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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,
Yvers purge les champs par sa froidure,
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.

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32 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Like all translations, one must grapple with linguistic differences which you have done brilliantly. Being able to maintain the rhyme scheme verse by verse is marvelous. One of the keys to reading this is the proper pronunciation of “errs.” It must be pronounced exactly as it appears and not like “airs” as some do mistakenly. This is a wonderful poem for the Lenten season.

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Thank you, Roy. And thanks for providing a quick note on the pronunciation. That may have helped some readers. When I first wanted to translate this, and to keep the refrain as Deschamps wrote it, I had to choose which pronunciation of “err” to use. In American usage, we hear both “urr” and “air,” though I found that “urr” is preferred in dictionaries. In Britain, though, “urr” is almost universal among educated persons. It was the better choice, then, as what British-schooled individuals expect, while Americans who have heard both can adjust. Appreciate your careful attention!

      Reply
      • Julian D. Woodruff

        Margaret and Roy, I had no idea!
        The ignorance I bear
        I must try to inter.
        My thanks–you kindly share
        that “err”‘s not “air,” but “urr.”

      • Margaret Coats

        Thanks as well, Julian, for the cute quatrain on the quirky rhyme!

  2. Cynthia Erlandson

    Margaret, this is mesmerizing, and brilliant. Though I don’t know French, I can see you’ve kept to the very restrictive three rhymes throughout, which cannot have been easy.
    Your/Deschamp’s poem brings to mind George Herbert’s poignant one entitled “The Sacrifice”, although I always want to call it “The Reproaches”, because each 3 1/2-line stanza ends with the phrase “Was ever grief like mine?” (after having accused “all ye, who pass by” of cruel and ironic ingratitude).
    “Worms only thrive as the debris decays”, and the final line of each verse but the last (“But man against me ever strives and errs”) are examples of lines I find very moving. I also find that your use, in the final stanza, of a variation of that last line, echoes the way Herbert’s poem does the same, ending with “Never was grief like mine.”
    Thank you for this marvelous Lenten poem.

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Thank you, Cynthia. Herbert’s “Sacrifice,” even more directly than the Deschamps poem, must have been influenced by the Improperia or Reproaches, already centuries old by the time these poets wrote. Hope you won’t mind hearing a bit of what I said about it in my dissertation on religious love sequences. I argued that Herbert fully developed the change from the usual amatory sequence, where the poet-lover’s complaint “Was ever grief like mine?” is a tired commonplace. It is a huge surprise in the second poem of a love sequence to change speakers, but Herbert did so with this well-known kind of religious lyric. He corrected the egocentricity of human desire. In contrast to love for a human being, where the lover’s passion may or may not be returned eventually, love for God means choosing a beloved who has loved first and will always love better. “The Sacrifice” and its reproaches provide an image of the role reversal necessary in the sequence of divine love poems. The poet can hardly claim to be a poet-lover, but becomes the poet-beloved, for the divine beloved is in fact the perfect lover whose pure passion is disdained by his chosen object of love. This “Divine Complaint” of Deschamps, by the end, has shown how many ways God loves this creature who resists loving in return. The change of refrain in the last line (for Deschamps and for Herbert) is a plea for love. Herbert’s use of it in “The Temple” sets that collection in motion as a love story. Thank you for bringing this back to my mind as we enter liturgical Passiontide.

      Reply
      • Cynthia Erlandson

        Fascinating, Margaret — thank you.

  3. Paul A. Freeman

    For me this poem is a revelation on many levels. A Medieval poem from the POV of the greater force of Nature / God, berating man for his arrogance and his mistreatment of the planet’s fauna seems incredible to me – especially when Mankind then, and largely now, deems himself somehow ‘special’ and above the plants and animals that inhabit our world that make up its ever-shrinking biodiversity.

    This is a third poem recently that looks at our ever-diminished world – and from the Middle Ages.

    Thanks for bringing this poem to the fore, Margaret, and for taking the time and effort to translate this timely masterpiece. It deserves a far-reaching audience.

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Thanks for this perspective, Paul! The poem certainly does see man as rejecting his proper place in a natural and divine order. “Striving and erring” against it is to his own detriment. In the medieval concept of order, man was special, in a place where he had some authority over nature, but with this place came a responsibility to nature and to God–a responsibility that mankind refuses to fulfill. Deschamps has other poems in which the reader sees nature “denatured” as a result. In his era, feudal warfare was the main problem. There’s a piece where a farmer, a shepherd, a vinedresser, a woodcutter, and a midwife (human beings closest to nature) describe ill effects they see and conclude, “Il ne regne au jour d’ui que folz.” Literally, that’s “Only fools reign today,” but I turned it into colloquial country English as “Everyone in charge is a loon.”

      Reply
      • Julian D. Woodruff

        .Margaret, your quotation here reminds me of “The Silver Swan,” which I parodied here recently: “More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.” There must be a steady stream of such complaints, involving most European languages, and stretching over how many centuries.

      • Margaret Coats

        I’m sure there are, Julian. Please remind me of where you parodied “The Silver Swan.” I’ve looked, but cannot seem to find it.

  4. Joseph S. Salemi

    This is a tremendous labor of love, and it must have taken much time to complete. Composing a poem with four rhymes repeated in 46 lines would be a major task; translating the same from a foreign tongue and keeping faith with the rhyme scheme throughout is nothing less than dazzling.

    I think Margaret is too humble when she refers to this as not just “translated” but “adapted.” That’s being unfair to herself. Every translated poem is in some sense an adaptation, because certain variations and changes will inevitably have to be made in the transition from one language to another, due to syntax and idiomatic usage. The important things are basic fidelity to authorial intention and to the text. Margaret cannot be faulted on either of those. This is really excellent work.

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Thank you so much, Joe. This one is indeed a labor of love. It’s waited quite a while for the final polish. I call it “adapted” because it shows less of the original author’s sequence of thoughts than do most of my translations. I am satisfied with it as a translation though, in having rendered both content (re-organized) and form. I am not satisfied with a translation of a poem that tries to offer the meaning and dispense with the form. That I would call a prose paraphrase. In general, I find it best to look at any translation as a new poem in English which is entirely mine, doing its best to present (in this case) Eustache Deschamps. I was not in the least concerned with his intention, because in his pioneering book on French versification, he never mentions such a thing. In any case, the only source of information about his intent in writing the poem is the text itself. His critical work implies that he would be happy with a translation showing the greatest finesse with his chosen form. As you say it’s “really excellent work,” I believe he would be satisfied.

      Reply
  5. Warren Bonham

    Amazing beauty and meaning in this one, which I can appreciate now that I’m rounding the corner somewhere between autumn and winter and have some experience with every season. I’m getting tired of striving and erring but in the spring, I thought I had everything figured out. The poem is all the more impressive given the massive translation challenge. Many people know French fluently and can translate the words, but fitting them into such a beautiful package is incredibly daunting.

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      I agree about the striving and erring, Warren. Early on, we prefer our own interpretations of what God wants, not believing God means exactly what he says in scripture. And later on, we are habitually stuck in self-righteousness, despite incomparable gifts telling us to rely on God as greatest of benefactors. I’m so glad you find my package as beautiful as the meaning!

      Reply
  6. Daniel Howard

    I agree with Joseph Salemi that it can rightly be called a translation rather than an adaptation.

    It is certainly more difficult in English than in French to compose a long poem with just four rhymes. Another ‘translation’ might have taken liberty with the rhyme scheme, but it is ably replicated here.

    It is interesting how much of the medieval French vocabulary has survived in modern times (albeit with altered spelling). The most difficult aspect of the French here is the syntax. The early English and Italian poets also used to stretch their syntax quite a bit, perhaps betraying the general tendancy to imitate Latin poetry, whose syntax is naturally much more flexible.

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Thanks for your comment, Daniel. In translations I do my best to translate form as well as content, since that is part of the original experience of a poem. And as you say, elaborate rhyming of these fair forms is easier in French. I wanted to say “translated and adapted” here in particular because of my noticeable change in the refrain at the very end. Manuscripts (and therefore scholarly editions) would have us believe medieval refrains never vary–but that’s because scribal practice almost never writes them out in full (only a word or two substitutes for the line). However, as soon as printed books arrive, poets artfully change refrains. And I know of one manuscript, prepared under direct supervision of a poet contemporary with Deschamps, that does so in several poems. That doesn’t justify my change here, but does imply Deschamps might have accepted it had he read my English. After all, his eight-line stanzas here should (in accord with standard practice) have a four-line refrain–but Deschamps writes a six-line refrain instead. Considering his variations of form to produce about 25 different shapes and sizes of chant royal, and more of the basic ballade type, I can hardly believe he would be content with utterly unvarying refrains!

      Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      I’d like to clear up rhyme scheme and rhyme sound matters. The French rhyme scheme is ababbcbC for the stanzas, and bbcbbC for the envoi, with a capital letter used only where the line is a refrain. There are three rhyme sounds, as Cynthia Erlandson noted. Joseph Salemi and Daniel Howard may have found four rhyme sounds in my English version, where I intended three to match the French, but used some words that are admittedly imperfect rhymes. Pronunciations differing could be counted as four rhyme sounds, but then the rhyme scheme does not conform to chant royal practice of the same sounds and scheme in each of the stanzas. I should point out that Deschamps and other French poets sometimes solve the difficulty by spelling imperfect rhyme words as if the rhymes were perfect!

      Reply
  7. Julian D. Woodruff

    Margaret, I don’t think it matters whether you call this a translation or an adaptation, unless either word slights your incredible creativity and ingenuity. And what a wonderful sense of style: I probably sound self-contradictory, but you manage to make your voice sound old and modern (in the sense of not antiquated) at the same time. Thank you

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Thanks, Julian. Since I translate this poem written more than 600 years ago, itself of a type several centuries older, it should sound old somehow! Making it comfortably accessible to modern readers is part of a translator’s job, though, and I’m glad you find it that way.

      Reply
  8. Yael

    This is a great translation, as usual, Margaret and it’s a beautiful poem too. I thoroughly enjoyed reading your poem as well as the original, even though medieval French goes way above my head. You made the English poem sound comparably as beautiful and elegant as the French, which is an amazing feat, considering that French tends to sound prettier than English. Great job!

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Thanks, Yael, for the comment on the beautiful sound. When a complaint is spoken by God, elegance is a fitting way to go. Glad you enjoyed it!

      Reply
  9. Rosana A.

    I am not poem connoisseur, though I find this poem beautifully written and adapted into English, especially for this Lenten season. Margaret, you have done great work with the translation. I read the English adaptation, then the original poem in French.
    To me, this is a great poem to reflect on life with the Our Blessed Lord. This poem reminds me of Psalm 94, especially in verse 94:10 “Forty years long was I offended with that generation, and I said: These always err in heart.”
    The Lord is so Merciful! I find the last paragraph very favorable, especially on my daily reflection.
    Great work, and God bless you!

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Rosana, thank you. You found a quotation Eustache Deschamps may have been thinking of when he composed the refrain for this poem. The Good Friday Reproaches don’t use images of striving and erring, but compare the things God did for His people to the sufferings they inflict on Him in the Crucifixion. For example, He opened the Red Sea for them to pass, and they open His side with a spear. But in Psalm 94:10, the Vulgate text that would have been known by Deschamps says, “Semper hi errant corde” (they always err in heart). Human erring happens continually, since people have hard hearts. In view of that, the last stanza by Deschamps gives very specific actions to take as God pleads with His people (all of us!) to act at least as well as beasts who obey Him. I’m very glad you find this poem an appropriate meditation for our life with the Lord during Lent.

      Reply
  10. Laura Deagon

    Margaret, this poem transcends time and while I don’t know French, I understand your efforts at ensuring that the translation flows beautifully. I’m curious how you became aware of this poem.

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Thanks for your reading, Laura, and I’m glad you find that the English words flow beautifully. Long ago I became aware that there are not many chants royal in English. A chant royal has four or five stanzas with a half-stanza conclusion–and each stanza often has the same last line as refrain. Wanting to increase the number of such poems in English, I looked for good French ones to translate. This led me quickly to Eustache Deschamps, the grand master of the form. He wrote more than 100 chants royal on a great variety of topics. There are just a few of my translations at this site, and I’ve learned from him how to compose a few of my own.

      Reply
  11. Mia {Maria}

    I have read this poem several times since it was published here a week ago and have read the comments that do it far more justice than any comment I could formulate so far. But there is something about this poem that brings me back to it. It was written six hundred years ago and yet it is so pertinent for our times. Here in the UK I have seen scripture, hymns and Christian celebrations disappear from schools. Gone are the daily assemblies in state schools where children learned a little scripture at least and sang hymns. Hymns such as , ‘Praise my soul the King of Heaven to His feet thy tributes bring,’ and many , many more. Some people of my generation may remember. The sad thing is that this falling away has happened under our watch, our generation. We have strayed and erred indeed. I am sorry to be so downbeat, and this is why I hesitate to comment. But it is Lent and Holy Week is upon us. This poem is certainly working in making me reflect. It is as fine a poem in English as I am sure it is in French .
    Thank you Margaret and thank you SCP.

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Mia, I’m so very glad to have your comment. It is no more downbeat than the thought of Eustache Deschamps who wrote the original poem. You are right that we have lost much in our generation. When Deschamps has the voice of God tell his generation to follow holy scripture, he seems to say they knew what it said–while most schools now leave students entirely ignorant of God and His ways. I learned more from Church and home, but schools supported that kind of learning, as you note they did in your experience. Don’t ever hesitate to mention that! I’m happy to hear in particular of “Praise my soul the King of Heaven.” I often choose it to be sung on Saturdays when I have the privilege of selecting and leading music for Mass. Let’s keep on doing what we can to acknowledge God as our rightful ruler, for He continues to show us the care and love described in the poem. Your comment is one way of showing your appreciation to Him, just as nature continues to serve and obey Him!

      Reply
  12. Gary Krauss

    Margaret, this is such a beautiful meditation in preparation for Holy Week. It represents a colorful overlay of Biblical Salvation History, even to the extent of walking me through the seasons and visualizing scenes in the Old and New Testaments. “But man against me ever strives and errs,” reminds me of my own personal need for Mercy and Salvation.

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Gary, thank you for your beautiful comment. The poem does present salvation history. especially by returning to Creation and Fall in every stanza–and this can help us think of the many particular instances that impress us throughout the Bible. And as you say, in our personal lives where the need for mercy and salvation is ever present. Once more, we are about to be assured that our needs are abundantly met in these days of the sacred Triduum.

      Reply
  13. Tom Rimer

    Margaret, this is a such a striking contribution on your part.

    As for the question of “adaption,” to anyone familiar with the Chinese and Japanese poetic traditions, where borrowings and homages are “de rigueur,” these slight and useful changes seem trifling.

    What is remarkable about your translation is that, along with reproducing a complex verse form with such skill, you have caught perfectly to my ear the slightly sly, perhaps even ironic undertone of the original. And the flow of the overlapping images is such a delight to any attentive reader.

    Thanks for a fresh and arresting glimpse of Lent!

    Reply
    • Margaret Coats

      Thank you, Tom, and I hope this arresting new panoply of seasons during Lent helps any who are observing it, and who’ve read this, to conclude well. I agree with you about the slightly sly undertone of Deschamps.

      From your most experienced view of the question of adaptation, I’m glad to hear that the sort of thing I’ve done here is “de rigueur” in the great poetic tradition of China and Japan!

      Reply

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