La Mer
La mer a bercé mon cœur pour la vie
Chanson de Charles Trenet créée en 1946. Yet another signature tune.
Listen to the man singing La Mer.
Agreement of a Past Participle with a Preceding Direct Object
Yes, it’s true: when you have a verb in a compound tense, and a direct object that (for some reason) is preceding the verb, the past participle will agree with that direct object!
In witness of which:
- Stanza 4: La mer les a bercés (The sea has cradled them)
You may feel this nice song doesn’t need to be encumbered with this complicated grammatical note; however, if you don’t feel that way, see Compound Verbs: the Direct Object Rule.
French Lyrics (English Translation Follows)
1 La mer qu’on voit danser
Le long des golfes clairs
A des reflets d’argent, la mer
Des reflets changeants sous la pluie
2 La mer au ciel d’été
Confond1 ses blancs moutons
Avec les ang’s si purs,2 la mer
Bergère d’azur infinie
3 Voyez, près des étangs,
Ces grands roseaux mouillés
Voyez ces oiseaux blancs
Et ces maisons rouillées
4 La mer les a bercés3
Le long des golfes clairs
Et d’un’ chanson d’amour la mer
A bercé mon cœur pour la vie
French Lyrics With English Translation
| 1 La mer qu’on voit danser Le long des golfes clairs A des reflets d’argent, la mer Des reflets changeants sous la pluie | 1 The sea you see dancing Along the bright gulfs Has silvery reflections, the sea: Reflections changing under the rain. |
| 2 La mer au ciel d’été Confond ses blancs moutons Avec les ang’s si purs, la mer Bergère d’azur infinie | 2 The sea in the summer sky Mingles4 its white sheep5 With the angels so pure; the sea, Infinite shepherdess of blue.6 |
| 3 Voyez, près des étangs, Ces grands roseaux mouillés Voyez ces oiseaux blancs Et ces maisons rouillées | 3 See, near the ponds, Those tall damp reeds; See those white birds And those rust-colored houses! |
| 4 La mer les a bercés Le long des golfes clairs Et d’un’ chanson d’amour la mer A bercé mon cœur pour la vie | 4 The sea has cradled them Along the bright gulfs; And with a love song the sea Has cradled my heart for life. |
New: Bergère d’azur infinie
Artist and commenter on this song Sophie Howard (@sophiemmh) was inspired by Trenet’s la Mer to create the sculpture pictured here, which she has called “The Infinite Shepherdess.” About it she says: “The body of the shepherdess is made from old buildings. The horse’s hooves touch the waves which rock boats on the shore. A bird’s head forms the eye of the horse. The clouds are like curls from the back of a sheep. Everything is wind-whipped.” It will be exhibited in London at the Mall Galleries in June 2024.
- Confondre means to mistake one thing for another, or to mingle two things so that can’t be distinguised.[↩]
- Correspondent Cécile Couton points out that the moutons are whitecaps: “Les moutons, c’est la mousse et le blanc qu’on voit sur les vagues qui deferlent sur la mer. In particular, the Mediterranean has shorter and choppier waves than large oceans like the Atlantic and Pacific, and on windy days, you see a lot more moutons au large instead of just by the beaches where the waves of breaking, and this is a sign of windy/rough sailing weather – but also sometimes of very clear weather. So for me, the moutons aren’t reflections of the clouds but marine counterparts to clouds/angels, on gusty and maybe luminous days.”[↩]
- I have explained in the grammatical note that the participle “bercés” is agreeing with the preceding direct object pronoun “les.” But exactly what is the les referring to? Apparently, to the three nouns mentioned in the previous stanza: roseaux, oiseaux, maisons. The image is a rather odd one.[↩]
- I take “confond” here to mean: the sea makes it so that its “white sheep” can no longer be distinguished from angels. (The other possible meaning would be that the sea itself is no longer able to distinguish them, which seems to me unlikely.) [↩]
- Correspondent Cécile Couton points out that the moutons are whitecaps: “Lesmoutons, c’est la mousse et le blanc qu’on voit sur les vagues qui deferlent sur la mer. In particular, the Mediterranean has shorter and choppier waves than large oceans like the Atlantic and Pacific, and on windy days, you see a lot more moutons au large instead of just by the beaches where the waves of breaking, and this is a sign of windy/rough sailing weather – but also sometimes of very clear weather. So for me, the moutons aren’t reflections of the clouds but marine counterparts to clouds/angels, on gusty and maybe luminous days.”[↩]
- Perhaps better would be: “Infinite blue shepherdess”: the sea, colored blue, shepherds its “sheep,” the whitecaps. (See discussion in the comments.) [↩]
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Maybe the best way to translate “La mer les a berces” is the sea “rocks them(roseaux, oiseaux, maisons) along”, so that that the last verse comes out as “The sea rocks them along, all along the clear golfs, and, with a song of love, the sea kept(or keeps) my heart rocking on and on and on”. At least that’s the way I translate it when I sing the song both in French and English in succession.
A very good suggestion; thanks. My “has cradled them / Along…” is certainly not the most standard-sounding English.
Just one comment:
“la mer
Bergère d’azur infinie”
I think should be translated as
“… shepherdess of blue, the infinite sea.”
I think Infinie is an adjective for la mer and not for “bergere”.
Your rendering is certainly better-sounding than mine, but I am a little uncomfortable treating “azur” as if it were feminine. “Azur” can stand for the sea (more often the sky), but essentially it is a masculine noun. (See the TLFi entry http://www.cnrtl.fr/definition/azur.) True, it can be used in an adjective-like way and even modify a feminine noun. But to treat it when it appears by itself as if it were feminine (assuming an invisible “mer” or “océan”) may be going too far. (Have you ever seen “azur” used by itself having feminine gender?)
One way “azur” can be given adjectival force is to stick a “de” in front of it. Thus, instead of “un ciel azur, une mer azur,” you could say: “un ciel d’azur, une mer d’azur.” That may be what is going on here, in which case the meaning would be: “infinite sky-blue shepherdess,” or something similar.
Thanks very much for the site. I am enjoying reading and learning about songs which I had previously mainly heard rather than read. I also value the grammatical notes.
What follows is not a challenge to the translation of the song but rather a geographical comment about “étangs” on the Mediterranean coast of France. Charles Trenet was born and raised in the south and said that he wrote the song after a youthful train journey from Perpignan to Montpellier along the coast. The railway still skirts a number of étangs, which are actually large lagoons rather than what we think of when we hear the word “pond.” Some of them are so large it can be difficult to see across them on a hazy day! The railway in its most striking stretch runs for many kilometres along the very narrow spit of sand separating the lengthy and broad Étang de Thau from the open sea. As the song suggests, one can see banks of reeds, terracotta coloured house and flocks of white water fowl (also pink flamingoes) from one side of the train. Turn your head, however, and you see the infinite blue and the whitecaps of the (very) bright gulf. Étang is rightly rendered by “pond” but the picture of the scene is of larger bodies of water. Please forgive this too extended geographical disquisition. It comes from happy memories of living eight months in a village twenty km north of the Étang de Thau and taking that very train journey!
Thanks for this very useful information. Is there an English word you would propose for “étangs” as used here?
How about ‘bays’?
Loved Inglesias’ version of the song ever since Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. The beauty of being an English speaker with somewhat limited French is that the song sums up a beauty and creates in me a euphoric mood, regardless of the literal translation.
Thanks, MB. “Lagoon” would be accurate but perhaps not sufficiently poetic. This does raise an interesting methodological question about translation. To what degree should the translator allow biographical or other considerations to influence the rendering, especially if that information is more hypothetical or speculative than is the case with Trenet and La Mer? “Pond” is, after all, the usual equivalent of étang and a translator would have to have sound reasons for departing from it. Come to think of it, “sound” might actually be what these bodies of water could be called in some places!
I also find “fen” among thesaurus listings. And “moor” in dialectal usage (which dialect?). “Sound” is nice.
The book ‘Is that a fish in your ear?’ by David Bellos is an authoritative study of the art of the translator; it is serious, witty, informative and deeply thought-provoking. I recommend that anyone with an interest in the subject should read it.
The ‘fens’ in England refer to the area of land which is often flooded by the tide in Norfolk in East Anglia (the county in the large,flat area north east of London between the city and the sea coast) or in parts of Lincolnshire, the county to the north. The fens are home to many wild birds and are characterised by large areas covered in reeds.
A ‘moor’ is usually a flat area of rough sheep pasture, rarely on the coast but typical of the wilder areas of Scotland.
Neither fens nor moors seem appropriate for ‘La Mer’ but I suppose it’s a matter of taste.
Thanks for this information about the fens of England. They feature prominently, I believe, in the Ruth Galloway novels of Elly Griffiths.
Very interesting conversation – I first came to know and love this tune in English with Jack Lawrence’s lyrics. I had no idea the original was a love song *for* the sea until I found this site. Thank you for this!
Stephen Farris’s interesting comment above painted a mental image for me of some places I am familiar with in the US. Take a look at an online map of the Great South Bay, Long Island, NY and Little Pleasant Bay, Cape Cod, MA; and compare the geography to the coastline near Port-la-Nouvelle and Leucate on France’s south coast.
The word ‘pond’ generally implies fresh water- some smaller bays on LI are sometimes referred to as ‘salt ponds’- so given M. Trenet’s saltwater inspiration as context, I think ‘pond’ by itself is not quite right.
These bays/salt ponds are generally surrounded by reeds, with lots of bird life, so that checks out. therefore, my proposal for an english translation for M. Trenet’s use of “étang” is “bay.”
Or maybe “cove,” which might sound better and is also pretty close. (I think there is a fish in my ear.)
Here is a photo of the Great South Bay ‘con ses blancs moutons et les maisons’ in the background: https://www.deviantart.com/prostreeter/art/White-caps-on-the-Great-South-Bay-Long-Island-NY-406851713
I read with lots of interest the original translation and subsequent notes/ suggestions , and as a French native and a tutor in French language , I proposed the song to my class today wanting a different approach to the literal translation..
As mentioned by your correspondent Cecile Couton, the white foamy caps on the waves ,on a windy day, are called moutons( sheep) therefore the association with shepherdess.
The verb Confondre in that context needs to be taken as Confuse , the sea confuses its white foamy waves with pure winged angels.
Further down we ‘d rather use the term lagoons instead of etangs: “see, by the lagoons,” and replaced “rusty coloured houses” by rust stained houses. And yes, l’Etang de Thau is rather large and home to lots of bird life as I remembered it.Back then, I was told that Thau is a local dialect meaning vast spread of salted water.
we loved the term cradle over the word rock as it evocates both a physical, enclosed , intimate location as well as an acoustic one.( sounds of waves as lullabies)
And lastly we prefer to use clear gulfs instead of bright gulfs as it conjugates vision of artificial light.
Does anyone else hear a play on words with mer as see and mere as mother sounding the same? at the end he declares the mother sea has rocked him (like a child) all his life.
What you say makes good sense.
Fascinating conversation this is! Yes, I like that thought. Taking it further, I like to think of the earth as cradling the sea – an innocent sea acting in accord with the planet’s movements and connections with the infinite, space, horizons, the pull of the moon, its tides, the earth its mother, as opposed to the seemingly violent, cruel sea, which can take lives in an orgy of angry, turbulent destruction. On another trajectory, the earth, the sea, and from the sky can all wreak destruction as well as calm, deep peace, from the devastation of an awesome tsunami to happy, carefree days; clear skies, still sea,
I like to visualise every part of earth, every participant, passive or active, as representing and mirroring every part of human nature and experience. We reflect each other, respond and are subject to every nuance, every particle, atom of life and it’s existence on the planet.
I hear you Teresa – but what a delightful thread this is. Many thanks to all. I am using it to inspire some art work.
I’ve been trying to find a more satisfactory English interpretation of the original intent of Monsieur Trenet that scans to the tune so I can sing it and possibly perform it. I will probably have to fix the scansion myself. Since I don’t speak French (or at least much French) but have come to really love French music, this could be a valuable skill to pick up.
Do you have any suggestions when it comes to making this scan while retaining the essential meaning?
All I can suggest is that you should look at the other comments, some of which may provide alternative wordings. It’s a hard task you have; good luck!
If you want to run anything by me, I’ll be happy to look at it.
I adore this song. It was played at my mother’s funeral. I also like this conversation with all it’s interpretations. I have made a sculpture called The Infinite Shepherdess based on the song. How can I send an image?
The images have been added to the end of the post. See above.
The greatest difficulty so far has been the references to the clear gulfs; finding something that scans while retaining that meaning is hard, but I’ll keep trying.
The last part of the fourth verse came out as “And with a song of love, the sea/will cradle my heart all my lifetime!” It scans, appears to carry the meaning, and ends on a beautiful and dramatic note.
Note that I am working with English translations, and not with the French text — which, as noted, is not a language I speak. One term of college French thirty-five years ago does not a translator make.
One other thing I did is change the translation of the word “Voyez” from “See” to “Behold!”; that change is solely in the name of scansion and drama. It carries a similar meaning in English but is more dramatic. I am well aware that “Voila” is the French word that more closely translates to “Behold!”, and that if the lyricist had meant “Voila” he could have used it and preserved the French scansion. So it’s a harder change to justify.
My intent is to convey the original meaning of Trenet’s love of the ocean beaches, as opposed to the totally unrelated lyric to “Beyond the Sea”. He loved to travel, and many of his songs refer to it. “Route National 7” springs to mind.
Your proposed translations seem to me to work well. “Behold” for “Voyez” is perfectly apt.
Behold is great! (See Walt Whitman in Vaughn Williams’ Sea Symphony).
I noticed that in the next to the last line of the piece it says, “Et d’un chanson…” It should be “Et d’une chanson…”
There’s an apostrophe (inverted comma) standing in for the final “e,” which I use to indicate that the “e caduc” does not have a note of its own. Thanks for noticing, though.
Enjoying the discussion of both the difficulty and art of translation, in general and more specifically to Trenet’s poetic lyrics. My job is easy: appending the original lyrics to the Bobby Darin version for my ukulele club far from “la mer” in the Mojave Desert!
Also enjoying the discussion, love the song. Would love to know what the modulations are which give such dynamism to the song. I prefer to learn it french. [Native English speaker]
I’m loving your discussion and grateful for your translation madbeppo!
Fascinating discussion about a beautiful song. Thank you.
The song is nice I first heard it from Mr Bean’s Movie
Whatever the best translation of the lyrics may be, the melody is beautiful.
In my unlearned opinion, I think that “ la mer Bergère d’azur infinie” reads better as “The sea, shepherdess of the infinite blue” as the blue is more likely to be infinite that the shepherdess!
Hélas! “azur” is essentially a noun (typically meaning, in poetic contexts, “blue sky” or “blue sea” [see the TLFi article]), and it is masculine. Hence, “infinie” has to apply to “bergère,” not to “azur.” There is another comment (and response) on this page involving this same issue.
I’ve just begun to find the multitude of singing translations of this wonderful song. My musicology professor, the late Joel Sheveloff, did a class on text setting, emphasizing the necessity to say what the original says, while maintaining the poetic form. I cut my teeth (with help from my husband) on the libretto of Mozart’s early opera, “La finta giardiniera”. This was back when only the second and third acts were available in Italian, and the first act had to be translated from the German. When later I wrote my singing translation of “La Mer’, the biggest problem was fitting the repeated “La mers” into the musical form. The British translation by Carlene Mair, which I heard on Youtube sung by Lelsie Hutchinson (the real-life model for the jazz singer in “Downton Abbey”), begins, “Sing on, murmuring sea”. Switiching from third person to second was what I needed. Another colleague criticised me for using bright vowels in the second stanza, when Trenet used dark ones. But I wasn’t trying to match the vowels, I was matching the consonats: z, sh, rzh. For your entertainment:
Roll on, murmuring sea, you dance all down the shore.
How your reflections change, Roll on,
So silv’ry beneath rainy weather.
Shine on, bright summer sea, your deep mirrors the sheep
As virgin cherubim, Shine on.
You shepherd the infinite azure.
Lagoons, glist’ning with weeds and tall saltwater reeds.
Those dunes, high-flying gulls and old grey weathered hulls (hulks, as in decrepit houses).
Sing on, cradling sea, you dance all down the shore,
So with your song of love, sing on,
And cradle my spirit forever.
Thanks for this wonderful comment. Your English singing version is very impressive!
There was a question whether you should use cradled for bercé or rocked. For some reason I am moved strongly by the idea. Cradled says it for me. I don’t understand why rocked is problematic, because it might describe the action when being cradled. Perhaps because it somehow sounds trendy?
Not relevant at all for translations of La Mer but I just wanted to say that the word which best describes the ‘ moors’ in French, from a geographical point of view, is the word ‘causses’ as in Causses de Cevennes, having lived in Yorkshire for many years and spent months exploring the Cevennes.
What a wonderful thread! I can’t add anything to the language discussion – I only came on here to find the translation. I’ve just been dancing round the kitchen whilst making dinner, listening to the song on repeat 17 times. I never get tired of it! Thanks!