a ternir vostre beaute._

THE "SONNETS FOR HELENE"
(_The 42nd and 43rd Sonnets of the Second Book._)

Helene was very real. A young Maid of Honour to Catherine de Medicis;
Spanish by blood, Italian by breeding, called in France "de Sugeres,"
she was the gravest and the wisest, and, for those who loved serenity,
the most beautiful of that high and brilliant school.

The Sonnets began as a task; a task the Queen had set Ronsard, with
Helene for theme: they ended in the last strong love of Ronsard's life.
A sincere lover of many women, he had come to the turn of his age when
he saw her, like a memory of his own youth. He has permitted to run
through this series, therefore, something of the unique illusion which
distance in time or space can lend to the aspect of beauty. An emotion
so tenuous does not appear in any other part of his work: here alone you
find the chastity or weakness which made something in his mind come near
to the sadder Du Bellay's: his soul is regardant all the while as he
writes: visions rise from her such as never rose from Cassandra; as this
great picture at the opening of the 58th Sonnet of the Second Book:

Seule sans compagnie en une grande salle
Tu logeois l'autre jour pleine de majeste.

These "Sonnets for Helene" should be common knowledge: they are (with Du
Bellay's) the evident original upon which the author of Shakespeare's
Sonnets modelled his work: they are the late and careful effort of
Ronsard's somewhat spendthrift genius.

Here are two of them. One, the second, most famous, the other, the
first, hardly known: both are admirable.

It is the perfection of their sound which gives them their peculiar
quality. The very first lines lead off with a completed harmony: it is
as thoroughly a winter night as that in Shakespeare's song, but it is
more solemn and, as it were, more "built of stone...."

"La Lune Ocieuse, tourne si lentement son char tout a l'entour", is like
a sleeping statue of marble.

To this character, the second adds a vivid interest of emotion which has
given it its special fame. Even the populace have come to hear of this
sonnet, and it is sung to a lovely tune. It has also what often leads to
permanent reputation in verse, a great simplicity of form. The Sextet is
well divided from the Octave, the climax is clearly underlined. Ronsard
was often (to his hurt) too scholarly to achieve simplicity: when, under
the clear in