Baudelaire: His Prose and Poetry
img img Baudelaire: His Prose and Poetry img Chapter 93 No.93
93
Chapter 1 No.1
Chapter 2 No.2
Chapter 3 No.3
Chapter 4 No.4
Chapter 5 No.5
Chapter 6 No.6
Chapter 7 No.7
Chapter 8 No.8
Chapter 9 No.9
Chapter 10 No.10
Chapter 11 No.11
Chapter 12 No.12
Chapter 13 No.13
Chapter 14 No.14
Chapter 15 No.15
Chapter 16 No.16
Chapter 17 No.17
Chapter 18 No.18
Chapter 19 No.19
Chapter 20 No.20
Chapter 21 THE FAVOURS OF THE MOON
Chapter 22 WHICH IS TRUE
Chapter 23 L'INVITATION AU VOYAGE
Chapter 24 THE EYES OF THE POOR
Chapter 25 WINDOWS
Chapter 26 CROWDS
Chapter 27 THE CAKE
Chapter 28 EVENING TWILIGHT
Chapter 29 ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD
Chapter 30 A HEROIC DEATH
Chapter 31 BE DRUNKEN
Chapter 32 EPILOGUE
Chapter 33 B.
Chapter 34 No.34
Chapter 35 No.35
Chapter 36 No.36
Chapter 37 No.37
Chapter 38 No.38
Chapter 39 No.39
Chapter 40 No.40
Chapter 41 No.41
Chapter 42 No.42
Chapter 43 No.43
Chapter 44 No.44
Chapter 45 A CARCASS
Chapter 46 WEEPING AND WANDERING
Chapter 47 No.47
Chapter 48 No.48
Chapter 49 No.49
Chapter 50 No.50
Chapter 51 No.51
Chapter 52 No.52
Chapter 53 No.53
Chapter 54 No.54
Chapter 55 No.55
Chapter 56 No.56
Chapter 57 No.57
Chapter 58 No.58
Chapter 59 No.59
Chapter 60 No.60
Chapter 61 No.61
Chapter 62 No.62
Chapter 63 No.63
Chapter 64 No.64
Chapter 65 No.65
Chapter 66 No.66
Chapter 67 No.67
Chapter 68 No.68
Chapter 69 No.69
Chapter 70 No.70
Chapter 71 No.71
Chapter 72 No.72
Chapter 73 No.73
Chapter 74 No.74
Chapter 75 No.75
Chapter 76 No.76
Chapter 77 No.77
Chapter 78 No.78
Chapter 79 No.79
Chapter 80 No.80
Chapter 81 No.81
Chapter 82 No.82
Chapter 83 No.83
Chapter 84 No.84
Chapter 85 No.85
Chapter 86 No.86
Chapter 87 No.87
Chapter 88 No.88
Chapter 89 No.89
Chapter 90 No.90
Chapter 91 No.91
Chapter 92 No.92
Chapter 93 No.93
Chapter 94 No.94
Chapter 95 No.95
Chapter 96 No.96
Chapter 97 No.97
Chapter 98 No.98
Chapter 99 No.99
Chapter 100 No.100
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Chapter 93 No.93

In the "Ears of the Earl of Chesterfield," Voltaire jokes at the expense of that immortal soul which resided, for nine months, in the midst of excrement and urine. Voltaire, like all the slothful, hates mystery.

(At least, he might have divined in that environment the malice or satire of Providence against love, and, in the process of generation

             
            

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