The Seine Flood

THE ENGINEERS

Come on, well! the Seine is rising
And is going to burst its banks:
And every year it's like this,
From Point-du-Jour to Bercy,
When you count
That it's over,
Oh! well yes,
It's starting again!...

Yes, that's our chance,
When the South,
With loud cries,
Complains of the drought,
The rain here must
Fall in torrents,
And never stop
Until the Seine has overflowed!...
Not to mention
That the Marne, at Chalifert,
Swells, proliferates:
What can be done about it?...
Truly, truly,
All these rivers
Exaggerate!

While waiting for the Seine,
Tired of playing up,
To return
To better feelings,
While waiting for the
absurd overflow to end,
We will simply go,
To spend a few days in Nice.

THE RESIDENTS

Come on, well! here we go again,
The Seine advances again,
And storms the quays:
It's gay!
We are told that this is life,
That we must, residents,
Always calm and serene,
Arm ourselves with a triple bronze
Of wise philosophy;
That if it bores us,
If our heart
Too light
Fears some danger,
We have only to move,
And go and lodge
On the heights
Of the Sacré-Cœur...

It's not the sea to drink! No need for so much history:
Let's take from our wardrobe
The diver's outfit,
With which, last year,
We went down to the cellar.
Since this has been going on for so long,
How can we excuse ourselves,
On

Such circumstances,
We should, for sure,
Be and show ourselves jaded!

And yet when, swimming,
We must dash forward
To try
To fish out
Our household utensils;
When our furniture, our paintings,
Our piano,
Are in the water,
The confession costs us, and we dare not
Testify that we are so crazy
To be moved by a cause,
A cause of nothing at all;
But it's true, it's stronger than us,
It still does something to us!...

THE ZOUAVE

Come on, well! the water already high
Jumps
From my boots
To my pants,
To my zouave pants
That she took
Like a barrel;
Already, already my navel
No longer feels sheltered;
The water defies me,
And, without hindrance, If we don't put a stop to it,
Will rise
Little by little until
My chechia

Of zouave of the Pont de l'Alma:
I'm drooling!...
But deep down
It's without reason
That I swear and that I swear;
This flood is a cure:
On guard
On my bridge,

Why would it be normal
That I should be given the name
Of pontifical zouave,
Local bath,
And shower or rain, I do, in exceptional conditions of economy,
Each year a season,
Let's say Of hydrotherapy.

THE CHRONICLER
Come on, well!
Here the water is receding:
I had to place,
Which dated from last year,
A few endings
Features of satire,
Something to amuse and laugh at,
Puns, final words,
And short stories in hand V
ery funny, and not well-known...
That will be for next year,
And for the next flood.

FRANC-NOHAIN.