"Confidences" by Jean-Pierre Aumont
from Le Film Vecu de Jean-Pierre Aumont a Cinemonde Magazine supplement. 1950
A Translation Follows
Confidences
by Jean-Pierre Aumont
Will I ever write my memoirs? I don't think so. Still, I did keep a diary during the war. But there was no follow-up to that effort. Years have passed since then, and I still have those sheets of paper, unfinished, that probably will never be published. Is it that the chronicle of the sad seasons leads us to more reflections than the sunny years of peace time? Honestly, I wouldn't know how to answer. Especially since my intention here is not to talk to you of morose things...I would like to tell you about my childhood, and about my beginnings in the theatre, about my young carefree years when you could say my motto was: "Better to waste your youth, than do nothing with it!"I confess that I was an impossible child. And God keep me for ever citing myself as an example... Especially to Marie-Chistine who I hope won't take after her father when it comes to good behavior...I wasn't even 5 years old when a sudden vocation as an arsonist unexpectedly took hold of me. One fine day - and that's only a figure of speech - taking advantage of my parents's absence, I grabbed a matchbox and set fire to a magnificent bedspread. Armed with this torch that gave out flying sparks which I found ravishing, I set out to go all over the many rooms of the apartment, leaving small fires here and there behind me... that created a very colorful effect! Alerted by the smell of the inferno, neighbors immediately called the fire department which of course only added to my naive feeling of wonder. No doubt I applauded with all my heart at the work of fire hoses and at the massive flooding of the dining room and living room! What I have forgotten however, is the memory of the unavoidable spanking that I must have suffered afterwards! As years went by, I grew up.... and grew more boisterous. Mother's guests would sometime find pepper in the apple pie or the vanilla ice cream...Taking a walk, I would suddenly stop near a crossroads and lie down in the middle of the street. I had great fun watching the traffic jam that my position would always cause!...When I started school, my parents thought that perhaps school discipline would correct my character. But very soon, they realized that they were once again deluding themselves about their child. I was a bad student, or rather I wasn't a student at all. Refusing to submit to school rules, I was indeed feeling an insurmountable repulsion to letting myself be taught by teachers, no matter how tolerant they were. Nothing helped. After 15 minutes in class, I would get up from my seat and say out loud: "No, it's not possible, I am too bored here...I'm leaving!..." And I would actually walk out of school. At first, temporarily, then some days later, permanently when my parents were notified by mail of the cause of my well-deserved expulsion. That's how I made my way through all the schools of Paris: Lamartine, Rollin, Buffon, Condorcet, Carnot, etc, not counting a good number of private institutions. When, being tired of it, I didn't feel like making a show of myself in the classrooms, my natural laziness would earn me a lot of detention. Of course, I never stayed after class, I would go home and watch for the postman and get rid of the attendance report sent by the vice-principal! But I may be exaggerating a little when I say that nothing interested me in school, because to tell the truth, I loved recitation classes with a passion. I would even continue these little performances of declamation at home to entertain my parents and their friends by reciting in front of them, in costume, long speeches from classical theatre, to which my brother Poum answered... without enthusiasm. As I absolutely needed a partner,no doubt I must have forced my younger brother, with numerous threats of smacking him, to play the confidant of tragedy. Those were in a way my very first steps as an actor...The love of the theatre came to me during my 6th or 7th year, the day my parents took me to the Com�die-Fran�aise. We were there to applaud my uncle Georges Berr who was playing "L'Etourdi". But during the first half, they were giving "Andromaque". And I can remember as if it was yesterday the emotion I felt when I heard de Max scan the verses of Oreste's fury with a lyricism of genius! That memory never left me. For a long time, I was haunted by it as a boy and it probably was a great influence on my decision to become an actor... some years later. Because I eventually had to confess to my parents my intention of going into theatre. When I told my father that I was tired of wearing out the seat of my pants in vain on the school bench, his answer was that he didn't see things my way at all. When consulted, my uncle Georges Berr did try to discourage me. In vain. As I was being obstinate, my parents wisely offered to compromise. If I'd assure them I would try out for the university entrance exam, they'd let me prepare for the Conservatoire's as well. Since I wasn't old enough to be allowed to pass the Conservatoire's audition, I was admitted as an auditor, but the following year, being the right age, I tried out and passed successfully and was admitted, as a student this time, in the class of Ren�e Du Mesnil. I also took classes from Ren� Simon, along with young men and womenwho've made their way since then. I'll mention at random the names that come to mind: Edwige Feuill�re, H�l�ne Perdri�re, Jeanine Crispin, Pierre Dux, Jean Martinelli, Annie Ducaux, etc. As you can see, I was part of a very promising class. From then on, there was no more fooling around. I had given up schoolboy mischief, finding in these acting classes an interest I could never summon earlier for history, physics, or maths. The former dunce was now trying to become a good student. But, the amusing paradox was that my regular attendance wasn't finding encouraging support from my family. As it happened, Georges Berr as a member of the jury at the Conservatoire, had categorically refused to help me work so he wouldn't appear to be favoring me, even indirectly. Nevertheless, I had occasion once more to be a bad boy during this studious period. And even then, it was totally by accident. Here is what happened: It was customary at that time for the students of the Conservatoire to do some unpaid work as walk-ons at the Com�die Fran�aise. That's why I happened, one afternoon, to be called with some of my friends to come fill out the crowds in "Oedipe-Roi". Everything went smoothly until the last act. But when I saw Albert Lambert walk on stage with his eyes gouged out, bellowing the distress of the Theban monarch... I couldn't contain myself. When we were all supposed to feign the most heartfelt pain, I started to laugh very loudly... and was unable to stop myself. Walk-ons, actors, even the spectators were giving me these reproving looks. But I couldn't help myself... I just couldn't stop. Even when I tried holding my sides, I'd start laughing much harder...And that's how, without ever having played one scene in the house of Moli�re, the doors of the Com�die Fran�aise were definitely closed to me. I managed to console myself quite easily from this "injustice", especially when a few years later I had the unexpected good fortune of taking my revenge when Jean Cocteau, staging "La Machine Infernale",offered me precisely the same character... that had prompted my expulsion from the Fran�ais! That's why when the author of this play had fun drawing a sketch of me as Oedipus, he took the trouble of adding to the drawing this mischievous caption "To Jean-Pierre... exiled from Thebes for giggling."That's when I became more serious.