No Regrets - Carolyn Burke [127]
This controversy marked the start of a struggle over the meaning of Piaf’s life. She had occupied such a large place in the national imagination that it needed to be filled or, more cynically, exploited as soon as possible. Her intimates were drawn into rival attempts to claim her heritage. For the next six months, with the aid of Danielle Bonel, Théo tried to settle matters. His return to the stage less than two months after Edith’s death was criticized by journalists, who called it a lack of respect while noting that his performance could not help evoking her, as if she were still by his side. Théo’s attempts to obtain a share of Piaf’s royalties were met with opposition from Pathé, for whom she had been the “interpreter” of her best-known songs but not their author. Meanwhile, his career faltered as his debts accumulated—until the end of the 1960s, when he was offered spots in films and on television. In 1970, when it seemed that Piaf’s widower had at last earned his place in the entertainment world, he died in a car crash. A memorial service was held at the Byzantine church where they had been married, before his burial beside Edith at Père-Lachaise.
During these years, her entourage made peace with their loss as well as they could, though not always with one another. The Bonels continued to be blamed for what some called a venal interest in making their movies and other souvenirs of their time with Piaf available to the media. (When France Dimanche asked to publish their memoirs, the couple accepted a sum large enough so they could retire, but only after consulting with Théo and with Loulou Barrier, who said that this was their due, given their years of loyal service.) In the other camp, or camps, Ginou Richer would accuse the couple of exploiting their years with the star, Jean Noli would publish his version of her last years, and Hugues Vassal would write three books on his time with Edith, with the emphasis on her importance to him as a source of artistic and spiritual guidance. Pierre Lacotte’s ballet La Voix was produced on French television in 1965, with Edith’s voice heard in the background while the hero and heroine danced the story of their amours.
As the singer’s intimates dealt with the aftermath of her death, the entertainment business searched for “the new Piaf.” There were several candidates, including Juliette Gréco and Catherine Sauvage. But Gréco was already a star in her own right, and Sauvage was well known in France as a mordant interpreter of lyrics by Brassens and Ferré. This left two young singers discovered on a 1965 television talent show, Georgette Lemaire and Mireille Mathieu. Lemaire, who like Piaf came from Belleville and performed réaliste classics at local dance halls, had a richly resonant voice that recalled Piaf’s register. But the music business had other plans. Mathieu, the younger of the two, was more amenable to taking direction from an industry that quickly chose her as Piaf’s successor, arranging for her to sing at official events and ensuring that her fame would eclipse that of her rival, despite Lemaire’s more “Piaf-like” voice.
A fresh scandal erupted in 1967, by which time Mathieu had been crowned as Piaf’s successor. Léo Ferré, whose songwriting career Piaf had jump-started by urging him to move to Paris, declared the star irreplaceable in his new song, “A une chanteuse morte” (“To a Dead Songstress”). Piaf had a bird’s name, he began, but she sang with such power that she conjured multitudes. Hailing her as if she were still alive, he called her “un Wagner du carrefour, un Bayreuth de trottoir” (“a crossroads Wagner, a Bayreuth of the streets”). Ferré continued, “Tu aurais chanté France-Soir comme de l’Apollinaire” (“You could have sung France-Soir like a poem by Apollinaire”), but the campaign to replace her by the industry’s “shit merchants” (“auteurs de la merde”) was all about money. In the last line, Ferré called out for an end to this travesty: “Arretez! Arretez la musique!” he yelled,