Seaport: The Embarkation of St. Ursula, 1641, National Gallery at London.

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Francis Cabrel - Je t’aimais, je t’aime, je t’aimerai

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Port with Villa Medici, 1637, oil on canvas, Galleria degli Uffizi, Florence.

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WITHOUT a bed we now sleep sound
And take our meals upon the ground;
And though the blazing atmosphere
Must dreadful to the eye appear,
The air though roaring cannons rend
While warriors with fierce rage contend,
The thoughtless French drink, laugh, and sing,
And with their mirth the heavens ring;
The walls of Philippsburg shall burn,
And all her towers to ashes turn
By fifty thousand Alexanders,
Who all deserve to be commanders,
Though they receive the paltry pay
Of only four poor sous a day.
Lavish of life, with high delight
I see them rushing to the fight;
They all appear both gay and jolly,
Quite covered o’er with fame and folly.
The Phantom, which we Glory name,
Spurs them to the pursuit of fame;
With threat’ning eye, and front all o’er
Bedusted, marching still before,
She holds a trumpet in her hand
To sound to arms, and cheer the band,
And loudly sings, with voice sonorous,
Catches, which they repeat in chorus.
Oh! people brilliant, gay, and vain,
Who drag with patience glory’s chain,
‘Tis great, an honorable grave
To seek, Eugene and death to brave.
But what will be your mighty prize?
What from your prowess will arise?
Regret your blood, in vain you spilt it;
At Paris cuckolded, or jilted.

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Landscape with the Embarkation of Saint Paula Romana at Ostia, 1639, oil on canvas, Museo del Prado, Madrid.

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A sparkling wine from the South of France (Aude). Nice and mellow with a little bite at the end. A classic Cremant de Limoux, which has proved time and time again to be far better value than Champagne. It is half the price, but not half the flavour. This Cremant de Limoux is produced in Arques. For an added touch, a splash of Creme de Cassis makes a fine addition. Produced by Sieur d’Arques, Aude. A excellent value for money wine.

Arques

© The Wine Connoisseur

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PRINCESS, descended from that noble race
Which still in danger held the imperial throne,
Who human nature and thy sex dost grace,
Whose virtues even thy foes are forced to own.

The generous French, as fierce as they’re polite,
Who to true glory constantly aspire;
Whilst obstinately they against thee fight,
Thy virtue and great qualities admire.

The French and Germans leagued by wondrous ties,
Make Christendom one dismal scene of woe;
And from their friendship greater ills arise,
Than e’er did from their longest quarrels flow.

Thus from the equator and the frozen pole,
The impetuous winds drive on with headlong force
Two clouds, which as they on each other roll,
Forth from their sable skirts the thunder force.

Do virtuous kings such ruin then ordain?
A calm they promise, but excite a storm:
Felicity we hope for from their reign,
Whilst they with slaughter dire the earth deform.

Oh! Fleury, wise and venerable sage,
Whom good ne’er dazzles, danger ne’er alarms;
Who dost exceed the ancient Nestor’s age:
Must Europe never cease to be in arms?

Would thou couldst hold with prudent, steady hand,
Europa’s balance, shut up Janus’ shrine;
Make feuds and discords cease at thy command,
And bring from heaven Astrea, maid divine.

Would France’s treasures were dispersed no more,
But prudently within the realm applied;
Opulence to our cities to restore,
And make them flourishing on every side.

You arts from heaven, and from the muses sprung,
Whom Louis brought triumphant into France;
Too long your hands are idle, lyres unstrung,
‘Tis time to start from so profound a trance.

Your labors are of lasting glory sure,
Whilst warlike pomps, the triumphs of a day,
Blaze for a moment, never long endure,
But soon like fleeting shadows pass away.

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Roch Voisine - Une Femme

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TELL me now in what hidden way is
Lady Flora the lovely Roman?
Where’s Hipparchia, and where is Thais,
Neither of them the fairer woman?
Where is Echo, beheld of no man,
Only heard on river and mere,–
She whose beauty was more than human? . . .
But where are the snows of yester-year?

Where’s Héloise, the learned nun,
For whose sake Abeillard, I ween,
Lost manhood and put priesthood on?
(From Love he won such dule and teen!)
And where, I pray you, is the Queen
Who willed that Buridan should steer
Sewed in a sack’s mouth down the Seine? . . .
But where are the snows of yester-year?

White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,
With a voice like any mermaiden,–
Bertha Broadfoot, Beatrice, Alice,
And Ermengarde the lady of Maine,–
And that good Joan whom Englishmen
At Rouen doomed and burned her there,–
Mother of God, where are they then? . . .
But where are the snows of yester-year?

Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
Where they are gone, nor yet this year,
Save with this much for an overword,–
But where are the snows of yester-year?

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Tryo - El Dulce De Leche

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PHILLIS, how much the times are changed,
Since in a hack the town you ranged,
Since without finery or train you shone,
Conspicuous for your charms alone;
When though you supped on sorry fare,
You nectar seemed with gods to share.
You foolishly to one consigned
Beauty which might charm all mankind:
A desperate lover, who for life
Engaged you when he made his wife.
You then no treasure did inherit,
Your beauty was your only merit,
Your bosom charms divine displayed;
There Cupid still an ambush laid;
Your heart was tender, and your mind
To youthful frolics much inclined.
With so many charms endued,
What woman e’er could be a prude?
That fault, oh! beauty all divine,
Was very far from being thine;
Because of favors you were free,
You were the better liked by me.
How differently you live, grown great,
Your life is but the farce of state;
The hoary porter, who still plies
At your own door, and tells such lies,
Is a just emblem of the age,
His very looks ill-luck presage;
He thinks the duty of his place is
To drive away the loves and graces.
The tender swain’s abashed, afraid
Your pompous palace to invade.
When you were young, to my amazement
I’ve seen them enter at the casement;
I’ve seen them enter every day,
And in your chamber nimbly play.
Not all your carpets, and your plate,
Not all your proud parade of state,
Those goblets which so brightly shine,
Graved by Germain with art divine;
Those closets nobly furnished, where
Martin’s exceeds the China ware,
Your vases of Japan, and all
The brittle wonders of your hall;
Your diamond pendants which appear
With such bright lustre at each ear;
Your solitaires so dazzling bright,
Your pomp which strikes the gazer’s sight,
Are worth one quarter of that bliss,
Which once you imparted by a kiss.

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Et in Arcadia Ego, 1638-40, Musée du Louvre, Paris.

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LET thy tears, Le Vayer, let them flow;
None of scant cause thy sorrowing can accuse,
Since, losing that which thou for aye dost lose,
E’en the most wise might find a ground for woe.

Vainly we strive with precepts to forego
The drops of pity that are Pity’s dues;
And Nature’s self, indignant, doth refuse
To count for fortitude that heartless show.

No grief, alas! can now bring back again
The son too dear, by Death untimely ta’en;
Yet, not the less, his loss is hard to bear,
Graced as he was by all the world reveres,
Large heart, keen wit, a lofty soul and rare,
–Surely these claim eternity of tears!

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Carla Bruni - Ma Jeunesse

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For a table wine (Vin de Pays), this is rather a good drink. It is produced by les Celliers des Terres de France, which is owned by the Carrefour Group (Maison Johanès Boubée) the worlds second largest wine distributor. Given the nature of the owner (Production = 260 million bottles a year), I would have thought it would be a rather dull, if drinkable Vin de Pays, but in fact is is rather good for its price.

Down to the nitty gritty.

There is not much of a nose to it, but on swigging it, there are good soft notes of liquorice and semi-sweet spice. Dark wild red berries follow, with just a slight hint of dark chocolate in the after taste. This makes for a pleasant all round wine. Give this wine a good bit of air to get the best from it.

Winner of a silver medal at the Concours General Agricole Paris 2007

Cost = €2.75 This makes this wine excellent value for money.

© The Wine Connoisseur

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• http://journeyoffitness.blogspot.com
• http://ukwinesonline.co.uk
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