At one o’clock in the morning

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It’s true that I’ve been going to bed at 5:00 a.m. lately, but it’s 1:00 a.m. that means more to me, with how it simultaneously ends and starts the day, how there’s the promise of an intimate discovery at that blended hour.

And if I hadn’t been so enamored of Bohumil Hrabal’s Too Loud a Solitude at the inception of this glob, I would have had the frame of mind to remember that “At One O’clock in the Morning,” from Baudelaire’s Paris Spleen, to be my mostest favoritest prose poem, and then its title would very surely have been chosen as the name for this space. What will suffice now, instead, is to have the poem’s title added to the glob’s tagline—and also tattooed on my arm in the original French, À une heure du matin. I’ve been wanting this tattoo for nearly a year now, in fact, but haven’t had it done yet because I’m still looking for the right font. What “right” means, I’m not sure, but something of a vintage decoration. Might somebody recommend a font?

In the meantime, here are three subtly different translations of this short piece, with Louise Varèse’s being my favorite (the original French appears after the jump). The poem spoke so strongly to me when I first read it years ago as I struggled to discover my place in this city. It speaks to me today still, as I struggle to not be complacent here, to not bury my hands in gloves at the merest hint of human contact, as I wonder about Baudelaire’s “why?”s which he evokes so slyly, and then about my own which I call up so painfully. Mostly, I find myself attracted to, and shaken up by, this total solitude at 1:00 a.m., and from reaching for those same verses that this great and curmudgeonly poet had so utterly claimed for himself.

Louise Varèse’s translation, which drops “At” from the title:
At last! I am alone! Nothing can be heard but the rumbling of a few belated and weary cabs. For a few hours at least silence will be ours, if not sleep. At last! the tyranny of the human face has disappeared, and now there will be no one but myself to make me suffer.

At last! I am allowed to relax in a bath of darkness! First a double turn of the key in the lock. This turn of the key will, it seems to me, increase my solitude and strengthen the barricades that, for the moment, separate me from the world.

Horrible life! Horrible city! Let us glance back over the events of the day: saw several writers, one of them asking me if you could go to Russia by land (he thought Russia was an island, I suppose); disagreed liberally with the editor of a review who to all my objections kept saying: “Here we are on the side of respectability,” implying that all the other periodicals were run by rascals; bowed to twenty or more persons of whom fifteen were unknown to me; distributed hand shakes in about the same proportion without having first taken the precaution of buying gloves; to kill time during a shower, dropped in on a dancer who asked me to design her a costume for Venustre; went to pay court to a theatrical director who in dismissing me said: “Perhaps you would do well to see Z. . . . ; he is the dullest, stupidest and most celebrated of our authors; with him you might get somewhere. Consult him and then we’ll see”; boasted (why?) of several ugly things I never did, and cravenly denied some other misdeeds that I had accomplished with the greatest delight; offense of fanfaronnade, crime against human dignity; refused a slight favor to a friend and gave a written recommendation to a perfect rogue; Lord! let’s hope that’s all!

Dissatisfied with everything, dissatisfied with myself, I long to redeem myself and to restore my pride in the silence and solitude of the night. Souls of those whom I have loved, souls of those whom I have sung, strengthen me, sustain me, keep me from the vanities of the world and its contaminating fumes; and You, dear God! grant me the grace to produce a few beautiful verses to prove to myself that I am not the lowest of men, that I am not inferior to those whom I despise.

A version from the Internet somewhere:
Alone, at last! Not a sound to be heard but the rumbling of some belated and decrepit cabs. For a few hours we shall have silence, if not repose. At last the tyranny of the human face has disappeared, and I myself shall be the only cause of my sufferings.

At last, then, I am allowed to refresh myself in a bath of darkness! First of all, a double turn of the lock. It seems to me that this twist of the key will increase my solitude and fortify the barricades which at this instant separate me from the world.

Horrible life! Horrible town! Let us recapitulate the day: seen several men of letters, one of whom asked me whether one could go to Russia by a land route (no doubt he took Russia to be an island); disputed generously with the editor of a review, who, to each of my objections, replied: ‘We represent the cause of decent people,’ which implies that all the other newspapers are edited by scoundrels; greeted some twenty persons, with fifteen of whom I am not acquainted; distributed handshakes in the same proportion, and this without having taken the precaution of buying gloves; to kill time, during a shower, went to see an acrobat, who asked me to design for her the costume of a Venustra; paid court to the director of a theatre, who, while dismissing me, said to me: ‘Perhaps you would do well to apply to Z——; he is the clumsiest, the stupidest and the most celebrated of my authors; together with him, perhaps, you would get somewhere. Go to see him, and after that we’ll see;’ boasted (why?) of several vile actions which I have never committed, and faint-heartedly denied some other misdeeds which I accomplished with joy, an error of bravado, an offence against human respect; refused a friend an easy service, and gave a written recommendation to a perfect clown; oh, isn’t that enough?

Discontented with everyone and discontented with myself, I would gladly redeem myself and elate myself a little in the silence and solitude of night. Souls of those I have loved, souls of those I have sung, strengthen me, support me, rid me of lies and the corrupting vapours of the world; and you, O Lord God, grant me the grace to produce a few good verses, which shall prove to myself that I am not the lowest of men, that I am not inferior to those whom I despise.

And the incomparable Google translator:
Finally! only! One hears nothing any more but the bearing of some delayed and éreintés hackney carriages. During a few hours, we will have silence, if not the rest. Finally! the tyranny of the human face disappeared, and I will not suffer any more but by myself.

Finally! it is thus allowed to me to be rested in a bath of darkness! Initially, a double tower with the lock. It seems to to me that this turn of key will increase my loneliness and will strengthen the barricades which currently separate me from the world.

Horrible life! Horrible city! Let us recapitulate the day: to have seen several men of letters, of which one asked to me whether one could go to Russia by overland route (it undoubtedly took Russia for an island); to have disputed liberally against the director of a review, which with each objection answered: “It is here the party of the decent people”, which implies that all the other joumaux ones are written by rascals; to have greeted a score of people, of which fifteen are unknown for me; to have distributed handshakes in the same proportion, and that without to have taken the precaution to buy gloves; to be gone up to kill time, during a downpour, at jumping which asked me to draw a costume of Vénustre to him; to have made my court with a theatre director, which said to me by congédiant me: “— You would make perhaps well address to you to Z——–; it is heaviest, most stupid and most famous of all my authors, with him you could perhaps lead to something. See it, and then we will see”; to be praised to me (why?) several unpleasant actions that I forever made, and to have loosely denied some other misdeeds which I achieved with joy, offence of fanfaronnade, crime of human respect; to have refused with a friend a service easy, and given a recommendation written to perfect funny; ouf! is this well finished?

Dissatisfied with all and dissatisfied with me, I would like to repurchase me well and enorgueillir me a little in the silence and the loneliness of the night. Hearts of those which I liked, hearts of those which I sang, strengthen, support me, move away me from me the lie and the corrupting vapors of the world, and you, Seigneur my God! grant to me the grace to produce some beautiful towards which prove to me with myself that I am not the last of the men, that I am not lower than those which I mistake!

French:
Enfin! Seul! On n’entend plus que le roulement de quelques fiacres attardés et éreintés. Pendant quelques heures, nous posséderons le silence, sinon le repos. Enfin! la tyrannie de la face humaine a disparu, et je ne souffrirai plus que par moi-même.

Enfin! il m’est donc permis de me délasser dans un bain de ténèbres! D’abord, un double tour à la serrure. Il me semble que ce tour de clef augmentera ma solitude et fortifiera les barricades qui me séparent actuellement du monde.

Horrible vie! Horrible ville! Récapitulons la journée: avoir vu plusieurs hommes de lettres, dont l’un m’a demandé si l’on pouvait aller en Russie par voie de terre (il prenait sans doute la Russie pour une île); avoir disputé généreusement contre le directeur d’une revue, qui à chaque objection répondait: «— C’est ici le parti des honnêtes gens,» ce qui implique que tous les autres journaux sont rédigés par des coquins; avoir salué une vingtaine de personnes, dont quinze me sont inconnues; avoir distribué des poignées de main dans la même proportion, et cela sans avoir pris la précaution d’acheter des gants; être monté pour tuer le temps, pendant une averse, chez une sauteuse qui m’a prié de lui dessiner un costume de Vénustre; avoir fait ma cour à un directeur de théâtre, qui m’a dit en me congédiant: «— Vous feriez peut-être bien de vous adresser à Z——–; c’est le plus lourd, le plus sot et le plus célèbre de tous mes auteurs, avec lui vous pourriez peut-être aboutir à quelque chose. Voyez-le, et puis nous verrons;» m’être vanté (pourquoi?) de plusieurs vilaines actions que je n’ai jamais commises, et avoir lâchement nié quelques autres méfaits que j’ai accomplis avec joie, délit de fanfaronnade, crime de respect humain; avoir refusé à un ami un service facile, et donné une recommandation écrite à un parfait drôle; ouf! est-ce bien fini?

Mécontent de tous et mécontent de moi, je voudrais bien me racheter et m’enorgueillir un peu dans le silence et la solitude de la nuit. Ames de ceux que j’ai aimés, âmes de ceux que j’ai chantés, fortifiez-moi, soutenez-moi, éloignez de moi le mensonge et les vapeurs corruptrices du monde, et vous, Seigneur Dieu! accordez-moi la grâce de produire quelques beaux vers qui me prouvent à moi-même que je ne suis pas le dernier des hommes, que je ne suis pas inférieur à ceux que je méprise!

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