Fantaisie / Gérard de Nerval

Fantaisie

Il est un air pour qui je donnerais

Tout Rossini, tout Mozart et tout Weber,

Un air très vieux, languissant et funèbre,

Qui pour moi seul a des charmes secrets.

Or, chaque fois que je viens à l’entendre,

De deux cents ans mon âme rajeunit :

C’est sous Louis treize ; et je crois voir s’étendre

Un coteau vert, que le couchant jaunit,

Puis un château de brique à coins de pierre,

Aux vitraux teints de rougeâtres couleurs,

Ceint de grands parcs, avec une rivière

Baignant ses pieds, qui coule entre des fleurs ;

Puis une dame, à sa haute fenêtre,

Blonde aux yeux noirs, en ses habits anciens,

Que, dans une autre existence peut-être,

J’ai déjà vue… – et dont je me souviens !

Gérard de Nerval

Fantasy

There is an air for which I'd freely change

All Weber's, Mozart's, and Rossini's spells:

An old, old air, that of some sorrow tells—

Sad, fascinating, endless, weird, and strange,

Each time I hear that air my soul is borne

Back through the vista of two hundred years:

Reigns 'Louis Treize'—and in my sight appears

A hill-side green, where fading sunbeams mourn.

Then suddenly a noble castle towers—

Brick, with stone fretwork, and red glass that glows,

Girt by a park, through which a river flows,

Bent over by innumerable ferns and flowers.

And then a lady at a window high,

Fair, with dark eyes, in which a tear I trace—

Oh, is it in my dreams I've seen that face?

Or have I ever lived in times gone by?

Gérard de Nerval

Translated by Toru Dutt

Fantasy (second english translation)

There is an air for which I'd gladly give

All Mozart, all Rossini, all Von Weber,

A languid, ancient, solemn-sounding air

That yields its secret charm to me alone.

Each time it happens that I hear it played

My heart grows younger by two hundred years:

I live in former times. . . and see portrayed

A green slope gilded by the setting sun,

And then a feudal castle Banked with stone,

Its windows tinted to a glowing rose,

Bounded by spacious parks and with its feet

Bathed by a stream that through a garden flows.

And then a lady in a window high,

Fair-haired, dark-eyed, and dressed in ancient style .

Whom, in another life, perhaps I've seen,

And whom 1 now remember with a sigh.

Gérard de Nerval

Fantasy (third english translation)

There is an air for which I would give

all Rossini, all Mozart, and all Weber,

an old air, languishing, funereal,

that has secret charms for me alone.

It happens that every time I hear it,

my soul becomes younger by two hundred years:

it's the time of Louis the Thirteenth...

and I think I see spread out before me

a green hillside turning yellow in the sunset;

then a chateau of brick with stone corners,

its windows tinted with reddish colors,

with a belt of grand parks around it, with a river

bathing its feet, that flows among the flowers.

Then a lady, at her high window,

blond with black eyes, in her old-fashioned clothes,

who in another life, perhaps,

I have already seen...and whom I remember!

Gérard de Nerval

Fantasía

Existe una tonada por la que yo daría

todo Mozart, Rossini y todo Weber,

una vieja tonada, languideciente y fúnebre

que me trae a mí solo sus secretos encantos.

Cada vez que la escucho mi alma se hace

doscientos años -es sobre Luis Trece-

más joven; y creo ver cómo se extiende

una ladera verde que amarillea el ocaso,

luego un alcázar de ladrillo y piedra,

de vidrieras teñidas de colores rojizos

ceñido de amplios parques y a sus pies un arroyo

que entre las flores corre;

luego una dama, en su ventana altísima,

rubia. con ojos negros. de vestimenta antigua,

que en otra vida acaso ya hube visto

y de la cual me acuerdo.

Gérard de Nerval

Versión de Aníbal Núñez

Fantazya

Bir hava bilirim, dünyalara değişmem:

Bütün Rossini, Mozart, Weber sizin olsun.

Çok eski bir hava, ağır, hazin, muhteşem;

Yalnız ben duyarım onda ne varsa füsun!

Ne zaman o havayı dinliyecek olsam

Ruhum gençleşiverir birden iki asır.

Onüçüncü Louis devridir, vakit akşam!

Batan günle sararmış bir yamaç uzanır.

Camları kızıla çalan renklerle yanar,

Kiremitten bir şato, köşeleri taştan.

Etrafı çepçevre bağlar, bahçeler, parklar;

Bir dere akıyor çiçekler arasından.

Kömür gözlü bir kumral en üst pencerede;

Eskidir geçmiş zaman esvapları eski.

Görmüşlüğüm var bu kadın, ama nerde?

Hatırlıyorum, başka bir hayatta belki!

Gérard de Nerval

Çeviren: Cahit Sıtkı Tarancı

Photo by Mary Wilson