by Iulia Hasdeu
Gais Bohémiens, d'où venez-vous?Béranger She's softly walking by with sylph-like grace,Her ample skirts unfold in gliding pleatsAs she moves lithely, at a hurried pace,Svelte as a lily, through unending streets. Her dainty foot, arched elegantly, keenTo travel without ceasing everywhere,Vies with the slippered foot of any queen,Though kept, despite the rain, forever bare. She sweeps with queenly grace along the way,Balancing softly as a bowing reedThat in the gentle breeze is prone to swayAs birds alight upon it with their feet. Out of a mass of wildly tousled hair,Her locks spill down her brow in rebel rows.No beauty queen on earth, however fair,Could fail to envy her perfect nose. Her dark-lipped playful smile reveals the sparkOf her enamel teeth – a dazzling sight…Nothing compares to her complexion darkThat renders brighter still her eyes so bright. She loves gay colours. On her head she wearsA red and yellow scarf. Upon her breast –A chain of golden coins. She spurns the caresOf days to come. She walks and sings with zest. Without complaint she walks behind the brownMan whom she chose to follow everywhere.He wanders searching work from town to town,And all his burdens she will gladly share. She helps him in his work however rough –As blacksmith, brazier, mason – on the way,And as she smokes, she smiles, content enoughTo sing her simple song day after day. Under their tent, way out, beyond the farms,She sits each evening while the flames burn high.Rocking her swaddled baby in her arms,She breastfeeds him and hums a lullaby. As in a dream, and smoking all the while,She lulls the babe asleep. Her song rings sad…Yet she regards her offspring with a smile,And worries not about the times ahead. The Gypsy is a butterfly in flight,Fleeting through fragrant meadows far and wide.Beware, though, for behind her mask so lightThe sparkles of a burning ember hide. January, 1887Translated from the French by Florin BICAN
by Iulia Hasdeu
by Iulia Hasdeu