Les sabots d'Helene - the bistro owner's beautiful wife who once tugged his heartstrings

This song of admiration and affection was dedicated to the attractive young woman, who, with her husband, ran the “café charbon” at the corner the rue Bardinet and the rue Alésia, opposite the Impasse Florimont, where Georges Brassens lived with his Jeanne and her husband. Marcel  Planche .  During the early years, Brassens was a regular at the café and was sometimes too hard up to pay for his drinks.  His understanding hostess was Hélène Malet-Orsal  and Brassens joined his composition with the traditional popular song, “En passant par la Lorraine” which had another Hélène as its heroine.  (Perhaps that made the song less personal to Helene’s husband, who must surely have had mixed feelings about the compliment.)

Les sabots d'Hélène(1) Étaient tout crottés, Les trois capitaines l'auraient(2) appelée vilaine(3), Et la pauvre Hélène Était comme une âme en peine... Ne cherche plus longtemps de fontaine, Toi qui as besoin d'eau(4), Ne cherche plus: aux larmes d'Hélène Va-t'en remplir ton seau. Moi j'ai pris la peine(5) De les déchausser, Les sabots d'Hélèn' moi qui ne suis pas capitaine, Et j'ai vu ma peine Bien récompensée... Dans les sabots de la pauvre Hélène, Dans ses sabots crottés, Moi j'ai trouvé les pieds d'une reine(6) Et je les ai gardés. Son jupon de laine Était tout mité,(6) Les trois capitaines l'auraient appelée vilaine, Et la pauvre Hélène Était comme une âme en peine... Ne cherche plus longtemps de fontaine, Toi qui as besoin d'eau(3), Ne cherche plus: aux larmes d'Hélène Va-t'en remplir ton seau. Moi j'ai pris la peine De le retrousser, Le jupon d'Hélèn' moi qui ne suis pas capitaine, Et j'ai vu ma peine Bien récompensée... Sous le jupon de la pauvre Hélène, Sous son jupon mité, Moi j'ai trouvé des jambes de reine, Et je les ai gardées. Et le coeur d'Hélène N'savait pas chanter, Les trois capitaines l'auraient appelée vilaine, Et la pauvre Hélène Était comme une âme en peine... Ne cherche plus longtemps de fontaine, Toi qui as besoin d'eau(3), Ne cherche plus: aux larmes d'Hélène Va-t'en remplir ton seau. Moi j'ai pris la peine De m'y arrêter, Dans le coeur d' Hélèn' moi qui ne suis pas capitaine, Et j'ai vu ma peine Bien récompensée... Et, dans le coeur de la pauvre Hélène, Qui avait jamais chanté, Moi j'ai trouvé l'amour d'une reine(7) Et moi je l'ai gardé. (1955 - Chanson pour l'auvergnat)

The clogs of Hélène  Were all caked with mud The three captains, so they say, called her a sloven And our poor Hélène Was like a soul in anguish……. Don’t seek a fountain any longer You, in need of water, Seek no further : from Hélène’s tears Go and fill up your pail. I took the trouble To pull from her feet, The clogs of Hélène , I who am no way a captain And  I saw my trouble Most sweetly repaid… Inside the clogs of our poor  Hélène Inside her clogs mud-caked I found me the feet of a queen And I have kept them mine Her woollen petticoat Was all full of holes The three captains , so they say, called her a sloven And our poor Hélène Was like a soul in anguish……. Don’t seek a fountain any longer You, in need of water, Seek no further : from Hélène’s tears Go and fill up your pail. I took the trouble To tuck right up high, The skirt of Helen, I who am no way a captain And I saw my trouble Most sweetly repaid…... Neath the petticoat of poor Hélène Neath her skirt moth-eaten I found me the legs of a queen And I have kept them mine. And the heart of Hélène Knew not how to sing, The three captains, so they say,  called her a sloven And our poor Hélène Was like a soul in anguish……. Don’t seek a fountain any longer You, in need of water, Seek no further : from Hélène’s tears Go and fill up your pail. I took the trouble  To stay on right there In the heart of Hélène, I who am no way a  captain And I saw my trouble Most sweetly repaid…... And in the heart of our poor Hélène Who had never sung before I found me the love of a queen And I have kept it mine.

TRANSLATION NOTES

1)      These cafés charbon, grouped mainly in the 11^th arrondissement, had been set up in the 19^th century by coal merchants who had come from the Auvergne region of Central France.  Their businesses sold coal but also served wine and coffee.  Hélène Malet-Orsal  did not originate from the Auvergne but from Aubrac Le Cayrol in the Midi Pyrénées region. She spent her life in the gentle reputation of being the Hélène of Brassens' song.  She died in 1992, having returned to live in her native village of Le Cayrol.

2)      (Ils) l'auraient appellee vilaine - - In the original folk song there are three army captains who treat Helen with contempt because of her poor, dirty peasant attire.  I think Brassens is gently teasing his own Helen about her rustic background, as she comes from a remote country district of France.  The original song reads:

Avec mes sabots, Ils m'ont appelée : Vilaine !

Avec mes sabots......

Brassens is using the conditional perfect tense and the normal translation would be be "The captains would have called her".  However in French, the conditional is used in statements the truth of which is based on hearsay or fable e.g."d'apres certains journaux du soir, une crise ministerielle serait imminente"

3)      Vilaine – Although the main meaning is « ugly », “ vilain” also had the meaning of “coming from a village” or “working class”.  Helen, on her way to Paris, seems very low class to these fine army officers. Brassens, of course, was antipathetic to social snobbery and the military.

4)      Toi qui as besoin d'eau – It wasn’t water that the soldiers were craving for though!

5)      Moi j'ai pris la peine – the phrase : « je perds la peine » occurs once in the original folk-song but Brassens uses « prendre la peine de etc » as a refrain. 

6) mité means moth eaten.  I could have kept this adjective, but I did not like the rhythm it gave me in this line of translation and I felt that I was expressing the same sense.  I use the direct translation later.

7)      Moi j'ai trouvé les pieds d'une reine – In the folk song, the royal connection is introduced when the peasant girl informs the officers, who had shown her contempt that the King’s son was in love with her.  He had given her a bunch of marjoram plants, which she had used her clogs to plant on the plain.  If they flowered she would become Queen.  Brassens does not include this mysterious tale.  The woman whose praises Brassens sings attains a regal dimension because of her physical beauty and the character of her love.

In the end this song of Brassens does not have a close connection with the folksong.  (We should add that Brassens does not use the traditional melody on which “En passant par Lorraine is sung”.)  However the name of Hélène, the peasant clogs, and the hurt of social snobbery were enough to give him the inspiration for this personal song. 

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THE ORIGINAL FOLK SONG

The title of the original folk song  is “En passant par Lorraine”.   Surprisingly, it is included in collections of chansons à boire, even though it has none of the salacious content of the standard French drinking songs.  This version of the folk song, at least,  is very innocent.

En passant par la Lorraine, Avec mes sabots, En passant par la Lorraine, Avec mes sabots, Rencontrai trois capitaines, Avec mes sabots, Dondaine, oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Avec mes sabots. Rencontrai trois capitaines, Avec mes sabots, Rencontrai trois capitaines, Avec mes sabots, Ils m'ont appelée : Vilaine ! Avec mes sabots, Dondaine, oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Avec mes sabots.  Ils m'ont appelée : Vilaine !  Avec mes sabots...  Je ne suis pas si vilaine,  Avec mes sabots...  Puisque le fils du roi m'aime,  Avec mes sabots...  Il m'a donné pour étrenne,  Avec mes sabots...  Un bouquet de marjolaine,  Avec mes sabots...  Je l'ai planté sur la plaine,  Avec mes sabots...  S'il fleurit, je serai reine,  Avec mes sabots...  S'il y meurt, je perds ma peine,  Avec mes sabots,  Dondaine, oh ! Oh ! Oh !  Avec mes sabots.

This is the text in the Editions Grimaud of chansons à boire.  However the picture accompanying this text suggests that there might be other versions.

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Je suis un voyou -His early tender,sexual encounter with beautiful Margot

Brassens once again takes delight in recalling his first youthful experiences of love, the memories of which will remain with him always.  (See also “La Première Fille” – “Il suffit de passer le pont”.)  He tells us the story with his usual frankness and humour -  and perhaps with a touch of conscience because he repeats that this behaviour was due to his being a bad lot.

Margot appears to have been a delectable girl and Brassens was totally smitten by her.  I wonder if she ever heard this song dedicated to her.  The man that she later married would not enjoy it though.

Ci-gît au fond de mon cœur une histoire ancienne, Un fantôme, un souvenir d'une que j'aimais... Le temps, à grands coups de faux, peut faire des siennes, Mon bel amour dure encore, et c'est à jamais... J'ai perdu la tramontane(1) En trouvant Margot, Princesse vêtue de laine, Déesse en sabots... Si les fleurs, le long des routes, S'mettaient à marcher, C'est à la Margot, sans doute, Qu'ell's feraient songer... J'lui ai dit: « De la Madone, Tu es le portrait ! » Le Bon Dieu me le pardonne, C'était un peu vrai... Qu'il me le pardonne ou non, D'ailleurs, je m'en fous, J'ai déjà mon âme en peine : Je suis un voyou. La mignonne allait aux vêpres Se mettre à genoux, Alors j'ai mordu ses lèvres Pour savoir leur goût... Ell' m'a dit, d'un ton sévère : « Qu'est-ce que tu fais là ? » Mais elle m'a laissé faire, Les fill's, c'est comm' ça... J'lui ai dit: « Par la Madone, Reste auprès de moi ! » Le Bon Dieu me le pardonne, Mais chacun pour soi... Qu'il me le pardonne ou non, D'ailleurs, je m'en fous, J'ai déjà mon âme en peine : Je suis un voyou. C'était une fille sage, À « bouch', que veux-tu ? » J'ai croqué dans son corsage Les fruits défendus... Ell' m'a dit d'un ton sévère : « qu'est-ce que tu fais là ? » Mais elle m'a laissé faire, Les fill's, c'est comm' ça... Puis j'ai déchiré sa robe, Sans l'avoir voulu... Le Bon Dieu me le pardonne, Je n'y tenais plus ! Qu'il me le pardonne ou non, D'ailleurs, je m'en fous, J'ai déjà mon âme en peine : Je suis un voyou. J'ai perdu la tramontane En perdant Margot, Qui épousa, contre son âme, Un triste bigot... Elle doit avoir à l'heure, À l'heure qu'il est, Deux ou trois marmots qui pleurent Pour avoir leur lait... Et moi j'ai tété leur mère Longtemps avant eux... Le Bon Dieu me le pardonne J'étais amoureux ! Qu'il me le pardonne ou non, D'ailleurs, je m'en fous, J'ai déjà mon âme en peine : Je suis un voyou.

Here lies deep in my heart, a story from way back A phantom, a memory of one whom I loved… Time, with great strokes of his scythe may make things his own My beautiful love lasts on still, and it’s forever…  I totally blew my mind On finding Margot, Princess in woollen clothes, Goddess wearing clogs… If ever the wayside flowers, Came to walk around It’s of Margot, no question That they would remind you. I told her: “Of the Madonna, You’re the true likeness! “ May the Good Lord forgive me, It was slightly true… If he forgives me or not, Besides, I don’t care, My  soul is lost already: I’m a worthless wretch The sweet girl went to vespers To go down on her knees, So I took a bite at her lips To find out their taste… She said to me most sharply: “What are you doing there?” But she let me go ahead, With girls, it’s like that. I told her: “By the Madonna, Stay with me always! “ May the Good Lord forgive me, But each man for himself… If he forgives me or not, Besides, I don’t care, My  soul is lost already: I’m a worthless wretch.  She was a good girl, At “mouth, what d’ye want?”  I gobbled inside her bodice The forbidden fruits… She said to me most sharply: “What are you doing there?” But she let me go ahead, With girls, it’s like that Then I tore open her dress, Without intending … May the Good Lord forgive me,, I couldn’t resist! If he forgives me or not, Besides, I don’t care, My  soul is lost already: I’m a worthless wretch  I totally blew my mind On losing Margot, Who married, against her heart, A sad bigot… She’s sure to have right now, At this time of day, Two or three babies crying So they’ll get their milk… And I, I suckled their mother Long time before them May the Good Lord forgive me,, I was so much in love! If he forgives me or not, Besides, I don’t care, My  soul is lost already: I’m a worthless wretch.

TRANSLATION NOTE

1)   perdre la tramontane -  Means « to go off one’s head ».  La tramontane is the north star , vital for correct navigation.

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The power and immortality of first love

The English writer and poet Thomas Hardy fell in love first with a girl called Elizabeth Browne.  Although he hardly got to know her, her memory remained with him all his life.

Here he talks to her in his old age, aware that she is now probably dead.

To Lizbie Browne

By Thomas Hardy (1840 – 1928)

---

Dear Lizbie Browne,
Where are you now?
In sun, in rain? -
Or is your brow
Past joy, past pain,
Dear Lizbie Browne?


Sweet Lizbie Browne
How you could smile,
How you could sing! -
How archly wile
In glance-giving,
Sweet Lizbie Browne!


And, Lizbie Browne,
Who else had hair
Bay-red as yours,
Or flesh so fair
Bred out of doors,
Sweet Lizbie Browne?


When, Lizbie Browne,
You had just begun
To be endeared
By stealth to one,
You disappeared
My Lizbie Browne!


Ay, Lizbie Browne,
So swift your life,
And mine so slow,
You were a wife
Ere I could show
Love, Lizbie Browne.


Still, Lizbie Browne,
You won, they said,
The best of men
When you were wed . . .
Where went you then,
Oh Lizbie Browne?

Dear Lizbie Browne,
I should have thought,
"Girls ripen fast,"
And coaxed and caught
You ere you passed,
Dear Lizbie Browne!

But, Lizbie Browne,
I let you slip;
Shaped not a sign;
Touched never your lip
With lip of mine,
Lost Lizbie Browne!

So, Lizbie Browne,
When on a day
Men speak of me
As not, you'll say,
"And who was he?" -
Yes, Lizbie Browne!

Please click here toreturn to the alphabetical list of my Brassens selection