She softly said, "Recount your weal or woe,
Your every subject free from pause or haste:
Ne'er let your hero fail, nor be disgraced."
The third--"With varying emphasis should flow
A good 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:--
"Jenny kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in.
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets upon your list, put that in!
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad;
Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old, but add--
Jenny kissed me."
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]
[6] Mr. Andrew Lang, _Longman's Magazine_, April 1887.