by Franz Toussaint (1879 - 1955)
Translation © by Grant Hicks

Le palais ruiné
Language: French (Français)  after the Chinese (中文) 
Our translations:  ENG
Le torrent bondit et gronde,
le vent hurle dans les pins,
les rats fuient à mon approche
et vont se cacher sous les vieilles tuiles.
Quel monarque, jadis, fit bâtir ce palais
dont ne subsistent que des ruines
au flanc d'une montagne abrupte ?
Des flammes bleuâtres courent au ras du sol.
On perçoit des gémissements, des râles.
Ces Dix Mille voix de la nature forment un sauvage concert
qui ajoute au tragique de l'automne.
Le maître de ce palais avait de belles danseuses,
qui sont aujourd'hui de la poussière froide.
Il avait des chars, des guerriers.
De tout ce faste, de toute cette gloire, que reste-t-il ?
Un cheval de marbre, qui gît dans l'herbe.
Mon immense tristesse, je voudrais l'épancher dans un poème durable,
mais je pleure, et mon pinceau tremble.

Confirmed with Franz Toussaint, La flûte de jade : poésies chinoises, Paris: H. Piazza, 1920, pages 80-81.


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  • ENG English (Grant Hicks) , "The Ruined Palace", copyright © 2026, (re)printed on this website with kind permission


Research team for this page: Grant Hicks [Guest Editor] , Sharon Krebs [Senior Associate Editor]

This text was added to the website: 2008-02-19
Line count: 18
Word count: 131

The Ruined Palace
Language: English  after the French (Français) 
The mountain stream leaps and roars, 
the wind howls in the pines, 
the rats flee at my approach 
and hide themselves under the old tiles. 
What monarch, years ago, built this palace 
of which nothing survives but ruins
on the flank of a steep mountain? 
Bluish flames run along the ground. 
One can sense wheezing and groaning.
These ten thousand voices of nature make a wild concert
that adds to the tragedy of Autumn. 
The master of this palace had beautiful dancing girls, 
who today are cold dust.
He had chariots, warriors. 
Of all this splendor, of all this glory, what remains? 
A horse of marble lying on the grass. 
I would like to pour out my immense sadness in enduring verse,
but I weep, and my brush trembles.

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  • Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2026 by Grant Hicks, (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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This text was added to the website: 2026-05-13
Line count: 18
Word count: 129