Castle to Castle by Louis-Ferdinand Céline Read Free Book Online

ass, glasses, smell and all! crossbreed of Mauriac and crab-louse . . . a little of Claudel Gnome et Rhône! ° fragile hybrids . . . scavengers of the plague! crime pays! . . .
    While we're on the subject of literature, let me tell you about Denoël° . . . Denoël, who was assassinated . . . oh, he had his nasty ways . . .! There's no denying it, he sold you down the river when necessary . . . given the right time and circumstances, he tied you hand and foot, and sold you out . . . after which he was perfectly capable of changing his mind and apologizing . . . like . . . like (a hundred names) . . . but he had one saving grace . . . his passion for literature . . . he really recognized good work, he had respect for writers . . . Brottin is a horse of a different color . . . Achille Brottin is your sordid grocer, an implacable idiot . . . the only thing he can think about is his dough! more dough! still more! the complete millionaire! More and more flunkeys around him . . . with their tongues hanging out and their pants down . . .
    Denoël the assassinated read everything . . . Brottin is like Claudel, all he reads is the financial page . . . his reading is done by the "Pin-brain-Trust": Norbert Loukoum, president . . . ah! . . . their idea of reading is to smoke, wash their feet, and play the trumpet! they decide heads or tails . . . who cares? another author more or less . . . they've got thousands and thousands in the cellar . . . toss the whole mess in the garbage? . . . the garbage collectors won't read it! . . . what do I care? . . . garbage pail! what does that make me look like? Emptying garbage? Me with two garbage cans waiting for me . . . if I don't, who will? . . . not Brottin . . . it's my lookout . . . chin up, boy! not Loukoum! he'd sooner die . . . I've been taking the "chin up, boy" routine for going on sixty-four years . . . and it's time to do it again . . . the garbage can and "chin up, boy" . . . from my place to the road it's a good two hundred yards . . . downhill, I have to admit . . . I take them down in the dark so as not to be seen . . . I leave them on the road . . . but people walk off with them . . . I've had at least ten garbage cans swiped . . . It's not just the "Purges"° . . . but this constant robbery . . . everywhere and always! Besides, toting my own garbage cans doesn't help my reputation any . . . people have stopped calling me "Doctor" . . . just plain "Monsieur" . . . pretty soon they'll be calling me "you old bum!" I'm prepared . . . a doctor without a maid, without a housekeeper, without a car, who hauls his own garbage . . . and to top it off writes books . . . and who's been in prison . . . just think it over . . .
    And in the meantime, while you're thinking it over, if you'd buy one or two of my books, it would be a help . . .
    Never mind about that . . . what really burns me with hatred . . . especially on this road! is the cars! . . . they never stop! there you can see real madness . . . the rush to Versailles! the charge of the motorcars . . . weekdays! Sundays . . . as if gasoline were free . . . one-seaters . . . three-seaters . . . six-seaters! . . . All jam-packed, so help me! . . . where are they all going? . . . to eat, to drink, and worse! . . . more, more! . . . Businessmen's lunches . . . munch, munch . . . business trips . . . biz, biz . . . business belches, wrp , wrp , it's pitiful . . . and they've stolen three garbage cans from me! millionaires in a fury because their engines won't burst! they splash me . . . and my garbage cans . . . all the while belching canard aux navets! plutocrats, Poujadists, Communists, belching and farting all over the freeway! the coalition of canard aux navets . Eighty miles an hour! belching and farting harder for the peace of the world than a hundred million pedestrians! Historical duck . . . historical inns! historical menus! . . . you're so drunk when you get up from table ( Château Trompette 1900 ) it's a pure miracle! . . . a