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I would have done anything to convert my aunt Catherine to my views anything; but I would rather die than sacrifice art and an artist's life, music, painting, and Sébaldus's tavern! Sébaldus's tavern is delightful. It is the corner house between the narrow Rue des Hallebardes and the little square De la Cigogne.
He went to his funeral with some golfers from the hamlets of Coq, La Cigogne, and La Queue de l’Ayache. On returning from the cemetery they went to the tavern to drink, as they say, to the memory of the dead, and there they lost themselves in talk about the noble game of golf. When they separated, in the dusk of evening: Boire la cervelle du mort.
Did his mind, obsessed and overwhelmed by images of death, crave at last for the one thing stranger than all these the experience of it? It is easy to believe so, and that, ill, wretched, and abandoned by Degen at the miserable Cigogne Hotel, he should seek relief in the gradual dissolution which attends upon loss of blood.
At Basel, however, for some unexplained reason, the friends parted, and Beddoes fell immediately into the profoundest gloom. 'Il a été misérable, said the waiter at the Cigogne Hotel, where he was staying, 'il a voulu se tuer. It was true. He inflicted a deep wound in his leg with a razor, in the hope, apparently, of bleeding to death.
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