This translation was published with no copyright notice in IT is six hundred and fifty years since Chretien de Troyes wrote his Cliges.
And yet he is wonderfully near us, whereas he is separated by a great gulf from the rude trouveres of the Chansons de Gestes and from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which was still dragging out its weary length in his early days. Chretien is as refined, as civilised, as composite as we are ourselves; his ladies are as full of whims, impulses, sudden reserves, self-debate as M.
(mh=LIqIfgy91EE78Zdq)11.jpg "Babes Troyes")
Indeed, there is no break between the Breton romance and the psychological-analytical novel of our own day. Whence comes this amazing modernity and complexity? From many sources:βProvencal love-lore, Oriental subtlety, and Celtic mysticismβall blended by that marvellous dexterity, style, malice, and measure which are so utterly French that English has no adequate words for them. A different being, this modern Athenian, from the mystic Irish peasant we see in the poetic modern Irish drama!
He is as positive as any man can be. His is not of the world of Saint Louis, of the Crusaders, of the Cathedral-builders. In Cliges there is no religious atmosphere at all. We hear scarcely anything of Mass, of bishops, of convents. When he mentions Tierce or Prime, it is merely to tell us the hour at which something happenedβand this something is never a religious service. There is nothing behind the glamour of arms and love, except for the cas de conscience presented by the lovers.
(mh=vLsLIMZFBLetsjM0)4.jpg "Sex guide in Troyes")
Nothing but names and framework are Celtic; the spirit, with its refinements and its hair-splitting, is Provencal. But what a brilliant whole! If, then, this woman-worship, this complexity of love, this self-debating, first comes into literature with Chretien de Troyes, and is still with us, no more interesting work exists than his earliest masterpiece, Cliges. The translator takes this opportunity of thanking Mr.
