Table of contents

Martin - Verse à boire
Martin - So wünsch ich ihr ein gute Nacht
Martin - Ma Belle
Martin - Ode
Sutermeister - Sonntag auf dem Zürcher See
Martin - En revenant d'Auvergne
Martin - Chant de la petite Ville (tiré de La Nique à Satan)
Reichel - Le Voilier
Martin - Le Coucou
Martin - Janeton
D'Alessandro - Marche (tiré de 4 Vocalises pour chœur mixte a cappella)
Martin - Sonnet
Martin - Complainte des Vieux (tiré de La Nique à Satan)
Martin - Campagnarde
Vuataz - Si loin
Martin - Le petit Village
Martin - Nous sommes trois Souverains Princes
Marescotti - Avez-vous vu Jésus-Christ
Martin - Es ist ein Schnitter, heisst der Tod
Binet - L'Etang
Martin - Petite Eglise
Martin - Si Charlotte avait voulu…
Gagnebin - Chançon
Martin - Trimousette
Martin - Quand la Mer rouge apparut
Hemmerling - La Vigne fleurit (tiré de Rives bleues)
Peyrot - No 1 (Tiré de Trois Chœurs pour Voix de Femmes)
Martin - Canon (pour Werner Reinhart)
Martin - Chanson en Canon

[German version]

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Martin - Verse à boire
Texte: Populaire d’Anjou

Those are three girls from Gironde
All three proud of their name;
Fill the glass!

The first is called Lise,
The second, she’s Lison,
Let’s drink!

The third, her name was Rose heart.
Rose heart is a beautiful name,
Fill the glass!

They are tethered by their lovers,
Tethered with three cords,
Let’s drink!

Their little brother watches them
With a tender smile,
Fill the glass!

He tells them: my sisters, you are beautiful;
Your lovers will carry you home.
Let’s drink!

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Martin - So wünsch ich ihr ein gute Nacht
Texte: Populaire allemand du XVIe Siécle

And so I wished her a good night,
Her, with whom I was alone.
She spoke a sorrowful word to me;
“We must part.
I leave to go far from here; God knows the hour.
Return – that brings joy!”

And in the night that I was with her,
Her face was flushed.
She gave the lad a loving glance:
“May God protect you,
Who causes me to moan and to laugh!
Parting brings such deep pain
This is clear to me.”

The maid stood by the shutter,
And began to weep pitifully,
“Be sure, young lad,
That you do not leave me alone for long!
Return to me swiftly, you who own my heart,
Free me from these gloomy dreams!”

The lad rode over the meadows,
He yanked his horse around:
“May God bless you, my beautiful love,
May your feelings never change!
If God gives us his blessing,
Never change your mind.
Farewell, queen of my heart!”

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Martin - Ma Belle
Texte: Populaire français du XVIIe Siècle

My beautiful one, my most beautiful one,
I will always love you;
My beautiful one, my most beautiful one,
Say you love me too.

If I had one hundred voices
All of them would speak of her;
If I had one hundred voices
All would say to her in unison:

My beautiful one, my most beautiful one,
I will always love you;
My beautiful one, my most beautiful one,
Say you love me too.

My heart has no other desire than to please her,
to please her without ceasing,
To please her, to please her without ceasing
Is to live in heaven.

She says of me
That which I, in my intoxicated state, say;
She says of me
That which I say when I see her.

My heart has no other desire than to please him,
to please him without ceasing,
To please him, to please him without ceasing
Is to live in heaven!

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Martin - Ode
Texte: Pierre de Ronsard (1524-1585)

The corn belongs to Ceres,
The forests to the woodland gods,
To Chloris, the new grass,
To Phoebus, the green laurel,
To Minerva, the olive tree,
And the fine fir to Cybele;
To the Zephyrs the sweet sounds,
To Pomona the sweet fruits;
The waters are entrusted to the Nymphs,
And the pretty flowers to Flora;
But worry and weeping
Are dedicated to Cythera.

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Sutermeister - Sonntag auf dem Zürcher See
Texte: Carl Rudolph Hagenbach (1801-1874)

It is Sunday, Sunday today,
The familiar, beloved tones of the Sunday bells
Gently resound from place to place; they tell us, with their pure timbre: it is Sunday.

“Sunday, Sunday”, they ring out here,
“Sunday”, the echo responds,
“Sunday” here, “Sunday” there,
Nothing but Sunday everywhere!

And how does it sound within your heart?
Does this day of sun shine within you,
Appeasing both laughter and pain?

It’s Sunday;
Know this, know this today:
Let desire and pain fade away,
And allow the chiming
To steep the Sunday feeling into your heart.

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Martin - En revenant d'Auvergne
Texte: Populaire d’Auvergne

While returning from the Auvergne
From the Auvergne, my homeland,
Passing through the Limagne,
From the Limagne to Paris;
Singing the Savoyarde,
And dancing the Montagnarde,
Ah! Merrily, my lad! Ah! Merrily, my lad! Ah!
Come and see the dance
Of the little bairn,
Ah! Come and see the dance
Of the little bairn!

A toothless old woman
Said to me: “My little friend,
come now, show me the dance,
the dance of your homeland”;
Sing the song of the Savoy,
Dance the Montagnarde,
Ah! Merrily, my lad! Ah! Merrily, my lad! Ah!
No, you shall not see the dance
Of the little bairn,
No, you shall not see the dance
Of the little bairn.

A young lass
Said to me: “My young friend,
come now, show me the dance,
the dance of your homeland”;
Sing the song Savoyarde,
Dance the Montagnarde,
Ah! Merrily, my lad! Ah! Merrily, my lad! Ah!
And I showed her the dance
Of the little bairn;
And I showed her the dance
Of the little bairn.

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Martin - Chant de la petite Ville (tiré de La Nique à Satan)
Texte: Albert Rudhardt (1894 - 1944)

There is our little town,
It hopes for our homecoming.
As in the old days she will provide
A welcome shelter for her brood.

Our floorboards will be bowed,
And our roofs will have gutters,
But even if our walls should be razed to the ground
We would still find the stones.

Should the wind blow through the gaps
As a cat whisks through it’s little door,
Yet it would remain our home,
And preferable to a hollow in the clearing.

There is our little town,
It hopes for our homecoming.
As in the old days she will provide
A welcome shelter for her brood.
Ah!

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Reichel - Le Voilier
Texte : Victor Hugo (1802-1885)

There is a magnificent ship
Rocking on the kindly waves,
Sailing across the pacific ocean
From the eastern coast!

The sparkling waves break against its bows,
Its sails are like wings
Swelling in the wind’s breath.

It sails towards the beach and,
Like a gliding swan,
It seems that it might fly away. Ah!

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Martin - Le Coucou
Texte: Paul-Jean Toulet (1867 - 1920)

The cuckoo sings in the sleeping wood
The dawn is still red;
And the old peacock, decorated by Iris
Sends out his golden cry far and wide;
My cousin’s doves
weep like a child;
The turkey spreads its tail
and cackles with laughter
He runs, he runs, he runs, he runs,
he runs to the kitchen.
Oh!

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Martin - Janeton
Texte: Roland Stæhli (1917 - 2010)

Janet wants to get married
Just for fun, just for fun,
Janet wants to get married
Just for fun – and to shed a tear.

She’s in love with a gallant fusilier
Just for fun, just for fun,
She’s in love with a gallant fusilier
Just for fun – and for pleasure.

They got engaged this morning,
Just for fun, just for fun,
They got engaged this morning,
Just for fun – and for a kiss.

They want to get married on Sunday,
Just for fun, just for fun,
They want to get married on Sunday,
So that they can quarrel – and love.

Janet wants to get married
Just for fun, just for fun,
Janet wants to get married
Just for fun – and for pleasure.

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D'Alessandro - Marche (tiré de 4 Vocalises pour chœur mixte a cappella)
No text

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Martin - Sonnet
Texte: Pierre de Ronsard (1524-1585)

I am sending you a bouquet picked by my own hand
from among these blooms.
If they had not been picked
They would wilt by tomorrow.

Learn from this,
That your flourishing beauty
Will soon fade away,
Perishing suddenly, like a flower.

Time passes by, it passes us by, alas, lady.
No, it is not time, but we who pass on,
Soon to be cut by the blade.

And the love that we speak of
Has no charms when we are dead.
Therefore, love me while you are still beautiful.

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Martin - Complainte des Vieux (tiré de La Nique à Satan)
Texte : Albert Rudhardt (1894 - 1944)

Always the same song…
Always the same song.
If you believe what the grain in the barn has to tell,
The storm will arrive in time for the harvest!
Should you find a moment of happiness,
Hell will take its revenge.
Always the same song.

Fate is not glad
If the table is too well-laid.
You will feel the blows of your wretched life
Until the day of your death.
Always the same song.

Bad luck beats on the door like one who is deaf.
It overthrows the most robust.
You have worked the whole day;

Night comes, but your hands are empty.
Ah! Always the same song.

There is nothing left for you but disgust
For your bitter life,
And you will spit out your faith,
And you will disown mother and father!

In the end, it is all worthless,
And despite all that good that you do or say,
You finish up like a broken dog.
So miserable – every day is a misery!

Always the same song.

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Martin - Campagnarde
Texte: Populaire de France

Eho! Eho! Eho!
The lambs go to the pastures
Eho! And the wolves are in the woods.

While the sheep bathe their wool
In the cool streams
Or at the fountains’ edge
We dance in the courtyard. Eho!

But sometimes twenty or so of them
Distance themselves from the herd,
In order to seek out the fresh grass
Under the oaks. Eho!

These distant shades
Hide their executioners,
And, despite their vain pleas,
The wolves devour the lambs. Eho!

You are my lamb, my queen,
The grand towns, they are like the woods.
Therefore, Madeleine,
Don’t go away from the village. Eho!

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Vuataz - Si loin
Texte: Emile Barateau (1792 - 1870)

As night descends, they sing
Their numerous joyous melodies,
The songs that they sing
Make me sad and troubled.
But when the star appears,
As God be my witness,
Instead of singing, I dream
Of my mother, alas, so far away.

At the call to battle,
It is for you, that the flame flickers;
In the midst of the shellfire
Your child will go first.
But when the star appears,
As God be forever my witness,
Instead of trembling, I pray
For my mother, alas, so far away.

When a ship passes close by,
heading across the sea to France,
I gaze into the heavens
Envious of the birds.
It is as if it were heading towards my homeland;
As God be ever my witness,
Weeping, I dream, and I pray
For my mother, alas, so far away.

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Martin - Le petit Village
Texte: Charles Ferdinand Ramuz (1878 - 1947)

Young girls dance in a ring, red dresses, white petticoats,
It is Sunday and the weather is fine;
Which of these pretty girls would you choose?
Which of these fine young gentlemen would you take?

Young girls dance in a ring in the village square,
Young girls dance in a ring, white dresses, blue petticoats.
The prettiest in the ring, her name is Marion.

Young girls dance in a ring, grey dresses, grey petticoats,
And the moon smiles down on them.

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Martin - Nous sommes trois Souverains Princes
Texte: Noël populaire

We are three sovereign princes from the Orient,
Travelling West from our homelands
To worship the King of Kings at his birth,
And to receive the tender edicts that his infancy heralds.

We have in our caskets certain gifts:
The most exquisite spices, gold, and incense.
These treasures, and our deepest homage – they are for you, Lord!
In receiving this myrrh and gold, bless these three wise men!

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Marescotti - Avez-vous vu Jésus-Christ
Texte : Extrait du recueil «Réveillez-vous donc, pastoureaux» dix noels populaires nouveaux, auteur anonyme

Have you seen Jesus Christ,
The one whom everyone is talking about?
Have you seen Jesus Christ
The one whom everyone is talking about?

Yes, yes, yes, I have seen him
In Bethlehem
Half naked.

This great King, half naked –
How can this be, in this cold?
This great King, half naked –
How can this be, in this cold?

Yes, yes, yes, half naked
Lying on the hay
So humble.

Shepherd let us go if you will,
To see this child and saint!
Shepherds, let us go if you will,
To see this child and saint!
Yes, yes, yes, believe me,
We will see him more than once.

Therefore, let us sing Noël
In praise of God in heaven!
Therefore, let us sing Noël
Praising God in heaven!
Yes, yes, yes, full of love,
He comes on this blessed day to save us.

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Martin - Es ist ein Schnitter, heisst der Tod
Texte: Populaire allemand

He is one who fells; Death is his name.
His power is granted by God on high.
Today he whets his knife,
That it cuts more cleanly
Soon he shears us off,
We will have to suffer it:
Take care, beautiful little flower!

That which stands here so green and fresh
will tomorrow be mown down:
The precious narcissus,
The heavenly cowslip,
The beautiful hyacinth,
The Martagon lily.
Take care, beautiful little flower!

Many hundred thousands, uncounted,
Fall beneath his sickle!
Red roses, white lillies,
He will destroy both,
You fritillarias,
You will not be preserved.
Take care, beautiful little flower!

Defiant death! Come to me, I do not fear you,
Defiant – come, make a gash!
In the moment that he wounds me,
Then will I be transported to another place.
I will wait for you
In the heavenly garden,
Take joy, beautiful little flower.

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Binet - L'Etang
Texte: Charles Ferdinand Ramuz (1878 - 1947)

Each night the pond under the willow
Awaits the moon,
In love with her round cheeks
And her grey eyes
That sit within a yellow face.

For a long time he waits, not moving,
As one who watches for someone
Who does not come.

Then, suddenly,
Ah! There she is!
(Yes, it is she,
Most certainly it is she,
It is she, high above the trees.)

He believes it, and yet he does not believe it;
He must believe it.

A quiver passes across his dark waters.

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Martin - Petite Eglise
Texte: Henri Devain (1912 - 1998)

Little church, little church,
Deep in the valley.
Your joyful bells
Ring out on the breeze.
Ring! Ring!
Gentle bell,
Ring out your clear call to reason.
Ring! Ring!
Our existence is fleeting,
Ring!
Life is but a short season.

It calls us, it calls us
In every season,
Let us be forever faithful
To the pretty bell.

On jubilant days, on jubilant days
It's a whirlwind,
Your joyful ringing
Brings happiness.

When you ring out
On Judgement Day
Your holy bell will say
To those who weep:
Fly! Fly!
Gentle soul,
The House of the Lord is open.
Fly! Fly!
Our existence is fleeting,
Fly!
Life is but a short season.

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Martin - Si Charlotte avait voulu…
Texte : Roland Stæhli (1917 - 2010)

(Lanturlaire, lanturlu)
If Charlotte had wished
To marry her soldier
Mirliton mirlitontaire
He would be happy here on earth,
And would never want
To disappear off to war again,
In order to forget love,
And to pierce his heavy heart.
(Lanturlu, lanturlu)
Mischievous love!

(Lanturlaire, lanturlu)
But Charlotte only wanted
To marry a captain
Capiston, capistontaine
And not a low-ranking officer,
And this is why, however hard she tries,
She will never find
A more ardent and beautiful love
Than that which she found too dull.
(Lanturlu, lanturlu)
Mischievous love!

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Gagnebin - Chançon
Texte : sur des vers de Othon de Grandson (1340? - 1397)

She that is so beautiful, sweet, and charming.
So lovely, no other can compare,
Your name fills my ears,
My eyes see nothing but you
Whom I adore.

Desire bruns in me night and day,
And tells me: If I may counsel you, love the one,
Who is so beautiful, sweet, and charming.
So lovely, no other can compare;
And since Love, to whom I am ever obedient,
Would that love be all around me,
I will love so much that love itself will marvel at it,
And all that I do will be for love’s honour;
For the one who is beautiful, sweet, and charming.

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Martin - Trimousette
Texte: Populaire

It is May, the month of May,
It is the charming month of May.

While returning from the fields
We saw the wheat, grown so tall,
And the blossoming white thorn.
Before God.

As you lay your beautiful child down to sleep,
You lay it down, and you lift it up,
Every hour of the day.
Before God.

A little pinch of your flour,
Not to drink nor to eat,
But to help light a candle
To illuminate the blessed Virgin.
Before God.

Noble lady, we thank you.
For your kind intervention.
We pray to God in your house,
And when we depart from it.
Before God.

It is May, the month of May,
It is the charming month of May.

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Martin - Quand la Mer rouge apparut
Texte : Populaire

When the Red Sea appeared
Before Grégoire’s eyes,
Immediately this drinker believed
that he had nothing to do but drink.
But my neighbour was more clever:
realising that this was not wine
He passed, he pa, he pa pa pa
He passed, he pa pa,
He passed by
Without drinking a drop!

Alexander, whose name
Is known throughout the world,
Did not love the canon so much
As he liked the glass.
If the great Mars of war
Acquired as many honours,
Then we could could could
Then we should should should
Then we could, then we should,
Then we could dedicate our creed
To something other than drinking well!

The good fellow Gideon
Created many wonders,
Using for his uprising
Nothing but bottles.
So we serve ourselves today
With bottles – just as he did!
We make, make, make, make war, war, war,
Make it, make war,
We all make war
With a great army of glasses!

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Hemmerling - La Vigne fleurit (tiré de Rives bleues)
Texte : Géo H. Blanc (1908 - 1991)

The vine blooms in the June night-time.
I will guide you between the blue walls
Within which the sweet scent of love wafts playfully.

The fisherman has placed his floating lanterns
On the singing lake.
The painter of the skies has tossed
His blond stars.

The solemn hour approaches,
When the night bird
Will let his song fall
In a gentle cascade
From the lofty hills.

The vine blooms in the June night-time.
Come.

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Peyrot - No 1 (Tiré de Trois Chœurs pour Voix de Femmes)
Texte : ?

This air so sweet,
This sky so pure and water so clear;
And we breathe,
And we hope;
Oh, to love so much
Oh, to love the air so much,
And the clear water, and the light,
To love you so much, oh clear sky,
pure spring that gushes over the earth.

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Martin - Canon (pour Werner Reinhart)
Texte: Pierre de Ronsard (1524 - 1585)

If I had a rich treasure trove
Or ships laiden with gold,
Paintings, or copper medallions,
Or jewels for which you must travel across many seas
To gather
Where daylight would breathe life into them once more;
Then would I make of them a beautiful gift for you.
But how can it be! This is not pleasing to you:
You do not delight in such riches
As can merely dazzle us.
This is why I would give to you
The blessings of the Muses.

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Martin - Chanson en Canon
Texte: Charles Ferdinand Ramuz (1878 - 1947)

Living is a little like dancing:
Taking the first step is a great pleasure.
A piston,
A clarinet,
We are glad when it comes to an end,
And the trombone has run out of breath.
We regret when it is over,
The head reels,
And night falls.