The following post is dedicated to my Father, the best amateur linguist and etymologist I know.
It's somewhat surprising to find that a foreign language cannot express an idea. From what I have heard secondhand, Latin, for all of its precision, is unable to express numerous ideas. However, it's even more surprising to learn that one's own language lacks a particular word or term, even a language with as heavy a vocabulary as preserved in the Oxford English Dictionary. Language can tell a great deal about the culture of its speakers. According to Professor Pucci (the amazing), Hindi has an enormously rich vocabulary to describe the human body, and musculature in particular, and dance occupies a very highly-regarded place in Indian culture. Ancient Greek is full of comparative particles (men, de, alla, etc.), and the Classical Greek worldview is full of contrasts (Greeks and barbarian, mortal and immortal, truth and falsehood, etc.). According to Simon Winchester, the average Anglophone knows only about 5% of the words in the OED; Shakespeare, by contrast, knew about 10%. It therefore comes as a surprise to learn that English lacks a fair amount of words which French, a very similar language, possesses. Here are a few French words which English lacks, in alphabetical order.
Accaparer: In a financial sense, accaparer means "to monopolize." However, it can also mean "to take, to the detriment of others." In the context of history of the French Revolution I am now reading, I understand accapareur to mean something along the lines of "profiteer."
Bougie: Yesterday, Daphne showed me a candlestick shaped like a turtle; I used the word chandelle to refer to it, and she used the word bougie to describe it. Bougie is the part of the candle that surrounds the wick, which serves as fuel, and is normally made of wax or paraffin; chandelle refers to the candlestick + wick + bougie.
Guinguette: A guinguette is an outdoors bar or restaurant with a stage, which features live or recorded music, dancing, and entertainment. Seating is free, and nobody will chase you away if you just sit down with your friends, unlike certain other bars in Tours. See my post on student life for a few details about one night at the guinguette on the banks of the Loire.
Mie: This is my favorite: mie is the part of the bread which is not the crust. What we call "bread," or maybe "sandwich bread" if we're being very specific, the French call "pain de mie," to distinguish it from a regular loaf of bread, i.e. baguettes. Crust is greatly appreciated in French gastronomy, and Arthur sometimes left bits of his mie unfinished, but loved his crusts, the opposite habit of American children! If I remember right, Peppermint Patty, of Peanuts, only ate the mie of her bread.
Mitron: Another unique word to describe the wonderful world of bread. A mitron is a baker's apprentice; no other trade, as far as I know, has a specific term to refer to its apprentices. Those of you who took Combined with Mrs. P-B might remember how she quoted the mob of starving women who invaded Versailles in order to carry off the royal family. They referred to their targets, as Mrs. P-B translated, as "The baker, the baker's wife, and the apprentice." The real quote was "Le boulanger, the boulangere, et le petit mitron."
Truquer: The most common meaning of this word is "to rig [a match]," but its scope is somewhat wider. The athletes who throw the match intentionally also truquent. Furthermore, the word can be used to describe deliberate perversion of anything. For instance, Bouloisea uses the past participle to refer to a "dossier truque," which I would translate as "distorted historical record" to refer to the primary sources surrounding the fall of the Jacobins and execution of the Robespierrists (p. 213).
French also posses a version of the past tense, known as the "passe simple," aka the literary tense, used only for historical and literary writing. I have never been taught to write in the passe simple, although I recognize and understand it when I read it. However, because it is only used for literary and historical writing, I only know how to form it in the third person! For some of those who are interested, here are some very basic examples:
"Il fit beau" = "Il faisait beau" = "The weather was beautiful."
"Elle prit la cle" = "Elle a pris la cle" = "She took the key."
"Ils furent tres heureux" = "Ils etaient tres heureux" = "They were very happy."
Two quick anecdotes about making an ass out of oneself when trying to speak a foreign language (please see English As She Is Spoke for more details).
A week and a half ago, I entered a patisserie, and saw behind the counter a display of absolutely delicious-looking freshly-baked raisin rolls. I asked the boulangere for "du pain aux raisins," or "some raisin bread," indicating with my finger what I meant, in case my accent was too strong for her to understand. As she placed my prize in a waxed-paper bag, I delved in my wallet for the coins to pay her. I handed over what I believed to be the correct change, but she kept the money in her hand, and looked at me expectantly, as if I hadn't payed enough. I handed over a few more centimes, thinking that I must have misread the sign. She then told me I needed to pay a euro more! I handed over another one-euro coin, and was really amazed by the price: I regretted having wasted so much money on such small a pastry. As I walked out of the patisserie, I peeked into the waxed-paper bag, I realized my mistake -- I thought that I had asked for "du pain aux raisins," but she had heard "deux pains aux raisins," meaning "two raisin rolls!" I had bought twice as much as I had intended!
Two nights ago, there was company over when I returned to the Avertins' home (the table was packed with plates and utensils, enough for ten, I think), on account of Mme. Avertin's birthday. Daphne began to explain to me the master plan of how and when she and Arthur were going to present their grandmother with her birthday present (it was a red golf bag). She told me that with the before-dinner drinks, there would be cacahuetes. Although the word sounded vaguely familiar, I couldn't remember what it was. Misaki had no idea as to the word's meaning, so we asked Daphne to try to explain. The following is an abridged version of the conversation.
Daphne: You know, cacahuetes, like you serve for a kid's party or a birthday party.
JD: I don't understand. Are they a sort of fruit?
Daphne: No.
JD: A sort of nut?
Daphne: No.
JD: A kind of vegetable?
Daphne: No.
JD: A kind of meat?
Daphne: No, there's no meat. This is what they look like:
[Daphne sketches for Misaki and me three shapes: a rounded hourglass, a circle, and a triangle, on a slip of pink paper. We both remain stumped].
Daphne: They're, they're... they're like chips! You know, chips! At a party.
JD: Ah, so they're made out of potatoes.
Daphne: No, they're like chips, but not made out potatoes!
JD: But made of what Daphne, made of what?
Daphne [running to the kitched]: Grampa! How do you say cacahuetes in Spanish? I mean, English?
[muted conversation]
Daphne [running back]: Peanuts!
Misaki: Oh! It's "peanuts" in Japanese, too!
[JD & Misaki laugh very, very hard for several minutes. Divers alarums and excursions].
~JD
"'En divisant les biens d'emigres, on cherchait a eteindra la misere...', rappelait Couthon le 1er floreal. Le pauvre n'en profita guere" ["By dividing up emigrants' property, we intended to put an end to misery," recalled Couthon on April 10th, 1794. The poor scarcely received any benefit] (Marc Bouloisea, La Republique jacobine, p. 206).
Showing posts with label Misaki. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Misaki. Show all posts
Monday, August 22, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Chateau de Chenonceau
My blog is now fully illustrated, with captioned photographs on Facebook. I'd like to dedicate this post to my friend and housemate Misaki, without whom this feat would have been impossible!
This afternoon, I visited the Chateau de Chenonceau, as well as its accompanying wine cellars. Chenonceau dates from the early 16th century, and is the oldest chateau I have described, so far (although the Chateau de Tours is nearly 500 years older: stay tuned). It was constructed by nouveau riche bourgeois, Thomas Bohier and his wife Katherine Briçonnet, who demolished the preexisting structure, leaving only a tower, which dates from the middle ages. Why did they leave the tower? In order to lend their family and new home an air of respectability that comes from owning a very old building. For the same reason, the couple constructed a chapel; chapels and antiquity both lend dignity to a chateau. Bohier's only claim to fame is his construction of this chateau, the most popular of all in the Loire Valley, and second in France only to Versailles. He was fully aware of this, and he inscribed his ambitions above his mantelpiece; translated into English, he stated that if the chateau were ever finished, he would be remembered. It was, and he is.
Chenonceau is of immense historical interest because of its architecture. It was the first chateau with large gardens: however, it represents only a first step. The two gardens which flank Chenonceau are an ornament to the castle; they represent a separate, detachable element. Gardens at chateaux will only achieve their apogee with Versailles, where the gardens function an ineluctable component of. Secondly, Chenonceau's construction began just as the first gusts of Italian Renaissance architecture rustled through France, and and the chateau magnificently straddles the Medieval and Renaissance eras of building. Chenonceau's most striking feature, on the exterior, is its bridge-like gallery extending out over the River Cher.
Chenonceau is known as the "chateau des dames," or "ladies' castle," on account of the many famous women who made it their home. For instance, one bedroom is called the "room of the five queens," because over time, five different queens used it as their bedroom. However, by far its two most famous occupants of were Diane de Poitiers and Catherine de Medici.
Diane de Poitiers had the distinction of having been the mistress of two consecutive French kings, Francois I and Henri II (she also had a husband). She was the favorite in particular of Henri, who installed her in Chenonceau, which had become royal property. She oversaw the planting of one garden during her stay, which still bears her name; however, when Henri died in a joust, she lost her protector, and was finally subject to her lover's husband, Catherine de Medici. Catherine admired Chenonceau, and so evicted Diane from the premises, exchanging for it a rather minor castle, and planted her own garden at Chenonceau, also still bearing her name. Luckily, Diane's husband was exorbitantly wealthy, and happily built for her a much larger chateau than the one Diane had received from Catherine de Medici. A happy ending for everyone involved, except maybe for poor old Henri, who only received a lance in the eye for his trouble.
Though Chenonceau's interior is still magnificent, it has suffered from centuries of wear and tear. Most obviously, its floors were once richly painted: but passing feet have so worn away the original design, that only in the edges and corners of rooms is any remnant visible of the bold blues and yellows that once decorated the floors.
The "bridge" of Chenonceau was constructed a half-century after the main "body" of the house. Its interior design is Renaissance-inspired neo-classical, contrasting to the very medieval facade. Along the walls are still-newer busts of famous personages: I think that I recognized Louis XIV, and maybe Descartes, but who were the others? I haven't the foggiest idea.
Chenonceau is a masterpiece of composite architecture., and nowhere is this more evident than in the ceiling of the staircase, otherwise an uninspiring place to look. Overhead the foot of the stairs, the style is Italian: symmetrical, geometric, elegant, and classically-inspired. At the landing, the style abruptly becomes very French: vaulted, thick-ribbed, Gothic, pointed; a form deliberately difficult to construct. (The French preferred difficult architecture, appreciating technique relatively more than the Italians.) As one turns 90 degrees to one's left, and mounts the stairs again, the overhanging ceiling reverts to the Italian style. Strange? Yes. Fascinating? Even more so.
Many of the furnishings of Chenonceau, such as the mantelpieces and the bridge interior, are "grotesque." What is "grotesque" art? Art that has been inspired by the observation of the ruins of antique Roman palaces. The Oxford English Dictionary explains the history of this word far better than I can: "The etymological sense of grottesca would be ‘painting appropriate to grottos’. The special sense is commonly explained by the statement that grotte, ‘grottoes’, was the popular name in Rome for the chambers of ancient buildings which had been revealed by excavations, and which contained those mural paintings that were the typical examples of ‘grotesque’... Although this seems to be only a late conjecture, without any actual evidence, it appears to be intrinsically plausible." Now, you may refer to hideous, decadent-looking pieces of furniture as "grotesque," and know that, by your choice of words, you are comparing them to the contents of Calligula's palace.
The most important of Chenonceau's artifacts are its archives, chronicling its day-by-day management and maintenance. These are the true treasures of Chenonceau, which the Revolution would have destroyed, had they not been cleverly hidden by Mme. Dupin, who successfully disguised the chateau's library as a storehouse for lumber. The Revolution wished to destroy all such documents, because they contained noble genealogies. According to Vovelle's Chute de la monarchie, "A gang of armed villagers would show up at the neighboring castle, compel it to hand over its archives, books, records of land-management, secular titles, and feudal possessions, burning everything in a joyous bonfire" (p. 130, my translation). In other words, historians owe a very deep dept to this courageous Mme. Dupin, without whom we would never have such detailed descriptions of daily life in a Renaissance-era chateau.
Nor does the history end in the 18th or 19th centuries. During World War I, the owner of Chenonceau turned his house into a makeshift hospital, where over 2,000 injured French soldiers received medical attention. In World War II, the chateau was poised on the very border between the forces of the Free French and what was officially Occupied France. A group of German soldiers, throughout the war, carefully watched the castle, ready to blow it to smithereens at a moment's notice.
It was an extremely hot bus-ride to the wine-cellars of Chenonceau, and the subterranean tunnels were extremely welcome. The official name of the wine produced by the cellars is Vouvray, a sparkling semi-dry white. The wine cellars feel much like a roomy mine-shaft, and there's a good historical reason for this: the cellars are really the old quarries from which the stone used to build the Loire Valley chateaux in total was extracted. A network of over 12km of Vouvray cellars tangle their way through the Touraine hillside, containing approximately 4 million bottles. That's a lot of wine, and some of it is still riddled manually (although most bottles are riddled automatically, or semi-automatically). The French word for "to riddle" is "remuer," which literally means "to wiggle," as an animal wiggles its limbs.
This weekend, I will be taking a long bus ride to northern France, for more chateaux. I highly recommend that you look at my Facebook photos of Chenonceau, in order to better understand what I have been describing.
~JD
"Dans cette vacance momentanee de l'autorite dont la bourgeoisie sent tout le danger, il y a place pour des hommes forts, et pendant que d'une main elle redige sa Constitution liberale, cette bourgeoisie se trouve des heros pour defendru un nouvel ordre qu'elle sent fragile: les exemples provinciaux ne manquent pas (le maire Lieutaud a Marseille); on en trouve l'expression, a l'echelon national, dans l'exceptionnelle popularite de La Fayette, en cette anee 1790" (Vovelle, Chute de la monarchie, p. 142).
Translation: "In this momentary absence of authority, by which the bourgeoisie felt endangered, there was room for strong men, and, with one hand drafting a liberal Constitution, the bourgeoisie found for itself heroes to defend the new order that it felt was fragile: there is no lack of provincial examples (Lieutad, mayor of Marseille); but one finds the expression of this sentiment, at the national level, in the exceptional popularity of Lafayette, in the year 1790."
This afternoon, I visited the Chateau de Chenonceau, as well as its accompanying wine cellars. Chenonceau dates from the early 16th century, and is the oldest chateau I have described, so far (although the Chateau de Tours is nearly 500 years older: stay tuned). It was constructed by nouveau riche bourgeois, Thomas Bohier and his wife Katherine Briçonnet, who demolished the preexisting structure, leaving only a tower, which dates from the middle ages. Why did they leave the tower? In order to lend their family and new home an air of respectability that comes from owning a very old building. For the same reason, the couple constructed a chapel; chapels and antiquity both lend dignity to a chateau. Bohier's only claim to fame is his construction of this chateau, the most popular of all in the Loire Valley, and second in France only to Versailles. He was fully aware of this, and he inscribed his ambitions above his mantelpiece; translated into English, he stated that if the chateau were ever finished, he would be remembered. It was, and he is.
Chenonceau is of immense historical interest because of its architecture. It was the first chateau with large gardens: however, it represents only a first step. The two gardens which flank Chenonceau are an ornament to the castle; they represent a separate, detachable element. Gardens at chateaux will only achieve their apogee with Versailles, where the gardens function an ineluctable component of. Secondly, Chenonceau's construction began just as the first gusts of Italian Renaissance architecture rustled through France, and and the chateau magnificently straddles the Medieval and Renaissance eras of building. Chenonceau's most striking feature, on the exterior, is its bridge-like gallery extending out over the River Cher.
Chenonceau is known as the "chateau des dames," or "ladies' castle," on account of the many famous women who made it their home. For instance, one bedroom is called the "room of the five queens," because over time, five different queens used it as their bedroom. However, by far its two most famous occupants of were Diane de Poitiers and Catherine de Medici.
Diane de Poitiers had the distinction of having been the mistress of two consecutive French kings, Francois I and Henri II (she also had a husband). She was the favorite in particular of Henri, who installed her in Chenonceau, which had become royal property. She oversaw the planting of one garden during her stay, which still bears her name; however, when Henri died in a joust, she lost her protector, and was finally subject to her lover's husband, Catherine de Medici. Catherine admired Chenonceau, and so evicted Diane from the premises, exchanging for it a rather minor castle, and planted her own garden at Chenonceau, also still bearing her name. Luckily, Diane's husband was exorbitantly wealthy, and happily built for her a much larger chateau than the one Diane had received from Catherine de Medici. A happy ending for everyone involved, except maybe for poor old Henri, who only received a lance in the eye for his trouble.
Though Chenonceau's interior is still magnificent, it has suffered from centuries of wear and tear. Most obviously, its floors were once richly painted: but passing feet have so worn away the original design, that only in the edges and corners of rooms is any remnant visible of the bold blues and yellows that once decorated the floors.
The "bridge" of Chenonceau was constructed a half-century after the main "body" of the house. Its interior design is Renaissance-inspired neo-classical, contrasting to the very medieval facade. Along the walls are still-newer busts of famous personages: I think that I recognized Louis XIV, and maybe Descartes, but who were the others? I haven't the foggiest idea.
Chenonceau is a masterpiece of composite architecture., and nowhere is this more evident than in the ceiling of the staircase, otherwise an uninspiring place to look. Overhead the foot of the stairs, the style is Italian: symmetrical, geometric, elegant, and classically-inspired. At the landing, the style abruptly becomes very French: vaulted, thick-ribbed, Gothic, pointed; a form deliberately difficult to construct. (The French preferred difficult architecture, appreciating technique relatively more than the Italians.) As one turns 90 degrees to one's left, and mounts the stairs again, the overhanging ceiling reverts to the Italian style. Strange? Yes. Fascinating? Even more so.
Many of the furnishings of Chenonceau, such as the mantelpieces and the bridge interior, are "grotesque." What is "grotesque" art? Art that has been inspired by the observation of the ruins of antique Roman palaces. The Oxford English Dictionary explains the history of this word far better than I can: "The etymological sense of grottesca would be ‘painting appropriate to grottos’. The special sense is commonly explained by the statement that grotte, ‘grottoes’, was the popular name in Rome for the chambers of ancient buildings which had been revealed by excavations, and which contained those mural paintings that were the typical examples of ‘grotesque’... Although this seems to be only a late conjecture, without any actual evidence, it appears to be intrinsically plausible." Now, you may refer to hideous, decadent-looking pieces of furniture as "grotesque," and know that, by your choice of words, you are comparing them to the contents of Calligula's palace.
The most important of Chenonceau's artifacts are its archives, chronicling its day-by-day management and maintenance. These are the true treasures of Chenonceau, which the Revolution would have destroyed, had they not been cleverly hidden by Mme. Dupin, who successfully disguised the chateau's library as a storehouse for lumber. The Revolution wished to destroy all such documents, because they contained noble genealogies. According to Vovelle's Chute de la monarchie, "A gang of armed villagers would show up at the neighboring castle, compel it to hand over its archives, books, records of land-management, secular titles, and feudal possessions, burning everything in a joyous bonfire" (p. 130, my translation). In other words, historians owe a very deep dept to this courageous Mme. Dupin, without whom we would never have such detailed descriptions of daily life in a Renaissance-era chateau.
Nor does the history end in the 18th or 19th centuries. During World War I, the owner of Chenonceau turned his house into a makeshift hospital, where over 2,000 injured French soldiers received medical attention. In World War II, the chateau was poised on the very border between the forces of the Free French and what was officially Occupied France. A group of German soldiers, throughout the war, carefully watched the castle, ready to blow it to smithereens at a moment's notice.
It was an extremely hot bus-ride to the wine-cellars of Chenonceau, and the subterranean tunnels were extremely welcome. The official name of the wine produced by the cellars is Vouvray, a sparkling semi-dry white. The wine cellars feel much like a roomy mine-shaft, and there's a good historical reason for this: the cellars are really the old quarries from which the stone used to build the Loire Valley chateaux in total was extracted. A network of over 12km of Vouvray cellars tangle their way through the Touraine hillside, containing approximately 4 million bottles. That's a lot of wine, and some of it is still riddled manually (although most bottles are riddled automatically, or semi-automatically). The French word for "to riddle" is "remuer," which literally means "to wiggle," as an animal wiggles its limbs.
This weekend, I will be taking a long bus ride to northern France, for more chateaux. I highly recommend that you look at my Facebook photos of Chenonceau, in order to better understand what I have been describing.
~JD
"Dans cette vacance momentanee de l'autorite dont la bourgeoisie sent tout le danger, il y a place pour des hommes forts, et pendant que d'une main elle redige sa Constitution liberale, cette bourgeoisie se trouve des heros pour defendru un nouvel ordre qu'elle sent fragile: les exemples provinciaux ne manquent pas (le maire Lieutaud a Marseille); on en trouve l'expression, a l'echelon national, dans l'exceptionnelle popularite de La Fayette, en cette anee 1790" (Vovelle, Chute de la monarchie, p. 142).
Translation: "In this momentary absence of authority, by which the bourgeoisie felt endangered, there was room for strong men, and, with one hand drafting a liberal Constitution, the bourgeoisie found for itself heroes to defend the new order that it felt was fragile: there is no lack of provincial examples (Lieutad, mayor of Marseille); but one finds the expression of this sentiment, at the national level, in the exceptional popularity of Lafayette, in the year 1790."
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