Part XXX (1)

[montagnarde1793]

So I finally finished typing up the next passages for last month's revolution_frprompt--and I'm still not done. What can I say, I'm a bit behind. Anyway, this next passage isn't bad, in my humble opinion, especially not for a novel written in English. The names are a bit weird though. (It should be noted though, that Victoire's name was changed to Vivienne in order to avoid confusion with a friend of Claire Lacombe's, who is a more major character in the novel, as the author makes clear in the note preceding the work.) Also, something that amused me about this book--though I didn't include it in the excerpt--is that Maxime is something of a "The Sorrows of Young Werther" fanboy in it.

City of Darkness, City of Light

Marge Piercy

1996

 

Page 227

                […] There were also oil paintings he [Robespierre] recognized as influenced by David, heroic scenes of Roman tableaux, the taking of the Bastille, a portrait of Monsieur and Madame Duplay. […]

                “I see you looking at the portraits. Eléanore [Éléonore], our oldest, did that. She’s a real painter. She’s studying with Regnault. Have you heard of him?” Mme Duplay seemed to want his approval for her daughter’s apprenticeship.

                “I have. She has a worthy master.”

 

Page 228

                Vivienne [Victoire] said, “Here’s Papa for his dinner.”

                Just behind him came the last daughter. She saw him at once, and her dark eyes grew very wide. He supposed that she would not be considered as pretty as Elisabeth [Élisabeth], yet she carried herself with dignity and an authority that was surprising in a young woman. She could be no more than twenty-four or twenty-five. “Citizen,” she said in a low gentle voice. “It is an honor to see you here. All Paris is turned upside down. I hope we have the pleasure of giving you sanctuary while this madness endures.”

                “What have you heard?” he asked her.

                Madame said hastily. “This is Eléanore. You may have seen her at the Jacobins too. She’s also a member of the Tricolor Brushes, who make paintings and engravings of patriotic scenes for education of the people.”

                “I’ve been admiring your work.”

                He could see she had trouble not curtseying. She kept her eyes on him as she sat at the table, some distance away. He motioned her closer, and slowly, she obeyed. “Again, what have you heard?”

                “There are warrants out for many patriotic leaders. Etta Palm d’Aelders has been put in prison for saying that women should have rights. The Social Circle has been forbidden to have public meetings. The Iron Mouth has been shut down. Marat is in danger again and like yourself, has had to seek shelter with friends. Danton and Desmoulins have disappeared, arrested or in hiding. Half the newspapers of Paris have been suppressed. Bailly has declared martial law.” She spoke quickly but firmly, reporting without emotion or rhetoric. Clearly, she could be relied on as an observer. She could be useful to him while he was in hiding. He could have her keep an eye on the Jacobin Club until he could return.

                “Everything has happened in a matter of hours. Clearly, they were waiting and prepared for this opportunity to close us all down,” he said.

                “You should clear my room for Citizen Robespierre,” Eléanore said.

                Vivienne piped up. “I already cleared Elisabeth’s, and moved her in with me.”

                “You need room for your paintings, child,” Madame said.

                “I need very little,” he said, as before. He smiled at Vivienne. He did not bother smiling at Eléanore, for he felt it was not necessary.

                The meal was more than he desired, but they allowed him to pick and choose. It was a good family atmosphere here, almost the ideal family he had fantasized since childhood. Then he thought it would be with his own sisters and brother. But in truth these people were far more agreeable and politically savvy than his sister. Augustin he knew little about, for it had been years since they spent time together.

                When he rose, Eléanore jumped up as if on command and followed him upstairs. “I’ll help you unpack,” she said.

                “Will your mother mind?”

                “Oh, no. We all want to make your stay pleasant.” She did not blush, she did not flirt. She unpacked his clothes efficiently, handling each item with a cool reverence. When he was ready to work, he dismissed her, and she went without a backward glance.

                He had the strangest feeling with her, from the first moment, almost as if he remembered her. It was as if he had recovered a lost inheritance, something that belonged to him that had been estranged or forgotten. After supper, he summoned her and gave her instructions for the Jacobin Club. He told her to report to him at once when he returned, no matter at what hour. She nodded, asked a few questions about how specific her notes were to be. Then she went off.

                When she came in, the older Duplays and her sisters had retired. She came into his room without coquettishness or hesitation and began at once to report on what had been an extremely long and stormy session, full of recriminations. He questioned her closely, taking notes on her notes. He corrected the spelling of some names.

                It was after midnight. She was alone with him in his room, yet no one in the house seemed to question his right or her duty. She was utterly matter-of-fact in her deportment. She did not touch him, she did not lean forward or brush against him or give him melting looks. He looked at her openly, admiring her and studying her. On one level, there was no hint of sex or anything muddy or murky. On a deeper level, he understood that she was utterly his. She had already given herself over to him absolutely, although they scarcely knew each other.

                Lafayette [La Fayette] and Bailly and their gang of traitors had given him quite by accident what he had never expected to enjoy. After less than twenty-four hours he knew what he had found. He now had a family, in all ways superior to his own. He had a living situation where he could work without a thought for expense, for they had made clear they would accept nothing from him except his presence, where he would be cared for and protected and even coddled. And he had been given the only woman he had ever met with whom he could have some kind of relationship, what kind he did not know: only that whatever he wanted from Eléanore, she would give him without blinking, without hesitation, without terms. Whether he ever touched her, whether he ever spoke on word of courtship or affection or not, she was his.

 

Page 249

                Or perhaps they [the Feuillants] thought that by walking out of the Jacobins, they had destroyed the Club, and he [Robespierre] was no longer to be feared. But they had walked out dramatically, a poor way to accomplish such a move. They had even left the membership rolls, the addresses of contacts at the daughter clubs. Even before he dared resurface, he sent Eléanore for the addresses. After he had written to every one of the hundreds of Jacobin clubs with her help and that of her younger sister Elisabeth—most clubs thrilled to receive a personal note from the Incorruptible himself—only four clubs defected to the Feuillants. How he hated that appellation, “the Incorruptible”: as if not to be bought and sold was such an unusual characteristic as to warrant public note.

 

Page 250

                Lately his [Robespierre’s] life felt calmer. In the Duplays’ cozy home with the hammering in the courtyard, the smell of sawdust, the scent of good simple cooking, the voices of the women of the household, he was close to happy. Even when meetings ran long into the night, Eléanore would be sitting up to open the gate for him. If Eléanore stayed late at the Club, Madame or Elisabeth would wait.

                […] Max also enjoyed the company of the painter David. He had never entertained before, but the Duplays encouraged him to invite friends and colleagues. The Duplays provided a core group for singing, readings, excursions, walks. Eléanore would sketch his friends and of course himself. David thought she had talent. Max was pleased by this evidence that she was a genuine artist, but more pleased that whatever she was doing, she would stop if he needed something.

 

Page 253

                They [Robespierre and Marat] were not alone in the room. Charlotte and Eléanore were the silent spectators, along with Simonne Évrard. Marat had not bothered with a legal ceremony, but everybody considered Simonne his wife. How did Marat dare take a wife? Marat and he would be killed in the Revolution; they would both be martyred. One of Max’s chief fears if he married or had children was that they would be put to death because of him. Yet Marat had not hesitated to take Simonne. He would have liked to discuss that choice with Marat, but doubted if Marat would appreciate the inquiry. Further he was not about to bring up the matter in front of his own women. Charlotte was already jealous of Eléanore and told him every two days Eléanore was trying to trap him into marriage: as if he wouldn’t have married her quite willingly, married her whole family, if he dared. He could not imagine how Marat, who had lived as a hunted felon, had risked taking Simonne as his own. Simonne was Max’s idea of a good woman. Probably he liked her rather better than he liked Marat.

 

Page 272

FIFTY

Max

(Summer 1792)

 

                Max had lost much of his popularity because of his harsh criticism of the war. Now he was subjected to a war at home. Charlotte had taken a dislike to all the Duplays except Elisabeth, with whom she went about everywhere arm in arm. Charlotte particularly resented Mme Duplay and Eléanore. “I can’t believe how she invades your privacy. The girl is shameless.”

                “She goes nowhere I do not wish her to go.”

                “Max, she comes into your bedroom as if she were your mistress!”

                “She’s in my confidence. She acts on my behalf. She carries messages for me and reports back.”

                “It’s not proper.”

                “Would you prefer I marry her, Charlotte? Would that make Eléanore’s working with me proper in your eyes?”

                “Max, don’t joke! You can’t marry a carpenter’s daughter. Really!”

                “I should think marrying the daughter of an honest artisan would be most appropriate. Unless you think people would suspect I was marrying her for money. After all, they’re so much better off than we are.”

                “Max, you can’t marry her! And as for money, if you wanted to make money now, I know you could do it. For instance—”

                “Enough!” He glared at her. She was carefully dressed, yet somehow her appearance always slightly annoyed him. There was a family resemblance. He was careful about his own appearance, but seeing his fussiness and his fastidiousness writ large in Charlotte and turned into open and foundationless vanity was not a boost to his self-esteem. He wanted to thunder at her to shut up, but she would weep. “Charlotte, I am not about to marry anyone. You can rest easy on that count. I can’t afford a wife, financially or morally. I am wedded to the Revolution.”

                “You could make a dozen advantageous matches. I see how the women look at you. Even the rich ladies. They make eyes at you.”

                “I’m not a plate of hors d’oeuvres. Have you nothing better to think about? Why don’t you assist Madame Duplay with the preserving of peaches? I love peach conserve.”

                It was no gift he was inflicting on Mme Duplay, but he had to get Charlotte out of his hair in order to do any work. How happy he had been in the house of the Duplays before he imported Charlotte.

 

Page 303

                Charlotte took this opportunity to make her demands known. She adored Elisabeth and went everywhere with her, but she detested Mme Duplay and Eléanore. She insisted that now both brothers were elected to the Convention, they should live according to their class and be able to entertain properly. Max couldn’t see anything wrong with the way he entertained now, chez Duplay. But Charlotte hounded him. “You went off and left us in Arras all these years. I devoted my life to you. Who’ll ever want to marry me now? I’m forced to live as a guest in another woman’s house. I want to make you happy, Max, I want us to live together as a family—not as lodges in the house of a carpenter and his scheming daughter!”

                Max let himself be dragged off to an apartment with Charlotte and Augustin in the Rue Saint Florentine [Saint-Florentin]. At once he began to miss the Duplays. He liked having the Duplay women around him. They saw to his every need quietly, unlike Charlotte who trumpeted everything she did. He missed Eléanore’s sleek, dark presence, her eyes upon him, her surprisingly strong hands kneading his shoulders when he was tense, rubbing his temples when his head ached. He could not bear to be touched—except by her. Her touch soothed him. Her touch drew the tension from him. He could not say that to Charlotte, who was always shocked when she discovered Eléanore in his room.

                Now he never saw Eléanore except from a distance at the Jacobin Club. At least there he escaped his sister. Eléanore would be in the gallery and when a speaker bored him, not as infrequent an event as he could have wished, he tilted his chair slightly so that he could see her.

 

Page 322

                Max let himself be borne off by cab to the Duplays. His room was just as he had left it. He crawled into bed, Madame helping him undress. Soon he was sound asleep with the smell of sawdust and good cooking lulling him. He slept fourteen hours. When he awoke, he knew instantly where he was. He felt weak but complete. Charlotte was a leech: he must not allow her to suck away his energy with her constant complaints, her egotistical maundering. He looked around the little blue room with the white dimity curtains that Mme Duplay had sewn. He looked at the drawings on the walls that Eléanore had made of him speaking a the Jacobin Club, relaxing at the Duplay table, the oil painting of him with Blount [Brount] at his feet. He had not taken all his books when he left. Secretly he had determined to come back. He was not here for a week or to recover his health. Too bad Augustin couldn’t move out too. Max could not give up his life to his sister. He would happily support her. But he would not live with her again.

                He had dressed and was sitting at his desk drinking coffee and studying his notes on the Convention delegates, when he heard Eléanore’s light step running upstairs. Then he heard her pause outside his door. For about two minutes nothing happened. He smiled. She was trying to guess if he was awake. He moved a few papers and let his chair creak. She responded with a tap on the door.

                “Come,” he said. He had not seen her except in the gallery of the Jacobin Club. She had not come to visit on the Rue Saint Florentine, and all of them knew the reason: Charlotte hated her.

                She came in swiftly and paused in the middle of the room. Then she swept forward and knelt before him, putting her hand lightly on his knee. “Will you stay?”

                He nodded.

                Her face tightened into a grimace and then went stoical. Finally she let herself smile. Another woman would have wept. Her eyes, dark, enormous, fixed on him. They gleamed. Her adoration was powerful but controlled.

                She said, “I don’t want to be separated from you again.”

                “That is not always under my control. But I won’t voluntarily leave you.”

                “Are you very weak?”

                “I’m almost back to normal. Tomorrow I’ll return to the Convention.”

                She rose and stood before him. “I want to be yours.” She was gazing at the floor, then made herself meet his gaze. She grew visibly pink. Her hands clenched before her.

                He was silent. He felt a clutch of fear. Yet he also felt calm. He had already accepted her gift of self. He understood that the Duplays regarded Eléanore as belonging to him. “I can’t marry you.”

                She nodded. “Your family doesn’t approve.”

                “I don’t care what Charlotte thinks, and Augustin likes you. I’m head of my lame family. That is not the determining factor.” He rose and walked to the window. Outside in the courtyard Blount was barking at the saw. “By the way, have you noticed that your sister and Philippe Lebas [Le Bas] have fallen in love? They should marry. I just defeated an organized attempt to destroy me. There will be many such attempts. One will succeed. I’ll be assassinated or I’ll fall to a better laid conspiracy. I will never see forty. Do you understand?”

                “Yes. I see. I understand. I want to share your fate.”

                “If I marry you, you certainly will. But I don’t want to die like an Eastern tyrant, surrounded by my dog and my wife and my friends, all lying on the same pyre. I want you to survive me. I want you all to survive me. Tell the truth about me when I’m gone. But when I’m taken, when they finally manage to kill me, I want to die alone. I don’t want to pull anybody down with me. That would make it unendurable.”

                “I don’t want to survive you.”

                “Eléanore, obey me. I want you to live. I want to leave you all in this house intact as I found you.”

                “I will never be as you found me. I wasn’t fully alive then.” She put her hands on his shoulders, nervously but with strength. Her face was close to his. “My life is yours. I would give it up to you in an instant.”

                “As my wife, as my widow, you’d be vulnerable. You’d die because you bore my name. So I can’t give you my name. And I can’t have offspring. I can’t have a son to carry on my name that so many will curse.”

                “I can promise you that I will not bear children.”

                “You say that now. But I won’t change my mind. I couldn’t endure putting a woman I care for through that. My mother died … that way. Her screams echoed through the house for three days. I can’t.”

                “I promise you, if you will let me love you, I won’t bear you any children. I know what to do. I’ve asked. Do you think I don’t know how you feel? I know what you feel as soon as you do.”

                “You always do.” He smiled slightly. “Suppose you should become pregnant in spite of these precautions which you and I would take?”

                “You’d never know it. No one would ever know.” She moved closer. She wore a flower perfume, almost herbal. Lemon verbena. It was slightly astringent, like Eléanore. He had been with only two women in his life, and they had been far more experienced than he. He was sure Eléanore was not. He seemed to be agreeing to go to bed with her, without having a clear idea how he would set about doing so. He put his hands on her upper arms. She felt firm. She was used to doing housework and hauling her canvases through the streets. At his touch, she surged forward against him. Her mouth pressed against his. He felt himself stir. He was almost surprised, but then, this was Eléanore who belonged to him already.

                She led him to the bed, and he realized as she undressed him that she did not expect passion from him. She would provide that. She was inexperienced, as he had suspected, but eager. She ran her hands over his body, she adored him. Her touch was pleasant. He never minded her touching him, he who could not endure the touch of anyone else. He lay with his eyes lightly closed as she caressed his body, experimenting, judging from his breath what pleased him.

                He sat up and turned her on her back, spreading her legs. She was thin but womanly. He was glad she was not fleshy. As he placed his member against her, he said, “This may hurt.” He hesitated.

                “No. I’ve been stretching myself. I knew you would be upset by blood.”

                He thrust into her with a great sigh. “No, I don’t like blood.” It was very easy with her. He could tell she was a little frightened by also happy. He withdrew just before he came. He would tell Madame and Monsieur that he and Eléanore were engaged. That would satisfy them. And he had placed Eléanore’s body squarely between Charlotte and himself. She could not use guilt on him again to make him set up gloomy housekeeping with her. He had provided himself with an obligation. It would be his secret, but as far as he was concerned, Eléanore was his wife. He was married to the whole Duplay family through her flesh. He anticipated that it would be a satisfying marriage.

Comments

[maelipstick.livejournal.com]

Sorry for popping up like a gopher again ;-) I'm here from your Eleonore Duplay in fiction list - because I was curious.

I'm still a bit weirded by Robespierre's sex-for-clan-membership thing that he seems to have going on in fiction. He was married to the whole Duplay family through her flesh Isn't that a very female experience? Wasn't it women who traditionally used sex as a bond to change family ties? Is he Marie-Antoinette or something?

Having said that - Piercy does a much better job of giving the whole set up some rationale than Mantel. It's very humane, nobody appears missing their frontal lobes. I've not read City of Darkness... but I think I'd like to.

[estellacat.livejournal.com]

Don't be sorry; I wish more people would comment on these!

I'm still a bit weirded by Robespierre's sex-for-clan-membership thing that he seems to have going on in fiction.
It is a bit of an odd thing, I agree. I think the idea here is that he needs to provide himself with some kind of concrete tie to justify staying with the Duplays instead of going back to live with his sister, but I see your point. I'm very disturbed by the image of Robespierre as Antoinette, I must say. *shudders*

I really think Piercy does a good job of making Robespierre's relationship with Éléonore and with the Duplays plausible. Which is something I appreciate. As for the whole book, it makes some over simplifications here and there that I find irritating, but on the whole it's pretty solid. She really tries to show each character both from his/her own point of view and from those of the other characters, which is one of the books strong points.

The best written sections are probably the ones from Claire Lacombe and Pauline Léon's POV, and I think that's both because she identifies with them more and because we know less about them so there's room for creative license, but the others aren't bad. What I like most about it is Piercy's optimistic view about the Revolution. What I mean by that is not, obviously, that she agrees with everything that went on, but rather that, unlike Mantel, who seems to take a pretty dim view of human nature at the prospect for Revolutionary change, Piercy doesn't view her characters as misguided tragic figures doomed to failure from the start - a characterization I'm beginning to be even more sick of than the reactionary "they were just evil and power-hungry and enjoyed tormenting the poor aristos/king/queen/priests/Vendéens/whatever because they were evil" characterizations, which at least have the merit of being so patently ridiculous that I don't know anyone of intelligence who takes them seriously.

[maelipstick.livejournal.com]

I'm very disturbed by the image of Robespierre as Antoinette, I must say. *shudders*

I'm sorry - she was just the silliest example of that whole feudal magic sex changes my clan loyalties thing. Except obviously, it didn't really work for Antoinette.

Piercy doesn't view her characters as misguided tragic figures doomed to failure from the start - a characterization I'm beginning to be even more sick of than the reactionary "they were just evil and power-hungry and enjoyed tormenting the poor aristos/king/queen/priests/Vendéens/whatever because they were evil" characterizations.

Oh God yes. Yes yes yes yes yes. I've ranted this way at you before. Neo-liberals are much more annoying than good old fashioned reactionaries. Turning someone into a monster at least shows a healthy fear, it is an acknowledgment of power however nauseating the results. The whole new yes, we know Robespierre wasn't green, we know he didn't like killing people, he was quite sweet and forgetful and sometimes he giggled; goodness he wrote fizzy letters on a sugar high and might even have had a girlfriend, we know he wasn't some kind of monster. Perhaps he could have done with some anti-depressants or some counseling, you know, because we in the 21st century are much more understanding about being a little bit strange, but not a monster. Of course he wanted democracy, everybody would like democracy, it's just most of us are pragmatic enough to understand that you can't really have true democracy, well not yet and possibly not really ever. You need an elite to keep things running, of course you can widen it gradually, we always need new blood at the top, as long as your our sort of person. We need inequality to keep things competitive. He just, oh it's so tragic, he was just too much of a dreamer, he just couldn't see that. He should have been cherished as an eccentric back bencher, an idealist inspiration whose thoughts could have guided the actions of more prudent men. But somebody went and gave this good-hearted but oh so misguided dear a country to play with and he ended up his own worst nightmare twitching on a table. Let that be a lesson to you, why are you pointing a pike at me you mad crazy bitch...help...help...dying horribly now...*splutter*.

Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, I really hate the whole oh-so-reasonable Robespierre was a decent but slightly odd person who just had kind hearted but dangerously misguided ideas. Being a demon and a monster still leaves him some power, but being a misguided fool just leaves him pathetic.

Also, it's slightly concerning that as far as I can see, his crazy-crazy eccentric oh-so-tragically misguided and dangerous ideas go something like this:

1) The government should be answerable directly to the people.
2) Everybody should start as equals on an even playing field.
3) Everybody should have the right to subsistence. Trade and profit is fine as long as it is not at the expense of people's right to a living.

Which don't seem that crazy, or delusional, or that far from what most liberal capitalists seem to want to tell us are their core values. Which in turn really makes me wonder how far these wonderfully humane and rational liberal types believe in their core values.

[estellacat.livejournal.com]

I'll just start by saying that once again I am thoroughly in agreement with everything you have to say here.

But just to pick out a few particular points:

Let that be a lesson to you, why are you pointing a pike at me you mad crazy bitch...help...help...dying horribly now...*splutter*.
Love it.

Which don't seem that crazy, or delusional, or that far from what most liberal capitalists seem to want to tell us are their core values. Which in turn really makes me wonder how far these wonderfully humane and rational liberal types believe in their core values.
Simple answer: they don't. More complicated but more accurate answer: some don't, most probably just haven't thought through the implications of their positions.

As to that *crazy* business of the government being accountable to the people: I recently read an article that made a very valuable point, using Robespierre and Fouché as representatives of two opposing kinds of surveillance (there was a lot of Freudian nonsense and the seemingly requisite Robespierre belittling - for this was by an American historian, and Supreme Being forbid that any American historian of the Revolution should go through a whole article without engaging in one or the other, and preferably both - but the central point was, surprisingly, not only solid, but important to emphasize). Basically, to cut a long story short, surveillance is a very necessary concept to both Robespierre and Fouché, but that's where the similarities end. With Robespierre, surveillance comes from the people and is directed, quite openly, at the government; with Fouché surveillance comes from the government, or more specifically from the police, and is directed at the people (secretly, of course). Now, this may seem like a pretty obvious point, but how many people leave it at "Robespierre and Fouché were both Revolutionaries who thought surveillance was important, clearly we can safely group them together"? And, to come back to your point, how many of these people are those same "wonderfully humane and rational liberal types" who applaud representations like Mantel's?

[maelipstick.livejournal.com]

Btw did you ever see this Mantel-a-la-lanterne discussing why she is so much cooler than historians (http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books--a-revolting-obsession-history-is-fiction-said-robespierre-who-knew-how-it-would-treat-him-is-the-novelist-better-equipped-than-the-historian-to-find-human-truths-behind-the-mask-of-fact-1542080.html) Aside form anything else, the flipping ego on the woman - ooh I was a lapsed catholic and a young communist so I must know how they feel! They were just like me! Damn these historians and their fact checking! I knew what it was really like! (To be, um a teenage communist in the 1970s. Not quite the same as being a 30something revolutionary with the whole country on your back in freaking 1793. But would you know it I just knew she was a former communist-who-grew-out-of-it Tip Hillary, Robespierre and co's politics were a little thought out on the spot, I grant you, but probably not ill concieved statements of rebellion to piss off their parents.)

[maelipstick.livejournal.com]

Sorry, I clicked reply too soon in my rage. She also, marvelously manages to get Robespierre's age at death wrong. Way to go girl! Don't let those pesky facts get in the way!

Simple answer: they don't. More complicated but more accurate answer: some don't, most probably just haven't thought through the implications of their positions.

Yes, although I do think this is a rather lazy position on behalf of people who are essentially paid to think. I'm quite understanding of the fact that most people do not have the time or the spare brain cells to think through the realities of revolutionary politics, but if you are a historian or an established novelist, you are bloody well paid to think through the consequences. If you don't, you fail.

I think self-interest may also play a part here. I do remember maelicia saying in her essay on the Robespierre!Terror thing that age and acceptance in the establishment does flabby up one's political instincts and I think that point may well be pertinent here. Most people are scared of questioning a system they have done well out of.

There's also the warm fuzzy idealist stance - I think put best by Danton's apotheosis in La Revolution Francaise, the idea that 'we love the Revolution but we deplore the violence' which, well, yes indeed apart from a few reactionary loons, yep, that's about everyone agreeing. I'm fairly sure even Robespierre would get out of the hot tub of blood of innocents he was rolling around in with Saint-Just to agree. The major problem being what the heck do you do if you love the Revolution but other people don't? Do you defend it, or do you let it slip away? I admit, how far you go to defend the Revolution is a very fraught issue, but it is one that most people don't seem to want to engage with. They are just "Oh, the revolution was wonderful and we like Mirabeau/Danton/Desmoulins because they loved it but didn't want to have the terror." Which is a fine point, but a bit like saying, I'd really love sweets if they didn't rot my teeth.

there was a lot of Freudian nonsense and the seemingly requisite Robespierre belittling

Robespierre spends more time than is seemly on the psychoanalyst's couch, no? I'm not a historian, but I have read a fair amount of books on history and Freud seems to be called in far more frequently in Robespierre's case than almost anyone else.

With Robespierre, surveillance comes from the people and is directed, quite openly, at the government; with Fouché surveillance comes from the government, or more specifically from the police, and is directed at the people (secretly, of course)

Can I have a moment for the coolness of Robespierre. I have nothing more coherent to say.

Now, this may seem like a pretty obvious point, but how many people leave it at "Robespierre and Fouché were both Revolutionaries who thought surveillance was important, clearly we can safely group them together"

Rather like those people who confuse freedom to consume with freedom to be, no? All surveillance must be bad - and therefore we let the government right off the hook.

[estellacat.livejournal.com]

Well, there goes my point on Robespierre's age at death. XD;

Oh, for people who's job it is to write about the Revolution, it's absolutely inexcusable. But for everyone else, I understand the temptation not to think about it, or to, as you put it, want the candy without the tooth-rotting. And that's the problem, I hate it because it makes it so difficult to convince them to consider the Revolution and especially figures like Robespierre in a more critical fashion, but I understand why they want to cling to it. It's so much easier, after all, to accept the narratives you're given; to praise the early Revolution and unequivocally condemn the Terror.

People who have essentially been corrupted by the comforts of their elevated place in society make use of this too, of course; not everyone who says "I'll have the Revolution without the violence, please" is in good faith but merely lazy. It's fairly easy to use that view as a cover.

All this is not to say that the opposite view is exactly ideal either. I mean, I would hardly agree with I-can't-remember-which-reactionary, who claimed that if we want the Declaration of Rights, we must also be willing to drink the (probably apochryphal) glass of blood with Mlle Sombreuil. But surely there arne many happy mediums between the two. (Even if it remains almost impossible to even begin a rational conversation on the subject, even with otherwise rational people. People tend to shut down the moment they here "Terror" or "Robespierre" or even just "French Revolution" in general. It's a shame.)

The Freudian analysis of Robespierre is truly what made me hate the use of Freud in history. (Well, that and Lynn Hunt's argument that in executing the king, the revolutionaries were just following the script of Totem and Taboo.)

I love Robespierre's notion of surveillance. I think we need more of it. All surveillance is not equivalent, after all: with Fouché's variety you get a police state; with Robespierre's you get democracy, as it should operate.

As for some people's notions of "freedom"... That's a whole other rant.

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No, I hadn't seen it. It seems I wasn't missing much either. *gag*

The annoying thing about the article, as always, is that I find her insufferable, not least in her pretention to know history better than historians or revolution better than - or if not better than, exactly, at least as well as - revolutionaries. (The worst has to be when she claims at the end that "in a way, my people have written my book for me," because obviously, A Place of Greater Safety is exactly what Robespierre, Danton, and Desmoulins would have come up with if they had been allowed to put all their private thoughts on paper.) The worst is though, I can't disagree with her on everything; novels do have a kind of potential that histories don't have, not to get closer to the truth, but to show how something could have worked.

However, even there Mantel seems incapable of making a reasonable point: finding a plausible but unprovable scenario for something is not the same as finding out the truth about it. To take this post as an example, Piercy provides a plausible portrayal of Robespierre's relationship with Éléonore Duplay. More plausible, to my mind, than Mantel's. But not more true. Until such time as we can go back in time and plant secret cameras all around their house, we can't know the truth. (And even then, of course, we wouldn't be able to get inside their heads.) In the meantime, the best way to get at the truth remains looking at the evidence, making an argument, but acknowledging counterarguments even as one does this. Novelists can still only do one to two of these things at best. The most scrupulous novelist can only use fictionalized versions of the evidence and cannot include alternate scenarios unless s/he also includes alternate universes.

Mantel isn't entirely wrong about the potential of novels for exploring different possibilities, just about their supposedly superior ability to recognize truth. (Which in itself wouldn't bother me so much if it weren't for others' readiness to believe it. It's one thing for a novelist to say: I know more about history than historians. It's quite another for others in the media to say, "So you do! Come, be our resident expert on whatever historical area you have proclaimed yourself the expert on. Historians? Who needs them!" So yes, she's irritating, but unfortunately, she's not irritating in a vaccuum.)

A couple of specific points really jumped out at me as well:

You know, you would think that someone who so manifestly puts the personal over the political would know how old Robespierre, a "character" she spent twenty years writing about, was when he died. Here's a hint, HM, it wasn't 35.

It's funny that she claims to have wanted to write about the "dream" of Revolution in 1789 as something positive, when, the way I read it, her main characters were cynical and pessimistic from the start. Hell, their view of the world is shrouded from childhood in a gloom that only seems to deepen with the advent of the Revolution.

And once again, why is it that everyone seems to think that being a former Communist gives one some kind of privileged view of the French Revolution? It seems to have made up a good part of most revisionist historians' credentials.

[maelipstick.livejournal.com]

No, I hadn't seen it. It seems I wasn't missing much either. *gag*

I apologise. A Hillary Mantel piece is never much of a gift. I found it googling around four days ago and couldn't get the will together to read it until last night. Then I was reading the comment thread here (http://estellacat.livejournal.com/64950.html?thread=1293494#t1293494) and thought it might be relevant to masochistically dive into what the woman herself had to say.

Here's a hint, HM, it wasn't 35. Perhaps he didn't tell her that, you know while he was writing the novel for her. I'm not much of a believer in the afterlife, but I would hope Robespierre and Camille might get a better one than writing books for lazy novelists who couldn't be bothered to think for themselves. I can sort of see her point if I squint with the whole "in a way, my people have written my book for me," in that a lot of writers speak of imagining characters that take over the plot for themselves. Ms Mantel's problem is she didn't think up Camille and co and therefore is more constrained, unfortunately she seems to choose not to acknowledge this.

The worst is though, I can't disagree with her on everything; novels do have a kind of potential that histories don't have, not to get closer to the truth, but to show how something could have worked.

I agree. And sort of cross linking to the thread that I read but did not have anything smart enough to say on, I really can see why people making programmes on historical figures can ask artists and writers etc to comment as they can have quite thought provoking insights. Or they can be the dolt who made the Robespierre = Andy Warhol comparison But as to why she is regarded such an expert, heaven only knows. She's not even much cop as a reviewer, her David Lawday Danton book review was essentially her spewing forth everything she knew about Danton in a stylish but not especially analytical manner with very occasional references to the book she was supposed to give an opinion on. I don't know if she just has some sort of supreme self-confidence that takes review editors in.

why is it that everyone seems to think that being a former Communist gives one some kind of privileged view of the French Revolution? It seems to have made up a good part of most revisionist historians' credentials.

You know, I strongly doubt it. While Robespierre was writing your book for you, did he mention 'red bonnets being closer to red high heels than you would think' or was that too pertinent an observation for the poor otherworldly dear? It's pretty much an ongoing cliche for rich kids to join the most extremist, ill-considered, didactic "communist" groups, fail to establish the dictatorship of the proletariat by the time they finish their sophomore year and so conclude as per my neo-liberal rant above that socialism is at best a romantic delusion ill-fitted to practical aplication. In their circular logic, this then becomes fuel for the the revolution was an idealistic mistake at the start deteriorating into nihilism and best forgotten because obviously historical events mirror their own inner political development absolutely.



Oh give freaking over woman. Are you now implying that the fall of the Gironde was due to Mme Rolande crying rape too? And what's her ongoing obsession with women's sexual fear? Éléonore clearly is meant to have issues (poor Brount) Lucille secretly lusts for the rawr-sex Danton may I never ever have to write that line again And as for Babet...



Hillary, I have a Mme Le Bas on line four. It seems she would like a word...

[estellacat.livejournal.com]

I apologise. A Hillary Mantel piece is never much of a gift.
Don't worry about it. I probably would have come across it sooner or later and then, masochist that I am, I would have had to read it anyway.

I do understand what she's trying to say when she claims her characters wrote her book for her - at least I understand at least two iterations of that sentiment. Many authors claim that their brains become colonized by their characters to such an extent that they seem to write themselves. I'll buy that iteration if all Mantel is claiming is that this is what happened with her and her fictionalized versions of historical figures. If she's merely claiming that the interesting lives of the historical figures she chose to write about makes it easier to construct fictional narratives around them, then I'll buy that as well. But if she's claiming - as she seems to be - that she has some privileged view of the evidence allowing her to get to know the "real" Desmoulins or Robespierre or whoever and that they then directed her writing... Well, I would refuse to buy that even if her narrative was impossibly plausible in every detail, which, of course, it's not.

Who compared Robespierre to Andy Warhol? Because I really can't imagine where that could have come from.

her David Lawday Danton book review was essentially her spewing forth everything she knew about Danton in a stylish but not especially analytical manner with very occasional references to the book she was supposed to give an opinion on
You know, I think that may be it; people, particularly of the literary variety, are seduced by her style. I ceratinly was when I first read her as an impressionable 14 year-old with precious little knowledge of the Revolution. You really have to have to analyze her writings to recognize that there's not much substance beneath the style - and even with that, it can be difficult if you're not acquainted with the topics she discusses. Most people, once satisfied that a person knows more about a subject than they do, will simply absorb what they are saying, especially if what they say it in a sophisticated manner - and all the more so if it confirms their world view.

because obviously historical events mirror their own inner political development absolutely.
I don't suppose Mantel would be pleased to know that she and Furet (among others) share the same root delusion. At least Furet was aware that he wasn't a Robespierriste.

And what's her ongoing obsession with women's sexual fear?
I've been trying to figure that out for years. I think it must be personal too, as I've certainly seen nothing anywhere else that would warrant her over-emphasis on it. I mean, I don't even like Mme Roland much - though her memoirs are an invaluable historical document - but I certainly don't think that the antagonism between her and Danton caused the fall of the Gironde, anymore than Mme Le Bas's non-existent rape accusations caused the fall of the Indulgents.

As a guideline for the reader, I can proffer this: whatever seems most unlikely in this book is not made up by me.
She says the same thing in the preface to her novel. Of course, it's patently untrue, and not just for Mme Le Bas. She even mentions one case where she made up something improbable in this very essay: Danton and Fabre's prerevolutionary encounter. Is it impossible? No. Did she nevertheless make it up? Yes. Is it unlikely? I sure as hell think so.

[maelipstick.livejournal.com]

Who compared Robespierre to Andy Warhol?

Do you really want to know? You did mention a masochistic streak? Jacques Henric (http://www.tonyscherman.com/book/pub_wrestling.html) in an essay (scroll down) included in the Tony Scherman book (http://www.amazon.com/Tony-Scherman-Chasing-Napoleon-Forensic/dp/0906506158) that helpfully pairs portraits of French Revolutionary leaders with their "counterparts" in the Third Reich. As you might have gathered, it is a rather superficial reading. Éléonore gets a mention too :s

If she's claiming - as she seems to be - that she has some privileged view of the evidence allowing her to get to know the "real" Desmoulins or Robespierre or whoever and that they then directed her writing... Well, I would refuse to buy that even if her narrative was impossibly plausible in every detail, which, of course, it's not.

Absolutely, it's delusional. Because it takes out the fact that no matter how hard you study someone to create an accurate picture when you come to write a fictional account of them that knowledge has to be filtered through you and your ability to understand situations and your emotional responses to things. I know characters do "run away" but even then, it's something in your psyche they are acting out, even if it's buried pretty deep. My guess is, if you want to aim for accuracy in historical fiction, you have to be on your guard for this a bit otherwise you can end up making a lot of false connections, blinded by the fact you are projecting your life experience onto a character incapable of seeing the world in that way.

Example - her Pre-Revolution Robespierre as frustrated middle-class nobody seething with pent up rage repressed beneath a neat and polite exterior makes him sound like a serial killer just seems far more 1970s than 1780s to me.

Most people, once satisfied that a person knows more about a subject than they do, will simply absorb what they are saying, especially if what they say it in a sophisticated manner - and all the more so if it confirms their world view.

That's true, and sad, especially if their world view is a jenga tower built on the pearls of wisdom handed down from these 'informed people'.

At least Furet was aware that he wasn't a Robespierriste.

Heh. I thought Furet too when I saw the ex-communist blah-blah-blah. And yes, points to the revisionists/reactionaries/neo-cons for at least not being hypocrites. I recently saw a picture of Mantel in Buckingham Palace recieving her CBE and there was a part of me screaming -So while you were curtsying before the Queen vowing to uphold the British Empire, how much of a Robespierriste did you feel? Not that it should surprise me. I think it goes back to your point about liking Robespierre's percieved personality and pitying him his irrational politics.

She even mentions one case where she made up something improbable in this very essay: Danton and Fabre's prerevolutionary encounter.

And while we are on the subject of Fabre, gay-partner beater whose magic thumps cure speech impediments, unlikely. Made up? I don't know enough to say for definite, but I'd hazard an informed guess it's bullshit.

[estellacat.livejournal.com]

Oh. My. Fucking. Supreme. Being. That exists? I'm not sure my masochism extends that far.

...Clearly Hilary Mantel just holds séances in her head with Revolutionaries. She just can't admit it, because then everyone would know she was crazy.

her Pre-Revolution Robespierre as frustrated middle-class nobody seething with pent up rage repressed beneath a neat and polite exterior makes him sound like a serial killer
Some people actually think that, it seems (http://community.livejournal.com/revolution_fr/110142.html?thread=1311038#t1311038). Of course, Mantel's sources for this portrayal are easily traceable, making her pretensions to have some presumably magical direct link to the Revolutionaries even more ludicrous.

That's true, and sad, especially if their world view is a jenga tower built on the pearls of wisdom handed down from these 'informed people'.
Sadder still, it's not immediately obvious what can be done about it; it can be hard to break out of these kinds of cycles. Education could potentially do a great deal, but a truly different education could only come with a different society....

I recently saw a picture of Mantel in Buckingham Palace recieving her CBE and there was a part of me screaming -So while you were curtsying before the Queen vowing to uphold the British Empire, how much of a Robespierriste did you feel?
I wish I could really ask her that. Just to see her reaction.

And while we are on the subject of Fabre, gay-partner beater whose magic thumps cure speech impediments, unlikely. Made up? I don't know enough to say for definite, but I'd hazard an informed guess it's bullshit.
You could probably say this about most of her characters, come to think of it. Though her Fabre is a pretty egregious case of improbability.

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Oh. My. Fucking. Supreme. Being. That exists? I'm not sure my masochism extends that far.

I was googling for info on Brount as PoGS is the only thing I've got that gives any info on him, and predictably about five out of ten hits were to "Robespierre was really nice to his dog, that makes him just like the Nazis" pieces. Which makes me wonder if Robespierre would be politically more palatable to these people if he had mistreated his dog.

Although I also found this (http://peterfoolen.blogspot.com/2009/02/ian-hamilton-finlay-brount.html) which amused me.

Tony Scherman is also a member of the revolutionary-séances-in-head club and there's an utterly ridiculous quote from him on Saint-Just net re-treading the tedious Robespierre was obviously so repressed and evil he must have been gay line. Which does make me wonder who is the real Nazi, the person who shares some incidental trait with a Nazi leader or the person who shares political opinions with them. Hmm?

Randomly - dog ownership in the UK is highest where the votes for neo-fascist parties are lowest.

Clearly Hilary Mantel just holds séances in her head with Revolutionaries. She just can't admit it, because then everyone would know she was crazy.

If I were to go mad, that would definately be the crazy I'd apply for. It doesn't sound too bad, does it?

I wish I could really ask her that. Just to see her reaction.

She'd probably ask why you were wasting your precious youth in academic study when surely what you want to be doing is having babies. And then patronise you some more for being under twenty-seven.

Sadder still, it's not immediately obvious what can be done about it; it can be hard to break out of these kinds of cycles. Education could potentially do a great deal, but a truly different education could only come with a different society....

Its true, and it is difficult to know what to do about it, because it's a bit of a chicken and egg scenario, because you need to educate people to have the confidence to challenge "experts" [insert non-elitist education rant here]. That's why I do find Mantel's "Anything that seems particularly unlikely is probably true."/"As a guideline for the reader, I can proffer this: whatever seems most unlikely in this book is not made up by me." the vilest of her vile views because it discourages questioning and disempowers the reader.

I have to admit I dismissed the Robespierre-is-just-a-killer as revolution_fr's community troll.

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Which makes me wonder if Robespierre would be politically more palatable to these people if he had mistreated his dog.
I doubt it. You really can't win with these people. (Not that I'm suggesting that animal abuse would be an acceptable strategy for getting people to like you if it worked. But seriously, if he had mistreated his dog, they would just call him a sociopath and be done with it.)

Although I also found this which amused me.
I kind of want to see what that book (pamphlet?) says. But then again, I've seen so many mentions of Brount, frequently contradictory, so I wouldn't hold out much hope of something like this resolving the question. I've seen Brount's name as Blount and Bruant, and I've read in more than one novel (but never in any non-fiction source) that Brount was named after some obscure Englishman (about whom I could never find any information either), so either they're cribbing from each other or they had some common source that I haven't come across. The consensus seems pretty solid on how Robespierre got Brount, and that Brount was a large dog, but other than that... I mean, I have more solid information about Le Bas's dog than Robespierre's, for crying out loud. (Let's note in passing that Le Bas also had a dog which by all accounts he treated well. Clearly he was a Nazi too.)

Which does make me wonder who is the real Nazi, the person who shares some incidental trait with a Nazi leader or the person who shares political opinions with them. Hmm?
Hm, between homophobia and dog-ownership... It's a close one, but I think I'm going to have to go with the former.

Randomly - dog ownership in the UK is highest where the votes for neo-fascist parties are lowest.
Clearly they all abuse their dogs.

If I were to go mad, that would definately be the crazy I'd apply for. It doesn't sound too bad, does it?
You have a point there. However, I don't think it's a crazy Hilary Mantel does have, because I can't imagine even figments of Revolutionaries would want to have themselves portrayed so odiously.

She'd probably ask why you were wasting your precious youth in academic study when surely what you want to be doing is having babies. And then patronise you some more for being under twenty-seven.
True. Well then, I wish I could borrow a middle-aged man to ask her, just to see her reaction.

That's why I do find Mantel's "Anything that seems particularly unlikely is probably true."/"As a guideline for the reader, I can proffer this: whatever seems most unlikely in this book is not made up by me." the vilest of her vile views because it discourages questioning and disempowers the reader.
...Not to mention the fact that if people take her at her word, they end up believing things like Danton was executed chiefly because the evil Mme Le Bas falsely accused him of rape.

I have to admit I dismissed the Robespierre-is-just-a-killer as revolution_fr's community troll.
You're probably right, in this case, but there are entire other communities - usually centering about Antoinette - where such views are commonly held. Not to mention forums where people debate - without offering any evidence to back them up, mind you - Robespierre's supposed lack of sanity in perfect seriousness and sincerity.

[maelipstick.livejournal.com]

The consensus seems pretty solid on how Robespierre got Brount

How did Robespierre get Brount? I'm still toying with the ridiculous fluff idea.

Well then, I wish I could borrow a middle-aged man to ask her, just to see her reaction.

Is 35-36 middle aged? Perhaps we could call on superhero Robespierre. He'd be very polite and devastatingly sarcastic.

they end up believing things like Danton was executed chiefly because the evil Mme Le Bas falsely accused him of rape.

I've worked out the logic to this. No seriously, I have the answer to this particular peice of WTF and it's this. Every revisionist knows Robespierristes don't have sex. Or if they do have sex it's very horrible and probably gay and they feel terrible afterwards and have to go and kill a couple of hundred people to feel right again. Phillipe Le Bas fils was a bit of a problem here. So Hillary's stunning revelation that Danton was in fact the Father of Babet's child makes perfect sense!

Except possibly we're not supposed to believe Babet had sex with Danton at all because she's a horrible Camille-raping strumpet, but that would mean Le Bas was the father and we can't have that because he's a Robespierriste and obviously doesn't have sex, so the only conclusion we can draw is that Babet raped Danton. Danton was the only person capable of keeping the revolution fertile (or something.)

usually centering about Antoinette - Not to mention forums where people debate - without offering any evidence to back them up, mind you - Robespierre's supposed lack of sanity

Yes. I saw something like this where in one breath they were discussing Robespierre's "paranoia" about intrigue and the next how normal it was for MA to pass state secrets on to her brother because the Hapsburgs saw ruling Europe as a family business and saw Royalty as more important than nationality. Poor common dear just didn't realise that was the way things were done.

You know, there's just not much you can say to that logic.

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Pretty much all the sources I've read that talk about Brount's origins say that when he went back to Arras, one of his supporters gave him Brount (then a puppy), and that he then took him back with him to Paris.

35-36 middle aged? Perhaps we could call on superhero Robespierre. He'd be very polite and devastatingly sarcastic.
Not quite middle aged, but I think he'd work even better. For obvious reasons.

I can see the logic to that. It's no wonder Mantel pretends that Couthon doesn't exist then. I think she'd have to contort her narrative to the point of absolute ridiculousness to have Couthon's wife rape Danton on at least two separate occasions.

You know, there's just not much you can say to that logic.
Indeed not. It's a truly quizzical phenomenon that people should be so quick to identify with royals and their ways of operating. You would think that non-royals would find them inherently suspicious, but go figure.

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Pretty much all the sources I've read that talk about Brount's origins say that when he went back to Arras, one of his supporters gave him Brount (then a puppy), and that he then took him back with him to Paris.

XD! That's rather ridiculously sweet. Robespierre got rewarded in puppies.

Not quite middle aged, but I think he'd work even better. For obvious reasons

I kind of started having a go here (http://maelipstick.livejournal.com/151230.html#cutid1) although for some reason I changed Hillary's name. There's no Brount though.

I think she'd have to contort her narrative to the point of absolute ridiculousness to have Couthon's wife rape Danton on at least two separate occasions.

*snorts tea at screen* Poor Danton. So abused and yet we never knew.

It's a truly quizzical phenomenon that people should be so quick to identify with royals and their ways of operating.

Well, they do get all the good PR at least in Western Anglophone countries. Plus they had nice dresses. And they're always good for a "free spirit oppressed by stuffy snobby court rules" romances.

You would think that non-royals would find them inherently suspicious, but go figure.

Or at the very least question if the stuffy court was oppressing free spirited princesses, what the heck was it doing to everybody else.

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Robespierre got rewarded in puppies.
And what could be better than that? Though to be as exact as possible, many accounts aren't quite that specific. Hamel, for example, just says that Robespierre brought Brount back from Artois, not who gave him to him. I'm going to have to go back over my books to confirm my recollection.

for some reason I changed Hillary's name
I think the name Margaret Plum rather suits her, actually. It has all the right connotations.

Poor Danton. So abused and yet we never knew.
And what's more, Couthon's wife would have had to seek him out before the Revolution. And in an entirely different province. That's a long way to go to rape someone who's going to embody the virility of a Revolution neither of you know is going to happen yet.

Well, they do get all the good PR at least in Western Anglophone countries. Plus they had nice dresses.
I must admit, I'm sincerely uncertain as to which point counts more with these people...

Or at the very least question if the stuffy court was oppressing free spirited princesses, what the heck was it doing to everybody else.
I think some combination of the aforementioned PR and pretty dresses keeps them from questioning anything. A tragedy, really, when you think of all the more useful pursuits they could be engaging in.