The HyperTexts
Charles d'Orleans
Modern English poetry translations by Michael R. Burch
Charles d'Orleans bio and timeline/chronology
Was Charles d'Orleans the world's greatest love poet? I believe he is certainly
a candidate.
Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465) was born into an aristocratic family: his
grandfather was Charles V of France and his uncle was Charles VI. His father,
Louis I, the Duke of Orleans, was
a patron of poets and artists. The poet Christine de Pizan dedicated poems
to his mother, Valentina Visconti. He became the Duke of Orleans at age 13 after
his father was murdered by John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy. Charles was captured
at age 21 in the 1415 Battle of Agincourt and was taken to England, where he remained a
prisoner for the next quarter century, spending time in the Tower of London. While imprisoned there he learned English and
wrote poetry of a very high order in his second language. A master of poetic forms,
he wrote primarily ballades, chansons and rondeaus/roundels/rondels. His famous
rondeau "Le temps a laissé son manteau" ("The season has cast his mantle away")
was set to music by Debussy in his Trois chansons de
France. (There are three English translations of the rondeau on this
page.) Charles d'Orleans has also been credited
with writing the first Valentine’s Day poem, which I have translated here. I rank him second only to
Chaucer among the Medieval English language poets, and above Chaucer at his
specialty—shorter lyric poems like rondels—which is really
amazing considering the fact that he didn't learn English until his twenties and
may have studied the language by reading Chaucer! Apparently he was a quick
study.—MRB
Le Primtemps (“Spring” or “Springtime”)
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Young lovers,
greeting the spring
fling themselves downhill,
making cobblestones ring
with their wild leaps and arcs,
like ecstatic sparks
struck from coal.
What is their brazen goal?
They grab at whatever passes,
so we can only hazard guesses.
But they rear like prancing steeds
raked by brilliant spurs of need,
Young lovers.
The original French poem:
Jeunes amoureux nouveaulx
En la nouvelle saison,
Par les rues, sans raison,
Chevauchent, faisans les saulx.
Et font saillir des carreaulx
Le feu, comme de cherbon,
Jeunes amoureux nouveaulx.
Je ne sçay se leurs travaulx
Ilz emploient bien ou non,
Mais piqués de l’esperon
Sont autant que leurs chevaulx
Jeunes amoureux nouveaulx.
Oft in My Thought
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
So often in my busy mind I sought,
Around the advent of the fledgling year,
For something pretty that I really ought
To give my lady dear;
But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear,
Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay
And robbed the world of all that's precious here―
God keep her soul, I can no better say.
For me to keep my manner and my thought
Acceptable, as suits my age's hour?
While proving that I never once forgot
Her worth? It tests my power!
I serve her now with masses and with prayer;
For it would be
a shame for me to stray
Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near—
God keep her soul, I can no better say.
Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost
And the cost of everything became
so dear;
Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host,
Take my good deeds, as many as there are,
And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere,
As heaven's truest maid! And may I
say:
Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer—
God keep her soul, I can no better say.
When I praise her, or hear her praises raised,
I recall how recently she brought me pleasure;
Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay
And makes me wish to dress for my own bier—
God keep her soul, I can no better say.
While I have seen references to a French version of this poem, I have never been
able to find it myself. I did my translation/interpretation from the Middle
English version translated by Charles d'Orleans, if it was indeed a translation.
Here is my source:
Oft in My Thought
by Charles D'Orleans
Oft in my thought full busily have I sought
Against the beginning of this fresh new year,
What pretty thing that I best given ought
To her that was mine hearte's lady dear; [heartes is pronounced heart-ess]
But all that thought bitane is fro me clear [bitane=taken; fro=from]
Since death, alas, hath closed her under clay
And hath this world fornaked with her here― [fornaked=stripped]
God have her soul, I can no better say.
But for to keep in custom, lo, my thought,
And of my seely service the manere, [seely=simple; manere=manner]
In showing als that I forget her not [als=also]
Unto each wight, I shall to my powere [wight=person]
This dead her serve with masses and prayere;
For all too foul a shame were me,
mafay, [mafay=by
my faith]
Her to forget this time that nigheth near— [nigheth near=draws near]
God have her soul, I can no better say.
To her profit now nis there to be brought [nis=is not]
None other thing all will I buy it dear; [all=although]
Wherefore, thou Lord that lordest all aloft, [lordest=rules]
My deedes take, such as goodness steer,
And crown her, Lord, within thine heavenly sphere
As for most truest lady, may I say,
Most good, most fair, and most benign of cheer— [cheer=countenance]
God have her soul, I can no better say.
When I her praise, or praising of her hear,
Although it whilom were to me pleasere, [whilom=formerly, pleasere=pleasure]
It fill enough it doth my heart today,
And doth me wish I clothed had my beir— [doth=makes]
God have her soul, I can no better say.
Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains,
Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain,
Your little feet—please, what more can I say?
It is my fetish when you’re far away
To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain—
Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray,
Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains.
So would I beg you, if I only may,
To see such sights as I before have seen,
Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene?
I’ll be obsessed until my dying day
By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray,
Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains!
In My Imagined Book
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
In my imagined Book
my heart endeavored to explain
its history of grief, and pain,
illuminated by the tears
that welled to blur those well-loved years
of former happiness's gains,
in my imagined Book.
Alas, where should the reader look
beyond these drops of sweat, their stains,
all the effort & pain it took
& which I recorded night and day
in my imagined Book?
The original French poem:
Dedens mon Livre de Pensee,
J'ay trouvé escripvant mon cueur
La vraye histoire de douleur
De larmes toute enluminee,
En deffassant la tresamée
Ymage de plaisant doulceur,
Dedens mon Livre de Pensee.
Hélas! ou l'a mon cueur trouvee?
Les grosses gouttes de sueur
Lui saillent, de peinne et labeur
Qu'il y prent, et nuit et journee,
Dedens mon Livre de Pensee.
The next three poems are interpretations of "Le temps a laissé son manteau" ("The
season has cast off his mantle"). This famous rondeau was set to music by Debussy in his Trois chansons de
France.
The season has cast its coat aside
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
The season has cast its coat aside
of wind and cold and rain,
to dress in embroidered light again:
bright
sunlight, fit for a bride!
There isn't a bird or beast astride
that fails to sing this sweet refrain:
"The season has cast its coat aside!"
Now rivers, fountains, springs and tides
dressed in their summer best
with silver beads impressed
in a fine display now glide:
the season has cast its coat aside!
Winter has cast his cloak away
by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
Winter has cast his cloak away
of wind and cold and chilling rain
to dress in embroidered light again:
the light of day—bright, festive, gay!
Each bird and beast, without delay,
in its own tongue, sings this refrain:
"Winter has cast his cloak away!"
Brooks, fountains, rivers, streams at play,
wear, with their summer livery,
bright beads of silver jewelry.
All the Earth has a new and fresh display:
Winter has cast his cloak away!
The year lays down his mantle cold
by Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
The year lays down his mantle cold
of wind, chill rain and bitter air,
and now goes clad in clothes of gold
of smiling suns and seasons fair,
while birds and beasts of wood and fold
now with each cry and song declare:
"The year lays down his mantle cold!"
All brooks, springs, rivers, seaward rolled,
now pleasant summer livery wear
with silver beads embroidered where
the world puts off its raiment old.
The year lays down his mantle cold.
The original French rondeau:
Le temps a laissé son manteau
Le temps a laissé son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluie,
Et s’est vêtu de broderie,
De soleil luisant, clair et beau.
Il n’y a bête, ni oiseau
Qu’en son jargon ne chante ou crie :
"Le temps a laissé son manteau."
Rivière, fontaine et ruisseau
Portent en livrée jolie,
Gouttes d’argent d’orfèvrerie,
Chacun s’habille de nouveau :
Le temps a laissé son manteau.
Rondel: This Castle of My Heart
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
translator unknown
[To his Mistress, to succour his heart that is beleaguered by jealousy.]
Strengthen, my Love, this castle of my heart,
And with some store of pleasure give me aid,
For Jealousy, with all them of his part,
Strong siege about the weary tower has laid.
Nay, if to break his bands thou art afraid,
Too weak to make his cruel force depart,
Strengthen at least this castle of my heart,
And with some store of pleasure give me aid.
Nay, let not Jealousy, for all his art
Be master, and the tower in ruin laid,
That still, ah Love! thy gracious rule obeyed.
Advance, and give me succour of thy part;
Strengthen, my Love, this castle of my heart.
The First Valentine
Charles d’Orleans (1394-1465), a French royal, the grandchild of Charles V, and
the Duke of Orleans, has been credited with writing the first Valentine card, in
the form of a poem for his wife. Charles wrote the poem in 1415 at age 21, in
the first year of his captivity while being held prisoner in the Tower of London
after having been captured by the British at the Battle of Agincourt. The Battle
of Agincourt forms the centerpiece of Shakespeare’s historical play Henry V,
in which Charles appears as a character with a number of lines. At age 16,
Charles had married the 11-year-old Bonne of Armagnac in a political alliance,
which explains the age difference he mentions in his poem. (Coincidentally, I
share his wife’s birthday, the 19th of February.) Unfortunately, Charles would
be held prisoner for a quarter century and would never see his wife again, as
she died before he was released. Why did Charles call his wife “Valentine”?
Well, his mother’s name was Valentina Visconti …
My Very Gentle Valentine
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
My very gentle Valentine,
Alas, for me you were born too soon,
As I was born too late for you!
May God forgive my jailer
Who has kept me from you this entire year.
I am sick without your love, my dear,
My very gentle Valentine.
Confession of a Stolen Kiss
by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465)
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you,
That at a window (you know how)
I stole a kiss of great sweetness,
Which was done out of avidness—
But it is done, not undone, now.
My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you.
But I shall restore it, doubtless,
Again, if it may be that I know how;
And thus to God I make a vow,
And always I ask forgiveness.
My ghostly father, I confess,
First to God and then to you.
By "ghostly father" I take Charles d’Orleans to be confessing to a priest. If
so, it's ironic that the kiss was "stolen" at a window and the confession is
being made at the window of a confession booth. But it also seems possible that
Charles could be confessing to his human father, murdered in his youth and now a
ghost. There is wicked humor in the poem, as Charles is apparently vowing to
keep asking for forgiveness because he intends to keep stealing kisses at every
opportunity!
Original Middle English text:
My ghostly fader, I me confess,
First to God and then to you,
That at a window, wot ye how,
I stale a kosse of gret swetness,
Which don was out avisiness—
But it is doon, not undoon, now.
My ghostly fader, I me confess,
First to God and then to you.
But I restore it shall, doutless,
Agein, if so be that I mow;
And that to God I make a vow,
And elles I axe foryefness.
My ghostly fader, I me confesse,
First to God and then to you.
Fair Lady Without Peer
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fair Lady, without peer, my plea,
Is that your grace will pardon me,
Since I implore, on bended knee.
No longer can I, privately,
Keep this from you: my deep distress,
When only you can comfort me,
For I consider you my only mistress.
This powerful love demands, I fear,
That I confess things openly,
Since to your service I came here
And my helpless eyes were forced to see
Such beauty gods and angels cheer,
Which brought me joy in such excess
That I became your servant, gladly,
For I consider you my only mistress.
Please grant me this great gift most dear:
to be your vassal, willingly.
May it please you that, now, year by year,
I shall serve you as my only Liege.
I bend the knee here—true, sincere—
Unfit to beg one royal kiss,
Although none other offers cheer,
For I consider you my only mistress.
Chanson: Let Him Refrain from Loving, Who Can
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let him refrain from loving, who can.
I can no longer hover.
I must become a lover.
What will become of me, I know not.
Although I’ve heard the distant thought
that those who love all suffer,
I must become a lover.
I can no longer refrain.
My heart must risk almost certain pain
and trust in Beauty, however distraught.
For if a man does not love, then what?
Let him refrain from loving, who can.
Chanson: The Summer's Heralds
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers
And carpet fields once brown and sere
With lush green grasses and fresh flowers.
Now over gleaming lawns appear
The bright sun-dappled lengthening hours.
The Summer’s heralds bring a dear
Sweet season of soft-falling showers.
Faint hearts once chained by sullen fear
No longer shiver, tremble, cower.
North winds no longer storm and glower.
For winter has no business here.
Her Beauty
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Her beauty, to the world so plain,
Still intimately held my heart in thrall
And so established her sole reign:
She was, of Good, the cascading fountain.
Thus of my Love, lost recently,
I say, while weeping bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”
In ages past when angels fell
The world grew darker with the stain
Of their dear blood, then became hell
While poets wept a tearful strain.
Yet, to his dark and drear domain
Death took his victims, piteously,
So that we bards write bitterly:
“We cleave to this strange world in vain.”
Death comes to claim our angels, all,
as well we know, and spares no pain.
Over our pleasures, Death casts his pall,
Then without joy we “living” remain.
Death treats all Love with such disdain!
What use is this world? For it seems to me,
It has neither Love, nor Pity.
Thus, “We cleave to this strange world in vain.”
Traitorous Eye
by Charles d’Orleans
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do you have in view?
Without civil warning, you spy,
And no one ever knows why!
Who understands anything you do?
You’re rash and crass in your boldness too,
And your lewdness is hard to subdue.
Change your crude ways, can’t you?
Traitorous eye, what’s new?
You should be beaten through and through
With a stripling birch strap or two.
Traitorous eye, what’s new?
What lewd pranks do have you in view?
Charles d'Orleans Timeline/Chronology
1394 - Charles is born in Paris on Nov. 24, 1394, the first son to survive
infancy of Louis of Orleans, the brother of Charles VI, and Valentina Visconti
of Milan.
1406 - Charles, age 11, marries his cousin Isabelle, age 16, the daughter of
Charles VI and Queen Isabeau of France, and the widow of Richard II of England.
1407 - The day before Charles's 13th birthday his father Louis d'Orleans is
assassinated in Paris by Burgundians under John the Fearless, on Nov. 23, 1407.
1408 - Charles's mother dies at Blois at age 38 on December 4, 1408; Charles
becomes Duke of Orleans at age 14.
1409 - Isabelle bears Charles a daughter, Jeanne, but dies within a few days on
Sept. 13, 1409; Charles turns 15 the next month.
1410 - Charles marries Bonne, age 11, the daughter of Bernard, count of
Armagnac, and niece of the duke of Berry, on August 15, 1410.
1412 - Charles sends his brother Jean, age 12, to England as a hostage in the
custody of the duke of Clarence, on November 14, 1412.
1415 - Charles is captured at the battle of Agincourt on Oct. 25, 1415 and is
taken prisoner to England, just in time for his 21st birthday.
1416 - Charles is initially held in the Tower of London.
1417 - In June Charles is sent to Pontefract (Yorks), in custody of Robert
Waterton.
1427 - Joan of Arc, supported by Charles's brother Jean, the Count of Dunois,
takes up the cause of freeing France from English control.
1429 - Henry VI of England is crowned at age eight.
1431 - Henry VI is crowned king of France in the cathedral of Notre Dame in
Paris; Joan of Arc is burned at the stake.
1432 - Charles's daughter Jeanne dies at age 23; his wife Bonne dies sometime
between 1430 and 1435.
1440 - Charles is formally released from captivity on October 28, 1440. Charles,
now 46, marries Marie of Cleves, niece of Isabelle and duchess of Burgundy, age
14.
1445 - Charles's brother, Jean of Angouleme, is released from English captivity
after 33 years.
1457 - After 17 years of marriage, Marie of Cleves bears Charles a daughter,
Marie. Francois Villon, a guest at Blois, writes a poem to celebrate the birth.
1461 - Charles VII dies; Louis XI ascends the throne.
1462 - Marie bears Charles a son, the future Louis XII, known during his reign
as the "Father of his People."
1464 - Marie bears Charles a daughter, Anne.
1465 - Charles of Orleans dies at age 70 on January 4, 1465. His poetry will
still be read 500 years later.
The following are links to other translations by Michael R. Burch. "Wulf
and Eadwacer" may be the oldest extant poem in the English language written
by a female poet. "Sweet Rose of Virtue" is a modern translation of a truly
great poem by the early Scottish master William Dunbar. "How Long the Night" is
one of the very best Anglo Saxon lyric poems. "Caedmon's Hymn" may be the oldest
poem in the English language.
The Best Poetry Translations of Michael R. Burch
The Seafarer
Wulf and Eadwacer
Adam Lay Ybounden
The Love Song of Shu-Sin: The Earth's Oldest Love Poem?
Sweet Rose of Virtue
How Long the Night
Caedmon's Hymn
Anglo-Saxon Riddles and Kennings
Bede's Death Song
The Wife's Lament
Deor's Lament
Lament for the Makaris
Geoffrey Chaucer
Alexander Pushkin's tender, touching poem "I
Love You" has been translated into English by Michael R. Burch.
Native American Poetry Translations
Tegner's Drapa
Whoso List to Hunt
Ancient Egyptian Harper's Songs
Ancient Greek Epigrams and Epitaphs
Meleager
Sappho
Basho
Oriental Masters/Haiku
Miklós Radnóti
Rainer Maria Rilke
Marina Tsvetaeva
Renée Vivien
Ono no Komachi
Allama Iqbal
Bertolt Brecht
Ber Horvitz
Paul Celan
Primo Levi
Ahmad Faraz
Sandor Marai
Wladyslaw Szlengel
Saul Tchernichovsky
Robert Burns: Original Poems and Translations
The Seventh Romantic: Robert Burns
Free Love Poems by Michael R. Burch
If you want to learn more about the origins of English poetry, please check out
English Poetic Roots: A Brief History of Rhyme.
For an expanded bio, circum vitae and career timeline of the translator, please click
here:
Michael R.
Burch Expanded Bio.
The HyperTexts