Auguste Rodin’s The Kiss

Auguste Rodin’s famous 1882 marble sculpture Le Baiser (The Kiss) was originally entitled Francesca da Rimini, and depicts Francesca and her lover Paolo Malatesta. Paolo was Francesca’s brother-in-law. Their story is one of the most well-known in The Divine Comedy.

Francesca, born 1255, was the daughter of Guido da Polenta I, lord of Ravenna. Around 1275, she married Giovanni Malatesta, whose father Malatesta da Verucchio was lord of Rimini. Though Giovanni had been born with a physical deformity causing a limp, he nevertheless bravely fought in several battles.

Their marriage was a political alliance designed to end their family feud.

Paolo e Francesca, Giuseppe Poli, ca. 1827

Francesca fell in love with her brother-in-law Paolo, one year younger than Giovanni. Though Paolo was married too, they began an affair which lasted an entire decade. Tragedy struck when Giovanni caught them being amorous in Francesca’s bedroom sometime between 1283–86, and murdered both of them with his bare hands.

Instead of being arrested and sentenced to death himself for such a cruel crime, Giovanni went on to become a five-time podestà in Pesaro. He held that position till his 1304 death.

Dante and Virgil meet the lovers in the Second Circle of Hell, occupied by the lustful. The couple are trapped in a perpetual whirlwind, eternally swept through the air because they let themselves be swept away by their illicit passion.

Dante calls to them, and they come to a brief pause while Francesca vaguely provides a few details about herself. Since their affair was so well-known, and they were Dante’s contemporaries, he correctly states Francesca’s name. Dante asks why they’re being tortured like this, and their story so moves him, he faints.

Rodin’s sculpture was originally part of a group of reliefs decorating his massive bronze panel The Gates of Hell (La Porte de l’Infer), which was commissioned in 1880 by the Directorate of Fine Arts. Its delivery date was set for 1885, but the Decorative Arts Museum it was intended for was never built.

Not one to let a good idea go to waste, Rodin worked on this bronze panel on and off for 37 years, until his 1917 death. Prior to the commission, Rodin, a fellow Dantephile, had made some sketches of Divine Comedy characters for potential future artworks.

Late in life, Rodin donated his sculpture and drawings, along with reproduction rights, to the French government. Two years after his death, in 1919, the Hôtel Biron where he’d worked on the panel became the Musée Rodin.

Rodin made large sculptures with the help of assistants who copied smaller models made of materials easier to work with than marble. When they were done, Rodin made finishing touches to the full-size master sculpture. For this sculpture, he made small-scale models in plaster, bronze, and terracotta.

When people first saw the sculpture in 1887, they suggested the less specific name Le Baiser (The Kiss).

The French government ordered the first large-scale marble version go on display at the 1889 Exposition Universelle, but it didn’t come to pass. The sculpture’s first public display was delayed till 1898, in the Salon de la Société des Beaux-Arts. So popular was it, the Barbedienne company offered Rodin a contract to make a limited supply of smaller bronze versions.

In 1900, the sculpture went to the Musée de Luxembourg, and was taken to its current home, the Musée Rodin, in 1918.

Unusual for the era, Rodin sculpted his women as full, equal, receptive partners in romantic and erotic acts, not submissive, passive puppets with dominant men. Because of the sculpture’s overt eroticism, it was very controversial. A bronze version was refused public display at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago, and hidden in an inner chamber accessible only after personal application.

Paolo has an erection in the original life-sized sculpture, which made it even more controversial.

Copyright Jean-Pierre Dalbéra

Francesca and Paolo have been depicted in countless paintings, sculptures, operas, plays, songs, symphonic poems, and other works of art and music over the centuries.

The Fleishhacker Pool and the French Concession of Shanghai

San Francisco’s Fleishhacker Pool was built in 1924 by philanthropist and financier Herbert Fleishhacker. Its grand opening was 22 April 1925. The pool was 1,000 x 150 feet (300 x 50 meters), and held 6,500,000 gallons (25,000,000 liters) of heated seawater pumped in from the Pacific Ocean.

Since the pool was so immense (with room for 10,000 people), lifeguards used rowboats. During WWII, it was used for training servicepeople. This was one of the world’s largest pools.

A diving pool was fifteen feet (4.5 meters) deep and fifty square feet (fifteen meters). Both pools heated 2,800 gallons a minute from 60 to 75ºF.

In 1929, it gained a new neighbor, Fleishhacker Zoo (now the San Francisco Zoo).

The grand opening hosted an Amateur Athletic Union swim meet, with 5,000 spectators. One of the swimmers was Johnny Weissmuller, representing the Illinois Athletic Club. Weissmuller returned to Fleishhacker Pool for many future swims, and always drew a crowd.

Other famous swimmers who frequented the pool were Esther Williams and Ann Curtis.

The general opening was 1 May 1925, and drew 5,000 patrons. Adults and teens paid a quarter, while those under age twelve paid fifteen cents. This fee not only allowed them use of the pool, but also a rented swimsuit and large towel (sterilized between uses) and a huge dressing room with showers.

There were also a cafeteria, childcare area, and a tree-lined miniature beach.

Sadly, the pool went into disrepair and decline, and a January 1971 storm was the straw which broke the camel’s back. The repairs cost too much money, and an attempt to convert it to a freshwater pool failed due to uncontrolled algae.

In June 1971, it closed forever.

My characters Nadezhda Lebedeva and Vsevolod Smirnov go to the Fleishhacker Pool during their exhilarating first full day in America in April 1933, after their visit to the Emporium department store. Among their purchases were swimsuits.

Nadezhda, who’s just been released from twelve years in Siberia, can’t remember the last time she went swimming, and Vsevolod, who’s lived his entire life in the small Siberian town of Bulun, has never gone swimming.

It’s been so long since Nadezhda last visited a public bath, she’s forgotten it’s customary to offer rental swimsuits as part of the entry fee. She feels buyer’s remorse for the swimsuit she bought, since that money could’ve been spent on more important things.

Copyright Alan Levine; Source

The French Concession of Shanghai was formed 6 April 1849, in a narrow area around the Old City, south of the British Concession. In 1861, a strip of riverside land east of the Old City was added to enable the building of a dock for French–Chinese shipping.

Starting in the 1860s, “extra-settlement” roads outside the concession began being added.  The first of these roads connected the Old City’s western gate to a Catholic stronghold in Zi-ka-wei (Xujiahui). This enabled French troops to swiftly move between the areas.

In 1899, the concession doubled in size, and in 1913, France gained police and tax powers over the extra roads. In return, France could evict Chinese revolutionaries in this territory. This gave France control over an area fifteen times larger than the original grant.

The French Concession was Shanghai’s most exclusive area by the 1920s. It attracted not only upper-class Chinese and French, but many foreigners. Many luxury apartments were built as the demand for housing grew.

White Russian émigrés brought the Russian population from 41 in 1915 to 7,000 after the Revolution and Civil War. By 1934, it was 8,260. Many Russian employees of the Chinese Eastern Railway fled after the Japanese occupation of northeast China.

Shanghai also became a haven for European Jewish refugees, since it was one of the few places in the world which didn’t require an entry visa or work permit.

Copyright stevechasmar

Just before the outbreak of the Second Sino–Japanese War in 1937, the native Chinese population had grown to 500,000. During WWII, they continued coming to the French Concession to escape the Japanese occupation. They eventually numbered 825,342.

On 30 July 1943, Vichy France handed the French Concession over to the puppet Wang Jingwei government. In February 1946, France gave up all her Chinese concessions.

Avenue Joffre police station; Copyright Fayhoo

My character Inga Savvina defects to the French Concession from Vladivostok in June 1942. Her grandfather and a Navy vice admiral arrange for her to be smuggled onto a Pacific Fleet ship, wearing a nurse’s uniform.

Vice Admiral Agapov handles the Japanese officials at the Huangpo River port, and accompanies Inga a short distance inland. Left on her own, she approaches a non-Chinese couple and speaks to them in the elementary French her grandfather taught her.

She’s taken to Avenue Joffre, where most of the Russians live, and put up in the home of White émigrés who help her gain passage to America to meet the father who has no idea she exists.

Drancy

My IWSG post is here.


Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-B10919 / Wisch / CC-BY-SA 3.0

Drancy was an internment camp in a northeastern Parisian suburb of the same name, in use through 20 August 1941–17 August 1944. It began life as La Cité de la Muette (The Silent City), a luxury high-rise, U-shaped apartment complex, among the first of its type in France.

Instead, it was taken over as police headquarters at the start of WWII, and then turned into a transit camp. An estimated 70,000 people passed through during its four years of operation.

Only 1,542 survivors were found when the Allies liberated it.

Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-B10920 / Wisch / CC-BY-SA 3.0

Over time, Drancy grew to include five sub-camps. Initially, it was run by French police, but the Germans took over on 3 July 1943. In spite of the change in command, French police continued to arrest people and bring them to Drancy.

The vast majority of detainees were Jewish, but there was a very small percentage of political prisoners. Most of the latter were in the French Resistance.

Drancy was only designed to hold 700 people, but it housed 7,000 at its height. Many survivors testified to the brutality of the French guards, and how children were immediately separated from their families.

Some Drancy prisoners were killed in retaliation for French attacks on the occupying Germans.

Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-B10917 / CC-BY-SA 3.0

Sixty-eight of the seventy-nine deportations of French Jews (with a small minority of political prisoners mixed in) set out from Drancy, starting 27 March 1942. All but six went to Auschwitz. The other destinations were Majdanek, Sobibór, Kaunas, Tallinn, and Buchenwald.

Of the 73,853 known deportees, 46,802 were gassed upon arrival. Only 913 women and 1,647 men were known to survive by 1945.

Copyright Reinhardhauke

Famous internees included artist and writer Max Jacob (who died in Drancy), Dutch painter Max van Dam, writer Tristan Bernard, choreographer René Blum, and German artist Charlotte Salomon.

After the war, survivors filed charges against fifteen of the French gendarmes who ran Drancy. Ten were put on trial, three of whom fled before proceedings began. The other seven insisted they were just following orders, in spite of the numerous testimonies about their brutality.

All ten were found guilty, though the court ruled they’d been rehabilitated by “acts of active, effective, and sustained participation in Resistance against the enemy.” Two of them were sentenced to two years of prison and five years of national indignity. After one year, they were pardoned.

Copyright Ykmyks

In 1976, sculptor Shelomo Selinger (now 89 years old), a Polish-born Shoah survivor, unveiled a three-part rose granite memorial which was two years in the making. There’s also an authentic railcar on permanent display.

Disgustingly, on 20 January 2005, anti-Semites set some of the railcars on fire and left a tract with an swastika, signed “Bin Laden.” On 11 April 2009, a swastika was painted on the remaining railcar.

Source

Source

My characters Darya Koneva and Oliivia Kalvik are taken to Drancy after participating in an anti-Nazi protest in Paris in October 1942. They’re among the very small minority of non-Jewish political prisoners.

During their three weeks in Drancy, Darya and Oliivia sleep on wet straw and a hard wooden mattress, with only a thin blanket, and eat lousy rations. Drancy makes Darya long for her early years in a Lower East Side tenement.

As soon as they get the opportunity, they volunteer for transport to the mythical Pitchipoi they keep hearing about. On 4 November, their journey to Hell begins, and they discover Pitchipoi doesn’t exist. Auschwitz is referred to as not-Pitchipoi, Planet Pitchipoi, and Pitchipoi 99% of the time, both in the text and Darya and Oliivia’s speech.

When Darya’s future husband Andrey asks about this, she says it’s her way of dealing with that ugliness and evil. If she doesn’t use the real name, she won’t be confronted by cruel reality.

2017 in Review (Books read)

Some of the books I read in 2017 were:

I highly recommend this book by a fellow Pittsburgher. It tells the amazing story of how, of all the 27 known hominin species who’ve walked Planet Earth, Homo sapiens sapiens emerged as the only one left standing. (Hominin is the more scientifically up-to-date term, and refers to both anatomically modern humans and our ancestors. Hominids are modern and extinct great apes, and include non-human primates such as orangutans, chimps, and gorillas.)

So many seemingly little things, like neoteny (having a childlike appearance into adulthood), a shortened gestational period, and the development of a sense of right and wrong, led to major evolutionary advantages contributing to our survival and emergence as the world’s most dominant species.

The book also examines the other hominins who’ve walked the Earth, some of whom have only recently been discovered. A number of these hominins inhabited the Earth at the same time, contrary to the formerly-held beliefs casting human evolution as a simple, direct line of descent.

Our 26 cousins may be long gone, but at least two of them, the Neanderthals and Denisovans, live on in the DNA of those of us with European and/or Asian ancestry.

By hashgacha pratit (Divine Providence), the authors (a married couple) had just had twins when their proposal for this book was accepted in 2007, and decided to take some time off to focus on their babies. Had they gone ahead and written this book by the September 2008 deadline, it would’ve immediately become obsolete. So many amazing new discoveries have come to light in the years since.

This book can feel a bit academic at times (esp. the sections on stone tool-making), but I really enjoyed it. There’s also a section on Neanderthal tourism, listing museums and archaeological sites linked to our awesome, unfairly maligned cousins.

The authors are committed to accurately portraying Neanderthals and trying to undo the damage from over a century of slander and misinformation. Like them, I can’t stand when someone with no knowledge of paleoanthropology uses the word Neanderthal as a synonym for stupid, brutish, unenlightened, behind the times, grotesque, etc.

The Neanderthals were good people, the closest cousins we ever had. Many Homo sapiens sapiens aren’t as kind, helpful, and loyal as Neanderthals were.

This book introduced me to the modern development of spelling Neanderthal without an H. It’s because the modern spelling of the German word thal (valley) is tal. I’ve long pronounced the name without an H (since that is the authentic pronunciation), but it’s a little harder to adapt to the new spelling as well.

This book examines the paleoanthropological and cognitive science evidence to show how Neanderthals may have thought about many things (family, love, hunting, security, etc.). They also speculate on what Neanderthals may have dreamt about, and how they used symbolism and language.

This book presents a cultural history of Chanukah in the U.S., going from the Colonial era to the modern day. Chanukah didn’t become a prominent public holiday, or associated with gift-giving, until about the mid-20th century, for reasons we can probably all figure out.

The book also examines the history of Judaism in America in general over the last few centuries, and how hard it was to maintain a religious lifestyle as a minority. Many Christians in the 18th, 19th, and even early 20th centuries matter-of-factly pressured their Jewish friends and neighbors to convert.

As late as the 1940s, it was perfectly legal to have numerus clausus (anti-Semitic education quotas), employment restrictions, limitations on where one could reside, bans on staying by hotels, and many other barriers to the Jewish community’s full, equal participation in American life.

Women were one of the primary forces in shaping Chanukah into an American holiday, since that was one of the relative few religious rituals they could perform in that era. This wasn’t a time when most Jewish women could expect to have a full religious education or role in public life.

The embrace of Chanukah as a major holiday also perfectly illustrated its lessons of staying true to one’s identity and resisting conversion attempts. Chanukah falls at a time of year when we’re most keenly aware of our minority status.

I enjoyed this memoir, one of several books I’ve read about Easy Company since watching the Band of Brothers mini-series. I love how Sgt. Malarkey noticed the exact same thing about the Stephen Ambrose book as I and many other readers did, how he focused WAY too much on bit player David Kenyon Webster!

The WWII generation is dying out, and Sgt. Malarkey himself passed away this September. We’re so lucky so many of them have left behind memoirs and recorded testimonies.

This was a cute collection of Dr. Seuss’s early cartoons and stories, many from college newspapers and humor magazines of the 1920s and 1930s. He wrote and drew many of these under the name Dr. Theophrastus Seuss. A particularly strange story is about his purported sex ed lessons to his nephew, where he says a whole lot of nothing.

I really enjoyed this book about the women of Paris during WWII and the early postwar years. It covers women from all walks of life, who did all sorts of things during the war. There are sheroes as well as victims and women with complicated actions. Some of them never had normal lives again, even the survivors or the ones who were rehabilitated after suffering national degradation.

Real history is often much more complicated than declaring such and such a person or action 100% good or 100% evil. There are so many shades of grey.

A triple dose of antique horror

Welcome back to my yearly October series on classic horror films celebrating landmark anniversaries! This year, I’m starting off with three Georges Méliès films from 1897, and will also be fêting The Unknown (1927), The Mummy (1932), Häxan (1922), The Lodger (1927), Freaks (1932), The Cat and the Canary (1927), Phantom (1922), Vampyr (1932), Hilde Warren und der Tod (1917), the lost Lon Chaney, Sr., films London After Midnight (1927) and A Blind Bargain (1922), and Nosferatu (1922).

Let’s get started!

Le Château Hanté was released as The Devil’s Castle in the U.S., and The Haunted Castle in the U.K. In spite of its British title, it’s not one and the same as the world’s first horror film, the 1896 Méliès film I featured last year.

Two men enter a castle, one dressed in red and the other in brown. The man in brown offers his friend a seat which moves away. When the man in red goes to fetch the chair, it turns into a ghost, a skeleton, and a knight in armor. When it disappears, the man is confronted by Satan, and his escape route is blocked by a ghost.

This film was Méliès’s first collaboration with Elisabeth Thuillier, who ran an all-women’s film coloring lab in Paris. They worked together till 1912, when he left filmmaking. This is also the second Méliès film featuring Satan.

The Bewitched Inn (L’Auberge Ensorcelée) features Méliès as a traveller who can’t get any rest in his hotel room, as he’s beset by obstacle after obstacle in his quest to change into pyjamas and crawl into bed. His clothes and the furniture all vanish, fly up to the ceiling, or move around the room. His candle also explodes. He finally gives up and leaves.

This is the first known Méliès film to feature inanimate objects coming to life, something he did many times in his films. The theme is very similar to 1896’s A Terrible Night (which I discussed last year), and would be used again (with considerable expansion) in 1903’s The Inn Where No Man Rests.

The special effects were achieved through substitution splice, wherein the camera would stop as something was added, changed, or removed. Méliès used this technique many times. The inanimate objects were animated with wires, and the exploding candle used pyrotechnics.

Sadly, Le Cabinet de Méphistophélès (alternately titled The Devil’s Laboratory, The Cabinet of Mephistopheles, and Laboratory of Mephistopheles) is lost. Only about 200 of his 520 films are known to survive.

Out of anger and frustration at his financial ruin and fall into obscurity, Méliès burnt many of his negatives. In 1917, the French Army occupied his office and melted down many others for celluloid (boot heels) and silver (ammo). The rest were lost due to the all-too-familiar deterioration of nitrate.

As suggested by the title, the story was inspired by Faust, and is believed to be the very first film adaptation of this timeless story. It’s also believed to be Méliès’s very first literary adaptation.

The synopsis says Mephistopheles cavorts about in various disguises before revealing his true self. Along the way, he does magic tricks, presumably objects appearing, disappearing, and moving around. I’d also assume Méliès plays Mephistopheles.