The Little Sparrow

I don’t know when I first heard Edith Piaf. She died when I was but a sophomore in high school; I certainly was not aware of her life, or her passing. All I can tell you is that sometime between her death on October 11, 1963, and my first trip to Paris in December of 1990, I learned to love her music to the point that visiting her grave at Père Lachaise Cemetery was very high on my list of things to do in Paris. Her grave (see photo below) is among the most visited, perhaps second only to Jim Morrison’s.

The playwright and filmmaker Jean Cocteau reportedly said, upon hearing of her death, "Ah, la Piaf est morte. Je peux mourir aussi.” (Ah, Piaf's dead. I can die too) – and then he did. Paris came to a standstill on the day of her funeral; the cemetery was mobbed by tens of thousands; more lined the streets.

I speak very few words of French and I understand fewer, but translating the words is not necessary to comprehending the magic that is Piaf. Try it. Listen to “Non, je ne regrette rien,” perhaps my favorite Piaf tune; or try “Milord,” one you may already know. I bet you’ll love them, even if you have no idea what they’re about.

I just gave my copy of the single CD “Edith Piaf’s Greatest Hits” to a colleague, Agnes, the coordinator  in the French department at Yale. Why? Because I finally started listening to the 9-CD set I bought years ago, “L'intégrale de ses Enregistrements 1946-63,” which has everything that’s on the single disc, and so much more – 196 tracks altogether. It’s over ten and-a-half hours of music. I’ve listened to it all in the last two days, though admittedly while at work.

Now I see there’s an expanded version of the same set: 20 CDs with 413 tracks! What’s a boy to do? (Don’t worry, Ransom, I’m not going to spend the money for it, although it’s an amazing $38.21 at amazon).

Music truly is the universal language. Yes, that’s trite, but Edith Piaf is the proof. Give her a listen if you don’t know her; you may find yourself as hooked as I am.