George Enescu
Born 1881, Liveni, Romania; died 1955, Paris, France
Sept Chansons de Clément Marot, Op. 15 (1908)
Clément Marot (1496-1544) was a French Renaissance poet, known for his wit, grace, and ease with vernacular poetry, as well as his association with the Protestant Reformation. His texts were often set as chansons by the great Renaissance composer and Marot contemporary, Claudin de Sermisy.
In these neo-classical settings, Enescu often asks the piano to approximate a lute, and the voice to embody the charm of Marot’s style. Enescu’s settings of these chansons show his affectibility to the French texts of Marot. Unfortunately, Enescu’s accompaniment of Constantin Stroescu on his own recording of the chansons remain unavailable today.
A Gift for Anne
This New Year, I give you this present:
my wounded heart, newly wounded.
I’m forced to; it is commanded by Love,
in whose service I’m attempting a paradoxical thing:
for my heart is my true wealth
(the rest of my goods are nothing to build on),
yet I have to give away my best possession
if I wish to be rich in this world.
You Make Me Pine Away
You make me pine away, though I haven’t offended you.
You’ve stopped writing to me, or asking after me.
But despite this I do not desire any other lady:
I’d rather die than change my mind.
I don’t say that your love has vanished,
but I complain of the anguish I receive.
And far from you I humbly beg you
not to be angry at me.
To the Damsels Too Lazy to Write to their Suitors
Good day! And also, What’s new?
Is there no way to hear from you?
If you don’t inform me soon
I’ll make up news of you all.
Since you are so recalcitrant,
I bid you good afternoon, good night,
Good evening, good day!
But if you’re picking berries,
do send me some, because I’m desperate
just to see you some morning,my ladies.
Good day!
The Gift of the Rose
The fair rose, consecrated to Venus,
is a great pleasure to see and to smell.
And I will tell you, lady,
the reason why roses are red.
One day, Venus followed her Adonis
through gardens full of thorns and branches,
with bare feet and uncovered arms,
when the thorn of a rose bush scratched her.
At that time all roses were white,
but her blood made some red.
Now I’ve made good use of this rose
as a gift to you, because, more than anything else,
your face, utterly gentle and sweet,
resembles a fresh red rose.
A White-Colored Present
Gift, gift the color of a dove,
Go where my heart is most devoted;
Go gently and gently settle there,
But don’t be too dumb-struck to speak:
Say that you are destined for True Love,
Say also (since I commit you to him)
that the lord to whom you are given
is less true than the lady who gives you.
Let’s Change the Subject, That’s Too Much Singing of Love
Let’s change the subject, that’s too much singing of love.
It’s empty noise, let’s sing of the pruning-knife:
All wine-growers use it.
It’s their tool for cutting their vines;
Oh tiny knife, oh cute little knife,
With your help they trim and train the young plants
Which produce good wines every year.
The god Vulcan, the blacksmith of the gods,
Wrought in heaven that good sharp blade
Out of fine steel soaked in good old wine
To make it sharper and more valiant.
Bacchus praised it, declaring it
A fit and ideal tool for the good man Noah
To use for vine-pruning season.
At that time Bacchus wore a vine-leaf hat
And used to come to bless the vines.
Bearing flagons Silenus followed him;
He used to drink standing straight up,
And then stagger about and bump his head.
He had a nose as red as a cherry
And many folk are his descendants.
Full of Suffering
If I suffer, I cannot help it,
And if someone tries to comfort me,
His comfort cannot appease my pain.
And so I pine away in misery
With no hope of an increase in joy.
And it must be that anguish can never leave me
For thus my lot was cast since birth;
Yet don’t be offended if I suffer.
When I die my pain will be dead;
But meanwhile my poor heart endures
My sad days in ill-fortune,
Which compels me to love my own anguish
And forbids me to feel depressed if I suffer.