La legende de la nonne - Hugo's poetry finds full scope in the savagery of medieval superstition

Brassens put to music nine verses of this famous poem written by Victor Hugo in 1828. (I include Hugo's poem in full along with my translation at the end of this post.) 

Left - Portrait of Victor Hugo



Orthodox Christians might perhaps regard this poem as a salutary warning not to transgress the rules of the Church. It would seem however that Hugo’s intent - as well as to write a powerful, evocative poem - was to draw attention to a practice in education of instilling fabricated terrors in the minds of young children, at an age when they have no defence, in order to exercise permanent control over them through life.

We can expect Georges Brassens, who was hostile to institutional authority, including that of the Church, to share Hugo's misgivings about these educational methods.

La légende de la nonne - The legend of the nun

Venez, vous dont l'œil étincelle,( 1) Pour entendre une histoire encor’ Approchez, je vous dirai celle De Doña Padilla del Flor. Elle était d'Alanje, où s'entassent Les collines et les halliers. Enfants, voici des bœufs (2) qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers. Il est des filles à Grenade, Il en est à Séville aussi, Qui, pour la moindre sérénade, À l'amour demandent merci; Il en est que parfois embrassent, Le soir, de hardis cavaliers. Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers. Ce n'est pas sur ce ton frivole Qu'il faut parler de Padilla, Car jamais prunelle espagnole D'un feu plus chaste ne brilla; Elle fuyait ceux qui pourchassent Les filles sous les peupliers. Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers. Elle prit le voile à Tolède, Au grand soupir des gens du lieu, Comme si, quand on n'est pas laide, On n’avait droit d'épouser Dieu.(5) Peu s'en fallut que ne pleurassent Les soudards et les écoliers. Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers. Or, la belle à peine cloîtrée, Amour en son cœur s'installa. Un fier brigand de la contrée Vint alors et dit : "Me voilà !" Quelquefois les brigands surpassent En audace les chevaliers Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers. Il était laid: les traits austères, La main plus rude que le gant ; Mais l'amour a bien des mystères, Et la nonne aima le brigand. On voit des biches qui remplacent Leurs beaux cerfs par des sangliers.(6) Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers. La nonne osa, dit la chronique, Au brigand par l'enfer conduit, Aux pieds de Sainte Véronique (7) Donner un rendez-vous la nuit, À l'heure où les corbeaux croassent, Volant dans l'ombre par milliers. Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers. Or quand, dans la nef descendue, La nonne appela le bandit, Au lieu de la voix attendue, C'est la foudre qui répondit. Dieu voulut que ses coups frappassent Les amants par Satan liés. Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent Cachez vos rouges tabliers. Cette histoire de la novice, Saint Ildefonse, abbé, voulut (8) Qu'afin de préserver du vice Les vierges qui font leur salut, Les prieures la racontassent Dans tous les couvents réguliers. Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent Cachez vos rouges tabliers. Verses taken by Brassens from the poem of Victor Hugo written in 1828 Brassens song:1955 - Chanson pour l'Auvergnat

Come near, you whose eyes sparkle bright To hear me tell a story again, Gather round, I will tell the one Of Doña Padilla del Flor She came from Alanje, where mount up high The hillsides and the brushland. Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores.(3) There are girls in Grenada There are some in Seville as well Who at the slightest serenade Are left begging mercy from love And some of them chance to be kissed By bold suitors, at eventide.(4) Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. It is not in such  light manner That we should speak of Padilla For never a Spanish eye Has shone with a fire so chaste She would flee from men who chased Girls beneath the poplar trees Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. In Toledo she took the veil To shocked sighs from the local men As if, when one is not plain, You’d no right to get wed to God They were very close to tears Ordinary lads and scholars Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. Now, scarce was the maid in cloisters, Love for a man seized her heart A proud brigand from thereabouts Then had come and said: « Behold me ». Sometimes brigands go far beyond Noble knights in daring Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. He was ugly : his looks austere His hand rougher than a glove But love has mysteries aplenty And the nun fell for the brigand You see female deer who oust Handsome bucks to be with wild boar Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. The nun dared, so history tells us With the brigand, under hell’s lead At the feet of St. Veronique To arrange a night rendez-vous, At the hour when the crows caw loud Flying thousands strong in the dark. Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. Now when, having walked down the nave The nun called out for the bandit’  Instead of the voice expected T’was a thunderbolt which replied God wished  its blasts to strike down The lovers by Satan conjoined Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. This tale of the novice nun Ildefonse, priest and saint, wanted For the purpose of keeping from vice Virgins who seek their salvation Prioresses to relate In all the regular convents. Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores.

Translation Notes

1) « vous dont l'oeil étincelle » The nun is telling her horrific tale to happy young children

2) « bœufs qui passent » - boeufs is the word for cattle, but the word is often used for bullocks- Larousse tells me. 
We all know about "a red rag to a bull” and hence the teacher nun's anxiety. However the use of these two lines as a final refrain to each verse, when they have no link with actual tale, gives us another message. Their teacher is deliberately filling the defenceless minds with exaggerated fears and the final verse of the poem explains that this is deliberate in order to exert religious discipline. 3) “vos rouges tabliers” The children would wear smocks to protect their clothes during the school day.
4) The inappropriate, excited detail suggests the sexual repression of the celibate nuns

5) « épouser Dieu » When a novice nun made her vows, the ritual was of marriage to Jesus Christ and a ring was put on her finger.

6)On voit des biches qui remplacent leurs beaux cerfs par des sangliers - The nuns equate human love with unnatural animal mating.

7) Sainte Véronique. They are to meet under the statue of Saint Veronica.

8) « Cette histoire de la novice, Saint Ildefonse, abbé, voulut » This last verse is also the last verse of Hugo’s poem. Here Hugo gives the name of the church dignitary from whom this story originated and gives his motive: to frighten any nuns tempted to break their vows.

We should expect Hugo, the great humanitarian defender of downtrodden people to be hostile to this abuse of the innocence of children. We should be wary, however, of associating Hugo too closely with pure rationalism. Hugo was mystic who believed he was able to converse with Virgil, Shakespeare and Jesus Christ - but perhaps not with the Christ of Saint Ildefonse's depiction!

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Barbara gets the lilt of the poetry in her recording of Brassens' song:

THE FULL TEXT OF HUGO'S POEM WITH TRANSLATION

This poem is regarded as one of Hugo’s most beautiful poems. Unfortunately the best verses are the later ones that Brassens did not include. We can understand that it would have been a very long song if he had!

In these omitted verses the poetic imagination of the great man of French literature is given full scope as he describes the nightmarish ordeals undergone by the tortured lovers as they emerge from the jaws of hell each night in their frustrated quest to meet together. As well as the epic horror there is also the lyrical pathos of the tragedy of two human beings, whose fatal crime was to fall in love. 

Venez, vous dont l’œil étincelle, Pour entendre une histoire encor, Approchez : je vous dirai celle De doña Padilla del Flor. Elle était d’Alanje, où s’entassent Les collines et les halliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers !  Il est des filles à Grenade, Il en est à Séville aussi, Qui, pour la moindre sérénade, À l’amour demandent merci ; Il en est que d’abord embrassent, Le soir, de hardis cavaliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Ce n’est pas sur ce ton frivole Qu’il faut parler de Padilla, Car jamais prunelle espagnole D’un feu plus chaste ne brilla ; Elle fuyait ceux qui pourchassent Les filles sous les peupliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Rien ne touchait ce cœur farouche, Ni doux soins, ni propos joyeux ; Pour un mot d’une belle bouche, Pour un signe de deux beaux yeux, On sait qu’il n’est rien que ne fassent Les seigneurs et les bacheliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Elle prit le voile à Tolède, Au grand soupir des gens du lieu, Comme si, quand on n’est pas laide, On avait droit d’épouser Dieu. Peu s’en fallut que ne pleurassent Les soudards et les écoliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Mais elle disait : « Loin du monde, Vivre et prier pour les méchants ! Quel bonheur ! quelle paix profonde Dans la prière et dans les chants ! Là, si les démons nous menacent, Les anges sont nos boucliers ! » - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Or, la belle à peine cloîtrée, Amour en son cœur s’installa. Un fier brigand de la contrée Vint alors et dit : Me voilà ! Quelquefois les brigands surpassent En audace les chevaliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers !  Il était laid : les traits austères, La main plus rude que le gant ; Mais l’amour a bien des mystères, Et la nonne aima le brigand. On voit des biches qui remplacent Leurs beaux cerfs par des sangliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Pour franchir la sainte limite, Pour approcher du saint couvent, Souvent le brigand d’un ermite Prenait le cilice et souvent La cotte de maille où s’enchâssent Les croix noires des Templiers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! La nonne osa, dit la chronique, Au brigand par l’enfer conduit, Aux pieds de sainte Véronique Donner un rendez-vous la nuit, À l’heure où les corbeaux croassent, Volant dans l’ombre par milliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Padilla voulait, anathème ! Oubliant sa vie en un jour, Se livrer, dans l’église même, Sainte à l’enfer, vierge à l’amour, Jusqu’à l’heure pâle où s’effacent Les cierges sur les chandeliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Or quand, dans la nef descendue, La nonne appela le bandit, Au lieu de la voix attendue, C’est la foudre qui répondit. Dieu voulu que ses coups frappassent Les amants par Satan liés. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers !  Aujourd’hui, des fureurs divines Le pâtre enflammant ses récits, Vous montre au penchant des ravines Quelques tronçons de murs noircis, Deux clochers que les ans crevassent, Dont l’abri tuerait ses béliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Quand la nuit, du cloître gothique Brunissant les portails béants, Change à l’horizon fantastique Les deux clochers en deux géants ; À l’heure où les corbeaux croassent, Volant dans l’ombre par milliers... - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Une nonne, avec une lampe, Sort d’une cellule à minuit ; Le long des murs le spectre rampe, Un autre fantôme le suit ; Des chaînes sur leurs pieds s’amassent, De lourds carcans sont leurs colliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! La lampe vient, s’éclipse, brille, Sous les arceaux court se cacher, Puis tremble derrière une grille, Puis scintille au bout d’un clocher ; Et ses rayons dans l’ombre tracent Des fantômes multipliés. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Les deux spectres qu’un feu dévore, Traînant leur suaire en lambeaux, Se cherchent pour s’unir encore, En trébuchant sur des tombeaux ; Leurs pas aveugles s’embarrassent Dans les marches des escaliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Mais ce sont des escaliers fées, Qui sous eux s’embrouillent toujours ; L’un est aux caves étouffées, Quand l’autre marche au front des tours ; Sous leurs pieds, sans fin se déplacent Les étages et les paliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Élevant leurs voix sépulcrales, Se cherchant les bras étendus, Ils vont... Les magiques spirales Mêlent leurs pas toujours perdus ; Ils s’épuisent et se harassent En détours, sans cesse oubliés. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers !  La pluie alors, à larges gouttes, Bat les vitraux frêles et froids ; Le vent siffle aux brèches des voûtes ; Une plainte sort des beffrois ; On entend des soupirs qui glacent, Des rires d’esprits familiers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers !  Une voix faible, une voix haute, Disent : « Quand finiront les jours ? Ah ! nous souffrons par notre faute ; Mais l’éternité, c’est toujours ! Là, les mains des heures se lassent À retourner les sabliers... » - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! L’enfer, hélas ! ne peut s’éteindre. Toutes les nuits, dans ce manoir, Se cherchent sans jamais s’atteindre Une ombre blanche, un spectre noir, Jusqu’à l’heure pâle où s’effacent Les cierges sur les chandeliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers ! Si, tremblant à ces bruits étranges, Quelque nocturne voyageur, En se signant demande aux anges Sur qui sévit le Dieu vengeur, Des serpents de feu qui s’enlacent Tracent deux noms sur les piliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers !  Cette histoire de la novice, Saint Ildefonse, abbé, voulut Qu’afin de préserver du vice Les vierges qui font leur salut, Les prieures la racontassent Dans tous les couvents réguliers. - Enfants, voici des bœufs qui passent, Cachez vos rouges tabliers !

Come near, you whose eyes sparkle bright To hear me tell a story again, Gather round, I will tell the one Of Doña Padilla del Flor She came from Alanje, where mount up high The hillsides and the brushland. Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores.(3) There are girls in Grenada There are some in Seville as well Who at the slightest serenade Are left begging love for mercy And some of them chance to be kissed By bold suitors, at eventide.(4) Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. It is not in such  light manner That we should speak of Padilla For never a Spanish eye Has shone with a fire so chaste She would flee from men who chased Girls beneath the poplar trees Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. Nothing could touch this steadfast heart Not kindnesses nor merry chat For a word from beautiful mouth For a sign from two lovely eyes They knew there was nothing doing The noblemen and the scholars Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. In Toledo she took the veil To shocked sighs from the local men As if, when one is not ugly, You’d no right to get wed to God They were very close to tears Both the roughnecks and the scholars Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. But she would say:”Far from the world To live and pray for the wicked! What happiness!  What deep peace! In the praying and in the chants! There if the demons threaten us The angels are our shields!” Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. Now, scarce was the maid in cloisters, Love in her heart found a firm place A proud brigand from thereabouts Then turned up and said: « Here I am! ». Sometimes brigands go far beyond Noble knights in audacity Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. He was ugly : his looks austere His hand rougher than a glove But love has mysteries aplenty And the nun fell for the brigand You see female deer who oust Handsome bucks to be with wild boar Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. To cross the holy boundary To approach the holy convent Oft the brigand from a hermit Would take the cassock and often The coat of mail in which are set The black crosses of the Templars - Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. The nun dared, so the chronicle tells, With the brigand, under hell’s lead At the feet of St. Veronique To arrange a night rendez-vous, At the hour when the crows caw loud Flying thousands strong in the dark. Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. Padilla wanted- anathema ! Forgetting her life in one day To give herself in the church itself Sacred for hell, virginal for love, Until the pale hour when burn out The candles on the candlesticks Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores Now when, having walked down the nave The nun called out for the bandit’  Instead of the voice expected T’was a thunderbolt which replied God wished  its blasts to strike down The lovers by Satan conjoined Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. Nowadays, with furies divine The shepherd impassioning his tales Points out on the slope of the ravines A few remains of blackened walls Two steeples that the years have gnawed Whose shelter would kill his rams Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. When night, on the gothic cloister Burnishing the gaping portals Changes on the eery horizon The two steeples to two giants At time of day when the crows caw loud Flying in thousands in the darkness Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. A nun, holding a lamp Comes from a cell on midnight Along the walls the spectre creeps Another phantom follows Chains upon their feet are stacked Heavy iron yokes form their collars Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. The lamp comes, is hid, shines Neath the arches runs for cover Then dithers behind a grill Then sparkles at the end of a steeple And its beams in the darkness trace Phantoms in countless numbers Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. The two spectres devoured by fire Trailing their shrouds in tatters Seek once more to be together Staggering over the tombstones ; Their blind footsteps lose their way On the steps of the stairways Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. But these are fairy staircases In confused tangle neath them, One to the suffocating cellars When the other leads to the front of the towers. Beneath their feet is a constant shift Of levels and of landings. Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. Raising their sepulcral voices Seeking each other, arms outstretched, They go… The magic spirals Merge their steps forever lost: Grown weary they exhaust themselves In detours, always forgotten Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. The rain falls then in big drops Beats the stained panes frail and cold The wind whistles through gaps in vaults A moan comes from the belfries One hears sighs which make blood run cold Laughter of ghostly spirits. – Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. One voice weak, one voice loud Say : “When are the days to end?” Ah ! We suffer through our own fault But eternity, is forever! There the hands grow weary turning Over the sandglasses of time …. Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. Hell alas can never burn out All the nights in this old house They seek each other never to touch A shadow white, a spectre black Until the pale hour when die out The candles upon their candlesticks Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. If trembling at these strange sounds Some nocturnal traveller Crossing himself asks the angels ‘Gainst whom the avenging God rages, Some close-writhing  serpents of fire Trace two names upon the pillars Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores. This tale of the novice nun Ildefonse, priest and saint, wanted For the purpose of keeping from vice Virgins who seek their salvation That prioresses should tell In all the regular convents. Children here are bullocks passing Cover your bright red pinafores.

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

La mauvaise herbe - The famous song where he portrays himself as the social outcast

This is another of Brassens' songs that was banned on French radio.  It is not hard to imagine why.

In this song, Brassens asks people to allow some space and tolerance to individualists, like him, who cannot accept the conventional values of society. He feels indifferent to patriotism and has no respect for conventional sexual morality.  He has a natural affinity with those whose life-style gets them looked down upon as outsiders.

La mauvaise herbe – The worthless weed (1)

Quand l' jour de gloire est arrivé, (2) Comm' tous les autr's étaient crevés, Moi seul connus le déshonneur De n' pas êtr' mort au champ d'honneur. Je suis d'la mauvaise herbe, Braves gens, braves gens, C'est pas moi qu'on rumine Et c'est pas moi qu'on met en gerbe...(3) La mort faucha les autres Braves gens, braves gens, Et me fit grâce à moi, C'est immoral et c'est comm' ça ! La la la la la la la la Et je m' demand' Pourquoi, Bon Dieu, Ça vous dérange (5) Que j' vive un peu... Et je m' demand' Pourquoi, Bon Dieu, Ça vous dérange Que j' vive un peu... La fille à tout l'monde(6) a bon coeur, Ell' me donne, au petit bonheur Les p'tits bouts d' sa peau, bien cachés, Que les autres n'ont pas touchés. Je suis d'la mauvaise herbe, Braves gens, braves gens, C'est pas moi qu'on rumine Et c'est pas moi qu'on met en gerbe... Elle se vend aux autres, Braves gens, braves gens, Elle se donne à moi, C'est immoral et c'est comme ça ! La la la la la la la la Et je m' demand' Pourquoi, Bon Dieu, Ça vous dérange Qu'on m'aime un peu. Et je m' demand' Pourquoi, Bon Dieu, Ça vous dérange Qu'on m'aime un peu.. Les hommes sont faits, nous dit-on, Pour vivre en band', comm' les moutons. Moi, j' vis seul, et c'est pas demain Que je suivrai leur droit chemin. Je suis d'la mauvaise herbe, Braves gens, braves gens, C'est pas moi qu'on rumine Et c'est pas moi qu'on met en gerbe... Je suis d' la mauvaise herbe, Braves gens, braves gens, Je pousse en liberté Dans les jardins mal fréquentés ! La la la la la la la la Et je m' demand' Pourquoi, Bon Dieu, Ça vous dérange Que j' vive un peu... Et je m' demand' Pourquoi, Bon Dieu, Ça vous dérange Que j' vive un peu... Georges Brassens from the album (1954) - Les amoureux des bancs publics

When th’ day of glory came to pass As all the rest were dead and gone I alone knew the dishonour Of not dying on field of battle. I'm a mere worthless weed Goodly folk, goodly folk, It’s not I, gets chewed t’cud And I'm not what gets put in sheaves. Death mowed down the others Goodly folk, goodly folk, And me it left unharmed, It’s immoral - it's how things go! La la la la la la la la. And I wonder Why then, Good Lord, It  upsets you That I live a bit And I wonder Why, Good Lord, It  upsets you That I live a bit The girl enjoyed by all all is kind, She offers me, when I’m in luck, Her littl' bits of skin well hidden That the other men have not touched. I'm a mere worthless weed Goodly folk, goodly folk, It’s not I, gets chewed t’cud And I'm not what gets put in sheaves. She charges other men, Goodly folk, goodly folk, For what she gives to me. It’s immoral , that’s how things go! La la la la la la la la And I wonder Why then, Good Lord, It  upsets you I get loved a bit And I wonder Why, Good Lord, It  upsets you I get loved a bit All men are made, they tell us, To live in flocks, the way sheep do, I live alone and it's not soon, That I'll be foll’wing their strait path. I'm a mere worthless weed Goodly folk, goodly folk, It’s not I, gets chewed t’cud And I'm not what gets put in sheaves. I'm a mere worthless weed Goodly folk, goodly folk, I grow entirely free In gardens where few folk venture! La la la la la la la la And I wonder Why then, Good Lord, It  upsets you That I live a bit And I wonder Why, Good Lord, It  upsets you That I live a bit

Translation Notes

(1) “La mauvaise herbe” means “the weed”, but I put “worthless” in front because of image conveyed in English when the epithet is applied to a person - we think of some-one weak and ineffectual. This is not appropriate for the powerful physical presence and personality of Brassens. In reality, weeds are often the biggest and sturdiest plants in our gardens and I suppose that some-one described as a weed ought to feel quite flattered.

(2) “Le jour de gloire est arrive” – a well-known line in the French National Anthem-

(3) The “Good people” are not weeds like the author of the poem. The contrasting image for these worthy folk is the corn of the fields. They have a useful purpose in the world, just as the corn feeds the cattle and yields a fruitful harvest, evidenced by the sheaves in the fields.

(4) « Faire grâce à » means « to spare ».

(5) “Ça vous derange” – The “you” he is addressing is not primarily God but all the worthy people who might disapprove of him and his conduct- in which case “Good God” would seem to be more of an exclamation.

(6) The girl who sells herself to everyone has put herself outside the bounds of respectable society. She recognises that he is a fellow outsider. In their natural fellowship, the poet and the prostitute enjoy an uninhibited and sincere relationship.

Brassens had depicted himself as an outsider in his song collection of the previous year with his song; "La mauvaise reputation".

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

Mourir pour des idées- a deeply felt song where he pleads for tolerance and restraint

Mourir pour des idées

A heartfelt poem against those who propagate suicidal ideals.

Brassens tells us that after the hostile response he has had after writing two recent songs (“Les deux oncles” and “La tondue”) he has decided to change his standpoint and accept that it’s a good idea to die for an ideology, his only proviso being that death should be a lifetime in coming. The song goes on to justify this delay.

Mourir pour des idées Mourir pour des idées, l'idée est excellente. Moi j'ai failli mourir de ne l'avoir pas eue,(1) Car tous ceux qui l'avaient, multitude accablante, En hurlant à la mort me sont tombés dessus. Ils ont su me convaincre et ma muse insolente, Abjurant ses erreurs, se rallie à leur foi Avec un soupçon de réserve toutefois : Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente, D'accord, mais de mort lente. Jugeant qu'il n'y a pas péril en la demeure(2), Allons vers l'autre monde en flânant en chemin Car, à forcer l'allure, il arrive qu'on meure Pour des idées n'ayant plus cours le lendemain. Or, s'il est une chose amère, désolante, En rendant l'âme à Dieu c'est bien de constater Qu'on a fait fausse route, qu'on s'est trompé d'idée, Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente, D'accord, mais de mort lente. Les Saint Jean Bouche d'Or qui prêchent le martyre, Le plus souvent, d'ailleurs, s'attardent ici-bas. Mourir pour des idées, c'est le cas de le dire, C'est leur raison de vivre, ils ne s'en privent pas. Dans presque tous les camps on en voit qui supplantent Bientôt Mathusalem dans la longévité. J'en conclus qu'ils doivent se dire, en aparté (2) "Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente, D'accord, mais de mort lente. Des idées réclamant le fameux sacrifice, Les sectes de tout poil en offrent des séquelles,(3) Et la question se pose aux victimes novices (4) Mourir pour des idées, c'est bien beau mais lesquelles ? Et comme toutes sont entre elles ressemblantes, Quand il les voit venir, avec leur gros drapeau, Le sage, en hésitant, tourne autour du tombeau. (5) Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente, D'accord, mais de mort lente. Encor s'il suffisait de quelques hécatombes (6) Pour qu'enfin tout changeât, qu'enfin tout s'arrangeât ! Depuis tant de grands soirs que tant de têtes tombent, (7) Au paradis sur terre on y serait déjà Mais l'âge d'or sans cesse est remis aux calendes, Les dieux ont toujours soif, (8)n'en ont jamais assez, Et c'est la mort, la mort toujours recommencée... Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente, D'accord, mais de mort lente. Ô vous, les boutefeux, ô vous les bons apôtres, Mourez donc les premiers, nous vous cédons le pas. Mais de grâce, morbleu ! laissez vivre les autres,  La vie est à peu près leur seul luxe ici-bas ; Car, enfin, la Camarde est assez vigilante, Elle n'a pas besoin qu'on lui tienne la faux. Plus de danse macabre autour des échafauds ! Mourons pour des idées, d'accord, mais de mort lente, D'accord, mais de mort lente. 1972 – Fernande.

To die for your ideas. The idea is excellent But I came close to dying for not having one, For all those who had it, an overwhelming mass, While howling for my blood came at me with full force. They managed to convince me, and my insolent muse Recanting her mistakes, rallies to their belief With one tiny proviso all the same Let us die for ideas, fine! but let death come slow Fine! But, let death come slow. Judging that there’s is no great risk in hanging on Let us go to the other world taking our time Because, forcing the pace, chance is that you might die For ideas, no longer current on the morrow. Now if there is a thing, bitter, and heart-breaking On rendering one’s soul to God, it’s to find out That you went wrong and latched onto the wrong idea. Let us die for ideas, fine! but let death come slow Fine! But, let death come slow. The Saint John Chrysotoms (3) who preach for martyrdoms Most often, besides, dawdle down here on earth. To die for  ideas, we are quite right to say so Is their reason for living, they won’t do without. In almost all the groups, you see some  supplanting Soon Methuselah’s record for longevity. I conclude that they must whisper to each other: Let us die for ideas, fine! but let death come slow Fine!! But, let death come slow. Ideas demanding the supreme sacrifice Sects of every ilk offer followers of these And the question is asked of the novice victims: To die for ideas, is very nice - but which? And as they are all alike, one with the other When he sees them coming, with their great big standard The wise man, hesitating, gives the tomb more time. Let us die for ideas, fine! but let death come slow Fine! But, let death come slow Again, if it took only a few mass slaughters For all at last to change, all at last be put right Since so many grand nights when so many heads fell In our heaven on earth we’d be already there But the golden age is postponed constantly The gods are still athirst, have never had enough And it is death, death, over and over again Let us die for ideas, fine! but let death come slow Fine! But, let death come slow Oh you firebrands, oh you the good apostles, Be the first to die then, we stand aside for you. But for mercy’s sake, heavens! allow the rest to live. Life is nearly their sole luxury down here For in truth, the grim reaper keeps close enough watch enough She does not need people to hold for her the scythe No more dance macabre around the grim scaffolds Let us die for ideas, fine! but let death come slow Fine! But, let death come slow

(1)     When Brassens says he almost died for not having ideas, he is referring to the violent reception he was given after writing his song "Les Deux Oncles", in which he asked for equal sympathy for one of his uncles who died fighting for the Allied cause and a second who died fighting for the Fascist cause. The ideas that he expressed towards the war caused great anger in the majority of the population.

(2)     la demeure –the general meaning is “dwelling”, but it has a secondary meaning of a legal delay or stay.  Il n'y a pas péril en la demeure is an idiom  meaning  « One is not taking any risk by waiting »

(3)     Saint John Chrysotom the 14th century bishop was known as the “Golden Mouth” on account of the power of his oratory.

(4)     En aparté : When something is said as an aside on the stage, so that, in theory, the audience can hear but the characters in the play cannot.

(5)     Les séquelles usually means consequences, things that follow. Brassens is using its archaic meaning of “followers”. 

(6)     Brassens’ little joke. Martyrdom is something you can’t build up experience in. All martyrs are novices. 

(7)     tourne autour du tombeau. There are two ideas in this line. Collins Robert tells us that “Un individu tourne autour de la maison depuis une heure” means some-one has been hanging around outside the house for an hour. The phrase could also link with the expression: “tourner autour du pot” = take your time about what you are going to do. 

(8)     Hécatombes- A hecatomb was originally a sacrifice to the ancient Greek and Roman gods of 100 oxen or cattle. Brassens uses it in its modern meaning of a mass slaughter. 

(9)     Brassens is talking about the frenzied slaughter of the French Revolution. The alliteration of the “t” in this line is the drumbeat as heads fall. 

(10)  « Les dieux ont soif » is Anatole France’s brilliant novel about the period of the Terror. I have a summary of the book on my literature website. 

To read the summary -it's long!- - click here

A Footnote

Arthur Koestler made this comment about ideologies:

..... the crimes of violence committed for selfish, personal motives are historically insignificant compared to those committed ad majorem gloriam Dei, out of a self-sacrificing devotion to the flag, a leader, a religious faith or political conviction.

Click here to return to the full index of Brassens songs on this blog

La Tondue - His disgust at the reprisals after the Liberation of France

After the liberation of France from the Germans, there was a period when groups of people in France took the law into their own hands and settled scores against those who were accused of collaboration. In some cases people were arbitrarily condemned and then lined up against the wall and shot.
 Among the victims of these reprisals were women who had fraternised with the Germans. Some of these, we are told, were prostitutes who had worked in military brothels -as if this would excuse this public cruelty!- many were just ordinary girls who had fallen for the charms of young men of another nationality. The punishment for these women is described by Brassens.

In this song Brassens expresses his shock at the cruelty of which groups of people are capable in the grip of a strong. self-righteous, idea.

La tondue -The girl with the shaven head

La belle qui couchait avec le roi de Prusse,(1) Avec le roi de Prusse, À qui l'on a tondu le crâne rasibus, Le crâne rasibus, Son penchant prononcé pour les "ich liebe dich ", (2) Pour les "ich liebe dich ", Lui valut de porter quelques cheveux postiches,  Quelques cheveux postiches. Les braves sans-culottes, et les bonnets phrygiens, (3) Et les bonnets phrygiens, Ont livré sa crinière à un tondeur de chiens, À un tondeur de chiens. J'aurais dû prendre un peu parti pour sa toison, Parti pour sa toison, J'aurais dû dire un mot pour sauver son chignon, Pour sauver son chignon, Mais je n'ai pas bougé du fond de ma torpeur, Du fond de ma torpeur. Les coupeurs de cheveux en quatre (4) m'ont fait peur, En quatre m'ont fait peur. Quand, pire qu'une brosse, elle eut été tondue, Elle eut été tondue, J'ai dit : " C'est malheureux, ces accroch'-cœur(5) perdus, Ces accroch'-coeur perdus. " Et, ramassant l'un d'eux qui traînait dans l'ornière, Qui traînait dans l'ornière, Je l'ai, comme une fleur, mis à ma boutonnière, Mis à ma boutonnière. En me voyant partir arborant mon toupet, Arborant mon toupet (6) Tous ces coupeurs de natt's m'ont pris pour un suspect, M'ont pris pour un suspect. Comme de la patrie je ne mérite guère, Je ne mérite guère J'ai pas la Croix d'Honneur, j'ai pas la Croix de Guerre, J'ai pas la Croix de Guerre, Et je n'en souffre pas avec trop de rigueur, Avec trop de rigueur. J'ai ma rosette (7) à moi : c'est un accroche-coeur, C'est un accroche-coeur. Georges Brassens 1964 – from the album: Les copains d'abord.

The pretty girl who'd slept with the king of Prussia With the king of Prussia Whose skull the people shaved as bald as a coot Skull bald as a coot Her marked preference for repeats of "ich liebe dich " Repeat "ich liebe dich ", Meant her wearing different mops of hair, not her own Mops of hair not her own. The brave sans-culottes and the bonnets phrygiens And the bonnets phrygiens Handed her flowing locks to a man who sheared dogs To a man who sheared dogs. I ought ‘have sided a bit for her gorgeous mane Have sided for her mane ,. I ought ‘have said a word to save her tight curls To save her tight curls. But I just did not budge from out of my torpor From out  of my torpor The extremist hair cutters put the wind up me They put the wind up me.. When worse than down to a crew-cut, she’d been  shaven She had been shaven I said “It's a shame, those kiss curls to go to waste Kiss curls to go to waste “ And picking one up, left behind in the tyre ruts One left in the tyre ruts, I placed it like a flower, in my buttonhole Placed in my buttonhole On seeing me leave, displaying my trophy Displaying my trophy, All those cutters of  plaits, eyed me with suspicion Eyed me with suspicion. As of my country I’m hardly deserving I’m hardly deserving I've no Medal of Honour, I've no Medal of War I've no Medal of War And I’m not troubled about that overmuch Not troubled overmuch I have a rosette of my own :  it's a girl’s kiss curl It's a girl’s kiss curl.

TRANSLATION NOTES

(1) Le roi de Prusse. Brassens just means a German soldier, not necessarily a man of rank.   A number of explanations have been given for this device. My own feeling is that it conveys the romantic view of the French girl in love of her German lover.

(2) "ich liebe dich ". This phrase, of course, says « Je’t’aime in German.

(3) Les braves sans-culottes, et les bonnets phrygiens. In this line Brassens identifies the masses of ordinary people who joined in the violent reprisals against alleged collaborators with the “sans-culottes” of the Revolution of 1789. They were then given this name because they didn't wear upper class breeches or “culottes”. The Phrygian bonnet was a symbol adopted by the 18th Century Revolution because it was worn at the time of the Roman Empire by former slaves who had been freed. Brassens aroused the anger of left wing activists by his depiction of them in this song.

(4) Les coupeurs de cheveux en quatre. « En quatre » is used in a number of expressions to mean to the highest degree (for example “se mettre en quatre pour quelq’un” = to do your utmost for some-one. If Brassens was indeed threatened in 1945, he would not have been the first choice for bullies to pick on. For a time, Brassens was employed as a bodyguard for Jean-Paul Sartre.

(5) Soft kiss curls. I put in the adjective to give me a 3 syllable translation.

(6) Toupet has 2 meanings (a) tuft of hair (b) impudence. His gesture with the locket of hair was recognised by these administrators of rough justice as an act of defiance.

(7) A Rosette is an insignia of honour in the military and in the Légion d’honneur.

The job completed, the girl is led through the streets with her Franco-German baby.

FOOTNOTE

Arthur Koestler has said:
..... the evils of mankind are caused, not by the primary aggressiveness of individuals, but by their self-transcending identification with groups whose common denominator is low intelligence and high emotionality.

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