Edith Piaf: Mistress of heartbreak and pain who had a few regrets after all
As France pays belated tribute to its beloved chanteuse, Edith Piaf, we unravel some of the singer’s many myths
Edith Piaf in 1936: even at an early
age, her tiny frame could create an astounding amount of noise – “enough
to drown out the lions”, winced her father Louis Photo: REX FEATURES
Poverty, cruelty, misery.
If Edith Piaf really did have no regrets, it must have been down to the
insanity. Fifty years after the death of the signature French chanteuse,
historians and fans continue to argue over whether her life was as bad as
she claimed. Or even worse.
Piaf was born to divide opinion. Many find in her astonishing voice an echo of
humanity’s helplessness in the great, pitiless void of existence. Others
think she sounds like someone swallowing a cheese-grater. It doesn’t really
matter, for Piaf’s real achievement was in demonstrating just how much it is
possible to suffer for your art.
Last week, in a mood of reverence and residual guilt, France stopped to
consider both what Piaf suffered and achieved before dying from an
impressively comprehensive surfeit of ailments at the age of 47. In
Belleville, the working-class Paris district where she was born, the
daughter of an acrobat and a failed singer, thousands gathered at the church
to pay their belated respects.
It had not been possible to pay them earlier, because in death, as in life,
Edith got a rough deal. The Catholic Church, convinced of her fallen state,
branded her “a categorical sinner” and refused to give her a funeral mass.
Her coffin was carried through the streets of Paris to be buried at the
ancient Père Lachaise cemetery with only a token blessing.
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On Thursday, however, Piaf received the full works: a memorial service
conducted by a bishop, relayed to giant screens and broadcast on national
television.
The same day, President François Hollande was handed a report from France’s public monuments commission suggesting that Edith be reburied in the Panthéon — the national mausoleum — alongside the likes of Voltaire and Rousseau. For hours, her earthy voice filled the capital’s airwaves and, as in the days when they trickled through the speakers of dingy bars, her songs became the soundtrack to the city.
Edith Piaf in 1960 REX
Yet the cult of Piaf and the life behind it are not easily deciphered. As Robert Belleret explains in a new biography, Piaf: a French Myth, much of what stands as her story has been “invented, exaggerated or embroidered”. Piaf herself — no slouch in the art of image-management — played a key role in creating the poignant portrait of la môme Piaf – the little sparrow, tossed on the pitiless winds of fate.
Above the front door of 72 rue de Belleville is a plaque reading: “On the steps of this house, Edith Piaf, whose voice would later move the entire world, was born into utter destitution on December 19, 1915.”
While this plays neatly into the story that Edith was literally born in the street, it isn’t true. She was actually born four days earlier in the comfort of a nearby hospital. The equally dog-eared tale of her being struck blind as a child and miraculously cured during a pilgrimage to Lisieux was also largely concocted.
Among hardcore fans, it remains virtual heresy to portray her as anything other than a victim of the spivs and shysters of the Thirties and Forties Paris demi-monde, who exploited and, ultimately, destroyed her.
Edith Piaf REX FEATURES
Yet Edith was no innocent in the city’s rough clubland, expertly playing off lovers and sugar daddies to facilitate her own rise, while scheming to keep rivals down. Juliette Greco, actress and singer, now 86, has never forgiven Piaf for bad-mouthing her to promoters. “She could not stand other women singers,” Ms Greco told Le Parisien last week. “She’d tell people I was ugly, badly dressed. I was just a kid, 19 years old, trying to start out.”
Quite why Piaf needed a hammed-up version of her life story remains something of a mystery. The real one would have been sufficiently unendurable for anyone else, and the Zola-esque overtones that Edith added tend to complicate rather than heighten any understanding of what made her so special.
Abandoned by her alcoholic mother, Edith was taken in by her grandmother, Acha, who ran a whorehouse in Normandy. At seven, she was reclaimed by her father, Louis, who took her travelling with his circus, and taught her the rudiments of performing.
Even at that age, her tiny frame could create an astounding amount of noise – “enough to drown out the lions” winced Louis – and by her mid-teens, she was singing in cafés and Paris boulevards.
She moved in increasingly bad company and from lover to lover. At the age of 17, she had her only child, a daughter, Cecelle, who died of meningitis aged two, According to yet another story — almost certainly untrue — she had to sleep with a stranger to pay for her child’s funeral.
Shortly before her 20th birthday, she was spotted by Louis Leplée, a nightclub owner who effectively created her as a cabaret singer, dressed her in simple black, and steered her towards a réaliste repertoire of songs about pain and heartbreak.
Here, Edith was in her element. Her fame spread, and she became first a home-grown, then an international, star.
Not that her life became any easier. In 1949, the death in a plane crash of her great love, Marcel Cerdan, a boxing champion, sent her into a spiral of alcoholism, drug use and mental breakdown, and by 1960 she had had enough, announcing her intention to retire to live quietly on the Riviera.
A few months later, however, she was lured back to work by Charles Dumont and Michel Vaucaire, two young songwriters who had composed what would become her greatest anthem, Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien.
The song, with its martial beat and message of pain, joy and defiance, was a colossal hit, which today serves as Edith’s epitaph.
Her actual last words were: “Every damn thing you do in this life, you have to pay for.” Which suggests that there might have been a few regrets after all.
The same day, President François Hollande was handed a report from France’s public monuments commission suggesting that Edith be reburied in the Panthéon — the national mausoleum — alongside the likes of Voltaire and Rousseau. For hours, her earthy voice filled the capital’s airwaves and, as in the days when they trickled through the speakers of dingy bars, her songs became the soundtrack to the city.
Edith Piaf in 1960 REX
Yet the cult of Piaf and the life behind it are not easily deciphered. As Robert Belleret explains in a new biography, Piaf: a French Myth, much of what stands as her story has been “invented, exaggerated or embroidered”. Piaf herself — no slouch in the art of image-management — played a key role in creating the poignant portrait of la môme Piaf – the little sparrow, tossed on the pitiless winds of fate.
Above the front door of 72 rue de Belleville is a plaque reading: “On the steps of this house, Edith Piaf, whose voice would later move the entire world, was born into utter destitution on December 19, 1915.”
While this plays neatly into the story that Edith was literally born in the street, it isn’t true. She was actually born four days earlier in the comfort of a nearby hospital. The equally dog-eared tale of her being struck blind as a child and miraculously cured during a pilgrimage to Lisieux was also largely concocted.
Among hardcore fans, it remains virtual heresy to portray her as anything other than a victim of the spivs and shysters of the Thirties and Forties Paris demi-monde, who exploited and, ultimately, destroyed her.
Edith Piaf REX FEATURES
Yet Edith was no innocent in the city’s rough clubland, expertly playing off lovers and sugar daddies to facilitate her own rise, while scheming to keep rivals down. Juliette Greco, actress and singer, now 86, has never forgiven Piaf for bad-mouthing her to promoters. “She could not stand other women singers,” Ms Greco told Le Parisien last week. “She’d tell people I was ugly, badly dressed. I was just a kid, 19 years old, trying to start out.”
Quite why Piaf needed a hammed-up version of her life story remains something of a mystery. The real one would have been sufficiently unendurable for anyone else, and the Zola-esque overtones that Edith added tend to complicate rather than heighten any understanding of what made her so special.
Abandoned by her alcoholic mother, Edith was taken in by her grandmother, Acha, who ran a whorehouse in Normandy. At seven, she was reclaimed by her father, Louis, who took her travelling with his circus, and taught her the rudiments of performing.
Even at that age, her tiny frame could create an astounding amount of noise – “enough to drown out the lions” winced Louis – and by her mid-teens, she was singing in cafés and Paris boulevards.
She moved in increasingly bad company and from lover to lover. At the age of 17, she had her only child, a daughter, Cecelle, who died of meningitis aged two, According to yet another story — almost certainly untrue — she had to sleep with a stranger to pay for her child’s funeral.
Shortly before her 20th birthday, she was spotted by Louis Leplée, a nightclub owner who effectively created her as a cabaret singer, dressed her in simple black, and steered her towards a réaliste repertoire of songs about pain and heartbreak.
Here, Edith was in her element. Her fame spread, and she became first a home-grown, then an international, star.
Not that her life became any easier. In 1949, the death in a plane crash of her great love, Marcel Cerdan, a boxing champion, sent her into a spiral of alcoholism, drug use and mental breakdown, and by 1960 she had had enough, announcing her intention to retire to live quietly on the Riviera.
A few months later, however, she was lured back to work by Charles Dumont and Michel Vaucaire, two young songwriters who had composed what would become her greatest anthem, Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien.
The song, with its martial beat and message of pain, joy and defiance, was a colossal hit, which today serves as Edith’s epitaph.
Her actual last words were: “Every damn thing you do in this life, you have to pay for.” Which suggests that there might have been a few regrets after all.
