By: Charles Baudelaire
Translated: Roland Chipa
The sun hits the entire city with its terrible, perpendicular rays.[1] The sand is dazzling and the sea sparkles.
The people, dazed and subdued, lie down to take their lunch break, a break that is like a kind of pleasant death, where the half-awake sleeper enjoys the pleasure of self-destruction.
And yet, Dorothea, strong and proud as the sun, walks the deserted road. She is the only living being walking at this hour under the immense blue, forming a brilliant and black spot in the middle of the space full of light.
She walks, her slender torso swaying lightly over her broad hips. The pale pink silk dress that clings to her body contrasts sharply with the darkness of her skin and neatly hugs her long body, arched back, and peaked chest.
The red umbrella, filtering the sunlight, projects onto Dorothea's dark face the bloody likeness of her image.
Her fragile head is tilted back by the weight of her abundant hair, which is almost blue in color and gives her a triumphant and lazy look. Heavy earrings gurgle secretly in her adorable ears.
From time to time, the breeze coming from the sea lifts the hem of her flowing dress and reveals her beautiful, smooth leg. The foot, similar to that of the marble goddesses imprisoned in the museums of Europe, faithfully leaves its shape on the fine sand. Dorothea is wonderfully so playful that for her, the pleasure of being admired by others is stronger than the pride of being freed from slavery. That is why she continues to walk barefoot even though she is now free.
She walks, harmoniously, content with life, smiling sincerely, as if she could see somewhere far away in the middle of endless space a mirror that reflects her walk and beauty.
What powerful motive drives lazy Dorothea, beautiful and cold as bronze, to go out at this hour when even the dogs are howling in pain from the sun's bites?
Why has he abandoned the beautifully arranged hut, where flowers and mats form a boudoir with little expense?[2] perfect, where she enjoys shaving, smoking, cooling herself with her large feathered fans, looking at herself in the mirror, while the sea roaring on the beach a hundred steps away, sensationally and monotonously accompanies her vague dreams, and where the iron pot in which she is cooking a ragu of crab, rice and saffron sends her exciting perfumes from the end of the courtyard?
Perhaps he has arranged to meet some handsome officer who has heard of the famous Dorothea from his friends on the distant shores. No doubt, like the simple creature that she is, she will ask him to describe the Opera Ball to her, will ask if it is possible to go there barefoot, just as she goes there on Sundays to dance those dances where even the kafrinas themselves dance.[3] old women get drunk and go crazy with joy, she will ask her if the ladies of Paris are all more beautiful than she.
Everyone adores and pampers Dorothea, and she would be truly happy if she were not forced to collect piastres.[4] after a piastre to buy her little sister, who, although she is eleven years old, is already very mature and beautiful! Surely, the good Dorote will succeed; her sister's slave owner is so stingy that he does not understand any other kind of beauty than that of money. / Taken from issue 24 of the magazine "Akademia" /
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[1] The event probably takes place in a place near the equator where the midday sun's rays fall directly overhead.
[2] From French boudoir. Small and elegant room, in which the ladies of wealthy families received their closest friends.
[3] The inhabitants of Kafriyah. The name by which Europeans in the 19th century referred to the southeastern part of Africa that today lies between Kenya and Tanzania.
[4] A small denomination coin in some African and Middle Eastern countries.
