upton-on-line
4th April 2002
French Miscellanies Issue
In this issue
Upton-on-line explores a public transport solution in Rennes that
would have Aucklanders drooling (if they could twist Wellington’s arm
to fund it), the edifice virus plaguing France’s cultural monuments,
French reaction to the death of The Queen Mother and finally
a new feature: Diasporan of the Month. This month upton-on-line
profiles Isobel Ollivier, the distinguished New Zealand translator
of countless log-books left behind by early French explorers. But first…
…evidence of an Aussie takeover at Larousse
Upton-on-line spends more time these days than he’d care to admit,
burrowing like a silver fish into the recesses of a large array of English/French
and French/French dictionaries. One of them is the Larousse/Chambers
dictionary published in the very same quartier in which upton-on-line
resides. It’s an intermediate weight tome with a ton of useful idiomatic
expressions to easy the anglophone along his/her way.
Upton-on-line had assumed that dictionaries were written by faceless
people who generated limp Janet and John examples without betraying
a shred of colour, place or humour. Imagine, then, his reaction to this
little entry in the English to French section under ‘life’:
5 [Liveliness] vie f; there’s a lot more life in Sydney
than in Wellington Sydney est nettement plus animé que
Wellington; (p 503 Larousse Chambers Advanced French/English,
English/French Dictionary, Paris 1999)
Are the proprietors aware of the vast cultural offence that some under-cover
trans-lingual Ozzie has been allowed to perpetrate? Upton-on-line can
only conclude that the editors hadn’t heard of Sydney either (although
if pressed he would probably have to concede the point).
Public transport in style
As Auckland goes through another round of recriminations and navel
gazing on its transport system, France’s fifth city – Rennes
– has just opened its new Metro system. System is probably a slightly
grandiose term for what is, in effect, a single line 9.4 km in length
with 15 stops traversing the town from north west to south east. If
you travelled from one end of the line to the other, it would take you
16 minutes. Open from 5.30 a.m. to midnight, the system comes replete
with 122 security cameras and a special twenty strong force of metro
police.
None of this in itself should surprise – not in a country dedicated
for several hundred years now to grand public gestures on the grandest
scale. (Upton-on-line wandered around the palace at Fontainebleau last
weekend to get the feel for how a succession of Henris and Louis, not
to mention Napoleon, rose to the challenge of housing themselves in
the style to which earlier generations of French taxpayers were told
they needed to be accommodated.)
But it was the justification offered to the present generation that
raised upton-on-line’s eyebrows. Described by a local political operative
as "a formidable tool to benefit the environment", the new
line is expected to increase public transport’s share of total passenger
movements in the Rennes area from – wait for it – 10% to 13% over
the next decade or so. And to cap it all off, the thirteen
(!) teams of architects retained to realise this wonder include none
other than Norman Foster of Hong Kong Airport and Reichstag
refurbishment fame.
Going for broke
Even more mind-boggling are the financial considerations. The project,
in all its magnificence has cost a cool 457 million euros (roughly NZ$900
million). At that sort of expenditure you’d imagine that Rennes, the
capital of …err… Brittany, must have a population of a couple of million.
But no, it’s smaller than Wellington. Just 213,000 people in the town
itself or 375,000 if you stretch as far as you can before you’re engulfed
by countryside. And do we have ratepayers mired in debt and about to
launch a fresh round of revolution? Apparently not. The State has biffed
in 372 million euros or around 80% of the cost. John Banks should
get on the first flight to Wellington.
So there you have it: state of the art public transport for 48 million
euros per kilometre or 1218 euros capital cost per person (but remembering
that only 10% of journeys made by residents of ‘greater’ Rennes are
made on public transport we’re talking roughly ten times that figure).
It is scarcely surprising that the cost of the line has been termed
‘pharaonique’.
Still, the best things in this world aren’t cheap, and neither are
they achieved without a struggle. Le Monde reports that during
the construction phase the town was transformed into a giant work site
involving pot-hole ridden streets, temporary barricades and subsidence
leading to "evacuated residents, interminable traffic jams and
furious business operators". And, undaunted, the city fathers are
planning a second line.
Whether it’s the way of the future remains in doubt. While underground
trains are a feature of France’s biggest cities (Lyons, Marseilles,
Lille and, above all, Paris), the only medium sized town to go for a
metro is prosperous Toulouse with 650,000 inhabitants. The rest in the
Rennes/Christchurch league are going for trams. At a third of the price
per kilometre, it’s not hard to see why. But none of this is going to
anyone to take the shine off Rennes’ king hit as far as its authors
are concerned. It represents, says one local worthy, "the successful
conclusion of a great political decision". This, apparently, is
what people flock to vote for in Rennes at least. All you need is the
conviction to spend large enough and long enough!
Gigantism on the cultural front
It is not just public transport systems that seem infected with the
Monumentosis virus. Cultural edifices are a guaranteed way to
burn money, and France has done its share of proving the point. Four
grand Paris-based institutions – the Louvre, the Paris National
Opera, the Pompidou Centre and the National Library
- gobble between them 315 million euros of state subsidy a year (that’s
over NZ$600 million). With at least the two galleries being internationally
known household names, it’s all in a good cause. But all (with the possible
exception of the Opera which managed a rather good financial deal at
the time the new Bastille complex was built) are said to be in financial
trouble.
All have been the subject of simply massive refurbishments and extensions
over the last twenty years (the Mitterand government had a particular
penchant for large edifices). The Louvre re-development alone soaked
up about 1.2 billion euros. But all are having trouble with their running
costs. Upton-on-line was amused to read one critic lamenting the fact
that it was part of "a very French syndrome, the Versailles one.
In France, it’s all or nothing" he said.
He apparently hadn’t heard of the antipodean form of the virus, known
to New Zealanders in its classical form at Te Papa, but perhaps
better known in a mutant variety that afflicts the promoters of sports
stadiums. With 25% of its galleries shut through lack of staff, the
Louvre exhibits a classic political weakness that exists in every country
– the desire to leave behind monuments rather than to fund the things
that happen inside them.
France’s culture minister, Catherine Tasca, was at least honest
about the political tactics involved:
"In this country, it’s easier to build than to find running
costs. That’s a mistake. But without creating the tools one will
never be able to develop the policies to put in place. I should
point out, that the community has always found the wherewithal to
enable them to function…"
The short of this, as upton-on-line understands it, is that if you
manage to get the building built, it’s much easier to force everyone
to swallow a policy to fund the activities they’re built to contain.
This is not a chicken or egg tale. You provide the egg – then you put
your chicken in it. Irresistible.
The French and La Reine Mère
Upton-on-line has been struck by the space devoted to the death of
Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother. Both the major dailies to
which he devotes himself (Le Monde and Figaro) have given
Her Majesty generous farewell.
It is the War that remains the point of emotional contact, albeit it
an aging one. A distinguished member of the free French, Maurice
Druon, KBE, writing in Figaro recalled a particularly
strong affection felt by those who had, with de Gaulle, been
exiled in London during the years of the occupation. Here is his recollection
of his first encounter with her:
"She was forty; she brought with her an air of radiant freshness,
for a queen must always smile, even in the most tragic of times.
But you could tell from the look on her face that she was visibly
moved as she looked at these young men who, for the most part, had
got there at the risk of their lives so that they could risk them
again – and many of whom would lose them. She was wearing, as a
corsage, a tiny gold Lorraine cross. In this way she showed us that
she loved us. And we loved her. She was our queen.
This little brooch, the symbol of our mutual engagement, I saw
her wearing on every occasion I can remember. She had it on when
she unveiled a blue plaque (the colour reserved for heroes) to the
memory of General de Gaulle on the façade of number 4 Carlton
Gardens which was his headquarters…
…God gave her such a long life so she could remain, as long as
possible, an inspiration. She will be forever in the old hearts
of the free French."
Le Monde, given always to the most extensive and apollonian
of utterances, found in the Queen Mother’s character an identification
with some of the most deeply cherished characteristics of the English
soul:
"Hopelessly in thrall to nostalgia, Albion cannot resist a
world of grannies around whom turn cups of tea, the Times crosswords,
tom-cats and speculations on the weather. Images inseparable from
those of the post-war years, churned out in bitter-sweet kitsch
films from Ealing’s studios."
Having resolutely worked through her positive personal qualities, Le
Monde’s writer (applying appropriate republican scepticism) then
traversed the Queen Mother’s more questionable attitudes on such sensitive
issues as her opposition to Churchill, at the outbreak of the war, her
politically incorrect enthusiasms and, horror of horrors, her opposition
to British entry into the Common Market. But again, the wartime record
absolves everything:
"But her fundamental euroscepticism didn’t prevent the Queen
Mother from a deep love of France. Received at Buckingham Palace
in 1944 before his return to France, de Gaulle confided to her:
"Ma’am, you and the King have been the only two people who
have always demonstrated an understanding and humanity on my account
during my exile in London." … And when it came to the
final of the World Cup in 1998, the old lady toasted the French
victory over the Brazilians by breaking into the Marseillaise!"
By such gestures are ententes cordiales maintained.
Not surprisingly, it was the event the British media had prepared for
for decades. The best coverage upton-on-line saw was in the Financial
Times which was as sharp and anecdotally original as ever. The best
had to be her attitude to Wallis Simpson as recorded by observers
present when she and her husband, the then Duke of York, were invited
by the new Edward VIII to view his new American station wagon.
"While the Duke of York was sold on the American station wagon,
the duchess was not sold on the King’s other American interest."
Significantly, the FT’s commentary, and editorial, ended up
asking what this means for the Royal Family – a matter that is by no
means irrelevant to New Zealand as it places the Queen even more in
the front line than previously. As its leader noted, the Queen Mother’s
formula was a relatively simple one of –
"keeping out of politics, a traditional sense of public duty
and morality, commitment to her family and an extravagant penchant
for palaces."
The question, the FT noted is, as ever, whether her heirs are
capable of making the transition to the twenty first century as successfully
as she was able to help the House of Windsor adapt to the twentieth.
Diasporan of the month - Isobel Ollivier
Isobel Ollivier is a remarkable New Zealander who has taken Gallic
root deep in Paris’ 6th arrondissement, a stone’s
throw from the Seine and the Ile de la Cité. She is the President
of the Association France – Nouvelle Zélande, an august
body of around 100 gallo-kiwis or kiwi-gauls depending on whose genes
got mixed where.
On the French side, there’s a predictable mix of ex-diplomats, teachers
and others who have undertaken missionary service in New Zealand on
behalf of French culture. For the kiwis’ part, there is an eclectic
band of individuals who have been ensnared by careers, romance or both.
Founded in 1981, the association has ebbed (it actually sank for a few
years in the wake of the Rainbow Warrior) and flowed (as its
various pub nights attest).
Its raison d’être, beyond bonhomie, is to minister
to the cultural links that bind the two countries, extending from the
Katherine Mansfield fellowships to rugby. This last cultural
activity provides one of the association’s most eagerly sought-after
services – the procurement of tickets to France/New Zealand games.
But lest anyone picture Ms Ollivier as a marooned All Black cheer-leader
trying vainly to persuade anyone who will listen that New Zealand rugby
is still in the première league, her contribution to New Zealand
is altogether more enduring – and fascinating.
Born in Blenheim, and moving as a young child between such heartland
heart-string-pullers as Kaikoura, Methven and Dannevirke
(her father was a stock agent), Isobel landed up aged 10 in Ruakiwi
where her parents took up farming. (For those few unacquainted with
this place, it is a remote valley on the north side of the Raglan
harbour and one of upton-on-line’s favourite haunts).
Deposited for safekeeping (and education) in the Waikato Diocesan
School for Gels, Isobel moved back south to Canterbury University
for her undergraduate years (taking English and French). After a stint
at training college, she taught in Darfield before undertaking
her mandatory OE in Europe in 1974. She returned to New Zealand in 1977
and commenced her masters studies in French at Auckland University
where her path crossed with that of Anne Salmond (now Dame Anne)
who was at that sage in the thick of the research that would lead to
Two Worlds and, later, Between Worlds.
Ollivier became entangled in that research as a translator, commissioned
by Salmon to check the translations of extracts from the logbooks of
early French explorers held in the Turnbull Library and used by McNab
in his Historical Records of New Zealand Vol II (published in
1914). This swiftly led to a much bigger project when Ollivier leadingly
observed that one could never be sure, looking at mere microfilm records,
whether they were complete (the implication being that checking the
originals would be just the ticket…).
In a flash Salmond had the money together and Ollivier was off to France
to tackle the records of the five early French explorers who helped
put New Zealand on the map outside the English speaking world - De
Surville (1769), Marion du Fresne (1772), D'Entrecasteaux
(1793), Duperrey (1824) and Dumont d'Urville (1827). What
started off as short-term research for Salmon became, in 1982, a long-term
academic project in Ollivier’s own right. It remains unfinished to this
day notwithstanding the painstaking translation of manuscript material
from the five voyages (the last, published last year, running to some
2000 pages).
D’Urville’s 1839 voyage remains untackled and Ollivier would be more
than happy to hear from any reader who would like to make it a summer
holiday project. It is painstaking work with the French and meticulously
translated English texts laid out in parallel, all cross-referenced
to the manuscripts. None of which fits particularly easily with earning
a living as a professional translator and being caught up with family
life which, as upton-on-line can aver, is never a simple matter in a
place like Paris. (Ollivier joined the band of those bonded to the tricolor
by a romantic occurrence and lives happily with architect husband
Gilles Sainsaulieu and daughter Emily.)
Isobel doubts whether the doctoral thesis that was to grow out of the
translation work will ever come about (upton-on-line is campaigning
in the background) but whatever the case, she has given New Zealand
– and France – authoritative access to hugely important sources of very
early-European era New Zealand. This is bedrock academic and archival
work without which sound scholarship is impossible. New Zealanders are
indebted to her.
Meanwhile, this fifth generation New Zealander (first four ships, Canterburian
and all that) oscillates (like so many Parisians) between her inner
city pied à terre and an idyllic slice of rural France
on the banks of the Cher, a grim hour and a half’s drive to the south
in Loire country. There she may be found, of a summer’s afternoon, dealing
with convolvulus amidst the old roses and perennials in her rambling
garden. If this is how nautical log-book translators end their days,
there could be worse career choices – or countries of adoption.
Readers interested in the Association France – Nouvelle Zelande
can visit its website: www.chez.com/francenouvellezelande
or contact it directly by e-mail at francenouvellezelande@chez.com
For a brilliantly presented website that describes
a recent French encounter with New Zealand, visit: www.frogs-in-nz.com
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