. . . et par
amour des embrasures
by William P.
Coleman
I wrote a screenplay, Frankenstein in Love, and when I looked at it there
was -- right at the end, after FADE OUT -- a quotation in French from the
writer André Gide.
It's considered unprofessional to decorate one's script with extraneous
literary material and so I can't claim responsibility for this afterthought.
You would best imagine that William Frankenstein -- one of the screenplay's
characters, and a sometime computer hacker -- has inserted the quotation
from Gide and made it appear my doing.
Well, anyway, here's what it says:
Il consulte sa montre. Onze heures trente-cinq. On devrait être arrivé.
Curieux de savoir si par impossible Olivier l'attend à la sortie du train?
Il n'y compte absolument pas. Comment supposer même qu'Olivier ait pu
prendre connaissance de la carte où il annonçait aux parents d'Olivier son
retour — et où incidemment, négligemment, distraitement en apparence, il
précisait le jour et l'heure — comme on tendrait une piège au sort, et par
amour des embrasures.
-- André Gide;
«Les faux-monnayeurs»
It might help if I mention that Gide constructed Les faux-monnayeurs -- or
The Counterfeiters -- as a montage of incompatible styles and points of
view. He intrudes himself into the novel, ignoring any barrier between the
author and his creation. He sometimes directly addresses the reader. One
of the characters -- Edouard, the one in the quotation, the "il" who looks
at his watch ("montre") -- is himself a novelist, also writing a book called
Les faux-monnayeurs.
The text of the quotation means that Edouard hasn't directly informed his
nephew Olivier that he is returning to France or when his train will arrive.
But he hopes Olivier will meet the train anyway.
"He looks at his watch," Gide says. "Eleven thirty-five. He should have
arrived already. Curious to know if, impossibly, Olivier was waiting for
him on the platform. He didn't count on it, absolutely. How to suppose
Olivier could have noticed the postcard on which he informed Olivier's
parents of his return . . ."
I didn't leave the quotation in French in order to appear literate, being in
no position to do so: William Frankenstein's girlfriend, Elizabeth, scolds
me for my poor French.
Edouard is in love with Olivier. His way of approaching him may reflect his
way of approaching Les faux-monnayeurs -- or Gide's way of approaching his
book -- or their way of approaching life.
" . . . how to suppose he could have noticed the postcard -- on which,
apparently in passing, carelessly, absent-mindedly, he specified the day and
time -- the way that one sets . . . "
And it's starting there that my French leaves me wondering.
" . . . comme on tendrait une piège au sort . . ."
In French love stories, when they get into it the author or a character will
refer to "tendresse." The dictionary says that "tendrait," as a verb, can
mean to stretch something tight. But a "piège" is a trap or snare, and to
"tendrait une piège" is to set a trap. For what? Not a trap "for
chance" -- because "au sort" means "at random."
" . . . et par amour des embrasures."
I know that "par amour" means "out of love" or "because of love" -- but,
still puzzled by the traps in the previous phrase, I fall into thinking it
says "pour amour" and he's laying the traps "for love." Originally, an
"embrasure" -- in French as well as in English -- was something in a
Medieval castle: one of those narrow vertical slits high in the outer walls
that they shot their crossbow arrows through without exposing themselves to
enemy fire. Now it means any sort of similar setup. But, it's hard --
especially in context -- not to remember that "embrasser" is "to kiss."
So, that's the quotation at the end of my screenplay.
*
You will pardon some obscurities, for there are more secrets in my trade
than in most men's, and yet not voluntarily kept, but inseparable from its
very nature. I would gladly tell all that I know about it, and never paint
"No Admittance" on my gate.
-- Henry David Thoreau; Walden
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