La Merveilleuse Américaine

AH, who is she I see advance?
Is this a dream of elder France ?

She wears a quaintly figured gown;
Her hat is pointed in the crown.

Her close-cut coat has long lapels
That point where either shoulder swells.

Over her hips it falls away,
And to her robe gives due display.

And down the robe a panel goes,
Broidered with many a golden rose.

A silver charm-holder, that hangs
Along the panel, swings and clangs.

And in the charm-holder is set
A dainty silver vinaigrette.

Black hose and high-heeled shoes she wears,
And in her hand a staff she bears.

Delicate ribbon binds it where
It presses on her mousqiietaire.

She raises to her eyes of blue
Her lorgnon, as she looks at you.

Who is she? What mysterious chance
Brings here this ghost of elder France ?

What wondrous scenes have those sweet eyes
Beheld beneath their Gallic skies ?

What deeds in old Parisian days,
When blood bedabbled all the ways ?

It may be, from her casement high,
She smiled on legions marching by ;

Or watched, in evening’s gathering shade,
The battle at the barricade.

Who was she then ? Some noble dame
Who shuddered at her country’s shame ?

Or one who went, at Freedom’s call,
To slaughter’s crimson carnival ?

Perchance she saw the sharp knife set
Against the neck of Antoinette ;

Perchance she saw that fair head fall
Where the red basket yawned for all.

Who loved her then ? What man of blood
Melted before her amorous mood ?

It may be she was Danton’s dear,
Or else the sweetheart of Robespierre.

It may be that at her command
Blood drenched the town, flame fired the land.

Nay, one so sweet in youthful bloom
Could scarce have caused another’s doom.

Nay, then in Paris had she been,
She might have felt the guillotine.

Not all her grace and nonchalance
Would have protected her in France.

But here along Broadway she goes,
And not a fear or care she knows.

The stare of man and woman’s glance
Ne’er put her out of countenance.

She moves in sweet oblivion
Of everything and every one ;

A modern maid, with modern wiles,
Tricked out in old Directoire styles.

“ Who is she ? ” do you ask again ?
La Merveilleuse Américaine.