Chapter I: AM AT THE BAR--The Bird of Benin

He read and re-read this sentence while the Bird of Benin contemplated his picture, approaching it and withdrawing from it, his head at all angles. Finally he turned towards Croniamantal and said:

"I saw the woman for you last night."

"Who is she?" asked Croniamantal.

"I do not know, I saw her but I do not know her. She is a really young girl, as you like them. She has the sombre and child-like face of those who are destined to cause suffering. And despite all the grace of her hands that straighten in order to repel, she lacks that nobility which poets could not love because it would prevent their being miserable. I have seen the woman for you, I tell you. She is both beauty and ugliness; she is like everything that we love nowadays. And she must have the taste of the laurel leaf."

But Croniamantal, who was not listening to him, interrupted at this point to say:

"Yesterday I wrote my last poem in regular verses:

_Well, Hell!_[6]

and my last poem in irregular verses (take care that in the second stanza the word wench is taken in its less reputable meaning):

PROSPECTUS FOR A NEW MEDICINE

_Why did Hjalmar return The tankard of beaten silver lay void, The stars of the evening Became the stars of the morning Reciprocally The sorceress of the forest of Hruloë Prepared her repast She was an eater of horse-flesh But he was not Mai Mai ramaho nia nia._

_Then the stars of the morning Became again the stars of the evening And reciprocally They cried--In the name of Maröe Wench of Arnamoer And of his favorite zoöphyte Prepare the drink of the gods --Certainly noble warrior Mai Mai ramaho nia nia._

_She took the sun And plunged him into the sea As housewives Dip a ham in gravy But alas! the salmons voracious Have devoured the drowned sun And have made themselves wigs With his beams Mai Mai ramaho nia nia._

_She took the moon and did her all with bands As they do with the illustrious dead And with little children And then in the light of the only stars The eternal ones She made a concoction of sea-brine The euphorbiaceans of Norwegian resin And the mucous of Alfes To make a drink for the gods Mai Mai ramaho nia nia._

_He died like the sun And the sorceress perched at the top of a fir pine Heard until evening The rumours of the great winds engulfed in the phial And the lying scaldas swear to this Mai Mai ramaho nia nia._

Croniamantal was silent for an instant and then added:

"I shall from now on write only poetry free from all restrictions even that of language.[7]

"Listen, old man!"

MAHEVIDANOMI RENANOCALIPNODITOC EXTARTINAP # v.s. A. Z. Telephone: 33-122 Pan : Pan OeaoiiiioKTin iiiiiiiiiii

"Your last line, my poor Croniamantal," said the Bird of Benin, "is a simple plagiarism from Fr.nc.s J.mm.s."

"That is not true," said Croniamantal. "But I shall compose no more pure poetry. That is what I have come to, through your fault. I want to write plays."

"You had better go to see the young woman of whom I spoke to you. She knows you and seems to be crazy about you. You will find her in the Meudon woods next Thursday at a place that I shall designate. You will recognize her by the skipping rope that she will hold in her hand. Her name is Tristouse Ballerinette."

"Very well," said Croniamantal, "I shall go to see Ballerinette and shall sleep with her, but above all I want to go to the theatres to offer my play, Ieximal Jelimite, which I wrote in your studio last year while eating lemons."

"Do what you want, my friend," said the Bird of Benin, "but do not forget Tristouse Ballerinette, the woman of your future."

"Well said," said Croniamantal. "But I want to roar to you once more the plot of Ieximal Jelimite. Listen:

"A man buys a newspaper on the seashore. From the garden of a house at one side emerges a soldier whose hands are electric bulbs. A giant 10 feet tall descends from a tree. He shakes the newspaper vendor, who is of plaster and who in falling breaks to bits. At this moment a judge arrives. With strokes of a razor he kills everybody, while a leg which passes hopping crushes the judge with a kick in the nose, and sings a pretty little song."

"How wonderful!" said the Bird of Benin. "I shall paint the decoration, you have promised me that."

"That goes without saying," answered Croniamantal.[8]