O ti-
'Or
9
%a3AINn3WV
^lllBRARYQc. -^lUBRARYQ
so
\oi\mi(
I
v^>clOSANCElfX;^
DO
SO
>
%a3AINn3Wv
^^OFCAIIFO%
>
^;OFCA[IF0/?^
^<?Abvaaii-^^'~^ -^ommn
RYO/C^ ^^lllBRARYQc
^^WEUNIVER^/^
)J0-^ '^<!/0JnVDJO'^ <rii30NVS01^
vj^lOSANCEl
m/ir. ^OFCAilFO/?^
in#^ "^OAHvaaiii^
.^
^^MEUNIVER%
^lOSANCElfj-^
o
"^AaBAiNn 3WN
{^ ^lOSANCELfx^
2 "- ^^^^J I -<
-v^^lLIBRARY^?/. ^^ILIBRAR
frl '*J
^WEUNIVERS-ZA
^lOSANCElfXy
%a3AiNn-3\\v^
^IIIBRARY^?/;^ A^
^<!/0JllV3JO^ ^<
,^\^ElJNIVER%
% .^e
o
s^vWSANGElfj^
%a3A!Nn]WV
^OFCALIF0%, ^<
^vNlLIBRARYQ^ ^^lllBRARYQ^
^.aOJIlVDJO'^ ^OJIIVDJO"^
aWEI)NIVERS/a
<rii]ONvsoi^
^OFCALIFO/?^ ^OFCAIIFO/?^
«^AMEUNIVER%
>-
fie
<
^WEUNIVERS•/A
1^^^
^lOSANGElfj>
-n (->
O li.
-s^tllBRARYQ^. ^
,^1
1 ?
3 §
M^^M^
^i^ ru
EARLY FRENCH POETS.
By the same Author,
LIVES OF ENGLISH POETS,
FROM JOHNSON TO KIRKE WHITE,
DESIGNED AS A CONTINUATION OF JOHNSON'S LIVES.
LONDON : HENRY G. BOHN.
MDCCCXLVI.
Shortly will be published,
THE ODES OF PINDAR,
IN ENGLISH VERSE,
SECOND EDITION, WITH NOTES,
EDITED BY THE REV. HENRY CARY, M.A.
Preparing for the Press,
THE
LITERARY JOURNAL AND LETTERS
OP THE
REV. HENRY FRANCIS CARY.
WITH A MEMOIR.
BY HIS SON, THE REV. HENRY CARY, M.A.
THE
EARLY FRENCH POETS,
A SERIES OF
NOTICES AND TRANSLATIONS,
BY THE LATE
REV. HENRY FRANCIS GARY, M.A.
TRANSLATOR OF DANTE.
WITH AN INTRODUCTORY
SKETCH OF THE HISTORY OF FRENCH FOETRY,
BY HIS SON
THE REV. HENRY GARY, M.A.
WORCESTEK COLLEGE, OXFORD.
LONDON:
HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
MDCCCXLVI.
/
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
Chronological Table of French Poets . . v
Introductory Sketch of the History of'French Poetry ix
Clement Maeot .... 1
Thibaut King of Navarre
•
17
Antoine Heroet
•
26
Mellin de Saint Gelais
?
•
35
HuGUES Salel .
40
Olivier de Magny
46
Joachim Du Bellay
50
Remy Belleau .
66
Jan Antoine de Baif
78
Jan de la Peruse
. 82
Pierre de Ronsard
. 86
Estienne Jodelle
. 128
Philippe Desportes
. 136
Jean Bertaut
. 147
Maurice Sceve
. 161
GUILLAUME DBS AuTELS
. 168
Robert Garnier
•
. 176
632737
IV
CONTENTS.
Alain Chartier
Charles Duke of Orleans
FRAN901S Villon
Fresnaie Vauquelin
Amadis Jamyn .
Pierre Gringore
207
218
236
245
264
268
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE
OF
FRENCH POETS.*
Grain d'Or de Bouay
Robert Wace
Chrestien de Troyes
Aubien de Sezane .
Thibaut King of Navarre ,
diaries of Anjou .
Henry Duke of Brabant . i .
Pierre Mauclerc Earl of Britany
Jean de Dreux
Thibavlt de Blazon
Jaques de Chison .
Gace Brule
Eustaclie tlie Painter
Birth. Death.
12th century.
1201 . . 1253.
cotemporary
with Thibaut.
* The poets are placed according to the date of their
death, where that is known, otherwise according to
their birth. Those printed in Italics are noticed only
in the Introduction.
VI
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE.
Cruillaume de Lorris
Jean de Meun .
Cruillaume de Deguilleville
Gaston de Foix
Jean Froissart
Olivier Basselin
Christine de Pisan
Alain Chartier
Charles Duke of Orleans
Francois Villon
Pliilipije de Victroy
Pierre Michault .
Olivier de la Marche
Guillaume Coquillart
Gewge Chastelain .
Jean de Vertoc
Arnmil Grehert
Octavien de Saint Gclais
Jean Molinet
Martial d'Auvergne
Jean Marot
Jean k Maire de Beiges
Guillaume Cretin
Clement Marot
Pierre Gringore
Marguerite de Valois
Jean Boiichet .
Birth. Death.
— . . 1260
1279 . . 1322
1295 . . 1360
1331 . . 1391
1337 . . 1410
— . . 1418
1363 . . —
1386 . . 1458
1391 . . 1466
1431 . . —
end of the 15tli
century.
. 1466 .
. 1502
' -^ .',
. 1507
■ —
. 1508
. 1457
. 1517
. 1473
. . 1524
( ^L'.-^
. . 1525
. 1484
. 1544
—
. . 1545
. 1492
. . 1549
. 1476
. . 1555
CHRONOLOGICAL
Jacques Takureau
Jan de la Peruse .
HuGUES Salel
Mellin de Saint Gelais
Joachim Du Bellay
Olivier de Magny
Maurice Sceve
Antoine Heroet
ESTIENNE JoDELLE
Remy Belleau
Amadis Jamyn
guillaume des autels
Pierre de Ronsard
Jean Dorat
Robert Garnier
Guillaume Salluste du Bartas
Jan Antoine de Baip
Tlieodore de Bhe
Pontus de Thyard
Fresnaie Vauquelin
Philippe Desportes
Jean Bertaut
Mathurin Itegnier
Estienne Pasquier
Franqois Malherhe
table
•
Vll
Birth.
Death.
. 1525 .
. 1555
— .
. 1555
1508 .
, 1558
1491 .
. 1559
1524 .
. 1560
^^~ •
. 1560
— .
. 1564
i\d.v.
. 1568
1532 .
. 1573
1528 .
. 1577
1538 .
. 1578
1529 .
. 1580
1524 .
. 1585
1508 .
. 1588
1534 .
. 1590
. 1544 .
. 1590
. 1532
. 1592
. 1519
. 1605
. 1521
. 1605
. 1535
. . 1606
. 1546
. . 1606
. 1552
. . 1611
. 1573
. . 1613
. 1529
. . 1615
. 1555
. . 1628
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH
OF THE
HISTORY OF FRENCH POETRY.
The papers of whicli this volume is composed,
were originally published in various numbers of the
London Magazine, between the years 1821 and 1825,
at which time that periodical could reckon among its
contributors names of no less note than those of
Charles Lamb, Hazlitt, De Quincy, Allan Cmming-
ham, Thomas Hood, Thomas Carlyle, and the au-
thor's higlily valued friend George Darley. The
contributions of many of these have long since been
pubUshed in a separate form, and their works occupy
no mean place in our standard literature. Their
success, added to a conviction of the merit of the
work itself, has mduced me to collect together the
foUowuig papers, and to offer them to the pubhc
under their author's name.
In doing this, one difficulty presented itself : the
notices of the several French poets should properly
stand in their chronological order, so that the reader
might be enabled to see the progress made in the
b
X INTKODUCTORY SKETCH.
art at the several periods in which the different
schools of poetry flourished. But this was imprac-
ticable, without frequent alterations of the text, for
that the later written papers contain references to
former ones, though these may happen to carry us
further forward in the liistory. The papers them-
selves, though doubtless written with a \-iew of being
afterwards published in a separate form, were com-
posed and printed as at the time best suited the
author's mood or convenience. That on Thibaut,
King of Navarre, which appears second in this vo-
lume for the reason stated in the note at the begin-
ning of that article, was sent out first as a specimen ;
its success warranted the subsequent series.
To obviate the defect in the chronological arrange-
ment, I have prefixed a table, in which all are placed
according to their dates, a guide that will probably
content most readers, vdthout their having recourse
to the more tedious process of following me through
a hasty review of the History of French Poetry,
from its first beginnings to the time of Malherbe,
wherein I propose not only to connect historically the
several authors, of whom we have an account in this
work, but also to fill up the interstices or gaps in the
history, by notices of such others as either in their day
produced an influence on their comitry's literature,
OT still retain a prominent place in its annals.
By way of introduction a few words must be said
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XI
of the origin of tlie French language, and of the
earUest French poets, the Trouveres.
The French language was originally formed from a
mixture of the ancient Gallic with the Latin, on
which was afterwards engrafted the Tudesque or
language of the Franks, consequent on their occu-
pation of the country. Each province had its sepa-
rate dialect, but the most marked and comprehensive
distinction is that which is made between the langue
d'oc and the langue d'oil,* the former used in the
parts south, the latter in the parts north of the river
Loire : the principal difference consists in the termi-
nations of words, the former or langue d'oc being
in that respect very similar to the Latin, the latter or
the langxie d'oil approaching nearer to the Tudesque.
The former again was the language of the Provencal
troubadours, the latter of their imitators and succes-
sors the trouveres, who may be considered as the first
parents of the French language and poetry in all the
various changes they have successively undergone
from that time to the present. With them, there-
fore, our account properly begins.
Towards the latter part of the twelfth century the
trouveres, successors of the ProvenQal troubadours,t
* Oc and oil are the affirmative particles of the re-
spective dialects, both meaning- "yes."
t The troubadours cannot properly be considered as
the fathers of French poetry, except so far as they
XU INTRODUCTOKY SKETCH.
first be^m to write poems in the French, or, more
correctly speaking, the Romance language. The sub-
jects of these early rhymers were drawn from three
chief sources,* namely, traditions derived from the
ancients, whence the romances of Alexander, of Philip
of Macedon, ^Eneas, and the like ; secondly, from the
traditions of the Britons, whence the romances of
wliich Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table
are the heroes ; lastly, from their own national tra-
ditions, whence those poems of which the deeds of
Charlemagne and the Twelve Peers of France form
the subject.
Many, who may properly be called Chroniclers,
contented themselves with putting into rhyme the
history of their times and country. Thus Grain
d'Or de Douay wrote an accoimt of the first crusade,
were imitated by the trouveres. The laug'uag'es are so
distinct, that it is quite possible to understand the one
and not the other. Thus the first half of the first vo-
lume of Les Poetes Franqois depuis le Xlle siecle par
M. Anfiuis, Paris, 1824, consists of selections from the
troubadours, the latter half of selections from the trou-
veres; the latter may be easily understood by a mode-
rate French scholar, the former I confess myself unable
to make out for many consecutive lines, even with the
help of a dictionary and the glossary that accompanies
tlie work itself.
* See the Dissertation prefixed to Li Romatis de Bcrte
nus [p-ans pies, jmr M. Paidin Paris, published at
Paris, 1832.
INTKODUCTORY SKETCH. XUl
and Robert Wace, an Anglo-Norman, the Wars of the
Conquest of England by "William of Normandy.
Numbers of fables were intermingled with these ac-
counts, and the writers of chronicles drew from the
same sources as the writers of romances.
In the thirteenth century this class of writers in-
creased to such an extent, that no fewer than two
hundred rhymers are reckoned of that sera.
But it is in vain to look for any thing approaching
to poetical taste m these romances. All appears
formed in the same mould ; everywhere the same per-
sonages, the same incidents are met with. If therefore
we would form a favourable opinion of the poetical
productions of this period, we must have recourse
to their fabliaux, tales in verse, the subjects of which
were chiefly drawn from the manners of the times ;
their Senentes, originally songs,* composed in ho-
nour of the deity, or in praise of some great man.
* This appears to have been the orig'inal design of
the Serventes, whence the name as expressing service
or worsliip. Roquefort so describes it in his dictionary
v. "Servantois," and adds " Borel is mistaken in saying
they were satires." Yet this same Roquefort, without
noticing the inconsistency, says in a subsequent work
(De la Poesie Franeoise dans les Xlle et Xllle siecles,
p. 221, 222) that they were generally satirical, but often
contained a mixture of satire and praise. Goujet says
Serventes were satires against all sorts of people.
Bibliotheque Franeoise, x. 42, 4.3.
xiv INTKODUCTORY SKETCH.
which usually ended in a petition for some boon ;
their tensons, short poems in dialogue, chiefly amo-
rous, the most free and unconstrained of all their
styles of poetry, and in which the most boundless
satire was indulged.
Among the writers who flourished before the race
of trouveres was extinct, but who was not of them,
the most worthy of notice is Thibaut, King of Na-
varre. I have but little to add to the notice given of
him in this work.* But we can form a better opinion
of the rank to which he is entitled among the poets
of his comitry, if we contrast the condition of the art
as he found it, with his improvements. His chief
merit is in the introduction or adoption of a new
system of metres and disposure of the rhymes.
I need not stop to inquire into the various theories
as to the origin of rhj-mes, whether, as one thinks,
they were known in Gaul seven hundred years before
the siege of Troy,t or, as another, were imported from
the north by the Goths, :]; or from the south by the
Arabs, § It is almost beyond doubt that the French
poets, properly so called, derived their whole know-
ledge of the art from the Proven9al troubadours, who
in their turn, probably, from the difficulty of adapt-
* Page 21.
t Jan le Maire de Beiges, Massieu Histoire de la
Poesic Franqoisc, p. 73.
I Idem, J). 11. § Idem, p. 78.
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XV
ing the riUes of quantity to their language, had hor-
rowed the use of rhymes from the later Latin writers,
in whom frequent traces of it are to be foimd.*
The troubadours had employed a great variety of
metre, had introduced lines of different lengths, and
intermingled their rhymes, so as to obviate that mo-
notony wliich arises from the constant recurrence of
similar terminations in lines of an equal and measured
length. The earlier trouveres for the most part oidy
employed verses of eight syllables, and those d, rime
plate, as they are called, that is, the two lines of
every couplet rhyming with each other. The author,
who goes under the name of the Recluse of Moliens,f
seems to have been the first to imitate the troubadours
in intermingling the rhymes, and Chrestien de Troyes
and Aubien de Sezane X to make use of varied metres.
Thibaut adopted all these improvements, and estab-
lished a more free and tmieful system of versification,
which was thenceforth cultivated by his successors.
He was the first to alternate the masculine and femi-
nine rhymes, which at a later period became a settled
rule and one of the chief charms of French poetry.
It is remarkable that Dante§ should fix on the first
of Thibaut's poems, the sixth chanson, in wliich this
*
See Roquefort de la Poesie Franqoise, p. 32.
\ Idem, p.m. X Idcm,p.Ql.
% Massieu, p. 141.
X\1 INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
rule is partially iutroducedj as a model of poetical
excellence.
Nor did Thibaut content himself with setting the
example of cultivating a taste for poetry, he used his
influence and employed his patronage in encouraging
it. His court was constantly frequented by the fol-
lowers of the Muses, whatever their station in hfe
might be, and he established a sort of academy under
his own roof, at which meetings were held on stated
days in every week, and the productions of different
authors read aloud. Among the aspirants to literary
fame of that day may be reckoned Charles of Anjou,
brother to king Louis, and himself afterwards king
of Naples and Sicily ; Henry duke of Brabant ;
Pierre Mauclerc earl of Britany ; his son Jean de
Dreux, who married Thibaut' s daughter Blanche;
Thibault de Blazon, a gentleman in the king of Na-
varre's service, and in whose poems may be found
several sayings that have passed into proverbs ;
Jaques de Chison ; Gace Brule ; Eustache the painter,
one of the most celebrated of his time, but of whose
writings little now remains ; and a host of others too
numerous to mention in detail. All these were AVTiters
of chansons, and in most of them is to be discerned
the improved method of versification which Thibaut
of Navarre has the credit of having introduced.
Meanwhile the race of romance-writers was by no
means extinct, and shortly after the time of which I
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XVU
have been speaking there appeared a poem of this
class that bore away the palm from all its predecessors.
This was the Romance of the Rose, the joint work
of Guillaume de Lorris and Jean de Meim, of which
the former wrote upwards of four thousand verses,
the latter eighteen thousand.
Guillaume de Lorris, whom INIarot calls the Ennius
of France, " Notre Ennius Guillaume de Lorris," is
supposed to have died about the year 1260 ; Jean de
Memi was born about the year 12/9, and is supposed
to have died about the year 1322, so that upwards of
forty years must have elapsed between the commence-
ment of the poem by Guillaume de Lorris and its
continuation by Jean de ^leun.
As this is the earUest poem which now retains any
share of popularity, I might almost say of notice,
among the French, it may not be out of place to give
a brief sketch of its plan.
Most of the old romances describe the adventures
of a lover in quest of the object of his love, varied
with every species of incident that in times of chivalry
might be supposed to impede his progress. In the
Romance of the Rose the object of search is not a
lady but a rose ; this rose, however, is meant to repre-
sent a lady, and the other allegorical personages, who
aid or thwart the lover in his quest, represent the
various incidents vdth. which a lover would meet.
The whole, it should be obsei*ved, is represented to
occur in a dream.
X^all INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
The poet or lover fancies himself introduced by
by dame Oyseuse, " Idleness," to the palace of De-
duyt, " Pleasure." He there meets with Love at-
tended by his train, his squire Doux-Regard, " Sweet-
Looks," Richesse, " Riches," Jolyvete, " Jollity,"
Courtoisie, " Courtesy," Franchise, " Liberality,"
Jeunesse, " Youth," and the hke ; these form them-
selves into pairs and give themselves up to the delights
of dancing and walking. The poet, as he is walking
in their company, comes to a bed of roses fenced by
a hedge, he singles out a bud and attempts to pluck
it, when an arrow from the bow of Love stretches
him fainting on the ground. On his recovery he
confesses himself vanquished, and swears allegiance
to the God of Love, with whom he leaves his heart in
pledge.
The poet, as soon as he finds himself alone, is
anxious to return to his rose-bud. Bcl-Accueil,
" Good Reception," accompanies him. But Dangler,
" Danger," armed with a wand of thornbush, Honte,
" Shamefacedness," Peur, " Fear," and Malebouche,
" Calumny," prevent liis reaching the prize. Reason
advises him to give up the pursuit ; but he resists her
influexice, and by the aid of Pitie, " Pity," and Fran-
chise, " Liberality," succeeds in appeasing Danger,
and Venus allows him to put his Hps to the bud.
But Malebouche had denounced him to Jalousie,
" Jealousy ;" she has a strong castle built, in a tower
of which she shuts up Bel-Accueil, and gives the
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XIX
keys to an old woman : Honte, Peur, jMalebouclie,
and Dangler, guard the four principal doors. The
poet, deprived of the aid of Bel-Accueil, can only
grieve over the price he has had to pay for the first
favours of love.
At this point Guillaume de Lorris's poition of the
poem ends.
Brief as the above sketch is, to follow Jean de
Mean's continuation of the poem at the same length
would occupy far too much space ; it must suffice
therefore to keep to the mere skeleton of the story.
We left the lover lamenting at the foot of the tower
in which Bel-Accueil is confined : when he is in
despair of success the God of Love comes to his aid,
and summons bis barons to assist ; these are dames
Oyseuse, Noblesse de Cceur, " Nobleness of Heart,"
Simplesse, " Simplicity," Pitie, Largesse, " Boimtv^,"
Hardiesse, "Courage," Honneur, Coiu'toisie, Deduyt,
Surete, Jevmesse, Patience, HumUite, Bien-Celer,
" Secrecy," these bring with them two new person-
ages, Faux-Semblant, " False-Semblance or Guile,"
and Contrainte-Abstinence, "Constrained Absti-
nence." Love is imwiUmg to admit these two stran-
gers into his train ; but is persuaded to do so on the
intercession of the others, and Faux-Semblant is ap-
pointed leader of the troop.
The attack on the castle commences. The chief,
Faux-Semblant, and his companion, Contrainte-Absti-
nence, equipped in their proper costume ; the latter.
XX INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
wrapped in a hair-garment, her head covered with a
nun's hood, carries her psalter and pater-nosters ;
Faux-Semblant, in the habit of a mendicant friar,
wears a bible round his neck, and supports himself
by a gibbet for a staff. Thus accoutred, they approach
Malebouche, one of the guardians of the castle. He,
affected by a pious discourse from Faux-Semblant,
kneels down to confess ; but while he is stooping his
head, his confessor, Faux-Semblant, seizes him by
the throat, strangles him, and cuts out his tongue
with a razor that he had concealed under his sleeve.
The soldiers who supported Malebouche meet with no
better fate, Faux-Semblant makes his way into the
castle, the lover again gets sight of Bel-Accueil, and
with his aid is just about to pluck the rose, when a
cry uttered by Dangler, brings Honte and Peur to
the rescue. Bel-Accueil and the lover are once
more defeated.
After another fruitless attempt by the army of the
God of Love, the aid of Venus is called in ; she is
soon followed by another ally in the shape of Genius,
the chaplain of dame Nature ; he, dressed in a mag-
nificent cope, wearing on his finger the pastoral ring,
and on his head a mitre, ascends a pulpit, and ha-
ranguing the defeated army, inspires it with new
courage. The siege is renewed, Venus throws a burning
brand into the castle, Bel-Accueil is released, and the
lover is enabled to pluck the rose-bud without terms.
In the original plan of this poem, as drawn by
INTRODUCTOBY SKETCH. XXI
Guillaume de Lorris, we can discover little more than
a simple allegory, such as a trouv^re of liis time
might employ in describing the incidents that would
befal a lover in the chaste pursuit of his love, though
expressed in a far more flomng and purer language
than had till then been used. Jean de Meun has
made his coutmuation the vehicle not only of a less
chaste morality, but of a display of learning consider-
able for those times, and of the most misparing satire
on the clergy and on the female sex, of which we
have above sUght specimens in the conclusion of the
story, and in the characters of Faux-Semblant and
Contrainte-Abstinence .
The only originahty to which Guillaume de Lorris
can lay claim is that of telling his story under the
form of an allegory; Jean de Meun is in that
respect only his follower ; but he is entitled to a far
higher meed of praise, in that he not only possessed,
but made use of, for the advantage of the literature
of his time, a store of learning then common to but
few, and by those few never before employed to adorn
the national hterature, wliich till then had made little
improvement on the primitive songs, ballads, and ver-
sified stories, which are ever the first poetical efforts
of a rude and illiterate people.
Diffuse and miconnected as it was, this application
of learning, borrowed from the ancients to the popular
literature of the age, was doubtless a great step in
XXn INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
advance, but save in that it earned for its author
immediate popularity and a lasting renown, it pro-
duced no visible effect on the writings of his suc-
cessors, who contented themselves with imitating him
so far only as to adopt his allegorical instead of the
usual real personages of romance, and to reiterate his
sarcasms against the clergy and the female sex.
For two centuries and upwards the Romance of the
Rose was the lUad of France.
To pass over the Romance of Pilgrimages by Guil-
laume de Deguille^ille,* a work comprising three
Dreams, the first of Human Life, the second of the
Soul separated from the Body, the third of Jesus
Christ ; the metrical work on the Chase by Gaston
de Foix ;f the rondeaux and ballads of the historian
Jean Froissart;J the joyous drinking songs of Olivier
Basselin,§ supposed to be the inventor of Vaux-de-
Vires ; and others of still less note : — passing over
these we must pause a moment to pay a tribute of
respect to Christine de Pisan.
She was born at Venice about the year 13G3, and
at the age of five years was removed to Paris by her
father, who in the character of an astronomer was
* Born 1295, died about 1360.
t Born 1331, died 1391.
X Born 1337, died after the beginning' of the foUow-
ingr century.
5) Died about 1418.
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XXUl
taken into the service of Charles the Fifth. At the
age of fifteen she married the king's secretary, Etienne
du Castel, but shortly afterwards had the misfortune
to lose her father, and to this grief was added that of
being left a widow with three children at the early
age of twenty-five. To the consolation which the
education of her children would afford, she added
that of a taste for polite literature, which a collection
of books, left her by her father and her husband,
enabled her to indulge : the fruit of her studies soon
shewed itself in the production of a number of little
pieces called dictiez, consisting of ballads, lais, lessus
or complaints, virelays, and rondeaux; these soon
attracted notice, and gained her no inconsiderable
reputation. The Earl of Salisbury, favourite of
Richard the Second, took her eldest son to be edu-
cated with his own ; Henry the Fourth invited
Christine herself to the English court ; and the great
and good of her own countrj^ paid no less homage to
her virtues and her talents.
Her writings are numerous, as well in prose as in
verse : among the latter, besides many ballads, may
be mentioned Le Debat des deux Amants, Le Chemin
de longue Etude, and Les Diets Moraux, or " Moral
Sayings," addressed to her son : throughout, these
poems breathe a spirit of refinement, purity and plain-
tive sweetness, which will be sought in vain among
the writings of any of her cotemporaries.
XXIV INTEODIJCTORY SKETCH.
The most interesting of all is perhaps that last
mentioned, Moral Sayings, addressed to her son. In
it she gives him ad\ice how to act in the different
relations of Ufe, and in a variety of circumstances of
honour or abasement in which he may be placed ; in
a word, she gives him such ad\dce, and in such sweet
and gentle manner, as a mother alone knows how
to give it. A few stanzas, while they serve to shew
her poetical powers, will also evidence the quahties
of her heart and understanding : her instructions as
to his conduct towards her ovra sex, may be taken as
a fair specimen of the whole.
She begins —
" Fils, je n'ai mie grand tresor
Pour t'enrichir. Mais au lieu d'or,
Aucuns enseignemens montrer,
Te veuil, si les veuilles noter.
*****
* * * * * •
Ne soyes decepueur de femmes,
Honours les, ne les diiFames,
Souffise toi d'en amer une,
Et ne prends cointance a chacune.
N'ayes en dedain nul chastoy.
Ne desprises moindre que toy.
Car il est de tels mal vestus,
Ou plus qu'en toy a de vertus.
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XXV
Se tu prends femme acorte et sag'e,
Croy la du fait de ton mesnage ;
Adjoutes foi a sa parole,
Mais ne te oonfesse a la folle.
Souuent ne menasse de battre,
Des teste roinpre ou bras abbattre,
Car c'est sig-ne de couardie,
Personne ou folle ou pou bardie.
Se tu veulx fouir le dangler,
D'amour et du tout I'estrangier,
Esloigne toi de la personne
A qui ton cueur le plus s'adonne.
Se bien veulx et chastement viure,
De la Rose ne lis le liure,
Ne Ovide de I'Art d'amer,
Dont I'exemple sert a blasmer."
I have quoted this last stanza because Christine de
Pisan is often referred to as one of the many assail-
ants of Jean le Menu. It was no jealousy, as was
the case with many who did the hke ; it was no want
of appreciation of the poetical powers of the princi-
pal author of the Romance of the Rose, for she else-
where calls him vm moult grand clerc subtil, " a very
great and subtle scholar ;" it was no wish to protect
her own sex from deserved satire, which induced her
to enter the lists against the greatest genius of her day;
but it was the consciousness that in that poem her
sex had been done wrong, and that a work in which no
c
XXVI INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
distinction was made between virtue and vice, was
calculated to extend the evil, which it professed only
to expose.
Want of space, as well as of ability to add any-
thing worthy of notice to the account given in the
body of this work of Alain Chartier, Charles Duke
of Orleans, and Frangois Villon, compels me merely
to assign them their proper place in the chronology
of French poetry, and to pass on to others their co-
temporaries or immediate followers. The first that
claims our attention is Martial d'Auvergne.
The date of this author's birth is not known ; he
died in 1508. His epitaph informs us that he prac-
tised as a lawyer for fifty years. His first work was
Les Arrets d' Amours, a collection of decisions pro-
nounced by the Courts of Love. Of these the intro-
duction and conclusion only are in verse, the remainder
in prose. The work which gained him most reputa-
tion was Les Vigiles de la Mort du Roy Charles VII.
They are called Vigiles from the circumstance of their
being composed in the form of the office of the church
bearing that name. The Psalms consist of historical
accounts of the misfortunes and glorious events of
Ihe king's life, and the Lessons are lamentations on
his death and the record of his virtues.
The following strophes veiy simply and naturally
express the sorrow of the rustics for the loss of a
good king. One may well believe CoUetet, when he
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XXvii
tells US that the labourers used to sing them at their
work. The shepherds are the speakers —
Depuis quarante ans
L'en ne vist les champs
Tellement fleurir,
Regner si bon temps
Entre toutes gens,
Qu'on a veu avoir
Sans moins de perir
Jusques au mourir
Du roy trespasse,
Qui pour rejouir
Et nous secourir
A maint mal passe.
Se pour peine prendre,
Beufs et brebis vendre,
Ravoir je povoye
Le feu roy de cendre,
Et sur pied le rendre.
Tout le mien vendroye,
Et ne cesseroye,
Jusques luj auroye *»♦ ,
La vie retournee,
Pour la doulce voye,
Le bien et la joye
Qu'il nous a donnee.
Another poem is attributed to the same author,
entitled L'Amant rendu Cordelier. This, to my
XXVm INTEODUCTOEY SKETCH.
taste, is one of the most delightful little romances
of the time. The following is an outline of the
story :
The author finds himself, ever in a dream, in the
forest of Despair, and conducted hy Love to the gate
of ci vast abbey, which is no other than a convent of
Cordeliers or Franciscan Friars. The author enters,
and after mass, meets a poor disconsolate lover, ba-
nished from his mistress's presence, who is come to
seek the Prior's ad\ice. A long dialogue ensvxes
between the Prior and the Lover, in which the latter
expresses his despair of succeeding in overcoming the
obduracy of the object of his affection, and expresses
his desire to take the vows of celibacy, and enter into
the holy order of Franciscans ; the Prior endeaA'ours
to dissuade him from his purpose, and urges him not
to despair, shewing throughout an intimate acquain-
tance with the female heart, Avhich stands in droll
contrast with the naivete and simplicity of the Lover.
His arguments in favour of the prosecution of the
suit pro\ing ineffectual, the Prior next endeavours to
deter the Lover from taking the vows, by represent-
ing to him in strong colours the rigours of the clois-
tered life. But all in vain ; so the poor Lover is
admitted to his no\iciate. At the end of his year of
probation he proceeds to make his profession ; the
author, with a multitude of the Lover's relatives and
friends, is present ; among the rest he observes a lady
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XXIX
dressed in deep mourning, who from her heha\iour
he doubts not is the sad but now repentant cause of
the youth's unhappiness.
The Prior, after a judicious discourse on the world's
vanity, offers the youthful Lover the choic? between
his former habit and that of a professed Friar : dur-
ing the discourse the eve of the Lover had wandered,
and fallen on his sorrowing mistress ; but even this
does not change his purpose, he resolves on taking
the vows, the lady faints, the noviciate rushes to her
aid, and "works a miracle" by bringing her to
herself again : still he remains firm to his purpose,
the rules of the order are read, the usual contribu-
tions are made, the ceremony is just concluded, when
the author awakes from his dream.
In addition to the interest of the story itself, as
giving a hvely picture of the manners of the times,
the truthfulness -with which the diiferent characters
are drawn ; above all, that of the Prior, abounding
in wisdom and true piety, and free from the bigotry
of that period, form a pleasing contrast with other
works of the kind, in which all the professors ot
rehgion, especially the monks, were the common
mark at which the most popular poets were used to
level their sarcasms.
I have only to add in excuse for this long notice
of Martial d'Auvergne, that, httle as he is now
XXX IXTRODUCTOEY SKETCH.
esteemed, lie was once designated as " le poete le
plus spirituel de son temps."
The names of Philip de Victroy, hishop of Meaux,
Pierre Michault, Olivier de la Marche, Guillaume
Coqiiillart, and George Chastelain, all poets who
flourished towards the close of the fifteenth century,
are scarcely deserving of notice. The last of the
number wrote a poem with prose intermingled, which
from the strangeness of the subject may arrest our
attention for a moment.
Chastelain, from reading Homer's Iliad, had con-
tracted such an affection for the character of Hector,
that he could not bear the thought of his havmg been
slain by Achilles, and his corpse afterwards treated
with indignitj\ He therefore introduces the two
heroes, pleading their cause in the presence of Alex-
ander the Great, who having heard both parties, suc-
ceeds in persuading Achilles that his rage had car-
ried him too far, and that he owes an apology to
Hector for his conduct ; this is given, and the con-
tending parties are reconciled. The following is the
title of the poem : " Les Epitaphes d' Hector fils de
Priam, Roy de Troye et d' Achilles fils de Peleus,
Roy de Myrmidoine : et est contenu ou proces de
cestuy traictie les complaintes d'iceux Chevaliers,
present Alexandre le Grant." The whole is a curious
specimen of the Esprit Francois, of which their
INTRODUCTOKY SKETCH. XXXI
modem authors say so much, but of which I confess
myself imable to form a definite notion.*
During the latter part of this, the fifteenth century,
France was inundated by the productions of a new
race of rhymers, who scarcely deserve the name of
poets, and whom Rabelais has fitly compared to
chimers of bells, carilloneurs de cloches. Their
whole talent, such as it was, was employed in invent-
ing new forms of verse and rhyme, so as very much
to add to the difficulties of verse-making, without m
* M. St. Marc Girardin, in his Tableau de la Litte-
rature Fran9aise, au xvie siecle, 1829 ; and M. Nisard,
in his Histoire de la Litterature Fran9aise, now in course
of publication, and of which two volumes have ap-
peared, make the Esprit Franqois the text of their
works, which pervades the history of the nation from
the time of the ancient Gauls, and meets you at every
turn. M. Nisard defines it to be I'esprit joratique par
excellence, which may be freely translated " the per-
fection of practical wisdom." Overlooking this piece
of national vanity, which is itself an illustration of the
Esprit Franqois, in another point of view, and over-
looking' another grave error that results from it, and
which is that the French language has attained perfec-
tion, and is incapable of further advance, it must be
owned that M. Nisard's work is a great accession to the
literature of his country. The first-named work shared
a prize given by the Academy in 1828, with an Essay
on the same subject by M. Ph. Chasles. While the
latter is full of interest, the former gives one little more
than endless exempUfications of the Esprit Francois.
XXXU INTEODUCTOEY SKETCH.
the least increasing its charm. The inventors and
chief promoters of these novelties were Jean de
Vertoc, Arnoul Grebert, Jean Molinet, and his friend
Guillaume Cretin, whom Marot calls,
" Le bon Cretin au vers equivoque,"
and elsewhere
" Souverain Poete Francois,"
and whom Rabelais has immortalized in his Panta-
gruel, under the character of the ridiculous poet
Rominagrobis. These all delighted themselves with
writing verses in every conceivable variety of metre,
and with rhjnues, single, double, echoing, equivocal,
and the like. The following are a few of the different
kinds :
The rhyme batelee,* in which the last syllable of
a verse rhymed with the pause in the next verse.
The rhyme fraterni&ee, in which the last word in
a line was repeated in sound, though not in significa-
tion, at the beginning of the following line.
The rhj^me retrograde, in w'hich the poem or
stanza might be read backwards, and the sense, metre
and rhyme, still retained.-)-
* So called, I suppose, from the Greek word /3arTo.
Xoyia, " babbling."
f Jean ^Mescliinot, who died in 1509, %vrote at the
head of a huitain, an epigram in eig'ht lines (for the
designation of epigram was subsequently introduced
IXTRODTJCTOKY SKETCH. XXXUl
The rhyme enchaisnee, n which every succeeding
line contained a word that had been used in the pre-
ceding, so that as well the sound as the sense was
carried on from Une to line.
The rhyme hrisee, in Avhich every line might be
broken in two at its pause, and the half hues, whe-
ther the first half or the last, bemg read consecu-
tively, would form a poem both in rhjTne and meaning.
The rhyme equivoque, in which the whole word at
the end of one line was repeated in a different sense,
and generally in more words than one, at the end of
the other hue of the couplet.
The rhyme senee,* in which all the words in each
verse began with the same letter.
The rhjTne couronnee, in which the two last sylla-
bles in each hne rhymed with each other, and with
the corresponduig syllables of the other verse of the
couplet.
Lastlv, the rhyme emperiere, " the imperial," the
most diificult, and therefore that which only the
greatest geniuses could cultivate, and which bore the
by Lazare de Baif), Les huit vers ci-dessous ecrits se
peuvent lire et retourner en trente-huit manieres ; " the
eight following' verses may be read and transposed in
thirty-eight different manners." — Samte-Beuve de la
Poesie Franqaise, p. 18.
* So called, I suppose, from the old French word
sene, " a sjiiod" of the clergy of a diocese.
XXXIV INTUODUCTORY SKETCH.
same relation to the couronnee, as an imperial is said
to bear to a kingly crown, was that in which the
same sound was repeated thrice at the end of each
verse.
The curious reader may find specimens of all these
sorts of rhymes in the Abbe Massieu's short history
of French poetry, from whence the foregoing account
has been taken. To any who may wish to pursue
the study further, to revive this branch of the art,
or to import it into our own country, I cannot do
better than recommend a very learned work, written
by Henri de Croy, and published by Authoine Ve-
rard m 1493. It has, I beheve, been repubhshed in
Paris not many years since. Here is its old title ;
" C'ensuit I'art et science de rhetorique pour cong-
noistre tons les termes, formes, et patrons, exemples,
eouleurs et figures de dictiers, tallies modernes, qui
maintenant sont en usage. C'est assavoir, comme
lignes doublettes, vers sisains, vers septains, vers
huitains, vers alexandrins, rigme batelee, rigme
brisee, rigme enchainee, rigme a double queue, rigme
en forme de complainte amoureuse, rondeaulx simplex
de une, de deux, de trois, de quatre et de cinq sylla-
bles, rondeaulx jumeaux et rondeaulx doubles, simples
virlais, doubles virlais et responce, fatras simples fet
fatras doubles, ballades communes, ballade ballavante,
ballade fratrisee, simple lay, lay renforce, champt
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XXXV
royal, servantois, ricquerac et bagucnaude. De la-
quelle rhetorique ensuirent les exemples."
M. Roquefort* has taken some pains to relieve
Clement Marot, (for he was to some extent caught
by the infection) and his cotemporaries, from the ri-
dicule which such an invention would desenedly
bring on its authors ; and he would lay all at the door
of the old troubadours. But the only instances he
gives, or even alleges, are of the intermingling of
long and short verses, and the double or echoing
rhymes, which correspond most nearly with those
called fraternisees. He would find it a hard task to
discover among the troubadours examples of one
fourth part of the fantastical rhymes and metres in
vogue just before the time of Marot, and of which the
above-mentioned work of Henri de Croy professes
to treat.
Before quitting this century two poets, who flou-
rished at its close, claim a passing notice ; these are
Jean, father of Clement Marot, and Octa\aen, re-
puted father of Mellin de Saint-Gelais.
Jean Marot was born of an obscure family at
Mathieu, a village near Caen in Normandy, in the
year 1463. His education seems not to have ex-
tended much beyond the limits of his own language ;
* De I'Etat de la Poesie Francoise dans les XIP et
XIIP sieclesj p. 71,&c.
XXXVl INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
and in that the Romance of the Rose formed his chief
study and delight. He early displayed a natural
talent for poetry, and had the good fortime to attract
the notice of Anne, Duchess of Britany, who at-
tached him to her suite, and on her marriage with
Louis the Twelfth pro\'ided him with a place in the
king's service. Marot attended Louis in his expe-
ditions to Genoa and Venice, and wrote a detailed
metrical accoimt of hoth ; the ordinary dry detail of
royal progresses is much reheyed hy the picturesque
liveliness of his descriptions. In his journey to
Genoa, instead of the usual allegorical personages,
after the manner of Lorris and Le Menu, he intro-
duces Mars, Bellona, Neptmie, Eolus, and others
from ancient mythology. In adcHtion to the above
he wrote a number of rondeaux, epistles, and songs,
of which the most celebrated is Le Doctrinal des
Princesses et nobles Dame, this is a ride of conduct
for Princesses, in which each feminine Airtue and
excellence, to the number of twenty-four, is set forth
in a separate rondeau. It would be no bad hand-
book for our modern ladies of fashion. The follow-
ing is a fair specimen of the whole :
Qui a ces deux, cliastete et beaute,
Vanter se peut qu'en toute loyaute,
Toute autre dame elle surmonte et passe,
Vu que beaute oncque jour ne fut lasse
De faire guerre a dame chastete.
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. XXXTll
Mais quand ensemble elles font unite,
C'est don divin joint a I'liumanite,
Qui rend la dame accomplie de grace,
Qui a ces deux.
Mieux vaut laideur gardant honnestete.
Que beaute foUe en chassant nettete :
Toi done, qui as gent corps et belle face,
Prens chastete, tu seras Toutre-passe :
Car Meun nous dit que peu eu a ete
Qui a ces deux.
Not only is Octavien Saint-Gelais desemng of
notice as the reputed father of Mellin, and as the most
learned of the early French poets, but I feel myself
more especially bound to give a fuller account of him
than his merits as a poet would have entitled him to,
from a conviction that iaijustice has been inadver-
tently done to his memory in the following pages ; a
wTons; which no one more than the wTiter himself
would have been anxious to repair. Wlien one reads
that he was bishop of Angouleme, and that "his
profession did not restrain him from freedom both in
his life and writings,"* the obvious impression is
that he retained in old age the vices of his vouth, or
at all events that when he put on the mitre, he did
not put off his freedom of hving.
• Page 38. .
XXXVUl INTEODUCTOUY SKETCH.
He was born at Cognac, about the year 1466, and
was the son of the Marquis de Monthieu and Saint-
Aulaye. He received his education at the college of
Sainte-Barbe, under the celebrated Martin Lemaitre,
and having completed his studies at the Sorbonne, was
admitted into holy orders. But his time seems still to
have been devoted to ancient hterature and poetry; and
all that he has left of the latter serves to prove that his
leisure was given up to dissipation. The fruits of his
learned studies were a translation of Homer's Odyssey,
of Virgil's iEneid, and Ovid's Epistles. The latter,
which he says himself was the first labour of his pen,
is remarkable as maintaining almost throughout the
regular alternation of masculine and feminine rhymes,
an elegance till then unknown, which he did not
himself maintain in his subsequent poems, and which
remained unnoticed till Jean Bouchet, as we shall
presently see, remarked and recommended it for
general observance.
A ballad, in honour of Charles the Eighth, aided
probably by his high connections, obtained him the
favour of that prince ; and at the veiy early age of
twenty-eight, that is in 1494, he was promoted to
the bishopric of Angouleme, Before this period, as
we learn from some passages in his poems, the infir-
mities of a premature old age, the result of an irregu-
lar life, had come on him. His reputed son Mellin
was born in 1491. From the time of his exaltation
IXTRODUCTOUY SKETCH. XXXIX
to the episcopate all the accounts we have of him
report him to have heen attentive to the duties of his
station, and to have applied himself to the study of
the Holy Scriptures and the writings of the Fathers.
He died at the early age of thirty-six.
We are now approaching that period of the history
of French literature, to which French authors have
given the very questionable name of La Renaissance,
"The RcA-ival."*
The remote causes of the new direction at this
period given to the literature of the time are to he
traced to the successive \ictories gained over the
Italians by Charles the Eighth, Louis the Twelfth,
and Francis the First ; these not only possessed the
victors of a large portion of the treasures of ancient
learning, till then almost confined to Italy, but by the
intercourse that necessarily took place between the
two people, made them acquainted with the vast pro-
gress made by the Italians, by the aid of these trea-
sures, in improving and bringing to perfection their
own language and literature. The more immediate
causes are to be found in the recently discovered art
of printing, and the reformation in religion, which
was then shaking all Europe to its centre, and which
* La Renaissance a done paru a nos peres una sorte
de resurrection de I'esprit Francais.— iV^tsar^Z I. 201.
Xl INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
compelled those who had hitherto been almost the
sole depositaries of their coimtry's learning, to have
recourse to the same stores whence their enemies were
drawing their weapons of oifence. One of their
preachers had said, " A new language that they call
Greek has lately been discovered. You must scrupu-
lously avoid it. This language is the parent of all
heresies."* But the influence of the pulpit, as
hitherto employed in the maintenance of ignorance
and darkness, was fast yielding to the newly-born
spirit of philosophical inquiry and the love of truth.
Among the favourers of the new, or rather the old
learning, Marguerite de Valois, sister of Francis
the First, and wife of Henri d'Albret king of Na-
varre, herself a poetess, must not be forgotten. To
the qualities that make the ornament of her sex she
added a very extensive knowledge of literature, a
sincere love for learning, and a regard for learned
men that was never affected by any differences of
religious opinion. Her court was ever open to them,
it was her constant endeavour to protect and encourage
them, and the occasions were not few in which she
was called on to use her influence to protect them
from the persecutions to which freedom of inquiry
too often exposed them. Among others we find
Clement Marot taking refuge at her court.
* Nisard I. 209. Grceciim est, non Icgitur, was a
familiar saying.
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. xli
Iler talents and her beauty, for she had this latter
grace withal, acquired for her the exaggerated appel-
lation of " the tenth Muse " and " the fourth Grace."
The poets also, with a more allowable sentiment, from
the French signification of her name, which is
" daisy," called the daisy the queen of flowers, and
from its Latin signification, that of " pearl," called
her "the pearl of pearls." Her poems then and
since have home the title of Marguerites de la Mar-
guerite des Princesses tres illustre royne de Navarre ;
" The Pearls of the Pearl of Prmcesses, the most
illustrious queen of Navarre."
Her poems are for the most part on religious sub-
jects, and among them we meet the strange titles of
" La comedie de la Nati\-ite de Jesus- Christ," " La
comedie de 1' adoration des trois roys a Jesus-Christ,"
"La comedie des Innocents." But all are not of
this class. The most pleasing is that entitled
" La Coche," evidently modelled on the " Li\Te des
quatre dames " of Alain Chartier, of which a brief
notice is given in the body of this work.* In Mar-
guerite's poem she represents herself as in the act of
conversing with a labourer in the fields about his
household, his wife, his childi-en, and his toil, when
of a sudden she sees three ladies approachuig her
from a wood ; all appear downcast and weeping ; as
Page 214.
(I
xlii INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
they draw nearer she recognizes in them three of the
friends whom she loves best, so with the view of con-
sohng them she entreats them to confide their misfor-
tunes to her. The four recHne together in a meadow ;
of the three friends two had been abandoned by their
respective lovers ; the third, for friendship's sake,
had deserted her own, who was faithful, that she
might share the others' affliction. Each strives to
shew that her own case is the hardest : while they
are talking night overtakes them, so all four enter the
queen's carriage (whence the poem has its name) to
finish their stories. Marguerite ends by ad\'ising
them to appeal to the king her brother.
Under the auspices of this princess, whom in early
youth he served in the capacity of page, arose Clement
Marot, who may be regarded as almost the last repre-
sentative of the old school of poetry. His writings,
as will be observed from the account and from the
specimens given of them in the body of this work,
differ only from those of his predecessors in the
greater degree of ease and elegance with which they
are composed. In other respects he adheres to all
the then acknowledged forms, as well in the choice of
his subjects, as in his mode of handUng them. The
materials that he has, however, he uses as a perfect
master. In his versification he seems to endeavour
to make the asperities of the French language bend
to his own perception of metrical harmony, and
INTRODUCTOUY SKETCH.
xliii
dreams of no rales of metre which shall of themselves
produce that harmony. The only improvement of
this kind that he introduced is a greater distinctness
in the pause in the middle of each line, by exploding
the use of the e mute in that position : this improve-
ment he acknowledges to have learnt from his friend
and tutor Jean le Maire de Beiges, a poet of the same
period, but more distinguished as a prose writer and
historian.
Cotemporary with Marot flourished Jean Bou-
chet,* one of the most prohfic but indifferent writers
of the time, who is no otherwise deserving of men-
tion than as being the first to attract the notice of his
brother poets to the charm arising from the alternation
of mascuhne and feminine rhymes.
In a poetical epistle pubhshed in 1537, he says,
Je trouve beau mettre deux feminins
En rime platte avec deux masculins,
Semblablement quand on les entrelasse
En vers croises.
xVnd in one of his epistlesf in prose he remarks
that Octavien de Saint-Gelais had generally followed
this rule in his translation of 0\id's Epistles.
* Born at Poitiers in 1476, died in 1555.
f I am not able to refer to this Epistle in Boucliet's
works, having only seen a long extract from it given by
Goujet, xi. 249.
xliv INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
But in another poetical epistle addressed to his
friend Louis Roussart, and prefixed to "Les Tri-
omphes de la nohle et amoureuse Dame," pubhshed
by Guillaume de Bossozel in 1536,* he appears to
me, if I understand him right, to have the candour
to acknowledge himself indebted to his friend Rous-
sart for the discoveiy.f He did not, however, adhere
to the rule which he wished to have introduced.
We are now come to the most eventful and interest-
ing period of the history of French poetry, commencing
with the reign of Henry the Second. Francis the First
died in 154/ ; in the following year Thomas Sebilet
published his Art Poetique in two books, in the first
of which he treats of the art of poetry in general,
and in the second of the various kinds of poetiy in
use among the French : in this latter he passes in
review those whom he deemed most worthy of notice,
and among the old classical poets of France signalizes
* The first edition of this work was printed at
Poitiers 1530, without the Epistle to Roussart.
t It is a very remarkable circumstance that the
Louis Roussart here spoken of is no other than the
father of Pierre Ronsard, who shortly afterwards estab-
lished this as a law, which his father had remarked as
an elegance of versification. The little interest the
French take in such matters has probably prevented
modern writers from noticing- the fact. I have only
seen it mentioned in Goujet, Bibliotkhque Franqoise, xi.
288, and xii. 192.
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. xlv
Alain Chartier and Jean le Menu ; among the mo-
derns, Marot, Mellin de Saint-Gelais, Salel, Heroet,
and Maurice Sceve, of whom the last four were still
liA-ing. From about this period we may date the rise
of the new school, that of Ronsard and the Pleiad.
Sebilet, in 1548, little dreaming of the revolution that
was just at hand, sums up as it were all that the old
and then modem schools had done. In the following
year, 1549, appears Joachim du Bellay's Illustration
de la Langue Fran^oise, declaring war on all that was
past, and all that then was, threatening and demand-
ing a total change in the whole system.
The causes of this movement are to be traced on
the one hand in the progress made in the study of
ancient literature, and on the other in the little
learning possessed by the popular poets of the day.
I have already cursorily noticed what is called La
Renaissance, " The Re\ival," and the causes that led
to and promoted it. Hitherto, however, the study of
ancient literature had produced but little influence on
the vernacular poetry : the poets were, for the most
part, brought up in the houses of the great, or in the
retirement of monasteries ; no sooner was a taste for
poetry and a capacity for rhyming manifested, than
the possessor of these quahties became an attendant
on the court, or the protege of some great personage,
and while sound learning was elsewhere making rapid
advances, the use of the French, instead of the Latin
xlvi INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
language, was, by an ordinance of Francis the First,
substituted in all legal proceedings and other public
acts. The ultimate effect of this change would
doubtless be a more careful study of, and consequent
improvement in the language of the country, but its
more immediate effect was to dispense with the ac-
quirement of the little Latin that had been hitherto
requisite for the common purposes of life in all above
the lower orders. And though among the poets of
the day there were some who had a considerable
knowledge of Greek, as Jean le Maire de Beiges and
Mellin de Saint-Gelais, and others who, though in-
ferior scholars, had given some proofs of a more poUte
learning, as Hugues Salel in his metrical version of
the first eleven books of the Iliad, and Antoine
Heroet in his metrical translation of the Androgynon
of Plato, yet none of them had applied their learning
to the improvement of their native tongue, or the in-
troduction of a higher order of poetry. Le Meun
and his allegories were still their great exemplars ;
Marot, less learned than Le Meun, could only be so
far called the founder of a new school, in that he
adapted himself to the popular taste of the times.
Meanwhile there was in France a host of men who
were spending their lives in digging deep into those
treasures of ancient learning, which their intercourse
with Italy during the past century had brought
within their reach, and by the aid of which the
IXTRODUCTORY SKETCH. xl\-ii
Italians had already perfected their language, and
raised their own literature almost to a rivalry with
that of Athens and Rome. So great was the fond-
ness of these scholars for classical learning, that in
its pursuit they forgot the claims of their native
tongue, and if there were any poets among them,
their vis poetica expressed itself in Greek or Latin :
they looked down wth contempt on the frivolous
trifles that were the delight as well of the court as of
the people.
Under this state of things, any attempt to infuse
a more refined spirit into the national literature, if it
proceeded from the court-poets, would probably be
slow, and almost imperceptible ; on the other hand,
if from the class of the learned, it would probably
be violent and overstrained. And so it proved.
According to the forcible image of Du Verdier, " One
saw a troop of poets rush from the school of Jean
Dorat,* as if from the Trojan horse." Joachim du
Bellay roused and cheered them on to the combat.
He sets out in his Illustration de la langue Fran-
^oise, apparently with the design of quarrelling with
the learned men of his day, whom he charges with
arrogance in despismg and rejecting everything wiitten
* Jean Dorat was the classical instructor of Jan
Antoine de Baif, Ronsard; Remy Belleau, and Du
Bellay, all, with Dorat himself, members of the Pleiad.
xhiii INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
in French. True it is, he allows, the French language
is poorer than the Greek and Latin ; but this is
owing to the ignorance of their predecessors ; they
must, therefore, imitate the ancients, and as the
Romans had done with the Greeks, must convert
their literature into their own blood and nutriment.
He condemns translations. He would do away with
the old rondeaux, ballads, virelays, songs, and other
such trifles. Instead of them he would have pleasant
epigrams in imitation of Martial ; mournful elegies
after the pattern of Ovid, Tibullus and Propertius ;
he would have beautiful sonnets after the learned
invention of the Italians ; odes for songs ; satires for
fables ; tragedies and comedies for farces and mora-
lities.
"There, Frenchmen," he adds, "march boldly
towards that proud Roman city, and, as you have
done more than once, adorn your temples and your
altars with her servile spoils. Fear not again those
clamorous geese, that haughty Manlius, and that
traitor Camillus, who, under pretence of good faith,
surprised you unarmed as you were coimting the
ransom of the Capitol. Assault that lying Greece,
and plant there once again the famous nation of the
Gallo- Greeks. Pillage without scruple the sacred
treasures of that Delphic temple, as you have done
aforetime ; and fear no more that dumb Apollo, his
false oracles or his blunted arrows. Call to mind
IXTRODrCTORY SKETCH. xlix
your ancient IMarseilles, a second Athens, and your
Gallic Hercules, dragging the people after him by
their ears, with a chain attached to his tongue."
The war of learning against ignorance forthwith
commenced.
" The brigade," as it was called in accordance
Avith the high-flown language of Du Bellay, was
immediately formed, consisting of Ronsard, Du Bel-
lay, Pontus de Thyard, Jan Antoine de Baif, Estienne
Jodelle, Remv Belleau, and Jean Dorat. These seven
afterwards assumed the more lofty title of the Pleiad ;
the other, to use an expression which Ronsard him-
self would approve, being too mundane for so brilhant
a constellation.
Almost all the poets of the day, old and young,
hastened to enlist mider their banners. Sebilet, the
expomider of the old school of poetrj', Jacques Tahu-
reau, Guillaume des Autels, Maurice Sceve, Ohvier
de Magny, Jan de la Peruse, and even Theodore
Beza, vAxh. a host of others of more or less note,
declare themselves on their side. The refined and
elegant Mellin de Saint-Gelais, the poet of the court
and the people, makes a feeble effort at resistance ;
the court in the plenitude of its ignorance pronounces
in favour of the new school, and Saint-Gelais is
forced to submit. However, he will not Latinize his
mother tongue, so has notliing left for it but to
1 INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
amuse the evening of his days in writing unadultera-
ted Latin verse.
There was one, however, more learned and mightier
than them all, who would not submit. This was
Rabelais, the lineal, but gigantic and Pantagruelian
ancestor of our own Swdft, Sterne, and Fielding.
Dry controversy was not his delight; so he assails
them with his own peculiar inimitable wit and pim-
gent satire. As it would take me too much out of
my way to dwell on Rabelais vnth the care he merits,
I must content myself with referring the reader to
his sketch of the character of the Limosin scholar,*
" le grand excoriateur de la langue Latiale," who
comes " de I'alme, inclyte et celebre Academie que
Ton vocite Lutece ;" and who " transfrete la Sequane
au dilucule et crepuscule ; et deambule par les com-
pites et quadri\-ies de I'urbe." And now I may very
properly say, "revenons a nos moutons," for in
Rabelais "les moutons de Panurge" are no other
than the servile imitators of the ancients.
Du Bellay, we have seen, recommended the use of
a more classical language, an imitation of the ancient
forms of poetry and the more modem Italian sonnet.
In carrying out this plan he kept clear from those
* See the Pantagruel, 1. ii. c. 6. and L'Epistre du
Limousin de Pantagruel.
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. li
excesses which were so justly blamed in Ronsard.
Nor were his efforts without fruit. The French lan-
guage acquired a vast number of new words and
expressions, which have added much to its strength
and beauty, and which even the purists did not
reject.
Du Bellay's writings consist principally of sonnets,
a few odes, and some poems in the Alexandrme mea-
sure. Ronsard has the credit of ha\-ing introduced
the ode. Du Bellay brought the Alexandrine to a
high degree of perfection, and gave popularity to the
sonnet. I must say a few words on each of these.
His Alexandrine verses, especially in his " Hymn to
Deafness," and " Le Pofete Courtisan," have a pecu-
liar majesty and ease. He varied the position and
emphasis of the caesura, so as to give the utmost
force to the sentiment he had to express, and did not
hesitate to run one hue into another, to which the
French have given the name of enjambement. Mal-
herbe, and after him Boileau, condemned both these
hcences, and insisted on an invariable pause in the
middle of each verse, and at its end, so that the
sense must terminate with the line. In this instance,
however, the decision of these great authorities has
not met with the imiversal sanction of posterity.
Moliere constantly availed himself of the same free-
dom vAi\x Du Bellay, and though more latitude may
be allowable in a comedy, Racuie has also followed his
lii INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
example, and if I mistake not, the best modern poets
agree in reversing Malherbe's decision.
The original of the sonnet has been a subject of
much controversy ; most of the old French writers
attribute the invention to the Italians, and amongst
them to Petrarch. Of this opinion is Jacques Pel-
letier, in his Art Poetique ;* and Du Bellay, in his
Illustration de la langue Frangoise,f expressly says
that it is entirely of Italian invention, and in one of
his odes he says.
Par moy les Graces divines
Ont fait sonner assez bien
Sur les rives Angevines
Le Sonnet Italien.
Another opinion is, that the Italians borrowed the
sonnet from the Provencal poets : but whatever may
be the date of its introduction into Italy, and whether
it be, as some maintain, of French, or of Provencal
original, certain it is that it is much earlier than the
time of Petrarch, for Thibaut King of Navarre,
who flourished vipwards of a century before Petrarch,
speaks of the sonnet as already in use —
Et maint Sonnet et mainte recordie ;
and Guillaume de Lorris, in the Romance of the
Rose, mentions,
Lais d'amours et Sonnets courtois.
* Lib. ii. c. 4. f Lib. i.e. 4.
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. lui
However the sonnet was for a long time disused
by the French poets, and did not come into vogue
until Du Bellay published his fifty somiets in praise
of his mistress, though he tells us m the second
edition of that work, 1550, that he had adopted it by
persuasion of Jacques Pelletier, as a species of poem
till then but little used, having been but lately im-
ported from the Italian by Melhn de Saiut-Gelais.
So that to this latter is due the honour of haAing
revived the sonnet : but as Du Bellay not only wrote
more frequently in that style than Saint- Gelais, but
also brought the sonnet to a high degree of perfec-
tion, he wordd not unnaturally have the credit of
having attracted the notice of his countrymen to it.
Du Bellay, though he died yomig, hved long
enough to modify some of his censures. In his
Poete Courtisan he had unsparingly satirized the
court poets, especially Antoine Heroet and Saint-
Gelais ; yet he afterwards called these two " les fa-
voris des Graces et I'honneur du Parnasse Frangois."
Again, as we have seen, he condemned translations
from Greek and Latin authors, yet himself after-
wards translated parts of the ^neid, and in pub-
lisliing his version candidly avowed, that he was not
so enamoured of his own former opinions, as to re-
fuse to change them on farther reflection, and after
the example of men of letters.
Ronsard, from his first appearance in the literary
liv INTRODUCTOEY SKETCH.
world, eclipsed his colleague Du Bellay, and shone
pre-eminent in the constellation of which he was the
chief luminary. The supremacy that he exercised
over the poetical literature of France continued for
nearly half a century. His success in carrying oflF
the prize for poetry at the Jeux Floraux of Toulouse,
at the same time brought him into notice, and es-
tablished his reputation. The magistrates on tliis
occasion presented him with a Minerva made of soUd
silver, instead of a flower, which was the proper
prize, and awarded him the title of " The French
Poet." MelUn de Saint-Gelais endeavoured to pre-
vent his favotirable reception at court, but Ronsard's
genius prevailed ; Henry the Second declared in his
favour, and from that moment his word was law.
Up to this period the utmost use that the learned
had made of the recently discovered treasures of
ancient learning, was to translate them ; otherwise
they had not been employed to enrich the French
language or literature. Ronsard, with Du Bellay,
determined to imitate them. As to enrich his own
language he coined new words, as he says himself —
Je fis de nouveaux mots,
J'en condamnay les vieux,
so likewise he modelled his poetry after ancient
patterns ; he would have his odes (which species of
poem he was the first to introduce) resemble those
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. Iv
of Pindar and Horace, his songs Anacreon, his elegies
Tibullus, his Franciade the ^neid, his sonnets were
to be after the pattern of Petrarch.
By way of criticism on the different species of
poetry he attempted, I neither need nor can add any
thing to the account hereafter given of him. It
may suffice to observe, that beauties are there pointed
out in the poems of Ronsard, which very few of his
coimtrymen of the present day will allow him: on
the other hand where he most signally failed, that is
in his imitations of Pindar, they do not seem to ob-
serve how miserably short he falls of his great master
in poetical conception, imagery, and grandeur of dic-
tion, but content themselves with condemning the
strange words he has imported into their language,
in another word, his Grecizing.
It must be allowed, however, that Ronsard did
much towards the improvement of versification. He
introduced a great variety of lyrical metres, and in-
vented several new forms of strophe. Many of liis
metres were condemned by Malherbe, who probably
thought them too complicated ; but as in the case of
Du Bellay's Alexandrines, the modern school is gra-
dually returning to Ronsard's opinion. Again, the
regular intermingling or alternating of masculine and
feminine rhymes which we observed as first used by
Thibaut King of Navarre, and afterwards recom-
mended by Jean Bouchet, was insisted on as indis-
Ivi INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
pensable by Ronsard. Du Bellay in his Illustration
de la langue Fran^oise, had designated this rule as
superstitious, but afterwards conformed to Ronsard' s
xiews.
Of the other members of the Pleiad only two at-
tempted to follow a new and independent path of their
own ; these were Estienne Jodelle and Jan Antoine
de Baif ; the former with considerable success essayed
to imitate the tragedy of the ancients, the latter
failed as much in attempting to imitate their heroic
and lyrical measures : but of these two, and of Remy
Belleau, another luminary, enough is said in the body
of this work. I shall therefore content myself with
adding a brief notice of the remaining two, Dorat and
Thyard.
Jean Dorat was one of the most learned men of
his time : but in connection with his national
poetry, almost the only honour he is entitled to, is
that of having been the preceptor of Ronsard, Jan
Antoine de Baif, Remy Belleau, and Du Bellay. His
cotemporaries called him the French Pindar : not
only, however, has he left nothing to warrant such
an appellation, but the poems he has left are totally
devoid of poetical merit, except such as were highly
esteemed in his own day, that of being Latinized to
an extent beyond any of the others.
Dorat was born at Limoges about the year 1508.
He went to Paris in 1537, and the scantiness of his
INTRODUCTOKY SKETCH. Ivii
means compelled him to undertake the task of edu-
cating Jan Antoine de Baif. In 1544 he gave up
this employment for the profession of arms, and
served for three years imder the Dauphin, afterwards
Henry the Third. In 1547 he was made principal
of the College of Coqueret, and there had Baif again
under his charge, with Ronsard, Belleau, and Du
Bellay. In 1553 he was called to court to take
charge of the education of the Duke d'Angouleme,
natural son of Henry the Second, and in 1556 was
made professor of Greek in the Royal College at
Paris. He died in 1588.
Pontus de Thyard, the last survivor of the Pleiad,
was born in the year 1521, and died in 1G05.
His first publication "Erreurs Amoureuses," bears
the date of 1549, the same year in which Du Bellay's
Illustration de la langue Franqoise appeared ; it is
therefore but reasonable to conclude that the differ-
ence between his style and that of his predecessors
was not owing to Du Bellay's work, nor was in any
way the first fruits of the league then formed against
the old school of poetry, but was rather the sponta-
neous product of his own mind. Indeed, in a letter
addressed to a young lady, to whom he dedicated his
CEuvres Poetiques in 15/3, he says, that "finding
no French poet before him had written in a manner
answering to the height of his own impassioned con-
ceptions, he had taken pains to embellish and exalt
Hii INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
the style of his verses, more than any of his prede-
cessors had done." And with all his endeavours to
form a classical style he remarks, that since the
period of his first pubhcation, " the progress and
advancement in the poetical language of France had
been great and commendable." So that Pontus de
Thyard may be regarded as the first who set the
example of that change in the language of poetry,
wliich Du Bellay at the same time inculcated by
precept.
His Errours Amoureuses, amongst other poems,
contain upwards of a hundred sonnets, which I the
rather mention, because Ronsard has attributed to
him the disputed honour of having first introduced
that species of poem into the French language. It
is certain that Melhn de Saint-Gelais had preceded
him in that way.
Pontus de Thyard lived long enough to witness the
downfal of the classical building, which so many
men of genius, his fellows, had conspired to erect.
But this probably did not affect him much, at all
events, he made no effort to parry the assaults of
Malherbe, ha\-ing long forsaken the Muses, and
devoted himself to the study of philosophy, mathe-
matics, and theology. In 1578 he was made bishop
of Chalon sur Saone, and lived to the advanced age
of eighty-three.
It would be an endless task to enumerate the
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH. Kx
throng of poets and rhjiners that sprung up in imita-
tion of the new school. Estienne Pasquier, one of
the weakest of the swarm of sonnet-^vriters, but who
has a better fame as author of Les Recherches,
writing to Ronsard in 1555 exclaims: "In good
sooth, such an abundance of poets was never yet seen
in France ; I fear the people will at last be weary of
them. But it is a fault peculiar to us, that as soon
as we see any one succeed in any thing, every one
must follow his steps."
Among the throng, however, we may signalize the
following, of whom an accomit will be fovmd in the
body of this work, Jan de la Peruse ; Olivier de
Magny ; Amadis Jamyn, whom by a strange mis-
take, the accurate and learned Sainte-Beauve ranks
among the Pleiad, thereby displacing Jan Antoine de
BaTf; Guillaume des Autels ; Robert Gamier; Phi-
lippe Desportes ; Fresnaie Vauquelin ; and Jean Ber-
taut ; to these may be added Jacques Tahureau,
author of some very sprightly odes ; Guillaume Sal-
luste du Bartas, whose poem of La Semaine ou Crea-
tion du Monde passed through nearly tliirty editions
during the author's life-time, and of which or of
whom Ronsard said equivocally, that " he had done
more in a week than himself had throughout his
whole life ;" and at a later period, Mathurin Regnier,
who in vain attempted by his "wdtty satire, to uphold
Ix INTRODUCTOKY SKETCH.
Ronsard and his scliool against the assaults of INIal-
herbe.
Enfin Mallierbe vint!
is the emphatic expression of Boileau.
Frangois de Malherbe was born at Caen in Nor-
mandy, in the year 1555; his father was a magis-
trate in that town, and it was intended that the son
should succeed to the same office ; but the father
having embraced the Reformed religion, Frangois took
his parent's apostacy so much to heart, that at the
age of nineteen he left his home, and went to Pro-
vence, where he entered the ser\ice of the Duke
d'Angouleme.
At whatever period he may have established a lite-
rary reputation in the parts where he resided, it is
certain that he had not attracted general notice until
he was nearly fifty years of age. At the beginning
of the seventeenth century, the king, Henry the
Fourth, happening to ask Cardinal Du Perron if he
had given over writing verses, the cardinal answered,
" that no one could attempt to do so, since a gentle-
man named Malherbe, residing in Provence, had car-
ried French poetry to that degree of perfection, that
no one could ever approach him." About three years
after this, in 1 605, Malherbe had occasion to go to
Paris, whereupon the king, who remembered the
cardinal's remark, induced him to remain at court.
INTRODUCTOKY SKETCH. Ixi
and provided him with a sufficient maintenance in
the house of the Duke de Bellegarde,
At this period Ronsard's renown was as great as
it had ever been ; two of his avowed followers, Des-
portes and Bertaut, were still li^-ing ; Regnier, by many
years JNIalherbe's junior, was just rising into fame,
when the latter declared open war on the whole system
of the Pleiad.
As it is not my purpose to carry on the history of
French poetrj' beyond the period during which it
would serve to illustrate the following pages, I shall
not enter at any length into a consideration of the
changes effected by Malherbe, or the opposition they
met with at the outset. It will suffice to state briefly
in what those changes consisted, especially in so far
as they affect the school of Ronsard.
His reforms have reference to the French language
generally, and to the structure of verses.
With regard to the first of these, he would abohsh
all newly-imported Greek and Latin words and
phrases, as well as all provincial expressions, making
use only of such as a well-educated Parisian would
employ without effort or pretence of learning.
This, though not in terms, I take to be the grand
rule he would lay down for the perfecting of the
French language. But its extent destroys its force.
He did well to explode the pedantic Grecisms and
Latinisms, both in words and phrases, with which
Ixii INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
Ronsard and his followers had encumbered their
poems, but he could not have failed to observe that
the language had been enriched by a vast number of
words from these very sources, which naturally ac-
corded with its spirit, and which he was himself in
the constant habit of using.
In the construction of verses, the follovdng were
his principal rules.
First, he forbad the meeting of vowels m a line, at
the end of one word and beginning of another. This
rule again is too extensive, and should have been
limited to what are called cacophonies. The best
poets since the time of Malherbe have not rigidly
observed it.
Secondly, as I have before observed, he forbad en-
jambements, the running of one line into another,
and completing the sense in the second.
Thirdly, he would have the caesura always fully
marked, and went so far as not to allow the governing
verb to end the first half of a hue, and the verb go-
verned to begin the last half.
Fourthly, he would not allow a simple word to
rhyme with its compoimd, or proper names with
each other, or even words that have a kindred signi-
fication.
Many other rules, and even less interesting to an
English reader, are to be found in the expounders of
Malherbe' s theorv, for he left no formal code of his
INTEODUCTOBY SKETCH. Ixiii
own. The above, however, are all that Boileau par-
ticularizes in the following extravagant encomium of
this " t}Tant of words and syllables," as he was
aptly called.
Enfin Malherbe vint, et le premier en France,
Fit sentir dans les vers une juste cadence,
D'un mot mis a sa place enseigna le pouvoir,
Et reduisit la Muse aux regies du devoir.
Par ce sage ecrivain la langue reparee
N' offrit plus rien de rude a roreille epuree
Les stances avec grace apprirent a tomber,
Et les vers sur les vers n'osa plus enj amber.
Tout reconnut ses lois, et ce guide fidele
Aux auteurs de ce temps sert encore de modele
Marcbez done sur ses pas ; aimez sa purete,
Et de son tour beureux imitez la clarte.
The effect of this rigid system was very much to
mcrease the difficulty of writing verses ; a difficulty
which none felt more than Malherbe himself. For
whether it was owing to his care to observe his own
rules, or to a natural slowness of conception, certain
it is, the time he is reported to have spent in com-
posing and finishing to his mind a poem of even but
a few lines, far exceeds the ordinary period of gesta-
tion. In proof of this, a pleasant story is told of his
having been commissioned to write a poem on the
death of the wife of the First President of Verdun ;
Ixiv INTRODUCTORY SKETCH.
it took him three years to complete his task, and
when he deUvered his work to the President, a second
wife was already consoling the poor widower for his
loss. Malherbe with great gravity asks, if he would
like to have his wife back again. The poem consists
only of nine stanzas, of six lines each.
Malherbe died in the year 1628.
THE EAELY FEENCH POETS.
CLEMENT j\L\ROT.
In the course of this last summer, I happened to
reside for some weeks in a place where I had free
access to a large collection of books,* which for-
merly belonged to the kings of France ; but, like
other royal property, having been confiscated at the
Revolution, still continues unreclaimed, and is now
open to the use of the public. Of this occasion I
gladly availed myself, to extend my acquaintance
with some of their earher writers, whose works are
not commonly to be met Avith in our own country ;
and amongst these, fixed my attention principally on
such of their poets as were of most note at the re-
storation, or more properly speaking, the general
diffusion of polite learning in Europe. What the
result of this inquiry has been, I imdte my readers
to judge.
The French of the present day, I know, set but
little store on these revivers of the poetical art.
* At Versailles, where the Author spent the summer
of 1821.— Ed.
I EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Their extreme solicitude for what they call the
piirity of their language, makes them easily offended
by phrases, the irregularities of which we should be
ready to pardon, in consideration of higher excellence,
or even to welcome, as so many means of aiding us in
that escape from the tameness of common every-day
life, which it is one great end of poetry to effect. I
do not know of any other people who have set up an
exclusive standard of this sort. What would the
Greeks of the age of Pericles have said to a literary
censor, that should have endeavoured to persuade
them to throw aside the works of Homer and Hesiod,
because he could have pointed out to them in every page,
modes of expression that would not have passed muster
in a coterie at Aspasia's ? Wliat reply should we make
to a critic, that would fain put us out of conceit with
some of the finest things in Spenser and Shakspeare, be-
cause they were cast in a mould utterly differing from
that impressed on the language of our pohter circles,
though similar enough to the stamp of our country-
folks' talk ? Let any one take up Voltaire's commen-
tary on the tragedies of Corneille, and he will see to
what a pitch this fastidiousness has been carried in
the instance of a writer comparatively modern. I am
not much afraid lest the generality of my readers
should be subject to any such disgust. Our igno-
rance is a happy security from this danger ; though
I trust it will not prevent us from being alive to the
CLEMENT MAROT. 3
many beauties that will meet us in the search we are
about to engage in.
We will begin with Marot ; not because his works
are of very rare occurrence, (for there have been
many editions of them,) but because, though fre-
quently spoken of, and even recommended as a model
of elegant " badinage" by Boileau, he is but little
known amongst us ; which indeed is not much to be
wondered at, when his own countrymen seem to have
almost lost sight of him. " Marot is much talked
of, but seldom read," says one of their critics.* " We
do not read with pleasure that wliich has need of a
dictionary to explain it. Almost all his expressions
are antiquated."— " Villon and ]\Iarot, and some
others, are satirical poets ; and their epigrams may
be said to be the only titles they have to celebrity in
the present day," says another.f All this may show
the little taste the French now have for their elder
poets. How othei-wise coidd they have overlooked
those exquisite sketches, the Temple of Cupid, and the
Eclogue of Pan and Robin, by Marot ; the latter of
* M. Dussault, in a review of a selection of Marot's
Works, inserted in his Annales Litteraires, t. i. p. 198.
t M. Avenel, one of the writers in the Lycee Fran-
gais, t. ii. p. 106, an entertaining miscellany that lasted
but a short time after the decease of Charles Loyson, a
young poet of considerable promise, who was a chief
contributor to it. He died in the course of last year.
EARLY FRENCH POETS.
which is worthy the author of the Faerie Queene,*
as the former is of Chaucer ?
We might almost suppose ourselves to he reading
an imitation of the proem to the Canterbury Tales, in
the following verses with which the Temple of Cupid
opens :
Sur le printemps que la belle Flora
Les champs converts de diverse fleur a,
E son amy Zepbyrus les esvente,
Quand doucement en Fair souspire e vente.
The whole poem is indeed so fanciful, and so re-
plete with a peculiar kind of sprightly humour, that
I am not without hopes of amusing my readers by an
abstract of it.
In this merry spring-tide, the God commands that
his eyes may be unbandaged, and looking round his
celestial throne, sees all nations bending mider his
sway, like a scion mider the wind ; and the other
deities themselves, submitting to his power. But
observing that Marot continued still refractory, he
resolves to tame the rebel ; and taking an arrow out
of his quiver, executes his purpose so effectually, as
to render the unhappy poet an object of commisera-
tion to all who have a heart capable of pity. In
order to assuage his sufferings, Marot resolves on a
far-off journey in search of the goddess Ferme-amour,
* Indeed he has closely copied it in the Shepheard's
Kalendar; Eel. 12.
CLEMENT MAROT. 5
a pure and chaste dame, whom Jupiter had sent
upon earth, committmg the government of loyal
spirits to her care. A long time did the Poet com-
pass land and sea, like a knight-errant, on tliis quest.
Of all to whom he came he inquired whether she
dwelt in their land ; but of none did he gain any
tidings of her. At length he determines to go to the
Temple Cupidique, in the hopes of finding her
there ; and setting out early in the monimg, has no
difficulty in discovering his way ; for many a passing
pilgrim had sprinkled it with roses and branches of
rosemary ; and as he advanced, he fell in with other
pilgrims who journeyed on, sighing and relating their
sad haps. Joining their company, he arrives with
them at the royal temple ; where, in the enclosure
that surrounded it, the sweet breath of the west-mnd,
and Tityrus, and the god Pan with his flocks and
herds, and the sound of pipes and flageolets, and of
birds answering to them, soon refreshed his wearied
spirits.
Tous arbres sont en ce lieu verdoyans ;
Petits ruisseaux y furent ondoyans,
Toujours faisans, au tour des prez herbus
TJn doux murmure : at quand le cler Pbebus
Avoit droit la ses beaux rayons espars,
Telle splendeur rendoit de toutes pars
Ce lieu divin, qu'aux humaius bien sembloit
Que terre au ciel de beaute ressembloit.
6 EARLY TRENCH POETS.
His heart assured him that this was the residence
of Ferme-amour ; and Hope led him onward to the
dehghtful place. It seemed as if Jove had come from
heaven on purpose to frame it ; and there was wanting
nothing hut Adam and Eve to make one beheve that
it was the terrestrial paradise itself.
Over the portal he observes a scutcheon with the
anus of Love engraved on it ; and higher up the
fig-ure of Cupid himself, vdth his naked bow out-
stretched and ready to discharge an arrow at the first
comer. He now enters ; and is welcomed by Bel-
accueil, who takes him by his right hand, and leads
him through a narrow path into the beautiful enclosure
of which he was the first porter.
Le premier huis de toutes fleurs vermeilles
Estoit construiste, et de boutons yssans,
Sig'nifiant que joyes non pareilles
Sont a jamais en ce lieu fleurissans :
The door was built up of all flowers red
And buds, that from their buttons issued,
Denoting well that joys without compare
For ever in that place j^-blooming were.
This was the barrier kept by Bel-accueil in his
green robe ; who day and night opens to true lovers
and gracious ; and willingly enlists them mider his
bamiers ; whilst he excludes (as reason is) all those
who are such as the perfidious and disloyal Jason.
"We now come to the great altar, which is a rock of
CLEMENT MAEOT. 7
that A-irtue, that every lover who would flee from it is
di'awn nearer, like steel to the magnet. The canopy
is a cedar, which stretches so wide as to cover the
altar, on which body, and heart, and goods, must be
given up as an offering to Venus.
De Cui:)ido le diademe
Est de roses un chapelet,
Que Venus cuellit elle meme
Dedans son jardin verdelet ;
Et sur le printemps nouvelet
Le transmit a son cher enfant
Qui de bon ca3ur le va coiifant ;
Puis donna pour ces roses belles
A sa mere un char triompbant
Conduit par douze colombelles.
Devant I'autel deux cypres sing-uliers
Je vey fleurir sons odeur embasmee :
Et me dit-on que c'etoient les pilliers
Du grand aiitel de haulte renommee.
Lors mille oiseaux d'une long-ue ramee,
Vindrent voler sur ces vertes courtines,
Prestz de chanter cbansonettes divines.
Si demanday pourquoi la sont venus :
Mais on me dit, amy, ce sont matines,
Qu'ilz viennent dire en I'bonneur de Venus,
On Cupid's brow for crown was set
Of roses a fair chapelet,
The which within her garden green
Were gather'd by Love's gracious queen,
8 EARLY FKENCH POETS.
And by her to her infant dear
Sent in the spring-time of the year.
These he with right good-will did don ;
And to his mother thereupon
A chariot gave, in triumph led
By turtles twelve all harnessed.
Before the altar saw I, blooming fair,
Two cypresses, embalm'd with odours rare.
And these, quoth they, are pillars that do bide
To stay this altar famed far and wide.
And then a thousand birds upon the wing
Amid those curtains green came fluttering,
Ready to sing their little songs divine.
And so I ask'd, why came they to that shrine?
And these, they said, are matins, friend ; which they
In honour of Love's queen are come to say.
Before the image of Cupid burned the brand of
Distress, " le brandon de Destresse," with which Dido,
Biblis, and Helen of Greece, were inflamed. Now,
however, it served as a lamp to the temple.
The saints of either sex, who are invoked here, are
Beau-parler, Bien-celer, Bon-rapport, Grace, Marcy,
Bien-serv-ir, Bien-aymer, and others, without whose
aid no pilgrim can succeed in overtaking the prey
which he pursues in the Forest of Loves.
Chandelles flambans, ou esteintes,
Que tous amoureux pelerins
Portent devant tels saincts et sainctes,
Ce sont bouquets de romarins.
CLEMENT MAROT. »
Les chantres, linotz, et serins,
Et rossig-nolz au gay courage,
Qui sur buissons de verd bocage
Ou branclies, en lieu de pulpitres,
Cbantent le joly chant ramage,
Pour versets, respons, et epistres.
Les vitres sont de clair et fin crystal,
Ou peintes sont les gestes autlientiques
De ceux qui ont jadis de coeur loyal
Bien observe d' Amour les loix antiques.
Torches quench'd or flaming high,
That all loving pilgrims bear
Before the saints that list their prayer,
Are posies made of rosemary.
Many a linnet and canary,
And many a gay nightingale,
Amid the green-wood's leafy shroud.
Instead of desks on branches smale,*
For verse, response, and 'pistle loud,
Sit shrilling of their merry song.
The windows were of crystal clear.
On which old gestes depeinten are.
Of such as with true hearts did hold
The laws by Love ordain'd of old.
In secret tabernacles and little shrines are deposited
necklaces, rings, crowns, (coins), ducats, and chains
of gold; by which greater miracles are wTought in
* This reminds one of a line in Shakspeare's sonnets :
" Bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet birds sang."
10 EARLY FUENCH POETS.
love than even by the mighty samt Beau-paiier (Fine-
talk) himself.
The vaults and arches are marvellously interlaced
with trellis-work of vines, from which the young buds
and grapes are seen depending.
The bells are tabou.rs, dulcimers, harps, lutes, ho-
boes, flageolets, trumpets, and clarions ; from which,
whensoever they are sounded, there issues a chime so
melodious, that there is no soldier, however fond of
war, who would not quit lance and sabre to become a
monk in this temple.
On the sick and infirm, who are recommended for
charity, the ladies bestow smiles, and kind looks, and
kisses, for alms. The preachers are elderly matrons,
who exhort their younger sisters not to lose the flower
of their age ; and many are the converts that are won
over by this doctrine. The cemetery is a green wood ;
the walls, hedges and brakes ; the crosses are fruit
trees ; and the De Profuudis, merry songs. Ovid,
Master Alain Chartier, Petrarch, and the Romantof the
Rose, serve for Mass-book, Breviary, and Psalter ; and
the lessons chaunted are rondeaux, ballads, and vire-
lavs. Other manner of chaunts there are, that consist
"«nly of cries, wailings, and complaints. The little
chapels or oratories, are leafy chambers and branching
cabinets ; labyrinths in woods and gardens, where one
loses oneself while the green lasts ; the wickets are low
bushes, and the pavement all of green sward.
CLEMENT MAROT. 1 1
The eau-benite (or holy water) stood in a lake,
called the lake of tears, made from the weeping of
lovers. Nothing can grow near it ; but every thing
there is withered throughout the year. The water-
sprinkle was a faded rose. As for the incense that
was burned within the temple, it was composed of
daisies, pmks, amaranths, roses, rosemary, red but-
tons, lavender, and every flower that casts a comfort-
able smell ; but the marigold too (the flower of care,
" de la soucie") was amongst them : —
Voila qui mi trouble le sens.
Genius, the arch-priest, stands ready to administer
the vows to all who are desirous of professing. The
altars, whereon they are sworn, are couches covered
with sumptuous ornaments ; no candles are used day
or night ; and the terms of their profession are so
clear, that novices know more than the most learned
clerks.
The masses for requiem are serenadings ; and
the solemn words repeated for the deceased, as pater-
nosters and avemaryes, are the gossiping and prattle
of women. The sacred processions are the morris-
dancing, and mumming, and antic feats of amorous
champions ; their consolings are to talk pair by pair,
or to read the Ars Amandi for gospels ; and their holy
relics are the lips of their ladies. On all sides, says
Marot, I look round me and contemplate ; and in my
12 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
life I think I never saw a temple so well fitted at all
points, excepting one — and that was, that there was
no pix (paix) on the altar. Joy there is, and mourn-
ing full of wrath ; for one rest, ten travails ; and in
brief, it would be hard to say whether it were more
like Hell or Paradise : I know not what to compare
it to better than a rose encompassed with thorns ;
short pleasures and long complainings.
After some other adventures in the temple, he at
last finds Ferme-amour in the choir between a great
prince and an excellent lady, who were invested with
the royal fleiu--de-lys and ducal ermines. Bel-accueil
opens for him the entrance into the choir, and he
gladly enlists himself under the standard of Ferme-
amour ; but the play on the words, choeur and cceur,
on which the conclusion turns, cannot be preserved in
English.
It may be seen from this \aew of one of his poems
how strong a resemblance Marot bears to Chaucer.
He has the same liveliness of fancy ; the same
rapidity and distinctness of pencil ; the same archness ;
the same disposition to satire : but he has all these
generally in a less degree. His language does not ap-
proach much nearer to the modern than old Geoffrey's ;
though his age is so much less remote from ours.
Marot was contemporaiy with our writers in the time
of Henry VIII. ; and had they left any thing equal to
this piece, or to the Epistle of Maguelonne a son Amy
CLEMENT MAROT. 13
Pierre de Provence, or to the Hero and Leander of this
writer, many a lover of antique simpUcity would have
risen up amongst us to shew how superior such com-
positions were to the nugse canorse of later times.
A passage in the last mentioned of these poems,
descriptive of the reception Hero gives her lover, after
his first swimming across the Hellespont, appears to
me to be a model of ease and sweetness.
Elle embrassa d'amour et d'aise pleine
Son cher espoux quasi tout hors d'aleine,
Ayant encor ses blancs cheveux mouillez
Tous deg-outtans, et d'escume souillez.
Lors le mena dedans son cabinet ;
Et quand son corps eut essuye bien net,
D'liuile rosat bien odorant I'oig-nit,
Et de la mer la senteur estaiug'uit.*
Du Bellay, a poet who lived in Marot's time, con-
sidered his Eclogue on the Birth of the Dauphin as
one of his best productions. It is little more than a
translation of the PoUio of Virgil.
His tale of the Lion and Rat opened the way for
La Fontaine's excellence in that species of MTiting.
The epigrams, for which he is so much applauded,
* It will be found on a comparison with the Greek
poem of Musteus, that Marot has followed it very
closely. I have not Marlovv and Chapman's poem,
lately re-edited with a pleasant preface, nor Mr. Elton's
translation, to compare with this.
14 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
are often gross and licentious. I have selected one
that is not open to this objection.
Plus ne suis ce que j'ay este,
Et ne le s9aurois jamais estre.
Mon beau printemps et mon este
Ont fait le sault par la fenestre.
Amour tu as este mon maistre,
Je t'ay servi sur tous les Dieux.
O si je pouvois deux fois naistre,
Comma je te servirois mieux.
The merit of this so much depends on the delicacy
and happy turn of the expression that I am loth to
venture it in English.
Clement Marot, vs^hom I have thus endeavoured
to introduce to the notice of my readers, was born at
Cahors, in Quercy, in 1484. His father Jean,* a
Norman, was also a poet of some celebrity ; as
appears from an epigram addressed by his son to
Hugues Salel, another writer of whom it is intended
to give some account in a future paper.
De Jan de Meun s'enfle le cours de Loire.
En maistre Alain Normandie prent gloire :
Et plaint encore mon arbre paternel.
" The Loire swells with pride at the name of Jean de
Meun. Normandy glories in Master Alain (Alain
Chartier), and still mourns for my paternal tree."
* Jean Marot's poems were published at Paris, 1723,
in two volumes ; together with those of Michel, who
was, I think, the sou of Clement.
CLEMENT MAROT. 15
During the captivity of Francis I. in Spain, Clement
was apprehended on a suspicion of heresy, and con-
fined in the Chatelet at Paris, from whence he was
transferred to Chartres. Ha^■ing been deUvered
through the intercession of his friends, but still fear-
ing a second imprisonment, he took refuge, first with
Margaret of Navarre, the King's sister, and after-
wards at Ferrara, with Renee, Duchess of that city,
and daughter of Louis XII. To these events in his
hfe he refers in some verses addressed to those
through whose kindness he had obtained his freedom.
J'euz a Paris prison fort inhuniaine :
A Chartres fuz doucement encloue :
Maintenant vois, ou mon plaisir me maine ;
C'estbien et mal. Dieu soit de tout loue.
" At Paris my prison was a cruel one ; in my confine-
ment at Chartres I had milder usage. Now I go where
my pleasure leads me. It is g'ood and evil. God be
praised for all."
At Ferrara, he contracted a friendship with Calvin,
and is said to have embraced the opinions of that
reformer. But at the sohcitation of Paul III. the
Duke of Ferrara determined on banishing all the wits
and learned men, who were suspected of heresy, out
of his territories ; and the Duchess prevailed on the
King of France to allow ^larot to return to his court,
and to restore him to favour, on condition of his again
16 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
becoming a dutiful son to the Church. Against the
charge of dissension he thus defends himself: —
Point ne suis Lutlieriste,
Ne Zuinglien, et moins Anabaptiste :
Je suis de Dieu far son Filz Jesus Christ.
Je suis celuy qui ay fait maint escrit,
Dont un seul vers on n'en sauroit extraire,
Qui a la loi divine soit contraire.
Je suis celuy, qui prens plaisir, et peine
A louer Christ et la mere tant pleine
De grace infuse ; et pour bien I'eprouver,
On le pourra par mes escrits trouver.
A Monsieur BmccJiart, Docteur en Theologie.
" I am neither Lutheran nor Zuinglian ; and still less
an Anabaptist : I am of God by his Son Jesus Christ.
I am one that have written many a poem ; from none of
which a single line can be adduced contrary to the divine
law. I am one whose delight and whose labour it is to
exalt my Saviour and his all-gracious Mother. The
best proof of this may be found in my writings."
From his verses to the King, written during his
residence at Ferrara, it appears that he thought him-
self in danger of being put to the stake as a heretic.
The argimicnt which he uses to defend himself on
account of having prohibited hooks in his possession,
are much the same as Milton has since urged on a
similar subject in his Areopagitica.
On his return to France in 1536, he employed him-
self in translating some of the Psalms into French
THIBAUT, KING OF NAVARRE. 17
metre, from the version of Vatable, the royal pro-
fessor of Hebrew, which gave so much scandal to the
doctors of the Sorboune, that they induced the King
to prevent him from continuing his work.
Still however he persisted in delivering his senti-
ments on rehgion with such freedom as to keep alive
the resentment of his enemies ; and he at last found
it necessary to remove to Geneva. Here he was
accused of hanng committed some gross irregularities
of conduct, of which I am Avilling to believe him
innocent. He then retired to Turin, and died in
poverty at the age of sixty.
THIBAUT,* KING OF NAVARRE.
Whether Thibatjt, King of Navarre, was or was
not the favoured lover of Blanch, Queen Regent of
France, and mother of Louis the Ninth, is a question
that has been much debated. Those, who maintain
the affirmative, rely chiefly on the hearsay evidence of
* This notice of Tliibaut, as it carries us back to an
earlier period than any of the after pages, so was it
written and published prior to all the rest. It is, how-
ever, placed second in this volume, because the account
of Clement Marot purports to introduce us to the
series. — Ed.
c
18 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
Matthew Paris, and on the assertion of an old French
chronicler, whose name and age are unknown. On
the other side are to he taken into the account the
total silence of Joinville, the contemporary historian
on the subject, and that of several other annalists who
lived at or near the time, the general good character
of Blanch, and the disparity of her years, for she was
nearly old enough to be the mother of Thibaut. But
a scandalous report, however improbable, when it has
been once broached, seldom fails to spread far and
wide ; and the " Fama refert" of Matthew has been
eagerly caught at by a host of later writers,— amongst
whom are Duhaillan, the first of French historians,
who incorporated the annals of his comitry into the
narration ; Favin, who wrote the history of Navarre ;
Mezerai ; Rapin ; and the Pere Daniel.
It is well known that the curtailment of one word,
which a hasty scribe had reduced to the unlucky
consonants prtbns, has thrown the whole life and
character of Petrarch's Laura into confusion and per-
plexity. Did he mean it for parturitionibus ? — He
did, says the Abbe de Sade, at the same time claiming
for himself the honour to derive his parentage from
one of these ill-omened throes ; and immediately the
modest nymph of the Sorga is transformed into a
married coquette, with as large a litter about her as
the boon goddess in Mr. Hilton's picture has, and the
little biographer straining after his own bubble at the
THIBAUT, KING OF NAVARRE. 19
top. Shall we substitute perturbationibus with Lord
Woodhouselee ? — It is quite another story : Laura is
not only reinstated in her " single blessedness," but is
rendered an object of mterest and compassion by her
numerous and undeserved sufferings.
Something of the same sort has happened in the
case we are now considering. In the first of his
songs, according to one of the manuscripts in the
Royal Library at Paris,* the Kmg of Navarre calls
his mistress " La blonde couronnee,'''' — " The crowned
fair." "On reading this," says the editor of the
Chansons,t (to whose account of the matter I am
indebted for my information,) " I had no doubt but
that Thibaut was enamoured of Blanch." But the
inadvertence of a transcriber had again thrown an
unmerited suspicion on the innocent. On consulting
other written copies of the same song, the candid
inquirer owned that he had discovered reasons for
altering his mind. In them, " La blonde coloree"X
were the words ; wliich, in Shakspeare's language,
may be rendered, one —
♦ No. 7222.
t Les Poesies du Roy de Navarre, avec des Notes et
\\n Glossaire Francois, &c. Paris, 1742. 2 Tom. 8vo.
I The same combination of words occurs elsewhere in
these songs, and in the Romant de la Rose : —
La. face blanche coloree,
L'halcine douce et savouree.
20 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
Whose red and white,
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on ; '
and the character of the Queen was agam cleared.
It is quite lamentable to think how shght an
accident may destroy or impeach the reputation of a
virtuous princess in the eyes of posterity. I could
Avish that the old Punic language were recovered, and
that some Carthaginian manuscripts could be disin-
terred, which should equally rescue the fame of Dido
from the aspersions cast upon it by Virgil, who, it is
to be feared, though a modest man on the whole, was
yet, as a determined bachelor, somewhat free in his
opinions on certain j)oints, and besides much corrupted
by his intimacy with Horace. The -vindication which
Ercilla, the heroic poet of Spain, (in this instance so
truly deserving of the title,) has midertaken of her
cause, might then be triumphantly established.
Without thus clearing the way, I could not have
reconciled it to myself to say a word about the
Chansons of Thibaut. But having so far satisfied
my conscience, of which I hold it the duty of every
critic on such occasions to be very tender, I have the
less scruple in laying before my readers an imitation
of one of these songs, together with the original.
First, however, I shall premise a few remarks on
the origin and nature of French song-wTiting, which
I have gleaned out of a learned dissertation by the
editor before mentioned.
THIBAUT, KING OF NAVAURE. 21
It appears that abusive ballads, (the first species of
songs that are known to have been composed in that
language,) were made as early as the expedition of
Godfre}^ of Bouillon, on the occasion of Arnulf, chap-
lain to the Count of Normandy, being appointed
Patriarch of Jerusalem, after he had disgraced himself
by some irregularities of conduct during his march to
the holy city. Gautier de Coincy, a monk of St.
Medard de Soissons, composed a large number of
songs, yet remaining in manuscript, together with his
other poems. He was in the time of Philip Augustus.
The next to Coincy, were those writers of songs con-
tained in the manuscripts of which the King of
Navarre's form a part. Of these, Chretien de Troyes
and Aubion de Sezane wrote at the end of the twelfth
century. Thibaut, King of Navarre, who was bom
in 1201, and died in 1253, is said to have been dis-
tinguished from the rest not more by his high station
than by the superior elegance and refinement of his
style.
The first French songs were called Lais, from the
Latin lessus, a complaint ; though they had often
no more pretensions to the name than the nightingale
has to the title of " the melancholy bird." Like the
Proven9al, they have in general five stanzas, with an
envoi at the end. The measure is most commonly
the ten-syllable, with a pause on the fourth. The
rhymes are very exact, not only to the eye, but to
22 EARLY TEENCH POETS.
the ear ; but an indispensable alternation of the mas-
culine and feminine rhymes was not adopted till the
age of Marot and Ronsard ; though one or two in-
stances of it may be found in Thibaut's songs.
The following is one that was composed by him as
an encouragement to the Crusaders. I had intended
to entertain my readers with one of his love ditties ;
but the subject of this was so much more uncommon,
and it seemed to bear so strongly the marks of a
deep and solemn feeling, that I have selected it in
preference to the rest. Thibaut was not one of those
" who reck not their own rede ;" for he himself
served in the holy wars ; and it might be for this,
amongst his other worthy deeds, that the great
Italian poet, who was very near his time, has given
him the name of the "buon re Tebaldo,"* "The
good king Thibavdt." It may be supposed to have
been written about the year 1236, at the time when
he joined the Crusaders.
Take him, O Lord, who to that land shall g'o,
Where he did die and live who reigns with Thee :
But scarce shall they the road to heaven know
Who will not bear his cross beyond the sea.
By such as have compassion and kind thought
Of their dear Lord, his vengeance should be sought,
And freedom for his land and his countrie.
* Dante Inferno, c. xxii.
THIBAUT, KIXG OP XAVAURE. 23
But yonder all the evil men will stay,
AVho love not God, nor truth, nor loyalty.
" What will betide my wife V shall each one say ;
" I would not leave my friends for any fee."
Fond is the trust wherein they put their stead ;
For friend is none, save him that without dread
Did hang for us upon the holy tree.
Now on shall g'o each valiant knig-ht and squire.
That loves his God, and holds his honour dear,
And wisely doth the bliss of heaven desire.
But drivellers, skulking- at their hearths for fear,
Keep far away : such deem I blind indeed.
That succour not their God when he hath need,
And for so little lose their glory here.
God, who for us did suffer on the tree.
To all their doom in that great day shall tell :
" Ye, who have help'd to bear the rood for me,
Ye to that place shall go where angels dwell.
Me there to view, and mine own Mother Maid :
But ye, by whom I had not ever aid,
Down shall ye sink into the deep of hell."
Whoso in weal would pass their life away,
Nor meet at all with trouble or affrig'ht,
They are his foes esteem'd ; such sinners they.
As have nor sense, nor hardihood, nor might.
Our hearts, good Lord, from such vain thoughts set free,
And lead us to thy land so holily.
That we may stand before thy blessed sight.
24 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
The envoi.
Sweet lady, crowTied queen above,
Pray for us. Virgin, in tby love ;
So shall we guide henceforth our steps aright.
Signer, saciez,' ki or ne s'en ira
En cele terre, vi Diex fu mors et vis,
Et ki la crois d'outre mer ne prendra,
A paines- mais^ ira en jiaradis :
Ki a en soi pitie et ramembrance
Au haut Seignor, doit querre^ sa venjance,
Et deliverer sa terre et son pais.
Tout il mauvais demorront^ par dega,
Ki n'aiment Dieu, bien, ne honor, ne pris,
Et chascuns dit, Ma feme que fera ?
Je ne lairoie® a nul fuer mes amis :
Cil sont assis en trop fole attendance,
K'il n'est amis fors, que cU sans dotance,''
Ki pour nos fu en la vraie crois mis.
Or s'en iront cil vaillant Bacheler,
Ki aiment Dieu, et I'oiaour de cest mont,
Ki sagement voelent a Dieu aler,
Et li morveus, li cendreus^ demourront :
' Saciez — sacar (Spanish) to take. ^ A paines — a
peine, scarcely. ^ mais — mai (Italian) ever. * Querre
— queerere (Latin), to seek. ^ Demorer — demeurer, to
stay. ^ Lairoie — for laisserois. "^ Dotance — doubt,
fear. ^ Cendreus — cineraceus (Latin) one who cowers
over the embers.
THIBAL'T, KING OF NAVARRE. 2o
Avugle sont, de ce ne dout-je mie,^
Ki un secours ne font Dieu en sa de,
Et por si pot pert la gloire del mont.
Diex se laissa por nos en crois pener,
Et nous dira au jour, ou tuit'" venront,
" Vos, ki ma crois m'aidates a porter,
Vos en irez la, ou li Ang-ele sont,
La me verrez, et ma Mere IMarie ;
Et vos, par qui je n'oi onques aie,"
Descendez tuit en infer le parfont.'"^
Cascuns quide'^ demourer toz''' liaitiez,"
Et que jamais ne doive mal avoir,
Ainsi les tient enemis et pechiez.
Que ils n'ont sens, hardement, ne pooir :
Bian Sire Diex ostez nos tel pensee,
Et nos metez en la vostre contree
Si saintement, que vos puisse veoir.
L^envoi.
Douce Dame, Roine coronee,
Proiez pour nos, Virge bien euree,'^
Et puis apres ne nos puit mesclieoirJ''
9Mie— ajot. '« Tuit— all. " Aie— aid. '^ Parfont
— profound. '^Quide — credit (Latin) thinks, '* Toz
—all. '* Haitiez — healthy. ^* Bien euree — bienheu-
reuse. '^ ilescheoir — to fall out ill.
26 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
ANTOINE HEROET.
Avia Pieridum j^eragro loca.
Antoine Heroet, how strange soever his name
may now appear, in his own day was thought worthy of
being put in competition with Clement Marot, who
has had the better fortune of being still at least
talked of. Joachim du Bellay, in his Defence and
Illustration of the French Language, in which he
has spoken of both more than once, informs us of
the qualities by which each of them had attracted his
own particular set of admirers. One man, says he,
will tell you that he likes Marot, because he is easy,
and not far remoA^ed from the matter of common
discourse ; another, that Heroet pleases him, be-
cause his verses are learned, grave, and elaborate.
It has happened as might be expected — the natural
vein of the one has outlasted the erudition of the
other.
Heroet may properly be called a metaphysical
poet. Johnson, with some latitude of expression,
has given that name to Cowley, and some of the
other wits in Charles the Second's time ; and, with
still less propriety, has considered those writers to be
followers of Marino, who is very lavish in his de-
scriptions, and much disposed, in Ovid's manner, to
ANTOIXE HEROET. 27
play upon his words, but not at all metaphysical :
for it is possible that a wTiter may be highly meta-
physical, and yet free from conceits ; as he may be full
of conceits, and yet not in the least open to the charge
of being metaphysical.
La Parfaite Amie, The Perfect ^Mistress, the first
poem in Heroct's collection, is in a strain of exces-
sive Platonic refinement throughout. But he has
clothed his abstruse conceptions in language that is
utterly devoid of affectation, and besides nearer to that
of the present day than Marot's. I have selected
an allegorical story* out of the second book, which,
however mysterious the allusion in it may be, is yet,
for the cleamiess of the expression, (if I may be
allowed such a phrase,) comparable to some of the
choice passages in our dramatic wTiters of Elizabeth's
age.
On dit que pleine est una isle de biens,
D'arbres, de fruits, de plaisante verdure,
Qu en elle ha faict son chef-d'-oeuvre Nature.
Et qu' immortelz les hommes j vivans
Sont, tous plaisirs, et delices suy\'ans.
La ne se rend, ny jamais n'ha este
Froideur d'yver, ny la chaleur d'este.
La saison est un gracieux printemps,
Ou tous les plus malheureux sont contens.
* This story is also in Bembo, Gli Asolani, fol. 99,
Ed. Yen. 1546.
28 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
De son bon gre terre produit le bien,
On ne dit point entre eux ny tien, ny mien.
Tout est commun, sans peine, et jalousie,
Raison domine, et non pas fautaisie.
Chascun S9ait bien ce, qu'il veult demander,
Chascun S9ait bien ce, qu'il fault commander ;
Ainsi chascun lia tout ce, qu'il demande,
Chascun sr-ait bien ce, qu'ba faire commande.
Cette ysle la se nomme fortunee,
Et comme on dit, par Royne est gouvemee.
Si bien parlant, si scavante et si belle.
Que d'un rayon de la grand' beaute d'elle
Tous les pais voisins sont reliTisans.
Quand elle voit arriver courtisans,
(Comme y en ha de si tres curieux,
Qu'ilz n'ont aucun danger, devant les yeux)
Et aspirer a la felicite,
Qu'elle promest a ceux de sa cite,
Les estrangers faict ensemble venir,
Lesquelz devant que vouloir retenir,
Envoye tous dormir quelque saison.
Quand assez ont dormy selon raison.
On les resveille, et viennent devant elle :
Bien ne leur sert excuse ne cautelle ;
Ny beau parler, ny les importuns cris :
Dessus leurs frons sont leurs songes escrits.
Qui ha les chiens, et les oyseaux songe,
Ha promptement de la Royne conge :
On les renvoye avecques telles bestes.
Qui ha resve d'estre rompeur de testes,
D'entretenir guerre, et sedition,
AXTOIXE UEROET. 29
Honneurs mondains, extreme ambition,
Semblablement est de la court banny.
Qui ha le front pasle, mort, et terny,
Monstrant desir de biens, et de richesse,
De luy ne veult la Royne estre maistresse.
Bref, des dormeurs nul en I'isle retient,
Sinon celuy, quand esveille revient,
Qui ba songe de la grand' beaute d'elle :
Tant de plaisir ba d'estre et sembler belle,
Que tel songeur en I'isle est bien venu.
Tout ce discours est pour fable tenu :
Mais qui premier I'ha faict, et recite.
Nous ba voulu dire une verite.
Opuscules d' Amour, far Heroet, La Borderie, et autres
Divins Poetcs. A Lyon, par Jean de Tournes, 1547,
p. 46.
There is an isle
Full, as they say, of good things ; fruits and trees
And pleasant verdure : a very master-piece
Of Nature's ; where the men immortally
Live, following all delights and pleasures. There
Is not, nor ever hath been, winter's cold
Or summer's heat : the season still the same,
One gracious spring, where aU, e'en those worst used
By Fortune, are content. Earth willingly
Pours out her blessing : the words " thine" and " mine"
Are not known 'mongstthem : all is common, free
From pain and jealous grudging. Reason rules,
Not Fantasy: that every one knows well
30 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
What he would ask of other ; every one,
What to command : thus every one hath that
Which he doth ask ; what is commanded, does.
This island hath the name of Fortunate ;
And, as they tell, is govern'd by a Queen
Well spoken, and discreet, and therewithal
So beautiful, that, with one single beam
Of her g-reat beauty, all the country round
Is render'd shining. When she sees arrive
(As there are many so exceeding curious
They have no fear of danger 'fore their eyes)
Those who come suing to her, and aspire
After the happiness which she to each
Doth promise in her city, she doth make
The strangers come together ; and forthwith.
Ere she consenteth to retain them there,
Sends for a certain season all to sleep.
When they have slept so much as there is need.
Then wake they them again ; and summon them
Into her presence. There avails them not
Excuse or caution ; speech, however bland,
Or importunity of cries. Each bears
That on his forehead written visibly
Whereof he hath been dreaming. They, whose dreams
Have been of birds and hounds, are straight dismiss'd ;
And, at her royal mandate, led away.
To dwell thenceforward with such beasts as these.
He, who hath dream'd of sconces broken, war.
And turmoils, and seditions, glory won.
And highest feats achieved, is, in like guise.
An exile from her court ; whilst one, whose brow
AXTOINE HEROET. 31
Is pale, and dead, and wither'd, showing care
Of pelf and riches, she no less denies
To be his queen and mistress. None, in brief,
Reserves she of the dreamers in her isle,
Save him, that, when awaken'd he returns,
Betrayeth tokens that, of her rare beauty.
His dreams have been. So great delight has she,
In being and in seeming beautiful,
Such dreamer is right welcome to her isle.
All this is held a fable ; but who first
Made and recited it, hath in this fable
Shadowed a truth.
Another passage, in the third book of this poem,
is curious, as it shows what the prevalent taste in
female beauty was at tliat time.
Amour n'est pas enchanteur si divers.
Que les jeux noirs face devenir verds,
Qu'un brun obscur en blancheur clere toume,
Ou qu'un traict gros du visage destoume :
Mais s'il se trouve assis en cceur gentil,
Si penetrant est son feu, et subtil,
Qu'il rend le corps de femme transparent,
Et se presente au visage apparent
Je ne S9ay quoy, qu'on ne peut exprimer,
Qui se faict plus que les beautes aimer. (P. 58.)
Love is not such a strange enchanter
That he can change a black eye to a hazel,
Or turn dark brown into a pearly white,
Or shape a grosser feature into fineness.
And yet, when seated in a gentle heart,
32 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
So subtle and so iiiercinor is his fire,
He makes a woman's body all transparent ;
And, in ber visage, dotb present to view
I know not what, tbat words cannot express,
Wbicb makes itself be more, than beauty, loved.
This is one of the many instances, in which the
early French poets have spoken of the " yeux verds,"
" green eyes," (which I have taken the liberty of
translatuig into hazel,) as being admired above all
others. So we find in Romeo and Juliet, act iii.
sc. 5.
An eagle, madam,
Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye.
The next poem, by Heroet, is formed on the
fiction, in Plato's Banquet, of the Androgynon : a
poetical epistle to Francis I. is prefixed to it.
His other pieces are much in the same style.
I have learnt nothing more concerning this writer
than that he was made Bishop of Digne by Francis I.
that he was, nevertheless, like Marot, suspected of
Calvinism, and that he died in the year 1568.
In this same volume (which, by the way, is printed
in a running t}"pe of uncommon neatness, and is in
De Bure's Bibliographic,) at p. 237, is a poem en-
titled, Nouvel Amour, which I find, by a maimscript
note, to be by the Sieur Papillon, though the writer
of the note must be mistaken in saying (as he does),
that it is extracted from a similar book, printed at
AXTOINE HEROET. 33
Paris, 1551, in 16mo. as that date is posterior to the
date of the present volume.
There is a fine description in it of the trouble
throughout all nature, at a quarrel between Venus and
her son. It ends thus : —
En lamentant, puis la terre s'ouvrit,
Et de noirceur sa face elle couvrit.
Dessus les tours apparureut les fees,
En robes d'or, et d'arg'ent estoffees :
Et murmuroient entre elles rudement,
Craignant de veoir perir le firmament.
Et fut ouy en ce temps miserable,
Trois fois un son, horrible, espouvantable,
De gros marteaux, de cbesnes, et de fers,
Du plus profond abisme des enfers. (P. 263.)
Earth with a dismal scream was severed ;
And gathering darkness o'er her visage spread.
Upon the tops of towers the fays were seen
To trail long robes of gold and silver sheen ;
And mutter' d, as they pass'd, their uncouth wonder,
Fearing the firmament should fall asunder.
And thrice was heard, in that ill-omen'd day,
A sound, that might the stoutest heart aifray,
Of heavy hammers, clanking chains, and bars.
That mix'd in deepest hell their horrid jars.
The dispute is settled by the intervention of Jupiter.
At p. 269, there follows a letter in rhyme, called
Le Discours de Voyage de Constantinople, envoye
34 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
dudit lieu a mie Damoyselle de France, par le Seigneur
de Borderie.
"An account of a Voyage to Constantinople, sent from
the said place to a young- French Lady, by the Seigneur
de Borderie." On their way, among other places, they
touch at Athens.
Nous n'eusmes pas un demy jour loysir,
De voir ce lieu, ou prenons grand plaisir,
Voyant encor de la cite superbe
Les fondemens tons entiers, couvres d'herbe.
Leur grand dessaing assez donnoit entendre,
Qu'elle pouvoit grand espace comprendre.
Ayant aussi un theatre appergeu,
Que le long temps desmolir n'avoit sceu ;
Sur grands piUers de marbre bien assis,
Seize de long, et de fronc six a six,
Duqviel les Grece avoient faict a leur guise,
De Saint Andre une nouvelle Eglise ;
Ayant un mur au dedens faict en ceme,
Que I'oeil jugeoit assez estre moderne. (P. 318.)
" We had not half a day's leisure allowed us to see
this place, where we were much delighted, beholding
the foundations of the noble city entire, and covered
with grass. Their extensive traces sufficiently marked
the great space which it has comprised. We perceived
also a theatre, which length of time had not been able
to demolish, upon great pillars of marble, handsomely
placed, sixteen lengthwise, and, in front, six by six.
The Greeks, after their fashion, had made of it a church,
MELLIN DE SAINT GELAIS. 35
dedicated to Saint Andrew ; having a round wall within,
manifestly of modern construction."'
Ther emainder is, for the most part, equally humble
with this extract.
MELLIN DE SAINT GELAIS.
Mellin de Saint Gelais is commended by Joachim
du Bellay, in that poet's address to the reader prefixed
to his own works, for ha\'ing been the first who dis-
tinguished himself as a writer of sonnets in the French
language. He left only seventeen of them. At
least, I find no more in the collection of his poems,
pubhshed soon after his decease. But it was a prolific
race, and in a short time multiplied exceedingly.
Two out of these seventeen will, I dare say, satisfy
the reader as to quantity. And for the quality, I can
assure him they are not the worst of the batch.
II n'est point tant de barques a Venise,
D'huistres a Bourg, de lievres en Champaigne,
D'ours en Savoye, et de veaux en Bretaigne,
De Cygnes blancs le long de la Tamise,
Ne tant d'Amours si traitent en I'Eglise,
De differents aux peuples d'Alemaigne,
Ne tant de gloire a un Seigneur d'Espaigne,
Ne tant si trouve a la Cour de faintise,
36 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Ne tant y a de monstres en Afrique,
D'opinions en une Republique,
Ne de pardons a Romme aux jours de feste,
Ne d'avarice aux hommes de pratique,
Ne d'argumens en une Sorbonique,
Que m' amie a de lunes en la teste.
Oeuvres Poetiqices de Mellin de S. Gelais. Lyon.
Par Antoine de Harsy, 157 A, p. 84.
So many barks are not for Venice bound ;
Nor oysters, Bourg can shew , or calves Bretagne;
Or Savoy, bears ; or leverets, Champagne ;
Or Thamis, silver swans, his shores around :
Not amorous treaties so at church abound,
Or quarrels in the Diet of Almaine,
Not so much boasting in a Don of Spain,
Not so much feigning at the Court is found :
Monsters so numerous hath not Africa,
Nor minds so various a republic bred,
Nor pardons are at Rome on holyday,
Or cravings underneath a lawyer's gown,
Or reas'nings with the doctors of Sorbonne ;
As there are lunes in my sweet lady's head.
De Monsieur Ic Dauphin.
Vous que second la noble France honore,
Pouvez cueillir par ces pres florissans,
Oeillets pour vous seul s'espanouissans,
Esclos ensemble avec la belle Aurore,
Pour vostre front le rosier se coUore,
Dont les chapeaux si haut lieu couguoissans,
MELLIN DE SAIXT GELAIS. 37
Forment boutons de honte rougissans,
Sachant que mieux vous apiiartient encore.
Ceinte de Hz la blanche Galathee
Ses fruits vous garde en deux paniers couYerts,
L'un d'olivier, I'autre de laurier verds.
Ainsi cbantoit des Nymplies escoutee
La belle Egle dont Pan oyant le son,
Du grand Henry Fappella la chanson. (P. 87.)
On the Dauphin.
Thou, who art second in our noble France,
Mayst cull at -will, along each blooming mead,
These pinks, whose hues for thee alone are spread,
First opening- with the morning's early glance ;
For thee the rose-bush doth his top advance.
Whose coronals, with buttons vermeil-red,
Blush all for shame to hold so high their head,
Trusting yet more thy pleasure to enhance.
The milk-white Galathea, lily-crown'd,
For thee in panniers twain her fruits doth screen,
OneveiPd with olive, one with myrtle green.
Thus sang fair ^gle, while the nymphs around
Smiled as they listen'd; and Pan heard the song,
And to great Harry bade the notes belong.
The Sonnet was not the only form of composition
adopted by Saint Gelais from the Italian tongue. He
borrowed from it the Ottava Rima also.
In the Chant Villanesque (p. 235) he has comiter-
feited the charm of a rustic simplicity with much
skill.
38 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Mellin was supposed to be the natural son of
Octavien de Saint Gelais, Sieur de Lunsac, and Bishop
of Angouleme, and was born in 1491. The father,
besides his own original works, among which the
Vergier d'Hoinieur was one, was the author of
translations into French verse of the ^neid, several
books of the Odyssey, and the Epistles and ArsAmandi
of Ovid. His profession did not restrain him from
much freedom both in his hfe and writings. He is
said to have bestowed great pains on his son's educa-
tion, who profited as well as could be hoped mider
such a guide and tutor ; for he learnt to write verses
better than his father, but with a sufficient portion of
ribaldry in them. Mellia had a high reputation in
the courts of Francis I. and Henry II. He was
abbot of Recluz, and royal almoner and librarian.
A copy of verses directed to Clement Marot (p.
1 76) when they were both in ill-health, shows his
regard for that poet. It begins,
Gloire et regret des Poetes de France,
Clement Marot, ton ami Sainct Gelais,
Autant marri de ta long-ue souifrance,
Comme ravi de tes doux chants et lais, &c.
" Glory and regret of the Poets of France, Clement
Marot ; thy friend Saint Gelais, who is as much grieved
by thy long suffering, as he is charmed by thy songs
and lays, &c."
MELLIN DE SAIXT GELAIS. 39
Both he and Clement celebrated the restoration of
Laura's tomb, at Angnon, by Francis I.
He addresses also Hugues Salel, of whom we shall
soon hear more ; though they had not yet made an
acquaintance with each other.
His conduct towards Ronsard was somewhat un-
generous ; but that poet, with his characteristic
generosity, forgave more than once the ill offices
which Saint Gelais was supposed to have done him
at court.
His talent for epigrammatic satire was so much
dreaded, that " Gare a la tenaille de Saint Gelais ;"
" 'Ware of Samt Gelais pincers," became a proverbial
saying.
He was celebrated for his skill in Latin poetry,
and composed the following verses, when near his end.
Barbite, qui varies lenisti pectoris sestus,
Dum juvenem nimc sors, nunc ag'itabat amor ;
Perfice ad extremum, rapidseque incendia febris
Qua potes infirmo fac leviora seni.
Certe ego te faciam, superas evectus ad auras,
Insignem ad Cytbara^ sidus habere locum.
Harp, that didst soothe my cares, when opening life
With love and fortune waged alternate strife,
Fulfil thy task : allay the fervid rage
Of fever preying- on my feeble age ;
So, when I reach the skies, a place shall be,
Near the celestial Ij-re, allotted thee.
40 EARLY FEENCH POETS.
He died at Paris, in 1559. His works were re-
edited, with additions, in that city, in 1719 ; as I find
in De Bure's Bibhographie.
HUGUES SALEL.
HuGUES Salel is one of those writers who, ha\ing
been much caressed and applauded by their contem-
poraries, meet with a different treatment from pos-
terity. Looking into a modern compilation of some
authority for an accomit of him, I find that he is
pronounced to be awkward, embarrassed, and languid ;
and that he is T;vithout any ceremony condemned to a
place among the poets that merit no better fate than
to he on the shelf, and be gnawn by worms. I sup-
pose, therefore, that it is in this vermicidar capacity
I must own that I have tasted, and found him no
misavoury food.
If matters come to the worst, there is something at
least in his title page that will be relished by all those
who honour an old book, as some honour a great
man, for nothing else but the title. Here is the style
in which it rims : — " Les Oeuvres de Hugues Salel,
Valet de Chambre ordinaire du Roy, imprimees par
Commandement dudict Seigneur. Avec Privilege
pour six Ans. Imprime k Paris, pour Estiemie Rof-
HUGUES SALEL. 41
fet, dit le Faulclieur, Relieur du Roy, et Libraire en
ceste Ville de Paris, demourant sur le Pont S. Michel,
a Lanseigne de la Roze blanche." — " The Works of
Hugues Salel, Valet de Chambre in ordinary to the
King. Imprinted by Commandment of the said
Lord. With Privilege for six Years. Imprinted at
Paris, by Stephen Roifet, called the Mower, Binder
to the King, and Bookseller in this Town of Paris,
abiding on the Bridge Samt Michael, at the Sign of
the "V\liite Rose." There is no date except in manu-
script at the bottom of the page, which imports it to
have been printed in the year 1539. Whoever wishes
to preserve his character as a bibliomaniac (so they
have termed it of late years,) will go no further than
this. They who can pluck up a good courage, and
are not afraid of the more odious name to which they
may subject themselves by pursuing the quest, will
venture onwards. The first poem then, or the first
prey for the worms, whichsoever we shall term it, in
this collection, is " a Royal Chase, that containeth
the taking of the wild Boar Discord, by the very high
and very potent Pruices, the Emperor Charles the
Fifth, and the King Francis, the First of this Name."
" Chasse Royalle, contenant la prise du Sanglier Dis-
cord, par tres haultz et tres puissans Princes I'Em-
pereur Charles Cinquiesme,et leRoy FranQoys, premier
de ce Nom." France and Spain being in a state of
perfect peace and happiness, all the Gods receive due
42 EAULY FRENCH POETS.
homage from mortals, except Mars ; who, enraged
at the neglect, descends to the lower regions, and
brings up the wild boar Discord to earth. Charles V.
and Francis I. unite to hunt down the monster, whose
defeat, with the help of other European princes, they
soon accomplish. This is a slight sketch, and some-
what pedantic ; but I should say that it was filled up
with much spirit.
In the Marine Eclogue on the death of the Dau-
phin Frangois de Valois, there are some verses of
remarkable sweetness, which remmd me of Lydgate.
The Punishment of Cupid is another poem in which
the materials, though very slender, are wrought up
with a certain portion of elegance and fancy.
The following song may be considered as a testi-
mony on the long-pending suit with respect to the
song of the Nightingale.
En passant par ung loys, et regrettant Marguerite.
Rossignolz qui faictes merveilles,
De jerg-onner pas ces verdz boys,
Ne remplissez plus mes aureilles
De si doulce et plaisante voix,
Puis que voyez que je men voys
Au lieu ou joye est endormie,
Chantez s'il vous plaist cette fois
Le triste depart de m'amye. F. 50.
Ye nightingales, whose voice divine
Thrills out these greenwood glades among,
HUGUES SALEL, 43
Oh ! fill no more these ears of mine
"With such a sweet and pleasant song.
Ye see the way I now am wending,
Unto a place whence joy is flown ;
Then but for once a sad note lending",
Sing, an ye will, my mistress gone.
Like most of his brethren, he celebrates the " green
eyes" of his mistress : —
Marguerite aux yeulx rians et verds. F. 53.
The " laughing eyes" would be too bold an expres-
sion for a Frenchman now-a-days ; and accordingly
one of them, who met with it in translating Dante, —
Ond 'ellapronta e con occhi ridenti. Par. C. 3.
has translated it, —
L'ombre me repondit d'un air satisfait.
There are some more poems by Salel, printed at
the end of the "Amours d'01i\-ier de Magny," of
which I shall speak presently. The most remarkable
amongst them are three Chapitres d' Amour (as they
are called), in which he uses the Italian measure
called the Terza Rima. It was adopted by some of
our writers in Henry VIII. and Elizabeth's time, as
Sir Thomas Wyatt, Sir Frs. Bryan, Sir Pliilip Sydney ;
and afterwards by Milton, in his version of the second
Psalm. Yet Mr. Hayley supposed that he was the
first to introduce it into our language, in that spirited
translation of the first three cantos of Dante, which
44 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
he inserted in the notes to his Essay on Epic Poetry ;
and Lord Byron, when he adopted it in a late poem
called the Vision of Dante, was not aware of Mr.
Hayley's mistake.
At the command of Francis I. Salel undertook to
translate the Iliad, but did not proceed further than
the beginning of the thirteenth book. By a preface
to the eleventh and twelfth books, and a fragment of
the thirteenth, edited after his death by Olivier de
Magny, it seems he was accused of having made use
of a Latin version instead of the original Greek.
" But I was his amanuensis," adds Magny, " and
can with truth bear witness to the contrary."
Whether it was made from the Latin or the Greek, his
translation is but a lame one. It is curious to see how
he has contrived to strip the moonhght landscape at
the end of the eighth book, of more than half its
splendour.
Ettout ainsi que Ion peult voir souvent,
En temps serain, pres de la lune claire,
Les corps du ciel (car ung chascun esclaire
Tant que les montz, les vallees et plaines
Sont de lumiere aiusi qu'en beau jour pleines).
Dont le berger que sa veue en haut jette,
Se resjouit en sa basse logette.
But there is another extreme. All my readers
remember Pope's version of this, —
As when the moon, resplendent lamp of night, &c.
HUGUES SALEL. 45
and if they have not yet seen Mr. Coleridge's observa-
tions upon it in his Biographia Literaria, vol. i. p.
39, I would recommend them to their notice.
In another famous simile, that in the fifth book, of
the clouds amassed on the mountain tops by Jove, his
anxiety that all should be well understood has caused
him to make strange work of these ciunulostrati.
Ainsi que les nues
Sont bien souvent sur les montz retenues
Maulgre les ventz, par le dieu Juppiter,
Que ne pourroient aultrement resister
Au soufflement, et tourbillou divers
Du vent de uort qui leur donne a travers ;
Semblablement, &c.
But this is quite enough of his Homer.
Hugues Salel, of Casale in Querci, was bom about
the year 1508.
Quercy, Salel, de toi se vantera;
Et (comme croy) de moi ne se taira :
are Marot's words to him in the Epigram on the
French poets, to which I have referred in the accoimt
of that writer.
" Querci will boast itself in thee, Salel ; and, as I
think, will not pass my name in silence."
Ronsard esteemed him one of the first who began
to write well in France.
Besides the other marks of favour which he
46 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
received from the open-hearted Francis I. he was
presented by that monarch with the abbey of Saint
Cheron, near Chartres ; where he died in the year
1558.*
OLIVIER DE MAGNY.
The first production I have met with from the pen
of Olivier de Magny, is entitled Les Amours d' Oli-
vier de Magny, Quercinois, et quelques Odes de lui.
Ensemble mi recueil d'aucmies Oeuvres de Mon-
sieur Salel, Abbe de Saint Cheron, non encore veues.
A Paris. Vincent Sartenan, 1553, 8vo. In this col-
lection, Magny' s sonnets (in the common or ten
syllable measure) are in the taste of the Italian Pe-
trarchisti, or imitators of Petrarch. In some of the
odes there is more nature. That on a nosegay
presented to him by Castianira (F. 5(5), has a pecuhar
vivacity and richness, and is very much in Ben Jon-
son's way.
His next work is Les Gayetez d'Oliner de Magny
a Pierre Paschal, Gentilhomme du Bas Pais de Lan-
guedoc,
* Salel's birth is dated about 1504, his death in 1553,
by the editor of " Choix des Poesies de P. de Ron-
sard, &c." 12mo. Par. 1826, p. 79.
OLIVIER DE MAGNY. 47
Non tamen est facinus moUes evolvere versus,
Multa licet caste non facienda legant.
A Paris, pour Jean Dallier, 1554, Svo.
There is much ease in these trifles. If I were to
select one of the most pleasing, it would he that to
Cory don, Ronsard's servant, which gives an engaguig
picture of that poet's manner of life.
Et s'il vault avec la brigade
S'en aller aux champs quelque fois,
Va t'en par la proche bourgade
Choisir le meilleur vin Francois;
Puis sur le bords d'une fontaine
A I'ombre de quelque aubespin,
Aporte la bouteille pleine
Pour luy faire prendre son vin.
(The leaves are not paged in this book.)
And if he with his troop repair
Sometimes into the fields,
Seek thou the village nigh, and there
Choose the best wine it yields.
Then by a fountain's mossy side,
O'er which some hawthorn bends,
Be the full flask by thee supplied
To cheer bim and his friends.
We shall be reminded of the hawthorn, when we
come to Ronsard liimself. These poets seem to have
enjoyed nature with an imceremonious gaiety and
frankness of heart, not known to their successors in
the days of Louis XIV.
48 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
The last publication, I have seen, of Olivier de
Magny, is called Les Soupirs. Paris. Par Jean
DalUer, 1557. 8vo.
These Sighs vent themselves in a hundred and
seventy-six sonnets, some of which, fortvmately, are
anything but dolorous ; as may be seen by the follow-
ing :—
Sonnet 123.
Sus, leva les papiers, descharge m'en la table,
Et nem'en monstre aucun, Batylle, d'aujourd'huy,
Car je ne veulx rien voir qui puisse faire ennuy,
Et ne veulx faire rien qui ne soit delectable.
Ce jourd'huy me soit feste et non point jour ouvrable.
Mon Cassin est venu, et pour 1' amour de luy,
Je veulx prendre mon aise, et m'esloigTier d'autruy
Pour avecques luy seul I'avoir plus agreable.
Je veulx donner un peu de tresve a mon amour,
Je veulx decraye blanche aussi marquer ce jour,
Et ne veulx invoquer que le gay Pere libre.
Je veulx rire et saulter comme un homme contant,
Je veulx faire ung festin pour y boire d'autant,
Et ne men cbault pas fort encor que je m'enyvre.
Up ; sweep the papers off; the table clear :
I will no more of these, good boy, to-day.
All trouble shall be held awhile at bay,
And nought but mirth and pleasure shall come near.
For see, my friend, my dearest Cassin here :
This is a festal and no working day :
OLIVIER DE MAGNY. 49
Bid each intruder hence ; we will be g'ay
Tog-ether, and alone make joyous cheer.
I wiU with Love himself a brief truce keep :
I will with white chalk score this day for g-ladness ;
I will to Bacchus only homage pay ;
Yea, I Avill laugh and leap and dance away,
And drain at last the brimming bowl so deep,
I care not if it end in merry madness.
It has been observed by Johnson, that in Milton's
mirth there is some melancholy. In Masrnv's me-
lancholy there is certainly much mirth. He does
not seem to have been made for sighing. Yet it
might have been enough to make him do so, if he
could have known that in so short a time his country-
men would no longer think him worthy of a place in
their voluminous works of biography.* This must be
my excuse for ha"ving nothing to tell either of his
birth, his fortunes, or his decease. He was of Querci.
His verses bespeak him to have been a good soul,
free from emy and ill-nature ; and he was prized ac-
cordingly by the wits of his age. Be this his record.
* There is a notice of Olivier de Magny in the
" Choix des Poesies de P. de Ronsard," &c. 12mo.
Par. 1826, p. 136.
£
50 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
JOACHIM DU BELLAY.
Bellay ! first garland of free poesy
That France brought forth, though fruitful of brave wits ;
Well worthy thou of immortality,
That long hast travel'd by thy learned writs,
Old Rome out of her ashes to revive,
And give a second life to dead decays ;
Needs must he all eternity survive,
That can to others give eternal days.
Thy days, therefore, are endless ; and thy praise
Excelling all that ever went before.
Such is the encomium which Spenser annexes to
his translation of The Ruines of Rome, by Bellay. It
is somewhat too lofty for the occasion ; and is made
of less value, by being coupled with the praise of
Bartas, whose Muse has not much right to the epi-
thet bestowed on her in the ensmng hues ; except it
be for the subject of wliich she treats.
And after thee 'gins Bartas hie to raise
His heavenly Muse, th' Almighty to adore.
Live, haj^py spirits ! th' honour of your name,
And fill the world with never dying fame.
Yet this honom'able testimony from the author of
the Faery-Queene, who has still more distinguished
the subject of it by translatmg several of his poems,
secures for Joachim du Bellay undeniable claims to
attention and deference from an English reader.
JOACHIM DU BELLAY. 51
When, indeed, we consider, that not only the boast
of Eliza's days dipped his plumes in the Gallic Hip-
pocrene, but that the Father of English poetry used
to refresh himself largely at the same fountain, we
cannot look upon it but as a source of hallowed waters.
In the Defence and Illustration of the French lan-
guage,* a judicious and well-written treatise, to which
I have more than once had occasion to refer, Bellay
betrays a want of reverence for his predecessors, which
has been amply retaliated by posterity on his own age.
Of all the ancient French poets, he observes, that
Guillaume de Lorris and Jean de Meun are almost
the only authors worth reading ; and that, not
because there is much in them that deserves imitation,
but for that first image, as it were, which they pre-
sent of the French language, made venerable by its
antiquity. He adds, that the more recent were those
named by Clement Marot, in his Epigram to Hugues
Salel ; and that Jan le Maire de Beiges seemed to
him the first who had illustrated the French lan-
guage ; by which he explains himself to mean, that
he imparted to it many poetical words and phrases, of
which the most excellent writers of his own time had
availed themselves. f Most of these, I doubt, have
since been thrown away by the purists.
* Oeuvres de Joachim du Bellay. Paris edition in
12mo. about 1568. f L. ii. oh. 2.
52 EARLY FRENCH POETS,
He speaks of "vers libres," unfettered verse;
such, he says, as had been used by Petrarch, and by
Luigi Alamanni in his not less learned than pleasant
poem on Agriculture.* Alamanni indeed, who during
his retreat from Florence had experienced the
liberality and protection of Francis I. and who was pro-
bably known to Bellay at the court of that monarch,
had written his Coltivazione in blank verse ; and some,
though without sufficient groimd for the assertion,
have pronoimced him to be the first who employed it
in a long poem. But that Petrarch ever wrote Italian
poetry without rhyme, or that he ever mingled versi
sciolti, or blank verse, in his compositions, as Boccac-
cio is observed to have done, I am not aware that any
other critic has asserted.
While I am on this subject, let me remark, that it
is to the ItaUans we owe our blank verse ; and that
the two books of the ,^neid, in the translating of
which it is believed to have been first introduced
amongst us by Surrey, were about the same time
translated into ItaUan blank verse ; the second book
by the Cardinal Ippolito de Medici, and the fourth by
Lodovico Martelli.
Bellay would not have the alternation of male and
female rhjTues too strictly adhered to. This was a
meritorious though unsuccessful attempt to deliver
* L. ii. ch. 7.
JOACHIM DU BELLAY. 53
the French verse from one of its most galling fetters.*
— Like Ronsard, he advises the frequenting persons
of all different handicrafts, in order to collect terms,
and to deduce comparisons and descriptions. f
Amongst the French writers, are adduced by way
of distinction, Guillaume Bude and Lazare de Baif,
the latter of whom had translated the Electra of
Sophocles, almost line for line, " quasi vers par vers. "if
But to come to his Poems. His OUve is a collec-
tion of one hundred and fifteen sonnets, nearly all of
them, excepting a few of the last, on the subject of
his love, which he shadows forth under the figure of
that tree, as Petrarch had done his mider that of a
laurel. The word itself is an anagram of Viole, the
real name of the lady whom he celebrates, and who
was an inhabitant of Angers. In the twenty-eighth is
found the sentiment in a common, but very pretty
French song, which the imfortunate Major Andre was
fond of applying to his Honora. I write it from
memory, having never seen it in print : —
Ah ! si vous pouviez comprendre
Ce que je ressens pour vous ;
L'amour n'a rien de si tendre,
Ni I'amitie de si doux.
* Oeuvres de Joachim du Bellay. Paris edition iu
l-3mo. about 1588 ; ch. 9.
t Ibid. ch. 11. : Ibid. ch. 12.
54 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Loin de vous mon cceur soupire,
Pres de vous suis interdit :
Voila tout ce que j'ose dire,
Et peutetrej'ai trop dit.
Bellay has it : —
Ce que je sens, la langue ne refuse
Vous descouvrir quand suis de vous absent ;
Mais tout soudain que pres de moy vous sent,
EUe devient et muette et confuse.
We have, I believe, an English song, in which the
same natural feeling is expressed ; but I am not able
to recollect the words of it.
The sixtieth sonnet is to Ronsard, whom he has
addressed in several of his poems. When we come to
that poet, we shall again have occasion to admire the
nobleness of his mind, as displayed in his conduct
towards Bellay.
The ninety-first is on the same subject as an Italian
one by Bernardino Tomitano, a physician and pub-
lic professor of logic at Padua ; he died a few years
later than Bellay (in 1576). It is, therefore, not easy
to say which of the two has the merit of being ori-
ginal ; perhaps neither of them : — but the French-
man's production has, I think, more the air of a copy.
Here are the two.
Rendez a For ceste couleur qui dore '
Ces blonds cheveux, rendez mille autres choses,
JOACHIM DU BELLAY. 5o
A I'orient tant de perles encloses,
Et au soleil ces beaux yeux que j'adore,
Rendez ces mains au blanc j^oire encore,
Ce sein au marbre, et ces levres aux roses,
Ces doux souspirs aux fleurettes decloses,
Et ce beau tain a la vermeille Aurore.
Rendez aussi a I'Amour tous ces traits,
Et a Venus ses graces et attraits ;
Rendez aux cieux leur celeste harmouie.
Rendez encor' ce doux nom a son arbre,
Ou aux rocbers rendez ce coeur de marbre,
Et aux lyons cett' humble felonie.
Sonetto di Bernardino Tomitano.
L'alto chiaro immortal vivo splendore
Ch'e ne' vostr' occhj e nel sereno viso,
Donna, rendete al sole, e al paradiso
I pensier casti e'l suo natio valore.
Rendete a me la libertate e'l core
Che da me avete si lontan diviso,
A Cipri bella il bel soave riso,
L'arco e gli strali al mio awersario amore.
De le soavi angeliche parole
La soave armonia rendete al cielo :
L'odor, I'oro, le perle a I'oriente :
Ch'altro non sara in voi, che I'ira sola
Co' vostri fieri sdegni, che sovente
Mi fan d'uom vivo adamantino g'elo.
Parnaso Italiano, Lirici viisti del Secolo xvi. — Ven.
1787,/?. 360.
56 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Yield to the spheres thy witching' strain*
That from their orbs has roU'd.
To eastern climes return again
Their fragrance, jiearls, and gold.
Be to the sun that brightness given,
Thou borrow'st from this flame :
And render back thy smile to heaven,
From whence its sweetness came.
Owe to the morn thy blush no more,
Which from her cheek has flown.
To seraph bands their truth restore,
Her chasteness to the moon.
What then shall of those charms remain,
Which thou dost call thine own ;
Except the pride and cold disdain
That turn thy slave to stone.
There is one by Olivier de Magny on the same
subject. It is the 1 72nd in his Soupirs, and begins —
Vos celestes beautes, dame, rendez aux cieux, &c.
For an EngKsh imitation, I must refer to the last
volume of the London Magazine, (1821) p. 411.
The ninety-sixth, which begins —
Ny par les bois les Dryades courantes,
Ny par les champs les fiers scadrons armes,
Ny par les flots les grands vaisseaux rames, &c.
* This imitation of the above Sonnet was not printed
in the original article. The author has left a memo-
randum that it should be inserted. — Ed.
JOACHIM DU BELLAY. 57
is certainly borrowed from an old Italian sonnet by
Guido Cavalcanti ; wbich is inserted, together with
a version of it by a late translator of Dante, in his
notes to the eleventh canto of the Purgatory.
Somiet nuiety-seven, beginning —
Qui a peu voir la matinale rose,
is from Catullus and Ariosto, in passages too well
known to be cited. Those in Sophocles, —
To yap veci^oy ev rotolirce /Boff/cerai
Xw(3ot(Ti>' avTOV' Kcu VIP ov ^ciXttoc Qeoii,
Ovh' onftpoQ, ovIe TTvevnaTOJV ovSey kXovcI,
'AXX' r]Eova7£ ayuoj^S^ov t^alpei fiioyt
'Eg Toils'', fwc Tig arri TrapBivov yvvri
K\j]^. Track. 144.
and in IMarino's Adone,
Quasi rosa fra fior ch'in fresca sponda
Ferma il sol, molce I'aura e nutre Fonda.
C. xi. St. 62.
are less obvious.
All the sonnets in the Olive are, I beUeve, in the
" vers commmi," the ten syllable verse ; which is
more agreeable to an English ear than the Alexan-
drine. The pause, as usual, is on the fourth syllable ;
as is generally the case in our own Surrey. Of his
other sonnets, there are some in each of these mea-
sures.
Not one of the old French poets that I have yet
58 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
seen appears so much at home amongst the ItaUans,
for whom, in the fourth ode of his Recueil, he tes-
tifies his warm admiration.
Quel siecle etiendra ta memoire
O Boccace ? et quels durs hyvers
Pourront jamais seicher la gloire,
Petrarque, de tes lauriers vers ?
Qui verra la vostre muette,
Dante, Bembe, a I'esprit liautain ?
Ode 4, f. 135.
" What age shall extinguish the remembrance of
thee, Boccaccio ? and what hard winters, O Petrarch !
shall wither the glory of thy green laurels 1 Who,
Dante and Bembo, of proud and lofty spirit, shall see
your memory fade ?"
Yet he laments most hitterly the engagements
which compelled him to reside in Italy, and to put
on a false appearance which he abhorred ; and he
longs to be again his own master, and to return to
his own land. In the Regrets, where these feelings
are expressed, there is much ease and nature. Some
of the poems under that title exhibit Uvely pictures
of the corruptions then prevalent in the several
Italian courts, and especially at Rome. His talent
for satire here shews itself. What in this way can
exceed the following sonnet on Venice ?
II fait bon voir, Magny, ces colons magnifiques,
Leur superbe arsenal, leurs vaisseaux, leur abord.
JOACHIM DU BELLAY. 69
Leur S. Marc, leur palais, leur Realte, leur Port,
Leurs changes, leurs profits, leur banque, et leurs
trafiques,
II fait bon voir le bee de leurs cbaprons antiques,
Leurs robes a grand' manche, et leurs bonnets sans bord,
Leur parler tout grossier, leur gravite, leur port,
Et leurs sages advis aux affaires publiques.
II fait bon voir de tout leur Senat balloter :
II fait bon voir par tout leurs gondoUes flotter.
Leurs femmes, leurs festins, leur vivre solitaire :
Mais ce que I'on en doit le meilleur estimer,
C'est quand ces vieux cocus vont espouser la mer,
Dont ils sont les maris et le Turc I'adultere.
Sonnet 115, f. 414.
It dotb one good to see tliese Magnificoes,
These proud poltroons ; their gorgeous arsenal ;
Their roads o'erthrong'd with vessels ; their Saint Mark ;
Their Palace ; their Rialto, and their Port ;
Their Bank, their traffic ; their Exchange, their bart'ring :
To see their antique hats with formal beak ;
Their broad-sleeved mantles, and their unbrimm'd
bonnets :
It doth one good to mark their uncouth jabb'ring ;
Their gravity ; their port ; their sage advice
On public questions ; yea, it doth one good
To see their senate balloting on each thing ;
In every port their gondolas afloat ;
Their dames ; their masquing, and their lonely living.
But the best sight of all is to behold
When these old wittols go to wed the sea,
Whose spouses they are, and the Turk her leman.
60 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
The 151st sonnet. To Courtiers, is another that is
remarkable for its mixture of sprightliness, drollery,
and caustic humour. England came in for a large
portion of his gall. At f. 189, is a poem called
Execration sur I'Angleterre ; but in his Regrets
(sonnet 162) it appears that he had been softened
towards this country.
Of his Voeux Rustiques, imitated from the Latin
of Navagero, the following is no unfavourable speci-
men.
D'mw Vanneur de ble aiix vents.
A vous trouppe legere,
Qui d'aile passagere
Par le monde volez,
Et d'un sifflant murmure
L'ombrageuse verdure
Doucement esbranlez,
J'offre ces violettes,
Ces lis et ces fleurettes,
Et ces roses icy
Ces vermeillettes roses,
Tout frescbement eclauses,
Et ces oeillets aussi.
De vostre douce haleine
Evantez ceste pleine,
Evantez ce sejour :
Cependant que j'ahanne
A mon ble, que je vanne
A la chaleur du jour. F. 444.
JOACHIM DU BELLAY. 61
The original is in the taste of the Greek eTnypcin^ura,
of which no one knew the rehsh better than Navagero.
Aurie qu8e levibus percurritis aera pennis,
Et strepitis blando per nemora alta sono ;
Serta dat hsec vobis, vobis hcec rusticus Idmon
Spargit odorato plena canistra croco.
Vos lenite sestum, et paleas sejungite inanes,
Dum medio fruges ventilat ille die.
This has been made a sonnet of by Lodo\ico
Paterno ; and a fine one it is : —
Aure, O Aure ! cbe'l ciel nudo e sereno
Cingete con le piume innamorate,
E fra le selve dolce mormorate,
Spargendo i sonni alle fresch 'ombre in seno :
Queste gbirlande, e questo vaso pieno
D'amomo e croco, e questi d'odorate
Viole ampi canestri a vol sacrate
Vi sparge Icon, cbe'l mezzo di vien meno.
Voi I'arsura temprate omai cbe I'onde
E I'aria e i campi d'ogn' intorno accende
E mostra le sue forze ad ogni parte :
Ei mentre a ventilar le biade attende,
E rocamente al suon Eco risponde,
Scacciate voi le paglie a parte a parte.
Componimenti Lirici scelti da T. J. Mathias,
T. iii.p. 249.
I wish I had something worthier to be put by the
side of these, than the attempt which is here offered
to my reader.
62 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Ye airs ! sweet airs, that throug-li the naked sky-
Fan your aurelian wings in wanton play ;
Or shedding quiet slumber, as ye fly,
'Mid the dim forest murmuring urge your way ;
To you these garlands, and this basket high
Pil'd up with lily-bells and roses gay,
And fragrant violets of purplest dye.
Icon, all fainting in the noontide ray,
Scatters, a votive ofi"ering to your power :
And O ! as ye receive the balmy spoil.
Temper the inclement beam ; and while his flail
He plies unceasing through the sultry hour,
Hoarse Echo answering ever to his toil,
Dispel the parted chaff with brisker gale.
But to return to Bellay. His epitaphs on a little
dog, on a cat, and on the Abbe Bonnet, are exqui-
sitely droll and fantastic.
In his hymn De la Surdite, a whimsical encomium
on Deafness, addressed to his friend Ronsard, there
is some very striking imagery.
Je te salue O saincte et alme surdite,
Qui pour trone et palais de ta grand' majeste
T'es cave bien avant sous une roche dure,
Un autre tapisse de mousse et de verdure ;
Faisant d'un fort hallier son effroyable tour,
Oil les cheutes du Nil tempestent a I'entour.
La se voit le silence assis a la main dextre,
Le doigt dessus la levre, assise a la senestre
Est la melancolie au sour§il enfonse :
JOACHIM DU BELLAY. 63
L'estude tenant I'oeil sur le livre abbaisse
Se sied un peu plus bas, I'Ame imaginative,
Les yeux levez au ciel, se tient contemplative
Debout devant ta face ; et la dedans le rond
D'un grand miroir d'acier te fait voir jusqu'au fond
Tout ce qui est au ciel, sur la terre, et sous I'onde,
Et ce qui est cache sous la terre profonde ;
Le grave Jugement dort dessus ton giron,
Et le Discours ailez volent a 1' environ. {F. 501.)
Hail to thee, Deafaess, boon and holy power,
Thou that hast scoop'd thee out an ample bower
"Within a hard rock where thy throne is seen,
Hung round with tapestry of mossy green,
The stony tower, embattled, guards thy state.
And Nile's steep falls are thundering at the gate.
There Silence on thy right hand still doth sit,
His finger on his lips ; and in a fit
Of tranced sorrow. Melancholy lost.
Upon thy left, like a for-pined ghost.
A little lower, Study bends his look
For ever glu'd upon his wide-spread book.
Before thee, rapt Imagination stands.
With brow to heaven uplifted, while her hands
Present to thee a mirror of broad steel.
That in its depth all wonders doth reveal,
Of sky, and air, and earth, and the wide ocean ;
All things that are, whether in rest or motion.
Grave Judgment on thy lap, in sleep profound
Is laid J and winged words flit hovering round.
64 EARLY FKENCH POETS.
His advice to the young king, Francis the Second,
on his accession to the crown, is remarkable for its
freedom. The poets of those times seem to have
kept firm hold on one of the most valuable privileges
of their profession, and not to have srnik the monitor
in the courtier. — Of the poems which Spenser trans-
lated from Bellay, the following Sonnet is rendered
with a fidelity that has not in the least injured its
spirit. I have selected it as the best of those which
he has taken.
Sur la croppe d'un mont je vis una fabrique
De cent brasses de baut : cent colonnes d'un rond,
Toutes de diamans ornoyent le brave front,
Et la facon de I'oeuvre estoit a la Dorique,
La muraille n'estoit de marbre ni de brique,
Mais d'un luisant cristal, qui du sommet au fond,
Elangoit mile rais de son ventre profond,
Sur cent degrez dorez du plus fin or d'Afrique.
D'or estoit le lambris, et le sommet encor
Reluisoit escaille de grandes lames d'or :
Le pave fut de jaspe, et d'esmauraude fine.
O vanite du monde ! un soudain tremblement
Faisant crouler du mont la plus basse racine,
Renverse ce beau lieu depuis le fondement.
{Edit. Rouen, 1597, fo. 391.)
On bigb bill's top I saw a stately frame,
An hundred cubits bigb by just assize,
With hundred pillars fronting fair the same.
All wrought with diamond, after Dorick wise ;
JOACHIM DU BELLAY. 65
Nor brick nor marble was the wall to view,
But shining crystal, which from top to base
Out of her womb a thousand rayons threw,
One hundred steps of Afrio gold's enchase :
Gold was the parget ; and the ceiling bright
Did shine all scaly, with great plates of gold ;
The floor of jasp and emerald was dight.
O ! world's vainness ! whiles thus I did behold.
An earthquake shook the hill from lowest seat.
And overthrew this frame with ruine great.
{The Visions of Bellay, 2.)
Joachim du Bellay, descended from one of the
noblest families in Anjou, was bom at Lire, a village
eight miles from Angers, in the year 1524. The
facility and sweetness yAxh. which he wTote, gained
him the appellation of the French 0\'id. He was
highly esteemed by Margaret of Valois, Queen of
Navarre, and by Henry the Second, who granted him
a considerable pension. He passed some years in
Italy, whither he went in the suite of his kinsman.
Cardinal du Bellay. We have seen how ill he was
pleased with that country, and yet how much he
learned from it. Another of his family, Eustache du
Bellay, Bishop of Paris, obtained for him in 1555, a
canonry in his church. He was carried off at an
early age by a fit of apoplexy, in January, 15G0 ;
and was buried in the church of Notre Dame.
Many epitaphs were made for him, in which he
F
66 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
was called Pater Elegantlarum ; Pater Omnium
Leporum.
He wrote Latin Poems that are not so much
esteemed as his French.
REMY BELLEAU.
The Painter of Nature was the appellation which
distinguished Remy Belleau among the poets of his
time ; and it is enough to obtain for him no ordinary
share of regard from those who know how much is
implied in that title, and how rare that merit is of
which it may be considered as a pledge. I have not
yet had the good fortune to meet with an edition
containing the whole of his works. That which I
have seen was printed during his life-time, with the
following title : Les Amours et nouveaux Eschanges
des Pierres precieuses ; Vertus et Proprietez d'icelles.
Discours de la Vanite, Pris de I'Ecclesiaste. Eclogues
Sacrees, Prises du Cantique des Cantiques. Par Remy
Belleau. A Paris par Mamert Patisson, au logis de
Rob. Estienne, 1576, avec pri\ilege du Roy. "The
Loves and new Transformations of the Precious
Stones ; their Virtues and Properties. Discourse on
Vanity, taken from Ecclesiastes. Sacred Eclogues,
taken from the Song of Songs, &c." There is
REMY BELLE AU. 67
in these sufficient to prove that Belleau was not
in the habit of looking at nature through the eyes of
other men ; that he did not content himself vrith
making copies of copies ; but that he drew from the
life, whenever he had such objects to describe as the
visible world could supply him with. Nor is this
the whole of his praise ; for he has also some fancy,
and a flow of numbers unusually melodious.
In the above collection, the first poem, on the
Loves and Transformations of the Precious Stones,
dedicated to Henry III., is on a plan not much more
happy than that of Darwin's Loves of the Plants.
Several of them are supposed to have been youths or
maidens, who, in consequence of adventures similar
to those invented by the poet of the Metamorphoses,
were changed into their present shape. Thus, in the
first of these tales, the nymph Amethyste, of whom
Bacchus is enamoured, prays to Diana for succour,
and by her is transformed into a stone, which the
god dyes piirple with the juice of the grape. A
description, which he has here introduced of the
jolly god with the Bacchantes in different attitudes
about his chariot, is executed with a luxuriance of
pencil that reminds one of Rubens.
D'un pie prompt et legier, ces foUes Bassarides
Environnent le char, I'une se pend aux brides
Des onces mouchettez d'estoiles sur le dos,
Onces a I'oeil subtil, au pie souple et dispos,
68 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
Au muffle herisse de deux longues moustaches :
L'autre met dextrement les tiOTes aux attaches
Tizonnez sur la j^eau, les couple deux-a-deux,
lis ronflent de colere, et -vont rouillant les yeux :
D'un fin drap d'or frise seme de perles fines
Les couvre jusqu'au flanc, les houpes a crepines
Flottent sur le genou ; plus humbles devenus
On agence leur queiie en tortillons menus. {F. 4.)
A train of Mfenads wanton'd round the car
With light and frolic step : one on the reins
Hung of the ounces speckled o'er with stars,
Of eye quick-glancing, and free supple foot,
The long mustaches bristling from their maws :
Another with quick hand the traces flung
Across the tygers of the streaky skin :
They yoked in pairs went snorting, and with ire
Their restless eye-balls roU'd. Fine cloth of gold.
Sown o'er with pearls, hung mantling to their side.
And at the knee the tassel'd fringes danced.
Then, as their pride abated, in quaint curls
They braid their wavy tails.
As a companion to this, I would place the fine pic-
ture of Cybele's chariot drawn by lions, as Keats
has painted it.
Forth from a rugged arch, in the dusk below,
Came mother Cybele ; alone, alone.
In sombre chariot ; dark foldings thrown
About her majesty, and front death -pale.
With turrets crown'd. Four maned lions hale
REMY BELLEAU. 69
The slusrsrish wheels ; solemn their toothed maws,
Their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy paws
Uplifted drowsily, and nervy tails
Cowering their ta^my brushes. {Endymion, p. 83.)
In this pictorial manner, there is an anomTnous
poem of extraordinary merit, which, I believe,
appeared first in the New Monthly Magazine. It is
called the Indian Circian. The writer of it, whoever
he may be, may well aspire to the title of the Painter
of Natvire.
To return to Belleau. Another of these httle
stories is built on the fable of Hyacinthus, whose
blood, when he is killed by Apollo, forms the jacinth,
at the same time that the nymph Chrysolithe, who
had requited his offered love with scorn, poisons her-
self, and is changed into the stone bearing her name.
The spot in which the boy meets his fate, when he
is playing at quoits with Phoebus, is a piece of land-
scape-painting, sweetly touched.
Iris being sent on one of her mistress's errands,
stays to refresh herself by the river Indus, where
she sees and becomes enamoured of Opalle ;
Opalle, grand Berger des troupeaux de Neptune.
(i^.27.)
" Great Shepherd that on Neptune's flocks did
tend."
He is dazzled and overpowered by the advances of
/O EARLY FRENCH POETS.
the wind-footed goddess, and falls into a swoon ; but
is recovered out of it. Juno, meantime, being
enraged at the delay of her handmaid, goes in search
of her, and discovers them together. He is changed
into a stone, of which Iris makes the opal.
While Venus hes asleep. Love, fluttering about
her, sees his own image reflected on the polished sur-
face of her nails. He sets himself to carve out
these mirrors with the point of one of his darts,
while she continues in her slumber ; and then flying
off with them, he lets them fall
" on the pearl'd sands
Of tawny Indus with the crisped locks.''
■ sur le sable perleux
De I'Indois basane sous ses crespes cheveux ;
where they are changed into onyx-stones.
To these fanciful Tales are appended directions for
distinguisliing artificial stones from the true, together
with some remarks on their medical properties, and
their uses against incantations and sorceries. It
scarcely need be told how bad an effect so incon-
gruous a mixture produces. When Belleau made
this addition, it is probable that the Greek poem on
Precious Stones, which goes under the name of
Orpheus, was in his view.
In addressing the twelve chapters of his Discourse
on Vanity, taken from Ecclesiastes, to Monseigneur
KEMY BELLEAU. 71
(the Duke d'Alengon), he tells that prince that his
brother (the late King, Charles IX.) being at Fon-
tainebleau, was so much pleased with it, that he had
made him read over the first four chapters several
times ; that the King's death, and a grievous malady
under which he had himself laboured, had inter-
rupted his design ; " but now being recovered," says
he, " I present this work to you." This was in
July, 1576. Having tuned the verses well, he has
done nearly all that could be expected of him in this
task. Much the same may be said of the Sacred
Eclogues, into which he has formed the Song of
Songs. Profaner love employed his muse at another
time ; for he translated the poems attributed to
Anacreon, which were then newly discovered, into
French verse.
Among his other poems, is the following Song on
April : havuig seen it much commended in the
accounts given of this poet by French writers of the
present day, I have obtained a transcript of it from a
public library in this comitry. If we compare it
with Spenser's Song in the Shepherd's Calendar,
April, we shall find some slight resemblance in the
measure, which would induce one to imagine that
Colin, though he calls it a lay.
Which once lie made as by a spring he lay,
And tuned it unto the water's fall,
72 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
had yet some snatches of this melody floating in his
ear, which mingled themselves with the wilder
music.
Avril, I'honneur et des bois,
Et des mois :
Avril, la douce esperance
Des fruicts qui sous le coton
Du bouton
Nourrissent leur jeune enfance.
Avril, I'honneur des prez verds,
Jaunes, pers,
Qui d'une humeur big-arree
Emaillant de mille fleurs
De couleurs,
Leur parure diapree.
Avril, I'honneur des soupirs
Des Zephyrs,
Qui sous le vent de leur selle
Dressent encore es forests
Des doux rets,
Pour ravir Flore la belle.
Avril, c'est ta douce main,
Qui du sein
De la nature desserre
Une moisson de senteurs,
Et de fleurs,
Embasmant I'Air, et la Terre.
KEMY BELLEAU. 73
Avril, I'honneur verdissant,
Florissant
Sur les tresses blondelettes
De ma Dame, et de son sein,
Tousjours plein
De mille et mille fleurettes.
Avril, la grace, etle ris
De Cypris,
Le flair et la douce haleine :
Avril, le parfum des Dieux,
Qui des Cieux
Sentent I'odeur de laplaine.
C'est toy courtois et gentil,
Qui d'exil
Retires ces passag-eres,
Ces arondelles qui vont,
Et qui sont
Du printemps les messag'eres.
L'aubespine et I'aiglantin,
Et le thym,
L'oeillet, le lis, et les roses
En ceste belle saison,
A foison,
Monstrent leurs robes ecloses.
Le g-entil rossignolet
Doucelet,
Decoupe dessous Fombrage,
Mille fredons babillars,
Fretillars,
Au doux chant de son ramage.
74 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
C'est a ton lieureux retour
Que I'amour
Souffle a dovicettes haleines,
Un feu croupi et couvert,
Que I'hyver
Heceloit dedans nos veines.
Tu vols en ce temps nouveau
L'essain beau
De ces pillardes avettes
VoUeter de fleur en fleur,
Pour I'odeur
Qu'ils mussent en leurs cuissettes.
May vantera ses fraisclieurs,
Ses fruicts meurs,
Et sa feconde rosee,
La manne et le sucre doux,
Le miel roux,
Dont sa grace est arrosee.
Maismoy je donne mavoix
A ce mois,
Qui prend le surnom de celle
Qui de I'escumeuse mer
Veit germer
Sa naissance maternelle.
{Les Oeuvres Poet'ujucs de Remy Bellcati, 2 Tomes.
Paris, 1585, La Premiere Journee de la Bergcrie,
p. 12G.)
KEMY BELLEAIJ. / O
April, sweet month, the daintiest of all,
Fair thee befal :
April, fond hope of fruits that lie
In buds of swathing cotton wrapt,
There closely lapt.
Nursing their tender infancy.
April, that dost thy yellow, green, and blue,
All round thee strew.
When, as thou go'st, the grassy floor
Is with a million flowers depeint,
Whose colours quaint
Have diaper'd the meadows o'er.
April, at whose glad coming Zephyrs rise
With whisper'd sighs.
Then on their light wing brush away.
And hang amid the woodlands fresh
Their aery mesh
To tangle Flora on her way.
April, it is thy hand that doth unlock,
From plain and rock.
Odours and hues, a balmy store,
That breathing lie on Nature's breast,
So richly blest.
That earth or heaven can ask no more.
April, thy blooms, amid the tresses laid
Of my sweet maid,
Adown her neck and bosom flow;
And in a wild profusion there,
Her shining hair
With them hath blent a golden glow.
7G EARLY FRENCH POETS.
April, the dimi^led smiles, the j^Iayful grace,
That in the face
Of Cytherea haunt, are thine ;
And thine the breath, that from their skies
The deities
Inhale, an offering' at thy shrine.
Tis thou that dost with summons blithe and soft,
Hig'h u]:) aloft,
From banishment these heralds bring-.
These swallows that along the air
Scud swift, and bear
Glad tidings of the merry spring.
April, the hawthorn and the eglantine,
Purple woodbine,
Streak'd pink, and lily-cup, and rose,
And thyme, and marjoram, are sjJreading,
Where thou art treading,
And their sweet eyes for thee unclose.
The little nightingale sits singing aye
On leafy spray,
And in her fitful strain doth run
A thousand and a thousand changes,
With voice that ranges
Through every sweet division.
April, it is when thou dost come again,
That love is fain
With gentlest breath the fires to wake.
That cover'd up and slumbering lay,
Through many a day.
When winter's chill our veins did slake.
REMY BELLEAU. 7/
Sweet month, thou seest at this jocund prime
Of the spring-time,
The hives pour out their lusty jovnig,
And hear'st the yellow bees that ply.
With laden thigh,
Murmuring the flowery wilds among.
May shall with pomp his wavy wealth unfold,
His fruits of gold,
His fertilizing dews, that swell
In manna on each spike and stem.
And, like a gem,
Red honey in the waxen cell.
Who will may praise him ; but my voice shall be,
Sweet month, for thee ;
Thou that to her dost owe thy name,
Who saw the sea-wave's foamy tide
Swell and divide,
Whence forth to life and light she came.
Kemy Belleau was born at Nogent-le-Rotrou, in le
Perche, 1528. Reue de Lorraine, Marquis of Elbeuf,
and General of the French Gallies, committed to him
the education of his son. He died in Paris, 1577.
Some one said of him, in allusion to the first of his
poems above-mentioned, that he was resolved to con-
struct himself a monument of precious stones.
Besides the editions of his works which I have
referred to, there is said to be one printed at Rouen,
1604. 2 vols. 8vo.
78 EABLY FRENCH POETS.
JAN ANTOINE DE BAIF.
Both those, of whom I have last spoken, Bellay
and Belleau, belonged to that cluster of poets, to
which was given the name of the French Pleiad,
lodelle, Thyard, Dorat, and Ronsard, were four
others in this constellation ; and Jan Antoine de
Baif made the seventh, whose lustre, if it were pro-
portioned to the number of verses he has left, would
outshine most of them. But as it is rather by the
virtue than the bulk of such luminaries that we
appreciate their excellence, he must be satisfied with
an inferior place. The chief thing that can be said
of him, I think, is that there is much ease in his
manner. But this is not enough to carry us through
so many books as I have to record the titles of under
his name. It is said that no one has had the courage
to read them all since his death.
Les Amours de Jan Antoine de Baif. Paris.
Pour Lucas Breyer, 1572. 2 vols. 8vo.
There is what appears to be the same edition with
his Passetems added.
In the prefaratory address to the Duke of Anjou,
afterwards Heniy III. he speaks of the French poets
who have sung of love. They are Bellay, Thyard,
Ilonsard, Belleau, to whom he says,
JAN AXTOINE DE BAIF. / i)
Belleau gentil, qui d'esquise peinture
Soigneusement imites la nature,
Tu consacras de tes vers la plus part
De C}i;heree au petit fils mig-nard.
' Gentle Belleau, \^•ho dost diligently copy nature
with exquisite painting, thou hast consecrated the
greater part of thy verses to the darling child of
Venus.' To these he adds Desportes.
Of the four books of his Franciue (the name of his
mistress), and of his three other books, Des Diverses
Amours, there is very little by which I could hope
to please my readers. They will, I doubt not, think
the foUomng sonnet enough.
TJn jour quand de l'y\-er I'ennuieuse froidure
S'attedist, faisant place au printemps gracieux,
Lors que tout rit aux champs, et que les prez joyeux,
Peignent de belles fleurs leur riante verdure :
Pres du Clain tortueus sous une roche obscure
Un doux somme ferma d'un doux lien mes yeux,
Voyci en mon dormant une clairte des cieux
Venir I'ombre emflamer d'une lumiere pure.
Voyci venir des cieux sous I'escorte d'Amour,
Neuf nymphes qu'on eust dist estre toutes jumelles :
En rond aupres de moy elles firent un tour.
Quand I'une, me tendant de myrte un verd chapeau,
Me dit : chante d' amour d'autres chansons nouvelles,
Et tu pourras monter a nostre saint coupeau.
80 EARLY FRENCH POETS,
On a day, as the winter, relaxing Ms spleen,
Grewwarm and gave way to the frolicksome spring,
When all laughs in the fields, and the gay meadows
fling
A shower of sweet buds o'er their mantle of green,
'Twas then in a cave by the wild crankling Clain
I lay, and sleep shadow'd me o'er with his wing.
When a lustre shone round, as some angel did bring
A torch that its light from the sun-beams had ta'en ;
And lo ! floating downwards, escorted by Love,
Nine maids, who methought from one birth might
have sprung ;
And they circled around me and hover'd above,
When one held forth a wreath of green myrtle inwove ;
See, she cried, that of love some new ditty be sung,
And with us thou shalt dwell in our heavenly grove.
He has formed some of these pieces on the model
of the Italian canzone, with an envoi at the end.
Besides these are nine books which he calls simply
his poems. In the concluding address to his book,
he has given a portrait of himself.
Another of his publications is, Les Jeux de Jan
Antoine de Bai'f. Paris. Pour Lucas Breyer. 1573.
8vo. It contains nineteen Eclogues ; Antigone,
translated from Sophocles ; two comedies, le Brave
and I'Eunuque, the latter from Terence ; and Neuf
Devis de Dieux pris de Lucian, nine Dialogues of the
Gods, from Lucian. The Eclogues are, for the most
part, taken from Theocritus or Virgil. They seem
JAN ANTOINE DE BAIF. 81
to me among the most pleasing of his poems ; but
are sometimes less decorous than one could vnsh.
'Etre'nes de Poe'zie Fransoeze an vers mezure's,
&c. &c. par Jan Antoine de Baif. Denys du Val.
1574. 8vo. This is a whimsical attempt to imitate
the heroic and lyrical measures of the ancients, and
at the same time to introduce a new mode of ortho-
graphy, accommodated to the real pronimciatiou.
The book contains, besides a few odes, translations of
the works and days of Hesiod, the golden verses of
Pythagoras, the admonitory' poem that goes imder
the name of Phocylides, and the Nuptial Advice of
Naumachius.
Of what he calls iambi(ces trimetres nokadases, the
foUowng compliment to Belleau may be taken as a
sample : —
A toe/ Ki 8vrier peins le vre,, j an til Belea,
Nature ^er^-ant Kontrefer an son naif,
Ki restes des miens (companon plus ans'ien.
" To thee, g-entle Belleau, artist that dost paint the
truth, seeking- to counterfeit nature to the life, who
remainest the oldest associate among my friends, &c."
Some years before, Claudio Tolommei had en-
deavoured to naturalize the ancient metres in the
Italian tongue, but with no better success.
Jan Antoine de Baif, the natural son of Lazare de
Baif, Abbot of Grenetiere, was born in 1532, at
G
82 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Venice, where his father was ambassador. He was
much addicted to music ; and his concerts were
attended by the kings Charles IX. and Henry III.
I learn from a passage in Burney's History of Music
(vol. iii. p. 263), referred to by Mr. AValker in his
memoir on Italian Tragedy, Appendix, p. xix. that
Baif usually set his own verses to music. The
friendship which Ronsard entertained, for both him
and Belleau, will appear in the account that will be
given of that poet. He died in 1592. Cardinal du
Perron said of him, that he was a very good man,
and a very bad poet. We shall have occasion to
estimate the Cardinal's own pretensions in this way.
JAN DE LA PERUSE.
The works of Jan de la Peruse, one of those con-
temporary writers whom we shall see distinguished
by Ronsard, were edited by Claude Binet, the affec-
tionate friend of both. He has prefixed a preface to
them, and added some verses of his own. The title
of this book is, " Les Oeuvres de Jan de la Peruse,
avec quelques autres diverscs Poesies de Claude
Binet." A Lyon. Par BcnoistRigaud, 1.577. l6mo.
The first poem is Medee, a tragedy. It is a mixture
of twelve syllable verses ; the common verse, teu ;
JAN DE LA PERUSE. 83
and lyrical, by the chorus. The opening is from
Seneca ; but he has not servilely followed either that
writer or Euripides. His odes, in the Pindaric style,
are much worse than Ronsard's. The most striking
tiling I have observed in the collection is an ode that
was written in his last illness, and which death pre-
vented him from finishing.
Quelque part que je me tourne,
Tristesse avec moi sejourne ;
Tousiours mes tristes espris
Sont d'une frayeur espris.
Si je suis en la campagne
J'oy une mortelle voix,
Le mesme son m'accompagiie
Si je suis dedans les bois.
En quelque lieu que je soye
II n'y eutre jamais joy e.
Si je vois dans un hostel
C'est un presage mortel.
Si des hommes je m'absente,
Cherchant les lieux esloignez,
Par le hibou qui lamente
Mes malheurs sont temoignes.
Si pres des fleuves j 'arrive
Soudain I'eau, laissant la rive,
En fuyant devant mon mal,
Se cache dans son canal.
84 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
L'oiseau sur la seiche espine
Sans dire mot est perche,
Et le lieu ou je chemine
Seiche comme il est touche.
Si quelque amy d'aventure,
Plein de pitie, s'aventure
De me venir conforter,
II sent ses sens transporter
Par une tristesse extreme.
II sent un ennuy, un soin,
Et le pauvret a lui mesme
De bon confort grand besoin.
Unto whatever part I turn,
Sorrow with me abides ;
And, creeping o'er my spirit, still,
A secret terror glides.
A deadly sound is in mine ears.
If in the field I be ;
The self-same sound pursueth still,
When to the woods I flee.
Whatever house I enter in,
Mirth will no longer stay ;
A sad presage, whereso I come,
Makes aU men haste away.
And if the people's haunts I shun.
Seeking a lonely place,
The owl shrieks out in witness to
My lamentable case.
JAN DE LA PERUSE. 85
If to the river side I g-o,
And stand upon the brink ;
Sudden the waters, fleeing me,
Within their channel shrink.
The bird upon the dry thorn sits,
And not a word saith he :
The very pathway, that I tread.
Dries up when touch'd by me.
If any friend perchance do come
In pity of my plight,
To comfort me ; he straightway feels
Himself a wretched wig'ht.
'to'
A carking care, a woe extreme,
Upon his heart do feed ;
And he himself thenceforth, poor man,
Of comfort much hath need.
This is natural and pathetic. Jan de la Peruse,
from the few poems he has left, seems to have been
an amiable man, warmly attached to his friends, and
not very solicitous to court the notice of the powerful.
I have learnt nothing more concerning him, than that
he was born at Angouleme, and died there in 1.555,
in the prime of his life.
86 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
PIERRE DE RONSARD.
There is no poet I am acquainted with, ancient
or modern, who has impressed his own character so
minutely and strongly on his writmgs as Ronsard.
His loyalty to his sovereigns, accompanied by the
most perfect frankness ; the openness of his heart,
equally disposed to form friendships, and constant in
preserving them ; Ms generosity and placabihty ; his
great learning, that unhappily served, for the most
part, only to make him ridiculous ; the high value
he set on his noble birth,* which, as he said, enabled
him to imitate Pmdar, when Horace had failed in
the attempt on account of his wanting that advan-
tage ; his gallantry, made up of pedantry and pas-
sion ; his hearty love of the country in its natural
and miembellished state ; his zeal for the poetic art, to
which every thing else was subordinate; — all these,
like so many quarterings in a coat of armour, are on
his pages blazoned at full, and in their proper colours.
From the account which his affectionate friend Claude
Biuet has given of his life, corrected by such notices
as he has left of himself, I have extracted some of
* Odes, B. ]. 0. xi. Epode iv.
PIERRE DE ROXSARD. 87
the principal incidents, and shall place them here as
the best introduction to the remarks which I have to
make on his writings.
Pierre de Ronsard, descended from a noble family,
was bom on Saturday the eleventh of September,
1524, the year in which Francis I. was made prisoner
in the battle of Pana.* The first of his ancestors
who came into France, was the younger son of an
opulent and powerful nobleman settled on the banks
of the Danube. This man, incited by a spirit of
enterprise, left his home with a band of companions,
who, like himself, were yomiger brothers ; and
entering into the service of Philip of Valois, then at
war with the English, satisfied the French king so
well, that he was rewarded with an ample estate on
the banks of the Loire, where he and his posterity
conthiued to reside. The father of our poet was
thought a fit person to accompany Heniy, the son
of Francis I. when he was sent as an hostage for his
father into Spain ; and to be entrusted with the
management of the young prince's household. Pierre,
who was the sixth son, ha-s-ing been brought up till
he was nine years old at the Chateau de la Poissoniere,
his native place, in the lower Vendomois, was then
sent to the Royal College of Navarre at Paris ; but
not bearing the restraint laid on him by his preceptors,
he was brought by his father to Avignon, and placed
* See his twentieth Elegy, addressed to Remy Belleau.
88 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
in the service of Francis, eldest son of the French
king. That prince dying soon after, Ronsard was
transferred to the train of his brother Charles, Duke
of Orleans, by whom he was again passed over to
the retinue of James V. king of Scotland, who had
come to marry Madelaine, daughter of the French
king. By James he was taken to Scotland, where
he passed two years and a half. He then spent six
months in England, where he learnt our language ;
and afterwards returned to his former master the
Duke of Orleans, who now retained him as his
page. Being master of the accomplishments usual
at his age, he was despatched on some affairs to
Flanders and Zealand, whence he was charged to
proceed on a mission to Scotland. On his second
visit to that country, he narrowly escaped shipwreck.
He returned at the early age of sixteen. Henry,
who was afterwards king, then placed him in the
suite of Lazare de Baif, who at that time was am-
bassador to the Diet at Spires. On this journey he
acquired the German language. His next service to
his country led him to Piedmont, with the Capitaine
de Langey. But these exertions were disproportioned
to his time of life, and occasioned a fever, with a
defluxion on the brain, that in the end deprived him
of his hearing. This misfortune, however, served
only to determine him to the pursuit of those studies
to which he had not hitherto had time to apply
himself. His love of letters is said to have been
TIEKRE DE RONSAUD. 89
awakened by one of his brother pages, who had
always a Tirgil in his hand, and who used to explain
to him passages in that poet. In the Preface to the
Franciade, he says, that his master at school had
taught him Virgil ; and that ha\'iug learnt him by
heart from his infancy, he could not forget him. To
the Latin poet he now added Jean le Maire de Beiges,
the Romant de la Rose, and the works of Clement
Marot. By Dorat, who was the preceptor of young
BaTf, Ronsard was encoiu-aged to the study of Greek,
in which he made such a proficiency, as to translate
the Prometheus of ^Eschylus ; at the same time
asking his master, why he had so long kept such
treasures concealed from him ? His next attempt
was a version of the Plutus of Aristophanes, part of
w^hich still remains. It was represented on the
French theatre ; and from such a beginning, we can,
in some measure, account for the excellence at which
the French have since arrived in this species of com-
position. He was next desirous of trying his strength
with Pindar, whose manner he was so studious of imi-
tating, that he drew on himself the sarcasms of his
contemporaries. So far did he carry his admiration
of every thing that had the most remote connection
with his favourite poets of Greece, that he is said to
have been influenced in the choice of a mistress to
celebrate in his verses, by the accidental circumstance
of her bearing the name of Cassandra, the daughter
90 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
of Priam. But in the Epistle to Remy Belleau, he
leaves it doubtful whether this was the real or fic-
titious name of a young lady, of whom he became
enamoured when he was following the court at Blois.
His idolatry for the antients was not such as to
make him neglect the means which his own covmtry
afforded him for enriching its vernacular tongue.
He is said, like Burke, to have visited the shops of
artisans, and to have made himself acquainted with
all sorts of handicrafts, in order that he might learn
the different terms which were employed in them,
and derive illustrations whereby to diversify and
ornament his diction. In his Abrege de I'Art Poe-
tique, and in the Preface to the Franciade, he himself
recommends this practice ; and at the same time
advises the poet to appropriate the most significant
words that he can collect from the different dialects
of France.
About 1549, on his return from Poitiers to Paris,
he chanced to fall in with Joachim du Bellay ; and
joining together on the journey, the fellow-travellers
were so much pleased with one another, that they
determined to reside under the same roof. In this
party, Jan Antoine de Baif made a third. It did
not, however, continue uninterrupted by jealousy.
Ronsard accused Bellay of wishing to forestal the
favour of the public, by a collection of poems which
he had closely copied from some of his own. He
PIEREE DE EONSARD. 91
even instituted a suit, as Binet relates, for the recovery
of some papers, of which du Bellay had surreptitiously
obtained possession for this purpose, and gained his
cause. But so Uttle resentment was harboured on
either side, that they renewed the intimacy ; and
Ronsard encouraged his rival to the cultivation of
the art to which he was himself so much attached,
by means at once more honourable, and more likely
to ensure success— namely, by trusting to the re-
sources of his own mind. Another instaxace of his
noble temper showed itself in his forgiveness of
Mellin de Saint Gelais, who, after ha-^-ing disparaged
the works of Ronsard, as he had reason to beUeve,
in the presence of the King, afterwards sought his
friendship ; whereupon the injured poet not only
altered a passage in one of his poems, in which he
had expressed his sense of this malignity, but
honoured him with those praises to which he thought
the merit of Saint Gelais entitled him.-'= In answer
to the charges brought against him of obscurity and
unconnectedness, he haughtily declared his indif-
ference to the taste of the vulgar ; and compared his
* In the Odes, L. iv. O. xxi. it appears that Melliu
had disavowed the calumnies which it was reported that
he had uttered in the presence of the King against
Ronsard ; and that their friendship was restored.
92 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
enemies at the court to clogs that bite at the stone
which they cannot digest.
Mais que ferai-je a ce vulgaire,
A qui jamais je n'ay sceu plaire,
Ny ne plais, ny plaire ne veux ?
L. V. 0. ii.
At the end of ten years he quitted his Cassandra,
thinking, perhaps, that having stood as long a siege
as Troy without yielding, there was no farther
chance of winning her affections. A young damsel
of Anjou, named Mary, was the next object of his
poetical courtship. To her he altered his style, and
condescended to speak his passion in plainer terms.
Margaret, Duchess of Savoy, is said to have changed
the opinion of the French King with respect to the
merit of Ronsard, and to have done it so effectually,
that the monarch afterwards thought himself honoured
by possessing so great a genius in his dominions ;
and gave proofs that he did so, by the honours and
pensions which he conferred on him, though not in
such measure as to satisfy the expectations of Ron-
sard. The sage Michel de I'Hopital, Chancellor to
this lady, as he afterwards was of France, also vmder-
took his defence ; and wrote a Latin poem in his
praise. In return, Ronsard addressed a long and
laboured ode (the tenth of the first book) to I'Ho-
pital. The Cardinal de Chatillon, Charles Cardinal
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 93
of Lorraine, and other great men of the day, now
enlisted themselves in the number of his patrons and
friends ; and the Presidents of the Jeux Floraux,
not thinking the customary prize of the eglantine
sufficient for his deserts, sent him a figure of
INIinerva in silver, which he presented to the King.
At the death of Henry II. and during the reli-
gious dissensions which followed at the succession of
Francis II. Ronsard, in his defence of the established
form of worship, exposed himself to some rough
treatment from the Reformers. Amongst other
things, they accused him of heathenism, for ha\-ing
assisted at the sacrifice of a he-goat ; an affair that
turned out to be a frolic, in which he and some of
his Hterary companions engaged, in consequence of
a tragedy by Jodelle being represented before the
King. However he might think himself bound to
support the ancient religion of his country, that he
was no bigot I am disposed to believe from the
following lines in an Ode to one of his friends : —
Ne romps ton tranquille repos
Pour Papaux ny pour Huguenots,
Ni amy d'eux, ni adversaire,
Croyant que Dieu Pere tres-dous
(Qui n'est partial comme nous)
Scait ce qui nous est necessaire.
L. V. 0. xxviii.
94 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
Break not thy peace, nor care a jot
For Papist or for Huguenot,
Nor counting either friends or foes.
Thy trust in God alone repose,
Who, not like us with partial care.
Bids all a Father's blessing share.
When the short reign of Francis 11. was termi-
nated by the death of that King, his brother,
Charles IX. did not suffer Ronsard to quit him, by
which the poet was much gratified. Amongst other
subjects to which Charles directed his pen, were such
vices in his people as he should think deserving of
his satire, at the same time, desiring him not to spare
what he found worthy of reprehension in himself.
Ronsard was hardy enough to take him at his word,
and so fortunate as to escape the fate which befel the
monitor of the Archbishop of Grenada. The King
in his turn kept the bard in good order, declaring
that poets were to be used like good steeds, to have
sufficient food allowed them, but not to be pampered.
The comtiers availed themselves of the fertility of
his Muse ; and borrowed his pen for the celebration
of their mistresses. The Queen Mother, Catherine
de' Medici, chrected him to make choice of one of
the ladies of the chamber, whose name was Helene
de Surgeres, descended of a Spanish family, to
receive the homage of liis own person, and bade him
address her in the pure and refined style of Petrarch,
PIEraiE DE RONSAKD. 95
as most suitable to his age and gravity. Between
the discipline thus imposed on him by his royal
master and mistress, it is likely that the poet must
have felt himself mider some constraint. He con-
tinued, howeAcr, to warble many a sonnet in his
cage ; and as a reward of his submission and docility,
was presented with the Abbey of Bellozane, and
some priories. At the succession of Henry III. to
whom he used the same freedom as he had done to
his predecessor, he complained that he was no longer
caressed, as he had been by Charles. He found
some consolation in the attentions of the two rival
queens, Elizabeth of England, and Mary Stewart, —
the former of whom compared him to a valuable
diamond of wliich she made him a present, — and
the latter, from her prison, sent him in 1.583, two
years before his death, a casket containing two
thousand crowns, together with a vase representing
Parnassus and Pegasus, and inscribed —
A Ronsard I'ApoUon de la Source des Muses.
" To Ronsard, Apollo of the Muses' Fountain."
During the latter part of his life he was much
afflicted with the gout. The Sieur Galland, chief of
the Academy of Boncourt, was the friend in whose
society he now found most comfort, calling him his
"second soul." To him, on the twenty-second of
October before his death, he wrote : — " Qu'il etoit
96 EARLY FEENCH POETS,
devenu fort foible et maigre depuis quinze joui's,
qu'il craignit que les feuilles d'Automne ne le ^issent
tomber avec elles ; que la volonte de Dieu soit faite,
et qu'aussi bien parmi tant de douleurs nerveux, ne
se pouvant soutenir, il n'etoit plus qu'un inutile far-
deau sur la terre, le priant au reste de Taller trouver,
estimant sa presence lui etre un remede." "That
for the last fortnight he had become very emaciated
and feeble ; that he feared the leaves of Autumn
would see him fall with them; that his prayer,
however, was God's will be done ; and that, more-
over, not being able to support himself amid such
nervous pangs as he endured, he was no longer any
thing but a useless burthen to the earth ; for the
rest, that he entreated him to come and see him, for
that he thought his presence would be a cordial to
him." Hoping for some ease from change of place
and objects, he removed from one of his benefices to
another. His piety was fervent and unremitting ;
and his repentance for the excesses of his earlier Ufe,
into which the court had led him, earnest and
sincere. He manifested no uneasiness, except in a
frequent desire, which accompanied him to the last,
of dictating the verses that presented themselves to
liis mind. The last were two sonnets, in which he
exhorted his spirit to confidence in his Sa\iour ; and
thus he expired on the twenty-seventh of December,
1585, with his hands joined in prayer.
PIERRE DE ROXSARD. ^1
According to his omi directions, he was buried in
the choir of the church of Saint Cosme en I'lsle,
one of liis priories, where he died. — Claude Binet
caused, as he says, a httle monument to be erected,
on which the following epitaph was inscribed : —
Y^6a\ioc, (iKOfffiOQ 'f.r\v, ore KoafiioQ 6 Pwvo-ap^oc
l\.6(jfiuv ktcvafirjaev k6(THU) twv CTrewv.
Nuv ci ^avovTOQ tyti rvfifioQ Koafia hi vaw
'OWa* rrjc ^//jUfjg fxviifia Si Koajxog 6\oq.
This is such a string of puns as, if they were once
slipped out of their Greek setting, it would be impos-
sible to thread again.
His biographer observes, that Europe lost several
of her most illustrious men about the same time : one
of them was Antoine de iSIuret, whom Ronsard had
reckoned among his friends, and who imited with
Remy Belleau in vrriting annotations on his poems.
The French poets, whom he esteemed as having
begmi to write well in that language, were Maurice
Sceve, Hugues Salel, Antoine Heroet, Mellin de Samt
Gelais, Jacques Pelletier, and Guillaume Autels. To
them succeeded a set of writers who were in some
measure, though older some of them than himself,
influenced by his example, and who have been already
mentioned as constituting, together with him, the
French Pleiad. Others, whom he highly esteemed
were Estieime Pasquier ; OliA-ier de Magny ; Jean de
H
98 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
la Peruse ; Amadis Jamyii, whom lie had educated as
his page ; Robert Gamier, a tragic writer ; Florent
Chrestien ; Scevole de Saiute Marthe ; Jean Passerat ;
Philippe Desportes ; the Cardinal du Perron ; and
Bertaud. Among those learned foreigners who paid
their tribute to the excellence of Ronsard, occur the
distinguished names of Juhus Csesar Scaliger, Pietro
Vettori, and Sperone Speroni.
His conversation is said to have been easy and
pleasant. He was himself free, open, and simple ; and
associated willingly with none who were otherwise,
being a declared enemy to every thing like affectation.
In short Claude Binet considered him in manners and
appearance, as the model of a true French gentleman.
His usual residence was at Sainte Cosme, a delight-
ful spot, (I'oeillet de laTouraine,) the pink of Touraine,
itself the garden of France ; or at Bourgueil, where
he went for the sake of sporting, in which he took
great pleasure ; and here he kept the dogs given him
by Charles IX., a falcon, and a goshawk (un teircelet
d'autour) . Another of his amusements was gardening,
in which he had considerable skill. When at Paris,
his favourite retirements were at Meudou, for the sake
of the woods and the Seine ; or at Gentilly, Hercueil,
Saint Cloud, and Vanves, for the sake of the rivulet
of Bievre and its fountains. He took delight also in
the sister arts of painting, sculpture, and music, and
was skilled enough in the latter to sing his own verses.
PIERRE DE RON SARD. 99
The poems that stand first in his collection are the
Amours de Cassandre, consisting, besides a few other
pieces, of two hundred and twenty-two sonnets, one
only of which is in the Alexandrine, the rest are in
the vers communs, or deca-syllabick measure. In the
Preface to the Franciade he says, that he had changed
his mind as to the Alexandrine measure, which he
no longer considered as the proper heroic. His rea-
son is, that it savours too much of an extremely easy
prose, and is too enervated and flagging ; except it be
for translations, in which it is useful on account of
its length, for expressing the sense of an author. He
thought differently when he wrote his Art Poetique,
as may be seen by referring to the chapter on versifi-
cation.
Ronsard must sometimes have puzzled Cassandra,
unless she was tolerably learned, and well read in
Aristotle. Thus in Sonnet 68, he asks her —
O lumiere ! enrichie
D'un feu divin, qui m'ard si vivement,
Pour me donner I'etre et le mouvement,
Etes vous pas ma seul entelechie 1
" O light ! in whom I see
The fire divine, that burns me to bestow
Whate'er of being or of life I know,
Say art not thou my sole entelechy ?"
In the 1 04th, he reminds her of the violation of
her person by Ajax, the son of Oileus.
100 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
His attempt to mould the French language to the
purposes of poetrj' did not succeed. When, in imita-
tion of Petrarch, he says —
Le seul Avril, de son jeune printemps
Endore, emperle, enfrange notre temps.
Son. 121.
Vedi quant' arte 'ndora e'mperla e'nnostra
L'abito eletto.
the French being the language of Europe, will not
easily endure such innovations as these, which tend to
make it less generally intelligible.
The fifty-second sonnet is no unfavoiirable specimen
of his Platonic manner : —
Avant qu' Amour du Chaos ocieux
Ouvrit le sein qui couvoit la lumiere,
Avec la terre, avec I'onde premiere,
Sans art, sans forme etoient brouillez les cieux.
Tel mon esprit de rien industrieux,
Dedans mon corps, lorde et grosse matiere,
Erroit sans forme et sans figure entiere,
Quand I'arc d' Amour le perca par tes yeux.
Amour rendit ma nature parfaite,
Pure par lui mon essence s'est faite,
II m'en donna la vie et le pouvoir.
II echauffa tout mon sang de sa flame,
Et m'emportant de son vol, fit mouvoir
Avecques lui mes pensees et mon ame.
PIERRE DE TIONSARD. 101
Or ever Love drew fortli the slumbering* light,
That in the bosom of old Chaos lay,
Earth, sea, and sky, without its primal ray,
Were in blank ruin sunk and formless night :
So, whelm'd in sloth, erewhile, my heavy sj^right
Did in a dull and senseless body stray.
Scarce life enough to stir the lumpish clay.
Till from thine eyes Love's arrow inerc'd my sight.
Then was I quicken'd ; and, by Love inform'd, C"
My being to a new perfection came : v
His influence my blood and spirits warm'd ;
And, as I mounted this low world above, t!
Following in thought and soul his sacred flame.
Love was my being, and my essence Love.
■o
1^
The fifty-ninth is an imitation of Bembo. There is
more elasticity and freedom in the copy than m the
original.
Comma un chevreiiil, quand le printemps detruit
Du froid hyver la poignante gelee.
Pour mieux brouter la fueille emmiellee,
Hors de son bois avec I'aube s'enfuit:
E seul, e seur, loin de chieus et de bruit.
Or sur un mont, or dans une valee,
Or pres d'une onde a I'escart recelee,
Libre s'egaye oii son pied le conduit :
De rets ne d'arcs sa liberte n'a crainte ;
Sinon alors que sa vie est atteiute
D'un trait sanglant, que le tient en langeur.
102 EARLY FRENCH POETS,
Ainsi j'allois sans espoir de dommag'e,
Le jour qu'un oeil sur TAvril de mon ag-e
Tira d'un coup mille traits en mon coeur.
Si come suol, poi che'l verno asjDro e rio,
Parte e da loco alia station mig-liori,
Uscir col giorno la cervetta fuori
Del suo dolce boschetto almo natio :
Ed or su per un coUe, or lungo un rio
Lontana dalle case e dai pastori,
Gir secura pascendo erbetta e fiori
Ovunque piu la porta il suo desio :
Ne teme di saetta o d'altro inganno,
Se non quand' ella e colta in mezzo il fianco
Da buon arcier che di nascosto scoccbi.
Cosi senza temer futuro afFanno
Moss' io, Donna, quel di cbe bei vostri occbi
M' impiagar lasso tutto '1 lato manco.
As when fresh sjiring apparels wood and plain,
Forth from his native lair, a tender fawn
Issues alone and careless, if the dawn
Gin the grey east with flecker'd crimson stain ;
And all unheeding of the hunter's train.
Wherever through his roving fancy drawn,
By lake or river, hill or flowery lawn,
Sports with light foot, and feeds and sports again ;
Nor aught he fears from meshes or from bow,
Till to his liver a fleet arrow sped
Has pierced, and panting on the earth he lies : —
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 103
In my life's April thus wont I to go,
Of harm unfearing-, where my fancy led,
Ere the dart reached me from her radiant eyes.
The hundred and sLxty-second, to Baif, proves his
high esteem for that writer, whom we have seen so
much disparaged.
Pendant, Baif, que tu frapes au but
De la vertu, qui n'a point de seconde,
Et qu'a longs traits tu t'enyvres de I'onde,
Que I'Ascrean entre les Muses but ;
Ici banni, ou le mont de Sabut
Charge de vins son epaule feconde,
Pensif, je voy la fuite vagabonde
Du Loir qui traine en la mer son tribut.
Ores un antre, ores un bois sauvage,
Ores me plait le secret d'un rivage.
Pour essayer de tromper mon ennui ;
Mais je ne puis, quoique seul je me tienne,
Faire qu'Amour m'accompagnant ne vienne
Parler a moi, et moi toujours alui.
The conclusion of this is from Petrarch :—
Ma pur si aspre vie e si selvagge
Cercar non so, ch'Amor non venga sempre
Ragionando con meco, ed io con lui ;
where the variety in the metre gives the Italian poet
a striking advantage over Ronsard.
104 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
Baif, who, second in our age to none,
Dost with free step to Virtue's summit mount,
While thou allay'st thine ardour at the fount
Of Ascra, where the Muses met their son ;
An exile I, where sloping' to the sun
Rich Sabut lifts his grape-empurpled mount
Am fain to waste mine hours, and pensive count
Loire's wand'ring waves as ocean-ward they run.
And oft, to shun my cares, the haunt I change ;
Now linger in some nook the stream beside,
■ Now seek a wild wood, now a cavern dim.
But all avails not : whereso'er I range.
Love still attends, and ever at my side
Conversing with me walks, and I with him.
There is more nature and passion in the two
hundred and fourteenth sonnet, which begins —
Quand je te voy, discourant a par toy,
than I have observed in any of the others.
The Second Book of his Amours, which contains,
besides other short poems, eighty sonnets, is devoted
to the praises of his Marie, the last thirteen being
written after her death. It is confessedly in a more
familiar style than the First Book ; yet is filled with
images drawn from the heathen mythology.
J'aime la fleur de Mars, j'aime la belle rose,
L'une qui est sacree a Venus la deesse,
L'autre qui a le nom de ma belle Maistresse,
Pour qui trouble d'esprit en pais je ne repose.
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 105
J'aime trois oiselets, Fun qui sa plume arrose
De la pluye cle May, et vers le ciel se dresse :
L'autre qui veuf au bois lamente sa destresse :
L'autre qui pour son fils mille versets compose.
J'aime un i^in de Bourgueil, ou Venus appendit
Ma jeune liberte, quaiid pris elle rendit
Mon coeur, que doucement un bel ceil emprisonne.
J'aime un beau laurier de Phebus I'arbrisseau,
Dont ma belle Maistresse, en pliant un rameau
Lie de ses cbeveux, me fit un couronne.
Le Second Livre des Amours. Son. 28.
Two flowers I love, the INIarcb-flower and tbe rose.
The lovely rose that is to Venus dear,
The March-flower that of her the name doth bear,
Who will not leave my spirit in repose :
Three birds I love ; one, moist with ]\Iay-dew, goes
To dry his feathers in the sun-shine clear ;
One for his mate laments throughout the year,
And for his child the other wails his woes :
And Bourgueil's pine I love, where Venus hung,
For a proud trophy on the darksome bough,
Ne'er since releas'd, my youthful liberty :
And Phoebus' tree love I, the laurel tree,
Of whose fair leaves, my mistress, when I sung,
Bound with her locks a garland for my brow.
In one of his odes (Book v. O. xi.) he again ex-
presses his preference for these two flowers, the rose,
and the violet, which he calls the flower of March,
and supposes to bear the name of his Marie. That
106 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
the lark was Ms favovirite bird, appears from a pas-
sage in his Gayetez : —
Alouette,
Ma doucelette mig-nolette,
Qui plus qu'un rossignol me plais
Qui chante en un bocage epais.
After a few sonnets and madrigals on another lady,
whom he calls Astree, and of whom we are not told
whether she was of the Queen Mother's choosing or
his own, we proceed to his two books of sonnets on
Helene. These are a hundred and forty-two in
number. He begins with swearing to her by her
brothers Castor and Pollux ; by the vine that enlaced
the elm ; by the meadows and woods, then sprouting
into verdure (it was the first day of May) ; by the
young Spring, eldest son of Nature ; by the crystal
that rolled along the streams ; and by the nightingale,
the miracle of birds, — that she should be his last
venture.
Ce premier jour de May, Helene je vous jure
Par Castor, par Pollux, vos deux freres jumeaux,
Par la vig'ne enlassee a I'entour des ormeaux,
Par les prez, par les bois herissez de verdure,
Par le nouveau printemps fils aisne de nature,
Par le crystal qui roule au giron des ruisseaux,
Et par le rossig'nol miracle des oiseaux,
Que seule vous serez ma derniere avanture.
Son. 1.
PIfiRRE DE ROXSARD. 107
Whether she was so or not, does not, I think,
appear ; but it was full time, for he was about fifty
years old. There is, however, another short book,
entitled Amours Diverses ; and besides this, a large
gleanmg of sonnets and odes, many of them on the
same subject, which he did not think worth gather-
ing ; but which his editors were careful enough to
pick up and store along vnth. the rest. Amongst
these are some, which for more reasons than one I
cannot recommend to the notice of my reader. We
will pass them, and go on to his odes.
These may be di\'ided into two classes ; some, in
which he has imitated the ancients ; and others, that
are the oifspring of liis own feelings and fancy. In
the former, mihappily the larger number, Anacreon,
Pindar, Callimachus, Horace, are all laid under con-
tribution by turns, and that with no sparing hand.
It was in his abiUty to transfuse the spirit of the old
Theban into Gallic song, or as he called it, to Pindarise,
that he most prided himself, and it was here that he
most egregiously failed.
Si des mon enfance
Le premier en France
J'ai Pindarise,
De telle entreprise
Heureusement prise
Je me voy prise.
108 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Nothing can well be more unlike the poet, whom
he boasts to have introduced into his own language,*
than this tripping measure. As for the music of
Pindar, indeed, that was out of the question. It
was not in the power of the French, nor perhaps of any
other language, to return even a faint echo of it.
But those who are acquainted with that poet, know
that another of his distinctions consists, not only in
the hardiness of his metaphors, but in the no less
light than firm touch with which he handles them.
One instance will be enough to show how ill Ronsard
has represented this characteristic of his model.
Pindar, speaking of a man who had not, through
neglect or forgetfulness, his task to do when it ought
to have been already done, says, that "he did not
come, bringing with him Excuse, the daughter of
Afterthought ;" or literally, " of the late-minded
Epimetheus."
* At the beginning- of the next century, there was a
translation of all Pindar into French, partly in prose
and partly in verse. It is not mentioned by Heyne
when he is recounting the versions that have been
made of that writer ; nor have I seen any notice of it
elsewhere. I will add the title of the book, and a
specimen of it, taken from the beginning, which will
be enough to satisfy any reader's curiosity : — Le Pin-
dare Thebain. Truduction meslee de vers et de prose.
Par le Sieur Lagausie^ 1C'2G, 8vo, Paris. Chez Jean
Laquehay. •
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 109
'Oc oh Tciy 'ETTifiaBeoQ
"Aywv 6\piy6ov ^vyaripa Upofaffiv Barn^ai'
'A(pii:ETO lofjovg. Pjth. V. 38.
How has Ronsard contrived to spoil this in his
application of it to the Constable Montmorency !
Qui seul mettoit en evidence
Les saints tresors de sa prudence,
Ne s'est jamais accompag'ne
Du sot enfant d'Epimethee,
Ol. 1.
La force de chasque element
Paroit par leurs eifects contraires,
Mais le moindre de I'eau surmonte absolument
Tous ceux de ses trois freres.
Parmy les diiferens metaux
Des tliresors d'un superbe avare
L'esclat de For fait treuver faux
L'esclat des autres le plus rare,
Brillant centre eux comme un flambeau qui luit
Dans les tenebres de la nuict,
Si tant est que mon coeur se pique
De soin de descrire un combat
Dont tous les Grecs vont voir I'esbat,
II faut parler de I'Olympique.
D'autant que comme on voit que I'astre du soleil
AUumant un beau jour a perruque espandue
Esclaire la vaste estendue
De Fair sans avoir son pareil.
Je ne s^aurois non plus treuver un tournay com-
parable a I'Olympique, &c.
no EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Mais de celuy de Promethee,
Par longues ruses enseigne.
L. i. O. i. Strophe 6.
Another of Pindar's excellences are those yvw/xai,
sentences, or maxims, the effect of which results not
more from their appositeness than their compression.
One of these is, that "Envy is better than pity,"
Kpiacrujv yap olKTipnov <j)%voc which Ronsard has left
indeed no longer one of the dark sayings of the wise,
but has made almost ludicrous by the light in wliich
he has placed it : —
C'est grand mal d'etre miserable,
Mais c'est grand bien d'etre envie.
L. i. O. X. Strophe 22.
Sometimes on Pindar's stock he engrafts a conceit,
than which no fruit can be more alien to the parent
tree. Thus, of a passage in the Second Pythian,
V. 125 to 130, in which the Theban appears to inti-
mate, as he does elsewhere more plainly, that he ex-
pects a reward for his song ; Ronsard avails himself
to tell liis patron, that he shall see how liberally his
praises will sound, if " a present gilds the chord,"
Prince je t'envoye cette ode,
Trafiquant mes vers a la mode
Que le marchand bailie son bien,
Troque pour troq' : toy qui es riche,
Toy Roy des biens, ne soit point chicbe
De changer ton present au mien.
PIEERE DE RONSARD. Ill
Ne te lasse point de donner,
Et tu verras comme j'accorde
L'honneur que je promets sonner,
Quand un present dore ma corde.
L. i. O. i. Antis. 8.
This is truly auti-piudaric.
Of that other class of odes, which appear more like
the overflowings of his own mind, and which have a
better chance of pleasing the English reader at least,
I would point out the following : — in the first book,
the seventeenth ; in the second, the eleventh, to his
preceptor Jean Dorat, and the eighteenth to his
lacquey ; in the third, the eighth to the Foimtain
Bellerie, the twenty-first to Gaspar D'Auvergne, and
the two following it ; in the fourth book, ode the
fourth, on the choice of his burial-place, together with
the eighteenth and mneteenth, which I subjoin with a
translation ; and m the fifth and last book, odes eleven
and seventeen.
Dieu vous gard, messagers fidelles
Du printemps, vistes arondelles,
Hupes, cocus, rossignolets,
Tourtres, et vous oiseaux, sauvages,
Qui de cent sortes de ramages
Animez les bois verdelets.
Dieu vous gard, belles paquerettes,
Belles roses, belles fleurettes,
Et vous boutons jadis cognus
112 EAULY FRENCH POETS.
Du sang' d'Ajax et de Narcisse:
Et vous tliyin, anis, et melisse,
Vous soyez les bien revenus.
Dieu vous gard, troupe diapree
De papillons, qui par la pree
Les deuces herbes sugotez ;
Et vous nouvel essain d'abeilles,
Qui les fleurs jaunes et vermeilles
De votre bouclie baisotez :
Cent mille fois je resaliie
Votre belle et douce venue :
que j'aime ceste saison,
Et ce doux caquet de rivages
Au prix des vents et des orages
Qui m'enfermoient en la maison.
L. iv. O. xviii.
God shield ye, heralds of the spring,
Ye faithful swallows fleet of wing,
Houps, cuckoos, nightingales,
Turtles, and every wilder bird,
That make your hundred chirpings heard
Through the green woods and dales.
God shield ye, Easter daisies all,
Fair roses, buds and blossoms small ;
And ye, whom erst the g'ore
Of Ajax and Narciss did print,
Ye wild thyme, anise, balm, and mint,
1 welcome ye once more.
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 113
God shield ye, bright embroider'd train
Of butterflies, that, on the plain.
Of each sweet herblet sip ;
And ye new swarm of bees that go
Where the pink flowers and yellow grow
To kiss them with your lip.
A hundred thousand times I call —
A hearty welcome on ye all :
This season how I love !
This merry din on every shore,
For Avinds and storms, whose sullen roar
Forbade my steps to rove.
L. iv. O. six.
Bel aubespin fiorissant,
Verdissant
Le long de ce beau rivage,
Tu es vestu jusqu'au bas
Des longs bras
D'une lambrunche sauvage.
Deux camps de rouges fourmis
Se sont mis
En garnison sous ta souche :
Dans les pertuis de ton trouc
Tout du long
Les avettes ont leur couche.
Le chantre rossignolet
Nouvelet
Courtisant sa bien aimee,
I
114 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Pour ses amours alleger
Vient loger
Tous les ans en ta ramee.
Sur ta cime il fait son ny
Tout uny
De mousse et de fine soye,
Ou ses petits esclorront
Qui seront
De mes mains la douce proye.
Or vy, g'entil aubespin,
Vy sans fin,
Vy sans que jamais tonnere,
Ou la coignee, ou les vents,
Ou les temps
Te puissent ruer par terre.
Fair hawthorn flowering,
With green shade bowering
Along this lovely shore ;
To thy foot around
With his long arms wound
A wild vine has mantled thee o'er.
In armies twain,
Red ants have ta'en
Their fortress beneath thy stock :
And, in clefts of thy trunk,
Tiny bees have sunk
A cell where their honey they lock.
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 115
In merry spring-tide,
When to woo his bride
The nightingale comes again,
Thy boughs among.
He warbles the song
That lightens a lover's pain.
'Mid thy topmost leaves.
His nest he weaves
Of moss and the satin fine,
Where his callow brood
Shall chirp at their food.
Secure from each hand but mine.
Gentle hawthorn, thrive.
And for ever alive
Mayst thou blossom as now in thy prime ;
By the wind unbroke,
And the thunderstroke,
Unspoil'd by the axe or time.
In several of his odes there are passages of extra-
ordinary splendour. What can exceed in magni-
ficence this description of Jupiter coming in the form
of a swan to Leda ?
L'or sous la plume reluit
D'une semblable lumiere
Que le clair oeil de la nuit
Dessus la neige premiere :
116 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
II fend le chemin des cieux
D'un long' branle de ses ailes,
Et d'un voguer spatieux
Tire ses rames nouvelles.
L. iii. O. XX. Premiere Pause.
His plumes beneath are glittering bright
With such a golden glow,
As when the broad eye of the night
Is on the earliest snow.
He shaketh once his out-spread wing,
And cleaves the sky amain,
And at one stroke his new oars fling
The billowy air in twain.
One of his odes concludes with a wish, to the
completion of which I would willingly contribute.
After invoking the other heathen deities, he adds —
Vous dryades et vous fees
Qui de joncs siraplement coifees
Nagez par le crystal des eaux,
Fendant des fleuves les entorses,
Et qui naissez sous les escorces,
Ames vertes des arbrisseaux ;
Ornez ce livre de lierre,
Et bien loin au ciel, de la terre
S'il vous plait enlevez ma vois :
Et faites que tousiours ma lyre
D'age en age s'entende bruire
Du More jusques a I'Anglois.
L. iv. 0. XV,
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 117
Ye dryads and ye fays that bind
Your brows with simple reed entwined ;
Who dowTi the crystal rivers swim,
Turning the bends with lithsome limb ;
And ye, that in the green bark dwell,
Meek sisters of the quiet dell;
With ivy deck this favour'd page ;
And let my lyre from age to age
Still echo on, in strains that rise
Above this mean earth to the skies,
Till at the world's extremest bounds,
The Moor and Briton learn the sounds.
The seventeenth ode of the same book is prettily
rendered from the well-known idyllium, whether it be
Moschus's or Bion's, which begins —
"Eawepe, rag Ipardg ■^(pvatov ^ctoe 'K^poyEvdaq.
Ronsard's version of it much excels that by
Claudio Tolommei, inserted by Mr. Mathias in his
selections from the Lyrical Poets of Italy, V. iii. p.
227. There have been several attempts to imitate
it in our own language. I will not now add another
to the number.
The third ode of the fifth book is addressed to
three English ladies, who had composed a book of
Christian Distichs in Latin ; which it is said in a
note by Richelet, had been translated into Greek,
Italian, and French, and inscribed to Margaret, sister
118 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
to Henry II. ; as Michel de L'H6pital had remarked
in his Third Epistle.
The eleventh and twelfth odes are attempts at the
Sapphic measure. One, and I beheve one only, is in
blank verse. It is the eleventh in the third book.
It is wonderful how much learning and pains his
commentators have thrown away on these poems.
Nothing can more prove the high esteem in which
they were then held.
His Franciade succeeds next. The death of his
patron Charles IX. discouraged him from continuing
it, and he has left only four books, which, like most
of his other vmtings, are composed of shreds of the
Greek and Latin poets, but with some splendid
patches of his own interspersed among them.
At the end of the fourth book, he has very can-
didly added this confession : —
Les Francois qui mes vers liront,
S'ils ne sont et Grecs et Remains,
En lieu de ce livre ils n'auront
Qu'un pesant faix entre les mains.
" The Frenchmen, who shall read my verses, if they
be not Greeks and Romans too, instead of this book
will have but a cumbersome weig-ht in their hands."
The hero Francus was the same person with
Astvanax, and is said to have derived his new name
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 119
from the Greek compound epithet Phereenchos,
Porte-lance.
All this affectation of antiquity is not very consis-
tent with the anger expressed in his Preface against
those, who, neglecting their vernacular tongues, com-
posed in the Greek and Latin. " Encore vaudoit-il
mieux, comme un bon bourgeois ou citoyen, rechercher
et faire mi lexicon des \'iels mots d'Artus, Lancelot,
et Gauain, ou commenter le Romant de la Rose, que
s'amuser a je ne sgai quelle grammaire Latine qui a
passe son temps." " It would be better, like some
good burgess or citizen, to search for and make a
lexicon of old words from Arthur, Lancelot, or
Gawen, or to write notes on the Romant of the Rose,
than to amuse oneself with I know not what Latin
grammar, that is now completely out of date."
There is nothing in the Frauciade with which I
have been so much pleased as with the meeting
between Francus and Hyante. It is copied from
Apollonius Rhodius and Valerius Flaccus, but sur-
passes both.
lis sent long' temps sans deviser ensemble
Tous deux muets Fun devant I'autre assis:
Ainsi qu'on voit, quand Fair est bien rassis,
Deux pins plantez aux deux bords du rivage,
Ne remuer ny cime ny fueillag-e,
Cois et sans bruit en attendant le vent ;
Mais quand il souffle et les pousse en avant,
120 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
L'un pres de 1' autre en murmurant se jettent
Cime sur cime, et ensemble caquettent.
Ainsi devoient babiller a leur tour
Ces deux Amans. L. iv.
Between Charles IX. and Ronsard there passed
some pleasant verses. The monarch bantered him on
his old age, hut concluded by owning his own inferiority
in the gifts of mind.
Par ainsi je conclu, qu'en scavoir tu me passe,
Dautant que mon printemps tes cheveux gris efface.
The poet replied, by reminding him, that he must
some day be like himself.
Charles tel que je suis vous serez quelque jour, —
that youth is the season of danger and temptation,
and that old age has many advantages over it ; that
the King was wrong to call him old, for that he should
yet be able to serve his Majesty at least twenty years
longer. He ended by a courteous avowal, that if
Charles would but take a little pains, he might be as
good a poet as himself.
To the succeeding monarch, Henry III. he was not
sparing of good ad\ice.
Vous ne venez en France a passer une mer
Qui soit tranquille et calme et bonasse a ramer.
Elle est du haut en bas de factions enflee,
Et de religions diversement soufHee ;
PIERBE DE RONSAED. 121
Elle a le coeur mutin, toutes fois il ne faut
D'un baton violent corriger son defaut.
II faut avec le temps en son sens la reduire :
D'un chatiinent force le mechant devient pire.
II faut un bon timon pour se scavoir guider,
Bien calfeutrer sa nef, sa voile bien guinder :
La certaine boussole est d'adoucir les tailles,
Estre amateur de paix, et non pas de batailles,
Avoir un bon conseil, sa justice ordonner,
Payer ses creanciers, jamais ne ma5onner,
Etre sobre en habits, etre prince accointable,
Et n'ouir ni flateurs ni menteurs a la table.
Le Bocage Hoyal, p. 691 .*
Think not in France, thy voyage. King, shall be
O'er the smooth face of an unruffled sea :
O'er her swoln waves the blasts of faction sweep,
And warring zealots lash the angry deep.
Her heart is stubborn. But thou must not goad
Her rage, or think to tame her by the rod.
Time's lenient hand her senses will restore :
Chastise the furious, and they storm the more.
Be these thy cards and compass— to make light
The people's burdens, and to rule by right ;
For the state's welfare all thy plans to frame,
War thine aversion, peace thy love and aim ;
To chuse for council men most sage and skill'd ;
To pay thy creditors, nor ever build ;
* This reference is to Claude Binet's folio edition ;
but I did not make a memorandum of the year.
122 EAULY FRENCH POETS.
Grave in apparel, faithful to thy word ;
Nor suffer, though a free and courteous lord,
One sycophant or lyar at thy board.
He earnestly exhorted Charles IX. to deliver the
Greeks from the tyranny of their Turkish masters : —
Bref cette Grece, ceil du monde habitable,
Qui n'eut jamais ny aura de semblable,
Demande, helas ! votre bras tres-Chrestien
Pour de son col desserrer le lien,
Lien barbare, impitoyable, et rude. Ibid. p. 713.
Grecia, the world's fair light, that on this earth
Ne'er had, nor e'er will have, her like in worth,
Demands thine arm of Christian Majesty,
To set her neck from this base bondage free.
In his verses to Queen Elizabeth he describes
England ; and having said that Bacchus alone of
the Gods had denied it his gifts, he passes an
encomium on its native liquor, which would lead one
to conclude that the bard had enjoyed his cup of mild
ale in this coimtry, as much as he did the bottle of
wine that was brought to him from the nearest village,
under a hawthorn tree, in his own.
Mais quelque jour Ceres la vagabonde
Ayant tourne les quatres parts du monde,
Cherchant sa fille a travers des humains,
Tenant deux pins allumez en ses mains.
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 123
Doit arriver lassee a ton rivage,
Qui pour du vin te doit faire un breuvage
Non corrosif ni violent ni fort,
Trouble-cerveau ministre de la mort,
Mais innocent a la province Angloise,
Et de Ceres sera nommee cervoise,
Qui se pourra si gracieux trouver,
Que tes voisins s'eu voudront abreuver.
Ibid. p. 716.
When Ceres o'er the world's four parts had stray'd,
Seeking in every clime the ravish'd maid ;
She, while her hands two piny torch-lights bore,
Came faint and weary to thy distant shore.
A beverage then instead of wine she gave
In golden plenty o'er thy fields to wave ;
Not violent or strong; nor apt to fire
The troubled brain, and deathful deeds inspire.
Named from herself, as the fair harvest grew,
She call'd its smiling produce mild cwrw.*
The neighbours quaff the novel cups with glee,
And social share the harnaless jollity.
In his verses to Catherine de' Medicij he tells her
that Nature after making her had broken the mould.
EUe en rompit le moule, a fin que sans pareille
Tu fusses ici-bas du monde la merveille.
Ibid. p. 731.
* The British name for ale, pronounced cooroo.
124 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
The Bocage Royal is followed by the Eclogues.
At the beginnmg of the first he commends the beauty
of nature unadorned and wild, beyond all the embel-
lishments of art.
Car tousiours la nature est meilleure que I'art.
Among the other sovereigns of Europe, he evdogizes
Elizabeth and Mary.
Passant d'autre cote j'allois voir les Anglois,
Region opposee au rivage Gaulois ;
Je vy leur grande mer en vagues fluctueuse ;
Je vy leur belle Royne honneste et vertueuse :
Autour de son palais je vy ces grands milords,
Accorts, beaux et courtois, magnanimes et forts,
Je les vy tous aimer la France leur voisine,
Je les vy reverer Carlin et Catherine ;
Ayant jure la paix, et jette bien-avant
La querelle ancienne aux vagues et au vent.
Je vy des Escossois la Royne sage et belle,
Qui de corps et d'esprits ressemble une immortelle:
J'approchay de ses yeux, mais bien de deux soleils,
Deux soleils de beaute, qui n'ont point leurs pareils :
Je les vy larmoyer d'une claire rosee,
Je vy d'un clair crystal sa paupiere arrosee,
Se souvenant de France, et du sceptre laisse,
Et de son premier feu comme un songe passe.
Qui voiroit en la mer ces deux Roynes, fameuses
En beaute, traverser les vagues escumeuses,
Certes on les diroit a bien les regarder,
Deux Venus qui voudroient en C3'there aborder.
Eclofjue Premiere, p. 797.
PIERRE DE BOXSARD. 125
Next pass'd I to the British nation o'er,
A land right opposite to Gallia's shore,
I saw the wild waves of their ocean-flood ;
I saw their chaste Queen, beautiful and good.
Her palace with great lords was throng'd about,
Fair, courteous, wise, magnanimous, and stout.
I saw them cordially to France inclined ;
Our ancient feuds delivered to the wind ;
For they had vow'd — henceforth with heart sincere.
To love her people, and her kings revere.
I saw the Scottish Queen, so fair and wise,
She seem'd some power descended from the skies.
Near to her eyes I drew ; two burning spheres
They Avere, two suns of beauty, without peers.
I saw them dimm'd with dewy moisture clear.
And trembling on their lids a crystal tear ;
Remembering France, her sceptre, and the day
When her first love pass'd like a dream away.
Whoe'er should mark the two Queens in their pride
Of beauty, traversing the foamy tide, —
Would surely say, in wonder lost the while,
Two Venuses approach their favourite isle.
In the third Eclogue we have the chief poets of his
day, under the names of shepherds. Bellot is Bel-
lay ; and Perrot, Ronsard himself ; Janot is Jean
Dorat; Micheau, Michel de I'Hopital; Lancelot,
Lancelot Carles, a great poet, says the annotator
Marcassus ; and BeUin, Belleau.
In the fourth Eclogue, some of these appear again.
126 EARLY FllENCH POETS.
In the fifth we have the two royal brothers, Charles
IX. and Henry III. as shepherds, with the names of
Carlin and Xandrin,
In the second of the Elegies, Ronsard warns his
friend Philippe Desportes against harassing his mind
with too much study.
After the Elegies come two books of Hymns.
Towards the end of the third, in the first book, he has
made bad work of the story of the Gemini and Idas,
which is so beautifully told in Pindar. The seventh,
entitled Daimons, is a curious collection of the super-
stitions that prevailed in his time respecting spirits.
Book ii. Hymn ii. he runs a strange parallel between
Hercules and Jesus Christ. Hymn xiii. of the Hus-
bandmen to Saint Blaise, is exceedingly pretty.
The first book of Poems which is next in order, is
inscribed to Mary Stewart, whose capti\ity he deplores,
and blames the cruelty of Elizabeth. In the second
poem to her (p. 1174), he represents her leaving
Fontainbleau to return to Scotland. In describing
the colour of her eyes, which he calls " un pen bru-
net," he says —
Aussi les Grecs en amour les premiers
Ont a Pallas Deesse des guerriers
Donne I'oeil verd, et le brun a Cythere.
There is a great deal of heart in these verses to the
unhappy Queen of the Scots. Saying, that she some-
PIERRE DE RONSARD. 127
times chuses some of liis own poems for her reading,
he adds —
Carjene veux en ce monde choisir
Plus grand honneur que vous donner plaisir.
" I would not chuse in this world a greater honour
than to give you pleasure."
And towards the conclusion of this Envoy, as it is
called —
Elle courtoise, O livre g'lorieux,
Te recevant d'un visage joyeux,
Et te tendant le main de bonne sorte,
Te demandra comme Ronsard se porte,
Que c'est qu'il fait, ce qu'il dit, ce qu'il est :
Tu lui diras, qu'icy tout luy desplait, &c. P. 1176.
" She, courteous as she is, O glorious book, receiving
thee with joyful face, and stretching out her hand to
thee kindly, will ask thee how Ronsard is, what he is
doing, what he is saying, what his present state is : thou
shalt say to her, that there is nothing here which gives
him pleasure, &c."
We cannot leave Ronsard more honourably em-
ployed, than in thus endeavouring to alleviate the
suffermgs of an oppressed, and perhaps an innocent
woman.
128 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
ESTIENNE JODELLE.
The first of the French poets who made a figure m
tragedy, was Estienne Jodelle. He was the intimate
of Ronsard, and had a place in the French Pleiad.
His Cleopatre, which was performed in the presence
of Henry II. and his court, pleased that monarch so
well, that he immediately made the author a present
of five hundred crowns. On this occasion, a he-goat
crowned mth ivy, his beard and horns gilded, was
led in mock procession to Bacchus ; and the sacrifice
accompanied by a dithyrambic effusion from the muse
of Jan Antoine de Baif ; all this to the great scandal of
the reformers. At the opening of this play, the ghostof
Anthony appears, andushersintheargument inthesame
manner as the ghost of Polydorus does in the Hecubaof
Euripides, and that of Ninus in the Semiramis of Man-
fredi and of Voltaire. Cleopatra then enters with Eras
and Charmium, and tells them that she has seen An-
thony in a dream, and that he calls her to follow him.
She declares her resolution to die rather than be led
in triumph by OctaAdus Csesar. The other dramatis
personse are Octa^ius, Agrippa, Proculeius, and a
chorus of Alexandrian women. Octa\ius expostulates
with her for her conduct towards Octavia, the wife of
ESTIENNE JODELLE. 129
Anthonv. Cleopatra endeavours to appease him, by
discovering to him her treasures. Seleucus, one of
her vassals, who is present, declares she has not shewn
the whole of them, on which the Queen cuffs and
drags him by the hair, and he flies to Octavius for
protection. The indignation expressed by Cleopatra
to Eras and Charmium against Octavius when he is
gone out ; her resolution to die, again repeated ; her
lamentation over Anthony ; and the account given by
Proculeius of her death, make up the rest of this
tragedy.
I shall extract a short passage descriptive of her
sorrow and despair.
Eras.
Ha mort, o douce mort, mort seule guarison
Des esprits oppressez d'une estrang-e prison,
Pourquoi souffres tu tant a tes droits fairs tort?
T'avons nous fait offense, o douce et douce mort?
Pourquoy n'approches tu, o Parque trop tardive?
Pourquoy veux tu souffrir ceste bande captive,
Qui n'aura pas plustost le don de liberte,
Que cet esprit ne soit par ton dard ecarte ?
Haste doncq haste toy, vanter tu te pourras
Que mesme sus Cesar une despouille auras :
* * * *
Cleopatre.
Mourrons done cheres soeurs, ayant plustost ce coeur
De servir a Pluton qu'a Cesar mon vainqueur,
K
130 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Mais avant que mourir faire il nous conviendra
Les obseques d'Antoine, et puis mourir faudra ;
Je Fay tantost mande a Cesar, qui veult bien
Que Monseigneur j'honore, belas ! et Fami mien.
Abbaisse toy done ciel, et avant que je meure
Viens voir le dernier dueil qu'il faut faire a ceste heure :
Peutestre tu seras marry de m'estre tel,
Te faschant de mon deuil estrangement mortel.
Allons done cberes soeurs; de pleurs, de cris, de larmes,
Venons nous afFoiblir, a fin qu'en ses alarmes
Nostre voisine mort nous soit ores moins dure,
Quand aurons demi fait aux esprits ouverture. F. 245.
Eras.
Ha death ! O, gentle death ; death, only cure
Of spirits sunk in a strange prison-house ;
Why sufferest thou thy rights thus trampled on '.
Say, have we wrong'd thee, gentle, gentle death ?
Why hastest not thy step, O lingering Fate ?
Why wilt thou bear the durance of this bond.
Which shall not know the boon of freedom, till
This spirit be deliver'd by thy dart ?
Speed then, oh speed thee : thou shalt have to boast *
That thou hast e'en from Csesar won a spoil.
* * * *
Clcojyatra.
Let us then die, sweet sisters ; having rather
The courage to serve Pluto than this Ctesar ;
But ere we die, it doth behove us make
The obsequies of Anthony ; and then to die
ESTIENNE JODELLE. 131
Becomes us. I've sent word hereof but now
To Caesar, who consents that I should honour
My master and — ah me ! my lover thus.
Stoop then, O heaven, and ere I die come see
This the last mourning" I shall ever make.
Perhaps 'twill grieve thee to have dealt thus with me,
Repenting thee of such strange mortal sorrow.
Come then, sweet sisters ; wailings, groans, and tears,
Shall weaken us so much, that at the last
Death will no longer scare us when we've made
An opening for our spirits half way to meet him.
There is in Maffei's collection an Italian tragedy
on the same subject, by the Cardinal Delfino. It is
full of moral reflections, and the choruses have
nothing to do with the business of the piece. Yet
there is some pathos m the description of Cleopatra's
death.
In the Didon, Jodelle's other tragedy, (which is
written in the Alexandi'ine measure,) the speeches are
long, and often tedious ; but there is more of what
we should call poetry in it than in the tragedies of
Comeille and Racine, or than in the Didon of Le
Franc de Pompignaii, who is one of the best of that
school.
La Didone and la Cleopatra occur in the catalogue
of tragedies vmtten by Giambattista Giraldi Cinthio,
to whose novels Shakspeare has been so much in-
132 EABLY FRENCH POETS.
debted. He was contemporary with Jodelle, haviug
been born in 1504, and deceased in 1569.
L'Eugene, a comedy, revolts us by a mixture of
low intrigue, indecencj^, and profaneuess. Of the
last, one sample will suffice.
Avez vous en vostre maison
Grand nombre de fils ? — Trois— Je prise
Ce nombre qui est sainct.
In his sonnets, the conceits are strained, and the
language rugged.
The following, I beheve, is as free from these im-
perfections as any of the number.
J'aime le verd laurier, dont Thyver ni la glace
N'eifacent la verdeur en tout victorieuse,
Monstrant Teternite a jamais bienheureuse
Que le temps ny la mort ne change ny efface.
J'aime du hous aussi la tousiours verte face,
Les poignans eguillons de sa fueille espineuse :
J'aime le lierre aussi, et sa branche amoureuse,
Qui le chesne ou le mur estroitement embrasse.
J'aime bien tous ces trois, qui tousiours verdsressemblent
Aux pensers immortels, qui dedans moy s'assemblent,
De toy que nuict et jour idolatre J'adore.
Mais ma playe, et poincture, et le noeu qui me serre,
Est plus verte, et poignante, et plus estroit encore
Que n'est le verd laurier, ny le hous, ny le lierre.
Sonnet xiiii.
ESTIENNE JODELLE. 133
I love the bay-tree's never-withering- g-reen,
Wliich nor the northern blast nor hoary rime
Effaceth ; conqueror of death and time ;
Emblem wherein eternity is seen :
I love the holly and those prickles keen
On his gloss'd leaves that keep their verdant prime ;
And ivy too I love, whose tendrils climb
On tree or bower, and weave their amorous skreen.
All three I love, which alway green resemble
. Th' immortal thoughts that in my heart assemble
Of thee, whom still I worship night and day.
But straiter far the knot that hath me bound,
More keen my thorns, and greener is my wound.
Than are the ivj', holly, or green bay. .
His Ode de la Chasse, au Roy, contains much that
would interest those who are curious about the
manner of sporting in that time.
The lively mmuteness with which he has deline-
ated the death of the stag, would do credit to the
pencil of Sir Walter Scott.
Aux trousses ja les chiens ardans
Le tiennent, il est ja parterre,
lis le tirassent de leurs dents,
Jouissans du fruit de leur guerre ;
Les larmes luy tombent des yeux.
Et bien que pitie presqu'il face,
Si faut-il que de telle chasse
Sa mort soit le pris glorieus.
134 EARLY FEEXCH POETS.
La mort du cerf se sonne, alors
Les monts, les vaux et les bois rendent
Les bruyans et hautains accors,
Que les trompes dans Fair espandent,
On coupe et leve un des pieds droits,
On abat I'orgueil de sa teste,
Qui sont (Sire) de ta conqueste
Les enseignes et premiers droits. F. 296.
Now at bis haunch the fleet hound hang-s,
Now on the earth behold him lie :
They tear him with relentless fangs,
Rejoicing in their victory.
Big' drops are falling from his eyes ;
And though well nigh we mourn his case,
Behoveth that of such a chase
His death must be the glorious prize.
Tlie stag's death-note is sounded : then
From mountain, valley, rock, and glen.
Loud peals in thundering echoes sound,
Which the raised clarions scatter round.
One of his right feet shorn away,
The antlers from his forehead torn,
Meet ensigns, Sire, thy pomp adorn ;
Thy trophies in the bloody fray.
*
From this poem most of the terms used in hunting
and falconry might probably be collected.
ESTIENNE JODELLE. 135
Tous les mots de venerie,
Ou d'autres chasses, soit pour voir,
Pour qiiester, pour poursuivre, ou prendre,
Et que nul vers ne peut comprendre,
Sont pris la pour un grand scavoir.
F. 298.
All words of venery,
Or Avhat to other sports belong,
Whether of sight, or quest, or chase,
Or taking after weary race,
All that may not he told in song,
Are there esteem'd a goodly lore.
Jodelle was bom at Paris in 1532, and died in a
state of poverty, occasioned, I doubt, by his own in-
discretion, in 1573. The edition of his works, to
which the above references have been made, is en-
titled, Les Oeuvres et Meslanges Poetiques d'Es-
tienne Jodelle, Sieur du Lymodin. A Paris, chez
Nicholas Chesneau, rue sainct Jaques, a I'enseigne du
Chesne verd, et Mamert Patisson, rue sainct Jean de
Beauvais devant les escholes de Decret. 1574.
136 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
PHILIPPE DESPORTES.
BoiLEAU, in the first canto of his Art Poetique, has
drawn a slight and rapid sketch of the progress which
the French poetry had made before his own time.
To Villon he attributes the first improvement on the
confusion and grossness of the old romancers. Soon
after, Marot succeeded ; and under his hands
flourished the ballad, triolet, and mascarade ; the
rondeau assumed a more regular form, and a new
mode of versifying was struck out. Ronsard next
embroiled every thing by liis ill-directed efforts to
reduce the art into order. In the next generation,
his Muse, who had spoken Greek and Latin in French,
saw her high-swelling words and her pedantry fallen
into disesteem ; and the failure of the boastful bard
rendered Desportes and Bertaut more cautious.
Ce i^oete orgueilleux trebuclie de si haut
Rendit plus retenus Desportes et Bertaut.
Boileau would have done well to temper the seve-
rity of this censure on Ronsard, who had more genius
than himself. There is, however, some truth in what
he has said of Desportes and Bertaut. They are
much less bold than their predecessor ; nor is it
unlikely that the excesses into which he had run might
have increased their natural timidity ; though it will
PHILIPPE DESPORTES. 137
l)e seen, that the latter of these two writers, especially,
held him in the utmost veneration. They both
in a great measure desisted from the attempt made by
those who had gone before them, to separate the lan-
guage of poetry from that of prose, not more by its
numbers than by the form and mould of its phrases
and words ; and although they were not ambitious of
that extreme purity and refinement, which Malherbe
afterwards eifected, and on which his countrA^men
have since so much prided themselves, yet by their
sparing use of the old licenses, they made the tran-
sition less difficult than it would otherwise have been.
Of the works of Desportes, printed at Rouen in
1611, a few years after his death, a large proportion
consists of sonnets. They amount all together to
about four hundred in number, and turn for the most
part on the subject of love. The following bears
some resemblance to an exquisite song of Mrs. Bar-
bauld's, beginning —
Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be,
That boasts to love as well as me.
Si c'est aimer que porter has la veue,
Que parler has, que soupirer souvant,
Que s"eg-arer solitaire eu revant
Brule d'un feu qui point ne diminue,
Si c'est aimer que de peindre en la nue,
Semer sur I'eau, jetter ses cris au vant,
138 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Chercher la nuit par le soleil levant
Et le soleil quand la nuit est venue.
Si c'est aimer que de ne s'aimer pas,
Hair sa vie, embrasser son trespas,
Tous les amours sont campes en men ame.
Mais nonobstant sipuis jemelouer
Qu'il n'est prison, ni torture, ni flame.
Qui mes desirs me s^eust faire avouer.
Diane, Sonnet xxix. p. 23.
If this be love, to bend on earth the sight.
To speak in whisper'd sounds, and often sigh,
To wander lonely with an inward eye
Fix'd on the fire that ceaseth day nor night,
To paint on clouds in fitting colours bright.
To sow on waves, and to the winds to cry,
To look for darkness when the light is high.
And when the darkness comes, to look for light :
If this be love, to love oneself no more,
To loathe one's life, and for one's death implore ;
Then all the loves do in my bosom dwell.
Yet herein merit for myself I claim.
That neither racks, imprisonment, nor flame,
Avowal of my passion can compel.
The invitation to a weary traveller, in another of
his sonnets, is unusually elegant : —
Cette fontaine si froide, et son eau doux-coulante
A la couleur d'argent semble parler d'amour ;
Un herbage mollet reverdit tout autour,
Et les aunes font ombre a la chaleur brulante :
PniLIPPE DESPORTES. 139
Le fueillage obeit a zephir qui I'evante
Soupirant amoureux en ce plaisant sejour :
Le soleil clair de flamme est au milieu du jour,
Et la terre se fend de I'ardeur violante.
Passant par le travail du long' chemin lasse,
Brule de la chaleur, et de la soif presse,
Arreste en cette place oii ton bonheur te maine.
L'agreable repos ton corps delassera,
L'ombrage et le vent frais ton ardeur cliassera,
Et ta soif seperdra dans I'eau de la fontaine.
Bcrgeries, p. 595.
This cool spring-, and its waters silver-clean,
In g'entle murmurs seem to tell of love ;
And all about the grass is soft and green ;
And the close alders weave their shade above ;
The sidelong branches to each other lean,
And as the west-wind fans them, scarcely move ;
The sun is high in mid-day splendour sheen,
And heat has parch'd the earth and soil'd the grove.
Stay, traveller, and rest thy limbs awhile,
Faint with the thirst, and worn with heat and toil ;
Where thy good fortune brings thee, traveller, stay.
Rest to thy wearied limbs will here be sweet,
The wind and shade refresh thee from the heat.
And the cool fountain chase thy thirst away.
The character of ease and sweetness, which he
maintains in such verses as these, is often deserted
for quaintness and conceit. At times, indeed, he is
most extravagant, as in Sonnet Ixi. where he tells his
140 EAELY mENCH POETS.
mistress that they shall both go to the infernal re-
gions, — she for her rigour, and himself for having
fooUshly followed his desires ; that, provided Minos
adjudges them to the same place, all will be well, —
her suffering vdll be exasperated by their being near
to each other, and his will be turned into joy by the
sight of her charms.
Car men ame ravie en I'objet de vos yeux,
Au milieu des enfers establira les cieux,
De la g'loire eternelle abondamment pourveue :
Et quand tous les damnez si voudront emouvoir
Pour empescher ma g-loire, ils n'auront le pouvoir
Pourveu qu'estant la bas je ne perde la veue.
In another place (Diane, L. 2, S. xlviii. p. 137)
he has the same thought of their being both con-
demned, but draws a different conclusion from it.
In the Chant d' Amour, (p. 66,) there is a mixture
of metaphysics and allegory, such as we sometimes
meet in Spenser, and that would not have disgraced
that writer.
La Grace quand tu marcbe est tousiours au devant,
La Volupte mignarde en cliantant t'environne ;
Et le Soing devorant qui les hommes tallonne,
Quand il te sent venir s'enfuit comme le vent.
Grace, whereso'er thou walkest, still precedes ;
A lively carol, Pleasure round thee leads ;
And Care, the harpy, that makes men his prey,
Flees at thy coming like the wind away.
PHILIPPE DESPORTES. 141
In his Procez centre Amonr au Siege de la Raison.
(p. 70,) he introduces himself pleading at the bar of
Reason against Love, who refutes the poet's charges
mth much eloquence.
Je I'ay fait ennemy du tumulte des villas,
J'airepurge son coeur d'atfections serviles,
Compagnon de ces dieux qui sont parmi les bois,
J'ai chasse loin de luy I'ardante convoitise,
L'Orgueil, I'Ambition, I'Envie, et la Feintise,
Cruels bourreaux de ceux qui font la cour aux rois.
Je luy ay fait dresser et la veue et les ailes
Au bien-beureux sejour des cboses immortelles,
Je I'ay tenu captif pour le rendre plus franc.
I made bim from the city's crowd retire,
I cleansed bis bosom from each low desire,
Companion of the sylvan deities;
I chased the fiend Ambition from bis side,
With Guile and Envy, Avarice and Pride,
That rack the courts of king's in cruel wise.
o'
I bade him raise bis view and prune bis wings
For the blest dwelling of immortal things ;
I prisoner held the more to make him free.
The conclusion is equally unexpected and
sprightly : —
142 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Puis nous teusmes tous deux attendant la sentence
De Raison, qui vers nous son regard adressa ;
Votre debat dit elle, est de chose si grande,
Que pour le bien juger -plus, long terme il demande,
Et finis ces jjropos, en riant nous laissa.
Then both were silent, waiting the decree
Of Reason, who toward us held her view :
Your subject of debate is such, she cried,
It asks a longer session to decide.
That said, she laugh'd, and suddenly withdrew.
There are a few lines on his mistress Hippolyte,
which are a pitch above the usual strain of love-verses.
Les traits d'une jeune guerriere,
Un port celeste, une lumiere,
Un esprit de gloire anime,
Hants discours, divines pensees,
Et mille vertus amassees
Sont les sorciers qui m'ont charmees.
ChansoTij p. 174.
Features of a warlike maid,
Such as live in antique story ;
A heavenly port ; a light display'd ;
A spirit warm with love of glory ;
High discourses, thoughts divine ;
A thousand virtues met in one ;
These are the sorceries have won
This prison'd lieart of mine.
PHILIPPE DESPORTES. 143
He expresses a hope that the fame of his mistress
will rival that of Laura.
J'espere avec le tans que sa belle ramee
Pourra par mes escrits jusqu'aux astres monter,
Et que les Florentins cesseront de vanter
La dedaigiieuse Nimphe en laurier transforrnee.
Diverses Amours, Sonnet xi. p. 516.
I trust, in time, lier lovely branch will rise,
Rear'd by my numb ers, to the starry skies ;
And Florence boast no more that scornful maid
She saw transform'd into a laurel shade.
If Petrarch were in any danger of being eclipsed
by Desportes, it would be from the veil which he has
cast over his lustre in those passages of which he has
attempted a translation into French. The reader will
see an instance of this inferiority, by comparing the
well-known sonnet.
Solo e pensoso i piu deserti campi,
with Desportes, S. xlv. p. 201.
A pas lens et tardifs tout seul je me promaine.
He did not wish to conceal the numerous obhga-
tions he lay under to the Italian poets ; and when a
book was WTitten with a design of shemng liow much
the French had taken from them, good-humouredly
observed, that if he had been apprized of the author's
144 EAULY FRENCH POETS.
intention to expose him, he could have contributed
largely to swell the size of the volume.
If he has made thus free with the property of
others, there are those who in their turn have not
scrupled to borrow from him. Some stanzas in an
admired ode by Chaulieu, on his native place, Fon-
tenai, must have been suggested by the pathetic com-
plaint which Desportes supposes to be uttered by
Henry III. at Fontainbleau, where that monarch first
saw the light.
Chaulieu.
Fontenai, lieu delicieux,
Ou je vis d'abord la lumiere,
Bientot au bout de ma carriere
Chez toi je joindrai mes aieux.
Muses, qui dans ce lieu champetre
Avec soin me f ites nourrir ;
Beaux arbres, qui m'avez vu naitre,
Bientot vous me verrez mourir.
T. 2, p. 145. Paris, 1757.
Desportes.
Nimphes de ces forets mes fidelles nourrices,
Tout ainsi qu'en naissant vous me fustes propices,
Ne m'abandonnez pas
Quand s'acbeve le cours de ma triste avanture ;
Vous fistes mon berceau, faites ma sepulture,
Et i^leurez mon trespas. P. 673.
PHILIPPE DESPORTES. 145
Nymphs of the forest, in whose arms I lay
Nurs'd iu soft shimbers from my natal day,
Now that my weary way is joast,
Desert me not ; but as ye favouring' smiled,
And weaved a cradle for me when a child,
Oh wee}), and weave my bier at last.
The song at the beginning of the Bergeries and
Masquerades is exceedingly sprightly and gracious.
I will add another, which, though scarce less ani-
mated, is iu a graver style.
Las que nous sommes miserables,
D'estre serves dessous les loix
Des hommes legers et muables
Plus que fueillage des bois.
Les pensers des hommes ressemblent
A Fair, aux vents, et aux saisons ;
Et aux girouettes quitremblent
Inconstamment sur les maisons.
Leur amour est ferme et constante
Comme la mer grosse de flots,
Qui bruit, qui court, qui se tourmente
Et jamais n'arreste en reijos.
Diverses Amours, Chanson, p. 570.
Alas ! how hard a lot have we,
That live the slaves of men's decrees,
As full of vain inconstancy
As are the leaves on forest trees.
146 EARLY FBENCH POETS.
The thouglats of men, they still resemble
The air, the winds, the changeful year.
And the light vanes that ever veer
On our house-tops, and veering tremble.
Their love no stay or firmness hath,
No more than billows of the sea,
That roar, and run, and in their wrath
Torment themselves continually.
His verses on INIarriage, and his Adieu to Poland,
prove that he covdd be at times sarcastic.
At p. 596, we find a sonnet on the Bergerie of
Remy Belleau; and at p. 631, another on the death
of the same poet.
Tliere are commendatory verses on Desportes him-
self, by the Cardinal du Perron at p. 243, and by
Bertaut at p. 306 ; and in one of the elegies to his
memory, at the end of this volume, with the signature,
J. de Montereul, (of whom I find no mention else-
where,) he is thus described : —
II estoit franc, ouvert, bon, liberal, et doux ;
Des Muses le sejour, sa table ouverte a tous
Chacun jour se bordoit d'une scavante trope
Des plus rares esprits, I'eslite de I'Europe.
Open he was, frank, liberal, and kind ;
And at his table, every Muse combined
To greet all comers, and each day did sit
Those throughout Europe famousest for wit.
PHILIPPE DESPORTES. 14/
Philippe Desportes was born at Chartrcs, in 1546 ;
and died at his Abbey of Bonport, in Normandy, on
the fifth of October, 1606. Charles IX. presented
him with eight thousand crowns for his poem of
Rodomont ; and for one of his sonnets, he was remu-
nerated with the Abbey of Tiron. It was a piping
time for the JNIuses. Of the wealth, which thus
flowed in upon him, he was as generous as his eulogist
has described him. Almost all the contemporary
poets were his friends ; and those amongst them who
stood in need of his assistance, did not seek it in vain.
JEAN BERTAUT.
The edition of Bertaut's poems, which I met with
in the old French hbrary, was entitled, Recueil des
Oeuvres Poetiques de J. Bertaut, Abbe d'Amiay, et
premier Aumonier de la Royne. Seconde edition.
Paris, 1605. The reader will not expect much
imagination in copies of verses written on such subjects
as The Conversion of the King, The Reduction of
Amiens, A Discourse presented to the King on
his going to Picardy to fight against the Spaniard,
A Discourse to the King on the Conference held at
Fontainebleau ; and there is about as much poetry
in them as in those by Waller, Dryden, and Addison,
148 EABLY FRENCH POETS.
on similar occasions. The poem on the death of
Ronsard, (though it has much mythological trifling
about Proteus, and Nereus, and Thetis, and Jupiter,
and Mercury in the shape of the Cardinal du Perron)
becomes exceedingly interesting towards the con-
clusion, where Bertaut expresses his affection for the
departed poet, and the zeal which he had early felt
to imitate him : —
Je n'avois pas seize ans quand la premiere flame
Dont la Muse m'eprit s'alluma dans mon ame :
Car deslors un desir d'eviter le trespas
M'excita de te suivre et marcher en tes pas :
jMe rendit d'un humeur pensive et solitaire,
Et fist qu'en dedaignant les soucis du vulgaire,
Mon age que fleury ne faisoit qu'arriver
Aux mois de son printemps desir tint de I'Hyver.
Depuis venant a voir les beaux vers de Desportes,
Que I'Amour et la Muse ornerent en tant de sortes,
Ce desir s'augmenta, mon ame presumant
Caller facilement sa douceur exprimant.
Fol qui n'advisay pas que la divine grace
Qui va cachant son art d'un art qui tout surpasse,
N'a rien si difficile a se voir exprimer
Que la facilite qui le fait estimer !
Lors a toy revenant, et croyant que la peine
De t'oser imiter ne seroit pas si vaine,
Je te prins pour patron, mais je peu moins encor
Avec mes vers de cuivre egaler les tiens d'or.
JEAN BERTAUT. 149
Si bien que pour jamais ma simple outrecuidance,
En g'ardant son desir, perdit son esperance.
Alors vos escrits seuls me cliarg'erent les mains :
Seuls je Tous estimay I'ornement des humains :
A toute heure, en tous lieux, je senty vostre imag'e
Devant mes yeux errante exciter mon courage :
Je reveray vos noms, reveray vos hostels,
Comme les temples saints vouez aux immortels,
Voyant la palme Grecque en vos mains reverdie :
Bref je vous adoray (s'il faut qu'ainsi je die) ;
Tant de vostre eloquence enchante je devins,
Comme des dieux humains ou des hommes divins.
II est vrai que I'eclair de la vive lumiere
Qu'espandoit vostre gloire en ma foible paupiere,
M'eblouissant la veue au lieu de m'eclairer,
M'eust fait de vostre suite a la fin retirer,
Rebute pour jamais des rives de Permesse,
Si de mon jeune espoir confirm ant la promesse,
Vous n'eussiez mon courage a poursuivre incite,
Me redonnant le coeur que vous m'aviez oste.
Toy principalement belle e genereuse ame,
Dont le juste regret tout le coeur nous entame.
Qui voyant mon destin me vouer aux neuf soeurs,
Me promis quelques fruits de mes premieres fleurs,
M'excitas de monter ajires toy sur Parnasse,
Et m'en donnas I'exemple aussi bien que I'audace,
Me disant que Clion m'apperceut d'un bon oeil,
Lors que mon premier jour veit les rais du soleil:
Qu'il me falloit oser, que pour longuement vivre,
II falloit longuement mourir dessus le livre :
loO EARLY FKEKCH POETS.
Et que j'aurois du noni, si sans estre estonne
Je I'allois poursuivant d'un labeur obstine.
Veuillent les cieux amis, 6 1'honneur de nostre ag"e,
Rendre I'evenement conforme a ton presage ;
Et ne permittent point que j 'aye acquis en vain
L'heur d'avoir veu ta face, et touclie dans ta main.
Cependant prens en gre, si rien de nous t'agree,
Ces pleurs, qu'au lieu des fleurs, ou qu'au lieu d'eau
sacree,
Avec toute la France atteins d'un juste deuil,
Nous versons sur ta tombe et de Fame et de I'oeil.
Scarce sixteen years I number'd when my breast
Was with the sacred love of song- possest ;
A common doom so early I eschew'd,
And on thy steps immortal fame pursued.
Long ere my prime had ripen'd into man,
From vulgar cares with proud contempt I ran ;
Mine hours in pensive solitude were past.
And my first spring a wint'ry cloud o'ercast :
When, so it chanced, I lighten'd on the strain
Where mild Desportes essay'd his happy vein.
Love and the Muse with such a native grace
Endued his numbers, that I thought to trace
A copy of them in my simple lore.
Fond that I was, who had not learn'd before
How difficult by arts like his to please,
Nor aught less easy than that seeming ease.
Once more to thee I turn'd, and thought my pain
In imitating thee would prove less vain ;
JEAN BERTAL'T. 1.51
But Still more desperate th' attempt to mould
Verses in brass should equal thine of gold ;
So that for ever my o'erweening skill
Had lost the hope, though it preserved the will.
Then with no books but thine my hands were fraught ;
Thee the sole boast of human kind I thought ;
Thine image in all places, at all hours,
Hovering before me, raised my drooping powers.
Thy name I honour'd, thy abode revered.
Like holy temples to the immortals rear'd.
Beholding Grecia's palm once more expand
Her sacred blossoms, foster'd by thy hand.
Briefly (if I may speak so bold a word)
Thou wert become mine idol : I adored,
And in my heart thine eloquence enshrined,
Like to the Gods, or godlike of mankind.
True is, the blaze of that exceeding light,
Flash'd from thy glory on my aching sight.
Its feeble nerve o'erpowering by the ray.
Which less illumined than confused the way.
Had made me from thy train at last elope,
Scared from Parnassus ; if, the youthful hope
To follow, thou hadst not inspired again.
Giving me back the courage thou had'st ta'en.
Thou chiefly, noble spirit, for whose loss
Just grief and mourning all our hearts engross.
Who seeing me devoted to the Nine,
Didst hope some fruitage from those buds of mine ;
152 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Thou didst excite me after thee t'ascend
The Muses' sacred hill ; nor onlj lend
Example, but inspirit me to reach
The far-off summit by thy friendly speech:
Clio, thou saidst, when first my breath I drew,
Had on my cradle cast a favouring- view :
That if I look'd to shun the grasp of Death,
I should be daring, and expend my breath
On outspread volumes : so would fair renown,
By hard exertion won, at last my labours crown.
May gracious Heaven, O ! honour of our age,
Make the conclusion answer thy presage :
Nor let it only for vain fortune stand
That I have seen thy visage — touch'd thy hand.
Meanwhile accept, if aught thou deign of ours,
These tears of anguish, which, instead of flowers,
Instead of hallow'd streams thine urn to lave,
We with all France are pouring on thy grave.
This warm and affectionate admiration of the two
poets who then divided the homage of their country-
men, Ronsard and Desportes, does great credit to
Bertaut. His hope of being easily able to imitate
the sweetness of the latter, his failure in the attempt,
— his then turning to Ronsard as his model, — the
encouragement given to him by both, and the de-
votedness and reverence with which he regarded every
thing that related to men who in his estimation were
JEAN BEUTAUT. 153
of SO great importance, — all this is told with an
earnestness which makes it impossible to doubt its
truth.
There is not one other of his sonnets in the first
volume that is expressed with so much nature and
grace as the follo\ving : —
Au Monseigneur le Cardinal dc Bourbon, an Norn des
Hahitans de Bmirgueil.
Vous voyant habiter de terres desolees
Outout est par le feu destruit et saccage,
De soucis combatu, de perils assiege,
Passant mesme les nuits de soin entremeslees ;
Nous cueillons a regrets par ces fresches vallees
Les fruits delicieux dont leur flanc est charge,
Et de ces beaux jardins ou Zephyre est lege,
Nous foulons a regrets les plaisantes allees.
Non qu'estant devenus de nous-mesme ennemis,
Nous ayons en horreurs les delices permis,
Dontentre taut de mauxlebien nous daigne suivre ;
Mais un public ennuy dedans Fame nous poind,
Voyant que loin d'icy vous ne jouissez point
De I'aise et du repos ou vous nous faites vivre.
To my Lord the Cardinal of Bourbon, in the name of the
Inhabitants of Bourgueil.
Whilst we behold thee sojourn in a land,
Whose breast the track of livid fire hath scored,
154 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Compass'd about with j^erils and the sword,
Nor e'en one tranquil night at thy command ;
In these fresh valleys, with unwilling- hand
We cull the fruits in bounteous plenty pour'd ;
On these gay lawns, amidst the vernal hoard
Of scents and blossoms, unrejoicing stand:
Not that to sullen waywardness a prey,
We loathe the gifts allow'd us, by annoy
Untainted, midst the general misery ;
But that, while thou, O Prince! art far away,
Public concern permits not to enjoy
That peace and quiet which we owe to thee.
At p. 238 of the first volume, is Timandre, Poeme,
contenant una tragi que A venture. This tragical ad-
venture, intended to shew the ill effects of trusting
in those who deal with familiar spirits, is related with
much fluency of numbers, and a style remarkable for
its familiarity and ease.
The second volume, which contains his love-poems,
none but a lover could have patience to read to the
end. Like those of Desportes, or of our own Cowley,
they present us with the idea of no li\ing object. The
fancied mistress seems to be nothing more than a
web stretched out on the warp for the purpose of
embroidering the poet's conceits ; and of these, many
are the mere sports of an idle ingenuity, which have
no concern either with the imagination or the heart :
such is the description of her hand : —
JEAN BERTAUT. 1J5
Quant a sa belle main, ceste vive merveille,
Qui de ma liberte rend I'Amour possesseup.
EUe se pourroit dire au monde sans pareille
Si Dieu I'eust condamnee a n'avoir point de soeur :
Mais pour men double mal, elle nasquit g'emelle,
D'un marbre qui mobile en dix branches se fend :
L'une exerce le vol, et I'autre le recele :
L'une commet le meurtre, et I'autre le defend.
V. 2. p. 5.
" As to her beautiful hand, that living wonder, which
renders Love the possessor of my freedom, it might be
said to be without an equal in the world, if heaven had
condemned it not to have a sister : but for my double
misfortune it was born a twin, and both framed of a
marble that is endowed with motion, and cleft into
ten branches : the one is the committer of the theft,
and the other its concealer ; the one perpetrates the
murder, and the other defends it."
Yet it would be unjust not to own, that there are
some genuine touches of tenderness : as when he is
about to lose the company of his mistress —
La crainte de perdre une chose si chere
Fait que je ne sens point I'heur de la posseder.
y. 2. p. 23.
I feel no bliss in having, through my fear,
To lose a thing that is so passing dear.
156 EARLY FKENCn POETS.
His regret for past happiness is expressed in some
verses, which, when I began to read them to an
ingenious French gentleman of my acquaintance, I
found were so famiUar to him, that he was able to go
on wiih them, though he neither knew whence they
came, nor was aware that such a poet as Bertaut had
ever existed.
Felicite passee,
Qui ne peux revenir ;
Tourment de ma pensee,
Que n'ay-je en te perdant perdu le souvenir ?
Helas ! il ne me reste
De mes contentemens
Qu'un souvenir funeste
Qui me les convertit a toute heure en tourment.
P. 39.
O pleasures gone, but ne'er forgot,
That still my thoughts pursue,
Oh losing ye, why lost I not
Remembrance of you too ?
Alas ! of all its joys bereft,
My heart looks back in vain ;
The sad remembrance only left
Converts them into pain.
The following stanzas will supply future commen-
tators with a parallel passage to the well-known
apothegm in Shakspeare : —
Men's evil manners live in brass ; their virtues
We write in water.
JEAN BERTAUT. 1.5 J
On ne se souvient que du mal ;
L'ingratitude regne au monde :
L'injure se grave en metal,
Et le bienfait s'escrit en I'onde.
Amour en sert de preuve aux siens,
Luy qui joint la peine aux delices :
Ceux que plus il comble de biens
N'en celebrent que les malices. P. 45.
Men's wrongs alone in mind we bear ;
IngTatitude is everywhere :
Their injuries we in metal grave,
And write their kindness in the wave.
Love can a proof of this supply.
Who mingles pleasure with his pain :
The good we pass in silence by,
And only of the ill complain.
A pretty conceit of Waller's is to be found in Bertaut.
That eagle's fate and mine are one,
\yhich on the shaft that made him die
Espy'd a feather of his own,
"Wherewith he wont to soar so high. Waller —
To a Lady singing a Song of his composing.
Non, non, rien que notre manie
Ne tient sa puissance en vigueur :
Qui se plaint de sa tyrannie,
Se plaint d'avoir faute de coeur.
158 EAULY FRENCH POETS.
Nous seuls brassons les amertumes
Dont il paist nos coeurs insensez ;
Nous seuls empennons de nos plumes
Les traits dont il nous rend hlessez.
Nostre oysivete le fait naistre :
Nostre espoir I'allaite en naissant :
Nostre servage le rend maistre,
Et nostre foiblesse puissant.
He doth of us blind homag-e claim ;
In madness we his vassals are ;
And when his cruelty we blame,
The fault is in our own despair.
We only brew the bitter draughts
On which our witless heart he feeds ;
And our ownfeathers rving the shafts
Bj 7vhich our mounded bosom bleeds.
Our sloth first brings the babe to light ;
Our hopes his suckling nurses be :
Our weakness giveth him his might ;
Our servitude his tyranny.
In one of his sonnets we have the same thought as
in those stanzas of Shenstone, on which Jolmsou has
pronounced — that the mind which denies them its
sympathy has no acquaintance with love or nature.
Je meurs me souvenant que sa bouche de basme,
D'un baiser redouble qui me deroba Fame,
En me disant adieu me pria du reto^tr.
JEAN BERTAUT. lf)l)
So sweetly slie bade me adieu,
I tlioug-lit that she bade me return.
The only poem in which I have observed any thing
hke an attempt to describe the person of his Amarantha,
is termed an Elegy (p. 66), where he introduces Love
appearing to him, after he had forsworn his affection
for Chloris, and resolved to secure himself from similar
engagements by the study of astronomy. The God,
in addition to his usual weapons, the bow and the
quiver, has a roll of paper in one of his hands, and
expostulates in a sarcastic vein mth the rebel on his
intentions : —
Et bien, jeune astrologTie, a la fin ta pensee
Des liens amoureux s'est du tout delacee !
O le vaillant Hercule, il a rompu mes laqs
Pour soutenir le ciel et soulager Atlas !
C'est bien fait, persevere, use ainsi ta jeunesse,
T'amusant a compter, pour fuir la paresse,
Les estoilles du ciel, puis en fin quelque jour,
Estant viel et caduc, fuy les plaisirs d'amour.
Well, young astrologer, and thou hast broke
My bonds at last, and freed thee from the yoke !
The valiant Hercules ! he bursts my net
To hold the heav'ns up, and for Atlas sweat.
'Tis well : persever : be thy youth employed
Counting the stars, that so thou mayst avoid
The pains of sloth ; then all thy vigour gone,
Avoid Love's pleasures, when old age creeps on.
IGO EAllLY FRENCH POETS.
The poet replies, that the ingratitude and cruelty
of Chloris had made him resolute to persevere in the
course he had taken. On this, Love seems to allow
the justice of his plea ; but argues that he is not to
give over the chase, because the prey has once escaped
him J that the mariner, who has suffered shipwreck,
again puts to sea ; and the labourer, whose hopes of
a harvest have failed, still continues to commit his
seed to the earth : and, when Bertaut persists in his
contumacy, ends by unfolding the paper : this presents
him with a portrait of a new mistress, which, as
might be expected, he finds irresistible. Here there
is no want of sprightliness either in the invention or
the style ; but his materials are spun out somewhat
too diffusely.
Jean Bertaut was bom in 1552, at Caen in Nor-
mandy, a pro\'ince where the poetry of France may
be said to have originated under the auspices of its
English sovereigns, or, to speak more properly, the
Norman sovereigns of England ; and which has since
continued to support the honours it had so early
acquired. He was the First Almoner to Queen
Catherine de Medici. By Henry III. he was made
Private Secretaiy, Reader, and Councillor of State.
Henry IV. who was induced partly by his arguments
or persuasion to conform to the church estabhshment
of France, gave him the Abbey of Aunay in 1594 ;
and in 1600 appointed him Bishop of Sees in Nor-
MAURICE SCEVE. 161
mandy. Besides the poems already mentioned, he
made a translation of the Second Book of the ^Eneid,
inserted in the collection of his poems, and a trans-
lation or paraphrase of the Psalms mto French verse,
which is not among them, and which was perhaps
not made till after he became a bishop. He died in
1611, at the age of fifty -nine.
MAURICE SCEVE.
PAsauiEE, in his Researches on France, (Recher-
ches de la France, 1. 6, ch. 7.) speaks of Maurice
Sceve as the leader of that poetic troop, in the reign
of Henry the Second, who, deserting the vulgar and
beaten track, struck out into a more retired and lofty
path. " In his younger days," says Pasquier, " he
had trod in the steps of the rest ; but, when advanced
in hfe, chose to enter on another course, proposing
to himself for his object, in imitation of the Italians,
a mistress whom he celebrated under the name of
Delia, not in sonnets (for that form of composition
had not yet been introduced), but in continued
stanzas of ten (dixains), yet with such darkness of
meaning, that in reading him I owned myself satisfied
M
1C2 EAELY FKENCH POETS.
not to understand him, since lie was not willing to be
understood. yDu Bellay, acknowledging his priority
in his own style of wiiting, has addressed to him a
sonnet, in which he says,
Gentil esprit, ornement de la France,
Qui, d'ApoUon sainctement inspire,
T'es le premier du peuple retire,
Loin du chemin trace par I'ignorance.
O gentle spirit, ornament of France,
Who, by Apollo sacredly inspired.
Hast from the people, first of all, retired,
Far from the path mark'd out by ignorance.
And in the fiftieth sonnet of his Olive, the same poet
calls him, ' new swan ;' implpng, that by a new-
method he had banished ignorance from our poetry.
The consequence has been, that his book has perished
with him." Thus far Pasquier. It can scarcely be
hoped, that a modem reader should pierce through
That double night of darkness and of shade
with which Maurice has invested his Deha, since one
who was so much nearer to her orb professed himself
unable to penetrate it. Yet sometimes methinks
she
Stoops her pale visage through an amber cloud,
And disinherits Chaos ;
MAURICE SCEVE. I(i3
and it is during a few of these occasional gleams that
I could wish to exhibit her.
Amour jDerdit les traits qu'il me tira,
Et de douleur se print fort a complaindre ;
Venus en eut pitie, et soupira,
Tant que par pleurs son brandon feit esteindre :
Dent aigrement furent contrainctz de plaindre,
Car I'Arcier fut sans traict, Cypris sans flamme.
Ne pleure pas Venus : mais bien enflamme
Ta torcbe en moy, mon coeur I'allumera :
Et toj', enfant, cesse, va vers ma dame,
Qui de ses yeux tes flesclies refera. — (Ixxxix. p. 44.)
Love lost the weapons that he aim'd at me,
And wail'd for woe that had his soul unmann'd ;
Venus with pity did that sadness see,
And sig'h'd and wept till she put out her brand ;
So did they both in grievous sorrow stand,
Her torch extinct, his arrows spent in air.
Cease, goddess, cease thy mourning ; and repair
Thy torch in me, whose heart the flame supplies ;
And thou, child, cease; unto my lady fare.
And make again thy weapons at her eyes.
A I'embrunir des heures tenebreuses,
Que Somnus lent pacifie la terre,
Ensevely soubz cortines umbreuses,
Song-e a moy vient, qui mon esprit desserre,
Et tout aupres de celle la le serre,
Qu''il reveroit pour son royal maintien.
164 EARLY FBENCH POETS.
Mais par son doulx, et prive' entretien
L'attrait tant sien, que puis sans craincte aulcune
II m'est advis, certes, que je la tien,
Mais ainsi, comme Endimion la Lune.
(cxxxv. p. 60.)
When darksome hours the welkin have embrown'd,
And slug-gish Somnus lulls the world to peace,
Buried in curtains shadowing around,
Cometh a dream that doth my spirit release,
And in her presence bids its wandering cease,
Whom it hath reverenced for her royal guise.
But with so soft and intimate surprise
Hers draws it on, that I, unfearing soon,
Methinks am folding her ; yet in such wise
As once the Latmian shepherd did the Moon.
In another of these dixains, he refers to the death
of Sir Thomas More, whose fate had then recently
filled Europe with consternation.
Le doulx sommeil de ses tacites eaux
D'oblivion m'arousa tellement.
Que de la mere et du filz les flambeaux
Je me sentois estaintz totallement,
Ou le croyois : et specialement,
Que la nuict est a repos inclinee.
Mais le jour vint, et I'heure destinee,
Ou, revirant, mille i'ojs je mouruz,
Lors que vertu en son zele obstinee
Perdit au monde Angleterre, et Morus. (clvi.p. 70.)
MAURICE SCEVE. IGj
Soft sleep with silent waters had bedew'd
My temples in oblivion, that I felt
The torch of son and mother both subdued,
And their wan fires in dark suffusion melt,
Or so beheved : for by the night is dealt
Repose to mortals, stealing cares away.
But morn stept forth ; and with that morn the day
Tack'd round, and did a thousand deaths restore ;
For virtue, whose proud zeal no let can stay,
Had to the world lost England and her More.
Quand quelquesfoys d'elle a elle me plaings,
Et que son tort je luy fais recongnoistre,
De ses yeulx clers d'honneste courroux plains
Sortant rosee en pluye vient a croistre.
Mais comme on voit le soleil apparoistre
Sur le printemps parmy I'air pluvieux
Le rossignol a chanter curieux,
S'esgaye lors ses plumes arousant ;
Ainsi Amour aux larmes des ses yeulx
Ses ailesbaigne, a gre se reposant. — (ccclii. p. 156.)
When to herself I of herself complain.
Making her rue the wrong that she hath done,
Her bright eyes, swelling with a self-disdain,
Oft melt in dew that into showers doth run.
But, as when sometimes we do see the sun
In spring-time peering through a showery sky.
The nightingale is blithe, and curiously
'Gins warble, dewing his meek feathers still ;
Thus in the tears that drop from either eye
Love bathes his wings, reposing him at will.
I6fi EARLY FRENCH PQETS,
La lune au plein par sa clarte puissante
Rompt I'espaisseur de robscurite trouble,
Qui de la nuict, et Thorreur herissante,
Et la paour pasle ensemble nous redouble ;
Les desvoyez alors met hors de trouble,
Ou I'incertain des tenebres les guide.
De celle ainsi, qui sur mon cceur preside,
Le doulx regard, a mon mal souverain,
De mes douleurs resoult la nue humide,
Meconduisantensonjoyeuxserain.— (ccclxxv.p.l66.)
The moon at full, by clearness of her light.
Breaks through the thickness of the troublous shade,
Whose bristling horror, leagued with the night,
Has the wayfaring wanderer dismay'd ;
Then doth he onward go, no more afraid
Lest doubtful darkness lead his feet astray.
Thus she, whose motion doth my spirit sway,
With sweet looks, sovereign cure for my distress,
Dissolves my humid cloud of grief away.
Leading me forth in shining steadfastness.
This poem, entitled Delie, Object de plus haulte
Vertu, and printed at Lyons, chez Sulpice Sabon,
pour Antoine Constantin, 1544, 8vo. consists of 458
dixains, reckoning by the number at the end ; but
of these, nine (between 90 and 100,) are omitted.
Everv second leaf is ornamented with, some curious
emblem ; and the portrait of the author is prefixed.
I am the more particular in describing this book,
MAURICE SCEVE. 167
because I am doubtful whether it has ever been re-
printed, and because, amidst much obscurity, there
are really some fine tilings in it, somewhat in the
way of our own Donne. Besides those which I have
attempted to translate, I woiild direct the attention of
my reader, if it should chance to come in his way, to
dixains ciii. cxxv. cccxxxvii. ccccv. and ccccxxiii. In
the two hundred and sixty-second, and that following
it, he celebrates Francis the First ; and in the next
two, IMargaret, probably the daughter of that king,
and Duchess of Savoy. After the quaint fashion of
the times, his DeUa is often accosted as the Moon.
She appears to have been a married woman :
In Francis' time,
Such courtship was not held a crime.
He frequently speaks of the Rhone, on the banks
of which she resided, probably at Lyons. Maurice
Sceve himself was an advocate, and afterwards chief
magistrate (eche\in) in that city; and died, an old
man, about 1.564. Another of his works, called the
Microcosme, written in Alexandrine verse, and
dinded into three books, I have not seen.
168 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
GUILLAUME DES AUTELS.
The only book which I have seen by Guillaume
des Autels consists of but sixteen small leaves in the
Gothic letter. It has no name of printer, nor date
of time or place : its title, Le Moys de May, de
Guilelme Deshaultelz de Montcenis en Bourgoignes
Dens Scit (with two rude figures of a man and woman
conversing together). On the back of the title-page,
the reason why it is so called is given in the following
quatrain : —
Lecteur desprit dispos et gay,
Si tu veux la raison comprendre
De 06 tiltre il te fault entendre
Que ce jay faict au moys de May.
Reader, light of heart and gay,
Of this title if the reason
Thou inquirest, know the season
"WTien I made it was in May.
Nearly all the next seven leaves are taken up with
the dialogue between two personages, who are called
Guilelme and Jeanne. The gentleman proposes
GUILLAUME DES AUTELS. 169
questions, (demancles d' amour,) and the lady resolves
them. The following mil be enough to show in what
manner this catechism proceeds.
Gxiileline. — Icy me respondes doncques
Et sans poinct dypocrisie
Si vous scavez qui fust oncques
La source de jalousie.
Jeanne. — Fust selon ma fantaisie
Qui en* ce cela pas ne ment
La cause de jalousie
Premiere ) amour vehement.
William. — An if thou weetest, tell me this,
And tell me sooth I pray ;
Whence jealousy in human heart
Did first begin to sway ?
Jane.— According to my fantasy,
Which is not false herein,
The cause of jealousy did first
In love o'er-strong- begin.
Then follow some epigrams, in which, though he
addresses the first of them to his sister and friend,
the Damoiselle Jeanne de la Bruyere, and the second
to his father, there is nevertheless a hcentiousness in
bic.
170 EAELY FRENCH POETS,
which suppose the writer conceived that the
" sprightly month" would warrant him.
Next comes Co~plaincte sur la Mort de Cleme't
Marot p Calliope muse q' se peust cha ter sur Laisses
la verde couleur faictp ledict Deshautelz. — Complaint
on the Death of Clement Marot, by the Muse Cal-
liope, which may be sung to the tmie of ' Leave the
Green Colour,' by the said Des Autels.
Sur Ihault mont de pnassus
Se faisoit une assemblee
Des neufz muses et lassus
La terre esmeue a tremblee.
Le quran a voyant
Vers les astres sest tournee
Puys souddain en larmoyant
Cette cliansson a sonnee.
Laisses ceste grand douceur
Et liesse accoustumee
Calliope chiere seur
Nouvelle avez non aymee.
Plores le filz de Phebus
Et sa mort infortunee
Car en* se moyr sans abuz
Sa vie est ja terminee.
* This seems to be an error of the press for " ce
moys."
GUILLAUME DES AUTELS. 171
Celluy qui apres Virgile
Avoit la plume doree
Qui faisoit en sens agille
Ritme et chansson mesuree.
A ces propos seulement
Calliope desolee
Congneust lame de Clement
Estre de corps despoillee.
Et a pour si grand douleur
Sa liesse desturbee
Et prenant pasle couleur
Est comme morte tumbee.
Mais ses seurs belles et gentes
La voyant ainsi grevee
Par leurs cures diligentes
De la terre lent levee.
Et quant elle a peult reprendre
Uno" peu sa voix absentee
Elle a bien donne entendre
Comme elle estoit tourmentee.
O dist elle dure mort
Malheuree et insensee
Ton tard sur moy poinct ne mord
Mays je men sens offencee.
Helas je te desdaignoys
Mays tu ten es bieu vengee
Au lieu que tant clier tenoys
Pour cella tu tes rengee.
172 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Or ta grande ingratitude
A toutes gens sest monstree
Or est ta main lasche et rude
Cong-neue en toute contree.
Cil qui avoit ton offence
A son pouvoir coloree
A pour toute recompence
Souffert ta main malheuree.
Marot au Sermon du bon et mauvais pasteur lone
ainsi la mort.
II tavoit nommer benigne
Clef de la vie estimee
Voyre comme Heleyne digne
Destre elegante formee.
Chascun painctre qui paint bien
En sa figure atornee
Tavoit ja par son moyen
De face plaisante ornee.
Ainsi ton tard tu portoys
Teinct en couleur azuree
Comme Cupido courtoys
Porte sa fleiclie doree.
Upon the top of high Parnass
The Muses nine did sit,
When sudden on that mount the earth
Shook with a fearful fit.
GUILLATJME DES AUTELS. 173
Thereat the quadrant toward the stars
Did turn itself around,
And forth there issued, mix'd with sobs,
A song of doleful sound.
Oh break ye off this chearful strain,
Oh break ye off your gladness ;
Calliope, dear sister, we
Have tidings of strange sadness.
Weep for the sou of Phcebus, weep.
And for his hapless doom :
This month, erewhile a happy month.
Hath seen him to his tomb ;
Him, who had next to Virgil leamt
His golden pen to move ;
Who made the measures nimbly trip
In song and lay of love.
It ceased ; but only at those words
Calliope despair'd,
For well she knew that Clement's soul
Had from its body fared;
And at so mighty woe disturb'd.
Away her gladness fled ;
And, changing colour, down to earth
She fell as she were dead.
Her sisters, beautiful and kind,
That saw her in that swound,
With gentle care enfolded her,
And lifted from the ground :
1/4 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
And when her voice, that fail'd her quite,
A little was restored,
She thus, in accents faint and low.
That luckless chance deplored :
Ah me ! she cried, O cruel death.
Insensate and ill-starr'd.
Thy dart on me no wound can work,
Yet hath it prest me hard.
Alas ! how well art thou avenged
On me for my disdain,
Who in the place I held so dear
Hast thy proud station ta'en.
Now is thy great ingratitude
To all men clearly shown ;
Now is thy rude and felon hand
Through every nation known.
He, who to utmost of his might
Had colour'd o'er thy wrong.
Has suifer'd from thy luckless hand
In guerdon of his song.
Marot, in the discourse of the good and evil shep-
lierd, thus praises death.
He call'd thee bountiful and good,
He named thee key to bliss ;
And if they've learnt to paint thee fair,
The lesson hath been his.
GUILLAUME DES AUTELS. 175
Each limner hence that limneth best,
Who (loth thy likeness trace,
Describeth thee with beauty such
As beam'd in Helen's face ;
And thou wert made thy dart to bear
With heaven's own azure bright,
As courteously as Cupid his.
In golden quiver pight.
In the second of these stanzas there appears to be
intended a play on the words quadran, the instru-
ment, and quadrain or quatrain, a stanza of four
lines. After continuing her complaint through
several more of these. Calliope at last, like Gray's
Bard, plunges in the Caballine stream ; but not, like
him, to endless night — for her immortality does not
suffer any harm ui the mighty waters. Another im-
pression of the same figures that are in the title-page,
and which seem designed to represent Guilelme and
Jeanne, concludes this little volume.
I regret much that I can do no more for this
wTiter than point out the names of some of his other
works from De Bure's Bibliograpliie : — 3055. Repos
de plus grand travail, ou Poesies diverses ; compose es
par Guill. des Autelz. Lyon, de Toumes, 1550, in
8vo. — 3056. Kephque du meme Guill. des Autelz
aux furieuses defenses de Louis Megret, en prose ;
avec la suite du Repos de I'Auteur, en rime Frangoise.
176 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Lyon, de Toumes, 1551, in 8to. — 3057. Les Amou-
reux Repos de Guill. des Autelz, avec les fagons
lyriques, et quelques epigrammes. Lyon, Temporal,
1553, in 8vo.— 3621. Mythistoire Baragouyne de
Fanfreluche et Gaudichon, trouvee depuis nagueres,
d'un exemplaire ecrit a la main [par Guill. des
Autels.] Lyon, 1574, in 16mo.
Guillaume, son of Syacre des Autels, was born at
Charolles, in 1529, and died about 1580.
ROBERT GARNIER.
Jodelle's fame, as a dramatic writer, was soon
eclipsed by that of Robert Garnier, who, indeed, if
we were take the words of Dorat and of Robert
Estienne, (grandson, I believe, of him who compiled
the Thesaurus) surpassed even the three Tragedians
of Greece.
La Grece eut trois autheurs de la Muse tragique,
France plus que ces trois estime un seul Garnier.
H. Estienne.
At nunc vincit eos qui tres, Garnerius unus,
Tema ferat Tragicis prsemia digna tribus.
Jo. Auratus.
His other panegyrists, Ronsard, Bclleau, Ba'if,
ROBERT GARXIER. I//
Flaminio de Birague,* and Claude Binet, are more
temperate ; and Estienne Pasquier, after quoting
Ronsard's testimony in his favour, and reciting the
names of his eight tragedies, contents himself with
adduig, that they will, m his opinion, find a place
among posterity.f "A mon jugement trouveront
lieu dedans la posterite."
In some prefatory verses to Henry III. Garnier
well describes the character of these poems.
Une tragedie,
Semblable a celle-cy qu'humble je vous dedie :
Ou j'empouUe des vers plains de sang etd'horreur,
De larmes, de sanglots, de rage, et de fureurs.
(Les Tragedies de Robert Gamier, Conseiller du
Roy, Lieutenant General Criminel au siege Pre-
sidial et Seneschaussee du Maine. A Rouen.
Chez Pierre L'Oyselet, au haut des degres du
Palais. 1611. 12mo. p. 12.)
* Flaminio de Birague lived in the time of Charles
IX. and composed quatrains, sixains, sonnets, elegies,
and epitaphs. One of the epitaphs is cited by M. Phi-
lipon-la-Madelaine, in his Dictionnaire Portatif des
Poetes Francais. Paris, 1805.
Passant, penses tu pas de passer ce passage
Qu'en mourant j'ai passe ? Penses au nieme pas.
Si tu n'y penses bien, de vrai tu n'es pas sage ;
Car possible demain passeras au trepas.
t Recherches de la France, 1. 6, c. 7.
N
178 EABLY FKENCH POETS.
A tragedy,
Like this which humbly I present to thee :
Through the big verse, where blood and horrour rage,
And tears, and sobs, and fury swell the page.
He has a tumid grandeur which frequently expands
itself even beyond the dimensions of Seneca himself.
Like Shakspeare, he sometimes boldly coins a word,
when the language does not supply him with one
that will suit his purpose.
II faut pour orager ta puissance supreme
Emprunter les efforts de ta puissance mesme. (P. 28.)
Ces champs envenimez ou les Dieux inhumains
Hostelereiit ]didi\?> vostre premiere enfance. (P. 33.)
Si les Dieux tant de fois nous estoient punisseurs
Que nous chetifs mortels leur sommes offenseurs,
Leur foudre defaudroit, et la terre prefonde
Sans cause enfndteroit sa poitrine feconde :
Ainsi vous convient-il estre aux vostres plus doux.
(P. 51.)
The speeches are often immoderately long. He
has much declamation ; occasionally a good deal of
passion ; but very little character.
Ill what manner he conducts his stories, my reader
will be able to judge from the following abstract
which I have made of each of those wherein the plot
is, for aught I know to the contrary, his own.
UOBERT GAKNIER. 179
In the first, which is entitled Porcie, the fury
Megsera speaks the prologue. The chorus of Ro-
man women then sing the perils of grandeur and the
safety of lowliness in an ode, much of which is from
Horace. — Act 2. Porcia laments the miseries of her
country. The chorus sing a translation of Horace's
Beatus ille qui procul negotiis. The Nurse also
mourns over the sufferings of Rome, and expresses
her fears for the approaching conflict between the
forces of Antony and those of Brutus and Cassius,
and for the effects which the defeat of the latter may
produce on her mistress. Porcia now comes in, and
in her despair regrets the death of Julius Caesar.
The chorus again sing a moral ode, much of which is
from Horace. — Act 3. Areus, the philosopher and
favourite of Octavius Caesar, makes a long soliloquy
on the happiness of the golden age, and the subse-
quent corruption of mankind, concluding with a quo-
tation from Horace. Octavius, who has now been
informed of the death of Brutus, enters exulting, and
vows further vengeance on his enemies, from which
Areus endeavours to dissuade him, but in vain. There
is in this scene a brisk alternation in the dialogue.
Ar. Cesar pour se veng-er ne prescript jamais homme.
Oct. S'il les eust tous prescripts, il regneroit a Rome.
Ar. II epargnoit leursang-. — Oct. II prodig-uoit le sien.
Ar. II estimoit beaucoup garder un citoyen.
180 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Oct. D'un citoyen amy la vie est tousiours chere,
Mais d'un qui ne Test pas nous doit estre legere.
Ar. Cesar pardonnoittout. — Oct. Que servit son pardon?
Ar. D'en conserver plusieurs. — Oct. Quel en fut le
guerdon ?
Ar. Que gravee en nos coeurs sa florissante gloire
Vit eternellement d'une heureuse memoire.
Oct. II est mort toutesfois.— ^r. Immortel est son los.
Oct. Mais son corps n'est-il pas dans le sepulchre enclos ?
Ar. Ne devoit-il mourir ? (P. 52.)
Ar. Csesar proscribed no man to sate his vengeance.
Oct. Had he proscribed them all, he yet in Rome
Were reigning. — Ar. He was sparing of their blood.
Oct. Say rather he was lavish of his own.
Ar. A citizen's life was precious in his eyes.
Oct. The life of one, who is a citizen,
And loves us, ever must be dear ;
Not his who is a citizen, and hates us.
Ar. Csesar pardon'd all.— Oc^. Whereto served his
pardon ?
Ar. To win more to him. — Oct. What was its reward ?
Ar. That graven in our hearts his glory lives
Eternally in blest remembrance. — Oct. Yet
He died.— ^r. Not so his praise, which is immortal.
Oct. But for his body, is't not in the tomb ?
Ar. And could he 'scape to die 1
The chorus sing the mutability of human affairs
and the unhappy destinies of Rome. Antony, and
Ventidius, his lieutenant, return to Rome after their
EGBERT GAKNIER. Ibl
victory. Antony salutes the city in a pompous
speech, and Ventidius sets him on recoimting the
labours of his forefather Hercules, and boasting of
liis o^vn achievements. He is joined by his two
colleagues, Octavius and Lepidus, vrho debate on the
measures to be pursued in future, and resolve to set
out for their several provinces. A chorus of soldiers
conclude the act. — Act 4. The messenger, after much
delay and circumlocution, and many long similes,
communicates the fatal tidings to Porcia, who breaks
forth into the most clamorous grief.
Tonnez, cieux, foudroyez, esclairez, abismez,
Et ne me laissez rien de mes os consommez,
Que ceste terre ingrate enferme en sa poitrine.
Respandez, respandez vostre rage maline
Sur mon chef blasphemeur, et tempestez sibien
Que demoymalheureuseilnedemeure rien. (P. 75.)
Thunder, ye heavens, flash, lighten, swallow up,
Nor leave one little particle of all
My seared bones, which this ungrateful earth
May in its bosom cover. Pour, pour down
Your utmost spite on this blaspheming head ;
And execute your stormy wrath so fulh',
That nought remain of such a wretch as I am.
The Nurse endeavours to soothe her, to no purpose.
The chorus once more bewail the fate of Rome.
182 EARLY FKENCH POETS.
Act 5. The Nurse relates to the chorus the death
of her mistress. They lament over that event, and
the fate of Brutus, in a simple and pathetic song ;
and the Nurse concludes the play, with a poniard at
her breast, in the following couplet.
Mourons, sus sus mourons, sus poignard haste toy ;
Sus jusques au pommeau vien t'enfoncer en moy.
Die, die we then. No ling'ring. Haste thee, dagger ;
Up to thy hilt be buried quick within me.
CORNELIE.
Act 1 . Cicero, iu a long soliloquy, deplores the
servitude of Rome vmder Julius Csesar, and expatiates
on the mischief of ambition. The chorus sing an
ode on the wickedness and evil of war. — Act 2.
Cornelia bemoans the fate of her two husbands,
Crassus and Pompey. Cicero endeavours to console,
and to argue her out of her intention to commit
suicide. A fine ode by the chorus on the perpetual
revolution and changes in human affairs — Rome, once
freed from her kings, has been again enslaved, and
will sometime be in like manner restored to liberty.
* Garnier's Cornelia was translated by Th. Kyd in
1594.
KOBEUT GARNTER. 183
— Act 3. Cornelius tell the chorus of a terrible
dream, in which Pompey had appeared to her. The
chorus assure her, that the spirits of the deceased
cannot return, but that evil demons assume their
appearance in order to fill us \vith vain terrors.
Cicero makes another turgid sohloquy on the ambi-
tion of Caesar. Philip (who had been the freedman
of Pompey) enters, bearing, in a funeral urn, the ashes
of his late master. ComeUa laments over them,
and inveighs against Caesar. Another ode by the
chorus, on the mutability of fortune, concludes the
Act. — Act 4. A scene between Cassius and Decimus
Brutus, in which the former excites the latter to ven-
geance against the tyrant. The chorus sing the
glory of those who free their country from tyraimy,
the insecurity of kings, and the happiness of a low
condition. Caesar and Mark Antony ; the one ex-
ulting in his conquests, the other warning him against
his enemies. There are some splendid verses put
into the mouth of Caesar.
O beau Tybre, et tes flots de grand' aise ronflans,
Ne doubleut-ils leur crespe a tes verdureux flancs,
Joyeux de ma venue, et d'une voixvagueuse
Ne vont-ils annoncer a la mer ecumeuse
L'honneur de mes combats ? ne vont, ne vont tes flots
Aux Tritons mariniers faire bruire mon los,
Et au pere Ocean se vanter que le Tybre
Roulera plus fameux qu' Eufrate et le Tygre ? (P. 139.)
184 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
O beauteous Tyber ! and do not thy billows
Snort out their gladness, with redoubled curls,
Up their green margins mounting, all o'erjoy'd
At my return ? do they not hasten onwards
Unto the foamy sea, to tell my triumphs
In surging clamours, and to bid the Tritons
Trumpet the praises of my valorous deeds ''
Vaunting to Father Neptune that their Tyber
Rolls prouder waves than Tygris or Euphrates 1
A chorus of Caesar's friends celebrate his praises,
and declaim on the e^als of envy. — Act 5. A mes-
senger relates to Cornelia the defeat and death of her
father Scipio, embellishing his tale with a due pro-
portion of similes. Her grief clamorous and elo-
quent as usual.
Au moins, ciel, permettez, permettez, a cette heure,
Apresla mort des miens, que moy-mesmeje meure:
Poussez moy dans la tombe, ores que je ne puis,
Veufe de tout bien, recevoir plus d'ennuis ;
Et que vous n'avez plus, m'ayant ravi mon pere,
Ravi mes deux maris, sujet pour me desplaire. (P. 156.)
Here we have the same thought, but much less
strongly expressed, as in that line which Longinus
has adduced from the most pathetic scene in the
most pathetic of all tragedians.
rifib) KaKwv di), KovKtr' tffO' otttj riGy.
Euripides, Hercules Furens, 1245, Ed. Barnes.
EGBERT GAKNIER. 185
And Tyrwhitt, in his Glossary* to Chaucer, has
remarked a similar passage in that poet.
So full of sorowe am I, sothe to sayne,
That certainly no more liarde grace
May sit on me, for why? there is no space.
Cornelia concludes by resoMng to live, that she
may honour the remains of the dead.
Mais las ! si je trespasse, ains que d'avoir log-e
Dans un funebre tombeau mon pere submerge,
Qui en prendra la cure 1 iront ses membres vagues
A jamais tourmentez par les meurtrieres vagues I
Mon pere, je vivray ; je vivray, mon espoux.
Pour faire vos tombeaux, et pour pleurer sur vous,
Languissante, chetive, et de mes pleurs fameuses
Baigner plaintivement vos cendres genereuses :
Puis sans bumeur, sans force emplissant de sanglots,
Les vases bien heureux qui vous tiendront enclos,
Je vomiray ma vie, et tombant legere ombre
Des esprits de la bas j'iray croistre le nombre.
(P. 158 )
But oh ! if death surprise me ere I lodge
My father in his tomb, who then shall do
That office for him ? Shall his limbs go wand'ring
For ever up and down the murderous waves ?
Yea, I will live, my father — I will live,
* See the word Grace.
186 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
My husband, but to make your tombs, and weep
Upon you, lang-uishing- away my life
In pining sorrow, and bedewing still
Your noble ashes witli my plenteous tears,
And then at last, for lack of moisture, falling.
Sob out my soul into the happy urns
That shall contain you ; and, an empty shadow.
Flit down among the spirits of the deep.
ANTOINE.
Antony makes a speech not much in character,
deploring his captivity to the charms of Cleopatra.
The chorus sing an ode on the miseries incident to
human nature ; for part of which they are indebted
to Euripides, and to Horace for the remainder. —
Act 2. Philostratus appears, for this time only,
that he may lament over the state of Egypt. The
chorus in their song run over all the instances of
unhappy mourners whom they can recall to memory,
and say they have themselves more reason to mourn
than all, but do not tell us for what cause. Cleopatra,
with Eras and Charmion, her women, and Diomedes
her secretary. The Queen declares her resolution to
share the fate of the conquered Antony, and will
listen to no arguments for consulting her own safety.
She goes into a sepulchre, there to await her doom.
Diomedes remains alone, to meditate on the beauties
of his royal mistress, and to lament her obstmacy.
ROBERT GARNIER. 187
The follomng ode predicts the subjection of the Nile
to the Tyber, but suggests a topic of consolation to
Egypt in the future destruction of Rome herself. —
Act 3. Antony cUscovers to his friend Lucilius his
fears of Cleopatra's fidelity. Lucilius endeavours to
calm his apprehensions ; and after much empty
moraUzing on his own weakness, and on the fatal
effects of pleasure, Antony resolves to put an end to
his life. The chorus chant an Ode, partly borrowed
from the Jmtum et tenacem •propositi virum of
Horace, in which they commend the determination
of Antony and Cleopatra not to siu-vive their mis-
fortmies. — Act 4. Octa^-ius Caesar enters, boasting
of his triumphs. Agrippa is dissuading him from
his design of exterminating his enemies, when Der-
cetas comes to acquaint him with the particulars of
Antony's death. His death is bewailed by Caesar;
but Agrippa thinks only of being in time to prevent
Cleopatra from destroying herself and her treasures.
A chorus of Caesar's friends lament the di\asions of
the Roman empire, in a song which, according to
custom, is in great measure translated from Horace.
— Act 5. Cleopatra, in the monument with her chil-
dren, their tutor Euphron, and her women Charmion
and Eras, utters her last lamentation over the dead
body of Antony.
188 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
HIPPOLYTE, LA TKOADE, ET ANTIGONE.
The subject of these three tragedies being taken
chiefly from Sophocles, Euripides, and Seneca, I shall
willingly decline the task of being as particular in my
account of them as of the rest. In the first, the ghost
of Jllgeus speaks the prologue. Then comes in Hip-
polytus, who, in a speech of about one hundred and
fifty Unes, declares his foreboding of some approaching
evil. Had Mr. Charles Lamb met with a similar
passage in one of our old dramatists, I do not think
he would have passed it unnoticed.
Ja I'Aurore se lave, et PhcBbus qui la suit
Vermeil fait flamboyer les flambeaux de la nuit,
Ja ses beaux limonniers commencent a respandre,
Le jour aux animaux qui ne font que I'attendre,
Jales monts sourcilleux commencent ajaunir
Sous le char de ce Dieu qu'ils regardent venir.
O beau soleil luisant, belle et claire jjlanette,
Qui pousse tes rayons dedans la nuit brunette,
O grand Dieu perruquier, qui lumineux estains
Me decharmant les yeux, I'erreur des songes vains,
Qui ores travailloient durant cette nuit sombre
Mon esprit combattu d'un larmoyable encombre ;
Je te salue, O Pere, et resalue encor,
Toy, ton char, tes cbevaux, et tes beaux rayons d'or.
II me sembloit dormant, que j'erroy solitaire
Au creux d'uue forest mon esbat ordinaire
BOBERT GARNIER. 189
Descendre dans un val, que mille arbres autour
Le ceinturant espois, privent de nostre jour.
II y faisoit obscur, mais non pas du tout comme
En une pleine nuict, qu'accompagne le somme;
Mais comme il fait au soir, apres que le soleil
A retire de nous son visage vermeil,
Et qu'il relaisse encor une lueur qui semble
Estre ni jour ni nuict, mais tous les deux ensemble.
Dedans un val ombreux, estoit a droite main
Un antre plein de mousse, et de lambrunche plein
Oil quatre de mes chiens entrerent d'avanture,
Quatre Molossiens de goierriere nature.
A g-rande peine ils estoient a la gueule du creux
Qu'il se vient presenter un g-rand lion affreux,
Le plus fort et massif, le plus espouvantable,
Qui jamais beberg'eant au Taure inhospitable.
Ses yeux estoient de feu, qui flamboient tout ainsi
Que deux larges tisons dans un air obscurci.
Son col gros et cbarnu, sa poitrine nerveuse,
S'enfloient herissonez d'une hure crineuse :
Sa gueule estoit horrible, et horrible ses dens.
Qui comme gros piquets apparoissoient dedans.
Mes chiens, bien que hardis, si tost ne I'aviserent,
Que saisis des frayeurs dehors ils s'elancerent:
Accoururent vers moy tremblant et pantelant,
Criant d'une voix foible, et comme s'adeulant.
Si tost que je les voy si esperdus, je tasche
De les rencourager : mais leur courage lasche
Ne les rasseure point, et tant plus que je veux
Les en faire approcher, ils reculent peureux,
Com^e un grand chef guerrier qui voit ses gens en fuite.
190 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
Et plusieurs gros scadrons d'ennemi a leur suite,
A beau les exliorter, les prier, supplier,
De retourner visage, et de se rallier,
A beau faire promesse, a beau donner menace,
Cast en vain ce qu'il fait, ils ont perdu I'audace.
lis sont sourds et muets, et n'ont plus autre soin.
Que de haster le pas, s'enfuir bien loin.
J'empoigne mon espieu, dont le fer qui flamboye
Devant mon estomach, me decouvre la voye ;
Je descens jusqu'au bord, ou soudain j'appercoy
Le grand lion patu, qui decoclie vers moy,
Degorgeant un tel cri de sa gorge beante
Que toute la forest en resonne tremblante,
Qu' Hymette en retentist, et que les rocs, qui sont
Au bord Thriasien, en sourcillent le front.
Fermeje me roidis, adosse d'une souclie,
Avance d'une jambe, et a deux bras je couche
Droit a luy mon espieu, prest de luy traverser
La gorge ou I'estomacb, s'il se cuide avancer.
Mais les peu me servit cette brave asseurance !
Car luy sans faire ces du fer que je luy lance,
Non plus que d'un festu que j'eusse eu dans la main,
Me I'arrache de force, et le rompt tout soudain ;
Me renverse sous luy, me trainace et me coule,
Aussi facilement qu'il eust fait d'une boule, \/
Ja ses griffes fondoient dans mon estomac nu,
L'escartelant sous luy comme un poulet menu
Qu'un milan aravi sousl'aisle de sa mere,
Et le va dechirant de sa griife meurtriere ;
Quand, vaincu du tourment, je jette un cri si haut,
Que j'en laisse mon songe, et m'eveille en sursaut,
ROBERT GARNIER. 191
Si froid et si tremblant, si glace par la face,
Par les bras, par le corps, que je n'estoy que glace.
Je fu long temps ainsi dans mon lict estendu,
Regardant qa et la comma un homme esperdu,
Que I'esprit, la memoire, et le sens abandonne.
Qui ne scait ce qu'il est, ne cognoist plus personne.
Immobile, insensible, etourde, qui n'a plus
De pensement en lay qui ne soit tout confus.
Mais las ! ce n'est encor tout ce qui m'espouvante,
Tout ce qui me cliagrine, et mon ame tourmente ;
Ce n'est pas cela seul qui me fait tellement
Craindre je ne scay quoy de triste evenement !
J'ay le coeur trop hardy pour estre fait la proye
D'un songe deceveur ; cela seul ne m'effroye ;
Le songe ne doit pas estre cause d'ennuy,
Tant foible est son pouvoir quand il n'y a que luy :
Ce n'est qu'un vain semblant, qu'un fantosme, une image,
Qui nous trompe en dormant, et non pas un presage.
Depuis quatre ou cinq nuicts le hibou n'a jamais
Cesse de lamenter au haut de ce palais,
Et mes chiens aussitost qu'ils sont en leurs estables
Comme loups par les bois lieurlent espouvantables ;
Les tours de ce chasteau noircissent de corbeaux ;
Jour et nuict aperchez sepulcraliers oiseaux,
Et n'en veulent partir, ores qu'on les decliasse,
Si ce n'est quand je sors pour aller a la chasse ;
Car alors tons ensemble ils decampent des tours,
Et croassant sur moym'accompag-nent tousiours,
Bavolant 9a et la, comme une espesse nue
Qui vogue parmi I'air, du Soleil soustenue. (P. 247.)
192 EARLY FBENCH POETS.
Already doth the goddess of the dawn
Peer forth, and ruddy Phoebus following
Makes the night torches flare ; his pawing coursers
Scatter down light on all earth's animals
That do but wait them, and the beethng chfFs
Grow amber with the chariot of the God
Whom they spy coming. O fair beaming Sun !
Bright Planet, that dost push thy subtle beams
Through the dun night ! great golden-tressed God,
Who with thy luminous wand mine eyes uncharming,
Extinguishest the errour of vain dreams.
That all this troublous night have haunted me ;
Hail to thee, Father ! and again all hail
To thee, thy car and steeds, and beams of gold.
Methought in sleep I wander'd all alone
Through a deep forest, where I oft resort,
Into a valley, with a thousand trees.
With their tall antlers girdling, shut from day.
I stood in darkness, yet not darkness such
As in full night by slumber companied ;
But as when late at evening, after Sol
Has quite withdrawn his visage, and yet leaves
A light, that seemeth neither night nor day.
But both conjoin'd. And in that shadowy vale.
Upon my right methought there was a cave.
Moss-lined, and mantled with a shaggy vine.
Four of my dogs at random enter'd it,
Four stout Molossians of right warlike breed ;
But scarcely had they dived into its jaws,
When a fierce lion met them. Such a beast,
UOBERT GARNIER, 193
So large, so massive, and so full of dread.
Amid the wilds of Taurus never stabled.
His eyes of fire glared like two beacon torches
In a dim sky. His big and fleshy neck,
And his wide brawny chest, were swoln and bristled
With a rough matted fell : his throat was horrible,
And horrible his teeth, within the maw
Ranged like to monstrous spikes. My dogs, alert
And hardy as they were, no sooner spy'd him.
Than they sprang out in terrour, and did run
Up to me, quaking, out of breath, and yelping
With a shrill feeble wail. Soon as I see them
Thus cow'd, I strive to hearten them again ;
But their slack courage rallies not a jot;
And by how much the more I tarre them on.
They, more afear'd, recoil. As a brave leader.
That sees his people routed, and the enemy
Dogging their heels, cries out, exhorts, persuades.
Entreats them to return and face the foe :
But bootless all ; in vain he promises,
In vain he threatens ; they have lost their daring,
Are deaf, and mute, and dream but of their flight.
I grasp my pike, whose iron tip advanced
Glistens before me, and informs my path.
Then on the brink arriving, I perceive
The mighty lion, that with out-stretch'd paws
Darts on me, uttering from open throat
So dread a roar, that all the forest shook,
And from Hymettus the redoubled cry
Echoed, and on Thriasian shores the rocks
o
194 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
Arcla'd their steep brows in wonder. Firm I stand,
Stiffen each nerve, against a trunk my back
Prop, and, one leg outstretch'd, on either arm
Right towards him couch my pike, ready to pierce
His gorg'e or entrails, if he dared advance.
But he no more account had of my spear
Than if I had been armed with a straw ;
Seized it, and snapp'd in twain ; then suddenly
Upset me under him, drags on, and rolls me
As easily as he had done a ball.
Already were his clutches in my breast,
Ripping me up like to a tiny bird.
That from its mother's wing a kite hath ravish'd.
And rends in pieces with his murderous claws ;
When by the torment vanquish'd, I so loud
Shriek'd out, that I broke off my dream, and waking,
Leap'd up, so chill, so trembling, and so frozen,
My face, and arms, and body were but ice.
Thus on my bed longtime I lay extended
Gazing around me like a man distract.
Who, reft of thought, and memory, and sense,
Wots neither what he is, nor better knows
Other beside himself; a motionless clod,
And heap of mere confusedness within.
Npr this, alas! the whole of what I fear.
Or that doth fill my spirit with strange boding
Of some unknown event. I have a heart
Too stout to be the prey of a false dream.
This is not all that frays me ; for a dream
Should not itself be cause of our annoy ;
Since 'tis no more than a vain empty shadow,
ROBERT GARNIER. 195
And no presagement of the thing to come.
These four or five nights past, the owlet ne'er
Hath ceased lamenting on our palace roof;
And, soon as in their kennel stall'd, my hounds
Howl like to forest wolves. Our castle towers
Are black with ravens, perched night and day ;
Sepulchral birds, that will not quit their seat,
Thoug-h driven, save when I go forth to hunt ;
And then it seems as all took wing at once
From the steep battlements, and, croaking round me,
Accompanied my steps this way and that,
Flapping their dismal pennons in mid air,
Self-balanced, like a thick and low-hung cloud.
The lively song of the attendant sportsmen tends
to dispel these horrors. It must be owned, that
there is something in all this more to our English
taste ; in short, that it has more of character and of
picturesque effect, than the opening of Racine's Phe-
dre, in which the tutor of Hippolytus is trpug to
extort from his pupil a confession of his being en-
amoured of Aricia, which a little prudery alone
restrains him from avowing.
II n'en fiiut point douter, vous aimez, vous brulez, •
Vous perissez d'un mal que vous dissimulez.
La charmaute Aricie a-t-elle su vous plaire I
Hippolyte. Theramene, je pars, et vais chercher
mon pere.
The young prince, though a votary of Diana her-
196 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
self, if he had not had a mistress would have appeared
more savage than any of the wild beasts he hunted, in
the eyes of that court, where, as Voltaire tells us, the
prime minister himself could not be without one. In
the next scene the judgment of Racine led him to
follow Euripides, though he has done it most timidly,
and with a sacred horror of the bold and passionate
imagery of the Greek. In his preface, acknowledg-
ing his obligations to that WTiter for the conception
of Phaedra's character, he tells us, that he beheves he
had never exhibited anvthins; so reasonable on the
stage. " Quand je ne lui dcATois que la seule idee
du caractere de Phedre, je pourrois dire que je lui
dois ce que j'ai peut-etre mis de plus raisonnable sur
le theatre." And to her reason indeed it must be
allowed he has brought her ia the strait-waistcoat of
his alexandrines ; for the poor queen raves no more as
she had formerly done in her palace at Athens, about
dewy fountains, pure waters, poplars, tufted meadows,
pine-trees, beast-slaughtering hounds, spotted stags,
and Thessalian spears ; about Diana mistress of the
sea-lake, and Venetian horses ; but talks as a lady
might be supposed to talk, who had lived the greater
part of her life at Paris, and was subject to be at
times a little flighty.
Dieux, quenesuis-je assise a I'ombre des forets?
Quand pourrai-je, au travers d'une noble poussiere,
Sui^Te de Tceil un char fu^-ant dans la carriere ?
ROBERT GARNIER. 197
Gamier would assuredly have made more of this ;
but he has unfortunately struck off into the route of
Seneca, who makes the queen speak of her love for
Hippolytus in the presence of the Nurse as if the
latter were already acquainted with it, and so loses
one of the finest occasions ever offered to a dramatic
poet, to shew his art in the casual and unconscious
discovery of an illicit passion. The " Ah, Dieux !"
of Racine's Phsedra, on the mention of the name of
Hippolytus, is not equal to the o'ifxoi of Euripides.
It does not sound so much like a moan drawn from
the bottom of a heart ready to burst with a sense of
its sufferings. In the rest of the play. Gamier has
not departed far from Seneca's model. Euripides
alone mtroduces Hippolytus still alive at the conclu-
sion, and has a short but moving scene between him
and Theseus,
In the preface to the Troade, Gamier owns that he
has taken it partly from the Hecuba and Troades of
Euripides, and partly f^-om the Troas of Seneca. It
is by expansion that he is most apt to spoil the effect
of what he borrows. In Seneca, Andromache, when
she is begging of Ulysses to spare the child Astyanax,
says, —
An has ruinas urbis in cinerem datas
Hie excitabit ?
And then holding up his little hands, adds,
Hse manus Trojam erig-ent J
198 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
than which scarcely anything can be imagined more
pathetic* But when Gamier makes four words into
as many hues, it is dilated almost to nothing.
Quoy ? ces floliettes mains, ces deux mains enfantines,
Pourront bien restaurer les Troyennes ruines ?
Pourront bien redresser les meurs audacieux
Du cendreux Ilion, que battirent les Dieux ? (P. 352.)
An Italian poet, Bongianni Gratarolo, who has
treated the same subject in his Astianatte, manages
it much better.
Son queste mani da redrizzar Troja? (Act 4.)
And are these hands to build up Troy again 1
In like inanner, when Talthybius relates to Hecuba
the sacrifice of Polyxena, Garnier has enlarged on the
narration in Euripides, which, beautiful as it is, is yet
sufficiently long.
Into his Antigone, he has crowded much of the
Septem Contra Thebas of iEschylus, the Phoenissse of
Euripides, and the Thebais of Seneca ; nor is it till
the fourth act, that he takes up the subject as it is
* "The master-piece of Seneca," says Dryden in his
Treatise on Dramatic Poesy, " I hold to be that scene in
the Troades, where Ulysses is seeking for Astyanax to
kill him. There you see the tenderness of a mother
represented in Andromache.''
ROBERT GARNIER. 199
treated in the Antigone of Sophocles. The farewell
of the heroine, when she is about to enter her li\-ing
sepulchre, will be well remembered by all readers of
that master of the drama. It is thus imitated by
Gamier: —
O fontaine Dircee ! 6 fleuve Ismene ! 6 prez !
O forests? 6 costaux ! 6 bords de sang pourprez !
O soleil jaunissantliimiere de ce monde!
O Thebes, mon pays, d'hommes gnaerriers feconde,
Et maintenant fertile en dure cruaute,
Contrainte je vous laisse et votre royaute !
Ha, je scay que bientost sortant de ma caverne,
Je vous verray, mon pere, au profond de I'Ayerne !
Je vous verray, ma mere, esclandreuse locaste,
Je verray Eteocle, et le gendre d'Adraste,
N'agueres devalez sur lenoir Acheron,
Et ne passez encor par le nocher Charon.
Adieu, brigade armee ; adieu, cheres compagnes,
Je m'en vay lamenter sous les sombres campagnes :
J'entre vive en ma tombe, oii languira mon corps
Mort et vif, esloigne des vivans et des morts.
(P. 478.)
Instead of a translation of these hues, I will add
an attempt which I once made to compress the
original into a few Latin elegiacs.
200 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Hos viva Antigone, jamjam subitura sepulchrum,
Thebas respiciens, fudit ab ore sonos.
Sancta vale sedes, comitesque valete puellse,
Et tu Dircsei fluminis unda vale.
Nunc licet extremum patrias insistere terras ;
Nunc licet extremo munere luce frui.
Intereo misera, amplexus ignara mariti :
Turbavit pompas mors, Hymeneee, tuas.
At nee poeniteat vitales luminis oras
Linquere, et inferni visere regna Dei ;
Sic cari potero vultus agnoscere fratris,
Sic umbrse occurrent ora paterna mese.
Adsum, clamabo ; generisque miserriina nostri,
Fato Labdacidge stirpe creata prober.
The subject of the next tragedy, entitled Les
Juiffes, the Jewish women, is taken from the Bible
(II Kings, xxiv. xxv. Act 1 . The prophet deplores
the defeat of the Jews. The chorus sing a hjTun
on the fall of man and on the deluge. Act 2.
Nebuchadnezzar, after an arrogant speech, equalling
himself to the Almighty, declares to Nehuzaradan,
captain of the guard, his intention to punish with
death, the rebellion of the king of the Jews, from
which that officer in vain endeavours to dissuade him.
A chorus on the mischiefs resulting from the Jewish
connection with Egypt. Hamutal, mother of Zede-
kiah, bewailing her desolate condition, with the
Jewish women. ^'
ROBERT GARNIER. 201
Ne viendra point le jour que mes langeurs je noye
Dansuu sombre tombeau, faite des vers laproye?
Helas ! je croy que non, il y a trop long- temps
Qu'en vain je le reclame, et qu'en vain je Fattens.
Non, 11 ne viendra point, ma peine est perdurable,
La mort prompte au secours ne m'est point secourable :
EUe me fuit peureuse, et n'ose m'approcher,
Son dard, qui ne craint rien, a peur de me toucher.
Elle craint les malheurs oii je languis confite,
Ou pense qu'immortelle en ce monde j'liabite,
Que j'y erre a jamais, m'ayant I'ire de Dieu,
Corame dans un enfer, confinee en celieu. (P. 517.)
Will there not come a day, when I may whelm
In the dark tomb my sorrows, made the prey
For worms? Alas ! I think, 'twill never come ;
Long time it is since I call for 't in vain,
In vain expect it. Oh ! my pains are lasting.
E'en death, the general helper, helps not me.
Trembling he flees away, nor ventures near me :
His dart, that knows no terror, dares not touch me.
He fears the evils that enclose me round ;
Or thinks I dwell immortal in this world,
Sent by God's wrath to wander up and down
Within this place of torment, as my hell.
The Assyrian Queen commiserates her misfor-
tunes, and tries with much delicacy and tenderness
to comfort her. The chorus sing a farewell to their
native country. — Act 3. While the Queen is inter-
ceding with Nebuchadnezzar for the Jews, Hamutal
202 EARLY FEENCH POETS.
and the wives of Zedekiah enter ; and at their sup-
pUcations, the Assyrian king at length makes a
treacherous promise of mercy. The chorus sing a
hymn from the psalm " By the Waters of Babylon,
&c." — Act 4. Seraiah, the chief priest, represents
to the king of the Jews, when he is bewailing the
sins and calamities of himself and his people, that
nothing is left him but to submit with tranquillity
and fortitude to the divine dispensations. Nebu-
chadnezzar now enters, and reproaches them with
their rebellion. At first, Zedekiah acknowledges his
offence, but is afterwards irritated into defiance by
the brutality of his conqueror. The chorus in a
hymn remember with anguish their former happiness,
and contrast it with their present sufferings. The
master of the household to the Assyrian king comes
to demand the royal children from Hamutal and the
wives of Zedekiah. The chorus sing the perpetual
iustabiUty of fortune.— Act 5. The Prophet an-
nounces to Hamutal and the Queen the cruel murder
of the children, whom they had given up as hostages
to Nebuchadnezzar. Zedekiah then enters with his
eyes put out ; and the Prophet concludes the tragedy
by foretelling the deliverance of the Jews by Cyrus,
the rebuilding of temple, and the coming of Christ.
BRADAMANTE,
The last of Gamier' s plays, which is entitled a
tragi-comedy, and has no choruses, was suggested, as
ROBERT GARXIER. 203
the author says in his preface, by the latter part of
the Orlando Furioso. In this he has conducted the
plot much more artfully than in any of the rest. —
Act 1. Sc. 1. Charlemagne is introduced exulting
over the dehvery of his kingdom from the forces of
Agramant. — Sc. 2. Nymes, Duke of Bavaria,
advises liim to be content ^\-ith his ^ictor)^, and not to
pursue further the remains of his routed enemies.
The king expresses his design to reward his faithful
soldiers, and especially Roger, by miiting him in
marriage with Bradamante, whom her parents,
Aymon and Beatrix, designed for Leon, son and heir
to Constantine, the Grecian emperor ; but in order to
secm-e her for her lover, and at the same time not to
contradict openly the will of her parents, Charle-
magne intends that she shall be the prize of the
knight who shall vanquish her in single combat. —
Act 2. Sc. 1. Aymon and Beatrix hold a conversa-
tion on the intended marriage of their daughter.
There is something comic in the pleasm-e with which
they express their hopes of getting her off their
hands without a marriage portion to the Emperor's
son. — Sc. 2. Renaud expostulates with his father on
his resolution to force a husband on his sister Brada-
mante. The old man falls into a rage, threatens to
fight all who oppose his will, and calls to his servant.
La Roque, for his arms, at the same time that he can
scarce stand for feebleness. — Sc. 3. Beatrix strives to
204 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
wheedle her daughter Bradamante into the match
with the Emperor's son. One of the verses that are
put into her mouth on this occasion, heing a good
translation of the patria est ubicunque bene est, has
I think passed into a proverh :
Le pays est partout ou I'on se trouve bien.
Bradamante parries her mother's attempt very art-
fully, and alarms her so much by saying that she will
turn nun, that the old lady consents to her marrying
Roger. — Act 3. Scene 1. Leon, who had fallen vio-
lently in love with Bradamante from the mere report
of her beauty, arrives at Paris in the company of
Roger, whom, although his enemy, he had freed
from prison ; and whom (not knowing him to be his
rival) he now engages to undertake for him the single
combat which Charlemagne had proposed. Roger's
gratitude does not allow him to deny the prince this
request, though his granting it will lose him his mis-
tress. — Scene 2. Bradamante, in a soliloquy, laments
the absence of Roger.— Scene 3. Relying on the
prowess of his friend, who is to counterfeit him,
Leon speaks confidently of his own success to Char-
lemagne, who promises that he will be as good as his
word, and give Bradamante to him if he shall con-
quer her. — Scene 4. Bradamante, with her attendant,
Hippalque, in the presence of Charlemagne, de-
clares her contempt of the "debile Gregois," the
ROBERT CiARXIER. 205
"jeune efFemine," who aspires to win her hand in
the duel ; and her resohition to have no hushand but
her old lover.— Scene 5. Roger enters alone, dis-
guised in the armour of Leon; and distracted
between his love on the one hand, and his obhgations
to his friend on the other, determines at last that he
will meet Bradamante in the lists, but that he will
exert himself no further than to parry her weapon. —
Scene 6. Bradamante too comes on the stage alone.
She makes a fine speech on French heroism, and re-
solves to give her young antagonist no quarter.— Act
4. Scene 1. La Montague, who had been present at
the single combat which is supposed to have taken
place since the last Act, gives a lively description of
it to Aymon and Beatrix, who rejoice at the defeat of
their daughter, not doubting but she will now be
compelled to espouse Leon. — Scene 2. Roger, in an
agony of despair, imprecates curses on his own head
for having lost his mistress by conquering her for
Leon.— Scene 3. In equal grief at her own defeat,
Bradamante professes to her friend Ilippalque that
she will die rather than fulfil her engagement, and
bitterly laments the supposed absence of Roger. —
Scene 4. Dvuing their conversation, Marphise, the
sister of Roger, comes in, and Hippalque devises a
plan, which is eagerly caught at, for deferring the pro-
posed nuptials till Roger's return. It is that Marphise
shall represent to Charlemagne the wrong that is
206 EARLY FKENCH POETS.
done to lier brother in his absence ; shall charge
Bradamante with being secretly betrothed to him, and
with having deserted him for her royal suitor ; and
shall offer to maintain the accusation by a trial at
arms ; that Bradamante shall pretend confusion at
this challenge ; and that, in the mean time, Charle-
magne will no doubt be induced to suspend the proceed-
ings. — Scene 5. The plot is put into execution, and
the result is, that Roger, as soon as he makes his
appearance again at Paris, is to fight Leon. — Scene 6.
Leon proposes to employ Roger, whom he does not
yet know to be his rival, to extricate him from this
new difficulty ; but is informed by Basile, Duke of
Athens, that his friend is no longer to be found in
Paris. — Act 5. Scene 1. Leon, who meets with
Roger, now discovers who he is, enters into a contest
of generosity with him, and insists on yielding Bra-
damante to him. — Scene 2. Meanwhile the ambassa-
dors of Bidgaria having arrived at the court of
Charlemagne, announce that their countrymen had
elected Roger for their new king, in recompense of
his ha\ing defended them against the Greeks. — Scene
3. Charlemagne acquaints Aymon with the honour
conferred on Roger, and thus removes the principal
objection to his union with Bradamante. — Scenes
4, 5, 6, and 7- The whole of the precedmg events are
explained to the satisfaction of all parties ; the lovers
are made happy ; and Charlemagne satisfies Leon for
ROBERT GARNIER. 207
the loss of his mistress, by giAring him his own
daughter Leonora.
Robert Gamier, born at La Ferte-Bemard, 1534,
died at Mans, Lieutenant-Geueral of that town. He
gained the prize at the Jeux Floraux ; and, in addi-
tion to the plays here spoken of, was the author of
several other poems which I have not seen.
ALAIN CHARTIER.
When Margaret of Scotland, Dauphiness of France,
was passing through an apartment in which Alain
Chartier lay asleep, she went up to him and kissed
him. The custom of claiming a new pair of gloves on
such occasions was probably not then in use ; for the
ladies and gentlemen who attended her expressed their
wonder, that she should honour so ugly a fellow with
that token of her affection ; and Margaret replied,
that she was tempted, not by the beauty of Alain's
lips, but by the golden sayings that had proceeded
from them. It is painful to think, that so free and
gracious a lady should have died of grief occasioned
by calumnious imputations on her \^rtue. Male
Bouche, as the fiend was then called, never did the
world a worse turn. But the tears of her husband.
208 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
who was afterwards King of France, with the title of
Louis XI. sufficiently, as Henault observes, vindicated
her memory.
Alain Chartier, who was secretary to Charles VII.
father of Louis, was a good poet for his day, or rather,
he was an excellent rhymer ; for he will often go on
with such a string of like endings, that it would have
pozed Touchstone, in spite of his brag that he could
rhyme you so eight years together, dinner and supper
and sleeping hours excepted, to keep pace with him.
" Grand poete de son temps, et eucorplus grand ora-
teur," is the evdogium left him by Estienne Pasquier.
His Curial and Quadrilogue, the works which, in
Estienne' s opinion, entitle him to the praise of being
a great orator, would in these days have appeared in
the shape of two dry political pamphlets ; but in
those they assumed the more inviting form of as many
visions. In the first of them, the Curial, Alain,
while he is musing on the decline and disasters of
France, is suddenly seized by IVIelancholy, a dolefid
and squalid female, who, without speaking a word,
wraps liim in her mantle and casts him into a bed,
where three other females present themselves. These
are, Indignation, Distrust, and Despair, whose per-
sons are described. Indignation first endeavours to
disgust him with the Court ; next Distrust represents
to him the forlorn condition of France ; and, lastly,
Despair tempts him to seek a refuge from his suffer-
ings in death.
ALAIN CHAKTIER. 209
Et toy (continues she) pourquoy veulx tu veiller en
telle male meschance et vivre en souhaitant la mort
tous les jours. La chevalerie de ton pays est perte et
morte. Les estudes sont dissipees, le clergie est dis-
pers et opprime, la rigle et moderation de honnestete
ecclesiastique est tournee avecques le teps en desordon-
nance et dissolution. Les citoyens sont despourveus
desperace, et descongnoissans de seigneurie par obscurte
de ceste trouble nuee, lordre est toumee en confusion et
loy en desmesuree violence, juste seigneurie et lioneur
descbiet, obeyssace ennuyee, paciece fault tout tube et
fond en labysme de mine et de desolation. Fol. 12.
Les ociivres feu maistre Alai7i Chartier en son vivant
secretaire dufeu Roy Charles Septiesme du nom. Noic-
vcllement imprimees reveues et corrigiees oultre les pre-
cedetes imjoi^essions. On les vend a Paris en la grant
salle du palms au premier pillier en la boutique de Gal-
liot du pre Lihrairejure de Luniversite. 1529.
" And tbou, why art thou fain to keep watch in tliis
evil mischance, and to live on, wishing for death all thy
days 1 The chivalry of thy land is destroyed and gone ;
studies are routed ; the clergy is dispersed and oppressed ;
the rule and government of ecclesiastical decorum is
turned with the time into disorder and dissoluteness.
The citizens are disfurnished of hope, and inobservant of
seignory, through the darkness of this thick cloud ; order
is changed to confusion, and law into unmeasured vio-
lence ; just seignory and honour are fallen out of their
place ; obeisance is wearied out ; patience fails ; every
thing is going headlong into the abyss of ruin and
desolation."
P
210 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
He is ready to listen to the suggestions of Despair,
when Nature, alarmed at the thoughts- of dissolution,
is so \iolently agitated that she rouses up Under-
standing, who was sleeping by his side. Understand-
ing opens the wicket of Memory, the bolts of which
had been held fast by the rust of Forgetfulness : by
this three ladies and a very fair damsel immediately
enter. The first of these, who is Faith, addresses
Understanding, and resolves many doubts which are
proposed to her by that personage. Here he takes
occasion to inveigh most bitterly against the abuses
which had crept into the church.
" Dante, poet of Florence, thou, if thou wast still living,
wouldst have cause to cry out against Constantine;
seeing that in a time when religion was better observed
thou wert yet bold to reprehend, and didst reproach
him, for having infused into the church that venom and
poison, wherewith she should be wasted and destroyed."
Fol. 36.
Soon after he speaks with a mixture of pity and
anger concerning the persecutions which the poor
clergy in Bohemia had lately midergone ; becomes
eloquent in his indignation against those by whom the
churches had been -siolated ; and reproaches the French
people with their degeneracy since the days of Charles
the Fifth. Deeper questions are afterwards discussed.
Hope explains to Understanding in what manner
ALAIN CH ARTIER. 211
human passions and perfections are attributed to the
Deity, and endeaAOurs to reconcile the free-will of
man with the foreknowledge of God.
She next declares in plain terms the enormity that
had been occasioned by the celibacy of the clergy, and
the other crnng sins which were then imputable to
the church. The other two ladies, whom he had be-
fore introduced, do not continue the conversation, as
might have been expected ; and the Curial ends
abruptly, with a warning addressed to the author's
brother, against the life of a courtier. In this book
there are short poetical pieces interspersed, verj' in-
ferior to the prose.
He tells us, that the unhappiness of his country,
and the desire of recalling his fellow-citizens to a sense
of their duty, wete the motives which induced him to
wTite the Quadrilogue, so named from the four per-
sons who are represented speaking in it. Dame France
appears to him about the dawn of day — a noble lady,
but full of sorrow, and dressed in "wondrous hiero-
glyiihic robe." She addresses her three sons, mider
whom are figured the populace, the nobility, and the
clerffv, and descants on the miseries to which they, in
conjunction with foreign enemies, had reduced her.
They mutually criminate each other. France pvits an
end to their debates, by exhorting them' to concord,
and by desiring that their several pleas may be com-
mitted to writing, a task which she orders Alain to
undertake.
212 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
Puis que Dieu ne ta donne force de corps, ne usage
d'armes, sers la chose publique de ce que tu peux. Car
autant exaulca la gloire des rommains, et renforca leurs
courages a vertu la plume et la lague de leurs orateurs,
commeles glaives des combatans. — Fol. 139.
" Since God hath not given thee force of body or skill
in arms, serve thy country in that thou mayest ; for the
o-lory of the Romans was as much advanced, and their
courage as much invigorated by the pen and tongue of
their orators, as by the swords of their warriors."
The Belle Dame sans Merci of this poet is known
to us from a translation inserted by some mistake
among the works of Chaucer, who died when the
Frenchman was about fourteen years of age. Tyr-
whitt says, that in the Harleian manuscripts, 373, the
version is attributed to Sir Richard Ros. Whoever
the author of it may be, it is very well done ; and
sometimes surpasses the original, as in the following
stanza.
De puis je ne sceuz quil devint
Ne quel part il se transporta
Mais a sa dame nen souvint
Qui aux dames se deporta
Et depuis on me rapporta
Quil avoit ses cheveulx descoux
Et que tant en desconfurta
Quil en estoitmort de courroux. — FoL 199.
ALAIN CHaRTIEE. 213
Fro thens he went, but whither wist I nought,
Nor to what part he drew in sothfastnesse,
But he no more was in his ladies thoug-ht,
For to the daunce anon she gan her dresse,
And afterward, one told me thus expresse,
He rent his heer, for anguish and for paine,
And in himselfe toke so great heavinesse,
That he was dedde within a day or twaine.
Fol. 243, SpegMs Edit. 1602.
Here it is evident that the translator must have
made use of a manuscript of Chartier's works more
correct than the edition of 1529 ; for, instead of
dames in the fourth line, he has translated as if it
were danses, which was, no douht, the right reading.
In another place, this edition of Speght appears to be
faulty.
De ceste feste je lassay
Car joye triste coeur travaille
Et lors de la presse passay
Si massiz dessoubz une traille
Drue et fueillie a grant merveille
Entrelardee de saulx vers
Se que nul pour cep et pour fueille
Ne povoit parveoir au travers. — Fol. 188.
To see the feast it wearied me full sore,
For heavy joy doeth sore the heart travaile ;
Out of the prease I me withdraw therefore.
And set me down alone behind a traile.
214 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Full of leaves to see a great mervaile^
With g-reene wreaths ybounclen wonderly
The leaves were so thick withouten faile,
That throughout no man might me espie. —Fol. 239.
Instead of wreaths, the word was probably iviths.
The second line, which, in the original, conveys the
natural sentiment that "joy is trouble to a heart in
sorrow," was evidently misunderstood by the trans-
lator.
The introduction to the Li^TC des Quatre Dames,
written in 1433, is a lively picture of a spring
morning, so much in Chaucer's way, that one might
suppose it had been copied by that writer, if the
images were not such as the poets of the time most
delighted to assemble. The four ladies severally lay
their griefs before Alain. The first had lost her
lover, who was killed at the battle of Agincourt; the
lover of the second had been made prisoner ; that of
the third was missing, and of the fourth had run
away.
The poem that approaches nearest to the spright-
liness of old Geoffrey, is the Hospital damours, if
that be indeed Chartier's, but it is a little strange
that he should speak of himself as being interred in
the cemetery of the hospital, as he does in these words.
Assez pres au bout dung sentier
Gisoit le corps dung tresparfait
ALAIN CHAETIER. 215
Saige et loyal Alain Chartier
Qui en amour fit maint Leau fait
Et par qui fut sceu le meffait
De celle qui lamant occi
Quil api^ella quant il eut fait
La belle dame sans mercy.
Eutour sa tombe en lettre d'or
Estoit tout Fart de retorique. — Fol. 278.
" Near, at the end of a path, lay the body of a very
comjilete wise and loj^al person, Alain Chartier, who
did many a fine feat in love, and made known the mis-
deed of her by whom her lover was slain, and whom
he called, when he had made that poem. La belle Dame
sans Mercy. Round about his tomb in letters of gold
was all the art of rhetorick engraven."
The following verses, being one of his seven bal-
lads on Fortime, may give a fair view of his character
as a poet.
Sur lac de dueil sur riviere ennuyeuse
Plaine de crys de regretz et de clains
Sur pesant sourse et melencolieuse
Plaine de plours de souspirs et de plains
Sur grans estangz darmetume* tous plains
Et de douleur sur abisme parfonde
Fortune la sa maison tousiours fonde
A lung des lez de roche espouentable
* A mistake of the press for damertume.
216 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Et en pendant affin que plutost fonde
En demonstrant quelle nest pas estable.
Dune part clere et dautre tenebreuse
Est la maison aux douleureux meschans
Dune part riche et dautre soufFreteuse
Cest du coste ou les champs sont prochains
Et dautre part a assez fruictz et grains
La siet fortune on tout en air habonde
Dune part noire et delautre elle est blonde
Dune part ferme et dautre tresbuchable
Muette, sourde, aveug-le et sans faconde
En demonstrant quelle nest pas estable.
Et la endroit par sa dextre orgueilleuse
Qui retenir ne veult brides ne frains
Et sa maison doubtable et perilleuse
Sont les miscliiefz tous moussez et emprains
Dont les delictz sont rompus et enfrains
Et les honneurs et g-loire de ce monde
Car par le tour de sa grant rue ronde
Fait a la fois dung palais une estable
Et aussitost que le vol dune aronde
En demonstrant quelle nest pas estable.
Que voulez vous que je dye et responde
Se fortune est une fois delectable
Elle sera amere a la seconde
En demonstrant quelle nest pas estable. (Fol. 335.)
On lake of mourning by the stream of woe,
Full of loud moans and passionate distress,
ALAIN CHARTIER. 217
By melancholy fountain dull and slow,
Full of sad tears and sobbings comfortless,
By a great pond surnamed of bitterness.
And fast beside th' abyss of grief profound,
There Fortune ever doth her dwelling found
Upon a hanging ledge of rock unstable,
Th' unsurest spot that may in earth be found,
Shewing to all that she is never stable.
One part is bright, the other most obscure,
Of that same dwelling made for mortals vain :
One side is rich, the other mean and poor ;
Here stretcheth wide a bare unsightly plain.
And fields are there that wave with fruits and grain.
So Fortune sits abounding all in air.
On one side black, on th' other white and fair ;
On one part sound, on th' other perishable.
Mute, deaf, and blind, as all her deeds declare.
Shewing to all that she is never stable.
And there in place held by her proud right hand.
That scorneth bit or bridle to retain,
In her dread dwelling there doth ever stand
Conceal'd of dire mishaps a monstrous train ;
To beat down sin with well deserved pain.
And worldly might and glory to confound ;
For at one turning of her great wheel round
She of a palace makes forthwith a stable,
More swiftly than a swallow skims the ground,
Shewing to all that she is never stable .
218 EAKLY FEEKCH POETS.
What will ye more ? This is the sum of all :
If Fortune smiles at one time favourable,
She bring-eth at the next a grievous fall,
Shewing- to all that she is never stable.
It may be worth while to observe that many of the
Chaucerian words are to be found in Alain Chartier,
and that he will sometimes assist us in putting the
right signification on them. For instance, the word
tretis is explained in Tyrwhitt's Glossary, lotig and
well proportioned, though it is plain, from a passage
in the Regrets d'un Amoureux, that the French word
from which it is derived camiot bear that meaning.
Sa petite bouche et traictise. (Fol. 325.)
Alain Chartier was born in 1386, and died in 1458.
CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS.
It is now (in 1823) but a few years since the first
pubhcation of some French poems, wi-itten at the
beginning of the fifteenth century, which not only
excel any other of that time that we are acquainted
with, but might at any time be regarded as patterns
CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS. 219
of natural ease and elegance. What makes this long
neglect the more cUfficult to account for, is, that the
author of them was a prince, grandson to one of the
French kings, father to another, and uncle to a third ;
the first, (Charles V.) renowned for his wisdom ; the
next, (Louis XII.) for his paternal care of his sub-
jects ; and the third, (Francis I.) for his courtesy,
and his love of letters. When we are told that the
writings of a person thus distinguished had been so
long suffered to remain in darkness, it is natural
to suspect that some imposition may have been prac-
tised on the public respecting them. But there is no
ground for such suspicion. They have not been dis-
covered by some apprentice boy, in an old church
coffer, hke the poems of Rowley, nor by the son of a
prime minister, in some other out of the way place,
like the Castle of Otranto. The manuscript which
contains them, was noticed in the Royal Library at
Paris, near a century back, by the Abbe Sallier, who
inserted three papers on the subject, in the Memoirs
of the Academic des Inscriptions :* Another, from
*
Tome xiii. p. 580. Tome xv. p. 795, and Tome
xvii. Mars. 1742. In the first of the Abbe's papers
here referred to, the manuscript in the Royal Library
at Paris is thus described. It had belonged to Cathe-
rine of Medicis. The arms of Charles, Duke of Or-
leans, impressed on the first leaf, tog-ether with those of
Valentiua, of Milan, his mother, shewed that Cathe-
220 EABLY FRENCH POETS.
which the publication was made, is in the public
library at Grenoble ; and, to put the matter out of
doubt, a third, of singular splendour, is to be seen in
our own national Hbrary of the British Museum.
The last of these was once the property of Henry
VII. of England, whose daughter Mary was married
to the son of the poet himself, the above-mentioned
Louis XII.
The Abbe Sallier remarks, that if Boileau had seen
these productions, he would not have called Villon
the restorer of the French Parnassus. I am not
sure of this. The palate of Boileau required some-
thing more poignant. In these there is as much
simplicity as in some of Wordsworth's minor pieces.
The chief difference is that these are almost all love
verses.
En songe, souhaid et penser,
Vous voye chacun jour de sepmaine,
Combien qu'estes de moy loing'taine,
Belle tres loyaument amee.
Pour 06 qu'estes la mieulx paree,
De toute plaisance mondaine :
En songe, souhaid et pensee,
Vous voy chascun jour de sepmaine.
rine had got it from the library of her husband, Henry
II. It contained 131 songs, and about 400 rondels ;
and, lastly, a discourse pronounced before Charles VII.
in favour of John 11. Duke of Alencon.
CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS. 221
Du tout vous ay m'amour donnee,
Vous en povez estre certaine :
Ma seule Dame souveraine,
De mon las cueur moult desiree,
En song-e, souhaid et pensee.
In dream, and wish, and thought, my Love,
I see thee every day ;
So doth my heart to meet thee move,
When thou art far away.
For that all worldly joys above
Thou shinest in thy array ;
In dream, and wish, and thought, my Love,
I see thee every day.
No care, no hope, no aim I prove,
That is not thine to sway :
O ! trust me, while on earth I rove.
Thy motions I obey.
In dream, and wish, and thought, my Love.
{Poesies de Charles cV Orleans, p. 208.
Paris, small %vo. 1809.)
J'ay fait I'obseque de Madame
Dedans le moustier amoureux ;
Et le service pour son ame
A chante penser doloreux :
IMaint cierges, de soupirs piteux
Ont este en son luminaire :
Aussy j'ay fait la tombe faire,
222 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
De regrets tous de larmes paints ;
Et tout en tour moult ricliement
Est escript: Cy g-ist * vraiement
La tresor de tous biens mondains.
Dessus elle gist une lame
Faiste d'or et de saffirs bleux :
Car saflBr est nomme la jame
De Loyaute et Tor cureux :
Bien luy ajjpartiennent ces deux ;
Car Eure et Loyaute pourtraire
Voulu en la tres-debonnaire,
Dieu qui la fist de ses deux mains
Et forma merveilleusement ;
C'estoit a parler plaiuement
Le tresor de tous biens mondains.
N'en parlous ^dIus, mon cueur se pame,
Quant il oyt les fait vertueux
D'elle qui estoit sans nul blame,
Comme jurent celles et ceulx
Qui congnoissoient ses conseulx.
Si croy que Dieu I'a voulu traire
Vers luy, pour parer son repaire
De paradis, oii sont les saints :
Car c'est d'elle bel parement.
Que I'on nommoit communement
Le tresor de tous biens mondains.
* In the MS. of the British Museum, it is, Cy giit
bravement, which is a better reading.
CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS. 223
De rien ne servent pleurs ne plains ;
Tous mourrons tart ou briefvement,
Nul ne peust garder longuement
Le tresor de tous biens mondains. (P. ^S?.)
To make my lady's obsequies
My love a minster wTOught,
And in the chantry, service there
"Was sung- by doleful thought ;
The tapers were of burning sighs,
That light and odour gave ;
And sorrows, painted o'er with tears,
Enlumined her grave ;
And round about, in quaintest guise,
"Was carved : " "Within this tomb there lies
The fairest thing in mortal eyes."
Above her lieth spread a tomb
Of gold and sapphires blue ;
The gold doth shew her blessedness.
The sapphires mark her true :
For blessedness and truth in her
"Were livelily portray'd.
When gracious God with both his hands
Her goodly substance made :
He framed her in such wond'rous wise,
She was, to speak without disguise,
The fairest thing in mortal eyes.
No more, no more : my heart doth faint
"When I the life recal
224 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Of her, who lived so free from taint,
So virtuous deem'd by all :
That in herself was so complete,
I think that she was ta'en
By God to deck his paradise.
And with his saints to reign ;
For well she doth become the skies,
Whom, while on earth, each one did prize
The fairest thing in mortal eyes.
But nought our tears avail, or cries :
All soon or late in death shall sleep :
Nor living wight long time may keep
The fairest thing* in mortal eyes.
En la forest d'ennuieuse tristesse,
Un jour m'avint qu'a par moy cheminoye ;
Je rencontray I'amoureuse deesse.
Qui m'appella, demandant ou j'aloye.
Je respondy, que par Fortune estoye
Mis en exil, en ce bois long-temps a ;
Et qu'a bon droit appeller me povoit,
L'homme esgare qui ne scet oii il va.
En souriant par sa tres-grant humblesse
My respondy : amy se je scavoye
Pourquoy tu es mis en ceste destresse ;
A mon pouvoir voulentiers t'aideroye :
Car ja pieca je mis ton cueur en voye,
De tout plaisir, ne S9ay qui Pen osta :
Or me desplait qu'a present je te voye,
L'homme esgare qui ne scet ou il va.
CHAKLES, DUKE OF OKLEANS. 225
Helas ! dis-je, souveraine princesse,
Mon fait s§avez ; pourquoy le vous diroye?
C'est par la mort qui fait a tous rudesse,
Qui m'a tollu celle que tant amoye ;
En qui estoit tout I'espoir que j'avoye ;
Qui me guidoit si bieu, m'accompaigna
En son vivant ; que point ne me trouvoye,
L'homme esgare qui ne scet ou il va.
Aveug-le suy, ne s^ay oii aller doye :
De mon baston afin que ne forvoye
Je vay tastant mon cbemin ca et la :
C'est grant pitie qu'il convient que je soye
L'homme esgare qui ne scetou il va. (P. 230.)
One day it chanced that in the gloomy grove
Of sorrow, all alone my steps I bent ;
So met I there the mother queen of love,
Who call'd me, asking whitherward I went.
Fortune, quoth I, in exile hath me sent
Within this wood long time to weep my woes :
Well mayst thou name a wight so sorely shent,
The wilder'd man that wots not where he goes.
She smiled, and answer'd in her lowliness :
Friend, if I knew why thou dost hither stray.
Thee would I gladly help in thy distress,
In the best manner that in sooth I may :
For erst I put thy heart in pleasure's way ;
Nor aught I ken from whence thy grief arose.
It irketh me to see thee here to-day.
The wilder'd man that wots not where he goes.
226 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Alas, quoth I, my sovran lady dear,
Thou knowst my hap : what need I tell it thee '?
Death, that doth reave us of all treasures here,
Hath taken her who was a joy to me,
Who was my guide, and held my company,
In whom I did my only hope repose.
Long- as she lived ; not fated then to be
The wilder'd man that wots not where he goes.
I am a blind man now, fain to explore,
AVith staff outstretch'd this way and that before,
Feeling the path that none unto me shows.
Great jiity 'tis I must be evermore
The wilder'd man that wots not where he goes.
Le temps a laissie son menteau
De vent de froidure et de pluye,
Et s'est vestu de broderye,
De soleil riant, cler etbeau.
II n'y a beste, ne oyseau,
Qui en son jargon ne chante et crye ;
Le temps a laisse son menteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluye.
Riviere, fontaine et ruisseau
Portent en livree jolie,
Gouttes d'argent d'orfevrerie ;
Chascun s'abille de nouveau,
Le temps a laissie son menteau. (P. 257.)
CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS. 227
The Time hath laid his mantle by
Of wind and rain and icy chill,
And dons a rich embroidery
Of sun -light pour'd on lake and hill.
No beast or bird in earth or sky
Whose voice doth not with gladness thrill.
For Time hath laid his mantle by
Of wind and rain and icy chill.
River and fountain, brook and rill,
Bespangled o'er with livery gay
Of silver droplets, ^vind their way :
So all their new apparel vie ;
The Time hath laid his mantle by.
En regardant ces belles tieurs.
Que le temps nouveau d'amours prie ;
Chascune d'elle s'ajolie
Et farde de plaisants couleurs.
Quant embasmees sont d'odeurs,
Qui'l n'est cueur qui ne rajeunie,
En regardant les belles fleurs
Que le temps nouveau d'amours prie.
Les oyseaulx deviennent danseurs
Dessus mainte branche fleurie,
Et font joyeuse chanterie
De centres, de chants et teneurs
En regardant ces belles fleurs. (P. 2d8.)
228 EARLY FREKCH POETS.
In blinking at the bonny flowers
When April them to love doth wooe,
And all shine brighter in the bowers,
And all are deck'd with colours new ;
No heart there is but youth restores
Amid their breath of balmy dew,
In blinking at the bonny flowers.
When Aj^ril them to love doth wooe.
The birds are dancing in their glee
Upon the twigs mid blosmy showers ;
There sing they loud in their chauntrie
Counter and tenor merrily,
In blinking at the bonny flowers.
The life of Charles, Duke of Orleans, might fiu'-
nish the materials for a romance, or rather for
several romances. He was bom on the 26th of May,
1391. His father, Louis Duke of Orleans, the second
son of Charles V. was married in 1389 to Yalentina,
daughter of the Duke of Milan. After the death of
Charles, France was distracted by factions. The
minority of his son, Charles VI. made it necessary
that a regency should be appointed. His four imcles
contended for this distinction. The King had not
been long of age, when the frequent fits of lunacy, to
which he was liable, again made him incapable of
ruUng except only at intervals. His brother Louis now
put in his claim to a share in the government, and
CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS. 229
in the disputes wliich ensued between him and two of
the uncles, the Dukes of Berri and Burgimdy, Louis
was assassinated by the orders of the latter in the Rue
Barbette at Paris, on the 23rd of November, 1407. A
formal and feigned reconcihation took place at Char-
tres iu a year or two after between the families of the
murderer and the murdered ; but Valentina died of
grief at seeing the death of her husband mii'evenged.
A tissue of odious intrigues is entangled with these
horrors. The Duke of Burgundy was supposed to
be partly instigated by jealousy of his wife to the
commission of his crime, for which there was the less
excuse as that very wife was the favoiu-ite of the King,
as he himself was the paramour of the Queen, the
infamous Isabel.
At the age of sixteen, Charles of Orleans had
married a daughter of this King and Queen, of the
same name with her mother, and widow of Richard
11. of England. In three years after (1409) his con-
sort died. Thus before the age of twenty he found
himself not only an orphan but a widower. A second
marriage with Bonne, daughter of the Count of Ar-
magnac, involved him in new troubles. The Count
had put himself at the head of a faction opposed to
the Duke of Bm-gundy, and from him called the
Armagnacs. A short truce for a while suspended
these differences ; till the Count de Saint Pol, who
was governor of Paris, determined on driving out of
230 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
the capital all those who were not in the interest of
the Duke of Burgundy, and for that purpose united
a band of 500 bravoes who were called the Cabochiens,
from Caboche, a butcher, one of the principal amongst
them. In an enl hour, either Charles of Orleans or
his father-in-law sought assistance from the English.*
The consequence of this ill-ad\ised measure was the
battle of Agincourt, in which it so happened that the
Duke himself fell into the hands of the invaders ; for
the King of France had, in the meantime, declared
against the Duke of Burgmidy, and Charles was
therefore now fighting on the side of the King against
those very enemies whom he had himself invited. In
the field of Agincourt he was found lying amongst
a heap of slain, with some signs of life in him, by a
valiant soldier of the name of Richard Waller who
brought him to Henry V. Waller being desired by
that monarch to take charge of his prisoner, on their
return to England, confined him in his own mansion
at Groombridge, near Timbridge, in Kent. This mis-
fortime did not come alone, for at the same time he
lost his second wife. Bonne of Armagnac. How long
* In the paper by the Abbe Sallier, inserted in the
Memoires de I'Academie des Inscriptions, tom. xv. p.
795, are some curious particulars of an embassy by
Jacques le Grant into England, sent by the Orleans
or Armagnac party.
CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS, 231
he remained in Waller's custody is not known ; but
he had time enough to rebuild the house that was
assigned for his habitation. His piety also led him to
contribute to the repairs of the neighbouring church of
Speldhurst, over the porch of which we are told by
the historians of the county that the arms of the
Duke caiTed in stone are still to be seen.* From
John, the second son of this Richard Waller, were
descended the Wallers of Beconsfield, of whom I
conclude the poet Edmmid to have been one.
Before the eighth year of Henry VI. as Hasted, in
his History of Kent informs us, the Duke had been
committed to other custody ; for it was that year
enacted in Parliament that the Duke of Orleans, the
King's cousin, then in the keeping of Sir Thomas
Chamberworth, Knight, should be delivered to Sir
John Cornwall, Knight, to be by him safely kept.
There is even some doubt as to the time which his cap-
tivity in this country lasted ; but the best accounts, I
think, make it twenty-five years in all. During this
time he acquired such a taste for our language, as to
compose some verses in it. The Abbe Sallier men-
tions his having wTitten only two short pieces in
English ; but in the manuscript of his poems in the
* See Harris's History of Kent, vol. i. p. 292, and
Hasted's History of Kent, vol. i. p. 431.
232 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
British Museum I have found three.* They are as
follows. I give them not as bemg particularly good,
but because any verses written in our language by a
foreigner at so early a time, that is, very soon after
the death of Chaucer, may be regarded as a curiosity.
Go forth, my hert, with my lady ;
Loke that ye spar no bysines
To serve her with such lolyness,
That ye gette her oftyme prively
That she kepe truly her promes.
Go forth, &c.
* A large collection of English poems attributed to
Charles, Duke of Orleans, is among the Harleian MSS.
in the British Museum, (No. 682); they were printed
by Mr. Watson Taylor for the Roxburgh Club, in 1827,
as appears by an article on these poems in the Gentle-
man's Magazine for May 1842, p. 459. The writer of
that article is mistaken : he says, " We have only to add
that the opinion of Sir Thomas Croft that the English
poems now printed in the Roxburgh volume, are not by
Charles, but are translations from his French poems by
another bard, is not, as far as we can learn, received by
the learned in these matters :" for in the " Collection
des Documens inedits sur I'bistoire de France, p. 70,
(4" Par. 183.3.) it is observed of this MS. " Ce manuscrit
contient la traduction Anglaise de lajjlupart des poesies
de Charles d'Orleans, executee par un contemporain.
L'on n'y trouve rien qui puisse autoriser a croire qu'elle
soit du prince lui-meme ; ainsi M. Watson Taylor, qui a
publie ce recueil, n'a-t-il aucune raison solide a apporter
pour justifier le titre qu'il lui a donne, titre que nous
avons rapporte ci-devant." — Ed.
CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS. 233
I must, as a helis body,
Abyde alone in hev3mes ;
And ye slial dwell with your mastris
In plaisaunce glad and mery.
Go forth, &c.
By helis body, I suppose is meant one deprived
of health or happiness. The word occurs in Chaucer,
but with a difference in the spelling and quantity.
A wig'ht in torment and in drede
And healelesse,
Troilus and Creseide,
Book V. fol. 180, Ed. 1602.
My hertly love is in your governas,
And ever shal whill that I live may.
1 pray to God I may see that day
That ye be knyt with trouthful alyans.
Ye shal not fynd feyning or variaunce
As in my part ; that wyl I truly say.
My hertly, &c.
Bewere, my trewe innocent hert,
How ye hold with her aliauns,
That somtym with word of plesuns
Resceyved you under covert.
Thynke how the stroke of love comsmert*
Without warnjTig" or defSauns.
Bewere my, &c.
* Query, for can smart, or comes smart.
234 EAULY FRENCH POETS.
And ye shall pryvely* or appert
See her by me in loves dauns,
With her faire femenyn contenauns
Ye shall never fro her astert.f
Bewere my, &c.
From these strains, it would appear as if the young
widower had been smitten by some English lady,
during his long abode amongst us. Soon after his
release, he married Mary, Princess of Cleves, by
whom he had one son, Louis XII. of France, and two
daughters, Mary, the wife of Jean de Foix Vicomte
de Narbonne, and Joan, Abbess of Fontevrault. He
had another daughter by his first wife, who was also
named Joan, and was married to the Duke of Alen-
qon. Among those who most joyfully welcomed his
return to his native country, was his illegitimate
brother John, the brave Count of Dunols, by whom
the English were expelled from Normandy.
Ou the death of Filippo Maria Visconti, Duke of
Milan, (in 1447) Charles made an ineffectual attempt
to recover that inheritance in right of his mother,
who was sister to the Duke.
* Prive and apert is in Chaucer, Cant. T. CG96. In
private and in public. Tyrwhitt's Glossary.
t Astert. Chaucer Cant. T. 1597, 6550. To escape,
Tyrwhitt's Glossary.
CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS. 235
At the accession of Louis XL to the crown of
France, he was so mortified by the dissimulation of
that monarch, that he retired in disgust from the
court. He died on the first of January, 1466, in his
75th year.
Besides his poems and the speech dehvered in
favour of the Duke of Alcn^on, there are remaining
some of his letters, addressed to the " good cities" of
France, or to the king. They are dated from Gergeau
sur Loire, July 14, 1411, and are thus described by
Juvenal des Ursins, who refers to them in the History
of Charles VL " Lettres longues et assez prohxes,
et faites en bel et doux langage."*
The writer of a memoir, prefixed to his poems,
adds that his tomb, which was in a chapel of the
Celestines, at Paris, has escaped the ravages of time
and of the revolution, and is to be found in the de-
pository of French monuments, in the Rue des Petits
Augustius.
* See the paper by the Abbe Sallier. Memoires de
I'Academie des Inscriptions, t. xvii. Mars. 1742.
23fi EARLY TRENCH POETS.
FRANCOIS VILLON.
The praise bestowed by Boileau on Villon, and
still more the pains taken by Clement Marot, at the
instance of Francis the First, to edit his poems,
would lead us to expect great things from them ; but
in this expectation most English readers will pro-
bably be disappointed. For while Alain Chartier is
full as intelligible as Chaucer, and Charles Duke of
Orleans more so, Villon (who wrote after both) can
scarcely be made out by the help of a glossary.
Even his editor, Marot, who, as he tells vis in the
preface, had corrected a vast number of passages in
his poems, partly from the old editions, partly from
the recital of old people who had got them by heart,
and partly from his own conjectures, was forced to leave
several others untouched, which he could neither cor-
rect nor explain. One cause of the difficulty, which we
find in reading Villon, is assigned by Marot, in a sen-
tence that shows his knowledge of the true principles
of criticism. " Quant a Tindustrie des lays qu'il feit
en ses testamens pour suffisamment la congnoistre et
entendre, il faudroit avoir este de son temps a Paris,
et avoir congneu les lieux, les choses et les hommes
FRANCOIS VILLOX. 237
dont il parle ; la memoire desquelz tant plus se pas-
sera, tant nioins se congnoistra icelle Industrie des
ses lays dictz. Pour ceste cause qui voudra faire une
oeuvre de lougue duree, ne preigne son soubject, sur
telles choses basses et particulieres." Les (Euvres de
Francois Villon, a Paris, 1/23, small 8to. "As to
the address with which he has distributed his lega-
cies, in the poems called his Wills, to understand it
sufficiently one should have been at Paris in his time,
and have been acquainted with the places, the things,
and the persons of whom he speaks ; for by how
much more the memory of these shall have been lost,
so much less shall we be able to discover his dexterity
in the distribution of these bequests. He who would
compose a work that shall last, ought not to choose
his subject in circumstances thus mean and parti-
cular."
The truth is, that Villon appears to have been one
of the first French writers who excelled in what they
call Badinage, for which I do not know any adequate
term in our language. It is something between wit
and buffoonery. Less intellectual and refined than
the one, and not so gross and personal as the other,
in reconciling, it in some degree neutralizes both.
To an Enghshman it is apt to appear either ridicidous
or insipid ; to a Frenchman it is almost enough to
make the charm of life.
One of the chief causes of Villon's popularity
238 EAULY FREKCH POETS.
must however have arisen in the great number of
French families whom he has mentioned in his two
Wills, generally for the purpose of ridiculing certain
individuals who belonged to them. A list of these,
containing upwards of eighty names, is prefixed to
these two poems.
His "Petit Testament," which was written in
1456, he supposes to have been made on the following
occasion. Being heartily tired of love, and thinking
there was no other cure for it but death, he repre-
sents himself as determined on leaving this world,
and accordingly draws up his will.
His " Grand Testament" was framed in a more
serious conjuncture. In 1461 he was committed to
prison at Melun, together with five accomplices, for
a crime, the nature of which is not known. But
whatever it were, he intimates that he was tempted
•into it by his mistress, who afterwards deserted him.
He remained in a dungeon and in chains, on an allow-
ance of bread and water, during a whole summer,
and was condemed to be himg ; but Louis XI. (who
had then newly succeeded to the throne), in considera-
tion, as it is said, of his poetical abilities, merci-
fully commuted his punishment into exile. He is,
perhaps, the only man whom the muse has rescued
from the gallows. The hardships he had suffered
during his confinement brought on a premature
old age ; but they taught him, he says, more
FRANCOIS VILLON. 239
wisdom than he could have learned from a com-
mentary on Aristotle's ethics.
Travail mes lubres sentimens
Ag^ixisa (ronds comme pelote)
Me monstrant plus que les commens
Sur le sens moral d'Aristote. — Ih. p. 14.
" Trouble has sharpened my lubberly thoughts (be-
fore as round as a bullet) ; shewing- me more than the
comments on Aristotle's Ethics could have done."
The first place at Avhich he foimd a refuge was St.
Genou, near St. Julien, on the road leading from
Poitou into Bretague. Here he was reduced to such
extremity, that he was forced to beg his bread ; and
if the fear of his Maker had not restrained him, he
declares he should have put an end to himself.
There is httle known of what happened to him af-
terwards. He probably met with some lucky turn of
fortmie ; for Rabelais mentions his hanng been in
favour with Edward V. of England, and his dying
at an advanced age.
From what has been said of the pecuUar vein of
his genius, the reader will perceive, that it is scarcely
capable of being fairly represented in another lan-
guage. His happy turns of expression, smart perso-
nahties, and witty inuendoes, would tell very indiffe-
rently at second hand. A short ballad out of the
240 EAULY FRENCH POETS.
Grand Testament, being more general, may be
attempted.
Ballade, des Dames du Temps Jadis.
Dictes moy, ou, ne en quel pays
Est Flora la belle Romaine,
Arcbipiada, ne Tbais
Qui fut sa cousine Germaine ?
Ecbo parlant quand bruyt on maine
Dessus riviere, ou sus estan
Qui beaulte eut trop j^lus que bumaine ?
Mais ou sout les neiges d'antan ?
Ou est la tressag-e Helois ?
Pour qui fut cbastre (et puy Moyne)
Pierre Esbaillart a Sainct Denys
Pour son amour eut cest essoyne.
Semblablement ou est la Royne,
Qui commanda que Buridan
Fut jette en ung- sac en Seine ?
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan I
La Royne blancbe com me ung lys
Qui cbantoit a voix de Sereine,
Bertbe au grand pied, Bietris, Allys,
Harembouges qui tint le Mayne,
Et Jebanne la bonne Lorraine
Que Angloys bruslerent a Rouen.
Ou sont ilz, vierge souveraine ?
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan?
FRANCOIS VILLON. 241
Prince n'enquerez de sepmaine
Ou elles sont, ne de cast an,
Que ce refrain ne vous remaine
Mais ou sont les neiges d'antan ?
BALLAD, OF THE LADIES OF PAST TIMES.
Tell me where, or in what clime,
Is that mistress of the prime,
Roman Flora ? she of Greece,
Thais I or that maid so fond,
That, an ye shout o'er stream and pond.
Answering holdeth not her peace ?
— "Where are they ? — Tell me, if ye know ;
What is come of last year's snow ?
Where is Heloise the wise.
For whom Abelard was fain.
Mangled in such cruel wise,
To turn a monk instead of man ?
Where the Queen, who into Seine
Bade them cast poor Buridan ?
— Where are they? — Tell me, if ye know ;
What is come of last year's snow ?
The Queen, that was as lily fair.
Whose song-s were sweet as linnets' are,
Bertha, or she who govern'd Maine?
Alice, Beatrix, or Joan,
That good damsel of Loraine,
Whom the English burnt at Roan ?
— Where are they? — Tell me, if ye know ;
What is come of last year's snow ?
T!.
242 EAELY mENCH POETS.
Prince, question by the month or year;
The burden of my song is here :
—Where are they ?— Tell me, if ye know ;
What is come of last year's snow ?
While he was under sentence of death, he wrote
some verses in which there is strange mixture of
pathos and humour. They begin thus :
Freres humains qui apres nous vivez,
N'ayez les cueurs contre nous endurcis.
Car si pitie de nous pouvres avez,
Dieu en aura plustost de vous merciz ;
Vous nous voyez cy attachez, cinq, six,
Quant de la chair, que trop avons nourrie
EUe est pie^a devoree et pourrie,
Et nous les os, devenons cendre et pouldre ;
De nostre mal personne ne s'en rie,
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.
(P. 93.)
brethren, ye who live when we are gone,
Let not your hearts against us harden'd be ;
For e'en as ye do pity us each one,
So gracious God be sure will pity ye ;
Here hanging five or six of us you see ;
As to our flesh, which once too well we fed.
That now is rotten quite, and mouldered ;
And we, the bones, do turn to dust and clay :
None laugh at us that are so ill bested,
But pray ye God to do our sins away.
FRANCOIS VILLON, 243
The epigram on liimself, when he was condemned,
is more ludicrous.
Je suis Francois (dont ce me poise)
Ne de Paris, empres Ponthoise,
Or d'une corde d'une toise
Scaura mon col que mou cul poise.
Let us hope that it was no heinous offence for
which he could suffer with so much gaiety.
The Petit Testament is very short, not much more
than 200 verses. In the drollery, such as it is, of
this fancied disposal of property, made with no other
view than that of raising a laugh at the legatees, he
has had a crowd of imitators. The Grand Testament,
besides many items of the same kmd, includes several
ballads and rondels, which one of his commentators
not unreasonably supposes to have been \\Titten
separately, and afterwards classed under this common
title, for they have no apparent connexion with the
main subject.
His other writings consist chiefly of a few ballads
in the language D' Argot, or as we should call it,
slang. Clement Marot found them unintelligible,
and left them to be expoimded by Villon's successors
in the art of knavery. I have not heard that any of
them have undertaken the task. Indeed it would be
a betrayal of their secrets, as little for their common
good, as if a Romish priest were to translate the in-
244 EARLY FKENCH POETS.
vocation of the Saints, or a physician his recipes, out of
the Latin into the vernacular tongue. Of the Repues
Frauches, which has been sometimes attributed to him,
it is decided that he is not the author but the hero.
Villon was born at Paris, in 1431, of mean pa-
rentage, as appears from the following stanza in his
Grand Testament :
Pauvreje suys de ma jeunesse
De pauvre et de petite extrace,
Men pere, n'eut onq' grand' richesse,
Ne son ayeul nomme Erace,
Pauvrete tous nous suyt et trace,
Sur les tumbeaulx de mes ancestres
(Les ames desquelz Dieu embrasse)
On n'y voyt couronnes ne sceptres. (P 21.)
Poor am I, poor have alway been,
And poor before me were my race :
No wealth my sire possess'd, I ween,
And none his g-randsire, bight Erace :
Poortitb our steps doth ever trace :
O'er my forefathers' humble graves
(The souls of whom may God embrace)
No crown is hung, no sceptre waves.
The time of his death is not known.
245
FRESNAIE VAUQUELIN.
It is one strong mark of difference between the
poets who wrote under the Valois race of kings and
those under the Bourbons, that the former have much
more of incli\-idual character than the latter. Fres-
naie Vauquehn is an instance of this among many
others. He hved, indeed, a few years after the ac-
cession of Henry IV., the first of the Bourbons, but
he belongs properly to the Valois. His name is now
scarcely known ; yet his works may be read with
pleasure, if it were for nothing else than the insight
they give into his manners, his way of thinking, and
his fortmies in life ; for he was no common man.
At a very early age, he wTote and published his
Foresterie, in which, as he boasts more than once, he
was among the first to set his countiymen the
example of mingling verse with prose.
toutefois dire j'ose.
Que des premiers aux vers j'avoy mesle la prose.
Les Diverses Poesies du Sieur de la Fresnaie Vau-
quelin. A Caen, par Charles Mace, Imprimeur
du Roy, 1612, small 8vo. p. 90, and p. 621.
Some years after, in a bookseller's shop, he acci-
dentally met vfith this juvenile production, which he
246 EAllLY FEENCH POETS.
had supposed to be lost (p. 621). In the Idyl, ad-
dressed to Samt Francois, Bishop of Bayeux, where
the incident is mentioned, he speaks of his intending
to reprint it. I know not whether he ever did so ;
nor whether any copy of the first impression is yet
remaining. His volume of poems, to which I have
referred, is closely printed, and consists of the Art
Poetique, in three books ; Satires, Idyls, Epigrams,
Epitaphs, and Sonnets. His Art Poetique, or Art
of Poetry, is more than three times as long as
Boileau's. It was undertaken at the command of
Henry III. to whom at the end he addresses it, in a
few modest verses, that contrast strongly with the
rhetorical flourish sounded by Boileau at his con-
clusion to Louis XIV.
Je composoy cet art pour donner aux Frangois :
Quand vous, Sire, quittant le parler Polonnois,
Voulutes reposant dessous le bel ombrag-es
De vos lauriers gag-nez, polir vostre langage,
Ouir parler des vers parmi le dous loisir
De ces Cloestres devots ou vous prenez plaisir.
(P. 120.)
These strains preceptive I for Gallia sung,
When you, Sire, quitting Poland's harsher tongue,
Wish'd, as beneath your laurels you recline,
With a new grace our language to refine,
Well pleased to hear the muse recite her tale
In the loved leisure of your cloister'd pale.
FRESNAIE VAUaUELIX. 24/
It must sound something like profaneness to a
Frenchman to hear these two writers spoken of
together : yet I would venture to say, that with all
Boileau's good sense and flowing numbers, there is
very Uttle to be found in his Art of Poetry which
had not been said quite as well before by Horace ;
and that mde as Vauquehn may appear in the com-
parison, he gives us at least, what we have some right
to expect in a French Art of Poetry, more informa-
tion concerning the vernacular poetry of France.
I shall notice a few particulars of this sort, which
are the most remarkable as coming from a wTiter ot
his time.
He claims for the Troubadours or Provencal poets
the invention of the sonnet.
Ces Trouveres alloient par toutes les Provinces
Sonuer, chanter, danser leur rimes chez les princes,
Des Grecs et des Remains cet art renouvele,
Aux Francois les premiers ainsi fut revele :
A leur exemple prist le bien disant Petrarque
De leurs g-raves Sonnets I'ancienne remarque,
En recompence il fait memoire de Rembaud,
De Fouques, de Remon, de Hugues et d'Aarnaud.
Mais il marche si bien sur cette vielle trace,
Qu'il orna le Sonnet de sa premiere grace :
Tant que I'ltalien est estime I'autbeur,
De ce dont le Francois est le premier inventeur.
(P, 20.)
248 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
These minstrels •went with dance, and song-, and sport,
Throug'h every province to each prince's court.
The art, recover'd thus from Greece and Rome,
First g'ain'd in joyful France another home.
From their example Petrarch learnt to chime
With no new round the Sonnet's varying rhime.
In recompense he keeps remembrance due
Of Raymond, Arnault, Rambauld, Fulk, and Hug-h ;
But trod so deftly in their ancient trace,
He g-ave the Sonnet a peculiar g'race.
And hence doth Italy her claim advance
To that which owes indeed its birth to France.
He then proceeds to compliment Ponthus de
Thiard, Maurice Sceve, Saint Gelais, Bellay, Ronsard,
Baif, and Desportes. His zeal for the honour of his
country leads him yet further in the following lines.
De nostre Cathelane ou langue Provencalle
La langue d'ltalie et d'Espagne est vassalle :
Et ce qui fist priser Petrarque le mignon,
Fut la grace des vers qu'il prist en Avignon,
Et Bembe reconnoist qu'ils ont pris en Sicille
La premiere facon de la rime gentille,
Que I'on y fut planter avecques nos Romants,
Quand conquise elle fut pas nos Gaulois Normands,
Qui faisoient de leurs faits inventer aux Trouverres
Les vers que leurs Jouglours, leurs Contours et Chan-
terres
Rechantoient par apres. — (P. 21.)
FRESNAIE VAUQLELIX. 2-19
Thus are the tongues of Italy and Spain
Vassals to our Provence and Catalaine ;
And darling Petrarch his chief honour won
From that sweet verse he learnt in Avignon.
And learned Bembo from Sicilia owns
His country took the rhyme's alternate tones,
Which thither first our old romancers bore,
When Gallia's Normans sought the fruitful shore :
Conquering, the bade the Troubadours rehearse
Their feats of prowess, which in answering verse
Their own rude jugglers gave them back again,
And wandering fablers caught the heroic vein.
Another species of poem, called the Syrventez,
which he claims for the Provencals, will be more
readily conceded to them than the sonnet, which is
now generally allowed to be of Italian origin.
Et comme nos Francois les premiers en Provence
Du Sonnet amoureux, chanterent I'escelence
D'avant I'ltalien, ils ont aussi chantez
Les SatjTes qu'alors ils nommoient Syrventez,
Ou Sylventois, un nom qui des Sylves Eomaines
A pris son origine en nos forests lointaines. — (P. 65.)
" And as our French in Provence first brought the
amorous sonnet to perfection, before the Italians, so
were they the inventors of the satirical poems, which
they then called Syrventez, or Sylventois, a name that
in our sequestered forests took its origin from the Sylvse
of the Romans."
250 EAKLY FKENCH POETS.
Gray, in his Observations on English Metre,
speaking of the Itahan Terza Rima, observes that it
was probably the invention of the Provencals, Avho
used it in their Syrvientes (or Satires) whence the
Italians have commonly called it Serventese.*
Vauquelin considers the verses of eight feet as
best adapted to French comedy. His account of the
Alexandrine metre is the same as that which is com-
monly given.
Nos long's vers on appelle Alexandrins, d'autant
Que le Roman qui va les prouesses contant
D'Alexaudre le grand, I'un de neuf preux de I'age,
En ces vers fut escrit d'un Romanze langage. (P. 22.)
"Our long" verses they call Alexandrines, because
the Romance which recounted the exploits of Alexander
the Great, one of the nine worthies of the age, was
written in this measure."
The old Romances of the French, he observes,
had been returned to them by the Italians and
Spaniards, like a stolen horse, that has had his mane
trimmed, and his tail and ears cut, and is then sold
to the right owner for a new one. (P. 73.)
He recommends to the French poets the occasional
use of proA"incial words, a Hcence at which the whole
* Works of Thomas Gray, 2 vols. 4to. London, 1814,
vol. ii. p. 21.
FRESNAIE VAUQUELIX. 251
court of Loiiis XIV. would have shuddered (p. 13) ;
but the advice is aftei-wards qualified. (P. 71.)
In speaking of the tragic writers, he mentions his
ha\'ing been present at the representation of Jodelle's
Cleopatre. (P. 76.)
The manner in which he describes the difference
between the ode and the song, has, I think, been
imitated by Boileau. (P. 23.)
In one point he differs widely from Boileau, and
that is that he earnestly recommends sacred subjects
for poetry, whereas Boileau is as lu-gent on the other
side, and would have his disciples confine themselves
to the heathen mythology. A strong religious feel-
ing is indeed one of the most striking features in the
character of this poet. Wliat shall we say to his pre-
sentiment of the evils which were aftenftards to befal
his country from the prevalence of atheism ?
France, faut il encor que ces debordements
Troublent de tes Francois les beaux entendements 1
Et que cela te soit un menacant presage
De te voir saccagee un jour par quelque orage,
Tout ainsi que la Grece ? arriere ces mortals
Qui vont de I'Eternel blamant les saints autels.
Et vraymeut tu serois, O France, bien ingrate
(Toy qui n'as seulement, xm Platen, un Socrate,
Ains I'Evangile saint, que le grand Denis
D'Athenes aporta qui nous a tous benis)
252 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
Ne remerciant Dieu, qui dedans ta poitrine
A grave de son doy cette sainte doctrine.
Satyre a Charles de Bourgueville Escuyer, S^^c. stir
un Livrede V Immortalite de VAme. (P. 414.)
And shall these wild excesses, France, infest
Thy noble sons, and shake their firmer breast 1
A threatening- presag-e, that some direful storm
One day shall far and wide thy realm deform,
As erst in Greece ! Avaunt, ye baser crew,
That rob the Eternal of his honour due.
O France, what vile ingratitude were thine,
(On whom not only doth the radiance shine
From Socrates derived and Plato's page,
Those lights vouchsafed to a less favour'd ag-e.
But that thrice blessed Gospel, which of yore
Saint Denis brought from Athens to thy shore,)
If thou thankst not thy Maker, who hath graved
This holy doctrine in the heart he saved.
In the satire addressed to his poetical friend, Pou-
thus de Thiard, Bishop of Chalons, (p. 422) he speaks
with much freedom of the enormities that prevailed
among the higher orders of the clergy, whose luxury,
avarice, and ambition, he considered as the chief cause
of the evils which had arisen from the Lutherans.
To his piety was joined its proper accompaniment, a
manly and independent spirit that would not suffer
him to comply with the arbitrary maxims of the day.
FKESXAIE VAUaUELIN. 253
Amongst other hindrances to his advancement at
court, he mentions it as one,
I could not tax one Brutus for the deed
That from a Tarquin's pride his country freed,
Nor so commend great Caesar, as to blame
The second patriot of that noble name.
Je na scauroy blamer du premier Brute
Contre Tarquinla vengeance tres-juste:
Je ne s§auroy louer Cesar si fort
Que d'avouer que 1' autre Brute eut tort.
Satyre a Ph. de Nolent Chevalier Sr. de
Bomhamille. (P. 267.)
In his satires he has borrowed largely from Horace
and Ariosto. From the eighth satire of the latter,
he has got that ludicrous, but licentious tale, which
Prior copied in his Hans Carvel (p. 363) ; from his
third satire, the hvely story of the mag-pie (p. 208) ;
and a good deal more ; this among the rest :
Le chardronnet fredonne sa chanson
Bien enferme comme dans un buisson :
Le rossignol dure a peine en le cage :
Et I'arondelle en un jour meurt de rage. (P. 204.)
Mai puo durar il rosignuolo in gabbia;
Piu vi sta'l cardellino, e pin il fanello ;
La rondine in un di vi muor di rabbia.
254 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
The nig-litingale but ill endures the cage :
The linnet and the finch live longer there :
But in one day the swallow dies of rage.
To the "Beatus lUe" of Horace he is indebted for
the mould into which he has cast a very pleasing
description of the life of a French country gentleman
(p. 223) ; and to his Epistles (1. i. 7) for the story of
the weasel (p. 232). I take these as the first in-
stances that occur to me of his numerous imitations.
He complains bitterly of the little esteem in which
the best verses were held in his time.
Puis que les grands au jambon de Maj-ence,
Au cervelat, donnent la preference
Sur mile vers qui leurs sont presentez,
Ne rendans pas leurs esprits contentez :
Qu'ils prisent plus la poire bergamote,
La parpudelle et la bonne ricote,
Le marzepain et le biscuit bien fait,
Que de Ronsard le carme plus parfait.
Satyre a J. A. De Bdif. (P. 292.)
Since now our great men give the preference
To a rich sausage or a ham from Mentz,
O'er all the bard can oifer, who in vain
May strive to soothe them with his dulcet strain :
For more they prize a pear, sweet bergamot,
Orjargonel; a luscious apricot ;
Marchpane, or biscuit nicely baked, by far,
Than the most perfect measures of Ronsard.
FRESNAIE VAUaUELIN. 255
I take parpudelle, \^•hich is not found in the French
glossaries, to be the name of sonie fruit known in
Normandy, where Vauquehn hved. The word mar-
zepain, marchpane, is also to be observed as being
employed by our own writers of that age, though the
French lexicographers hare it not. In one of his
Idyls (p. 590), he repeatedly uses the exclamation
' oif, oiF,' in the same manner as we do.
Like the rest of his poetical brethren, he everywhere
acknowledges the supremacy of Ronsard, though
Malherbe, who introduced a new style, had by this
time got a great name. I remember one place, though
I cannot refer to it, where he thus distinguishes them.
La douceur de Malherbe, et I'ardeur de Ronsard.
The satire addressed to Scaevole de Sainte Marthe
(p. 173) contains an interesting liew of their early
friendship and studies, when they strayed together
on the banks of the Clain ; his regrets for the quiet
and innocence of the past, and his impatience of the
chicanery in which the profession of the law had en-
gaged him. In that preceding it, he describes him-
self as glad to escape from Caen, where his legal
employment usually confined him, and to wander in
the woods and hsten to the nightingales beyond
Falaise.
Je ne pourroy jamais estre a men aise
Si bien souvent traversant par Falaise,
256 EAELY FRENCH POETS.
Je ne quittoy de Caen le beau sejour,
Pour mieux ouir de Rossingols I'amour
Dedans nos bois, visiter nos ombrages,
Et les detours de nos sentiers sauvages :
Et remarquer des Peres anciens
L'iuuoceut age en nos Parroissiens.
Satire a Monsieur de Tiron. (P, 163.)
The first satire of the fifth hook is very animated.
At the conclusion of it he unexpectedly passes to the
gay and pleasant. In the next but one, addressed to
Monsieur de la Boderie (p. 391), the miseries of the
war with the Huguenots are depicted with a strong
pencil and much feeling. The last of the satires, to
Bertaud the poet, gives an affecting account of the
author's state of mind, occasioned by the condition to
which France was then reduced.
Regnier is the only Frenchman whom Boileau
has thought worthy of being enumerated among his
predecessors in the art of writing satire. It would
have been no disparagement of his otvh dignity, if he
had vouchsafed a word of VauqueUn. He might, at
least, have said of him what Horace did of Lucilius.
Ille velut fidis arcana sodalibus olim
Credebat libris ; neque, si male cesserat, usquam
Decurrens alio, neque si bene : quo fit ut omnis
Votiva pateat veluti descripta tabella
Vita senis.
FRESNAIE VAUaUELIN. 257
In him as certain to be loved as seen,
The soul stood forth, nor kept a thought within.
Pope.
But it is on his Idyls that this writer should rest
his pretensions as a poet. They are often touched
with a light and delicate hand. In the preface to
them he has, in his simplicity, laid down a definition
of the Idylhum, at which one cannot help smiling.
He says, it represents Nature ' en chemise.' I am
sorry to say he has not always left her even this
slight covering, and that there are things from which
a stricter eye must turn aside. Inquiring once of a
young and amiahle French scholar, who seldom went
without a volume of Plato, or some book of divinity,
in his pocket, which of the modem poets were ac-
counted the best, I was told that Parny was the one
who excelled all others in elegy. Accordingly on my
next visit to Paris, I got a Parny ; but had not turned
over many leaves, before I charged my informant
with ha\ing recommended to me a book that was not
fit to be read. His answer was that Parny was not
at all worse than some of the Greek and Latin poets,
whom he knew no scholar scrupled to read ; and I
could plainly perceive that he thought there was
something of puritanism in the objection. I could
not however agree with him in ranking his favourite
modem among such good company. The voluptuous-
ness of Paray is covered with a veil of sentiment
s
258 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
that renders it more dangerous than theirs. They
have no fine arts of seduction. Their grossness is
too palpable to slide into the mind tmperceived. So
it is also with Vauquelin. He is not rotten at the
core. His lovers, in spite of all their excesses, are
still, as he call them, ' fermes et loyaux am ants !'
But I have no thoughts of entertaining my reader
with any thing in this way. To the following (the
77th Idyl of the first book) no exception can be
made.
Ombreux vallons, cl aires fontaines,
Ruisseaux coulants, forests hautaines,
Ou Philanon eut doucement
De Philis maint embrassement ;
Vivez heureux, et la froidure
Ne vous depouille de verdure ;
Ne jamais, beaux vallons, I'Este
Ne vous nuise, en son aprete :
Jamais les bestes pasturantes,
Fontaines, ne vous soient nuisantes :
Ne jamais, Ruisseaux, vostre cours
Ne tarisse dans vos detours ;
Ni jamais sur vous la coignee
Ne soit, Forests, embesogTiee :
Et jamais ne naissent aussi
Les lous a nos troupeaux ici :
Mais tousiours la bande sacree
Des Nymphes en vous se recree :
Tousiours, Pan pour vous habitei",
Veuille son Menale quitter.
FRESNAIE VAUQUELIN. 259
Shady valleys, tumbling floods,
Crystal fountains, lofty woods,
Where Philanon hath often prest
Loved Phillis to his jDanting breast,
Blessed be ye : never air
Of winter strip your branches bare ;
Lovely valleys, parching' heat
Never soil your g-reen retreat :
Never hoof of herd uncouth,
Fountains, break your margin smooth:
Streams, your windings never lie
By the dog-star scorch'd and dry :
Nor ever woodman's axe intrude,
Forests, on your solitude :
Nor the wolf be ever here
To scare your flocks with nightly fear :
But still the Nymphs, a holy quire,
To your haunts for peace retire :
And Pan himself, with you to dwell,
Bid his Maenalus farewell.
There is somethin"; very like this in Fletcher's
Faithful Shepherdess,* which I think Warton has
commended as couveying images more natural and
more proper to this comitry than Milton's imitation
in the Comus.
* But the scene of the Faithful Shepherdess is laid
in Thessaly.
260 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
The three last Idyls of this book are religious.
The concluding one is addressed to PhiUis (who it
appears was his own wife), after a union of forty
years. I have compared his version of Virgil's first
Eclogue (p. 534) with part of it translated by Malfi-
latre (who was also a native of Caen) and by Gresset;
and am persuaded that he has caught the tone of
the Mantuan better than those modems.
A sonnet in praise of Virgil, or rather of two
brothers of the name of Chevalier who had trans-
lated Virgil, will not so well stand the comparison
with that by Angelo Costanzo, from whom he has
borrowed it.
Cette douce Musette, ou sur les claires eaux
Du beau Mince jadis Dafnis et Ma^libee
Cbantoient des chants si beaux, qu'onques Alfesibee
N'en ouit sur Menale entonnerde si beaux:
Depuis qu'avecquesvoixettonsun peu plus bauts
EUe eut celebre Pale et I'beureux Aristee,
Et du bon fils d'Ancbise eut la gloire cbantee,
L'exil et le voyage et les divers travaux,
A ce cbesne elle fut par son pasteur sacree,
Ou le vent luy fait dire : aucun plus ne m'agree,
De men seul grand Tytire est men desir content :
J\lais estant toutefois des Chevaliers toucbee,
Elle permet que d'eux soit son anche emboucbee :
Et sous leurs vers Frangois, Fran9oise elle s'entend.
(P. 623.)
FUESNAIE VAUaUELIN. 261
Quella cetra gentil, che in su la riva
Canto di Mincio Dafni e jNIelibeo,
Si che non so, se in Menalo, o in Liceo
In quella, o in altra eta simil s'udiva ;
Poiche con voce jsiu canora, e viva
Celebrate ebbe Pale, e Aristeo,
E le grand' opre, che in esilio feo
II gran figliuol d'Anchise e della Diva :
Dal sue pastore in una quercia ombi'osa
Sacrata pende, e se la muove il vento.
Par che dica superba e disdegnosa :
Non sia chi di toccarmi abbia ardimento ;
Che, se non spero aver man si fainosa,
Del gran Titiro mio sol mi contento.
For a translation of this I must refer to the London
Magazine, for July, 1821.
Amongst his epitaphs are fomid. inscriptions for
Budgeus ; Paulus Jovius ; the poet Marullus ; Pico
da Mu-andola ; la Peruse ; Tahureau* (a poet of
those times whom he has celebrated elsewhere) ; Bel-
lay ; Belleau ; Dorat ; Ronsard ; Bai'f ; Toutain
(another poet who lived at Falaise, and died about
1585) ; Roussel (whose excellence in Latin poetry he
has highly extolled in his Art Poetique, p. 105, and
* Jacques Tahureau was born at Mans in 1525, and
died there in 1555. I have not seen any of his produc-
tions, which are said to consist of odes, sonnets, and
facetious dialogues.
262 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
who was a lawyer at Caen) ; Charles IX. ; the two
brothers Chevalier, who translated Virgil ; N. Michel
(a physician, a Greek and Latin poet), and Gamier.
Thirty-three of his sonnets are on a young lady ac-
cidentally burnt to death at a festival at Rouen. The
concluding sonnets are on sacred subjects. Among
these there is one fine one on the star in the east. P. 741 .
From one of his satires (p. 181), written in his
forty-fifth year, we collect the following particulars
concerning this poet. He was bom in the year when
Francis I. conquered Savoy, that is, in 1535. His
family name was perhaps derived from the Val
d'Eclin, then corrupted to Vauc-Elin, where his
ancestors had hved. They followed WilUam the
Conqueror into England ; as their names left in
Gloucester and Clarence, and their armorial achieve-
ments to be found in those places, testified. They
afterwards intermarried with many noble families
in France, the names of which he recounts. His
father died at thirty years of age, and left him
an only child and heir to an estate deeply involved,
which his mother freed from all incumbrances. He
was sent for his education to Paris, where he studied
under Turnebus and Murctus. He knew Baif,
adored Ronsard, and honoured du Bellay, with whom
he was better acquainted. In liis eighteenth year he
made an excursion in the company of Grimoult and
Toutain, to the banks of the Loire, the Sarte and the
fRESNAlE VAUQUELIX. 263
Mayenne ; in Angers, he saw Tahureau ; and in Poi-
tou, Sainte Marthe ; both of whom he speaks of with
much enthusiasm. He now wrote his Foresterie, as
has been before mentioned; but soon after deserted
his poetical studies for the law, married a virtuous
lady, and succeeded to a good property that had be-
longed to her father. During the troubles in France,
he was employed confidentially by the governors of
the province (Normandy), chiefly on the recommenda-
tion of Desportes, He was of a moderate stature ; of
a disposition somewhat jo^•ial ; bald ; a little inclined
to be choleric, but soon pacified. This is what he
tells of himself. He was afterwards made president
of a court of judicature, called the Presidial, at Caen ;
and died in 1606. Like our Congreve and Gray, he
had no ambition to be known as an author.
De tout temps j'ay hay de Poete le nom,
N'estant assez scavant pour avoir ce renom. (P. 308.)
In the preface to his satires, written a little before
his death, he speaks with contempt of the antithetic
and pointed style, which had lately gro\ATi into esteem
in France.
264 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
AMADIS JAMYN.
It is entertaining enough, after reading the poems
of Ronsard, to look into those of Amadis Jamyn, his
page, who has quite as much of the airs of his
master as one in that station ought to have. In
imitation of his master, he has three mistresses, after
whom he names three of his hooks, (there are five
books in all,)— Oriana, christened after the mistress
of Amadis of Gaul ; Artemis, and Callirhoe. Like
Ronsa;rd, he pays his compliments in verse to the
French monarchs, Charles IX. and Henry III. ;
the former of whom, I believe, appointed him his
secretary. Through great part of the first book, he
is lavish in his encomiums on these princes, particu-
larly on Charles, whom he praises equally for his
wisdom, poetiy, beauty, and courage. The Poeme
sur la Chasse au Roy Charles IX., being an animated
description of the chase, may be read with more
pleasure than the rest of these pieces of flattery.
Like Ronsard, he dresses himself out in patches that
he has purloined from the Greek, Latin, and Italian
poets. His best things indeed are translations ;
such are those from Horace, at fol. 68, O nanre dans
AMADIS JAMYN. 265
la mcr. — Fol. G9, Ou ou mechaus vous ruez-vous
ainsi? — Fol. 95, L'aspre Hper se deslie au gra-
cieux rctour, — Fol. iii, Une horrible tempeste a ride
tous les cieux. — From Petrarch, at fol, 138, En
quelle idee estoit I'exemple beau.* — And fol. 148,
Fleurs, campagnes et prez que vous estes heureux.f
There is a pretty description of a valley, into which
he has transplanted the flowers and the nymphs from
Theocritus.
La s'habilloit de bleu I'EcIaire arondeliere,
L'Adiante non moite et le Gramen noiieux
Et le Trefle croissant par les pastis berbeux.
La dansoit Calliree et Eunice et Malis,
Qui blanches effa^oient les marbres bien polis.
(Les Oeuvres Poetiques d'Amadis Jamyn. au
Roy de France et de Pologne. a Paris de
I'Imprimerie de Robert Estienne, Par Mamert
Patisson M.D.LXXV. 4to. fol. 126 and 127.
ITept ^£ ^pva TToXXct TrefvKT),
Kvaveov rt ytXicoviov, -^otpov TadiavTov,
Kai ^aWovTU aeXiva, /cat £tXtre>'?)c aypuxxTig'
Y^ari cey fxirrao) Nu/u^at ^opov apri^ovTO-,
Nuju^at uKoifiriToi, ceipoi Sreal aypoiwTaig,
Euvfi/ca, Kut MaXte, £ap.&' opouiaa '^v)(^eia.
Idyll, 13, V. 45.
• In qual parte del ciel, in quale idea,
f Lieti fieri, e felici e ben nate erbe.
266 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
There sprang' each herb of scent or colour fine,
Green maidenhair and bluish celandine,
The tufted parsley and lush meadowsweet.
And many a nymph a choral round did beat
Amid the waters, footing it amain ;
The sleepless nymphs, dreaded by shepherd swain ;
Eunice, Malis, and Nycheia fair
As springtime.
He has at times even a livelier flow of numbers
than Ronsard ; but he has not near the same depth,
learning, or variety. I have seen only a few lines
extracted from his translation of the Iliad and
Odyssey. They have his usual freedom and facility
of verse. More might have been said for him, if he
had left many such productions as the following
sonnet :
POUR UN JEU DE BALLE FORCEE.
Voyant les combatans de la Balle forcee
Merquez de jaune et blanc I'un I'autre terracee,
Pesle-mesle courir, se battre, se pousser,
Pour gaigner la victoire en la foule pressee.
Je pense que la Terre a I'egal balancee
Dedans I'air toute ronde, ainsi fait amasser
Les hommes aux combats, a fin de renverser
Ses nourissons brulans d'une gloire insensee.
La Balle ha sa rondeur toute pleine de vent :
Pour du vent les Mortels font la guerre souvent,
Ne remportant du jeu que la Mort qui les domte.
AMADIS JAMYX. 267
Car tout ce inonde bas n'est qu'un flus et reflus,
Et n'aprennent jamais a toute fin de conte,
Sinon que cette vie est un songe et rien plus.
(Fol. 77.)
When I behold a foot-ball to and fro
Urged by a throng of players equally,
Who run pell-mell, and thrust and push andthro-R",
Each party bent alike on victory ;
Methinks I see, resembled in that show.
This round earth poised in the vacant sky,
Where all are fain to lay each other low,
Striving by might and main for mastery.
The ball is filled with wind : and even so
It is for wind most times that mortals war ;
Death the sole prize they all are struggling for :
And all the world is but an ebb and flow ;
And all we learn, when as the game is o'er.
That life is but a dream, and nothing more.
Amadis Jamvn died in 1578.
208 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
PIERRE GRINGORE.
I AM half inclined to hand over Pierre Gringore to
the lovers of the Gothic letter. There are three of
his volumes before me, which would probably have
great attractions for them. Their titles are as
follows.
1 . Les Abus du mode nouvellement Imprimes a
Paris. 8vo. (no date.)
2. Contreditz du Prince des Sots autrement dit
Songecreux, On les vend a Paris en la rue neufue
nostre dame lenseigne sainct Nicolas. The table of
contents is wanting at the conclusion of this copy ;
and with it the date also, which according to De
Bure is 1530.
3. Notables enseignemes Adages et proverbes faitz
et composez par Pierre Gringore dit Dauldemont He-
rault dai*mes de hault & puissant seigneur monsieur
le Due de Lorraine, Nouvellemet reveuz et corrigez.
Avecques plusieurs austres adjoustez oultre la prece-
dente Impression. On les vend a Lyon cheulx
01i\ier Amoullet. 16mo. 1538.
PIERRE GRINGORE. 269
De Bure gives the titles of twelve more of these
treasures ; and on one of them, for its rarity the most
precious of all, he expatiates at great length. It is
No. 3269 in his catalogue, and is called, Le Jeu du
Prince des Sots et Merc Sotte, mis en rime Franqoise ;
par Pierre Gringore, ou Gringoire ; et joue par per-
sonnaiges, aux Halles de Paris, le Mardy gras de
I'annee, 1511. in 16 gotiq. From the accomit given
of it, it appears to have been a sort of comedy, or
rather farce, divided into four separate parts. A
copy of it, preserved in the King's Library at Paris,
is said to be the only one then known. I have not
discovered whether a Duessa has since appeared to
dispute the homage paid to this Una. In the Bib-
Hotheca Parisiana, No. 252, there is at least a
manuscript copy of it.
Besides all these, there is yet another book attri-
buted to Pierre, which is not in black letter, and which
in De Bure, No. 3036 with an asterisk, is erroneously
said to bear the name of Octa^ien de St. Gelais in the
title-page, unless mdeed the title-pages of all the copies
were not the same. This is Le Chasteau de Labour,
auquel est contenu ladresse de richesse, et chemin de
pouurete. Les faintises du monde. Imprime a
Paris pour Galliot du Pre, 1532, 8vo.
After a prologue setting forth the author's design,
he thus enters on his subject.
270 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
En ung beau jardin delectable
Rempli d'arbres, derbes, de fleurs
Vis ung- jeune enfant amiable
Sentir, fleurer, g-ouster odeurs,
Fleurettes de plusieurs couleurs
Luy presentoit dame Jeunesse,
Question nestoit de douleurs,
Mais de tout plaisir et Hesse.
Pres de luy estoit Chastiement,
Xing' maistre descolle dhonneur,
Qui luy remonstroit doulcement
Comme au disciple le recteur,
Et disoit qui ne prent labeur
II vit comme une brute beste.
Le jeune enfant du bon du cueur
Descouter Chastiement sapreste. (Fol. 4.)
" In a fair pleasant garden, filled witli trees, herbs,
and flowers, I saw a lovely young child enjoying the
sweet odours. Dame Youth presented to him many a
floweret of divers hue. Of sorrow there was no thought,
but all was pleasure and gladness. Near him was Chas-
tisement, a master of a school of honour, who remon-
strated with him gently, as a teacher with his scholar.
He told him, that one who labours not, lives like a brute
beast. The young child sets himself with good heart
to listen to the words of Chastisement."
Jeune Enfant, in spite of this good advice, gets into
many difficulties, which are described as allegorical
PIEKRE GRINGORE. 271
personages, and some of them touched not ^vithout
spirit.
The dress of Jemie Enfant himself is thus painted :
II estoit vestu de vert gay-
En facon de gone nouvelle,
Aussi gent comme ung papegay
Est, quant le prin temps renouvelle.
{FoL 10.)
Yclad in a green mantle gay
Of newly fangled gore was he,
As gent as is a popingay
That sits in springtide on the tree.
Here we have four Chaucerian words in as many
lines; "gore," "gent," "popingay," and " reno-
velen." The first of these gave Tyrwhitt some trouble
to explain. He does not seem to have been aware of
the manner m which the old French writers used it.
It occurs again in this poem.
Vit venir ung homme de nom
ALille en (jorre nouvelle,
Et tenoit ce gentil mignon
Par la main une damoyselle.
Gorrierement le saluerent
Et illeur rendit leur salut. — (Fol. 8.)
La femme met I'homme a raison,
II luy fault riches paremens,
En gorre selon la saison. — {FoL 19.)
2/2 EARLY FBENCH POETS.
Fa\'in, in his Theatre d'Honneur, torn. i. p. 714,
(as quoted by Roquefort, in the Glossary of the Ro-
mance tongue) gives the name of Grande Gorre to
Isabeau, of Baviere, "pour se bobander en habits a
I'Allemande," "from her flaunting in clothes made
after the German fashion."
The last verses I have cited, are in the description
which Franc Arbitre, Free-Will, gives the Jeune
Enfant of a wife, when lie is obstinately bent on
marriage. Marry, however, he will ; and, as the lady
proves a " Grande Gorre," " a lady of fashion,"
according to Franc Arbitre' s prediction of her, the
difficulties of Jeuue Enfant are thus completed.
When he is ready to sink under them, there appears
to him a lady, quite of another sort, who delivers him
out of them all. This is no less than the Blessed
Virgin, whom the author calls also " Reason."
At the beginning of the French Revolution, the
philosophers thought they were freeing themselves
from all their old superstitions when they wor-
shipped, in the person as it is said of a common
woman, the Goddess of Reason ; though they were,
in fact, relapsing into a very old superstition, only
stripped of all that was decorous and affecting to the
imagination. The Virgin, or Reason, gives Jeune
Enfant some excellent advice ; which is further
enforced by the admonitions of a grave old man,
called " Entendemeut," " Understanding ;" but all
PIEREE GRINGORE. 2/3
is like to prove of no avail, in consequence of the
arrival of one who comes up dressed in the garb of a
lawyer.
Ce seig-neur que je diz, estoit
Vestu comrne ces advocatz ;
Ung Chapperon forre pourtoit,
Robbe traiuante jusque en bas. — {Fol.ol.)
This lord of whom I spake was clad
In likeness of an advocate ;
On head a cope of fur he had,
And trail'd behind a robe of state.
This is " Barat," " Barrateria," Ital. " Baratry"
in our old law language, accompanied by his clerk
" Tricherie" " Treacher}^" and his valet " Hoquel-
lerie" "Chicanery." "Hoker" and " Hokerly" are
words in Chaucer, which, as well as our word
"Hukster," are probably of the same stock with this.
This goodly trio are endeavouring to seduce Jeune
Enfant from his duty, but their ill intentions are de-
feated by " Reason," who is reinforced by a man and
woman in plain garb, the one named " Bon Cueur,"
the other " Bonne Voulente ;" " Good Heart," and
" Good Will ;" brmging with them "Tallent de bien
faire" " Desire of Well-doing." These lead him to
the castle of Labour. "Peine" "Pain," the lady of
the castle, inquires of " Soing" " Carefulness," the
porter, who the new comer is, and from whence.
T
274 EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Vient il d'Angleterre ou de Romme ? — Fol. 77.
" Comes lie from England or from Rome ?"
He declares his willingness to be employed ; and
" Peine" tells him that her husband " Travail"
" "Work" will see how he executes his task, and re-
ward him accordingly. He has much to do, and
fares hard ; but is well satisfied with his lot, till, at
last, finding his hunger grow importunate, he is told
by "Work" that he may go for a while to " Repose,"
who will feed him better, and allow him a little
pastime. " Soing" and " Cure," " Carefuhiess" and
" Heed," let him out of the castle, not without some
good advice, and a pluck of the ear from each. He
tells his wife of all that had befallen him, speaking of
it as if it were a dream. She would fain dissuade
him from his gopd resolutions, but he determines
not to listen to her, and concludes with a prayer that
he may have firmness to persevere.
The style is of the homeliest throughout ; but there
is the good meaning of the writer, worthy the age of
Louis the Just, and here and there an arch phrase,
or a quaint old word, cunningly set, to repay the
reader for his trouble.
Much the same may be said of his three other
books which I mentioned before.
The first, "Les Abus du Mode Nouvel," is a
strange farrago. Near the beginning, mdeed, (leaf
the third, for the book is not paged) there is some-
PIERKE GRINGORE. 275
tiling better. It is the description of his musing
himself to sleep at a Uttle tillage, lulled by the song
of a nightingale ; and is quite in the taste of Chaucer.
At waking, he hears most dreadful cries, uttered by
many " honourable persons ;" and " a gay spirit,"
named " Entendement," "Understanding" appears,
and furnishing him \\ith pen, ink, and paper, bids him
commit to writing the visions he sees. A church
then rises before him, built in strange guise;
through the door of which a cruel and dangerous
man is thrusting himself by force. He holds a spit
" broche" with crosses, mitres, abbeys, and bishoprics
on it, which two women are endeavouring by force or
sleisht to drive into the church. "Entendement"
launches forth into an invective against the abuses of
the clergy. This is followed by a satire on the other
vices of the time. At length, Louis XII, appears to
him with Justice at his side ; and he sees in a vision
the conquest obtained by that monarch over the
Venetians in 1509 ; and is proceeding to enlarge on
the affairs of Italy, when Entendement says to him
properly enough :
Laisse ses g'uerres et puissantes victoires
Aux croniqueurs pour mettre par histoire.
"Leave his wars and mighty conquests for chro-
niclers to record."
He then goes on to satirize the hypocrites (or
276 EARLY FRENCH POETS,
bigots as he calls them) of both sexes ; and, from
them, passes to the barbers, physicians, apothecaries,
dancers, mummers, astrologers, gamesters, chemists,
searchers after the pliilosopher's stone, forgers,
priests, notaries, &c. &c. In the last leaf, the book
is presented to Jaques nomme de Touteville, comi-
sellor and chamberlain to the king.
The next, the Coutreditz du Prince des Sots, &c.
consists of arguments for and against the different
trades, professions, and modes of hfe. These are in-
troduced by Fantasy's conducting him to the forgery
of Pallas, where he sees the apparatus that had been
used for fabricating all the great writings in ancient
times ; among the rest, the Speculum Vitse of Ro-
deric Zamora.
Oultreplus je trouvay encore
Ce feu tout chault ou puis nag-uere
Avoit fait Roderic Zamore
Ce mirouer humain par sainct pere
De lespaignolje prins matiere
Si parfond et si largement
Que jen ay faictle fondement. — {Fol. 4.)
And furthermore still there I found
The fire all hot, where not long since
Roderic of Zamora did found
His human mirror : by heaven's prince,
Matter so large and so profound
I from that Spaniard's learning took,
That I thereon have wrought my book.
PIERBE GRINGORE. 277
There were no less than five editions of the Spe-
culum Vitse Humanse, besides a French translation
of it, before the conclusion of the fifteenth century.
The arguments on Merchandise, fol. 37, are in
prose ; as is great part of the second book, de I'Estat
civil. The tyranny of fashion over the Courtier's
Ufe is one of the most entertaining things in this
work:— Fol. 171.
Towards the end, there is a brief eulogy on Saint
Louis, and on the reigning monarch, Louis XII.
The last of the above-mentioned books, the Nota-
bles enseignemes, &c. is, as the title imports, a col-
lection of adages and proverbs : all of these are m
quatrains. I should take this edition to be scarce :
for De Bure has only the first (No. 3028 with an
asterisk, m his Bibliograpliie) printed at Paris, with-
out date : but this has many additions. There is
much wisdom in these, as there is in most sayings of
this kind ; but few readers I doubt are now willing to
be at the trouble of " understanding a proverb, and
the interpretation ; the words of the wise and their
dark saymgs." A scantling of these therefore will
suffice, and they shall be such as, to make them the
more palatable, contain some curious intimation of
the manners and customs of those times.
Aucuns plaisirs prefient de estre servilles
Par trop aymer champs villages et bourgs
Autres desir ont frequenter les cours
Mais benistz sont les habitans es villes. {Notpagcd.)
278 EAKLY FRENCH POETS.
Some, choose the lowly villain's servile state,
Their love of fields, and thorps and burghs so great ;
Others prefer the court : but blest are they
Who safe in towns do pass their lives away.
Aucuns y a sans raison ne propos
Qui es maisons escrissvent leurs devises
Noms et surnons en diflPerentes guises ;
Murailles sont paintes des mains des sots.
There are who fondly do their houses paint
With signs armorial trick'd in colours quaint,
And names and surnames mark'd in divers scrolls ;
These are walls pictured by the hands of fools.
Limprudent meine et tient dessus ses mains
Chiens et oyseaux oyant messe a leglise
En ce faisant dieu servir ne se advise
Devotion trouble aux autres humains.
Unwise the man who heareth mass, I wist.
With hound in leash, or hawk upon his fist ;
He comes not into church to worship there.
But to disturb his neighbours at their prayer.
A la cliquette on congnoist les lepreux,
Et au pourceau lymage sainct Anthoine,
Lhabit bigot ne fait le devot moyne,
Ne le harnoys Ihomme hardy et preux.
The lepers by the warning clack are known.
As by his pig Saint Anthony is shown ;
The inky cloak makes not the monk devout,
Nor trappings proud the soldier brave and stout.
PIEKEE GKINGORE, 279
Qui veut Bcavoir au soir et au matin
Les differens des noyses ou querelles
II doit aller pour ouyr des nouvelles
Ches les barbiers au four ou au moulin.
He who at mom and eve would duly know
How news and scandal with his neighbours go,
May of such idle chit-chat have his fill
At barbers' shops, the oven, or the mill.
Pierre Gringore died about the year 1545,
/
THE END.
G. NORMAN, PRINTER, MAIDEN LANE, COVENT GARDEN.
^
ir'
University of California
SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388
Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed.
v^
^EUNIVERJ/A
o
7130NVS01^
%a3AINfl]WV^
3 1158 00145 3397
!dEUNIVER%
o
^lOSANCElfj>
> =;
%a3AiNa-3WV
^OFCALIFO/?^ ^OFCAllf
C-1 =3
^<?Abva8ni^
5?
^<?Aavaa
iwmmoA
x^^LIBRARYQr
i iU^^
;^
^WE UNIVERiy/.
'>^
'«!/OJIlVDJO>'
OFCAIIFO%
CD
%
UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY
AA 000 713 610 4
CO ^ ^ •o
^AHvaan-^^ ^(?Aavaan-i^
\\^tUNIVtR%
, ^ ^ o
^vvlOSANC
'%a3AIN
vvlOSANC
"^/^aaAiNf
ir.ii'.iiycn'-
. .inic.uirFlfr
QlJONVSOl^'^
>
so
v/ja3AINfl JUV
■^ t|nn;\nv/"
'%ojnv3jo'?^
^y^rst
'^<!/ojnv;
^MEllNIVER%
^vWSANCFlfj>
^OFCALIFO/?^
^^;OFCAlll