It's finished! There's silence all round now—and horror.
Long live Poulmann Caesar! Vive Soufflard emperor!
Now's the time to make bonfires from old barricades;
The Porte de Saint-Denis beneath its arcades
Sees the wind-shaken firelight shimmer around.
All done. Time to rest now. You can hear it, the sound
Of swords going in sheathes, coins in pockets and bags.
The Bivouac Bank takes receipt of our swag.
Those who killed without pause and who didn’t disown us,
Will get croix d’honneurs as a nice little bonus.
The victors are whooping; they dance in the ruins,
Past shadow-filled corners where corpses are strewn.
One glad, mad-drunk soldier, oblivious to all
Staggers, steadies himself with his hand on the wall
Inadvertently smudging some spilt human brain.
They're all drinking; they laugh, sing and feast with the slain,
With the shot-down and vanquished: men, women and kids.
Gilded Generals triumphantly ride through the midst
Watched blankly by corpses fallen upside-down skew.
Bravo! Caesar has taken the short cut through!
We run to tell the Elysée that it’s good.
Blood in the houses, gutters running with blood—
It floods everywhere. To cross these scarlet seas,
Judges must hoik up their gowns to their knees,
A priest carries off a coagulate thick strand
Still steaming, for use in old Veuillot’s inkstand.
Yes, yesterday you were all graces and airs,
Now the army has shooed you from your curule-chairs,
Magistrates! Now that your hearts are your own
And you’re pretty well certain that Mandrin has won,
Since your sure there's no need to show in-teg-rit-ee
Mandrin will reward your bright-eyed loyalty
Since he’ll be the paymaster now (good thing too)
Since he’ll manage the budget, there’s no risk to you—
He’ll throttle the law till it’s in quite a poor way,
You'll find its cadaver stuffed in at your doorway.
Roll up! Celebrate! Sing Hosanna, Lord save you!
Forget the heart-terror that yesterday gave you,
And, now that he’s killed old men, women and girls,
Now that he’s stepped in blood up to the ankles,
All hail great Assassin! Drop down in the mud
And lick both his feet to clean off all the blood!
II
C'est fini! Le silence est partout, et l'horreur.
Vive Poulmann César et Soufflard empereur!
On fait des feux de joie avec les barricades;
La Porte Saint-Denis sous ses hautes arcades
Voit les brasiers trembler au vent et rayonner.
C'est fait, reposez-vous; et l'on entend sonner
Dans les fourreaux le sabre et l'argent dans les poches.
De la banque aux bivouacs on vide les sacoches.
Ceux qui tuaient le mieux et qui n'ont pas bronché
Auront la croix d'honneur par dessus le marché.
Les vainqueurs en hurlant dansent sur les décombres.
Des tas de corps saignants gisent dans les coins sombres.
Le soldat, gai, féroce, ivre, complice obscur,
Chancelle, et, de la main dont il s'appuie au mur,
Achève d'écraser quelque cervelle humaine.
On boit, on rit, on chante, on ripaille; on amène
Des vaincus qu'on fusille, hommes, femmes, enfants.
Les généraux dorés galopent triomphants,
Regardés par les morts tombés à la renverse.
Bravo! César a pris le chemin de traverse!
Courons féliciter l'Elysée à présent.
Du sang dans les maisons, dans les ruisseaux du sang,
Partout! Pour enjamber ces effroyables mares,
Les juges lestement retroussent leurs simarres,
Et l'Église joyeuse en emporte un caillot
Tout fumant, pour servir d'écritoire à Veuillot.
Oui, c'est bien vous qu'hier, riant de vos férules,
Un caporal chassa de vos chaises curules,
Magistrats! Maintenant que, reprenant du cœur,
Vous êtes bien certains que Mandrin est vainqueur,
Que vous ne serez pas obligés d'être intègres,
Que Mandrin dotera vos dévoûments allègres,
Que c'est lui qui paiera désormais, et très-bien,
Qu'il a pris le budget, que vous ne risquez rien,
Qu'il a bien étranglé la loi, qu'elle est bien morte,
Et que vous trouverez ce cadavre à sa porte,
Accourez, acclamez, et chantez Hosanna!
Oubliez le soufflet qu'hier il vous donna,
Et, puisqu'il a tué vieillards, mères et filles,
Puisqu'il est dans le meurtre entré jusqu'aux chevilles,
Prosternez-vous devant l'assassin tout-puissant,
Et léchez-lui les pieds pour effacer le sang!
Thursday, 30 August 2007
Wednesday, 29 August 2007
Chastisements, NOX 1
It’s the date you’ve been planning for all these years
Prince! Now to end it!—The night's chill is fierce.
Come on! Up you get! Getting whiff of a thief
The guard dog of Liberty’s grinding his teeth;
But Carlier’s put him in chains, he’s at bay.
Don’t wait any longer! It’s the hour of the prey.
See, December stirs up his best fog, pale and thick;
Like an old robber baron leaving his bailiwick,
Surprise, brusque assailant, surrounds and strike through.
Go! Regiments ready themselves at HQ,
Rucksacks on, boozed-up, and burning with furor--
This gangster's their number one choice for emperor.
Grab a lamp, down the side way, go on, out you creep;
Take a knife too, it’s time. The Republic’s asleep
False-confident, blind to your sombre eyes' glints,
She sleeps with your oath as her pillow, my Prince.
Cavaliers, footsoldiers, up! Out, you hordes!
More representatives! Men, tie the cords
Truss up generals thrown in a cell with no key--
A punch in the kidneys! Toss the MPs in choky!
Chase the High Court with the flat of your sabres
Become, for the sake of France, brigands and rapers.
You, bourgeois, pay heed: you vile herd, vile muck
Like a blood-covered sword stirring black demons up,
With a flourish our coup-d’État steps from the forge.
Orators for Justice?—cut their throats! coup la gorge!
All you tramps, condotteri, shopkeepers and whores
Strike now! Kill Baudin! Kill Dussoubs! Kill them all!
Who's this standing outside their homes? What’s their babble?
Men, if you would, please machine-gun that rabble!
Shoot! Shoot! You can vote later on, People-King!
First stab Justice, stab Honour, stab Law, everything!
Let the boulevards run with a river of red!
Fill the cans up with wine! Fill the stretchers with dead!
Who’d like brandy? When days are as rainy as these are
We all need a drink. Soldiers, shoot that old geezer.
Kill that child for me, will you? And who is that woman?
The mother? Oh, kill her too. Such wicked humans
They’re trembling! Pavingstones redden their heels!
So this odious Paris resists us? Big deal!
It stinks of contempt, of the dark: this the vengeance
That we, Force, can wreak upon suchlike Intelligence!
Paris respected abroad? Take new courses!
Drag it all through the mud by the hair of our horses!
Till it dies! Till we crush it, erase it, efface!
Black guns, fire your cannonballs right in its face!
***
NOX
I
C'est la date choisie au fond de ta pensée,
Prince! il faut en finir, -- cette nuit est glacée,
Viens, lève-toi! flairant dans l'ombre les escrocs,
Le dogue Liberté gronde et montre ses crocs.
Quoique mis par Carlier à la chaîne, il aboie.
N'attends pas plus longtemps! c'est l'heure de la proie.
Vois, décembre épaissit son brouillard le plus noir;
Comme un baron voleur qui sort de son manoir,
Surprends, brusque assaillant, l'ennemi que tu cernes.
Debout! les régiments sont là dans les casernes,
Sac au dos, abrutis de vin et de fureur,
N'attendant qu'un bandit pour faire un empereur.
Mets ta main sur ta lampe et viens d'un pas oblique,
Prends ton couteau, l'instant est bon: la République,
Confiante, et sans voir tes yeux sombres briller,
Dort, avec ton serment, prince, pour oreiller.
Cavaliers, fantassins, sortez! dehors les hordes!
Sus aux représentants! soldats, liez de cordes
Vos généraux jetés dans la cage aux forçats!
Poussez, la crosse aux reins, l'Assemblée à Mazas!
Chassez la haute-cour à coups de plat de sabre!
Changez-vous, preux de France, en brigands de Calabre!
Vous, bourgeois, regardez, vil troupeau, vil limon,
Comme un glaive rougi qu'agite un noir démon,
Le coup d'État qui sort flamboyant de la forge!
Les tribuns pour le droit luttent: qu'on les égorge.
Routiers, condottieri. vendus, prostitués,
Frappez! tuez Baudin! tuez Dussoubs! tuez!
Que fait hors des maisons ce peuple? Qu'il s'en aille.
Soldats, mitraillez-moi toute cette canaille!
Feu! feu! Tu voteras ensuite, ô peuple roi!
Sabrez le droit, sabrez l'honneur, sabrez la loi!
Que sur les boulevards le sang coule en rivières!
Du vin plein les bidons! des morts plein les civières!
Qui veut de l'eau-de-vie? En ce temps pluvieux
Il faut boire. Soldats, fusillez-moi ce vieux.
Tuez-moi cet enfant. Qu'est-ce que cette femme?
C'est la mère? tuez. Que tout ce peuple infâme
Tremble, et que les pavés rougissent ses talons!
Ce Paris odieux bouge et résiste. Allons!
Qu'il sente le mépris, sombre et plein de vengeance,
Que nous, la force, avons pour lui, l'intelligence!
L'étranger respecta Paris: soyons nouveaux!
Traînons-le dans la boue aux crins de nos chevaux!
Qu'il meure! qu'on le broie et l'écrase et l'efface!
Noirs canons, crachez-lui vos boulets à la face!
Prince! Now to end it!—The night's chill is fierce.
Come on! Up you get! Getting whiff of a thief
The guard dog of Liberty’s grinding his teeth;
But Carlier’s put him in chains, he’s at bay.
Don’t wait any longer! It’s the hour of the prey.
See, December stirs up his best fog, pale and thick;
Like an old robber baron leaving his bailiwick,
Surprise, brusque assailant, surrounds and strike through.
Go! Regiments ready themselves at HQ,
Rucksacks on, boozed-up, and burning with furor--
This gangster's their number one choice for emperor.
Grab a lamp, down the side way, go on, out you creep;
Take a knife too, it’s time. The Republic’s asleep
False-confident, blind to your sombre eyes' glints,
She sleeps with your oath as her pillow, my Prince.
Cavaliers, footsoldiers, up! Out, you hordes!
More representatives! Men, tie the cords
Truss up generals thrown in a cell with no key--
A punch in the kidneys! Toss the MPs in choky!
Chase the High Court with the flat of your sabres
Become, for the sake of France, brigands and rapers.
You, bourgeois, pay heed: you vile herd, vile muck
Like a blood-covered sword stirring black demons up,
With a flourish our coup-d’État steps from the forge.
Orators for Justice?—cut their throats! coup la gorge!
All you tramps, condotteri, shopkeepers and whores
Strike now! Kill Baudin! Kill Dussoubs! Kill them all!
Who's this standing outside their homes? What’s their babble?
Men, if you would, please machine-gun that rabble!
Shoot! Shoot! You can vote later on, People-King!
First stab Justice, stab Honour, stab Law, everything!
Let the boulevards run with a river of red!
Fill the cans up with wine! Fill the stretchers with dead!
Who’d like brandy? When days are as rainy as these are
We all need a drink. Soldiers, shoot that old geezer.
Kill that child for me, will you? And who is that woman?
The mother? Oh, kill her too. Such wicked humans
They’re trembling! Pavingstones redden their heels!
So this odious Paris resists us? Big deal!
It stinks of contempt, of the dark: this the vengeance
That we, Force, can wreak upon suchlike Intelligence!
Paris respected abroad? Take new courses!
Drag it all through the mud by the hair of our horses!
Till it dies! Till we crush it, erase it, efface!
Black guns, fire your cannonballs right in its face!
***
NOX
I
C'est la date choisie au fond de ta pensée,
Prince! il faut en finir, -- cette nuit est glacée,
Viens, lève-toi! flairant dans l'ombre les escrocs,
Le dogue Liberté gronde et montre ses crocs.
Quoique mis par Carlier à la chaîne, il aboie.
N'attends pas plus longtemps! c'est l'heure de la proie.
Vois, décembre épaissit son brouillard le plus noir;
Comme un baron voleur qui sort de son manoir,
Surprends, brusque assaillant, l'ennemi que tu cernes.
Debout! les régiments sont là dans les casernes,
Sac au dos, abrutis de vin et de fureur,
N'attendant qu'un bandit pour faire un empereur.
Mets ta main sur ta lampe et viens d'un pas oblique,
Prends ton couteau, l'instant est bon: la République,
Confiante, et sans voir tes yeux sombres briller,
Dort, avec ton serment, prince, pour oreiller.
Cavaliers, fantassins, sortez! dehors les hordes!
Sus aux représentants! soldats, liez de cordes
Vos généraux jetés dans la cage aux forçats!
Poussez, la crosse aux reins, l'Assemblée à Mazas!
Chassez la haute-cour à coups de plat de sabre!
Changez-vous, preux de France, en brigands de Calabre!
Vous, bourgeois, regardez, vil troupeau, vil limon,
Comme un glaive rougi qu'agite un noir démon,
Le coup d'État qui sort flamboyant de la forge!
Les tribuns pour le droit luttent: qu'on les égorge.
Routiers, condottieri. vendus, prostitués,
Frappez! tuez Baudin! tuez Dussoubs! tuez!
Que fait hors des maisons ce peuple? Qu'il s'en aille.
Soldats, mitraillez-moi toute cette canaille!
Feu! feu! Tu voteras ensuite, ô peuple roi!
Sabrez le droit, sabrez l'honneur, sabrez la loi!
Que sur les boulevards le sang coule en rivières!
Du vin plein les bidons! des morts plein les civières!
Qui veut de l'eau-de-vie? En ce temps pluvieux
Il faut boire. Soldats, fusillez-moi ce vieux.
Tuez-moi cet enfant. Qu'est-ce que cette femme?
C'est la mère? tuez. Que tout ce peuple infâme
Tremble, et que les pavés rougissent ses talons!
Ce Paris odieux bouge et résiste. Allons!
Qu'il sente le mépris, sombre et plein de vengeance,
Que nous, la force, avons pour lui, l'intelligence!
L'étranger respecta Paris: soyons nouveaux!
Traînons-le dans la boue aux crins de nos chevaux!
Qu'il meure! qu'on le broie et l'écrase et l'efface!
Noirs canons, crachez-lui vos boulets à la face!
Hugo's Chastisements: prospectus
I've created this blog to post sections of a work-in-progress translation of Victor Hugo's Chastisements (1853; you might prefer to translate the poem's title as 'Punishments').
Hugo is well known in English-speaking territories as a novelist; not so well known as a poet; and his three big epic productions (1853's Châtiments, 1856's Les Contemplations, and above all the enormous La Légende des siècles, published in instalments between 1855 and 1876) have never been translated. That fact boggles me--for they are staggering, extraordinary poems, enormously important examples of nineteenth-century poetry from arguably France's greatest poet of the period--so I figured I should do something about it. I have read, in point of fact, the two English-language volumes currently in print that translate selections of Hugo (a whole bunch of shorter poems, and a few chunks from the longer pieces); the really rather good Selected Poems of Victor Hugo: A Bilingual Edition (University of Chicago Press, 2004) translated by E H Blackmore and A M Blackmore; and the not so good Victor Hugo: Selected Poems (Carcanet/Poetry Pleiade; 2001) translated by Stephen Monte. (I haven't yet seen this Penguin Selected Poems, translated by Brooks Haxton, and published in 2002). But these books, good or middling as they may be, are no substitute for a proper complete translation of the big poems themselves.
I shall post translations of the 100 poems that constitute this poem in order. My French is serviceable but not excellent, and it's very possible I'm perpetrating ridiculous errors of basic meaning, as well as many infelicities and idiocies of expression, in these translations. Accordingly I would very much welcome feedback, comments and any and all manner of opinion on material posted here.
A brief rationale: my aim is to translate fairly closely, one English line for every French line, limiting the meaning to the line as far as possible and certainly in the overwhelming number of cases. This is complicated by my desire to preserve Hugo's rhyme scheme. To this end I am happy to work with half-rhymes where I must.
Hugo is well known in English-speaking territories as a novelist; not so well known as a poet; and his three big epic productions (1853's Châtiments, 1856's Les Contemplations, and above all the enormous La Légende des siècles, published in instalments between 1855 and 1876) have never been translated. That fact boggles me--for they are staggering, extraordinary poems, enormously important examples of nineteenth-century poetry from arguably France's greatest poet of the period--so I figured I should do something about it. I have read, in point of fact, the two English-language volumes currently in print that translate selections of Hugo (a whole bunch of shorter poems, and a few chunks from the longer pieces); the really rather good Selected Poems of Victor Hugo: A Bilingual Edition (University of Chicago Press, 2004) translated by E H Blackmore and A M Blackmore; and the not so good Victor Hugo: Selected Poems (Carcanet/Poetry Pleiade; 2001) translated by Stephen Monte. (I haven't yet seen this Penguin Selected Poems, translated by Brooks Haxton, and published in 2002). But these books, good or middling as they may be, are no substitute for a proper complete translation of the big poems themselves.
I shall post translations of the 100 poems that constitute this poem in order. My French is serviceable but not excellent, and it's very possible I'm perpetrating ridiculous errors of basic meaning, as well as many infelicities and idiocies of expression, in these translations. Accordingly I would very much welcome feedback, comments and any and all manner of opinion on material posted here.
A brief rationale: my aim is to translate fairly closely, one English line for every French line, limiting the meaning to the line as far as possible and certainly in the overwhelming number of cases. This is complicated by my desire to preserve Hugo's rhyme scheme. To this end I am happy to work with half-rhymes where I must.
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