A letter from Thibaut I de Navarre

Translated letter:

Mercy, lady! I put a question to you, tell me truly, may God bless you: When you die and I — but that will be before, for I shall not live after you -- what will become of Love, she [will be] dumbfounded, for you have such wisdom, such worth, and I love you so that I believe that after us she will be finished. By God, Thibaut, in my opinion Love will never perish for any death, and I do not know if you are deceiving me, for you are not too thin yet. When we die (God give us a good life!) I believe that Love will suffer a loss but there will always be merit in love achieved. Lady, you should certainly not doubt, but know well that I have loved you too much. For the joy, I love and hold myself the dearer, because I have recovered my fat since God never before made such a beautiful thing as you, but that makes me too distressed, that when we die Love will be finished. Silence, Thibaut! No one should begin an argument that strays so far from right. You say it to mollify me towards you, since you have deceived me so. I do not say, certainly, that I hate you, but, if it were for me to judge of Love, she would be served and honored. Lady, God grant that you judge right and know the ills that make me lament, for I know well, whatever the judgment be, that if I die, Love must draw back, if you, lady, do not make her remain within her place, back where she was; for no one could achieve your wisdom. Thibaut, if Love makes you suffer because of me do not let it trouble you for, if I were to love, I have a heart that would not draw back.

Original letter:

Dame, merci! Une riens vos demant Dites m’en voir, se Deus vous beneie: Quant vous morrez et je — mès c’iert avant, Car après vous ne vivroie je mie --, Que devendra Amors, cele esbahie, Que tant avez sens, valor, et j’aim tant Que je croi bien qu’après nous ert faillie? Par Dieu, Thiebaut, selonc mon escient Amors n’iert ja pour nule mort perie, Ne je ne sai se vous m’alez guilant, Que trop megres n’estes oncore mie. Quant nos morrons (Deus nos dont bone vie!), Bien croi qu’Amors damage i avra grant, Mès toz jorz ert valors d’amors conplie. Dame, certes ne devez pas cuidier, Mès bien savoir que trop vous ai amee. De la joie m’en aim melz et tieng chier Et pour ce ai ma graisse recouvree Qu’ainz Deus ne fist si tres bele riens nee Com vos, mès ce me fet trop esmaier, Quant nos morrons, qu’Amors sera finee. Thiebaut, tesiez! Nus ne doit conmencier Reson qui soit de touz droiz desevree. Vous le dites por moi amoloier Encontre vous, que tant avez guilee. Je ne di pas, certes, que je vos hee, Mès, se d’Amors me couvenoit jugier, Ele seroit servie et honoree. Dame, Deus doint que vos jugiez a droit Et conoissiez les maus qui me font plaindre, Que je sai bien, quels li jugemenz soit, Se je i muir, Amors couvient a faindre, Se vous, dame, ne la fetes remaindre Dedenz son lieu arriers ou ele estoit; Q’a vostre sens ne porroit nus ataindre. Thiebaut, s’Amors vous fet pour moit destraindre, Ne vous griet pas, que, s’amer m’estouvoit, J’ai bien un cuer qui ne se savroit faindre.

Historical context:

This poem is a debate about love by Thibaut I, king of Navarre, which according to one manuscript was written for Blanche, as though she were the other party in the debate. This claim has been disputed and it may have been inspired by later rumors about the pair. Thibaut and Blanche were second cousins, Blanche several years older. They spent some time together, with other noble and royal children, at the French royal court, but Thibaut was later one of the barons who opposed the king. Thibaut was also count of Champagne as Thibaut IV. His mother was Blanche of Navarre.

Printed source:

Les Chansons de Thibaut de Champagne, Roi de Navarre, ed. A. Wallensköld (Paris: Edouard Champion, 1925), XLVII, 163-66

Date:

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