Mar9
Amours retranchées 3
Le seul penser, qui me fait devenirBrave d’espoir, est si doulx que mon ameDesja gaignée, impuissante se pasme,Songeant au bien qui me doit advenir. Donc sans mourir pourray-je soustenirLe doux combat que me garde ma Dame,Puis qu’un penser si brusquement l’entameDu seul plaisir d’un si doulx souvenir ? Helas ! Venus, que l’escume féconde,Non loin de Cypre enfanta dessus l’onde,Si de fortune en ce combat je meurs ; Reçoy ma vie, ô Déesse, et la guidePar les odeurs de tes plus belles fleurs,Dans les vergers du Paradis de Gnide. The thought alone, which makes me become Bold in hope, is so sweet that my soul Already defeated, faints weakened away Dreaming of the good which must come to me. Could I sustain, without dying, The sweet combat which my lady reserves for me, With just the pleasure of so sweet a memory, Since a thought begins it so suddenly? Alas, Venus, whom the fertile surf Bore upon the waves not far from Cyprus, If by chance I die in that combat, Receive my life, o goddess, and guide it Amongst the fragrances of your most beautiful flowers, In the orchards of the gardens of Cnidus. It’s relatively uncommon to have a sonnet with just the one theme all the way through. But this is a good one; I wonder why Ronsard withdrew it? The love-death is a fine romantic theme, but here of course it’s a more neo-Platonic love-death, more the anticipation than the reality of love. The second quatrain is one of those whose grammar is rather contorted: unusually, I’ve opted to re-organise the translation to prioritise sense over parallelism with Ronsard’s French. Taking it line by line it would go something like: Without dying, then, could I sustain The sweet combat which my lady reserves for me (Since a thought so suddenly launches it) With just the pleasure of so sweet a memory? We’ve met Venus as goddess of Cnidus before; and Cnidus as a place rich in agriculture (though, as noted before, its real wealth was apparently based more on trade than agriculture). There are plenty of changes in Blanchemain’s version, some of them minor re-orderings of word for euphony; here it is complete: Le seul penser, qui me fait devenirHaultain et brave, est si doulx que mon ameDesja desja impuissante, se pasme,Yvre du bien qui me doibt avenir. Sans mourir donq, pourray-je soustenirLe doux combat que me garde ma Dame,Puis qu’un penser si brusquement l’entameDu seul plaisir d’un si doulx souvenir ? Helas ! Venus, que l’escume féconde,Non loin de Cypre enfanta dessus l’onde,Si de fortune en ce combat je meurs ; Reçoy ma vie, ô Déesse, et la guideParmy l’odeur de tes plus belles fleurs,Dans les vergers du Paradis de Gnide. The thought alone, which makes me become Proud and bold, is so sweet that my soul Now already weakened, faints away Drunk on the good which must come to me. Could I sustain, without dying, The sweet combat which my lady reserves for me, With just the pleasure of so sweet a memory, Since a thought begins it so suddenly? Alas, Venus, whom the fertile surf Bore upon the waves not far from Cyprus, If by chance I die in that combat, Receive my life, o goddess, and guide it Amongst the fragrance of your most beautiful flowers, In the orchards of the gardens of Cnidus.