And now for something completely different, I guess!
I know we have some FRev researchers in the group; hopefully they'll come up with any relevant corrections here, because the main thing my studying on the topic has taught me is that EVERYONE IS IN DISAGREEMENT ABOUT EVERYTHING, and I'm nowhere NEAR expert enough to wrangle with all this small domestic detail-work.
But I love this chapter on its own--whatever my quarrels with Hugo, none of them are about his ability to set a scene. Paris really IS completely different from the Vendee, here; the Vendee is divided, leaning Royalist; Paris is united, at the moment, and wholly republican and revolutionary. The Vendee was presented as all trees and shadows and POSSIBLE blood and fire around every corner, and everyone being scared--death forests full of uncertainty. The streets of Paris aren't less dangerous (by this chapter's description) but it's contained, directed, sort of lawful danger-- the citizens are apparently cutting back on crime, unified by a sort of esprit de corps at a distance (barefoot civilians buying boots to send to the soldiers!) and a serious but honest faith in their new society at hand--in spite of the inflation, the political maneuvering, and everything.
And HEY THERE'S A CIMOURDAIN! Will we actually hear more about him next chapter? Or will we learn more about a random aspect of Paris? Or possibly go to Spain or something? IT'S VICTOR HUGO, I honestly don't know!
This chapter seems to be more of a panorama than a narrative, so maybe it makes more sense to talk about it thematically than chronologically?
But we can start with those plays. “The Mother of a Family Rescued from the Flames.” Exciting, just in time for (US) Mother’s Day. “The Club of Sans Souci.” Translates as “carefree”? Fits in with the celebratory atmosphere. “The Philosopher-Soldiers.” Maybe there are some soldiers (on either side) interested in the philosophies they’re fighting for. And let’s not forget “The Art of Loving in the Village,” starring René-Jean and his sweetheart… ;)
*Patience versus haste. We move pretty quickly from “this was the word in everybody’s mouth: “Patience, we are in the midst of revolution.”” to “Nobody seemed to have time enough. Everybody was in haste.” People have to stand in line for their food, amid the hyperinflation, but they really don’t have a choice.
*Changing role of the church amid the revolution. We’ve seen one perspective with Halmalo and the counterrevolutionaries, and another with Michelle from the convent. Here in Paris, we start with “women on church steps…singing the Marseillaise” before moving onto the ex-nuns with stalls and dancing “in ruined cloisters.”
*Contrast between “the tragic city” and “the cynical city.” On the one hand, we have people who “smile heroically,” and women who are “brave and sweet in their misery” standing in line, enduring the high prices. “Cruel destitution, stoical integrity,” a “gloomy joy.” On the other, we have the “hoot”ing crowds, ironic slang, “scoff”ing, and miscellaneous revelry. A contrast between “Thermopylæ and Gomorrha.” (Last chapter also alluded to the story of Gommorha, with the “turning back” as regards Lot’s wife.) And earlier this chapter, we have, instead of a shoutout to the Spartans, instead a mention of “Athens during the Peloponnesian War”—I think stereotypically the Athenians are the more cultured side, enjoying life, but defeated by the uncompromising discipline of the Spartans?
So while Paris is caught up between these two extremes, a “strange, haughty weariness of life” develops. Is this more a function of the tragic spirit, being willing to sacrifice one’s life for the advancement of other goals? Or maybe it has more to do with the cynical ennui?
Somewhere in the mix of all this, we’re going to meet Cimourdain.
We’re at a new book! Entitled “Cimourdain,” a character who we’re told is influential and popular in 1793 Paris, a man described as honest and “fatale”—which could mean destined, singled out by fate, or inexorable, but could also mean deadly.
Paris as described in this chapter swings between two extremes. Revolutionary Paris before Thermidor was like Thermopylae. It was full of fierce dedicated citizens willingly braving hardship in a common cause, politically engaged, lively and active. Then, escaping from Robespierre as it did from Louis XIV, Paris became Gomorrah: frivolous, decadent, wild, amoral, uncaring and grotesque. I have no idea if this division is at all historically accurate, but it makes for a very poetic contrast.
Pre-Thermidor Paris sounds like a very impressive place. I don’t mean to downplay the deprivation or the fear of repression that permeated the city even in Hugo’s description. But it’s downright intoxicating to read about its everyday, common, passionate involvement, with everything in flux and everyone posting and arguing and singing and dancing and challenging everything from the patriarchy (Pope Joan!) to the suits on the decks of cards. It makes me want to read more about the subject. When I learned about the French Revolution in high school history, I did find it interesting. But a textbook description isn’t going to be anything like a skilled writer’s ground-level portrayal of a city. The only fiction I’ve read about this time was A Tale of Two Cities, which was considerably grimmer than this chapter. I have full confidence that Hugo’s going to get pretty damn grim later on, because (1) Hugo, and (2) history. And even right now the book is pretty damn grim (I still miss you, Houzarde, Radoub, and the Bonnet Rouge), but the grimness isn’t the dominant note right now. The sheer energy of Parisian life at the time is.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2014-05-11 02:31 pm (UTC)I know we have some FRev researchers in the group; hopefully they'll come up with any relevant corrections here, because the main thing my studying on the topic has taught me is that EVERYONE IS IN DISAGREEMENT ABOUT EVERYTHING, and I'm nowhere NEAR expert enough to wrangle with all this small domestic detail-work.
But I love this chapter on its own--whatever my quarrels with Hugo, none of them are about his ability to set a scene. Paris really IS completely different from the Vendee, here; the Vendee is divided, leaning Royalist; Paris is united, at the moment, and wholly republican and revolutionary. The Vendee was presented as all trees and shadows and POSSIBLE blood and fire around every corner, and everyone being scared--death forests full of uncertainty. The streets of Paris aren't less dangerous (by this chapter's description) but it's contained, directed, sort of lawful danger-- the citizens are apparently cutting back on crime, unified by a sort of esprit de corps at a distance (barefoot civilians buying boots to send to the soldiers!) and a serious but honest faith in their new society at hand--in spite of the inflation, the political maneuvering, and everything.
And HEY THERE'S A CIMOURDAIN! Will we actually hear more about him next chapter? Or will we learn more about a random aspect of Paris? Or possibly go to Spain or something? IT'S VICTOR HUGO, I honestly don't know!
no subject
Date: 2014-05-11 09:15 pm (UTC)But we can start with those plays. “The Mother of a Family Rescued from the Flames.” Exciting, just in time for (US) Mother’s Day. “The Club of Sans Souci.” Translates as “carefree”? Fits in with the celebratory atmosphere. “The Philosopher-Soldiers.” Maybe there are some soldiers (on either side) interested in the philosophies they’re fighting for. And let’s not forget “The Art of Loving in the Village,” starring René-Jean and his sweetheart… ;)
*Patience versus haste. We move pretty quickly from “this was the word in everybody’s mouth: “Patience, we are in the midst of revolution.”” to “Nobody seemed to have time enough. Everybody was in haste.” People have to stand in line for their food, amid the hyperinflation, but they really don’t have a choice.
*Changing role of the church amid the revolution. We’ve seen one perspective with Halmalo and the counterrevolutionaries, and another with Michelle from the convent. Here in Paris, we start with “women on church steps…singing the Marseillaise” before moving onto the ex-nuns with stalls and dancing “in ruined cloisters.”
*Contrast between “the tragic city” and “the cynical city.” On the one hand, we have people who “smile heroically,” and women who are “brave and sweet in their misery” standing in line, enduring the high prices. “Cruel destitution, stoical integrity,” a “gloomy joy.” On the other, we have the “hoot”ing crowds, ironic slang, “scoff”ing, and miscellaneous revelry. A contrast between “Thermopylæ and Gomorrha.” (Last chapter also alluded to the story of Gommorha, with the “turning back” as regards Lot’s wife.) And earlier this chapter, we have, instead of a shoutout to the Spartans, instead a mention of “Athens during the Peloponnesian War”—I think stereotypically the Athenians are the more cultured side, enjoying life, but defeated by the uncompromising discipline of the Spartans?
So while Paris is caught up between these two extremes, a “strange, haughty weariness of life” develops. Is this more a function of the tragic spirit, being willing to sacrifice one’s life for the advancement of other goals? Or maybe it has more to do with the cynical ennui?
Somewhere in the mix of all this, we’re going to meet Cimourdain.
2.1.1
Date: 2014-05-17 04:59 am (UTC)We’re at a new book! Entitled “Cimourdain,” a character who we’re told is influential and popular in 1793 Paris, a man described as honest and “fatale”—which could mean destined, singled out by fate, or inexorable, but could also mean deadly.
Paris as described in this chapter swings between two extremes. Revolutionary Paris before Thermidor was like Thermopylae. It was full of fierce dedicated citizens willingly braving hardship in a common cause, politically engaged, lively and active. Then, escaping from Robespierre as it did from Louis XIV, Paris became Gomorrah: frivolous, decadent, wild, amoral, uncaring and grotesque. I have no idea if this division is at all historically accurate, but it makes for a very poetic contrast.
Pre-Thermidor Paris sounds like a very impressive place. I don’t mean to downplay the deprivation or the fear of repression that permeated the city even in Hugo’s description. But it’s downright intoxicating to read about its everyday, common, passionate involvement, with everything in flux and everyone posting and arguing and singing and dancing and challenging everything from the patriarchy (Pope Joan!) to the suits on the decks of cards. It makes me want to read more about the subject. When I learned about the French Revolution in high school history, I did find it interesting. But a textbook description isn’t going to be anything like a skilled writer’s ground-level portrayal of a city. The only fiction I’ve read about this time was A Tale of Two Cities, which was considerably grimmer than this chapter. I have full confidence that Hugo’s going to get pretty damn grim later on, because (1) Hugo, and (2) history. And even right now the book is pretty damn grim (I still miss you, Houzarde, Radoub, and the Bonnet Rouge), but the grimness isn’t the dominant note right now. The sheer energy of Parisian life at the time is.