Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027268311 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THIS BOOK IS ONE OF A COLLECTION MADE BY BENNO LOEWY 1854-1919 AND BEQUEATHED TO CORNELL UNIVERSITY Cornell University Library PQ 1189.098 1877 Book of French songs 3 1924 027 268 311 THE BOOK OF FRENCH SONGS. ^--O"^- \aaJ-^ j\^^^-i;J PA /F77 EDITOR'S PREFACE. The two works published together in this volume have long been popular with the reading Public. . Together, they afford, we think, a good representation of the early and later song literature of France. To Mr. Oxenford's "Book of French Songs," a few additional translations — the property of the Publishers — have been added : they are distinguished by initial letters. In Miss COSTELLO'S " Specimens of the Early Poetiy of France," the slight change has been made of transferring the " Song of Richard Coeur de Lion " from the Appendix to that which appears to be its due place in the body of the work. M. Michel's letter to Miss COSTELLO on the "Trouveres" has been omitted; the subject of Trouba- dours and Trouveres having been discussed in the Intro- ductions to both works. One or two small notes in which there was some repetition have also been omitted. Both viii EDITOR'S PREFACE. lii these talented writers have passed from us : Mr. Oxenford quite recently. John Oxenford was born in 1811, and was educated for the law, but preferred the profession of literature, and became a dramatic author. He was also theatrical critic to the " Times," and translated from the German the " Auto- biography of Goethe," and from the French the " Songs " here published. Miss Louisa Stuart Costello began her literary career early in life, by the publication of a volume of poems which attracted the notice of MoORE. They were followed by " Specimens of the Early Poetry of France," by which she first became generally known as a writer. Miss Costello has written some very charming travels, fiction, biography, and many well-known songs. Few ballads have been more popular than her " Queen of my Soul." This accomplished woman died in April, 1870. TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. Where there is so abundant a song literature as that of France, a small volume like this cannot be free from sins of omission. Perhaps every reader may have in his mind some song that he will think ought to have had a place here, and that he will be surprised to find has been passed over. To all objections on the score of omission I can only answer by remarking, that where from a huge mass a very limited quantity is to be extracted, the work of selection must always bear an arbitrary appearance. However, I believe I am not going too far when I say that, in spite of the narrow compass of the collection, no class or style of song (fit for the general reader) has been left unrepresented, As the book is intended for reading, the rhythm of the songs has not been in all cases so rigidly observed as it TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. would have been if the translations had been written to music. With few exceptions, however, the translations are in the same metre as the original. To research I do not pretend. The bulky collection of MM. Dumersan and Noel Segur, together with the songs of Beranger, contained nearly all that was necessary for my purpose, and it is only for two or three songs of early date that I have gone to any other source. To MM. Dumersan and S^gur I am also indebted for the matter of the Introduction. In some cases I have given the original French of the songs. This is either where they have some peculiarity about them which can be scarcely represented in a trans- lation, or where, through circum.stances, they have acquired the rank of historical " facts.'' For the latter reason, nearly all the Revolutionary Songs, and likewise those anony- mous songs that have almost become national property, are given in French. I would conclude by expressing a hope, that this little unpretending volume will be only judged according to the fidelity with which the spirit of the originals has TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. been reproduced in my own language. I have endeavoured to give a type of every class of song, and I would not have it for a moment imagined, that where I have selected, I have always admired. J. O. CONTENTS. Pass SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Ballad Kiwj Prawos 1 Song Fsanjois d» MaLhesbes 4 Song Attributed toHsKKT IV 7 Song Marquis de Racan g I'll love thee Anonymous to The Avaricious Shepherdess Dufresny ii Wishes Abb£ de Lattaignant 12 Song Jean Desmarets „ 14 The Rose-Eush De Leyre 15 Oh! Mamma Attributed to Rameau 16 I'll not show over-haste , Duke de Nivernois 18 Poor Jacques Marchioness de Travanet 19 The Infidelities of Lisette EiSranger 2r The Storm Fabre d'Eglantine 26 I love thee! Ditto 27 The Rose Gentil Bernard 30 Love Chevalier ue Boufflers 31 Cupid, Sentinel Chevalier de Cubi^re 33 The Love of Annette for Lubin Favart 33 Mv' Normandy FrId^ric B^rat 34 The Portrait Anonymous 36 Elvira's Castle Wall Ditto 37 My Coat B^anger 38 Emma's Tomb Paeny 39 Reminiscences Chateaubriand 41 Marie's Dream G. Lemoine 42 The Rosebud Princesse de Salm 44 My Father's Cot Anonymous 45 The Woodland Flower Emile Barateau 48 Alfred's Tomb Anonymous 47 God protect you! G. Lemoine 48 Marie Stuart Jean Pierre Claris Florian 49 The Swallow and the Exile Fougas 51 The Swallows Jean Pierre Claris Florian 53 The Knell,— a Dirge Jouy' 54 xiii CONTENTS, ' I SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS (con.) P«St You LEFT US ONCE EmILE BARATEAU 5^ Lines to my Goddaughter B^ranger 57 The Fall of the Leaf Emile Barateau 58 The Turtle-Dove Emile Varin 59 I MUST forget Naudet 6i Her Name ; G. Lemoine 62 Farewell Hoffman 63 Love me well E. Gola 64 The Mother at the Cradle Nettement 65 My Love is Dead T. Gautier ^ The Castle Anonymous 68 Tender Regrets Andrieux 70 Leonore Anonymous 72 The Ball Louis Festeau 73 An Avowal Baralli 74 The Blacksmith G. Lemoine 75 Jealousy P. J. Chakrin 77 The Parting E. Dugas 78 Madness Abel Poeet de Morvan 79 Jenny the Sempstress ..Emile Barateau Se The last Fine Day of Autumn Esm^nard 84 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. The Marseillaise Rouget de Lisle 8g Roland at Roncevalles Ditto 94 "Ca Ira !" Anonymous 99 The Sentinel Brault 103 The Safety of France Adolphe S. Boy 104 La Carmagnole Anonymous 107 The Song of Departure J. M. Ch^nier ij2 Le Vengeuk ., Anonymous 117 Song of Victory J. M. Ch^nier 120 The Vaesovienne Casimir Delavigne 124 The White Cockade B^ranger 129 Low-born Ditto 130 Jacques Ditto 131 133 Charles VII Ditto The Awakening of the People J. M. Sourigu^res 134 A Foreign Foe we Frenchmen hate Casimir & Germain Delavigne... 137 The Marquis de Carabas Beranger 139 The Old Corporal Ditto 143 The Goddess Ditto 144 La Parisienne Casimir Delavigne 14^- TheSenatos Beranger , 150 CONTENTS, REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS (con.) Page The Girondins Dumas 153 The Field of Battle Emile Debreaux 153 The Coronation of Charles the Simple B^ranger 157 Oh, if my Lady now were by! Anonymous 159 The Gallant Troubadour Ditto i6r The Departure for Syria Ladorde 163 The Cock of France Favart 165 The Sabre Emile Debreaux 166 Marlbrook Anonymous 168 The Workmen's Song , Pierre Dupont 173 Bayard Anonymous 176 Mary Stuart's Farewell B^ranger 178 BACCHANALIAN SONGS. Apology for Cider Oliver Basselin 183 The true Toper MaItre Adam 185 Life Racan 188 The Epicurean Saurin 190 My Philosophy Dufresny 191 The New Epimenidbs Jacinthe Lecl^re 192 The King of Yvetot B:^ranger 193 The Good Silenus T. Dauphin 197 My Vine Pierre Dupont 200 The Happy End Laujon 201 . Praise of Water Armand Gouff6 202 A Bacchanalian Delirium Charles H. Millevoye 203 , EPICUREAN SONGS. The Laws of the Table Panard so6 My Vocation B^ranger 211 The Soap-Bubble Alexis Dal]£s 212 The Table D^augiers 214 Felix Summerday Bi^ranger 217 Song for Ever! J. A. Perchelet 220 The Bachelor's Lodging Joseph Pain 222 My Little Corner E^ranger 224 The Little Gargantua D^saugiers 225 The Beggars B^ranger 227 I'll be wise Anonymous 230 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. The Hunchbacks Anonymous 235 The Cobbler's Daughter Taconet 236 'King Pagobert Anonymous 2^7 contents: HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS (con.) , Pa£e THfe Canal of St. Martin Dupeuty and Cor.mon 243 Picture of Paris at Five in the MonNi>:G...DfeAUGiERS 245 Picture of Paris at Five in the Aftej:,oon... Ditto 247 The Pillar of the Caf^ Ditto 252 The New-Year's Day Ditto 256 Important Truths Arm and Charlemagne 259 The Q^^ew , , , Pierre Dupont 262 ..SPECIMENS OF THE EARLY POETRY OF FRANCE. THE TROUBADOURS. William, ninth Count of Poictiers 280 Lay, "Anew I tune my lute to love" 281 Comtesse de Die. Elegy of Love ,,.. 283 William Adhemar. *' Oh! were I sure that all the lays'' 2S4 "She will not always turn away" 285 Rambaud d'Aurenge. "I should be blest! for in my dreams" 285 Bertrand de Born 286 " She camiot be mine ! her star is too bright " 287 Geoffroi Rudel. "Around, above, on every spray" .,. .,, 287 Bernard de Ventadour. "When I behold her, sudden fear" 289 " No ! — ^joy can wake my soul no more" , _, 290 Pierre Rogiers. "Who has not looked upon licr brow"" ago, Folquet de Marseilles. " If I must fly thee, turn away" 291 Aubade (Author unknown), " Within our hawthorn bower how sweet" 292 Raimond de IMiravals. " I Tiinst be worthy of her love" , ^ 20- SoNG of Richard Cceur de Lion in his Captivity 203 Gaucelm Faidit. Elegy on the Death of King RicharJ Cceur de Lion , ao6 Rambaud de Vaquieras. "While thus I see the groves anew " ^ ^ 2^ CONTENTS. Elias Cairel. Paga "She's fairer than my dreams could frame" , 302 Count de la Marche. " Fair precious gem ! when first I cast" 303 Peykols. "So full of pleasure is my pain'' 303 William de Cabestaing. "No, never since the fatal time" 304 Countess de Provence. To her Husband 305 The Monk of Montaudon. "I love the court by wit and worth adorned" 306 Claire d'Anduze. Lay, "They who may blame my tenderness" 308 Pierre Vidal. "Ah ! if renown attend my name" 308 Arnaud Daniel 309 "When leaves and flowers are newly springing" 310 'Boniface Calvo. "She was so good, so pure, so fair" , 311 THE TROUVERES. Marie de France 313 Lay of Eisclaveret 316 The Lay of the Eglantine 324 Le ChAtelain de Coucy 329 Chanson II,, "My wand'ring thoughts fiwake," Sic 330 La Dame de Fayel. Lai, "Still will I sing to soothe my heart" * 32'^ TniDAUT DE Champagne 333 Lay, On departing for the Holy Land 334 Translation of a Stanza 335 Song to excite to the Cmsade 33^ Lay, "Another lay I breathe for thee " ....,j.-'„-, 337 Thibaut de Blazon, Chanson, "lam to blame! why should I sing?" 1,. 33^ Gace Brule. "The birds in Brittany I hear" ,,, 339 CONTENTS. EARLY FRENCH POETS. Pagf Jean de Meun * 342 Le Codicille „. ••>. 343 Roman de la Rose .,,».... • 343 Jean Froissart. Triolet, " Take time while yet it is in view" , 345 Virelay, "Too long it seems ere I shall view" 345 ^^HRISTINE DE PiSE 3« Tenson, entitled Giexix h. vendre 549 Rondel, "En esp^rant de mieulx avoir" 35a Rondel, "I live in hopes of better days'' , 351 Rondel, *'Je ne sgay comment je dure" 351 Rondel, "I know not how my life I bear ! " 352 Surla Mort de son P^re 3S2 On the Death of her Father 353 Alain Chartier 353 "Ten seasons of a hapless exile's life " ,,,, 357 Part of La Belle Dame sans Merci 3Sg "'Twas all the joy the world could give" , ., 36c Le Breviare des Nobles, Courtoisie 36c Amour 361 .^^^iiARLEs, Duke OF Orleans , , „ 362 On the Death of his Wife 363 "Take back, take back those treacherous sighs" .,.,., 368 "I stood upon the wild sea-shore" 36J "Thrice blessed is he by whom the art" , 365 "Forgive me, love, if I have dared" 37c " My only love, my dearest, best" (supposed to be addressed to him by liis Lady)... 371 Answer, "1 cannot love thee, for my heart " 371 "She is fair, but fatal too" „ , 37s " Far from Love's dang'rous glances fly'* 37: Lay, " 'T is past !— oh, never speak again" 37^ Lay, "Is she not passing fair" 37^ Song of the Mouse , _ ,«( "Wilt thou be mine? deiirlove, reply" , 27( "Begone, begone ! away, away !" ^^,, ^li "Deep, deep within iliy heart concealed" .,, 37; "Oh, let me, let me think in peace !''..,. vj< ' Oh ! shall I ever know if all " 37' ■' Heaven ! 'tis delight to see how fair" _ 37I "Heaven conduct thee, gentle thought!" CONTENTS. Clemence Isaure. Plainte d Amour , , , , , 380 "Fair season! childhood of tne year" 380 Francois Villon 381 BaHade des Dames du Temps Jadis 382 Jean Regniek. "How many cite with airs orpviJc'" ., , 383 Pierre Michault. Moralitd 384 Guillaume Alexis , 384 L'Avare ,,. 1.., , 385 Martial de Paris 385 The Advantages of AdVersity 386 "Dear the felicity" 386 Lemaire de Belge. Adieu of the Green Lover 388 Epitaph of the Green Lover 389 Description q\ the Paradise Into which I'Amant Verd is conducted by Mercury 389 Jean Meschinot 394 "Princes, are ye of other clay" 395 On John, Duke of Burgundy 395 Jehan Molinet ,*, 396 William Cretin. "Love is like a fairy's favour" 397 Jehak Marot. "By evil tongues how many true and kind" , ., ,,.. 398 "Oh I give me death, or pity show" 399 Pierre Gringore. On Learning and Wealth 400 On Marriage .,.> 4°^ Jacques Colin. Cupid Justified 4ot CtEMENT Marot ^ 402 To Anne, whose absence he regrets 403 On the Statue of Venus sleeping 404 On the Smile of Madame d' Albert 4^4 On the Queen of Navarre 4^5 "This dear resemblance of thy lovely face" 4^5 "My love, if I depart a day" 4^5 Du Depart de s'Amie 40^ CONTENTS. Clement Marot (con.) ^"S<^ Huitain, " I am no more what I have been'' , 406 Epigramme &. rimitation de Martial 4°? To Diane de Poictiers 4^7 A Anne, pour estre en sa grace 4°^ La Reine de Navarre 409 On the Death of her Brother, Francis 1 4^0 Francis the First. Epitaph on Frangoisede Foix 4'^ On Petrarch's Laura 4" Epitaph on Agnes Sorel 412 Madrigal, "OLove! thy pain is more extreme " 412 To the Duchess d'Estampes 413 Henry the SECONb. To Diana of Poictiers * 413 Mellin t)E St. Gelais. Huitain, "Go, glowing sighs, my soul's expiring breath" 414 Quatrain, "Which is the best to choose I'd fain be told" , 415 Sixain, On a little Lute ...., , 4^5 Louise Lab^ , , 415 Sonnet XIV 416 Elegy 417 Sonnet VII , , , , ,,..,j j. 420 Isaac Habert. The Fisherman's Song 1 421 Jacques Tahurhau du Mans. To Estienne Jodelle..,, *,.......(,!.... i i 423 Maky, Queen of Scot^. On the Death of her Husband, Francis U 424 Joachim du Bellav. Sonnet in a series entitled "L'Olive" 426 Sonnet de "L'OIive" .2- To Echo 42S In "Olive," "Give back the gold that tints each curl" 428. The Furies against the Faithless 420 Jean Antoine de Baif. The Calculation of Life , .^j The Queen on the Death of Henry II 4,2 "Each pursues as fancy guides" .^2 Epitaph on Rabelais ^ _ _ __ .„ CONTENTS. Page Kemy Belleau 423 The Feathers 4^4 Lji Perle, from the "Loves of the Gems" 422 April, from "La Bergerie" 437 ESTIENNE JODELLE. To Madame de Primadis' 440 Jean Dorat, To Catherine de Medicis, Regent ,. 4^5 Franqois de Louvencourt de Vauchelles, "I had not even time to say" ,, 44^ Jacques Daw du Perron 442 "When she, who made my heart her prize" ...,, „ 443 Pierre de Ronsard , .,.,. , 444 To his Lyre ,..,..,,,...,. 446 From his "Loves," " Fifteen lovely childish springs" , 448 Loves, "Eyes, which dispose my every glance at will" 449 Loves, "My sorrowing muse, no more complain" , 449 To his Mistress's Dog 450 Epitaph de Marie ,,..,, ,,,,. 451 To Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland 451, 453, 454 MOTIN. "Why linger thus,— what heavy chain" 455 Maynard. "Although thine eyes consume my soul" , 457 Philippe Desportes. Diane, "If stainless faith and fuuJness tried " 45S DianCj livre L, " Je me laisse brulcr," &c 439 " I perish with concealed desire" 459 Diane, "Ah, gentle couch ! if thou wert made ' 460 a Jean Bertaut. "Fortune, to me unkind" A^x Renaissance d'Amour 4§3 Amadis Jamyn, Calljrde, "Although when I depart" ,,,..,.-.■. 463 Artemis, "Because each night we may behold" ..1 463 D'HUXATTIHE. Le Repentirdu Repentir 4^4 Hekrv the Fourth. Song, " My charming Gabrielle " , 4^^ De PoRcnkRES. ' Regrets sur un Depart 4^8 xxu CONTENTS. APPENDIX, Pass Marie pe France 471 Laie de Mort de Tristan de Leonnois 473 AlXAIN Chartier ...,, 473 Mary, Queen of Scots 474- Note topage 441 475 INTRODUCTION, France has always held a prominent position among nations as a land of song writers. In the middle ages no songster vied with the French Troubadour, and the nineteenth century can exhibit no lyrist, out of France, who has had an influence on the mass of his countrymen worthy to be compared with that exercised by Bdranger on the citizens of Paris. Song seems always the natural expression of a Frenchman's joy- and sorrow, enthusiasm and contempt. The memory of Henry IV. still lives in song ; the battles of the Fronde were fought as much with songs as with bullets J the great Revolution has a song literature of its own, which becomes monotonous from its very copiousness; the victory of the allies over France has its rhymed record in songs of hate and defiance ; and the revolutions that have followed the Restora- tion have their representatives in songs of triumph and in the cynical strains of communism. The origin of French song is traced by antiquarians as far back as the origin of the French monarchy, and it seems that a Latin song sung by the French in the year 600, to celebrate a victory gained over the Saxons, is still in existence, together with two others of the same period and in the same language, one of which has the peculiarity of a refrain or burden. After this date, to be sure, a gap ensues which extends over five centuries, but this gap may fairly be attributed not so much to a loss of the poetical gift on the part of the nation, as to a want of efficient means to pre- serve its fruits. INTRODUCTION. Towards the end of the eleventh century, not only do songs begin to reappear, but we begin to have accurate information respecting the writers. One Pierre de Blois became renowned i for his gallant efifusions, and the famous Abelard not only virote songs, but is said to have sung them with a very agreeable voice. Early in the twelfth century the French tongue entirely supplanted the rhymed Latin, which preceded it as the language of song, and the tradition of this period seems to be still preserved in a number of childish ditties, which are sung at the present day, and which are usually associated with games having an indirect reference to the pursuits of a chivalric period. It was at the commencement of the twelfth century that the French began to have a common language. Prior to that period the present language was written in Normandy, and some anti- quarians regard the Normans, not the Provengaux, as the patriarchs of French song. The Troubadours, who are traced by some to the days of Homer, while others fix their origin at the compara- tively recent date of ii6, reached their culminating point of glory in the earlier portion of the fourteenth century. The Troubadour was a poet by profession ; his art was known as the "gay saber" or "gay science,'' and while it was highly respected, was often exceedingly profitable. Rambaud de la Vacherie so highly pleased one of the Counts of Toulouse by his lyrical effusions, that the latter dubbed him a knight, took him . to the crusades, and eventually made him governor of the city of Salonica ; and this is only one instance among many of the kind. The poet was always a musician, and for the most part composed his own airs ; but this is not saying much. Musical art was quite in its infancy, and the dull plain song, composed in notes of equal value, contrast strangely with the light and gallant themes of the poetry. Spring, flowers, birds, and of course ladies, are the themes of these early songsters, and it is a fact worth recording that none but fair beauties were esteemed till the days of Charles IX., when brunettes came into fashion. INTRODUCTION. The fact that poetry was a profitable art by no means excluded its cultivation from the studies of persons of the highest rank. The Emperor Frederick I., who has left a madrigal composed in Provengal verse; the Emperor Frederick II., Frederick III., King of Bicily, Alphonso I., King of Aragon, Richard Cceur de Lion, King of England, with a long list of petty princes and nobles, are all enumerated among the Troubadours. In the year 1323 seven professors of the gay science founded an academy of poetry at Toulouse, to which they gave the name of the "Worthy and super-gay Company of Seven Toulouse Troubadours." Every Sunday they held private meetings in a garden, in which they recited and sang their compositions; and also a public meeting on the first of May — the favourite month of Troubadours and Minnesanger. A prize for the best composition was offered at a somewhat later period, and the victor in the poetical combat received a golden violet from the hands of the president, who proclaimed his triumph aloud. Two other iiowers in silver were afterwards offered as inferior prizes. No less than one hundred and twenty French poets also flourished about and previous to this time, plentiful specimens of which will be found in the French collections of Troubadour literature. The title of "father of French poetry" is usually awa;"ded to Thibault, Count of Champagne,* whose songs are mostly in honour of Queen Blanche of Castile, mother of St. Louis. He receives this honour not so much on account of his antiquity as on account of his merit, the French critics deciding that the poets who pre- ceded him are not worthy of the name. The interval between the close of the fourteenth century and the reign of Francis I., which began in 15 15, was not distinguished by literary productiveness. The wars between the rival parties of Armagnac and Burgundy, and the occupation of France by the English, were stem realities, which distracted the mind of the ' See Miss Costello's " Specimens of the Early Poetry of France," following these Songs. INTRODUCTION. nation from fanciful pursuits. There were, however, some stars amid the darkness, and the bibliophiles of France still talk of Jean Froissart, Guillaume de Lorr^s, Martial de Paris, Jean Lemaire, Guillaume Cr^ton, Jean de Meuse, and Alain Chartier — i. especially the last — as respectable personages in the history of French poetry.^ A love of the beauties of nature in her tranquil] moods, accompanied by a power of accumulating pleasant details, was the characteristic of the best poets of this epoch. The origin of the word vaudeville, — which once denoted a kind of song, but now denotes a dramatic piece, — is placed in this period. Olivier Bassehn, a fuller of Vire in Normandy, who distinguished himself from his more refined and more pious pre- decessors, by chanting coarse jovial strains in praise, not of fair ladies or of saints, but of wine and cider, is supposed to be the inventor of the vau-de-vire, — a word which has since been corrupted into vaudeville. It is questionable, however, whether this honour of originating the vaudeville really belongs to him, and still more questionable whether his works have come down to posterity in , the form in which he wrote them. By the side of the vaudeville, which was the song of mirth, ilourished the ^^ complaint e" which was the strain of woe, and as there was no lack of sad events in the fifteenth century, the melancholy muse was never silent for want of a fitting subject. Another poet of this time was Frangois Corbeuil, commonly called Villon, who, according to Rabelais, was a,J>roUge of Edward IV. of England, and whose "ballads" are still preserved. These are marked in many instances by a coarse comical moral, and are said to have been studied with much profit by the famous La Fontaine. Francis I. was himself a poet, and his age was an age of poetry. The great events that occurred during his reign, and those of his next successors, were a constant source of inspiration to a series of poets, who were illustrious in their day, and whose songs fill many a collection now preserved in the National Library of INTRODUCTION. France. Among the most precious is a vellum mamiscript, con- tainmg all the songs of Francis I. The great names in this age, which may be extended to the end of the sixteenth century, are those of Clement Marot, St Gelais, Du Bellay, Jodelle, Ronsard, Belleau, Passerat, and Ba'if. To the last of these is attributed the honour of being the first person who endeavoured to enrich the French with a national music of their own. He was the inventor of those ballets which formed so essential an amusement at the royal courts till the reign of Louis XIV., and which may be con- sidered, in some measure, the origin of the French opera. The troubles of the League gave an impulse to song writing. Most of the songs had reference to the politics of the time ; but licentious (Ktties were also in vogue, and so far exceeded the boimds of propriety, that at an assembly of the States General, held at fontainebleau, a project for checking a license which seemed so detrimental to morality was discussed. The most famous song writers of this period were Desportes and Bertaut. They were the immediate predecessors of Regnier and Malherbe, the latter of whom is usually considered the first classical writer of French poetry. King Henry IV., so illustrious as a sovereign, also takes a high place among the poets of his day ; and perhaps no song has retained general popularity for so long a time as the well-known "Charmante GabrieMe," which he addressed to his mistress, the iknous Gabrielle d'Estr^es. During the reign of Louis XIII. and the minority of Louis XIV., song took an eminently satirical turn, and the Cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin were constant objects of metrical attack. The Bacchanalian Song, which indeed has always occupied an important place in French lyrical poetry, from the days of Olivier Basselin to the present time, was also much cultivated ; and the Marquis de Racan, who was one of the earliest members of the Ffench Academy, gained a reputation in this class of literature which is not yet extinct. It should be observed that these poets for the most part xxviU , INTRODUCTION. belonged, or at any rate were attached, to the higher class o: society, with whom verse writing was an elegant amusement However, shortly before Richelieu's death, two artisans, Adan Billaut of Nevers, and Olivier Massias of Angouleme, created s great, sensation by their rhymes. The songs of the first of these, who is generally called Maitre Adam, are considered models oi their kind, and obtained for the poet the honour of an introduc- tion to the King and Richelieu. In the reign of Louis XIV., song, like every other branch oi French literature, rose to a most flourishing condition; and so much was sung on every subject, that a history of the period could almost be constructed by a proper arrangement of ephemeral poems. An attempt to name the poets of this long and prolific reign would only produce a tedious list of authors, many of whom no longer live in the memory of the people. Among the poets of the King's minority we may mention Voiture, Scarron, and Bois Robert, who was esteemed the best song writer of his day, but whose productions are now little respected. A great but transient popularity was attained by the Baron de Blot, sumamed Blot I'Esprit, who chiefly distinguished liimself by satirizing Cardinal Mazarin. Dufresny and the Abbd de Lattaignant, whose songs were fashionable at the court of Louis XIV., are celebrated even at the present day. Songs, nominally pastoral, but really artificial in the highest degree, were in vogue at the time to which we are now referring; and works of that Phyllis-and-Chloe school of poetry, which once deluged the lyrical world in England, are to be found in great abundance among the treasures of French song. All this sort of thing has long past away, and is deemed not antique, but old- fashioned. With Panard, a convivial poet who flourished during the earlier half of the eighteenth century, begins that modem school of French lyrical poetry which still exists in full vigour, and he may fairly be called the poetical ancestor of B^ranger. During the minority of Louis XV., in which licentiousness was INTRODUCTION. carried to so great a height that the word Regency has almost become the symbol of general immorality, song attained the same freedom from moral restraint which was observable in actual life. All the lyric poets of the day were in the habit of meeting at the house of a tradesman named Gallet, who, together with Piron, Crdbillon the Younger, and Collet,— all, as well as himself, poets of celebrity, — founded in 1733 a singing club entitled Les Diners du Caveati. In the reign of Louis XVI. the gaiety of song had passed away; or, more properly speaking, gaiety, even where it did prevail, was tinged \vith ferocity. The famous Carmagnole, with which the Parisian mob insulted the unfortunate King and Queen during their imprisonment in the Temple, stands as a curious monument of ribald joviaHty by the side of those more sublime revolutionary songs, in which the aspirations of the French republicans are eloquently set forth ; and we have still specimens of comic poetry on the subject of the guillotine, written during the horrors of 1794. The poets whose songs we may term the classics of the Revoke tion were Rouget de Lisle and Marie Joseph Chenier. The proclamation of a sort of theatrical free-trade in 1792 led to the establishment of a particular theatre for the performance of those light musical pieces, which are so famUiar to every habitue of the French drama by the name of vaudeville. During the Con- sulate of Napoleon, song once more lost its solemn and ferocious character, and in 1804 the principal poets of the new theatre fornied themselves into a club entitled Duiers du Vaudei)ille. The fortunes of the theatre greatly regulated the fortunes of this society, for, according to a standing mle, composed in rhyme, no person could be admitted as a member who had not produced three pieces, two of which had escaped condemnation. Thus, ad the number of successful authors increased, the dinner parties, which were held in the house of an actor named Julliet, became larger. This society, although it comprised the best wiis of the day. Uxx. INTR ODUCTON. did not last long, and in 1806 Armand Gouffe and Capellq revived the old Caveau, founded by Gallet and his friends in 1733, giving it the name of the Caveau Moderne. Many of the members of the extinct vaudeville club joined the revived society, and the meetings were held once a month at the Rocker de Cancale, a restaurant celebrated at the time for fish dinners. The perpetual' president was Laujon, a veteran bard and bon vivant, who sang of love and wine at the age of eighty-four, and died, it is said, humming a joyous tune ; and one of its brightest ornaments was Desaugiers, a song writer whose name is only second to that of Stranger himself, from whom at the same time he is perfectly distinct. During the ten years of its existence the Caveau Moaerm published an annual collection of its productions, for it must be borne in mind that the members of these vocal societies \vrote songs on purpose to be sung at the meetings. In 18 15 it was dissolved, in consequence of the diversity of political opinion that prevailed at that period. It revived, indeed, in 1826, but its reputation did not revive with it. Beranger was one of the members of the Cauveau Moderne in its best days, but he did not attain his high celebrity till after 1815, when he stood as the chief poetical opponent of the court and the aristocracy. Vocal societies, emulous of the fame of the Caveau Moderne, were founded in several French towns, and also in Paris itself, for the admission of persons who could not be received into the Caveau. The first of these minor Parisian societies was the Socikti de Motnus, rendered illustrious by the name of Emile Debreaux, one of the most popular poets that France ever produced. The example being once set, the formation of similar societies pro- ceeded with such rapidity, that in 1836 their number in Paris and the banltetie was estimated at four hundred and eighty-five. In 1832 the supremacy among these societies was held by the Gymnase Lyrique, which had been founded in 1824, and which, in imitation of the Caveau, published an annual volume of songs. This society was dissolved in 1841, and its great success was INTRODUCTION. shown by the fact that, in the very year of its dissolution, it was impossible to obtain a complete collection of its publications at any Parisian bookseller's. The Revolution of July 1830 brought with it, not only a revival of the republican songs of the last century, but also several new compositions, the most famous of which were by the illustrious dramatist, Casimir Delavigne. For a while songs in a strain of enthusiastic nationality eclipsed every other kind of lyrical expres- sion, and the lighter themes, which had been so happily touched by the French poets for many ages, began to be disregarded. Stranger, who, before the Restoration, had sung the joys of a happy poverty, and since that event had been the constant scourge of the elder Bourbons, — Beranger, who had raised French song to a classical importance never before known, — even Bdranger, who heartily sympathized with the Revolution of July, began to think that the "reign of song was over." The great poet, how- ever, was not only wrong in his belief, but in the year 1834 a new impulse was given to song by the formation of a society called La Lice Chansonni'ere, which was open to the poets who could not afford to become members of the Caveau or of the Gymnase Lyriqtie, where meetings were always celebrated by expensive banquets. The founder of this society was C harks Lepage, an eccentric poet, who sometimes earned a good liveli- hood by writing motto-verses for the vendors of bon-bons. Ac- cording to the rules of La Lice Chansonni'ere, the meetings were held in public, every member had a right to sing a song, an annual collection of songs was pubhshed, and prizes were given to authors of the best works. Several of the most popular songs owe their origin to this society. A new epoch in French song was created by the Revolution of 1848. The revolutionary songs of the last century were violently warlike and republican, but they were free from that communistic tendency which now so frequently accoinpanies the profession of republican sentiments. At the head of the most modem school INTRODUCTION. of jbrench lyric poets we must place the admirable Pierre Dupont, and for the most characteristic specimen of his tendency, point to that vigorous outpouring of stern discontent, — Le Chant des- Ouvriers. Here ends the history of song considered as complete in itself, and independent of the drama. ^0no(s of i\j& |,€edi,ons. This division is intended to comprise all that is understood by the French word "Romance," which would have been selected in preference to the above title, did it not suggest such a totally different idea in the English language. The subdivision which might be made of this large class of Lyrical Poems will be too plainly perceived, from the specimens themselves, to need any introductory remark. BALLAD. King Fkancis I. Born 1494, died I547' As at my window — all alone — I stood about the break of day, Upon my left Aurora shone, To guide Apollo on his way. Upon my right I could behold My love, who combed her locks of gold; I saw the lustre of her eyes. And, as a glance on me she cast, Cried, "Gods, retire behind your skies, Your brightness is by hers surpassed," As gentle Phoebe, when at night She shines upon the earth below. Pours forth such overwhelming light. All meaner orbs must faintly glow. 2 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Thus did my lady, on that day, Eclipse Apollo's brighter ray, Whereat he was so sore distrest His face with clouds he overcast, And I exclaimed, "That course is best, — ■ Your brightness is by hers surpassed," Then happiness my bosom cheered ; But soon Apollo shone once more. And in my jealous rage I feared He loved the fair one I adore. And was I wrong? — Nay, blame who can,- When jealous of each mortal man, The love of gods can I despise ? I hope to conquer fear at last. By crying, "Keep behind your skies. Ye gods, your lustre is surpassed ! " Etant seulet, aupres d'une fenestre, Par un matin, comme le jour poignoit, Je regardai I'Aurore h. main senestre. Qui a Phcebus le cheniin enseignoit, Et d'autre part, ma mje qui peignoit Son chef dore', et vis ses luisans yeux, Dont me jetta un trajt si gracieux, Qu'a haute voix je fus contraint de dire : Dieux immortels, entrez dedans vos cieux; Car la beaute de ceste vous empire. Comme Phoebe', quand ce bas lieu terrestre. Par sa clarte', de nuit illuminoit, Toute lueur demeuroit en sequestre :_ Car sa splendeur toutes autres minoit. Ainsi ma dame en son regard tenoit Tout obscurci le soleil radi^ux, * The peculiarity, that every stanza has the same terminations, should not be overlooked, though it has not been adopted in the translation. 1~- 3 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Dont de depit, lui triste et soucieux, Sur les humains lors ne daigna plus luire; Par quoi, lui dis : Vous faites pour le mieux ; Car la beauts de ceste vous empire. O que de joie en mon coaur sentis naistre, Quand j'appergus que Phoebus retournoit ! Car je craignois qu' amoureux voulust estre Du doux objet qui mon coeur detenoit. Avois-je tort? Non: car, s'il y venoit Quelque mortel, j'en serois soucieux. Devois-je pas doncques craindre les dieux, Et despriser, pour fuir un tel martire, En leur criant : Retournez dans vos cieux; Car la beaut^ de ceste vous empire. SONG. (Philis qui me voit le teint bleme.) Francois de Malhehbes. Born 1555, died 1628. Franjois de Malherbes is regarded as the father of modern French poetry. Earlier writers are without the pale of classicality. Phillis sees me pine away, Sees my ravished senses stray, Down my cheeks the tear-drops creeping. When she seeks the cause of pain, Of her charms she is so vain That she thinks for her I'm weeping. Sorry I should be, forsooth, Did I vex her with the truth. Yet it surely is permitted Just to point out her mistakes. When herself the cause she makes Of a crime she ne'er committed. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 'T was a wondrous school, no doubt, Where she found her beauty out, Which, she thinks, can triumph o'er me; So that, deeming her divine, I can languish, weep and pine. With so plain a truth before me. Mine would be an easy case If a happy resting-place In her den she could insure me ; Then for solace to my woe Far I should not have to go, — E'en the vilest herbs might cure me. 'Tis from Glycera proceeds Grief with which my bosom bleeds Beyond solace or assistance. Glycera commands my fate, As she pleases to dictate Death is near or at a distance. Sure of ice that heart is made Which no pity can invade. Even for a single minute ; But whatever faults I see. In my soul still bideth she, — Room for thee is not within it. ORIGINAL. Philis qui me voit le teint bleme, Les sens ravis de moi-meme, Et les yeux trempes chaque jour, Cherchant la cause de ma peine, Se figure, tant elle est vaine, Qu'elle m'a donne de I'amour. Je suis marri que la colere Me porte jusqu'a lui de'plaire; Mais pourquoi ne m'est-il permis De lui dire qu'elle s'abuse, Puisqu'^ ma hontte elle s'accuse De ce qu'eUe n'a point com mis? SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. En quelle ecole nompareille Auroit-elle appris la merveille Da si bien charmer ses appas, Que je pusse la trouver belle, Palir, transir, languir pour elle, Et ne m'en appercevoir pas? Oh qu'il me seroit desirable Que je ne fusse miserable Que pour etre dans sa prison ! Mon mal ne m'etonneroit guferes, Et les herbes les plus vulgaires M'en donneroient la guerison. C'est de Glycfere que procfedent Tous les ennuis qui me possfedent, Sans remfede et sans reconfort : Glycere fait mes destindes ; Et comme il lui plait, mes annees Sont ou pres ou loin de la mort. C'est bien un courage d^e glace, Oil la pitie n'a point de place, Et que rien ne pent emouvoir; Mais, quelque de'faut que j'y blame, Je ne puis I'oter de mon ame, Non plus que vous y recevoir. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. SONG. Attributed to King Henry IV. Bom 1553, died 1610. ORNING bright Rise to sight, Glad am I thy face to see; One I love, All above, Has a ruddy cheek like thee. Fainter far Roses are, Though with morning dew-drops bright. Ne'er was fur Soft like her — Milk itself is not so white. When she sings. Soon she brings List'ners out from ev'ry cot, Pensive swains Hush their strains. All their sorrows are forgot. She is fair. Past compare, One small hand her waist can span. Eyes of light — Stars, though bright. Match those eyes you never can. Hebe blest, Once the best Food of gods before her placed ; When I sip Her red lip I can still the nectar taste. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. ORIGINAL. ViENS, Auvore, Je t'implore, Je suis gai quand je te voi. La bergere, Qui m'est chere, Est vermeille comme toi. De rose'e Arrosde, La rose a moins de fraicheur; Une herraine Est moins fine; Le lait a moins de blancheur. Pour entendre Sa voix tendre On deserte le hameau, Et Tityre, ■Qui soupire, Fait taire son chalumeau. Elle est blonde, Sans seconde; Elle a la taille a la main; Sa prunelle Etincelle Comme I'astre du matin. D'ambroisie, Bien choisie, Hebe la nourrit a part; Et sa bouclie, Quand j'y touche, Me parfume de nectar. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. SONG. (Cruel tyran de mes desirs.) Marquis de Racan. Born 1389, died 1670. Honorat de Bueil, Marquis de Racan, was one of the most celebrated poets of the seventeenth century, and one of the first members of the French Academy. I ESPECT, thou art a tyrant stern, And harsh indeed is thy decree, That with whatever pain I burn, I must endure it quietly. Oh, let me to the rocks confess The secret of my heart's distress ! The silence of these woods is deep, My Secret they will never tell; Here constantly the echoes sleep, And here repose will ever dwell. The zephyrs only can confess The secret of my heart's distress. These shady boughs, so thickly spread, Consoling to my grief appear ; The bitter tear-drops that I shed Seem to receive a welcome here. Here, only here, I can confess The secret of my heart's distress. Though passion urges me to speak Whene'er the lovely nymph is near, She, who my heart can captive make, Then makes my tongue her fetters wear. io SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. To her I do not dare confess, E'en by a sigh, my heart's distress. Her eyes seem not- of mortal birth, Nought rivals their celestial fires, The Maker of the heavens and earth In them His masterpiece adtoires; Her beauty, — that, I will confess. Is worthy of my heart's distress. If kindly fortune will, at last, Show that I have not prayed in vain, If after many seasons past, My love its rich reward shall gain, — Then to the rocks will I confess How lovers taste true happiness. I'LL LOVE THEE. Anonymous. I'll love thee wTiile the rosy-fingered dawn Heralds the day-god's coming reign of light; I '11 love thee while the goddess Flora's gifts Adorn fair bosoms with their blossoms bright. I '11 love thee whilst the swallows to their nests Return upon the breezes of the spring; I '11 love thee while the turtles of the wood Their mournful love-lays on the branches sing. I'll love thee while the tranquil wave reflects The light and colour of the summer heaven; I'll love thee while great Nature's precious gifts To us and to the earth are yearly given. I'll love thee while the shepherd trusts his dog. The faithful guardian of his fleecy care; I'll love thee while the butterfly delights To hover o'er June's blossoms, sweet and fair. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. n I '11 love thee while upon the flow'iy mead The happy lambkin finds a sweet repose ; I'll love thee — soul of my own life! — until The zephyr ceases to adore the rose. I '11 love thee while a spark of Love's bright torch Shall light the path of life with faintest ray; Our soul was given us that we might love, And I will love thee till my dying day ! L. THE AVARICIOUS SHEPHERDESS. (LAvaricieuse.) DuFRESNV. Born 1648, died 1724. Charles Riviere Dufresny v/as not only a poet, but also a musician and draughtsman, and an architect of some renown in the reign of Louis XIV. It was, however, as a poet he was most famous ; and while he shone in Ught comedy, he is looked upon as the predecessor m many respects of the more celebrated Abbe Lattaignant. HiLLis, somewhat hard by nature, Would not an advantage miss, She asked Damon — greedy creature ! — Thirty sheep for one small kiss. Lovely Phillis, on the morrow, Cannot her advantage keep; She gives Damon, to her sorrow, Thirty kisses for one sheep. On the morrow, grown more tender, Phillis, ah ! has come to this. Thirty sheep she will surrender For a single loving kiss. Now another day is over, Damon sheep and dog might get For the kiss which he — the rover 1 — Gave for nothing to Lizette. 12 SONGS OF THE AFFECIIONS. WISHES. (Les Souhaits.) ' The Abb6 de Lattaignant. Born 1690, died 1779. Few writers have attained greater celebrity in their day than the Abbe Lattaignant, whose facility in writing and singing songs made him the delight of the fashionable circles in Paris towards the middle of the last century. This true specimen of the AbM Galant of former days turned devout in his old age, and died in a monastic establishment. Oh, ray dearest ! Oh, my fairest ! For thy favour I implore. I will be True to thee, I will love thee evermore. If I had an hundred hearts Never should one stray from thee, If I had an hundred hearts Every one should feel thy darts. Oh, my dearest, &c. If an hundred eyes were mine. Thee alone those eyes would see; If an hundred eyes were mine Every one on thee would shine. Oh, my dearest, &c. If an hundred tongues I had. They should speak of nought but thee; If an hundred tongues I had, All should talk of thee, like mad. Oh, my dearest, &c. If I were a potent god Then immortal_ thou shouldst be, If I were a potent god All should worship at thy nod. Oh, my dearest, &c. If five hundred souls you were You for her should rivals be, SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 13 If five hundred souls you were All should love this beauty rare. Oh, my dearest, &c. Had you reached your hundredth year — Young with her would Nestor be, — Had you reached your hundredth year Spring through her would re-appear.' Oh, my dearest, &c. ORIGINAL. Ma mie, Ma douce amie, Reponds k mes amours. Fiddle A cette belle, Je I'aimerai toujours. Si j'avais cent cceurs, lis ne seraient remplis que d'elle; Si j'avais cent cceurs, Aucun d'eux n'aimerait ailleurs. Ma mie, &c. Si j'avais cent yeux, Ills seraient tous fixe's sur elle; Si j'avais cent yeux, lis ne verraient qu'elle en tous lieux. Ma mie, &c. Si j'avais cent voix, EUes ne parleraient que d'elle; Si j'avais cent voix, Toutes rediraient k la fois: Ma mie, &c. Si j'e'tais un dieu, Je voudrais la rendre immortelle ; Si j'dtais un dieu On Tadorerait en tout lieu. Ma mie, &c. 14 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Fussiez-vous cinq cents, Vous seriez tous rivauK pr^s d'ellej Fussiez-vous cinq cents, Vous voudriez en etre amants. Ma mie, &c. Eussiez-vous cent ans, Nestor rajeunirait pour elle; Eussiez-vous cent ans, Vous retrouveriez le printemps. Ma mie. Ma douce amie, Re'ponds a mes amours. Fidfele A cette belle, Je I'aimerai toujours. SONG. (Ah Dieu ! que laflamme est cncelle.) Jean Desmakets. Bom 1595, died 1676. Jean Desmarets occupies a conspicuous place in the annals of the Court of Louis XIII., on account of his share in the tragedies attributed to Cardinal Richelieu. H, Heaven ! ha^n cruel is the flame Which Love has destined me to feel! I wait upon a fickle dame, And though she's false, I love her still. More constant is the roving wind, More constant is the rolling sea ; Proteus was apt to change, we find,— He never changed so oft as she. On me she now bestows her grace, Love 's not enough, she will adore ; Now lets another take my place. And vows she ne'er saw me before. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 15 The other, boasting of my fall, Soon finds his exultation vain ; His bark is shattered by the squall, And I am safe in port again.* I try all art's and nature's tricks, And all a lover's brain can plot, Hoping this quicksilver to fix, Yet ne'er advance a single jot. But whatsoever faults I see, This is the grief I most deplore,-^ • I cannot set my spirit free, In spite of all, I must adore. With jealous rage her door I spurn. And swear I never will go back; But still I find my feet return. They will not leave the ancient track. We quarrel now, and now forgive, — Mine is a wretched case, no doubt ; I plainly see I cannot live Or with my tyrant or without. THE ROSE-BUSH. De Leyre. Died 1717. This romance is a French cradle-song— familiar to many generations. I PLANTED it, I saw its birth. This lovely rose-bush — whence at morn The song of birds upon its boughs Is to my chamber window borne. Ye joyous birds — a loving crowd — For pity, sing no more, I pray; For my true love, who made me blest. Is gone to countries far away. * Compare Horace's Ode, Lib. i. 5. i6 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. For treasures of the rich New World He flies from love, and death he braves; With happiness secured in port, Why should he seek it on the waves? Ye swallows of the wandering wing, Whom every spring return we see — - Faithful, although ye wander far — Oh, bring my lover back to me ! ,, va>^-?, ,.., OH! MAMMA. :^s|^«i^ (Ah ! vous dirai-je, maman ?) ^i;> m .-Mi^t^ •. ' What young lady, who has taken half a do2en lessons on the ■ piano, is unacquainted with the air of ' 'A/i ! "vousdirai-je," which is by some attributed to Rameau? The words, which are ' anonymous, are less generally known. mamma, how can I tell In my heart what torments dwell ? Since I saw that handsome swain Eyeing me, could I refrain From this little wicked thought : — Without loving — life is nought? Me into a bower he took, And with wreaths adorned my crook. Which of choicest flowers he made. Then, "My dear brunette," he said, ''Flora's charms are less than thine, Ne'er was love to equal mine. " Being formed with charms like these, You should love and try to please ; Made for love, say teachers sage, Is the spring-time of our age ; If a longer time we wait. We regret, when 'tis too late." Then I felt the blushes start. Then a sigh betrayed my heart. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 17 Damon trained in Cupid's school Showed he was no simple fool ; I had fled, but he said " No "— Ne'er was maiden puzzled so. Then I feigned to sink with dread, Then I from his clutches fled. But when I was safe at last. Through my heart the question past, Mingling hope with bitter pain : Shall I see his face again ? Shepherdesses, mark my words. Nothing love, beside your herds. Of the shepherds pray beware, If they look with tender air. If they tender thoughts reveal, Oh, what torment you may feel ! ORIGINAL. Ah ! vous dirai-je, maman, Ce qui cause mon tourment? Depuis que j'ai vu Silvandre Me regarder d'un air tendre, Mon cceur dit a tout moment : Peut-on vivre sans amant ? L'autre jour dans un bosquet, De fleurs il fit un bouquet; II en para ma houlette, Me disant : " Belle brunette, Flore est moins belle que toi, L'amour moins tendre que moi. "Etant faite pour charmer, II faut plaire, il Taut aimer, C'est au printemps de son age Qu'il est dit que Ton s'enga.ge; Si vous tardez plus longtemps, On regrette ces moments." i8 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Je rougis et, par malheur, Un soupir trahit mon cceurj Silvandre, en amant, habile, Ne joua pas Timbdcile : Je veux fuir, il ne veut pas : Jugez de mon embarras. Je fis semblant d'avoir peur, Je m'echappai par bonheur; J'eus recours \ la retraite. Mais quelle peine secrete Se mele dans mon espoir, Si je ne puis le revoir. Bergeres de ce hameau, N'aimez que votre troupeau, Un berger, prenez-y garde, S'il vous aime, vous regarde, Et s'exprime tendrement, Pent vous causer du tourment. I'LL NOT SHOW OVER-HASTE. (Je ne veux pas me presser.) The Duke de Niveenois. ove's a foolish thing, no doubt, Mother says so every day; Love we cannot do without, When we're handsome, young, and gay. Good mamma, when at my age. Youth's delights, no doubt, would taste; I shall be, too, — I'll engage, When my time comes, — won- drous sage. But I '11 not show over-haste. SON-GS OF THE AFFECTIONS. iq At the dance the other night, CoHn on me cast an eye ; I appeared embarrassed — quite, Seemed as though I wished to fly. But my steps were very slow. Hurry would have been misplaced, No disdain I wished to show. When the men torment us so — We should fly, but not with haste. Colin with his vows will come, When the light of morning breaks ; When at night our flocks go home, Colin still profession makes. Most indifferent I appear, Though his words are to my taste, And my tender heart, I fear, I shall give it up, oh, dear ! But I '11 not show over-haste. 1 have seen how turtle-doves. Though, a tenderness they feel For their ardent feathered loves, Show a firm resistance still. For my pattern I will take Doves with so much prudence graced. Such their lovers ne'er forsake — Binding vows I, too, will make. But I '11 not show over-haste. POOR JACQUES. (Pauvre Jacques. ) Marchioness de Travaki2t. This little song, which was quite the rage a few years before the first Revolution, owed its oriein to a circumstance which occurred while the " Petite Suisse, an artificial Swiss viUage, ivas constructed at the Little Trianon, for the amusement of Queen iSIane Antoinette. A Swiss Deasant-<^irl, who was brought from Switzerland with some cows to heighten the ilhision, was observed" to look melancholy, and the exclamation " Pauvre Jacques ! showed that she vvas oinin-' for a distant lover. The Queen was so touched by the girl s sorrow, that she sent for 2—2 2c SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Jacques, and i^ave her a wedding portion : while the Marchioness de Travanet was moved to write the song of " Panvre Jacques," to which she alst composed the music. Poor Jacques, when I was close to thee, No sense of want my fancy crossed ; But now thou Uvest far from me, I feel that all on earth is lost. \Vhen thou my humble toil wouldst share, I felt my daily labours light ; Then every day appeared so fair; But what can make the present bright? I cannot bear the sun's bright ray, When on the furrowed plain it falls ; ■\Vhen through the shady wood I stray, All nature round my heart appals. Poor Jacques, when I was close to thee, No sense of want my fancy crossed ; But now thou livest far from me, I feel that all on earth is lost. ORIGINAL. Pa'Uvre Jacques, quand j'etais pres de toi, Je ne sentais pas ma misere ; Mais \ pre'sent que tu vis loin de moi, Je manque de tout sur la terre. {bis) Quand tu venais partager mes travaux, Je trouvais ma tache le'gere, Ten souvient-il? tous les jours etaient beaux; Qui me rendra ce temps prospere? (liis) Quand le soleil brille sur nos gucrels, Je ne puis souffrir la lumiere : Et quand je suis \ I'ombre des for^ts, J 'accuse la nature entiere. {bis.) Pauvre Jacques, quand j'etais pres de toi, Je ne sentais pas ma misere; Mais a pre'sent que tu viu loin de moi, Je manque de tout sur la tcrro. {bis) SOA'OS OF THE AFFECTIONS. THE INFIDELITIES OF LISETTK (Les Infid elites de Lisette.) B^RANGER. Born 17S0, died 1857. Pierre Jean de Beranger was bom at Paris in 1780, at the house of a tailor, his grandfather, who had the charge of his infancy. At the age of nine years he witnessed the taking of the Bastille, which made an indelible impression on his memory. Shortly afterwards he left Paris for Peronne, where he became apprentice in the printing establishment of M. Laisney, and the task of co}nposing seems to have given him the first notions of literature. A primary school founded at Peronne, on the principles of Jean Jacques Rousseau, completed his youthful education; and when he returned to Paris, at the age of sixteen, he began to write epic, dramatic, and religious poems, inspired by studies o_f Moliere and Chateaubriand. At the same time, however, while suffering the severest privations, he made several essays in that style of writing to which he owes his celebrity, and to this period of his life belong those lyrical expressions of a joyous poverty, of vfMxo^LRoger Bontejnps, Les Giceiix^ and Le Vieil Habit may be cited as excellent specimens. The poverty of Beranger proved at last too much for his patience, indomitable as this virtue appears in his effusions. In 1803, finding himself totally without resources, ,he sent a number of his poems to Lucien Bonaparte, brother of the First Consul. Lucien was a patron of literature, and at once obtained for Beranger an allowance from the Institute, The fortunes of the poet now took a new turn, and in 180Q he obtained an appointment connected with the University, which he held for twelve years. His salary never exceeded 2,000 francs (;^8o), but as his habits were extremely simple, this was all he required, and his natural love of independence prevented him from soliciting promotion. In 1813 he gained admission to the Caveau on the strength of twoof his most popular songs, Les Gtienx and Les htfidelitis de Lisette, and now distinguished himself above the rest of the 22 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. members by those inimitable songs, in which hearty good-humour and a frank spirit of inde- pendence almost compensate for very lax morality. As yet his principal themes of song were the joys of the bottle and the charms of the Grisetie ; though he gave signs of his future political, tendency by two of his most popular songs, Le Sinaieur and Le Rot d' Yvetot. It was after the Restoration that he assumed that indignant tone, in which he endeavoured to stimulate the hatred of the masses against the Court, the aristocracy, and the foreigners who had brought back the Bourbons. Through the freedom of the songs which he now wrote, he not only lost his situation, but was subjected to a heavy fine and three months' imprisonment. This punishment only served to increase his audacity. When the term of his imprisonment had expired, he again shone forth as the democratic poet par excellence, and the profanity of one of his songs (Le bon Dieu) furnishing a pretext for prosecution, he was again sent to prison in December, 1828, his term of confinement on this occasion being nine months. The Revolution of July not only put an end to the persecutions of the poet, but opened a path to fortune. However, that love of independence, which is his noblest characteristic, would not allow him to accept any place even under a friendly government. He still continued to publish his songs, and even, when after the Revolution of 18^8 he was elected a member of the Constituent Assembly by more than 200,000 votes, he resigned his honours as speedily as possible. As a happy appearance of spontaneity constitutes one of the principal charms of Edranger's poems, the following remarks by M. Destigny, who has written a tolerably elaborate article on the poet in the " Nouvelle Biographie Universelle," will probably surprise those who imagine that easy reading is an indication of easy writing : *' Beranger produces nothing at the first impulse, or as the result of a happy inspiration. He broods over his thoughts, matures them, analyses them, and connects them before he casts them into the mould which is to give them their form. It is not until he has got the eiisemble of his work that he arranges the separate parts, and polishes it with that scrupulous care and inimit- able tact which were employed by Benvenuto Cellini in the carving of a crown. Even in his most trifling songs it is impossible to discover a single useless epithet or forced expression. His style is clear, precise, and pure to a degree which sets all criticism at defiance." The above biography may_ appear disproportionately long ; but it should be borne in mind that Beranger is the song-writer of France par excellence, while many authors named in this collection are men distinguished as authprs in other branches of literature. Moreover, there will be found frequent occasions to refer to the periods at which the different songs of Beranger were written, for there is no poet whose words have a more intimate connection with his own worldly condition and the history of his country. LiSETTE, who o'er my glass Will, like a despot, reign, Compelling me — alas ! To beg a drop in vain. No chicken now am I, Yet you my quantum fixj When, dearest, did I try To reckon up your tricks? Lisette, O my Lisette, You're false — but let that pass- A health to the grisette; And to our love; Lisette, I'll fill another glass. Young Lindor swaggers so, Your cunning he defies; I own he whispers low. But then he loudly sighg, SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 23 Your kind regards for him Already he has told, So fill up to the brim, My dearest, lest I scold. Lisette, O my Lisette, &c. Clitander — happy knave — With him I found you out: The kisses that he gave You took without a pout, And then repaid him more : Base girl, remember this, And let my glass run o'er, — A bumper for each kiss ! Lisette, O my Lisette, &c. Mondor, who ribbons brings, And knick-knacks which you prize, Has ventured on strange things Before my very eyes; I've seen enough to make A modest person blush;* Another glass I'll take These rogueries to hush. Lisette, O my Lisette, &c. One evening to your door I came with noiseless tread, A thief, who came before. From out your window fled. I had, before that day, Made that same rascal flee. Another bottle, pray, Lest I too plainly see. Lisette, O my Lisette, &c. Upon them every one Your bounties you will heap, And those, with whom you've done, You know I'm forced to keep. 24 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. So drink with them I will, You shall not balk my vein. Pray be my mistress still, Your friends shall still be mine. Lisette, O my Lisette, &c. ORIGINAL. Lisette, dont I'empire S'dtend jusqu' "k mon vin, J'^prouve la martyre D'en demander en vain. Pour souffrir qu'^ mon age Les coups me soient comptes, Ai-je compt^, volage, Tes infidelites? Lisette, ma Lisette, Tu m'as trompe toujours; Mais vive la grisette ! Je veux, Lisette, Boire 'k nos amours. Lindof5 par son audace, Met ta ruse en d^faut; II te parle &. voix basse, II soupire tout haut. Du tendre espoir qu'il fonde II m'instruisit d'abord. Da peur que je n'en gronde, Verse au moins jusqu' au bord, Lisette, ma Lisette, &c. Avec I'heureux Clitandre Lorsque je te surpris, Vous comptiez d'un air tendre Les baisers qu'il t'a pris. Ton humeur peu sdvc;re En comptant les doubla; Remplis encor mon verre Pour tous ces baisers-E.* Lisette, ma Lisette, &c. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Mondor, qui toujours donne Et rubans et bijoux, Devant moi te chiffonne Sans te mettre en courroux. J'ai vu sa main hardie S'egarer sur ton sein ; Verse jusqu' "k la lie Pour un si grand larcin. 'Lisette, ma Lisette, &c. Certain soir je pdnetre Dans ta chambre, et sans bruit, Je vois par la fenetre Un voleur qui s'enfuit. Je I'avais, des la veille, Fait fair de ton boudoir. Ah ! qu'une autre bouteille M'empeche de tout voir ! Lisette, ma Lisette, &c, Tous, comble's de tes graces, Mes amis sont les tiens ; Et ceux dont tu te lasses, C'est moi qui les soutiens. Qu'avec ceux-la, traitresse. La vin me soit permis : Sois toujours ma maitresse; Et gardons nos amis. Lisette, ma Lisette, &c. 26 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. THE STORM. (LOrage.) Fabee d'Eglantine. Born 1755. guillotined J794. Few would recognize the sanguinary revolutionist Fabre d'Eglantine in this fiimpje pastoral. He was also celebrated as a dramatist, and his comedy " Le Philinte de Molifere" is generally contained in collections of classical French plays. HE Storm is gathering o'er thee, The rain is falling fast, , Quick, drive thy flock before thee, And to my cottage haste; I hear the rain-drops patter, As on the leaves they light; Now comes the thunder's clatter — ' Now come the flashes bright. The thunder is awaking, Its voice is drawing near; Thy lover's right arm taking, Come, hasten without fear. Another step, another, — There stands my cottage home, My sister and my mother To welcome us have come. A welcome, mother, give me. And thou, my sister, too; A bride I've brought, beheve me, To pass the night with you. My love, the fire will cheer thee, Thy clothes will soon be dry. My sister will sit near thee. And here thy sheep shall lie. L Sure never flock was fatter ! We'll give them all our care. And choicest straw we'll scatter For this thy lambkin fair. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 27 Tis done; and now, my dearest, We'll take our seats by thee; In slays how thou appearest ! My mother, only see. Thy place for supper take, love. Sit close beside me — so. For thee the log shall make, love, A bright and cheerful glow. In vain the milk invites thee, No appetite hast thou, The thunder still affrights thee, Or thou art weary now. Is't so? thy couch is this, dear,. Where thou till dawn shalt rest; But let one loving kiss, dear. Upon thy lips be pressed. And do not let thy cheek, love, Be thus with blushes dyed; At noon thy sire I'll seek, love. And claim thee for my bride. I LOVE THEE! . Fabke d'Eglantine, I LOVE thee, dear! I love thee, dear! More than I e'er can tell thee, sweet! Although each time I draw my breath. Those ardent words my lips repeat: Absent or present, far or near, " I love thee ! " are the words I sigh ; This only do I feel or speak. Alone with thee, or others nigh. To trace " I love " a hundred times. Can now alone my pen engage, Of thee alone my song now rhymes : Reading— thou smilest from the page ! 28 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. If Beauty greets my wandering glance, I strive thy look in hers to trace; In portraits or in pictures rare, I only seek to find thy face. In town or country, wandering forth, Or if within my home I keep, Thy sweet idea I caress — It blends with my last thought in sleep. When I awake I see thy face. Before the day-beams win my sight, And my heart faster flies to thee, Than to mine eyes the morning light. Absent, my spirit quits thee not ; Thy words unheard my soul divines ; I count thy cares, thy gentle steps — I guess the thought thy heart enshrines. Have I returned to thee once more? Heavenly delirious joy is mine ! I breathe but love — and well thou knowest. Dearest, that breath is only thine ! Thy heart 's mine all ! my wealth ! my law !- To please thee eveiy thought I give ! , In thee — by thee — for thee alone I breathe, and only seek to live ! What more can mortal language say? — My treasure ! girl whom I adore ! — Gods ! that I love thee ! and desire Only that I could love thee more ! ORIGINAL. JE T'AIME TANT. Je t'aime tant, je t'aime tant : Je ne puis assez te le dire, Et je le rdpete pourtant A chaque fois que je respire. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 29 Absent, present, de pres, de loin, Je t'aime est le mot que je trouve : Seul, avec toi, devant temoin, Ou je le pense ou je le prouve. Tracer jc faimc en cent facons Est le seul travail de ma plume ; Je te chante dans mes chansons, Jc te lis dans chaque volume. Qu'une beaute m'offre ses traits, Je te cherche sur son visage ; Dans les tableaux, dans les portraits - Je veux de'meler ton image. En vUle, aux champs, chez moi, dehors, Ta douce image est caressee ; EUe se fond, quand je m'endors, Avec ma derniere pense'e ; Quand je m'eveille je te vols Avant d'avoir vu la lumiere, Et mon cceur est plus vite a toi Que n'est le jour a ma paupiere. Absent je ne te quitte pas; Tous tes discours je les devine. Je compte tes soins et tes pas; Ce (]ue tu sens, je I'imagine. Pres de toi suis-je de retour ! Je suis aux cieux, c'est un delire ; Je ne respire que I'amour, Et c'est ton souffle que j'aspire. Ton cceur m'est tout, mon bien, ma loi ; Te plaire est toute mon envie ; Enfin, en toi, par toi, pour toi, Je respire et tiens a la vie. Ma bien-aime'e, 6 mon tre'sor ! Qu'ajouterais-je k ce langage? Dieu ! que je t'aime ! Eh bien ! encor Jc voudrais t'aimer davantage. SOJVGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. THE ROSE. (La Rose.) Gentil Bernard. Born 1710, died 1775. Pierre Joseph Bernard, complimented by Voltaire with the appellation of " Gentil," which has become a part of his name, gained an immense reputation by his light poetry in the reign of Louis XV., and was especially patronized by Madame de Pompadour. His long poem *' L'Ari d' Aimer " which created a great sensation when read in the fashionable circles of the day, sank in public opinion as soon as it was printed. ENDER offspring of Aurora, Zephyr's favourite, lovely Rose, Sovereign of the realms of Flora, Haste thy beauties to disclose. Nay, alas! — what have I said? — Stay awhile, — the very day That beholds thy channs displayed, Also sees them fade away. And a flower, newly blooming, Is young Chloe, like to thee; Both are now with beauty glowing, Short-lived both are doomed to be. From thy stalk at once come do\vii, Let her in thy hues be dressed; Of all flowers thou art the crown, Also be the happiest. On young Chloe's breast expiring. Let it be thy throne and tomb, 1 no other lot desiring Shall be jealous of thy doom. Teach her to give up her arms To the god whose power is known ; Singing thy expiring charms, Let her learn to use her own. ORIGINAL. Tendre fruit des fleurs de I'Aurore, Objet des baisers du Z(^phyr, Reine de I'empire de Flore, Hate-toi de t'epanouir. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 31 Que dis-je, helas, difffere encore, Difffere un moment k t'ouvrir, Le jour qui doit te faire eclore Est celui qui doit te fle'trir. {bis?) Palmira est une fleur nouvelle Qui doit subir la meme loi; Rose, tu dois briller comme elle, Elle doit passer comme toi. Descends de la tige e'pineuse, Viens la parer de tes couleursj Tu dois etre la plus lieureuse, Comme la plus belle des fleurs. (to.) Va, meurs sur le sein de Palmire, Qu'il soit ton trone et ton tombeau, Jaloux de ton sort, je n'aspire Qu' au bonheur d'un tre'pas si beau. Qu' enfin elle rende les armes Au dieu qui forma nos liens, Et qu'en voyant pdrir tes charmes, Elle apprenne 1 jouir des siens. {bis) LOVE. (L Amour.) The CheValiee de Boufflers. Boin 1737, died 1815. Stanislas, Chevalier de Boufflers, was one of the stars of the age of Louis XV., being celebrated in fashionable circles as the idol of the fair sex, and as a writer of that light poetry which was so much esteemed in his day. In the latter capacity he was one of the members of the Diners du Caveau. He also did good service of a more serious kind, as Governor of Senegal. Young Love is a deceitful child, My mother says to me. Although his aspect is so mild, A very snake is he. But I am curious, after all. To know how one who is so .small So terrible can be. 32 SONGS Of THE AFFECTIONS. With pretty Chloe, yesterday, A swain I chanced to see: Such soft sweet words I Jieard him say, Sincere he sure must be. A Httle god I heard him name, And ah ! it was the, veiy same My mother named to me. Now, just to find out what is meant, And solve the mystery, Young Colin, — 'tis my firm intent, — Shall seek for Love with me. Though Love be ne'er so fierce and wild, We two for such a tiny child A match will surely be. CUPID, SENTINEL. iL' Amour Sentinelled The Chevalier de CuDifeRE. Born 1752, died 1820. PORTING gaily with each other Through thegrovestheCupidsstrayed, And Cythera's queen, their mother. Fondly watched them as they played. Suddenly they were united ! To one spot at once they flew, Chloe's lovely face invited All the little sportive crew. Some upon her forehead settled, Others in her eyes would rest. Others, who were higher mettled, In her tresses found a nest. Thus a picture was invented. Fitted to surprise and please,— Mighty Flora is presented Covered v/ith a swarm of bee;-. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 33 One young Cupid, who was perching Just upon her opened lip, FalHng off— audacious urchin ! — On her bosom chanced to slip. Then all thoughts of flight were over, For he loved his place so well That he ceased to be a rover. And remained a sentinel. THE LOVE OF ANNETTE FOR LUBIN. (L Amour d' Annette pour Lubin.) ' Favart. Born 1710, died 1792. Charles Simon Favart was one of tlie eai-liest poets of Frencli comic opera, who still lives in the name given to the edifice of the Opera Comique at Paris. ^ Annette ei Lubin, an opera from which the above song is taken, was one of tlie most popular of his works. HOUGH young, and yet untaught, New feelings sway me now; This love I never sought; — It came, I know not how. Unknown its name has been Until this fatal day; — When we to love begin, To love are we a prey.-" Thine accents seem to touch My soul, as with a charm. Thy words I love so much, They seem my heart to warm. Apart from thee I feel A blank through every day. Will nought this anguish heal — Nought drive this love away? The flowers thy dear hand gives With fond delight I wear; At eve thou pluck'st their leaves To make me perfumes rare. 34 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Annette thou seek'st to please, Thy care she would repay; But ah ! — what pains are these, And what can heal them, pray? MY NORMANDY. FniD^Elc B^EAT. Bom 1810, died 1855. The air to the above words, which a few years ago was almost as popular in England as in France, was composed by the author, Frdderic Be'rat. When gloomy Winter takes his flight, When all begins to bloom anew, And when the sun with softest light Returns to deck our sky so blue; SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 35 And when the swallows we can see, And when fresh green o'erspreads the earth, I long for my own Normandy, For that's the land that gave me birth. Among the glaciers I have been, Where from the vale the chalet peers, The sky of Italy I Ve seen. And Venice with her gondoliers; And, leaving all, I've said, "To me There is a land of greater worth ; Nought can excel my Normandy, For that's the land that gave me birth." The life of man a period knows When every youthful dream must cease. When the tired soul desires repose. And in remembrance finds its peace. When dull and cold my muse shall be, And end her songs of love and mirth. Oh, then I '11 seek my Normandy, For that's the land that gave me birth. ORIGINAL. QuAND tout renait a I'esperance, Et que I'hiver fuit loin de nous,' Sous le beau ciel de notre France, Quand le soleil revient plus doux. Quand le nature est reverdie, Quand I'hirondelle est de retour, J'aime ^ revoir ma Normandie, C'est le pays qui m'a donne le joUr. J'ai vu les champs de I'Helvetie, Et ces chalets et ces glaciers. J'ai vu le ciel de I'ltalie, Et Venise et ses gondoliers. En saluant chaque patrie, Je me disais : Aucun sejour N'est plus beau que ma Normandie, C'est le pays qui m'a donne le jour. 3—2 36 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. II est un age dans la vie Oil chaque r^ve doit finir, Un age oil Tame recueillie A besoin de se souvenir. Lorsque ma muse refroidie Aura fini ses chants d'amour, J'irai revoir ma Normandie, C'est le pays qui m'a donn^ le jour. THE PORTRAIT. (Le Portrait.) Anonymous, 1814. Dear portrait of a form that I adore, Dear pledge, which love was happy to obtain, What I have lost, oh, bring to me again! In seeing thee I feel I live once more. Here is her look, her frank and winning air; With her loved features so adorned thou art, That I can gladly press thee to my heart. And think it is herself I'm pressing there. But, no; her living charms thou canst not show. Thou witness of my sorrows, mute and dead ; Recalling pleasures that, alas ! have fled, Thou mak'st my tears, thou cruel portrait, flow. Nay, of my hasty language I repent, Pardon the ravings of my heart's distress ; Dear portrait, though thou art not happiness, Its image to my soul thou canst present. ORIGINAL. Portrait charmant, portrait de mon amie, Gage d'amour, par I'amour obtenu, Ah ! viens m'ofTrir le bien que j'ai perdu, Te voir encore me rapelle k la vie. (bis.) SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 37 Oui, les voilS, ces traits, ces traits que j'aime; Son doux regard, son maintien, sa candeur. Lorsque ma main te presse sur mon coeur, Je crois encore la presser elle-meme. Non, tu n'as pas pour moi les memes charmes, Muet temoin de mes tendres soupirs : En retragant nos fugitifs plaisirs. Cruel portrait, tu fais couler mes larmes. Pardonne-moi cet injuste langage, Pardonne aux cris de ma vive douleur : Portrait charmant, tu n'es pas le bonheur, Mais bien souvent tu m'en offres I'image. {bis.) ELVIRA'S CASTLE WALL. (Le Chateau d'Elvire.) Anonymous. ENEATH Elvira's castle wall, A troubadour, whose tuneful strings Are moistened by the tears that fall. Thus of his anguish sadly sings : " When at the tourney thou didst reign, A queen all rivals far above, I felt indifference was vain, And then I first began to love. "A harmless wish inspired my heart, I merely longed thy form to see ; Why wilt thou — cruel as thou art — From my adoring glances flee? No law of thine I ever broke, Let my respect thy pity move; If once too heedlessly I spoke, 'Twas only once I told my love, 38 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. ' The torch of life is flickering fast, And soon methinks 'twill cease to burn; A glance upon my tomb thou 'It cast, My poor, remains thou wilt not spurn. Thou 'It murmur in thy sweetest tone, And echoes to soft answers move, — The troubadour beneath this stone Loved once, and only once could love." MY COAT. (Mm Habit.) B^RANGER. This song belongs to the same period as Les InfidelitSs de Lisette, y poor dear coat, be faithful to the end: We both grow old; ten years have gone, Through which my hand has brushed thee, ancient friend; Not more could Socrates have done. If weakened to a threadbare state. Thou still must suffer many a blow; E'en like thy master brave the storms of fate, My good old coat, we'll never part — oh, no! I still can well remember the first day I wore thee, — for my memory's strong; It was my birthday; and my comrades gay Chanted thy glories in a song. Thy poverty might make me vain; The friends who loved me long ago, Though thou art poor, will drink to thee again; My good old coat, we'll never part— oh, no! This fine-drawn rent — its cause I ne'er forget, It_ beams upon my memory still ; I feigned one night to fly from my Lisette, And even now her grasp I feel. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 39 She tore thee, but she made more fast My fetters, while she wronged me so; Then two whole days in mending thee she past : My good old coat, we'll never part — oh, no. Ne'er drugged with musk and amber hast thou been. Like coats by vapid coxcombs worn; Ne'er in an antechamber wert thou seen Insulted by the lordling's scorn. How wistfully all France has eyed The hand that ribbons can bestow! The field-flower is thy button's only pride, — My good old coat, we'll never part — oh, no! We shall not have those foolish days again When our two destinies were one, Those days so fraught with pleasure and with pain, Those days of mingled rain and sun. I somehow think, my ancient friend. Unto a coatless realm I go; Yet wait awhile, together we will end, — My good old coat, we'll never part — oh, no! EMMA'S TOMB. (Le Tomheau d'Emma.) Paeny. Born 1742, died 1814. The Chevalier Evariste de Parny, though his name is rendered infamous by the authorship of the obscene and blasphemous poem La Guerre des Diettx, holds a high rank amon',' the poets of Beranger's youthful period. B&anger hashonoured his memory with a song, and the elegance of his classical compositions has obtained for him the name of the I'rench TibuUus. Awake, my verse, sole comfort of my woe, And with my tears of sorrow freely flow. My Emma's solitary tomb is here. Within this resting-place her virtues sleep; Like lightning, kindled but to disappear, Didst thou o'er earth, beloved Emma, sweep. 40 SONGS OF- THE AFFECTIONS. I saw death fling its sombre, sudden shade Over the sunny morning of thy days: Thine eyes unv/iHing seemed to quench their rays,. And slowly could I see their lustre fade. The youthful throng, — that vain and empty crowd, Who on her will like worshippers would hang, And hymn her beauty forth in praises loud, — Could see her die without a single pang. When their dear benefactress they had lost, Not e'en the poor, to whom she was so kind, Within their hearts a single sigh could find. With which to silence her complaining ghost. Perfidious friendship, with its smiling face. Now laughs as loudly as it laughed before; The dying image it could soon efface, And for a passing hour its mourning wore. Upon this earth thy memory liveth not, Thy tender constancy no more they prize, But from thy tomb they coldly turn their eyes; Thy very name is by the world forgot. Love, love alone is faithful to its grief. Not even Time can teach it to forget; Within the shades of death it seeks relief, And finds incessant sighs to mourn thee yet. I come, ere morning breaks, my tears to shed. My pain grows more intense in day's full light, I weep amid the silence of the night. And I am weeping still when night has fled. Awake, my verse, sole comfort of my woe, And with my tears of sorrow freely flow. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 41 REMINISCENCES. (Les Souvenirs.) Chateaubriand. Bom 1769, died 1848. The name of Francois Auguste, Viscount de Chateaubriand, needs no comment. It is not on his songs that his celebrity depends, but Les Souvenirs deserves a place in every collection of French poetry. My childhood's home — that pleasant spot By me can never be forgot ! How happy, sister, then appeared Our country's lot. France! to me be still endeared. Be still revered. Our mother's form remember'st thou? 1 see her by the chimney now, Where oft she clasped us to her breast. While on her brow Our lips the white locks fondly pressed; Then were we blessed! 42 SOA^GS OE THE AFFECTIONS. And, sister, thou remember'st yet The castle, which the stream would wet; And that strange Moorish tower, so old. Thou 'It not forget; How from its bell the deep sound rolled, And day foretold. Remember'st thou the lake's calm blue? The swallow brushed it as he flew — • How with the reeds the breezes played; The evening hue With which the waters bright were made, In gold arrayed. One image more — of all the best — The maid whom to my heart I pressed. As youthful lovers we would stray, In moments blest. About the wood for wild flowers gay — Past, past away! Oh! give my Helen back to me, — My mountain and my old oak-tree; I mourn their loss, I feel how drear My life must be; But, France! to me thou wilt appear For ever dear. MARIE'S DREAM. (Lc Reve de Marie.) G, Lemoine. Bom 1786. "And you would quit, Marie, Your mother dear. And Paris you would see, While she weeps here! SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 43 Yet stay awhile, oh, stay! You need not go till morning breaks; Sleep here until the day Within my arms my child awakes. 'Tis better, poor Marie, To pause as yet; Per all at Paris, they tell me, Their God forget. Perchance, you may, my poor Marie, Your mother and your God forget." The girl is sinking now In dreams of bliss. Upon her mother's brow She prints a kiss. But even while she sleeps, The watchful mother still she hears. Who by her bedside weeps. And softly 'whispers through her tears- '"Tis better, poor Marie," &c. She leaves her native home With weeping eyes. To Paris she has come, — Oh, bright surprise! There all appears to trace In lines of gold her future lot, And dazzling dreams efface The image of her humble cot. '"Tis better, poor Marie," &c. Heaven, when two years have past, Bids her return, To her Savoy at last She comes — to mourn. " Therese,— oh, happy day!— My brother too I see. — And Where's my mother, pray?"— "She died through losing thee." 44 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. At once the vision fled — She sleeps no more : The watchful mother at her bed Sits as before: She cries, "No Paris now for me," — Her eyes with tears of joy are wet; "For then, perhaps, your poor Marie Her home and mother might forget." THE ROSEBUD. (Le Bouton de Rose.) Pkincesse de Salm. Bud of the rose ! Happier than I thou wilt be ! For destined thou art to my Rose, And Rose is a blossom like thee — Bud of the rose ! On the bosom of Rose Thou goest to die, happy flower ! If I were a bud of the rose. With joy I should die in an hour On the bosom of Rose. The bosom of Rose, Thy rival, sweet rosebud, may prove; Fret not, pretty bud of the rose, Nought equals in beauty or love The bosom of Rose. Bud of the rose. Adieu ! My Rose coming I see ! Ah ! if transmigration life knows, Ye gods ! I implore you, inake me A bud of the rose ! Ed. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 45 ORIGINAL. BouTON de rose ! Tu seras plus heureux que moi ! Car je te destine k ma Rose, Et ma Rose est ainsi que toi — Bouton de rose ! Au sein de Rose, Heureux bouton tu vas mourir ! Moi, si j'etais bouton de rose, Je ne mourrais que de plaisir — Au sein de Rose. Au sein de Rose, Tu pourras trouver un rival ; Ne joute pas, bouton de rose Car en beaute rien n'est egal, Au sein de Rose. Bouton de rose. Adieu ! Rose vient, je la vois ! S'il est une metempsychose. Grands dieux ! par pitie, rendez moi Bouton de rose ! MY FATHER'S COT. (IJhiimble toit de mon Pere.) Anonymous. Of palaces, temples, and trophies they boast, Which lovely Italia lifts up to the skies, The work of a fairy we deem them almost, Their magical grandeur so dazzles the eyes; But oh ! in my heart they can ne'er rank above My father's poor cot, where I learned how to love. 46 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. They talk of the gardens of Araby Blest, O'er which the bright sun ever scatters his hues, Where earth in spring's garment for ever is dressed, And never its flowers and fruits can refuse; But oh ! in my heart it can ne'er rank above My father's poor cot, where I learned how to love. Those countries which beauties so glorious adorn, — Those temples, — those flowers, — stir no envy in me. Though cold is the country in which I was bom, We love there as well, and there life is more free. So hail to the North, — there is nought ranks above My father's poor cot, where I learned how to love. THE WOODLAND FLOWER. (Petite Fleiir dcs Bois.) Emile EARATEAf, Bom 1792. I\I. Emile Barateau is one of the most prolific of modem song-writers, and La petite Fleuydes Bois is one of the most popular of his productions. HOU little woodland flower Who always art concealed. Through forest and through field I 've sought thee many an hour. That I might have the pow'r This simple truth to tell : Indeed, I love thee well. Thou little woodland flower. Thy simple loveliness No gaudy colour shows, But yet true pleasure glows From thy white spotless dress. My lip I would incline Unto thy cup divine, Knowing that nought is there To cause a single tear. Thou little woodland flower, &c. SOJVGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 47 Into a ray of flame Our mutual love we bind, Then in my soul I find Our pleasures are the same. I love the birds that sing, The shade the branches fling. The golden-\vinged fly, As pleased he springs on high. Each fair one seems to bear A name of pow'r divine, vVnd such a charm is thine, Thou mak'st me hold thee dear| For thee I fondlv seek, To thee my griefs I speak, And say, " Oh, come to me, And let me dote on thee." Thou little woodland flower, &c. ALFRED'S TOMB. (Le Tombcau d' Alfred.) Anonymous. This song is evidently a sequel to Le Chateau d'Elvire (see p. 37), and was written to the same air. Night o'er the face of earth was spread, But still Elvira sleepless lay; While in soft whispers near her bed, A voice complaining seemed to say: " It was thy coldness sealed my doom, But death from thee was surely sweet; Three days will pass, and in his tomb Thy sUghted Alfred thou wilt meet." The morning, now was bright and clear. But though the phantom shunned the day, Elvira fancied she could hear The murmurs as they passed away. SOJVGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. She shrank from the impending doom, And trembling she would oft repeat, — "Three days will pass, and in his tomb The slighted Alfred I shall meet." A fever burning like a flame Upon Elvira's vitals preyed. And then a fearful vision came, — She thought it called her — and obeyed. To hapless Alfred's tomb she went. The clock struck twelve, — her tott'ring feet Failed, — she, the fair indifferent. Has gone at last her love to meet. GOD PROTECT YOU! (A la grace de Dieu.) G. LERtOINEi The songs by M. Gustave Lemoine have about them a simple pathos which gives them a high rank among modern lyrical compositions. The sentiment they express is generally the regret felt by a rural inhabitant of the town for the pleasures of his native home. The regretted country is usually Bretagne ; though in this poem, which is dated 1836, the subject is that emigration from Savoy which is often a pathetic theme with French writers. ow from our hills you must depart And wander through a world too wide, Tom from your tender mother's heart, Who can no longer be your guide. Parisians, you our children keep Bestowed on you by Heaven's hand, We poor Savoyard mothers weep. But send them from their native land. Saying, Adieu, adieu. May God above watch over you! Should I ne'er see your face again ! — The hour has come, and you must go, While your poor mother seeks in vain For strength her blessing to bestow. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 49 Oh, pray to God in foreign climes, And He will all your labours bless, And on your mother think sometimes, — The thought will give you happiness. My child, Adieu, adieu, May God above watch over you ! Away the lowly exile went To toil beneath another sky, The mother, on her form intent. Followed the wand'rer with her eye; And when at last the form was gone, Her grief through all its fetters broke, She wept aloud, ^ — the lonely one, — While still her child departing spoke : My mother dear. Adieu, May God above watch over you ! MARIE STUART. Jean Pierre Claris Florian. Born 1755, died 1794. In vain I mourn: these prison walls Alone my mournful sighs repeat; Memory, that former bliss recalls. More bitter makes the woe I meet. Beyond my prison bars I see The sweet birds through the free air sweep, Singing their loves at liberty, Whilst I in hated fetters weep. Whatever fate may crush me here (Unfortunate but not to blame). My heart mil meet without a fear. And to the future trust my fame. Perfidious — cruel — barb'rous foe ! Hatred shall dog thy coming years. While o'er the tomb where I lie low. Pity will shed her tenderest tears. Sc SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Ye dreary vaults — abode of fears And home of silence, — ah! how long The captive's weary day appears, Spent weeping o'er a cruel wrong! I hear around my cell alway The howling wind — the owlet's cry — The bell's deep toll : to me they say, "Mary, thine hour strikes; thou must die!" ORIGINAL. En vain de ma douleur afifreuse Ces murs sont les tristes echos; En songeant que je fus heureuse Je ne fais qu'accroitre mes maux. A travers ces grilles terribles Je vois les oiseaux dans les airs: lis chantent leurs amours paisibles, Et moi je pleure dans les fers! Quel que soit le sort que m'accable, Mon cceur saura le soutenir, Infortunee, et non coupable, Je prends pour juge I'avenir. Perfide et barbare ennemie. On ddtestera tes fureurs, Et sur la tombe de Marie La pitie versera des pleurs. Voiites sombres, sdjour d'alarmes, Lieux au silence destines, Ah! qu'un jour passe dans les larmes Est long pour les infortunes! Les vents sifflent, le hibou crie, J'entends una cloche gdmir. Tout dit k la triste Marie: Ton heure sonne, il faut mourir! SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 51 THE SWALLOW AND THE EXILE. (LHirondelle et le Proscrit.) This beautiful song, which is dated 1819, is published with the name of Fougas as its author. However, according to MIVI.Dumersan and Segur, this is merely a no>K de guerre, under which a very celebrated poet is concealed. HY, feathered wanderer, why this hasty flight ? ^' j Come, swallow, rest awhile and perch by me: Why dost thou fly me thus when I invite ? Know'st not I am a foreigner like thee? Perhaps, alas ! from thy dear native home A cruel fate has driven thee, like me. Come, build thy nest beneath my window, comej Know'st not I am a traveller like thee? Both in this desert, Fate commands to dwell: Dear swallow, do not fear to rest by me: If thou coraplainest, I complain as well; Know'st not I am an exile e'en like thee? 52 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. But when the spring returns with smile so sweet, Then my asylum thou wilt quit, and me; Then wilt thou go, the Zephyr's land to greet; Alas, alas! 1 cannot fly like thee. The country of thy birth thou then wilt find, The nest of thy first love; but as for me. The chains of destiny so firmly bind, — To me belongs compassion, not to thee. ORIGINAL. PouRQUOi me fuir, passagere hirondelle. Ah ! viens fixer ton vol aupres de moi. Pourquoi me fuir lorsque ma voix t'appelle, Ne suis-je pas Stranger comme toi. (^zly.) Peut^etre, lie'las! des lieux qui t'ont vu naitre, Un sort cruel te chasse ainsi que moi, Viens deponer ton nid sous ma fenetre, Ne suis-je pas voyageur comme toi. (bis.) Dans ce de'sert, le destin nous rassemble, Va, ne crains pas de rester avec moi. Si tu g(fmis, nous gdmirons ensemble, Ne suis-je pas exile comme toi. (bis^ Quand le printems reviendra te sourire, Tu quitteras et mon asile et moi: Tu voleras au pays du Zdphire; Ne puis-je, helas! y voler comme toi. (pis) Tu reverras ta premifere patrie, Le premier nid de tea amours . . . et moi, Un sort cruel confine id ma vie; Ne suis-je pas plus k plaindre que toi? (pis.) SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 53 THE SWALLOWS. (Les Hirondelles.) Jean Pierke Claris Florian. How I love to see the swallows At my window every year, For they bring the happy tidings Smiling spring is dramng near. "In the same nest," soft they whisper, "Happy love bnce more shall dwell; Only lovers who are faithful Tidings of the spring should tell." When beneath the icy fingers Of the first frosts fall the leaves, Swallows gather on the house-tops, Singing as they quit the eaves, "Haste away, the sunshine's fading, Cruel winds the snow will bring; Faithful love can know no winter; Where it dwells is always spring." If — unhappy! — one be taken By a cruel infant's hand. Caged and parted from its lover — Captive in the winter land; Soon you'll see it die of sorrow, While its mate, still Ungering nigh, Knows no further joy in sunshine, But on the same day will die. ORIGINAL. Que j'aime k voir les hirondelles A ma fenetre tous les ans, Venir m'apporter les nouvelles De I'approche du printemps. Ed. 54 SONGS OF The affections. 'Le meme nid," me disent elles, "Va revoir les memes amours, Ce n'est qu'a des amants fideles A vous annoncer les beaux jours," Lorsque les premieres geldes Font tomber les feuilles du bois, Les hirondelles rassemblees, S'appellent toutes sur les toits ; 'Partons, partons," se disent elles, "Fuyons la neige et les autans, Point d'hiver pour les coeurs fideles, lis sont toujours dans le printemps." Si par malheur, dans le voyage, Victime d'un cruel enfant, Une hirondelle mise en cage, Ne pent rejoindre son amant; Vous voyez mourir I'hirondelle, D'ennui, de douleur, d'amour, Tandis que son amant fidele Pres de Ik meurt le meme jour. THE KNELL.— A DIRGE. (Le Glas.) JOUY. 1799—1846. Night o'er the sky has spread her veil, The storm with hollow roar draws near; In the stars' ghmmer, cold and pale. We read a sentence full of fear. What feeble sound — O mother, tell ! — Tolls 'neath our trees and does not cease? It is the monastery bell : — Immortal spirit, pass in peace. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 55 Perhaps, while Hfe was a spring day, Radiant with light below, above, A maiden's soul is called away From all the charms of early love. While all caress her, she must die ! Must part from all, her life must cease; Sweet love and earthly hope must fly. — Immortal spirit, pass in peace. Or that sad bell may tell instead A dying soldier's mournful tale. Who oft in glorious battle bled. Yet dies within his native vale. Ah, Heaven ! his end from suffering shield : My soldier-father's own decease Was in his home — not on the field. — Immortal spirit, pass in peace. Great God, what deathlike silence reigns ! I hear no more the solemn bell, That, telling us of mortal pains, In dying murmurs faintly fell. Those eyes will shed no more the tear; The birds' songs on the branches cease: Alas! alas! O mother dear. — Immortal spirit, pass in peace. ORIGINAL. La nuit a de'ployd ses voiles: L'orage s'avance en grondant; Sur le front pale des dtoiles Se lit un arret menagant. Quel faible bruit vient, 6 ma mere, Tinter sous nos arbres epais? C'est la cloche du monastfere— - Ame immortelle, allez en paix. Peut-etre au printemps de sa vie, Quand tout pre'sageait de beaux jours, Une vierge est-elle ravie Aux charmes des premiers amours! 56 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Tout caressait son existence; II faut tout quitter pour jamais : L'Amour fuit avec I'Esperance — Ame immortelle, allez en paix. Peut-etre cet airain qui sonne En longs et tristes tintements, D'un soldat qu'epargtia Bellone Annonce les demiers instants. O del ! adoucis sa misfere : Mon p^re, soldat et Frangais, Mourut aussi dans sa chaumiere — Ame immortelle, allez en paix. Grand Dieu ! quel funfebre silence ! Je n'entends plus le son mourant Dont la triste et sombre eloquence Vient de finir en murmurant. L'oiseau se tait sous la ram^e : Vos yeux se sont clos pour jamais; Helas ! ma mbre bien-aimee — Ame immortelle, allez en paix. YOU LEFT US ONCE. (De mon Village on ne voit plm Paris.) E. Barateau. Song dated 1834. You quitted us, now bitter tears you shed; Leaving a sad remembrance of the past, Your joys, like rapid moments, all have fled— The joys you fancied would for ever last. Then come with me, sweet mourner, come, Forgotten let thy sorrows be; Believe me, — from my village home This Paris we can never see. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. S7 And in your rustic go^vn once more appear, That necklace for your cross of silver leave; Cease all these gaudy ornaments to wear, They will reproach you still, though I forgive. Then come with me, sweet mourner, come, &c. Oh, hasten with me to that happy spot, AVhere childhood's joys together we have known; Come see my meadow green, my pleasant cot, — Come, — cottage, meadow, all shall be your own. Then come with me, sweet mourner, come, &c. LINES TO MY GODDAUGHTER, AGED THREE MONTHS. (Couplets a ma Filleule.) BliRANGER. PRETTY godfather am I ! You doubtless think 'tis all a blunder; That such a choice should make you cry, Indeed, my child, I do not wonder. A table spread with sweetmeats o'er Would much improve me, I dare say; — Still, dearest godchild, weep no more, For I may make you laugh some day. Your name in friendship I bestow. For friends this post in friendship give me; I'm not a mighty lord — oh, no; Yet I'm a honest man, believe me. Before your eyes no glittering store Of costly gifts can I display; — Still, dearest godchild, weep no more. For I may make you laugh some day. Though even virtue is confined By Fate's stem laws, which sore oppress her, Godma and I will bear in mind Our godchild's happiness— God bless her! S8 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. While wandering on this rugged shore, Good hearts should never feel dismay; So, dearest godchild, weep no more, For I may make you laugh some day. Years hence, upon your wedding-day. New store of songs you'll find me bringing, Unless I am where good Coll^ And stout Panard have left off singing. Yet 'twould be hard to die before A feast where all will be so gay; — My dearest godchild, weep no more, I'll make you laugh upon that d&y. THE FALL OF THE LEAF. ^Lucy, oil la chute desfeuilks.) Emile Eaeateau. 'TwAS at the time when summer flowers decay, And leaves fall trembling from the trees. That Lucy's mother, ill at ease. Thus heard her daughter, fondly dreaming, say: "Yes, dearest mother, I shall be his wife. And to his happiness devote my life, — And I am young, dear mother, you know well:" But down, a-down, the sere leaves fell. " Alas ! how distant seems the wedding-day. When I the ring of gold shall wear. And joyfully enwreath my hair With those white orange-flowers that brides array. Then I, thy daughter, he, thy son, Avill be United in one tenderness for thee; . Together in such happiness we'll dwell:" But down, a-down, the sere leaves fell. "Then in the winter, mother, at the ball, 'Is she not lovely?' all will say: My mother, do not weep, I pray; I'm well, quite well, why let those tear-drops fall? SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 59 Yes, I am better — banish all thy fears, Indeed, indeed, there is no cause for tears; With certain hope I feel my bosom swell:" But down, a-down, the sere leaves fell. A month had past, and autumn now was gone, I saw a new-erected tomb Which on the valley cast a gloom, And plainly read a name upon the stone — 'Twas Lucy's name. Think what her mother felt, When bowed by heavy grief in prayer she knelt, When heaven-turned eyes her anguish told too well,- Oh, then no more the sere leaves fell. THE TURTLE-DOVE. . (La Tour ier elk.) Emile Varin. M. Kmile Varin was one of the writers for the Theatre du Vaudeville before it was burned down in 1836. The above song is dated 1844. ^URTLE-DOVE, Bird of love, All thy efforts are in vain — Here thou must remain. Though thy wings thy prison beat, Echo only will repeat Thy sighs and mine; Here must I pine E'en as thou, sweet turtle-dove, Without love. My gentle fav'rite, my companion dear. We want for nothing, and I tend thee well ; We love each other, yet our love is drear— Whit makes us thus a-weary, canst thou tell? Spring with -his smile so bright We at our mndow see. 6o SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Our souls with new delight Cry, "Joy, we wait for thee." Turtle-dove, &c. The forest trees now put their foliage on, The almond its new flower begins to wear; This genial sun could animate a stone : When all is joyous, why do we despair? Two hearts that are a prey To flames that nought can still, When all around is gay. Access of torment feeL Turtle-dove, &c. Thou peck'st my finger with thy pretty beak; Soft is thy plumage, mild that eye of thine, And graceful is thy many-coloured neck, A thousand charms thou seemest to combine. Thou 'rt vain, thou small coquette, With pride I see thee swell. Thou seemest glad, but yet A flight would please thee well. Turtle-dove, &c. To pity's warning shall I give no ear. Or do I dread that scolded I shall be? Away, away with such ignoble fear ! But then I feel the pain of losing thee. If once I ope thy door. What pleasure wilt thou taste, How freely wilt thou soar, And to the greenwood haste ! Turtle-dove, &c. Freedom! — its joys thou canst anticipate; For thee it is a life which love endears ; To linger here alone is my sad fate ; — Still be thou happy — leave me to my tears. What! fl/st thou not beyond The vacant willow-tree? No ! but with murmur fond, Thou comest back to me. Turtle-dove, &c. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 61 Thanks ! thanks ! thou wilt remain — oh, happiness ! With all my soul thy silken plumes I kiss; Come, give me fond caress for fond caress : To think that friendship can give joy like this ! Thou patient turtle-dove, I '11 find for thee a mate, Whom thou may'st truly love, When I have — changed my state. Turtle-dove, &c. I MUST FORGET. (Faut I'oublier.) Naudet. Bom 1786. Date of song, 1816. "I MUST forget him," said Colette, "No shepherd could more faithless be; He leaves me for a vain coquette, And vowed he would love none but me. Ye happy hours of love, adieu ! Ye false and cruel oaths, farewell ! That made me think his heart was true; Now nought shall in my memory dwell— I must forget. " I must forget him — ^yes, but how ? 'T is Colin speaks in all I see ; 'Twas here he made his earliest vow Beneath the branches of this tree. 'Twas here he saw me every morn, And here sometimes with ribbons fine He would my rustic crook adorn; But now Colette alone must pine — I must forget. "I must forget, I must forget," With heavy sighs she still would say, And to repeat it, poor Colette Would rise before the break of day. 62 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. And through the day, with whisper soft, The one sad thought she would reveal, And when she slept at night, she oft Amid her dreams would murmur still — "I must forget." HER NAME. (Son nom.) G. Lemoine. Song dated 1836. HE name of her whom I adore Within my bosom I conceal, I guard it as a precious store, And ne'er my happiness reveal. Sacred from curious eyes I must Preserve that name, my heart's delight; With it no paper dare I trust. That name on sand I may not write. The breeze I trust not, that might bear To other ears a name so sweet; No echo must my secret hear. For echoes would the name repeat. The name of her, &c. My bosom with new thoughts it fires. While whisp'ring in its softest tone; Though all my verses it inspires, That name remains unsung alone. But yet that name, which nought can tell, If she came near, — oh, sweet surprise !— You soon, I fear, would read it well. For 'twould be written in my eyes. The name of her whom I adore, Which such high rapture makes me feel, Although I guard it more and more. Will from its prison sometimes steal. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 63 When some sweet flower to us is dear, We fear that it will perish soon; That sacred name I would not bear 'Mid those who throng the light saloon. The treasure for myself I keep, I breathe it at the break of day, I breathe it when I sink to sleep. And feel it lull my soul away. The name of her whom I adore I only to my heart reveal, I guard it as a precious store, And ever ^vill my joy conceal. FAREWELL. (Ilfaut qttitter ce que f adore.) Hoffman. Born 1760, died iSaS. He composed many operas ; the most celebrated is Les Rendezvous Bourgeois. BID farewell to all that's dear, With all my happiness I part; To-day I still can see thee near. To-morrow tears thee from my heart. To-day my parting words receive. And let us heal all wounds to-day; But let our love, while yet we live, Ne'er from our memory pass away. Oh ! do not all thine anguish show, Give not fresh food to my despair; Thy tears unman me as they flow. E'en my own grief I scarce can bear. But though our hearts forget to grieve. And think no more of this sad day, Still let our love, while yet we live, Ne'er from our memory pass away. Some day, upon a distant shore, Of every hope and joy bereft, 64 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. The thought of her I now adore Will be the only solace left. So, comfort I shall yet receive, While I repeat these words each day, Our love, my dearest, while I live. Shall ne'er from memory pass away. LOVE ME WELL. (Aime moi bien.) E. GOLA. Song dated 1838. H, love me, love me, I implore, I have no faith but in thy heart; Thou hast the balm to heal the sore, — '1 In mercy, love, that balm impart. " One only stay on earth I feel. The hope which makes my bosom swell, So, wouldst thou see me living still. Oh, love me truly, — love me well. Oh, love me, love me, — nought have I To cheer me in this world so drear ; No tender mother's heart is nigh, No sister, with a pitying tear. Friends, glory, prospects, — all are gone, A hapless exile here I dwell : Nought have I, save thy love alone, Then love me truly, — love me wdl. Oh, love me, love me, — to repay Thy love, my life I'll dedicate, The thoughts of ev'ry passing day To thee alone I '11 consecrate. I'll guard thee with a parent's care. Thy name shall by my mother's dwell. And with it rise in every prayer : Oh, love me truly, — love me well. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 65 I '11 love thee as the bee the flower In which the fragrant honey lies, As nightingales the evening hour, And as the star adorfes the skies. A guardian angel, I '11 watch o'er Thy soul, and every harm repel ; But in return I still implore, Oh, love me truly, — love me well. THE MOTHER AT THE CRADLE. (Pres d un Bencau.) Nette.ment. Born 1815. Song dated 1843. The fisherman, aroused by morning's ray, Hastes to observe the aspect of the day; Hoping that Heaven will grant him breezes mild, — ■ Thus of thy prospects do I dream, dear child. What fate, sweet angel, is awarded thee ? Wilt thou a man of peace or warrior be? A holy priest, — the idol of a ball, — A radiant poet, — statesman, — general? But meanwhile, on thy mother's breast, Thou blue-eyed angel, rest, — oh, rest ! He's for a warrior born, his eyes proclaim. And I shall take proud pleasure in his fame; A simple soldier he will soon advance : He's now a general, — Marshal, now, of France. Where thickest is the fight he takes his place, Through raining bullets shines his radiant face; The foemen fly, — the victory is won, — Sound, trumpets, for the victor is my son 1 But meanwhile, on thy mother's breast, Thou future general, rest, — oh, rest ! But no ! too much 't would pain thy mother's heart If in war's dreadful game thou took'st a part ; Oh, rather be the temple thy abode, While calmly flow thy days before thy God. 66 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Be thoti the lamp, lit with the altar's light, — The fragrant incense which the seraphs bright With their loud hymns to the Eternal bear; Be thou the very perfumed breath of prayer. But meanwhile, on thy mother's breast. Thou holy Levite, rest, — oh, rest ' Yet pardon, Lord, I err through love's excess. Slighting Thy wisdom in my tenderness; If I have sinned, oh, punish only me, — 'Tis I alone who wanted faith in Thee. A prayer, and nothing further, wilt thou deem Whate'er fond mothers at the cradle dream. Choose Thou his calling, — Thou who reign'st above. Thou art supreme in wisdom as in love. But meanwhile, on thy mother's breast Rest peacefully, sweet angel, rest ! MY LOVE IS DEAD. (Ma belle Amie est mortc.) T. Gautier. Eorn iSoS. It is scarcely necessary to state that M. Thcophile Gautier is one of the most celebrated poets and wittiest feuilletonUtcs of the present day. he's gone, my lovely maid, And I am left to weep, My heart and love are laid Within the grave so deep. She came from heaven above. She there returns to dwell; The angels took my love, But took not me as well. The bird without a mate ^^^/^ Still mourns the absent one, | ^^ -^ To weep too is my fate, | For all I loved is gone. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 67 My love, how fair thou wert, And oh! I loved thee so, That I am sure my heart No more such love wll know. She's gone, my lovely maid, And I am left to weep, !My heart and love are laid Within the grave, so deep. ORIGINAL. Ma belle amie est morte, Je pleurerai toujours : Dans la tombe elle emporte Mon ame (bis) et mes amours. Dans le ciel, sans m'attendre, Elle s'en retourna, L'ange qui I'emmena Ne voulut pas me prendre. Ma belle, &c. La colombe oubliee Pleure et songe a I'absent. Mon ame pleure et sent Qu'elle est depareillee. Ma belle, &c. Ah ! comme elle e'tait belle, Et comme je I'aimais; Je n'aimerai jamais Une femme autant qu'elle. Ma belle amie est morte, Je pleurerai toujours : Dans la tombe elle emporte Mon ame {bis) et mes amours. 5—2 68 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. THE CASTLE. (Le Castel.) Anonymous. This song, without name and without date, seems to be universally known in France. A\'iTHiN a castle, old and gray, Young Hermann's infancy was past, While Nature, TOth her gende sway. To fair Amelia bound him fast. About the lonely spot they stayed : In peace was passed life's early morn; 'Twas here their forefathers were laid, ' 'Twas here their youthful love was born. SOJVGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 69 The voice of glory Hermann hears, No more at home he must reniain ; The fair Ameha, with her tears, Attempts her hero to retain. But vainly has she wept and prayed, — From that old castle he is torn — 'Twas there his forefathers were laid, 'Twas there his early love was born. Young Hermann lies upon the ground. His valour's victim, soon he fell ; And from his lip escapes a sound — The name of her he loves so well. He thinks his pains would be allayed, He thinks his state were less forlom. If carried where his sires were laid, And where his youthful love was born. Once more Amelia's form is near; He tries to speak, but vainly tries; He fondly clasps that hand so dear, He lays it on his heart, — he dies ! Amelia sees his bright eye fade. She is not destined long to mourn ; They both are with their fathers laid. And love expires where he was born. ORIGINAL. Un castel d'antique structure Vit I'enfance du jeune Hermand : Son cceur, guide' par la nature, Aimait Adele encore enfant; Tous deux, dans ces lieux solitaires, Coulaient en paix leurs premiers jours ; C'etait le tombeau de ses peres, Et le berceau de ses amours. Mais bientot la gloire cruelle Appelle Hermand, il faut partir; 70 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Par ses larmes, la tendre Ad^e Espere encor le retenir; Inutiles pleurs et priferes, Hermand renonce &, ses bfeaux jours ; II fuit le tombeau de ses pferes, Et le berceau de ses amours. Aux combats, trahi par son zfele, Le brave Hermand est terrasse; Dans un soupir, le nom d'Adfele Echappe k son cceur oppress^ Ses peines seront moins amferes, S'il peut seulement quelques jours Revoir le tombeau de ses pferes, Et le berceau de ses amours. Arrive pres de son amie, II veut parler, mais c'est en vain; II veut presser sa main cherie, , II la presse, hdlas ! il s'eteint. AdMe ferme ses paupieres, La douleur termine ses jours ; Aussi le tombeau de leurs peres Est le tombeau de leurs amours. TENDER REGRETS. (Tendi'es regrets.) AxDKiEux. Born 1759, died 1833. Smiling dreams of happy youth, Ah ! how quickly are you past ! Must intoxicating joy Only for a moment last? Happy age when all is bright, When each object gives us joy; Inexpressible deUght Dawning still \vithout alloy. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 71 Can we feel a second time Love that does each thought enchain? Ashes may rekindled be, But in flames ne'er burst again. Nothing now can stir my heart, From all passions it is free. Yet there lives within my soul An image and a memory. ORIGINAL. Air : Venus snr la violle verdure. SoNGES riants de la jeunesse, Que vous nous quittez promptement ! Faut-il qu'une si douce ivresse Ne dure pas plus d'un moment? Age heureux oil tout semble aimable, Oil chaque objet offre un plaisir, Vif attrait, charme inexprimable, Le coeur s'dpuise a te sentir. Pourrait-il d'un feu qui deyore Eprouver deux fois les effets? Des cendres s'e'chauffent encore, Mais ne se rallumcnt jamais. II n'est plus rien, rien qui m'enfiamme ; Je languis triste et sans de'sirs; Mais il est au fond de mon amc Une image ct des souvenirs. Ifi 72 SOIVGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. LEONORE. ( Eleanor e.) Anonymous. 'i(f RUE, I adored thee yesterday, For then my eyes were bandaged fastj But now my love has passed away. False one, thou art unveiled at last; Though, Leonore — though even yet I feel thy beauty as before. And past delights perhaps regret, I love thee, traitress, now no more. There is a lustre in thy smile, Grace is thy nature, not a task; The coldest heart thou canst beguile Within thine influence to bask. Could she who claims affection now Combine the charms that I deplore With her own truth ! — unmatched art thou, And yet I love thee now no more. Another soon will take my place, And will thy chosen fav'rite be, Lured by thy sparkling wit — thy grace; He too will be deceived like me. Our love was a mistake, but still I can be jealous, Leonore, And envious of thy victims feel, — And yet I love thee now no more. Perchance some day 'twill be our lot In some secluded place to meet; And 'twill be pleasant — will it not? — To tell of joys to memory sweet. And then perhaps new-waked desire Will give me back my Leonore, And then my soul will be on fire, — But yet I love thee now no more. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 73 THE BALL. (LeBal.) Louis Festeau, Few poets have produced a greater number of popular poems than M. Louis Festeau, who was one of the founders of the convivial society called Le Gyimmse Lyriqne in 1824. ND he is married, — faithless one ! y And he this icy note can write; In such a cold, insulting tone, Me to the ball he can invite ! I'll go, arrayed in all my pride. Although I feel my wound is deep, ,5;.,5^^,. ^ And cheerfully salute his bride, — Yet grant, O Heaven, I do not weep. .-A My carriage swiftly rolls along, And I am trembling, — not with fear; At yonder door the light is strong. At last we stop, — then is it here? How brilliant is the crowd — how gay! Here pleasure bids all anguish sleep; Yes, careless I will be, as they, — Still grant, O Heaven, I do not weep. Now I behold him in the dance. Of happiness his features speak; Now he approaches, — from his glance Oh, let me hide my paUid cheek; And who is she, that girl so fair? — Ay, I must pay her reVrence deep; For her my lips a smile shall wear, — So grant, O Heaven, I do not weep. Then shall I join the dance?— Oh, no! My feet can scarce my will obey." Yet I am fair, — he told me so. And looked so well with a bouquet. 74 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Now he regards me with a sneer : Madness I feel upon me creep; No longer let me linger here, Far from the liappy let me weep. AN AVOWAL. ( Un Aveti.) Bakali.i. Dated 1840. .'v* H, do not refuse me, — I love thee, Marie, Than Hfe thou'rt a hundred times dearer to me; My worship is that which we raise to the skies. I love thy clear voice, and thy brow ever fair, i Thy modest apparel, thy light sunny hair, ^ And the blue of thine eyes. J Oh, give me that love, undivided and whole, 'f Which wakens with life, and expires with the ' ^ That true woman's love, and in turn I '11 adore : ^ And when passing years write their trace on thy brow. Those moments of joy, which enrapture us now, To thy heart I '11 restore. And if thou 'It not love me, still let me, I pray, Adore thy blue eye, and its pure, gentle ray ; Those features, which never can fade from the sight; And let me thy sweet eighteen summers combine To one flow'ry wreath, and thy forehead entwine Witli love and delight. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 75 THE BLACKSMITH. (Le Forgeron.) G. Lemoine. Y anvil, my anvil, thy big lusty voice Within my black dwelling can make mc rejoice : A fig for the strains in which lovers repine ! They never can equal that loud song of thine." Singing with incessant clamour Bang, Bang, Bang — Roger all day used his hammer. Clang, Clang, Clang. Nothing seemed his heart to touch. Round about they feared him much. And would quake at every note When they heard his brazen throatj " My anvil, my anvil," &c. Once the anvil sounded mildly, Clang, Clang, Clang — Roger's heart was beating wildly. Bang, Bang, Bang — He had seen young Rosa pass, — Only fifteen was the lass ; Wooed her, won her, and next day Thus was heard the blacksmith's lay: "My anvil, my anvil, pray soften thy voice, A sweet song of love should my Rosa rejoice; Within my black dwelling a star will she shine. And thou must subdue that wild ditty of thine." Very naughty once was Rose, Bang, Bang, Bang,— And the neighbours heard three blows. Clang, Clang, Clang; Then there came a silence dread, — All thought Rosa must be dead. 76 SUJVGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Burst the door — the spouse unfeeling, Lo ! before his wife was kneeling. ' O Rosa, dear Rosa, pray list to rny voice, — A blow from thy hand makes my bosom rejoice; Pray beat me all day; to this hard cheek of mine No silk is so soft as that white hand of thin;," ORIGINAI Enclume cherie, 6 mes seules amours, Bien fort, bien fort retentis toujours; Ta voix si jolie, en mon noir sejour, R^sonne mieux qu'un doux chant d'amour. La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. {quater.) Chantant d'une voix sonore En frappant pan ! pan ! pan ! Roger forgeait des I'aurore, Martelant, pan ! pan ! pan ! Le forgeron, fort peu sensible Passait partout pour si terrible, Qu'il faisait trembler le quartier, Lorsqu'il chantait k plein gosier. Enclume, che'rie, &c. I I Sa forge allait un dimanche, Doucement, pan ! pan ! pan 1 Son cceur battait en revanche, Violemment, pan ! pan ! pan ! C'est qu'il avait vu passer Rose, Fleur de quinze ans h. peine eclose, II met des gants, offre sa main, Et fredonne le lendemain : Enclume cherie, au nom de I'amour, Bien bas, bien bas, rdsonne le jour. Rose si jolie, dans mon noir sdjour, Ve faire entendre un doux chant d'amour. La, la, la, &c. Mais Rose un jour n'est pas bonne, A I'instant, pan ! pan ! pan ! Trois fois un soufflet resonne. On entend, pan ! pan ! pan ! SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 77 Et puis silence ! on la croit morte ; La garde vient, brise la porta, Et trouve le feroce e'poux Qui lui disait h, deux genoux : Rose, je t'en prie, au nom des amours, Bats-moi, bats-moi, bats-moi tous les jours, Ta main si jolie sera toujours Plus douce que satin et velours. La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. {quater) JEALOUSY. (Jalousies.) p. J. Chakrin. Bom 1784. Yes, 1 am jealous, — wi-ongly, I confess; Myself more wretched far than thee I make. I have no cause to doubt thy tenderness, But yet my rivals constant fear awake When at thy feet they kneel. And round thee with their adulation press, Then horrors o'er me steal, I doubt thy faith, — 'tis jealousy I feel. Yes, I am jealous: worshipped everywhere, A host of eager suitors thou canst charm; I fancy that my treasure they will tear_ From my fond keeping, and I press thine arm,— 'Tis jealousy I feel: My soul is eaten up with anxious care; Not e'en thy looks can heal My wounded heart,— 'tis jealousy I feel. Yes, I am jealous: all that charms my sight Seems fashioned merely to disturb my rest. Caresses which relations claim as right. And friendship's harmless kisses, rack my breast; 'Tis jealousy I feel. Why should thy fondness other hearts deHgllt, And ever from me steal What is mine own?— 'tis jealousy I feeh 78 SONGS OP THE AFFECTIONS. Yes, I am jealous. — When thou art not near, I count the dreary moments as they fly; The time has past, — deprived of all that's dear, A prey to dreadful agonies am I. 'Tis jealousy I feel. That thou art with some favoured one, I fear. Oh, if my senses reel, Pray pardon me, — 'tis jealousy I feel. Yes, I am jealous. — Deeply I abhor The world, whose pleasures give me no delight; I learned to hate, while learning to adore, — It only charmed me whilst thou mad'st it bright. 'Tis jealousy I feel. The world I would shut out for evermore. And in a cell thee and myself conceal; 'Tis jealousy I feel. THE PARTING. (La Separation.) E. DUGAS. NE morning, when the daylight broke, — A sign of grief to poor Lisette, To her own Alfred thus she spoke, While with her tears her cheek was wet ; " Oh, sir, I trust when every link That bound us fast is rent by you. Of me in hate you will not think, — • Another kiss, and then adieu. " Go, seek your family once more, Let not my grief your heart distress ; When I was lowly born and poor. Could I aspire to happiness? Some wealthy maid will be your bride — From pure affection I was true. Love, and not interest was my guide, — Another kiss, and then adieu. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 79 "What tranquil pleasure did we feel When from the noisy town we fled, And through the paths of Romainvillc Our wandering steps by love were led; A canopy the foliage nlade, And o'er our joys a curtain threw; But now our woods have lost their shade; — Another kiss, and then adieu. "This portrait which I saw you trace, Oh, let it be my legacy; For when I look upon your face, Revived the happy past Avill be. When age its snow has o'er me cast. Still our first meeting I'll renew. Alfred — another kiss — the last— Another kiss, and then adieu." There is no doubt that the hero and heroine of the above romance are a pair of those great favourites of modern French authors and artists — a student and a srisettc. MADNESS. (La Folk.) Abel Poret de IVIorvan. Tra la la la — tra la la la — What is that sweet air? Ah, yes, I recollect, — the band begins to play; The dance will soon commence, those joyous notes would say. How timid is his gait, as he approaches near ! A few soft tender words he whispers in my ear. I think I must refuse — yet no reply I make, — He takes niy hand, alas ! — I plainly feel it shake ; Now trembles all my frame,' — his piercing glances seem To waken in my soul a wild and fev'rish dream. Throughout the ball I thought of him — of him alone ! — Tra la la la — Whence came those lively sounds? Oh, yes, I recollect, — a fortnight now has past Since through the bright saloon we whirled along so fast; 8o SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Oh, happiness supreme ! oh, joy above all joys ! "I love thee" — thus he says with softly murm'ring voice. No longer I resist — what feebleness is this? — Upon my burning brow he plants a burning kiss. Oh, never did I know existence till this hour, — The happiness of love, — the greatness of its power; And then I ceased to live, — my life was his alone. Tra la la la — I cannot bear that sound. Oh, yes, I recollect. It was a month — no more — That I was happy, — yes — I ever since have wept. That waltz — you hear it well; 'twas when they played it once While he was in the dance, his fervent lips declared He loved me. Yet he never never loved me, — no. Oh, at these words my brain began to turn — to reel, A fearful sense of pain pervaded all my soul. I love tliis life of joy — the costly garb — the dance ! Alas, what agony it gives to think of him ! ORIGINAL. Tra k la la, tra la la la, quel est done cet air? (bis) Ah ! oui, je me souviens, I'orchestre harmonieux Pre'Iudait vivement par ses accords joyeux. II s'avan^a vers moi, sa voix timide et tendre Murmura quelques mots que je ne pus entendre. Je voulais refuser, et je ne pus parler, Et lui saisit ma main, je la sentis trembler; Moi, je tremblais aussi, son long regard de flamme En des pensers d'amour avait jete mon ime, Et pendant tout le bal je ne pensai qu'^ lui ! (bis) Tra la la (bis), d'oii me viennent ces sons? (bis) Ah ! oui, je me souviens, quinze jours ecoulds, Le soir au bal brillant par la walse entrainds; O comble de bonheur, fdlicite supreme, Sa bouche k mon oreille a murmur^ ; Je t'aime ! Et faible que j'etais, je ne pus resister, Puis sur mon front brulant je sentis un baiser : Ah ! seulement alors, je connus I'existence, L'amour et sort bonheur, sa force et sa puissance ! Et je ne vivais plus, car j'dtais toute en lui ! (bis) SOxVGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 8i Tra la la la {bis), que ces sons me font mal ! {bis) Oh ! oui, je me souviens, je fus heureuse un mois, Et depuis ce moment je soupire toujours. Cette walse, ecoutez, c'est pendant sa dur^e Qu'il etait k ses pieds, que sa bouche infidMe Lui jurait qu'il I'aimait et ne m'aima jamais ! Je sentis "k ces mots ma t^te se briser; Un horrible tourment tortura tout mon etre ! Que j'aime les plaisirs, la parure et la danse ! Que je souffre, 6 mon dieu ! rien qu'en pensant h. lui ! {bis) Arthur I Arthur ! Arthur ! Arthur ! Madness is not neatly so favourite a topic with the French as witli the English lyrists, nor will the above, which is dated 1833, sustain a comparison with the vigorous expressions of insanity to be found in the *' Illustrated Liook of English Songs." One peculiarity which is followed in the English version is worth observing, — namely, the fact that the last stanza is without rhyme. So intimately is the notion of rhyme connected with that of poetry in French literature, that rhymeless metre serves as an indication of the last ravings of madness. 82 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. (femiy VOuvrilre.) Emile Bakatkau. Date of song, 1847. LOSE to yon roof that humble window see, Where in the spring-time some few flow'rets grow; Among those flow'rets soon a form will be, With flaxen hair, and cheeks with health that glow. Close to yon roof that humble window see. Where in the spring-time some few flow'rets grow ; Jenny, the sempstress, calls that garden hers, Jenny, on humble means content to live; Jenny, who might be wealthy, but prefers What God is pleased to give. A little bird within that garden sings. Its notes among the leaves you plainly hear; To her such pleasure that loved warbling brings, It serves, in dullest hours, her heart to cheer.' A little bird within that garden sings. Its notes among the leaves you plainly hear- Jenny, the sempstress, calls that songster hers Jenny, on humble means content to live- Jenny, who might be wealthy, but prefers What God is pleased to give. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 85 Upon the poor she often will bestow What she has ihardly earned — a mite of food, When mis'ry passes in the street below, No hunger can she feel — she is so good. Upon the poor she often will bestow What she has hardly earned — a mite of food; Jenny, the sempstress, calls this pleasure hers, Jenny, on humble means content to live, Jenny, who might be wealthy, but prefers What God is pleased to give, ORIGINAL. VoYEZ Ik-haut cette pauvre fenetre. Oil du printemps se montrent quelques fleurs; Parmi ces fieurs vous verrez apparaitre Une enfant blonde aux plus fraiches couleurs . . Voyez Ik-haut cette pauvre fenetre. Oil du printemps se montrent quelques fleurs . . C'est le jardin de Jenny I'ouvriere, Au cceur content, content de peu . . . EUe pourrait etre riche et prefere Ce qui lui vient de Dieu ! (bis.) Dans son jardin, sous la fleur parfume'e, Entendez-vous un oiseau familier? Quand elle est triste, oh ! cette voix aimee. Par un doux chant sufifit pour I'dgayer ! . . . , Dans son jardin, sous la fleur parfumee, Entendez-vous un oiseau familier? C'est le chanteur de Jenny I'ouvribre, Au coeur content, content de peu .... Elle pourrait etre riche et preffere Ce qui lui vient de Dieu. Aux inalheureux souvent elle abandonne Ce qu'elle gagne, hdlas ! un peu de pain ! Qu'un pauvre passe, et comme elle est si bonne. En le voyait elle n'aura plus faim. 6—2 84 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Aux malheureux souvent elle abandonne Ce qu'elle gagne, li^las ! un peu de pain ! C'est le bonheur de Jenny I'ouvrifere ! Au cceur content, content de peu .... Elle pourrait etre riche et pr^ftre Ce qui lui vient de Dieu, Ce qui lui vient de Dieu, THE LAST FINE DAY OF AUTUMN. (Le dernier beau Jour d'Attt07nnc.) EsMfeAED. Died 1811. Killed by being thrown from his carriage in Italy. Thi? song was found amongst his papers, scattered on the ground. Already the falling leaf Is borne at the north wind's will; And, gilding the vale beneath. The withered flower lies still. 'Neath the oak is now no shade ; In the grove no lovers stay^ I am greeting, ere it fade. The last fine day. The rays of an autumn sun Scarcely warm the pale blue skies; The swallow's flight has begun, From our land it warbling flies. "Adieu, bright sky — green retreat," That parting song seems to say, "I go; yet lingering greet The last fine day.'' See Age to the meadow pass, To muse how the swift years fleet, As he sees the withered grass Bend beneath his trembling feet. Ed. SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 85 Dreaming, now life is closing, Of the joys long passed away; His lingering glance reposing On the last fine day. Though our life with flow'rs we strew, Yet Time will wither them all; Happy those who cull a few Ere the winter shadows fall. Soon faded is youth's blithe cheer — But a moment love will stay, — Our life has, like the year. Its last fine day. ORIGINAL. Deja la feuille detachee S'envole au gre de Faquilon, De sa depouille dessechfe La fleur a jauni le vallon. Sous le chene il n'est plus d'ombrage Au bosquet il n'est plus d'amour, Je vais saluer au visage, Le dernier beau jour. Les rayons d'un soleil d'automne, A peine attie'dissent les cieux, L'hirondelle nous abandonne Et quitte en gazouillant ces lieux. Son joli chant semble nous dire, "Adieu, beau ciel, riant sepur, Je pars, et veux encore sourire, Au dernier beau jour." Le vieillard vient dans la prairie, Rever au ddclin de ses ans, En voyant cette herbe fldtrie Qui fle'chit sous ses pas tremblants. Songeant au bout de sa carriere, Aux biens qui Font fui sans retour, II entr'ouvre encore sa paupiere, Au dernier beau jour. 86 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Simons de fleurs notre existence, Le temps saura bien les fletrir ! Avant que notre hiver commence, Trop heureux qui sait les cueillir ! Bientot la jeunesse est fanee, ' II n'est qu'an instant pour I'amour; Notre vie s — ^'comme I'annde — Son dernier beau jour. PATRIOTIC SONGS. Si '§,tbaMmmx^ mxij Hatriotk BanQB. To avoid a multiplicity of heads, songs of a, very different spirit are comprised in this division : some being animated by the senti- ment of ancient chivalry, some expressing a fanatical hatred of monarchs, or even social distinctions; some satirizing the people in high places, some sympathizing with the glories of the imperial army. The subjects are at any rate so far alike, that they relate to man, not as a member of society, but as a citizen of the state, and express his feelings in that capacity either towards his rulers or the enemies of his country. If our collection were more ex- tensive, we should divide the whole mass of French national songs into two heads, — the chivalric and the revolutionary. In spite of republican ardour, the chivalric is still an important element in French lyric song, and neither the destroyers of the Bastile, nor the victors of the grand army, have entirely eclipsed the venera- tion for the ancient paladins. As the interest of this division greatly depends on its historical importance, the literary merit of the songs has had less influence on the selection than in those divisions where reputed excellence and importance are convertible terms. Probably no song could be more detestable than the Carmagnole; but as it was one of the "great facts" of its day, it has its place here, among more meritorious productions. Here, more than elsewhere, we feel that some of Our readers \ may complain of omissions. But they will perhaps bear in mind that we are not writing a lyrical history of the French Revolution, \ and also that there is a family likeness in many of the tyrant- J imprecating strains that renders them insufferably tiresome when read in too large quantities. 88 THE MARSEILLAISE. (Za Marseillaise.) ROUGET DE Lisle. Born 1760^ died 1836. On the 30th July, 1792, the Marseillaises arrived at Paris, whither they had been invited by Barbaroux at the instance of Madame Roland. " The secret motive of their march," says M. de Lamartine, "was to intimidate the National Guard of Paris; to revive the energy of the Fauxbourgs ; and to be in the advanced guard of that camp of 20,000 men, which the Girondins had made the Assembly vote, to overrule the Feuiilants, the Jacobins, the King, and the Assembly itself, with an army of the Departments composed entirely of their own creatures." The Marseillaises entered Paris by the Faubourg St. Antoine, and, singing the song which bears their name, proceeded to the Champs-Elysees, where a banquet was pre- pared for them. The origin of the words and music of this famous song is thus described by M. de Lamartine : — " There was at this time a young officer of artillery in garrison at Strasburg. His name was Rouget de Lisle. He was born at Lons-le-Saulnier in the Jura, a country of reveries and energy, as mountainous regions always are. This young man loved war as a soldier ; the Revolution as a thinker. By his verses and his music he h'ghtened the tediousness of the garrison. Generally sought on acount of his double talent as a musician and a poet, he became a familiar visitor at the house of an Alsatian patriot, Dietrich, Mayor of Strasburg. The wife and daughters of Dietrich shared his enthusiasm for patriotism and the Revolution. They loved the young officer. _ They inspired his heart, his poetry, and his music ; and trust- ing to the early lispings of his genius, they wei^e the first to execute his scarcely expressed thoughts. " It was the winter of 1792, famine reigned at Strasburg, the Dietrich family were poor, and their table was frugal, but it was always hospitable to Rouget. One day, when there was nothing on the board but some ammunition bread and a few slices of ham, Dietrich, looking at De Lisle with melancholy calmness, said to him, ' Abundance is wanting at our banquet— 89 90 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS, but what matters that when neither enthusiasm is wanting at our civic feasts, nor courage in the hearts of our soldiers ? I have still a bottle of wine left in my cellar : let it be brought up, and let us drink to liberty and to our country. There will soon be a patriotic celebration at Strasburg ; may these last drops inspire De Lisle with one of those hymns which convey to the soul of the people the intoxication from whence they proceed.' The young girls ^plauded, brought in the wine, and filled the glasses of their aged father and the_ young officer until the liquor was exhausted. It was midnight. The night was cold. De Lisle was in a dreamy state ; his heart was touched ; his head was heated. The cold overpowered him, and he tottered into his lonely room slowly, seeking inspiration, now in his patriotic soul, now m his harpsichord ; sometimes composing the air before the words, sometimes the words before the ■air, and so combining them in his thoughts that he himself did not know whether the notes or the verses came first, and that it was impossible to separate the poetry from the music, or the sentinwnt from the expression. He sang all, and set down nothing. - , , "Overpowered with this sublime inspiration, De Lisle went to sleep on the harpsichord, and did not wake until day. He recalled the song of the previous night with a difficulty like that with which we recall the impressions of a dream. He now set down the words and music, and ran with them to Dietrich, whom he found at work in the garden._ The wife and daughters of the old patriot had not yet risen ; Dietrich awakened them, and invited some friends who were as passionately fond of music as himself, and were capable of executing De Lisle's com- position. His eldest daughter played the accompaniment, while Rouget sang. At the first stanza, all faces turned pale ; at the second, tears ran- down every cheek ; and at the last, all the madness of enthusiasm broke forth. Dietrich, his wife, his daughters, and the young officer, fell weeping into each other's arms : the hymn of the country was found. It was destined, alas ! to be also the hymn of terror. A few months afterwards the unfortunate Dietrich went to the scaffold to the sound of the very notes which had their origin on his own hearth, in the heart of his friendy and in the voices of his children. "The new song executed some days afterwards at Strasburg flew from city to citjr, being played by all the public orchestras. Marseilles adopted it to be sung at the beginningand close of every session of its clubs. The Marseillaises spread-it through France, singing it on their route, whence it acquired the name of The Marseillaise. The old mother of De Lisle, who was a pious royalist, was horrified at hearing the echo of her son's voice, and wrote to, him, 'What is this revolutionary hymn which is sung about France by a horde of robbers, and: with which our name is connected?" De Lisle himself, afterwards proscribed as a royalist, heard with a shudder his own song as he fled through a pass in the Upper Alps. ' What is the name of that hymn ? ' he asked his guide. * The Marseillaise,' was the peasant's reply. It was thens that he learnt the name of his own work. He was pursued by the enthusiasm which he had! scattered behind him, and escaped death with difficulty. The weapon recoiled against thel hand which had forged it ; the Revolution in its madness no longer recognized its own voice." To explain the concluding part of the above extract, it should be stated that Rouget de Lisle was imprisoned during the Reign of Terror, and liberated by the Revolution of the Thermidpr. Although the Marseillaise was the usual accompaniment of the numerous executions which tobk place during the terrible epoch of its composition, it is less sanguinary in its tone than the other Revolutionary songs. ,^l Come, children of your country, come, New glory dawns upon the world; Our tyrants, rushing to their doom, Their bloody standard have unfurled ; Already on our plains we hear The murmurs of a savage horde; They threaten with the murderous sword Your comrades and your children dear. Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; March on, — his craven blood must fertihze the land. Those banded serfs — what would they have, By tyrant kings together brought? REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 91 Whom are those fetters to enslave Which long ago their hands have wrought? You, Frenchmen, you they would enchain : Doth not the thought your bosoms fire? The ancient bondage they desire To force upon your necks again. Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; March on, — his craven blood must fertilize the land. Those marshalled foreigners — shall they "~j Make laws to reach the Frenchman's hearth?! Shall hireling troops who fight for pay j Strike down our warriors to the earth? J y^ God ! shall we bow beneath the weight / Of hands that slavish fetters wear? /"^"^ Shall ruthless despots once more dare / To be the masters of our fate? / Then up, and form your ranks, the hirelin^yfoe withstand; March on, — his craven blood must fertilij^'^ the land. I'hen tremble, tyrants, — traitors /Til, — Ye whom both friends and Coes despise ; On you shall retribution fall^' Your crimes shall gain y worthy prize. Each man opposes mightXo might ; And when our youthfufii heroes die. Our France can well /their place supply; We're soldiers all witlvyou to fight; Then up, and form your tfanks, the hireling foe withstand; March on, — his craven bltood must fertilize the land. Yet, generous wanrifors, still forbear To deal on all wour vengeful blows; The train of hapliess victims spare,— Against their ^v ill they are our foes. But oh ! those d espots stained with blood. Those traitors j leagued with base Bouille', Who make theMr native land their prey;— Death to the sa\i'age tiger-brood ! Then up, and form yWir ranks, the hireling foe mthstand; March on, — his cravei'i blood must fertilize the land. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. And when our glorious sires are dead, Their virtues we shall surely find When on the selfsame path we tread, And track the fame they leave behind. Less to survive them we desire Than to partake their noble grave; The proud ambition we shall have To live for vengeance or expire. Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; March on, — his craven blood must fertilize the land. /' Come, love of country, guide us now, Endow our vengeful arms with might, i, dearest Liberty, do thou Lid thy defenders in the fight. Untc^our flags let victory, by thy stirring accents, haste; And nh&y thy dying foes at last I Thy triumph and our glory see. , Then up, and fomn your ranks, the hireling foe withstand ; March on, — his cra^Kn blood must fertilize the land. >iUIGINAL. Allons, enfants de M. patrie, Le jour de gloire est \arrive ; Centre nous de la tyraanie L'etendard sanglant est ■ leve. (bis) Entendez-vous dans ces campagnes Mugir ces feroces soldats? lis viennent, jusque dans nos bras, Egorger vos fils, vos campagnes ! Aux armes ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons {pis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons. Que veut cette horde d'esclaves, De traitres, de rois conjures? Pour qui ces ignobles entra/es, Ces fers dfes longtemps prdoar^s? . . . (bis) REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 93 Frangais, pour nous, ah ! quel outrage. Quel transports il doit exciter ! C'est nous qu'on ose mediter De rendre k I'antique esclavage? Aux amies ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons (bis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons. Quoi ! ces cohortes e'trangferes Feraient la loi dans nos foyers? Quoi ! ces phalanges mercenaires Terrasseraient nos fiers guerriers ? {bis) Grand Dieu ! par des mains enchainees Nos fronts sons le joug se ploieraient ! De vils despotes deviendraient Les maitres de nos destinies ! Aux armes ! citoyens, • formez vos bataillons; Marchons (bis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons. Tremblez, tyrans, et vous perfides ! L'opprobre de tous les partis ! Tremblez ! vos projets parricides Vent enfin recevoir leur prix ! (bis) Tout est soldat pour vous combattre. S'ils tombent nos jeunes heros, La France en produit de nouveaux, Contre vous tout prets k se battre. Aux armes ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons (bis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons. Francais, en guerriers magnanimes, Portez ou retenez vos coups ; Epargnez ces tristes victimes A regret s'annant contre nous, (bis) Mais ces despotes sanguinaires, Mais les complices de Bouille, Tous ces tigres qui, sans pitid, Dechirent le sein de leur mfere ! ■ • • • Aux armes ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons (bis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons. 94 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Nous entrerons dans la carriere Quand nos ainds ne seront plus; Nous y trouverons leur vertus. (fiis) Bien moins jaloux de leur survivre Que de partager leur cercueil, Nous aurons la sublime orgueil De les venger ou de les suivre. Aux armes ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons (pis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons. Amour sacre de la patrie, Conduis, soutiens nos bras vengeurs ; Liberie, liberty cherie, Combats avec tes defenseurs ! {bis) Sous nos drapeaux que la victoire Accoure a tes males accens ! Que tes ennemis expirants Voient ton triomphe et notre gloire. Aux armes ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons {bis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons. ROLAND AT RONCEVALLES. (Roland a Roncevaux.) RouGET DE Lisle. Where do the hurrying people thrones? What is that noise which shakes the ground, Whose echoes earth and air prolong? Friends ! 't is of Mars the war-cry strong, Of coming strife the mutt'ring sound- Herald of war and deadly wrong. Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky. Behold the foemen's banners tower Our mountains and our plains above; REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 95 More numerous than the meadow-flower Gathers the evil nations' power Over the smiHng land we love, Like wolves all ready to devour. Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky. What forces have the foemen here? What numbers are there in the field ? — The man who holds his glory dear Could never breathe those words of fear, For perils, glorious vict'ry yield; Tis cowards ask ''What number's near?" Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky. Follow where'er my white plume leads-^ E'en as my flag — your guiding^ star — 'T will lead you on to gallant deeds ; Ye know the prize for him who speeds Where Roland treads the path of war. Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky. Proud Paladins! knights without fear; Thou, above all, brother-at-arms, Renaud, the flow'r of warriors— hear ! Try we who first the course will clear, And to the foe bear war's alarms, Breaking their wall of shield and spear. Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky. Courage, brave hearts, they 're conquered quite I Their blows more slowly, feebly fall, Their arms are weary of the fight; Courage ! they can't resist our might; Broken their mighty squadrons all. Their chiefs and soldiers sunk in night. 96 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky. What Saracen is this we see Who dares alone our hosts oppose, Checking the course of destiny? — 'T is Altamor ; — ay, it is he I met 'midst Idumean foes; Good fortune leads him now to me. Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky. Hear'st thou my bugle-call again, Defying thee to mortal strife? Proud Altamor, know'st thou its strain? By this right hand thou shalt be slain ; Or if thy lance should take my life, I '11 say my .death was not in vain : For my country I shall die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky. The vict'ry 's won ! — the day 's my own ! Oh, why, because my wound is deep, Do you, dear friends, my fate bemoan? The blood, in battle shed, alone ' A warrior as his robe would keep. And hold it valour's signet-stone. For my country I shall die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky. ORIGINAL. OiJ courent ces peuples dpars? Quel bruit a fait trembler la terre Et retentit de toutes parts? Amis, c'est le cri du dieu Mars, Le cri precurseur de la guerre, De la gloire et de ses hasards. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 97 Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie. Voyez-vous ces drapeaux flottants Couvrir les plaines, les montagnes, Plus nombreux que la fleur des champs? Voyez-vous ces fiers mdcre'ants Se repandre dans nos campagnes Pareils \ des loups d^vorants? Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie. Combien sont-ils? combien sont-ils? Quel homme ennemi de sa gloire Peut demander combien sont-ils? Eh ! demande ou sont les perils, C'est Ik qu'est aussi la victoire. Laches soldats, combien sont-ils? Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie. Suivez mon panache dclatant, Frangais, ainsi que ma bannifere; Qu'il soit le point de ralliement; Vous savez tous quel prix attend Le brave qui dans la carrifere Marche sur les pas de Roland. Mourons pour la patrie 1 C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie. Fiers paladins, preux chevaliers, Et toi surtout, mon frfere d'armes, Toi, Renaud, la fleur des guerriers, Voyons de nous qui les premiers, Dans leurs rangs portant les alarmes, Rompront ce mur de boucliers. Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie. 98 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Courage, enfants ! ils sont vaincus : Leurs coups deja se ralentissent, Leurs bras demeurent suspendus. Courage, ils ne re'sistent plus. Leurs bataillons se de'sunissent : Chefs et soldats sont eperdus. C'est MouTons pour la patrie! le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie. Quel est ce vaillant Sarrasin, Qui, seul, arretant notre armee, Balance encore le destin? C'est Altamor ! — c'est lui qu'en vain Je combattis dans I'ldumee, Mon bonheur me I'amfene enfin ! Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie, Entendstu le bruit de mon cor? Je te d^fie a toute outrance : M'enlends-tu, superbe Altamor? Mon bras te donnera la mort, Ou, si je tombe sous ta lance, Je m'tfcrierai, fier de mon sort: Je meurs pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le pius beau, le plus digne d'envie. Je suis vainqueur ! je suis vainqueur ! En voyant ma large blessure. Amis, pourquoi cette douleur? Le sang qui coule au champ d'honneur. Du vrai guerrier c'est la parure; C'est le garant de la valeur. Je meurs pour la patrie! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 99 «'9A IRA !" It is needless to say that this song was one of the most popular of the revolutionary period. It was also one of the earliest, being composed in 1789, on the Champ de Mars, while pre- parations were made for the Fete de la Pdderation. The time of its origm was a time of hope, for the crimes of the Revolution had not yet been committed, and hence, though a tone of flippant disrespect towards old institutions prevails throughout the song, it is totally free from any expression of ferocity. The original name of the tune to which the words were written is Le CarzUoji National, and it is a remarkable circumstance that it was a great favourite with the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, who used to play it on the harpsichord. _ It is hoped that the difficulty of rendering this song will be considered, before a judgment is passed on the English version. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, All will succeed, though malignants are strong; All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, Thus says the people by day and by night. Dismal will soon be our enemies' plight, While Jubilate we sing with delight. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right; Singing aloud a joyous song, We will shout with all our might ; All will go right, — will go right, — will go right; All will succeed, &c. What Boileau said once the clergy to spite. Proved him a truly prophetical wight. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, Taking the old Gospel-truth for their text — All will go right, — will go right, — will go right. Our legislators will work it out quite; Bringing the proud from their insolent height, Making " the lot of the lowly men bright ; Truth ev'ry soul shall illume with her light, Till superstition shall quickly take flight. Frenchmen ne'er will be perplexed Wholesome laws to keep in sight. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right. All will succeed, &c. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, Pierrot and Margot sing at the gtiingiiettc: 7—2 100 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, Good times approach, and rejoicings invite. Right was once only the nobleman's might ; As for the people, he screwed them down tight. All will go right, — will go right,— will go right; Now all the clergy are weeping for spite. For we have rescued the prey from the kite. The sagacious Lafayette Every wrong will put to flight : All will go right,— will go right,— will go rigKt, All will succeed, &c. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, While the Assembly sheds lustre so clear: All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, We'll stand on guard by the ray of their light. Falsehood no longer can dazzle our sight, For the' good cause we are ready to fight: All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, All the Aristos are bursting with spite, We of the people ate laughing outright. We their struggles do not fear. Right will triumph over might. All will go right,— will go right,— will go right, All will succeed, &c. All will go right,— will go right,— will go right. Little and great the same feelings inspire. — None will prove false in so glorious a fight; Views may be crooked, but words will have might. All will go right,— will go right,— will go right, "Hither who will," we hear Freedom invite; And to her call we reply with delight. Fearing neither sword nor fire, France will keep her glory bright. All will go right,— will go right, — will go right, All will succeed, &c. — REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. ioi ORIGINAL Ah ! 9a ira, 5a ira, ga ira, Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse repbtcj Ah ! ga ira, 9a ira, 9a ira, Malgre les mutins, tout leussira. Nos ennemis confus en restent M, Et nous allons chanter alleluia. Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira. En chanta-nt une chansonnette, Avec plaisir on dira : Ah ! 9a ira, ga ira, ga ira, Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse repete : Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Malgre les mutins, tout reussira. Quand Boileau, jadis, du clerge parla, Comme un prophe'te il predit cela. Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Suivant les maximes de I'Evangile ; Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Du legislateur tout s'accomplira ; Celui qui s'eleve, on I'abaissera; Et qui s'abaisse, on I'elevera. Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse repete, Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Malgre les mutins, tout^reussira. Le vrai catechisme nous instruira Et I'afFreux fanatisme s'eteindra; Pour etre a la Ioi docile, Tout Frangais s'exercera. Ah! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse r^pfete: Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Malgr^ les mutins, tout reussira. Ah ! ga ifa, ga ira, ga ira ; Pierrot et Margot chantent k la guinguette, 102 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Ah ! ga ira, 5a ira, 5a ira. Rejouissons-nous, le bon temps reviendra. Le peuple Frangais jadis \ quia. L'aristocrate dit : Mea culpa. Ah ! ga ira, 5a ira, 5a ira, Le clerge regrette le bien qu'il a, Par justice la nation I'aura; Par le prudent Lafayette, Tout trouble s'apaisera. Ah ! 5a ii'a, 5a ira, 5a ira, &c. Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira. Par les flambeaux de I'auguste assemblee, Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira, Le peuple arme toujours se gardera. Le vrai d'avec le faux I'on connaitra, Le citoyen pour le bien soutiendra. Ah ! 9a ira, ga ira, ga ira, Quand l'aristocrate protestera, Le bon citoyen au nez lui rira; Sans avoir I'ame trouble, Toujours le plus fort sera. Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Malgre les mutins, tout reussira. Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Petits comme grands sont soldats dans I'ame. Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Pendant la guerre, aucun ne trahira. Avec coeur tout bon Frangais combattra; S'il voit du louche, hardiment parlera. Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira. La liberte' dit : Vienne qui voudra, Le patriotisme lui repondra, Sans craindre ni feu ni flammes, Le Frangais toujours vaincra I Ah I ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse re'pete; Ah ! ga ira, ga ira, ga ira, Malgrd les mutins, tout riussira. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 103 THE SENTINEL. (La Smimelk.) Ekault. Born 17S2, died 1829. The orb of night its peaceful splendour shed In silvery light upon the tents of France, And near the camp a handsome soldier lad Thus sang, — leaning upon his trusty lance : " Go, swiftly fly, thou joyous breeze, Bear my song to my native land; Say that for glory and for love I keep watch on a foreign strand." When on the night the foeman's watch-fires gleam, The sentinel his guard in silence keeps. But sings — resting upon his trusty lance — To shorten night, when the camp saftly sleeps : "Go, swiftly fly, thou joyous breeze, Bear my song to my native land ; Say that for glory and for love I keep watch on a foreign strand." "The orb of day brings back the hour of strife, When we must show the valour of brave France ; In victory perhaps to find our death. But if I fall beside my trusty lance, Still go, still go, thou gentle breeze. To my native land swiftly fly; And say for glory and for love I have given my parting sigh." ORIGINAL. L'astre des nuits, de son paisible eclat Langait les feux sur les tentes de France, Non loin du camp, un jeune et beau soldat Ainsi chantait, appuye sur sa lance : Allez, volez, zephyr joyeux, Portez mes chants vers ma patrie, Dites que je veille en ces lieux {bis) Pour la gloire et pour mon amie. 104 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. A la lueur des feux des ennemis, La sentinelle est placee en silence : Mais le Frangais, pour abreger les nuits, Chante, appuye sur le fer de sa lance : Allez, volez, zephyr joyeux, Portez mes chants vers ma patrie, Dites que je veille en ces lieux (bis) Pour la gloire et pour mon amie. L'astre du jour rambne les combats, Demain 11 faut signaler sa vaillance. Dans la victoire on trouve le trepas; Mais si je meurs k cotd de ma lance, Allez encor, joyeux ze'phyr, Allez, volez vers ma patrie. Dire que mon dernier soupir {bis) Fut pour la gloire et mon amie. THE SAFETY OF FRANCE. (La Salut de la France.) Adolphe S. Boy. This song has the honour of being one of the earliest of the revolutionary period. The word Empire ' contrasts ludicrously enough with the date of the production, 1791 ; but it has been sagaciously observed, that the seeming anachronism has merely arisen from the necessity of finding a rhyme to "conspire ;" so that "Empire" must be taken to mean state in general. Though there is nothing in the words, this song was not only one of the earliest, but also one of the most popular of the revolutionary epoch ; and the music, by Dalayrac, which was ap- . propnated to it, though originally composed for an amatory ballad, entitled Vous qui d Amoureiise etveniure, became a favourite military march. / H, guard the Empire, slumber not, Let freedom be our sole desire ; Though despots may against us plot, Against their thrones can we con- spire. Fair Liberty ! may all pay homage unto thee : Tremble, ye tyrants, now the venge- ful day is near. "Deatli, rather death than slavery," This is the motto Frenchmen bear, REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 105 Let all combine our France to save, For France alone the world sustains ; If once our country they enslave, All nations will be cast in chains. , Fair Liberty! may all pay homage unto thee: Tremble, ye tyrants, now the vengeful day is near. " Death, rather death than slavery," This is the motto Frenchmen bear. Thou, whom the love of freedom warms. Come from the south of Europe, comej Our brother thou shalt be in arms. Though tyranny pollutes thy home. Fair Liberty ! may all assemble at thy name : Death to our tyrants, now thy vengeful day is near. All countries we would call the same, All French, who hold their freedom dear. With ev'ry people, near and far, We own eternal brotherhood; Against all kings unceasing war. Till tyranny is drowned in blood. Fair Liberty ! may all assemble at thy name : Death to our tyrants, — now the vengeful day is near. France views all nations as the same To whom their liberty is dear. ORIGINAL. Veillons au salut de I'Empire, Veillons au maintien de nos droits ! Si le despotisme conspire, Conspirons la perte des rois ! Liberty {bis) que tout mortel te rende homrnage. Tremblez, tyrans, vous allez expier vos forfaits ! Pliitot la mort que I'esclavage ! C'est la devise des Frangais. Du salut de notre patrie Depend celui de Tunivers; io6 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Si jamais elle est asservie, Tous les peuples sont dans les fers. Liberie {bis) que tout mortal te rende hommage. Tremblez, tyrans, vous allez expier vos forfaits ! Plutot la mort ' que I'esclavage ! C'est la devise des Frangais. Ennemis de la tyrannie, Paraissez tous, armez vos bras, Du fond de I'Europe avilie Marchez avec nous aux combats. Liberte' {bis) que ce nom sacrd nous rallie ; Poursuivons les tyrans, punissons leurs forfaits ! Nous servons la meme patrie : Les hommes libres sont Frangais. Jurons union eternelle Avec tous les peuples divers ; Jurons une guerre mortelle A tous les rois de I'univers. Liberte {bis) que ce nom sacre nous rallie. Poursuivons les tyrans, punissons leurs forfaits I On ne voit plus qu'une patrie Quand on a Tame d'un Frangais. K-,f^\ REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. LA CARMAGNOLE. We should not have Inserted this detestable insult offered by a licentious mob to fallen greatness, if it were less often mentioned in connection with the events of the Revolution. It was composed in August, 1792, on the occasion of the incarceration of the royal family in the Temple, and became the usual accompaniment of massacres and orgies. Carmagnole is a fortified town in Piedmont, and it is not impossible that the air, and the dance which belongs to it, were brought from that country. ■ As an instance of the length to which sanguinary jesting was carried on in the terrible days of the Revolution, we may here opportunely quote a stanza from a song composed about two years alter the Carynagnole : " La guillotine est un bijou Qui devient des plus a la mode, J'en veux une en bois d'acajou Que je mettrai sur ma commode. Je I'essaierai soir et matin , Pour ne pas paraitre novice, Si par malheur le lendemain A mon tour j'etais de service. Great Madame Veto^ swore one day The folks of Paris she would slay: * The nickname of Monsieur Veto was popularly given to LouIb XVI. on account of his refusal to sanction the decree against the non-juring priests. ^"5o8 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Our cannoniers so stout, Soon put my lady out. We'll dance the Carmagnole: Brothers, rejoice, — brothers, rejoice. We'll dance the Carmagnole; Hail to the cannon's voice. Great Monsieur Veto swore one day His country he would ne'er betray; His promise he forgot, So he shall go to pot. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. The people, Marie Antoinette Thought on their nether ends to set; She made a sad mistake, And chanced her nose to break. We '11 dance the Carmagnole, &c. Her husband thought he was in luck, — He had not learned a Frenchman's pluck; So, lusty Louis, so, You '11 to the Temple go. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. The Swiss, too, had a great desire ■ Upon our brotherhood to fire; But by the men of France They soon were taught to dance. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. When Madame saw the tower, no doubt, She gladly would have faced about ; It turned her stomach proud To find herself so cowed. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. When Louis, who was once so big, Before him saw the workmen dig. He said,— how hard his case To be in such a place. We '11 dance the Carmagnole, &c. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 109 All honest folks throughout the land Will by the patriot surely stand, As brethren firmly bound, While loud the cannons sound. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. All royalists throughout the land Will by the base Aristos stand ; And they'll keep up the war, Like cowards as they are. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. The gens-d'armes swear they'll firmly stand As guardians of their native land; They heard the cannons sound. And backward were not found. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. Come, friends, united we will be, Then we shall fear no enemy ; If any foes attack, We '11 gaily beat them back. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. A gallant sansculotte, am I, The friends of Louis I defy; Long live the Marseillois, The Bretons and the laws. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. The Faubourgs' valiant satisculotte, — Oh, never be his name forgot; But jovially fill up To him the other cup. We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c. ORIGINAL. Madame Veto avait promis {bis) De faire ^gorger tout Paris; {bis) no REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Mais son coup a manqu€, Grace k nos cannoniers. Dansons la Carmagnole, Vive la son ! viva le son .' Dansons la Carmagnole, Vive le son du canon ! Monsieur Veto avait promis {bis) D'etre fidfele &, sa patrie ; (pis) Mais il y a manqud, Ne faisons plus cartid Dansons la Carmagnole, &c. Antoinette avait re'solu (bis) De nous faire tomber sur * * * (bis) Mais son coup a manqu^, Elle a le nez cassd. Dansons la Carmagnole, &c. Son mari, se croyant vainqueur, (bis) Connaissait peu notre valeur. (bis) Va, Louis, gros paour, Du temple dans la tour. Dansons la Carmagnole, &c. Les Suisses avaient tous promis (Ms) Qu'ils feraient feu sur nos amis; (bis) Mais comme ils ont saute', Comme ils ont tous danse ! Chantons notre victoire, &c. Quand Antoinette vit la tour, (bis) Elle voulut fair' demi-tour; (bis) Elle avait mal au cceur De se voir sans honneur. Dansons la Carmagnole, &c. Lorsque Louis vit fossoyer, (bis) A ceux qu'il voyait travailler, (bis) II disait que pour peu II dtait dans ce lieu. Dansons la Carmagnole, &c. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. iii Le patriote a pour amis (bis) Tous les bonnes gens du pays ; {bis) Mais ils se soutiendront Tous au son du canon. Dansons la Carmagnole, Sfc, L'aristocrate a pour amis {bis) Tous les royalistes a Paris ; {his) II vous les soutiendront Tout coram' de vrais poltrons. Dansons la Carmagnole, &c, La gendarm'rie avait promis' {bis) Qu'elle soutiendrait la patrie; ibis) Mais ils n'ont pas manque Au son du cannonie. Dansons la Carmagnole, &c. Amis, restons toujours unis, {bis) Ne craignons pas nos ennemis ; {bis) S'ils viennent attaquer, Nous les ferons sauter, ' Dansons la Carmagnole, &c, Oui, je suis sansculotte, moi, {bis) En depit des amis du roi, {pis) Vivent les Marsellois, Les Bre'tons at nos lois. Dansons la Carmagnole, &c. Oui, nous nous souviendrons toujours {bis) Des sansculottes des faubourgs, {bis) A leur sante, buvons. Vivent ces bons luronsl Dansons la Carmagnole, Vive le son ! vive le son i Dansons la Carmagnole, Vive le son du canon ! 112 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. THE SONG OF DEPARTURE. (Le Chant du Depart.) M. J. CHtoiEB. Bom 1764, died i8ii. Marie Joseph de Ch^nier was born in 1764, at Constantinople, where his father, a man of considerable literary celebrity, was Consul-General. He came at an early age to Paris, and produced several tragedies, which owed their success, in a great measure, to the pains which the author took to suit the revolutionary taste of the people. He was also one of the most celebrated writers of patriotic songs. In his latter days he devoted himself to the more sober employment of writing a history of French literature, and died in i8ii. After the Marseillaise hymn the Chant dii Depart was the most celebrated song of the French Revolution. It was written to be sung at a public festival, held on the nth of June, 1794, to celebrate the anniversary of the taking of the Bastile. The music, which is by Mdhul, was composed, it is said, on the spur of the moment, amid the noise and bustle of a crowded saloon. ICTORY, hymning loud, our path- way makes, While freedom guides our steps aright ; From north to south the mar- tial trumpet wakes To sound the moment for the fight. Tremble, ye enemies of France, Kings, who with blood have slaked your thirst ! The sovereign people see ad- vance To hurl ye to .your grave accursed. Come, brethren, the Republic calls; For her our hearts and lives we give; For her a Frenchman gladly falls. For her alone he seeks to live. A MOTHER. See, from your mother's eyes no tear-drops flow,.. Far from our hearts we banish fears; We triumph when in freedom's cause ye go, — Only for tyrants' eyes are tears. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 113 Warriors, we gave you life, 'tis true, But yours no more the gift can be; Your lives are now your country's due. She is your mother more than we. Come, brethren, the Republic calls, &c. TWO OLD MEN. The old paternal sword becomes the brave, Remember us 'mid battle's rage ; And let the blood of tyrant and of slave Honour the weapon blessed by age. Then to our humble cottage come, With wounds and glory as your prize : When tyrants have received their doom, Then, children, come to close our eyes. Come, brethren, the Republic calls, &c. A CHILD. We envy Viala's and Barra's lot ; Victors were they, though doomed to bleed : Weighed down by years, the coward liveth not; Who dies for freedom, lives indeed. With you we would all dangers brave, Lead us against our tyrants, then; None is a child except the slave. While all republicans are men. Come, brethren, the Republic calls, &c. A WIFE. Husbands, rejoicing, seek the plain of death, As patterns for all warriors shine ; Flowers will we pluck to make the victor's wreath, Our hands the laurel crown will twine. When, your blest manes to receive. Fame shall her portals open fling; Still in our songs your names shall live. From us shall your avengers spring. Come, brethren, the Republic calls, &c. 114 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. A YOUNG GIRL. We, who know nought of Hymen's gentle fire, But sisters of your heroes are, We bid you, citizens, if you desire With us our destiny to share, Radiant with liberty to come, And glory purchased with your blood, The joyful record bringing home Of universal brotherhood. Come, brethren, the Republic calls, &c. THREE WARRIORS. Here, before God, upon our swords we swear To all who crown this life with joy. To toothers, sisters, wives and children dear, The foul oppressor to destroy. Into the black abyss of night Hurled every guilty king shall be; France o'er the world shall spread the 'ight Of endless peace and liberty. Come, brethren, the Republic calls, &c. ORIGINAL. La victoire en chantant nous ouvre la barrike La liberty guide nos pas, Et du Nord au Midi la trompette guerri^re A sonnd I'heure des combats. Tremblez, ennemies de la France Rois ivres de sang et d'orgueil! Le peuple souverain s'avance: Tyrans, descendez au cercueil! 1 1 La r^publique nous appelle, Sachons va,incre ou sachons pdrir: Un Frangais doit vivre pour elle, Pour elle un Frahsais doit mourir! REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. iij UNE M^RE DE FAMILLE. De nos yeux maternels ne craignez pas les larmes; Loin de nous de laches douleurs ! Nous devons triompher quand vous prenez les armes C'est aux rois h. verser des pleurs ! Nous vous avons donne la vie, Guerriers ! elle n'est plus ^ vous ; Tous vos jours sont k la patrie : Elle est votre mfere avant nous ! La r^publique nous appelle, &c. DEUX VIELLARDS. Que le fer paternel arme la niain des braves ! Songez ^ nous, au champ de Mars ; Consacrez dans le sang des rois et des esclaves Le fer beni par vos vieillards ; Et rapportant sous la chaumiere Des blessures et des vertus, Venez fermer notre paupifere Quand les tyrans ne seront plus ! La republique nous appelle, &C. UN ENFANT. De Barra, de Viala, sort nous fait envie: lis sont morts, mais ils ont vaincu. Le lache accable d'ans n'a point connu la vie] Qui meurt pour le peuple a vdcu. Vous etes vaiUants, nous le sommes: Guidez-nous contre les tyrans; Les republicains sont des hommes, Les esclaves sont des enfants ! La republique nous appelle, &c, UN EPOUSE. Partez, vaiUants dpoux: les combats sont vos fetes; Partez, modeles des guerriers. Nous cueillerons des fleurs pour enceindre vos tetes. Nos mains tresseront des lauriers ; 8—2 ii6 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS Et, si le temple de m^moire S'ouvrait k vos manes vainqueurs, Nos voix chanteront votre gloire, Et nos flancs porterorit vos vengeurs La rdpublique nous appelle, &c. UNE JEUNE FILLE. Et nous, sceurs des heros, nous qui de I'hymen^e Ignorons les aimables noeuds, Si pour s'unir un jour a notre destines, Les citoyens forment des vceux, Qu'ils reviennent dans nos murailles, Beaux de gloire et de liberte Et que leur sang, dans les battailles, Ait coul6 pour I'egalite. La r^publique nous appelle, &c. TROIS GUERRiERS. Sur le fer, devant Dieu, nous jurons k nos pereg, A nos epouses, a nos soeurs, A nos representants, k nos fils, k nos meres ; D'andantir les oppresseurs : En tous lieux, dans la nuit profonde, Plongeant Finfame royaute, Les Frangais donneront au monde Et la paix et la liberte ! La republique nous appelle, &c. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 117 LE VENGEUR. There were few events during the period of the French Revolution which had a greater effect in kindlingthe enthusiasm of the people, or in inspiring the lyric poets of the period, than the self-sacrifice of the crew of the VeitgcJtr. On the ist June, 1794, well known in English naval history as the " Glorious ist of June," Lord Howe, it is unnecessary to say, who commanded the Channel fleet, gained a decisive victory over the French. Six of the French ships were taken, but Le Vengeur, although reduced to a mere hulk, refused to sur- render, in spite of numerous solicitations ; and, discharging a last broadside at the English, sank in the waves while the crew shouted " Vive la R^publique." The National Convention, who received intelligence of this event on the 9th June, ordered that a model of Le Veiigeitr should be suspended in the vault bf the Pantheon, and that the names of the crew should be inscribed on a column. At the same time a medal was struck, with the inscription " Le triomphe du Vengeur." The song, of which the following is a version, is by no means remarkable for poetical merit ; but it is too characteristic of the period to be omitted. It appears in the collection of MM. Demersan and Segur, without an author's name. iiLENCE no longer should we keep, When she, who was our navy's pride, Has freely sunk into the deep, And England's cannonades defied. Muse, cast thy mourning-veil away, — Let new-plucked laurels deck thy brow. Our losses are our glories now, With exultation we can say. Gladly for freedom to expire. And never to her foes to yield ; Such was our country's high desire, And proudly has it been fulfilled. To Roman annals, as the fount Of grandest virtue, do not go ; One Decius only can they show, While ours by hundreds we can count. Our sailors with the blood of slaves The ocean have already dyed ; And now our vessels, o'er the waves, Laden with prizes gaily ride. The Vengeur, torn by many a wound, Close to the others cannot keepj Il8 REVOLUTIONARY ANV FATKWTIL SUJVU^. But far behind is forced to creep: The English squadron hems her round. "Yield, cursed patriots that ye be!" Thus the assassins loudly cry. " Yield to a despot's bloodhounds ! — we Republicans would rather die. No, no, we are prepared to teach That 'tis your office to retire." The foe would parley, but our firci Bursts forth and interrupts his speech. The English chiefs are maddened all, That such resistance we can make; And long upon their sailors call. Their thirst for dread revenge to slake. But yet, in spite of all their ire. Their lips confess the fatal truth, — "These French are made of flint, forsooth, And answer every touch with fire," The cannonade begins anew. The English masts are overthrown. And widely o'er the waters strown, — The foe it seems we shall subdue. No ; to their rage is food supplied. For ample powder still is left : The Vengeur is of all bereft, Except her glory and her pride. Nought guards us from the leopard's jaws, Our ammunition is run out; After a moment's anxious pause, Arises honour's parting shout. All, — dying,— wounded, — take their place Upon the deck, with hearts elate, No man of France will hesitate Between destmction and disgrace, REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Within each bosom valour dwells, Though every one his danger knows ; The shattered flag with anger swells, And the three-colour proudly shows. Now sparkles every eye again; A hero is each dying man, The notes of the expiring swan, They imitate in martial strain. Of hope it were in vain to think, But none their destiny deplore; The more they feel the vessel sink, Their valour seems to rise the more. Still the Republic fills their souls ; Amid the waves they shout her name, Which, wafted by a sea of flame. To Britain's court triumphant rolls. A golden branch, for ever young, — In ancient fable we are told, — Plucked by the gviilty, newly sprung. Still brighter glories to unfold. We '11 show the haughty British race The Frenchman can such honour boast,- That when one Vengeur we have lost. Another hastes to take her place. What is this vessel, that appears Impatient on the stocks to stay? Proud of the glorious name she bears, — Her heritage, — she darts away. No adverse lot our hearts can tame, Ye Britons, ye can plainly see; For, though the vessel new may be, The crew that mans her is the same. I20 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. SONG OF VICTORY. (Chant des Victoires.) J. M. Ch^nier. Spain from her towns in terror flees, — Spain the haughty, — the jealous,— proud, — While before us the heights are bowed Of her glorious Pyrenees. Her inquisitors must atone In Madrid, for their cruel past; Their victims' fate shall be their own. And Justice claim her due at last. Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings ! Great Brutus' ashes let us wake ! O Gracchi ! from the tomb arise ! Let Liberty, in Rome who sighs, From Alpine heights her flight down take ! Vanish, ye priests of evil fame ! Fly, pow'rless cohorts, ere too late : Camillus now is but a name, And the true Gauls are at your gate. Glory to France ! vengeance for -nTong she brings ! Live the Republic J perish all earth's kings! Perfidious England ! Ocean grand Does thy great power with groans confess; Thy sails the waters vast oppress. E'en as thy crimes oppress the land. Whilst our brave efforts break the might Thine old despotic trident wields, To us shall Plenty take her flight From young America's green fields. Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings ! Live the Repubhc ! perish all earth's kings ! Rise from old Ocean's deepest caves, O Vengeur's phantom ! smoking still, REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 121 And show how Frenchmens' iron will Conquered both English fire and waves. Whence come those shrill heartrending cries? What sound niagnanimous is this? The voices of the dead arise, Singing of conquest from the abyss. Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings ! Fleurus ! — fields worthy to be known, And kept in memory ! — a name Friendly to France's warlike fame, , And three times by her victories sown ! Fleurus ! from Tagus to the Rhine, From Var to Tiber be thou sung; For from thy blood-stained shore divine The liberty of Europe sprung. Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings 1 Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings ! Ostend, receive our hosts of war ! Haughty Namur, before us bow ! Ghent and Oudenard, yield ye now ! Charleroi and Mons, your gates unbar ! Brussels ! once more around thee falls The light of liberty divine ; Now, plaintive Li6ge, upon thy walls Receive the tricolor ensign ! Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings ! Kings leagued together ! — coward slaves ! Vile enemies of human kind ! Ye fly before the sword, we find; Ye fly where France's banner waves ! And watered by your guilty blood. Of which its vast roots long to drink. The oak of freedom, strong and good. Will rise, as you in ruin sink ! Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings ! 122 BEVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC -SONGS'. From busy city, flowery plain, The people's voices rise in song; The streams and seas the sound prolong, Re-echoing the mountains' strain, And all the thrilling words repeat, " Victory ! freedom ! native land ! " While Europe's songs with France's meet. And swell the strain on every strand. Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings ! Ed. ORIGINAL. Musique de M€hul. FuYANT las villes constemees L'Ibfere orgueilleux et jaloux A vu s'abaisser devant nous Les deux sommets des Pyrdndes. Ses tyrans, ses inquisiteurs, Dans Madrid vont payer leurs crimes. D'injustes sacrificateurs Deviendront de justes victimes. Gloire au peuple frangais, il sait venger ses droits, Vive la Republic, et p&issent les rois ! De Brutus dveillons la cendre. O Gracques ! sortez du cercueil : I,a libertd, dans Rome en deuil, Du haut des Alpes va descendre : Disparaissez, pretres impurs ; Fuyez, impuissantes cohortes, Camilla n'est plus dans vos murs, Et les Gaulois sent k vos portes. Gloire au peuple frangais, &c. Avare et perfida Anglaterre, La mer g^mit sous tes vaisseaux; Tes voiles pfesent sur les eaux, Tes forfaits pbsent sur la terre. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 123 Tandis que nos vaillants efforts Brisent ton trident despotique, Vois I'abondance vers nos ports Accourir des champs de I'Am^rique, Gloire au peuple frangais, &c. I^eve-toi, sors des mers profondes, Cadavre fumant du Vengetir: Toi qui vis le Frangais vainqueur Des Anglais, des feux et des ondes. D'oLi partent ces cris d^chirants ? Quelles sont ces voix magnanimes? Les voix des braves expirants Qui chantent du fond des abimes ; Gloire au peuple frangais, &c. Fleums, champs dignes de memoire. Monument d'un triple succfes ; Fleurus, champs amis des Frangais, Semes trois fois par la victoire ; Fleurus, que ton nom soit chantd Du Tage au Rhin, du Var au Tibre. Sur ton rivage ensanglant^ II est ecrit : I'Europe est libre. Gloire au peuple frangais, &c. Ostende, regois nos cohortes^ Namur, courbe-toi devant nous; Oudenarde et Gand, rendez-vous; Charleroi, Mens, ouvrez vos portes Bruxelles, devant tes regards La liberty va luire encore; Plaintive Liege, en tes remparts Regois le drapeau tricolore. Gloire au peuple frangais, &c. Rois conjures, laches esclaves, Vils ennemis du genre humain, Vous avez fui le glaive en main, Vouz avez fui devant nos braves; 124 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Et de votre sang detestd Abreuvant ses vastes racines, Le chene de la liberty S'dlfeve aux cieux sur vos mines. Gloire au peuple frangais, &c. Dans nos cit^s, dans nos campagneSj Du peuple on entend les concerts; L'dcho des fleuves et des mers Re'pond k I'dclio des montagnes. Tout re'pfete ces noms touclmnts : Victoire, Libert^ Patrie ! L'Europe se m^le k nos chants, Le genre humain se Ifeve et crie : Gloire au peuple frangais, il sait venger ses droits, Vive la Republique, et pdrissent les rois ! THE VARSOVIENNE.— POLISH WAR SONG. (La Varsovienne.) Casimir Delavigne. Born T793, died 1843. It dawns, the day of blood ! -and with its light See our deliverance, hour by hour, advance. Poland's white eagle soars in lofty flight. Its eyes fixed on the rainbow over France. Up to that July sun, whose lustre filled the skies. Cutting the air it soars, and as it rises, cries, " For Poland true and brave, Thy sun, O Liberty, or thy night, O Grave ! ' Poles ! d, la bdionnette,' Our battle-cry shall be. Let our drums re-echo it. ' A la baionnette ! Vive la liberty.' REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 125 " War .... To horse, ye Cossacks of the desert : " Sabre rebellious Poland," they have cried ; " The Balkans are no more ; the land is open, Across it at the gallop ye may ride." Halt ! not a step beyond I The real Balkans see In living Poles, whose land holds but the brave and free. Poland rejects the slave. And to her foemen only yields a grave. Poles ! a la baionette, &c. Poland, for thee thy sons mil combat now; Happier than when victorious they died. And mixed their ashes with the Memphian sands, Or saw before them fall the Kremlin's pride. From the Alps to Tabor, from Ebro to Black Sea, For twenty years they fell, on shores far, far from thee ; This time, O mother blest ! Dying for thee, they'll sleep upon thy breast. Poles ! a la baionnette, &c. Come, Kosciusko ! let thine arm strike home ! The enemy who talks of mercy, slay. What mercy did he show in that fell hour When Prague in blood beneath his sabre lay? His blood shall pay for those mthlessly slaughtered ! Our earth thirsts for it ; let her with it be watered ! And we with that red dew Will make our martyrs' laurels bloom anew. Poles ! k la baionnette, &c. On, warriors ! one gallant effort make. And win! — Our women scorn the foe, ye See. My country, show the giant of the North The marriage ring they sacrifice for thee. Of vict'ry's hfe-blood let it wear the purple stani, _ March on !— bear it triumphant o'er the battle-plain. And let it henceforth be Betrothal ring 'twixt Liberty and thee. Poles ! a la baionnette. &c. 126 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Frenchmen ! the balls of Jena's fatal plain Have stamped our services upon our breast; Marengo's sword has lasting furrows made, And Champ-Aubert has glorious scars impressed. To win or die. together was of yore our pride, Brothers-at-arms we fought at Paris side by side . . Will you give only tears? Brothers, we gave you blood in those past years. Poles ! k la baionnette, &c. Oh, you, at least, whose blood in exile shed Was poured like water on the battle-field. Victorious dead ! arise from ev'ry land, To bless our efforts and our country shield. Like you, victor or martyr may this people stay Beneath the giant's afm, barring in death his way, And in the vanguard fall, A rampart for the liberty of all. Poles ! k la baionette, &c. Sound, clarion ! into your ranks, O Poles ! Follow through fire your eagle's brave advance; Freedom herself beats on our drum the charge. And victory is resting on our lance. May conquest crown the glorious flag, that erst of yore Laurels of Austerlitz and palms of Edom bore, O Poland, whom we love ; Living we will be free ; who dies is free Above ; Poles ! \ la baionnette Our batde-cry shall be, Let our dnims re-echo it. A la baionnette ! Vive la Libert^. Ec. ORIGINAL, II s'est levd, voici le jour sanglant; Qu'il soit pour nous le jour de d^livrance. Dans son essor voyez notre aigle blanc Les yeux fix& sur I'arc-en-ciel de France. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 127 All soleil de juillet, dont I'dclat fut si beau, II a repris son vol, il fend les airs, il crie : " Povir ma noble patrie, Liberty, ton soleil, ou la nuit du tombeau !" Polonais, k la baionnette ! C'est le cri par nous adopts ; Qu'en roulant le tambour repbte: A la baionnette ! Vive la liberty ! Guerre ! .... A cheval, cosaques des deserts ! Sabrons, dit-il, la Pologne rebelle. Point de Balkans, ses champs nous sont ouvertsj C'est au galop qu'il faut passer sur elle. Halte J n'avancez pas ! ces Balkans sont nos corps, La terre 011 nous marchons ne porte que des braves, Rejette les esclaves. Et de ses ennemis ne garde que les morts. Polonais, k la baionnette ! &c. Pour toi, Pologne, ils combattront, tes fils. Plus fortunes qu'au temps ou la victoire Melait leur cendre aux sables de Memphis, Oil le Kremlin s'dcroula sous leur gloire. Des Alpes au Thabor, de I'Ebre au Pont-Euxin, lis sont tomb^s vingt ans sur la rive etrangfere ; Cette fois, 6 ma mere ! Ceux qui mourront pour toi dormiront sur ton sein ! Polonais, k la baionnette ! &c. Viens, Kosciusko, que ton bras frappe au cceur Get ennemi qui parle de cldmence. En avait-il quand son sabre vainqueur Noyait Praga dans un massacre immense? Tout son sang va payer le sang qu'il prodigua ; Cette terre en a soif, qu'elle en soit arroseej Faisons sous sa rosee Reverdir le laurier des martyrs de Praga 1 Polonais, k la baionnette ! &c. 128 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. AUons, guerriers, un genereux effort ! Nous les vaincrons ; nos femmes les defient. O mon pays ! montre au g^ant du Nord Le saint anneau qu'elles te sacrifient. Que par notre victoire il soit ensanglantdj Marche ! et fais triompher au milieu des batailles L'anneau des fiangailles Qui t'unit pour toujours avec la liberte, Polonais, k la baionnette ! &c. A nous, Frangais, les balles d'lena Sur notre sein ont inscrit nos services J A Marengo le fer le sillonna; De Champ-Aubert comptez les cicatrices. Vaincre ou mourir ensemble autrefois fut si doux ! Nous dtions sous Paris. . . Pour de vieux frferes d'armes. N'aurez-vous que des larmes? Frbres, c'dtait du sang que nous versions pour vous. Polonais, k la baionnette ! &c. vous du moins dont le sang glorieux S'est dans I'exil r^pandu comme I'onde, Pour nous benir, manes victorieux, Relevez-vous de tous les points du monde ! Qu'il soit vainqueur, ce peuple, ou martyr comme vous. Sous l,es bras du g^ant, qu'en mourant il retarde, Qu'il tombe k I'avant-garde Pour couvrir de son corps la liberty de tous '! Polonais, a la baionnette ! &c. So^mez, clairons ! Polonais, a tqn rang ! Suis sous le feu ton aigle qui s'elance. La liberte bat la charge en courant, Et la victoire est au bout de la lance. Victoire k I'etendard que I'exil ombragea Des lauriers d'Austerlitz, des palmes d'Idumee ! Pologne bien-aimde. Qui vivra sera libre, et qui raeurt Test deja ! REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 129 THE WHITE COCKADE. (La Cocarde Blanche.) B^RANGER. This is one of the many songs in which Berangei- expresses his indignation at the entrance of the Allies into Paris. It is dated March, iSi6, and the poet satirically remarks that it is to be sung at a dinner given by the Royalists to celebrate that event. Great day of peace and happiness, By which the vanquished free are made ; Great day that dawned our France to bless With honour and the white cockade ! The theme for ladies' ears is meet, — Sing the success of monarchs brave ; How rebel Frenchmen they could beat, And all the pious Frenchmen save. Great day of, &c. Sing how the foreign hordes could pour Into our land, and how with ease They opened every yielding door, — When we had given up the keys. Great day of, &c. Had it not been for this blessed day. What dire misfortunes now might lour ! The tricolor might, — who can say? — Float over London's ancient tower. Great day of, &c. Our future hist'ry will record How to the Cossacks of the Don, Kneeling, we pardon once implored For Frenchmen slain and glory gone. Great day of, &c. Then to the foreigners drink we, At this most national repast, Who brought back our nobility. After so many dangers past. Great day of, &c. 130 REVOLUTIONARY AND PA TRIO 'TIC SONGS. Another toast, and then we've done, — A cup to Henry's name is due, Who took, by his own arm alone, The throne of France and Paris too. Great day of, &c. LOW-BORN. (Le Vilain.) B^RANGER. This deeply pathetic song, intended to set forth the miseries of the rural poor, belongs to a somewhat late period of the life of E^ranger. FIND they're taking me to task For writing "de" before my name: "Are you of noble Hne?" they ask. No — Heaven be lauded for the same.: No patent signed by royal hand On stately vellum can I show, I only love my native land, — Oh, I am low-born — very low. No "de" my ancestors could give. Their story in my blood I trace. Beneath a tyrant forced to live ; They cursed the despot of their race. But he for privilege was born. And soon, alas ! he let them know. He was the millstone, — they the com: Oh, I am low-born — very low. Ne'er did my fathers, I can say, Live on their peasants' sweat and blood. Or seek the trav'ller to waylay. While toiling through the darksome wood. Not one his native village spumed. Or by some wizard at a blow Was to a royal lackey turned : Oh, I am low-bom — very low. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 131 My brave forefathers never thought To take a part in civil broils ; And ne'er the English leopard brought To feed upon their country's spoils ; And when the Church, through base intrigue, Brought all to ruin, sure though slow. Not one of them would sign the league : Oh, I am low-born — -very low. Seek not my humour to control, I grasp the banner which you spurn ; Ye nobles of the buttonhole, To rising suns your incense burn. A common race is dear to me ; Though gay, I feel my neighbours' woej I only flatter poverty ; Oh, I am low-born — very low, JACQUES. BSranger. Jacques, wake from slumber if you can, For here's an usher tall and stout Who through the village sniffs about ; He 's coming for your tax, poor man. . So out of bed, Jacques, quickly spring, Here comes the usher of the king. The sun is up, — why thus delay ? You never were so hard to waken. Old Remi's furniture they've taken For sale, before the break of day. So out of bed, &c. Without a sou ! oh, wretched fate ! Those dogs would seize your very soul. Just ask a month to pay the whole. Perhaps the king will kindly wait. So out of bed, &c. 9—2 132 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. By these hard taxes, poor as rats, Unhappy wretches we are made : My distaff only and your spade, Keep us, our father, and our brats. So out of bed, &c. Our land with this small hovel 'makes A quarter acre, they are sure ; The poor man's tears are its manure, And usury the harvest takes. So out of bed, &c. Our work is hard, our gain is small ; We ne'er shall taste a pig, I fear, For food has grown so very dear, With everything, the salt and all. So out of bed, &c. A draught of wine new heart might bring; But then the wine is taxed as well ; Still never mind, love, go and sell To buy a cup, my wedding-ring. So out of bed, &c. Dream you of wealth, of some good change, That fate, at last, its grip relaxes? What to the wealthy are the taxes? Mere mice that nibble in the grange. So out of bed, &c. He comes ! O Heavens ! what must I fear ? Your cheek is pale, no word you say ; You spoke of suff'ring yesterday. You, who so much in silence bear. So out of bed, &c. She calls in vain, — extinct is life ; For those whom labour has worn out, An easy end is death, no doubt : Pray, all good people, for his wife. Thou, out of bed, &c. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 133 CHARLES VII. B^RANGER. All Beranger's more serious songs have a practical object. Ciiarles VII, and his mistress Agnes Sorel are merely revived to arouse the national spirit of the Frencli against foreigners. Y Agnes bids, — I seek the fight, Adieu to pleasure's bed of down ; God, heroes, love, — all, all unite, And aid me to avenge my crown. Ye English, tremble at the name Of her I always shall adore ; Through her I lost all wish for fame, Through her to honour wake once Of all nobility bereft, A Frenchman and a king T lay Enchanted, and my land I left To English swords an easy prey. One word .she spake, — and, lo ! with shame My burning clieek was mantled o'er. Through her I lost all wish for fame, Through her to honour wake once more. If for rny France my blood must flow, Each 'life-drop I will gladly spill; But, Agnes, 'tis not ordered so, — Thy Charles will live, and conquer still. Wearing her colours and her name. To certain victory I soar; Through her I lost all wish for fame, Through her to honour wake once more. Saintrailles, Tr^mouille, Dunois the brave, — ■ Oh, that will be a glorious day, When from the battle-field I have New wreaths, my mistress to array. 134 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Ye Frenchmen, long revere the name Of her who could your land restore ; Through her I lost all wish for fame, Through her to honour wake once more. THE AWAKENING OF THE PEOPLE. (Le Reveil du Penple.) J. M. SouKlGufeRES. Eorn 1770, died 1837. This sanguinary piece of bombast, which represents the worst feelings of the Revolution, Was prohibited by order of the Directory in 1795, which ordered the performance of Le Marscil- . laise, Veillons cm salzct dc C Empire, Ca ira, and the C/taiit dii Depart. The pagan allusions with which the song is filled give it an unpopular appearance ; but it must be remembered that during the fever of the Revolution, an affectation of the antique style had become almost a second nature. ION of brethren, Frenchmen brave ! Feel you no horror at the sight, When treason dares her flag to wave. Awaking carnage and affright? What ! shall a sanguinary band Of robbers and assassins dare To trample on your native land, And with their breath pollute the air? What guilty torpor binds you fast? Wake, sovereign people, quick awake ! To hellish fiends the wretches cast, Who long with blood their thirst to slake ! War to the death ! should be your cry — War to all partners in their guilt : If you could gnly hate as I, The blood of all were quickly spilt. f Yea, let them perish — do not spare Those monsters who would flesh devour, Who in their craven bosoms bear The worship of a tyrant's power. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 135 Manes of innocence, who wail For retribution in your tombs, Rest, rest ! your murderers now grow pale, — At last the day of vengeance comes. Mark how their limbs with terror shake ; — They dare not fly, — too well they know Escape is vain, — each path they take The blood they vomit forth will show. Ye shades ! upon your tombs we swear, By the misfortunes of our land, That we a hecatomb will rear. Of that foul man-devouring band. Ye legislators, good and just. Chosen to guard the people's right, Who, with your countenance august. Our enemies with fear can smite, Follow your glorious path ! — each name Dear to humanity will be. And, wafted to the Hall of Fame, Will dwell with Immortality ! ORIGINAL. Peuple Frangais, peuple de frferes ! Peux-tu voir, sans fremir d'horreur, Le crime arborer les banniferes Du carnage et de la terreur. Tu souffres qu'une horde atroce Et d'assassins et de brigands, Souille de son souffle feroce, Le territoire des vivants ! Quelle est cette lenteur barbare? Hate-toi, peuple souverain, De rendre aux monstres de Tdnare Tous ces buveurs du sang humain ! 136 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Guerre k tons les agents du crime ! Poursuivons-les jusqu'au tr^pas; Partage I'horreur qui m'anime ; lis ne nous fchapperont pas ! Ah! qu'il perissent ces infames Et ces egorgeurs d^vorants Qui portent au fond de leurs imes, Le crime et I'amour des tyrans. Manes plaintifs de I'innocence, Apaisez-vous dans vos tombeaux : Le jour tardif de la vengeance Fait enfin palir vos bourreaux ! Voyez deja comme ils fremissent! lis n'osent fuir, les sceldrats ! Les traces du sang qu'ils vomissent Bientot ddcfleraient leurs pas. Oui, nous jurons sur votre tombe, Par notre pays malheureux, De ne faire qu'une hecatombe De ces cannibales affreux. Representants d'un peuple juste, O, vous legislateurs humains ! De qui la contenance auguste Fait trembler nos vils assassiiis, Suivez le cours de votre gloire; Vos noms, chers k I'humanite, Volent au temple de m^moire, Au sein de rimmortalite. REVOLUTIONARY AND PAJRIOTIC SONGS. \2,1 A FOREIGN FOE WE FRENCHMEN HATE. {La France a r/wrreiir du servage.) Casimir and Germain Delavigxk. This sohg^ occurs in CJiarlcs VI., an opera by Halevy, produced in 1843. The opera, we believe, attained no permanent reputation, but the song is inserted here on account of the great excitement which it caused during the agitation of the Syrian question. FOREIGN yoke \Ve Frenchmen hate ; ^ However great the danger be, V We feel our courage still more great, )- Our land from foreign foes to free. Cjj- ^^■e see bright freedom's day advance : •^ The lips of thousands join the strain : War, — war to tyrants ! in our France The haughty English ne'er shall reign. ^^'ar,- France, cast aside thy lethargy : They think thee dead, — from sleep arise. A day can see an army die. But, oh ! a people never dies. Frenchmen, with Freedom's cry advance, Vict'ry will echo back the strain : -war to tyrants ! in our France The haughty English ne'er shall reign. Though England now may lift her head, English our France shall ne'er be made; Though Britons o'er our soil are spread, O'er them our soil will soon be laid. So quick with Freedom's songs advance, Vict'ry will echo back the strain; War, — war to tyrants ! in our France The haughty English ne'er shall reign. ORIGINAL. La France a I'horreur du servage, Et si grand qui soit le danger, 138 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Plus grand encore est son courage Quand il faut chasser I'etranger. Quand il faut chasser, chasser I'etranger. Vienne le Jour de d^livrance, Des cceurs ce vieux cri sortira : {pis^ Guerre aux tyrans ! jamais, jamais en France, {bis) Jamais 1' Anglais ne rdgnera. (pis) Non, non, non, jamais, non. Jamais, en France, Jamais I'Anglais ne r^gnera, Non! Reveille-toi, France opprimee ! On te crut morte — et tu dormais. Un jour voit mourir une armee, Mais un peuple ne meurt jamais, (pis) Jette le cri de d^livrance Et la victoire y rdpondira : Guerre aux tyrans, &c. En France jamais I'Angleterre N'aura vaincu pour conqu^rir; Les soldats y couvrent la terre, La terre doit les y couvrir. (pis) Jetons le cri de delivrance Et la victoire y r^pondra : Guerre aux tyrans ! jamais, jamais en France, (pis) Jamais I'Anglais ne r^gnera, {bis) Non, non, non, jamais, non ! Jamais en France, Jamais I'Anglais ne rdgnera, Non! REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 139 THE MARQUIS DE CARABAS. This song, which is dated 1816, is one of the many in \vhich B^ranger satirized the attempts of the old nobility to assume their former position after the Restoration, ON proud old Marquis see, A conquered race he thinks are we, His steed has brought him home, Once more aiiiongst us has he come. To his old chateau, Only see him go ; How the noble lord Wears his bloodless sword ! Chapeau has ! Chapeau has ! Hail to the Marquis of Carabas 1 ' Hear me, ye vassals all, Castellans, villeins, great and small ; Through me, through me alone. The king was set upon his throne. If he should neglect All the deep respect Which I claim, to pay, Then the deuce I'll play. Chapeau has ! chapeau has ! Hail to the Marquis of Carabas 1 "Though, to calumniate My name, they of a miller prate j My lineage I trace To one of Littie Pepin's racej By my arms I know There is none can show Such a pedigree, — Not his Majesty. ^ !! 140 kEFOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Chapeau has ! chapeau bas ! Hail to the Marquis of Carabas ! " Who can resist me, pray ? My lady has the tabouret* My younger son is sure, At court, a mitre to procure; Then my noble heir. Who a cross would ■ wear. Three at least shall have, Though not over-brave. Chapeau bas! chapeau bas! ' Hail to the Marquis of Carabas ! " In peace I mean to live. Let none a hint of taxes give ; A gentleman, we know, Can nothing to his country owe. Snug in my castle, I Shall all the world defy; The prefect soon will find That I can speak my mind. Chapeau bas! chapeau bas! Hail to the Marquis of Carabas ! "Your battle, priests, we fought, And so in equity we ought Your tithes with you to share : The burden let the people bear. To us belongs the chase, The vile plebeian race For nothing else is fit But simply to submit.t Chapeau bas! chapeau bas! Hail to the Marquis of Carabas ! "Your duty do, cure. To me with incense homage pay; * The right of sitting in the presence of the queen t The vagueness of the translation hero need not be explained. REVOLUTIONARY AND RATRIOTIC SONGS. 141 Ye lackeys, do your best, } And see the rabbles' jackets dressed. My great forefathers gave The privilege I have, And e'en my latest heirs Shall boast that it is theirs. Chapeaii has! chapeau has! Hail to the Marquis of Carabas ! " ORIGINAL. VoYEZ ce vieux marquis Nous trailer en peuple conquis ; Son coursier d(^charne De loin chez nous Fa ramene. Vers son vieux castel Ce noble mortel Marche en brandissant Un sabre innocent. Chapeau bas ! Chapeau bas ! Gloire au Marquis de Carabas ! Aumoniers, chatelains, Vassaux, vavassaux, et vilains, Cast moi, dit-il, c'est moi. Qui seul ai retabli mon roi. Mais s'il ne me rend Les droits de mon rang, Avec moi, corbleu ! II verra beau jeu. Chapeau bas, &c. • /A , Pour me calomnier, Bien qu'on ait parl^ d'un meunier. Ma famille eut pour chef Un des fils de Pdpin-le-Bref D'apres mon blason Je crois ma maison Plus noble, ma foi, Que celle du roi. Chapeau bas, &c. 142 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC- SONGS. r-.>>\. Qui me r^sisterait? La marquise a le tabouret, Pour etre eveque un jour Mon dernier fils suivra la cour. Mon fils le baron Quoiqu'un peu poltron, Veut avoir des croix, II en aura trois ; Chapeau bas, &c. Vivons done en repos, Mais Ton m'ose parler d'impots ! A I'etat, pour son bien, Un gentilhomme ne doit rien. Grace a mes crenaux, A mes arsenaux, Je puis au pr^fet Dire un peu son fait. Chapeau bas, &c. Pretres que nous vengeons, Levez la dime et partageons ; Et toi, peuple animal, Porte encor le bat fdodal. Seul nous chasserons, Et tous vos tendrons Subiront I'honneur Du droit du seigneur. Chapeau bas, &c. Cure, fais ton devoir, Remplis pour moi ton encensoir; Vous, pages et varlets. Guerre aux vilains, et rossez-les ! Que de mes aieux Ces droits glorieux Passent tout entiers A mes h&itiers. Chapeau bas, &c. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 143 THE OLD CORPORAL. (Le viettx Caporal.) B^RANGER, This regretful reminiscence of the Grand Army in the person of an old corporal; about to be shot for insubordination during the rule of a dynasty he detests, is dated 1829. OME, gallant comrades, move apace, With shouldered musket march away; I've got my pipe and your em- brace. So quickly give me my conge. Too old I in the service grew. But rather useful I could be, As father of the drill to you. March merrily, And do not weep, Or sadly creep. But, comrades, march on merrily. An officer, — an upstart swell, — Insulted me, — I broke his head ; I'm sentenced, — he is getting well : Your corporal will die instead. My wrath and brandy fired me so, I cared for nought, and then, d'ye see, I served the great man long ago. March merrily, And do not weep, &c. Young conscripts — you, I 'm sure, will not Lose arms or legs a cross to get; The cross you see me wear I got In wars, where kings were overset. You willingly would stand the drink. Old battle-tales to hear from me; Still, glory's something, I must think. March merrily. And do not weep, &c. M4 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. You, Robert, v/ho were born and bred In mine own village, — mind your sheep ; 'Soon April will its beauties shed. The garden trees cast shadows deep. At dawn of day I've sought the wood, And, oh, what pleasures fell to me ! My mother lives, — well. Heaven is good ! March merrily. And do not weep, &c. Who is it that stands blubb'ring there? Is that the drummer's widow, pray? In Russia, through the frosty air. Her son I carried, night and day; Else, like the father, in the snows They both had died, — her child and she: She's praying for me, I suppose, — March merrily. And do not weep, &c. Mo}-bleu! my pipe has just gone out; No, no, I'm merry, — so ne'er mind. This is our journey's end, no doubt : My eyes, an please you, do not bind. Be careful friends, — don't fire too low: I grieve so troublesome to be ; Good bye, — to heaven I hope you'll go, March merrily. And do not weep, Or sadly creep, But, comrades, march on merrily. THE GODDESS. (La Deesse.) IjjiRANGER. Berangef, in this song, written some lime after the Restoration, loolcs back in melancholy mood on the hopeful dreams of the French populace, when the so-called " Goddess of Reason" was paraded through the streets in Dec, 1703, at vvliich date the poet was thirteen years of REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 145 age. He is supposed to address the female who personified Reason on the occasion, and it is impossible not to perceive that something like contempt for the e\-cesses of the Revolution is mingled with the regrets of the RepubHcan. M. de Lamartine thus describes the procession to which Beranger alludes ; '" On the 20th of December, the day fixed for the installation of the new worship (of Reason), the communes, the Convention, and the authorities of Paris proceeded in a body to the cathedral. Chaumette, assisted by Lais, an actor of the opera, had arranged the plan of the /He. Madlle. Malliard, an actress, brilliant with youth and talent, lately a favourite of the queen, and always admired by the public, had been compelled, by the menaces of Chaumette, to play the part of the popular divinity. She entered, borne in a palanquin, the canopy of which was formed of branches of oak. Women, dressed in white and adorned with tricoloured sashes, preceded her. The popular societies, the fraternal societies of women, the revolutionary committees, the sections, besides groups of singers and dancers from the opera, surrounded the throne. Attired with the theatrical buskins on her feet, with the Phrygian cap on her head, and with a blue chlamys over an almost transparent white tunic, the priestess was borne to the foot of the altar, to the sound of musical instruments, and took her seat in the most sacred place. Behind her burned an immense torch, symbolizing the flame of philosophy, which was henceforth to be the only light of the churches. The actress lighted the torch, and Chaumette, taking the censer from the hands of two acolytes, fell on his knees and offered up incense. Dances and hymns enchanted the senses of the spectators." Np is it you, who once appeared so fair, Whom a whole people followed to adore, And, thronging after your triumphant chair, 10. Called you by her great name whose ' \ flag you bore ? Flushed with the acclamations of the crowd. Conscious of beauty (you were fair to see !) With your new glory you were justly proud, Goddess of Liberty ! Over the Gothic ruins as you passed, Your train of brave defenders swept along, And on your pathway flow'ry wreaths were cast, "\^'hile virgins' hymns mixed with the battle-song. I. a poor orphan, in misfortune bred, — For fate her bitterest cup allotted me,— Cried, "Be a parent in my mother's stead, Goddess of Liberty!" Foul deeds Hvere done that glorious time to shame, But that— a simple child— I did not know; I felt delight to spell my country's name, And thought with horror of the foreign foe. 10 146 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. All armed against the enemy's attack; We were so poor, but yet we were so free : Give me those happy days of childhood back, Goddess of Liberty! Like a volcano, which its ashes flings Until its fire is smothered by their fall, The people sleeps ; the foe his balance brings, And says, " We '11 weigh thy treasure, upstart Gaul." When to high Heaven our drunken vows we paid, And worship e'en to beauty dared decree, You were our dream, — the shadow of a shade, — Goddess of Liberty! Again I see you, — time has fled too fast, — Your eyes are lustreless and loveless now; And when I speak about the glorious past, A blush of shame o'erspreads your wrinkled brow^ Still be consoled; you did not fall alone, — Though lost thy youth, car, altar, flowers may be, Virtue and glory, too, are with thee gone, Goddess of Liberty! REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 147 LA PARISIENNE. Casi.mir Delavigne. This celebrated song of Casimir Delavigne might ataost be called tlie Marseillaise ai 1830— the year of its composition. EHOLD ! thou nation of the brave, How Freedom's arms are opened wide. They sought the people to enslave. " To arms ! to arms ! " the people cried ; Once more has our own Paris found The battle-cry of old renowned. Haste the foe to meet, Think not of retreat, Let not steel or fire a patriot defeat. A compact mass, that nought can shake. Close each to each all firmly stand ; Let every man his cartridge make An offering to his native land. Oh, days ! with glory to be crowned ; Paris her ancient cry has found. Haste the foe to meet, &c. Beneath their fire though many fall. Fresh warriors spring before our eyes, Beneath the constant shower of ball Veterans of twenty years arise. Oh, days ! with glory to be crowned ; Paris her ancient heart has found. Haste the foe to meet, &c. Who as our leader now appears? Who guides our banners— nobly red? The Freedom of two hemispheres ; 'T is Lafayette, with snowy head ! 10—2 148 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS, Oh, days ! with glory to be crowned ; n Paris her ancient cry has found. Haste the foe to meet, &c. The tricolor is raised on high ; With holy rapture we can see, Shining against a cloudy sky, The rainbow of our liberty. Oh, days ! with glory to be crowned : Paris her ancient cry has found. Haste the foe to meet, &:c. Thou soldier of the tricolor — Orleans — who bore it long ago, Tliy heart's blood thou wouldst freely pour With that we see already flow. Oh, days ! with glory to be crowned ; Paris her battle-cry has found. Haste the foe to meet, &c. Ye dnnns, roll forth the sound of death, Proclaim our brethren's early doom, And let us cast the laurel wreath Upon their honourable tomb. Temple with bays and cypress crowned, Receive them in thy vaults profound. March mth noiseless feet. Bare your heads to greet That pantheon, which their glory makes complete. ORIGINAL. Peuple Fran5ais, peuple de braves, La liberte' rouvre ses bras ; On nous disait : Soyez esclaves ! Nous avons dit : Soyons soldats ! Soudain Paris dans sa me'moire, A retrouvd son cri de gloire. En avant, marchons. Centre leurs canons, A travers le fer, le feu des battaillons. Courons a la victoire : (i/s.) RE]-0LUT10.\'ARV AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 149 Serrez vos rangs ! qu'on se soutienne ! Marchons ! chaque enfant de Paris De sa cartouche citoyenne Fait ime offrande \ son pays. O jours d'eternelle memoire ! Paris n'a plus qu'un cri de gloire : En avant, marchons, &c. La mitraille en vain nous devore; Elle enfant des combattants. Sous les boulets voyez eclore Ces vieux generaux de vingt ans. O jours d'eternelle memoire ! Paris n'a plus qu'un cri de gloire : En avant, marchons, &c. Pour briser leurs masses profondes, Qui conduit nos drapeaux sanglants? C'est la liberte des deux mondes, C'est Lafayette en cheveux blancs. O Jours d'eternelle memoire ! Paris n'a plus qu'un cri de gloire : En avant, marchons, &c. Les trois couleurs sont revenues, Et la colonne avec fierte Fait briller a travers les nues, L'arc-en-ciel de la liberte. O jours d'eternelle memoire ! Paris n'a plus qu'un cri de gloire : En avant, marchons, &c. Soldat du drapeau tricolore, D'Orleans, toi qui I'as porte, Ton sang'se melerait encore A celui qu'il nous a coute, Comme aux beaux jours de notre histoire, Tu rediras ce cri de gloire : En avant, marchons, &c, 150 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Tambours, du convoi de nos frferes Roulez le funfebre signal. Et nous de lauriers populaires Chargeons leur cercueil triomphal. O temple de deuil et de gloire ; Pantheon, re5ois leur meraoire ! Portons-les, marchons, Decouvrons nos fronts, Soyez immortels vous tous que nous pleurons Martyrs de la victoire ! {bis.) THE SENATOR. (Le Senateur.) B^RANCER. This song, which is dated 1813, and appeared about the same time as the Roi cTYvefoi, is associated with the latter by the circumstance, that they both represent the first inclination of Bdranger to come before the world as a political poet. OSE my wife I must adore, She has eyes that sparkle so ; My good friend the senator To my Rose alone I owe. First upon my wedding-day He a visit came to pay; How I bless My happiness ! Yes, great senator, oh, yes, I 'm your servant, I confess. His good deeds, — I note them all,— Are unequalled, I aver ; He took Rosa to a ball Given by the minister. He shakes hands whene'er we meet, Though 't is in the open street. How I bless, &c. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 151 Near my Rose he 's always gay, Nought of foohsh pride has he; AVhen my wife is sick, he'll play Quietly at cards with me. Me on New-year's day he greets, Me at midsummer he treats. How I bless, &c. If, perchance, it rains so hard I am forced to stay at home, Then he shows his kind regard, — "Come,'' he says, "good fellow, come, Take your ride, you surely know That my carriage waits below." How I bless, &c. Once, when at his country house With champagne he turned my head, I got tipsy, and my spouse Slumbered in a sep'rate bed. Still my bed, in any case. Was the best in all the place. How I bless, &c. Heaven has blest me with a boy, For his sponsor stands my friend, Who sheds o'er him tears of joy, Giving kisses without end; And my darling son, I feel, Has a comer in his will. How I bless, &c. Jokes his noble soul divert, Though too far I sometimes go; Once I told him at dessert, — " 'T is a fact, sir, as I know. People say, — indeed 'tis true, — Rose is far too fond of you." How I bless, &c. ■KElVLUriOA'ARV A.XD PATRIOTIC SOA'uS. ORIGINAL. MoN epouse fait ma gloire : Rose a de si jolis yeux ! Je lui dois, I'on peut m'en croire, Un ami bien precieux. Le jour oil j'obtins sa foi, Un sdnateur vint cliez moi ! Quel honneur ! Quel bonheur ! Ah ! monsieur le senateur, Je suis votre humble serviteur. De ses faits je tiens registre, C'est un homme sans egal, L'autre hiver, chez un ministre II mena ma femme au bal. S'il me trouve en son chemin, 11 me frappe dans la main. Quel honneur, &c. Prfes de Rose il n'est point fade, Et n'a rien de freluquet. I.orsque ma femme est malade, II fait mon cent de piquet. II m'embrasse au jour de I'an ; II me fete a la Saint-Jean. Quel honneur, &c. Chez moi qu'un temps effroyable Me retienne apres diner, II me dit, d'un air aimable : "Allez done vous promdner; Mon cher, ne vous genez" pas, Mon Equipage est Ik-bas. Quel honneur, &c. Certain soir, k sa campagne II nous mena par hasard. II m'enivra de Champagne ; Et Rose fit lit k part. J^E 1 VL UTION. LR V A XD P. i TR/0 TIC SONGS. i ; ^ Mais' de la maison, ma foi, Le plus beau lit fut pour moi. Quel honneur, &c. A Finfant que Dieu m'envoie, Pour parrain je I'ai donne. C'est presqu'en pleurant de joie Qu'il baise le nouveau-ne'; Et mon fils, des ce moment, Est mis sur son testament. Quel honneur, iS;c. A table il ainie qu'on rie ; Mais parfois j'y suis trop vert. J'ai pousse la raillerie Jusqu' ii lui dire au dessert : On croit, j'en suis couvaincu, Que vous me faites c . . . Quel honneur ! Quel bonheur ! Ah ! monsieur le se'nateur, Je suis votre humble serviteur. THE GIRONDINS. This song, which MM. Alexander Dumas and Maquet wrote for the drama Le Chevali-cr de la Maiso7i Rouge, is intimately connected with the history of the Revolution of 1840. M. de Lamartine's famous History of the Girondins had just appeared, and had made the public famiHar with the fate of those illustrious martj-rs, when the excitement was further increased by the drama above-mentioned, in which was introduced the last banquet of the Girondins, who were represented singing Mottrir pour Ifc patrie in chorus. J^e Chevalier de la Maiso?i Rouge was produced in 1847 at the Theatre Historique, and in February, 1848, this was a popular song among the Republican combatants. When with the cannon's mighty voicCj Her many children France invites, The soldier feels his heart rejoice, And for his mother proudly fights. Sublime is death indeed, When for our native land — for liberty — we bleed, 1 54 REVOLVTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. We die, from battle-fields remote, Yet not ignoble is our doom; To France and freedom we devote Our heads, and gladly seek the tomb. Sublime is death indeed. When for our native land — for liberty — ^we bleed. Brethren, we die a martyr's death, A noble creed we all profess; No word of sorrow let us breathe ; Our France one day our name will bless. Sublime is death indeed, When for our native land — for liberty — vre bleed. Then unto God your voices lift In gratitude, — a single sigh Would ill repay Him for His gift — It is for liberty we die. Sublime is death indeed, When for our native 'and — for liberty — we bleed, ORIGINAL, Par la voix du canon d'alarme, La France appelle ses enfans : AUons, dit le soldat: Aux armes! C'est ma m^re, je la defends. Mourir pour la patrie ! {bis) C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie, {bis) Nous, amis, que loin des batailles, Succombons dans I'obscurit^, Vouons, du moins, nos fun&ailles A la France ! k la liberty ! Mourir pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie. (bis) Frferes, pour une cause sainte, Quand chacun de nous est martyr, Ne prof&ons pas une plainte. La France un jour doit nous bdnir. Mourir pour la patrie ! (bis) C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie. (bis) REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 155 Dii cr&teur de la nature, Benissons encore la bonte, Nous plaindre serait une injure, Nous mourons pour la liberte. Mourir pour la patrie ! (foV) Cast le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie, THE FIELD OF BATTLE. (Ze Champ de BataiUe.) Emiue Debreaux. Died 1831. ARD by the spot, where once two nations sought To win a universe by war's ^ rough play, The warrior rests, and oft be- stows a thought On toils and sufferings that have passed away. At length the brazen fiend has ceased to spoil. Benignant Providence ! the world's fair face ; Now, blood of heroes ! fertilize the soil. Let roses spring to hide the battle's trace. Gaze on the plain before thine eyes displayed, Where corn, and grapes, and flowers abundant grow; Tell me, if God so fair a land has made. Only that blood and tears may through it flow. No ! Beauty sees it with her sunny smile, And pleased, selects it for her dwelling-place. Oh, blood of heroes ! fertilize the soil. Let roses spring to hide the battle's trace. 156 REVOLhTIOXARY AXn PATRIOTIC SO.^GS. With tall plumes proudly waving in the air, The sons of Nemours and of great Cond^, Too long with their moustache have tried to scare All love and ev'ry gentle sport away. Mars, cease at length thy sanguinary toil, Let Venus' boy our slaughtered sons replace. Oh, blood of heroes! fertihze the soil,| Let roses spring to hide the battle's trace. A thousand villages are now no more, A hundred thousand corpses gashed and torn. The streams have poisoned of a distant shore ; And now, — what fruit has all this carnage borne ,!" The foeman came, and took his golden spoil, The guerdon of our valour was disgrace. Oh, blood of heroes! fertilize the soil, Let roses spring to hide the battle's trace. But, lo ! before my feet an eagle gleams, A relic half devoured by time and rust. And in my heart awakens bitter dreams Of tow'ring glory humbled to the dust. Thou sought'st to grasp the thunder as thy spoil, But Mars soon hurled thee from thy haughty place. Oh, blood of heroes! fertilize the soil, Let roses spring to hide the battle's trace. Was it not here, a remnant of our brave — The only remnant — shed their glorious blood, Proud to escape the fetters of the slave. And to the last the leopard's fang withstood? And Frenchmen, sold to England, could meanwhile Survey the slaughter with unblushing face. Oh, blood of heroes! fertilize the soil, Let roses spring to hide the battle's trace. When, while a thousand flowers beneath them spring. Our joyous youth shall sport upon this plain, And tender damsels songs of love shall sing, Some martial shade will listen to the strain ■ REVOLUTIONARY AXD PATRIOTIC SONGS. 157, Or, marking love's soft battles with a smile, '\\"ill whisper from his dark abiding-place, " Oh, blood of heroes ! fertilize the soil. Let roses spring to hide the battle's trace." THE CORONATION OF CHARLES THE SIMPLE. (Le Sacre de Charles le Simple.) Beuakger. Thii ii one of Iht son^s which led to the persecution of Beranger in 1S2S. The poet in a note glvci the following information respecting " Charles the Simple," with the evident inten- tion of establishing a parallel between that ancient king and Charles X., the real object of the satire. ' " Charles the Simple, one of the successoi-s of Charlemagne, was driven from his throne by Eudes, Count of Paris. He took refuge in England, then in Germany ; but on the death of Eudes in 898, the lords and bishops of France, who were attached to Charles, restored to him the crown, which he afterwards lost. Betrayed by He'bert, Count de Ver- mandois, he was imprisoned at Peronne, where he died in 924." The ancient French custom of letting loose a number of birds on the occasion of a king's coronation, was revived when Charles X. was crowned at Rheims in 1B15. The "clause" referred to in the fourth stanza is the article in the Charte relating to religious liberty. Ye Frenchmen^ who at Rheims are met, " Montjoie and St. Denis" repeat. The ampoule we have got once more, The sparrows in a merr}' flock Are all set loose as heretofore, And seem the state of man to mock. Abopt the church each flutt'rer flies. The monarch smiles their sport to see ; The people cry. Dear birds, take warning and be wise; Birds, mind you keep your liberty. As now we're on the ancient track, To Charles the Third will I go back, That Avorthy grandson of Charlemagne, AVhom folks the "Simple" aptly call. So famous by the great campaign In which he did just nought at all. But to his crowning here we go. While birds and flatterers sing with glee ; The people cry. No foolish gladness show; Birds, mind }-ou keep )Our liberty, ^ 11 1 58 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. This king, bedecked with tinsel fine, Who on fat taxes loves to dine, Is marching with a faithful throng Of subjects, who in wicked times, With rebel banners tramped along, And aided an usurper's crimes. Now cash has set all right again. Good faith should well rewarded be : The people cry. We dearly buy our chain; Birds, mind you keep your liberty. Charles kneels embroidered priests before, And mumbles his "Confiteor," Then he 's anointed, kissed, and dressed, And Avhile the hymns salute his ear His hand upon the book is pressed. And his confessor whispers. Swear ! Rome, who cares most about the clause. The faithful from an oath can free ; The people cry. Thus do they wield our laws ; Birds, mind you keep your liberty. The royal wight has scarcely felt About his waist old Charles's belt. Than in the dust he humbly lies. A soldier shouts "King, do not crouch," " Keep where you are," a bishop cries, " And mind you fill the church's pouch. I crown you, and a gift from heaven, The gift of priests must surely be." The people cry, Lo, kings to kings are given ! Birds, mind you keep your liberty. Ye birds, this king we prize so much Can cure the evil with his touch: Fly, birds, although you are in fact The only gay ones in the church. You might commit more impious act. If on the altar you should perch. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. IS9 The sanguinary tools of kings , Placed as the altar's guard we see. The people cry, We envy you your wings: Birds, mind you guard your liberty. .cTi OH, IF MY LADY NOW WERE BY! (Ah, si ma Dame me voyait.) This song, which is anonymous, is a specimen of the same class ^s,Le Vaillant Troubadour^\i\^io^oyi%. H, if my lady now were by !" The brave Fleurange with rapture cried, ^# As every peril he defied, "^ And fearless scaled the fortress high. He proudly bore the flag of France, And, guarding it with flash- ing eye. Cried, every time he smote his lance, " Oh, if my lady now were by!'' They feasted well the gallant knight. And games and tournaments there were, And likewise many ladies fair. Whose eyes with looks of_ love were bright. A piercing glance,, a winning smile. His constancy would often try ; But he would say— and sigh the while— " Oh, if my lady now were by !" Our chevalier was hurt at last While guarding well the flag of France, And, smitten by the foeman's lance. Was from his saddle rudely cast. i6o REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. He thought the fatal hour was near, And said, "Alas! 'tis hard to die So far away from all that's dear, — " Oh, if my lady now were by !' Descendants of those knights of old, Oh, may ye, "for your country's sake. Your fathers for example take, — Their noble words, — their actions bold. And, Fleurange, may thy motto be A charm to make all hearts beat high. That all may proudly cry, like thee, "Oh, if my lady now were by!" ORIGINAL. Ah ! si ma dame me voyait ! S'dcriait le brave Fleurange, Se trouvant en peril etrange, Sous un fort qu'il escaladait. Portant I'^tendard de la France En he'ros il le de'fendait, Disant k chaque coup de lance, " Ah, si ma dame me voyait !" On feta le preux chevalier, Dans maints tournois et cour pl^niere, Plus d'une beaute' printaniere Lk, d'amour s'en vint le prier. Emu d'un regard, d'un sourire Quelque fois son coeur chancelait ; Puis ^ regret il semblait dire : " Ah, si ma daftie me voyait 1" Fut blessi^ le preux chevalier, Defendant Thonneur de la France, Et par un coup mortel de lance Renverse de son destrier. Se croyant a sa dernifere heure. En soupirant, il re'petait; " Loin d'elle faut-il cjue je meure. Ah, si ma dame me voyait ! " REVOLVTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. i6i O vous ! I'espoir de mon pays Descendant de ces preux fidfeles. Ah ! prenez toujours pour modeles,- Leurs hauts faits et leurs nobles dits. Fleurange, puisse ta devise Rendre tout chevalier parfait ; Et comma toi, que chacun dise : " Ah, si ma dame me voyait ! " THE GALLANT TROUBADOUR. (Le Vaillant Troubadour.) This song, once to be found in every music-bcok, is a perfect specimpn of the old-fashioned chivalric song of France. The author is anonymous. HE gallant troubadour — a foe to care — To battle hastens ; and a tribute flings Of deep devotion to his lady fair, As flying from her arms he gaily sings, " To France my arm is due. My heart to thee is true. Death has no terror in the minstrel's eyes. For love and glory wiUingly he dies." Oft in the camp his lady he regrets. And in a pensive mood he sweeps the strings. For still there is a strain he ne'er forgets, And thus, with helmet on his brow, he sings : "To France my arm is due," &c. The minstrel dauntless in the field is found. And many foemen to the ground he brings; But even now, while carnage reigns around, Through the rude noise of battle thus he suigs : "To France my arm is due," &c. 11 i62 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. Too soon, alas ! his valour gains its prize, And death o'ertakes him with his rapid wings; Struck by a lance, the minstrel falls and dies, But with his parting breath he gaily sings : "To France my arm is due," &c. ORIGINAL. Brulant d'amour et partant pour la guerre, Un troubadour, enemi du chagrin, Dans son d^lire, a sa jeune bergfere. En la quittant repftait ce refrain : Mon bras k mon patrie, Mon coeur a mon amie, Mourir gaiment pour la gloire et I'amour, C'est le devoir d'un vaillant troubadour. Dans le bivouac le troubadour fidele, Le casque au front, la guitare b. la main, Toujours pensif, et regrettant sa belle, Allait partout en chantant ce refrain : Mon bras, &c. Je, Dans les combats deployant sj'" urage, Des ennemis terminant le desi Le troubadour, au milieu du damage, Faisait encore entendre ce refrain : % Mon bras, &c. Ce brave, hdlas ! pour prix de sa vaillance,, Trouva bientot le trdpas en chemin; II expira sous le fer d'une lance, Nommant sa belle et chantant son refrain: Mon bras S, ma patrie, Mon coeur k mon amie, Mourir gaiment pour la gloire et I'amour, C'est le devoir d'un vaillant troubadour. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 163 W^^^ THE DEPARTURE FOR SYRIA. (Le Depart pour la Syrie.) The music of this song, which was composed by Queen Hortense, mother of the Emperor Louis Napoleon til. , became the national air of the French Empire. The words are attributed to iVI. de Laborde. The date is 1809. / To Syria young Dunois will go, That gallant, handsome knight. And prays the Virgin to bestow Her blessing on the fight. " Oh ! thou who reign'st in heaven above," He prayed, ''grant this to me — The fairest maiden let me love, The bravest warrior be." He pledges then his knightly word, His vow writes on the stone, 11—2 i64 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. And following the count, his lord, To battle he has gone. To keep his oath he ever strove, And sang aloud with glee : "The fairest maid shall have my love, And honour mine shall be." Then said the count, "To thee we owe Our victory, I confess ; Glory on me thou didst bestow, — I give thee happiness : My daughter, whom I fondly love, I gladly give to thee ; She, who is fair all maids above, Should valour's guerdon be." They kneel at Mary's altar Ipoth, The maid and gallant knight, And there with happy hearts their troth Right solemnly they plight. It was a sight all souls to move. And all cried joyously, "Give honour to the brave, and love Shall beauty's guerdon be." ORIGINAL. Partant pour la Syrie, Le jeune et beau Dunois Venait prier Marie De b^nir ses exploits ; "Faites, reine immortelle," Lui, dit-il, en partant, "Que j'aime la plus belle, Et sois le plus vaillant." II trace sur la pierre Le serment de I'honneUr, Et va suivre a la guerre Le comte, son seigneur. REJ'OLUTIOMARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 165 All noble vceu fidfele, II dit en combattant : "Amour k la plus belle, Honneur au plus vaillant." " On lui doit la victoire Vraiment," dit le seigneur : " Puisque tu fais ma gloire Je ferai ton bonheur. De ma fille Isabelle Sois I'epoux a I'instant ; Car elle est la plus belle, Et toi le plus vaillant." A I'autel de Marie lis contractent tous deux, Cette union cherie Qui seule rend heureux. Chacun dans la chapelle Disait en les voyant : " Amour h. la plus belle, Honneur au plus vaillant.'' THE COCK OF FRANCE. (Ze Coq Fraiifais.) Favart. Died 1793. The Cock of France is the bird of glory. By no reverse can he be cast down ; He loudly crows when he gains the vict'ry. But louder still if the day's 7iot his own. The Cock of France is the bird of glory, Of triumph only he knows the tone. Is he imprudent? is he wise? I can't say, upon my word ! But he who never loses heart. Of the future must be lord. 1 66 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. ORIGINAL, Le Coq Frangais est le coq de la gloire, Par les revers il n'est point abattu ; II cliante fort lorsqti'il a la victoire Encore plus fort lorsqu'il est bien battu. Le Coq Frangais est le coq de la gloire, Toiijours chanter est sa grande vertu. Est il imprudent? est il sage? C'est ce qu'on ne peut definir; Mais qui ne perd jamais courage, Se rend maitre de I'avenir. THE SABR^. (Le Sabre. ) Emile Debreaux. B^ranger, in a note to a song which he introduced as a poetical prospectus to the works of Emile Debreaux, gives the following short biography. "Emile Debreaux died at the com- mencement of 1831, aged thirty-three years. Few song-writers could boast of a popularity equal to his, which was, moreover, well deserved. Nevertheless, his existence was always obscure ; he never knew the art of making his way or of asking a favour. During the period of the Restoration he allowed himself to be prosecuted, judged, condemned, and imprisoned, without uttering a single word of complaint, and I am not aware that one of the public papers offered him a single word of consolation. He was often reduced to the task of copying theatrical parts, for the support of his wife and three children. The songs that are peculiarly typical of Debreaux, such as Fanfan, la Tztiijie, and Ptit Miniile, could scarcely be rendered into English. In the song given above, and in the one given at p. 155, he is in a graver mood than ordinary. ACK to the cottage he had left when young, The vet'ran soldier came, when peace was made : ^ Against the wall his trusty sword he hung Beneath his gen'ral's portrait, and he said, 'At last, old sword, our stormy days must cease, No more will victory reward thy blows ; Thy ancient glory terminates in peace, — Repose, but donot rust in thyrepose. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 167 " One day I sat before my humble cot, — • Then fifteen summers I could scarcely tell, — I saw my country's banners proudly float. With love of glory felt my bosom swell. I swore that I would rival those whose name Immortal honour on our France bestows ; Alas ! but transient was my dream of fame,— Repose, but do not rust in thy repose. " Upon the desert, now with ashes strown Of fallen heroes whom we all regret, The weight of the French sabre hast thou shown, — That weight the Cossack never will forget. On the Loire's margin thou wast idly laid, But neither angry winds nor Russian snows Have dimmed my glory, or thy lustrous blade, — • Repose, but do not rust in thy repose. " Thou hast worked bravely for our native land : With thee I would defy the knife of Spain; When I had grasped thee firmly in my hand, The Roman his stiletto drew in vain; On thee has England's sword dealt many a stroke, But thou hast proved a match for all her blows; The Turkish scimitar thou oft hast broke, — Repose, but do not rust in thy repose. " I used thee in a cause of right, old friend. The sight of thee no dark remembrance brings; My good right arm and thee I ne'er would lend To foreign foemen or oppressive kings. Free from dishonour thou hast e'er remained,— Heed not the taunts that spiteful envy throws, — With blood of France thou never hast been stained, — Repose, but do not rust in thy repose. i68 REVOLl'TIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. MARLBROOK. The following note is attached by MM. Dumersan and Segur to this song, the tune of which is familiar to many an Englishman who has never heard or read a line of the words : *'The famous Duke of Marlborough had been dead sixty years, when in 1781 the nurse of the Dauphin, son of Louis XVI., sang, as she rocked her royal charge, this ballad, the naif ■z.nd. pleasing air of which made a considerable sensation, M. de Chateaubriand, who heard the air sung in the East, was of opinion that ii was carried thither in the time of the Crusades. The burlesque words were probably spread about various provinces after the battle of i\Ial- plaquet by some of the soldiers of Villars and Boufflers. As eaily as 1706 verses were coifi- posed on Marlborough, which were to be found in the manuscript colleC''on of historical songs (in 44 volumes) made by M. Maurepas, and deposited in the Royal Libiary. The nurse's song became all the rage at Versailles, whence it reached Paris, and was soon spread over the whole of France. For four or five years nothing was heard but the burden. Mirontoit, iniro^itaine. The song was printed upon fans and screens, with an engraving representing the funeral pro- cession of Marlborough, the lady on her tower, the page dressed in black, and so on. This engraving was imitated in all shapes and sizes. It circulated thi-ough the streets and villages, and gave the Duke of Marlborough a more popular celebrity than all his victories. Whenever Napoleon mounted his horse to go to battle, he hummed the air Malbrough s'eu va-t-en g^ierre. And at St. Helena, shortly before his death, when in the course of a conversation with M. de Las Casas, he praised the Duke of Marlborough, the song occurred to his mind, and he said with a smile which he could not repress, ' What a thing ridicule is ! it fastens upon everything, even victory.' He then hummed the air." It is a fact worth recording, that the song of the page in Beaumarchais' comedy, Le Mariage de Figaro, was written for this air. The dramatic situation in which it occurs has sinc6 been illustrated by the music of Mozart. ARLBROOK has goiie to battle, — Mironton, mironton, miroiv taine, — Marlbrook has gone to battle, But when will he return? He will return at Easter, Mironton, &c. He will return at Easter, Or else at Trinity. But Trinity is over, — Mironton, &c. But Trinity is over, And yet he is not here. Madame gets up her castle,- Mironton, &c. Madame gets up her castle. As high as she can go. REVOLUTIOXARV AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 169 And there she sees her page-a, — Mironton, &c. And there she sees her page-a, In suit of black he 's clad. My page, my page so handsome,- Mironton, &c. My page, my page so handsome, What tidmgs dost thou bring? Ah ! lady, at my tidings, — Mironton, &c. Ah ! lady, at my tidings Your lovely eyes will weep. Put off your gay pink garment, — Mironton, &c. JPut off your gay pink garment, And likewise your brocade. Vi Monsieur Marlbrook is dead, — Mironton, &c. Monsieur Marlbrook is dead. He 's dead and buried too ! .©) Four officers, I saw them, — Mironton, &c. Four officers, I saw them, Have put him underground. The first one bore his cuirass, — Mironton, &c. The first one bore his cuirass. The second one his sword. The third bore his big sabre, — Mironton, &c. The third bore his big sabre. The fourth bore nought at all, I70 REVOLUTIONARY AND PAl^RIOTIC SONGS. His tomb they have surrounded — Mironton, &c. His tomb they have surrounded With plants of rosemaree. The nightingale was singing, — Mironton, &c. The nightingale was singing Upon the topmost branch. And swiftly through the laurels,— Mironton, &c. And swiftly through the laurels We saw his great soul fly. Then every one was prostrate, — Mironton, &c. Then every one was prostrate, Till he got up again ; To sing about the battles, — Mironton, &c. To sing about the battles. Which great Marlbrook had won. And when the pomp was ended, — ■ Mironton, &c. And when the pomp was ended, They all retired to rest. ORIGINAL. Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre,— Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre, Ne sait quand reviendra. 11 reviendra z'k Paques, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine; II reviendra z'k Paques, Ou ^ la Trinitd. {ter.) REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 171 La Trinity se passe, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaincj La Trinite se passe, Marlbrough ne revient pas. (ter.) Madame k sa tour monte, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; Madame \ sa tour monte, Si havit qu'elF peut monter. {ter!) EUe apergoit son page,— Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; Elle apergoit son page, Toute de noir habilld iter.) Beau page, ah ! mon beau page, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; Beau page, ah ! mon beau page, Quell' nouvelle apportez? iter.) Aux nouvell's que j'apporte, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; Aux nouvell's que j'apporte, Vos beaux yeux vont pleurer. {ter.) Quittez vos habits rosds, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine: Quittez vos habits rosds, Et vos satins brochfe. Monsieur d'Malbrough est mort, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine; Monsieur d'Malbrough est mort, Est mort et enterr^ ! . . . {ter) J'l'ai vu porter en terre,— - Mironton, mironton, mirontaine; J'l'ai vu porter en terre. Par quatre z'officiers. {ter) 172 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. L'un portait sa cuirasse, Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; L'lm portait sa cuirasse, L'autre son bouclier. (ter.) L'un portait son grand sabre, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; L'un portait son grand sabre, L'autre ne portait rien. (/«-.) A I'entour de sa tombe, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; A I'entour de sa tombe, Romarins Ton planta. (tei:) Sur la plus haute branclie, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; Sur la plus haute branche, Le rossignol chanta. {ter.) On vit voler son ame, Mironton, mironton, mirontaine ; On vit voler son ame, Au travers des lauriers. (icr.) Chacun mit ventre £l terre, Mironton, mironton, mirontaine; Chacun mit ventre h. terre, Et puis se releva. {ter.) Pour chanter les victoires, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine; Pour chanter les victoires, Que Malbrough remporta. {ter.) La cdr^monie faite, — Mironton, mironton, mirontaine; La c&dmonie faite, Chacun s'en fut coucher. {tej:) REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 173 THE WORKMEN'S SONG. (Le Chant des Oiivricrs. ) Pierre Dupont. Born 1821. This remarkable song is the perfect expres- t ion of that state of discontent in the work- ing class which is the natural incentive to communism. It was written some time before the Revolution of 1848, but it represents the " red republicanism " of that year. E, whose dim lamp, the dawning day, Is Ht, when cocks begin to crow; We who for our uncertain pay Must early to our anvils go ; We who, with hand, and foot, and arm, With want a war incessant wage. And nought can ever gain to warm The dreary winter of old age, — We '11 still be friends, and when we can We'll meet to push the wine about: Let guns be still or make a rout. We'll shout Our toast,— the liberty of man. From jealous waves, from niggard soils. Our arms for ever toiling, tear A mighty store of hidden spoils, Ay, all that man can eat or wear : ^ From plains their corn, from hills their fruit, Their metals, pearls, and jewels fine; Alas ! poor sheep, a costly suit Is woven from that wool of thine. AVe'U still be, &c. What from the labour do we get. For which our backs thus bent must be? 174 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. And whither flow our floods of sweat ?-=• Machines, and nothing more are we. Our Babel tow'rs the skies invade, The earth with marvels we array; But when, at last, the honey's made, The master drives 'the bees away. We'll still, &c. Our wives nutritious milk bestow On scions of a puny race. Who think, when they to manhood grovy, To sit beside them were disgrace. The droit du seigneur we know well, It presses on us like a vice ; Our daughters must their honour sell At every counter-jumper's price. M^e'll still, &c. In darksome holes, — in garrets foul,^=- In ruined sheds, with rags bedight, We live, — the comrades of the owl And thieves, the constant friends of night. Still the red torrents wildly ran Through all our art'ries bounding fast; And we could love the glorious sun, And love the shade the oak-trees cast. We'll still, &c. But ev'ry time our good red blood Is on the earth like water poured, The fruit that's nurtured by the flood Serves but to feed some tyrant lord. Let not the stream so rashly flow, — War doth not equal love in worth, — But wait till kinder breezes blow From heaven— or e'en perchance from earth. We'll still, &c. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 175 ORIGINAL. Nous dont la lampe, le matin, Au clairon du coq se rallume, Nous tous qu'un salaire incertain Ramfene avant I'aube k I'enclume : Nous qui des bras, des pieds, des mains, De tout le corps luttons sans cesse, Sans abriter nos lendemains, Contre le froid de la veillesse. Aimons-nous, et quand nous pouvons Nous unir pour boire k la ronde. Que le canon se taise ou gronde, Buvons {ter) A I'ind^pendance du monde 1 Nos bras, sans relache tendus Au flots jaloux, au sol avare, Ravissent leurs tresors perdus, Ce qui nourrit et ce qui pare : Perles, diamants et m^taux, Fruit du coteau, grain de la plaine ; Pauvre moutons, quels bons manteaux lis se tisse avec votre laine ! Aimons-nous, &c. Quel fruit tirons-nous des labeurs. Qui courbent nos maigres echines ! Oil vont les flots de nos sueurs? Nous ne sommes que des machines. Nos Babels montent jusqu'au del. La terre nous doit ses merveillesj Des qu'elles ont fini le miel, Le maitre chasse les abeilles. Aimons-nous, &c. Au fils cli^tif d'un etranger Nos femmes tendent leurs mamelles, Et lui, plus tard, croit deroger En daignant s'asseoir aupres d'elles. 176 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. De nos jours, le droit du seigneur Pfese sur nous plus despotique : Nos filles vendent leur honneur Aux derniers courtauds de boutique. Aimons-nous, &c. Mai vetus, loges dans des trous, Sous les combles, dans les d&ombres, Nous vivons avec les hiboux Et les larrons, amis des ombres ; Cependant notre sang vermeil Coule impetueux dans nos veines ; Nous nous plairions au grand soleO, Et sous les rameaux verts des chcnes. Aimons-nous, &c. A chaque fois que par torrents, Notre sang coule sur le monde, C'est toujours pour quelques tyrans Que cette rosea est fe'conde ; Me'nageons-le dorenavant, L'amour est plus fort que la guerre; En attendant qu'un meilleur vent Souffle du ciel, ou de la terre. Aimons-nous, et quand nous pouvons Nous unir pour boire a la ronde, Que le canon se taise ou gronde, Buvons {ter) A I'ind^pendance du monde ! BAYARD. Anonymousi Another anonymous song of the cliivalric kind, in which love and loyalty held the rlace elsewhere occupied bj- Republican fanaticism. ^ By reckless courage borne along, Bayard, his country's hope and pride, Has fallen amid the hostile throno-, And for his king has nobly died. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. ifj Ye timid maids, your gallant knight is gone, Your hapless fate I must deplore ; The fair one's shield, the guardian of the throne, The brave Bayard is now no more. Tender in love, brave in the field. In every sense a perfect knight ; All to his lady he would yield, — To him all yielded in the fight. Ye timid maids, &c. True chevalier and trusty friend, A stranger to reproach and fear; When shouts of war the air would rend. Still pity's voice his heart would hear. Ye timid maids, &c. ORIGINAL. Emporte par trop de vaillance Au milieu des rangs ennemis, Le hdros, I'espoir de la France Vient de mourir pour son pays. Preux chevalier, timides pastourelles Que je gemis sur votre sort ! L'appui des rois, le ddfenseur des belles. Bayard est mort ! Bayard est mort! Honneur de la chevalerie, Tendre amant, courageux soldat, II cddait tout h, son amie, Et tout lui cddait au combat. Preux chevalier, &c. Bon chevalier, ami sincere, T'oujours sans reproche et sans peur, Au milieu des cris de la guerre La pitie parlait k son creur. 19, 178 i;evolutionary and patriotic songs. Preux chevalier, timides pastourelles Que je gemis sur votre sort ! L'appui des rois, le defenseur des belles, Bayard est mort ! Bayard est mort ! MARY STUARTS FAREWELL. (Adieux de Marie Stuart.) DIEU, BjiRANGER. beloved France, adieu 1 Thou ever wilt be dear to me ; Land which my happy childhood knew, I feel I die in quitting thee ! Thou wert the country of my choice I leave thee, loving thee alone ; Ah ! hear the exile's parting voice, And think of her when she is gone The breeze about the vessel plays. We leave the coast, — I weep in vain For God the billows will not raise, To cast me on thy shore again. Adieu, beloved France, &c. When on my brow the lilies bright Before admiring throngs I wore, 'T was not my state that cha'rmed their sight, , , , They loved my youthful beauty more. Although the Scot with sombre mien, Gives me a crown, I still repine ; I only wished to be a queen, Ye sons of France, to call you mine. Adieu, beloved France, &c. Love, glory, genius crowded round, My youthful spirit to elate ; On Caledonia's rugged ground. Ah ! changed indeed will be my fate. REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 179 E'en now terrific omens seem To threaten ill, — my heart is scared ; I see, as in a hideous dream, A scaffold for my death prepared. Adieu, beloved France, &c. France, from amid the countless fears The Stuart's hapless child may feel. E'en as she now looks through her tears. So will her glances seek thee still. Alas ! the ship too swiftly sails. O'er me are spreading other skies, And night with humid mantle veils Thy fading coast from these sad eyes. Adieu, beloved France, &c. 12—2 BACCHANALIAN SONGS. ISO ^aaljraaliait Sou^s. The number of songs inserted under this head will be foiuid comparatively small ; but it must not be inferred that the French have fewer drinking songs than other jiations. On the contrary, with very little research we could easily fill a goodly volume with songs devoted to the bottle alone ; and the English toper, inured to heavy drinks, would wonder to see how much drunken poetry could be got out of so very weak a beverage as the ordinary wine of France. For it must not be supposed that inspiring champagne, or the best Bordeaux, is alone honoured in song ; even " Vin h. quatre sous" has received the glory of lyric celebration, and we may say that in most cases the riot seems to have been most in excess where the beverage must have been weakest. There are two reasons why the Bacchanalian Songs in this collection are so few in number. In the first place, there is a great deal of sameness in these songs, arising from the fact that they are most of them imbued with the spirit of that fictitious worship of Bacchus which has long ceased to awaken any sympathy. In the second place, following a French plan of division, we have adopted a head of " Epicurean Songs," which comprises many productions that would otherwise have been placed in this section. 381 182 APOLOGY FOR CIDER. (Apologie dn Cid?-e.) Oliver Basselin. Died 1418 er 1419. This song is one of tlie " Vaux-de-vires " of the famous old Norman poet, who, it will be observed, distinguishes the Norman from the Frenchman. HOUGH Frenchmen at our drink may laugh, And think their taste is wondrous fine, The Norman cider, Avhich we quaff. Is quite the equal of his wine. When down, down, down it freely goes, And charms the palate as it flows. Whene'er a potent draught I take. How dost thou bid me drink again ? Yet, pray, for my affection's sake. Dear Cider, do not turn my .brain. Oh, down, down, down it freely goes. And charms the palate as it flows. find I never lose my wits, However freely I carouse, And never try in angry fits To raise a tempest in the house ; Though down, down, down the cider goes- And charms the palate as it flows. To strive for riches is all stuff, — Just take the good the gods have sent ; A man is sure to have enough If with his own he is content ; As down, down, down the cider goes, And charms the palate as it flows. In truth that was a hearty bout ; Why, not a drop is left — not one ! I feel I 've put my thirst to rout ; The stubborn foe at last is gone. 1S3 1 84 BACCHANALIAN SONGS. So down, down, down the cider goes, And charms the palate as it flows. ORIGINAL. De nous se rit le Frangois; Mais vrayement, quoy qu'il en die, Le sidre de Normandie. Vaut bien son vin quelquefois. Coule k val, et loge, loge ! II fait grand bien ^ la gorge. Ta bontd, O sidre beau, De te boire me convie ; Mais pour le moins, je te prie, Ne me trouble le cerveau, Coule k val, et loge, loge ! II fait grand bien k la gorge. Je ne perds point la raison Pourtant k force de boire, Et ne vay point en cholere Tempester £ la maison, Coule k val, et loge, loge ! II fait grand bien "k la gorge. Voisin, ne songe en procez; Prends le bien qui se prdsente; Mais que Thomme se contente; II en a tousjours assez. Coule k val, et loge, loge ! II fait grand bien k la gorge. N'est pas cestuy — la loge? En est-il demeur^ gbutte? De la, soif, sans point de doute Je me suis tres bien vengd Coule k val, et loge, loge ! II fait grand bien k la gorge. BACCHANALIAX SONGS. iS; THE TRUE TOPER. (Le Vi-ai Buveur.) MaJtee Adam. Died 1662. The poetical joiner who wrote this ferocious drinking song, and whose real name was Adam Bellault, was much esteemed by all the celebrated persons of his day. He was_ pensioned by Richelieu, patronized by the "Great Condd," and praised by Pierre Corneille. He seems to have been a person of much greater prudence than might be inferred from this reckless effusion, never allowing his poetical inspirations to draw him from the pursuit of his trade, whence he derived the appellation of " Le Virgile au Rabut " (Virgil with a plane). HEN first the hills with morn are bright, 1 set about my daily task, And, rising with the early light, I pay a visit to my cask. I take my goblet in my hand, And thus I ask the glad sunshine : " Pray have you seen in Moorish land Such gems as on this nose of mine ? '' The greatest of all kings that reign, When I have my wine my heart to cheer. With war would threaten me in vain ; He would not rouse the slightest fear. At table nought my soul can move; And if above me, while I drink, The thunders roar of mighty Jove, He is afraid of me, I think. If Death into his head should take. When I am drunk, to stop my breath, I would not wish again to wake ; I could not have a sweeter death. Down to Avernus I would go, Alecto should with wine be filled, On Pluto's large estate below A handsome tavern I would build. l86 BACCHANALIAN SONGS. With this fine nectar I would bring The demons underneath my sway ; The fiend himself should humbly sing Great Bacchus' praise, in many a lay. Poor Tantalus' eternal thirst With potent liquor I would quench, And, crossing o'er the stream accursed, The sad Ixion I would drench. A hundred sots the vow have made . That when my fortieth year is gone, They'll seek the spot where I am laid, And, glass in hand, come every one : A glorious hecatomb they '11 make ; Upon my sepulchre they'll pour, — My past career to designate, — A hundred jugs of wine and more. No porphyry or marble fine Above me for a tombstone put ; I swear no coffin shall be mine Except the inside of a butt. And on it paint my jovial phiz. And round it write a verse to say, Below the greatest drunkard is That ever saw the light of day. ORIGINAL. AussiTOT que la lumiere A redori^ nos coteaux, Je commence ma carriere Par visiter mes tonneaux.' Ravi de revoir I'aurore, Le verre en main je lui dis : Vois-tu sur la rive maure Plus qu'k mon nez de rubis? Le plus grand roi de la terre, Quand je suis dans un repas, S'il me declarait la guerre, Ne m'epouvanterait pas. BACCHANALIAN SONGS. 1S7 A table rieii lie in'etonne Et je pense, qiiand je boi, Si Ik-haut Jupiter tonne Que c'est qu'il a peur de moi. Si quelque jour, dtant ivi'e, La mort arretait mes pas, Je ne voudrais pas revivre, Pour changer ce doux trepas. Je m'en irais dans I'Averne Faire enivrer Alecton Et batir une taverne Dans le manoir de Pluton. 6- =^ Par ce nectar dflectable, Les demons etant vaincus, Je ferais chanter au diable Les louanges de Bacchus. J'apaiserais de Tantale La grande alt&ation, Et, passant I'onde infernale, Je ferais boire Ixion. Au bout de ma quarantaine Cent ivrognes m'ont promis De venir, la tasse pleine Au gite ou Ton m'aura mis. Pour me faire une liecatombe Qui signale mon destin, lis arroseront ma tombe De plus de cent brocs de vin. IQ^ De marbre ni de porphyre Qu'on ne fasse mon tombeau : Pour cercueil je ne desire Que le contour d'un tonneau ; Je veux qu'on peigne ma trogne Avec ce vers a Fentour : Ci-git le plus grand ivrogne Qui jamais ait vu le jour. SacchanaUan SONCS. Life. (La Vie.) Racan. This truly Horatian song, which was addressed by Racan to his friend Maynai'd, is esteemed one of the best of the seventeenth century. RiTHEE, why this toil and pain? Let us drink, new heart to gain, Drink of this dehcious draught ; Charms it has, which far exceed All the cups of Ganymede, Which the old Olympians quaffed. Years this liquor melts away Quickly as a single day; This revives our youthful bloom, This from our remembrance flings All regret for bygone things, — Checks the fear of ills to come. Drink, Maynard, fill high your glass; Human life will fleetly pass, Death remains our final goal. Vain are prayers, and vain are tears; Like the rivers are our years, For they never backwards roll. Clad in garb of green, the spring Follows winter, conquering, And the ocean ebbs and flows; But when youth to age gives place. Nought the wrinkles can efface, — Time no restoration knows. Death prepares one gen'ral fate For the lowly and the great, Humble cot and palace tall.* * "Pallida Mors," &c.— HoRAca. BACCHANALIAN SONGS, 189 Equal laws the Sisters make, Kings' and peasants' threads they take, And one weapon cuts them all. With their reckless rigour, they, Unrelenting, snatch away All that here seems firm and strong, To that other side in haste. Where the waters we shall taste, Which black Lethe rolls along ! ORIGINAL. PouRQUoi se donner tant de peine? Buvons plutot a perdre haleine De ce nectar delicieux. Qui, pour I'excellence, pr(fcfede Celui meme que Ganymfede Verse dans la coupe des dieux. C'est lui qui fait que les annees Mous durent moins que les journ^es. C'est lui qui nous fait rajeunir, Et qui bannit de nos pensees, Le regret des choses passe'es Et la crainte de I'avenir. Buvons, Maynard, i pleine tasse, L'age insensiblement se passe Et nous mene \ nos derniers jours; L'on a beau faire des priferes, Les ans, non plus qui les riviferes, Jamais ne rebroussent leur cours. Le printems, vetu de verdure, Chassera bientot la froidure. La mer a son flux et reflux ; Mais, depuis que notre jeunesse Quitte la place 'k la vieillese, Le temps ne la ramfene plus. I go BACCHANALIAN SONGS. Les lois de la mort sont fatales Aussi bien aux maisons royales Qu'aux taudis converts de roseaux; Tous nos jours sont sujets aux Parques; Ceux des bergers et des monarques Sont coupds des memes ciseaux. Leurs rigueurs, par qui tout s'efface, Ravissent, en bien peu d'espace Ce qu'on a de mieux e'tabli, Et bientot nous mdneront boire, Au-delk de la rive noire Dans les eaux du fleuve d'oubli ! THE EPICUREAN. (L'Epicur'een.) Saurin. Born 1692. Saurin was a member of the Diners dn Caveau, founded in 1733= WAS not born a prince or king, No town have I, nor anything That folks of high degree have got; Yet in content none equal me. For being just what they are not, I'm just what they desire to be. My doctrine is with wisdom rife, — Without it man may pass his life In toiling to heap up and save; Whereas, it cannot be denied. If we desire just what we have. Our wishes will be satisfied. I '11 have no check upon my glass, No interference with my lass ; I merely live for mine own sake, To Epicurus homage pay; My temp'rament my law I make, And nought but nature I obey. BACCHANALIAN SONGS. 191 MY PHILOSOPHY. (Ma PhilosopMe.) DUFRESNY. OOD wine ! good wine ! Though I own thy pow'r divine, Still 1 see my life decline; Yet, while moments quickly go. Noble wine, unceasing flow ; Since uncertain life must be. Let me, pray, make sure of thee. Good sense ! good sense ! Study is a vain pretence, If we think thou comest thence. Fools o'er lamps of oil grow pale, Lamps of wine will never fail ; Sage physician, man of law, From the glass your wisdom draw. What's that?— Oh, oh! I have left my wife below, And a friend is with her — so I'll just take another glass, Bidding jealous passions pass. Drunkenness is good for me, Nought unpleasant can I see. But now, alas ! I see a ghastly figure pass. And dip its finger in my glass. 'Tis the Fate who spins life's thread; Still flow on, thou liquor red; Till the last, last drop is gone. Will the Fate keep spinning on! 192 BACCHANALIAN SONGS. THE NEW EPIMENIDES. (Le Nouvel Epimenede.) JaCINTHE LECLliRE. Leclere was a member of the " Societt^ de Momus,'' /RWHEN dinner's done, — an Epimenides, \ffl\ I conjure up a world all bright and gay, » I Hope guides me as I wander at my ease, — If 'tis a dream, oh, wake me not, I pray. Of a vast kingdom, lo ! I am the king ; Those flatterers who elsewhere thrive, alas! And to the wholesome air their poison bring, Are not found there. — In vi7io Veritas ! There do I choose a minister of state. Such as the world has never seen before ; Who scatters blessings without empty prate, Who loves his king, and treach'ry can abhor. A songster, terror of the knave and fool, I choose to be my keeper of the seals j I arm him with the scourge of ridicule. And well his lashes the transgressor feels. A clerk who once was forced to write — write— write, And hardly gained his miserable bread, I place o'er my exchequer, happy wight ! Now 'tis his place to sign— sign— sign instead. That jolly dog, that water-shunning sinner, To sup'rintend my navy I will take; I hear that he sees double after dinner, And so his budget fasting he shall make. For war, I'll take your bon vivant, I think. War against water-drinkers he'll declare ; And if there's one who only sips his drink, I'll let the foreign ofiice be his care. BACCHANALIAN SONGS. 193 Sex, whom both king and cabinet adore, A seat you '11 always in my council find ; Yours are the only chains we ever bore, — Soft chains of roses, which the heart can bind. Lastly, for fear the chosen sons of Comus Should be disturbed by folks of ill intent. The president of this gay club of Momus Shall also be my council's president. When dinner 's done, — an Epimenides, I conjure up a world all bright and gay, Hope guides me, as I wander at my ease. If 'tis a dream, oh, wake me not, I pray. THE KING OF YVETOT. (Le Rot d' Yvetot.) B^KANGEK. This exceedingly celebrated song, the title of which is that of an old tavern sign in the Norman town of Yvetot, was written in May, 1813, and is considered one of the earliest indications of a poHtical tendency in Beranger. HERE was a King of Yvetot, Who, little famed in story, Went soon to bed, to rise was slow. And slumbered without glory. 'Twas Jenny crowned this Jolly chap With nothing but a cotton cap, Mayhap. Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha! ha ! What a famous king was he, oh la ! Within his thatchdd palace, he Consumed his four meals daily; He rode about his realm to see Upon a donkey, gaily; 13 194 BACCHANALIAN SONGS. Besides his dog, no guard he had, He hoped for good when things were bad,- Ne'er sad. Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho 1 ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What a famous king was lie, oh la ! No costly tastes his sonl possessed, Except a taste for drinking, And kings who make their subjects blest Should live well, to my thinking. At table he his taxes got. From every cask he took a pot I wot. Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What a famous king was this, oh la! With ladies, too, of high degree He was a fav'rite rather, And of his subjects probably In every sense a father. He never levied troops ; but when He raised the target, calling then His men. Ho! ho! ho! ho! ha! ha! ha! ha! What a famous king was he, oh la ! He did not widen his estates Beyond their proper measure ; A model of all potentates. His only code was pleasure. And 'twas not till the day he died His faithful subjects ever sighed Or cried. Ho! ho! ho! ho! ha! ha! ha! ha! What a famous king was he, oh la ! This wise and worthy monarch's face Is still in preservation, And as a sign it serves to grace An inn of reputation. BACCHANALIAN SONGS. 195 On holidays, a joyous rout Before it push their mugs about And shout. Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What a famous king was he, oh la ! ORIGINAL. Il etait un roi d'Yvetot Peu connu dans I'histoire; Se levant tard, se couchant tot. Dormant fort bien sans gloire, Et couronn6 par Jeanneton D'un simple bonnet de coton, Dit-on. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! Quel bon petit roi c'dtait Ik ! La, la. II faisait ses quatre repas Dans son palais de chaume. Et sur un ane, pas 'k pas, Parcourait son royaume. Joyeux, simple, et croyant le bien, Pour tout garde il n'avait rien Qu'un chien. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! Quel bon petit roi c'dtait Ik! La, la. II n'avait de goflt onereux, Qu'une soif un peu vive ; Mais en rendant son peuple heureux, II faut bien qu'un roi vive. Lui-meme, \ table et sans suppot, Sur chaque muid levait un pot D'impot. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! Quel bon petit roi c'dtait la ! La, la. 13 — 2 196 BACCHANALIAN SONGS. Aux filles de bonnes maisons Comme il avait su plaire, Ses sujets avaient cent raisons . De le nommer leur pfere : D'ailleurs il ne levait de ban Que pour tirer quatre fois Tan Au blanc. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah! Quel bon petit roi c'dtait 1&. ! La, la. II n'agrandit point ses etats, Fut un voisin commode, Et modble des potentats, Prit la plaisir pour code. C'n'est que lorsqu'il expira Que la peuple qui I'enterra, Pleura. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! Quel bon petit roi c'^tait Ik! La, la. On conserve encor le portrait De ce digne et bon prince; C'est I'eriseigne d'un cabaret Fameux dans la province. Les jours de fete, bien souvent, La foule sMcrie en buvant Devant. Oh ! oh ! oh ! oh ! ah ! ah ! ah ! ah ! Quel bon petit roi c'-^tait \W La, la. BACCHANALIAN SONGS. 197 THE GOOD SILENUS. (Le Bon Silene.) T. Dauphin. IS jolly face still red With juice of grapes, Silenus woke Upon his leafy bed, Roused as the lovely morning broke. And thus he gaily sang. While echoes round him rang: " Ye Sat) rs, hasten to my call, Coquettish Dryads, Fauns, and all ; No longer shall you sleep to-day. My children, sing and drink away ! " Obedient to his voice, The madcaps hastened from the wood. Who in the grape rejoice, To share their master's mood. With tambourine the throng Accompanied his song; And while the wine inspired -their brain, They flung him back his jovial strain : 'No longer shall you sleep to-day, My children, sing and drink away!" Silenus, quite elate. Said, " Hymns of glory loudly sing : The story I'll relate Of him who o'er the gods is king. But sorry work, I think, Is singing without drink; So let the burning liquor flow. Your voices will more smoothly go: No longer shall you sleep to-day, My children, sing and drink away! igS BACCHANALIAN SONGS. "When from the mount he came, Where he was hidden by his sire, His throat was in a flame, His mother being killed by fire. The glorious child of mirth Lisped, even at his birth, — ' Come, wet my lips, — your own as well, And this to my disciples tell : No longer shall you sleep' to-day, My children, sing and drink away ! ' "The precious little pet. To bring him up I had the luck; And I was forced to get A goat to give his godship suck. The goat would freely browse, The infant would carouse, And say, the wicked jackanapes. While munching up the fallen grapes, — 'No longer shall you sleep to-day. My children, sing and drink away ! ' "When he began to grow, He was as bold as he was high; His heart would proudly glow. For foreign conquest he would sigh. The gentle yoke he brought Was by the natives sought; They loved the scent his liquor gave. And shouted with his army brave, — 'No longer shall you sleep to-day, My children, sing and drink away ! ' "To Indian soil he bore Joy, merriment, and conqu'ring arms, And soon he triumphed o'er A race submissive to his charms. And, when he left, the flowers Were dewed by tears in showers; While he, the drooping souls to cheer. Cried, — ' Never mind, the vine is here : BACCHANALIAN SONGS. 199 No longer shall you sleep to-day, My children, sing and drink away ! ' "He made a passage short, Returning to the Grecian shore; But on his way paid court To one whose chains he gladly wore. The lady, sad and proud, To shun all love had vowed ; But soon the wine subdued her pride, And, far from Theseus, thus she cried, — ' No longer shall you sleep to-day. My children, sing and drink away ! ' "He reached our glorious land, And ended thus his Eastern trip; Then, at his sire's command, To heaven he went, the wine to sip. And ever since that time. In that abode sublime. The golden vine he still protects, And ne'er the ancient law neglects, — ' No longer shall you sleep to-day. My children, sing and drink away ! ' " An accident cut short Silenus' story, — down he fell; And all his merry court Were tumbled on the ground pell-mell. But still they gaily sung, While echoes round them rung, — "Ye Satyrs, hasten to my call, Coquettish Fauns, and Dryads all; No longer shall you sleep to-day. My children, sing and drink away!" 200 BACCHANALIAN SON^§>- MY VINE. (Ma Vigne.) Pierre Dupont, M. Pierre Dupont is probably the youngest of the poets whose names appear in the collec- tion, and unquestionably the most popular song-writer now living. The Chant des Quvriers and Les Bipn/s, to which he chiefly owes his fame, will be_ found under other heads. The entire works of Dupont are published in a collected form, with the music. . HIS rambling plant, which loves to run Like a green lizard in the sun, The keen wind shunning, — is my vine : Upon a flinty soil it grows, . Which pays with sparks the iron's blows ; And comes in the directest line ^^ From that brave sprig which, honoured yet, Old Noah in the young world set. When in my goblet, brother mine, I see the purple liquor glow, I gladly thank the powers divine That nought like this the English know. In spring my vine its blossom bears. Which like a timid maid appears. So pale with all its loveliness. In summer 'tis a saucy bride. In autumn puts forth all its pride. Then comes the vintage and the press; In winter its repose it takes, But then its wine our sunshine makes. When in my goblet, &c. The cellar where my wine I stow Has been a convent long ago; 'Tis vaulted like an ancient church. Down, straight enough, my feet can trip, BACCHANALIAN SONGS. But when my good old wine I sip, — And sip again, — I make a lurch. Yes, there's the wall, — the pillar's there, But hang me if I find the stair. When in my goblet, &c. The vine must be a tree divine. The vine is mother of our wine ; So honour to the ancient lass Who after full five thousand years Her family of children rears. And suckles from a brimming glass; The mother, too, of love is she. So, dearest Jenny, drink with me. When in my goblet, &c. THE HAPPY END. ( L! heureuse fin. ) Laujon. Born 1727, died 1811. Old Laujon, who was the perpetual president of the Caveau Moderne, and was regarded as a French Anacreon, was admitted as a member of the Academy after fifty years' solicitation for the honour. This song is dated 1759. ITHOUT ceasing, drink and laugh ; Lips to kiss and cups to quaff Cheer our moments more than think- ing; Be our heads with ivy crowned, At our festivals be found None but friends of love and drink- ing. Wine such rapture can inspire, I can see without desire. E'en the greatest monarch's treasure; Often in a happy hour Drinking, kissing in some bow'r, I have been o'erstocked with pleasure. BACCHANALIAN SONGS: Whether he go slow or fast, That dread land of shades at last Ev'ry man to see is fated : Be it then our constant care Death , shall only take us there When with love and wine elated. PRAISE OF WATER, (LEloge de l^Eau.) Aruiand Gouff^. Born 1773, dit;d 1345. Armand Gouffe was a renowned member of the Cavcau Moderns and the Diners dn Vattdevilley as well as a writer of y musical dramas. This song is , dated 1803. T last, at last it rains, The vine which was athirst Its strength once more regains, By heavenly bounty nursed. So let your glasses cUnk To water, — gift divine ! 'Tis water makes us drink Good wine. Through water, friends, 't is true The Deluge once we had ; But, thanks to Heaven, there grew The good beside the bad. Our grave historians think The Flood produced the vine : 'Tis water makes us drink Good wine. How great is my delight, When, with their precious store, The vessels are in sight, Before my very door; BACCHANALIAN SONGS. 203 And on the river's brink Land juice from every vine ! 'Tis water makes us drink Good wine. In weather fine and dry The miller drinks his fill Of water, with a sigh ; — His mill is standing still. When water flows, I think, No longer he 11 repine : 'Tis water makes him drink Good wine. Another instance yet. Good comrades, I can show : See into yon guinguette The water-carrier go. His eyes begin to blink, His troubles to decline : 'Tis water makes him drink Good wine. Of water while I sing, I 'm thirsty with my task : Be kind enough to bring A bumper from the cask. Your glasses bravely clink, Repeat this strain of mine, — 'Tis water makes us drink Good wine. A BACCHANALIAN DELIRIUM. (Le Delire Bachique.) Charles Hubert Millevoye. Born 1782, died 1816. Listen, listen, comrades mine ! Pour for me, god of the vine ! Thy sweet potent ruby wine. 204 BACCHANALIAN SONGS. Water, Apollo, I don't ask ! — Good wine does with wit inspire. Moistens my delirious fire, For a bottle is my lyre. And my Parnassus is a cask. Only one great man I own, And as Noah he is known : To this saint, and him alone, I have vowed devotion true ! Noah, of the mood benign, Who enriched us with the vine, And to whom we must assign, For the invention, honour due. The religion of old days. As poetic, merits praise. But too watery was always, And too sad a picture shows ; Hippocrene and Jouvence fair Of my favour have small share. And I ready pity spare For Tantalus's thirsty woes. Phlegethon's dark wave of fear, Styx's solemn waters clear. Are to me by no means dear, — May Jove excuse my want of taste ! Cruel destiny ordains That where gloomy Pluto reigns — (To increase, alas ! our pains) — Water only shall be placed. Ed. €i^mxmn Sangs. Under this head are placed all the songs which, while they sometimes glance at the uncertainty of mundane affairs, at the same time inculcate a spirit of content and rational enjoyment. There is one feature in French contentment which we do not often find in the effusions of English poets. Throughout English poetry there is generally a longing after the rural ; and, however the joys of a humble lot may be celebrated, they are usually as- sociated with a neat cottage and green fields. Contentment with a humble (own life is eminently Parisian. We cannot fancy an Englishman singing the delights of a fourth floor like the bard of the " Bachelor's Lodging " comprised under this head. The French are also remarkable for a number of songs on the pleasures of eating — as distinguished from drinking. They sing the "table" with the ■!,iixa.& gusto as the "bottle," and make it the subject of much pleasant morality. Comus, a Pagan deity little familiar to the EngUsh beyond the precincts of Milton's Masque, is constantly named as the promoter of good cheer^the fact that his name conveniently rhymes with that of Momus contributing, perhaps, somewhat to his exaltation. 205 THE LAWS OF THE TABLE. (Lcs Lois de la Table.) Panarb, Born 1691, died 176s. A collection of Epicurean poems could not be more appropriately headed than by this excel- lent old song of the venerable Panard, who spent nearly the whole of his long life in writing cheerful ditties. His numerous writings for the stage gained for him the name of the Lafon- taine of the Vaudeville, bestowed on him by Marmontel. He is considered the father of modem French songs. HE guests should always be at ease, However sumptuous is the fare, No banquet can my palate please. If dull constraint is reigning there. If in a house constraint I find, Again, be sure, I never come; No invitation's to my mind Save when I feel myself at home. The rigid laws of etiquette Were made our happiness to mar; All rules of " place " at once forget, And take your seats just as you are. Leave only a sufficient space That each may have his elbows free, Nor ever let a lovely face Tempt you to break this sound decree An over-civil guest avoid. Who tortures you from pure goodwill, Who loads your plate till you are cloyed, And must incessant bumpers fill. Enjoyment liberty requires, — Let none control my glass or plate; Let each man take what he desires, Upon himself let. each man wait. 206 EPICUREAN SONGS. 207 Things that can only please the sight Ne'er upon me impression made ; A dazzling show of silver bright To me appears a vain parade. I smile to see the grand epergne Its slender form so proudly rear; Untouched I know it will return, And lie locked up for half a year. The laws how dishes should be placed That they may make a good effect, Are recognized by men of taste. But still their soundness I suspect. Of this same optical display The use, I own, I cannot see : For eyes do we make dinners, pray? And must we eat by symmetry? Some boast that they can bravely drink, But let us shun the toper's fame ; It is an honour which, I think. Is very much akin to shame. The magic of the potent cup Can make the wit a heavy lout; We '11 drink to light the spirit up. But not to put its lustre out. Some, when their charmer's name they toast, In ecstacies their glasses break; This seems ingratitude almost. And is, at best, a great mistake. Toast freely, then, but don't destroy; — The man has nearly lost his wits Who takes the instrument of joy. To break it into Httle bits. If for a song or tune we ask. Let him who's called to sing or play Not seem as 'twere a heavy task, — Let him strike up without delay. 2o8 EPICUREAN SONGS. And let him know when he should cease; Oh, dreadful is that wretched man Who, when he tries his friends to please. To tire them out does all he can. Let kings, and their high mysteries. Under discussion ne'er be brought; According to a maxim wise. We'll hear and see, and still say nought. To them all due respect we'll show, Whom o'er our heads the gods have placed; The goods the gods on us bestow. With all devotion will we taste. My counsel, friends, would you deride? Nay, this is true — be sure of it — Reason should ever be our guide. E'en when we at the table- sit. To grow more gay you will not fail, When, dinner done, the sweets appear; But still, that order may prevail. My little code perhaps you '11 hear : "No vulgar clamour in your song. No raptures that transcend all bounds, No narrative spun out too long, No sarcasm that the hearer wounds. Bon-mots mthout a bad intent, Vivacity from rudeness free ; Without a quarrel, argument. And mthout licence, liberty.'' ORIGINAL. Point de gene dans un repas; Table, fut-elle au mieux gamie, II faut, pour m'offrir des appas, Que la contrainte en soit bannie. Toutes les maisons en j'en voi Sont des lieux que j'dvite; Amis, je veux etr6 chez moi, Partout oil Ton m'invite. EPICUREAN SONGS. 209 Quand on est sur le point d'honneur, Quel de'sagrement on ^prouve ! Point de haut bout; c'est une erreur; II faut s'asseoir comme on se trouve, Surtout qu'un espace assez grand En liberte nous laisse : Meme aupres d'un objet charmant Comus defend la presse. Fuyons un convive pressant Dont las soins importuns nous choquent, Et qui nous tue en nous versant Des rasades qui nous suffoquent; Je veux que chacun sur ce fait Soit libre sans reserve, Qu'il soit un maitre et un valet Qu' a son gout il se serve. Tout ce qui ne plait qu'aux regards A I'atilit^ je rimmole ; D'un buffet charge de cent marcs La montre me parait frivole ; Je ris tout bas lorsque je vois L'elegant edifice D'un surtout qui, pendant six mois, Rentre entier dans FofiBce. Des mats joliment arranges Le compartiment methodique, Malgre las communs pr^juges Ma parait sujet a critique ; A quoi cat optique ast-il bon? Dites moi, je vous pria, Sart-on pour les yeux, et doit-on Manger par symetria? Se piquar d'etre grand buveur Est un abus que je deplore ; Fuyons ce titre peu flatteur; C'est un honnaur qui d^shonore. 14 EPICUREAN SONGS. Quand on boit trop on s'assoupit, Et Ton tombe en dflire : Buvons pour avoir de I'esprit Et non pour le detruire. , Casser les verres et les pots C'est ingratitude et folie; Quelquefois il est a propos De boire aux attraits de Sylvie. Mais ne soyons point assez sots, Dans nos bouillants caprices Pour detruire et mettre en morceaux A qui fait nos ddlices. Qu'aucun de nous pour son talent Ne se fasse jamais attendre; Que sa voix ou son instrument Parte des qu'on voudra I'entendre. Mais qu'il cesse avant d'ennuyer : O, rinsupportable homme Que par son art sait egayer Des amis qu'il assomme ! Des rois les importants secrets Doivent pour nous etre un mystere; II faut pour fuir de vains regrets, Tout voir, tout entendre, et se taire. Respectons dans nos entretiens Ce que les dieux ordonnent, Goutons et meritons les biens Que leurs bontes nous donnent. Quand on devrait me censurer, Je tiens, amis, pour veritable, Que le raison doit mesurer, Les plaisirs memes de la table. Je veux quand le fruit est servi Que chacun se reveille; Mais il faut quelque ordre, et voici Celui que je conseille: EPICUREAN SONGS. Dans les chansons point d'aboyeurs, Dans les transports point de tumulte, Dans les recits point de longueurs, Dans la critique point d'insulte ; Vivacite sans jurement, Liberte sans licence, Dispute sans emportement, Bons mots sans medisance. MY VOCATION. (Ma Vocation.) Eerangek. LUNG down upon this globe, — Weak, sickly, ugly, small; Half-stifled by the mob. And pushed about by all; I utter heavy sighs, To Fate complaints I bring. When lo ! kind Heaven cries, "Sing, little fellow, sing." The gilded cars of state. Bespattering pass me by; None from the haughty great Have suffered more than I. I feel my bosom rise Against the venomed sting. But still kind Heaven cries, " Sing, Uttle fellow, sing." In early years I learned A doubtful life to dread. And no employment spurned That would procure me bread. 14 — 2 EPICUREAN SONGS. Though liberty I prize, My stomach claims can bring; And still kind Heaven cries, "Sing, little fellow, sing." Sweet love has often deigned My poverty to cheer, But now my youth has waned, I see his flight is near. Stern beauties now despise The tribute which I bring; Yet still kind Heaven cries, " Sing, little fellow, sing." To sing, — or I mistake, — Is my appointed task; Those whom to joy I wake. To love me I may ask. With friends to glad my eyes, With wine my heart to wing, I hear kind Heaven, who cries, "Sing, little fellow, sing." THE SOAP-BUBBLE. (La Bulk de Savon.) Alexis DaliIs. Song dated 1842. Pure crystal globe, whom flatt'ring hues array, Who from a straw hast ta'en thy flight ! Thou motley toy, with which the zephyrs play, Thy sparkling brightness charms my sight. Perhaps at sixty it would be More sage such trifles to despise. But still I love that ball to see. Which mounts the air and quickly dies. EPICUREAN SONGS. 213 When towards the sky I see thee soar, And know thou never wilt return, I think of childhood's sports once more. O'er whicli 'tis now too late to mourn. The flowers we pluck in infancy Conceal our fetters from our eyes. Sweet time ! that ball resembles thee ; It mounts the air and quickly dies. Well may'st thou fear some shock, thou fragile thing, Whom fate can shatter with a breath ; Even the butterfly's soft timid wing In touching thee would give thee death. So through the world man's path is free, Until he sees some barrier rise. And falls; thus like the ball is he Which mounts the air and quickly dies. Inconstant love smiles on our early days, And shows a future ever bright ; Folly, his comrade, waves a torch, whose rays Dazzle our inexperienced sight. Lured by the brilliant flame are we, Which scorches while it charms our eyes, Then vanishes — 'tis doomed to be Like that light globe which soars and dies, Sometimes a flattering incense I inhale. Which lulls me into dreams of fame, And then I fancy that I shall not fail To merit an undying name; But soon, alas ! my visions flee, — Those songs which I so fondly prize. Too like that glittering ball will be Which mounts the air and quickly dies. 214 EPICUREAN SONGS. THE TABLE. (La Table.) DisAUGiEKS. Bom J772, died 1827. D&au'iers one of the most famous of the convivial and comic lyrists of France, may be con- sidered 3ie immediate predecessor of B&anger, who sometimes alludes to hin» m his songs. He was president of the Ccivmu Modeme when B&anger was admitted as a member in 1813. N epicure, I mean to sing The table, as a subject fitting; 'Tis certainly a useful thing, And friendship's ties is ever knit- ting. Censure its weapons may unsheathe. To stop my song it is unable; So, fearless of the critic's teeth, I here discourse upon the table. A tribute must be due, of course. To such an universal mother. Of Hfe the table is the source; Indeed, my friend, I know no other. The pillow, where you lay your head, Is soft, but raises visions sable : The dying wretch is on his bed. The jolly dog is at his table. A dish that scatters rich perfumes Must charm the sense beyond all measure, — The anxious nose the steam consumes. Inhaling mighty draughts of pleasure : Compared to feasting, songs, and mirth. All other joys are but unstable; The coldest heart that beats on earth Is melted by a smoking table. Two rivals hear the church clock tell The moment that their life will take fast; The second knows his business well, Who asks them both to come to breakfast. EPICUREAN SONGS. 215 All anger soon in wine is drowned, — To do such wonders wine is able, — The rivals had been underground. Had they not rather sat at table. Fat Raymond's door is every day Besieged by countless cabs and chaises. City and court their visits pay. And all alike resound his praises. "His virtues, then, must be most rare, That thus his fame mounts up like Babel." "Not so."— "Then vast his talents are?" "No; but he keeps a first-rate table." At table on affairs we muse, At table marriage contracts settle, At table win, and sometimes lose. At table wrangling shows our mettle; At table Cupid plumes his wing. At table we -ivrite truth or fable. At table we do everything. So let us never leave the table. ORIGINAL. En vrai gourmand, je veux ici Chanter ce meuble necessaire, Dont tous les mois* I'attrait ch&i. Double nos noeuds et les resserre; Qui quels que soient les traits mordants Dont la critique nous accable, Au risque de ses coups de dents, Je vois m'etendre sur la table. Comment refuser son tribut A cette mere universelle? Sans la table, point de salut, Et nous n'existons que par elle: This refers to the monthly meetings of the Caveau Modeme. 2i6 EPICUREAN SONGS. L'alcove oil rhomme s'amollit Lui peut die etre comparable? Les pauvres mourants sont au lit, Le bons vivants ne sont qu'k table. Quel doux spectacle, quel plaisir; De voir ces sauces parfumdes Dont toujours, prompt k les saisir, L'odorat pompe les fum&s ! On rit, on chante, on mange, on boit- — De bonheur source intarissable ! Le cceur pourrait-il rester froid, Quand il voit tout fumer k table ! Deux rivaux entendent sonner L'instant qui m&iace leur vie. A faire un dernier dejeuner, Un tdmoin sage les convie ; Dans le vin tous deux par degrds Eteignent leur haine implacable, lis seraient peut-etre enterre's S'ils ne s'^taient pas mis k table. Le gros Raymond voit chaque jour, Cent wiskys assidger sa porte; II revolt la ville et la cour; La renommde aux cieux le porte, " II a done de rares vertus ? " "Non."— "A-t-il un rang remarquable, Des talents, de I'esprit?" — "Pas plus." " Qu'a-t-il done ? "— " II a bonne table." A table on compose, on ecrit; A table une affaire s'engage, A table on joue, on gagne, on rit; A table on fait un marriage; A table on discute, on r^sout, A< table on aime, on est aimable ; Puisqu'k table on peut faire tout, Vivons done sans quitter la table. EPICUREAN SONGS. 217 FELIX SUMMERDAY.* (Roger Bo7itemps.) B^RANGER. One of the most celebrated songs of E^ranger first period. It is dated 1814, and may be supposed to set forth the poet's ideal of a wise man at the period when hehad not begun to interest himself in politics. PATTERN meant to be, Which grumblers should not scorn, In deepest poverty Stout Summerday was born. "Just lead the life you please," — " Ne'er mind what people say," — Sound' maxims, such as these, Guide Felix Summerday. On Sunday he goes out. Dressed in his father's hat, Which he twines round about With roses, — and all that. A cloak of sorry stuff Then makes up his array; 'Tis surely smart enough For Felix Summerday. Strange knickknacks has he got,- A portrait he loves still, A crazy bed, a pot Which Providence may fill. An empty box, a flute, A pack of cards for play; These simple treasures suit Fat Felix Summerday. * If any critic objects to this conversion of an imaginary proper name into one of smaller significance, let him find an English rhyme for P 2l8 EPICUREAN SONGS. ^ For children of the town Full many a game has he; He gains a high renown By stories — rather free; Of nought he loves to speak But songs and dances gay; Such themes the learning make Of Felix Summerday. For want of choicest wine, To drink what he can get; To value ladies fine Far less than Sue or Bet; To pass his days in bliss, And love, — as best he may, — This is the wisdom, this, Of Felix Summerday. He prays : " Great Power above, Do not severely tax My faults, but show Thy love When I 'am rather lax ; The season of my end Make still a month of May; This blessing, Father, send To Felix Summerday." Ye poor, with envy cursed; Ye rich, for more who long; Ye who, by fortune nursed. At last are going wrong; Ye who are doomed to find Wealth, honours pass away. The pattern bear in mind Of Felix Summerday, ORIGINAL. Aux gens atrabilaires Pour exemple donne. En un temps de miseres Roger Bontemps est n€. EPICUREAN SONGS. Vivre obscur &, sa guise, Narguer les mdcpntens; Eh gai ! c'est la devise Pu gros Roger Bontemps. Du chapeau de son pfere, CoifK dans les grands jours, De roses ou de lierre Le rajeunir toujours; Mettre un manteau de bure, Vieil ami de vingt ansj Eh gai ! c'est la parure Du gros Roger Bontemps. ff Poss^der dans sa hutte Une table, un vieux lit, Des cartes, une flilte, Un broc que Dieu remplit, Un portrait de maitresse, Un cofifre et rien dedans; Ell gai ! c'est la richesse Du gi-os Roger Bontemps. Aux infants de la ville Montrer de petits jeux; Etre un faiseur habile De contes graveleux; Ne parler que de danse Et d'almanachs chantans; Eh gai ! c'est la science Du gros Roger Bontemps. f?^. Faute de vins d'elite, Sabler ceux du canton; Prdferer Marguerite Aux dames du grand ton; De joie et de tendresse Remplir tous ses instans; Eh gai ! c'est la sagesse Du gros Roger Bontemps. %Jlv 220 EPICUREAN SONGS. Dire au del : Je me fie, Mon pere, \ ta bonte: De ma philosophic Pardonne la gaite: Que ma saison derniere Soit encore un printempsj Eh gai ! c'est la prifere Du gros Roger Bontemps. Vous, pauvres pleins d'envie, Vous, riches ddsireux; Vous, dont le char ddvie Aprbs un cours heureux; Vous, qui perdrez peut-etre Des titres ^clatans. Eh gai ! prenez pour maitre Le gros Roger Bontemps. SONG FOR EVER! ( Vive la Chanson.) J. A. Perchelet. Perchelet was one of the members of Lci Lice Chan- sonniere founded by Lepage in 1834, This song is dated 1842, EAR friends, another bumper fill, — They say our songs are growing dull : What is the matter ? Are we ill ? Or are our glasses never full ? Great Bacchus has a drug, no doubt. To keep poor Momus' soul from sinking ; So come, my friends, we'll fall a-drinking : When wine flows in, the mt shines out. yes, wine ! such power can give, Yes, wine , ^ __, ^_.. That song for evermore shall live. EPICUREAN SONGS. 221 Let politics put on a mask, Although each heart with freedom glows; To tyrants who our patience task, Futurity we can oppose. Grasped by the Future's hand is seen A cup, whence purer wine is welling ; The leaguer, with his bosom swelling, Obeys the joyous tambourine. New couplets will the Future give, And song for evermore shall live. As history has been dry too long, To Momus' subjects let us give. By way of change, a merry song, Instead of charters that deceive. The anxious dreams we can despise Of those who purchase power too dearly; A song can speak the truth out clearly, A charter only tells us lies. To jolly Momus thanks we give. Yes, song for evermore shall live. The puny dwarflings who sustain The tyrants, with triumphant glance, A host of giants would restrain; We meet their steps with song and dance. Let all our band of brothers wake. Whom the same arching heavens cover ; To-morTow, friends, perchance the Louvre Beneath the Carmagnole may shake That strain great Momus shall revive, And song for evermore shall live. Another ^vreath of palm to gain. Encroaching tyrants to defy; For Beranger we call — in vain ! The poet gives us no reply. Come, idle we have been too long; 222 EPICUREAN SONGS. When men are in a dungeon 13'ing, The song should through the streets be flying, The people stands in need of song. No heed to scowling vizors give, Laugh, sing-^for song shall ever live. THE BACHELOR'S LODGING. (Le Mknage du Gar con.) Joseph Pain. Born 1773, died 1830. This is the song referred to in the Introduction to this division. LODGE upon a lofty floor, In fact, just where the staircase ends; , _ No housewife have I ; — to my door No porter but myself attends. When creditors to seek their prey, Ringingwith all their vigour, come, 'Tis I myself am forced to say That I myself am not at home^ My list of movables, I 'm sure, A sheet of paper would not fill. Yet I've sufficient furniture To entertain my friends at will ; Though babbling fools I cannot bear. True friends receive a welcome kind J For ev'ry man I have a chair, For ladies too a nook I find. Sweet nymph, wheii you would soothe my cares. Come softly, lest yourself you tire; Believe me, eight and ninety stairs. No little fortitude require. EPICUREAN SONGS. 223 When towards my dwelling ladies come, They always feel a sudden start, And never see my humble home Without a palpitating heart. Gourmands, the state of my cuisine, — You wish to learn it, I dare say, — Ample my fare has ever been, I always take three meals a day. Of breakfast I am ne'er in doubt, But invitations always get; 1 make a point of dining out, And never supped at home as yet. I've a domain that never ends. It spreads round Paris everywhere; '' For farmers, I have bosom friends. And many castles — in the air. A cab I have at my command. Whene'er I wish to cut a dash; My gardens in my windows stand, My waistcoat-pocket holds my cash, The millionaire with pity eyes A thoughtless, thriftless wight like- me; My visionary wealth I prize, And think myself as rich as he. Since though from hand to mouth I live, While he his riches can display. We're pretty certain to anive Together both at New-year's day. The sage, who in his volumes taught That ev'rything that is is right, Was not so wrong, I 've often thought, If we but manage matters right. You'll own that if we had the job Of giving an improving touch To this abused old-fashioned globe. We should not mend its structure much. 224 EPICUREAN SONGS. MY LITTLE CORNER. (Mon petit Coin.) B^RANGER. This song is dated 1819. nothing in this world I prize, — I'll seek my little nook once more,' The galley slave his prison flies. To find a refuge on the shore. When in my humble resting-place, As a Bedouin I am free; So grant me, friends, this trifling grace. My little corner leave to me ! There tyranny no army brings; There rights I balance without fear; There sentence I can pass on kings, And o'er the people shed a tear. The future then, with smiling face, In my prophetic dreams I see; Oh, grant me, friends, this trifling grace. My little corner leave to me! There can I wield a fairy's wand, Can further good, can banish ill, Move palaces at my command. And trophies raise where'er I will. The kings whom on the throne I place, Think power combined mth love should be;- Oh, gra,nt me, friends, this trifling grace. My little corner leave to me! 'Tis there my soul puts on new wings. And freely soars above the world, AVhile proudly I look down on kings, And see them to perdition hurled. EPICUREAN SONGS. 225 One only scion of his race Escapes, and I his glory see; — Oh, grant me, friends, this trifling grace. My little corner leave to me! Thus patriotic plans I dream, By heaven valued, not by earth; Oh, learn my reveries to esteem, — Yoitr world, indeed, is little worth. The nymphs who high Parnassus grace. The guardians of my toils shall be; — Oh, grant me, friends, this trifling grace. My little corner leave to me! THE LITTLE GARGANTUA. (Le petit Gargantua.) DliSAUGIEKS, HEN we have learned to eat and drink. There 's nothing more we need on earth; The richest, without jaws, I *» think. Would find their riches little worth. A faithful mistress is the board, It won our childhood's earliest sighs, Its charms by infants are adored. Its pleasures tott'ring age can prize. When we have learned, &c. 226 EPICUREAN SONGS. A world of pains the pedant takes ; But for his learning what care I, When^ where the cook a fortune makes, The bookseller^ of hunger die? When we have learned, &c. Demosthenes and Cicero Are doubtless stately names to hear; The name of good Amphitryo Sounds far more pleasant in mine ear. When we have learned, &c. The treasures which were heaped around, To Midas were an empty show; All had he given to have found A sav'ry dish of fricandemt. When we have learnfed, &c. If upon love I waste an hour, And bear its wearisome delight, It is because love has the power To sharpen up my appetite. When we have learned, &c. Columbus sadly toiled, we're told, That he another world might see; A stately globe would you behold? — ■ My worthy friends, just look at me. When we have learned, &c. Pale grief and envy eat not much. And therefore they are always thin; An ample paunch will ever vouch For goodness resident therein. When we have learned, &c. If Jean Jacques wore a sullen air, While Panard never learned to pout, It was because Jean Jacques was spare, It was because Panard was stout. When we have learned, &c. EPICUREAN SONGS. 227 Here — here within this festive hall To Comus we'll a statue raise, And while this ardour fires us all, We '11 write on it these words of praise : When we have learned, &c, The statue o'er our feasts shall reign. And guard them with its power divine; Then animation it shall gain From fumes of sauces and of wine. When we have learned, &c. Our incense in a vapour dense. Shall with our drunken wisdom rise, And gods shall hear these words qf sense, While thgy are feasting in the skies : When we havp learned, ^g, THE BEGGARS. (Les Gucux.) B^RANGEK, One of the songs of B^ranger's first period, and one of the most celebrated of any period, HE jolly beggars — long live they! Their joy ne'er ends. They're always friends, And always gay, Let us sing the beggars- praise, 'Tis the best thing wit can do, Those most ill-used men to raise, Who are never worth a sou. The jolly beggars, &c. Poverty's a refuge fit Where true happiness may dwell; This I '11 prove by Holy Writ, By my gaiety as well. The jolly beggars, &c. 15—2 228 EPICUREAN SONGS. On Parnassus, I am told, Poverty has reigned for long; What was Homer's wealth of old? — Just a wallet, stick, and song. The Jolly beggars, &c. You who from misfortune flinch, Many a hero you must know. When he feels the tight shoe pinch. Sighs to think of his sal>of. The jolly beggars, &c. You who poverty would snub. Deeming pomp a wondrous thing. Recollect that in his tub Once the cynic braved a king. The jolly beggars, &c. Into yonder mansion fine Dull (fimd will often creep j Without napkins we can dine, On our straw can soundly sleep. The jolly beggars, &c, On that pallet, blithe and free, Lies a god of aspect bright ; Love has called on Poverty, Who is laughing with delight. The jolly begg£i.rs, 6fc, Friendship, whom we oft regret. Doth not yet our climate quit,— Still she drinks at the guinguetie. With the soldiers pleased to sit. The jolly beggars, &c, ORIGINAL. Les gueux, les gueux, Sont les gens heureux; lis s'aiment entre eux. Vivent les gueux! EPICUREAN SONGS. 229 Des gueux chantons la louange, Que de gueux hommes de bien ! II faut qu'enfin I'esprit venge L'honnete homme qui n'a rien. Les gueux, les gueux, &c. Oui, le bonheur est facile Au sein de la pauvret^ : J'en atteste I'Evangile; J'en atteste ma gaitd. Les gueux, les gueux, &c. Au Pamasse, la misere Long-temps a rdgne, dit-on. Quels biens poss^dait Hom^re? Une besace, un baton. Les gueux, les gueux. Sic. Vous qu'afflige la detresse, Croyez que plus d'un heros, Dans le Soulier qui le blesse, Peut regretter ses sabots. Les gueux, les gueux, &c. Du faste qui vous etonne L'exil punit plus d'un grand; Diogene, dans sa tonne. Brave en paix un conqudrant. Les gueux, les gueux, &c. D'un palais I'eclat vous frappe, Mais I'ennui vient y gemir. On peut bien manger sans nappe, Sur la paille on peut dormir. Les gueux, les gueux, &c. Quel dieu se plait et s'agite Sur ce grabat qu'il fleurit? C'est I'Amour, qui rend visite A la Pauvrete' qui rit. Les gueux, les gueux, &c. 230 EPICUREAN SONGS. L'Amitie que Ton regrette N'a point quitt^ nos climats; EUe trinque 'k la guinguette, Assise entre deux soldats. Les gueux, les gueux, Sec. I'LL BE WISE. (Le desir d'etre sage.) Anonymous. HAT I '11 be wise, each day I swear, And follow reason's maxims cold; That though the fairest face is near, I 'U look as Cato looked of old. The evening comes, my love I see, And pleasure takes me by sur- prise ; Yes, folly's slave to-day I'll be, — I vow to-morrow I '11 be Avise. To-morrow comes, — I swear once more. But find I cannot keep my vow; I see the girl whom I adore. And oh ! can I resist her now ? A hurried kiss she gives to me, And swiftly all my wisdom flies ; Yes, folly's slave to-day I'll be,— I vow to-morrow I'll be wise. Who, when a charming girl is nigh, Can hope to act as he has sworn? A tender glance — a smile — a sigh. And lo ! his heart away is borne. Vainly we try from you to flee, For you alone our life we prize; Oh ! folly's slave to-day I '11 be,— I vow to-morrow I '11 be wise. EPICUREAN SONGS. To-morrow then is ^yisdom's day, — To-morrow's sun will never shine ; Quick, take my mistress' charms away,- The fault is hers — it is not mine ; Those eyes, that shine so wickedly, That smile, that causes many sighs, Take all, in short, that maddens me, And then to-morrow I'll be wise. HUMOROUS SONGS. 232 '§xxmotonB antr Safoical Sflivjgs. Under this head are comprised what the French call " Chansonettes Comiques et Satiriques." The most important of the songs are those elaborate descriptions of Parisian life by Desaugiers, to which we can scarcely find a parallel in our own language. A THE HUNCHBACKS. (Les Bossus.) This curious song was written about the year 1740. It is attributed to a physician, who is said to have been himself a hunchback, and to have composed it for a banquet which he save to all the hunchbacks of his acquaintance. "Ti? 'LL tell you a fact, which I learned in my 1^ -' youth, — A hunch on one's back is a blessing in truth ; That greatest of fav'rites, the good master Punch, Who always is welcome as dinner or lunch, Owes half of his fame, be assured, to his hunch. a^ '" V To say that the hunch is a burden is wrong; The greatest advantages to it belong : The man with a hunch both before and behind, His stomach will easily guard from the wind, And shelter besides for his shoulders will find. The hunchback is mostly renowned, you will own, For polished address and the true comic tone; Whenever in profile himself he displays, His form so majestic all folks must amaze. And deep admiration they feel as they gaze. If I were as rich as King Croesus of old, A hunchbacked assembly my palace should hold; What feelings of joy would arise in my breast, While ruling a court which the lustre possessed Of men by Dame Nature so specially blest ! Amid my broad gardens upon a tall base A fine metal cast of great ^sop I'd place, 236 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. And graven below this inscription should tell My views on the subject to all who could spell : " Respect to the hunch, and the hunchback as well." We rightly infer from reflecticms like these, That knights of the hunch push their way as they please; A man may be silly or surly at will. May go about dirty, and dress very ill. But give him a hunch, and he's somebody still. THE COBBLER'S DAUGHTER. (La Fille du Savetier.) ^J. Cf^ This tale of woe is ascribed to Taconet, celebrated in the last century as a writer of pieces illustrative of the manners of low life, in which he himself played the principal per- sonage. A course of dissipation terminated his life in 1774, when he was forty-four years of age. LAS ! — to think a moment's pleasure May cause us trouble beyond measure ! Ye ladies who in weeping find Sweet recreation for the mind, I know that tears will fill your eyes When you have heard my miseries. My sire, a cobbler by vocation, Had gained a wondrous reputa- tion; My rnother took in washing ; I My darning-needle so could ply. That I earned fiyepence every day, But without love what's money, pray? A very nice young man resided Upon the selfsame floor as I did; HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS 237 If I went out,— if I went in, — He always at my door was seen ; He followed me where'er I went. But 'twas not with my sire's consent, One day into his room I ventured, No thought of ill my bosom entered \ My father knocked against the door, And made the devil's o^vn uproar. Oh, when will persecution cease. And lovers talk of love in peace? My sire with rage was boiling over, So by the hair he seized my lover, Who, though his heart was soft, alack ! Was forced to parry this attack; His fist soon reached my father's face, Who tumbled down in sorry case. My mother heard the dying man, And with a stick upstairs she ran. Then, raging like a tempest dread, She knocked my lover on the head; — Alack ! alack ! and well-a-day ! Quite dead upon the floor he lay. My mother for this hapless blow Was into prison forced to go; They've hanged her, — and the commissaire Sends me to the Salpetrifere. Alas ! to think a moment's pleasure May cause us trouble beyond measure! KING DAGOBERT. This extraordinary song is familiar even to the children of Paris, and yet no one seems to know its origin. Neither the style, nor the air to which it is sung, belongs to an antique period. Whatever may be its age, it has long been regarded as a sort of common property, with which any one may do as he pleases. Thus in 1813 some satirical verses were added. 238 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. which evidently pointed to the Russian campaign, and the progress of the song through the streets was checked by the poHce, Although the song is full of intentional anachronisms and absurdities, the intimacy between the ancient IMerovingian King Dagobert and St. Eloi is an historical fact. The saint was Bishop of Noyon, and the confidant of the royal debauchee, whom he inspired with the idea of founding religious establishments as an atonement for his sins. He was, moreover, the king's treasurer, and gained great celebrity for his skill as a goldsmith. f'he introduction of the devil in the last verse possibly owes its origin to an ancient legend, according to which a lioly bishop saw in a vision a number of saints and demons contending for the soul of King Dagobert. This legend forms the subject of an old sculpture in the Abbey of St. Denis, which is still in existence. A very pleasant miracle is related of St. Eloi. It appears that the church of Ste. Colombe was plundered of its ornaments, whereupon the good bishop addressed the deceased saint, _^ and told her that if she did not make the thieves bring the stolen property back to the church, he would shut it up. Ste. Co- lombe took the hint, and on the following night all the articles were restored. ING Dagobert, so stout, He wore his breeches wrong side out. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi, Unseemly are The hose you wear." Then said the king, "That's true," said he, "But now I'll turn them right, you'll see." The king then turned them right; His skin a little came in sight. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi, ] Your skin, alack ! As soot is black." "Pooh, monsieur!" said the king, said he, "Much blacker is her Majesty." King Dagobert, one day, Put on his coat of green so gay. Good Saint Eloi Said, "Look, mon roi, In your best coat A hole I note." Then said the king, "That's true," said he; "But yours is whole, so lend it me." HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 239 His stockings too were seen In boles, — by maggots gnawed, I ween, Good Saint Eloi Said, " O mon roi, Just look below, — Your calves you show." Then said the king, "That's true," said he, "So please your stockings lend to me." King Dagobert, so brave. In wnter was not wont to shave. Good Saint Eloi Said, " O mon roi, You'll get, I hope, A little soap." Then said the king, "I will," said he: "Have you a penny? — Lend it me." King Dagobert, of yore. He wore his -wig hind-part before. Good Saint Eloi Said, " O mon roi. Your wig's not right. You look a fright." Then said the king, "Tiiat's true," said he; "You've got a scratch, so lend it me," King Dagobert, of yore, His cloak too short in winter wore. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi, Your cloak is scant, New cloth you want." Then said the king, "That's true," said he, "So put on inches two or three." King Dagobert wrote verse So ill that nothing could be worse. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi. 240 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. Songs, if you please, You'll leave to geese." Then said the king, "I will," said he, "So you shall make my songs for me." King Dagobert, they say,' Near Antwerp went to hunt one day. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi, You 're out of breath And tired to death." Then said the king, "That's true," said he; "A rabbit scampered after me." King Dagobert, of yore, A mighty sword of iron wore. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi. Ain't you afraid Of that sharp blade?" Then said the king, "I am," said he; "A wooden sword pray give to me." King Dagobert was sad, His dogs were with the mange so bad. Good Saint Eloi Said, " O mon roi, ' To clean each hound. It must be drowned." Then said the king, "That's true," said he; "So drowned with you they all shall be." King Dagobert, so stout, When fighting, flung his blows about. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi, I fear they will Your highness kill." Then said the king, "They may," said he, " So clap yourself in front of me." HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 241 So proud the monarch grew, He thought the world he could subdue. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi, A trip so far Is full of care." Then said the king, "That's true," said hej '"Tis better far at home to be." King Dagobert of old Made war although 'twas winter cold. Good Saint Eloi Said, " O mon roi, Your Highness' nose Will soon be froze." Then said the king, "That's true," said he, "So back again at home I'll be." One day, so runs the tale. The king upon the sea would sail. Good Saint Eloi Said, " O mon roi. If outward bound. You may be drowned." Then said the king, "That's true," said he; "'Le roi boit' then the cry will be.'' The good King Dagobert Was very fond of his dessert. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi, More than enough You eat and stuff." "Pooh, monsieur !" said the king, said he, "In stuffing you're a match for me." King Dagobert the "great, When he had tippled, walked not straight. Good Saint Eloi Said, " O mon roi^ IG 242 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. Your footsteps slide From side to side." "Pooh, monsieur!" said the king, said he; "When you get drunk, you walk like me." And when the good king died. The devil came to his bed-side. Good Saint Eloi Said, "O mon roi, You can't do less Than now confess." Then said the king, "Alas!" said he, "Why can't you die instead of me?" ORIGINAL. (first three verses.*) Le bon roi Dagobert Avait sa culotte a I'enversj Le grand Saint Eloi Lui dit : " O mon roi ! Votre Majeste Est mal culotte." " C'est vrai," lui dit le roi, " Je vais le remettre \ I'endroit." Comme il la remettait Et qu'un peu il se decouvrait, Le grand Saint Eloi Lui dit: "O mon roi, Vous avez la peau Plus noire qu'un corbeau." "Bah, bah!" lui dit le roi, "La reine I'a plus noire que moi." Le bon roi Dagobert Fut mettre son bel habit vertj Le grand Saint Eloi Lui dit : " O mon roi. ' More is nnt requisite where there is so much ! sameness. HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 243 Votre habit pard Au coude est perce." ■' C'est vrai," lui dit le roi ; " Le tien est bon : prete-le-moi." THE CANAL ST. MARTIN (Le Canal St. Martin.) DUPEUTY AND CoRMON. This song, which is dated 1845, is taken froir. a dramatic piece of tlie same name. OME, sons of the Canal, and join me in my strain, From Paris to Pantin — to Paris back again. Long Hve the Canal St. Martin ! The joyous young gamin, The cosy ciiadin. All bless the Canal St. Mar- tin. There laundresses and bargemen loud, There debardeurs and colliers black, About the waters ever crowd. And none employment ever lack.^ Here full a hundred trades can gain Far better bread than on the Seine; And 'tis to our Canal, we know, Our cups of sparkhng wine we owe. Come, sons of the Canal, 8:0. There anglers, catching nought, are seen, Whose hopes no disappointments dash; Thither proceeds with solemn mien The stout bourgeois his dog to wash. 244 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. Though warning notices appear, From its foundation, it is clear, A swimming school was our Canal For training dogs in general. Come, sons of the Canal, &c. The tmdesmeti who in liquor deal, Of our Canal good use can make; And when they mean their casks to fill. They oft its water freely take. By this device they render less The ills that spring from drunkenness , For harmless is the wine, you '11 own, , From vines that in canals are grown. Come, sons of the Canal, k.z. But now it's getting rather dark. And just along the lone bankside Methinks there is a signal : hark ! — And there I see a shadow glide. There's not a star, the sky is black. So homewards, friend, sliould be \'our track. Decked with her veil the moon is seen, And thieves will soon their trade begin. Each prudent citadin will cherish wholesome fears, From midnight till the hour when daylight first appears, Of this same Canal St. Martin; From Paris to Pantin, Thou worthy citadin, Oh ! dread the Canal St, Martin. HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 245 PICTURE OF PARIS, AT FIVE IN THE MORNING. (Tableau de Paris a Cinq Heures du Matin.) DjiSAUGIERS. This and the three following songs are perfect specimens of the descriptive style of Desaugiers. Now the darkness breaks, Flight it slowly takes; Now the morning wakes, Roofs around to gild. Lamps give paler light. Houses grow more white; Now the day's in sight, Markets all are filled. From La Vilette Comes young Susette, Her flowers to set Upon the quay. His donkey, Pierre Is driving near, From Vincennes here His fruit brings he. Florists ope their eyes, Oyster-women rise, Grocers, who are wise. Start from bed at dawn; Artizans now toil. Poets paper soil. Pedants eyesight spoil. Idlers only yawn. I see Javotte, Who cries, "Carotte!" And sells a lot Of parsnips cheap. 246 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. Her voice so shrill The air can fill, And drown it will The chimney-sweep. ^ Now the gamester's seen; With a haggard mien, And his pocket clean, Swearing, home he goes; While the drunkard lies On his path, more mse. Making music rise From his blushing nose. In yonder house They still carouse, Change loving vows, And sing and play. Through all the night, In sorry plight, A wretched wight Before it lay. Now the patient rings Till the servant brings < Draughts and other things. Such as doctors know; While his lady fair Feigns with modest air (Love is lurking there !) For a bath to go. Love's pilgrims creep With purpose deep, And measured step Where none can see; The diligence Is leaving France, To seek Mayence Or Italy. HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 247 ' Dear papa, adieu ! Good bye, mother too, And the same to you, Every little one." Now the horses neigh, Now the whip 's in play, Windows ring away — Out of sight they're gone. In every place New things I trace — No empty place Can now be found; But great and small, And short and tall. Tag-rag and all, In crowds abound. Ne'er the like has been; Now they all begin Such a grievous din. They will split my head ; How I feel it ache With the noise they make ! — Paris is awake. So I '11 go to bed. PICTURE OF PARIS, AT FIVE IN THE AFTERNOON. (Tableau de Paris d Cinq Heures dii Soir.) Now the motley throng. As it rolls along With its torrents strong, Seems to ebb away. 248 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. Business-time has past, Dinner comes at last, Cloths are spreading fast, — Night succeeds to day. In Here woodcock fine I can divine, — On fowl sortie dine, And turkey too; While here a lot Of cabbage hot All in the pot With beef they stew. Now the parasite Hastes with footstep light. Where the fumes invite Of a banquet rare. Yonder wretch I see. For a franc dines he. But in debt he'll be For his sorry fare. £1 Hark, what a noise ! Sure every voice Its force employs To swell the sound. Here softest strains Tell lovers' pains; There proudly reigns The drunken round. Dinner's over, so To cafds they go. While their faces glow; Then elate with wine, Yon gourmand so great Falls, and with his weight Crushes one, whom fate Suffered not to dine. nu.)ronous and satirical songs. 245 The mocha steams, The punch-bowl gleams, And perfume seems To fill the air. " Ice ! ice ! " they call, And "Coffee!" bawl; "Could you at all The paper spare?" Journals they read o'er. Liquors down they pour, Or they sit before Tables spread for play. While with watchful eyes, And with aspect wise. Stands to criticise The habitue. There tragedy They go to see, Here comedy Asserts her reign; A juggler here, A drama there, Your purse would clear, — Nor sues in vain. Now the lamps are bright. Chandeliers alight. Shops are quite a sight; While with wicked eye Stands the little queen Of the magazine. And with roguish mien Tempts the folks to buy. A nook obscure Will some allure. Who there secure May play their parts. 250 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. There thieves at will Their pockets fill; And lovers steal The ladies' hearts. Jeannot, and Claude, and Blaise, Nicolas and Nicaise, Who all five from Falaise To Paris lately came. Admire with upturned' faces, Fast rooted to their places. Paillasse's strange grimaces, — Nought paying for the same. Her labours done. Her dress put on. To dance has gone The gay grisette. Her grandma dear And neighbour near. Their souls will cheer With cool picquet. Now 'tis ten o'clock, Now against a rock, With a heavy shock. Three new plays have struck. From the doors the mob Rushes — mind your fob, — Gentlefolks who rob Try just now their luck. "St. Jean," I say, "Quick — no delay, My cab this way ! " The livery all With wine accursed Could almost burst, But still athirst. From taverns crawl. HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 251 Carriages with pride Take their lords inside, Then away they ghde In a solemn row. Cabs retreat of course, While the drivers hoarse Swear with all their force. As they backwards go. Hark ! what a rout ! They push about, And loudly shout " Take care — take care ! " Some hurry, yet Are soon upset, Across some get. And home repair. Trade begins to drop. Finding custom stop. Tradesmen shut up shopj Here 's a contrast strange ! Noisy thoroughfare. Crowd-encumbered square, To a desert bare Now is doomed to change. A form I see Approaching me : "Qui vive?" says he; At once I shrink ; As he draws nigh. Away go I — 'T is best to fly All scrapes, I think. Now there's nought in sight Save the lamps' pale light, — Scattered through the night, Timidly they peep; 253 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. These too disappear, Nothing far or near But the breeze I hear,- All are fast asleep. THE PILLAR OF THE CAf£ (Le Filter du Cafe.) D^SAUGIERS. ENTLEFOLKS, pray, what must be In this world a fellow's lot, Who, like me, no family. Fortune, place, or wife has got? Through the squares to stray, no doubt. On the quays to roam about. Pardon me — by such a trade None but shoeblacks rich are made. Now upon a plan I've hit Which far better suits my taste. Asks not too much time or wit, And prevents all sorts of waste. Hospitable roofs abound On the Boulevards, where are found Folks who nothing have to do. Folks who take their leisure too. There, when weaiy, I obtain Sometimes pastime, sometimes sleep; Me they shelter from the rain. Me from sunbeams safely keep. HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 253 Ha ! I fancy you have guessed What must be those regions bless'd. Well, for thirty years have I — Through all weathers, wet and dry — Just at seven left my bed. On my sixth floor every day. Washed and shaved and curled my head. And dropped down to the Cafe. There the waiter in a trice Brings of bread a wholesome slice, Which I think a breakfast rare. With a glass of capillaire. Being the first comer — then. Early reading to ensure, I snatch up the Qtwtidiennc, And the Courier I secure. With the Globe beneath an arm. With the other keeping warm The Debafs, I'm on the watch Soon the Aloniteur to catch. Hunting meanwhile the Pilote, Which, though gouty, I obtain; Busy with my limping foot The Diable Boiteux I gain. " Hollo ! neighbour, quid novi ? " Thus I hear a Picard cry. Who is mighty pleased to show Latin in his parts they know. Then of Greece I glibly speak, Touch upon the Institute, Times, the weather of the week, Dogs and actors, — never mute, If by chance he should forget All his sugar-lumps to eat. What he leaves becomes my share: Since 'tis paid for, this is fair. 254 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. No one can my right deny, He that doubts it must be dull; By this smart contrivance, I Keep my sugar-basin full. Then to bilUards off I go, Where the players, as they know I could beat them, one and all, Make me judge of every ball. When the cause is judged I take Beer and biscuit as my fee; This the rule of life I make, — Good advice well paid should be. Soon I hear a "row" below; To the Cafe back I go, There on every side they say Words like "rente" — "indemniie." Running bareheaded about. Where the tempest rages most, Yonder clerk begins to shout That his four-and-nine * is lost; While I chuckle at my ease. Watching well this foolish breeze. Thanking destiny I've not In the funds a farthing got. Dinner-time its warning gives, — All the mandate must obey ; E'en the hottest \vrangler leaves The dispute and the Caf^. I 've just eaten something — so I am not obliged to go ; I can wait, and here, meanwhile, Read at leisure the Etoile. * The French expression for which we have_ risked this very free reading is " trois pour tent" and signified a form of hat worn at the time. To preserve the primary reference to the i'cjttes is impossible. HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 255 'Twill be long though, I suppose, Ere it comes : what can I do ? Fidget with the dominoes, Having read the papers through. Here the Etoile comes — oh, joy! First to read the news am I, With my glasses on my nose, — With an air that must impose. Information do I draw Of whate'er occurred to-day At the Bourse or courts of law ; Likewise know to-morrow's play. All at once a noise I hear, — Now the diners reappear; While the new-lit gas is gleaming, In they come with faces beaming. Various things they chat about. On the seats their bodies throw; Waiters pour their coffee out; I approach incognito. Near a banker now I sit, — Choose my station near a wit, — Brokers now my neighbours make, — Every sort of hue I take. Not one customer in all Could, I'm sure, with me compete, If for coffee I would call Often as I change my seat. 'Tis eleven: from the play Guests pour into the Caf^, Twenty, thirty, I dare say. Who with heat all melt away. Politics of the coulisse Like habitues they handle; Censure actors and the piece; Of the actresses tell scandal. 256 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONQS. Now the counter's awful queen Gliding off to rest is seen, And her movement, as 'tis late. Every one should imitate. The Cafe is cleared at last ; I, the first who entered it, , In my principle am fast, And I am the last to quit.- Sometimes while I'm on the watch Interesting facts to catch, I 'm o'erpowered by slumber soft, — 'Tis a lucky chance ; for oft While asleep they lock me in; So all ready I remain. On the morrow to begin My old fav'rite game again. THE NEW-YEAR'S DAY. (Tableau dejour de I'An.) D^SAUGIERS. iiNCE first the sun upon us shone, A year succeeds the year that's gone. This day, by universal law So great, we'll try to draw, Without a single flaw, That all, who see the sketch tnay say, "This surely must be New- year's day." f No sooner day begins to break, Than all Parisians are awake, HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 257 The bells of every story ring : Here some one calls to bring Some very pretty thing, Some only visits come to pay, — This surely must be New-year's day. As early as the sun's first light, Lolotte, who has not slept all night, Gets up for all her gifts ; — ah, ha ! — Here comes a thimble from mamma, And here six francs from dear papa. From grandma books to make her pray, — This surely must be New-year's day. The banker, early in the morn. Brings gems, his Chloris to adorn ; His clerk, though not so rich, takes care To bring some present rare Unto his lady fair; And so he puts his watch away, — This surely must be New-year's day. To some we haste, when we've no doubt That when we call they will be out. At once to the concierge we go : "What, not at home, then?" — "No." "Alas! you vex me so!" We leave our names, and walk away, — This surely must be New-year's da}'. Now friends grown cool are cool no more, Sut seem as hearty as before ; The method is not dear — a pound Of sugarplums is found, For many a social wound, The best of remedies they say, — And such they give on New-year's day. To yonder man direct your eyes. Who ever bargains — never buys, — 17 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. Takes down— hooks up — peeps here, peeps there, With such a solemn air; Now hurries off elsewhere, That he the selfsame game may play, — This surely must be New-year's day. Now nephews who'd inherit all, Upon their uncle love to call; To see him well is their delight ; But, with his wealth in sight, They hug him — oh, so tight ! — They almost squeeze his life away, — This surely must be New-year's day. The tender swain who does not care To buy flne trinkets for his fair At Christmas-time, to save expense, For coolness finds pretence; His love will recommence Next month — till then he stops away, — This surely must be New-year's day. When all the handsome things are said, And wishes uttered, presents made. Each visitor goes home at last; And when an hour has past, Mourns money spent too fast, And time and trouble thro\™ away, — Yes, surely this is New-year's day. HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 259 IMPORTANT TRUTHS. (Les grandes Veriies.) - * Armand Charlemagne. ROTHERS, 't is a happy age, This good age in which we live; To his views the fearless sage Now the freest scope may give. Bolder than Philoxenus, Down the veil of truth I tear ; While my verse I warble thus, Friends, my revelations hear. Light sometimes from candles comes ; Water serves our thirst to slake; Nipping cold our fingers numbs; In good beds sweet rest we take. Grapes are gathered in September; June is mostly very hot ; When I am within my chamber. Then elsewhere be sure I 'm not. Nought more cold than ice we know; Without salt we cannot pickle; Human pleasures come and go, Mortals all must feel Time's sickle. Not the Danube is the Oise, Neither is the day the night ; While the high-road to Pontoise To Pantin won't lead you right. Many a rascal lives at ease; Shirts are mostly made with sleeves; If in summer you fell trees. Every one can pick up leaves. 17 — 2 26o HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. Those who every falsehood swallow Some discrimination lack; Dancers should the figure follow; Crabs advance by going back. Bread with everything we eat, Even with the choicest dish ; Pheasants are a greater treat Than a bit of smoke-dried fish. Vinegar won't catch a fly; And those barbers, big with hope, Who to whiten niggers try, Only throw away their soap. When to shave ourselves we want, We ne'er take a common broom; In your garden rhubarb plant, And you '11 find no turnips come. That old famous horse of Troy Was not given much to drinking; Every ass don't find employ With the miller, to my thinking. Fools but sorry numskulls are ; He who's wise more wit com-mands; From the head the feet are far. On the neck the former stands. Drunkenness we get from drink; For the sauce the fish we prize; Every loaf weighs more, I think, Than another half the size. Romulus built Rome one day; Heavy rain will make us wet ; Cato was austere, they say : Wealth we can't by wishing get. Few of mustard can approve When 'tis after dinner brought; Though a snub nose we may love. Yet a Roman 'tis not thought. HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 261 He who sick of fever lies Cannot be considered well ; Several hares to catch who tries Won't catch any, I can tell. If you gently blow your soup, You will cool it in a trice; All your cheese you should lock up, Would you save it from the mice. Flints composed of stone are found ; Woods of trees are sometimes full ; Streams with fish will oft abound, Frogs are seen in many a pool. At a rustle will the hare Start, as 'twere a mighty shock; Moved by every breath of air Is the fickle weathercock. Learning is not common sense; Wisdom is a prize, I hold; Half a crown is thirty pence ;* Paper is not made of gold. Every chatterbox may find Deaf men are not wearied soon; 'Tis peculiar to the blind That they cannot see at noon. Do not charge me with a crime. Though no wit my song may season; If you find it is in rhyme, Pray let that suffice for reason. In this age of truth and light, Where fair virtue reigns at will, Happy is the silent wight, He who thinks not, happier still. " Trenie frmics font trente 1%'res" 262 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. THE OXEN. (Les Bxufs.) PlEKRE DUPONT. This production of Dupont rivals in popularity his Chant des Oiivriers, finest beasts are mine, I vow, Two spotted oxen, big and staunch ; Of maple-wood is made my plough ; My goad 's a sturdy holly- branch. 'Tis through their toil you see the plain In summer green, in autumn bro^vn ; More money in a week they gain. Than when I bought them I paid down. Before with them I'd part, I'd hang with all my heart. I own that Joan, my wife, I love beyond my life. But rather see her dead would I,- than I would see my oxen die. My gallant oxen— only look How deep and straight their fuiTows are ! The strongest tempest they can brook; For heat or cold they do not care. And when to take a draught I stop, A mist from their wide nostrils flies. And on their horns the young birds drop, And there they perch before my eyes. Before with them, &c. No oil-press is so strong as they; They're gentler far than any sheep; The townsfolk to our village stray. In hope.s»to buy my oxen cheap, HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. 263 And take them to the Tuileries On Mardi-Gras, before the king; And slaughter them : nay, if you please, Good townsfolk, I '11 have no such thing. Before with them, &c. If when my little daughter 's tall, My royal master's son and heir Should wooing come, — my money all I 'd pay him down, without a care. But if he wanted me to give My two white oxen, marked with red, — Come, daughter, come, the crown we'll leave, And keep our beasts at home instead. Before with them, &c. ORIGINAL. J'ai deux grands boeufs dans mon Stable, Deux grands boeufs blancs, marques de roux; La chaiTue est en bois d'erable, L'aiguiller en branche de houx; C'est par leurs soins qu'on voit la plaine Verte I'hiver, jaune \&i€; lis gagnent dans une semaine Plus d'argent qu'ils n'en ont cout^. S'il me fallait les vendre J'aimerais mieux me pendre; J'aime Jeanne ma femme, eh, ha ! j'aimerais mieux La voir mourir que voir mourir raes breufs. Les voyez-vous, les belles betes, Creuser profond et tracer droit, Bravant la pluie et les tempetes, Qu'il fasse chaud, qu'il fasse froid. Lorsque je fais halte pour boire, Un brouillard sort de leurs naseaux, Et je vois sur leur come noire Se poser les petits oiseaux. S'il me fallait les vendre, &c. ,1 ,''■' 264 HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS. lis sont forts comme un pressoir d'huile; lis sont doux comme des moutons; Tous les ans on vient de la ville Les marchands dans nos cantons, Pour les mener aux Tuileries, Au Mardi-Gras, devant le roi, Et puis les vendre aux boucheries,— Je ne veux pas, ils sont k moi. S'il me fallait les vendre, &c.. Quand notre fiUe sera grande. Si le fils de notre Regent En manage la demande, Je lui promets tout mon argent , Mais si pour dot il veut qu'on donne Les grands bceufs blancs marquds de roux, Ma fille, laissons la couronne Et ramenons les bceufs chez nous. S'il me fallait les vendre, &c. SPECIMENS EARLY POETRY OF FRANCE. 286 SPECIMENS EARLY POETRY OF FRANCE, FROM THE TIME OF THE TROUBADOURS AND TR0UVERE3 TO THE REIGN OF HENRI QUATRE. By LOUISA STUART COSTELLO. Bien entend, e cognuis h sai Ke tuit murrunt e cler e lai, E ke mult a corte duree Empres lur mort lur renum^e, Se par cler ne est mis en livre, Ne pot par el durer ne vivre. Mult soelent estre onur^ Ki de lung fussent ublie, Kar pur els sunt li livres fait, E bun dit fait e bien retrait. Ro7na7i de Rou- Qfl^ Sjpwim^ns of t^e @arlw lo^trg ai Jirara^. INTRODUCTION. From a very early period the arts of poetry and music appeal to have been much cherished in France. About the year 450, when the Gauls and Franks were united as one people under the name of French, their poets and musicians were in great esteem, were invited to all the meetings of princes and great lords, and frequently accompanied their armies, to encourage the soldiers by reciting the actions of noble men, and by the melody and inspir- ing tone of their instruments. The opinion introduced by Sir Walter Scott, in his " Robert of Paris," gives a correct notion of the esteem in which minstrels were held : " The company of a minstrel befits the highest birth, honours the highest rank, and adds to the greatest achievements." Posidonius and Diodorus attest the taste of the Gauls for poetry and music, and numerous authors might be cited to prove the estimation in which their professors were held. Fauchet mentions that these arts were esteemed under Chilperic I., in the sixth century, and that this prince piqued himself on his proficiency in them. Some of his Latin pieces are still preserved, as the poem in honour of St. Germain, "which," says Fauchet, "may be read in the chapel of St. Symphorien in the church of St. Germain des Pres, where the saint was buried." Under Pepin, father of Charlemagne, a musical body was estab- lished for the royal chapel, under a master called ministreUus. Charlemagne, according to Eginhard, his historiaji, delighted in hearing the feats of the kings, his predecessors, in verse; and 269 270 INTRODUCTION. collected a great number of poems on the subject, with the in tention of making a connected history from them. We know b; several specimens of rhymed verse in the ancient French, German or Tudesque, that rhymed poetry was in use in the ninth century Both in the north and south of France poets abounded, and i has employed the attention of some of the most learned men both of England and France, to decide to which race the honou: is due of being the original masters in the art of versification. The southern language, or langice d'oc, and the northern, o: langue d'otl, both proceeded from one common parent, the vitiatec Latin, called in the councils of the ninth century langue Roman, oil. rustique. A specimen of the latter exists in the well-knowr treaty made between Charles the Bald and his brother Louis, a Strasburg, in the year 842. Romance* was the common language of all the people whc obeyed Charlemagne in the south of Europe, that is, all thf south of France, part of Spain, and almost all Italy. This idion seems to have gained ground on the Latin ; so much so, that thf latter was scarcely understood, and Charlemagne sent to Romf for some grammarians to re-establish the knowledge of Latin ii France. All the provinces had their respective dialects till the languagf was divided into two principal idioms, the Romance north of tht Loire, langue d'oil, and the Romance south of the Loire, langu> d'oc. Each of these idioms soon had their poets, who are always the first writers in all languages. Those of the south were callec Troubadours ; and of the north, Trouveres. The Troubadours travelled from kingdom to kingdom, anc * Great disputes have arisen amongst the learned respecting the origin and influence of thi Romance language. The Proven^aux assert, and the Spaniards deny, that the Spanisl language is denved from the original Romance. Neither the Italians nor the French an willing to owe much to it as a parent. The Toulousans roundly assert that the Provencal i the root of all other dialects whatever. See Cazeneuve. " Qbros de Goudelin " (preface), &c Most Spanish writers insist that the Proven9al is derived from the Spanish. See Notes ti Coleccion de Poesias Castellanas." Madrid, 1779. Much valuable information on this interesting subject is contained in M. le Baron Taylor'; beautiful work, \oyagcs Pittoresques dans I'ancienne France," Art. Languedoc. INTRODUCTION. 2^1 were received everywhere with honour and enthusiasm ;* they occasionally sang their own verses, and read or recited those which were not intended for music. Pasquier and Fauchet are agreed that the oldest specimen of rhyming verse is that of Otfried, of the abbey of Wissembourg, in old Frankish, or Tudesque ; but the lays of the professors of La Gaya Cihicia begin the age of poetry properly so called.t Some authors are of opinion that the marriage of King Robert with Constance, daughter of William first Count of Provence or Aquitaine, about the year 1000, was the epoch of a great change in the manners of the court of France. Some even assert that this princess brought in her train Troubadours and Jongleurs, and it is contended that the taste for poetry and its accompani- ments spread from the south of France to the more northern parts of the kingdom. This opinion is, however, indignantly refuted by M. de la Rue, in his work, " Essais Historiques sur les Bardes," &c., in which he goes far to prove not only that the ■ literature of the north of France had attained a high state of per- fection previous to this period, but that the poets who accom- panied Constance, according to the historian Glaber, were persons very unfit to form or to improve the taste of so refined a people as the northern French already were. He thinks the idea equally unfounded and absurd of Eleonore of Aquitaine, at a later period, introducing from the south any literature which could in the least be needed by the poets of the north. However this may be, the protection and encouragement afforded by these princesses could not fail to be valuable to literature in general. The most ancient of the works of the Troubadours with which we are acquainted are those of William the ninth Count of "• Sometimes the Troubadours were .tccompanied by their wives, as, for instance, the wife of Anselm Faydit, of Avignon. She had been a nun, was j'oung and lively, and used to sing her husband's poems. — See Warton. t Raynouard cites, as the most ancient relic of the laiigue cToc^ a poem, "sur Boecc," belong- ing to the abbey of Fleury, or St. Benedict (Saint Benolt-sur-Loire), founded in the sixth century, under Clovis II. This abbey was plundered when Odet de Coligni, Cardinal de Chltillon, who was abbot, became Protestant in 1561, and the MSS. were dispersed. iMany of them are now to be found in the Bibliotheque d'Orl^ans and in the Vatican. 272 • INTRODUCTION. Poictiers* and Aquitaine, who was born in 1070. From the grace and elegance of his style it is evident that poetry had attained considerable perfection in his time. The Jougleurs,t who are sometimes confounded with the Trou- badours and Trouverss, were an order of men who, uniting the art of poetry to that of music, sang to different instruments verses, sometimes of their own composition, sometimes of others. They frequently accompanied their scrags by gesticulations and tours d'adresse, to attract the attention of and amuse the spectators, from whence their name Jugleors, Jugleours, Juglers, and Jongleurs, from the Latin vfoxd joculator, which comes imm. jocus. Before the conquest of England by the Normans, the Anglo- Saxons named these persons glee-men; but, after the conquest, the Anglo-Normans gave them the name of Jongleurs, which they varied in different ways. On the stage they were called Mimes and Histrions, from the Roman miim and histriones : they were called Conteurs or Diseuis when they mixed prose with their verse, or related dMes in verse and stories ; and Fableurs when they introduced fables ; Gesteurs when they sang romances to which they themselves gave the title of Chansons de Gestes ; and Harpeurs when they accompanied, themselves with the harp. They frequently travelled in troops,, associated with perfomiers on various instruments, buffoonsj' dancers, &c.; they were then called Me'nestrels, Mdnestriers, or Minstrels by the Anglo-Normans. J By the subsequent licence of * Grandson of William called "the Great" because of his valour, "the Grammarian' OP account of his gi-eat learning, and " the Pious" in consequence of his devotion.^DE Ste, Palave. t Often vix\w.z^ jongleurs. In Wace's poems the word \5 jugleors', in Spanish it \s,juglary. and in Provencal always yw^/rtn J An ancient Fabliau, ^ says M. de Roquefort, traces the portrait of a Menestrier in not the most favourable light, and its resemblance is unfortunately but too correct. The varietyofl talents necessary for the profession there described is most surprising : it is such, says Legtana^ as one could scarcely expect to see combined in the present day. We have a proof ofthlBin another Fabhaut of the thirteenth century, in which the author enters into a long detail of al| " " De Saint Pierre et du Jougldor," MS Nos. 7.218 and 1.830. de I'abbaye St. Germam. Barbazail, ton, III., p. 282. Legrand d'Aussy, *' Lc Jongleur qui va en Enfer," torn. II.. pp. 36, 47. t Les Deux Eordiiors Ribands. MS. Nn. 7,218. fo'. 213, vo. 7.615, and 1,830. de Vabbaye St. Germain. lot 69, vo. See also "Le Songe de la Voie d'Eiifer," par Kaoul de Houdaii, MS. No. 7,615. Legrand d'Aussy, and M. Ginguen^, Hist. Lltt. d'ltalie. INTRODUCTION. ' 273 their conduct, they brought their order into the contempt which a 1 length attended it. Flanders, Artois, and Picardy were particularly distinguished by their compositions ; thus Warton calls the Jougleurs of these pro- vinces " the constant rivals of the Troubadours." A comparison of their poetry with that of the southern minstrels would be very interesting, and it is to be hoped that M. de la Rue, since he him- self points out the circumstance, will think the subject worthy his consideration. While in the twelfth century the Jougleurs began to lose their respectability, men of quiet and retired habits were peaceably cultivating the muses, and were called Trouvferes. They differed from the Jougleurs, inasmuch as they contented themselves with making verses, while the Jougleurs both composed and sang them; and while the Jougleurs gave themselves little trouble to study, leading as they did dissipated lives, the Trouvferes devoted all their time to perfecting their works, and were even obliged to have recourse to secretaries to assist them in transcrib- ing their poems, as we are told by Richard Wace and Guernes de Pont St. Maxence. There appears always to have been war be- tween the Jougleurs and the Trouvbres, as the latter justly con- sidered the former inferior, and accused them of stealing their ideas. Wace, the Trouvere, is placed by Fauchet in the first rank of northern poets: he lived, according to his own report, in 1155. His celebrated poems are " Le Brut," and " Le Roman de Rou."* The poem of Alexandre, and its numerous branches, followed, that it is req^uisite for a Menestrier or Jougleur to know. The poet imagines that two parties of this descnption, having met in a chateau, endeavour to amuse the lord by a feigned quarrel. The rivals, after having mocked each other, and been sufficiently liberal of abuse, make each an enumeration of their accomplishments. They are acquainted with the poets of their time and with their works, can confer in Romance and in Latin, recite the adventures of the knights of Charlemagne and Arthur, sing songs of every kind, play on every instrument, and give advice to lovers ; know every description of game, and all poetry sung, declaimed, or related". This Fabliau also informs us that the most celebrated poets gave themselves noms de pierre, or sobriq-uefs, such as Erise-tete, Tue-bosuf, Arrache-coeur, Ronge-foie, Brise-barre, Courte- barbe, Fier-a-bras, Tourne-en-fuite, Franche-cote, Courte-^pce, &c. '^ The ** Roman de Rou," or of Raoul or RoUo, first Duke of Normandy, was written about II35- n 274 ^ INTRODVCTION. compiled by a crowd of Trouvferes and- Jougleiirs, whose object appears to have been that of exciting to noble deeds.* The Sotte Chanson or Sirvente of the Trouvferes was satirical, and frequently very forcible and bold ; that of Guiot de Provins, called " La Bible Guiot,"t presents an accurate picture of his times. It was produced under Philip Augustus : he lived long and had much experience, as he professes to speak only of what he had witnessed, and makes a long enumeration of the sovereigns he had known. *' Et eels dont j'ai oi parler. Ne vueil-je pas ci toz nomer ; Mfcs ces princes ai-ge v^uz." Philip Augustus was a patron of poetry,J and .it has frequently been asserted (although perhaps erroneously) that he delighted in hearing the verses of Helinand, a monk of the abbey of Froid- mont in Beauvoisis, a poet of repute who was attached to his couri : he used to call for him at the conclusion of his repasts, according to an old romance ; " Quand li Roy (Alexandre) ot mangi^, s'appella Helinand, Pour ly esbanoyer commanda que il chant." During the regency of Blanche of Castile, and the reign of St. Louis, French poetry may be said to have been at its height.' * Thus the song of Roland (or of RoUo ?) was sung by the Norman Taillefer to encourage the soldiers of William the Conqueror in jo66, in which the whole army joined, according to the custom of those days in rushmg to battle ; "Armed, as if a knight he were. Rushed forth the minstrel Taillefer."— ii'OTiaK de Ron. " As he sung, he played with .his sword, and casting it high in the air, caught it again with his right hand, while all shouted the cry of ' God aid us ! ' Taillefer was killed in the mUee." — A rclteEOlogia^ The name of Taillefer was acquired by Guii|«ume, Count of Angouleme, who in a combat with a IN orman, clove his adversary from the head to the breast, through armour attd all: his descendants for three hundred years kept the name, t La Bible (the Book) was an ordinary title given to these kind of works. His poem opens *' Dou siecle puant et orrible M'estuet commencier une bible For poindre et por aguilloner Et por grant essample doner." J Nevertheless " Philip Augustus preferred giving his old cloUies to the poor, rather than to bestow them, as many did, on minstrels, to encourage whom, he said, was to sacrifice to the dey.l. bometimes a rich man would wear a splendid robe only five or six times, and then give It lo!i.m\nittd.— DKLhVR&s Histoirede Paris. o, a.iu men siv= INTRODUCTION. 275 The greatest lords, and even kings, were ambitious to shine as poets. The "Roman de la Rose" of Guillaume de Lorris, and of Jean de Meun, is too well known to need comment.* Thibault, Comte de Champagne, better known as Roi de Navarre, was one of the most remarkable Trouv^res of his time, both for his com- positions, his devotion to his lady-love. Queen Blanche, and his constant plots against her and her son. The freedom of the writings of many of the poets had, for some time, given umbrage to the clergy, t and from the period of Louis le Gros war was continually waged between them. The fearless bitterness of their attacks is indeed surprising, and well calculated to enrage the objects of them. By degrees, however, after having attained its height, the gate science began to decline, and the holy fathers saw with pleasure their enemies sinking into contempt, till at length their compositions became a by-word, and " ce n'esi que joglerie" conveyed all that was lying and insignificant. Neverthe- less the genius of Jean de Meun, called Clopinel, who continued the poem of Guillaume de Lorris, sustained the dignity of verse till the commencement of the fourteenth century ; but the troubles which began about that time prevented its being cultivated with equal care or receiving the same encouragement ; yet it is in the fourteenth century that French tragedy and comedy, properly so called, take their rise, however rude their first dawning. Few poets of any eminence appear to have disputed the palm with Jean de Meun, who seems to have lived to the age of ninety, and * Molinet and Marot have given versions of the " Roman de la Rose," and have each greatly altered the sense of the author. — Roquefort. + Rutebeuf, in his "Ordres de Paris," thus expresses himself, speakmg of the Jacobins: " lis disposent k la foii de Paris et de Rome, et sont roi et Pape. lis ont acquis beaucoup de biens, car ils damnent les ames de ceux qui meurent sans les faire leurs executeurs testamen- taires. Us veulent qu'on les croie des apotres, et ils auraient besoin d'aller a I'ecole. Personne n'ose dire la v^rit^ sur leur compte, dans la crainte d'etre assomm^ ; tant ils se montrent haineux et vindicatifs. 11 serait dangereux d'en parler avec ma liberty ordinaire ; je me borne done a dire qu'ils sont des hommes." — Fabliaux. Dulaure. In the Sirventes of many of the Troubadours the ministers of the Church are violently attacked, and reproached for their crimes and cruelties with great boldness. The " Bible de Hugues, seigneur et chatelain de Bersil," is very severe on the monks, and Raoul de Houdan, in his "Chemin d'Enfer," places the souls of several of his contemporary princes and prelates among the dampies. Some of these satirical poems were called Batailles, Chasticmeiis, and Bestiaires, IS— 2 276 INTRODUCTION. to have written to the last. In the enumeration of poets by Clement Marot he thus places them : " De Jan de Meun s'enfle le cours de Loire : En maistre Alain* Normandie prend gloire, Et plaint encore men arbre patentel 'A \ Octavzen % rend Cognac dternel : De Molinet, de Jan le Maire et Georges^ Ceux de Haynault ciiantent k pleines gorges : Villott Cretin ont Paris d^cor^ : Les deux Grebans ont le mans honord : Nantes la Brette en Meschinot se baigne : De Coquillart s'esjouit la Champagne : Quercy, Salel, de toi se vantera, Et (comme croy) de may ne se taira." Alain Chartier, secretary to the two monarchs, Charles VI. and VII., is a poet of whom any age and country might be proud. The tenderness, eloquence, and beauty of his compositions place him in the first rank, and indeed many of those on whom the French found their poetic fame, and distinguish in their "Pamasse," would scarcely be considered, by other nations, as worthy to approach him. His faults are those of his age, his beauties are his own, and those who followed did not scruple to adopt much of his style and many of his ideas. M. du Tillet, § who dismisses this great poet very cavalierly, is obliged to acknowledge his fame by admitting that he was esteemed the greatest ornament of the court, and relates the well-known and flattering testimony paid him by the beautiful and unfortunate Marguerite d'Ecosse, while dauphine; who, finding him one day asleep in the king's ante- chamber, honoured him with a kiss, agreeably justifying her action by saying it was not the man she saluted, but the mouth firom whence issued so many beautiful sentences. Villon is the next poet who distinguished himself, of whom ■ Boileau says : " Villon S5ut le premier, dans ces siecles grossiers, D^brouillcr I'art confua de nos vieux romanciers." ' Alain Chartier. t Jean Marot. J Oct. de St. Gelais. § See ' Parnasse Frangois," by M. Titon du Tillet. INTRODUCTION. 277 Clement Marot is, however, the great glory of French poetry, and the darling of French critics, who, as he appears to be the father of that epigrammatic style which forms the character of their compositions, no doubt is deserving of the enthusiastic encomiums lavished upon him. The reader must not expect from him the grace of the Troubadours, or the tenderness of Alain Chartier ; in his line, however, he is unrivalled. Of him Boileau says ; " Mai'ot bientot apres fit fleunr les ballades, Tourna les triolets, rima les mascarades, Et des refrains reglez assei-vit les rondeaux, Et montra pour rimer des chemins tout nouveaux.'' Marot flourished in great credit under Francis I., the patron of science and the fine arts. In his reign, and that of his son, appear a considerable number of poets, whose works are known. Charles IX. and Henry III. also were encouragers of poetry; indeed, from the time of Francis I. to that of his grandchildren may be considered the golden age of poetry as to "-justesse, noblesse et gr&ce,^' according to the opinion of the French them- selves. -'^£^'7%" :: THE TROUBADOURS. Fra tutti il primo Arnaldo Daniello Gran maestro d'amor, ch'a la sua terra Ancor fa onor col dir polito e bello. Eranvi quei ch'Amor si leve afferra, L'un Pietro e 1' altro ; e'l men famoso Arnaldo, E c[uei che fur conquisi con piu guerra. I'dico r uno e 1' altro Raimbaldo, Che cantar pur Beatrice in Monferrato. J E '1 vecchio Pier d' Alvernia con Giraldo. Folchetto, ch' a Marsiglia il nome ha dato, Ed a Genova tolto : ed aU'estremo Cangio per miglior patria abito, e stato Giaufre Rudel ch' us6 la vela e 'I remo A cercar la sua morte; e quel Guglielmo Che per cantar ha '1 fior de' suoi di scemo Amerigo, Bernardo, Ugo ed Anselmo, E mille altri ne vidi : a cui la lingua Lancia, e spada fu sempre> e scudo, ed elmo. Petrarch. Trionfo d*Amore, WILLIAM, NINTH COUNT OF POICTIERS. This prince, whose name is always placed at the head of the Troubadours, as the earliest of that race of poets, was born in the year 1071. Although no specimens of Provengal poetry of an earlier date exist than his, yet we are warranted m supposing that the art had been cultivated for at least half a century before, as the language itself, during that period, had shown such manifest signs of improvement, a consequence arising from the intercourse between France and Spain, in which latter country the influence of Arabian literature was widely diffused from Toledo, its centre. The first poetical attempts of the Provengal poets were doubtless rude and imperfect, and to this cause we must probably attribute^ their loss; but that it underwent partial cultivation we may infer from the degree of perfection in which we find it in the poems of the Count of Poictieis. " On remarque," says the Abbd Millot, "dans les vers de cet illustre Troubadour, une facility, une elegance et uneharmonie dont les premiers essais de I'art ne sont point susceptibles." With regard to the licence which prevails through- out, that must be ascribed partly to the manners of the times, but still more, perhaps, to those of the individual. All authors concur in describing William as endowed with every personal advantage, — with courage and talent, but with a mind remarkably depraved even in that licentious age ; of an open and cheerful character, but too prone to debase by low buffoonery his dignity and talent as prince and poet. On this subject many stories are told, — one which has been preserved by his own verse presents a curious picture of the amusements of the high- born ladies 6f those days. " He was once travelling," he says, " in company with two ladies who did not know him, and feigning to be dumb, they conversed before him without the slightest , reserve. But they seemed afterwards to have had their doubts as to the cause of his silence, and resorted to an extraordinary experiment to ascertain whether it were natural or no. When the count had retired for the night, in the house where it appears they all rested, the ladies con- trived to introduce a cat into his bed, which they dragged forcibly back by the tail, lacerating the unfortunate Troubadour in the most woful manner, an ordeal which he manfully eftdured 2S0 THE TROUBADOURS. 281 without compromising his assumed character." He complains of this treatment in his poem in very moving terms : "Deriere m'aportero'I cat Mai e fello, Ed escorgeron me del cap Tro al talo." He finishes the poem by telling his jougleur to carry his verses in the niorhlilg to the ladies, and desii-e them for his sake to kill their cat : "E diguas lor que per m' amor Aucizo '1 cat." _ Another event of his life was of a different character. He is accused of having repudiated his wife Philippa (called also Mahaud), and having espoused Malberge, the wife of the Viscount de Chatelleraud, during her husband's lifetime. The Bishop of Poictiers resolved to punish this crime, and repairing to his court, began in the count's presence to repeat the formula of excommunication. William threatened him with his sword ; the bishop, with a deprecating gesture, demanded a moment's grace, as if for the purpose of retracting, but took advantage of the pause allowed to finish the formula. Having concluded, he addressed the count: "Now strike," said he, "I am ready!" "No!" replied the prince, returning the sword to its scabbard, " I do not love you well enough to send you to Paradise." He ordered him, however, to be banished.* The general reputation of William was that of being a ' ' grand trompeur des dames," and of perpetually seeking " des dupes de sa coquetterie ; " but, says his apologist, in a tone to disarm resentment for these venial offences, "du teste, il sut bien trotivcr^x. bien chanter." Infected with the common mania of the age, he became a crusader, and on his safe return, in the year iioz, he uTote a poem on the subject, which is entitled by Crescembeni, " Le Voyage de Jerusalem." Unfortunately we know it only by name. In one of his songs occurs probably the first mention of fairies in modern poetry, unconnected at least with the rhymes of the North, where they had their birth. He speaks of the levity of his disposition and the incon- stancy of his attachment, and says in excuse, *' Alssi fuy de nuxQ.tj.fadafz Sobr' un puegau." (" I waj thu3 endowed by the fairies one night upon a mountain.") He died in 1127, — D.C. LAY.f (Fai'ai chansoneta niieva.%) Anew I tune my lute to love, Ere storms disturb the tranquil houi, For her who strives my truth to prove, My only pride and beauty's flower, who will ne'er my pain remove. Who knows and triumphs in her power. '" This sentence of excommunication is attested by the Chronique de Maillesais under the year 1114, and also by a letter from Geotfroi de Vendome to Pope Pascal II. t We are ignorant from whence is derived the term Lai, and how it was called by British authors : the word is not only not to be found in their dictionaries, but none that resembles it ; for the barbarous Latin word Leudns, already in use in the sixth century, seems to have been formed from the northern languages. It is, in fact, to be found in the Teutonic lied, Danish lecd, Anglo-Saxon lead, Icelandic Hod, Irish &ot— words which express a piece in verse proper to be sung. It is also said to be derived from the ancient German leikr, a concert of instru- ments, of which .successively the words Uich, laics, lays, lay, and lai have been formed. Others derive it from the Latin lessits, complaint, lamentation,"— M. Roquefort, Lais de Marie de France. X Raynouard. 282 THE TROUBADOURS. I am, alas! her willing thrall, She may record me as her own ; Nor my devotion weakness call, That her I prize, and her alone. Without her can I live at all, A captive so accustomed grown? What hope have I, O lady dear? Do I then sigh in vain for thee? And wilt thou, ever thus severe, > Be as a cloistered nun to me ? Methinks this heart but ill can bear An unrewarded slave to be ! Why banish love and joy thy bowers. Why thus my passion disapprove? When, lady, all the world were ours, If thou couldst learn, like me, to love ! COMTESSE DE DIE. There were two poetesses who bore the title of Comtesse de Die, but nothing remains to distinguish one from the other : they are thought to have been mother and daughter. The first was beloved by Rambaud d'Aurenge, who died about 1173; the latter is celebrated by William Adhdmar, who died in irgo. On his death-bed both mother and daughter paid a visit to the expiring Troubadour, and afterwards erected a monument to his memory. The young countess retired to a convent at Tarascon, and died shortly after Adhemar. ELEGY OF LOVE.* (A chantar m'er de so qu'teu no volria.) Yes, sad and painful is my strain. Of him I love since I complain ; Although for him my boundless love All earth can give is far above. ■ Raynouaj'd. THE TROUBADOURS. 283 Yet nought avails me — fondness, truth, Beauty or grace, or wit or youth ; AHke unheedful, cold, unkind, As though some crime deformed my mind ! At least my comfort still may be. In nought this heart has failed to thee, Ne'er ceased to prize thee — to adore — Not Seguis loved Valensa more ! Thus to surpass thee is my pride, Thou, who excell'st in all beside ! Why, tell me why, severe and chill, To me thy words sound harshly still? How shall I calmly bear to see Thy looks so soft to all but me ? While all thy courtesy approve. All praise, admire, alas ! and love ! Can I my wondering thoughts restrain, To mark thee thus affect disdain? Can I behold each studied slight. Nor faint with anguish at the sight? Can I to any else resign The heart that was — that must be, mine? Oh ! is it just, whate'er her charms, Another wins thee to her arms? Think, think on all since first we met. And ask thy heart can it forget ! Whate'er thy cold neglect may be. The cause can ne'er arise from me. Yet, yet 'twill pass : I know thee well, — Thy worth, thy virtue, is the spell That bids me hope the time will come When thy true heart shall seek its home. I know that should some high-bom fair Her love, her choice for thee declare. She does what all may do whose soul Can feel perfection's strong control; 284 THE TROUBADOURS. But thou hast learnt whose heart the best Can prize thee above all the rest, Her faith, her fondness thou hast proved, — Remember when and how we loved ! Methinks some hope may yet be mine, Rank, beauty, worth, may still combine; And my fond truth far more than all, To lure the wanderer to my call. I bid my song thy presence seek. And this despairing message speak : — O thou, too charming and too dear ! Fain would I know why thus severe, Why thus my love so harshly tried; Ah, tell me, is it hate or pride? Learn, learn, unkind one, from my song, Such pride may last, alas ! too long ! WILLIAM ADHEMAR. i^HL. (S'teu conogues, &>£.*) H ! were I sure that all tlie lays Which wake my idle strings Would in her heart one moment raise Kind thoughts of him who sings, What ardour in my song would glow, What magic in its numbers flow! Yet what avails? though I despair To gain one tender smile. The world shall know that she is fair, Although so cold the while. R:iyi!uLiai-J. THE TROUBADOURS. 285 Ungrateful though she be too long, To her I dedicate my song. Better to suffer and complain, Than thus another's love obtain. (Ben say queja, &'c.*) She will not always turn away. She will at length forget her pride ; My tenderness she will repay, My fond affection, sorely tried. She is all mercy ; can she be Harsh and unjust alone to mei" Oh ! in the hope her praise to gain, Have I not rushed where dangers throng, And far beyond the treacherous main Have suffered slavery and wrong. Yet all, — she knows, — why need I say? One gentle smile could well repay. RAMEAUD D'AURENGE. (Rirc deg uic, o^C^) I SHOULD be blest ! for in my dreams I know what happiness may be, — 'Tis then her smile upon me beams. And then her lovely form I see. She leans upon my breast, her eye Gazes on mine — how tenderly ! ' Raynouard. 1 ^'-''^'" 286 THE TROUBADOURS. So beautiful she looks, so bright, Like some immortal shape of light, Whose presence can all pain remove, Who breathes the air of peace and love. That look that made my dream divine Dwells on my mind when I awake ; Oh ! why must I the bHss resign, Why must the spell so quickly break? If all the angels who above Pass their bright lives in joy and love, Together sought to yield me bHss, Which neither fate nor time may fade, They could not give me more than this— The substance of that lovely shade. EERTRAND DE BORN. This fierce and warlike Troubadour, who flourished from 1140-50 to 1199, is well known for the part which he took in fomenting the quarrels between Henry II. of England and his three sons. His turbulent and intriguing disposition have ensured him a conspicuous place in the " Inferno" of Dante, who represents him as suffering a strange and fearful punishment, being condemned to bear his own head in his hand in the manner of a lantern. " E'l capo tronco tenea per le chiome Pesol con mano a giiisa di la?iterna." The cause of his punishment is related in the following powerful lines : " Quando diritto appie del ponte fue, Levd'l braccio alto con ttttta la tesia^ Per appressarne le parole sue, Che furo : Or vedi la pena molesta Tu, che spirando vai veggendo i morti ; Vedi s'alcuna e grande, come questa. E perche tu di me novella porti, Sappi ch'io son Bertram dal Bornio, quclli, Che diedi al re Giovanni i ma' conforti. Id feci 'I padre e'l figlio in se ribelli ; Achitofel non fe' piii d'Absalone, E di David co'malva^i pungcUi. Perch'io parti' cosi giunte persone. Partite porto il mio cerebro, lasso ! Dal suo principio, ch'e 'n questo tronconne. "— /«/f r;w, caiito 28. THE tAoUBADOURS. 287 His poems in praise of war and its terrible pleasures paint his character better than his lays of love can,do. He died a monk, according to the fashion of those days. (Ah que s tank, ^'c.*) She cannot be mine ! her star is too bright, It beams too gloriously; She is radiant with majesty, beauty, and light, And I unmarked must die!' The more I gaze on her lovely face, The more my fate is proved,. To another she will accord her grace, More worthy to be loved. Are there not crowds around her sighing? And can I her pity awake. Whose only merit is in dying All hopeless for her sake? GEOFFROI RUDEL.t LAI. (Fro ai del cant essenhadors, &=€.%) Around, above, on every spray, Enough instructors do I see To guide my unaccustomed lay, And make my numbers worthy thee. t Geoffroi Rudel loved the Countess of Tripoli by report only, having never seen her. He made a voya-e to visit her, and being met by her on the beach, at his disembarkation, fell dead at her feet. He was Prince of Blaye, near Bordeaux. { Raynouard. :8s THE TROUBADOURS. '"-SV*- ^* Each field and wood and flower and tree, Each bird whose notes with pleasure thrill. As, v/arbling wild at liberty, The air with melody they fill, — How sweet to Ifsten to each strain, But without love, how cold, how vain! The shepherds love the flocks they tend. Their rosy children sporting near; For them is joy that knows no end. And oh ! to me such life were dear ! To live for her I love so well, To seek her praise, her smile to win ; But still my heart with sighs must swell. My heart has still a void within! THE TROUBADOURS. 289 Far off those towers and castles frown Where she resides in regal state, And I, at weary distance thrown, Can find no solace in my fate. Why should I live, since hope alone Is all to my experience known? BERNARD DE VENTADOUR.* (Quant ieic la vey, &'c.'\) HEN I behold her, sudden fear My throbbing bosom feels, My cheek grovre pale — the start- ing tear My altered eye reveals. And like the leaves, when winds are shrill. Beneath her glance I tremble still. In vain I call my pride to aid. In vain my reason's power would try, By love a very infant made, I yield me to his witchery. She sees, she knows her power too well. But ah ! she will not break' the spell ! * Bemoid de Ventadour divided his lays between the Princess Elionore of Guienne, after- wards Queen of Henry II. of England, and the Viscountess de Ventadour. He was page and secretary to Eblis, Viscount de Ventadour, who, disapproving of his love songs addressed to his lady, removed him from his service. He followed Elionore to England, and ended by becoming a monk. He also addressed the Countess Agnes de Montlujon under tile title of Bel Vizer, and Elionore of Guienne as Conort. I Raynouard. ]9 290 THE TROUBADOURS. (El moil non es, o^c.*) -joy can wake my soul no more, Its visions are for ever o'er, For all they pictured was of thee, And what, alas! art thou to me? Less than the shade a cloud has cast, Less than a sound of music past, And others thou hast made still less The source to me of happiness. And yet, ah ! yet I blame thee not, Though all my sufferings are forgot ; For if I live renowned, earest. In all but in thy pity blest. My praise, my glory, all my fame, From thy dear inspiration came.t And, but that I have loved so well. Ah ! more than poet e'er can tell ! I still had, in the nameless throng. Concealed my unattended song, Nor told the world that thou wert fair, Nor waked the numbers of despair ! PIERRE ROGIERS.t (Ja 7ion dira horn, &c.^) Who has not looked upon her brow Has never dreamt of perfect bliss. '' Raynouard. t See the same in Petrarch. Many of the Troubadours repeat it ; see Vidal : "S'alcun bel frutto nasce di me Da voi vien prima il seme." t His lady-love was Ermengarde, Viscountess de Narbonne (he celebrated her under th mysterious name of Tort n'avetz), who presided at a Court of Love with Queen Elionore c Guienne, the Countess of Champagne, and Countess of Flanders. She died in 1104. Th Countess of Champagne was designated by the author of ' ' L'Art d'Aimer " by the initial letter W § Raynouard. THE TROUBADOURS. 291 But once to see her is to know What beauty, what perfection is. Her charms are of the growth of Heaven ; She decks the night with hues of day; Blest are the eyes to which 'tis given On her to gaze the soul away! FOLQUET DE MARSEILLES.* I must fly thee, turn away Those eyes where love is sweetly dwelling, And bid each charm, each grace decay, That smile, that voice, all else excelling ; Banish those gentle wiles that won me. And those soft words which have undone me ! That I may leave without regret All that I cannot now forget; That I may leave thee, nor despair To lose a gem without compare. t Raynouard. t From the above song it would be difficult to guess tiiat its author was one of the most furious of the persecutors of the Albigenses, and distinguished himself against them in the "sacred " war of extermination. He was Bishop of Toulouse, and appears to have suggested to Innocent III. the first rules of his prder of " Preaching Brothers of St. Dominic : " it is to this " gentil troubadour," then, that the world was indebted for the first idea of the Inquisition. — See Sismondi and others. i. He addressed Azelais de Roquemartine under the title of Man Pins Leial. He took the monastic vow at Citeaux in 1200, but reappeared in the world as a persecutor : his e.xclamation at the sacking of Beziers is well known, — "Kill all ! God will know His own !" He died in 1231, and was sainted by the monks of Citeaux ; even Petrarch extols him in his "Triumph of Love." Dante places him in Paradise. Genoa and Marseilles disputed tlie honour of his birthj as if he had been another Homer ! 19—2 293 THE TROUBADOURS. AUBADE Author unknown. (Oy Deus, oy Deics ! d'e Valba tantost ve !*) ITHIN our hawthorn bower how sweet The stolen moments pass away ! But ah ! our hour of joy how fleet ! Alas ! alas ! how soon 't is day ! Why flies the star-Ht night so soon, Why ends the nightingale her lay, Why sinks the pale and waning moon ? — Alas! alas! how soon 'tis day! If we might meet as others do, Nor dread what watchful foes may say. Were we but blest as we are true, mi^sjsiif'v>^ We need not mourn how soon 'tis W^^-K' ' ' day ! But see the early-waking flowers Spread to the mom their colours gay, And hand in hand the dancing hours Proclaim, alas ! how soon 't is day ! So lately met — so soon to part ! — Can time our sorrows e'er repay? Must we, like guilty spirits, start And shrink before the eye of day? Adieu — adieu ! the time may come, Though sad and tedious the delay. When this shall be our mutual home. And Ihou may'st linger, though 't is day !t '^ Raynouaid. t In the lays called every stanza. .. _«... — Aubades " it was necessary to brhig in the word . Xlba at the end Oi In the Serenades it was the word Ser THE TROUBADOURS. 293 RAIMOND DE MIRAVALS.* (Lo plus nescis, i&'cA) must be worthy of her love, For not the faintest shade Of all the charms that round her move, Within my heart can fade. The glances of her gentle eyes Are in my soul enshrined. Her radiant smiles, her tender sighs, Are treasured in my mind. To see her is at once to learn What beauty's power can do ; From all that pleased before to turn, And wake to life anew. To feel her charms all else efface. To bask' beneath their light ; To find her genius, sense, and grace, A day that knows no night ! Ah ! to be loyal, brave, sincere, Her worthy slave to prove. It is enough to think on her. To see her and to love ! SONG OF RICHARD CCEUR DE LION IN HIS CAPTIVITY.^ In Walpole's " Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors," a translation is given of this celebrated song, beginning " If captive wight attempt the tuneful strain ; " but the sense of the original has been strangely misunderstood, the spirit^ quite lost, and the lines are singularly unmusical. In Dr. Burney's " History of Music is also a version, beginning . „ , . . , „ " No wretched captive of his prison speaks. Ja nuls hom pres non dira sa razon Adrechament, si com hom dolens non ; ' He addressed Adelaide, Countess of Beziers, as Bel Regard, Gen Cotiquis, Bel Vizer, &c, I IKd"°"''choix des Po&ies Originales des Troubadours." Paris, 6 vols. 1819, Didot. 294 THE TROUBADOURS. Mas per conort deu horn faire canson : Pro n'ay d'amis, mas paure son li don, Ancta lur es, si per ma recenzon Soi sai dos yvers pres. Or sapchon ben miey hom e miey baron, Angles, Norman, Peytavin e Gascon, Qu'ieu non ay ja si paure compagnon Qu'ieit laissasse, per aver, en preison; Non ho die mia per nulla retraison, Mas anquar soi ie pres. Car sai eu ben per ver, certanament, Qu' hom mort ni pres n'amie ni parent, E si m laissan per aur ni per argent, Mai m'es per mi, ma pieg m'es per ma gent, Qu'apres ma mort n'auran reprochament Si sai mi laisson pres. No m. meravilh s'ieu ay lo cor dolent, Que mos senher met ma terra en turment ; No li membra del nostra sagrament Que nos feimes el sans cominalment; Ben sai de ver que gaire longament Non serai en sai pres. Suer comtessa, vostre pretz sobeiran Sal Dieus, e gard la bella qu'ieu am tan, Ni per cui soi ja pres. FREE TRANSLATION OF RICHARD'S SONG, Ah ! what avails the captive's strain. Whose numbers wake but to complain? Yet there is comfort still in song. My solitary solace long. Still may I sing of friends afar, Beloved in peace, admired in war : Can sordid gold have sway with those, That thus they leave me to my foes? THE TROUBADOURS. 295 If sordid gold could make me free, The shame to them — the grief to me ! Two winters past ! —how sad, how chill !— And Richard is a prisoner still ! On ye, my barons, I rely, Of England, Ppictiers, Gascony : ]My Nonnan followers, can it be Unmoved your monarch's fall ye see ? Has with'ring avarice changed my land. And closed each open heart and hand ? •I would not cherish thoughts of ill, But Richard is a prisoner still ! Alas ! too well I know what fate The weary prisoner may await, — Forgot, neglected, he may die. Nor claim or friend's or kindred's sigh. But if for dross you let me pine, I mourn your fate far more than mine : My death reproach and shame shall bring, And your own hearts remorse shall sting. That let regret and bondage kill, For Richard is a prisoner still ! What wonder if my fainting soul Sinks under sorrow's fierce control, When mem'ry brings before my sight Each cherished friend, each gallant knight, And bids my wounded heart recall The sacred vows that bound us all? What wonder that I start in pain. And ponder o'er those vows in vain? And when I muse on her whose love All other hopes was far above, Whose captive I must ever be, Though Heaven, who guards her, set me free. My eyes with tears of anguish fill. To feel I am a prisoner still ! 296 THE TROUBADOURS. GAUCELM FAIDIT. Gaucelm or Anselm Faidit, or Fayditt, of Avignon, was very celebrated. The Provenjaux called his poetry " De bons mots et de bon sens." Petrarch is said to be indebted to him for many strokes of high imagination in his " Trionfo d'Amore." He was extremely profuse and voluptuous. After the death of his friend, Richard Cceur de Lion, he travelled near twenty years seeking his fortune. He married a nun at Aix, in Provence, who was young and lively, and could accompany her husband with her voice. — Warton. " Nul ne chantoit aussi mal que Gaucelm Faidit ; mais sa musique et ses vers tftoient bons." — Nostradamus. Vies des Troubadours. ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF KING RICHARD CCEUR DE LION IN 1199. (Fortz chatisa est, &^c.*) must thy chords, my lute, be strung To lays of woe so dark as this ? And must the fatal truth be sung, The final knell of hope and bliss ! Which to the end of life shall cast A gloom that will not cease, Whose clouds of woe that gather fast Each accent shall increase? Valour and fame are fled, since dead thou art, England's King Richard of the Lion Heart ! Yes, dead! — whole ages may decay Ere one so true and brave Shall yield the world so bright a ray As sunk into thy grave ! Noble and valiant, fierce and bold, Gentle and soft and kind, Greedy of honour, free of gold. Of thought, of grace refined : Not he by whom Darius fell, Arthur or Charlemagne, With deeds of more renown can swell The minstrel's proudest strain ; Raynouard. THE TROUBADOURS. .'-97 For he of all that with him strove The conqueror be- came, Or by the mercy of his love, Or the terror of his name ! I marvel that amidst the throng Where vice has sway so wide. To any goodness may belong, Or wisdom may abide. Since wisdom, good- ness, trath must fall, And the same ruin threatens all ! I marvel why we idly strive* And vex our lives with care. Since even the hours we seem to live But death's hard doom prepare. Do we not see that day by day The best and bravest go ? They vanish from the earth away, And leave recrret and * A similiar strain of melancholy reflection on the uncertainty of human life occurs in the chorus to the final act of Tasso's " Torrismondo," beginning " Ahi ! lagrime, ahi ! dolore, Passa la vita, e sc delegua e fugge ! " 298 THE TROUBADOURS. Why, then, since virtue, honour, cannot save, Dread we ourselves a sudden, early grave? O noble king ! O knight renowned ! Where now is battle's pride. Since in the lists no longer found, With conquest at thy side. Upon thy crest and on thy sword Thou show'dst where glory lay. And sealed, even with thy slightest word, The fate of many a day ? Where now the open heart and hand, All service that o'erpaid. The gifts that of a barren land A smiling garden made? And those whom love and honest zeal Had to thy fate allied. Who looked to thee in woe and weal, Nor heeded aught beside : The honours thou couldst well allow What hand shall now supply? What is their occupation now? To weep tliy loss — and die ! The haughty pagan now shall raise The standard high in air. Who lately saw thy glory's blaze, And fled in wild despair. The holy tomb shall linger long Within the Moslem's power. Since God hath willed the brave and strong Should wither in an hour. Oh for thy arm on Syria's plain. To drive them to their tents again ! Has Heaven a leader still in store That may repay thy loss. Those fearful realms who dares explore, And combat for the Cross? THE TROUBADOURS. 299 Let him — let all — remember well Thy glory and thy name, Remember how young Henry fell, And Geoffrey, old in fame. Oh ! he who in thy pathway treads Must toil and pain endure : His head must plan the boldest deeds, His arm must make them sure. RAMBAUD DE VAQUIERAS. DESCORT. (Eras quail vey verdeyar.*) The following poem offers a singular specimen of this species of composition. The idiom and the number of lines are different in each stahza. According to Crescembeni, the first stanza is in Romance, the second in Tuscan, the third in French, the fourth in Gascon, the fiftii Spanish, and the sixth a mixture of each language. While thus I see the groves anew Clot*hed in their leaves of verdant hue, Fain would I wake a lay to prove How' much my soul is bowed to love. ■ Raynouard. 300 THE TROUBAl 'VRS. But she who long inspired each lay Has turned her changeful heart away, And only strains of discord now My words, my notes, my language show. I am he to sorrow bom. And who no joys can know (In April and in May forlorn) Unless from her they flow. I cannot in her language tell How fair she is, how bright, Fresh as the corn-flower's purple bell — Ah ! can I quit her sight ? O lady, sweet, and dear, and fair, I give myself to thee ; No bliss is mine thou dost ot share, — Our hopes should mutual be. A cruel enemy thou art ! Through too much love I die, But never shall my soul depart From truth and fealty. Lady, I give myself to thee. For good and true thy mind ; Ah ! what so perfect e'er can be, Wert thou, alas ! but kind. What graces in thy actions shine ! How bright thy cheek, thine eye ! Thine all I am, and wert thou mine, My faith should never die. So much I tremble to offend. Such fear and care I know. My pain and torment never end. My form consumes with woe. • Each night when on my couch I lie, I start in sudden dread, Methinks thou still art hov'ring nigh, But soon my dream is fled. THE ''^OUBADOURS. 301 Vain lY- each vision I believed, I who, otlas ! have ne'er deceived ! Ye sons of chivalry, so high Is prized your worth and fame, Each day renews my misery, Lest I no notice claim. Should she I love my prayer despise, And make my life her sacrifice. By all the saints I vow, my heart Can never more be free, And, lady, all my minstrel art Is lost for love of thee ! --fC^ 303 THE TROUBADOURS. ELIAS CAIREL. (Ma dona a pi-etz, cs'c. *) he's fairer than my dreams could frame, A vision of all charms combined; And love can teach no word, no name, To tell the sweetness of her mind. Blest were my eyes that looked so long. And found existence in their gaze; Blest was my harp that waked the song Which proudly sought to hymn her praise. Yet, all perfection as she is, I dare not make my secret known, Lest, while I would increase my bliss, I lose the little still my own. For should she all my weakness know, Perchance her eyes, now calm and sweet, With anger or disdain might glow, Or dread my ardent glance to meet. Perchance no more her gentle words Would charm and soothe me as of yore ; The precious hours she now accords Would be my happy lot no more. Oh, let me, then, in silence still Lament and hope, and gaze and sigh ; Even though my silent soitow kill, To lose her were at once to die. * Raynouai-d. THE 'TROUBADOURS. 303 THE COUNT DE LA MARCHE.' (BiaiLX doux Rubis, Cs~-c. f) ■MR, precious gem ! when first I cast My eyes upon that heavenly brow, I quite forgot, in trembling haste, Before the dazzling shrine to bow. No marvel, for my heart had flown. Even as I gazed all rapt on thee. Straight from my bosom to thy own. Nor has it e'er returned to me. Oh, she excels, whose praise I sing, Whate'er the world of beauty shows. Even as the lovely bud of spring Is fairer than the full-blown rose. PEYROLS, (Eviielh be, &=€. % ) So FULL of pleasure is my pain, To me rny sorrow is so dear. That not the universe to gain Would I exchange a single tear. "^ Hugues, tenth De Lusignan, and Count de la Rlarche, was at length so fortunate as to marry his beloved Elizabeth or Isabella, of Angouleme, who was equally attached to him, but whom Jean sans Terre of England had violently taken from him and married. On his deatii she repaid the constant affection of her first lover. When Hugues died, Isabella entered the convent of Fontevrault, where her tomb is to be Been, together with those of many of the kings and queens of England ; amon^ them are those of Henry II., who died in 1189; of Queen Elionore, his wife, who died m 1204; of Richard Cosur de Lion, their son, killed 1199 ; of his sister, Jeanne of England, who died a nun, after having been twice married — first, to Wdliam. King of Sicily, next to Raymond, Count of Toulouse : also the heart of Henry III., who died in 1272 ; he was the son of John, by Isabella of Angouleme. t Raynouard. X Ibid. 304 2 HE TROUBADOURS. What 'have I said? — i cannot choose, Nor would I seek to have the will ; How can I, when my soul I lose In thought and sleepless visions still? Yet cannot from her presence fly, Although to linger is to die ! ) I' % w ». IT wv% WILLIAM DE CABESTAING. (Ans pus liAdam, &c.^ ) No, .NEVER since the fatal time When the \yorld fell -for woman's crime, Has Heaven in tender mercy sent — All pre-ordaining, all foreseeing — A breath of purity that lent Existence to so fair a being ! ^' Rnynouard. THE TROUBADOURS. 305 Whatever earth can boast of rare, Of precious and of good, Gaze on her form, 'tis mingled there, With added grace endued. Why, why is she so much above All others whom I might behold, Whom I, unblamed, might dare to love, To whom my sorrows might be told? Oh ! when I see her, passing fair ! I feel how vain is all my care : I feel she all transcends my praise, I feel she must contemn my lays. I feel, alas! no claim have I To gain that bright divinity. Were she less lovely, less divine, Less passion and despair were mine. THE COUNTESS DE PROVENCE TO HER HUSBAND.* CHANSON. ( Vos ge nH semblatz del corals amadors, ^^c^) I FAIN would think thou hast a heart. Although it thus its thoughts conceal. Which well could bear a tender part In all the fondness that I feel; Alas ! that thou wouldst let me know, And end at once my doubts and woe ! * Beatrix de Savoie, wife of Raymond Berenger, fifth and last Count of Provence of th' house of Barcelona, flourished in 1235. The_ above is the only song of her composition whici has survived her, notwithstanding her celebrity. t Raynouard. 20 3o6 THE TROUBADOURS, It might be well that once I seemed To check the love I prized so dear ; But now my coldness is redeemed, And what is left for thee to fear? Thou dost to both a cruel wrong; Should dread in mutual love be known ? Why let my heart lament so long, And fail to claim what is thine own? THE MONK OF MONTAUDON. His real name is not known, but it has been ascertained that he belonged to a noble family of Auvergne, and was born in the Chateau de Vic. He was prior of the monastery of Mont- audon, and, at first, confined himself to the duties of his situation, which he well fulfilled ; but his love of poetry and pleasure at length induced him to leave the walls of his convent, and travel to courts and castles, where he was always well received. All the gifts presented to him he brought back to the priory at Montaudon. L'Abb^ d'Orlac, his superior, well content provided the affairs of the convent went on well, permitted him to go to the court of the King of Arragon, on condition of his submitting to whatever the prince should enjoin, tlie condition to be proposed by himself. This king (Alphonso II.) ordered him to abandon his convent, live in the world, compose and sing verses, manner gras et itre galant aiiprh des dames: the monk was very obedient, " et il st/es." His agi-eeablc qualities obtained for him the lordship of Pui Ste. Marie, and the place of falcon-bearer to the king. He remained in favour till the monarch's death, and continued \vith his successor, Peter TL, till the battle of Moret. During the frequent journeys which Alfonso made in Provence, the Monk of Montaudon visited the courts of Roussillon, Perigord, Gascony, and probably that of Poictiers, where reigned Richard Coeur de Lion. The Abb^ d'Orlac finally gave him the priory of Villefranche, which he governed wisely and greatly benefited. He died there, it is supposed, about the year 122G. {Motit meplafz deportz e gtiayeza, 6^^:.*) I LOVE the court by wit and worth adorned, A man whose errors are abjured and mourned. My gentle mistress by a streamlet clear, Pleasure, a handsome present, and good cheer; I love fat salmon, richly dressed, at noon; I love a faithful friend both late and soon. I hate small gifts ; a man that 's poor and proud ; The young who talk incessantly and loud; * Raynouavd. THE TROUBADOURS. 307 1! \ .A^^> I hate in low-bred company to be ; I hate a knight that has not courtesy ; I hate a lord with arms to war unknown ; I hate a priest or monk with beard o'ergrown ; A doting husband, or a tradesman's son, Who apes a noble, and would pass for one ; I hate much water and too little wine, A prosperous villain, and a false divine; A niggard lout who sets the dice aside ; A flirting girl, all frippeiy and pride ; A cloth too narrow, and a board too wide; He who exalts his handmaid to his wife. And she who makes her groom her lord for life; The man who kills his horse with wanton speed, And he who fails his friend in. time of need. 20 — 2, 3o8 THE TROUBADOURS. CLAIRE D'ANDUZE, LAY. (Selh que m blasma, &'C.*) HEY who may blame my tenderness, And bid me dote on thee no more, Can never make my love the less. Or change one hope I formed before ; Nor can they add to each endeavour, Each sweet desire to please thee ever ! If any my aversion raise, On whom my angry looks I bend. Let him but kindly speak thy praise. At once I hail him as my friend. They whom thy fame and worth provoke, Who seek some fancied fault to tell. Although with angels' tongues they spoke. Their words to me would be a knell. PIERRE VIDAL.t (E ! s'iai sai, &'C.X) Ah ! if renown attend my name, And if delight await my song, '^ Raynouard. i " Pierre Vidal chantoit mieux qu'homme du monde ; ce fut le Troubadour qui compcsa les meiUeurs airs." He was the son of a furrier, and was a most extraordinary peison. Nostradamus says of him, " Cantava mielhs c'on del mon, e fo bon trobaires, e fo dels plus fols home que mais fossen." He speaks in his songs of a lady whom he calls *' Na Viema." At one time he devoted himself to a lady called Louve, and in compliment to her clothed himself in the skm of a wolf, and suffered himself to be hunted by dogs, till, exhausted with fatigue, he was overtaken and with difficulty rescued. Perhaps he believed himself a Were- wolf, according to the popular superstition of the day. See lays of IMarie de France, " Bisclaveret." X Raynouard. THE TROUBADOURS, 309 Thine is the glory, thine the fame, The praise, the joy, to thee belong; For 'twas thy beauty taught me first To emulate the poet's lay, Thy smile my trembling numbers nurst, And soothed my early fears away. If aught I breathe of good and sweet, The strain by thee is taught to flow, My songs thy accents but repeat. Their purity to thee they owe. If gazing crowds around me sigh, And listen with enraptured ear, Tis that thy spirit hovers nigh, Tis that thy tender voice they hear. When faint and low I touch the string. The failing sounds, alas ! are mine ; But when inspired and rapt I sing, The power, the charm, the soul is thine! ARNAUD DANIEL. Arnaud Daniel belonged_to a noble family of Ribeirac in Perigord ; he received a good education, and was distinguished for his learning. His style is constrained and difficult, and scarcely merits the eulogium pronounced by Petrarch. The mistress to whom he addressed the greater par of his poems was the wife of Guillaume de Boville, a lord of. Gascony, to whom he gave the name of Ciberne. He designates her also by the titles ";/?tJ'i bon esper," and " vtieis de bcji " (mietijc gue biefi). It appears he was doomed to sigh in vain. Arnaud visited the court of Richard Cceur de Lion in England, and encountered there a jougleur, who defied him to a trial of skill, and boasted of being able to make more difficult rhymes than Arnaud, a proficiency on which he chiefly prided himself. He accepted the challenge, and the two poets separated, and retired to their respective chambers to prepare for the contest. The muse of Arnaud was not propitious, and he vainly endeavoured to string two rhymes together. His rival, on the other hand, quickly caught the inspiration. The king had allowed ten days as the term of preparation, five for composition, and the remainder for leannng it by heart to sing before the court. _ On the third day the jougleur declared that he had finished his poem, and was ready to recite it, but Arnaud replied that he had not yet thought of his. It was the jongleur's custom to repeat his verses out loud every day, in order to learn them better, and Arnand, who was in vain endeavouring to devise some means to save himself from the mockery of the court at being outdone in this contest, happened to overhear the jougleur singing. He went to his door and listened, and succeeded in retaining the words and the air. On the day appointed they both appeared before the king. Arnaud desired to be allowed to 3IO THE TROUBADOURS. sing first, and immediately gave the song which the jougleur had composed. The latter, stupefied with astonishment, could only exclaim, " It is my song, it is my song ! " " Impos- sible ! " cried the king ; but the jougleur persisting, requested Richard to interrogate Arnaud, who would not dare, he said, to deny it. Daniel confessed the fact, and related the manner in which the affair had been conducted, which amused Richard far more than the song itself. The stakes of the wager were restored to each, and the king loaded them both with presents. , (Lan quan vei fiidll* ) HEN leaves and flowers are newly springing, And trees and boughs are budding all, In every grove when birds are singing. And on the balmy air is ringing The marsh's speckled tenants' call; Ah ! then I think how small the gain Love's leaves and flowers and fruit may be. And all night long I mourn in vain, Whilst others sleep, from sorrow free. If I dare tell ! — if sighs could move her ! How my heart welcomes every smile ! Myt Fairest Hope ! I live to love her, Yet she is cold or coy the while. Go thou, my song, and thus reprove her; And tell her Arnaud breathes alone To call so bright a prize his own ! * Raynouard, t " MON BEL ESPER.' THE TROUBADOURS. BONIFACE CALVO. (Tant era dreicKen, &=c*) HE was so good, so pure, so fair, I could not raise to Heaven a prayer That she might find a home above, Where all is purity and love. Oh ! if this grief destroy my rest, 'Tis not from doubt that she is blest ; I know that those enchanting eyes Shine brighter now in Paradise ; — If 'twere not so, that blissful place Had no perfection, beauty, grace. No : she is there, the most divine Of all that, crowned with glory, shine; And if I cease not to deplore. It is, that we shall meet no more ! ^ Raynouard. THE TROUVERES, Nous sommes m^ndtriers, voire, et de haute gamme. Pour le d^duit du sire ou de la noble dame De c^ans. Nous savons Perceval le Gallois, Le roman du Graal, Parthenopex de Blois, Les amours de Tristan avec Yseult la Blonde Et cent autres beaux dits les plus plaisants du monde Nous savons aussi lais et contes k foison, Les chansons de Thibaut, de Jacques de Chison, De Blondel et du preux Robert de Marberoles. Vous plait-il de mener ou danses ou caroles, Ainsi soit ! nous avons harpe, flfite, buccin, Psalteron, tambourj trompe et cor sarrazin, FRAiN'CISQUE I\IICHEL= 312 MARIE DE FRANCE. The lais of Marie de France are preserved amongst the MSS. in the British Museum, Har/. No. 978. There is every reason to believe that the originals of these lays existed in the Bas- Breton or Armorlc language ; but the life of the authoress, as well as her precise place of birth, and the period when she actually flourished, are involved in much obscurity. Ellis thinks tht; lays were certainly composed in England : according to him they are twelve in number, and are arranged in the following order : 1. Gugemer (translated by the late G. L. Way, Esq.). 2. Equitan. 3. Lai del Freisne (translated in the 15th century by some English writer). 4. Bisclaveret. 5. Lanval (translated by G. L. Way, Esq.). 6. Lai des Deus Amanz. 7. Lai de d'Ywenec. S. Lai du Laustic (in the 41st tale of the Gcsta Roiiiatwriun is the same story). 9. Lai de Milun. 10. Lai du Chaitivel. 11. Lai de Chevre-foil. 12. Lai d'Eliduc. To these M. de Roquefort adds — 13. Lai de Graelent-Mor. 14. Lai de I'Espine. Of her lays she says ; About fifty-six lines at the beginning of the lais of Marie are intended as a general prologue, and twenty-six more form the introduction to the first lay. This prefatory matter is written in a style of no little obscurity, which was perhaps intentional, because the author defends it by the example of _the ancients, and quotes Priscian as her authority; but the doctrine she means to inculcate is that those who possess talents are bound to employ them, and that study is always good as a preventative to vice and consolation in affliction. She tells us that she had therefore formed a plan of translating from Latin some good history, but found that her project had been anticipated by others. She then thought of the numerous lays 'which she had heard, and had carefully treasured in her memory. These she was sure must be new to the gene- rality of her readers, and in this confidence she offers to the kiiig the fruits of her labours. After complaining that she has met with envy and persecution where she deserved praise, she declares her intention to persevere, and relate as briefly as possible, such stories as she knows to be true, and to have bceri formed into lays by the Britons. ■'• "Les contes ke jeo sai verrais, Dunt li Bretun ont fait les lais, Vus cunterai asez briefment." * Plusurs en ai oi conter, Ne voil laisser ne's oblier; Rimez en ai e fait ditie, &c. Plusurs le m'unt cuntd e dit, E jeo I'ai trove en escrit." Her worlcs were much esteemed in her own time, and Denys Pyraraus, an Anglo-Norman poet of the reign of Henry IIL, says that t " Les lays soleient as dames pleire, De joye les oyent e de gr6; Qu'il sunt sulum lur volente." " E les vers sut mult amez E en ces riches curtes loez ; E dame JNIarie autresi, Ki en rime fist e basti E copensa les vers de lays _ Ke ne sunt pas de tut verais. E si en est-ele mult loee E la ryme par tut amee, Previously he observes : ■"' Ellis, " Specimens of Anc. Met. Rom." t Cotton. MS6. Domi-tian, A. XL Vie de 9t, Edmond par Denys Pyramus. 313 314 THE TR0UV2RES. Kar mult Taymet si I'unt mult cher Cunt, barun e chivaler ; E si en ayment mult I'escrit E lire le funt, si unt dflit E si lesfunt sovente reircire.^' This approbation from a rival, who was in great credit at court, is a proof of his sincerity, ^ Her second"tork ""consists of a collection of fables, entitled " Le Dit d'Ysopet," translated into French. In her epilogue are these hnes : " Per amur le cunte Willame Le plus vaillant de nul realme M'eintenur (entremis) de ceste livre feire," &c. A complete collection of the works of Marie has been published by M. de Roquefort (Paris, 1820) who speaks of her in the following terms : " She possessed that penetration which dis- tinguishes at first sight the different passions of mankind, which seizes upon the different lorms which they assume, and remarkin^^ the objects of their notice, discovers at the same time the means by which they are attained." 1. vi .1, > c t^- Her fables profess to be from the version of King A lured s Esop, probably that ot King Alfred ; her words are : ""■^-i={Henris"}'1"="'""'^"='' Le translata puis en Engleiz, Et jeo I'ai rimiS en Franceiz." They amount to one hundred and one. "They are," says M. de Roquefort, "composed with that force of mind which penetrates the hidden recesses of the heart, and are particularly remarkable for superior reasoning, simple and unaffected diction, delicate and subtle reflections, and a high order of morality. " . -r^ .. i j Her last production is the history, or rather tale, of " St. Patrick s Purgatory, translated from the Latin. That Marie was born in France f is to be inferred from her appellation, and her own assertion in the epilogue to her fables, *' Marie ai num, si sui de France ; " but there is no reason for supposing with M. de Roquefort that she was a native of Normandy. The precise period when she flourished is, as we have observed, a subject of great doubt. _ The Abbe de la Rue {vide Archeeologia, vol. xiii. p. 36), and after him M. de Roquefort {^Poisiesde Marie de Fra7ice\ are of opinion that she wrote in England during the reign of Henry III., and conceive that the patron whom she names must have been William Longue-Espee, Earl c€ Salisbury, the natural son of Henry IL and Rosamond Clifford, who died in 1226, and t>at her poems were consequently written anterior to that date. This opinion is founded upca her words, " Le plus vaillant de cest royaume ; " but as the Harleian MS. (978) offers the word "mil" for "cest," and is confessedly the most complete copy of her works extant, we are not justified in considering the expression as applicable solely to England ; it may refer to whatever country her patron belonged to. That the Earl of Salisbury was one of the most renowned knights of his time will readily be admitted ; but we have no proof of the patronage which h& afforded to literature, nor is it easy, as M. Robert observes, % to understand why an English nobleman should so earnestly desire a Freiich version of fables already written in his own language. The second opinion which we shall notice is that of M. Meon, who, in the preface to his edition of the " Roman du Renart" (4 vols. 8vo., Paris, 1826), supposes also that she wrote during the reign of Henry IIL, but thinks that her patron could be no other than William, Count of Flanders, who accompanied St. Louis in his first crusade, in 1248, and was killed at a tournament at Frasegnies, in Flanders, in 1251. The principal reason which he assigns for this supposition is, 'Ccxa probability of her being the authoress of the anonymous poem entitled *■ Le Couronnement du Renard," in which the particulars of Count William's death are detailed, * The name of the king is differently spelt in different MSS. t It must be remembered that " France " was then used only to designate that central portion of the kingdom, still termed the Isle of France. The Normans, Bretons, Poitevins, Gascons, &c., were called after their respective provinces. J " Essai sur 1m Fabulistes, qui ont pr^cdd^ la Fontaine," in the preface t;: his " Fables In€dites du xii., xiii., and ;:J.v. slides," 2 vols. 8vo., Paris, 1823. THE TROUVERES. 31s and reference made to him by name. This probability arises from a passage at the end of the "Couronnement," where the author says : " Et pour 90U veil ici endroit Raconter pour coi m'entremet Des bons proverbes d'Ysopet ; " and the fables of Marie de France immediately follow the '^ Couronnement" in the only MS. which contains the latter in the Biblioth^que du Roi at Paris, a MS. of the thirteenth century. But this is not sufficient authority to prove that Marie and the author of the "Couronnement" were identical, for a little earlier in the same poem Marie is mentioned in the third person : "Pris vion prologue covi Marie Qui pour lui traitu d'Ysopet*" 6ut although we ma^ doubt this double authorship, yet the presumption in favour of Count William of Flanders is strong, as he it is, according to the author of the " Couronnement," for whom the fables were written, — a proof that the writer (probably a contemporary) was of that opinion. The last conjecture which we shall offer is that of M. Robert. Coinciding in opinion with M. Meon, that the fables were written for William^ Count of Flanders, the question which he asks is, wkic/i Count William is intended? We know that Marie wrote in England, and may infer that her patron was connected with the country by some powerful ties ; it would also be a natural desire in a Flemish noble, a lover of literature, to have a French version of these English fables. To unite these two qualities he thinks that William, Count of Ypres, is the only possible person. This nobleman had disputed the title of Count of Flanders with Charles le Bon, who was assassinated in 1126 ; on his death he assumed the title, but deprived of it by Louis le Gros, King of France, he took refuge in England at the court of Henry I., who had already afforded him support. He there embraced the cause of Stephen, whom he assisted in placing on the throne, a service for which he was rewarded by being created Earl of Kent. He subsequently retired to a monastery in England, where he died. In admitting this opinion, it will be necessary to antedate the period in which Marie is said to have flourished, and her style and orthography are certainly of a more ancient period than has usually been assigned_to them. It is not improbable that her lays were dedicated to Stephen, a prince whose native language was French, and who, when at length in peaceable possession of the throne, doubt- lessly endeavoured to cultivate the taste for his own tongue, which began to be neglected towards the close of the long reign of his predecessor, Henry I. At the solicitation of William of Ypres, whose language also was French, she translated the fables which Henri I.(Beauclerc) had rendered from Latin into English. The last circumstance which attaches weight to the opinion in favour of the greater antiquity of Marie's poems, is the use of terms in her fables when speaking of the wolf and fox, which, as early as the reign of Co:ur de Lion, were designated by the names of Ysengrin and Renard ; the latter ^e'?/(?ri:i//;' so at the commence- ment of the thirteenth century. It seems unlikely that Marie would have failed to notice these new and remarkable names, had they existed when she wrote. We may therefore conclude that the *' Roman du Renard" was a production subsequent to her fables. These are the various conjectures which have been offered in support of the different opinions already cited. We are inclined to favour the supposition most which we have stated last ; but other and more competent judges must eventually decide, when circumstances throw more light on the obscurity in which the subject is enveloped.— D. C. ■ { 3i6 THE TROUVERES. LAY OF BISCLAVERET. (Quant de lais faire m'entremet Ne voil uMier Bisdaveret, 6^c.* J HEN lays resound, 'twould ill beseem Bisdaveret were not a theme : Such is the name by Bretons sung, And Garwalt in the Norman tongue ; — A man of whom our poets tell, To many men the lot befell ! Who in the forest's secret glooni A wolf was destined to become. This savage monster in his mood Roams through the wood in search of blood, ■^ " Poesies de Marie de France,' publiees par J. B. de Roquefort. t Garwal is a corruption of the Teutonic Wer-wolf or English Were-wolf, the same as the " \vK6.v^pt^l■K0% " of the Greeks, Man-wolf, loup-garou, a man who has the power of trans- forming himself into a wolf. It does not ap'pear that this word Gtmval has continued in Normandy to our time ; neither is that of Bisdaveret found among the Bretons, who still say Denbleis (Man-wolf). THE TROVVERES. ' 317 Nor man nor beast his rage will spare When wand'ring near his hideous lair. Of such an one shall be my lay, A legend of Bisclaveret, In Brittany a knight was known, Whose virtues were a wonder grown : His form was goodly, and his mind With truth endued, with sense refined; Valiant, and to his lord sincere. And by his neighbours held most dear. His lady was of fairest face, And seemed all goodness, truth, and grace. They lived in mutual love and joy. Nor could one thought their peace annoy, Save that, three days each week, the knight Was absent from his lady's sight ; Nor knew she. where he made repair, — In vain all questions and all care. One evening as they sat reclined, And rest and music soothed his mind, With winning smiles and arts she strove To gain the secret from his love. " Ah ! is it well ? " she softly sighed, "Aught from this tender heart to hide? Fain would I urge, but cannot bear That thy dear brow a frown should wear, Else would I crave so small a boon, — 'T is. idly asked, and granted soon." The gentle knight that lady prest. And drew her closer to his breast*: " What is there, fairest love," he cried, " I ever to thy wish denied ? What may it be I vainly muse That thou couldst ask, and I refuse?" " Gramercy ! " said the artful dame, " My kindest lord, the boon I claim. Oh! in those days, to sorrow known, When left by thee in tears alone. 3i8 THE TROUVERES. What fears, what torments wound my heart, Musing in vain why thus we part. If I should lose thee ! if no more The evening, should thy form restore ! Oh, 'tis too much! I cannot bear The pangs of such continued care ! Tell me, where go'st thou? — who is she Who keeps my own dear lord from me? For 'tis too plain, thou lov'st me not. And in her arms I am forgot ! " " Lady," he said, " by Heaven abovt. No deed of mine has wronged thy love. But, were the fatal secret thine, Destruction — death, perchance — were mine.'' Then pearly tears that lady shed, And sorrow bowed her lovely head. And every grace, and art, and wile. Each fond caress, each gentle smile. She lavished on her lord, who strove In vain against her seeming love ; Till all the secret was revealed. And not the slightest thought concealed. Know, then, a truth which shuns the day, — I am a foul Bisclaveret ! Close sheltered in my wild retreat, My loathsome food I daily eat, And, deep within yon hated wood, I live on rapine and on blood !" Faint grew that pale and lovely dame, A shudder crept o'er all her frame; But yet she urged her questions still. Mindless but of her eager will, To know if, ere the change was made. Clothed or unclad he sought the shade. " Unclad, in savage guise I range. Till to my wolfish shape I change." '■ Where are thy vestments then concealed ?" " That, lady, may not be revealed, THE TROUVERES. 319 For should I lose them, or some eye Where .they are hid presume to pry, Bisclaveret I should remain, Nor ever gaze on thee again Till he who caused the fatal harm Restored them and dissolved the charm.'' "Alas'!" she said, "my lord, my life, Am I not thine, thy soul — thy wife? Thou canst not doubt me, yet I feel 1 die if thou the truth conceal. Ah ! is thy confidence so small, That thou shouldst pause, nor tell me all?'' Long, long she strove, and he denied, — Entreaties, prayers, and tears were tried, Till, vanquished, wearied, and distressed. He thus the fatal truth confessed : " Deep in the forest's awful shade Has chance a frightful cavern made, A ruined chapel moulders near. Where oft is shed my secret tear. There, close beside a hollow stone With rank and bushy weeds o'ergrown. My garments lie, till I repair. My trial past, to seek them there." The lady heard the wondrous tale. Her cheek now flushed, now deadly pale. And many a day and fearful night Pondered with horror and affright. Fain would she the adventure try. Whose thought drove slumber from her eye. She dared not seek the wood alone ; To whom, then, could she make it known? A knight there was, whose passion long Had sought the hapless lord to wrong, But coldly from his vows she titrned, And all his feigning ardour spumed ; Yet now, a prey to evil's power. She sought him in a luckless hour, 320 THE TROUVERES. And swore a deadly oath of love, So he would the adventure prove. The wood's recess, the cave, the stone. All to his willing ear made known. And bade him seize the robes with speed. And she should be the victor's meed. Thus man, by too much trust betrayed, Too often is a victim made ! Great search was made the country round, But trace was none, nor tidings found, — All deemed the gallant knight was dead, And his false dame again was wed. Scarce had the year attained an end, The king would to the greenwood wend. Where, 'midst the leafy covert, lay. The fierce and fell Bisclaveret. Soon as the hounds perceive the foe. Forward at once with yells they go. The hunters urge them on amain, And soon the Garvval had been slain. But, springing to the monarch's knee. Seemed to implore his clemency. His stirrup held, embraced his feet. And urged his suit with gestures meet. The king, with wond'ring pity moved, His. hunters called, his hounds reproved : "Tis strange," he said, "this beast indeed With human reason seems to plead. Who may this marvel clearly see? — Call off the dogs, and set him free. And, mark me, let no subject dare To touch his life, which thus I spare. Let us away, nor more intrude On this strange creature's solitude. And from this time I'll come no more This forest's secrets to explore." THE TROUVERES. 321 The king then rode in haste away, But, following still, Bisclaveret Kept ever closely by his side; Nor could the pitying monarch chide, But led him to his castle fair, Whose goodly towers rose high in air. There stayed the Garwal, and apace Grew dearer in the monarch's grace, And all his train he bade beware To tend and to entreat him fair : Nor murmured they, for though unbound, He still was mild and gentle found. Couched at his master's feet he lay. And with the barons loved to stay; Whene'er the king abroad would wend, Still with him went his faithful friend; In hall or bower, at game or feast, So much he loved the gallant beast. It chanced the king proclaimed a court, Where all his barons made resort; Not one would from the presence stay, But came in rich and bright array. Among them he who, with his wife. Had practised on the Garwal's life. He, all unconscious, paced along, Amidst that gay and gallant throng. Nor deemed his steps that fatal day Watched by the sad Bisclaveret. With sudden bound on him he flew, And towards him by his fangs he drew. Nor would have spared him, but the king, With angry words and menacing, Forbade the vengeance which had straight Dealt to the trembling wretch his fate. Much marvel all, and wond'ring own He ne'er before so fell was known : Why single out this knight from all? Why on him thus so fiercely fall? In much amaze each went his way. But pondered on it many a day. 21 322 THE TROUVERES. The king next eve the forest sought Where first Bisclaveret was caught, There to forget the toils of state That on a monarch's splendour wait. The guilty wife with false intent And artful wiles to meet him went, Apparelled in her richest guise. To draw on her admiring eyes. Rich presents brought she in her train, And sought an audience to gain. When she approached Bisclaveret, No power his vengeance could allay : AVith hideous howl he darted forth Towards the fair object of his wrath. And soon her false but beauteous face Of deadly fury bore the trace. All rush to staunch the dreadful wound. And blows and shouts assail him round. Then spoke a leam'd and reverend sage, Renowned for wisdom, grey with age : " Sire, let the beast receive no wrong : Has he not here been harboured long, And never, even in sport, been seen To show or cruelty or spleen? This lady and her lord alone The fury of his ire have known. Twice has the lady been a wife : How her first lord was reft of life, For whom each baron sorrows still. Breeds in my mind some fear of ill. Question the wounded dame, and try If we may solve this mystery ; I luiow, by long experience taught. Are wondrous things in Bretagne wrought." The king the sage advice approved, And bade the lady be removed. And captive held till she should tell All that her former lord befell. Her guilty spouse they seek Avith speed. And to a separate dungeon lead. THE TROUVERES. 323 'Twas then, subdued by pain and fear, The fearful tale she bade them hear ; How she her lord sought to betray. And stole his vestments where they lay, So that for him the hope were vain To gain his human form again. Her deed of treachery displayed, All pause, with anxious thought dismayed. Then each to each began to say, " It is the beast Bisclaveret ! " Soon are the fatal vestments brought. Straight is the hapless Garwal sought, — Close in his sight the robes they place, But all unmoved, and slow his pace, He heeds not as he passes by, Nor casts around a curious eye. All marvel, save the sage alone, The cause is to his prescience known. " Hope not," he said, " by means so plain The transformation to obtain. Deep shame and grief the act attend, And secresy its aid must lend \ And to no vulgar mortal eye 'Tis given to view this mystery. Close, then, each gate, be silence round, And let a hollow stone be found ; Choose ye a solitary room, Shade each recess with deepest gloom ; Spread forth the robes, let none intrude. And leave the beast to solitude." All that the sage advised was done. And now the shades of night were gone, When towards the spot, with eager haste. The king and all his barons past : There, when they oped the guarded door. They saw Bisclaveret no more, But on a couch, in slumber deep, Beheld the unchamied knight asleep ! 21—2 324 THE TROUVERES. With shouts of joy the halls resound, The news soon spreads the country round. No more condemned to woe and shame, He wakes to life, to joy, and fame ! Admired, carest, 'midst hosts of friends. At once his lingering torment ends; His lands restored, his foes o'erthro«ai. Their treacherous arts to all made known ; The guilty pair condemned to fly To banishment and infamy. 'Tis said their lineage to all time Shall bear a mark that speaks their crime ; Deep wounds and scars their faces grave, Such as the furious Garwal gave. And well in Brittany is known The wondrous tale my lay has shown \ Nor shall the record fade away That tells us of Bisclaveret. THE LAY OF THE EGLANTINE.* (Assez me plest e bien le voil Del lai gu'/mm nume Clievre-foil Que la verit'e vus en ciint, &'c., cr'c.f) WAKE, my harp, and breathe a lay Whicli poets oft have loved to tell, Of Tristan and his lady gay. The fortunes that to each befell ; Of all their fondness, all their care. Of Tristan's wanderings far away; And lovely Yseult, called the Fair,J Who died upon the selfsame day. * " Lai du Chevre-foil." t Roquefort. t Yseult 'i Blonde, daughter of Argius, King of Ireland, and wife of Marc, Kin? of Cor- nouailies, uncle of Tristan. THE TROVVERES: 325 How Mark, the aged, jealous king, Their fatal passion came to know, And banished Tristan, sorrowing. Where Wales awhile concealed his woe. There, wandering like a restless shade, From weary night to cheerless morn. He roamed o'er moimtain, wood, and glade. Abandoned, hopeless, and forlorn ! Nor marvel, ye who hear the tale, For such their fate will ever prove, Whose constant hearts in vain bewail The lot of early blighted love. A weary year in sudden mood With anxious memory he strove. But found at length that solitude But added deeper wounds to love. "Alas!" he said, "why lingering stay, Why hover round this living tomb? Where Yseult pines far, far away, 'Twere meet I' sought my final doom. " There to some forest haunt I '11 go, And, hid from every human eye, Some solace yet my soul may know. Near where she dwells at least to die ! " He went — and many a lonely night In Cornwall's deep retreats he lay. Nor ventured forth to mortal sight. An exile from the face of day. At length along the flowery plains He stole at eve with humble mien, 326 THE TROUVERES. To ask the simple shepherd swains Some tidings of the hapless queen.* Then told they how the baron bold Was banished to his distant home, And to Tintagel's mighty hold » ' The king, with all his court, was come. For Pentecost, with pride elate. The feast, the tourney they prepare. And, mistress of the regal state, The lovely Yseult would be there. Joy sprang in Tristan's eager heart : The queen must through the forest wend, While he, unnoticed, there apart, Secure her coming could attend. But how to bid her understand. When close to him she loved she drew? — He cut in haste a hazel wand. And clove the yielding wood in two. Then on the bark his name he traced. To lure her for a while to stay; Each branch with trembling hai^d he placed At distance in fair Yseult's way. It was their sign of love before ; And when she saw that name so dear. The deepest shade she would explore. To find if he were wandering near. * Tristan de Ldonois, Knight of tiie Rotind Table, is the hero of one of the most pleasing of the romances of antiquity. The translation of it into French prose in the twelfth century is by Luces de Gast, a Norman, who lived at Salisbury. The celebrated poet, Chrestien de Troyes, versified it, but his work is unfortunately lost. Sir Walter Scott has published an edition of " Sir Tristrem " by Thomas the Rhymer of Ercildown. _ ' This romance is said to have been written in Latin prose about iiio by Rusticien de Pise, in the time of Louis le Gros : it is asserted he took this, and Lancelot du Lac, from two much older British writers. Rusticien composed his romances for Henry I. of England, grandson of William the Conqueror, in the splendid court which that prince held in Normandy. The wife of Tristan was Yseult aux Blanches Mains, daughter of Hoel, King of Little Britain, whom he married after his separation from Yseult la Blonde. King Marc having sent him to Ireland, to fetch his destined bride, they unfortunately fell in love on the voyage. The latter ■, is sometimes called La Belle Isoulde. \ THE TROUVERES. 327 "Oh ! well thou know'st, dear love," he said, "No life has Tristan but in thee! And all my fondness is repaid. My Yseult lives alone for me ! "Thou know'st the tree around whose stem The eglantine so fondly clings, And hangs her flowery diadem From bough to bough in per- fumed rings. " Clasped in each other's arms, they smile, And flourish long in bliss and joy> As though nor time nor age the while Their tender union could de- stroy. "But if it chance by Fate's hard hest The tree is destined to decay, The eglantine droops on his breast, And both together fade away. "Ah, even such, dear love, are we: How can we learn to Hve apart ? To pine in absence thus from thee Will break this too devoted heart!" She came — she saw the dear-loved name. So long to deep regret consigned, And rosy bright her cheek becarne, As thoughts flashed quick across her mind. 32'8 THE TROUVERES. She bade her knights a space delay, While she reposed amidst the shade; Obedient all at distance stay, Nor seek her slumber to invade. The faithful Brangian alone Companion of her search she chose, To whom their early hopes were known. Their tender love and after woes ! Nor long amidst the wood she sought, Ere she beheld, with wild delight. Him whom she loved beyond all thought, Rush forth to bless her eager sight. Oh, boundless joy unspeakable ! After an age of absent pain. How much to say — how much to tell — To vow, regret, and vow again! She bade him hope the time was near When his sad exile would be o'er, When the stern king her prayer would hear, And call him to his court once more. She told of many a bitter tear, Of hopes, of wishes unsubdued : Ah! why, 'midst scenes so brief, so dear. Will thoughts of parting still intrude? Yes, they must part, so lately met, For envious steps are lurking round; Delay can only bring regret. And danger wakes in every sound. ' Adieu, adieu ! " and now 't is past. And now each path far distant lies-. Fair Yseult gains her train in haste. And through the forest Tristan hies. THE TROUVERES. 329 To Wales again his steps he bent, And there his Hfe of care renewed, Until, his uncle's fury spent, He called him from that solitude. 'Twas then in mem'ry of the scene. To both with joy so richly fraught. And to record how blest had been The signal Love himself had taught, That Tristan waked the softest tone His lute had ever breathed before, Though well to him. Love's slave, was known All the deep springs of minstrel lore. His strain to future times shall last, For 'twas a dream of joy divine; And that sweet record of the past He called " The Lay of Eglantine."* LE CHATELAIN DE COUCY. Le Chatelain de Coucy lived before the time of St. Louis, and was celebrated as a poet and lover. Eustace le Peintre, a poet, contemporary with Thibault of Navarre, speaks of him. He flourished certainly between the years 1187 and 1203, or perhaps 1221. He was versed in all the literature of his age, and was both a poet and musician. The adventures of the Chatelain de Coucy and the Dame de Fayel are well known, but they have been greatly dis- puted. The Proven^aux claim them as belonging to one of their Troubadours, Gujlhem de Cabestanh, or de Cabestaing, the Italians to a knight named Guardastagno (see Boccace), and a certain Guiscard (see also Boccace), the Spaniards for the Marquis d'Astorga under Charles 11. M. Francisque Michel, from whose interesting edition of the poems of the Chatelain de Coucy these specimens are derived, is of opinion that the Sire de Fayel's cruel vengeance gave rise to all the other stories, and that the poets chose the subject and attributed the events to other heroes. * There is printed "Le Roman du noble et vaillant Chevalier Tristan iils du noble roy Meliadus de Leonnoys, par Luce, chevalier, seigneur du chateau de Gast." Rouen, 1489, fol. In Caxton's " Mbrte Arthur," the eighth, ninth, and tenth boolis treat of "Sir Trystram." 33° THE THOUVERES. CHANSON II. (Noiivde amor oiij'ai mis mon penser, &^c.) Y wand'ring thoughts awake to love anew, And bid me rise to sing the fairest fair That e'er before the world of beauty knew, That e'er kind Nature made her darling care ; And when, entranced, on all her charms I muse. All themes but that alone my lays refuse, — Each wish my soul can form is hers alone. My heart, my joys, my feelings all her own ! Since first my trembling heart became a prey, I have no power to turn me back again ; At once I yield me to that passion's sway. Nor idly seek its impulse to restrain. If she, who is all sweetness, truth, and joy. Were cold or fickle, were she proud or coy, I might my tender hopes at once resign. But not, thank Heaven ! so sad a lot is mine ! If ought I blame, 'tis my hard fate alone, Not those soft eyes, those gentle looks of thine, On which I gazed till all my peace was gone ! Not at their dear perfection I repine. I cannot blame that form, all winning grace. That fairy hand, that lip, that lovely face ; All I can beg is that she love me more. That I may live still longer to adore ! Yes, all I ask of thee, O lady dear, Is but what purest love may hope to find; And if thine eyes, whose crystal light so clear Reflect thy thoughts, be not to me unkind. Well may'st thou see, by every mournful lay, By all I ever look, or sigh, or say. That I am thine, devoted to thy will, And, 'midst my sadness, fondly thank thee still. THE TROUVERES. 331 I thank thee, even for these secret sighs, For all the mournful thoughts that on thee dwell, For as thou bad'st them in my bosom rise, Thou canst revive their sweetest hopes as well. The blissful remedy for all my woe In those dear eyes, that gentle voice, I know; Should Fate forbid my soul to love thee more, My life, alas ! would with my grief be o'er. To thee my heart, my wishes I resign, I am thine own ; O lady dear, be mine ! LA DAME DE FAYEL. The Dame de Fayel, the heroine of the tragedy which has made her so celebrated, must not be confounded mth Gabrielle de Vergy, a mistake which has very fiequontly occurred. LAI. (Ge chattteraipor moii corage, Ss^c.) TILL will I sing to soothe my heart, Deprest, alas ! and full of care ; Not even yet shall hope depart. Not even yet v/ill I despair. Though none from that wild shore return Where he abides I love so well, Whose absence I for ever mourn. Whose voice to me was music's spell ; God ! when the battle-cry resounds, Thy succour to the Pilgrim show, Whom fatal treachery surrounds, For faithless is the pagan foe ! 332 THE TROUVERES. No time my sorrow can assuage Till I behold him once again; He roams in weary pilgrimage, And I await in ceaseless pain : And though my lineage urge me long With threats another's bride to be,* In vain they seek to do him wrong, — All idle seem their frowns to me. Noble he is, and I am fair; Ah, Heaven ! all mercy since Thou art, Why doom two hearts to this despair. Why bid us thus so rudely part? One tender solace yet I find, — His vows are mine, my treasured store ! And when I feel the gentle wind That blows from yonder distant shore, I turn me to the balmy gale, — Its whisp'ring breath my fancy cliarms, I list his tender voice to hail. He seems to clasp me in his arms ! He left me ! ah, what vain regret ! I may not follow where he flies ! — The scarft he gave, when last we met, A cherished relic still I prize : I fold it to my throbbing heart, And many a vanished scene recall ; For quiet to my soul distrest. For joy, for solace — this is all ! God ! when the battle-cry resounds, Thy succour to the Pilgrim show, Whom fatal treachery surrounds, For faithless is the pagan foe ! ^ *^It would appear by these lines tiiat the unfortunate Dame de Fayel was attached to the Chatelain de Coucy previous to hei- ill-fated marriage with a man who was indifferent to her and whom the importunities of her family alone induced her to accept. ' t I must here apologize for the liberty I have taken with the original in this line • it was impossible, without some change, to make the idea pleasing to a modern reader THE TROUVERES. 333 THIBAUT DE CHAMPAGNE. This celebrated Trouvere was the son of Thibaut, third Count of Champagne and Brie, and Blanche, daughter of Sancho the Wise, King of Navarre. He was born about the beginning of 1201, a few months after the death of his father, who died very young. His mother, who was a great patroness of poetry, governed his dominions during his minority, and Philip Augustus of France took him under his protection. He had to sustain a long war against Airard de Brienne, who, having married one of the daughters of his uncle, disputed his right to the counties of Champagne and Bne. This great quarrel was finally transferred to the Court of Peers of the kingdom, and terminated by negotiation in November, 1221. Ten or twelve years > afterwards the barons of the kingdom, indignant at Thibaut having abandoned them in the war which they waged against the king and the regent of the kingdom, leagued together, and called upon Aleide, widow of the King of Cyprus, the second daughter of his uncle, to assert her claims upon Champagne. The protection of the king and the queen-mother defended him from this invasion, and enabled him to negotiate with Aleide, whose rights he purchased. The death of Sancho the Powerful, his maternal uncle, elevated him to the throne of Navarre in April, 1234. A short time afterwards he set out for the crusades. He remained in Romania a year or two without having contributed much to soften the misfortunes of the Christians in the Holy Land. On his return to his kingdom he devoted his attention to the government of his dominions, and died in June, 1253, at Pampeluna, where he was buried; his heart was taken to the monastery of Ste. Catherine, near Provins, which he had founded. See " Pri£face aux Poesies du Roy de Navan*e." Paris, 1742, par M. I'Evesque de la RavaUiere. The above learned author treats as quite apocryphal the well-known tradition of Thibaut's love for Blanche of CastUe, the mother of St. Louis, and attributes it to the malice and mis- representation of some authors and the neglect of others. Who the Dame de ses Pensees really was is not ascertained, but he will not allow the supposition to exist of its being Blanche of Castile, fixing the probability on a certain daughter of Perron, or Pierre, who was chamberlain to St. Louis, or else of Pieron, Seigneur de Pacy. He adds, however, " Non que je pr^tende par cette decouverte aifirmer que Thibaut ait eu cette seule maitresse." He asserts that many of the poems written in honour of this mysterious Blanche were not composed till he was upwards of thirty, and the queen past fifty. However this may be, it is difficult to relinquish the received opinion, which has little in it to shock the mind, as all authors agree that the fair regent was insensible to his passion. I add the testimony of numerous authors who take a different view of the question. M. TitonduTillet, in his "Parnasse Fran9ois,"has this passage: " Nous ayons encore quelque chansons de sa fagon compos^es a la louange de la Reine Blanche de Castille gu'il aimoit avec Passio7i, quoique cette princesse fut tres-indifferente pour lui, ne pensant uniquement qua le manager pour les interets du roi son fils." Pasquier recounts, from the book of the Great Chronicles of France, dedicated to Charles VIII., that a great number of the fine songs of Thibaut, made for the Queen Blanche, were transcribed in the great saloon of the palace of Provins,* with notes of music to the first stanzas. The poems of the King of Navarre had great reputation in his own time, and even long after, as Dante witnesses in his work "De vulgari eloquentia." "II buon re Tibaldo." "Thibaut was constantly forming plots against St. Louis, during the regency of Blanche, with whom he was for years desperately in love. On several occasions he is said to have sub- mitted 'ebahi' by her beauty and grandeur. When she was fifty-one and he thirty-five, hand- some, accomplished, and loving without hope, she banished him the court, owing to his making his passion too apparent. He quitted her, went to Palestine, and on his return to his kingdorn of Navarre, he no longer sang of love, but made pious verses, and died a year after Blanche." — Vie de Blandie de Castille, par la Comtesse de Macheco nee Bataille. The story is well known of the insult he received at court from Robert d'Artois, a boy, brother of the king; who, instigated by the lords, threw a soft cheese in his face, with a con- temptuous remark. He could not resent this from a child, but being aware by whom it was encouraged, he retired in disgust from court. Sir Walter Scott observes : " Enthusiasm of every kind is peculiarly sensible to ridicule. Thibaut felt that he was an object of mirth, and retired for ever to his feudal dominions, where he endeavoured to find consolation in poetry for the rigour and perhaps the duplicity of his royal mistress. His extravagant devotion to poetry and beauty did not prevent his being held a sagacious as well as accomplished sovereign."— Tales of a Grandfather. Fraiice. Thibaut the Posthumous, Count of Champagne, set the example to the vassals of Louis VIIL ^ And also in that of Troyes. Those discovered in the chateau de Provins were, according to the Chroniques, "k I'endroit de la prison." 334 THE TROUVERES. to retire from his army. At the age of twenty-six he was reckoned among the best poets of his age ; he called himself "the Queen's Knight," and /rf/^?«/^(f to be m love with her, though she was more than forty. The death of Louis soon after a dispute with Thibaut has occasioned some historians to attribute that event to the latter, as he was thought to have died poisoned.— SisMONDi's Albi^enses, He was grandson of Marie de France, Countess of Champagne, the zealous patroness of the Provencal poets, and daughter of Elionore of Guienne. LAY. ON DEPARTING FOR THE HOLY LAND. (Dame, tnsi est qn'il m'en convient aler, &'C.*) ^_ H, gentle lady ! must I go, • ^ ^) And quit this sweet, enchanting shore, " Where I, 'tis true, have suffered woe, But, thus to leave thee, suffer more ? a-. Why, cruel Nature, didst thou frame ^ A land from bliss so far removed, Where joy exists but as a name, And banished is each dream of love? \ without affection can I live ? 'T is all my solace, all my thought •, My heart can nought beside receive, For me with vital breath 't is fraught. I leamt to prize it in a school Where too severe my lessons were Ever to grow content or cool. Or weary absence strive to bear. Do I deserve this life of care ? My truth methinks thou must approve, Who art the purest, brightest fair. That ever man durst ask to love ! Alas ! if I must leave thee so. What ceaseless torments will be mine. When, but an hour condemned to go, My fainting heart would still repine ! If now I tear myself from thee. Will not remorse, regret, betide. When thy dear lines with tears I see. And know what seas our fates divide ? ' M. de la Ravalltere. THE TROUVERES. 335 Heaven ! be Thine my future days, — Farewell each hope that bade me live, — Rich the reward Thy hand displays, To Thee my love, my joy, I give. See, in Thy service I prepare, My fortunes henceforth are Thy own; 1 seek Thy banner, blest and fair, — Who serves Thee ne'er can be o'erthrown. My bosom throbs 'twixt joy and pain, — For grief that from my love I part; For joy that I shall now maintain His cause, whose glory nerves my heart. The love of Heaven is ever blest. Without all shade or taint of harm, A gem, how precious when possest ! Which all the sins of earth can charm. Bright queen, and lady without peer ! To guard me be thy power displayed; Fill thou my soul with faith sincere ; I lose my lady, — lady, aid ! TRANSLATION OF A STANZA. (Li rossignoh chanie tantr' ) The night bird sings so loud, so long, That as she ends her heavenly song. Exhausted her melodious breath. Amidst the boughs she sinks in death. Is there a lot so full of bliss, So rich in ecstacy as this? Even thus I die while I her praise relate, But ah ! how little she regards my fate ! 'This specimen, which is also in 11. de la Ravalliere's collection, vol. ii., p. 33, is given from tlie " Lays of the Minnesingers." The author of that delightful work considers the style of the royal poet dull and meagre, and refuses him the credit he deserves. Bossuet is very severe on him, and dismisses him, saying, " he made songs which he was fool enough to publish." His own opinion, recorded in Chroniques de St. Denis, is more favourable; these are his words : "Qu'il iit les plus belles changons et les plus diflitables qui furent oncques lOydes." 336 THE tROUVERES. SONG TO EXCITE TO THE CRUSADE. (Signer, saciez ki or ne s'en via, &'c.*) ORD ! Thou canst tell that he who turns away From that blest land where God was born and died, Nor will in pagan realms the cross display, In blissful Paradise shall ne'er abide. ^ Ye whose high souls remorse and pity know. For God and vengeance rise and stidke the blow. Redeem His country from the heathen's pride ! Yet let the unworthy linger still behind, — Who loves not God no honour shall attain : A wife, a friend, subdue his wav'ring mind, Bound by the idle world in passion's chain. Away with those who friends or kindred name. Before the cross which beckons them to fame ! Arm ! noble youth, pursue the bright career ! 'Tis glory's call, 'tis mighty Heaven's command; Let earth and all her frailties disappear; Rouse for the faith, upUft thy conquering hand, And leave thy ashes in the sacred land ! God died for us,— for us His cross He bore, And these. His words, a happy promise tell : "Ye who my cross uphold for evermore, Shall find a place where glorious angels dwell : There ye shall gaze upon my brow of light, There my celestial mother ye shall know; But ye who turn ye from the happy sight, Descend to darkness and eternal woe !" ' M. de la Ravalliiie THE TROUVERES, 337 Those who, devoted to the joys of earth, Shim death and danger with a coward's care, I hold as foes and sinners little worth, Senseless of good, and worthy of despair. O bounteous Lord ! our evil thoughts remove, Let us behold Thy sacred land of love ! Pray for us. Queen and Virgin, heavenly bright. And let no ill assail us, through thy might ! LAY. ( Une chanson encore voil Faire, pour moi comforter, &-'C.*) NOTHER lay I breathe for thee, To rouse my soul again, Sole solace of my misery, Sole refuge of my pain 1 I sing, for if a moment mute. My tears bedew the mournful lute ! I thought to prove thee soft and kind, Even as thou art fair. But ah ! those gentle looks I find Were but a secret snare. My love I cannot yet resign, — Awake, in sleep, my thoughts are thine ! Yes, in my sweetest dreams thou art, — Ah ! then what visions rise ! Then my poor unregarded heart To thy dear presence flies. And sweetly, gently is carest; Why is my slumber only blest? Delight and sorrow mingled sound Amidst my fitful strains, » M. de la Ravallifere. 338 THE TROVVERES. And still I sing, although the wound Deep in my breast remains : Dear love ! too soon thou wert my fate ! But ah ! my guerdon comes too late ! And dost thou feel not one regret That thus I slowly pine? It is not meet thou shouldst forget That all the blame is thine. Ere long thy unrelenting eye Will only gaze to see me die ! My lute still pleads, perchance in vain, And idle each endeavour, One smile, one look, at least, to gain, Before 'tis mute for ever! THIBAUT DE BLAZON.* CHANSON. (Certes a tort.-\) I AM to blame ! why should I sing ? — My lays 'twere better to forget: Each day to others joy may bring, They can but give to me regret ! Love makes my heart so full of woe That nought can please or soothe me more, Unless the cruel cause would show Less coldness than I found of yore. Thibaut de L'-wn was a friend of Thibaut of Champagne, t Auguis. 'THE TROUVERES. m Yet wherefore all my cares repeat? Love's woes, though painful, still are sweet. I am to blame ! I am to blame! — was I not born To serve and love her all my life? Although my recompense is scorn, And all my care with pain is rife ; Yet should I die, nor ever know What 'tis to be beloved again, At least my silent life shall show How patiently I bore my chain. Then wherefore all my griefs repeat? Love's woes, though painful, still are sweet. I am to blame! GACE BRULE.- (Les oisillons de mon pais, &'c.\) HF. birds in Brittany I hear ^ Warble in plaintive strains, Like those that once to me were dear Amidst my native plains. And gentle thoughts and mem'ry sweet Wake with their melody, Till I would fain like them repeat Love's promises to me. » Gace Brule was the friend of the Count of Champagne. In the Chroniques de St. Denis it isSd of tto, "qu'ils firent entre eux ks plus belles chansons, les plus del.teuses et I-s plus melodieuscs qui fnrent oncques oyees." t Auguis. 22-2 340 \ THE TROVVERES. I know, by disappointment crost, 'Tis useless to complain, But all the joys that others boast To me seem only pain. How many times have I believed Bliss might be mine once more ! And still I find my hopes deceivedj Even as they were before. The characteristic distinctions of Troubadour and Trouvfere began to be lost in the early part of the thirteenth century;, the succeeding poems are therefore classed under the general denomi- nation of the Early French Poets. 343 JEAN DE MEUN. The name of Jean de Meun is so closely associated with that of William of Lorris and ihe celebrated poem "The Romance of the Rose," that it is necessary to refer both to the latter author and the poem itself, in speaking of the former. Of William of Lorris, the original author of the poem, little more is known than the place of his birth at Lorris, on the Loire, not far from Montargis. He was born in the early part of the thirteenth century, and died— probably young, as his poem was unfinished — about the year 1340.* Forty years after his death, the subject was continued and amplified by Jean de Meun, surnamedClopinel, a poet also from the banks of the Loire. Although not equal to his predecessor in imagination and descriptive talent, he possessed many of the qualifications of a good poet, and the satire which he infused into the work considerably enfeanced its reputation. This quality appears to have been" a remarkable characteristic of Jean de Meun, as is proved by some anecdotes which are related of him : t one amongst them is sufficiently amusing, though perhaps apocryphal. During his whole life he had invariably inveighed against the new orders of monks, particularly the Jacobins, and in his last testament he did not forget them. He there gave orders, that as soon as his funeral should be over, which he directed should be performed in the church of the Jacobins, a weighty coffer was to be placed in their hands. _ The monks imagined that remorse for the abuse which he had heaped upon them while living had dictated this heavy atonement after his decease ; and scarcely was the ceremony of interment concluded, when they became anxious to ascertain the amount of treasure which the excellent Jean de Meun had bequeathed to them. Accordingly they immediately caused the coffer to be opened ; but great was their dismay and surprise, when nothing presented itself to their disappointed gaze but a few sheets of lead, inscribed with mathematical figures. In the fury of their disappoint- ment, they immediately disinterred the poet's remains, and cast his body out of theu* con- secrated enclosure ; but the Court of Parliament being informed of the event, directed that it should be honourably re-interred in the cemetery attached to the same church. The poet's life was passed at court, where he figured as its principal literary ornament, and where most of his works were composed. Besides his continuation of the "Romance of the Rose," he translated "Les Merveilles d'lrlande," the " Letters of Abelard to Heloise," and other works; he also wrote two other poems, '_' Le Testament de Jean de Meun," a general satire, and " Le Codicile, ou Tre'sor," relating chiefly to the mysteries of religion. His principal work was very highly estimated by some of the most celebrated of the early poets of France. Clement Marot admired and gave an edition of it ; Jean Molinet rendered it into prose ; and Pasquier compares the author to Dante ! M. Lenglet Dufresnoy, who published an edition of the "Roman de la Rose" in 1735, says: " Nos ancetres ont si fort estim(5 le Roman de la Rose, qu'il y auroit ou trop de mepns, ou une ingratitude trop marquee de n'en pas faire aussi quelque cas." But this consideration would, we fear, be almost the only one with the modern reader, whose patience must weary of an allegory extending through upwards of 22,000 verses. The merit of the poem is, however, great ; there is much of inven- tion, the style is lively and agreeable, and many of the descriptions are beautiful. The father of English poetry was alive to these excellences when he translated the greater part of the poem written by William of Lorris, and the most congenial to his taste. The descriptions of May, of the Gardens, of the figures of Sorrow, Envy, Hatred, and Avarice, are admirable, both in the original and in Chaucer's version. The chief defects of the work are a certain monotony, the number of digressions, and the little interest excited by a series of allegorical personages. It has had as many antagonists as supporters, and was at an early period the subject of much controversy. The reputation on which it must rely is that which it has acquired as a poetical monument illustrating the language of France in the early period when it appeared.— D. C. , r* , ^?T ^ 36O' ,^s has been generally stated ; this question has been decided by M . Raynouard. Viae Journal des Savans," 1816, pp. 69 and 70. ' t See his life by Thevet, and Dissertation by Lantin de Damery, in JI. Moon's edition of tse Roman de la Rose, Pans. ■342 EARLY FRENCH POETS. 343 LE CODICILLE. (J'aifait en majeimesse maint dit par vanite, &'c.*) oo many lays, too light and vain, In youth I sang, and praise was mine ; The time is come to change the strain, And all those idle toys resign. Perchance my words, though late, may be More sage for others and for me. 'T were harsh the faults of youth to blame. Which yet, by time, may wiser grow ; But great his worth, and high his fame, Whose heart in youth would wisdom know. But mine and others yet, I fear, From time small store of virtue claim ; Still do we hold our youth too dear, As death to us were but a name. Alas! the fatal truth is plain, — We die, nor know we how nor where : Youth may be summoned, age remain; Which fate is best who may declare? ROMAN DE LA ROSE. (Amour soitbstient, amour endure, d^c.^) Love sustains, and Love endures; Love is lasting. Love secures; Love in loving takes delight; Loyal love, Love pure and bright Feels his vassalage no care. Can all things gain, can all things dare * Ed. de Meon. t Ibid. 344 EARLY FRENCH POETS. His sign two hearts in one can blend ; His magic glance a charm can lend To parting sighs or meeting smiles. Souls of all envy he beguiles ; Restores a heart, or makes it roam, Leads it astray, or brings it home; Delights to please, makes peace at wUI, Makes all things fair, or all things ill. Love can attract or turn aside ; Estrange two bosoms once allied. Nothing from Love's great power can fly, — Love tunes the heart to ecstacy, Gives grace and joy, divides, unites, Destroys, creates, avoids, invites. No wound can pierce him, nor offend : 'T was Love that made a God descend, Stoop to our form, and for our sake The cross and all its sorrows take; Love bade Him teach the good His Word, And precepts to the bad afford ; 'Twas Love that made Him seek us here. Love makes our souls His laws revere. Virtue can have no stay on earth If Love preside not at her birth, Nor faith nor hope can find a place. Nor truth nor justice, force nor grace. If Love inhabit not the soul. Nor with his breath illume the whole ! EARLY FRENCH POETS. 345 JEAN FROISSART. Jean Froissart is better known as a delightful historian than as a poet ; indeed, so little merit do his compositions possess, that the specimens which follow are only given as curiosities rather than as deserving a place amongst the poets of his time. He was born at Valenciennes about 1336, and was, as he relates, a great ioz'er in his youth, and he speaks with complacency of the numerous songs, poems, and romances which he composed. He travelled into England to divert his mind from a disappointed aitathment, and became secretary to Philippa of Hainault, wife of Edward III. After her death he entered into holy orders. One of his romances is called "Meliador, ou le Chevalier au Soleil d'Or." This work he presented to Gaston de Foix, when at the brilliant court of that prince, which he preferred to all others. So greatly was the romance admired, that the chief delight of Gaston was to hear passages of it read to him constantly after supper. On his introduction to Richard II. he presented that monarch with a superb MS., engrossed with his own hand, containing his poems. He is supposed to have died in 1400. The **Paradis d' Amour" is one of his productions.* TRIOLET. (Faut prendre le terns comme il vient, &^c.\) AKE time while yet it is in view, For Fortune is a iickle fair : Days fade, and others spring anew. Then take the moment still in view. What boots to toil and cares pursue? Each month a new moon hangs in Take, then, the moment still in view, For Fortune is a fickle fair.. VIRELAY. (Moult m'est tart.X) Too long it seems ere I shall view The maid so gende, fair, and true, Whom loyally I love : Ah ! for her sake, where'er I rove, All scenes my care renew ! I have not seen her— ah, how long! Nor heard the music of her tongue ; •Warton VigneulMarvilleC'D. Bonav. d'Argonne") &c. , t •' PcSies de J?an Froissart." " Chroniques Nationales Frangaises publiees par Buchon. I Buchon. 346 early" FRENCH POETS. Though in her sweet and lovely mien Such grace, such witchery is seen, Such precious virtues shine, My joy, my hope is in her smile. And I must suffer pain the while, ■\Wiere once all bliss was mine. Too long it seems ! Oh, tell her, love ! — the truth reveal ; Say that no lover yet could feel Such sad consuming pain : While banished from her sight I pine, And still this wretched life is mine, Till I return again. She must beheve me, for I find So much her image haunts my mind, So dear her memory. That wheresoe'er my steps I bend. The form my fondest thoughts attend, Is present to my eye. Too long it seems ! Now tears my weary hours employ, Regrets and thoughts of sad annoy. When waking or in sleep; For hope my former care repaid. In promises at parting m'ade. Which happy love might keep. Oh for one hour my truth to tell, To speak of feelings known too well. Of hopes too vainly dear! But useless are my anxious sighs. Since fortune my return denies, And keeps me ling'ring here : Too long it seems ! EARLY FRENCH POETS. 347 CHRISTINE DE PISE. Christine was the daughter of Thomas de Pise, and was bora at Bologna, the most flourish- ing school of literature, next to Florence, of that age. The reputation of Thomas for science spread so diffusely, that, having married the daughter of Dr. Forti, a member of the great council of Venice, the Kings of France and Hungary were jealous of Venice possessing such a treasure, and invited Thomas de Pise to adorn their respective courts. The personal merit of Charles V,, surnamed the Wise, "la preponderance du nom Frangois/' the desire of visiting the university of Paris, then in great brilliancy, determined the illustrious stranger. Charles showered honours and wealth on Thomas de Pise : the IVise monarch appointed him his astrologer, and fixed him in France, whither he sent for his wife and daughter, who were received at the Louvre, where the people, astonished at their magnificent costume, *'k la Lombarde," flocked to see them, and overwhelmed them with admiration and applause. This happened in 1368, when Christine was but five years old. She was born with her father's avidity for knowledge, and was early instructed in the Latin tongue. At fifteen she had made such progress in the sciences, and her personal charms were so remarkable, that she was sought in marriage "par plusieurs chevaliers, autres nobles, et riches clercs," but sheadds modestly, " qu'on ne regarde ceci comme vanteuse : la grande amour que le roi demontroit h mon p&re en etoit la cause, et non ma valeur." The king had bestowed on Thomas a pension of 100 livres, payable every month, and equiva- lent to 8,400 livres of the present day, besides annual gratifications of " livre'es et autres bagatelles;" and that this bounty might not be thought extravagant in so economical a monarch, Christine, to prove the solidity of her father's knowledge, informs us that he died on the very hour that he himself had predicted, and that Charles owed much of the prosperity of his arms, and of the great effects of his government, to the sage counsels of Thomas of Pise- Stephen Castel, a young gentleman of Picardy, was the fortunate suitor who obtained the hand 'of the favourite astrologer's daughter; and the sovereign, who made the marriage. appointed the bridegroom one of his notaries and secretaries. Christine adored her husband, whose character she has painted in the most favourable colours, and by whom she had three children. But their brilliant horizon was soon overcast : the king died ; the uncles of the young successor thought of nothing but plundering the kingdom, and probably were not fond of predictions. The pensions of Thomas were stopped, and his son-in-law ^vas deprived of his offices. Thomas, who his daughter confesses had been too liberal, fell into distress, grew melancholy, and soon followed his royal master. Castel, by his good conduct, for some time sustained the family, but was taken off by a contagious distemper at the age of thirty-four. The widowed Christine was deeply afflicted for the loss of her consort, and had injustice and poverty to struggle with as well as her grief. Still she sank not under her misfortunes, but, with true philosophy, dedicated her melancholy hours to the care of her children and the improvement of her mind, though but twenty-five at the death of her husband. She gave ■ herself up to study, and then to composition. Poetry was a cordial that naturally presented itself to her tender heart ; yet, while unfortunate love was her theme, the wound was rather mitigated than cured, and proved that a heart so sensible was far from being callous to a new impression. In a word, ere her tears were dried for Castel, the Earl of Salisbury arrived at Paris as ambassador from his master to demand the young Princess Isabel in marriage. The beauty and talents of Christine outshone in the eyes of the earl all the beauties of the court of France ; and the splendour and accomplishments of this personage were too imposmg not to make his homage agreeable to the philosophic, disconsolate widow. Yet so respectful were the Paladins of those days, or so austere were the manners of Christine, that, though they communicated their compositions to each other, in which Salisbury^ spoke by_ no means mysteriously of his nassion, yet the sage Christine affected to take the declaration for the * John Montacute, Earl of Salisbury, lived in the time of Richard II., and was executed as a conspirator in the following reign. The words which Shakspeare has put mto his mouth in pity to his royal master, might apply to the unfortunate nobleman himself: "Ah, Richard, with the eyes of heavy mind I see thy glory, like a shooting star. Fall to the base earth from the firmament ! Thy sun- sits weeping in the lowly west. Witnessing storms to come, woe, and unrest; Thy friends are fled to wait upon thy foes. And crossly to thy good all fortune goes. K. Rich, II., Act ii., Scene 4. 348 EARLY FRENCH POETS. simple compliment of a gallant knight ; and the earl, blushing at having gone too far, vowed for the future to be more circumspect.* Christine's eldest son was about the age of thirteen. The discreet earl, to prove at once his penitence and esteem, proposed to her to take the youth with him to England, declaring that he bade adieu to love, renounced marriage, and would build his future happiness on educating and making the fortune of her son. Far from being offended at so extraordinary an alternative, the tender mother resigned her son to that mirror of knighthood, and the too generous Salisbury departed with the pledge of his mistress's favour, which his unaccountable delicacy had preferred to one it had been more natural to ask, and which some indirect queries that Christine confesses to have put to him induce us to think she would not have received too haughtily, if consistent with the laws of honour. When King Richard was deposed, the usurper Henry immediately imprisoned his faithful servants, and struck off the head of his favourite Salisbury; and the savage BoHngbroke, who found the Lays of Christine in the portefeuille of her murdered lover, was so struck with the delicacy and purity of her sentiments, that he formed the design of drawing her to his court, and actually wrote to invite her. She ! — she at the court of the assassin of her lover ! horrible, impossible thought ! However, the decorum due to a crowned head, and one who had taken into custody and treated kindly her son, imposed on her the hard necessity of making a gentle but firm excuse ; and though the monarch twice dispatched a herald to renew the invitation, she declined it, and nevertheless obtained the recovery of her son. Visconti, Duke of Milan, and Philip le Hardy, Duke of Burgundy, wrote no less pressingly to obtain her residence in their courts. The first was positively refused, though her fortunes in France were far from being re-established. The latter had taken her son under his pro- tection, and had tempted her by an employment most congenial to her sentiments, a proposal of writing the reign of her patron Charles V. She had even commenced the agreeable charge when death deprived her of that last protector likewise. Destitute ,of everything, with a son, an aged mother, and three poor female relations to maintain, her courage, her piety, and the muse supported her under such repeated calamities; the greatest of all being to her that of being reduced to borrow money, a confession perhaps never before made by a lady of so romantic a complexion. " Beau sire Dieu ! comme elle rougissoit alors ! demander lui causoit toujours un acces de fievre," are her own words. Her latter days were more tranquil ; and her ingenious and moral writings are favourable indications of her amiable mind, and justify the attention paid her by so many distinguished princes. Christine wrote, in addition to her Moral Proverbs, the "Epistle of Othea," and other poetical subjects. A "Life of Charles the Wise," whidi is preserved in the MSS. of the King's Library at Paris. Vide " Memoire Historique/' p. 31, prefixed to the first vol. of the Anthologie Frangaise. Her moral proverbs were translated into English by Anthony Widville, Earl Rivers, brother to Edward IV. 's queen. The explicit of his translation is as follows : " Of these sayinges Cristyne was the auctoresse, Whych in makyn had such intelligence, That thereof she was mirror and maistresse ; Her workes testifie th' experience : In French lan^uaige was written this sentence ; And thus englished doth hit reherse Antoine Wydeville therle Ryvers." Caxton, who printed this work, and was protected by Lord Rivers, inspired by his patron's muse, concludes the work thus ; • Go, thou litel quayer, and recommaund me Unto the good grace of my special lorde, Therle Ryveris, for I have emprinted thee At his commandement, followmg every wordo His copye, as his secretaire can recorde ; At Westmistre of Feverer the xx daye, And of K. Edward the xvii yere vraye. Emprinted by Caxton In Feverer the colde season." Walpole's Royal mtd Nolle A ttthors. ,, \'?J^V^.'^^/Pi."'0" f^ the French author; but does it not seem more natural to suppose that Christine declined the offer of his hand,_ being so recently deprived of a beloved husband, notwithstandms: which she was sensible of his worth and P-nnHn*>c= 9 ' ^^iiii3Liiic ucLiiiicu Liie oner 01 nis nana, ueing SO recently depri .'ithstanding which she was sensible of his worth and goodness? EARLY FRENCH POETS. 349 TENSON, ENTITLED GIEUX A VENDRE> (/e vous vens la passe-rose, o^c*) l'amant. SELL to thee the autumn rose, — Let . it say how dear thou art ! All my lips dare not disclose, Let it whisper to thy heart : How love draws my soul to thee, Without language thou may'st see. LA DAME. I sell to thee the aspen-leaf, — 'Tis to show I tremble still, When I muse on all the grief Love can cause, if false or ill : How too many have believed. Trusted long, and been deceived ! l'amant. I sell to thee a rosary, Proving I am only thine; By its sacred mystery I to thee each thought resign. Fairest, turn thee not away. Let thy love my faith repay ! la dame. 1 sell to thee a parrot bright,— With each colour of the sky. Thou art formed to charm tlie sight, Learned in softest minstrelsy; But to love I am unknown, Nor can understand its tone. * MS. Brit. Mus. Havl. 4.131. 35j LIVE in hopes of better days, And leave the present hour to chance, Although so long my wish delays, And still recedes as I advance ; Although hard fortune, too severe, My life in mourning weeds arrays, Nor in gay haunts may I appear, ■ I live in hopes of better days. Though constant care my portion prove. By long endurance patient grown. Still with the time my wishes move. Within my breast no murmur known 3 Whate'er my adverse lot displays, I live in hopes of better days. RONDEL* Je lie gjay Comment je dure, Car mon dolent cuer font d'ire ; Et plaindre n'ose ne dire Ma doulereuse aventure. Ma dollente vie obscure Riens fors la mort ne desire. Je ne sgay, &c. * MS. Hnrl. 4431, fol. ag, r", col. i. 352 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Et me faut par couverture Chanter quant mon cuer souspire, Et faire semblant de rire ; Mais Dieux scet ce que j'endure. Je ne, &c. RONDEL. I KNOW not how my Ufe I bear ! For sad regrets my hours employ, Yet may I not betray a tear, Nor tell what woes my heart destroy; My weary soul a prey to care, I know not how my life I bear ! And must I still these pangs conceal, And feign the joys that others feel? Still vainly time my lute to sing. And smile while sighs my bosom wring? Seem all delight amidst despair? — I know not how my life I bear ! SUR LA MORT DE SON PERE. RONDEL.* Com turtre suis, sans per, .toute seulete Et, com brebis sans pastour, esgarde ; Car par la mort fus jadis sepparde De mon doulx per, qu'k toute heure regrete. II a .vij. ans que le perdi, lassette ! Mieulx me vaulsist estre lors enterre'e. Com turtre sui, &c. Car depuis lors en dueil et en souffrette Et en meschief trfes grief suis demourrde; Ne n'ay espoir, tant com j'aray durde, D'avoir solas qui en joye me mette. Com turtre sui, &c. * MS. Harl. 4431, fol. 28, v», col. 3. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 353 ON THE DEATH OF HER FATHER. MOURNING dove, whose mate is dead, A lamb, whose shepherd is no more, Even such am I, since he is fled Whose loss I cease not to deplore, Alas! since to the grave they bore My sire, for whom these tears are shed. What is there left for me to love? A mourning dove ! Oh that his grave for me had room ! Where I at length might calmly rest, For all to me is saddest gloom. All scenes to me appear imblest ! And all my hope is in his tomb, To lay my head on his cold breast. Who left his child nought else to love. A mourning dove! ALAIN CHARTIER. The distinguished poet, Alain Chartier, of whom, unfortunately, little seems known, and /hose works appear to have been strangely neglected by his countrymen, was secretary to the ' wo kings, Charles VI. and Vll., and was the ornament and boast of the court. His wit, , aste, and eloquence made him the most esteemed poet of his time ; and of the estimation in which hewas held a proof is given in the well-known compliment paid him by the Dauphiness Marguerite d'Ecosse (afterwards Queen, wife of Louis XL). See page 276, Introduction. The beautiful and unfortunate Marguerite appears to be the Dame des Pens^es of the grateful poet, if we may judge by the numerous allusions in his poems to one whom he dares not name, to whom his duty and homage is due, and by his pathetic lamentations for the early death of his beloved mistress. Marguerite died very young, a victim to the tyranny of her detestable husband, Louis XL, whose character Mezeray has well described in these lines : ** Louis renversa tout pour suivre son caprice. 1 I Mauvais fils, mauvais pere, infidele mari, Frere injuste, ingrat maistre, et dangereux ami, II r^gna sans conseil, sans pitie, sans justice ; La fraude fut son jeu, sa vertu I'artifice, Et le prdvost Tristan son plus grand favori ! " When she was dying, some of her attendants, wishing to recall her thoughts to life and the 23 354 EARLY FRENCH POETS. enjoyments yet in store for her, she turned from them with disgust, exclaiming, '■ Fi de la vie ! — Ne men parlez pluz !" There is so much deep and real feeling, so much beauty of expression, so much energy in the style of Alain, that his works cannot but delight all whom the antiquated dress in which his thoughts are clothed does not deter from studying them; yet even in this particular his poetry is far more smooth and flowing, and his diction less quaint, than many much later poets, who thought themselves his superiors. _ Occasionally, indeed, he falls into the tiresome strain of his period, as appears by the following lines, which are known more as a nursery rhyme than as the production of a celebrated poet; though Dr. Johnson is said to have rendered it into English to show the capability of the language, which had been doubted by the arguer in favour of French superiority :— Ballade. ** Quant ung cordant Veult corder ung corde. En cordant trois cordons En une corde accorde ; Et se I'ung des cordons De la corde descorde, Le cordon descorde Fait descorder la corde." He has another ballad beginning " Le doulx plaisant tiominative Dont je pretends former ung g'^niizz/e ;" and so on for thirty-five lines, like Caleb Quotum's song ! But at this we shall not be sur- prised, but rather wonder he escaped, as he did, the vice of his age, when we read what the Abbe Massieu says on the subject : he observes, speaking of the state of French poetry under Charles VIII. and Louis XII., a period immediately succeeding that in which Chartiei^: flourished : ' 1 " Those who appeared in the reigns of Charles VIII. and Louis XII. disfigured poetry iir' such a manner as to render it scarcely possible to be recognized. They composed nothmg good' in their endeavours to surpass all others, and spoilt all by too much refinement. " Since they could not reach the juttyete of which Villon * had left them examples, they : sought other methods of pleasing ; but it was more in astonishing the ear than in satisfying ' the mind that they succeeded. Their chief object was to multiply rhymes, at the expense of | all kind of reason, and to pile them one upon the other. Mohnet and Cretin set the most; pernicious example of this style, and were more instrumental than any others in producing j this disorder. "'Hence those rhymes of all kinds, the descriptions of which occupy so much of our ancient dissertations on the poetic art : ia Batelee, la Fratemisie^ VEnchaisnce, la Brisde, la Retro- 1 grade, VEguivoque^ la Genie, la Courojvnie, I' Emperiere, and others, which, with great I justice, are at the present day considered as an abuse of human intellect. The singular feature in this circumstance is, that this bad taste took possession of all France. It evjen lasted long after, till the time of Francis I., Marot himself, tout Marot guHl etoii, did not escape, and there are none of these rhymes of which specimens cannot be found in his writmgs." — See Hist, de li^ PoSsie Fran^oise, by the Abb£ Massieu. Some examples pf this absurd style may not be uninteresting to the reader. La rifne Batelie was when the end of the first line rhymed with the middle of the following, as "Quand Neptunus, puissant T>le\i de la mer, Cessa d'armer gal&res et vaisseaux," &c. It was called Fraternisee when the last word of a verse was repeated entire, or in part, at the commencement of another: as I • It is singular to observe how entirely French critics pass over Chartier to arrive at Villon, whom they make their standard of excellence, till the all-conquering Marot throws, in their opinion, all others into shade. The English reader will find some difiiculty in discovering the beauties of either of these poets, EARLY FRENCH POETS. 355 ** Dieu garde ma maitresse et regenie, Gc7ite de corps et de fa^on; Son cLieur tient le mien dans sa tenie. Taut et plus en mortel fusson," &c.'* It was termed Retrograde when the rhyme and measure were preserved on reading the ver^.e back\\ards; ex.— " Triomphamment cherchez honneur et prix, Desolez cceurs, mechans, infortunez, Terriblement estes moques et pris," &c. Read backwards the lines run thus : "Pris et moqui^s estes terriblement, Infortunez, mechans cceurs, desoleA Prix et honneur cherchez triomphamment," &c. _ La rime Enchaimie consisted in a certain connection of the rhyme and sense in the follow- mg manner ; "Dieu des amoi:rs, de mort me garde; Men gardant, donne-moi bonheur; En me le donnant, prens la darde ; En la prenant, navre son cceur." It was Brisie when, in dividing the lines, the divisions still rhymed, thus: " De cceur parfait chassez toute douleur, Soyez soigneux, n'usez de nulle feinte. Sans vilain fait, entretenez douceur, Vaillant et pieux, abandonnez la feinte,'' The Eqtcivoque was when a word was entirely repeated at the end of two lines, but with a diiferent signification: thus Cretin says to " Ste. GeneviJ:ve": *' Peuples en paix te plaise jnaintenir Et envers nous si bien la mam ienir, Qu'apres la vie ayons fin de mort seiii-e. Pour dviter infernale morsnre," It was called Genie when all the words in each line began with the same letter, as "Ardent amour, adorable, angelique." The rhyme was Cottronnee when it appeared twice at the end of each line, thus ; " Ma blanche Columbelle, belle, Je vais souvent priant, criant. Qui dessous la Cordelle d'elle Me jette un ceil friand riant ; " but the rhyme Ejn^erierc was the most extravagant of all, being heard three times at the end Lf the line, thus ; " Benins lecteurs, tres dili^^7/j, gens, gens, Prenez en gre mes im^3x/aiis,/aits, /aits" &c. It is difficult to conceive a period in which men could make such an absurd use of their talents and their time ; yet this was the approved style under the two above-named reigns. They gave themselves infinite trouble to produce the most insignificant results, and, entirely occupied in endeavours to excel in vain sound, the sense was totally neglected. As they turned rhymes to all possible uses, so they made lines of all possible lengths. Hitherto we have named only those of ten or twelve syllables; but they were pleased to make * See a specimen of this style by d'Hemery d'Amboise, " k son jeune portrait " — " Mais dis-moy, dis-moy, mon portrait, Mon portrait, dis-moy, qui t'a fait? Qui t'a fait k moi si semblable ? Si semblable a moy miserable, Moy miserable," &c.— 1607. 23—2 3S6 EARLY FRENCH POETS. some of two, three, and /oztr, and meaning could not be too much confined: these of Marot will show those of two syllables:* "Tel bien Vaut bien Qu'on fasse La chasse," &c. Those of three syllables : "Ami jure, Je te jure Que desir Non loisir J'ai d'ecrire," &c. Scarron has employed this kind of verse in a manner most suitabk in his jesting letter addressed to Sarrasin, the badi7iage of which is sustained throughout ; " Sarrasin, Mon voisin, Cher ami, Qu'^ demi Je ne vois: Dont, ma foi, J'ai d^pit Un petit," &c.t But M, le Due de Nevers has shown, what appeared impossible, that this style w?s sus- ceptible of sublimity and majesty; " Prince fait Le portrait, A souhait, Et le i^eindre Qu'on admire, Sans rien feindre Qu'on pent dire Trait pour trait. Tout parfait ; ■>t * • • " Dont Hom&re " L'univers Eust d0 faire Mis au fers, * See several specimens of this riine double on en icho^ in M. de Roquefort's work, "D( I'Etat de la Poesie Fran^oise dans les 12® et 13° si&cles. " The following- \s, by Gilles le Viniers a poet of the thirteenth century: "Au partir de la froidure Dure, Ke voi aprest^ Estd; Lors plaing ma m^saventure. Cure N'ai ^u d'aimer. Car amer Ai sovent son gieu trovd Prov6 Ai soventes fois. Malefois Fait par tot trop k blasmer." t The following "MagdaMniade," by P&re Pierre de St. Louis, is conceived in a siraila style '. " Que donne le monde aux siens plus souvent? [Echo] vent. Que dois-je vaincre ici sans jamais relacher? "' _ La chair. Qui fit la cause des maux qui me sont survenus? Venus. Que faut dire auprfes d'une telle infidelle ? Fi-d'elle."^ t The reader will be here reminded of similar Unes in Hudibras, wTitten to ridicule this absurd style. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 357 NuUe peine N'eust senti Dans la chaine ^ De Conti." " Our poets were in too happy a vein to rest contented with achievements like the above ; they appe''ij'ea anxious to muitipry ;he difficulties of an art already in itself sufficiently so. They thought of joining together lines of unequat length, and arranging them in such a manner that the pieces they composed should present to the eye extrordinary figures, such as ovals, triangles, , crosses, forks, rakes, &c. ; a frivolous amusement, for which, however, they may find an excuse in the example of antiq^uity. Symmius of Rhodes was passionately attached to this mode of composition : some of his pieces still exist, which represent a hatchet, an altar, an egg, a whistle, and wings. It was thus our poets sought every means of torturing their minds, and vied with each other in the glory of imagining the most senseless and ridiculous things."— ABBit Massieu, Hist, de la Poes. Frnng. The French are not the only poets who adopted this style. Many instances [of its adoption] occur among the early Spanish authors ; thus, in a cancion by Juan de Mena, in the time of John II. of Spain (in the fifteenth century)— " Ya dolor del dolorido. Que con olvido cuydado,. Pues que antes olvidado Me veo, qu^/aliecido Yix/alL'ce mi sentido," Sic. And also : '" Cnydar me hace cuydado Lo que ct/ydar no devria Y citydaiuio en lo passado For mi no passa alegria." Similar playing on words Is common throughout the celebrated collection of Spanish songs called " Cancionero General." — See Bouterweck, Hist. Spa7i. L^t. Addison, in the fifty-eighth number of the " Spectator,'' " On False Wit," asubject which he continues in several papers, brings forward many instances of this barbarous style, and quotes Dryden's lines in Mac Flecnoe : " Choose for thy command' Some peaceful province in Acrostic land, There may'st thou wings display and altars raise. And torture one poor word a thousand ways. He speaks also of a famous picture of Charles I., which has the whole book of Psalms written in the lines of the face and the hair of the head. This extraordinary conception was imitated by some ingenious artist so late as the time of the First Consul Napoleon, whose ■ I head and bust are entirely represented in writing, recording his victories, &c. (Au dixiesme an de mon dolent exil^ 6-r.''^ Ten seasons of a hapless exile's life, With ceaseless woes and frequent i^erils rife, Opprest with suffering past, and present care, Of which Heaven willed that I should have my share,+ Brief time had I to dwell on history's page, Or with heroic deeds my mind engage : * "Poesies d'Alain Chartier," Edition de 1526, t The resemblance is forcible in this line to Goldsmith's " In all my grief, and God has given me share." The original line runs thus — " Dont j'ay soufFert, grace h. Dieu assez." 358 EARLY TRENCH POETS. To trace the rapid steps of chiefs, whose fame Has given to glorious France her deathless name, Who ruled with sov'reign right sublime and sage, And left unstained the noble heritage To sons who saw, beneath their wise command, Increased the power and glory of the land; Their manners kept, their precepts made their guide. And followed where they led with fihal pride; Beloved and honoured through their wide domain. And feared where foreign shores the waves restrain; Just in each act, in friendship never slow, Stern to the bad, and haughty to the foe; Ardent in honour, in adventure warm. All good protecting, and chastising harm; Reigning with justice, and with mercy blest, Sway, strength, and conquest on their mighty crest. 'Twas thus they lived, 'twas thus the land was swayed, By truth and equity unequalled made, And leaving, after countless victories past. Their country peace and glorious fame at last. Oh, great and envied lot ! ordained by Heaven, And for their virtues to our fathers given, Whose lives passed on, ere death undreaded came, Calm and secure in the repose of fame. But we — ah, wretches ! — we, whose stars 'malign Did at our birth in evil spells combine, And cast us forth to view our country's fall, Our wrongs a mockery and reproach to all ! And those once noble, just, revered, and high. Now slaves, confounded in their misery. Ah, wretched exiles ! shunned, despised, forlorn. Who ev'ry ill of fate have tried and borne ; Who day by day lament our blasted fame. And, hunted, helpless, lost, grow old in shame ! Deserted ! outcast ! and is this our due. For following right, and keeping truth in view? Alas ! what bitter thoughts, what vain regret, Our ever-wakeful hearts would fain forget ! EARLY FRENCH POETS. 359 Those vanished hours no sorrow can restore, Our land another's, and our friends no more, We dare not towards the future turn our eyes. So httle hope our dismal lot supphes. While we behold fair France contemned, o'erthrown. And in her low estate deplore our own. And how should I, though youth my lays inspire, To joyous numbers rouse my slumb'ring lyre? Ah ! in its strain far other accents flow, — No joy can issue from the soul of woe ! Grief, dread, and doubt, and adverse fortune still Besiege my thoughts, and turn their course to ill ! Till fainting genius, fancy, wit, decline. And all is changed that once I deemed was mine. Sorrow has made me, with his touch, so cold. In early years unnaturally old; Subdues my powers, contemns my thirst of praise, And dictates all my melancholy lays ! PART OF LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCL (Si disoye: 11 fault que je cesse, 6;'c.*) Yes, I must cease to breathe the song. At once must lay my harp aside ; No more to me may joy belong. It withered when my lady died ! In vain my lips essay to smile. My eyes are filled with tears the while ; In vain I strive to force my lays Back to the dreams of former days. Let others sing, whom love has left Some ray of hope amidst their grief. Who are not of all bliss bereft. And still can find, in verse, relief The thoughts, by fancy beauteous made. All now are changed to endless gloom. And following still my dear one's shade. Sleep with her in her early tomb ! * Poesies, cd. de 1526. 36o EARLY FRENCH POETS. (C'estoit tout mon Men en ce mondefi) all the joy the world could give, To serve her humbly and alone ; For this dear task I seemed to live, And life to me all summer shone. All that I sought in Fortune's store Was thus to love her evermore ! I thought my state a Paradise More bright than I have words to tell, When those fair, soft, and smiling eyes A moment deigned on mine to dwell : It seemed far better tlius to me To live, although no hope were mine. Than monarch of fair France to be. And this existence to resign. From infancy began my care, And all my being centres there. LE BREVIAIRE DES NOBLES.t COURTOISIE. For ever sinks a noble name, When once the heart is known to shame, When outrage dwells upon the tongue. And envy's knell unchecked has rung. A fiery soul, a hasty sword. Makes man a jest in deed and word. True courtesy assumes no part, Disdainful looks, or feigning art. But gently seems to prize each guest, And makes all happy and at rest; To none a foe, by all adored. Without deceit in deed and word. • Poesies, ii\l, de 1526. t Ibid. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 361 LE- BREVIAIRE DES NOBLES.* AMOUR. A HAPPY thing is love, unstained by wrong, A life of endless joy unspeakable ! Love, pure, and innocent, exists not long, Save in the mind where worth and wisdom dwell. 'T is the high feeling of a noble mind, That not for selfish joy alone he lives. That shares his good with all, and strives to find Another heart for that he frankly gives. Hate withers in the flame herself gave birth; Who has nor love nor friends is nothing worth! Seek friendship as a gem that hath no peer; Strive by high deeds to win it for thine own ; The king, thy country, and thy friend hold dear. And at their need be thou their champion known. Hence with deceit that fain by art would gain ! Whose mantle, torn aside, a monster shows. Whose hope, by evil deeds to rise, is vain. For nor his own nor other's good he knows. Check, noble youth, this weed even at its birth ; Who has nor love nor friends is little worth ! Unblest his lot, a lot for fiends to share. Whom envy urges and whom malice leads. Who sees around no virtue worth his care, And finds a blemish in the brightest deeds. His punishment close on his crime attends ; Love springs to love, and knows at once his friends. The man who hates must cast contentment forth j Who has nor love nor friends is nothing worth ! * Poesies, ^d. de 1526. 362 EARLY FRENCH POETS, CHARLES, DUKE OF ORLEANS. "Charles, duke of Orleans, nephew of the king/' — Shakspeare, Henry V. Charles, Duke of Orleans, was grandson of Charles V. of France, father of Louis XIL, and uncle of Francis L ; he was born May 26, 1391.* He applied himself to letters from his earliest youth, and particularly attached his attention to poetry and eloquence. He found consolation m these pursuits during the course of an eventful and chequered life. He became twice a widower in the space of nine years. Ini4i5 he was at the disastrous battleofAgincourt, where he was made prisoner,! and taken to England : he remained there twenty-five years, notwith- * His father, Louis of France, Due d'Orleans, is said to have instituted the Order of the Porcupine on the occasion of his baptism : this device was chosen, and the epigraph Coviinus et Eminics, not only out of aspiring hopes conceived of his child, but to intimate something of revenge against John of Burgundy, his mortal foe, being an emblem both offensive and defen- sive. Others make Charles himself the founder of the order. — Ashmole. t The Duke of Orleans was found wounded and insensible under aheap of slain. About 1417 a poem was written for the harp, called "The Battallye of Agynkourte," in which these lines occur : " Oure gracyus k^ng men myzt knowe That day fozt with his owene bond, The erlys was dyscomevityd up on a i-owe, That he had slayne understond. ' As thonder-strokys there was a sounde Of axys and sperys ther they gan glyd, The lordys of Franyse lost her renowne," &c. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 363 Standing his_ great credit and the exertions made for his deliverance. He owed his liberty at length principally to Philippe le Bon, Due de Bourgogne. In 1440, on his return to France, he espoused Marie de Cleves, daughter of Adolphe, Due de Cloves, and of Marie de Bourgogne. His misfortunes had a salutary effect on the mind of Charles : he became a virtuous and estimable prince, and was generally regretted when he died the 8th of January, 1466. A taste for literature had become the fashion of the court from the time of Charles V. Few, however, of his contemporaries possessed talents which could aspire to comparison with those of the Duke of Orleans, although they treated the same subjects. Every nobleman was ambitious of being an author, and the greatest part were so. The well-known " Cent Nouvelles Nou- velles" were composed under the direction of Louis XL, by the most distinguished persons-of the coxu-t, and this prince is himself supposed to have had a share in them. It was chiefly in this description of work that their talents were employed, but poetry was a favourite occupa- tion. In a MS. on vellum, called *' Ballade du Due d'Orle'ans," in the library of M. de Bom- barde, which is nearly of the time of the author, are some poems by John, Duke of Bourbon, Philippe le Bon^ Due de Bourgogne, and Ren^ d'Anjou, King of Sicily, '^ of John de Lorraine, Duke of Calabria, the Due de Nevers, the Count de Clermont, and Jean, Due d'Alen(;on ; but all these poets want the delicacy, grace, and naiveti which so distinguish the compositions of Charles. He may be said with truth to have possessed a genuine taste for poetry, and, in a more enlightened a^e, he would have been one of the first poets of France. The defect of the period at which he lived was the false taste of allusions : the Duke of Orleans, like others, has fallen into it, but his allusions are much less forced than those employed by his contemporaries. If he makes use of images, whether under the forms ol Justice, Theology, or Philosophy, he introduces them in a certain agieeable manner, which pleases the reader. His subjects are less remarkable fo^ elevation than for gentleness and tenderness ; they require a sweet and quiet imagination. The most simple and easy fiction is sufficient for his purpose, and seems to pre- sent itself. Nothing, therefore, beyond this simplicity is to be found in the verses of the Duke of Orleans; but his ideas are always noble, and inspired by delicate sentiment, always correct, and expressed with infinite elegance. In every one of his poems these characteristics are observable. The father of Charles was murdered in Paris, in 1407. His mother was the celebrated Valentine of Milan, who held aQourt of Love ; after his assassination she adopted this motto, " Rien ne m'est plus — plus ne m'est rien ! " She died fourteen months afterwards, a prey to grief and mortification at the composition between Charles VI. and Jean sans Peur, Duke of Burgundy, her husband's murderer. The children of the Duke of Orleans were taken to Chartres to ratify the treaty of peace with Jean sans Peur. When the latter, to obtain his pardon, approached Charles and his brother, the princes, overwhelined by grief, were a long time before they could reply. "She queen and the princes, who accompanied them, used the most urgent entreaties that they would accede to his wishes : the king himself asked it of them, and, displeased with their continued silence, he was obliged to command their obedience. Charles then repeated the answer which was dictated to him : " My very dear lord," said he, addressing the king, *' I am pleased with all that you have done, I pardon him all he has com- mitted, since your majesty commands it, having no thought of being disobedient." His brother repeated the same words. After the ceremony the court returned to Paris, and Charles, with his brother, took the road to Blois. By the death of their parents, the children of Orleans were plunged in the deepest sorrow. Charles, the eldest, at the age of sixteen (in 1406), married Isabella, daughter of Charles VI. of France, widow of Richard 11. of England. She dif-sfVi 1409, and thus his sad retirement was rendered even more lonely, and in his solitude he fostered the resolve to avenge his father's death. But in the next year, in order to strengthen his party with the Dukes of Bourbon and Berry, he espoused Bonne d'Armagnac, daughter to the Count d'Armagnac, and from this period a series of partywars and disturbances occujiied his attention, until the year 1415, when he joined the dauphin in marching against the English, led on by Henry V. The battle of Agincourt was fatal to his liberty, he was wounded and left for dead on the field of battle. The King of England ordered all gare to be taken of him, and he was conducted to Calais with the other prisoners. He refused on the road to take any Henry V., disgusted at the vanities and boastings to which this great victoi-y gave rise, com- manded, by a formal edict, that the theme should not be chosen by the harpers and minstrels. This prohibition, however, had no other effect than that of displaying Henry's humility.— Warton. , "The above verses are much less intelligible than some of Gowers and Chancers, which were written fifty years before." If we compare with them the Euglish so7igs of the Duke of Orleans, they do not appear to disadvantage. ■" Father of Margaret, wife of the unfortunate Henry VL of England. He was not only a celebrated poet of his time, but apainter and musician. A magnificent work in MS., illuminated by his own hand, is in the Royal Library at Paris. 364 EARLY FRENCH POETS. nourishment, and Henry asked him the cause ; on his replying that he was resolved to fast, the king answered, " Fair cousin, be of good cheer ; it is to the protection of Heaven that my victory alone is due, that Heaven which was determined to punish the French nation for its bad conduct." The prisoners accompanied the king from Calais to London, and were kindly treated in their captivity, but Charles had shortly the misfortune to hear of the death of Bonne d'Armagnac, his wife. Some efforts were now made by himself and the Duke de Bourbon to obtain their liberty and consolidate a peace ; but on the failure of their negotiations, they were removed from London to Yorkshire, and confined in Pontefract Castle, The detention of Charles was considered of so much con'jfquence, that, on the occasion of Henry's marriage with Catherine of France, he said to his chancellor, " If the prisoners of Agincourt, and, above all, if Charles of Orleans were to escape, it would be the most unfortunate event that could possibly happen." When Henry died in 1419, he recommended in his will that none of the prisoners should be liberated till his son attained his majority, and Charles saw that the term of his captivity was now indefinitely prolonged. In fact, for five-and-twenty years he remained prisoner in England, all the projects failing which had for their object a peace between the two nations, and the recovery of his own liberty. In 1440, owing to the powerful mediation of Philip of Burgundy, he was freed from his chains.* On this occasion the Duke of Cornwall, the Sire de Roye, and several English noblemen, were charged to conduct him to Calais, and accompanied him as far as Gravelines, where the Duchess of Burgundy met him and gave him a noble reception. Philippe le Bon did not linger long behind, and the interview between the princes was indescribably affecting. They held themselves locked in each other's arms, then gazed wistfully in silence. Charles was the first to speak: "By my faith, fair cousin and brother-in-law, I am bound to love you more than any prince in this kingdom, and my fair cousin your wife also; for without your assistance I had never escaped from the hands of my enemies, or found so good a friend to help me." Philip replied, "that much it grieved him that he could not sooner effect that which he had laboured so long to gain, namely, his liberty." The Bastard of Orleans (the celebrated Dunois) also warmly welcomed him, and Charles, to requite him, gave him the county of Dunois,t and other lordships. He afterwards followed the court of Burgundy to St. Omer, where he made oath that the assassination of Jean sans Peur, which took place in the year 1418, had been perpetrated without his privity, and not at his instigation. He shortly afterwards espoused the Princess Marie de Cleves,t the niece of Philip, and the nuptials were celebrated with great pomp. A chapter general of the order of the Golden Fleece was held, and Charles was decorated with the order. In return he invested the Duke of Burgundy with that of the Porcupine,§ founded by his father. || His • The deliverance of the Duke of Orleans from captivity \fes chiefly due to the exertions of his cousinMichelle, Duchess of Burgundy, sister of Charles VII. and wife of Philippe Le Bon. She contrived to engage the interest of the Cardinal of Winchester, whose party was always opposed to that of the protector, Duke Humphrey. Notwithstanding the opposition of the Duke of Gloucester, the council of state decided in favour of the Duke of Orleans' release, assigning as the principal reason, that his return to France would only serve to increase the troubles of that country ; but the real motive was want of money. The ransom was fixed at 120,000 crowns of gold, a sum which equalled two-thirds of the entire subsidy which the coun- cil had been able to obtain during seven years for the expenses of the government from the commoners of England. The dauphin and all the French princes became bound for the pay- ment. The states of Burgundy granted Philip a subsidy of 30,000 crowns to pay the share for which he had agreed. t Le Dunois is a little province depending on the government of Orleans, and is in the Pays Chartrain : Chateaudun is the capital. There are two fine forests in this county called Freteval and Marchenoir. The Counts of Dunois and the Viscounts of Chateaudun were celebrated. The Counts of Blois united the county of Dunois with theirs, and both passed into the house of ChatiUon at the end of the fourteenth century. Guy, second and last Count of Blois, of Chatillon, having no issue, sold his county to Louis of France, Duke of Orleans, second son of Charles V. This prince united with it Chateaudun, confiscated from Pierre de Craon. for having assassinated the Constable de Clisson. Charles ofOrlea^is^ son of Louis, gave it, thus re-united, to His natural brother, John, Bastard of Orieans, whose exploits have rendered the name of the Count cle Dunois so famous. This hero was the founder of the house of Longue- ville. Dun, in ancient Celtic, means mountain. — Melanges d'wie Grande Biblio. X 'Y\i^\x fian^aillcs took place in the abbey of St. Bertin, at St. Omer. § This order was also called du Camail, because, in conferring it, Louis gave a golden ring, set with a cameo or agate, on which was engraved the figure of a porcupine. II On the entry of the Dukes into Bruges, the splendour of their reception was very great: amongst the numerous pageants and devices was one of a young girl dressed like a nymph, leadmg a swan, wearmg a collar of the Golden Fleece, and a porcupine, which according to the popular belief, had the power of darting its quills at its enemies : hence the motto of the EARLY FRENCH POETS. 365 progi-ess from Burgundy into his own dominions was a series of triumphs, and so much anxiety and joy were displayed on his account that it gave umbrage to Charles VII., who gave him to understand that if he were to present himself with all his retainers, and those who had recently swelled his train, the king would refuse him an audience. Charles, offended at this conduct, returned to his estates, and complained to the Duke of Burgundy. At length, after much negotiation, and through fear of Charles becoming his enemy, the king consented to receive him, and at Limoges the interview took place, where he was highly honoured. He now for some years enjoyed himself in tranquillity on his own domains. On the death of Charles VII. he was present in Paris at his funeral ; but, being now advanced in years, he was unable to be present at the coronation of Louis XI., nor could he go out to meet him on his entrance into Paris. He, however, followed the court into Touraine, and at Chinon his wife was delivered of a son, whom Louis XI. held at the baptismal font, and who finally came to the crown by the title of Louis XII. But Louis XI. was not destined long to remain his friend ; after deceiving him with false appearances for some time, his real intentions broke out, and lie openly accused him of con- nivance with a rebellious party, at the head of whom was the Due de Bretagne. He loaded him with the severest reproaches, and Charles, indignant at so unmerited an outrage, his heart pierced with grief, retired from the court, and a few days after, at the age of seventy-four years, he died, carrying to the tomb the regrets of all his contemporaries. The principal events in the life of this prince form a part of the history of France. His youth was consecrated to the pursuit of the assassins of his father : he only quitted the turmoil of civil war to lose his liberty, and languish on a foreign soil ; but, in all situations, according to the best received accounts, his conduct was such as to command universal esteem. In the war which he undertook, though his youth prevented him from being the chief actor, he nevertheless gave proofs of capacity and courage, whenever circumstances required them of him. Of the actions of his private life history has preserved onlj^ one, which, of a piece with the manners of the times, offers an instance of his religious piety. Every year, on the Thursday of Passion week (according to Monstrelet), it was his custom to assemble together a number of poor persons, whose feet he washed, in imitation of our Saviour's act. This practice of humility in showing his attachment to the virtues of Christianity makes it probable to_ presume that _ the consolations to be derived from religion were not unknown to him. He was indebted for his virtues and his talents to his mother, Valentine of Milan. Louis d'Orleans, his father, esteemed the most amiable and one of the most learned men of his time, confided to his wife the education of his sons. As wise as virtuous, Valentine omitted nothing to instil into their hearts the principles of religion and goodness. Charles answered her most sanguine expectations, and gave her great hopes of future promise. He particularly studied French and Latin literature, and succeeded so well in the former as to obtain the distinction he desired. If he merited by his birth a high rank among the princes of his time, his talents no less demanded a brilliant place among the writers of the period. By his marriage with Isabella, eldest daughter of Charles VI. of France, he had one child, Jeanne d'Orleans, who was married to the Duke d'Alengon. Bonne d'Armagnac died without giving any increase to his family. By Marie de Cleves he had three children: Marie d'Orleans. who married Jean de Foix, Vicomte de Narbonne; Jeanne d'Orleans, abbess of Fontevrault ; and Louis, who succeeded Charies VIII., and whose reign obtained for him the flattering title of Father of his People. — L'Abb6 Goujet. In Drayton's " Battaile of Agincourt " are the following lines respecting the Duke of Orleans : *' When in comes Orleance, quite thrust off before. By those rude crowdes that from the English ran. Encouraging stout Borbon's troupes the more, T' affront the foe that instantly began : Faine would the duke, if possible, restore (Doing as much as could be done by man) Their honour lost by this their late defeate. And caused onely by their base retreate. ^ * * * » * «■ " They put themselves on those victorious lords Tke Dukes, of Orleance Who led the vanguard with so good successe %%f,Z!'J^' '"'*'" Bespeaking them with honourable words, Themselves their prisoners freely to confesse, prisoners. order "Cominus et Eminus," de pres et de loin. The fountains and conduits ran with wine: one rich citizen covered the walls and roof of his house with gold knd silver leaves. A minia- ture tournament was held in the great hall of the abbey of St. Bertin, previous to their leaving St. Omer.— See M. PE Babante. 366 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Who by the strength of their commanding swords Could hardly save them from the slaughtering presse. By Suffolk's ayde till they away were sent, Who with' a guard convayed them to his tent." In an historical account of Tunbridge Wells, the following passage occurs : " Groombridge, the place of first note in this parish, was purchased from the Clintons by Sir Richard Waller, a brave warrior under Henry V., who followed the king into France, and dis- tinguished himself at the battle of Agincourt, from whertce he brought the Duke of Orleans prisoner, whom he was allowed to keep in honourable confinement at Groombridge. " This prince remained twenty-five years in captivit}^, and paid at last 400,000 crowns for his ransom ; and from a principle of gratitude for the hospitality of his generous keeper, rebuilt the mansion house, and repaired and beautified the parish church, which to this day bears his arms over the portal. " He also assigned to Sir Richard and his heirs for ever, as a perpetual memorial of hL; merits, this hoiourable addition to his family arms, viz., the escutcheon of France suspended upon an oak, with this motto affixed to it : ' Hi fructus virtutis.'" — See Dugd ale's Barofietage, edit. 1720, vol, ii., p. 289. " The order of Orleans, of the Porcupine, was composed of twenty-five knights, compreliend- ing the duke as chief governor thereof. They wore long loose cassocks of fine scarletted murray (which is violet), and over them cloaks of watchet-coloured velvet, lined (as the mantel- et and chaperon) with carnation satin : and thereupon the collar of the order formed as a wreath of _ chaines of gold, at the end whereof hung upon the breast a porcupine of pure gold upon a rising hill of green grasse and flowers. " — Favin's Theatre of Honoiir. When Louis XII. came to the crown, he retained the porcupine for his device, where, in the halls of state and in other places of high ceremonial, in addition to the fleurs-de-lis, semez de France, are his initial L., and a "porc-espic couronn^." In Walpole's " Catalogue of Royal and Noble Authors," he gives two English poems of the Duke of Orleans from Mile. Keralio's specimens, transcribed from a MS. in the Roysd Library of Paris, The first begins "Myn hert hath sent glad hope this message. Unto confort, pleasant joye, and speed," &c. ; the second is called " Rondeaulx Angloys" : "When shalt thous come glad hope y viage? Thou hast taryd so long manye a day," Itc. Walpole remarks upon these : " It grieves me a little to mention that the fair editor is of opinion that the Duke's English poetry is not inferior to his French, which does not inspire a very favourable opinion of the latter, though indeed, such is the poverty and want of harmony of the French tongue, thatone knows how very meagre thousands of couplets are which pass for poetry in France. It is sufficient that the rhymes are legal, and if sung to any of their statutory tunes, nobody suspects that the composition is as arrant prose as ever walked abroad without stepping in cadence." The following are from the MS. which has afforded the French specimens. The work is very beautiful, containing six splendidly illuminated miniatures prefixed to the different divisions of the volume. The text is large and clear, the copy is in high preservation, and the initial letter very finely illuminated. The three first parts consist of poems and ballads ; the fourth is a translation of the epistles of Heloise, entitled " Epistres de I'Abbesse Heloys ; " the filth is a treatise in prose, entitled "Les demandes d' Amors," and the sixth and last is a prose work which concludes with a short poem, and is called " La Grace Emigre, sur le Gouvemement du Prmce. ' English Song, Go forth my hert, with my Lady, Loke tliat ye spare no bysynes. To serve her with suche olyness, That ye gette her of tyme pryvely, That she kepe truly her promes. Go forth, &c. I must like a helis* body Abyde alone in hevynes. '' Mr. Ellis remarks that he does not understand this word ; he supposes /-ei's hodv mav mean heteiess, unclean. " -^ ' EARLY FRENCH POETS. 367 And ye shal dwelle with yur mastres, Jn plaisaunse glad and mer)'. Go forth, &c. Second English Song. My hertly love is in your governans I 1 1 And ever shall whill yet I live may, I pray to God I may see that day, That we be knyt with trouthful alyans. Ye shall not fynd feynyng or varianns. As in my part that wyl I trevvely say. My hertly love. Sue. Mr. Ellis observes that the Duke of Orleans is still very imperfectly known to the public ; some short specimens of his poetry are published in the "Annales Po^tiques," Paris, 1778, and a few more in M. de Paulmy's "Melanges tires d'une grande Bibliotheque." He has given three pieces of his English poetry. Mr. Ritson had given a previous specimen. Mr. Ellis remarks, on the detention in England of James I,, King of Scotland, who was taken prisoner by Henry IV. of England, and kept fifteen years captive : "It is singular enough that the two best poets of the age, James of Scotland, and Charles, Duke of Orleans, both of royal blood, both prisoners at the same court, both distinguished by their military as well as literary merit, both admired during their lives, and regretted after death as the brightest ornaments of their respective nations, — should have been forgotten by the world during more than three centuries, and at length restored to their reputation at the same period." Mr. Tytler published the poems of James in 1783, The poems of the Duke of Orleans were printed in quarto by Mr, Watson Taylor, for the Roxburgh Club ; a copy is in the British Museum. ON THE DEATH OF HIS WIFE. (Ballades, chansons et complaintes Sont far moi mises en oubliance.*) more, no more my trembling lute Can wake for love some mournful story, Alike its altered chords are mute To gentle lays or themes of glory ; My art is lost, and all forgot The tender strains, so sweet, so moving ; I ponder but my hapless lot. And start when others speak of loving. My soul declines in pensive thought, A dreary gloom around me lingers, My lips with idle words are fraught, And wildly move my wand'ring fingers. * " Poesies de Charles, Due d'Orleans," dd, dc Chalvet, i8og. 368 EARLY FRENCH POETS. A cloud no sunshine can remove Hangs its dark shadowy pall above me ; I must not — cannot sing of love, For none are left on earth to love me ! (Reprenez ce larron souspir, &=€.*) Take back, take back those treacherous sighs, And spare me those enchanting smiles. Turn not on me those gentle eyes, Nor lure me with a thousand wiles : Thy beauty, source of every harm, Oh ! would its power I ne'er had known ! For Heaven can tell what fatal charm Its magic o'er my soul has thrown ! ^^1^^ {£n regardant vers le pays de France.\) I STOOD upon the wild sea-shore, And marked the wide expanse. My straining eyes were turned once more To long-loved distant France ! * Chalvet. f Ibid. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 369 I saw the sea-bird hurry by Along the waters blue; I saw her wheel amid the sky, And mock my tearful, eager eye. That would her flight pursue. Onwards she darts, secure and free, And wings her rapid course to thee ! Oh that her wing were mine, to soar. And reach thy lovely land once more ! O Heaven ! it were enough to die In my own, my native home, — One hour of blessed liberty Were worth whole years to come ! * (Loue soit celuy qui trouvaA) URiCE blest is he by whom the art Of letters first was taught ! % Sweet solace to the lover's heart, With painful memory fraught ! When lonely, sad, and far away, His woes he may not tell, A letter can at once convey His secret thoughts — how well! The truth, the fond affection prove Of him, the faithful slave of love ! By doubt and anxious dread opprest, Though hope may be denied. Still to his watchful, trembling breast Some comfort is supplied; And if she read with eye benign The tale he dares to trace. * He was twenty-five years a prisoner in England. t Chalvet. . , } Tlie similarity of these lines to those in Pope 9 epistle is remarkable ; " Heaven first taught letters for some wretch's aid, ^ Some banished lover, or some captive maid," &c. The duke, however, was well acquainted with the works of Heloise, having translated them, and the adoption of so natural an idea is not extraordinary in his situation, 24 370 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Perchance each pleading, mournful line May yet obtain her grace; And pity in her bosom move For him, the faithful slave of love! For me, full well I know the joy This blissful art can give. And when new griefs my soul annoy, Its magic bids me live. To her I write, for whom alone My weary life I bear. To her make all my sorrows known. And claim her tender care. My chains, my bars it can remove, Though I be still the slave of love ! Oh that I could behold once more Those charms so vainly dear! That happy moment could restore The shade of many a year, And all my future life would prove How true a slave I am to love ! (Amour, tieprenes desplaisir, ^'c.*) ORGIVE me. Love, if I have dared To breathe the woes that from thee spring, If I thy name have little spared, And seldom sought thy praise to sing ; Forgive me that I mvirmured still, And strove to break thy flow'ry chain, Have spumed thy power with stub- born will, And would not linger in thy train. Tliy utmost clemency I crave, And to thy empire humbly bow ; Ch.ilvet. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 3/1 The sage, the fool, each is thy slave, And I was foolish until now. SUPPOSED TO BE ADDRESSED TO HIM BY HIS LADY. (Mon sail amy, mon hieii, ma joy e! Y only love, my dearest, best, Thou whom to love is all my cate ! Be not thy heart with woe op^ prest, Nor yield thy thoughts to dark despair. One sole design my thoughts can move, — To meet, and cast our woes to air, My dearest, best, and only love. Thou whom to love is all my care ! Alas ! if wishes had the power To waft me on their wings to thee, The world could give no brighter hourj Nor one desire be left for me, Wert thou to this fond bosom prest, My Only love, my dearest, best ! ANSWER. (Je ne vous puis ne scay amer, Ss^c.) I CANNOT love thee, for my heart Has not attained the blissful art * Chalvet. l11. EARLY FRENCH POETS, To love thee with the flame divine, Fit for a soul so pure as thine ! Nor have I words the thanks to tell That in my trembling bosom swell, When those sweet lines, so kind, so dear, Make all my woes a dream appeal". Oft to my lips those lines are prest, ' My only love, my dearest, best !" And yet I feel each tender word. Although brief comfort they afford. Add but new torture to my pain, Who have no joy to give again ! Thou bidd'st me hope once more to see All that existence holds for me; That nought enduring love can do Shall be untried to join us two. Oh that the welcome light would gleatti ! But no ! 'tis but a flatt'ring dream ! And when thy "winged wishes" fly To soothe my lone captivity, Ah ! gentle, peerless as thou aft, What bliss those wishes can impart! It is too much, — in vain I seek The transports of my love to speakj-^ I feel even I can yet be blest, My only love, my dearest, best 1* (Dc la regarder Dolls gardez, oi^ci) She is fair, but fatal too, Whom I serve with homage truej Turn away, and oh! beware — Look not on that brow so fair. For the heart is lost too soon, — But to gaze is to be won. * His wife, Bonne d'Armagnac, to whom these and many other of his verses are addressed died before he returned from captivity. * t Chalvet. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 373 And, if still thou wouldst be free, Linger not her form to view, Shun the snare that waits for thee,- She is fair and fatal too ! Heaven has made her all divine, Ceaseless glories round her shine ; Lest thy heart they should betray, In her presence turn away ! (Fiiyez Ic trait de doiilx regard, ^c.*) AR from Love's dang'rous glances fly, Thou whose weak heart no spell has charmed ; A]id none thy valour shall decry, For to contend were vain, un- armed. Thou wilt be captive soon or late, AVhen Love his fatal dart has thrown : ' Then thou must yield thyself to fate, But fly, ere yet he claims his own. Go, where IndifFrence waves on high Her banner in the temp'rate air, But Pleasure's tents approach not nigh. Or all is lost, — in time beware ! Unless thou walk'st in panoply. Far from Love's dang'rous glances fly. LAY. ( C est fait ! II li en fault plus parler !\ ) 'Tis past!— oh, never speak again The word that has my peace undone ; This the reward of years of pain, To be deserted — scorned — alone ! « Chalvet. t Ibid. 374 EARLY FRENCH POETS. No solace can my heart obtain, Alike all scenes, or sad or gay, r is past ! — oh, never speak again The word that stole all hope away ! What boots it that I would not doubt her, And idly sought her heart to move ? She knew I could not live without her, Yet turned away and spurned my love ! 'T is past ! — my love and her disdain — Oh, never speak the word asrain ! LAY. (N'est-elle dc tons Mens gamie'i*) Is she not passing f She whom I love so well ? On earth, in sea, or air. Where may her equal dwell ? Oh ! tell me, ye who dare To brave her beauty's spell. Is she not passing fair, She whom I love so well? Whether she speak or sing, Be lively or serene, Alike in ev'rything. Is she not beauty's queen? ' Chalvet EARLY FliENCH POETS. :?7i Then let the world declare, Let all who see her tell, That she is passing fair. She whom I love so well! SONG OF THE MOUSE. (Nbuvelles ont couru en France.*) rHEY tell me that in France 'tis said " The captive Charles at length is dead." Small grief have they who wish me ill, And tears bedim their eyes who still Have studied vainly to forget. And, spite of Fate, are loyal yet. My friends — my foes— I greet you all, — The mouse still lives, although in thrall. No sickness nor no pain have I, My time rolls onward cheerfully. Hope in my heart for ever springs, And to my waking vision brings Dear, absent Peace, whose long repose Has given the triumph to our foes : She comes to glad the world again, She comes with blessings in her train: Disgrace her enemies befall ! — The mouse is living, though in thrall. Youth yet may yield me many a day, In vain would age assert his sway. For from his gates my steps are far. Still brightly shines my beacon star; My eyes are yet undimmed by tears, Success and joy may come with years. Let Heaven above be thanked for all,— The mouse is living, though in thrall 1 • Chalvet. 376 EARLY FRENCH POETS. No mourning songs for me prepare, No mourning weeds shall any wear; Come forth in purple and in pall, — The mouse still lives, although in thrall. (Le voukz-vous que tostre soye ? ^') Wilt thou be mine? dear love, reply- Sweetly consent, or else deny; Whisper softly, none shall know; Wilt thou be mine, love? — ay or no? Spite of Fortune we may be Happy by one word from thee ; Life flies swiftly, — ere it go. Wilt thou be mine, love? — ay or no? EGONE, ( AUez-vous-en, allez, allez ! Soucy, soing et melancoUe, cfc.) begone ! away, away ! Thought and care and melancholy ; Think not ling'ring thus to stay, — Long enough has been my folly; Reason now asserts her sway, ■'Begone, begone! away, away! Should ye dare to come again With your gloomy company, May ye seek for me in vain, — For henceforth my heart is free. Hence ! obscure no more my day, — Begone, begone! away, away! Chalvet. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 377 (Dedans mon sein, prh de mon aieur, &-r.*) EEP, deep within my heart concealed, A dear, a precious treasure lies; 'Tis scarcely to myself revealed, And cannot shine in other eyes. There it exists, secure, alone, And loves the home my bosom gives ; Its life, its being are my own, And in my breath it dies or lives. How doubly dear that in a cell So poor as where its beauties hide, It would unknown for ever dwell, Nor ask nor seek a world beside ! Oh, thou canst give this gem a name. This life-drop in my frozen heart. For from thy gentle lip it came. And is of thee and love a part: This secret charm of silent bliss Long in my soul enshrined shall be, — Thou know'st it is the tender kiss That fond affection gained from thee! ( Laissez-moi penser a mon aise — ■ Helas ! donnez-m'en le loisirl S^c.^) Oh, let me, let me think in peace ! Alas ! the boon I ask is time ! My sorrows seem awhile to cease When I may breathe the tuneful rhyme. Unwelcome thoughts and vain regret Amidst the busy crowd increase; The boon I ask is to forget, Oh, let me, let me think in peace ! Chalvet. t Ibid. 378 EARLY FRENCH POETS. For sometimes in a lonely hour Past happiness my dream recalls ; And, like sweet dews, the fresh'ning shower Upon my heart's sad desert falls. Forgive me, then, the contest cease,^ Oh, let me, let me think in peace ! (Madame, k saurai-je ja 1") H ! shall I ever know if all The moments passed in pain, Since thou hast held my heart in thrall, Have withered thus in vain? If thou canst love or pity show, Oh ! tell me, shall I ever know ? If, when the tear swells in thine eye, Its source is my despair; ^ If, when thy thoughts awake a sigh, f My image may be there? If thou canst aught but coldness show, Oh ! tell me, shall I ever know ? If when I mourn we should have met, Thou canst those words believe ; If when I leave thee with regret. Our parting makes thee grieve? If thou canst love, canst fondness sho",v. Oh ! tell me, shall I ever know ? (Dieu! qxCil la fait boil regarn'er, La grade use, bonne et belle ! c>r. *7 Heaven! 'tis delight to, see ho-.v f.iir Is she, my gentle love ! * Chalvet. t IbiJ EARLY FRENCH POETS. 379 To serve her is my only care, For all her bondage prove. Who could be weary of her sight? Each day new beauties spring; Just Heaven, who made her fair and bright, Inspires me while I sing. In any land where'er the sea Bathes some delicious shore, Where'er the sweetest clime may be The south wind wanders o'er, 'Tis but an idle dream to say With her may aught compare, — The world no treasure can display So precious and so fair ! (Dicu voiis condjiye, doulx penser.*) I EAVEN conduct thee, gentle thought! May thy voyage happy prove ; Come again, with comfort fraught. To the heart that faints with love. Not too long be thou away, Only for her pleasure stay. I tell thee not, soft messenger, What I would have thee breathe to her, For all the secrets of my soul Thou know'st are in thy own control. All that to her good may tend. All that may our sorrows end, All our vows so long have taught! — Heaven conduct thee, gentle thought. Chalvci. 38o EARLY FRENCH POETS, CLEMENCE ISAURE. Though the very existence of Clemence Isaure is disputed by the learned, yet the opinions of M. Alex. Dumfege and of M, le Baron Taylor in her favour may at least excuse the intro- duction of her poems. The original is given m the Baron Taylor's magnificent and beautiful work, "Voyages Pittoresques et Romantiques dans TAncienne France." (See Languedoc) _ Baron Taylor observes ;_ "Clemence loved and was betrothed to a young knight, who was killed in a combat, and his faithful Clemence resolved to dedicate her remaining days to the Virgin. Her life appears to have been one tender and pious complaint." She restored tYi&jetes of the gai savoir, and by her influence and her talents renewed all the glory of the Courts of Love. Her praises are sung by numerous contemporary poets. M. Dum&ge thinks that this celebrated lady was born about 1450, and that her remains were translated to the ancient church of N. D. de la Daurade. He proposes to publish her poetry, with notes and a glossary, which will be extremely valuable. M. le Baron Taylor, in his peculiarly agreeable and amiable manner, playfully declines entering into the argument of the actual existence of this divinity of Toulouse, as he, in common with many of the friends of poesy, would rather believe that she is not merely a name. The verses given as hers are at all events of the period ascribed to her, and possess much grace and feelmg. PLAINTE D'AMOUR. (All sein dcs bois la colombe amoiirmse.*) HE tender dove amidst the woods all day Murmurs in peace her long- continued strain, The linnet warbles his melodious lay, To hail bright spring and all her flowers again ! Alas ! and I — thus plaintive and alone, Who have no lore but love and misery, My only task — to joy, to hope unknown — Is to lament my sorrows and to die! (Bella sazojoentat de Pannada.) Fair season ! childhood of the year, Verse and mirth to thee are dear, ♦ Given by M. Dumese in modern French. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 381 Wfeatlis thou hast, of old renown, The faithful Troubadour to crown. Let US' sing the Virgin's praise, Let her name inspire our lays, She whose heart with woe was riven, Mourning for the Prince of Heaven ! Eards may deem, — alas ! how wrong 1 — That they yet may live in song; Well I know the hour will come When, within the dreary tomb, Poets will forget my fame, And Clemence shair be but a tiamel Thus may early foses blow, When the sun^ of spring is bright ; But even the buds that fairest glow Wither in the blast of night. FRAN^OiS VlLLONi 6f fran^ois Villon, Eoileau, that oracle of French criticism, who appeafed igilofaht of ttl8 rilerits of the early French poets, has said : " Villon sut Ife premier dans ces Sifecles grossiers iJebrouiller I'art conftis de nos tieux romanciers. *' If, ds Dr. Johnson remarks, "much is due to those who first broke the way to knoMfkdg^j and left only to their successors the task of smoothing it/' credit is due to Villon for ^hat M effected ; bilt his oWn works are so little pleasing, indeed} possess so littlfe true poetry, as to be scarcely readable, and quite unworthy of translation. His language is nevertheless esteemed for the time in which he lived, his rhyme considered rich, his style easy, and his genius well suited to gay and lively compositions. Francis I. admired the works of Villon, and by his desire Clement Marot revised them : we see by his preface that he looked upon him as the best Parisian poet up to his own time, and made him his model in composition. It is difficult, particularly for a foreigner, to discover in what the beauties consisted which attracted such correct judges, and made them prefer him to all of the poets who had gone before, among whom were many so excellent as to make the reader not only forget the roughness of their garb, but regret that a greater polish bestowed on verse should have extinguished every spark of their dehcacy, sweetness, and sublimity, to substitute a flippant, heartless, epigrammatic style, which, with few exceptions, mark French verse from this period, and render it inhar- monious and uninteresting. 382 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Villon was born in Paris in 1431. Villon signifying in old French the same ^is/rijion Clement Marot said of him : " Pen de Villons en bon sijavoii*, Trop de Villons pour d^cevoir." He appears to have been altogether a manvais snjei : he was frequently impJ-Isoned for thbsi freaks of youth which in his time consisted in " escamoter tout ce qui est propre h. boife et ; manger, et autres petites bagatelles pour se r^jouir aux depens d'autrui avec ses camatades. For one of these little bagatelles he was sentenced to be hanged ;* some great person inter ceded for him with Louis XI., and his sentence was commuted to banishment. His work, as edited by Marot, begins witha humorous poem entitled " Le Petit Testflmen de Villon, ainsi intitule sans le consentement de I'autheur," being a series of bequests princi pally of a ridiculous nature. The second and principal subject is called " Le Grand Testa ment," which Marot considers to be " plein d'erudition et de bon sgavoir : '* it is not remarkabli for poetical merit. Ballads and smaller pieces complete the collection. Were it not that hi js regarded in some degree as the father of French verse, he would not have occupied a plao in these pages. See, for various particulars of him and his works, the Bibl. Frant;., Niceron, Moreri Barbin, &c. BALLADE DES DAMES DU TEMPS JADIS-f (Mais oil so lit ks fteiges d'autan ? c^-'c.) ELL me to what region flown Is Flora the fair Roman gone? Where lovely Thais' hiding-place, Her sister in each charm and grace? Echo, let thy voice awake Over river, stream, and lakej Answer, where does beauty go? Where is fled the south wind's sUow? Where is Eloi'se the wise, For whose two bewitching eyes Hapless Abeillard was doomed In his cell to live entombed? Where the queen, her love who gavS) Cast in Seine a wat'ry grave? J Where each lovely cause of woe? Where is fled the south wind's sliow? Where th^ voice, O regd fair, Sweet as is the lark's in air? ■' M. iranasque Michel informs me lllat he has carefully perused all the registers of th. Parisian Parliament at this epoch, preserved in the Sainte Chapelle in Paris, and that he ha found no indication of the above sentence ; probably, therefore, the statement is a piece o gratuitous scandal. *^ t Edition de Paris, 1533, } See the reign of Louis X. for account of Margaerite of Burgundy and her proceedings. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 383 Where is Bertha? Mix?— she Who Le Mayne held gallantly? Where is Joan, whom English flame Gave, at Rouen, death and fame? Where are all?— does any know? Where is fled the south wind's snow? J£AN REGNIER. ffe"ii?°^"'"'' •^<='S"'="'' ^' Guerchi et Bailli d'Auxerrc (where he was born), and counsellor of Philhppe le Eon, Duke of Burgundy, was contemporary with Villon. He must not be confonded with Mathurin Regnier, the satirist, who lived from 1573 to 1613. (J'ai vu qu'on estoit bien joyeux.*) ow many cite with airs of pride ( Long lists of kindred well allied, ■sTX J, As though they caught reflected worth 1 •%J But what avails their vaunted ■'" birth? Though by the proverb we are told A friend is better far than gold, _ Yet, since my kindred sleep in peace, From whom I looked for some increase, When Fortune to my wish attends, I '11 ask less kindred and more friends. * L'Abbe Goujet. 384 EARLY FRENCH POETS. PIERRE MICHAULT.* This poet was secretary of Charles the Bold. He has left two works, " Le Doctrinal de Cour,' and " La Dansc aux Aveugles," mingled verse and prose. The first is allegorical. MORALITE. OVE, Fortune, Death, blind guides by =^ turns, Teach man their dance, with artful skill. _^ First, from Love's treacherous wiles he learns To thread the maze, where'er he will. Then Fortune comes, whose tune- less measure Bids him whirl and wind at plea- sure, Till, in the giddy dance, his feet Lead him watchful Death to meet. Thus follow all of mortal breath The dance of Fortune, Love, and. Death. GUILLAtJME ALEXIS. Guillaume Alexis, surnamed Le Bon Moine de Lyre, was a monk of that abhey, in the diocese of Evreux, and afterwards became Prior of Bussy, in Perche. He was living m 1505, but the date of his birth is not known, nor that of his death. He has left many poems, rondeaux, ballads, and chants royaiix in honour of the Virgin. Those which are most worthy of attention are " Le grant Blazon des faulses amours," and " Le Passe-temps de tout homme et de toute femme," from which the following is taken. * L'Abb^ Goujet. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 385 L'AVARE. (L'homme convoiteux est haiif, iS^c.*) He who for selfish gain would live, Is quick to take and slow to give, Knows well the secret to refuse, And can his niggard deeds excuse. If aught he gives, will straight repent, Holds all as lost he may have spent; His gold counts daily o'er and o'er. And seeks in books no other lore ; From morn to night is restless still To watch how soon his coffers fill ; Sighs, listens breathless at a sound. Lest lurking spies should hover round ; Cares not to pay; at each demand Doles forth his coin with trembling hand; He gives but that his gains may grow. And gains not ever to bestow; Free, if to others goods belong. But on his own his clutch is strong : To give his miser hand is closed. To take his eager palm exposed. — 0- MARTIAL DE PARIS. Martial de Paris, dit d'Auvergne, was born in 1440, at Paris, where he exercised for forty years the functions of Procureur du Parlement. He died 13th May, 1508. His principal poem is entitled "Les vigiles de la mort du Roi Charles Sept," and is very long, containing a faithful account, year by year, of the events of that reign. * L'Abbe Goujet. 23 SS6 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Benoist Court says that he was an Auvergnat, and had the surname of Paris from being established there. He was one of the most celebrated writers of his time. His "Arrets d'Amour " were very popular. His description of the lady judges of the Coui-t of Love is curious, and exhibits a custom of the period : "Leurs habits sentoient le cypres £t le muse si abondamment Que Ton n'eust sceu estre au j)lus pres Sans fiternuer largement. Outre plus, en lieu d'herbe vert, Qu'on a accoustumd d'espandre. Tout le parquet estoit couvert De romarin et de lavandre^" &c. THE ADVANTAGES OF ADVERSITY. (Princes qui out de la misere.) HE prince who fortune's falsehood knows With pity hears his subjects' woes, And seeks to comfort and to heal Those griefs the prosperous cannot feel. Warned by the dangers he has run, He strives the ills of war to shun, Seeks peace, and with a steady hand Spreads truth and justice through the land. When poverty the Romans knew, Each honest heart was pure and true. But soon as wealth assumed her reign. Pride and ambition swelled her train. When hardship is a monarch's share, And his career begins in care, 'Tis sign that good will come, though late, And blessings on the future wait. (Mieiilx vaut Hesse, &'c.) Dear the felicity. Gentle, and fair, and sweet, Love and simplicity. When tender shepherds meet: EARLY FRENCH POETS. 387 Better than store of gold, Silver and gems untold, Manners refined and cold. Which to our lords belong. We, when our toil is past. Softest delight can taste. While summer's beauties last, Dance, feast, and jocund song: And in our hearts a joy- No envy can destroy. 25 — 2 388 EARLY FRENCH POETS. LEMAIRE DE BELGE. Jean Lemaire, surnamed De Beige, was bom at Bavai, a small town of Hainault (said to be the capital of the ancient province of Belgium), in 1473. He was patronized by Marguerite of Austria, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian, and of the heiress of Burgundy. He published verses entitled " Regrets de la Dame infortun^e," being on occasion of the sorrow of Marguerite for the death of her brother, Philip I. of Spain. He wrote by her desire " Illustrations des Gaules," a singular work on the Church, Legends of the Venetians, and a History of Ismael Sophi. Also_"La Couronne Margueritique," in honour of his protectress, who, after having been promised to several princes, married at length Philibert, Duke of Savoy. To her he addressed his " Letters of the Green Lover." He attached himself to Anne de Bretagne, and called himself her "Secretaire Indiciare," that is to say, historiographer. To her he dedicated the third part of his " Illustrations ;" the second being to Mad. Claude de France, only daughter of that princess, who became the wife of Fran9ois i*"". The title of his famous work is "Epitres de i'Amant Verd, addressees &. Madame Marguerite Auguste par son Amant Verd ;" in 1510 they ajspeared. The first con- tained five hundred verses, the second four hundred, and that no mistake might arise as to their author, he signed them " Lemaire de Beige." " De peu assez," He calls her *' La fleur des fleurs, le choix des marguerites. " M. I'Abbe Sallier, and M. I'Abbd Goujet, who have both spoken much on the subject of Lemaire (In M^m. de I'Acad^mie des Inscriptions, et Bibliotheque Frangoise), conceived the "Amant Vert" to be really a lover who assumed a green habit, and died of grief on the departure of his lady-love. They are astdhished that the delicacy and propriety of her character did not suffer from the open avowal he makes of her favours, and suppose his insignificance protected him from resentment ; when the fact is, as was told them by an anonymous writer in the "Mercure" (and indeed which the poems themselves might have shown), that this presumptuous and daring boaster was no other than a. green -paroquet, of a species very rare at that time in France and the Low Countries, though grey, red, and various coloured parrots were known. It was an Ethiopian bird presented to the Archduke Sigismond of Austria, uncle to Maximilian ; Sigismond gave it to Mary of Burgundy, his nephew's wife. Mary dying, it came into possession of her daughter, Marguerite, who was much attached to it ; but when she went to Germany, it is supposed the bird died of regret. By a fiction, pleasing enough, " L' Amant Verd " is transported after death to the Elysian Fields, wha-e his spirit meets many other animals remarkable in history : this circumstance alone seems sufficient to explain the nature of the lover who has given rise to so much discussion. Lemaire was, in his time, one of the most celebrated oratorical poets, and his language was very pure ; he was a great historian and wrote a laborious work, *' Illustrations de la France et des Gaules, contenant quelques singularites de Troye." Ronsard is indebted to him for the finest parts " de cette belle hymne sur la mort de la Royne de Navarre." — Bibl. Frang. In his first work, entitled "Temple d'honneur et de vertu," which appeared in 1503, he calls himself in the title-page the disciple of Molinet, whose relation he was. ADIEU OF THE GREEN LOVER.* (Ah ! jc te prie.) I DO implore thee, O my lady dear, When that this heart a soul no longer warms, — Though for my sake might start the tender tear, — To guard thy bosom from all fond alarms ; * Edition Paris, 1519. The device by which he distinguished himself was " De peu assez." EARLY FRENCH POETS. 389 1 would not mar with grief those lovely eyes, Nor have thee heave for me distressful sighs, For as on earth I caused thee only joy, I would not prove a source of thine annoy. EPITAPH OF THE GREEN LOVER. (Sous ce tombd.) Beneath this tomb, in gloom and darkness cast, Lies the Green Lover, faithful to the last; Whose noble soul, when she he loved was gone. Could not endure to lose her and live on ! DESCRIPTION OF THE PARADISE INTO V/HICH I.'aMANT VERD IS CONDUCTED BY MERCURY. (Ainsy dit-il, et je luy rendy graces; Puis il s'en vole, 6-rJ EPITRE DE l'aMANT VERD. E said. My thanks I duly paid ; he rose And fled, nor trace the yielding clouds disclose. ^ j " Soft was the air, as sapphires clear and light. The zephyrs balmy, and the sunbeams bright; The west wind's sigh was never more benign, And I, content with such a lot as mine, Looked round for some retreat to mark how gay Those spirits wandered clothed in fair array : An orange bough I chose, whose leaves between Rich fmit and flowers in fragrant tjomp were seen. 390 EARLY FRENCH POETS. There I beheld the sparkling waters round, Whose clasping arms this glorious island bound ; Tranquil, unmoved, beneath the genial ray, Clear, as of purest crystal formed, they lay. The lofty isle rose from its wat'ry bed, With verdant meads and shady valleys spread ; But there, though warm the sun his beams had thrown. Was heat's excess and parching drought unknown. . Thus all was smiling, all was blooming round, And divers painting* seemed to stain the ground. While all I marked deUghted o'er and o'er. Close by my side, though unperceived before, A Lucid Spirit t sat, — his plumage fair. Crimson and scarlet, fluttered in the air; And after him, upon the orange bough. Came troops of birds in many a shining row, So rich, so gay, so bright their gorgeous dress, Vain were all words to tell their loveliness. Believe me, princess, on each loaded stem, Whose leaves formed round an emerald diadem. Alighting at an instant, crowding came Birds of all note, all plumage, and all name : These flitted round about in joyous sort, And carolled sweet, and hailed me in their sport. But still the Lucid Spirit stood confest, His ruby wings more radiant than the rest j Than roses fairer far his form appeared. And thus he spoke, while all attentive heard: THE RUBY SPIRIT. J "Welcome, dear brother, to these valleys green. Thrice welcome art thou to our blissful glades ; * De dii)drse pahtt:titre, t Ung cler esprit. I V Esprit Vermeil. It appears that the Esprit Vermeil was also a paroauet, whose fate had been similar to that of I'Amant Verd, owing his death to " Les cruelz dentz d'une li&re jennette Come tu as d'un levrier deshonneste." When introduced^ into Tartarus by Mercury, the Green Lover sees these two cruel animals L'ormented for their crimes, amidst a liost of others too tedious to mention. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 391 No greater joy my thankful mind has seen, Than thus to hail thy spirit in our shades, To find that death thy glory could nqt tame. And that thy mem'ry lives in endless fame. But chief I joy that from the cherished spot Thou com'st where once was cast my happy lot,— Even from that gorgeous palace, rich and bright, Where Burgimdy and Austria's hands unite. * 'f » » •» » My charms the royal Mary's heart could prize, And thou wert dear in royal Marg'ret's eyes. Together, then, let us for ever live. In all the bliss this Paradise can give, Nor cross again the fatal gulf, but prove Amidst these groves and flowers eternal love; The doves and turtles shall their vows renew. And we, with tender looks, their peace shall view; All fair and good are these that round thee throng. And to them all these ceaseless joys belong. First on the noble Phcenix turn thy gaze, Whose wings with azure, gold, and purple blaze ; The painted pheasant and the timid dove. And swallows, who the willow islands love; The lonely pelican, and nightingale. Who woos the ear with her melodious tale ; The brilliant goldfinch, who to learn applies; Bold cocks, whose diligence with valour vies ; The bright canary, and the sparrow light. The tuneful blackbird, and the swan, snow-white; The lively lark, the crane, who joys to rest High on some favourite tower beside her nest; The friendly stork, and royal eagle view. And hundreds round of various' form and hue : All gay, and beautiful, and blest they come. To hail thy spirit to its native home.* • Here a concert is performed by all the birds in honour of the new-comer, after which the Cler Esprit resumes his introduction. 392 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Their chorus done, the noble parrot plumed In purple state, his courtesy resumed, And, with kind care, my rapt attention drew On every side where throngs appeared in view. Of various creatures, who, for worthy deeds, Had gained a place in these celestial meads. Tripping along th' enamelled plain, my eye On Lesbia's sparrow glanced admiringly. That happy bird by beauty so adored, And since in strains of noblest verse deplored ; The goose who saved the capitol I hailed. The crow whose merits Pliny has detailed; The snowy falcon of the Roman king* Flitted amongst the rest on glittering wing. In honour great, though bird of prey beside Might not within this peaceful realm abide. Two turtle-doves, the selfsame offered pair When Jesus did His circumcision bear; And the good cock that bade St Peter know His fault, and caused his sorrowing tears to flow; The pjgeont who for shelter vainly sought. And back the olive-branch to Noah brought; The eagle of great Charles's mighty line, The swan of Cleves, the Orleans' porcupine. All these with Bretagne's ermine j: loved to stray, And waste in careless sport the livelong day; While in the flowers' soft bells reposed at ease, Faint with their fragrant toil, those golden bees Which, when sweet slumbering in his cradle laid, Their store to Plato's infant lips conveyed. The fly in Virgil's tuneful page enshrined, And, leaping 'midst the verdure unconfined, * " Lc Gerfaut Wane du haut roy des Romains." t There is a curious medley of objects, sacred and profane, in this enumeration: aTicc ol the time. Heraldic animals are also pressed into the service. ' 1.^^"^" °i '*■? "™>n= was erected by Francis I., Duke of Bretagne. Its epigraph is the word Amaire. — Ashmole. It is, however, attributed to Conan, from whom the first Dukes Ol Bretagne draw their origin, who, marching through Bretagne with his army, a terrified EARLY FRENCH POETS. 393 I marked the locusts that St. John sustained, While he amidst the desert's wilds remained ; And there the camel — crowned with glory— strayed, Whose skin the sacred hermit's clothing made. The ass, who bore the Virgin's blessed form ; The ox, who bade his breath at midnight warm The holy Child within His manger bed ; The paschal lamb ; the sheep that Jason led To seek her golden fleece ; St. Vast's good bear. And virtuous Anthony's sage hog were there ; The faithful dog who brought St. Roch his food; And there the bear, who reared in solitude The valiant Orson; and the she-wolf blest Who Rome's great founder as his nurse confest. St. Jerome's lion roved the woods among; St. George's valiant horse passed swift along, ermine took shelter under his shield, and he accordingly adopted an ermine for his device, with this motto : " Malo mori quam fffidari." The same order of the ermine of Naples, instituted 1463, had this motto. 394 EARLY FRENCH POETS. With proud Bucephalus; Montagne the strong; And Savoy,* erst the charger of King Charles, Than whom no nobler breathed from Rome to Aries; And Bayardt too, by Aymon*s son beloved, Who once in Ardennes' thickest forests roved. St. Marg'ret's lambs played near those happy steeds, And all the flock she tended in the meads. Here, arboured in a flowery grove, were placed The two fair stags the holy huntsmen chased, St. Eustace and St. Hubert. Feeding near The gentle doe to good Sartorius dear. The greyhound Brutus, known by deeds of worth ; Lusignan's serpent, whence derive their birth Princes and kings. Yet deem not strife nor fear Between these various creatures enter here : Though far more numerous than my muse can tell, In endless peace and harmony they dwell.J JEAN MESCHINOT. Jean Meschinot, ecuyer, Sieurde Mortiferes, was bom at Nantes, and was sumamed "Le Banni de Liesse," from his having assumed this title in a RequSte in prose, presented to Francis II., last Duke of Breta^ne, who died 9th September, 1488. The reason of this denomination was some real or supposed misfortunes of which he fre- quently complains, though its nature he does not explam, in his works. He Says in this Requ&te that he is more than fifty years of age, or that for that number of years he was attached to the Dukes of Bretagne, for the manner in which he expresses himself leaves his ^ A charger ridden by Charles VIII. at the battle of Femoue, in 1495. t The horse of Rinaldo of Montalban, who, after the banishment of his master, refused to let any one mount him. The traitor Ganelon having undertaken to do so, Bayard threw him, and rushing away into the forest of Ardennes, was supposed to live there for many years after- wards. — See Bib. Blene. X The description of this Paradise cannot but remind the reader of the Land of Cocksugne : " Ther beth briddes man! and fale Throstil, thruisse, and nigtingal, Chalandre,* and wodwale. And other briddes without tale, That stinteth neuer bi har might Miri to sing dai and nigt,"— MS. Hart 913. • This is explained erroneously by Warton as meaning goldJiHch, and Ellis explains it as "woodlark;" the Calandre is described by Maistre Jehan Corbichon as a marvellous bird " quite white, which foretells by its looks whether a sick man shall die or recover." See a quaint description of this bird also in BOSSWELL'S, A rtnorie. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 395 meaning in doubt. He more clearly alludes to his having served Duke John VI., surnamed the Good and Wise, who died in 1442, from his childhood. He was his mattre cVhdtely and continued in this employment under three successive dukes, and finally under Anne of Bretagne, and remained in that capacity when she became Queen of France. He died on the 12th Sept., 1509, at a very advanced age, having held the above offices upwards of sixty years. His works consist of poems entitled " Les Lunettes des Princes." The author thus accounts for the singularity of his title : " Saches, lui dit la raison, en lui presentant les lunettes all^goriques dont il s'agit, que je leur ay donn€ a nom ' les Lunettes des Princes,' non pour ce que tu soyes prince ne grant seigneur tempore! : car trop plus que bien loin es-tu d'un tel dtat valeur ou dignity ; mais leur ay principalement ce nom impose pour ce que tout homme peut estre diet prince en tant qu'il a receu de Dieu gouvernement d'ame." He also wrote ballads, and moral and scriptural pieces. Also "La Plainte de la Ville de Nantes," which was placed under an interdict by Amaury d'Acignd. Bishop of Nantes, in 1462. In general in the diverse works of Meschinot may be found examples of the most singular rhymes and verse ; but two Huitains are the most peculiar in this style. One of them is thus prefaced: "Les huit vers ci-dessous .escrits se peuvent lireetretourner en trente-huit manieres." The other thus : " Ceste oraison se peut dire par 8 ou par 16 vers tant en retrogradant que aultrement ; tellement quelle se peut lire en 32 maniferes differentes, et a chascune y aura sens et rime, et commencer toujours par mots differents qui veult." The Abbe Goujet excuses himself from giving these specimens, assuring the reader that, however the author may boast of rhyme, no reason will be found in the poems. (Princes^ vous ihstes d\xuUre allot, 6-r.*^ NCES, are ye of other clay Than those who toil from day to day? Be subject to the laws, for all, Even like the meanest serf, shall fall. Go view those dismal yaults, where piles Of nameless bones deform the aisles ; Say, can ye tell amidst the throng Which to the noble frame belong, Which to the wretch who lived obscure, Condemned each hardship to endure? Neither can then distinction claim, — All shall return from whence it came ! ON JOHN, DUKE OF BURGUNDY. Proud to the proud, and gentle to the good. Prudent in deeds, in words benign and sage, His promise in all times unshaken stood, Ne'er to dishonour known from youth to age; May Heaven receive him in his proper sphere. Who was the father of all virtues here ! ■ Edit, de Paris, 1522. 396 EARLY FRENCH POETS. JEHAN MOLINET. Jehan Molinet was a poet contemporary with Meschinot, and a disciple of Georges Chastel- lain. Very little is known of his life, and only a part of his works are published. The MS. which is preserved in the library of the cathedral of Toumay is more complete than the printed edition published in Paris, 1531 (black letter). It is entitled " Les Faitz et pictz de feu de bonne m^moire Maistre J ehan Molinet, contenant plusieurs beaulx Traictez. Oraisons et Chants Royaulx." The subjects are various — it begins with several orisons to the Virgin and different saints. One to St. Anne may give an idea of the absurdity of the style ; "Ton nom est Anne et en Latin Antta. Dieu tout-puissant qui justement t'anna, Veult qu'k i'anne tu soies compar^e ; Quatre quartiers une tres juste anne* a ; Quatre lettres en ton nom amena. Par quoy tu as juste et bien mesur^e, Quatre vertus sont dont tu es paree."t After having made a measure of the saint, he converts her into a tree^ and embarrasses himself strangely between the two com_parisons. In fine, his only merit consists in the extraordinary quantity he produced, accumulating rhyme on rhyme with incredible facility ; but like a dance in fetters, though' he surmounted the difficulties in which he placed himself, his performance is anything but agreeable. But among the historical pieces of Molinet, one, the most worthy of attention, is that in which he continues the Recital " Des Choses Merveilleuses arrivces de son Temps," begun by Georges Chastellain, in which many events are noticed, as the death of the Due de Clarence, drowned in " malvoisie" *' to preve^U his being thirsty" and among others the following j^A/ is recorded : ^ " J'ay veu grant multitude De livres imprimis, Pour tirer en estude Povres mal argentds ; Par ces nouvelles modes Aura maint ecolier Ddcret, Bibles et Codes Sans grant argent bailler.' He was an intimate friend of Cretin, and also of Charles Bordign^. The only known work of the latter is " La Legende de Maistre Pierre Faifeu ou les gestes et diets joyeulx de Maistre Pierre Faifeu Escolier d'Angers " it is divided into forty-nine chapters, very droll, and written with spirit. He is sometimes dignified by the title of Prebsire, but is extremely severe on the clergy. The following will give an idea of his style ; they will scarcely bear translation "De Pathelin n'oyez plus les cantiques, De Jehan de Meun la grant jolyvet^ ; Ne de Villon les subtilles trafiques, Car pour tout vrai ils n'ont que nacquettd. Robert le Diable a la teste abolye, Bacchus s'endort et ronfle sur la lye. Laissez ester Caillette le folastre, Les quatre fils d'Aymon vestuz de bleue, Gargantua qui a cheveulx de piastre ; Voyez les Faits Maistre Pierre Faifeu. Le prince Ovide a ddchiffrd Baratre, * Anne for aune, a measure. t A similar conceit' is to be found in the Spanish poet, the Visconde de Altimira, beginning "to the VIRGIN'. "La Af madre te muestra, La-^ te manda adorar," &c.— Boi'TERWECK. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 397 Du Roy Pluton tout Vdnorme theatre : Ce n'est rien dit, mettez tout dans le feu. Messire Virgille en plaignant sa marastre- Voyez les Faits Maistre Pierre Faifeu ! " WILLIAM CRETIN. The censure applicable to the works of Molinet equally suits those of Cretin, whom Marot describes as "le bon Cretin aux vers equivoques," but who, nevertheless, bestows on him the most excessive praise. He addresses an epigram to him in which he styles him " Souverain Poete Fran9ois," and at his death wrote an epitaph lauding him to the skies as immortal by his talent, and calling him " Cretin qui tout savoit." Jean Lemaire speaks of him in equally high terms, and Geoffrey Tory is bold enough to advance, that in his " Chronique de France" he has, by the eloquence of his style, surpassed Homer, Virgil, and Dante. But little is known of his life ; all that can be collected is, that he was bom at Paris, was treasurer of the Holy Chapel of Vincennes, and afterwards Chantre de la Sainte-Chapelle de Paris, and that he lived under Charles VIII., Louis XII., and Francis I. : it is very probable that he died in 1525. Rabelais, however, considered his poetical claims in their true light, and ridicules him under the name of Rominagrobis, whom Panurge consults on his marriage ; he introduces the following lines, which are actually to be found among the poems of Cretin. " Prenez-la, ne la prenez pas. Si vous la prenez, c'est bien fait. Si ne la prenez, en effet Ce sera ouvre pas compas. Gallopez, mais allez le pas. Recueillez, entrez-y de fait. Prenez-la, ne la prenez pas. Jeusnez, prenez double repas. Deffaites ce qu'estoit refait, Refaites ce qu'estoit desfait, Souhaitez-lui vie et trepas, Prenez-la^ ne la prenez pas." "MIEUX QUE PIS."* (Lesfaidz cVamour sont ceuvres de faerie's: ) I^OVE is like a fairy's favour, Bright to-day, but faded soon ; If thou lov'st and fain wouldst have her, Think what course will speed thee on. * His device. t L'Abbt^ Goujet. 398 EARLY FRENCH POETS. For her faults if thou reprove her, Frowns are ready, words as bad; If thou sigh, her smiles recover, But be gay, and she is sad. If with stratagems thou try her, All thy wiles she soon will find; The only art — unless thou fly her — Is to seem as thou wert blind. JEHAN MAROT. Jehan Marot was bom near Caen, and was secretary and poet of Anne of Brittany, and afterwards valet de chambre of Francis I. He married at Cahors, and became father of the celebrated Clement Marot, who succeeded him as valet to the king on his death,^ which happened in 1517. His principal works are *' La Description des deux Voiages de Louis XII. Si Genes et k Venise ; " " Le Doctrinal des Princesses," twenty-four Rondeaux^ Epistles, &c., and Chants Royaux. "NE TROP NE PEU."* (Par faux rapport.\) evil tongues how many true and kind Have been a prey to grief and foul disgrace ! Alas ! when slander with her stealthy pace Has reached the goal, more venomous her, trace Than adders or than toads can leave behind. A ruffian's steel gives not the fatal wound That in the stab of evil tongues is found ; His device. t Edit, de Lyon, 1537. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 399 For slander lives on poison as her food ; The pure she persecutes, and lauds the ill; And if in vain she seek to harm the good, Attacks her own vile race with artful skill ; Nay, rather than forego her spleen and hate, Even of herself will curstfd slander prate ! P, , \ (Mart ou mercy.*) i\-^ '■■ H ! give me death, or pity show ! — I know my time is passed in vain ; Despair still urges me to go, But love will linger on in pain. Alas ! my love, thou know'st too well What my fond glances hourly tell ; My heart entreats thee, lost in woe, Oh ! give me death, or pity show 1 If this sad heart has been to thee Loyal and patient of thy scorn. At length its state with mercy see. Nor cast it forth, unmarked, forlorn ; But if 'tis false, or could betray. Let death at once its crime repay : Let one or other end my woe. Oh ! give me death, or pity show ! Edit, de Lyon, 1537. 400 EARLY FRENCH POETS. PIERRE GRINGORE. This poet flourished from 1500 to 1554. ON LEARNING AND WEALTH. (II flit jadis un-e femmc de nom*) NCE on a time a worthy dame, When anxious friends bade her J ^ decide Wry Whether her son should rise to fame By wealth or learning, thus replied : " 'T is true that knowledge has its worth, But riches give far higher state ; For never saw I, since my birth, ~'' " " A rich man on a wise man wait. But can the scholar do without His aid who riches can bestow? My son then shall, beyond all doubt, Be rich — if I can make him so." ON MARRIAGE. Thou wilt be wed !— so let it be,— But ill will follow thee, 'tis plain, For married folk, it seems to me, Are ever in some care or pain : Better to say " Shall / do thus ? " Than sigh "Which is the best for ?«?" * L'Abb^ Gouipt. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 401 JACQUES COLIN, Abbe de St. Ambroix de Bourges, ordre de St. Augustin, born at Auxerre, reader and secretary of Francis I. CUPID JUSTIFIED. ( Venus fat's ant A son fils sa complainte. *) Hus angry Venus chid her son : "Behold," she said, "what ill you do ! I am your mother, and undone, I, most, your cruel malice rue ; While, what to me is worst of all, Your wrongs on Pallas never fall." "Mother," he answered, "shall I tell Why from Minerva's frown I start? It is that she is armed so well. And with such fear inspires my heart, That when I look, with strange amaze, I feel half vanquished at her gaze." " Away ! " she cried, " it is not so ! For Mars is armed, and fiercer far. Yet he is doomed your force to know. And ever waged unequal war." 'Mother," he said, "much more my pride Did he defy, resist my skill, But scarcely are my arrows tried. At once he yields him to my will. And thou, sweet mother, since he chose thee, Would hardly wish him to oppose me," LAbbS Goujet. V& 402 EARLY FRENCH POETS. CLEMENT MAROT. Clement Marot was the son of Jehan Marot, and was born at Cahors In Quercy ; he suc- ceeded his father as valet de chambre to the king, Francis I., and having followed this pnnce to the battle of Pavia, was there wounded in the arm, and taken prisoner, as he himself recounts in this first elegy : " La fut percd tout outre rudement Le bras de cil qui t'aime loyaument ; Non pas ce bras dont il ha de coustume De manier ou la lance ou la plume : Amour encore te le garde et reserve Et par escrits veut que de loing te serve. Finalement avec le roi mon maistre De la les Monts prisonnier se vid estre," &c, Marot was called Le Poete des Pri7ices, et le Prince des Poetes, and is considered to have rendered important service to the French language. Boileau thus speaks of him : " Imitons de Marot I'd^gant badinage." The sonnet, madrigal, and rondeau owe him much, but in epigram he appears principally to have succeeded ; his works are numerous, and discover great facility of composition. _ Not only was he held in the highest esteem in his own time, but the ppets of succeeding ages have looked up to him as to a master. The following lines of Charleval, written in a copy of Marot lent by him to a lady, are characteristic: ** Les ceuvres de Maitre Clement Ne sont point gibier a devote ; Je vous les prete seulement, Gardez bien qu'on vous les 6te : Si quelqu'un vous les escamote, Je le donne ou diable Astarot. Chacun est fol de sa marotte, Moi je le suis de mon Marot." The translation of the Psalms by Marot became so popular, that all other songs were aban- doned for them ; each of the royal family and nobility chose one, and arranged it to some favourite ballad tune. They seem to have superseded the customary devices, or mottoes, so prevalent at that period. The dauphin (afterwards Henry IL), who dehghted in hunting, chose " Ainsi qu'on oit le cerf bruire" (Like as the hart, &c,), which he constantly sung in going to the chase. Diane de Poictiers chose " Du fond de ma pens^e " (From the depths of my heart, O Lord). The queen, " Ne vueilles pas, O sire " (O Lord, rebuke me not, &c.). Anthony, King of Navarre, " Revenge-moy, pren ma querelle" (Stand up, O Lord, and revenge my quarrel, &c.), to the air of a dance of Poitou, Calvin, at the same period, was framing his Church at Geneva, and adopted Marot's Psalms, which were set to simple and almost monotonous tunes by Guillaume de Franc, and they became at length a mark of the sect, spreading through all the reformed Churches. The Catholics, taking the alarm, gave up Clement's Psalms in dismay, and they were shortly forbidden under th,e severest penalties to sing them. In the language of the orthodox. Psalm singing and heresy were synonymous terms. Warton remarks, relative to the rage which took possession of the gay court of Francis L for Clement Marot's new subject of composition : *' Either tired of the vanities of profane poetry, or rather tinctured privately with the principles of Lutheranism, he attempted, with the assist- ance of his friend, Theodore Beza, and by the encouragement of the Professor of Hebrew in the University of Paris, a vei'sion of David's Psalms into French verse. This translation, which did not aim at any innovation in the public worship, and which received the sanction of the Sorbonne, as containiag nothing contrary to sound doctrine, he dedicated to his master Francis L and to the ladies of France. In addressing the latter, whom he had often before eulogized in the tenderest or most complimentary strains, he seems anxious to deprecate the raillery which the new tone of his versification was likely to incur, and is embarrassed how to find an apology for turning saint. Conscious of his apostacy from the levities of life, in a spirit of religious gallantry he declares that his design is to add to the happiness of his fair readers by substituting -divine hymns in the place of chansons d'amoury to inspire their susceptible hearts with a passion in which there is no torment, to banish that fickle and fantastic deity, Cupid, from the world, and to fill their apartments with the praises, not of le petit Dieu, but of the true Jehovah. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 403 " E voz doigts sur les espinettes Pour dire sainctes chan^oiinettes.'" He adds that the golden age would now be restored ; we should see the peasant at his plough, the carman in the streets, and the mechanic in his shop, solacing their toils with songs and canticles ; and the shepherd and shepherdess reposing in the shade, and teaching the rocks to echo the name of the Creator. These translations soon eclipsed the brilliancy of his madrigals and sonnets. They sold so rapidly that the printers could not supply the public with copies fast enough. In the festive and splendid court of Francis I. of a sudden nothing was heard but the Psalms of Clement Marot. When Clement and his former friend, the beautiful Diane de Poictiers, quarrelled and became bitter enemies, she sought occasion to accuse him of heresy, and disclosed a confession he had made to her, of having eaten meat in Lent, for which he was imprisoned. This was the origin of his lampoon: "Prenez4e, il a mange du lard !" Diana was as fierce a persecutor of the Huguenots as the wife of her royal lover, Catherine de Mifdicis. The " bouche de corail precieux," which he had once so much praised, did not spare accusa- tions against the unlucky poet. He could, however, boast of the regard of the greatest princes of the age ; among the most distinguished were Francois Premier, Charles V. , Renee, Duchesse de Ferrare, and Marguerite de VSois, Queen of Navarre, in whose service he was during his youth. He died at Turin, in 1544, aged about sixty. His epitaph by Jodelle is as follows : \ " Quercy, la Cour, Piemont, tout I'Univers, Jle fit, me tint, m'enterra, me connut, Quercy mon los, la Cour tout mon tems eut, Piemont mes os, et TUnivers mes vers." That which is inscribed on his tomb in the church of St. Jean de Turin is thus expressed : '* Icy devant, au ^iron de sa mere, Gist des Frangois le Virgile et I'Hom&re. Cy est couche et repose a I'envers Le nompareil des mieux disans en vers. Cy gist celuy que peu de terre cceuvre, Qui toute France enrichit de son ceuvre. .. @ Cy dort un mort, qui toujours vif sera Tant que la France en Fran9oi&parlera. Brief, gist, repose et dort en ce lieu-cy Clement Marot de Cahors en Quercy." TO ANNE, WHOSE ABSENCE HE REGRETS. ( Incontenani que je tc voy venue, 67-T.* ■ HEN thou art near to me it seems As if the sun along the sky, Though he awhile withheld his beams, Burst forth in glowing majesty; But like a storm that lowers on high, Thy absence clouds the scene again, — Alas ! that from so sweet a joy Should spring regret so full of pain ! ^ Edit, de la Haye, 1702. 26 — 2 1^04 EARLY FRENCH POETS. ON THE STATUE OF VENUS SLEEPING. (Qui dort icy ? &=(.) Who slumbers here ? — to ask how idly vain ! — Behold, 't is Venus, — spare thy queen's repose : Awake her not, thou may'st escape her chain, But thou art lost if once her eyes unclose. \/ON THE SMH.E OF MADAME D'ALBERT. DIXAIN. (El/e ha trh Mm ceste gorge d'albastre.) HOUGH clear her cheek, all Ps light her eye, Music her voice, and snow her breast, That little smile of gaiety To me is dearer than the rest. With that sweet spell, where'er she goes She makes all pastime, all delight, And were I prostrate with my woes, And fainting life had closed ii night, I should but need, existence to restore, That lovely smile that caused my death before.* * This idea will remind the reader of Pope's line : " And, at her smile, the beau revived again." These forced metaphors were the fashion of the age, and long retained their rank i poetry, from the time that compliment took the place of real feeling. iFrendi EARLY FRENCH POETS. 405 ON THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. (Entre autres dons de gr&ces immortelles.) With store of gifts, and num'rous graces fraught, While from her pen such wit and wisdom fall. How comes it, I have sometimes idly thought, That our surprise is, at her power, so small? But when she writes and speaks so sweetly still, And when her words my tranced sense enthrall, I can but blush that any, at her skill. Can be so weak as be amazed at all. (Tu ni^as donn'e au vif ta face paiiicte, CPC.) 'his dear resemblance of thy lovely face, 'Tis true, is painted with a master's care. But one far better still my heart can trace. For Love himself engraved the image there. Thy gift can make my soul blest visions share. But brighter still, dear love, my joys would shine. Were I within thy heart impressed as fair. As true, 'as vividly, as thou in mine ! (Des que m!amie est un jour sans me voir, Qs^c.) My love, if I depart a day, Believes it four with little trouble; But if still longer I delay, Makes out the time much more than double: 4o6 EARLY FRENCH POETS. If I my quiet would restore, 'T were well I never saw her more ! How different is our passion shown ! — Say, ye to whom love's cares are known, She ill my absence mourns in pain. And I, when in her presence, die; Decide, ye slaves of Cupid's reign. Which loves the better, she or I? DU DEPART DE S'AMIE. (Elk s'en va de it toy la mieux aymee, S^c.) I|HE leaves me ! she, beloved so long, P She leaves me, but her image here Within my heart impressed so strong, Shall linger till my latest tear. Where'er she goes, on her my heart relies. And thus relying, is unknown to care ; But ah ! what space divides her from my eyes. And scatters all our joys in empty air ! Farewell, sole beauty that my eyes can view. And oh ! farewell my heart's enjoyment too .' v/^ HUITAIN. (Plus tie suis ce que fay este, (j^c.J I AM no more what I have been. Nor can regret restore my prime ; My summer years and beauty's sheen Are in the envious clutch of Time. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 407 Above all gods I owned thy reign, O Love ! and served thee to the letter ; But, if my life were given again, Methinks I yet could serve thee better. V^] PIGRAMME A LIMITATION DE MARTIAL. d'une qui se vante. (Vous estes belle en bonne foye.) ES, you are fair, 't is plain to see, — They are but blind who should oppose it; And you are rich all must agree. None can deny, for each man knows it ; Virtuous you are, by ev'ry rule, — Who questions it is but a fool ; But, when you praise yourself, you are Neither virtuous, rich, nor fair. To DIANE DE POICTIERS. (Puisqite de vous je rial autre visage, ^'c.) Farewell ! since vain is all my care. Far, in some desert rude, I '11 hide my weakness, my despair ; And, 'midst my solitude, I'll pray that, should another move thee, He may as fondly, truly love thee ! 4oS EARLY FRENCH POETS. Adieu, bright eyes, that were my heaven ! Adieu, soft cheek, where summer blooms ! Adieu, fair form, earth's pattern given, Which love inhabits and illumes ! Your rays have fallen but coldly on me, — One far less fond, perchance, had won ye ! A ANNE* POUR ESTRE EN SA GRACE. (Si jamais fust un Paradis en terre, {re.) H ! if on earth a Paradise may be, Where'er thou art methinks it may be found ; Yet he who seeks that Paradise in thee, Will find more pains than pleasures there abound: \ Yet will he not repent he sought the prize. For he is blest who suffers for those eyes : What fate is his, whose truth thy heart shall move, By thee admitted to that heaven of love ? I know not— words his happiness would wrong, — His fate is that which I have sought so long! * Anne dc Pisseleu, Duchesse d'Etampes. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 409 LA REINE DE NAVARRE. Marguerite de Valois, daughter of Charles d'Orleans, Due d'Angouleme, sister of Francis I., was bom at An- gouleme, nth of April, 1492. She was celebrated for her beauty and talent, no less than for her tender attachment to her illustrious brother, Francis I., whora^she attended in Spain, when he was prisoner, with the most devoted affection, and who returned her ten- derness with equal fondness. She patronized letters and the arts and encouraged genius ; her works are numerous and display great taste. She survived her royal brother only a year, dying in 1549, and was buried at Pace. The following lines were addressed by her to Clement Marot, who had complained to her of the persecution of his creditors ; "Si ceux h qui devez comme vous dites, Vous connoissoient comme je vous _ connois, Quittez seriez des debtes que vous f ites, Le terns pass^, tant grandes que petites, En leur payant un dixain toutefois, Tel que le vostre qui vaut mieux mille fois Que I'argent dil par vous en consci- ence : Car estimer on peut I'argent au poids : Mais on ne peut(et j'en donne ma voix) Assez priser votre belle science." IVIarot showed these lines to his creditors, and we may judge of the effect they produced by the following reply of the poet : "Mes crdanciers, qui de Dixain n'ont cure, Ont leu le vostre ; et sur ce leur ay dit : 'Sire Michel, sire Bonaventure, Le soeur du Roy a pour moi fait ce dit.' Lors eux cuidans que fusse en grand credit, M'ont appelle monsieur, a cry et cor ; Et m'a valu votre escript autant d'or : Car promet-on non seulement d'at- tendre, Mais d'en preter (foy de marchand) encor ; Et j'ai promis (foy de Clement) d'en prendre." They may be thus rendered : LINES OF MARGUERITE. " If those to whom some sordid gold you owe Knew your excelling genius as I know. 4IO EARLY FRENCH POETS. They would not urge you thus, but hold you free, Even for one effort of your minstrelsy. Such lays as yours are worth far more than all They may your debts, however num'rous, call : Coin may be weighed, but who has power on earth To tell the measure of your muse's worth ? " And those of CIdment thus : " My creditors, who little prize the muse, Could not to list your melody refuse. To them I said, ' Good sirs, attend, I pray, — The princess framed for me this flatt'ring lay.* They, seeing that my credit stood so high. With many a courteous gesture made reply. The magic of your lines to me is great. For not alone they promise now to wait, But, on a tradesman's word, to lend they proffer. And I, on Clement's word, accept their offer." ON THE DEATH OF HER BROTHER, FRANCIS THE FIRST. (Je ti ay plus ny p'ere ny mere, &'c.*) IS done ! a father, mother, gone, A sister, brother, torn away, My hope is now in God alone. Whom heaven and earth alike obey. Above, beneath, to Him is known, The world's wide compass is His own. I love, — but in the world no more, Nor in gay hall or festal bower. Not the fair forms I prized before, But Him, all beauty, wisdom, power, My Saviour, who has cast a chain On sin and ill, and woe and pain 1 I from my mem'ry have effaced All former joys, all kindred, friends; All honours that my station graced I hold but snares that fortune sends; Hence! joys by Christ at distance cast, That we may be His own at last ! • L'Abbd Goujet. EARLY FRENCH POETS. FRANCIS THE FIRST.' EPITAPH ON FRANCOISE DE FOIX.t (Sous ce tombeau gist Franpise de Foix.) \ENEATH this tomb De Foix's fair Frances lies, On whose rare worth each tongue dehghts to dwell ; And none, while fame her virtue deifies, Can with harsh voice the meed of praise repel. In beauty peerless, in attractive grace, Of mind enlightened, and of wit refined ; With honour, more than this weak tongue can trace, Th' eternal Father stored her spotless mind. Alas ! the sum of human gifts how small ! Here nothing lies, that once commanded all ! ON PETRARCH'S LAURA. (En petit lieu.) A LITTLE space contains a mighty fame, — Labour and thought, learning and verse combined. To give immortal lustre to thy name, Were conquered by thy lover's matchless mind : •Auguis, "Poetes Frangois.'" + The subject of this epitaph was the unfortunate Countess de Chateaubnant, beloved by the king, and, in consequence, the victim of her husband's jealousy, who, during the captivity of Francis in Spain, caused her to be taken to his castle, and there had her bled to de.ath, in 1526. Her tomb is in the church of the Mathurins at Chateaubriant, and bears the above inscription, with tliis motto round, " Prou de moins, peu de telles, point de plus." The epitaph is sometimes given to Clement Marot. 412 EARLY FRENCH POETS. O gentle soul ! so tenderly esteemed, We honour thee with silent, tearful gaze. For words can nought but empty air be deemed. When the bright subject is beyond all praise ! EPITAPH ON AGNES SOREL.* (Id dessoubz des belles gist I'eslife.) Here lies entombed the fairest of the fair: To her rare beauty greater praise be given Than holy maids in cloistered cells may share, Or hermits that in deserts live for heaven. For by her charms recovered France arose, Shook off her chains, and triumphed o'er her foes. J MADRIGAL. (Le Mai d' Amour.) Love ! thy pain is more extreme Than those who know thee not may deem; What in all else were transient care Is fraught to lovers with despair: Complaint and sorrow, tears an' sighs, A lover's restless life supplies; But, if a beam of joy arise, A moment ends his miseries. her •^"Dam^iSl'i; °tT *"% 'f "'^"='"y ':j"=d, Sord, was of Touraine. Mezeray thus describes nrfnr.«. ?f ■ ? . ^gl-'^^h e, et g&fteuse, mais qui allant de pair avec les plus grandes She died in 1449, not without suspicion of poison, and the dauphin afterwardi T rails XT who was her known enemy was strongly suspected of being the St^at™ her murder' Her devonon to Charles VH., and the benefit he derived from her advife, is well kno™ EARLY FRENCH POETS. 41; TO THE DUCHESS D'ESTAMPES. (Est-il point vrai.) Is it a dream, or but too true, That I should fly you from this hour, To all our fondness bid adieu? — Alas ! I would, but want the power. What do I say? — oh, I am wrong ! — The power, but not the will, have I ; My heart has been a slave so long, The more you give it liberty. The more a captive at your feet it lies, When you command what every glance denies, HENRY THE SECOND.' TO DIANA OF POICTIERS. (Plus ferine foy.) More constant faith none ever swore To a new prince, O fairest fair ! Than mine to thee, whom I adore, Which time nor death can e'er impair. The steady fortress of my heart Seeks not with towers secured to be ; * The famous Quatrain of Nostradamus, the astrologer, is as follows relative to the death of Henry II who was killed in a tournament by a thrust from the lance of Montgomery through the bars of his gilt helmet. It was made four years before the event : "Le Lion jeune le vieux surmontera En champ bellique par singulier duel, Dans cage d'or les yeux lui crdvera. Deux plaies une, puis mourir ! mort cruelle ! " 414 EARLY FRENCH POETS. The lady of the hold thou art. For 't is of firmness worthy thee : No bribes o'er thee can victory obtain, A heart so noble treason cannot' stain ! * MELLIN DE ST. GELAIS. Mellin is said to have been the son of Octavien de St. Gelais, Sieur de Lansac, Bishop of Angouleme, who, in the reign of Louis XII., translated into tolerably elegant verse certain " Rapsodies " of Homer, Virgil, and Ovid. Mellin, however, greatly surpassed his father, and has even been considered above Marot and Du Bellay in epigram. He was called I'Ovide Fran5ois, and had great reputation for the neatness and grace of his style. By some he is thought to have first introduced the sonnet into France from Italy, the poetry of which country he was master of. He excelled in short pieces for music, which he executed with taste on the lute and guitar. HUITAIN. (Souplrs ardens.) o, glomng sighs, my soul's expiring breath, Ye who alone can tell my cause of care ; If she I love behold un- moved my death. Fly up to heaven, and wait my coming there. But if her eye, as ye believe so fain. Deign with some hope our sor- row to supply, Return to me, and bring my soul again, For I no more shall have a wish to die. * This poem is sometimes attributed to Joachim du Bellay, and may be found in the edition of his woAs, Ilouen, 1597, among the "Olive de du Bellay." In Auguis' "Poetes Francois" (Paris, 1825, 8vo.) it is given to Henry II. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 415 QUATRAIN. (Dis-moi, ami.*) Which is the best to choose I'd fain be told, Great store of learning, or great store of gold? I know not, but the learned, all can tell. Pay court to those whose purse is 'plenished well. SIXAIN, ON A LITTLE LUTE. (Potir un luth, Men petit je stiis.) I AM a little lute, 'tis true. But if my numbers could subdue My master's mistress' cruelty, Methinks my rank as glorious then Amongst the race of lutes would be, As Alexander's amongst men. LOUISE LABE. Louise Labe, called La Belle Cordiere, was born at Lyons, in 1526 : at fifteen she disguised herself in male attire, and joined the army, where she particularly distinguished herself at the siege of Perpignan, in 1542 ; she was then known as Le Capitaine Louis. Amongst other acquirements she possessed that of managing a horse with perfect skill A cavalier for whom she long preserved a tender regard, discovered her sex, and persuaded her to resume her proper station. According to the descriptions given of her, and the portrait at the head of her works, she must have been possessed of much beauty. On her return to Lyons her father thought of marrying her ; it appears that the campaign of Perpignan, far from having injured her reputation, had gained her celebrity, and made her an object of much interest. A man who had a large trade in ropes, and was very rich, possessing several valuable houses in Lyons, proposed for her, and was accepted. _ They ajipear to have lived very happily together, but he died at the end of a few years, leaving no children. From this time till 1566, when she died, aged about forty, her life was passed in the most pleasing manner imaginable. Her fortune was large, she had a fine house in the street still called by her name, which, as she tells us in * L'Abbe' Goujet. 4i6 EARLY -FRENCH POETS. her works, was magnificently furnished, with a beautiful garden. Here she drew together the best company in Lyons, and all the strangers of talent who passed through the citjr. She was mistressvof Greek and Latin, ItaHan and Spanish, sang and played on all sorts of instruments with infinite grace. She had collected a library of the best works in various languages. Sur- rounded with admirers of her charms, her talents, and her knowledge, she triumphed in the midst of this circle. Her poems were printed during her life at Lyons, in 1555. She dedicated them to Clemence de Bourges, a Lyonnese lady, who was at that time her intimate friend, but with whom she afterwards disagreed. The cause was this: both were handsome and full of talent, but Clemence was the younger ; the latter was in love with a young officer, whose duty obliged him frequently to quit Lyons : Cleinence addressed verses to him, and communicated them to her friend, to whom she continually expressed her fondness for him. The young man returned, Louise found him very agreeable, and soon distinguished him by attentions to which he was not insensible. His infidelity was suspected by Clemence, who accused her friend of gaining his affection from her, and their friendship was suddenly broken with a violence which caused much sensation at the time. The unfortunate Clemence was unable to support the sorrow this a^dventure caused her, or rather, perhaps, her lover's death, which happened soon after. She died young, and the regrets of all Lyons followed her to the tomb. There is no kind of praise, says the Abb^ Goujet, which the contemporaries of Louise Lab^ have not given her. La Croix du Maine speaks of her as very learned, and excelling both in prose and verse ; he adds that her anagram was " Belle Sl soy" {so%iJiai£). Paradin, who knew her, says in his History of Lyons, that " elle avoit la face plus angelique qu'humaine ; mais ce n'estoit rien en comisarison de son esprit, taait chaste, tant vertueux, tant poetique, tant rare en s9avoir qu'il sembloit qu'elle estoit cr^^e de Dieu pour estre admiree poiur un grand prodige entre les humains." Her poems consist in three elegies and twenty-four sonnets : the collection begins by an ingenious dialogue in prose, entitled "Le Debat de Folie et d' Amour." The cause is tried before Jupiter, Apollo pleads for Love, Mercury for Folly. Jupiter declines giving judgment, " pour la difficulte et importance de vos diff^rens opinions," &c., and recommends them to make up matters as well as they can between them. The first sonnet is in Italian. She has been called a second Sappho, and was held in extraordinary esteem, SONNET XIV. (Tant que mes yeux pourront larmes espandre*) HiLE yet these tears have power to flow For hours for ever past away ; While yet these swelling sighs allow My falt'ring voice to breathe a lay; While yet my hand can touch the chords, My tender lute, to wake thy tone; While yet my mind no thought affords, But one remembered dream alone, I ask not death, whate'er my state : But when my eyes can weep no more. My voice is lost, my hand untrue, And when my spirit's fire is o'er. Nor can express the love it knew, Come, death, and cast thy shadow o'er my fate. ■^ Edit. Lyons. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 41? %^|^' ELEGY. (Utm tel vouloir le serf point ne desire.) The captive deer pants not for freedom more, Nor storm-beat vessel striving for the shore, Than I thy blest return from day to day, Counting each moment of thy long delay : Alas ! I fondly fixed my term of pain, The day, the hour, when we should meet again : But oh ! this long, this dismal hope deferred Has shown my trusting heart how much it erred ! O thou unkind ! whom I too much adore, What meant thy promise, dwelt on o'er and o'er? Could all thy tenderness so quickly fade? So soon is my devotion thus repaid? 27 4l8 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Daresf thou so soon to her be faithless grown, Whose thoughts, whose words, whose soul is all thine own? Amidst the heights of rocky Pau thy way Perchance has been by fortune led astray, Some fairy form thy wand'ring path has crost, And I thy wavering, careless heart have lost; And in that beautiful and distant spot. My hopes, my love, my sorrow are forgot! If it be so, — if I no more am prized, Cast from thy memory like a toy despised, I marvel not with love that pity fled. And all that told of me and truth is dead. Oh, how I loved thee ! — how my thoughts and fears Have dwelt on thee, and made my moments years ! Yet, let me pause, — have I not loved too well. Far more than even this breaking heart can tell? Have we not loved so fondly, that to change Were most impossible, most wild, most strange? No : all my fond reliance I renew, And will believe thee more Jhan mortal true : Thou 'rt sick ! — thou 'rt suff 'ring ! — Heaven, and I away ! Thou 'rt in some hostile clime condemned to stay ! Ah, no ! ah, no ! Heaven knows too well my care, And how I weary every saint with prayer ; And it. were hard if constancy like mine Gained not protection from the hosts divine. It cannot be ! — thy mind, too lightly moved, Forgets in change and absence how we loved; While I, in whose sad heart no change can be. Contented suffer, and implore for thee ! Oh, when I ask kind Heaven to make thee blest, No crime, methinks, is lurking in my breast. Save, when my soul should all be given to prayer, I fondly pause, and find thy image there ! Twice has the moon her new-born light received Since thy return was promised and believed; Yet silence and oblivion shroud thee still. Nor know I of thy fortune, good or ill. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 419 Though for another I am dead to thee, She scarce, methinks, can boast of fame like me, If in my form those charms and graces shine, Which, some have said, the world esteems as mine. Alas ! with idle praise they crowned my name ; Who can depend upon the breath of fame? Yet not in France alone tlie trump is blown,— Even to the Pyrenees and Calpe flown, Where the loud sea washes that frowning shore. Its echo wakes above the billows' roar; Where the broad Rhine's majestic waters flow. In the fair land where thou art roaming now; And thou hast told to my too-willing ear That gifted spirits held my glory dear. Take thou the prize which all have sought to gain, Stay thou where others plead to stay in vain; And oh ! believe none may with me compare, — I say not she, my rival, is less fair, But that so firm her passion cannot prove. Nor thou derive such honour from her love ! For me are feasts and tourneys without end, The noble, rich, and brave for me contend; Yet I, regardless, turn my careless eye. And scarce for them have words of courtesy. In thee my good and ill alike reside, In thee is all, — without thee, all is void! And, having thee alone, when thou art fled, All pleasure, all delight, all hope is dead! And still to dream of happiness gone by. And weep its loss, is now my sad employ ! Gloomy despair so triumphs o'er my mind. Death seems the sole relief my woes can find_. And thou the cause !— thy absence, mourned in vain, Thus keeps me ling'ring in unpitied pain: Not living, — for this is not life, condemned To the sharp torment of a love contemned ! Return ! return ! if still one wish remain To see this fading form yet once again; 420 EARLY FRENCH POETS. But if stem Death, before thee, come to claim This broken heart and this exhausted frame. At least in robes of sorrow's hue appear,* And follow to the grave my mournful bier; There on the marble, palUd as my cheek. These graven words my epitaph shall speak: "By thee love's early flame was taught to glow, Aiid love consumed her heart who sleeps below : The secret fire her silent ashes keep, Till by thy tears the flame is charmed to sleep ! " SONNET VII. (On voit mourir toute chose animee, OEs not, alas ! all nature fade away, If from the fragile form the soul depart ? I am that body, — thou its better part, — Where art thou? — why this cruel, sad delay ? Thy pity will, perchance, arrive too late. Ah ! soul so prized, so fondly loved, beware ! Too long thou leav'st me to consuming care, And hast resigned my part in thee to fate. Return !_ but, O my soul, with caution come, Lest in our meeting danger lurk unseen; Return with gentle greeting to thy home, Nor let one frown severe thy beauty screeii : Let me forget that sorrow has been mine. And see thy glories all unclouded shine ! * This resemblance to the epistle of Eloisa appears more than accidental ; indeed, tie whole elegy seems formed on the complaints of Eloisa and Sappho. EARLY FRENCH POETS, 42E ISAAC HABERT. Isaac Habert was the nephew of Frangois Habert, who wrote under the title of Le BailU cle Liesse, and Le Eanni de Liesse, of whose verses the following extract from his "Epistres Heroides " may give a general idea. He exhorts his readers to devotion and the studj' of the Gospel : " Ce Testament c'est le livre accompli, Des dons de Dieu exorn^ et rempU ; Livre de vie et resurrection, Du vrai salut et de redemption ; Libre plus beau qu'un Roman de la Rose Et qui du sang de Ji^sus Christ s'arrose ; Livre plus beau que celui de Gauvain Et Lancelot, dont le langage est vain ; Plus excellent ni que Perceforest, Ni chevaliers errans en la forest," &c, Fran9ois Habert translated three books of "La Chiysop^e ou I'Art de faire de Tor," a Latin poem by Aurelius Augurellus. His comedy of " Le M onarque " has for its hero Sardanapalus. He published a great many poems on various events relating to the royal family, their deaths, marriages, and births, &c. He took for his motto *' Fy de soulas." His brother Pierre also wrote, but was less celebrated, yet his works contain little that is interesting or capable of being rendered into English. THE FISHERMAN'S SONG. HESE pearls, this branch of coral fine, ThesL emeralds and rubies fair. This liquid amber, all are thine, — I would they were more rich and rare, That I might give them all, and more. And see thee smile to take my store. Oh ! I would add my heart beside. But that thou hadst long, long ago : Come to me, love, — my boat shall glide. And we will search the caves below, And draw my nets, that only wait For thee to yield their finny freight, Let us together live and love. Forget thy coldness and thy pride; lights of heaven are bright above, moon is glittering o'er the tide; winds are low, the waves asleep, only I, awake and weep ! Ye scaly people of the wave, Ye mermaids of each sparry cave. 422 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Ye know my sorrows, and can tell That I have served — how long, how well ! But still, the deeper is my care, The more unnoticed is my prayer, O love ! my nets too much delay, They tremble with their finny prey; The winds are low, the billows sleep, I, only I, awake and weep ! JACQUES TAHUREAU DU MANS. TO ESTIENNE JODELLE. (Quand tu naquis.) When first within our nether sphere Thou saw'st the light, the gods above, With all the demigods, that near The throne of regal brightness move, EARLY FRENCH POETS. 4^3 With all the goddesses, whose e}'es Give light and glory to the skies, Fraught with each influence benign, Inscribed in characters divine Upon the planet of thy birth, "Behold! a poet born to earth!" All Parnassus at the word Round thy cradle crowding came, Hailing thee their priest and lord, Who in France should spread their fame ; Garlands on thy brow they flung, And with hymns each echo nmg, Hymns of pride, of joy, and mirth, — " Lo ! a poet born to earth ! " The nymphs that through the forests stray, And in the waves delight to sport. The wanton fauns and sylvans gay. Who in each sunny glade resort, Joined in the strain, till every hill, And rock, and cave, and mountain round. And meadow, grove, and dancing rill, Jocund caught the cheerful sound, And all together hailed thy birth, " Lo ! a poet bom to earth !" Even while yet thy infant lyre Bade our bards attend with pride, Strains, that breathed immortal fire. Far excelling aught beside; Straight their harps awoke thy praise. And fair girls, with violets crowned, Tuned the most entrancing lays. Rich in music's sweetest sound, To proclaim and bless thy birth,— " Lo ! a poet born to earth!"* ^ From the edition of his works, Paris, 1574, "mises toutes ensemble et dedi^esau Reveren- dissime Cardinal de Guise." 424 , EARLY FRENCH POETS. MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. ON THE DEATH OF HER HUS- BAND, FRANCIS II. (En mon triste et doux chant.) Y lute awakes 'a mournful strain, My eyes are sadly cast Tow'rds scenes that teU of woe and pain, Of joys too dear to last ; And in despair and in lament My early years must now be spent. Alas ! has fate a pang in store That may with mine compare? Condenmed to suffer and deplore, Though born with hopes so fair: My withered heart can find no room For aught but visions of the tomb ! Though few, my early blighted years An age of grief have known. My op'ning bud of youth in tears And sad regret has blown: Regret and hopes, both frail and vain, My sole variety of pain ! What once all beautiful and gay My cheerful heart could see, — What once could make a summer day Is wintry gloom to me ; All that had power to please or charm Wears now the stamp of fear and harm. My trembling heart and eye can trace One thought, one form alone. And in the paleness of my face My misery is shown. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 425 I wear the colours of my fate, Hopeless, abandoned, desolate ! Restless I fly from spot to spot, But vainly may I range, For sorrow will not be forgot, Despair admits no change : Alike whate'er may grieve or bless, My mind is its own wilderness ! The mom may rise in beauty gay, The vesper star may glow. The woods may echo many a lay. The murmuring waters ' flow ; But in my soul, where'er I rove. Swells the deep pang of parted love. Oh ! if I cast a glance aside Where once his step has been, I see his form, his brow, his smile. Though clouds seem drawn between ;i^j. My eyes, all drowned in tears, present The image of his monument. If sleep a short oblivion brings To woes no time can heal. We talk of long-accustomed things, His fond caress I feel : Whate'er I do, whate'er betide, He seems still lingering by my side. In vain on Nature's charms I gaze, To me all dark they seem ; Whate'er her boundless store displays Appears an empty dream : No talisman the world can show To end my all-absorbing woe. 426 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Be still, my lute, no more complain; Thy theme must ever be Eternal love that mourns in vain A hapless destiny: Your lays, my tears, can nought restore,- We parted, and we meet no more !* JOACHIM DU BELLAY. Joachim du Bellay, said to be a native of Angers, was related to the Cardinal duBellay; he died of apoplexy ist January, 1560, aged thirty-five years ; he was buried in the church of Notre Dame de Paris, of which he was canon and archdeacon. Queen Mar|uente esteemed him greatly, as did also Henry II., who gave him a considerable pension. He is considered the greatest poet, with Ronsard, of his time : he is compared by Scaliger to Catullus, and shares the title of the French Ovid with many others. His facility and grace in French poetry was such, that it is said he was accustomed to swear by Apollo: " Qu'ApoUon ne soit jamais a mon aide, si cela n'est." His Latin compositions are also esteemed. He is one of those who were distinguished by the sounding title of " Poete de la Pleiade." SONNET IN A SERIES ENTITLED "L'OLIVE." (Si nostre vie.f) If our life is scarce a day On vast Time's eternal shore, And each year sweeps far away Joys and hopes that come no more ; Since all perish that have birth, Why, my captive soul, delight In our dark abodes of earth. When a region fair and bright Woos thee with its ecstacies. And thy wings expand to rise ? An apology is, perhaps, necessary for introducing the name of Mary, Queen of Scots, among the poets of France. But as France was the country of her adoption, as the recollection of her happiness there was never effaced from her memory, and as she wrote in French, her claim to a place in the " Parnasse Frangais" may probably be not unwillingly conceded, t Edit de RjDuen, 1592. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 427 There is rest we seek in vain ; There all good and pleasure reign ; There the beauty thou may'st find Which for ever haunts my mind ! SONNET DE <'L'OLIVE." (Qui nombre a quand I'astre qui plus beau, ere.) Iay, canst thou number all the stars that gleam Along the silent air in dazzling And form an everlastmg diadem For the dark tresses and clear brow of night ? Know'st thou how many flowers attena the Spring ? How many fruits fair Autumn's bounties bring ? Know'st thou each jewelled cave that hidden lies, Where the bold mariner directs his sail? 428 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Or canst thou count the vivid sparks that rise Where Etna and Vesuvius' fires prevail? How many billows rush with angry roar Against the barrier of the foamy shore? If these thou know'st, perchance thy tongue may tell Her charms, her virtues, whom I love so well ! TO ECHO. (Piteuse voix, qui escoutes mes pleurs, c^c.) f ITYING voice that heaf st my care, And so long with me hast strayed 'Midst rocks and woods, and seem'st to share Woes my tears have oft betrayed ; Voice, whose accents clear and sweet Have learnt "Olivia" to repeat Till grove and dell Olivia name, And our fate appears the same ; Thou alone my heart hast found, Noble nymph ! with pity moved, Well thou know'st the secret wound. And, like me, too much hast loved. Both alike in anguish pine. But my grief is more than thine ! IN "OLIVE." (Rendez a I'or ceste couleur qui dore, Ss^c.) Give back the gold that tints each curl, Give back a thousand treasures bright ; Give to the east those teeth of pearl, And to the sun those eyes of light. The ivory of thy hands restore, The marble that thy brow discloses; Those sighs to every opening flower. And of thy lips the pilfered roses ; That glowing cheek to early morn, To Love the spells that from him sprung EARLY FRENCH POETS. 429 That grace, those smiles, of Venus born, And to the skies that heavenly tongue. Thy name* yon tree proclaims its own. And to the rocks thy heart of stone ! THE FURIES AGAINST THE FAITHLESS.t (La fat ale flam me. ) The fatal flame will burn and spread apace. Whilst one exists of that accursed race ! * Olive. - t T\a=, furious poem seems directed agamst the Huguenot party, and is worthy of the time when the Massacre of St. Bartholomew wab looked upon as a pious act. The curses yield to none ever invented in bitterness ; and, in fact, the whole works from which the above passages are extracted form a curious contrast to the gentleness and elegance of the " Olive." 43° EARLY FRENCH POETS. O thou, whom justice, virtue, wisdom claim, To prove thy title to a Csesar's name. Thou, prince, whom as a Christian we revere. If that great fame thou ever held'st as dear. Wilt thou protect — not Mahomed's foul brood — But these vile Atheists of degenerate blood? Think'st thou to find fidelity in those Who, in their inmost hearts, to God are foes? Thou, by thy wisdom, hast effected more Than King of France has e'er performed before. But no one act such glorious fame could bring Worthy thyself, a Christian, and a king, Nor on the world so blest a boon bestow, As to destroy these vipers at a blow ! If Hell can hear, and well accord my prayer, Thus do I dedicate ye to despair. With vows and curses that the most appal ! — May on your heads the darkest evil fall ! May ye from realm to realm unpitied fly, Each prince, each potentate your enemy! Beggars and outcasts, pillaged and opprest, A common theme of obloquy and jest ! May squalid poverty your steps pursue, Wand'ring for ever, with no home in view ! Abundance, joy, and pleasure leave behind. War, plague, and famine on your pathway find; And may the air you breathe corrupted be. The earth parched up, fire quenched, and drained the sea; The sun be dark, nor warmth nor lig:ht provide, Withholding good he gives to all beside 1 May your vile lives be to yourselves even worse Than others deem them through the general curse; Yet be ye forced in agony to live. Nor find a death but that your hands can give 1 May Vengeance, while her glance new fear imparts, Press from her toads their venom on your hearts ! EARLY FRENCH POETS. 431 Before your eyes fresh scenes of horror grow, No faith, no love, no truth be yours to know; Mistrust, and dread, and hatred haunt ye still, A prey to unextinguishable ill ! JGAN ANTOINE DE BAIF. Jean Antoine de Baif was born at Venice, 1531, during the embassy of his father, Lazare de Eaif, of Anjou, who had him educated with much care, though illegitimate. He studied under Dorat, and emulated Ronsard, whom, however, he never equalled.^ In 1567, a comedy of his ■was represented before Charles IX., and was very much admired ; it was called " Taillebras." Ronsard compliments him in his fourteenth ode. The judges of the Jeux Floraux of Toulouse awarded him a silver David. Scevole de Ste. Marthe gives him the credit of having first established concerts and academies of music, and of collecting, at a pleasant house he possessed in the Faubourg St. Marcel, all the persons of merit, genius, and rank he could meet with. _ IJis fortune, however, did not appear to keep pace with his liberality, though he was much prized by the two kings Charles IX. and Henry III. He died in 1592. THE CALCULATION OF LIFE. (Tic as cent ans.) HOU art aged; but recount, Since thy early life began, What may be the just amount Thou shouldst number of thy span. How much to thy debts belong, How much when vain fancy caught thee, How much to the giddy throng. How much to the poor who sought thee. How much to thy lawyer's wiles, How much to thy menial crew. How much to thy lady's smiles. How much to thy sick-bed due. How much for thy hours of leisure. For thy hurrying to and fro, How much for each idle pleasure, If the list thy memory know. 432 EARLY PRENCH POETS. Every wasted, misspent day, Which regret can ne'er recall, — If all these thou tak'st away, Thou wilt find thy age but small ; That thy years were falsely told. And. even now, thou art not old. THE QUEEN ON THE DEATH OF HENRY II. (Si j'eusse eii le pouvoir.) Oh, could the power my earnest wishes crown, To lay at once this earthly burthen down. And with thee go, or fondly make for thee That journey, dread to all, but sweet to me ; How blest my lot ! But Heaven, all just, all wise, Rejects my vows, and Death's repose denies : Yet still 'tis mine in tears for evermore Thy name to honour, and thy loss deplore ! (Chasciin soil heure.*) Each pursues as Fancy guides Bliss we fain would call our own ; But from our embrace she glides. Since no bounds to hope are known. ' Edit, de Paris, 1581, EARLY FRENCH POETS. 433 Scarce the treasure is possest, When new dreams the mind employ j Seeking, when we might be blest, A future in the present joy ! EPITAPH ON RABELAIS. (O PMotl) Pluto, bid Rabelais welcome to thy shore. That thou, who art the king of woe and pain, Whose subjects never learned to laugh before, May boast a laugher in thy grim domain. REMY BELLEAU. Remy Belleau, one of the Pleiade of the sixteenth century, was born at Nogent-le-Rotrou, a small town of Perche, and died at Paris, 6th of March, 1577, in his fiftieth year. He was chosen preceptor of Ch'arles de Lorrain, Marquis d'Elbeuf. His poems obtained him much celebrity, and his translations of Anacreon_ were greatly admired by his contemporaries. He was buried in the Church des Grands Augustins, and borne to the grave on the shoulders of his friends. Ronsard composed for the occasion the following epitaph, which was engraved on his tomb : *' Ne taillez, mains industrieuses, Des pierres pour couvrir Belleau : Lui mesme a bati son tombeau Dedans ses Pierres Pr^cieuses. "* He was called by Ronsard "Le Peintre de la Nature," from the spirit and grace of his descriptions, and he appears to have deserved n^uch of the praise lavished upon him by those of his time, although his Odes of Anacreon fall very far short of their originals, according to the opinion of competent judges, notwithstanding the assertion of Scevole de Ste. Marthe to the contrary. Pasquier pronounced him the Anacreon of his age. He played the principal parts in Jodelle's dramatic pieces called " Cleopatre " and " La Rencontre," which were epre- sented before Henry 11. at the Hdtel de Rheims, having previously been acted at. the College of Boncour. . _ , . , Baif consecrated to him this epitaph, expressive of his learning, mildness, prudence, probity, and the elegance of his poetical ideas : * Alluding to his poems so entitled. 434 EARLY FRENCH POETS.. " O qualem, capsula, virum tegis ! Probus, suavis, comis ille Bellaqueus, Prudensque, doctusque, elegansque. Hie jacet." He is usually placed as the third in rank of the Pleiades, i.e., after Ronsard and Joachim du Bellay ; some, however, place him before the latter. Like most of the poets of that time, he is zealous against the " new reHgion," and extremely bitter towards its supporters : half his works are, like those of Du IJellay and others, occupied in complimentary and tedious poems addressed to each of the royal family, which are not only totally uninteresting, but disgusting, when the characters are known of those whom these servile minstrels laud for mercy, piety, justice, and every human virtue ! Poets appear to have been sufficiently encouraged at court at this period, if we may judge from their number ; but the subjects of their muse seem confined in general to themes of adulation and affected passion. THE FEATHERS.* ( Voles, pennaches Men heurcux.) ■, ye happy plumes, and seek Her whose heart love knows so well ; Greet her straight with homage meek, And your fond devotion tell : Kiss her hands, and in her breast Ye, perchance, awhile may rest. Then should conqu'ring Love illume Flames within that holy shrine, Such as now, alas ! consume All the soul that "still is mine. Fan the fire so pure and bright With your feathers soft and light. Think not that this gift was made. Fairest, from some gay bird's wing; Love himself the plumes displayed. And 'tis his own offering: He despoiled his \Aings for thee, Nor will struggle to be free. Fear, not lest some passing thought Should entice his steps to rove; * Edition de Rouen, 1604. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 435 And his sojourn, frail and short, Like a bird of passage prove : All his wand'rings now are o'er, And he can escape no more. LA PLRLE,* FROM "THE LOVES OF THE GEMS." DEDICATED TO THE QUEEN OF NAVARRE. (Jc vciLx dc main industriaix.) I SEEK a pearl of rarest worth, By the shore of some bright wave, Such a gem, whose wondrous birth Radiance to all nature gave : Wliich no change of tint can know, Spotless ever, pure and white, 'Midst the rudest winds that blow Sparkling in its silver light. A favourite tlieme at his period. 436 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Thou, bright pearl, excell'st each gem In proud Nature's diadem, Yet a captive lov'st to dwell, Hid within thy cavern shell. Where the sands of India lie, Basking in the sunny sky. Thou, fair gem, art so divine. That thy birthplace must be heaven. Where the stars, thy neighbours, shine; And thy lucid hue was given By Aurora's rosy fingers, When she colours herb and flower, And, with breath of perfume, lingers Over meadow, dell, and bower. Lustrous shell, from whose bright womb Does this fairy treasure come ? If thou art the Ocean's child. Though thy kindred crowd the deep, Thou disdain'st the moaning wild, Which thy foamy lovers keep ; And in vain their vows they pour Round thy closed and guarded door, Thou, proud beauty, bidd'st them leara. But a sojourner art thou; And their idle hopes canst spurn, Nor may choose a mate below. But when Spring, with treasures rife, Calls all Nature forth to life. Then upon the waves descending, Transient rays of brightness lending, Falls the dew upon thy breast. And, thy heavenly spouse confest. Thou admit'st within thy cave That bright stranger of the wave. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 437 There he dwells, and hardens there To the gem so pure and fair, Which above all else is famed, And the Marguerite* is named. APRIL, FROM "LA BERGERIE." (Avril, rhonneicr et des bois Et des mots, &"€.) PRiL, season blest and dear, Hope of the reviving year, i Promise of bright fruits that lie In their downy canopy, Till the nipping winds are past, And their veils aside are cast. April, who delight'st to spread O'er the emerald, laughing mead. Flowers of fresh and brilliant dyes. Rich in wild embroideries. April, who each zephyr's sigh Dost with perfumed breath supply. When they through the forest rove. Spreading wily nets of love. That, for lovely Flora made. May detain her in the shade. April, by thy hand carest. Nature from her genial breast Loves her richest gifts to shower, And awakes her magic power. Till all earth and air are rife With delight, and hope, and life. April, nymph for every fair. On my mistress' sunny hair Scattering wreaths of odours sweet, For her snowy bosom meet; * The French word Marguerite, meaning hoih pearl and daisy, is a constant theme for the poets of every age, and furnishes a compliment to the many princesses of that name. • -/, ''.?'■ April, full of smiles and grace Dra^Yn from Venus' dwelling-place; Thou, from earth's enamelled plain, Yield'st the gods their breath again. 438 EARLY FRENCH POETS. 439 Tis thy courteous hand doth bring- Back the messenger of spring; And, his tedious exile o'er, Hail'st the swallow's wing once more. The eglantine and hawthorn bright. The thyme, and pink, and jasmine white, Don their purest robes, to be Guests, fair April, worthy thee. The nightingale — sweet hidden sound ! 'iVIidst the clust'ring boughs around, Charms to silence notes that wake Soft discourse from bush and brake, And bids every list'ning thing Pause awhile to hear her sing ! 'Tis to thy return we owe I^ove's fond sighs, that learn to glow After Winter's chilling reign Long has bound them in her chain. 'Tis, thy smile to being' warms All the busy, shining swarms, Which, on perfumed pillage bent. Fly from flower to flower, intent; Till they load their golden thighs With the treasure each supplies. May may boast her ripened hues. Richer fruits, and flowers, and dews, And those glowing charms that well All the happy world can tell; But, sweet April ! thou shalt be Still a chosen month for me, For thy birth to her is due,* Who all grace and beauty gave, When the gaze of heaven she drew, Fresh from ocean's foamy wave. * Venus. 440 EARLY FRENCH POETS, ESTIENNE JODELLE. Estienne Jodelle was not only celebrated in his time as a poet, but a*; an architect, painter, and sculptor. Some attribute to him the invention of French verse composed in the manner of Latin verse, according to the quantity of syllables ; others consider Baif as entitled to the honour ; which fact it is, however, of little consequence to establish, for the invention soon fell into contempt. There appears more reason to pronounce Jodelle the first who introduced into the French language tragedy and comedy, according to the rules of the ancients. He composed two tragedies, " Cleopatra " and "Dion,"and two comedies, " La Rencontre " and "L'Eugfene." Jodelle was one of those who wished to change the form of the French language ; but by rendering it demi-Greek, as Ronsard and Du Bartas did, they introduced a barbarous jargon, which, though it met with great success at court, could not fail to be held by the judicious in contempt. His facility appears to have been extraordinary : his " Cleopatra " is Said to have cost him only the attention of ten mornings, his "Eugene" less, and he had the power of composing for a wager in one night five hundred Latin verses ; he frequently produced his sonnets extempore ; but the merit of any of his works is not sufficient to induce the reader to wade through them, and the trifling specimens given are all that appeared to be worth notice. He died in 1573, aged forty-one. LeI Mothe, in enumerating the works of Jodelle, mentions a poem which, from its nature, one might imagine would not have been very long : " Les Discours de Jules Cesar avant le passage du Rubicon," yet he says it consists of " dix inille vers, pour le mohis." Du Bellay calls him the " Grave, doux et copieux Jodelle." Pasquier recounts his having said of himself, "Si un Ronsard avoit le dessus d'un Jodelle le matin, I'apres-diner Jodelle I'emporteroit de Ronsard." The Cardinal du Perron, hSwever, appears not to have shared his high opinion of his own powers, for he says, "Jodelle has never done anything worth mention- ing," and "qu'il faisoit des vers de Pois-pilis, et de mauvaises farces qui divertissoient la populace." The cardinal's judgment is now generally adopted ; and of the sonnets which La Mothe praises as made so rapidly, " que il les a tous faicts en se promenant et s'amusant par- fois k autres choses, si soudainement que, quand il nous les disoit, nous pensions qu'il ne les eust encore commencez," — not one appears to possess any other merit than the singularity he names. TO MADAME DE PRIMADIS. (Voyant, madame, en tm bel tzuvre, &=€.*) SAW thee weave a web with care, Where, at thy touch, fresh roses grew, And marvelled they were formed so fair, And that thy heart such nature knew : Alas ! how idle my surprise ! Since nought so plain can be. Thy cheek their richest hue sup- plies. And in thy breath their perfume Ues, — Their grace, their beauty, all are drawn from thee ! * Edit. 1574. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 441 JEAN DORAT. Jean Dorat, or Daurat, called in Latin, Auratus, began his career as preceptor of the pages of the king, but exercised this employment only one year. He then established an academy at the college of Coqueret, of which he was governor, and there persons of the greatest talent flocked to receive his instructions. Ronsard was one of his principal pupils, and lauds him extremely in many of his poems. His knowledge of Greek and Latin was very extensive, and he was considered, though on what grounds it is hard to conjecture, an excellent poet in his native tongue ; his chief merit, if such it can be termed, seems to have been his having first introduced anagrams into the language, a species of dulness much in vogue at his time. He held in such high esteem the prophecies of Nostradamus'^' as to explain them publicly to his pupils : he died at Paris, aged eighty. So worthless do his compositions appear, that, but that he was of so much consequence in his own time, one of the Pleiades, and looked upon as the father of literature, it would not have been deemed necessary to introduce his name at all. TO CATHERINE DE MEDICIS, REGENT. (Si fay servy cinq rois fidelement,\) If faithful to five kings I Ve been, And forty years iiave filled the scene, Till learning's stream a torrent grows, And France with knowledge overflows ; While fame is ours from shore to shore. For ancient and for modern lore \ Methinks, if I deserve such fame, And nations thus applaud my name, 'Twill sound but ill that men should say, "Beneath the Regent Catherine's SAvay — Patron of arts, of wits the pride — Of want and famine Dorat died ! " ■* It may not be out of place to say something of this extraordinary person, who com.manded the attention of his age, and was looked upon as an oracle. He was born at Salon, in the diocese of Aries, where he died in 1566 — his tomb is still shown, of which many fables are told, and there is a tradition that he was buried alive. His verses called Ceiitiirics ^ he wrote by hundreds, and they might be applied to events past, present, and to come. His first seven Centuries were published at Lyons, in 1555. Finding they met with great success, he published three more, and dedicated the whole to King Henry IL This monarch, and Catherine de Medicis, held them in much esteem, He received rewards from several princes, and before his death his Centuries amounted to twelve. The best edition of his works is that of the Elzevirs, date 1668 ; at the beginning are represented two of the most remarkable events pre- dicted by him, i.e., the death of Charles L of England, in 1649, and the great Fire of London in 1666. J- J i_ He foretold the death of Henry IL, in 1555, and it happened in 1559.; he also predicted the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, which occurred in 1572, his death having happened six years previously. One of his predictions was, that in 1792 the Christian religion would be abolished in France, and many of the nobles and clergy put to death. The well-known distich on his Centuries which follows has been attributed to Jodelle, Beze, and others : " Nostra damus, cum falsa damus : nam fallere nostrum est ; Et cum falsa damus, nil nisi nostra damus."— See Appendix. t See "Le Parnasse Francois," edit. Paris, 1733. 443 Early french poets. FRANCOIS DE LOUVENCOURT DE VAUCHELLES.* (Je n'eus pas le moyen scukmeiit de lay dire Un adieu comine it f ant, a^cj HAD not even time to say The fond adieu that swelled my heart, So quickly sped the hour away, And brought the signal to depart. Alas ! that moment to review, So full of sad regret and pain, Seems all my sufferings to renew, And makes me weep those tears again. I thought to tell her all my care, Yet dared not breathe a single word, Lest she should smile at my despair. Or but some chilling look afford. How blissfully that hour flew by! But ah ! as transient as dear, — • Like meteors in a tranquil sky. That in bright sparkles disappear. JACQUES DAVY DU PERRON. Jacques Davy du_ Perron was born at St. Lo, in Lower Normandy, 15th November, 1556: he died 5th .September, 1618. Till tire age of seventeen he was brought up by Iiis father in the opinions of Calvin, wliich he afterwards renounced, and became a cardinal. He was greatly esteemed at the court of Henry III., and by all the poets of his time. An anecdote is told of iris extraordinary memory : being one day with the king, to whom he was reader, a poet having recited a very long poem, Du Perron assured his majesty that he was the author of the verses, and to prove the fact, offered to repeat them word for word : this he immediately did, in a manner that left no doubt of the truth of his assertion ; having gained this triumpli, he restored the honour to the real author. He was ver>^ fond of reprinting his poems even after he became a cardinal, though their subjects were principally amatory. His poem on the death of the Duke de Joyeuse is esteemed, and also his funeral oration on the death of Maiy Stuart. Perrault, in his " Homnies illustres du i?"^""" siecle," thus remarks : " It is difficult to com- prehend how Du Perron, who lived at the time of Ronsard, should speak the language of the His poems are dedicated to the Princess Catherine d'Orleans de Longueville, edit, 1595. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 443 present day, and that his style should have advanced to that which was not in general use till more than sixty years afterwards." After the death of Henry IV. he retired into the country, and it is said when he was ill, so impatient was he of suffering, that, great as he was, he wished it had been possililc for Iiim to exchange all his preferment, all his knowledge, and all his reputation for the health of the (Jur€ of Bagnolet.* (Qua?id riiifidcle nsoit envcrs moi de scs charmcs, Son traistre ca'iir nialloit de souspirs csmouvant, e>r.t^ ,HKN she, who made my heart her prize, By gentle vows that seemed so fair, All sighs her breath, all tears her eyes, — That were but water and but air ! 'T was b}' her eyes, false lights ! she swore, Her aids in cruel perjury. Our love should ne'er a change deplore, — But ah ! her e3'es are, false as she ! Those c)-es where lurk such foes to joy, 'Twere strange if they their art forgot; — Those eyes are hers but to destroy. And useless if they injure not. 'Twas by her eyes she vowed to prove Still the same truth that then she knew: Nor spoke she false^ — though changed her love — For never yet that love was true ! 'Twas by her eyes she vowed, — and they Gave tears that told her heart opprest; They seemed like founts of truth to play Round that unshaken rock, her breast. But how betrayed was I — how vain ! Nor marked what guile her thoughts involved, • A village near Paris, of which Du Perron was seigneur. + From " Les Muses Fran9oises," edit. 1607. 444 nARLY FRENCH POEfS. 'Twas but a vapour of her brain, That in a passing shower dissolved. Alas ! had I adored her less, That fickle grace I would not blame, Nor mourn her falsehood's harsh excess,- But ah ! my love deserved the name ! Learn, ye deceived, of each deceiver, To risk no hopes, to be unmoved, — To war with oaths, to trust her never, And only love as ye are loved. If real faith can e'er be found. Love well, nor let a care intrude ; But those chameleon hearts, unsound, Give them but air, their proper food. Ungrateful maid, thy perfidy Instructs my heart this lore to know: The lesson taught too soon by thee These lines shall pay — 't is all I owe ! PIERRE DE RONSARD. Pierre de Ronsard belonged to a noble family of the Vendomois. He was bom 1524 at the Chateau de la Poissonnifcre ; his father was Chevalier de I'Ordre, and viaitrc (Thdtel to Francis I. He came at an early age to Parisj and steadied at the college of Navarre for a time, when he became page, at twelve years old, to the dauphin, on whose death the Duke of Orleans, his brother, took him into his service, from whence he passed to James Stuart, King of Scotland, who visited Paris in order to espouse Magdalen of France. Ronsard followed him to Scotland, and there, and in England, ^passed two years ; on his return he once more entered the service of the Duke of Orleans, who employed him in diflFerent negotiations. He travelled to Italy, where, falling sick, he returned home, and having become rather deaf, he was induced to embrace the profession of the church, and to renew his study of the belles leiires, in which he made rapid progress under the auspices of Jean Dorat. Charles IX. bestowed on him the priories of Croi-\-Val and St. Cosme-lez-Tours, as Avell as the abbey of Bellozane. Auguste de Thou says that Ronsard read with so much application the works of the ancients, and so happily imitated them, that he not only equalled, but in many instances- surpassed, the most famous poets of antiquity : he considers him the most accomplished poet since the reign of Augustus. The two Scaligers, Adrien Turnebe, Marc Antoine Muret, Estienne Pasquier, Sc^vole de Ste. Marthe, Pierre Pithou, Davy du Perron, and many other learned men of his time, add to which several among those of foreign nations, as Pierre Victorius, Spero Speronius, Thomassin, Joseph Vossius, Glaus Eorrichius, have ranked him as the finest of French poets, and some EARLY FRENCH POETS. 445 have gone so far as to consider him the third of the universe, placing him immediately after Homer and Virgil. Marguerite, Duchess of Savoy, so renowned for her virtues and gi'eat knowledge, esteemed him highly, and was the Cause that her brother, Henry II,, appreciated and rewarded him in the manner he did. He was the first who introduced the ode in France, and also ventured to compose an epic poem, entitled the " Franciade."* At the Jeux Floraux of Toulouse he gained the first prize, which is a silver eglantine ; this, ho'vyever, was considered too mean a reward for such a poat, and the Parliament and nobles voted him a massive silver Minerva of considerable value, which they sent him, and which Ronsard immediately presented to the king, Henry 11. , who was highly flattered by the tribute. Ronsard was forthwith named by the Parliament of Toulouse ' Le Poete Frmicois " par excellence. Queen Elizabeth was extremely fond of the writings of Ronsard, and sent him a diamond of great price, comparing the beauty and bril- liancy of his verses to the finest gem. To the fair and unfortunate Mary Stuart his verses were a source of consolation during her confinement. To testify her sense of the poet's devo- tion, which so many of his verses expressed, and in acknowledgment of the praises he lavished upon her, she directed her secretary Nauson to send him a buffet worth two thousand crowns, in which was a vase in the form of a rose-tree, representing Parnassus, and a Pegasus above, on which was inscribed : " A Ronsard, I'Apollon de la source des Muses." Henry II,, Francis II., Charles IX,, and Henry III. distinguished Ronsard by their ad- miration, and the benefits they conferred on him. Charles IX., in particular, had much affec- tion for him.t and took great pleasure in conversing with him, and in writing to him in verse, in which he regarded him as his master. He ordered in all his journeys that the poet should be carefully lodged in the palace or house which he himself occupied. The following lines are more remarkable for the esteem which he appears to have felt for Ronsard than for their poetical merit : " Ronsard, je connois bien que si tu ne mc vois Tu oublies soudain de ton grand roy la vols ; Mais pour t'en souvenir, pense que je n'oublie Continuer toujours d'apprendre en poesie : Et pour ce j'ai voulu t'envoyei cest escrit. Pour enthousiazer ton phantastique esprit. " Done ne t'amuser plus a faire ton mcsnage ; Maintenant n'est plus tems de faire jardinage : II faut suivre ton roy, qui t'aime par sus tous, Pour les vers qui de toy coulent braves et doux ; Et crois, si tu ne viens me trouver k Amboise, Qu'entre nous adviendra une bien grande noise." Ronsard died at his priory of St. Cosme, 27th December, 1585, in his sixty-second year. He had suffered much from illness during several years, but preserved his faculties entire to the last, dictating, even on his death-bed, several poems, and finishing two sonnets, in which he recommends his soul to mercy. He was buried with little ceremony ; but twenty-four years after his death, Joachim de la Chetardie, being Prieur Commandataire of St, Cosme, indignant that so great a poet should receive so little honour, and remain with no inscription to his memorj-, erected a handsome tomb of marble, with his statue executed by one of the most famous Parisian sculptors. , ^ i_. ■ , In 1586, 24th February, a service and Pompe Funebre was performed for him in the chapel of the college of Boncour, at which many exalted personages assisted. The royal band attended and Mauduit, one of the best musicians of the time, and a friend of Ronsard's, was the composer employed. Jacques Davy du Perron, afterwards cardinal, pronounced his funeral oration in the court of the said college, which was arranged for the occasion, and so numerous was the assembly, that the Cardinal de Bourbon, and many other princes and great men were obliged to return, being unable to penetrate the crowd, Ronsard preserved Unimpaired his great reputation till Malherbe criticised his works so severely, although he allows him great merit for imagination. Boiieau, after having praised Marot, thus speaks of Ronsard : Ronsard, qui le suivit, par un autre nidthode R^glant tout, brouilla tout, fit un art k sa mode. ^ Called by Binet his **di%-ine work." . , ,^. , „ , t " Bon et vertueux prince, pere des bons espnts. —Vie de K07isara. ^4'J EARLY FRENCH POETS. Et toutefois long-temps eut un heureux destin ; I\Ims sa nir..se,-en Frangois parlant Grec et Latin, Vit dans I'hge suivant, par un retour grotesque, Tomber de aes grands mots le fastc pedantesqtie." NeverthelesK there is much merit amidst the bombast of Ronsard, and he deserves, perhaps, more praise than has been awarded him : he, however, created a style which was servilely followed by a host of contemporary poets, many of whom possessed his defects without his genius, and France was inundated with sonnets, amours, bergeries, a la mode de Ronsard^ nsqite ad nausenvi ! In his life by Claude Binet, appended to his works, the following remarks occur: " As the cliild ^\■as being carried from the Chateau de Poissonniere to the village of Coustures to be christened, the person who carried him, in crossing a meadow, accidentally let him fall un the flowery turf, which softly received him ; another person hastening to take up the infant, spilt over him a vase of rose-water which she wab bearing : these were considered as presages' of his future fame and excellence." He had constantly the works of some celebrated French poet in his hand, and chiefly delighted in Jehan Lemaire de Helge, the "Romance of the Rose," Coquillart, and Clement Marot. After Ronsard's "Amours" appeared, and the four books of his odes, the swarm of petty poets which started up, because they could compose a ballad, a chayit )-oyal, or a rondeau^ however insipid it might be, supposed themselves entitled to the same honours as the master poet, and from time to time caused him some annoyance : he alludes to this in one of his " Hymnes." " Escarte loin de mon chef Tout malheur et tout meschef ; Pre'serve-moi d'infamie, De toute langue enncmie iLt de tout acte malin, Et fay que devant mon prince De^ormai.s plus ne me pince Le tenaille de i^ielliii." He, however, afterwards altered the last line, as iMelUn de St. Gelais sought his friendship. This crowd of railers and imitators continuing to attack him, ridiculing his btyle, accusin" him of obscurity and affectation, he was induced to simplify his ideas, and, to assist the compre- hension of bis readers, De IVluret and Remy Belleau undertook to write annotations to the first and second part of his "Amours," which are sometimes pleasing and learned, though, as is usual in such cases, they assist but little in making the author's meaning clear. Binet considers that his most appropriate epitaph may be found in a line of his own : " Je suis Ronsard, et cela tc suffise." Ronsard always expressed great contempt Kar pociasters, who, he said, esteemed their rhymed prosn as fine verse ; that poetry, being the language of gods, ought not to be lightly attempted by man, and none but the inspired ought to attempt it at all. TO HIS LYRE. (Lyre dork oil Phosbits seidement.*) Oh, golden lyre, whom all the muses claim, And Phogbus crowns with uncontested fame, My solace in all woes that Fate has sent; At thy soft voice all nature smiles content, Tlie dance springs gaily at thy jocund call. And with thy music echo bower and hall. Edit, of his pccms, with commentary by iMuret, Paris, EARLY FRENCH POETS. 44;/ When thou art heard the lightnings cease to play, And Jove's dread thunder faintly dies away j Low on the triple-pointed bolt reclined, His eagle droops his wing, and sleeps resigned; As at thy power his all-pervading eye Yields gently to the spell of minstrelsy. To him may ne'er Elysian joys belong, AVho prizes not, melodious lyre, thy song. Pride of my youth ! — I first in France made known All the wild wonders of thy godlike tone; I tuned thee first, for harsh thy chords I found, And all thy s\\'eetness in oblivion bound ; But scarce my eager fingers touch thy strings, ^^'hen each rich strain to deathless being springs. Time's withering grasp was cold upon thee then, . And my heart bled to see thee scorned of men, "Who once at monarchs' feasts, so gaily dight. Filled all their courts with glory and delight. To give thee back thy former magic tone, The force, the grace, the beauty all thine own, Through Thebes I sought, Apulia's realm explored, And hung th.eir spoils upon each drooping chord. Then forth through lovely France we took our way, And Loire resounded many an early lay : I sang the mighty deeds of princes high, And poured the exulting song of victory. He who would rouse thy eloquence divine, In camps or tourneys may not hope to shine. Nor on the seas behold his prosperous saH, Nor in the fields of warlike strife prevail. But thou, my forest ! and each pleasant wood ^Vhich shades my own Vendome's majestic flood, Where Pan and all the laughing nymphs repose. Ye sacred choir, whom Braye's fair walls enclose, 448 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Ye shall bestow upon your bard a name That through the universe shall spread his fame; His notes shall grace, and love, and joy inspire, And all be subject to his sounding lyre. Even now, my lute, the world has heard thy praise, Even now the sons of France applaud my lays : Me, as their bard, above the rest they choose. To you be thanks, O each propitious muse ! That, taught by you, my voice can fitly sing. To celebrate my country and my king ! Oh ! if I please, oh ! if my songs awake • Some gentle memories for Ronsard's sake. If I the harper of fair France may be. If men shall point and say, " Lo ! that is he ;" If mine may prove a destiny so proud That France herself proclaims my praise aloud, If on my head I place a starry crown. To thee, to thee, my lute, be the renown !* FROM HIS "LOVES." (Une beaute ae qtiinze ans, mfantine.) Fifteen lovely childish springs. Hair of gold in crisped rings. Cheek and lip with roses spread, Smile, that to the stars can lead, Grace, whose every turn can please, Virtue worthy charms like these; Breast, within whose virgin snows Lies a gentle heart that glows 'Midst the sparkling thoughts of youth All divine with steady truth ,t .. T^^^'^u''' •'^'■f ^ °^ S"^ above poem iviU remind the reader of Moore's^ exquisite Insh melody, ■ ■ -.f "'"i'ff""^ Country ! but tile Jrench poet is so well satisfied ,vith hwiself, that it IS with some difficulty we can accord to him his just meed of praise t These lines remind one of Lord Bj-ron's, in his description of ziileilca : " The heart whose softness harmonized the whole." .EARLY FRENCH POETS. 449 Eyes, that make a day of night ; Hands, whose touch so soft and light Hold my soul a prisoner long ; Voice, whose soft, entrancing song, Now a smile, and now a sigh. Interrupts melodiously ! These are charms, within whose spell All my peace and reason dwell. LOVES. (QLil, qui des mims a ton vouloir disposes.) Eyes, which dispose my every glance at will. The sun that rules each planet of my skyj Smile, which from liberty debars me still, And canst transform me at thy fantasy; Bright silver tears ! that fall like balmy dew, AxiA bid me hope thy pity to obtain ; Hands, which my soul a willing captive drew. Imprisoned ever in a rosy chain : So much I am your own, so well has Love Within my heart your images portrayed. That envious time nor death can e'er remove The glowing impress which his pencil made ; And there shall still, through all my life of pain. Those eyes, that smile, that hand, those tears remain ! LOVES. (Cesse tes plmrs.) My sorrowing muse, no more complain,-=- 'Twas not ordained for thee. While yet the bard in life remain. The meed of fame to see. The poet, till the dismal gulf be past, Knows not what honours crown his name at last. 29 450 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Perchance, when years have rolled away, My Loire shall be a sacred stream, My name a dear and cherished theme, And those who in that region stray Shall marvel such a spot of earth Could give so great a poet birth. Revive, my muse, for virtue's ore In this vain world is counted air, But held a gem beyond compare When 'tis beheld on earth no more. Rancour the living seeks ; the dead alone Enjoy their fame, to envy's blights unknown. TO HIS MISTRESS'S DOG. (Petit Barbet I que tii es bienhcureux ! (yc.) iIj,h, happy favourite, how blest, AVithin her arms so gently prest ! If thou couldst know what bliss is thine On that dear bosom to recline ! Whilst I endure a life of pain, Condemned to murmur and complain ! For, all too well, alas ! I know Each fickle change from joy to woe ; The fatal lore I learnt too soon. And lost my day before its noon. Oh that I were a village clown. Senseless, unfeeling, stupid grown, A labourer, whose only care His daily food is to prepare ! My reason only sorrow brings, And all my pain from knowledge springs ! EARLY FRENCH POETS. 45 1 EPITAPH DE MARIE/" (Cy reposent les oz de la belle Marie, Qui me fist pour Anjou quitter mon Vandomois, &■'£.) J FRF lies my Mary ! she who lured *^ me first From fair Vendome in An- jou's meads to rove, She «'ho my fond, my early passion nurst, Who was my hope, my being, and my love. Honour and gentleness with her lie low. That tender beauty, now my soul's despair ! The torch of Love, his arrows and his bow. My heart, my thoughts, my life are buried there. Thou art, fair spirit, starred amidst the skies, And angels gaze enraptured on those eyes ; Earth sadly mourns her richest jewel fled. But thou still livest, and 't is I am dead ! Ah, wretch ! whom too much trust, alas ! betrayed, Whose heart three friends a ruined shrine have made. Ah, Mary ! sad the lot reserved for me, Deceived by love, and by the world, and thee ! TO MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND. All beauty, granted as a boon to earth, That is, has been, or ever can have birth, Compared to hers is void, and Nature's care Ne'er formed a creature so . divinely fair. In spring 'amidst the lilies she was born. And purer tints her peerless face adorn; * See concerning this lady ' ' A'-s milan^es tin's d'uiie petite bihliotlieqtie, " by M. Cliarles Nodier, 452 EARLY FRENCH POETS. And though Adonis' blood the rose may paint, Beside her bloom the rose's hues are faint : With all his richest store Love decked her eyes ; The Graces each, those daughters of the skies. Strove which should make her to the world most dear, And, to attend her, left their native sphere. The day that was to bear her far away, — Why was I mortal to behold that day? Oh, had I senseless grown, nor heard, nor seen, Or that my eyes a ceaseless fount had been. That I might weep, as weep amidst their bowers The nymphs, when winter winds have cropt their flowers; Or when rude torrents the clear streams deform. Or when the trees are riven by the storm ; Or rather, would that I some bird had been, Still to be near her in each changing scene. Still on the highest mast to watch all day. And like a star to mark her vessel's way ; The dangerous billows past, on shore,' on sea. Near that dear face it still were mine to be. O France ! where are thy ancient champions gone, Roland, Rinaldo ? is there li^'ing none Her steps to follow and her safety guard, And deem her lovely looks their best reward? Which might subdue the pride of mighty Jove To leave his heaven, and languish for her love ! No fault is hers, but in her royal state, For simple love dreads to approach the great; He flies from regal pomp, that treacherous snare, Where truth unmarked may wither in despair. Wherever destiny her path may lead. Fresh springing flowers will bloom beneath her tread. All nature will rejoice, the waves be bright, The tempest check its fury at her sight, The sea be calm; her beauty to behold. The sun shall crown her with his ra.ys of gold, Unless he fears, should he approach her throne, Her majesty should quite eclipse his own. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 453 TO MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND. (Je liay vouhi, Madame, que ce livre Passast la mer, &>€.) WOULD not, lady, that this book of mine Should pass the seas by thee unseen, unknown. Whose presence yields all that we deem divine, All Heaven can give, or Nature calls her own ! I would it followed wheresoe'er thou art, In solitude, or 'midst a nation's gaze, AVhere, as they hail thee, each devoted heart Swells with their sovereign's honour and her praise. I would it followed thee, when from the throng Of loyal subjects thou, retired, may'st muse. When, free from cares that still to state belong. Thou wilt not to thy lute a lay refuse. And mine, perchance, the happy verse may prove Destined to soothe thee, — chosen the rest above ; Oh ! all the honour of the world to me Is nought compared to that of pleasing thee ! My book, 'twere hard if England claimed thee all. And thou from Scotland shouldst too long delay, Where, ready at thy mistress' slightest call. Thou may'st thy tender, duteous homage pay. Then shalt thou, happy far beyond thy race. Behold two queens whom the same seas enclose, Whose fame their billows would in vain oppose, Which fills the universe and boundless space! 454 EARLY FRENCH POETS. 'Tis meet that, since for both I frame these lays, They should each separate beauty fitly praise; That each should at her feet the gift survey. Which shall the bard's devoted zeal display. Oh, happier than thy master's is thy lot, — Thou goest, my verse, where I so fain would be; Oft in my dreams I reach that blessdd spot, But waking, lo ! between us roars the sea. Oh! could I pass even as my thoughts have done, Soon would the dear, the envied goal be won! And I should gaze on eyes whose radiant light Can make eternal day of darkest night ! There, throned in that celestial place of earth, Virtue, and courtesy, and honour dwell, And beauty, which from heaven derived its birth, And by its dazzling splendour seems to tell How fair the angels are, for ever blest. Since, by a part, we judge of all the rest. She, peerless lady, will with joyous air Welcome thee, happy page, with many a smile ; With her soft hand receive thee to her care. And bid thee speak of Ronsard's fate the while : Where dwells he now, what does he, how he fares? And thou shalt answer, that he lives in woe. That life is tasteless — that no bliss he shares. Weary, alone, the woods his sorrow know; And, with no hope of solace, evermore A prince, two kings, his tears in vain deplore ! TO MARY STUART, QUEEN OF SCOTLAND. (Encores que la mer de Men loin nous scpare, &'c.) Although the envious seas divide us far, Thine eye, heaven's brightest, most immortal star. Will not consent that time nor space should sever From thee the heart that is thine own for ever. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 455 O queen ! who hold'st in bonds so rare a queen, Thy counsels change, assuage thy bitter ire ! The sun in all his course has never seen A deed so foul, so vengeful, and so dire! Degenerate race! what mean those shining arms Which Renault, Launcelot, Orlando bore ? The helpless sex they should protect from harms, But lo! they can oppose, defend, no more! Rust, ye vain trophies, idle, useless all, — France has no sons to win a queen from thrall ! MOTIN.» (Qui retarde tes pas enserrez d'une chatne, Sans a moy reve7iir, hifidele trompeur ? &'c.) HY linger, thus, — what heavy chain Can absence round thee throw? Hast thou some pleasure in my pain ? — Think'st thou Love's food is woe ? And I — alas ! what idle dream Made thy false heart all fondness seem? If faith that heart has ever known, 'Tis constancy to change alone. No more for his return I pray, Who smiles content to view my pain ; My doubts, my hopes are past away. My fears and his untruth remain. ^ See "Le Pai'nasse ties plus Excellens Poetes de ce tems/' edit. 1607, Paris. 456 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Still-glitt'ring gem, why break'st thou not? A pledge he gave in early days ; Since all his passion is forgot, What boots thy unextinguished blaze? Thou still art bright and pure, but he In hardness only is like thee. I gaze on thee with sad regret, I strive to think on him no more; Oh! could I but as soon forget As I, too soon, believed before! Had I foreseen my lonely state, Oh, had I not been wise too late, Or learnt from him the happy art To hide each feeling of my heart ! Ye letters that his love record. True portraits of his fickle mind, How have I dwelt on each fond word, Like him, how false — like him, how kind ! Oh that my hand and heart had power To bid the flames your lines devour, Or cease to read them, and deplore, Or, reading, could believe no more! But no, I dwell upon ye still. And with vain hope my cares amuse, My thoughts with treacherous memories fill. And in a dream existence lose ! EARLY FRENCH POETS. 457 MAYNARD.* [Bi'en que vos yeux briilent mon ame, 6-r.) LTHOUGH thine eyes consume my soul, ^ Yet, by their power I swear, ^ None shall perceive their strong ""~ control, Nor guess my secret care. 2^? My tongue shall guard the truth so well In all my misery. That not a struggling sigh shall tell What I endure for thee. No, none shall hear, no, none record How all my hopes decay; And fear not thou a single word My passion should betray. The only cause thou hast for fear Is that, when I am cold, Those who upon the mournful bier My senseless form behold, May find, in characters of flame, Graved on my breast thy cherished name 1 ^ See Parnasse. 458 EARLY FRENCH POETS. PHILIPPE DESPORTES. Philippe Desportes was born at Chartres, and died in 1606- He was canon of the Sainte- Chapelle at Paris, Abbe of Tiron of Josaphat, Vaux-Cernay, Aurillac and Bon Port. His modesty induced him to refuse several bishoprics, among others even that of Bourdeaux. His family was respectable but poor, and in his youth he entered the service of a bishop, who took him to Rome, where he studied the Italian language, and formed his taste on the model of Itahan poetry. He afterwards accomp4nied Henry IIJ. to Poland, and became a great favourite with that prince, "son bien airhe et favorj'' poete," and also with the Duke de Joyeuse, who was all-powerful with his doting master. Desportes distinguished himself as much as a good citizen under Henry IV. as a good poet : he appears to have been a very amiable man, and to have preferred literary (juiet to ambition. His ample fortune he devoted to encouraging men of letters, and in collecting a fine library-. His style is simple and natural, and he reformed much of the pedantic style which HpHsard and his followers had introduced into the French language. Boil?au considers that he profited by the faults of Ronsard; he saj's ; " La chfite de Ronsard, tr^buch^ de si haut, Rendit plus retenus Desportes et Bertaut.". He was liberally rewarded for his poems by Charles IX. and Henry III., Claude Gamier thus mentions his good fortune ; " Et toutefois Desportes (Charles de Valois etant bien jeune encor) Eut pour son Rodomont huit cent couronnes d'or: Je le tiens de lui meme ; et qu'il eut de Henri Dont il (^toit nommd le poete favorj", Dix mille dcus pour faire Que scs premiers labeurs honorassent le jour." DIANE. (Si lafoyplus certaine en ime ame nonfeinte, ^c.*) If stainless faith and fondness tried, If hopes, and looks that softness tell, If sighs whose tender whispers hide Deep feelings that I would not quell. Swift blushes that like clouds appear, A trembling voice, a mournful gaze, The timid step, the sudden fear. The pallid hue' that grief betrays, If self-neglect to live for one, If countless tears, and sighs untold. If sorrow, to a habit grown, — When absent warm, when present cold, — If these can speak, and thou unmoved canst see. The blame be thine,— the ruin falls on me ! * Edit. i(v\-i, Paris. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 459 DIANE, LIVRE I. Je me laisse bruler d'une flamme couverte, Sans pleurer, sans gdmir, sans en fair semblant ; Quant je suis tout en feu, Je feins d'estre tremblant, Et de peur. du pdril je consens ^ ma perte. Ma bouche, incessament aux cris d'amour ouverte, N'ose plaindre le mal qui mes sens va troublant ; Bien que ma passion, sans cesser redoublant, Passe toute douleur qu'autrefois j'ay soufferte. Amans, qui vous plaignez de vostre ardant vouloir D'amer en lieu trop haut, de n'oser vous douloir, N'egalez vostre cendre k ma flamme incognue ; Car je suis tant, par force, ennemy de mon bien, Que je cache ma peine a celle qui me tue, Et, quand elle me plaint, je dy que ce n'est rien ! PERISH with concealed desire. No tears, no sighs the truth betray; I tremble with a heart all fire. And in my terror pine away. My lips no sound but sorrow's know. Yet dare not whisper my regret; Though deeper now my secret woe Than ever pierced my bosom yet. O ye who mourn the fatal spell That bade ye love above your sphere, Who fain your hidden thoughts would tell, Though bitter may your lot appear. Far worse is mine, whose ev'ry word Is to myself with misery fraught, — ■ Avoids the balm her looks afford, And when she pities, says — 't is nought ! 46o EARLY FRENCH POETS. DIANE. (0 Lict, s'il est ainsi que tu sois invente, Gt'c.) '--^ „^ gentle couch ! if thou wert made For soft repose when night descends, Whence comes it, on thy bosom laid, New grief thy lone retreat attends? I find no calm, — from side to side Disturbed and sad I turn in vain. And restless as the troubled tide, My heart recalls past shades of pain. I close my thiobbing lids, and strive To lose the memory of care. But still those dark regrets revive. And slumber comes not to my prayer. One comfort thou canst yield to me, — In thee each hope I may confide. May tell those mournful thoughts to thee I dare not breathe to aught beside ! EARLY FRENCH POETS. 461 JEAN BERTAUT. Jean Bertaut was born at Caen, where he pursued his studies. Afterwards, coming to Paris, he was much esteemed by Henry III., and also by Henry IV. He became almoner to Catherine de Medicis, Abbe of Aunay, Bishop of Seez, and died in 161 1. His works consist of Pieces Calantes, and poems on pious subjects, Translations of the Fsalms, anj Hymns. (Les deux inexorablcs, &'c.^ ) ■ ORTUNE, to me unkind, So scoffs at my distress, Each wretch his lot wpuld find Compared to mine a Hfe of hap- piness. My pillow every night Is watered by my tears ; Slumber yields no delight. Nor with her gentle hand my sorrow cheers. For every fleeting dream But fills me with alarm ; And still my visions seem Too like the waking truth, preg- nant with harm. Justice and mercy's grace. With faith and constancy. To guile and wrong give place, And every virtue seems from me to fly. Amidst a stormy sea I perish in despair; Men come the wreck to see, And talk of' pity while I perish there. Ye joys, too dearly bought, Which time can ne'er renew, Dear torments of my thought, Why, when ye fled, fled not your memory too? Alas ! of hopes bereft, The dreams that once they were, Is all that now is left. And memory thus but tarns them all to care ! L'Abbe Gouje*- t63 EARLY FRENCH POETS. RENAISSANCE D'AMOUR. ■y-)^ . . . bW" (Qtiand je revis ce que fat tant aimk, ' ""' Pen s'en fallut que man feu ral- lume, &^c.) HEN I met her once more whom so fondly I loved, My heart with its former emotion was moved ; And I felt like the slave who had wandered in vaih, And fortune had led to his master again. What words to delight me— what fear^ to annoy! What tender ideas that each othef de' stroy ! And oh ! what regrets that for freedom I strove, Nor strayed undisturbed in the mazes of love! Alas 1 how I sighed for the shades that were past, And turned from the wisdom that crowned me at last ! Oh, chains so delicious! why could I not bear Those bonds which 'tis joy, 'tis enchantment to wear? Too happy is he whom thy fetters adorn; Why left I the rose for the dread of its thorn? EARLY FRENCH POETS, 463 AMADIS JAMYN. The poems of Jamyn, like too many of those of all the poets of this periodj are principally dedicated to the royal family, in a strain of exaggerated (lattery. Words seem inadequate to express the perfections of that constellation of virtues, the offspring of the Queen-Mother Catherine de ' Medicis. It is annoying to find that nothing more can be said in praise of Francis I. or Henry IV. than has been lavished on characters so opposite, and who, with all their weaknesses, cruelties, and crimes, are held up by this servile race of adulators as models of piety, bravery, wisdom, and goodness ! CALLIREE. (Combien que mon ame alors Qiuind ta beaute fabandonue, &c.'''') "\y:,;LTHOUGH when I depart, My soul that moment flies, And in Death's chill my lieart Without sensation lies. Yet still content am I Once more to tempt my pain, So pleasant 'tis to die, To have my life again. Even thus I seek my woe. My happiness to learn; It is so blest to go, So happy to return! ARTEMIS. (Fource que les mortels soiit coushmtiers de voir Flamboyer a iotis cmips les estoiles nuitaleSf &=€.) Because each night we may behold The stars in all their beauty gleam. And the sun's rays of living gold. To us but common th&gs they seem. Far more we prize the gems of earth, Rubies, and pearls, and diamonds bright, But little are those treasures worth Compared to Heaven, who gave their light. Edit. 1577. 464 EARLY FRENCH POETS. But when I gaze, enrapt, on thee, I know the miracle thou art ; Whether thy mind or form it be That charms each feehng of my heart, The more I see thee, yet the more Thy bright perfections I adore. D'HUXATTIME.* LE REPENTIR DU REPENTIR. {Hevien, vton cmur, ranen, regarde mi del ton oicrse, Tu te pers trap souvent, Tu semiles au cheval qui se tiie en sa course Four attraper du vent, &=€.) 'i ETURN again, return, look towards thy polar star, — Too oft thou'rt lost, my sonl, Like to the fiery steed, whose speed is urged too far, And dies without a goal. As yet ungathered all by any friendly hand, Thy tender blossoms die, Like bending, fruitful trees that on the wayside stand. But for the passer-by. ^ From "Parnasse des Muses Fran9oises," edit. 1607, Paris. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 465 The lively flame that once within me burned so high Is now extinct and fled, I feel another fire its fonner place supply, More holy and more dread : My heart with other love has taught its pulse to glow. My prison gates unclose ; My laws I fi-ame myself, no lord but reason now My rescued bosom knows. Upon a sea of love the raging storms I braved, And 'scaped the vengeful main : Wretched, alas ! is he who,- from the wreck once saved. Trusts to the winds again, ^■t * * * * * If I should ever love, my flame shall flourish well More secret than confest, And in my thought alone shall be content to dwell More soul than body's guest. If I should ever love, an angel's love be mine, And in the mind endure ; Love is a son of Heaven, nor will he e'er combine With elements less pure. If I should ever love, 'twill be in paths unknown, Where virtue may be tried; I ask no beaten way, too wide, too common grown To every foot beside. If I should ever love, 'twill be a heart unstained. Which boldly struggles still, And with a hermit's strength has, unsubdued, maintained A ceaseless war with ill. If I should ever love, a pure, chaste heart 'twill be, And not a wingdd thing, Which like the swallow lives, and flits from tree to tree. And can but love in spring. It shall be you, bright eyes,, blest stars that gild my night, Centre of all desire. In the immortal blaze and splendour of whose light Fain would my life expire ! Eyes which shine purely thus in love and majesty, Who ever saw ye glow. Nor worshipped at your shrine, an infidel must be. Or can no transport know. 30 466 EARLY FRENCH POETS. Bright eyes ! which well can teach what force is in a ray, What dread in looks so dear; Alas ! I languish near, I perish when away, And while I hope I fear! Bright eyes ! round whom the stars in jealous crowds appear, In envy of your light, Rather than see no more your splendour, soft and clear, I'd sleep in endless night. Blest eyes ! who gazes rapt sees all the boundless store Of love and fond desire. Where vanquished Love himself has graven all his lore In characters of fire ! Bright eyes — ah ! is 't not true your promises are fair ? Without a voice ye sigh. Love asks from ye no sound, for words are only air That idly wanders by. Ha ! thus my soul at once all thy sage visions fly, Thou tempt'st again the flood : Thou canst not fix but to inconstancy, And but repent'st of good ! HENRY THE FOURTH. SONG.* (Charmante Gabrielkl) My charming Gabrielle ! My heart is pierced with woe. When glory sounds her knell. And forth to war I go : Antliologie Frangaise, &A. de 1765. EARLY FRENCH POETS. 467 Parting — perchance our last ! Day, marked unblest to prove ! Oh that my Hfe were past, Or else my hapless love ! Bright star, whose light I lose — Oh, fatal memory !— My grief each thought renews . . We meet again, or die ! Parting, &c. Oh, share and bless the crown By valour given to me ; 30- -2 4^8 JSAkLv FRENCH POETS. War made the prize my own, My love awards it thee ! Parting, &c. Let all my trumpets swell, And every echo round The words of my farewell Repeat with mournful sound. Parting, &c. DE PORCHERES.* REGRETS SUR UN DEPART. (Qtiand premier je la veids, cette dme de mon dmie, Amour ! pour la brusler que n'avois-je ta Aamviel &>c.) Soul of my soul ! when first I saw her face, Why, to inspire her, had I not Love's flame? Or else his blindness, not to see her grace. Since, to escape, his wings I could not claim. After sweet hours of joy she leaves me now, And to my soul leaves but its mournful part, The memory of bliss, my source of woe. — O Fate ! since absence must divide each heart, Be cold indiff'rence o'er the present cast, Or dim oblivion o'er my pleasures past 1 '■ From " P.irnasse dcs Muses Francoises.' APPENDIX. APPENDIX. MARIE DE FRANCE. (Page 316.) In the work on Natural M-agic by John Baptista Porta (called by Sir Thomas Browne " that famous philosopher of Naples") occurs the following passage : "Homini sic lupi visus est noxius, ut quern prius contemplatus fuerit, vocem adimat, et anticijjatus obtutu nocentis, licet clamare desideret, vocis ministerio careat ; si se pra:uisum senserit, conticescit, et, ferocitate torpescente, gravem virium iacturam facit. Unde natum prouerbium ; L.2tpus est znj"abula, k Platone in Folitiis traditum." Magice Natur. Liber I. De Cansis Rerjun. "The werc-wolves are certalne sorcerers who, havyng annoynted their bodyes with an oyntment which they make by the instinct of the devil ; and putting on a certayne inchanted girdel, do not only unto the view of others seeme as wolves, but to their owne thinking have both the shape and nature of wolves, so long as they weare the said girdel. And they doe dispose themselves as very wolves, in wuiTying and killing, and moste of humaine creatures, Of such sundry have been taken and executed in sundry partes of Germany and the Nether- lands, One Peeter Stump for beeing a lueTC'ivoIf, and having killed thirteen children, two women, and one man ; was at Bedbur, not far from CuUen, in the yeare 1589, put unto a very terrible death. The werc-wolfi^Q called in Germanic) is in France Lojtpgarou." — Verstegan's Antiquities. In Mr. Algernon Herbert's letters, prefixed to Sir Frederick^ Maddens edition of William and the Werwolf (London, Nicol, 1832), are to be found many interesting particulars relative to the subject. He observes : " The earliest and most remarkable notice of the superstition is given by Plerodotus of the Neurians. Neuris was divided from Scythia proper by the river Tyres. They were said every year for a few days to be turned into wolves. This belief found its way into the most learned and civilized parts of Italy and Greece. See Pliny, who mentions a tribe descended from a certain Anthus, who chose one man by lot out of each family, who was led to the shores of a lake in that country (Arcadia), where he took off his clothes and hung them on an oak ; then swam across, betook himself to the wilderness, was turned into a wolf, and so remained for nine years, associating with a herd similar to himself. If, during that period, he abstained from human flesh, he might recover his original form by swimming back again, and resuming his clothes." Plautus, more ancient than Pliny, mentions the same family of Anthus. In Solinus' work, "The Wonders of the World," he follows Herodotus in relating many wonders of the Neurians. He describes them as worshipping Mars under the form of a sword, and says that during winter they feed their fires with human and animal bones. In Drayton's " Moon-Calf" is a story of a War- Wolf, or Woolfe, whose depredations are much enlarged on. The change in his appearance is effected by his plunging into a well.— See Dame Htrwlefs Tale. Page 324. Of The Lay of Eglantine. The following is from the romance of Tristan and Yseult : 472 APPENDIX. LAIE DE MORT DE TRISTAN DE LEONNOIS (when wandering in the forest distracted). (Jefis jadis chanfons ei laies.) free translation. Time was this harp could softly swell, Love tuned its strings in sweet accord, But now they only wake to tell The sorrow of their lord. Love ! a vassal true and tried This faithful /leart has been to thee; Why giv'st thou life to all beside, And only death to me? Thy promised joys but sorrow bring, Like morning skies whose glories call The flowers to bloom, the birds to sing. Then cast a cloud o'er all : The lover all his danger knows. Yet shrinks not from the dread of ill ; We know that thorns surround the rose. Yet seek her beauties still. Like one who nursed a sleeping snake. Enchanted with each glittering die, 1 watched the hour that bade thee wake, To find thy treachery. Yseult, O thou my lovely foe!* When closed at length is all my care, Come to the tomb where I lie low, And read engraven there: /r^ "'b''^- ^''P'-ef ion occurs in Mr. Lockart's beautiful translation of the Spanish ballad ot Jjon Rodrigo, Amada enemiga mia ! APPENDIX. 473 " Here rests a knight in arms renowned, Blush not a passing tear to shed : No peer in faithful love he found, And yet by love is dead!" The account of the "miracle'' attending the tombs of Tristan and Yseult, who were buried near together, is very poetical, and may have suggested to Lord Byron his beautiful lines on the undying rose on the tomb of Zuleika: Gouvernail, the faithful tutor of Tristan, goes to visit the tomb, and there finds his favourite hound, Hudan, guarding it. " Ores veit il que de la tumbe de Tristan yssoit une belle ronce verte et feuilMe qui alloit par la chapelle et descendoit le bout de la ronce sur la tumbe d'Yseult et entroit dedans." Mark, the King of ComouaiUes, had it cut three times in vain : "le lendemain estoit aussi belle comme elle avoit ci-devant ete et ce miracle etoit sur Tristan et sur Yseult a tout jamais advenir." Ro)n. Dc Ti-istan. I have been informed by M. Fmncisque Michel that the above passage does not exist in the original romance of Tristan, of which he is preparing an authentic version, which will doubtless be most valuable. The legend, however, is so pleasing that 1 cannot resolve to leave it unmentioned, if only for the association with Lord Byron's exquisite poem. It may take its place, probably, in the opinion of competent judges, with the spurious poems of Clotilde de Surville, which lately created so much interest in France, although it required little know- ledge to reject them altogether as fabrications. Warton says that Marie's was not the only collection of British (Armorlcan) lais, as appears not only from the Earl of Toulouse, but by the romance of "Emare," a translation from the French, which has this similar passage : *' Thys ys on of Brytayne layes That was used of olde dayes." Chaucer, in his "Dreme," has copied the- lay of Eliduc by Marie. Brangian, the favourite attendant of Yseult, is frequently mentioned in the romance : in Gower's " Confessio Amantis " her name occurs : '■ In every man's mouthe it is How Trj'stram was ui love dronke . With Beal Isowde, when they dronke The drynk whiche Brang^ieyn him bytoke, Er that king Mark," &c. — Fol. Caxton, 1493, lib. vi. fol. cxxxix. Robert de Brunne, speaking of the romance of Sir Tristram, says that ** Over gestes it has th' esteem : Over sdl that is or was, |f men it said, as made Thomas."* See Ellis. ALAI.N CHARTIER. (Page 354.) The following lines are in illustration of the exclamation of the beautiful and wretched queen : * Supposed to be Thomas of Ercildoune, the Rhymer. 474 APPENDIX. Oh ! speak to sne of life no mpre ! Its lurid star will soon decline, Soon vvill its miseries be o'er, Its pleasures never have been mine. Out upon life ! oh, if to live As I so long have done, Is all this niggard world can give, 'Tis well my sand is run. Why should I shrink, or why delay.? The future cannot show Aught that can charm my soul to stay, Or bid me sigh to go. Out upon life ! it might have given A lot from sorrow free — It might have shone with hues of heaven. But they were not for me ! This heart was fond, this heart was true, But withered, torn, opprest, It could not now its pulse renew. Or warm this tortured breast. What has it now with life to do, So changed from what it was of yore? The world is fading from my view, Oh ! speak to me of life no more ! MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. (Page 451.) Her claim to be ranked amongst the poets of France is, liowever, admitted by M. Monet, the editor of the A ntkalegie Fran(oise (3 vols. 8vo. Paris, 1765), who published those beautiful Imes, set to music, which she is said to have composed when leaving the shores of France. 4PPENP!^. 475 They possess so much gKw:e and feeling, that the English reader will pardon their introduction h?re : " Adjpu, plaisant pays de France ! Oh ma patrie La plus ch^rie. Qui as nourri ma jeijne enfance ! ^dieu, France ! adieu mes beaux jOUrs \ j^a nef qui disjoint nos amours, N'a eu de mot que la moiti^ ; XJne part te reste^ elle est tienne ; Jp {a tie k ton amitjd. Pour que de I'autre il te souvienne," MaRIE Stuart. In the same collection are also the verses of Thjbaut de Champagne, Charles, Duke of Orleans, Villon, Clement Marot, Francois Premier, Henri Quatre, &c., with the music to each. (Page 441.) The famous Quatrain of Nostradamus relating to Henry 11. 's death, by the spear of Mont gomery entering the bars of his gilt helmet, and piercing his eye, is as follows ; •^Xe Lion jeune le vieux sumiontera En champ bellique par singulier duel, Dans cage d'or les yeux lui cr^vera. Deu-x plaies une, puis mourir ! mort cruelle ! " FINIS, DALZIEL EROTHERS, CAMDEN TRESS, LONDON', Frederick "Warne & Co., PublisherSj WARNE'S 8s. 6d. LANSDOWNE TALES. Small crown 8vO) cloth gilt, with Original Illustrations. On tlie Edge of tlie Storm. By the Author of "Denise." Clare Savile. By Miss LuARD. Lady Betty. By Christabel Coleridge. Vivia : A Modern Story. By Florence Wilford. Nigel Bartram's Ideal. By Florence Wilford. Dames of High Estate. By Madame De Witt. One Year ; or, The Three Homes. '&J F. M. p. Women of the Last Days of Old France. Hanbury Mills. By Christabel Coleridge. Anne Dynevor. By MARIAN James. Tales Old and New. By the Author of " Sydonie's Dowry," &c. Denise, Ditto ditto ditta Seventeen to Twenty-one ; or, Aunt Vonica. By M. M. Bell. The Story of Sevenoaks. By Dr. Holland. The Carbridges: A Suburban Stor)-. By M. Bramston. Evelyn Howard. By Mrs. H. B. Paull. Home, Sweet Home, s Joy after Sorrow. /^ .. . „ ., Mortomley's Estate. [^^ ^■^- J- "■ ^'"°="- Frank Sinclair's Wife, ) Bedford Street, Strand. Frederick "Warne and Co., Publishers, THE COMPANION LIBRARY. In large crown 8vo, price Two Shillings each, Picture Covers. 62 Fax albove Kubies. 20 Sylvester SoTmd, H. COCKTON. 26 The Iiove Ulatch. H. COCKTON. 27 Sancy Arethusa. CAPTAIN CHAMIER. 29 Walter GorinB. ANNIE THOMAS. 30 On Guard. ANNIE THOMAS. 36 Love's Conflict. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 37 Woman against 'Woman. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 88 Gerald Estoonrt. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 39 Too Good for Him. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 40 For Ever and Ever. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 41 Nelly Brooke. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 43 The Sutherlands. SIDNEY S. HARRIS. 41 Eutledge. SIDNEY S. HARRIS. 45 Christine. SIDNEY S. HARRIS. 46 Lord Lynn's Wife. By the Author of " Lady Flavia." 47 Petronel. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 43 Veronidue. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 49 Her Lord and Master. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 60 Prey of the Gods. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 51 The Girls of Eeversliam. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 62 The Season Ticket. SAM SLICK. 63 The Mumnly. MRS. LOUDON. 64 The Chasseui: d' Afrique. COLONEL WALMSLEY. 65 The Life Guardsman. COLONEL WALMSLEY. 56 Branksome Dene. COLONEL WALMSLEY; 67 George Geith. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 58 Austin Friars. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 69 Too Much Alone. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 60 The Eioh Husband. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 61 Maxwell Drewitt. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 63 A Life's Assize. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 64 The World in the Church. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 65 City and Suburb. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 66 Fhemie Keller. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 67 Race for Wealth. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 68 Mad Dumaresq. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 69 No Intentions. FLORENCE MARRYAT. 70 Bright Morning. MARIA M. GRANT. 71 Victor LescaT. MARIA M. GRANT. 72 Artiste. MARIA M. GRANT. 73 Aunt Prue's Railway Jour- ney. MRS. GASCOIGNE. 74 Home, S^xreet Home. MRS. J. H. RIDDELLi 76 Joy after Sorroiir. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 76 The Earl's Promise. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 77 Mortom.ley's Estate. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 78 Frank Sinclair's Wife. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 79 The Ruling Passion, MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 80 My First and Last Love. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 81 Gabriel Conroy. BRET HARTE. 82 Above Suspicion. MRS. J. H. RIDDELL S3 The Sun Maid. MARIA M. GRANT. 84 A Horrid Girl. By the Author of "Margaret's Engagement." 85 Clytie. JOSEPH HATT02f. 86 Bitter Sweets. JOSEPH HATTON. 87 Not in Society. JOSEPH HATTOI?, 88 Tallants of Barton. JOSEPH HATTON. 89 In the Lap of Fortune. JOSEPH HATTON, 90 Valley of Poppies. JOSEPH HATTON. 91 Christopher Kenrick. JQSEPH HATTON. Bedford Street, Strand. Frederick "Warne and Co., Publishers, WARNE'S USEFUL BOOKS. One Shilling each, fully Illustrated. In fcap. 8vo, limp cloth, or picture boards. rOE THE OOTJlfTET. Hardy Plants for Little Front Gardens. By. S. Stackhouse. British Bird Preserver ; with Practical Instructions on How to Skin, Stuff, and Mount Birds and Animals. By Samuel Wood. Wood's (Rev. J. G.) Common Shells of the Sea* Shore. Clarke's (Mrs. Lane) Sea Weeds. With Tinted Plates. Flowers and the Flov^er Garden. By ELiZABETrt Watts. Vegetables : How to Girow Them. By Elizabeth WATTSi Poultry ; their Breeding, Rearing, Feeding, and Exhibiting. By Eliz.\bhth Watts. Angling : a Practical Guide. By J. T. BURGESS. The Orchard and Fruit Garden ; its Culture and Produce. By Elizabeth Watts. A Pern Book for Everybody. With numerous Original Illustrations in Colours and Page Plates. By M. C. Cooke. Bird-Keeping : a Practical Guide. By Author of " Home Pets." English Wild Flowers. By J. T. Burgess. The Modern Bicycle ; Containing Instructions for Be« ginners. Choice of a Machine, Hints on Trainin)?, Road Book for England, Wale.";, &c., &c By Charles Spencer. The Pig: Its Origin and Vaiieties. By H. D. RICHARDSON The Dog : Its Varieties, and Management in Health and Disease. The Sheep : Its Varieties, and Management in Health and Disease. Cattle : Their Varieties, and Management in Health and Disease. Bedford Street, Strand. Frederick Wanie and Co., Publishers, WARNE'S USEFUL BOOKS. One Shilling each, fully Illustrated. ' In fcap. 8vo, limp doth, or picture boards. POE THE HOME OE PIEESIDE. One Thousand Objects for the Miciroscope. With Five Hundred Figures ; 12 pages of Tinted Plates. Modem Spiritualism. With an Exposure of the Hand of the so-called Spirit Media. By John Nevil Maskelyne. Ventriloquism, the Art of. With Directions for Learners. By Frederick Maccabe. The Money Market : What it Is, What it Does, and How it is Managed. Companion Letter-Writer : A Guide to Correspondence, with Commercial Forms, &c. The Modern Gymnast; Practical Instructions on the Horizontal Bar, Parallel Bars, Vaulting Horse, Flying Trapeze, &c., &c.,with One Hundred and Twenty Practical Illustrations. By Charles Spencst?. Ladies' and Gentlemen's Model Letter-Writer, with Household and Commercial Forms. The Gentleman's Art of Dressing with Economy, By A Lounger at the Clubs. The Modern Fencer. By C. Griffiths. With Practical Illustrations. Uniform with the Country Books, price is. 6d. The Horse : Its Varieties, and Management in Health and Disease. Outdoor Common Birds; Their Habits and General Characteristics. By Henry Stannard. With Eighty Original Illustra- tions. Bedford Street, Strand, Frederick Warne & Co., PuBlishers, ^OMPENDIUMS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. In Four Vols., each Volume Complete in itself, with Index, crown 8vo, price SJ. each, cloth gilt, with Steel Illnstrations. . Half-Hours with the Best Authors. Remodelled by its Original Editor, Charles Knight, with Selec- tions from Authors added whose works have placed them amongst the " Best Authors " since the publication of the First Edition. •«* This book contains 320 Extracts of the best efforts of our great Stan- dard Authors, whetber they be Poets or Historians, Essayists or Divines, Tra- vellers or Philosophers, arranged so as to form half an hour's reading for every day of the year. The student finds a taste of every quality, and a specimen of every style. Should he grow weary of one author, he can turn to another ; and if inclined to be critical, hecan weigh the merits of one writer against those of his fellow. It gives us a glimpse of the celebrities assembled within its portals. At a glance the student cai^ Obtain some idea of the subject. Such books are the true Jbundaiions of that knowledge which renders men celebrated and famoits. Ditto, The Library Edition, 4 vols., with a Complete Index, price 21J, ; or half calf extra, 35;. In Two Vols., demy 8vo, price lor., cloth ; laj, with gilt edges ; or hsdf-calf extra, 17J. THE PEOPLE'S EDITION OF HALF-HOUKS WITH THE BEST AUTHORS. Selected and Edited by Charles Knight. With 16 Steel Portraits. In this Edition the Biographies are revised, the Pagination of the Volumes completed, and the Serial Nature of the Original Work entirely done away with ; it now forms a Handsome Library Book. In One Vol., demy Svo, cloth, 5J.; with gilt edges, 6j.; or half-calf extra, 8j. 6d, HALF-HOURSof ENGLISH HISTORY. Selected and Arranged by Charles Knight. A Companion Volume to the "Half-Hours with the Best Authors." Contains the Choicest Historical Extracts from upwards of Fifty Standard Authors, including Burke, Palgrave, Guizot, Sheridan Kncwles, Thierry H Taylor, Rev. James White, Charles Knight, G. L. Craik, Landor, Hume, Keats Hallam, Southey, Shakspcare, Froissart, Sir Walter Scott, Hall, Barante, Lord Bacon, Cavendish, Bishop Burnet, Rev. H. H. Milman, Wordsworth, Lord Macaulay ; with a General Index. ' The articles are chiefly selected so as to afford a succession of graphic parts of Enghsh History, chronologically arranged, from the consideration that the por- tions of history upon which general readers delight to dwell are those which tell some story which is complete in itself, or furnish some illustration which has a separate as well as a general interest Bedford Street, Strand. l»«gS^iaas;aA»MMs««»»W«>4KilHHilM^^