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Frederick the Great, discussion post 5: or: Yuletide requests are out!
All Yuletide requests are out!
Yuletide related:
-it is sad that I can't watch opera quickly enough these days to have offered any of them, these requests are delightful!
-That is... sure a lot of prompts for MCS/Jingyan. But happily some that are not :D (I like MCS/Jingyan! But there are So Many Other characters!)
Frederician-specific:
-I am so excited someone requested Fritz/Voltaire, please someone write it!!
-I also really want someone to write that request for Poniatowski, although that is... definitely a niche request, even for this niche fandom. But he has memoirs?? apparently they are translated from Polish into French
-But while we are waiting/writing/etc., check out this crack commentfic where Heinrich and Franz Stefan are drinking together while Maria Theresia and Frederick the Great have their secret summit, which turns into a plot to marry the future Emperor Joseph to Fritz...
Master link to Frederick the Great posts and associated online links
Yuletide related:
-it is sad that I can't watch opera quickly enough these days to have offered any of them, these requests are delightful!
-That is... sure a lot of prompts for MCS/Jingyan. But happily some that are not :D (I like MCS/Jingyan! But there are So Many Other characters!)
Frederician-specific:
-I am so excited someone requested Fritz/Voltaire, please someone write it!!
-I also really want someone to write that request for Poniatowski, although that is... definitely a niche request, even for this niche fandom. But he has memoirs?? apparently they are translated from Polish into French
-But while we are waiting/writing/etc., check out this crack commentfic where Heinrich and Franz Stefan are drinking together while Maria Theresia and Frederick the Great have their secret summit, which turns into a plot to marry the future Emperor Joseph to Fritz...
Master link to Frederick the Great posts and associated online links
Casanova
That is amazing and while I am sure it must have been stressful, I kind of love that detail. Holy cow.
It gets better! Casanova's memoirs provide an amazing example of what happens when you *don't* get a chance to study and it's pop quiz time! I'm going to quote at length from his memoirs here, because they're so readable, and he does a great job of conveying just how stressful it was.
When I got home I wrote a plain but respectful letter to the king, asking where and at what time I could introduce myself to him.
In two days I received a letter signed 'Frederick,' in which the receipt of my letter was acknowledged, and I was told that I should find his majesty in the garden of Sans-Souci at four o’clock.
As may be imagined I was punctual to my appointment. I was at Sans-Souci at three, clad in a simple black dress. When I got into the court-yard there was not so much as a sentinel to stop me, so I went on mounted a stair, and opened a door in front of me. I found myself in a picture-gallery, and the curator came up to me and offered to shew me over it.
“I have not come to admire these masterpieces,” I replied, “but to see the king, who informed me in writing that I should find him in the garden.”
“He is now at a concert playing the flute; he does so every day after dinner. Did he name any time?”
“Yes, four o’clock, but he will have forgotten that.”
“The king never forgets anything; he will keep the appointment, and you will do well to go into the garden and await him.”
I had been in the garden for some minutes when I saw him appear, followed by his reader and a pretty spaniel. As soon as he saw me he accosted me, taking off his old hat, and pronouncing my name. Then he asked in a terrible voice what I wanted of him. This greeting surprised me, and my voice stuck in my throat.
“Well, speak out. Are you not the person who wrote to me?”
“Yes, sire, but I have forgotten everything now. I thought that I should not be awed by the majesty of a king, but I was mistaken. My lord-marshal should have warned me.”
“Then he knows you? Let us walk. What is it that you want? What do you think of my garden?”
His enquiries after my needs and of his garden were simultaneous. To any other person I should have answered that I did not know anything about gardening, but this would have been equivalent to refusing to answer the question; and no monarch, even if he be a philosopher, could endure that. I therefore replied that I thought the garden superb.
“But,” he said, “the gardens of Versailles are much finer.”
“Yes, sire, but that is chiefly on account of the fountains.”
“True, but it is not my fault; there is no water here. I have spent more than three hundred thousand crowns to get water, but unsuccessfully.”
“Three hundred thousand crowns, sire! If your majesty had spent them all at once, the fountains should be here.”
“Oh, oh! I see you are acquainted with hydraulics.”
I could not say that he was mistaken, for fear of offending him, so I simply bent my head, which might mean either yes or no. Thank God the king did not trouble to test my knowledge of the science of hydraulics, with which I was totally unacquainted.
He kept on the move all the time, and as he turned his head from one side to the other hurriedly asked me what forces Venice could put into the field in war time.
“Twenty men-of-war, sire, and a number of galleys.”
“What are the land forces?”
“Seventy thousand men, sire; all of whom are subjects of the Republic, and assessing each village at one man.”
“That is not true; no doubt you wish to amuse me by telling me these fables. Give me your opinions on taxation.”
This was the first conversation I had ever had with a monarch. I made a rapid review of the situation, and found myself much in the same position as an actor of the improvised comedy of the Italians, who is greeted by the hisses of the gods if he stops short a moment. I therefore replied with all the airs of a doctor of finance that I could say something about the theory of taxation.
“That’s what I want,” he replied, “for the practice is no business of yours.”
“There are three kinds of taxes, considered as to their effects. The first is ruinous, the second a necessary evil, and the third invariably beneficial.”
“Good! Go on.”
“The ruinous impost is the royal tax, the necessary is the military, and the beneficial is the popular.”
As I had not given the subject any thought I was in a disagreeable position, for I was obliged to go on speaking, and yet not to talk nonsense.
“The royal tax, sire, is that which deplenishes the purses of the subject to fill the coffers of the king.”
“And that kind of tax is always ruinous, you think.”
“Always, sire; it prevents the circulation of money—the soul of commerce and the mainstay of the state.”
“But if the tax be levied to keep up the strength of the army, you say it is a necessary evil.”
“Yes, it is necessary and yet evil, for war is an evil.”
“Quite so; and now about the popular tax.”
“This is always a benefit, for the monarch takes with one hand and gives with the other; he improves towns and roads, founds schools, protects the sciences, cherishes the arts; in fine, he directs this tax towards improving the condition and increasing the happiness of his people.”
“There is a good deal of truth in that. I suppose you know Calsabigi?”
“I ought to, your majesty, as he and I established the Genoa Lottery at Paris seven years ago.”
“In what class would you put this taxation, for you will agree that it is taxation of a kind?”
“Certainly, sire, and not the least important. It is beneficial when the monarch spends his profits for the good of the people.”
“But the monarch may lose?”
“Once in fifty.”
“Is that conclusion the result of a mathematical calculation?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Such calculations often prove deceptive.”
“Not so, may it please your majesty, when God remains neutral.”
“What has God got to do with it?”
“Well, sire, we will call it destiny or chance.”
“Good! I may possibly be of your opinion as to the calculation, but I don’t like your Genoese Lottery. It seems to me an elaborate swindle, and I would have nothing more to do with it, even if it were positively certain that I should never lose.”
“Your majesty is right, for the confidence which makes the people risk their money in a lottery is perfectly fallacious.”
This was the end of our strange dialogue, and stopping before a building he looked me over, and then, after a short silence, observed,—
“Do you know that you are a fine man?”
“Is it possible that, after the scientific conversation we have had, your majesty should select the least of the qualities which adorn your life guardsmen for remark?”
The king smiled kindly, and said,—
“As you know Marshal Keith, I will speak to him of you.”
With that he took off his hat, and bade me farewell. I retired with a profound bow.
Three or four days after the marshal gave me the agreeable news that I had found favour in the king’s eyes, and that his majesty thought of employing me.
I was curious to learn the nature of this employment, and being in no kind of hurry I resolved to await events in Berlin.
[Buuut, then, he nopes right out of Fritz-as-boss.]
Five or six weeks after my curious conversation with the monarch, Marshal Keith told me that his majesty had been pleased to create me a tutor to the new corps of Pomeranian cadets which he was just establishing. There were to be fifteen cadets and five tutors, so that each should have the care of three pupils. The salary was six hundred crowns and board found. The duty of the tutors was to follow or accompany the cadets wherever they went, Court included. I had to be quick in making up my mind, for the four others were already installed, and his majesty did not like to be kept waiting. I asked Lord Keith where the college was, and I promised to give him a reply by the next day.
I had to summon all my powers of self-restraint to my assistance when I heard this extravagant proposal as coming from a man who was so discreet in most things, but my astonishment was increased when I saw the abode of these fifteen young noblemen of rich Pomerania. It consisted of three or four great rooms almost devoid of furniture, several whitewashed bedrooms, containing a wretched bed, a deal table, and two deal chairs. The young cadets, boys of twelve or thirteen, all looked dirty and untidy, and were boxed up in a wretched uniform which matched admirably their rude and rustic faces. They were in company with their four governors, whom I took for their servants, and who looked at me in a stupefied manner, not daring to think that I was to be their future colleague.
Just as I was going to bid an eternal farewell to this abode of misery, one of the governors put his head out of the window and exclaimed,—
“The king is riding up.”
I could not avoid meeting him, and besides, I was glad enough to see him again, especially in such a place.
His majesty came up with his friend Icilius, examined everything, and saw me, but did not honour me with a word. I was elegantly dressed, and wore my cross set with brilliants. But I had to bite my lips so as not to burst out laughing when Frederick the Great got in a towering rage at a chamber utensil which stood beside one of the beds, and which did not appear to be in a very cleanly condition.
“Whose bed is this?” cried the monarch.
“Mine, sire,” answered a trembling cadet.
“Good! but it is not you I am angry with; where is your governor?”
The fortunate governor presented himself, and the monarch, after honouring him with the title of blockhead, proceeded to scold him roundly. However, he ended by saying that there was a servant, and that the governor ought to see that he did his work properly. This disgusting scene was enough for me, and I hastened to call on Marshal Keith to announce my determination. The old soldier laughed at the description I gave him of the academy, and said I was quite right to despise such an office; but that I ought, nevertheless, to go and thank the king before I left Berlin. I said I did not feel inclined for another interview with such a man, and he agreed to present my thanks and excuses in my stead.
I made up my mind to go to Russia, and began my preparations in good earnest.
[OMG, run away, run away!]
Baron Bodisson, a Venetian who wanted to sell the king a picture by Andrea del Sarto, asked me to come with him to Potsdam and the desire of seeing the monarch once again made me accept the invitation. When I reached Potsdam I went to see the parade at which Frederick was nearly always to be found. When he saw me he came up and asked me in a familiar manner when I was going to start for St. Petersburg.
“In five or six days, if your majesty has no objection.”
“I wish you a pleasant journey; but what do you hope to do in that land?”
“What I hoped to do in this land, namely, to please the sovereign.”
“Have you got an introduction to the empress?”
“No, but I have an introduction to a banker.”
“Ah! that’s much better. If you pass through Prussia on your return I shall be delighted to hear of your adventures in Russia.”
“Farewell, sire.”
Such was the second interview I had with this great king, whom I never saw again.
Does anyone else find this as hilarious as I do?
[Catt: And this is why I always take notes! (Catt observes in his memoirs that after the first year or so, he finally felt equal to the task of having a conversation with Fritz without freaking out, so his diary became less minute. Lol everyone.)]
Also, the Gutenberg copy of Casanova's memoirs has this delightful note at the beginning: "[Transcriber’s Note: These memoires were not written for children, they may outrage readers also offended by Chaucer, La Fontaine, Rabelais and The Old Testament. D.W.]"
I need to finish Wilhelmine's memoirs and also a few other items on my two other items on my 18th century to-read list, but Casanova's memoirs look fascinating. I might actually read them properly.
Re: Casanova
Casanova does it too! Excerpted in full again:
My intimacy with Madame Denis commenced. One night when I was supping with her she was seized with convulsions which lasted all the night. I did not leave her for a moment, and in the morning, feeling quite recovered, her gratitude finished what my love had begun twenty-six years before, and our amorous commerce lasted while I stayed at Berlin. We shall hear of her again at Florence six years later.
Some days after Madame Denis took me to Potsdam to shew me all the sights of the town. Our intimacy offended no one, for she was generally believed to be my niece, and the general who kept her either believed the report, or like a man of sense pretended to believe it.
Amongst other notable things I saw at Potsdam was the sight of the king commanding the first battalion of his grenadiers, all picked men, the flower of the Prussian army.
The room which we occupied at the inn faced a walk by which the king passed when he came from the castle. The shutters were all closed, and our landlady told us that on one occasion when a pretty dancer called La Reggiana was sleeping in the same room, the king had seen her in ‘puris naturalibus’. This was too much for his modesty, and he had ordered the shutters to be closed, and closed they had remained, though this event was four years old. The king had some cause to fear, for he had been severely treated by La Barbarina. In the king’s bedroom we saw her portrait, that of La Cochois, sister to the actress who became Marchioness d’Argens, and that of Marie Theresa, with whom Frederick had been in love, or rather he had been in love with the idea of becoming emperor.
After we had admired the beauty and elegance of the castle, we could not help admiring the way in which the master of the castle was lodged. He had a mean room, and slept on a little bed with a screen around it. There was no dressing-gown and no slippers. The valet shewed us an old cap which the king put on when he had a cold; it looked as if it must be very uncomfortable. His majesty’s bureau was a table covered with pens, paper, half-burnt manuscripts, and an ink-pot; beside it was a sofa. The valet told us that these manuscripts contained the history of the last Prussian war, and the king had been so annoyed by their accidentally getting burnt that he had resolved to have no more to do with the work. He probably changed his mind, for the book, which is little esteemed, was published shortly after his death.
Madame Denis: Marie Louise Mignot, literary figure in her own right, Voltaire's niece and lover--yes, you read that right.
Portrait of MT in Fritz's bedroom: Who else thinks it was a portrait of someone else and Fritz told his staff to troll visitors by saying it was a young MT? :P
Also, here we have yet another reference to that old marriage AU!
Re: Casanova
Incest: just a thing in this era. Given Casanova in his later life had a one night stand with an old flame of his and their mutual (adult) daughter, he certainly wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow.
The memoirs are a treasure trove for period detail, observations on interesting people all over the continent and of course his own life (as remembered as a librarian in Bohemia). Occasionally also horrifying not necessarily for the reason the people of his era would have considered it to be so. Starting with his childhood; he’s the oldest son of a singer/actress and her less successful husband who’s also an actor because she’s, and simultanously admiring and deeply resentful of his glamorous mother, so he doesn’t speak until he’s about eight (and is considered dumb accordingly), and then he doesn’t shut up. Which gets him his mother’s interest in as much as she pays for his schooling in Padua (since he’s not so dumb after all), but not so much that she considers taking him with her on her tours through Europe (as opposed to a younger brother and sister - of several, the other siblings end up with their grandmother, the dad is already dead). What also happens in Padua before he’s even hit puberty: he gets fingered by his teacher’s sister. This to contemporary readers looked like “lucky dog, early initiation, eh” and to us like “child molestation much?”. And so forth.
Re: Casanova
Portrait of MT in Fritz’ bedroom
I think it’s quite likely that Fritz wanted to troll people, and possibly (while she was still alive) MT herself if reports get to her, and yes, period portraits look very similar to us, what with the wigs and the beauty ideals needing to be observed, but just for the sake of argument: MT was actually one of the few people whose portrait would have been recognizable to people within the HRE. Partly due to Fritz. Because those portraits of her and her family were a loyalty declaration, just as Fritz’ portraits were. For example, recently I was at the castle in Würzburg, which at the relevant era was held by the Schönborn family (v important Catholic family through several centuries all over the HRE and there’s a cardinal von Schönborn in Vienna even now), and sure enough, there was MT, both young and old, and Joseph (younger), too. For non-nobles, there were prints.
Now how much those portraits actually resembled the person - shrug. (Though I’d say Wilhelmine’s pastel is recognizable MT if you’ve seen some of her other portraits.) But they certainly had created an iconic look, identifiable to the casual observer.
(BTW, I was v amused at Fritz complimenting MT on her complexion in the crack fic, ,because, Cahn, that’s another insult if you consider the Prussian ambassador wrote to Fritz she was ruining her face with all that outdoorsy stuff. (Remember the period ideal for female skin was soft, white and rosy, not tanned and wind-weathered!)
Re: Portrait of MT in Fritz’ bedroom
Now, of course Fritz may actually have had a portrait of MT in his room! For trolling, for gloating, for coming across as superior for having defeated such a worthy ally and for treating her with such "respect", for many reasons. But I also like the idea of him testing people's gullibility. :P
(BTW, I was v amused at Fritz complimenting MT on her complexion in the crack fic, ,because, Cahn, that’s another insult if you consider the Prussian ambassador wrote to Fritz she was ruining her face with all that outdoorsy stuff. (Remember the period ideal for female skin was soft, white and rosy, not tanned and wind-weathered!)
Indeed, that was intended to be an insult on more than one level, disguised as a compliment. :D I had fun with that one.
Re: Portrait of MT in Fritz’ bedroom
Icilius
They had another argument at some point, which Fritz won. Guichard insisted that the Roman soldier carried more weight on a march than the Prussian soldier and that therefore the Romans were superior. Well, you can imagine how Fritz reacted to that. He made Guichard put on the full kit of a Prussian soldier and stand at attention for an hour. Guichard found the task so difficult that he had to take back what he'd said. He was furious with Fritz, but, really, what did he expect?
Re: Icilius
Re: Icilius
Re: Casanova
Thank God the king did not trouble to test my knowledge of the science of hydraulics, with which I was totally unacquainted.
HAHAHAHA
This also all sounds completely Fritzian, blaming everyone else for his fountains and so on,and pop quizzing him, and...
Casanova also sounds like a hilarious writer in general. I should look up his memoirs.
Re: Casanova
The pop quiz is total Fritz, though. You see it over and over again when people meet with him.
Yeah, Casanova sounds great. He's on my list now.
Re: Casanova
“Do you know that you are a fine man?”
pfff, English translator. My German translation has "beautiful man" here, and I believe Fritz does say "beau homme", not "gentil" or whatever in the original.
The history of the Memoires de ma vie manuscript is also fascinating. Casanova started to write them in 1789, the year of the revolution. He did mean them for publication, hence the French, and there were some early readers like the Duc de Ligne (not his boss), but he couldn't find a publisher agreeing to his terms, though he pitched it to, among others, a Saxon in Dresden ("what do you mean, a cut version in only three volumes?!? I've written twelve!") within his life time. When he died in 1790, the husband of one of his nieces who'd been in Dresden on business before hearing old Giacomo was in a bad state of health and hence could make the journey to Bohemia was present, and returned with the complete Histoire de ma vie manuscript to Dresden. When he died, his daughter Camilla inherited the manuscript. By now we're in 1821, and Camilla, no fool she, decides to go for broke and sell it to the highest bidder among publishers.
The race is made by Brockhaus in Leipzig, most famous these days for publishing the standard German spelling dictionary for the last 150 plus years. Brockhaus, now the proud owner of the manuscript, first goes for a "Best of Casanova" one volume German translation, then, when there's an illegal supposed complete French edition publishes a complete twelve volume German edition of their own. But! The dastardly German translator doesn't send four chapters of the manuscript he's been entrusted with back to the publisher once he's done; these remain lost to this day, and hence exist only in translation.
The rest of the original manuscript gets put into a safe in the Brockhaus main building in Leipzig and remains there until 1943. At which point allied bombings have reached the Eastern German cities, and the publishers want to protect the Histoire de ma vie, along with some other manuscript treasures, for posterity, so it's off to a bunker with the manuscript. Where it stays until the last days of the war, when the Red Army is approaching. The Brockhaus publishing staff goes west, but with the manuscript, and relocates to Wiesbaden (in the US sector), where the Memoirs are kept in a safe of Deutsche Bank, one of the few institutions still to have one in 1945.
Until the 1950s, everyone at newly relocated Brockhaus is a bit paranoid about this particular manuscript by now and refuses access to it. Then, in 1960, they strike a deal with the French publisher Edition Plons which leads to the first complete (minus four chapters) authentic publication of the Histoire de ma vie in the original French. And in 2010, the Bibliothèque Nationale de France acquires the original manuscript for over seven million Euro, the highest price this particular national library has ever paid for a single manuscript, which is thus now owned by the French nation.
ETA: Mildred, Cahn, which English translation doesm Gutenberg use? Because English wiki has this to say on the problem of English Casanova translations:
Due to the success of the (first) German edition, the French editor Victor Tournachon decided to publish the book in France. Tournachon had no access to the original manuscript, and so the French text of his edition was translated from the German translation. The text was heavily censored. In response to the piracy Brockhaus brought out a second edition in French, edited by Jean Laforgue (1782–1852) which was very unreliable as Laforgue altered Casanova's religious and political views as well as censoring sexual references. The French volumes were published from 1826 to 1838. These editions were also successful, and another French pirate edition was prepared with another translation from the German edition. As the German edition was not entirely published at this time, this edition allegedly contains passages invented by the (French) translator.
From 1838 to 1960, all the editions of the memoirs were derived from one of these editions. Arthur Machen used one of these inaccurate versions for his English translation published in 1894 which remained the standard English edition for many years.
Now, at a guess, Gutenberg does not use any post 1960 English translation, do they?
Re: Casanova
I believe Fritz does say "beau homme", not "gentil"
Hm. I will cut the translator a little more slack than you -- American English, at least, doesn't really say "beautiful man" the way that the French (and Germans?) say "beau homme." The closest translation might be "handsome man" or "good-looking man," although that doesn't really have the same connotation, and "fine-looking man" might actually be fairly close (though "fine" alone does tend to make one think of virtues other than one's looks, so I see your point).
Gutenberg uses the Arthur Machen translation, yuuuuup. Right -- note to self to buy a newer translation if/when I end up reading this. (And yes, in general, Gutenberg would have to be < 1960 for copyright.)
this edition allegedly contains passages invented by the (French) translator.
lol, wow!! That's... not something I'm used to seeing from a translator :)
Re: Casanova
(Now what really gets debated is whether Napoleon's remark about Goethe upon meeting him - "Voilà un homme" - should have the "homme" translated as "Mann" or "Mensch", i.e. "man" or "human being" - could be either in French.) :)
#FrenchGermanTranslations
Re: the alterations in Casanova's original text - blame the 19th century mores again. I remember an article that lists the most annoying examples, I shall see whether I can find it for you.
Re: Casanova
Thank you for sharing the history of the memoirs. That was super fascinating, even without the warning that I'm reading a very bastardized copy if I read the Gutenberg one.
That's... not something I'm used to seeing from a translator :)
Yeah, it was a *thing*. I would love to see the list if
Re "fine", when I read that, I took it as meaning "good-looking" in rather old-fashioned English, and the Oxford English Dictionary agrees with me: "Of a person or thing: remarkably attractive; good-looking. Now somewhat dated, except U.S. slang (originally and chiefly African-American), of a person: sexually attractive," with examples of the older meaning up to the early 20th century. So since the Machen translation is over 100 years old, I'm willing to go with "good-looking" as the originally intended meaning.
Re: Casanova
I just did a search on amazon, and it's kind of amazing how little there is in the way of Casanova that isn't the bastardized version (and in particular, that none of it seems to be available in e-book).
Re: Casanova
La Nuit de Varennes, English title, That Night in Varennes. An Italian-French film, directed by Ettore Scola, with a first class cast, including Jean-Louis Barrault, Marcello Mastroianni, Hanna Schygulla and Harvey Keitel; it starts during the night from June 20th to June 21st 1791, which was when King Louis XVI and family made a run for it only to be captured a night later at Varennes. However, we don't see the Royals at all, except bits and pieces near the end; the film follows a different coach, travelling close behind, in wich there is a mixture of actual and invented characters, including Thomas Paine (aka why they hired Keitel), Giacomo Casanova (three guesses as to whom Marcello is playing), Restif de la Bretonne (as a girl, I thought he was invented, but no, he existed (a French novelist about whom more here, though I have to say, the German wiki entry is way more informative than the English one) played by one of the all time French theatre legends, Barrault, as well as a revolutionary student, an Italian singer, a rich widow, a countess who is friends wiith Marie Antoinette (Schygulla), a magistrate and a wealthy entrepeneur. And thus we get a historical road movie about the world that was and the world that will be, and Ettore Scola does a really great job showing both why there has to be a revolution and what will be lost with it. It's a witty script, the acting is great, and basically I have just one nitpick.
The later first: on the plus side, all the female characters except for the Countess' black maid (not a big part, but with her mini arc) are in their early 40s at least, and you sigh enviously and think, ah for the days with films with lots roles for actresses over 40 or in their very late 30s who aren't anyone's mother and aren't forced to play ingenues, either. (This particular film is from 1982, btw.) On the minus side, the men have the better lines and their own agendas, while the women, with the possible exception of the Italian singer (played by Laura Betti) who is very much her own person and while travelling with a (married) lover treats him as almost incidental and has most of her scenes with other people, either long for love or follow someone else's.
Something I hadn't remembered from my girlish watching and thought would make a complaint but instead turned into a virtue of the film when I saw it again on dvd: the treatment of Monsieur Jakob, the Countess' sidekick (played by Jean-Claude Brialy). At first I thought he was another example of the camp and gay servant as comic relief, but lo and behold, the film then later treated him with unexpected tenderness and dignity. So does the aged Casanova, on whom he crushes (as does the rich widow). Incidentally, and speaking of Casanova, I did remember this was probably my favourite fictional treatment of him (closely followed by the Tennant/O'Toole double act for Russell T. Davies, and Alain Delon) and it held up magnificently. It's a remarkably unvain performance by Marcello Mastroianni, because Casanova is supposed to be over 70 and looking like it, escaping one last time from his existence as a librarian in Bohemia; the camera exposes all the ravages of time and the script thematisizes Casanova's aging. And yet it never ridicules him, either, giving him a weary elegance, ongoing wit and hardwon wisdom as he gently lets the widow after she offers herself down by pointing out that what she really wants isn't the old man in front of her but the legend. And, which brings me back to Jacob the gay footman, in the way he responds to Jacob (who crushed on him through the film) saying as a farewell that he wishes they could have met when they were both younger by kissing him thoroughly as a farewell present, the only person whom Casanova kisses in this film despite the presence of three attractive ladies in the coach. (In the lengthy interview on the dvd, Ettore Scola says Brialy enjoyed that scene very much because "Marcello put his all into each take".)
Casanova is of course a creature of the Ancient Regime, impossible in the developing new world (and very aware of it), while the other two writers, Restif de La Bretonne (only a decade younger, but looking forward to the new time) and Thomas Paine belong to the new age. Restif is basically our point of view character throughout the film, and this brings me to my one occasional being thrown out of the story problem, there's a two or three minutes of a scene early on which makes it clear he's having a sexual relationship with his daughter. Now, the film didn't make that up. According to the German wiki entry, he did have an affair with said daughter. But unlike, say, Der Thronfolger bringing this up about Orzelska, there is nothing in the movie indicating there might be a problem with that. (Der Thronfolger has Wilhelmine reacting and later the neatly ambigous "Do you love your father?" "Do you love yours?" exchange between her and Fritz). And I'm not really able to swallow "this amusing fellow is a writer of social critisim, erotic novels, had shoe fetishm named after him, and oh, he also sleeps with his daughter" without going ?!!!!!? and being thrown out of the narrative presenting this as just another of Restif's excentricities. It's not brought up again for the rest of the movie (which takes place on the road between Paris and Varennes) and the (adult, and presented as willing) daughter doesn't show up again, either, but despite really liking the film, I nonetheless on this rewatch never managed to get completely over my double take.
I actually am not fond of Hanna Schygulla as an actress in general, but she was perfect for this particular role as the Countess, an ardent monarchist unwilling to believe the people aren't really rooting for their king, and that it's not just a few discontents in the capital making all the trouble. The other two adherrents to the old order are the magistrate who is just offended by all the chaos and unrulyness and Casanova who is sarcastic about kings and nobles as well but basically misses his youth and thus longs for the world as it had been when he was young, increasingly aware that he has no place in the new one so that librarian for a Bohemian duke is the only thing left. But the Countess is the only monarchist who is passionate about the actual royals, and even she, as it turns out, is in love with an idea rather than the reality.
The film actually makes no judgments on either the republicans nor the monarchists and takes Restif's position of just wanting to experience and chronicle the times, but it offers a few digs at the then present, as when Thomas Paine (who will be imprisoned later during the Terreur, but the film doesn't do any cheap foreshadowing of this) talks with the industrialist about whether or not the new French Revolution is the logical follower of the American Revolution. Paine is all for it and his fellow traveller points out that "your countrymen at the embassy" don't think so and have already turned away from the revolutionary spirit and prefering to embrace conservatism instead now they're rid of the Brits. Meanwhile, Restif predicts an European Union in 1991 which for a film made in 1982 is pretty impressive. There are also a few breakings of the fourth wall which the interviewer on the dvd when talking with the director calls Brechtian but I'm more tempted to call Pratchettian because they resemble Terry Prattchet's type of footnotes far more than Brecht's illusion-breaking.
Best entirely-possible-but-who'd-have-thought-of-it? gag/sequence that captures the vivacity and charm of the film: Casanova and the Italian singer, when strolling with the other travellers through the woods for a bit, improvising a duet from Mozart's Don Giovanni (or rather, making an aria into a duet) which as Casanova (historically correctly) mentions he saw the premiere performance of in Prague. I tried to find it on Youtube for you,
Re: Casanova
I mean, this all sounds great, but
improvising a duet from Mozart's Don Giovanni (or rather, making an aria into a duet) which as Casanova (historically correctly) mentions he saw the premiere performance of in Prague
...I am all about this, as you knew I would be :D