Quelqu'un me disoit l'aultre jour (Clément Janequin)

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• (Posted 2018-03-26)  CPDL #49159:       

Editor: André Vierendeels (submitted 2018-03-26).   Score information: A4, 3 pages, 65 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: Urtext edition after the 1550 Du Chemin print. SSTT at original pitch.

• (Posted 2017-02-25)  CPDL #43289:         

Editor: James Gibb (submitted 2017-02-25).   Score information: A4, 3 pages, 52 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: Reformatting of #16039, with minor corrections to underlay.

• (Posted 2008-02-16)  CPDL #16039:         

Editor: Brian Russell (submitted 2008-02-15).   Score information: A4, 3 pages, 33 kB   Copyright: CPDL

Edition notes: NoteWorthy Composer file may be viewed and printed with NoteWorthy Composer Viewer.

• (Posted 2003-10-27)  CPDL #05863:        (Finale 2003)

Editor: Kevin Skelton (submitted 2003-10-27).   Score information: Letter, 5 pages, 128 kB   Copyright: Personal

Edition notes:

General Information

Title: Quelqu'un me disoit l'aultre jour
Composer: Clément Janequin

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular, Chanson

Language: French
Instruments: A cappella

First published: 1550 in Livre 7: XXIX chansons nouvelles (Nicolas Du Chemin), no. 10
Description: 

Original text and translations

French text Original French Quelqu’un me disoit l’aultre jour Que ce moy est mélancolique. Ce moy dédié à l’amour, À nos plaisirs, ce croy-je, à picque Le rossignol taist sa musique, Aux champs n’apparoist nulle fleur, Le soleil cache sa lueur. Il semble brief que tout lamente. Je luy respondz : m'amie absente, En ce pais tout est en pleur. Modern French Quelqu'un me disait l'autre jour que ce mois est mélancholique. Ce mois dédié à l'amour, à nos plaisirs (c'est je que je crois) à pique. Le rossignol tait sa musique, aux champs nulle fleur apparaît, le soleil cache sa lumière, il semble un bref moment que tout lamente. Je lui réponds: "Mon amie est absente, en ce pays, tout est en pleurs."

English translation The other day someone observed That this month has sunk into gloom. This month that is for love reserved, And pleasures, but seems now for doom. The meadows lack a single bloom The nightingale has shut his beak, The sun is playing hide-and-seek. It seems, in sum, we can’t go on. To him I said: with my girl gone In this land, ev’rything is bleak. Translation by Thomas Daughton