I’ve been to Paris, the proverbial city of love, three times in my life. The first visit, driving there all the way from Germany with a new crush, was supposed to be a romantic weekend – which ended up anything but, holed up in a small hotel room with a severe case of food poisoning. Love didn’t last either.
The second time I spent a week there with my youngest, then around 12 or 13, bursting with love for this young travel companion. He surprised me with unexpected flexibility, adapting to (mis)adventures, king of the Metro once he figured out the system, getting us everywhere we wanted to be. Seeing the world through the eyes of a child new to travel was revelatory.
The third time I was there for a fortnight, all by myself, grateful for the steady love of the one who sent me off. “Do what makes you happy, you need a break. I’ll hold the fort until your return.” I’ve never walked so much in my life. Two weeks spent on foot, exploring the neighborhoods until the light waned and I could no longer photograph.
Some of the exploration happened at the various cemeteries, green oases amidst the city’s bustle, and reminders that love lasts beyond a life time. At least that’s what so many of the memorials, in their detailed marble and sand stone sculptures and engraving, seem to promise. Whether we can trust that promise is another matter.
Today’s poem is an exhortation to keep it up.
Alfred de Musset (1810 -1857) a French dramatist and poet from the post-Napoleonic era makes it very clear: you better remember me, I’ll haunt you just in case! He clings to the idea of eternal love, despite the fact that throughout his life time love was always a form of suffering. He had an on/off affair with George Sand during his formative years until he was dumped by her. The loss of her to other lovers inspired much of his creative writing, but also fed into his mental instability. He died young after a life of debauchery and alcohol abuse, an emergence of multiple personalities and eventually alcohol-induced dementia. Not sure how many remember him.
Remember Me
by Alfred de Musset
Remember me, when Morn with trembling light
Opens her enchanted palace to the Sun;
Remember me, when silver-mantled Night
In silence passes like a pensive nun.
Whene’er with ecstasy thy bosom heaves,
Or dreams beguile thee in the summer eves,
Then from the woodland lone
Hear a low-whispered tone,
Forget me not!
Remember me, when unrelenting Fate
Hath forced us two for evermore to part,
When years of exile leave me desolate,
And sorrow blights this fond despairing heart;
Think of my hapless love, my last farewell:
Absence and time true passion cannot quell,
And while the heart still beats,
Each throb for thee repeats,
Forget me not!
Remember me, when ‘neath the chilly tomb
My weary heart is wrapt in slumber deep;
Remember me, when pale blue flowerets bloom
O’er the green turf that shrouds my dreamless sleep.
I shall not see thee, but from realms above
My soul shall watch thee with a sister’s love,
And oft when none are nigh,
A voice at night shall sigh,
Forget me not!
from Poésies Nouvelles (1850)
Here is the spoken French version. I have no clue who did the translation into English, but note that the first and last line of each stanza use different phrases which dilutes the French original where the command “remember!” is repeated verbatim.
More importantly, if this poem strikes you as a narcissistic outcry, let’s give some love to more collectivist action. Yesterday France saw a major wave of strikes and protest against neo-liberal pension reform. The Interior Ministry said more than 1.1 million people protested, including 80,000 in Paris. Unions said more than 2 million people took part nationwide, and 400,000 in Paris. (Ref.) The unions have shown the most unity in decades, fighting against the plan to exploit workers. Here is a good summary article of the political agenda of Macron and allies, once again haunting the working class.
Musset is buried at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris, where some of today’s images are from.
Music today is a French chanson about the two lovers and an old Woody Guthrie song about unions, for good measure.
