Rue Saint Vincent is a song written in 1885 by Aristide Bruant and a classic of “Chanson Realiste”
This version is sung by Renaud Sechan and has been covered by numerous other French artists.
It is a tragic tale of innocence lost in the shadows of Montmartre. At that time, Montmartre was the red-light district of Paris.
Rose is a young orphaned girl who lives with her grandmother. Stricken by poverty, the girl has to “walk the streets” and earn a living.
She meets Jules, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Beneath his sweet appearance, he is a local thug and pimp. Rose spends the night with Jules, but as he realises she will not work for him, he murders her by stabbing her belly with a dagger.
Elle avait, sous sa toque de martre
Sur la butte Montmartre
Un petit air innocent
On l’appelait Rose, elle était belle
A sentait bon la fleur nouvelle
Rue Saint-Vincent
On n’avait pas connu son père
A n’avait plus de mère
Et depuis 1900
A demeurait chez sa vieille aïeule
Où qu’a s’élevait comme ça,
toute seule
Rue Saint-Vincent
A travaillait, déjà, pour vivre
Et les soirs de givre
Sous le froid noir et glaçant
Son petit fichu sur les épaules
A rentrait, par la rue des Saules
Rue Saint-Vincent
A voyait, dans les nuits de gelée
La nappe étoilée
Et la lune en croissant
Qui brillait, blanche et fatidique
Sur la petite croix de la basilique
Rue Saint-Vincent
L’été par les chauds crépuscules
A rencontrait Jules
Qu’était si caressant
Qu’a restait la soirée entière
Avec lui, près du vieux cimetière
Rue Saint-Vincent
Mais le petit Jules était de la tierce
Qui soutient la gerce
Aussi, l’adolescent
Voyant qu’a ne marchait pas au pantre
D’un coup de surin lui troua le ventre
Rue Saint-Vincent
Quand ils l’ont couchée sous la planche
Elle était toute blanche
Même qu’en l’ensevelissant
Les croque morts disaient que la pauvre gosse
Était claquée le jour de sa noce
Rue Saint-Vincent
Elle avait, sous sa toque de martre
Sur la butte Montmartre
Un petit air innocent
On l’appelait Rose, elle était belle
A sentait bon la fleur nouvelle
Rue Saint-Vincent
Under her marten hat
On the Montmartre hill
She had an innocent look
We called her Rose. She was beautiful
She smelled like a spring flower
Rue Saint Vincent
No one knew who her father was
She had lost her mother
And since 1900
She lived with her old grandmother
Where she was bringing herself up, all by herself
Rue Saint Vincent
She was already working to make a living
And on the frosty nights
In the freezing dark
Her little shawl on her shoulders
She went home by the Rue des Saules
Rue Saint Vincent
She saw in the frozen nights
The canopy of stars
And the crescent moon
Which shone, pale and ominous
On the small cross of the basilica
Rue Saint Vincent
In summer, in the warm twilights
She met Jules,
Who was so caressing
That she spent the whole evening
With him near the old cemetery.
Rue Saint Vincent
And little Jules was from the underworld
The one who keeps the girls
Yet, the teenager
Seeing that she would not walk for him
With just one hit of his dagger, he pierced her belly
Rue Saint Vincent
When they laid her down in the box
She was all pale.
And when they buried her
The undertakers said that the poor kid
Kicked the bucket on her wedding night
Rue Saint Vicent
She had a beautiful marten hat
On the Montmartre hill
An innocent little look.
She was called Rose, and she was beautiful.
She smelled good, like a spring flower
Rue Saint Vincent
Between the French lyrics 
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