Helen 2:58

Seule sans compagnie en une grande salle

Tu logeois l’autre jour pleine de majesté,

Cœur vrayment genereux, dont la brave beauté

Sans pareille ne treuve une autre qui l’égalle.

 

Ainsi seul en son ciel le Soleil se devalle,

Sans autre compagnon en son char emporté :

Ainsi loin de ses Dieux en son Palais vouté

Jupiter a choisi sa demeure royale.

 

Une ame vertueuse a tousjours un bon cœur :

Le Liévre fuyt tousjours, la Biche a tousjours peur,

Le Lyon de soymesme asseuré se hazarde.

 

La peur qui sert au peuple et de frein et de Loy,

Ne sçauroit estonner ny ta vertu ny toy :

La Loy ne sert de rien, quand la vertu nous garde.

 

 

 

                                                                            Alone without company in a grand hall

                                                                            You waited the other day, full of majesty,

                                                                            A truly generous heart whose worthy beauty

                                                                            Without parallel can find no other to equal it.

 

                                                                            Thus alone in his heaven the Sun runs along

                                                                            Without other companion borne in his chariot;

                                                                            Thus, far from the gods in his vaulted palace,

                                                                            Jupiter has chosen his royal residence.

 

                                                                            A virtuous soul always has a good heart;

                                                                            The hare always runs away, the doe is always afraid,

                                                                            The lion, sure of himself, takes risks.

 

                                                                            The fear which acts for the people as a restraint and as law

                                                                            Could not take either your virtue or yourself by surprise;

                                                                            There’s no need for the Law, when virtue protects us.

 

 

 

A poem which is so consistently positive, so unbendingly in praise of his mistress’s virtues, is something of a rarity towards the end of the book. So let’s celebrate this occasion!

 

As so often, we begin with reality and then there is a mythological parallel; and then the sestet takes us in another (but parallel) direction. Helen, alone in glory in a grand hall (it could just be a large room, but let’s think grand hall instead), is like the Sun alone in the sky or Jupiter ruling alone in heaven. She sits ‘in majesty’, a ruler like them. She is like a lion, so full of virtue that virtue alone, unaided by law, protects her.

 

We might argue the toss about the lion’s virtue, in an age where power and strength need to be wedded with mercy and tolerance; but the sixteenth century was less subtle in these matters – especially in the midst of the Wars of Religion, effectively a French civil war. Which is where, too, the fear comes in – a fear which Helen’s virtue protects her from.

 

And it’s lovely poetry too: hear those long, slow, noble syllables pile up at the beginning; the assonance in the opening line repeated at the start of the second quatrain, and then on into the two halves of the sestet; the carefully-balanced lines, either in words (“tousjours .. tousjours”) or in weight.

 

Of course, Ronsard didn’t arrive here without effort: Blanchemain has an alternative version of the final tercet – same sense, different words:

 

 

Cela qu’au peuple fait la crainte de la loy,

La naïfve vertu sans peur le fait en toy.

La Loy ne sert de rien, quand la vertu nous garde.

 

 

                                                                            That which among the people creates fear of the law

                                                                            Naive virtue, fearless, creates in you.

                                                                            There’s no need for the Law, when virtue protects us.

 

 

It is, let’s say, a more difficult sense to unravel; but I think it has a weight about it that the simpler revision lacks.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Helen 2:65

Je ne serois marry si tu contois ma peine,

De conter tes degrez recontez tant de fois :

Tu loges au sommet du Palais de nos Rois :

Olympe n’avoit pas la cyme si hautaine.

 

Je pers à chaque marche et le pouls et l’haleine :

J’ay la sueur au front, j’ay l’estomac penthois,

Pour ouyr un nenny un refus une vois

De desdain de froideur et d’orgueil toute pleine.

 

Tu es comme Deesse assise en tres-haut lieu.

Pour monter en ton ciel je ne suis pas un Dieu.

Je feray de la court ma plainte coustumiere

 

T’envoyant jusqu’en haut mon cœur devotieux.

Ainsi les hommes font à Jupiter priere :

Les hommes sont en terre, et Jupiter aux cieux.

 

 

 

 

                                                                            I would not be upset if you took account of my pain,

                                                                            Of accounting for your honours you have recounted so often:

                                                                            You live at the very top of the palace of our kings:

                                                                            Olympus had no summit so high.

 

                                                                            At each step my pulse and breath both weaken:

                                                                            I have sweat on my brow, my stomach is upset,

                                                                            At hearing a nothing, a refusal, a voice

                                                                            Full of disdain, of coldness, of pride.

 

                                                                            You are like a goddess sat in a very high place.

                                                                            I am no god to mount up to your heaven.

                                                                            I shall make my complaint known around the court

 

                                                                            Sending you on high my devoted heart.

                                                                            Thus men make their prayers to Jupiter:

                                                                            Men are on the earth, Jupiter in the heavens.

 

 

 

A simple enough poem. The Blanchemain version prints the first two lines as

 

Je ne serois marry si tu comptois ma peine,

De compter tes degrez recomptez tant de fois

 

It might seem that “conter” (–> ‘recount’) and “compter” (–> ‘count’) are different, but as the English words I’ve used here suggest, they are in fact used indifferently – just different spellings of the same word.

 

Other variants: in line 7 Blanchemain prints “Pour ouyr un ennuy un refus une vois …”, (‘At hearing an irritant, a refusal, a voice…’); and line 11, “Je feray des degrez ma plainte coustumiere” (‘By degrees I shall make my complaint known’) – which. let’s face it, is neither more nor less meaningful than the version Marty-Laveaux prints, and in both cases the syllables are just fillers!

 

What fascinates me, is how even this (in the Renaissance) ‘needs’ its classical roots, its exemplar. In this case the exemplar pointed to is a poem by Martial, the Roman poet.

 

That poem is Epigram 5.22 – below; it’s similar only in that it talks about the distance between the two characters and how unbridgeable it is. Is it really another poem ‘on this subject’, an exemplar?

 

 

Mane domi nisi te volui meruitque videre,

sint mihi, Paule, tuae longiu Esquiliae.

Sed Tiburtinae sum proximus accola pilae,

Qua videt anticum rustica Flora Iovem:

alta Suburani vincenda est semita clivi

et numquam sicco sordida saxa gradu,

vixque datur longas mulorum rumpere mandras

quaeque trahi multo marmora fune vides.

Illud adhuc gravius quod te post mille labores,

Paule, negat lasso ianitor esse domi.

Exitus hic operis vani togulaeque madentis:

Vix tanti Paulum mane videre fuit.

Semper inhumanos habet officiosus amicos:

Rex, nisi dormieris, non potes esse meus.

 

 

                                     If I did not wish and deserve to see you at home this morning,

                                     May your Esquiline [home] be [still] further from me, Paulus.

                                     But I am living nearest to the Tiburtine column,

                                     Where rustic Flora looks on ancient Jupiter:

                                     The steep path of the Subura [hill] must be overcome

                                     And its dirty stones with a footway that’s never dry,

                                     And it’s scarcely possible to break through the long trains of mules

                                     And the marble blocks which you see dragged with ropes.

                                     What is still worse, after a thousand labours,

                                     Paulus, your doorman tells me, worn out as I am, that you are not at home!

                                     This is the end of my vain work and my soaked mini-toga:

                                     It was scarcely worth this much to see Paulus in the morning,

                                     The most dutiful man always has the most heartless friends:

                                     You cannot be my king [=patron] unless you sleep longer.

 

 

(That last line, of course, simply means ‘unless you stay home later in the morning’.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Odes 1:2

I mentioned this poem and its focus on “the King first, last and in the  middle” …

AU ROY HENRY II DE CE NOM   Strophe I   Comme un qui prend une coupe, Seul honneur de son tresor, Et de rang verse à la troupe, Du vin qui rit dedans l’or : Ainsi, versant la rosée Dont ma langue est arrousée Sus la race des Valois, En son doux nectar j’abbreuve, Le plus grand roy qui se treuve Soit en armes ou en lois.   Antistrophe I   Heureux l’honneur que j’embrasse, Heureux qui se peut vanter De voir la thebaine grace Qui sa vertu veut chanter. Je vien chanter la tienne Sur la corde dorienne, Et pour estre désormais Celui qui de tes victoires Ne souffrira que les gloires En l’oubly tombent jamais.   Epode I   De ce beau trait decoché, Dy, Muse mon esperance, Quel prince sera touché Le tirant parmy la France ? Sera-ce pas nostre Roy, De qui la divine aureille Boira la douce merveille Qui n’obeit qu’à ma loy ?   Strophe II   De Jupiter les antiques Leurs escrits embellissoient, Par luy leurs chants poëtiques Commençoient et finissoient, Réjouy d’entendre bruire Ses louanges sur la lyre ; Mais Henry sera le Dieu Qui commencera mon metre, Et que seul j’ay voué mettre A la fin et au milieu.   Antistrophe II   Le ciel, qui ses lampes darde Sur ce tout qu’il apperçoit, Rien de si grand ne regarde Qui vassal des roys ne soit. D’armes le monde ils estonnent, Sur le chef de ceux ils tonnent Qui les viennent despiter ; Leurs mains toute chose attaignent, Et les plus rebelles craignent Les Roys fils de Jupiter.   Epode II   Mais du nostre la grandeur Les autres d’autant surpasse Que d’un rocher la hauteur Les flancs d’une rive basse. Puisse-t-il par l’univers Devant ses ennemis croistre, Et pour ma guide apparoistre Tousjours au front de mes vers !

Strophe 1   As one who takes a cup Sole pride of his treasure And in turn pours out for his followers Wine which laughs within the gold; So, pouring out the dew With which my tongue is bedewed Upon the race of Valois, In its sweet nectar I salute The greatest king there is, Both in war and in lawgiving.   Antistrophe I   Happy the honour I embrace, Happy he who can boast Of seeing the grace of Thebes, Who can sing of its virtue. I come to sing your own On the Dorian string, And to be henceforth He who will not allow The glory of your victories To fall ever into oblivion.   Epode I   By this fair arrow shot, Say Muse, my hope, Which prince will be hit As I aim throughout France? Won’t it be our King, Whose god-like ear Shall drink in this sweet marvel Which obeys only my law?   Strophe II   With Jupiter the ancients Embellished their writings, With him their poetic songs Began and finished, Overjoyed to hear sounded His praises on the lyre; But Henry shall be the god for us Who shall be the beginning of my poems, And whom alone I have vowed to place At the end and in the middle.   Antistrophe II   Heaven, which darts its light Upon this cosmos which it sees, Considers none so grand Who is not vassal of kings. With arms they amaze the world, They thunder on the head of those Who come to vex them; Their hands attain all things, And the most rebellious fear Kings, the sons of Jupiter.   Epode II   But the grandeur of our own [King] As far surpasses the others As the height of a rock [Overtops] the banks of a deep river. May he increase throughout the world Before his enemies And appear as my guide Always at the fore of my verse!

 

 

This poem has turned up in the musical settings: it seems to have been a popular text, perhaps as much because of its connections with drinking as for its praise of the Valois kings. Blanchemain notes that it is “a direct imitation of Pindar’s 7th Olympic ode”: this begins

 

As when someone takes a goblet, all golden, the most prized of his possessions, foaming with the dew of the vine from a generous hand, and makes a gift of it to his young son-in-law, welcoming him with a toast from one home to another …

 

After this point, as you might gather, Ronsard and Pindar diverge more and more.

 

In the first antistrophe, the ‘grace of Thebes’ (that is, he who graces Thebes) is Orpheus; the ‘Dorian string’ simply a reference to Greek music, though note that there was a ‘Dorian’ mode still in musical discourse.

 

In line 2 of the second antistrophe, I’ve translated “ce tout” (‘this whole’ ) as ‘cosmos’ – the ‘whole’ being the universe; that of course also means ‘everything’, though the Greek Greek ‘cosmos’ (that which is organised) has a similar meaning and, like Ronsard’s ‘whole’, is a less obvious word.

 

 

 

 

Helen 2:19

Helene fut occasion que Troye

Se vit brusler d’un feu victorieux :

Vous me bruslez du foudre de vos yeux,

Et aux Amours vous me donnez en proye.

 

En vous servant vous me monstrez la voye

Par vos vertus de m’en-aller aux Cieux,

Ravy du nom qu’Amour malicieux

Me tire au cœur, quelque part que je soye.

 

Nom tant de fois par Homere chanté,

Seul tout le sang vous m’avez enchanté :

O beau visage engendré d’un beau Cygne,

 

De mes pensers la fin et le milieu !

Pour vous aimer mortel je ne suis digne :

A la Deesse il appartient un Dieu.

 

 

 

                                                                            Helen was the cause that Troy

                                                                            Found itself burning in victorious fire;

                                                                            You burn me with the lightning of your eyes

                                                                            And give me over as prey to Cupid.

 

                                                                            In serving you, you show me the way

                                                                            To reach heaven by your virtues,

                                                                            Enraptured by the name which malicious Cupid

                                                                            Has shot into my heart, wherever I might be.

 

                                                                            O name so often sung by Homer,

                                                                            You alone have enchanted all my blood;

                                                                            O fair face born of a fair Swan,

 

                                                                            Beginning and end of all my thoughts!

                                                                            To love you I, a mortal, am not worthy;

                                                                            To this goddess should belong some god.

 

 

 

Although this poem has many attractive features, in my view there are some really weak ‘filler’ moments. For instance, why would Troy be burning in ‘victorious’ fire – obviously the fire overcomes Troy, but it requires a sudden shift of perspective to follow. Worse, īthe second half of line 8 has no real meaning,doubly so in the context of the first half: pure ‘filler’. Line 12 – though here I’m niggling – also literally says that Helen’s face is the “end and middle” of his thoughts; even allowing for poetic inversion, I’m not sure ‘middle and end’ is driven by anything other than metre.

 

Well, enough complaining! In other respects a neat, classically-allusive tribute to his fair lady. The references to Troy being burned because of Helen, and to Homer’s frequent mentions of Helen, need no more explanation;bu it might be useful to be reminded that Helen was said to be the daughter of Leda, who was famously wooed by Jupiter in the form of a swan (line 11).

 

Blanchemain’s edition moves this poem to the ‘retranchées’, and substitutes a completely different text. Maybe he (and Ronsard) were also struck by the weaknesses of this one …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amours 2:52

Tu as beau, Jupiter, l’air de flames dissoudre,

Et faire d’un grand bruit galloper tes chevaux

Ronflans à longs esclairs par le creux des nuaux,

Et en cent mille esclats coup sur coup les descoudre :

 

Je ne crains tes esclairs ny ton son ny ta foudre,

Comme le cœur peureux des autres animaux :

Il y a trop long temps que les foudres jumeaux

Des yeus de ma maistresse ont mis le mien en poudre.

 

Je n’ay plus ny tendons ny arteres ny nerfs :

les feux trop violents qu’en aimant j’ay soufferts,

m’ont tournè tout le corps et toute l’ame en cendre.

 

Je ne suis plus un homme (ô estrange meschef ! )

Mais un fantaume vain, qu’on ne sçauroit plus prendre,

Tant la foudre amoureuse est cheute sus mon chef.

 

 

 

 

                                                                            In vain, Jupiter, have you dissolved the air into flames,

                                                                            And made your horses gallop with great noise

                                                                            Snorting long lightning-flashes through the slits of their nostrils,

                                                                            And with millions of crashes blow by blow unpicked them;

 

                                                                            I do not fear your thunders, lightning and noise,

                                                                            Like the fearful hearts of other animals;

                                                                            For too long the twin lightnings

                                                                            Of my mistress’s eyes have turned my [heart] into powder.

 

                                                                            I no longer have tendons, arteries, nerves;

                                                                            The too-violent fires which I’ve suffered in love

                                                                            Have turned my whole body and soul to ashes.

 

                                                                            I am no longer a man (o strange mischance!)

                                                                            But an empty shade which can no longer be touched

                                                                            So much of Love’s lightning has fallen on my head.

 

 

 

We tend to think of Jupiter the Thunderer as sitting on his cloud throwing thunderbolts. (Too many Disney cartoons maybe!) But the image Ronsard uses here is drawn from Roman times, when the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus (Jupiter Best and Greatest) was topped with a statue group of Jupiter the Thunderer riding in a  four-horse chariot. Indeed, the early Roman dictator Camillus (saviour and second founder of the city)  was exiled partly for driving a chariot drawn by four white horses in procession, as such a team was an honour reserved to Jupiter. It’s possible the fame of Salviati’s Florentine frescoes, linking the triumphs of Camillus with those of Cosimo de Medici, had reached France; certainly these included that very chariot.

 

So much for the mythology; Ronsard of course is using it only to dismiss it, or rather to place the fires of his own love above those of the thunderstorm: a wonderful image I don’t recall seeing before this.  Incidentally, it may seem odd that Ronsard uses the familir ‘tu’ form rather than the formal ‘vous’ for Jupiter; it perhaps reflects an admixture of Christian doctrine, encouraging the use of ‘abba’ (‘father’) for God, and implying in the family relationship perhaps the use of ‘tu’.  That said, I haven’t posted (and can’t can’t quickly identify) any other poems where Ronsard addresses Jupiter directly with ‘tu’.

 

Much of the poem was re-worked over its life: Blanchemain’s early version is below.  (A ‘term’ or ‘terminus’ in line 13 is a pillar carved in human form – rather like a caryatid.)

 

 

Tu as beau, Jupiter, l’air de flames dissoudre,

Et faire galloper tes haut-tonnans chevaux

Ronflans à longs esclairs par le creux des nuaux,

Et en cent mille esclats coup sur coup les descoudre :

 

Ce n’est pas moy qui crains tes esclairs ny ta foudre,

Comme les cœurs peureux des autres animaux :

Il y a trop long temps que les foudres jumeaux

Des yeus de ma maistresse ont mis le mien en poudre.

 

Je n’ay plus ny tendons ny arteres ny nerfs

Veines, muscles, ny pouls : les feux que j’ay soufferts

Au cœur pour trop aimer me les ont mis en cendre,

 

Et je ne suis plus rien (ô estrange meschef ! )

Qu’un terme qui ne peut voir, n’ouir, ny comprendre,

Tant la foudre d’amour est cheute sur mon chef.

 

 

 

 

                                                                            In vain, Jupiter, have you dissolved the air into flames,

                                                                            And made your loud-thundering horses gallop

                                                                            Snorting long lightning-flashes through the slits of their nostrils,

                                                                            And with millions of crashes blow by blow unpicked them;

 

                                                                            It’s not me who fears your lightning and thunder,

                                                                            Like the fearful hearts of other animals;

                                                                            For too long the twin lightnings

                                                                            Of my mistress’s eyes have turned my [heart] into powder.

 

                                                                            I no longer have tendons, arteries, nerves,

                                                                            Veins, muscles or pulse: the fires which I’ve suffered

                                                                            In my heart from loving too much have turned them to ashes.

 

                                                                            And I am no longer anything (o strange mischance!)

                                                                            But a statue which cannot see, hear, nor understand

                                                                            So much of Love’s lightning has fallen on my head.

 

 

 

 

 

Amours 2:43

Marie, que je sers en trop cruel destin,

Quand d’un baiser d’amour vostre bouche me baise

Je suis tout esperdu, tant le cœur me bat d’aise :

Entre vos doux baisers puissé-je prendre fin.

 

Il sort de vostre bouche un doux flair qui le thin

Le josmin et l’œillet la framboise et la fraise

Surpasse de douceur, tant une douce braise

Vient de la bouche au cœur par un nouveau chemin.

 

Il sort de vostre sein une odoreuse haleine

(Je meurs en y pensant) de parfum toute pleine,

Digne d’aller au ciel embasmer Jupiter.

 

Mais quand toute mon ame en plaisir se consomme

Mourant dessus vos yeux, lors pour me despiter

Vous fuyez de mon col pour baiser un jeune homme.

 

 

                                                                            Marie, whom I serve under too cruel a fate,

                                                                            When with a loving kiss your lips kiss me

                                                                            I am totally overcome, so happily does my hart beat ;

                                                                            Oh that could die among your sweet kisses!

 

                                                                            From your mouth comes a sweet scent which surpasses

                                                                            The sweetness of thyme, jasmine and pink,

                                                                            Raspberry and strawberry, such a gentle warmth

                                                                            Comes from your mouth to my heart by this new route.

 

                                                                            There rises from your breast a sweet-smelling breath

                                                                            (I die to think of it) full of perfume,

                                                                            Worthy to to anoint Jupiter in heaven.

 

                                                                            But when all my soul is consumed in pleasure,

                                                                            Dying beneath your gaze, then to spite me

                                                                            You rush from my embrace to kiss some young man.

 

 

Another of the Marie/Sinope poems, this time focusing on her sweet-smelling breath rather than her eye-problems! Much more gallant …

 

Blanchemain’s version again keeps Sinope’s name not Marie’s at the beginning (“Sinope, que je sers en trop cruel destin”); otherwise the only change is at the start of the sestet, where Ronsard replaced his first thoughts, the more vivid “vos tetins“, with the less tactile and perhaps less titillating “vostre sein” (above).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amours 1.188

En nul endroit, comme a chanté Virgile,

La foy n’est seure, et me l’a fait sçavoir

Ton jeune cœur, mais vieil pour decevoir,

Rompant la sienne en amour si fragile.

 

Tu ne sçaurois, comme femme inutile,

Assujettir les cœurs à ton pouvoir,

Jouët à vent, flot prompt à s’esmouvoir,

Beauté trop belle en ame trop mobile.

 

Escoute, Amour, si tu as quelquefois

Haussé ton vol sous le vent de ma voix,

Jamais mon cœur de son cœur ne racointes.

 

Puisse le Ciel sur sa langue envoyer

Le plus aigu de sa foudre à trois pointes

Pour le payment de son juste loyer.

 

 

 

 

                                                                            In no place, as Virgil sang,

                                                                            Is faith certain, and your young heart

                                                                            Has made me know this truth – young, but old in deception,

                                                                            Breaking its own [faith] in a love so fragile.

 

                                                                            You’d know, like a useless woman,

                                                                            How to subject hearts to your power,

                                                                            A plaything for the wind, a stream quick to move,

                                                                            A beauty too fair in a soul too flighty.

 

                                                                            Hear, Love, if you have sometimes

                                                                            Taken wing, lifted on the breeze of my song,

                                                                            Never re-acquaint my heart with her heart.

 

                                                                            May Heaven send upon her tongue

                                                                            The sharpest of its thunderbolts, triple-pointed,

                                                                            As payment of what she’s rightly owed.

 

 

 

Virgil, in Aeneid 4, famously talks of “vana fides” (’empty faith’) – I’m not sure he talks about ‘uncertain faith’ (“incerta fides”) – but the accuracy of a semi-quotation is hardly the point here! In line 13, we might also quibble about three-pointed thunderbolts, recalling some strange mix of Neptune’s trident with Jupiter’s thunderbolt; but again that would be missing the point…

 

More importantly, I have no idea why in line 5 Ronsard chose the epithet “inutile” (‘useless’) – he clearly mean something like ‘skilled in pointless things’, but is this a case of him pushing the vocabulary further, or is it simply a strange word to choose?  It is, at least, a better stab at it than his earlier version:

 

Tu es vraiment et sotte et mal habile

D’assujettir les cœurs …

 

                                                                             You are truly foolish and clumsy

                                                                            In subjecting hearts …

 

Blanchemain’s edition also opens line 9 with one of his ‘fall-back’ exclamations, definitely improved in the later version above:

 

Helas ! Amour, si tu as quelquefois …

 

                                                                             Alas, Love, if you have sometimes …

 

 

 

Odes 1.3

Today one of Ronsard’s early Odes, very formally structured in the classical style with strophes & antistrophes repeating a metrical scheme, and then epodes acting as a ‘refrain’ structure in between pairs of these.

A LA ROYNE   Strophe 1   Je suis troublé de fureur, Le poil me dresse d’horreur, D’un effroy mon ame est pleine, Mon estomac est pantois, Et par son canal ma vois Ne se desgorge qu’à peine. Une deité m’emmeine ; Fuyez, peuple, qu’on me laisse, Voicy venir la deesse ; Fuyez, peuple, je la voy. Heureux ceux qu’elle regarde, Et plus heureux qui la garde Dans l’estomac comme moy !   Antistrophe 1   Elle, esprise de mes chants, Loin me guide par les champs Où jadis sur le rivage Apollon Florence aima, Lorsque jeune elle s’arma Pour combattre un loup sauvage. L’art de filer ny l’ouvrage Ne plurent à la pucelle, Ny le lit mignard ; mais elle, Devant le jour s’éveillant, Cherchoit des loups le repaire, Pour les bœufs d’Arne son père Sans repos se travaillant.   Epode 1   Ce Dieu, qui du ciel la vit Si valeureuse et si belle, Pour sa femme la ravit, Et surnomma du nom d’elle La ville qui te fit naistre, Laquelle se vante d’estre Mere de nostre Junon, Et qui par les gens étranges Pour ses plus grandes louanges Ne celebre que ton nom.   Strophe 2   Là les faits de tes ayeux Vont flamboyant comme aux cieux Flamboye l’aurore claire ; Là l’honneur de ton Julien Dans le ciel italien Comme une planette esclaire. Par luy le gros populaire Pratiqua l’experience De la meilleure science, Et là reluisent aussi Tes deux grands papes, qui ores Du ciel, où ils sont encores, Te favorisent icy.   Antistrophe 2   On ne compte les moissons De l’esté, ni des glaçons Qui, l’hiver, tiennent la trace Des eaux roides à glisser : Ainsi je ne puis penser Les louanges de ta race. Le Ciel t’a peint en la face Je ne sçay quoy qui nous monstre, Dès la premiere rencontre, Que tu passes par grand-heur Les princesses de nostre âge, Soit en force de courage, Soit en royale grandeur.   Epode 2   Le comble de ton sçavoir Et de tes vertus ensemble Dit que l’on ne peut icy voir Rien que toy qui te resemble. Quelle dame a la pratique De tant de mathematique ? Quelle princesse entend mieux Du grand monde la peinture, Les chemins de la nature Et la musique des cieux ?   Strophe 3   Ton nom, que mon vers dira, Tout le monde remplira De ta loüange notoire : Un tas qui chantent de toy Ne sçavent si bien que moy Comme il faut sonner ta gloire. Jupiter, ayant mémoire D’une vieille destinée Autrefois determinée Par l’oracle de Themis, A commandé que Florence Dessous les loix de la France Se courbe le chef soumis.   Antistrophe 3   Mais il veut que ton enfant En ait honneur triomphant, D’autant qu’il est tout ensemble Italien et François, Qui de front, d’yeux et de vois, A père et mere resemble. Déjà tout colere il semble Que sa main tente les armes, Et qu’au milieu des alarmes Jà desdaigne les dangers ; Et, servant aux siens de guide, Vainqueur, attache une bride Aux royaumes estrangers.   Epode 3   Le Ciel, qui nous l’a donné Pour estre nostre lumiere, Son empire n’a borné D’un mont ou d’une riviere. Le destin veut qu’il enserre Dans sa main toute la terre, Seul roy se faisant nommer, D’où Phébus les Indes laisse, Et d’où son char il abbaisse Tout panché dedans la mer.

To the Queen       I am assailed by madness, My hair stands up with horror, Panic fills my soul, My heart is stunned, And my voice can barely Pass through my throat. A deity has seized me. Run, people, please leave me, See, here comes the goddess ! Run, people, I see her ! Fortunate the men on whom she looks, More fortunate the man who keeps her In his heart, like me !       In love with my songs, she Guides me far among the fields Where once on the riverbank Apollo loved Florence, When the young [nymph] armed herself To fight a savage wolf. Not the art of spinning nor its works Could please the maid, Nor her pretty bed ; but she, Before the breaking day Would seek the dens of wolves, Working without rest For the cattle of her father Arno.       This god, who from heaven saw her So bold and so fair, Seized her as his wife And named from her name The town which gave you birth. That town boasts of being Mother of our Juno [queen], And amongst foreign peoples For her greater praise Celebrates only your name.       There the deeds of your ancestors Rise blazing, as in the heavens Blazes the bright dawn ; There [blazes] the glory of your Guiliano In the Italian skies Like a bright planet. Through him, the rude commons Gained understanding Of the best learning, And there shone forth too Your two great Popes, who still From heaven, where they are now, Favour you here.       We cannot count the harvest Of summer, nor the icicles Which in winter mark the route Of waters stubborn in flowing ; Just so I cannot encompass The praises of your family. Heaven painted something In your appearance which has shown us, Since first we met, That you surpass in the greatnes of your destiny The princesses of our age, Whether in the force of your courage Or in royal grandeur.       The sum of your learning And of all your virtues Tells us that we cannot see here Anyone but you, who is like you. What lady has the skill Of so much mathematics ? What princess understands better The design of the great world, The paths of nature And the music of the heavens ?       Your name, which my verse shall praise, Will fill the whole world With your well-known praise ; A mass of those who sing of you Do not know as well as I How we should sound your glory. Jupiter, recalling An ancient fate Once determined By the oracle of Themis, Commanded that Florence Beneath the laws of France Should bend its submissive head.       But he wanted your child To have triumphant honour from it As he is, at the same time, Italian and French, His brow, eyes and voice Resembling his father’s and mother’s. Already full of anger it seems That his hand tries out arms And in the midst of alarms Already disdains danger ; And, acting as a guide to his men, As victor places a bridle On foreign kingdoms.       Heaven, which gave us him To be our light, Has not bounded his empire With hill or river. Fate wants him to grip In his hand the whole earth, Giving him the name of king alone, From where Phoebus leaves the Indies To where he brings down his chariot Sinking into the sea.

 

We’ve seen Ronsard in panegyric mode before. Obviously it was important to lavish praise on potential patrons, especially royalty; what I think distinguishes Ronsard’s work in this vein is the way he knits so many ideas together into a complex and sophisticated hymn of (undeserved) praise.

 

So here he adopts a very classical style, with a very un-classical theme; and indeed opens with the singer being ‘possessed’ by a god in a theme harking back to Greek tragedy. Indeed the whole form of the poem echoes tragic choruses in Greek plays.

 

Antistrophe 1 invents a foundation myth for Florence. The poem is ddressed to Queen Catherine (de Medici), whose family famously rules Florence for much of the renaissance.  Ronsard himself offered some footnotes to help us through the invented myth:  “as in Pausanias Apollo loved the maiden Bolina, after whom is named a town in Achaea. In the style of the ancients, the poet disguises true things with fictions and fables, and invents a nymph who gave her name to the town of Florence, a daughter of Arno, loved and raped by Apollo; which in effect means that this town is full of courage and learning, as in truth many admirable spirits & many great captains have come from it.” Note that, for all his praise of Florence, Ronsard praises France more for having seized the city – strophe 3!

 

The authorial footnote is less helpful in strophe 2, where – regarding the reference to “Julien” he tells us only ‘See here the history of Florence’!  There are two famous Giuliano de Medicis – brother and son of Lorenzo the Magnificent. The former is famous for being assassinated in the Duomo (cathedral) in Florence; the latter for marrying into the royal family of Savoy and being made Duke of Nemours by king Francis I (of France), before dying prematurely. Both are buried side by side in the Medici chapel in Florence, beneath monuments designed by Michelangelo. I suspect Ronsard is referring to the Duke of Nemours – Catherine’s father’s uncle; but it could be either.

 

The two great Popes are also, of course, Medicis:  Clement VII, alias Giulio de Medici, the posthumous son of the assassinated Giuliano; and Leo X, alias Giovanni de Medici, nephew of the same Giuliano. Both feature in Raphael’s famous portrait of Leo X (Giulio as a cardinal).

 

Epode 2 brings an unexpected appearance of the word ‘mathematics’ in poetry…! While the praises here are overdone, there is no doubting that Catherine was cultured and knowledgeable: her patronage of the arts and of public spectacles has left little to remember, but she also spent enormous sums on building programmes, and no doubt took a close interest in the architectural designs (which would have been mathematically proportioned). The authorial footnote in any case tells us that ‘mathematics covers all kinds of science, geometry, astronomy and the others, which are all called mathematics’. Some have read the remaining lines as further evidence of scientific learning: ‘the painting of the great world’ (as it translates literally) might be cosmography, but could equally be a reference to her understanding of the art of perspective etc in painting; the ‘paths of nature’ might refer to an understanding of natural phenomena as much as the knowledge of physics (or perhaps alchemy/chemistry) suggested by some; and the ‘music of the spheres’ need not imply metaphysics any more than an understanding of ‘musical proportion’ etc. But however we read it the message is clear: a clever, learned and cultured queen.

 

Although the prophecy in strophe 3 is invented, Themis is invoked as the classical (or pre-classical) model of what is ‘right’. The footnote tells us ‘this ancient goddess is, high in the heavens for the gods, what justice is here below for men on the earth’. Themis can be translated as ‘right’, though it carries strong connotations of divine order, natural law, the right way of doing things, the will of the gods…  All of which Ronsard is invoking through his reference, as ordaining France’s conquest of Florence – so that France’s king, Catherine’s son, might have the best of French and Italian spirit and courage.  In the 1550s, this would have been a clear reference to Francis II; but in the following 30 years Catherine was a major power behind the throne for three of her sons, Francis being followed by Charles IX and then Henri III as the Valois dynasty tottered towards its collapse. Ronsard’s decision not to name her son here proved very handy, and kept the poem up-to-date through the rest of his life (Catherine died 4 years after him).

 

Strophe 3 and Epode 2 (in that order) form the text of Lassus’s 1571 musical setting and were also set by Clereau (here and here), who printed them as separate songs but in the same, reversed, order. Though neither openly names Catherine or is dedicated to her, both retain the reference to Florence as well as France. As Charles IX had married the daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor in 1570, we can be pretty confident that the composers expected the song to be recognised as a tribute to the most powerful Queen in Europe; whether they also meant the song as a sign of support for the Catholic faith at a time when much of northern Europe was riven by the Protestant-Catholic troubles, is less obvious – though it may have been hard to separate the one from the other.

 

 

 

 

Amours 2:42

Si j’estois Jupiter, Marie, vous seriez

Mon espouse Junon : si j’estois Roy des ondes,

Vous seriez ma Tethys, Roine des eaux profondes,

Et pour vostre maison les ondes vous auriez.

 

Si la terre estoit mienne, avec moy vous tiendriez

L’empire sous vos mains, dame des terres rondes,

Et dessus un beau Coche en belles tresses blondes

Par le peuple en honneur Deesse vous iriez.

 

Mais je ne suis pas Dieu, et si ne le puis estre :

Le ciel pour vous servir seulement m’a fait naistre,

De vous seule je prens mon sort avantureux.

 

Vous estes tout mon bien, mon mal, et ma fortune.

S’il vous plaist de m’aimer, je deviendray Neptune,

Tout Jupiter tour Roy tout riche et tout heureux. 

 

 

 

                                                                            If I were Jupiter, Marie, you would be

                                                                            My wife Juno ; if I were king of the waves,

                                                                            You would be my Tethys, queen of the deep waters

                                                                            And would have as your home the waves ;

 

                                                                            If the earth were mine, you would hold with me

                                                                            Power in your hands, lady of the round world,

                                                                            And in a fine coach, with your beautiful blonde hair,

                                                                            You would go like a goddess, honoured by the people.

 

                                                                            But I am not a god, nor can I become one :

                                                                            Heaven had me born only to serve you,

                                                                            From you alone I receive my venturesome fate.

 

                                                                            You are all my good, my ills, my fortune.

                                                                            If it pleases you to love me, I shall become Neptune,

                                                                            Jupiter entire, and King, and rich, and happy.

 

 

Jupiter and Juno as king and queen of heaven are probably familiar; but you (like me) might have tripped over the reference to Tethys. Here, Ronsard goes back to the ‘old’ gods, the Titans: Tethys was the sister and wife of Oceanus, the personification (and ruler) of the seas before the dynastic wars in which the classical (Olympian) gods defeated the Titans from whom they were descended.  There’s a suggestion in the poem that Ronsard may not have been so specific, since at the end where he reflects back the opening stanza, he uses Neptune’s name as if he – being king of the sea – were the (unnamed) consort of Tethys.As you will see below, he confuses the picture further in his earlier version, since there the Ocean is a home not a husband!

 

Turning then to Blanchemain’s version, we find substantial variants, so much so that it is addressed to a different lady, and 50% of the poem is different! Sinope is the addressee of some 14 (earlier versions of) his poems, later re-addressed in the collected books to Marie. It seems that he had a brief liaison in 1558-9 with ‘Sinope’ (if that was her name). Laumonier explains how Belleau, in his 1560 commentary, makes clear that she and Marie are different people, although after Marie’s death in 1578 Ronsard modified Belleau’s notes to suggest that Sinope was just a nickname for Marie.

 

We can tell it’s an early poem, incidentally, as he refers to his “bonnet rond”, the sign of the priesthood – an odd thing to find in a love poem, and that is no doubt one reason why the older, wiser, and much more conservative Ronsard changed it…  More disappointingly he also removed the wonderfully erotic image of the final stanza below, and replaced it with a considerably more staid and stately ending we see above. 

 

Here is the earlier version complete:

 

 

Si j’estois Jupiter, Sinope, vous seriez

Mon espouse Junon : si j’estois roy des ondes,

Vous seriez ma Tethys, royne des eaux profondes,

Et pour vostre maison l’Océan vous auriez.

 

Si la terre estoit mienne, avec moy vous tiendriez

L’empire de la terre aux mammelles fecondes,

Et, dessus une coche en belles tresses blondes,

Par le peuple en honneur deesse vous iriez.

 

Mais je ne suis pas Dieu, et si ne le puis estre :

Pour telles dignités le ciel ne m’a fait naistre ;

Mais je voudrois avoir changé mon bonnet rond,

 

Et vous avoir chez moi pour ma chère espousée ;

Tout ainsi que la neige au doux soleil se fond,

Je me fondrois en vous d’une douce rousée.

 

 

 

                                                                            If I were Jupiter, Sinope, you would be

                                                                            My wife Juno ; if I were king of the waves,

                                                                            You would be my Tethys, queen of the deep waters

                                                                            And would have as your home the Ocean ;

 

                                                                            If the earth were mine, you would hold with me

                                                                            Power over the earth with its fertile breasts,

                                                                            And in a coach, with your beautiful blonde hair,

                                                                            You would go like a goddess, honoured by the people.

 

                                                                            But I am not a god, nor can I become one :

                                                                            For such honours heaven did not have me born.

                                                                            But I wish I could have exchanged my round priest’s hat

 

                                                                            And had you in my home as my dear wife ;

                                                                            Just as the snow melts in the soft sunshine,

                                                                            So I would melt into you like the soft dew.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gayetez et Epigrammes (48)

After that last poem, maybe something related…

SUR LES SEPT AGES DE L’HOMME   ENFANCE L’âge premier de l’homme Enfance est appellé ; Son cours est de quatre ans, maistrisé par la lune ; Auquel il s’agrandit, desja serf de fortune, Humide, delicat, d’ignorance voilé.   LA PUERILITÉ La Puerilité est nostre âge second ; Son regne est de dix ans, gouverné par Mercure. Vollage, sans arrest, est lors nostre nature, Et l’esprit au sçavoir se veut rendre facond.   ADOLESCENCE Le tiers est de huict ans, par Venus gouverné, Qui rend homme amoureux en son Adolescence, Son naturel enclin aux jeux et à la dance, De flammes et de feux son cœur environné.   JEUNESSE La Jeunesse est le quart, guidé par le soleil, Regnant dix et neuf ans, poussant au mariage L’homme qui veult (vivant) colloquer son mesnage, Desireux de richesse, en force sans pareil.   LE VIRIL Le quint est le Viril, suivant l’aspect de Mars ; Son cours est de quinze ans, sa nature fascheuse, Magnanime, constante, avare, dangereuse, Rendant l’homme guerrier suivant ses estendars.   VIEILLESSE Le six, soubs Jupiter, dans douze ans faict son cours, Jusqu’en l’an soixante-huit, âge nommé Vieillesse. L’homme alors vers le ciel tout repentant s’adresse. Soigneux de son salut, des humbles le secours.   LE CADUC Le Caduc est le sept des âges le dernier, Où Saturne commande, arrestant sa carriere En l’an quatre-vingt-huit. Nature à sa premiere Foiblesse le conduit, retournant au premier.

On the Seven Ages of Man   Infancy The first age of man is called Infancy ; It runs for four years, under the moon’s governance, In which he grows bigger, already a slave to fortune, Moist, delicate, veiled in ignorance.   Childhood Childhood is our second age ; Its reign is ten years long, governed by Mercury. Flighty, not stopping, is then our nature And the spirit tries to become fluent in learning.   Adolescence The third is eight years long, governed by Venus Who makes men fall in love in their Adolescence, Their natures inclined to games and the dance, Their hearts beset by flames and fires.   Youth Youth is the fourth, guided by the Sun, Reigning for nineteen years, driving to marriage The man who wishes, while alive, to establish his household, Desiring riches, unequalled in strength.   Manhood The fifth is Manhood, following the aspect of Mars. It runs for fifteen years, its nature irritable, Kind-hearted, constant, greedy, eager for danger, Making man a warrior following the standards.   Old age The sixth, under Jupiter, runs its course in twelve years Up to the age of 68, the period called Old age. Man then, repentant, directs himself to Heaven, Careful of his salvation, the help of humble men.   Decrepitude Decrepitude is the seventh and last age, Where Saturn holds sway, cutting short its career In his 88th year. Nature leads him back To his first feebleness, returning to the start.

 

Associating periods of life with different zodiacal signs or governing planets is nothing unusual in renaissance Catholicism, even if today Christianity generally excludes astrology. On the other hand, the popularity of Holst’s “Planets” suggests there is a continuing nostalgia for the days when we could believe the stars guided our lives…

 

This is an occasional piece which Blanchemain prints at the end of the Gayetez and Epigrammes, with a lengthy footnote, from which the following is excerpted: 

“I owe to M. Rathery, learned librarian, the reference to a volume preserved in the Imperial Library. This book, among many fine engravings by Martin de Voos and other engravers of the 16th century, contains a series of plates preceded by the title:

Figures and portraits of the seven ages of man, with texts in quatrains by the late M. de Ronsard at the foot of each. Drawn and engraved on principles set out by the late M. Baptiste Pellerin – 1595, Paris. …”

 

If you are interested, you can look through the plates on the Gallica website.