Les Saltimbanques Poem by Matthew Sweeney

I was walking from the Louvre to Place Saint-Michel along the Seine when I noticed a crowd gathered under a large linden tree. As I approached I thought how much I'd liked to walk down Unter den Linden when I'd lived in Berlin, and now I saw again how attractive the light green seeds of the linden tree were against the darker green of the leaves. I was also agog to see what had caused the crowd to gather.

As I neared I heard a mother say to her little boy, "Regardez, Sébastien, les saltimbanques."

Saltimbanques? This was a new word to me. I had a quick look on my iPhone and came up with the translation "mountebank." 
I pushed my way as politely as possible through the crowd until I had a good view. It was a family of street performers. They had improvised a small stage on the wide pavement, and a father, mother, and ten-year-old or so boy were up there. The man was dressed in a striking yellow and blue outfit with white leggings and black shoes, and was banging a little drum rhythmically while the boy in a checked black-and-white jumpsuit capered about, playing thumb rolls on a tambourine, with a black-and-white dog dancing in perfect step alongside him. The woman dressed all in white sat on a stool playing quick dance music on a red tin whistle. On her head was a white floppy hat, sitting on which was a snowy owl who periodically flew in a circle over the heads of the crowd, coming back to land on the white hat. It was a scene worthy of being painted by the young Picasso, or the old Chagall. Or maybe by Gustave Doré. The boy on stage didn't look in the best of health, but I hoped I was wrong. The effect of the whole performance was strange and utterly charming. And the little troupe seemed to have emerged from another era — from that of Baudelaire, even.

I was puzzled by the translation offered by my iPhone, however. 
What I understood by the English word "mountebank" (which seemed very archaic) was either a person who sold quack medicines in public places, or a charlatan. These performers were no fakes. And yet, the English word, like the French, seemed to suggest the jumping up onto a stage. I'd have to revisit my Shakespeare plays — I seemed to remember that he'd liked using that word.

When the white hat came round I put a €20 note into it, took a quick photograph of les saltimbanques and made my way to the nearest metro. I was almost surprised to see cars and motorbikes clogging the road.