Lyr Add: La Mule (French)

Subject: Lyr Add: La Mule (French)
From: Joe Offer
Date: 05 Nov 20 - 12:18 AM

Another interesting song from my friend Marc Vayssieres:

La mule (Traditionnel, adaptation Malicorne 1979) Dis-moi, dis-moi forgeron Combien pour ferrer ma mule ? C’est cinq sols mon prince Cinq sols et un denier Dis-moi, dis-moi forgeron Si tu tiendras ma mule ? J’en ai tenu d’autres Celle-ci je tiendrai Au premier fer que tu mettras Elle va t’appeler "père" Au premier clou qu’il plante "Mon père", elle l’appelait Qui est donc cette mule Qui m’appelle "père" ? Votre fille Jeanne Qui est morte et enterrée Dis-moi, dis-moi Jeanne Qui t’a changée en mule ? Le curé de la lande C’est lui qui m’a fait damner Le long de la bruyère Quand j’étais jeune fille Une fois la semaine Il venait m’y trouver À ma sœur allez dire Ne va pas à la bruyère Autrement mon père Elle ira se damner Mes habits à la maison Que jamais ne les porte Prenez-les bien vite C’est pour les faire brûler Vous mettrez les cendres Dans un drap de toile blanche À la lune montante Au vent faut les jeter

***** Translation - The Mule ***** Tell me, tell me blacksmith How much to shoe my mule? It's five sols my prince    Five sols and one denier Tell me, tell me blacksmith Will you hold my mule? I did hold others This one I will hold At the first iron you will put She will call you "father" At the first nail he plants "My father", she called him Who is this mule Who calls me "father"? It is your daughter Jeanne Who is dead and buried. Tell me, tell me Jeanne Who changed you into a mule? The priest of the moor It was he who got me damned Along the heather When I was a young girl Once a week He came to find me Go tell my sister Not to go to the moor Otherwise, my father She will damn herself My clothes at home Tell her to never wear them Take them quickly And go burn them You will put the ashes In a white cloth sheet At the rising moon To the wind, you must throw them

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: La Mule (French)
From: Monique
Date: 05 Nov 20 - 02:32 AM

Malicorne recording.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: La Mule (French)
From: Monique
Date: 05 Nov 20 - 02:34 PM

On this album, there's also "Les sept jours de mai" also called "La perdriole". You can see a version on this Mudcat thread. We also have it on Mama Lisa's World with an English translation. It's the same theme as "The Twelve Days of Christmas". Here is Malicorne's version:

LES SEPT JOURS DE MAI 1. Le premier jour de mai C’que j’donnerai à ma mie sera Une perdriole qui va qui vient qui vole Que j’donnerai à ma mie charmante 2. Le deuxième jour de mai C’que j’donnerai à ma mie sera Deux tourterelles Une perdriole qui va qui vient qui vole Que j’donnerai à ma mie charmante 3 ...trois chiens courants... 4 ...quatre canards sauvages... 5 ...cinq lièvres aux champs... 6 ...six agneaux de lait... 7 ...sept saumons d’argent...

THE SEVEN DAYS OF MAY 1. On the first day of May What I'll give to my sweetheart will be A partridge that goes, that comes, that flies That I will give to my lovely sweetheart. 2. On the second day of May What I'll give to my sweetheart will be Two turtledoves A partridge that goes, that comes, that flies That I will give to my lovely sweetheart. 3 ... three hounds ... 4 ... four wild ducks ... 5 ... five hares in the fields ... 6 ... six suckling lambs ... 7 ... seven silver salmon ...

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: La Mule (French)
From: Monique
Date: 05 Nov 20 - 02:55 PM

From the same album: "Les transformations". There are many songs on this theme as you can read on these Mudcat posts #1, #2. This one has been made up with lines from different songs of the same type.

LES TRANSFORMATIONS J’ai fait une maîtresse y’a pas longtemps J’irai la voir dimanche, dimanche j’irai J’y ferai la demande à ma bien-aimée Si tu me suis encore comme un amant Je me ferai rose dans le rosier De moi n’auras jamais aucune amitié Si tu te fais la rose dans le rosier Je m’ ferai l’abeille pour te baiser J’embrasserai la belle tout à mon gré Si tu te fais abeille pour me baiser Je me ferai la caille volant aux blés De moi n’auras jamais aucune amitié Si tu te fais la caille volant aux blés Je m’ ferai renard pour te croquer Je croquerai la belle par amitié Si tu te fais renard pour me croquer Je me ferai la biche dans la forêt De moi n’auras jamais aucune amitié Si tu te fais la biche dans la forêt Je prendrai la forme d’un bon chasseur Je chasserai la belle d’un très bon cœur Ah si tu prends la forme d’un bon chasseur Je me ferai morte et enterrée De moi n’auras jamais aucune amitié Oh si tu t’y mets morte et enterrée Je me mettrai poussière pour te couvrir Je t’épouserai la belle morte ou en vie

THE TRANSFORMATIONS I made a mistress not long ago I'll go see her on Sunday, on Sunday I'll go I'll propose to my beloved If you still follow me as a lover I will make myself a rose in the rosebush From me you'll never get any love If you make yourself the rose in the rosebush I will make myself the bee to kiss you I will kiss the fine girl as I like If you make yourself the bee to kiss me I'll make myself the quail flying in the wheat From me you'll never get any love If you make yourself the quail flying in the wheat I'll make myself a fox to eat you I will eat the fine girl out of love If you make yourself a fox to eat me I'll make myself the doe in the wood From me you'll never get any love If you make yourself the doe in the wood I will take the form of a good hunter I will hunt the fine girl cheerfully Ah if you take the form of a good hunter I'll make myself dead and buried From me you'll never get any love Oh if you make yourself dead and buried I'll make myself dust to cover you I'll marry you, fine girl, dead or alive

. "belle" literally means "beauty" but can be used to mean "fine girl", "sweetheart" or the like.
Note also that these lines belong to old songs in which "maitresse" didn't necessarily involve sex (as is the case today) but rather meant "sweetheart", "girlfriend". The verb "baiser" meant "to kiss", from the Latin "basiare" (Cf. Spanish "besar", Italian "baciare" etc.). Nowadays only the noun retains the original meaning, the verb now only means "to fuck".

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: La Mule (French)
From: Monique
Date: 06 Nov 20 - 08:14 AM

Here's another song from Malicorne album "Le bestiaire": La chasse-gallery,

From the CD leaflet (translated from the French): "It is the legend of the cursed hunts that can be found everywhere in Europe. It has remained very much alive in Normandy and Vendée, where the text of the song and the glossary come from [note by Benjamin Fillion from Saint-Cyr in Talmandais] The music of the verses is a medieval tune and that of the refrains was composed by Gabriel."

From Wikipedia: "The story can be traced back to a French legend about a rich nobleman named Gallery who loved to hunt. He loved it so much that he refused to attend Sunday mass. As punishment for this sin he was condemned to fly forever through the night skies, chased by galloping horses and howling wolves, in a fashion reminiscent of the Wild Hunt stories."

For those who know French: you can find a longer definition of the local words (marked with *) in "Glossaire du Poitou, de la Saintonge et de l'Aunis" by Léopold Favre, 1867. I also recommend reading the French entry about what a "cheval mallet" is, it's the "chevaau" of the 1st verse.

LA CHASSE-GALLERY Gallery s’en va-t-en tête Monté sur un chevaau* Qui a le cou d’une bête Et les deux pieds d’un crapaud (Chorus) Entendez-vous la sarabande ? O l’est la chasse-gallery Qui va bientôt passer par bande Et la garache* et l’alouby* Derrière lui la sorcière Le lutin, le garou Galopant la houlère* Le pitois pis le loup Puis le bège fantôme Tout habillé de blanc Frère fadet et gnôme Chéroge* et revenant Le nain d’humeur plaisante Suivi du feu-follet Trélaude* saute et chante Comme un amirollet* Gremeilloux* de ragage* Le maître dau soula* Démène plein de rage Son sabre de verglas Gallery tourne tourne Emporté par son sort Aqueni* triste et morne Il demande la mort

GALLERY'S HUNT Gallery goes ahead Mounted on an evil horse That has the neck of a beast And the two feet of a toad. (Chorus) Do you hear the saraband? It is Gallery's hunt Which will soon pass in bands And the banshee and the vampire. Behind him the sorceress, The goblin, the werewolf, Riding the sow, The pew and the wolf. Then the greyish ghost All dressed in white, Brother imp and gnome, Red hound and revenant. The dwarf in a joking mood Followed by the wisp Humps, jumps and sings Like a singing spirit. Craving for mayhem, The master of the troop Thrashes, full of rage, His ice saber. Gallery turns, turns, Carried away by his fate. Exhausted, sad and dreary He asks for death.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: La Mule (French)
From: Monique
Date: 07 Nov 20 - 09:31 AM

The next song from Malicorne album "Le bestiaire": Alexandre.
The first part of the song has been borrowed from a Canadian song (see below), the second part has been penned by Marie Yacoub inspired by Claude Seignolles's novella "Le gâloup" (1960)

ALEXANDRE J’étais orphelin de cinq ans De père de mère et de parents. J’étais réduit de cette sorte D’mandant mon pain de porte en porte. Un bon marchand, par charité, De ma pauvreté a eu pitié. Un jour marchant dans la forêt, Mon maître allait par devant moi, Saisi d’une rage destinée, Je levai ma sanglante épée. Sans craindre mon dieu tout puissant, Je trempai la main dans son sang. Mon bon maître, tombant à bas, S’écria : –Grand dieu, qui est là ? Est-ce bien toi, mon Alexandre ? Ne vois-tu pas mon sang se répandre ? Sept ans tu as mangé mon pain ; Aujourd’hui je meurs par ta main. Le jour de mes noces, après souper, Je sortis pour aller danser ; J’aperçus un grand homme pâle, Il avait une triste mine, Une épée dedans sa poitrine. Et alors il suivit mes pas En criant vengeance sur moi. Sept ans, changé en bête, Tu courras comme un damné. Sept ans, dessous la lune, La nuit tu vas hurler. Sept ans, dans sept paroisses, La terreur tu vas semer. Sept ans, saisi de rage, Toujours te faudra errer. Sept ans, le ventre vide, Et de sang assoiffé. Sept ans, des nuits entières, Les hommes vont trembler Jusqu’au soir de pleine lune Où tu seras tué d’une balle bénite. Alors tu seras en paix

ALEXANDER I was a five-year-old orphan Of father, of mother and of parents I was reduced this way Begging my bread from door to door A good merchant for charity Of my poverty took pity One day, walking in the forest, My master was going in front of me Seized with a fated rage I raised my bloody sword Without fearing my almighty god I dipped my hand in his blood My good master falling down Cried, "Great God, who is there? Is it really you, my Alexander? Can't you see my blood spilling? Seven years you ate my bread Today I die by your hand." On my wedding day after supper I went out to go dancing I saw a tall, pale man He looked sad With a sword in his chest And then he followed my steps Crying revenge on me Seven years, turned into a beast, You will run like a damned Seven years under the moon At night you will howl Seven years in seven parishes The terror you will sow Seven years seized with rage You will always have to wander Seven years old with an empty stomach And thirsty of blood Seven years during whole nights Men will tremble Until the evening of the full moon When you will be killed with a holy bullet Then you will be at peace

J’ÉTAIS ORPHELIN DE CINQ ANS J’étais orphelin de cinq ans De pèr' de mère et de parents. J’étais réduit de cette sorte À d'mander mon pain de porte en porte. Un bon marchand, par charité, De ma pauvreté a eu pitié. Ils m'ont pris, ils m'ont adopté Et aux écol's ils m'ont mené. À mes quinze ans, ils me retirent ; Je savais très bien lire, écrire. C'était enfin pour m'enseigner C' que fallait faire pour pratiquer. Un jour marchant dans la forêt, Mon maître allait par devant moi, Saisi d’une rage destinée, Je levai ma sanglante épée. Sans craindre mon Dieu tout puissant, Je trempai la main dans son sang. Mon bon maître, tombant à bas, S’écria : –Grand dieu, qui est là ? Est-ce bien toi, mon Alexandre ? Ne vois-tu pas mon sang se répandre ? Sept ans tu as mangé mon pain ; Aujourd’hui je meurs par ta main. J' m'en retournai à la maison, En dépit de ma trahison. J'avais une langue de Thérèse. Je fis accroire à ma maîtresse Que mon maître avait été tué : Et moi, que je m'étais sauvé. Je me comportais sagement ; Et ma maîtresse au bout d'un an, De moi devint fort amoureuse. C'est par un beau jour du lundi Que de moi ell' fit son mari. Le jour des noces, après souper, Je sortis pour aller danser ; J’aperçus un grand homme pâle, Pas à pas me poursuivait En criant vengeance sur moi. Ma maîtress', saisi' de frayeur, Tomba à la renvers' de peur. Il avait une triste mine, Une épé' dedans sa poitrine. Je déclarai, en vérité : –C'est mon bon maître, je l'ai tué !

I WAS A FIVE-YEAR-OLD ORPHAN I was a five-year-old orphan Of father, of mother and of parents I was reduced this way Begging my bread from door to door A good merchant for charity Of my poverty took pity They took me, they adopted me And to school they took me. When I was fifteen, they took me away; I could read and write very well. It was finally to teach me What had to be done to practice. One day, walking in the forest, My master was going in front of me Seized with a fated rage I raised my bloody sword Without fearing my almighty god I dipped my hand in his blood My good master falling down Cried, "Great god, who is there? Is it really you, my Alexander? Can't you see my blood spill Seven years you ate my bread Today I die by your hand." I returned home, Despite my betrayal. I had a tongue of Thérèse*. I made my mistress believe That my master had been killed: And that I had saved myself / I'd run away. I behaved wisely/patiently; And my mistress after a year Fell very much in love with me. On a beautiful Monday She made me her husband. On the wedding day, after supper, I went out to go dancing; I saw a tall, pale man, Step by step he pursued me Shouting revenge on me. My mistress, seized with fright, Fell backwards from fear. He looked sad, With a sword in his chest. I declared, in truth: –He is my good master, I killed him!

*I couldn't find any definition of this phrase but it seems to mean that what he said sounded true or that he was mealy-mouthed.
We can deduce from the rimes that "oi" is pronounced /wɛ/

"This complaint was collected in 1916 from Ms. Mathilde Audet at Les Éboulements en bas." -Marius Barbeau, "Le rossignol y chante", National Museum of Canada, Ottawa, 1962.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: La Mule (French)
From: Monique
Date: 07 Nov 20 - 10:13 AM

Last song of the album: Jean des loups - © Gabriel Yacoub, 1979. This one too was inpired by Claude Seignolles' work.

JEAN DES LOUPS En allant à Montpellier Passant par Saint-Martin-de-Londres Par un bois je suis passé Qu'on disait bois de la Valenne Mais quand la nuit est tombée J'ai trouvé l'herbe qui égare Je n' savais plus où j'étais Lorsque la lune a été haute Un loup grand comme un homme Un homme noir comme un loup Je les suis je les mène au son du violon Alors j'ai vu un grand feu Tout au mitan d'une clairière Il y avait cent et vingt loups Qu'étaient assis sur leur derrière Quand je me suis approché Ils grondaient en grattant la terre Mais un chant les a calmés Et c'est Jean des loups qui s'avance Il m'a salué poliment En disant de venir m'asseoir Il m'a parlé gentiment C'est pour raconter ses histoires Quand je suis arrivé De la paille dans mes souliers Ma vie j'ai dû gagner En faisant le ménétrier En rentrant d'une assemblée Un grand loup j'ai rencontré Avec un air à faire trembler Tout à l'ombre d'un noyer Il s'est mis à me parler Et mes deux mains a léchées Avec lui j'ai dû marcher prenant garde de n' pas tomber Dans ce bois il m'a mené Un oiseau de chaque côté Trois sorcières sur un bûcher Trois pénitents à chanter Ses frères il m'a présentés Et moi je leur ai parlé Un hiver et deux étés Et tous les jours de l'année La lune nous a donné La faim dans nos deux côtés Et nous serons rassasiés Le jour du jugement dernier Alors je suis reparti Passant par Saint-Martin-de-Londres Et deux grands loups m'ont suivi Tout en marchant dessus la route Quand les loups sont retournés Dedans le bois de la Valenne Un gros pain leur ai donné Ils ont mangé devant ma porte Un loup grand comme un homme Un homme noir comme un loup Je les suis je les mène au son du violon

JEAN DES LOUPS (JOHN OF THE WOLVES) On my way to Montpellier Passing by Saint-Martin-de-Londres I passed through a wood They called Valène Wood But when the night fell I found the grass that leads astray I no longer knew where I was When the moon was high A wolf as big as a man A man as black as a wolf I follow them, I lead them to the sound of the violin Then I saw a big fire Right in the middle of a clearing There were a hundred and twenty wolves That were sitting on their behind When I approached They roared while scratching the earth But a song calmed them down And it's Jean des Loups who comes forward He greeted me politely Saying to come and sit down He spoke to me kindly It's to tell his stories When I arrived With straw in my shoes My life I had to earn By being a fiddler Returning from a meeting I met a big wolf With a look that'd make you tremble All in the shade of a walnut tree He started talking to me And both of my hands licked With him I had to walk Taking care not to fall Into this wood he led me A bird on each side Three witches on a pyre Three penitents a-singing His brothers he introduced me And I spoke to them During one winter and two summers And every day of the year The moon gave us Hunger on both sides And we will be satisfied On Judgement Day. Then I left And passed by Saint-Martin-de-Londres And two big wolves followed me While walking on the road When the wolves returned Inside Valène Wood A big bread I gave them They ate in front of my door A wolf as big as a man A man as black as a wolf I follow them, I lead them to the sound of the violin

I fixed the spelling in the translation. Valène is indeed spelled this way. Note that Saint-Martin-de-Londres has nothing to do with London except that their names might (!) share some etymological Celtic root. Folk etymology would rather explain it by the fact that the area is often foggy as London is thought to be.
Here is where it's supposed to take place. The wood is located south of the town.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: La Mule (French)
From: Monique
Date: 07 Nov 20 - 11:30 AM

And...Exceptional concert at the La Rochelle Francofolies (2010).

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: La Mule (French)
From: GUEST,A Hungarian student
Date: 02 Dec 20 - 11:45 AM

Thank you so much! I'm an 18 year old Hungarian student learning french currently and I had quite a few problems with "La Chasse-Gallery". You helped me so much! French is so beautiful and I wish I had some insight (like bigger than what I have). Also, isn't this story based on a Canadian legend?
Merci beaucoup de nouveau! Si tu voudrais me parler alors voici mon courriel electronique: [e-mail]
Máté