L'ESCRIVETA (Occitan)
Guilhaume se marida Guilhaume tan polit
La pren tan joveneta que se sap pas vestir
Lo sèr la desabilha, l'abilha lo matin
E la balha a sa maire per la i far noirir.
Guilhaume part en guèrra per la daissar grandir
Al cap de sèt annadas, es tornat al païs.
S'en va tustar a sa pòrta: "Escriveta, durbis!"
Sa maire a la fenèstra respon: "N'es plus aicí.
Los Moros te l'an presa, los Moros Sarrasins.
- Trobarai Escriveta quand sauriái de morir!"
Rencontra de lavairas, lavavan linge fin
"Digatz, digatz, lavairas, qu'es lo castèl d'aicí?
- Es lo castèl del Moro, del Moro Sarrasin.
- Cossí que se pòt faire per i dintrar, cossí?
- Abilhatz-vos en fòrma de paure pelegrin
Demandaretz l'almoina tot lo long del camin."
Tot en fasent l'almoina, reconeis son marit
"Dintratz dins l'escuriera, selatz lo bèl rossin!
Ieu monti dins ma cambra, de serga me vestir."
E del còfre del Moro, prenguèt l'aur lo plus fin.
"Escriveta es partida, delial de pelegrin!
De tot l’aur que n'empòrta, fariá la mar lusir!
Sèt ans ieu l'ai noirida de bon pan, de bon vin,
Sèt raubas l'i ai crompadas, de seda, de satin.
- Se sèt ans l'as noirida, al diable, Sarrasin!
Èra la mia femneta, la flor de mon païs." | L'ESCRIVETA
Guilhaume (William) gets married, Guilhaume so handsome,
He takes her so young than she can't get dressed.
In the evening, he undresses her, he dresses her in the morning
And he gives her to his mother to get her fed.
Guilhaume goes to war to allow her to grow up,
After seven years, he's come back home
He knocks on the door, "Escriveta, open up!"
His mother answers, "She's no longer here.
The Moors took her away from you, the Saracen Moors."
"I will find Escriveta, even if I should die!"
He runs into washerwomen washing fine laundry,
"Tell me, tell me, washerwomen, what's this castle?"
"It's the Moor's castle, the Saracen Moor's."
"How can I enter it, how?"
"Dress up as a poor pilgrim,
You'll beg for alms along the way."
While giving alms, she recognizes her husband,
"Get into the stable, saddle the fine russet horse.
I go up to my bedroom to dress with serge."
And from the Moor's coffer, she took the finest gold.
"Escriveta has left, disloyal pilgrim!
With all the gold he takes away, the sea would shine!
Seven years I fed her with good bread and good wine,
Seven dresses I bought to her, [made] of silk, of satin."
"If you've fed her for seven years, to hell with you Saracen!
She was my little wife, the flower of my land." |