Castle to Castle by Louis-Ferdinand Céline Page A

the word that kills! . . . a woman that talks softens your pecker, ah, they came up hard at the silent pictures! . . . Take a look at the movie houses today! the trouble they have filling up! . . . blah-blah-blah . . . crushing, soporific . . . gloomy balls . . . soft cocks! . . . smiles, vaporous negligees! tender music! well be going back to all that! . . . and moonlight! I can safely say that you'll never find an idol who can hold a candle to Suzanne . . . not even with floods of money, tomtoms, and scandal . . . it's no use trying . . . I who had no time to spare, hell, no! . . . between deliveries . . . I still managed to gallop out past Bécon to see Suzanne in person on the set! . . . gives you an idea what an idol she was! . . . between La Garenne and Nanterre . . . whenever it stopped raining, they took advantage! . . . between the rubble heaps . . . hiring on the spot . . . we made up the crowd . . . I was a kid in the crowd . . . between showers, five francs! . . . two francs . . . a whistle blew! . . . everybody take shelter! . . . the first drop! under the bridge! save the equipment from the rain . . . and the dresses with their muslin trains! and the stars' makeup, carmine and oil and plaster of Paris! . . . beauties that had warmth . . . Did we help! . . . we husky extras weren't the only ones to help them to the shelters! the sightseers helped too! . . . the crowd! . . . when the whistle blew! and the first drop fell! everybody! and Suzanne!
    What's become of all that? . . . I ask you . . . the stars and the extras? . . . and the crowd? . . . and the rain . . . what rain! . . . speaking of those far-off days I can say one thing: The real thing is dead! . . . I know . . . a fellow like me, still attentive to the real thing . . . looks like an ass! . . . For no reason at all . . . and they're proud of it . . . they crushed the whorehouses and street fairs . . . some jerk-off! . . . now the juice squirts all over the place! . . . the whole place is a whorehouse . . . and a street fair . . . from cradle to grave . . . all fucked up! The real thing is dead. Verdun killed it! Amen! . . .
    Maybe I'm going to bore you . . . something funnier? . . . more titillating? . . . Maybe . . . ? All I care about . . . you know that . . . is giving you a laugh . . . Even before the days of Suzanne, I knew the Hippodrome with its horses  and wild animals! the big stable! and what mobs! . . . such crowds that the omnibus gave up! . . . at La Trinité . . . couldn't even get started! jam-packed with enthusiasts. And what a show! men, lions, and horses, Marines, Boxers, the capture of Peking! Those are the things that give you the right frame of mind! a sense of art! I don't know many writers of the so-called left or right, holy-water addicts or Commies, conspirators of the cellar cafés or of the Lodges, who ever saw the storming of Peking like I did on the Place Clichy . . . and the bayonet charge of our little Marines! the storming of the wooden ramparts . . . the clouds of powder smoke! . . . and boom! . . . at least twenty cannon . . . all at once! . . . Sergeant Bobillot taking on a hundred Boxers singlehanded! . . . grabbing their flag! . . . and planting ours, our tricolor! on their pile of corpses . . . square in the middle! . . . Peking was ours! And the fleet! coming down from the grid! the Courbet on canvas! . . . the works . . . those were the shows! Those shows formed the spirit!
    Oh, wait . . . something even more terrific than Peking! . . . the attack on the stagecoach . . . by three tribes of mounted Indians . . . bareback . . . you need to have seen those things! Where would you find two hundred Indians riding bareback today? . . . plus Buffalo Bill in person! . . . shooting an egg in mid-air . . . in full gallop! you won't find that in a hurry . . . no Hollywood hokum! . . . that egg in mid-air . . . Buffalo Bill and his boys . . . the genuine article, spitting flames! . . . ah, and the best of all! . . . I