APPENDIX. TRANSLATIONS FROM BÉRANGER. [The translations of "Laideur et Beauté," "La Mouche," "Cinquante Ans." and "Le Vieux Vagabond," were made for this work, by Walter Learned; those of " Roger Bontemps" and "Les Souvenirs du Peuple" are from William Young's volume, by permission of D. Appleton & Co.] VERSES FROM LES BOHEMIENS" (THE GIPSIES). UGLINESS AND BEAUTY. (Laideur et Beauté.) I am quite overcome by her beauty, Let her be even ugly, I ask. While so charming, ah, who could but love her? O spirits below and above her! Make her plain; let me love her as well. Then appeared at my words of complaining Satan, father of darkness and night. "Make her plain," said he: "this you'll be gaining, That your rivals will flee at her sight. I am fond of these metamorphoses; Lo, singing approaches the belle. See! she's plain, and you love her as well." -- "Me, plain!" she cried. "Sure 'tis an error. Saying which, to her glass she drew near, First in doubt and then all in terror To fall, fainting with sorrow and fear. "Swear for me and me only to live, dear," Cried I, at her feet as I fell : "Here's the one faithful heart I can give, dear, Plainer still, I would love you as well." Then her eyes grew so heavy with weeping That her grief touched my heart for a while : New graces her fairness adorning, Then quickly her mirror regaining, She wiped off the tears from her face. Satan fled, and the fair one, my booty, Left me, with these words like a knell : "The girl whom God makes a beauty Cannot love one who loves her so well." THE GAD-FLY. (La Mouche.) In the midst of our laughter and singing, 'Mid the clink of our glasses so gay, What gad-fly is over us winging, That returns when we drive him away? 'Tis some god. Yes, I have a suspicion Of our happiness jealous, he's come: Let us drive him away to perdition, That he bore us no more with his hum. Transformed to a gad-fly unseemly, I am certain that we must have here Old Reason, the grumbler, extremely Annoyed by our joy and our cheer. He tells us in tones of monition Of the clouds and the tempests to come: Let us drive him away to perdition, That he bore us no more with his hum. It is Reason who comes to me, quaffing, That he bore us no more with his hum. It is Reason! Look out there for Lizzie! - He has touched her, she swoons-she is dizzy: That he bore us no more with his hum. Hurrah, Victory! See, he is drowning In the wine that Lizzetta has poured. Come, the head of Joy let us be crowning, That again he may reign at our board. He was threatened just now with dismission, And a fly made us all rather glum : But we've sent him away to perdition; He will bore us no more with his hum. Below are famine, plague, and strife; But no, 'tis you, sweetheart, whose youth, This incubus of evil days. Springtime is yours, and flowers; come then, Scatter your roses on my brow, And let me dream of youth again Alas, for I am fifty now! -- ROGER BONTEMPS. To show our hypochondriacs, To sport, when holidays occur, To wear a coarse old cloak, his friend To own a table in his hut, A pack of cards, a flute, a can |