Sous le manteau

 

My brother forwarded me a link to a story about an audacious group of French POW who escaped from their camp during World War II. I grew up watching Hogan’s Heroes, a comedy about a group of international POW’s who came and went from their camp at will. It all seemed rather like summer camp. Last year, I visited Dachau outside of Munich with a group of students. It was an absolutely chilling experience that I don’t think any of us will ever forget.

 

 

In 1940, after the fall of France, 5,000 French officers were held in Austria on the Czech border in Oflag 17a. As an act of resistance, and to pass the time that hung heavily on their hands, they decided to clandestinely film their daily lives, which was, of course, strictly forbidden. Thanks to a little help from the outside world and an enormous dose of ingenuity, they succeed in shooting enough footage to create a twenty-six minute documentary entitled Sous le manteau (sue luh mahntoe). This title literally means “under the coat” and figuratively means “clandestinely.” In this case, it was both under the coat AND clandestine.

 

 

The pieces of a camera were smuggled into the camp in pieces hidden inside sausages. The officers fitted a small camera into a box that looked like a book that they held beneath their coats. They hid the reels of film inside the hollowed out heels of their shoes. You can watch a shorter version of the film here and a 52 minute documentary about the whole story here.

 

 

 

Certainly, they filmed their Spartan lodgings and meager rations, but they also filmed their preparations for an escape. Because this was not a labor camp, the officers had time to read, talk, and plan how to get out of the camp. These plans always involved tunnels to get under the barbed wire. The officers got permission from the Germans to build a theater. The makeshift structure was built between the cell blocks and the barbed wire, greatly shortening the distance. They partially covered the structure with branches that hid it from view. The officers had been given shovels to dig their own bomb shelters at the insistence of the Red Cross and they used these to start digging a tunnel. Among the officers were highly trained mathematicians, geologists, and architects who had the expertise necessary to carry out the plan. The prisoners were divided into teams, each with specific tasks. One group was responsible to create civilian clothes to redress the officers once they’d gotten to the other side. Another was responsible to create false identity papers. One group had the very practical task of hiding the excavated dirt under the seats inside the theater.

 

 

By September 18, 1943, seventy years ago today, everything was ready. At nightfall, the first group slipped inside the tunnel. When the German guards didn’t notice the missing men the following day, another group took their chance. The survivors remember the escape with great clarity. There was very little air in the tunnel and they had to spend about ten hours inching along. Some passed out. All feared a firing squad at the other end of the tunnel. When they got to the other side of the barbed wire, they were under strict orders to scatter in different directions. Notwithstanding all of their precautions, however, almost all of the 32 escapees had been recaptured. Only six made it back to France. One of them, Jean Cuene-Grandidier, just celebrated his 100th birthday.

 

Thanks for passing on a great story, Andrew.

France during World War II:  From Defeat to Liberation

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Tout le monde a ses raisons

French director Jean Renoir was born on September 15, 1894. His baby pictures were a little better than average, since his father was Pierre-Auguste Renoir (although he does look like a little girl in several!). He was born in the rough-and-tumble neighborhood of Montmartre, but as his father’s career took off, he was sent to a series of posh boarding schools, from which he habitually ran away.



Renoir received a bullet in the leg during World War I. During his recuperation, he sat with his leg propped up and watched dozens of films, particularly those by Charlie Chaplin. The whole family seems to have inherited a bit of the great painter’s talent, and Jean was encouraged to become a ceramist. A few weeks ago, I saw some of his pieces at the Barnes Foundation in Philadelphia, where they were juxtaposed against his father’s paintings. The same sense of color was evident. Jean’s heart had been captured by the cinema, however, and he set aside his potter’s wheel for a movie camera.

 

He started out making silent films that starred his first wife, who had been one of his father’s models. To finance his work, he sold the paintings he had inherited. His career began to take off with the arrival of talkies. He wasn’t afraid to take on political subjects. La Grande Illusion, a film about escape attempts by French POW’s during WWI was banned in Germany and Italy. It was also the first foreign film to be nominated for the Best Picture Academy Award.

 

 

The financial success of this and other films allowed him to create La Règle du Jeu, a satire about French society. It was a commercial disaster upon its release. Then it was banned at the outbreak of war. The original footage was destroyed during a bombing raid. Film enthusiasts and Renoir were able to find enough copies of the footage to stitch together an almost complete movie, which was re-released in the 60s. These two films often top critics’ lists of the greatest films ever made.

 

 

 

A famous line from this movie is, “Ce qui est terrible sur cette terre, c’est que tout le monde a ses raisons” (suh key eh tare-ee-bluh soor set tare, seh kuh too luh mohnd ah say rayzohn), which mean “What is terrible on this earth, is that everyone has his reasons.” Having experienced the insanity of war twice would certainly make Renoir well-qualified to shake his head in incomprehension of our ability to justify even our most unjustifiable actions.

 

 





Renoir fled to Hollywood during the war where he experienced some professional success. He was nominated for an Oscar for directing The Southerner, a film about Texas sharecroppers. He eventually became a US citizen. 

 

 

After the war, Renoir pursued color-film projects around the globe. He began to adopt experimental techniques similar to those used in live TV. In one of his last films, he returned to the theme of French POWs, this time from WWII. In total, he made over 40 films, in a career that spanned silent films to color. As he neared the end of his life, he began to write. His biography Renoir, My Father is a testament to a loving and supportive relationship. Renoir also wrote his memoirs and screenplays. He received a life-time achievement Academy Award in 1975. That same year, Renoir was made a commander in the Légion d’honneur. He died in Beverly Hills on February 12, 1979, but his body was placed in the family cemetery in Essoyes, France. After Renoir's death, Orson Welles eulogized him as “the greatest of all directors.”

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Dans les coulisses

 



You probably already know Paris’ Opéra Garnier for its flamboyant exterior or maybe for the story of the Phantom, written by Gaston Leroux. It’s been classified as a historical monument for 90 years, but the parts that are behind the scenes are equally fascinating. Designed by Charles Garner, the 2,000 seat auditorium is just the beginning. There are 17 floors in total, as better appreciated in this model of the interior, above.

 

 

Starting at the top, there is the level known as the collier de perles or the “pearl necklace” for the white globes of the lamps that encircle the ceiling. From this catwalk, you will have a wonderful view of the ceiling by Marc Chagall and the 2.5 ton chandelier. It used to be gas lit, but has been electrified since the beginning of the last century.

 

 

Moving down to the boxes, the most famous one is loge 5, the fictitious exclusive vantage point of the Phantom. He was ostensibly able to come and go thanks to a hollow column. Tourists tap it in vain. It’s as solid as the myth is enduring.

 

 

Speaking of the myth, according to the story, there is a lake beneath the opera house, where the Phantom rowed his boat. Five floors below the stage there is une cuve, or a cistern, that contains the nappe phréatique, or groundwater, that was uncovered during construction. Garnier tried in vain to drain the water, considerably delaying construction. He couldn’t stem the water that flows abundantly beneath the city. While there is no Phantom and no boat in the cistern, there are eels and carp. Let’s go back upstairs!







 



 





To chase away the gloom of the cistern, finish your dans les coulisses (dahn lay kooleese), literally "in the wings" or “behind the scenes” tour on the roof of the Opéra Garnier. Here, you’ll be 250 feet above the ground and you’ll enjoy one of the best views in the city.

 

Charles Garnier’s Paris Opera: Architectural Empathy and the Renaissance of French Classicism

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Paris en bouteille

Paris, the city of fashion, the city of history, the city of . . . grapes? In the 70s, restaurateur Jacques Mélac planted a few baco grape vines from the Auvergne that clambered over his Parisian bistro (42 rue Léon Frot, 75011). In mid-September each year, he harvested enough to make 30-50 bottles of wine. Neighbors and habitués of the restaurant gathered for the annual mini-harvest and grape stomp. I can’t help thinking of Lucille Ball’s famous episode.



The harvest is a huge street party where regular attendees sing, dance, and feast. A tirage-au-sort, or draw, determines who gets the chance to buy one of the coveted bottles from last year’s harvest. Mélac called the home brew Château Charonne after the street nearby and described it as Paris en bouteille (pairee ahn bootay), or Paris in a bottle.


Earlier this year, the bistrot was taken over by Didier and Denise Madamour from the Auvergne. Although they will no doubt be making many changes to put their own mark on Bistrot Mélac, this is one tradition they will not be messing with. It was as distinctive a marketing coup as Mélac’s handlebar moustache (a moustache so fabulous, he was once photographed by Robert Doisneau). Jacques Mélac, on the other hand, has decided to devote himself to wine making on a much larger scale than a few bottles. Santé!

The Road to Burgundy: The Unlikely Story of an American Making Wine and a New Life in France, by Ray Walker

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L’essence de toute intelligence est de connaitre et d’aimer

Several years ago, I developed a serious case of envy for the life of author Vicki Archer. In My French  Life, Archer recounts the story of her family’s move from Australia when they purchased a 17^th century mas, or farmhouse, in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. The mas was in pretty rough shape, and the book detailed the work that was done to restore the house and olive groves that surrounded it. As Archer wrote, “What happens when raw instinct and unusual circumstance take the place of the well thought-out and the certain? Our lives changed with one simple decision; everything I had taken for granted and knew throughout my adult life had been transformed. My future and the future of my family became foreign. Our database of knowledge and inherent familiarity was no longer of any use.”

 

Archer chronicles her coup de foudre with the mas and France in a coffee table size book illustrated by Paris-based photographer Carla Coulson. Together, they showcase French art, architecture, food, and people, including a trek through Place Vendôme decorated for Christmas. I photocopied the “My French Address Book” section and carried it on my own treks through France, as a 224-page book was a little bulky. She also has a section entitled “My French Inspiration” in which she lists the movies, music, and books that serve as her guide to all things francophone. After reading My French Life, I wanted so badly to pull up stakes and move to France, too.

 

A couple of weeks ago, I discovered that Archer had published another lush large-format book, French Essence: Ambience, Beauty, and Style in Provence in which she recounts her on-going life in Provence. In the first book, Archer was an outsider in France, but here she’s fully at home. Also photographed by Coulson, the book has lovely pictures of garden, interiors, and village life. In the chapter entitled “Ambiance,” Archer says, "It is not about creating perfection, it is about creating sentiment." The soft lighting in the photos really captures the ambiance and the beauty of the south of France.
 

 

But this isn’t just a pretty book. It’s an account of turning a wreck into a working olive farm. Although she recounts the search for a copy of a treasured book, her life is far from just shopping and ladies who lunch. I liked Archer’s account of wild boars attacking her garden and her great love for her olive trees. She writes, "I section my branches and use both hands to remove the olives in sweeping gestures. It reminds me of detangling and brushing my daughters' long hair before school." Archer compares the olive nets to a bride juggling her veil for the first waltz. Lovely image, that.

 

 

Joseph Marie de Maistre said, "L’essence de toute intelligence est de connaitre et d’aimer" (lessahnse deh toot ahn-tell-ee-zjehnse eh deh kon-eh-truh ay demay), which means "The essence of all intelligence is to know and to love." If you know you love the essence of all things French, you can also follow Vicki Archer’s blog and her Pinterest boards.

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Une maîtresse

Diane de Poitiers, noblewoman and mistress of King Henry II, was born on September 3, 1499. As a girl, she was a member of the retinue of Anne de Beaujeu, who served as regent for her brother King Charles VIII. Anne was a highly intelligent woman; perhaps it was from her that Diane learned to love power and influence at court.

She was unusually well-educated for a woman of the 16^th century. In addition to the usual qualities of conversation and dancing, she was also educated in Greek and Latin. She was married off at 15 to a man who was 39 years older than her. As the grandson on King Charles VII, he had the right connections. The couple had two daughters. Diane needed her husband’s good connections a few years later when her father was accused of treason. King Francis I pardoned him when the executioner’s blade was literally suspended over his head.

When her husband died, Diane started to wear black and white clothing. These were permitted colors for a widow, but it was also a style statement. She liked to play on the fact that she was named after the Roman goddess of the moon, and the colors represented the dark and light sides. Dressing as Diana the Huntress also became part of her style. This was the phase of her life when Diane really came into her own. She retained her husband’s assets and titles, even challenging the right of the crown to take back some of those holdings. She also served as lady-in-waiting to three successive queens.

The son of Francis I, Henry appears to have developed a fixation on the much older Diane, viewing her as the perfect lady of courtly literature. Their correspondence suggests that they became lovers when she was 35 and he was 16. Henry was married to Catherine de’ Medici to help strengthen alliances with Florence. Catherine and Diane were actually cousins and knew one another prior to the match, but Catherine did not view her as an ally. Diane could control the other woman and helped preserve the royal marriage for her own purposes. She was in charge of the education of the royal children as well as the king’s mistress and most powerful woman in France. She was so trusted that the King allowed her to write official letters and sign them HenriDiane. The King gave her the Crown Jewels and gave her the Château de Chenonceau, even though Catherine had wanted it.

When Henry was wounded in a jousting tournament, Catherine restricted access to him; when he died, Diane was not permitted to attend the funeral. She was banished from Chenonceau, and Catherine moved in. Une maîtresse (oon maytress) is a mistress. It’s also the word for a trump card. That certainly seemed to be the case between Diane and Catherine. Diane held all the cards until the death of the king, at which point the tables turned rather abruptly.

Her beauty was maintained for posterity in sculpture and paintings. She often appeared topless or representing the goddess Diana. She apparently drank liquid gold to preserve her youth, but tests on her remains in 2009 revealed high amounts of gold in her hair. The theory is that she was inadvertently poisoning herself.
Courtesan : A Novel, by Diane Haeger

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L’homme est né libre

I've been writing about the replicas of the Statue of Liberty you can find throughout France. Last time, I was focusing on those in Brittany. Switching to the other side of the country, to Roybon, near Grenoble, you will find a ten foot replica that has been in place since 1906. It was erected in honor of a local-boy-done-good, Henri Saint-Romme and was bequeathed by Bartholdi himself. Bartholdi’s friend was the mayor of Roybon and the son of Saint-Romme. The mayor donated his inheritance to make the monument to his father. (Maybe it didn’t fit in his garden. Maybe he preferred gnomes.) In terms of size, this little lady, pedestal and all, would fit in the palm of the one in New York.

Saint-Affrique, not far from the glorious viaduct de Millau, also boasts a reproduction in bronze of the famous lady. The statue was installed to mark the centenary of the French Revolution. The torch was replaced by a light to help illuminate the town square. It, too, was removed and melted by the occupying Germans during the war. Post-war, the townspeople voted to replace it post-haste, but other needs took priority.

Finally, in 2006, Lady Liberty made her return, forged in a modern interpretation rather than as an exact replica. And finally, the last Statue of Liberty that I could track down in France is in the musée National de la cooperation franco-américaine in Blérancourt, in Picardy in the north of France. The museum was founded by the daughter of J. Pierpont Morgan. Through art in many forms, the museum traces the friendship between the two nations from the French support for the rebels during the American War of Independence through the American artists who came to France up through the 20th century. Anne Morgan was a talented photographer, and her works are also on display. Since there is literally no larger symbol of that friendship than Bartholdi’s statue, a reproduction is appropriately housed here. This is one of the smaller, terra cotta versions. It was given to the ship captain, de Saune, who transported the full version to the United Stated in 1885. The museum is currently undergoing renovations, however, and will be closed until sometime in 2014.

August 5: Statue of Liberty begun. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Jean-Jacques Rousseau said, “L’homme est né libre, et partout il est dans les fers" (lum eh nay leebruh, eh partoo eeleh dahn lay fair), which means "Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains." Wherever you next see Bartholdi’s representation of liberty, whether that be in the New York harbor or one of the many reproductions in France, take a moment to reflect on what it means to be free.

Lady with a Past: A Petulant French Sculptor, his Quest for Immortality, and the Real Story of the Statue of Liberty

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