Now that I’m done with Camus, I can catch up on some back issues of L’avant-scène théâtre. Last night I did a quick read of their July 2021 issue, which featured the play Un prince by Émilie Frèche. Weighing in at just 21 pages it’s barely more than an extended scene, an unbroken monologue by a single character (“un homme”) played by Sami Bouajila. The play first made an appearance at théâtre d’Antibes in November 2020, then had a much delayed and then abbreviated run at the same theater in July 2021. I had heard of Antibes, but didn’t really know where it is until I looked it up on a map (it’s in the far south east of France, between Cannes and Nice, just 60 miles from the Italian border).
The play shows a French man of Algerian descent, now homeless (as the the French say SDF = sans domicile fixe) and living in an abandoned construction site. The man’s father moved from Algeria to France in search of a peaceful life with economic opportunity, but the man’s own life didn’t work out that way. After 20 years of growing up poor and another 20 years of working at low wage jobs, he finds himself destitute after the factory he spent years at relocates to Algeria (!) in search of cheaper labor. The man sits among the piles of sand and gravel, somewhere between half- and fully-deluded about the nature of his situation, speaking of his goats and his fields of agranier.
Des chèvres dans un arganier.
We learn in bits and snatches the story of the man’s father, his own childhood, his life as a young married person, his economic dissipation, and his multiple refusals to accept help from the French social services. In the end the man concludes that France is not a land of peace at all, but one of constant economic warfare. Throughout the tone seems wistful rather than harsh, and at times a bit playful.
The solo actor Sami Bouajila is apparently quite famous; he’s appeared in over 50 feature films since 1991 and garnered 2 César awards, including the 2021 prize for Best Actor in the film Un fils. I’ve never seen him in film, but you can get a small taste of his stage performance from this teaser promotion for the July 2021 production of Un prince.
https://vimeo.com/596663608
Not a bad play, and one which I would have enjoyed more live than reading. But nothing that makes me want to go seek out more by this playwright.
Sometime around four o’clock this morning I read the final pages of Albert Camus’s La Peste, a 1947 existentialist novel that chronicles a city’s year-long battle with bubonic plague. I had aimed to finish it over the weekend, but some combination of the day getting away from me and my having trouble sleeping meant that I was up in the middle of the night and figured there was no better time to swallow what I hope will be my last helping of depressing philosophy for some time.
I started the novel 51 days ago, and I’ve got to say that it was a slog. Although it’s only 350 pages, the writing is difficult with sophisticated vocabulary, elaborate grammar, and sentences reaching nearly half a page in length. The work is recognized as a classic, with lots of subtext and many analogies to World War II and Europe’s occupation by Nazi Germany (“the brown plague” according to remarks by Camus outside the novel). You can read good summaries of the book here and ici. It enjoyed a revival in popularity with the arrival of Covid in 2020, and I acknowledge that the observations Camus makes about the human spirit and condition in the context of a long epidemic response hold up reasonably well today. This conversation with philosopher Robert Zaretsky is an example of folks finding renewed relevance in the book.
La Peste was hard to read on many levels. I was interested in it for the first 100 pages or so, but it became oppressive from there. One central theme is human impotency, an idea which always sours my disposition. The characters lack any depth or warmth, as we learn almost nothing about them. And the book contains lengthy digressions as the author delivers polemics against the Church or the death penalty. But completing it felt like an accomplishment to be proud of, so I stubbornly plowed ahead, 10 pages at a sitting, until I was done. Hooray ?
One bonus outcome is that I noted unfamiliar vocabulary words as I went, so I now have a collection of some 400+ words that I can study. I might start a running series of posts sharing some of them here. I am curious to see upon reflection how many of these are fairly common words that had escaped me to date, and how many are obscure words that I am likely not to come upon outside of high literature. Stay tuned …
Over the weekend I watched the film Beaumarchais, l’insolent, a light-hearted picture of the historical figure Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais (1732-1799). The central character is played by Fabrice Luchini, which is how I happened upon the work, as I was searching for more Luchini films to watch online after Le Mystère Henri Pick and Un homme pressé. The real Beaumarchais is best known as the author of the trilogy of stage plays The Barber of Seville, The Marriage of Figaro, and The Guilty Mother. The first two of these were adapted into even more well known operas (the central character Figaro is also the namesake of one of France’s major newspapers).
In addition to being a playwright, Beaumarchais was a member of the Court of Louis XV and was a spy in the king’s secret intelligence service. He was also an outspoken republican who supported the American Revolution actively, both with his own funds and those of the King. The tension between these three identities – royal spy, budding revolutionary, celebrated author – is what provides the movie with some semblance of a theme and coherent plot. But mostly it’s a fun romp through colorful episodes in the life of a late 18th century personality.
I liked the film. The language was largely accessible to me and I liked contrasting the younger Luchini with what I’ve seen of his modern career. The dialog was funny and the costuming pretty to look at. There were several scenes of gratuitous nudity which conforms to some French stereotypes. About 20 minutes of the film prominently features the historically real character Charles d’Éon de Beaumont, a French spy / diplomat / army officer best known today for being an overt transvestite. D’Éon has an interesting story all on its own.
In all, an enjoyable way to learn of some notable events and personalities in the closing days of France’s monarchy.
Translating English language children’s stories into French is an interesting challenge. My latest foray is a 600 word story named Grizzwold written in 1963 by author and cartoonist Syd Hoff. Hoff contributed many titles to the “I Can Read” series, whose name highlights the translation challenge. The books in this series aimed to provide reading practice for early-stage readers, kids aged 3 to 7 or so, while still telling engaging stories. So when translating the text, I tried to keep three questions in mind:
Is the translation faithful to the original meanings, connotations, and narrative voice?
Could a young child comprehend the translation when read aloud by an adult?
Would a young child have difficulty reading the words aloud from the page?
The first consideration is universal to all translation, but the second and third impose additional constraints. For example, when the wild bear Grizzwold visits a circus and fails in his attempt to do some of the tricks that the circus bears perform, he observes “I guess it takes practice.” The trained bears reply “It sure does”. How should their reply be translated?
My ear tells me to use the single word « Évidemment. » This has the right feel of agreeing while also gently accusing Grizzwold of naive foolishness. How could he have thought otherwise? In a book for adults I would use « évidemment » without hesitation. But is that a word young French children hear often and understand at age 3 ? The direct English analog is “evidently”, which is not a word I think most kids have mastered by age 7, let alone age 3. « Évidemment » is very common in French, so maybe it works in a children’s story read aloud. However, it’s a long word with a double letter and three different sounds for the letter ‘e’. In the end, I went with the expression «Bah ouais». It has more or less the same meaning, is a bit less formal, and uses only short, simple words. These kinds of choices came up throughout the story.
An interesting counterpoint to preferring simplicity is that my translation uses the passé simple conjugation throughout. Passé simple is typically thought of as a literary tense, never used in conversation, and often replaced by the passé composé in more contemporary writings. But children’s stories, like fables and fairy tales, have a very formulaic style in French, just as they do in English. You would never say “Once upon a time …” without being fully intentional about announcing to your listener that you are going to tell them a story. In the same way, both classic and modern French stories for children use this tense. It has all kinds of odd-ball endings like -èrent and -âmes. And it interacts even more oddly with the subjunctive mood, giving rise to the almost-never-used subjonctif imparfait. But according to my French-native teacher, French children are routinely exposed to this kind of language in their story books and readily intuit its meaning, even if they will never speak that way and will not learn to produce that tense in writing for another decade. So, I’ve followed convention and used the passé simple where called for. The story has a lot of dialog as well, so I got to employ the normal conversational tenses as well. All in all a great learning exercise.
I’ll have more to say on individual words and expressions after the story.
Version française (traduite par David Miller, éditée par Virginie Bordier)
Il était une fois un ours qui s’appelait Grizzwold qui habitait dans le Grand Nord. Grizzwold était si grand que trois lapins pouvaient s’asseoir dans ses empreintes. Quand il pêchait, la rivière lui arrivait à peine aux genoux. Les autres ours entraient dans les grottes pour dormir sans problème. Grizzwold se faisait toujours coincer. Il lui fallait dormir en plein air. Mais ça ne le dérangeait pas. Il avait une fourrure épaisse pour rester au chaud. Aucun animal n’osait le réveiller.
Un matin, il y eut un grand bruit dans la forêt. Tous les autres ours s’enfuirent. Grizzwold alla voir de quoi il s’agissait. Il vit des bûcherons qui abattaient des arbres. « Gare à vous ! » hurlèrent-ils. « C’est quoi l’idée ? », demanda Grizzwold. « Qu’est-ce que vous faites à ma forêt ? » « Nous sommes désolés », dirent les bûcherons. « Il nous faut envoyer ces bûches à la scierie en aval de la rivière. On les transformera en papier. » « Je ne peux pas habiter dans une forêt sans arbres », dit Grizzwold.
Il chercha à s’établir dans un nouveau lieu. « Savez-vous où se trouve une jolie forêt ? », demanda-t-il ? « On ne trouve pas cela là en-haut, » dit un chèvre de montagne. « Savez-vous où se trouve une jolie forêt ? », demanda-t-il ? « On ne trouve pas cela ici », dit un loup des prairies. « Savez-vous où se trouve une jolie forêt ? », demanda-t-il. « Waouh ! Vous avez perdu le nord », dit un lézard du désert.
Grizzwold chercha jusqu’à ce qu’il vît une maison. « Que puis-je faire ici ? », demanda-t-il. « Vous pouvez être un tapis en peau d’ours », dirent les habitants. Ils le laissèrent entrer chez eux. Grizzwold se coucha au sol. Les gens le piétinèrent. « Aie ! Je n’aime pas ça », dit Grizzwold. Il sortit de la maison.
Grizzwold vit un réverbère. « Je vais grimper dans cet arbre », dit-il. « C’est déjà occupé », dit un chat. Il chassa Grizzwold. Grizzwold vit un chien [à côté d’un panneau qui avertissait « Attention au chien. »] «Vous ne savez pas lire ? », demanda-t-il. Il chassa Grizzwold.
Grizzwold vit des gens qui allaient à un bal. Les gens portaient des masques. Grizzwold alla au bal aussi. « Vous ressemblez à un vrai ours », dirent les gens. « Merci », dit Grizzwold. Les gens commencèrent à danser. Grizzwold commença à danser aussi. « C’est le moment d’enlever les masques », dit-on. Tout le monde enleva son masque. « Vous aussi, enlevez le vôtre », dirent-ils à Grizzwold. « Je ne peux pas », dit-il. « C’est mon vrai visage. » « Vous n’avez pas votre place ici », lui dit-on. « Votre place est au zoo. »
Grizzwold alla au zoo. Les ours quémandaient pour des cacahuètes. Grizzwold aussi quémanda. « Ne reste pas là, s’il te plaît », dirent les ours. « Nous avons besoin de toutes nos cacahuètes. Présente-toi au cirque. » Grizzwold alla au cirque. On lui fit porter des patins à roulettes. Patatras ! On lui fit faire de la bicyclette. Vlan! On essaya de lui faire faire le poirier. Il n’y arriva pas non plus. « J’imagine qu’il faut s’entraîner », dit Grizzwold. « Bah ouais », dirent les ours bien formés.
Grizzwold essaya de se reposer au bord de la rue. « Défense de stationner », dit un policier. « Je trouverai un lieu où rester », dit Grizzwold.
Il courut jusqu’à une jolie forêt. « Je suis très heureux d’être ici », dit-il. « Nous aussi, nous sommes très heureux que tu sois ici », dirent des chasseurs. Ils le visèrent. « Ne tirez pas ! », dit un garde forestier. « C’est un parc national. Défense de chasser. » Les chasseurs partirent. « Merci », dit Grizzwold. « Vous serez en sécurité ici », dit le garde forestier. «On ne peut pas tirer sur des animaux ici. On ne peut que tirer leur portrait. »
Tout le monde voulait prendre la photo de Grizzwold. Il était l’ours le plus grand qu’on ait jamais vu. « Merci de poser pour nous », disaient-ils. « Voici la vie idéale pour moi », dit Grizzwold. Il était vraiment heureux.
Version Originale (par Syd Hoff)
In the far North lived a bear named Grizzwold. Grizzwold was so big three rabbits could sit in his footprints. When he went fishing, the river only came to his knees. Other bears had no trouble going into caves to sleep. Grizzwold always got stuck. He had to sleep out in the open. But he didn’t mind. He had a nice coat of fur to keep him warm. No other animal dared wake him.
One morning there was a loud noise in the forest. All the other bears ran away. Grizzwold went to see what it was. He saw men chopping down trees. “Timber!” they shouted. “What’s the big idea?” asked Grizzwold. “What are you doing to my forest?” “We are sorry,” said the men. “We have to send these logs down the river to the mill. They will be made into paper.” “I can’t live in a forest with no trees,” said Grizzworld. He went to look for a new place to live.
“Do you know where there is a nice forest?” he asked. “You won’t find one up here,” said a mountain goat. “Do you know where there is a nice forest?” he asked. “You won’t find one here,” said a prairie wolf. “Do you know where there is a nice forest?” he asked. “Boy, are you lost!” said a desert lizard.
Grizzwold looked until he saw a house. “What can I do here?” he asked. “You can be a bearskin run,” said some people. They let him into their house. Grizzwold lay down on the floor. The people stepped all over him. “Ow! I don’t like this,” said Grizzwold. He left the house.
Grizzwold saw a light pole. “I’ll climb that tree,” he said. “I was here first,” said a cat. He chased Grizzwold away. Grizzwold saw a dog [under a sign saying “Beware of Dog”]. “Can’t you read?” asked the dog. He chased Grizzwold away.
Grizzwold saw people going to a dance. The people wore masks. Grizzwold went to the dance too. “You look just like a real bear,” said the people. “Thank you,” said Grizzwold. The people started to dance. Grizzwold started to dance too. “It’s time to take off our masks,” said somebody. All the people took off their masks. “Take off yours too,” they said to Grizzwold. “I can’t,” he said. “This is my real face.” “You don’t belong here,” said the people. “You belong in the zoo.”
Grizzwold went to the zoo. The bears were begging for peanuts. Grizzwold begged too. “Please don’t stay,” said the bears. “We need all the peanuts we get. Try the circus.” Grizzwold went to the circus. They put skates on him. He went FLOP! They put him on a bicycle. He went CRASH! They tried to make him stand on his head. He couldn’t do that either! “I guess it takes practice,” said Grizzwold. “It sure does,” said the trained bears.
Grizzwold tried to rest. “You can’t park here,” said a policeman. “I’ll find a place to park,” said Grizzwold.
He ran until he came to a nice forest. “I’m very glad to be here,” he said. “We are very glad you are here, too,” said some hunters. They took aim. “Don’t shoot!” said a ranger. “This is a national park. No hunting allowed.” The hunters left. “Thank you,” said Grizzwold. “You will be safe here,” said the ranger. “People cannot shoot animals here. They can only shoot pictures.”
All the people wanted to take Grizzwold’s picture. He was the biggest bear they had ever seen. “Thanks for posing for us,” they said. “This is the life for me,” said Grizzwold. He was very happy.
