Jaufre Rudel (Jaufré in modern Occitan) was the Prince of Blaye (Princes de Blaia) and a troubadour of the early–mid 12th century, who probably died during the Second Crusade, in or after 1147. He is noted for developing the theme of "love from afar" (amor de lonh or amour de loin) in his songs.Very little is known about his life, but a reference to him in a contemporary song by Marcabru describes him as being oltra mar—across the sea, probably on the Second Crusade in 1147. Probably he was the son of Girard, also castellan of Blaye, and who was titled "prince" in an 1106 charter. Girard's father was the first to carry the title, being called princeps Blaviensis as early as 1090. During his father's lifetime the suzerainty of Blaye was disputed between the Counts of Poitou and the Counts of Angoulême. Shortly after the succession of William VIII of Poitou, who had inherited it from his father, Blaye was taken by Wulgrin II of Angoulême, who probably vested Jaufre with it. According to one hypothesis, based on flimsy evidence, Wulgrin was Jaufre's father.
Seven of Rudel's poems have survived to the present day, four of them with music. His composition Lanquan li jorn is thought to be the model for the Minnesinger Walther von der Vogelweide's crusade song Allerest lebe ich mir werde (Palästinalied).
Michael Barrington, Blaye, Roland, Rudel and the Lady of Tripoli: a study in the relations of poetry to life. A.D. 731 - 1950 (Salisbury, 1953)
Nick Riddle (ed) & Marcus Sedgwick (illustrator), Outremer: Jaufré Rudel and Melisande of Tripoli - a Legend of the Crusades(Cambridge, 1994) ISBN 0-9524327-0-6
George Wolf & Roy Rosenstein, eds., "The Poetry of Cercamon and Jaufre Rudel" (New York, 1983)
Troubadours Arts Ensemble; Otra Mar track 7 (Sandra Hurtado Ros)
Troubadours Art Ensemble; La Troba Volume One; disc 1 track 4 (Gerard Zuchetto) *****
Troubadours Art Ensemble; La Troba Volume One; disc 1 track 5 (Maurice Moncozet) ****
References
Michael Barrington, Blaye, Roland, Rudel and the Lady of Tripoli: a study in the relations of poetry to life. A.D. 731 - 1950 (Salisbury, 1953)
Nick Riddle (ed) & Marcus Sedgwick (illustrator), Outremer: Jaufré Rudel and Melisande of Tripoli - a Legend of the Crusades(Cambridge, 1994) ISBN 0-9524327-0-6
George Wolf & Roy Rosenstein, eds., "The Poetry of Cercamon and Jaufre Rudel" (New York, 1983)
262,1 Belhs m'es l'estius e'l temps floritz
| Belhs m'es l'estius e'l temps floritz, Quan l'auzelh chanton sotz la flor, Mas ieu tenc l'ivern per gensor Quar mais de joy m'i es cobitz, Et quant hom ve son jauzimen Es ben razos e d'avinen Qu'om sia plus coyndes e guays. Er ai ieu joy e suy jausitz E restauratz en ma valor, E non iray jamai alhor Ni non querrai autruy conquistz, Qu'eras say ben az escien Que selh es savis qui aten E selh es fols qui trop s'irays. Lonc temps ai estat en dolor Et de tot mon afar marritz, Qu'anc no fuy tan fort endurmitz Que no'm rissides de paor. Mas aras vey e pes e sen Que passat ai aquelh turmen, E non hi vuelh tornar ja mays. Mout mi tenon a gran honor Totz selhs cui ieu n'ey obeditz Quar a mon joi suy revertitz: E laus eu lieys e Dieu e lhor, Qu'er an lur grat e lur prezen, E, que qu'ieu m'en anes dizen, Lai mi remanh e lay m'apays. Mas per so m'en sui encharzitz, Ja non creyrai lauzenjador: Qu'anc no fuy tan lunhatz d'amor Qu'er no'n sia sals e gueritz. Plus savis hom de mi mespren, Per qu'ieu sai ben az escien Qu'anc fin'amors home non trays. Mielhs mi fora jazer vestitz Que despolhatz sotz cobertor E puesc vos en traire auctor La nueyt quant ieu fuy assalhitz. Totz temps n'aurai mon cor dolen, Quar aissi's n'aneron rizen, Qu'enquer en sospir e'n pantais. |
I enjoy the Summer and the flowers' season when birds sing below the flowers, but I find Winter more pleasant because I am granted joy, and when one envisions his pleasure it is a good and solid reason for him to be kinder and merrier. Now I have joy, and I am merry and am restored in my worth, and I shall never turn elsewhere nor shall I covet other people's conquests because now I know for sure that he is wise who waits and that he is a fool who loses his patience. For a long time, I was in pain and oblivious to what happened to me and I was never so fast asleep that I couldn't wake up for fear. But now I see, and judge and feel that that torment is over and I don't ever want to be back to it. They very much congratulate, all those whom I have listened to because I am back to my joy: and praises be both to god and to them who have their merit and their meed. And, whatever I went about saying, I rest and am satisfied there. And, since I am exalted, I shan't believe any slanderer: I never was so far from love as much as I am safe and healed now. Even those wiser than me are wrong because I well know for sure that a perfect love doesn't betray anyone. I'd better go to bed dressed than naked under the covers and I can produce as evidence the night I was assaulted. I shall always grieve about it, because they went away laughing, like that, while I still sigh and repine about it. |
262,2 Lanquan li jorn son lonc e may
Troubadours Art Ensemble; La Troba Volume One; disc 1 track 3 (Sandra Hurtado Ros) *****Troubadours Arts Ensemble; Otra Mar track 7 (Sandra Hurtado Ros)
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| Lanquan li jorn son lonc e may M'es belhs dous chans d'auzelhs de lonh, E quan mi suy partitz de lay, Remembra'm d'un' amor de lonh. Vau de talan embroncx e clis Si que chans ni flors d'albespis No-m valon plus que l'yverns gelatz. Be tenc lo Senhor per veray Per que formet sest' amor de lonh, Mas per un ben que m'en eschay N'ai dos mals, quar tant suy de lonh. A! quar no fuy lai pelegris, Si que mos fustz e mos tapis Fos pels sieus belhs huelhs remiratz! Be'm parra joys quan li querray, Per amor Dieu, l'ostal de lonh, E, s'a lieys platz, alberguarai Pres de lieys, si be'm suy de lonh, Qu'aissi es lo parlamens fis Quan drutz lonhdas et tan vezis Qu'ab cortes ginh jauzis solatz. Iratz e dolens m'en partray, S'ieu no vey sest' amor de lonh. No'm sai quora mais la veyrai, que tan son nostras terras lonh. Assatz hi a pas e camis, e per aisso no'n suy devis. Mas tot sia cum a lieys platz. Jamai d'amor no'm jauziray Si no'm jau d'est' amor de lonh, que mielher ni gensor no'n sai ves nulha part, ni pres ni lonh. Tant es sos pretz ricx e sobris Que lai el reng dels Sarrasis fos hieu per lieys chaitius clamatz. Dieus que fetz tot quant ve ni vay E formet sest'amor de lonh Mi don poder, que cor be n'ai, Qu'ieu veya sest'amor de lonh, Verayamen en luec aizis, Si que las cambras e'l jardis Mi resemblo novels palatz. Ver ditz qui m'apella lechay e deziros d'amor de lonh, que nulhs autres joys tan no'm play Cum jauzimen d'amor de lonh. Mas so qu'ieu vuelh m'es tant ahis, Qu'enaissi'm fadet mos pairis Qu'ieu ames e nos fos amatz. |
During May, when the days are long, I admire the song of the birds from far away and when I have gone away from there I remember a love far away. I go scowling, with my head down so much that songs and hawthorn flowers aren't better, to me, than the frozen Winter. I trust the Lord's fairness in having formed this faraway love, but for each consolation I achieve I get two ills, because I am so far away. Ah! Why didn't I go there as a pilgrim, so that my staff and hooded cloak would be beheld by her beautiful eyes! It will certainly feel like joy when I ask her, for the love of god, to be hosted; and, if she likes it, I shall lodge near her, although I come from far away. Conversation is so pleasant when the faraway lover is so close that he would long to be welcome with kind intentions. Sad and pained shall I depart if I don't see this faraway love. I don't know when ever I shall see her, so far away our countries are. So many are the crossings and the roads that I can't tell. But be everything as she likes it. Never shall I enjoy love unless I enjoy this faraway love, since I don't know of a better and worthier one anywhere, near or far away. So abundant and sovereign her merits are that down there, in the Saracen's realm, I wish I were held in thrall for her sake. God, who created all that comes and goes and shaped this faraway love, give me strength, since I already have the intention, so that I see this love far away in reality and in a fitting place so that rooms and gardens shall seem to me to be new palaces. He is true who calls me grasping and longing for a faraway love since no other merriment pleases me as much as enjoying a faraway love. But that which I want is denied to me since my godfather made it so that I love and am not loved. |
262,3 No sap chantar qui so non di
Troubadours Art Ensemble; La Troba Volume One; disc 1 track 4 (Gerard Zuchetto) *****
| No sap chantar qui so non di, Ni vers trobar qui motz no fa, Ni conoys de rima quo's va Si razons non enten en si. Pero mos chans comens'aissi Com plus l'auziretz, mais valra. Nuils hom no'ys meravilh de mi S'ieu am so que no veyrai ja, ni nulha res ta mal no'm fa quo so qu'anc de mos huelhs no vi, ni no'm dis ver ni no'm menti, ni no sai si ja so fara. Colp de joy me fier, que m'auci, ab poncha d'amor que'm sostra lo cor don la carns magrira, se'm breu merce no'l pren de mi. E anc hom tan gen no mori ab tan dous mal, ni non s'escha. Anc ta suau no m'adormi que mos esperitz no fos la, a la belha que mon cor a, on mey voler fan dreg cami. E pot ben dir sa man m'auci, que mais tan fizel non aura. Un'amor londanha m'auci, e'l dous dezirs propdas m'esta e quan m'albir qu'eu me'n an la en forma d'un bon pellegri, mey voler son sai; anc issi de ma mort qu'estiers no sera. Peironet, passa riu, di-li que mo cors a lieys passara, e si li platz alberguar m'a, per que'l parlamen sera fi. Mal me faderon mey pairi, s'amors m'auci per lieys que m'a. Bos es lo vers, s'ieu no'y falhi, ni tot so que y es ben esta, e sel que de mi l'apenra guard-si que res no m'i cambi! Car si l'auzon en Caerci lo vescoms ni'l coms en Tolza. Bos es lo sos, e faran-hi quasqus don mos chans gensara. |
He can't sing, he who doesn't utter a sound nor can he shape verses, he who doesn't say a word, nor can he see the ways of poetry he who doesn't understand the meaning. Therefore my song begins in such a way that the more you listen to it, the more it'll be to you. Let no man marvel at me if I love something I will never see if nothing hurts me more than that which I have never seen with my eyes which never lied nor ever spoke truth to me nor do I know whether she will do it. I feel a joy-blow which kills me with a love-weapon which takes away my heart, so that my body shall wither unless she presently takes pity on me. Never died man so worthily of such a sweet ill: such things don't happen. I never fell asleep so placidly that my spirit wasn't there, by the beauty who owns my heart, towards whom my desire takes its straight path- And she can well say that her hand slays me, since she shall never have so faithful a suitor. A faraway love kills me and the sweet longing stands by me and when I plan on going there as a pious pilgrim, my will remains here; I don't escape my death, which won't be otherwise. Peironet, wader of rivers, tell her that my heart will transmigrate towards her and is she likes it, that it behoves her hosting me since the conversation will be fine. My godparents doomed me if love kills me through the one who owns me. This is a good song, if I didn't make mistakes and everything in it suits it, and he who learns it from me beware not to change anything! So that they hear it the viscount of Quercy and the count of Tolouse. The music is good and, each his own, all will make my song more pleasant. |
262,4? Pro ai del chan essenhadors
| Pro ai del chan essenhadors Entorn mi et ensenhairitz: Pratz e vergiers, albres e flors, Voutas d'auzelhs e lays e critz, Per lo dous termini suau, Qu'en un petit de joy m'estau, Don nulhs deportz no-m pot jauzir Tan cum solatz d'amor valen. Las pimpas sian als pastors Et als enfans bordentz petitz, E mias sion tals amors Don ieu sia jauzens jauzitz. Qu'ieu la sai bona tot aitau Ves son amic en greu loguau. Per so suy trop soen marritz Quar no n'ai so qu'al cor n'aten. Luenh es lo castelhs e la tors Ont elha jay e sos maritz, Et si per bos cosselladors Cosselhan non suy enantitz --Q'autre cosselhs petit m'en vau, Aitant n'ay fin talan corau,-- Alres no y a mais del murir, S'alqun joy non ay en breumen. Totz los vezis apel senhors Del renh on sos joys fo noyritz, E crey que-m sia grans honors Quar ieu dels plus envilanitz Cug que sion cortes lejau: Ves l'amor qu'ins el cor m'enclau Ai bon talan e bon albir, E say qu'ilh n'a bon escien. Ma voluntat s'en vai lo cors, La nueit e'l dia esclarzitz, Laintz per talant de socors; Mas tart mi ve e tart mi ditz: Amicx, fa s'elha, gilos brau An comensat tal batestau Que sera greus a departir, Tro qu'abdui en siam jauzen. |
I have good singing mentors around me, both men and women: meadows and gardens, flowers and trees, warbles of birds and cries and chirps all over the sweet, pleasant season; still, my joy is limited, since no leisure can please me as much as enjoying a worthy love. Let the shepherds have their pipes, let the playing children have them; Let me have such loves instead that I can please and be pleased. I know she is full of compassion towards her pained friend. Because of that I am often sad since I don't have what behoves my heart. Far is the castle, far is the tower where she and her husband lie And if by good advisors I am not, by advice, supported (other advice is of little worth to me, so pure is the craving in my heart) I can't do anything else but die unless I have some relief in short. I call "lord" every inhabitants of the realm where she, its joy, was reared and I believe it is a great honour for me that I believe the worst villains among them to be courteous and loyal. As for the love which is locked in my heart, I have both strong longing and good hope, and I know that she knows it. My desire follows its course, at night and in the light of the day, towards there, seeking help; But it comes back slowly, and talks to me slowly: "My friend", she says, "some jealous louts have started such a brawl that it'll be hard to part it so that we can both be satisfied". |
262, 5 Quan lo rius de la fontana
Troubadours Art Ensemble; La Troba Volume One; disc 1 track 5 (Maurice Moncozet) ****
| Quan lo rius de la fontana S'esclarzis, si cum far sol, E par la flors aiglentina, E'l rossinholetz el ram Volf e refranh ez aplana Son dous chantar e l'afina, Be'ys dregz q'ieu lo mieu refranha. Amors de terra lonhdana, Per vos tot lo cors mi dol, E no'n puesc trobar mezina Si non al vostre reclam Ab maltrait d'amor doussana Dins vergier o part cortina Ab dezirada compahna. Pus tot jorns m'en falh aizina, No'm meravilh si n'ai fam, Quar anc genser crestiana Non fo, ni Dieus non o vol, Juzia ni sarrazina. Ben es selh paguatz de mana, Qui de s'amor ren guazanha. De dezir mos cors no fina Vas selha res qu'ieu pus am, E cre que'l voler m'enguana Si cobezeza la'm tol; Que pus es ponhens d'espina La dolors que per joy sana, Don ja no vuelh qu'om m'en planha. Quan pensar m'en fai aizina adonc la bays e la col, mas pueys torn en revolina perqu'em n'espert e n'aflam, quar so que floris non grana. Lo joys que mi n'ataina tot mos cujatz afaitanha. Senes breu de parguamina Tramet lo vers en cantan En plana lengua romana, A'N Ugo Bru per Filhol. Bo'm sap quar gent peitavina De Berri e de Guizana S'esjau per lieys e'n Bretanha. |
When the rill of the source turns clear, as is its habit and the dogrose blossoms and the nightingale on the bough performs and repeats and smoothens and improves its sweet song, it is time I take mine up again. Love of a distant land, for your sake all my heart aches and I can't find a remedy (unless it is your name's reverberation) to the ill of lacking sweet love, in the garden and behind the curtain, of a longed-for companion. Since I don't get a chance all day it is no wonder I crave for it because a prettier Christian never was nor--god forbids it-- a Jewish or Saracen woman. He is well paid in manna he who gains some of her love. My heart desires incessantly her whom I love the most, and I believe my will deceives me since lust takes her off from me; it is more stinging than a thorn the pain which joy heals, so I don't want anyone to pity me. When I have time to fantasize about her then I kiss and hug her; but then I twist and turn because it frustrates and fires me that the flower doesn't give fruit. The joy which torments me abates all my pride. Without a parchment scroll I send this poem, singing in plain Romance language, to Ugo Bru, through Filhol. I am happy that people from Poitiers, Berry and Guyana are gladdened by her: and the Bretons likewise |
262,6 Quan lo rossinhol el follos
Troubadours Art Ensemble; La Troba Volume One; disc 1 track (Isabelle Bonnadier) ***
| Quan lo rossinhol el follos Dona d'amor e·n quier e·n pren E mou son chant jauzent joyos E remira sa par soven E·l riu son clar e·l prat son gen, Pel novel deport que-y renha, Mi vai grans joys al cor jazer. D'un'amistat suy enveyos, Quar no sai joya plus valen, Que d'aquesta, que bona·m fos Si·m fazia d'amor prezen, Que·l cors a gras, delgat e gen E ses ren que-y descovenha, E s'amors bon' ab bon saber. D'aquest' amor suy cossiros Vellan e pueys sompnhan dormen, Quar lai ay joy meravelos, Per qu'ieu la jau joyos jauzen. Mas sa beutatz no·m val nien, Quar nulhs amicx no m'essenha Cum ieu ja n'aya bonsaber. D'aquest' amor suy tan cochos Que quant ieu vau ves lieys corren Vejaire m'es qu'a reversos M'en torn e que lieys n'an fugen. E mos cavals i vai tan len e greu cug mais que y atenha S'ilha no·s vol arretener. Amors, alegres part de vos Per so quar vau mo mielhs queren, E fuy-en tant aventuros Qu'enqueras n'ay mon cor jauzen. Mas pero per mon Bon Guiren Que·m vol e m'apell' e·m denha m'es ops a parcer mon voler. E qui sai reina deleytos E Dieu non siec en Bethleem No sai cum ja mais sia pros Ni cum ja venh' a guerimen, Qu'ieu sai e crei, mon escien, Que selh qui Jhesus ensenha Segur' escola pot tener. |
When, in the woods, the nightingale gives love, and requires it, and takes it and modulates its song in joy and often admires its mate; when the brooks are clear, and the meadows gentle, because of the happiness that reigns over them, a great joy dwells in my heart. I long for a friendship since I don't know of a worthier joy than this, which would suit me if she gave me a present of love; her shape is full, delicate and gentle without anything to mar it: and her good love has a good taste. I am concerned about this love whether I am awake or sleeping for there I have a marvelous joy because I joyfully enjoy her joy. But her beauty comes to no avail, because no friend teaches me how to taste of her. I am so gripped by this love that when I run towards her I feel like I am walking backwards and like she is fleeing from me. And my horse keeps so slow a pace, that I think I'll never reach her unless she wants to wait for me. Love, I leave you happily since I pursue something better, and flee towards such an adventure that my heart already rejoices in it. However, because of my Good Warranter, who wants me, calls me and condescends, I must split my desire. He who reigns here in delight and does not follow god in Bethlehem I don't see how he could be valiant, or achieve salvation, since I believe, as far as I know, that only he who is taught by Jesus can be sure of his schooling. |
262,7 Qui non sap esser chantaire
| Qui non sap esser chantaire braire deu quant au lo ver sonar clar e que son per tot mesclat prat e'l rozal del mati s'espan blan sobre l'erba josta'l sauza. Non aus semblan ni vejaire faire qu'eu l'am ni l'aus desamar ar q'en amor son drut mirat fat e'il fals amador ab engan van cui amors engann'e bauza. Non es reis ni emperaire gaire que l'ause'l mantel drechar var ni far q'agues acatat grat. Ric me fai la noig en somnian, tan m'es vis q'en mos bratz l'enclauza. Lai n'irai el sieu repaire, laire, em peril qom de passar mar. Si de mi no'il pren pitat, bat fer freg. Las! tan la vau pregan qan ni ja ren de leis me'n jauza. Si no'm vol amar m'amia, dia, pos eu l'am, s'il m'amara; ja q'eu sui al seu mandamen, gen li serai si'm vol retener: ver li dirai, q'autrez i menta! |
He who cannot be a singer should bray when he hears Springtime sound clear and when everywhere the meadows are multicoloured and the morning dew spreads, light, over the grass by the osiery. I don't dare signal, nor show that I love her, nor do I dare unlove her now that in love the faithful are regarded as fools and the false lovers proceed with deceit and their love deceives and disappoints. There aren't, among kings and emperors, many who dare hand her her vair cloak nor get into her good graces. She makes me a lucky man in night dreaming so much I dream of holding her in my arms. I shall go to her abode, a thief, in as much danger as if I crossed a sea. If she doesn't have mercy on me, I flog a dead horse. Alas! I beg her so much and I don't get from her any satisfaction. If my friend doesn't want to love me, let her say it, since I love her, if she loves me; already I am at her beck and call, kind if she agrees to accept me: truthful shall I be, whoever else might lie. |
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