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Mes chers amis, quand je mourrai, Plantez un saule au cimetière. J'aime son feuillage éploré ; La pâleur m'en est douce et chère, Et son ombre sera légère À la terre où je dormirai. Un soir, nous étions seuls, j'étais assis près d'elle ; Elle penchait la tête, et sur son clavecin Laissait, tout en rêvant, flotter sa blanche main. Ce n'était qu'un murmure : on eût dit les coups d'aile D'un zéphyr éloigné glissant sur des roseaux, Et craignant en passant d'éveiller les oiseaux. Les tièdes voluptés des nuits mélancoliques Sortaient autour de nous du calice des fleurs. Les marronniers du parc et les chênes antiques Se berçaient doucement sous leurs rameaux en pleurs. Nous écoutions la nuit ; la croisée entr'ouverte Laissait venir à nous les parfums du printemps ; Les vents étaient muets, la plaine était déserte ; Nous étions seuls, pensifs, et nous avions quinze ans. Je regardais Lucie. - Elle était pâle et blonde. Jamais deux yeux plus doux n'ont du ciel le plus pur Sondé la profondeur et réfléchi l'azur. Sa beauté m'enivrait ; je n'aimais qu'elle au monde. Mais je croyais l'aimer comme on aime une soeur, Tant ce qui venait d'elle était plein de pudeur ! Nous nous tûmes longtemps ; ma main touchait la sienne. Je regardais rêver son front triste et charmant, Et je sentais dans l'âme, à chaque mouvement, Combien peuvent sur nous, pour guérir toute peine, Ces deux signes jumeaux de paix et de bonheur, Jeunesse de visage et jeunesse de coeur. La lune, se levant dans un ciel sans nuage, D'un long réseau d'argent tout à coup l'inonda. Elle vit dans mes yeux resplendir son image ; Son sourire semblait d'un ange : elle chanta. * * * [Fille de la douleur,]1 harmonie ! harmonie ! Langue que pour l'amour inventa le génie ! Qui nous vins d'Italie, et qui lui vins des cieux ! Douce langue du coeur, la seule où la pensée, Cette vierge craintive et d'une ombre offensée, Passe en gardant son voile et sans craindre les yeux ! Qui sait ce qu'un enfant peut entendre et peut dire Dans tes soupirs divins, nés de l'air qu'il respire, Tristes comme son coeur et doux comme sa voix ? On surprend un regard, une larme qui coule ; Le reste est un mystère ignoré de la foule, Comme celui des flots, de la nuit et des bois ! - Nous étions seuls, pensifs ; je regardais Lucie. L'écho de sa romance en nous semblait frémir. Elle appuya sur moi sa tête appesantie. Sentais-tu dans ton coeur Desdemona gémir, Pauvre enfant ? Tu pleurais ; sur ta bouche adorée Tu laissas tristement mes lèvres se poser, Et ce fut ta douleur qui reçut mon baiser. Telle je t'embrassai, froide et décolorée, Telle, deux mois après, tu fus mise au tombeau ; Telle, ô ma chaste fleur ! tu t'es évanouie. Ta mort fut un sourire aussi doux que ta vie, Et tu fus rapportée à Dieu dans ton berceau. Doux mystère du toit que l'innocence habite, Chansons, rêves d'amour, rires, propos d'enfant, Et toi, charme inconnu dont rien ne se défend, Qui fis hésiter Faust au seuil de Marguerite, Candeur des premiers jours, qu'êtes-vous devenus ? Paix profonde à ton âme, enfant ! à ta mémoire ! Adieu ! ta blanche main sur le clavier d'ivoire, Durant les nuits d'été, ne voltigera plus... Mes chers amis, quand je mourrai, Plantez un saule au cimetière. J'aime son feuillage éploré ; La pâleur m'en est douce et chère, Et son ombre sera légère À la terre où je dormirai.
L. Luzzi sets stanza 4
L. Bourgault-Ducoudray sets stanza 3
G. Doin sets lines 7-18, 20
About the headline (FAQ)
View original text (without footnotes)First published in La revue des deux mondes, June 1, 1835.
1 omitted by Bourgault-Ducoudray.Authorship:
- by Louis Charles Alfred de Musset (1810 - 1857), title 1: "Lucie", title 2: "Élégie", written 1835, first published 1835 [author's text checked 1 time 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 Louis-Albert Bourgault-Ducoudray (1840 - 1910), "Harmonie ! Harmonie !", published [1868], stanza 3 [ medium voice and piano ], from Trois Mélodies nouvelles, poésies d’Alfred de Musset, no. 1, Éd. “Au Ménestrel” Heugel [sung text not yet checked]
- by Arthur Coquard (1846 - 1910), "Lucie", published <<1881 [ high voice and piano or orchestra ], from 12 Mélodies pour chant avec accompagnement de piano, no. 1, Éd. Léon Escudier [sung text not yet checked]
- by Gaston Doin (1878 - 1962), "Un soir", published 1950, lines 7-18,20 [ high voice and piano ], from Mélodies romantiques, no. 8, Éd. Alphonse Leduc [sung text not yet checked]
- by Benjamin Louis Paul Godard (1849 - 1895), "Lucie" [ voice and piano ] [sung text not yet checked]
- by Luigi Luzzi (1828 - 1876), "Lucie", op. 262, published [1874?], stanza 4 [ voice and piano ] [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Peter Low) , copyright © 2022, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Harry Joelson
This text was added to the website: 2011-03-05
Line count: 75
Word count: 601
My dear friends, when I die plant a willow in the cemetery. I like its weeping foliage; to me its paleness is sweet and dear, and its shade will not weigh down the earth in which I will sleep. One evening we were alone, I was sitting beside her; she leant her head over, and, while dreaming, let her white hand float on the piano's keys. It was just a murmur: like the beating wings of a distant breeze sliding across reeds, and fearing to wake up the birds as it passed. The hot pleasures of the melancholy nights emerged around us from the chalices of the flowers. The chestnuts in the park and the ancient oaks rocked gently under their weeping branches. We listened to the night: the half-open casement let the spring's perfumes come to us; the winds were silent, the plain was deserted; we were alone, pensive, and fifteen years old. I was looking at Lucie - she was pale and blonde. Never have two softer eyes sounded the depth of the purest sky and so well reflected its blue. Her beauty intoxicated me; in the whole world I loved only her. But I thought I loved her as one loves a sister, because what came from her was so modest and proper. We were silent for a long time; my hand touched hers. I watched her sad, charming forehead dreaming, and in my soul I felt, at each movement, how much two signs can do to us to heal every pain - those two twin signs of peace and happiness which are a youthful face and a youthful heart. Suddenly the moon rose in a cloudless sky and flooded her with a long net of silver. She saw her image shine in my eyes; her smile was angelic; and she sang. *** Harmony, harmony, daughter of pain! Language which genius invented for love! You came to us from Italy, having come there from heaven! Sweet language of the heart, the only one where thought (that fearful, easily offended virgin) passes still veiled yet not fearing to be watched! Who knows what children can hear and can say in your divine sighs, born of the air they breathe, sad like their hearts and soft like their voices? One notices a gaze, a tear falling; the rest is a mystery the crowd cannot know, like the mysteries of the waves, the night, and the woods. We were alone, pensive: I was looking at Lucie. The echo of her song seemed to tremble inside us. She leant her heavy head over onto me. Did you feel Desdemona groaning in your heart, poor child? You were weeping; on your adored mouth you sadly let me place my lips and what received my kiss was your pain. Like that I kissed your cold discoloured lips, like that, two months later, you were laid in the tomb; like that, oh my chaste flower, you expired. Your death was a smile as soft as your life and you were carried back to God in your cradle. Oh sweet mystery of the house where innocence lives, songs, dreams of love, laughter, childish words, and you, unknown charm which defies any defence, which made Faust hesitate on Gretchen's threshold, candour of youth - what has become of you all? Deep peace be to your soul, oh child, and your memory! Adieu! During the nights of summer, your white hand will not flutter again on the ivory keyboard. My dear friends, when I die plant a willow in the cemetery. I like its weeping foliage; to me its paleness is sweet and dear, and its shade will not weigh down the earth in which I will sleep.
About the headline (FAQ)
Translations of titles
"Harmonie ! Harmonie !" = "Harmony! Harmony!"
"Un soir" = "One evening"
"Lucie" = "Lucie"
Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2022 by Peter Low, (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.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Louis Charles Alfred de Musset (1810 - 1857), title 1: "Lucie", title 2: "Élégie", written 1835, first published 1835
This text was added to the website: 2022-10-31
Line count: 75
Word count: 621