Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! On this national holiday, I thought it would be fitting to write (or at least begin to write) a post on national identity.
Seventy years ago, in his essay on English patriotism, George Orwell, wrote that "national characteristics are not easy to pin down, and when pinned down they often turn out to be trivialities or seem to have no connexion with one another." This is a simple fact that all who try either make any but the most superficial observations, or to draw any but the most trite inferences, on sociology and anthropology, should acknowledge, be they tourists or academics. I offer it as a disclaimer as well as a general precaution to the following comments. I will recount a few anecdotes and impressions, and try to make some sense out of them.
On Monday, I had the misfortune to trip when taking my run through the quad of the Cité Universitaire; I tumbled and fell on my right side, grazing my right shoulder, my right elbow, my right knee, and both hands. I fell only about 20-30 meters away from a group of three people walking their dogs. I stood up, brushed myself off, and continued on my run, but, perhaps significantly, perhaps not, not one of them had stopped in order to ask me if I had hurt myself. This struck me as unusual; in Ithaca, when I take a tumble, those nearby who witness my fall usually express concern, by asking me if I am OK, etc. This applies even to drivers; once, a driver who saw me in his rear-view mirror even backed up to ask me if I was alright. I am not certain that the three dog-walkers saw me; but I am also not certain that they did not.
The dynamics in the park may not differ, in some respects, from those in the classroom. I gave exposé #3 on Medieval Travel; the same day, as I mentioned in my post about that exposé, that one of my classmates, Roman, had the same subject, and that after the Cours Magistral that day, I told him that I had been impressed with his presentation. I began speaking with him and with two of his friends, and after several minutes, I introduced myself, feeling that it was an opportune moment. None of them offered their names in return; I had to ask them: it wasn't exactly pulling teeth, but most of the time, when I give my name, I receive my interlocutors' in return. Likewise, trading cell phone numbers is very common back in the U.S., even among ephemeral acquaintances (how many numbers do I have of people I met a few times freshman year, and have rarely, or never, seen again?) -- not so, here.
This brings me to one of the most important aspects of life here: the near-impossibility of making French friends. I say "near" because I, and several others, have each managed to meet 1-5 French students with whom we have achieved at least some rapport. I would like to add here that I am very grateful to all of my French friends who have been kind and considerate enough to offer me their friendship. That being said, I estimate that maybe half of the other EDUCO students to whom I have spoken simply have no French friends. Zero. This is, naturally, partially due to the language barrier, and also due to the fact that the French students in our classes are well into their University careers, and thus already have constructed a nucleus of friends (my classes are all categorized as "License-3," meaning that students are in their third years, unless they are MASTER students). But where this ties together with the incident in the park, is in the social distance at which strangers are held. I am fully confident that, if I had called for help, the three people out walking their dogs would have stopped to help me without hesitation. However, I did not call for help; and they therefore had no reason to divert any attention toward me. I attribute this to a heightened sense of professionalism; that is, a greater distance between public life and private life. Both the park and the classroom are "public" spaces, where interactions involve a certain level of formality.
Formality is understandable in a park, almost the epitome of a "public" space, but in the U.S., classrooms are absolutely private nexuses. Think about the last time you were in class: unless you're my Dad, who actually is a professor, you're referred to consistently by your first name, and likewise address the other students and the TA by each one's first name (Prof. Pucci's class is kind of an exception to this, but his class is extraordinary, in more ways than one, but, Matt, I have always referred to you by your first name): only the Professor is referred to by his or her last name. In France, by contrast, the instructors all call me Monsieur Davis (pronounced day-VEES), and address me as vous, which makes me feel just a little bit stranger than if they referred to me as the less formal tu. The other students use tu, outside of class; I would mention their in-class interactions, but there are almost none to speak of: I don't think I've ever spoken to any of my peers while class is in session, except in a whisper, to ask them what was just said, etc. (I really miss discussion sections, in case it isn't evident.) This brings me to a curious observation Guillaume has made: American students (and JD in particular) will raise their hands to answer questions, even if they are only 40-50% certain that the know the answer; French students, even abroad at international schools, will not answer questions.
In an unusual, opposite reversal (which just goes to show that all binary us-and-them conceptual bifurcations are artificial), in the U.S., one's grades and evaluations are strictly between the individual student and the instructor. Although I had been told, before I left, that French professors have no qualms about telling students, to their faces and in front of the class, that their work is not good, it still surprised me the first time I witnessed it (and it still does). Everyone is criticized for some aspect of his or her presentation, even if the instructor praises the piece as a whole; and this is as true for exposés as it is for papers.
There is more professionalism in the classroom, and I think it is explained by a fundamentally different approach to university-level academics. In the U.S., being a student is one's life; here, it is more like one's job. At home, one never stops being a student, and one's entire schedule of classes, studying, sports, clubs, and even part-time jobs, is wholly within the framework of student life. When and where one studies is one's business: some people do it in the morning, some in the evening, some at the library, some at home. Here, studying is done at the library, during regular work hours (the Bibliotheque de la Sorbonne is open from 10:00 a.m. until 8:00 p.m.). Uris Library is open 24 hours, and some students bring blankets and pillows. Studying never stops, and all-nighters are known among even the most responsible. In France, nuits blanches (literally "white nights," the term used for all-nighters) are generally just not done. There is a time to study, and a time not to study; the decision is less nice back home. I may be overgeneralizing by taking Ivy-League standards as the norm, but La Sorbonne is a very prestigious school here, and has, from what I can tell, relatively high academic standards.
One more note on academic standards, before I move on. In the U.S., educators, from high school teachers to college professors, consistently repeat, almost tautologically, that they don't care what students argue, as long as they support their arguments. Here, the refrain is on the structure and methodology: as long as all seven components of an introduction are in place, that introduction is of passing quality, even if the quality of the writing and the level of research are shoddy (not to say, these aspects are unimportant; I have seen a professor call out a student for treating a masculine noun as feminine in his in-class essay).
Academic standards are not the only standards encountered in student life. Veronique, one of the members of the (awesome) EDUCO team, has berated me before about the lack of attention I pay to my body, because I consistently sleep under eight hours a night (completely true) and don't consume a balanced diet (debatable). As she puts it, "les etudiants francais respectent leurs corps" [French students respect their bodies]. From what I have gathered from conversations with my other French friends, French students do tend to sleep more than their American counterparts, who, let's face it, barely sleep, ever. However, as far as I can tell, American students (or, at least, Cornell students), 1) Smoke less, and 2) Exercise more. By my standards, smoking and a lack of exercise are both key characteristics of an unhealthy lifestyle, in a way that sleep deprivation and poor diet are not. I wonder what doctors think of the matter...
There are a few other cultural observations, related, somewhat indirectly, to what I have been saying.
Drinking coffee (or eating croissants) while walking seems to be less common, as is speaking on the cellphone while walking. If you want to drink coffee, you sit down in a cafe to do it; when you eat lunch, you sit down on a park bench to do it.
In France, it's impolite to post others' photographs on Facebook.
The French have achieved a level of secularism in society that they have a word for it, laïcité, which they readily admit cannot be easily translated into other languages. For instance, in my Contemporary Arab World class, the professor, describing the politico-religious climate of the late Ottoman Empire, said it was "seculier, mais pas laïc" [secular, but not laïc]. If your 16th (and early 17th) century were mostly filled with gruesome religious wars and massacres, you, too, would want to prevent people from making public display of their religion (note: the ban on religious paraphernalia, better known in the U.S. as the ban on headscarves, is unenforced). However, I don't know if Ithaca is just already such a secular place, or whether the rising French xenophobia against North Africans and Romany, but there do seem to be some open displays of religion.
To name just one example, I was once handed a pamphlet containing 2 books from the New Testament, the Gospel of John and Paul's Letter to the Romans. It is on the desk in front of me now; it is conspicuously covered, on the cover, with French patriotic symbols: the blue, white, and red; the familiar hexagonal shape of France (plus Corsica) which we all know from the Mercator projection; a Parisian skyline; the Eiffel Tower; on the cover, the title alone is the only indication that this is a religious text. By contrast, there is nothing particularly "French" about the contents of the book (which could just as easily have been printed in any other Francophone country). My analysis? Just as in the U.S., with the influx of non-Christian immigrants (or, in the 19th and early 20th centuries, non-Protestant immigrants), somebody has made a connection between Christianity and patriotism: both represent traditional values placed in jeopardy by the newcomers. I have spoken with Bruno about the immigration issue, and he thinks that there is a strong parallel between North Africans in France and Latin Americans in the United States, with the very, very important exception that Latin Americans are typically Christian, whereas North Africans are not typically Catholic.
One last comment, just to remind you to keep a measure of Orwellian skepticism about trying to discover national "essences": public urination is rather common, and people do not consistently clean up after their dogs. The Mayor's Office has even posted sign up around Paris, alerting polluters, and those who urinate in particular, that they will be fined!
I would like to thank Valérie, Guillaume, Bruno, Joe, Sharon, David, Nick, Madeline, Jamie, Aday, Sarah, and everyone else with whom I have discussed Franco-American cultural differences: you all had a hand in this post also: mad props to Madeline for cutting my hair, and for Jamie for lending us her bathroom to do it!
~JD
"In 1475, Charles the Bold, duke of Burgundy, gave the herald who had just defied him in the name of Duke Rene of Lorraine a cup of gild silver filled with 500 pieces of gold and the robe of gold cloth which he, Charles, had worn at the ceremony of defiance" (Pierre Chaplais, English Diplomatic Practice in the Middle Ages, p. 243-244).
Showing posts with label Expose. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Expose. Show all posts
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Exposé #3
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).
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).
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, October 27, 2011
Exposé #1
On Wednesday, I delivered my first exposé; an exposé is an analysis of a reading, a complete unfolding of its meaning and its importance. This was for my Louis XV class, and the reading of the week was an extract of Montesquieu's Persian Letters, an epistolary novel which I absolutely adored when I read it in English with Prof. Kaplan (if you ever have the opportunity, I recommend the Penguin Edition's translation). There were fragments of two letters, both of which discussed the French monarchy, its absolutism, and its similarities and differences to the "oriental despotism" that reigned in Persia.
I worked exhaustively on preparation, consulting multiple works, in French and English, in order to fully illuminate all of the references and allusions. I read about venality of posts, about royal finances, about the king's scrofula-healing touch, about Persian Letters in general, and about ennoblement. In order to better illustrate my points, I accompanied my lecture with a graph and a series of statistics, and with a painting by Watteau, stapled to my bibliography (when you deliver an exposé in France, you need to type up your bibliography and the outline of your lecture, and pass it around the class). I had already verified with the professor that I could have a longer time limit than my classmates, in order to compensate for the fact that I would be speaking more slowly and more clearly, due to my heavy American accent. I rehearsed twice all the way through, and also practiced snippets, correcting the many grammatical errors that I had failed to detect when I typed them, and making certain I knew how to pronounce every word that I had typed (for instance, I eliminated the sentence with the word guigogne, which means Russian doll, because I didn't want to mispronounce it).
I have never delivered a lecture to such a sterile audience; sterile is the only way to describe the reception. I didn't notice anyone looking at the graphs or the painting; nobody took notes; nobody asked any questions; and when I checked, twice, to verify that everyone could hear and understand me, nobody budged: all I received were blank stares. In other words, for all I know, nobody could understand a single word that I spoke. After I had finished, the professor commented (note: French professors often give students constructive criticism after their exposés) that I should not have analyzed the letters separately, and that there was more than just Montesquieu (I'm still not certain what this latter comment meant). Then, she told the other students to prepare a three-part breakdown (all analyses come in 3s, and only in 3s, in France) of the reading, i.e., replicate what I should have done. So we sat in silence, literally for 20-25 minutes.
I'm not upset, only puzzled. My exposé was well-organized (I thought), but I guess it just wasn't organized the way it should have been? Why was the class so dead? It wasn't even morning; the class took place from 1:00-3:00 in the afternoon, so nobody should have had any reason to still be half-asleep.
I know that I had problems. I think my biggest problem, if I correctly interpret the professor's words, was that I analyzed the text as a primary source, rather than using it as a template to discuss absolute monarchy. I also might have over-contextualized, even though I cut a fair share of what I had typed. However, I did not limit myself to Montesquieu; I compared his viewpoint to that of some of his contemporaries of the same social class, and also analyzed his view of French history and government in light of modern historiography.
Pauline and I are going to keep on plugging away at our finance ministry exposé this weekend, due in one week from now. Maybe this one will go over better? I remain hopeful.
~JD
"The thrust of Arab opinion in [the 1908 Ottoman] Parliament remained in the direction of unity and uniformity within the imperial framework, not towards particularism" (Kayali, Arabs and Young Turks, 1908).
I worked exhaustively on preparation, consulting multiple works, in French and English, in order to fully illuminate all of the references and allusions. I read about venality of posts, about royal finances, about the king's scrofula-healing touch, about Persian Letters in general, and about ennoblement. In order to better illustrate my points, I accompanied my lecture with a graph and a series of statistics, and with a painting by Watteau, stapled to my bibliography (when you deliver an exposé in France, you need to type up your bibliography and the outline of your lecture, and pass it around the class). I had already verified with the professor that I could have a longer time limit than my classmates, in order to compensate for the fact that I would be speaking more slowly and more clearly, due to my heavy American accent. I rehearsed twice all the way through, and also practiced snippets, correcting the many grammatical errors that I had failed to detect when I typed them, and making certain I knew how to pronounce every word that I had typed (for instance, I eliminated the sentence with the word guigogne, which means Russian doll, because I didn't want to mispronounce it).
I have never delivered a lecture to such a sterile audience; sterile is the only way to describe the reception. I didn't notice anyone looking at the graphs or the painting; nobody took notes; nobody asked any questions; and when I checked, twice, to verify that everyone could hear and understand me, nobody budged: all I received were blank stares. In other words, for all I know, nobody could understand a single word that I spoke. After I had finished, the professor commented (note: French professors often give students constructive criticism after their exposés) that I should not have analyzed the letters separately, and that there was more than just Montesquieu (I'm still not certain what this latter comment meant). Then, she told the other students to prepare a three-part breakdown (all analyses come in 3s, and only in 3s, in France) of the reading, i.e., replicate what I should have done. So we sat in silence, literally for 20-25 minutes.
I'm not upset, only puzzled. My exposé was well-organized (I thought), but I guess it just wasn't organized the way it should have been? Why was the class so dead? It wasn't even morning; the class took place from 1:00-3:00 in the afternoon, so nobody should have had any reason to still be half-asleep.
I know that I had problems. I think my biggest problem, if I correctly interpret the professor's words, was that I analyzed the text as a primary source, rather than using it as a template to discuss absolute monarchy. I also might have over-contextualized, even though I cut a fair share of what I had typed. However, I did not limit myself to Montesquieu; I compared his viewpoint to that of some of his contemporaries of the same social class, and also analyzed his view of French history and government in light of modern historiography.
Pauline and I are going to keep on plugging away at our finance ministry exposé this weekend, due in one week from now. Maybe this one will go over better? I remain hopeful.
~JD
"The thrust of Arab opinion in [the 1908 Ottoman] Parliament remained in the direction of unity and uniformity within the imperial framework, not towards particularism" (Kayali, Arabs and Young Turks, 1908).
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