Laudator Temporis Acti

Pierre-Jean de Béranger (1780-1857), "Roger Bontemps" (tr. William Young):

To show our hypochondriacs,
In days the most forlorn,
A pattern set before their eyes,
Roger Bontemps was born.
To live obscurely, at his will,
To keep aloof from strife—
Hurrah for fat Roger Bontemps;
This is his rule of life!

To sport, when holidays occur,
The hat his father wore;
With roses or with ivy leaves
To trim it, as of yore:
To wear a coarse old cloak, his friend
For twenty years—no less—
Hurrah for fat Roger Bontemps;
This is his style of dress!

To own a table in his hut,
A crazy bed beside it,
A pack of cards, a flute, a can
For wine—if Heaven provide it;
A beauty stuck against the wall,
A coffer—nought to hold—
Hurrah for fat Roger Bontemps;
Thus are his riches told!

To teach the children of the town
Their little games to play,
To make of smutty tales and jokes
New versions every day;
To talk of nought but balls, and take
From scraps of song his tone—
Hurrah for fat Roger Bontemps;
Thus is his learning shown!

To smack his lips at common wine,
The choicest not possessing;
To scorn your high-bred dames, and find
His Marguerite a blessing;
To give to tenderness and joy
Each moment as it flies—
Hurrah for fat Roger Bontemps;
'Tis thus he shows he's wise!

To say to Heaven, "I firmly trust
Thy goodness in my need;
Father, forgive, if mine has been
Perchance too gay a creed:
Grant that my latest season may
Still like the Spring be fair"—
Hurrah for fat Roger Bontemps;
Such is his humble prayer!

Ye envious poor, ye rich who deem
Wealth still your thoughts deserving;
Ye who in search of pleasant tracks
Yet find your car is swerving;
Ye who the titles that ye boast
May lose by some disaster—
Hurrah for fat Roger Bontemps;
Go, take him for your master!

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Aux gens atrabilaires
Pour exemple donné,
En un temps de misères
Roger Bontemps est né.
Vivre obscur à sa guise,
Narguer les mécontents;
Eh gai! c'est la devise
Du gros Roger Bontemps.

Du chapeau de son père,
Coiffé dans les grands jours,
De roses ou de lierre
Le rajeunir toujours;
Mettre un manteau de bure,
Vieil ami de vingt ans;
Eh gai! c'est la parure
Du gros Roger Bontemps.

Posséder dans sa hutte
Une table, un vieux lit,
Des cartes, une flûte,
Un broc que Dieu remplit,
Un portrait de maîtresse,
Un coffre et rien dedans;
Eh gai! c'est la richesse
Du gros Roger Bontemps.

Aux enfants de la ville
Montrer de petits jeux;
Être un faiseur habile
De contes graveleux;
Ne parler que de danse
Et d’almanachs chantants;
Eh gai! c'est la science
Du gros Roger Bontemps.

Faute de vin d'élite,
Sabler ceux du canton;
Préférer Marguerite
Aux dames du grand ton;
De joie et de tendresse
Remplir tous ses instants;
Eh gai! c'est la sagesse
Du gros Roger Bontemps.

Dire au ciel: Je me fie,
Mon père, à ta bonté;
De ma philosophie
Pardonne la gaîté;
Que ma saison dernière
Soit encore un printemps;
Eh gai! c'est la prière
Du gros Roger Bontemps.

Vous, pauvres pleins d'envie,
Vous, riches désireux,
Vous, dont le char dévie
Après un cours heureux;
Vous, qui perdrez peut-être
Des titres éclatants,
Eh gai! prenez pour maître
Le gros Roger Bontemps.