Alors, the tragedies of Racine

Google Reader is a blogger's best friend (BBFF?). Many times a day it brings us news about Racine from far and wide. But it's not very discriminating...

Imagine my initial consternation at finding this headline and teaser from the Feb. 1 Sydney Morning Herald in my Racine folder a few minutes ago:

Alors, ees down the toilet, mon old cher

The walls are swathed in Aubusson tapestries depicting scenes from the tragedies of Racine...

AH! And Bah! Yet another story about the 17th Century French playwright, Jean Racine, a contemporary of Moliere (so much for LitCrit 101).

What's worse ... after reading the story, I still haven't a clue what it's about. For those of you with unquenchable curiosity, here's what they're saying about us ... um, about that other Racine, 'way Down Under in Australia. The rest of the yarn after the break.

The story, by Chris Henning:

Scene: The chairman's suite at a Paris bank. A short, balding man paces up and down behind a vast, elaborately carved gilt desk. The walls are swathed in Aubusson tapestries depicting scenes from the tragedies of Racine...Thick satin curtains fringed with brocade frame enormous multi-paned windows, through which accountants and senior managers can now and then be seen plummeting to their deaths on the cobblestones below. The chairman's mistress, Emanuelle, reclines on a chaise longue, feeding chocolates to her dog. The chairman talks on the telephone, his brow shiny with sweat.Chairman: Tiens! You are telleeng me whurt?

Voice on phone (shouting): Ze murnee ees misseeng!

(Loud knock at the door. Emanuelle, in impossibly high ankle-strap shoes, pencil skirt and silk blouse stretched tight over her magnificent poitrine, sashays over to open it.)

Chairman: Zat ees riduckulous! It can nurt 'ave vaneeshed overr naht. Ow murch murnee?

(Office boy enters and wheels an empty wheelbarrow across to a tapestry, where Iphigenie is shown reclining on a sacrificial altar.)

Voice: Burt eet 'as, my old. Five billion euros down ze lavatoree.

(Office boy lifts up Iphigenie's dress, and fiddles with the combination lock of a wall safe.)

Chairman (staring out window, oblivious): Sacred blue. What you tell me ees perturbeeng, I find.

(Safe opens. Office boy and Emanuelle stack bundles of banknotes in the wheelbarrow.)

Voice: You commence to understand ze gravitee of ze problem, my friend.

Chairman : You understand, Mister the President - een a situation of this sort, eet ees pussibole zere weel be repaircussions.

Voice: You 'ave reason, my old. Repaircussions are vairee pussibole.

Chairman: Nurt all of ze repaircussions will necessarilee be positive fur ze bank's currant management, I seenk.

(Office boy climbs on desk and unhooks tapestries from the wall, rolling them up and stacking them on the wheelbarrow.)

Voice: Eet wurd seem nurt.

Chairman: Yet I usk myself ow can zees uppen? Our safeguards after all are second to nurn.

(Emanuelle wheels barrow to door, while the office boy rifles the desk drawers behind chairman's back, stealing all he can carry.)

Voice: Eet eez a mystery. I of curse murst refer zis mattair to ze authorities. (Police siren approaches.) You murst nut distress yourself, my pot!

(Exeunt left Emanuelle and office boy, wheeling their loot.)

Chairman: I sank eaven I retain ze suppurt of ma staff, familee and friends.

(Enter right four police, who arrest the Chairman. Curtain.)

(OK, on second thought, it has something to do with the huge French investment scandal last week, although why Australians would care about that (any more than we) is beyond me...)