Robert Darnton
An Early Information Society

Back to A Cabaret-Concert by Hélène Delavault
Twelve Songs from Paris, circa 1750
Sung to Their Original Tunes
Texts and Translations

English Translations

1A "Qu'une bâtarde de catin"

1 on Mme de Pompadour and Louis XV

That a bastard strumpet
Should get ahead in the court,
That in love and in wine,
Louis should seek some easy glory,
Ah! there he is, ah! there he is
He who doesn't have a care.

2 The Dauphin

That Monseigneur, our fat Dauphin
Should be as stupid as he looks,
That the state should be afraid of
The future painted in his face
[Ah! there he is, etc.]

3 Pompadour's brother, the marquis de Marigny, alias Abel Poisson

That dazzled by a vain luster,
Poisson should play the fop,
That he should think that at court,
An ass is difficult to spot.

4 The maréchal de Saxe

That Maurice, that man of might,
Should be more exalted than Alexander
For having forced to capitulate
Cities that did not resist.

5 The maréchal de Belle-Isle

That our heroic man of projects
Should have looked on indolently,
While to the shame of France
The Hungarians pillaged Provence.

6 The chancellor d'Aguesseau

That the decrepit chancellor
Should cease administering justice,
That in fact he has a son,
Who even sells justice.

7 The ministers Maurepas and St. Florentin

That Maurepas, St. Florentin
Should know nothing of the art of war,
That this sanctimonious pair
Should barely be able to make it in bed

1B"Quand mon amant me fait la cour" or ""L'Amanttimide"

When my lover woos me,
He languishes, he weeps, he sighs,
And spends the whole day with me
Discoursing on his suffering.
Ah! If only he would spend it differently,
He would please me infinitely.

. . . . . .

For this lover, so completely cold,
I must find some compensation.
I want one who can make better use
Of my ardor.
May he be happy at every moment
And never contented.

2A"Par vos façons nobles et franches"

By your noble and free manner,
Iris, you enchant our hearts.
On our path you strew flowers.
But they are white flowers.

2B"Sur vos pas charmante duchesse"

On your footsteps, charming duchess,
Instead of graces and laughter,
Love sets fluttering constantly
A swarm of bats.

3Song on the battle between the king and the allied army commanded bythe Duke of Cumberland [son of George II] at Lawfeldt in Flanders onJuly 2, 1749

All Paris is very happy.
The king is off to Holland.
All Paris is very happy.
We gave Cumberland a beating
And told him, "Kid,
Your daddy's waiting for you.
Say good-bye to Zeeland,
And quick, bugger off."

4On the proclamation of peace to take place on February 12, 1749

So at last it is on Wednesday
That with a lot of show,
Both peace and indigence
Will be confirmed in Paris,
Machault [the controller general of finance] not wanting, it's said,
La faridondaine, la faridondon,
To withdraw the taxes that he levied,
Biribis,
In the manner of Barbari, my friend.

5Song about the celebration given on the occasion of the proclaimingof the peace

What is this public banquet?
Is it a picnic?
no,
It's a blast
Given, they say
To celebrate the peace.
And all these fancy preparations
Are being charged to the city.
What delicacy, what taste
Reigns everywhere.
What dazzling effects
Are given off by those buffets.
And that golden dungeon,
So well decorated,
Is a sacred temple.

But lo! On the water,
Yet another charm,
I see floating a hall
In which Bacchus
Is getting Comus drunk
And running a house of ill-repute.
Can one name the creator
Of this enchanting spectacle?
Name him, say you? No,
For does the name of Bernage count for anything?

[Bernage,the Prévost des Marchands in Paris, was roundly satirized forbungling the celebrations of the much-hated Treaty ofAix-la-Chapelle. He commissioned ridiculous floats and madeinadequate distributions of food and drink.]

6"A Dieu mon cher Maurepas"

1
Farewell, dear Maurepas,
There you are in a fine mess.
You must depart right away
For your estate in Bourges.
Take a swig, take a swig,
Comrades, take a swig.

2
What a pity that Chauvelin,
Your tender and benign friend,
No longer lives in that town;
You could have set up house together.

3
It's said that Mother Slut,
Who gave you such a run-around,
And is pleased at the [ministry's] collapse,
Was the one who caused your fall.

4
What ever put it in your head
To provoke her proud anger?
That brazen silly goose
Knocked you off your ladder.

5
As a courtier, you should have
Heaped flattery on her,
And licked her ass,
Like La Vallière

6
Just consider for a moment
The difference of your fates.
You got cashiered,
And he got the Order of the Saint Esprit.

7
In order to succeed at court,
No matter who may play the game,
You must bow down before the idol,
The Princess of Etiole.

[Pompadour'smarried name was dame Le Normant d'Etiolles before she became theking's mistress and received the title of marquise de Pompadour.]

7"Les grands seigneurs s'avilissent"

The great lords are making themselves vile,
The financiers are making themselves rich,
All the Fish [Poissons, an allusion to Pompadour's maiden name] are growing big.
It's the reign of the good-for-nothings.
The state's finances are being drained
By construction, extravagant expenditure.
The state is falling into decadence.
The king doesn't make order of anything, thing, thing.

A little bourgeoise
Raised like a shop girl,
Judges everything by her own measure,
Turns the court into a slum.
The king, despite his scruples,
Feebly burns for her,
And this ridiculous flame
Makes all of Paris laugh, laugh, laugh.

That lowly slut
Governs him insolently.
And it's she who for a price
Selects the men for the top positions.
Everyone kneels before this idol.
The courtier humiliates himself,
And in submitting to this infamy,
Becomes even more indigent, gent, gent.

A stale composure,
Yellow, speckled skin,
Each tooth tarnished,
Her eyes insipid, her neck elongated,
Without wit, without character,
Her soul vile and mercenary,
Her talk like that of a village gossip,
Everything is base about Poisson, son, son.

If among the chosen beauties,
She was one of the prettiest;
One pardons follies,
When the object is a jewel.
But for the sake of such an insignificant character,
Such a silly creature,
To be the target of so much nattering,
Everyone thinks the king must be mad, mad, mad.

What do I care if they make songs about me
And attribute a hundred vices to me,
Don't I still have my crown?
Am I no less a king, no less well off?
It is only an extreme love,
Mightier than any diadem,
That makes a king turn pale
And his great power reduced to nothing, nothing, nothing.

Charming mistress, see whether
It is the honor of inducing tenderness
That drives you to
Acquiesce in his love.
Be careful to conserve the power
Of France's much-beloved,
If you don't want people to think
That he took you only to, to, to....

8 "Il faut sans relâche

We must without respite
Make up songs.
The more Poisson gets angry,
The more we will produce new ones.
Everyday, she offers
Material for couplets
And wants to shut up in prison
Those who have made them.

They are worthy of punishment,
Those that have painted her beauty,
Without having sung
Such remarkable features
As her nasty bosom,
Her hands and her arms,
And her breath, which often
Hardly smells sweet.

The mad indecency
Of her [amateur] opera,
Where decorum requires
Every minister to be present.
It's required that one vaunt
Her droning way of singing,
Her goat-like voice,
Her frenzied style of acting.

She wants us to laud
Her meager talent,
Thinks herself firmly
On the throne for a long time.
But her foot is slipping,
The king is mending his ways;
And by sacrificing her,
He is winning back our hearts.

9 "Le roi sera bientôt las"

The king will soon be tired
Of his silly goose.
Boredom is stalking him, devouring him,
Even in her arms.
What? he says. Still more operas,
Will we still see more of them?

10 "Jadis c'était Versailles"

It used to be Versailles
That set the standard of good taste;
But today the rabble
Is reigning, has the upper hand.
If the court degrades itself,
Why should we be surprised:
Isn't it from the central food market
That we get our fish [Poisson]?

11 "Notre pauvre roi Louis"

Our poor king Louis
Is caught in some new chains.
It was at his son's wedding
That he got relief from his widowhood.
Haïe, haïe, haïe, Jeannette.

The bourgeois of Paris
Had an advantage at the [masked] ball.
For his [next] encounter,
He [the king] made his choice from a circle of gossips.

[Theking supposedly began his affair with Pompadour at a masked ball tocelebrate the wedding of the dauphin. At that time she was marriedto Charles Guillaume Le Normant d'Etiolles, a financier who was thenephew of the notorious tax farmer Le Normant de Tournehem: hence thereferences in the next verse.]

The king, they say at court,
Has gone into finance.
There he is, hoping some day
To make his fortune.

In vain, the ladies of the court
Have dared to find it ridiculous.
Neither the king nor the god of love
Have ever had any scruples.

12 "Hé quoi, bourgeoise téméraire"

Well then, reckless bourgeoise,
You say that you have been able to please the king
And that he has satisfied your hopes.
Stop using such subtleties;
We know that that evening
The king wanted to give proof of his tenderness,
And couldn't.

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