Retouches à un roman d'amour de quatre sous [English translation]

Madam, even for tuppence

our tired love story would

certainly not sell well.

It was dreadful. Allow me

to protect the truth,

by reinventing it.

We met in a Black Maria

leading us in triumph to the clink,

after a nightly roundup in Pigalle.

I would rather state, by Jove,

that we were introduced at the

Prince of Wales estate.

Let's forget about the hotel of ill repute,

the shady hotel where we loved each other.

Let's keep quiet about it, I would look quite the fool.

I reckon it would be much better

to give our love-making a setting in

a little thatched cottage.

The angels were barely flying,

their whispers could not reach

above the mezzanine floor.

Let's exaggerate a bit and raise

their epic flight far beyond

the sound barrier.

Let us not - it would be a pity!

mention our honeymoon in a destitute

suburban neighbourhood. I recommend

pretending it took place in Italy,

beneath the blue skies of Napoli

or Venice.

One day your heart lost interest

and you left - let's keep quiet

about that - slamming the door.

Marguerite, let's be decent

and say instead that you died

of consumption1

Exactly two years later,

I was seeking solace, that's only too human,

in the arms of another woman of your kind.

I'm still acting, with great success,

the still mourning widower,

the inconsolable widower.

It is the revenge of the vanquished,

it is the revenge of the cuckold,

to act that way, should he mention

his story. As best he can,

he tries to make it sound

less dubious.

1. lit. "you died coughing", but the image is a wink to the famous novel "La dame aux camélias", where Marguerite Gautier, a frivolous courtesan, is redeemed by true love but tragically dies of tuberculosis in the end