Grand Illusion

My father had several times expressed a fear of being buried alive. I insisted that the doctor should do whatever was necessary. The doctor asked me to leave the room. When I came back, he was able to assure me that Renoir was dead! jean renoir It is not 1937 for long. A clump of ash trees and a walk Down the the boathouse: inside linen is tacked up In a long blank mural; the children sit on the wings Of the dry dock, and then, over the water in a circle Of rowboats, the aunts and uncles wait while At their center the projectionist, Jean Renoir, On a cedar raft, casts silhouettes of rabbits, birds, And turtles for the sleepy children. Corks Come out of old bottles, it is a few minutes past sunset And, now, a swimmer beside the raft looks Into the boathouse to the linens:at last, it is 1915! A bird screams over the lake, two bats Flitter back and forth through the beam of the lamp, Interrupting the images, the grand illusion, cast over Water the the acceptance of white tablecloths On the darkening shore of the lake. A torch is lit For its kerosene smoke is repugnant to the swarming insects. This film and its prisoners exist between extreme borders, Not music and algebra but A war and, then, yet another war. . . But we begin with the captured officers digging A tunnel that will soon be outside the garden wall. The Boches observe the Frenchmen working With their hoes as from the trousers of a boy Dirt from the tunnel secretly spills onto horse manure! The prisoners dream of crossing a meadow filled With snow, in the moonlight it is jade-green snow While Germans with rifles on a hill Are unable to kill them, for they have escaped Into Switzerland with its feather-brushed trees And patina of copper rooftops along a hillside village. Isn’t this the ending of the film? No! I’m sorry but There is a single blossom On the geranium, and when it falls, Captain de Boeldieu Dies, discovering his afterlife along a November road— He does not know that two men are hiding in the marsh Beside him; nevertheless, it is at this moment that the film Suffers its true conclusion. The two men hiding In the marsh will escape across the border, only To be returned to the continuing war. This is why there Is no importance to your version of the story. And there Will be another war. And more horror for the geranium! So, to pass the time, the imprisoned soldiers receive A steamer trunk filled with women’s clothing, They will all perform in a revue: a chorus Of boys and men, rouge and talcum, black stockings, Garters, the tonneau dresses, false breasts and Large paper carnations riding up like epaulets On their broad shoulders. These poignant inversions Are not ridiculous: the third boy from the right Has delicate milky thighs, these women are not ridiculous Until they begin to stiffen into men as they sing, In this comedy, their national anthem! The Russian Prisoners have been given a trunk, also, from their Mysterious Czarina; the men open it expecting vodka And sausages. The box is filled with straw And books on cooking, painting, and algebra. In disgust They burn these books—kiss good-bye the frontier Of algebra and the desire for wedding tripe! Now, these officers who are escape artists are moved As an elite corps and north to Wintersborn. Later, They are taken to a damp limestone castle From which no one will escape. The Commandant Is the stoic aristocrat, Rauffenstein, his head is in A brace like a white egg in a silver teaspoon. I mean no disrespect, but the balding Rauffenstein is An abject picture of suffering. His villa has but one Flower, a tall laden geranium. Rauffenstein and the other aristocrat, Boeldieu, Are friends. Both would know that to clear a monocle One uses spirits of vinegar. They stand confirmed In manner beside a squirrel cage. Rauffenstein feels Superior to the other two principals, the rich Jew, Rosenthal, and the charming emotional Marechal. These two hide in the marsh while Boeldieu dies Of a bullet wound. Only a king may kill a king! And Rauffenstein did it with his pistol; taking aim But missing the leg; he severed in three places Boeldieu’s intestine! The Captain is given a room in the turret that holds The flowering geranium. Now comes the oratio obliqua Of the marksman, Rauffenstein; the disfigured Commandant Is sincerely saddened At having killed the noble Captain. But before The shooting and escape we sensed the Captain’s Sacrifice was not sacrifice, or suicide, but The grand escape—a country road into another landscape. . . There are bells tolling down in the village. Rosenthal and Marechal with ropes have dropped Past the castle’s battlements to the ground. They run away across snowy farmland. Marechal’s teeth Are stained from chewing licorice-flavored tobacco. Rosenthal and Marechal are extremes who have Strong feelings for each other. They are befriended By a German widow, Ulsa, and her daughter, Lotte; Ulsa sleeps with the tall handsome Jew. He promises To return for her when the war is over. He Will lose both his legs at Mégéglise. This is not known within the story, but he’ll bleed To death beside a little bridge. He lived his illusion In the Orient of Delacroix, his servants were Syrians And Negroes. He loved the little ivory spoons that Chinese women in the open markets use to bathe And freshen the exotic tiny fish they sell out Of huge clay bowls. . . In the boathouse the children sleep, while Jean’s Oldest cousin, drunken, falls out of a rowboat. The lone swimmer has joined Renior on the raft. The film now reveals the first diversion As all of the prisoners of the fortress begin playing Several hundred wooden flutes, the noise is like women Crying over the fresh mounds at Verdun. This diversion Is not illusion And as the Boches collect the flutes, the drunken cousin Tries to join Renior on the raft. Boeldieu flees To the heights of the castle, the second diversion! We hear:Halt! Halt! Halt! A gunshot, and chowder with blood falls from Boeldieu’s Opened stomach all the way down to the courtyard. There are small fish bones in the viscera on the cobbled Courtyard floor. Scissors cut the blue blossom From the geranium. Boeldieu will die. . . dead, He awakens on a country road where, now a peasant, He walks a white horse under the looming, bare trees. Rosenthal and Marechal are watching As they hide in the dead marsh flowers of An early November. They are alive. They do not Recognize their friend. Renoir’s cousin, asking for More wine, climbing onto the raft, spills Everything, and the projector with its crude lamp Sinks slowly to the bottom of the lake— Its dusky lighted windows like a bathysphere Lost off a cable that frayed, whoever is alive Inside the iron bell is experiencing An eternal falling through water without the promise Of a bottom. . . it’s 1937, the children Asleep in the boathouse are being aroused, they wake To a bat caught in the wall of linen, they think it’s Their uncle still casting images of animals for them. . .