Charles, duc d'Orléans (1394 - 1465)

 

BALLADE

 

 

Le beau souleil, le jour saint Valentin,
Qui apportoit sa chandelle alumee,
N'a pas longtemps entra un bien matin
Priveement en ma chambre fermee.
Cette clarté qu'il avoit apportee,
Si m'esveilla du somme de soussy
Ou j'avoye toute la nuit dormy
Sur le dur lit d'ennuieuse pensee.

 

 

Ce jour aussi, pour partir leur butin
Les biens d'Amours, faisoient assemblee
Tous les oyseaulx qui, parlans leur latin,
Crioyent fort, demandans la livree
Que Nature leur avoit ordonnee
C'estoit d'un per comme chascun choisy.
Si ne me peu rendormir, pour leur cry,
Sur le dur lit d'ennuieuse pensee.

 

Lors en moillant de larmes mon coessin
Je regrettay ma dure destinee,
Disant : « Oyseaulx, je vous voy en chemin
De tout plaisir et joye desiree.
Chascun de vous a per qui lui agree,
Et point n'en ay, car Mort, qui m'a trahy,
A prins mon per dont en dueil je languy
Sur le dur lit d'ennuieuse pensee. »

 

 

ENVOI

Saint Valentin choisissent ceste annee
Ceulx et celles de l'amoureux party.
Seul me tendray, de confort desgarny,
Sur le dur lit d'ennuieuse pensee.

 

 

ÉCOUTEZ LE POÈME EN FRANÇAIS MODERNE

(patois bcbg)

Charles, duke of Orleans (1394 - 1465)

BALLADE
in the Duke's own English

Whan fresshe Phebus day of Seynt Valentyne
Had whirlid up his golden chare aloft
The burnyd bemys [burnished beams] of it gan to shyne
In at my chambre where Y slepid soft
Of which the light that he had with him brought
He wook me of the slepe of hevyness
Wherein forslepid Y alle the nyght dowtless
Upon my bed so hard of newous thought.*

Of which this day to parten there bottyne [spoils, booty - modern French: butin]
An hoost of fowlis semblid in a croft
Myn eye biside and pledid ther Latyne
To have with them as nature had them wrought
Ther makis [mates] forto wrappe in wyngis soft
For which they gan so loude ther cried dresse
That Y ne koude not slepe in my distress
Upon my bed so hard of newous thought.

Tho gan Y reymne with teeris of myn eyne
Mi pilowe and to wayle and cursen oft
My destyny and gan my look enclyne
These birdis to and seide ye birdis ought
To thanke nature where as it fittith me nought
That han yowre makis to yowre gret gladness
Where Y sorow the death of my maystress
Upon my bed so hard of newous thought.

Als wele is him this day that hath him kaught
A valentyne that lovyth him as Y gesse
Whereas this comfort sole Y here me dresse
Upon my bed so hard of newous thought.*

*melancholy and ennui, mental misery, 'mild-to-moderate depression'...Baudelaire's 'spleen'.
His 'maystress' is not a person, but contentment. (He was under house-arrest in England.)

 

French Version

MORE OF AND ABOUT CHARLES D'ORLEANS IN ENGLISH
(he was the father of Louis XII)