Bernard Kruysen sings "Villonerie" (1969)

The baritone performs Hans Henkemans' setting of three texts by the late medieval poet François Villon. Jean Fournet conducts the Netherlands Radio Philharmonic Orchestra in this broadcast from January 4, 1969. (Translations below)

I. "Le debat de cueur et du corps de Villon" 0:00
II. "Ballade pour Robert d'Estouteville" 7:43
III. "Tétrastique" 12:09

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1. "Le debat de coeur et du corps de Villon" (Villon's debate on the heart and body)
Villon’s body (V): What do I hear?
Coeur (C): It’s me.
V: Who?
C: Your heart, who’s only holding on by the merest thread. I have neither strength, nor substance, nor blood left in me when I see you all alone here in retreat, like a whipped dog scurrying back from the blows.
V: Why is this happening?
C: Because of your mad pursuit of pleasure.
V: What does it matter to you?
C: I’m the one who suffers for it.
V: Leave me alone!
C: Why?
V: I’ll think about it.
C: When will that be?
V: When I’m grown up.
C: I won’t say any more about it.
V: I’ll be fine without it.

C: What are you thinking of?
V: Being a good man.
C: You’re thirty. That’s the whole lifetime of a mule. Is this childhood, then?
V: No.
C: Then has madness seized you?
V: Where?
C: By the halter (of a mule). You don’t know anything.
V: Yes I do. Flies in milk; one is white, the other’s black, that’s the only difference.
C: Is that all?
V: What do you want me to say? If it’s not enough, I can start again.
C: You’re lost!
V: I’ll put up a fight.
C: I won’t say any more about it.
V: I’ll be fine without it.

C: I have the sorrow; you have the unhappiness and pain. If you were just some poor idiot, I could find some excuse for you. But everything’s the same to you, good or bad; you either have a head that’s harder than a rock, or you actually prefer this misfortune to honor! What do you say to that?
V: I’ll be beyond it when I’m dead.
C: God, what comfort!
V: What wise eloquence!
C: I won’t say any more about it.
V: And I’ll be fine without it.

C: Why are things bad?
V: Because of my unhappiness. When Saturn packed me my burden, he put these evils in it, I think.
C: That’s madness. You’re his master, and you’re holding yourself to be his slave. Look what Solomon wrote: “The wise man,” he said, “has power over the planets and their influence.”
V: I don’t believe any of that. The way I’ve been made is the way I’ll always be.
C: What do you have to say?
V: Nothing.
C: That’s just what I thought. I won’t say any more about it.
V: And I’ll be fine without it.

C: Do you want to live?
V: If only God could give me the strength!
C: You need it.
V: Need what?
C: Remorse. Read and never stop.
V: Read what?
C: Books of knowledge. Stay away from the fools!
V: Fine, I’ll take your advice.
C: Remember it.
V: I remember it well.
C: Don’t wait so long that things go bad. I won’t say any more about it.
V: And I’ll be fine without it.

2. (This ballade was written for Robert d'Estouteville to present to his wife Ambroise de Loré, as though composed by him.)
At dawn of day, when falcon shakes his wing,
Mainly from pleasure, and from noble usage,
Blackbirds too shake theirs then as they sing,
Receiving their mates, mingling their plumage,
O, as the desires it lights in me now rage,
I ’d offer you, joyously, what befits the lover.
See how Love has written this very page:
Even for this end are we come together.

Doubtless, as my heart’s lady you’ll have being,
Entirely now, till death consumes my age.
Laurel, so sweet, for my cause now fighting,
Olive, so noble, removing all bitter foliage,
Reason does not wish me unused to owing,
Even as I’m to agree with this wish, forever,
Duty to you, but rather grow used to serving:
Even for this end are we come together.

And, what’s more, when sorrow’s beating
Down on me, through Fate’s incessant rage,
Your sweet glance its malice is assuaging,
Nor more or less than wind blows smoke away.
As, in your field, I plant I lose no grain,
For the harvest resembles me, and ever
God orders me to plough, and sow again:
Even for this end are we come together.

Princess, listen to this I now maintain:
That my heart and yours will not dissever:
So much I presume of you, and claim:
Even for this end are we come together.

3. "Tétrastique" (a four line stanza)
I am François, born in Paris
Lying just next to Pontoise.
Soon from a piece of rope
My neck will learn
What my ass weighs.