Читать книгу The Political Songs of England: From the Reign of John to That of Edward II - Various - Страница 16

[Raynouard, tom. iv. p. 205.]

D’un sirventes m’es grans volontatz preza,

Ricx homes flacx, e non sai que us disses,

Quar ja lauzor no y auria ben meza,

Ni us aus blasmar, e val pauc sirventes

Que laza quan blasmar deuria;

Pero si tot vos par follia,

A me platz mais que us blasme dizen ver,

Que si menten vos dizia plazer.

Amdos los reys an una cauz’ empressa,

Selh d’Arago et aisselh dels Engles,

Que no sia per elhs terra defeza

Ni fasson mal ad home qu’el lur fes,

E fan merces e cortezia,

Quar al rey que conquer Suria

Laisson en patz lur fieus del tot tener;

Nostre Senher lur en deu grat saber.

Vergonha m pren, quant una gens conqueza

Nos ten aissi totz vencutz e conques,

E degr’ esser aitals vergonha prezza,

Quom a me pren, al rey Aragones

E al rey que pert Normandia,

Mas prez an aital companhia

Que ja nulh temps no fasson lur dever,

Et anc non vitz autre tan ben tener.

E pus no pren en la leuda torneza

Qu’a Monpeslier li tollon siey borzes,

Ni no y s venja de l’anta que y a preza,

Ja no ’lh sia mais retragz Carcasses,

Pos als sieus eys no s defendria,

Assatz fa sol qu’en patz estia;

Patz non a ges senher ab gran poder,

Quan sas antas torna a non chaler.

Ges trop lauzar, quan valors es mal meza,

Non apel patz, quar mala guerra es;

Ni ja per me non er per patz enteza,

Mielhs deuria aver nom gauch de pages,

E dels ricx que perdon tot dia

Pretz, e ja fort greu no lur sia,

Quar pauc perdon e pauc lur deu doler,

Quar ges de pauc non pot hom trop mover.

Lo reys N Anfos a laissat cobezeza

Als autres reys, qu’a sos ops non vol ges,

Et a sa part elh a preza largueza,

Mal a partit qui reptar l’en volgues;

E dic vos que m par vilania

Qui partis e qui ’l mielhs s’ atria,

Mas ges pertant non a fag non dever,

Quar a pres so qu’elhs no volon aver.

Ricx malastrucx, s’ieu vos sabia

Lauzor, volontiers la us diria;

Mas no us pessetz menten mi alezer,

Que vostre grat no vuelh ni vostr’ aver.

Translation.—I am seized by a great desire of writing a sirvente,—O rich yet cowardly men! and I know not what I shall say to you,—for there will be little room for praise;—nor dare I blame you, and a sirvente is worth little—which praises when it ought to blame:—but though it may seem all folly to you,—yet it pleases me more to blame you by telling the truth,—than if I spoke falsehood to please you.

Both the kings have resolved on one thing,—he of Aragon and he of the English,—that by them the land shall not be defended,—and that they will do ill to no one who does ill to them;—they are merciful and courteous;—for they let the King who is conquering Syria—retain their fiefs altogether in peace;—our Lord ought to be very thankful to them for it.

Shame seizes on me, when a vanquished people—holds us thus all subdued and conquered,—and such shame ought to seize—the King of Aragon, as seizes me,—and the King who loses Normandy,—but they take such company—that now they never perform their duty,—and I never saw another hold so well.

And afterwards he does not receive the tax,—which at Montpellier his burgesses take from him,—neither does he revenge himself of the disgrace he received there,—now Carcasson may no more be recovered by him;—for he would not defend his own eyes,—his only endeavour is that he may be in peace;—a noble lord with great power has no peace,—when he turns his ways to nonchalance.

To praise people too much, when valour is ill esteemed,—I do not call it peace, for it is bad war;—nor shall it now be understood by me for peace,—it ought rather to have the name of pages’ play,—and of the rich who lose every day—honour, and yet it grieves them not much,—for they lose little and need not grieve much,—for we cannot be moved much by a little thing.

The king Don Alfonso has left covetousness—to the other kings, because he will not make use of it,—and he has taken for his share largess,—he has an ill share who wishes to recover this from him;—and I tell you that it appears to me villany,—when one shares and takes the best to himself;—yet no one has done otherwise than right,—when he has taken that which others will not have.

Rich men ill-advised, if I knew any thing in you—worthy of praise, I would willingly tell you of it;—but think not to take up my leisure,—for I desire neither your thanks nor your goods.

Henry’s embarrassments at home were now becoming every day more numerous and more complicated. Scarcely any part of the nation, clergy, barons, or people, were any longer his friends. The following song (made in 1256) was evidently written by one belonging to the former of these classes, indignant at the taxes which the King, with the consent of the Pope, had levied on the clergy, in the vain hope of placing one of his sons on the throne of Sicily, and afterwards to pay the debt which he had contracted towards the supreme pontiff. The King of France, quoted as an example, was the saintly Louis IX.