From Chains (1924)
Translated by Stephen Haden Guest
The bodies around mine are each uglier than the next. Faced by the colours of putrefaction, I call on the secret night. In the grey dusk as in the north wind I call up before my eyes rosy tints, the warm colour as of a nude body of a woman veiled. I smell a scent of violets; there are somewhere beneath the gloom pensive tufts of them, and on the broken stones convolvuli completely shroud the nettles.
I have remained a long time dreaming…I am held by a hand; it was not dead when I came, but it died as it held me. When I separate the fingers the whole mass falls back. The death of a creature before one’s eyes makes it seem, miraculously…
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