Léo Ferré: Pauvre Rutebeuf
Little is known about Rutebeuf except that he was a 13th century person of the male persuasion, born in 1230 and presumably died about 1285, nearly one thousand years ago. Extrapolating from his name, which is probably a nickname, he may have been a hearty soul (“rude boeuf”). He hailed from the Champagne region but spent most of his time in Paris. Much of what we do know about him appears in his own writings. For example, he claims that in 1261 he married an ugly old woman with neither charm nor dowry, and a series of misfortunes eventually brought him poverty and misery. It is thought that he had some formal education and worked as a juggler (jongleur) and troubadour (trouvère). As with Shakespeare, it is not really known whether Rutebeuf was a single individual. What IS known is that 56 related poems have been attributed to him--a large and diverse oeuvre.
The “miracle play” presents a theatrical representation about a cleric (Theophilus) who sells his soul to the devil but the virgin intervenes to reclaim the contract from the devil. This story (which pre-dated Rutebeuf) was sufficiently popular to inspire sculptures on the tympanum of the north transept portal at Notre Dame de Paris, carved around 1250 during Rutebeuf’s youth (left).
When Léo Ferré composed his 1955 song “Pauvre Rutebeuf,” he selected verses from two of Rutebeuf’s poems: La Complainte Rutebeuf (“The Rutebeuf Complaint”) and De La Griesche d’Yver (“Winter Gambling”). La Griesche has a double meaning in old French: it was a popular medieval dice game and, by extension, also means risk. Ferré’s release of his song in 1956 encouraged covers by many other artists, including one by Joan Baez in 1965 that brought poor Rutebeuf much-needed international attention. So, the lyrics to Ferré’s song are effectively Rutebeuf’s, filtered through translations of his old French dialect and Ferré’s adaptation. Ferré composed the music and the performances belong to the artists.
The performances by Léo Ferré and Joan Baez are different but appealing, so both are included below. Léo’s comes first since he assembled the lyrics from the poems and wrote the music, and you can follow the lyrics and translation just below his video. Baez’s version follows and includes its own French and English subtitles. Both are fine interpretations, but different. Ferré composed a great melody. The story laments lost friends, a failed life, the winds of time, the demise of love, but ends with a thin thread of hope.
Que sont mes amis devenus
Que j'avais de si près tenus
Et tant aimés
Ils ont été trop clairsemés
Je crois le vent les a ôtés
L'amour est morte
Ce sont amis que vent emporte
Et il ventait devant ma porte
Les emporta
Avec le temps qu'arbre défeuille
Quand il ne reste en branche feuille
Qui n'aille à terre
Avec pauvreté qui m'atterre
Qui de partout me fait la guerre
Au temps d'hiver
Ne convient pas que vous raconte
Comment je me suis mis à honte
En quelle manière
Que sont mes amis devenus
Que j'avais de si près tenus
Et tant aimés
Ils ont été trop clairsemés
Je crois le vent les a ôtés
L'amour est morte
Le mal ne sait pas seul venir
Tout ce qui m'était à venir
M'est avenu
Pauvre sens et pauvre mémoire
M'a Dieu donné le roi de gloire
Et pauvres rentes
Et droit au cul quand bise vente
Le vent me vient, le vent m'évente
L'amour est morte
Ce sont amis que vent emporte
Et il ventait devant ma porte
Les emporta
L'espérance de lendemain
Ce sont mes fêtes
What has become of my friends
Whom I had held so close
And loved so much
They became too scattered,
I think the wind removed them.
Love is dead
These are friends that the wind takes
And wind blew at my door
Took them away.
With weather that strips the trees
When there remain no leaves on branches
That fall to earth.
With poverty that flattens me
That from everywhere embattles me
In winter time
It is not right to tell you
How I disgraced myself,
In what way.
What has become of my friends
Who I had held so close
And loved so much
They became too scattered,
I think the wind removed them.
Love is dead.
Misfortune never comes alone.
All I was fated to endure
Has befallen me.
Little sense and bad memory
God gave me, the king of glory
And little income
And right up my ass when north wind blows
The wind comes to me and fans me,
Love is dead.
They are friends that wind takes
And wind blew at my door
Took them away.
The hope of tomorrow
Those are my feasts