No Regrets - Carolyn Burke [82]
Piaf again turned her mind to the business affairs that, in her view, assumed too much importance, and all that spring rehearsed the new songs composed for her by her old favorites, Monnot, Emer, Contet, Glanzberg, and, soon, Aznavour. Between engagements, in June, she recorded six new songs, including Glanzberg’s somewhat predictable waltz “Il fait bon t’aimer” (“It’s good loving you”), which may have evoked Marcel as she crooned seductively, “Auprès de toi je n’ai plus peur / Je me sens trop bien à l’abri / T’as fermé la porte au malheur / Il n’entrera plus, t’es plus fort que lui.” (“Close to you I’m not afraid / I feel so safe / You closed the door on unhappiness / You’re so strong it can’t come in.”)
On a different note, Piaf’s lively rendition of Emer’s “La Fête continue” evoked her youth in a counterpoint blending fairground noises with tales of le petit peuple—a “gosse” with sick parents, lovers planning suicide because they cannot marry, mourners who (like Edith) resort to séances to reach loved ones. Her subtle changes in coloration enhanced the contrast between these individual lives and the festive crowd’s oblivion: “La fête bat son plein, musique et manèges / … / Chansons, balançoires, la fête continue.” (“The fair’s in full swing, music, merry-go-rounds / … / Songs, seesaws, the fair carries on.”) Listeners resonated as Piaf sang of life’s way of going on despite loss; Emer’s melody was named the best song in the réaliste tradition at the Concours de la Chanson Française.
About this time, when Edith was also recording songs in English for her first American album, she met the man who would help her to carry on. During her June engagement at the Baccarat club, a brawny American with a pockmarked face presented himself as her new translator, having already done an English version of “Hymne à l’amour.” After studying music in Vienna, Eddie Constantine had pursued a lackluster career in the United States. In France, playing on the vogue for American culture and his resemblance to a gangster, he had opened shows for Lucienne Boyer and Suzy Solidor. But it was Constantine’s nearly incomprehensible French that caught Piaf’s attention. As he struggled to make an impression on the star, she burst out laughing. Constantine sized up the opportunity. He was separated from his wife, he said, who was living in the States with their daughter. Piaf told her entourage that, given this state of affairs, she would not be wrecking a marriage, though some thought that the Constantines had an understanding that left the brash “Ricain” free to pursue his career as he saw fit.
Just the same, Edith’s entourage was glad when Constantine moved into the Boulogne house and received her regulation gifts for lovers—a gold watch, cuff links, alligator shoes, and a blue suit tailored for his impressive physique. “Edith always needed someone to love,” Aznavour wrote. “We knew that a page had been turned in the story of the household; a new one was being written even though Marcel was not forgotten.” When Piaf recorded “Hymne à l’amour” in English that summer, it seemed like an endorsement of her song’s translator.
Constantine and Aznavour worked out a division of labor, with the former in the role of Monsieur Piaf (the household’s name for her latest beau) and the latter her right-hand man. They accepted her idées fixes, such as seeing her favorite films (Wuthering Heights, The Third Man) every night for a week, eating only when and what she wanted, or dropping everything to listen to Beethoven’s symphonies. In July and August, while they toured resort towns together, she tried to teach Constantine to speak French and worked on his performance style. Although he was no Montand, she took him to New York for her three-month engagement at the Versailles that fall, partly to shield herself from memories of life there with Cerdan, partly to show