FrenchKate

March 15, 2022: The historic library of the lycée Jacques Amyot

One of the wonderful things in France-I am sure it is also true in other European countries--are the architectural remnants of times past, beyond churches and chateaux--a room here, a store front there, a pharmacy, a workshop, a house, a painted ceiling, a wrought iron railing, a fragment of wall, a fireplace, a stables, a chateau, a dovecot, a garden...the list goes on...a sculpture, a path, a tree, a Roman theatre, arena, bath...many, many reminders of du temps perdu.

The lycée Jacques Amyot also has its treasures from the past. An 18th century library has survived there, full of old books, accessed by a grand staircase.Most of the school resembles schools worldwide--bright, colorful, cheerful--but this one corner is wonderfully historic.

The library was installed in the early 18th century by a prominent Jesuit, Guillaume Daubenton, (1648 - 1723), a former student of the school who wished to support the Jesuit school against the teachings of the Jansenist bishop of Auxerre, Charles de Caylus. (Jansenism is a whole different story, not for today.) The eighteen glass fronted bookcases were a gift from another cleric, Dom Livry, who donated not only books but the bookcases to store them. The collection bears a striking witness to four centuries of scholarship, covering topics literary and scientific, French and foreign, secular and religious.

I have learned more about the origins of the lycée Jacques Amyot. Originally, a school was housed in a small building nearby, and Jacques Amyot moved that school in 1584 to a much larger facility, the hôtel particulière that has housed it since.

So the building existed as a private residence, the hotêl St-Xiste. before the school was installed  I am guessing there is a relationship between Philippe St-Xiste, Chevalier, and his wife, Jeanne Gribou, who died in 1548, and this building but I haven't documented the relationship. I am puzzled about the story, however, because the design of the building is so 17th century. I have not--yet--been able to track down when the building was constructed.

October 28: "...charming old paintings that make you gaze at them indefinitely"

I was struck by Flaubert's reflection upon the passage of time, inspired by his visit to Château de Chenonceaux. I have often wondered the same thing.

"In fact, have you not often seen charming old paintings that make you gaze at them indefinitely, because they portray the period in which their owners lived, the ballets in which the farthingales of all those beautiful pink ladies whirled around, and the sword-thrusts which those noblemen gave each other with their rapiers? Here are some temptation of history. One would like to know whether those people loved as we do, and what difference existed between their passions and our own. One would like them to open their lips and tell their story, tell us everything they used to do, no matter how trivial, and what their cares and pleasures used to be. It is an irritating and seductive curiosity, a dreamy desire for knowledge, such as one feels regarding the past life of a mistress...But they are deaf to the questions our eyes put to them, they remain dumb and motionless in their wooden frames, and we pass on. The moths attack their canvases, but the latter are revarnished; and the pictures will smile on when we are buried and forgotten. And others will come and gaze upon them, till the day they crumble to dust; then people will dream in the same old way before our own likenesses, and ask themselves what used to happen in our day, and wonder whether life was not more alluring then...."

Flaubert visited Chenonceaux in 1847, 173 years ago. For Flaubert, a similar interval of 173 years would be 1674. And, yes, we in 2020 do wonder what used to happen in Flaubert's day as well as in 1674, but I would be very surprised if anyone today wonders whether life was more alluring in 1847 or 1674, pre-modern medicine, pre-central heating, pre-washing machines, pre- refrigerators, pre-internet....

Nevertheless, here are some paintings spanning two hundred years that might make the viewer stop and wonder what life was like in that unknowable past.

First, three paintings by a Flemish painter, David Teniers (1610 - 1690) showing daily activities in three different cultural milieu around 1645. The first shows Teniers family enjoying a concert on the terrace. The second shows the art collection of Archduke Leopold Wilhelm. The third shows a card game in a bar.

The fourth painting, by Flemish artist, Frans Francken, shows a ball at court in Brussels in  1610.

The fifth painting (Watteau, 1716) represents a ball in progress in some classical paradise.

The sixth painting, by the incomparable Chardin, (much admired by Diderot) illustrates a teacher and her student at work in 1736.

The final painting by Ingres portrays the Baroness de Rothschild  (1805–1886), one of the richest women in Europe, a celebrated beauty and a patron of the arts in 1848, around the time of Flaubert's adventure. 

October 27: Flaubert & du Camp visit Château de Chenonceaux

At the start of their adventure in Brittany, Flaubert and du Camp traveled to a number of Loire Valley château: Château de Chambord, Château d'Amboise, Château de Chenonceaux.  

The Chenonceaux that Flaubert visited in 1847 looked quite different from the building we see today. When Flaubert was there, Chenonceaux was still owned by the descendants of Louise Dupin, the charming woman who cultivated Paris society in the 18th century.

Flaubert observed that an air "of infinite suavity and aristocratic serenity pervades the Château of Chenonceaux....It is all very peaceful and charming, graceful yet robust. Its calm is not wearying and its melancholy has no tinge of bitterness....It was all very delightful, and bespoke the idle and intelligent home life of a gentleman. I like the owners of Chenonceaux."

The château would be sold in 1864 to a Scottish heiress who hired an architect, Felix Roguet, and blew through her fortune to transform the late 16th century exterior seen by Flaubert into something resembling the early 16th century French Renaissance châteaux (such as Chambord, Blois or Azay-le-Rideau) that were more fashionable in the 1870s. This is the charming facade we see today.

May 30: Encyclopédie

Denis Diderot is best known for co-editing (with Jean de Rond d'Alembert who left in 1759) the extraordinary, rich "Encyclopedia, or a Systematic Dictionary of the Sciences, Arts and Crafts," published in France between 1751 and 1772. It was an immense and ambitious project; its 130+ contributors ultimately produced 28 volumes, 71,818 articles and 3,129 illustrations, and, not surprisingly, it had a huge impact. Its topics covered political theory, character, geography, law. arts, music, science, botany, gardens and, well, everything:

"Absolute Monarchy,"--"One should not confuse the absolute power of such a monarch with arbitrary and despotic power, because the origin and nature of absolute monarchy is limited by its very nature, by the intent of those from whom the king has his power, and by the fundamental laws of his state.")

"Gaiety" --"nature's most fortunate gift..To be gay is to be most agreeable to others and to oneself. Gaiety can take the place of wit in society, of companionship in solitude. It is the greatest charm of youth and the only ornament of old age. ...Gaiety should preside over the pleasures of the table, but it cannot be summoned at will. Everyone promises to provide gaiety, and gaiety is invited to all supper parties; yet ordinarily boredom comes instead. "

"Machiavellianism"--an abhorrent type of politics that can be described in two words - the art of tyranny

"Tailor"--"The science of the workman who exercises this art is to cut, to assemble, to sew, and to fit all the pieces of a suit or garment of any kind. We will not be speaking but of the complete suit, French or European, which is to say of the coat, of the waistcoat, and of the breeches..."

"Tale"--" a fictional story in prose or in verse. It is distinguished primarily by the variety and vividness of description, subtlety of humor, liveliness and appropriateness of style, and striking contrast of events. The difference between a tale and a fable is that a fable includes just one single event that occurs within a given place and time, with the aim of conveying a moral axiom and making the truth of it clear; on the other hand, in a tale there is no unity of time, unity of action, or unity of place, and its aim is less to instruct than to entertain. A fable is often a monologue or an amusing scene; a tale is a series of amusing scenes linked to one another. La Fontaine excels in the two genres, though he has a few too many fables, and a few tales that are too long."

"Zigzag, allée en" "...any walk in a bosquet or labyrinth which twists and turns."

The Encyclopédie is addictive. One gets lost in browsing.

Diderot's goal was admirable. He sought to collect and disseminate "everything related to human curiosity, duty, needs, and pleasures" from around the globe for the benefit of his contemporaries and future generations. He wanted to change how people thought "so that the work of preceding centuries will not become useless to the centuries to come; and so that our offspring, becoming better instructed, will at the same time become more virtuous and happy, and that we should not die without having rendered a service to the human race." Basically, Diderot edited the Enlightenment wikipedia.

The University of Michigan and ARTFL have created a remarkable resource, a collaborative translation project to translate and post the entire Encyclopedia online. I have taken my quotes from there.

Dec 2: Continuity

The fourth characteristic that defines the French, according to Wharton, is "Continuity:"

"Any one who really wants to understand France must bear in mind that French culture is the most homogeneous and uninterrupted culture the world has known..." From the time prehistoric man painted the caves of souther France through waves of invasions--Gaul, Roman, Franks..."The people of France went on living in France, surviving cataclysms, perpetuating traditions, handing down and down and down certain ways of ploughing and sowing and vine-dressing and dyeing and tanning and working and hoarding, in the same valleys and on the same river-banks as their immemorially remote predecessors."

Wharton contrasts the French experience with the American one--"the sudden uprooting of our American ancestors and their violent cutting off from all their past, when they set out to create a new state in a new hemisphere, in a new climate, and out of new materials?...[They] "no doubt carried many things with them, such vital but imponderable things as prejudices, principles, laws and beliefs. but even these were strangely transformed when at length the colonists emerged again from the backwoods and the bloody Indian warfare."

And why, Wharton wonders, do the French cling so tenaciously to France? "...because they loved it...France, as her historians have long delighted to point out, is a country singularly privileged in her formation." Great rivers, sheltering mountains, natural harbors, a mild climate and rich soil..."her cool mild sky shot with veiled sunlight overhung a land of temperate beauty and temperate wealth...France offered the happy mean which the poets are forever celebrating."

Wharton uses "Continuity" to explain such French practices as thrift--"the reluctance to give, the general lack of spontaneous and impulsive generosity" even to relieve suffering during wartime--and good manners which the "French too often economize...as they do francs.") Choosing to stay in France, reasons Wharton, meant that the French renounced Adventure and the kinds of risk-taking that can make men inordinately rich or generous towards strangers. "The Frenchman did not desire inordinate wealth for himself, but he wanted and was bound to have, material security for his children. Therefore the price to be paid for staying at home, and keeping one's children with one (an absolute necessity to the passionately tender French parent), was perpetual, sleepless, relentless thrift." Good manners are not "a spontaneous emission of human kindliness" but rules of social interaction that guarantee no surprises in lives that are "as settled, ruled off and barricaded as their carefully-measured and bounded acres."

But this conservatism, this fear of imprudence, has also led to the French belief in the power of sustained effort: "in the world of ideas, as in the world of art, steady and disinterested effort alone can accomplish great things."

In addition, Wharton advises her readers to observe the French absence of financial ambition--both the best clue to the French character and the most useful lesson for Americans to learn from the French. Wharton observes that the French "are not occupied with money-making in itself, as an end worth living for, but only with the idea of having money enough to be sure of not losing their situation in life, for themselves or their children...they want only enough leisure and freedom from material anxiety to enjoy what life and the arts of life offer....the distinguishing mark of the Frenchman of all classes is the determination to defend his own leisure, the taste for the free play of ideas, and the power to express and exchange views on questions of general interest."

Wharton's observation about the French absence of financial ambition echoes Montaigne--who, writing three hundred and fifty years earlier, explained that he had lived kinds of situations...in the first, he was dependent on the authority of others for his spending money ("My spending was done the more joyously and carelessly for being all at the hazard of fortune.") In the second, he had money and laid it aside for emergencies, but "I never thought I was sufficiently provided. And the bigger my load of money, the bigger my load of fear....we deprive ourselves sordidly of the enjoyment of our own possessions." 

In the third stage, however, Montaigne, sounding very much like a Frenchman of 1917, has "overthrown this stupid fancy...I make my expense run abreast with my receipts;...I live from day to day and content myself with having enough to meet my present and ordinary needs....Happy the man who has regulated his needs in such just measure that his wealth can satisfy them without his care and trouble, and without the spending or acquiring of it interrupting his pursuit of other occupations better suited to him, more tranquil and more congenial." 

Continuity, indeed. 

Dec 2: Intellectual Honesty

According to Edith Wharton, "The singular superiority of the French has always lain in their intellectual courage" ... "to look at things as they are..." noting that until "a society ceases to be afraid of the truth in the domain of ideas it is in leading-strings, morally and mentally."

"The young Oedipus of Ingres, calmly questioning the Sphinx, is the very symbol of French intelligence, and it is because of her dauntless curiosity that France is of all countries the most grown up."

Wharton, describing the French as a "gay and free and Rabelaisian people" puts "the relations between the sexes first on the list of subjects about which the French and Anglo-Saxon races think and behave differently, because it is the difference which strikes the superficial observer first," but asserts that the French outspokenness on "sex-questions" is interesting only "as typical of the general intellectual fearlessness of France. She is not afraid of anything that concerns mankind, neither of pleasure and mirth nor of exultation and agonies."

She supports her argument by contrasting American and French attitudes towards the theatre and culture, in general. Yes,"the same kind of people who pack the music-halls and 'movie-shows" at home will pack them in France," but, unlike in America, the people in France who attend the music-halls also attend dramas of Victor Hugo or tragedies by Racine at the French national theatres.

"It is inconceivable [to the French] that any one should consider it superfluous... to know a great deal, to know the best in every line, to know, in fact, as much as possible."

 Wharton admires the seriousness of the French. "The French are persuaded that the enjoyment of beauty and the exercise of the critical intelligence are two of the things best worth living for...Theoretically, America holds art and ideas in esteem also; but she does not, as a people, seek or desire them....it is a pity that just at this time the inclination of the immense majority of Americans is setting away from all real education and real culture....Every sham and substitute for education and literature and art had steadily crowded out the real thing. ...The French, at any rate, living more slowly, have learned the advantage of living more deeply. In science, in art, in technical and industrial training, they know the need of taking time, and the wastefulness of superficiality."

Wharton's observations were made in the early part of the twentieth century, some three hundred and thirty years after illustrious French nobleman and essayist, Michel de Montaigne set himself the "domestic and private" goal of portraying himself in his "simple, natural ordinary fashion, without straining or artifice," defects and all. In general, his essays take the following form: he makes an assertion and then provides multiple examples from both classical writers (Ovid, Horace, Cicero, Catullus) and contemporary history (especially the Italian Wars, concluded only fifteen years before Montaigne began writing) that often illustrate both sides and multiple facets of each question.

The intellectual honesty suggested by Montaigne's work still seems to animate the French character in Wharton's day. "No race," writes Wharton, "is so little addicted to fads, for fads are generally untested propositions. The French tendency is to test every new theory, religious, artistic or scientific, in the light of wide knowledge and experience, and to adopt it only if it stands this scrutiny....Their unshakeable intellectual honesty and their sound intellectual training lead them to distrust any way but the strait and narrow one when a difficulty is to be mastered or an art acquired...Every yard of the Way to Wisdom has to be travelled on foot, and not spun over in a joy ride." 

 

 

Nov 30: Taste

The second characteristic that Edith Wharton felt distinguishes the French from her American countrymen is "Taste."

Taste, she clarifies, is not Art, but it "...the atmosphere in which art lives...the regulating principles of all art, of the art of dress and of manners, and of living in general, as well as of sculpture or music...the French...have instinctively applied to living the same rules that they have applied to artistic creation."

Wharton proposes that "the universal existence of taste in France and of the standards that it creates...explains many of the things that strike Americans on first arriving in France" such as the beautiful stone quays along the great rivers on which French cities are built. Elsewhere industrialism disfigured great cities (such as the ugliness, untidiness and squalor of the banks of the Thames in London the Hudson in New York) or through the indifference of residents (such as the lofty aristocrats of Boston who turned their backs on the bay.)

The essence of Taste, according to Wharton, is suitability--the mind and eye are drawn to symmetry, harmony, order and scale. Things should "fit" the space in which they are found.

Taste also requires standards, and this, Wharton believes, explains the existence of "such really national institutions as the French Academy, and the French national theatre, the Théâtre Français." The French Academy, founded by Richelieu in 1635--at a time of great political and religious turbulence--to give "stability to the things which humanise and unite society. And he chose "taste"--taste in speech, in culture, in manners,--as the fusing principle of his new Academy" has continued to safeguard "what the French call les choses de l'esprit;..."the things of the spirit.

In France, Wharton finds "almost everyone has the seeing eye, just as almost everyone has the hearing ear...the French are a race of artists." But taste alone is insufficient. The French set a greater store on education "than other races because they appreciate more than the others all that...education reveals and develops....It takes the most complex assemblage of associations, visual and mental to enable us to discover what a picture represents."

Wharton concludes her chapter on taste with something that resonates with me, a great believer in diligence: "As long as America believes in short-cuts to knowledge...she will never come into her real inheritance....It is the pernicious habit of regarding the arts as something that can bottled, pickled and absorbed in twelve months (thanks to "courses," summaries and abridgments) that prevents the development of a real artistic sensibility in our eager and richly endowed race. Patience, deliberateness, reverence: these are the fundamental elements of taste."

The first image is a poster advertising the Exposition Universelle held in Paris in 1900. The statue, the 15-foot La Parisienne, stood atop the monumental gateway, which was "ornate, strange and "lacking in taste" and considered by exhibition goers to be the ugliest of all the exhibits." The statue of La Parisienne was "regarded as the triumph of prostitution because of her flowing robe and modernized figure and was criticized by many visitors." (wikipedia)

The second image is the cover of a 1920s magazine, La Vie Parisienne, featuring two chic young women. I was struck by the posture of the women on the left, in the black jacket with her hands in her pockets and her neck enveloped by a high collar and tie. I saw young women in Paris last January striking exactly the same pose.

The third photo, taken in Paris last January, illustrates Wharton's point about the charm of French stone quays.

The last photo shows two charming buildings in Paris around 1914. I thought it supported Wharton's point that the French "have instinctively applied to living the same rules that they have applied to artistic creation."  This photo is from an remarkable collection of 72,000 color photos (and 183,000 meters of film) f 50 countries--The Archives of the Planet--sponsored by philanthropist Albert Kahn between 1909 and 1931,

Nov 29: If faut que...

In "French Ways and their Meaning," Edith Wharton identified "Reverence" as the first characteristic that defines the French and differentiates them from Americans.

By "reverence", Wharton means a kind of blind obedience to certain rules and traditions--les bienséances (the "always-have-been")--and an instinct to preserve that which has been "slow and difficult in the making."

She uses the dinner party to illustrate her point: "Dining is a solemn rite to the French, because it offers the double opportunity of good eating and good talk, the two forms of aesthetic enjoyment most generally appreciated."

There are rules that must not be broken. First, interrupting is "the height of discourtesy." Second, "No one should attempt to hold the floor and prevent others from making themselves heard." The goal is to "share and share alike" the conversation. 

There are two taboos that mar the smooth progress of a dinner party. The first is that the host and hostess must sit opposite one another, a taboo that can create lop-sided tables, depending on the guest list. The second is that a strict hierarchy must be observed: An academician must sit on the right of the hostess unless a Duke and Ambassador or a Bishop is present, and "imperceptible differences between the lower degrees of the immense professional and government hierarchy" must also be observed, almost humorously. This is not snobbishness, comments Wharton, just "a big bullying taboo in the way of changing it."

Why this conservatism, this "instinctive recoil from the new, the untasted, the untested" at "the very root of the French character"? Wharton proposes that Reverence is both adherence to taboos and "the sense of the preciousness of long accumulations of experience." The French, unlike Americans, because of France's geography, has had to fight for her existence. "Again and again, in the past, [France] has seen her territory invaded, her monuments destroyed, her institutions shattered; the ground on which the future of the world is now being fought is literally the same as that Catalaunian plain...on which Attila tried to strangle France over fourteen hundred years ago."

"Try to picture life under such continual menace of death, and see how in an industrious, intelligence and beauty -loving race it must inevitably produce two strong passions:"

"Pious love of every yard of the soil and every stone of the houses"

"Intense dread lest any internal innovations should weaken the social structure and open a door o the enemy."

"...The French have nearly two thousand years of history and art and industry and social and political life to "conserve"; that is another of the reasons why their intense intelllecutal curiosity, their perpetual desire for the new thing, is ounteracted by a clinging to rules and precedents that have often become meaningless."

 

 

Nov 27: Taste, Reverence, Continuity and Intellectual Honesty

American author, Edith Wharton (1862 - 1937) moved permanently to France in 1911 (when she was 49) and remained there until her death in 1937.

During World War I, she remained in Paris and worked tirelessly for the French war effort. She raised money, she set up workrooms for unemployed French women, she organized concerts to provide work for musicians, she opened a tuberculosis hospital French President Raymond Poincaré recognized her dedication by appointing her a Chevalier of the Legion of Honor, France's highest award, in 1916.

She continued writing as well. As well as writing several novels, she reported for the New York Times during the war and, as one of the few foreigners allowed to visit the war zone, between February and August, 1915, she made five journeys by car to the decimated villages and trenches at the front. She described her observations in a series of articles for Scribner Magazine (published in 1915 as Fighting France: From Dunkerque to Belfort. 

I've just finished one of her war years books, French Ways and Their Meaning, published in 1919, but written during the last two years of the war. Noting that since 1914 the world has been like a house on fire, Wharton described this guide to the French character as "a desultory book, the result of intermittent observation, and often no doubt, of rash assumption....written in Paris, at odd moments, during the last two years of the war, it could hardly be more than a series of disjointed notes." She hoped the book would "help the American fresh from his own land to overcome initial difficulties and to arrive at a quick comprehension of French character." She chose to "single out, as typically "French" in the best sense of that many-sided term, the qualities of "taste, reverence, continuity and intellectual honesty."

Of course, such a study is going to be fascinating to me.

 

Nov 17: Montaigne--"thus, reader, I am myself the matter of my book"

I have taken it upon myself to read all 107 essays by Michel de Montaigne at a pace of three per week. I'm working on essay #14 right now, "That the taste of good and evil depends in large part on the opinion we have of them" so I have a long, long way to go. Most of the essays are brief, just a page or two long, but this one, #14, is huge--over 20 pages--and it is slow going. I've fallen a week behind. I am working from an excellent translation (done by Donald Frame in 1957), but I also review some of the essays in French. 

My interest is partly scholarly--Montaigne is such an illustrious figure in French thought that it seems fitting to spend some quality time with his essays while I am immersed in the century in which he lived (1533 - 1592.) According to Wikipedia, Montaigne had a direct influence on subsequent writers--Francis Bacon, René Descartes, Pascal, William Hazlitt, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nietzsche, and even Isaac Asimov and Shakespeare. He was admired by the leading figures of the 18th century Enlightenment: Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Montesquieu, Diderot, Voltaire. In fact, Voltaire described Montaigne as "as “the least methodical of all philosophers, but the wisest and most amiable,” and, according to one commentary, "Nietzsche claimed that the very existence of Montaigne added to the joy of living in this world. " --so, with such consensus, it seems like I should know him better. 

I'm also interested in the essays as a writer. Montaigne is given credit for creating the essay form--a "merging of casual anecdotes and autobiography with serious intellectual insight" (wikipedia, again,)--and I am curious to explore how he crafts his essays. Wikipedia states that Montaigne "wrote in a rather crafted rhetoric designed to intrigue and involve the reader, sometimes appearing to move in a stream-of-thought from topic to topic and at other times employing a structured style." So as I read, I am also trying to discern the structure of the essays. Are there tricks to intriguing and involving readers? How does Montaigne  weave together intellectual knowledge and personal anecdotes?  

I'm also curious as a psychologist: What can I infer about the culture, events and values of the 16th century from a well-educated, well-placed contemporary who decides to present himself in "my simple, natural, ordinary fashion without straining or artifice." What topics does he choose to write about? According to wikipedia, his style--jumping from anecdote to anecdote, reflecting on himself, and admitting self-doubt (que sais-je--"what do I know?") was considered "self-indulgent" by his contemporaries. 

Montaigne is also considered the first "modern man" because he tries to understand the world empirically, through his own experience, and he is full of skepticism, humility and self-doubt. He makes an assertion and then provides a cascade of examples both classical and contemporary to illustrate both sides of every question. He is also very amusing. I imagine he would have been a delightful dinner conversationalist. 

In addition, in contrast to the artistic norms of the society in which he lived--which considered only great and noble subjects (classical myths, Bible stories and the lives and battles of Great Princes) as worthy of artistic treatment-- Montaigne wrote about anything that caught his attention no matter how mundane, everyday or private. In the 13 essays that I have already finished, Montaigne has reflected on "Of idleness," proposed the career paths for individuals with "Of prompt or slow speech," wondered "whether the governor of a besieged place should go out to parley" or if that is stupid to do. In "the Ceremony of interviews between kings," Montaigne admits that he finds social niceties tedious, and in "On Liars" he asserts that he has a terrible memory. This concern for his individual experience is very modern. 

If Montaigne lived today, I imagine he would be a first rate blogger.