baudelaire invitation au voyage english

Charles Baudelaire's Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil

L'Invitation au voyage

Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté.

— Charles Baudelaire

Invitation to the Voyage

My child, my sister, Think of the rapture Of living together there! Of loving at will, Of loving till death, In the land that is like you! The misty sunlight Of those cloudy skies Has for my spirit the charms, So mysterious, Of your treacherous eyes, Shining brightly through their tears.

There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure.

Gleaming furniture, Polished by the years, Will ornament our bedroom; The rarest flowers Mingling their fragrance With the faint scent of amber, The ornate ceilings, The limpid mirrors, The oriental splendor, All would whisper there Secretly to the soul In its soft, native language.

See on the canals Those vessels sleeping. Their mood is adventurous; It's to satisfy Your slightest desire That they come from the ends of the earth. — The setting suns Adorn the fields, The canals, the whole city, With hyacinth and gold; The world falls asleep In a warm glow of light.

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

My daughter, my sister, Consider the vista Of living out there, you and I, To love at our leisure, Then, ending our pleasure, In climes you resemble to die. There the suns, rainy-wet, Through clouds rise and set With the selfsame enchantment to charm me That my senses receive From your eyes, that deceive, When they shine through your tears to disarm me.

There'll be nothing but beauty, wealth, pleasure, With all things in order and measure.

With old treasures furnished, By centuries burnished, To gleam in the shade of our chamber, While the rarest of flowers Vaguely mix through the hours Their own with the perfume of amber: Each sumptuous ceiling, Each mirror revealing The wealth of the East, will be hung So the part and the whole May speak to the soul In its native, indigenous tongue.

On the channels and streams See each vessel that dreams In its whimsical vagabond way, Since its for your least whim The oceans they swim From the ends of the night and the day. The sun, going down, With its glory will crown Canals, fields, and cities entire, While the whole earth is rolled In the jacinth and gold Of its warming and radiant fire.

There'll be nothing but beauty, wealth, pleasure With all things in order and measure.

— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)

An Invitation to Voyage

My child, my sister, Think of the delight Of going far off and living together! Of loving peacefully, Loving and dying In the land that bears your resemblance! The wet suns Of those disheveled skies Have for my spirit The mysterious charm Of your treacherous eyes Shining through their tears.

There, all is order and beauty, Richness, quiet and pleasure.

Highly polished furniture, Made beautiful by time, Would decorate our room; The rarest flowers Mingling their odors With the vague fragrance of amber, Rich ceilings, Deep mirrors, Eastern splendor, Everything there would speak In secret to the soul Its sweet native tongue.

Behold sleeping On the canals those ships Whose temperament is a wanderer's; It is to satisfy Your slightest desire That they come from the ends of the world. — The setting sun Clothes the fields, The canals, the entire city, With hyacinth and gold; The world goes to sleep In a warm light.

— Wallace Fowlie, Flowers of Evil (New York: Dover Publications, 1964)

Think, would it not be Sweet to live with me All alone, my child, my love? — Sleep together, share All things, in that fair Country you remind me of? Charming in the dawn There, the half-withdrawn Drenched, mysterious sun appears In the curdled skies, Treacherous as your eyes Shining from behind their tears.

There, restraint and order bless Luxury and voluptuousness.

We should have a room Never out of bloom: Tables polished by the palm Of the vanished hours Should reflect rare flowers In that amber-scented calm; Ceilings richly wrought, Mirrors deep as thought, Walls with eastern splendor hung, All should speak apart To the homesick heart In its own dear native tongue.

See, their voyage past, To their moorings fast, On the still canals asleep, These big ships; to bring You some trifling thing They have braved the furious deep. — Now the sun goes down, Tinting dyke and town, Field, canal, all things in sight, Hyacinth and gold; All that we behold Slumbers in its ruddy light.

— Edna St. Vincent Millay, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)

My child mistress/mother sister/dream How acceptable all things would be Were we to live in that land where The slow and the long, short and the strong

Die in the dance of being less than one another In a perpetual summer of imageless desire. Flagellated and forgotten suns Drink in the step of my azure lost skies And move to mysterylessness our chemical miseries Within which the treadling eyes of indefiniteness Are no more than the tears of the damned. Take from my heart, a platinum measure Free of solitude's false grace And awkward adolescent pleasures. Here is the furniture That caresses the dust of the years And counts the wrinkled set into the brain On fingers that have made their own doom. Evil the eyes that look back at us in dreams, Evil the touch of the deaths that have not loved us Evil the sorrow which shelters itself from release And the evils accumulate Leaving us idle and alone Though an Eastern splendor, An Eastern hatred of the idea of loss Eddies in the river of slime That has not won us. Hidden from the waves in still canals We sit in a small boat that refuses To set forth. To satisfy need, To accommodate our need of forever, We sit in the boat And wait for a clearer sky, A more propitious moment to launch While thinking of Cortez' Miraculous slaughter of and victory over The children of the sun.

— Will Schmitz

Invitation to a Journey

My sister, my dear Consider how fair, Together to live it would be! Down yonder to fly To love, till we die, In the land which resembles thee. Those suns that rise 'Neath erratic skies, — No charm could be like unto theirs — So strange and divine, Like those eyes of thine Which glow in the midst of their tears.

There, all is order and loveliness, Luxury, calm and voluptuousness.

The tables and chairs, Polished bright by the years, Would decorate sweetly our rooms, And the rarest of flowers Would twine round our bowers And mingle their amber perfumes: The ceilings arrayed, And the mirrors inlaid, This Eastern splendour among, Would furtively steal O'er our skuls, and appeal With its tranquillous native tongue.

In the harbours, peep, At the vessels asleep (Their humour is always to roam), Yet it is but to grant Thy smallest want From the ends of the earth that they come, The sunsets beam Upon meadow and stream, And upon the city entire 'Neath a violet crest, The world sinks to rest, Illumed by a golden fire.

— Cyril Scott, Baudelaire: The Flowers of Evil (London: Elkin Mathews, 1909)

The Invitation to the Voyage

How sweet, my own, Could we live alone Over beyond the sea! To love and to die Indolently In the land that's akin to thee! Where the suns which rise In the watery skies Weave soft spells over my sight, As thy false eyes do When they flicker through Their tears with a dim, strange light.

There all is beauty and symmetry, Pleasure and calm and luxury.

Years that have gone Have polished and shone The things that would fill our room; The flowers most rare Which scent the air In the richly-ceiling'd gloom, And the mirrors profound, And the walls around With Orient splendour hung, To the soul would speak Of things she doth seek In her gentle native tongue.

The canals are deep Where the strange ships sleep Far from the land of their birth; To quench the fire Of thy least desire They have come from the ends of the earth. The sunsets drown Peaceful town And meadow, and stagnant stream In bistre and gold, And the world enfold In a warm and luminous dream.

— Jack Collings Squire, Poems and Baudelaire Flowers (London: The New Age Press, Ltd, 1909)

Two editions of Fleurs du mal were published in Baudelaire's lifetime — one in 1857 and an expanded edition in 1861. "Scraps" and censored poems were collected in Les Épaves in 1866. After Baudelaire died the following year, a "definitive" edition appeared in 1868.

• 1857 Fleurs du mal First edition with 100 poems
• 1861 Fleurs du mal Second edition missing censored poems but including new ones
• 1866 Les Épaves Twenty-three "scraps" including the poems censored from the first edition
• 1868 Fleurs du mal Comprehensive edition published after Baudelaire's death
• All Poems (Alphabetical) Every poem from each edition
• Audio Readings of Baudelaire mostly in French
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Invitation to the Voyage

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Child, Sister, think how sweet to go out there and live together! To love at leisure, love and die in that land that resembles you! For me, damp suns in disturbed skies share mysterious charms with your treacherous eyes as they shine through tears.

     There, there’s only order, beauty: abundant, calm, voluptuous.

     Gleaming furniture, polished by years passing, would ornament our bedroom; rarest flowers, their odors vaguely mixed with amber; rich ceilings; deep mirrors; an Oriental splendor—everything there would address our souls, privately, in their sweet native tongue.

     See on these canals those sleeping boats whose mood is vagabond; it’s to satisfy your least desire that they come from the world’s end. —Setting suns reclothe fields, the canals, the whole town, in hyacinth and gold; the world falling asleep in a warm light.

Keith Waldrop, "Invitation to a Voyage," The Flowers of Evil , copyright © 2006 by Keith Waldrop. Published by Wesleyan University Press. Used by permission.

More by this poet

Take it easy, Sadness. Settle down. You asked for evening. Now, it’s come. It’s here. A choking fog has blanketed the town, infecting some with calm, the rest with fear. While the squalid throng of mortals feels the sting of heartless pleasure swinging its barbed knout and finds remorse in slavish partying, take my hand, Sorrow. I will lead you out, away from them. Look as the dead years lurch, in tattered clothes, from heaven’s balconies. From the depths, regret emerges with a grin.

Posthumous Remorse

When you go to sleep, my gloomy beauty, below a black marble monument, when from alcove and manor you are reduced to damp vault and hollow grave;

     when the stone—pressing on your timorous chest and sides already lulled by a charmed indifference—halts your heart from beating, from willing, your feet from their bold adventuring,

     then the tomb, confidant to my infinite dream (since the tomb understands the poet always), through those long nights in which slumber is banished,

You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.

But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk.

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PoetryVerse

Charles Baudelaire

Invitation to the voyage.

My child, my sister, Think of the rapture Of living together there! Of loving at will, Of loving till death, In the land that is like you! The misty sunlight Of those cloudy skies Has for my spirit the charms, So mysterious, Of your treacherous eyes, Shining brightly through their tears. There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure. Gleaming furniture, Polished by the years, Will ornament our bedroom; The rarest flowers Mingling their fragrance With the faint scent of amber, The ornate ceilings, The limpid mirrors, The oriental splendor, All would whisper there Secretly to the soul In its soft, native language. There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure. See on the canals Those vessels sleeping. Their mood is adventurous; It's to satisfy Your slightest desire That they come from the ends of the earth. — The setting suns Adorn the fields, The canals, the whole city, With hyacinth and gold; The world falls asleep In a warm glow of light. There all is order and beauty, Luxury, peace, and pleasure. Translated by - William Aggeler

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L'invitation au voyage

By henri duparc, text & translation.

L'invitation au voyage French source: Charles Baudelaire

Invitation to journey English translation © Richard Stokes

Invitation to journey English source: Richard Stokes

Henri Duparc

Eugène Marie Henri Fouques Duparc (21 January 1848 – 12 February 1933) was a French composer of the late Romantic period. Read more here.

Charles Baudelaire

Charles Pierre Baudelaire was a French poet who also produced notable work as an essayist, art critic, and pioneering translator of Edgar Allan Poe. His most famous work, Les Fleurs du mal (The Flowers of Evil), expresses the changing nature of…

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• The Wanderer 17 Oct 2024

Previously performed at:

• Young Artist Auditions (Session 7) 20 Apr 2024
• 74. Mastercourse Showcase Recital: Mastercourse participants, introduced by Mark Padmore 29 Oct 2022
• 68. Mastercourse Day Five 28 Oct 2022
• 65. Anne-Lise Polchlopek, Elenora Pertz: From Paris to the Mediterranean 27 Oct 2022
• 64. Mastercourse Day Four 27 Oct 2022
• 58. Mastercourse Day Three 26 Oct 2022
• 54. Mastercourse Day Two 25 Oct 2022
• 50. Mastercourse Day One 24 Oct 2022
• 24. James Gilchrist & Anna Tilbrook: 25 years of Friendship in Song 18 Oct 2022
• Mary Bevan & Anna Tilbrook: Voyages (dans la lumière) 19 Mar 2022
• 95. Baudelaire in Song 22 Oct 2021
• 68. Christoph Prégardien: Studies and Improvisations 18 Oct 2021
• Grieg, Strauss & Berlioz: Ailish Tynan & James Baillieu 28 Mar 2020
• 63. French Fables: Jess Dandy & Sholto Kynoch 23 Oct 2019
• 53. Invitation Au Voyage: Marie-Laure Garnier & Célia Oneto Bensaid 21 Oct 2019
• A French Songbook: Véronique Gens & Susan Manoff 24 Oct 2018
• Song at Wolfson: William Morgan sings Schumann and Duparc 26 Apr 2018
• Rückert Lieder: Thomas Oliemans & Malcolm Martineau 21 Oct 2017

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Invitation to the Voyage

Charles baudelaire 1821 (paris) – 1867 (paris).

Imagine, ma petite, Dear sister mine, how sweet Were we to go and take our pleasure Leisurely, you and I— To lie, to love, to die Off in that land made to your measure! A land whose suns' moist rays, Through the skies' misty haze, Hold quite the same dark charms for me As do your scheming eyes When they, in their like wise, Shine through your tears, perfidiously. There all is order, naught amiss: Comfort and beauty, calm and bliss. Treasure galore—ornate, Time-glossed—would decorate Our chamber, where the rarest blooms Would blend their lavish scent, Heady and opulent, With wisps of amber-like perfumes; Where all the Orient's Splendid, rich ornaments— Deep mirrors, ceilings fine—would each, In confidential tone, Speak to the soul alone In its own sweet and secret speech. There all is order, naught amiss: Comfort and beauty, calm and bliss. See how the ships, asleep— They who would ply the deep!— Line the canals: to satisfy Your merest whim they come From far-flung heathendom And skim the seven seas. —On high, The sunset's rays enfold In hyacinth and gold, Field and canal; and, with the night, As shadows gently fall, Behold! Life sleeps, and all Lies bathed in warmth and evening light. There all is order, naught amiss: Comfort and beauty, calm and bliss.

Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 27, 2023

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Charles Baudelaire

Charles Pierre Baudelaire was a French poet who also produced notable work as an essayist, art critic, and pioneering translator of Edgar Allan Poe.  more…

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• Summer Poem Linvitation Au Voyage...

Summer Poem: "L'invitation au voyage" by Charles Baudelaire

UK Literary Editor

Charles Baudelaire’s “L’invitation au voyage” (Invitation to the Voyage) is part of our summer poetry series , dedicated to making the season of vacation lyrical again. Originally published in Les Fleurs du mal in 1857, it is something of the the first great call for holiday getaway. Or so we like to think.

It ought to surprise some, I think, that the poet of misery and ennuis, whose entire artistic project is predicated upon the making of beauty out of murk (an idea neatly encapsulated in the title of his greatest collection: The Flowers of Evil ), could write in longing terms about a foreign locale. Yet it is worth remarking that the idyllic land Baudelaire found so captivating was in fact inspired by the Netherlands. There’s thus no reason this poem couldn’t still very well be in evil-flower territory.

The land of order, beauty, luxury, calm and sensuousness (in no particular order) inspires the great Romantic to some of his lushest verse, not easily replicable in translation. The chorus, which has gone on to become almost ubiquitous in French culture, is particularly hard to replicate: “Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté, / Luxe, calme et volupté.” And although Edna St. Vincent Millay got close to it in 1936, Jack Collings Squire’s earlier effort—which has the benefit of not being bound by copyright—is decent enough to be our translation of choice: The Invitation to the Voyage , by Charles Baudelaire(trans. Jack Collings Squire, 1909) How sweet, my own, Could we live alone Over beyond the sea! To love and to die Indolently In the land that’s akin to thee! Where the suns which rise In the watery skies Weave soft spells over my sight, As thy false eyes do When they flicker through Their tears with a dim, strange light. There all is beauty and symmetry, Pleasure and calm and luxury. Years that have gone Have polished and shone The things that would fill our room; The flowers most rare Which scent the air In the richly-ceiling’d gloom, And the mirrors profound, And the walls around With Orient splendour hung, To the soul would speak Of things she doth seek In her gentle native tongue. There all is beauty and symmetry, Pleasure and calm and luxury. The canals are deep Where the strange ships sleep Far from the land of their birth; To quench the fire Of thy least desire They have come from the ends of the earth. The sunsets drown Peaceful town And meadow, and stagnant stream In bistre and gold, And the world enfold In a warm and luminous dream. There all is beauty and symmetry, Pleasure and calm and luxury.

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Meaning of L’invitation au voyage by Charles Baudelaire

"L'invitation au voyage" ("Invitation to the Voyage") is a poem by Charles Baudelaire, which was later set to music by various composers, including Henri Duparc. It is a romantic and evocative piece that explores the desire for an idealized and exotic escape from the mundane realities of everyday life. Throughout the poem, Baudelaire presents a vivid image of a utopian destination and expresses the yearning to be transported to this enchanting realm.

In the first stanza, the speaker addresses their loved one as "my child, my sister" and invites them to dream of the sweetness of living together in an unknown place. The desires expressed are to love freely and deeply and to die in a land that resembles the beloved's own self. The mention of "mouillés soleils" (wet suns) and "charms" suggests a sense of mystery and allure that draws the speaker's spirit.

The second stanza describes the opulence and tranquility of this imagined setting, with "shiny furniture" and "rare flowers" filling their room with their scents mingling with the ambrosial aroma. The rich ceilings, deep mirrors, and oriental splendor would all speak to the soul in its native language, providing a sense of comfort and familiarity.

The third stanza introduces the image of sleeping boats on canals, representing the longing to fulfill the beloved's every desire even from distant parts of the world. The setting sun lends an enchanting light to the fields, canals, and the entire city. This image emphasizes the peaceful and harmonious nature of the destination, where everything is characterized by "order and beauty," luxury, calmness, and pleasure.

Symbolically, the poem reflects Baudelaire's longing for an idealized escape from the mundane realities of the modern industrialized world. The exotic and utopian destination represents a sanctuary where one can experience beauty, tranquility, and pleasure while being free from the constraints of society.

The overarching themes of "L'invitation au voyage" include the search for an idealized escape, the longing for beauty and tranquility, and the desire for a deeper, more meaningful connection with the beloved. Baudelaire's use of vivid imagery, rich sensory descriptions, and contrasting emotions evokes a heightened sense of longing and a yearning for the transcendent.

Ultimately, the poem's overall meaning lies in the recognition that there exists an alternate reality, a paradise that can only be accessed in dreams or the imagination. It showcases the universal desire for escapism and speaks to the yearning for a deeper connection with both the self and the world. The poem invites the reader to explore the boundaries of reality, revealing the power of imagination to transport us to a realm of harmony, beauty, and pleasure.

This meaning interpretation was written by AI. Help improve it with your feedback

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L'invitation au voyage = Invitation to the voyage : a poem from The flowers of evil, 1854

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