RECIPE FOR HOPE BUNS

Hugtto! Pretty Cure - Episode 29
My Own Review

RECIPE FOR HOPE BUNS

Hana introduces her friends to her grandmother in the 29th episode of Hugtto! PreCure. She runs an okashi shop, but her old age has started to catch up to her…

Hana hugs her grandmother

The episode starts with an excited Hana leading her friends to a place called Tanpopo House, where they meet Hana’s grandmother – Tanpopo Nono (her first name means Dandelion, and she has the floofy hair to match!).

She makes okashi (traditional Japanese sweets), and prepares a batch of dorayaki for everyone to sample.

Tanpopo’s dorayaki is a big hit

After eating the dorayaki, Hana tries to draw more customers to the shop by handing out free samples.

One person who tries is a loyal customer of Tanpopo House.

Yone is not only a regular, but the old lady's about a decade younger best friend and confidante.

 Yone can tell that the quality of Tanpopo House has gone down

Yone knows that Tanpopo House’s products used to be far better than they are now. She says that directly to Tanpopo, who pretty much just tells her to go away if she is going to complain. That’s exactly what Yone does.

Tanpopo is determined to prove Yone wrong, and, after chasing her friend off, attempts to make a new batch of ‘mega-dorayaki’. However, she ends up throwing her lower back out.

 Tanpopo ends up hospitalised
We get a rare case of an older character throwing their back out not being played for laughs, and Tanpopo going to hospital.

She doesn’t want Hana to see her in that state – Hana tries to protest, but Homare encourages Hana to go on a walk with everybody else.

 Everyone end up at Yone’s place, a rice shop, where they have a chat. Yone has been aware of the declining quality of Tanpopo’s treats for a while now – she talks about how all her okashi used to be amazing, and mentions ‘hope buns’ (kibou manju) – treats that Tanpopo used to make before Hana’s grandfather passed away. Tanpopo had stopped making hope buns after becoming a widow, because the recipe reminded her too much of her husband...

The usual locket keepsake...

ALLONS-Y!!

Youne even mentioned that Hana's grandfather used to create a special manju bun called Hope Bun (Kibou Manju) that was delicious but Tanpopo stopped making it after his passing. Hana decided to make Hope Buns although she has no idea how to make it... (Face palm)

Hana is eager to make hope buns, but there is a small problem…

Hana decides that they should recreate those hope buns – though nobody knows how. Fortunately, there happens to be an old notebook with the hope bun recipe just laying around. On Grandpapa's altar, no less!

Hana went to her grandfather's altar to find answers and Hug-tan pointed a notebook on top of the altar. Hana then found the recipe of the Hope Buns and started creating a batch with her friends.
While making, Hana also learns the love (ai: agape or unconditional love) and dedication (ganbare) that her grandmother has put in making the treats and was determined to get it right. 

 It’s tough, but Hana is determined to make hope buns

It’s quite a struggle, but when Hana thinks about Tanpopo exerting herself so much everyday, she finds the strength to push on and make the hope buns. Of course, Hana is also supported by the other Cures, too.


Whilst they do that, Yone visits Tanpopo.

Tanpopo has some unexpected visitors

the others managed to make the hope buns, though their presentation leaves a lot to be desired.

 

However, the hope buns bring back fond memories for Tanpopo, who gets tearful.

As young people picking potatoes together...

...test-tasting together...

 ...fond memories of when husband and wife were both alive

When Hana finally presented the Hope Buns to Tanpopo, the old granny was surprised in tears as she reminisce the times with her husband and how they created the Hope Buns with their hard work/perseverance (ganbare). 

Tanpopo admitted that she didn't want to make any Hope Buns as it was too painful to remember her time with her husband. 

 She tries one, and approves, drying up her tears – though she does tell Hana that she has a lot to learn still.

  

But now, Hana has showed her that it is okay to cry out the loss and to always cherish the time with Hana's late grandfather.

At around the same time, Gelos happens to be in the neighbourhood. Naturally, this means that it is time for the prerequisite monster of the week to appear, and for PreCures to do their thing (The negative emotion of the week came from a bike delivery man, who was being scolded by Tanpopo herself for slacking off).

When the Wild Theender’s attacks threaten to destroy Tanpopo House, Tanpopo steps up.
 

Tanpopo defends her precious treasure, swatting away the projectiles

 

When the theender threw a projectile at Tanpopo's shop, she used a giant pancake-turning pan to hit the projectile back to sender!

 

 COME BACK IF YOU DARE!!!

The Wild Theender tries to attack Tanpopo after that, but Cure Yell rushes to her defence. When Cure Yell punches the monster, Tanpopo realises that Hana is Cure Yell.
Cure Yell even helped to deflect another projectile and Tanpopo realised that Cure Yell is Hana. Although she will keep her identify a secret for now...

Cure Yell, Ange, and Étoile get the honour of finishing off the monster this week. (WE WILL MISS AMOUR AND MA CHÉRIE DOING THE FINISHING MOVE... :'( )

After the battle, Tanpopo finally made the proper Hope Buns and Yone praised that this was the exact taste that Tanpopo's husband created. Tanpopo thanked Hana and friends for a new start and Youne even offered to help her. (She even showed her bulk muscles which shocked everyone!)

After the dust settles, everyone goes back to Tanpopo House. Hana volunteers to help Tanpopo in the future, but Tanpopo couldn’t possibly impose. Tanpopo insists on continuing to do it alone, but her lower back has other ideas. Fortunately, there is someone else who is willing to lend a helping hand.

Yone is jacked

So, things all work out in the end, with Yone volunteering to help Tanpopo and presumably restore Tanpopo House to the same quality it had before.

The episode ends with this heartwarming shot of the notebook and a hope bun as an offering at the late husband's altar <3
Hana hoped to see more of her grandmother's recipes and even offered a Hope Bun to her grandfather's altar...

I can understand how Tanpopo is going through after her husband's passing. Although she showed a positive face (a brave face) in front of everyone but deep down, she still felt the loss of her husband which resulted a drop in standard of her production.

But the most cruel was her refusal to make any more Hope Buns as it was an original creation that was made with her husband and it represented their love (ai) and dedication (ganbare) together. However Hana showed her that it is okay to cry out and overcome grief. (Which I am suggesting that Hana might face a similar trial in the future since she is still conflicted over George's ideals)

 This was a sweet episode – Hana and Tanpopo clearly care for each other a lot, and it was amusing to see the ways in which they were similar. It had some pretty good funny moments as well.
I’m sure the hope buns are full of kirakiraru – oops, sorry, wrong season or continuity. Having a pâtissière on board might have made things go easier, though. Still, everything was resolved by the end.
An enjoyable episode, when all is said and done.

MY OWN HUMBLE OPINION:
On bedridden pensioners in anime: It is very rarely you get to see a bedridden senior in a modern-day setting, whether hospitalised or at home, without being able to leave the bed and wearing an IV drip on their arm and all... unless they are on their deathbed or terminally ill. On screen in anime, that is.

And it's not hard to understand the reason why: we use speculative fiction to escape from harsh reality... and the pain of losing a grandparent and/or an elderly friend in a similar scenario cuts deep. Thus has it happened to Yours Truly, as well as most surely to the dear reader.
On Cool Old Ladies (feat. Olenna Tyrell):
On the non-sixth-ranger Cures doing the new Finishing Move: to be honest and obvious, I preferred when Lulu and Emiru did the Finishing Move of the last cour.
On Gelos: The only thing I disliked this episode, well… at this point I am not longer surprised, is Gelos. I don’t understand the point of her character anymore. She is basically Papple 2.0, only with two ikemen minions by her side to do all the work for her. With her laziness, she certainly seems to be a prime candidate to put up to the chopping block, especially since she has done little to contribute to the story. The only thing we know about her and why she is working with Criasu is because she doesn’t want tomorrow to come, she wants to retain her youth. Much like the Wicked Queen in Snow White, right?
The negative emotion of the week came from a bike delivery man, who was being scolded by the sweetshop's owner, Tanpopo herself, for slacking off. Once more I say: dereliction of duty is something we have all yielded to sooner or later, Lieutenant Cassio and me and everyone else who has been assigned a task to perform.

Wow I am not okay, this episode really hit home for me. I was tearing up the entire time, actually I still am as I am writing this. I guess this makes me especially emotional because it will soon almost be a year since I have lost both of my grandfathers. Both of them, I have witnessed the struggles and hardships they had to face when they realized they can’t do the things they used to do. Hana’s grandmother was no exception when it came to learning the harsh truth that the quality of her sweets have been declining and it is terribly difficult for her to run the shop on her own. She loves her job, the shop is something that keeps her connected with her love who is no longer with her, but her body just can’t keep up with it anymore. It is the one thing we all dread, losing our ability to be independent. It is demoralizing and really hurts one's self-esteem, especially if these seniors are very prideful individuals. On top of that, to have no choice but rely on relatives or social services to help them get by their remaining days, most can’t help but feel like a burden to their families and others.

Fortunately the episode didn’t go that deep, because this story is supposed to be about hope and happiness for the future, and that stuff is just dark, gloomy and depressing. I am glad Hana’s grandmother didn’t have to close up the shop, and was able to find support through a friend and loyal customer to help her with some of the tasks she can’t do anymore without hurting herself in the process. Instead we were given an endearing backstory of how she and her husband had formed the business together, and goodness they are so adorable! It makes me even sadder that he has already passed away.

It didn’t surprise me that Hana didn’t quite understand or catch onto her grandmother’s despair. She can’t help but be ignorant to these ordeals because not only has she never met her grandfather (who died when she was a baby), but she still has that innocent mindset of thinking our grandparents will always be capable of doing their thing. It was Saaya who identified the root of the problem, and Yone who explained it. Once Hana tried to make the Hope Buns to cheer her grandmother up, she realized just how brutally difficult it was to make traditional Japanese sweets. It made me happy though, she still made it and it cheered her grandmother up a bit. Making the Hope Buns together will be a great way for the two of them to continue bonding with one another.

The only thing I disliked this episode, well… at this point I am not longer surprised, is Gelos. I don’t understand the point of her character anymore. She is basically Papple 2.0, only with two ikemen minions by her side to do all the work for her. With her laziness, she certainly seems to be a prime candidate to put up to the chopping block, especially since she has done little to contribute to the story. The only thing we know about her and why she is working with Criasu is because she doesn’t want tomorrow to come, she wants to retain her youth.

Although this episode didn’t contribute much to the plot, I still enjoyed it because is consists an important life lesson for the children or any who is watching this show to come to terms to the hardships their grandparents, and elderly have to face. Be good to your grandparents, especially if they have been good to you. Just because things get difficult, don’t ignore them, keep in touch, talk to them, visit them and support them in doing what they still can.

PS: Hana’s grandmother ROCKED that floofy dandelion hairdo! How dare they say she tried too hard!

PALABRAS PARA JULIA

Palabras para Julia

Tú no puedes volver atrás
porque la vida ya te empuja
como un aullido interminable.

Hija mía es mejor vivir
con la alegría de los hombres
que llorar ante el muro ciego.

Te sentirás acorralada
te sentirás perdida o sola
tal vez querrás no haber nacido.

Yo sé muy bien que te dirán
que la vida no tiene objeto
que es un asunto desgraciado.

Entonces siempre acuérdate
de lo que un día yo escribí
pensando en ti como ahora pienso...

La vida es bella, ya verás
como a pesar de los pesares
tendrás amigos, tendrás amor.

Un hombre solo, una mujer
así tomados, de uno en uno
son como polvo, no son nada.

Pero yo cuando te hablo a ti
cuando te escribo estas palabras
pienso también en otra gente.

Tu destino está en los demás
tu futuro es tu propia vida
tu dignidad es la de todos.

Otros esperan que resistas
que les ayude tu alegría
tu canción entre sus canciones.

Entonces siempre acuérdate
de lo que un día yo escribí
pensando en ti como ahora pienso...

Nunca te entregues ni te apartes
junto al camino, nunca digas
no puedo más y aquí me quedo.

La vida es bella, tú verás
como a pesar de los pesares
tendrás amor, tendrás amigos.

Por lo demás no hay elección
y este mundo tal como es
será todo tu patrimonio.

Perdóname no sé decirte
nada más pero tú comprende
que yo aún estoy en el camino.

Y siempre siempre acuérdate
de lo que un día yo escribí
pensando en ti como ahora pienso...

José Agustín Goytisolo

UNE MARTYRE - Dessin d'un Maître inconnu

Une Martyre

Dessin d'un Maître inconnu


Au milieu des flacons, des étoffes lamées
Et des meubles voluptueux,
Des marbres, des tableaux, des robes parfumées
Qui traînent à plis somptueux,


Dans une chambre tiède où, comme en une serre,
L'air est dangereux et fatal,
Où des bouquets mourants dans leurs cercueils de verre
Exhalent leur soupir final,


Un cadavre sans tête épanche, comme un fleuve,
Sur l'oreiller désaltéré
Un sang rouge et vivant, dont la toile s'abreuve
Avec l'avidité d'un pré.


Semblable aux visions pâles qu'enfante l'ombre
Et qui nous enchaînent les yeux,
La tête, avec l'amas de sa crinière sombre
Et de ses bijoux précieux,


Sur la table de nuit, comme une renoncule,
Repose; et, vide de pensers,
Un regard vague et blanc comme le crépuscule
S'échappe des yeux révulsés.


Sur le lit, le tronc nu sans scrupules étale
Dans le plus complet abandon
La secrète splendeur et la beauté fatale
Dont la nature lui fit don;


Un bas rosâtre, orné de coins d'or, à la jambe,
Comme un souvenir est resté;
La jarretière, ainsi qu'un oeil secret qui flambe,
Darde un regard diamanté.


Le singulier aspect de cette solitude
Et d'un grand portrait langoureux,
Aux yeux provocateurs comme son attitude,
Révèle un amour ténébreux,


Une coupable joie et des fêtes étranges
Pleines de baisers infernaux,
Dont se réjouissait l'essaim des mauvais anges
Nageant dans les plis des rideaux;


Et cependant, à voir la maigreur élégante
De l'épaule au contour heurté,
La hanche un peu pointue et la taille fringante
Ainsi qu'un reptile irrité,


Elle est bien jeune encor! — Son âme exaspérée
Et ses sens par l'ennui mordus
S'étaient-ils entr'ouverts à la meute altérée
Des désirs errants et perdus?


L'homme vindicatif que tu n'as pu, vivante,
Malgré tant d'amour, assouvir,
Combla-t-il sur ta chair inerte et complaisante
L'immensité de son désir?


Réponds, cadavre impur! et par tes tresses roides
Te soulevant d'un bras fiévreux,
Dis-moi, tête effrayante, a-t-il sur tes dents froides
Collé les suprêmes adieux?


— Loin du monde railleur, loin de la foule impure,
Loin des magistrats curieux,
Dors en paix, dors en paix, étrange créature,
Dans ton tombeau mystérieux;


Ton époux court le monde, et ta forme immortelle
Veille près de lui quand il dort;
Autant que toi sans doute il te sera fidèle,
Et constant jusques à la mort.

— Charles Baudelaire


A Martyr

Drawing by an unknown master


In the midst of perfume flasks, of sequined fabrics
And voluptuous furniture,
Of marble statues, pictures, and perfumed dresses
That trail in sumptuous folds,


In a warm room where, as in a hothouse,
The air is dangerous, fatal,
Where bouquets dying in their glass coffins
Exhale their final breath,


A headless cadaver pours out, like a river,
On the saturated pillow
Red, living blood, that the linen drinks up
As greedily as a meadow.


Like the pale visions engendered by shadows
And which hold our eyes riveted,
The head, its mane of hair piled up in a dark mass
And wearing precious jewels,


On the bedside table, like a ranunculus,
Reposes; and, empty of thoughts,
A stare, blank and pallid as the dawn,
Escapes from the upturned eyeballs.


On the bed, the nude torso shamelessly displays
With the most complete abandon
The secret splendor and fatal beauty
That nature had bestowed on her;


A rose stocking embroidered with gold clocks remains
On her leg like a souvenir;
The garter, like a hidden flashing eye,
Darts its glance of diamond brilliance.


The bizarre aspect of that solitude
And of a large, languid portrait
With eyes as provocative as the pose,
Reveals an unwholesome love,


Guilty joys and exotic revelries,
With infernal kisses
That delighted the swarm of bad angels
Hovering in the curtains' folds;


And yet one sees from the graceful slimness
Of the angular shoulders.
The haunches slightly sharp, and the waist sinuous
As a snake poised to strike,


That she's still quite young! — Had her exasperated soul
And her senses gnawed by ennui
Thrown open their gates to the thirsty pack
Of lost and wandering desires?


The vengeful man whom you could not with all your love
Satisfy when you were alive,
Did he use your inert, complacent flesh to fill
The immensity of his lust?


Reply, impure cadaver! and by your stiffened tresses
Raising you with a fevered arm,
Tell me, ghastly head, did he glue on your cold teeth
The kisses of the last farewell?


— Far from the sneering world, far from the impure crowd,
Far from curious magistrates,
Sleep in peace, sleep in peace, bizarre creature,
In your mysterious tomb;


Your mate roams o'er the world, and your immortal form
Watches over him when he sleeps;
Even as you, he will doubtless be faithful
And constant until death.

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)



The Martyr
(Drawing by an Unknown Master)


Amongst gilt fabrics, flasks of scent and wine,
Rich furniture, white marble, precious moulds.
Fine paintings, and rich, perfumed robes that shine
Swirled into sumptuous folds,


In a warm room, that like a hot-house stifles
With dangerous and fatal breath, where lie
Pale flowers in crystal tombs, exquisite trifles,
Exhaling their last sigh —


A headless corpse, cascading in a flood
Hot, living blood, that soaks, with crimson stain
A pillow slaked and sated with blood
As any field with rain.


Like those pale visions which the gloom aborts
Which fix us in a still, hypnotic stare,
The bead, tricked out with gems of sorts,
In its huge mass of hair,


Like a ranunculous beside the bed,
Rests on the table, empty of all thought.
From eyes revulsed, like twilight, seems to spread
A gaze that looks at naught.


Upon the bed the carcase, unabashed,
Shows, in complete abandon, without shift,
The secret splendour that, in life, it flashed
Superbly, Nature's gift.


A rosy stocking, freaked with clocks of gold,
Clings to one leg: a souvenir, it seems:
The garter, from twin diamonds, with the cold
Stare of a viper gleams.


The singular effect of solitude
And of a languorous portrait, with its eyes
Provocative as is its attitude,
Dark loves would advertise —


And guilty joys, with feasts of strange delight,
Full of infernal kisses, omens certain
To please the gloating angels of the Night
Who swim behind each curtain.


And yet to see her nimble strength, the risky
Swerve of the rounded shoulder, and its rake,
The tented haunch, the figure lithe and frisky,
Flexed like an angry snake,


You'd know that she was young. Her soul affronted,
Her senses stung with boredom — were they bayed
By packs of wandering, lost desires, and hunted,
And finally betrayed?


The vengeful man, whose lust you could not sate,
(In spite of much love) nor quench his fire —
Did he on your dead flesh then consummate
His monstrous, last desire?


Answer me, corpse impure! With fevered fist,
Grim visage, did he raise you up on high,
And, as your silver frosty teeth he kissed,
Bid you his last goodbye?


Far from inquiring magistrates that sneer,
Far from this world of raillery and riot,
Sleep peacefully, strange creature, on your bier,
Of mystery and quiet.


Your lover roams the world. Your deathless shape
Watches his sleep and hears each indrawn breath.
No more than you can he ever escape
From constancy till death!
— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (1952)



Still Life

From a Drawing by an Unknown Master


Flasks of perfume, fabrics lamé and spangled, rich
Furnishings of brocade and gold,
Statues of marble, paintings, scented dresses which
Trail, fold on sumptuous soft fold,


A warm room, sultry as a hothouse, where one fears
The air is poisonous with death,
Faded bouquets which, drooping in their crystal biers,
Exhale their ultimate faint breath.


A headless corpse pours forth a stream of vivid red
Blood on damp pillows, and the white
Linens absorb the bubbling flow into the bed
Avidly as a meadow might.


Pale as a specter born of a black dream's despair,
To strike our eyes and rivet them,
The head, with its dense curly mane of somber hair,
And its detail of gold and gem,

Rests on a small commode, like a ranunculus,
Comfortably; void of surmise,
A glint, leaden and blank as dawn, soars, vacuous,
From the stone orbs of upturned eyes.


The naked torso on the bed in graceful ease
Exhibits without scruple or shame
Her secret parts and all the fatal splendencies
Nature bestowed upon this frame.

On her leg, a pink stocking with gold clocks remains,
As it were, like a souvenir,
The jeweled garter, like a secret eye, retains
A glance sharp as a diamond spear.


That curious air of solitude and, with it, those
Eyes gazing from a portrait near,
As languid and provoking as the sitter's pose,
Reveal what gloomy loves reigned here.

Wraiths of strange feasts, of guilty joys, of recondite
Demonic kisses passion moulds
To fill the swarm of evil angels with delight,
Still hover in the curtain's folds.


She was still young! Did ennui gnaw her heart, exhaust
Her senses, quench love's normal fires?
Did she grant welcome to the thirsty pack of lost
Pleasures and devious desires?


That vengeful lover whom your wealth of love could still
Not sate, you living and robust,
Did he use your inert complacent flesh to fill
The extreme limits of his lust?

O corpse defiled, with fevered hand in his crazed drouth
Did he grasp your stiff tresses? Tell,
Tell me, grim head, did he glue on your icy mouth
The kisses of his last farewell?


Far from a jeering world and courts where without cease
Magistrates probe as lawyers rave,
O most bizarre of beings, sleep ever at peace, at peace
In your remote mysterious grave.

Whilst your mate roams the earth, your deathless form
Keeps royal vigil over his sleeping breath,
And surely, like yourself, he shall continue loyal
And constant to you unto death.

— Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil (1958)



Murdered Woman

Drawing of an Unknown Master


Flasks of expensive scent, embroideries, rich brocades,
Taffeta sofas, satin chairs;
Statues in marble, paintings; fragrance that pervades
The empty, sumptuous gowns; warm airs


And sweet, — yet sultry, damp, unhealthful to inhale:
That sickening green-house atmosphere
Dying bouquets in their glass coffins give — a stale
Voluptuous chamber... Lying here


A corpse without a head, whence flows in a bright stream,
Making an ever broadening stain,
The red and living blood, which the white pillows seem
To lap up like a thirsty plain.


Pale as those awful shapes that out of shadow stare,
Chaining our helpless eyes to theirs,
The head, with its great mass of rich and somber hair —
The earrings still in the small ears —


Like a ranunculus on the night-table sits;
And, void of thought, blank as the light
Of dawn, a glinting vague regard escapes from its
Eyeballs, up-rolled and china-white.


The headless trunk, in shameless posture on the bed,
Naked, in loose abandon lies,
Its secret parts exposed, its treasures all outspread
As if to charm a lover's eyes.


One sequined stocking, pink against the milky thigh,
Remains, pathetic souvenir;
The jeweled garter, like a flashing, secret eye,
Darts and withdraws a diamond leer.


A languorous portrait on the wall contrives to give
Force to the singular effect
Of the deep solitude, — the eyes provocative,
The pose inviting, half-erect.


The ghost of something strange and guilty, of some feast
Involving most improper fare,
Demoniac kisses, all obscure desires released,
Swims in the silent curtains there.


And yet, that fragile shoulder, that fine hand and arm —
How delicate the curve they make! —
The pelvic bones so sweetly pointed, the whole form
Lithe as a teased and fighting snake! —


She must have been quite young... her senses, all her soul,
Avid for life and driven wild
By tedium, set ajar, it may be, to the whole
Pack of perversions... ah, poor child!


Did he at length, that man, his awful thirst too great
For living flesh to satisfy,
On this inert, obedient body consummate
His lust? — O ravished corpse, reply!


Answer me, impure thing! Speak, frightening head, and tell:
Lifting you up by your long hair,
Did he on your cold teeth imprint in last farewell
One kiss, before he set you there?


Far from the mocking world, the peering crowd, oh far
From inquest, coroner, magistrate,
Sleep; sleep in peace; I leave you lying as you are,
Mysterious unfortunate.


In vain your lover roves the world; the thought of you
Troubles each chamber where he lies:
Even as you are true to him, he will be true
To you, no doubt, until he dies.

— Edna St. Vincent Millay, Flowers of Evil (1936)



A Martyred Woman

Sketch by an Unknown Master


In the middle of scent-bottles, braided material
And voluptuous furniture,
Amongst marbles, pictures, perfumed dresses
Trailing in expensive folds,


In a warm room, where like a hothouse
The air is dangerous, fatal,
Where dying flowers sigh out their last
In their glass coffins,


A headless corpse discharges, like a river,
Upon the slaked pillow,
Its red and living blood, which the linen laps up
With the greed of a meadow.


Like those ghastly visions engendered by shadows,
And riveting our eyes
The head, with the weight of its dark mane
And its precious jewels


Rests like a plant on the bedside table;
And, empty of thoughts,
A look, loose and white as twilight
Escapes its misplaced eyes.


On the bed the naked, shameless trunk spreads out
In utter unconstraint
Its secret splendor and its fatal beauty,
The gift of nature;


A pink stocking, embroidered with gold sequins, remains
On the leg like a memory;
The garter, like a flaming, hidden eye,
Darts a diamonded glance.


The strange look of this solitude
And of a great languorous tableau,
To eyes provocative as her posture
Reveals a dark love,


A guilty joy and strange feasts,
Full of the kisses of hell
That please the swarms of evil angels
Swimming in the folds of curtains;


And yet, seeing that elegant emaciation
Of shoulder with the blatant contour
The hip a little angular and the taut waistline
Like a furious reptile,


She is still quite young! — Did her inflamed soul
And her senses gnawn by boredom
Yawn for that thirsty pack of
Wandering, lost passions?


Did that vengeful man whom, living, you could not gratify,
In spite of so much love
Heap upon your indolent, accommodating flesh
The size of his desire?


Answer, O violated corpse! and raising yourself with feverish arm
By your stiff braids,
Tell me, terrifying head, did he press upon your cold teeth
His final farewells?


— Far from the bantering world, from the corrupted mob,
Far from inquisitive magistrates,
Sleep peacefully, sleep peacefully, strange creature,
In your mysterious tomb;


Your husband roves the world and your deathless figure
Watches by him when he sleeps;
Doubtless he will be faithful as you are,
And constant to death.

— Geoffrey Wagner, Selected Poems of Charles Baudelaire (1974)