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.

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

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