ABSTRACT
Not very long after Sir Folqet had fallen into a state of torment and sorrow over the lady who had gone away and left Monpellier, Sir Baral, his lord and the lord of Marceilla, the one man he loved more than any in the world, died. The grievous sorrow he already felt over his lord Sir Baral’s wife, who had died, and the Empress who had gone away, were doubled. He then composed this plainch which says: Like one who is so burdened With unhappiness that he feels no pain, I feel neither grief nor sadness… (155,20: 1–3)
Song 155, 20
Folquet de Marseille: “Si cum cel q’es tan greujatz…”
Source: Stronski, 61.
MSS: A 66, B 45, D 43,1 63, K 48, N 63, P 9, Q 21, R 52, V 89, a 113.
1. Like someone who is so burdened With unhappiness that he feels no pain, I feel neither grief nor sadness; It’s like I’ve lost hold of myself. This blow I’ve received so exceeds any other 5 That my heart cannot bear to think about it; 299Nor can any man know of its magnitude Without having experienced it himself. It’s of Sir Barral, my good lord, that I speak, For now, if I sing or laugh or cry, 10 I don’t care about it the way I used to. 1 2. I think I’ve been bewitched Or fallen into some error When I can’t find around me his great worth, Which kept us here in honor. 2 15 For just as a magnet Attracts iron and lifts it toward itself, Many was the heart, though weighty and beaten down, That he straightened out and led to merit. Whoever took from us renown, joy and honor, 20 Wit, generosity, luck and riches, Is little concerned with our advancement 3. Ah! How many are now dispossessed Who once were rich in his love; And how many died on that day 25 When he died and was buried? Never were so many dead seen buried in one piece of land! Even those who just heard the mention of his name Expected to gain from it, So esteemed was his reputation. 30 For he knew how to use his good name to raise up The small and make them great, and make the great greater, Until the point that the circle couldn’t enclose him. 3 4. Ah, my sweet and private lord, How can I speak your praises? 35 For like a surging river That flows with greater force at the point where it is emptied, Your praises grow just in thinking about them; And I find there is always more to be done. 4 It’s similar to your giving: 40 Your desire to give grew As more people came seeking. But God always gave you back a thousandfold As he does to good givers. 5 3005. Now, at the height of your glory, 45 You have fallen like a flower Which, once it has been seen at its loveliest, Fades all the more quickly. But with such a image God shows us That we must love only him 50 And hate the miserable world Through which man passes like a pilgrim. For any merit or wisdom, Except for that which follows his commandments, Turns into dishonor and folly. 55 6. Beautiful lord God, who doesn’t like to see The death of any sinner, And who, in order to kill theirs, Suffered your own death in peace, Let him live with the saints up there, 60 Since you did not wish to let him stay down here. May you deign to pray for him, Virgin, you who pray to your son on behalf of so many. It is because he helps them That the best men can retain hope 65 In your precious and merciful prayers. 7. Lord, it’s a great miracle That I can sing about you at a moment like this When I really should be crying. But I already cry so much just thinking about you! 70 And because of that many troubadours will soon have Spoken more praise of you than I have, When it’s I who should be saying a thousand times more.