based on my own . She waited all night this precious
time , she savored the victory with a joy that brings it closer and selfish of me ... 
O ash pussy dress ! For the uninitiated, you look like all cats gray earth , lazy , absent , moody , a little soft , neutral ,
bored ... But I am wildly soft and whimsical , jealous in not eating, chatting , paradoxically clumsy , brutal and
occasionally as a young dog ... 
The following June , and I do not play FleshAnd I finished playing Claudine... Finished our dinner head to head ! ...
Do you regret the time when silent , hungry , a bit dazed, I scratched the tip of your little nail head flat cruel beast ,
 22

thinking vaguely: "It went well, what tonight ... " We are alone , stay at home reverted , unsociable , foreign to almost
everything, almost indifferent to all ... We will review our friend Valentine , our " proper relationship "and hear him
discourse on an inhabited world, strange , uncharted us , full of pitfalls , duties , prohibitions, fearful world , according
to him , but so far from me I see it just ... 
During my internship pantomime and comedy , my friend Valentine disappeared from my life, quiet , frightened ,
shy . It was his polite way of blaming my kind of life. I 'm not offended . I think she has a husband in the car , a
fashionable painter lover , a lounge, teas and dinners weekly bi -monthly . You do not see me , is not it , playing Flesh
or The Wildlife Valentine's evening or dancing The blue snake before his guests ... I 'm getting a reason . Waiting . I
know my friend will return decent , kind , embarrassed one day ... little or a lot , but everything to me and prove it, and
that's enough for me to be his obligation ... 
Here it is . I recognized his bell short and precise , his bell in good company ... 
- Finally , Valentine ! That there has long ...
 Something in his eyes, across his face , stop. I do not know , exactly , what my friend has changed . Poor mine? No ,
she has never not look under the pile of powder equal and the smears of pink cheeks. She still looked elegant
mannequin , small waist , hips or refurbished under her skirt tussore blond. She has her eyes blue -gray - green -brown
flowers fresh from their double fringe of eyelashes blackened , and a heap , a pile of beautiful Swedish blonde hair ...
What is it? Dulling of this, a new fixity in the eyes , discoloration moral , if I may say so disconcerting , that stops on
my lips the banalities of welcome ... But she sits , clever to turn in his robe , flattens a slap his shirt lingerie, smiled
and talked and talked , until I interrupt without diplomacy :
 - Valentine , what do you have?
 She is not surprised and answered simply:
 - Nothing. Almost nothing, really . He left.
 - How ? Henry ... Your ... Your lover left you ?
 - Yes , "she said. It's just three weeks today .
 The voice is so sweet, so cold , I reassure myself :
 - Ah You ... you were in trouble?
 - No, she said with the same sweetness. I have not had, I do.
 His eyes suddenly become big , big , interview mine with sudden bitterness :
 - Yes , I do. Oh I have ... Tell me, is this going to last like that ? Do I suffer long ? You would not know a way ... I
can not get used ... What to do ?
 The poor child ... She was surprised to suffer , she does not believe it can ...
 - Your husband , Valentine ... he knew nothing ?
 - No, " she said impatiently , he knew nothing . This is not what it is . What could I do ? You have no idea , you ? For
fifteen days I 'm wondering what to do ...
 - You still love him ?
 She hesitated
 - I do not know ... I want him terribly , because he no longer loves me and he left me ... I do not know me . I only
know that it is unbearable , insufferable , this solitude, the abandonment of everything we loved this vacuum , this ...
 She stood on the word " unbearable "and walk in the room as if a blight forced him to flee , to seek a cool place ...
 - You do not seem to understand. You do not know what it is , you ...
 I lower my eyelids , I retain a pitying smile , before this naïve vanity to suffer , and suffer more than others ...
 - My child, you freak . Do not walk like that. Sit ... Would you take off your hat and crying quietly ?
 In a disgusted denial , she danced on his head all his plumes of colored smoke.
 - Certainly not, I shall not waste time crying ! Thank you ! To get rid of any figure , and lend me what I ask you? I do
not want to cry, my dear. I am the bad blood, that is all ...
 She sits down, throws her umbrella on the table. His face hardened without beauty is not true now. I think that for
three weeks she is decked each day as usual, she carefully constructs his castle fragile hair ... For three weeks -
twenty-one days " - she defends whistle-blowers against the tears , it darkens a steady hand blond eyelashes , she goes
out, receives , gossip , eat ... Heroism doll , but heroism still ...
 Perhaps I should be a great fraternal embrace , hold , wrap , melt in my warm embrace this little being stiff , nose ,
enraged against his own pain ... It would collapse into tears , her nerves would relax n Have not had for three weeks ...
 23

I dare not falter . We are not intimate enough , Valentine and myself, and his sudden confidence is not enough to fill
two months of separation ...
 And indeed what need to soften, coddled by a nurse , this proud force that sustains my friend? "Tears beneficial ... "
yes , yes , I know the cliche ! I also know the danger, the excitement of endless tears and lonely - you cry because you
just cry, and start again - it continues training to suffocation , barking up the nervous Until drunken sleep where we
wake up bloated, mottled, bewildered , ashamed of itself , and sadder than before ... No tears , no tears! I want to
applaud , congratulate my friend who is sitting before me , eyes wide and dry , crowned with feathers and hair , stiff
with the grace of young women who wear a corset too long ...
 - You 're right , my darling, "I said finally .
 I take care to speak without heat, as if I was complimenting his choice of hat ...
 - You are right ? Stay as you are , if there is no cure, reconciliation possible ...
 - There is not, "she said coldly , like me .
 - No? ... So we must wait ...
 - Wait ? Wait for what ?
 What an awakening suddenly , how foolish hope ! I shake my head:
 - Wait for healing , the end of love. You suffer a lot , but there was worse. It is the moment - in one month , three
months, I do not know when - when you start to suffer intermittently. You know the respite , the moments of
forgetfulness animal come, without knowing why , because he 's nice , because we slept well or because we are a bit
sick ... Oh ! my child ! as the times of evil are terrible! It falls on you without warning , without any spare time ... In a
light and innocent , delivered a sweet moment in the middle of a gesture, a burst of laughter , ideaThe overwhelming
memory of the terrible loss of your laughter dries up , stop the hand that wore your lips the cup of tea, and you're
terrified , hoping for death with the naive belief that one can die without suffering as much ... But you not die ... - you
either. The truce will come back irregular, unpredictable, capricious . It will ... it will be really terrible ... But ...
 - But ...?
 My friend listens to me , less suspicious now less hostile ...
 - But there is worse!
 I have not watched enough my voice ... At the movement of my friend, I lower the tone:
 - There are worse. It is when you will not suffer at all anymore. Yes Almost healed , that's when you will be " the lost
soul , " one who wanders , who knows what she seeks , she will say anything ... At that time , the occasions of evil are
benign , and by a strange clearing , truces are abominable , a dizzying empty and insipid that capsized the heart ... This
is the period of stupidity , imbalances ... you feel a heart empty , wrinkled , floating in a breast that swell at times
trembling sighs that are not even sad . We go out aimlessly, we walk for no reason , it stops without fatigue ... We dig
avidly beast instead of pain recently, but failed to draw the drop of bright blood and fresh - it persists on a scar half
dry , we are sorry - I swear ! - we regret the net ... This is the acute burn period arid, wandering , just still sour scruples
... Certainly , the scruple ! Scruples have lost the beautiful passionate despair , trembling, despotic ... It feels
diminished , withered , behind the very poor creatures ... You say , you also: What ! I was , I do that? not even the
same errand of love which flows into the Seine ? " Oh, Valentine ! you blush for yourself in secret until ...
 - Up to ...?
 My God, how she hopes ! Never did I see such beautiful eyes the color of amber, as large eyes , a mouth too
anxious ...
 - Until recovery , my friend , true healing. This comes ... mysteriously. It does not feel it right away. But it is as
progressive as the reward of punishment ... Believe me ! it will come, I do not know when . A sweet spring day , or a
wet autumn morning , maybe a moonlit night , you feel in your heart , and indescribable stretch sensually alive - a
snake is happy that long, long, - a chenille velvet place , - a loosening , tearing silky and soothing as that of the iris
that blooms ... Without knowing why, at this moment , you 'll make your hands behind your head, with an inexplicable
smile ... You will discover a naivete regained, that light pink through the lace curtains , and soft carpet with bare feet -
the smell of flowers and ripe fruit exalt instead of overwhelming ... You will enjoy a fearful joy , pure all covetousness
, delicate, a bit shameful , selfish and careful of himself ...
 My friend took her hands :
 - Encore! again! say again ! ...
 24

 Unfortunately, hope does she? I did not have enough pledged and promised a cure? I stroked her little hands , smiling
hot:
 - Encore! but it's over , my child. What do you want ?
 - What I want? but ... love , of course , love!
 My hands drop to his:
 - Ah Another love ... yes ... You want another love ...
 It's true ... I had not thought of another ... I love everything about this looks pretty anxious face , the graceful body
dressed , arranged, this little stubborn and some front ... Already she hopes another love better, or worse, or like the
one we just kill him ... without irony, but without emotion , I reassured her :
 - Yes , my child, yes . You, you have another love ... I promise you .
MIRROR 
I often meet Claudine . Where ? you do not know anything . disorders hours of twilight, under the overwhelming
sadness of the south white and heavy, these moonless nights , clear yet where one can imagine the glow of a bare
hand, lifted to reveal a star, I met Claudine ... 
Today, it is in the semi- darkness of a dark room , hung with some sort of olive cloth , and the end of the day is
colored aquarium ... 
Claudine smiled and exclaimed : " Hello , my Sosia ! "But I shook my head and say: " I 'm not your double. Have you
not had enough of this misunderstanding that we appends to each other , which we reflected in the other one , who
hides one by one ? You are Claudine, and I'm Colette . Our faces , twins , played hide and seek long enough . I was
lent Rezi your girlfriend girlfriend, you were married to Willy , you who weep in secret Renaud ... All this ends up
tired, do not you think ? " 
Claudine hesitated, shrugged and answered vaguely: " I do not care ! " She shoves his right elbow in a cushion , and
as, by imitation , j'étaie in front of her, my left elbow a cushion like that, I think again my reflection in a crystal thick
and cloudy , as night descends and the smoke of a cigarette up abandoned us ... 
- I do not care! She repeats . 
But I know she's lying . Basically, she is upset for letting me speak first . She loves a bit of a vindictive tenderness , a
dignity that does not exclude a tad bourgeois . For the idiots who confuse us in good faith and compliment his talents
as a mime , she replied stiffly : " I'm not playing the pantomime is Colette . " Claudine does not like musicals. 
Given his bias of indifference , I am silent. I am silent for today only , but I will return to the charge! I will fight ! I
will be strong against this double looking at me , her face veiled by a twilight ... Oh my double proud! I do adorn most
of what is to you ... To you alone, this pure renunciation after Renaud wants to finish any love life ! To you, this noble
immodesty that tells his inclinations ; this literary conjugal charity that made you tolerate many flirtations with
Renaud to you ... still, not mine, this fortress of solitude , slowly you consume you ... Here you have At the top of your
soul , found a retreat that defies the invader ... Stay ahead ironic and sweet , and let me share my uncertainty, love ,
self sterile, laziness tasty , let me my poor little human part , with a price ! 
You , Claudine, wrote a story about a part of your life with a girl who passionately free , for a time , your friends and
enemies . From the pavement of Paris rich and fertile , the substance of the province asleep and fragrant , sprang , like
so many devils countlessly Claudine we were like them both. Round shrill of female children, dressed in short , paid
by a pair of scissors , ribbons and braid their hair for their smooth, they attacked our men intoxicated , stunned,
amazed ... You did not expect, Claudine , your successfully cause your loss. Alas I can not hold it against you , but ... 
- But have you ever, I continued aloud , vehemently wished to wear a long dress and hair bands dishes ? 
Claudine 's cheeks hollow with a smile , she followed my thought . 
- Yes , she admits . But it was pure teasing contradictory . And then, what are you talking to me about imitators ? I
admire your unconsciousness , Colette . You cut your hair behind after me , please ! 
I raise my hands to heaven . 
- Lord! are we there ! You are going to quarrel with me for silly things like that? This is mine . - This is yours ... We
seem to play The dress - O my child ! - The dressBy the late Eugene Manuel ! 
- O our childhood ... sigh ... Claudine 
Ah I knew it! Claudine can never resist an evocation of the past . At these words : " Do you remember ? " She
relaxes , he confides, abandons all ... At these words : " Do you remember ? "she nods , eyes lookouts , listening as to
a murmur of fountains hidden ... Once again the magic : 
 25

- When we were little , she begins ... But I stopped him 

- Speak for yourself, Claudine . Me, I 've never been small. 
It resembles a burst of kidneys on the couch, with the abruptness of a beast which threatens the bite or butt . She asks
me, threatened me with his chin triangular 
- What! You claim to have never been small? 
- Never . I grew up, but I have not been small. I have never changed. I remember me with a clarity , a melancholy that
does not deceive me . The same dark heart and chaste , the same passionate love for everything that breathes fresh air
and away from the man - tree , flower , animal timid and gentle , water sources stealth useless - the same gravity
quickly evolved into exaltation without cause ... All this is me and my child now ... But what I lost, Claudine , my
lovely pride, certainty of being a secret child precious feeling in my soul extraordinary man intelligent, loving
woman , a soul to burst my little body ... unfortunately , Claudine , I lost almost all of this , not to become a woman
after all ... Do you remember the word of our wonderful friend Calliope , the man who begged : " What have you done
great for me you belong ? " That word , I would not dare to think now , but I would say , when I ' was twelve years old
. Yes , I would have said ! You have no idea what I was queen of the land to twelve years! Strong, the gruff , two
braids too tight whistling around me like bits whip hands scorched , scratched , scarred , a square forehead of boy that
I hide the eyebrows now ... Oh ! that you would have loved when I was twelve, and as I regret !
My Sosia smiled, a smile without mirth , in her cheeks dry , her cheeks cat where there is so little flesh between the
large temples and narrow jaws :
- Do you regret that ? she said. So I envy you among women ...
I am silent, and Claudine does not seem to wait for a response . Once again, I feel that the thought of my dear Sosia
joined my thoughts , she married with passion, silence ... "Joint winged , dizziness, they rise like velvety soft owls
greening of this twilight . How late do they suspend their flights without disjoining , above these two motionless
bodies and such , which slowly devours the night faces ? ...
THE LADY WHO SINGS
 The lady who was singing went to the piano , and I suddenly felt an intense soul , a revolt concentrated and immobile
prisoner . While she was cutting the skirts hardly seated , her dress clinging to her knees like a wave muddy , I wanted
syncope , death , or even simultaneous rupture of his four garters . He still had to cross a few meters , thirty seconds,
within a disaster ... But she walked calmly a few feet lacquer , frayed lace a wheel, murmured " Sorry " , bowed and
smiled , her hand already on the dark rosewood Pleyel reflections of the Seine at night. I began to suffer .
 I saw through the fog which is nimbent dancing evenings graduates chandeliers , arched back with my big friend
Maugis defending his arm round his elbows against a glass ... I felt that I hated to be reached until 'At the buffet room ,
while I m'étiolais , secure, seated sideways on a golden cane seat fragile ...
 With a cold insolent, I stared at the lady who was singing, and I kept the grin of a diabolical joy at the find even uglier
than I expected .
 Armoured white satin metal top she wore a helmeted head of blond hair violent and artificial. Any arrogance too
small women shone in his eyes hard, where there were lots of blue and not black enough . The cheekbones , nose,
portable, open , chin strong and ready to row , all it consisted carline a face , aggressive, who, before she spoke , I
could reply , "Eat ! "
 And the mouth! mouth! I tied my painful contemplation on these uneven lips , cleft to the devil with a knife distracted
. I calculated a vast opening that the unmasked earlier , the quality of sounds mugirait this cave ... The beautiful
gueuloir ! In advance, ears whistled me , and I clenched my jaw .
 The woman who was encamped singing lewd, facing the congregation , and climbed into a corset right to bring out
his throat in apples. She breathed heavily , coughed and cleared his throat at the disgusting way of great artists .
 
In the anguished silence which creaked, punk tiny frames scented fans , piano prelude . And suddenly a high note , a
cry pierced my brain vibrating , bristled skin of my spine : the lady sang . At the first cry , sprang from deep within his
chest , followed the languor of a sentence, tempered by the most velvety mezzo , the fuller, more tangible than ever ...
I had heard a referral , I raised my eyes to the lady who sang ... It was certainly grown since a moment . Eyes wide
open and blind , she looked something invisible to what her body rushed out of his armor with white satin ... the blue
of his eyes was blackened and his hair , dyed or not, topped with Fixed a flame , all right . His generous mouth wide
open, and I saw the notes fly burning , some bubble- like gold , like the other round pink pure ... There trills shining
 26

quivering like a brook , like a thin snake ; nits vocals caressed my hand like a troll and fresh . O unforgettable voice ! I
began to watch, fascinated , this big mouth with lips painted , rolled on wide teeth , this golden door sounds , this
jewel of a thousand jewels ... A blood tinged pink cheeks Kalmucks , shoulders swollen with a breath precipitate
throat offered ... At the bottom of the bust in a tense stillness passionate , expressive two small hands twisted their
bare fingers ... Only the eyes, almost black , hovered above us , above all, blind and serene ...
 " Love, ... " sang the voice ... And I saw the mouth irregularly spotted and damp , to tighten around the word by
drawing a picture of a kiss ... A desire so sudden and kissed me so mad that my eyes were wet tears nerve . The
wonderful voice trembled as choked with a flood of blood , thick eyelashes and the lady who sang beat , once ... Oh!
drink that voice to its source , feel the flow between the shiny stones polished teeth , the stem one minute against my
lips , hear it, watch it bounce , free torrent , and grow long cloth I smooth fêlerais a hug ... Being the lover of this
woman transforms her voice - and that voice! Sequestering for me - for me alone ! - that voice more moving than the
most secret caress , and the second face of the woman, her mask irritating and chaste nymph of a dream drunk ! ...
 When I succumbed to delight , the lady who sang was silent . My cry of a man who drowned in a grave political
tumult of applause , in these " ouao - ouao "which means bravo language renowned salon . The lady who sang bowed
to thank , in place between it and us a smile , a blink that separated the world . She took the arm of the piano and tried
to win a door behind her satin trampled , crushed , impeded his steps ... Gods ! would I lose ? Already I could see it
more as a corner of his white armor ... I ran wild, with devastating fury like some "survivors " of the bazaar in the Rue
Jean -Goujon ...
 Finally, finally, I reached it when she approached the buffet, happy island , laden with fruit and flowers, sparkling
crystal and sequined wines .
 She extended her hand , and threw myself , my fingers trembling with a cup ... But she pushed me aside and said
bluntly , reaching a bottle of Bordeaux: "Thank you, sir, but the champagne is against me , especially when I go out to
sing . He falls on his legs. Mostly these gentlemen and ladies want me they still sing The life and love of a womanYou
think ... " And his big mouth - Ogre cave where the bird nests wonderful - closed on end she had a crystal , a smile,
crushed into splinters .
 I felt no pain , no anger. I selected only this: she would sing again ... I waited , respectful, she had a gesture which
scours , wiped his nostrils , corners of her lips deplorable , her armpits ventilated wet , flattened his belly a pat on
severe and strengthened his forehead 'in front of his bleached hair wig .
 I waited , resigned , bruised, but full of hope that the miracle of his voice made me ...
SUM IN BAY 
This fair land , flat and fair , would it be less simple than I first thought ? I discovered strange manners : there fishing
car, we are hunting boat ... " Well, goodbye , the boat is ready , I hope you bring tonight a nice roast snipe ... And the
hunter 's true , cooped up in his yellow raincoat , rifle slung ... " My children, come quick! are the carts coming back! I
see them all full of flounder fillets hanging from stretchers ! " Strange, who is unaware that the game ventures over the
bay and the ferry crossing at Hourdel Crotoy Cotroy of St. Valery ; strange, that did not climb into one of those carts
with large wheels, which carry the fishers along the twenty-five kilometers from the beach, to meet the sea ... 
Rain . We put all the children to cook together on the beach . Some roast on the dry sand, others are cooking in a water
bath in the hot pools . The young mother, under the umbrella of striped canvas , deliciously forgets his two kids and
drunk , his cheeks hot, a mystery novel , as she dressed in gray cloth ... 
- Mom! ... 
- ... 
- Mom, come on, Mom! ... 
Her fat little boy, patient and stubborn , looks , shovel in hand, sandy cheeks like a cake ... 
- Mom, come on, Mom ... 
The eyes of the reading light finally get up , hallucinations , and she throws in a little bark exceeded : 
- What ? 
- Mom , Jeannine is drowned . 
- What you say ? 
- Adam is drowned , repeat the good big boy stubborn . 
The book flies, bending down ... 
- What you say, little wretch ? your sister is buried ? 
 27

- Yes. It was there , just now , she is gone . So I think she drowned. 
The young mother and whirls like a seagull going to cry ... when she sees the " drowned "at the bottom of a sand tank ,
where it burrow like a terrier ... 
- Jojo ! Are not you ashamed to invent such stories to keep me reading? Thou shalt have no cream puff at four! 
The great big goggle eyes innocent.
 - But it's not tease you , Mom! Jeannine was gone, so I thought she was drowned.
 - Lord! he thought ! and that's all that you did ?
 Appalled , her hands clasped, she contemplates her big boy , over the abyss that separates a civilized grown a little
wild child ...
 * * *
 My little bull has lost his head. For kits Sandpiper and Plover Collared he stopped, then went wildly out of breath,
dive among the reeds , sank , and swam clear empty-handed, but happy and shaking around him a fleece
imagination ... And I understanding that the megalomania and holds it feels now spaniel ...
 The Nun and the Knight Piedrouge chatting with Harlequin . The nun bent his head , then short , coquettish , so we
follow her , and utters little cries ... The knight Piedrouge , booted orange morocco , a whistle sound cynical , while
the Harlequin , fleeing and thin the spies ...
 O vicious player , who hope a salacious story in the style and antiquated, think again : I will tell you only the antics of
three beautiful marsh birds .
 They have charming names , these birds of the sea and the swamp. Names that smack of Italian comedy, romance or
even heroic - as Knight fighter, a warrior of another age , bringing breastplate and studded collar , horns and feathers
on the forehead . Chest vulnerable horns harmless , but the male does not lie in his name , because the Knights Affairs
kill each other in the eye with their peaceful female harem indifferent crouched in a ball in the sand ...
 * * *
 In a small cafe on the harbor, fishermen wait to leave, the tide rising and already slyly tickles the keel boats, stranded
sideways on the sand at the bottom of the dock. They are like fishermen everywhere, tarpaulin- knit blue, shoes snub .
The elderly have the beard and the pipe is short ... the current model , popularized by the lithograph and the snapshot.
 They drink coffee and laugh easily with these bright eyes empty of thought that charms us , us earthlings . One of
them is dramatically beautiful, neither young nor old , curly fleece of a beard and a paler than his skin tanned , with
yellow eyes , eyes dreamy goat who almost never blink .
 The sea is rising , the boats dancing in the bay , at the end of their ropes, and toasting the belly . One by one the
fishermen go and shake the paw of the handsome boy with golden eyes : " To review, Canada. " In the end , Canada is
alone in the little cafe , standing on the front windows , his glass of water spirits in hand ... What does he expect ? I am
impatient and decides to talk to him :
 - They go away like that ?
 Its slow movement , his eyes wide designate the high seas:
 - Over there . There's good for shrimp in these days . There's good flounder and mackerel and sole ... Y has a little of
everything ...
 - You do not fish today , you?
 The golden eyes turned to me, a little contemptuous :
 - I am not a fisherman, my little lady . I work (sic) with the photographer for the postcards. I am a " local type ".
 SUN LOUNGER
 - " Tiny , you 're going to cook the blood! Come here immediately ! " So scolding the top of the terrace , just up the
bull dog 's snout Japanese monster bronze color. His mouth , slit to the neck , opens to a small gasp and continuous
short , flowery language of a leaf , a pink begonia. The rest of his body behind , crushed like a dead frog ... She did not
move , she will not budge , she cooked ...
 A heat haze fills the Bay of Somme , where the tide of neap pulsing with pain, flat as a lake . Secluded behind the fog
and moist blue , Pointe de Saint - Quentin seems to shudder and floating, insubstantial as a mirage ... a lovely day to
live without thinking, wearing only a shirt of wool!
 ... My foot feels lovingly naked hot stone of the terrace and have fun at the obstinacy of Tiny, who continues his
treatment for sun with a smile tortured ... " Will you come here , stupid beast ! " And I down the stairs which bogged
 28

down the last steps , covered with sand as the wave more mobile , it works live sand , waves , widening , and create
steals on the beach , with a day of wind , hills that level the next day ...
 The beach and dazzles me back to face , under my bell straw folded to the shoulder , a rising heat , a sudden breath of
the oven door open . Instinctively , I shelter my cheeks , hands open , head turned away as from a burning home too ...
My toes dig in the sand to find, under the ash blond and hot, and salty freshness , moisture from the tide last ...
 Midi sounds in Crotoy , and my shadow is shorter pick at my feet , wearing a mushroom ...
 Smooth feel helpless and under the weight of a relentless day , hesitating, one minute reel , calves screened thousand
needles , kidneys swarming under the blue jersey , then slipping on the sand side of the dog that beats the language!
 Lying on her stomach, a shroud of sand covers me in half. If I move, a fine powder pours stream dips my legs ,
tickling the soles of my feet ... The chin on my folded arms , the edge of the bell of my cane terminal looks and I can
wander at leisure , give me a soul negro in the shade of a hut . Under my nose , jump, lazy , three sand fleas , body of
transparent gray agate ... Heat, Heat ... distant hum of the swell up or blood in my ears ? Death ... delicious and
transitory , in which my mind expands, rises, trembles and fades with the steam that moves to the azure above the
dunes ...
 At LOW TIDE
 - Children, children ... The kids, youngsters , toddlers , bacon, salt of ... Slang is not enough , they are too ! By chance
, returning to my villa isolated and remote, I fall into that frog in the warm basin that fills and leaves each day , the sea
...
 red jerseys , blue jerseys , pants tucked , sandals - Straw bells , berets , charlotte lingerie - buckets , shovels , folding
booths ... all this should be charming , inspiring melancholy. First they are too ! And for a pretty child in apple,
chubby , golden calf erected on hard that Parisians small , victims of maternal faith and routine : " The sea is so good
for kids! " They are there, half naked , pitiful in their thin nerve , fat knees , haunches of crickets , protruding bellies ...
Their delicate skin has blackened in a month , until brown cigar , that's all, and that's enough . Their parents believe
the robust, they are just dyed . They kept their eyes identified , their poor cheeks. Corrosive water peel their calves
poor sleep disturbs their daily fever , and the slightest accident unleashes their laughter or tears easily passed to
nervous small tobacco juice ...
 Pell- mell, boys and girls , it bubbles , wet sand is a "strong" , channeling water from a salty pool ... Two "crayfish "in
red knit working side by side , brother and sister of the same Blonde burned , perhaps twins seven to eight years. Both
under the cap with a pompom , have the same blue eyes , the same cap hair cut above the eyebrows . Yet the eye can
be confused and , like , they are not alike .
 I can not say what the little girl is a girl ... femininely knees awkwardly and turned a little inside ? ... Something in the
hips barely indicated , widens more mellow, with a grace involuntary? No, it is especially the gesture that reveals . A
small bare arm, compelling commentary and draws everything she says. It has a flip of the wrist flexibility , mobility
of the fingers and shoulder , a coquettish way to camp his fist in the fold of its future size ...
 For a moment she dropped her shovel and bucket, arranging something on his head with his arms raised , low back
and neck bent forward, she anticipates , graceful, when she will establish and erect and arched , the tulle of her veil
before the mirror of a bachelor ...
 Crécy forest
 At the first breath of the forest, my heart swells . A former myself rises , starts a sad joy , points out the ears, nostrils
with the scent to drink .
 The wind is dying under the covered walkways , where the air is barely balance , heavy, soft musk ... A wave of
perfume guide the steps towards the wild strawberry , round like a pearl , which ripens here in secret, blackens aspen
falls , dissolved slowly rotting sweet strawberry aroma mingles with that of a honeysuckle green , waxed honey , this
one a round white mushrooms ... they are born that night , and raise their heads carpet crunchy leaves and twigs ...
They are a delicate white and matte new glove , beading , moist nose like a lamb , they smell fresh truffle and tuberose
.
 Under the forest centennial, the dark green solemn ignores the sun and birds . The imperious shadow oaks and ash
banned ground grass, flowers , moss and even insects. An echo is following us, worrying that doubles the pace of our
feet ... We regret the dove , chickadee , one wishes to jump a red squirrel or rabbit bright little behind ... Here the
forest , enemy of man , crushes .
 29

 All my cheek stuck to the trunk of the elm where I lean back , a beautiful butterfly twilight sleep I know the name ...
lykénée Clos, elongated sheet , he bided his time. Tonight at sundown, tomorrow at dawn wet , it will open its heavy
wings mottled with tan , gray and black . He will blossom like a dancer whirling , showing two shorter wings , bright ,
cherry -red ripe , barred with black velvet - under lights , dust ruffle , and festive night that a neutral coat during the
day Conceals ...
PART OF FISHING 
Friday . - Martha said: " My children, go fishing tomorrow at the Pointe! ... Coffee milk for everyone to eight hours.
Self tackle those who are not ready! " And I lowered my head and said : " Cool! "with a joy that does not subject the
irony . Martha combative creature inflicts the joys of a harsh tone and gesture cutting. Peremptory , she completes the
program of festivities : " We have lunch there , in the sand. It takes you, and then the muffler that will buy up all the
fish , and then to Maggie that she carol her beautiful bathing suit ! "
 Then she turned around . I see from afar , on the terrace overlooking the sea , her hair red, which questions the
horizon with an air of threat and challenge. I understand the quick shake of his head warrior, she whispered : " Let it
rain tomorrow and we 'll see ! ... " She goes , and issued the weight of his gaze, the sun can lie quietly in - Beyond the
Somme , humid and flat desert where the sea , on retiring , left oblong lakes , puddles round , ruddy channels which
bathes the horizontal rays ... The dune is purple , with a rare hair grass bluish , oases of delicate creepers such as wind
rips as soon as they hatch , the skirt- veined pink umbrella ...
 The thistles of sand, azure sheet , mix the beef stop- carmine flowers , stopped - ox , a thorn that pricks so short that
we do not distrust him. Flora poor and hard, that does not fade and brave the wind and the wave salt plant that suits
our pugnacious little hostess , this beautiful red thistle , under schoolboy shamelessly.
 Yet here and there , samphire greens , plump , juicy , tangy, and tender flesh of these dunes as pale as snow ... When
this poison Martha , my friend, has infuriated everyone, when it is near - because of his young face of fury in his voice
of schoolboy - to forget that she is a woman, then suddenly laughed Martha , attached a bit red flight , showing the
arms clear , shiny, where it would bite and creaking , fresh , tart and juicy to the bite as samphire .
 The Bay of Somme, still wet , a somber sight Egyptian sky , raspberry , turquoise and green ash . The sea is part so
far that it might come back ever ? ... If she comes back, treacherous , stealthy as I know here . We do not think she
reads on the sand , play , sleep , facing the sky - until a cold tongue , insinuated between your toes , you pulled a
nervous cry : the sea is there any flat, it has covered the twenty miles of beach with a speed silent snake . Before we
have planned, the book she's wet , blackened the white skirt , drowned croquet and tennis . Five minutes more and she
is beating the wall of the terrace, with a plop - plop soft and fast, a motion submitted and happy dog that wags its
tail ...
 A black bird rises from the west, arrow shot by the sun dies . It goes over my head with a squeal of silk stretched and
changed , the cons is obscure, gull snow ...
 Saturday MORNING , 8 hours. - Clear blue and gold, fresh wind, everything is fine . Martha held forth down and
prostrate peoples tremble . I haste now I shall arrive in time to prevent excessive pepper to the potato salad ?
 8am ½. - Check ! self purrs , decked floating scoop nets . From the depths of a green raincoat , from beneath a pair of
curved glasses , the voice of Martha rails against the clumsy zeal of the servants, "those who have stuck stuffed
apricots cons roast pork ! " . However, she condescends to offer me a gloved paw , and I guess she smiled with a grace
Divers ... Maggie , hardly awake , slowly takes conscience of the world outside and smiled in English . We all know
what she hides under her long coat, a swimsuit for music -hall ( picture of the shrimp fishery ). The silencer , which
says nothing, smokes with activity .
 8am ¾ . - On the flat road , which twists and unnecessarily hiding at every turn , a farmer and his cart , Martha , at the
wheel , brakes rather suddenly and growls in his suit ...
 8 h.50. - Turning suddenly, farmer and cart ... Yaw on the left. Martha shouted : " Cuckold ! "
 9:00. - Turning abruptly, in the middle of the road, a little boy and his wheelbarrow with manure. Yaw right . Martha
touches the boy and shouts: " Cuckold ! " Already ! poor kid ...
 9am 20. - The sea, on the left, between dunes rounded . When I say the sea ... it is even further last night . My
companions assured me that it is mounted , during my sleep, until the fringes of small pink shells , but I think not .
 9 h.30. - Cabins ! Three or four black coffins , tarred wooden , stain the dune , the dune sand here so pure , so gently
hilly by the wind , we think of snow , Norway , in countries where winter never ends point ...
 In a still rolling
 30

The sandy hollow alcove

Where , despite the cries of the purple
We can snuggle , and for beds ,
The dune has charming folds ...
 Quiet murmurs , poet modest . Martha, excited , leans on the wheel and bogged down ... two wheels of the car. More
lively than a little bull , she jumps down , says the damage and said calmly: "It's just as well , incidentally. I could not
turn away . "
 We've reached the end of the world . The dune , naked home between his knees round huts black and fleeing the
desert before us that disappoints and comforts , the desert under a white sun, tarnished by a haze of warm days too ...
 10:00. - " Tribe Papuan conjuring the spirit of bitter waters . "This is the legend that write on the back of the snapshot
just taken by Maggie . The " natives "in the heads of seals wet , in water up to their waists , the fighting with long
sticks , shouting rhythmically. They fold the fish in the net stretched across a large elongated lake , a large stretch of
sea that, abandoned by the tide negligent . The swarm will flounder , and shrimp , and flounder and flounder ... Martha
rushes and burrow the banks of shifting sand , with a good activity terrier. I imitated him , careful not to first because
my skin bristles to pass between my ankles feel something flat, bright and slippery ...
 - For you ! to you , God ! you do not see ?
 - What ?
 - Dab , dab , there! ... "
 Here ? ... Yes, a flat plate pearl which shimmers and spins midwater ... Heroic , I search the depths of the water ,
crawling on his belly , dragging over the knees ... A brief yelp : Marthe that cries of triumph and raised his arm at the
end of the dinner plate streaming writhing in beats ... I 'll die of jealousy if I return empty-handed ! Where is the Silent
? oh the loose, scoop nets fishing ! And Maggie ? I'm fine, she swims , concerned only with its plastic and its
raspberry silk shirt ... Marthe only cons is that I fight , Martha, and his cap of red hair stuck Martha roped in the big
blue jersey , with small mathurin round butt ... The beasts, beasts , I feel them , they taunt me ! A large sandeel pearl
springs soft sand , drawing in the air, its tail of a serpent, a glittering monogram and sinks ...
 11:00. - The Papuan tribe has finished his incantations. The Spirit of Water bitter , sensitive to screams rituals , filled
flatfish nets . On the sand , still captive mesh paved dying beautiful flounder belly moving , the insipid flounder,
plaice and indelibly splattered with blood ... But I do want the prey hunted by my own hands scratched , peeling
between my knees with sand and shells ... The sharp dip nets , I know now is a big canary -dived nose right between
my ankles and attached it crashes - the lemon is no more malignant ... We fish coast to coast , Martha and me , and
even yelp escapes us , when the plug is beautiful ...
 11h ½. - The sun baked our necks , our shoulders emerging from the warm water and corrosive ... The wave, before
our tired eyes , dancing ripples glaucous , with golden rings , necklaces broken ... Ouch , my back ... I 'm looking for
my companions mute, the Silencers happens , just like Martha , exhausted , groaning : " I'm hungry ! " ... The Silent
smokes his big cigar and let him do that instead of a proud smile . He tends to us the scoop nets full of pearls live ...
 Maggie is in turn excited by itself : it took seven shrimp and a child Sole ...
 - Soup , kids ! cried Martha. The natives carrying the game out to the car.
 - Oh! we will take all? there are at least fifty pounds !
 - First , it melts much cooking . We eat fried tonight , tomorrow morning gratin , tomorrow evening broth ... And then
we eat in the kitchen , and we may give to the neighbors ...
 1 hour. - Sitting under the tent , we lunched slowly sobered ... There, after the blinding desert without shade ,
something mysteriously end , purrs and approaches - the sea! ... The champagne does not galvanize us , migraine flat
laboring over our heads ...
 We contemplate unceremoniously . Martha has pinched a sunburn on his little nose bull . The Silent yawns and chews
his fifth cigarette . Maggie shocks us a little too white and too naked in his jersey raspberry ...
 - What it feels like ? exclaimed Martha. It reeks of musk , and I do not know what else ...
 - But it's the fish ! Nets full hanging there ...
 - My hands stink too . It flounder musky smelling that rotten ... If we gave a bit of fish native to these brave ? ...
 2:00. - Back bleak. We smell our hands on the sly . Everything smells of raw fish : the cigar of the Silent, the jersey
of Maggie , her hair wet Martha ... The west wind , soft and hot, smells like fish ... The smoke from the car and the icy
shadow dune blue , and all this day, feel the fish ...
 31

 3:00. - Arrival. The house smells of fish . Wild, won the heart , Martha retreats into her room. The cook knocks at the
door:
 - Madam does she tell me if it is fried or baked dabs tonight ?
 A door opens furiously and Martha 's voice shouted :
 - You will oblige me to do away from home all that crap tide ! And during a week I forbid you to use something other
than boiled eggs and roast chicken !
MUSIC HALLS 
Is repeated in costume, X- ... a pantomime that releases include "sensational " . The long corridors that feel the plaster
and ammonia , in the depths of the orchestra pit indistinct flow and hasten worrying larvae ... Nothing works . Not
finished , the scene who drinks too dark and the light does not make it ; incorrectly set , playing halo projector - and
this window garlanded rustic red grape , which opens with a good grace , but refuses to close ! ... 
Mime W ... overworked , because his lady - aux- camellias , hand on the stomach to contain a hoarse cough , coughing
frightened, coughing to death with a jaw jerking drama ! Little ... love was in his confusion , made up as drunken , red
nose and pale ears , what it means to appoint , through the medium of mime expiring W ... " stove , a shoemaker , "
and even " Vaseline . " Nothing works, nothing will work !
 
The boss is there, on the plateau , as the big sponsor , one that moves only for the " numbers " expensive . The
composer - a big guy who seems to have soft bones anywhere - leaving all hope, has dug up behind one carrying the
pot of repetitions , the piano sounding exhausted Mustel fluids , and cleans ears, as he says, with a little Debussy ...
"My long hair down to the bottom of the tower... As for the musicians of the orchestra , they are concerned, certainly ,
improving the breed of horses in France , the bass flute, the Jockey circulates ... 
- And Mrs. pout ? exclaims the boss nervous, you do not see often ! 
- Her dress is not ready , exhale mime W ... in one breath.
 The boss jumps and barks in the foreground , his jaw hung over the orchestra.
 - What ? what do you say? His dress not ready ? a costume change when one passes tonight! It blows to be nesting , it
, kid ...
 Helpless gesture of mime W ..., what may be a farewell to life, it's so cold! ... Suddenly the dying man leaped like a
pelota player and found a voice yells out Beadle :
 - N ... D ... ! not touch that! ling is my currant juice !
 With hands as a nurse , he wields his knife and tries to fake , precision attachment bleeding drops of red and syrupy ...
 - Ah Here Madame pout ! finally!
 We rush , with exclamations of relief to the main interpreter. The main sponsor ensures his monocle . Ms. pout ,
which has cold shivers elbows, shoulders and shakes under his suit may be Montenegrin , Croatian probably ,
certainly moldovalaque with something Dalmatian in the general shape ... She is hungry , she just spend four hours
standing in Landolff , she yawns of irritation ...
 - Let's see this famous costume !
 It is a disappointment. "Too easy! " murmured the skipper . " A bit dark ! " drops the big sponsor . The author of the
music , forgetting PelleasAnd closer, undulating and boneless , and said thickly : " Funny, I did not see him like
that ... I would have liked something green , with gold , and then with a lot of Widget hanging and ... furbished , the ...
the zédipoifs , what ! "
 But the mime ... W , enchanted, said that the red -pink that represent the flatness of dead leaves and the gray cast-offs
smuggler . Ms. pout , eyes also does nothing and only wish all the strength of his soul , a ham sandwich , or two - or
three - with mustard ...
 Silence worried .
 - Finally , says the boss , see the following ... Go ahead , W ... take your scene when you would pull her dress ...
 The bronchitis, pneumonia becomes a gesture of his face, raw mountain , and street dagger standing on Ms. pout ,
pout suddenly became starved of a female hunted , panting , claws ready ... They fight Briefly , the robe is torn from
the neck to the ankles, Ms. pout appears half-naked , completely reversed the neck with a knife ...
 - Hey ! ... stop , my children ! the effect is excellent! But , wait ...
 The men are close to the main interpreter. Studious silence. It leaves , more indifferent than filly for sale, their eyes
wander over his bare shoulders , the leg outside the visible slit tunic ...
 32

 The boss looks , Clapp lips , grumbles :

 - Of course, of course ... This is not ... It is not enough ... not enough naked there !
 The filly shudders as indifferent stung by a horsefly .
 - Not enough naked! what you need ?
 - Hey I need ... I do not know me. The effect is good but not brilliant enough , not quite naked , I repeat the word !
Keep this muslin throat ... It moved , it's ridiculous , it's cramped ... I would ...
 Inspired , the boss was down three steps , extends his arm, and the voice of an aeronaut leaving the earth
 - Drop a breast! He cried .
 * * *
 Framework. Repeat this journal . A review like all the reviews . This confinement , 1 to 7:00 , an entire residential
and poor light , chatty , plumed - aggressive big hats , boots which scratched the kid turns blue , thin jackets that "
warming "of a tower Fur Neck ...
 Few men . The richest shopkeeper shine with elegance , the less fortunate are intermediate between the lad and the
wrestler. Some still stick to old-fashioned kind of art student operetta - a lot of hair and some clothes , but what
scarves !
 Everyone , from the icy street in the lobby , the same sigh of relaxation and arrival, because of the unhealthy as well
blow the heat radiators ... On the set , the pot is already running rehearsals , reinforced for dancing , Violin vinegar .
Thirteen British dancers struggling with a cold frenzy. They dance in this half - night rehearsals, as they dance the
night of the general , no worse nor better. They throw her into the empty orchestra , childlike smile , seductive eyes
and innocent they caress , the first, the proscenium ... A military consciousness animates their bodies slender and hard,
until the moment of return , Bringing it passed , children lean and gay , fed sandwiches and mints ...
 A walkway camaraderie of small group trapped walkers to three pounds a month , those six or eight times a change of
costume in the Journal . Around a table , bar , they chat as they eat , with fever , with gluttony , many of which draw
the needle and mend the clothes of a kid ...
 One of them attracted by its slim androgynous . She wears her hair short with a felt masculine , very elegant Rat-
Mort. Legs crossed under her tight skirt she smokes and walks around it looks real and a cheeky Mademoiselle de
Maupin . A moment later , finished her cigarette , she knits , shoulders low , a pair of slippers ... Poor little child
Maupin of Montmartre , which features befitting a vice as it adopts the hat of the day . " What you want, we have no
hidden toilet , with two suits and two galures I tailor my season and then there are men who like it ... "
 A plump, shiny -eyed and snub , beefy , stocky , sews a deft hand and professional, talking bitterly. "They we will still
stick a general at half past midnight , as is convenient ... I live I the Lion of Belfort , because my husband is a
locksmith ... So you see, the overall finish on the half past three , maybe four hours , and I 'm sure back on my feet ,
just in time to make soup for my husband who goes to half past five , and then , after the two kids that need ' They go
to school ... " This is not a revolt, moreover , each profession has its troubles , is not it ?
 In a pre- bath scene, a group cute , feathered , fur , angora , is isolated and lounge . It is the future and gossip talker
engaged for three verses , and the girlfriend of one of the authors and the sponsor of the big win ... They all , between
three hundred and two thousand francs a month , but we have foxes two hundred pounds, and necklaces of pearls ...
We plucked asked , suspicious . Play It to the artist , oh! God no . We do not talk business. They say : "I've had many
problems with my car ... I will not go to Monte Carlo this winter , I hate the game ! And then , after the review , I am
so happy to get some rest at home, not go out at night! My friend loves family life ... we have a little girl of four who
is a love ... "
 Here, as later , the child is doing great , legitimate or not. I hear : " The teacher ... My Baby Jacques who is already a
man, my dear, " One of them and admits modestly adds four boys . They are cries of amazement and envy ... The
young hen , fresh as an apple, is cocking with a pout like a spoiled child .
 Opposite her , the prettiest of all meditate , fingers teasing her heavy necklace of iridescent beads , and fixed in a
vacuum purple blue eyes , a shade unique and certainly very expensive . She finally whispers , "It makes me think that
I have not had a child for two years ... I must have one in fourteen months in ... . " And as we laughed about her, she
explained , Peaceable , "Yes , in fourteen months. It will give me much good , there is nothing that " purifies "the
blood as a birth . It is a complete renewal , we have a foundation, later! ... I have friends who spend their lives to serve
, to use drugs to stick things on ... I figure , instead of here , I 'm having a child is much more healthy "( strictly sic) 
 33

Leaving the walk , I graze foot something dragging on the carpet dirty ... a little more, I crushed one hand , a small
child leg , palm up ... Little English sit there on the floor heap . Some, seated , lean against the wall, others are thrown
across their knees or huddled in the fetal and sleep . I see a thin arm , bare to the elbow , hair light red in shell over a
sensitive ear anemic ... Sleep miserable and confident, and graceful repose heartbreaking young overworked beasts ...
We think of a litter of orphaned kittens Who huddle to keep warm ... 
END.