I’m logging what I do each week to improve my French. Maybe it will motivate me to do more. No need to post the details here, but I’ll see if posting a skeleton log of my actions helps motivate me to keep it up. I’ll update this post over the week rather than make new articles each time.
One of my favorite authors of books for very young children is Arnold Lobel. I’m exploring the nuances of French by translating his award-winning collection of fables. This week’s effort: The Cat and His Visions (see the full series of translations here). As before, I did the first round of translation on my own (with reference works), and then edited it with the help of my teacher.
Version française (traduite par David Miller, éditée par Virginie Bordier)
Le Chat et ses visions
« Quelle merveilleuse vision !», dit le Chat en marchant vers la rive. «Je vois un bon gros poisson sur une assiette en porcelaine, baigné dans un océan de jus de citron et de sauce au beurre.» Il se lécha les babines d’impatience. Le Chat fixa un vers sur un hameçon et jeta sa ligne dans l’eau. Il attendit que le poisson morde. Une heure s’écoula, mais rien ne se passa. « Encore une vision ! », dit le Chat. «Un poisson sur une assiette en porcelaine, entouré par un lac de jus de citron et de sauce au beurre.» Une autre heure s’écoula, et rien ne se passa. «Encore une nouvelle vision !» dit le Chat. «Un petit poisson sur une assiette en porcelaine, aspergé de jus de citron et d’un filet de sauce au beurre.» Plusieurs heures plus tard le Chat dit «Une nouvelle vision m’apparaît. Un petit poisson tout maigre sur une assiette en porcelaine avec une minuscule goutte de jus de citron et une touche infime de sauce au beurre.» Après un long moment le Chat dit tristement, «J’ai une nouvelle vision en tête. Il n’y a aucun poisson. Pas de jus de citron, pas la moindre sauce au beurre. Je ne vois qu’une assiette en porcelaine, aussi vide que mon estomac.» Le Chat était sur le point de quitter la rive quand il sentit un tension dans sa ligne. Il sortit un bon gros poisson hors de l’eau. Le chat rentra à toute vitesse et fit frire le poisson. Il le mit sur une assiette en porcelaine. Il le noya dans un océan de jus de citron et de sauce au beurre. «Quel dîner merveilleux !» dit le Chat.
Tout est bien qui se termine par un bon repas !
Version originale (par Arnold Lobel)
The Cat and His Visions
“What a glorious vision I see in my head!” said the Cat as he went to the riverbank. “I see a large, fat fish on a china plate, resting in an ocean of lemon juice and butter sauce.” He licked his whiskers in anticipation. The Cat put a worm on a hook and threw his line into the water. He waited for the fish to bite. An hour went by, but nothing happened. “What a vision I see”, said the Cat. “A fish on a china plate, lying in a lake of lemon juice and butter sauce.” Another hour passed, and nothing happened. “I see a vision!” said the Cat. “A small fish on a china plate, sprinkled with lemon juice and dribbles of butter sauce.” Many hours later the Cat said, “I can still see a vision. A small, thin fish on a china plate with a little drop of lemon juice and a tiny dab of butter sauce.” After a long time the Cat said sadly, “There is a new vision in my head. I see no fish. I see no lemon juice and not a bit of butter sauce. I see a china plate. It is as empty as my stomach.” The Cat was just about to leave the riverbank when he felt a sudden tug on his line. He pulled a large, fat fish out of the river. The Cat ran home and fried the fish. He put it on a china plate. He poured a whole ocean of lemon juice and butter sauce all over it. “What a glorious supper!” said the Cat.
All’s well that ends with a good meal.
Things I Learned
Rather than show you my original, unedited draft, and a comparison with the final French version, I thought I’d list some of the items in the final draft that were different in my original and what I learned from the change.
One of the challenges in translating this work was capturing the diminishing grandeur of the visions. The size of the fish shrinks over time, but so does the quantity of butter sauce and the application of lemon juice. Also the level of enthusiasm with which each vision is announced “What a glorious vision!”, “What a vision!”, “I see a vision.”, etc. So I needed to do the translation not only at the word level or sentence level, but taking the whole story into account. I understood this without instruction, but didn’t always get the gradations quite right without editing help.
«Un bon gros poisson»: The initial depiction “I see a large, fat fish” suggests using the adjectives «grand» and «gros». Adjectives involving size typically come before the noun, but when you have two of them it’s correct to put one before and one after. However «un gros poisson grand» just sounds clunky, and I knew it even as I dutifully followed the rule and wrote it. Better is «un poisson gros et grand», or just going with a single adjective «un énorme poisson». But we eventually settled on «un bon gros poisson». Here «bon» does not mean “good”, but rather serves to amplify, similar in English to the usage “David was good and ready to move on” vs “David was ready to move on”. The subject’s goodness is not in play here, it’s the intensity of the readiness.
«Baigner», «noyer»: In the grandest of visions, the Cat sees the fish “resting in an ocean of lemon juice and butter sauce” and in the eventual reality the Cat “poured a whole ocean of lemon juice and butter sauce” over it. I didn’t like any literal translations of “resting in”, so in French I made the first one «baigné dans un océan …», which is literally “bathed in”. Once I’d done that, I doubled down on the ocean and water theme and made the second one «Il le noya dans un océan de jus …», which is literally “he drowned it in an ocean of lemon juice” rather than “he poured a whole ocean …”. I like using this sort of grammatical departure (drowning the fish in the sauce vs pouring the sauce over the fish) when it gives a better stylistic result, but I find it hard to keep in mind as a valid possibility. It takes more imagination. In any event, my editor very much liked both «baigné» and «noya».
Babine is also the title character of a 2008 Québecois film.
«Se lécher les babines» is a fixed expression that means “to lick one’s chops”. The word «babine» itself means the upper lip of an animal, or the lips in general, animal or human. Lobel’s original is “He licked his whiskers in anticipation”. We couldn’t find any great way to keep the specificity of “whiskers” while still using something that sounds right in French. My first draft used «Il lécha ses moustaches». While «moustaches» is the right word for a cat’s whiskers in other contexts, this expression sounded wrong in my editor’s ears. I decided to go with the more idiomatic «Il se lécha ses babines» and lose the whisker detail. I feel it’s a real loss, but don’t know a better solution.
«Anticipation» in French has only some of the meanings of the cognate “anticipation” in English. It means “foresight” or “expectation”, but not with any emotion or positive sense of eagerness. The French «anticipation» would never be associated with giddiness as in English. A cat wouldn’t lick its lips in «anticipation», though it might bring an umbrella to a picnic in «anticipation». Thus my original draft «Il lécha ses moustaches avec anticipation» was faulty. We converted it to «Il se lécha ses babines d’impatience.» The French «impatience» encompasses the notion of eagerness quite well, but can also be used to capture frustration, fidgeting, or difficulty with self-control.
«S’écouler» means to flow or to elapse. It’s the right verb to use with time passing: «une heure s’écoula». I originally tried the verb «dérouler» meaning “to unfurl” or “to unwind”. That works fine with a spool of thread, a reel of film, or a line of reasoning, but apparently not so much with the flow of time.
«Entourer» means surround in a neutral or positive sense. A park surrounded by residential neighborhoods, a large gem surrounded by lesser stones in a ring, a child wrapped up in its mother’s arms. It also means “trimmed” or “garnished”, so is perfect for fish in a lake of butter sauce. I originally tried the verb «cerner» which mean something more like “penned in”, “nailed down”, “narrowed down” or “isolated” – something done by police or investigators – which doesn’t fit at all. This feels related to the English “discern”.
«Saupoudré» is the adjective I originally thought of for the application of a modest amount of lemon juice: “sprinkled” in the English source. But «saupoudré» is exclusively for dry ingredients – its root is “powder”. One can’t use it for liquid. The right verb choice there is «asperger», which we ultimately chose. We also considered «arrosé», which would be more like “sprayed” or “spritzed” (literally “bedewed”).
Un filet d’eau
«Un éclaboussure» is certainly a moderate quantity of liquid that has spilled or transferred from a larger vessel and has spread out on a surface, so it’s not an unthinkable translation for “dribbles of butter sauce”. But «éclaboussure» has a strong negative connotation. It’s a splash, but it leaves a stain rather than adding a positive highlight. So it’s used with ink on a page, storm water kicked up by passing cars, scandal on a celebrity, and blood or guts in a violent encounter. When I learned this I proposed the alternate «un filet», which is a thin stream like from a faucet or a bottle of olive oil (separately «un filet» can mean “a net”). It’s a good fit for “dribble” or “drizzle” in cooking. I recently learned this usage from French Vocabulary Illustrated and was happy to put it to immediate use.
«Goutte», «touche», «soupçon»: I wrestled a bit with good translations for “a little drop” and “a tiny dab”. I was tempted to use «soupçon» because I think of it as a canonical American affectation for describing small amounts of ingredients added to a dish, e.g. “Liven up your salads with just a soupçon of walnut oil”. But from what I can tell, this is used in French only when you want to indicate actual suspicion, either in the sense of a crime or in the sense of a guessing situation. You might use it to say there’s a hint of marigold in this white wine, but you wouldn’t say you added a hint of something, since you know you did it. So I went with «une minuscule goutte» and «une touche infime» (I originally had «minime» instead of «miniscule» and I struggle a bit with whether to put each adjective before or after its nown, but this is where we ended up).
«tristement», «malheureusement»: I heard a radio article once in English about how the word “happiness” was originally closer to its sibling “happenstance” and “happen”. It was in this linguistic context that the phrase in the U.S. Declaration of Independence “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” was written, and was striking. Happiness was a thing that arrived serendipitously, by chance. You would no more pursue it than you would pursue a shooting star. If you happened to encounter it, how nice for you. But it was not something that could be targeted or engineered. The French «malheureusement» describes an unfortunate state of affairs: we hoped to arrive on time, but unfortunately there was a traffic jam. It’s not an emotional state of a person, it’s a comment on events. So «Le Chat dit malheureusement» would be an observation that it was a mistake for the Cat to say this, and bad outcomes could have been avoided otherwise. In Lobel’s fable, the Cat is simply sad, and the sentence requires a different adverb: «Le Chat dit tristement.»
Remontez le poisson !
Faire la pêche: many activities have their own specialized vocabulary and idioms. “… he felt a sudden tug on his line. He pulled a large, fat fish out of the river.” could be translated in many ways, but I wanted to get the technical vocabulary of fishing right. I ended up relying on the French WikiHow’s extensive article Comment Pêcher to arrive at «il sentit un tension dans sa ligne. Il sortit un bon gros poisson hors de l’eau». It only now occurred to me that the WikiHow article could have been translated inexpertly from English …
«Faillir de» is a locution to express a bad thing that didn’t happen, but almost happened.: «J’ai faillir de rater mon train». I tried using it to describe the Cat’s nearly departing empty-handed: «Le Chat faillit partir la rive quand …». My editor rejected this with the explanation that «faillir de» carries a sense of suddenness. There must be some sort of crisis and climax, and «faillir de» introduces the calamity averted at the last moment. In this case, the Cat was not responding to anything acute, but had just made up his mind to pack it in for the day. «Le Chat était sur le point de quitter la rive quand …» captures this better.
C’est terminé: The moral of the story in English, “All’s well that ends with a good meal” is parallel with the familiar “All’s well that ends well”. This chestnut exists in French too: «Tout est bien qui finit bien». But my editor rejected «Tout est bien qui finit avec un bon repas.» She couldn’t explain why exactly, but was confident that «finir» was not the right verb in this modified version of the saying, «se terminer» was much more natural. Thus «Tout est bien qui se termine par un bon repas !». One of the things I love about language and about translation is that there is often more agreement about what is right than about why it is right.
I’m logging what I do each week to improve my French. Maybe it will motivate me to do more. No need to post the details here, but I’ll see if posting a skeleton log of my actions helps motivate me to keep it up. I’ll update this post over the week rather than make new articles each time.
J’ai fait…
GPdF Niveau perfectionnement
Chapitre 29: Pronom sujet neutre ou impersonnel
Chapitre 30: Le commentaire. L’identification et la description.
Yesterday I finished reading Les Bonnes, the first play on the reading list for the 20th century French Theater and Performance course that I’m working through. I also watched a filmed version of the unusual 2011 production of Les Bonnes, directed by Jacques Vincey. The play was written in 1947 by Jean Genet and saw its first production that same year at Théâtre de l’Athénée, under the direction of Louis Jouvet. (I’ve encountered Jouvet’s name several times, more as an actor than as a director, though I gather he was quite renowned in both roles. Jouvet was famous enough that the theater has been renamed “Théâtre de l’Athénée Louis-Jouvet” and the plaza it faces renamed “Square de l’Opéra-Louis-Jouvet”). Les Bonnes is a warhorse in the repertoire of French theater. Wikipedia lists 10 notable productions since 1970, and my own web search revealed dozens of others at all levels of professional, amateur, and student theater. It has been translated into English as “The Maids”, which has been regularly performed since 1952. There are film adaptations of both the French and English versions, as well as many video recordings of live theater productions. The play is assigned reading au lycée for many French high school students. In short, a classic.
The play has three characters: Claire, Solange, and Madame. Claire and Solange are sisters, and work as maids for an haute bourgeoise woman known to us only as Madame. The place and time period are unspecified, but it’s French enough for there to be mansards, balls, operas, fancy dresses and furs; modern enough for there to be a telephone in the house; and ancient enough that there are no labor-saving electrical household appliances, leaving the onerous work to the maids. The two sisters hate their life as impoverished, dependent maids, hate Madame, and to some degree also hate each other and themselves. There’s a lot of hate to spread around. One gathers they have been in this situation for years and developed some deep-seated pathologies. Over the course of the play, we learn that Claire and Solange have managed to have Madame’s husband falsely imprisoned based on their own anonymous accusations. The maids are now conspiring to murder Madame herself. Although Jean Genet insists that his play was not inspired by it, there was a well publicized murder by two maids, the sisters Léa and Christine Papin, that transpired in western France in 1933.
The play is structured in three scenes, although no explicit boundaries are provided in the text. In the first scene, Claire and Solange are engaged in a role-playing game for their own benefit, with Solange pretending to be Madame and Claire pretending to be Solange. Claire dresses up in Madame’s clothing, puts on her makeup, and ironically adopts her airs and unconscious arrogance. Exactly why Solange pretends to be Claire rather than herself is never clear, although it contributes to the overall theme of confusing fantasy with reality. The two heap insults and derision on each other and play-act the strangulation of Madame, while also sporadically dropping out of the game to discuss what to portray next or to remark on their unrolling murder plot. A phone call interrupts them: it’s Monsieur, announcing that he’s just been released from prison and requesting that Madame meet him at a restaurant to celebrate. As the expected time of Madame’s return approaches, Claire and Solange end their game, hurriedly restore Madame’s things to their usual places, and otherwise hide traces of their mummery.
The second scene begins as Madame enters (after a failed attempt to visit her husband in prison), still unaware of Monsieur’s release. We now get to see the real interactions between Madame and the maids, which is not far off from the play-acting of scene one although the maids must be more circumspect and subservient in expressing their opprobrium for Madame. Claire prepares poisoned tea, but the two sisters are unsuccessful in maneuvering Madame to drink it. Madame notices many of the things that are awry in her bedroom after the play-acting and starts to suspect that her maids may be misbehaving, possibly even to the point of listening at doors and rifling through sensitive papers. Worried that Madame will realize they must be the source of the anonymous accusations about Monsieur, the sisters distract her with news of Monsieur’s release and the phone message requesting a rendez-vous. Madame is overjoyed and rushes off to meet him, despite the maids’ attempts to delay her long enough to drink the tea.
In the third scene Claire and Solange rip into each other, venomously trading blame for who botched the assassination and who left suspicion-raising evidence of their role-playing. Solange urges them to flee the house, but Claire despondently points out they are trapped by their poverty. The sisters fall back into their fantasy games, but this time with a harder edge. Solange performs a more realistic strangling of Claire-as-Madame, though it is still a mock killing. Solange then bitterly denounces Madame for couching her condescension in terms of kindness and generosity. She apostrophizes at length that she will no longer tolerate going through life bent over, but will stand up straight from now on. Claire resuscitates from her faux-death and insists that they enact the poison drinking scene that failed materialize. Solange is resistant, but finally agrees to serve Claire/Madame the poisoned tea. Claire knowingly drinks the poison and actually dies as Solange imagines herself in handcuffs and the play ends.
I understood most of this material in my first reading of the text, but was confused at a couple of levels. First, it was very unclear from the text which words are intended to be spoken “in real life” from one character to another, which are spoken “in the game”, and which are spoken as an aside to the theatrical audience. Often a single speaker turn contains two or three of these, with no stage directions indicating which words belong in which frame. Some critics assert this is a deliberate editing choice intended to give to a reader the same ambiguity between fantasy and reality that a spectator would have watching the show, and that the characters have in their fictional lives. Second, there are definitely sexual undercurrents in many of the interactions between Claire and Solange, but my French is not strong enough to know where the subtext is glaringly obvious, where the meaning is more implicit, and where I invented hidden meaning when none exists. So, my next stop was to watch a performance of the play.
Kitchen gloves are all he’s wearing …
The performance listed in the course materials is a professionally filmed recording of a 2011 production directed by Jacques Vincey. I watched it (text in hand) and got a very different sense of the play than I had by simply reading it. The print edition I have begins with a five page note from the author: Comment jouer «Les Bonnes» (“How to perform The Maids”). It declares that the atmosphere should be furtive and that the maids should be proper, yet still sexual, but not overtly erotic. The author also acknowledges that the dialogue may not be a realistic representation of how maids talk when they aren’t observed, but asserts that when he goes to the theater he wants to see himself on stage, stripped of conventions and niceties, naked. Director Jacques Vincey decided to start his 2011 production with an abridged version of this note recited by a completely naked man who does not otherwise figure in the rest of the show (though I believe he participates later as clothed stage hand). This introductory scene is presumably why the video merits a YouTube warning “This video contains content that may be offensive to some viewers. Are you sure you want to proceed?”, which also prevents it from being embedded on this page. You’ll have to click the link if you want to see stage directions recited nude.
The Jacques Vincey production is highly stylized with stark sets, dark lighting, minimal costuming, and eerie music. Almost all props are absent, replaced by pantomime. Many lines are spoken slowly with an emotionless, dispassionate affect, while others are delivered in a stentorian shout. I don’t know enough to be confident that labeling this production “avant garde” is formally accurate, but that description will give a non-professional the right impression. I came away from watching it with the thought “Ah, I see, that’s what this play is. An abstract psycho-drama infused with social commentary, class politics, and post-war despair. Got it.”
Only it turns out, this description is heavily influenced by the directorial choices of the production. I was fortunate enough to wonder if this is how it’s always played and looked for other recording of other productions. I found dozens of them on the web, both complete shows and excerpts. They illustrate a wide range of stylistic interpretations of the text, among which Jacques Vincey’s is an outlier. There are productions with more traditional, fully realized sets, props, and costumes. There are productions with less overtly deranged portrayals of Claire and Solange. There are productions where the maids are younger or prettier, ones where Madame is more natural or more horrible, ones that emphasize or ignore the sexual tension in Claire and Solange’s play-acting. There are productions set in prison. By far the oddest one I found was a production by Centaur Theater where the actors are on horses most of the time.
Centaur Theater presents «Les Bonnes»
Must watch: equestrian acting at its finest
All in all Les Bonnes (and Jacques Vincey’s production) was an unusual and satisfying first dish in the nine course meal that I’ve ordered for myself. And I’ve been reminded that not only must one not judge a book by its cover, but one must also not judge a classic play by just one of its productions.
Next week: L’Amante anglaise, by Marguerite Duras.
Last month somebody introduced me to the existence of a course at Harvard University on French Theater and Performance. The one-line description of the class is “In this course, we will trace the history of French theater from the early twentieth-century to the present: its major trends, figures, and forms as well as its intellectual, historical, and political contexts.” I live just a few miles from the university, so briefly flirted with the idea of arranging to audit the class this semester (lectures in French!). But after a few minutes, I settled on a more modest undertaking: read all nine plays on the reading list. I might have to go more slowly than the one play per week pace that the course follows, but I figure it will be a good way to get a sampling from the past 120 years of French theater.
Albert Camus, Les Justes, Gallimard Folio Plus Classiques
Samuel Beckett, Fin de partie, Editions de Minuit
Bernard-Marie Koltès, Combat de nègre et de chiens, Editions de Minuit
Nathalie Sarraute, Le silence, Gallimard Folio
Jean-Luc Lagarce, Juste la fin du monde, Solitaires intempestifs
Marie NDiaye, Papa doit manger, Editions de Minuit
Wajdi Mouawad, Tous des oiseaux, Actes Sud Papier
The books were all available via the Harvard Coop bookstore. They very nicely put them all in a list so I could fill my cart with just a few clicks. A week later, I had a nice stack of reading for the Fall.
Perhaps if I get wrapped up in this I’ll contact the professor, Matthew Rodriguez, and ask if I can sit in on just one or two lectures to get the feel of it. In the meantime, Allons-y!
The prompt asked for 30 lines addressing the question: «Pourquoi selon vous a-t-on besoin de sacrer des personnalités et de les faire entrer au Panthéon?» (“In your opinion, why must we venerate great people and admit them into the Panthéon?”). Here’s my 400-word response:
Version originale
Quand Achilles, le héro grecque, délibérait aller à la guerre de Troi ou rester chez lui, sa mère Thétis lui a dit «Si tu restes ici, tu vivras. Tes enfants t’aimeront et tes petits-fils se souviendront de toi. Mais, tes arrière-petits-fils t’oublieront. Si tu pars pour la guerre, tu mourras. Mais, tu resteras dans la mémoire pour toujours». Pour les Grecques, la mémoire c’est la vie, peut-être la façon de vivre la plus puissante. Et donc Achilles est parti, a gagné sa mesure de la gloire autant qu’une place dans notre connaissance collective pendant deux mille sept cents ans.
L’existence du Panthéon français est une réaction non seulement à la réalité inévitable de notre mortalité individuelle, mais aussi à la crainte que notre société elle-même puisse disparaître. Nous imaginons que nos achèvements et nos valeurs continueront après nos morts, mais comment assurer qu’ils perdureront et ne sont pas au gré de la mode de nos héritiers? Si l’on veut que quelque chose dure, la construisez en pierre! C’est pareil pour une église, un musée, une banque, ou une tombe. Il y a peu de monuments en bois ou en boue qui nous restent d’Antiquité. Mais d’artefacts en pierre, il y en a beaucoup. Donc, on grave les noms des renommés dans les roches de ce bâtiment célèbre.
Version rédigée avec N.M.
Quand Achilles, le héro grecque, délibérait aller à la guerre de Troie ou rester chez lui, sa mère Thétis lui a dit «Si tu restes ici, tu vivras. Tes enfants t’aimeront et tes petits-fils se souviendront de toi. Mais, tes arrière-petits-fils t’oublieront. Si tu pars pour la guerre, tu mourras. Mais, tu resteras dans la mémoire pour toujours». Pour les Grecques, la mémoire c’est la vie, peut-être la façon de vivre la plus puissante. Et donc Achilles est parti, a gagné sa mesure de la gloire autant qu’une place dans notre connaissance collective pendant deux mille sept cents ans.
L’existence du Panthéon français est une réaction non seulement à la réalité inévitable de notre mortalité individuelle, mais aussi à la crainte que notre société elle-même puisse disparaître. Nous imaginons que nos achèvements et nos valeurs continueront après notre mort, mais comment assurer qu’ils perdureront et ne seront pas au gré de la mode de nos héritiers? Si l’on veut que quelque chose dure, construisez-la en pierre! C’est pareil pour une église, un musée, une banque, ou une tombe. Il y a peu de monuments en bois ou en boue qui nous restent de l’Antiquité. Mais d’artefacts en pierre, il y en a beaucoup. Donc, on grave les noms des renommés dans les roches de ce bâtiment célèbre.
Pourtant, la Panthéonisation n’est que pour ceux qui nous suivent en maintes siècles, c’est également pour nous-mêmes aujourd’hui. Nos sélections actuelles définissent notre présent autant que leurs mémoire nous définiront dans l’avenir. On peut évaluer une société par examiner ceux auxquels elle accorde l’argent et la gloire. Admettre Joséphine Baker à ce club exclusif c’est valoriser non seulement son art et sa lutte contre le racisme, mais l’Art et la lutte contre le racisme. Aussi, par extension, la lutte contre le harcèlement sexiste, l’homophobie, et pleins d’autres pestes sociales actuelles. Même si le Panthéon délabre au cours des siècles, même s’il est détruit en quelques années, la choix elle-même est une acte politique qui peut lever des gens privilégiés en affranchissant un peu plus leurs esprits.
Toutefois, on ne doit pas imaginer que sacrer certaines personnalités suffit pour sécuriser une société dans les yeux du futur. Nous pouvons les ériger commes idoles et les vénérer comme les déités, mais si nous ne les honorons pas avec nos actions la société qu’elles représentent va écrouler. Car on doit rappeler les mots de Friedrich Schiller dans Die Jungfrau von Orleans: «Contre la stupidité, les dieux eux-mêmes se battent inutilement».
Pourtant, la Panthéonisation n’est pas ciblée que à ceux qui nous suivrons dans maintes siècles, mais également à nous-mêmes aujourd’hui. Nos sélections actuelles définissent notre présent autant que leurs mémoire nous définiront dans l’avenir. On peut évaluer une société en examinant ceux auxquels elle accorde de l’argent et de la gloire. Admettre Joséphine Baker à ce club exclusif c’est valoriser non seulement son art et sa lutte contre le racisme, mais l’Art et la lutte contre le racisme. Aussi, par extension, la lutte contre le harcèlement sexiste, l’homophobie, et pleins d’autres pestes sociales actuelles. Même si le Panthéon se délabre au cours des siècles, même s’il est détruit dans quelques années, le choix lui-même est un acte politique qui peut remonter le moraldes gens marginalisés en affranchissant un peu plus leurs esprits.
Toutefois, on ne doit pas imaginer que sacrer certaines personnalités suffit pour faire admirer notre société dans les yeux du futur. Nous pouvons les ériger comme idoles et les vénérer comme les déités, mais si nous ne les honorons pas par nos actions la société qu’elles représentent s’écroulera. Car on doit rappeler les mots de Friedrich Schiller dans Die Jungfrau von Orleans: «Contre la stupidité, les dieux eux-mêmes se battent inutilement».
One of my favorite authors of books for very young children is Arnold Lobel. His most famous works are the Frog and Toad series, though I’m particularly fond of two of his other books, Grasshopper on the Road and Uncle Elephant. Lobel also published an award-winning collection of fables aimed at a slightly older audience, though I’m not sure if that’s 8-year-olds or 80-year-olds. A while back I was studying the passé simple (the literary past) in my weekly lesson. We read a couple of French fables and talked about their use of that tense, as well as other stylistic conventions. The optional homework was to write my own fable using the same style. I wasn’t interested in writing a new fable, but immediately thought to translate a Lobel fable into French. It took me a couple years to get around to it (hey, the homework was optional!), but I am happy I did.
After I wrote and revised my translation solo, I worked with one of my teachers to refine it. I’ve posted below each version, as well as the original English text.
Translating was an interesting undertaking, not one I’ve done much of. I am eager to try translating a few more of Lobel’s fables. It appears that an official French edition of Arnold Lobel’s Fables was published in 2003. I haven’t found any of the translations on line, nor the name of the translator. I’m not all that interested in finding it, as I’d rather translate the fables on my own in a vacuum. But perhaps someday I’ll find and consult it.
Version française (traduit par David Miller et Virginie Bordier)
Le Homard et le Crabe
Par un jour d’orage, le Crabe se promenait sur la plage. Il fut étonné de voir le Homard en train de préparer son bateau pour un voyage. «Homard», dit le Crabe, «c’est de la folie de se hasarder un jour pareil.» «Peut-être», dit le Homard, «mais j’adore les tempêtes en mer!» «Je vous accompagne», dit le Crabe. «Je ne vous laisse pas affronter seul un tel danger». Le Homard et le Crabe entamèrent leur voyage. Bientôt ils se trouvèrent loin du rivage. Leur bateau se faisait balloter et remuer par les eaux tumultueuses. «Crabe!» hurla le Homard au-dessus du bruit du vent. «Quant à moi, l’éclaboussure d’écume salée est exaltante. Chaque vague qui se brise me coupe le souffle» «Homard, je pense que nous coulons!» cria le Crabe. «Mais, bien sûr que nous coulons,» dit le Homard. «Ce vieux bateau est plein de trous. Soyez brave, mon ami. Rappelez-vous que nous sommes tous les deux des créatures marines.» Le petit bateau chavira et sombra. «Quelle horreur!», cria le Crabe. «C’est parti!» hurla le Homard. Le Crabe était ébranlé et bouleversé. Le Homard l’emmena aller faire un tour au fond de l’océan pour se calmer. «Que nous sommes courageux !» dit le Homard. «Quelle aventure merveilleuse nous avons faite!» Petit à petit, le Crabe commença à se sentir mieux. Bien qu’il préféra d’habitude une vie plus tranquille, il dut reconnaître qu’il avait apprécié cette journée hors du commun.
Même une prise de risque infime pimente l’existence.
Version française (traduit par David Miller seul)
Le Homard et le Crabe
Un jour orageux, le Crabe se promenait sur la plage. Il était étonné de voir le Homard en train de préparer son bateau pour un voyage. «Homard», dit le Crabe, «c’est de la folie de voguer pendant un tel jour.» «Peut-être», dit le Homard, «mais j’adore la tempête sur la mer!» «Je vous accompagne», dit le Crabe. «Je ne vous laisse pas confronter seule un tel danger.» Le Homard et le Crabe entamma leur voyage. Bientôt ils se trouvèrent loin du rivage. Leur bateau se faisait bousculer et basculer par l’eau remuante. «Crabe!» hurla le Homard au-dessus du bruit du vent. «Quant à moi, l’éclaboussure d’écume salée est excitante. Avec chaque vague qui brise j’ai le souffle coupé.» «Homard, je pense que nous coulons!» cria le Crabe. «Mais, bien sûr, nous coulons,» dit le Homard. «Ce vieux bateau est plein de trous. Soyez brave, mon ami. Rappelez, nous sommes tous les deux êtres de la mer.» Le petit bateau chavira et coula. «Nom de Dieu!», cria le Crabe. «C’est parti!» hurla le Homard. Le Crabe était ébranlé et bouleversé. Le Homard l’emmena faire une randonnée calmante sur le sol de l’océan. «Nous sommes si courageux,» dit le Homard. «Quelle aventure merveilleuse avons-nous faite!» Petit à petit, le Crabe commença à se sentir mieux. Bien qu’il préféra d’habitude une vie plus tranquille, il dut reconnaître que ce jour-là eut été agréablement extraordinaire.
Même un petit peu de péril ajoute l’éclat à l’existence.
Version anglaise (par Arnold Lobel)
The Lobster and the Crab
On a stormy day, the Crab went strolling along the beach. He was surprised to see the Lobster preparing to set sail in his boat. “Lobster,” said the Crab, “it is foolhardy to venture out on a day like this.” “Perhaps so,” said the Lobster, “but I love a squall at sea!” “I will come with you,” said the Crab. “I will not let you face such danger alone.” The Lobster and the Crab began their voyage. Soon they found themselves far from shore. Their boat was tossed and buffeted by the turbulent waters. “Crab!” shouted the Lobster above the roar of the wind. “For me, the splashing of the salt spray is thrilling! The crashing of every wave takes my breath away!” “Lobster, I think we are sinking!” cried the Crab. “Yes, of course, we are sinking,” said the Lobster. “This old boat is full of holes. Have courage, my friend. Remember, we are both creatures of the sea.” The little boat capsized and sank. “Horrors!” cried the Crab. “Down we go!” shouted the Lobster. The Crab was shaken and upset. The Lobster took him for a relaxing walk along the ocean floor. “How brave we are,” said the Lobster. “What a wonderful adventure we have had!” The Crab began to feel somewhat better. Although he usually enjoyed a quieter existence, he had to admit that the day had been pleasantly out of the ordinary.
Even the taking of small risks will add excitement to life.
I’m logging what I do each week to improve my French. Maybe it will motivate me to do more. No need to post the details here, but I’ll see if posting a skeleton log of my actions helps motivate me to keep it up. I’ll update this post over the week rather than make new articles each time.
J’ai fait…
GPdF Chapitre 4: Les Temps de l’indicatif.
Les Passés
Mettez les verbes au passé composé, puis imaginez une suite à cette histoire.
GPdF Chapitre 5: Le Subjonctif
Emplois du subjonctif.
Répondez en utilisant le subjonctif selon le modèle.
J’ai lu …
La Nuit des temps, de René Barjavel, pp 238 – 410.
I’ve often heard the advice that it’s a mistake to learn vocabulary words in isolation, either as memorized english translations of French word or as memorized French synonyms of a French word. Better, says the recommendation, to remember a sentence that uses the target word so that you learn it in context. I’ve found this advice hard to implement, as I have difficulty remembering whole sentences, especially for the full range of words I’m trying to learn.
But this technique may be more viable for grammar rules. This morning I was doing an exercice on the words tout, toute, tous, and toutes. One of the examples shown was an excerpt from Césaire de Heisterbach, who chronicled the siege of Béziers (between Narbonne and Montpellier) in 1209. It contains this well known (if often re-attributed) passage:
«Comment distinguer les hérétiques des catholique», se demandait-on lors de la prise de la ville de Béziers où vivaient de nombreux cathares, en 1209.
«Tuez-les tous, Dieu reconnaîtra les siens», répondit Arnaud Amaury, légat du pape Innocent III.»
“How shall we distinguish the heathens from the catholics?”, they wondered upon capturing the city of Beziers which, in 1209, still housed many Cathars.
“Kill them all, God will know his own,” replied Arnaud Amaury, the representative of Pope Innocent III.
Ah yes, a classic in the annals of tactics. Bloodshed aside, the point of this passage was illustrate that the word tous, when used as a pronoun meaning “everyone, all of them”, comes after an imperative verb, and also after any direct object there may be. Thus «Tuez-les tous» and not «Tous les tuez», «Tuez-tous-les», etc. Moreover, because «tous» is a pronoun here you pronounce the final “s” rather than leaving it silent as you would in «Tous les deux» or «tous les gens» where it is an adjective. That makes this Béziers passage less than ideal as a canonical example. Even if I overcame my qualms about memorizing a passage about killing heathens, there’s no hint to help me remember to pronounce that final “s”.
Fortunately for me, there preamble to the exercise gives a second example that is right up my alley: a Georges Brassens song excerpt!
De Pierre à Paul en passant par Félicien Embrasse-les tous, Embrasse-les tous Dieu reconnaîtra le sien Passe-les tous par tes armes Passe-les tous par tes charmes Jusqu’à ce que l’un deux les bras en croix Tourne de l’oeil dans tes bras
From Peter to Paul, by way of Félicien Kiss them all, kiss them all God will know his own Dazzle them all with your wiles Favor them all with your smiles Til one of them faints in your arms Swept of his feet by your charms
I love the reference that Brassens makes in this song, and I am thankful to the authors of this grammar text for drawing my attention to it. I vaguely knew the “Kill them all and let god sort it out” line, but didn’t know the particular french structure of it, nor did I think of it when I first herd the Brassens song. I thought he was just doing his usual anarchy-and-free-love thing. But it’s a great bit of literary jiu-jitsu to add in his anti-clericalism and turn the Church-inspired slaughter into an endorsement of promiscuity. That said, if you look past the sentimental and nostalgic music, there’s still a bit of misogyny to these American-in-2020 ears
Anyway, from a pedagogical view point I like this example is a better fit for me. It has the advantage that it is a song with music, which makes it easier for me to remember, and also that I can listen to the recording of Brassens singing it and pronouncing the final “s”.
It so happens that I know another Brassens song, even more ribald, which shows the contrasting pronunciation of «tous» when used as an adjective «Tous les gars».
Quand Margot dégrafait son corsage Pour donner la gougoutte à son chat Tous les gars, tous les gars du village Étaient là, lalala la la la Étaient là, lalala la la la
When Margot would unclip her blouse To let her cat nurse from her breasts All the men, all the men of the village Would come hooting and howling Lalala la la la!
If you listen to the whole song, Margot is presented as a simple (but wise?) shepherdess, innocently thinking that the men are there to see a cute kitty-cat that she had adopted when its mother was lost. The men are happy to let her think whatever she like so long as they get their daily peep show. The women of the village are none too happy about it, though, and end up organizing themselves and beating the cat to death. Margot is distraught by this turn of events, takes herself a husband, and from then only shows her charms to him only. Echos of Il était une bergère if you think about it (translation).
And just in case you thought it was only men who sang ribald Brassens songs, here’s a recording of Patachou singing the same song. Recall that Patachou (née Henriette Ragon) is the cabaret nightclub singer who discovered Brassens in 1952, first singing his songs on stage and later getting him up on stage to perform them himself. According to her account, she convinced him to sing because some of his songs were told in the first person by an obviously male character, and presenting audiences with a woman singing them was too much of a stretch.
Finally, I can’t resist including this all-instrumental version of Brave Margot, posted just a few months ago by a classical guitarist
Les charentaises are a particular style of slippers made in La Charente, a department of France some 80 miles north east of Bordeaux. I’ve driven past it, but never gone there. These slippers have been made in La Charente for over 350 years, first by hand and then by machine. They were originally intended for military and rural life, as a comfortable indoor shoe that you could keep on all day long while you donned and doffed your outdoor boots or wooden shoes. A number of charentaises-making factories opened there in the first years of the 20th century, and they started aggressively exporting the slippers globally in the 1950s. At its peak in the 1970s, this French industry was exporting over a million pairs of slippers each year. Together with a beret and a baguette, a pair of charentaises became part of the French caricature.
The global center of shoe manufacturing today is in Asia, as China, India, Vietnam, and Indonesia account for 75% of all output. While French production of slippers fell precipitously in the past 50 years, it’s having something of a resurgence, both in La Charente and in Brittany. The French government has been pursuing a “Made in France” industrial initiative for the past few years, and generally has a soft spot for saving culturally iconic production. My French teacher assigned me to watch a documentary about the re-opening of one of the original charentaise factories and write a response about the importance (or not) of preserving industries like this.
Here’s my rather rambling response, after applying corrections suggested by my teacher N.M. In other posts I include both my original draft and the final draft after editing in order to display my errors. But as this post is long enough already, I’m posting only the final draft.
Version rédigé avec N.M.
C’est quoi la forme de la vie? La pomme est ronde, un cristal de sel est cubique, la coquille d’un escargot est spirale. Quelle est la morphologie de la vie? Dans son livre La Maison de joie: Une histoire de la vie et de la mort, l’historienne Jill Lepore constate que de l’Antiquité à la Lumière les peuples de l’Ouest ont imaginé que la vie est comme un cercle. On est né, on reçoit la sagesse et les traditions du passé, on habite dans la maison de son père, on laboure les champs de son grand-père, et on mange les recettes de ses arrières grand-mères. Au cours des années, on grandit, on a des enfants, et on leur apprend à faire comme leurs parents. Finalement on vieillit, on sourit aux petits-enfants, on leur enseigne les comptines patrimoniales, et on meurt conforté par le fait que le cercle recommence.
Pourtant depuis la Lumière, cette notion d’une vie cyclique a été remplacée par la vie linéaire. On utilise la raison pour améliorer les techniques. On progresse. On grimpe vers le sommet, on se hisse à l’échelle. L’arrivée de l’industrialisation et des idées de Darwin au XIXe siècle a accéléré cette réorientation de la conception de la vie. On doit construire, accumuler, foncer plus loin ou plus vite. Regardez les milliardaires de nos jours, messieurs Bezos et Branson, qui se hâtent de se lancer dans l’espace. Ruons-nous vers l’avenir!
Mais faites attention! Parce qu’on ne peut pas être au four et au moulin. En se dépêchant sur la longueur du chemin de progrès, il faut qu’on lâche maintes coutumes du passé. On ne peut pas dire «Rien à jeter» en surchargeant les malles de notre culture actuelle. Nos boulevards sont ou pour les chevaux, ou pour les automobiles, mais pas les deux. Un stationnement au centre ville est ou une écurie ou un parking. Et un travailleur doit choisir un métier, soit fermier, soit ouvrier, soit enseignant, soit avocat. Quel choix fera-t-il?
D’où venons-nous ? Que sommes-nous ? Où allons-nous ?
Ça me rappelle des questions du peintre Paul Gauguin, dont une œuvre est sous-titrée «D’où venons-nous ? Que sommes-nous ? Où allons-nous ?». Parce que la question de «que garder, de quoi se débarrasser» est à son cœur une question d’identité. Pour les circulaires, répondre à ces trois questions est facile. Nous venons d’un chemin déjà arpenté par nos parents; nous sommes des gens qui entournent cette orbite familiale sans aucun souci; nous repasserons les mêmes chemins à nos tours. Mais chez les linéaires, chez les dévots du progrès, les questions d’identité sont plus difficiles. Il faut changer pour s’améliorer, et un changement de mode de vie exige un changement d’identité. Choisir d’abandonner nos pratiques habituelles, de bouleverser nos affaires, c’est choisir de nous laisser mourir un peu pour permettre de faire naître le prochain «nous». Sommes-nous prêts à mourir?
Enfin, au bout de cette route sinueuse, j’arrive au sujet des charentaises. Cette pantoufle particulière est née il y a trois cent cinquante ans. En 1907, Théophile Rondinaud (parmi les autres) à lancé une usine à Rivière en Charente. Dès les années 1950, son fils James Rondinaud exportait ce produit dans le monde entier. Pendant les années 1970, l’usine Rondinaud employait 1300 travailleurs. La Charente était renommée pour ces jolies pantoufles douces. Mais cinquante ans plus tard, c’est la faillite. Les fabricants asiatiques ont surpassé ceux de la Charente, les chiffres d’affaires ont chuté. Même avec une consolidation de quatre fabricants sous le nom «la Manufacture Charentaise» (LMC), et avec la protection inédite du titre d’Indication géographique «charentaise de Charente-Périgord», cette société a dû mettre la clé sous la porte en 2019.
Est-ce qu’il faut être en deuil pour cette industrie française? Il y a deux ans qu’Emmanuel Macron a annoncé son initiative de relocaliser certaines chaînes de valeur pour les produits critiques. La crise sanitaire du Covid-19 a démontré la sagesse de fabriquer les molécules pharmaceutiques intra-pays. Une usine pour faire les semi-conducteurs en France c’est stratégique pour ne pas être dépendant de la Chine pour nos ordinateurs et nos portables incontournables. Mais les pantoufles? Forcément un manque imprévu de chausseurs duveteux ne serait pas une crise nationale. Les orteils patriotiques de la France survivraient.
Ici ce n’est pas une question de nécessité mais d’identité. Si un membre de la famille Rondinaud, comme l’arrière petit-fils Olivier Rondinaud, veut continuer l’entreprise, qu’il y aille. Mais si la rentabilité est insuffisante, on doit poser la question: d’où viendra la subvention? À mon avis, ceux qui s’identifient aux charentaises doivent subventionner eux-mêmes leur fabrication en France. Si c’est Olivier Rondinaud seul, je souhaite qu’il ait une grande fortune personnelle. Si ce sont les travailleurs de l’usine, peut-être qu’ils voudront travailler à des salaires réduits. Enfin, si les habitants du département ou du pays s’identifient profondément avec les charentaises, une subvention nationale serait dans ce cas-là la plus correcte. Pas de problème pour moi.
Mais il se trouvera, peut-être, que les consommateurs de la France préfèrent acheter les pantoufles bon marché, que les contribuables préfèrent renouveler les autoroutes, et que Mais peut-être qu’il se trouve que les consommateurs français préfèreraient acheter des pantoufles bon marché, que les contribuables préféreraient renouveler les autoroutes, et que les électeurs préféreraient revaloriser les salaires des soignants. Évidemment, il y a des limites budgétaires. Donc, qui sont les Français? Un peuple qui donne priorité à ses pieds? Ou un peuple en marche vers l’avenir sur des chemins modernes, avec des soignants correctement payés, mais avec les pieds à la chinoise?
