Henchmen and Minions

30 Wednesday Oct 2019

Posted by Ollamh in Films and Music, J.R.R. Tolkien, Narrative Methods, Villains

Tags

A History of Scotland, Albrecht Duerer, Alexandre Dumas, Cardinal Richelieu, Droids, druid, Emperor Palpatine, Flying Monkeys, gangster, Henchmen, Mignon, Neil Oliver, Odysseus, Orcs, Robin Hood, Saint Columba, Saruman, Sauron, Sheriff of Nottingham, Telemachus, The Lord of the Rings, The Three Musketeers, The Wizard of Oz, Tolkien, Winkie Guards

Welcome, dear readers, as ever.

A henchman was originally a hengestman, from hengest “horse/stallion” + man “man”—in other words, a groom, a servant who takes care of horses.

Although the word began with the meaning of “groom”, it has certainly changed over time and now it suggests something like “ thuggish follower”—like these gangster henchmen.

The word minion comes from the Old French word mignon, “a (little) darling”, but its meaning has also changed–even more than henchmen, now indicating a kind of low-level person who simply follows orders, which the peasants in this picture by Albrecht Duerer make us think of.

These words originally came to mind while we were watching the first episode of Neil Oliver’s excellent BBC series A History of Scotland. (Smart writing and wonderful photography.)

In the episode, a scene was reenacted, in which Saint Columba (521-597AD)

faces off against a Pictish druid.

(This is the closest we can come to an image of a druid. As far as we know, there are, in fact, no surviving images of the learned class of the Celtic world, just often very imaginative illustrations with little or no factual basis.)

In Adomnan’s (c.624-704AD) Life of Columba, Book II, Chapter XXXIV, Columba struggles to free a slave being held by the druid, Broichan.

The saint wins, of course, but what struck us about this story—and in this DVD depiction—was that it was a one-on-one contest: neither man called upon backup—something which one might especially expect from the antagonist of the story, as in so many. After all, we thought, just think of villains in all kinds of stories—

The Sheriff of Nottingham has his henchmen ready to try to capture Robin Hood at the famous archery contest.

Or, if you prefer—

The evil Cardinal Richelieu

has his guards

to fight the musketeers

in Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers.

The Wicked Witch of the West

has two sets of henchmen: the flying monkeys

which have been the terror of many childhoods, in our experience, and the Winkie Guards,

whose drum beat and deep chant always made us a little nervous when we were little (not to mention their skin color and odd noses).

Here’s a LINK, in case you’ve forgotten what they were like.

In a more modern story, the Separatists have so many droids,

as Emperor Palpatine has so many stormtroopers.

And, of course, Saruman

has so many orcs

as, along with all of his human minions, does Sauron.

We can imagine several reasons for such overwhelming force in these stories. For the protagonist/s, the more of the enemy there are, the more impressive their defeat, as when Odysseus faces so many suitors (over a hundred) with only his son, Telemachus, and a couple of servants to help him.

(And Athena, of course!)

For the antagonist/s, there is the sense that they are so powerful that they have only to command and vast numbers of henchmen will do their bidding.

At the same time, we wonder if, underneath all of that force, there is a basic insecurity, a feeling that “my power by itself is really not enough—I can’t do this alone”? After all, it’s not the Sheriff of Nottingham who faces Robin Hood in the 1938 film,

but the secondary character, Guy of Gisborne (played by Basil Rathbone, who was the first great film Sherlock Holmes).

The Wicked Witch of the West relies upon her monkeys and her guards and Saruman and Sauron upon their armies and none ever faces an opponent alone: for that matter, we never even see Sauron except as a shadow at his fall.

And perhaps that underlying insecurity has some roots in reality: the only antagonist who actually confronts the protagonist is a little too sure of himself and of his major henchman and we all know what happens next…

As always, thanks for reading and

MTCIDC, dear readers!

A Little Ring, the Least of Rings

02 Wednesday Jan 2019

Posted by Ollamh in J.R.R. Tolkien, Military History, Military History of Middle-earth

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Aladdin, Alexandre Dumas, Barad-Dur, Chateau d'If, Edmond Dantes, Elba, French Revolution, Galadriel, Harad, Hitler, Jinghiz Khan, Louis XVI, Morannon, Mordor, Napoleon, Nazgul, Ring Wraiths, St Helena, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien, Toulon, Umbar, Waterloo

Welcome, readers, as always, and, if it’s part of your culture, Happy New Year!

We’ve recently been reading a book about Napoleon

and his first fall, in 1814. He was forced to abdicate,

thereby losing the massive empire he had built up in the early 19^thcentury.

His many enemies had a number of possibilities as to what to do with him. They could, for example, have imprisoned him, as Edmond Dantes is in Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo (serialized 1844-46), in a fortress like the Chateau d’If.

Or, more radically—but certainly very effectively—they could have permanently removed him by the same means by which revolutionary France removed his predecessor, Louis XVI.

Instead, they allowed him not only to live, but even to continue to be a kind of monarch—although only of a tiny island, Elba, off the west coast of Italy.

They thought they’d seen the last of him, leaving him to spend the rest of his life as a sovereign of a ragged collection of fishermen and farmers.

For Napoleon, however, who always saw himself as destined for only the greatest things, being king of Elba must have felt to him rather like the way the genie in Disney’s Aladdin (1992) expresses the contrast in his life–

That being the case, Napoleon lived on Elba for less that a year before he planned and accomplished his escape.

Back in France, he was welcomed by the very soldiers sent to stop him,

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raised new armies,

image11napog

marched north to deal with his nearest enemies, Prussia and England, and was finally—and permanently—defeated at Waterloo, 18 June, 1815.

image12waterloo

This time, his enemies, having learned their lesson, sent Napoleon as far away from Europe as they could and to a much less hospitable place, the island of St Helena, in the South Atlantic,

where he died in 1821.

From his first success, at the siege of Toulon in 1793,

Napoleon had climbed and climbed until, by 1801, he was the real ruler of France (as “First Consul”)

and then, in 1804, Emperor.

And yet, it was never enough, which reminds us of so many of the “great conquerors” of history, from Alexander,

to Jinghiz Khan and his successors,

to Hitler.

In every case throughout history, no conqueror has ever had enough and, if we move out of this earth to Middle-earth, we find Sauron, a figure in many ways like all of these earthly conquerors, who, although defeated by an alliance of Elves and Men in the past, has returned and, in time, reacquired immense power. To begin with, he has the entire realm of Mordor.

He has also somehow gained the means to create giant fortifications (sometimes based upon older constructions), like the Barad-dur

and the Morannon and all of the other inner and outer works of Mordor.

image26morannon image27mord image28cirithungol

He also controls the Nazgul,

massive armies of orcs,

as well as allies from the Harads and Umbar.

All of which he has done, it seems, by whatever innate powers he possesses—without the Ring. And this made us wonder: what is it that the Ring actually does for its wearer that Sauron wants it back?

Certainly, the only power Gollum appears to have gotten from the Ring is that of invisibility (and the side-effect of longevity).

This is true for Bilbo, as well,

and for Frodo–

although, when Frodo puts on the Ring on Weathertop, he is plunged into a kind of alternate dimension, seeing the Nazgul as they really are

and, again, on Ammon Hen, he is put into direct contact with the Ring’s real owner.

Does this suggest that the Ring’s power is only as powerful as the Ring’s current wearer? Galadriel confirms this when Frodo asks her about the other rings: “why cannot I see all the others and know the thoughts of those that wear them?”

To which she replies:

“Did not Gandalf tell you that the rings give power according to the measure of each possessor?”

(The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 7, “The Mirror of Galadriel”)

This then accounts for Gandalf’s almost violent explanation when Frodo offers it to him:

“’No!’ cried Gandalf, springing to his feet. ‘With that power I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and more deadly.’ His eyes flashed and his face was lit as by a fire within. ‘Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself. Yet the way of the Ring to my heart is by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good. Do not tempt me! I dare not take it, not even to keep it safe, unused. The wish to wield it would be too great, for my strength. I shall have such need of it. Great perils lie before me.’” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 2, “The Shadow of the Past”)

Or when Frodo offers it to Galadriel:

“You will give me the Ring freely! In place of the Dark Lord you will set up a Queen. And I shall not be dark, but beautiful and terrible as the Morning and the Night! Fair as the Sea and the Sun and the Snow upon the Mountain! Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning! Stronger than the foundations of the earth. All shall love me and despair!” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 7, “The Mirror of Galadriel”)

Sauron has been able to accomplish so much without the Ring—what would happen should he ever wear it again? In “The Shadow of the Past”, Gandalf tells Frodo that it controls the other rings—even the three long-concealed from Sauron:

“The Three are hidden still. But that no longer troubles him. He only needs the One; for he made that Ring himself, it is his, and he let a great part of his own former power pass into it, so that he could rule all the others. If he recovers it, then he will command them all again, even the Three, and all that has been wrought with them will be laid bare, and he will be stronger than ever.”

And, just as important—maybe even more so—Sauron has based his place of power and refuge, his sure foundation in Middle-earth, upon it, as Elrond tells the council:

“Sauron was diminished, but not destroyed. His Ring was lost but not unmade. The Dark Tower was broken, but its foundations were not removed; for they were made with the power of the Ring, and while it remains they will endure.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”)

So, then, just as Napoleon, exiled on Elba, could plot and accomplish return, given the Ring, Sauron, defeated before, could return and, with a greed for conquest as insatiable as that of the French emperor, reappear again and again in Middle-earth, where there was no St Helena to keep him for good.

Thanks for reading!

MTCIDC

Theme and Variations.4

11 Wednesday Jul 2018

Posted by Ollamh in Artists and Illustrators, Fairy Tales and Myths, Films and Music, Literary History, Narrative Methods

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A Trip to the Moon, Alexandre Dumas, Arthur Rackham, Cendrillon, Charles Perrault, Charles S Evans, Cinderella, Cinderella 1899, Cinderella 1911, Cinderella 1912, Cinderella 1914, Contes de Ma Mere L'Oye, Film, Florence La Badie, Georges Melies, Gustave Dore, Henri IV, Histoires ou Contes du Temps Passe, Hugo, Le Voyage dan la Lune, Louis XIII, Mary Pickford, silent film, Sleeping Beauty, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, The Three Musketeers

Welcome, dear readers, as ever.

This is the next-to-last in a little series on several of the fairy tales of Charles Perrault (1628-1703) from his 1697 collection, Histoires ou Contes du Temps Passe (“Stories or Tales of Past Time”), better known by a kind of subtitle, Contes de Ma Mere L’Oye (“Tales of My Mother Goose”).

image1chasp

So far, we’ve devoted two posts to “Sleeping Beauty” (actually called by Perrault “La Belle au Bois Dormant”—“The Beautiful Girl in the Sleeping Wood”), covering everything from 19^th-century theatrical performances to book illustrations to Disney.

In the third post, we began to look at “Cinderella”, more specifically in opera, from Isouard’s 1810 Cendrillon to Viardot’s 1904 Cendrillon.

Now, in this post, we want to look at “Cinderella” in film, beginning with the 1899 work of Georges Melies (1861-1938)

whom you may know from the 2011 film Hugo

based upon Brian Selznick’s 2007 wonderfully inventive novel, The Invention of Hugo Cabret.

Even if you aren’t familiar with Melies, you may recognize his work in this image

from his 1902 science fiction film, Le Voyage dans La Lune (“The Trip to the Moon”), thought by scholars to be the first science fiction film (or at least first surviving such film. Silent film historians estimate that only about 10% of all silent films made are still available to us. Here’s a LINK to the film so that you can enjoy it for yourself).

Cendrillon was Melies’ most elaborate film to date and was a commercial success, even though only just under 6 minutes long—which says something for the expectations of the movie-going public of 1899.

As it is so short, it has only a couple of scenes—the kitchen in Cinderella’s house, the palace ballroom, Cinderella’s room, and what appears to be the outside of the palace—and very much depends upon the viewer already knowing the basic story (it begins, for example, with a very fancily-dressed woman leaving the kitchen and the sudden appearance of the Fairy Godmother, with no introduction at all). Its greatest strength, for us, is in its transformation scenes (a Melies’ specialty), particularly the change of rats/mice into coachmen and footmen. (And here’s a LINK to the film, see if you agree with the 1899 audience.)

Our second film is from 1911 and is nearly 15 minutes long, meaning that it actually has time to tell the story, if not in a leisurely fashion, at least in a more complete one than the Melies. This is a US version of the story, starring an early popular favorite, Florence La Badie (or Labadie).

Forgotten except by silent film enthusiasts, La Badie was a hardworking dare-devil, appearing in nearly 200 films between 1909 and her death in 1917, and doing most of her own stunts. She was also someone who personified a new look for young women in the years leading up to the Great War—as this portrait (and there are more like it) shows.

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If you follow this LINK, you can see not only the actress, but a “Cinderella” which has almost everything we would expect from the Perrault original.

Florence La Badie had gotten into films through the suggestion of an acting friend, Mary Pickford,

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who starred in our next Cinderella, in 1914.

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Two things strike us about this:

it’s over 50 minutes long—a great advance from the 1911 15 minutes
the advertising seems to suggest that the audience of 1914 was expected to visit the theatre to see Mary Pickford in Cinderella, rather than Cinderella in which Mary Pickford plays the title role. For us, this foreshadows the obsession with film celebrities which is still with us today.

image12pick

This version, with its almost luxurious length, has plenty of time not only to tell the Perrault story, but to makes two additions to the plot: Cinderella actually meets the prince before the ball, near her home and they fall in love—but are then separated; the stepsisters visit a fortune-teller, who informs them cryptically that one of their family will be successful at the ball. (Here’s a LINK so that you can enjoy this more elaborate version.)

In the midst of these US versions, Georges Melies issued a second one himself. At about 24 minutes long, it is much grander than his 1899 production, spending nearly a quarter of its length on the transformation of Cinderella from kitchen maid to grand lady alone. The contrast between the 1899 pumpkin coach and the 1913 one illustrates this nicely.

image13melies2

It did not enjoy the success of the 1899 original, perhaps because, the weight of production values was simply too heavy for the little story inside, which was smothered by all of the plumed hats and sweeping bows. We admit that we find this version a little slow, but the creation of the pumpkin coach is still as impressive to us as it must have been in 1913. Here’s a LINK so that you can judge for yourself. It’s dated 1912, by the way, when the film was made, but it premiered in 1913, so we are sticking to the later date.

It has been suggested that Melies, in the look of this later take on the story, was influenced by the work of Gustave Dore (Do-RAY) (1832-1883).

In 1867, Dore—a well-known illustrator–among other things–published Les Contes de Perrault, dessins par Gustave Dore.

Here’s one of the three illustrations done for the story.

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To us, however, Melies thinks of the story taking place in the time of Louis XIII (reigned 1610-1643), when Dumas’ “Musketeers” novels are set (with a little 18^th-century addition here and there).

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Dore would appear to be setting it earlier, in the time of Louis’ father, Henri IV (reigned 1589-1610).

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One of our very favorite illustrators, Arthur Rackham (1867-1939),

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tackled both “Cinderella” in 1919 and “Sleeping Beauty” in 1920, with retellings by Charles S. Evans. Always original and surprising in his approach, Rackham here has produced what we believe to be two of his most inspired works—we’ll talk about them, as well as more versions of “Cinderella”, in our next.

But we’ll finish this post with one more image—as a teaser…

image20sketch

And thank you, as ever, for reading.

MTCIDC

Legionnaire, But No Disease

28 Wednesday Mar 2018

Posted by Ollamh in Films and Music, Heroes, Military History

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Tags

Africa, Alexandre Dumas, Algeria, Beau Geste, Beau Hunks, Camels, Chasseurs d'Afrique, Film, Flying Deuces, Follow that Camel, French Conquest of Algeria, French Foreign Legion, Garde Suisse, Genoese, Laurel and Hardy, Legions, Louisa de Ramee, military, Ouida, P.C. Wren, Sahara, The Last Remake of Beau Geste, The Three Musketeers, Under Two Flags, uniforms, Zouaves

As always, dear readers, welcome!

Although we do a lot of Tolkien, we set up this blog for adventure in general and, in this posting, we’ve gone to a completely different world—as you’ll see.

When we think of the Sahara, we immediately see:

a. a satellite map, which shows us just how huge it is

b. and camels—although they aren’t native, they’ve been there a long time, having been introduced from Arabia perhaps about 300Ad

c. and, of course, desert warriors

d. and, also, of course, their opponents, the French Foreign Legion

e. or, with a bit of a trim—and in color—

The Foreign Legion were hardly the first foreigners in the service of France. Medieval French kings had used Genoese crossbowmen.

And the later kings of France had, as part of their household guards, the Garde Suisse.

The Foreign Legion was raised in 1831 and used, at first, during the French conquest of Algeria.

As Algeria was exotic, so were the soldiers there, beginning with the dashing Zouaves, originally locals, but gradually mostly French.

Along with these were the Chasseurs d’Afrique,

who formed the background for what we think is the first North African adventure novel in English, Ouida (Louisa de Ramee)’s Under Two Flags (1867)

which became a film twice, in 1922

And in 1936.

Oddly, the Chasseurs d’Afrique of the novel were replaced, in the 1936 film by the Foreign Legion—perhaps because the script writers thought that the Foreign Legion would have been a more familiar unit to their audience?

If so, it may have been because of P.C. Wren’s 1924 novel, Beau Geste,

which has appeared a number of times on the screen, initially in silent form in 1926,

and again as a “talkie” in 1939

and again in full color in 1966.

The book—and the film’s—popularity—the story was all about noble sacrifice—and exotic desert adventure—did not escape satire. As early as 1931, two of our favorite early film comedy stars, Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy,

appeared in their longest short (37 minutes—but it which sounds like a contradiction in terms), Beau Hunks.

This title is based upon what appears to be a double ethnic slur, Bo- from “Bohemian” + Hunk- from “Hungarian”, so a disparaging reference to a central European—a lower class one, at that. (It makes us thankful that it appears to have disappeared entirely as a slang term: in our current world, we don’t need any more ethnic attacks—we have plenty already.)

This was remade in 1939 as Flying Deuces.

This wasn’t the end of such cheerful assaults, however. In 1967, there was Follow That Camel (from the British comedy series “Carry On…)

and, appropriately, in 1977, came The Last Remake of Beau Geste.

All the same, we still love the old movie, with its last-ditch defense of Fort Zinderneuf,

where, borrowing from Dumas’ The Three Musketeers,

in desperation, the defenders prop up dead legionnaires to make their numbers appear greater than they are.

How could people with a passion for adventure not find that appealing?

Thanks, as ever, for reading

and, as always,

MTCIDC

One for All…

24 Wednesday Aug 2016

Posted by Ollamh in Films and Music, Literary History, Military History, Narrative Methods

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Alexandre Dumas, Aramis, Athos, battle of Fontenoy, Cardinal Richelieu, D'Artagnan, French Revolution, Garde Republicaine, Harpers Ferry, La Rochelle, Louis XIII, Louis XIV, Louis XV, Louis XVI, Louis XVIII, Musket, Musketeers, Porthos, Richard Lester, Royal Heralds, tabard, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Three Musketeers, Twenty Years After, Vicomte de Bragelonne

Dear Readers,

Welcome, as always.

In our last, we said that we were having a little holiday from the works of JRRT and we’re continuing that break in this posting, as well. After all, although we have a deep affection and admiration for them, we began this blog with the intention of focusing upon adventure in general.

In this, we want to look at musketeers—three, in fact, plus a fourth, who, although he lacks an official position in their company, has the heart of one.

A musket is now a generic word for a pre-breech-loading long arm, like this one—

harpersferry1809

made at the Harpers Ferry arsenal in 1809.

harpersferryearly

Once upon a time, however, a musket was a specific weapon, a heavier firearm which was supported on a wooden rest.

Musketeer

Such weapons were inaccurate at any distance and, in time, soldiers were gradually trained to load and fire in groups, to have more effect upon the enemy.

Manual_of_the_Musketeer,_17th_Century

military-musketeers-thirty-years-war-1618-1648-drawing-by-anton-hoffmann-bjn61w

Certain cavalry were issued lighter versions of such muskets and, in 1622, one company—later two—was formed as a bodyguard for the young Louis XIII.

0_Louis_XIII_en_costume_de_deuil_-_Frans_Pourbus_le_Jeune_(2)

At this time, the idea of uniforms was only beginning to appear and so these men would have worn whatever they wished (probably a fancier version of period civilian clothes—they were guarding the king, after all).

To identify them as belonging to the king’s household, however, they were issued with a kind of loose overgarment called a tabard, which we can still see today as worn by the Royal Heralds of Elizabeth II.

Pursuivant_tabard Heralds-at-the-Garter-Service-Julian-Calder-1024x681 fae2a692a2dfd52e3931b64ed85bf5ab

One of these musketeers was named D’Artagnan (1611-1673)

invalides-mousquetaires-portrait-du-vrai-dartagnan-mais-aucune-preuve-dauthenticitc3a9

and, in 1700—27 years after his death at the siege of Maastricht in 1673—a well-known French author of the period, Courtilz de Sandras (1644-1712), published a semi-fictionalized “memoir” by D’Artagnan, supposedly based upon D’Artagnan’s papers.

Courtilz_Mémoires_titreWP

It depicted his adventures in a complex world of king and the man behind the king, Louis XIII and his prime minister, Cardinal Richelieu, and the court politics and foreign wars of the era.

Philippe_de_Champaigne_-_Louis_XIII_Crowned_by_Victory_(Siege_of_La_Rochelle,_1628)_-_WGA4712

index

And, in this equestrian portrait, you can see the Cardinal literally behind the king.

Louis_XIII_Richelieu_devant_La_Rochelle

In 1844, there appeared a totally fictionalized account by Alexandre Dumas (1802-1870),

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The Three Musketeers,

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which proved so successful that Dumas produced two sequels, Twenty Years After (1845), and The Vicomte de Bragelonne (1847). The success of the first book was such that, since its publication, well—just google “The Three Musketeers in film”! The story of a young man from an impoverished noble family coming to Paris and how, through luck and bravery, he becomes a musketeer, is clearly irresistible—certainly for us! (And Dumas had the gift to do this more than once—he is also the author of the equally-irresistible The Count of Monte Cristo—google that to see its history.)

We have read various versions of this since childhood, from comic books to school texts in French, but, of all of the film versions, our favorite is the 2-part Richard Lester adaptation (script by one of our favorite historical novelists, George Macdonald Fraser—more about him in a future posting) of 1973-1974.

Three_Musketeers_1974

This is a version which keeps some of our favorite scenes—the duel in the convent courtyard, where D’Artagnan proves his courage to his new friends-to-be among the Musketeers, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis,

TheThreeMusketeers099

and the wager of the four friends to defend the bastion at the siege of La Rochelle while having breakfast there,

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but is, on the whole, a very light-hearted telling of the story (after all, Lester was famous for being the director of several earlier films starring the Beatles—the original idea even being that John, Paul, George, and Ringo were to be the Musketeers), set against a very grainy depiction of the world of the 1620s (which we find very convincing).

As for the real Musketeers, they had a long career as part of the King’s household guards, from the time of Louis XIII

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through that of Louis XIV

musketeerlouisxiv

through a famous charge at the battle of Fontenoy (1745) in the time of Louis XV.

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They were swept away at the time of the French Revolution, along with their master, Louis XVI,

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but restored in 1814 by his royal successor, Louis XVIII.

louisxviiimusket

In this new edition of the Musketeers, there appeared for a short time a recruit named Dumas,

Alexandre_Dumas_par_Achille_Devéria_(1829)

but, unlike his father (1762-1806), a famous general of the French revolutionary period,

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he had another career waiting for him…

Thanks, as always, for reading.

MTCIDC

That last reincarnation of the Musketeers was a brief one: they were finally abolished in 1816. We can’t resist, in this ps, showing you a kind of descendant, however—at least in looking French and splendid. Here is the Garde republicaine in Paris. Its name tells you that, although monarchy might be dead in France, guards are certainly not.

la-musique-de-la-garde-republicaine

Allons, enfants!

14 Thursday Jul 2016

Posted by Ollamh in Literary History, Military History

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Across the Doubtful Sea, Alexandre Dumas, Bastille, Bastille Day, Bastille Day parade, Beau Geste, Bernard Cornwell, Brigadier Gerard, C.S. Forester, CD, Charles X, Conan Doyle, Cyrano de Bergerac, de Bougainville, Edmond Rostand, Eugene Leliepvre, French Foreign Legion, French Royal Navy, Hornblower, King's French Guard, Louis Philippe, Marquis de Montcalm, Napoleon, Place de la Bastille, Place Henri Galli, Sharpe, South Pacific, The Three Musketeers

Dear readers, chers lecteurs,

Welcome/bienvenue as always/comme toujours. This is a special extra posting for our faithful French readers, but really for all of our readers who love adventure and history—and that, as far as we can tell, is everyone who regularly reads us.

When we were thinking about this special Bastille Day extra, we wondered what we should write about.

We could, of course, write about the original Bastille day, 14 July, 1789, when a crowd of brave and angry Parisians, aided by some members of the King’s French Guard, attacked the 14^th-century fortress-turned-state-prison, and forced its surrender.

Bastille_1715

l'attaquesurlabastille (We can’t resist a visual footnote– you’ll notice the people to the right in dark blue with the fuzzy hats. These are members of a grenadier company of the French Guard. Here’s a larger and more modern illustration of these Guards by one of our favorite French military artists, Eugene Leliepvre.)

leliepvregardefrancaise

Not satisfied with capturing the place, the revolutionaries soon tore it down, and it’s now the Place de la Bastille, with a column, erected in 1840, commemorating the revolution of 1830, in which the last member of the Bourbon monarchy, Charles X, was overthrown and was replaced by his cousin, Louis Philippe.

demolitiondelabastille

Place_de_la_Bastille,_1878

In 1899, a small section of one of the Bastille’s towers was discovered during metro excavations and is now on display in the Place Henri Galli, not far from its original site.

la-bastille1 Paris4_SquareHenriGalli_VestigesBastille_Nov09

The Revolution which followed the fall of the Bastille brought on the era of Napoleon and, for those of us interested in adventure and who read English, at sea, C.S. Forester’s “Hornblower” series, among others, and, on land, Bernard Cornwell’s “Sharpe” series and, long before that, the “Brigadier Gerard” stories of Conan Doyle. Hornblower and others have appeared in some of our earlier postings, when we discussed sources for our first novel, Across the Doubtful Sea, set in an imaginary South Pacific in the 18^th century,

Across Cover

but we’ve never looked at Gerard or Sharpe. And we would be glad if our French readers would offer comparable books in French for this period (one of us grew up in a Francophile household and reads French). One reason why heroes in our first novel are members of the French Royal Navy is that the period from 1750 to 1800 is filled with adventure, both in exploration and in war, and that navy is constantly involved, something of which English readers have no knowledge.

(Another color plate by Leliepvre.)

One has only to remember de Bougainville (1729-1811),

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who began his career as an aide to the Marquis de Montcalm, the daring and resourceful commander of French regular forces in New France, 1756-1759.

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In the 1780s, however, he had become a naval commander, leading an exploratory expedition to the South Pacific.

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Throughout the later 17^th and 18^th centuries, the French Navy formed a large part of the French struggle for commercial supremacy across the world.

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Or then again, as we’ve done once before, we could go back to the 17^th century and write about Alexandre Dumas and his famous musketeers, who first appeared in The Three Musketeers (1844).

alexandre-dumas-3 TheThreeMusketeers099

Or there is the wonderful play Cyrano de Bergerac (1897) by Edmond Rostand, set about 1640. We could easily write a posting about the amazing scene in the first act alone, where, at the Hotel de Bourgogne, Cyrano fights a duel and composes a ballade at the same time.

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What else? Hmm. How about the French Foreign Legion of one of our favorite old adventure movies, Beau Geste (1939)?

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And then a final then again, perhaps it’s best just to wish everyone a happy Bastille Day and end with some dramatic views from a previous parade…

defile1 14 Juillet 2013 defile3

Merci, nos lecteurs/thanks, as ever, for reading.

MTCIDC

doubtfulsea

~ adventure fantasy

Tag Archives: Alexandre Dumas

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Allons, enfants!