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revolution_fr2007-12-29 04:20 pm
Élisabeth Le Bas's Memoirs (Part I)
Mme Le Bas’ Manuscript[1].
It was the day when Marat was borne in triumph to the Assembly that I saw my beloved Philippe Le Bas for the first time.
I found myself, that day, at the National Convention with Charlotte Robespierre. Le Bas came to greet her; he stayed with us for a long time and asked who I was.
My mother was so good that she never refused her anything that could please her. She allowed me to accompany her many times.
Therefore, I was with her at the Convention.
She occupied an apartment in the front, in my father’s house on the Rue Saint-Honoré. I was also good friends with her, and it was a pleasure to go see her often; sometimes I even pleased myself to help her with her hair and her toilette. She too seemed to have much affection for me.
My mother saw our attachment to Robespierre and his family with pleasure. For us, we loved him like a good brother! He was so good! He was our defender when my mother scolded us. That happened to me sometimes: I was quite young, a bit scatterbrained; he gave me such good advice that, as young as I was, I listened to it with pleasure.
When I had some unhappiness, I told him everything. He was not a severe judge: he was a friend, a good brother indeed; he was so virtuous! He venerated my father and mother. We all loved him tenderly.
Finally
We went therefore to that session. We had brought oranges and some sweets.
These messieurs, after having stayed with us for some time, left us to go vote.
I asked
As I said already, Mademoiselle Robespierre seemed pleased with me.
At another session of the Assembly, where we found ourselves again together, she took a ring from me that I had on my finger. Le Bas saw and asked her to let him see it, which she did. He looked at the figure that was engraved on it, and he was obliged, at that moment, to go away to give his vote, without having the time to return the ring, which caused me great torment; for he could not return it to me, and I no longer had it on my finger. Our good mother was dear to all of us and we trembled to cause her pain.
At that same session, Le Bas had lent us, Charlotte and I, a lorgnette. He returned, for a moment, to speak to Mlle Robespierre of what had just happened in the session; I wanted to return his lorgnette to him; he did not want to take it back and said that we were going to have need of it again. He begged me keep it. He went away again, and, at that moment I pleaded with
He had charged Robespierre the Younger with making his excuses and telling us that he had found himself indisposed and had been obliged to leave, quite to his regret. And myself too, I regretted no longer having my ring and not being able to return his lorgnette to him. I feared to displease my mother and be scolded; this was a great torment to me. My mother was good, but very severe.
From that time, we did not have occasion to return to the Convention again.
I admit that this news made a great impression on me. I could not take account of it: I, so young and so gay, I became sad and pensive; everyone observed my sadness, even Robespierre, who asked me if I had some sorrow; I assured him that nothing was wrong, that my mother had not scolded me, that I could not take account of what I was feeling. He said kindly: “Little Élisabeth, think of me as your best friend, as a good brother; I’ll give you all the advice one needs at your age.” Later, he was how much confidence I had in him.
For a long time I had ceased to hear anyone speak of Le Bas, and I did not know who to address myself to have news of him.
At this time, we often went walking as a family in the Champs-Élysées; ordinarily we chose the most retired paths. Robespierre often accompanied us in these walks. We passed happy moments together thus. We were always surrounded by poor little Savoyards, whose dancing it pleased Robespierre to watch; he gave them money: he was so good! For him it was a joy to do good: he was never happier than in those moments. He had a dog, named Brount, that he loved a lot; the poor beast was very attached to him.
In the evening, after returning from the walk, Robespierre read us the works of Corneille, Voltaire, Rousseau; we listened to him as a family with great pleasure; he knew so well how to make what he was reading felt! After an hour or two of reading, he retired to his room, saying good evening to all. He had a profound respect for my father and mother; they too regarded him as a son, and we as a brother.
For some time, my health had been less good; my parents observed this and resolved to send me to stay a month in the country, with Mme Panis (in Chaville). She had all a mother’s cares for me; she took me walking in very beautiful gardens.
One day, among others, she took me to Sèvres, to a country house inhabited by Danton. I had never seen him; but great God! How ugly he was! We found him with a lot of people, walking in a very beautiful garden. He came to us and asked Mme Panis who I was; she replied that I was one of Robespierre’s host’s daughters.
He told her I appeared to be suffering, that I needed a good [boy]friend, that this would return me to health. He had the sort of repulsive features that frighten one. He came up to me, wanted to take my waist and kiss me. I repulsed him forcefully, though I was still quite weak.
I was very young; but his face scared me so much that I pleaded insistently with Mme Panis not to bring me back to that house; I told her that this man had said horrible things to me, such as I had never heard. He had no respect for women, and still less for young people.
Mme Panis seemed to regret having taken me to that house and told me that she did not know that man under that report; she assured me that we would not return to his house and then told me that he was Danton; she urged me not to speak to my mother of what had happened, because it could cause her pain, and she would no longer want to let me come to see her. I admit that this recommendation was not pleasing to me, for our good mother had raised us in the habit of never hiding anything from her.
I did not even want to stay in the country anymore; but my brother came to see me, and we passed a few more days there; and we departed once more for
God! How happy I was to see my parents again! I had such a need to recount everything to my mother! The horrid mien of that man followed me everywhere.
My mother did not find my health much better; she asked me several questions, asked what I had done in Chaville and if I had had fun there, if I had gone on many walks and where we had been. Poor mother! I could hide nothing from her; she seemed very perturbed by what I told her and asked me if I would like to return to Sèvres again; but I said no with such emphasis that she no longer spoke to me on the subject.
I was still quite sad; our good friend Robespierre tried every means of finding out what was wrong with me, told me that this sadness was not natural at my age, and so much the more since I had always been cheerful until then.
What could I say to him? I could not resolve myself to explain the reasons for my sadness to him!
Upon my return I went to see
How much I would have liked to hear someone speak of Le Bas! God! How I suffered! No one spoke his name; it had been nearly two months since he had appeared at the Convention or the Jacobins.
It was after these two months of absence that I saw my beloved again. My mother, having gone one day to dine in the country with Robespierre, had left us, my sister Victoire and I, at the house, recommending that we should go reserve seats at the Jacobins for the evening session, at which it was thought that Robespierre would speak (the days when he was to be heard there was always so large a crowd that one was forced to reserve seats in advance). I went alone and arrived early so as not to miss out.
What was my surprise and joy when I saw my beloved! His absence had made me spill tears. What was my happiness when I recognized him!
I found him quite changed; he recognized me right away and approached me with respect. He asked me how I and all my family, as well as Robespierre, were faring, saying that he had not seen Robespierre in a long time, though he had a great deal of friendship for him. Finally, after a silence of several minutes, which he broke first, he asked me many questions and sought to feel me out.
He asked me if I was not soon going to marry, if I was in love with anyone, if pleasures and the toilette were to my taste, and if, once married and having become a mother, I would like to nurse my children.
I replied that I would follow my good mother’s example and always ask her advice.
Then he told me that I was very good, that he wanted to ask me to find him a woman who was very cheerful, who loved pleasures and the toilette, and who was not thinking of nursing her own children, for that would enslave her and deprive her of the pleasures that a young woman should love.
God! How this kind of language on his part hurt me! What! I said to myself, there is the manner of thinking of a man whom I believed so reasonable and so virtuous!
I wanted to go away then; but he entreated me to stay, saying that he had more to say to me; I told him that if he had nothing else to ask me I would like to retire, that his way of seeing being very different from my own, I could not accept the commission he wanted to give me to find him a wife. I begged him to charge some other person with that care.
I became serious; for never had a felt such chagrin; it was very hard for me to discover such sentiments in a man whom I had adored in secret, whom I believed to be so good by all accounts. I admit that having seen him so full of respect and attentions for me every time I had met him when I was with Charlotte, and that the persistence with which he had insisted on keeping my ring and not recovering his lorgnette—which had been a precious souvenir for me during his illness—I admit that all of that had made me think there was some sympathy between us. My illusions were therefore destroyed.
Also, this conversation made such an impression on me that I was near to feeling ill. I said to myself: “My God! How imprudent I was to think of him! How I would blush, mother, if you knew my weakness! How I would deserve to be scolded by you! But how unhappy your daughter was! I was in love and I wanted to hide it from you.”
I then indeed saw my mistake and I wanted to leave him at once; but he insisted emphatically that I should stay, seeing the ill he had caused me. He said to me: “Good Élisabeth, I have caused you much pain, but forgive me for it. Yes, I admit, I wanted to know your way of thinking. Well then! The one I prayed you to seek for me, dear Élisabeth, is you: yes, my friend, you are the one I have cherished since the day I first saw you. I have found her therefore, the one who I had been seeking everywhere! Yes, my Élisabeth, if you want, I will ask your parents for your hand this evening; I will pray them to make for our happiness right away.” He took my hands then and said to me: “But you do not respond? Do you not feel for me what I feel for you?”
I was so seized with joy that I could not reply; I believed myself dreaming. He was still holding my hand and begging me to respond. God! How happy I was! I told him then that if my parents consented to our union I would be happy.
He pressed my hands tenderly and told me: “I love you too; fear nothing; you’re dealing with a good man.” – “Me too, Philippe, I’ve loved you since the day when I saw you at the Convention with
Finally, after a long walk and a long conversation in the garden of the Jacobins, we saw my mother arrive.
As I already said, it was believed that Robespierre would read a speech that day, but the session was put off until the next day. Then my friend came to find my mother in the galleries and asked her for a moment’s interview; my mother said: quite willingly; and we went out to the Tuileries.
The weather was superb. After several turns about the park, my friend proposed that my mother should sit down and she consented; he then asked her for my hand. My mother, surprised at this request, replied that she had no intention to marry off the youngest of her daughters before the eldest, and that she still had two others to marry off before me. (At this time my sister Sophie had already married M. Auzat.)
A rather lively conversation then took place between my mother and M. Le Bas; he told her that it was not my sisters Éléonore or Victoire that he loved. Élisabeth, he said is the one whom I’ve long loved. He added that having been ill for two months, he had been unhappy not to be able to see me, and that only having had news of me once from Robespierre the Younger, he had wanted to write to me, but that he had feared to compromise me, that he loved me too much to cause me pain, that finally it was only be a happy accident that he had met me on my way to reserve seats for the session. “I prayed Élisabeth,” he said, “to please listen to me for a moment; she did not want to, fearing to displease you; but I implored her so strongly that she ended up staying. Then I told her that I loved her, that to have her for my wife would make my happiness. Circumstance has served me today and I very happy, citoyenne, to be able to ask you for my Élisabeth’s hand. If I had delayed in asking you; I feel that I would have employed every means to see her as often as possible; I could have compromised her and caused her chagrin; I love her too much for that; besides, a good man would not have acted thus.”
My mother, who wanted to marry off my sisters before me, told Philippe that I was too young and a bit scatterbrained:
“I love her like that,” he replied; “I will be her friend and her mentor.”
At the last, it was late: the Tuileries was going to close; my mother, not wanting to pronounce positively, said that she could promise nothing without the consent of my father, and engaged M. Le Bas to come the next morning at about nine or ten o’clock; she added that if my father consented to this union, she would herself consent to it with all her heart. Judge of everything I must have felt during this conversation!
We had to separate until the next day. I passed a very agitated night; my mother, returning to the house, had spoken to my father of the conversation she had just had with M. Le Bas; I admit to my shame that, from a room next to theirs, I heard their conversation. My father seemed happy; but my mother still wanted to marry off my sisters before me. Finally, I heard my father call our good friend: he was so good that we loved him better than a brother. My father informed him of the subject of the conversation and told him: “My friend, it’s our Élisabeth, our scatterbrain, that M. Le Bas is asking us in marriage.” – “I congratulate you on it,” he replied, “so much the better. Élisabeth will be happy; my dear friend, don’t hesitate for a moment: Le Bas is the worthiest of men by all accounts; he is a good son, a good friend, a good citizen, a man of talent; he’s a distinguished lawyer.”
That good Maximilien seemed happy to see me asked in marriage by his compatriot and pleaded in our favor with my parents; he added: “This union will, I believe, make for Élisabeth’s happiness; they are in love; they will be happy together.”
He praised me and my good friend; my mother made a few more objections on my distractedness; but our friend assured her that I would be a good wife and a good housekeeper.
It was almost one in the morning when he retired to his room, wishing my father and mother a good night. I then heard my father say: “There is no reason to hesitate after the way Robespierre has just praised his friend.”
Our good mother loved her children equally; she feared, in marrying her youngest daughter first, to harm the eldest; my father thought otherwise and said: “If they are in love, must we delay their happiness! No, wife, we must put prejudice aside and consent to this union.” My good mother appeared disarmed then and said to my father: “Well then! My friend, until tomorrow; he will come to ask for your consent.” I heard no more speaking and went to bed, but quite sadly, for I feared that some difficulty would arise. I did not sleep much, and that night seemed very long to me; I awoke before daybreak.
A
After a rather long conversation, the rest of which I did not hear, my father called me to him and said to me severely that because of my lack of confidence in my mother, he would never consent to my marriage; he gave me a long lecture until I was sobbing. At last, my beloved came to me and told me not to make myself ill, to console myself, that my good father would pardon me and that my dear parents had consented to our union.
Judge my happiness! I could not believe it; my friend was so good, so sweet-tempered, so caressing, that my father told him: “Well then, I want to make for my daughter’s happiness; I give her to you with all my heart: she’s a good little girl; she will make you happy, I hope.” What joy for my friend! We ran to embrace my father and my good mother, who cried with tender feeling.
The good Robespierre came to share our happiness; that good friend said to me: “Be happy, Babet, you deserve it; you are made for each other.”
Then my father, Robespierre, Le Bas and my mother took chocolate together while I returned to my work; the conversation lasted until after
This last continually praised Le Bas; he spoke much of his respectable family, whom he knew very well; Le Bas and his brothers and sisters were still thirteen children and had been twenty-one; their mother had only been fifty years old when she died, following a shock: the rumor had gotten around in the country that the Spanish were on the borders and she was so stricken by this terrible news, not for herself but for her numerous family, that nothing could recall her to life. Her beloved son, Philippe, was inconsolable. They wanted to know the cause of so cruel a death and had an autopsy performed on the body; it was discovered that her heart and liver were attacked.
This was a very cruel loss for the family: she was a woman cherished by her husband and children, good and humane; she was the mother of the poor. Her son Philippe mourned her for a long time and continually praised that excellent mother. M. Le Bas’ father had been the steward of the properties of the Princesse de Bergues and de Rache; he was also the bailiff of Frévent. He was loved and venerated by that whole country.
[1] Je reproduis ce manuscrit sans en altérer le texte, sans en redresser le style, un peu fruste et souvent incorrect ; les femmes de cette époque, grandes par les sentiments, n’étaient point des femmes de lettres.
Oh, also, this is drawn from Autour de Robespierre : Le Conventionnel Le Bas, which is by Paul Coutant, alias Stéfane-Pol, Le Bas's grandson's son-in-law--as the note penciled into my copy so helpfully points out.
EDIT: I've also posted this in the original here, if anyone is interested.
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Thank you for translating. :D It's very readable and very appreciated.
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You're quite welcome. ^__^ It would seem Élisabeth had a flair for narration.
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Indeed. We are lucky she decided to write it down, anyway. Actually, do you know where I could find out more about their son? (I've only got wikipedia France to go by as of now, haha.) I seem to have a fascination with the children of revolutionaries...
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I really liked this. Not that there wasn't a lot of interesting information in Charlotte's memoirs, but I found these more interesting and, as Laurel pointed out, more readable. I could envision a lot of what Babet was describing, actually. XD
Her marriage to Le Bas seems quite sudden, written here. O.o Although I suppose there was more to it, especially since (except for the portion where he actually states his intention of marrying her) she doesn't really go in-depth on their prior conversations and the like. Still, though, it all makes me go, "Aw." :3 ♥ So does how caring Maxime was towards Babet.
Babet does like to use the word 'good' to describe people, especially Maxime, doesn't she? XD
Danton = Ew. ;.;
And as Laurel also pointed out, all the stuff that relates to the family dynamics, day-to-day life, etc. is very awesome and interesting.
Thanks for translating, as always!
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I've gathered a few facts about him from various works, but I've never been able to find a straight-out biography of him--or even an article devoted to him that's any longer than encyclopedia length. But I think, if I recall correctly, there may be something on him in the same book that Élisabeth's memoirs are drawn from. I could look it up, if you like. It's perfectly reasonable to wonder what the next generation was up to, I think.
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As to the suddenness of their marriage... Well, several explanations come to mind (at least for me). The first would be that, since she's writing this for her son and he's probably heard some version of it before, and if he hasn't, he certainly knows that they ended up married, she felt the outline she gives here was complete enough for him to understand it. The other possible explanation--I've read this somewhere or other, but I can't remember where at the moment--is that it's possible their courtship really was the brief. You know: the whole "in times of war..." explanation.
At any rate, it would be rather remarkable if she was able to go into much more detail than that after fifty years or so.
Maxime and Babet really do seem to think of each other as adopted siblings. It is quite cute. ^__^ I guess she just thought "good" covered it when it came to Maxime. It's possible to read a lot into the term. Or perhaps her vocabulary wasn't so strong.
Danton is creepy and disgusting, yes. But someone really ought to tell Hilary Mantel that there's a difference between harassment or even molestation and out-and-out rape.
That's part of what makes it so useful, as well as interesting, especially for fiction-writing. That is, if people don't assume that just because it's written in a novelistic fashion and does treat day to day life doesn't mean they can mess with it any more than any other historical source.
...Okay, I'll stop ranting now. >__>
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I have not had the (dis)pleasure of reading Mantel's novel. I read the snippets you posted on your journal, and I was pretty disappointed in a) her prose (didn't match up with her two Robespierre essays/book reviews) b) her trashing of the Duplay gals (poor Eléonore especially) and c) the overall crappy, stilted dialogue.
Question: How old was Babet at this time? And she doesn't mention Eléonore in this section. Do you know if they were close? Since I don't have any sisters, I'm not too familiar with sisterly dynamics. Do you think she talked to Eléonore about her lovesickness?
Thanks again for translating and posting! (et Bonne Année aussi!) I printed this out to read over a second time, and I'll add my comments on it later.
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Since Babet was born in 1773, and this takes place in 1793, she's either nineteen or twenty (we don't know her exact date of birth). I'm not sure what to think about the fact that she doesn't really mention Éléonore, but my first inclination would be to say that it doesn't really prove much about their relationship, one way or the other.
Éléonore was five years older than her, but then again, my sister is nearly seven years older than me and that's the sort of thing I talk to her about. But on the other hand, they had sisters between their ages and I don't, so I can't really comment on that. Besides, there are many other kinds of differences that could come into play: those between individual circumstances, or between the 18th and 21st centuries, for example.
So I would say that it's possible that she discussed it with Éléonore, but equally possible that she didn't. Perhaps she thought mentioning something like that would be irrelevant to her narrative or uninteresting to her son, for whom she wrote these memoirs.
You're very welcome. (Et Bonne Année à toi aussi!) It's very sweet of you to do that: after spending so much time translating, it's nice to see what people think in more detail. ^__^
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- But we know it!
26 aôut 1773
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And the same date, I know;) - and this is a date of the Declaration of Rights!
And Augustine Robespierre was born January 21, the date of the exsecution of Louis XVI, and his brother presented to the Convention 'Plan for the Education' wrote by Michele Le Pelletier on the day when Marat was killed...
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Yes, you're right: it's Fleischmann who says it. Then again, he's also off on Éléonore's birthdate by three years. (It's not the only source where I've seen it claimed that she was born in 1771, but what I consider the most reliable sources say she was born in 1768. And logically, if Éléonore was the eldest of four sisters and Élisabeth was the youngest that wouldn't make any sense in any case. How could Sophie and Victoire both have been born between 1771 and 1773?) So I remain somewhat skeptical, though I couldn't swear that it's false. That said, if you know of any other source that says the same, I'd be interested to know about it.
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I just read that "infamous scene" in PoGS, and yes, it is extremely beneficial to my sanity to see the evidence behind it. (One of the first things to wind me up about PoGS was that snitty I-know-and-you-dont "anything that seems unlikley is probably true" cliche dressed up as profundity in the preface. For me, that rather set the tone.)
Anyhow, you probably don't want to wake up to a rant with your cornflakes, but I am really indebted to you and everyone else who has translated source texts. You make me really happy.
Also, I know everybody else has said it, but Babet and Robespierre are painfully sweet as adopted big brother and sister.
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And yes, Robespierre and Babet's relationship is truly adorable. Especially the way she recounts it.
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Well, you asked for it. I was given it for Christmas but only made it up to the scene where Babet molests Camille before I threw the book at the wall with my bullshit detectors ringing at one hundred decebels. I was just thinking where possibly could be your source for that? Camille wasn't going to put it in a letter or something was he - "Dear Robespierre, would love to call round more but your girlfriend's little sister keeps raping me. Lucile and Horace say hello, see you at the Jacobins." - it's just ridiculous.
So I missed out on whatever horrors she has inflicted on St Just. It was actually my feminist/queer principles it annoyed. OMG! Infectious!Gay!Lawyers seducing poor w00bie Camille - as if spending his adolescence in an all boys school learning about the Ancient Greeks wouldn't have given him a bit of a clue that he might enjoy the view from both sides of the church.
But you know, yesterday, I went back as all my friends had been raving about Wolf Hall and well yes, I do have my political dials turned up a little too high sometimes, so I gave it another shot and I read the last chapter and a half. I just remember thinking, she's not really going to go there is she, she's not really going to, yes, she is going to rip up the floorboards and crawl under them in an effort to really go that low.
Why do people always have to look for some woman to blame? It's as if Mantel couldn't stand the fact her sweet little "Max" signed death warrants. It's the way she has to remove agency from her main characters to fit a model of them that she likes. Camille has to be seduced into being gay, Robespierre has to be duped into sending Danton to the tribunal. I just wanted to scream, look make him the Godlike ultimate democrat willing to make any sacrifice for the Revolution , make him a cynical pragmatist who wiped out political enemies for his own gain, make him a bright green blood sucking vampire for all I care but please make him responsible for his actions.
Please don't look for some woman and blame her.
I think the fact that Babet turned out to be sweet, clever, brave and articulate in her memoirs just makes the whole deal even more disgusting.
Okay, I'll let you go now.
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She also openly acknowledges that she finds Robespierre's relationship with the Duplays strange and unnatural in one of her essays - in addition to portraying it that way in the novel. To me it's always made a great deal of sense: why shouldn't a lonely man with not much family of his own want to "adopt" his landlord's family, especially if he plans on marrying their daughter? The only way it doesn't make sense is if you go and make them all completely unlikeable.
On that count, the portrayal of Éléonore bothers me almost as much as that of Élisabeth. Her character in PoGS is pretty much the embodiment of the anti-feminist trope of women trying to "entrap" men into marriage. And the fact that they were never married does not count as evidence supporting such a portrayal either. There are all kinds of more plausible reasons for that, including - what a concept! - the ones given by contemporaries who might have been in a position to know something about it.
See what I mean? I can't talk about this book without ranting either. And I actually finished it.
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I think Saint-Just's blank arrest warrants have fried my brain.
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Well done, citoyeness. Perhaps we could strike some kind of comemmerative medal? I survived Place of Greater Saftey and all I have to show for it is a bundle of anger issues.
Mantel really does seem to have it in for her female characters. They're all awful, unlikeable, manipulative people.
Oh yes, yes, yes. What I don't get is why people like the female characters in this. They're almost all stock anti-feminist cliches from the desperate bored housewife through to the scheming minx who cries rape.
To me it's always made a great deal of sense: why shouldn't a lonely man with not much family of his own want to "adopt" his landlord's family, especially if he plans on marrying their daughter?
Word. What's odd about it? What? Aside from the fact moving in with people who will feed you at least twice a day probably makes good survivalist sense if you are a somewhat preoccupied revolutionary, I don't think it's too much cod psychology to say, I think the man just wanted a family.
Though I'm not sure I would actually prefer Robespierre as a "bright green blood sucking vampire," if only because I've pretty much seen that portrayal.
I just think if somebody demonises something, to some extent it's struck a nerve, hit home and scared them a bit. If you are drawing fangs on a picture of Robespierre he's got you on the defensive. It's not ideal, but it's still fairly empowering to be annoying people that badly two hundred two hundred and fifteen years after your death.
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Do people like the female characters in this? Hm... I suppose it might be a bit easier for people to like Lucile than, say, Élisabeth, but they're all pretty dismal portrayals.
Oh, I'm sure the food helped too. If the accounts I've read are correct, he probably wouldn't have remembered to feed himself very often when he lived on his own.
I hadn't thought of it that way. But I suppose the characterizations that make Robespierre literally green and fanged are probably the most harmless on the spectrum of demonization, since I would hope nobody is dense enough to actually believe anything a source that ridiculous would have to say.
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I was googling for reviews of PoGS in the New Year shortly after it had hit the wall trying to see what other people made of it and I found a review, possibly in the Guardian, although I can't find it now, which finished with the line "Hillary Mantel brings the revolutionaries to life through their - something something - but most especially through their women."
So yes, somebody likes the female characters. I suppose Lucile is better than Elisabeth but I never quite understood why she suddenly starts sleeping with everybody. I thought Gabrielle probably came out best, but even she felt a bit empty.
Her character in PoGS is pretty much the embodiment of the anti-feminist trope of women trying to "entrap" men into marriage.
You know because I haven't read Eleanore's characterisation, but now would put nothing past Mantel I have the horrible feeling there's a scene in there where she advances on Robespierre (probably with a pistol in her hand, having compared notes with Babet earlier) ominously muttering "impregnate me, or there will be no more hot dinners, no more oranges and no more surrogate mummy love," while rolling her eyes a bit.
I don't know why I torture my brain with this. By entrap, I assume you mean that she tries get/claims to be pregnant by him? With his background I just couldn't see it working somehow.
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I didn't really have too much of a problem with the way Gabrielle was portrayed, but that's probably because she didn't stand out much and I haven't read the book in a long time.
None of the (especially female characters) have very good motivations. As you point out, it's never really explained why Lucile starts sleeping around.
Éléonore's motivations are even more lacking. She doesn't do anything so drastic as claim to be pregnant - probably if only because there's no way Robespierre wouldn't have married her if she had done that and I suppose she didn't want to change the historical record on something so obvious - but she does seem to be sleeping with him with that aim. And why else would she be? In this characterization, neither of them enjoy it, and it's not as if it's a social obligation, since they're not married. M. Duplay is actually, disturbingly enough, the one who encourages Éléonore in that direction. It's clear Éléonore wants Robespierre to marry her here, but it's not really clear why. I mean, there are a few clues here and there, but nothing particularly coherent...
But take a look for yourself. I've compiled all the scenes Éléonore appears in over at my LJ (Part 1: http://estellacat.livejournal.com/37971.html#cutid1, Part 2: http://estellacat.livejournal.com/38382.html#cutid1, Part 3: http://estellacat.livejournal.com/38452.html#cutid1 I've since partially revised the theory I give in Part 3, because all the female characters are disagreeable, not just the Duplays). You'll see what I mean.
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Thank you. There is nothing coherent I can say about the Robespierre/Éléonore sex scene. It is just hideously, hideously WTF? While I can just about see Éléonore's motivations, what the heck were Robespierre's? I mean, if he needed the sex that badly surely he could have done better for himself than that thoroughly creepy mercy fuck. He was rather popular with women, after all.
I just don't get why she needs to vilify someone that badly.
Incidentally, I'm scrawling my own bad rant on PoGS. May I put a cite link to this translation?
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Éléonore's reasoning here doesn't make a whole lot more sense to me either. I mean, it's clear she wants to marry Robespierre, I guess more because she figures she has to marry someone and he's not a bad choice than because she loves him - because she really doesn't seem to. (Although that would make her mourning him for the next 38 years make no sense...) But the weirdest thing is, she (completely illogically) seems to think he owes her marriage, even before they have sex. Why? I don't know, it makes no sense. And then I guess she agrees to sleep with him in order to blackmail him into marrying her, but is the prestige of being married to him really worth all that to any sane person? I think it's probably safe to say that the happiest marriages are not based on blackmail.
It's like I remarked à propos of the passage about the 10th of August. If she only wanted to keep him safe then because she wanted to keep tormenting him, it seems like she also only wants to marry him so she can keep tormenting him even longer. And what kind of a motivation is that, honestly?
You're welcome to the translation, as long as it's credited. May I see your rant when it's done?
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Mantel seems to have a real thing for subjecting her revolutionaries to not-quite-consensual sexual experiences, Camille and Babette, Camille and Perrin, and now Robespierre and Éléonore. I think Mantel is trying to show him as emotionally vulnerable, which is a nice break from all those inhuman monster portrayals, I suppose, although it ends up coming across as a rather objectifying helplessness.
I don't get Mantel's Robespierre fannishness at all. Why does she fangirl someone she has to make completely without responsibility for their actions before she likes them? It's as if she can only really believe he wasn't an oppressor if there is someone else there to oppress him. Is it much of a victory to take the fangs off Robespierre if they immediately get put on the Duplay women?
May I see your rant when it's done
You've put up with most of it already. Thanks for the forbearance. It's the current post on my LJ and you are most welcome, although it mostly talks about Camille, as that's the bit I can laugh at. It's also very clunky. I don't even get to Éléonore as it's too depressing. Thank you again for the translation.
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It's really as if Mantel doesn't actually admire Robespierre, at least not as far as his ideas or policies go, but likes his personality type so much she feels the need to make those ideas and policies not his "fault." At that point, I would say, why bother calling yourself a Robespierriste? But I guess that's what passes for admiration in Mantel's largely apolitical world.
I had forgotten a lot of the parts about Camille, because I've always been more interested in Robespierre and the Duplays, so those are the parts I've gone back to. But your "rant" really captures just how absurd her portrayal of Camille - who I think is the real central character - is as well. I do remember getting the impression reading it that Mantel never read anything he wrote pre-Vieux Cordelier.
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I think in a way, it's because victims are always blameless, or at least can always be absolved of their blame, their responsibility, by their martyrdom. Whatever they have done, they automatically become tragic. I think there's a lot of that in the Liberal fanboying of Camille, if he had survived, everybody would remember (if they remembered him at all) that he joked about stringing aristocrats from lamp-posts as well as for the Vieux Cordelier.
I do remember getting the impression reading it that Mantel never read anything he wrote pre-Vieux Cordelier.
I think Camille's story has possibly been appropriated a little by the Romantics who were all 'Bliss in this dawn it was to be alive' in 1789 and subsequently horrified by anything that happened after 1791. I'm thinking of Claretie's horror at "Ré volutions" here. They're often so busy excusing their own idealisation that they forget he was a Jacobin, they just want a beautiful victim to symbolise their own disenchantment. Mantel's portrayal is rather the apex of these narratives.
Mantel doesn't actually admire Robespierre, at least not as far as his ideas or policies go, but likes his personality type so much she feels the need to make those ideas and policies not his "fault."
Spot on. With Camille she had to make up lots of stuff such as predatory gay lawyers and teenage rapists to shoehorn him into being a victim. With Robespierre, a lovely helpless little creature was already fully formed by history. (It's quite interesting how Thermidorian vilification becomes reasons for adoration through twentieth century liberal romantacism. His near illegitamacy and unstable wastrel Dad, his unworldliness and sexual reticence suddenly make him some poor changeling orphan to be kitchily adored and rescued.)No wonder she claimed to go into the novel loving Camille and to come out loving Robespierre.
I guess that's what passes for admiration in Mantel's largely apolitical world.
I'm not sure she is apolitical. Not just because writing a novel about the leading Jacobins without engaging with their political beliefs is a political act in itself. (I think I might sound a little like Saint Just here.) I think she is a lefty, of sorts. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think I recognise in her views that sort of fatal despair that has permeated the British left since the 1840s. It's the sort of chapel-socialism that cannot imagine radical social change as a positive, life affirming force. It's why she ends up conflating Robespierre with the nihilism of suicide bombers.
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Mantel's portrayal is rather the apex of these narratives.
Indeed.
No wonder she claimed to go into the novel loving Camille and to come out loving Robespierre.
Ironically, in a completely different set of circumstances, the same thing could have happened from a political standpoint. After all, their ideas were pretty similar for most of their careers. In Mantel's case, on the other hand, it seems like she's basing her love of the real historical figures on her own constructions of their personalities, which, in PoGS, share an extreme vulnerability not, so far as I know, attested historically. I can't help but find it a rather bizarre.
I phrased that badly. I meant to express how with in the novel political events are rarely represented as having political causes. Take what is probably the most significant political event in the novel (though certainly not in the Revolution), the arrest, trial, and execution of the Dantonistes. Politics is completely sucked out of it. It's all about the personal relationships between Robespierre and Danton, Robespierre and Camille, Camille and Danton, Camille and Saint-Just, Robespierre and Saint-Just, Robespierre and the Duplays, the Duplays and the Dantonistes, etc.
As to Mantel's real-life politics, you're probably right, though I know little enough about British politics, so I couldn't say for sure.
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I think the fact they managed to live to their mid thirties is reasonable historical proof they weren't as vulnerable as Mantel suggests.
Take what is probably the most significant political event in the novel (though certainly not in the Revolution), the arrest, trial, and execution of the Dantonistes. Politics is completely sucked out of it. It's all about the personal relationships.
You're right, and I think the novel looses a lot of it's good story factor because of this. PoGS offended the lit-crit in me first because I'm really not much of a historian. Historical novels are interesting because they show how politics inpacts of personal relationships and vice-versa. If you take the politics out, you've got no story really, and therefore to me the novel fails as a work of art.
It's like the vulnerability thing, the most interesting characters are usually a mix of strength and vulnerability. Characters who appear unable to buckle their own shoes might drum up a little fuzzy pity, but they're not the ones who make the reader think or inspire them.
I know little enough about British politics.
Lucky you ;)
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That and their success in politics.
I tend to agree with your assessments of what makes for interesting characters and literary quality in historical novels, but I also tend to look at it from a different angle.
I suppose it's a whole other problem that people get their history from a novel, but since, realistically speaking, even the best intentioned people can't be expected to do research on every historical time period they might chance to read a novel on, I think historical novelists have some responsibility toward their readers when it comes to accuracy. What do I mean by accuracy? Just be conscientious, be honest with your readers about what you're doing. It's not that complicated, really. I happen to think the best historical novels are the ones in which the author imagines based on available facts, what living in a different period was like, why a given personage might have believed the things s/he believed, made the decisions s/he made, etc. But I'm willing to acknowledge that may be little more than my personal preference.
So, really, a novelist can write whatever s/he wants, but honestly, I think historical novelists owe it to their readers to provide an author's note pointing out the major deviations from the historical record or at least acknowledge their approach to the history they're dealing with, rather than offering the kind of glib condescension of Mantel's preface. And that goes double when they're styling themselves the resident historical expert on literary reviews as Mantel does.
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Robespierre and Eleonore
(Anonymous) 2010-06-24 09:37 am (UTC)(link)Re: Robespierre and Eleonore
My personal feeling is that there probably was *something* going on between Robespierre and Éléonore, though whether that was of a romantic, sexual, or simply platonic nature is difficult to gauge. (I tend to think they were indeed at least informally engaged, based on the testimony of Élisabeth Le Bas and Dr Souberbielle, Charlotte Robespierre's assertions to the contrary not withstanding - her memoirs testify to the fact that she was extremely jealous of Éléonore and the Duplays in general - but I'm more than willing to accept that there may be other, equally valid interpretations.)
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The Revolution represents a sexy, attractive setting to make the emotions run high, to make the conflicts stronger in a context of life-or-death period.
I agree totally, she may have started out fascinated by the Revolution - she says so here (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) - but by the time the novel finally appeared it had become that, a mere forcing chamber for high drama.
Mantel is not a robespierriste, she has not put forward any convincing political-ideological statement in this respect.
I agree with you too. The reason I call her a Robespierrist is because she self-defines as one. She doesn't seem to she that it is a political position. I am guessing she is confusing being a Robespierrist with having a personal liking for somebody on the grounds of nice waistcoats and an air of tragedy.
It all boils down to commercial, psychoanalyzing swooning about strong male characters,
Hm, not so sure on this. In fact a PoGS seemed dedicated to weakening and emasculating her central male characters, well at least Robespierre and Camille. To me, it seems like she's almost trying to cut them down to size.
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I have some very frivolous comments - The Lebas/Élisabeth courtship story I've heard before elsewhere, the virtuous lover testing his beloved by asking her to find him a pretty, pleasure loving selfish partner turns up in a lot of fairytale and folklore. I'm not sure if that meant Lebas had been reading fairy stories, or if Élisabeth had been adding rose tints as she remembered the events, or if modern tellings of fairy stories now include 18th century norms. Is it possibly something that turned up in Rousseau? (Incidentally, I prefer theory 1, but I'm willing to admit it might be bunk.)
“My friend, it’s our Élisabeth, our scatterbrain, that M. Le Bas is asking us in marriage."
"my mother made a few more objections on my distractedness;"
Does anyone else get the suspicion that Élisabeth and Robespierre might have bonded so closely because they had something in common?
Also, if Élisabeth and others thought Robespierre had some understanding with Éléonore, how does Mme Duplay's comments about getting Éléonore married off before Élisabeth fit in? Does she still see Éléonore as eligible at this point, or is she trying to protect her youngest daughter for getting embrolied in political turmoil?
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Does anyone else get the suspicion that Élisabeth and Robespierre might have bonded so closely because they had something in common?
*lol* I hadn't thought of that, but you may have a point there.
if Élisabeth and others thought Robespierre had some understanding with Éléonore, how does Mme Duplay's comments about getting Éléonore married off before Élisabeth fit in? Does she still see Éléonore as eligible at this point, or is she trying to protect her youngest daughter for getting embrolied in political turmoil?
It's hard to say. I always thought she was including Éléonore on a technicality, with everyone invovled aware that she's not really suggesting Le Bas should marry her, so it doesn't sound like she's saying "please take Victoire off my hands." But it could be construed as evidence that Robespierre and Éléonore did not yet have an understanding at this point, or at least not a public one. It could even be seen as another fairytale trope - the happily ever after (or in this case, for less than a year -_-;) goes to the youngest of three sisters.
Alternatively, Mme Duplay could be less concerned about marrying off her elder daughters than she is in testing Le Bas; after all, how likely is it that anyone who really loved Élisabeth would agree to transfer his affections to a different person on a mere suggestion? I mean, what better way to get him to wax eloquent about his reasons for wanting to marry Élisabeth in particular?
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What book? Is it any good - that sounds fascinating. I wish I could recall the story with the test of a virtuous lover in it. The ring too - in high Athurian romance wearing a ladies ring was a sign of a love pact (or a seduction, no wonder Babet was mortified). There's that part in the next chapter too where a wicked lover is nearly substituted before true love prevailing. I suppose we can never do more than speculate and of course we'll never know.
I think Élisabeth was possibly not being given the whole truth about some things, probably to protect her as someone completely naive to the political climate. Do we know anything else about deputy Guffroy? To some extent she might be filling in the gaps, although her mother and Le Bas might also have been weaving tropes into the explanations they gave her because it's hard to just completely make something up, people usually fall back on some kind of store of familiar tales. Perhaps. Her mother certainly comes across as very protective.
Alternatively, Mme Duplay could be less concerned about marrying off her elder daughters than she is in testing Le Bas;
I could see that, in Élisabeth's version of her she is extremely protective. You also do get the feeling that Élisabeth feels herself valued by her family, it's not quite the dismal picture of girls being a curse to marry off to the first person to ask in the Duplay household, which is rather to their credit.
Again, my take, assuming there is something between Robespierre and Éléonore and that Mme Duplay knows about it, would be she is trying to protect Babet. One daughter is already married off (do we know when?) so that Éléonore's unmarried status clearly wasn't a bar to Sophie. I've heard the theory go that Robespierre wouldn't marry Éléonore because he didn't want to put her at risk from his political opponents and therefore he wouldn't "go public" until the situation had stabilised. If that were so, in saying she had no intention of marrying the youngest before the eldest, perhaps Mme Duplay was saying she wasn't getting her scatty, innocent youngest tied up with a political husband until Robespierre thought it was safe to marry Éléonore.
Which is very convoluted, but if I had to fanfic it, that's how I'd write it. These Robespierrists do like their romance.
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Guffroy seems like a pretty repulsive character even without attempting to break up Élisabeth and Le Bas. Apparently he was something of an ultra (who was however, somehow close to the Dantonistes - Camille Desmoulins praises him in his journal at the same time that they're pursuing opposite objectives: Camille calls for indulgence, Guffroy writes that the Terror should be "augmented") turned rabid Thermidorian and was on the committee that created Courtois's report. That said, Guffroy was also, like Le Bas and Robespierre, from Artois, which depending on how well Le Bas new his character at this point, might have made him more willing to trust him. As for Guffroy's motives, it's hard to say. Was he trying to get Le Bas away from Robespierre? That would make some sense if he already hated Robespierre by this point, but there's little evidence that he did. You're probably right, though, to suspect that there's something more complicated going on here that Élisabeth doesn't know about.
You also do get the feeling that Élisabeth feels herself valued by her family, it's not quite the dismal picture of girls being a curse to marry off to the first person to ask in the Duplay household, which is rather to their credit.
I feel rather like saying "Take that, Hilary Mantel!" here. But it's true, Mme Duplay does seem more protective of her Élisabeth than anything else.
perhaps Mme Duplay was saying she wasn't getting her scatty, innocent youngest tied up with a political husband until Robespierre thought it was safe to marry Éléonore.
It's an interesting theory. Obviously, Robespierre himself didn't agree. But it's quite probable that if that was his reason for not marrying Éléonore, he didn't think of it as applying to other politicians, only to himself.
As for Sophie, she married Antoine Auzat, a lawyer from Issoire, but curiously, the only source I can find that says when she was married claims that it wasn't until 9 October 1791, which would contradict all the other sources that claim she was already out of the house by the time Robespierre arrived. (Though I suppose it's theoretically possible that she could have been out of the house during what was presumably her engagement, staying with friends or relatives, the way Élisabeth claims to have done in her memoirs.) However that may be, it would certainly seem more to confirm than to invalidate your theory that Mme Duplay was more wary of political marriages than marrying her youngest off before her eldest per se.
if I had to fanfic it, that's how I'd write it.
You should. It would be interesting to see your take on it in action, as it were.
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I feel rather like saying "Take that, Hilary Mantel!" here.
I'm really trying to avoid thinking about M****l as she distracts me and causes a frothing rage in seconds, which is rather daft when you consider all that is bad in the world.
Having said that because I've just read Mark Steele and Marge Piercy and found neither of them as good as I had hoped - I'd still give better than average but still, I have been thinking about why Anglophones can't do the Revolution. There is a tendency in most post 1950s literature in English to automatically view perfect looking families as inherently creepy. Fair enough, happy families don't make for dramatic tension but seems misplaced in this case. Certainly the above source seems to demonstrate the Duplay's were just as they appeared to be, an ordinary loving family who respected their children. It's hard to reconcile Élisabeth's view of her family with the idea of M. Duplay advising his eldest daughter to offer herself the lodger for his comfort as if she were extra towels.
I suppose there's Fréron's account where the Duplays are portrayed as slightly stupid dupes unwittingly creating a tyrant with their unseemly devotion and plates of
radioactiveoranges. (I think, I've only read fragments of Fréron not the whole.)That and I suppose snobbery. There is a line in Steele's book that's not especially historically accurate still pertinent, where he points out France had gone from being ruled by a king in a palace to being ruled by someone who had to wait for a carpenter to leave the bathroom so he could clean his teeth. All problems with the last sentence aside, I think it's fairly safe to say we are conditioned to like being ruled by people who display the trappings of power. The Duplays are just jumped up little artisans getting ideas above their station in harbouring a revolutionary leader. And besides, why would a leader, a ruler of men ever want to live somewhere simple? The set up must be unnatural, he must be unnatural, shenanigans must have been taking place for a ruler to not want to live in a palace.
I suppose Robespierre would just blink and say "but I'm a representative of the people not a ruler of them,". Nobody else seems to get it.
I found this sort of attitude here (http://community.livejournal.com/revolution_fr/22322.html?thread=221490#t221490) in an odd quote on The PoGS Scarring Sex Scene at
I don't want to read about a carpenter's daughter being deflowered by someone whose hairstyle I can freely compare to a cake.
Éléonore's father's occupation was not the main issue for me. (Would it have been okay if Éléonore had been an aristocrat, because everything aristocrats do is sexy, right?) I'm also guessing that while theories on Robespierre's sex life are speculative at best, if and when he did get down to it, it would have been a 'wig off' moment.
In short I think Hillary's a snob. See - mention Mantel and I digress into a thousand words of rant.
Apparently he was something of an ultra (who was however, somehow close to the Dantonistes - Camille Desmoulins praises him in his journal at the same time that they're pursuing opposite objectives:
See I've tried to be a good fangirl, but it's at points like this I really give up. What was Camille playing at? I've never quite found the answer once I realised it wasn't the one I originally thought (You know, he was standing up for human rights against an OMG! oppressive regime,
yes I have believed that, yes I feel stupid now) He was close to Fréron too, wasn't he, who was quite an enthusiastic terrorist in Toulon. I suppose he just stuck up for who he was in with no matter what they were doing to the country or the citizenry. Why is this always seen as such a good thing?You should. It would be interesting to see your take on it in action, as it were
No I shouldn't. ;) all I write is fluff and/or slightly nutty characters who usually exhibit their fluffiness in unrelentingly winsome ways. This style is not appropriate here. Plus, I'm anglophone, which pretty much curses the whole thing.
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For my part, I think that's understandable. I mean, Mantel is essentially spitting on the very concept of trying to change anything wrong with the world, both in PoGS and in her essays.
I think the problem with Mark Steele and Marge Piercy is that they're both trying to hard to make the Revolution relatable and in so doing they oversimplify and play up the parallels to modern politics, which denies the Revolution it's complexity and historical specificity - key components of any real understanding of the Revolution, in my view. They mean well, but I think they fundamentally underestimate their readers' capacity. (I will say, however, that it's not entirely fair to judge Piercy on the sections of her novel that focus on Robespierre, because her real strength is in her imagining of the motivations of figures like Pauline Léon and Claire Lacombe. I find that she's one of the few authors who manages to treat them in a non-condescending fashion, even if she doubtless oversimplifies there as well.)
I suppose there's Fréron's account where the Duplays are portrayed as slightly stupid dupes unwittingly creating a tyrant
Yes, well, Fréron is probably not the most trustworthy source. Then again, there is a place in one of Robespierre's speeches where he complains about (among other things) people cutting down orange trees and depriving the good citizens of France of oranges, so there may be something to the orange idea. Though I feel quite sure that even if Robespierre had been the tyrant of Thermidorian pamphlet literature, the oranges would not have been at fault.
That and I suppose snobbery.
That probably has a great deal to do with it. (Also, WTF, Mark Steele, I know you're trying to be funny, but they didn't even have bathrooms in the 18th century; people brushed their teeth - when they did at all - in their bedrooms.) Conversely, it also explains why people don't find the Directoire more ridiculous, along the lines of the contemporary song: "en adoptant un luxe ridicule, ils font gémir la sainte égalité..." Alas.
Would it have been okay if Éléonore had been an aristocrat, because everything aristocrats do is sexy, right?
Probably. I mean, look how they gush over Thérèse Tallien, or Joséphine, for that matter. Of course, Robespierre was no Tallien or Barras, and certainly no Bonaparte, which is, I suppose, rather the point.
if and when he did get down to it, it would have been a 'wig off' moment.
*lol* Without a doubt. Can you imagine him risking ruining his wig like that? First they complain about his fastidiousness, and then they refuse to understand the logical consequences of it.
In short I think Hillary's a snob.
Well, you don't even have to look at her portrayal of the Duplays to know that. Just look at how she condescends to her readers!
I suppose he just stuck up for who he was in with no matter what they were doing to the country or the citizenry. Why is this always seen as such a good thing?
Your explanation is certainly the only one I've seen that makes any sense. That it's seen as a good thing is probably a result of people's ignoring Camille's contradictions to stuff him into the "standing up for human rights," as you put it, box. It's certainly easier to fall back on that than to try to understand what was really going on, but I find the more one learns about Camille, the less tenable it becomes.
Plus, I'm anglophone, which pretty much curses the whole thing.
You may have a point there. *sighs* Still, even with the fluff, it couldn't be worse than a lot of stuff out there.