Le roi Renaud de guerre vint
tenant ses tripes dans ses mains.
Sa mère était sur le créneau
Qui vit venir son fils Renaud.
- Renaud, Renaud, réjouis-toi !
Ta femme est accouché d'un roi !
- Ni de ma femme ni de mon fils
Je ne saurais me réjouir.
Allez ma mère, partez devant,
Faites-moi faire un beau lit blanc.
Guère de temps n'y resterai :
A la minuit trépasserai.
Mais faites-le moi faire ici-bas
Que l'accouchée n'l'entende pas.
Et quand ce vint sur la minuit,
Le roi Renaud rendit l'esprit.
Il ne fut pas le matin jour
Que les valets pleuraient tous.
Il ne fut temps de déjeuner
Que les servantes ont pleuré.
- Mais dites-moi, mère, m'amie,
Que pleurent nos valets ici ?
- Ma fille, en baignant nos chevaux
Ont laissé noyer le plus beau.
- Mais pourquoi, mère m'amie,
Pour un cheval pleurer ainsi ?
Quand Renaud reviendra,
Plus beau cheval ramènera.
Et dites-moi, mère m'amie,
Que pleurent nos servantes ici ?
- Ma fille, en lavant nos linceuls
Ont laissé aller le plus neuf.
Mais pourquoi, mère m'amie,
Pour un linceul pleurer ainsi ?
Quand Renaud reviendra,
Plus beau linceul on brodera.
Mais, dites-moi, mère m'amie,
Que chantent les prêtres ici ?
- Ma fille c'est la procession
Qui fait le tour de la maison.
Or, quand ce fut pour relever,
A la messe elle voulut aller,
Et quand arriva le midi,
Elle voulut mettre ses habits.
- Mais dites-moi, mère m'amie,
Quel habit prendrai-je aujourd'hui ?
- Prenez le vert, prenez le gris,
Prenez le noir pour mieux choisir.
- Mais dites-moi, mère m'amie,
Qu'est-ce que ce noir-là signifie ?
- Femme qui relève d'enfant,
Le noir lui est bien plus séant.
Quand elle fut dans l'église entrée,
un cierge on lui a présenté.
Aperçut en s'agenouillant
La terre fraîche sous son banc.
- Mais dites-moi, mère m'amie,
Pourquoi la terre est rafraîchie ?
- Ma fille, ne puis plus vous le cacher,
Renaud est mort et enterré.
- Renaud, Renaud, mon réconfort,
Te voilà donc au rang des morts !
Divin Renaud, mon réconfort,
Te voilà donc au rang des morts !
Puisque le roi Renaud est mort,
Voici les clefs de mon trésor.
Prenez mes bagues et mes joyaux,
Prenez bien soin du fils Renaud.
Terre, ouvre-toi, terre fends-toi,
Que j'aille avec Renaud, mon roi !
Terre s'ouvrit, terre se fendit,
Et ci fut la belle engloutie
Pierre Bensusan (October 30, 1957) is a French guitarist of Algerian origin. His Sephardic Jewish family came from Spain, Spanish Morocco and French Algeria. His acoustic guitar music is often characterized as Celtic, Folk, World music, New Age, or Chamber jazz. Some of his most notable albums include *Pres de Paris* (1975), *2* (1977), *Solilai* (1982), *Intuite* (2000), *An Evening With International Guitar Night* (2004) and *Altiplanos* (2005). Besides music, Bensusan has also published three books of music and tablature.
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