In the Watkin letters, Hearn transcribes a poem of six stanzas written by himself for the decoration of the soldiers' graves at Chalmette Cemetery in 1878.
Far more successful, for obvious reasons, was an attempt at echoing a bit of Eastern fancy. A strange, gruesome, Oriental being had caught his eye at New Orleans, who translated for him some characteristic Eastern verses. Hearn thus rendered them in English:[16]
[ [16] From Hearn's manuscript copy through the kindness again of Mr. Tunison and Mr. Hill.
THE RUSE
From Amaron Satacum
Late at night the lover returns unlooked-for,
Full of longing, after that cruel absence;—
Finds his darling by her women surrounded;
Enters among them:—Only sees his beautiful one, his idol,
Speaks no word, but watches her face in silence,
Looks with eyes of thirst and with lips of fever
Burning for kisses.Late it is; and, nevertheless, the women,
Still remaining, weary his ears with laughter,
Prattling folly, tantalizing his longing—
Teasing his patience.Love weaves ruse in answer to gaze beseeching;—
Shrill she screams: "O heaven!—What insect stings so!"
And with sudden waft of her robe outshaken,
Blows the vile light out.
I find the following verses in his scrap-book of the New Orleans period:[17]
[ [17] Dated July 11, 1885.
THE MUMMY
(After the French of Louis Bouilhet)
Startled,—as by some far faint din
Of azure-lighted worlds, from sleep,
The Mummy, trembling, wakes within
The hypogeum's blackest deep,—And murmurs low, with slow sad voice:
"Oh! to be dead and still endure!—
Well may the quivering flesh rejoice
That feels the vulture's gripe impure!"Seeking to enter this night of death,
Each element knocks at my granite door:—
'We are Earth and Fire and Air,—the breath
Of Winds,—the Spirits of sea and shore."'Into the azure, out of the gloom,
Rise!—let thine atoms in light disperse!—
Blend with the date-palm's emerald plume!—
Scatter thyself through the universe!"'We shall bear thee far over waste and wold:
Thou shalt be lulled to joyous sleep
By leaves that whisper in light of gold,
By murmur of fountains cool and deep."'Come!—perchance from thy dungeon dark
Infinite Nature may wish to gain
For the godlike Sun another spark,
Another drop for the diamond rain.'
"Woe! mine is death eternal! ... and
I feel Them come, as I lie alone,—
The Centuries, heavy as drifted sand
Heaping above my bed of stone!"O be accursed, ye impious race!—
Caging the creature that seeks to soar;
Preserving agony's weird grimace,
In hideous vanity, evermore!"
Aux bruits lointains ouvrant l'oreille,
Jalouse encor du ciel d'azur,
La momie en tremblant s'éveille
Au fond de l'hypogée obscur.Oh, dit-elle, de sa voix lente,
Etre mort, et durer toujours.
Heureuse la chaire pantelante
Sous l'ongle courbé des vautours.Pour plonger dans ma nuit profonde
Chaque element frappe en ce lieu.
—Nous sommes L'air! nous sommes l'onde!
Nous sommes la terre et le feu!Viens avec nous, le steppe aride
Veut son panache d'arbres verts,
Viens sous l'azur du ciel splendide,
T'éparpiller dans l'univers.Nous t'emporterons par les plaines
Nous te bercerons à la fois
Dans le murmure des fontaines
Et la bruissement des bois.Viens. La nature universelle
Cherche peut-être en ce tombeau
Pour de soleil une étincelle!
Pour la mer une goutte d'eau!
Et dans ma tombe impérissable
Je sens venir avec affroi
Les siècles lourds comme du sable
Qui s'amoncelle autour de moi.Ah! sois maudite, race impie,
Qui le l'être arrêtant l'essor
Gardes ta laideur assoupie
Dans la vanité de la mort.
In one of Hearn's letters to the Cincinnati Commercial, written soon after his arrival in New Orleans, he writes:
Here is a specimen closely akin to the Creole of the Antilles. It is said to be an old negro love-song, and I think there is a peculiar weird beauty in several of its stanzas. I feel much inclined to doubt whether it was composed by a negro, but the question of its authorship cannot affect its value as a curiosity, and, in any case, its spirit is thoroughly African. Unfortunately, without accented letters it is impossible to convey any idea of the melody, the liquid softness, the languor, of some of the couplets. My translation is a little free in parts.
I
Dipi me vouer toue, Adèle,
Ape danse calinda,
Mo reste pour toue fidèle,
Liberte a moin caba.
Mo pas soussi d'autt negresses,
Mo pas gagnin coeur pour yo;
Yo gagnin beaucoup finesses;
Yo semble serpent Congo.II
Mo aime toue trop, ma belle,
Mo pas capab resiste;
Coeur a moin tout comme sauterelle,
Li fait ne qu'appe saute.
Mo jamin contre gnoun femme
Qui gagnin belle taille comme toue;
Jie a ton jete la flamme;
Corps a toue enchene moue.III
To tant comme serpent sonnette
Qui connin charme zozo,
Qui gagnin bouche a li prette
Pour servi comme gnoun tombo.
Mo jamin voue gnoun negresse Qui connin marche comme toue,
Qui gagnin gnoun si belle gesse;
Corps a toue ce gnoun poupe.IV
Quand mo pas vouer toue, Adèle,
Mo sentt m'ane mourri,
Mo vini com' gnoun chandelle
Qui ape alle fini:
Mo pas vouer rien sur la terre
Qui capab moin fait plaisi;
Mo capab dans la rivière
Jete moin pour pas souffri.V
Dis moin si to gagnin n'homme;
Mo va fals ouanga pour li;
Mo fais li tourne fantome,
Si to vle moin pour mari.
Mo pas le in jour toue boudeuse;
L'autt femme, pour moin ce fatras;
Mo va rende toue bien heureuse;
Mo va baill' toue bell' madras.TRANSLATION
I
Since first I beheld you, Adèle,
While dancing the calinda,
I have remained faithful to the thought of you:
My freedom has departed from me.
I care no longer for all other negresses;
I have no heart left for them:
You have such grace and cunning:
You are like the Congo serpent.II
I love you too much, my beautiful one:
I am not able to help it.
My heart has become just like a grasshopper,
It does nothing but leap. I have never met any woman
Who has so beautiful a form as yours.
Your eyes flash flame;
Your body has enchained me captive.III
Ah, you are so like the serpent-of-the-rattles
Who knows how to charm the little bird,
And who has a mouth ever ready for it
To serve it for a tomb!
I have never known any negress
Who could walk with such grace as you can,
Or who could make such beautiful gestures:
Your body is a beautiful doll.IV
When I cannot see you, Adèle,
I feel myself ready to die;
My life becomes like a candle
Which has almost burned itself out.
I cannot, then, find anything in the world,
Which is able to give me pleasure;—
I could well go down to the river
And throw myself in it that I might cease to suffer.V
Tell me if you have a man;
And I will make an ouanga charm for him;
I will make him turn into a phantom,
If you will only take me for your husband.
I will not go to see you when you are cross;
Other women are mere trash to me;
I will make you very happy,
And I will give you a beautiful Madras handkerchief.
I think there is some true poetry in these allusions to the snake. Is not the serpent a symbol of grace? Is not the so-called "line of beauty" serpentine? And is there not something of the serpent in the beauty of all graceful women?—something of undulating shapeliness, something of silent fascination?—something of Lilith and Lamia? The French have a beautiful verb expressive of this idea, serpenter, "to serpent"—to curve in changing undulations like a lithe snake. The French artist speaks of the outlines of a beautiful human body as "serpenting," curving and winding like a serpent. Do you not like the word? I think it is so expressive of flowing lines of elegance—so full of that mystery of grace which puzzled Solomon; "the way of a serpent upon a rock."