The Seventh Function of Language

One of the judges stands up, formally announces the start of the meeting in Italian, and draws the subject from one of the urns in front of him.

“On forcène doucement.”

One fanatics gently?

The subject seems like it ought to be French, but when Bayard turns to Simon, his partner makes a gesture that suggests he has no clue either.

A wave of perplexity moves through the 175 feet of the room. The non-Francophone spectators check that their simultaneous translation machine is tuned to the right channel.

If Sollers had a second’s hesitation behind his mask, he doesn’t let it show. In any case, Kristeva, who is standing in the audience, does not bat an eyelid.

Sollers has five minutes to understand the subject, to problematize it, to come up with a thesis, and to back it up with coherent and—if possible—spectacular arguments.

In the meantime, Bayard asks the people around him: What is this incomprehensible subject?

A handsome, well-dressed old man with a silk pocket handkerchief that matches his scarf explains: “Ma, the Frenchman is challenging il Grande Protagoras. Surely he can’t expect ‘for or against the death penalty,’ vero?”

Bayard is willing to agree with this, but he asks why the subject is in French.

The old man replies: “An act of courtesy by the Grande Protagoras. I’ve heard he speaks every language on earth.”

“He isn’t French?”

“Ma no,èitaliano, eh!”

Bayard watches the Great Protagoras calmly smoking his pipe while scribbling a few notes. His figure, his appearance, the shape of his jaw (because the mask covers only his eyes) … all of this is vaguely familiar.

When the five minutes are up, Sollers stands tall behind his lectern, eyes the audience, makes a little dance step punctuated by a complete rotation, as if he wanted to verify the presence of the Ten behind his back, bows more or less soberly to his opponent, and begins his speech, a speech he already knows will remain in the annals as the speech made by Sollers in his duel with the Great Protagoras.

“Forcène … forcène … Fort … Scène … Fors … Seine … Faure (Félix) … Cène. President Félix Faure died of a blow job and a heart attack, which caused him to enter history but exit the stage. As a prolegomenon … A little appetizer … An introduction (ha ha!)…”

Simon thinks that Sollers is attempting a boldly Lacanian approach.

Bayard observes Kristeva out of the corner of his eye. Her expression betrays nothing but absolute attentiveness.

“La force. Et la scène. La force sur scène. [Strength. And the stage. Strength onstage.] Rodrigue, basically. Forêt sur Seine. (Val-de-Marne. Apparently they still nail crows to the doors there.) To squeeze or not to squeeze the Commander’s peepee? That is the question.”

Bayard gives Simon a questioning look. He replies in a whisper that Sollers has apparently chosen an audacious tactic of replacing logical connections with analogical connections, or rather juxtapositions of ideas, even sequences of images, rather than pure reasoning.

Bayard tries to understand: “Is it baroque?”

Simon is surprised: “Er, yes, I suppose it is.”

Sollers goes on: “Fors scène: hors la scène. Obscène. [Save for the stage: offstage. Obscene.] It’s all there. The rest is of no interest, naturally. The thundering article on ‘Sollers the obscene’ by Marcelin Pleynet? Without hesitation. Well, well, what? Oh there, oh! Gently … From where … seed … From where does the seed come? From up above, of course! [He points to the ceiling and Veronese’s paintings.] Art is the seed of God. [He points to the wall behind him.] Tintoretto is his prophet … D’ailleurs, il tinte aux rets … [What’s more, he rings the net…] Blessed is the age when the bell and thread will once again replace the hammer and sickle … After all, are these not the two tools of the fisherman?”

Does Bayard detect a faint wrinkle of concern on Kristeva’s Slavic face?

“If the fish could put their heads above the water, they would perceive that their world is not the only world…”

Simon is beginning to find Sollers’s strategy extremely audacious.

Bayard whispers in his ear: “A bit too Hollywood, isn’t it?”

The old man with the pocket handkerchief mutters: “He’s got coglioni, this francese. At the same time, if he’s going to use them, it’s now or never.”

Bayard asks him to elaborate.

The old man replies: “Clearly, he has not understood the subject any more than we have, vero? So he is trying to flamber à l’esbroufe—to bullshit his way through it, no? It’s brave.”

Sollers rests an elbow on the lectern, which obliges him to lean down lopsidedly. Curiously, however, this unnatural pose makes him look relatively relaxed.