Guillaume de Machaut (c1300-1377) is regarded as the last and greatest of the French 14th century poet-composers. A member of the ars nova movement in music, he further developed the motet, and various secular forms including the rondel and the ballade. Educated in Reims, he became a secretary to John I, the Count of Luxembourg and King of Bohemia, who died at Crécy in 1346. He was later employed by members of the family, including Jean, Duc de Berry. Guillaume also became a canon, ultimately of Reims (in 1337) where he spent the latter part of his life, writing and composing, and supervising the compilation of his manuscripts and scores. A prolific, disciplined and talented poet and composer, he also penned several prose works and narrative poems, including a treatise on poetry, the Prologue, and Le Livre dou Voir Dit: The Book of the True Tale, the story of his real or fictional love for, and correspondence with, a young female poet, Péronne d’Armentières. His work influenced many other musicians, and major poets including Christine de Pisan and Chaucer.

Le Livre dou Voir Dit is dated by internal evidence to the period 1362-1365, and appears to comprise a mix of real and fictional material. A combination of verse tale, individual poems, and prose letters, it is more precise in detail, but similar in manner to Guillaume de Lorris’ Roman de la Rose (written c.1230), Dante’s Vita Nuova (written c.1294), and Petrarch’s Canzoniere (written c.1327-c.1368), whereby, in the tradition of courtly love, the author’s relationship with the beloved is idealised, and dramatized. The claim that it is a True Tale, is therefore valid spiritually, and to an unknown extent factually, even though the material has been subject to a literary refashioning. Conversely, there is a hint of irony in the title, even a hint of oxymoron, in that all ‘tales’ are part-feigning, and its truth is ultimately an artistic truth, which of course also begs the question as to whether, in reality, all remembered episodes in a love affair (and even the content of letters between lovers) are not, more or less, re-fashioned in the mind. What follows is a rhyming verse translation wherever the original Old French text is in rhyming verse, accordingly the verse forms have been altered here and there to achieve workable translations in English, though they embody the meaning and, wherever possible, the original form of the verse. (References in brackets, in Roman numerals, are to the Chichmaref edition of the poems, of 1909)

The Book of the True Tale

(Here begins Le Livre dou Voir Dit)

Lines 1-46: Guillaume’s Dedication

IN lasting praise, and in honour,

Of Love refined, whom I honour,

And love and obey, serve and fear,

Who commands my intention, here,

Also, for my gracious lady,

To whom I grant soul and body,

Whom more than myself I love,

And to her a true lover prove,

And for Hope who, most valiantly,

Has ne’er failed or deserted me,

I wish to make, and fashion well,

A new work, wrought for ‘Toute Belle’,

And, thus, I should toil, for, certainly,

Her manner’s so noble, she so worthy

And so wise, there exists nowhere,

One so graced with virtue fair,

One so free of all treachery,

One so adorned with all beauty,

For Nature, who her shape did form,

Blessed her with so sweet a form

Ne’er so subtle a work did she

E’er mould; so pleasant and lively,

That she might study her closely,

Reflect, muse, ponder intently,

And yet ne’er create her equal,

In short, the world doth so marvel

At her virtue and her beauty,

And her unbroken loyalty,

That I intend to cease my praise

For twould be easier, always,

To halt the moving firmament,

(The zodiac’s twelve signs are meant)

Than proper praise of her present,

Thus, unworthy, I’ll fall silent.

I wish to commence my story

For the sake of my sweet lady,

May God save her soul and body

From slander and from villainy,

So, I will tell of my adventure,

That was neither sour nor bitter,

But rather fair, and agreeable,

Sweet and pleasant and delightful,

For I’d gone ever unrecognised,

And was of joyfulness deprived,

Yet sweetly was I comforted,

By her, and thus solaced instead.

Lines 47-70: He wishes to create a new work

A year has not yet passed since I

Disported myself in a place nearby,

Which is within a grove of trees

And so, both green and fair, did please

With its beauty, sweet and gracious,

And naught there to prevent it, thus,

From delighting; and in that glade

I laid me down, within its shade,

So, the heat of the sun, thereby

Ceased to grieve me, body or eye.

Of deep thought then I did partake

As to by what means I might make

Some new-fashioned work of art,

That might serve to gladden my heart,

Though inspiration I had none,

Nor theme or matter, to form one,

To prompt me in commencing it,

Or aid me in completing it,

Since Love who grips me so strongly,

Had then no mastery over me,

For he made me master in naught,

Rather drew me away from aught

Of his; worthless all I did finish,

Since it was wrought against Love’s wish.

Lines 71-100: He meets his friend who tells him of a certain lady

WHILE I lingered there, thoughtfully,

All alone, and melancholy,

Walking towards me, did appear

A close friend, and he drew near,

Which drew me from my train of thought,

Since none could have imagined aught

That I’d have sought more willingly,

For twas a twelve-month certainly

Since I had laid eyes on my friend,

And now, indeed, my colour did mend

Which was no marvel since, you see,

My face was pale as pale could be,

Before this, for my state was plain,

I’d suffered greatly from the pain

Of a long illness, from which, truly,

I’d recovered but recently,

Though, little by little, I had quite

Regained my health and appetite;

In short, pleased, and free of care,

I had him sit beside me, there,

That I might hear his news, and all

Was good and fair he did recall,

Sweet, delightful, and gracious,

Pleasant talk of things amorous,

For such news he brought to me

As comforted me mightily,

And, by my faith, I did rejoice

At the very sound of his voice;

Now, point by point, I shall relate,

With truth in every word I state,

All that he chose to tell me there,

And here’s the tale that he laid bare:

Lines 101-142: His friend describes her excellence

‘FRIEND, companion, and sweet lord,

With one stroke, healing I’ll afford

To yourself, for the news I tell

Should render you completely well.

In this realm there lives a lady,

May God save her soul and body,

Noble, young, elegant, happy,

Straight and slender, fine and pretty,

Wise of heart, and in her manner

Very humble and modest ever,

Fair and good, the finest singer,

For a hundred years none better,

Her dancing is beyond measure,

And she is so sweet a creature,

That she holds the highest place

In sense, and sweetness, and in grace;

She is the fair gem that doth light

And brighten the darkest night,

She’s the gold-set diamond ever

That grants grace to every lover,

The sapphire, the enamelling

That healing for love’s ills doth bring,

She is the pole-star, moreover,

That guides true hearts to love’s harbour,

And the emerald that brings joy

To woeful hearts, free of alloy,

She’s the Orient’s pure ruby

Who, with a smile, cures, swiftly,

Every ill, she’s the crimson rose

That peerless, without equal, shows.

I could speak about her further,

Yet in a thousand years never

Tell all the sense, good, honour, worth,

To which her gentle Self gives birth,

And for her generosity

And noble heart I prize her greatly,

Since from here to Constantinople

No lady owns a heart as noble;

All see it, when she doth appear,

And you will come to know it clear.’

Lines 143-202: The lady has sent him a rondel

‘FOR someone has told the lady

A winter and summer nearly,

You have a malady displayed,

Yet fine ballads you have made,

And rondels, motets, virelays,

Complaints, and amorous lays,

And she said twas not easy,

When charged with some malady,

For hearts to find consolation,

And in a state of perturbation

She found her thoughts, whene’er she weighed

Your situation, and she bade

Me say that she commended you,

A hundred thousand times, anew,

To God, and that she knew of none

Howe’er rich, fair, and fine a one,

In this world she wished to view,

As much as you, or listen to,

And while she had never seen you,

Twas her greatest wish so to do.

And, were it possible, sweet sir,

For you to go and visit her,

She would offer you such cheer,

Filled with affection and sincere,

That satisfaction twould afford

To the wide empire’s noblest lord,

And, by God, if she were a man,

Who could travel, and did so plan,

To journey, both late and early,

Then you her sweet face would see,

Within three days, four at the most

For she would, indeed, set out, post

Haste, and travel to this country,

To see and meet with you, solely,

And since she cannot yet do so,

And that pains her heart, you know,

Behold what she now sends to you

That she made, for, in God’s purview,

I should not seek to hide the thing,

Who was present at its making.’

Then a rondel he handed me,

Neither ugly nor crude to see,

Nor was it badly constructed,

But rather so well-effected,

So well done, in every way,

None need amend the work, I’d say.

I took it with great reverence

Kissing it, my respect immense,

More than a hundred times or so,

And, after, doffed my cap also,

And, before it, knelt there, humbly,

Nor let the thing stray far from me,

But guarded it, most tenderly,

Next my heart, and right carefully,

And my kisses it oft did share,

Through the great pleasure I found there.

And, because so noble a thing

Should not be hid for anything,

I’ll tell you what there was writ,

While in no way amending it:

Lines 203-215: Her first rondel ‘Celle qui onques ne vous vit’

‘SHE that never did you see,

Who yet loves you, and is true,

With all her heart now gifting you,

Says naught pleasing does she see,

Since she has not you in view,

She that never did you see,

Who yet loves you and is true.

By all the good things, freely

Said of you by others, too,

You have won, of your virtue,

She that never did you see,

Who yet loves you, and is true,

With all her heart now gifting you.’

Lines 216-299: He replies to his friend, pledging himself to the lady

When his speech had reached its finish,

One neither thoughtless nor foolish,

But rather uttered so discreetly,

Nothing there was base or ugly,

I replied, most courteously,

‘My noble friend you have surely

Delivered your message truly,

As one should, and most wisely,

And, for that reason, my reply

Will naught conceal, but rather I

Wish to thank Love, straight away,

In all that I, at first, would say,

For keeping me in memory

So well, and sending you to me,

Thus, providing me sweet comfort,

Since no one could bring me aught

Destined to please me so, or could,

By doing so, bring me such good,

For I have been in such great need

Of winning joy and ease, indeed.

But now Love’s labour brings release,

For I have gained both joy and peace,

And in Love’s service one does well,

Since peace and joy come of his spell.

And so, I must, from this time on,

Fix all hope, and my devotion,

On Love, show all my loyalty,

Since he has thus remembered me.

For I cannot forsake Love ever,

Nor my lady, cease to serve her.

So, will I serve her all my days,

And do so faithfully, always,

And in her service so will die,

Without base thought or vice, say I,

And truly, I cannot believe

That fair lady could e’er conceive

Thought of me, or address me so,

Had Love not come to her also.

For love so subtly doth contrive

That he takes root, and is alive,

In hearts that ne’er knew each other,

Makes each, afar, play the lover,

And renders them lovers in love

That all the ills of love do prove.

If otherwise one claimed that she

Composed her work amorously,

From true and noble sentiment,

But without love being present,

I’d find it too much to suppose,

That love it did not there enclose,

And then, it seems impossible,

For, to me, twere not possible,

To compose in a lover’s guise

Without Love’s guidance and franchise.

Moreover, you’ve so praised, to me,

Her wit, honour, and courtesy,

All the good qualities Nature

Can grant to a human creature,

That I hold, God grant me joy,

That this rondel she doth employ

She offered me with true intent,

And her heart thus doth present,

Nor would she think or fashion

Aught contrary, for any reason.

Nor, if she loved not, would ever

Deign to name me as her lover.

Therefore, I think I am in love,

With one who good and true doth prove,

Lovely, pleasing and fair to know,

Since, for the last ten years, or so,

Seeming more than ten years, merely,

I have wished and still wish, truly,

That love would grant me a lady,

A woman good, and wise, and lovely,

Whom I could love without a doubt,

And who loved me within, without,

Such that through my true love of her

My heart would prove much happier,

Such that I could ne’er do so ill

As that fair sentiment to kill,

And her I would love, and praise,

And serve, and honour, her always,

And likewise, womankind, ever

All because of my love for her.’

Lines 300-373: He thanks the lady and his friend, and composes a rondel for her

AFTER this I thanked, most humbly,

My lady, who, of her mercy,

Had granted me hope, good and true:

‘For her renown, her great worth too,

The great beauty she doth possess,

Her most fine, sovereign sweetness,

And the goodness that in her dwells,

Give me hope that, since she excels,

She owns a true and loving heart,

And I am certain, for my part,

She would ne’er have called me lover

Had Love himself not moved her,

And since Love does with this agree,

Nor does my lady disagree,

Now let us form one trinity,

A single amorous unity,

Such that Love, I, and my lady,

Might but one soul and body be.

Also, dear friend and companion,

You, whom my lady sent, are one

Who with great hardship did seek

Myself, since, for nigh on a week,

You have ridden, day after day,

And willingly I would repay

My debt, God grant me paradise,

To you, if I could so devise,

For all the labour it cost you,

Not yet having paid all my due

To yourself as I should have sought,

And, to the full measure I ought,

I offer you my thanks, humbly,

And declare you may command me,

For you may take, I swear, on oath,

Myself, and my possessions both,

Without asking, all that’s of worth,

And as long as I’ve a sou on earth,

That, dear companion, you shall share.

But come tell me now, friend, where

You’ll head for when you leave this place.’

And he said: ‘If God grants me grace,

To where she is, I shall remove,

She who calls you her own true love,

And swiftly as I can, say I,

For, indeed, as sure as I’ll die,

I am certain that she loves you,

For she claims, to all, such is true,

And she would never call you so

If you were not her love, also.

And if there’s aught you’d write,

Or send, or tell me of, outright,

Give me the order, that I’ll do,

Be your messenger, good and true,

For, by my faith, I’m eager, ever,

To do aught that gives you pleasure.’

I replied to him, straight away:

‘Dear friend, God help me, this day

I would willingly write to her,

And will tell you of my answer,

That you may better speak for me,

Once you are before her truly,

And as my secretary you’ll act,

Speak, or be silent, with due tact,

If you so will, at my behest.

Now refuse not my request,

And I will write to her, this time,

As she wrote to me, thus, in rhyme.’

So, I penned a rondel, right away,

To my lady, brooked no delay,

And he took it, when it was done,

With no sign of hesitation,

By which I saw he would ever

Keep my secret, guard my honour.

Lines 374-386: His first rondel to his lady ‘Tresbele riens ne mabelist’

‘LOVELY woman, nothing cheers me,

Nor doth me any peace provide,

Save you, to whom I am allied.

Since your beauty, growing daily,

I view not, your fair form denied,

Lovely woman, nothing cheers me,

Nor doth me any peace provide.

And your sweetness that doth gently

Soothe my ills, and heal inside,

Doth, truly, far from me abide.

Lovely woman, nothing cheers me,

Nor doth me any peace provide,

Save you, to whom I am allied.’

Lines 387-416: He and his friend, who will act as his messenger, now part

This done, from me he did depart,

Leaving me with a trembling heart,

Half love-sick, half filled with joy,

With thoughts that do all woe destroy.

Since I had granted, sans demur,

Heart, and body, and love to her,

My lady, unrestrainedly,

I began to look about me,

And consider as to how

I might shun base error now,

And any form of vile misdeed,

For he who does not so, indeed

Does not deserve his lady’s heart.

Thus, I forgot my ills, in part

Because Sweet Thought, most gently,

Soothed my sorrows, and so eased me;

I knew not her face, however,

Since I had not viewed her ever.

Yet Imagination shaped her

In my heart, assured, me further,

That I would gain her good grace,

And thus, by her be healed, apace.

So, I dreamed of pleasant things,

Delightful amorous meetings,

And grew, by all this, most loving,

My thoughts most sweet, and appealing,

That Imagination brought me,

With that image of my lady

She, the source of honour still,

Free of all bitterness, or ill.

Lines 417-474: He receives a letter, and a second rondel, from the lady

And while I was yet in that place,

I heard a man speaking, in haste,

Who asked for me, insistently,

His sole intent to meet with me.

And so, I had the man draw near,

And, in his hand there did appear

A letter that was folded tight,

And with green wax was sealed aright.

I was moved then to address him,

As he approached and speak with him,

For I knew not the reason, truly,

Why he should come to meet me,

And for news I sought to enquire,

And he to fulfil my desire.

Now, it had been five years or more,

For I had known the man before,

Since I had met with him, and he

Was fine and handsome, and truly

Wise and courteous in his manner,

I took his hand and, as ever,

We both did sit, for that did please,

So that we might be more at ease.

He spoke both well and wisely,

While I acted courteously,

For not a single word I uttered,

Until his wish he had furthered.

And thus, he spoke: ‘Sir, I am come

To you, being your friend, in sum,

Because I look to, as I ought,

Your good and your true comfort.

There is a lady in this land

Who hates you not, you understand,

A hundred thousand times greets you,

And states that Love assails her too,

And beneath the breast he wounds her

With his amorous flame ever,

Through you whom she loves most dearly,

And if her sweet glance deceived me

Never shall a lady in love

Or virtuous or faithful prove.

The flower of all the world is she,

In short, all good in her we see.’

Thus, he sought to glorify her,

And to praise her and exalt her,

Both her and her deeds, every one,

More than the first friend had done.

The sign of the cross I did employ

While my heart was bathed in joy,

Since he had affirmed so strongly

That her heart she’d gifted to me.

I saw I had ne’er been deceived

By the message I’d at first received.

Then he, while handing me her letter,

Placed himself at my service ever.

I looked within, began to read,

And then I laughed with joy indeed,

For its commencement read like this,

Twas as sweet as any might wish:

Lines 475-489: The lady’s second rondel ‘Pour vivre en ioieuse vie’, and her first letter

‘TO live life joyously

I’ve set my heart to loving

The best there is in being,

And naught have done in folly,

My heart none should go blaming.

To live life joyously

I’ve set my heart to loving.

And if Youth begs this of me,

Love is the more commanding,

He’ll not find me refusing

To live life joyously;

I’ve set my heart to loving

The best there is in being.’

‘My most dear lord, and true friend, I commend myself to you, as best I can, and with all my heart, and send you this rondel. And if it needs amending, I beg you to do so, and, if it please you, to compose a virelay on this theme; and, should you so wish, to send it to me, set to music, with this rondel and the other pieces, the one I sent you, and the one you sent me by the same person. For this, I thank you with all my heart and, pray you, most dear friend, if you would wish anything more of this kind, I shall compose it willingly and with a good heart, as for the man in this world I desire most to see. I ask you, most dear and good friend, to send along some of your excellent poems set to music, for you could do me no service that would please more. May Our Lord bless you with honour and joy in whatever your heart desires. Your good friend.’

Lines 490-535: He justifies himself to the reader, and replies to her in a second rondel

And if any should reproach me

Or think themselves ill-paid by me,

Since our messages I reveal,

Nor sweet nor bitter shall conceal,

These that one should call Epistles,

Granting them true names and titles,

I respond thus, to each demand,

Tis all done at the sweet command

Of my lady, who says yea or nay,

Good reason, then, I should obey

And should her wish fulfil with grace,

Through my love of her sweet face,

For if I should unwilling prove

I would wrong both her and Love.

I know not who might ill surmise,

Yet naught shall I do otherwise,

Rather twill be as she ordains,

She who my fondest hope maintains,

And if anything should be said

Or writ twice in the text instead,

Then, nobles all, show no surprise,

Since she, for whom Love opes his eyes,

Asks that in this true verse I utter,

All I’ve composed and written for her,

And all she has writ for me also,

Without hiding aught created so,

And asks that all of it I gather,

And assemble it here, together.

The True Tale, I would prefer

To call this I compose for her,

Since within it I tell no lie.

As for the rest, then cast an eye,

(By seeking them, diligently,

You’ll find them, of a surety)

Over my verse to music set,

And the ballads unsung as yet,

Where to many a thought I own

Whose like not everyone has known,

Since those who wish such things to make

Must think those thoughts, or truth forsake.

Now from this subject I shall turn,

And to my previous theme return,

And say what I wrote in reply,

Privately, hid from watching eye,

In the form and rhyme displayed

By the rondel that she had made.

Lines 536-550: His second rondel ‘Bele bonne et envoisie’ and his first letter to her.

‘FAIR, good, and charming lady,

Peerlessly sweet, and pleasing,

Ne’er too great is my praising.

My heart sings its song, wholly,

For you, your Self honouring,

Fair, good, and charming lady,

Peerlessly sweet, and pleasing.

If your love you’d deign to call me,

With a heart forever loving,

No more would I go seeking,

Fair, good, and charming lady,

Peerlessly sweet, and pleasing;

Ne’er too great is my praising.’

And here is the second letter

Replying fitly to the other.

‘My very dear and sovereign lady, I thank you, as humbly as I can, for your sweet courtesies and loving words; for truly I feel great pleasure, great comfort, and delight whenever I hear them read, look at, or hold them. And, surely, I ought to thank you greatly because they have wrought, and still do, great miracles on my person, such as I have never seen wrought by any saint in paradise, either man or woman. For I had been as if deaf, dull, mute, and impotent, in that joy had completely abandoned and forgotten me; but your sweet writings have given me the strength to hear and speak, to come and go, and have brought joy to me, who no longer knew where I was; yet from that moment joy found its true dwelling in my heart; and so, I am healed completely, thanks to you and Our Lord, but for desire, which will not let me live till I see you, though the sweet hope I have of seeing you vanquishes my desire completely. And since the sweet hope I have of seeing you cures me of all sorrows and grants me utter joy, what would I be if I could but sate my eyes and heart in gazing on you. Surely no man there is, or will be or ever has been, could dream, imagine, or come to understand in a hundred thousand years a hundredth part of the joy that would be mine. Yet it shall be soon, if God so pleases, and I can arrange it, and, accordingly, I have composed a ballad on this theme, which I send to you enclosed with this message, and I will compose music for it as soon as possible, and for the two poems you sent me. I am also sending you a ballad about the piteous state I have been in, asking you to learn the song which is not difficult, for the music pleases me very much. And though, therein, I beg ladies to dress in black for love of me, I will compose another, on this theme, in which I will pray them to wear white, as you have healed me. And, in truth, for love of you solely, women shall be served and praised by me more than ever because you have revived my body, my mind, and my small store of talent, which had been totally supressed. My very dear lady, I commend myself to you as humbly as I can, and tell you that you should ask nothing of me but, rather, take me and whatever it is I have as your own, being one who is yours completely withholding naught. My most dear and sovereign lady, I pray that God give you honour, joy, peace, and health, such as you would have and, my most dear lady, I beg that if ever you write to me you do not call me lord, for whoever makes a lord of his slave adds to his enemies. And, by God, the title friend or lover is a much fairer name, for when lordship appears, Love takes flight on the spot. Your most loyal friend.’

Lines 551-609: He entrusts the rondel and letter to his friend

I entrusted him with my reply,

Made him my messenger thereby,

Saying: ‘By my soul, sweet friend,

Your way towards my lady wend,

Given I cannot come and go,

Or speak to her, as you well know.

I’ve naught but imagination,

Sweet Thought, and its creation,

And all because my health is low,

And not because I wish it so.

Naught I could wish for were better,

My desire is fixed upon her,

All my heart and all my thought,

Beside her, I can think of naught.

She’s my sovereign goddess, and more,

She is my peace, my joy, my war,

She’s my joy and my true solace,

She it is makes me cry ‘alas’,

She it is to whom I yield all.

Would God were pleased it might befall

That we three shared a day or two!

My heart shakes and trembles anew,

Every time that I remember,

The perfect good that flows from her,

And all, I hear, that others say,

Yet cannot go to her today.

A hundred thousand times commend

Me to her, for these words I send

That I am hers, hers completely,

While she is life and death to me,

I’ll love her sans deceit alway,

Far above all things, truth to say,

Far more than myself, God save me,

And if I often had, within me,

Of her sweet gaze, all my fill,

I would be cured of all my ill,

And I shall see her when I may,

Not when I wish, I’m bound to say.’

In this state I was forced to linger,

Weeping profoundly as ever,

While my friend prepared to leave me,

And this I believe would, surely,

Have broken my heart completely,

Because of my sweet noble lady,

Had not sweet Hope been present there,

Who affirmed, beyond doubt or care,

That the lady loved me, indeed

Perfectly, in thought, word and deed;

So, I took solace in this for all

The pain I felt, which did appal.

My friend was not swift to go,

Thus, I was able to send also,

The two ballads to my lady,

And sang to him each melody,

So, he could sing them both to her,

Thus, she might learn to sing either,

For she would add, most certainly,

If she sang them, to their beauty.

Lines 610-672: His friend cannot go, he finds another messenger

HE listened, long and carefully,

But afterwards he said to me

That he could not so soon depart,

To speak to my lady, for his part.

Alas, I grieved, for I had thought

A swift journey he had sought,

And so, I was dismayed, rather,

As you shall hear of, hereafter.

For two whole months entire I spent

Where no single creature present

Brought news to me, in any way,

Nor did I hear for many a day,

Of my most sweet and pure lady.

Alas, I grieved, and most deeply,

Not knowing why, so far from me,

She dwelt, in another country,

So, I took to melancholy,

Thinking, musing, wretchedly,

How to survive my situation,

Knowing not a single person

In the place where she was living,

Ever my tender heart weeping.

And worse my situation grew,

My messenger was distant too,

Having gone to a far-off land,

So, sorrow held me in its hand,

And the harshest season was here,

The winter being most severe,

Ever filled with sleet and rain;

Quite melancholy I became,

Sad, pensive, filled with misery,

All worse than before for me,

For truly I was filled with doubt

That every hope I’d had was out,

And from illness I was weary,

And weakened almost entirely.

None knew of my situation

Because I had no companion

To whom I might utter complaint,

My complexion pale and faint;

Ever I felt my heart pounding,

And had lost the art of resting,

Eating little, and sleeping less,

Both joyless and comfortless.

I thus had reached a pretty pass,

Often weeping, sighing ‘alas’,

Secretly, alone in my bed,

Delight lost, and all pleasure dead,

Nor day nor evening good to see,

For nothing now mattered to me,

Save for my lady sweet and dear,

Thus, everything to me lacked cheer.

Good people now avoided me,

For I’d succumbed to misery.

I thought my end had surely come,

Yet loved ‘Toute Belle’, her person

Much beloved, with so pure a heart,

Such true affection, that apart

From herself, I regretted naught,

Nor any except her now sought.

So, I composed my testament,

And began it with this lament,

Which I sent to her, safe and sound,

Through a valet whom I had found:

Lines 673-696: His first ballad ‘Plourez, dames, plourez votre servant’ (Ballad XXXVII, set to music)

‘WEEP ladies, weep for your underling,

I who have set my heart, and my intent,

Body, and desire, and thought, on serving

Your honour, which may God guard and augment.

Dress yourselves in black for me,

My heart’s sore, my face pales visibly,

And I find myself indeed at death’s door,

If God and yourselves bring me no cure.

My heart I leave with you, at your command,

And offer my soul to God, devoutly,

And may the rest of me go where tis planned,

Flesh for the worms, tis their right most truly.

Let my possessions be

Given to the poor. Alas! In leaving, see

How on my deathbed here I ache, full sore,

If God and yourselves bring me no cure.

Yet I am sure there is such good in you,

You’ll save me from this peril where I lie,

Devoid of hope, if, from the heart and true

You but pray to God to heal me thereby,

So, I beg, most humbly,

That you will raise a prayer to God for me,

For I must pay Nature’s debt, such is sure,

If God and yourselves bring me no cure.’

Lines 697-720: His second ballad, ‘Amours, ma dame, et fortune et mi oueil’ (Ballad CCXXVII)

‘TRUE Love, my lady, Fortune, and my eyes,

And the great beauty that she doth possess,

Render my heart, mind, will, also, likewise,

My longing, subject to her sweet duress,

But tis Fortune only

That makes me languish here, most painfully,

Bringing me anguish, forcing me to suffer,

Since I love her most, yet see her never.

Of my lady, and of her fair welcome,

Of my tender eyes, of True Love, of pain,

I complain not, for this to me doth come:

Through longing I all worldly joy obtain.

And yet all my intent,

All my fine days and happy sentiment,

Fortune will end, if I die forever,

Since I love her most, yet see her never.

For Fortune, of whom I complain and sigh,

Ensures that my lady dwells far from me,

Stealing the hope that I once had, thereby,

And bringing despair to my heart, truly,

So, without any ease,

I live for my lady, whom I would please,

Moan, and weep, and sighs in secret utter,

Since I love her most, yet see her never.’

Lines 721-726: The lady’s second letter in reply.

And when she had read my message

She, as one courteous and sage,

Did not muse on it forever,

But like a friend, good and clever,

Within the hour had sent to me

A letter, you may hear and see.

‘Most dear and sweet friend, I received your letter on the Thursday before Christmas, for which I thank you with all my heart, and indeed, by my faith, I have not felt such joy for many a day as I did upon receiving it, especially because I was pleased to learn the news of your good cheer, and because you wrote that the little composition I sent you brought you both health and joy; for surely no greater joy could come to me than to compose something that both healed and delighted you. And if you find great pleasure in seeing and holding what I sent to you, I believe I take even greater pleasure in looking over the things you sent; for by my faith, no day has passed since I received them that I haven’t kissed them two or three times at least. And I have rehearsed the two ballads sufficiently, especially the one set to music, that I shall learn them in time, while in regard to what you’ve written about your health, which has improved, thanks be to Our Lord, I am quite happy, and so I will be very diligent in learning this latter work well, against the time when please God I shall see you and accompany you in singing as best I am able. And, also, it pleases me greatly that you write that the music pleases you. For, assuredly, I take less pleasure in singing or listening to other songs or poems than I do those that come from you; both for the good I have heard spoken of them and because I believe there is more in them than can be uttered. I love and hold dear all that comes from you, and indeed I would not have believed, no matter who said it to me, that I could feel such great love for a man, without ever seeing him, as I have for you. For since the very first moment I heard the good and honour that are yours mentioned, not an hour has passed in which I have not loved you, and this love grows and will grow from day to day. And I am sending along a virelay on this theme, which I have composed, and if anything needs amending, please do so, because you know how to compose better than I, for I have little talent for undertaking such a task. And furthermore I’ve never had anyone to teach me, and therefore I beg you, most dear friend, to send me some of your works and poems please, so that I might learn from you how to compose the excellent verse and songs you do, for it is my greatest pleasure to hear and sing excellent poems and songs if only I am able to. And when it shall please God that I see you, something I desire more than I can express in words or than you can imagine, please show me how better to write and compose, since I should learn more from you in a day than I would from another in a year. I have received the pages you sent to my brother, and I feel so confident about you and he that I opened and read them. And, by my faith, I would like you and he to have confidence in me in this matter, and in greater affairs. And, also, that same brother I mentioned is no longer here because he left me on the eighth day of December to go to Avignon. And that same day he and your secretary gave me news of you, and handed me a complete virelay set to music, telling me you had composed it. This I practiced until I had learned it. Most dear friend, I commend myself to you with all my heart, as much as I am able, and I beg you that if I can do anything which will please you, and bring you both health and joy, you should command me to do so, just as you would your sister, or your companion and friend. And I promise faithfully to do so, and with a good heart; and you would bring me very great joy and much comfort if you saw fit to send me news of your health. I pray that Our Lord grant you as much joy, health, and honour, as I would wish for the man in this world I most love. Your true and loyal friend.’

Lines 727-739: The lady’s third rondel ‘Celle qui nuit et iour desire’

‘SHE, who does, each night and day,

Long to see you,

Am I; your heart’s ills to allay.

Not to be drawn some other way,

Nor wishing to,

She, who does, each night and day,

Long to see you.

For, view your suffering, I may,

Bring my skill too,

In medicine, to heal you alway.

She, who does, each night and day,

Long to see you,

Am I; your heart’s ills to allay.’

Lines 740-805: He receives her letter and rondel, and is much-comforted

BUT as I was, thus, musing quietly,

While waiting upon God’s mercy,

A valet came to my chamber,

And, I swear, seeing him enter,

My heart was filled, every sense

Alive with joy, at his presence,

For I imagined that he brought

Something good for my comfort

And, indeed, the man did bring

That which solaced me, a thing

As fine as heart could e’er conceive,

Or mouth recount, I do believe,

One my folk found so wondrous

They made the sign of the cross,

And all marvelled, since before

I could not have purchased a cure,

Though I had the empire’s wealth,

For I began to beam with health,

And raised myself higher in bed,

While he, full wise and well-bred,

Approached it, and then handed me

The letter laid out previously,

That you’ve already had in view,

And, I would trust, have read it too.

He said: ‘Greetings from the lady,

Who is your friend, and seeks to be,

And who loves and longs for you so

She would be your doctor also,

And thus, will ease and cure all ill;

Sweet lord, now think of being well,

For she takes pains to see you better;

Come now, take and read this letter.’

I answered him, though quite weakly,

Smilingly, if ponderously:

‘You are more than welcome here,

For most happily you appear,

And I thank you for doing so,

Since now I feel no pain or woe,

For you bring a letter, as well

As news, to me of ‘Toute Belle.’

I took, and opened, the letter,

I still kept concealed, however,

The secrets that lay hid within,

Silently, its purport did win,

And once I’d seen what it said

I know not what joy filled my head,

For I was sweetly provided

With love’s riches undivided,

And so, I doubt it will surprise

That I sighed more than twenty sighs,

And then I asked for food, promptly,

And ate and drank well, and freely,

Then slept a little while, quietly,

Yet keeping the letter with me,

That is to say, close to my heart,

Nor a word forgot, on my part.

After my sleep I felt happy,

Not like one lost in misery,

Discomforted, disconsolate;

You may be sure, I felt elate,

Within two days rose from my bed,

Bathed myself, and then was led

To render myself, as best I could,

Well-presented, as a man should,

So that many folk marvelled there

To see me look and act so fair.

Lines 806-879: He praises the lady and muses upon his previous state

THUS, was my state, as I have said,

Refreshed, the thoughts in my head,

Now pleasant, and full of gaiety,

Of all that makes one’s heart happy,

And I set, mind, and body, and will

Howe’er lacking in strength and skill,

To doing my sweet lady honour,

Serving, loving, adoring her,

And, by God, so I had ought to,

With heart and wit rendered anew,

As my lady and my goddess,

Being my sovereign mistress,

Because I had ne’er seen, for sure,

So true a miracle before,

As that which she had worked on me.

Such great renown it won that she,

So folk do say, will, when she dies,

Become a saint in paradise,

For I can state, in verity,

That she’s twice resurrected me,

For I was sunk in wretchedness,

Deaf to the sound of joyfulness,

All lost was my understanding,

As was my amorous feeling,

In my mouth no praise, I own,

For woman known or unknown,

Nor did I blame them either,

Saying naught of them ever,

Indeed, I lived unsociably,

Hating pleasure, and I did flee

The company, all free of strife,

Of those yet living the good life.

For about myself I cared naught,

The same worth it held, I thought,

To act with a shameful rudeness,

As to do a deed of gentleness.

Love loved me not, nor did I

Love him, resembling thereby

One who’s like a great tree-stump,

Lying there in some torrid sump,

So, covered over by the water

That it serves no use whatever,

Nor can it be drawn forth ever,

Drowned as it is beneath the water.

The bread I ate I would address

Winning nor joy nor happiness,

And found myself much displeased

By everything that others pleased.

And all this I suffered because

Of a cruel and manifest loss,

For after the losing, suddenly,

Delight had fled my company,

Nor was my face full of happiness,

Till my lovely lady did me bless,

Who every ill doth tend and cure,

And of her grace saw me cared for.

It was with such melancholy

That I was cursed, a malady

Bringing woe, and great mischief,

Afflicting me, without relief,

Yet a thing that none can amend

If God wills not, nor ease doth send;

Back to my theme then, my pen goes,

Which speaks of joy and of repose.

The lovely woman whom I adore

Cleansed me of all my ills and more,

Since joy, and life, she gifted me,

And all from generosity,

For she did not her labour sell

Being generous, and raised well,

Aiding, as one free and willing,

For this was all of her own doing,

And I had not a thought of her

Until she helped me in this manner.

Lines 880-933: Concerning the love of women

LET us consider what women do,

What they do, and what they undo;

Good men at once by them are made,

While the wicked ones are unmade,

Since the wicked will ne’er do right,

While the good bring wrongs to light.

But let us think on the true lover,

He’ll be so full of woe, he’s ever

Afflicted, abased by weakness,

So feverish with love’s sickness,

That if he’s greeted grudgingly,

Or welcomed a mite less warmly,

He’ll take to a couch for keeps,

Or the bed whereon he sleeps,

Can aid himself not, there will lie,

Doing naught other than to sigh

For death or mercy, alas, he’ll prove

So entangled in the snares of love,

His body will tremble with doubt,

While the sweat, in rivers, pours out,

So over-heated and wildly stirred,

His appetite so badly impaired,

That he can neither eat nor drink,

All know the truth of it, I think.

His lady beside him will stand,

And touch his head with her white hand,

Or his throat, or hand, a tittle,

And make fun of him a little,

And say to him: ‘My dear sweet friend,

Who now has brought you to this end?

You should not be so sore dismayed,

Since it was but a game I played,

If my welcome held little cheer,

Nor did I ever intend, my dear,

To be cruel, for I love you true,

Nor would wish for any save you.’

Then she’ll gift him a little ring,

Or some such pretty plaything,

While saying to him: ‘Come, rise,

And come eat, and drink likewise,

For, indeed, I’d not have it be

That you should live in misery.’

Within the hour he’ll rise, at will,

Seemingly cured of every ill.

He’ll drink and eat without alarm,

If he needs to, and then will arm

Himself, with mail and shield as well.

Now is that not a miracle?

Now find a saint can do the same

And, in an hour, a fever tame.

Saints can do much, I believe,

But I did never yet perceive,

Aught so miraculous, ever,

As such healing of a lover.

Lines 934-947: He sends his lady a second letter and four ballads

DURING those two months when I,

Through sickness, in bed did lie,

Four works I managed to compose,

That with my letter I did enclose,

Which I have also copied here,

And if repeats and faults appear,

Then my excuse is my malady

If those who read will pardon me.

Here are those three ballad songs,

Ne’er sung before, with them belongs

A ballad I made, carefully,

With joyful intent, as you will see.

Lines 948-968: His third ballad ‘Veoir n’oïr ne puis riens qui destourne’ (Ballad CCXXXVII)

‘I see and hear naught that makes me veer,

Nor my heart, wherever I choose to turn

Such that my mind from you might steer,

Or I prove not yours, nor cease to yearn.

So, from afar, I watch your elegant manner,

And noble form wherein no flaw I view,

Such that my thought is ever drawn to you.

And it would have me love you, this sweet thought,

Most faithfully, and this I’d seek to do,

But Desire on Memory has so wrought

That oft I turn from company, anew,

So, I turn away, and its attack I suffer,

Which assaults me and wounds me too,

Such that my thought is ever drawn to you.

But this Desire waits not, nor doth delay,

Dealing many an amorous turn,

So that my heart must sojourn and stay

In your prison, no tower or fort I earn,

And it is filled with delight and sadness,

So that it oft wins joy and suffering too

Such that my thought is ever drawn to you.’

Lines 969-1035: His fourth ballad ‘L’ueil qui est li droit archier’ (Virelay XXXV)

‘THE eye that is Love’s true archer,

In drawing, and darting, ever

Gracefully,

Lacked power to wound, truly,

My heart with desire,

So, I love with true heart entire,

Most loyally.

This is why. Assuredly,

Ne’er her noble form did I see,

Attractive and light,

That which joyfully

Binds me, in her seignory,

And holds me tight,

Nor she mine, yet hold her so dear

That I would ever wish her near,

Not leave her be.

Though he can, with cruel intent,

Seek to threaten me

Yet I think naught of that, you see,

Here, at present.

The eye that is Love’s true archer,

In drawing, and darting, ever

Gracefully,

Lacked power to wound, truly,

My heart with desire,

So, I love with true heart entire,

Most loyally.

He’s ne’er made me a present

Of either joy or torment;

Nor could his menace,

In any way, prevent me

From living full joyously.

Yet ne’er, face to face,

Can I draw near her, in longing,

Nor she me, except when dreaming,

Wherein, often,

My loving thoughts imagine,

And I think, tis true,

That he might pierce me through,

And full sudden.

The eye that is Love’s true archer,

In drawing, and darting, ever

Gracefully,

Lacked power to wound, truly,

My heart with desire,

So, I love with true heart entire,

Most loyally.

Tis he who, very sweetly,

Captures a heart and, subtly,

Will bind it tight,

Constrains it so completely

He forces it, all humbly,

To yield outright.

He’s the amorous messenger,

Using his sovereign power,

So wisely,

That he knows how to, swiftly,

Entwine hearts truly;

And such ties one cannot free,

I think, readily.

The eye that is Love’s true archer,

In drawing, and darting, ever

Gracefully,

Lacked power to wound, truly,

My heart with desire,

So, I love with true heart entire,

Most loyally.’

Lines 1036-1102: His fifth ballad ‘Plus bele que le biau jour’ (Virelay XXXVI)

‘BRIGHTER than daylight’s brightness,

Sweeter than e’er was sweetness,

A form forever

Graced with a noble manner,

Thus, sans redress,

All your peerless loveliness

Captures me ever.

Yet I’ve heard so much of you,

Your fame flourishing anew,

Night, day, ever,

Such the excellence on view,

The flower, and the fruit too,

Of all honour,

And you are of such great worth

Above all who are on Earth,

That if thus my heart

I relinquished, for my part

Too great would be

The honour, if so sweetly

It dwelt apart.

Brighter than daylight’s brightness,

Sweeter than e’er was sweetness,

A form forever

Graced with a noble manner,

Thus, sans redress,

All your peerless loveliness

Captures me ever.

So, I wish not for mercy,

Indeed, you have so blessed me

That my tears prove,

And sighs, exhausted wholly,

Lady, I thank you, truly,

As I do Love,

Who’s put an end to sorrow,

And his pleasure in my woe,

And enriched me,

With consolation, so sweetly

The flavour

Of that solace I can savour;

Thus, he’s healed me.

Brighter than daylight’s brightness,

Sweeter than e’er was sweetness,

A form forever

Graced with a noble manner,

Thus, sans redress,

All your peerless loveliness

Captures me ever.

So, there’s no pain or worry,

Now nothing doth afflict me,

For my labour

Nourished, and nurtures, me,

In that stream, where hearts may be

Strengthened ever;

Tis bathed in the sweet odour,

Tis your goodness that forever

Ravished wholly,

My heart, that thus deserts me

For one better,

For a place superior,

With you, not me.

Brighter than daylight’s brightness,

Sweeter than e’er was sweetness,

A form forever

Graced with a noble manner,

Thus, sans redress,

All your peerless loveliness

Captures me ever.’

Lines 1103-1169: His sixth ballad ‘Je ne me puis saouler’ (Virelay XXXIV)

‘I could never feel weary

Of thinking, dreaming sweetly,

Of what I’ll say

Or do, what manner display

When, right clearly,

My peerless lady’s beauty

I see one day.

Sure, am I, I’ll be taken, so

Strongly that I’ll not know

What to utter,

Without cold, I’ll tremble though,

Without heat, I’ll sweat also,

Sighing ever,

And fail and falter,

Concealing my sighs from her;

I’ll find no way

To sound a word. Love must play

My part with her,

Who knows how, without error,

Love to display.

I could never feel weary

Of thinking, dreaming sweetly,

Of what I’ll say

Or do, what manner display

When, right clearly,

My peerless lady’s beauty

I see one day.

Ah! Lord, how to countenance

The ray of that loving glance,

The sight endure

Of those sweet eyes? Oh, what chance?

For ills enough, with the lance,

Pierce me, once more.

Such eyes I cannot, I’m sure,

Withstand; weakening blows, so sore,

I gaze askance.

If Hope, that my state doth know,

Comes not also

To comfort me, I must go,

While I’ve the chance.

I could never feel weary

Of thinking, dreaming sweetly,

Of what I’ll say

Or do, what manner display

When, right clearly,

My peerless lady’s beauty

I see one day.

I am troubled nonetheless,

For it pleases me, to excess,

To gaze upon

Her sweet eyes that, smiling, bless,

Like the rose in May’s, no less

Sweet, guerdon.

And if I dared hope that she

Might deign, indeed, to love me,

All wretchedness

I’d forget, my ills address

Through thought, purely;

So, I should not fear, so deeply,

Those I profess.

I could never feel weary

Of thinking, dreaming sweetly,

Of what I’ll say

Or do, what manner display

When, right clearly,

My peerless lady’s beauty

I see one day.’

Lines 1170-1196: His second letter; he rides out to view the Springtime

‘MY most dear and sovereign lady, I am not such a man nor so wise as to know how to thank you fittingly for your sweet, courteous, and loving messages. Nonetheless, I swear to you, in all faithfulness, that these messages have done me so much good that not at any hour do I wake without recalling them; and that I have eyes, heart, and thoughts only for you, in order to do whatever might be to your praise and honour. And as for what you wrote, namely that if you were a man, you could see me more often, I beg you, for God’s sake, and by all the love you have for me, that you will pardon me if I do not travel or have not travelled to meet you; for, upon my soul, God knows that this is not through any lack of love or good will, but because I have been in such a state, so afflicted with illness for a year, and even more so since I recently returned, that I have lain ill without leaving my room much, if at all. And I think that you are so good and wise that you would not wish that I, who am your creature whom you have revived, and sweetly nourished, with your sweet and loving words, be put at risk of being lost forever, so as to journey to you, for otherwise I dare not. And, by Jesus Christ, I indeed desire this more than anything in the world. Though your sweet promises urge me on strongly. And, by God, if you were living in Rome, the great See, I would visit you as soon as I was able. And now the new season approaches when I shall be well, if God pleases. And my sovereign lady, as to your desire that I chase from my heart the mortal fear and sorrowful thoughts located there, all your words are commandments to me. And I will do so, in such a way that the sure hope I have, through the most sweet promise you have made me – namely that, if God wishes, I may see you – shall chase them away never to return, even though I am not worthy to receive, in a hundred thousand years, the least of the good things you would do for me. And regarding your sweet portrait, which you intend to send me, indeed I am very eager to see it, and I humbly ask that you are pleased to send it me, as soon as you well can do so. And if I can find a way, I shall see you around Easter-tide. I am going to have copied for you one of the works I have written previously, entitled Morpheus, and I will either bring it, or send it to you, if God wishes. I am thankful you do not find the length of my compositions annoying, for, truly, once begun I know not how to stop, so great the pleasure I find in thinking, speaking, and writing. I thank you most humbly for the fine and lovely ring that you have sent. And truly you need not beg me to look after it carefully, because I prize it wholly. My most dear and sovereign lady, if I write to you in a more thoughtless, silly, or ill-advised way than I should, please pardon me because there are two things that affect a man’s mind badly: excess joy and excess sorrow. And by my soul, when I view your sweet and loving words, your generous promises, which I might not hope for or desire being scarce worthy of such benefits, I feel such great and perfect joy as no human creature dare conceive. And when I think and see that there is no way for me to journey towards you, to satisfy my heart and eyes by seeing you, my joy changes to woe, of which I possess so much that there is no heart in the world, however hardened, that would not feel pity for me, or would fail of compassion in viewing me. But such is the nature of love: for one joy a hundred sorrows. I am not writing to you, thus, as respectfully and humbly as I should. My most dear and most sovereign lady, I pray that God give you such honour and joy as you yourself might wish, and such as my heart desires, as for the person in this world whom I love best, and most wish to see. My most sovereign lady, I ask you not to share the works I send to you, because I seek to write music for them, especially for those that best please you. And if I have not replied to you as swiftly as I ought, please forgive me, since, by my soul, it was not due to any lack of love for you, nor that I failed to remember you, for I think more upon you than any other in the world. And I think that I would have died some time ago, if I had not these thoughts of you, for I take joy and comfort from them, and the firm hope that I will yet see you, as is my heart’s wish. I received your letter, today, which my secretary sent on to me, in which you tell me of your good health, which delights me. And truly the greatest joy I could possess is to hear good news of you. And concerning what you command me, as to my writing to you often: please be aware, I have found no messenger to my liking whom I dare trust. And that is the reason I fail to write to you more often. For, indeed, I think that you would willingly hear news of my health, and be pleased to know that I am quite well, and think that I would be fully able to ride out, if the weather turns a little warmer. And, certainly, if I possessed your sweet likeness, after God and yourself I would love, serve, and obey it, composing many new pieces in its honour and your own. I have composed the piece in regard to ‘the great desire I have of seeing you’, just as you requested, and have done so in the German manner. And truly it seems to me strange and quite new, so I will send it you as soon as I can. By my faith, you sent me a very fine rondel that pleased me more than a little. My most dear and sovereign lady, I pray God grant you as much good and honour as you yourself might wish, and as I desire with all my heart. Your most faithful lover.’

Spring arrived, all fine and lovely,

And I too was bright and happy,

My mind full of pleasant thought,

My ills eased, nor was I fraught,

Well-provisioned, well-mounted,

My hopes high, blessings counted,

Since I sought to meet my lover,

And I was melting to see her,

So thus, I sat, upon my steed,

One tall, well-rested, plump indeed,

And set off through the countryside

To hear the sweet bird-song, betide,

And take the air, since, most truly,

The thing was like to profit me,

And, also, so I might discover

If I was as fit to ride as ever.

Twas in the month of April when

The birds, amidst the leaves, again

Perform their amorous effects,

Their sweet melodies and hockets.

I rode amidst a grove of alder,

Nor such delight did I know ever

As the birdsong that did me regale;

There sweetly sang the nightingale,

That made itself heard above all,

Thus, joy did to my heart befall,

Ne’er in my life heard I sweeter.

Lines 1197-1211: He returns home due to the heat of the day

YET I returned home, thereafter,

Because of the rising heat that dried

The dew, and drove me back inside.

And there I began to ponder deeply

On my lady to whom I’d, wholly,

Given myself, without reserve,

And now sought loyally to serve,

And wondered how it came about

That by my lady, within, without,

Heart and body, thus, I had been,

Ravished, yet her I had ne’er seen.

This seemed to me a great marvel,

Since I had ne’er known its equal;

Yet all may come to be, no heart

So hard it yields not to love’s art.

Lines 1212-1267: He considers the nature of love from afar

IN this land dwelt many a lady,

Good, fair, of true nobility,

Young, well-bred, and charming,

Straight, and lithe, and winning,

Sweet, and pleasant, and gracious,

And disposed to prove amorous,

And I could gaze at them alway,

And sit beside them any day,

Dally there, tease them, laugh and sing,

Speaking of this, that, anything.

I could watch them carol and dance,

Withdraw gracefully, and advance.

I saw they were honest in all

They did, and virtuous withal,

And yet it never came to be

That love of them so ravished me,

That from the one afar I’d part,

Far from my eyes, yet near my heart.

Yet how could she be part of me,

And strike, from afar, so deeply,

All without my having seen her,

Or yet heard her sweet voice ever?

One might reply by speaking so:

Love knows how to come and go,

(This I doubt not, and can prove)

In one who’s never seen his love,

And his true love will never see,

But hears so much about his lady,

Her fair renown has so approved,

That she will be by him beloved;

For Love who is subtle and wise,

Burns like hot coals and, likewise,

Will burn, within him, forever,

So that, while he lives, he’ll ever

Be her bondsman, servant too,

Her lover, faithful, fine, and true.

So, I think he fares better than I,

If his love is strong, since I sigh,

Hoping that I might see my lady,

And she, welcome me cheerfully,

Greeting me with loving kindness,

Nor displaying proud haughtiness.

For in that way I may discover

If she loves me true; that other,

His lady need have no concern

If her lover she seeks to spurn,

Because he’ll notice not a thing,

He’ll persevere in everything,

Deep in the love that did him claim,

For love of her, and her fair name.

So, if some man from o’er the sea

Chooses to love, passionately,

A lady of this country, likewise,

It would cause me no surprise,

If Love had taught him to love her,

Without him seeing her, ever.

Lines 1268-1303: He praises his lady and receives her third letter

AND so, no one now should wonder

If, musing, I am sleepless over,

One who has never looked on me,

Nor I on her, and yet, sweetly,

Through her, my heart doth dance,

She is my joy and sustenance,

She’s my delight, my pleasure she,

Truly, she is the fleur-de-lis

Kings, dukes, and counts adorning there,

For all indeed must her compare

To the lily-flower in whiteness,

To the rose for pure sweetness,

And the fixed Pole-Star for honour,

And to the Sirens as a singer.

Ah, Lord, when I hear of her fame,

And the sound of her sweet name,

Uttered now, in any manner,

There’s no clerk could sum up ever

Nor e’er describe, conceive, compute,

The joy that doth within me shoot.

Now as I sat, in their company,

A serving-man did approach me,

And said: ‘Sire, this is sent to you,

From one you know who loves you true,

Who sends you a thousand greetings,

Tis from Foix, I bring such things,

And I am journeying to Lorraine,

And next week will return again,

And if a reply you would write,

I shall bear it, for your delight.’

I said: ‘I’ll answer it willingly,

And speak of my wishes presently.’

Then we took leave of each other,

And I oped, and read the letter,

And here it is, all, word for word,

As I received it, and twas conferred:

‘My sweet heart and true friend, I have received your letter. On the fourth day, thereafter, I received those works of which you wrote, and also the songs, for which I thank you as graciously as I am able. And by my very soul, they are all most excellent and please me greatly, as does all you write to me; for I find no pleasure or comfort except in looking at them and hearing them read. And so great is the pleasure I take in them, I often neglect other matters. So, I beg you, my sweet heart, please send me them again, but set to music. And I also ask that you send them before showing them to anyone else, for, by my faith, with a sufficiency of your compositions, I would not seek to learn any others. And when I wrote that, if I were a man, I might have seen you often, by my faith, I spoke truly, but by no means would I wish you to come to me were it not safe and comfortable for you to do so. And so I beg you, by the love you have for me, do not set out, at least until the roads are better, and you are in better health, concerning which I pray to Our Lord that he grant you this, as my heart desires. And by my faith, I believe that your longing to see me is indeed as great as my own; and so I pray you, my sweet heart, cast out all frustration and sorrow from your heart, because in my own soul I cannot feel joy or pleasure as long as I sense you are wretched; for I cannot think that you, or any other man, might imagine how great is my wish to do whatever might banish all the pain from your heart, bringing it ease and perfect joy; and so do not doubt that my will to do so shall not alter as long as I live. And, I pray you, please compose, as soon as you are able, the music for the songs you sent me, especially for ‘The eye that is Love’s true archer’ and ‘Brighter than daylight’s brightness’, and please send me these two as soon as you can. And on the theme of the other ballad song, I have composed the like. And if you think that they could be sung together, then let them be so. I have only written one stanza thus far, because your own are so accomplished they put me wholly to shame. And so, I beg you to please amend anything that needs amending. And, for God’s sake, my sweet friend, do not take to the road until it is firmer, and your weather improves, as I would rather not see you for an entire year, which would cause me much grief, than for you to travel at the risk of peril to yourself. But, above all else, I pray that I might have news of you, as often as you can write. My most sweet love, I pray that Our Lord grant you peace, health, happiness, and joy of all that your heart loves. Your faithful friend.’

Lines 1304-1330: She also sends a first ballad, a virelay, ‘Ne vous estuet guermenter’

‘BE not disturbed, nor fearful,

My sweet friend, nor doubtful,

Nor feel dismay,

For with love, I shall allay

All that’s painful,

Bring you words of sweetness full,

Upon a day.

For, indeed, I wish to do

All that will comfort you,

All that I may,

And solace your sweet, true heart;

Know I shall do all, on my part,

Without delay,

Nor need you fear that you will

Be made to bear any ill,

While I yet stay

By your side, for, I dare say,

I’ll cure you still,

Be your doctor, health instil,

In every way.

Be not disturbed, nor fearful,

My sweet friend, nor doubtful,

Nor feel dismay,

For with love, I shall allay

All that’s painful,

Bring you words of sweetness full,

Upon a day.’

Lines 1331-1364: He is melancholy and doubtful, and composes a ballad

NOW, when Love wounds a lover so,

He is changeable, as all well know,

His thoughts are many and diverse,

And some are sweet, others perverse,

So I grew most melancholy,

Opposing my own self, in folly,

Thinking on my lady’s greatness

And then, again, my pettiness,

Thus, at heart, I did imagine

That beside her I was nothing,

Thinking it great stupidity

To believe that she might love me,

And that every day she saw

Forty better fellows, or more,

In the place where she might be,

By God, or a hundred, truly.

And that, oft, the eye constrains

A heart, masters it and restrains

It, through the delight it teaches,

So that to purest love it reaches,

But when the eye sees one not,

It can do naught; rest is its lot;

Thus, her eyes lack power since she

Can, in no manner, gaze on me,

And who is distant from her eye

Cannot do aught as well, say I,

Since Love would a tight hold employ

On that which would, in him, find joy;

Yet, I composed a ballad apace

Before departing from that place.

Then the lad from Gascony came,

His errand done, in all but name,

And I gave him what I had writ,

And he then sped away with it.

Lines 1365-1388: His seventh ballad ‘Quant ma dame est noble et de grant vaillance’ (Ballad CCXXXIX)

‘SINCE my lady’s noble, and of great worth,

While I think myself of but slight estate,

I can scarce do aught else, on this earth,

But be concerned at my toilsome fate,

Ere I may gain her love.

For the clamour she will not approve,

Of my true heart, in its great loyalty;

And so, she’ll soon forget me, rightfully.

And if I have been slandered by any,

That are hateful to me and oppose me,

If she believed it, twere sin and folly,

For she’s the power to make and unmake me.

May she do what is best,

For my heart, in this love, doth all invest.

Against her will, I’ll be hers, and wholly;

And so, she’ll soon forget me, rightfully.

Love well knows that I feel much displeasure,

Daily, concerning what might displease her;

Devote heart, ease, desire, in full measure,

To all that doth please, and will please, her;

Now, twould mar her honour,

If all her sweetness transformed to bitter,

Such that I chanced to die, of her beauty;

And so, she’ll soon forget me, rightfully.

Lines 1389-1403: He sends his third rondel, and letter ‘Dame se vous n’avez aperceü’ (Rondel XIII)

AND with this rondel he did ride,

And with its music, there beside.

‘Lady if you have not perceived

My heart loves you, without deceit,

Try me; if honest truth you’d greet.

Your great beauty will have deceived

Me quite; hurt me with all that’s sweet,

Lady if you have not perceived

My heart loves you, without deceit.

For so has my heart all such received,

Urging my love, that I lack conceit

To think with joy or reward I’ll meet,

Lady if you have not perceived

My heart loves you, without deceit,

Try me; if honest truth you’d greet.’

‘My most dear and sovereign lady, when you call me your friend, surely I must call you my friend too, since it honours me greatly when you call me friend, for the true love in my heart would have me utter it. When you call me friend, I must call you friend also. And also, my very dear lady, I know not how to thank you enough for the great honour, the great joy, and the perfect goodness you afford me with your sweet writings, for, by my soul, I find joy, pleasure, and sweet nourishment in reading them, for I read them so often that the sweet savour of them remains in my heart at all times. And if I were the worthiest, wisest, and richest man there ever was, and were I to live a hundred thousand years, I would not be able to deserve even the least share of the good things you accord me. And, my very sweet lady, when you say that you take great pleasure in what I send you, I take a hundred thousand times greater pleasure in what you send me because your sweet writings bring every kind of goodness, causing me to live happily and joyously. And though I am worth nothing and know less, they lead me to love honour and loathe dishonour, and flee vice, sin, and every kind of baseness, so that I am much improved thereby because I would already have been dead if you and they existed not, since they provide the perfect satisfaction that I find there, with a sprinkling of mercy, and mercy is nothing but satisfaction. But aught I send cannot amend or beautify you, who are the flower of all ladies, the fruit of honour, the root of goodness and all beauty, and thus possess all that God and Nature grant to a lady of fair fortune. Yet though I am perfectly satisfied with the sweet benefits you bestow upon me, no man is so provided for that he does not lack something; so please know my thoughts are very woeful, and I feel mortal fear, because you would have me live in peace and joy though far from you. And if I were to invade your presence, it might well be that I sought that which I ought not to possess. Here is the reason: I am of little account, coarse, foolish, and ill-mannered; nor do I possess the wit, worth, virtue or beauty that could give your sweet eyes reason to see me or even glance at me, moreover I am not worthy to think about you, and so your noble heart might be indignant toward me, regretting the sweet things you have done and still do, always, though I have never seen you. And then you view every day many men who are, beyond comparison, better and more handsome than I, who am naught in respect to you, such that you think not on me, for certain. Nevertheless, I take comfort in the fact that no woman could be as beautiful as you and yet lack pity, nor lack a gentle heart yet possess so noble a form as you, who would never say or do a thing that was disloyal or untrue. And, by God, if it turned out otherwise, it would kill me, because had I a single wish in this whole world, I would wish to sate my heart and eyes by looking at, and listening to, you. And be sure that no more than the ocean could be drained dry, or the force of the winds stifled, or the clouds rendered light or dark, or the brightness of the sun diminished, no more could my heart be parted from you this side of death. And after death, most sweet one, my virtue shall have been in loving you. And since I am hesitant to visit you, due to the above-mentioned fears, I beg you, as sweetly as I can, as my sovereign lady, to send me your living likeness, in miniature; for if this can be done well, anywhere on earth, it must be where you are. Indeed, I swear to you and promise, by my faith, that this portrait shall be well-loved by me, well-protected, honoured, adored, night and day, knelt to, sought for, and praised, and to no living creature will I reveal my thoughts of love. And if this were not so, I would be the falsest, most evil, most traitorous, most unnatural man who ever lived, and full of that vicious sin they call Ingratitude, which means to render evil for good. For you have revived me, and granted me the mercy that satisfies, granting me once more the inspiration I had lost completely, for I would never again have composed a song or lay, had it not been for you; but if God pleases, and I can do so, I will compose to your glory and in praise of you, a work that will be truly memorable, and I swear and promise you, as best I can, that Lancelot loved not his Guinevere, nor Paris his Helen, nor Tristan his Iseult as faithfully as I will love and serve you, never deserting you. For I will love, obey, respect, and serve you as long as I live, with a loyal heart, and protect you and your good name, and when I die I will leave you my heart, and have it sent to you; this will be my last testament. The two works you have sent me are very well-made, according to my taste, but if I could spend one day with you, I would explain, and teach, that which I have never explained to anyone, such that you would compose in even better fashion. My most dear and sovereign lady, I am sending you a rondel with music I recently composed for love of you. I pray you, most humbly, to write to me of your health, and say when you will leave the place where you are, since I am eager to know this, and also let me know which of my books you would like, so I may have them copied for you, immediately. And if what I write is too lengthy, please excuse me, for the mouth speaks the heart’s fullness, nor can I be satisfied in thinking of you, and speaking of you, to myself alone. My most dear and sovereign lady, I pray God grants such joy and honour to yourself and those you love, as you would wish, and as my heart desires. Your very loyal friend.’

Lines 1404-1425: The lady receives his letter, and composes a complaint

When my lady saw my letter,

She acted nobly, for the better,

Her understanding sound and true,

Placing it o’er her heart anew,

And acting without more delay,

Rather hastening, straight away,

To her chamber, yet discreetly,

And closing the door most neatly.

There she read it, once inside,

With a heart that tenderly sighed,

Crying that I was much in error,

My heart raw and foolish ever,

That I should doubt her in this way,

And so mistrust all she did say,

Whose heart was mine, completely,

And often she cried out ‘ah, me!’

For Love would have her make complaint,

And so, she composed this plaint,

She spoke no evil of me though,

For do you know who told me so?

It was the maid who helped her dress,

To whom her thoughts she would confess.

Lines 1426-1463: Her ‘plaint’ ‘Mes dous amis a vous me weil compleindre’

‘MY sweet lover, now, to you, I would complain,

About the ill that my heart doth grieve and pain,

From you it comes, and this you ought to know,

For, without you, I find no comfort so.

Now, if you please, attend to my complaint,

And think on the love, without constraint,

I have for you, for soon my life must end

If with true heart you love me not, my friend.

Lover, I know no joy, in this my life,

Rather, I find melancholy and strife,

For I do naught but think, both night and day,

Of seeing you, yet muse in vain, alway,

For there is no trick, no plan, no subtlety,

By which I might, that I know, or can see.

And thus, my thought’s my mortal enemy,

My mind is now and ever, opposing me,

And I’ve no solace, love, but in weeping,

Hiding my face with the tears yet flowing,

And when I’ve wept enough, for my part,

Memory comes to tear from me my heart,

For it brings me no joy, nor doth comfort,

Rather it brings but grief and discomfort,

Such that many a stifled sigh escapes me

Because I sigh so often, and profoundly.

And Desire, after, will not leave me be,

Nor have I the strength to last out, truly,

For I am weak, and should have died ere now,

Were Hope not here to ease my pain somehow,

Yet know not what this hope from Hope might be,

Which comes not to pass, so may deceive me,

And since I’ve cause to think things contrary

To all that he doth say, doubt it shall be.

Now let it be as the Lord shall decree;

And yet I have given myself so freely,

All my love, to you, I cannot withdraw,

And if my soul must quit my flesh, be sure,

Never shall this love cease, through my will,

For, after death, my soul will love you still.’

Lines 1464-1467: The lady’s fourth letter, accompanying her ‘plaint’

‘AND she sent, in this manner, to me,

What is set down here, faithfully,

But she within did likewise present

What was writ before: her lament.

‘Most dear and sweet friend, I thank you for your sweet and loving letter, for by my faith the thing in all the world wherein I take most pleasure is seeing and hearing all that comes from you. And the greatest desire I have is to see you. And if I could but journey through the country as a man does, I promise you, faithfully, that I would see you quite often, but I marvel greatly at the thoughts you have had and the doubt you are experiencing, namely that you fear to come to me, thinking I would love you less. For you well know that I have never set eyes upon you and that I love you not for any beauty or delight that I have garnered though seeing you; rather I love you because of your virtue and good name. And, indeed, I have learned so much regarding your renown, that were I a hundred times more blessed with virtues than I am, I am certain you would deserve a woman better than I. So, I beg you, most sweet friend, not to dream or fear that I might repent of loving you my life through, or of doing all in my power to please you, since you know that there have been many lovers who loved those they had never seen, simply because of the good they had heard spoken of them, and thereafter achieved a perfect and faithful love, as did Arthur of Britain, and Florence, the daughter of King Emendis, as well as many others of whom I am certain you have heard mention. And I too hope that, when it pleases God for me to see you, this feeling of love on my part will not diminish at all, for I have the heart and will to say to you, and do for you, all the kind and loving things that a woman in love, in all faithfulness, says and does for her lover, as well as I know how, and am able. As for the portrait of myself that you have asked me, in your letter, to send as soon as it is done, know that I am having the image executed, and will send it to you as soon as it is completed. I have looked over the rondel you sent, and committed it to memory. Please know that I will not at any time depart this place before Easter. I know not the titles of your books, nor which are most worthy, but I beg you, as strongly as I can, to please send me the best, and also some of your songs as often as you can; for if I have sufficient of yours, I shall not be eager to sing those of others. Most sweet friend, you write that you seek my pardon for your lengthy messages, and you may readily have such a pardon from me. And, by my faith, if your letters were as long as the Romance of the Rose, or the Tale of Lancelot, it would not annoy me at all to read them, for if you write that you cannot sate yourself with speaking and thinking of me, in like manner I cannot too often view and read all that you send. And, as regards your saying that nothing you send can offer me any benefit, I say, saving your grace, that your messages have improved me and continue to improve me, every day, for I strive to compose well, in accord with my own ability so that good report of it might reach you. And your virtue makes me esteem all good who are good, and keep apart from the rest. I thank you for the ring and promise to keep it safe out of love for you. And I will send you one of my own and beg you to keep it safe out of love for me. My most sweet and true friend, I pray that Our Lord grant you honour and joy in whatever your heart desires, as much as I would wish it be granted to the man in the world whom my heart loves and desires the most. Your loyal friend.’

Lines 1468-1529: He is troubled by report of her, and sends his fourth letter

HER complaint she sent to me

With her letter, so bringing me,

Great joy, yet of sorrow a load,

For her poem was the straight road

And the true way to discomfort,

Though it also brought comfort,

Since I could find no happiness

While my lady was in distress,

And yet her letter also pleased,

Such that my woes were truly eased.

No middle path could I approve

In this bond of amorous love,

For joy and sorrow can never

Reside in the heart together,

And I had felt the thorn pierce me,

Of her womanly plaint, and deeply,

Which only made my sorrow grow,

And caused my heart to sigh with woe,

While the sweetness of her letter

Soothed me, rendering me better.

And the sweet hope I’d soon view

Her sweet and noble portrait too,

Which she’d promised, on her part,

Brought such great joy to my heart

So greatly benefited me,

By the God above who made me,

I wished for naught else, joy or good,

Or possessions, that any could,

Conceive of; thus, I longed for her,

And, most fervently, desired her.

Now I had not yet sent a further

Answer to her touching letter,

Nor to her complaint, so dolorous

It seemed both sweet and piteous;

And just as I thought to reply,

Someone informed me, by and by,

Of a wondrous alteration,

Causing me much consternation,

Being in such a state that slight

Mishaps made me fearful quite,

For twas said that my dear lady,

Whom my heart loved purely, wholly,

Questioned if I were not a lover

Who in fact preferred another,

And that it had grieved her greatly,

Though she’d said not a word to me.

And when I heard this woeful news,

I cried: ‘My sorrow now renews,

I see that I am dead, most surely.

Where is Death, alas, who sadly

Comes to meet me, without delay,

To snatch my grieving heart away?
Indeed, I’d not have suffered so

Were it I that thought her false, no,

For my hope lay in her goodness,

And then, in her pure faithfulness,

But now all my hope seems lost,

My heart, despairing, pays the cost.’

And I replied, in such manner

As is revealed by this letter.

‘My most dear and sovereign lady, it is said you fear lest I have betrayed you. And though I gave no sign to the person who told me, the impression of these words is printed so firmly on my heart that it will depart only if you were to cause it do so. And please know that I would not wish, be able, or deign to do such a thing, no more than would the truest man in this world. And if I did, God preserve me, I would be the most false and traitorous man who has ever lived, and full of the wicked sin of ingratitude, which is to return evil for good. Though I am hardly worthy of gazing on you or praising you, if your mind were against me, then I would be lost and dead because I would be devoid of all hope and consolation, in that you had thoughtlessly forsaken and forgotten me; yet that would be wrong. For, by my soul, if all the ladies in this world were met together, I would love you alone, above all others, because a heart once bestowed should not be recalled, though many a fool exists in town who loves wherever he fancies. But I prefer languishing for you than delighting in another, such that every time I recall what I was told, I am taken with such trembling, and fear of losing you, that I own naught but what Hope provides and so my pained and woeful heart cries blood-wet tears. And, my sovereign lady, you may readily see and understand that my heart is as firmly fixed in you, as a precious stone in gold, as a fortress in the rock, for you know that nothing is as true or sure as experience, and you may see and understand, by means of your own sufficient experience, that all my works have been composed out of the feelings I have for you, and especially for you, ever since you sent me your first rondel ‘She that never did you see, who yet loves you, and is true’, for all my poems have been on like themes. And, by Jesus Christ, I have composed nothing since that was not for you, because I cannot, nor would wish to, make any feelings my theme but yours and mine, for whoever does not create from their own feelings composes but empty words and music. And so I beg you, as humbly as I am able and know how, you being the woman in this world whom I most love, and in whom I place the most trust, please do not think or believe anything that is against me, for by my soul, the moment I learn of this, I shall stop composing verse, poems of praise, songs, or lays until you forgive me or request them of me; for as you have made me, you can unmake me as it pleases you. I intend to see you shortly, if it pleases God and I am able, though, by God, that will not be as soon as I would wish. My most dear and sovereign lady, I pray God grants you peace and health, and the desire to love and honour me, such as my heart desires. Your most loyal friend.’

Lines 1530-1535: She sends him a fifth letter and her portrait

AND then I wept most tenderly,

And sighed, deeply and endlessly.

But a messenger came there straight,

And handed me her sweet portrait,

And this letter, ere we did part,

Which did awake my sleeping heart.

‘My own sweetheart, and most sweet love, I am sending you my portrait, painted from life, as well as might be done, so that you may be consoled for our inability to see each other. And I beg you, my sweet heart, not to be displeased that I send it not sooner, but truthfully this could not be helped. And my sweet heart, I beg you by all the love that you have for me, as strongly as I may, please let not your heart suffer pain by crediting the words you have reported to me in writing because I have never thought such things by my soul, neither that you would wish or deign to do such to me or that I would do such to you, whom I love more than myself or any other. So have no doubts at all, my own sweetheart, and please to send me your book as soon as you can, for I take no pleasure or delight except in you and your works. I pray that Our Lord give you honour and joy of everything that your heart loves. Your loyal friend.’

Lines 1536-1627: He worships her portrait

THUS, her portrait she had sent me,

By her man, who, in privacy,

Had come to me and said, quietly:

‘I bring I know not what with me,

Sir, that your lady sends to you,

Who, God save me, told me true,

Twas for no hand but your own,

Therefore, take it: tis yours alone.’

And I received it joyfully,

Accepting it respectfully,

And gave him a gold coin, gladly,

And once he’d had his gift of me,

I went swiftly to my chamber,

Alone, and free of every other,

And there I locked myself away,

Like one whose limbs would scarce obey

From joy, and with a trembling heart,

Filled with desire to sit apart,

And gaze upon this precious gift,

That to his lips a man might lift.

Alone, I unwrapped the portrait,

Which was bound up, close and straight,

Within my sweet love’s scarves, and hid;

Those wrappings I at once, undid,

And when her beauty I could tell,

I granted her the name ‘Toute Belle’,

Performing my sacrifice to her,

Not of a bull or calf, but rather

An act of homage for I did start,

With devout mouth, hands, and heart,

To kneel, both my palms together,

For twas the least I might offer,

Now her image, pleasing and sweet,

Was printed on my heart complete,

So firmly, that I would never

Relinquish it, in this life ever,

Rather, by me, she’d be adored;

Love, service, honour I’d afford

To her as my sovereign goddess,

Who Love’s sore wounds would heal and bless,

The wounds in me he did devise,

More than some saint in paradise,

For I was lost and gone astray,

Mazed, discomforted, cast away,

And yet twice she had revived me,

Through generosity, and pity.

I paid this image due reverence,

None better, due to the presence

Of worth and goodness in that same

Lady from whom the portrait came.

Above my bed, and in plain sight

I placed it, with joy and delight.

So, I could touch and view the thing,

On rising, and prior to sleeping.

The image I did adorn and dress,

Comparing her to Venus, no less,

As I worshipped her o’er my bed,

And e’en beyond that, for I said,

‘Sweetest image, sweetest semblance,

More powerful than Venus’ presence,

Sweet lady yours is every virtue,

And hence I shall adorn you too,

With damask cloth all woven fine

With golden thread, since you are mine,

And none with you do now compare.’

Her loyal servant, true friend, there,

I set it o’er my bed, and ever

Those who viewed it would wonder,

Whose portrait it was they did see.

It exalted me to such high degree,

And so enriched all my thought,

As none might credit, and I ought

Indeed, to have felt that very same,

For, by the faith in God I claim,

Whene’er a thought that’s contrary,

Or ill-conceived, occurred to me,

Yet her honest, pleasing manner

I saw portrayed, as I viewed her,

All such thought was banished quite

And all my ills cured, by that sight.

And she had sent this, my lady,

Because she realised that, plainly,

She could not come herself to me,

And nor could I, as she could see,

Meet with her, on any near day,

Yet wished to comfort me alway.

So, I would keep, in remembrance,

The sweet form of her countenance.

Was this not noble, on her part,

That, of her true and loyal heart

And without asking aught further,

She saved my life and my honour?

Lines 1628-1661: He contemplates the effects of being in love

THUS, her image I now possessed,

Both loved and prized o’er all the rest,

Apart from my lady, all debonair,

Who is the fairest of the fair;

Yet doubtless ere I could her ensure,

Many a frisson must I endure,

Many a pain, and many a woe,

Many a changed complexion know,

Often flushed, or turning paler,

And many a complaint must utter,

For who loves with a love that’s true

Knows joy, but meets with trouble too,

Many a varied adventure,

Some sweet, others he must suffer,

Great longings, and thoughts forever

Churning, mingling with each other,

Often knowing not what to do,

And often suffering a lack anew

Of what he possesses in plenty,

Now he’s sick, yet he’s healthy,

Now at peace, his features happy,

Now lost in deep melancholy,

For such, in love, is customary,

Whoever loves all this must see.

In this state I was long present,

Now in delight, now in torment;

Thus, will a lady power attain,

When she has one in her domain.

Yet in the end my happiness

Did overcome all my distress,

Through the image there portrayed,

Fine and pleasing, her artist made.

For my ills were soothed, completely,

By her sweetness, born of beauty.

Lines 1662-1695: He decides to meet with her, and writes his eighth ballad and fifth letter

SO, healed, wholly, I looked out

On the fair Springtime all about,

Pretty and sweet in morning light,

The grass wet with the dew of night,

The buds, and flowers, and foliage,

And needs must make a pilgrimage,

To within two leagues of a place

Which my lady would shortly grace.

I determined to journey, now

So as to accomplish my vow,

Yet neath the cover of my journey,

Her sweet face I might then see,

The sweet eyes, the fair manner,

And the lovely, perfect figure,

Whose portrait I did now employ,

Acquainting me with peace and joy,

Restoring my strength and vigour

Through its most amorous power,

Making me live, and speak truer,

And pen this book for love of her.

But, prior to my departure,

I felt obliged to write further,

And give thanks to her, most humbly,

For the portrait she had sent me

That, beyond the power of a saint,

Had cured my grievous complaint.

And I dressed myself most neatly,

Finely, nicely, attractively,

To go, where I would be, that day,

A hundred times more than I could say,

Yet first this ballad I did present,

Out of my happiness and content,

To my love, sent with a letter,

That gave my lady great pleasure.

Lines 1696-1716: His ballad ‘Ne qu’on porroit les estoiles nombrer’ (Ballad XXXVII) and letter

‘NO more could the stars be counted anew,

When they all are shining at their brightest,

Nor the ocean’s drops, nor the falling dew,

Nor grains of sand with which the ocean’s blessed,

Nor the firmament be in some map expressed,

Than any could conceive, or render true

The great desire I have to gaze on you.

And if there’s no way I can come to you,

Since Fortune will not let me be your guest,

Then I must stifle all my sighing too,

When I think of you, here among the rest:

And when I am alone, in silence dressed,

It pains me with torments, sufferings new,

The great desire I have to gaze on you.

It makes me lament and long to view

Your noble face, and, above all the rest,

Your sovereign beauty, none exceeds you,

And what flows therefrom, your great sweetness.

Thus, it has me languish in wretchedness,

Kindling my hope, and quenching it too,

The great desire I have to gaze on you.’

‘My most dear and sovereign lady, rather be dead than not know this, for a good heart does not lie, and who loves well forgets tardily: you have done for me, and God reward you for it, so much that is good and honourable, so many favours and kindnesses, that no lady has ever done all you have for her servant and lover, no matter how worthy they may have been. And though there may have been and may still be a number of women who willingly would have provided those men comfort, they in no way possessed the sense and manner you possess, such that I hold myself to be the happiest man alive. And though, indeed, I know there are some who have told you that I am ugly, coarse, and ungrateful, by God, though I am a person of little account, I do most nobly possess the heart of lover. And I can see that your noble heart will not deign to listen to, or credit their words, and you show this clearly by sending me the gift of your sweet, pleasing, and most lovely image, for which I cannot thank you as much as I ought, because, by my soul, I own not sense and understanding sufficient to the task of thanking you. But, within my soul, this image is my life, my solace, my delight, for as soon as I gaze upon or recall it, I can feel no pain or ill that is not healed or soothed. And, beyond a doubt, there shall ne’er be a day in my life when, for aught any might do or say, I could think or believe that you wished not to be my sovereign lady, or that you did not compose with a true heart all the good things I receive from you. And, my sovereign lady, a gentleman should have no other occupation, nor area of study, than arms, ladies, and the exercise of a good conscience. And so, I swear and promise faithfully that, as far as I can, I will serve you as loyally and diligently as I am able, and know how to do so, and all in your honour, as Lancelot and Tristan served their ladies ever. And I will adore you as my goddess on earth, and as the most precious and glorious object of reverence I have ever laid eyes upon, in any place where I have been. And, from now on, this portrait will be my heart, my fortress, my treasure, and my comfort, free of falseness, against every ill. If God please, I will see you during Pentecost because you and your sweet image have brought me to the point of complete cure, God be thanked. And I am now riding everywhere and would have departed some time ago, but there is a great band of brigands some six or seven leagues from us, which makes riding very perilous. I am sending you my poem about Morpheus, that is called The Fountain of Love, along with ‘The great desire I have to gaze on you’ for which I have composed the music as you commanded, and in the German manner. And, by God, it has been long since I composed anything good that pleased me as much, and the tenor parts as sweet as unsalted porridge. So, I beg you will deign to hear and learn the piece just as it has been written, without omission or addition, and it is intended to be sung to a slow measure, and whoever could arrange it for the organ, the bagpipe, or other instrument, that is its very nature. I am sending along a ballad as well that I wrote before receiving your sweet image, and so was still somewhat wounded in spirit, on account of what I had heard. But as soon as I set eyes on your sweet image, I felt healed and free of melancholic thoughts. My most sovereign lady, I would bring along my book to entertain you, which contains all the works I ever composed, but it is in more than twenty sections because I have had it made for one of my lords, and therefore I am having it notated, and for this it is necessary that it be in sections; and when it is notated, I will bring it, or send it, if God pleases. My most sovereign lady, I pray that God may grant you your heart’s desire and the kind of honour that I would wish for you, and thus would wish for myself. May God grant you solace and joy. Your most loyal friend.’

Lines 1717-1752: He sends her a number of works which she responds to in kind

THEN I set out on my journey,

By a route that led directly

Towards achievement of my end,

To see and greet my loving friend.

I was mounted on my good steed

That was plump, well-fed indeed,

And rode along quite cheerfully,

Content with my lot, and happy.

In this way I came to the city,

Full of more guile and trickery

Than any city I have known.

So, to the church I went alone,

And once there, upon entering,

Made a silent vow that, during

My whole stay, I would compose

New works each day to add to those

I’d made for love of my lady,

Who wishes and desires, truly,

All that pleases me, God bless her,

And she would be my sweet doctor.

There I offered my devotion,

And it was then my intention,

To perform my novena there,

But I was a fortnight in prayer,

Because, it chanced, I must wait

And not leave till a later date,

When I’d receive that lord’s command

Than whom none’s greater in our land

But one, and God guard him where’er

He may be, and send him joy there.

Yet the delay scarce bothered me

For my love I would surely see,

And oft I thought about her now,

As I commenced to fulfil my vow,

And she so understood my mind,

She responded to each work in kind.

Lines 1753-1773: His ninth ballad ‘De mon vrai cuer jamais ne partira’

‘FROM my true heart there never will depart

The imprint of your sweet face and figure,

For your image is set there with such art

It can meet no acid, no erasure,

No blade, no hand of such a skilful nature

That it could erase or mar it ever,

No more than one could dry the ocean’s water.

Such my earthly goddess is, was, shall be,

So long as there’s life within this creature,

And after death my soul will love her, truly,

The one whose beauty gave such pleasure,

Sustaining my heart in such sweet pasture

It could ne’er abandon nor desert her,

No more than one could dry the ocean’s water.

And with this image she shall cure me,

Of all that love must suffer and endure,

And, every time my eyes and heart shall see

This portrait, firm my hope shall prove, and sure.

Because you are so good, so wise, so pure,

You could not seek to play me false, ever,

No more than one could dry the ocean’s water.’

Lines 1774-1819: Her second ballad, a virelay ‘Cils a bien fole pensée’ (Virelay XXIV)

‘THEIR thoughts are full of folly,

All those who’d have me believe,

I’d leave one who’s all to me,

And another love receive.

For it could not come about

I would leave

The one who is my treasure,

Nor that, I would ever tout

The pleasure

Of other love for, truly,

I am in love so firmly,

No other love may feature,

And for no living creature

Would I desert him ever.

Their thoughts are full of folly,

All those who’d have me believe,

I’d leave one who’s all to me,

And another love receive.

For my thoughts, my memory,

My desire,

And then my whole love, you see,

All concern him, endlessly,

That for me

There can be no joy elsewhere

For without him all seems bare,

Without him sweet seems bitter,

I seek his love, no other,

Whom I love loyally ever.

Their thoughts are full of folly,

All those who’d have me believe,

I’d leave one who’s all to me,

And another love receive.

No more than one could consume

The wide sea,

Or hold the waves motionless,

No more could one e’er presume

To suppress

Love, and stop me, loyally,

Loving him who pleases me.

So, to Love I grant praise, ever,

Since he who is my lover

Proves the best the world over.

Their thoughts are full of folly,

All those who’d have me believe,

I’d leave one who’s all to me,

And another love receive.’

Lines 1820-1832: His fourth rondel ‘Bele, vostre dous image’

‘FAIR one, your sweet portrait,

That I love, passionately,

Has made me upon you wait,

Oft against my will, of late,

Makes me live delightfully,

Fair one, your sweet portrait,

That I love, passionately.

For when I pay homage straight,

It smiles at me, sweetly,

Such that all my ills abate;

Fair one, your sweet portrait,

That I love, passionately,

Has made me upon you wait.’

Lines 1833-1845: Her fourth rondel ‘Amis pour ce l’envoiai ge’

‘MY love, that’s why I sent it,

To you, I love loyally,

Heart-felt, no falseness in it,

The longing thus to limit

That burns in you so fiercely,

My love, that’s why I sent it,

To you, I love loyally.

If desire burns on, submit,

Suffer it debonairly,

Let her face a kiss permit.

My love, that’s why I sent it,

To you, I love loyally,

Heart-felt, no falseness in it.’

Lines 1846-1853: His fifth rondel ‘Se mes cuers art et li vostres estaint’

‘IF my heart must burn, while yours grows colder,

Lady, then I shall never come to joy;

Since the longing that doth slay me ever,

If my heart must burn, while yours grows colder,

Will bruise my heart, and my face discolour;

Without you, naught can those flames destroy.

If my heart must burn, while yours grows colder,

Lady, then I shall never come to joy.’

Lines 1854-1861: Her fifth rondel ‘Lamour de vous qui en mon cuer remaint’

‘THE love for you that in my heart remains

My sweet friend, it never could grow colder,

For, never-endingly, my thought maintains

The love for you, that in my heart remains.

Nor is there any other it contains,

Nor, since it grows thus, could it prove lesser;

The love for you that in my heart remains,

My sweet friend, it never could grow colder.’

Lines 1862-1903: He journeys to meet her, and there is a further exchange of poems

AFTER these poems to each other,

The longer as well as the shorter,

My lady wrote, saying, sweetly,

How she desired, most fervently,

That I would go and meet with her

And, thus, abandon my novena,

Though demanding it not of me,

However, she did ask it, clearly,

And her words I did understand

As tantamount to a command.

So, I set out upon my way,

Travelling to where she did stay,

But before I had sight of her,

Or could utter a word to her,

Bless me if I felt not a shiver

Much greater than any other,

Of such great fear and such great doubt,

My body trembled, all about,

And the cause I knew not, other

Than that I was about to see her.

So, I summoned my secretary,

And told him what afflicted me

How painful this matter did prove,

Seized now by all the ills of love.

He told me to be of good cheer,

For there was naught that I should fear,

For she was little like to bite me,

So step by step I went on, slowly,

My heart and body, sans relief,

Shaking now like an aspen leaf.

I’ll not reveal her letter here,

Too long this work might prove, I fear,

Were I to tell all, endlessly,

However charming it might be,

Of what I sent to her each day,

And she to me. What shall I say?

I’d not dare repeat our chatter,

Two words contain all the matter;

I’ll be silent, through that alone,

For other things I must make known:

I wrought two things, for my woes,

That in this book I now enclose.

Lines 1904-1911: His sixth rondel ‘Vos pensees me sont commandement’

‘YOUR thoughts are as true commands to me,

And thus, I shall do as your heart demands;

Now your sweet messages I hear, and see,

Your thoughts are as true commands to me.

If joy, and relief, Love should grant to me,

From you, before whom my heart stands,

Your thoughts are as true commands to me,

And thus, I shall do as your heart demands.’

Lines 1912-1919: Her sixth rondel ‘Amis venez vers moy securement’

‘MY love, journey to greet me, safely,

There’s naught my true heart could more desire.

You shall be looked upon most kindly;

My love, journey to meet me, safely.

I promise, and swear now, faithfully,

To render you joy for ill I’ll aspire.

My love, journey to meet me, safely,

There’s naught my true heart could more desire.’

Lines 1920-1972: His tenth ballad, a virelay ‘Douce plaisant et debonnaire’

‘SWEET, pleasant, and debonair,

Your sweet face, so beyond compare,

I’ve ne’er seen, nor your lovely form,

And yet I swear, come hail or storm,

I’ll love you, and from all ill forbear.

Surely, I’ll do all that’s due,

Having witnessed the fair rescue

From death that you granted me.

Yet naught did you owe me, tis true,

Twas Love moved the heart in you,

Gentle, kindly, full of pity.

So, I should not prove contrary,

In doing what pleases, wholly,

You who now, in verity,

Own my heart and amity,

Never to leave your sweet repair.

Sweet, pleasant, and debonair,

Your sweet face, so beyond compare,

I’ve ne’er seen, nor your lovely form,

And yet I swear, come hail or storm,

I’ll love you, and from all ill forbear.

You have scarce neglected me,

But rather acknowledged me,

Out of your great humility,

When, on my death bed I lay,

Lovely one, since, in that way,

It pleased you to recover me,

I should not stand silently,

But everywhere, speak, surely,

Of all I found in you: goodness,

Honesty, treasure, sweetness,

All dwelling in your heart, there.

Sweet, pleasant, and debonair,

Your sweet face, so beyond compare,

I’ve ne’er seen, nor your lovely form,

And yet I swear, come hail or storm,

I’ll love you, and from all ill forbear.

And if Fortune brought scant good,

By doing the worst she could,

Your sweetness has overcome her,

Bringing me joy each hour,

Denying Fortune’s power,

And her haughtiness forever.

And you own thus, my heart, alway,

That Love, who’ll conquer any day,

So kindly has granted you,

Which your heart delights in too;

Ne’er saw I so sweet a pair.

Sweet, pleasant, and debonair,

Your sweet face, so beyond compare,

I’ve ne’er seen, nor your lovely form,

And yet I swear, come hail or storm,

I’ll love you, and from all ill forbear.’

Lines 1973-1993: The lady’s third ballad, a virelay ‘Des que premiers oy retraire’

‘SINCE I did first become aware

Of you, my love, sweet, debonair,

Your worth and your goodness too

My heart was grafted so to you,

I could not now this love forbear.

Though I ne’er knew you before

Nor your face have seen, I’m sure,

Love made me grant you my heart

And I’d ne’er have thought it true

That I could love and yet not view

The one I loved, thus, far apart.

But True Love urged me to care,

And the renown you garner there,

And both have my heart so fiercely

Set ablaze, that right willingly,

I love you with a love that’s rare.

Since I did first become aware

Of you, my love, sweet, debonair,

Your worth and your goodness too

My heart was grafted so to you,

I could not now this love forbear.’

Lines 1994-2075: He meets his lady face to face

YET many a time I perceived

In my heart, and so conceived,

That I might find some stranger

Who might feign to be her lover,

And then I would bring him to her,

Presenting him in such a manner,

As to declare ‘Here is your friend!’

To see if she might condescend

To recognise him, and thus hear

How she replied, and did appear,

And in her heart the same thought

Had she, although she said naught,

Yet she confessed so, however,

When I came to meet my lover.

But the thing ne’er came to be,

And that was for the better, truly.

I entered, in short, her presence,

And when I saw her countenance,

Her manner, her welcoming guise,

Her sweet face, and smiling eyes,

Her complexion, red and white,

Her noble form, all shaped aright,

Most wondrously straight and slender,

Neat, pleasing, lovely, tender,

And when I heard her sweet speech,

No coldness, folly did she preach,

Saying rather: ‘My sweet lover,

Let us speak with one another,

For you are most welcome here,

Long seems it ere you might appear,

View me and, here, with me abide,

Come now, and sit you by my side.’

And when she took me by her hand

Whiter than snow on branch doth land,

And greeted me as her ‘lover’

Then my heart could scarce recover

From the shock, such that I knew not

How to speak, nor how seemed my lot,

For I was rendered mute, astounded

More than a dumb beast, confounded,

While I felt a sudden fever,

Chilling my body, all over,

Causing it to sweat and tremble,

Some pallid leaf it did resemble,

But the lady, kind and debonair,

Had realised the whole affair,

And took pains to cover for me,

While to an orchard she led me,

Twas fine, pleasing and elegant,

To lead us apart was her intent,

She said to me: ‘Sweet friend, indeed,

Take what I grant, in word and deed,

Myself and mine, whate’er I possess;

I am no jay, that in its address

Displays mere feathers and chatter,

Nor would I brook a lying matter,

Trust in me, I promise you yet

That heart and honour I will set

In your hands, now guard those two,

Sweet love come, have me in view.’

Then she put her hand to her breast,

And said: ‘It harms not my interest,

To say what I now wish to say,

And accomplish my wish this day,

Here is my heart, I swear I would

Place it in your hand, if I could,

For you to bear away, but now

Comfort yourself, I hereby vow

You shall forgo melancholy,

For your faithful friend I’ll be,

And desire to seek your pleasure

In whatever you might treasure.

And know friend that this love

Which both our hearts do approve

Comes from God, most truthfully,

For we both know of a certainty

We ne’er saw each other ere now,

Nor spoke a single word, you’ll allow,

Yet I well know that you love me,

And so, I call you lover, you see,

And since God wishes we so do,

Naught but a good end can ensue.’

Lines 2076-2111: She puts him at his ease, before he departs

I replied to her words, I fear,

So softly she could barely hear,

Due to my voice trembling so,

And, it seemed, my body also:

‘Fair one, you’re my lady, ever,

And I, by my soul, your lover.’

But in saying this the moisture,

That about my heart did linger,

Poured forth from out my eyes,

And streamed down my face, likewise,

My heart being so greatly pained,

And by her beauty so constrained,

That I must weep most tenderly,

And then she asked me, quietly:

‘My sweet friend, my true sweet heart,

Come, tell my why these tears start

From your eyes, why do they flow?

Say why your heart doth tremble so.

My friend, my love be now assured,

That for the ills you have endured

For my sake I’ll recompense you

And most sweetly I shall heal you.’

Though too overcome to thank her,

I took her by the hand, however,

And humbly gave that hand a kiss,

And was somewhat calmed by this.

Once I felt more comfortable,

And could speak, then I was able

To take my leave, and so depart,

And yet this so distressed my heart

That the parting that must ensue

It nigh on broke my heart in two.

Yet I composed myself once more,

Departing through the rear door,

So that none there might see me go;

How pained and woeful I was though.

Lines 2112-2157: He describes his lady’s attire

REGARDING her attire, of this

I’ve said naught, which is most remiss;

With finer clothes none were blessed,

No lady so charmingly dressed,

And so, I’ll speak of it a moment,

Nor hide the truth from you an instant.

Of pure azure was her headdress,

And twas adorned each side, no less,

With a pretty popinjay, in green,

Of equal size and there was seen

A little clasped purse, striped in blue,

About the neck of each bird too,

While their wings were all pure white,

And they were posed, to left and right,

Such that one bird gazed straight ahead,

While the other looked back instead,

To show that she, beneath her hood,

Was to guard herself, as she should,

Looking to right and left, ever,

If she would preserve her honour.

In a fine robe was she arrayed,

Of the same style, and well-made,

A white ermine trim it did bear,

Fit enough for a queen to wear;

Sweet was she, generous, courtly,

In her white gown dressed nobly,

Cut from pure silk, richly displayed,

In Brussels, I believe, twas made,

And an ermine wrap she had on,

Elegant, pleasing, and thereon,

To clasp it, a chain of pure gold,

And a golden ring this did hold,

With enamelled letters, that read:

‘Guard me well’. Her colours said:

‘Truth, wisdom, hope and loyalty’.

You who know all love’s misery,

And those hues, do no aid require

To find the meaning of her attire.

No more now on this matter, say I,

Since you know all that they signify.

Older than fifteen, not yet twenty,

She was twenty times more to me

So; no more now of the richness

Or the courtliness of her dress,

I cannot tell of it fittingly,

And thus, might speak improperly.

Lines 2158-2184: He praises her treatment of him on meeting

IF any should seek to criticise

My lady, and thereby would prize

Her less, because she spoke freely

To me like this, and generously,

Here’s her goodness, worth and honour,

Here is that for which I praise her,

Here’s tenderness, humility,

And kindness too, and sweet pity,

When a lover’s heart feels woe

To ease all his wretchedness so.

Though I had spent ten months with her,

I’d not have dared ask such of her,

Yet none could have noted in her

Aught that a lady should not offer,

Though she’d not seen me before,

By granting me her love and law.

And, my sweet and lovely lady,

Tis surely no great villainy

If I should dare, eschewing dross,

To speak what is, and spare the gloss.

To do otherwise, you understand,

Were to disobey her command;

If she is pleased, I must agree,

To perform her wishes, utterly.

Lines 2185-2267: The lover is attacked by Shame

REACHING my lodgings once more

I was oppressed as ne’er before,

For Shame arrived to assail me,

Indeed, I believe, most firmly,

That she sought to strangle me there,

For ne’er have I seen boar or bear,

Nor any other maddened creature,

So filled with furious anger,

And when she came against me,

All the blood ran cold within me,

Since she cried out, full loudly:

‘Friend you’re enmeshed in folly,

Thinking to love a woman known

To be the loveliest, you must own,

From sea to sea, such all men say,

And deeply you will rue the day

When you first viewed her beauty,

And sat by her side, for truly

You are scarcely worthy, indeed,

In qualities, in word or deed,

To touch her shoe, and yet you

Audaciously now seek to woo,

And declare that you love her,

And as your lady describe her.

By my faith, tis pure wickedness,

An outrage, naught but foolishness,

That you involve yourself in such,

Who rate your powers overmuch;

Why, he who sought to hang you high

He would but waste the rope, say I.

All reason says you should forgo her,

Who are not worthy to know her,

Nor she love you, on that depend,

Though she addresses you as ‘friend’.

Have you forgot how she has, ever,

Rescued you from mortal danger

That had laid you low, all through

Those letters that she wrote to you?

How, possessed of deep humility,

She resurrected you completely,

And saved you from pain full sore,

And granted health and joy once more,

And gave the power to love, also,

Through feelings you lost long ago?

And she made you into something,

You who were a good-for-nothing,

And are still a dumb fool at heart,

An ungrateful sinner for your part,

So idle, in your melancholy,

You failed to even thank the lady

For the benefits, and the honour,

You have gained through her favour,

And if you had the courage, in sum,

Of Hector the brave, the vast wisdom

Of Solomon, and the broad largesse

Of Alexander, the wealth to excess

Of Nero, with the wondrous beauty

Of Absalom, and the loyalty

Of King David, his faithfulness,

And of Ajax his great prowess,

With the youthfulness you desire,

Every grace, you’d dare not aspire,

To love that woman, truth to tell,

Not even if you’d served her well

All your life; unworthy of her,

No matter how much you suffer.

Think you she remembers not,

And for an upstart takes you not?

Surely, she does, doubt not ever,

She who is all worth and honour.’

And thus, lambasted by her advice,

Much as if I had lost, at dice,

All my hopes and all my honour,

After hearing her deliver

What had scarcely warmed my heart,

But rather torn my dreams apart,

I sought to defend myself to her,

But Shame ne’er ceased to mutter,

Nor would deign to hear my claim,

Crossing herself, time and again,

Due to that shame I’d brought upon

My lady, and the wrong I’d done.

Lines 2268-2371: Hope comes to reassure him

AFTER Shame, Hope dealt her share,

Saying: ‘Sweet friend, are you still there?

Did Shame her vicious tongue employ,

Has she estranged you from all joy,
And for the loveliest in this land?

All because, as I understand,

You’re too shy when you behold her,

Lacking both the voice and manner

That would enable what you’d say.

Sweet friend, cease, without delay,

To act so, for why thus take fright,

Be comforted, come what might.

The lady’s wise in her perception,

And set you in the true direction,

Saying you should be reassured,

She loves you, fortune is assured,

Nor would she tell you this, say I,

Were it not so: she speaks no lie.

So sweet friend be not dismayed,

At Love’s wounds, be unafraid;

The lady knows how you suffer,

And how Love pains you, ever,

She sees deep into your heart,

So never think that, by some art,

She’ll leave you for another cause,

For you are hers, and she is yours.

You have heard what she doth utter,

That she would act as your doctor,

That she would never quit your side,

And think you she would be belied?

Or do you think, God grant you joy,

That a true lady would e’er enjoy

Listening to some shrewd advocate,

Who most ably his case will state,

In polished words, one who’d truly

Prove to her she should show mercy?

No indeed; rather, he’d annoy her,

More than a lengthy winter shower,

That is, if she’s no foolish coquette,

Or a mistress of the snare and net.

For when a lady of true worth,

In whose heart lasting love has birth,

Sees such she prizes him but little,

And values him no more than cattle,

Yet you, in truth, ne’er spoke so well,

As when to her your ills you did tell;

A sick man worsens his position

Who hides his ills from his physician,

While you have spoken openly,

In a word, confessed your malady,

So, you ought not to contemplate,

In fear, that she will make you wait,

Or that she’ll not cheer you, shortly,

So, celebrate now, and be happy.

As for Shame, I hate her greatly,

Would God but consume her wholly!

She’s a sad wretch, full of folly,

And she does me much harm, truly,

When true lovers, thus, she reproves,

For deeds that Love himself approves.

She knows no more than does a beast,

Ne’er present at the smallest feast,

Or if she is, sits in some corner,

Far from everyone, moreover.

She’s always full of resistance,

And consumes a mere pittance,

Feeling shame where’er she’s been.

And if in company she’s seen,

Folk engaged in fair employ,

Who are accompanied by joy,

Or where lover is with lover

And all is promising, moreover,

She’ll thwart them in some way,

And steal the better part away,

If she can, since she cares not

For aught except woe is its lot;

Nor is she keen that any see her,

Out walking, or in her chamber,

Or bed, and does her best to hide;

Small joy would lovers be denied,

If there, beneath the Prussian ice,

She sank and drowned in a trice:

‘For those ashamed, and cowardly,

Never a friend, life through, shall see,

While Fortune ever aids the brave,

And brings the coward to the grave’.

So sweet friend, now comfort you,

Weep not if she chastises you,

For it is, truly, a great folly

To drown oneself in melancholy.

You lady will summon you once more,

And do so much for you, I’m sure,

Her counsel you shall so approve,

You’ll ne’er prove false to her true love.

And you shall never be denied,

But serve your lady-love with pride,

With a good heart, your whole life through,

Without deception, and prove true;

For that’s the comfort that I bring.’

Twas then I heard a loud knocking,

Upon my door, as Hope did reach

This fine conclusion to her speech.

Lines 2372-2405: He is summoned again to meet his lady

I found my secretary was there,

Who saw to my every affair,

And he hastened towards me,

For I was on his mind, clearly,

And he said: ‘I bring news for you,

Which is both fine and pleasant too.

Your lady summons you anew,

And asked that I attend on you,

And bring you to her straight away

For it is four weeks to the day,

A month indeed, since she saw you,

Or so it seems, and she asks you

To stir yourself, and come to her.’

Yet I turned pale an hour later,

For a great fear came upon me

That was terror’s daughter, surely,

And of strange thoughts a score,

Opposing my affair, or more.

I rose though from my bed apace,

And then I washed my hands and face,

Though I was completely mazed,

And sluggish, and thoroughly fazed.

Then we two set out together,

Conversing with one another,

Until we came to where she was,

Though she was not within, alas,

Yet in her orchard she was sitting

Alone, but for a maid gathering

Flowers there, and wreathing posies

Of sweet violets and daisies.

I entered, greeting her most humbly,

Though I felt a change within me.

Lines 2406-2419: She sings and he composes a rondel for her

And then she took me by the hand

Saying: ‘Lover, by Saint Germain,

I have been longing to see you.

And learn whatever I might do,

About the works that you create,

That seem in praise of me of late.’

And I gazed at her intently,

But never a word came from me,

And then she did begin to sing

And sweetly sang the following:

‘Lover, by lover’s heart beloved,

As loyal lovers are truly loved.’

So, I replied as best I may,

Making this rondel, sans delay.

Lines 2420-2429: His seventh rondel ‘Douce dame quant ie vous voie’

‘SWEETEST lady, when I see you,

My heart knows not what’s happening,

Nor yet do I know what to do,

Sweetest lady, when I see you.

For Shame and Fear haunt me anew,

Set me shaking, and trembling,

Sweetest lady, when I see you,

My heart knows not what’s happening.’

And she responded straight away,

And with a rondel, to me did say:

Lines 2430-2441: Her seventh rondel in reply: Tresdous amis quant ie vous voy’

‘SWEETEST love, when you I see,

You fill all my heart, then, with joy,

Never a sorrow remains in me,

Sweetest love, when you I see.

There is no sadness nor annoy,

Nor mischief that may come to me,

Sweetest love, when you I see,

You fill all my heart, then, with joy.’

Then my lady asked me to find,

Some fresh theme, within my mind,

To make a work of imagination;

This I wrought for the occasion:

Lines 2242-2462: His eleventh ballad ‘Le bien de vous qui en bonté florist’ (Ballad CLXXIX)

‘THE good in you, flowering in goodness,

Lady, makes me love with a love that’s true.

Your beauty, growing ever in loveliness,

Brings me the savour of sweet hope, anew.

Your sweetness sweetens all my dolour too,

Correction, teaching, both you thus employ,

And your regard maintains my heart in joy.

Your sweet speech nourishes and sustains me,

With a flood of joy and utter sweetness,

And your wise manner so enriches me

It constrains me to eschew all falseness,

Your gentle heart grants me more tenderness

Than in a thousand years I might enjoy,

And your regard maintains my heart in joy.

Thus, my loving service, all unworthy,

Earns two hundred times what it doth merit,

Unasked; there is no word or deed in me,

Grace, goodness, sense, strength, valour, I admit,

Deserving of the least such benefit,

Yet, through your sweet smile, such do I enjoy,

And your regard maintains my heart in joy.’

Lines 2463-2498: The lover is caught between Fear and Desire

WHEN my ballad at last was done,

My sweet lady, my whole passion,

Said: Tis wrought well, God preserve me!’

And then, regarding me sweetly,

Ordered me to hand it to her

So that she might read it over,

For, mouthing the words to hand,

She might, thus, better understand.

And this I did, right willingly,

With all my heart, as you may see.

While my scribe set to copying,

My sweet lady began reading,

And so, she learned it all, apace,

Before she chose to leave the place.

There we sat both, side by side,

But a cruel guest did woe betide,

For Desire came and would not go,

And looked to break my heart also,

For gazing at her I could see

Her noble and shapely body,

Her sweet glance, her pretty smile,

Lips, red as a cherry to beguile,

So that they said, it seemed to me:

‘Kiss me!’ Lord, who might do so, he

Could find no paradise so fair.

Within myself I struggled there,

With ardent Desire, and the thought,

The wretched one that Fear brought;

She’s the daughter of Cowardice.

Nor was Shame absent from this,

For she arrived despite fair Hope,

Exiled elsewhere, perchance to mope.

Thus, within, I felt an ardour,

Blended with the chill of fever,

Full of that same matter, entire,

That smoulders without smoke or fire.

Lines 2499-2572: The cherry-tree, the leaf and the kiss

IN that place was a cherry-tree

And one to be prized most highly,

For it was round as an apple,

With foliage as beautiful,

And was as lovely an affair

As Nature has formed anywhere.

Its fair coolness we did invade,

Moving neath its pleasant shade,

And sat down on the verdant grass,

And there many a word did pass,

Between us, I shall not repeat,

Too long twould take to complete;

But that woman of pure sweetness,

She rested there in my lap, no less,

And while my love was lying there,

I joyed anew, devoid of care.

I know not if she slumbered, truly,

But there she rested, against me,

And my secretary, being present,

He stood, off to the tree he went,

Plucked a little green leaf from it,

And then against her lips pressed it,

And told me to kiss the leaf, also;

So, Love, whether I wished or no,

Made me bend down, all smilingly,

To kiss the little leaf, gently,

Though I scarcely dared so to do,

Despite the desire I felt anew.

Then my secretary stole it away;

My face became as pale as clay.

I, rendered timorous, no less,

By the strength of my lovesickness,

Did give that sweet mouth, nonetheless,

An amorous touch, a soft caress.

Yet though I touched her lips lightly,

No more did I attempt there, truly,

And yet I was touched by regret,

A little, for once our lips so met,

She felt my boldness, and deeply,

For she said to me, most sweetly:

‘Lover, your deed disturbs me so,

Is that the only game you know?’

And yet a smile was hovering there,

As the lovely woman did declare

Her outrage, leading me to dream

And hope, despite how it did seem,

That the kiss had not displeased her,

Who, silently, its touch did suffer.

Yet I so prized and cherished her,

That I decided, then and there,

To say to her: ‘My dearest lady,

If there’s aught for which you blame me,

If I have wronged you, then, indeed,

For God’s sake punish my misdeed.

This, with pure heart, I ask of you,

Accept my excuse, for, tis true,

Pure Love led me to act so, surely,

Counselled by my secretary,

And Desire thus compelled me

Who ne’er acts faint-heartedly,

And so, the deed he did command,

Twas none but he made such demand,

While I so longed for it, tis plain,

I lacked the power to abstain.’

I excused myself, truthfully,

And she received it so calmly,

She said naught of it, thereafter,

Saying, doing, as regards the matter,

Not one thing, nor showing further,

That I, in any way, lacked her favour.

Lines 2573-2612: He visits her every day

I stayed there eight days together,

Directing my steps towards her,

My thoughts, my actions, my desire,

Each path I took; there I did retire,

Where lay my refuge, my resort,

All my delight, my strength in short,

All my powers of imagination,

All my cares and consideration,

All my manner, and my study,

Raw or foolish though it might be,

All so my lady I might see

To the best of my ability,

Thus many a time I did greet her

And yet as often failed to meet her;

Though her intention she made good,

To see me often as she could,

Not as oft as she wished, I know,

But when twas easy to do so.

Yet for the duration of my stay,

I saw her each and every day,

In the pretty orchard where she

Spent time, I beside her, sweetly,

Till love’s pleasurable feeling,

Seemed every day more pleasing.

Twas every morn I entered, then,

That sweet and pleasant garden,

And waited for her while I read

A book, or said my hours instead,

And when my lady came to me

With a rondel she greeted me

Or a little song fresh and new

Or some other piece she knew;

And she sang them all so sweetly

Her sweet singing enchanted me,

And being thus enchanted by her,

I could do naught but sing for her.

I made this ballad, accordingly,

Without demur, most joyfully,

Which follows after; and will write

Music for the fair one’s delight.

Lines 2613-2640: She weaves a garland, he composes a ballad

ONE day, while seated at her side,

I was lost deep in thought, betide,

And this my fair lady perceived;

Hear how by her it was received!

She slipped away, all silently,

And then began weaving, swiftly,

A fine little garland of flowers,

A sweet token of happy hours,

Wrought of lilies of the valley,

And roses, and violets, chiefly,

And, when twas done as I have said,

She came and placed it on my head,

She wove also the sweetest cincture,

The prettiest, that Mother Nature

Had ere wrought since her creation,

Or since the Lord did Eve fashion,

For it was formed of her two arms,

Long and slender, two fair charms

About my neck, whiter than lilies,

Resting a moment there, at ease,

And then she said: ‘My sweet lover,

What is this you’re pondering over?’

And so, I answered: ‘My sweet love,

Tis a lament you might approve,

A gift you shall have, most willingly,

To learn if you will, from you to me.’

Then she begged me to recite it,

The which I did, as here tis writ:

Lines 2641-2664: His twelfth ballad ‘Le plus grant bien qui me viengne d’amer’

‘THE greatest good that I gain from loving,

So, easing my torment the most thereby,

Is but to lament my ills, sorrowing

Deep in my heart, that for hers doth sigh.

I know not how else to pray

For mercy, from one whom I love, alway,

More than myself; see now, from my manner,

He prays enough who goes weeping ever.

For I have not courage enough for prayer,

Being scarcely worthy, if truth be known,

Of winning mercy, and so must take care,

Fearfully, lest from her door I’m shown.

For, should that thing occur,

You, indeed, would slay your faithful lover,

Sweetest lady, and you know, moreover,

He prays enough who goes weeping ever.

And so, I attend on you, peerless lady,

You, who are so wise and e’er so worthy,

The world entire could not suffice, surely

To praise your virtue, or laud your beauty,

And if your heart heard not

My weeping at the harshness of my lot,

Be pleased to listen now, and remember,

He prays enough who goes weeping ever.’

Lines 2665-2806: He speaks to her of his situation

TO tell the truth I often complained,

In her presence, as one who’s pained,

While she reproved me most gently,

Every time it happened, believe me,

Saying: ‘Of woes you make complaint,

My love, yet whence comes your plaint?
By my faith, love, indeed I would

Cure you of your ills, if I could.

For you should conceal naught from view,

And I should reveal all to you;

All to you I would discover,

For, from you, I’d hide naught ever.

And when my eye your illness sees,

My love, I cannot feel at ease.

Come, tell me of your malady,

And twill be cured, if such can be.

You have named me as your mistress,

And call me your sovereign goddess,

And yet you would ask naught of me;

Please to know, if you should try me,

The love that dwells within my heart,

And you will soon see, for your part,

That, more than any other creature,

I love you, with love true and pure.’

And when I heard her speak so plainly,

So openly, so directly,

Her sweetness so melted my heart

I could not refrain, by any art,

From tears, all reduced to weeping,

The moisture from my heart seeping

From my eyes, that gazed piteously

On her, and I wept lengthily,

The tears flowing fast as ever,

Until at last I gave her answer,

While breathing out a grievous sigh:

‘Lady, that I should moan and cry,

Should be to you no great wonder;

I wonder how is any lover

Brave enough to address a plea

By word and deed, to his lady,

Seeking, indeed, something from her,

When he should restrain himself rather,

For his demands are but villainy,

While praise is the proper courtesy.

And I can merit, in no manner,

That you should indulge me ever,

Or grant me Love’s least benefit.

So, tis better I sigh a bit,

And spend my days thus, lacking joy,

Than make request, and so annoy,

Tis ill to seek too much, ever,

Or long peace with war to sever.

I’ll be silent, and so remain,

And then let Largesse act amain,

And True Love, who doth understand

My heart is all at your command.

Love’s benefits are shared, you see,

Not by you and me, equally,

Rather Largesse distributes them

As Love devises, and then again

I’d be much more content with one,

If I were worthy, freely given,

Granted, through generosity,

And from the heart, and lovingly,

Than any joy Love might bring,

Merely achieved by demanding.

You are subtle enough and wise

To see by my visage, likewise,

All I am, my rank and manner,

And that I’m no false pretender;

I need not speak, it seems to me,

Of my plight, nor my malady,

Since all this, by heart, you know,

And have it in writing also,

And if you love me tenderly,

As you have told me, then, truly,

Your deeds and words will agree,

Or else dishonoured I shall be.

Do not, I pray, lightly, neglect

My sorrow’s easement to effect,

For if I asked mercy of you

And my request failed of issue,

Why then, I would be dead for sure.

Rather this anguish I’d endure,

Which I now suffer covertly,

Than such; for when grace and pity,

And all your sweetness, display

Their worth, my ills are soothed away.

Thus, tis better all were well-paced,

Than break my bow drawing in haste.

You say to me that you love me,

And call me your true love, sweetly,

Tis the best you may do for me,

And all the fashion in Germany;

To heal with words is there the rule,

Such is, everywhere, taught in school.

And I will receive, with patience,

That dictated by your conscience,

For there’s a rich treasure in you,

A hundred thousand good things too,

Such that whatever you withdraw

There yet remains an endless store,

Nor could you bestow it, ever,

Without your growing far richer.

Indeed, tis the whole world’s plenty,

God’s manna, riches of the sea,

Without a floor, without a shore;

He’s but a fool who’d seek for more,

For none can diminish its greatness,

Nor, by extracting, render it less.

The more one takes, the more appears.

So, with your treasure, as my tears,

For yours grows each day in richness,

The more you extend your largesse.

Yet if you, fair one, prove miserly,

By the faith I owe Saint Peter, surely

You would be obliged to repent,

Because I say, and tis truly meant,

That everything has its season,

And I need give no other reason,

While you need not be taught tis so,

Since you understand me, I know.

Yet one thing troubles me greatly,

That on a crowded street, in every

Place you should say ‘Come to me’

And your ‘sweet friend’, thus call me,

Wishing that everyone might know

That you love me, which I guard so

Closely, whene’er such things you say,

While striving to go some other way.

A lover’s gift that’s made covertly

Is worth a hundred sung openly.

Yet I’ll conclude my sermon now,

Having lectured too long, I vow;

I’ve proven, by my plaint however,

“He prays enough who goes weeping ever.”’

We talked in this manner for a while,

My lady answering in briefer style.

Lines 2807-2842: The lady’s reply to his complaint

MY love I’ve listened to your plaint,

And all your sorrowful complaint,

And that you lack the bravery

To request, proving but cowardly,

The one thing that you most desire,

So that in sighing you suspire;

And that you feel the bitter bite

Of ardent Desire, gripping tight

About your heart, a bite more sure

Than ever fine lover did endure;

And that I should not prove miserly

With my treasure but give, freely,

What nor by gift or by promise

Can e’er be shown to diminish;

And that perforce I should amend

My naming you ‘my gentle friend’

To prove your contention, forever,

“He prays enough who goes weeping ever”.

Thus, my friend, shall I now reply,

And grant you my answer thereby.

What do you wish to hear from me?

That faint heart ne’er won fair lady,

Nor is it any fault of mine,

Dear friend, that you weep and repine.

What would you have me do for you?

I see you face to face, sing too,

Ever I grant you true solace,

Call you ‘my friend’ in every place,

I love you above all, wholly,

Nor in this world is there any

Whom I indeed would rather receive,

Nor to possess my treasure give leave,

That you so prize, my love, that no

Price can be set upon it; for, know,

Love, I abandon it to you;

Take all, and I’ll grant you your due.’

Lines 2843-2890: The lover is granted his wish, and then writes a rondel for her

THEN, at once, she heard me say:

‘Who grants me all takes all away.’

And she said: When I call you friend,

Publicly, tis a means to pretend,

For I can speak with you freely so,

And, as regards you, come and go.

And, you know, that is for the best,

And you are wrong as to the rest,

If you feel shame, I mean, at this,

Or say I shame you, or go amiss;

In future I’ll have naught to say,

And hide our love in every way.

Nonetheless, I’m happy if any

Notice our love, since its wholly

Good, whether in street or byway,

And pleasing to me, any day.’

And at once, I felt more shame

Than any that I did ever claim,

And no reply could I provide,

Wishing instead to run and hide.

But the beauty, who doth command

My heart, soon issued her demand

That I be happy and full of joy,

And shortly the means did employ,

For the lovely one shared with me

A benefit of two parts, for, truly,

I did bear the one part away,

While granted the other, that day.

Taking my leave, I, straight away,

Sped downstairs, and on my way,

Gaily, happily, glowing still,

Since assuaged was my every ill,

For the fair one had calmed me,

And had brought me peace, wholly.

I went and locked myself away,

To end my pilgrimage, that day.

And yet, nonetheless, our parting

Troubled me, beyond conceiving,

For all my heart remained with her,

To serve her, and attend on her;

And so, I did adore her image,

Worshipped it, paying her homage,

At all hours of the day, did ever

Labour in that high endeavour.

And this rondel I made for her,

On the road, sending it to her,

On parchment, and yet her reply

Eclipsed my effort, by and by.

Lines 2891-2898: His eighth rondel ‘Sans cuer dolens de vous departiray’ (Rondel IV)

‘Mournfully, without my heart, I leave you,

And little joy shall have, till I return.

Now my body departs from yours, anew,

Mournfully, without my heart, I leave you.

Yet know not where to go, or what to do,

Since, full of tears and misery, I yearn.

Mournfully, without my heart, I leave you,

And little joy shall have, till I return.’

Lines 2899-2906: Her eighth rondel ‘Sans cuer de moy pas ne vous partirez’

‘Without this heart of mine you’ll ne’er depart,

For it shall journey, everywhere, with you,

As company you’ll have your true love’s heart,

Without this heart of mine you’ll ne’er depart.

I am sure you’ll guard it well, for your part,

While your own will keep me company too.

Without this heart of mine you’ll ne’er depart,

For it shall journey, everywhere, with you.’

Lines 2907-2942: The lover attends church and sees his lady

NOW we had come to the ninth day

And while I thus prolonged my stay,

My lady chose not to forget me

But gathered a riding company

Of ladies and of demoiselles,

Elegant and noble young belles,

To visit, and to meet with, me,

And all to ease my melancholy.

Yet, in all my life, I maintain,

There was ne’er so heavy a rain,

So, to the church they went straight,

No house of clay was that, I’ll state,

Its stones all hardened to a fault,

Mighty pillars, and a high vault.

Then my secretary came to me,

Saying: By Saint Eloi, sire, see

Your lady is here, in this place,

She of the fair form, and bright face.’

And no one had to urge me then

To approach her swiftly, again,

I’d quickly seen that it was she

I call ‘Toute Belle’, and rightly,

Though she did but abide the shower,

Thence departing within the hour,

Out of love for her companions,

Who, all fearful of their husbands,

Were on tenterhooks; men’s hearts

Being pierced by Jealousy’s darts

When their wives are in company,

If they seem happy, and run free;

That is, if the men perceive tis so.

Women are not so lacking though

As to fail to devise some way

To fool their husbands for a day.

We’ll say no more about it though,

For how to work it, they all know.

Lines 2943-2990: He kisses her before she departs; he sends her a letter and a rondel

THAT sweet and most gracious beauty

Who doth assuage my ills, wholly,

The whole of the Mass she did hear,

While I stood, listening, at the rear.

But then, a blessing on my head,

While the Agnus Dei was said,

By the faith I owe Saint Caprais,

Between two pillars we did stray,

And she gave me the kiss of peace,

Most sweetly; I was more at ease,

Though it troubled my heart when she

Went from the place, most promptly.

I accompanied her, with a sigh,

Accomplishing my task, thereby,

Returning to my room to dine,

Taking bread, meat, salt, and wine,

Sharing all with my secretary,

Who appeared mortally hungry.

Since my lady had left me, swiftly,

And left me fretful as one could be,

I drank little there, and ate less,

Dreaming at table, I must confess,

As to the manner in which my lady

Had come there yet left so promptly.

It had been better had she stayed

Than but a brief hour’s visit paid.

I pursued my devotions again,

Yet my mind dwelt more, tis plain,

On thoughts of my faithful beauty,

That is to say, on my little lady,

Than any saint, twas her I sought

Sore troubled by many a thought,

For a lover’s never satisfied,

Nor solaced as his heart devised.

Know that he will oft discover

He lacks one thing or another,

And there was I, troubled at heart,

At what to do, since we must part.

I felt discouraged, utterly,

By this love, that seized me, wholly,

Since it was so hard to see her

That to joy I seemed a stranger.

Such that I knew not how I might

Maintain myself, or day or night.

So, I summoned my secretary,

And had him write a note, shortly,

And by him I sent the letter,

Enclosing this rondel for her.

Lines 2991-2998: His ninth rondel ‘Toute Belle vous m’avez visete’ and sixth letter

‘Toute Belle, now you have met with me,

A hundred times, sweetly, I must thank you.

With good-heartedness, and true amity,

Toute Belle, now you have met with me;

And, by doing so, shown pity

In comforting a heart, all black and blue.

Toute Belle, now you have met with me,

A hundred times, sweetly, I must thank you.’

‘My dearest sweetheart, I pray you, for God’s sake, to excuse me for not writing to you since you left my side, for, God knows, it was not through any lack of love or good intent. But, by my soul, I could not help it, because of a certain thing that my secretary and I will speak to you about. In particular, it does not seem at all good to me to send you messages too often for fear of gossip, and because one cannot be too careful. Whatever I say and do is only for the best and for the sake of honour, for I desire to see you more than any creature in the world. And my dearest sweetheart, you must not think that what I do is meant to distance you from me. For of all the mischances and painful aspects of a lover’s life that exist, apart from being sent away, this is the greatest: to remain far from the one you love. For if he cannot see, hear, or touch the one he desires, and loves more than all nature might provide, a man knows not what to do. And if he cannot send messages to her often, it is a wonder his heart fails to break, or that a lover’s heart can suffer and endure such pain, especially since Desire inflames him and sets him burning, forcing him to long for one he can neither see nor possess. But Sweet Pleasure, Sweet Hope, Sweet Thought, and most Sweet Memory, nourish and sustain him. And, by my soul, my dearest sweetheart, were it not for this sweet portrait of you, which does me greater good than anything else in the world, nothing could ever console me or bring me joy, save only death. For Desire renders my life most difficult, nor am I ever in any place, anywhere, where longing does not seize my eyes and my heart; so that if I wished to abandon or forget you, and may God preserve me from such, by my soul, longing would not allow it. And thus, you should be sure of me, my heart, and my love. And, by the very God that made me, it could not come to pass that I could forget you, no more than I could ascend to the clouds without a ladder. And I trust in your goodness. So that I consign my soul, my heart, my life and whatever is mine to your guidance. And, my dearest sweetheart, sovereignty is silent and our words as one, since you said that your fate is mine, and mine is yours. God be with you, my very sweet love, and may He grant you peace and paradise, and the desire to love me as much as I think to serve you. Your most faithful friend.’

Lines 2999-3010: Her ninth rondel ‘Tres dous ami j’ay bonne volente’

MY lady waited but briefly,

Before replying, fittingly,

In the same rhyme and manner,

As the rondel I made for her.

‘I’m willing, my dear sweet lover, truly,

To bestow peace, joy, and mercy, on you.

To increase your well-being, entirely,

I’m willing, my dear sweet lover, truly.

For I’ve grafted my heart to yours, firmly,

Since there, I see, twould have me love true.

I’m willing, my dear sweet lover, truly,

To bestow peace, joy, and mercy, on you.’

Lines 3011-3020: The lady’s sixth letter

WHEN my secretary, once more,

Returned, twenty greetings he bore,

Nay, a hundred thousand truly,

And I very well knew that he

Gave them without deceit or lies,

Not daring to do otherwise.

And that rondel of hers he brought,

That she’d composed, for it was caught

Up with her letter, as I could see,

Which I oped, and read carefully.

‘My dearest heart and most sweet lover, I beg you, as sweetly as I can, not to be displeased that I have failed to write to you, for truly I lack the opportunity to write you as often as I would wish. And regarding what you wrote to me, namely that I should not be unhappy at having no news of you, know that I can think of naught you could do that would displease me; for I recognize and firmly believe that everything you do, you do with true love and in good faith. My sweetheart, I have learned for a fact that your novena will be completed Sunday next. And on that day my sister and I must undertake a journey of some four leagues. And I am sure it will be Monday eve or Tuesday morn ere we return. And so, I pray you, be pleased to entertain yourself with those companions who are eager to see you. And we will make great cheer upon our return (and endure the wait as best we may) for I think that this delay will annoy you as much as it does me. And I would willingly avoid this journey if I could, or dared, readily, to do so. Yet my hope is that a single one of the days we shall spend together on my return will equal four of those we must lose, because of the great pains I shall take and the diligence I will show. And I beg you, my sweetheart, to take comfort and be happy at heart, in thinking how all my wishes and thoughts are the same as your own with regard to your situation. And my sweet friend, I would not have you think or imagine that I could ever leave or forget you; for, if God but granted me the joy of seeing you, whom I love more than all the world, you might witness all the Earth’s rivers flowing backwards to their sources ere I would desert you. Nor could it happen that I would forget you for any reason there may be, no more than I could create a new world from nothing. And so, my sweet friend, I beg you to banish melancholy completely from your heart, for I could find no joy or good as long as I knew you were unhappy. I pray God grant you honour and joy in everything dear to your heart. Your loyal friend.’

Lines 3021-3042: He composes his tenth rondel ‘Amis bien voy que tu pers tes deduis’

READING her letter, thoroughly,

There, despite myself, I could see

Several things that did trouble me

As, indeed, did my secretary.

For she from that place must fare,

On a day when I must be there.

And this the fair one knew also,

Yet nonetheless she still must go;

Since it made me melancholy,

Sad, pensive, full of jealousy,

I recommenced, without delay,

To fulfil my vow; yet, that day,

I composed in a sad manner,

All contrary to the last I sent her.

‘Long are my nights, and full long are my days,

And whate’er I see fills me with annoy,

Seeing her not, who doth harm me, always;

Long are my nights, and full long are my days.

Tis you, fair one, and Love also, that slays;

In tears my sad heart drowns, devoid of joy.

Long are my nights, and full long are my days,

And whate’er I see fills me with annoy.’

Lines 3043-3050: The lady’s tenth rondel ‘Amis bien voy que tu pers te deduis’

‘LOVER, I see that you are robbed of joy,

Since I am forced to go from here, this day;

And I am sad that tears you now employ;

Lover, I see that you are robbed of joy.

Yet, should I, on return, God’s grace enjoy,

With joy, peace, comfort, I’ll your woes allay.

Lover, I see that you are robbed of joy,

Since I am forced to go from here, this day.’

Lines 3051-3058: The lover’s eleventh rondel ‘Belle quant vous m’arez mort’

‘FAIR one, once you have slain me,

You will have lost your lover,

At my death you’ll feel pity,

Fair one, once you have slain me.

If you’d feel no remorse, ‘ah me’

I might well say; alas, forever

Fair one, once you have slain me,

You will have lost your lover.’

Lines 3059-3066: The lady’s eleventh rondel ‘Amis se dieus me comfort’

‘MY love, thus God consoles me,

That you yet possess my heart,

Which loves you more than any;

My love, thus God consoles me.

So, forsake despondency,

My heart’s yours, though I depart;

My love, thus God consoles me,

That you yet possess my heart.’

Lines 3067-3077: The lover’s twelfth rondel ‘Puis que languir sera ma destinee’

‘SINCE languishing is thus my destiny,

My heart could not do so more pleasantly

Than for you whom I do long for wholly.

Twill be honour and fair renown, to me,

Since languishing is thus my destiny.

Should I die, my lady, born to beauty,

I’ll be a martyr to your love, truly,

And yet twere best for me, assuredly.

Since languishing is thus my destiny,

My heart could not do so more pleasantly

Than for you, love, whom I long for wholly.’

Lines 3078-3079: He sends her his seventh letter

THUShus, I’d sent my rondels to her,

Despatching them with this letter.

‘My sweetheart and my very sweet love, I have read what you have written, most carefully. And may it please you to know that, were you not close by, I would not have come here for any reason, not for a great while. And at the moment I have nothing to do here other than to see you. Alas, you intend to depart the very instant I have arrived, which is a hard thing for me. Also, my lord has commanded me by letter that, once my novena is complete, I should go, to be at his side. My sweetheart, this journey of yours is, and will be, a very troublesome thing to me because a day waiting for you must seem a year. And if there is any way you can rightfully remain, saving your honour, nothing could please me more; for, sweetheart, you know that I must leave here in a short while, and then I will not be able to see you as often as I wish. And if your tender heart accords with your sweet words, you will do your best to remain nearby. And also, if you would keep your dazzled servant in mind, I beg you sweetly to reply in writing to tell me what you desire ere leaving. In all ways, I desire all that you do. So farewell, my sweetheart and my very sweet love. Your most faithful lover.’

Lines 3080-3098: Her twelfth rondel ‘Vostre langueur sera par moy sanee’, and seventh letter

I sent my letter on its way,

And she replied that very day,

In the form and the manner

Revealed to me by this letter,

And this rondel she sent to me,

Within it, folded carefully,

Replying to my last to her,

Composed and sent with my letter.

‘My sweetest lover, I’ll cure your languor,

Since I love you, and all without regret,

If you’ll trust Love and I to do so yet.

I swear it, as your dear friend and lover,

My sweetest lover, I’ll cure your languor.

You should hold me excused, moreover,

For tis against my will, do not forget.

On my return I promise, never fret,

My sweetest lover, I’ll cure your languor,

Since I love you, and all without regret,

If you’ll trust Love and I to do so yet.’

‘My sweetheart and my sweet friend, I have received your letter, telling me of your good health, which gives me greater joy than anything else that might be. And if you well knew the good intent that I own, of doing what will please you, you would no longer write that I should take pains to do so, because, by my faith, my resolve and good intent are greater than those, I believe, that could be possessed by any other. And be sure, upon my return, I shall, as regards this, dedicate my heart and body, as well as a portion of my honour, the which I expect you to uphold firmly, to achieving for you that which, I know, will provide joy and comfort. And if you say you are troubled by my leaving, I do not believe at all that you are more troubled than I, because I have so many sad thoughts that whenever I recall them I possess naught that is good, and I often wish I could be your chaplain or clerk so that I could always be in your company. Adieu, my dear sweetheart, and may God grant you good health, peace, and joy of whatever you desire. Your faithful lover.’

Lines 3099-3162: He awaits news of her, and writes his eighth letter

AND thus, my lady went away,

Though I was there on the day

That she was forced to depart,

Full of sad thought, for my part,

For I must wait two days or three,

All distraught and melancholy,

And I found that nothing pleased me,

Rather everything displeased me,

The which, indeed, was no wonder

For I was only led there ever

By her sweet white and rosy face;

I had no business in that place

With any man nor aught in sight,

Naught but to set myself alight

At that blaze where a fool burns so,

The more the closer he doth go.

Now think not that I am saying

I hold myself foolish for loving

My dear, sweet, and noble lady,

For twas not my intent, truly.

I’ve ne’er wrought so well before,

Nor with such honour, I am sure,

As to undertake to love her,

Nor should one rebuke me ever.

And, in the end, she did return,

Though twenty times I did yearn,

As to her road, and the direction,

Where I might see her lovely person.

For I dared not write to her so,

Nor man or woman did I know

Where she was, who was aware

Of the amorous flames that flare

About my heart, that scorch ever,

And gnaw, if not quenched by her,

For nothing, indeed, could save it,

Except she that did afflict it.

So, at the window, day and night,

I sat and gazed to left and right,

For I was most concerned lest she

Had wished to send me, secretly,

Some person bearing a message,

Clerk, or woman, priest or page.

Thus, I remained there, endlessly,

Yet ne’er a messenger did see.

Then for my secretary I sent,

And said: ‘I may not be silent;

I believe I’m forgot, outright,

Take some paper, I shall write.’

He did so, without argument,

And, sighing, I composed, and sent

A letter which he bore to her,

And reported, not long after,

That the fair one awaited me,

That, through him, she commanded me

Not to linger there much longer

But make haste to go and meet her,

For she was there and all alone,

Except for a maid, and he had shown

Her my note, and most eagerly

Had she read it, right willingly,

And began, he said, in a while,

Sweetly, and lovingly, to smile.

‘My sweetheart and my most sweet love, I send to you as a man with such a longing to see you as no heart can conceive nor mouth say. And you should know that I have awaited you for three days in such a state and in such torment as God knows. And I pray you humbly, and for God’s sake, to consider how I might see you; otherwise, I am dead. And regarding the fine intent you have of doing what would please and comfort me, I cannot, am unable, to thank you as profoundly I would wish, for I am hardly worthy of it. And concerning your honour, which I value a hundred times more than my own life, may God ne’er let me live long enough that, through me, or aught I do, it should ever be put at risk, either in whole or part. For, by God, I love it, and will love it, and uphold it as long as I live; nor shall I ever give thought to the contrary. And, by the faith I owe you, whom I love a hundred times more than myself or any other, I would rather suffer both a first and second death than do or say aught that might harm or diminish it. My dear sweetheart, I am at the place where I lodged before, but, for God’s sake, my dear sweetheart, consider how I am to part from you, and ensure there will be none there but you and I, if you can manage it fittingly, for, by my soul, parting from you will be so hard that I doubt, wholly, my ability to suffer even those who know me not to see it in my face; and I would not have that happen for aught. Alas, my sweetheart, you write that, in order to see me often, you would stay in humble circumstances with me; and, indeed, by God there’s not the least thing in this world that I would be unwilling to do for you, my whole life through, so as to see and hear you as I would wish. Adieu, my sweetheart, and may God give me joy of you, and grant you honour, and whatever your heart desires. Your true and faithful lover.’

Lines 3163-3178: He visits her, composing his thirteenth rondel ‘Trembler, fremir, et muer, me couvient’

THEN I went to my lady dear,

With happy heart, full of good cheer,

Though, by God, I went fearfully,

To that place, feeling cowardly,

Yet not knowing why that should be,

Unless Love was chastising me,

I made this rondel on the way,

For love of her, chanting alway.

‘Trembling, shaking, quivering, I suffer,

And oft know not what will become of me,

Every time your person I remember;

Trembling, shaking, quivering, I suffer.

Sweet lady, I know not whence, moreover,

It comes; yet, from a single memory,

Trembling, shaking, quivering, I suffer,

And oft know not what will become of me.’

Lines 3179-3220: His secretary departs leaving them alone

ONCE I’d appeared before her,

My fair and virtuous lover

Made me be seated at her side,

My secretary on her other side,

Yet he now desired to leave me,

Which did grieve me inwardly,

Saying that he had much to do,

Business that needed seeing to.

When she saw that he would go,

She bent towards him, speaking low,

And addressing him most sweetly:

‘If it could be done fittingly,

Sweet friend, God aid us alway,

Twould please me if you would stay,

For there’s a man close beside me

Who will but sigh and say: ah me!’

He answered: ‘This I must realise,

For it cannot be otherwise,

Yet, if God please, I’ll soon return

I’ll not need long my leave to earn.’

He departed while I remained,

To savour the sweetness maintained

In her eyes, and in her sweet face,

Pleasing above all, with its grace,

And healing those who, to excess,

Are suffering from lovesickness.

Her grace I had, with sweetness blent,

And offered with such good intent,

So nicely, finely, generously,

And then so very lovingly,

That I could not hope for better.

And, certainly, if I were other

Than I, perfect in every way,

And all the world’s wealth, this day,

Were mine, in coin fit to be spent,

Yet I could not be more content.

And if any call this boasting,

I care less than the wind blowing,

For the wealth that I might enjoy,

Came from the treasury of joy,

Which every good thing doth contain,

And its fair contents, I’ll explain.

Lines 3221-3250: He lists his lover’s virtues

HER fair welcome strengthened ever

My lovesick heart, sighing for her;

Her pure sweetness soothed once more

My sweet ills, for she brought the cure;

Here gaze, brightly, shone upon me,

And at once nourished me sweetly;

She pleased me, in her every guise.

Her sweet speech, it made me wise,

With the goodness that it conveyed;

Her kindness blessed and pain allayed.

Her noble heart ennobled me,

Her liberality did free me,

Her humility served me well,

Her largesse did my coffers swell,

Her joyfulness brought joy to me,

Her courtliness found me courtly,

And her noble person graced me,

Her features blossomed, lovingly,

Her manner enriched me ever,

Nor depleted was her treasure

As to the powers it possessed,

Or the good with which it was blessed.

Thus, it shunned the name of miser,

And if, from Auvergne, some stranger

Had come into my lady’s presence,

He would have received fair presents,

And been enriched by her largesse,

And, therefore, I say this richness,

Which daily multiplies and grows,

Lessens not by what she bestows.

Lines 3251-3332: On treachery and betrayal in love

SHOULD not one such a woman love

Who healer of Love’s ills doth prove,

And puts an end to misery,

With no thought of sin or folly?

And he who thinks that this is ill

Is naught but traitorous and evil,

For in this world no transgression,

Is as deadly, no foul treason,

As to prove a secret enemy.

Now such will claim a friend to be,

And by this cloak their true intent;

By God we should hate such men,

Who are but bent upon dishonour,

Beneath the guise of peace and honour.

Let them be dragged behind a steed

O’er hill and dale, let them not breed.

For, at all times, I would be silent,

By my manner show my intent,

So, she can read, and truly find

All that is in my heart and mind.

But traitors, faithless and disloyal,

Would have it seem they are loyal,

Loving with a love that is true,

Yet hate, with mortal hatred too.

However fair a woman may be,

She’s naught so valuable, truly,

As her honour, and if tis lost,

Men will say, freely, to her cost,

‘Regard her, her honour’s forfeit.’

Listen now, as to the profit

Once can gain from such people;

In this world there’s naught so evil,

No more dangerous a viper,

Than such folk, for sin none riper;

Nor doth any respect a master,

However great, that lacks honour.

Please God, who e’er judges aright,

That my judgement on those alight

That intend this kind of villainy,

For I would show them no mercy,

And they would die a shameful death,

Harsh, and painful, at every breath,

Losing their lives, and all they own;

Without joy or good let them moan.

How has any the effrontery

To plot such things, treasonously,

To say one thing and do another,

And thus, to betray their lover,

Cloaked by seeming peace and goodwill?

Such is treason, I know it still.

One man by Jesus Christ will swear

That all his life he’ll love this fair

Woman, another has her believe

That he’ll be hers, and never leave.

And all of this is to deceive

So she’s unable to perceive,

His treason and his villainy,

And his most deadly enmity.

God, what a man, what a world!

Into the Somme he should be hurled,

Or from the bridge at Soissons,

And let the fishes feed thereon.

What can one expect of women,
Being so much sweeter than men,

So loving, of such kindness full,

So friendly, and so merciful,

That they can refuse a man naught?

And so, no tricks should be wrought

On them, none should seek to shame

The woman, but hold dear that same,

As dear as is one’s own right arm.

As for me I’d not seek their harm,

I’d cherish them, most lovingly,

Without ill thoughts, or trickery,

And serve them truly all my days,

And forever speak their praise,

And try my very best to please,

No matter whom that might displease,

And without payment or reward,

Nor seek recompense, in accord

With my love for my gracious one;

In her honour, all shall be done.

Lines 3333-3402: His lady leaves; he hands her a ninth letter on parting

BUT now, I shall speak no more

Of all that has been said before,

Since I know wrongdoers seem

Not at all pleased with my theme,

Wishing to conceal their malice,

If they can, and their sins no less.

Instead I’ll tell of what occurred,

And to what end this love stirred,

As my lady would have me do.

And what pleases her, I pursue.

Three days and nights I did remain,

The days a joy, the nights a pain,

For at night Desire deprived me

Of my sleep, as Love obliged me,

And I tossed and turned, instead,

All restless there, upon my bed.

Nonetheless Pity, each day, healed

The harm that Love, by night, revealed,

Through the aid and loving effort

Of my lady, whom God comfort;

For the true good that from her came

Sustained me yet, in spite of Shame,

Every day, or once or twice,

For I was happy, on her advice,

To accept it, and did receive

All as I ought to, I believe,

When Largesse did kindness offer,

And true Love did ever proffer.

And my sweet and lovely lady

Gave, and was more than happy,

Since all was done in her praise,

And any stranger would, always,

Receive the same should he appear,

And be sustained, if he came near.

And since I loved with a true heart

I delighted in this, on her part,

Nor should any man show wonder,

For naught can equal it, rather,

It exceeds all that one might name,

Or recall, imagine, or claim.

And yet all things must reach their end,

Naught is that doth not that way tend.

For I was forced to take my leave;

True pain it brought, as you’ll conceive,

And I commenced to weep alway,

And from delight began to stray.

Then sorrow in my heart did move,

And, by experience, I did prove,

Ne’er a parting is as bitter

As that of lover from lover.

From my lady, my leave I took,

As I had seen would be my luck,

And I knew not, to sorrow wed,

What I did there, or what I said.

She said to me: Adieu, sweet friend,

My promise I once more extend,

Faithful, and true, to you I’ll be,

And with true heart love you only.

Now, return as soon as you may,

Forget me not, since this I pray,

For you will do ill if you choose

Not to return, my love refuse.’

I left the place that very hour,

With sad heart, the tears did shower

From my eyes, yet, ere I did go

And mount my steed, I did also

Send her a letter, you understand,

Writ and folded by my own hand.

‘My dearest sweetheart and my most dear love, I fear, greatly, that you will think less of me, in that when I am in your presence, I have no sense, manner, or wit, and am like a man lost. And, by the faith I owe you, whom I love a hundred thousand times more than myself, I possess no strength that does not fail me, whenever I see you, for I must then sweat without heat, and tremble without cold. And when I cannot see you, and yet remember, and shall remember, the most sweet and satisfying food, with which your noble heart has generously and kindly sustained me many a time, without being asked, Desire so wounds me, attacks me so vigorously that of necessity my heart is so oppressed, that the water flows from my eyes. And, by my soul, if Hope were not there to console me at every turn, I would lack the body to suffer such blows or endure them. And then, your sweet portrait comforts me and will continue to comfort me, more than aught else, with the fact that there was ne’er a form so gracious nor heart so noble as yours, that lacked kindness or pity. And, my dearest sweetheart, I take leave of you, knowing not when I might see you, and lacking any who would serve well as a messenger, so that I could write to you as I have. And so, I have none left who ought to, or could, recommend me, or recall me to your thoughts. Thus, if true Love and your own goodness do not bring me to mind, I am lost and dead, for I could experience no misfortune as great as being forgot by you. So, I must allow you, and true Love, and your goodness to manage everything, while I live on in hope, waiting for that fine day when I can return to you, and this must be when I am able, not when I wish. My dearest sweetheart and most sweet love, I pray God grants you joy, and health, and grace such that we may see each other again shortly, and in joy. Your most faithful friend.’

Lines 3403-3456: He goes to join his lord, and sends her a tenth letter

I departed at the next morn,

Waking so early, with the dawn,

I watched the sun rise in the sky,

For, after that leave-taking, I

Felt it dishonourable to stay,

Lacking all pleasure anyway,

Since my lady I could not see,

Nor feast my eyes on her, for she,

By now, was far upon her way.

And so, I set out straight away,

Into the pretty countryside,

In fair, fine, sweet weather betide,

A land scarcely hostile to me,

For the true lord of that country

Did me honour; feasting only

His wish, and honest company,

And there I rested, and was served

Far better than e’er I deserved,

With the youths and knights out sporting.

Of our hunting, and our hawking,

There’s insufficient room to speak,

But every day there I could seek

The company of my lord, the man

I love the most, by Saint Véran!

Many a fine gift he gave me,

Offering his wealth, sincerely,

Yet if I’d wealth, in abundance,

All that might now exist in France,

That in Apulia, Lombardy,

The Romagna, dear God, might be,

I would not prove as satisfied,

Nor feel delight, or any pride,

If I could not see my lady

The sacred fount of good, to me.

I only saw the fortnight through,

Yet once a week I sent, tis true,

A message to my ‘Toute Belle’,

So as to know if she were well,

And of her news, and state of mind,

And of her wishes, for I did find

That I was oft unsure of her,

Oft felt reassurance, rather

Dependent upon how my reason

Arrived at each diverse conclusion;

And, the better to dwell upon her,

And thus, more easily discover

If she were still faithful and true,

I sent her this message, anew,

For I was quite troubled, clearly,

And was, indeed somewhat weary

Of bearing, and enduring, woe,

Such that I must address her so,

Sending a letter as you’ll find

To tell her of my state of mind.

‘My dearest sweetheart and my sweetest love, I write so as to learn of your well-being, something I wish to hear of more than I do that of any other creature born, or person now living. And regarding my own, if you wish to know, I am in that state a man in love must suffer. And just as you commanded when we parted, and as I promised, I shall not leave this region for any reason without first seeing you. But, my sweetheart, when this will be, I cannot see, unless you yourself bring it about, seeking out the time, place, occasion, and leisure to meet me, for from you comes my woe in love, and so from you must come my consolation also. And, for God’s sake, my dearest sweetheart, make sure that the day lasts as long as any four when I am with you, for I can ne’er stay as long as I would like, God knows! And parting will be so hard for me that, by my soul, I know not how I may bear or endure it, nor how I might be consoled. And I fear this greatly, and so beg you, for God’s sake, that the whole time we are together you will solace me for the time that must come. And, by God, there is no good, or joy, or consolation for me unless it comes from you. Never has a lady been loved so much, longed for so truly, as I love and long for you, without altering or straying. At this stake, I will die. My sweetest love, I will see you shortly, please God, and will lodge where I did before. And I commend myself to your grace, for you know I cannot readily see or speak to you unless you arrange it. And, my sweetheart, since I saw you, I possess no one to serve as a proper messenger, as I did before. And I pray, for God’s sake, that at this time you will show me all the love you say you feel for me; and then I will be cheerful, full of song, happy and joyful too, and your most faithful lover. Yet, for God’s sake, do nothing to please me that would give others anything to talk about, since, by that same God who made me, I would rather die than never see you again, from which God deliver me! For, should that be so, I would certainly die. And my dearest sweetheart, I will remain three or four days where you are; such that you can grant me many a favour if you wish. And, please God, I will not depart as long as you are there. And my dearest sweetheart, a single favour given and received discreetly, and lovingly, is worth a hundred others. And a day well employed is worth a year, and is a remedy and a comfort against Death, against Desire, and against Fortune. I’ll say no more, but you know well that “He prays enough that goes weeping ever.” I am sending no rondels, for there are many people at this court and much noise, which so annoys me that I compose little. Nonetheless, I write all I can now in your book. My sweetheart, write me a reply, via this messenger, about your health, and how you feel. I pray God grant you peace and honour, health, and joy of whatever your heart desires. Your most faithful friend.’

Lines 3457-3460: She replies with her eighth letter

ONCE she had read my letter,

She then replied with another,

By my messenger, sans delay,

Listen well to what she did say.

‘My heart, my love, and my whole desire, I have read, thoroughly, what you have written me, and with a very good heart I will perform, carefully and diligently, all you request in your letter. For, by that same God who made me, it seems impossible that I could do wrong, or aught bad could come of doing whatever pleases you, or that you advise or counsel. And doubt not, that if everyone advised or counselled something contrary to that which pleased you, I would yet fulfil your sweet wish, neglecting what others desired. Thus, you should be quite sure of me and the love I feel, for I know you to be most good and faithful ever, and that you so love my well-being, my peace, and my honour that you could never, would never deign to, advise something that would not do me honour, more than anyone alive. So, I hold myself ready to perform the good things that would please you, to the best of my ability, and I will love you more than any human creature, most faithfully, all the days of my life, and longer if I might live hereafter. And, sweet friend of my heart, you say that you fear my leaving and that this will be quite hard for you. Yet, be assured, that I think it will be harder for me than for you. For tis what in the world I fear most in my soul, and what I think of more than aught else but you. But, please God, you and I will manage this in such a way that none will take notice. And, my sweet heart, we should comfort each other, for that is the thing to do, nor was it ever otherwise. And so, we should seize the hours God sends us. Adieu, my sweetheart, and may God give you joy of what your heart desires and loves. Your most faithful friend.’

Lines 3461-3490: He contemplates her beauty

I was in the town of Crécy

When this letter of hers reached me,

The Duke of Normandy being there;

My rightful lord, no matter where;

Amongst his followers I feature,

So, I am rightfully his creature.

And when I gave it my purview,

Reading it three or four times through,

I could scarce have hoped for more

Comfort than doing so did secure

For my amorous malady.

My lady took pity on me,

And generously promised there

Joy, peace, and ease for all my care,

Through true and just experience,

And so, I found nary a grievance,

Nothing harsh that I must suffer,

Rather I lived in certain pleasure,

Because I loved her with true love,

And, in my pleasure, did approve

All her great and sovereign beauty,

More than Helen, she was lovely;

And then her goodness contemplated,

The which its powers I’ve related.

Here indeed is my conclusion,

Based on my honest opinion:

One should prize a beauteous thing

Only if there is goodness within,

For it has been created for naught

Beyond what is within it wrought.

Lines 3491-3564: No true beauty without inner virtue

THERE is no steed so wondrous

That, if you mount upon him, thus,

Feet in the stirrups, have him feel,

Or so we hope, the spurs’ hard steel,

Yet he’s ill-tempered in his manner,

Choosing to go backward rather,

Or lie down, or rear up on high,

As goats will do, towards the sky,

Kick, or balk, or bite, or prance,

But, on pain of death, ne’er advance,

‘He’s good for naught’, all men must say,

‘Fit for the lepers at Beauvais’.

Likewise, there’s no knight at court,

No matter the battles he has fought,

So fine, and elegant, and fair,

And known to every lady there,

That if he flees from some battle,

Or from the foes retreats a little,

Will still be respected and prized;

Rather, by all, he’ll be despised.

And if he wins some man’s esteem,

The man but shames himself, I deem;

Yet be silent, spare your assaults,

Unless you wish to count their faults.

Tis a knight’s duty, such the Order,

That they yield not to disorder,

Absent themselves, or take to flight,

But act in all ways like a knight.

Then, no woman is so lovely

That if she bows to infamy,

And forfeits her reputation,

She’s not loved less, on occasion,

For her fault, and so less prized,

The very hour and day despised

That she was born, hated and cursed,

Because such deeds she has rehearsed.

And honour will flee her, I maintain,

As a cat flees water, or the rain,

Or at least for as long as she

Remains in a state contrary

To honour, which can never be

Her undoing; it shuns evil-doing.

And I declare, most veritably,

The sages did all, and equally,

Value folk more for their goodness,

Than their beauty or handsomeness,

For beauty’s a lesser favour

Of all those bestowed by Nature.

So, if I love the fair and good,

If she as such is understood,

And with a pure heart, sans misdeed,

None should reproach me then, indeed,

For I will gain esteem and praise,

If I love, serve, esteem always,

But if some miscreant I love,

I should he hurled, from high above,

Into some flood, both wide and deep,

Or else a fatal slingstone reap;

Though, if I knew she was such, I,

By my faith, would such love deny.

So, I should always be on guard,

And keep myself, in that regard,

From doing or thinking, ever,

Aught that might damage her honour,

For if I did such things approve,

That would be a sin against Love,

And all the good I gain therefrom

Would indeed be buried and gone,

Nor would love remain with me,

But my sad heart die, utterly;

And so, I shall be faithful to her,

And never seek to love another.

Whoever wishes may say more

On this, I’ve exhausted my store.

Lines 3565-3600: He wins leave from his lord to go and meet her

I wished my return, and swiftly,

To my fair and pleasing lady,

So, I did little, it would seem,

But ponder, and reflect, and scheme

As to how I might win my leave

To see my lady, and did believe

On asking, that my lord would say

I might, yet I was made to stay,

Three days or more against my will,

At his grace’s pleasure, until,

At last, he gave me leave to go,

And granted me fair gifts also,

As I have said he did before.

And so, I took my way once more

Without delay, that I might address

My beloved, and my goddess,

For my heart longed for her so,

And I sighed often, as you know.

Into her presence I did advance,

Wounded by a loving glance,

But that beauty, smiling ever,

Healed, sweetly, the ills I suffer

Merely by looking upon her,

And for my good gazing at her.

I’ll say naught of my reception,

Or my honest, quiet discretion;

I was always one and the same.

If twere from Tunis I came,

The gracious lady, God save her,

Could not have been kinder ever,

In her fair welcome, and sweet gaze,

Later summoning me, as always,

Discreetly, and I tell you, in such,

Ne’er did too little nor too much.

But rather bore herself so wisely

She garnered praise, universally.

Lines 3601-3652: The lovers speak to each other of Love

AND so, I spoke with her awhile,

Then set me to forsake her smile,

And so leave with the rest, but she

Whispered low: ‘Come here to me,

Sweet friend, so that I may see you,

And in the garden may find you,

After supper, for our delight,

When the sun withdraws his light.’

Nor did I neglect to do so,

Rather in haste I thence did go,

And she’d already made arrival,

And at my coming was most joyful,

And said to me, all smilingly,

‘King Priam himself you must be,

To keep one waiting, so readily!’

And I said, unhesitatingly,

On bended knee, my hands together,

‘Sweet one, let us two, forever,

Lead a love-filled life, instead;

Who knows fair word let it be said.

See me here, I would make amend.’

And the fair one did mercy extend,

And there we did speak of our love,

Of the grief and pain that doth prove

Desire’s gift to a love that’s true,

Troubling men and fair ladies too;

How he comes, lance at the ready,

How he assaults them mercilessly,

Closes with one and then the other,

Aiming the sharp tip at each lover,

Wounding, undoing, in the end,

Whomever Hope does not defend.

And many a time Desire doth win,

When Hope fails to counter him,

And stands not firm in good fight,

And banner razed, is put to flight,

For sweetest Hope doth often flee,

Knowing naught of war and mastery.

The lover here’s trampled underfoot;

For compare the tripod, that is put

On the hearthstone, above the blaze;

Tis scorched and burnt all its days,

And when the fire’s quenched, by and by,

Is thrown into a corner nearby,

And since its role’s not maintained

Is left blackened, scarred and stained.

So it is with those lovers still,

Who are full of amorous ill,

And who, when their defence proves slight,

Are mistreated by Love in the fight,

Forced to submit to torment ever,

Finding no comfort save to suffer.

Lines 3653-3690: He persuades his lady to go on pilgrimage with him

WHEN we had spoken of our love

I sought a new request to move,

That seemed honest enough to me,

And so, I said to my lady:

‘Fair one, both virtuous and sage,

They tell me that a pilgrimage

You have pledged to Saint Denis,

And it would end my misery

If you chose to fulfil that vow,

For, if I were your squire now,

Every hour would be worth a week;

One good day, if God such did seek,

Would be worth a month moreover,

And so, my lovely and sweet lover,

I beg you to discharge your debt,

Without delay, since we are met.’

And she answered me right swiftly:

‘Sweet friend, may God preserve me,

I’m not opposed to doing so,

Though indeed, you must surely know

I am hardly my own woman,

But we shall go, if I but can,

To Saint James, or to Saint Denis,

I and my sister, and you, and then

We will sojourn here once again,

When God permits us to return,

And thus, great merit we shall earn.’

So, I gave her thanks most sweetly,

Begging them to prepare swiftly.

And, secretly, she and her sister

Held a conversation together,

Summoning a neighbour also,

A lady they called cousin, though.

The very next day we set out,

On a pilgrimage most devout.

And, by Saint Lieffroy, the lady

Was mounted on my own palfrey,

Such that I love that horse so well,

The creature I shall never sell.

Lines 3691-3754: They commence their pilgrimage

THE Saint Denis Fair, they call it

The Benediction of the Lendit;

This was the day, and I have never

Seen any travel so together,

With such merriment and joy,

As those three women did employ,

And for my part, I thought it good

To seek amusement where I could.

Now each did wear a fair garland,

Of golden flowers, you understand,

With a twin strand of roses red,

That suited well, upon her head.

And I recall that, in this manner,

Through the fair we did wander,

Gazing at all the merchandise,

Yet like one who looks not buys,

Since our thoughts were certainly

On other matters, for my lady

Mused on her vow, with emotion,

Which humbly, and with devotion,

She now intended to fulfil,

While I was contemplating still

My love for her, devotedly,

While gazing at her, constantly.

Thus we, our several debts did pay,

And having done so without delay,

We went to dine, as it befell,

In a place they call La Chapelle,

In Paris; yet so many had made

The journey there, but little shade

Was there, scarce enough to cover

A shepherd, both head and shoulder.

Nonetheless, we were so at ease,

By Saint Nichaise, all so did please,

That in the seven years gone by,

Not seven times so well felt I.

When we had dined, we paid the host,

And then away from there did post,

Yet there was never so fine a day

For any lover, I should say,

Because my lady cried that she

Must sleep, feeling wondrously

Willing to lay down her head,

If there were but a room and bed.

A sergeant-at-arms was nearby,

Who was drunk enough to cry,

Full of good Saint-Pourçain wine,

Which all agree is more than fine,

Though it made the fellow reel

Far more than he could conceal.

The sergeant said: ‘By Saint Julian,

There’s a peasant nearby, a man,

Dwelling at the village’s edge,

Who has a chamber they allege

Has clean beds, both good and sound,

And he’ll not take penny or pound;

You’ll be fine there, and quite alone,

And fresh green rushes strew the stone.

Come with me, and I’ll lead you there,

And show you the path, if you’d care.’

My lady told him she agreed,

And, with all in accord, indeed

He marched on, and we after,

Following closely, all together.

Lines 3755-3790: He is persuaded to sleep in the same room overnight

WHEN the ladies reached the room,

All wearied by the heat of the sun,

There two good beds did them await,

Nor did the sister hesitate

To lie on the one bed, comfortably,

Twas all covered with fleurs-de-lis,

While my lady did claim the other,

Then, two or three times together,

Called to me, her sister the same,

Guillemette was her sister’s name,

‘Come, sleep between the two of us,

And be there naught but virtuous;

Here is your place, and ready too’

I answered: ‘God shall never view

Me lying there, I’ll rest outside,

And I’ll await you there, betide;

Yet I shall wake you, full soon,

When tis three of the afternoon,

And the hour’s rung.’ Still, my lady

Begged me to come, most vehemently,

And I drew near her, with a smile,

Excusing myself all the while,

Saying I was scarcely worthy,

But she grasped my hand firmly,

And they set out to drag me there,

While I cried out in mock despair,

For God knows twas indeed my wish

To lie there, and obey in this;

No other pasture did I desire,

To naught sweeter did I aspire.

The sergeant, opening the door,

With two good cloaks he draped us o’er,

And then he shut the window tight,

Closed the door, and hid all from sight;

And there my lady took her rest

One arm draped across my breast.

Lines 3791-3828: The lovers embrace

LONGTIME I lay there at her side,

More shyly than a new-wed bride,

For not a word did I dare utter,

Sought not to touch or speak to her,

Since she appeared to be asleep.

I saw the power of Love ran deep,

For like a log I must lie there

Beside my lady, in this affair

I stirred no more than if someone

Had sought my life had I so done.

Howe’er, the lady, for her part,

Whom I love with a most pure heart,

Who, I thought, slept there, and dreamed,

Awakened, quite gently, it seemed,

And a discreet cough she did share,

And said: ‘My lover, are you there?

Embrace me now, tis safe, you know.’

Most tentatively I did so,

But she spoke on, in a whisper,

Till I put my arms about her.

Not a thing could I see; e’en so

One thing I did certainly know,

That it was not her companion!

I was like one who bathes among

Founts of the earthly paradise,

For on me all that might suffice,

Was bestowed, all the good there is.

I was granted my every wish,

Through all the great abundancy

Of which I had my sufficiency,

For everything she said, deeply

Satisfied the longing in me;

True good, with which I was favoured,

Tasting of mercy, I now savoured,

Without ill-thought or trickery,

Because I cherished her so dearly.

To speak a word now is my wish,

Of the sort of thing mercy is.

Lines 3829-3864: Regarding mercy in love

ONE man loves, fears, serves his lady,

While shunning aught that’s blameworthy,

Through naught but his own worthiness,

Oft setting his chances of success

In the balance with sudden death.

Asking naught else but, in a breath,

Goes seeking bitter warfare, ever.

He to far-flung lands will venture,

Embracing hunger and poverty,

And passing among folk who only

Wish to rob him of all he owns,

And leave him naught but broken bones,

Stealing all from him in the end,

Who his own life can scarce defend.

Another will but joust a bit,

For dancing, singing, he is fit,

He wishes but to kiss his lady

Desiring to clasp her closely,

Seeks only that and nothing more,

Gaining it, will all else ignore.

The former will be by her side

A hundred years and never try

To seek such things, nor dare to ask

For aught on earth, all his task,

By God, not e’en to seem to do,

His very heart would tremble to,

Like mine when I see my lady,

For he lacks true Love’s leave, you see,

To show her signs of his longing,

Or speak a word of his suffering.

It is enough that he sees her,

Makes her company his pleasure,

And since the two this doth suffice,

Without need for further device,

I say that love’s true satisfaction

Is in mercy, being of that faction.

Lines 3865-3924: They dine in an orchard

THUS, I was sweetly nourished too

By all the goodness that is due

To those who love right faithfully,

And only for such sufficiency;

For if such were insufficient

Twere slight reward for their intent,

Yet slight goodness pleases much

When one’s an appetite for such,

And when tis granted joyfully,

With a good heart, and happily.

When it was time, we three arose

Making our company among those

Who so woke us with their singing,

That all the day we left off sleeping,

And games of bowls we played at then,

For fine wine, a capon, a hen,

Chicks, or rabbit kittens, e’en

A ‘sautereau’ cheese, one, I mean,

Made by the folk who live in Brie.

And after that, the company

With one accord, must sup together,

In an orchard whose sweetness ever

Recalled that paradisiac dell

Where Adam and Eve once did dwell,

For it was so verdant and flowery

A man set in the pillory

Would take such pleasure in the sight,

That he’d forget his shame outright.

There we dined well and fittingly,

There my sweet and lovely lady

Glancing at me with her sweet glance,

From her sweet eyes did advance

Many a dart that drew me to her,

Who was hers, and hers forever,

Like one who wastes their every

Effort to win what’s theirs already;

She well knows that I’m hers, ever

Since she claimed me as her lover.

There we were served with sweet lays,

With ballads, and with virelays

That they call ‘chansons baladées’,

Well heard, and listened to always,

All manner of other music too

So ably performed that one knew

Not whom to attend to the most.

There one might have learned a host

Of things, for all strove mightily,

To sing well, sweetly, forcefully.

We stayed awake till twas nigh day,

And then the ladies we did convey

Each one to her own fair dwelling,

Torchlit we went, to each lodging,

Which was why Love tested me not,

Yet from him a rich reward I got,

Such as he knows to grant, truly,

Of that fine day that he owed me;

And, from her I thank, my lady,

Satisfaction received, in mercy,

By way of every sweetest thought

That honourable pleasure brought.

Lines 3925-3940: He stays with his lady and composes a ballad

THERE I stayed for several days,

In pleasant company always,

And dined beside my lady fine,

Taking but little bread and wine,

So happy to see her, rather

I sated myself on gazing at her.

For we were there privately,

And with us no one else, you see,

Twas she, and I, and her sister,

Who attended her, as ever.

And my lady who had command

Over me, asked, nay did demand

That I recite some verse or prose,

Or a fresh work should compose,

And so, a fair new ballad I made

To her sweet order, here displayed.

Lines 3941-3961: His thirteenth ballad ‘Gent corps faitis, cointe, apert et joli’ (Ballad V, not set to music)

‘A noble form, sweet, pleasing, and lovely,

Young, finely dressed, in elegant attire,

Enriched with virtue, clothed in modesty,

Of beauty born, to sweetness all entire,

Has so, with sweetness, set my heart on fire,

And with the sweet glance of your bright eyes too,

That I shall seek no other love but you.

And I am right, since I have chosen nobly,

For were it mine to seek to love the flower

Of all this world, I could but fail completely

To choose one better, lady of honour,

So, my thanks to you, and Love, forever,

Who grants me such delightful thoughts, anew,

That I shall seek no other love but you.

So, since it is the case, my sweetest lady,

That I love you, sans thought of dishonour,

Who everywhere own the heart within me,

Whom I beg for mercy, humbly, ever,

Night and day, with tearful voice, I utter

A prayer that you’ll strive to prove this true:

That I shall seek no other love but you.’

Lines 3962-3975: Her thirteenth rondel ‘Autre de vous jamais ne quier amer’

THEN she made this rondel in reply,

And it seems fair enough to my eye,

Naught here to reprove, I would say,

And twas composed without delay,

For she wished I might have the thing,

Ere the moment for our parting.

‘No man but you shall I e’er seek to love,

Sweetest love, to whom I grant my heart,

There is no better that I might approve;

No man but you shall I e’er seek to love.

And I well know, nor is there need to prove,

That from my own your heart will ne’er depart.

No man but you shall I e’er seek to love,

Sweetest love, to whom I grant my heart.’

Lines 3976-4041: A parting, and a morning encounter

AT last, the moment had arrived

When I was forced to leave her side,

So, I took my leave most humbly,

With little accompanying me

Of sense or intellect or manner,

But she saw in my face, as ever,

That I was wounded in spirit,

For the colour had altered in it,

And I was much changed in hue,

Sad, and grieving, tearful too,

Being certain I must suffer

Dwelling, a long while, far from her,

Despite my wishes in the matter,

Which rendered me even sadder.

But that fair lady, ere we did part,

Wise, good, and generous of heart,

She took me by the hand, gently,

And said: ‘At dawn return to me,

For I’ll rise at the break of day,

And commend you to God alway,

Yet, not here, with all folk present.’

And I replied, being her servant,

‘My lady, adieu, since tis your wish.’

I said no more, left it at this,

But, at dawn, obeyed her command,

And so quiet was I, you understand,

That the fair one was still sleeping,

And so, I woke her by opening

A little window, as she had said,

Twas on the left side of her bed,

And drawing aside a little curtain

Of red sendal, yet saw for certain,

She was not alone, for one other,

The fair young maid, was with her,

Who, in the green and leafy garden,

Had culled the flowers for a garland.

Quietly, I called to my lady,

As I gazed there, on her beauty,

Drawing now a little nearer,

Careful of her state and honour,

For I dared do no otherwise,

Fearing that she, in her surprise,

Might be angered, but waking she

Did, out of her great courtesy,

Turn her body to me, entire,

Nor was dressed in any attire,

But that granted her by Nature,

So fair that never a creature

Could compare to her, so richly

Endowed was she, and so lovely.

Then she called me by my true name,

Saying: ‘Love, are you there?’ ‘The same,’

I answered, ‘yes, my sweet lover,

Yet full of doubt and fear, however,

For yourself, should any enter.’

And she said I should endeavour

Not to fear, for none would come

Unless summoned there, to her room.

I gazed at her face, that did appear

All rosy, beauty without peer,

Her sweet face, her crimson, smiling

Lips, full sweet, and her gleaming

Neck, so smooth and tender, alway.

And I knelt down, without delay,

And thus, I commenced my prayer

To Venus, that with you I’ll share.

Lines 4042-4089: The lover’s prayer to Venus

‘VENUS, I’ve served, obeyed your law,

Since your fair image first I saw,

And also heard tell, what is more,

Of your power.

And so, I humbly beg you, there,

Be pleased to listen to my prayer,

And so, attend to my affair,

Ease me this hour.

For here I witness, in my presence,

The beauty, the sweet appearance,

That wounds my heart, without a lance,

And ravishes.

And I lack strength to approach her,

Or to touch, fearing her anger,

That wounds and pierces, forever,

My heart, no less.

You are my lady, my goddess,

That wounds my heart, then doth bless

And heal it, through nobleness,

All, so sweetly;

Till there is no woe or dolour,

Joy, delight and pleasure, rather,

Of which you are mistress ever,

Assuredly.

You join hearts so they complement

Each other, with but one intent,

One good, one ill, one sentiment,

One sorrow too.

Now grant courage to my being,

That from this sweet face I’m leaving

I might gain true peace in parting,

Win wealth anew.

But if you fail to work this for me,

You that made me will undo me,

And to death you will dispatch me,

Without a lie,

For my heart is discomforted,

And you well know by you tis led,

So, be my advocate, instead,

And aid, thereby,

My peace, my comfort, my desire,

And seek my health, sound and entire,

And grant me courage, ne’er to tire,

In this, do right;

For if you should your help deny,

In time of need, prove no ally,

Then, farewell all, for here I die,

Without respite.’

Lines 4090-4133: Venus blesses their affair, and the lover composes a ballad.

WHEN my prayer came to an end

Venus proved herself my friend,

For she had not been neglected,

Nor was my plea to her rejected;

She heard and saw my situation,

The goddess was quick to station

Herself above, and then descend,

A dark cloud, all about, did bend,

Full of manna and purest balm,

That did the room sweetly embalm,

There working miracles openly,

So manifestly, and so clearly,

That, joyfully, as I had wished,

All my desire was accomplished.

And when the miracles were done,

I said: ‘Such miracles are won

From you, Goddess, so openly,

That one may see them clearly,

For which I yield you thanks and praise,

Sans flattery’s deceiving ways.’

Yet I must say this, nonetheless,

At the descent of the goddess,

My heart shook, I trembled there,

While my lady seemed, for her share,

Somewhat moved, such was my view,

And flustered by her coming too,

For her sweet face grew more lovely,

Which pleased me exceedingly,

Though it is no marvel at all

If one marvels at a miracle.

So, the dark cloud, in this manner,

Granted us its heavenly cover,

And we were so hid, moreover,

That naught was left to discover.

And greatly then it suited me,

That there was nothing there to see,

And all this lasted such a space

Of time, I made there in that place,

And before Venus went her way,

This song, which is a virelay.

Lines 4134-4193: His fourteenth ballad, a virelay ‘Onques si bonne journee’

‘NE’ER such a fine day, truly,

Ever dawned for me,

As when I did take my leave

Of my beloved lady,

Who has won, from me,

Both heart and love I believe.

For manna descended there,

And that sweetness fair

That my soul did satisfy,

Fruit of the sweet gift did share,

Pity drew, I swear,

From her blushes thereby.

Therein did the honour lie,

That the renown, say I,

Of her lovely form, did wear,

Never an ill thought forming,

Nor none appearing,

Born betwixt her and I.

Ne’er such a fine day, truly,

Ever dawned for me,

As when I did take my leave

Of my beloved lady,

Who has won, from me,

Both heart and love I believe.

Satisfaction enriched me,

And Pleasure wholly,

Such that no living creature

Possessed a heart so fully

Contented, surely,

Or felt such pure joy ever,

For the goddess, all honour,

Who brings together

Love, lover, beloved lady,

With her blade, of true temper,

The head did sever

Of Constraint my enemy,

Ne’er such a fine day, truly,

Ever dawned for me,

As when I did take my leave

Of my beloved lady,

Who has won, from me,

Both heart and love I believe.

For she buried him swiftly,

Love aiding, gladly,

His soul briefly lamented,

And nor did Honour, thanks be,

Suffer there to be

A mass for his corpse chanted,

Rather it went, where the dead

And discontented,

Are scorned for eternity;

Thus, twice was I contented.

Honour held the key

To sweet Mercy’s treasury,

Ne’er such a fine day, truly,

Ever dawned for me,

As when I did take my leave

From my beloved lady,

Who has won, from me,

Both heart and love I believe.’

Lines 4194-4259: The lovers exchange gifts

VENUS had later left the scene,

Vanishing in her cloud, I mean,

While I remained there amazed,

Like one who is utterly dazed,

My lady was astonished too,

And a little shocked, tis true,

So, I addressed her, most gently,

Speaking quietly, but intently:

‘Sweet companion, sweet sister,

I believe no such adventure

E’er befell a pair of lovers,

Nor, in this way, any others,

Not one as sweet nor one as true

As this has proved, in my view.

Did you, as I did, thus perceive

The goddess, who, I do believe,

Revealed the beauty of her face,

Full of wisdom, power, and grace?

Saw you how she veiled us o’er

From her cloud the shade did pour,

How she served us graciously,

And not for any worth in me?

Nor could I such a thing deserve

Though I a thousand years did serve,

Feared and honoured her also,

Praised, obeyed, adored her so.’

She answered me: ‘My sweetest friend,

To our hearts the goddess doth send

A love that increases every day,

Nor shall it wane, in any way.

Indeed, I witnessed her descent,

How she came, and how she went.

You must love firmly, faithfully,

For I promise you, most truly,

That you have so ravished my heart,

True love from it can ne’er depart;

I shall return that love, for never

Shall other love be mine, ever.’

I said: ‘God look on you, alway,

I love you more than I can say,

And never shall I prove untrue,

But rather I’ll stay true to you.’

At this, the fair one embraced me,

About my neck her arm clasped me,

And with both arms I did embrace

Her, and her other arm did place

About my neck; next, a little key

In her hand, she took most gently,

A craftsman’s work, and of pure gold,

And said: ‘My love, keep a true hold

Of this key to my treasury,

And guard it well, for you must be

Its sole lord and master, say I;

I love it more than my right eye,

For there’s my honour, my riches,

Of which I may grant you largesse;

Your work shall not decrease it ever,

But each day bring increase rather.’

I took the key, and then did tell

Her I would love and guard it well;

Next, took a ring from my finger

And, as I ought, gifted it to her,

Then of my lady took my leave,

Sighing now, for, I did perceive

The sun did rise in morning air,

Forcing me to depart from there.

Lines 4260-4285: He departs, and sends her his virelay and his eleventh letter

SO, I went away, with light tread,

Till I again reached my own bed,

And if I’ve said too much, in all,

Or too little, then, by Saint Paul,

I’ve done no wrong, twas her wish,

Lest I might lose her favour in this.

Such she would have all folk know,

Since there’s no sin in acting so;

And if the contrary were true,

She could keep silent well as you,

And I’d have helped her conceal it,

And made sure never to reveal it.

I, who said what I’ve said to you,

Care not if tis repeated too.

At last, I mounted on my steed

And I rode all that morn, indeed,

Nor an end to it did I find

Until I came to where I dined.

Yet I could not wait for dinner

But first I must write a letter;

I took my pen, and writ this screed,

The which you may hear or read,

And there, within it, I enclosed

The virelay I had composed,

And, since I grieved at all delay,

Soon sent the letter on its way.

‘My dear sweetheart and my most sweet love, I am writing to learn your state of health, the which may Our Lord keep as sound ever as I would wish it to be, with all my heart, and as you yourself would like. And, by my soul, I could not delay writing to you. And as regards my own state, be pleased to know that I should be in a very fair state could I but see you every day, but since I am, and must remain, far from you, I must recall the most sweet sustenance and satisfying nourishment with which you have so sweetly fed and nourished me. And if little joy and happiness are, and must be mine, no one should wonder. All the same, I take comfort in this: that what has not yet come to pass may yet do so, please God. And, my own sweetheart, I proved foolish and unpolished in taking leave of you so; please forgive me for not knowing how to thank you, for I was so struck to the soul and amazed by the great miracle the goddess performed in our presence that I knew not what had happened to me, and whenever I think of it I am utterly confounded, and by your great humility also. For if I were the most beautiful, wisest, and most perfect person in all the world, it would be because you and God had favoured me; nor am I worthy of meriting the least of the good things you have done for me. And I pray God that He grant me, till I die, the favour of doing or saying naught, all the days of my life, that might displease you. And I beg you, my sweetheart, for God’s sake, remember me, for by my soul I would not, nor could not, forget you, and if I did wish such a thing, Desire would not permit me, for, by God, never did I desire to see you, a hundredth as much, as I do now, and must do, and for good reason. And that will come to pass when it pleases God, and I can do so, and not when I might wish, God knows. Adieu, my own sweetheart, and may He grant you joy and honour and health. Your most faithful lover.’

Lines 4286-4291: She sends her ninth letter and a rondel

NOW she was not too idle

To reply, nor cared too ill,

But sent me by the messenger

What I copy here, her letter,

With the rondel she had made

About the miracle displayed.

‘My most dear sweetheart, and my true friend, I have received your letter, as well as the verse you sent me, and for these I thank you with all my heart, and as best I may, especially for the true affection you show me, by telling me how you are, since that was my greatest desire next to wishing to see you again, namely to know that all goes well with you. And the day and hour I received your letter I felt more joy and benefit than I have felt since your leaving. And for the one wish I had to gaze upon you ere I saw you, I have now a hundred thousand, and that is surely right, for before then I had too little acquaintance with the goodness, honour, and sweetness I have found in you. And so, I swear by my soul, there is never an hour, no matter what state I am in, that I fail to imagine my seeing you standing there before me, or forget your manner, and all you said and did, and especially the day of the Benediction of Lendit, and that hour when you left, and I gave you my little golden key. So please guard it well, for it is my greatest treasure. And never did I spend two days so good and pleasant. And so, I think naught could ever happen that would make me forget you, for nothing dwells in my memory as much, except my prayers to God. Someone told me that, as you departed, he saw you leaving, and you sent me word that you had seen none but himself, and you said that this was because you had seen me not. And I understood at once what that meant, for I well knew that exactly in the state you left me, taking naught with me, I had gone after you and watched you until you were outside. And in truth, it was not yet day, and tis at that very hour especially, that I remember you. I am sending you a rondel that was composed the very day and hour that the virelay was composed that you sent me, and at the hour when the miracle occurred. Adieu, my sweetheart, and may God grant me such joy of you as my heart desires, and you the same of me also. Your faithful friend.’

Lines 4292-4299: Her fourteenth rondel ‘Merveilles fu quant mon cuer ne parti’

‘A wonder it was my heart failed to break,

As I watched him depart, my sweet lover.

For never did I feel such deep heartache;

A wonder it was my heart failed to break.

My sight, while it might, ne’er did him forsake,

Yet soon I could gaze at him no longer;

A wonder it was my heart failed to break,

As I watched him depart, my sweet lover.’

Lines 4300-4393: The lover meets with Hope and her entourage

NOW, once I had read her reply,

If Pygmalion’s statue nearby,

Polixena, the noble Trojan,

Deiamira, and lovely Helen,

And that pretty queen of Ireland

Had begged me, all that fair band,

To love them right amorously,

I’d have refused them utterly,

For I was in a joyful state,

Fair expectation now my fate.

I rode along most happily,

Passing the watch, quietly,

Of the Archpriest and the Bretons,

Cared not a sou for such persons,

Till at last I entered the plain,

That good things did maintain,

Midst sweet air, and met a lady

Prettier, nobler, than were any

From Tournus to Courtrai, ah no,

Rather Paris to Tarento,

And travelling with her I did see

A fine and beauteous company,

And then that fair one closer came,

And she called out to me by name,

Took my bridle, as she rode near,

And filled my poor heart with fear,

Saying: ‘You are taken, tis plain,

I’ll lead you now to my domain.’

The rest approaching on that field,

Naught could I do but say: ‘I yield,

Who are you who’ve captured me?’

‘Come, she said, ride on with me,

For all of this you will be taught,

But at present you’ll learn naught.’

And, as she spoke, she led me on,

And I said, as we went along,

Before all that noble audience,

‘Sans warning, I am taken hence’

And she: ‘Who does a wrongful deed,

He has warning enough, indeed,

And you have wronged me grievously,

So, you shall be corrected by me.’

And after that she spoke angrily,

Yet addressing me familiarly,

‘Have I not seen to your comfort,

And from afar joy I have brought,

Granted you pleasure and delight,

Turned joy to sadness overnight,

And ever proved your champion

In your every tribulation?

And when Shame came to assail you,

With your heart about to fail you,

Did I not, for you, offer my gage,

Nor was there any other hostage

Except myself to wage the fight,

With my good sword, as your knight.

And I did so press her, on that field,

That Shame herself was forced to yield,

And every time Desire attacks you

I wage war, in the front rank, too,

Nor am I the last, but rather,

Everywhere, I bear the banner.

Desire’s power doth not suffice

To trouble you, at any price.

You find me ready, in time of need,

Without your asking help, indeed;

I say, tis double the worth to you,

Though you value me not a sou;

You’ve said naught special of me

In this whole work of poetry,

Neither thanks nor praise, say I,

Have you rendered, now, do I lie?’

I said to her: ‘By Saint Isabel,

Perchance it is the truth you tell

And you speak plainly, my lady,

Yet I would learn, if such may be,

Your name, for I’d apologise

To you if I might be so wise.’

‘My name is Hope, and here advance

Moderation and Temperance,

Good Advice and Friendly Comfort,

Who with me I have ever brought.

Fair service, not out of duty,

But out of generosity,

Have they done.’ Then, reverence

I did pay her, in their presence.

Accusing myself most humbly,

Nor offering excuse, for, truly,

Hope was right and I was wrong,

In every way, my shame waxed strong.

And then I thanked her, profusely,

For her grace (by comforting me

She had nourished and remade me)

And for all she had done for me.

Lines 4394-4427: The lover must make amends to Hope by composing a lay

THEN Good Advice spoke out clearly,

She who talks both well and wisely,

Temperately, in measured manner:

‘Lady, if he’s wronged you ever,

Then to you he shall make amends,

For, in the wrong, a good man bends

The knee; receive him so, I counsel,

It seems to me that all’s then well.’

And so said each and every one,

And Hope’s good favour I had won,

For she said: ‘This I shall grant you.

Come forward now, the three of you,

To Advice’s side, she’ll tell us,

What amends he now shall make us.’

Friendly Comfort said, but gently:

‘My most true advice is, lady,

That you should fine him for his wrong,

He should pay for it with a song,

Rondel, ballad, or virelay.’

And she said: ‘Let it be a lay,

The Lay of Hope he shall it call,

And then he shall be quit of all,

And then away he may be sent,

Scot free of all impediment.’

Then I said: ‘Lady, I agree

To such a treaty, willingly,

As you have here proposed, although

I lack the skill to write, I know,

As well as you’d have me devise,

And yet you are both good and wise,

Such that if it lacks anything

You will amend it, on the wing.’

For sufficient time I asked her,

And then departed shortly after.

Lines 4428-4461: He returns home, and there composes the lay requested

I was upon my guard however,

And said to my valet: ‘Keep ever

A good watch, look all about you,

For with travel many risks ensue

As you can see in all this region,

Let us hasten now, come, ride on,

Spur your horse forward, briskly,

So we can journey more quickly,

And that will be all to the better,

In this land there’s many a robber.

They capture folk and detain them,

Spring from nowhere, rob and kill them,

For in the shadows where they lurk

All harbour ill, tis their sole work.

Did I say all? Doubtless, there’s one,

For each rule has its exception,

Who does not, yet many do gather,

And undertake such things together.’

Yet gainst any seven I had four,

Until I arrived at my own door.

Thus, I hastened along the road

And when into my room I strode,

Which was clean, fair, elegant,

Little danger did they present,

Nor feared I then their villainy;

God curse such thieves, eternally!

For there I was safe and secure,

Afraid of all their schemes no more.

I thought to quit my debt that day,

Beginning to work on my lay,

And, as I’d promised, sent it on

To Hope herself when it was done,

In true accord with all I’d said,

That it might then be sung or read.

Lines 4462-4717: The Lay of Hope ‘Longuement me sui tenus’ (Lay XVIII, with music)

‘FOR a long while, I’d refrain

From making lays,

Void of love, I do maintain,

And yet these days

I write songs and virelays,

Am in that strain;

I yield now to love again,

And will always.

If I have seemed somewhat mute,

I shall no more,

Being taken in hot pursuit,

Heart stricken sore,

By twin darts, and to the core,

Eyes, bright, astute,

Grey, sweet, charming and acute,

Laughter their law.

For my lady, God save her,

Of her sweet smiling manner,

Made an arrow, then another,

Of Hope, then Desire;

He would slay me with his fire,

Sans warning, should I aspire,

Had not Hope, I value higher,

Assistance offered.

For when I first felt the glow

Of the glance that burns me so,

No third or fourth part did go

Of my calm and sense,

But all composure, and strength,

Until Hope made me, at length,

Take my pains on sufferance;

Her true art did show.

But I am filled with dismay,

Do not know

If this lover’s wound, today,

Heart feels so,

Comes of Love or true heart; oh,

Any heart sweet glances slay

If she’s another also.

Tis mortal woe

If so, yet I’ll love alway,

If she’s no foe.

I’d ne’er have the will or art

To retreat,

For that woeful piercing dart,

I’d compete,

True service would I complete,

For my lady, ne’er depart,

And when with sad death I meet

At her feet

I would lay my wounded heart,

Its last beat.

Who could know

Seized, by her,

Life, death, so,

She’d offer,

To hear no

Fair laughter,

Full of woe

Thereafter:

Nor sought I

Paradise,

Naught else I

Then did prize,

Felt thereby

Naught, likewise,

While her eye

Did surprise,

She whose love burns in this guise.

Nonetheless

I did find

Her sweetness

Calmed my mind;

Prayed, no less,

There, resigned,

She would bless

Me, prove kind;

Ne’er would I

E’er arise

Did she deny

My fond sighs,

By and by,

She needs prize

An ally,

Realise,

She must be my friend likewise.

Sleep I or wake, when I see

Her smiling glance alight,

Her body, formed peerlessly,

And all her welcome bright?

There I view her lovely face,

Honest, sweet, full of grace,

Her complexion, red and white,

A flower in woodland light,

Counselling me to love apace,

Who many an ill must embrace.

Her golden hair shines like the sun,

A gleam rests on her brow,

Counsel of no other one

Seek I, or wish for, now,

But rather I make ready

To obey her every

Wish, for service is my vow,

Such goodness hers, I’ll allow,

I cross myself, all amazed,

All vice from me here erased.

Is it not good so to love her,

Desiring her,

Admiring her,

Finding in her,

Naught that’s bitter,

Only pure sweetness to savour?

A noble destiny

Has he who can thus obtain her

Grace forever,

Peerless ever,

None above her;

And none better

Yet, nor nobler,

Could any lover see.

So, must I protect her honour,

Ceasing never,

To deliver

Loyal ever,

And naught other,

Devote all my powers to her,

With no evil thought.

For to cross the seas were better,

Return never,

Than neglect her

Sweet manner;

Harbour, ever,

Some ill thought that might harm her

True renown, in aught.

Pleasure doth my heart transport,

When my eyes her form have sought,

And, free of villainous report,

I hear that all men make effort

To prize her, at every thought,

Above every creature.

Then no ill thought doth feature,

No pain, no woe in Nature,

Nor aught that hurts me ever,

Instead, my mind feels pleasure,

Far sweeter yet and purer,

That, thanks to her, is brought.

Joy I find in viewing her,

Comfort so in serving her,

Solace find in loving her,

And in Hope, aiding ever

Against Desire the slayer,

Scorning his bite, you see;

If the lady’s harsh to me,

Or treats me but carelessly,

No matter, I take, sweetly,

Nourishment from her, truly,

Nor fear aught can trouble me,

Love’s pains nor ills, ever.

And since I may live thus alway,

Happily, free of care each day,

Twere great folly

For me to seek her mercy,

Or love, ever,

Unworthy still, forever,

In every way.

She’d soon tell me…depart, from here!

Alas, were I such words to hear

From one so sweet,

With tears in my heart I’d meet,

Deep down within,

For I would ache both out and in,

And so, remain

Her subject, in endless pain,

Reduced to fear.

All my joy in her doth lie;

There shall rest,

I now attest,

My faith gladly.

There I’d live most lovingly,

There would I die,

There I’d sigh,

There I’d lie,

There’s my employ,

There, all my heart doth enjoy,

The whole entirely,

Most sweetly,

And most humbly,

And there serve I.

I can’t refrain from loving,

When I see

The sweet beauty

Of her fair form,

So noble; to her I’ve sworn

Faith undying,

And no parting

Or repenting;

As I ought,

For the thousand pleasures bought

In torments’ guise,

Otherwise,

Tis no surprise,

None suffering.

No life is

Sweet as this,

To desire one you would kiss,

Hope, each hour,

To amend

And defend

Gainst Desire downed in the end,

Sans power.

He destroys

All life’s joys,

If Hope ne’er her power employs;

Thus, I’m sworn

Where’er I be,

Utterly,

To Hope’s pleasant company,

Night and morn.

I’d have died long while ago

Had sweet Hope not been there,

When Desire’s sharpened arrow

My vision did impair,

Which can be drawn forth never

Unless my love doth so,

Or fair Hope who did ever

As my physician show,

Comforting me, tenderly;

May God view her sweetly!

She’s my keep, my strong fortress,

She doth calm my anger,

She’s the treasure I possess,

Beyond reproach, ever.

She’s my life’s fairest haven,

She’s my joy; truth to tell,

All the silver, gold even,

Of France, and Rome as well,

Is not worth her least favour

When Despair doth hover.

And when to the point I came,

Of loving, and was true,

Well furnished by Hope, that same,

Then happiness, anew,

Gracious and peaceful ever,

Did thus to me accrue,

To be far from me never

Whatever I may do.

For had I even more to bear

Than I do suffer now,

If I had more than my share

Of suffering, I vow,

Still I’d be sustained and healed,

Hope would myself endow

With gifts, her kindness revealed,

And so, to her I bow.’

Lines 4718-4731: He sends his lady the Lay of Hope, and his twelfth letter

ONCE I had finished composing

The words and music that I sing

Often, so as to remember

Sweet Hope, and my lady ever,

I had it copied and notated,

So well, that what I had created

Taught that in good hope I sought

To live, and serve my love in aught.

I folded it when it was done,

And, with this letter, sent it on

To my lady, by a valet,

Despatched for that purpose only.

And I wrote how, upon my way,

Hope had captured me that day.

‘My own sweetheart, my most dear sister, my sweetest love, never had I so great a desire to know and hear good news of you and your health, and also that you might hear from me as to what happened on my journey, and thereafter. And my most sweet love, you well know how the country is full of, and overrun by, armed men and hostile soldiers, and robbers of good people. May it please you to know, my sweet love, that I had never been in greater danger, were it not for the memory and the sweet thought of you that I harbour, and ever shall. For these have granted, and still grant me, such great strength that, thanks be to God and to you, I escaped the miscreants, yet nonetheless was unable to avoid and evade dangerous pathways, and was in great fear. And when I had traversed the most dangerous of these passes, thinking to be able to ride in greater safety, I came into a quite beautiful plain where I thought of the great beauty, and the perfect goodness, and the honourable courtesy that are yours, and also of the great benefits you have accorded me, of which I am unworthy, such that I cannot and do not know how to deserve or repay them. I was unwary, gazing aside, when I suddenly saw a considerable company of most noble folk riding straight towards me. And if I was afraid, none should wonder, for in front of all rode a lady who said: “You are taken prisoner.” And when I perceived that she was a truly noble lady and also that I thought more ardently of you since this lady was most noble, I answered most humbly: “Lady, I yield.” And I asked who it was who had captured me. And she answered that this, indeed, I would learn, and that she had done many good things, performed much service for me, for which I had never repaid her, but that before I left her, she was certain that I would swear to so do. Finally, she told me her name was Hope, and at once I was much comforted. And then Moderation and Temperance came riding up together with the rest of the company, who were most noble, and they said to her: “Lady, may it please you to receive him in such a way that he might be reconciled with you.” And then she held a grave and lengthy council with her folk, and it was ordained, of her grace, that as she had achieved for me, and granted me, many honours and benefits throughout my life, then, as a restitution and repayment for these things, and also as a fine levied by her and her people, since in this book I had composed nothing of note that might be set to her account, I should write a lay, to be called “The Lay of Hope.” The which lay, my own sweetheart and most sweet love, I enclose with this. And I beg you, as lovingly from the heart as I am able, to learn it, since it is inspired by you, for I would have no need for Hope were it not for you. And my most sweet love, since it has been composed in your honour, it is right that you should learn it before any other should so do. Adieu, my sweetheart, and may God grant you such benefit, honour, and joy as I would wish for myself. Your most faithful lover.’

Lines 4732-4739: She sends her tenth letter

THEN my sweet and pretty lady

With my happiness most happy,

And pleased, indeed, that I’d won free

From where Hope had captured me,

Let not my messenger delay

But swiftly sent him on his way,

As you may read, if you choose

To read her letter, and her news.

‘My own sweet heart, and my most sweet and very faithful lover, I have well noted from your loving letter how you have fared and the adventures you experienced on the road, and also that your health is good, and for this I feel more joy than for aught else in the world. And my own sweetheart, may it please you to learn that no letter has ever been as welcome as your last for, truly, since your previous letter, I have been full of worry, care, and fear regarding the troubles you might encounter. But when I saw your letter, I felt joy penetrate my heart as never before. Indeed, I can hardly bear the joy I feel when I hold it in my hand, for all my heart failed me in such a way that the flock of ladies who were my companions wondered what ailed me. Nonetheless, my heart recovered, and I went to my room, saying that I would rest a while. And they all went from me, for they believed that I was quite ill, and so I was. And I locked myself in my room to read your sweet letter, comprehending all that had occurred, and I understood the truth of our two hearts, which can never be disjoined. For I know well, and understand clearly, that one can scarce live without the other. And so, while reading, I had many good and many ill feelings, and yet I suffer these well enough, and they are sweet to me. So, know well, my sweetheart, that I have embraced and studied the lay enclosed in your sweet letter. And I promise you I shall learn it as soon as I am able. And I will sing no other piece until I have learned the words and the notes, for they are words and notes that please me more than have any others, ever. My most sweet lover, may Our Lord grant you good health, peace, and such joy as your heart and my own desire. Your faithful friend.’

Lines 4740-4771: The lover is assailed by Desire and writes his thirteenth letter, in verse

YET as I have told you before,

And the work reveals, I am sure

Those who feel love’s stings anew

Do not an even course pursue;

Many a pang they feel, rather,

One hour sweet the next bitter.

Now Desire, who has slain many,

Wished to put a swift end to me,

And so, assailed me everywhere,

At any hour, where’er I did fare,

Nor could I bear it patiently

For he would never let me be,

At church, abroad, or in the town,

Thus, twas but misery I found,

Living with such a pestilence

That neither Sweet Thought’s fair presence,

Nor Hope, could gain the victory,

Rather he vanquished us all three;

Truly, our efforts were denied

So fiercely, my heart often sighed.

Such discomfort I did suffer,

In verse I composed this letter,

And sent it on to my lady

Since my heart ached so badly,

Nor let any know what dolour

Had thus robbed me of my colour.

And so, with tears I was blessed,

The only good that I possessed.

‘My heart, my sister, my sweet love,

Hear how your lover doth complain.