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Updated: June 17, 2025
Ronsard and his friends are charming, elegant, and erudite; but not of the stupendous. What is even more to the point, already with the pléiade we have a school a school with its laws and conventions, its "thus far and no further."
Ronsard looked at him somewhat doubtingly. "Your Majesty considers it strange? Had you ever seen her, you would think it the only fitting name for her," he answered, "For she is surely the most glorious thing God ever made!" "Your wife or daughter?" gently hinted the King. The old man smiled bitterly. "Sir, I have never owned wife or child!
"Sufficiently to know that they are dissatisfied;" returned Ronsard quietly, "And that, deep down among the tangled grass and flowers of that brilliant pleasure-ground called Society, there is a fierce and starving lion called the People, waiting for prey!" His voice sank to a low and impressive tone, and for a moment his hearers looked astonished and disconcerted.
Elizabeth was delighted, and gave the poet a diamond for his pretty book. But Ronsard does not live in literature mainly as a flatterer. Nor is he remembered as a keeper of the conscience of princes, or as a religious controversialist. If nothing but his love-poems had survived, we should have almost all his work that is of literary importance.
Thus 'lierre, ivy, was written by Ronsard, 'l'hierre, which is correct, being the Latin 'hedera. 'Lingot' is our 'ingot, but with fusion of the article; in 'larigot' and 'loriot' the word and the article have in the same manner grown together. In old French it was l'endemain, or, le jour en demain: 'le lendemain, as now written, is a barbarous excess of expression.
"Ministers have not always the popular vote," said Ronsard; "They are selected by the Premier. And if the Premier should happen to be shifty, treacherous or self-interested, he chooses such men as are most likely to serve his own ends. And it can hardly be said, Sir, that the People truly return the members of Government.
Eustache Deschamp, Joachim du Bellay, Ronsard, the delightful La Fontaine, the delightful but appalling Villon, Victor Hugo's "Guitare," Madame Desbordes-Valmore's lines on the little girl and her pillow, as dear little verses about a child as ever were written these and many others comforted me much, as I read them in head-net and gauntlets, sitting on a log by an unknown river in the Amazonian forest.
It is the earlier verses that win you: "And silver white the river gleams As if Diana in her dreams Had dropt her silver bow Upon the meadows low." That is as good as Ronsard, and very like him in manner and matter. But the moral and consolatory application is too long too much dwelt on: "Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought."
He happened to praise the acting of a girl of fourteen, who, in her family circle, said, "Perhaps when I am old, like the lady in Ronsard, I will say 'R. L. Stevenson sang of me." His gambols "with the wild Prince and Poins" are not unrecorded. These were his Fergussonian years.
I, Rene Ronsard, once killed a king! and now in my old age, the only creature I ever loved is tricked by the son of a king! It is just! So be it!" He bent his white head over his digging again, and Von Glauben was for a moment silent, vaguely amazed and stupefied by this sudden declaration of a past crime.
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