Carlo Martello torna [o: ritorna] dalla battaglia di Poitiers; o Carlo Martello
Fabrizio De André| Versione "in una specie di lingua d'oïl" di Riccardo Venturi, ... | |
| CHARLES MARTEL RETURNS FROM THE BATTLE OF POITIERS King Charles was returning from the war. His land welcomes him, crowning him with a laurel. In the hot spring sun flashes the suit of armor of the victorious Sire. The blood of the prince and the Moor redden the crest, of identical color. But more than the wounds of the body, Charles felt the yearning for love. “If eagerness for glory and a thirst for honor extinguish war for the victor, it allows you not a moment to pursue love. "One, then, who imposes on the gentle wife the chastity belt - alas it is heavy - in battle can run the risk of losing the key.” Thus complains the Christian king. The grain bows down and flowers gather about. The mirror of the clear fountain reflects, proud in his saddle, the victor of the Moors. When here in the water is formed, marvelous vision, the symbol of love - in the fullness of the long blond braids the breast intermingles, naked in broad daylight. “Never was seen something more beautiful, never did I catch such a maid,” said King Charles, dismounting quickly from his saddle. “But oh, Knight, come no closer, that which you seek is already the joy of another. Quench your thirst from some easier spring.” Surprised by a response so sharp, feeling put down, King Charles stopped. But greater than honor was the power of abstinence. Trembling, his brown helm the King lifted off. This was the secret weapon by Charles often used in dire straights - to the woman appeared a big nose and the face of a goat, but it was her majesty. “If you were not my sovereign,” - Charles takes off his heavy sword - “I wouldn’t conceal the desire to run far away." "But since you are my Lord,” - Charles frees himself from the prison of his armor - “I must give myself over bare to every shame.” He was indeed a valiant knight, and even at that juncture was covered again with honor. And, conjoined at the end of the duel, uncertain, the saddle he tried to remount. Quickly the maiden harpooned him. Suddenly a bill she presents to her Lord. “Ah, just because you are my Lord, it’s five thousand lira, a special price.” “It’s ever possible, son of a bitch, that the adventures in this realm should all end up with big whores. "Even the price, then, can be criticized. I remember well that before I left there were lower prices of three thousand lira.” Thus spoken, he acted like a scoundrel - with the leap of a lion he mounted his steed. Whipping the horse as if it were a donkey, through the wisteria and elderberries the king disappeared. King Charles returned from the war. His land welcomes him, crowning him with a laurel. In the hot spring sun flashes the suit of armor of the victorious Sire. | LY ROY CHARLES MARTEL revient de la bataylle de Poytieres Ly Roy Charles revient de la guerre, L'attend a luy sa Terre Pour le ceyndre de lauriere Au chauld soleyl del printemps muure Que çe brilloit l'armuure Du Syre ly vaynquiere. Ly sang du Prynce et del Maure Rougisçent son cemiere De pareylle couleur ; Mays plus tost que del corps lys blessuures Le Roy sent lys piquures De maladye d'amour. Si fievre de gloyre et soëf d'Honneur Esteint la guerre a le Vaynquiere, Ce ne luy donne un moment pour fayre l'amour. Y est aussy quy met a son espouse suave De chastetee la ceynture et c'est bien grave, En bataylle yl pourrait bien en perdre la clef. Ainsy se plaint ly Roy de la Chrestiente, A son passage le ble Se courbe et puys les fleurs ; Ly miroyre de clere fontaynelle Reflect fier svr sa selle Des Maures le Vaynquiere. Vois la que dans l'eëue se forme La vision pulchriforme, L'ymage de l'Amour Al bout de ses longs cheveulx blons Son seyn se confond Tout nuu dans sa splendeur. Homme ne vist jamais chose si belle, Ne vist jamais vne telle pvlcelle, Ce dist ly Roy ; et desçendoyt vite de la selle. Oï ly Chevalere ! A moy n'approchiez, Aultruy ja gouste ce que vous cherchiez, A vne aultre fontayne vostre soëf esteigniez ! Surprys par cest mot quy l'affeule, Croïant qu'on se fout de sa gueule, Ly Roy layssat tomber ; Mais la faym put plus que le jeuune, Fremisçant, son heaulme bruune Ly Roy va s'enlever. Vois la, son arme secrete estoit Dont yl souvent se servoit Dans les difficvltees ; A a fille apparut vn nez d'Abacouc, Vne Fygvre de vieulx Bouc Mais yl estoit sa Magestee. Si Vous ne fvssiez mon Souverayn, -Ly Roy s'enleeve sa lourde espee- Je ne cachierays poynct mon desir de fuyr loyntayn. Mays puys que Vous estes mon Seygneur -Ly Roy se debarrasse de son armuure- Fault que je me donne a Vous sans pvdeur. Chevalere yl estoit si vayllant, Et aussy en ce moment D'Honneur yl s'est couvert ; Et a la fin de ce combat Svr sa selle yl essayat Incertayn de remonter. Si vite la Pvlcelle l'attrape Soudayne ses honorayres Elle presente a son Roy : Heïn, comme Vous estes mon Souverayn Ça fait cent Livres d'Argient, C'est pas cher, croïiez moy. Coment se pëut qu'en ce Reaulme I aït tant de dames quy sont sy vilaynes Et se revelent seulement des grandes Pvtaynes ? Mesme svr le Pris on y trueve a redire, Bien me souviens qu'advant de partir Lys prys n'arrivoient guere a treinte Livres. Cela dict, yl se tint comme un grand con, Avecques un grand bond A cheval remontat ; Feuëttant son cheval comme un bavdet Par my ly surel et ly genest Ly Roy s'envolat. Ly Roy Charles revient de la guerre, L'attend a luy sa Terre Pour le ceyndre de lauriere Au chauld Soleyl del printemps muure Que ce brilloit l'armuure Du Syre ly Vaynquiere. (clairons) |
