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Lament for Clairac
by Théophile de Viau (1590-1626)
translated from French by A.Z. Foreman
Sun-hallowed walls where I once loved Phillis,
Sweet places where my soul knew charm and wonder,
Today, beneath our wrecked roofs, just a piece
Of a high-handed army’s bloody plunder.
Altar cloth vaporized, great church now scorched
Unholy ruin, mysteries undone,
Horrific relicts of a city torched:
Men, horses and great halls buried as one.
Deep moats packed with debris from shattered walls,
Tableaux of horror, shrieks and burials,
River where blood will not stop running by.
Slaughterfields where the wolves and crows gorge free,
Clairac! For the one birth you gave to me
How many, many deaths you make me die.
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Original French
Sacrez murs du Soleil où j’adouray Philis,
Doux sejour où mon ame estoit jadis charmee,
Qui n’est plus aujourd’huy soubs nos toits desmoulis
Que le sanglant butin d’une orgueilleuse armee;
Ornemens de l’autel qui n’estes que fumee,
Grand Temple ruiné, mysteres abolis,
Effroyables objects d’une ville allumee,
Palais, hommes, chevaux, ensemble ensevelis;
Fossez larges et creux tous comblés de murailles,
Spectacles de frayeur, de cris, de funerailles,
Fleuve par où le sang ne cesse de courir,
Charniers où les Corbeaux et loups vont tous repaistre,
Clairac pour une fois que vous m’avez fait naistre,
Helas! combien de fois me faictes vous mourir.
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Translator’s Note
Clairac, home to Théophile, was a bastion of Protestantism in the late 16th and early 17th centuries. In May of 1621, during the Huguenot rebellions, 4,000 Protestant rebels held the city against a siege for which they had not prepared. Faced with famine after two weeks, they surrendered to Louis XIII who executed the rebel leaders and gave his men leave to terrorize the populace. In 1622, the city was held by Huguenot rebels again, and again devastated both by Huguenots and Catholics in turn. That spring, Théophile revisited the city of his birth and found it ravaged and ruined, the surviving population traumatized and still busy identifying the dead.
To hear the original text read in a reconstruction of early 17th century French pronunciation (as well as a reading of the translation) listen to the accompanying audio file.
To me, the descriptive collocations suggest the speaker walking about the ruined town, noting the spectacles of devastation. They spill out of his voice so as to evoke the chaos of ruin. At the same time, most or all of the poem is an extended apostrophe. By line 5, we sense this, as the copula is in the 2nd person plural. Théophile is speaking not just about these things but also to them. English tradition doesn’t make use of apostrophe as much, and our copula doesn’t distinguish between 3rd and 2nd person in the plural. Fortunately that allows me to delay the explicit apostrophic effect much later in the 13th line, and avoid sounding treacly.
A church is mentioned. I have translated it as “church.” In French there are different words for churches. Protestant places of worship, especially traditionally, are temples and Catholic ones églises. This was normal usage. But the word “temple” as a refined word in verse could also refer to a Catholic church. At one level Théophile must mean a Catholic church, since he was Catholic and the (Eucharistic) “mysteries” and “altar” are right there. But it is important that Théophile is using a word that can mean one of two different things. He had only just converted to Catholicism before writing this, and had attended a Protestant university. His family were Protestants. In using a word ordinarily associated with Protestant churches in such a way as to refer to a Catholic one, he seems to express the generalized senselessness of atrocities when writing about a city that had seen them from both sides.
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A.Z. Foreman is a poet, linguist and translator pursuing a doctorate at the Ohio State University. His work has been featured or is forthcoming in the Threepenny Review, the Los Angeles Review, ANMLY and other journals.
A beautifully rendered Englishing of the original French sonnet, and it is a delight to hear the recording of the 17th-century pronunciation of the language.
The Translator’s Note is a welcome addition, giving not just the historical context of the poem, but also critical insight into the poem’s structure, and the poet’s choice of words.
The S.C.P. is honored by the presence of A.Z. Foreman, a highly gifted translator who is skilled in several languages.
Translation very capably done, with good and sometimes unexpected modern English word choices that emphasize horror in the lament. To notice one detail that shows sensitivity to the original, I’ll point to “Clairac” and “Helas” as paired words in the French syntax. The translation says something other than the simple “Alas” to reproduce this effect, by rendering “combien” as a rightful crescendo “many, many” in finishing the line.
I’m reminded of the destruction of Jerusalem recorded in Lamentations., which records not only the fall of a city but the breaking of a covenant.
How accomplished you are in translating poetry, A.Z. This poem was such a pleasure to read despite the horrific subject matter.
This poem is indeed sad but so beautiful . It is truly lovely to listen to. I hope you don’t mind me saying that the last two lines resonate with me. It is exactly how I feel about my own occupied country. Despite the fact that I have lived most of my life elsewhere I still feel that for the one birth it gave to me , I have died a thousand times of grief from the loss. only I could not have said it so eloquently before. Thank you for gifting us with this.