A L D U S , A J O U R N A L O F T R A N S L AT I O N
Note: Excerpts from Un Cadavre by Philippe Soupault, Paul Éluard & Joseph Delteil Translated by Timothy Nassau
from the French
These three texts are from Un Cadavre (A Cadaver), an early surrealist pamphlet distributed on the occasion of the writer Anatole France’s death. He had become so hideous that he could feel his ugliness with his hand. -- A. FRANCE (Thaïs)
THE ERROR
Anatole France is not dead; he will never die. In a dozen years we will have a new Anatole, invented by a few intrepid writers. There are those who cannot live without this comic personality, the “greatest man of the century,” a “master writer.” We hang on his every word, we slide his slightest sentence under a magnifying glass and bleat: “Lovely… Magnificent… Splendid.” The eternal master. And yet the recently departed was not very pleasant. He only watched out for himself, for his own peace of mind. We hear that he was awaiting death. A pretty thought. But that aside what, really, did he do? What did he think about? Today we are merely placing palms on a coffin. May they weigh down and smother this memory. 98