Les Devineresses.

 

C'est souvent du hasard que naît l'opinion ;
Et c'est l'opinion qui fait toujours la vogue.
Je pourrais fonder ce prologue
Sur gens de tous états ; tout est prévention,
Cabale, entêtement, point ou peu de justice :
C'est un torrent ; qu'y faire ? Il faut qu'il ait son cours.
Cela fut et sera toujours.
Une femme à Paris faisait la Pythonisse.
On l'allait consulter sur chaque événement :
Perdait-on un chiffon, avait-on un amant,
Un mari vivant trop, au gré de son épouse,
Une mère fâcheuse, une femme jalouse ;
Chez la Devineuse on courait,
Pour se faire annoncer ce que l'on désirait.
Son fait consistait en adresse.
Quelques termes de l'art, beaucoup de hardiesse,
Du hasard quelquefois, tout cela concourait :
Tout cela bien souvent faisait crier miracle.
Enfin, quoique ignorante à vingt et trois carats,
Elle passait pour un oracle.
L'oracle était logé dedans un galetas.
Là cette femme emplit sa bourse,
Et sans avoir d'autre ressource,
Gagne de quoi donner un rang à son mari :
Elle achète un office, une maison aussi.
Voilà le galetas rempli
D''une nouvelle hôtesse, à qui toute la ville,
Femmes, filles, valets, gros Messieurs, tout enfin,
Allait comme autrefois demander son destin :
Le galetas devint l'antre de la Sibylle.
L'autre femelle avait achalandé ce lieu.
Cette dernière femme eut beau faire, eut beau dire,
Moi devine ! on se moque ; Eh Messieurs, sais-je lire ?
Je n'ai jamais appris que ma croix de par-dieu.
Point de raison ; fallut deviner et prédire,
Mettre à part force bons ducats,
Et gagner malgré soi plus que deux Avocats.
Le meuble et l'équipage aidaient fort à la chose :
Quatre sièges boiteux, un manche de balai,
Tout sentait son sabbat et sa métamorphose :
Quand cette femme aurait dit vrai
Dans une chambre tapissée,
On s'en serait moqué ; la vogue était passée
Au galetas ; il avait le crédit :
L'autre femme se morfondit.
L'enseigne fait la chalandise.
J'ai vu dans le Palais une robe mal mise
Gagner gros : les gens l'avaient prise
Pour maître tel, qui traînait après soi
Force écoutants ; demandez-moi pourquoi.

 

The fortune-tellers.

 

'Tis oft from chance opinion takes its rise,
And into reputation multiplies.
This prologue finds pat applications
In men of all this world's vocations;
For fashion, prejudice, and party strife,
Conspire to crowd poor justice out of life.
What can you do to counteract
This reckless, rushing cataract?
'Twill have its course for good or bad,
As it, indeed, has always had.

A dame in Paris play'd the Pythoness[21]
With much of custom, and, of course, success.
Was any trifle lost, or did
Some maid a husband wish,
Or wife of husband to be rid,
Or either sex for fortune fish,
Resort was had to her with gold,
To get the hidden future told.
Her art was made of various tricks,
Wherein the dame contrived to mix,
With much assurance, learned terms.
Now, chance, of course, sometimes confirms;
And just as often as it did,
The news was anything but hid.
In short, though, as to ninety-nine per cent.,
The lady knew not what her answers meant,
Borne up by ever-babbling Fame,
An oracle she soon became.
A garret was this woman's home,
Till she had gain'd of gold a sum
That raised the station of her spouse--
Bought him an office and a house.
As she could then no longer bear it,
Another tenanted the garret.
To her came up the city crowd,--
Wives, maidens, servants, gentry proud,--
To ask their fortunes, as before;
A Sibyl's cave was on her garret floor:
Such custom had its former mistress drawn
It lasted even when herself was gone.
It sorely tax'd the present mistress' wits
To satisfy the throngs of teasing cits.
'I tell your fortunes! joke, indeed!
Why, gentlemen, I cannot read!
What can you, ladies, learn from me,
Who never learn'd my A, B, C?'
Avaunt with reasons! tell she must,--
Predict as if she understood,
And lay aside more precious dust
Than two the ablest lawyers could.
The stuff that garnish'd out her room--
Four crippled chairs, a broken broom--
Help'd mightily to raise her merits,--
Full proof of intercourse with spirits!
Had she predicted e'er so truly,
On floor with carpet cover'd duly,
Her word had been a mockery made.
The fashion set upon the garret.
Doubt that?--none bold enough to dare it!
The other woman lost her trade.

All shopmen know the force of signs,
And so, indeed, do some divines.
In palaces, a robe awry
Has sometimes set the wearer high;
And crowds his teaching will pursue
Who draws the greatest listening crew.
Ask, if you please, the reason why.

[21] _Pythoness_.--The Pythoness was the priestess who gave out the
oracles at Delphi.

L'Indovina.

 

La nominanza è spesso sulle dita
del caso e vien dal caso anche la gloria,
questa è l'antica istoria
di tutti i tempi, ove raggiri e cabale
e pregiudizi reggono la vita.

Non c'è rimedio, il meno è la giustizia
a questo mondo, e a guisa di torrente
scorron le cose irreparabilmente.

Una donna facea la pitonessa
a Parigi e la gente affascinata
correva per qualunque buccicata
a consultare la sacerdotessa.

Chi perdeva uno spillo od un amante,
chi voleva sbrigarsi d'un eterno
marito, una gelosa ed altre tante
e tanti, o chi volea strappare un terno,

andavan dalla celebre Indovina
ad invocar le magiche parole,
ed essa con un'arte sopraffina
di dire a ciaschedun ciò ch'egli vuole,

con segni indiavolati e petulanza,
travestendo la zotica ignoranza,
seppe alfine ottenere il gran miracolo
di passar fra la gente per oracolo.

Sebbene quest'oracolo la bocca
aprisse in cima a un povero solaio,
pure attirava tanta gente sciocca,
che misurò i denari collo staio.

Il marito divenne cavaliere,
si cangiò casa, si fe' l'arte in grande,
ma in mezzo ai candelabri, alle specchiere,
la maga barattò le noci in ghiande.

Un'altra donna intanto, che innocente
è di magia, venuta in quell'oscura
soffitta, vede accorrere la gente
a farsi dir la solita ventura.

Donne, fanciulle e conti e servi e serve,
era un continuo andare e ritornare.
Invan la donna cerca protestare
ch'essa non fa la strega, a nulla serve

ogni protesta, e il dir di non volere.
Bisogna profetar, fare gl'incanti,
e pigliar più denari col mestiere
che un avvocato non ne piglia tanti.

Aiutava, dirò, la messa in scena,
un manico di scopa e quattro storte
sedie, e quell'aria di miseria piena,
che puzzava di sabato e di morte.

L'altra donna ben presto vide il guaio
di non aver salvata l'apparenza:
la fede era rimasta sul solaio.
È l'insegna che fa la concorrenza.