‘Divine Complaint’: A Poem by Eustache Deschamps, Translated by Margaret Coats

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Divine Complaint

Chant royal by Eustache Deschamps (1346-1406),
translated and adapted by Margaret Coats

In all the world there is one creature lone
Who serves me not, nor fears me, nor obeys.
Fire, water, air, and earth revere my throne:
Earth at my word his sustenance purveys;
Air from my mouth his breath of life conveys;
His fire of flaming heat my heart confers;
To cleanse and cool him flow my waterways,
But man against me ever strives and errs.

Before him, regal riches I have strown,
The beauties of each season, phase by phase,
For nature gladly serves, without a groan.
Birds busy at their nests recite my praise;
Trees bud for me, the heath its grass displays.
Fish swarm and breed as faithful worshippers
Of me who gave them streams, lakes, seas and bays,
But man against me ever strives and errs.

His sun I made, that since has always shone
In summer with its brightest, clearest blaze
To ripen crops that for his food have grown.
I formed him in my image; thus there sways
My canopy to shade him from fierce rays.
I love the fawns of forest frolickers,
Yet paint the leaves to please his upward gaze,
But man against me ever strives and errs.

When autumn comes, no one can then postpone
The harvest, due to storms and chilly haze.
My law provides, when proper time be flown,
That sloth a man’s own life and health betrays;
Worms only thrive as the debris decays.
My rodents know this rule, as nuts and burrs
They gather with no lazy, vain delays,
But man against me ever strives and errs.

The stars serve me as candles; they have shown
In slightest light, the winter’s icy glaze
On fields that frigid winds for me have mown.
The dead time of the year should ever raise
Bleak thoughts of death, for which Redemption pays.
I came to give my life when only furze
Adorned the waste in which he sadly strays,
But man against me ever strives and errs.

Man, follow scripture, thinking on your ways.
Man, cease to fight me—you will lose the frays.
Man, call no evil good in speech perverse.
Man, bless my holy name throughout your days,
Abide with me, in greener pastures graze;
Be not the beast who ever strives and errs.

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Translator’s Note

Readers of French will see that the translation is not line by line. The English poem mindfully re-organizes material from the French. For example, “A chandelles me sert la nuit obscure” appears as the next-to-last line in the third stanza, while “The stars serve me as candles” begins the fifth, because of the English poem’s more explicit seasonal order—suggested if not closely followed in the French.

The genre of the poem is that of a complaint against ingratitude. In the fifth stanza of Deschamps, the speaker says, “De lui me plaing,” or “I complain of him.” This kind of poem is appropriate during Lent, when the penitent faithful try to deepen their sense of having done wrong to God by sin. The pattern is the early medieval Latin “Improperia” or “Reproaches,” sung on Good Friday, with Jesus as the speaker who recounts all his divine acts of love and mercy, only to be crucified.

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Original French

Tout me doubte, sert, obeist et craint
En ce monde, fors seule creature.
L’air, la terre, eaue et feu ne se faint
De moy servir , chascun a sa droiture.
L’air fait le jour pour labour et pasture,
Et pour repos va la noire nuit querre.
L’eaue decourt pour douce nourreture,
Mais contre moy seulz homs estrive et erre.

Tousjours art feux qui nulle foiz n’estaint,
Et le souleil donne sa clarté pure,
Qui touz les fruis a meureté contraint
Que la terre doit germet par nature.
Elle me sert: les iiii temps n’ont cure
De moy troubler, chascuns ensuit son erre
Et leur subgiet sanz pechié ne laidure,
Mais contre moy seulz homs estrive et erre.

Printemps l’arbette a yssir hors contraint,
Esté les fleurs, fueille et toute verdure.
Ly oyselet sont a niger abstraint
Et a louer mon nom qui tousjour dure.
Bestes leurs faons et non pas par ordure
De delecter, fors pour espece acquerre
A chandelles me sert la nuit obscure,
Mais contre moy seulz homs estrive et erre.

De douce eaue et de mer poisson maint
Li chetif ver viennent de pourreture,
Multipliant, ne chose ne remaint
Sanz obeir a leur propre faicture.
Autompne queult fruiz de douce pasture,
Que corps humain doit pour vivre requerre,
Mais contre moy seulz homs estrive et erre.

Soubmiz luy ay et soubz ses piéz empaint
Toute chose, tant soit clere ne sure.
Je ne l’ay pas de fainte coulour paint,
Ains l’ay formé a ma propre figure,
Et racheté par mort amere et dure.
Et nulz fors lui ne me fait grief et guerre.
De lui me plaing: rien ne m’a fait injure,
Mais contre moys seulz homs estrive et erre.

Homs, pense a toy, suis ma saincte escripture.
Homs, contre moy plus ne te desnature.
Homs, pour bien mal que jugeras n’enserre,
Homs, obeis, mon saint nom ne parjure.
Laisse pechié. Beste son bien procure,
Mais contre moy seulz homs estrive et erre.

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Margaret Coats lives in California.  She holds a Ph.D. in English and American Literature and Language from Harvard University.  She has retired from a career of teaching literature, languages, and writing that included considerable work in homeschooling for her own family and others.