Gustave Nadaud

Gustave Nadaud Poems

Gustave Nadaud Biography

Gustave Nadaud (20 February 1820 in Roubaix – 1893 in Passy) was a French songwriter and chansonnier. Nadaud's first career was as an accountant; he took up songwriting as a hobby at age 28. His friends encouraged him, and he submitted his work for publication in L'Illustration and Le Figaro. This genre of songwriting followed on from writers of the previous generation such as Pierre-Jean de Béranger. Many of his songs were political; his Pandore and Soldat du Marsala were both forbidden under the Second French Empire. Although Nadaud wrote over 300 songs, he died in poverty. A college in Wattrelos is named after him.)

The Best Poem Of Gustave Nadaud

Carcassonne

'I'M growing old, I've sixty years;
I've labored all my life in vain:
In all that time of hopes and fears
I've failed my dearest wish to gain.
I see full well that here below
Bliss unalloyed there is for none.
My prayer will ne'er fulfilment know
I never have seen Carcassonne,
I never have seen Carcassonne!

You see the city from the hill,
It lies beyond the mountains blue,
And yet to reach it one must still
Five long and weary leagues pursue,
And to return as many more!
Ah! had the vintage plenteous grown!
The grape withheld its yellow store!
I shall not look on Carcassonne,
I shall not look on Carcassonne!

'They tell me every day is there
Not more or less than Sunday gay:
In shining robes and garments fair
The people walk upon their way.
One gazes there on castle walls
As grand as those of Babylon,
A bishop and two generals!
I do not know fair Carcassonne,
I do not know fair Carcassonne!

'The vicar's right; he says that we
Are ever wayward, weak and blind,
He tells us in his homily
Ambition ruins all mankind;
Yet could I there two days have spent
While still the autumn sweetly shone,
Ah me! I might have died content
When I had looked on Carcassonne,
When I had looked on Carcassonne!

'Thy pardon, Father, I beseech,
In this my prayer if I append:
One something sees beyond his reach
From childhood to his journey's end.
My wife, our little boy Aignon,
Have traveled even to Narbonne;
My grandchild has seen Perpignon,
And I have not seen Carcassonne,
And I have not seen Carcassonne!'

So crooned one day, close by Limoux,
A peasant double-bent with age;
'Rise up, my friend,' said I; 'with you
I'll go upon this pilgrimage.'
We left next morning his abode,
But (Heaven forgive him) halfway on,
The old man died upon the road;
He never gazed on Carcassonne,
Each mortal has his Carcassonne!

Translated by: by John Reuben Thompson

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