Quelqu'un qui possèderait la correspondance de Debussy aurait-il l'obligeance de me renseigner sur le texte original (cad en français) des lettres de Debussy concernant la composition de la "rapsodie mauresque" et les commentaires sur Mme Elisa Hall, particulièrement, les extraits suivants:
à sa (1ère) femme Lily, le 4 juin 1903
I do not know why “the Saxophone Lady” appears to me as the Statue of
the commandatore appeared to poor Don Juan!—She will never suspect
how much she bored me. Does it not appear indecent to you, a woman
in love with a saxophone, whose lips suck at the wooden mouthpiece of
this ridiculous instrument?—That must surely be an old bat who dresses
like an umbrella.
à André Messager le 8 juin 1903:
It is my turn to be scandalously late with you . . . ! Here is the reason:
several months ago, a lady, who is not satisfied being American but also
allows herself the bizarre luxury of playing saxophone, commissioned,
through the intermediary of Georges Longy, a piece for orchestra and
saxophone obligato. . . . I don’t know if you have a liking for this instrument; as for me, I had forgotten its special sonority to such a degree that I forgot “this commission” at the same time. But the tenacity of Americans is proverbial and . . . the saxophone lady arrived eight or ten
days ago in Paris at 58 rue Cardinet, asking me for an update about her
piece!—Naturally I assured her that after Ramses II, it was the thing I
was thinking about the most.—Still, I had to get down to it, and here I
am, searching desperately for the most original combinations that are
most appropriate for bringing out this aquatic instrument. The whole
thing will be called “Rapsodie orientale.” (It’s the best we’re doing at the
moment).
à Pierre Louÿs fin juillet ou début Août 1903
The saxophone is a reedy animal with whose habits I’m largely unfamiliar. Is it suited to the romantic sweetness of the clarinets or the rather vulgar irony of the sarrusophone (or the contra-bassoon)? In the end I’ve got it murmuring melancholy phrases against rolls on the snare drum. Surely the saxophone, like the Grand Duchess, likes military men? The whole thing’s
called “Rapsodie arabe” . . . (long live the army, even so). The country’s
not boring at all, you see? The answer lies in not believing that the sun
which sets on the hillsides of Bichain is any different from the one
which goes to rest on the pale terraces of Biskra.
Compte-tenu de l'amour immodéré que je porte à ce compositeur, je crains d'en rajouter un peu en retraduisant à partir de l'anglais...