in wide, flowering trails that (looped around) meandered (endlessly) everywhere looping around, (intertwining, encircling) bordering the rose bushes and jasmine arches, more and more intertwining, more numerous, never-ending, swayed by the song that carried their fragrance far (beyond) the slums of Bucharest.

… all around, it blows in the wind, settles with the rain, sways in the sun and moon rays, reflects in the sated gazes of the heedless locals, lacking in impetus and drive, it betrays itself in its movement, its speech, its sways in the drawl of the old slum songs, in the sweet and resigned dizziness of Ioanovici’s waltzes. Those who haven’t seen its unique charm have not understood Bucharest. The lines are a tribute to this (sadness) …

For even if after thirty years (ou plus) of wandering around Bucharest, I still sometimes find myself lost in unfamiliar alleys or slums, there are others where I know every cobblestone and tree branch and fence board, where I know every house, and the full chronicle of those who have resided there for half a century. I have seen them lit up for celebrations, just as I have seen white or black banners fluttering at their gates: children brought up under my gaze and departed before their time, old folks forsaken by time, who watched me grow up – tinsel, flowers, smiles, tears – a mad whirlwind of love, hatred, oblivion, deception, delusion – all in all, sorrow always outweighing joy, lies everywhere, futile and vain wickedness, so that at times, a mere trifle bringing some of these things to mind, I lose sight of the fact that these are all the world’s, I forget all about myself, and deep in thought, I feel like singing: “Bucharest, be damned!” [1]

[1] “Arză-l focul, București!”

Excerpt of a draft written by the author in preparation for his famous novel The Rakes of Old Court, translated from Opere, Fundația pentru literatură și artă, 1936, pp. 253, 322-323.

(Translated by Cristian Drăgan)