| du "ROMAN DE LA ROSE" - ll.1-102 |
from "THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE" |
| Guillaume de Lorris | tr. Brian Cole |
|
Maintes gens dient que en songes N'a se fables non et mençonges; Mes l'en puet tex songes songier Qui ne sont mie mençongier, Ains sont après apparissant, Si en puis bien traire a garant Un actor qui ot non Marcobes, Qui ne tint pas songes a lobes, Ainçois escrist la vision Qui avint au roi Cypion. Quicunques cuide ne qui die Que soit folece ou musardie De croire que songes aviegne, Qui ce vodra, por fol me tiegne, Car endroit moi ai je creance Que songes soit signifiance Des biens as gens et des anuis; Car li plusor songent de nuis Maintes choses couvertement Qu'il voient puis apertement. Ou vintieme an de mon aage Ou point qu'Amors prent le paage Des jones gens, couichez estoie Une nuit si cum je souloie, Et me dormoie mout forment; Lor vi un songe en mon dorment Qui mout fu biaus et mout me plot; Mes onques riens ou songe n'ot Qui avenu tretout ne soit Si cum li songes recontoit. Or veil mon songe rimoier Por vos cuers fere miex esgaier, Qu'Amors le me prie et commande. Et se nus ne nulle demande Comment je veil que cis romans Soit appellés, que je commans, Que c'est li Romans de la Rose, Ou l'art d'Amors est toute enclose. La matire en est bele et noive; Or doint Diex qu'en gré le reçoive Cele por qui je l'ai empris: C'est cele qui tant a de pris Et tant est digne d'estre amee Qu'el doit estre rose clamee. Avis m'estoit qu'il estoit maiz, Il a ja bien cinq ans ou maiz; En may estions, si songoie Ou temps amorous plain de joie, Ou temps ou toute riens s'esgaie, Que l'en ne voit boisson ne haie Qui en may parer ne se vueille Et couvrir de novelle fueille. Li bois recovrent for verdure, Qui sont sec tant cum yver dure; La terre meïsmes s'orgueille Por la rosee qui la mueille, Et oblie la povreté Ou elle a tout l'yver esté. Lors devient la terre si gobe Que veut avoir novele robe; Si fait si cointe robe faire Que de colors y a cent paire; D'erbes, de flors indes et perses Et de maintes colors diverses, C'est la robe que je devise Por quoi la terre tant se prise. Li oisiau, qui se sont teü Tant cum il ont le froit eü Et le fors temps d'iver frarin, Sont en may por le temps serin Si lié qu'il mostrent en chantant Qu'en for cuer a de joie tant Qu'il lor estuet chanter par force. Li rossignos lores s'esforce De chanter et de faire noise; Lors se resqueut, lors se renvoise Li papegauz et la calandre; Lors estuet jones gens entendre A estre gais et amoreus Por le temps bel et doucereus. Mout a dur cuer qui en may n'aime Quant il of chanter sus la raime As oisiaus les dous chans piteus. En yceli temps deliteus, Que toute riens d'amer s'effroie, Sonjai une nuit que j'estoie. Lors m'iere avis en mon dorment Qu'il estoit matin durement. De mon lit tantost me levai, Chauçai moi et mes mains lavai. Lors trais une aguille d'argent D'un aiguiller mignot et gent; Si pris l'aguille a enfiler. Hors de vile oi talent d'aler Por ôir des oisiaus les sons, Qui chantoient par ces boissons En icele saison novele. Cousant mes manches a vizele M'en alai touz seus esbatant, Et les oiselés escoutant Qui de chanter mout s'angoissoient Par lé vergiers qui floroissoient. ............ ............ |
People say that when we dream they're lying tales, not what they seem; but then sometimes we may recall a dream that tells no lies at all and is confirmed by reality. I can quote as guarantee an author called Marcobes, who did not consider dreams untrue, and wrote about a vision once King Cypion had experienced. Those who think and even say it's mad or stupid in some way to think a dream could come to pass can if they wish think me an ass! However I am quite convinced that dreams have fortune-telling sense and tell what comes, for good or ill; for many people's dreams are filled with a host of things in dim half-light that later they see clear and bright. When my twentieth year had come, the time with love calls on the young to pay their tribute, I was abed one night, and sleeping like the dead, and in that state of trance so deep I had a dream while I was asleep, most fair, that gave me great delight and every detail from that night came true and in reality happened exactly so to me. And now my dream I will impart in verse, to fill with joy your hearts, for Love wills and commands this task. And if a man or lady ask the title I shall give this lay that I'm just starting, I shall say it is the 'Romance of the Rose' where all the art of love's disclosed. I shall tell beauteous things and new; and may God grant it be well viewed by her for whom I pen this verse. For she's a lady of such worth deserving of a love so famed that 'Rose' should be her proper name. I thought that May was at the door five years ago, or even more. Yes, it was May, and I would dream of days of loving joy; it seemed that all of Nature was so gay and every bush and hedge in May you see will decorate itself, of new-born leaves take on a wealth. The woods, all winter long so dry, are now bedecked with greenery; the Earth is full of pride, and new in its fresh coat of moistening dew, and can forget the poverty it suffered in long winter's fee. Then the Earth in all its pride wants a new dress, like a bride, and has one made that is so gay with full two hundred different shades; of grasses, flowers, violet and blue, and many other colours too; that is the dress that I describe which fills the Earth with swelling pride. The birds that all fell silent when they felt the cold attack them, then suffered from harsh winter's frost, now in May their cares have lost. They are so gay they have to sing to show their hearts are full of Spring that forces them to loudest song. The nightingale then joins the throng and vies with wondrous tunes; and hark! the vivid parrot and the lark awake and join the happy throng. Young people then should follow on, devote themselves to love's gay beat, because the Spring is warm and sweet. A hard heart does not love in May when it hears the birds' sweet lay so moving in the branches green One night I had a wondrous dream: it was this month of joys untold, when Love makes every creature bold. I felt somehow not yet awake, that morning was already late. I quickly jumped up from my bed, washed and dressed, and ate my bread. I took a needle from its place in a splendid sewing-case and threaded it with greatest care. I planned to leave the town, go where the happy sounds of birds would ring in fresh green bushes where they sing in this new season all about. I sewed my ruffs to flounce them out and set off all alone that day listening to the birds so gay who called on all their strength to sing in flowering verge and on the wing. ................ ................ |
Trans. Copyright © Brian Cole 2003