Here it comes again: the charity catcall for cash; but this time it is for the last time…. I’m tired of playing the wily prostitute to your flagging generosity; I will no longer help you to get it up, Alphonse.
But, with this excuse of its being the ‘last time,’ I feel free enough to ask you for double the amount I requested last time. If you can see your way clear to peel off 100 francs from the wad the crooked lawyers jam into your pockets, dear judge and brother…? Your last disbursement, you should know, went for books and medicines. I had an intolerable headache, brought on no doubt by too much late night reading.
You know I have been stretching my pen to its utmost. I review art and opera with a constancy such artistes pray to receive from their wives. I garner inches and influence in Le Monitor, Le Universal Optik, and even such English rags as The Times and Pantisocracy Today. But still, it is not enough! I’d be pinching pennies from the orphaned urchins in the street, were their fingernails not quite so sharp.
It seems I forgot about my tailor–an exquisite artist! An amputee would grow a new leg just to wear a pair of pants fitted by this nimble little man. But a tailor can ruin a gentleman’s reputation faster than any other acquaintance a man might have. Everyone with any style sees Tripadore, and any one of these fellows might drop the question, in seeming generosity, ‘I know Charles Baudelaire goes to you, of course; he’s an impeccable man in his insane way, but tell me, if he owes you a little something, so I might clear it up for him. As a tribute to his dissolute genius, of course.’ Ah! And Tripadore would let the terrible truth slip; the friend would be unfortunately short of the required cash, and… in all the clubs you are ‘That deadbeat, Baudelaire.’
I tell you, it makes me feel like skinning a cat!
So, if it is alright, I will go over to your friend M. Guerin’s tonight, and ask the advance of him with your guarantee, nes pas?
And again, I say the ‘last time,’ to bind myself to a line of honorable conduct in the execrable matter of money, and to assuage any alarmist jump that may travel through your nerves or your checkbook when you receive a letter with the blotted and black return address of
Yours Truly,
Chas. Baudelaire
666 Crossways Court
the Vampire Cave, just West of Paris
P.S. Am now involved in translating the fourth act of Timon of Athens, so don’t worry about the future; this show will go big!
P.P.S. I send you my warmest regards for the new year, which I hope will find all your family in supreme health, etc. I have firmly deferred any reform in my general behavior until 1850, after the new year.
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