The End Of A Day In The Provinces by Jules Laforgue

Fin de journee en province

Passed the end of a day in the provinces.

A gray sort of town, carefully paved, peaceful.

The hotel window looks onto the main square.  I watched

a stupid moon rise over there, lighting up this town especially

as though to assure me that this town really existed,

in its insignificance.

      A lamplighter carrying a baby in his arms followed by a dog who seemed to be used to everything, and who sniffed at the pavements as though they were very old friends.

      The lamp did not want to light.

       Immediately, two, five, six people came along and discussed it; the lamp lights, the people see that it is lit and go away slowly.  Only one remains.  He looks at the lamp for a moment and then he goes away.

      Oh!  to live in one of these mollusc beds!

      To die!….to die.

      And the moon is the same here as in Paris, as over the Mississippi, as in Bombay.

Translated from French by Margaret Crosland