Arts and Music: The Farting Man

By Jennifer Linforth

So. I was going to blog on opera until I added dates wrong in my third book and all hell broke loose. This led to the discovery of a major historical event that I now must write around. After much cussing and a husband who ran for the hills (for a dyscalculic author on a research rampage is never a pretty picture)I stumbled upon the farting man.

I will pause here to let that sink in.

Yes...the farting man. He was famous in 19th century Paris. So famous, he sold out the Moulin Rouge time and time again because of his unique--instrument.

Joseph Pujol was Le Petomane. He was an ordinary man, apprenticed to a baker at age 13, and owned his own business. While a young man in the national service, he entertained his friends by his unusual talent of inhaling water through his bum and shooting in out in a giant stream. Later he discovered he could do the same with just air.

If you can imagine for a moment a man headlining this act in a century where you didn't even speak of such things, let alone place them in print. But nonetheless, in 1892 Pujol convinced M. Vidler of the Moulin Rouge to put him on stage.

He wore a flamboyant costume of red and took the state prefacing each...act...with a description. Such as "this is a bride on her wedding night" (a small passing of air). Or..."this is a cannon" (loud thunderous...um...sound). Reports say the audience didn't know what to make of it until, once it settled in, they were rolling in the aisles in laughter. Women apparently had to be escorted outside for air. They were laughing so hard they were passing out in their corsets.

Pujol billed at the Moulin until 1914. Twenty-two years of farts. (Yes, I did that math right.) Upon his retirement, when he toured Europe and North Africa with his act, he settled in Toulon and opened a thriving biscuit factory.

You can't make this stuff up!

It all makes me wonder what the audience was thinking especially since this has been a important week for the stage. After all, Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom sequel Love Never Dies premiered in London to rather unsatisfactory reviews. I wonder what folks were tweeting about as they sat through that show.

I lay odds if the folks were tweeting in their seats at Pujol's performance they'd say: "It's a gas."

Arts and Music: Glenn Miller

By Carrie Lofty

Big Band music skyrocketed in popularity in the 1920s and 30s, reaching its zenith during WWII. An estimated $90 million was spent on live club music entertainment in 1938 alone. While this dollar amount went down during the war years, that didn't mean that the Big Band craze had waned. It was just that all the boys had gone off to fight!

At the close of the first war draft session in 1942, Benny Goodman had lost all but four of his orchestra. Retirees and women soon filled the ranks, and many of those bands traveled the country on USO Camp Shows to entertain the troops and stump for war bonds. On occasion band leaders themselves were drafted or volunteered. One of the most famous was Alton Glenn Miller, born in 1904 in Clarinda, Iowa.

After enduring years of obscurity, Miller and his musicians played their famous Glen Island Casino gig in New Rochelle, New York. At that spring of '39 gig, they performed for over 1800 people. His popularity became a phenomenon. Time noted in late 1939: "Of the twelve to 24 discs in each of today's 300,000 U.S. jukeboxes, from two to six are usually Glenn Miller's." Some of those famous tunes were "Tuxedo Junction," "Chattanooga Choo-Choo," and his signature composition, "Moonlight Serenade."

In 1940, he was offered a 15-minute radio program once a week, with Chesterfield Cigarettes as the sponsor. Chesterfield was so concerned about Miller's maverick sound and raging young fans that they also booked the "safe" Andrews Sisters. That engagement was quickly bumped up to three times weekly. Eventually he went on to star alongside his musicians in the films Sun Valley Serenade and Orchestra Wives, released by Twentieth Century Fox in 1941 and 1942 respectively. Other classic hits followed as well, including "Pennsylvania 6-5000" and my personal favorite, "Sun Valley Jump."

That proved the height of his civilian career. In 1942, too old to be drafted, he appealed to join the US Army and hoped to established what he imagined as the first "modern" Army band. Transferred to the US Army Air Force with the rank of captain, he took his 50-piece band overseas and performed more than 800 shows for GIs and Allied soldiers. His popularity was thought to appeal to the German people as well. His lead vocalist, Johnny Desmond, sang many tunes in German, and Miller himself made German appeals to end the fighting. All of his wartime recordings in England were done at the famous Abbey Road Studios.

On December 15, 1944, Miller boarded a plane with the intention of meeting his band in newly-liberated Paris. They were to perform before a live audience, which would also be broadcast as a Christmas special back home in the States. His plane never arrived and he was eventually declared missing in action. His band carried on without him and performed the concert in his memory. They premiered "Little Brown Jug," which had been meant as a Christmas present for Miller's wife of sixteen years, Helen. She loved the song and had prodded him for years to do an updated arrangement.

Beyond the possibility of having crashed amidst heavy fog over the English Channel, other theories have been raised to explain his disappearance. The most widely accepted was that an air raid squadron, back from an aborted mission, dropped bomb payloads in the Channel over a designated spot. (Bombers had to discharge their cargo or risk explosion upon landing.) Another theory was that it was shot down by an anti-aircraft battery outside of Folkestone, England. The most convoluted was that, because Miller spoke German, he had been given a secret mission by Eisenhower to try and turn certain German officers toward the cause of peace, and that he was killed in a brothel in Paris. All reports of a crash, according to this scintillating theory, were part of a government cover-up.

Miller left behind Helen and their two young adopted children, Steven and Jonnie. He also left behind a legacy of music that few would ever top. His legacy was cemented with 1954's The Glenn Miller Story, starring fellow WWII Air Force volunteer, Jimmy Stewart (below). But that was the same year when Bill Haley recorded "Rock Around the Clock." Big Band would never be the same, and with only a few exceptions throughout the following years, it would never be the domain of young people again.

Places You've Never Heard Of: The Catacombs of Paris

By Jennifer Linforth

There is nothing quite like shoving your heroine in a catacomb. I love my heroine, my editor loves my heroine, readers tell me they love my heroine...

But sometimes you have to wonder what is in a writer's head. There is a method to my madness just as there are certain places on this earth that simply cannot be described. One is the Catacombs of Paris--the tunnels beneath the city that house endless twists, turns--and souls.

Created at the end of the 18th century when the Cemetery of the Innocent was discovered to be the source of disease, and multiple complaints were filed against it, the Council of State ordered the removal of the deceased. But where the blazes do you put the bones? The removal and creation of the catacombs began on April 7, 1786 and was continued until 1788. It happened at night with great ceremony. Priests sang, while carts bogged down with bones draped in black cloth made their way to the highways underground.

Creepy dark places are magnets for the bizarre. In 1787, Lord of d' Artois, (Charles X), would bring his court ladies down there for a rip-roaring good time (there is fiction fodder for you). According to the museum in Paris such figures as Madame de Polignac and Madame de Guiche visited and in 1814, Francis 1st, emperor of Austria, had to see the creepy stuff for himself. In 1860, Napoleon III went down there with his son—male bonding you know.

Visitors to Paris can tour the Catacombs and the intricate bone walls. The remains of around six million souls reside down there. They are laid out in macabre patterns and piles...a network of graffiti on the walls helps to guide folks on their 'walks.' So why the bloody hell would I want to shove my heroine in a place like this? I reference these catacombs in MADRIGAL--they play a rather significant role--and then use them in book two. (Different city...seems creepy places are all over Europe.) I just can't get past the allure of them. If you were to hide from the authorities, wouldn't that be a perfect spot? Miles of pitch-black, water-filled tunnels, mapped only to a degree...the perfect place to wait out a winter if you ask me. Cold--but at least you would have company.

Eyeless company but company nonetheless

Expansion & Invasion: I Was 11 During the Franco-Prussian War...

By Jennifer Linforth

I was eleven when I saw the first wrinkle of worry crack the well-crafted mask of indifference that was my brother's face.

All my younger years my brother, Philippe Georges Marie, the Comte de Chagny, was in charge. A philanthropist, womanizer and pillar of Paris, an outrageous risk taker and man of irreproachable conscience and heart—he was always smiling, always in control never--fearful.

Never, until the echo of Prussian boots fell upon the muddy streets of Paris, dull against the cobbles yet echoing loudly the change that was to come. The eighteenth of January was the day a new German empire was declared at Versailles, a place of revelry for my brother and his kin, a place where I, as the Vicomte de Chagny, longed to one day roam.

I would not be roaming there during the winter of my eleventh year.

The comte tried to explain to me best he could why several enormous armies were established in France's provinces--this in light of the German blockade of Paris. All I knew was I could not go to the city I so adored as a child. I could not taste youthful pleasure in the seat of a salon. I could not dine at my favorite cafés. My estate became my prison. Chateau de Changy became a tomb as we avoided being seen outside its marbled walls. The French troops were marching toward Paris, I was told, to attack the Germans from all sides.

The Germans were ill-pleased. They bombarded my beloved city, which only tightened our French resolve. "We will prevail, mon frere." My brother's words were the only thing keeping my youthful and rash head from leaping upon my horse and joining the ranks. Within a few weeks time war broke out across my country as the German armies lay scattered--for they were not prepared for an occupation the of the whole of France.

I thought we had prevailed. How wrong I was. My eleven-year-old mind could not comprehend the months that had passed since January, and by October 10th fighting erupted near Orléans. I remember the wrinkles deepening upon my brother's brow as he received word of the battle from Duc de Orléans. Would Chagny be next? The Germans were victorious as first--making my heart sink like a hunk of lead--until word came that my countrymen were triumphant at Coulmiers. At last! A light had cracked in the gloom of this war and November looked to belong to France. But the Germans--well-trained, numerous, with their needle guns--joined their forces from north to south and my countrymen abandoned Orléans by bleak and white December.

War continued until January of 1871. Paris was starving, innocent people--unprivileged, like I--were left in the cold streets, and my brother's ami, Jules Favre, traveled to Versailles to discuss peace with Bismark.

By now, I was approaching my twelfth year, and Bismark was a name I hated.

France was victorious in these talks--to a degree. Bismark permitted food convoys to enter Paris and I was left slightly guilty, for my belly was never empty through all this. Chagny had is secret stores--for didn't all nobility have secrets kept from the coffers of their governments? Bismark placed conditions on this aid--the Government of the National Defense was to surrender key fortresses outside of Paris to his Prussian army. Opposed, but realistic they could not defend Paris without their forts, the Government gave in. Our president resigned. Favre took over.

He surrendered two days later...

It would not be until 10th May that the Treaty of Frankfurt was signed and the war ended. Yet it would not be over not for those with titles to our name.

Paris was changed. Our government was changed. I watched The Commune rise. I avoided the dungeons, the anger, and the resentment of the lower class thanks to my brother. As I grew into my title, my title would grow to a fossil of a bygone era thanks to the first dull echoes of Prussian boots on muddy cobbles.

Many years later I would see the Communard dungeons deep below in the cellars of the Opera Garnier. I would not be placed there by the lower class Parisians resentful of my titled name. I would be shackled and chained there by a deviant madman--a Phantom of the Opera. But that is a story for another time. Until then, I would leave my legacy carved on the cold stone walls....

R. C.

It was then, the first wrinkle of worry cracked the well-crafted mask of indifference that was my face...

~Raoul Jean-Paul Marie, Vicomte de Chagny.

Social Movements: The Bohemians

By Jennifer Linforth

Degenerates are not always criminals. Anarchist and pronounced lunatics; They are often authors and artists ~ Max Nordan, Degeneration

I have spent the last three years in a dark and foreboding world far below the Paris streets. I have been wholly absorbed in researching the undergrounds of society to bring to life a little known man who was not a tight-tooshed Scotsman in a tiny white half-mask, but an ardent (yet completely insane) gentleman who lurked behind a full black mask and hid his murderously vengeful habits in the counter-culture of Paris.

You may all step away to read Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera now. I'll wait...

No social movement was more prevalent in Paris of the late 19th century where my debut historical romance, Madrigal: A Novel of Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera is set then that of the Bohemian. The Bohemian movement was a counter culture effort to reject the values of mainstream Paris and mock the upwardly mobile bourgeoisie. While the Bohemian moment is not something overly prevalent in Leroux's original novel (or mine) it was a culture that influenced Paris in the Victorian era—whether you were a journalist, lawyer, aristocrat or artist. Those involved were not the upper class or the deviants of the underground, but the writers, students and artists who contented themselves with ignoring the social ladder-climbing around them.

The terms boheme and bohemian came to denote a generation that hated money and the work ethic. Bohemians were portrayed as vagabonds, misfits, drunks, philosophers and narcissists. The lifestyle was associated with idleness. Public opinion of the Bohemian movement was solidified after du Mauier's best selling novel of Bohemian culture: Trilby was published in 1894. (Ironically, this body of work closely resembles Leroux's original novel in other cultural ways mostly in the views of Svengali the Austria Jew, a social deviant who seduces a young singer and molds her to be the gem of society.)

Bohemians lived by their own sets of rules--they were wanderers of the most extreme extent. Social values were not their concern. Their lives were carefree events filled with drink, merriment, the arts and sexual freedom. They usually did not work, but poured themselves into living solely for the sake of art and literature. Renouncing private property made them glaringly different from the bourgeoisie that desired nothing more than to achieve the status of the aristocracy. Members of the culture shared this life with others in communal camps, an area I have had great delight in exploring in my body of works. Who can resist a vagabond who carries all his wealth with him and hangs his hat wherever the road may take him? What stories must they have?

The daily routine for a Bohemian might be to rise and work on a painting or poem. But the goal was not to be productive, rather to enjoy the salons, seek the latest sexual encounter and simply enjoy one’s company. You could spot a Bohemian (if the long hair and pockets overflowing with all they owned did not give it away) by their out of date fashions and clothes in glaring colors.

Bohemians were not just men; women joined the movement too. For women, it was the allure of freedom that called to them. Women of the mindset did not want to be ruled by marriage and it took a great deal for them to leave behind the stability that such a life might have offered. It was harder to break the ties with their former lives because women were encouraged to be respectable and upstanding individuals. These Grisettes were young women usually of the countryside who headed to Paris to find work--but Bohemia found them. They were carefree and longed for the best of both worlds: the money of the upper class and the thrill of being considered an equal in the eyes of the Bohemian man.

Though there are plenty of types of Bohemian cultures found in the 21st century, I think it would be fascinating to explore Bohemia of 19th Century Paris. Perhaps pour some absinthe from my earlier blog and wander to the Opera Garnier for a show. Then, drunk with daring, head toward the Cour de Miracles to see Paris culture in all its opposite glory.

Anyone up for a ride? What social movement would you like to see first hand?

(Photo by Adolphe-William Bouguereau: The Bohemian 1890, Oil on canvas, The Minneapolis Institute of Arts)

Paris After the Liberation

As a writer of historical fiction, it's often difficult to settle on a specific time and date for a book's setting. For my last book of Warring Hearts, my WWII trilogy, I decided to set my story after the liberation of Paris. This of course led me to research. I checked out several books but relied on Paris - After the Liberation - 1944 to 1949 by Antony Beevor and Artemis Cooper for understanding the 'feel' and 'attitudes' of the Parisians. The quotes in this article are from this book.

My story is a historical romance fiction, so of course, the main storyline is about Richard Hart and Claire O'Neill's relationship. Yet, it's important for the writer to transport the reader 'back in time', to give the reader a sense of place. Paris in the spring of 1945 isn't the same Paris I visited this spring. So, how does a writer sprinkle in the historical atmosphere without giving the reader a history lesson? Observations from my character's POV is one way to set the mood.

What would an American in Paris witness during this time?

Foreigners returning received a slightly different impression, not one of external dilapidation, but of an internal decay while the exterior remained untouched. Isaiah Berlin wrote to a friend: "Paris seemed terrifying to me--cold and abnormally clean and empty and more beautiful than I have ever seen a city to be...but empty and hollow and dead, like an exquisite corpse; the metaphor is vile and commonplace, but I can think of nothing else." And Susan Mary Patten, the wife of an American diplomat, wrote that "it was like looking at a Canova death mask."

This is a paragraph from my WIP, from Claire's POV:

Tension formed tiny crinkles around his mouth, his eyes shaded by his sunglasses. Claire grasped his hand, needing to feel him. Hollow, this is how she viewed Paris. Cold, clean and empty. It's as if the Nazis ripped the very soul from the city and left a clean and beautiful vacant movie set.

Rationing remained in effect. A city of contrast, the black market thrived, and if a person had the money, they could live rather well.

"The Ritz," noted the British Ambassador, "looked exactly as it did prewar with Mrs. Corrigan sitting in one corner of it."

There champagne flowed freely and residents dined well. For everyone else, daily life for the lower classes contrasted sharply. They'd come to expect electrical outages, no telephone services, shortages of paper, soap, food and coal. Candles were in constant need, fake coffee called gazeux was served in cafes, shops were empty or closed down. There were no goods to sell. Parisians wore wooden soled shoes (no rubber available) that made a funny clamping sound on the streets, the women wore short dresses and outrageous hats. An early spring followed the harsh winter that year, and yet, faces remained bitter and closed down.

From my WIP: Claire observed the strollers taking in the spring day. The harsh winter brought in a early spring. The wisteria and lilacs bloomed, the chestnut trees blossomed. The air held a faint sweet scent. The women paraded in outrageous hats, made of bits of wire, bird nests, feather, every found object imaginable. Their only creative form of expression since rationing forced them into drab, short dresses, mended and patched.

There are many ways to sprinkle in the history and mood of the period in which you are writing. It's what I admire in great writers of fiction. It doesn't have to be a historical book, either. The Kite Runner transported me to Afghanistan, and gave me insight into their culture. I developed a better understanding of the country.

This is what I hope to do when I sit down to write a historical fiction. Give the reader not only a sense of place, but an understanding of the culture.

Happy Reading!
Vicki

P.S: The photo is my mom and dad at a nightclub during the war! I know it doesn't have anything to do with Paris, but their picture represents the style of the time. *g*
http://www.vickigaia.com/

Paris Architecture

I've decided to set my last Warring Hearts book in Paris after the liberation from the Nazis in August 1944. Mainly because I was able to visit Paris in May, and I enjoy writing about a place where I've been. What struck me about Paris is how different it is in 'feel' from London. It struck me as 'clean and bright'. Perhaps it's brighter because it's modern in comparison, with its bold, wide boulevards and stately 19th century buildings.

After the French Revolution, and around 1815, neo-classicism began to dominate Paris architecture. Under the Second Empire, Paris was transformed. The main emphasis was on the streets, and everything radiated from the center at the costs of thousands of demolitions. Haussmann was the big man around town when Napoleon III called on him to renovate Paris in 1853. The center point of Paris began at the Place de l'Etoile, and radiated in straight avenues throughout the city. Napoleon III had his reasons for this massive renovation of his city. He wanted to prevent another revolution by making it harder to build barricades. Another goal of his was to make it easier to control the flow of traffic and encourage economic growth. To protect the city from another revolution, Haussmann tore up many of the old, twisting streets and run- down apartments. He replaced them with wide tree-lined streets and gardens. It made it difficult for revolutionaries to hide or to escape from the guards. It also must have been difficult for the French Resistance to hide from the Gestapo during those dark times.

Very little is left of the pre-Haussmann era...the Latin Quarter, Montmartre, and the center of the city, namely the Le Marais, L’île de la cite and l’île Saint-Louis. The hill preserved Montmartre from the chopping block, and even today, it retains its 'village' charm. Once a famous artist community, Pissaro, Picasso, Degas, and many others lived and worked there.

"Interesting, as a side note, that Haussmann’s influence is still seen on the most mundane level, too. At periodic intervals each day, water gushes from manmade artesian springs to wash the gutters of Paris’s streets and boulevards -- a Haussman innovation, some would say obsession for transforming the Paris of old to a clean city..."

Richard Hart and Claire O'Neill are going to meet up in Paris - my main characters of Warring Hearts. Its in the City of Lights where they'll come to terms with their love after five years of enduring separation, and the hardships of a world at war.

Paris is a city where love is celebrated. For Richard and Claire, will love be enough?

Vicki Gaia
http://www.vickigaia.com