I watched an interesting movie last night called Marguerite (available on netflix). It’s a curious story of a wealthy French baroness, at the beginning of the twentieth century. The basic plot is that she is a long-devoted wife, driven slightly mad by her husband’s lack of love or attention. Her only outlet is music. She is enamored with it, obsessed even, with opera and singing. Yet, despite her insatiable passion for the art, she can’t sing at all. Like not even a little. But she doesn’t know that.
Oddly, her wealth and status afford her a very sheltered (albeit unhappy) existence, where everyone around her fears telling her the truth. In fact, they lie to her, manufacture signs of public adoration, and bolster her self-image as a unique and glorious coloratura soprano. She performs (very painfully) for private audiences, who also lie to her and applaud her amazing talents.
It turns into something of a farce, with this poor fragile woman serving as the butt of all jokes. Presumably, everyone is protecting her from the devastating truth, but it’s clear that they are also just afraid to admit that they’ve lied to her for years. It turns out later, that it is concern for themselves (each one’s own unique self-interest), not really concern for her, that underlies their behavior.
Marguerite goes so far as to plan a very public recital, a sure recipe for disaster, and not a single person in her life (not even her husband) steps up to tell her the truth. I’m going to spoil the movie for you here, but in the very end, locked away in a mental hospital with delusions of grandeur, she hears a recording of her own voice for the very first time. The shock of it kills her; or so the viewer is lead to believe.
The movie was billed as a comedy/drama, and won lots of European awards. To me, it was tragic. Incredibly tragic. Imagine living your entire life, being made to believe something about yourself, and not one single person ever having the guts to tell you the truth. Not only that, but they manufacture lies to keep you believing it… That kind of self-serving betrayal, under the guise of protection, is devastating. And in Marguerite’s case, fatal.
The truth isn’t always easy. In fact, it’s often very painful. To the hearer, and to the speaker. When it is delivered to someone, it must be done with the utmost care and compassion (sometimes forcefully if they are reluctant to hear it, but still with compassion). Anything less than that isn’t love or kindness. If you believe that you are protecting someone by not telling them a painful truth, I invite you to look honestly inward and ask yourself: who are you really protecting? The honest answers will surprise you.