| BALLADE - LES CONTREDITZ DE FRANC GONTIER | BALADE: THE REFUTATION OF FRANK GONTIER |
| François Villon | tr. Peter Dean |
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Sur mol duvet assiz, ung gras chanoine, Lez ung brasier, en chambre bien natee, A son costé gisant dame Sidoine, Blanche, tendre, polye et attintee, Boire ypocras a jour et a nuytée, Rire, jouer, mignonner et baiser, Et nud a nud, pour mieulx des corps s'aisier, Les vy tous deux par ung trou de mortaise. Lors je cogneuz que, pour dueil appaisier, Il n'est tresor que de vivre a son aise. Se Franc Gontier et sa compaigne Elayne Eussent ceste doulce vie hantee, D'oignons, cyvotz, qui causent forte alaine, N'acontassent une bise tostee. Tout leur maton ne toute leur potee, Ne prise ung ail, je le dy sans noisier. S'ilz se vantent couchier soubz le rosier. Lequel vault mieulx? Lit costoyé de cheze? Qu'en dictes vous? Fault il ad ce muser? Il n'est tresor que de vivre a son aise. De groz pain bis vivent, d'orge et avoyne, Et boyvent eaue tout au long de l'annee; Tous les oyseaulx de cy en Babiloyne A tel escot une seulle journee Ne me tendroient, non une matinee. Or s'esbate, de par Dieu, Franc Gontier, Helayne o luy, soubz le bel esglantier; Se bien leur est, cause n'ay qu'il me poise, Mais quoy que soit du laboureux mestier, Il n'est tresor que de vivre a son aise. Prince, jugiez, pour tost nous accorder! Quant est moy, mais qu'a nulz ne desplaise, Petit enffant, j'ay oÿ recorder: Il n'est tresor que de vivre a son aise. |
Soft on his cushion the fat canon see, warmed by a brazier on a carpeted floor; at his side, pale, soft, lies Dame Sidonie - ready she is, refined, she is no whore. And Hippocras is drunk daylong and more, and how they laugh and sport and pet and kiss, naked the while, the easier to find bliss: I saw them through a gap, learned, if you please, that for appeasing ills there’s none like this: the only treasure is to live at ease. If Frank Gontier and Helen, his friend, had managed to get a life like this, they wouldn’t have given a burnt crust-end for cloves that make the breath not worth a kiss: all their curds and all their soups would miss, would not be worth a garlic, I can vow. Should they praise bed among roses, then how is that the better? Can’t bed have chair, please? What’s your verdict? Need we enquire more now? The only treasure is to live at ease. They live on barley bread and oats - that’s rough! and nothing drink but water all day long. From here to Babylon there’s not enough birds to tempt me (or show me that I’m wrong) to try it for a day, not even a morning song. So, let Frank Gontier and his Helen lie, for God’s sake, among the roses, but not I! If good they find it, me it doesn’t please. Though workers do their own work dignify - the only treasure is to live at ease. Prince, make your judgement, settle our debate: I claim, but not intending to displease, I often heard, when young, people relate: the only treasure is to live at ease. |
Trans. Copyright © Peter Dean 2003