I missed the orange while I was reading the chapter and am glad I did, because an orange in August calls for a great deal of suspension of disbelief. Plants are perhaps the most treacherous anachronism trap for historical novelists….
The insurrection of 10 August with the attack on the Tuileries was just terrifying. I watched 6 January 2020 live on TV, and even though the latter event was, by a stroke of good fortune, far less bloody, it reminded me a lot of that event. A good reminder that the times we live in are just as chaotic …
My disbelief was suspended a long time ago. Got no problem with that. You're right about the book's pertinence though – terror in our times. I read this book first during the Arab Spring and counter revolution, it felt terribly resonant then.
Ah, for me, finding anachronisms is part of the fun. Plants are more niche than clothes, though, and therefore even more fun.
I wonder if and how knowledge of the horrific mob violence during the French Revolution has affected later attitudes towards both the organisation of uprisings and mitigating crowd control efforts. I’ve given up on the concept of “learning from history”, but maybe that did hav an effect.
Yes, I was going to mention Haussmann. This is part of a great series the Guardian ran a few years ago about the history of cities. https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2016/mar/31/story-cities-12-paris-baron-haussmann-france-urban-planner-napoleon - I remember being quite transfixed by the egouts (mentioned in the article), and the fact that they have an ingenious system for washing the street gutters. When I was a student in Paris many years ago, my German flatmate's boyfriend came for a weekend and they spent almost all the time underground - one day in the catacombs and the next wandering about in the sewers.
I found the orange to be a touch of magical realism as well as a symbol. Our revolutionaries are not averse to luxuries. They are basically the nobility of the revolutionaries.
That's interesting. I tend to think of oranges being all-year round, but I suppose they do have seasons (blood oranges in winter, marmalade oranges in later winter, tangerines etc at Christmas) even if it gets blurred these days.
Ah that was different. I think I did a footnote on it at the time: pineapples were a status fruit grown in hot houses. I think the Rostovs procured them from Pierre's.
In the same manner, it would not be completely unthinkable for Lucile to have access to an orange in August, just very very unlikely and somewhat lacking in revolutionary spirit. She might as well have tucked into pineapple ice cream!
Just popped briefly into a Thomas Blaikie rabbit hole. I liked his description of events (and, the historical lexicographer in me enjoys his loose relationship with spelling - v typical in those days). I wonder if I can track down a copy of his diary - contemporary accounts by more accidental observers are always fascinating, I think. More so often than the "official" record - they really bring the reader into the heart of events.
Christopher Hibbert gives us Blaikie's account of the crowd bringing the King and Queen to Paris back in 1789:
"The Queen sat at the bottom of the coach with the Dauphin on her knees... while some of the blackguards in the rabble were firing their guns over her head. As I stood by the coach one man fired over the Queen's head. I told him to desist but he said he would continue."
He grew up at his parents' market garden on Corstorphine Hill, then in the countryside, but now swallowed up by Edinburgh. It lay on the site of what is now Edinburgh Zoo, and apparently there's a memorial plaque to him there.
I can’t help feeling so so sorry for the royal family - them being such a *family* makes the ordeal they went through so much worse. The monarchy as such was certainly a deserving target, and they could have dialled back the lavish lifestyle if they’d stopped to think (clearly not their strong suit), but the four who were left faced such a pitiful lot.
Sign me up for the Lucile fan club. She is such a joy - knowing, cynical and sharp. (Not that I expect it to do her any good in the long run.) That's quite an achievement in a book with so many horrible characters.
It's starting to feel all too real now. And out three 'heroes' are very much as we know them: Danton, violent thug; Desmoulins, over-dramatic; Robespierre, missing (but not) in action.
All the petty point scoring - or maybe score-settling) is really the fault line that is going to lead to destruction. (That goes for the 21st Century as well.) I*'m hard-pressed to see how the very poorest will benefit from what's going on. (That goes for the 21st Century as well.)
I'm beginning to wonder what else is going to happen to the blue chaise longue - but it's certainly making its presence felt.
My favourite line: "This supper with the Marseilles people will be over by 8:30, always assuming that they don't sing." Funny, and possibly true.
So at last the Revolution has begun for real, and everyone is hysterical, as well they might be. The women are desperate to keep their men alive, the men hope they’ll be up to whatever offers itself—apart that is from Danton, who’s a cold fish, and Robespierre, who isn’t even a fish. Has anyone analyzed Max’s famed conscience (apart from Thomas Carlyle)? My mind goes blank, but Lucile seems a good candidate for putting that particular boot in. Hilary has clearly been saving up for this week’s display: even more lovely quotable bits than usual. One of my favourites is “Go back to your apartment and burn anything you think may be incriminating. Be very careful, because you notice that as the Revolution goes on there are new crimes.” And have a look at portraits of Camille’s cousin Antoine Fouquier-Tinville: you will surely agree with Hilary’s remark “Possible, yes, to trace a family likeness. But when you saw Camille you wanted to touch him; when you saw his cousin, that was not your reaction.” Perfect
Thank you for the Blaikie information. The domestic comrade has Corstorphine ancestors, so who knows?
I keep bringing this up but I am in awe of the detail and the dialogues in the book. Books tend to speed up and lose this magnifying effect that we love in historical fiction, but never Mantel’s. Every little gesture, clothing detail, even piece of rubbish underfoot, is still there, halfway through the narration. In fact the big event is the sum total of these details, these smaller events…. Lucile is like the new queen of the revolutionary realm - not showing fear, armed for self defense, tempting the patriots with an off season orange. Even if that reign is proven to be brief, you cannot help but love her.
"Vergniaud, the current president of the Assembly, had long ago given up trying to distinguish truth from fantasy."
Yet another moment in this book that feels incredibly resonant with our moment—that the rush and anxiety of the revolution (#2, in this case!) also brings an unraveling of truth and an uproar of rumor.
The stability of truth walks hand-in-hand with the stability of social order; chicken or the egg, though? That comes down to the eye of the beholder, I'd offer...
(Also: Max's absence this chapter was quite something, wasn't it?)
This chapter made my head spin! I'm still not sure I entirely followed the timeline or who was doing what where when and why, but I did appreciate how the perspective of the anxiously waiting women was mixed in with the unfolding events. There were a few really powerful passages in there too - the ones that most stuck with me were Camille & Suleau's farewell and the poignant moment where Louis Capet shuts out his courtiers.
I've been trying to work out for a few weeks now which of our revolutionaries most closely resembles Cromwell, and this week I found a surprising new contender: Lucile! Danton is right that she's not a silly girl & is strong enough to look after the others: I loved how at the start of the chapter, with an air of mild irritation at being disturbed from her book by Fabre's panicking, she suggests how to phrase a flattering letter to lure Danton back (reminiscent of Cromwell advising people on how to write to Henry), and later she twice negotiates the turbulent streets, with the taunting 'just try it' smile she's learned from Camille, drawing courage from her little knife:
"No one knew she had this little knife; she hardly allowed herself to know, but she kept it on her person in case of need."
Yes! I thought of Cromwell when Lucile carried that little knife. Unquestionably Mantel will have thought of Lucile when she wrote about the knife in The Mirror and the Light.
I'm behind this week, but I really enjoyed this chapter. It's painful to read Lucile's thoughts about this maybe being the end of the world, when you know it isn't for her, not yet, but it is so close. It seems to haunt Lucile's narrative throughout the book, that spectre of her death. (Also I've just realised that I've been spelling Lucile with two ls for all this time, oops).
Mantel excels at a certain kind of... Intimacy? Connection? between the characters, particularly featuring Camille & Lucile, Danton, Max, Suleau etc which feels very real and also incredibly rare in fiction: a lot of authors try to do this and mostly don't manage it but I think she hits it again and again in this book (Is there much in WH? I can't think of much - maybe Cromwell's relationship with Henry? I'll have to keep an eye out)
"The usual dubious reports of cannibalism" made me laugh particularly. So did Louise calling Gabrielle a noble savage, since she's about as far from Rousseau's archetype as you can imagine!
Also re the oranges isn't Robespierre famous for living off tea and oranges? So they must have been somewhat available at least (maybe?)
I also have thoughts about politics (or the lack of) in this book but maybe another week as this is already getting long!
There's lost of this intimacy in the Cromwell books too, especially between Cromwell and his household. It feels very real – like you want to crawl inside the story and stay in this safe place that isn't safe at all.
Hmmm…. Yes, I agree very much that Mantel is masterful in creating a world that feels intimate, real. But in no way! do I want to be taken back by the “time machine” to late 18th century Paris.
Many little notes written on my ebook this week too, including, "'Danton is a complete crook,' Roland said. 'Perhaps we should ask him to take over as Minister of Justice?'". Hahahahahaha. And I also loved the foreshadowing about Camille being directed by Suleau to ask Robespierre which one comes first, his old pals or his new principles. I did wonder about the lack of mention from the 3 women about Lucile's 5 week old baby. I think only Suleau says anything about him? Where is he and why is Lucile not rigid with fear for him? I'm travelling atm and a bit distracted from the story so I'm sure it was mentioned that he's been sent to APOGS, but she seems not to be thinking about the little bless at all.
I also enjoyed the exchange between the three women in this week's chapter. It brought some escapism from the blood and gore, although Mantel was clear of the impact this revolution is having on them too. I listened to a podcast not too long about the history of the condom (Betwixt the sheets) and somewhere also saw a program of someone making one in the old fashioned way complete with a ribbon to tie it on, no idea what a watching, certainly not Horrible Histories 😆
Finally got this chapter read on the plane trip home (from a visit with my parents -- almost finished today's/this week's chapter...). Here's a tangent/question: I'm intrigued by the detail of Marie Antoinette's hairbrush. Is this based on a true story? Do we know what happened to it?
I'm not sure – that would make an interesting tangent. The Tuileries was ransacked and looted so I think this just represents that, but it would be interesting if we could actually track down Marie Antoinette’s hairbrush.
I missed the orange while I was reading the chapter and am glad I did, because an orange in August calls for a great deal of suspension of disbelief. Plants are perhaps the most treacherous anachronism trap for historical novelists….
The insurrection of 10 August with the attack on the Tuileries was just terrifying. I watched 6 January 2020 live on TV, and even though the latter event was, by a stroke of good fortune, far less bloody, it reminded me a lot of that event. A good reminder that the times we live in are just as chaotic …
My disbelief was suspended a long time ago. Got no problem with that. You're right about the book's pertinence though – terror in our times. I read this book first during the Arab Spring and counter revolution, it felt terribly resonant then.
Come now, if Lucile wants an orange, no matter the season, of course there will be one there for her!
She is indulged indeed.
You are so right about the treachery of plants in historical fiction.
The creative reader in me happily just imagines Lucile got lucky. Or perhaps it is enchanted.
Ah, for me, finding anachronisms is part of the fun. Plants are more niche than clothes, though, and therefore even more fun.
I wonder if and how knowledge of the horrific mob violence during the French Revolution has affected later attitudes towards both the organisation of uprisings and mitigating crowd control efforts. I’ve given up on the concept of “learning from history”, but maybe that did hav an effect.
And anachronism are fun. They are often deliberate. And when they are not, we can pretend they are.
I believe one of the tangents to that is the restructuring of Paris to make it easier to prevent and suppress popular uprisings: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haussmann's_renovation_of_Paris
Yes, I was going to mention Haussmann. This is part of a great series the Guardian ran a few years ago about the history of cities. https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2016/mar/31/story-cities-12-paris-baron-haussmann-france-urban-planner-napoleon - I remember being quite transfixed by the egouts (mentioned in the article), and the fact that they have an ingenious system for washing the street gutters. When I was a student in Paris many years ago, my German flatmate's boyfriend came for a weekend and they spent almost all the time underground - one day in the catacombs and the next wandering about in the sewers.
I found the orange to be a touch of magical realism as well as a symbol. Our revolutionaries are not averse to luxuries. They are basically the nobility of the revolutionaries.
That's interesting. I tend to think of oranges being all-year round, but I suppose they do have seasons (blood oranges in winter, marmalade oranges in later winter, tangerines etc at Christmas) even if it gets blurred these days.
Good spot!
We’ve generally lost the sense of seasonality because of widely available greenhouses and great storage and shipping options.
Come to think of it, weren't they tucking into pineapple in W&P. I don't think of either Moscow or St Petersburg as being exactly tropical. 😉
Ah that was different. I think I did a footnote on it at the time: pineapples were a status fruit grown in hot houses. I think the Rostovs procured them from Pierre's.
In the same manner, it would not be completely unthinkable for Lucile to have access to an orange in August, just very very unlikely and somewhat lacking in revolutionary spirit. She might as well have tucked into pineapple ice cream!
Perhaps that's it then. The Desmoulins do have a whiff of champagne socialism about them. Or rather, orange Jacobinism.
Just popped briefly into a Thomas Blaikie rabbit hole. I liked his description of events (and, the historical lexicographer in me enjoys his loose relationship with spelling - v typical in those days). I wonder if I can track down a copy of his diary - contemporary accounts by more accidental observers are always fascinating, I think. More so often than the "official" record - they really bring the reader into the heart of events.
Christopher Hibbert gives us Blaikie's account of the crowd bringing the King and Queen to Paris back in 1789:
"The Queen sat at the bottom of the coach with the Dauphin on her knees... while some of the blackguards in the rabble were firing their guns over her head. As I stood by the coach one man fired over the Queen's head. I told him to desist but he said he would continue."
He grew up at his parents' market garden on Corstorphine Hill, then in the countryside, but now swallowed up by Edinburgh. It lay on the site of what is now Edinburgh Zoo, and apparently there's a memorial plaque to him there.
I can’t help feeling so so sorry for the royal family - them being such a *family* makes the ordeal they went through so much worse. The monarchy as such was certainly a deserving target, and they could have dialled back the lavish lifestyle if they’d stopped to think (clearly not their strong suit), but the four who were left faced such a pitiful lot.
Sign me up for the Lucile fan club. She is such a joy - knowing, cynical and sharp. (Not that I expect it to do her any good in the long run.) That's quite an achievement in a book with so many horrible characters.
It's starting to feel all too real now. And out three 'heroes' are very much as we know them: Danton, violent thug; Desmoulins, over-dramatic; Robespierre, missing (but not) in action.
All the petty point scoring - or maybe score-settling) is really the fault line that is going to lead to destruction. (That goes for the 21st Century as well.) I*'m hard-pressed to see how the very poorest will benefit from what's going on. (That goes for the 21st Century as well.)
I'm beginning to wonder what else is going to happen to the blue chaise longue - but it's certainly making its presence felt.
My favourite line: "This supper with the Marseilles people will be over by 8:30, always assuming that they don't sing." Funny, and possibly true.
So at last the Revolution has begun for real, and everyone is hysterical, as well they might be. The women are desperate to keep their men alive, the men hope they’ll be up to whatever offers itself—apart that is from Danton, who’s a cold fish, and Robespierre, who isn’t even a fish. Has anyone analyzed Max’s famed conscience (apart from Thomas Carlyle)? My mind goes blank, but Lucile seems a good candidate for putting that particular boot in. Hilary has clearly been saving up for this week’s display: even more lovely quotable bits than usual. One of my favourites is “Go back to your apartment and burn anything you think may be incriminating. Be very careful, because you notice that as the Revolution goes on there are new crimes.” And have a look at portraits of Camille’s cousin Antoine Fouquier-Tinville: you will surely agree with Hilary’s remark “Possible, yes, to trace a family likeness. But when you saw Camille you wanted to touch him; when you saw his cousin, that was not your reaction.” Perfect
Thank you for the Blaikie information. The domestic comrade has Corstorphine ancestors, so who knows?
I keep bringing this up but I am in awe of the detail and the dialogues in the book. Books tend to speed up and lose this magnifying effect that we love in historical fiction, but never Mantel’s. Every little gesture, clothing detail, even piece of rubbish underfoot, is still there, halfway through the narration. In fact the big event is the sum total of these details, these smaller events…. Lucile is like the new queen of the revolutionary realm - not showing fear, armed for self defense, tempting the patriots with an off season orange. Even if that reign is proven to be brief, you cannot help but love her.
"Vergniaud, the current president of the Assembly, had long ago given up trying to distinguish truth from fantasy."
Yet another moment in this book that feels incredibly resonant with our moment—that the rush and anxiety of the revolution (#2, in this case!) also brings an unraveling of truth and an uproar of rumor.
The stability of truth walks hand-in-hand with the stability of social order; chicken or the egg, though? That comes down to the eye of the beholder, I'd offer...
(Also: Max's absence this chapter was quite something, wasn't it?)
This chapter made my head spin! I'm still not sure I entirely followed the timeline or who was doing what where when and why, but I did appreciate how the perspective of the anxiously waiting women was mixed in with the unfolding events. There were a few really powerful passages in there too - the ones that most stuck with me were Camille & Suleau's farewell and the poignant moment where Louis Capet shuts out his courtiers.
I've been trying to work out for a few weeks now which of our revolutionaries most closely resembles Cromwell, and this week I found a surprising new contender: Lucile! Danton is right that she's not a silly girl & is strong enough to look after the others: I loved how at the start of the chapter, with an air of mild irritation at being disturbed from her book by Fabre's panicking, she suggests how to phrase a flattering letter to lure Danton back (reminiscent of Cromwell advising people on how to write to Henry), and later she twice negotiates the turbulent streets, with the taunting 'just try it' smile she's learned from Camille, drawing courage from her little knife:
"No one knew she had this little knife; she hardly allowed herself to know, but she kept it on her person in case of need."
Yes! I thought of Cromwell when Lucile carried that little knife. Unquestionably Mantel will have thought of Lucile when she wrote about the knife in The Mirror and the Light.
I'm behind this week, but I really enjoyed this chapter. It's painful to read Lucile's thoughts about this maybe being the end of the world, when you know it isn't for her, not yet, but it is so close. It seems to haunt Lucile's narrative throughout the book, that spectre of her death. (Also I've just realised that I've been spelling Lucile with two ls for all this time, oops).
Mantel excels at a certain kind of... Intimacy? Connection? between the characters, particularly featuring Camille & Lucile, Danton, Max, Suleau etc which feels very real and also incredibly rare in fiction: a lot of authors try to do this and mostly don't manage it but I think she hits it again and again in this book (Is there much in WH? I can't think of much - maybe Cromwell's relationship with Henry? I'll have to keep an eye out)
"The usual dubious reports of cannibalism" made me laugh particularly. So did Louise calling Gabrielle a noble savage, since she's about as far from Rousseau's archetype as you can imagine!
Also re the oranges isn't Robespierre famous for living off tea and oranges? So they must have been somewhat available at least (maybe?)
I also have thoughts about politics (or the lack of) in this book but maybe another week as this is already getting long!
There's lost of this intimacy in the Cromwell books too, especially between Cromwell and his household. It feels very real – like you want to crawl inside the story and stay in this safe place that isn't safe at all.
That's beautifully and very accurately phrased! Mantel really does write books you want to live in and I think that's part of why
Hmmm…. Yes, I agree very much that Mantel is masterful in creating a world that feels intimate, real. But in no way! do I want to be taken back by the “time machine” to late 18th century Paris.
It's less a case of wanting, but having to live – being thrown into the all of it.
I’m in the Lucile fan club too. Love her! Although I have to admit, I’m not sure what it is about him, but I’m in the Camille fan club too.
“This supper with the Marseille people will be over by 8:30, always assuming that they don’t sing.“ LOL
Many little notes written on my ebook this week too, including, "'Danton is a complete crook,' Roland said. 'Perhaps we should ask him to take over as Minister of Justice?'". Hahahahahaha. And I also loved the foreshadowing about Camille being directed by Suleau to ask Robespierre which one comes first, his old pals or his new principles. I did wonder about the lack of mention from the 3 women about Lucile's 5 week old baby. I think only Suleau says anything about him? Where is he and why is Lucile not rigid with fear for him? I'm travelling atm and a bit distracted from the story so I'm sure it was mentioned that he's been sent to APOGS, but she seems not to be thinking about the little bless at all.
I also enjoyed the exchange between the three women in this week's chapter. It brought some escapism from the blood and gore, although Mantel was clear of the impact this revolution is having on them too. I listened to a podcast not too long about the history of the condom (Betwixt the sheets) and somewhere also saw a program of someone making one in the old fashioned way complete with a ribbon to tie it on, no idea what a watching, certainly not Horrible Histories 😆
Finally got this chapter read on the plane trip home (from a visit with my parents -- almost finished today's/this week's chapter...). Here's a tangent/question: I'm intrigued by the detail of Marie Antoinette's hairbrush. Is this based on a true story? Do we know what happened to it?
I'm not sure – that would make an interesting tangent. The Tuileries was ransacked and looted so I think this just represents that, but it would be interesting if we could actually track down Marie Antoinette’s hairbrush.