On Secular Music
Troubadors
What is a troubador?
A troubador is a secular musician from Southern France beginning in the twelfth century. They composed their lyrics in their native language, Provençal.
Bernart de Ventedorn lived possibly either from 1130-1140 or from 1190-1200. He is also known as Bernard de Ventadour or Bernat del Ventadorn.
Beatriz de Dia was born around 1140, and composed her music sometime around 1175. She was a noblewoman. Her poetry was often set to the flute.
Guillaume de Machaut lived from 1300-1377. He composed an important setting of the Catholic Ordinary Mass (parts of the church service that are sung), the "Messe des Nostre Dame." He was prolific, with more than 400 poems of various forms. He also helped to develop the motet format.
Bernart de Ventedorn
Beatriz de Dia
Guillaume de Machaut
Can vei la lauzeta mover by Bernart de Ventedorn
Provençal:
Can vei la lauzeta mover
De joi sas alas contral rai,
Que s'oblid' e.s laissa chazer
Per la doussor c'al cor li vai,
Ai tan grans enveya m'en ve
De cui qu'eu veya jauzion,
Meravilhas ai, car desse
Lo cor de dezirer no.m fon.
Ai, las tan cuidava saber
D'amor, e tan petit en sai,
Car eu d'amar no.m posc tener
Celeis don ja pro non aurai.
Tout m'a mo cor, e tout m'a me,
E se mezeis e tot lo mon!
E can se.m tolc, no.m laisset re
Mas dezirer e cor volon .
Anc non agui de me poder
Ni no fui meus de l'or' en sai
Que.m laisset en sos olhs vezer
En un miralh que mout me plai.
Miralhs, pus me mirei en te,
M'an mort li sospir de preon,
C'aissi.m perdei com perdet se
Lo bels Narcisus en la fon.
De las domnas me dezesper!
Ja mais en lor no.m fiarai!
C'aissi com las solh chaptener,
Enaissi las deschaptenrai.
Pois vei c'una pro no m'en te
Vas leis que.m destrui e.m cofon,
Totas las dopt' e las mescre,
Car be sai c'atretals se son.
D'aisso's fa be femna parer
Ma domna, per qu'e.lh o retrai ,
Car no vol so c'om deu voler,
E so c'om li deveda, fai.
Chazutz sui en mala merce,
Et ai be faih co.l fols en pon!
E no sai per que m'esdeve,
Mas car trop puyei contra mon.
Merces es perduda, per ver,
Et eu non o saubi anc mai,
Car cilh qui plus en degr'aver,
No.n a ges, et on la querrai
A can mal sembla, qui la ve,
Qued aquest chaitiu deziron
Que ja ses leis non aura be,
Laisse morrir, que no l.aon
Pus ab midons no.m pot valer
Precs ni merces ni.l dreihz qu'eu ai,
Ni a leis no ven a plazer
Qu'eu l'am, ja mais no.lh o dirai.
Aissi.m part de leis e.m recre!
Mort m'a, e per mort li respon ,
E vau m'en, pus ilh no.m rete,
Chaitius, en issilh, no sai on.
Tristans, ges no.n auretz de me,
Qu'eu m'en vau, chaitius, no sai on.
De chantar me gic e.m recre,
E de joi e d'amor m'escon.
English:
When I see the lark beat his wings
for joy against the sun's ray,
until he forgets to fly and plummets down,
for the sheer delight which goes to his heart,
alas, great envy comes to me
of those whom I see filled with happiness,
and I marvel that my heart
does not instantly melt from desire.
Alas, I thought I knew so much about love,
and really I know so little,
for I cannot keep myself from loving her
from whom I shall have no favor.
She has stolen from me my heart, myself,
herself, and all the world.
When she took herself from me, she left me nothing
but desire and a longing heart.
Never have I been in control of myself
or even belonged to myself from the hour
that she let me gaze into her eyes-
that mirror that pleases me so greatly.
Mirror, since I saw myself reflected in you,
deep sighs have been killing me.
I have lost myself, just as
handsome Narcissus lost himself in the fountain.
I despair of women,
no more will I trust them,
and just as I used to defend them,
now I shall denounce them.
Since I see that none aids me
against her who destroys and confounds me,
I fear and distrust them all
for I know well they are all alike.
In this my lady certainly shows herself
to be a woman, and for it I reproach her,
for she wants not that which one ought to want,
and what is forbidden, she does.
I have fallen out of favor
and have behaved like the fool on the bridge;
and I don't know why it happened
except because I tried to climb too high.
Mercy is lost, in truth,
though I never received it,
for she who should possess it most
has none, so where shall I seek it?
Ah, one who sees her would scarcely guess
that she just leaves this passionate wretch
(who will have no good without her)
to die, and gives no aid.
Since with my lady neither prayers nor mercy
nor my rights avail me,
and since she is not please
that I love her, I will never speak of it to her again.
Thus I part from her, and leave;
she has killed me, and by death I respond,
since she does not retain me, I depart,
wretched, into exile, I don't know where.
Tristan, you will have nothing from me,
for I depart, wretched, I don't know where.
I quit and leave off singing
and withdraw from joy and love.
A Chanter by Beatriz de Dia
Beatriz de Dia
Bibliothèque Nationale, MS cod. fr. 12473
Wikimedia
Proven¸al:
A chantar m'er de co qu'eu no volria,
Tant me rancur de lui cui sui amia
Car eu l'am mais que nulha ren que sia:
Vas lui no-m val Merces ni Cortezia
Ni ma beltatz ni mos pretz ni mos sens:
Qu'atressi-m sui enganad' e trahia
Com degr' esser, s'eu fos desavinens.
D'aissò-m conòrt, car anc non fi falhensa,
Amics, vas vos per nulha captenensa;
Ans vos am mais non fetz Seguìs Valensa,
E platz mi mout que eu d'amar vos vensa;
Lo meus amics, car ètz lo plus valens;
Mi faitz orgòlh en ditz et en parvensa
E si ètz francs vas totas autras gens.
Meravelh me com vòstre còrs s'orgòlha,
Amics, vas me, per qu'ai razon que-m dòlha;
Non es ges dreitz qu'autr'amors vos mi tòlha,
Per nulha ren que-us diga ni acòlha.
E membre vos quals fo-l comensamens
De nòstr'amor! Ja Dòmnedeus non vòlha,
Qu'en ma colpa sia-l departimens.
Proeza grans, qu'el vòstre còrs s'aizina
E lo rics prètz qu'avètz m'en ataïma;
Qu'una non sai, lonhdana ni vezina,
Si vòl amar, vas vos no si' aclina;
Mas vos, amics, ètz ben tant conoissens
Que ben devètz conòisser la plus fina:
E membre vos de nòstre covinens.
Valer mi deu mos prètz e mos paratges
E ma beutatz, e plus mos fins coratges;
Per qu'eu vos man, lai on es vòstr'estatges,
Esta chanson, que me sia messatges,
E vòlh saber, lo meus bèls amics gens,
Per que vos m'ètz tant fèrs ni tant salvatges;
No sai si s'es orgòlhs o mals talents.
Mas aitan plus vòlh li digas, messatges
Qu'en tròp d'orgòlh an gran dan maintas gens.
English:
I must sing of that which I would rather not,
so bitter I am towards him who is my love:
for I love him more than anyone;
my kindness and courtesy make no impression on him,
nor my beauty, my virtue or my intelligence;
so I am deceived and betrayed,
as I should be if I were unattractive.
One thing consoles me: that I have never wronged you,
my love, by my behaviour towards you;
indeed I love you more than Sequin loved Valensa;
and I am glad that my love is greater than yours,
my love, since you are the more worthy;
you are haughty towards me in your words and your demeanour,
yet you are friendly to everybody else.
I am amazed how disdainful you have grown,
my love, towards me, which gives me good reason to grieve;
it is not right that another love should take you away from me,
whatever she may say to attract you;
and remember how our love began;
God forbid
that I should be to blame for our parting.
The great prowess which you have
and your fine reputation worry me,
for I know no woman, near or far,
who would not turn to you, if she were inclined to love;
but you, my love, are discerning enough
to know who loves you most truly;
and remember the agreement we made.
My reputation and my noble birth should sway you,
and my beauty, and above all my faithful heart;
therefore I send to you where you dwell
this song to be my messenger;
I want to know, my noble love,
why you are so haughty and disdainful towards me;
I do not know whether it is pride or malice.
But most of all I want you to tell him, messenger,
that excess of pride has been the downfall of many.
Esperance by Guillame de Mauchet
Proven¸al:
Esperance qui m'asseüre,
Joie sans per, vie à mon vueil,
Dous penser, sade nourriture,
Tres bon eür, plaisant accueil
Et maint autre grant bien recuiel,
Quant Amours m'a tant enrichi
Que j'aim dame, s'aten merci.
Et se ceste attente m'est dure
En desirant, pas ne m'en dueil,
Car le gré de ma dame pure
Et d'Amours tous jours faire vueil.
Et s'a guerredon sans pareil,
Ce m'est vis, puis, qu'il est einsi
Que j'aim dame, s'aten merci.
Car souvenirs en moy figure
Sa fine biauté sans orgueil,
Sa bonté, sa noble figure,
Son gent maintieng, son bel accueil,
Et comment si dous riant oueil
Par leur attrait m'ont mené, si
Que j'aim dame, s'aten mercy.
English:
It is Hope who gives me
a matchless joy, as I wish her;
sweet thoughts, delicious food,
goodness and fair welcome,
and I receive many good things, as Love
has enriched me a lady
that will pay me with her kindness.
If this wait turns to be hard
to my desires, I will not complain,
for I want the good company
of my lady, pure, and of Love.
At the end my reward will be, I think,
a matchless one, for I love a lady
that will pay me with her kindness.
The memory draws in my soul
her beauty, with no pride;
her goodness, her noble attitude,
her charm, and reminds me that
her look, so sweet and smiling,
has led me to the love of a lady
that will pay me with her kindness.