He was uncompromising when composing his songs. His tactical method of addressing issues was profound and often humorous, making him a unique and effective figure in the French community.
Brassens, born in 1921 in the small Mediterrenean port of Sete, wanted to be a poet. He realized very early however that poetry in the 20th century could hardly put bread on the table and instead set himself to become a singer.
He is much less famous internationally than contemporaries like Charles Aznavour, Edith Piaf and Yves Montand, as much of the impact of his songs came from the lyrics, which proved difficult to translate into other languages. He loved the Middle Ages and used a great deal of Old French vocabulary, as well as many classical - ie., Latin and Greek - references. Few people, even in France, possess the background to fully understand his songs.
Yet he was at the same time a hugely popular singer and many of his songs still carry a lot of appeal and relevance. In this sense, he can be compared to Boris Vian, to Jacques Brel, and to a lesser extent to Serge Gainsbourg.
He was very sophisticated, yet at the same time used profanity liberally. While he wasn't politically engaged, he was nevertheless unambiguously a leftist, many of his songs carrying blatant and buoyant anarchist overtones.
While his music was initially quite primitive, the 1950's St-Germain-des-Pres influence quickly made itself felt and while subdued and - in his mind - always secondary to the lyrics, it became increasingly sophisticated - to the point that many of his songs have been covered and reinterpretated by jazzmen (see for instance this UK site: www.projetbrassens.eclipse.co.uk)
He died in 1981, but up to this date (2006) there are few French people - including most of those born since - who can't sing along to his most famous song, Les Copains d'abord ("Friends foremost") or his "Bancs public" ("Public Benches").
For those interested, this site carries a number of (quite good) English tranlations of his songs: www.brassens.org
À Mireille dite "Petite verglas"
Georges Brassens Lyrics
Jump to: Overall Meaning ↴ Line by Line Meaning ↴
Ne tremblez pas, mais je dois le dire
Elle fut assassinée au couteau
Par un fichu mauvais garçon
Dans sa chambre, là-bas derrière le Panthéon
Rue Descartes, où mourut Paul Verlaine
À moi si bonne, et si douce, et si triste
Pourquoi sa tristesse
Je ne l'avais pas deviné
Je ne pouvais pas le deviner
Non, je l′ai su après
Tu me l'avais caché
Que ton père était mort sur l'échafaud
Petit verglas
J′aurais bien dû le comprendre à tes sourires
J′aurais dû le deviner à tes petits yeux, battus de sang
À ton bleu regard indéfinissable
Papillotant et plein de retenue
Et moi qui avais toujours l'air de te dire
Mademoiselle, voulez-vous partager ma statue
Ah, j′aurais bien dû comprendre à tes sourires
Tes yeux bleus battus et plein de retenue
Et je t'appelais comme ça, petit verglas
Que c′est bête un poète
Petite chair transie
Moi, je ne l'ai su après que ton père était mort ainsi
Pardonne-moi, petit verglas
Volez, les anges
The song "À Mireille dite 'petit verglas'" by French singer Georges Brassens is a tribute to a young woman, Mireille, who was brutally murdered with a knife in her room behind the Pantheon in Paris. Brassens addresses Mireille directly, telling her not to tremble as he shares her story. He recalls how much he loved her, her kindness, and her sadness that he did not understand at the time. Only later did he find out that Mireille's father had been executed by guillotine, a fact she had kept hidden from him.
Through his lyrics, Brassens reflects on how he should have seen the signs of Mireille's sadness and her tragic past in her eyes and smiles. He feels guilty for not realizing the full extent of her pain and for calling her "petit verglas," which translates to "little frost," as if she were nothing more than a poetic muse instead of a real person with a tragic story.
Line by Line Meaning
Ne tremblez pas, mais je dois le dire
Do not tremble, but I must say it
Elle fut assassinée au couteau
She was murdered with a knife
Par un fichu mauvais garçon
By a darned bad boy
Dans sa chambre, là-bas derrière le Panthéon
In her room, over there behind the Pantheon
Rue Descartes, où mourut Paul Verlaine
Rue Descartes, where Paul Verlaine died
Ô oui, je l′ai bien aimée ma petite "petit verglas"
Oh yes, I loved my little "petit verglas"
À moi si bonne, et si douce, et si triste
So good, and so sweet, and so sad for me
Pourquoi sa tristesse
Why her sadness
Je ne l'avais pas deviné
I had not guessed it
Je ne pouvais pas le deviner
I could not have guessed it
Non, je l′ai su après
No, I found out later
Tu me l'avais caché
You had hidden it from me
Que ton père était mort sur l'échafaud
That your father had died on the scaffold
J′aurais bien dû le comprendre à tes sourires
I should have understood it from your smiles
J′aurais dû le deviner à tes petits yeux, battus de sang
I should have guessed it from your little eyes, bruised with blood
À ton bleu regard indéfinissable
To your indescribable blue gaze
Papillotant et plein de retenue
Fluttering and full of restraint
Et moi qui avais toujours l'air de te dire
And me who always seemed to tell you
Mademoiselle, voulez-vous partager ma statue
Miss, would you like to share my statue
Ah, j′aurais bien dû comprendre à tes sourires
Ah, I should have understood it from your smiles
Tes yeux bleus battus et plein de retenue
Your blue eyes bruised and full of restraint
Et je t'appelais comme ça, petit verglas
And I called you that, little verglas
Que c′est bête un poète
How stupid a poet is
Petite chair transie
Little trembling flesh
Moi, je ne l'ai su après que ton père était mort ainsi
I only found out later that your father had died like that
Pardonne-moi, petit verglas
Forgive me, little verglas
Volez, les anges
Fly, angels
Writer(s): Paul Fort
Contributed by Olivia O. Suggest a correction in the comments below.