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
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.