The White and Red
The White and Red (A prelude to Gustave Doré, Les Saltimbanques - 1874)
On the rope, on the rope— The oddities and qualities Of this magical and timeless fare. Look! Gaze upon her bearded hair. See! The strong man and the lion’s lair. Ah! The dancer and their elegant flair. Yes, yes—the thrill of the rare, A violent tear from our mundane affairs, Released from these, our everyday cares.
Behold! The boy—the boy, On the rope, on the rope, A silhouette painted on the white and red, Dancing on string as the horned lady sings. Oh, the whimsy the Carnival brings— Cartwheels on the swaying ledge, Onlookers tilted on seats’ edge.
Spry and youthful ambition, High above, prancing on tension— The wonders only the dreamers envision, As the young one steps with precision.
And there stood the Gypsy in blue, thrilled with the crowd her son accrued. There, too, the jester by her side, counting coins with wide eyes. All the while, the wise owl looked down at the dogs in frilled gowns, for he knew better than most.
The boy, the boy, On the rope, on the rope, Flips and near-slips on the tip of the lip As he glides and melds with the twine. Ah, what a glorious time to be alive! The ringmaster’s call—and the joy of all— Mere moments before the fall.
And after the thud, none dared interrupt the hush, save for the thunk of the falling purse, and the wail of the woman in blue, as the little acrobat lay limp in white and red.
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Posted Oct 9, 2025, 9:33 PM UTC