Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - The Cachucha
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Här nedan syns maskintolkade texten från faksimilbilden ovan.
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Denna sida har korrekturlästs minst en gång.
(skillnad)
(historik)
as in the days gone by, when he wore patent leather
shoes, so tight-fitting that the feet of his stockings
had to be cut away.
Bravo, Örneclou! Bravo, Lilliecrona, play life
into him!
But his foot fails him, he cannot rise on his toes.
He kicks out once or twice—more he cannot do—and
falls back on the bed.
Handsome Señor, you have grown old. Perhaps
the Señorita, too, is old?
It is only under the plane-trees of Granada that
the cachucha is danced by ever young gitanas—ever
young because, as with the roses, each year
brings new ones.
So now the time has come to cut the violin
strings.… No, no! play on, Lilliecrona, play the
cachucha, always the cachucha! Teach us that
although our bodies have grown heavy and our joints
stiff, in our feelings we are ever the same—ever
Spaniards.
War horse, war horse, say that you love the
trumpet-blast, which tempts you into a gallop, even
though you strain at your steel-linked tether till
your foot bleeds.
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