I have the honor not to ask your hand in marriage
Let’s not engrave our names at the end of some parchment
.
Part of an ongoing project with some friends around Lupin III and French songs. This is La Non-Demande En Mariage (The Marriage Non-Proposal) by objectively the greatest ever French songwriter and poet, Georges Brassens. I've always thought it a beautiful match to Lupin and Fujiko's relationship.
Even if you don't understand French, do yourself the favour of listening to it - Brassens' voice is an experience in and of itself. I'll include a translation of the lyrics under the cut.
This translation comes from here; translatinng Brassens lyrics accurately is a difficult challenge and I won't risk butchering his poetry by attempting the task myself.
Beloved, for mercy’s sake, let us
Not load, beneath Cupid’s chin
His own arrow
So many lovers have tried
Who have paid with their lost joys for
This sacrilege…
[Chorus:]
I have the honor
Not to ask your hand in marriage
Let’s not engrave
Our names at the end
Of some parchment.
Let’s leave a free hand to the fellow (Cupid)
We will both of us be two prisoners
On parole
Devil take the cook-mistresses
Who pin their hearts to handles
Of pots and pans.
[Chorus]
Venus is getting on
She often loses her latin faced by
The drip pan
At no price would I ever wish
To tell off daisy petals in
The pot of stew.
[Chorus]
You remove so much of the charms
By revealing too many secrets
Of Melusine.
The ink of love letters fades
Fast in between the pages of
Cookbooks.
[Chorus]
It might seem to be nice and snug
To put, out of view, at the bottom of
A jar of jam
The tasty forbidden apple
But it is cooked, it has quite lost
Its fresh picked taste.
[Chorus]
Of servant I have no need,
And from housekeeping and its tasks
I set you free
So as eternal fiancée
Of you, lady of my thoughts,
I think always...
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Juste au bord de la mer, à deux pas des flots bleus
Creusez si c'est possible un petit trou moelleux
Une bonne petite niche
Auprès de mes amis d'enfance, les dauphins
Le long de cette grève où le sable est si fin
Sur la plage de la corniche
C'est une plage où même à ses moments furieux
Neptune ne se prend jamais trop au sérieux
Où quand un bateau fait naufrage
Le capitaine crie : "Je suis le maître à bord !
Sauve qui peut ! Le vin et le pastis d'abord !
Chacun sa bonbonne et courage !"
Cette tombe en sandwich, entre le ciel et l'eau
Ne donnera pas une ombre triste au tableau
Mais un charme indéfinissable.
Les baigneuses s'en serviront de paravent
Pour changer de tenue, et les petits enfants
Diront : "Chouette ! un château de sable !"
Et quand, prenant ma butte en guise d'oreiller
Une ondine viendra gentiment sommeiller
Avec moins que rien de costume
Vous envierez un peu l'éternel estivant
Qui fait du pédalo sur la vague en rêvant
Qui passe sa mort en vacances.
- Georges Brassens, Supplique pour être enterré à la plage de Sète, 1966.