According to his medieval chronicler, Guillem de Peiteus was "bons cavaliers d'armas", 'a good knight of arms'. He wandered "lonc temps per lo mon per enganar las domnas", 'a long time through the world deceiving women.' The following poem anticipates trobar clus.
Farai un vers de dreyt nien:
Non er de mi ni d'autra gen,
Non er d'amor ni de joven,
Ni de ren au,
Qu'enans fo trobars en durmen
Sobre chevau.
No sai en qua hora·m fuy natz:
No suy alegres ni iratz,
No suy estrayns ni suy privatz,
Ni no.n pues au,
Qu'enaissi fuy de nueitz fadatz,
Sobr' un pueg au.
No sai quora·m suy endurmitz
Ni quora·m velh, s'om no m·o ditz.
Per pauc no m'es lo cor partitz
D'un dol corau;
E no m'o pretz una soritz,
Per sanh Marsau!
Malautz suy e tremi murir,
E ren no·n sai mas quan n'aug dir;
Metge querrai al mieu albir,
E no sai cau;
Bos metges er si·m pot guerir,
Mas non, si amau.
Amigu' ai ieu, no sai qui s'es,
Qu'anc non la vi, si m'ajut fes;
Ni·m fes que·m plassa ni que·m pes,
Ni no m'en cau,
Qu'anc non ac Norman ni Frances
Dins mon ostau.
Anc non la vi et am la fort,
Anc no n'aic dreyt ni no·m fes tort;
Quan non la vey, be m'en deport,
No.m pretz un jau,
Qu'ie·n sai gensor et bellazor,
E que mais vau.
Fag ai lo vers, no say de cuy;
E trametrai lo a selhuy
Que lo·m trametra per autruy
Lay vers Anjau,
Que·m tramezes del sieu estuy
La contraclau.
I will make a song of sheer naught*,
not of myself, nor of another,
nor of love, nor of youth,
nor of aught else,
for it came to me as I slept
on horseback.
I don't know what hour bore me,
I am neither a card nor a carper,
neither a stranger nor at home [here?],
nor can I help it,
for I was bewitched* so one night
high on some peak.
I don't know when I sleep,
nor when I awake, if no one tells,
and my heart is rent almost apart
by heart's well's gall--
and it weighs no more than a mouse
by Saint Martial!
I am ill and shudder at death,
but know nothing of it except when I'm told;
I'll seek the doctor of my whims,
whom I don't know.
He's a good medic if he mends,*
not if he fails.
I have a sweetheart; I know her not,
for in God's name I've never seen her;
nothing she does charms or plagues me,
and I don't care at all/care a jot,
for never has a Norman or a Frenchman
come through my door/crossed my doorstep.
I've never seen her and love her a lot,
she's done me neither good nor harm.
When I don't see her, I get on,
and don't give a darn,
for I know one with looks more fine,
who has more worth.
I have got this poem up,
not knowing of what. I will send it on
to someone who will send it on
to someone in Anjou
who will send back to me,
from his space/place, the key.
(South Hadley, Massachusetts; 1979)
Manuscript Source: R. T. Hill and T. G. Bergin (1973), Anthology of the Provençal Troubadours, 2nd ed. (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press), I.
(Note: the importance of place here--of the Normans and Frenchmen not having crossed into Guillem's house [these Aquitanians have not forgotten their and the Gascon's battles with Roland, the story of which was contemporary], and of someone's sending "del sieu estuy" ['from his place', 'from his dwelling', 'from his place to be'], "la contraclau", 'the counter-key'--is interesting. I note that like in many languages, 'of' and 'from' are one word; to be from somewhere is to be of it, perhaps even in some sense part of it, or made of it, but this is speculating.) * Text/words indicated by an asterisk was/were at least in part supplied by Dr. John Peck, my thesis supervisor for this and other trobador translations in 1979. Dreyt nien is literally "right nothing".)