Three Iconic Ballads of The Hanged: Part One
François Villon
Three of the most famous French poems deal with the theme of the Hanged. It was François Villon who started the tradition in the fifteenth century, with his Ballade des Pendus. Théodore de Banville, born in 1823, inspired by Villon wrote his Bal des Pendus, which, after Georges Brassens turned it into a song, is better known as Le Verger du Roi Louis. The irrepressible Rimbaud thought this theme too good to be ignored, and wrote his own Le Bal des Pendus, some fifty years after de Banville.
I have translated these poems, respecting the themes completely, and as much as possible the structures and rhyming patterns, and the have neither introduced nor removed original words.
François Villon is probably the most famous of France’s poets of the late Middle Ages. He was born in 1431, some claim, with little evidence, on the 1st of April. Very little is known for certain about the rest of his life. He had a sound education, wrote poetry, was a gangster and a thief, and even possibly, a murderer. He may have died on the gallows at 32 — or 59. Although he studied theology, and became a clerk, he never took holy orders, and one of his chief targets whilst exercising his career of thief was churches. Le Testament, considered his major opus is a light-hearted account of his many misdemeanours in verse, primarily written for his friends’ entertainment, but today he is better known for his Ballade des Pendus, in which he imagines that he has been hanged, and makes an appeal from his gibbet to the living to treat his soul kindly, and to forgive his trespasses.
Ballad of The Hanged
Human brothers who have outlived us
Be not too harsh on us and our trespasses
For if you have pity on our genus
God will bestow unto you forgiveness
You see us five or six packed together
When our once over-indulged carcase
Is scourged, devoured rot and wither
And our dead bones have become dust and ash
Do not laugh and mock our tragic portion
But pray the Lord for our absolution
.
As we call you our brothers, please spare us
Your disdain though we were sent to the gallows
After being condemned, well you know our errors
That not all men walk the path righteous
Forgive us as we are now dead and going
Toward the son of the Virgin Mother
That we be not exempt from her grace and blessing
So we might be spared infernal thunder
Let no soul harass us, now that we’re gone
But pray the Lord for our absolution
.
The rain has cleansed and purified us
By the sun blackened and dessicated
Our eyes gouged out by magpies and crows
Which our beards and eyebrows deracinated
At no time were we able to take it easy
This way and that way blows the wind nimble
As it deems fit, we have little or no say
We have more bird peckings than a thimble
You do well our company to shun
But pray the Lord for our absolution
.
Prince Jesus who reigns over us all
Protect us from the clutches of hell
From us keep away the fiendish Devil
Man, here avoid jibe and denigration
But pray the Lord for absolution
The Original in French:
Ballade des pendus
François Villon
Frères humains, qui après nous vivez,
N’ayez les coeurs contre nous endurcis,
Car, si pitié de nous pauvres avez,
Dieu en aura plus tôt de vous mercis.
Vous nous voyez ci attachés, cinq, six :
Quant à la chair, que trop avons nourrie,
Elle est piéça dévorée et pourrie,
Et nous, les os, devenons cendre et poudre.
De notre mal personne ne s’en rie ;
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous veuille absoudre !
Se frères vous clamons, pas n’en devez
Avoir dédain, quoique fûmes occis
Par justice. Toutefois, vous savez
Que tous hommes n’ont pas bon sens rassis.
Excusez-nous, puisque sommes transis,
Envers le fils de la Vierge Marie,
Que sa grâce ne soit pour nous tarie,
Nous préservant de l’infernale foudre.
Nous sommes morts, âme ne nous harie,
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous veuille absoudre !
La pluie nous a débués et lavés,
Et le soleil desséchés et noircis.
Pies, corbeaux nous ont les yeux cavés,
Et arraché la barbe et les sourcils.
Jamais nul temps nous ne sommes assis
Puis çà, puis là, comme le vent varie,
A son plaisir sans cesser nous charrie,
Plus becquetés d’oiseaux que dés à coudre.
Ne soyez donc de notre confrérie ;
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous veuille absoudre !
Prince Jésus, qui sur tous a maistrie,
Garde qu’Enfer n’ait de nous seigneurie :
A lui n’ayons que faire ne que soudre.
Hommes, ici n’a point de moquerie ;
Mais priez Dieu que tous nous veuille absoudre !
