THE DESPONDING SOUL'S WISH.
My spirit longeth for Thee,
Within my troubled breast,
Although I be unworthy
Of so Divine a Guest.
Of so Divine a Guest
Unworthy though I be,
Yet has my heart no rest,
Unless it comes from Thee.
Unless it comes from Thee,
In vain I look around;
In all that I can see
No rest is to be found.
No rest is to be found
But in thy blessèd love:
Oh, let my wish be crowned,
And send it from above.
The Answer.
Cheer up, desponding soul,
Thy longing pleased I see:
'Tis part of that great whole
Wherewith I longed for Thee.
Wherewith I longed for Thee
And left my Father's throne,
From death to set thee free,
To claim thee for my own.
To claim thee for my own
I suffered on the cross:
O! were my love but known,
No soul need fear its loss.
No soul need fear its loss,
But, filled with love divine,
Would die on its own cross
And rise for ever thine.
This has so many points resembling the forms in this book, that it seemed worth quoting, if only to compare with the Malay Pantoum, the Villanelle, and the Rondel.
Kyrielle.—The Kyrielle is so simple, and so widely used by writers, all unwittingly, that but for M. de Banville including it, it would be left unnoticed here. It is merely a poem in four-lined verses of eight-syllable lines, having the last line of each the same. Our hymn books show many, witness "Jesus! Son of Mary, hear," or "Jesus, our Love, is crucified." It is a device so evident that it has naturally been used in almost all schools of poetry, and may be dismissed with no more words here.
Pantoum.—The Pantoum, at first sight, has little reason for being included in a volume of verse in strict traditional forms, that are nearly all of French origin, since it is of Malay invention; but being introduced by M. Ernest Fouinet, and reproduced by M. Victor Hugo in the Orientales, it has found a place in the group of these forms given by De Banville, De Gramont, and others. The Pantoum is written in four-line stanzas. The second and fourth line of each verse form the first and third of each succeeding one, through an indefinite number of quatrains. At the close, to complete the unity of the work, the second and fourth line of the last stanza are made from the first and third of the first verse. The rhymes are a b, a b,—b c, b c,—c d, c d,—d e, d e, and so on, until the last (which we may call z) z a, z a. In Mr. Austin Dobson's "In Town" and Mr. Brander Matthews' "En route"—as the latter himself points out in The Rhymester—"there is an attempt to make the constant repetitions not merely tolerable but subservient to the general effect of monotonously recurrent sound—in the one case the buzzing of the fly, and in the other the rattle and strain of the cars."
The Rondel, Rondeau, and Roundel, a group having a common origin, are now to some extent classified, by each accepted variety using one form of the common name to denote its shape, but this division is purely arbitrary and a modern custom, only followed here, both in these notes and in the arrangement of the volume itself, to facilitate reference.
The Rondel is merely the old form of the word rondeau; like oisel for oiseau, chastel for chateau so rondel has become rondeau. It is one of the earliest of these forms, and freely used in the fourteenth century by Froissart, Eustache Deschamps, and others. It probably arose in Provence, and passed afterwards into use in Northern France. The name (rondel) is still applied to forms written after its early shape, the later spelling of the name being kept for the more recent variations of its form. In its origin, the rondel was a lyric of two verses, each having four or five lines, rhyming on two rhymes only. In its eight (or ten) lines, but five (or six) were distinct, the others being made by repeating the first couplet at the end of the second stanza, sometimes in an inverse order, and the first line at the end of its first stanza. The eight-lined rondel is thus, to all intents and purposes, a triolet, although labelled a rondel. Here is a fourteenth century one by Eustache Deschamps:—
Est ce donc vostre intencion
De voloir retrancher mes gaiges
Vingt livres de ma pension?
Est-ce donc vostre intencion?
Laissez passer l'Ascension,
Que honni soit vostre visaige!
Est-ce donc vostre intencion
De voloir retrancher mes gaiges?
Nor are these rondel-triolets exceptions; they are quite common till the beginning of the fifteenth century. With Charles d'Orléans the rondel took the distinct shape we now assign to it, namely, of fourteen lines on two rhymes, the first two lines repeating for the seventh and eighth, and the final couplet (see page [135]). In this, the true type of the rondel, the two-lined refrain occurring three times in its fourteen makes it an unwieldy form to handle. In later French ones the last refrain uses but one of its lines. In Mr. Austin Dobson's "The Wanderer," the rhymes are in this order:—A. B. b. a.—a. b. A. B.—a. b. b. a. A. (the refrain being marked by capital letters). In another by the same author, "How hard it is to Sing," the rhyme order is A. B. a. b.—b. a. A. B.—a. b. a. b. A. B.; the rondel of Charles d'Orléans having A. B. b. a. a. b. A. B.—a. b. b. a. A. B. The length of the lines is not confined to any particular number of syllables in modern examples.
By the time of Octavien de Saint Gelais (1466-1502) the rondel has nearly become the rondeau as we know it. Still rhymed on but two sounds, it repeats the first line only, nor always the whole of that, as the quoted examples show:—
De ce qui est au pouvoir de Fortune
Nul ne se doit vanter ny tenir fort:
Car ung jour sert de plaisir et confort,
Et l'autre après, de courroux et rancune.
Aux ungs est bonne, aux autres importune,
Estrange à tous, car nuls n'entent le sort
De ce qui est au pouvoir de Fortune.
Les ungs ont d'elle honneur, scavoir, pecune;
L'autres n'ònt que pitié et remort,
Et povreté, qu'est pire que la mort.
Est-il aucun qui soit seur soubz la lune
De ce qui est au pouvoir de Fortune?
Here it is formally divided into three parts with the rhymes—a, b, b, a; a, b, a; a, b, b, a, a. The refrain, too, is no longer a mere reiteration of the text, but linked with the preceding verse, as a refrain should be, and absorbed into the sense of the whole stanza to which it belongs. This change is still more noticeable in the rondel, using but half the first line for its refrain, as in this example:—
Je vous arreste de main mise.
Mes yeulx; emprisonnez serez.
Plus mon coeur ne gouvernerez
Desormais, je vous en advise.
Trop avez fait à vostre guise;
Par ma foy plus ne le ferez,
Je vous arreste.
On peut bien pour vous corner prise:
Pris estes, point n' eschapperez.
Nul remede n'y treuverez;
Rien n'y vault appel ne franchise:
Je vous arreste.
Here we pass into the later form called (for convenience only) the Rondeau. In these few examples the evolution of the Voiture type, from the Charles d'Orléans original, is clearly traceable. The rondel, however, still continues to be used, but much less frequently. De Banville often omits the thirteenth line, while otherwise following the model of Charles d'Orléans. Again, the order of the rhymes is sometimes changed, but the examples quoted in this collection will show more clearly the deviations from the true rondel than any description would do.
The Rondeau after Voiture's model is without doubt the most popular variety of the form now in use. It is written throughout on two rhymes, being composed of thirteen lines and two unrhymed refrains. The lines are now nearly always of eight syllables only, in many of the old ones they were of ten. The refrain is usually made from the first half of the first line, but it is not uncommon to find the first word only taken for this use. Its thirteen lines are grouped in three stanzas, the first and third having five lines each, the second consisting of three only. The refrain occurs at the end of the second stanza, and at the close of the poem. The usual rhyme order is a, a, b, b, a,——a, a, b (and refrain)—a, a, b, b, a, and refrain. The refrain is not counted among the lines of the verse, but is added to the thirteen, and in the neatness of its introduction, and in the way each of the two verses to which it belongs flow into it, so that it forms an integral and inseparable part of the stanza, the chief difficulty of the rondeau lies. If, like an "Amen" to a hymn, the refrain comes merely as an extraneous comment on the preceding lines, it is no true rondeau. At the risk of reiteration of a warning given in the description of each of these poems that use a refrain, this point must be insisted on, as the most vital one. The mechanical laws of the poem may be obeyed with scrupulous exactitude, and every technical rule complied with, while the still more important quality of sense is overlooked. The thought of the poet must so find its expression that the refrain completes it, and forms the true climax of his speech—the culminating phrase of his sentence. The refrain is the very text of the whole discourse, in itself an epitome of the subject of the whole poem, otherwise the reason for its existence in one of these fixed shapes is wanting, and the poem would be better in free verse. In the refrain the sound must reappear exactly, but the sense may be altered; in fact, this playful variation of its meaning is one of the charms of the verse when used for lighter and more dainty subjects. The good taste of the author must decide how far an actual pun is allowable. There are precedents for the use of the pun pure and simple—"votre beau thé" "vòtre beauté," or, "à la fontaine," used in its literal sense, and also with reference to the famous fabulist. But in English use the pun has fallen into disrepute, perhaps from the execrable word-contortions of our so-called comic papers and its terrible vulgarity in stage burlesques, the intrusion of one is fatal to the delicacy and refinement which are the peculiar charm of the rondeau. But if a play upon words of a scholarly kind, or a new reading given either by punctuation, or the use of the words with a new light thrown on them by the lines leading up to the refrain, can be secured, every effort should be made to vary the refrain by so doing.
This quality of dainty and spontaneous wit is the secret of the rondeau, only revealed, if it is to be found at all, by close analysis of the best examples. De Banville quotes three of Voiture's—"Je ne sçaurois," "L'Amour," and "Penser"—especially for this all-important feature; but in this volume may be found examples equally worthy of study. It would be invidious to draw attention to the best of those that have been allowed to appear here, but if the wit of the would-be rondeau-maker fails to discover the successful use of the refrain, and to pick out the best examples, it is in itself evidence that he had better abstain from trying to produce rondeaus that would certainly lack the airy grace and caressing tenderness which should be an element of this verse. A famous example of Voiture's is quoted on page [134].
The following is its English paraphrase by Mr. Austin Dobson, withdrawn from his later editions, but quoted now by his consent:—
You bid me try, BLUE-EYES, to write
A Rondeau. What! forthwith?—To-night?
Reflect. Some skill I have, 'tis true;
But thirteen lines!—and rhymed on two!—
"Refrain," as well. Ah, hapless plight!
Still there are five lines—ranged aright.
These Gallic bonds, I feared, would fright
My easy Muse. They did, till you—
You bid me try!
"That makes them eight.—The port's in sight:
Tis all because your eyes are bright!
Now just a pair to end in "oo,"—
When maids command, what can't we do!
Behold! The RONDEAU—tasteful, light—
You bid me try!"
A study of rondeaus will show, both in ancient and modern examples, some little alteration of the rhyme-order, and a few trivial differences in other respects. But as the sonnet has evolved through many stages into one accepted shape that is now permanently fixed as its true type, so the rondeau of Voiture may be taken as the typical form to be imitated—the one that has, by process of selection, been proved to be the best to display the subject of the poem, and to work-in the refrains to the best advantage. Like the sonnet, the perfected form is jealously guarded. The genius which consists in breaking rules is looked upon with suspicion in all these forms, but especially in this one. There are some beautiful variations in old and new examples where the shape is widely varied, but these stand apart from the pure rondeaus of Voiture, and are generally still more difficult to construct by reason of the additional laws the writers have imposed on themselves. But the trifling evasion of the rhyme-order, a want of exactitude on the repetition of the refrain, is apt to be taken as evidence of lack of power to conform gracefully to the bonds, and not as an outburst of genius that is too strong to be confined in such puny fetters. But there are a few poems in these forms written fairly near the true shape, which, like some irregular, but yet in themselves beautiful sonnets, are not to be condemned solely for being impure in form. For the sake of poetry one is ready to forgive much, but it must be only real poetry that takes such liberty; and all the time comes a wish that having gone so near perfection of shape as well as of sense, the poet had taken the last steps needful to make his poem perfect in each respect.
There is another form than Voiture's, which is equally a true rondeau—that used by Villon. This is quoted, with Mr. Payne's translation, to show clearly the ten-lined rondeau:—