Folly, error, sin, and stinginess

Folly, error, sin, and stinginess Possess our spirits and labor our bodies, And we feed our amiable regrets, As beggars nourish their vermin. Our sins are stubborn, our repentances are faint; We demand a high price for our confessions, And we gaily return to the muddy path, Believing vile tears can wash away all our stains. On the pillow of evil, it is Satan Trismegistus Who long lulls our enchanted spirit, And the rich metal of our will Is all vaporized by this learned chemist. It is the Devil who pulls the strings that move us! In disgusting objects we find allure; Each day we descend one step toward Hell, Without horror, through shadows that stink. Like a penniless libertine who kisses and eats The tortured breast of an ancient whore, We steal a clandestine pleasure in passing That we squeeze hard like an old orange. Tight-knit, swarming, like a million helminths, A nation of Demons revels in our brains, And, when we breathe, Death into our lungs Descends, an invisible river, with dull complaints. If rape, poison, the dagger, and fire Have not yet embroidered their pleasant designs On the banal canvas of our pitiful destinies, It is because our soul, alas! is not bold enough. But among the jackals, the panthers, the hounds, The monkeys, the scorpions, the vultures, the snakes, The shrieking, howling, growling, crawling monsters, In the infamous menagerie of our vices, There is one more ugly, more wicked, more filthy! Though he makes no grand gestures nor loud cries, He would willingly turn the earth to debris And in a yawn swallow the world; He is Ennui! — his eye heavy with an involuntary tear, He dreams of scaffolds while smoking his hookah. You know him, reader, this delicate monster, — Hypocrite reader, — my likeness, — my brother!