French city-dwellers live differently than do French farmers. A glorious proliferation of springtime holidays, the French Open, and especially the Cannes Film Festival all drive home this point, emphatically. Springtime in France is littered with events that only city-dwellers can follow; most farmers are too busy tended their fields, vineyards, or orchards even to notice.

One of my favorite photos from the Cannes Film Festival dates from 1971 and marks its fortieth anniversary this year.

The photo shows Keith Richards, longtime companion Anita Pallenberg, their children (presumably, although given the ages maybe not children they had together), various onlookers, and the palm trees that line the Cannes boardwalk.

Richards and family are on their way to the screening of “Gimme Shelter“, a documentary concert film built around the Rolling Stones that dramatically illustrates what can go wrong amidst poor planning or organization, circa 1970. (It’s neither a happy movie nor a protest film.)

In the photo, Richards and family are more upbeat and arguably more relaxed than the concert film they’re about to see. I love the photo because it’s so relaxed, yet stylish. Palm trees, a cigarette, a sun hat, a sunset. The family travels on foot, not in a limousine. She’s carrying a child; he’s carrying what looks like a purse.

What I like most in the photo is the young boy’s expression, particularly how his happy exuberance contrasts with the taut impatience of the tuxedoed photographer in the background. (The two children appear more engaged with their surroundings and the spectacle than their parents, who strike me as vacant or not wholly present.)

I’m not sure who the boy is, and I haven’t been able to identify the photographer, for attribution; the image is catalogued in the Bettmann archive.

self-portrait at Louvre

Every month, the Louvre chooses a “painting of the month”, which is displayed in Salle 18.

From June through September, the Louvre has chosen a self-portrait by Elisabeth-Sophie Chéron. Summer visitors to Paris: rejoice! This is a rare chance to become acquainted with a remarkable artist.

I must have dozed off in art history class when Chéron was discussed, because I became acquainted with her work years after my college days.

An introduction to Chéron:

• born 1648, died 1711
• protestant father, catholic mother; brother Louis, also an artist, settled in England after the revocation on Nantes made life difficult for protestants in France
• won acclaim as a painter for portraits, including the two self-portraits in this post, done while Chéron was in her 20s
• admitted into the Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture in 1672, when Chéron was in her 30s
• also a celebrated writer and poet; most of her work had religious or Biblical themes
• good with languages : French, Latin, Greek, Hebrew
• for her writings, was inducted into the Accademia dei Ricovrati in Padua, which seems to have had a practice of admitting French women because they would not attend Academy proceedings in person
• also an accomplished musician
• married after her childbearing years were over

self-portrait at musée condé, chantilly

The text is clearly stated (in French). Pictograms accompany the text, but they lack clarity. They illustrate different sorts of handicap: people who are deaf, blind, wheelchair-bound.

The fourth pictogram leaves me puzzled. By elimination, it seems to illustrate mental handicaps and possibly alludes to people with Down’s syndrome. But it looks like a pair of masks, suggesting actors. And as one face is black and the other white, the pictogram also inadvertently makes all sorts of awkward ethnic allusions, suggesting handicap among foreigners, people of color, pale people, or multi-racial couples.

There’s a world of difference between the two expressions. Giving connotes generosity, whereas abandonment suggests cowardice. We do speak of “giving up the fight”, which suggests surrender in a manner akin to abandoning a struggle. But differences remain: the English expression hints of a struggle put aside, whereas the French expressions sounds a pejorative note, similar to desertion.

France has a long offered preferential options to abortion or infanticide. Under the French revolution, a 1793 law provided for state funding for medical care of women giving birth, continuing “until she be fully recovered from labor” (“jusqu’à ce qu’elle soit parfaitement rétablie de ses couches“).

In France, women giving birth have long been able to opt for anonymity, or, put differently, to opt out of motherhood. The 1793 law mentioned above mandated that “secrecy of the most inviolable sort shall be preserved in all matters concerning her [the woman giving birth]” (“Le secret le plus absolue sera conservé sur tout ce qui la concerne.”).

Today, article 326 of the French Civil Code provides that “when giving birth, the mother may ask that secrecy be preserved as concerns her admission [to a clinic or hospital] and identity” (my translation, emphasis added).

In France today, recourse to secrecy in childbirth is exceedingly rare. Statistics are hard to come by, but about 600 children are born each year to women who do not wish to disclose their identity, out of about 825,000 births per year; in other words, about 1 in 1,375 births.

This French legal option is exceptional in Europe (or beyond, although it exists also in Italy and Luxembourg). I’ve thought of it as a feminist measure or gesture of sexual equality that makes it socially possible for a woman to walk away from unwanted pregnancy much as a man might. Actually, the woman’s position is better, insofar as she avoids abortion, looks after her own health, and enjoys an implicit promise that society will look after the baby.

But secrecy has fallen out of favor in France, and for French women motherhood is becoming socially more an obligation than an option.

This is shown in the common name for the practice, “accouchement sous X“, where “X” denotes anonymity; an English approximation would be “Jane Doe childbirth”. This same kind of phrasing is used for criminal complaints where the identity of a suspect is initially unknown: a “John Doe complaint”, “plainte contre X“. Today, I would argue, in both cases society expresses discomfort with not knowing the identity of X.

The secrecy offered by French law concerns the birth mother, not the child. It is possible for a man to assert paternity and become father to child born to a “Jane Doe” mother who sought secrecy. It is also possible for a mother to change her mind, within two months of giving birth, and assert maternal rights. It is even possible for a mother to relinquish secrecy, years after the fact: since 2002, children born to an unknown mother can ask a medical commission to seek the identity of the birth mother. About 4500 such requests have been made (which represents about 2% of the total number of living children born to unknown mothers), and about half of the birth mothers have been identified; of these, about half have accepted some sort of contact with the birth child.

Social pressure on women to assume motherhood in the context of secret childbirth has been made most strongly by grandparents.

In one case, the parents of a woman who had committed suicide found evidence of a hospital stay; the hospital divulged (perhaps wrongfully, certainly indiscreetly) the reason of the deceased woman’s hospital stay. The grandparents then petitioned the courts to undo the adoption that was then underway, so as to assert themselves parental rights over the child born to their deceased daughter. In 2009, France’s supreme judicial court denied the grand-parent’s petition, preserving the deceased daughter’s request for secrecy and, indirectly, predictability and certainty in the adoption process.

In a widely reported recent case, a set of grandparents sought to establish paternity over a child born to their daughter, who had elected secrecy when giving birth. An appeals court granted the grandparents’ petition. Although news reports tend to focus on the family and the child’s welfare, the decision shocked me, because it undid the birth mother’s choice of secrecy, forced the stigma of failed motherhood on a woman who had chosen otherwise (those in the grandparent’s circle will know who gave birth to the child), and gave rise to a lastingly bizarre family configuration (with grandparents acting as parents and the birth mother sentenced to a daily accusation of inadequacy).

French president Sarkozy announced a scheme to promote learning English. Sarkozy has trouble with his native tongue and has a limited command of English. His scheme revolves around preschoolers and computers. It won’t work: French students tread water in language classes for years, never progressing towards measurable competence; and French language teaching adores abstraction and hidebound rules.

Le Monde accompanied its report of the presidential scheme with testimony from its readers and bloggers. Their comments are eye-opening. Where and how do French people learn English? Not in the classroom, in class; but at home, while watching “South Park” or “Friends,” reading Harry Potter, or listening to popular music.

On languages, Sarkozy turns out to be more a follower than a leader. What is really happening, today, in French society is more impressive than politicians’ vague hopes for the future. The photo above was taken at a Relay newsstand in a Paris train station. The display window promotes four titles. Remarkably, the books are available in French translation, and also in English. A close look will reveal two lessons: the English-language books are physically smaller than the French translations; and the English-language books are significantly cheaper than the French translations.

Jewtraw, an American from Lake Placid (pictured above in photo posted by CNN), won the 500 meter short track speed skating race, in 44.0 seconds.

Chamonix, a French town in the shadow of Mont Blanc, hosted the 1924 Olympics. At the time, they were billed the Semaine internationale des sports d’hiver, acknowledged subsequently as the first Winter Olympics.

Physicist Enrico Fermi put that question to graduate students. (Decades later, my professor asked the same question to our basic astrophysics class, then explained its pedigree.)

It’s a great question. To answer it, you have to estimate (among other things) the number of households that have a piano and the frequency with which they tune it. If you’re numerically nimble, you can come within an order of magnitude of the factually correct answer.

Variants of this problem exist:

• How many basketballs will fill a city bus?
• How many traffic lights are there in Manhattan?

These are also good tests of numeracy, although they don’t ask the respondent to juggle as many hypotheticals as Fermi’s piano tuner problem.

An urban legend has grown around these puzzles. According to the legend, top employers now routinely ask these questions at interviews. A few years ago, the company most often mentioned was Google; today, it has become Goldman Sachs. Businesses have sprouted to train interviewees to prepare for these kinds of questions.

This urban legend might have some basis in fact: the questions are a good test of numeracy, or at least of an eagerness to approach problems expressed in numbers. Basing hiring decisions on how an interviewee tackles these questions makes more sense than choosing new hires on appearance, including poise during more traditional interview questions.

This urban legend troubles me for what it signals about candidates. I can’t say often or emphatically enough how disappointed I am at candidates’ willingness –even eagerness– to put their résumé in a pile, to get on a long interview line, and to hope that (somehow) they’ll be asked to dance at the ball.

What an illustration of poor numeracy skills! What’s the likelihood that you’ll be selected from a big pool? “Having” the right answer or having been coached at answering are of little hope: all of the semi-finalists at beauty contests (Miss France, Miss America) are attractive, but most go home empty-handed.

Why such pessimism? How can it be squared with other polls that show the French to enjoy superior quality of life and widespread material comfort?

For years, I’ve heard French people –especially outwardly successful people– voice exaggerated caution about future prospects, along the lines of: we’ll be lucky to make it through the winter. After having heard these musings repeatedly and consistently over the years, I discount the pessimism expressed in an opinion poll; or, more exactly, suspect that pessimism points towards a few, distinctly French social tropes or memes.

First among these is a social prohibition against bragging. No one likes a show-off. Accomplishment or success may be prized or cherished, but its holder commits a gaffe if he publicly comments on it. Partly this prohibition expresses modesty, but it is also a prophylactic against envy: as Tocqueville observed, in today’s democratic society, giving voice to good fortune can spark resentment among one’s fellows.

There also seems to be a French folkway, reminiscent of the Icarus story, where the act of foreseeing or expecting great things in the future somehow hobbles or handicaps the doer. Until recently –in living memory– France was an agrarian society, where the land’s yield remained uncertain until harvest. Drought or flood or a heat spell or a cold snap could shatter clever plans, as will be familiar to readers of Pagnol’s Jean de Florette.

Finally, an expression of pessimism also signals anxiety about loss. As Rousseau reasoned, fear off loss can outweigh the pleasure of possession. What was true in France more than 200 years ago remains pertinent today. To some extent, French respondents may express pessimism precisely because they have much to lose.

couverture du magazine Ikea Family Live (hiver 2010)

“Et si vous fixiez vos propres règles?”

Voici la question posée en couverture de Ikea Family Live magazine, publication du magasin suédois éponyme destinée surtout aux consommateurs parents de jeunes enfants en quête d’”idées et inspiration pour la maison”.

Il s’agit d’une question ouverte, un brin provocante tout en gardant le ton bon enfant du magazine et du magasin.

C’est aussi une réponse à l’affirmation de la RATP à bord des bus parisiens : “Si chacun fait ses propres règles, tout se dérègle.”

Il s’agit, pour la RATP, d’un énoncé fermé, vaguement ménaçant, qui n’admet pas de discussion. Bizarrement, c’est aussi un mécanisme à disculper la RATP de dysfonctionnements : l’origine de dérèglements se trouverait auprès des usagers, intempestivement innovateurs.

The Paris transit authority, the RATP, wants to promote civility through a communications campaign aboard its buses.

In a previous post, I joked about the RATP’s seeming inability to see the world through the eyes of its customers, who saw an over-crowded train where the RATP saw an ordinary train.

The RATP’s new campaign is unabashedly philosophical and frankly reactionary, with a tag line that speaks out against making up or living by your own rules.

City buses feature illustrations of this principle. I’d have expected the illustrations to stress the importance of paying when you ride the bus, speaking politely with the driver, abstaining from playing music at loud volumes, or leaving your seat to an infirm passenger.

I was mistaken: the RATP again represents its passengers as problems. In this case, it lashes out against … babies.

The RATP has a point: strollers take up space and end up making a bus crowded.

But the RATP fails at making this point.

Its visuals instead show how babies make life difficult for a working man.

The image that introduced this post shocked me. The four babies are all doing fine, enjoying the bus ride or napping. Their companions –to my eyes, a mother, a father, and a grandmother– are smiling. Everyone is getting on and getting along fine. Then a malcontent enters the scene: a working man. He’s shown to be bothered and inconvenienced.

Bizarrely, the RATP shines its spotlight on and casts its sympathies with this one, solitary traveler; it seems blind to the fact that a bus ride is a happy experience for seven other travelers. The RATP’s tag line reads roughly as: “with strollers, don’t push it”. And the RATP’s solution –strollers subsequent to the second stroller must be folded– doesn’t make life any easier for its youngest passengers or their companions.