Baroness Emma Orczy on Our Love for Chocolate

Right now I'm reading the novel Petticoat Government by Baroness Emma Orczy. It illustrates how the French aristocracy traded favors to wield important government positions. One theme of the novel suggests that Orczy wished her English readers to understand the level of government corruption that led to the French Revolution.

A chief figure in the novel is Madame de Pompadour. Although of humble origins, she rose to prominence as a favored mistress of King Louis XV. She used her influence to go on such an elaborate spending spree that the parliament instituted a Ministry of Finance. As the court traded on favors back then, the young husband of the Prime Minister's daughter was appointed the French Finance Minister.

While he initially viewed himself as unqualified for such an exalted position, the young husband finds that wielding the most powerful government position in France agrees with him. He welcomes groups of petitioners to his bedchamber in the Palace of Versailles, and entertains their ideas and suggestions from his throne-like bed. Orczy sees the women as largely wielding the real power in French society back then. So while the husband listens to their plans and pleas, it is his wife, the Prime Minister's daughter, who actually decides how to spend, or check, the government's income.

On one occasion, the secretary to the Finance Minister tells a supplicant that he holds no qualifications for entry. But when the young man tells the secretary that he's engaged to his daughter's friend, he is granted immediate access to the exalted chamber.

On this same August 13, 1746, he succeeded in being present at the petit lever of M. le Controleur-General des Finances. Once within the secret precincts of the bedchamber he, like so many other petitioners and courtiers, was duly confronted by the stony stare of M. Achielle, and found himself face to face with an enormous bedstead of delicately painted satinwood and ormolu mounts, draped with heavy azure silk curtains which hung down from a gilded baldachin, the whole a masterpiece of the furniture-maker's art.
Baroness Emma Orczy, Petticoat Government, 1910.

Another theme of the novel is the French aristocracy's love of chocolate. People in important government positions have access to chocolate, which is then not sold in bars, or an ingredient for desserts, but seen as the rich man's drink. Favors are traded, and access granted, because of people close to the servants who bring and mix the hot cocoa. Earlier in the novel, the Finance Minister's secretary wins his position because his daughter brings hot chocolate to a highly-placed official each morning. Of course, the young Finance Minister finds that his new schedule of drinking a cup of hot chocolate each morning agrees with him. 

When the young supplicant, who is engaged to the friend of the secretary's daughter, enters the Finance Minister's bedchamber, these are his first impressions:

The scent of chocolate filled his nostrils, and he vaguely saw a good-looking man reclining under a coverlet of magnificent Venetian lace, and listening placidly to what was obviously a very amusing tale related to him from well-roughed lips. From the billowy satins and laces of the couch a delicate hand was waved toward him as he attempted to pay his respects to the most powerful man in France...

Earlier this month, I enjoyed discovering the rich history of chocolate in Britain, which was celebrated in Norwich Cathedral by converting a large brass mixing bowl from a chocolate factory into a baptismal font. Now, through British-Hungarian author Baroness Emma Orczy, I'm learning that chocolate played a role in bringing down the government of France in the 18th Century. Oh, for the love of chocolate!

Dragon Dave

Baroness Emma Orczy on Knitting During the French Revolution

Due to personal interest raised by writing posts on my sister blog, Poirot and Friends, I decided to read The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Emma Orczy. So I found a free ebook version on Amazon.com, downloaded it to my kindle, and dived in. I found it a bracing novel packed with humor, interest, drama, and excitement. Unfortunately, any internet search of the novel immediately reveals the secret identity of the hero, which drains much of the suspense from the first half, during which the protagonist Marguerite neither respects nor loves her husband, and wonders at the identity of the daring, celebrated Scarlet Pimpernel. Still, Orczy's earthy and colorful prose flows well, and the first half helps us understand the characters, as well as the world in which they live. Once Orczy has made us care about Marguerite and her husband Lord Percy, the second half roars right along, with a daring venture across a storm-wracked sea to France, where Marguerite valiantly tries to save the Scarlet Pimpernel from capture.

Oops. By that last sentence, you've probably just guessed the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Sorry. Really though, the best part of the novel is Marguerite's backstory, the mistakes she makes in the first half of the novel, and her transformation into a valiant heroine. It'd be interesting to read more of the series, and see how she (and Percy) develop in later novels.

The Scarlet Pimpernel is set during a particularly bloody period of the French Revolution known as the Reign of Terror. During this time, anyone suspected of sympathizing with the aristocracy was put to death. Madame Guillotine embraced people from all walks of life, including the lowliest peasant. Ironically, this sometimes included people who believed in the ideals of their glorious new republic. The Executive branch of the France's revolutionary government (the equivalent of the President of the United States, or the Prime Minister in England), the so-called Committee of Public Safety, headed by Maximilien Robespierre, knew no mercy. If any French citizen allowed an aristocrat, any member of his family, or a sympathizer (such as a loyal servant) escape to another country, it didn't matter how vigilantly they tried to prevent their escape, or how faultless their lives were in other respects. They were simply dragged off to the loving arms (and blade) of Madame Guillotine.

Baroness Emma Orczy's novel also offered an insight into the popularity of knitting during the French Revolution.

The women who drove the carts usually spent their day on the Place de la Greve, beneath the platform of the guillotine, knitting and gossiping, whilst they watched the rows of tumbrils arriving with the victims the Reign of Terror claimed every day. It was great fun to see the aristos arriving for the reception of Madame la Guillotine, and the places close by the platform were very much sought after. Bibot, during the day, had been on duty on the Place. He recognized most of the old hats, "tricotteuses," as they were called, who sat there and knitted, whilst head after head fell beneath the knife, and they themselves got quite bespattered with the blood of those cursed aristos.

Pinky: Keep on knitting, you two.
Oh, and Captain Scarlet, I want that guillotine built by sunset,
or it's off with your dome!

Perhaps I can be forgiven for pointing out that this passage from Baroness Emma Orczy's novel gives an entirely different definition to the knitting term dye lot. Perhaps not. (Perhaps I'm fortunate that France no longer enlists Madame Guillotine to secure Public Safety). Still, doesn't it makes you wonder what types of hats, scarves, gloves, or clothes the women were knitting, and how they got the bloodstains out of their projects?

Dragon Dave

Knitting During the French Revolution

My niece once told me she was reading A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.  To her, it seemed more like an endless succession of episodes than a novel with a three-part dramatic structure.  I vaguely remember picking up the book in elementary school library, but being talked out of reading it until I was older.  Strangely though, I can’t remember being taught anything about the French Revolution in history classes (even at university), except that it was “complicated.”

A couple years ago, I read Drood, a novel in which Dan Simmons portrays Charles Dickens from contemporary author Wilkie Collin’s point-of-view.  I’ve wanted to read both Collins and Dickens since reading Dan Simmons’ novel, so perhaps I should begin with A Tale of Two Cities.  My concern is that it’s a long novel, so I’ll have to set aside all the other books I want to read.  Plus, there’s the added problem that once Dickens brings this period of history to life for me, I’ll want to study the subject further, and I already have so many nonfiction topics I want to research.  (Of course, in order to play fair, I’ll then have to read a Wilkie Collins novel as well).  Still, nothing illuminates history quite like well-written Fiction, and A Tale of Two Cities ranks among the most famous works of literature.  

While I debate about reading the novel, I’ve recently found another valuable source of information on the French Revolution.  “The Reign of Terror” was a six-part serial written by Dennis Spooner, and was filmed during the first year of Doctor Who.  When the TARDIS arrives in France in 1794, the Doctor’s companions are thrown in jail, and he must impersonate a regional administrator in the hopes of rescuing them before they are taken to the guillotine.  When watching the episodes with the “Information Text” option, I gained a nice overview of this important period of history, as well as a few interesting facts.  One was that a group of women, known as Tricoteuses, would sit by the guillotine and knit during public executions.

I can understand a lot of the reasons why the French Revolution occurred.  I get how ideologies might drive people to commit terrible acts in the name of the common good, such as during the Reign of Terror, when tens of thousands of people were condemned to death.  What I can’t understand is how a group of women could plunk themselves down beside a guillotine, watch as people are led up to it, and knit while the blade descends and a person’s head drops into a basket.  I mean, wouldn’t their knitted hats and gloves get stained?  Who would wear a sweater splattered with blood?

My wife’s tells me she finds knitting a calming and restful hobby…and then she knits Daleks.  Part of me argues that I’d better confiscate her knitting needles while I still can.  The other part argues that the Women’s March on Versailles served as an important precursor to the French Revolution.  So what should I do?  Should I confiscate her knitting needles?  Or would doing so incite the violence and rebellion I wish to avert?

You know, maybe I really do need to read A Tale of Two Cities.  

Dragon Dave