Frantz Page #2

Languorous and long, pale as with pain

Breath fails me when the hours toll deep.

My thoughts recover

The days that are over

And I weep.

And I go

Where the winds know

Broken and brief, to and fro

As the wind blows a dead leaf.

Your accent is beautiful.

We spoke French often.

It was our secret language.

Frantz so loved France.

But he never told me about you.

What was between you?

A woman?

No...

So what?

A...

A friendship, that's all.

I had forgotten this.

The sound of the wind in the leaves...

It's the sound that makes me love spring.

Do you come here often?

Yes.

This is where Frantz asked for my hand

before leaving for the war.

And how did you meet?

He never told you?

No.

It was in a bookstore when we were students.

He was looking for a French poetry book.

I was looking for a German poetry book.

He asked who my favorite poet was.

I said, "Ruckert".

He replied, "Verlaine".

He could have told you about me.

I was jealous of his studies in France.

I would have liked to join him, but...

I think he preferred to be alone,

far from his country,

his family.

He promised me we'd go there on our honeymoon.

He would show me Paris,

the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre,

The Great Boulevards...

I'm hot!

Don't you want to go swimming?

We do not have swimsuits.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter. Let's go.

Come on.

Ah! It feels good!

You should have swam.

It's just ... I don't know how to swim.

Oh no?

It is easy. I could have shown you.

Are these

war wounds?

Yes.

You suffered a lot.

My only injury is Frantz.

He looks like him.

Don't you think?

Not physically,

but his personality.

Shy and tormented.

I'm glad he's here.

Do you have brothers and sisters?

No.

I would have loved to have a brother.

And your parents?

My father died when I was a child.

My mother took over the farm after his death,

but with the war, it was complicated.

What did your father do?

He was a businessman.

Above all he was a musician.

He gave me his passion.

I joined the conservatory

and then I became a violinist in...

the Orchestre de Paris.

Now, after this war,

I can not anymore.

You do not want to play anymore?

I can no longer hear the notes.

Often,

Frantz played the violin for us.

He was not a great musician,

but he played with all his heart.

His room.

It is just as he left it.

His books,

his folded clothes in the closet.

Frantz must have been happy here.

Yes.

But I broke everything.

I forced him

to enlist.

I sent him into battle.

It was his duty.

Serve our country.

So I was told.

It's

like my son's heart.

Take it

to France.

No.

You can say an old German gave it to you.

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