Monthly Archives: August 2014

Sonnet 141

Standard
L’astre ascendant sous qui je pris naissance,
De son regard ne maistrisoit les Cieux :
Quand je nasquis il estoit dans tes yeux,
Futurs tyrans de mon obeissance.
 
Mon tout, mon bien, mon heur, ma cognoissance
Vint de ton œil : car pour nous lier mieux,
Tant nous unit son feu presagieux,
Que de nous deux il ne fit qu’une essence.
 
En toy je suis et tu es seule en moy,
En moy tu vis et je vis dedans toy,
Tant nostre amour est parfaitement ronde.
 
Ne vivre en toy ce seroit mon trespas.
La pyralide en ce point ne vit pas,
Perdant sa flamme, et le Daufin son onde.
 
 
 
 
                                                                            The star ascendant under which I was born
                                                                            Could rule the heavens with its look;
                                                                            When I was born it was in your eyes,
                                                                            The future tyrants over my submission.
 
                                                                            My all, my goodness, my fortune, my understanding
                                                                            Come from your eyes; for, to bind us better,
                                                                            The omen of their fire so unites us
                                                                            That of us two it makes but one essence.
 
                                                                            In you I am and you are only in me,
                                                                            In me you live and I live within you,
                                                                            So perfectly complete is our love.
 
                                                                            Not to live in, that would be death to me.
                                                                            The pyralid in this way cannot live
                                                                            If it loses its flame, or the dolphin its sea.

 

 

 

 

Muret offers some help with line 13 – ‘Pyralides are small flying animals, which have four feet and are found in the isle of Cyprus, of such a nature that they live in fire and die when they move a little too far from it. (Pliny, in the 11th book.)’  More recently the pyralids have been identified as fiery flying insects; and their name has been used scientifically for a range of moths and other lepidoptera (~butterflies). Muret also tells us (on line 14) ‘Dolphins die when they touch the land. (Pliny, in the 9th book.)” – though this one is simpler to understand even without the classical reference.

In line 7, the French would translate best as ‘ominous fire’ – fire which carries a good omen. But ‘ominous’  carries bad associations in English which aren’t appropriate here.
 
Blanchemain has a number of variants. Oddly, the first is just punctuation in line 3 – “Quand je nasquis : il estoit …” – but it shifts the meaning of the first clause, which becomes “The star under which I was born Ruled the heavens with its look When I was born:  it was…’ Is Ronsard implying it somehow ceased to be a star and moved into Cassandre’s eyes?  
 
As usual the changes cluster in the sestet:
 
 
En toy je suis et tu es dedans moy,
En moy tu vis et je vis dedans toy,
Ainsi nos touts ne font qu’un petit monde.
 
Sans vivre en toi je tomberois là bas :
La pyralide en ce poinct ne vit pas,
Perdant sa flamme, et le dauphin son onde.
 
 
 
                                                                            In you I am and you are within me,
                                                                            In me you live and I live within you,
                                                                            Thus we together make just one little world.
 
                                                                            Without living in you I would fall down below;
                                                                            The pyralid in this way cannot live
                                                                            If it loses its flame, or the dolphin its sea.

 

 

 
 
 

Sonnet 140

Standard
Heureuse fut l’estoile fortunée,
Qui d’un bon œil ma Maistresse apperceut :
Heureux le bers, et la main qui la sceut
Emmaillotter le jour qu’elle fut née.
 
Heureuse fut la mammelle en-mannée
De qui le laict premier elle receut :
Et bien-heureux le ventre qui conceut
Telle beauté de tant de dons ornée.
 
Heureux parens qui eustes cest honneur
De la voir naistre un astre de bon-heur !
Heureux les murs naissance de la belle !
 
Heureux le fils dont grosse elle sera,
Mais plus heureux celuy qui la fera
Et femme et mere, en lieu d’une pucelle l
 
 
 
 
                                                                            Happy was the lucky star
                                                                            Which recognised my mistress with a favourable look;
                                                                            Happy the cradle, and the hand which
                                                                            Swaddled her the day she was born.
 
                                                                            Happy was the breast filled with manna,
                                                                            From which she first drew milk;
                                                                            And happy the womb which conceived
                                                                            Such beauty adorned with so many gifts.
 
                                                                            Happy parents who had the honour
                                                                            Of seeing her born, a star of good fortune!
                                                                            Happy the walls, birthplace of the beauty!
 
                                                                            Happy the son with whom she falls pregnant,
                                                                            But happier he who shall make her
                                                                            Both wife and mother, instead of a maid!

 

 

 

Ronsard doesn’t often make it plain that he is eager for rather more than ‘courtly love’, glances and kisses from his mistress. But here the last couple of lines are pretty plain!
 
Blanchemain’s earlier version has some changes in lines 8-11: here’s line 7 onwards in his version.  Ronsard seems to have backed himself into a poetic corner in lines 10-11, since he hasn’t quite enough syllables to say ‘and whose good fortune happily surpasses [that of] the Indies and Egypt’, so has to settle for the version below- which doesn’t quite make sense…
 
 
 
… Et bien-heureux le ventre qui conceut
Si grand’ beauté de si grands dons ornée !
 
Heureux les champs qui eurent cest honneur
De la voir naistre, et de qui le bon-heur
L’Inde et l’Egypte heureusement excelle !
 
 
 
 
                                                                            … And happy the womb which conceived
                                                                            Such great beauty adorned with such great gifts.
 
                                                                            Happy the land which had the honour
                                                                            Of seeing her born, and whose good fortune
                                                                            Happily surpasses the Indies and Egypt!

 

 
 

Sonnet 139

Standard
Ville de Blois, naissance de ma Dame,
Sejour des Roys et de ma volonté,
Où jeune d’ans je me vy surmonté
Par un œil brun qui m’outre-perça l’ame :
 
Chez toy je pris ceste premiere flame,
Chez toy j’apris que peult la cruauté,
Chez toy je vy ceste fiere beauté,
Dont la memoire encores me r’enflame.
 
Habite Amour en ta ville à jamais,
Et son carquois, ses lampes, et ses trais
Pendent en toy, le temple de sa gloire :
 
Puisse-il tousjours tes murailles couver
Dessous son aile, et nud tousjours laver
Son chef crespu dans les eaux de ton Loire.
 
 
 
 
                                                                            O town of Blois, the birthplace of my lady,
                                                                            Resting place of kings and of my wishes,
                                                                            Where young in years I found myself overcome
                                                                            By her brown eyes which pierced my soul right through;
 
                                                                            In you I received this first fiery love,
                                                                            In you I learned what cruelty can do,
                                                                            In you I saw that proud beauty
                                                                            Whose memory stirs me still.
 
                                                                            May Love live within your town forever,
                                                                            And may his quiver, his torches, his arrows
                                                                            Hang in you, the temple of his glory;
 
                                                                            May he always protect your walls
                                                                            Beneath his wings and, naked, always wash
                                                                            His curly head in the waters of your Loire.

 

 

 

In a marvellously unnecessary piece of editorialising, Muret tells us in his notes to this poem that ‘One may conjecture from this sonnet that his lady is from Blois’. Thank you…. 🙂
 
Perhaps surprisingly, this poem has plenty of variants.  Blanchemain prints the following version. I confess myself at a loss over Ronsard’s change of Loves’s ‘bow and arrows’ (below) to his ‘lamps and arrows’ (above) in line 10, in particular?!
 
 
Ville de Blois, naissance de ma dame,
Sejour des Roys et de ma volonté,
je fus pris, où je fus surmonté,
Par un œil brun qui m’outre-perçe l’ame,
 
Chez toy je pris ceste premiere flame,
Chez toy j’appris que peut la cruauté,
Chez toy je vey ceste fiere beauté,
Dont la memoire encores me r’enflame.
 
Se loge Amour en tes murs à jamais,
Et son carquois, et son arc et ses traits
Pendent en toy, comme autel de sa gloire ;
 
Puisse-il tousjours sous ses ailes couver
Ton chef royal, et, nud, tousjours laver
Le sien crespu dans l’argent de ton Loire.
 
 
 
 
                                                                            O town of Blois, the birthplace of my lady,
                                                                            Resting place of kings and of my wishes,
                                                                            Where I was seized, where I was overcome
                                                                            By her brown eyes which pierce my soul right through;
 
                                                                            In you I received this first fiery love,
                                                                            In you I learned what cruelty can do,
                                                                            In you I saw that proud beauty
                                                                            Whose memory stirs me still.
 
                                                                            May Love stay within your walls forever,
                                                                            And may his quiver, his bow and his arrows
                                                                            Hang in you, as an altar to his glory;
 
                                                                            May he always protect beneath his wings
                                                                            Your royal head and, naked, always wash
                                                                            His own curly head in the silvery waters of your Loire.
 
 
 
In case you might think that Ronsard had no other views on the second quatrain, Blanchemain also prints the following, completely different, quatrain in a footnote!
 
 
Sur le plus haut de sa divine flame,
Près de l’honneur, en grave majesté,
Reverement se sied la chasteté,
Qui tout bon cœur de ses vertus enflame.
 
 
                                                                            On the highest point of their holy flame,
                                                                            Next to honour, in grave majesty,
                                                                            Reverentially sits chastity,
                                                                            Which fires every good heart with her virtues.
 
 
It is at least obvious why he rejected this four-line aside about the wonder of his lady’s eyes, in favour of the version in which he continues his encomium of Blois.