The complete text of Invitation to the Voyage in the original French, refrain included, with an English rendering, the country Baudelaire invents, and why two lines never leave the minds of those who read them.
Read the poem
The three stanzas and their refrain inside a fine rule, under the title of the collection: the short lines indented, as in the 1857 edition, and at the foot the poet's name with the number XLIX. Printed on thick matte eco-friendly paper.
Printed and shipped from a studio near you: most orders arrive in 5 business days.
Mon enfant, ma sœur,Songe à la douceurD'aller là-bas vivre ensemble ;— Aimer à loisir,Aimer et mourirAu pays qui te ressemble !Les soleils mouillésDe ces ciels brouillésPour mon esprit ont les charmesSi mystérieuxDe tes traîtres yeux,Brillant à travers leurs larmes.
Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,Luxe, calme et volupté.
Des meubles luisants,Polis par les ans,Décoreraient notre chambre ;Les plus rares fleursMêlant leurs odeursAux vagues senteurs de l'ambre,Les riches plafonds,Les miroirs profonds,La splendeur orientale,Tout y parleraitÀ l'âme en secretSa douce langue natale.
Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,Luxe, calme et volupté.
Vois sur ces canauxDormir ces vaisseauxDont l'humeur est vagabonde ;C'est pour assouvirTon moindre désirQu'ils viennent du bout du monde.— Les soleils couchantsRevêtent les champs,Les canaux, la ville entière,D'hyacinthe et d'or ;— Le monde s'endortDans une chaude lumière.
Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,Luxe, calme et volupté.
A plain English rendering, offered as a reading aid. The poster keeps the original French.
My child, my sister, think of the sweetness of going out there to live together. To love at leisure, to love and to die in the country that resembles you. The drowned suns of those clouded skies hold for my spirit the same mysterious charm as your treacherous eyes, shining through their tears.
There, all is order and beauty, luxury, calm and delight.
Gleaming furniture, polished by the years, would decorate our room; the rarest flowers, mingling their scents with the vague fragrance of amber, the rich ceilings, the deep mirrors, the splendor of the East, everything there would speak in secret to the soul, in its own sweet native tongue.
There, all is order and beauty, luxury, calm and delight.
See on those canals the sleeping ships, whose mood is to wander; it is to satisfy your slightest desire that they come from the ends of the earth. The setting suns clothe the fields, the canals, the whole town in hyacinth and gold; the world falls asleep in a warm light.
There, all is order and beauty, luxury, calm and delight.
Nowhere, and that is the whole point. Baudelaire describes no real country: he invents a destination out of the person he is speaking to, "au pays qui te ressemble," the country that resembles you. The canals, the sleeping ships and the golden light suggest Holland, but no place is ever named. The voyage is a proposal, not an itinerary.
The woman addressed is traditionally linked to Marie Daubrun, an actress Baudelaire loved. The poem calls her "mon enfant, ma sœur," my child, my sister, two words that set ordinary love aside from the start: what is promised is not passion, but peace.
The refrain fits into two seven-syllable lines, four nouns set side by side without a verb. It tells nothing, it names a state, and it returns three times, unchanged, like a door being opened again. First published in the Revue des Deux Mondes in 1855, the poem fixed these two lines so firmly in memory that half a century later Matisse took them as the title of a painting. Many people know them without ever having read the rest.
Three stanzas of twelve lines, each followed by the same refrain. The lines alternate five and seven syllables, which gives the poem the sway of a lullaby.
"Les soleils mouillés de ces ciels brouillés"
Everything is in the infinitive or the conditional: to go, to love, to die. Nothing is decided, everything is offered. The veiled sky is at once tied to the beloved's eyes, shining through their tears: landscape and face are already the same thing.
"Sa douce langue natale."
The voyage narrows into an interior: furniture polished by the years, rare flowers, amber, deep mirrors. A poem of elsewhere that ends in a closed room, where everything would speak to the soul in a language it had always known.
"Le monde s'endort dans une chaude lumière."
The room opens onto the harbor. The wandering ships are asleep, come from the ends of the earth for a single desire. Then the sunset covers everything in hyacinth and gold, and the poem fades gently instead of concluding.
Because you see it before you read it. With its short indented lines and its three refrains, it draws a column on the page that ripples like the water of a canal. In 50x70 cm (20x28 in), that breathing becomes visible from across the room, and the refrain stands out three times.
In a bedroom, above a console or a bookcase, it is the gentlest poem in Les Fleurs du mal, the one where Baudelaire does not complain: he offers.
With Stillness No. 1, an exclusive studio creation: a pink and orange sky resting on a stretch of blue. It is the hour of the last stanza, when the setting suns clothe the fields and the canals in hyacinth and gold.
Side by side in 50x70 cm, the page and the sky answer each other: the cream paper catches the glow of the sunset, the blue brings back the calm. Luxe, calme et volupté, quite literally.
In 30x40 or 50x70 cm (12x16 or 20x28 in).
From Les Fleurs du mal (The Flowers of Evil) by Charles Baudelaire, published in 1857, where the poem appears in the section Spleen et Idéal. It had been published two years earlier in the Revue des Deux Mondes.
To a woman called "my child, my sister," whom tradition identifies as Marie Daubrun, an actress Baudelaire loved. The text itself never names her.
No real country is named. The canals, the ships and the golden light suggest Holland, but the poem invents a destination made in the likeness of the beloved.
Luxury, calm and delight: the refrain names the state the voyage promises, a place where everything would be harmonious, peaceful and sensuous at once. Repeated after each stanza, it works as a promise.
Yes, the most famous setting is Henri Duparc's, from 1870, which leaves out the second stanza. Léo Ferré sang the whole poem in 1957.
Yes: Heure d'été sets it like a page from a book, in 30x40, 40x50 or 50x70 cm (12x16, 16x20 or 20x28 in), on thick matte eco-friendly paper.
L'Invitation au voyage promises a country you will find on no map, and yet recognize. If it is one of yours, give it a place where you can see it every day. To make the evening last, read Harmonie du soir or The Albatross.
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