The Rose, the Bottle and the Handshake- the outlawing of warm spontaneous greetings by political correctness

Brassens deplores the fact that spontaneous gestures of friendliness and goodwill that were quite normal in the past are increasingly seen as suspect and are even being proscribed by the contemporary  social code. 
He describes the hostile reactions to the offer of a flower in admiration of a passing girl, the offer to share drinks with a group of strangers, the suggestion of reconciliation from outside to warring parties.   
Modern developments, such as the imposition of political correctness, have shown how right Brassens was in his perception of this trend.  The interactive relations of individuals have now become fraught with fabricated complications that make us more and more tentative in our dealings with each other. 

  LA ROSE, LA BOUTEILLE ET LA POIGNÉE DE MAIN (1)
The rose, the bottle and the handshake

Cette rose avait glissé de La gerbe qu'un héros gâteux Portait au monument aux Morts. Comme tous les gens levaient leurs Yeux pour voir hisser les couleurs, Je la recueillis sans remords. Et je repris ma route et m'en allai quérir Au petit bonheur la chance, un corsage à fleurir(2). Car c'est une des pires perversions qui soient Que de garder une rose par-devers soi. La première à qui je l'offris Tourna la tête avec mépris, La deuxième s'enfuit et court Encore en criant "au secours!" Si la troisième m'a donné Un coup d'ombrelle sur le nez, La quatrième, c'est plus méchant, Se mit en quête d'un agent. Car, aujourd'hui, c'est saugrenu, Sans être louche, on ne peut pas Fleurir(2) de belles inconnues. On est tombé bien bas, bien bas... Et ce pauvre petit bouton De rose a fleuri(2) le veston D'un vague chien de commissaire, Quelle misère(3)! Cette bouteille était tombée De la soutane d'un abbé Sortant de la messe ivre mort. Une bouteille de vin fin Millésimé, béni, divin, Je la recueillis sans remords. Et je repris ma route en cherchant, plein d'espoir, Un brave gosier sec pour m'aider à la boire. Car c'est une des pires perversions qui soient Que de garder du vin béni par-devers soi. Le premier refusa mon verre, En me lorgnant d'un oeil sévère, Le deuxième m'a dit, railleur, De m'en aller cuver ailleurs. Si le troisième, sans retard, Au nez m'a jeté le nectar, Le quatrième, c'est plus méchant, Se mit en quête d'un agent. Car aujourd'hui, c'est saugrenu, Sans être louche, on ne peut pas Trinquer avec des inconnus, On est tombé bien bas, bien bas... Avec la bouteille de vin Millésimé, béni, divin, Les flics se sont rincé la dalle(4), Un vrai scandale! Cette pauvre poignée de main Gisait, oubliée, en chemin, Par deux amis fâchés à mort.(5) Quelque peu décontenancée, Elle était là, dans le fossé. Je la recueillis sans remords. Et je repris ma route avec l'intention De faire circuler la virile effusion, Car c'est une des pires perversions qui soient Que de garder une poignée de main par-devers soi. Le premier m'a dit: "Fous le camp! J'aurais peur de salir mes gants." Le deuxième, d'un air dévot, Me donna cent sous, d'ailleurs faux. Si le troisième, ours mal léché,(6) Dans ma main tendue a craché, Le quatrième, c'est plus méchant, Se mit en quête d'un agent. Car aujourd'hui, c'est saugrenu, Sans être louche, on ne peut pas Serrer la main des inconnus, On est tombé bien bas, bien bas... Et la pauvre poignée de main Victime d'un sort inhumain, Alla terminer sa carrière A la fourrière! (7) Georges Brassens, 1969.  Album « La religieuse »

This rose had slipped out of the wreath  Borne by a doddering hero  At the monument to the dead. As all the people raised up their Eyes to see the colours hoisted I picked it up without remorse. And I went on my way and I set out to find Perchance a bodice which the flower could adorn. For it is one of the worst perversions that be To hold on to a rose just for yourself alone. The first girl I offered it to Looked away contemptuously, The second one takes flight and runs While she is still screaming for help If the third swiped me on the nose With a swing of her umbrella The fourth one, that was nastier, She went to look for the police. For, nowadays it’s  ludicrous Without being a weirdo, you can’t Give flow’rs to beautiful strangers. We have fallen so low, so low…. And that poor little rosebud Got to adorn the coat lapel Of some vile police inspector What a disgrace! That bottle had fallen out of  The cassock of the local priest Coming from mass, drunk as a lord. With a bottle of vintage wine Good, consecrated, and holy, I picked it up without remorse. And I went on my way seeking, full of high hopes A worthy dry gullet to help me to drink it. For it is one of the worst perversions that be To hang on to consecrated wine for oneself. The first man turned down the glass I offered, Giving me a very stern look  The second told me jokingly To go, sober up somewhere else, If the third man, right there and then Threw the nectar back in my face The fourth one, that was nastier, He went to look for the police. For, nowadays it’s  ludicrous Without being a weirdo, you can’t Share a round of drinks with strangers, We have fallen so low, so low. It was with the bottle of wine Vintage, consecrated, holy, The cops got to wet their whistle A real scandal!  That poor little shake of the hand Lay on the roadside, forgotten By two friends who had fallen out. It looked somewhat disconcerted it was left there down in the ditch I picked it up without remorse. And I went back on my way with the intention To get the human gesture  recirculating For it is one of the worst perversions that be To hang on to a shake of the hand for oneself. The first man told me to “Clear off !  I’d be scared of soiling my gloves” The second piously tipped me One hundred sous, fake moreover. If the third one, an uncouth oaf, Spat into the hand I proffered,  The fourth one, that was nastier, Went to look for the police. For, nowadays it’s  ludicrous Without being a weirdo, you can’t  Shake hands with those you don’t know, We have fallen so low, so low. And the poor shake of the hand  Victim of an inhuman fate Went to finish its career Impounded by law.

TRANSLATION NOTES

1)     La Rose, la Bouteille et la Poignée de Main : Brassens was consciously writing this poem in the style of La Fontaine (1621 -1695), whose book of fables, a present to Brassens from Jeanne, was among his favourite bedside reading.  La Fontaine’s usual practice was to list in the title of his poems the elements of the story on which the moral would be based: e.g. La Mort et le Bûcheron – La Laitière et le Pot au lait.  Brassens composes his title in the ame style

2)     Usages of fleurir, the transitive verb –1) Fleurir quelque chose + is to put flowers on something –in our poem a man’s jacket and a woman’s blouse.  It is also used for putting flowers on a tomb etc. 2) Fleurir quelqu’un = offer a flower to some-one.  (My Collins Robert translates the command “Fleurissez-vous!” as:  “Get yourself some flowers” – “get yourself a buttonhole”.

3)     Quelle misère!  As a longstanding French teacher I find myself commenting that “misère” is a false friend looking like “misery” in English, but, in fact meaning "abject poverty".  However, both ideas are so close they can merge in a general idea of degradation.

4)     Ils se sont rincé la dalle –  A common French idiom – Although the most common meaning of “dalle” is paving slab, it also means throat, as here.

5)     Deux amis fâchés à mort- the idiom talks of lifelong anger.

6)     Ours mal léché – literally a bear that has not licked its coat properly is a popular image for an unkempt oaf.

7)     Une fourrière -  a pound, in the sense of a place where stray animals are confined or the enclosed area where abandoned or stolen vehicles are kept after being impounded by the police.

POSTSCRIPT

In the comments that follow the above  video of this song on You Tube, a Frenchman, calling himself “Lawlikoo”, expressed the meaning of the song with what he saw as the advantage of a chemically enhanced perspicacity.  At all events, the blogger, was asserting his defiant individuality and love of life, in a way that Brassens would have most certainly approved of. This is what he wrote:

Je viens de réaliser la portée de cette chanson, je ne sais pas si c'est dû au fait que je viens de flamber une branche de cannabis, mais mon esprit s'est soudainement éveillé. De plus en plus, le fait de complimenter ou d'être agréable à quelqu'un devient un comportement suspicieux. Brassens en raconte les prémices, j'en constate l'évolution aujourd'hui.   Bon j'y vais, ma Margot m'attend sur les draps.


To see the extreme effects of this tendency for looking for depravity in normal human contact, read this article in The Times on 10/07/2014

Please clickhere to return to the full alphabetical list of my Georges Brassens selection

  

AN IMPRESSIVE RUSSIAN VERSION OF THIS SONG

Pierre Schuler on his authoritative Brassens blogsite, “Auprès de son arbre” recommands the following Russian version of this song by the Russian singer Alexandre Avanessov.  His transposition of the style of Brassens and his performance of his music is very admirable.  The cartoon drawings that accompany the song are clever and exact.