fol. 9v 5 10 15 20 25 30 35 40 45 50 fol. 10r 55 60 65 70 75 80 85 90 95 100 105 110 115 120 125 130 fol. 10v 135 140 145 150 155 160 165 170 175 180 185 190 195 200 205 210 fol. 11r 215 220 225 230 235 240 245 250 255 260 265 270 275 280 285 290 fol. 11v 295 300 305 310 315 320 325 330 335 340 345 350 355 360 365 370 fol. 12r 375 380 385 390 395 400 405 410 415 420 425 430 435 440 445 450 fol. 12v 455 460 465 470 475 480 485 490 495 500 505 510 515 520 525 530 fol. 13r 536 540 545 550 555 560 565 570 575 580 585 590 595 600 605 610 fol. 13v 616 620 625 630 635 640 645 650 655 660 665 670 675 680 685 690 fol. 14r 696 700 705 710 715 720 725 730 735 740 745 750 755 760 765 770 775 fol. 14v 780 785 790 795 800 805 810 815 820 825 830 835 840 845 850 855 fol. 15r 860 865 870 875 880 885 890 895 900 905 910 915 920 925 930 935 fol. 15v 940 945 950 955 960 965 970 975 980 985 990 995 1000 1005 1010 1015 1020 1025 1030 1035 1040 1045 1050 1055 1060 1065 1070 fol. 16r 1075 1080 1085 1090 1095 1100 1105 1110 1115 1120 1125 1130 1135 1140 1145 1150 fol. 16v 1155 1160 1165 1170 1175 1180 1185 1190 1195 1200 1205 1210 1215 1220 1225 fol. 17r 1230 1235 1240 1245 1250 1255 1260 1265 1270 1275 1280 1285 1290 1295 1300 1305 fol. 17v 1310 1315 1320 1325 1330 1335 1340 1345 1350 1355 1360 1365 1370 1375 1380 1385 fol. 18r 1391 1395 1400 1405 1410 1415 1420 1425 1430 1435 1440 1445 1450 1455 1460 1465 1470 fol. 18v 1475 1480 1485 1490 1495 1500 1505 1510 1515 1520 1525 1530 1535 fol. 19r 1540 1545 1550 1555 1560 1565 1570 1575 1580 1585 1590 1595 1600 1605 1610 1615 fol. 19v 1621 1625 1630 1635 1640 1645 1650 1655 1660 1665 1670 1675 1680 1685 1690 1695 1700 fol. 20r 1705 1710 1715 1720 1725 1730 1735 1740 1745 1750 1755 1760 1765 1770 1775 1780 fol. 20v 1785 1790 1795 1800 1805 1810 1815 1820 1825 1830 1835 1840 1845 1850 1855 1860 1865 1870 1875 1880 1885 1890 fol. 21r 1895 1900 1905 1910 1915 1920 1925 1930 1935 1940 1945 1950 1955 1960 1965 1970 1975 fol. 21v 1980 1985 1990 1995 2000 2005 2010 2015 2020 2025 2030 2035 2040 2045 2050 2055 fol. 22r 2060 2065 2070 2075

Le Jugement dou Roy de Behaingne Au temps pascour que toute riens s’esgaie, Que la terre de mainte colour gaie Se cointoie, dont pointure sans plaie Sous la mamelle Fait Bonne Amour a mainte dame bele, A maint amant et a mainte pucelle; Dont il ont puis mainte lie nouvelle Et maint esmay, A ce dous temps, contre le mois de may, Par un matin cointement m’acesmay, Com cils qui tres parfaitement amay D’amour seüre. Et li jours fu attemprez par mesure, Biaus, clers, luisans, nés et purs, sans froidure. La rousee par dessus la verdure Resplendissoit Si clerement que tout m’esbloïssoit Quant mes regars celle part guenchissoit, Pour le soleil qui dessus reluisoit. Et cil oisel, Pour la douceur dou joli temps nouvel, Si liement et de si grant revel Chantoient tui que j’alay a l’appel De leur dous chant. Si en choisi en l’air .i. voletant Qui dessus tous s’en aloit glatissant: “Ocy! Oci!” Et je le sievi tant Qu’en .i. destour, Sus .i. ruissel, pres d’une bele tour Ou il avoit maint arbre et mainte flour Souëf flairant, de diverse coulour, S’ala seoir. Lors me laissay tout belement cheoir Et me coiti si bien, a mon povoir, Sous les arbres, qu’il ne me pot veoir, Pour escouter Le tres dous son de son joli chanter. Si me plut tant en oïr deliter Son dous chanter, que jamais raconter Ne le porroie. Mais tout einsi, com je me delitoie En son tres dous chanter que j’escoutoie, Je vi venir par une estroite voie, Pleinne d’erbette, Une dame pensant, toute seulette Fors d’un chiennet et d’une pucelette. Mais bien sambloit sa maniere simplette Pleinne d’anoy. Et d’autre part, un petit long de moy, Uns chevaliers de moult tres noble arroy Tout le chemin venoit encontre soy Sans compaingnie; Si me pensay qu’amis yert et amie. Lors me boutay par dedens la fueillie Si embuschiez qu’il ne me virent mie. Mais quant amis, En qui Nature assez de biens a mis, Fu aprochiez de la dame de pris, Com gracïeus, sages, et bien apris La salua. Et la dame que pensee argua, Sans riens respondre a li, le trespassa. Et cils tantost arriere rappassa, Et si la prist Par le giron, et doucement li dist: “Tres douce dame, avez vous en despit Le mien salut?” Et quant elle le vit, Si respondi En souspirant que plus n’i atendi: “Certes, sire, pas ne vous entendi Pour mon penser qui le me deffendi; Mais se j’ay fait Riens ou il ait villonnie ou meffait, Vuelliez le moy pardonner, s’il vous plait.” Li chevaliers, sans faire plus de plait, Dist doucement: “Dame, il n’affiert ci nul pardonnement, Car il n’i a meffait ne mautalent; Mais je vous pri que vostre pensement Me vueilliez dire.” Et la dame parfondement souspire Et dist: “Por Dieu, laissiez me en pais, biau sire, Car mestier n’ay que me faciés plus d’ire Ne de contraire Que j’en reçoy.” Et cils se prist a traire Plus pres de li, pour sa pensee attraire, Et ha dit: “Tres douce debonnaire, Triste vous voy. Mais je vos jur et promet par ma foy, S’a moy volez descouvrir vostre anoy, Que je ferai tout le pooir de moy De l’adrecier.” Et la dame l’en prist a mercier, Et dist: “Sire, nuls ne m’en puet aidier, Ne nuls fors Diex ne porroit alegier La grief dolour Qui fait palir et teindre ma coulour, Qui tient mon cuer en tristesse et en plour, Et qui me met en si dure langour Qu’a dire voir Nuls cuer qui soit n’en porroit plus avoir.” “Dame, et quels mauls vos fait si fort doloir? Dites le moy; que je cuit recevoir Si tres grief peinne, Si dolereuse, si dure, si greveinne, Si amere, que soiez bien certeinne, Il n’est dame, ne creature humeinne, Ne n’iert jamais, Qui tele peinne endurast onques mais.” “Certes, sire, je croy bien que tel fais Ne portez pas a vo cuer que je fais. Pour ce sarez Ma pensee qu’a savoir desirez. Mais tout avant, vos me prometterez Que sans mentir la vostre me dirés.” “Tenez, ma dame. Je vous promet par may foy et par m’ame Que le penser qui m’esprent et enflame, Et qui souvent mon cuer mort et entame Vous jehirai De chief en chief, ne ja n’en mentiray.” “Certes, sire, et je le vous diray.” “Or dites donc; je vous escouteray Moult volentiers.” “Sire, il a bien .vij. ans ou .viij. entiers Que mes cuers a esté sers et rentiers A Bonne Amour, si qu’apris ses sentiers Ay tres m’enfance. Car des premiers que j’eus sa congnoissance, Cuer, corps, povoir, vie, avoir, et puissance Et quanqu’il fu de mi, mis par plaisance En son servage. Et elle me retint en son hommage Et me donna de tres loial corage A bel et bon, dous, gracïeus, et sage, Qui de valour, De courtoisie et de parfaite honnour, Et de plaisant maintient avoit la flour, Et des tres bons estoit tout le millour: Et s’ot en li Gent corps faitis, cointe, apert, et joly, Juene, gentil, de maniere garny, Plein de tout ce qu’il faut a vray amy. Et d’estre amez Par dessus tous estoit dignes clamez, Car il estoit vrais, loiaus, et secrez, Et en trestous fais amoureus discrez; Et je l’amoie Si loiaument que tout mon cuer mettoie En li amer, n’autre entente n’avoie; Qu’en li estoit m’esperence, ma joie, Et mon plaisir, Mon cuer, m’amor, mon penser, mon desir. De tous les biens pooit mes cuers joïr Par li veoir seulement et oïr. Tous mes confors Estoit en li; c’estoit tous mes depors, Tous mes solas, mes deduis, mes tresors. C’estoit mes murs, mes chastiaus, mes ressors. Et il m’amoit; Par dessus tout me servoit et cremoit; Son cuer, s’amour, sa dame me clamoit. Tous estoit miens; mes cuers bien le savoit; Ne riens desplaire Ne li peüst qui a moy dehust plaire. De nos .ij. cuers estoit si juste paire Qu’onques ne fu l’un a l’autre contraire; Einsois estoient Tuit d’un acort; une pensee avoient. De volenté, de desir se sambloient; Un bien, un mal, une joie sentoient Conjointement, N’onques ne fu entre eaus .ij. autrement; Mais c’a esté toudis si loyaument Qu’il n’ot onques un villain pensement En nos amours. Lasse, dolente! Or est bien a rebours. Car mes douceurs sont dolereus labours, Et mes joies sont ameres dolours, Et mi penser, En qui mes cuers se soloit deliter Et doucement de tous maus conforter, Sont et seront dolent, triste, et amer. En obscurté Seront mi jour, plein de maleürté, Et mi espoir sans nulle seürté, Et ma douceur sera dure durté Car sans faillir Teindre, trambler, muer, et tressaillir, Pleindre, plourer, souspirer, et gemir, Et en paour de desespoir fremir Me couvendra; N’a mon las cuer jamais bien ne vendra, N’a nul confort n’a joie n’atendra, Jusques atant que la mort me prendra, Qui a grant tort Par devers moy, quant elle ne s’amort A moy mordre de son dolereus mort, Quant elle m’a dou tout tollu et mort Mon dous amy Que j’amoie de fin cuer et il my. Mais aprés li, lasse! Dolente! Eimy! Ne quier jamais vivre jour ne demi En si grief dueil; Eins vueil morir dou mal dont je me dueil.” Et je, qui fui boutez dedens le brueil, Vi qu’a ce mot la dame au dous acueil Cheï com morte. Mais cils qui fu de noble et gentil sorte Souventes fois li deprie et enorte Moult doucement qu’elle se reconforte, Mais riens ne vaut; Car la dame que grief doleur assaut Pour son ami sent .i. si dur assaut Qu’en li vigour et alainne deffaut. Et quant il voit Que la dame pas ne l’entent në oït, Tant fu dolens qu’estre plus ne pooit. Mais nonpourquant tant fait que bien parçoit Qu’elle est pasmee. Lors en sa main cueilli de la rousee Sus l’erbe vert; si l’en a arrousee En tous les liex de sa face esplouree Si doucement Que la dame qui avoit longuement Perdu vigour, scens, et entendement Ouvri les yeus et prist parfondement A souspirer, En regretant celui qui desirer Li fait la mort par loiaument amer. Mais cils qui ot le cuer franc sans amer Dist: “Dame chiere, Pour Dieu merci, reprenez vo maniere; Vous vous tuez de faire tele chiere, Car je voy bien que moult comparez chiere L’amour de li. Si n’aies pas le cuer einsi failly, Car ce n’est pas preus, ne honneur aussi.” “Vous dites voir, sire: mais trop mar vi L’eure et le jour Qu’onques amay de si parfaite amour, Car je n’en puis eschaper par nul tour: Eins y congnois ma mort sans nul retour.” “Dame, or oiez Ce que diray, et a mal ne l’aiez. N’est merveille se vous vous esmaiez, Car bien est drois que dolente soiés. Mais vraiement On trouveroit plus tost aligement En vostre mal qu’en mien.” “Sire, et comment? Dites le moy, et de vo sairement Vous aquitez.” “Moult voulentiers, mais que vous m’escoutez, Et que vo cuer de tristece gettés, Par quoy toute vostre entente metez A moy oïr.” “Certes, sire, po me puis resjoïr. Mais j’en feray mon pooir, sans mentir.” “Dont vous dirai quels maus j’ay a sentir, Sans plus attendre. Dame, tres dont que je me sos entendre Et que mes cuers pot sentir et comprendre Que c’est amer, je ne finay de tendre A estre amez; Si que lonc temps, pour estre amis clamez Eins que mes cuers fust assis ne donnez N’a dame nulle ottroiez n’assenez, A Bonne Amour Par maintes fois fis devote clamour Qu’elle mon cuer asseïst a l’onnour De celle en qui il feroit son sejour, Et que ce fust Si que loange et gloire en receüst Et que, se ja mes cuers faire peüst Chose de quoy souvenir li deüst Ou desservir Nul guerredon de dame par servir, Qu’en aucun temps li deingnast souvenir De moy qui vueil estre siens, sans partir, Toute ma vie. Tant qu’il avint qu’en une compaingnie Ou il avoit meinte dame jolie, Juene, gentil, joieuse, et envoisie, Vins par Fortune, Qui de mentir a tous est trop commune, Si en choisi entre les autres l’une Qui, tout aussi com li solaus la lune Veint de clarté, Avoit elle les autres seurmonté De pris, d’onneur, de grace, et de biauté, Et tant estoit humble et simple, a mon gré, Car, a voir dire, On ne porroit en tout le monde eslire Sa pareille, ne tous li mons souffire Ne porroit pas por sa biauté descrire Parfaitement. Car je la vi dancier si cointement Et puis chanter si tres joliement, Rire et jouer si gracïeusement Qu’onques encor Ne fu veüs plus gracïeus tresor. Car si cheveus ressambloient fil d’or Et n’estoient ne trop blont ne trop sor. Son front estoit Blanc et poly, ne fronce n’i avoit, Sans vice nul compassé si a droit Que trop large n’estoit, ne trop estroit; Et si sorcil, Qui estoient de taille tres gentil, Dessus le blanc sambloient .i. noir fil, Dont il fussent prisié entre cent mil. Mais si .ij. oueil, Qui de mon cuer vorrent passer le sueil Par leur rigour et par leur bel acueil, Pour moy donner le mal dont je me dueil, Furent riant, Nom pas moult vair, por estre plus pongnant Et plus agu, dous, humble, et attraiant, Tous pleins de las pour loier .i. amant En amour pure; Et s’estoient clungnetant par mesure, Fendus a point, sans trop grant ouverture, Tout acquerant par leur douce pointure; N’a l’entrouvrir Ne se peüst nuls homs qui soit couvrir Qu’en mi le cuer ne l’alassent ferir S’il leur pleüst, et pour euls retenir. Mais leurs regars, Merci donnant par samblant, aus musars N’estoit mie folettement espars; Car quant lancier voloit .i. de ses dars, Si sagement Le savoit faire et si soutivement Que nuls savoir nel peüst bonnement, Fors cils seur qui il cheoit proprement. Net, odorant, Lonc et traitif, de taille bien seant Avoit le nés au viaire afferant; Car il n’estoit trop petit, ne trop grant. Mais sa bouchette, Petite a droit, vermillette, grossette, Toudis riant, savoreuse, doucette, Me fait languir, quant mes cuers la regrette. Quar qui l’oïst Parler a point, et rire la veïst, Et les douceurs par saveur recueillist, Il la prisast seur toutes et deïst; Que .ij. fossettes En sousriant faisoient ses joëttes, Qui estoient blanches et vermillettes, Pour embelir, et un petit grassettes. Et encor plus: Les dens avoit blans, sarrez, et menus, Et ses mentons estoit un po fendus, Votis dessous et rondes par dessus. Mais a merveille Fu sa coulour, des autres nompareille, Car elle fu vive, fresche, et vermeille, Plus que la rose en may, eins qu’on la cueille; Et, a briés mos, Blanche com noif, polie, de biau gros Fu sa gorge, n’i ot fronce ne os; Et s’ot biau col dont je la pris et los. Aussi est drois Que je parle de ses bras lons et drois, Qui estoient bien fais en tous endrois; Car elle avoit blanches mains et lons dois. A mon devis Avoit le sein blanc, dur, et haut assis, Pongnant, rondet, et si estoit petis, Selonc le corps, gracïeus, et faitis. Sans nul mestret Avoit le corps par mesure pourtret, Gent, joint, joly, juene, gentil, grasset, Lonc, droit, faitis, cointe, apert, et graillet. Tres bien tailliez Hanches, cuisses, jambes ot, et les piez, Votis, grossez, bien et bel enjointiez, Par maistrise mignotement chauciez. Dou remenant Que pas ne vi, dame, vous di je tant Que d’ nature tout estoit respondant, Bien fassonné et de taille excellent. Et ce seurplus, Dont je ne vueil maintenant dire plus, Devoit estre sans comparer tenus A plus tres dous et a plus biaus que nuls. Delié cuirien Blanc et souëf avoit, sus toute rien Resplendissant, si qu’on si mirast bien; Vice, tache n’i avoit fors que bien. Douce et serree Avoit la char, tendrette de rousee, Mais de maniere humble et asseuree Et de tres biau maintien estoit paree. Et vraiement, Tant fu bele, que je croy fermement, Se Nature, qui tout fait soutilment, En voloit faire une aussi proprement, Qu’elle y faurroit, Et que jamais assener n’i saroit, Se l’exemple de ceste ci n’avoit, Qui de biauté toutes autres passoit. Et se vous di Qu’onques encor en ma vie ne vi Corps de dame si tres bien assevi. Mais elle avoit .xiiij. ans et demi Ou environ. Si que, dame, quant je vi sa fasson, Qui tant estoit bele sans meffaçon, Dedens mon cuer la douce impression De sa figure Fu telement empreinte qu’elle y dure, Ne onques puis n’en parti, dont j’endure Mainte doleur et meinte durté dure. Et sans doubtance, Eins que partis fusse de sa presence, Dedens mon cuer se ficha si Plaisence, En remirant sa douce contenance, Que sachiez bien, Se j’eüsse l’avoir Othevien, Et sceüsse le scens de Galien, Et avec ce tuit li bien fussent mien, Je tout heüsse Guerpi par si, que veoir la peüsse A mon voloir, ou que faire sceüsse Chose a son vueil, dont plaire li deüsse. Mais Fine Amour, Qui vit que pris estoie par le tour De Plaisence, qui m’ot mis en sa tour, En remirant son gracïeus atour, Sans menacier .I. dous regart riant me fist lancier Parmi le cuer, et moy si enlacier, Qu’il me sousmist en son tres dous dangier, Sans repentir. Si me plut tant cils dangiers a sentir, Quant cils resgars se deingnoit assentir A descendre sus moy que, sans mentir, Je ne savoie Qu’il m’avenoit, ne quele part j’estoie, Car scens, vigour, et maniere perdoie; Si durement par ses yex me sentoie Enamourez. Adont desirs d’estre de li amez En mon cuer fu si tres fort enflamez Que puis m’en suis cent fois chetis clamez En souspirant; Car tel doleur sentoie en desirant Que ma vigour en aloit empirant Et meint penser avoie, en remirant Son dous viaire; Car volentiers li alasse retraire Comment de cuer l’amoie, sans retraire. Mais la paour d’escondire ce faire Me deffendoit; Et d’autre part Bel Acueil m’apelloit; Son Dous Regart riant m’asseüroit, Et Dous Espoirs doucement ce disoit En loiauté, Et m’affermoit qu’onques si grant biauté Ne pot estre, qu’il n’i heüst pité. Si m’ont cil troi tant dit et enorté Que toutevoie Je m’acorday que m’amour li diroie. Helas! Einsi tous seuls me debatoie. Mais quant mes maus retraire li cuidoie, Si paoureus, Si veins, si mas, si las, si engoisseus, Si desconfis, si tramblans, si honteus Estoit mes cuers, et dou mal amoureus Si fort espris, Qu’en li n’avoit scens, maniere, n’avis, Einsois estoit com transis et ravis, Quant bien veoir povoie vis a vis Sa biauté pure. Lors estoit mors d’amoureuse morsure Mes cuers et poins de joieuse pointure Et repeüs de douce norreture Par Dous Penser, Qui ma dolour faisoit toute cesser Et garison me faisoit esperer. Einsi souvent avoie pour amer Joie et tourment. Si demouray en ce point longuement, Une heure lie et l’autre heure dolent, Qu’onques n’osay requerre aligement De ma dolour. Mais nompourquant grant destresse d’amour, Ardant desir, la crueuse langour, Ou j’avoie demouré par maint jour, Son Bel Acueil, Esperence de terminer mon dueil, Sa grant biauté, si dous riant vair oueil, Et ce qu’en li n’avoit goute d’orgueil, Le hardement De requerre merci couardement Me donnerent; si li dis humblement, Moult tresmuez et paoureusement: ‘Ma chiere dame, Vostre biauté mon cuer art et enflame, Si que seur tout vous aim, sans penser blame, De cuer, de corps, de vray desir, et d’ame. Si vous depri, Douce dame, qu’aies de moy merci; Car vraiement je morrai d’amer ci Se de vo cuer, qui a le mien nercy, N’ay aligence.’ Et quant einsi li os dit ma grevance, Un pou muer vi sa douce samblance, Ce me fu vis, dont je fui en doubtance D’estre escondis. Mais ses regars m’asseüroit toudis, Et sa douceur et son gracïeus ris, Si que par euls encor fu enhardis De dire: ‘Helas! Gentil dame, pour Dieu, n’ociez pas Vostre loial amy, qui en vos las Est si laciez qu’il en pert tout solas Et toute joie.’ Lors se treï vers moy la simple et coie, Pour qui Amours me destreint et maistroie, Et dist: ‘Amis, certes, riens ne vorroie Faire a nelui, Dont il heüst grevence ne annuy; Ne l’en ne doit faire chose a autrui Qu’on ne vosist que l’en feïst a lui. Et, biaus amis, Il n’est nuls biens qui ne soit remeris, N’il n’est aussi maus qui ne soit punis. Si que, s’Amours vos a d’amer espris, Son guerredon Vous en rendra en temps et en saison, Se vous l’amez sans penser traïson. Et s’elle vous trouvoit autre que bon, Ne doubtés mie Qu’elle ne fust vo mortel anemie, Ne que jamais garison ne aïe Vous fust par li donnee, n’ottroïe De vos dolours. Si que, biau sire, alez devers Amours, Si li faites vos plains et vos clamours; Car en li gist vos mors et vos secours, Nom pas en moy. Et pas ne sui cause de vostre anoy, Ce m’est avis, si que souffrir m’en doy. Plus ne vous say que dire, en bonne foy. Adieu vous di.’ Adont de moy la bele se parti Qui de si grant doleur me reparti Que par un po que mes cuers ne parti De son depart. Mais la douceur de son plaisant regart Par son dous art fist que j’en os regart Que au departir de moy, se Diex me gart, Si doucement Me regarda qu’il m’iert vis proprement Que ses regars me disoit vraiement: ‘Amis, je t’aim tres amoureusement.’ Si que je fu Tous confortez par la noble vertu De ce regart qui puis m’a tant valu Qu’il m’a toudis norri et soustenu En bon espoir. Et s’il ne fust, certeinnement j’espoir Que je fusse cheüs en desespoir, Mais riens qui soit ne me feïst doloir Quant ses regars Estoit seur moy en sousriant espars, Si que, ma dame, einsi de toutes pars Me confortoit et aidoit ses regars De ma dolour. La demouray tous seuls en grant frëour, Si qu’en pensant commensai son atour, Sa grant douçour, sa coulour, sa valour A remirer, Son biau maintieng, son venir, son aler, Son gentil corps, son gracïeus parler, Son noble port, son plaisant regarder, Et son viaire, Qui tant estoit dous, humble, et debonnaire Que de toute biauté fu l’exemplaire. Et quant j’eus tout remiré son affaire, Certes, j’avoie Moult grant deduit et moult parfaite joie, Et pour tres boneüreus me tenoie, Pour ce, sans plus, que loiaument l’amoie, Si que depuis A li servir sui si tournez et duis, Qu’en li servir s’est mis tous mes deduis, N’autre labour ailleurs faire ne puis. Si la servi, Amay, celay, doubtai, et oubeï Moult longuement, que riens ne me meri. Mais en la fin tant l’amay et chieri Qu’elle vit bien Que je tendoie a s’onneur et son bien, Et que mes cuers l’amoit sus toute rien; Si que tant fis qu’elle me tint pour sien En tel maniere Que de bon cuer riant, a lie chiere, Me dist: ‘Amis, vesci t’amie chiere Qui plus ne vuet envers toy estre fiere, Qu’Amours le vuet, Qui de bon cuer ad ce faire m’esmuet; Et vraiement, estre autrement ne puet, Car moult grant chose a en faire l’estuet; Pour ce m’amour Avec mon cuer vous doin, sans nul retour, Si vous depri que vous gardez m’onnour, Car je vous aim dessus tous et honnour.’ Et quant je vi Que ma dame m’apelloit son amy Si doucement, et que le dous ottri M’avoit donné de s’amour, sans nul si, Se je fui liez, Douce dame, ne vous en mervilliez; Car j’estoie devant desconsilliez, Povres, perdus, despris, et essiliez, Sans nul ressort, Quant je failloie a son tres dous confort, Mais recouvrez, ressuscitez de mort, Riche au dessus, pleins de grant reconfort, Et sans anoy Fui, quant me dist: ‘Amis, a ti m’ottroy De tres bon cuer.’ Et ce tres dous ottroy Cent mille fois me fist plus grant qu’un roy, Si que la joie Ne porroit nuls raconter que j’avoie. Car tant fui liez que je ne l’en pooie Remercïer ne parler ne savoie. Mais en la fin, Com fins loiaus amoureus, de cuer fin, Espris d’amer, sans penser mal engin, Moult humblement li dis, le chief enclin, Et sans effroy: ‘Dame que j’aim plus qu’autre, ne que moy, En qui scens, temps, cuer, vie, amour employ, Tant com je puis, nom pas tant que je doy, Vous remercy Dou noble don de vo douce mercy, Quar tant m’avez puisamment enrichi, Tant resjoï, si gari, tant mery, Que vraiement Se quanqu’il ha dessous le firmament Et quanqu’il fu et sera, quittement Me fust donnez pour faire mon talent, Je ne l’amasse Tant de cent pars que je fais vostre grace. Si pri a Dieu que jamais ne mefface Chose envers vous qui nostre amour efface, Et que vo vueil Puisse acomplir, einsi com je le vueil Faire, humblement, sans hautesse, n’orgueil, Car, se je puis, assez miex que ne sueil, Vous serviray Tres loiaument de cuer et ameray, Et vostre honneur en tous cas garderay. N’en dit, n’en fait, n’en penser ne feray Chose envers vous, N’envers autrui dont vous aies courrous. Einsois serés ma dame et mes cuers dous, Mes diex terriens, aourez dessus tous. Et sans doubtance, Se je fais riens contre vostre plaisence, Ne dont vos cuers ait courrous ne grevence, Sachiez de voir que c’iert par negligence.’ Ma dame, einsi La merciay com vous avez oÿ, Dou noble don de sa douce mercy. Et elle aussi me jura et plevi Moult durement Qu’a tous jours mais m’ameroit loiaument Sans moy guerpir et sans departement. Einsi regnay en joie longuement Que je n’avoie Nulle chose qui fust contraire a joie, Mais envoisiez et reveleus estoie, Jolis et gais, trop plus que ne soloie. Et c’estoit drois Qu’a mon pooir fusse gens et adrois, Car par cuidier estoie en tous endrois Li miex amez des amans et li rois. Mais quant Fortune, La desloial, qui n’est pas a tous une, M’ot si haut mis, com mauvaise et enfrune, Moy ne mes biens ne prisa une prune; Einsi fist la moe, Moy renoia et me tourna la joe; Quant elle m’ot assis dessus sa roe, Puis la tourna, si cheï en la boe. Mais ce fist elle, La traïtre, toudis preste et isnele De ceaus traïr qu’elle met dessous s’ele, Pour ce que Diex et Nature la bele, Quant il formerent Celle que j’aim, si fort se deliterent En la tres grant biauté qu’il li donnerent Que loyauté a mettre y oublierent. Et bien y pert! Que je say bien et voy tout en apert Que ma dame, qui tant a corps apert, Que mes cuers crient, aime, obeïst, et sert, A fait amy Nouvelement, sans cause, autre que my. Si que, dame, se je pleure et gemy Parfondement et di souvent: ‘Aimy!’ N’est pas merveille Quant sa fine biauté qui n’a pareille Et sa colour vive, fresche, et vermeille, Et son tres dous regart qui me traveille, M’ont eslongié, Et qu’elle m’a dou tout donné congié Et de tous biens privé et estrangié. Helas! Comment aroie je cuer lié? Et a grant tort M’a retollu ma joie et mon confort, Et si m’a mis en si grant desconfort Que je say bien que j’en aray la mort, Ne riens deffendre Ne m’en porroit, nés .i. seul confort rendre. Mais ce qui fait mon cuer partir et fendre, C’est ce que je ne me say a qui prendre De mon anuy, Car il m’est vis, se par Fortune sui Jus dou degré ou jadis montez fui, Par li en qui je ne me fi, n’apui, A dire voir, Que nul mal gré ne li en doy savoir, Car elle fist dou faire son devoir; N’elle ne doit autre mestier avoir Fors de traïr Ceaus qu’elle voit monter et enrichir, Et de faire le bas en haut venir; N’elle ne puet personne tant chierir Que seürté Li face avoir de sa bonneürté, Soit de joie, soit de maleürté, Que sus ou jus ne l’ait moult tost hurté. C’est sa nature: Si bien ne sont fors que droite aventure; Ce n’est qu’uns vens, une fausse estature. Une joie est qui po vaut et po dure. C’est fols s’i fie! Chascun deçoit et nelui ne deffie. Et se je di que la mort qui m’aigrie Puis demander a ma dame jolie, Par quel raison Le ferai je, ne par quel occoison? Elle s’est mise en la subjection D’Amours, a qui elle ha fait de li don Entierement, Et vuet qu’elle ait tres souvereinnement, Com ses souvreins, seur li commandement Si qu’el ne puet contrester nullement A son plaisir; Eins li couvient en tous cas oubeïr, Dont, se ma dame ha plaisence et desir De moy laissier pour un autre enchierir, Ce fait Amour, Nom pas ma dame, en qui tout a valour. Car elle fait son devoir et s’onnour D’obeïr a son souverein signour. Si qu’il m’est vis, Quant par Amour d’amer estoie espris, Qu’en ce faisant Amours ha plus mespris Par devers moy que ma dame de pris, C’est a entendre, S’Amours pooit par devers moy mesprendre. Mais nullement je ne puis ce comprendre, Car longuement, com douce mere et tendre, M’a repeü De ses dous biens au miex qu’elle ha peü, Ne je n’ay pas encor aperceü, Pour nul meschief que j’aie receü, Que tout adés Elle ne m’ait com amie esté pres Et qu’el ne m’ait servi de tous mes més, De plours devant et de souspirs aprés. C’est ma viande; Mon appetit plus ne vuet ne demande, Ne, par m’ame, riens n’est a quoy je tende Fors seulement a ce que mes cuers fende. Einsi Amour Croist en mon cuer au fuer de ma dolour, Ne ne s’en part, ne de nuit, ne de jour, Eins me compaingne en mon dolereus plour Par sa bonté; Si que je di que c’est grant amité Qui m’a esté mere en prosperité, Et encor est en mon adversité. Si ne me puis Pleindre de li, se trop mauvais ne suis, Car sans partir de moy toudis la truis, Ne je ne suis mie par li destruis, Qu’elle ne puet Muer les cuers, puis que Diex ne le vuet. Car quant Diex fist ma dame qui me suet Clamer amy, dont li cuers trop me duet, S’il et Nature, Quant il firent sa biauté fine et pure, Plaisant a tous seur toute creature, Heüssent lors en sa douce figure Loyauté mis, Je fusse encor appellez ses amis, Et ses cuers qui tant bien m’avoit promis N’eüst jamais esté mes anemis. Pour ce di qu’en ce Nature et Diex feïrent ignorance, Sauve l’onneur d’eaus et leur reverence, Quant il firent si tres bele samblance Sans loiauté. Car s’elle heüst cent fois meins de biauté, Et elle fust loyal, la grant bonté De loiauté l’eüst plus honnouré Que s’elle fust Cent mille fois plus bele, et miex pleüst, Et en tous cas trop miex plaire deüst, Pour ce qu’en li riens a dire n’eüst. Si que je croy Qu’a Bonne Amour, a Fortune, n’a soy Riens demander de mes dolours ne doy. Et en puis je riens demander a moy? Certes oïl! Car je me mis de richesse en essil, De seürté en .i. mortel peril, De joie en dueil, par son regart soutil, Et de franchise En servitute ou on n’aimme, ne prise Moy, ne mes biens, m’amour, ne mon servise, Ne ma vie vaillant une cerise. Et nompourquant, Il m’est avis que pas ne mespris, quant Je l’enamai, qu’en ce monde vivant N’avoit dame qui fust si excellent, Ce disoit on. Si devins siens en bonne entention, Ne jamais n’i cuidasse, se bien non, Pour la grandeur de son tres bon renon, Qui m’a destruit. Mais ce n’est pas tout d’or quanque reluit N’on ne doit pas tant amer son deduit Qu’on ne s’en puist retraire, quant il cuit. Et se je fusse Tous li mieudres dou mont, je n’esleüsse Autre que li, ne miex je ne peüsse, Se loiauté en li trouve heüsse. Si ne m’en say Que demander et a qui m’en penray Des griés dolours et des meschiés que j’ay. S’on m’en demande, a tous responderay Que ç’a fait Dieus Et Nature; dont c’est meschiés et diex, Quant il firent son corps en trestous lieus Si bel, si gent, si dous, qu’on ne puet mieus, S’il fust loyaus. Si me penray a eaus .ij. de mes maus? Je non feray, car il me sont trop haus; Eins soufferray, c’est mes milleurs consaus D’ore en avant. Or vous ay dit la maniere comment Amours me fist estre loyal amant, L’estat, la guise, et tout le couvenant; Ce qui m’avint, Comment pris fui, comment on me retint; Comment de moy ma dame ne souvint; Les biens, les maus qu’endurer me couvint Jusqu’au jour de hui; Comment je n’ay aïe de nelui; Comment vengier ne puis mon grief anui, Dont a par mi me mourdri et destrui, Si que je di, Se bien m’avez entendu et oÿ, Que la doleur dont en morant langui, Qui mon viaire a desteint et pali Par sa rigour, Est de vos maus cent mille fois gringnour; Car fine joie et parfaite douçour Sont vostre mal encontre la dolour Qui me martyre.” “Certes, sire, pas ne vous vueil desdire Que vous n’aiez moult de dolour et d’ire, S’einsi perdez ce que vos cuers desire. Mais toutevoie, Il m’est avis, et dire l’oseroie, Consideré vo dolour et la moie, Qu’il a en vous meins dolour et plus joie Qu’il n’ait en moy. Si vous en vueil dire raison pourquoy; Vous m’avez dit que vous amez en foy Ceste dame qui tant vous fait d’anoy Et amerez De loyal cuer, tant comme vis serez. Et puisqu’il est einsi que vous l’amez, Certes, je croy que s’amour desirez, Car avenir Voy po souvent qu’amours soit sans desir, Ne que desirs d’amours se puist souffrir D’esperence; et s’avez souvenir Aucune fois Dont, quant vos cuers est par desir destrois, Il vous souvient de la bele aus crins blois, Dont vous avez des pensers plus de .iij. Si ne puet estre Que vous n’aiez aucun penser qui nestre Aucune joie face en vous, qui remestre Fait la dolour qui si vous tient a mestre, Si qu’a la fie Par souvenir avez pensee lie Qui vo dolour espart et entroublié. Mais la mienne jour et nuit monteplie Sans nul sejour, Et toudis croist li ruissaus de mon plour, N’avoir ne puis pensee par nul tour, N’esperence de recouvrer m’amour. Mais par servir, Par honnourer, par celer, par cremir, Par endurer liement et souffrir, Par bien amer de cuer et oubeïr Tres humblement Povez encore avoir aligement, Joie et l’amour de celle ou vos cuers tent. Si que je di que j’ay plus de tourment, Et moult visible Est la raison, ce m’est vis, et sensible: Car de ravoir vo dame, c’est possible; Mais mon amy ravoir, c’est impossible Selonc nature.” “Dame, d’onneur, de sens, et de mesure A plus en vous qu’en autre creature. Car par vo sens mis a desconfiture Moult tost seroie, S’a vos raisons respondre ne pooie. Car vraiement faire ne le saroie Si sagement, com mestier en aroie. Mais repeter Vueil vos raisons se j’y puis assener. Vous argüez que j’aimme sans fausser Et amerai tant com porrai durer Sans repentir; Et puis que j’aim, il faut qu’aie desir Qui ne se puet deporter ne souffrir D’esperence; et si ay souvenir, Qui esmouvoir Me fait souvent a maint penser avoir. Certes, dame, ce vous ottroi pour voir, Fors seulement que je n’ay point d’espoir. Mais sachiez bien, Dame, comment qu’il n’ait partout que bien, Qu’en ce vostre entendement et le mien Ne se joingnent, ne acordent en rien; Eins sont contraire, Einsi com je le vous pense a retraire, Quant poins sera. Mais ce ne vueil pas taire Que vous dites qu’encor puis je tant faire Par honnourer, Par bien servir, par souffrir, par doubter, Par oubeïr, par loyaument amer, Qu’en joie puis ma dame recouvrer; Mais ce seroit Moult grant maistrie au garder qui l’aroit. Car en .i. lieu son cuer n’arresteroit Nés que feroit .i. estuef seur .i. toit. Et vostre amour, Qui tant avoit de pris et de valour, Ne povez mais recouvrer par nul tour, Dont vous avez veinne et pale coulour. Si qu’einsi dites Que mes dolours sont assez plus petites Que les vostres, dont je ne suis pas quites, Ne que pas n’ay acquis par mes merites. Si respondrai A ces raisons au mieus que je porrai, Et sus chascune un po m’arresterai; Si en dirai ce que j’en sens et say De sentement. Dame, il est voirs que j’aim tres loiaument Ce qui me het, c’est ma dame au corps gent, Qui est ma mort et mon destruisement Quant je li voy Autrui amer, et n’a cure de moy, Qu’elle deüst amer en bonne foy; Si qu’a paine que tout ne me marvoy De ceste amour. Car, s’elle amast ma vie, ne m’onnour, En la doleur ou je vif et demour Ne me laissast languir l’eure d’un jour Pour tout le monde. Mais en vertu font monteplier l’onde De la doleur qui en mon cuer habonde: Amours premiers et ma dame seconde. Pour çe ay desir. Mais quels est il? Il est de tost morir, Car il n’est riens qui me peüst venir Dont je peüsse esperer le garir. Et se j’avoie L’amour de li miex que je ne soloie, Ne sai je pas se je m’i fieroie. Certes, nennil! Pourquoy? Je n’oseroie. Car nourreture, Si com on dit, vaint et passe nature, Et toudis va, s’il ne se desnature, Li leux au bois — c’est la verité pure. Et par ce point En mon desir d’esperance n’a point, Mais a li joint desespoir si apoint Que je serai matez en l’angle point Dou souvenir, Que vous dites, qui fait en moy venir La pensee qui me fait resjoïr. Certes, de li ne puis jamais joïr, Ne n’en joï, Ne ne le vi, ne senti, ne oÿ, Puis que ma dame ot fait nouvel ami, Car adonques se parti il de mi. Si voeil prouver Que c’est la riens qui plus me puet grever Et qui plus fait mon cuer desesperer Que souvenir. Vous savez (et c’est cler; Chascuns le voit), Que, se jamez il ne me souvenoit De ma dame qui me tient moult destroit, Que ma doleur oubliee seroit. Et s’elle estoit Oubliee, l’oubliance feroit Qu’elle dou tout morroit ou cesseroit; Et ce garir de tous maus me pourroit. Mais qu’avient il? Cils souvenirs, par son engin soubtil, Me ramentoit le viaire gentil Et le gent corps pour qui mon cuer exil; Més engenrez, Nez et fenis est, et continuez Tous en dolour. Pour quoy? Pour ce qu’amez Cuiday estre quant amis fui clamez Tres doucement. Helas! Dolens! Or est bien autrement Quant ma dame aimme autre nouvellement. Et puet on pis, dame, s’on ne se pent? Certes, nennil! Car c’est pour mettre un amant a essil; N’eschaper hors de si mortel peril N’en devroit pas un d’entre cinq cent mil, Dont il avient Par maintes fois, quant de ce me souvient, Que mes las cuers dedens mon corps devient Si dolereux que pasmer me couvient. Et se pensee Par souvenir est en moy engendree, Quelle est elle? Elle est desconfortee, Triste, mourne, lasse, et desesperee. Et, par may foy, Je n’ai penser qui ne soit contre moy; Et se le pren au pis. Savez pour quoy? Pour ce qu’aler ma dame en change voy. Et se la joie Que j’avoie, quant en sa grace estoie, Ne fust plus grant que dire ne saroie, Ne ymaginer ne penser ne porroie, La grief dolour Qui me destreint en fust assez menour. Mais de tant plus que j’eus joie grignour, De tant est plus crueuse ma langour. Et que ravoir Puisse ma dame, ou je n’ay nul espoir — Ymaginer ne le puis, ne veoir. Se vous diray ce qui m’i fait doloir: Dame, y me samble Q’une chose qui se part et assamble En pluseurs lieus, et avec c’elle tramble Et n’arreste ne que fueille de tramble, Et n’est estable, Eins est toudis changant et variable, Puis ci, puis la, or au feu, a la table, Et puis ailleurs, c’est chose moult doutable. Car nullement On ne la puet avoir seürement. C’est droitement li gieus d’enchantement Que ce qu’on cuide avoir certeinnement, On ne l’a mie. Einsi est il, dame, quoy que nuls die, De ma dame, qui se change et varie, Donne et retolt, or het, or est amie, N’en une part N’est tous ses cuers, et s’aucuns y repart, Certes, je croy qu’il en ha povre part, Et que de li celle part tost se part. N’a droit jugier, Amans ne puet avoir homme si chier Qu’il le vosist avoir a parsonnier En ses amours, sans plus nés par cuidier. Et pour ce a plain; Ne puis avoir son cuer, dont je me plein; Car cuers qui va einsi de main en main, S’on l’a ennuit, on ne l’a pas demain; Et toute voie Et vrais amans li drois oisiaus de proie, Car il ne vuet avoir pour toute joie Fors tout le cuer de celle ou il s’otroie. Si que je di Que vous rariés aussi tost vostre amy, Comme on avroit mué le cuer de ly Ad ce qu’il fust entierement en my Mis sans retraire. Car on ne puet le leu de sa piau traire Sans l’escorchier, n’on ne puet d’un buef faire .I. esprivier, ne aussi le contraire. Et, douce dame, La coustume est partout d’omme et de fame Que, quant dou corps s’est departie l’ame Et li corps est en terre sous la lame, Qu’en petit d’eure Est oubliez, ja soit ce qu’on en pleure. Car nuls n’en voy ne nulle qui demeure Tant en son pleur qu’a joie ne requeure Eins que li ans Soit acomplis, tant soit loiaus amans, Ne excepter n’en vueil petis ne grans. Et vraiement, je croy que ce soit scens. Si en ferez La coustume; pas ne la briserez Car ja de nul reprise n’en serez, Et de bon cuer pour l’ame prierez. Mais en oubli Ne puis mettre celle que pas n’oubli, Car Souvenir la tient moult pres de mi Sans departir jour, heure, ne demy; Et si la voy Assez souvent, dont tous vis me desvoy, Quant longuement de mes yex la convoy, Et je n’en ay joie, ne bien, n’avoy. Eins voy autrui Qui joie en a. C’est ce dont me destrui; Car s’elle amer no vosist moy ne lui, Les maus que j’ay ne pleingnisse a nelui, Eins les portasse Dedens mon cuer humblement et celasse, Et en espoir de joie demourasse, Si que meschief ne dolour ne doubtasse. Ne departir N’en vueil mon cuer, pour doubte dou partir, Qui trop demeure en vie, et, sans mentir, Je ne saroie amer a repentir. Et si seroie Faus amoureus se je me’en departoie, Car sans nul ‘si’ li donnai l’amour moie. Si l’ameray, que qu’avenir m’en doie; Et, par ma foy, Si loiaument l’aim que j’ay plus d’anoy Cent fois pour li que je n’aie pour moy Quant s’onneur voy amenrir; car au doy La mousterront Ceuls et celles qui ceste ouevre saront, Et meins assez en tous cas la croiront, Qu’a tous jours mais pour fausse la tenront. Car de meffait C’est un vice si villain et si lait, Car qui le fait, ja de pooir qu’il ait, N’iert de tous poins effacié ne deffait. Pour ce conclus, Dame, que j’ay de doleur assez plus, Et que plus tost a garison venus Seroit vos maus que cils dont sui tenus. Et jugement En oseroie atendre vraiement, Se nous aviens juge qui loiaument Vosist jugier, et veritablement.” “Par m’ame, sire, Et de ma part je vueil et ose dire Que de mon cuer le jugement desire. Or regardons qui nous volons eslire Qui sans deport Sache jugier li quels de nous a tort; Car avis m’est que li maus que je port Est si crueus qu’on ne puet plus sans mort.” “Dame, je vueil Que li juges soit fais tout a vo vueil.” “Mais au vostre, biau sire, et si conseil Qu’il ne soit fais fors par vostre conseil, Car vous l’avez Premiers requis; pour ce dire devez.” “Certes, dame, or ne vous en lavez, Mais vous, dites, pour ce que plus savez Que je ne fais.” Et quant je vi qu’il voloient que fais Fust jugemens de leurs dolereus fais, Mes cuers en fu de joie tous refais. Si ne savoie De .ij. choses la quele je feroie; D’aler vers eaus, ou se je m’en tenroie. Car volentiers mis les heüsse en voie De juge prendre Tel qu’a jugier leurs fais peüst entendre, Si souffissant qu’il n’i eüst qu’aprendre, Et qu’aprés lui n’i heüst que reprendre. Si m’avisay Moult longuement et pris mon avis ay Que j’iroie a eaus. Lors sans delay Je me levay et devers eaus alay Tout le couvert Parmi l’erbe qui estoit drue et vert; Et quant je vins si pres d’eaus qu’en apert Les pos veoir et tout a descouvert, Le petit chien Prist a glatir qui ne me congnut rien, Dont la dame qui moult savoit de bien En tressailli (je m’en aperçu bien), Si l’apella. Mais moult petit prisié son apel a, Qu’en abaiant li chiennes m’aprocha, Tant que ses dens a ma robe acrocha. Si le hapay, Dont il laissa de paour son abay. Mais en mon cuer forment m’en deportay, Pour ce qu’a sa dame le reportay, Pour avoir voie Et occoison d’aler ou je voloie; Si que toudis son poil aplanioie, Mais quant je vins ou estre desiroie, Je ne fui mie Mus, n’esbahis; einsois a chiere lie Ay salué toute la compaingnie, Si com faire le sos de ma partie. Li chevaliers Qui sages fu, courtois, et biaus parliers, Grans, lons, et drois, biaus, et gens, et legiers, Et d’onneur faire apris et coustumiers, Sans plus atendre Courtoisement me vint mon salut rendre. Et la dame ou Nature volt entendre Si qu’on ne puet sa grant biauté comprendre Vers moy se trait Moult humblement, doucement, et a trait. Car elle avoit moult gracïeus attrait Et le maintieng humble, dous, et parfait; Et cheveus blons, Les yex rians, plus vairs que nuls faucons, Et ses corps fu gens, joins, gentils, et lons, Et plus apers que nuls esmerillons; Et s’ot l’entrueil Grandet a point, maniere et dous acueil, Mais son attrait et son gent appareil Qui simples fu n’avoit point de pareil; Et si fu blanche Plus que la noif quant elle est sus la branche, Sage, loial, courtoise, et de cuer franche, Et si parfaite en toute contenance Qu’en loiauté Estoit assez plus bele que biauté; N’en li n’avoit orgueil, ne cruauté, Ne riens qui fust contraire a amité. Mais esplouree Fu moult forment sa face coulouree; Et nompourquant de coulour esmeree Et de fine douçour estoit paree. Si m’apella La dame, et puis m’enquist, et aparla Moult sagement dont je venoie la. Et je qui fu desirans d’oïr la, La verité De chief en chief li ay dit et compté Comment la vins et ou j’avoie esté, En tant qu’il ont leur meschief raconté. Lors dist en bas Li chevaliers par maniere de gas: “Je croy qu’il ait oÿ tous nos debas.” Et je li dis: “Sire, n’en doubtez pas, Que voirement Les ay je oïs moult ententivement Et volentiers; mais n’aiez pensement Que je y pense fors bien; car vraiement Venus estoie Sus .i. ruissel, par une herbue voie, En ce vergier ou je me delitoie Es oisillons que chanter escoutoie. Et quant einsi Y fui venus, sire, je vous choisi, Et d’autre part ma dame venir vi. Si vous dirai, comment je me chevi: Je regardai Le plus fueillu dou brueil; si m’i boutai, Car de vous faire anui moult me doubtay; Et la vos biens et vos maus escoutai De chief en chief. Or m’est avis que de vostre meschief, Et ma dame qui tient enclin son chief Dou sien, sauriés volentiers le plus grief Par jugement. Si ne volez penre premierement Vostre juge, ne ma dame ensement. Pour ce venus sui aviseement, Pour vous nommer .I. chevalier qui moult fait a amer; Car de ça mer n’a pas, ne de la mer, Plus gentil cuer, plus franc, n’a meins d’amer; Car de largesse Passe Alixandre et Hector de prouesse. C’est li estos de toute gentillesse, N’il ne vit pas com sers a sa richesse; Eins ne vuet rien Fors que l’onneur de tout le bien terrien, Et s’est plus liés, quant il puet dire: ‘Tien,’ Qu’uns couvoiteus n’est de penre dou sien. Dieu et l’eglise Et loyauté aimme, et si bien justise Qu’on le claimme l’Espee de Justise. Humbles et dous est, et pleins de franchise A ses amis, Fiers et crueus contre ses anemis. Et, a briés mos, de scens, d’onneur, de pris En porte adés au dit des bons le pris Quel part qu’il veingne. Et s’il avient que son anemy teingne A son dessous, Nature li enseingne, Et ses bons cuers, que pité li en prengne. C’est noble sorte, Car Prouesse partout s’espee porte, Hardiesse le conduit et enorte, Et Largesse si li ouevre la porte De tous les cuers. A ceaus qui sont bon (je n’en met nuls fuers), Avec euls est com sont freres et suers, Grans et petis, moiens, et a tous fuers. Sire, et d’Amours Congnoist il tous les assaus, les estours, Les biens, les maus, les plaintes, et les plours Miex qu’Ovides, qui en sot tous les tours. Et se son nom, Qui tant est bons et de noble renom, Volés savoir, dites le moy, ou non.” “Certes, amis, dou savoir vous prion, Car onques mais, Si come je croy, ne fu, ne n’iert jamais Home qui fust en tous cas si parfais Comme cils est, et par dis et par fais.” “Sire, s’enseingne Crie Lembourc, et est roys de Behaingne, Fils de Henry, le bon roy d’Alemaingne, Qui par force d’armes, qui que s’en plaingne, Comme emperere Fu coronnez a Romme avec sa mere; Dont s’il est bons, c’est bien drois qu’il appere: Car il le doit de mere et de pere. Si que, biau sire, Un tels juges seroit bons a eslire Qui vous saroit bien moustrer et descrire Li quels de vous sueffre plus de martyre. Et le prenez.” Li chevaliers respondi com senez: “Je croy que Diex nous ait ci amenez.” Et dist: “Dame, s’a juge le tenez, Je m’i ottroy.” Et la dame respondi sans desroy: “Sire, tant oy dire de bien dou roy, Tant est sages, preus, et de bon arroy Que je l’acort.” “Grant merci, dame; or sommes en acort. Si pri a Dieu que le bon roy confort Et qu’il nous maint temprement a bon port, Si que parler Puissiens a lui, ou il nous faut aler.” Je respondi: “Bien vous say assener La ou il est et, s’il vous plaist, mener. Certeins en sui, Car vraiement, je mengay yer et bui Avec sens gens en chastiau de Durbui. Et il y est, ne n’en partira hui; Ne ce n’est mie Loing, qu’il n’i a ne lieue ne demie, Nom pas de ci le quart d’une huchie.” Li chevaliers d’aler la dame en prie Sans plus atendre. La dame dist: “Je ne m’en quier deffendre, Mais je ne say quel part la voie prendre.” Je dis: “Dame, bien le vous vueil aprendre. Venés adés. Je iray devant et vous venrez aprés.” Si q’en chemin me mis, d’aler engrés, Et quant il ont veü Durbui de pres, Si s’arrestoient, Et dou veoir forment se mervilloient, Car onques mais en leur vie n’avoient Veü si bel, ne si gent, ce disoient. Et, sans doubtance, Il est moult fors et de tres grant plaisence, Biaus et jolis et de po de deffence. Car se li rois d’Alemaingne et de France Devant estoient, Cil de dedens ja pour ce ne lairoient Qu’il n’alassent hors et ens s’il voloient, Toutes les fois qu’a besongnier aroient En la contree. C’est une roche en mi une valee Qui tout entour est d’iaue environnee, Grande, bruiant, parfonde, roide, et lee; Et li vergier Sont tout entour si bel qu’a droit jugier, On ne porroit nuls plus biaus souhaidier. Mais d’oisillons y a si grant frapier Que jour et nuit La valee retentist de leur bruit; Et l’iaue aussi seriement y bruit, Si qu’on ne puet en nul milleur deduit. Et puis aprés A grans roches tout entour, nom pas pres, Eins sont si long dou chastel qu’il n’est fers, Engiens, ne ars qui y getast jamés. Mais la maison Sus la roche est si bien qu’onques mais hom Ne vit autre de plus belle façon, Car il n’i a nesune meffaçon. Et la fonteinne Est en la court, qui n’est mie villeinne; Eins est vive, de roche clere et seinne, Froide com glace et plus douce que Seinne. Mais le vaissel Ou elle chiet est tailliez a cisel D’un marbre fin, blanc, et bis, et si bel Que tels ne fu depuis le temps Abel. Sus la riviere Est la pree large, longue, et pleniere, Ou on trueve d’erbes mainte maniere. Mais revenir m’estuet a ma matiere. Quant la maison Orent veü, je les mis a raison, Et si leur dis: “De l’aler est saison. Alons nous en: car ci riens ne faison.” Si en alames Tout le chemin et le pont trespassames, Ne ça ne la, nulle part n’arrestames Jusques a tant qu’a la porte hurtames. Mais li portiers La porte ouvri de cuer et volentiers. Je qui hurtai et qui fui li premiers Et de laiens estre assés coustumiers Parlai einsi: “Cils chevaliers et ceste dame aussi Viennent parler au roy s’il est yci.” Et li portiers tantost li respondi Qu’il y estoit. Je dis: “Amis, pren garde s’on porroit Parler a li.” Et li dist qu’il iroit. Mais tout einsi com de nous se partoit Pour aler sus, Uns chevaliers, biaus, et gens, et corsus, Jolis et gais, en est a nous venus; Honneur ot nom, et s’en sot plus que nuls. N’il ne vint mie Tous seuls a nous; eins li fist compaingnie Une dame bele, gaie, et jolie; Si ot a non la dame Courtoisie. Bien y parut, Car aussi tost qu’elle nous aperçut Nous salua, et puis biau nous reçut. Si fist Honneur, si com faire le dut. Adont endoy Courtoisement, en riant, sans effroy, Prirent chascun l’un d’eaus .ij. par le doy. Mais Courtoisie, einsi com dire doy, Le chevalier Acompaingna liement, sans dangier, Et Honneur volt la dame acompaingnier. Lors se prirent ensamble a desraisnier Si s’en alerent, Tout en parlant, la ou il les menerent, Par les degrez de marbre qu’il monterent, Tant qu’en la chambre au bon roy s’en entrerent. Et li bons rois, Qui moult estoit sages en tous endrois, Loiaus, vaillans, liberaus, et adrois, Et envers tous dous, humbles, et courtois, En moult grant joie Estoit assis sur .i. tapis de soie, Et ot .i. clerc que nommer ne saroie Qui li lisoit la bataille de Troie. Mais Hardiesse L’acompaingnoit, et sa fille Prouesse, Et doucement tint par la main Largesse, Une dame de moult grant gentillesse. S’i fu Richesse, Amour, Biauté, Loiauté, et Leesse, Desir, Penser, Volenté et Noblesse, Franchise, Honneur, Courtoisie, Jeunesse. Cil .xvj. estoient Avec le roy, n’onques ne s’en partoient. Diex et Nature ottroie li avoient Dés qu’il fu nez; pour ce tout le servoient. C’estoit grant grace. Et s’il y a nul ne nulle qui face Chose dont nuls puist dire qu’il mefface Raisons y est q’le meffait efface. Einsi se sist Li gentils rois, et quant la dame vist, Il se leva, et par la main la prist, Car Courtoisie a faire li aprist. Aprés pris ha Le chevalier, et forment l’esprisa Dedens son cuer, et puis leur demanda Moult sagement dont il venoient la, Et leur enquist De leur estre qui moult li abelist. Li chevaliers a la dame requist Qu’elle li vosist dire, et elle dist Que non feroit; Einsois deïst, que miex li afferoit. Il respondi adont qu’il li diroit De chief en chief tout einsi qu’il estoit, Jusqu’a la fin. “Sire,” dist il, “Ci pres a .i. jardin Vert et flouri ou il a grant tintin De rossignols; s’i vins hui a matin, Pour escouter Leur biau service et leur joli chanter, Comment que po s’i peüst deporter Mon cuer que riens ne porroit conforter. Mais toute voie Einsi venus d’aventure y estoie, Pleins et pensis de maus qu’Amours m’envoie, Si vi venir par une estroite voie, Verde et herbue, Ceste dame qu’avec moy est venue. Si me sambla de maniere esperdue, Si que tantost pris parmi l’erbe drue Mon adresse ay, Et mon chemin droit vers li adressai. Et quant je fu pres, je la saluay, Mais mot ne dist, dont je me mervillay, Ne onques chiere Ne fist de moy, ne de oueil, ne de maniere. Et je qui fu mervilleus pour quoy c’iere, Dis belement: ‘Tres douce dame chiere, Pour quel raison Ne volez vous entendre a ma raison?’ Et la tirai par le pan dou giron. S’en tressailli, dont sa belle façon Coulour mua. Si respondi, que plus n’i arresta, Et durement envers moy s’escusa De son penser a quoy elle musa. Et li enquis Pourquoy son cuer estoit einsi pensis. Finablement tant parlai et tant fis Qu’elle me dist tout ce que je li quis, Voire par si Que par ma foy li juray et plevi, Quant elle aroit son parler assevi, Que le penser li diroie de mi. Et dist einsi Qu’elle soloit avoir loial amy Qui loyaument l’amoit, et elle li. Mais la mort l’a de ce siecle parti, Et la valour, Le scens, le pris, la prouesse, l’onnour, Qui fu en li, si comme elle dist, flour, Le fist estre des bons tout le millour. Pour ce pensoit Parfondement, në onques ne cessoit, Et en pensant le plouroit et plaingnoit, Si que son vis en larmes se baingnoit. Pour ce maintient Que la dolour est plus griés qui li vient Pour son amy que celle qui me tient. Sire, et je di, faire le me couvient, Tout le contraire. J’aim loyaument de cuer et sans retraire La plus tres bele et le plus dous viaire Qu’onques encor Nature peüst faire, Qui me donna Jadis son cuer tout et abandonna. Son cuer, s’amour, son amy me clama, Et par son dit seur tous autres m’ama. Or est ainsi, Sire, qu’elle n’a mais cure de my; Eins m’a guerpi, et fait nouvel amy. Et, par m’ame, pas ne l’ay desservi. Et d’autre part, Mon guerredon ailleurs donne et depart, Ne je n’en puis avoir ne part ne hart. C’est ce, sire, pour quoy li cuers me part. Si m’est avis, Consideré mes raisons, que j’ay pis Que la dame, comment que ses amis Soit trespassés, Diex l’ait en paradis! Sire, et cils clers Qui me samble gais, jolis, et apers, Fu atapis ou jardin et couvers En plus espés dou brueil qui est tous vers. Si sailli hors, Quant li ot bien oÿ tous nos descors Si nous loa que li drois et li tors Fust mis seur vous, et ce fu nos acors. Car longuement Avoit duré de nous le parlement, Et si aviens fait meint arguement, Si comme il est escript plus pleinnement Yci dessus. Or sommes ci par devers vous venus Par quoy li drois soit jugiés et sceüs, Et que vos dis soit de nous .ij. tenus. Si que ce plait Povez tantost terminer s’il vous plaist; Car nous avons de vous no juge fait. Sire, or avez oÿ tout nostre fait Entierement; Si en vueilliez faire le jugement, Car nous l’avons desiré longuement, Et ceste dame et moy devotement Vous en prions.” Quant cils li ot moustrees leurs raisons, Qui bien le sot faire com sages homs, Li gentils rois qui moult estoit preudons Li respondi: “Se Diex me gart, vous avez pris en my Juge ignorant et de scens desgarni, Ne onques mais je n’oÿ, ne ne vi Tel jugement. S’en saroie jugier petitement. Mais nompourquant le conseil de ma gent En vueil avoir; car je l’ay bel et gent.” Lors appella En sousriant Loiauté qui fu la, Amour, Juenesse, et Raison, qui parla Premierement et puis leur demanda Li gentils roys: “Que diriés vous qui savez tous les drois? Cils chevaliers qui gens est et adrois Et ceste dame aussi a ces crins blois Sont venu ci Par devers moy, dont je les remercy, Et jugement vuelent oïr de my, Li quels a plus de mal et de sousci. La dame avoit Ami loial qui l’amoit et servoit, Et elle lui, tant comme elle pooit. Or est einsi que Mors, qui tout reçoit, Li a tollu. S’en a le cuer dolent et irascu, Car a son temps ot il si grant vertu Que nul milleur, ne nul plus bel ne fu. Le chevalier Sans repentir aimme de cuer entier La plus bele qui vive, a son cuidier, Et elle foy sans muer, ne changier Li a promis, Et retenus fu de li comme amis Et bien amez; il en estoit tous fis. Or a la dame en autre son cuer mis, Et li guerpi Dou tout en tout, et n’a cure de li. Et a ses yex voit la belle et celi Qui les dous biens a qu’il ha desservi. Or vous ay dit Pour quoy il sont venu oïr mon dit. Et sans doubte, cuers qui ainsi languit Se destruit moult, et a grant doleur vit. Si m’en devez Donner conseil au mieus que vous poez; Car chascuns est mes drus et mes privez, Et moult me fi en vous, bien le savez. Dites, Raison. Premiers oïr vueil vostre entention; Car vous m’avez maint conseil donné bon.” Raisons, qui fu bele et de bon renom, Einsi respont: “Sire, je di que cil .ij. amant sont Moult engoisseus quant einsi perdu ont Ce qu’il aimment, et que li cuers leur font Si com la cire Devant le feu se degaste et empire. Mais qu’il soient tuit pareil de martyre Et de meschief, ce ne vueil je pas dire. Ce qui me muet Vous vueil dire puisque faire l’estuet. Ceste dame jamais veoir ne puet Son ami vray einsi comme elle suet. Si avenra Einsi que puisque plus ne le verra, Je ferai tant qu’elle l’oubliera, Car le cuers ja tant chose n’amera Qu’il ne l’oublie Par eslongier. Certes, je ne di mie Qu’une piece n’en ait peinne et hachie, Mais Juenesse, qui tant est gaie et lie, Ne soufferroit Pour nulle riens qu’entroubliez ne soit. Car Juenesse, sire, comment qu’il voit, Met en oubli moult tost ce que ne voit. Aprés je di Qu’Amours n’a pas tant de pooir en li Que soustenir se peüst sans amy L’eure du jour, ne sans amie aussy. Et se l’un faut Des .iij., li .ij. autres aront deffaut; Qu’Amour, ami, et amie estre faut Tout ensamble, ou l’amour riens ne vaut. Et puisqu’amie Et Amours ont perdu la compaingnie D’amy, certes, je ne donroie mie De leur amour une pomme porrie. C’est assavoir, Quant a l’amour qui est mondeinne, avoir. Car c’est tres bon de faire son devoir Si que l’ame s’en puist apercevoir. Mais il n’est ame, N’homme vivant, qui aimme si sans blame S’il est tapez de l’amoureuse flame, Qu’il n’aimme miex assez le corps que l’ame. Pour quel raison? Amour vient de charnel affection, Et si desir et sa condition Sont tuit enclin a delectation. Si ne se puet Nuls, ne nulle garder qui amer vuet Qu’il n’i ait vice ou pechié; il l’estuet, Et c’est contraire a l’ame, qui s’en duet. Et d’autre part, Tout aussi tost com l’ame se depart Dou corps, l’amour s’en eslonge et espart. Einsi le voy partout, se Diex me gart. Si que l’amour De ceste dame, ou tant a de valour, Apetise toudis de jour en jour, Et aussi fait a ce fuer la dolour. Mais cils amis, Qui folement s’est d’amer entremis Sans mon conseil et se s’i est si mis, Li dolereus, qu’il en est tous remis, Les maus d’amer Sont en son cuer qui li sont trop amer Qu’Amours le fait nuit et jour enflamer, Ne il ne vorroit, ne porroit oublier Son annemie. Savez pourquoy? Pour ce que Compaingnie, Amour, Biauté, et Juenesse la lie, Et Loiauté, qu’oublier ne vueil mie, En grant folie, En rage, en dueil, et en forsenerie Le font languir, et en grant jalousie, Et en peril de l’ame et de la vie. Car main et tart Son dolent cuer de sa dame ne part, Eins la compaingne en tous lieus sans depart; Et cils qui est plus pres dou feu, plus s’art. Et Loiauté Si li deffent a faire fausseté. Mais s’il heüst par mon conseil ouvré Quant sa dame ot nuef ami recouvré, Il n’eüst pas Continué l’amour; car, en tel cas, Se la dame chante en haut ou en bas, On doit aler ou le trot ou le pas. Aprés li dist Biauté qu’il fait miex assez, s’il languist, Pour li amer, que se d’autre joïst. Si fait Amour. Juenesse le norrist Avec folour En ce meschief, en celle fole errour, Car il en pert le sens et la vigour. Einsi languist li dolens en dolour; Car quant il voit Que de s’amour, present li, autres joit, Qui son amy appeller le soloit, Il a le cuer si jalous, si destroit, Que c’est merveille Qu’il ne s’occist, ou qu’il ne s’apareille D’occirre ce qui ainsi le traveille. Et ce li met Jalousie en l’oreille. Et s’il avoit L’amour de li, einsi comme il soloit, Qu’en feroit il? Certes, riens n’en feroit. Car jamais jour il ne s’i fieroit. Et pour ce espoir N’a de jamais autre solas avoir, Puisque mettre ne puet en nonchaloir Ceste dame qui tant le fait doloir. Si que je di Qu’il ha plus mal que ceste dame cy, Et que son cuer est en plus grant sousci Par les raisons que vous avez oÿ. Et, a mon gré, Cils chevaliers en a moult bien parlé, Car en escript l’ay ci dessus trouvé, Et par raison s’entention prouvé. Ce m’est avis.” Quant Raisons ot moustré tout son avis, Amours parla, qui fu biaus a devis, Et gracïeus de maniere et de vis, Et dist: “Raison, Moult bien avez moustree vo raison. Si m’i ottroy, fors tant que mesprison Feroit d’oster son cuer de la prison A la tres bele Pour qui il sent l’amoureuse estincelle. Si vueil qu’il l’aint et serve comme celle Dont heü a mainte lie nouvelle, Car s’il pooit Vivre mil ans, et toudis la servoit, Ja par servir il ne desserviroit Les grans douceurs que faire li soloit. Et se Plaisence, Qui faire fait mainte estrange muance, Li fait estre de sa dame en doubtance, Doit il estre pour ce en desperence? Certes, nanil! Qu’en mon service en a encor cent mil Qui aimment tuit pres aussi fort comme il, Et si n’en ont la monte d’un fusil. Et s’ay povoir De li garir et de li desdoloir, Mais il n’a mais fiance, ne espoir, En moy; c’est ce qui plus le fait doloir.” “Comment, Amours?” Ce dist Raisons, “Est ce dont de vos tours Qu’il amera sans avoir nul secours Celle qui ha donné son cuer aillours? Et qui vous sert, Il n’a mie le luyer qu’il dessert? Certes, fols est qui a servir s’ahert Si fait maistre quant son guerredon pert.” Aprés ce fait Devers Amours, Loiauté se retrait, Et dist einsi, que riens n’eüst meffait, Se d’autel pain li eüst soupe fait. “N’il n’est raisons Pour ce, s’il est vrais, loiaus, et preudons, Qu’il soit de ceuls qui batent les buissons Dont li autre prennent les oisillons. Car se la dame, Q’je repren moult durement et blame (Et c’est bien drois, car elle acuet grant blame De muance faire en la haute game) Premierement N’eüst osté son cuer de cest amant, Qui tous estoit en son commandement, Amours, Amours, je parlasse autrement. Mais sans doubtance, Quant il l’aimme de toute sa puissance, Et sans cause le met en oubliance, Il doit dancier einsi comme elle dance; Nom pas qu’il face Chose de quoi il puist perdre ma grace; Car s’il la laist, et ailleurs se pourchace, Je ne tien pas qu’envers moy se mefface. Et si m’acort Dou tout en tout de Raison a l’acort (Car elle fait bon et loial raport): Que cils a droit, et ceste dame a tort.” Et quant Juenesse, Qui moult fu gaie et pleinne de leesse, Et qui n’aconte a don, ne a promesse, Fors seulement que ses voloirs adresse, Ot escouté Ce que Raisons ot dit et raconté Et Loiauté, pou y a aconté, Car moult pleinne fu de sa volenté. Et dist en haut: “Certes, Raison, vostre science faut, Et Loiauté, sachiés, riens ne vous vaut. Car cils amis, pour mal, ne pour assaut Qu’Amours li face, N’iert ja partis de la belle toupasse Qui de beauté et de doulceur tout passe, Et de fine colour; ja Dieu ne place Qu’il li avieigne Que ja d’amer la belle se refraigne! Car s’a present ne veult, ne n’adaigne, Au moins l’aimme il, et son cuer la compaingne. Dont n’est ce assez? Doit il estre de li amer lassez? Certes, nennil! Car on n’est pas amez, Ne conjoïnz toudis, n’amis clamez: Non est, sans doubte. Raison, fols est amans qui vous escoute, Ne qui ensuit vos dis, ne vostre route. Et qui le fait, je di qu’il ne voit goute. Et par ma foy, Nous ferons tant, Amours, ma dame et moy, Que son cuer yert si pris, et en tel ploy, Que nuit, ne jour ne partira de soy. Ne vos effors, Ne doubtez pas, ne sera ja si fors Que li fin cuer de cest amant soit hors De la tres belle ou po treuve confors. Qu’Amour, ma dame, Qui son cuer art, teint, bruit, et enflame, Et moy qui sui encor a tout ma flame, En ceste amour le tenrons; car, par m’ame, Il le couvient. Et se des maus dolereus plus li vient Qu’a la dame qui dalés lui se tient, Fors est assez; bien les porte et soustient.” Lors s’avisa Li gentils rois, et bonnement ris a De Juenesse, qui einsi devisa; Mais onques meins pour ce ne l’en prisa, Qu’elle faisoit Tout son devoir de ce qu’elle disoit, Et de son vueil plus chier denree avoit Que .x. livres de son profit n’amoit. Si dist: “Juenesse, Bele dame, vous estes grant maistresse, Qui cest amant tenés en grant destresse, En povreté, en misere, en tristesse, Vous et Amours. Vez que li las a perdu tout secours, Ne ses cuers n’a refuge, ne recours, Fors a la mort, qui a li vient le cours. Car travillier Le volez trop, et dou tout essillier. Or a trouvé, s’il vous plaist, consillier Bon et loial; laissiez le consillier; Si ferez bien. Car il est pris en si estroit lien Qu’il n’i scet tour d’eschaper, në engien.” “Certes, sire, de ce ne faire rien. Eins amera La tres bele pour qui tant d’amer a. Et, s’il y muert, chascuns le clamera Martir d’amours, et honneur li sera S’il muert pour li.” Quant Juenesse ot son parler assevi, Li rois parla a euls et dist einsi: “Nous ne sommes pas assemble yci Pour desputer S’il doit amer sa dame ou non amer, Mais pour savoir li quels a plus d’amer, Et qui plus sent crueus les maus d’amer, Si com moy samble. Or estes vous en acort tout ensamble Que plus de mal en cest amant s’assamble Qu’en la dame; ne pas ne me dessamble De cest acort, Einsois m’i tieng dou tout et m’i acort, Que cils amans est plus long de confort Que la dame ne soit, que Diex confort. Si en feray Le jugement einsi com je saray, Car tel chose pas acoustumé n’ay, Et uns autres vraiement, bien le say, Miex le feroit. Je di einsi: consideré a droit L’entention de Raison ci endroit, Et les raisons de vous qui volez droit. Et Loiauté, Qui en a dit la pure verité, Ne n’i chasse barat ne fausseté, D’Amours aussi qui en a bien parlé, Et de Juenesse — Que cils amans sueffre plus de tristesse, Et que li maus d’amours plus fort le blesse Que la dame, ou moult a de noblesse, Et que plus long Est de confort, dont il ont bon besoing. Et pour ce di mon jugement et doing Qu’il a plus mal qu’elle n’a, plus de soing, Et de grevance.” Quant li bons rois ot rendu sa sentence, Dont par Raison fu faite l’ordenance, Li chevaliers iluec, en sa presence, L’en mercia, Et, en pensant, la dame s’oublia Si durement que nul mot dit n’i a. Mais nompourquant en la fin ottria Qu’elle tenoit Le jugement que li rois fait avoit, Car si sages et si loiaus estoit Qu’envers nelui fors raison ne feroit. Adont li rois En sousriant les a pris par les dois Et les assist seur le tapis norois, Long des autres, si qu’il n’i ot qu’euls trois. Si leur enorte Et deprie chascun qu’il se conforte, Car se le cuer longuement tel mal porte, Il en porroit mors estre, et elle morte (Que ja n’aveingne!); Mais chascuns d’eaus bon corage reprengne, Car li cuers trop se destruit et mehaingne Qui en tel plour et tel dolour se baingne; Et recorder Voit on souvent qu’on doit tout oublier Ce qu’on voit bien qu’on ne puet amender, Ne recouvrer par pleindre ne plourer. S’einsi le font, Vers Loiauté, ce dit, pas ne meffont; Mais s’en ce plour pour amer se meffont, Homicides de leur ames se font Et de leur vie. Aprés li rois appella sa maisnie; Si vint Franchise, Honneur, et Courtoisie, Biauté, Desir, Leesse l’envoisie, Et Hardiesse, Prouesse, Amour, Loiauté, et Largesse, Voloir, Penser, Richesse, avec Juenesse, Et puis Raison, qui de tous fu maistresse. Si leur commande Que chascuns d’eaus a honnourer entende Ces .ij. amans, et qu’Amour leur deffende Merencolie; aprés que la viande Soit aprestee, Car il estoit ja pres de la vespree; Et il ont fait son vueil sans demouree, Com bonne gent et bien endoctrinee. Lors se sont trait Vers les amans, sans faire plus de plait, Et chascuns d’eaus a son pooir a fait Ce qu’il pense qui leur agree et plait, Qu’entalenté En estoient de bonne volenté. Et li amant ont congié demandé, Mais on leur a baudement refusé, Car Courtoisie, Franchise, Honneur, et Largesse s’amie, Li gentils rois, qui pas ne s’i oublie, Et chascuns d’eaus moult durement les prie De demourer. Et il estoit pres heure de souper, Et a ce mot on prist l’iaue a corner Par le chastel, et forment a tromper; Si se leverent, Et .ij. et .ij. en la sale en alerent; Aprés leurs mains courtoisement laverent Puis s’assirent, si burent et mengierent, Selonc raison, Car il y ot planté et a foison De quanqu’on puet dire n’avoir de bon. Aprés mengier, les prist par le giron Li gentils rois Et si leur dist: “Vous n’en irez des mois, Car je vous vueil oster a ceste fois Les pensees qui vous font moult d’anois.” Le chevalier Moult humblement l’en prist a mercïer, Et aussi fist la dame qui targïer Ne pooit plus, ce dit, de repairier. Et finalment Li rois les tint .viij. jours moult liement Et au partir leur donna largement Chevaus, harnois, joiaus, or, et argent. Si se partirent Au chief de .viij. jours et dou roy congié prirent, Ou tant orent trouvé d’onneur qu’il dirent Qu’eins si bon roy ne si gentil ne virent. Mais compaingnie Leur fist Honneur; aussi fist Courtoisie, Juenesse, Amour, Richesse l’aaisie, Et meint autre que nommer ne say mie. Car il monterent Sus les chevaus et tant les convoierent Que chascun d’eaus en son hostel menerent, Et puis au roy a Durbui retournerent. Ci fineray Ma matiere, ne plus n’en rimeray, Car autre part assez a rimer ay. Mais en la fin de ce livret feray Que qui savoir Vorra mon nom et mon seurnom de voir, Il le porra clerement percevoir En darrein ver dou livret et veoir, Mais qu’il dessamble Les premieres .vij. sillabes d’ensamble Et les lettres d’autre guise rassamble, Si que nulle n’en oublie ne emble. Einsi porra Mon nom savoir qui savoir le vorra, Mais ja pour ce miex ne m’en prisera. Et nompourquant ja pour ce ne sera Que je ne soie Loiaus amis, jolis, et pleins de joie, Car se riens plus en ce monde n’avoie Fors ce que j’aim ma dame simplet et quoie Contre son gré, Si ay j’assez, qu’Amours m’a honnouré Et richement mon mal guerredonné, Quant a ma dame einsi mon cuer donné Ay a tous jours. Et ce mon cuer conforte en ses dolours Que, quant premiers senti les maus d’amours, A gentil mal cuide humble secours. Explicit le Jugement dou Roy de Behaingne.

The Judgment of the King of Bohemia At Eastertide, when every creature rejoices, When the earth with many a gay color Adorns herself, when Good Love leaves no wound but Pierces The breasts of many pretty ladies, Lovers, and young girls (And this brings them many New joys and many cares), At this sweet time, close to the month of May, One morning I elegantly arrayed myself, In the fashion of a man who loved most perfectly With a constant love. And the day was just balmy enough, Beautiful, clear, sunny, crisp and pure, without a chill. The dew on the greenery Was shimmering So brightly it completely blinded me Whenever I looked upon it Because of the sun shining down from above. And the birds, For the sake of the sweetness in that joyous new season, Happily and with such grand celebration Were all singing, so I moved to the call Of their sweet song. Then I spied one among them in flight Who soared above the others crying: “Ocy! Ocy!” And I followed him until In a solitary byway Above a stream, close by a beautiful tower, Where there were many trees and flowers Of different colors that smelled sweet, He perched. Then I simply dropped to the ground And hid myself as well as I could beneath the trees So that he could not see me, In order to hear The full sweet sound of his pleasant song. It pleased me so to delight in hearing His sweet singing that I could never Describe it. But as I was enjoying His very sweet singing, on which I was intent, I saw approach by a narrow path Covered with grass A lady deep in thought and all alone, Save for a little dog and a serving maid. But her forthright demeanor showed clearly She was sorely distressed. And on the other side, a short distance from me, A knight of quite noble array Came toward her right down the path With no companions; So I thought they might be lover and beloved. Then I pushed myself into the leaves And was so hidden they didn’t see me at all. Now when that lover, To whom Nature had granted considerable gifts, Approached that worthy lady, He greeted her like a gentleman gracious, Wise, and well mannered. And so oppressed by thought was the lady She passed him by with no response. And at once the man retraced his steps, Took her By the robe, and said softly: “Sweet lady, do you scorn My greeting?” And when she saw him, With a sigh She answered so he waited no longer: “To be sure, sir, I did not hear you at all Because my thoughts prevented me; But if I’ve done Something improper or wrong, Please pardon me if you would.” The knight, making no further argument, Said softly: “Lady, no pardon is needed, For here there is no misdeed or ill will; But I beg you please tell me Your thoughts.” Then the lady sighed deeply And said: “For God’s sake, leave me in peace, fair sir, Because I don’t need you to increase the grief Or frustration That they give me.” With this, he began moving Closer to her to draw out her thoughts, And said: “Sweet and noble lady, I see you are sad. But I swear to you and promise upon my faith That if to me you reveal your trouble, I’ll do all in my power To put it right.” And the lady undertook to thank him for this, Saying: “Sir, no one can help me, And no one save God could alleviate The terrible grief That mars and pales my complexion, Binds my heart in sorrow and weeping, Keeps me in such bitter misery That, truth to tell, There is no heart that could have more.” “Lady, what misfortune makes your pain so great? Tell me, for I think I suffer A hurt so painful, So miserable, so strong, so grievous, So bitter that — of this you may be sure — There’s no woman, no human being, Nor was there ever one Who endured such pain.” “Surely, sir, I firmly believe you Bear not the same burden in your heart that I do. For this reason you shall learn, These thoughts you wish to know. Yet right away you’ll promise To tell me all your own without any lies.” “Agreed, my lady. Upon my faith and soul, I promise That the thought that scorches and inflames me, Often eating at my heart and rending it, I’ll reveal to you Completely, and in nothing will I lie.” “Agreed, sir, and now I’ll tell you.” “Speak, then, and I’ll listen Most willingly.” “Sir, altogether now it’s seven years or eight That my heart’s been serf and vassal To Good Love, whose ways I’ve come to know Since childhood. For when I encountered Love the first time, I gladly put heart, body, strength, life, My goods and power, what I had, At her disposal. And as her vassal she retained me And with a very loyal heart gave me To a man handsome and good, gentle, wise, and gracious, Who was The very flower of courtesy, Perfect honor, and pleasant demeanor; Of the very good indeed he was the best. And the man had A noble body, elegant too, gracious, well-formed and pleasing; Young, genteel, graced with charm he was, Full of all that a true lover requires. And he was acclaimed Worthy of being loved above all others, For he was true, loyal, and circumspect, Discreet in what pertained to loving. And I loved him So loyally I devoted all my heart To loving him (no other thought was mine); So in him was my hope, joy, And pleasure, My heart, love, thoughts, and desire. In every kind of goodness my heart could rejoice Simply by seeing and hearing him. All my comfort Lay in him; he was all that pleased me, All my solace, delight, and treasure. He was my wall, my castle, and my refuge. And he loved me; Above all else he served and respected me. He called me his heart, his love, his lady; He was mine completely; my heart knew this well. Nor could anything Displease him that should please me. So true a pair were our two hearts That one never opposed the other; Rather they were Always in accord; one thought they shared. They were the same in will and desire; A single good, one ill, one joy they felt Together, And it was never otherwise for these two; Instead our love was so faithful It never gave rise to an immoral thought Of any kind. Alas! What sorrow! Now the opposite is true. For my sweetness now is painful suffering. My joys are bitter hurt, And my thoughts, In which my heart used to delight And find sweet solace for every hurt, Are, and will remain, painful, bitter, sad. My days Will be dark and filled with misfortune, My hope will lack all certainty, And my pleasure will become enduring sorrow, For without fail I will pale and tremble, startle with a change of mood, Moan, cry out, sigh, and wail, And in fear of despair Even shudder; Nor will my sad heart experience any good; No comfort, no joy will ever touch it Until death seizes me, Death, who greatly Wronged me by not bringing herself To bite me with her painful bite When of everything she stripped me and killed My lover sweet, Whom I loved with a pure heart, as he did me. But alas — sorrow — what pain! I do not wish To live on after him even a day or half of one In such terrible grief; I’d rather die from the pain that grieves me.” And I, who lay hidden within the brush, Saw that at this word the lady with the gracious manner Fell down as if dead. Now he who was a type gentle and kind Many times begged and exhorted her Quite tenderly to take comfort, But to no avail; For assaulted by a grievous pain, the lady Felt such a severe attack for her lover’s sake, Both breath and strength did fail her. And when he saw How the lady neither heard nor attended to him, He was as pained as he could be. Nonetheless the man realized She had fainted. In his hand he then gathered up some dew From the green grass and sprinkled it over Her tear-stained face So gently That the lady who for so long Had lost strength, reason, and understanding Opened her eyes and began to sigh Deeply, Bemoaning the man who made her desire Death because of his faithful love for her. But the man, whose noble heart lacked bitterness, Said: “Dear lady, For the mercy of God, get hold of yourself. Carrying on like this will be your death Since I see well that you pay most dearly For loving him. Yet let your heart not fail so. It is neither worthy nor honorable.” “You tell the truth, sir, but it was quite bad luck I saw The hour and day I ever loved with such a perfect love Because in no way can I escape it. Instead, I see a death with no respite.” “Lady, now hear What I will say, and please don’t take it ill. No wonder you are distraught Since you are saddened. Yet truly A person could much sooner find relief For your troubles than for mine.” “Sir, how so? Tell me, and you’ll fulfill Your agreement.” “Quite willingly, but listen to me And abandon the sadness in your heart So you can give all your attention To hearing me.” “Surely, sir, I can scarcely cheer up. Still, I’ll do my best, and that’s no lie.” “Then I’ll reveal to you what pains are mine With no more delay. Lady, from that time I knew myself And my heart could feel and understand What loving is, I’ve never ceased striving To be loved; So for a long time, to have the name of lover, Before my heart was securely placed or given, Or granted, or even inclined to one lady, I many times Devoutly requested that Good Love Place my heart to the honor Of a woman in whom it would find a home, And that this would be So she would receive glory and praise thereby; And that if my heart could ever do Anything to be worthy of attention Or earn Some reward from a lady through serving her, Love might sometime deign to remember Me, who would be her vassal, never to depart For all my life. Finally it happened that among a company Including many pretty ladies Who were young, noble, happy, and amusing, I chanced by Fortune, Whose custom is to lie to all, And from the others I picked out one Who, just as the sun surpasses the moon In brightness, Conquered all the others In esteem, honor, grace, and beauty; And she was so modest and unpretentious, to my taste, That, truth to tell, No one could in the entire world find Her equal, nor could the whole world itself Suffice to describe her beauty Perfectly. For I saw her dance so debonairly And then sing so very beautifully, Laugh and play so graciously That never yet Was seen a treasure more elegant, For her hair resembled golden threads, And these neither too light nor dark. Her forehead was White and smooth, no wrinkle there, Without a flaw, of such correct proportion It was neither too broad nor narrow. And her brows Had a very noble shape Beneath that whiteness and were like black thread, And to be prized among a hundred thousand. But her two eyes, Intent on passing the threshold of my heart By their strength and fair welcome To give me the pain that grieves me so, Were smiling, Not really very gray, to be more piercing, More striking, sweet, humble, and alluring, All full of traps to snare a lover In pure affection. And they were modestly lowered, Just big enough, not opened too wide, Conquering all by their sweet piercing; Nor as they opened Could any man prevent Their going to strike his heart a blow, If it pleased them, and claim him for their own. But their glance, Seeming to grant mercy, to dawdlers Was not at all unwisely parceled out, For wishing to throw a dart, So craftily Could it do so — and so subtly — No one could ever truly know Save him upon whom it properly fell. Flawless, dainty, Long, and straight, of the proper shape Was her nose, suited to her face, For it was neither too big nor small. But her little mouth, Just small enough, rose in hue, somewhat rounded, Always smiling, delicious, and sweet Makes me languish whenever my heart sadly recalls her. For whoever heard it Speak so well and saw it laugh, Received with pleasure its sweetness, Would value it above all others and say as much; For her smile brought Two dimples to her cheeks, So white and colored like a rose, Making them prettier and rounder. And there’s even more: Her teeth were white, small, and even, Her chin a little cleft, Arched below and rounded all above. Wondrously soft and clear, Was her complexion, surpassing all others, For it was vibrant, fresh, and pink, More than any May rose before it’s picked; And, in a few words, White as snow, smooth, pleasantly plump Was her throat, not wrinkled or bony; Her neck was beautiful, for which I prize and praise her. It’s also fitting I speak of her arms long and straight, Which were in every way well fashioned; For her hands were white, her fingers long. Just to my taste Were her breasts — white, firm, and high-seated, Pointed, round, and small enough, Suiting her body, gracious and well shaped. Without a flaw In proportion was her body, Noble, well-shaped, lovely, youthful, genteel, amply fleshed, Long, straight, pleasing, resilient, agreeable, and svelte. Very well shaped Were the hips, thighs, and legs — the feet Arched, plump, and well formed, Cunningly shod with exquisite shoes. Of the rest, Which I did not see, lady, I’ll tell you this: All answered the requirements of Nature. It was well fashioned and elegant in form. And this remainder, Of which right now I’ll say no more, Must be considered beyond compare, Sweeter and more beautiful than any other. Her delicate skin Was white and soft; more than other women’s Resplendent — and one marveled; There was no flaw or fault, only goodness. Sweet and firm Was her flesh, tender with moisture, But she was endowed with a manner humble And assured — and she was beautifully groomed. And truly She was so beautiful, I strongly believe, That if Nature, who makes all things craftily, Intended to make another woman just like her, She would fail; And that she’d never know how to do so Had she not for a model the one Who surpasses all others in loveliness. And so I tell you I have never seen in all my life A woman’s body of such perfect shape. And she was aged fourteen and a half, Or thereabouts. So, lady, when I beheld her appearance, Which was so beautiful, without any flaw, Within my heart the sweet impression Of her face Was so imprinted it still endures, Nor ever since has it departed, so I suffer Many pains and enduring miseries. And beyond all doubt, Before I left her presence, Pleasure so fixed itself within my heart From marveling at her sweet face You may be sure If I possessed Octavian’s riches And knew all Galen’s science, If all goods were mine, I would have thrown over Everything in order to see her As I wished, or to accomplish something She might have liked that would please her. But Noble Love, Who saw me captured by the snare Of Pleasure, who’d locked me in her tower Because I’d marveled at the lady’s gracious presence, Without threatening Made a sweet and smiling look go Straight through my heart to trap me So I had to submit to her very sweet dominion Without repenting. So pleased was I to feel this domination When her look deigned To fall upon me that (I do not lie) I didn’t know What was happening to me or where I was Since senses, strength, and bearing I had lost, So forcefully through her eyes was I Brought to love. And thus the desire to be loved by her Was so hotly inflamed within my heart, I’ve since called myself ‘poor captive’ a hundred times While sighing; For such misery did I feel in my desiring My strength began to fail me, And many thoughts I had while marveling at Her sweet countenance. Now willingly I’d have gone to tell her How with my heart I loved her with no hesitation. Yet the fear of being refused prevented me From doing so; Still Fair Welcome beckoned me; His Sweet Look, smiling, reassured me, And Sweet Hope sweetly told me this In faith And affirmed that so great a beauty Could never exist without pity. So these three spoke and encouraged me so much I agreed After all to tell her of my affection. Alas! In this fashion I declaimed all alone to myself. But when I thought to rehearse my pains to her, So fearful, Weak, beaten down, so weary and full of anguish, So troubled, trembling, and shamed Was my heart, and with lovesickness So grievously infected, It lost all reason, composure, and wit. In contrast, my heart was transformed and overwhelmed When clearly, face to face, I could look upon Her pure beauty. Then my heart was stung By an amorous sting, pierced with a joyful point, And nourished with sweet nourishment By Sweet Thought, Who relieved all my pain And gave me hope for cure. Thus often for Love’s sake I experienced Joy and torture. And I remained a long time in this state, One hour happy, sorrowful the next, For I never dared seek relief For my pain. Nonetheless this great distress from love, This burning desire, this cruel languor In which I remained for many days, Her Fair Welcome, The hope of ending my pain, Her great beauty, her sweet, smiling gray eyes, And that no whit of pride was in her — All this gave me The strength to beg for mercy Like a coward. And so I said humbly to her, Flushed and fearful: ‘My lady dear, Your beauty so burns, inflames my heart, I love you above all else without impure thoughts, With my heart, my body, with true desire and soul. So I beg you, Sweet lady, have mercy on me; For truly, I will die of love If from the heart that has turned mine black I find no relief.’ And when in this fashion I dared tell her my grief, I watched her sweet expression slightly change, As I thought, so I feared Being rejected. Yet all the time her look assured me, As well as her sweetness and gracious smile, So by these I was emboldened enough To cry ‘Alas! Gentle lady, for God’s sake, don’t kill Your faithful lover, who in your snares Is trapped so tight he forfeits all joy And comfort.’ Then she drew toward me, quiet and demure, The woman on whose account Love tortures and abuses me, And said: ‘Friend, surely I would never want To do to anyone What might pain or grieve him; And no one should do to others What he would not have done to him. And, sweet friend, No good deed goes unrewarded, No evil one unpunished. Thus if Love has urged you to love, She will reward you In her time and season If you love her with no thoughts of trickery. And if she found you other than good, Don’t doubt at all She would be your mortal enemy And that no help or cure Would ever be granted you by her, or given For your pains. Therefore, fair sir, present yourself to Love And to her rehearse your moans and cries, For your rescue and your death lie in her, But not in me; I am not the cause of your discomfort (Or so it seems to me) and should not suffer for it. In good faith I know not what else to tell you. I say goodbye.’ At this that beauty took her leave from me, She who had portioned out to me such pain My heart nearly broke in two At her leaving. But the sweetness of her pleasant look By its agreeable artfulness made me dare look upon her, For as she left (may God protect me!) So sweetly Did she look my way it truly seemed Her expression actually said: ‘Lover, I love you with great affection.’ Therefore I was All comforted by the noble power Of the look that since has proved so precious It has always nourished and sustained me In good hope. And had it not been so, I certainly expect I would have fallen into despair, But nothing on earth could pain me When her glance In a smile had so settled on me That, my lady, in every way Her look consoled me, aided me In my distress. There in great turmoil I remained alone, And in my mind I began to marvel at Her bearing, her great sweetness, her appearance, Her courage, Her fair looks, the manner of her comings and goings, Her noble body, her gracious speech, Her genteel carriage, her pleasant look, And her expression, Which was so sweet, so humble and elegant She was the paragon of all beauty. And having marveled at all she did, I found, to be sure, Much great delight and perfect joy And considered myself quite fortunate For no other reason than that I have since Felt such love, Been so bent and dedicated to her service That in serving her I find all my delight; I have been able since to perform no other labor. And so I served her, Loved, protected, respected, obeyed her A very long time, and my reward was nothing. At the last, however, I loved and cherished her so much She saw well I intended only honor for her and good, And also that my heart did love her above all else; Thus I did enough so that she took me for her own In such a way That with a good and happy heart, a pleasant face She told me: ‘Lover, see here your own dear love Who no longer will treat you haughtily, Since this is the wish of Love, Who with a good heart has directed me to do this; And, in truth, it cannot be otherwise, Because something grand moves me to do so Since my love And heart as well I present you, never to be returned, And so I beg you guard my honor well, For I love and honor you above all else.’ And when I saw My lady called me her lover So sweetly and had bestowed upon me Without reservation the delightful gift of her love, If I was happy then, Do not marvel, sweet lady; For until that moment I had been discouraged, Forlorn, lost, exiled, and wretched, With no recourse, Lacking her quite sweet comfort, But now I was recovered, brought back from death, Enriched beyond belief, filled with great consolation, And without tribulation When she told me: ‘Lover, I give myself to you Most willingly.’ And this quite sweet boon Made me a hundred thousand times grander than a king, So that no one Could describe the joy I felt. For I was so happy I could not Utter my thanks, was not able to speak. But in the end, Like a lover loyal and pure, with a noble heart, Inflamed to love, without a devious thought, Very humbly, with lowered head, I told her Without difficulty: ‘Lady, whom I love above all others, myself included, To whom I devote reason, heart, time, life, and affection, As much as I have power, but not as I should, I thank you For the noble gift of your sweet mercy Since you have so greatly enriched, So elated, so cured, so rewarded me That truly If everything beneath the sky Or all that was or will be Had been given me entirely to do my will, I would not value it A hundredth part as I do your mercy. So pray God I never wrong you In anything that might sully our love, And also that I might fulfill Your will as much as I intend, Humbly, not haughtily, not proudly, For, if I can, much better than has been my wont I will serve you Quite faithfully from my heart and love you; And in all things I will guard your honor well. Not in word, deed, or thought Will I do anything Against you or anyone that will make you angry. Instead you will be my lady and my sweetheart, My divinity on earth, adored above all others; And without a doubt, If I do something against your pleasure, Whatever might anger or torment your heart, Know truly it would be through oversight alone.’ My lady, in this manner I thanked her, just as you have heard, For the noble gift of her sweet mercy. And she in turn pledged to me and swore Quite adamantly She would from this day forward love me loyally, Never forsaking or deserting me. And so for a long time I was crowned with joy. Nothing Contrary to joy did I experience, Instead was happy and full of celebration, Much more jolly and gay than I had ever been. And it was proper I did my best to be kind and thoughtful, Since it seemed in all ways I was The best loved of lovers and their king. But when Fortune, The betrayer, who does not treat everyone the same, Had lifted me up so high, in an evil and miserly fashion She valued my goods and me no more than a fig; Instead she frowned, Denied me, turned her face away. After she had seated me atop her wheel, She turned it, and I tumbled into the mud. But she did this, That traitress quick and ready on all occasions To undo those she puts beneath her wing, Because God and beautiful Nature, When they shaped The woman I love, so greatly delighted In the incredible beauty they bestowed upon her They forgot to give her faithfulness. And how evident it is! For I know well and clearly see That lady, whose body is so lovely, Whom my heart respects, loves, obeys, and serves, Has taken a new Lover without cause, someone other than me. And so, lady, if I moan and cry Quite bitterly and often utter ‘Oh me!’ It is no wonder Since her pure beauty without peer, Her vibrant complexion, fresh and rosy, And that sweet look that tortures me still Have abandoned me, And she has uttered her last goodbye And, also, has deprived me of my every good. Alas! How could my heart be happy? And quite wrongfully She has taken back my joy and comfort, Putting me in such great distress I know well it will be my death, Nor might anything Save me from this or provide a single comfort. But what tears and breaks my heart Is that I don’t know whom to blame For my suffering Since it seems that if I was shoved down The ladder I once had climbed through Fortune, Whom I do not trust or depend upon, Then, to tell the truth, I should feel no bitterness toward her, Since in the deed she simply did her duty; And she ought have no other task But betraying Those she watches mount up, grow rich, As well as raising high those of low estate; Nor can she love any person so dearly She would issue A guarantee for him to keep his luck, Whether it is happiness or disaster, And she would not suddenly move him up or down. Such is her nature. Her goods are but lucky happenstance, Which is merely breeze, deceptive form. They are a joy that hardly lasts and is worth little. He’s a fool who trusts it! She deceives and defies all, And if I say that the death destroying me I can blame on my pretty lady, By what logic Would I do so and for what cause? She has become subject to the rule Of Love, to whom she gives herself Completely, And she is eager for Love to govern her As her sovereign and to be under Love’s command. So she cannot go against The wishes of Love; Instead she finds it always necessary to obey, And so it is my lady’s pleasure and desire To abandon me and cherish some other man, Love does this, Not my lady, who is completely worthy. For she did her duty and the honorable thing In obeying her sovereign lord. And so, when Love Inflamed me to love, I think Love, so doing, wronged me more Than my worthy lady did, That is to say If Love indeed could wrong me. But that I cannot understand at all, Since for a long time like a sweet and tender mother She nourished me As best she could with her sweet goods, Nor have I yet perceived, For any hurt I might have received, That she has been Less than a friend by my side, Serving me with all her meals, Tears for starters and sighing for a sweet. Such is my meat; My appetite does not wish or ask for more; And, by my soul, I am not drawn toward anything Save what breaks my heart. And therefore Love Grows in my heart in proportion to my pain, Nor does she leave by night or day. Instead she’s my companion in my painful weeping Because of her goodness; And so I maintain it is great friendship To be my mother in prosperity And in adversity the same. Then I should be Quite wicked if I complained of her, For I find her always at my side, Nor does she destroy me in the least, For she cannot Alter hearts since God does not wish it. But when God made the lady who was wont to Call me lover, for whom my heart feels such pain, If He and Nature, When they created her noble and pure beauty, More pleasing to all men than that of any other, Had they then in that sweet form Put loyalty, I would yet be called her lover, And her heart, which promised me so much, Would never have been my foe. So in this matter I say God and Nature did act in ignorance (Saving their honor and the respect due them) When they fashioned such a beautiful being Without loyalty. For if she had been a hundred times less beautiful And yet faithful, the great virtue Of loyalty would have done her more honor Than if she had been A hundred times more lovely — she’d then have pleased more; And she should have been more kind-hearted Because there would have been nothing to fault. So I believe That not Good Love, not Fortune, nor my lady Should be blamed for my sorrows. Then can I blame myself in any way? Yes, certainly! For I betook myself from riches to wretchedness, From safety to mortal peril, From joy to pain through her subtle look, And from freedom Into a servitude where no one loves or values Me, my honor, affection, or service, Or even my previous life as much as a cherry. Nonetheless It seems I did no wrong By falling in love with her, for in this world There was no lady living as excellent, So they said. Thus with good intention I became hers And never hoped for anything but good Because of the grandeur of her most impressive fame, Which has destroyed me. But all that glitters is not gold, And no one should love his delight so much He cannot abandon it when he thinks to. And had I been The world’s greatest man, I would not have chosen Anyone save her, nor could I have done better Had I found loyalty in her. So I do not know Whom to blame or accuse For the grievous pain and misfortune I suffer. Were I asked, to all I would answer That God and Nature Did this; so it is misadventure and sorrow They made her body so beautiful In every way, so noble, so sweet no one could do better Had it been faithful. Should I call these two to account for my woes? I will not because they are too exalted for me; Instead I shall endure; that’s my best course From this moment on. Now I have told you how Love made me a true lover, The circumstances, the means, and all that was agreed; What happened to me; How I was taken, how I was held; How my lady does not think of me; The joys, the sorrows I have had to endure Until this present day; How I have help from no one; How I cannot avenge my grievous hurt, Which harms, destroys me so much That I say (If you have heard me well and listened) The pain in which I languish, dying, Which has made pale and wan my face With its harshness, Is a hundred thousand times greater than your pain; For pure joy and perfect sweetness Are your ills measured against the hurt That tortures me.” “Certainly, sir, I would not deny You feel much pain and anger To have lost her whom your heart thus desires. But nonetheless It seems to me, and I dare say it, Considering your pain and mine, You feel less hurt and more joy Than do I. And I will tell you the reason why. You have said to me you love faithfully The lady who gives you so much distress And you’ll love her With a loyal heart as long as you live. Since you love her this way, I certainly believe you desire her love, For very seldom Have I seen love exist without desire, Or the desire for love to be able to last Without hope; and memory comes to you Sometimes, So whenever desire devastates your heart, You remember the beauty with the blond hair; Of whom you have more thoughts than three. Then it cannot be You never have a single thought to make Joy grow within you and relieve The pain so tightly binding you; So in the end Through memory you have happy thoughts That shove the sorrow out and make you forget it. But mine multiplies day and night Without a rest, And every day the stream of my tears increases, And I cannot ever think about Or have hope of recovering my love. But by serving, By honoring, remaining discreet, respecting, By happily enduring and suffering, By loving well from the heart and obeying Quite humbly You still might find relief, joy, And the love of the woman your heart is drawn toward. So I say I’m more tormented, And quite evident Is the reason, it seems to me, and sound; For it is possible to have your lady back, But to have my lover back, that is impossible According to Nature’s law.” “Lady, there’s more honor, wisdom, And moderation in you than in anyone else. Now by your reasoning I should be undone Quite quickly Could I not answer your arguments. Yet truly I cannot accomplish this With as much wisdom as required. But I intend To go over your reasons if I can manage it. You argue I love without deceit And will as long as I live Without repenting; And since I love, I must experience desire, Which cannot do without or lack Hope; and so I have memories That often Move me to thinking many thoughts. Lady, I certainly grant all you say Save only that I have no hope at all. But mark well, Lady, though our intentions here are only good, In this your understanding and my own Do not accord at all, agree in nothing; Rather they are opposed, As I think to make clear to you When the time is right. But I will not pass over In silence your statement that I can still do so much By honoring, By serving well, suffering, respecting, By obeying, by loving loyally That I can in joy get my lady back. For it would be Quite a trick to keep her, whoever could Since her heart would not remain in one place, No more than a ball on a roof. And your lover, Who was so strong and worthy, You cannot recover in any fashion, And so your color is wan and pale. So you say My pains are much less Than your own; and thus I have not triumphed, Nor have I earned the judgment by my merits. For this reason I will answer Your arguments as best I can, And I will spend time on each one; Also I will reveal what I think and know About my feelings. Lady, it’s true I love quite faithfully the woman Who hates me, that is, my lady of noble form Who is my death and destruction When I witness her Love another man and think no thoughts of me, Whom she in good faith ought to love; So I am almost driven mad By this love. For if she loved my life or honor, She would not for all the world Let me languish one hour of a day In the state where I live and dwell. But with great force they increase the tide Of suffering that floods my heart: Love first, and my lady second. For this reason I feel desire. But what for? To die swiftly, For nothing could possibly happen That would give me hope for cure, And had I A better love from her than I once had, I don’t know if I would trust it. Surely I would not! Why? I would not dare. For nurture, As they say, conquers and overcomes nature, And always, if he doesn’t go against his kind, The wolf makes his way to the woods — that’s the simple truth. For this reason My desire has no hope at all, But despair is so confounded with it I will be checkmated By memory, Which, you said, gives rise in me To the thought that makes me rejoice. Surely I’ll not be able ever to find joy in this thought, Nor have I yet enjoyed it And I have not seen, felt, or heard it Since my lady took a new lover, For that thought parted from me then. So I intend proving That this memory is what grieves me More and makes my heart Despair more. You know (it’s clear, Everyone sees it) That if I never thought about My lady, who binds me so tightly to her, My pain would be forgotten. And were she Forgotten, the forgetting would make The pain die out completely or cease; And this could cure me of all my sickness. But what would happen? This memory, by its subtle trickery, Recalls to me the gentle face And the noble body for whom my heart breaks; Yet this memory is conceived, Born and perfected, endures All in suffering. Why? Because I considered myself Loved when I was called lover Quite sweetly. Alas! Sorrowful! Now it is quite otherwise When my lady has taken to loving another man. And could one do worse, lady, unless he hanged himself? Surely not! For such a thing sends a lover into ruination, And not one man in five hundred thousand Is apt to escape such deadly danger, And so it happens Often when I remember this That the weary heart in my body becomes So full of pain I have to faint. And if thought Takes shape through memory in me, What is it? It’s something with no comfort, Sad, mournful, filled with sorrow, and despairing. And, by my faith, I have no thought that is not my foe. So this makes it worse. Do you know why? Because I witness my lady change her heart. And if the joy I had when in her grace Had not been greater than I could describe, Or was able to imagine or even conceive, The grievous pain Gripping me would be rather less. But as much as I did once possess great joy So is my suffering crueler. And that I could Get my lady back or have any hope of doing so — This I cannot imagine or conceive. And I’ll tell you what makes me suffer: Lady, it seems That something which separates and then unites In several places and likewise is in motion, Keeps no more still than an aspen leaf, And lacks stability, Instead is always variable and changing, Now here, now there, at the hearth, at the table, And then elsewhere, is something to be very wary of. For in no way Might any man possess it in security. It must truly be the play of some spell, For believing to have it for certain, One does not at all. So it is, lady, whatever anyone might say, With my beloved, who changes and varies, Gives and takes back, now hates, now is a friend, And all her heart Is not in one place, and if anyone shares in it, I certainly believe his portion is a poor one And will soon be taken from him. Nor, to judge rightly, Could a lover hold another man so dear He would want that one to share His loving, plain and simple — that’s not even in his thoughts. And because I clearly cannot Possess all her heart, I lament; For a heart that goes this way from hand to hand, Should some man own it at night, he won’t come morning. And in any case, The true lover is a proper bird of prey Since he, as his joy, wishes nothing But the whole heart of the woman to whom he is devoted. And so I say You will get your lover back as quickly As her heart will be so transformed It will be granted me completely, Never to be withdrawn. For no man can remove the wolf’s pelt Without flaying him, nor can anyone turn An ox into a sparrowhawk or vice versa. And, sweet lady, The custom is universal among men and women That when the soul has departed the body, And the body is in the ground beneath the tombstone, It is forgotten In a brief while, though wept over. For no man or woman I have seen has remained So long in mourning they fail to seek out joy again Before a year Has passed, however faithful the lover, And I will except neither those of high or low degree. And truly I believe this is reasonable. So you will follow This custom; you will not violate it at all, For no one will reproach you; And you will pray for the soul with a good heart. But I cannot Ignore the woman whom I do not forget Because Memory keeps her very close to me Without leaving for a day, an hour, not even half an hour, And I see her Rather often, which at once undoes me Whenever I follow her with my eyes a long time And I find no joy, no good, no guidance there, Instead witness another man Taking joy in her. This is what destroys me; For if she would not love either him or me I should have complained of my pains to no one; Instead, I would have borne them Humbly within my heart and kept them secret, Enduring in the hope of joy, And thus I would fear neither misadventure nor pain. And because I fear desertion I do not wish to take back my heart, I who remain too long alive, and — it’s no lie — I do not know how to repent of loving. And I would be A faithless lover if I left her, Because with no ‘but’ I gave her my love. And I will love her whatever happens to me; And, by my faith, So faithfully do I love her I feel a hundred times More pain for her than for myself Because I see her honor ruined; for with their finger They will point her out, The men and women who learn of this business, And they will trust her much less in every way, For they will always consider her false. Now deception Is a vice so base and ugly That the person who indulges in it, however powerful, Will never be completely cured or reformed. So I conclude, Lady, that I feel much more pain And that your ill will come sooner To a cure than the one that grips me tight. And I would truly dare To expect the judgment, Had we a judge who would decide Faithfully and according to the truth.” “By my soul, sir, I intend and dare to say for my part That with all my heart I wish a judgment. Let us look now to whom we would choose, Some man who without foolishness Could determine which of us is wrong; For the trouble I bear, it seems to me, is so cruel No one this side of death could endure more.” “Lady, I want The judge to be whom you wish.” “I yield to you, fair sir, and so I counsel He be chosen by your advice alone, For you have First sought him; so you must say.” “Surely, my lady, don’t wash your hands of this now; Please, you say because you know much more Than do I.” And when I saw they desired A judgment rendered in their painful cases, Joy flooded my heart. And I did not know Which of two things I would do: Move toward them or restrain myself. For I would have willingly put them on the path Of finding a judge Able to undertake ruling on their cases So skillfully there would be nothing to do but learn from it, And afterward there should be no cause for dispute. So I deliberated Quite a while and decided I would go to them. Then I rose up Without delay and made my way toward them, All unseen Through the grass so green and thick; When I had drawn near enough To see them all in the open, The little dog, Who did not know me at all, began to bark; And because of this the lady, who knew much of virtue, Startled (this I clearly witnessed) And called him. But he thought little of her summons Since, barking, the dog drew nearer Until he tore with his teeth at my robe. So I picked him up, And he stopped barking out of fear. Now in my heart I secretly quite enjoyed this Because I returned him to his mistress And so to have the chance And excuse to go where I wanted; And all the time I stroked his fur, But when I got where I wanted to be, I was not silent Or embarrassed at all; instead with a cheerful face I saluted all the company, As I knew how to do for my part. The knight, Who was wise, courteous, and well-spoken, Big, tall and straight, handsome, noble and graceful, Well taught and accustomed to do the honorable thing, Without further delay Graciously came forward to return my greeting. And the lady, in whom Nature wished to make clear How no man could comprehend her great beauty, Drew toward me Quite softly, quietly, and slowly, For her appearance was very gracious And her carriage meek, pleasing, and beyond reproach; And her hair was blond, Her eyes smiling, grayer than any falcon’s, And her body noble, well-shaped, pleasing, and long, Formed better than a hunting bird’s. And attractively spaced Were her eyes, her manner and bearing pleasant, Yet while her demeanor and noble dress Were simple, they were beyond compare. Whiter she was Than snow on the bough, Wise, faithful, genteel, generous at heart, And in all aspects of her character so perfect Her loyalty Was much more attractive than her beauty. In her was neither haughtiness nor cruelty, Nothing contrary to friendship. Yet her face Was stained by tears, much discolored by them; Nonetheless she was endowed With a perfect complexion, a pure sweetness. And so the lady Beckoned, then questioned me, asked Very wisely how I had come to that place. And I, eager to hear her, Related and told Her the truth from beginning to end Of how I had come there and where I had been While they were recounting their misfortunes. Then the knight spoke Softly, in a joking way: “I think he has heard all our debate.” And I said to him: “Sir, do not doubt it, For truly I listened to it most attentively And willingly; but you must not think My intentions are anything but good; for in truth I came here From above the stream by a grassy path Into these woods, where I found delight In the birds whose song I listened to. And after coming To this spot, I noticed you, And from over there, sir, I saw this lady arrive. And I will tell you what I did. I searched out The leafiest part of the greenery and hid, For I greatly feared annoying you two; And there I listened to your joys and sufferings From beginning to end. Now it seems to me you would Eagerly learn through a judgment which one might be The more grievous: your mischance or that of the lady Whose head is bowed. You did not wish to be the first To select the judge, and neither did my lady. So I have come forward here advisedly In order to name for you A knight who does much to make himself loved, For on this side of the channel or the other No heart is nobler, none more generous, none less cruel. Because in generosity He surpasses Alexander and in prowess Hector, He is the pillar of all nobility, Nor does he live as a slave to his wealth. Instead he wishes nothing Save the honor from every worldly good, And he is happier when he can say ‘It’s yours!’ Than the greedy man is to take from his riches. He loves God, The Church, and loyalty, and governs so justly He is called the Sword of Justice; He is humble and pleasant, full of generosity For his friends, Fierce and cruel toward his enemies; And to be brief, he always earns, so good men say, The highest esteem for his intelligence, honor, and worthiness Wherever he might go. And if it happens he gets the upper hand On his enemy, Nature teaches him, As does his own good heart, to pity the man. He sets a noble example, For Prowess everywhere carries his sword, Hardihood accompanies, encourages him, And for him Generosity opens the door Of every heart. To the virtuous (I make no exceptions), To those of all conditions, the great and small, those in between, He is like a brother and sister. Sir, of Love He knows all the assaults, the skirmishes, The joys, the pains, the sorrowing and moaning Better than did Ovid himself, who knew all its intricacies. And if his name, So excellent and of such gentle renown, You wish to know — or don’t — then tell me.” “Certainly, my friend, tell us, we beg you, For never yet, So I think, has any man been, Nor will ever be, as perfect in every way As is this one in both word and deed.” “Sir, his battle flag Proclaims Luxembourg, and he is king of Bohemia, Son to Henry the good king of Germany, Who by force of arms, no matter who might bemoan it, Was crowned Emperor at Rome with his mother; So if this man is good, it is surely right he appears so, For this he owes to his mother and father. And so, fair sir, To choose such a judge would be wise, A man who could with skill demonstrate and explain To you both which one suffers greater pain. So choose him.” Like a wise man, the knight answered: “I believe God has led us to this spot.” And he said: “Madam, if you accept him as our judge, I will agree to it.” With no foolishness, the lady responded: “Sir, I have heard so much good spoken of this king, Who is so wise, so brave, of such magnificence That I concur.” “Many thanks, lady; now we are in agreement. So I pray God may comfort the good king And lead us safely to good harbor So we might Speak to him wherever we must go.” I answered: “I know quite well how to tell you Where he is, and, if you please, lead you there. Of that I am certain, For truly I ate and drank yesterday With his entourage in Durbuy Castle. There he yet remains and will not leave today; Nor is it Very far from here, not even a league, or half, Not the quarter of a distance a voice will carry.” The knight then asked the lady to set out Without further delay. The lady said: “I have no wish to refuse, But I do not know which path to take.” I said: “Lady, I am quite willing to show you. Come on. I will go ahead, and you follow along.” And so I started out, eager to go, And when they saw Durbuy Castle close at hand, They stopped And greatly marveled at the sight Since never before in their lives had they Seen any place this beautiful, this noble, so they said. And, no doubt, The place is quite secure and extremely pleasant, Beautiful and attractive, easy to defend, For if the kings of both Germany and France Were before it, Those inside need never give up Going in and out as they wished, Anytime they had cause to move Into the countryside. It is on a rocky mount in the middle of a valley Thoroughly encompassed by a river That is huge, noisy, deep, rough, and wide; And the orchards All around are so pretty that, to give them their due, None prettier could ever be hoped for. Within them, moreover, the birds make such a commotion That night and day The valley echoes with their song. And the river too gurgles pleasantly, So one could find no greater delight. And then beyond There are cliffs all around, but not too close, Instead at such distance from the castle that no weapon, No siege machine, no arbalest could ever shoot at it. But the keep Above the rocks is so ably fashioned No man ever saw one of more beautiful form Since it lacks faults of any kind. And the spring In the courtyard is by no means unpleasant; Rather it flows free from clean and healthy rock, Cold as ice, sweeter than the Seine. But the fountain Into which it falls was chiseled From fine marble, white and gray-brown, so beautiful There has been none its equal since the time of Abel. Above the riverbank The meadow is broad, long, and ample, Where many kinds of grasses are found. To my story, however, I must return. After they had looked over The residence, I advised them, Saying: “It’s time to go. Let us proceed; for we accomplish nothing here.” So we walked along The length of the path and crossed the bridge, Halting neither here nor there Until at last we knocked on the gate. Now the porter Opened the gate cordially and willingly. I took the lead and knocked, Being rather familiar with the place, And I said: “This knight and this lady too Have come to speak with the king if he is here.” And the porter answered me at once That he was within. I said: “Friend, please find out if one might Speak with him.” And he said he would go. Yet just as he was leaving us To make his way above, A knight who was handsome, noble, broad-shouldered, Friendly, and attractive approached; His name was Honor, and he knew more about it than anyone. And in no way did he come All alone to us; instead a beautiful lady, Pleasant and friendly, was his companion, And she was called Lady Courtesy. And, truly, this she seemed to be, For as soon as she spied us, She offered a greeting, then received us graciously. Honor did the same, just as he should do. And then the two of them, Courteously, smiling, without ado, Each took one of the couple by the hand. But Courtesy, I should say, Merrily Accompanied the knight with no haughtiness, And Honor intended to escort the lady. Then they began to converse and in this manner They set out, Talking all the while, to where they were leading them, Climbing some marble stairs Until they at last entered the good king’s hall. And the good king, Who was wise in all circumstances, Loyal, valiant, generous, and well-mannered, Kind, unassuming, and courteous to all, Was seated In very great contentment on a silk rug, And some clerk whom I cannot name Was reading to him the battle of Troy. But Hardihood Was his companion, and Prowess too, that one’s daughter, And quite gently he was holding the hand of Generosity, A lady of quite great nobility. Wealth was present, Love, Beauty, Loyalty, and Happiness, Desire, Thought, Will, and Nobility, Liberality, Honor, Courtesy, Youth. These sixteen were With the king and never left his side. God and Nature had bestowed them upon him At birth; and so all did him service. The favor was great. And if a gentleman or lady ever did Something that could be called misdeed, Reason was present to erase the fault. And in this way Was the noble king enthroned, and seeing the lady, He rose and took her by the hand, For this was what Courtesy had taught him. Afterward he received The knight, and esteeming him greatly In his heart, then asked these two Quite wisely why they had come, Inquiring about How they were, which greatly interested him. The knight asked the lady If she would speak to the king, and she said She would not do so; Instead, he should explain, it being more fitting for him. Then he answered that he’d tell him Everything step by step, just how the matter stood Right to the end. “Sire,” he said, “close by is a garden Green and flowery, where is a grand chorus Of nightingales; I went there this morning To listen to Their beautiful service and pleasant singing, Though my heart could take Little pleasure because nothing can comfort it. However When I had come to that spot by chance, Full of the pains Love provides and thinking on them, I saw arrive by a narrow path, Green and grassy, This lady who has accompanied me here. And I thought her manner distraught; So at once I made my way Through the thick grass, Directing my steps toward her. And, approaching, I greeted her, But she said not a word, at which I wondered, And took no notice Of me, not with her eye or manner. And, bewildered why this was so, I said pleasantly: ‘So sweet dear lady, Why is it You will not heed my words?’ And at the panel of her skirt I tugged. And she startled and her pretty face Changed color. Without further pause she responded, Fervently apologizing For the thoughts preoccupying her. And I asked Why she was so melancholy at heart. At last I said and did enough That she answered me So truthfully I swore upon my faith and pledged That when she had finished speaking, I would tell her my own thoughts. And so she said She once had a faithful lover Who loved her loyally, as she did him. But death took the man from the world, And the valor, The intelligence, the worthiness, the prowess, the honor That, she said, had in him their flower — These had made him the very best among good men. For this reason she was deep In thought and never ceased being so, And, while thinking, cried for and bemoaned him, Bathing her face in tears. Therefore she maintains The pain is more grievous that comes to her On her lover’s account than the grief that grips me. Sire, I maintain (and must) Just the contrary. I love faithfully from the heart without desisting The most beautiful woman, and with the sweetest face Nature has ever been able to create, Who once gave And abandoned her heart completely to me. She called me her heart, her love, her lover, And said she loved me above all others. But now, Sire, she no longer cares for me: Instead she has thrown me over and taken a new lover. And, by my soul, I have in no way deserved this. Moreover She bestows and shares out what was my reward, Nor of this have I either share or portion. For this reason, sire, my heart is breaking. And so I think, Considering my reasons, to have it worse Than the lady, since, although her lover Has died, he may be with God in paradise! And, sire, this clerk, Who seems friendly and merry and knowledgeable, Was hidden in the garden and covered up In the thickest brush, which is all green. He emerged After clearly hearing all our discussion And advised us to put the right and wrong of it Before you, which was our agreement. For our talk Had lasted a long time, And we made many arguments, Just as it is written more fully Here above. Now we have come before you For the right to be judged and known And your sentence kept by us both. Therefore you can end This debate at once if it pleases you; For we have made you our judge. Sire, now you have heard all our dispute In full; So please render a judgment Because we have desired one a long time, And this lady and I earnestly Beg you for it.” After putting their cases to him, This man who knew well how to do so quite wisely, The noble king, a very worthy man, Answered him: “So God keep me, you have chosen in me A judge who is ignorant and lacks discernment; And never before have I heard or seen Such a case. And I know little about judging it. Nonetheless I wish to hear the counsel Of my court; for mine is both noble and good.” Then, smiling, He summoned Loyalty, who was present, As well as Love, Youth, and Reason, who was the first Premierement, Then asked them: “What say you who know all the laws? This knight who is noble and well-mannered And also this lady with the blond hair Have come here Before me, for which I thank them, And they wish to hear a judgment from me As to which suffers greater pain and worry. The lady had A faithful lover who loved and served her, And she him, as much as she was able. Now Death, who receives everyone, Has taken him from her. So her heart is sorrowful and troubled, For in his time he had such great virtue There was none better, no man more handsome. The knight, Not repenting, loves with his whole heart The most beautiful woman alive in his opinion, And she pledged him her faith not to alter, Not to change, And she accepted him as her lover, Loved him well — of this he was quite certain. Now the lady has given another man her heart And thrown him over Completely in every regard, showing him no concern. And with his very eyes he sees this beauty and the man Who possesses the sweet goods he himself has deserved. Now I have told you Why they have come to hear my sentence. And, doubtless, a heart languishing this way Quite destroys itself and lives in much pain. So you are to offer Me advice in this matter, the best you can; For each of you is my intimate and friend, And I place much trust in you, as well you know. Speak, Reason. I want to hear your opinion first, For you have given me much good advice.” Reason, who was beautiful and of good repute, Answered thus: “Sire, I say that these two lovers are Greatly anguished because they have lost Those they love and so their hearts melt Just as, before the flame, The wax wastes away, grows smaller. But that they are just the same in suffering And misfortune — this I do not intend to say. What sways me I will state since it is necessary. This lady can never see Her lover true as she once did. And so it will happen Because she sees him no longer, I will work to make her forget him, For the heart will never love anything so much Not to forget it As time goes by. Of course, I do not say at all She will not feel pain and torment for a time, But Youth, who is so very gay and happy, Will not allow For any reason him not to be forgotten. For Youth, sire, no matter what, Makes one forget quickly what one does not see. I state further That Love does not have the power To sustain itself without the lover Or the beloved for a single hour of a day. And if one of these three Is missing, the other two will fail; For Love, lover, and beloved must remain Together or the affair is worth nothing. And since the beloved and Love Have lost the company of the lover, I certainly would not give A rotten apple for their love affair, And here is the reason: This love is a worldly thing. For love is quite good at doing its job So the soul can feel it. But there is no soul, No man alive, who loves this way without sin When struck by the amorous flame, Loving the body much more than the soul. And why? Love arises from fleshly attraction, And its desire and nature Are inclined completely toward satisfaction. So no man Or woman who intends to love can prevent Vice or sin from being part of it; it must be so, And this opposes the soul, which sorrows over it. Furthermore, As soon as the soul departs The body, love leaves and distances itself. I see exactly this everywhere, may God preserve me. And so this lady’s Love, which has so much strength, Diminishes day by day, As her suffering does proportionately, But this lover, Who has rashly undertaken to love Against my advice and embarked upon this course, This unfortunate man, all weakened thereby, Finds The pains of love in his heart too bitter Because Love makes him burn night and day, And he would not or could not forget His enemy. Do you know why? Because Companionship, Love, Beauty, and joyous Youth, Loyalty too (whom I will not neglect) Make him languish In great madness, in rage, In obliviousness, and in great jealousy, And in the peril of his soul and life. For early and late His sorrowing heart never leaves his lady, But without departing is everywhere her companion; And the man closer to the fire gets more burned. And Loyalty Prevents him from proving false. But had he acted on my advice When his lady took a new lover, He should not Have continued the affair; for, in such a case, If the lady sings high or low, The man must trot or walk. Afterward Beauty Told him he would do much better languishing In love for her than in finding joy elsewhere. Love did the same. Youth fed him On madness In this misery, in this foolish error So he lost strength and wit. Thus the grieving man languished in pain; But seeing that other man, With him present, rejoice in his beloved, In this lady who used to call him her lover, His heart is so jealous, so distraught, It’s a wonder The man does not kill himself or set out To kill the one who torments him so. And Jealousy puts this in his ear. And if he possessed Her love as was his wont, What would he do with it? Surely, nothing. For never a single day would he trust it. Therefore he has No hope of ever having other comfort Because he cannot cool in his affection For this lady who hurts him so. And thus I maintain He feels more pain than this lady here, And his heart experiences more anguish For the reasons you have heard. And, to my satisfaction, This knight has spoken quite well to them, As I found all in writing here above, And with reason he has proved his contention. Such is my view.” After Reason had stated all her opinion, Love spoke up, who was very good looking, Gracious in manner and appearance, And said: “Reason, You have quite ably made known your reasoning. And I agree, save it would be a grievous misdeed To rescue the lover’s heart from its prison Within the beautiful lady, For whom he feels love’s spark. So it is my wish he love and serve her as one In whom he has found much happy news, For if he could Live a thousand years and serve her every day, Never by service would he merit The great sweetness she was wont to show him. And if Pleasure, Who has brought on many a strange alteration, Makes him doubt his lady, Must he then despair? Surely not at all! For in my service are a hundred thousand more Who love almost as strongly as does he And have for it not the price of a whetstone. And I have the power To cure him or worsen his pain, But he no longer has trust or hope In me, and that is what makes him suffer most.” “How so, Love?” Said Reason, “Is it then by your design That the man will love without experiencing any relief The lady who has granted her heart elsewhere? And he who serves you Receives in no way the reward he deserves? Surely, he’s a fool to persist in serving Such a master when he loses his wages.” After this, Loyalty drew herself up in front of Love And said no wrong would have been done Had he made a sop from such bread. “And it’s not right If he is true, loyal, and worthy That he should be one who beats the bushes From which others take the birds. For if the lady, Whom I blame and condemn quite harshly (And quite rightly since she deserves Much blame for proving fickle in this serious game), Had not First taken back her heart from this lover, Who was completely under her control, Love, Love, I would have spoken differently. But there is no doubt, Since he loves her with all his might And she for no cause ignores him, He ought to dance the same dance she does; This wouldn’t be Something that merits the loss of my favor, But if he abandoned her and looked elsewhere, I would not consider he had sinned against me. So I concur Completely with all of Reason’s conclusions (For she has offered a good and true accounting): The man is right, and this lady is wrong.” And when Youth, Who is very gay and full of happiness And pays no mind to gifts or promises, Only to what appeals to her, Heard What Reason had said and declared, And Loyalty as well — she thought little of it Because she was quite full of her own willfulness. And she said loudly: “Surely, Reason, your wisdom fails you, And Loyalty, know that nothing is of any use, For this lover, despite any pain, any assault Love may inflict upon him, Will never be parted from that lovely topaz Who in beauty and sweetness surpasses all others, In pure color as well; may it never please God It comes to pass He holds back from loving such beauty! For if at present she does not want, will not bend to him, At least he loves her and his heart is her companion. And isn’t that enough? Must he tire of loving her? Surely not! For no one is loved, Or treated kindly, or called lover every day; That’s true beyond a doubt. Reason, the lover is a fool who listens to you Or follows your dictates or path. And whoever does, I say he can see nothing. And by my faith, We will do much, Love, my lady, and I, To so imprison his heart in such straits That night or day it will not leave of its own accord; Nor will your efforts — Don’t doubt this — ever be strong enough To make this lover’s pure heart abandon The quite beautiful lady in whom it finds so little comfort. Thus Love, my lady, Who burns, pales, scorches, and inflames his heart, As well as I who am still in my prime Will hold him fast in this love affair; for by my soul, So must it be. And should more painful ills fall to his lot Than to the lady standing beside him, His strength is sufficient; he bears and suffers them well.” Then the noble king Took stock and laughed heartily at Youth, who had said these things; Even so he prized her none the less Since she only did Her duty by saying what she had, And he valued her wishes much more dearly Than he loved ten pounds of his own profit. So he said: “Youth, Beautiful lady, you are the great mistress, Who holds this lover fast in such terrible distress, In poverty, misery, sadness, You along with Love. You witness how the weary man has lost all help, Nor does his heart find refuge or recourse, Save in death, which quickly comes upon him. But you would Torment him too much, estrange him from everything. Now he has found, if you please, a counselor Good and true; let that person advise him. In this way you will do well, For he is caught in so tight a place He knows no trick or scheme to escape.” “Surely, sire, I will do nothing of the kind. Instead he will love The great beauty on whose account he feels such bitterness. And should he die, everyone will call him A martyr to Love, and it will do him honor If he does die for her.” When Youth brought her speech to an end, The king spoke to them, saying: “We have not assembled here To dispute Whether he should love his lady or not, But rather to learn who feels greater unhappiness And suffers more the cruel pangs of love — Or so it seems to me. Now you all agree completely This lover feels much more pain Than the lady; and in no way do I differ From this conclusion, But support it firmly in every way and concur That this lover is further from consolation Than this lady, may God console her. So I will judge This case according to my understanding, For in these matters I have no experience. And truly another man, well I know it, Would do better. I say this: in proper consideration Of the opinion of Reason, here present, And the arguments of you who are eager for justice, And of Loyalty, Who has spoken the pure truth in this matter And does not resort to ruses or deception, And also of Love, who has here argued skillfully, And of Youth — That this lover suffers more sadness And love’s pains wound him more grievously Than they do the lady, in whom there is great nobility; And he is much further From the consolation he truly needs. And so I announce and render my judgment That he feels more hurt than she, more worry And distress.” After the good king offered his decision, Whose logic had been proposed by Reason, The knight thanked him there, In his presence, And, lost in thought, the lady so forgot herself She uttered nary a word. Nonetheless in the end she granted She would accept The judgment the king rendered Because he was so wise and loyal He would do only right by everyone. Then the king, Smiling, took them by the hand And seated them on the Norwegian rug Far from the others, just the three of them. And he urged And begged them both to take comfort, For should the heart long bear such pain, He might die, and so could she, (May it never happen!); Instead they should regain their senses, For the heart destroys and harms itself greatly Wallowing in such weeping and pain; And often repeated Is the view that a man should forget Whatever he cannot better Or change by tears and lamentation. And, so doing, They should not sin against Loyalty, he said; But crying so for love they did wrong, Becoming the murderers of their own souls And lives. Afterward the king summoned his court. So Liberality, Honor, and Courtesy, Beauty, Desire, mirthful Happiness, And Hardihood, Prowess, Love, Loyalty, and Generosity, Will, Thought, Wealth, along with Youth And then Reason, mistress over all, came forward. The king asked That each strive to honor these two lovers And Love should drive away melancholy From them; and, afterward, a meal Be prepared, For it was quite close to vespers. And without delay they carried out his wishes Like a retinue good and well instructed. They approached The lovers, offering no more debate, And to the best of his ability each did What he thought would please and suit them, For with good will They were eager to do so. And the lovers asked for leave to go But were adamantly refused, For Courtesy, Liberality, Honor, and Generosity his friend, The noble king, who did not forget himself at all, And everyone else quite fervently begged them To remain Because it was nearly the dinner hour. And as they talked, the call to wash sounded with horns Throughout the castle accompanied by loud trumpeting; So the company Rose and entered the hall two by two; There they politely washed their hands And sat down to eat and drink In moderation, For there was a great abundance Of whatever one could request or have that is good. After the meal, the noble king took them By the robe And said to them: “You will not leave us for some time, Because my intention now is to free you From those thoughts that so trouble you.” The knight Began to thank him quite humbly, And likewise did the lady, who could delay No longer, she said, before returning. Yet in the end The king lodged them eight days quite happily And at their departure bestowed generously upon them Horses, harness, jewels, gold, and silver. At the end of the eight days, They parted, taking leave of the king, In whom they found so much honor, so they said, They had never seen a ruler this good or noble. And Honor Accompanied them, as did Courtesy, Youth, Love, contented Wealth, And many another I cannot name. For they mounted Their horses and escorted them far enough To lead both back to their residences, Afterward returning to the king at Durbuy. Here I intend to end My account; I will rhyme no more, For I have enough other matters to put in verse. But at the end of this book, I will see to it That anyone Eager to learn my name and surname Will be able to recognize them clearly In the book’s last verse, see them there. Let him simply remove The first seven letters from the whole And reassemble them in another fashion, Neglecting or omitting none. In this way, whoever Wants to learn my name can do so, Though he will not esteem me more. Nevertheless, it will never happen I will not be A lover loyal, pleasant, and full of mirth, For if in this world I possessed nothing But loved my lady, humble and demure, Against her will, Then I have enough, for Love has honored me And richly rewarded my pain ever since I bestowed my heart upon my lady For all time. What comforts my heart in its suffering Is that when first I felt the pangs of love, I expected a humble relief for a noble ill. Here ends The Judgment of the King of Bohemia.

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The miniatures (images) from MS A are not included in this digital edition, but are available in the print version. To view these images, see also the Bibliothèque nationale de France's digital edition on Gallica: https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b84490444.