| LE GRAND TESTAMENT - CLI-CLV | THE TESTAMENT - CLI-CLV |
| François Villon | tr. Peter Dean |
|
CLI Item, a Marïon l'Idolle Et la grant Jehanne de Bretaigne Donne tenir publicque escolle Ou l'escollier le maistre enseigne. Lieu n'est ou ce merchié ne tiengne, Synom a la grisle de Meun; De quoy je diz: "Fy de l'enseigne, Puisque l'ouvrage est si commun!" CLII Item, et a Noel Jolis, Autre chose je ne lui donne Fors plain poing d'oziers frez cueilliz En mon jardin - je l'abandonne: Chastoy est une belle aumosne, Ame n'en doit estre marry - : Unze vings coups luy en ordonne Livrez par les mains de Henry. CLIII Item, ne sçay qu'a l'Ostel Dieu Donner, n'a povres hospitaulx. Bourdes n'ont icy temps ne lieu, Car povres gens ont assez maulx. Chacun leur envoyë leurs oz: Les Mendïans ont eu mon oye; Au fort, ilz en auront lez oz; A meunes gens menue monnoye. CLIV Item, je donne a mon barbier, Qui se nomme Colin Galerne, Pres voisin d'Angelot l'erbier, Ung gros glaçon - prins ou? en Marne -, Afin qu'a son aise s'yverne. De l'estomac le tiengne pres: Se l'iver ainsi se gouverne, Il aura chault l'esté d'aprés. CLV Item, riens aux Enffans Trouvés, Mais les perduz falut que consolle; Sy doivent estre retrouvez, Par droit sur Marïon l'Idolle. Une lecon de ma escolle Leur liray, qui ne dure guerre; Teste n'ayent dure ne folle, Escoutent! et car c'est la derniere. |
CLI Item, I give to both of these - Marion the Idol and Big Jeanne of Brittany - the right to fees from public school where pupils can command the master. Nowhere than the jail at Meun is this not on: to which I say - God damn the man! The practice is wide, most find it spot on! CLII Item, and unto Noel Jolis, I leave him not another thing than a fistful of fresh reeds to be taken from my garden. There’s the sting. Why should he mind? He’s had his fling. A sore arse shows true penitence. Two hundred and twenty strokes I bring via Master Henry’s manumittence. CLIII Item, I don’t know what to send Poor Hospitals nor the Dieu Hotel - it’s neither time nor place to mend the hour with jokes: for the poor it’s hell. Some may leave them their corpse to sell. The begging friars have had my goose: with luck they’ll get its bones. Ah, well! Those that have nix haven’t much to choose. CLIV Item, I leave to my barber, Colin Galerne he is by name and herbalist Angelot’s close neighbour, a solid chunk of ice (which came from where? the Marne), to help him tame the winter’s worst by clutching tight. If thus he rumbles winter’s game next summer’s heat will hold no spite. CLV Item, to Foundlings, nothing, nix. It’s those who’re lost need consolation. They should find an executrix like one in Marion the Idol’s station. A lesson of most brief duration, drawn from my own experience, I’ll read: bastard or simpleton is no vocation - let them attend: no more they’ll need. |
Trans. Copyright © Peter Dean 2003