jueves, 14 de abril de 2016

CERCAMON [18.436]

Cercamon representado
en un cancionero
del s. XIII.


Cercamon

Trovador natural de la Gascuña, Francia es autor de un planh (planto) a la muerte de Guillermo X de Aquitania, hijo del trovador Guillermo de Poitiers, ocurrida en 1137. Por otro lado, en una de sus composiciones hace una mención a la necesidad de reconquistar la ciudad de Edesa, cuya caída en la Nochebuena de 1144 desencadenó la segunda Cruzada. Estas fechas nos permiten situar su producción a mediados del siglo XII. Conservamos 7 composiciones suyas con fuerte influencia de Marcabrú.

Cercamón (ca. 1137-1149), del cual su Vida sólo nos dice que “fue juglar de Gascuña y trovó versos y pstorelas a la usanza antigua. Y recorrió todo donde pudo llegar, y por esto se hizo llamar Cercamon”:


Abandonaría yo a señores y señoras,
si le placiese a ella que yo la sirviese…
Jamás terminaría de arrodillarme ante ella,
si a ella le place y me permite,
o si ella me hiciese feliz con decirme
que es mi señora…
Todos mis deseos me los cumpliría mi señora,
si sólo me concediese un beso:
entonces combatiría a mis vecinos
y sería generoso y haría regalos
y me haría querer y temer,
y haría caer a mis enemigos
y conservaría lo mío. 




Seignors e dominas guerpira,
s’a lei plagues qu’eu li servis…
Ja de sos pes nom partira,
sil plagues ni mo consentis,
o sol que d’aitant m’enrequis
que disses que ma dompna era…
Totz mos talenz m’emplira
ma domna, sol d’un bais máizis:
qu’en guerrejera mos vezis
em fora larcs e donera
em fera grazir e temer
e mos enemics bas chader 
e tengral meu e garnira

[LA CANCION TROVADORESCA:
UNA NUEVA IMAGEN DE LA MUJER MEDIEVAL
Laura Yanira Camacho Gaspar]



Quant l'aura doussa s'amarzis

Quant l'aura doussa s'amarzis
E·l fuelha chai de sul verjan
E l'auzelh chanjan lor latis,
Et ieu de sai sospir e chan
D'Amor que·m te lassat e pres,
Qu'ieu anc no l'agui en poder.

Las! qu'ieu d'Amor non ai conquis
Mas cant lo trebalh e l'afan,
Ni res tant greu no·s covertis
Com fai so qu'ieu vau deziran!
Ni tal enveja no·m fai res
Cum fai so qu'ieu non posc aver.

Per una joja m'esbaudis
Fina, qu'anc re non amiey tan!
Quan suy ab lieys si m'esbahis
Qu'ieu no·ill sai dire mon talan,
E quan m'en vauc, vejaire m'es
Que tot perda·l sen e·l saber.

Tota la genser qu'anc hom vis
Encontra lieys no pretz un guan!
Quan totz lo segles brunezis,
Delai on ylh es si resplan.
Dieu prejarai qu'ancar l'ades
O que la vej'anar jazer.

Totz trassalh e bran et fremis
Per s'Amor, durmen o velhan.
Tal paor ai qu'ieu mesfalhis
No m'aus pessar cum la deman,
Mas servir l'ai dos ans o tres,
E pueys ben leu sabra·n lo ver.

Ni muer ni viu ni no guaris,
Ni mal no·m sent e si l'ai gran,
Quar de s'Amor no suy devis,
Non sai si ja l'aurai ni quan,
Qu'en lieys es tota la merces
Que·m pot sorzer o decazer.

Bel m'es quant ilh m'enfolhetis
E·m fai badar e·n vau muzan!
De leis m'es bel si m'escarnis
O·m gaba dereir'o denan,
Qu'apres lo mal me venra bes
Be leu, s'a lieys ven a plazer.

S'elha no·m vol, volgra moris
Lo dia que·m pres a coman!
Ai, las! tan suavet m'aucis
Quan de s'Amor me fetz semblan,
Que tornat m'a en tal deves
Que nuill' autra no vuelh vezer.

Totz cossiros m'en esjauzis,
Car s'ieu la dopti o la blan,
Per lieys serai o fals o fis,
O drechuriers o ples d'enjan,
O totz vilas o totz cortes,
O trebalhos o de lezer.

Mas, cui que plass'o cui que pes,
Elha·m pot, si·s vol, retener.

Cercamons ditz: greu er cortes
Hom qui d'Amor se desesper.




When the sweet air turns bitter
and the leaf falls from the twigs
and the birds change their language,
here I sigh and sing because of him,
because of Love, who keeps me ensnared and caught,
whereas I never had him in my power.

Alas! I haven't gained, of Love,
but the torment and pain,
for nothing is as hard to gain
as that which I am seeking,
nor any longing affects me
as that for what I cannot have.

I rejoice because of a pearl
so fine that I never loved anything as much;
when I am with her, I am so astonished
that I don't dare vouch my desire,
and when I part, it seems to me
that I lose all my sense and my learning.

The fairest woman one has ever seen,
compared to her, isn't worth a glove;
when the entire world turns to darkness,
light shines from the place she rests.
I shall pray god that I may touch her one day
or that I may see her go to bed.

Awake or asleep, I quiver and am all startled
and shaken because of my love for her.
I am so afraid of dying
that I don't dare think how to entreat her,
but I shall serve her two or three years
and then, maybe, she'll learn the truth.

I don't die nor live nor heal,
nor do I feel my malaise, although it's serious,
for I am not parted from her love
and I don't know whether I'll have it, nor when,
for in her is all the grace
that can raise me or cast me down.

It pleases me when she drives me insane
and make muse and gape in stupor;
it pleases me when she abuses me
and makes fun of me, behind my back or to my face,
for after the ill, the good will come
soon, if her fancy turns that way.

If she doesn't want me, I wish I had died
the day she took me in her service!
Alas! She murdered me so sweetly
when she seemed to love me,
for she has gripped me so
that I don't want to see any other woman.

Although worried, I rejoice:
for, although I shun or blandish her,
for her sake I shall be false or faithful,
or righteous or full of guile,
or a complete scoundrel or a complete gentleman,
or agitated or peaceful.

But, whoever may like it or grieve it,
she can retain me, if she wants.

Cercamon says: he is hardly courteous
who despairs of love.





Ab lo temps qe fai refreschar

Ab lo temps qe fai refreschar
Lo segle e·ls pratz reverdezir
Vueil un novel chant comenzar
D'un amor cui am e dezir;
Mas tan s'es de mi loignada
Q'ieu non la puesc aconseguir,
Ni de mos digz no s'agrada.

Ja mai res no·m pot conortar,
Abanz mi laissarai morir,
Car m'an fag de mi donz sebrar
Lauzenjador, cui Deus azir!
Las! tan l'aurai desirada
Que per lei plaing, plor e sospir,
E vau cum res enaurada.

Aqesta don m'auzetz chantar
Es plus bella q'ieu no sai dir;
Fresc'a color e bel esgar
Et es blancha ses brunezir;
Oc, e non es vernisada,
Ni om de leis non pot mal dir,
Tant es fin' et esmerada.

E sobre tota·s deu prezar
De dig ver, segon mon albir,
D'ensegnamen e de parlar,
C'anc non volc son amic traïr;
Et ieu fols fui la vegada
Can crezei ren q'en auzis dir,
Ni·l fis so don fos irada.

Anc ieu de lei no·m volc clamar,
Q'enquer, si·s vol, me pot jauzir,
Et a ben poder de donar
D'aqo don me pot enrequir;
No posc far lonja durada,
Qe·l manjar en pert e·l durmir,
Car no m'es plus aizinada.

Amors es douza a l'intrar
Et amara al departir,
Q'en un jorn vos fara plorar,
Et autre jogar e burdir,
Q'eu sai d'amor enseigniada,
On plus la cujava servir,
Ilh s'es vas mi cambiada.

Messatges, vai, si Deus ti guar,
E sapchas ab mi donz furmir,
Qu'eu non puesc lonjamen estar
De sai vius ni de lai guerir,
Si josta mi despoliada
Non la puesc baizar e tenir
Dins cambra encortinada.




With the season giving youth back
to the world and verdancy back to the lawns,
I want to begin a new song
about a love I love and desire;
but she has strayed so much away from me
that I cannot reach her
and my words don't agree with her.

Nothing can comfort me anymore,
thus I shall let myself die,
for slanderers have made me part
from my woman – may god curse them!
Alas! I shall have longed for her so much
that I weep and cry and sigh for her
and go like a senseless thing.

This woman you hear me singing about
is so fair I'm at loss for words;
fresh of colour and fair of regard,
she is of a white which doesn't darken;
yes, and she isn't painted,
nor is there anyone who can speak ill of her,
so noble and refined she is.

And one should praise her above all,
in my opinion, for her sincere words,
her learning and her eloquence,
for she never wanted to betray her friend
and I was a fool the day
that I believed things I had heard about her
and did that which would annoy her.

I don't ever want to deplore her,
for, still, if she wants, she can make me happy,
and it is in her power to give
that which would make me rich;
I cannot resist for long,
for it takes away my food and sleep
for she is out of my reach.

Love is sweet when it comes
and bitter when it goes,
for one day it'll make you weep
and another scamper and cheer,
for I know about learned love:
the more I believed I was serving her
the more she turned away from me.

Messenger, go, and may god keep you,
and may you know how to please my lady,
for I cannot stay alive for long
here nor resist down there
unless, after having undressed her,
I can kiss and hold her
in a curtained room.




Assatz es or' oimai q'eu chan

Assatz es or' oimai q'eu chan;
Tant ai estat acondurmitz
C'anc mos chanz non fon lueing auzitz,
Mas era·m vau ja reveilhan,
Et irai mon joi recobran
Contre l'ivern e·l freig aurei.

De joi no·m cal fugir enan,
C'anc un sol jorn no·n fui garnitz,
Et es m'al cor prion sorzitz,
Si qu'entre gens vau sospiran
Lo dezirier c'ai d'amor gran,
Ni dorm ni veil, ni aug ni vei.

S'anc per amor anei velhan,
Ni·n fui anc fols ni trassailitz,
Ni cambiatz per chamjairitz,
Era·n lau Dieu e saint Joan,
C'ab tal amor vau amoran
C'anc non chamjec per autre mei.

Cesta non cug qe ja m'engan
S'ieu ja de leis no soi grazitz,
Ni no·n soi tant afolatitz
Que ja re·il qeira ni·l deman,
Petit ni pro, ni tan ni qan,
Ni mal ni be, ni so ni qei.

Tant la vei coinda e prezan,
E·l faigz de leis es tant eslitz
Qe sai me tenc per enreqitz
E lai serai en son coman
La nueh e·l jorn e·l mes e l'an,
C'aissi soi sieus com esser dei.

Plas es lo vers, vauc l'afinan
Ses mot vila, fals, apostitz,
E es totz enaissi bastitz
C'ap motz politz lo vau uzan,
E tot ades va·s meilluran
S'es qi be·l chant ni be·l desplei.




It's high time for me to sing;
I have been slumbering so long
that my music wasn't heard far away anymore,
but now I am waking up,
and I will keep retrieving my joy
against the Winter and the cold north wind.

I should not shun again that joy,
for it didn't shine on me a single day
but today it springs deep in my heart
so that I go through people sighing
the desire that I have of a great love
and I can't sleep nor stay awake, nor hear nor see because of it.

If ever I was kept awake by love
or startled and driven insane,
or changed by a changing woman,
now – be god and Saint John be praised! –
I go loving with a love such
as I'd never trade it for another one.

I don't think this one deceives me
albeit I am not yet in her good graces,
nor have I lost my reason over her so much
that I'd ask or entreat her for anything,
small or great, here or there,
bad or good, this way or that.

I see her, so graceful and worthy,
and in her deeds is such distinction
that here I consider myself enriched
and there I shall be at her beck and call
night and day and [every] month and [every] year
for I am hers as I must be.

The verse is simple, and I am refining it
without trivial, false or preposterous words;
and it is put together so
that there aren't but elegant words in it,
and now it is still improving
if there is someone to sing and present it well.

Note: for mysterious reasons, Jeanroy calls this piece a "Chanson Pieuse" (literally, a pious song).





Ab lo pascor m'es bel qu'eu chan
En estiu, a l'entran de mai,
Can par la flors sobre·l verjan,
E son reverdezit li glai;
Mout mi val pauc lo temps cortes,
Q'eu non ai joi ni non l'ades,
Ni de sa compagnia no·m lau,

Per qe d'amor an atretan
Li malvas enojos savai
Com li meillor e·l plus prezan.
Jovens s'en fuig, fraing e dechai,
E Malvestatz a son luec pres
En amistat, c'amics non es
Amatz ni d'amigua no·s jau.

Ben sai qe lor es mal estan
Als moilleratz car se fan gai
Domnejador ni drudejan,
E·l guizardo qe lor n'eschai
Ditz el reprovier lo pajes :
Q'a glazi fer a glazi es
Feritz d'eis lo seu colp mortau.

Fals amador, al meu semblan,
Vostr'er lo danz e no·n pueis mai;
De gran folor es acordan
Can l'us l'autre gali'e trai;
E pos vos o aves enqes,
Drut, moiller e marit, tug tres,
Sias del pechat comunau.

El fuec major seretz creman
En la pena qe non trasvai,
Enganador fals e truan,
Al juzizi del derrer plai,
On sera totz lo mals e·l bes
Jutjatz; e no clam ja merces
Domna c'aja drut desleiau.

Non a valor d'aissi enan
Cela c'ab dos ni ab tres jai;
Et ai n'enqer lo cor tristan,
Qe dieus tan falsa no·n fetz sai;
Miels li fora ja non nasqes
Enans qe'l failliment fezes
Don er parlat tro en peitau.

Saint Salvaire, fai m'albergan
Lai el renh on mi donz estai,
Ab la genzor, si q'en baizan
Sien nostre coven verai
E qe·m do zo que m'a promes;
Pueis al jorn s'en ira conques,
Si be l'es mal al gelos brau.

Amics, diguas li·m, can la ves,
Si passa·l terme q'avem pres,
Q'ieu soi mortz, per sain Nicolau!




At Easter-time I find it nice to sing,
in the Summer, in the beginning of May,
when the flower appears over the meadow
and the gladioli turn green again;
but little avails me the courteous season,
for neither have I joy nor do I attain it,
nor can I boast its company.

For love gives the same
to the evil, annoying and uncouth
as it gives the best and worthiest.
Youth is routed, broken and abated,
and Malice has taken its place
in amity, for the friend is not
loved, nor does he enjoy his [girl]friend.

I well know that it displeases
married men to act as gallant
suitors and lovers,
and the reward they miss
is described by the peasant in the adage
"He who wounds with dagger is himsef wounded
by dagger, with the same fatal blow".

False lovers, it seems to me
that you take the harm, and that I can't add to it (?);
you are as one in your great folly
when you deceive and betray each other;
and since you've asked for it,
lovers, women and husbands, may you all
three [groups] partake of the same sin.

You shall be burnt in the great fire,
in never-ending punishment,
deceivers, false and treacherous,
at the judgement of the last trial,
where all the good and evil shall be
judged; and may a lady not claim mercy,
[just because her] lover is unfaithful.

She isn't worth anything, that day,
who sleeps with two or three;
and my heart grieves still
that god put here such a false woman;
she would have been better off not being born at all
rather than committing that fault
of which people talk all the way to Poitiers.

Saint Saviour, do shelter me,
there in the realm where my lady dwells,
with the noblest woman so that, by kissing,
our compact may be sealed
and she may give me what she has promised me;
then, that day, she'll go away conquered,
however grievous the uncouth jealous may find it.

Friend, tell her, when you see her,
that if she lets the term we have set pass,
I am dead, by Saint Nicholas!





Puois nostre temps comens'a brunezir,
E li verjan son de lor fuelhas blos,
E del solelh vei tant bayssatz los rays,
Per que·l jorn son escur e tenebros
Et hom non au d'auzelhs ni chans ni lays,
Per joy d'Amor nos devem esbaudir.

Aquest Amor no pot hom tan servir
Que mil aitans no·n doble·l gazardos:
Que Pretz e Joys e tot quant es, e mays,
N'auran aisselh qu'en seran poderos;
Qu'anc non passet covinens ni·ls enfrays;
Mas per semblan greus er a conquerir.

Per lieys deu hom esperar e sofrir,
Tant es sos pretz valens e cabalos,
Qu'anc non ac suenh dels amadors savays,
De ric escars ni de paubr' ergulhos;
Qu'en plus de mil no·n a dos tan verays
Que fin'Amors los deja obezir.

Ist trobador, entre ver e mentir,
Afollon drutz e molhers et espos,
E van dizen qu'Amors vay en biays,
Per que'l marit endevenon gilos,
E dompnas son intradas en pantays,
Cui mout vol hom escoutar et auzir.

Cist sirven fals fan a plusors gequir
Pretz e Joven e lonhar ad estros,
Don Proeza no·n cug que sia mais,
Qu'Escarsetaz ten las claus dels baros,
Manhs n'a serratz dins las ciutat d'Abais,
Don Malvestatz no·n laissa un issir.

Ves manhtas partz vei lo segle faillir,
Per qu'ieu n'estauc marritz e cossiros,
Que soudadiers non truep ab cui s'apays,
Per lauzengiers qu'an bec malahuros,
Qui son pejor que Judas, qui Dieu trays;
Ardre·ls degr'om o totz vius sebellir.

Nos no·ls podem castiar ni cobrir;
Tollam nos d'elhs e dieus acosselh nos!
Qu'us joys d'Amor me reverdis e·m pays,
E puesc jurar qu'anc ta bella no fos:
Petit la vey, mas per ella suy gays
Et jauzions, e Dieus m'en do jauzir.

Ara·s pot hom lavar et esclarzir
De gran blasme, silh qu'en son encombros;
E si es pros yssira ves Roays,
E gurpira lo segle perilhos,
Et ab aitan pot si liurar del fays
Qu'assatz en fai trabucar e perir.

Cercamon dis: «Qi vas Amors s'irais
Meravill'es com pot l'ira suffrir.»
Q'ira d'amor es paors et esglais
E no·n pot hom trop viure ni murir.

Fagz es lo vers, e non deu veillezir,
Segon aisso qe monstra la razos,
Q'anc bon'Amors non galiet ni trais,
Anz dona joi als arditz amoros.





Now that our season starts dimming
and the branches are despoiled of their leaves
and I see the rays of the sun so slanted
that the days are dark and gloomy
and one doesn't hear the songs and lais of birds,
we have to rejoice out of the joy of Love.

One cannot serve this love so long
that the reward may not be thousandfold [the trouble]:
for Worth and Joy and all there is, and more,
shall be of those who will have it in their power;
for it never trespassed nor broke an agreement,
but it is apparently hard to win.

One must hope and wait for her,
so much her worth is high and noble,
for she never cared for uncouth lovers,
for the thrifty rich nor for the haughty poor;
for out of more than a thousand [suitors?], there aren't two so true
that a noble Love must concede.

These troubadours, between truth and lies
corrupt lovers, women and husbands,
and keep saying that Love proceeds obliquely
because the husbands become jealous
and the ladies are in throes;
still people want to hear them, and listen to them much.

These false suitors make it so that many abandon
Worth and keep Youth far away,
so that it seems to me that Prowess is no more,
for Pettiness holds the key of the barons,
having locked many of them in the city of Debasement,
from which Malice doesn't let a single one come out.

I see the world fail on many sides,
for which reason I remain astonished and worried,
that the mercenary doesn't find anyone to feed him
because of the slanderers with their accursed tongue,
who are worse than Judas, who betrayed god;
one should burn them, or bury them all alive.

We can't either punish or hide them;
let's shun them, and may god guide us!
For a joy of Love rejuvenates and nourishes me,
and I can swear her equal in beauty has never existed:
I see her but little, but, because of her, I am happy
and joyous, and god gives me joy through her.

Now one can wash away and purify himself
from the great blame, at least those who are accused of it;
and if he is brave, he will take to Edessa,
and abandon the perils of the world:
by doing so he can free himself of the burden
that make so many trip and perish.

Cercamon says: "If one gets angry at Love,
it is a wonder that he can endure such sadness."
For love-sadness is fear and worry
and in it one cannot really either live or die.

The verse is done, and it must not get old,
according to reason,
for a fine Love doesn't deceive nor betray,
rather, it gives joy to the daring lover.





Lo plaing comenz iradamen
D'un vers don hai lo cor dolen;
Ir' e dolor e marrimen
Ai, car vei abaissar Joven:
Malvestatz puej' e Jois dissen
Despois muric lo Peitavis.

Remazut son li prez e·ill lau
Qi solon issir de Peitau.
Ai! com lo plagno li Barrau.
Peza·m s'a longas sai estau.
Segner, lo baro q'ieu mentau
Metetz, si·us platz, em paradis!

Del comte de Peitieu mi plaing
Q'era de Proeza compaing;
Despos Pretz et Donars soffraing,
Peza·m s'a lonjas sai remaing.
Segner, d'efern lo faitz estraing,
Qe molt per fon genta sa fis.

Glorios Dieus, a vos me clam,
Car mi toletz aqels qu'ieu am;
Aissi com vos formetz Adam,
Lo defendetz del fel liam
Del foc d'efern, qe non l'aflam,
Q'aqest segles nos escharnis.

Aqest segle teing per enic
Qe·l paubre non aten ni·l ric.
Ai! com s'en van tuit mei amic,
E sai remanem tuit mendic.
Pero sai ben q'al ver afic
Seran li mal dels bos devis.

Gasco cortes, nominatiu,
Perdut avez lo segnoriu,
Fer vos deu esser et esqiu,
Don Jovenz se clama chaitiu,
Qar un non troba on s'aiziu,
Mas qan n'Anfos, q'a joi conquis.

Plagnen lo Norman e Franceis,
E deu lo be plagner lo reis
Cui el laisset la terr' e·l creis;
Pos aitan grans honors li creis,
Mal l'estara si non pareis
Chivauchan sobre Serrazis.

Aqil n'an joja, cui que pes,
De Limozi e d'Engolmes;
Si el visques ni Deu plagues,
El los agra dese conqes;
Estort en son car Dieus lo pres,
E·l dols n'es intratz en Aunis.

Lo plainz es de bona razo
Qe Cercamonz tramet n'Eblo.
Ai! com lo plaigno li Gasco,
Cil d'Espaign' e cil d'Arago.
Sant Jacme, membre·us del baro
Que denant vos jai pelegris.




I sadly begin the dirge
in a verse that makes my heart ache;
sadness, pain and astonishment
take me, for I see Youth debased:
Malice rises and Joy declines
since the Poitevin died.

Stalled are the worth and laudable deeds
that were wont to come from the Poitou.
Alas! how do the Barrois miss him!
It weighs heavily on me, if I have to live long.
Lord, put the baron I
mention, an you please, in Heaven!

I lament the count of Poitiers,
who was Prowess' partner;
since Worth and Bounty are no more,
it grieves me if I remain here long.
Lord, keep him from Hell,
for his end was a much noble one.

Glorious god, I protest to you,
for you take away those I love;
the same way you shaped Adam,
protect him from the evil ties
of the fire of Hell: let it burn him not,
for this world misleads us.

I consider this world hateful
for it doesn't pander to the poor nor to the rich.
Alas! How all my friends depart,
leaving us all miserable here.
But I know well that at doomsday
the good will be parted from the evil.

Kind, renowned Gascons,
you have lost your dominion,
which you must find hard and cruel:
Youth calls herself wretched because of it,
for she can't find shelter by anyone anymore,
except for Sir Anphos, who has conquered joy.

The Norman and French mourn him,
and one who should do so as well is the king
to whom he leaves his land and heir;
since his domain increases so much,
he'll be blamed if he doesn't show himself
riding against the Saracens.

Whoever is grieved, those from the Limousin
and the Angoumois are happy:
had he lived on (and had god abided),
he would have promptly conquered them;
they are delivered because god took him,
and mourning has entered Aunis.

The dirge that Cercamon sends
to Sir Eble is about a noble subject.
Alas, how do the Gascon mourn him,
together with those of Spain and Aragon!
Saint James, remember the baron
who lay before you as a pilgrim.





« Car vei finir a tot dia
[L'amor], lo joy e·l deport,
E no·m socor la clerzia,
Non puesc mudar no·m cofort
Co fay, can conois sa mort,
Lo signes, que bray e cria
E·n mou son sonet per fort,
Que·l cove fenir sa via,
E plus no·i a de conort. »

– « Maïstre, si Dieus me valha,
Ben dizetz so que cove;
Mas ja d'aisso no vos calha
Car li clerc no vos fan be;
Car lo bos temps ve, so cre,
Que auretz aital guazalha
Que vos dara palafre
O renda que mais vos valha,
Car lo coms de Peitieus ve. »

– « Guilhalmi, non pretz mealha
So que·m dizes, per ma fe;
Mais volria una calha
Estreg tener en mon se
No faria un polhe
Qu'estes en autrui sarralha,
C'atendes la lor merce:
Car soven, so cug, badalha
Qui s'aten a l'autrui be. »

– « Maïstre, gran benanansa
Podetz aver si softretz. »
– « Guilhalmi, vostra vanansa
Non crei, si com vos dizetz. »
– « Maistre, car no·m crezetz?
Gran be vos venra de Fransa
Si atendre lo voletz. »
– « Guilhalmi, tal esperansa
Vos don Dieus com vos m'ufretz. »

– « Maïstre, n'ajatz coratge
D'efan ni d'ome leugier. »
– « Guilhalmi, sobre bon guatge
Vos creyria volontier. »
– « Maïstre, man bon destrier
An li ome de paratge
Per sufertar al derrier. »
– « Guilhalmi, fort e salvatge
............................... »

– « Maïstre, josca la brosta
Vos pareisa·l teit novel. »
– « Guilhalmi, ben pauc vos costa
Lo mieus ostals del castel. »
– « Maïstre, conte novel
Aurem nos a Pantacosta
Que·us pagara ben e bel. »
– « Guilhalmi, fols qui·eus escota:
Vos pagatz d'autrui borcel. «





– Since I see, every day, love,
joy and pleasure end,
and the clergy doesn't help me,
I don't know where to turn, aside from comforting myself
as does, when it knows of its death,
the swan, who laments and cries
and forcefully emits sounds
when it's time for its life to end
and it doesn't have hope anymore.

– Mentor, may god help me,
you certainly say fitting things;
still, let it not bother you
that the clergy doesn't do you any good;
for a favourable time comes, I believe,
in which you'll have an associate such
as will give you a steed
or an income worth even more to you,
for the count of Poitiers is coming.

– Guilhalmi, I don't care a thread
for what you say, by my troth;
I'd rather have a quail
held tightly in my breast
than an entire aviary
which someone else keeps locked
while I wait for mercy:
for often, I find, one yawns
while waiting for someone else's goods.

– Mentor, you can have a great
good, if you are patient.
– Guilhalmi, I don't believe
the vain words you say.
– Mentor, why don't you believe me?
A great good will come to you from France,
if you care to wait for it.
– Guilhalmi, may god give you
a hope such as the one you offer me.

– Mentor, don't have the heart
of a child or of a fickle man.
– Guilhalmi, with a good pawn
I would gladly believe you.
– Mentor, prominent men
have many a good steed
for being patient to the end
– Guilhalmi, strong and wild
...............................

– Mentor, near the foliage
may your new roof appear
– Guilhalmi, hosting me in the castle
costs you very little.
– Mentor, at Lent
we'll have a new count
who will pay you nice and good.
– Guilhalmi, he's fool who listens to you:
you pay out of other people's purse.





Per fin'Amor m'esjauzira
Tant quant fai chaut ni s'esfrezis;
Toz tems serai vas lei aclis,
Mas non puosc saber enquera
Si poirai ab joi remaner,
O·m voldra per seu retener
Cella cui mos cor dezira.

Seignors e dompnas guerpira
S'a lei plagues qu'eu li servis;
E qui·m diria m'en partis
Faria·m morir desera,
Qu'en autra non ai mon esper,
Nuoit ni jorn ni maitin ni ser,
Ni d'als mos cors no consira.

Ges tant leu no l'enqesira
S'eu sabes cant greu s'afranquis.
Anc res no fo no s'umelis
Vas Amor, mas ill n'es fera;
E domna non pot ren valer
Per riquessa ni per poder
Se jois d'amor no l'espira.

Ja de dos pes no·m partira
S'il plagues ni m'o consentis,
E sivals d'aitant m'enrequis
Que disses que ma domna era,
E del plus fos al seu plaçer,
De la menzonja o del ver,
C'ab sol son dig m'enrequira.

Entre joi remaing et ira
Ades quant de lei mi partis,
Qu'anc pois no la vi qu'ela·m dis
Que si l'ames ill m'amera;
Al re no sai de son voler;
Mas ben pot ma domna saber
Qu'eu morrai si ganre·m tira.

Genser domn' el mon no·s mira,
Bell'e blancha plus c'us hermis,
Plus fresca que rosa ne lis;
Ren als no m'en desespera,
Dieus! si poirai l'ora veder
Qu'eu puosca pres de lei jazer!
Eu non, quar vas mi no·s vira.

Toz mos talenz m'aemplira
Ma domna, sol d'un bais m'aizis,
Qu'en guerrejera mos vezis,
Et fora larcs e donera,
E·m fera grazir e temer
E mos enemics bas chader
E tengra·l meu e·l garnira.

E pot ben ma domna saber
Que ja nulz hom de mon poder
De meillor cor no·ill servira.

E si·m fezes tant de plazer
Que·m laisses pres de si jaser,
Ja d'aquest mal non morira.




I shall rejoice of a noble Love
when it is warm as well as when it's cold;
I shall submit to her all the time,
but I can't know yet
if I shall be able to stay on joy's side,
or whether the one my heart desires
will keep me as her own.

I'll abandon ladies and lords
if she likes me to serve her;
and whoever told me to leave her
would make me die on the spot,
for I don't have my hopes in any other woman,
neither day nor night, neither morning nor noon,
nor does my heart fancy anything else.

I wouldn't have entreated her so lightly
had I known how hard she is to soften.
There isn't any being that isn't humiliated
by Love; she, however, is brutal towards him;
and a lady can't be worth anything,
out of power or out of wealth,
if joy of love doesn't inspire her.

I wouldn't part from her feet
if she liked and accepted me,
or if she only enriched me
by saying that she is my lady,
and for the rest, I'd agree to what'd please her
be it lie or truth,
for she'll enrich me with her words alone.

I remain between joy and sadness
when I part from her;
besides, I haven't seen her since the day she told me
that if loved her, she'll love me; [sic]
I don't know anything else about her intentions;
but my lady can well know
that I'll die if she long torments me.

A finer lady isn't seen in this world,
beautiful and whiter than an ermine,
fresher than rose or lily;
nothing else moves me more to despair.
God! if I could see the hour
when I may lie by her side!
I can't, because she doesn't turn toward me.

My lady would fulfil all
my wishes if she graced me with one kiss:
I'll then move war against my neighbours,
and shall be generous and give,
and shall be kept in awe and fear
and shall make my enemies fall ruinously
and shall keep my possessions and appoint them.

And may my lady know
that no other man of my status
will ever serve her with a better heart.

And if she graced so much as
to let me lie at her side,
I wouldn't die of this malaise.
Note: of uncertain attribution.





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