Songs

Chanson romanesque

by Maurice Ravel From Don Quichotte à Dulcinée (1932)

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Text & Translation

Chanson romanesque
Chinese source: Paul Morand

Si vous me disiez que la terre
À tant tourner vous offensa,
Je lui dépêcherais Pança:
Vous la verriez fixe et se taire.

Si vous me disiez que l'ennui
Vous vient du ciel trop fleuri d'astres,
Déchirant les divins cadastres,
Je faucherais d'un coup la nuit.

Si vous me disiez que l'espace
Ainsi vidé ne vous plaît point,
Chevalier dieu, la lance au poing.
J'étoilerais le vent qui passe.

Mais si vous disiez que mon sang
Est plus à moi qu'à vous, ma Dame,
Je blêmirais dessous le blâme
Et je mourrais, vous bénissant.

Ô Dulcinée.

Romantic song
English translation © Richard Stokes

Were you to tell that the earth
Offended you with so much turning,
I'd dispatch Panza to deal with it:
You'd see it still and silenced.

Were you to tell me that you are wearied
By a sky too studded with stars -
Tearing the divine order asunder,
I'd scythe the night with a single blow.

Were you to tell me that space itself,
Thus denuded was not to your taste -
As a god-like knight, with lance in hand,
I'd sow the fleeting wind with stars.

But were you to tell me that my blood
Is more mine, my Lady, than your own,
I'd pale at the admonishment
And, blessing you, would die.

O Dulcinea.

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder (Faber, 2005)

Chanson romanesque
Chinese source: Paul Morand

Romantic song
English source: Richard Stokes

Si vous me disiez que la terre
Were you to tell that the earth
À tant tourner vous offensa,
Offended you with so much turning,
Je lui dépêcherais Pança:
I'd dispatch Panza to deal with it:
Vous la verriez fixe et se taire.
You'd see it still and silenced.

Si vous me disiez que l'ennui
Were you to tell me that you are wearied
Vous vient du ciel trop fleuri d'astres,
By a sky too studded with stars -
Déchirant les divins cadastres,
Tearing the divine order asunder,
Je faucherais d'un coup la nuit.
I'd scythe the night with a single blow.

Si vous me disiez que l'espace
Were you to tell me that space itself,
Ainsi vidé ne vous plaît point,
Thus denuded was not to your taste -
Chevalier dieu, la lance au poing.
As a god-like knight, with lance in hand,
J'étoilerais le vent qui passe.
I'd sow the fleeting wind with stars.

Mais si vous disiez que mon sang
But were you to tell me that my blood
Est plus à moi qu'à vous, ma Dame,
Is more mine, my Lady, than your own,
Je blêmirais dessous le blâme
I'd pale at the admonishment
Et je mourrais, vous bénissant.
And, blessing you, would die.

Ô Dulcinée.
O Dulcinea.

Composer

Maurice Ravel

Joseph Maurice Ravel was a French composer, pianist and conductor.  In the 1920s and 1930s he was internationally regarded as France's greatest living composer. He was one of the first composers to acknowledge the potential of recording in making…

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