The Silences of Paris

FOREWORD

The soundtrack to the following play is primarily composed of files found in the French radio archives. We believe it's worth noting that, despite the nature of the material, these files were not used with polemical intentions. They have become part of a story we can deplore but one whose notes cannot be erased. The names of all living persons have been removed. What remains, then, are sonorous facts in their original form, and each listener is welcome to draw his own conclusions. The creators of this work acknowledge only the strength of these materials in giving an accurate picture of what might be called the sound of the Occupation, as we have known it for the past four years, but also as people the world over know it, today as yesterday, the moment a State sticks its nose into their business.

Simply, throughout the thundering demonstrations of this new approach to governing, it's still possible to distinguish the small quiet voice of those who love and suffer. It's recognizable in this play. It's what lasts while empires pass. What the uproar of armies and the enforcement of laws have never managed to smother. It resists and, resisting, it justifies hope.

—AC

CHARACTERS
speaker
bookseller
first woman
second woman
old man
young man
voices

SEQUENCE 0

Credits

speaker: French Broadcasting presents:

Music: begins with an oppressive musical phrase that grows,
blossoms, and ends anxiously. Then, amid a profound silence …

Sound Effects: begin with one, then two, then an
orchestration of warning sirens. When the silence returns:

speaker: "The Silences of Paris …"

Sound Effects: playing in the background, behind the credits.

Written by: Albert Camus. Artistic Collaboration and Research: Nicole Vedrès. Music by: Pierre Capdevielle. Produced by: Paul-Louis Mignon. Directed by: Maurice Cazeneuve.

A hansom cab trots past … a clock tolls in the distance …
the pounding melody of a far-off German patrol …
the Métro passing … and, in general, the thousand hollow sounds
that make up the texture of the silences of Paris.

Music: immediately after the Speaker's last words, a quick wave of
music drowns out the noises from the credits and dissolves into
the sound of iron storefront gates being lowered in haste,
a sound that marks the beginning of:

SEQUENCE 1

Sound Effects: storefront gates once, twice, three times

bookseller: We were the strongest. We'd cut off the road to the iron mines and forged the steel of victory in the flames of combat, we'd plugged gaps on a front where apparently there were nothing but holes, re-established a position on the Marne that we never knew had wavered, and calmly prepared a new miracle on the Loire. The result being that in the sixth arrondissement the storekeepers lowered the iron gates of their shops. They did this with only one thing in mind: leaving. They didn't know where, but they wanted to leave. They'd had enough of being well informed.

Storefront gates

I'd had enough, too, but I stayed. People will say it was another obsession. I'm not so sure. When you're a grocer, you can leave your mustard. You're not attached to it. But when you're a bookseller, like me, you have affection for what you sell. My Bayle dictionary, for example, the three-volume octavo edition from Rotterdam, no one wants it, of course, because they prefer to read Paris-Soir. Me, I find it touching, this dictionary, and I could never leave it. My neighbor the picture framer was the first to leave and I admit that's only normal. There are always those who are unwilling to stick around for special occasions. But his leaving, it was another reason for me to stay. He has thin lips and he takes too much medication; I prefer to see him far away. And then there's my wife. She's the type who can't make a decision. The only times I've seen her happy were when someone else made the decisions for her. The day of...