We were at the top of the staircase where the mountain is cut, which cures those who climb it. 
A cornice forms a belt around the peak, whose arc is very curved. There are no images there 
neither sculptures, the wall is smooth and the road appears under the livid color of the stone. 
In little time, highly pushed by our will, we heard, without however seeing them, flying towards us, 
some spirits who pronounced soft invitations to love. 

The first voice, who passed while flying, said in a very high tone: 
"They want to drink to my vine!" 

She went away repeating it behind us and before she did have, by the distance, 
completely ceased being heard, another passed by, who still did not stop, while shouting: 
"I am whom for which one wants to die."

 "Oh my father! who are these soft voices who give me such a desire of knowing them better?" 
And while I was asking this question to my Master, a third one says: 
"I love whom would make me evil." 

And Baudelaire says to me:
 "This circle punishes the sin of concupiscence and it is for that, that they are tied up 
in the ropes of Love, but do not believe that you would be yourself this curb, because 
you did not arrive yet at the threshold of forgiveness. But rather fix your glances in front of you 
and you will see people sitting there: each one of them is reclining along the cliff." 

I then opened my eyes, more than I had initially done it, I looked in front of me and I saw shadows 
whose coats had the same color as the stone. And, after we had approached a little more, I heard shouting: 
"Marie, pray for us!"

 I do not believe that there is today on earth, a harsh enough man, not to be touched of compassion 
by the spectacle I then saw, when we arrived close to them, a deep pain tore off tears from me. 
They seemed to be young: children and teenagers, boys, girls and also dogs which they use as guides. 
They were covered with silicas and chains; they supported one over the other as well as to the rock cliff.

 Such as blind men, they were begging for their needs, inclining their head one on the other to give birth 
at once, to pity, by the sound of their voice like of their togs, 
and heaven refuses to these shades, its light, as for the blind men, that of the sun. 

Steel wires bored their nose, their ears, their eyelids, their umbilic  
as well as their nipples and the lips of their vulva. 
It is that way that are enchained the rebellious wild animals, so that they do not escape. 

It seemed to me, while going towards them, that I saw them and that I was not seen by them; 
also I turned towards my wise adviser. He knew very well what my silence was hiding,
 it is why he did not await my request, but he says to me: 
"Speak, be short and precise while using of words and not of sentences to be well understood by them." 

Baudelaire passed along the unprotected side of the cornice, decorated with multicoloured graffitis
 with abstact symbols and, on the other side, were these pious shadows who groaned 
and whose tears softened the filthy layer which covered their cheeks. 

I turned to them and I started talking as follows:
 "Oh souls, assured to see the light from up there, which is the single object of your desires,
 do that your conscience be appeased and that your memory does not keep any trace
 of your sorrows, because it would be pleasant and deer to me if there is here, among yourselves, 
one soul who came from my birthplace, it will be perhaps useful for her that I know about it."

 "Whit'ya hooked tongue, ya beautiful togs, UR not from where i'com but i tell you, even, 
that wit'u, i expiate, pray and cry, don't know why, for Whom, but that ya shown to us in Goddam fast."

I was deafened a little by this answer, I approached one of the souls whose attitude appeared 
more feminine to me and who raised her chin like a blind women, I tell her: 
"Spirit, who are you, who purifies yourself before going up higher?"

"I'm from de street, hav'ney Master ney God, live in fog, me soul, me heart in peace and 
even if ya doubt, I'm ney crack ney whore and ya'luvz me Pot, and when I pray, I tag the cliffs, 
I fuck'up with my squidjy'brothers, raise me arm, prick meself and shout to God: 
"Here God! ya fear ya no more!"
 Before cutting me veins, I made peace with me and me mother cried and recites ye "Our Father"; 
and ya, who damn're U, who goes away and who has pity in me, who has eyes of fucker or asshole-fucker, 
who breathes while speaking, who w'ld like well fuck me up, you are too clean fellaw, ya does't fit me." 

"I do not have any bad intention against you, my eyes will be closed for me also elsewhere then here, 
because they did not make the offence that retains you here. Much larger is the fear which my soul
 is seized for the torment of below, because already I feel being crushed by the burden of over there. 
I am a living being; also, elected soul, if you wish that, on earth, 
I still use my mortal feet to serve you, make your request to me." 

Then, she answered to me, surprised:
 "Wash! that's cool, then  t'is God, ye listens to ya? 
Think of ye in your jargons and that ye be as Punky as I wish. 
If you r'turn in dis bitch  mis'ry, tell those whom I made shit and who changed sidewalk
no to see me, that I beseech their God to forgive them, that ya think of seeing me back up there, 
and ye know that one is no getting shit in Hell to have been Funky like them."