Love has the ability to build up or destroy the human race. I honestly and fully believe that.
This has only become more apparent to me these past few weeks. My writing classes at the University of Exhaustion (that might as well be its name) involve discussion that is mainly activism based, relating topics that are the exact opposite of love: - discrimination, hate crime, injustice and violence, to name a few. One of the books among my assigned reading material is a quasi-investigative address of these issues, titled Nobody: Casualties of America's War on the Vulnerable. The author, Marc Lamont-Hill, makes many compelling arguments regarding the source of police brutality against minorities, his main argument being that society treats minorities as if they are inhuman.
This particularly struck a chord with me, perhaps with more effectiveness than with others in my class. In the heated discussion about the evils of racism, I believe many neglected to acknowledge the most basic form of injustice involved in these unspeakable acts; regardless of race, age, sexuality, origin, the victims discussed by Hill were denied their very humanity. The act of treating any human being with so little empathy is a true crime, - a crime against nature itself.
I'm not the first to say there's a lot of hatred in this world, and I certainly won't be the last. There's no point in idle talk. We need solutions. Those members of my 'academic circles' who are entrenched in feelings of societal outrage and fear will swear by everything from political poetry to state-wide riots, but the suggestions I am compelled to share with you and everyone are far less drastic. I don't have any kind of plan to execute, and I certainly don't have any numbers or data. All I know is this: -
Love is important. Not just romantic love (though that is the main facet of love I find most fascinating), but love of humanity shown through empathy. Mainly, treating a human being as a vital, living human being.
I'd like to share one of my favorite stories with you. And I use the word 'story' because the characters and plot exist in three forms, all of which I adore and plan to bring to light. It is a tale of passion and madness, happiness and misery, baseness and transcendence, infatuation and love.
Fosca is a fascinating novel by Italian author Iginio Ugo Tarchetti. It was originally serialized in a Milanese periodical in 1869, the same year Tarchetti died at the age of twenty-nine. The work was apparently an act of self-reflection for Tarchetti, for (according to the introduction in my copy of the novel) the story is largely biographical. Tarchetti really served in the military, and was actually involved with his commander's cousin, who seems to resemble the infamously macabre woman who gives this fascinating piece its name.
Giorgio is a militia captain, assigned to idly train lower officers following 'the Revolution', internationally known as the Unification Wars, in Italy. Sensitive and handsome, Giorgio is passionate to the point of near illness, and is granted sick leave by his regiment in Milan. There he encounters Clara, a married woman with whom he has a passionate love affair. The mutual bliss that this relationship inspires, both in Giorgio's release from his sadness and Clara's escape from wifely imprisonment, is however promptly severed by military obligations. Giorgio is transferred to a far-off military base, where he initially waxes on poetically of the joys even his separation from Clara brings through the sheer passion and magnificence of its pain. This is the way of everything for Giorgio and Clara – happiness. 'Endless happiness', to quote a lyric from Stephen Sondheim's musical adaptation of Fosca, the details of which I will later relate.
I'd like to share one of my favorite stories with you. And I use the word 'story' because the characters and plot exist in three forms, all of which I adore and plan to bring to light. It is a tale of passion and madness, happiness and misery, baseness and transcendence, infatuation and love.
Fosca is a fascinating novel by Italian author Iginio Ugo Tarchetti. It was originally serialized in a Milanese periodical in 1869, the same year Tarchetti died at the age of twenty-nine. The work was apparently an act of self-reflection for Tarchetti, for (according to the introduction in my copy of the novel) the story is largely biographical. Tarchetti really served in the military, and was actually involved with his commander's cousin, who seems to resemble the infamously macabre woman who gives this fascinating piece its name.
Giorgio is a militia captain, assigned to idly train lower officers following 'the Revolution', internationally known as the Unification Wars, in Italy. Sensitive and handsome, Giorgio is passionate to the point of near illness, and is granted sick leave by his regiment in Milan. There he encounters Clara, a married woman with whom he has a passionate love affair. The mutual bliss that this relationship inspires, both in Giorgio's release from his sadness and Clara's escape from wifely imprisonment, is however promptly severed by military obligations. Giorgio is transferred to a far-off military base, where he initially waxes on poetically of the joys even his separation from Clara brings through the sheer passion and magnificence of its pain. This is the way of everything for Giorgio and Clara – happiness. 'Endless happiness', to quote a lyric from Stephen Sondheim's musical adaptation of Fosca, the details of which I will later relate.
Now delivered to his new base, Giorgio is encouraged to dine and informally engage with his colonel and fellow higher up's in the colonel's dining room; at a table occupied by base men with even more base conversation skills, a place is always set for Signora Fosca, the colonel's cousin. Curious about this mysterious woman who is apparently too ill to leave her bed, Giorgio supplies her with novels (which are delivered by the colonel), and is left to ponder about the woman confined to her bed. His only clue to her nature is the issuance of a series of animal-like screams during one of the colonel's dinners; screams by which, the colonel assures, Giorgio should not be alarmed, these outbursts being so common. Giorgio frightfully wonders what kind of creature could make such an inhuman sound of distress.
When he at last meets Fosca, Giorgio is quite literally overcome by her ugliness. I have only to flip idly through the pages to find several ghastly descriptions of Fosca through Giorgio's 'passionate' eyes. Tarchetti really works to convince the reader of the extent of Fosca's ugliness. Her "excessive thinness", her hair "longer than [Giorgio] had ever seen on a woman", her cheekbones and temples which "protrude fearfully" (notice the presence of the word fearfully, - he could have just said they protruded). Apparently, "a slight effort of the imagination would permit a glimpse of her skeleton." It is, however, made clear that Fosca is in possession of some finer attributes, namely expensive taste in clothes, intellect, sensitivity, good-breeding, and a pair of surprisingly beautiful eyes. Fosca's ugliness seems to be primarily caused by her mysterious 'disease', something casually explained by Fosca's doctor as being the existence of several nameless diseases that, while weakening Fosca, also keep her health in a state of fragile equilibrium. But what is this disease, really?
Love. Or, rather, longing for love. Fosca's ugliness (which was less severe in her youth) is made even more pronounced by the rejection and heartbreak resultant from her lack of beauty. Now having fallen in love with Giorgio, Fosca has become both irritating and abhorrent for him. One occasion of an ill-advised embrace from Fosca "provoke[s] such disgust in [him]" that he literally becomes immobile. Fosca makes him a heartbreaking plea: "Love me, love me; a dog, an animal is loved...why won't you love me, who am a creature like you?"
An insertion of Giorgio's present thoughts immediately appears in the narration: "(I still remember these terrible words: 'a dog, an animal is loved.')"
They are indeed terrible words. Terrible in their raw truth. I doubt I'll ever forget them.
To continue our tale, I'm going to highlight the art form on which this blog is largely based, -- cinema; this fascinating period piece was adapted in 1981 by director Ettore Scola into the widely unappreciated film Passione d'amore. It must be declared, remarkably, as one of my favorite films. I say that it is remarkable because the very end of the film is... well... I still can't figure it out. That is to say I understand the scene itself, but not the necessity of the scene for the picture. Please don't let this dissuade you from seeing the movie! It is really fantastic overall, just...keep that in mind.
Upon being thoroughly smothered by Fosca's demands for attention and understanding, Giorgio asks the colonel for a leave of absence, saying there is an emergency in Milan that requires his immediate attention - (that emergency being that he has a hottie named Clara who's a great distraction from a certain ugly someone). Before he leaves Fosca manages to exact a promise from Giorgio that he will write to her, a prospect that Fosca anticipates with a supreme joy which, in her delicate condition, is almost unbearable to her. Giorgio leaves for Milan, and does indeed write to Fosca:
"Listen calmly to what I am about to say: I cannot love you. My heart is not free. I am desperately in love, and am desperately loved in return."
Giorgio's voice dictates (in Italian, of course) the letter he has written to Fosca, which continues to very "rationally" ask Fosca to keep their relationship a strict friendship, so that he will not be treating the woman he loves unjustly. This is heard over visions of a solitary Fosca searching miserably through Giorgio's belongings, placed in the middle of a scene of heated passion between Giorgio and Fosca. Though practically nothing is seen of the literal lovemaking between Giorgio and Fosca, the heat is apparent in what is visible, and the juxtaposition between that and Fosca's chilling solitude is heartbreaking.
Upon his return to the military base, Giorgio is informed by Fosca's doctor that she is at death's door. The doctor confesses that Fosca related what occurred between them, and he now pleads with Giorgio to save Fosca's life through deception. Giorgio must go to her in her room that very night (ooh, the scandal!) and pretend to love her. "Speak to her. Comfort her," the doctor says. "Lie to her."
In her room that night, Fosca, though entirely aware of the deception, takes full advantage of the moment at hand, finding joy in everything about Giorgio's presence in her room, even the sound of his voice saying their two names together, Fosca and Giorgio, Giorgio and Fosca. "What an unexpected joy," she says breathless, her head dropped upon his shoulder. "You here, saying our names."
Love, even a semblance of love, is so powerful in this piece that even something as meager as linking two names together elevates Fosca from miserable animal to impassioned woman. The film as a whole is absolutely marinated in romance; this is due largely in part to the softness of the cinematography, as well as the less apparent effect of the simple piano soundtrack. The most compelling piece of this film's puzzle, however, is Bernard Giraudeau and Valeria d'Obici as Giorgio and Fosca. Through the striking portrayal of their respective characters, Giraudeau and d'Obici create chemistry where there should, logically, be none. This chemistry incites viewers not only with compassion for Fosca, but passion for and through her love of Giorgio. Passion and the capability to feel passion is a transcendent power, present only in humans. A dog can love, but a dog cannot feel passion. Giorgio, as of this point in our tale, still regards Fosca as a 'dog', in spite of a more heightened awareness of her. The continuation of his unwilling 'courtship' with Fosca hereafter serves to drive Giorgio fiercely from agitation, to rage, to passion.
How does this happen? How do we get from the point A of literal nausea-upon-sight to the rapturous point B of human passion and love? I am now going to hop intermittently to my favorite adaptation of the Giorgio and Fosca romance (and it is definitely a romance), in order to better convey the emotions of its conclusion.
Stephen Sondheim (to whom I affectionately refer as Steve, because I like to pretend my appreciation of his music has transformed us into BFF's) and James Lapine had the good sense to get together in approximately 1993-4 and create not just any musical, but my favorite musical, from the preexisting Fosca and Passione d'amore. I'm normally slow to use the phrase 'my favorite', unwilling to say the words and then discredit another film, song, actor, et cetera who may very well be my true favorite depending on the time of day, my mood, what I just ate. In spite of that reluctance, I can say this with complete immunity: Passion is my favorite musical.
It was my introduction to the story of Giorgio and Fosca. I came upon the Original London Cast Recording (the best, in my opinion) due to its starring a certain someone of note (ahem – ahem – Michael Ball), and began idly listening through the soundtrack, without any idea of the previously mentioned commitment that would soon follow. The show came to me at a very melancholy time of my life, a time in which you might say I existed in a state similar to that of Giorgio, passionate, sensitive, but highly suppressed by my circumstances. I remember it was autumn, I was embarking on a new field of study (Art History, which is now only my minor), and I felt very vulnerable and alone. To this day, a cool breeze, a steaming cup of seasonal coffee, a whiff of turpentine from the halls of one of my many frequented university buildings combined with the funereal scent of dirt-covered leaves on the sidewalk – It all reminds me of the month in which I was introduced to Passion, the musical, and passion, the physical, emotional representation.
The music is, in a word, rhapsodizing. I mean, it's Steve. Music that creates a physical hold on the heart, and an obsessive hypnosis in the mind, is pretty much the norm with him. But there is a stark difference between this and his other musicals, and I believe writing this piece must have been a time of real growth for Steve (and I think I have the right to make that statement, since we are imaginary best friends). Pieces that I failed to mention upon their occurrence in the story, if only because I'm unable to convey them with gravitas measurable to the beauty of the music, provide an audible version of the 'illogical chemistry' I mentioned. Fosca's collapse upon seeing a funeral service, followed by their sojourn to the ruined castle is backed by such a powerful, complex score that its changes in rhythm and brightness as the song progresses are forever seared in my memory. And the provocative lyrics! While Fosca is pleading with Giorgio to grant her his friendship, she refers to the other soldiers' lack of sensitivity and enlightenment, singing simply:
"They hear drums
We hear music
As do I
Don't you see?
We're the same
We are different
You and I are different"
So few words, but so powerful in combination with the music! That "Garden Sequence" is highly romantic. As is the song that may (or may not, I'm indecisive) be my favorite in the show, "I Wish I Could Forget You". Returning to where we left off in our story, the morning after Giorgio's night spent acting on Fosca's whims, she asks that he stay and write a letter for her. Giorgio, played by my husband (I wish) Michael Ball in the OLC cast, agrees, and Fosca (Maria Friedman) proceeds to dictate the words she would like written. The letter, however, is written as if to be from Giorgio to Fosca. Just the first few lines are enough to pull and snap your heartstrings: "I wish I could forget you/Erase you from my mind/But, ever since I met you, I find/I cannot leave the thought of you behind …"
The idea of Giorgio saying these words to Fosca is, at this point, insane, impossible...! But true. Fosca seems to have tapped into the inner core of Giorgio's derision and found...fascination, awe, reluctant understanding. It seems, however, unlikely that Giorgio will unearth these emotions himself, leaving the audience uncomfortable and emotionally raw. (I know this to be the general reaction because I sang the song in a musical theater class; when I finished the audience was eerily silent, left hanging on the bare threads of the final chords, - a few seconds prior to applause that became a defining moment in my life).
With time, Fosca's dedication to Giorgio, as well as her manipulation of his obligation to her, only grows stronger; Giorgio becomes frustrated to the point of verbal cruelty, causing her to collapse. Here, as with many of the final scenes, I'm conflicted between the Scola film and the Sondheim musical. Whereas the song "Is This What You Call Love?" is full of gasp-worthy snubbing and vicious word-slinging set to cacophonic brass, the Scola scene has the delicious moment where Giorgio puts her screaming to rest. In both cases, Giorgio is forced to carry an unconscious Fosca home in the rain, resulting in his contraction of an illness... Hmmmmmmmm....
He dreams Fosca is dragging him into the grave. Once his fever is broken, Fosca's doctor informs Giorgio that he will be on a forty-day sick leave. Clara is, of course, thrilled by the news that the two of them will have "a whole forty days" together.... "well/forty matinees". Giorgio appears blissful, but is betrayed in the film by a constant sheen of sweat and a sickly pallor. He arrives at the station, boards his train for Milan, -- only to find Fosca in the seat opposite. After forcing her to get off with him at the next station, Fosca adamantly declares her intention to love him: in spite of his hatred of her, in spite of his cruel disgust with her appearance, in spite of her knowledge that she will not gain his love – she will follow him, live for him, die for him. Here again the musical and the movie produce the scene in striking contrast, Sondheim's song, this time, being the less extreme of the two. While the scene in Passione d'amore still possesses an element of overwhelming, macabre horror, "Loving You" is simple and true. I recommend the scene first, then the song second, should you like to experience both. And I strongly recommend you do. Though starkly different, they are both remarkable; Giorgio, in both cases, is irrevocably changed by the declaration. He terminates his relationship with Clara (or, in the case of the novel, Clara ends the relationship) after she refuses to leave her husband for him. He realizes that their "love" was nothing more than a convenient and lovely amusement park; lasting love, he insists, is unconditional.
His "sickness" increased tenfold, Giorgio returns to the military base and is met by an irate colonel. He has discovered a letter from Giorgio (presumably, the one Fosca forced him to write) at Fosca's bedside, and now challenges Giorgio to a duel. Though completely capable of attaining acquittance (he was, after all, an entirely unwilling participant in the chaste 'love affair'), Giorgio makes no denial and agrees to meet the Colonel at the castle in the morning. The doctor, irate, asks Giorgio why he would agree to something as idiotic as a duel over Fosca; Giorgio responds passionately: "I love Fosca!" "Me amo Fosca!" He loves her. A true love, which he learned from Fosca herself. "Love without pride or shame/love unconcerned with being returned".
He goes to Fosca in her room (the doctor's admittance there now given unwillingly). This, without a doubt, is my coup de grace, the scene that renders me breathless, speechless, enraptured, horrified, simultaneously. It is startling and powerful in every adaptation, but seeing it visbily through Passione d'amore has an even broader effect on the human spirit. It's below. Just watch it. There is nothing more I can say.
Giorgio arrives the next morning for the duel. After the suspenseful paces taken by the gentlemen, they fire. The colonel falls wounded. Giorgio, in a fit similar to that of Fosca's animalistic collapses, falls screaming to the ground. The 'disease' Fosca suffered from now fully embodies Giorgio. Following which, each of the three adaptations here mentioned concludes our story differently. I will leave those endings for you to discover on your own.
So, what does any of this have to do with the social issues I mentioned at the beginning of this verbal rampage? What does police brutality have to do with Giorgio and Fosca? Modern civil cases and fictional love affairs may not have much in common, but they do have this: -- people who are regarded as inhuman. Though they are two nonexistent Italians, this unexpected couple has a lot of things to teach us, both regarding integration of minorities into a community of trust, as well as the need for welcoming, empathetic behavior among the human race in general. Combative episodes caused by differences in color, origin, sexuality, clothing, cooking? These are all mere grains of salt, seasoning the world from a big ol' shaker full of hatred. How can we trace the route of a problem that exists on a literally immeasurable, irreducible scale?
The fact of the matter is that the world is full of people gripped by the 'Fosca disease', better known as longing. Longing for love, acceptance, understanding. No one person can connect so completely with the entire human race; if one could be that emotionally available, there would be no murderers, no petty thieves, no mean girls at school. One can, however, begin to act with empathy. Empathy being emotional awareness of the existence of others, particularly in cases of sympathy and consideration. The great thing about empathy is that it can be produced on a wide scale, due to its contagion-like penchant for travel. Whereas the Fosca disease seems to operate similarly to an STD, simple empathy, without the presence of passion, resembles the flu. Holding the door open for someone leads to their smiling at a cashier, leads to the cashier giving great service, leads to the person buying snacks offering chips to a person without a home, and so on and so on and so on. If America in particular began to truly look at fellow citizens, to see them as existing rather than simply hovering in the peripheral? You can almost see the walls of unconscious societal prejudice crashing down.
I am convinced generous, empathetic love is the only way to truly exist as human beings. Our success-driven modernity-melded minds are caught in the Giorgio-Clara affect, trapped in the grapple of self-concerned thoughts: -- 'What do I get from knowing this person?' 'Is doing this convenient?' 'Do I have other obligations?' 'Am I happy?' This frame of mind may bring about temporary delights, but let us not neglect the Giorgio-Fosca, Fosca-Giorgio (the joy of saying the two dissimilar names together!), let us not forget the affect associated with their love affair. In order to have a more spiritually, emotionally satisfying life, we must make an effort to abandon ourselves.
Ambition, impermanent pleasure, will not bring you any closer to creating peace in your community. If you want to stop hearing drums, if you long to hear music, you must see the 'dogs' in your life for the people they truly are. You must become susceptible to what plagues the other person, whoever that other may be.
