NOTES ON THE EARLY USE OF THE VARIOUS FORMS.

SOME NOTES ON THE EARLY USE OF THE VARIOUS FORMS, AND RULES FOR THEIR CONSTRUCTION.

In the limited space available, it is hardly possible to give more than a very crude sketch of the origin of these forms; but some reference to early Provençal literature is inevitable, since the nucleus of not a few of them can be traced among the intricate rhyming of the Troubadours. Yet it would be beyond the purpose to go minutely into the enticing history of that remarkable period, nor is it needful to raise disputed questions regarding the origin of each particular fashion. The number of books on Provençal subjects is great, the mere enumeration of the names of those in the library of the British Museum would fill several pages. The language itself has a fascination which allures many to disaster, for as Mr. Hueffer points out, it "looks at first sight so like the Latin and more familiar Romance languages that it offers special temptations" to guess at its meaning, with very doubtful success.

The term Provençal is usually applied to a dialect more correctly known as "the Langue d'Oc, which, with the Langue d'Oil, forms the two divisions of the Romance language spoken in the country we now know as France;" but Mr. Saintsbury remarks that, strictly speaking, the Langue d'Oc should not be called "French" at all, since it is hardly more akin to the Langue d'Oil than it is to Spanish and Italian, and that those who spoke it applied the term "French" to northern speech, calling their own Limousin, or Provençal, or Auvergnat. The limits where it prevailed extended far beyond Provence itself. Authorities differ with regard to the exact boundaries. It will suffice for the present purpose to take those Mr. Hueffer adopts—namely, the district within a boundary formed by a line drawn from the mouth of the Gironde to that of the Saone, in the north, while the southern limit includes parts of Spain, such as Aragon, Valencia, Catalonia, and the Balearic Islands.

Herr Karl Bartsch, the eminent historian of Provençal literature, divides it into three periods:—the first, to the end of the eleventh century; the second, which is the one that marks the most flourishing time of the poetry of the Troubadours, extending over the twelfth and thirteenth; and the third period—of its decadence—in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. To this may be added the attempt to revive it in our own day, by the school of the so-called Félibres, including Mistral, Aubanel, Alphonse Daudet, and others, who have worked vigorously, and with no mean success, to produce a modern literature in the old dialect, worthy of its former dignity. In this preface it is impossible to mention any part of the prose of this marvellous literature, which sprang almost suddenly into a gigantic growth, that has been a fruitful theme for wonder and admiration ever since, and left its influence widely felt. The point that is to the purpose here, concerns the invention by the Provençal poets of many set forms of verse, some few of which are still written, but most so altered and renewed by later use, that their original character is well-nigh obscured. The forms included in this book are often erroneously attributed en masse to the jongleurs of Provence, yet few assumptions are less true. Altered by the Trouvères, the fifteenth century poets, the Ronsardists, and later writers, it is safer to assign to the Troubadours only the germs which evolved gradually into their now matured forms. To linger over the extraordinary period is a temptation hard to dismiss; the very name still has a flavour of romance, and brings a curious medley of images to the mind when it is heard, many perhaps as far from the actual Provençal Troubadour as Nanki-Poo in the "Mikado" is from the wandering minstrel of the court of King Thibaut. Of the Troubadours who have come down to fame, four hundred and sixty are recorded by name, besides two hundred and fifty-one pieces that have survived without evidence of their authors. King Richard I. (our own Cœur de Lion), Guillem de Cabestanh, Peire Vidal, Bertran de Born, The Monk of Montaudon, and many others, have biographical sketches of exceeding interest allotted to them in Mr. Hueffer's "The Troubadours." A halo of romance has gathered round their names, and thrown a glamour over the record of their lives; to read their history is to be transported to a region where all topics but love and song are deemed unimportant trifles, unless the old chroniclers are singularly untruthful in their statements. We know now-a-days many a young poet's crushed life appears only in his verses, and outside those he appears but an average Philistine to vulgar eyes. Perhaps the "land of the nightingale and rose" was not so idyllic as its historians paint it; but with every deduction, there yet remains evidence of an exceptional importance attached to the arts, more especially to that of song. To those who wrote, or rather sang, witty impromptus (made often, we can but fancy, with much labour beforehand), or produced dainty conceits in elaborate rhymes and rhythms, when sound came perilously near triumphing over sense, a welcome was extended, as widespread and far more personal in its application than even that accorded to our modern substitute for the troubadour—the popular novelist. The doings of the Courts of Love, set down in sober chronicles, are hardly less fantastic than Mr. Gilbert's ingenious operas. Matters of the most sentimental and amorous character were debated in public, with all the earnestness of a question of state. That their poetry was singularly limited in its character there is little doubt, but Mr. Hueffer declares that it had its serious side, often lost sight of, and that no small portion was devoted to stately and dignified subjects. Mr. Lowell, on the other hand, in an essay on Chaucer in My Study Windows, says—

"Their poetry is purely lyric in its most narrow sense, that is, the expression of personal and momentary moods. To the fancy of the critics who take their cue from tradition, Provence is a morning sky of early summer, out of which innumerable larks rain a faint melody (the sweeter because rather half divined than heard too distinctly) over an earth where the dew never dries and the flowers never fade. But when we open Raynouard it is like opening the door of an aviary. We are deafened and confused by a hundred minstrels singing the same song at once, and more than suspect the flowers they welcome are made of French cambric, spangled with dewdrops of prevaricating glass."

The forms in which the Provençal poets wrote were chiefly these:—The oldest was called vers, and consisted of octosyllabic lines arranged in stanzas; from this grew the canzo, with interlaced rhymes—later on with the distinctive feature still prominent in French, but unknown in English poetry, the rhymes masculine and feminine. The canzo was used entirely for subjects of love and gallantry, but the sirvente, composed of short stanzas, simply rhyming, and corresponding one to the other, was employed for political and social subjects, sometimes treated seriously, at others satirically. The tenso was a curious trial of skill in impromptu versification. Two antagonists met and agreed that the one should reply on the opposite side to any argument the first might select. The opening stanza, chosen at will by the speaker, was imitated in the reply, both in observance of its rhyme and rhythm, the same rhyme-sound being often kept throughout the whole poem. It must not be forgotten that the Langue d'Oc was singularly fertile in rhymes, so that the feat was less arduous than it would be in other tongues. The alba, a farewell at morning, and the serena, or evening song, the pastorella, devoted, as its name implies, to pastoral subjects, appear to govern the themes of the verses rather than the form. There is record, however, of the breu-doble (double short), invented by Guirant Riquier, a little form with three rhymes, two of which are repeated twice in three four-lined stanzas, and given once in a concluding couplet, while the third finished each quatrain. The retroensa is noticeable for its refrain of more than one line. The sonnet has ceased to be claimed as a Provençal invention, yet it must be noted, as at one time its origin there was a favourite theory. The ballade, "a song serving to accompany the dance," must not be confused with the later ballade; and lastly, the greatest in most respects, the sestina, which, as it occurs among the poems noticed technically later on, need not be further mentioned here.

"The artificial verse-forms of Provence include some as peculiar and arbitrary as ever issued from the brain of Persian poet—verse-forms by the side of which the metrical glitter of ballade, chant royal, rondeau, rondel, triolet, virelai and villanelle must pale," says a writer in the Westminster Review (October 1878), and instances the tenso and the sestina in proof of his assertion. Mr. Hueffer also treats the chant royal as mere child's play beside the intricate feats displayed by the Troubadours. The above short list shows many examples of forms using the refrain and some other features preserved in Northern poetry; but the debt owed by the North to the Troubadours is far less, according to later writers, than that assigned to Provençal influence some few years ago. Mr. Saintsbury says that "poems called rondeaux and ballades, of loose construction and undecided form, began to make their appearance at the end of the twelfth and beginning of the thirteenth century," but the forms as we know them owe their present shape to their reformation in Northern France, culminating in the poems of Charles d'Orléans and François Villon. In this revival, the lai and pastourelle kept their Provençal titles, but were made much more exact in form, and never attained the widespread celebrity of the newer shapes, which are to all intents and purposes the models for the forms in this volume, save the sestina, which is practically an Italian, and the pantoum, an Eastern form.

There is no space here to notice more than the names of a few of even the most prominent of the poets who succeeded the Provençal singers in their use of these forms. There are thousands of ballades in MSS. in the Royal French Library, by known and unknown writers. Eustache Deschamps (1328-1415), a friend of Chaucer's, "has left no less than 1175 ballades. Rondeaus, virelais, etc., also proceeded in great numbers from his pen; also an important Art of Poetry, a treatise rendered at once necessary and popular by the fashion of artificial rhyming."[1] Some of the earliest ballades and rondel-triolets bear the name of Jehan Froissart (1337-1410), the chronicler. Messire Guy de la Tremouille, according to Mr. Gosse, is supposed to have been the first to devise the elaborate rules of construction of the ballade, which have been in force ever since. He was guard of the Oriflamme in 1383, and died in 1398; but Deschamps is more often credited with the honour. That he cultivated the form we know, besides writing an "Art of making Chansons, Ballades, Virelais, and Rondels," which is a valuable relic of his time. Jehannot de Lescurel, "of whom absolutely nothing is known, has left sixteen ballades, fifteen rondeaus (not in regular form), and other pieces, said to be 'of singular grace, lightness, and elegance.'"

Guillaume de Machault (1284-1377) was also a voluminous writer. One of his poems, a chanson balladée, is printed in Mr. Saintsbury's Short History of French Literature, which contains also a Ballade by Alain Chartier (1390-1458), the hero of the famous story of the kiss of Queen Margaret of Scotland, and other specimens of this period, in a succinct and trustworthy account of the growth of French poetry, surpassed by no book in our own language.

Charles d'Orléans (1391-1466), noticed among the English writers, is specially honoured as the master of the rondel; while François Villon (1431-1485) stands out as the "prince of all ballade-makers." For brief, but splendid sketches of these two, Mr. R. L. Stevenson's Familiar Studies of Men and Books should be consulted, while for more prosaic description there is no lack of data. Since the revival of interest in Villon, France has done tardy but unstinted honour to her most famous poet, as it is the fashion just now to style him, but there is a doubt whether the praise given is not in danger of being exaggerated. Yet, making all allowances, there is vital humanity in his wondrous writings, that now, after four hundred years, read as living and modern in their presentation of life, as though they were by a realist of our own day. In Villon, student, poet, housebreaker, we find the forerunner of the Zola of to-day—one who, in so eminently an artificial form as the ballade, cast aside all conventional restraints, and sang of what he saw and knew. It is much to be regretted that space forbids more translations of his poems to be included in this collection. For those who wish to tackle him in his old, and by no means easy, French, a good edition is published for a franc, in the Collection Jannet-Picard (Paris). Mr. Payne has translated the whole of his authentic works into English in a volume, at present out of print, which contains also a very graphic and full biography of this remarkable man. Space forbids insertion of the sketch of his life prepared for this chapter. Born in 1431, student 1448, B.A. in 1452, writing his Lesser Testament in 1446, his Greater Testament in 1461; in those few years he contrived to win more fame, and, to speak truly, more infamy, than a whole generation of lesser poets. He was condemned to die—he wrote his marvellous Ballade of the Gibbet while lying under sentence of death—but escaped. Where he died is unknown, the date of his Greater Testament being the last record of Master François Villon of Paris.

In 1493 appeared L'art et science de rhéthorique pour faire rigmes et ballades, by Henry de Croï—an invaluable treatise on French Poetics. The works of Pierre Gringoire (1478-1544) must be named, if only for the fact of De Banville's splendid ballade in his comedy "Gringoire," founded on an incident in the poet's life. By Mr. Lang's permission a translation is quoted in the body of this volume. Mr. John Payne also englished it, in the Dublin University Magazine, 1879. The works of Clement Marot (1497-1544) demand special note, since his ballades and chants royaux are now accepted as the ideal models for imitation.

In his Art Poëtique, 1555, Thomas Sibilet reviews many of the former writers, and gives the rules of the poetry then in force. Immediately after this date came another change; with the famous school of Ronsard (1524-1585) and the Pléiade, as they are styled, one of whom, however, Du Bellay, was eager to abolish the ballade and chant royal in favour of the sonnet. The members of this group produced some notable work in strict forms. Among the Ronsardists we find Grévin the dramatist, who wrote some graceful poems which he called Villanesques—a modified form of the Villanelle—and Jean Passerat (1534-1602) who is specially noteworthy, since in his hand the Villanelle crystallised into its present shape, Joseph Boulmier, in the last revival, making this form his special study, and writing all his verses after Passerat's model given elsewhere in this volume.

The rondeau was revived in great splendour in the middle of the seventeenth century. Foremost among the brilliant group is Voiture (1598-1648), the acknowledged master of this form. Only thirty of his rondeaus are left, but each one of these is a masterpiece, and may be studied for all the subtle devices and dainty inventions that the form has yet yielded. Benserade (1612-1691) and Sarrasin were also famous for rondeau-making, the former translating the whole of Ovid's Metamorphoses into rondeaus, which were sumptuously printed at the King's Press at a cost of 10,000 francs. When Voiture died in 1648, it is curious to note that Sarrasin wrote a "pompous funereal poem—possibly the most funny serious elegy ever composed—in which, among other strange mourners, he makes the 'poor little triolet,' all in tears, trot by the side of the dead poet," who, according to Mr. Gosse, from whom the above paragraph is quoted, had never written one in his life. Sarrasin also left a curious specimen of the Glose, written on the famous Sonnet "de IOB" by Benserade. In 1649 Gérard de Saint Amant wrote a volume of sixty-four triolets. From the seventeenth to the nineteenth century no important examples occur. About thirty years ago De Banville revived these old shapes, and initiated a movement that Daudet, Glatigny, Boulmier, and a host of others have helped forward, so that now modern French literature is flooded with examples of the forms-the ballade, rondeau, and triolet being the most widely used.

Having imperfectly followed the growth of the forms in France, it will be interesting to give a few notes of the various attempts made to acclimatise some in England. Although no effort previous to 1873 warrants us in claiming an English pedigree for them, yet it is curious to see how often the attempt was made to write them in our own tongue. The sonnet gradually grew into use, until it became as little an exotic as the potato, to employ an uncouth simile; the ballade and rondeau—hardly more formal in their rules, and with susceptibilities of infinite grace and beauty—failed to be even residents amongst us, much less naturalised subjects, sharing the rights and duties of citizens. Chaucer is believed to have used these forms, as in "The Legend of Good Women" he says, speaking of himself—

His "Balade de Vilage sauns Peynture," however, does not correspond with the accepted form. Mr. Gosse says that the Chaucer of 1651 contains a number of poems attributed to himself and Lydgate "which are merely pieces in rhyme-royal, so arranged as to imitate the French ballade: without its severity of form."

The following is a roundel attributed to Chaucer:—

I.-Burden.

II.

III.

This is given in Furnival's Trial-Forewords to Chaucer's Minor Poems, and is especially interesting in connection with the history of the forms in English use.

Of his immediate followers, Lydgate, a monk of Bury, author of London Lyckpenny, is said by Guest to have written a "roundle," and one by Thomas Occleve is printed in Morley's Shorter English Poems.

John Gower (1340-1408), author of Confessio Amantis, at the coronation of Henry IV. presented the king with a collection of fifty Ballades, written in the Provençal manner, "to entertain his noble court." The thin oblong MS., on vellum, which contains them is still extant in the Marquis of Stafford's library at Trentham, and in 1818 it was printed for the Roxburghe Club; but as the poems are unfortunately written in French, they do not assist in supporting a claim for the early use of the form in England. Professor Henry Morley has translated one for his English Writers; it follows the rhymes accurately, but has a somewhat trite subject. A critic has well said of it, that the poets of Gowers's day "were not burdened with solving 'the riddle of the painful earth.' It may be that a good deal of their guileless delight in things fresh and young was feigned, but then so is much of our more pretentious philosophy." From its special interest it is quoted here—

Envoy.

John Shirley, who lived about 1440, made a collection of Ballades, Roundels, Virelais, and Tragedies, in MSS., which are still extant in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford. After noticing Gower, who wrote ballades in French, Charles d'Orléans, who wrote rondels in English, comes as another instance of the early use, but again as a mere exception, since the accident which led both writers to adopt exotic forms is outside the history of our native poetry, and cannot be brought forward to prove their early naturalisation. Of Charles d'Orléans much might be said worth saying, but there are so many sources of information open, that here we need note only the poems written during his captivity. He is said to have been our prisoner for about twenty-five years, and during that time to have acquired a taste for our language. The Abbé Sallier, who unearthed the manuscript of his poems in the Royal Library at Paris during the last century, says he wrote but two in English; but in the MS. at the British Museum, the Rev. H. F. Cary, the translator of Dante, found three, quoted in his Early French Poets (Bohn, 1846). The editor of that volume, the Rev. Henry Cary, son of the author, mentions in a footnote a large collection among the Harleian MSS., attributed to Charles d'Orléans, but throws doubt on their being more than translations. Into this question there is no space to enter. These are the three from Cary's book:—

Spenser (1553-1599) is said (but I cannot trace the authority) to have used some of these forms. Again, Sir Philip Sidney's (1554-1586) famous ditty, "My true love hath my heart," recalls the rondel, but cannot claim to be one. Drummond of Hawthornden (1585-1649) has a fine sestina (too long for quotation), "Sith gone is my delight and only pleasure."

The Trivial Poems, and Triolets of Patrick Carey deserve mention. This volume was unknown until the beginning of the present century, although dated Warnefurd, 1651. The poems were brought into notice by Sir Walter Scott, who obtained the MSS. from John Murray, and after inserting a few in the Edinburgh Annual Register, 1810, published the whole for the first time in 1819. The following specimen is taken from Scott's reprint, p. 43:—

In the Athenæum, May 7, 1887, is a long article on Carey, signed C. F. S. Warner, M. A. Charles Cotton, the friend of Izaak Walton, wrote a rondeau, "a very ungallant example," cited in Dr. Guests' History of English Rhythms. There is also one unquotable, by reason of its subject, among the correspondence of Alexander Pope (1688-1744), and in the Rolliad, 1784, a volume of satires in prose and verse, that enjoyed a great popularity for a time, there is a set of five rondeaus, written in pure form after the Voiture model. They satirise North, Eden, Pitt, and Dorset, and are perfect in construction, and vigorous in their ridicule. The popularity of these effusions led to many imitations in the periodical prints at the beginning of this century, few, however, of sufficient merit to be worth reviving. By the courtesy of Mr. Austin Dobson, the owner, I am able to extract a specimen from a scarce and little-known book, entitled Rondeaulx; translated from the Black Letter French Edition of 1527, by J. R. Best, Esq.;—

The dedication to Robert Studley Vidal, Esq., is dated 1838. The first poem is preceded by a quaint apology, that unfortunately is too long to quote, but the rondeau itself, if its rhythm is faulty and its language ungraceful, shows that the original had sterling advice to offer, and that the translator was not ignorant of the true rules of the form.

UNG BON RONDEAU

In Mr. Oxenford's Book of French Songs, now published with Miss Costello's Specimens of the Early Poetry of France, in a volume of the Chandos Classics, there is one ballade given (with its original French, both without envoy); but although noting the peculiarity that each stanza has the same terminations, Mr. Oxenford has not kept it in his translation, nor has Miss Costello, in a numerous collection of ballades, rondels, lais, and other forms, once paraphrased them accurately, usually varying even the refrain; nor can I see, in her voluminous notes, that she draws attention to this important feature, although she gives the particulars of the eccentricities of rhyming known as Fraternisée, Brisée, and the like, and condemns their triviality rather strongly. In the edition before me no date is given; the authoress died in 1870. The oft-quoted Rondeau by Leigh Hunt is so beautiful in itself that all its shortcomings in the matter of form may be readily pardoned, and if—but the saving clause is great—others as beautiful could be built on the same shape, a "Leigh Hunt" variation would be a welcome addition to the forms in English; but it is no rondeau, and has not the faintest claim to be so styled. Probably it is familiar to all readers, but in case even one should not know it, it is quoted here:—

If Mr. Swinburne's examples of the forms in his earlier volumes be not counted (since he then ignored many of the rules that, as his later books show, he can use with such splendid mastery), to Mr. Andrew Lang's Lays and Lyrics of Old France (Longman, 1872) must be assigned the honour of leading the way in the reproduction in English of the old French metrical forms, made in conformance to their ascertained laws. How far that volume led the way to the modern employment of these forms for original poetry in our own tongue, is not so easily proved. One thing, at least, is certain, that Mr. Austin Dobson, Mr. Edmund Gosse, Mr. W. E. Henley, Mr. Payne, and one or two other writers, were each, unknown to the rest, trying the new measures. In the words of one of these, "the study of French literature was in the air;" and naturally, as we now see, the new movement began simultaneously to adapt its rules to English conditions. To Mr. Bridges belongs the honour of printing the first Triolet in modern English; but he expressly disclaims being looked upon as the apostle for the naturalisation of the exotic forms, for which he had no peculiar sympathy, and after his Poems, 1873, ceased to use. So little were his experiments appreciated, that their presence in his volume was considered prejudicial to its success, by competent authorities of the day, who little foresaw the rapid growth that would so soon spring up. To Mr. Austin Dobson is assigned the first ballade, "The Prodigals;" to Mr. Edmund Gosse the first villanelle and chant royal; and to Mr. W. E. Henley the first double ballade, and a few other variations. But it is most likely that the priority of some of these was due to the mere accident of publication, and that it is more near the truth to regard the whole as a contemporaneous movement toward French rhythms, thought out and experimented upon by many writers, ignorant of the fact that they were not alone in the study, and that others were working upon the same lines. One of the first who made trial of these French rhythms has (I believe) never published any; yet examples of their use by the author of A Child's Garden of Verse would have added greatly to the interest of this collection, but the author has willed that they should remain unquoted, so I can only regret their absence.

From 1873 to 1877 a fair number had appeared, but these were produced almost entirely by the writers already named. From 1877, however, the number of those who made them increased rapidly. In that year Mr. Dobson's Proverbs in Porcelain was published, containing a series of these forms, which, as internal evidence of much subsequent work shows, have been accepted as typical models to be followed in their English use. The series in The London noticed elsewhere, during this year and 1878, also increased their popularity, while the later English use may be traced to some extent by the examples here collected. In America about the same time the new fashion in versemaking was taken up very warmly, and to the present day the Americans have shown themselves more cordial towards the Gallic measures than even our own countrymen. In the popular periodicals of the United States there are more specimens than in our English magazines, and the appearance of so many examples in this book shows that the American poets have caught a great deal of the peculiar quality, hard to define but easy to recognise, which the forms demand. Then came Mr. W. Davenport Adams's Latter Day Lyrics, with a section devoted to these forms, and "A Note on Some Foreign Forms of Verse," by Mr. Dobson. Since then the poems written in these styles have been increasing in number, until the idea of collecting them in one volume, long in my mind, was favourably entertained by Mr. William Sharp, the general editor of the series in which this book appears.

The taste for these tours de force in the art of versemaking is no doubt an acquired one; yet to quote the first attempt to produce a lyric with a repeated burden would take one back to the earliest civilisation. The use of the refrain and conventional arrangement of rhyme in these forms differs as widely from the burdens of the old examples, as the purely conventional design of Greek art from the savage patterns of its ancestral stock. Whether the first refrains were used for decorative effect only, or to give the singer time to recollect or to improvise the next verse, it matters little, since the once mere adjunct was made in later French use an integral and vital part of the verse. The charm of these strictly written verses is undoubtedly increased by some knowledge of their technical rules. As a subtle harmony of colours may reveal, to those who can grasp it, a miracle of skill and science, while it is no more nor less than "a pretty picture" to others—or polyphonic harmony, with all the resources of the science of music, may be employed to enrich a clear popular melody, to which the unmusical can yet nod their heads and fancy they understand it all; so a ballade or rondeau may be so deftly wrought, with an infinity of care and grace, that those who read it simply as a dainty poem never suspect the stern laws ordering the apparent spontaneity of the whole. To approach ideal perfection, nothing less than implicit obedience to all the rules is the first element of success; but the task is by no means finished there. Every quality that poetry demands, whether clearness of thought, elegance of expression, harmonious sound, or faultless rhythm, is needed as much in these shapes as in unfettered verse, and not until all those are contributed comes the final test of the poem itself; whether it utters thoughts worth uttering, or suggests ideas worth recalling. It may be said, without fear of exaggeration, that all the qualities required to form a perfect lyric in poetry are equally needful here, plus a great many special ones the forms themselves demand. To the students of any art there is always a peculiar charm when the highest difficulties are surmounted with such ease, that the consummate art is hidden to all who know not the magic password to unveil it. But for those who have no special knowledge of poetry, it is pertinent to inquire what good these ingenious tours de force achieve, and why the poem could not please as well if it was written in ordinary verse? This is hard to answer; but the fact remains that in every phase of art, whether music, picture, or poem, such technical achievements have invariably found admirers in any period of advanced civilisation. It has been said that these forms display no higher aim than the verses printed to resemble an hour-glass or altar, in some of our early poets; but such an accusation is hardly worthy of serious reply. If the sonnet in Italian form has gained world-wide fame, the principle of fixed form is at once shown to be acceptable to the majority of scholars, and it becomes only a question of degree whether these rondeaus and ballades gain so prominent a place. It is hardly fair to expect to find among these forms a lyric that has caught the ear of the public, and won its way to the hearts of everyone; fifteen years of use is all they may claim, and compared with the lyric poetry guileless of bonds, during the same period, they at least hold their own. It must also be remembered that they were adopted by the younger men, who won no small amount of their present fame by these pretty devices.

On the Rules of the Various Forms.—There are several general laws governing these fixed metrical forms that must be insisted on at the outset. The rule of the limited number of rhymes holds good of nearly all. One feature prominent in the French rules is impossible in English, as the difference between the rhyme masculine on words that have not the e mute for their final letter, and the rhyme feminine on words that possess the e mute, is unknown to us; but side by side with the release from one binding law in French verse, a new one is imposed. In that language, words of exactly similar sound and spelling may be used to rhyme together, provided the meaning of the words is distinct—such license the most doggerel bard would reject in English—in spite of the precedent Milton offers, having "Ruth" and "ruth" in one of his sonnets. Purists forbid in our tongue the use of words of distinct spelling, but identical sound, as "sail" and "sale," "bear" and "bare;" nor would they allow words closely allied, as "claim," "disclaim," "reclaim," to be employed, the strict rule being, that no syllable once used as a rhyme can be used again for that purpose throughout the poem, not even if it be spelt differently while keeping the same sound; nor if the whole word is altered by a prefix; the syllable that rhymes must always be a new one both in sense and sound. It is this feature of the many rhymes to be found on a limited root-sound that proves the initial difficulty in these shapes.

If the above rule is thought too strict—and it must be owned very few writers acknowledge it to the extent of excluding such words as "claim, acclaim, prove, reprove," etc.—at least such words should be kept as far apart as possible, not used in the same stanza, if it can be avoided, and never to rhyme with one another. Next in order, but of equal, perhaps primary importance, is the use of the refrain. This recurrent phrase is common in many languages; but the way these ballades, rondeaus, and other shapes employ it, differs from all others. In most old ballads and folk-songs the refrain comes as a mere jingle, or, at best, an interlude, not reflecting the idea of the verse it closes, nor varying its sense in spite of retaining its sound, as it does in a perfect example of these forms. An ordinary refrain in other poetry is usually kept to one note resounding through the whole poem, much as the drone-bass in "pifferari" or "musette" music is kept going throughout. In music there is another form of bass always kept continuous—the ground-bass, on which Handel and Bach built some mighty choruses; but in this the repeated sequence of notes in the phrase, although they occur again and again unaltered, have the superstructure welded into them, one splendid harmony—not, as in the other, a melody merely floating over the accompaniment of the one note or chord of the drone bass. It may be a somewhat forced parallel, but in the instance quoted, and the fugue, canon, and other contrapuntal laws of classical music, there is much in common with these laws of strict metrical verse. The enormous use of set forms in the masterpieces of tone-art may be a happy augury to the future that yet awaits them in word-art. It may be said that at present the poems dare claim no such success as the contrapuntal devices in music can show, where the greatest works employ such devices frequently; yet the leap from the simple forms of counterpoint to the works of the mighty John Sebastian took but comparatively few years, although the distance was so great. But fanciful parallels of this sort are rarely satisfactory to any, except their maker, and need not be dwelt on here. The refrain in each case is noticed more especially among the laws of each form, but with regard to all the forms it is necessary to insist on the importance of introducing it unaltered in sound on each recurrence; it is sometimes changed by using, say, "and" for "but," or "then" for "if;" but, without condemning any who take this license, it is better to avoid it. Still, any change of meaning that be obtained by alteration of punctuation, accent, or even of spelling, provided the sound is unchanged, is not merely allowable but desirable, in lighter verse especially. Without recommending the use of the pun pure and simple, where its easy vulgarity would quickly be fatal to the dainty conceits that mark the best humorous verse in these forms, yet any pretty play upon words, or a sentence with new meaning read into it by the context, is more than permissible, being present in the best models of the Voiture rondeau and many triolets and ballades. This applies chiefly to poems of the class called Vers de Société, for want of an English synonym. The comic papers of our own country show no use of the form quite so fine in burlesque treatment as some of the American ones, notably the chant royal, Mrs. Jones, by Mr. H. C. Bunner; in the burlesque examples printed in this book it will be seen that the forms can be made to give added zest to satire or humour, beside imparting a certain scholarly finish, that itself raises them from the terribly dead level of much of our so-called comic poetry. A few shapes yet await presentation in English dress. I have not succeeded in finding specimens of the glose or the virelai (rhythme d'Alain Chartier), while the example of the virelai (nouveau), Mr. Dobson's "July," is the only one brought to light. The lai and the rondelet are also very little used, so that anyone interested in these old measures will yet find plenty of unhackneyed forms for experimenting upon. It is curious that the sonnet, no less exacting in its technical rules, and far more imperious in the treatment it demands, finds so many eager followers, for with its wealth of literature, the chance of attaining to the second rank even, among such splendid poems, requires a high amount of talent, if not absolute genius. In the rondeau, or ballade, many writers who are ignored in the ampler crowd of sonnet-makers might find pleasing forms, not merely to display true poetic thoughts (if they have the power to do so), but verse that has in its shape some air of novelty still, and would sound less like the faint re-echoes of a stronger song, the frequent effect of many a modern sonnet.

These few prefatory lines may well close with De Banville's own words (in Mr. Lang's English)—"This cluster of forms is one of our most precious treasures, for each of them forms a rhythmic whole, complete and perfect, while at the same time they all possess the fresh and unconscious grace which marks the production of primitive times." As the translator adds, "There is some truth in this criticism, for it is a mark of man's early ingenuity in many arts to seek complexity (where you would expect simplicity), and yet to lend to that complexity an infantine naturalness. One can see this phenomenon in early decorative art, and in early law and custom, and even in the complicated structure of primitive languages. Now, just as early and even savage races are our masters in the decorative use of colour and of carving, so the nameless mastersingers of ancient France may be our teachers in decorative poetry—the poetry some call vers de société."

In analysing the structure of these forms, it would be, no doubt, possible for a master to present them in English, as terse and epigrammatic as the French of de Banville or de Gramont. But there would be a danger in so doing. A famous prelate is said to have apologised for a long letter, on the ground that he had not time to write a short one: this anecdote may be paraphrased here, for it often happens that many have time to run through a discursive, gossipy description, when they could not devote the attention needful to read a short one. If every word is carefully chosen, and used in an exact way to convey as much as possible, it requires no less careful reading;—as in some of our Science Primers, where the material for an ordinary chapter is condensed and reduced to the crystal of a single sentence, that demands almost equal exactness in obtaining its solution, if one would absorb all the learning compressed in so small a compass. This excuse may serve in lieu of a better for the somewhat prolix method in which these rules are presented. Let no one imagine that the most perfect knowledge of the laws of these forms is enough to start him in writing poetry; for such rules are but what the fundamental rules of arithmetic are to astronomers—all important as the basis, but powerless, without genius and science, to discover new worlds, or formulate an hypothesis for the existence of known ones. If such books as those the present chapter follows are looked upon as handbooks to making poetry, that one stupendous flight of imagination is probably the only one its author is fated to achieve.

The Ballade.—In the alphabetical sequence adopted in the arrangement of this volume, the Ballade happily comes first. This is as it should be, since no other of these forms has been more frequently used in English, nor, it may be, is any other so capable of variety, since among its successful examples many different treatments will be found. This form adapts itself to its subject, and may be sonorous or stately, playful or easy, at the will of its writer, as, in capable hands, it can strike any note in the gamut of passions, from religious exaltation or fierce grim satire, to actual pathos, or, if needful, pure burlesque. It is possible the Ballade will never be written so strictly to one model as the sonnet, but that many variations—to be noticed presently—will each find admirers; but the existing examples warrant a belief that the shape will continue in our poetry, for it is impossible, in face of many hundred examples, to style it an exotic at the present day.

The construction of the Ballade, although not less stern in insisting on the introduction of a refrain than many of the other shapes, uses it at wider intervals, and so escapes the besetting danger of such forms as the villanelle or triolet, where its constant recurrence may easily become as senseless as the "with a fal, la, la" of the old madrigal writers, unless it be very skilfully brought in. Again, its length, generally of twenty-eight or thirty-five lines, with the refrain in either case appearing but four times, allows room to display the subject, and yet forbids the diffuseness of many ordinary lyrics, where one fancies a happy rhyme-sound is often responsible for the intrusion of an additional couplet or quatrain, that weakens the whole poem. Its length, moreover, strictly within hard and fast limits though it be, is not so cramped as the fourteen lines of the true sonnet, nor has tradition fixed the style of treatment of the central idea. The narrative ballade is perfectly legitimate, provided the writer has sufficient power to overcome the extreme difficulty it presents. It is often urged that the unalterable sequence of rhymes, which must be found after the set of three or five are once chosen, proves a hindrance to the imagination of the poet who uses it. M. Lemâitre has answered this objection very aptly. He says—"The poet who begins a ballade does not know very exactly what he will put into it. The rhyme, and nothing but the rhyme, will whisper things unexpected and charming, things he would never have thought of but for her, things with strange and remote relations to each other, all united in the disorder of a dream. Nothing, indeed, is richer in suggestion than the strict laws of these difficult pieces; they force the fancy to wander afield, hunting high and low; and while she seeks through all the world the foot that can wear Cinderella's slipper, she makes delightful discoveries by the way."[6]

The Ballade, in its normal type, consists of three stanzas of eight lines, followed by a verse of four lines, known as the envoy, or three verses of ten lines, with envoy of five, each of the stanzas and the envoy closing with the refrain. The most important rules for the ballade may be put briefly:—First, The same set of rhymes in the same order they occupy in the first stanza must repeat throughout the whole of its verses. Secondly, No word once used as a rhyme must be used again for that purpose in the whole length of the poem. Thirdly, Each stanza and the envoy must close with the refrain; the envoy always taking the same rhymes as the last half of the preceding verse, in the same order. For the eight-lined ballade, but three rhymes are allowable. In ordinary rhyme formula the sequence of these is A, B, A, B, B, C, B, C, for each of the three verses, and B, C, B, C, for the envoy. The importance of the refrain must now be noticed. Old writers and purists of our own time insist that the length of the refrain should govern not only the length of each line, but the number of the lines; in other words, that a refrain of eight syllables involves the choice of an eight-lined stanza, while the refrain of ten syllables demands a ten-lined verse. This is the strict rule of the ballade as written by Clement Marot, and by some modern writers; but it must be clearly understood that it is only the rule for the ideally pure form, and that variations in this respect are perfectly allowable. Now the importance of the refrain in one aspect is given, a still more vital point must be named—namely, that the sense of the refrain must be supreme throughout the ballade, the culminating line of each stanza always brought in without effort as the natural close of the verse. In the verses a special feature must not be overlooked, namely, that the stanza (of eight or ten lines, as the case may be) should carry an unbroken sense throughout, and not split into two verses of four lines or five lines, that are by chance printed as though they were one. The needful pauses for punctuation are of course allowed, but the sense should not finish at the end of the first quatrain (or quintain), but demand the rest of the verse to complete the idea presented. All these apparently trivial details must be regarded if the ballade is attempted. The advice given in Alice in Wonderland, "Take care of the sense and the sounds will take care of themselves," whether in that way or its inversion, "Take care of the sounds and the sense will take care of itself," is exactly the direct opposite of the true rule. Neither sense nor sound may be scamped here. If you neglect the sounds it is no ballade; if you neglect the sense—why write it at all? No one is compelled to use these complex forms, but if chosen, their laws must be obeyed to the letter if success is to be attained. The chief pleasure they yield consists in the apparent spontaneity, which is the result of genius, if genius be indeed the art of taking infinite pains; or, if that definition is rejected, they must yet exhibit the art which conceals art, whether by intense care in every minute detail, or a happy faculty for naturally wearing these fetters. The dance in chains must be skilful, the chains worn as decorative adjuncts, and the whole with as much apparent ease as the unfettered dancer could produce, or woe betide the unlucky wight who attempts to perform in them.

The Envoy is so peculiarly a feature of the Ballade and Chant Royal, that it is needful to draw our attention to the invocation which with it invariably commences. Of old this envoy was really addressed to the patron of the poet, or at least to the high dignitary to whom he dedicated his ballade. So that we find Prince! or Princess! Sire! or some mythical or symbolical personality invoked in the opening word. Often the person chosen was in very truth a noble of the rank assigned, but the custom of opening the envoy in this fashion grew so common that it lost its special fitness, and was often employed as a conventional ascription to those not of noble rank, while in some instances all the lovers' ballades intended for their own ladies were yet ascribed by the poets to the "Princess" of the court, who quite understood the fiction employed, and accepted praise of the golden hair and blue eyes of the rightful owner of the poem, while possibly her royal tresses were black and her eyes brown. In the number of ballades included in this collection the larger number will still be found to follow the old custom, which is so marked that the use of this dedication certainly carries out the spirit of the poem, in accordance with its original design. The envoy is not only a dedication, but should be the peroration of the subject, and richer in its wording and more stately in its imagery than the preceding verses, to convey the climax of the whole matter, and avoid the suspicion that it is a mere postscript, as it were, to the ballade.

In the ballade with stanzas of ten lines, usually of ten syllables each, four rhymes are permitted in this order—A, B, A, B, B, C, C, D, C, D, with C, C, D, C, D for the envoy. It is not needful to quote examples, or describe varieties with eight or ten-lined stanzas, that have lines of equal or unequal length, but in other respects follow all the true rules. De Gramont has observed that the strict laws of the ballade belong more to the prosodists who studied the form after it had ceased to be in current use, and that the writers of the ballade themselves frequently took great liberty. In some by Marot there are verses of eleven or twelve decasyllabic lines, and in poets who preceded him, some with thirteen and fourteen lines to the stanza, while the number of verses has also been flagrantly disregarded, some even using four or five verses, and still worse, having different rhymes to them; but in such cases the poem must not be regarded as an irregular ballade, nor a ballade at all, but simply as a set of verses with refrain.

The Ballade with double refrain, of which the "Frere Lubin" of Clement Marot is the only well-known example in old French, is said by Thomas Sibilet, in his Art Poétique, 1555, to be "autant rare que plaisante." Its point of difference is that a second refrain is introduced at the fourth line of each stanza, and the second of the envoy. This necessarily alters the order of the rhymes of the envoy. In the best known English example the rhyme order is A, B, A, B, B, C, B, C, with B, B, C, C, for the envoy. There are several in modern English, and some in recent French.

The Double Ballade consists of six stanzas of eight or ten lines, and is written usually without an envoy. The "Ballade of Dead Lions," in London, January 12, 1878, was the first English specimen; it is not quoted here, as its subject is now out of date. De Banville has written several. "Pour les bonnes gens," "Des sottises de Paris" are two in his "Trente-six Ballades Joyeuses" written in this form.

M. de Banville humorously reveals a secret of the poet's workshop, and gives a method to construct a "correct" ballade in a mechanical fashion, dispensing with genius, and easy to work—First, at one sitting write the last half of all the verses, and at another time the first half, then join them together, and the result will be an irremediably bad ballade; but elsewhere he writes, in all seriousness this time, "All the art is to bring in the refrain without effort, naturally, gaily, and at each time with novel effect and with fresh light cast on the central idea. 'Now you can' teach 'no one to do that, and M. de Banville never pretends to give any receipts for cooking rondels or ballades worth reading.' Without poetic vision all is mere marqueterie and cabinetmaker's work; that is, so far as poetry is concerned, nothing."[7]

The Chant Royal is now accepted by most writers as merely a larger form of the ballade, written with five verses of eleven lines, and envoi of five. De Gramont treats the idea to regard it as a distinct form as a mere fanciful attempt of prosodists, founded chiefly on the fact that Clement Marot has left four so named which conform to the above rule; but he shows that on the one hand there are ballades with stanzas of eleven lines, and on the other chants royal with ten only. It has been suggested that the Chant Royal derived its name from the subjects that are more usually dedicated to its use; but while these are generally sublime topics treated in dignified allegory, yet there are examples extant entirely devoid of these characteristics. Again, the idea that it owes its name to being a form selected for competition before the king for the dignity of laureate, and hence dubbed royal-song, he also rejects, and points out that its name simply denotes that it is the most excellent form of the ballade (as we might say, the "king of ballades" in English), one that, from the increased length, both in stanzas and number of lines in each, largely augments the difficulties of construction met with in the true ballade, and marks it as "the final tour de force of poetic composition." Henry de Croï derives the title of this form from the fact that persons excelling in the composition of chants royal were worthy to be crowned with garlands like conquerors and kings. It is a moot point with students whether the ballade or chant royal is the earlier and original poem. The chant royal in the old form is usually devoted to the unfolding of an allegory in its five stanzas, the envoy supplying the key; but this is not always observed in modern examples. Whatever be the subject, however, it must always march in stately rhythm with splendid imagery, using all the poetic adornments of sonorous, highly-wrought lines and rich embroidery of words to clothe a theme in itself a lofty one. Unless the whole poem is constructed with intense care, and has intrinsic beauty of its own of no mean order, the monotony of its sixty-one lines rhymed on five sounds is unbearable. In spite of the increased burden imposed by the necessity of so many similar rhymes, no shadow of "poetic" or other license must be taken. Nothing short of complete success can warrant the choice of this exacting form, which demands all that can be given to it; enriched with all the elaboration of consummate art in its every detail, and rising stanza by stanza, until the climax is reached in the envoy.

The laws of the ballade apply to the chant royal, with some added details of its own. The rhyme order is usually—a, b, a, b, c, c, d, d, e, d, e, with envoy of d, d, e, d, e. An example by Deschamps, "Sur le mort du Seigneur de Coucy," observes this order, a, b, a, b, b, c, c, d, c, d, and envoy, c, c, d, c, c, d. In either case the rhyme-order must be kept the same for each stanza, and the envoy commenced with an invocation as in the old ballades.

Chain Verse.—There is one beautiful poem in so-called chain verse, which has so much likeness to these once-exotic forms that it deserves quotation in full, if only as an example of a native specimen of poetic ingenuity. It has little affinity with the chain verse of French art, as then the one word only grew from each line into the other (La rime Enchaînée).

—Clement Marot.

The following hymn was written by John Byrom, and published in vol. ii. of his Posthumous Poems, 1773:—

THE DESPONDING SOUL'S WISH.

The Answer.

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:—

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:—

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:—

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:—

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:—

LAY OU PLUTOST RONDEAU.

—François Villon.

Lay, or rather Rondeau.

—John Payne.

Mr. Austin Dobson's Rose, which appeared in The Spectator, was one of the earliest, if not the very first, of the few examples of this variety in English use.

The Roundel, which, it must again be said, is simply a variation of the rondeau, and not a distinct form, is grouped apart in this collection for the sake of convenience. Since Mr. Swinburne devoted a volume, entitled A Century of Roundels, to this particular form of the rondeau, it has been used by other writers, and the name applied by him has been kept by those who chose to follow the same form. Probably Mr. Swinburne, during his readings in early French poetry, found poems of this shape extant, or it may be that, for reasons of his own, he formulated this variety, which slightly differs from any I have been able to find. In Marot's De l'Amoureux Ardant there is a likeness to this shape, and in Villon's Mort there is also a resemblance, but Mr. Swinburne's roundel has eleven lines always, while Villon's has twelve, rhyming a.b.b. a.a.b. refrain, a.b.b.a. refrain. Again, Mr. Swinburne's roundel not only has a new rhyme order, A.B.A. refrain; B.A.B.; A.B.A. refrain; but when the refrain consists of more than a single word it rhymes with the B lines. The rhythm, too, of Mr. Swinburne's are in every possible and—in any hands but his—impossible variety. The lines vary from four to sixteen syllables, but are generally identical in length in the same roundel. As an experiment in rhythm the Century of Roundels will, no doubt, always command attention, and there are not wanting signs that his Roundel, keeping its length and other details, may become a recognised shape in English verse; but it must be distinctly understood that Mr. Swinburne is responsible for its introduction, and to him, not to the early French poets, must be awarded the honour of its invention, unless he himself refers it to an earlier source for its authority; but it may be that with admiration for the old shapes, he yet saw that for English use a variation was preferable, and so rearranged the lines and the refrain of the olden form in the way he considered best suited to our tongue.

The Rondelet is a little form not noticed in De Gramont or De Banville. Boulmier has printed several in his "Poésies en language du XVe. Siècle" at the end of his volume, entitled Les Villanelles. Here is one.

Here we find he adopts a seven-line stanza with four eight-syllable lines, and three of four syllables on two rhymes, a, b, a, a, b, b, a. While strongly resembling the triolet and the early rondel, it yet seems worth noting as a pretty variety for trifling subjects. There are several in English verse.

The Rondeau Redoublé would fail to suggest kinship with either form of the Rondeau, did not it include the name in its designation, as De Banville notes. It is probable that many more poems were grouped under the word Rondeau than we now are able to trace. The one we are now describing is in no way a doubled rondeau, and hardly suggests that form more than any of these that have the features of limited rhyme sounds, and more or less frequent reiteration of a refrain. The Rondeau Redoublé is written in six octosyllabic quatrains, rhyming on two alternate rhymes, with half the initial line used (unrhymed) after the last verse. Its one distinctive feature is this:—Each line of the first quatrain is used again in the same order to serve for the last line of verses two, three, four, and five; while the last line of the sixth has a new wording for itself, but takes, in addition, a final refrain of the first half of the initial line of the poem to conclude the whole. As the rhymes of the first quatrain are a. b. a. b., it must necessarily—to use as refrain the first line rhyming on a—reverse the order for the second verse, which is therefore b. a. b. a., and so on alternately until the end of the rondeau redoublé. Specimens of its use are extant by Marot, La Fontaine, Benserade, and others, while in modern French it is not infrequent, but in English it is rare. The examples quoted in this book comprise all that diligent search could discover except one of too fugitive a character to reprint. As the poems written in this form in English show the rules of the verse as plainly as the original French, it has not been thought needful to quote one in its native tongue, especially as De Gramont, De Banville, and Jullien reprint specimens in their handbooks. A form so simple that, if well wrought, and the refrain brought in with skill, it can be read in a casual way, without discovering that it was written to exact rules, deserves more use. The disposition of the subject is excellently laid out; a "text," four "divisions," and "in conclusion," with the text repeated, is a method so familiar to Englishmen on Sundays that the order for variations on the initial theme is peculiarly easy: nor need the result be the least like a sermon, although this description of its shape is suggestive of one.

Another form, the Glose, resembles the Rondeau Redoublé in many ways; indeed, it may be almost looked upon as a freer form of that poem. It appears, however, to be of distinct origin, and very rare in French poetry, although much used in Spanish and Portuguese verse. It begins, like the Rondeau Redoublé, with a quatrain, here called the texte;—this is usually a quotation from a former poet. This text the Glose proceeds to comment on, or amplify, in four stanzas of ten lines, closing each as in the rondeau redoublé, with one of the lines of the text in the original order; but the necessity for restricting the rhymes to two is not observed here. Each stanza has the sixth, ninth, and tenth (the refrain) line, rhyming on the same sound, but the others appear to be chosen at the fancy of the writer, while the final refrain of the rondeau redoublé is also wanting in the glose. First employed solely for serious themes of religion or philosophy, it is now in France, like the once sacred triolet, devoted to parody and the lightest forms of humour. Owing to the impossibility of collating the mass of periodical literature of the last ten or fifteen years, it would be rash to say that the glose has never appeared in English, but not one has been discovered to include in this book. Yet, as De Gramont places the shape among those he includes as frequently used in France, it seemed best to give here a brief outline of its form. De Banville quotes one by Jean François Sarazin formed on the sonnet "de IOB" by Benserade, where fourteen quatrains are ended by the lines of the sonnet, employed in their original order. This form offers a field for serious comment or sarcastic parody that deserves working.

The Sestina, invented by the famous troubadour, Arnaut Daniel, at the end of the thirteenth century, has not been used in French poetry so often as the ballade and rondeau. There are specimens in the poetry of Pontus de Thyard, and one in the Pleiade of the sixteenth century, besides many others, but it has been comparatively an exotic in French poetry, as in English, until recent years. That it was used and admired by Dante and Petrarch, alone gives the sestina a royal precedence over all of the other forms. Many judges consider it to be the supreme work of poetic art in fixed forms, while others claim similar distinction for the chant royal, and not a few for the sonnet. To distinguish between the charms of these three royal forms would need a Paris, nor is it necessary to do so, since each will to his own taste, no matter who claims authority on the ever-disputed question of supreme beauty. Mr. Hueffer in his "Troubadours" has a chapter so full of interest and teeming with information of the growth of the stanza, that in despair of condensing its knowledge within the space possible here, the mere notice of it must suffice. De Gramont give the rules of the poem as written by the originator and followers in Italy, Spain, and Portugal:—

1st.—The Sestina has six stanzas, each of six lines, these being of the same length.

2nd.—The lines of the six verses end with the six same words, not rhyming with each other; these end words are chosen exclusively from two syllabled nouns.

3rd.—The arrangement of these six terminal words follows a regular law (a somewhat complex one, which is replaced in modern poetry by the one given below).

4th.—The piece closes with a three-line stanza, using the six words, three at the end; the other three, placed in the middle of its lines.

But, as now written, the words of the sestina at times rhyme with each other; if so, De Banville says they should be in two rhymes alone (as Mr. Swinburne uses them), but other writers allow three rhymes. But these details all belong to the subtle laws of the verse which it is not possible to include here. De Gramont's Sestines is, perhaps, the best authority for study.

For our purpose, enough to say that the six end-words must repeat unchanged in sound and spelling throughout each succeeding verse. The order in which they occur is best expressed by a numerical formula. If the rules themselves were compressed, a more complex and incomprehensible jargon of firsts and seconds and thirds, etc., could hardly be found. The first verse has, of course, the initial order, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6; the second, 6, 1, 5, 2, 4, 3; the third, 3, 6, 4, 1, 2, 5; the fourth, 5, 3, 2, 6, 1, 4; the fifth, 4, 5, 1, 3, 6, 2; the sixth, 2, 4, 6, 5, 3, 1; the last half-stanza ends with 2, 4, 6, and uses 1, 3, 5 at the beginning (not the first word always) of the line, or at the half-line in rhymes that permit their introduction there. It will be seen that no end-word occurs more than once in the same place, and that the end-word of every stanza is invariably chosen to take its place as terminal of the first line of the next verse.

As though this feat in rhyming were not complex enough, a double sestina of twelve verses of twelve lines has been sometimes written. There are two, at least, of these tours de force in English—one, "The Complaint of Lisa," in Mr. Swinburne's Poems and Ballads, Second Series; another, by Mr. George Barlow, in A Life's Love, entitled "Alone." It was hoped to include these, but the required space in this little book would have excluded so many specimens of smaller poems, that the desire to make this collection as widely varied and representative as possible forbade their quotation.

The Triolet, as we know it, may be regarded as almost an epitome of the other forms, in its limited space. It introduces one refrain three times, and the second refrain twice, keeps strictly to two rhymes, and is inflexible in its laws, brief though it be. One poet says of it, "It is charming—nothing can be more ingeniously mischievous, more playfully sly, than this tiny trill of epigrammatic melody turning so simply upon its own innocent axis." Those who are unaware of the rules that govern this little stanza, yet often fall in love with the verse itself, possibly because a good example has a pretty sequence of sound, that allures the ear by its musical jingle, and reads like a spontaneous and easy impromptu. Nevertheless, the subtle art needed to acquire the ease that is the charm of a good triolet is generally the result of infinite care. Few things are more simple than to write a triolet—of a sort—yet the triolet affords so little space to explain its motif, and within its five lines must tell its story, and also carry the three other repeated ones easily, and with a definite meaning. To introduce the refrain naturally as the only thing to say, and yet with an air of freshness and an unexpected recognition of a phrase heard before, is in itself no mean difficulty, even in the ballade and rondeau; but when it comes three times in eight lines, and has a second line attached to it on its first and last appearance, it is a matter of small wonder that the successful triolets are not very numerous. That the ideally perfect triolet is as yet unwritten, or at least represented by very few, it may be urged; but if that be true, it should only provoke more attempts, one would fancy. It might be pertinent to ask, if this is the chief objection, how many ideally perfect poems in any set shape, or in free form, the world acknowledges?

The triolet consists (to quote Mr. Dobson) of eight lines with two rhymes. The first pair of lines are repeated as the seventh and eighth, while the first is repeated as the fourth. The order of the rhymes is thus as follows:—a. b. a. a. a. b. a. b. The example (on page 214) by—of all persons in the world—a grave French magistrate, Jacques Ranchin, has been christened by Ménage the "King of Triolets."

The first triolet known is in the Cléomadés of Adenèz-le-Roi (1258-1297), a poem of 20,000 verses. In old examples the triolet was devoted to grave verse, but, as M. de Gramont shows, it has now not only abandoned the old ten syllable lines, and is written in those of eight and often six syllables, but from the elegiac dignity of its former subjects, it has become in French verse the form especially devoted to the most ephemeral and trivial subjects. Since M. de Banville renewed its use, triolets are common in French newspapers, and with all due deference be it said—possibly only thereby exposing my own ignorance of the subtle charm conveyed to their readers by their "argot" and "idiom"—as inferior as they are plentiful. There is one, however, that has justly won great favour since its appearance in Odes Funnambulesques of M. Theodore de Banville.

These two French examples (on page 214) are hackneyed by frequent quotation, but are so generally regarded as the most successful of their class that it seemed best not to omit them, nor this one by Froissart, given in most authorities, and called a rondeau by the writer (rondel, rondeau, and triolet being evidently regarded as but one form in his day—the beginning of the fifteenth century), and the modern grouping completely unknown:—

—Froissart.

The weak point of the Triolet being the monotony of its refrain, every attempt, at giving a new accent to the words, short of actual punning, is welcomed as a relief. There is an air composed by Charles Delioux, to which all triolets in the pure form may be sung. De Banville quotes the melody in his "Odes Funnambulesques." Most people who have attempted to make rhymes know that when once a haunting melody gains control the words and sentences will try and fit themselves to it; so perhaps a would-be writer of triolets could secure correct form by learning this tune and writing his triolets to it. It is quite certain that this alone would not ensure a good poem, but it might keep one to the usual rhythm and exact number of syllables, with the correct musical accent, singularly near, if not identical, with the poetical one, when properly used. A quaint example found by Mr. Dobson in an old French play is given on page 214, as it has not hitherto been printed in England.

The Villanelle has been called "the most ravishing jewel worn by the Muse Erato." The large number of Villanelles in modern English was the most unexpected find that came to light in the course of collecting material for the present volume. Many of these fulfil a condition now held strictly binding, since promulgated by Joseph Boulmier in his own Villanelles—that is, that their length should imitate the example of Jean Passerat's famous model, and be complete in nineteen lines. The rules sound simple, and the result must read easily; but the ease is only to be attained by an elaborate amount of care in production, which those who read only would hardly suspect existed. The accepted model for all to follow will be found on page 242. The example that follows is an interesting translation by Boulmier of Mr. Dobson's Villanelle, "When I saw you last, Rose," first printed by his permission in Longman's Magazine (under the heading "At the Sign of the Ship") for July 1887:—

ROSE.

The Villanelle is written in five three-lined stanzas, concluding with one of four lines. It will be seen that the refrain occupies eight of the nineteen lines, and is of paramount importance; taken from the first and third line of the first stanza, the two supply alternately the last lines from the second to the fifth verse, and both conclude the quatrain which ends the villanelle. Two rhymes only are allowed. The refrains must repeat in the order quoted in the example, the first refrain to conclude the second and fifth stanzas, the second refrain for the first, third, and fifth, and both for the sixth.