Advice to a Parisian Woman

Poem by Alfred De Musset Collection New PoemsPeriod 19th century

Yes, if I were a woman, amiable and pretty,
I would wish, Julie,
To do as you do;
Without fear or pity, without choice or mystery,
To all the earth
Cast sweet glances.

I would wish to have no cares in the world
But my round waist,
My cherished finery,
And from head to toe to be the doll
The best equipped
From Rome to Paris.

I would wish to keep as my whole science
That carelessness
That suits you so well;
To join, like you, to thoughtlessness
That reverie
That thinks of nothing.

I would wish that for me it were always a feast,
And to turn the head
Of the proudest men;
To be at once of ice and of flame,
Hatred in the soul,
Love in the eyes.

I would detest, before all else,
Those old rosy complexions
That are frightful to see.
I would shine, beneath my brown braid,
Like a moonlight
In a black hood.

For it is so charming and so convenient,
That fashionable mask,
That air of languor!
Ah! how useful pallor is!
Never is the face
Too far from the heart.

I would also wish to have your whims,
Your novice sighs,
Your knowing glances.
I would wish, finally, so much does my heart love you,
To be in all things yourself…
For two or three years.

There is one single point, I confess it to you,
Where your wisdom
Seems to me at fault.
You do not dare to be inhuman enough.
Your pride embarrasses you;
Yet it is needed.

I would not wish, at the contradance,
Without some prudence
To surrender my bare arm;
Then, at the cotillion, to let my white hand
Trail on the sleeve
Of the first comer.

If my fine corset, so supple and so tight,
By too robust an arm
Should feel itself squeezed,
I would have, I admit, a mortal fear
That a bit of lace
Might be torn from it.

Each one, while waltzing, comes upon your shoulder
To recite his role
Of lovesick swain;
My beauty, at least, if not my thought,
Would be offended
To be loved thus.

I would not wish, if I were Julie,
To be merely pretty
With my beauty.
To my fingertips I would be a duchess.
Like my riches,
I would have my pride.

Do you see, my dear, in the age we live in,
The majority of men
Are very inconstant.
Out of two lovers full of extreme zeal,
Half of them love you
To pass the time.

When one is a coquette, one must be wise.
The bird of passage
That flies with full heart
Does not sleep in the air like a swallow,
And can, with a stroke of its wing,
Break a flower.

Alfred De Musset

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

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