Qu'ils mangent de la brioche!...euh, je veux dire gâteau. Qu'ils mangent du gâteau.

Hier était le quatorzième Juillet!

La Bastille est tombée! (Encore.)
Vive la France! Vive la Révolution! Vive Madame la Guillotine!

[Chantant]

"Allons enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé !
Contre nous de la tyrannie
L'étendard sanglant est levé.
Entendez-vous dans nos campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras.
Égorger vos fils, vos compagnes!
Aux armes, citoyens!
Formez vos bataillons!
Marchons, marchons!
Qu'un sang impur
Abreuve nos sillons!"

Yes, fine, I'll translate.

The title is "Let them eat sweet, eggy, flaky pastry rolls, kind of like croissants, except shaped more like muffins!....um, I mean cake. Let them eat cake."
--(Widely attributed to Marie Antoinette although there is some doubt as to whether she actually said it, and if so, if she was the original author.)

Yesterday was July 14th!

The Bastille (Paris fortress) has fallen! Again! (I like to pretend to storm it every year.)

(In 2002, a much younger (and thinner) Gail prepares the first volley of stuffed animals for her assault on the Bastille. The fortified couch and cardboard boxes crumbled under the onslaught!)

Long live France! Long live the Revolution! Long live Madame Guillotine!

[Singing]

[The lyrics to the French National Anthem, la Marseillaise.]

Now, for purposes of clarity, I shall sift among the various possible translation options to bring you the best overall effect.

Poetic:

Arise, children of the fatherland!
The day of glory has arrived!
Against us, the bloodied banner
of tyranny is raised.
Do you hear in the countryside
the roar of ferocious soldiers?
They are coming into our arms
to slaughter our sons, our wives!
To arms, citizens!
Form your batallions!
March on! March on!
Let a tainted blood
water our fields.

More literal:

Come, children of the country,
The day of glory is here.
Against us the tyranny
has raised a bloody flag.
Do you hear in the countryside
the roar of ferocious soldiers?
They are coming right in among us
to slaughter our sons, our companions/wives/mistresses/women.
To arms, citizens!
Form your batallions!
Let's march! Let's march!
Let an impure blood
soak our furrows.


Out of curiosity, and because this process almost always yields humorous results, I also let Yahoo's Babel fish program take a stab at it. (Forgive me. Bastille day...Violent metaphors...Can't help myself.)

That marvelous translator produced the following:

"Let us go children of the Fatherland,
The day of glory arrived!
Against us of tyranny
L' bloody standard is raised.
Do you hear in our Mugir campaigns
these wild soldiers?
They come until in your arms.
To cut the throat of your sons, your partners!
With the weapons, citizens!
Form your battalions!
Let us go, go!
Qu' an impure blood
Water our furrows!"


(I love Babel Fish!)


Now, for further effect, I am going to take that, and let Babel Fish translate it back into French again!


"Partons des enfants de la patrie,
le jour de la gloire est arrivé !
Contre nous de la tyrannie L' ;
la norme sanglante est relevée.
Entendez-vous dans nos campagnes
de Mugir ces soldats sauvages ?
Ils viennent jusqu'à dans des vos bras.
Pour couper la gorge de vos fils, vos associés !
Avec les armes, citoyens !
Formez vos bataillons !
Partons, allez !
Qu' ; une eau impure
de sang nos sillons !"


Now, my best attempt at translating the above literally--(my attempt might be more laughable than an expert, accurate translation)--would go like this:

Let's leave the children of the country,
[Comment: We are leaving our children? This is shocking!]
the day of glory has arrived.
Against us of the L-tyranny
[Is this like the Castro Tyranny?]
the technical standard is re-raised.
[Okay. So I'm a member of an obscure tyranny trying to do away with technical standards. Obviously we management are squashing our engineers' repeated attempts to produce a quality product based on industry norms because we would rather make insane promises to the customers. Pointy-haired boss! It all makes sense now!]
Do you hear in the countryside of Bellows
the savage soldiers?
They are coming into your arms
to cut the throats of your sons, your associates!
[Great. Now I'm a member of the mafia, threatening local businesses.]
With weapons, citizens!
[Yes, I expect the mafioso "soldiers" are using weapons in their campaign of terror.]
Form your batallions!
Let's leave, go!
[So...now I have double-crossed both management and Mafia and am skipping town with my most loyal lieutenants? How did one round of translations suddenly turn me into such a bad guy?]
Let an impure water
of blood our furrows.
[This last part makes no sense. I can only conclude the Mafia caught me, are beating me senseless, and I am babbling...senselessly. No more than I deserve, apparently.]

Okay, if you haven't had enough, I will take the French I was just translating from and run it back through Babel Fish and back into English and see what nonsense emerges! (I wonder how close my translation came. I did it before running things back through an online translator.)


"Let us leave the children of the fatherland,
the day of glory arrived!
Against us of L' tyranny; ;
the bloody standard is raised.
You in our campaigns hear
of Mugir these wild soldiers?
They come jusqu' with in your arms.
To cut the throat of your sons, your associates!
With the weapons, citizens!
Form your battalions!
Let us leave, go!
Qu' ; an impure water
of blood our furrows!"


I must say...I didn't do too badly! My translation was eerily close to Babel Fish. Now, either this means that I am exceptionally good...or it means that I'm as bad as Babel Fish. (Whose prowess has already, sadly, been demonstrated.)

Saying "You're just like him!" can be complimentary...or not. Depending.

Let's stick with cake. Speaking of "let them eat cake," I made a simple, but fun treat in honor of the day.



Alas, I forgot to bloody the blade. Maybe next year.