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Il est revenu, le marchand Avec sa modeste boutique Dont le chaud parfum alléchant Invite de loin la pratique. Quand ce marchand-là reparaît A Paris, au coin de nos rues, On nous dit bien que la forêt Pleure ses feuilles disparues ; J’en sais qui poussent les hauts cris En pensant que les hirondelles, Trouvant déjà notre ciel gris, Fuient loin de nous à tire d’ailes. Plus d’un a déjà le frisson En songeant que l’hiver morose Se rapproche, et que la maison Contre ses rigueurs est mal close ! Nous sommes jeunes, la gaité Doit demeurer notre partage ! Que ce soit l'hiver ou l'été, Rions toujours, c'est le plus sage! Puisque maintenant sur nos fronts L'aquilon souffle, au lieu des brises, Crions donc: vivent les marrons, Puisque mortes sont les cerises !
Text Authorship:
- by Paul Collin (1845 - 1915) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Reynaldo Hahn (1874 - 1947), "Le Marchand de Marrons", published 1899 [ voice and piano ], Confirmed with Supplément Musical de l'Illustration, numéro de Noël, 1899-1900, Chansons enfantines [sung text checked 2 times]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Iain Sneddon) , "The Chestnut Seller", copyright © 2022, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Research team for this page: Iain Sneddon [Guest Editor] , Garrett Medlock [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website: 2019-02-20
Line count: 24
Word count: 130
He's back, the Chestnut Seller With his simple stall Whose warm enticing scents Invite custom from far and wide. When this seller reappears In Paris, at every street corner, We are told that the forest Cries for its vanished leaves; I know some who emit high cries Imagining that the swallows, Already finding our sky grey, Flee from us and take wing. More than one already shivers Thinking that the gloomy winter Gets closer, and that their home Is poorly protected against its rigors! We are young, merriment Must always be our portion! Whether it is winter or summer, Always laugh, that's wisest! Since now on our foreheads The north wind blows, instead of breezes, Let's shout: long live roasted chestnuts, Since the cherries are dead!
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2022 by Iain Sneddon, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
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Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Paul Collin (1845 - 1915)
This text was added to the website: 2022-06-09
Line count: 24
Word count: 126