“The things we do for warmth,” or
Meteorological Prostitution in French Children’s Songs
“Au clair de la lune” is a traditional French folk song, often taught to children
who are first learning an instrument.
The song tells the story of a homeless man who stands shivering outside a
friend’s house on a cold winter night. Turned away and at his friend’s
suggestion, the vagrant proceeds to seduce the widow next door to get
lodging for the night.
In the final verse, the narrator acknowledges with droll gallic humor that the
widow and the homeless guy probably had sex all night long. This ain’t no
cup running away with no spoon; this is a hardcore, full-on, French
children’s classic.1 While I was walking my mom’s dog tonight, I crafted a singable
translation of it …
Original
My singable translation
Wikipedia Literal translation
Au clair de la lune
"Au clair de la lune,
Mon ami Pierrot,
Prête-moi ta plume
Pour écrire un mot.
Ma chandelle est morte,
Je n'ai plus de feu.
Ouvre-moi ta porte
Pour l'amour de Dieu."
In the cold pale moonlight
“In the cold pale moonlight,
My old friend Pierrot,
lend me a pen and paper
so I can write a note.
I need a light to write by
and shelter from the cold!
Unlock the door and open up
for the love of God!”
By the Light of the Moon
"By the light of the moon,
My friend Pierrot,
Lend me your quill
To write a word.
My candle is dead,
I have no light left.
Open your door for me
For the love of God."
Au clair de la lune,
Pierrot répondit :
"Je n'ai pas de plume,
Je suis dans mon lit.
Va chez la voisine,
Je crois qu'elle y est,
Car dans sa cuisine
On bat le briquet."
By the cold pale moonlight,
Pierrot thought twice then said:
“I don’t have pen or paper!
What’s more, I’ve gone to bed.
Go over to the neighbor’s -that widow woman’s up.
I can see her through her window,
sleepless with a book.”
By the light of the moon,
Pierrot replied:
"I don't have any pens,
I am in my bed
Go to the neighbor's,
I think she's there
Because in her kitchen
Someone is lighting the fire."
Au clair de la lune,
L'aimable Lubin;
Frappe chez la brune,
Elle répond soudain :
–Qui frappe de la sorte?
Il dit à son tour :
–Ouvrez votre porte,
Pour le Dieu d'Amour.
In the cold pale moonlight
that charmer Harlequin
rang the widow’s doorbell
and put on a rakish grin.
“Who comes to call at midnight?
What are you thinking of?”
“Unlock and open up!” (he said)
“For the god of Love!”
By the light of the moon
Likeable Lubin2
Knocks on the brunette's door.
She suddenly responds:
– Who's knocking like that?
He then replies:
– Open your door
for the God of Love!
Au clair de la lune,
On n'y voit qu'un peu.
On chercha la plume,
On chercha du feu.
En cherchant d'la sorte,
Je n'sais c'qu'on trouva;
Mais je sais qu'la porte
Sur eux se ferma.
In the cold pale moonlight
you can’t see very much
you go looking for a place to write,
or read or sit or just
some warmth to make it to the dawn.
Did they find it? No one knows
but the door swung open once that night
and then stayed firmly closed.
By the light of the moon
One could barely see.
The pen was looked for,
The light was looked for.
With all that looking
I don't know what was found,
But I do know that the door
Shut itself on them.
This is how I imagine French kindergarteners talking about the song during their milk-&-Gauloise breaks: “Zis life -- what is she
but a long cold night that forces each of us to barter our very selves for a brief respite from that zero at the soul’s core?”
1
Lubin was a salacious monk character in French commedia dell’arte, but since he’s lost his market share, I’ll conform with the
tradition of switching the name (and character) here to the much more buzz worthy Harlequin.
2