human
Can you write me a poem about bibliotheque royale?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem about bibliotheque royale:
  The title on the reverse of this page, engraved upon the wood,
was designed by Miss _Blanche C. Hunter_, and embodies the only
authentic portrait of _Christine De Pisan_, engaged in writing,
from the MS. now in the Bibliotheque Royale, Brussels.
_All Rights reserved_
Here begins the Book of The Duke of True Lovers
Although I might have no desire or intent at the present time to
Very God of Love, who art of lovers Lord,
And Venus, thou, Love's Lady and Goddess,
Since in love only is set my happiness,
Vouchsafe to turn my heart soon thitherward.
Vouchsafe, that I be with right courage stored,
Soon to bring unto me my heart's mistress,
Very God of Love, who art of lovers Lord.
And may I choose, if thou the grace accord,
One that shall pardon me the simpleness
Of youth, and honour on my days impress;
Out of a great desire have I implored,
Very God of Love, who art of lovers Lord.
welcome, but what brings you here now?"
And when I heard another praised more than her whom I thought on,
Verily, Love, I have no language, none
Of thanksgiving sufficient for thy grace
That moved me unto love, and such an one
Gave me for mistress as doth all abase
Beside her, queen of beauty and of grace
And precious worth; O, when on her I muse,
Truly my speech with my thought keeps no pace.
Thanks be to thee, who mad'st me her to choose.
Now all that I desired so dear is won,
Having a lady to serve all my days,
Who holds my heart in joy to think upon
Her beauty, and in every hour and place
Makes my heart high and glad, so to embrace
Her soul with mine, joy that I may not lose.
Mine was the choice, but thine shall be the praise.
Thanks be to thee who mad'st me her to choose.
O now, Love, into whose dominion
I yield my heart, vouchsafe my service space
That to my lady I suffice alone,
Being all hers, and that her beauteous face
And her regard that doth all pain erase,
Bend pitying on me and not refuse
Her tender eyes; I ask no other grace.
Thanks be to thee, who mad'st me her to choose.
Ah, God of Love, ere that I run my race,
Vouchsafe I may alone content her, whose
I am always, in good and evil case.
Thanks be to thee, who mad'st me her to choose.
perceived it not, and so little did she take notice of it, that I
My lady, and my sovereign, flower most rare,
In whom honour and worth are glorified,
Fountain of all things wise, gracious, and fair;
Who art my way toward virtue, and the guide
That over all my goings dost preside;
Lady, to whom humbly is vowed my fate,
Serving in that sweet service at thy side,
All of my days to thee I dedicate.
How else, since none could with thyself compare?
Thou Beauty filled with sweetness, O provide
Ensample kindling me to do and dare,
And bring my ship in honour's port to ride!
So sweet my joy, Lady, it cannot hide;
Therefore, in my simplicity elate,
Out of my heart and body have I cried;
All of my days to thee I dedicate.
Most noble Duchess, surely the hours prepare
That time, when thou shalt well be certified
How my heart serves thee with its every prayer.
Then shall my life be brimmed and satisfied,
When thou its full devotion having tried
Know'st it all truth; O honour's path and gate!
Fame's flowering tree! O valour's starry guide!
All of my days to thee I dedicate.
Princess, who dost in power and praise abide,
Early I learnt to love thee; and love, being great,
Lifts up my heart above all thought of pride,
All my days, all, to thee I dedicate.
And now I must turn me again to the former matter.
nightfall, and there met her a goodly company of noble folk, and,
inconvenience to come at such a time."
And in the courtyard she descended down from the litter, and was
received there with great rejoicing; and I forthwith escorted her
When you are come, joy is so all complete,
The heart leaps in my breast, beholding you,
O flower of beauty, O rose fresh and new,
Whose slave I am, whose servitude is sweet.
Lady of gracious ways, whom all men greet
Most beautiful of women and most true,
When you are come, joy is so all complete.
For you the happy festival shall meet
In glee; with none else have I need to do
For my delight; from you alone I drew
The life and joy that make my heart to beat,
When you are come, joy is so all complete.
And my cousin, of whom I have before spoken, and who was very
achievements should endure.
fashioned as faultlessly as one could desire.
plenteous and choice.
And when I was come to my lady, she said to me, "Fair Sir Cousin,
And I made answer, "Do _you_ dance, my Lady, and thus set me the
example."
Laughing grey eyes, whose light in me I bear,
Deep in my heart's remembrance and delight,
Remembrance is so infinite delight
Of your brightness, O soft eyes that I fear.
Of love-sickness my life had perished here,
But you raise up my strength in death's respite,
Laughing grey eyes, whose light in me I bear.
Certes, by you my heart, I see full clear,
Shall of desire attain at last the height,
Even that my lady, through your sovereign might,
May me continue in her service dear,
Laughing grey eyes, whose light in me I bear.
Love, I had not ever thought
Thou would'st bid thy servant share
Grief to which all else is naught,
Grief whereunder I despair:
Thus unfaltering I declare
That in death I pass away
If thy saving grace delay.
In a burning passion caught
I grow faint, and may not bear
All the torment it hath wrought:
Thine the fault, be thine the care!
Loose me from this evil snare!
Other help is none to pray,
If thy saving grace delay.
Rather had I death besought,
(So without deceit I swear),
Since my heart is all distraught
With thy flame enkindled there.
Murmuring is not mine to dare:
I must perish as I may,
If thy saving grace delay.
Love, with gladness meet my prayer,
Cleanse my soul and make it fair,
Since in sorrow I must stay
If thy saving grace delay.
Now in good sooth my joy is vanished clean,
And all my gladness changed to grievous ire:
What profits it, dear flower! since I have seen
Thy going hence, that I could never tire
When thou wast here
To greet thee every day in every year?
Delight that was is grown disaster fell:
Alas! How can I bid thee now farewell!
My love, my choice, my lady and my queen,
For whom my heart is kindled in desire,
What shall I do when love from what hath been
Taketh the gold and leaveth me the mire?
Nor far nor near
Is comfort found, nor any pleasant cheer.
Gone is thy beauty, that did all excel:
Alas! How can I bid thee now farewell!
Thine is the deed, O evil tongue and keen!
Forged for my fate upon an anvil dire:
Fortune, that loveth not my hand, I ween,
Nor yet my pen, did in the task conspire.
No help is clear
Save Death, when God shall grant him to appear;
Else thou alone could'st win me out of hell.
Alas! How can I bid thee now farewell!
Ah, simple and dear!
At least behold me and my mourning drear.
Thy loss is torment more than I can tell.
Alas! How can I bid thee now farewell!
Farewell, my lady dear and dread,
Farewell, of all sovereign and queen,
Farewell, perfect and sacred head,
Farewell, who dost all honour mean,
Farewell, true heart, loyal and clean,
Farewell, best flower the world doth bear,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair!
Farewell, O wise, that no ill said,
Farewell, river that made life green,
Farewell, in whom fame harboured,
Farewell, voice that all ears could win,
Farewell, solace of all my teen,
Farewell, whose grace is wide as air,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair!
Farewell, soft look that through me sped,
Farewell, more fair than Helen queen,
Farewell, body and sweet soul wed,
Farewell, thou most gracious demesne,
Farewell, pole-star, joyous and keen,
Farewell, fountain of valour rare,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair!
Farewell, Princess of noblest mien,
Farewell, thou aweing smile serene,
Farewell, without fault, sin's despair,
Farewell, yet not farewell, O white and fair!
Since, O my Love, I may behold no more
Thy sovereign beauty that was all my cheer,
My heart is given up to sorrows sore:
For though the wealth of all the world were here,
There is no ease but in beholding thee
Who art afar! Whence I of tears am fain
Mourning the happy days that used to be:
Yet unto none but thee may I complain.
Doubt not of this, true love whom I adore,
Thine image in my soul is ever clear:
I think but on the blessedness of yore
And on thy beauty, simple-sweet and dear.
So fiercely smiteth love, I may not flee
Nor may my soul the dread assault sustain:
Death could not bring a sorrier weird to dree,
Yet unto none but thee may I complain.
Alas! one only mercy I implore.
When I am dead (as I to death am near)
Pray for me, and thy praying shall restore
My wounded spirit: shed one tender tear--
Great were my comfort if my piteous plea
Might touch thy heart, if sorrow might constrain
Thy lips to sigh, such need of sighs have we.
Yet unto none but thee may I complain.
Sweet flower, to whom I do abandon me,
My heart is broken down with bitter pain
For one whom Fortune would not have me see:
Yet unto none but thee may I complain.
Here is set forth how the Lover made Complaint
unto his Friend
Thus did my sorrow increase until my heart endured very grievous
Thou, O Love, the traitor art!
Tender once as any may,
Then the wielder of the dart
That is pointed but to slay.
Thee with reason, by my fay,
Double-visaged we declare:
One is as the ashes grey,
But one is as an angel fair.
Loth am I to find my part
In the night without a ray,
Yet desire hath stung my heart
And I sigh in sorrow's sway.
Gentle hope will never stay
In the mansions of despair:
One to death would point the way,
But one is as an angel fair.
Hope might in my spirit start,
Death thy servant bids her nay:
While beneath thy scourge I smart,
Doleful still must be my lay,
Since to set my steps astray,
Thou at once art wheat and tare:
One is like a devil, yea,
But one is as an angel fair.
Love, thou teachest me to say
Double tribute is to pay
For thy servants everywhere:
One is grievous, well-a-day!
But one is as an angel fair.
Then, even as the light illumines the darkness, and the exceeding
_To her who surpasses all, and whom my heart fears and
worships_
Lady, the flower of all of high degree, very renowned and
revered princess, the desire of my heart, and the joy of my
eyes, who art exalted above the consideration of the lowly, my
much loved and coveted lady, deign, for pity's sake, to hearken
unto and to accept the sad plaint of your servant, who, since he
is under restraint, is like to one who is nigh unto death, and
who takes perilous remedies in order that he may either end his
days or live. To you, very sweet Lady, who, by your refusal, can
slay me, or, by the tender solace of your consent, can give me
life, I come to entreat either swift death, or a speedy cure.
Most beautiful one, I know well that you have such discernment
that you have been able to perceive how that, because of you,
love has longwhiles held me, and still holds me, in its toils,
and how that the fear and dread with the which great love has
filled my heart, has robbed me of the courage to tell you of it,
sweet lady. And I know that you are so gracious, that if you had
perceived and known all the pain and the torment which I have
since suffered, and still endure, through desire for your tender
love, then, albeit I have not yet performed enough deeds of
valour, and have not enough of worth, to have deserved the love
of even one of less noble birth than yourself, the gentle pity
of your kindly heart would not have suffered me to endure such
disquiet. Ah, Lady, if you have regard to your worth and your
great renown for that, by reason of my youth, I have not yet
been counted valiant, it will be my death! But, my honoured
Lady, know that you can so strengthen me as to give me heart and
courage to undertake and to achieve, according to my ability,
all honourable things that the mind of a lover dare think on or
do for love of lady. And, sweet Lady, and my goddess on earth,
since you can, with much ease, greatly gladden him who loves and
worships you as his most coveted possession, deign to recognise
how that, by your tender solace, he may be saved from death, and
life may be restored to him. And if you would ask or would know
what has brought him to this, I tell you that it is your very
sweet, pleasing, beautiful, laughing, and loving eyes. Ah, Lady,
since it is by them that this cruel wound has been inflicted, it
seems to me but just that it should be soothed and healed by the
delight of your compassion. Therefore may it please you, very
winsome and honoured Lady, to make me acquainted with your good
pleasure, and whether you would that I die or recover. By no
means would I weary you with a long letter, and be assured that
I know not how to tell or to write fully how matters stand with
me, but you will indeed come to know this, whether I win your
love or not, for, if I fail in this, you will see me die, but if
by good fortune I win it, the result will be seen in willing
service. So I send you these two ballads here enclosed, the
which may it please you to receive kindly. Very beautiful and
fair one, whose praise I am not able duly to set forth, I pray
God that He will vouchsafe to you as many favours and delights
as the tears the which I have shed for love of you.--Written
with a fervent and longing heart,
Your very humble and obedient slave.
Sweet Lady, fair and gentle without peer,
Have mercy on me, who all thy words obey
Body and soul do I abandon here
Unto thy will, and humbly thus I pray:
Come quickly nigh,
Have pity, and cure my sickness when I cry:
Oh, I beseech thee, graciously attend
And so consent to take me for thy friend.
To thee I give myself, O flower most dear.
For mercy I beseech, and wilt thou slay?
I charge thee by that Lord whom we revere
To lift this wrong that crushes me away.
No help have I
From any other: leave me not to die!
See, faithfully I serve thee to the end,
And so consent to take me for thy friend.
Seest thou not how I shed full many a tear:
And if thy help for longer shall delay
I am but shent, what need to speak more clear?
Ah, love me, Love so holds me in his sway!
Then hither hie,
Be merciful, for near to death I lie:
'Tis truth, thou knowest, I have no hope to mend,
And so consent to take me for thy friend.
Lady, I thank thee, and all my duty send,
And so consent to take me for thy friend.
In this sad world have pity, my lady dear,
Dear to me more than any other there:
Their pride you know not; let not gracious cheer
Cheer me at so great cost, oh white and fair!
Fare I thus ill, yet canst thou bid me see
Seasons of solace that may comfort me.
If for unfitness I be slighted here,
Here am I dead, and arrows of despair
Spare not to pierce my heart, and life grows drear,
Drear as my brooding on the doom I bear.
Bear witness, Love withholds in obduracy
Seasons of solace that might comfort me.
O loveliest one and sweetest, without peer,
Peerless in honour, of all bounties heir,
Ere I thy servant pine in sorry fear
Fear not a kind and gentle guise to wear.
Where shall I find, 'mid this deep dolorous sea,
Seasons of solace that may comfort me?
Dear Lady, grant in gracious courtesy
Seasons of solace that may comfort me.
My fair and courteous knight, may it please you to know that I
have received your tender and loving letter and ballads in the
which you make known to me that, unless you have speedy succour,
you will die. So I write you this letter in reply. If you feel
assured that it is on account of me that you are so ill at ease,
I am heartily sorry for it, for I would not be the cause of
sorrow to any one, and it grieves me the more in your case than
in that of any other, since so long time have I known you. But
when, dear friend, you ask of me to give you solace, I
understand not the meaning of your request, but so that you may
know my determination, be well assured that if you asked of me,
or I discovered that you meant, aught that would be dishonouring
or shameful, never would you obtain your desire, and wholly
would I banish you from me. Of this you can be certain, for
rather would I die than that, for aught in the world, I should
consent to soil mine honour. But if so it be that the love of a
lady, given honourably and without evil intent, can suffice you,
you may know that I am the one whom love has made disposed to
hold you in esteem, both now and for aye. And once again I make
confession unto you that, when I know of a surety that your
desire is satisfied with that which I am willing to grant, I
shall think on you as my one dearly loved friend, if I see your
loving purpose and goodwill continue. And if it be, as you have
declared in your aforesaid letter, that I can be the means of
your advancement in valour, I would ask of God no greater
favour. Therefore be pleased to write to me all your wishes in
the matter, but have a care, ne'ertheless, that no desire make
you false in aught which may hereafter prove to be anyways
contrary to that which you avouch, or wholly shall I banish you
from me. So I would that you put away from you all melancholy
and sadness, and be merry and contented and cheerful, but above
all I charge and enjoin you to be discreet, and, as far as in me
lies, I forbid you to concern yourself with the habit common to
many of your age, the which is, not to know how to keep aught
secret, and to make boast of being even more favoured than
others. And have a care that you reveal naught to friend or
companion, however intimate you may be, save what, for your aid,
it is needful that your best friend should know. And if you do
thus, and hold to it, you may be sure that love will in nowise
fail to bestow its favour on you in large measure. My dear and
good friend, I pray God to give you all that you can wish for,
for methinks not that this is beyond what is seemly.--Written in
gladsome mood,
Your friend.
My very Honoured Mistress--
Very fair and kind, and indeed I could, from the bottom of my
heart, say, very loved, honoured, and coveted Lady, for whose
sake love, through the charm of your beauteous eyes, has made me
willingly become your true bondsman, and in whose sweet service
I would, as far as I am able, even if not as far as I should do,
unreservedly spend all my life, I give you thanks for your very
gracious and pleasing letter, which, through the comfort of
sweet hope, has imparted vigour and strength to my heavy-laden
heart, the which was sorrowful and almost broken through despair
of ever gaining your love. And, my much longed-for and honoured
Lady, in answer to one of the matters you treat of in it, the
which is that you understand not the meaning of my request,
whilst on your part you would have me to know that you would
rather die than that your honour were soiled, I tell you truly,
very sweet Mistress, and give you assurance, that my wish is
altogether and entirely like unto your own. Of a truth, if I
could desire aught but your goodwill, in nowise could I hold you
as the lady of my heart, nor myself as your liegeman. And
touching your warning to me to take heed that I so demean me as
not to make boast of aught which may afterward prove to be
untrue, I verily make promise unto you, very gentle Lady, and I
swear faithfully on my word of honour, that all my life long you
shall find me such an one, and if in this I make default, I am
willing, and bind myself, to be cut off from all joy, and to be
counted as vile. And as to concealing my secret, and refraining
from telling it to either companion or friend, save to the one
from whom I may not hide it, be assured, sweet Lady, that of
this I take good heed, and, as far as in me lies, neither in
this, nor in aught beside, shall you find me wanting, and I give
you thanks for your good counsel, kind Lady. And since I give
you assurance on all matters which might embroil me, may it
please you to perform that which you make promise of in your
letter, the which is, that of your grace you will hold me as
your one loved friend, and if in aught you find me disobedient,
I am willing to be banished, and to accept great disgrace as my
due, and may God never suffer me so much as to live if at any
time I have desire to be false or untrue to you. And when,
moreover, you say that it would give you pleasure to be the
cause of my advancement, know, sweet Lady, that this could never
come to pass save through you, for none but you can either save
me, or be my undoing. Therefore, sweet Lady, may it please you
to comfort me, and give me perfect happiness, by according to me
your sweet love, and may you be willing to satisfy my famished
heart and eyes by granting them opportunity to see your loved
and much-desired self. And may you be minded to send me the very
joyous news concerning this the which I long for. Sweet and
winsome one, who art renowned above all others, I plead for your
help more often than I can tell unto you, and I pray God to
grant you a happy life, and the will to love me well.--Written
right joyously, in the hope of better fortune,
Your humble slave.
Kind and fair Saint,
My heart's repose,
Whose sweet constraint
Doth all enclose
That the world knows
Of graciousness,
Vouchsafe me grace!
Fresh without taint
As the new rose,
This my heart's plaint
That overflows,
Ere my breath goes,
Pity and bless.
Vouchsafe me grace!
Ah, sweet dove pent,
Shy dove, for whose
Dear grace I faint,
So my heart glows
It dares disclose
Love, Love, nought less.
Vouchsafe me grace!
Save thy heart close
To longing's throes,
Vouchsafe me grace!
consequence.
mentioned, whom she had chosen above all, and on whose breast she
"Friend," made she answer, "you are very welcome."
concerning it."
And my cousin no longer remained dreaming, but arose betimes
Sweet, in whom my joy must be,
Now my heart is full of glee
For thy love: and loosed from care
All my song is, "Lady fair,
Living I consume for thee."
But thy gentle love hath sent
The fair comfort that I need:
I therewith am well content.
Gladness doth my spirit lead.
Rightly am I glad, pardie!
For of old my jollity
Drowned in woes I had to bear:
Of thy help when I was ware
Gone was all my misery,
Sweet, in whom my joy must be.
Since the day that thou hast lent
Thy dear heart, my life is freed
From the sorrows I lament:
Peace and gladness are my meed.
Lady, love despatcheth me
Succour sweet, who thus am free
From my sickness: pale despair
Rules no longer when I share
Hope that I thy face may see,
Sweet, in whom my joy must be.
In all the world is none so happy here
Nor is there any joy to match with mine,
Since she that hath no rival and no peer
Doth mercifully to my suit incline.
Her slave am I till death, for all my pain
In very truth hath met with guerdon meet:
She was my help on whom I called amain,
For she hath granted me her love so sweet.
Fair queen, in whom all nobleness is clear,
Thou would'st not have me for thy presence pine:
Nay, bid me cry in every lover's ear,
"Thirsty was I for Love's immortal wine!"
Not all my weeping might the gift obtain,
Yet she, enthroned on beauty's mercy-seat,
Hath pardoned all: too soon did I complain
For she hath granted me her love so sweet.
Now to delight returns the torrent drear
That of my mourning was the sorry sign:
Now am I joyous and of merry cheer,
More than aforetime in her grace divine.
Love bade me follow in his chosen train
Where gladness walks beside my lady's feet,
Nor any loss is mingled with my gain,
For she hath granted me her love so sweet.
Princess of love, my sorrow I disdain
Since out of mourning cometh joy complete
By grace of her who is love's suzerain,
For she hath granted me her love so sweet.
Command of me, my Lady and my queen,
All thy good pleasure, as I were thy slave,
Which I shall do with glad and humble mien
That whatsoe'er thou willest, thou may'st have.
I owe no less
Being bound thereto for so great pleasantness,
More than to other lovers may betide:
For sweeter are thy gifts than all beside.
Thy love delivered me from dule and teen,
All that was needful to my soul it gave:
Is there not here in truth good reason seen
Thy love should rule the heart thy love did save?
Ah, what mistress
So guerdoneth her servant with largess
Of love's delight? The rest have I denied,
For sweeter are thy gifts than all beside.
Since such a harvest of reward I glean,
Love in my heart hath risen like a wave:
Thy slave am I, as I thy slave have been,
While life shall last. Ah, damsel bright and brave,
Sweet patroness
Of spirit and strength, and lady of noblesse,
All other comfort doth my heart deride,
For sweeter are thy gifts than all beside.
Most dear princess
Of joy thou art the fount, as I confess:
I thirst no longer, but am satisfied,
For sweeter are thy gifts than all beside.
Ever blessed be the day,
Be the place and be the dwelling,
That hath ended my delay,
Shown the truth I shrank from telling.
Dear friend, behold
My love is yours, a costlier gift than gold:
To Love be praise, that first the bond hath knit,
For I am filled with perfect joy from it.
Since I yielded to thy sway
When thy heart with grief was swelling,
Swiftly speeding as he may
Joy is come, my care dispelling:
Now am I bold
To give thee love, that guerdons manifold
May heal thee from thy sorrow every whit,
For I am filled with perfect joy from it.
So my soul, with God for stay,
The new blissful years foretelling,
Finds in thee, for whom I pray,
Grace and gladness all excelling.
I that of old
Gave thee but sorry cheer and comfort cold,
Am straightway turned to serve thee, as is fit,
For I am filled with perfect joy from it.
When I had told
My love, my heart was yours to have and hold:
To grief I yield not, nor to blame submit,
For I am filled with perfect joy from it.
_To my very dear and good friend_,
_Very dear and kind Friend_,--Concerning my estate, be pleased
to know that I am in health, and I pray God to grant the same to
you. I write to you because of the desire which I have to see
you, and to speak with you, for I have not forgotten the good
and faithful service which you have alway rendered me, for the
which I hold myself so much bounden to you, that I can never
repay it. And be sure that you have a friend in me, and you can
put this to the proof whensoe'er you will. Dear lady and friend,
you well know how that I am controlled, and held in great
subjection and fear, and am harshly treated, and that my lot is
a very hard one, and allows me but little happiness, and that I
have no friend to whom I can make plaint and tell my secret
thoughts, the which I would not make confession of to any save
to you, from whom I would not hide aught any more than I would
from my confessor, for I know you to be so loyal, that I can
trust in you. You must know, therefore, that it is a very
grievous sorrow to a young heart always to live in disquiet, and
devoid of happiness. So I would that you were near me, and I
would tell you of very pleasing things, concerning the which,
with good reason, I do not write to you. And thus I have great
need of your aid and good counsel, wherefore I pray you, by all
the love you bear me, that, as soon as you have read this
letter, you so arrange your affairs that you may be ready to
come to me within a week from this, and I will send to fetch you
with all due honour. And do not be in anywise troubled about
leaving your household, for I pledge you my faith to make so
liberal recompense, that it will alway be to the advantage of
you and yours. And I pray you not to fail me in this, and to
send me, by the bearer of this letter, your favourable reply. I
commend me to your daughter-in-law. Dear, kind friend, may the
Holy Spirit have you in His keeping.
_Written in my Castle, the eighth day of January._
_My very revered Lady_,--In the first place I send you my very
humble respects, and may it please you to know that I have
received your very loving and tender letter, for the which, with
all my unworthy heart, I thank you, and in the which you do me
so great honour as to have in remembrance the trivial services,
in nowise worthy of your honoured and noble self, which I
rendered you in the past, and thus I am beholden to you more
than I can ever deserve. As concerns my going to you at this
present, I very humbly beseech you, my very dear Lady, to hold
me excused, for, on my faith, my daughter is so grievously sick
that on no account can I leave her, and God knows how I am
troubled because of her sickness. But since, my very revered
Lady, I cannot hold speech with you as soon as I would, and I am
bound to counsel you as to your conduct, as one who has been
under my guidance from childhood until now, however unworthy I
have been of this, methinks I should be wrong if I kept silence
touching that which I knew might bring any trouble upon you if I
failed to make it known to you. Wherefore, dear Lady, I write
what follows, for the which I very humbly entreat of you in no
way to bear me ill-will, for you may be assured that very great
love, and the desire that your great renown and honour may ever
increase, moves me to this. My Lady, I have heard certain
rumours touching your conduct which grieve me from the bottom of
my heart because of the fear I have of the ruin of your good
name, to the which, as it seems to me, they tend, for it is
right and fitting for every princess and high-born lady, since
she is exalted in honour and estate above others, to exceed all
others in goodness, wisdom, manners, disposition, and behaviour,
to the end that she may be an ensample by the which other dames,
and even all womankind, should regulate their conduct. And thus
it is meet that she be devout toward God, and have a tranquil,
gentle, and calm demeanour, and in her diversions be restrained
and without excess, that she laugh with moderation and not
without cause, and have a stately carriage, modest look, and
dignified bearing, with a kindly response and a courteous word
for every one, her dress and attire rich but not too affected,
gracious in her welcome of strangers, in speech restrained and
not too familiar, not hasty in judgment or fickle, never
appearing harsh, capricious, or ill-humoured, or too difficult
to serve, humane and kind to her waiting-women and servants, not
too haughty, in giving bountiful within reason, knowing how to
recognise those who are the most worthy in goodness and
prudence, and her best servants, and to draw all these to her,
and recompense them according to their deserts, not trusting or
putting faith in flatterers, but recognising them, and driving
them from her, not lightly believing gossip, not given to the
habit of whispering either to stranger or to intimate friend in
any secret or solitary place, and in particular not to any of
her retainers or serving-women, so that none may be able to
think that he knows more than another of her private affairs,
never saying in jest to any one whomsoever, in the presence of
others, aught which may not be understood of all, so that those
hearing it may not imagine there to be some foolish secret
between them, and keeping herself neither too much confined to
her chamber, or to herself, nor too much in the sight of other
folk, but sometimes retiring, and at other times appearing
before others. And although the foregoing conditions, and all
other usages befitting a noble princess, were aforetime observed
by you, you now act quite otherwise, it is said, for you amuse
yourself much more, and have become more communicative and
mirthful than was your wont, and it is when the outward signs
are changed, that one usually judges the disposition to be
altered, and now you desire to be alone, and withdrawn from
others save one or two of your waiting-women, and some of your
dependants, with whom, even in the presence of others, you
understood one another, and naught but the company of such
pleases you, and the others can in nowise serve you to your
liking, the which things and doings arouse envy in your other
servants, and cause them to think that your heart is enamoured
of some one. Ah, my very sweet Lady, for God's sake remember who
you are, and the high position to which God has raised you, and
consent not, for the sake of any foolish pleasure, to be
forgetful of your soul and your honour, and do not put trust in
the vain fancy which many young women have, who permit
themselves to believe that there is no wrong in loving with
tender passion provided this is not accompanied by any wrongful
act (and I am convinced that you would prefer death to this),
and that it makes life more pleasurable, and that one thus makes
a man gallant and renowned for aye. Ah, my dear Lady, it is
quite the reverse, and for God's sake do not deceive yourself,
or let yourself be deceived as to this, and take warning from
such noble ladies as you have seen in your time (and such there
are), who, through being merely suspected of such love, have,
without the truth ever becoming known, on this account lost both
honour and life. And yet on my soul I am satisfied that they had
neither sinned nor done aught that was wrong. Ne'ertheless their
children have seen them reproached and thought lightly of. And
however dishonourable such foolish love is in any woman, be she
rich or poor, it is still much more unbecoming and harmful in a
princess or a high-born lady, and the more so the more exalted
she is, and the reason of this is just, for the fame of a
princess extends everywhere, and hence, if there is any stain on
her good name, it is more known of in foreign lands than in the
case of simple folk, and, moreover, gives rise to doubts
concerning their offspring, who are destined to be rulers in the
land, and the princes of other folk. And it is a great
misfortune when there is any suspicion that they are not the
rightful heirs, and much trouble may come of it, for even if
there has been no wrong-doing, this will in nowise be believed
by those who have but heard it reported, "This lady is in love."
And because of a few tender glances, perchance given
thoughtlessly and without evil intent, malicious tongues will
pass judgment, and will add things about it the which were never
done or thought of, and thus the story, the which is never
diminished, but is ever being added to, passes from mouth to
mouth. And thus it is the more necessary for a noble lady than
for other women to pay great attention to all her words and ways
and demeanour, and the reason of this is, that, in the presence
of a noble lady, every one pays attention to her, both to hear
what she will say, and also to attentively take note of all her
doings. And thus the lady cannot look, speak, laugh, or jest,
without all being put together, discussed, and borne in mind of
many, and then reported broadcast. Bethink you, therefore, my
very dear Lady, that it may have a very bad appearance when a
high-born lady, and indeed any woman, becomes gay and mirthful,
and willing to listen to amorous discourse, more than is her
wont, and then, when for any reason she changes her mind, of a
sudden becomes discontented, ungracious, and on her defence, and
no one can serve her to her satisfaction, and she takes no
trouble about her dress or apparel. Certes, folk then say that
she must have been in love, but is so no longer. My Lady, this
is in nowise demeanour becoming to a lady, for, whate'er may be
her intentions, she should alway have a care so to demean and
conduct herself, that such judgments cannot be passed on her,
and although it may well be that, in a matter of love, it is
difficult to maintain such moderation, the most sure way to this
end is to wholly eschew and shun it. Thus you may know, dear
Lady, that every noble lady, and every other woman likewise,
should be far more desirous to acquire a fair name than any
other treasure, for this reflects honour on her, and ever dures
to her and her children. Revered Lady, as I have erewhile
observed, I wholly realise and bear in mind that the influence
which can dispose a young woman to incline to such love, is that
youth, and ease, and indolence cause her to say to herself, "You
are young, you must enjoy yourself, you can well love without
wrong-doing, and this is in nowise evil when it is without sin,
you will make a man valiant, no one will know of it, you will
live more merrily because of it, and you will have won a true
servant and a loyal friend, and, therefore, all your desire."
Ah, my Lady, for God's sake have a care that you be not deceived
by such foolish fancies; for, as far as concerns happiness, be
assured that in love affairs there is an hundred thousand times
more of grief, of care, and of perilous risk, especially for the
ladies, than there is of happiness. Moreover, whiles that love
of itself brings in its train many divers troubles, the fear of
the loss of honour, and that this may become known (the which
makes such pleasure dearly bought), continually haunts the mind.
And as to saying, "There can be no harm in this, since it will
not result in sin," alas, my Lady, no one can by any means be so
sure of herself as to be certain that, however good her
resolution may be, she will alway keep herself in restraint in
the matter of love made in this wise, or that it will not be
discovered, as I have said before. Of a truth, this is not
possible, for never is there fire without smoke, but there is
often smoke without fire. And to say, "I shall make a man
valiant," certes, I declare that it is very great folly to ruin
oneself in order to advance another, even if he be made brave
thereby, and surely does she bring ruin upon herself who
degrades herself for the sake of exalting another. And as to
saying, "I shall have gained a true friend and servant," good
God! in what manner could such a friend or servant advantage a
lady? For if she were in any trouble, he would not dare concern
himself in anywise on her behalf, for fear of her dishonour.
Therefore how could such a servant, who would not risk himself
in her service, be of profit to her? And though there are some
who say they serve their ladies when that they achieve great
things, either in arms or in other ways, I say that they serve
themselves, since the honour and the profit of it remains to
them, and in nowise to the lady. And yet again, my Lady, if you
or any other would make excuse by saying, "Mine is a sad lot,
the which allows me but little freedom and happiness, and
because of this I can, without wrong-doing, have pleasure in
another in order to dispel melancholy and to pass the time,"
assuredly never, with submission to your honoured self and all
others who speak thus, does such excuse avail aught, for very
foolish is he who sets fire to his own house in order to burn
that of his neighbour, but she who bears with such a husband
patiently, and without discrediting herself, so much the more
increases the good renown of herself and of her honour. And as
to having pleasure, certes a noble lady, and indeed every woman,
can, if she will, find, without such love as this, enough of
lawful and fitting pleasures to the which to give herself up,
and with the which to pass the time without melancholy. For
those who have children, what more agreeable or delightful
pleasure can be desired than to see them oft, and to have a care
that they are well nourished and instructed as befits their
noble birth and estate, and to train the daughters in suchwise
that from childhood they may, from the example of good company,
form the habit of living in a proper and seemly manner? But if
the mother is not prudent in all ways, what sort of an ensample
is she, alas, to the daughters? And for those who have no
children, certes it is not unworthy of any noble lady, after she
has had care for her household, to betake her to some work, in
order to avoid idleness, either working fine linen or silken
apparel with rare broidery, or other things of the which she can
make fitting use, and such occupations are wise, and prevent
idle thoughts. But in nowise do I say that a young and noble
lady may not rightly divert herself, and laugh, and play, at
seasonable times, even in the presence of lords and gentlemen,
or that she may not, so far as is befitting to her position, do
honour to strangers, to each one according to his rank, but this
should be done so soberly, and in such modest fashion, that
there be not a single glance, or laugh, or word, the which is
not under due restraint, and within proper bounds, and she
should ever be on her guard that it may not be possible to
discover in her aught that is unworthy or unseemly, either in
word, look, or behaviour. Ah, God! If every noble lady, and in
truth every woman, rightly knew how such virtuous demeanour
becomes her, the more would she be at pains to possess this
adornment rather than any other whatsoever, for no precious
dear Lady, it remains to speak of the perils and difficulties
which accompany such love, the which are without number. The
first and greatest is that it angers God, and then if the
husband or kinsfolk discover it, the woman is ruined, or falls
under reproach, and never after has she any happiness. And
again, even if this does not come to pass, let us consider the
disposition of lovers, for though all were loyal, secret, and
truthful (the which they by no means are, since it is well known
that they are generally faithless, and, in order to deceive the
ladies, say that which they neither think on nor would do),
ne'ertheless of a surety it is true that the ardour of such love
does not dure for long, even with the most loyal. Ah, dear Lady!
be warned that truly you cannot conceive the troublous thought
which dwells in her breast when it comes to pass that this love
is at an end, and the lady, who has been blinded by the
environment of foolish delight, grievously repents her when she
perceives and meditates on the distractions and the divers
perils the which she has ofttimes encountered, and how much she
would, whatever it had cost her, that this had never chanced to
her, and that she could not be thus reproached. And, moreover,
you and every lady can see what folly it is to put one's person
and one's honour at the mercy of the tongues, and in the power,
of such servants, for they call themselves servants, although,
for the most part, the ending of the service is such that,
although they have made promise unto you, and have sworn, to
keep the secret, they in no wise hold their peace concerning it,
and in the end the ladies are ofttimes left with the reproach of
such love, and the gossip of folk concerning it, or, at the very
least, with the fear and dread in their hearts that those very
ones in whom they have put their trust, talk of it, and make
boast of it, to any one else who knows of the affair, and thus
they are delivered over from freedom to bondage, and behold the
end of such love! Do you not perceive, my Lady, that it seems to
these servants to be greatly to their credit to say, and to make
boast, that they are, or have been, loved of a very noble
mistress, or a woman of high rank, and how that they suppress
the truth concerning it? But God knows how they lie, and may He
grant that, as regards you, my Lady, you may know it well, for
you will have need to bear it in mind. And since, my Lady, you
love ballads and ditties, I send you one touching on this
subject, written by a clever master, if you will do me the
favour to take notice of it. And the servants, too, who know
your secret, and whom it behoves you to trust, think you, i'
faith, that they keep silence concerning this, albeit you have
made them swear to do so? Certes, the greater number of them are
such that they would be very much vexed if it were not noised
abroad that they have much greater intimacy and authority with
you than have the others, and if they do not openly proclaim
your secrets, they hint at them by means of divers covert signs,
the which they think are duly observed. Good God, what a slave
is the lady, and any other woman in the like case, who dares not
reprove or blame her serving men or women, even if she sees that
they behave them very ill, for that she perceives herself to be
in their power, and that they have risen up against her in such
arrogance that she dares not utter a word, and is thus
constrained to endure at their hands that which she would not
endure from any other! And what, think you, do those say who see
and pay heed to this? These only pay attention to that which
they see, and be sure that they ofttimes whisper it abroad, and
if it chances that the lady is angered, or sends away her
servant, God knows that all will be revealed, and made known
everywhere. And yet it ofttimes happens that they are, and have
been, the means and the cause of bringing into being this love,
the which they have encouraged with zeal and great diligence, in
order to gain for themselves either gifts, or offices, or other
emoluments. Very honoured Lady, what shall I say concerning
this? Be assured that as soon as one sifts the matter to the
bottom, one discovers all the mischievous perils which this
amorous life entails; and do not doubt this, for so it is. And
because of this, very dear Lady, do not cast yourself into such
peril, and if you have any thought of it, for God's sake
withdraw from it before greater evil to you comes of it, for
better is it to do this betimes than late, and late than never,
and already you can see what will be said about it if that you
persevere in your unwonted ways, when even now they are
perceived, and in consequence of this are talked of in many
places. Thus I know not what further to write to you, save that,
to the utmost of my power, I humbly entreat of you not to take
this from me in bad part, but may it please you to be assured of
the good intent which constrains me to say it, and very much
rather would I do my duty by loyally admonishing you, and
causing you to be an-angered, than either counsel you to your
ruin, or keep silence concerning it in order to have your
goodwill. My Lady, be pleased to pay heed to my ballad, the
which I enclose herewith. Very honoured Princess, and my dear
Lady, I pray God to give you a happy and long life, and
paradise.--Written at La Tour, this 18th day of January
Your very humble servant,
Most noble ladies, cherish your fair fame,
And for God's love the contrary eschew
Of good report, lest thus you come to blame:
Nor make your choice of all acquaintance new.
For some might tell (such evil tongues have they),
How wanton manners in your life they see,
Though never yet in any fault you lay:
And from such faithless rascals keep you free.
For little would it serve to bear the name
Of one whom many love, yet find for due
Nought but dishonour that from slanderers came
Telling abroad how in your works they knew
Your wantonness: so well it is alway
To hold aloof, ere any trial be,
From ill that follows after foolish play,
And from such faithless rascals keep you free.
Nay, be ye rather armed against the same
With perfect wit, so tirelessly they sue
To stain your honour, whence full often shame
Comes without cause, yet they to pleasure you
Feign courtesy: my warning may not stay,
So oft I hear how those ye hold in fee
Blame you no less: withdraw from these, I pray,
And from such faithless rascals keep you free.
Most noble ladies! be not wroth to-day
That I have ever counselled you to flee
These traitors: trust me, though no more I say,
And from such faithless rascals keep you free.
_My good Friend_,--It is indeed true that foolish love, the
which deceives many, and the sincere pity which I had for your
plaint, have led me much to forget that which I ought ever to
have had in remembrance, the which is, to preserve my soul and
mine honour. And I have fully come to see how that I have
already exposed myself to many great dangers and perils in order
to fulfil your youthful wishes and mine own. Thank God, however,
that there has been no evil in it, nor ever will be as long as I
live! Yet the world would in nowise believe this if any ill
chance befell me, from the which may God preserve me! And I well
perceive that whosoe'er pursues foolish love, is in nowise
master of himself or of his demeanour, so that it comes to pass
that he may be discovered, as you can see by the long letter
which the good and prudent woman, the Lady of La Tour, has
written to me, the which I send you in order that you may
perceive the reason which constrains me to withdraw from it.
For, when I gave myself up to this love, I took no thought for
the perils into the which I rushed, but this wise lady has
opened mine eyes to examine and consider my doings, and if I do
this not, I shall be defamed and ruined, and this, dear friend,
you could in nowise desire. And because of this, I beseech you
to withdraw from it, and know that I ask this of you in spite of
my love, and with my eyes full of tears, for none could be more
loved than I love you. Therefore in nowise believe that this
comes to pass through want of love, for I swear to you on my
portion in Paradise, and make promise to you by every oath that
can be made, that, as long as I live, you shall be my only
friend, and you alone will I love alway, if this will content
you, neither do I withdraw my love from you, for you have in
nowise deserved this, nor could my heart, which loves you,
consent to it, but it at least behoves you to cease from seeing
me, because of the harm which might come to me through it, the
which, I well know, will be very grievous to you, and full of
sorrow, but whiles that your heart may be sad about it, in
nowise will mine be happy. And I know not what more to say to
you, nor can I write more, for my desolate heart, my eyes, and
my face are suffused with tears, and I bid you farewell, my
sweet Love.
Your sorrowing Lady.
_To the most noble of ladies_.
Alas, my sweet and honoured Lady, my peerless love whom I serve,
fear, obey, and worship! Where can I find words sufficing to
declare unto you, and to make you wholly to know, my grievous
sorrow? Tears and weeping so dull my mind and my memory, that I
know not where I am, or what I do. Ah, my Lady! you have indeed
discomforted me by your cruel letter, the which tells me that it
behoves me to keep away from you! Certes it is indeed true,
whatsoe'er the Lady of La Tour says of Lovers, that I am more to
you than aught that you have in the world beside, and that I
have made promise unto you (the which I will keep truly all my
life), that, as far as in me lies, I will obey you in all
things, without doing aught that is contrary to your wishes. But
when your wish is that I withdraw me from this, I cannot obey,
for I have abandoned my life to it. Thus it is not in my power
to give it up, even if I die for this. And, dear Lady, as to
obeying your command that I see you no more, if it is your
pleasure that it be alway thus, it is meet that I resist this
with all my might, since if you bid me do that which would kill
me or drive me mad, I know of a truth that in this I cannot
obey. And so that you may perceive that I desire your honour
more than does she who has written so much to you concerning it,
and to prevent any suspicion that you are the cause of my death,
I shall go beyond the seas to end my days, and nevermore shall I
return from thence, and I pledge you my faith that you will find
this to be so. Alas! where has this one, in order to compass my
ruin, discovered that already there is rumour and talk of our
love? Truly she must have imagined it. Saving her reverence, it
is not possible, for naught was ever conducted more prudently or
secretly than, up to this present, our sweet love has been, and
alway will be if God wills. For God knows that I would rather
suffer death than do aught that would cause you dishonour. Ah,
my Lady, my Lady! Shall I never see you again? If this must be
so, God grant that I may lose my sight, and that I may never
again look on anything, for naught beside could delight me. How
could my heart dure and remain alive when it no longer has the
joy the which it receives when it is nigh unto yours? Ah, woe is
me! This thought, alas, is a lance which pierces right through
my sorrowful heart. It cannot be that I must thus lose, and
without cause, the tender comfort, the amorous delights, the
pleasing glances, and the winsome words, the which I receive
from you, and of which the sweet remembrance, which remained in
my thoughts with the hope of their renewal, made me more
gladsome and contented than aught beside. And, my very sweet
Lady, since I must needs die without deserving it, one favour
only do I beg of you, for the sake of all the love your tender
and noble heart erewhiles had for me, and do not be so cruel to
your poor servant as to deny it to him, the which is that, ere I
take leave of you for ever, I may for once have speech with you,
so that I may bid you farewell, and say adieu to all the
delights the which you have so lovingly bestowed on me, for
never, on my soul, have I thought on that which is evil, or
contrary to your desires. Alas, my Lady! Well do I know how you
do wrong to those desires, and unjustly cause them to endure
misfortune, for boldly do I declare that this farewell is in
nowise in accordance with their assent or wish. May this favour
be vouchsafed to me, dear Lady. And I know not what more to say
to you, but be assured that I shall obey you unto death. May it
please you to make known to me forthwith what you would have me
to do, and whether you would that I go beyond the seas as I have
said, or what is your pleasure. And be pleased to pardon me that
this letter is blotted with my tears, for, on my soul, it has
not been possible for me to restrain them whiles that I have
been writing it. Honoured Lady, I commend me to you more than I
know how to say, and I pray God to grant you all good things
that are to be desired.--Written in great grief, with tears and
weeping.
Your poor lover, the most unhappy of men.
Ah, Death, Death, Death, to thee I make my prayer!
Come, rend me from this dolorous world apart!
Life lures no longer: since my lady fair
Would have me shun her, let my hapless heart
Be very prey to pain and sorrow's sword.
Gladness I leave and all delight for aye,
And thee alone, O Death, have I implored
Because my lady hath bidden me good-bye.
Alas, alas, what doleful news is there!
Never to knight assailed with glaive or dart
Came heavier trouble than the woes I share,
I, who have gathered up in shame and smart
An evil greater than I may record:
Since now my love from all adventure high
Must needs withdraw, and death be my reward
Because my lady hath bidden me good-bye.
Ah, lady of mine, can'st thou such hardness dare
And suffer me in anguish to depart
For love of thee? Yet Love must witness bear
Who knoweth no age can show, nor any art,
Servant more faithful both in deed and word
Among all lovers that he might espy:
But my mishaps a worser end afford
Because my lady hath bidden me good-bye.
Ah, God of love, why sufferest thou, fair lord,
That thus in sorrow undeserved I die?
All things I leave, of all to be abhorred,
Because my lady hath bidden me good-bye.
_To the noblest and best of all_,
_My true and loyal friend_.
_My true, loyal, very kind and dear Friend_,--It is the fact
that, although I was fearful of losing mine honour, the which I
ought to dread above all things, as is counselled, as you have
been able to see, in the letter of the Lady of La Tour, to whom
I am much beholden for it (for certes I know that she has said
this for my well-being), it was against my wish that I wrote to
you, in my last letter, that which I made known to you therein,
for, my kind and gracious friend, I well perceive that Love
cannot suffer us to part from one another, and I repent me much
that I declared this unto you, for I know that you have had, and
still have, much sorrow because of this. Wherefore I pray you to
forgive me, and I beseech your pardon for it. And it much
grieves me that our good friend, your cousin, is not beside you
to cheer you. And I regret me that he is gone on so long a
journey. So by all the influence I may have over you, and by the
love you bear me, I entreat you in all things to possess your
mind in peace as aforetime, for greatly do I fear me that you
have become so sad, that I may not be in time to comfort you,
and that some sickness (from the which may God preserve you),
may overtake you. Therefore I shall have no ease until I have
news of you. So I write to you in great haste, beseeching you to
be cheerful and happy, for I have very good news to tell you,
and this is that our good friend, in whom we trust, will be here
within four days. So you shall come to see me, and I will keep
you advised concerning this, and we will welcome one another
heartily as heretofore. For, so help me God, even if it be my
ruin, I cannot part from you, and I have hope that, by God's
aid, our doings may be well hid, and also that you will alway
guard mine honour well, for on this I rely. My sweet and dear
Love, I pray God to give you perfect joy. Written in haste.
Your true and loyal friend.
The Book called "The Duke of True Lovers" is set forth.
Presenting a selection of the choicest literary productions of
the Middle Ages in Europe--romances, religious works, poetry and
manners--and including many masterpieces recently rescued from
obscurity.
Post 8vo, Brown Boards, 5s. net, unless otherwise stated.
By _Christine de Pisan_; a French romance of the 15th century.
Translated into prose and verse with an introduction by _Alice
photogravure plates after illuminations in the original MS.
Mainly from a collection made by _Gautier de Coinci_, a monk of
St. Medard near Soissons; French, 13th century. Translated in
photogravure plates after contemporary MSS.
_Anonymous_; a French love-poem of the 13th century. Translated
into prose by _Alice Kemp-Welch_. With an introduction by Prof.
photogravure plates after an ivory casket of the 14th century
From the Old English texts of Dr. Furnivall; 14th and 15th
centuries. Done into modern prose and verse with an introduction
and notes by _Edith Rickert_. With 6 photogravure plates after
illuminations in contemporary MSS.
By the _Same_; Italian, 14th century. Translated in prose by _M.
G. Steegman_ and with an introduction by _Algar Thorold_. With
photo. front, after Pierantonio Mezzastris and 4 woodcuts after
the original edition of 1536.
By _Fra Giovanni di Coppo_; Italian, 14th century. Translated in
prose with an introduction and notes by _M. Mansfield_. With the
original text and 5 photogravures after Benozzo Gozzoli,
Ghirlandaio, etc.
_Anonymous_; 13th, 14th and 15th centuries. Containing: 'Floris
etc. Done into modern prose with introduction and notes by
_Edith Rickert_. With 5 photogravures after contemporary MSS.
_Anonymous_; 13th, 14th and 15th centuries. Containing: 'Amis
and Amiloun,' 'Sir Amadis,' 'The Tale of Gamelyn,' etc. Done
into modern prose with introduction and notes by _Edith
Rickert_. With 6 photogravure plates after contemporary MSS.
etc.; 7 English mystical treatises of the 14th cent. Edited with
introduction and notes by _Edmund G. Gardner_, M.A. With
coloured collotype frontispiece.
_Traditional_; 1400-1700. Collected and arranged by _Edith
Rickert_ with intro., notes and glossary. With 8 photogravure
plates after missals of the 15th and 16th cents. _Price_ 7_s._
De Bornelh_, _Arnaut Daniel_, etc.; Provencal, 11th-13th
centuries. Selected and translated in prose with intros. and
notes by _Barbara Smythe_. With a coloured frontispiece and
decorative initials.
By _Chretien de Troyes_; a French romance of the 13th century.
Translated in prose by _L. J. Gardiner, M.A._ With photo. front.
An English poem of the 14th century. Translated and edited by
_Sir Israel Gollancz_, Litt.D., F.B.A. With textual and
explanatory notes, glossary, photogravure frontispiece after
_Holman Hunt_ and 6 illustrations after the original MS. With
the _Olympia_ of _Boccaccio_ in an Appendix. _Price_ 7_s._ 6_d._
By _Eginhard_ and _The Monk of St. Gall._; German, 9th century.
Translated from the Latin and edited with introduction and notes
by Prof. _A. J. Grant_. With photogravure frontispiece.
By the _Same_; a picture of English social and monastic life in
the 12th century. Translated from the Latin and edited with
notes by _L. C. Jane_, M.A. With an introduction by _Cardinal
Gasquet_ and a photogravure frontispiece.
By _William Langland_; English, 14th century. Done into modern
metrical English with introduction and notes by Prof. _W. W.
Skeat_. With frontispiece after contemporary MS.