GEORGES BATAILLE
Blue of Noon
Translated by Harry Mathews
PALADIN
GRAFTON BOOKS
A Division of the Collins Publishing Group
LONDO;"; GLASGOW
TORONTO SYDNEY AUCKLAND
Paladin
Grafton Books
A Division of the Collins Publishing Group
8 Grafton Street, London WI X 3LA
Published in Paladin Books 1988
First published in Great Britain by
Marion Boyars (Publishers) Ltd 1979
Copyright © Georges Bataille 1957
ISBN 0-586-08624-2
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Collins, Glasgow
Set in Times
All rights reserved. No part of this publication
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For Andre Masson
Contents
INTRODUCTION 9
PART ONE 21
PART Two 25
The Evil Omen 27
Motherly Feet 44
Antonio's Story 86
The Blue of Noon 96
The Feast of the Dead 134
ApPENDIX: The Author's Foreword 153
Introduction
INTRODUCTION 1 1
In London, in a cellar, in a neighborhood dive
the most squalid of unlikely places - Dirty was drunk.
Utterly so. I was next to her (my hand was still band
aged from being cut by a broken glass.) Dirty that day
was wearing a sumptuous evening gown (I was unshaven
and unkempt.) As she stretched her long legs, she went
into a violent convulsion . The place was crowded with
men, and their eyes were getting ominous; the eyes of
these perplexed men recalled spent cigars . Dirty clasped
her naked thighs with both hands. She moaned as she
bit into a grubby curtain. She was as drunk as she was
beautiful . Staring at a gaslamp, she rolled round, irate
eyes.
"What's going on?" she shouted.
In the same instant, like a cannon going off in a
cloud of dust, she jumped. From eyes that bulged like a
scarecrow's came a stream of tears .
She shouted again: "Troppmann ! "
12 THE BLUE OF NOON
As she looked at me her eyes opened wider . With
long dirty hands she stroked my sick head. My forehead
was damp from fever. She was crying, with wild en
treaty, the way one vomits . She was sobbing so hard her
hair was drenched with tears.
The scene that preceded this nauseous carnival -
afterwards, rats must have come crawling over the floor
round the two sprawled bodies - was in every way wor
thy of Dostoevsky.
Drunkenness had committed us to dereliction, in
pursuit of some grim response to the grimmest of com
pulsions .
Before being wholly affected by drink, we had
managed to retreat to a room at the Savoy. Dirty had
noticed that the elevator attendant was very ugly (in
spite of his handsome uniform, you might have taken
him for a gravedigger.)
She pointed this out to me with a distracted laugh.
Her speech was already awry - she spoke like a drunk
woman.
"You know -", racked as she was by hiccups, she
kept stopping short, " when I was a kid . . . I remember . . .
I came here with my mother. Here. About ten years ago.
So I must have been twelve . . . . My mother was a faded
old lady, sort of like the Queen of England . . . So, as it
happened, coming out of the elevator, the elevator man
- we just saw him -"
"Who - him?"
"Yes. The same one as today. He didn't stop it
INTRODUCTION 1 3
level - the elevator went up too far - she fell flat on
her face. She came tumbling down - my mother - "
Dirty burst out laughing, like some lunatic. She
couldn't stop.
Struggling to find my words, I said to her, "Don't
laugh any more. You'll never get through your story. "
She stopped laughing and began shouting: " Oh,
my, I'm getting silly - I'll have to . . . No, no, I'll finish
my story. My mother. Not stirring, with her skirt over
her head, that enormous skirt of hers . Like someone
dead. Not another stir out of her. They picked her up
and began putting her to bed. She started to puke - she
was stewed to the eyebrows, except that one second
earlier you couldn't tell - that woman . . . She was like
a mastiff. She was scary. "
I said to Dirty, abjectly: "I'd like to fall down in
front of you, just the way she did . . . "
"Would you throw up?" Dirty asked me, without
even a smile. She kissed me inside the mouth.
"Maybe. "
I went into the bathroom. I was very pale. For no
reason at all I looked at myself in the mirror for a long
time; I was horribly unkempt, almost coarse, with swol
len features that were not even ugly, and the rank look
of a man just out of bed.
Dirty was alone in the bedroom. It was a huge
room lighted by a multitude of ceiling lamps. She
wandered around, walking straight ahead, as though
she would never stop. She seemed literally crazy.
·
II
�. i'
14 THE BLUE OF NOON
Her shoulders were bare to the point of indecency.
In that light I found the glitter of her blond hair unbear
able.
She gave me a feeling of purity nonetheless. Even in
her debauchery, there was such candor in her that I
sometimes wanted to grovel at her feet. I was afraid of
her. I saw that she was worn out. She was on the point
of falling down. She began gasping for breath, panting
like an animal; she was suffocating. Her mean, hunted
look was driving me insane. She stopped - I think her
legs were squirming under her dress. There was no
doubt she was about to start raving.
She rang the bell for the maid.
After a few moments, a redhaired, fresh-complexioned, and rather pretty maid came in. She seemed to gag on the smell. It was a highly unusual smell for so opulent a place: that of a lowdown brothel. Dirty had given up trying to stand on her feet unless she had a wall to lean on. She seemed to be in horrible pain. I don't know at what point in the day she had smothered herself in cheap perfumes, but in addition to the indescribable state she had gotten herself into, she gave off a sour smell of armpit and crotch which, mingling with the perfume, recalled the stench of an infirmary. She also reeked of whisky, and she was belching . . .
The English girl was aghast.
" Y ou 're just the person I need, " Dirty announced, "but first you have to get the elevator man. There's something I want to tell him. "
INTRODUCTION IS
The maid vanished; Dirty, now staggering, went
and sat on a chair. With great difficulty she managed to
set down a bottle and a glass on the floor beside her.
Her eyes were growing heavy.
Her eyes tried to find me. I was no longer there.
She lost her head. In a desperate voice she called out,
" Troppmann! "
There was no reply.
She got up and several times nearly fell. She made it
to the bathroom door; she saw me slumped on a bench,
haggard and white . In my drunkenness I had just re
opened the cut in my right hand. The bleeding, which I
was trying to stanch with a towel, was dribbling rapidly
onto the floor. Dirty, in front of me, was staring at me
with eyes like an animal's. I wiped my face, thus smear
ing blood over my forehead and nose. The electric light
was getting blindingly bright. It was unbearable, this
light that wore out the eyes.
There was a knock at the door. The maid came in,
followed by the elevator attendant.
Dirty slumped onto the chair. After what seemed to
me like a very long time, her eyes lowered and unseeing,
she asked the elevator attendant, "You were here in
1924?"
The attendant answered yes .
" I want to ask you - the tall old lady . . . The one
who fell down getting out of the elevator and vomited
on the floor . . . You remember?"
Dirty was articulating through dead lips, seeing
nothing.
16 THE BLUE OF NOON
In fearful embarassment the two servants cast side
long glances, questioning and observing one another.
"I do remember," the attendant admitted. "It's
true. "
(This man, who was in his forties, may have had
the face of a thieving gravedigger, but it was of such an
unctuosity that it seemed to have been pickled in oil.)
" A glass of whisky? " Dirty asked.
No one answered. The two characters stood there
in deferential, painful expectancy.
Dirty asked to be given her purse. Her gestures
were so sluggish it took a long minute for her hand to
reach the bottom of the purse; as soon as she found the
stack of banknotes, she tossed it on the floor, saying
merely, " Go shares. "
The gravedigger had found something to do. He
picked up the precious stack and began counting out the
pounds aloud. There were twenty in all. He handed ten
to the maid.
"We may leave?" he asked after a while.
"Oh, no, not yet. Please, sit down. "
She seemed to be suffocating; blood was rushing to
her face. Showing great deference, the two servants had
remained standing; but they too became red and anx
ious, partly because of the staggering size of the tip,
partly because of the implausible, incomprehensible
situation.
Dirty remained mutely perched on the chair. There
was a long silence: you could have heard our hearts in-
INTRODUCTION 1 7
side their bodies. I walked over to the door, pale and
sick, my face smeared with blood; I was hiccupping and
on the point of vomiting. In terror the servants saw that
water was trickling across the chair and down the legs of
their beautiful guest. While the urine was gathering into
a puddle that spread over the carpet, a noise of slacken
ing bowels made itself ponderously evident beneath the
young woman's dress - beet-red, her eyes twisted up
wards, she was squirming on her chair like a pig under
the knife.
The trembling, nauseated maid had to wash Dirty,
who seemed calm and content once again. She let herself
be wiped and soaped. The elevator man aired the room
until the smell had completely disappeared.
He then bandaged my cut to stop the bleeding.
Things were all back in their proper place. The
maid was putting away the last articles of clothing.
Washed, perfumed, more beautiful than ever, Dirty was
stretched out on the bed, still drinking. She made the at
tendant sit down. He sat next to her in an armchair . At
this point, drunkenness gave her the forsaken candor of
a child, of a little girl.
Even when she remained silent, she seemed for
saken.
Occasionally she would laugh to herself.
"Tell me, " she at last said to the elevator attend
ant, " during all the years you've been at the Savoy, you
must have had lots of repulsive experiences . "
"Oh, not all that many, " he replied, although not
)8 THE BLUE OF NOON
before finishing his whisky, which seemed to give him a boost and restore his composure. " The guests here are well-behaved, as a rule. "
"Oh, well-behaved - that's a whole way of life isn't it? Just like my departed mother when she took a'tumble in front of you and puked all over your sleeves . . . "
.
And Dirty burst into dissonant laughter, to which, In that emptiness, there was no response.
She went on: "And do you know why they're all well-behaved? They're scared, do you understand? Their teeth are chattering - that's why they never dare let anything show. I can sense that because I 'm scared myself - yes, my good man, I am. Can't you tell? Even of you. Scared to death _"
. "Wouldn 't Madame like a glass of water? " the maId asked fearfully.
"Shit ! " Dirty curtly answered, sticking out her tongue at her, "I happen to be sick, don 't forget that . I also happen to have a few brains in my head. " Then: "You don't give a fuck, but things like that make me want to vomit, do you hear?"
With a mild gesture I managed to interrupt her.
. As I made her take another swallow of Scotch, I saId to the attendant, "Admit that if it was up to you, you'd strangle her. "
"You're rig�t, ' : Dirty yelped,. "look at those huge paws, those gonlla s paws of hIS . They're hairy as balls. "
"But, Madame, " the attendant protested "you know I 'm here to oblige you. " '
INTRODUCTION
19
"What an idea! No, you idiot, I don't need your
balls . I 'm feeling sick to my stomach. "
As she chortled, she belched.
The maid dashed out and came back with a basin.
She seemed all servility, and utterly decent . I sat there
pale and listless . I kept drinking more and more.
"And as for you - you, the nice girl, " Dirty
began, this time addressing the maid, '�you masturbate,
and you look at the teapots in shopwlndows �or when
you'll set up housekeeping. If I had a fanny lIke yours
I'd let everybody see it . Otherwise, one d.
ay you 'II �ap
pen to find the hole while you're scratchIng and dIe of
shame. " .
Appalled I abruptly told the maid, "SprInkle some ,
, . 11 h t?" water on her face - can't you see she s gettIng a o .
The maid immediately started bustling about. She
put a wet towel on Dirty's forehead.
Dirty dragged herself over to the window. Beneath
her she saw the Thames and, in the background, some
of the most hideous buildings in London, now mag
nified in the darkness . She quickly vomited in the open
air. In her relief she called for me, and, as I held her
forehead I stared at that foul sewer of a landscape: the
river and'the warehouses . In the vicinity of the hotel the
lights of luxury apartments loomed insolently. . Gazing out at London, I almost wept, I was so �IS
traught with anxiety. As I breathed in the �ool air, chl!d
hood memories - of little girls, for Instance, WIth
whom I used to play at telephone and diabolo - merged
20 THE BLUE OF NOON
with the vision of the elevator attendant's apelike paws .
What was happening, moreover, seemed to me trivial
and somehow ludicrous. I myself was empty. I was
scarcely even capable of inventing new horrors to fill the
emptiness. I felt powerless and degraded. It was in this
uncompliant and indifferent frame of mind that I
followed Dirty outside. Dirty kept me going; never
theless, I could not conceive of any human creature be
ing more derelict and adrift .
This anxiety that never for a moment let the body
slacken provided the only explanation for a wonderful
ability: we managed, with no respect for conventional
pigeonholes, to eliminate every possible urge, in the
room at the Savoy as well as in the dive, wherever we
had to.
Part One
PART ONE 23
I'm goin g to die in disgraceful circumstances.
Today, I am overjoyed at bein g an o bject o f horror
and repugnance to the one bein g whom I am bound to.
My desire? Whatever worst thin gs can happen to a
man who will sco ff at them .
The blan k head in which HI" am has become so
frightened and greedy that only my death could satisfy
it .
Several days ago (not in any nightmare, but in
fact), I came to a city that loo ked like the settin g for a
tragedy . One evenin g - I mention this only to lau gh
more cheerlessly - I was not alone as I drun kenly
watched two old pederasts twirlin g as they danced (not
in any dream, but in fact.) In the middle of the night the
Commendatore entered my room. That afternoon, as I
was passin g his grave, pride had incited me to extend
24 THE BLUE OF NOON
him an ironic invitation. His unexpected arrival ap
palled me.
Facin g him, I started to tremble . Facin g him, I
became derelict .
Next to me lay the second victim. The utter
repu gnance on her lips made them resemble the lips o f a
certain dead wo man . Fro m them dribbled so methin g
more dreadful than blood. Since that day, I have been
doo med to a solitude that I reject and no lon ger have the
heart to endure . Ho wever, to renew the invitation, one
shout is all I need,· and if I could trust my blind an ger,
this time it wouldn 't be me who exited, but the old
man 's corpse.
Born o f disreputable pain, the insolence that per
sists in spite o f everythin g started growin g a gain : slo wly
at first, then in a sudden burst that has blinded and
transfigured me with a happiness that defies all reason .
At this mo ment I a m into xicated with happiness .
Drun k with it .
I'll sin g and shout it forth at the top 0/ my lungs .
In my idiotic heart, idiocy is sin gin g its head o ff.
I HA VE PREVAIL ED!
Part Two
Chapter 1 • The EvzlOmen
Dring the per:Od in my life when I was
most unhappy, I used to frequent - for reasons hard to
justify, and without a trace of sexual attraction - a
woman whom I only found appealing because of her
ridiculous appearance: as though my lot required in
these circumstances a bird of ill omen to keep me com
pany. When, in May, I came back from London, I was
in a state of overexcitement, helpless, almost ill; but this
strange girl didn't notice a thing. In June, I left Paris to
meet Dirty in Prum; then, out of exasperation, Dirty
left me. On my return, I was incapable of keeping up a
presentable attitude at any length. I spent as much time
as I could with the " bird of ill omen . " However, I
sometimes succumbed to fits of annoyance in her com
pany.
This disturbed her . One day she asked what was the
matter with me. (She told me shortly afterwards that she
had felt I might go insane at any moment .)
28
THE BWE OF NOON
I was irritated. I answered, "Absolutely nothing. " She was insistent: " I can understand it if you don't feel like talking. I 'm sure it would be best if I left you now · You're not calm enough to give the project careful thought. But I want you to know that it 's upsetting for me. What are you planning to do?" I looked her in the eye, with no resolve whatsoever. I must have seemed at a loss, as if anxious to escape some obsession that would not be put off. She looked away.
I said to her, "I suppose you think I 've been drink-ing?"
"No, why? Is that something you do?" "Frequently. "
"I didn't know that. "
. She. thought of me as someone serious _ wholly senous, In fact - and, for her, drunkenness was a thing that could not be reconciled with other obligations . "It's only . . . You look worn out. " "Let 's talk some more about the project. " " You're obviously too tired. You're sitting there as though you were about to keel over. " '· 'That's a possibility. "
"What's wrong?"
"I'm about to go insane. " "Why?"
"I hurt. "
"What can I do?"
"Nothing. "
"You can't tell me what 's wrong?"
THE EVIL OMEN 29
"I don't think so. "
" Cable your wife to come back. She doesn't have
to stay in Brighton?" , "No. As a matter of fact, she's written me. It s best
for her not to come. "
, . ?" "Does she know the state you re In .
"She also knows there's nothing she could do to
change it . "
The woman sat there puzzled. She must hav� been
thinking that, insufferable and spineless as I was, �t was
her duty to help me out of my predicament. She fInally
made up her mind and said to me curtly, " I c� 't l,eave you like this. I'm taking you home, or to a fnend s -
l·k " whatever you 1 e . . .
, . . . I did not reply. Things at thIS pOInt started gOIng
black inside my head. I 'd had enough.
She took me home. I didn't utter another word.
2
I usually saw her at a bar-and-grill behind the Bourse.
I used to make her eat with me. It was ha�d for us. getting to the end of a meal. We spent our tIme a�gulng.
She was a girl of twenty-five, ugly and CO?SPlcuously
filthy. (The women I previously went out WIth had, on
the contrary, been pretty and well-dressed. ) Lazare
her surname-suited her macabre app�arance better
than her given name. She was strange; Indeed, some
what ridiculous. It was hard explaining the interest I
30 THE BLUE OF NOON
took in her. It necessarily implied some kind of mental
derangement. At least, that's how it appeared to the
friends I used to meet at the Bourse.
At t