Alfred de Musset “in Venice the Red”

Alfred de Musset It was with George Sand that Alfred de Musset experienced passion in Venice, at the Hotel Danieli.

But it was also with a broken heart that he left Venice after their break-up.

However, his first poems about Venice were written before his trip with George Sand to the Serenissima.

Two poems begin with these words: “Dans Venise la rouge...” but between those of 1828 and 1844, we move from charm to... the abyss.

In Venice the Red (1828)

“in Venice the Red,
Not a boat in sight,
Not a fisherman in the water,
Not a lantern.

Alone, sitting on the beach,
The great lion raises,
On the serene horizon,
His bronze foot.

Around him, in groups,
Ships and rowboats,
Like herons,
Lying in a circle,

Sleep on the steaming water,
And cross in the mist,
In light swirls,
Their pavilions.

The moon, fading away,
Covers her forehead, passing
From a starry cloud
Half-veiled.

Thus, the abbess
Of Sainte-Croix lowers
Her cloak with its wide folds
Over her surplice.

And the ancient palaces,
And the solemn porticoes,
And the white staircases
Of the knights,

And the bridges, and the streets,
And the gloomy statues
And the shifting gulf
That trembles in the wind,

All is silent, except for the guards
With their long halberds,
Who keep watch at the battlements
Of the arsenals.

— Ah! Now more than one
Wait, in the moonlight,
For some young lily of the valley,
Ears pricked up.

For the ball that is being prepared,
More than one is dressing up,
Putting on her black mask
In front of her mirror.

On her perfumed bed
The swooning Vanina
Still presses her lover,
As she falls asleep.

And Narcisa, the madwoman,
At the back of her gondola,
Forgets herself in a feast
Until morning.

And who, in Italy,
Does not have a touch of madness?
Who does not keep for love
Their most beautiful days?

Let us leave the old clock,
In the palace of the old doge,
Count its nights
And long boredom.

Let us rather count, my beauty,
On your rebellious lips
So many kisses given...
Or forgiven.

Let us rather count your charms,
Let us count the sweet tears
That our eyes have shed
For the pleasure!”
Alfred de Musset -Premières poésies, 1828