Le Hareng Saur


Il était un grand mur blanc – nu, nu, nu, 

Contre le mur une échelle – haute, haute, haute, 

Et, par terre, un hareng saur – sec, sec, sec.



Il vient, tenant dans ses mains – sales, sales, sales,

Un marteau lourd, un grand clou – pointu, pointu, pointu, 

Un peloton de ficelle – gros, gros, gros.



Alors il monte à l’échelle – haute, haute, haute, 

Et plante le clou pointu – toc, toc, toc, 

Tout en haut du grand mur blanc – nu, nu, nu.



Il laisse aller le marteau – qui tombe, qui tombe, qui tombe, 

Attache au clou la ficelle – longue, longue, longue, 

Et, au bout, le hareng saur – sec, sec, sec.



Il redescend de l’échelle – haute, haute, haute, 

L’emporte avec le marteau – lourd, lourd, lourd, 

Et puis, il s’en va ailleurs – loin, loin, loin.



Et, depuis, le hareng saur – sec, sec, sec, 

Au bout de cette ficelle – longue, longue, longue, 

Très lentement se balance – toujours, toujours, toujours.



J’ai composé cette histoire – simple, simple, simple,

Pour mettre en fureur les gens – graves, graves, graves, 
Et amuser les enfants – petits, petits, petits.

Announce Le Hareng Saur in a strong voice. Do not move; be absolutely still. When giving the title, the audience should feel that it is a black line, standing out against a white background.

Il était un grand mur blanc — nu, nu, nu,
Once there was high white wall – bare, bare, bare,

One senses the straightness and solidity of the wall, its boring monotone, so break the monotony: lengthen the sound of the third nu, it makes the wall bigger, almost giving the audience the experience of its dimension.

Contre le mur une échelle — haute, haute, haute,
Against the wall a ladder – high, high, high,
Use the the same intent and intonation as for the first line and, to impart the idea of height, bring in a falsetto (out of the blue) on the last haute, which will make you laugh, entirely in keeping with the fantasy.

Et, par terre, un hareng saur — sec, sec, sec.
And, on the ground, a red herring – dry, dry, dry.
Point to the ground and say hareng saur with a sad expression which draws attention to this unfortunate herring, the voice, of course, very dry for the three adjectives, sec, sec, sec.

Il vient, tenant dans ses mains — sales, sales, sales,
Here he comes and in his hands – dirty, dirty, dirty,
Support the voice and let us feel the same rhythm in all the stanzas that was in the first. He is our character, we don’t know who he is. Let us see, show us this He, who moves you, the actor, and paint the disgust at a man who never washes his hands in you sales, sales, sales.

Un marteau lourd, un grand clou — pointu, pointu, pointu,
A heavy hammer, a large nail – sharp, sharp, sharp,
Lower your shoulder with the weight of a hammer which is too heavy for you, and show the audience the nail, pointing your index finger at them and pressing the pointu, pointu, pointu, so that the nail makes its entrance into their attention.

Un peloton de ficelle — gros, gros, gros.
A ball of string – big, big, big.
Spread your hands, moving them away from your hips with each gros, gros, gros. He is laden, a heavy hammer, a large sharp nail, an enormous ball of string, this is no small thing, it is necessary to show the burden under which this poor He labours.

Alors il monte à l’échelle — haute, haute, haute,
So he climbs the ladder – high, high, high,
Same game as for the earlier haute, the high note at the end, this insistence can make you laugh.

Et plante le clou pointu — toc, toc, toc,
And bangs in the sharp nail – tap, tap, tap,
he gestures of a man driving in a nail with a hammer, giving voice to the strength of each knock without changing the sound.

Tout en haut du grand mur blanc — nu, nu, nu.
Right at the top of the high white wall – bare, bare, bare.
Keep the voice strong, lengthen the last nu again, making a flat hand gesture to show the indifference of the wall.

Il laisse aller le marteau — qui tombe, qui tombe, qui tombe,
He drops the hammer – which falls, which falls, which falls
,
Lower the pitch by degrees to convey the falling of a hammer. Look at the audience at the first qui tombe, at the ground for the second, and at the audience again for the third, waiting for the effect which must come.

Attache au clou la ficelle — longue, longue, longue,
Ties to the nail the string – long, long, long,

Lengthen each longue by degrees and let the last to be of immense length, a wrong note in the middle of the final intonation, creating a very comical effect.

Et, au bout, le hareng saur — sec, sec, sec.
And, at the end, the red herring – dry, dry, dry.
Allow an increasingly pitiful air to the third sec.

Il redescend de l’échelle — haute, haute, haute,
He climbs down the ladder – tall, tall, tall,
Same game as before, when going up, only going down with the haute, the first in falsetto, the second pitched in the middle, the third pitched low. Musical.

L’emporte avec le marteau — lourd, lourd, lourd,
Carries it off with the hammer – heavy, heavy, heavy,
Bend under the weight of it all. You are broken, you can’t take any more, don’t forget how heavy this hammer is.

Et puis, il s’en va ailleurs — loin, loin, loin.
And then, he goes away – far, far, far.
Let each loin get further and further away, when you come to the third, you will be able to put your hand to your brow shielding your eyes from the light so you can see Him in the distance and, after having spotted Him there, you will say the last loin.

Et, depuis, le hareng saur — sec, sec, sec,
And ever since, the red herring – dry, dry, dry,

More and more pitiful each time.

Au bout de cette ficelle — longue, longue, longue,
At the end of that string – long, long, long,

Lengthen each longue with a very melancholy air, always with the wrong note; don’t worry, it’s a [musical?] saw.

Très lentement se balance — toujours, toujours, toujours.
Swings slowly – always, always, always.
Very sad. And make a swinging gesture with each toujours. Finish the line well, lowering your voice for the third toujours, because the story is over. The last stanza brings only the consolation of a postscript for the audience.

J’ai composé cette histoire — simple, simple, simple,
I made this story up – simple, simple, simple,
Press on simple, so that the audience says to itself, Oh! Yes! Simple!

Pour mettre en fureur les gens — graves, graves, graves,
To annoy people – so grave, so grave, so grave,
Very stuffed shirt; let’s feel those stiff white ties of the civil servants who don’t appreciate such jokes.

Et amuser les enfants — petits, petits, petits.
And entertain the children – little, little, little.
With a very kindly voice, gradually lowering your hand to each little, indicating the height and age of the children. Bow and leave quickly.

Le Hareng Saur

Ta robe, ô hareng, c’est la palette des soleils couchants, la patine du vieux cuivre, le ton d’or bruni des cuirs de 
Cordoue, les teintes de santal et de safran des feuillages 
d’automne! 



Ta tête, ô hareng, flamboie comme un casque d’or, et l’on 
dirait de tes yeux des clous noirs plantés dans des cercles 
de cuivre! 



Toutes les nuances tristes et mornes, toutes les nuances 
rayonnantes et gaies amortissent et illuminent tour à tour 
ta robe d’écailles. 



A côté des bitumes, des terres de Judée et de Cassel, des 
ombres brûlées et des verts de Scheele, des bruns Van Dyck 
et des bronzes florentins, des teintes de rouille et de 
feuille morte, resplendissent, de tout leur éclat, les ors
 verdis, les ambres jaunes, les orpins, les ocres de rhu, 
les chromes, les oranges de mars! 



Ô miroitant et terne enfumé, quand je contemple ta cotte de mailles, je pense aux tableaux de Rembrandt, je revois ses têtes superbes, ses chairs ensoleillées, ses scintillements de bijoux sur le velours noir; je revois ses jets de lumière dans la nuit, ses traînées de poudre d’or dans l’ombre, ses éclosions de soleils sous les noirs arceaux!

L’HARENG SAUR

Ne rougis pas de ta carcasse,
Toi, vieux, qu’on nomme l’hareng saur.
Garde ce sobriquet cocasse
Comme un trésor.

Laisse rire ces bons apôtres.
Nos beaux messieurs à tralala.
Car tu n’es pas si laid qu’eux autres.
Bien loin de là!

Ils font les fiers avec leur mine.
Mais c’est l’astiquage qui rend
Leur corps aussi blanc qu’une hermine
Et transparent.

Tous les jours avec de l’eau douce
Ils se lavent au saut du lit
À force de savon qui mousse
Et qui polit.

Ils ont la peau comme une espèce
De baudruche passée au lard.
J’aime mieux ta basane épaisse
Comme un prélart.

Car c’est avant tout la chlorose
Qui donne à leur teint ce reflet
Et fait ces pétales de rose
Trempés de lait.

Toi, que ton cuir soit propre ou sale,
Qu’importe ! Il est d’un fameux grain,
Il se tanne au soleil, se sale
Dans le poudrain,

Se culotte aux souffles du large,
Se cuit même dans ton sommeil;
Mais dessous court au pas de charge
Un sang vermeil.

Et tout cela, mon camarade,
Hâlé, fumé, roux, fauve, brun.
Le soleil, l’eau, l’air de la rade,
Le vent, l’embrun,

Tout cela se fond et s’arrange
Avec la patine des ans
En un riche métal étrange
Aux tons luisants ;

Et, dressé sur ton col robuste,
Ton vieux museau de mathurin
Resplendit pour moi comme un buste
D’or et d’airain.

Firstly, I’d like to thank my good friend, the artist and writer Isis Olivier, who helped with the translations of all three poems/monologues. She is the herripedia’s Official Advisor on French Translation. I’d also like to thank another good friend, Jerry Podmore, who spotted the Toulouse-Lautrec illustration for Richepin’s L’Hareng Saur in an antique shop somewhere in France and who then alerted me to the existence of this third monologue.

In the research for this entry, I read and would recommend Laughing Matter: Charles Cros, From Paléophone to Monologue (Nottingham French Studies, 2020) by Greg Kerr and Chapter 1 of L’art de parler pour ne rien dire, Le monologue fumiste fin de siècle (Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2005) by Françoise Dubor. My French can be a bit slow, but when I have time, I will go back to this excellent book and read the lot.