Breitmann in Paris
By Charles G. Leland
Recessit in Franciam.
Et affectu pectoris,
Et toto gestu corporis,
Et scholares maxime,
Qui festa colunt optime.
- Carmina Burana, 13th century.
Der teufels los in Bal Mabille,
Deres hell-fire in de air,
De fiddlers cant blay noding else
Boot Orphe aux Enfers:
Vot makes de beoples howl mit shoy?
Da capo Bravo! bis!!
Its a Deutscher aus Amerik:
Hans Breitmann in Paris.
Deres silber toughts vot might hafe peen,
Deres golden deeds vot must:
Der Hans ish come to Frankenland
On one eternal bust.
Der same old rowdy Argonaut
Vot hoont de same oldt vleece,
A hafin all de foon dere ish
Der Breitmann in Paris.
Mit a gal on eider shoulder
A holdin py his beard,
He tantz de Cancan, sacrament!
Dill all das Volk vas skeered.
Like a roarin hippopatamos,
Mit a kangarunic shoomp,
Dey feared hed smash de Catacombs,
Each dime der Breitmann bump.
De pretty liddle cocodettes
Lofe efery dings ish new,
Dou vient il donc ce grand Msieu?
O sacr nom de Dieu!
In fain dey kicks deir veet on high,
And sky like vlyin geese,
Dey can not kick de hat afay
From Breitmann in Paris.
O vhere vas id der Breitmann life?
Oopon de Rond Point gay,
Vot shdreet lie shoost pehind his house?
La rue de Rabelais.
Aroundt de corner Harpers shtands
Vhere Yankee drinks dey mill,
Vhile shdraight ahet, agross de shdreet,
Der lies de Bal Mabille.
Ids all along de Elyses,
Ids oop de Boulevarce,
Hes sampled all de weinshops,
Und hes vinked at efery garce.
Dou schveet plack-silken Gabrielle,
O let me learn from dee,
If tis in lofe or absinthe drunks,
Dat dis wild ghost may pe?
Und dou mayst kneel in Notre Dame,
Und veep away dy sin,
Vhile I go vight at Barriere balls,
Oontil mine poots cave in;
Boot if ve pray, or if ve sin
Vhile nodings ish refuse,
Tis all de same in Paris here,
So long ash lon samuse.
O life, mein dear, at pest or vorst,
Ish boot a vancy ball,
Its cratest shoy a vild gallop,
Vhere madness goferns all.
Und should dey toorn ids gas-light off,
Und nefer leafe a shbark,
Sdill Id find my vay to Heafen or
Dy lips, lofe, in de dark.
O crown your het mit roses, lofe!
O keep a liddel sprung!
Oonendless wisdom ish but dis:
To go it vhile youre yung!
Und Age vas nefer coom to him,
To him Spring plooms afresh,
Who finds a livin spirit in
Der Teufel und der Flesh.