Alphonse Brot, a co-founder of the Jeunes-France, is the earliest poet on record to describe his work as "avant-garde" (employing a recently-coined Saint-Simonian socialist usage of the originally military term), in his manifesto-Preface to the book in which this poem was published. Ironically, his close friend Philothée O'Neddy, (whose unpublished manuscript 'Parisina' is quoted here under his real name Théophile Dondey) recalled that the group considered Brot's work as a whole insufficiently experimental. Brot himself admits this in the Preface, explaining that while he is a moderate in terms of poetic form, he declares himself a member of "the avant-garde of Romanticism" due to its association with leftist politics.
This is (in addition to being a bit racy for its day) one of his more experimental texts – pretty interesting, actually, in the way the lines fracture into syntactically vague fragments that force the hemistiches of the lines to drift metrically apart, the ambiguities of the seams between dialogue, speakers, and narration, the jamming together of archaic/formal language with casual and ironic usages, the intense formal mirroring occurring within and between certain lines through repeated words, syntactical formulations, and internal rhyme, etc... I've tried to recreate as much of this as possible.
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Seventh Song of Love.
15 September 1829.
Chat in the Garden
It is of gentle moments in this cruel life.
The count Jules de Rességuier.[1]
’Tis time, when with voice undefiled and alone,
The nightingale beneath the frail boughs moans,
Sensual time when the heart of the lover
At secret rendezvous redoubles its flutters!
Théophile Dondey.[2]
Fragment of Parisina.
Speak to me, speak to me of those ravishing balls,
Of those charming soirées, for whose delights we yearn;
Oh, speak to me in main of those so-sprightly waltzes
Be they in lovely halls or all upon the ferns;
Speak to me of rebuffs, diplomatic approaches,
Of kisses, of pledges in sighs heeded and broached;
Speak of pleasures of the treacherous cavalier
Who in his palm so long a timid palm clasps near,
Whose stare of fire captivates a trembling stare,
Who feels pressed to his heaving breast a burning breast,
Who may, mother’s keen gaze being far from there,
Pry questioning in whispers his shy waltzess,
Praising all her fine traits, in soft murmurs to share
Those words almost unknown to lasting tenderness.
Speak to me, speak to me, of bowers, of shadows,
Of the overgrown boughs and meandering groves,
Where one may be ensconced for hatching passion’s plans.
Here’s what I overheard in the garden one eve,
When, worn out by the waltz and worn out by the dance,
Desiring silence all alone I took leave:
– Two years since at the ball, back in times long-flown,
Madame, I last listened to your voice’s tones,
I spoke to you of love and of soft tenderness,
For that you were, madame, and yet still……. your mistress,
And nuptials…… – oh my friend, hush yourself, for pity;
We’ll speak no more of love, but speak……. of amity!
– Back then, like tonight, were you young and pretty,
The thing is, you seemed less plain and more rebellious,
You’ve a noble demeanor, and more glowing discourse,
Tonality and mien than one can find at court,
You have rubies galore, an opulent escort,
And titles, distinction, your valets and flunkies;
But no, your heart has lost that boldness unalloyed
Which for so long a span constituted our joy!
For the love that your soul now no longer understands,
You coldly proffer me . . . your companionship, madame!
To me, your companionship, me who adores you so,
Me! me, for whom a trice far from you’s a fatal blow;
Yet does paltry friendship, friendship guerdon[3] bestow
For remorse, a sempiternal fire’s ennuis?
– Oh, speak of something else! – No, . . . keep thee memories
Of celestial moments kneeling at your knees?
Back then, just as today, the forest, ferns loomed near;
But then your glances were not nearly so severe;
You didn’t drive me off, you welcomed all my vows,
And my hair by your hands was softly ruffled through;
Have you even forgotten that memory now
Of that day when two times you told me I love you!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
And the voice was snuffed out, and ‘neath the citrus branches
Then the sound of sighed moans, soft rustling met my senses,
Of faint words of love, and not-quite silences!
There we’ll shut up….., and me, I returned to the dances.
Speak to me, speak to me of those ravishing balls,
Of those charming soirées, for whose delights we yearn;
Oh, speak to me in main of those so-sprightly waltzes
Be they in lovely halls or all upon the ferns.
Translated by Olchar E. Lindsann
from Chants d’Amour, et poésies diverses. 1829. Dureuil / Janet: Paris. pp. 43–49.
NOTES
[1] The poet Rességuier was relatively obscure, but exercised a considerable influence on the younger Romanticists.
[2] Soon to become Philothée O’Neddy. Dondey/O’Neddy and Brot seem to have been particularly close prior the formation of the Petit-Cénacle/Jeunes-France, and probably became involved with the Romanticist underground community together, developing some of their theories and poetic processes collaboratively until O’Neddy continued onto more radical paths than Brot was prepared to tread.
[3] paîraît. An extremely rare word (thus my choice of translation), apparently a variant, slang or very archaic conjugation of payer, to pay/repay. Although appearing in no lexicographic source I can find, his spelling seems to have taken on some currency within Romanticist circles specifically, cf. Hugo in The Burgraves, Debordes-Valmore’s ‘Un ruisseau de la scarpe’, Hégésippe Moreau’s ‘La princesse’, Dumas’ Charles XVII, etc..
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