To Alfred Tattet

Poem by Félix Arvers Period 19th century

Alfred, I have seen days when we lived as brothers,
Serving the same gods at the literary altars:
Heaven had formed but one soul for two bodies;
Fair days of outpouring, of love and harmony,
When my voice, ceaselessly united with yours,
Would lose itself in the sky in divine accords.

Which of us has changed? Why on the career
Does one run ahead, leaving the other behind?
Which of the two soldiers has deserted the ranks?
Why do these two vessels that sailed together,
Already despairing of a port that would reunite them,
Seek so far away such different shores?

I have not devoted my master to the gémonies,
I have not drenched with gall and insults
The idol at which my knees wore themselves out bending:
I have not repudiated the trace of the past,
I have remained faithful to it, and have not, like Horace,
Thrown my shield in the midst of combat.

No, it is you who changed. A name that reveals itself
Dazzled you with the rays of its new glory.
You see in the bud the fruit that must ripen:
Maecenas of the Virgil and saint John of the Messiah,
You spread everywhere the holy Prophecy,
You sow the word and you make it bloom.

I am not one of those who go to orgies
To be inspired by the pallid glimmers of candles,
Who in the air darkened by the vapors of wine,
Try to rekindle their exhausted muse,
Like a withered old man whom a prostitute
Under her impure kisses tries in vain to warm.

This is how I understand the work of poetry:
Each of us has made art to his own fancy,
Each of us has seen it from a different side.
Prism of a thousand colors, each eye grasps one
Following the diverse point where fortune has placed it:
God alone can see all in his immensity.

Keep the belief and respect ours,
Devoted apostle of the glory of another;
Make yourself confessor and martyr of the new God,
Do not believe that my heart yields like clay
Nor that your voice, preaching the new Gospel,
However warm it may be, can convert me.

Farewell. Keep your faith, keep your opulence.
Let me gather my heart in silence,
Let me consume my days like a recluse;
Forgive nonetheless this reverie,
It is the song of an outlaw leaving his homeland,
It is the voice of a friend whom you will no longer hear.

Arvers Félix

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-to-alfred-tattet-arvers-felix/