A letter from Elias de Barjols (1219?)

Translated letter:

I. I might die, if I so wished, in your power, love, because you will never want to help me in the situation you have placed me in; for he is mad who does not turn away from what he can not enjoy, and he who thinks it [enjoyment] comes from suffering is mad and follows his folly.

II. From now on, I am not your prisoner, because I can turn elsewhere, and flee from the sighs and tears and the ill favor of your harsh lordship, love, such that I am turning elsewhere; and I am distressed at the departure though it is not my fault.

III. I am not altogether without blame, for the beauty in whom there is merit and real worth and true praise I thought you would deign to [make] love me; I had little sense that day! but love, you made me choose her and my eyes, so that I am angry at them and will never again believe them.

IV. Love, you were never any use to your best friends, but to the feigning deceivers who lead to your decline you give a wealth of joy, love, and false mockery, and you should not be pleased by a false friend, man or woman.

V. Love, since my good does not please you your honor does not please me; therefore, under constraint I make my complaint and do not think I would remove myself from you if good were to come to me; but because it can not, and I no longer have desire for it, I remove myself and follow another road.

VI. Valiant countess, wherever you are, Beatrice, I can say truly that you are the noblest lady that can be seen and worth chooses you as the best.

Original letter:

I. Morir pogr'ieu, si'm volgues e'l vostre poder, amors, que ia no'm volgratz far socors en tal loc m'aviatz mes; per qu'es fols qui no's desvia de so don no's pot iauzir, e selh qu'o met en sufrir es fols e sec sa folhia.

II. Hueymay no suy vostre pres, per que’m puesc virar alhors, e fug a’ls sospirs et als plors et a las malas merces de vostra grieu senhoria, amors, tan qu’alhors me vir; e suy iratz del partir si be’l colpa non es mia.

III. Ses colpa no suy ieu ges, qu’a la belh’on es valors e fin prez e vera lauzors cugey amar me degnes; ben aigui pauc sen lo dia! mas amors la’m fetz chauzir e miey huelh per que’ls n’azir e ia mais no’ls ne creyria.

IV. Amors, anc pro non tengues als vostres amics melhors, mas als fenhens gualiadors que vos meton en disses donatz de joy manentia, amors, e faus escarnir, e ia no’us degr’abelhir fals amics ni fals’ amia.

V. Amors, pus no’us plai mos bes a mi no plai vostr’onors; pero, forsatz en fas clamors e no’us pessetz que’m tolgues de vos, si bes m’en venia; e quar no m’en pot venir ni no’n ai mas lo dezir, tuelhm’en e tenc autra via.

VI. Pros comtessa, on que sia, Biatritz, puesc per ver dir, que’l genser dompn’es que’s mir e pretz per melhor vos tria.

Historical context:

Elias was at the court of Provence in the time of Raymond Berengar's father, Alfonso, and wrote poems for Raymond's mother countess Garsenda (#5-8), herself a poet, as well as for Beatrice (#10-13) and for Beatrice's mother, Margeurite (9).

Printed source:

Le Troubadour Elias de Barjols, ed. Stanislas Stronski (Toulouse: Edouard Privat, 1906), 27-28, #11.

Date:

1219?