I delivered my last of three exposés this morning. Up at 6:50 for my 8:00 class, I had already rehearsed twice, and gave the transcript a third run-through while eating my yogurt and stale baguette at my desk. I didn't want to wake up my neighbors, so I recited silently, the walls in the dorm being a bit too thin for genuine privacy. I was partway through a fourth scan when I saw that I needed to head out.
The reading, I should mention, is on the topic of travel in the medieval ages. My principal source of info was Jean Verdon's Voyager Au Moyen Age (which has been translated into English, in case it interests anyone). I had to scrutinize and draw what I could out of two thirteenth-century primary sources, one of them a prospective route to travel on pilgrimage from Stades (a monastery about 75km north of Bremen) to Rome, the other one a retrospective account of the costs incurred by the voyage of a convoy of mercenary Genovese sailors from Languedoc to Paris. Interesting, right? Well, I ended up learning a fair bit along the way. I analyzed Albert of Stades's proposed detour to visit the fingerbone of Saint John the Baptist in light of medieval sightseeing (I can't call it "tourism," which didn't exist, in the common sense of the word), and the salaries payed out to the sailors in light of typical traveling costs, the value of French money, etc (fun fact: Philippe IV of France had two nicknames: "The Fair" and "The Counterfeiter," the latter because he minted coins with a lower real weight than theoretical value).
I had prepared fairly well, but because there were more students in the class than texts to analyze, I didn't actually get to present my exposé to my peers. Rather, I sat in class as one of my classmates, Roman, gave his super-detailed, carefully-researched presentation on exactly the same topic: there was virtually nothing I had to say which he didn't say (what's more, he can speak fluent French), and even though he spoke incredibly quickly, and exceeded the 20-minute time limit by over 3 minutes, he didn't have enough time to finish. Class ended 30 minutes late (quite normal, actually), and it was only after class that I delivered my exposé to the TA (or whatever the title is here).
My exposé had its weak points and strong points. Among my errors were lack of a full explanation for the multiple routes to and from Rome (all roads lead there, so there are multiple possibilities, right?) in Albert of Stades's narrative, and a lack of analysis on the more expensive costs of river travel than overland travel of the Genevese sailors. Furthermore, many of the contextual elements in my introduction were not strictly on topic, such as the fall the last crusader fortress, at Acre, in 1291, and the ongoing Guelph-Ghibelline quarrel, and could have spent that 1 minute allowance of time on more important elements of historical context. On the other hand, I did a better job at synthesizing and compressing the various elements than Roman (according to the TA, any way), I had a good analysis of the fundamental difference between the two sources (prospective practical travel info in contrast to retrospective accounting), and efficiently treated both money and lodging.
I don't normally share my grades with others, but I'm making an exception here, because I think it's important for all you folks back home to have some kind of a handle on the French grading system. In France, grades are fractions with a denominator of 20. According to Mme. Bowman, back at IHS, nobody ever receives a 20/20, because only God is perfect. Well, on this assignment, I got a 13/20, which I wager is probably about equivalent to a B or B-. It is not the equivalent, I think of 65%, which I think lands in the bel0w-the-belt region of a D. In other words, nothing to write home about (which, come to think of it, is exactly what I'm doing), but far from a failing grade.
So, I hurried off to my Cours Magistral at the Sorbonne, listened to a cool lecture on ties of love and friendship among friendship, and met three of my classmates, Roman (who had given the great exposé), Daniel (who gave the other exposé today, on a naval battle between Venice and Genoa), and Nathaniel. It was a rest day for me, today, having kept up fairly well on my runs.
Now, I just need to write that 8-page paper on the Young Turk Revolution, keep up on weekly textual commentaries on Louis XIV primary sources, and keep on reading. Really, that's less than what it sounds like...
~JD
"The fact that in ordinary times the bulk of the population had to spend about 50% of its inccome on the bread ration and in critical times virtually all of it is one striking measure of this dependence [on cereal crops]" (Steven L. Kaplan, Bread, Politics and Political Economy in the Reign of Lous XV, p. XVI).
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Montmartre
Montmartre, from its northern perch, looks down on the rest of Paris, and is easily recognizable for its fantastic basilica, Sacre Coeur. When I visited Paris in High School, Montmartre was my favorite region of the city: despite being crammed with tourists, I found it beautiful, and mysteriously peaceful, in spite of the crowds. Last Monday, another overcast misty day, Prof. Longino led an EDUCO tour to the historic neighborhood.
A tour through Montmartre is necessarily a tour of the artists, actors, and entertainers who lived there; although I've never taken one, I imagine that a tour of Greenwich Village wouldn't be much different. This is where the starving artists lived, because rent was cheap and light was plentiful -- no indoor heating, and little indoor plumbing, but large south-facing windows. Here, for example, one can visit Pablo Picasso's Parisian house, where he painted the famous Les Demoiselles D'Avignon, the first cubist painting, which anyone who has taken a certain modern literature class with Prof. Schwarz should remember fairly well. You can also visit a certain inn, le Lapin Agile, where many of these artists spent their evenings. The name of the inn derives its name from the shop sign depicting a rabbit, painted in 1893 by an artist named Gill: le lapin à Gill ("Gill's Rabbit") quickly morphed into le lapin agile ("The Agile Rabbit"), which I'm certainly was hilariously funny for the regular clientele, who all knew Gill.
Montmartre abounds with this kind of story. There were so many actresses, dancers, and painters who had all left some kind of a legacy or a memory, sometimes with monuments, sometimes without a trace, that only a Parisian could tell you the full story. Montmartre has that kind of liminal atmosphere to it, to the Parisians: it is located on high ground (always a good starter), and was originally a town independent from Paris, dominated by the strong-willed abbesses of its convent. It is the perfect site for French mystery novels. It is also the site for some of the most expensive wine around; we passed the first urban vineyard I have ever seen: every year, the wine is sold at a special auction at the mairie ("mayory," city hall), and the bottles are stamped with collectible labels -- collectible, that is, for the ultra-rich! These same vineyards, located on the south-facing slope, once provided revenues for the convent of nuns.
The only remains of this convent is the Eglise de Saint-Pierre, just ancient enough to contain a few Romanesque elements amidst the Gothic. For those of you interested in such history, it's also where Saint Ignatius Loyola and Francis Xavier decided to form the Jesuit order.
In addition to the church, there is, of course the wonderful Basilica of Sacre-Coeur, built during the 3rd Republic, as a place for prayer, with an emphasis on love (for God). It is really a beautiful monument; the family that welcomed us for the atelier de cuisine referred to it as "the Mosque," because of its domed towers (in fact, the real Mosque of Paris is fairly well-hidden, not far south from the Pantheon). Flanking the entrance are a pair of monumental bronze equestrian statues, depicting Charlemagne and Joan of Arc.
Sadly, the mist was too thick for a good view of the rest of the city, but Montmartre was worth visiting for its own views, and not just those it provides of the rest of Paris. Furthermore, the weather prompted Prof. Longino to invite us out to cocoa, which I wasn't about to turn down.
~JD
"Moine lui-meme des l'age de sept ans, partageant entierement avec une profonde satisfaction les benefices religieux, culturels et sociaux qui lui offre le monastere, et dont est privee la majeur partie des hommes, Bede ne sait pas et ne peut pas voir que ce sont precisement ces caracteristiques des fondations monastiques qui encouragent ces mecanismes pervers dont il stigmatise les resultats" [A monk himself since the age of seven, sharing fully and with a deep satisfaction the religious, cultural, and social benefits which the monastery offered him, Bede did not know and could not see that it was precisely these characteristics of the foundations of monasticism which encouraged the perverse mechanisms whose results he stigmatized] (Giovanni Miccoli, "Les Moines," in L'homme medieval, 58).
A tour through Montmartre is necessarily a tour of the artists, actors, and entertainers who lived there; although I've never taken one, I imagine that a tour of Greenwich Village wouldn't be much different. This is where the starving artists lived, because rent was cheap and light was plentiful -- no indoor heating, and little indoor plumbing, but large south-facing windows. Here, for example, one can visit Pablo Picasso's Parisian house, where he painted the famous Les Demoiselles D'Avignon, the first cubist painting, which anyone who has taken a certain modern literature class with Prof. Schwarz should remember fairly well. You can also visit a certain inn, le Lapin Agile, where many of these artists spent their evenings. The name of the inn derives its name from the shop sign depicting a rabbit, painted in 1893 by an artist named Gill: le lapin à Gill ("Gill's Rabbit") quickly morphed into le lapin agile ("The Agile Rabbit"), which I'm certainly was hilariously funny for the regular clientele, who all knew Gill.
Montmartre abounds with this kind of story. There were so many actresses, dancers, and painters who had all left some kind of a legacy or a memory, sometimes with monuments, sometimes without a trace, that only a Parisian could tell you the full story. Montmartre has that kind of liminal atmosphere to it, to the Parisians: it is located on high ground (always a good starter), and was originally a town independent from Paris, dominated by the strong-willed abbesses of its convent. It is the perfect site for French mystery novels. It is also the site for some of the most expensive wine around; we passed the first urban vineyard I have ever seen: every year, the wine is sold at a special auction at the mairie ("mayory," city hall), and the bottles are stamped with collectible labels -- collectible, that is, for the ultra-rich! These same vineyards, located on the south-facing slope, once provided revenues for the convent of nuns.
The only remains of this convent is the Eglise de Saint-Pierre, just ancient enough to contain a few Romanesque elements amidst the Gothic. For those of you interested in such history, it's also where Saint Ignatius Loyola and Francis Xavier decided to form the Jesuit order.
In addition to the church, there is, of course the wonderful Basilica of Sacre-Coeur, built during the 3rd Republic, as a place for prayer, with an emphasis on love (for God). It is really a beautiful monument; the family that welcomed us for the atelier de cuisine referred to it as "the Mosque," because of its domed towers (in fact, the real Mosque of Paris is fairly well-hidden, not far south from the Pantheon). Flanking the entrance are a pair of monumental bronze equestrian statues, depicting Charlemagne and Joan of Arc.
Sadly, the mist was too thick for a good view of the rest of the city, but Montmartre was worth visiting for its own views, and not just those it provides of the rest of Paris. Furthermore, the weather prompted Prof. Longino to invite us out to cocoa, which I wasn't about to turn down.
~JD
"Moine lui-meme des l'age de sept ans, partageant entierement avec une profonde satisfaction les benefices religieux, culturels et sociaux qui lui offre le monastere, et dont est privee la majeur partie des hommes, Bede ne sait pas et ne peut pas voir que ce sont precisement ces caracteristiques des fondations monastiques qui encouragent ces mecanismes pervers dont il stigmatise les resultats" [A monk himself since the age of seven, sharing fully and with a deep satisfaction the religious, cultural, and social benefits which the monastery offered him, Bede did not know and could not see that it was precisely these characteristics of the foundations of monasticism which encouraged the perverse mechanisms whose results he stigmatized] (Giovanni Miccoli, "Les Moines," in L'homme medieval, 58).
Friday, November 11, 2011
Cluny Museum
The Cluny Museum is dedicated to the history and art of medieval Europe. The Cluny has collected some magnificent and sumptuous art objects originating from all over the western world: crowns, crosses, tryptics, stained-glass windows, seals, columns, etc. "Medieval" is a fairly fluid period -- there are some Gallo-Roman pieces from before the common era, and there are even some drinking vessels from the 17th century. I visited on the advice of my friend Guillaume, who told me that it was thanks to his visit to the Cluny that he began to appreciate and enjoy medieval history (note: the 1-euro audioguide isn't worth it).
I was amazed by the condition in which some of the pieces have been preserved: one of the first items is a room full of the stained-glass windows, commissioned by Henry the Liberal, count of Champagne (yes, that's his name), dating from the 12th and 13th centuries, from Troyes France. Something as fragile as a pane of glass has survived for over 800 years on this violent planet! The oldest pane depicted Saint Nicholas, but a slightly newer pane pictured Saint Martin giving his cloak to the beggar, a recurring motif in my voyages.
The Cluny Museum, formerly a hotel, is attached to the ruins of a Roman Bath, the frigidarium, which contained the cold baths. It was cold out, and the poorly-insulated ruins were appropriately frigid. The frigidarium is now the home of the pilier des nautes, a 1st-century pillar from Lutecia (Roman Paris), which might be the oldest Gallo-Roman artifact with a legible inscription (there's a nice photo of a reconstruction online). Depicting Jupiter, Vulcan, and some other deities, it was a gift to the emperor Tiberius (r. 14-37 C.E.).
Many of the artifacts were elegant and well-made, but far fewer were truly interesting. Occasionally, though, I found real pieces of history -- an ivory plaque depicting Christ blessing the marriage of the Holy Roman Emperor Otto II to the Byzantine princess Theophano (c. 982), the cheery-looking Apostle, depicted as a Greek philosopher, which once decorated the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris (c. 1240s); the very graceful angelic sculptures of Poissy commissioned by Phillip the Fair for his grandfather Saint Louis; the 7th-century votive crowns from Visigoth Spain; the large iron canister once used to measure the dîme (tithe) in France; the reliquary owned by Saint-Louis, in which he kept the relics from three other saints; the Jewish wedding ring from Italy; the tapestry depicting a grape-harvest; the manual of medieval combat techniques; etc. I recognized, from my first visit to the Louvre, the elaborate and unique style of the enameled work in gold from Limousin and Limoges, which was kind of cool.
No, I did not neglect the museum's most famous piece, wall hanging known as La Dame à la Licorne, or the "Lady with the Unicorn." The work comprises six 15th-century Lyonnais tapestries, each one with the same woman, in a garden full of animals and other symbols, among which is always a unicorn. The first five tapestries depict the five senses; the woman is variously depicted with a bowl of fruit, with a harp, with rich perfumes, etc., and for touch, she is stroking the neck of the unicorn. The tapestries, first of all, really are quite beautiful, rich with color, and uniting the medieval themes of the garden of love, the bestiary, and allegory; the backgrounds bear the "thousand flower" motif, popular in the later middle ages. One of the great mysteries of the ensemble, however, is the sixth tapestry; a young girl is presenting the woman with the necklace which she is seen wearing in the other five tapestries, and on a tent behind them is embroidered the device A mon seul desir, meaning "to my one desire." Is this supposed to represent some sort of sixth sense? If so, what? In the high middle ages, the notion of love as the sixth sense was quite popular, but in the Renaissance, intellect was regarded as a sort of sixth sense. Have an idea? Send it in to the Cluny Museum!
~JD
"Le maintien a tout prix de l'axe economique des foires de Champagne aux ports d'Aiguesmortes peut etre considere juque sous le regne de Philippe VI comme le fondment meme de ce qu'on peut des lor appeler la politique economique officielle" [The maintenance at all cost of the economic axis between the faires of Champagne and the ports of Aiguesmortes can be considered to be the very foundation of what one might call the official economic policy, up until the reign of Philip VI] (Robert-Henri Bautier).
I was amazed by the condition in which some of the pieces have been preserved: one of the first items is a room full of the stained-glass windows, commissioned by Henry the Liberal, count of Champagne (yes, that's his name), dating from the 12th and 13th centuries, from Troyes France. Something as fragile as a pane of glass has survived for over 800 years on this violent planet! The oldest pane depicted Saint Nicholas, but a slightly newer pane pictured Saint Martin giving his cloak to the beggar, a recurring motif in my voyages.
The Cluny Museum, formerly a hotel, is attached to the ruins of a Roman Bath, the frigidarium, which contained the cold baths. It was cold out, and the poorly-insulated ruins were appropriately frigid. The frigidarium is now the home of the pilier des nautes, a 1st-century pillar from Lutecia (Roman Paris), which might be the oldest Gallo-Roman artifact with a legible inscription (there's a nice photo of a reconstruction online). Depicting Jupiter, Vulcan, and some other deities, it was a gift to the emperor Tiberius (r. 14-37 C.E.).
Many of the artifacts were elegant and well-made, but far fewer were truly interesting. Occasionally, though, I found real pieces of history -- an ivory plaque depicting Christ blessing the marriage of the Holy Roman Emperor Otto II to the Byzantine princess Theophano (c. 982), the cheery-looking Apostle, depicted as a Greek philosopher, which once decorated the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris (c. 1240s); the very graceful angelic sculptures of Poissy commissioned by Phillip the Fair for his grandfather Saint Louis; the 7th-century votive crowns from Visigoth Spain; the large iron canister once used to measure the dîme (tithe) in France; the reliquary owned by Saint-Louis, in which he kept the relics from three other saints; the Jewish wedding ring from Italy; the tapestry depicting a grape-harvest; the manual of medieval combat techniques; etc. I recognized, from my first visit to the Louvre, the elaborate and unique style of the enameled work in gold from Limousin and Limoges, which was kind of cool.
No, I did not neglect the museum's most famous piece, wall hanging known as La Dame à la Licorne, or the "Lady with the Unicorn." The work comprises six 15th-century Lyonnais tapestries, each one with the same woman, in a garden full of animals and other symbols, among which is always a unicorn. The first five tapestries depict the five senses; the woman is variously depicted with a bowl of fruit, with a harp, with rich perfumes, etc., and for touch, she is stroking the neck of the unicorn. The tapestries, first of all, really are quite beautiful, rich with color, and uniting the medieval themes of the garden of love, the bestiary, and allegory; the backgrounds bear the "thousand flower" motif, popular in the later middle ages. One of the great mysteries of the ensemble, however, is the sixth tapestry; a young girl is presenting the woman with the necklace which she is seen wearing in the other five tapestries, and on a tent behind them is embroidered the device A mon seul desir, meaning "to my one desire." Is this supposed to represent some sort of sixth sense? If so, what? In the high middle ages, the notion of love as the sixth sense was quite popular, but in the Renaissance, intellect was regarded as a sort of sixth sense. Have an idea? Send it in to the Cluny Museum!
~JD
"Le maintien a tout prix de l'axe economique des foires de Champagne aux ports d'Aiguesmortes peut etre considere juque sous le regne de Philippe VI comme le fondment meme de ce qu'on peut des lor appeler la politique economique officielle" [The maintenance at all cost of the economic axis between the faires of Champagne and the ports of Aiguesmortes can be considered to be the very foundation of what one might call the official economic policy, up until the reign of Philip VI] (Robert-Henri Bautier).
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Ballet? Really?
As it so happens, yes. EDUCO bought everyone tickets to see a ballet at Versailles, quite fittingly, Marie-Antoinette. Around 6:00, at the Place Saint-Michel station, I boarded the train headed southwest for Versailles. It was dark out by this time, and I read Le Roi-Machine on the long ride; when I arrived at the terminal, I quickly found my way to the palace, and found a modest train of mostly elderly people headed in the same direction. The palace was shining with light (see FB for a photo), and, more importantly, warmer than outdoors.
Under my hoodie (which I checked, along with my backpack), I was wearing my nicest short-sleeve white button-down, the pair of shorts without the hole (just like the day before), and sneakers. I'm a student, and can get away with this kind of dress, but the real clientele were, of course, wearing much finer clothes. I had about a half-hour of waiting in the corridor, where rich people were eating and drinking overpriced food and alcohol. I took the advantage to rediscover the gallery of statues, which everyone else was ignoring. Eventually, I found a nook not far from Charles the Reckless, the 15th-century Duke of Burgundy, and continued my reading. Eventually, we were ushered into the theater.
I had lousy seating; there's no other way to describe it. Fourth floor balcony, on the edge, in the back row. In the gap between a pillar and a family of Japanese (?) tourists, I could see about 60-70% of the stage.
This was my first ballet, and I didn't really know what to expect. I was surprised at the dancers' skill and agility, and I know that my Mom would have enjoyed the costumes. In the first half of the show, Marie-Antoinette first appears at Vienna, and then is married to a certain Louis. Everyone at the French court was wearing masks -- a way of showing deceitfulness and spite, maybe? M-A was deeply hated as a foreigner by the rest of the court, even if good old Ben Franklin thought she was beautiful and elegant (no, there was no BF cameo, much to my disappointment). Louis cheated on her, she got upset, decided to leave him, wrote a letter, but then he hugged her and the intermission began. I spotted one other person from EDUCO, but I was pretty much alone: students had the option of attending one of 3 different performances, and mine was the least popular. So, I found a bench and pulled out my book, which was rather good.
After the intermission, the Revolution began. No, I mean it: definitely the best music was the Revolutionary theme, fast, frantic, and violent. In the midst of crowd of black-jacketed men, one dancer, wearing a brilliantly scarlet coat, led the rest, bearing his bare chest. Not Mirabeau, not Lafayette; Robespierre perhaps? A sort of undifferentiated Spirit of the Revolution? You tell me. In any case, he was pretty cool, as was the carrying offstage of scantily-clad noblemen by the men in black jackets. M-A languished in prison, met someone else, but, in the end, got carried, reluctant and struggling, into the red spotlight, where the executioner, in black leather (same dancer as the red-coated guy) tilted her head back. The performance ended with a thud.
So, the Revolution guy gets made props, as do the man and woman who represented the passage of time. I left with mixed feelings: definitely a night well spent, but I think I could have thought of better ways to spend it. I walked back into my dorm around midnight. Thank goodness I had no classes the next day!
~JD
"La depense la plus frequent est consacree au vin, car les fetes sont nombreuses... tout est pretexte pour boire" [The expense the most frequent - among students in medieval Europe - was dedicated to wine, for parties were numerous. Everything was a pretext for drinking] (Jean Verdon, Voyager au Moyen Age, p. 193).
Under my hoodie (which I checked, along with my backpack), I was wearing my nicest short-sleeve white button-down, the pair of shorts without the hole (just like the day before), and sneakers. I'm a student, and can get away with this kind of dress, but the real clientele were, of course, wearing much finer clothes. I had about a half-hour of waiting in the corridor, where rich people were eating and drinking overpriced food and alcohol. I took the advantage to rediscover the gallery of statues, which everyone else was ignoring. Eventually, I found a nook not far from Charles the Reckless, the 15th-century Duke of Burgundy, and continued my reading. Eventually, we were ushered into the theater.
I had lousy seating; there's no other way to describe it. Fourth floor balcony, on the edge, in the back row. In the gap between a pillar and a family of Japanese (?) tourists, I could see about 60-70% of the stage.
This was my first ballet, and I didn't really know what to expect. I was surprised at the dancers' skill and agility, and I know that my Mom would have enjoyed the costumes. In the first half of the show, Marie-Antoinette first appears at Vienna, and then is married to a certain Louis. Everyone at the French court was wearing masks -- a way of showing deceitfulness and spite, maybe? M-A was deeply hated as a foreigner by the rest of the court, even if good old Ben Franklin thought she was beautiful and elegant (no, there was no BF cameo, much to my disappointment). Louis cheated on her, she got upset, decided to leave him, wrote a letter, but then he hugged her and the intermission began. I spotted one other person from EDUCO, but I was pretty much alone: students had the option of attending one of 3 different performances, and mine was the least popular. So, I found a bench and pulled out my book, which was rather good.
After the intermission, the Revolution began. No, I mean it: definitely the best music was the Revolutionary theme, fast, frantic, and violent. In the midst of crowd of black-jacketed men, one dancer, wearing a brilliantly scarlet coat, led the rest, bearing his bare chest. Not Mirabeau, not Lafayette; Robespierre perhaps? A sort of undifferentiated Spirit of the Revolution? You tell me. In any case, he was pretty cool, as was the carrying offstage of scantily-clad noblemen by the men in black jackets. M-A languished in prison, met someone else, but, in the end, got carried, reluctant and struggling, into the red spotlight, where the executioner, in black leather (same dancer as the red-coated guy) tilted her head back. The performance ended with a thud.
So, the Revolution guy gets made props, as do the man and woman who represented the passage of time. I left with mixed feelings: definitely a night well spent, but I think I could have thought of better ways to spend it. I walked back into my dorm around midnight. Thank goodness I had no classes the next day!
~JD
"La depense la plus frequent est consacree au vin, car les fetes sont nombreuses... tout est pretexte pour boire" [The expense the most frequent - among students in medieval Europe - was dedicated to wine, for parties were numerous. Everything was a pretext for drinking] (Jean Verdon, Voyager au Moyen Age, p. 193).
Monday, November 7, 2011
The Parisian Catacombs
There are the remains of approximately 6 million human beings resting in the tunnels beneath the streets of Paris. Under Louis XVI, with municipal cemeteries overloaded, Paris began to transfer the remains of those who had sufficiently decomposed, already in mass graves, into the long tunnels, the results of many years of quarrying stone. These are the tunnels that figure in Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, and have also been the hiding place for many resistance movements, most notably in World War II. Deeper than the Metro, they are also the site of frequent vandalism, and occasionally need to be closed down: there are unofficial entrances all over Paris, but the Place Denfert-Rochereau, only about a 15-minute walk north of my dorm, is the official tourist entrance. The catacombs probably extend as far as my dormitory, at least: if I dug downward from my room, I would probably find myself in the necropolis.
I visited the catacombs with Bruno the other day, and was glad I had a partner, although I will say that after seeing thousands and thousands piles of stacked femurs and skulls, several meters deep, I had become rather inured: the 72,897th felt exactly the same as the 72,896th. A relatively small portion of the galleries were open to the public; occasionally, we would catch glimpses of levels above and parallel to ours. We saw ancient well-shafts, and the high conical results of old cave-ins, named for their resemblance to church steeples (Cloches de fontis, "subsidence steeples"). There was a certain care taken in the arrangement of the bones, and the skulls were often arranged in order to form crosses and other shapes. Poems and quotation, mostly from French and Latin authors, on the nature of death and the dead, added a certain contemplative element to the display. Bruno knows Latin, and we jointly struggled through the single quote from Homer, in Ancient Greek (somehow, Homer managed to say "it is impious to scorn the dead" in just three words). Whenever a room had been filled, the city authorities would write, above the entrance "Arrête ! C'est ici l'empire de la mort, (Stop! Here is the empire of death). What is it about fear of caves and the subterranean? Throughout the journey, I was reminded of one work of fiction after the other: the end of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; "The Cask of Amontillado;" and, finally, A Passage to India.
It was a long climb down, and a long climb up, although, I suspect, shorter than the Clock Tower back home. A chilly day, we stopped at a cafe, and I had some excellent cocoa.
~JD
"Ainsi l'empereur Frederic Barberousse, en 1155-1158, manifeste son souci des ecoliers qui voyagent pour etudier et qui, de ce fait, quittent leur famille, depense beaucoup d'argent, font nombre d'efforts et s'exposent a bien des dangers" [Thus the emperor Frederic Barbarossa, in 1155-1158, showed his worry for schoolboys who went abroad for their studies, and, because of this, left their families, spent great deals of money, took great pains, and exposed themselves to many dangers] (Jean Verdon, Voyager au Moyen Age, p. 187).
I visited the catacombs with Bruno the other day, and was glad I had a partner, although I will say that after seeing thousands and thousands piles of stacked femurs and skulls, several meters deep, I had become rather inured: the 72,897th felt exactly the same as the 72,896th. A relatively small portion of the galleries were open to the public; occasionally, we would catch glimpses of levels above and parallel to ours. We saw ancient well-shafts, and the high conical results of old cave-ins, named for their resemblance to church steeples (Cloches de fontis, "subsidence steeples"). There was a certain care taken in the arrangement of the bones, and the skulls were often arranged in order to form crosses and other shapes. Poems and quotation, mostly from French and Latin authors, on the nature of death and the dead, added a certain contemplative element to the display. Bruno knows Latin, and we jointly struggled through the single quote from Homer, in Ancient Greek (somehow, Homer managed to say "it is impious to scorn the dead" in just three words). Whenever a room had been filled, the city authorities would write, above the entrance "Arrête ! C'est ici l'empire de la mort, (Stop! Here is the empire of death). What is it about fear of caves and the subterranean? Throughout the journey, I was reminded of one work of fiction after the other: the end of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; "The Cask of Amontillado;" and, finally, A Passage to India.
It was a long climb down, and a long climb up, although, I suspect, shorter than the Clock Tower back home. A chilly day, we stopped at a cafe, and I had some excellent cocoa.
~JD
"Ainsi l'empereur Frederic Barberousse, en 1155-1158, manifeste son souci des ecoliers qui voyagent pour etudier et qui, de ce fait, quittent leur famille, depense beaucoup d'argent, font nombre d'efforts et s'exposent a bien des dangers" [Thus the emperor Frederic Barbarossa, in 1155-1158, showed his worry for schoolboys who went abroad for their studies, and, because of this, left their families, spent great deals of money, took great pains, and exposed themselves to many dangers] (Jean Verdon, Voyager au Moyen Age, p. 187).
Friday, November 4, 2011
Big Day
Wow, I had a great day, no joke. Here's a breakdown.
6:30: I woke up early because my neighbor was listening to TV in her room, even though we made a noise-control pact earlier in the year that she wouldn't make any noise after 4:00. I felt kind of gross, not having slept well, partially due to the anxiety of the expose that was due the next day; that is, Friday. I lay in bed, even after my alarm went off, just not wanting to face the day.
7:15: I struggled out of bed, put on my nicest button-down white shirt and the pair of shorts without the hole in it, and ate some yogurt while reviewing my expose transcript.
8:00: Class began in the Provinces of France building in the Cite Universitaire, where I live. The first order of the day was my joint expose with Pauline. The assignment was the analysis of one of one of the ministries under Louis XIV; on my suggestion, we had chosen the ministry of finances, not only because it was the most famous and apparently the most important, but because a certain Mother of mine talks a lot about the Comptroller General, a certain M. Colbert (and, hey, I am taking this class partially because I just want a better understanding of what the family historian studies). Louis made a real revolution of the whole royal administration when his personal rule began in 1661, and he began with the finances. Pauline explained the general power structure of the ministry, why it was part of Louis' government-by-council, and how it managed to control just about anything else. I discussed first the presence of the ministry in the provinces (mostly a description of royal taxation, the ministry's most important task), and then the judicial limits and institutional rivals of the ministry. The prof. grilled us, asking me, for instance, what the royal domain was (successfully fielded), what the most important indirect taxes were (I got gabelle right, but not traite), and whether I was certain that the Court of Justice I was describing wasn't actually a Chamber of Justice (it was a Chamber).
10:00 After class, my prof. talks to me about the weekly assignments that the class is supposed to be completing, and which I have been doing my best to complete, but which I have not been fully understanding, apparently. Pretty, much every student needs to prepare a weekly "introduction" to the week's primary-source reading. Basically, we don't need to actually write a composition on the reading, but we need to prepare an introduction as if we were. The prof. (he's a prof. in France, but he would just be a student in the U.S.) really doesn't want me to work too hard on these intros, because of the language barrier. He also discussed the expose, saying that our main problem was that we chose the most complicated ministry; we should have just written about War or the King's Household, or something like that. Oops. Furthermore, although the whole project was well-done and well-researched, part II, the part on which I had lavished the most amount of time, was off-topic, because it was not about the ministry itself, only about the process which it supervised. At least Pauline was patient with me, as she always is. I don't feel comfortable being the object of indulgence and lax guidelines, but it's true that all of the other students have been writing introductions and preparing exposes for three years now, and know what the instructors expect of them. I don't. I think the instructors are happy with my effort, even if the results are sub-par; that could just be me, however. I walked back to my dorm with Pauline and her friend, who left to get on the Metro; Pauline had woken up at 5:50 that morning in order to be certain of arriving on time...
10:50 I left on my run, which I really needed, after that expose. No, really. I took a 50-60 minute lope around the Cite U grounds, and then around the Montsouris Park. I was kind of tired, so I didn't push myself too hard (I left that for the next day). I get back to my dorm, find that the bathrooms are finally open again, take a quick shower, make a sandwich, which I eat on my way out.
12:25 I boarded the Metro at Porte d'Orleans. Although I don't usually ride the Metro, my rendez-vous is at 1:00 in the 2nd arrondissement, and I just wouldn't have had the time to walk that distance. I arrive at the Bourse metro station (bourse has many meaning in French, including "chest" and "scholarship," but in this context, it means "stock market"), and wait outside of the exit, where I'm supposed to meet Prof. Longino (EDUCO pres.), a tourguide, and the other students, none of whom I see. Where is everyone? I decide to just walk over to the Musee Carnavelet instead, and not wait around for a tour I can't find.
1:10 I see Prof. Longino, who is walking towards me; apparently, the Metro has 2 exits, and, no, the info I received did not specify outside of which one. Well, no use complaining: the tour begins of the financial district of the 2nd arrondissement. There's a Parisian saying which I should mention before I go any further: La Rive Gauche pense , et la Rive Droite dèpense, or "The left bank thinks, and the right bank spends." The left bank (south of the Seine, the side of town where I spend virtually all of my time) is the location of the Latin Quarter, whereas the right bank, which I rarely visit, now, is the site of the banks, the stock exchange, etc., as well as many of the large department stores, such as the Galleries Lafayette. Our guide showed us a few of the local sites, such as a street designed by Napoleon I, designed entirely with pillars and other Egyptian-style motifs, and brought us around to one of the former giant warehouse/department stores of the 19th century, as well as to the former Parisian branch of the bank of Lyons, which was remarkable for 1) its very small minimum deposits, and 2) its universal accessibility: you could draw upon the same account whether you were in Paris, Lyons, or any of the other branches. A little but of the general history which our guide described to us was familiar to me already (such as the 1720 failure of John Law's "System"), or I had learned from the documentary which Prof. Longino had forwarded to us ahead of time, "Au Bonheur des Dames," which the history of the Grands Magasins ("department stores") of Paris, in particular, that of the Bon Marche, but she was also full of observations on city planning, art nouveau architecture, the Paris skyline, and quotations from Balzac and Zola.
3:00 We ended the tour on the top floor of the Galleries Lafayette. The view is phenomenal from there, and it's even better when you're with a guide who can tell you which steeple is which. It's also only from there that you can really appreciate the size of the Paris Opera House, which is just next door, and even higher! If you ever happen to be in Paris, and walk by the Galleries Lafayette, I highly recommend you take the 10-20 minutes to mount the stairs (checking out the colorful art nouveau cupola on the way) and take in the view. The girls all went back inside to go shopping, and I realized that I had the rest of the afternoon to do whatever I wanted. What did I want? I wanted to check out the Louvre (for the 4th time).
3:40 I entered the Louvre, and headed to the temporary exhibit, on the world of Alexander the Great. I saw some great stuff, and some not-so-great stuff. In general, what makes the Louvre better than most other museums is that it's collections are so enormous that it can afford to show the absolute cream of the cream, the masterpieces of the masters, etc. However, in the Macedonia exhibit, everything was out for exhibit, even objects of secondary importance to the life, times, and legacy of Alex. But let me focus on the positive. I saw an amazing golden Bacchic funerary crown of oak leaves, for Alex's dead son, Heracles; I saw silver vessels from the tomb of Phillip II, Alex's dad (and, in my opinion, more deserving of credit than his universally-known son). I saw examples of Macedonian glass-work (mostly long perfume bottles), gold-work (many spiral motifs and forms), and pottery (OK, it looked an awful lot like other, contemporaneous Greek pottery). There were grave goods, including two or three "reconstructed" tomb dioramas, coins, highway markers, pillars, statues, and figurines. I saw a slightly worn bust of a passionate young Alex, made shortly after his premature death, and a bronze "aegis-bearing" statuette of him, a motif which became a sort of popular talisman.
6:00 I got a call from Bruno, while leaving the Louvre, and we decide the meet the next day, to visit the Parisian catacombs (wait until the next blog entry to read all about it).
6:25 I stopped by Gibert Jeune, in order to pick up a copy of Moliere's L'Ecole des Femmes (The School for Wives). Gibert Jeune is one of the two stores I really enjoy in France, and I wish could be found in the U.S. (the other is my favorite boulangerie). It is a massive bookstore, with a mix of used and new items, taking up several buildings just south of the Place Saint-Michel. I couldn't find any used copies, but the new copies, complete with an introduction and copious notes, was only 2,80, which is pretty cheap for France.
7:10 I make it to the student cafeteria at CROUS, in order to eat dinner.
8:25 I get back to my dorm, and read Le Roi-Machine for most of the rest of the evening.
12:00 I go to bed early -- it's been a really long week!
"Plus il est traite comme un dieu, plus il se comporte en petit bourgeois dans son quotidien... il se plait a entendre pour la emieme fois les airs a sa gloire composes par Lulli, et que les musiciens de l'Academie viennent lui chanter" [The more Louis XIV was treated as a god, the more he acted like a petty-bourgeoisie in his daily life. He was satisfied to hear, for the ninth time, the odes to his glory composed by Lulli, which the musicians of the Royal Academy came to sing for him] (Jean-Marie Apostolides, Le roi-machine, 138).
6:30: I woke up early because my neighbor was listening to TV in her room, even though we made a noise-control pact earlier in the year that she wouldn't make any noise after 4:00. I felt kind of gross, not having slept well, partially due to the anxiety of the expose that was due the next day; that is, Friday. I lay in bed, even after my alarm went off, just not wanting to face the day.
7:15: I struggled out of bed, put on my nicest button-down white shirt and the pair of shorts without the hole in it, and ate some yogurt while reviewing my expose transcript.
8:00: Class began in the Provinces of France building in the Cite Universitaire, where I live. The first order of the day was my joint expose with Pauline. The assignment was the analysis of one of one of the ministries under Louis XIV; on my suggestion, we had chosen the ministry of finances, not only because it was the most famous and apparently the most important, but because a certain Mother of mine talks a lot about the Comptroller General, a certain M. Colbert (and, hey, I am taking this class partially because I just want a better understanding of what the family historian studies). Louis made a real revolution of the whole royal administration when his personal rule began in 1661, and he began with the finances. Pauline explained the general power structure of the ministry, why it was part of Louis' government-by-council, and how it managed to control just about anything else. I discussed first the presence of the ministry in the provinces (mostly a description of royal taxation, the ministry's most important task), and then the judicial limits and institutional rivals of the ministry. The prof. grilled us, asking me, for instance, what the royal domain was (successfully fielded), what the most important indirect taxes were (I got gabelle right, but not traite), and whether I was certain that the Court of Justice I was describing wasn't actually a Chamber of Justice (it was a Chamber).
10:00 After class, my prof. talks to me about the weekly assignments that the class is supposed to be completing, and which I have been doing my best to complete, but which I have not been fully understanding, apparently. Pretty, much every student needs to prepare a weekly "introduction" to the week's primary-source reading. Basically, we don't need to actually write a composition on the reading, but we need to prepare an introduction as if we were. The prof. (he's a prof. in France, but he would just be a student in the U.S.) really doesn't want me to work too hard on these intros, because of the language barrier. He also discussed the expose, saying that our main problem was that we chose the most complicated ministry; we should have just written about War or the King's Household, or something like that. Oops. Furthermore, although the whole project was well-done and well-researched, part II, the part on which I had lavished the most amount of time, was off-topic, because it was not about the ministry itself, only about the process which it supervised. At least Pauline was patient with me, as she always is. I don't feel comfortable being the object of indulgence and lax guidelines, but it's true that all of the other students have been writing introductions and preparing exposes for three years now, and know what the instructors expect of them. I don't. I think the instructors are happy with my effort, even if the results are sub-par; that could just be me, however. I walked back to my dorm with Pauline and her friend, who left to get on the Metro; Pauline had woken up at 5:50 that morning in order to be certain of arriving on time...
10:50 I left on my run, which I really needed, after that expose. No, really. I took a 50-60 minute lope around the Cite U grounds, and then around the Montsouris Park. I was kind of tired, so I didn't push myself too hard (I left that for the next day). I get back to my dorm, find that the bathrooms are finally open again, take a quick shower, make a sandwich, which I eat on my way out.
12:25 I boarded the Metro at Porte d'Orleans. Although I don't usually ride the Metro, my rendez-vous is at 1:00 in the 2nd arrondissement, and I just wouldn't have had the time to walk that distance. I arrive at the Bourse metro station (bourse has many meaning in French, including "chest" and "scholarship," but in this context, it means "stock market"), and wait outside of the exit, where I'm supposed to meet Prof. Longino (EDUCO pres.), a tourguide, and the other students, none of whom I see. Where is everyone? I decide to just walk over to the Musee Carnavelet instead, and not wait around for a tour I can't find.
1:10 I see Prof. Longino, who is walking towards me; apparently, the Metro has 2 exits, and, no, the info I received did not specify outside of which one. Well, no use complaining: the tour begins of the financial district of the 2nd arrondissement. There's a Parisian saying which I should mention before I go any further: La Rive Gauche pense , et la Rive Droite dèpense, or "The left bank thinks, and the right bank spends." The left bank (south of the Seine, the side of town where I spend virtually all of my time) is the location of the Latin Quarter, whereas the right bank, which I rarely visit, now, is the site of the banks, the stock exchange, etc., as well as many of the large department stores, such as the Galleries Lafayette. Our guide showed us a few of the local sites, such as a street designed by Napoleon I, designed entirely with pillars and other Egyptian-style motifs, and brought us around to one of the former giant warehouse/department stores of the 19th century, as well as to the former Parisian branch of the bank of Lyons, which was remarkable for 1) its very small minimum deposits, and 2) its universal accessibility: you could draw upon the same account whether you were in Paris, Lyons, or any of the other branches. A little but of the general history which our guide described to us was familiar to me already (such as the 1720 failure of John Law's "System"), or I had learned from the documentary which Prof. Longino had forwarded to us ahead of time, "Au Bonheur des Dames," which the history of the Grands Magasins ("department stores") of Paris, in particular, that of the Bon Marche, but she was also full of observations on city planning, art nouveau architecture, the Paris skyline, and quotations from Balzac and Zola.
3:00 We ended the tour on the top floor of the Galleries Lafayette. The view is phenomenal from there, and it's even better when you're with a guide who can tell you which steeple is which. It's also only from there that you can really appreciate the size of the Paris Opera House, which is just next door, and even higher! If you ever happen to be in Paris, and walk by the Galleries Lafayette, I highly recommend you take the 10-20 minutes to mount the stairs (checking out the colorful art nouveau cupola on the way) and take in the view. The girls all went back inside to go shopping, and I realized that I had the rest of the afternoon to do whatever I wanted. What did I want? I wanted to check out the Louvre (for the 4th time).
3:40 I entered the Louvre, and headed to the temporary exhibit, on the world of Alexander the Great. I saw some great stuff, and some not-so-great stuff. In general, what makes the Louvre better than most other museums is that it's collections are so enormous that it can afford to show the absolute cream of the cream, the masterpieces of the masters, etc. However, in the Macedonia exhibit, everything was out for exhibit, even objects of secondary importance to the life, times, and legacy of Alex. But let me focus on the positive. I saw an amazing golden Bacchic funerary crown of oak leaves, for Alex's dead son, Heracles; I saw silver vessels from the tomb of Phillip II, Alex's dad (and, in my opinion, more deserving of credit than his universally-known son). I saw examples of Macedonian glass-work (mostly long perfume bottles), gold-work (many spiral motifs and forms), and pottery (OK, it looked an awful lot like other, contemporaneous Greek pottery). There were grave goods, including two or three "reconstructed" tomb dioramas, coins, highway markers, pillars, statues, and figurines. I saw a slightly worn bust of a passionate young Alex, made shortly after his premature death, and a bronze "aegis-bearing" statuette of him, a motif which became a sort of popular talisman.
6:00 I got a call from Bruno, while leaving the Louvre, and we decide the meet the next day, to visit the Parisian catacombs (wait until the next blog entry to read all about it).
6:25 I stopped by Gibert Jeune, in order to pick up a copy of Moliere's L'Ecole des Femmes (The School for Wives). Gibert Jeune is one of the two stores I really enjoy in France, and I wish could be found in the U.S. (the other is my favorite boulangerie). It is a massive bookstore, with a mix of used and new items, taking up several buildings just south of the Place Saint-Michel. I couldn't find any used copies, but the new copies, complete with an introduction and copious notes, was only 2,80, which is pretty cheap for France.
7:10 I make it to the student cafeteria at CROUS, in order to eat dinner.
8:25 I get back to my dorm, and read Le Roi-Machine for most of the rest of the evening.
12:00 I go to bed early -- it's been a really long week!
"Plus il est traite comme un dieu, plus il se comporte en petit bourgeois dans son quotidien... il se plait a entendre pour la emieme fois les airs a sa gloire composes par Lulli, et que les musiciens de l'Academie viennent lui chanter" [The more Louis XIV was treated as a god, the more he acted like a petty-bourgeoisie in his daily life. He was satisfied to hear, for the ninth time, the odes to his glory composed by Lulli, which the musicians of the Royal Academy came to sing for him] (Jean-Marie Apostolides, Le roi-machine, 138).
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Recette des Macarons
Macaroons recipe:
Ingredients :
-125 gr almond powder
-225 gr confectioner sugar
-20g cocoa powder (facultatif)
-3 egg whites
-30 gr sugar
-coloring (powder only)
Beat confectioners' sugar and almond flour in a food processor until combined. Sift mixture 2 times.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Whisk whites with a mixer on medium speed until foamy. Add sugar and whisk until soft peaks form. With a spatula add the almond powder and the confectioner sugar in 3 or 4 doses.
Transfer batter to a pastry bag fitted with a 1/2-inch plain round nozzle, and pipe 3/4-inch rounds 1 inch apart on parchment-lined baking sheets, dragging pastry tip to the side of
rounds rather than forming peaks.
Tap bottom of each sheet on work surface to release trapped air.
Let stand at room temperature for 15 minutes.
Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees. Bake 1 sheet at a time, rotating halfway through, until
macaroons are crisp and firm, about 15 minutes.
Let macaroons cool on sheets for 2 to 3 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack. (If macaroons stick, spray water underneath parchment on hot sheet. The steam will help release macaroons.)
Suggested fillings:
Chocolat ganache:
-250g chocolate
-250g heavy cream
Pour cream over chocolate in a heatproof bowl. Let stand for 2 minutes. Whisk mixture until smooth. Let cool, stirring often.
Mascarpone cream:
-200g whipping cream
-100g mascarpone
-30g sugar
-Several drops of speculoos or jam, for flavoring
In a mixer, place the cream, the mascarpone and the sugar and whisk until picks form. Place in
the refrigerator until use.
Sauce au caramel beurre salé
-80 g sugar
-40 g salted butter
-10 cl heavy cream
In a medium saucepan, bring the sugar to a boil. Using a wet pastry brush, wash down any crystals on the side of the pan. Boil over high heat until a deep amber caramel forms, about 6
minutes. Remove the saucepan from the heat and carefully whisk in the cream and butter. Let the caramel cool to room temperature.
~JD
"Sous Louis XIV, etre intellectuel devient une situation non seulement honorable mais anoblissante" [Under Louis XIV, being intellectual became a situation not only honorable, but ennobling] (Jean-Marie Apostolides, Le roi-machine, 37).
Ingredients :
-125 gr almond powder
-225 gr confectioner sugar
-20g cocoa powder (facultatif)
-3 egg whites
-30 gr sugar
-coloring (powder only)
Beat confectioners' sugar and almond flour in a food processor until combined. Sift mixture 2 times.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Whisk whites with a mixer on medium speed until foamy. Add sugar and whisk until soft peaks form. With a spatula add the almond powder and the confectioner sugar in 3 or 4 doses.
Transfer batter to a pastry bag fitted with a 1/2-inch plain round nozzle, and pipe 3/4-inch rounds 1 inch apart on parchment-lined baking sheets, dragging pastry tip to the side of
rounds rather than forming peaks.
Tap bottom of each sheet on work surface to release trapped air.
Let stand at room temperature for 15 minutes.
Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees. Bake 1 sheet at a time, rotating halfway through, until
macaroons are crisp and firm, about 15 minutes.
Let macaroons cool on sheets for 2 to 3 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack. (If macaroons stick, spray water underneath parchment on hot sheet. The steam will help release macaroons.)
Suggested fillings:
Chocolat ganache:
-250g chocolate
-250g heavy cream
Pour cream over chocolate in a heatproof bowl. Let stand for 2 minutes. Whisk mixture until smooth. Let cool, stirring often.
Mascarpone cream:
-200g whipping cream
-100g mascarpone
-30g sugar
-Several drops of speculoos or jam, for flavoring
In a mixer, place the cream, the mascarpone and the sugar and whisk until picks form. Place in
the refrigerator until use.
Sauce au caramel beurre salé
-80 g sugar
-40 g salted butter
-10 cl heavy cream
In a medium saucepan, bring the sugar to a boil. Using a wet pastry brush, wash down any crystals on the side of the pan. Boil over high heat until a deep amber caramel forms, about 6
minutes. Remove the saucepan from the heat and carefully whisk in the cream and butter. Let the caramel cool to room temperature.
~JD
"Sous Louis XIV, etre intellectuel devient une situation non seulement honorable mais anoblissante" [Under Louis XIV, being intellectual became a situation not only honorable, but ennobling] (Jean-Marie Apostolides, Le roi-machine, 37).
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