A Cigale Production

 
 
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TO JULIAN THE APOSTATE

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[7/7]

So much water has gone under the bridge, since the first publication of this work!

The world’s appearance has changed completely.

…

[”/8]

…

[8/”]

…

[9/9] I was strolling about at random the other day, completely self-absorbed, along the canal between La Jatte and Courbevoie. I was mulling over trivial matters, I was having problems… I wasn’t intending to drown myself, of course…but all the same I was tormented, and I couldn’t find the solution.

Life is not pleasant every day.

Looking around just a little, I saw an overturned barge, completely foundered and upside-down, lying in state and forming a sort of breakwater…and also a small winch, just hanging there, which was all that remained…

I looked out a bit further…and there I perceived a mermaid in mid-splash above the waters…quite muddy, very disgusting…a bubbling mire… I was embarrassed for her… I pretended not to see her… I began discreetly to move away…

[Mermaid:] “Yop! Eh! say there! Hop! Ferdinand! You’re no longer good for a pleasant hello! Full-Monty madman! Rude exhibitionist! Where is it that you intend to dive?…

I recognized this effronterous person, though a mermaid. I had already met her frequently enough, in delicate circumstances, in quite different estuaries, at other times in my life, from Copenhagen to the Saint-Lawrence, of immoderate levity, joy, and youthfulness, out there completely lost, suspended above the spray. This disheartening realization [”/10] overwhelmed me, of course… It’s like that in the Seine…so fishy, so sewer-like…

[M.:] “Where are you scurrying off to then, dreamer? Pretty prickie!…” she asked me thusly.

She intrigued me…she had become rather coarsened, by these precincts… I then looked at her closely. What a poor sight!

[M.:] “So now you find me vile? You’re a fright yourself! Come! Kiss me!”

I was most reluctant, she smelled oily… I excused myself…

[M.:] “You’re going to be a grandfather!” she informs me.

The old skin bursts out laughing. She knew all of the scuttlebutt, all of the gossip, all of the bullshit of the region.

[Ferdinand:] “You have been well informed, my dear backfisch!” I answered her in response, tit-for-tat. “How indiscreet! What effrontery! Did you repose out in the countryside this morning?…”

[M.:] “In the countryside! in the countryside! …you’re an old carcass yourself! Broken-down old crank of a whoremonger! Old loser! That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it, grandpa’? That’s what I said! Old reprobate! ravisher of bodily emissions! Bringer of dishonor upon yourself! Bringer of dishonor upon your own prostate! Semen eater!”

[F.:] “Ah!” I then said to her, “Appalling trash! Cesspool flower! pot licker! I’m going to kill you! bitch!”

In just a bit I had jumped in, and had grabbed hold of her by the scales! I was done with being lovey-dovey! …there were twenty years too many between us for tender enchantment… It was simply a matter of getting oneself knocked-up, [10/”] down there in the muck between the banks. This was becoming obnoxious. I tried to be friendly, I wanted to depart without rancor… And then I was seized by anger.

[F.:] “As for myself, I’m going to the sea! not to fresh water!” I suddenly announced in a fit of bravado. “I’m going to where the waves are pure! I am! …manure meat!”

[M.:] “What did you just call me? Bad meat? Who are you to insult me in such an offhand fashion? Disgusting soul of a turd! Just repeat to yourself a little, how I am drowning you! Pee-wee! Like everyone else you’re going to the sea? yes, like all of the dead dogs in the world? Hydrocephalic!”

[F.:] “That did it!” I answered her back! “Deceptive sandbar! You’re repulsive, you’re vile! You stink! You’re not doing penitence for no good reason! I’m going to see Neptune! I’m going to speak to him about it! I have a dirty deal worked-out with [”/11] his daughter! The Siren of the End of Time! That doesn’t disturb you, does it? You’re not doing penitence for no good reason! I’ll say it again!”

[M.:] “Penitence? Penitence?”

[F.:] “Yes! Haranguing herring!”

[M.:] “Herring!? Herring? …how dare you!…”

For her that was the atrocious word, “Herring”… Ah! she was suffocating under it! panting through the muck, with indignation, and fury.

[M.:] “Herring! Herring!…” she reprised.

[F.:] “Hold on Hold on! let me tell you what you are! Seafood! You’re up in the air! Old gas! Pinfeather! Balloon! Bubble! I’m as rotten as you say I am! Effronterous small fry! Grab at me, fondle my buns! my round wood! Just so! Bite me! Is this how you hope to get me heated up? Eh?… That’s the tobacco pouch down there, isn’t it? Yes? Then suck! Weakling!”

That was exactly how it was, she was hard all over.

[M.:] “And then, you know,” she added—she was beating herself out quite brutally, wearing herself down with great floppings of her flanks, her chest glistening—“that’s just a bunch of noise! All of those are just rude remarks! Now listen! This is the real deal! There’s nothing else like it! It’ll do the job! Here’s where you’ll be saying your greetings to Neptune!”

She laughed aloud enough to disconcert me.

Two or three teeth were wanting…

And that frightful voice, so husky and inebriated…

[M.:] “It’s on account of the distilleries,” she explained to me, as she enveloped my naughty bit. “I come across four going either way from Levallois…after the bridge…”

[F.:] “Is it worth your while coming here?”

[M.:] “How does that concern you?”

[F.:] “I’m just asking…?”

[M.:] “And as for yourself, everything that you do is worthy?”

There was still some testiness between us.

[F.:] “As for myself, I do as I please… I’m free…”

[M.:] “You are free… You are free…but not for long…”

[F.:] “I’ll do… I’ll do… That remains to be seen!…”

[M.:] “But you don’t know anything! O pretentious one!…”

[F.:] “You don’t know anything but rotten scraps of scuttlebutt, which have passed through your cloaca!”

[M.:] “Yes… Yes…you’re somewhat smutty yourself!… This can’t go on forever! …conceited dandy! your allure is going to fade!… Your twittering is going to go silent!… Yellow crow, you’re going to try to cackle but nothing’ll come, some fine morning!…”

[F.:] “How’s that?… How’s that?…”

[M.:] “You don’t even dare to understand me. You appear, from your blank expression, even more cowardly than rotten.”

[F.:] “What are you saying?… What are you saying?…”

[M.:] “Then what have you been doing in Clichy?”

[F.:] “How’s that? How’s that?…”

[M.:] “I know all about it… And quite a bit more besides! Even so!… Tell me now that you aren’t afraid of me!…”

[11/”][F.:] “Me, fear?… Wretch, drunkard of the muck! But I can hear you voluptuously! Here, come over here with your gangrene.”

“He should be the one who says…ays! ays! …ays!… She should be the one who looks…ooks! …ooks! ooks!…”

“Ah! Ah!… I would never have believed…”

“She should be the one who…”

“Oh! Oh! Oh! This is really too fine!…”

“And you as well! perfect!… Yes! Yes! Yes!…”

“How incredible!”

“And how intoxicating you are…you are…you are… It’s just as they say! as he says…as she says! …that if…if…that it is…that…that…if…if…that to…that to…there it is!…”

“No? No? No?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Quite so!”

“This is truly miraculous!”

“All of it?”

“Yes! One, two…ten…twelve…ninety-two!”

“Everything?”

“Absolutely! completely and for certain!”

“This is going badly!”

[M.:] “You’re even more abject than you thought?”

[F.:] “Impossible!”

[M.:] “Don’t you have anything more to say?”

[F.:] “Pass me some ink from the Seine… You are going to see just what I have to say…how I dip my dick in vitriol! If that doesn’t add fulmination, fare and crackling heat to my remonstrance! I’m never a worse bastard than I am when I’ve been pissed in the ass! Burn my hemorrhoids! Lay me some sort of [”/13] solid turd, right down there!… Some sort of Kaminsky, by chance! so that I may dip my plume forthwith…so that I can get it wet… But now, my little slattern! …go back to your latrine! you have left it for nothing… Dive!”

[M.:] “For nothing? For nothing? Ferdinand! I kiss you!”

[F.:] “Be off! or by my faith as a grandfather! I’ll ream your ass alive!”

Splash!… Splash!… An immense kerplunk, she had already dived in. She was undulating way down there…far away…quite enticing all the same, the damned dear thing…

[12-52] …

[53/83] If I were the Mayor of Paris, I would have but one broadside hung. If I were the Superintendent of Schools, I would have but one lesson taught. If I were the King of the Bistros, I would pour but one aperitif, one for all manner of mug.

If I were the Prince of the Press, I would put forth but one article. If I were the Emperor of Songs, I would have only one sung. It would appear everywhere, always the same, on banners, on confetti, on party favors, in phonographic flights-of-fancy, and sung by ensembles.

It would be all for the better that they learn it from me.

It would be all for the better that they remember it! May they raise it on high! Let them embrace it, be transported by it, and come to understand it with ever more enthusiasm, and communicative fervor.

The next one will prove to be the last!
A lad! A lad! A lad!
It will be the suicide of the Nation!
A lad! A lad! A stiff!
Those who know nothing repeat the past!
A lad! A lad! A lad!
All the cuckolds fill the wagons!
A lad! A lad! A stiff!
Never to return home at last! [”/84]
A lad! A lad! A lad!
All the cadavers who were morons!
A lad! A lad! A stiff!
It’s the next gay war, rehashed!
A lad! A lad! A lad!
It’s the next gay war! laugh! along!
A lad! A lad! A stiff!

(With emphasis on that last “A stiff.”)

[54-64] …

[65/103] Israel the priapic jailer, the bluffer, goof, dangerous tyrant, she-ass, and disturbed hornet, wants to have at us with a rage which is scarcely even conceivable, scarcely even imaginable. He’s like one of those birds whose songs cannot be heard, because their calls are much too high-pitched, too shrill, too strident for our ears. It’s beyond our range of hearing. In a sense the Jew is the same way, he burns with a hatred far too great for our understanding. It tires us even to think of it. Not him… If need be, his face, that greasy mug of his, that octopus-like stare, ought perhaps to serve as a forewarning to us. But he isn’t scrutinized very often. One avoids so doing. One casts one’s glance elsewhere.

Triumphant outcast, and perpetually-quivering billionaire, Israel isn’t happy with our presence, he finds it downright insulting, he doesn’t want to exist alongside of us, with our overly-white mannerisms. His chromosomes make him jump out of his skin, at our ordinary comings and goings… He can bring himself to pardon only our women, and then only on the condition that he be allowed to ream their asses over and over, and that they never cease in sucking him off. But as for us, the males, we’re always in season, never to be pardoned. He has an avowed hatred for us, the obsessive-compulsive’s, the bastard’s, the half-breed’s hatred, inexpiable, irrevocable, unlimited. A perpetual, tormenting delirium. A cosmic hatred, on account of that chromosome, that washed-out, malignant, twisted, pulled-apart, absent part of a chromosome.

Perhaps, when all is said and done, in our supplication unto him, Israel will pardon us, for our insolence, though not for that bit of chromosome. That thousandth of a wave of Fuzzy-Wuzzy hair. For that, never.

If a river of Arabian perfume would have been needed to wash away various traces of some miserable dirty deed, which had so distressed Lady Macbeth, such will all-too-soon be provided, through numerous wars, of our blood going for the erasure of a few blemishes on the chromosomes of Israel.

[66-136] …

[110/173] Can you find me some poor little Jew, who has anything bad to say about the Rothschilds?

Can you find me some poor little Jew, who has anything bad to say about the Soviets?

Can you find me some poor little Jew, who doesn’t think it necessary to set Hitler up on blocks absolutely as soon as possible?

[111-36] …

[137/213] The French are quite happy to make fools of themselves.

Doubtless you already know, that it is under the tutelage of the Negrito Jew Jean Zay, that the Sorbonne is no longer a ghetto. Everybody knows this. But there still exists a sort of sub-ghetto, an internal ghetto, within the Sorbonne itself, which you also help to support with your tax denarius, and which (for the sake of us subject pollywogs) goes by the name of “l’École Pratique des Hautes Études.” A souped-up synagogue! A full house of Jewish dunces! The crowning glory of our insuperable stupidity as Aryan suckers!

“There the Jew reigns,” as P. Gehen explains to us, in his study of that University, “with all of the insolence of an unworthy servant. The coreligionists grant diplomas to one another, and pass around the official manna to the rate of a thousand francs per hour. As for the goy, he might spend ten years working at some profitless subject of erudition, if he’s so inclined. He’ll be admitted in order to fulfill the quota, all of his research will be pillaged, his dissertation will be accepted with grave reservations, and he’ll be given some semblance of a final examination. But irrespective of the subject or the quality of his performance in the latter, should the French student insist on obtaining the desired and deserved diploma, he will immediately see a most perfidious arsenal, of lying and imposture, brought to bear against him. If, sure of his rights and the justice of his cause, the student presses the matter further, he will be shown the [”/214] door in short order.” But this is most precious! Do you know who it is who teaches French Folklore in that extraordinary schoolhouse? The Jew Marx! an out-and-out double-dipper and more! The Director for French Works Abroad, at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs!… Gives fifty classes per year at the École des Hautes Études! Never has more than two students!

“For each one of his classes he receives,” P. Gehen teaches us, “a most generous sum, on the order of a thousand francs per hour!”

It must be added that Marx is not alone in growing fat upon our fees. The Jew never acts completely alone. This n^th Marx has an intimate entourage! within that enormous bastion of knowledge, of still more professors, all of them just as French, just as Breton as he! All of them just as frantic to enlighten us, to bring us to a correct understanding of our own origins, to reveal unto us what we are, from whence we’ve come, whither we are going, and to force us into the rigorous study of the very sources of our own poetry! if this isn’t a one hundred percent ass-reaming, I don’t know what is! It’s a fall of Verdun fifteen times over! to my way of thinking!

Some of the names of these incredible, effronterous professors: Messieurs and Mesdames: Maus, yet another Marx, Dumézil, Élisser, Grabar, Silvain, Levi, Stoupack (alter ego of Mme. Brunschwig), Masson, Oursel, Weill, Puech, etc….Jews! …Jews…and near-Jews!

The chorus of French taxpayers goes: “Ah! How intelligent they are! Ah! Those professors! Ah! Those learned types! Ah! Those Jews! Without them, whatever would become of us?”

We’ll be finished-off by asking for it.

[138-54] …

[155/243] No one is more Jewish than the current Pope. Whose real name is Isaac Ratisch. The Vatican is a Ghetto. Its Secretary of State, Pacelli, is also just as Jewish as the Pope.

The Church is always prepared to burn Joan of Arc once again. The Church, our old Jewish witch, and votive candle saleslady…

Who eats the Pope once he’s dead!

Alexandre BORGIA

[156-64] …

[165/256] When the next Crusade will end, only God knows! The Jew will be able to brag to us about how he possesses us unto the very last thousandth of our penny, unto the very last dripping drop of that ultimate hemorrhage.

More’s the pity! So much the better! The sooner the better! Even worse would be to be revived as part of a herd of furious impassioned wretched cuckolds, hopping to make for the various slaughterhouses, irresistibly and implacably drawn towards having their throats cut as part of the sacrifices.

The Aryan States: Game reserves for Jewish butcheries. Ritual battles for animal quarterers, mooings, cartage of all sorts, various social activities, with auctioning of livestock during the intermissions.

Here you have Europe the way it’s been since the year 843, the year of its partition, the year of its dismemberment. The grand sport hasn’t ceased from that time to this, and it’s not over, and it’s going to continue. Understand me well.

[166-71] …

[172/266]

County seat of Vérinet, France

But the Jews aren’t wasting any time. They’ve already doubled their gains on you, most handsomely, ever since the affair in Munich, in the same manner as have the Germans, the English and the Italians. They’ve been sticking it to you while you’ve been chattering, while you’ve been moving around a bit more, while you’ve been posing as “holy terrors.” Cock-a-doodle-doo!

You no longer terrify anybody at all. The earth is collapsing beneath your feet, while you are showing off your bravado to the Right, then to the Left. Europe is forming up against you. You don’t know anything about it. It’s you who will be in the next “drawing.” Pretty soon there will no longer be any question as to who will be our allies. Grotesque types no longer have any allies. The thing to know is just how your provinces are going to be divided-up, who is going to avail himself of Franche-Comté, annex Normandy, repopulate Aquitaine, adjoin Corsica and Marseilles, and undo the Frenchification of Algeria.

That’s all.

You’re always jabbering.

[173-75] …

[176/271]

The direct influence of the Jews in the court of Louis the Debonair was so powerful, that the Bishop of Lyon, Saint Agobard, was treated with the utmost rudeness and contempt, when he went to present his just grievances against Israel to the Emperor. Once he’d declared to the Sovereign that his functionaries in Lyon were as terrible to the Christians as they were benevolent to the Jews, a scandalized outcry arose against the great Bishop.

Louis DASTÉ
Secret Societies and the Jews.

[177/272]

l’Humanité, of 5 November 1938:

“The Dispensary for the Paris Region Metalworkers’ Union was dedicated yesterday… More than ever this organization has merited the distinction which our paper has given it: The very finest union in France… The Doctors Kalmanovich, Oppman, Rouquès, Lecain, Bli, etc…. [all Jews], the primary actors behind this achievement, were able to say a few words at the reception that followed.

…After they spoke, M. Dreyfus, the Director of Regional Service for Social Insurance, expressed his satisfaction, and declared that the Administration…etc., etc.”

l’Action Française, of 5 November 1938:

“Our Minister of National Education, Jean Zay (original name Zacharie), is in effect going to preside over a remarkable ceremony.

“Next Monday, at 5:30 PM, he is to appear at the Saloman Rothschild House, in order to grace by his presence festivities of a particularly audacious nature. The orchestral conductor Bruno Walter, who left Germany, where his lack of Aryan qualifications impeded his musical career, is to become a French citizen.”

[178/273]

Cases of delirium tremens have almost doubled since enforcement of the new social regulations has begun, according to Dr. Logre, a physician with the Special Infirmary at police headquarters.

Absinthe is currently being served in large “demis” formerly reserved for beer (le Populaire, 27 Dec. ’37).

Psychologists report both an augmentation and an intensification in cases of madness, putting our country in first place in European statistics on insanity.

“Bénédictine,” whose shares once worth 750 francs are now worth 6,860 francs, has incrementally raised its dividends from 200 francs 80 centimes in 1935, to 355 francs for 1938.

[179/274]

The Popular Front, that great rallying point for every manner of imbecile, has finally let loose with its entire barrage. It has told us quite forthrightly that we are no longer anything more than a most pitiful, vile, mindless rabble, whose treatment by the Jews is most desrving.

“The Popular Front of the Paris Region, alarmed by the anti-Semitic agitation which has appeared in certain places, particularly in Alsace-Lorraine and in the Paris Region, is giving the Parisian populace advanced warning, concerning Hitler’s agents in France.

“We call upon the public authorities to suppress those newspapers raising the call for murder. We also declare that, given the grave hour in which we find ourselves, a union of all democratic forces is needed, in order to bar the route of international Fascism, that maker of turmoil and war.

“We recognize the fact that, ever since 1789, France has never made any sort of distinction between Frenchmen and Jews. We will not allow the dishonorable morals of totalitarian countries to be introduced into our own country.

“IF FRENCHMEN ARE INCAPABLE OF KEEPING UP WITH THE JEWS WHO ARE TAKING THEIR PLACES IN EVERY [”/275] DOMAIN, FROM THE SHOP FLOOR ALL THE WAY UP TO THE GOVERNMENT, IT IS BECAUSE THE JEW IS MORE GIFTED. AS A CONSEQUENCE, IT IS ONLY RIGHT AND PROPER THAT THE JEWS COMMAND AND DIRECT THEIR FRENCH SUBORDINATES IN THE PERFORMANCE OF THEIR TASKS.”

(Motion carried unanimously by the Popular Front of the Paris Region, on 23 September 1938.)

How long until they start coming after our tenderloins?