Final -

Asha Bacchus

Bob Vallier

Le 30 septembre 2015

La Rochefoucauld

François VI, duc de La Rochefoucauld, prince de Marcillac , est né le 15 septembre 1613, Rue des Petits Champs à Paris,  d’une famille de très vielle noblesse. Il était écrivain, mémorialiste français, et moraliste. La Rochefoucauld est très connu pour ses Maximes, mais à part cela, il a été très impliqué dans d'autres aspects politiques et sociaux en France à l'époque. Entre les deux facteurs - ses écritures et ses implications politiques, La Rochefoucauld a influincé indéniablement la littérature et la culture française.

Il a reçu une education de noble de l’époque, mais un peu négligée, parce que son père n’était pas très présent dans sa vie. Il apprennais des sujets comme l’élegance, la chasse, et beaucoup de choses militaires. Quand il a eu quinze ans, il s’est marié avec Andrée de Vivonne, qui était la cousine de Catherine de Vivonne.

Malheureusement, ce mariage n’était pas un mariage d’amour, et La Rochefoucauld était un coureur de jupons notoire. Il y a beaucoup d’autres femmes avec qui La Rochefoucauld avait des relations. En outre, plusieurs de ces femmes étaient impliquer avec les affaires politiques et littéraires de La Rochefoucauld.

L’année suivant son mariage, il a join l’armée où il a bien reussi. À ce moment, il a recontré Madame de Chevreuse, qui  a beaucoup influencé La Rochefoucauld. Les deux étaient très intimes.  Elle a insulté le Cardinal Richelieu. Apres cela et quelques autres incidents que le Cardinal Richelieu a touvé offensant,  la Rochefoucauld fut envoyé à la Bastille pour huit jours pour avoir conspiré contre la Cardinal Richelieu. Après avoir été relâché, il fut exilé au château de sa famille à Verteuil.

La Rochefoucauld était un frondeur, une figure de proue dans la Fronde, la guerre civile qui a eu lieu en France de 1648 à 1653. À cette époque, La Rochefoucauld était associé avec la Duchesse de Longueville, qui était une figure très bien connu de la Fronde. La Fronde fut une révolte contre l'état financier que la France devint après la mort de Louis XIII. Pendant la guerre de Trente Ans, Louis XIII et le cardinal de Richelieu ont augmenté considérablement les impôts  pour financer la guerre, et ces impôts ont ciblé les nobles. Les membres de la Fronde pensaient que la puissance de la monarchie devait être limitée.

Par ailleurs, La Rochefoucauld était un membre actif du salon de Madeleine de Souvré, marquise de Sablé. Elle était la fondatrice du salon, et ce salon littéraire est l’origine du style d’écrit des ‘maximes’, comme les Maximes par La Rochefoucauld. En fait, Madeleine de Souvré a écrit ses  propres maximes, avant La Rochefoucauld, mais ses maximes n’ont été publiés qu’après sa mort. C’est clair que La Rochefoucauld a été très influencé par sa participation au salon, et la mode des salons.

Les Maximes de La Rochefoucauld sont dans l’ensemble au sujet de la nature humaine, et de la veritable motivation de l’Homme. Publiées en 1665, les Maximes ont été écrites dans les épigrammes - déclarations courtes et précises. Ce style d’écriture est très apprécié par autres auteurs français, comme Pascal, De Retz, La Bruyère, Montesquieu, et Vauvenargues, mais La Rochefoucauld est discutablement le plus émanent. En plus, La Rochefoucauld a influencé d’autres personnes importantes, tel que Friedrich Nietzsche, qui a écrit Le Généalogie de la morale.  

Le thème saillant des Maximes est l’amour propre. Les Maximes commencent et se terminent avec ce thème. Le concept de l’amour propre est le thème sous-jacent du point de vue de La Rochefoucauld sur toute la nature humaine. Il pense que l’amour propre est la plus percutante des force d’actions et des sentiments de l’individu. C’est la source ultime de nos goûts et de nos passions. La Rochefoucauld pensait que cette faculté systématique contrecarre le desir humain pour la verité. Dans la première maxime supprimée, La Rochefoucauld a défini l’amour propre comme une force qui agit indépendamment de la volonté. À cause de cela, beaucoup de personnes pensent que La Rochefoucauld est un écrivain très pessimiste.

Cependant, je pense que La Rochefoucauld est encore plein d’espoir pour la nature humaine. C’est vrai que beaucoup de maximes et de concept de l’amour propre sont inquiétants, mais à mon avis, il est seulement réaliste. En dépit du fait que nous, des créatures sociales, créons des masques pour nous-mêmes, (pour nous cacher non seulement des autres, mais aussi de nous-mêmes!), il croit encore qu’il y a des personnes authentiques - l’être vrai, en dessus de nos masques. Il y a  seulement le problème du devoilement.

En conclusion, La Rochefoucauld était une figure significative de l’histoire et de la littétature française. L’écriture de La Rochefoucauld est un examen perspicace de la nature humaine. Les Maximes stimulent l'esprit et la réflexion dans le cœur des Hommes.

Trip to the Pompoidou

I’d never been much of an art museum person.  To be honest, I don’t think I’d visited one until Paris so art history was something that was relatively new to me.  We covered everything from the Renaissance era to Post-Impressionism so I was able to gain a nice overview of art in general.  Now I’m able to appreciate art for what it is but if there was one thing that kind of put me off was how strict it can be.  One had to truly stick to the guidelines set by the Academy in order for their work to be accepted by the Academy and be admitted into the Salon.  I always thought art was a form of expression but clearly there were some limitations to that back in the day.  You were only allowed to express yourself so long as you abided by the guidelines of the time.  I also understand though, that its those restrictions that shaped some of the major art movements and contemporary art today.  The point I’m getting at is that even though I’ve learned to appreciate all art types, I think its at the Pompidou that I found myself really intrigued by art.  I loved that pieces there were’t necessarily what others wanted.  They’re more of what the artist wanted to express to the world at a certain point of their life without having to attain anyone’s approval.  It’s art because they found meaning in it.  You can’t always make that connection with a piece.  Everyone connects differently with different types of art but when you do find one you connect with, I feel like it really gets ya.  That’s what I felt with many pieces at the Pompidou.  

One of those pieces being Chopin’s Waterloo by Armand.  It immediately caught my attention because of the piano (I’ve always been musically inclined and I’ve been playing since I was 6).  Except it wasn’t like you would usually expect to see a piano.  It was completely destroyed and all of the pieces were placed on a board.  I found it intriguing because the piano is one of the instruments that usually symbolizes peace and harmony but the condition of the piano made it seem like anything but.  Later I found out that Arman explains his aggressivity towards musical instruments in terms of a negative personal experience.  He publicly destroyed the piano with a sledgehammer and then fixed the wrecked components on the panel for an exhibition.  But to him the action of destroying the piano was secondary.  It was the result he was interested in.  According to Arman, the formal structure of the objects destroyed in the rages determines the aesthetic of the work and endows it with either a Baroque or a Cubist character depending on whether curves or straight lines are predominant.

Cinco de Mayo

Cinco de Mayo is a holiday everyone loves to celebrate, Mexican or not.  It’s a great excuse to get your friends and family together and knock back some Coronas and tequila shots in celebration.  But wait…What are we celebrating? Mexican Independence Day? No, that’s not it. That’s September 16th...

May 5th, 1862 commemorates the Battle of Puebla, the day the Mexican army successfully (and ironically) defeated the French army from invading Mexico City.  At the time, the Mexican government was in much foreign debt with countries such as Britain, Spain and France due to the Mexican- American War (1846-1848) and a civil war (1858-1861).  Mexican President Benito Juarez suspended debt payments for two years so Mexico could get back on its feet and with this, Britain and Spain were able to work with.  France, however, was not pleased and took this as an opportunity to create a French controlled Mexican empire.  (It should be no surprise that France’s ruler at the time was the overly ambitious Napoleon III.)  The French army had been succeeding at making their way to Mexico City until they experienced resistance in Puebla.  The battle there consisted of 6,000 well-equipped French army men against 2,000 somewhat equipped Mexican army men and somehow the Mexican army managed to win.  Unfortunately, the French came back a year later with 30,000 troops and were this time able to capture Mexico City and Maximilian (Napoleon III’s cousin) became Emperor Maximilian I, ruler of Mexico. Three years later, the Mexican people were able to regain control of Mexico City and had Maximilian executed.  Benito Juarez was then able to re-establish a legitimate government and reclaim his position as president. 

Although France’s second attempt was successful, its Mexico’s unlikely victory during the first attempt that is commemorated.  At the time, France’s army was considered the best and had not been defeated in 50 years and the victory brought a strong sense of national unity and patriotism to the Mexico.  

Walking around in Paris on this day, I found it ironic how many cafes/bars had Cinco de Mayo specials.  The holiday does commemorate France’s defeat after all…  But then again, I wonder how many people know the story behind Cinco de Mayo.  It’s definitely used as an excuse to party and drink by most people, especially in the U.S.  Come to think of it, I’m not even sure how it came to be a thing in the U.S.  It’s definitely recognized as an important historical event but its not a national holiday in Mexico.  In fact, its only celebrated in Puebla, where the battle took place.  Anywhere else in Mexico, its a pretty normal day.  Cinco de Mayo has definitely become more of a commercialized holiday (the Mexican St. Paddy’s Day if you will) so I figured its worth putting out the history behind the holiday out there.  

Looking back.....

Writing these posts has been looming over me all summer, and though I had valid excuses to keep putting it off (2 jobs, a research manuscript, and an executive board position for a major campus organization) I think the biggest reason of all was I didn’t really want to be done with this experience. A couple weeks ago I was talking to one of the kids I nanny, an eight-year-old girl, and I was trying to figure out what she wanted to do for our final days together. I can’t remember what exactly I said, but I must have been in the process of explaining that I wouldn’t be living in Minnesota when it came time to go back to school, because she stopped me mid thought and said, “I know, you either go to school in Chicago or Paris.” The moment really caught me off guard.

At first, that statement made me feel like I had a pretty good life with some amazing opportunities, something that I’d begun to overlook in the sadness of returning home for the summer. It reminded me of when the mother of the children I nanny told me how pretentious it had felt to hear her kids running around the neighborhood bragging about how their nanny had brought them presents back from Paris. As mundane as my life this summer had become, it reminded me that not so long ago my life had been far from ordinary. But as much as the moment was a pick-me-up, it was also a harsh reality check. I had to tell her I’m not going to school in Paris anymore, that it was just for the past spring. I felt like more than her, I was telling myself.

Leaving Paris was hard for me for a variety of reasons, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m still trying to get over the fact that I had to leave. I felt that I left unresolved, that I was leaving just as I was realizing how much it had meant to me. The whole experience was amazing, but those last few weeks I felt that I had begun to feel that my life in Paris was my actual life. Sure, for the majority of the trip I had taken on the attitude that the trip was sort of like my vacation. Long before I had left for the trip I had decided that I would take this quarter to focus on me. The past fall my life had become stressful for a number of reasons and the prospect of senior year, grad school, and just life in general was starting to weigh me down. I thought I was going to think about everything in Paris, but instead I did just the opposite. I spent my time in Paris just living and listening to what my heart was telling me to do. At the end of trip I was talking to a few people about how monumental the trip had been for me, and many of us agreed that I had one of the most transformative experiences, Mollie put it best when she said, “I feel like you were just sitting at the edge of a cliff looking over the edge, and when you came here you just jumped.” That’s really how it was. I dove head first into everything I’d ever wanted and I took the time to experience life. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever done, I truly never felt more myself than I did this past spring.

When I left for Paris I packed a blank brown leather journal. My intention was to spend time writing in Paris, and more importantly to chronicle each day of my stay. Sure enough, I came back with the journal almost as blank as when I left. The other day I read through my entries again: one for the end of March, April, and May. It was amazing to see the insane amount of experiences I had over the time I was in Paris, and the amount my life had changed from beginning to end. It was almost comical reading the entry from the first week, I felt like I was getting a look back inside the head of the girl who was looking over the edge. The next entry after Paris was from mid-July, almost a month after I had arrived back in the U.S. I read the entry back through a solid stream of tears.

Looking back on Paris is just as hard as it is amazing. My time in Paris is already starting to feel like a distant memory, and it’s times like these that I wish I had written everything I had done and seen so I could relive it again and again. But, if I’d been sitting at home writing the whole time I wouldn’t have been out making the memories I have, and those I wouldn’t trade for the world. So, I’m learning to make peace with the time I had in Paris, I’m learning to live without what was left behind, and I’m telling myself that this past spring could very well be only the first chapter in a long love affair with Paris. Until then here’s a short list of some things I’ll miss:

1. The man on the pedestrian light is green instead of white & the traffic lights are set back in the intersection so cars have to stop before the “line” or pedestrian walkway (it makes so much more sense!)
2. Maille Mustard (I think I’ll be ordering this online for the rest of my life)
3. Drinking in beautifully manicured gardens and parks, or along the seine
4. The chocolate croissants from the bakery on the other side of Square Trousseau (I wish I knew the name, at least I know the location!)
5. Nights and weekends are (most often) spent enjoying yourself, and are not an extension of the work week
6. The fine wine and champagne I got to drink with my host family (even if I never did end up learning much about wine or champagne while staying with them)
7. Quality cheese every night after dinner
8. Being mistaken for a Parisian, and being able to give directions
9. The quicker, larger, (and in my opinion cleaner, and less sketchy) metro system
10. Accessibility to crepes. All. Day. Long.
11. The need to have fresh baguettes served with every meal (my host mom would apologize if there was no bread, even if we were eating pizza)
12. The yogurt (I’m still searching to find something in regular grocery stores that compares!) – I fell in love with plain yogurt in France
13. Who am I kidding… the list could go on and on, and words can’t even describe how much I’ll miss the experience itself, and the company I had ;)

A View From Above

The whole trip I kept saying we’ll have time to do things. When Kathryn and I went to the Eiffel tower early on in the trip and had a hard time getting our pictures to turn out, I said we’ll have plenty of chances to come and take them in better lighting, better weather, etc. We never did end up getting any more options for profile worthy pictures in front of the Eiffel tower. I never did make it to the Picasso museum, because I kept putting it off. A few of us had said we wanted to climb to the top of the three major attractions: the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, and the Eiffel Tower. We never made it to the top of the Arc de Triomphe and it took until the last week to get to the top of Notre Dame.

Towards the end it sort of seemed like I wasn’t going to make it to the top of the Eiffel Tower. My family’s original plan was to go see it the Monday I was returning from London, without me. As the date got closer I convinced them Notre Dame, Montmartre, and jet leg would be plenty exhausting for their first day, and we rescheduled the Eiffel Tower to the next day. I had begun to make peace with the idea of not going up in the Eiffel Tower during my stay, but it felt ridiculous to have lived in Paris for three months and not done the one, perhaps most iconic touristic thing. Yet, I still didn’t have an overwhelming desire to climb to the top just to see another bird’s eye view of Paris. Isn’t the most exciting thing about having a panoramic view of Paris seeing the Eiffel Tower itself?

Still, I was excited I would at least be able to say I did indeed go up in the Eiffel Tower. So, after a long day at Versailles we stopped at the Eiffel Tower an hour or two before sunset to get to the top. Luckily, the lines for the elevators weren’t too long and we made it to the very top in a fairly decent amount of time. I guess I had lowered my expectations because the views and experience exceeded what I had in my mind. It was amazing to see everything, it was like a quick little summary of all the experiences I had in Paris. A few days earlier Denise had sent me a snapchat of a view from up in the Eiffel Tower with a caption that represented Haussmanization—I believe while on top of Notre Dame I may have exclaimed “I see Haussman!”—and it definitely put a smile on my face. I took a photo and then zoomed in and screenshot it because I thought it was hilarious that you could get Notre Dame and Saint Sulpice in the same picture. I was explaining what and where things were to my family, and the whole experience made me feel content and proud. Ultimately, I’m so happy that I didn’t go without a trip to the top of the Eiffel Tower, but I am glad that I waited until the end. It was exciting to be able to look around at everything and really appreciate it for what it is and reflect on all the amazing times I had in Paris.

   

  

  

A Ferris Wheel in the Jardin des Tuileries

A couple weeks into my trip I made my first visit to the Jardin des Tuileries with Kathryn. We both thought the name meant it was a tulip garden—which in our defense would be a very appropriate name for the garden—but later in the trip we came to learn it actually was named after the tile factories. The first time we visited it seemed that Jardin des Tuileries was a place we would have to actively seek out to visit again, but as it turns out it turned out to be a place we were constantly ending up at. The garden is huge and in a central location in Paris which makes it that much more accessible for everyone. It seemed like it was a popular tourist destination, I’m not sure if it was because it was easy to stumble upon or people were actively seeking it out.

Somehow soon after having fell in love with the Jardin des Tuileries we found out that it once was the location of a giant Ferris wheel that allowed for a fun ride while taking in some amazing views. Needless to say, we felt cheated that this Ferris wheel had somehow been in Paris just after the Ferris wheel had disappeared from the garden. As time moved on we made peace with the fact that it wasn’t there, but once in awhile the idea of having a Ferris wheel in Paris would come up in conversation and our hearts would break all over again.

A couple of weeks after the trip had ended Kathryn brought my attention to an instagram post she had found that day that included a picture of the Ferris wheel. Sure enough, I typed in the Jardin des Tuileries into the instagram search box and hundreds of recent photos came up with carnival rides and the beloved Ferris wheel we were jipped of during our time in Paris. This lead to some important questions: Why was the Ferris wheel there in the past and in the beginning of summer but not when we were there this past spring?

There is a two-part answer to these questions:

1) There was a Ferris wheel at the universal exhibition and it was demolished. Next, for the Millenium celebrations the Grand Roue was constructed. Though it was only supposed to stay for the year, the owner refused to take it down and it stayed until 2002. After that the wheel was brought to the UK for 2003-2004 and was brought back to Paris in 2007. The goal was to bring the wheel back each year to celebrate the end of the year/new year festivities. However, this wheel was sold to Belgium and is (was?) set to move there August 2015.

2)  Each year from June 28^th through August 24^th there is a Fete des Tuileries where all things carnival themed (cotton candy, rides, games) are set up in the Park.

So now you know the story of how we were jipped of an experience with a Ferris wheel in the Jardin des Tuileries. If you don’t believe me, here’s a picture. 

Normandy

            

After Honfleur my family and I made our way along the coast towards the sights of Normandy and D-Day. History has never been my strong suit, and my family had just watched an in-depth movie portraying the history of D-Day, so I found myself a little less excited than they were to be going to a bunch of war memorials. To be honest, I had no idea what to expect, it took a lot of refreshers to remember all that happened in Normandy during the war. I kept yelling at my mom for saying we were going to Normandy, after all that’s the name of a region and I knew there was no way we were going to be able to see everything in the insanely short amount of time we had allotted [keep in mind this is the same day, Wednesday, that we had left Paris, boarded a train to Rouen, and then drove to Honfleur… needless to say I was crabby]

     

We ended up seeing a lot of interesting things in Normandy. All the stops we made at bunkers and cute little towns were intriguing and worthwhile. As we were driving around my mom mentioned we should try to make it to the cemetery in case it closes early. I’ve always moaned and groaned when prompted to visit a cemetery because it’s always sounded like a weird, and boring, place to visit. France changed this for me for a number of reasons (Pere Lachaise is a place I’ll never forget). So, we pulled up to the American Cemetery and vowed to quick run through just to see what it was all about.

 

We entered into a building where we had to go through security, and then proceeded downstairs to an informational/memorial museum, where artifacts with descriptions pertaining to the war were displayed. There were several videos playing and my mood changed instantly and I began to become a little more interested in visiting these D-Day sights. As you walk out of the memorial and into the cemetery you walk through a hallway where the names of soldiers who lost their lives are read off. In a circular room as you exit there placards telling the story of soldiers and their families. Too many of them told stories of families who received word that their son died, only to find out several days later that their other son died. I even read one placard for the family and man who inspired the movie Saving Private Ryan.

As we walked out into the cemetery I began to feel more and more moved by the site I was visiting. The views over the ocean were breathtaking, and behind was perfectly manicured grass with endless white tombstones representing the brave souls who died for our country. It was peaceful, eerie, and heartbreaking. Walking through the cemetery I was in awe, in awe of the sheer amount of people buried her. More than that, I was in awe of the amount of unknown soldiers who were laid to rest here. The entire experience was powerful and moving, and it felt appropriate to be having so much pride for my country just as I was about to be returning home myself. I will leave you with a quote I read on a large monument outside of the cemetery.

“This embattled shore, portal of freedom, is forever hallowed by the ideals, the valor, and the sacrifices of our fellow countrymen.”