Clément Marot, the learned poet

About Jewish medieval exegesis and the Genevan psalter

= rough version of: Dick Wursten, 'Clément Marot, the Learned Poet: Jewish Medieval Exegesis and the Genevan Psalter', Reformation and Renaissance Review 12.1 (2010) 71–107.

ABSTRACT

The author suggests that viewing the French poet Clément Marot as a ‘learned poet’ opens up new possibilities not only to understand why he translated the Classics (Ovid, Virgil, Martial), but also to better appreciate how he versified the Hebrew Psalter (final edition 1543). He sketches the Renaissance rediscovery of medieval Jewish exegesis (Kimhi, Ibn Ezra) and the way Martin Bucer in his scholarly Psalms Commentary (1529) valorized their insights. Instead of allegory and direct prophecy a plain historical meaning of many Psalms emerged, supplemented by a typological reference to Christ. Analysing Marot’s versification of Psalm 110 (a junction of exegetical, historical, hermeneutical, and theological issues) the author shows that Marot, while versifying this Psalm, follows an extremely peculiar Jewish interpretation – probably mediated by Bucer – to construct a consistent literary and historical narrative. Instead of presenting Psalm 110 as a mysterious messianic prophecy about Christ, Marot produced a poem in which he evoked an oracle about the enthronement of an ancient king and his victory in the ensuing bloody battle. In doing so the christological potency of this Psalm so seriously diminished that his versification was not acceptable to the Geneva Church in 1562 and was adapted to fit the traditional interpretation. 

The perception of the French poet Clément Marot (ca. 1496-1544) is still heavily loaded up by the way he was perceived in the past. Although the idea that he was the last of the Grands Rhétoriqueurs (not really a great poet, more a transitory figure, on the brink of the Renaissance but not fully aware of it) is now abandoned by everyone with more than superficial knowledge of the matters at stake, the discussion about his work and person is still often conducted based on premises of the past.[1] Too often Marot is torn between two kinds of lovers of his work: those who appreciate the secular Marot, the skilful court poet who had to please his benefactors and who succeeded brilliantly in doing so. It is true, who will deny it: Marot has an amazing ability to write the kind of poetry his readers wanted to hear, once pleasing – almost seducing – the Ladies of the Court with his elegant poetic verse; then pleasing the male with coarse and jocular epigrams, but always wittily approaching his superiors, versatile and volatile.[2] On the other hand there are readers who are fascinated by his biography. Living close to Marguerite de Navarre, the ‘mother’ of the French evangelical movement, he found himself in the eye of the religious storms of his days. Willingly or unwillingly he played a role in the struggle for reform of the church that escalated during his lifetime; his name figured prominently on the list of wanted ‘heretics’ (the first who is not a cleric or a theologian[3]) in the aftermath of the Affaire des Placards (1534/1535), forcing him into exile for two full years, and of course: his cooperation with Jean Calvin in 1543 culminating in the publication of his 50 Psalm versifications. Lots of ink have been spilled on efforts to reconcile these two views on Marot, or rather: on outplaying them one against the other. Some conclude that Marot was a protestant zealot, others suggest that his allegiance to the evangelical cause was only transitory and superficial etc.[4] Next to the fact that we should not be surprised that sixteenth century human beings are as complex as we are, that they can change, develop, mature, react differently when circumstances change etc., and that – thus – straightforward explanations of texts and motives are generally erroneous, it might be helpful to introduce a third perspective to look at the same poet, sc. that he – as a participant of the Humanist movement – was a learned poet, a ‘Docte Poët’. This is often obscured because of the focus (determined by the past) on Marot as a court poet and on his religious commitment (or the absence of it), but everyone in the first part of the 16th century agreed on this aspect of Marot’s poetic output.[5] His poems were highly praised in Humanist circles; some were even translated into Latin by French neo‑Latin poets, often the same who wrote laudatory verses to serve as preliminary texts to the editions of L’Adolescence clementine (1532), the Suite (1533/1534) and the Oeuvres (1538).[6]  More than a decade later Marot’s translation of the first two books of Ovid’s Metamorphoses were incorporated in the editon by the Barthélémy Aneau, principal of the Collège de la Trinité in Lyon, when he published them together with his translation of the third book.[7] These learned men, Humanist scholars, did consider Marot one of theirs, even though he wrote in the vernacular. We often overlook this aspect because it is so unexpected (exactly the opposite to the traditional image of the frivolous poet who took life lightly) and because our own focus can easily become a bias, so that we do not see the obvious: to play the role of a courtly poet, to write light verses, esp. in dangerous times, requires a lot of rational and emotional intelligence, ‘Fingerspitzengefühl’. One word on the wrong place, to the wrong person, on the wrong moment, might be fatal. Trying to please the powerful is not something lightly to be undertaken. On the other hand: the focus on religious aspects and his tumultuous biography might blind readers for other motives behind his actions than the ones one is looking for. Without being aware of it, all actions or writings of Marot that touch this field are automatically interpreted as signs of allegiance to one or other party, obscuring the possibility that Marot might well have entered this field on his own terms and with his own agenda. Including this new element – Marot as a learned poet – as a third parameter in the discussion concerning Marot’s poetry and person, might not only help to relax the previously experienced opposition between the secular court poet and the religiously involved psalmist , but also to open some new perspectives on the man and his writings. Finally, signalling this aspect of Marot’s poetry is not at all new. Anyone who has followed the efforts of the Marot scholars of the last 50 years (naming only C.A. Mayer, G. Defaux and F. Rigolot), will have noticed how gradually a Marot emerged, who was so much more than a clever versifier. He was aware of his times, not a follower but a fore-runner. This is not the place to expand on this aspect, it might suffice to draw attention to the fact that everything he touched changed under his hands. Chansons were never the same after Marot wrote his chansons, epistolary art idem ditto; psalm versifications: it was done before, but after Marot made it his job, it seemed as if he was the inventor of the genre etc. He was involved in publishing his own poems, editing a poet from the past to protect his poetry from oblivion (Villon), participating in the homogenisation of French orthography, inventing new lyrical forms, transforming old ones. He was not a background player, but a front man. If one reads his longer lyrical and narrative poetry, one is impressed how he succeeds in finding that particular tone that befits the subject and the addressee. If one then studies the footnotes, the references, one is impressed how he excelled in re-creating, imitating and emulating Latin originals, not only in explicit translations, but also in implicit imitations (mainly Ovid’s Tristia in his epistolary art). For this I refer the readers to the critical editions of any of the three Marot-editors, mentioned above; even Guiffrey in the nineteenth century had already a keen eye for this if one scrolls through his extensive footnotes.

In this essay I want to show that in his Psalm paraphrases Marot had similar objectives and that his translations should not be judged only from religious or poetical perspective, but also as a scholarly achievement or at least as an effort to achieve a translation in the vernacular of these old texts that could meet the standards of Marot’s Humanist friends, who also sometimes included Psalm translations in their collections of neo-Latin poems. To proof this – or to make this plausible – I will present and analyse one of Marot’s last versifications (Psalm 110). This exercise will be pars pro toto, for I hope to show that the learned aspect is a general characteristic of his effort to translate biblical Psalms après la vérité hébraique.[8] I leave aside the literary-historical and poetical appreciation of his effort, since this has been done very convincingly by several scholars, and – for once – with converging conclusions.[9] Before embarking on the presentation and analysis of Psalm 110, one preliminary remark (about the fact that I use translations to say something about the translator) and one excursion (providing the necessary background to grasp the meaning of the term vérité hébraique), might be useful.

[How translations reveal the translator]

The procedure – researching translations in order to get a better picture of the author/translator – is often discarded as producing false results (the content of the text does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the author) or little result. I don’t agree with both. Translating is never an automated process and therefore a translation always indirectly reveals something about the translator, even if he tries hard not to let that happen: a translator is present in his translation. With respect to the second circumstance, the bare fact that – at a time when translations from the Bible in the vernacular were controversial – Marot translated these texts is telling as such; and to investigate how he translated these texts is very rewarding because of a number of very particular circumstances significantly raise the odds that the translator has to show colours. Bible texts are multi‑layered texts, ‘thick’ with meaning, attributed or inherent. This is true for all biblical texts but for the Psalms exponentially: all kinds of philosophical, theological, spiritual, and religious meaning has been read in(to) these ancient texts during millennia of use in liturgy, devotion and systematic theology, both of Jews and of christians. Often a specific interpretation is bound to a specific translation. So, translating these texts in French forces the translator to make choices in which the literary and theological elements are intertwined. If one adds to this that – in Marot’s days – the common translation of the Psalter (the Vulgate) was being juxtaposed to many new translations, more or less based on the Hebrew original, Psalms could be familiar and strange at the same time, well–known and novel. Many of these new translations made visible that there were alternatives for the readings known form the Vulgate, confronting the translator once more with all kinds of exegetical and hermeneutical questions, that he had to answer if he wanted to deliver more than a mainstream translation of the Vulgate inside the safe boundaries of the official ecclesial interpretation (e.g. Pierre Gringore). Finally: many parts of the Psalm texts (both in the Vulgate and in the Hebrew original, but not necessarily the same parts) are obscure, even today, bordering on the untranslatable; this once more forces a translator to choose.

[après l’hébreu or la vérité hébraique]

Although Psalm 110 belongs to the last selection of Psalms translated by Marot (Vingt Pseaumes, 1543), it does not differ from the very first (Psalm 6, before 1532) in the circumstance that the translation is supposed to have been made according to the ‘Hebrew Truth’, après la vérité hébraique.[10] To what this expression actually refers is easily misunderstood. To associate it immediately with our (modern) notion of a scholarly exegesis that starts with the deciphering of the Hebrew text as a condition for any translation or interpretation, would be anachronistic. The first generation of Humanists accessed the Hebrew Bible only indirectly, i.e. via old (and – when time passed – ever more: new) Latin translations from the Hebrew, of which Jerome’s Bible translations iuxta Hebraeos was the first and most easily available, the ‘Vulgate’.[11] In the course of the centuries this translation had been gradually accepted as normative with one exception: Jerome’s translation iuxta Hebraeos of the Psalter, the Psalterium Hebraicum. A previous Latin version made by Jerome based on Greek translations of the Hebrew text (mainly the Septuagint), thus unwittingly copying the errors therein, had become the standard text in Western-Europe. Because this text was the most commonly used in France, ever since Alcuin included it in the Bible edition he offered to Charlemagne, it is generally referred to as the Psalterium Galli(ca)num.[12] So in the ‘Vulgate’ all oldtestament books are translated ‘after the Hebrew’, except the Psalter, which is largely based on the text of the Septuagint.

Jerome’s Psalterium Hebraicum, which differs considerably from the version present in the Vulgate (the Gallicanum), had always been known in the Middle Ages and served as an eye-opener for many a scholar in the sixteenth century. Reading that translation made them aware of the huge difference between approach the Biblical original based on the Vulgate, and an approach après l’Hèbreu.[13] When in the first part of the sixteenth century a Psalm publication (edition, translation, commentary) refers to the ‘Hebrew text’, it is with high probability not a reference to the Hebrew text, but a reference to the Latin text of Jeromes’ Psalterium Hebraicum. The fact that Lefèvre d’Etaples included this Hebraicum in his Quincuplex Psalterium (1509) certainly helped its proliferation.[14] Lefèvre himself did not know Hebrew either and his Psalm hermeneutics is completely christological: there is only one sense in Scripture, and that is the reference to the mysteries of Christ. This is not a figurative sense, but the sensus litteralis. Lefèvre was only interested in the Hebrew text (mediated by Jerome’s Psalterium Hebraicum), because he was convinced that the return to the sources, would unlock this secret even better.[15] When sixteenth century authors, like Lefèvre and his followers, therefore refer to the ‘Hebrew Truth’, they – on a cultural and philosophical level – inscribe their work in the Humanist project of returning to the sources in order to find ‘Truth’ or to be able to expound the truth more clearly. Once more Jerome is the icon of this movement, because in his prologues to his subsequent translations of Old Testament he expounded the idea of Hebraica Veritas and defended it against criticism (the most prominent opponent being Augustine of Hippo), mainly consisting in the insinuation that interest in the Hebrew text would lead to a less Christian and more Jewish Old Testament. From the early Church fathers to the Humanists, who were Hellenists (Graecists)  first and only later became Hebraists, the Septuagint, the pre-Christian Jewish translation of the Old Testament in Greek, was highly revered and generally considered to be Gods gift to the Church. What we call ‘the Hebrew original’ they mistrusted exactly because it was a Jewish text. Anti-Judaism and anti-Semitism are never far away in Church history. For us it is important to realize that the philosophy behind this concept is philological in its method, but theological in its aim: the closer one gets to the Hebrew original, the closer one gets to the text that was inspired by the Holy Spirit itself. Even where there is a growing awareness of the historic‑literal sense of certain passages, the term ‘Hebrew Truth’ is not linked to these aspects of the text, but to their spiritual meaning. So interest in the ‘Hebrew Truth’ did not mean that one was interested in digging up all kinds of information about historical persons and situations, but in the mystical Truth, which – like a hidden pearl, not directly visible to the superficially gazing eye – was contained in all Scripture: Christ himself. He would be revealed even more clearly as the real sense of all Scripture including the most obscure parts of the Old Testament, with the help of the ‘Hebrew Truth’. The opposite of ‘Hebrew Truth’ was not ‘Christian Truth’ (they coincide) but ‘Hebrew, i.e. Jewish Lies’. Like Jerome the Humanist Hebraists were accused of judaising, and defended their ‘return to the sources’ along the same lines as Jerome himself: translating according to the ‘Hebrew Truth’ will prove that it is possible to ‘hébraiser sans judaiser’, and when the ‘Hebrew Truth’ is found all Jewish lies, corrupting our present translations, will be exposed the ‘Christian Truth’ corroborated.[16]

Nevertheless, from a philological point of view the early sixteenth century was an exciting time, because an enormous amount of knowledge concerning the Hebrew language and the Jewish exegesis came available.[17] The Psalter was often at the heart of this new interest, both because this book was by far of the most popular Bible book and because the usual Latin translation was more-than-average defective, as we showed above. Next to Jerome’s versio Hebraica new editions of the Hebrew text in Latin started to appear, now really based on the Hebrew original. The first and most influential appeared in 1515 in Italy, prepared by Felix de Prato: Psalterium ex hebraeo diligentissime ad verbum fere tralatum.[18] The translator, Felix de Prato (Latinised: Felix Pratensis, †1558) was a converted (or apostate) Jew and Augustinian Eremite. The ‘Entdeckersfreude’ in Humanist circles was enormous. Many scholars published new translations of the Psalter, some even complete new Bible translations, based on Hebrew (and Greek) originals.[19] The linguistic level of Hebraitas still varied considerably, but the translators became increasingly more informed. [20] All of these new translations were of Christian manufacture, even when they were produced by Jews. Both the Arguments (summaries) above Lefèvre’s translations and the Arguments above the 1526 edition of the Psalms by Felix de Prato reflect the traditional christo-typical (and often anti‑Judaist) way the Psalms were understood, not only in conservative circles but also in the camp of reform-oriented scholars.[21] It is only at the end of the 1520s, when an increasing number of Christian scholars really had mastered the Hebrew language, that an abundance of translations, interpretations and commentaries on the Psalms ‘according to the Hebrew’ appeared. Soon a number of them was translated into French. The title of an article by Bernard Roussel speaks volumes: ‘Les nouveaux Jérôme (1525‑1535): le psautier traduit en français iuxta Hebraeos’.[22] Very popular became the Psalm paraphrase by Johannes van Campen (Campensis), Psalmorum omnium iuxta Hebraicam veritatem paraphrastica (Nuremberg, J. Petreius, 1532), which was almost immediately translated in French and published in Paris by Simon du Bois in 1534.[23] Both the Latin and French editions were often reprinted. A landmark in modern Psalm scholarship, including the achievements of the Hebrew revival, is Bucer’s voluminous Commentary of 1529, S. Psalmorum libri quinque, ad ebraicam veritatem versi, et familiari explanatione elucidati (Strasbourg, G. Ulricher, 1529, revised and enlarged reprinted in 1532). For a considerable time this erudite work was well received in all of Christianity, because it was published pseudonymously.[24] After a free translation of every Psalm introduced by a summary (‘Argumentum’) Bucer offers an ‘explanatio familiaris’ in which the text of the Psalm is repeated ad verbum while all possible translations and interpretations, both from Christian and Jewish sources, are discussed in a non–partisan spirit. It is this almost encyclopaedic nature that makes this book very attractive for a translator who looks for possible solutions if he is not able to grasp the meaning immediately or if he is confused by the differences between the versions he has in front of him. That Marot was familiar with this work is an established fact, since he borrowed Bucer’s Summaries (Arguments) for his own translations. Finally we should mention the famous Olivétan-bible (1535), the first French version of the entire Bible translated (or at least revised) “après la vérité hébraique”.[25]

[Marot and the Hebrew Truth]

Marot did not know Hebrew, so he must have used sources. In the past scholars spent a lot of energy identifying them, often without a sound methodology (showing that in a number of cases Marot and another translation make the same translation choices is not enough: examples – however numerous – remain what they are: examples of similarity, no proofs of dependence or influence). In the most recent survey, Catherine Reuben summarizes the partial results: Marot borrowed vocabulary from Olivétan’s Bible; in interpretational matters he took Bucer and Campensis as his guides. If a complex crux interpretum had to be solved Marot generally followed Bucer and never took Lefèvre into account for these decisions.[26] Of course Marot was familiar with the standard liturgical text of the Psalms, the Psalterium Gallicanum. The reference to François Vatable, Regius professor of Hebrew in Paris, has a long history but it has become almost meaningless, since of Vatable’s 1534 lectures on the Psalms no trace is left,[27] and the traces that are left from his 1546 lectures on the same topic not only postdate Marot’s lifetime, but the authorship (or at least the originality) of the so-called notes de Vatable is questionable.[28] (see now my article on Vatable) What we – finally – should not overlook, is that there is a lot of asynchrony in the knowledge of the Hebrew language: while some were already reading and interpreting Hebrew fluently, others just started to discover it. It is a long way from the traditional text of the Gallicanum (PG), via Jerome’s Psalterium Hebraicum (PH) towards translations that have been made directly from the Hebrew. While some were only beginning to realize the possibility of translating differently from Jerome, others were already aware of the vast amount of new information available contained in the Hebrew language and in the Jewish exegesis. What is generally accepted is that Marot’s translation is strongly influenced by the results of this process of hebraisation and that upto a very high level, a sign that he probably took his job as a translator après l’hébreu serious.[29] To substantiate some of these claims we now focus our attention on Psalm 110 and Marot’s paraphrase of it.

[Psalm 110]

What the overall survey makes clear is that there was a lot of scholarship available for a translator of biblical texts and that in particular the translation of the Psalms must have been quite a challenge for a translator if he wanted to return to the sources of the bible text. The first who discovered this were not the vernacular poets, but the Latin scholars, who were often poets (Neo-Latin) as well. [30] What makes Psalm 110 very interesting to establish the level of scholarship is that in this Psalm the translator-interpreter has to show his cards. The text is very complex and the interpretation is heavily charged with meaning. When Marot undertook the translation of this Psalm he will have encountered a number of serious cruces interpretum that forced him to make far-reaching translational and interpretational choices. We will not discuss Marot’s paraphrase in its entirety, but focus on two points on which this Psalm might be interesting for us. First and foremost the fact that this Psalm (together with Psalm 2) XE "Psalm 2"  is considered a messianic Psalm by nature (at least by the entire Christian tradition), a direct prophecy concerning Christ’s heavenly Kingship. As such it figures prominently in the New Testament. According to the gospels, it is even quoted by Jesus himself in a discussion about the true nature of the Messiah.[31] The church subsequently has always used this Psalm to substantiate the claim that Jesus is the Christ, the eternal son of God, and sitting at God’s right hand in heaven. This already high theological charge has been exponentially enhanced because of the frequency of its recitation: as one of the Vesper Psalms it was (and is) sung in Daily Office at the monasteries. After the reproduction of the Vulgate text (with a literal translation), I will highlight some interpretational headlights from this Psalm.

Next to being a complex text to interpret, many phrases of this Psalm are actually untranslatable, either because one cannot make meaningful words of the Hebrew characters;[32] or one can make sense of the separate words but they hardly form a sensible phrase;[33] or every word is clear and even the syntax is in order, but then no satisfactory meaning imposes itself.[34] The combination of these characteristics makes this short Psalm probably the most discussed of the entire Psalter. We will not involve ourselves in these discussions, but only look at what Marot in his translation did with the points mentioned above: Is the christological interpretation visible, and what does he do with a text that produces no sense by itself, but can only acquire meaning if interpreted pro-actively, if not aggressively. Regarding the christological interpretation everything appears to be clear: The Argument Marot prints above the translation suggests an entire, exclusive and un‑mediated application to Christ. No reference to any other possible interpretation that shimmers through:

 « Il chante le regne de Christ lequel commença en Sion et de là pervint jusques aux fins de la terre et continuera jusques à ce que Christ soit adoré universellement et que de ses enemys il ayt fait son marchepied. »

As usual Marot’s summary is not original. It is an almost literal translation of Bucer’s summary, taken from his Commentary on the Psalms.[35] But proclaiming an interpretation in the Argument is one thing, translating (Marot) and explaining (Bucer) the Psalm is something else. And indeed: in his commentary Bucer begins by affirming that the application of this Psalm to Christ is appropriate, but already in the next sentence he signals that a historical ‘substrate’ might be surmised with David figuring as ‘typus’. A historical setting that fits the Psalm he finds in the solemn festival at Hebron, where the people of Israel gathered to witness the coronation of their new king, David, after the successful siege of Jerusalem (Sion), to which the holy Ark of the Covenant was to be transported. However, not all enemies were defeated yet, and an impressive battle was imminent.[36] Bucer invests a lot of time in explaining how this historical substrate does not obscure the christological interpretation in any way, but enhances it. According to Bucer they concur perfectly and can be applied to the text simultaneously. He even claims that David can be contemporary poet and visionary prophet at the same time, consciously composing a hymn with a twofold meaning, a double scope.[37] The fact that Bucer can propose an entirely christological Argument for a Psalm and at the same time explain the text as referring to a particular historical situation, alerts us about Marot’s intention. And indeed: Although Marot’s Argument is messianic tout court, his Psalm paraphrase from the very first line evokes the atmosphere of a royal court (or the Royal Court). The first-person narrator must be a court prophet who has received a heavenly message for his king and master (‘l’Omnipotent à mon Seigneur, et maistre’ [38]), which he is going to deliver. If read without any prescience of a christological layer, Marot’s text narrates an episode at an ancient (oriental) court, in which a prophet pronounces an oracle to his king. The message is: God is on your side. Verses 2 and 3 are addressed directly to the King, encouraging him because God will keep his promise (2) and the people will gladly join him and rejoice in his prosperity (3). In verse 4 another word of God’s is reported, in which the Melchizedek priesthood is also promised to the King, following a prophecy about how God will fight the battles for this King (5‑7), who may sit ‘at God’s right hand’ until the last enemy is defeated and victory has become complete.

1.          L’Omnipotent à mon Seigneur, et maistre

A dit ce mot: A ma dextre te sieds,

Tant que j’auray renversé, et faict estre

Tes enemys le scabeau de tes pieds.

2.          Le sceptre fort de ton puissant Empire

En fin sera loing de Syon transmys

Par l’Eternel, lequel te viendra dire:

Regne au milieu de touts tes enemys.

3.          De son bon gré ta gent bien disposée,

Au jour tressainct de ton sacre courra:

Et aussi dru qu’au matin chet rosée,

Naistre en tes filz ta jeunesse on verra.

4.          Car l’Eternel, sans muer de courage,

A de toy seul dit, et juré avec:

Grand Prebstre, et Roy, tu seras en tout eagé,

Ensuyvant l’ordre au bon Melchisedec.

5.          A ton bras droict Dieu ton Seigneur, et Pere,

T’assistera aux belliqueux arroys,

Là, où pour toy, au jour de sa colere,

Rompra la teste à Princes, et à Roys.

6.          Sur les Gentilz exercera justice,

Remplira tout de corps morts envahis,

Et frappera, pour le dernier supplice,

Le chef regnant sur beaulcoup de pays.

7.          Puis, en passant au milieu de la plaine,

Des grands ruisseaux de sang s’abbr[e]uvera.

Par ce moyen, ayant victoire pleine,

La teste hault, tout joyeulx, levera.

The interpretation present in this poetical transposition coincides completely with the narrative Bucer reconstructed (we would say: developed, but he would deny that) in his commentary, which is quite different from the traditional reading, not only in wording (translation) but also in construction and scope.[39] The secular (worldly) atmosphere of what the sacred king is supposed to do and accomplish with God’s help cannot be overlooked. Concerning the classical interpretation the reference to Christ’s ascension and the fact that he is bestowed with the priesthood of Melchizedek, which plays such a prominent role in the Epistle to the Hebrews, is still possible, since this is not a matter of translation (the text and its first meaning are reasonably clear), but of interpretation, hermeneutics. Exactly the same goes for Marot’s translation. In the verses 3 and 7 Marot though goes one step further and ventures away from tradition by providing the reader with completely diverging translations. To find out how, why and what he did in suggesting this new world of meaning, we take a closer look on both verses.

Verse 3. With respect to the Hebrew original, as it is transmitted to us, even modern scholars admit that some conjectural changes are needed to give it any meaning whatsoever.[40] If we compare the usual translations available to Marot, it only shows that in Marot’s times translators also did not know what to do with this text. No consensus whatsoever: even Bucer adjusted his opinion on the way between 1529 and 1532.[41] So it becomes interesting to ask: what did Marot do and is it possible to extract some information about his intentions from his choice:

De son bon gré ta gent bien disposée,

Au jour tressainct de ton sacre courra:

Et aussi dru qu’au matin chet rosée,

Naistre en tes filz ta jeunesse on verra.

Traditional exegesis, following the New Testament authors read in this verse a proof of the ‘generatio aeterna’ of the Son as the second Person of the Trinity.[42] If we compare the general obscurity of the referents (who is doing, what where and when?), with the way Marot in his translation of verse 3 answers these elementary questions, the strength and novelty of his translation becomes apparent: it is the King’s own people (‘ta gent’ who are coming voluntarily (‘de son bon gré’) and well prepared (‘bien disposée’[43]) to witness the sacred coronation of their king (‘ton sacre’[44]). The context clearly suggests that ‘bien disposée’ must mean armed, equipped for the final battle. This translation grosso modo concurs with Bucer’s translation of 1529 and 1532 and with the text as present in Olivétan’s Bible (1535). Only time and occasion are mentioned, no place is indicated. Compared with other paraphrases Marot’s translation is quite dense.[45] The third and fourth lines of verse 3 form a new statement, but the subject is the same: the crowd (‘on verra’): those who were assembled to celebrate the coronation of their king will also be witness to the prosperity of the king, whose offspring will be like the morning dew:

Et aussi dru qu’au matin chet rosée,

Naistre en tes filz ta jeunesse on verra.

[And as dense as dew in the morning falls

They will see in your sons your youth born/renewed]

No trace of ‘ante Lucifer genui te’ (exit PG) or of a ‘womb’ (exit PH). Marot’s translation does not suggest this link in any way. Without discussing the validity of his translation, we simply note that Marot has given this verse a coherent meaning by integrating it into the narrative structure of the Psalm, which continues with the ordination of the sacred king to become a priest as well. It sounds like an oracle (not immediately transparent, a little bit mysterious) and as such perfectly fits the narrative of the Psalm. Marot seems to have been particularly concerned with providing a clear meaning to every element of the text, esp. the obscure ones, by weaving it into a consistent historically imaginable narrative. This appears to be an essential element of his Psalm hermeneutics.[46] A summary of the remainder of Psalm 110 XE "Psalm 110"  from this narrative perspective also corroborates this idea: In the translation of verse 4 we notice a clarifying addition: Marot explicitly identifies the ‘Prestre’ (‘sacerdos’) with the King by inserting the words ‘et Roy’ in his translation, although this identification of the two offices is not explicit in the Bible text itself. Marot makes explicit what is implicit in the text: we are talking about one person with a double office: priest and king. In verse 5 Marot adds a few interpretative elements to the biblical text: God is called ‘Pere’ (not in the original). Did he do this only for the rhyme, or also to link the Psalm more closely to Psalm 2, XE "Psalm 2"  which describes the same historical event if we follow the interpretation of Bucer and where God and David (the messianic king) are placed in the relation of father and son. The simple phrase that he will defeat the enemy kings is rendered very plastically: ‘rompra la teste à Princes et à Roys’, thus proleptically introducing elements from the next verse to enhance the narrative construction.[47] The concrete (‘plastic’) and realistic tone is maintained until the end, culminating in the image of God, not only smashing heads of kings and princes, but – having defeated the ‘chief of a lot of land’ – is depicted as filling the battlefield with ‘corpses’ (verse 6) and, claiming full victory drinks the blood of his enemies leaving the battlefield in triumph (verse 7), the verse to which we now turn.

Verse 7. For someone not familiar with the bible text of Psalm 110, this final verse might pass unnoticed, since it makes perfect sense in the narration which has evoked the atmosphere of an ancient society, in which the King engages in war based on divine oracles, causes a true massacre, leaving the battlefield as a victorious Warlord and then performs a kind of primeval rite:

Puis, en passant au milieu de la plaine,

Des grands ruisseaux de sang s’abbr[e]uvera.

Par ce moyen, ayant victoire pleine,

La teste hault, tout joyeulx, levera

That he drinks the blood of the defeated might repel us, but is suggested to be a kind of ritual to finish off victory, as is explained with so many words in the last two lines (‘par ce moyen ayant victoire pleine’). That it is a daring interpretation of the biblical text, one might easily overlook, so natural it sounds within the narrative. But as a matter of fact: these lines can not be labelled a translation at all, since the word ‘blood’ is not mentioned in any original. The psalm simply ends with the image of a victorious king, ‘who will drink from the brook on his way, and therefore will lift up his head’:

De torrente in via bibet: propterea exaltabit caput[48]

Why the king would do that is not clear, and why ‘therefore’ he will lift up his head neither. Nevertheless the words and syntax in themselves are clear. In complete opposition to verse 3, this time all other translations (from Jerome’s Gallicanum and Hebraicum to the most progressive translations based on perfect mastery of the Hebrew language) agree among themselves. Even Bucer in his free and in his literal (ad verbum) translation sticks to the drinking of water from a brook alongside the road: total consensus, Marot being the odd one out. He is the only one who – in his translation – makes the King drink from the blood of his enemies accomplishing a primitive ritual.

Instead of concluding that Marot took the liberty to add a – quite daring – interpretation to the text, it is better to assume that Marot must have read it somewhere or heard from someone that an interpretation like this was possible.[49] Since he was familiar with Bucer’s Commentary (because of the Arguments) and this Commentary was famous for its almost encyclopaedic pretensions, it is the first candidate. And indeed, in the explanation Bucer signals the interpretational problems surrounding this verse and suggests an alternative interpretation, viz. that this verse depicts the final triumph of the King, symbolised in his drinking the blood of his enemy, which – because of the immensity of the bloodshed (depicted in the preceding verse) – had formed a river. Still according to Bucer ‘drinking the blood of the enemy’ is a scriptural image for ‘having achieved a complete victory’. Bucer’s source is – as so often – David Kimhi.[50] This explanation is quite exceptional and cannot be found with any other member of the usual reference group.[51] So, it does not seem far‑fetched to suggest that Marot got his idea from Bucer’s explanation, especially since not only the interpretational element (‘the stream of blood’), but also the explanation of the ritual is found in Marot’s translation, almost in the same wording: the drinking of the blood signifies the complete and final victory: ‘victoire pleine’ (‘plenam victoriam’). Marot obviously refused to simply translate the biblical Vorlage when the words made no sense or  remained floating in the air. When he found a more plausible interpretation, e.g., in Bucer’s Commentary, he did not shy away from proposing this interpretation as his translation, something not even Bucer had dared to do (Bucer’s translation ad sensum remained traditional). There is even a theological component in this option: by implementing Kimhi’s interpretation the entire Psalm can be interpreted in a secular way. Kimhi created a narrative, plastic vision of events, which provided ‘plain meaning’, automatically diminishing the possibilities for a mystical theological, i.c. christological reading.[52]

We conclude: Marot was not satisfied with simply rendering a Psalterium Hebraicum, f.i. Jerome’s (PH) into French, without bothering about the proper meaning or the organisation of thoughts. If he encountered cruces interpretum he extended his research and in his translation choices he shows a great familiarity with the Psalm scholarship of the second generation of scholarly Hebraists, whose findings he was willing to use in his translation, if they convinced him as a poet interested in offering a consistent narrative to the reader. He was not only willing to integrate some of the more scholarly, technical exegetical findings into his translations (if they enhanced comprehension by creating an internal logic in the text), he was even willing to go so far as to insert an exotic interpretation into his translation, giving an unexpected meaning to an in se obscure Bible verse, as Psalm 110,7 shows. Marot must have invested a lot of time and energy in reaching this level of Hebraitas, which in his days was still exceptional, in fact: the exclusive domain of the learned. He probably chose to do so, since as far as we know no one forced him to go that length. This confirms our idea of Marot as a learned poet, whose French Psalm paraphrases now intrinsically belong to the category of scholarly Latin paraphrases.

On the way Marot seems to have freed himself from theological discussions that were attached to the texts he tried to translate. Discovering a Leitmotiv in any Psalm, a binding agent, a connecting idea, either in the text itself or outside it but always fitting the text, so that he could guide his readers to what the Psalm was about – that is what he seemed to have been looking for in the first place. Once he had discovered, or (re‑)constructed such a motif, he was not afraid to follow that line to give sense to all elements not clear in themselves. The example of Psalm 110 shows that in all likelihood he did not only read Bucer’s quite handy summaries (Arguments), but also the exegetical and explanatory passages in his Commentary, if he was not satisfied with the level of narrative coherence and subsequently the intelligibility of a Psalm. From the resulting narrative constructions that form the framework of this translations, we can infer that he basically perceived the biblical Psalm texts as ancient, and occasionally quite exotic songs. Inspired? Probably; Direct prophecies of Christ? Probably not. That he – in doing so – estranged the texts from the way they were generally interpreted, he was probably well aware of, but this did not stop him in continuing on the that road. My hypothesis is that the few christological Arguments, that differ from what Marot de facto did, were meant to conceal this state of affairs for the investigating eyes of theological censors, a matter of prudence.

[excursion I : Ph.A. Becker]

Strangely enough this peculiarity of Marot’s Psalm translation and the strong link between his paraphrases and Bucer’s Arguments ànd Commentary is not a new insight. It was already quite convincingly established in 1921 by the German scholar Ph.A. Becker.[53] However, ever since the discovery of this influence it has been systematically downplayed by all Marot scholars, including the ones who have devoted special attention to the Psalms, like Paulette Leblanc, Michel Jeanneret and Gérard Defaux. The influence of Bucer is confined to the Arguments, and often the number of Arguments Marot borrowed from Bucer is established at quite a low level. Influence from the Commentary itself is not mentioned, or if mentioned, it is classified as only incidental and superficial.[54] In my opinion this blind spot might well be the main reason why no one has succeeded so far in assessing what Marot was really doing while translating the Psalms. A first impulse to change perspective was given by Defaux, when he placed the correspondence between Bucer’s and Marot’s Arguments on the correct level: 47 out of 49 Arguments are either literal translations or condensations.[55] Nevertheless this assessment did not cause Defaux to advance towards a full rehabilitation of Becker and a new investigation concerning Marot’s perusal of Bucer’s Commentary. This is odd, since acknowledging Bucer’s influence as far as the Arguments are concerned and at the same time downplaying the importance of the explanation in his Commentary seems almost contradictory. Bucer’s Arguments are no neutral texts but summaries of the very specific interpretation elaborated in the explanation part of the Commentary. So Arguments and explanation are closely connected, they mirror each other. That Marot borrowed the Arguments of Bucer can not be dismissed as a harmless operation or a matter of convenience, because it implies the taking-over of Bucer’s quite specific hermeneutical viewpoint concerning the historical setting, the literary construction and possible meaning of that particular Psalm. The consequences of such a hermeneutical stance for the translation itself are far‑reaching as the example of Psalm 110 has clearly shown.

The translation of the final verse eventually proved to have been to shocking for later generations. In the final edition of the Psalter (1562) the second line of this stanza (“Des grands ruisseaux de sang s’abbr[e]uvera.”) was changed, i.e., rephrased to fit the traditional translation:  « De l’eau courante à grand’ haste il boira ».[56] The king was not drinking the blood of his enemies anymore but plain water. Bucer’s Commentary and Marot’s Paraphrase are highlights of a period in which daring exegetes rushed in where no one had ever gone before; Later generations apparently were more timid and carefully retreated to safer grounds.[57]

[excursion II : Michel Jeanneret]

The assessment of the correct level of Marot’s scholarship as a Psalm translator, is important, since anyone who says something about Marot’s Psalm versifications and omits to check contemporary Commentaries (particularly Bucer’s), will not be able to differentiate between poetical liberties and exegetical choices, and thus will inevitably mistake the one for the other. This was the fate of Michel Jeanneret in his magisterial study of the French Psalm paraphrases (1969), a work that, although dating from 1969, is in my opinion still unsurpassed. He came very close to the solution of the abovementioned problem concerning Marot’s use of Bucer, since in his chapter on Marot’s translations he three times returns to Psalm 110, and twice notices something inexplicable, exactly: Psalm 110,3 and 7. This alarmed him, since he was aware of the meticulous way in which Marot tried to make every Psalm as coherent as possible, staying faithful to the plain meaning of the original text. Since he did not see a satisfactory explanation, Jeanneret labelled Marot’s translation of Psalm 110,3 ‘un cas extrême’ and preferred a tautological conjecture to close the case: Marot must have felt impelled to rearrange the entire text.[58] The extraordinary translation of the final verse (Ps. 110,7) he discarded as beyond the limits of Marot’s usual faithfulness.[59] If we try to understand why he did not pay more attention to Bucer’s commentary (which would have revealed the source for these extraordinary translations and made them perfectly intelligible), it seems Jeanneret was not aware that the Renaissance validation of the Hebrew sources in Psalm scholarship went far beyond suggesting some additional translation options next to Jerome’s Psalterium  Hebraicum; Nor did he seem to have noticed the diversity in translation options presented by Bucer in his Commentary. In short: Jeanneret might have settled the issue of ‘translating according to the Hebrew Truth’ too quickly, for which he is hardly to blame since in 1969 this was not an established field of research yet.[60]

[conclusion]

Our final conclusion: Fully participating in Humanist circles, Marot obviously shared the most fundamental of Humanist dreams: the popularisation of valuable ancient texts. This didactical‑pedagogical intention was already visible in the way Marot’s first Psalms were presented to the French public: an Argument above each Psalm, the scholarly term ‘Exposition’ in the running header above the translation (including a ‘usage hint’). He was the ‘Prince des poëtes’ of the French language, and had already won his spurs in translating Virgil, Ovid and Musaeus. He had consulted scholarly sources (especially Bucer), which together with his already considerable poetic skill in the art of translation made him an expert in ‘Psalm exegesis’. In one word: Marot’s Psalm translations were a contribution to the Humanist project of presenting the public with the ancient texts in such a wording that they were more or less re‑created in their ‘original splendour’ (to quote Marot’s own description of this project in the dedicatory epistle to the King), or to put in modern language: to provide a dynamic-equivalent translation of David’s Psalms into French poetry, meeting the scholarly and rhetorical standards of the day, and setting the poetic standards for the future.

Therefore, Marot’s Psalm paraphrases were not only popular in calvinist circles or sung at the French Court, but they were the vernacular match of the learned poetical paraphrases, that his neo-Latin colleagues produced themselves, either paraphrasing in prose or in metre.[61] They were the work of a skilful poet who knew how to please his benefactors, surely; they were the work of a poet who sympathized with the reform-oriented evangelical movement, probably; but they were certainly the work of a man, who saw himself and was seen as a learned poet.

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