C'était tremblant, c'était troublant,
C'était vêtu d'un drap tout blanc,
Ça présentait tous les symptômes,
Tous les dehors de la vision,
Les faux airs de l'apparition,
En un mot, c'était un fantôme !
A sa manière d'avancer,
A sa façon de balancer
Les hanches quelque peu convexes,
Je compris que j'avais affaire
A quelqu'un du genr' que j'prefère :
A un fantôme du beau sexe.
" Je suis un p'tit poucet perdu,
Me dit-ell', d'un' voix morfondue,
Un pauvre fantôme en déroute.
Plus de trace des feux follets,
Plus de trace des osselets
Dont j'avais jalonné ma route ! "
" Des poèt's sans inspiration
Auront pris -- quelle aberration ! --
Mes feux follets pour des étoiles.
De pauvres chiens de commissaire
Auront croqué -- quelle misère ! --
Mes oss'lets bien garnis de moelle. "
" A l'heure où le coq chantera,
J'aurai bonn' mine avec mon drap
Hein de faux plis et de coutures !
Et dans ce siècle profane où
Les gens ne croient plus guère à nous,
On va crier à l'imposture. "
Moi, qu'un chat perdu fait pleurer,
Pensez si j'eus le c?ur serré
Devant l'embarras du fantôme.
" Venez, dis-je en prenant sa main,
Que je vous montre le chemin,
Que je vous reconduise at home "
L'histoire finirait ici,
Mais la brise, et je l'en r'mercie,
Troussa le drap d'ma cavalière...
Dame, il manquait quelques oss'lets,
Mais le reste, loin d'être laid,
Etait d'un' grâce singulière.
Mon Cupidon, qui avait la
Flèche facile en ce temps-là,
Fit mouche et, le feu sur les tempes,
Je conviai, sournoisement,
La belle à venir un moment
Voir mes icônes, mes estampes...
" Mon cher, dit-ell', vous êtes fou !
J'ai deux mille ans de plus que vous... "
-- Le temps, madam', que nous importe ! --
Mettant le fantôm' sous mon bras,
Bien enveloppé dans son drap,
Vers mes pénates je l'emporte !
Eh bien, messieurs, qu'on se le dis':
Ces belles dames de jadis
Sont de satanées polissonnes,
Plus expertes dans le déduit
Que certain's dames d'aujourd'hui,
Et je ne veux nommer personne !
Au p'tit jour on m'a réveillé,
On secouait mon oreiller
Avec un' fougu' plein' de promesses.
Mais, foin des dédic's de Capoue !
C'était mon père criant : " Debout !
Vains dieux, tu vas manquer la messe ! "
Georges Brassens (1921-1981) was a French singer-songwriter of international fame, considered one of the greatest poets and musicians of the 20th century. Born in Vaucluse, France, Brassens began his musical career in the 1950s, captivating audiences with his ironic, melancholic, and deeply human songs. His works, often characterized by simple yet effective language, addressed social, political, and personal themes with a unique sensitivity. Brassens distinguished himself for his deep and raspy voice, accompanied by a keen ability to interpret. Among his most famous songs are "Le Mistral", "La Nonne", "Brave Margot" and "Je chante le blues". His music has influenced generations of artists and continues to be appreciated worldwide for its authenticity, depth, and beauty.
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