fiction

Louise Michel, “Old Chéchette” (1884)

[one_half padding=”0 10px 0 0px”] Old Chéchette There are some beings so disgraced by nature, so strange to look at or hear, that their aspect alone is a subject for sad studies for some, of wild mockeries for others. Some have not always been this way: some of them have had some accident, whether moral or physical, while others, by letting themselves idly go from fatigue or laziness, are brought low to some degree and, on that slope, there is no reason for them to stop. Others still (and this is dreadful for humanity) become thus under the pressure of […]
Working Translations

Louise Michel, “The Claque-Dents,” Ch. II

[Chapter I] [ezcol_1half] II At the home of young Stéphane’s mistress there occurred a scene at once burlesque and sinister. Thirty thousand francs, won at the tables when chance was on his side, had allowed him to buy the bed and the jewels; he tried Lucrèce’s coral necklace on Marguerite. On her marble neck, its red line made the mark of the scaffold. Marguerite was vaguely aware of this thought of Stéphane’s. He saw her put her hand to her neck, as if to a wound. An intuition of the crime passed through him, while a sudden fear engulfed the […]
Working Translations

Louise Michel, “The Claque-Dents,” Ch. II

[Chapter I] [one_half padding=”0 10px 0 0px”] II At the home of young Stéphane’s mistress there occurred a scene at once burlesque and sinister. Thirty thousand francs, won at the tables when chance was on his side, had allowed him to buy the bed and the jewels; he tried Lucrèce’s coral necklace on Marguerite. On her marble neck, its red line made the mark of the scaffold. Marguerite was vaguely aware of this thought of Stéphane’s. He saw her put her hand to her neck, as if to a wound. An intuition of the crime passed through him, while a […]
Saint Ravachol

A Handwritten Manuscript by Ravachol (1892)

If I had to pick the worst-case scenario for works that I have actually managed to translate, this manuscript piece, handwritten by Ravachol and then reproduced in a newspaper, probably takes the prize. The manuscript combines bad spelling, horrible penmanship, rotten grammar and nonexistent punctuation. Decoding it was a long process, but also a very entertaining one. [one_half padding=”0 10px 0 0px”] A HANDWRITTEN MANUSCRIPT BY RAVACHOL Since his condemnation to death, Ravachol was written a great deal in prison. Here is a long handwritten text that we have been able to obtain, not without great difficulties. We have confided […]
poetry

Louise Michel, “Memories of Caledonia” (1887)

[A Final Thought] [one_half padding=”0 10px 0 0px”] MEMORIES OF CALEDONIA (SONG OF THE CAPTIVES) Here the winter has no hold, Here the woods are always green; From the Ocean, the fresh breeze Blows over the dreary deserts, And so profound is the silence That the insect which sways Alone troubles the calm of the air. Evening, on these remotes shores, Sometimes rises a sweet song: It is some poor shellfish Which murmurs while it opens. In the forest, the oleanders, The newly blooming flowers Quiver with love in the wind. See, from the starry waves, Breaks a wandering whiteness! […]
Working Translations

Louise Michel, “Old Abraël” (1888)

LE VIEIL ABRAEL LEGENDE DU VINGTIEME SIECLE Le vingtième siècle allait finir. Les nations, à l’étroit dans le froide Europe, avaient largement essaimé sur le globe. Partout s’élevaient de nouvelles villes, grandissaient de jeunes peuples, se retrempaient les anciennes races. Les émigrés sur les chauds continents avaient recouvré, avec un climat sans hiver, l’énergie de leur origine, il n’y avait plus de place pour le désert. En Afrique, les sables avaient fait place à une vaste mer renversée artificiellement dans son lit primitif et qui rafraîchissait l’air, l’emplissant de vie, au lieu d’y répandre des souffles desséchants ; des canaux l’unissaient […]
fiction

Louise Michel, “The Clavier of My Over-Dream” (1867)

[one_half padding=”0 10px 0 0px”] The Clavier of My Over-Dream A few days ago, I slept in a lovely dream. I was free, in a boundless space, where I ascended as easily as one follows the paths of our valleys. I found myself in a monument, so vast that its edges seemed like a distant horizon. Silence filled the vaults, but I sensed their incredible resonance. I sat down at an instrument whose keyboard included so many rising and so many descending notes, that it must include many sounds indistinguishable to the human ear. When I put my hands on […]
Working Translations

Louise Michel, “Today or Tomorrow” (1893)

[ezcol_1half] Today or Tomorrow. Everything is good that strikes or stings. [1] So much the better if these bandits have finished their work. The scaffold has started the party, and the fire will beat its wings over the apotheosis. The blood of Ravachol splashes, from his false collar to his cuffs, the cold man of the Élysée. The Élysée! That’s the spot that draws the looks! From it the grand finale, the final bouquet will rise into the air, and the cross of Our Lady of the Slaughter will be the streetlamp. [2] The sun has risen red in the […]
Working Translations

Louise Michel, “The Claque-Dents,” Ch. I

[Prologue] I A whole unhinged crowd jostled, for one dizzy day, at the division of spoils, accomplished at the Hôtel des Ventes, of the furniture of Lucrèce Milot, a madwoman of the best class, now tragically dead. The distracted, daft, and jaded vied for the smallest of trinkets. A blood-soaked rag was sold for the price of an objet d’art. Those things touched by the crime were worth their weight in human folly. Little Muscadet had spent the last bits of his wife’s dowry there; young Madulphe had taken “an enormous toll” on his expectations, his parents not being very […]