The Testament and Other Poems

The Testamentand Other Poems

François Villon

Translated by Anthony Mortimer

ALMA CLASSICS

Contents

The Testament and Other Poems 1The Legacy 3The Testament 25Miscellaneous Poems 157Note on the Text 217Notes 217

Extra Material 227François Villon’s Life 229François Villon’s Audience 231The Legacy 233The Testament 234Miscellaneous Poems 237Villon in English 239Select Bibliography 243

Index of Names, Places and Texts 245Index of First Lines in French 263Index of First Lines in English 265Acknowledgements 267

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This translation first published by Alma Classics Ltd in 2013

Translation, Notes, Extra Material © Anthony Mortimer 2013

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isbn: 978-1-84749-328-6

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For Martin Dodsworth

Bienfait ne se doit oublier

The Testament and Other Poems

The Testament

(Le Testament Villon)

196 197

X – Ballade of Good Counsel

Weak men, whose minds are empty of all reason,Devoid of knowledge and of common sense, Unnatural, in love with your unreason, Ungrateful fools, puffed up with ignorance, Who work against your birth’s inheritanceAnd yield to hateful death that lies ahead,Alas, do you not see that you are ledBy evil to a shameful end? Look there,How such a host of young men now are deadFor harming others and taking what’s theirs. 10

Let each man see his fault within himself,Not seek revenge, in patience bear offence:We know this world is but a prison cellFor virtuous unrebellious men; and hence Fighting and brawls and robbery make no sense, Nor looting, mugging, murdering. The youth Cares not for God and turns his back on truthWho wastes his time involved in such affairs;One day he’ll sit and wring his hands in ruthFor harming others and taking what’s theirs. 20

Where does it lead, to fawn and fake a laugh,To beg and swindle, swear what isn’t true,Lie, cheat and con, cook up some poisonous draught,To live in sin, and toss the whole night through, Distrusting neighbours with no trust in you?Thus I conclude, let’s work towards the good,Take heart and find in God the strength we need.In the whole week no day is sure; our heirsAnd kinsmen pay the price of our misdeeds,For harming others and taking what’s theirs. 30

X – Ballade de bon conseil

Hommes failliz, despourveuz de raison,Desnaturez et hors congnoissance,Desmis du sens, comblez de desraison,Folz abusez, plains de descongnoissance,Qui procurez contre vostre naissance,Vous submettans à detestable mortPar lascheté, las ! Que ne vous remortL’orribleté qui à honte vous maine ?Voyez comment maint jeunes homs est mortPar offensser et prendre autruy demaine.

Chascun en soy voye sa mesprison !Ne nous vengons, prenons en pacïence :Nous congnoissons que ce monde est prisonAux vertueux franchis d’impacïence.Battre, rouiller, pour ce n’est pas scïence,Tollir, ravir, piller, meurtrir à tort :De Dieu ne chault, trop de verté se tortQui en telz faiz sa jeunesse demaine,Dont à la fin ses poins doloureux tort,Par offenser et prendre autruy demaine.

Que vault piper, flater, rire en traysonQuester, mentir, affermer sans fiance,Farcer, tromper, artifier poison,Vivre en peché, dormir en deffianceDe son prouchain sans avoir confience ? Pour ce conclus : de bien faisons effort,Reprenons cueur, ayons en Dieu confort.Nous n’avons jour certain en la sepmaine ;De noz maulx ont noz parens le ressort,Par offencer et prendre autruy demaine.

198 199

Virtuous men, let’s live without discord,In peace, both young and old, of one accord – Law sent by God, and so St Paul declares,*Let’s heed the truth his Roman Letter bears;Order we need, degree, or some support.Note down these points, let’s not leave our true portFor harming others and taking what’s theirs.

Vivons en paix, exterminons discord ;Ieunes et vieulx, soyons tous d’ung accord :La loy le veult, l’appostre le ramaineLicitement en l’espitre rommaine.Ordre nous fault, estat ou aucun port.Nottons ces poins, ne laissons le vray portPar offensser et prendre autruy demaine.

200 201

XI – Problem, Ballade of Fortune*

Fortune they named me, scholars long ago,And now, François, you call me murderess –Yes, you, without a touch of fame to show.I’ve sent your betters, poor men in distress,To sweat in lime-kilns or break stone for less.You whinge and moan because you live in shame?You’re not the only one, so don’t complain.Look round and see the feats I did of old,The valiant men I laid out stiff and cold,Compared to them you’re just a scullion. 10Calm down, I say, shut up for once, don’t scold:Take my advice and take what comes, Villon!

Against the greatest kings I fought to showMy power in ancient times, in days long past.Priam I killed and all his army too,No tower or bulwark kept him safe at last.Could Hannibal survive? At my behestDeath snuffed him out in Carthage, and the same Fate befell African Scipio’s bright flame.And Caesar on the Senate floor I sold; 20In Egypt I destroyed Pompey the Bold;Jason was drowned – that whirlwind I brought on.Once even Rome I burned: now you’ve been told –Take my advice and take what comes, Villon!

Great Alexander shed much blood, and soWanted the Pleiades next on his list;A little of my poison laid him low.King Alphasar fought, but, when I struck his crest,Fell on his flag. That’s how I like it best:That’s what I do, I’ll always do the same, 30 I don’t see any reason to explain. When I cursed Holofernes, he was killed

XI – Probleme, Ballade de fortune

Fortune fuz par clercs jadiz nommée,Que toy, Françoys, crye et nomme murtriere,Qui n’es homme d’aucune renommée.Meilleur que toy faiz user en plastrierePar povreté, et fouyr en carriere.S’à honte viz, te dois tu doncques plaindre ?Tu n’es pas seul, si ne te dois complaindre.Regarde et voy, de mes faiz de jadiz,Mains vaillans homs par moy mors et roiddiz,Et n’es, ce sais, envers eulx ung soullon.Appaise toy et mect fin en tes diz :Par mon conseil prens tout en gré, Villon !

Contre grans roys me suis bien anyméeLe temps qui est passé ça en arriere.Priame occis et toute son armée :Ne lui valut tour, donjon ne barriere.Et Hannibal, demoura il derriere ?En Cartaige par mort le feiz actaindre,Et Scypïon l’Affrequain feit estaindre.Julius Cesar au Senat je vendiz.En Egipte Pompée je perdiz.En mer noyay Jazon en ung boullon,Et une foys Romme et Rommains ardiz.Par mon conseil prens tout en gré, Villon !

Alixandre, qui tant fist de heméeQu’il voulut voir l’estoille poucyniere,Sa personne par moy fut envelimée.Alphasar roy, en champ, sur sa baniereRuay jus mort. Cela est ma maniere :Ainsi l’ay fait, ainsi le maintendray,Autre cause ne raison n’en rendray.Holofernés l’idolastre mauldiz,

202 203

By Judith as he slept, a heathen felledWith his own sword in his pavilion;Absalom? Hanged as he escaped the field.Take my advice and take what comes Villon!

And so, François, listen to what you’re told:But for the fact that God in heaven holdsMe back, you wouldn’t have a rag to put on:I’d do ten wrongs for every one of old. 40Take my advice and take what comes, Villon!

Qu’occist Judic — et dormoit entandiz —De son poignart dedens son pavillon.Absallon, quoy ? En fuyant le pendis.Par mon conseil prens tout en gré, Villon.

Pour ce, Françoys, escoute que te dis :Se riens peusse sans Dieu de ParadizA toy n’à autre ne demourroit haillon,Car pour ung mal lors j’en feroye dix.Par mon conseil prens tout en gré, Villon !

204 205

XII – Ballade of the Hanged Men*

Men, human brothers, who live after us, Let not your hearts be hardened, for if you Can feel some pity for our wretchedness, The sooner you’ll receive God’s mercy too.You see five, six of us, strung up to view: As for the flesh that once we overfed, Here’s where it rots, itself devoured instead,And we, the bones, to dust and ashes fall.Let no one mock our misery or deride, But pray to God that He forgive us all. 10

If brothers we have called you, do not goAway indignant, for there’s no offence.Yes, we were slain by Justice… but you knowThat not all men are born with your good sense.We have no voice, being stiff and cold long since,So intercede for us with Mary’s SonThat His clear fount of grace may ever runAnd thus preserve us from the flames of Hell.Let no one come to trouble us, dead men,But pray to God that He forgive us all. 20

The rain has washed us clean and soaked us through,The sun has dried us up, blackened and seared;Our eyes gouged out by crows and magpies who Have plucked away our eyebrows and our beards.Never one moment are we still, but stirredAnd dangled to and fro by every wind,The birds have pecked at us until our skinIs like a housewife’s thimble, pocked with holes.Don’t join the confraternity we’re in, But pray to God that He forgive us all. 30

XII – Ballade des pendus

Freres humains, qui après nous vivez,N’ayez les cueurs contre nous endurcis,Car, se pitié de nous povres avez,Dieu en aura plus tost de vous mercis.Vous nous voiez cy attachez, cinq, six :Quant de la chair, que trop avons nourrie,El est pieça devorée et pourrie,Et nous, les os, devenons cendre et pouldre.De nostre mal personne ne se rie,Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

Se freres vous clamons, pas n’en devezAvoir desdaing, quoy que fusmes occisPar justice… touteffois vous sçavezQue tous hommes n’ont pas le sens rassis.Excusez nous, puis que sommes transis,Envers le filz de la Vierge Marie,Que sa grace ne soit pour nous tarie,Nous preservant de l’infernale fouldre.Nous sommes mors, ame ne nous harieMais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

La pluye nous a debuez et lavezEt le soleil deseichez et noircis.Pies, corbeaulx nous ont les yeulx cavezEt arraché la barbe et les sourcilz.Jamais nul temps nous ne sommes assis :Puis ça, puis là, comme le vent varie,A son plaisir sans cesse nous charie,Plus becquetez d’oyseaulx que dez à coudre.Ne soiez donc de nostre confrairie,Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

206 207

Prince Jesus, lord of everything that is,Preserve us from the power of the abyss:We’ve no accounts to settle down in hell.Men, there’s no cause for mockery in this,But pray to God that He forgive us all,

Prince Jesus, qui sur tous a maistrieGarde qu’Enfer n’ait de nous seigneurie :A luy n’ayons que faire ne que souldre.Humains, icy n’a point de mocquerie,Mais priez Dieu que tous nous vueille absouldre.

208 209

XIII – Quatrain*

I am François, hard name to bear,Born Paris, though Pontoise is near,And from a six-foot rope it’s hereMy neck shall learn the weight of my rear.

XIII – Quatrain

Je suis François, dont il me poise,Né de Paris emprès Pontoise,Et de la corde d’une toiseSaura mon col que mon cul poise.

210 211

XIV – Praise and Request of the Court*

All my five senses, ears and mouth and eyesNose too, and you, the sense of touch, of course,And every part (lest some reproach arise)Plead on its own behalf, and speak out thus:“Sovereign Court, you are the only causeWhy we’re still here, not down among the dead.Language alone is not enough to laudAnd praise you for the justice you have done;So speak we all, child of the Sovereign Lord,Sister of angels, mother of good men.” 10

Heart, break in two, be pierced upon a spit,Or be no harder, at the very least,Than was the desert’s great dark rock* that splitTo quench the Jews’ fierce anger and their thirst:Weep, weep, in all humility and burstWith tears of sorrow and a tender sigh; Extol the Court, one with that realm on high,The joy of France, the foreigner’s defenceEngendered in the empyreal sky,Sister of angels, mother of good men. 20

And you, my teeth, jump to it, come and tellWhat thanks you offer with no more ado,More loudly than a trumpet or a bell;No need to worry whether you can chew. Just think, I could be stiff and cold by now:You liver, spleen and lungs who breathe the air, And body (or you’re vile and worse by far Than any pig slouched in its dungy den)All praise the Court lest foul should follow fair,Sister of angels, mother of good men. 30

XIV – Louange et requête à la Cour

Tous mes cinq sens, yeulx, oreilles et bouche,Le nez et vous, le sensitif, aussi,Tous mes membres, ou il y a reprouche,En son endroit ung chascun die ainsi :« Souveraine Court, par qui sommes icy,Vous nous avez gardez de desconfire !Or la langue seule ne peut suffireA vous rendre suffisantes louenges ;Si parlons tous, fille du souverain Sire,Mere des bons et seur des benoistz anges. »

Cueur, fendés vous, ou percez d’une broche,Et ne soiez au moins plus endurcyQu’au desert fut la forte bise rocheDont le peuple des Juifz fut adoulcy.Fondez lermes et venez à mercy,Com humble cueur qui tendrement souspire ;Louez la Court conjointe au saint empire,L’heur des François, le confort des estranges,Procréée lassus au ciel empire,Mere des bons et seur des benoistz anges.

Et vous, mes dens, chascune si s’esloche,Saillez avant, rendez toutes mercyPlus haultement qu’oncques trompe ne cloche,Et de mascher n’ayés ores soussi.Considerez que je fusse transi,Foye, polmon, et rate qui respire ;Et vous, mon corps — ou vil estes et pireQu’ours ne pourcel qui fait son nic es fanges —Louez la Court, devant qu’il vous empire,Mere des bons et seur des benoistz anges.

212 213

Prince, grant me three more days to see things through,Get ready, and then bid my friends adieu: Without them I’m flat broke, the banks won’t lend.Say fiat, Court, and don’t refuse me now,Sister of angels, mother of good men.

Prince, trois jours ne vueillez m’escondirePor moy pourvoir et aux miens adieu dire : Sans eulx argent je n’ay, icy n’aulx changes.Court triumphant, fiat, sans me desdire,Mere des bons et seur des benoistz anges !

214 215

XV – Question to the Prison Clerk*

Garnier, tell me what you think:Did this appeal make sense or not?A beast looks after his own skin,Beaten or trapped or tied, he’ll getFree if he can and slip the knot.So when, out of the blue, they sang Me such a homily on the spot,Was that a time to hold my tongue?

If I’d been heir to Hugh Capet* (Born of a butcher’s line, I think), 10They would have found some other wayThan using cloth to make me drink* – With you I need not be more frank. But when, beneath that penalty, Wrongly imposed, I almost sank,Was that a time to hold my tongue?

You think my cap does not concealEnough philosophy to forceOut two short words like “I appeal”?I certify it does, of course, 20Though I’m not sure things can’t get worse.When I was told “You are to hang”(With notary present to endorse), Was that a time to hold my tongue?

Prince, if I’d lost my voice, I’d beAs dead as old Clotaire,* and hungTo keep stiff watch in fields: now say,Was that a time to hold my tongue?

XV – Question au clerc du guichet

Que dictes vous de mon appel,Garnier ? Fis je sens ou folie ?Toute beste garde sa pel :Qui la contraint, efforce ou lie,S’elle peut, elle se deslie.Quant dont, par plaisir voluntaire,Chanté me fut ceste omelie,Estoit il lors temps de moy taire ?

Se fusse des hoirs Hue Capel,Qui fut extrait de boucherie,On ne m’eust parmy ce drapelFait boire en ceste escorcherie —— Vous entendez bien joncherie —.Mais quant ceste paine arbitraireOn me juga par tricherie,Estoit il lors temps de moy taire ?

Cuydiés vous que soubz mon capelN’eust autant de philosophieComme de dire : « J’en appel »  ?Si avoit, je vous certifie.— Combien que point trop ne m’y fie —.Quant dit me me fut, present notaire,« Pendu serés », je vous affie,Estoit il lors temps de moy taire ? 

Prince, se j’eusse eu la pepie,Pieçà je fusse où est Clotaire :Aux champs, debout comme une espie.Estoit il lors temps de moy taire ?

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