Take thatte, Chaucere! I have a guest-bloggere nowe and ich be the firsste to have swich a person write in mine blogge, afore even Maistre Geofroi
. Her nomen be Margot and she hath writen to me seekinge to clarifye som wordes from Maitre Villon to Maistre Geofroi, the whiche I will not deny as she eek doth gyve translationes of the Frenche of Maitre Villon which be an aide to mine gentil rederscipe.
She telles me that she eek has sought that Maitre Geoffroi wolde poste these wrytinges, but it semes he cherlissheley hath note yet done it.And speking of Maistre Gefroi
, who claimed that mine own French poetry doth sucke, I aske of him wherefore he hath not writen any French poetrie of his owne. And why eek he has not yet answerede Margote or postede here wordes for his rederschipe as it semes only righte that Maitre Villon and Margot receyve a courteyouse reply.
Here followes the translation of Margot and here wordes and some of her comentynge.
Maitre Villon seyth that Jt is cume to myne attention that J owe to be sorry some words the which I sayde the whiles an even that one passyd at the taverne. (J, Margot, wisse not this signe *)
It was not myne intentto maken a reference to yowre frendschipe with the daiseye-poet the while J named sume arses. (J ne wisse this signe ** neyther.)
Ytt was myne intent only to mocken at the dirty Angleish biere. Margot the Great (why seyth he thys? J am Fat Margot, all the world calleth me Fat, for that J am a womman of grandeur and J am fierce of it), my soft, my lovely, my verray dear frende(maitre Villon asketh hymselfe whatte he doth withouten me and J aske myselfe why that he sayeth thes swetenesses, what taske doth he asken me and nowe this signe J wisse nat) d'ailleurs, Margot explayneth to me that yt ys not ryght to mocken the drynke of the hoste ne to showen opynioun of the dirty custumes of the Angleish who habben (she seyth, J Villon wisse nat how sche wisseth yt, ne J wille nat wissen yt) maitres en escholes who doth thynges with the scolaires, also yt ys not the faute of the litle ones who aren nourisshed in this foul aire. (J wisse thys for that J hadde a frende in Paris, a maitre at the Sorbonne who was angleishman and he tolde me of his souffrances en eschole, pauvre gosse, he pleased hym muche with my grands tetons.)
Maitre Villon seith that he wished not to don yow evil, ne yow ne yowre minion poete (J leve that mignon wisheth to seyn another thyng in angleish, dyd not the bisaieul of yowre kynge haven a mignon namyd Pierre?) and J hope that the whiles again one drinketh together that yow bryng there yowre Philippa, the recognizance of which Margot wisheth much to make. (Agayne this signe, ****, but J doe not so muche wishe to seen Madame Philippa, she ys a ladye and J am nat)
When to our frende Jehan Goire, he yeveth me a miroir tolernen me the custumes of good people; though that J am too much debauched for repent, it is noble in him to worry himself for my soule and J can not to hear evil agaynst him.(*****)
*Thys ys to sayen, Margot menaces me the balls if J offer yow not my regrets. J leve that she showed to yowre stable boys the which yow angleish namen her "belle chose" (verrayment, yow namen le sadinet "pretty thyng"?). How much J love yowre usage of owre luvely tongue. Besides, it seemeth that they finden it luvely. Now J, Margot, leve J comprehende these signes *. Maitre Villon useth them for to seyen thynges he willeth not seyn apertly. Jt semeth nat polite to namen balls in a message of regret. J seye not nothing here of my sadinet and the boyes of the estable. But Maitre Villon heareth about this anon.
**Let him feel shame who thynketh shame of it, eh?
***J wolde goon in pilgrimage to Nice, where J hear that there be a devil named Grimalkin or somme suche, who tempteth Saint Nicolas with his gamen of dice and of cartes and of the wheel of Fortune. And yt is not so much cold down there in winter. Oh la la. Maitre Villon, yow finde trouble ynow in Paris, withoute that yow go to Nice, and me, Margot, doe J not maintaine yow warm in the winter?
****Well, it may perhaps be better to bringen her sister, she hath more in ordinary with Margot. Mais non, la dame Katherine is also a ladye, and intelligent to finden a noble man who maketh hire party of his house. Bettre a noble thanne a poet, hein, maitre Villon?
*****At end, he findeth me plaisant and he has histories of his youth that make me curl the hair. Old saint, yonge devile. Maitre Villon is poet, he pleyeth with his words. One seyth on ordinary, Jonge seint, olde devile.
J hope that Maitre Villon may be plesed that J traduce his wordes here. He wisseth nat that J can scriben though that he wisseth that J can speken Angleish. He wisseth only "bigot" and "broulard" and somme othere wordes that he oweth not to seyn biforen gentil men.
And thatte be the ende of Margot's gueste-bloggeposte.