Le mauvais sujet repenti-sad story showing society's inconsistent and hypocritical attitudes to the sex trade

This poem is a morality tale- or perhaps more aptly an immorality tale- about prostitution.  The title suggests the traditional, inspiring story of the sinner who sees the light – the story of the bad character who repented.  However Brassens’ title is ironical.

The narrator of the poem was indeed by common judgment a bad character.  He was a pimp.  In contemporary Britain, it is politically correct to be kinder to prostitutes.  They are “sex workers”, but their pimps are still the lowest of the low.  However the moral issues here are shown to be complex.  If the man’s previous life was despicable, his act of repentance was even more despicable. He abandoned the woman with whom he had lived in a passionate relationship- although by mutual agreement shared with many others- , who had made his fortune and he left her to a grim fate.

His personal behaviour was certainly vile, but we note that he and his partner provided a service to clients who were pharmacists, church officials, civil servants and serving police officers.  We are aware that her pitch was close to the Chamber of Deputies. Brassens, the anarchist who rejected all outside interference in personal choice is pointing to the absurd contradictions in legislation which aims to prevent payment for sex.

Le mauvais sujet repenti

Elle avait la taill' faite au tour,(1) Les hanches pleines, Et chassait l' mâle aux alentours De La Mad’leine...(2) À sa façon d' me dir' : "Mon rat, Est-c' que j' te tente ?" Je vis que j'avais affaire à Un' débutante... L' avait l' don, c'est vrai, j'en conviens, L'avait l' génie Mais sans technique, un don n'est rien Qu'un' sal' manie... Certes, on ne se fait pas putain Comme on s' fait nonne, C'est du moins c' qu'on prêche, en latin, À la Sorbonne... Me sentant rempli de pitié Pour la donzelle, J' lui enseignai, de son métier, Les p'tit's ficelles... J' lui enseignai l' moyen d' bientôt Faire fortune, En bougeant l'endroit où le dos R'ssemble à la lune...(3) Car, dans l'art de fair' le trottoir, Je le confesse, Le difficile est d' bien savoir Jouer des fesses... On n' tortill' pas son popotin D' la mêm' manière, Pour un droguiste, un sacristain, Un fonctionnaire... Rapidement instruite par Mes bons offices, Elle m'investit d'une part D' ses bénéfices...(4) On s'aida mutuellement, Comm' dit l' poète,(5) Ell' était l' corps, naturell'ment, Puis moi la tête... Un soir, à la suite de Manoeuvres douteuses, Ell' tomba victim' d'une Maladie honteuse... Lors, en tout bien, toute amitié, En fille probe, Elle me passa la moitié De ses microbes... Après des injections aiguës D'antiseptique, J'abandonnai l' métier d' cocu Systématique... Elle eut beau pousser des sanglots, Braire à tue-tête, Comme je n'étais qu'un salaud, J' me fis honnête... Sitôt privé' de ma tutelle, Ma pauvre amie Courut essuyer du bordel Les infamies... Paraît qu'ell' s' vend même à des flics, Quell' décadence ! Y'a plus d' moralité publiqu' Dans notre France...

She had a most shapely figure Full in the hips, And hunted for males, roundabout The Madeleine From her way of saying : « Darling, D’you fancy me ? » I saw that I was dealing with A raw beginner. She’d the gift, it’s true, I quite agree, She'd the genius, But without technique a gift’s no more Than a nasty habit… It’s true you don’t become a whore Like you do a’nun That’s at least what they preach, in Latin At the Sorbonne… Feeling overwhelmed with pity For the damsel I taught her the little secrets Of her profession I taught her the method to soon Make her fortune By swaying the place where the back Looks very like the moon For, in the art of street walking, I must confess What’s hard is to rightly know how to Make play with the bum… You do not wiggle your bottom In the same manner For a chemist, a church warden A civil servant. Rapidly instructed by My good offices She invested me with a share Of her profits We helped each other mutu’lly As the poet says. She was the body, natur’lly Then me the head. One night following some Suspect carryings on She fell the victim of A shameful illness… Then, justly, out of true friendship A forthright girl, She passed on to me a half Of her microbes …… After sev’ral sharp injections Of antiseptic I gave up the career of cuckold Systematic...... In vain was all her deep sighing Howling at full blast, As I was nothing but a swine I turned honest man. Deprived of me as her guardian, My poor girl friend Went straight to submit to the shame Of the brothel … Seems she’s even sold to coppers What decadence ! There’s no public morality now In this France of ours……

1953 - Les amoureux des bancs publics

TRANSLATION NOTES

1)      fait au tour – le tour is the lathe and so a part of the body that is « fait au tour » is well-turned, shapely.

2)      La Madeleine – The area around the historic building of the Madeleine has long been regarded as a hunting ground for prostitutes.  As their clientele in this area was from a better class, the women would be a better class of prostitute.

3)      Brassens was a great admirer of a rounded female bottom and uses the moon analogy frequently.  See Vénus Callipyge

4)      N.B.The irony of his squalid arrangement  being presented as a standard business contract.

5)      Brassens lived with his book of La Fontaine’s fables.  In La Fontaine’s « L’Aveugle et le Paralytique », there are the lines :

Aidons-nous mutuellement,

La charge des malheurs en sera plus légère.

THANKS FOR A CONTRIBUTION TO THIS TRANSLATION
I am grateful to a French gentleman called Arthur for three amendments he has given me that I have incorporated now in this translation.  It's a great help.  Many thanks.  David Y.

 

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La marche nuptiale -The pathos of the wedding procession for Brassens' parents

This is a very touching, very personal song, because Brassens is describing the wedding day of his parents.  Although the title of the song is “Wedding March” and Brassens speaks of the day as a memory that he will never forget, the sombre music of the song is more suitable for a “marche funèbre”-  a funeral march.  This is appropriate because their wedding appears to have had a prevailing mood of pathos, marked by embarrassment, disappointment and deep emotional distress on the part of the bride.  The families of bride and groom were so poor that their bridal carriage, to the amazement of the onlookers was an ox cart propelled by the wedding guests. 

It is an unconventional wedding, because the couple have already been together for a long time and their son is accompanying them with music on his harmonica.  We are told that they are on the way to the Town Hall and so they would seem to be on their way to a civil ceremony, not a church marriage. The crisis for the bride comes, when heaven manifests its disapproval by striking the procession with a mighty wind and soaking the participants with a heavy downpour of rain.

The account in the song does not tally with Brassens’ biography and this question will be discussed in the following translation notes.

Barbara sings this song with a lot of verve and feeling.

Mariage d'amour, mariage d'argent, J'ai vu se marier toutes sortes de gens Des gens de basse source et des grands de la terre, Des prétendus coiffeurs, des soi-disant notaires. Quand même je vivrais jusqu'à la fin des temps, Je garderai toujours le souvenir content Du jour de pauvre noce où mon père et ma mère S'allèrent épouser devant Monsieur le Maire.(1) C'est dans un char à boeufs, s'il faut parler bien franc, Tiré par les amis, poussé par les parents, Que les vieux amoureux firent leurs épousailles (2) Après long temps d'amour, long temps de fiançailles (3) Cortège nuptial hors de l'ordre courant, La foule nous couvait d'un oeil protubérant Nous étions contemplés par le monde futile Qui n'avait jamais vu de noces de ce style. Voici le vent qui souffle emportant, crève-coeur! Le chapeau de mon père et les enfants de choeur.. Voilà la plui' qui tombe en pesant bien ses gouttes, Comme pour empêcher la noc', coûte que coûte. Je n'oublierai jamais la mariée en pleurs (4) Berçant comme un' poupé' son gros bouquet de fleurs Moi, pour la consoler, moi, de toute ma morgue, Sur mon harmonica, jouant les grandes orgues. Tous les garçons d'honneur, montrant le poing aux nues, Criaient : "Par Jupiter, la noce continue !" (5) Par les homm's décriée, par les dieux contrariée, La noce continue et viv' la mariée ! In Barbara’s version she repeats the second stanza at the end of her song Quand même je vivrais jusqu'à la fin des temps, Je garderai toujours le souvenir content Du jour de pauvre noce où mon père et ma mère S'allèrent épouser devant Monsieur le Maire.(1) 1957 – In the album : Je me suis fait tout petit

Marriages for love, marriages  for money I have seen all sorts of people getting married : Folk of humble stock and great figures in the land, Some calling themselves coiffeurs, some self-styled lawyers. Even if I should live  until the end of time I will always treasure the memory Of the poor wedding day my father and mother Went to get themselves wed before Monsieur the Mayor It was, if  full truth need be told, in an ox cart With our friends pulling it, and relatives pushing, That the long-time lovers rode to their nuptials After a long term love,  a long time engagement. A marriage cortège most unconventional, The crowd thronged around us,  eyes wide with amazement We were being looked on by people not involved   Who hadn’t ever seen a wedding in this style Here comes the wind, which blows away, oh the heartbreak !  The hats of my father and children in the choir. Then there’s the rain which falls, dishing out big  rain-drops  As if to stop the wedding, at all cost. I shall never forget the bride, sitting weeping, As she cradled  like a doll her big bunch of flowers. I to console her, I, with all my proud contempt On my harmonica, played great organ pieces And all the groomsmen, shaking their fists at the clouds Were shouting « By Jupiter, the wedding goes on ! Though by humans decried, by the gods obstructed The wedding  continues and so long live the bride ! Even if I should live  until the end of time I will always treasure the memory Of the poor wedding day my father and mother Went to get themselves wed before Monsieur the Mayor

TRANSLATION NOTES

1)     devant Monsieur le Maire- I thought of putting « Before his Worship the Mayor » as that is the Mayor’s (odd) title in Britain, but that would have changed the cultural setting.

2)     firent leurs épousailles – Brassens says that his parents celebrated their wedding in an ox cart.  Surely the mayor did not marry them in it.  I have taken the liberty of changing it!

3)     Après long temps d'amour, long temps de fiançailles – According to the story in the song, the parents had been in love for a long time and had had a long engagement.  Obviously they must have been living in sin, to use the English terminology of those days, and she had given birth to the son who was playing the harmonica and telling the story.  In fact, Georges Brassens mother, Elvira Dagrossa, who came from an Italian family, had been married previously and had had a daughter, Simone, in 1912.  Her husband had been called up during the 1914- 1918 war and he had been killed in 1919.  As she married Jean-Louis Brassens in 1920 after having been a widow for only one year, it is difficult to see how they could have been lovers and engaged for a long time.  As Georges Brassens was born, their legitimate son in 1921, it was impossible for him to have been at his parents’ wedding –except in the womb perhaps !

4)     Je n'oublierai jamais la mariée en pleurs- It is understandable that this would have been a very emotional day for Elvira. Just a year ago, she had been married to a different man, the father of her nine year old daughter – until the ominous telegram was delivered at her house.  As a devout Catholic, she would be afraid of the wrath of God and the anger of the skies would seem to confirm this.  She was getting married in a civil ceremony to a man who had little respect for her religion and her Catholic education would have convinced her that she was jeopardising her immortal soul. 

5)     Criaient : "Par Jupiter, la noce continue !"In turning their eyes to the heavens, the sceptical Brassens menfolk, do not address the god of the bride, capable of oppressing a poor and vulnerable woman who has already suffered much, but call on the heroic god of the Ancients.

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Here is an impressive version sung by the Spaniard, Serge Lama, in the company of Georges Brassens

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Celui Qui A Mal Tourné - reassuring tale of people at their worst but also at their best

I find this a touching poem and very personal to Brassens, as the experiences and emotions of the man in the story closely parallel those of Brassens.

 Brassens never found himself accused of murder of course, but in his youth, Brassens had become involved in unworthy criminality, which diminished his self-respect and gave him a great sense of guilt. He too had been condemned by the harsh verdict of the courts, which made no allowances.  He had been painfully conscious of the disgust and anger he had aroused in the ordinary people around him and had gone into long exile. Even when he became a successful performer, his self-image was of an outsider estranged from the society of “respectable” people - to him they were "Les croquants and les croquantes".

Paradoxically, the audiences who thronged to listen to him were in the majority from this “respectable” class and, who knows, might have included some members who were over-weight, over- wealthy and devoted to sensual pleasure, like the ageing fun seeker, whom the man in the story had accidentally snuffed out. Nevertheless, the audiences reacted to the social outsider on the stage with appreciation, sympathy and love. 

It is possible therefore that the enlightenment of the man seen in the last verse of the song describes Brassens' own realisation in the closing years of his career.  One can imagine that on some nights at the end of his performances, when stage-fright habitually tore his nerves to shreds, Brassens returned to the privacy of his dressing room and overwhelmed by the warmth of his reception, drowned by the invasive sense of human kindness, sank to the floor and wept uncontrollably.  The final two lines of the song are the most important in the song.

Celui Qui A Mal Tourné Il y avait des temps et des temps Qu'je n'm'étais pas servi d'mes dents, Qu'je n' mettais plus d'vin dans mon eau (1) Ni de charbon dans mon fourneau. Tous les croque-morts, silencieux, Me dévoraient déjà des yeux: Ma dernière heure allait sonner C'est alors que j'ai mal tourné(2) N'y allant pas par quatre chemins, J'estourbis(3) en un tournemain(4), En un coup de bûche(5) excessif, Un noctambule(6) en or massif.(7) Les chats fourrés,(8) quand ils l'ont su M'ont posé la patte dessus Pour m'envoyer à la Santé(9) Me refaire une honnêteté. Machin, Chose, Un tel, Une telle,(10) Tous ceux du commun des mortels Furent d'avis que j'aurais dû En bonn' justice être pendu. À la lanterne(11)! et sur-le-champ! Y s'voyaient déjà partageant Ma corde, en tout bien tout honneur(12), En guise de porte-bonheur.(13) Au bout d'un siècle, on m'a jeté À la porte de la Santé. Comme je suis sentimental, Je retourne au quartier natal, Baissant le nez, rasant les murs, Mal à l'aise sur mes fémurs,(14) M'attendant à voir les humains Se détourner de mon chemin. Y' en a un qui m'a dit: " Salut ! Te revoir, on n'y comptait plus..." Y' en a un qui m'a demandé Des nouvelles de ma santé. Lors, j'ai vu qu'il restait encor Du monde et du beau mond' sur terre, Et j'ai pleuré, le cul par terre, Toutes les larmes de mon corps(15).  Georges Brassens 1957 - Je me suis fait tout petit,

It had been a very long while Since I’d had aught to bite into Since I’d put wine in my water Nor any coal into my stove. All morticians on the quiet Were already eyeing me up My last hour was going to chime That was when I went badly wrong. Not to beat long about the bush I killed a man in a wild flash, Clobbering with much too much force A night-reveller stuffed with money. The ermined judges,  finding out Came down very hard upon me Sending me to Santé prison To remake ‘n honest man of me. Lots of folk whose names slip my mind All ordin'ry human beings, Were of a mind, I ought to have In all fairness gone to be hanged. Strung up high and with no delay ! While they saw themselves already Slicing my rope fair and proper, To be shared out as good luck charms. A century on, they threw me out From the gate of Santé Prison As I’m the sentimental sort, I go back to where I was born. Keeping head down, hugging the walls, Ill at ease to be in my shoes, Expecting to see the humans Veer off, to keep out of my way. There’s one who said to me : “Hello! Never counted on seeing you…..” There’s one who enquired news of me - My « Santé » - my health and prison. Then I saw that there still remained People and fine people on earth I flopped to the ground and I wept With uncontrollable tears.

TRANSLATION NOTES

1)      Qu'je n' mettais plus d'vin dans mon eau – The normal practice of putting water in wine is reversed. To avoid sentiment, the poet does not want to tell us too directly that the man was desperately short of food and shelter.

2)      C'est alors que j'ai mal tourné.  There is probably some irony here, as, the state that the was in, makes clear that things had gone badly wrong for him long before.

3)      J'estourbis = I killed.  The poet says he does not wish to beat about the bush but he uses a less usual verb for “to kill.”

4)      en un tournemain = in an instant/ in the twinkling of an eye/.  Perhaps in this case a mad,, impulsive action is implied.

5)      un coup de bûche = a blow with a lump of wood.

6)      Un noctambule = sleepwalker/ night owl/ a late nighter

7)      en or massif  = in solid gold

8)      Les chats fourrés, A slang expression meaning “judges”, descriptive of their robes.

9)      La Santé – The proper noun denotes the Prison in the 13th arrondissement of Paris.  The common noun of course means “health” and this permits puns in the poem.

10)   Machin, Chose, Un tel, Une telle – In English, when we want to quote some-one whose name we forget , we say « Thingummy says…. ».  In French they say « Machin dit….. » or they could use the other devices on this line.

11)   À la lanterne  Wikipedia gives this full explanation :  Lanterne is a French word designating a lantern or lamp post. The word, or the slogan "À la lanterne!" gained special meaning and status in Paris and France during the early phase of the French Revolution, from the summer of 1789. Lamp posts served as an instrument to mobs to perform extemporised lynchings and executions in the streets of Paris during the revolution when the people of Paris occasionally hanged officials and aristocrats from the lamp posts. The English equivalent would be "String Them Up!" or "Hang 'Em High!

12)   (faire) en tout bien tout honneur means something done with honourable intent and without any reservations

13)   En guise de porte-bonheur. There is an old superstition that a piece of hangman’s rope already used in an execution, brings good luck.

14)   fémurs, are femurs in English also of course, which are the thighbones – so we don’t share the idiom.

15)   Pleurer les larmes de mon corps means to cry my eyes out

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La Marine - Paul Fort's poem of a sailor's compressed love life

Brassens sings this famous poem by Paul Fort. They are the frank words of a sailor telling how a navy career obliges sailors to cram all their love life into the short interludes of shore leave.  Typically for Paul Fort, love wins the day.  His view of  human love was coloured by his deep, lifelong love of his wife, which he shows in his poem:
"Si le bon dieu avait voulu".

La Marine

On les r'trouve en raccourci, Dans nos p'tits amours d'un jour, Toutes les joies, tous les soucis Des amours qui dur'nt toujours! C'est là l'sort de la marine Et de tout's nos petit's chéries. On accoste. Vite! un bec Pour nos baisers, l'corps avec. Et les joies et les bouderies, Les fâcheries, les bons retours, Il y a tout, en raccourci, Des grands amours dans nos p'tits. On a ri, on s'est baisés Sur les neunoeils, les nénés, Dans les ch'veux à pleins bécots, Pondus comm' des oeufs, tout chauds. Tout c'qu'on fait dans un seul jour! Et comme on allonge le temps! Plus d'trois fois, dans un seul jour, Content, pas content, content. Y' a dans la chambre une odeur D'amour tendre et de goudron. Ça vous met la joie au cœur, La peine aussi, et c'est bon. On n'est pas là pour causer Mais on pens', même dans l'amour. On pens' que d'main il f'ra jour, Et qu'c'est une calamité C'est là l'sort de la marine Et de tout's nos petit's chéries. On accoste. Mais on devine Qu'ça n'sera pas le paradis. On aura beau s'dépécher, Faire, bon Dieu! la pige au temps, Et l'bourrer d'tous nos péchés Ça n'sera pas ça; et pourtant Toutes les joies, tous les soucis Des amours qui dur'nt toujours! On les r'trouve en raccourci, Dans nos p'tits amours d'un jour,

They are found in abridged form, In our little one day love-ins, All the joys, all the worries Of loves th’t go on uncurtailed! That’s the fate th’navy gives us And our little loved-ones too. We land back home. Quick! One peck For our kisses, th’body too. And the joys and the sulking, Fallings out and making up, It’s all here, in abridged form, Big love stories in our small. We laughed, we exchanged kisses Upon the eyes, the titties Lots of smooching in the hair. Nestled like eggs- nice and warm. All that you do in one day! And how you spin out the time! More than three times in one day Content, not content, content. There’s a scent in the bedroom Of tender love and coal tar It puts joy into your heart Some pain also, and that’s right. You are not there for the chat But you think, while making love You think that next day will dawn An’that it’s a calamity. That’s the fate th’navy gives us And our little loved-ones too. We land home. But we can guess That it will not be heaven. There’s no point in rushing about Trying, lord! to hold back time, And stuff it full with our sins. That cannot be so; and yet.... All the joys, all the worries Of loves th’t go on uncurtailed! They are found in abridged form, In our little one day love-ins.

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