The first person I ran into in the street was a maker of window glass loudly hawking his wares. He virtually punctured the pestilential air of LA with his shouts. I can’t say why the sight of this poor bastard filled me with a surge of violent hatred, but it did.
I looked at the panes and thought, “What! No colored glass? No rose-colored glass, red glass, blue glass? Where are the magic panes, the window-panes of paradise? What impudence! You barge into my humble neighborhood without even the decency to bring the glass that can make life beautiful.”
And I barked loudly at him.
The shock made him fall backward, breaking all the glass that remained of his itinerant stock. It sounded like the cracking of a crystal palace split by lightning.
Drunk with the madness of the moment I howled: “Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!”
These impulsive jests are not without their hazards, and sometimes there is a stiff price to pay. But what does an eternity of damnation matter to one who has found in a single instant an infinity of joy?
The above was borrowed, and loosely edited by Scruffy, from an excerpt of Charles Baudelaire’s poem Le Mauvais Vitrier.
Scruffy, of course, did read the unedited poem in the original French.
Saunter with Scruffy and his loyal human companion (and photographer), Rocketeer 007, on their morning walks, at Strollin' with Scruffy.
