#du bellay

[fideidefenswhore]

On 21 August, Henry sent Francis Bryan to Paris to await Campeggi's arrival. Not just Anne's cousin, he too was a religious reformer and critic of the papacy. Du Bellay described him as 'a relation of [Anne] and one of those she likes best.'

Hunting the Falcon, John Guy & Julia Fox

[vagabondageautourdesoi]

Cité de la langue française

Présentation de la Cité de la Langue Française qui est le seul musée ouvert pendant la présidence d'Emmanuel Macron dans le château de Villers-Cotterêts rénové.

La Cité de la langue française présente notre langue à travers le monde, l’histoire et les différents procédés pour jouer avec les mots. Difficile de présenter un lieu où le mot est célébré dans son sens, sa connotation émotive et symbolique et son évolution historique. Tant d’expériences seraient à raconter ! Car, ce lieu est livresque et interactif avec des techniques très actuelles. Jouer à…

[major-knighton]

So just this week, identification of James Fitzjames's jaw was confirmed, 16th century poet Joachim du Bellay's coffin was identified among those found under Notre-Dame de Paris during restaurations, and a previously unknown Mozart manuscript was found.

What a week for history and archeology.

[blueiscoool]

Notre-Dame Restoration Reveals Renaissance Poet's Coffin

The tomb of one of France’s best-loved early poets has been discovered during post-fire restoration work in Notre-Dame cathedral.

Scientists say they are nearly certain a lead coffin found beneath the transept is that of Joachim du Bellay, who died in Paris in 1560 at the age of about 37.

The 2019 fire, which destroyed Notre-Dame’s roof and spire, has provided a rare opportunity for archaeologists. Their findings will be on display at an exhibition from November, shortly before the cathedral’s re-opening.

Born near Angers in western France around 1522, du Bellay was – with Pierre de Ronsard – founder of a circle of poets known as La Pleiade which championed French, rather than Latin, as a language of poetry.

It was known from records that du Bellay was buried in Notre-Dame, where he had served as a minor clerical official. But his tomb has never been found.

Analysis of the skeleton inside the lead coffin revealed it to be of a man aged about 35, who suffered from bone tuberculosis in his neck and head, and spent a lot of time in the saddle.

Du Bellay suffered in later years from deafness and debilitating headaches – symptoms consistent with the researchers’ findings. It is also known he was a regular rider, having notably made the journey from Paris to Rome on horse.

One remaining question is why the body was where it was, and not in the side-chapel where it was recorded as being interred.

One theory is that it was moved to the new site after his name became famous with publication of his collected works some years after he died.

Du Bellay is still taught in French schools, and a few of his poems are widely-known.

The most famous Heureux qui comme Ulysse (Happy he who like Ulysses) is about nostalgia for one’s childhood home.

By Hugh Schofield.

[redwayfarers]

Belle, n’aie peur de cela, Partout où sera ta demeure, Mon ciel, jusqu’à tant que je meure, Et mon paradis sera là. - Baiser, Joachim du Bellay (1542)

one year of nikartoirel <3

[street-light-poetry]

New poem live.... (transcript in image id)

[professeur-stump]

Nouveau venu qui cherches Rome en Rome 　Et rien de Rome en Rome n’apperçois, 　Ces vieux palais, ces vieux arcs que tu vois, 　Et ces vieux murs, c’est ce que Rome on nomme.

(Joachim du Bellay, Les Antiquités de Rome, 1558)

[lemaitredemedan]

[parisies]

Elle était triste et grise,

Comme un repas de Carême.

Voici la fontaine remise,

Dentelles de pierre crème.

Les nymphes de Goujon boudaient

Mornes, sombres et renfrognées.

Ce matin, les belles dansaient,

Invoquant l’eau tant désirée.

Renaissance !

[theoutcastrogue]

Georges Brassens - Heureux qui comme Ulysse

Happy he who like Ulysses Journeyed far and wide Happy he who like Ulysses Has seen hundreds of lands And has regained again, after Many years of wandering The country of his youthful years

On an early summer morning When the sun sings within your heart Then how fine it is to be free Fine to be free!

When you’re better here than elsewhere When one friend can make you happy Then how fine it is to be free Fine to be free!

Heureux qui comme Ulysse A fait un beau voyage Heureux qui comme Ulysse A vu cent paysages Et puis a retrouvé Après maintes traversées Le pays des vertes années

Par un petit matin d'été Quand le soleil vous chante au cœur Qu'elle est belle la liberté, la liberté

Quand on est mieux ici qu'ailleurs Quand un ami fait le bonheur Qu'elle est belle la liberté, la liberté

Avec le soleil et le vent Avec la pluie et le beau temps On vivait bien content Mon cheval, ma Provence et moi Mon cheval, ma Provence et moi

Heureux qui comme Ulysse A fait un beau voyage Heureux qui comme Ulysse A vu cent paysages Et puis a retrouvé Après maintes traversées Le pays des vertes années

Par un joli matin d'été Quand le soleil vous chante au coeur Qu'elle est belle la liberté, la liberté

Quand c'en est fini des malheurs Quand un ami sèche vos pleurs Qu'elle est belle la liberté, la liberté

Battu de soleil et de vent Perdu au milieu des étangs On vivra bien content Mon cheval, ma Camargue et moi Mon cheval, ma Camargue et moi

[translation by Gulalys, lyrics by Henri Colpi, original poem by Joachim du Bellay]

[fideidefenswhore]

Cifuentes sent Dr Ortiz, an imperial agent in Rome at the time, to learn more about England’s situation and the true purposes of du Bellay’s mission. Upon his arrival at the house of Hémard, tensions rose almost immediately. ‘How is the queen of England’s health?’ Ortiz enquired, referring to rumours that Catherine of Aragon had been unwell for quite some time. ‘Which queen?’ du Bellay replied. ‘You know well that I am asking after the true queen,’ Ortiz barked. ‘Anne is the queen of England and she is well and triumphant,’ said du Bellay.

Thorns, Lust, and Glory: The Betrayal of Anne Boleyn, Estelle Paranque

[virgin-martyr]

I pledge these violets, Lilies, mignonettes, And these roses new, With each crimson rose Only now disclosed, And these wild pinks too.

Joachim du Bellay, excerpt from "The Winnower to the Winds" trans. A.S. Kline

[parkersgnome]

does gabin ever target other men or does he exclusively go after women and girls?

Oh yes, he will go after men. Usually smaller and weaker men, or men who are sleeping. But most of the time he goes after women and girls. He’ll go after animals too 🤮

[daffenger]

[...] Belaud, qui fut par avanture Le plus bel œuvre que Nature Fit onc en matière de Chats : C’était Belaud la mort aux Rats, Belaud, dont la beauté fut telle, Qu’elle est digne d’être immortelle. Doncques Belaud, premièrement, Ne fut pas gris entièrement Ni tel qu'en France on voit naitre Mais tel qu'à Rome on les voit être. Couvert d'un poil gris argentin Ras et poli comme satin, Couché par ondes sur l'échine Et blanc dessous comme l'hermine. Petit museau, petites dents ; Yeux qui n’étaient point trop ardents ; Mais desquels la prunelle perse Imitait la couleur diverse Qu’on voit en cet arc pluvieux, Qui se courbe au travers des Cieux[.]

Joachim du Bellay, 1558

[corydon8]

HEUREUX QUI COMME ULYSSE

Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage,

Ou comme cestuy-là qui conquit la toison,

Et puis est retourné, plein d’usage et raison,

Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son âge !

Quand reverrai-je, hélas, de mon petit village

Fumer la cheminée, et en quelle saison

Reverrai-je le clos de ma pauvre maison,

Qui m’est une province, et beaucoup davantage ?

Plus me plaît le séjour qu’ont bâti mes aïeux,

Que des palais Romains le front audacieux,

Plus que le marbre dur me plaît l’ardoise fine :

Plus mon Loire gaulois, que le Tibre latin,

Plus mon petit Liré, que le mont Palatin,

Et plus que l’air marin la douceur angevine.

Happy the one who, like Ulysses, has taken a marvelous journey,

or like him who won the golden fleece,

and then comes home, full of wisdom and knowledge,

to live among his family the rest of his days!

Alas, when will I see the smoke from the chimneys

of my little village, and what time of year

will I see again the garden walls of my poor house,

which to me is a province and much more?

The home my forefathers built

pleases me more

than the bold façades of Roman palaces,

more than hard marble I like fine slate;

more my Gallic Loir than the Tiber of Rome,

more my little Liré than the Palatine Hill,

more the softness of Anjou than the sea air.