| LES DEUX AMANZ | THE LAI OF THE TWO SWEET YOUNG THINGS | ||||
| Marie de France | tr. Jane Tozer | ||||
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jadis avint en Normendie une aventure mut oïe de deus enfanz que s'entr'amerent; par amur ambedeus finerent. un lai en firent li Bretun: de Deus amanz recuilt le nun. verité est kë en Neustrie, que nus apelum Normendie, ad un haut munt merveilles grant: la sus gisent li dui enfant. pres de cel munt a une part par grant cunseil e par esgart une cité fist faire uns reis quë esteit sire de Pistreis; des Pistreins la fist il numer e Pistre la fist apeler. tuz jurs ad puis duré li nuns; uncore i ad vile e maisuns. nuns savum bien de la contree, li vals de Pistrë est nomee. li reis ot une fille bele e mut curteise dameisele. cunfortez fu par la meschine, puis que perdue ot la reïne. plusurs a mal li aturnerent, li suen meïsme le blamerent. quant il oï que hum en parla, mut fu dolent, mut li pesa; cumença sei a purpenser cument s'en purrat delivrer que nul sa fille ne quesist. e luinz e pres manda e dist: ki sa fille vodreit aveir, une chose seüst de veir: sortit esteit e destiné, desur le munt fors la cité entre ses braz la portereit, si que ne se reposereit. quant la nuvelë est seüe e par la cuntree espandue, asez plusurs s'i asaierent, que nule rien n'i espleiterent. teus i ot que tant s'esforçouent quë en mi le munt la portoënt; ne poeient avant aler, iloec l'esteut laissier ester. lung tens remist cele a doner, que nul ne la volt demander. al païs ot un damisel, iz a un cunte, gent e bel; de bien faire pur aveir pris sur tuz autres s'est entremis. en la curt le rei conversot, asez sovent i surjurnot; e la fillë al rei ama, e meintefeiz l'areisuna que ele s'amur li otriast e par drüerie l'amast. pur ceo ke pruz fu e curteis e que mut le presot li reis, li otria sa drüerie, e cil humblement l'en mercie. |
In Normandy, in days of old Occurred a tale that’s often told Of two young souls who loved so madly That their adventure turned out sadly. Their tragic story touched the Bretons Who made the lai Les Deus Amanz. You can still find, in Normandy (Known as Neustria in their day) A mountain of prodigious size - Right on its top, their tomb still lies. Beneath it, at the king’s command Was a strong city, finely planned. He was the lord of all the land And nation of the Pitrians - Therefore, he called his city Pitres. With many a handsome house and street The town is standing to this day (I recommend a weekend stay). Around the handsome citadel Is countryside we all know well Along the valley of the Seine - Le Val de Pitres is its name. The widowed king has no heirs male; His only offspring is a girl The heroine of this sad tale. She’s courtly, sweet and beautiful The only comfort of his soul And single object of his love Now that his wife has passed above. Many of his staff and ministers Find his devotion to her sinister; They blame the king, and some reprove him. Their stern reproaches shame and move him. So the old king sat down and planned How any suitors for her hand Might be forestalled. Then he can have her Entirely to himself forever. So it’s proclaimed both far and near: "All hopefuls should get one thing clear: It is decided and decreed All claimants must perform this deed A rigorous and stringent test :- Without a pause for breath or rest He must climb up the lofty mountain Carrying the lovely maiden In his arms, and never falter If he would wed her at the altar." When the news spreads through the land Many decide to try their hand At this absurd and pointless deed - No man Jacques of them succeeds. Some of them, by gallant struggle, Get half way up before they stumble; Without the strength for one step further Their brave attempt to win is over. When it was known the task was hopeless No man paid court to the princess. Well, a young fellow lives nearby, A count’s son, pleasing to the eye Noble and decent, with ambition By splendid feats to gain position And to cement his place at court, His only cultural resort. (Though physically he’s ineffectual He is a true French intellectual.) He visits often. There he sought To woo the princess, whom he loved. Would she agree to be betrothed And to return his tenderness Deeper than mere words express? Because he has her father’s favour - For he is handsome, courtly, brave - her Heart is willing, and she’s glad And proud to love this charming lad. | ||||
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ensemble parlerent sovent e s'entr'amerent lëaument e celerent a lur poeir, que hum nes puïst aparceveir. la suffrance mut lur greva; mes li vallez se purpensa que meuz en volt les maus suffrir que trop haster e dunc faillir. mut fu pur li amer destreiz. puis avient si que a une feiz que a s'amie vient li danzeus, que tant est sages, pruz e beus; sa pleinte li mustrat e dist: anguissusement li requist que s'en alast ensemble of lui, ne poeit mes suffrir l'enui; s'a sun pere la demandot, il saveit bien que tant l'amot que pas ne li vodreit doner, si il ne la poïst porter entre ses braz en sum le munt. la damisele li respunt: "amis," fait ele, "jeo sai bien, ne m'i porterïez pur rien: n'estes mie si vertuus. si jo m'en vois ensemble od vus, mis pere avreit e doel e ire, ne vivreit mie sanz martire, certes, tant l'eim e si l'ai chier, jeo nel vodreie curucier. autre cunseil vus estuet prendre, kar cest ne voil jeo pas entendre. en Salerne ai une parente, riche femme, mut ad grant rente; plus de trente anz i ad esté. l'art de phisike ad tant usé que mut est saives de mescines: tant cunust herbes e racines, si vus a li volez aler e mes lettres od vus porter e mustrer li vostre aventure, ele en prendra cunseil e cure; teus lettuaires vus durat e teus beivres vus baillerat que tut vus recunforterunt e bone vertu vus dufrunt. quant en cest païs revendrez, a mun pere me requerez; il vus en tendrat pur enfatn, si vus dirat le cuvenant que a nul humme ne me durrat, ja cele peine n'i mettrat, s'al munt ne me peüst porter entre ses braz sanz resposer." |
They meet as often as they can To talk together, and to plan A happy future. They conceal All the strong passions that they feel From all potential spying eyes - Even their tears of grief, their sighs. Their suffering was so intense! Yet the young man thinks it good sense To bear their sorrows for a while Rather than haste their love, and fail. His love’s the cause of great distress So he goes off to see his mistress Who is so lovely, good and wise. He begs, lamenting on his knees: "Let’s run away, my darling, please, This is a risk we both must take. I can no longer stand this ache! If I should ask your father’s blessing To take his most adored possession I know he’d never let us marry Unless I pass the test to carry You in my arms up to the summit. The prospect makes my spirits plummet." "My love" says she, "I know full well This is one challenge you would fail You haven’t got the strength and fitness. Yet I am sure, as God’s my witness, My father’s anger would be pitiless. If we eloped, his grief and rage Would eat his heart out all his days. I love him so, the dear old man, I’ll keep him happy if I can. To cause him hurt is inconceivable - Our future’s not yet irretrievable. Now, listen, for I’ve planned it out. At Salerno, I have an aunt A dame of substance and of parts; She’s studied all the healing arts For thirty years, from learned masters. She knows the salves, the brews, the plasters Charms, herbs and roots and magic potions Brought from strange lands and distant oceans. If you’re prepared to travel there I’ll write a letter you can bear To introduce yourself to her. When once you tell her of our plight She’ll give you all the help she might With good advice and tender care. I’m sure you can depend on her. She will prescribe you distillations Tinctures, tonics, medications That will bring comfort, lend you strength And get you into shape.
And, if things go as I have planned, My father, thinking you a stripling And physically quite a weakling, Will gladly read you the decree Whereby no man may marry me Save the one who can carry me Held in his arms, up to the top With never a breather, or a stop." | ||||
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li vallez oï la movele e le cunseil a la pucele; mut en fu liez, si l'en mercie; cungé demandë a s'amie, en sa cuntree en est alez. hastivement s'est aturnez de riches dras e de deniers, de palefreiz e de sumers; de ses hummes les plus privez al li danzeus of sei menez. a Salerne vait surjurner, a l'aunte s'amie parler. de sa part li dunat un brief. quant el l'ot lit de chief en chief, ensemble od li l'a retenu tant que sun estre ad tut seü. par mescines l'ad esforcié, un tel beivre li ad baillié, ja ne serat tant travaillez ne si ateint ne si chargiez, ne li resfreschist tut le cors, neïs les vaines ne les os, e qu'il nen ait tute vertu, si tost cum il l'avra beü. puis le remeine en sun païs. le beivre ad en un vessel mis. li damiseus, joius e liez, quant ariere fu repeiriez, ne surjurnat pas en la tere. al rei alat sa fille quere, qu'il li donast, il la prendreit, en sum le munt la portereit. li reis ne l'en escundist mie; mes mut le tint a grant folie, pur ceo qu'il iert de jeofne eage: tant produme vaillant e sage unt asaié icel afaire ki n'en purent a nul chef traire. |
Such clever, witty, wise advice: The girl’s not just a pretty face. This puts new heart into the lad - "Thanks, darling, I’d be very glad Of any nostrum of your aunt’s. Your blessing, please. I’ll leave at once!" He rushes home to pack and plan The journey out, as best he can He’ll take a modest baggage train - Only his most trusted men, His finest clothes, a deal of moneys, Palfreys to ride, and good pack-ponies. It’s a long journey that he’s making A truly massive undertaking But he’s too love-sick to despond. He pores over the mappemonde:- "All the way from Normandy Across the Alps to Italy Then, somewhere south of Napoli - Salerno."
From the aunt of his dear damsel. They reach the aunt’s house with good speed. "Your niece sends greetings. Here, please read." She reads intently, from the top Right to the end. Sizing him up, The aunt invites the youth to stop With her.
Drink this, my dear, to build you up. It’s potent stuff - a single swig Will make you lively as a grig!" This is a complex preparation Of elixirs and macerations With healing herbs from far off nations. She heals the young man with this potion. However weakened by exhaustion Bowed down by burdens or affliction Depressed in spirits by emotion And the anguish of the soul - This medicine will make him whole. By the powers of cabbalism It restores the organism; Acting through the venous system From the beating of the heart It circulates to every part Right to the marrow of the bones! Here’s an end to sighs and moans. It’s a fast-acting remedy One sip, then - farewell malady. He rides back to his native soil With the potion in a phial. Though he’s delighted to be home He doesn’t dawdle there for long But rushes off to see the king. "I beg you for your daughter’s hand. Believe me sir, I understand The task that I must undertake To prove myself a worthy mate. I’ll carry her, in these my arms, Up to the top, no fear of harm." His majesty did not forbid it, Yet, I believe, considered it Madness in one so very young - And, in appearance, far from strong - When sturdy citizens had failed. No valiant heart had yet prevailed; Brave, tough and wise men all gave up Before they reached the mountain top. | ||||
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terme li ad numé e pris, ses hummes mande e ses amis e tuz ceus k'il poeit aveir: n'en i laissa nul remaneir. pur sa fille e pur le vallet, ki en avwnture se met de li porter en sum le munt, de tutes parz venuz i sunt. la dameisele s'aturna: mut se destreint, mut jeüna a sun manger pur alegier, que a sun ami voleit aidier. al jur quant tuz furent venu, li damisels primer i fu; sun beivre n'i ublia mie. devers Seigne en la praerie en la grant gent tut asemblee li reis ad sa fille menee. n'ot drap vestu fors la chemise; entre ses braz l'aveit cil prise. la fiolete od tut sun beivre - bien seit que el nel vout pas deceivre - en sa mein a porter li baille; mes jo creim que poi ne li vaille, kar n'ot en lui point de mesure. od li s'en veit grant aleüre, le munt munta de si qu'en mi. pur la joie qu'il ot de li de sun beivre ne li membra. ele senti qu'il alassa. "amis," fet ele, "kar bevez! jeo sai bien que vus alassez: si recuvrez vostre vertu!" li damisel ad respundu: "bele, jo sent tut fort mun quer: ne m'arestereie a nul fuer si lungement que jeo buësse, pur quei treis pas aler peüsse. ceste gent nus escrïereient, de lur noise m'esturdireient; tost me purreient desturber. jo ne voil pas ci arester." quant les deus parz fu munté sus, pur un petit qu'il ne chiet jus. sovent li prie la meschine: "ami, bevez vostre mescine!" ja ne la volt oïr ne creire; a grant anguisse od tut li eire. sur le munt vint, tant se greva, ileoc cheï, puis ne leva; li quors del ventre s'en parti. |
He sets the day for his attempt No knight or bondsman is exempt All of his friends and neighbours come - No-one is left at home, not one. When folk hear of this event No invitation need be sent! The people pour into the town From the regions all around. A princess, carried by her swain Across mountainous terrain Could you resist it?
In preparation for the day The girl, to make it simpler for him Starts on a diet to make her slim. She starves herself, as if for Lent Like the most zealous penitent. Oh, the poor princess, what folly! Now girls, don’t ever be so silly. Worries about how slim you are Bring anorexia or bulimia. Perhaps you will agree with me That here’s a tragic irony. He loved her for herself entire Aflame with youthful wild desire For her sweet soft voluptuous curves. And she loved him, all bones and nerves; An intellectual’s always gaunt (And I’m - one of the few that aren’t). On the anticipated morning He rises as the day is dawning The first arrival at the start With apprehension in his heart. Despite his welter of emotion He has made sure to bring the potion. Along the valley of the Seine All through the throng that crowds the plain His highness leads the young princess. Choosing the simplest, lightest dress She’s wearing nothing but her shift. She’s up in his arms, so slight to lift. He, knowing that she’ll not deceive him Gives her the tonic for safe-keeping. By evening, she will be his wife And so he trusts her with his life. But, ah my dears, I have a notion He’ll gain no profit from the potion For youth knows no restraint or caution When in the grip of deep emotion. Middle age brings moderation And a true sense of proportion - At least, friends, that’s what I’ve been told. The young think first love won’t grow cold And hope they’ll die before they get old. He’s off, at high velocity And up the first stretch with alacrity To the first mark, quick as can be. He can’t believe it. He’s halfway! He’s so thrilled that he doesn’t think About the flask of magic drink. But she can hear that he sounds puffed: "Darling!" she urges "Take a draught! I can feel your strength is flagging Take a sip, please, from the flacon. Health and vigour are imparted." "Dearest, I feel - puff - quite strong-hearted. While I can still take three steps forward My no means will I - puff - pause or stop, Not even for a - puff - tiny sip! Once the masses see me - puff - pause They’ll deafen me with groans and roars It would be - puff - dreadfully - puff - off-putting And I’d be sure to lose my footing! I can’t a - puff - fford to break my stride Or I will stumble, slip and slide. Please, honey, - puff - no more interruptions." Onward he climbs the lofty mountain. Now they’re two thirds of the way up He’s quite done in and fit to drop But, somehow, just keeps on his legs. Over and over, how she begs: "Darling, please, darling, take your drink!" But he can barely hear or think. In fact, he chooses not to hear Or to believe his anxious dear. No, he will do this thing alone Prove to himself that he is strong. In agony, he struggles on. A few more steps, and he has done it At last, he makes it to the summit. But he’s incurred such grievous strain And suffered such appalling pain He slumps, and does not rise again. A fluttering within his chest And then -
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la pucele vit sun ami, quida k'il fust en paumeisuns; lez lui se met en genuilluns, sun beivre li voleit doner; mes il ne pout od li parler. issi murut cum jeo vus di. ele le pleint a mut haut cri; puis ad geté e espaundu li veissel u le beivre fu. li muns en fu bien arusez, mut en ad esté amendez tut le païs e la cuntree: meinte bone herbe i unt trovee, ki del beivrë orent racine. or vus dirai de la meschine: puis que sun ami ot perdu, unkes si dolente ne fu; lez lui se cuchë e estent, entre ses braz l'estreint e prent, suvent li baisë oilz e buche; li dols de lui al quor la tuche. ilec murut la dameisele, que tant ert pruz e sage e bele. li reis e cil kis atendeient, quant unt veü qu'il ne veneient, vunt aprés eus, sis unt trovez. li reis chiet a tere paumez. quant pot parler, grant dol demeine, e si firent la gent foreine. treis jurs les unt tenu sur tere. sarcu de marbre firent quere, les deus enfanz unt mis dedenz. par le cunseil de cele genz desur le munt les enfuïrent, e puis atant se departirent. pur l'aventure des enfaunz ad nun li munz des Deus amanz. issi avint cum dit vus ai; li Bretun en firent un lai. |
The princess sees her fallen lover. He’s fainted, and will soon recover. She kneels beside him, tries to slip The potion-flask between his lips. "Speak to me, darling!"
In grief, she gives a piteous wail And hurls away the precious phial Sprinkling the magic potion Over the herbage on the mountain Watering the barren earth And engendering rebirth. So potent was its growing power That many a healing herb and flower Took root there, having been well-nourished; There, to this day, they grow and flourish And you may pick them, for good health. Ah, but I forget myself. Now I must tell of the poor maid Who has lost her bonny lad. Her grief has driven her quite mad. She Lies beside his poor, racked body Clasping him in wild embraces Showering eyes and lips with kisses With her pale forefinger she traces Each loved feature of his face. Grief for his anguish breaks her heart And she expires there, on the spot. So ends the life of this princess In all her sweet wise loveliness. When the couple don’t appear The king, and all those waiting there, Are anxious, and make up their minds To follow, and look out for signs. Alas, we know what they will find. The king collapses on the ground. When he recovers from his swoon He grieves aloud with howls and cries. None of the strangers is dry-eyed. For three whole days the hills resound With the lamentable sound Vast crowds of mourners gather round While the two lie there on the ground. On the fourth day, they are entombed In a fine marble mausoleum There, on the summit of the mountain Where, so they say, you can still see them. Then, the throng turns for the descent. In solitude, the king laments, And, for all I know, repents. Thus ends the tale of the ordeal Of two who died in time of trial. For the young lovers’ sad romance The mountain’s called Les Deus Amanz. It came about just as I say And Breton singers made this lai. |
Trans. Copyright © Jane Tozer 2004