La Révolution Surréaliste 1929
Source: La Révolution Surrealiste, year 5, no. 12, December 15, 1929;
Author: Unidentified surrealist;
Translated: from the original letter, by Mitchell Abidor;
CopyLeft: Creative Commons (Attribute & ShareAlike) marxists.org 2013.
Dear Guardian of the Seals;
Since you have just conjointly accepted the vice presidency of the Council of Ministers and that of the society of my Friends it is important you know that as a former Communard, petroleur, etc. I consider myself in solidarity with the imprisoned members of the French Communist Party (French Section of the Third International). I also intend to attend in person a meeting of those Friends of whom you are the vice president in order to, among other things, stir up the dirty question of police conspiracies and brutality. In this regard, as relates to my Friendship, who is this Monsieur Renier, your hierarchical superior? Doubtless a caropolmerdis [1] big shot, like you. It’s unheard of how well regarded I am beginning to be by the grocers there.
The fools you guard doubtless never told you who I am. Monsieur, I am not a bronze to be inaugurated. I am one of the canaille. When I was still a child I admired the intractable prisoner who was locked away in the penal colonies. I visited the inns and the furnished rooms he would have made holy with his presence. What blood should I walk through, I asked myself? And if I concluded that if it was better to stay away from the justice system it’s because I was never at one with those people. I was never a Christian; I was of the race of those who sung under torture. I don’t understand laws and I have no moral sense. Magistrate, you are nothing but a creature carrying out the dirty work of others. Your society? Everything is back in place. The same bourgeois magic wherever the trunk is put down. When you're hungry and thirsty there is someone hunting you down. There are still finks and monopolists. Go where the cows drink? Zut alors! If the sun disappears from here! But we still want our vengeance. Perish all you industrialists, princes, and senates. Down with authority, justice and history! This is owed us.
In conclusion, I would like to draw your attention to the case of the tailor Almazian.
Till the next war.
Arthur Rimbaud
P.S. As for the world, when you leave it what will it have become? In any case, it'll look nothing like it does now.
1. Insulting name for residents of Charleville, Rimbaud’s hometown.