Truth by the Marquis de Sade - Audiobook скачать в хорошем качестве

Truth by the Marquis de Sade - Audiobook

Read by Tom B. Text: Truth What is this helpless and sterile fantasy?, That deity that preaches to the fool An obnoxious mass of impostor priests ? Do they want to put me among their followers ? Ah ! never, I swear, and I'll keep my word, Never this weird, disgusting idol., This child of delirium and derision Will make the slightest impression on my heart. Happy and glorious with my epicurism, I intend to die within atheism And that the infamous God that they want to alarm me Be conceived by me only to blaspheme him. Yes, vain illusion, my soul hates you, And to convince you better here I protest, I wish that one moment you could exist To enjoy the pleasure of insulting you better. What is indeed this dreadful ghost?, This God's gown, this terrible being That nothing offers to the eyes nor shows to the mind, That the fool fears and whose wise man laughs, That nothing paints in the senses, that no one can understand, Whose savage cult at all times spread More blood than war or THEMIS in Wrath Could not pour it among us in a thousand years ? I might analyze it, this villain deific, I may study it, my philosophical eye Sees in this pattern of your religions That an impure assemblage of contradictions Who gives in to the test as soon as it is considered, That we insult with pleasure, that we brave, that we insult, Produced by fear, born by Hope, That our mind could never conceive, Becoming in turn, in whose hands it is built, An object of terror, joy or vertigo Let the cunning impostor who announces it to the humans Rule as he wishes on our sad fates, Which he painted sometimes mean and sometimes debonair, Sometimes slaughtering us, or being our father., By always lending it to him, according to his passions, His manners, character and opinions : Or the forgiving hand or the one that pierces us. There he is, that stupid God whose priest is rocking us. But by what right is he who is bound by falsehood Does he intend to subject me to the error that is affecting him ? Do I need the God that my wisdom abjures To vindicate the laws of nature ? In her everything moves, and her creative bosom Acts at any time without the assistance of a motor3. To this double embarrassment did I gain anything ? Does this God of the universe prove the cause ? If he creates, he is created, and I am always Uncertain, as before, to adopt his appeal. Run, run away from my heart, infernal fraud ; Yield, and disappear, to the laws of nature She alone has done everything, you are nothing but nothing. Whose hand came out of us one day by creating us. Vanished you, execrable chimera ! Run away from these climates, give up the Earth Where you will see only hardened hearts To the lying jargon of your pitiful friends ! As for me, I agree, the horror that I bear you Is both so right, and so great, and so strong, With pleasure, God vile, with tranquility, What am I saying ? with transport, even with pleasure, I'll be your executioner, if your feeble existence Could offer a point to my dark revenge, And my arm with charm would go to your heart From my aversion to prove you right. But it would be in vain if we were to reach you, And your essence escapes anyone who wants to compel it. Not able to crush you, at least, in mortals., I would like to overthrow your dangerous altars And demonstrate to those that a God still captivates Let that cowardly runt that their weakness adores Is not meant to put an end to passions. O Sacred movements, proud impressions, Be forever the object of our tributes, The only ones we can offer the cult of the true wise, The only ones in all times who relish their heart, The only ones that nature offers to our happiness ! Let us yield to their empire, and let their violence, Captivating our minds with no resistance, Make us with impunity the laws of our pleasures What their voice prescribes is sufficient for our desires. Whatever disorder their organs cause, We must yield to them without remorse or pain., And, without scrutinizing our laws or consulting our customs,, Giving in to all the mistakes That their hands always dictated nature to us. Let us never respect that his divine murmur ; What our vain laws strike in every country Is what for his plans had ever more price. What seems to man a terrible injustice Is upon us only the effect of his corrupting hand, And when, according to our customs, we are afraid to fail, We succeed only in receiving the best.5 These sweet deeds you call crimes, These excesses that fools believe to be illegitimate, Are only the deviations that please his eyes, The vices, the inclinations that delight her better ; What she does to us is only sublime. ; By counselling the horror, she offers the victim Let us strike it without quivering, and never fear.