Blogical Conclusion

CROSSED CONNECTIONS

NOV 1, 2008 - A LITTLE INTO CLAUDE BERRI’S JEAN DE FLORETTE, Ugolin (Daniel Auteuil) remarks to Jean Cadoret (Gérard Depardieu), “Your wife sings beautifully. It sounds even better than in church.” Cadoret replies, with justifiable pride, “She has charmed many listeners. She sang operas. She triumphed as Manon [Lescaut]. That’s why we call our daughter Manon.” But all through Manon des Sources – the moving, many-years-later sequel to Jean de Florette (though the two films are so connected in spirit, tone and pace, they’re best seen back-to-back) – it appears that it isn’t just Manon’s name that owes a debt to the opera, but also the ripely melodramatic events that make up the film. A landowner kills someone and discovers that that someone was actually his son. A shepherdess overhears a secret, and almost instantly, one of her goats falls down a cavern, where she’ll discover a way to avenge herself on the bearers of that secret.

But the most eye-rolling of contrivances could well be the conveniently lost letter that could have transformed the life of Cesar Soubeyran (Yves Montand) – while he was in Africa, away from his love, Florette. Near the end of the film, old Delphine (Yvonne Gamy) rebukes Cesar, “Belly dancing is all very well, but you made a mistake when you were over there.” Cesar is confused. Delphine continues, “l said ‘mistake,’ but it was almost a crime.” Cesar is still no clearer. “I don’t know what mistake you mean,” he replies. Delphine brings up the letter, “One that deserved an answer, an answer that you never sent.” Already, it would seem, this ridiculous little scene has overstayed its welcome, but Cesar persists. “A letter from whom?” Delphine continues to be maddeningly vague. “You don’t want to tell me because you think I don’t know.”

The duet continues, as Cesar swears he doesn’t know. Delphine responds dramatically, “Don’t swear, you sinner! I’m sorry for reminding you of something unpleasant.” Cesar insists, “What is unpleasant? From here, I see the church and a cross on top of the steeple. I swear on that cross that I received no letter, except from my father and Anglade and Castagne.” Delphine sighs. “In that case, it’s a tragedy.” You’d think this is when she’d tell Cesar just what was in that damned letter, but more circumlocution is to follow. “Why?” asks Cesar. “Swear again that you’re not lying to me,” demands Delphine. Cesar swears – again – and asks, “Who wrote to me?” Delphine replies that it’s Florette. Fully knowing the answer to the question he’s about to pose, Cesar wonders, “Florette Camoins?” Delphine dryly reminds him that there was no other Florette.

And the pas de deux is still in progress. “Are you sure?” Cesar asks. Delphine nods, “l myself gave the letter to the postman.” Cesar is stunned. “I’d never have forgotten a letter from her. I still have two faded notes she wrote to me and one of her combs. It’s true.” There is more inquiry about the circumstances of the communication. “How could that letter have gotten lost?” Delphine wonders. Cesar replies, “Over there, we moved from place to place. Sometimes, our food and even our ammunition failed to reach us. Some letters may have been lost too.” Finally convinced that Cesar is telling the truth, Delphine reveals to him the contents of the letter, that the Soubeyran heir Cesar so badly wanted had been conceived.

Had this letter reached Cesar in time, Jean Cadoret – who met his end thanks to a series of events orchestrated in service of future Soubeyran heirs – would still be alive. Instead, we’re left with two more dead men and two more posthumous letters – one from a man who kills himself, the other from a man who wills himself to die. Three tragic men whose fates are paired off with three tragic letters – and now we see what may have been the reason the scene between Delphine and Cesar was staged so elaborately, so deliberately, just as elaborately and deliberately as the reading out of those other letters was staged. These letters are the soaring leitmotifs of this libretto, this retooled Manon. And that, really, is the way with opera. The head scoffs – but the heart is too heavy with tears to pay heed.

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