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Quand on est morte entre les mortes, Qu'on se traine chez les vivants, Lorsque tout vous flanque a la porte Et la ferme d'un coup de vent, Ne plus être jeune et aimée... Derrière une porte fermée, Il reste de se fiche à l'eau Ou d'acheter un rigolo. Oui Messieurs, voilà ce qui reste Pour les lâches et les salauds. Mais si la frousse de ce geste S'attache à vous comme un grelot, Si l'on craint de s'ouvrir les veines, On peut toujours risquer la veine D'un voyage à Monte-Carlo. Monte-Carlo, Monte-Carlo. J'ai fini ma journée. Je veux dormir au fond de l'eau. De la Mediterranée. Après avoir vendu votre âme Et mis en gage des bijoux Que jamais plus on ne réclame, La roulette est un beau joujou. C'est joli de dire: "je joue". Cela vous met le feu aux joues Et cela vous allume l'oeil. Sous les jolis voiles de deuil On porte un joli nom de veuve. Un titre donne de l'orgueil! Et folle, et prête, et toute neuve, On prend sa carte au casino. Voyez mes plumes et mes voiles, Contemplez le strass de l'étoile Qui me mène à Monte-Carlo. La chance est femme. Elle est jalouse De ces veuvages solennels. Sans doute elle m'a cru l'épouse D'un véritable colonel. J'ai gagné, gagné sur le douze. Et puis les robes se décousent, La fourrure perd ses cheveux. On a beau répéter: "je veux", Dès que la chance vous déteste, Dès que votre coeur est nerveux, Vous ne pouvez plus faire un geste, Pousser un sou sur le tableau Sans que la chance qui s'écarte Change les chiffres et les cartes Des tables de Monte-Carlo. Les voyous, les buses, les gales! Ils m'ont mise dehors... dehors... Et ils m'accusent d'être sale, De porter malheur dans leurs salles, Dans leurs sales salles en stuc. Moi qui aurais donné mon truc A l'oeil, au prince, à la princesse, Au Duc de Westminster, au Duc, Parfaitement. Faut que ça cesse, Qu'ils me criaient, votre boulot! Votre boulot!... Ma découverte. J'en priverai les tables vertes. C'est bien fait pour Monte-Carlo. Monte-Carlo. Et maintenant, moi qui vous parle, Je n'avouerai pas les kilos Que j'ai perdus à Monte-Carle, Monte-Carle ou Monte-Carlo. Je suis une ombre de moi-même... Les martingales, les systèmes Et les croupiers qui ont le droit De taper de loin sur vos doigts Quand on peut faucher une mise. Et la pension ou l'on doit Et toujours la même chemise Que l'angoisse trempe dans l'eau. Ils peuvent courir. Pas si bête. Cette nuit je pique une tête Dans la mer de Monte-Carlo. Monte-Carlo.
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Text Authorship:
- by Jean Cocteau (1889 - 1963), "La Dame de Monte‑Carlo", written 1949?, appears in Théâtre de poche, Éd. Morihien, first published 1949 [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by Francis Poulenc (1899 - 1963), "La Dame de Monte-Carlo", FP. 180 (1961) [sung text checked 1 time]
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- ENG English (Cyrene Paparotti) (Alain Letort) , "The Lady of Monte-Carlo", copyright ©, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this page: Nicolas Gounin [Guest Editor]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 83
Word count: 433
When you are dead among the dead, And drag yourself among the living, When everything chucks you out the door And slams it shut with a gust of wind, No to be young and loved anymore... Behind a closed door, All that's left is to jump into the water Or buy yourself a packin' heat. Yes, Gentlemen, that's all that remains To the cowards and the bastards. But if the fear of this gesture Clings to you like the jingle of a collar bell, If you are scared to slit your wrists, You can still take the gamble Of a trip to Monte-Carlo. Monte-Carlo, Monte-Carlo. My day is done. I want to sleep on the sea-floor Of the Mediterranean. After you've sold your soul, And pawned your jewels That you will never claim back, The roulette wheel is a beautiful toy. It's a nice thing to say: "I am gambling." It fires up your cheeks And lights up your eye. Under beautiful mourning veils You carry a beautiful widow's name. A title gives you pride! And crazed, ready for anything, a new woman, You take out a casino card. Look at my feathers and my veils. Admire the sequins of the star That leads me to Monte-Carlo. Luck is a woman. She is jealous Of solemn widowhood. No doubt she thought I was the wife Of a real colonel. I won, I won on the twelve! Then dresses become unraveled, Fur sheds its hair. As much as you say: "I want," Once luck starts to hate you, Once your heart is nervous, You can't move a muscle, Push a chip on the table, Without luck stepping aside Changing numbers and cards On the tables in Monte-Carlo. Thugs, buzzards, mangy rascals! They threw me out... out... Accused me of being dirty, Of jinxing their gaming rooms, Their filthy stuccoed gaming rooms. Me, who would have given away my system For free, to the Prince, to the Princess, To the Duke of Westminster, to the Duke, Yes, that's right! It's gotta stop, They yelled to me, this business of yours! This business of yours!... My discovery. I'll withhold it from the green felt tables. It'll serve Monte-Carlo right. Monte-Carlo. And now I, who am talking to you, Will not say how much weight I lost in Monte-Carle. Monte-Carle or Monte-Carlo. I am but a shadow of myself... The winning formulas, the systems And the croupiers who have the right To rap you on the fingers When you're about to filch an ante. And the B&B where you owe And always the same shirt That anxiety drenches in water. They can whistle for it. Not that dumb. Tonight I will dive head first Into the sea at Monte-Carlo. Monte-Carlo.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © by Cyrene Paparotti and Alain Letort, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Jean Cocteau (1889 - 1963), "La Dame de Monte‑Carlo", written 1949?, appears in Théâtre de poche, Éd. Morihien, first published 1949
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 83
Word count: 456