Madrigal (Amours 1.200a)

Standard
Un sot Vulcan ma Cyprine fachoit :
Elle en pleurant qui son courroux ne cele,
L’un de ses yeux arma d’une etincelle,
De l’autre une eau sur sa joüe épanchoit.
 
Tandis Amour, qui petit se cachoit
Comme un oiseau dans le sein de la belle,
En l’œil humide alloit baignant son aile,
Puis en l’ardant ses plumes il sechoit.
 
Ainsi voit-on d’une face diverse
Rire et pleurer tout en un mesme temps
Douteusement le Soleil du printemps,
Quand une nuë à demi le traverse.
 
Quel dueil ensemble et quel plaisir c’estoit
De voir son geste, et les pleurs qu’elle verse
Pleins de regrets que le Ciel escoutoit ?
 
 
 
 
                                                                            A stupid Vulcan annoyed my Cyprian [Venus] :
                                                                            As she cried, not concealing her anger,
                                                                            One of her eyes she armed with a flashing spark,
                                                                            From the other a tear flowed onto her cheek.
 
                                                                            So Love, hiding his tiny self
                                                                            Like a bird within the beauty’s breast,
                                                                            Flew into the wet eye, bathing his wings,
                                                                            Then in the burning one he dried his feathers.
 
                                                                            Thus you might see with a divided appearance,
                                                                            Both laughing and crying at the same time
                                                                            Uncertainly, the Sun in spring
                                                                            When a cloud half-crosses it.
 
                                                                            What grief and what pleasure together it was
                                                                            To see how she acted, and the tears she cried
                                                                            Full of regret, that the Heavens might hear.
 
 
 
For Ronsard, a madrigal is, as you’ll recall, simply a sonnet with a bonus line or two. Here, his opening image is taken from classical myth, the unhappy marriage of Vulcan and Venus; but that is simply scene-setting. Vulcan here is obviously Ronsard who in his clumsy foolishness has upset Cassandre.
 
In Blanchemain, this is a (numbered) sonnet, simply being one line shorter: I’ve marked the spot in line 10 where in the later version above he has simply split the line and inserted 2 extra half-lines.
 
 
Un sot Vulcan ma Cyprine faschoit :
Et elle à part, qui son courroux ne celle,
L’un de ses yeux arma d’une estincelle,
De l’autre un lac sur sa joue épanchoit.
 
Tandis Amour, qui petit se cachoit
Folastrement dans le sein de la belle,
En l’œil humide alloit baignant son aile,
Puis en l’ardant ses plumes il sechoit.
 
Ainsi void-on quelquefois en un temps
Rire et pleurer [ ] le soleil du printemps,
Quand une nue à demi le traverse.
 
L’un dans les miens darda tant de liqueur,
Et l’autre, après, tant de flames au cœur,
Que fleurs et feux depuis l’heure je verse.
 
 
                                                                            A stupid Vulcan annoyed my Cyprian [Venus] :
                                                                            As she standing aside, not concealing her anger,
                                                                            Armed one of her eyes with a flashing spark,
                                                                            From the other a lake flowed onto her cheek.
 
                                                                            So Love, hiding his tiny self
                                                                            Playfully within the beauty’s breast,
                                                                            Flew into the wet eye, bathing his wings,
                                                                            Then in the burning one he dried his feathers.
 
                                                                            Thus you might see occasionally at the same time,
                                                                            Both laughing and crying the Sun in spring
                                                                            When a cloud half-crosses it.
 
                                                                            One of them shot so much water into my own [eyes],
                                                                            The other, afterwards, so many flames into my heart,
                                                                            That I’ve been pouring out flowers and fires since then. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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About fattoxxon

Who am I? Lover of all sorts of music - classical, medieval, world (anything from Africa), world-classical (Uzbek & Iraqi magam for instance), and virtually anything that won't be on the music charts... Lover of Ronsard's poetry (obviously) and of sonnets in general. Reader of English, French, Latin & other literature. And who is Fattoxxon? An allusion to an Uzbek singer - pronounce it Patahan, with a very plosive 'P' and a throaty 'h', as in 'khan')

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