Quand la Madelon

One of the blogs I follow, Manifestation Pieds Noirs 2012 blog, wrote a piece on 4 December that plunged me into the minutiae of Pied-Noir history. In their article "La Madelon était pied-noire," the author contends that the heroine of the World War I song, "Quand la Madelon" was from Batna, Algeria.

According to Wikipedia.fr, the singer Bach (Charles-Joseph Pasquier) created it in Paris in 1914. The words were written by Louis Bousquet (1870-1941) and the music by Camille Robert who was born in Batna in 1878.

The song was not immediately popular. According to Manifestation who cite the following letter from Jean Bayol printed in the Algérianiste (number 3, 15 June 1985, pp. 71-72, my translation): 

"I possess numerous documents and testimonies of great interest. Four years ago while following the roots of 'La Madelon,' I was able to go back to her father's birth.
Several Madeleines were born between 1873 and 1876 in Batna (because Batna is his birth town), (for example, Jeanne Madeleine Bretin born January 6, 1875 to Annette Bretin and an unknown father.)
It would have been too easy to pick whichever Madeleine among them.
But the information that I obtained from various sources allowed me to go back to her father.
We can thus respond to Monsieur Robert that Madelon was born in Batna and that it's there that Luis Bousquet [sic], who was originally from Perrignargues (Manifestation interjects -  Parignargues, a town in the Gard) knew her and that it's in memory of her that he wrote this song.
The author of the song was not a soldier from Algeria.
He was in the 3rd division of Zouaves from Constantine.
When the three supplementary bataillons were created, he was moved to the 6th bataillon in Batna.
He says it himself, "I wrote this song in memory of a girl I met in Batna."

original text:

« Je possède de nombreux documents et témoignages d'un grand intérêt. Il y a 4 ans que je suis "La Madelon" à la trace et j'ai pu remonter jusqu'à la naissance de son père. Plusieurs Madeleine sont nées entre 1873 et 1876 à Batna (car Batna est bien son lieu de naissance), (par exemple Jeanne Madeleine Bretin née le 6 janvier 1875 de Annette Bretin et de père inconnu.) Il était trop facile de choisir parmi elles une quelconque Madeleine. Mais les renseignements que j'ai obtenus de sources diverses m'ont permis de remonter jusqu'à son père. C'est en me renseignant à la mairie que j'ai retrouvé celui qui allait devenir le père de Madeleine. Nous pouvons donc répondre à M. Robert que Madelon est née à Batna, que c'est là que Luis Bousquet originaire de Perrignargues (c’est Parignargues, village du Gard) l'a connue et que c'est en souvenir d'elle qu'il a écrit sa chanson. L'auteur de cette chanson n'est pas un militaire originaire d'Algérie. Il s'était engagé au 3^ème Zouaves de Constantine. A la création de 3 bataillons supplémentaires, il fut affecté au 6^ème bataillon à Batna. Il le dit lui-même : « J'ai écrit cette chanson en souvenir d'une fille que j'ai connue à Batna. » 

Why does any of this matter to me? I have been working on a book chapter entitled "Fixing the Past: Marie Cardinal's La Mule de corbillard" which analyzes the 1963 novel as an attempt to stop time for the Pieds-Noirs. While Cardinal is extraordinarily careful not to reveal the location of the novel, there are numerous hints at Algeria. The main character, Madeleine, lives alone on five hectares of land and hosts a French engineer named Pierre Landrieux. The two fall in love and begin to build a life together, but when her lover suddenly disappears, Madeleine (nicknamed Madelon by Pierre) begins the obsessive construction of a model cathedral. When World War II begins, Madeline loses control of her vineyards and begins a long spiral into vengeance, old age, and reconstructing memories.

The song's origins anchor La Mule de corbillard further to Algeria while the lyrics tell a similar tale to the love between Pierre and Madeleine:

Pour le repos, le plaisir du militaire, 

Il est là-bas à deux pas de la forêt 

Une maison aux murs tout couverts de lierre 

"Aux Tourlourous" c'est le nom du cabaret. 

La servante est jeune et gentille, 

Légère comme un papillon. 

Comme son vin son œil pétille, 

Nous l'appelons la Madelon 

Nous en rêvons la nuit, nous y pensons le jour, 

Ce n'est que Madelon mais pour nous c'est l'amour 

{Refrain:} 

Quand Madelon vient nous servir à boire 

Sous la tonnelle on frôle son jupon 

Et chacun lui raconte une histoire 

Une histoire à sa façon 

La Madelon pour nous n'est pas sévère 

Quand on lui prend la taille ou le menton 

Elle rit, c'est tout le mal qu'elle sait faire 

Madelon, Madelon, Madelon ! 

Nous avons tous au pays une payse 

Qui nous attend et que l'on épousera 

Mais elle est loin, bien trop loin pour qu'on lui dise 

Ce qu'on fera quand la classe rentrera 

En comptant les jours on soupire 

Et quand le temps nous semble long 

Tout ce qu'on ne peut pas lui dire 

On va le dire à Madelon 

On l'embrasse dans les coins. Elle dit "veux-tu finir..." 

On s'figure que c'est l'autre, ça nous fait bien plaisir.  

{au Refrain}

Un caporal en képi de fantaisie 

S'en fut trouver Madelon un beau matin 

Et, fou d'amour, lui dit qu'elle était jolie 

Et qu'il venait pour lui demander sa main 

La Madelon, pas bête, en somme, 

Lui répondit en souriant : 

Et pourquoi prendrais-je un seul homme 

Quand j'aime tout un régiment ? 

Tes amis vont venir. Tu n'auras pas ma main 

J'en ai bien trop besoin pour leur verser du vin  

{au Refrain}

Lledo's Algerias, my phantoms

Jean-Pierre Lledo sent me all of his films on DVD in 2007 after a Pied-Noir writer, Marie-Claude San Juan put us in contact. I had been trying to get a copy of Algéries, mes fantômes (2003) for years but couldn't get it shipped to the States. I finally (shamefully only) finished watching it today.

Yvette Teurlait remembering the massacre of 17 October 1961

Lledo's search for his own ghosts of Algeria in France began in 1998 on March 19 at the commemoration of the end of the Algerian war. His film ends with images just after France won the World Cup in 1998. His camera lingers on two celebrating fans waving flags, one Algerian, one French. The flags intertwine and overlap. Lledo expresses in the final scenes:

"Seul un jeune de cette génération peut faire ce geste-là. Un geste qui allait rester dans la gorge de tous les nationalistes et tous les intégristes. Qu’ils étouffent ! Mes fantômes pouvaient retourner dans leur patrie. Et moi, quand retournerais-je dans la mienne ? A moins que la mienne ne soit la patrie des gens de passage."

"Only a youth of this generation could make that gesture. A gesture that would remain caught in the throats of all the nationalists and all the fundamentalists. Let them choke! My ghosts could return to their homeland. And me? When would I return to mine? Unless mine is a homeland of transients."* 

Lledo's search for his country, Algeria, where he remained until 1993, is complex and moving. His opening scene at the Port of Marseille with his daughter Naouel explaining nostalgia as a "manque" 'lack' frames Lledo's movement as he travels all around France to talk about his films on Algeria. His encounters with multiple memories of Algeria -- from soldiers who admit to having tortured during the war, to Pieds-Noirs and Algerians who suffer from their exile, to the child of Harkis who struggles to understand her father's shame -- do not evoke nostalgic reunions. They demonstrate what Fiona Barclay's Writing Postcolonial France: haunting, literature and the Maghreb (Lexington Books, 2011) affirms, "France is haunted" (xi). Algeria and the Algerian war have long haunted France and the array of those who have been touched by the two countries still struggles to put that ghost to rest, whether by returning or simply remembering the influence one has on the other.

* My translation differs from the English subtitles on the DVD.

Interview with Marc Laffineur, "The Memory of the Algerian War must be Appeased"

Translated excerpts from the interview in La Croix with Minister of Veteran Affairs, Marc Laffineur (5 December 2011)

La Croix: Isn't it also time to work out the truth about the Algerian War?
ML: The Algerian War was a tragedy. We must have the courage to bring all aspects of this conflict to light. The vast majority of the French military were exemplary in carrying out their duty. The truth should not work in only one direction. It has to reflect all aspects, even the mistakes on both sides, and it has to be wanted from both sides of the Mediterranean. Created in October 2010 and presided by Claude Bébéar, the Foundation for the Memory of the Algerian War and the battles in Morocco and Tunisia is working towards this.

La Croix: Can France and Algeria strengthen their ties during this fiftieth anniversary?
ML: I am obviously in favor of a dispassionate exchange regarding the commemoration of the end of the Algerian War with respect to the veterans' associations on both sides of the Mediterranean. A greater connection between the two countries is desirable. The Algerian War was a huge mess. We have to admit that it's time to turn the page. What was done with Germany in terms of reconciliation should be able to happen with Algeria.

Coordinator chosen to organize the 50th anniversary commemorations

Translated and edited from Lignes de Défense blog by Philippe Chapleau, 6 December 2011

"Next year will mark the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the Algerian war. As such, the French President has given Hubert Colin de Verdière, formerly ambassador to Algeria for two mandates, the task of coordinating the multiple initiatives related to the anniversary. Marc Laffineur, Minister of Veteren Affairs, gave this information to La Croix who published an interview with him on Monday." (Title of this interview in English: The Memory of the Algerian War Must be Appeased)

Chapleau says he had been unaware of this nomination that was made on October 23.  However, Colin de Verdière has already taken up his post at the Quay d'Orsay and is currently building his team. His appointment comes after the creation in 2010 of the Foundation for the Memory of the Algerian War and the battles in Morocco and Tunisia. This organization's mission is "to facilitate public access to archives, to support scientific research in France and abroad, and to transmit the memory of a period which has often remained unknown." Directed by Hubert Falco, the foundation also wishes to "accomplish  the important task of collecting testimonials. It will support the publication or reprinting of these works."

Leïla Sebbar: Voyage en Algéries autour de ma chambre

While I work on my chapter, "Leïla Sebbar's Review of Algerias Past," I've been catching up on her blog (thanks to Laura Reeck's Writerly Identities which references it), and I see she has continued her Voyage en Algéries autour de ma chambre, published in 2008. Of particular interest, Sebbar includes images of the fabled Jardin d'Essai in Algiers (see Cixous's Si près, among many other post-Algerian memory works that reference it) and a painting of another Algerian cemetery, Cimetière d’El Hamma Sidi M’Hamed, Alger by Catherine Rossi, 2010. The ruins of the past keep coming to the fore, both visually and textually.

bibliography on pieds-noirs

No, I haven't been blogging much about the Pieds-Noirs, but I am indeed writing and editing to tidy up my manuscript over our "summer" holiday in Australia. To help those of you interested in my writing on Pied-Noir literature, I'm including a few references here. Please email me if I can provide you with any further resources.

Book in progress:

Rewriting Home: How the Pieds-Noirs Remember Algeria. This book examines the written recreation of Algeria in the literature from the Pied-Noir community from 1962 to present. Through an examination of nostalgic returns, both real and imagined, I demonstrate colonial identity as being worked through and sustained in the motion of return and in the act of repetition.

  

Book Chapters:

“Viewing the Past through a ‘Nostalgeric’ Lens: Pied-Noir Photo-documentaries” in Textual and Visual Selves: Photography, Film and Comic Art in French Autobiography. Ed. Natalie Edwards, Amy L. Hubbell and Ann Miller. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2011.

“Dual, Divided, and Doubled Selves: Three Women Writing between France and Algeria.” This “Self” which is not One: Women’s Life-Writing in French. Ed. Natalie Edwards and Christopher Hogarth. Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2010. 35-46.

“Returning to the Baobab fou: (Dis)integrating Roots in Ken Bugul’s and Marie Cardinal’s Autobiographies.” Emergent Perspectives on Ken Bugul: From Alternative Choices to Oppositional Practices. Ed. Jeanne-Sarah De Larquier and Ada Uzoamaka Azodo. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 2009. 81-99.

“Slipping Home in Marie Cardinal’s Écoutez la mer.” Gender and Displacement: Home in Contemporary Francophone Women's Autobiography. Ed. Natalie Edwards and Christopher Hogarth. Newcastle, UK: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2008. 34-45.

Essays:

“Separation and Return in the Intellectual Work of the Pieds-Noirs.” International Journal of Francophone Studies. Special Issue: The African Intellectual. Guest Ed. Natalie Edwards and Christopher Hogarth. Forthcoming 2012.

“L’Algérie recurrente et l’Algérie errante dans l’écriture des Françaises d’Algérie.” L’écriture migrante au féminin: entre temporalités et spatialités multiples. Ed. Névine El-Nossery and Anna Rocca. Forthcoming.

“The Past is Present: Pied-Noir Returns to Algeria.” Ed. Jacqueline Dutton. Nottingham French Studies. Forthcoming 2012.

“(Re)turning to Ruins: Pied-Noir Visual Returns to Algeria.” Ed. Joseph McGonagle and Edward Welch. Special issue, “Visualizing the Franco-Algerian Relationship since 1954” in Modern and Contemporary France 19.2 (May 2011): 147-61.

  

 “« La valise ou le cercueil » : un aller-retour dans la mémoire des Pieds-Noirs.” Revue Diasporas: histoire et sociétés 12 (October 2008): 199-207.

“The Wounds of Algeria in Pied-Noir Autobiography.” Dalhousie French Studies 81 (Winter 2007): 59-68.

“An Amputated Elsewhere: Sustaining and Relieving the Phantom Limb of Algeria.” Life Writing 4.2 (October 2007): 247-62.

“Looking Back: Deconstructing Postcolonial Blindness in Nostalgérie.” Revue CELAAN Review 3.1-2 (Fall 2004): 85-95.

In the world of Pied-Noir Research...

Because of this blog, in the last two weeks students from two different countries have contacted me regarding research projects on the Pieds-Noirs. Poor abandoned blog. I have not quit writing about the Pieds-Noirs, and much is happening in the community as they prepare for the 50th anniversary of their exodus from Algeria. I have just been consumed with finishing my book manuscript and other projects since moving to The University of Queensland in Brisbane, Australia. My apologies for not doing a better job of keeping the blog up to date.

For the handful of readers who need English language research on the Pieds-Noirs, I intend to put up links to scholarly articles in the upcoming months. For those of you who also read French, most of the recent correspondence I've received is related to Charly Cassan's film La Valise ou le cercueil which I have not yet seen. You can follow the promotion on Facebook through multiple groups as the producers try to get the film onto France's national television stations. Video clips are available here (photo and link sent to me by Reportage 34).

I have been actively blogging elsewhere on the much more personal but somewhat related subject of hoarding at http://hoardingmemory.wordpress.com but my research on the Pieds-Noirs is ongoing. If you have questions, comments, or research ideas, please feel free to contact me.

Repatriating Remains from Algeria

According to Ennahar Online today, 135 small French cemeteries in Algeria will be regrouped into 22 cemeteries in Algerian cities. There were 523 cemeteries and 210,000 graves gradually abandoned after Algerian Independence.

The Pieds-Noirs who make pilgrimages back to their hometowns often go to the cemeteries to find ancestral graves. The graves that are now in ruins evoke extreme emotion from the Pieds-Noirs who feel helpless to stop the desecration of the abandoned sites. For many who have revisited Algeria, the cemeteries are the penultimate sites of return (see Marie Cardinal's Les Pieds-Noirs and Au pays de mes racines, Hélène Cixous's Si près, and Jacques Derrida and Safaa Fathy's Tourner les mots).

The decree to regroup the graves apparently also gives French citizens the option of repatriating the remains of their loved ones at their own expense. An interesting choice: let the loved one remain "abandoned" in their homeland, or have them join their families in exile so they can be looked after. Of course, cemeteries are not as much for the dead as for the living.

Pèlerinage recap

Indeed, I was in Nîmes for Ascension again this year, but under the rain and grey skies, the event took on a different tone. I apologize to those I was supposed to meet. I looked, asked around, and texted, but did not find them. Instead, I met a few new characters in the street and at their booths, and I believe they provided me with enough material in just a few minutes of conversation to help me find my way to the end of my book.

I can't tell if it's apparent here, but I'm struggling with my experience in Nîmes this year. I predict that next year's gathering which will mark the 50th year of exile will be a different sort of celebration, but somehow seeing all these aging people, some crippled, make their way up the long path to the sanctuary under the rain -- it troubled me this year. In 2007 my experience was joyful and I was treated to open strangers who happily shared their pasts with me. This year I felt distant ... what was I doing there by myself? People still openly talked with me when I approached them. I was still led around by my elbow and introduced to relevant figures in the community, but this year I was approaching a community that is slowly becoming a part of my own past. My research interests are shifting and maybe revisiting Nîmes was suddenly a personal effort to return to my own past.

Pieds-Noirs in Nice today

I can't be there tonight to hear Jean Monneret and other well known Pieds-Noirs talk about various aspects of their history and culture (as well as that of the Harkis), so I'm reprinting a story about last year's event posted in The Riviera Times (who knew such a paper existed?).

* * *

Pied-Noir festival: a fun event with a serious undertone

Last year, 40,000 people turned out for Aux Soleil de Deux Rives, a figure that easily surpassed the expectations of the event’s organisers. Clearly a raging success, it comes as no surprise that one year later another festival is set to take place and this weekend the second annual Pied-noir festival will be held in the Arenez de Cimiez gardens.

The festival is dedicated to the Pied-noirs (French nationals who moved to Algeria when it was a colony but were expatriated after it achieved independence) and the Harkies (Algerian nationals who fought for France during the war of independence and had to flee after the war was lost). Both minority groups have endured a difficult history and experienced discrimination and alienation from the Algerian and French communities.

With music, food, games, exhibitions, films and a puppet show Aux Soleil de Deux Rives provides entertainment for adults and children. Robert Castel, an Algerian-born French film star and comedian, will be one of the highlights of the event, performing a one-man show on Saturday at 6.00pm (in French). Following the laughs will be an animated dance accompanied by the Thierry Noll orchestra.

Although plenty of fun is to be had, the festival will also shine a light on the more serious subject of expatriation and immigration, bringing together those who fled North Africa almost 50 years ago with those who are fleeing the region now…NM

Didier le Pied-Noir, et moi, alors?

Not long ago I translated and posted commentary by Didier Lestrade on the relationship between France and North African countries as it relates to Pied-Noir identity. Lestrade is well known for speaking out whether his ideas are popular or not, and as it turns out, like many who offer a differing perspective on Pied-Noir identity, he is familiar with being an outsider.

In what Lestrade says is an effort to maintain "transparency," he posted comments (almost all angry) that he received on his article, "Pied-Noir et Pro-Arabe" in the Revue Minorités. His 27 February 2011 followup, "Chanson de Pieds-Noirs" shared what was maybe expected disappointment, but to me the comments were no less shocking than the original article.

The general consensus is that Didier cannot be a Pied-Noir. You can judge for yourself by reading the comments Lestrade posted (see below). Perhaps I am most disappointed because I had seen recent signs that the Pieds-Noirs are becoming increasingly diverse and accepting multiple views and approaches to the relationship with Algeria. Whereas the vision of Algeria was fairly uniform up through the 1990s, individuals are beginning to address the violence, exclusions and hardships they experienced while still living there. The old identity marker returns here, though. You can only be a Pied-Noir if... Lestrade has been rejected by some community members for his strong opinions about letting go of the past and healing. The same has happened on Facebook Pied-Noir groups in which certain people are excluded for having differing views on just what or who a Pied-Noir is. For some reason I'm allowed to float around on these groups and I'm frequently invited to join them. I'm even warmly embraced by the community. But then, I have no pretention of being a Pied-Noir.

* * *

Three of the Comments on Didier Lestrade's "Pied-Noir et Pro-Arabe"

- Toi un Pied-Noir ? J'en doute car mes frères sont fiers de l'être et fiers de leurs aînés qui ont construit un pays envié à partir d'un désert, au prix de leur vie. Penses ce que tu veux mais stp ne nous insulte pas, nous avons eu notre part de malheurs. Nous avons assez de détracteurs en France qui a oublié les sacrifices de nos parents pour la libérer et en Algérie où les profiteurs de l'indépendance n'en ont plus pour longtemps. La majorité nous regrette et le dit dans la presse locale et autres vidéos. Voilà, je me contenterai de ne pas te saluer, et si tu l'oses tu me réponds.


- Didier le Pied Noir.
C'est la dernière fois que je te nomme le Pied Noir.
Après ce que tu as écrit sur nous. Que tu nous souhaites tout simplement la mort, je veux te faire savoir que tous les Pieds-Noirs de facebook sont en train de faire tourner ton immondice de texte. Honte à toi. Honte à tes propos indécents et insultants à notre égard. Nous allons même consulter un avocat pour te trainer devant les tribunaux .. Non nous ne sommes pas encore morts. De victimes tu veux nous faire passer de bourreaux.

Les Pieds-Noirs, malgré ce que tu penses ont des relations privilégiées avec le peuple Algérien et si l’Algérie devient démocratique, nous aurons des relations apaisées avec le pays de nos racines. Tu n'as rien compris à notre désarroi, à notre exil, à notre soif de vérité. Tu n'as rien compris à nos souffrances, à notre mal être, à notre déracinement. Tu n'as rien compris à notre soif de reconnaissance pour ce que tous nos ancêtres ont fait et endurer pour construire ce beau pays. Tu n'as pas compris et tu n'as pas vu l'accueil que nous réservent tous les Algériens quand nous foulons notre pays. Tu n'as rien compris comme nous a pas compris ce falso de degol.

Honte à tes propos insultants vis-à-vis de ton peuple. Honte à ton racisme primaire contre ton propre camp. Honte à toi tout simplement. Je suis un artiste Pied-Noir - 5 générations en Algérie — de père petit fonctionnaire de mairie et de mère au foyer (6 enfants) ­ tu vois le sale colonialiste et le sale facho que je suis... Salut.


- Et vous, cher monsieur êtes-vous de gauche ou d'extrême gauche ? Sachez qu'en ALGERIE nous n'étions pas pollués par la politique de droite ou de gauche, nous étions tout simplement PIEDS NOIRS. Donc vous voudriez que nos parents et grands parents s'excusent d'avoir construit l'ALGERIE (1830 — 1962) pays à l'état sauvage ne comprenant que des marécages et occupé par toutes sortes d'ethnies qui ne songeaient qu'à se faire la guerre. Mais puisque vous êtes journaliste, essayez de vous pencher sur l'histoire de l'ALGERIE. Quand à vos parents, comme nous les plaignons d'avoir engendré un tel traître capable de souhaiter la mort à ses vieux parents. Quelle tristesse pour eux !!! Ce qui est sûr, c'est que quand nous ne serons plus là, vous ne serez pas représentatif des enfants de PIEDS NOIRS qui ont eux un autre respect pour leurs parents que vous n'en avez pour les vôtres. UN PIED NOIR ET FIER DE L'ETRE

Nîmes, pèlerinage de Notre Dame de Santa Cruz 2011

This year marks the 49th anniversary of the Pieds-Noirs' exile from Algeria and preparations have long since begun for the commemoration of 50 years to take place in 2012. Because I have a conference in Aix-en-Provence and am presenting June 1, I've been able to stitch in a quick trip to Nîmes for Ascension on June 2. I've already made contact with a few Pieds-Noirs who will be there, but if you are interested in talking to me (in French or in English) about your memories of Algeria or any return trips you may have made since 1962, please do contact me. I'd love to talk to you in person.

Et pour les francophones, je le dis en français: je serai à Nîmes le 2 juin pour l'Ascension et le pèlerinage de Notre Dame de Santa Cruz. J'arrive à Nîmes vers la fin de la matinée, mais j'espère être à Mas de Mingue vers midi. Si vous aimeriez me parler de vos souvenirs de vote patrie, si vous avez écrit un texte au sujet de votre passé en Algérie, ou si vous avez fait un voyage de retour depuis 1962, je serais très contente de vous rencontrer. Je travaille actuellement les voyages récents (depuis 2000) en Algérie, surtout ceux qui ont été filmés. Contactez-moi, donc. Malheureusement je dois repartir le 3 juin, mais je me réjouis de pouvoir retrouver des anciens et nouveaux amis pieds-noirs.

Vidéo du pèlerinage en 2007. http://piedsnoirs.blogspot.com/2007/05/plerinage-de-santa-cruz.html

Marie Cardinal, ten years and so much more

on my desk today

Ten years ago today, Marie Cardinal passed away. I was in Paris when I heard the news. I had hoped to meet her in 2001 while I was living in Switzerland and frequently traveling to France for my doctoral research, but that was not to be in my future.

Her passing, though, had little bearing on the direction of my research. Hardly a day has gone by when I haven't thought of something that she has written or that her work hasn't in some way influenced the way I think or see things. When I first discovered her, thanks very much to an undergraduate professor at Truman State University, I thought I had discovered my adoptive mother. "Les Mots pour le dire," je les ai trouvés. It was as though someone was finally speaking my language, albeit in French. Her words soothed, her pain made me feel understood, her vulnerability drew me in.

While I read, obsessed, and wrote about her during the dissertating years, I also grew to loathe the woman. She truly was like a literary mother to me. I became so sick of her whining, so unforgiving of her obsessive recreation of Algeria, so intolerant of her struggles and supposed victories. Why wasn't she strong enough to divorce her husband? Why was she so afraid of losing Algeria and so unable to see or really accept that it had gone on without her? Why did she refuse to openly criticize the Pied-Noir people, as she blatantly said in Les Pieds-Noirs.

And now I'm writing about her again, and again and again, all these years later. She kept repeating and I can't stop writing about her need to repeat. I have even found new angles to look at that obsessive memory and its manifestations. As I have come to know members of her community and understand the struggles the Pieds-Noirs have faced, I find she is much easier to forgive. She openly confronted traumas that many could not articulate, some I still cannot understand, even though I feel I've tracked her down and pinpointed so many details of her past.

Marie Cardinal, I'm sorry I've only known you through your writing, but perhaps that is the best way to know you, to keep you at your word, there in front of me, always within arm's reach.

Visualizing Algiers, Reconstructing Marie Cardinal's Memory

I've spent the greater part of the morning on a sort of archeological dig via the Internet. I'm revising a chapter of my book related to the pleasure of repetition, and one of Cardinal's recurring stories needed some backup. She often recounts a very violent scene, most probably the Rue d'Isly massacre, intertwined with her mother's traumatizing avowal of having attempted to provoke a miscarriage when pregnant with Cardinal. This secondary and more recent violence is always somewhat fuzzy, and in Les Mots pour le dire, Cardinal claims she forgets the name of the street where she was. Nonetheless, she remembers other street names and can give a precise visual description of the location in Algiers.

image of Rampe Bugeaud 1961 from
http://jf.vinaccio.free.fr/site1000/alger08/alger037.html 

Thanks to the marvels of the Internet and the many Pieds-Noirs who have recreated Alger on their websites, I was able to use Google maps combined with a 1930s city map, Elisabeth Fechner's photos from Alger et l'Algérois, and some photos of the Hôtel Aletti to identify the street in question. I had always thought that Cardinal was disingenuous in her claim to forgetting, because I believed she was talking about the Rue Michelet (which she cites elsewhere). Now that I know the Hôtel Aletti is today called Hôtel Es-Safir and I have been able to transpose multiple maps and descriptions, I'm fairly sure the Boulevard (or sometimes called Rampe) Bugeaud is where the confession took place.

Why this matters, I'm not entirely sure - except that I'm proving repetition does not keep us from forgetting. Furthermore, we no longer need to remember because technology can do it for us. We repeat for other reasons, to fulfill other impulses, and even sometimes repeat to forget, repeat to erase unwanted details, repeat to take control of the painful recollections.

Now that I have an image of where Cardinal was in 1943 when her mother committed the unforgivable act of confession, I somehow feel the haunting sadness from the image. I remember these images from similar but inconclusive research undertaken a few years back: I'm creating my own sort of memory of Algiers, a city I've never visited. I'm sharing in a visual part of Cardinal's past, but through images and maps she likely never studied, because these are places she willfully tried to forget.

Stora on the War of Memories

Benjamin Stora gave an interview with Kersten Knipp published on Qantara.de as "The Bitter Legacy of Past Franco-Algerian Relations" on March 4, 2011 (and apparently translated from German to English - does Stora speak German?). Stora expounds upon France's reluctance to remember the loss of Algeria and Algeria's use of this history to legitimize their country today. I copy a snippet of the text below:


Knipp: France and Algeria have completely different memories of their common history. How would you characterise these memories?

Benjamin Stora: For a long time – for almost 30, 40 years – France primarily fostered a culture of forgetting. People didn't speak of Algeria; they wanted to put that era firmly behind them – the war and, of course, the defeat, the ignominy of ultimately having to withdraw from Algeria. After all, the French considered this North African nation to be an integral part of their national territory.

The Algerians, on the other hand, were faced with "too much" history. For them, it was about a memory that they could use to legitimise the existence of the nation and, above all, political power, which they tried to legitimise through heroic stories.

Pied-Noir and pro-Arab, from the Minorités Review

Didier Lestrade wrote, "Pied-Noir et pro-Arabe" on Feb. 20 for the Revue Minorités, in which he reflects on the current political situation in Egypt, Libya and other so-called "Arab States." His take on the Pieds-Noirs, in which he includes himself, is worth sharing without comment. I have excerpted the essay and my translation to English follows the original text.

*   *   *

J’ai 53 ans, je suis pied-noir et fils de pied-noir. Or, tous les pieds-noirs que je connais sont heureux de ce qui se passe dans ces pays, mettant de côté mauvais souvenirs et drames. Même mes parents sont sincèrement heureux. Et je me dis que la dernière génération de pieds-noirs à laquelle j’appartiens devrait manifester sa joie et l’imposer à l’autre partie des pieds-noirs, plus âgée, celle qui truste les associations et les leaders politiques, celle qui empêche littéralement la France de sortir de cette rancœur vis-à-vis des arabes. À cause d’eux, l’Algérie souffre toujours, à cause d’eux on ouvre des musées qui glorifient le colonialisme et on vote des lois qui lavent leur conscience. À cause d’eux, la classe politique française ne peut dépasser le traumatisme de l’indépendance et accompagner le développement des autres départements français qui souffrent encore du colonialisme comme les Antilles. C’est toute une chaîne de blocages qui est entretenue par les anciens pieds-noirs.

[...]

Nous sommes la dernière génération de pieds-noirs, il n’y en aura pas d’autre après nous. Nous sommes nés juste avant ou pendant l’indépendance et nous n’avons pas à payer pour les erreurs de nos parents et de leurs familles. Mais, en fait, nous avons déjà payé toute notre vie leur influence. Notre amour de nos racines n’a pas pu être exprimé à cause de ces origines dramatiques. Nous n’avons pas pu développer de vraies amitiés et de vraies histoires d’amour avec des arabes car le poids des morts reste entre nous. L'immense majorité d’entre nous n’a pas eu le bonheur de retourner sur son lieu de naissance et c’est le moindre des prix à payer pour l’histoire. En France, tout le monde a le droit de retourner dans la ville de naissance, sauf nous. Vous réalisez ce que ça veut dire ? Nous nous sommes sacrifiés car nos parents refusaient de s’excuser une bonne fois pour toutes comme cela s’est passé dans tous les pays colonialistes de manière à passer, enfin, à autre chose.

Ces vieux pieds-noirs nous empêchent de vivre. Ce sont de mauvais parents puisqu’ils imposent un état de fait à leurs enfants qui payent le prix de la bêtise obstinée des anciens. Et ce qui se passe aujourd’hui dans les pays arabes les met encore plus dans une position fautive. Que faut-il penser ? Que la France ne s’excusera jamais devant l’Algérie tant que le dernier pied-noir d’extrême droite ne sera pas mort ? Mais qu’il meure alors ! Qu’on l’enterre plus vite ! Pouvons-nous nous permettre d’attendre encore 10 ou 20 ans alors que la démocratie arrive dans les pays où elle n’a jamais été envisagée parce que nous-mêmes ne l’avons pas apportée ? Allons-nous perdre toute notion de proximité avec les pays arabes alors que nous les connaissons mieux que les autres ?  [...]

*   *   *

I’m 53, and I am a Pied-Noir and the son of a Pied-Noir. And all of the Pieds-Noirs who I know are happy about what is happening in these countries, putting aside the bad memories and drama. Even my parents are sincerely happy. And I think that the last generation of Pieds-Noirs, to which I belong, should demonstrate its joy and impose it on the other, older Pieds-Noirs, those who monopolize the associations and who are the political leaders, those who literally keep France from getting over this resentment towards the Arabs. Because of them, Algeria is still suffering, because of them, we open museums that glorify colonialism and we vote for laws that clear their conscience. Because of them, the French political class cannot get past the trauma of independence and join the development of other French departments that are still suffering from colonialism, like the French Caribbean. It’s a whole chain of blockages that is kept up by the old Pieds-Noirs.

[...]

We are the last generation of Pieds-Noirs, there will never be another after us. We were born just before or during Algerian Independence and we do not have to pay for our parents’ mistakes or the mistakes of their families. But, actually, we have already paid our whole lives for their influence. Our love of our roots could not be expressed because of these dramatic origins. We could not form true friendships and true love stories with Arabs because the weight of the dead remains between us. The vast majority of us have not had the chance to return to our birthplace and this is the least of the prices to pay for history. In France, everyone has the right to return to the town where they were born, except for us. Do you realize what that means? We sacrificed ourselves because our parents refused to apologize once and for all for all that happened in the colonial countries in a way that would let us move on to something else.

These old Pieds-Noirs are keeping us from living. They are bad parents because they impose this situation on their children who pay the price for the obstinate stupidity of the elderly. And what’s happening today in Arab countries makes them even more culpable. What should we think? That France will never apologize to Algeria as long as the last Pied-Noir from the extreme Right isn’t dead? Well let him die, then! And let’s bury him as quickly as possible! Can we allow ourselves to wait another 10 or 20 years so that democracy can arrive in countries where it had never before been imagined because we didn’t bring it there ourselves? […]

unexpected loss of homeland

While I work on articles related to hoarding memories of the homeland and the links between collecting memorabilia and writing the self, I have come across a poignant passage from Marie Cardinal's Les Pieds-Noirs (Belfond, 1988) in which she speaks about her unexpected loss of home. I quote here the original followed by my translation.

Les années d’insouciance, celles de mon enfance, de mon adolescence, et les premières années de ma vie de femme… les premières amours…le premier enfant… Le poids de cette légèreté, de cette beauté, de cette tendresse, de cette inconscience ! Peut-être que cela palpite toujours en moi parce que je n’ai jamais quitté ces images pour toujours, jamais je ne les ai rangées dans un tiroir ou une valise, jamais je n’ai regardé la terre de ma jeunesse en me disant que je n’y serais plus chez moi. La dernière fois que j’en suis partie, je ne savais pas que c’était la dernière fois. J’étais venue de Grèce où j’enseignais au lycée français de Thessalonique. Enceinte de huit mois, incapable de voyager en avion dans l’état où j’étais, j’avais méandré soixante-dix heures à bord de l’Orient-Express qui prenait des allures de diligence, puis j’avais vogué vingt heures sur un paquebot, pour venir, comme une tortue, mettre au monde mon enfant sur mes plages. Je n’imaginais pas qu’un petit venu de mon ventre puisse voir le jour ailleurs que là… Ensuite je suis repartie avec ma fille dans mes bras, c’était l’été, je reviendrais pour Noël. Je ne savais pas que, désormais, je n’aurais plus de maison. Je ne savais pas que ma terre ne serait plus jamais ma terre. (11-12)

The carefree years, those of my childhood, my adolescence, and the first years of womanhood ... first loves ... the first child ... The weight of this lightness, this beauty, this tenderness, this unawareness! Perhaps it still pulsates in me because I never permanently left these images, I never put them away in a drawer or a suitcase, I never looked at the land of my youth while telling myself that I would never again be home. The last time that I left, I didn't know it would be the last time. I had come back from Greece where I was teaching in a French high school in Thessaloniki. Eight-months pregnant, unable to travel by airplane in that state, I had meandered seventy hours aboard the Orient Express that ran at the speed of a stagecoach, and then I wandered twenty hours on a steam ship, so that, like a turtle, I could give birth to my child on my beaches. I couldn't imagine that this child coming from my tummy could ever see the day somewhere other than there... Then I left again with my daughter in my arms, it was summer, I would come back for Christmas. I didn't know that, from then on, I would no longer have a home. I didn't know that my land would never again be my land.

Her lightness of being, her state of carefree existence, came from knowing her home would be there to support her. Once it was gone, she attached herself to the mental image and repeated it throughout her literary career. Les Pieds-Noirs is a photographic coffee-table book mixed with autobiography and history of the Pied-Noir people. It is, in many ways, a reproduction of the lost homeland, a surrogate and horribly insufficient space designed to protect the past from being forgotten.

Remains of the St Eugène Cemetery

Robert Fisk wrote "Tombs that bear witness to Algeria's Jewish tragedy" in the Independent yesterday (22 Jan 2011). His insightful take on a visit to the Saint Eugène cemetery in Algeria is reminiscent of numerous other returns that are pictured and depicted in the works of Marie Cardinal (Les Pieds-Noirs and Au pays de mes racines) and Hélène Cixous (Si près), as well as in other visual and literary by Algerian-born authors. The site is an icon for the now absent former Algerian citizens.


Return voyages almost always include emotional visits to cemeteries, representative of lost lives, ancestries, absent and untransportable genealogies, neglected and often destroyed. The now treacherous access to St Eugène seems to only reaffirm that murky access to the past.