CLAUDE CAHUN‘‘A wingless bird, a tiny little one fallen from his nest is at my feet. I kneel
down (he is living!), I hold him in my hand: ‘There is a comforter softer, dear
panicked heart, sweetness, defenseless sweetness, softer than your mother’s stom-
ach, than the bits of reddish moss and silks she gathered.. .’ Now he’s almost
reassured, warmer than my feverish armpit. I hold him under my arm clasped to
my side — oh caress of his nascent feathers!... Let’s start o√!... and I hold him a
little more tightly — so he won’t fall, so I’ll feel him burning against my flesh,
growing cold, for a final spasm — and dying!—
‘‘That’s a bad omen. — Disgust!... Why disgust? So life is that clean, cleaner
than death? At least this corpse doesn’t take up much space.
‘‘Shall I have the strength to carry him whole — the other one — or will it be
better to cut him into pieces, to choose the best bits?...
‘‘Oh! I frightened myself! Nothing has been accomplished; I was thinking
that... as a joke.
‘‘... Have I really been a criminal from childhood, condemned to destroy
everything I love? No: he will prevent the infamous sacrifice. Isn’t he my chosen
one because he is the strongest? — Barbarian! enslave me; deliver to me first just
the most vulgar part of your body, the one I’ve learned to cherish the least. Watch
out for this mouth, this nape, these ears — for everything that can be bitten, torn,
sucked until your foreign blood is exhausted — delicious.
‘‘It’s your fault! Why didn’t you find me out? Why didn’t you turn me over to
the executioners? I would still love you, I would have perished happy. I want you
to be the victor and you left yourself be conquered!...
‘‘What’s the point of all this reproach? He isn’t listening to me, he can’t listen
to me...
‘‘For myself alone: Why did I vanquish him? (Have I then stopped loving you,
Holofernes?) — Childish, oh childish!... Why do we eat? We only ask the
question when we aren’t hungry any longer...
‘‘And now my brothers! Those have nothing to fear, for they strike me with
horror. Countryland, prison of the soul! Imprisoned, at least I knew how to see
the bars, and even between the bars.. .’’
The People of Israel acclaim Judith.But she, at first more astonished than a mistreated child, lets herself be carried
in triumph — as if she were asleep. Soon she wakes, drunk with laughter and
insolence, and standing on the stump of human flesh she cries:
‘‘People! what is there in common between you and me? Who allowed you to
penetrate my private life! to judge my acts and find them beautiful? to load me
down (me so feeble and so tired, their eternal prey) with your abominable glory?’’