I have previously posted a short excerpt from Louise Michel’s novel, The Imperial Bastard, which featured Bakunin as a main character. Michel also adapted some elements from that novel in dramatic form as Nadine, a political tragedy set in the Polish rebellions of 1846. I’ve posted a working translation of that play now at the Working Translations blog. As with all of these new translations, there are some rough spots to smooth, but in this case it’s mostly a case of making sense of the details of the stage directions, and I think all the charm of Michel’s Bakunin comes through.
Working Translations
Louise Michel, “The Claque-Dents,” Ch. III
[Chapter II] [one_half padding=”0 10px 0 0px”] III Old Hermann went straight on, hardly knowing where he would stop. His house had long since been passed when he began to notice fatigue. So, regardless of eyes fixed on him, the old man made himself at home on a heap of stones piled up by workers at a street corner. The veil hung in the old man’s hands. as he had entirely forgotten all that had happened. He wiped his brow with it, taking it for his handkerchief. Sylvestre followed constantly.—Old Hermann’s appearance gave him the shudders. But he was quite wrong, […]
Contr'un
Louise Michel and “the birds of the coming storm”
Here is a literal translation of Louise Michel’s “Les Corbeaux”, from Before the Commune, a posthumous collection of poems published in 1905. _____ THE CROWS Up there, on the fir trees, are some soft birds’ nests; In the dark trees the are black crows. From Germany to the Ukraine, They open their wings to the wind; And they fly, casting over the plains Their raucous rattle of their voices. For them the harvest is superb; The dead are there, sown in the grass, O black bird, like wheat. Go, and from eyes full of shadow, As if from cups, drink; […]
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 […]