Mademoiselle Say
Mademoiselle Say you’ll stay, oh Camille
Monsieur, away I must go now, salut, oh Rodin
Master your art, the Rose in your hands
But mold, but manipulate my love no more
I must make escape from this cast
Of mistress assistant to your craft
Mademoiselle Say you’ll stay, oh Camille
Oh Rodin, will I ever be the Rose in your hands?
Mais non! I was but the young pupil,
The forbidden apple of your eye over your arms
Smitten with the clay, smitten with the kiss
Of all you taught by way of your charms
Loyalty I vowed to you Rodin
To be master student of your class,
My love always on hand
To be your wife should even forever pass
Yet your love never meant to last
Mademoiselle Say you’ll stay, oh Camille
Monsieur, away now, so that I may finally show you
Salut, my Rodin, how I burn to try my hand
At the clay under influence of your way
Letters will keep you abreast
Of my artist’s journey, of the calling’s quest
You gave me not when my talent you praised
But in the way you gazed to speak
Of a love you claimed would hold forever fast
Upon my return, love was least of your concern
You rather me undress
To model nakedly, to pose unmistakably
For the appeasement of that Rose’s demands:
“Slave for your work, labor your hands
My lover, Rodin” she’d say
But I bore you a daughter, then one became two
But these gifts simply exposed the deception in you
As you raged, embittered with resentment
As children would prove to be disruptions
To your rosy affair and the loss of contentment
Incited you to volatile eruptions,
Oh how life can be so unfair!
Mademoiselle Say you’ll stay, oh Camille
Monsieur, away to dungeons I chained her
Oh Rodin, you drove her to madness and now
I am but the frail embodiment of her sadness
Casting one skeletal shadow against the cell wall
Where my hands cry behind the glass
For touch of the door key
I entrusted to you as all-ruling warden
Whose abuse would be the end of me
Mademoiselle Say you’ll stay,
“Oh Camille”, you say, Monsieur Rodin?
“Camille, shape the clay again with your hands!
Breathe life into the marble; make this bronze into man!
Do not treat such talent with such misguided hate!
Do not debilitate such technique magnifique!
Come, my studio awaits what ideas we have to share
Come, come Camille, away with me there!”
Salut Monsieur! Your refusal to understand
Has banned these hands and the last
Work my heart heretofore commissioned was The Bust of Rodin
Rodin, genius of a man, whose hands mesmerized
An entire nation down even to the entirety
Of dreams seeking confirmation through me
Then into my hands, faithful to your resemblance from memory
When I boarded the train with effusive hopes of marrying
I wasted not a moment, hurrying back
From my journey having come into my own
Desiring to come into our home
Hope for family was disfigured upon my arrival
And oh Camille, how she withered away to be forever stifled
When your infidelity betrayed her
Oh, but not Rose!
For she was again in your hands
And I was yearning by vengeful urge churning anger’s insanity
Seething at this gross loveless inhumanity
Oh Rodin, I should have stolen my heart away
From your hands before they could manipulate its soft impression
Into love’s unyielding mold and oh how I paid when concessions I made
Weakened by your sensual plying, susceptible to your gentle wielding
Complying with your every licentious whim
When you begged by way of your charms
“Mademoiselle Say you’ll stay” no more than persuasive speak
For luring me permanently into your arms
But so adventurous, so amorous,
So rapturous, so in love with us I was
And still, Camille’s cries for love echo from lightless chambers
As some feeling knows somehow you can hear her there
And are not wholly a sightless taker of adoration
And will unlock the door to rescue her from maddening despair
And will vow the husband’s affirmation of love’s care and reciprocation
Mademoiselle Say you’ll stay, oh Camille
Monsieur, Camille is but bones banished by my oath
By my seal, “Salut, oh Rodin!” she longed to say
When your wrathful tirades, your spewing scourge
Served to simply overtake her, muffling the cries
Destroying her desire to hear and to heed
Her need of the artist’s way and now,
I’m afraid it may be too late for maybe
I stayed too long, longing to be the Rose in your hands
And lover at once, over your arms to gaze into
The promise of truth in each other’s eyes
And I could have easily looked
Over your lengthy record of lies
Oh Rodin, shall I ever break free from memories
Of your endearing charms?
From imagining your love was always meant to last?
From reliving ethereal days long since past?
Oh Camille and oh the fated romance between one sculptress
And, oh Rodin, one manipulative man
How I can understand the pain of unconditional love
Ignored when your lover is instructor, is teacher, is Lord
But how torturous the pain of condemned hands
When you fear you know their bones may never be restored
When you fear his love must always be implored
