Montredon (Occitan)
© Marcel Sauzel (1922-2003). Sung by "La Sauze", 1979
Dos òmes son tombats sul sòl de Montredon.
Emili èra occitan, Joël èra breton.
Son mòrts e cresi pas qu’aquò plan importèsse
Qu’un siá viticultor e l’autre C.R.S.
A Brèst o a Quimpèr se se torna passar,
Emili serà flic e Joël païsan.
Èra un quatre de març, veniá roge lo cèl.
Sus la plana fumava encara l’escaucèl,
Quand la mòrt uniguèt dos fraires de misèria,
Dos innocents pastats dins la mèma matèria
Que, sens saber perqué, gendarme e vinhairon,
Son tombats coma un sol al mièg d’un carrairon.
Un es mòrt per sa tèrra e l’autre per pas res.
Sauprem pas jamai lo pus de plànher quan es.
Vos demandi tanben, e mai se vos arraca,
De los plegar ensem dins la meteissa saca
E de pas pus cercar a tot pèrdre, cossí
De l’un ne faire un sant, de l’autre un assassin.
Bretanha e Lengadòc, cadun perdèt un filh,
Mas los murtrièrs son pas los qu’avián un fusilh.
Èran dins de burèus, tirats a quatre espillas,
Rosetas al revèrs, consciéncias tranquillas.
Los copables per los trapar valdriá melhor
Gaitar cap a París, l’Elisèu, Matinhon.
Jutjaretz benlèu qu’es tardièra ma cançon,
Qu’es passada de mòda e pas pus de sason.
Vos vesi romegar e me faire la tronha :
"Desenterrar los mòrts, s’es pas una vergonha !"
Podètz totjorn bramar, mas per ieu es segur
Que Montredon es mai vivent que Montsegur.
Dins vint ans i aurà pus degun a Montredon.
Pus degun, e de vin aurà rajat jol pont.
Mas del quatre de març, aurem grand gaug encara,
Per ne nos remebrar, del cant d’una guitarra,
E per tornar trapar, foguèssa roge o blanc,
Al vin setanta sièis, un rèire-gost de sang. | Montredon
Two men fell on the ground of Montredon (1),
Emil was Occitan, Joel was Breton,
They're dead and I don't think it matters much
That one was a grape-grower and the other a CRS (2) man
In Brest or in Quimper, if it happens again,
Emil will be a cop and Joel a farmer.
It was a 4th of March, the sky was turning red,
On the plain, the unearthing holes around the vine stocks were still steaming
When death joined two brothers in misfortune,
Two innocents kneaded/molded in the same matter
Who, without knowing why, gendarme and grape-grower,
Fell down as one in the middle of a path (3).
One died for his land and the other for nothing,
We'll never know which one is to be most sorry for,
So, I ask from you, even if you're reluctant,
To wrap them together in the same bag
And to seek no more desperately how
To make a saint out of one and a killer out of the other.
Brittany and Languedoc, each one lost a son,
But the murderers are not the ones who had a gun,
They were in offices, well turned-out,
With rosettes on their lapels and clear consciences.
To find the culprits, it'd be better
To look towards Paris, the Élysée, Matignon (4)
You'll maybe judge my song to be late,
To be out of date and out of season,
I see you grumble and be mad at me:
"To unbury the dead, isn't it a shame?!"
You can yell as you want, but for me, it's sure
That Montredon is more alive than Montsegur (5)
In twenty years, there'll be no one any more in Montredon,
No one any more and wine will have flowed under the bridge (6),
But, to remember the 4th of March,
We'll still have great pleasure from the song of a guitar,
And to find once more, be it red or white,
To the [19]76 wine, an after-taste of blood. |