The extreme musicality of Baudelaire\u2019s \u201cL\u2019invitation au voyage\u201d, emphasised by its very short lines, immediately make me think of Verlaine, but it combines musicality with a robust sensuousness quite unlike Verlaine\u2019s delicate, ethereally elusive\u00a0 effects. In fact it\u2019s above all the sound of the words and the way they make the mouth feel as you say them that makes their images glow so voluptuously in the imagination:<\/p>\n
L’Invitation au voyage<\/strong><\/p>\n Mon enfant, ma soeur, \n L\u00e0, tout n’est qu’ordre et beaut\u00e9, \n Des meubles luisants, \n L\u00e0, tout n’est qu’ordre et beaut\u00e9, Vois sur ces canaux L\u00e0, tout n’est qu’ordre et beaut\u00e9, There\u2019s no point in commenting on the images in detail. Anyone reading the poem aloud or sounding it in his inner ear will both see them and feel how caressingly the poet evokes them in his imagination. The poem unfolds like a song, an incantation that weaves a self-hypnotising spell so that the speaker seems almost to sink into the world he\u2019s imagining. Only almost, though. The refrain both yearns towards this world and accepts its distance. Depending on the emphasis one gives \u201cL\u00e0\u201d in reading the poem, this acceptance can seem like something quietly in the background or a sharp reminder of how far the speaker\u2019s actual world is from the order, beauty and pleasure of the imagined one. However, even at its sharpest this reminder doesn\u2019t undermine the power of the evocation, which reaches an almost miraculous point of fulfilled repose in<\/p>\n \u2014 Les soleils couchants There is just one small point of detail I\u2019ll linger over in the same stanza, though. In<\/p>\n C’est pour assouvir it seems to my Anglophone ear that \u201cassouvir\u201d has a lingeringly voluptuous quality that contrasts with the sharp vocables of \u201cd\u00e9sir\u201d. The tension between the states of satisfaction and desire is beautifully resolved in \u201cQu’ils viennent du bout du monde\u201d. The line end pauses tease us by making us wait for this resolution (at least to my Anglophone ear, the length of the French \/r\/ phoneme heightens this effect) and the tension is beautifully released by the easy unfolding of fantasy in this longer line. I think it\u2019s worth pausing on the implications of \u201cd\u00e9sir\u201d, or on the way the shaping of the lines make us feel them. Of course in its main sense \u201cmoindre d\u00e9sir\u201d simply means \u201cslightest wish\u201d. However, pressing within that sense, giving such emphasis to \u201cassouvir\u201d and \u201cd\u00e9sir\u201d charges them with erotic yearning and fulfilment. For a moment we\u2019re in the territory of, say, the lines in \u201cLa chevelure\u201d,<\/p>\n Longtemps! toujours! ma main dans ta crini\u00e8re lourde (again pressingly erotic lines, although in a context of fantasy and dream). I think there\u2019s something delightfully delicate about the way \u201cQu’ils viennent du bout du monde\u201d releases us from this moment of sensuous urgency, playing with the same sort of trope as Bassanio uses to describe Portia in The Merchant of Venice:<\/p>\n Her name is Portia; nothing undervalued <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The extreme musicality of Baudelaire\u2019s \u201cL\u2019invitation au voyage\u201d, emphasised by its very short lines, immediately make me think of Verlaine, but it combines musicality with a robust sensuousness quite unlike Verlaine\u2019s delicate, ethereally elusive\u00a0 effects. In fact it\u2019s above all the sound of the words and the way they make the mouth feel as you […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[46],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2937","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-charles-baudelaire"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2937"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2937"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2937\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2940,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2937\/revisions\/2940"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2937"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2937"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/edmundprestwich.co.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2937"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nSonge \u00e0 la douceur
\nD’aller l\u00e0-bas vivre ensemble!
\nAimer \u00e0 loisir,
\nAimer et mourir
\nAu pays qui te ressemble!
\nLes soleils mouill\u00e9s
\nDe ces ciels brouill\u00e9s
\nPour mon esprit ont les charmes
\nSi myst\u00e9rieux
\nDe tes tra\u00eetres yeux,
\nBrillant \u00e0 travers leurs larmes.<\/p>\n
\nLuxe, calme et volupt\u00e9.<\/p>\n
\nPolis par les ans,
\nD\u00e9coreraient notre chambre;
\nLes plus rares fleurs
\nM\u00ealant leurs odeurs
\nAux vagues senteurs de l’ambre,
\nLes riches plafonds,
\nLes miroirs profonds,
\nLa splendeur orientale,
\nTout y parlerait
\n\u00c0 l’\u00e2me en secret
\nSa douce langue natale.<\/p>\n
\nLuxe, calme et volupt\u00e9.<\/p>\n
\nDormir ces vaisseaux
\nDont l’humeur est vagabonde;
\nC’est pour assouvir
\nTon moindre d\u00e9sir
\nQu’ils viennent du bout du monde.
\n\u2014 Les soleils couchants
\nRev\u00eatent les champs,
\nLes canaux, la ville enti\u00e8re,
\nD’hyacinthe et d’or;
\nLe monde s’endort
\nDans une chaude lumi\u00e8re.<\/p>\n
\nLuxe, calme et volupt\u00e9.<\/p>\n
\nRev\u00eatent les champs,
\nLes canaux, la ville enti\u00e8re,
\nD’hyacinthe et d’or;
\nLe monde s’endort
\nDans une chaude lumi\u00e8re.<\/p>\n
\nTon moindre d\u00e9sir
\nQu’ils viennent du bout du monde.<\/p>\n
\nS\u00e8mera le rubis, la perle et le saphir,
\nAfin qu’\u00e0 mon d\u00e9sir tu ne sois jamais sourde!<\/p>\n
\nTo Cato\u2019s daughter, Brutus\u2019 Portia.
\nNor is the wide world ignorant of her worth
\nFor the four winds blow in from every coast
\nRenowned suitors: and her sunny locks
\nHang on her temples like a golden fleece
\nWhich makes her seat of Belmont Colchos strond,
\nAnd many Jasons come in quest of her.<\/p>\n