FIFINE AT THE FAIR [1872] DONE ELVIRE. Vous plaît-il, don Juan, nous éclaircir ces beaux mystères ? DON JUAN. Madame, à vous dire la vérité . . . DONE ELVIRE. Ah! que vous savez mal vous défendre pour un homme de cour, et qui doit être accoutumé à ces sortes de choses! J'ai pitié de vous voir la confusion que vous avez. Que ne vous armez-vous le front d'une noble effronterie? Que ne me jurez-vous que vous êtes toujours dans les mêmes sentimens pour moi, que vous m'aimez toujours avec une ardeur sans égale, et que rien n'est capable de vous détacher de moi que la mort ? — (Molière, Don Juan, Act lier. Scène 3e.) DONNA ELVIRA. Don Juan, might you please to help one give a guess, DON JUAN. Madam, if needs I must declare the truth, in short. DONNA ELVIRA. Fie, for a man of mode, accustomed at the court To such a style of thing, how awkwardly my lord Attempts defence! You move compassion, that's the word Dumb-foundered and chapfallen! Why don't you arm your brow With noble impudence? Why don't you swear and vow No sort of change is come to any sentiment You ever had for me? Affection holds the bent, You love me now as erst, with passion that makes pale To separate us two, save what, in stopping breath, death! PROLOGUE. AMPHIBIAN. THE fancy I had to-day, Fancy which turned a fear! I swam far out in the bay, Since waves laughed warm and clear. I lay and looked at the sun, Live creature, that I could see. Yes! There came floating by Because the membraned wings A handbreadth overhead! I never shall join its flight, For, nought buoys flesh in air. Can the insect feel the better Undoubtedly I rejoice That the air comports so well What if a certain soul Which early slipped its sheath, And has for its home the whole Thus watch one who, in the world, But sometimes when the weather And try a life exempt From worldly noise and dust, In the sphere which overbrims With passion and thought, — why, just Unable to fly, one swims! By passion and thought upborne, One smiles to oneself — "They fare Scarce better, they need not scorn Our sea, who live in the air! Does she look, pity, wonder FIFINE AT THE FAIR. I. O TRIP and skip, Elvire! Link arm in arm with me! The tumbling-troop arrayed, the strollers on their stage, II. Now, who supposed the night would play us such a prank? And Pornic and Saint Gille, whose feast affords the boon France! III. O pleasant land of Who saw them make their entry? At wink of eve, be sure ! They love to steal a march, nor lightly risk the lure. They keep their treasure hid, nor stale (improvident) Before the time is ripe, each wonder of their tent Yon six-legged sheep, to wit, and he who beats a gong, Lifts cap and waves salute, exhilarates the throng Their ape of many years and much adventure, grim And gray with pitying fools who find a joke in him. Or, best, the human beauty, Mimi, Toinette, Fifine, Tricot fines down if fat, padding plumps up if lean, Ere, shedding petticoat, modesty, and such toys, They bounce forth, squalid girls transformed to gamesome boys. IV. No, no, thrice, Pornic, no! Perpend the authentic tale! 'T was not for every Gawain to gaze upon the Grail! But whoso went his rounds, when flew bat, flitted midge, Might hear across the dusk, where both roads join the bridge, Hard by the little port, creak a slow caravan, A chimneyed house on wheels; so shyly-sheathed, began Now takes away our breath, queen-tulip of the Fair! V. Yet morning promised much: for, pitched and slung and reared On terrace 'neath the tower, 'twixt tree and tree appeared VI. Frenetic to be free! And, do you know, there beats Something within my breast, as sensitive ? repeats The fever of the flag? My heart makes just the same Passionate stretch, fires up for lawlessness, lays claim To share the life they lead: losels, who have and use The hour what way they will, - applaud them or abuse Society, whereof myself am at the beck, Whose call obey, and stoop to burden stiffest neck! VII. Why is it that whene'er a faithful few combine Why is it that, disgraced, they seem to relish life the more? |