Fluctuat nec mergitur

 

O Lutetia, you’ve seen these seas before;

Seas roiling, and red with blood.

Raise your head now bowed in sorrow. Look up!

Montmartre: the Mons Martyrum,

Where gore and gaiety have embraced in a danse macabre

For centuries. During the siege, did you despair, Clovis?

Or you, Henri? Wasn’t the city well worth a Mass?

Terror has rained down on you. You’ve emerged confident.

Liberté, Liberté cherie

Tonight your proud tower is dark.

You are tossed but not sunk.

— Linda Gasparello