[Song of the Week] La Complainte de la Butte

Something on the autoplay item on the current radio (and the Rufus avalanche continues..) If you loved Moulin Rouge the movie/musical, if you love the soundtrack, you'd definitely know this. This rendition by Rufus is what started and drew my interest deep into his work, but the song itself is an old one, written by Georges van Parys (wiki entry in French), a proliferous Parisien composer of film and opera music, whose long career spanned the 30s thru the 70s. It was first used in Jean Renoir (impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir's second son, interesting eh)'s film French Cancan in 1955. La Complainte de la Butte is a chanson of Paris in essence, the Moulin a famous feature of Paris (made into six films so far) and 'les escaliers de la butte' ('the steps of Montmartre') refers to the hilly landscape of Montmartre, a scenic district of Paris. (Remember the long uphill stairs in Amelie? That was Montmartre too.) The lyrics, in French, are exquisitely written, and this version of English translation quite did it justice. Enjoy~

La lune trop blême pose un diadème sur tes cheveux roux
La lune trop rousse de gloire éclabousse ton jupon plein d'trous
La lune trop pâle caresse l'opale de tes yeux blasés
Princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon cœur brisé

The moon, all too fair, in your russet-red hair sets a sparkling crown
The moon, all too red with glory, is spread on your poor, tattered gown
The moon, all too white, caresses the light in your world-weary eyes
Princess of the street, do allow me to greet you, my broken heart cries

Chorus:
The stairways up to la butte
Can make the wretched sigh
While windmill wings of the moulin
shelter you and I
[Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux miséreux
Les ailes des moulins protègent les amoureux
The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor
The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours]


Petite mandigote je sens ta menotte qui cherche ma main
Je sens ta poitrine et ta taille fine
J'oublie mon chagrin
Je sens sur tes lèvres une odeur de fièvre de gosse mal nourri
Et sous ta caresse je sens une ivresse qui m'anéantit

I feel, beggar-girl, your fetters, they curl as they seek out my wrists
I feel your young breasts, your thin little waist
I lose my regrets
I taste on your mouth the feverish breath of a half-starving waif
And with your caress I sense drunkenness erasing my life

The stairways up to la butte
Can make the wretched sigh
While windmill wings of the moulin
shelter you and I
[Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux miséreux
Les ailes des moulins protègent les amoureux]

Et voila qu'elle trotte la lune qui flotte, la princesse aussi
La da da da da da da da da da
Mes rêves épanouis
Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux miséreux
Les ailes des moulins protègent les amoureux

And see how she skips, the moon how she drifts,
The princess in tow
Da da da da da da da da da da
My reveries grow
The steps of Montmartre, all uphill, are hardest on the poor
The sails of the mill, like wings, shelter all paramours.