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Summer holidays are over, and if you’re anything like me—still pretending that your inbox full of emails doesn’t exist (Yes, Sharon, I’ll get to your spreadsheet eventually!) and scrolling through holiday snaps on repeat—here’s something to help ease the pain: Robespierre’s Journey to Carvin, the ultimate travel blog (1).

In June 1783, a 25-year-old Maximilien Robespierre embarked on a modest 35 km trip from Arras to Carvin to visit his relatives. He wrote a delightfully dramatic account of this journey, addressed to Antoine Buissart, his friend, mentor, and his wife Charlotte.

For anyone who thinks of Robespierre as some cold, humourless figure, I present this letter as evidence to the contrary. His wit, self-mockery, and unexpected humour shine through. He likens himself to Aeneas, takes jabs at his own inflated sense of importance, and, of course, waxes lyrical about tarts (2). Absolutely brilliant!

As always, this is my own translation, and honestly, there are more polished ones out there. Robespierre is in full show-off mode, packing the text with references to Greek and Roman history and mythology—because why not? I’ve done my best to explain them all, but it’s possible I may have missed a few...

Translation: Impressions of a Journey to Carvin (3)

Monsieur,

There are no pleasures truly agreeable unless shared with one’s friends. I shall therefore impart to you a description of those I have lately enjoyed.

Expect not an account of my journey, for such works have been so prodigiously multiplied of late years that the public must surely be sated with them. I know of an author who, having travelled but five leagues (4), immortalised the event in both verse and prose.

But what, pray, is such an endeavour compared to the one I have undertaken? I have not merely travelled five leagues; I have covered six—and six good leagues, I assure you—so much so that, by the reckoning of the locals, they are worth at least seven ordinary leagues. Yet, I shall not say a word of my journey. I lament for your sake, for it would have afforded you the most infinitely interesting adventures—those of Ulysses and Telemachus (5) would pale in comparison.

It was at five o'clock in the morning when we set out; the carriage which bore us passed through the city gates at the very moment the chariot of the Sun rose from the bosom of the Ocean. Our vehicle was adorned with a cloth of dazzling whiteness, a portion of which fluttered freely in the breath of the zephyrs. In this manner, we passed in triumph before the customs house. You may imagine that I could not resist turning my gaze in that direction, eager to see whether the sentinels of the excise office would betray their ancient reputation for courtesy. Filled with noble emulation, I dared aspire to outshine them in politeness, should it be possible. Leaning over the side of the carriage, I doffed my new hat and saluted them with a gracious smile. I had expected a courteous return. Would you believe it? These officials, motionless as statues at the entrance to their hut, fixed their eyes upon me, offering no return of my greeting. Ever possessed of an infinite sense of pride, I was deeply wounded by this sign of disdain, and it soured my temper for the remainder of the day (6).

Nonetheless, our steeds bore us with a swiftness that defies imagination. They appeared as if they sought to rival the Sun’s own horses (7) flying above us. Just as I had endeavoured to surpass the customs officials at the Méaulens gate in civility, our horses leapt over the suburb of Sainte-Catherine with a single bound (8), and with a second, we found ourselves upon the square in Lens (9). There we paused briefly. I took advantage of this respite to survey the beauties of the town that might engage the curiosity of travellers. While the rest of the company breakfasted, I stole away and ascended the hill upon which stands the Calvary. From this vantage, I cast my gaze, with mingled sentiments of tenderness and admiration, over the vast plain where Condé, at the tender age of twenty, won that famous victory over the Spaniards, saving the fatherland (10) . Yet a more compelling object drew my attention: the Town Hall. Though neither remarkable in size nor magnificence, it still had every claim to inspire my keenest interest. “This modest edifice,” I mused as I gazed upon it, “is the very sanctuary wherein Mayor T..., with a round wig and the scales of Themis (11) in hand, once weighed with impartial justice the rights of his fellow citizens. A minister of justice, favoured by Aesculapius (12), after pronouncing sentence, he would immediately dictate a medical prescription. Both criminal and patient alike trembled at his presence, and this great man, by virtue of dual authority, wielded the most extensive power ever exercised by one man over his compatriots.”

In the fervour of my enthusiasm, I could not rest until I had penetrated the precincts of the Town Hall. I was determined to see the courtroom and the tribunal where the aldermen sit. I had the porter sought throughout the town; at length he came, unlocked the doors, and I rushed into the courtroom. Seized by a religious reverence, I fell to my knees within this august temple and passionately kissed the seat that had once been pressed by the posterior of the great T....

Thus did Alexander prostrate himself before the tomb of Achilles (13), and thus did Caesar render homage to the monument which housed the ashes of the conqueror of Asia (14).

We resumed our journey; scarce had I settled upon my bundle of straw when Carvin came into view. At the sight of this fortunate land, we all let out a cry of joy, much like the Trojans, escaped from the ruin of Ilium, upon first sighting the shores of Italy (15).

The good folk of this village gave us a reception which amply compensated for the indifference we had endured from the officials at the Méaulens gate. Citizens of all ranks vied with one another in their eagerness to behold us. The cobbler paused, tool in hand, on the verge of piercing a sole, so that he might gaze at us at leisure; the barber, abandoning a half-shaven beard, rushed towards us, razor still in hand; the housewife, in her curiosity, risked the burning of her tarts. I beheld three gossips interrupt a most animated conversation to fly to their windows. Alas, the journey was all too brief, but during that time, we savoured the flattering pleasure of being the sole object of the populace’s attention. “How sweet it is to travel!” I mused. Indeed, they say that no man is a prophet in his own land; at the gates of one’s own city, one is scorned; six leagues further, one becomes a figure of public curiosity.

I was lost in these reflections when we arrived at the house that marked the end of our journey. I shall make no attempt to describe to you the outpouring of tenderness that accompanied our embraces—such a scene would have moved you to tears. Indeed, I know of but one comparable moment in all of history: when Aeneas, having fled the ruins of Troy, arrived in Epirus with his fleet and was reunited with Helenus and Andromache, whom fate had placed on the throne of Pyrrhus (16). Their reunion, it is said, was one of the tenderest on record. I do not doubt it. Aeneas, with his excellent heart, Helenus, the finest Trojan, and Andromache, the sensitive widow of Hector, surely shed many tears and heaved many sighs upon that occasion. I am willing to believe that their emotion was equal to ours; but after Helenus, Aeneas, Andromache, and ourselves, one must draw the line.

Since our arrival, our days have been filled with nothing but pleasures. Since last Saturday, I have been indulging in tarts, undeterred by others’ envy. By fate’s decree, my bed was placed in a chamber that serves as a storeroom for pastries, thus exposing me to the temptation of indulging all night. But I reflected that it is noble to master one’s passions, and so I slept, surrounded by these seductive objects. It is true, however, that I made up for this long abstinence during the day.

I give thanks to thee, O skilled hand,

That first shaped pliant dough

And offered to mortals this delicious dish.

But have they honoured thee as they ought?

Have they raised altars to thy glory?

Hundreds of peoples, offering incense and vows,

Have filled the earth with temples and gods,

Yet all have forgotten that sublime genius

Who brought ambrosia to mankind.

The tart, with due honour, graces their feasts,

But do they think of its first creator?

Of all the acts of ingratitude for which mankind has been guilty toward its benefactors, this has always shocked me the most. It is the people of Artois who must atone for it, for by the judgement of all Europe, they know the worth of tarts better than any other people in the world. Their honour demands that they erect a temple to its inventor. I must tell you, in confidence, that I have a project in mind, which I propose to present to the Estates of Artois (17). I fully expect it will be strongly supported by the clergy.

But it is not enough to eat tart; one must also eat it in good company. I have had this pleasure. Yesterday, I was granted the highest honour to which I could ever aspire: I dined with three lieutenants and the son of a bailiff. All the magistrates of the neighbouring villages were assembled at our table. At the centre of this Senate, shone the Lieutenant of Carvin, like Calypso amongst her nymphs(18). Ah! Had you but seen with what graciousness he conversed with the rest of the company, like an ordinary man! How indulgently he judged the champagne poured for him, and with what satisfaction he smiled at his reflection in his glass! I witnessed all this with my own eyes... And yet, see how difficult it is to content the human heart. Not all my desires have been fulfilled; I am soon to return to Arras, where I hope, upon seeing you, to find a pleasure far more genuine than those of which I have spoken. We shall meet again with the same joy that Ulysses and Telemachus felt after twenty years of absence. I shall have no trouble forgetting my bailiffs and lieutenants. However charming a lieutenant may be, believe me, Madame, he can never rival you.

His figure, even when the champagne lends it a soft blush, cannot approach the natural charms that are yours, and no company of bailiffs in the world could ever compensate me for the pleasure of your delightful conversation.

I remain, with the utmost sincerity, Monsieur, your most humble and obedient servant,

Robespierre.

Carvin, 12 June 1783.

Notes

1) I’m also working on my own “travel blog” about frolicking through the Vendée, but—procrastination, you know.

(2) If you ever find yourself in Northern France, eat the tarts. They are sensational.

(3) This describes his journey from Arras to Carvin

(4) 1 league = around 5 km

(5) Ulysses (Odysseus) and his son, Telemachus, are central figures in The Odyssey, known for their epic and legendary adventures filled with mythological dangers, gods, and heroic feats over many years. Ulysses faces numerous trials, including battles with monsters like the Cyclops, the Sirens, and the struggles against divine wrath, while Telemachus embarks on his own perilous journey to find his father.

(6) Robespierre’s original line, “J'ai toujours eu infiniment d'amour-propre,” reveals quite a bit of self-reflection and perhaps a healthy dose of self-awareness.

(7) In Greek mythology, the Sun (often represented by either the titan Helios or god Apollo) is said to ride across the sky in a chariot drawn by powerful horses that pull the Sun from east to west each day. These horses are often imagined as swift and unstoppable forces.

(8) Méaulens is a gate, and Sainte-Catherine is a neighbourhood, both in Arras.

(9) Lens is a village about 20km from Arras

(10) I assume Robespierre is referring to the Battle of Lens here (since he is in Lens), which occurred on 20 August 1648 and was significant because it helped solidify France’s position at the end of the Thirty Years' War. But Condé was 26 at the time, and Robespierre might be confusing it with the Battle of Rocroi, which Condé won at 22. Does Max suck at history? Maybe!

(11) Themis is the Greek goddess of justice who is often depicted holding scales

(12) Aesculapius is the Roman god of medicine

(13) Alexander the Great, the Macedonian conqueror, greatly admired Achilles, the legendary hero of the Iliad. During his military campaigns, Alexander visited the supposed tomb of Achilles near Troy. According to historical accounts, he prostrated himself (knelt or bowed) before Achilles' tomb as a sign of deep reverence, honouring the warrior he aspired to emulate. Alexander saw himself as a successor to Achilles, carrying the mantle of Greek heroism into his conquests.

(14) Caesar, like many Romans, admired Alexander's achievements, particularly his conquests in Asia (which included vast territories from Greece to India). Caesar visited Alexander’s tomb in Alexandria, Egypt, where he reportedly paid homage to the great conqueror. Obviously Robespierre is being ironic by comparing his kneeling in the town hall and kissing the seat of a local magistrate) to these monumental moments of history.

(15) This refers to Virgil’s Aeneid, where Aeneas and the surviving Trojans are filled with hope and relief upon reaching Italy after enduring numerous trials and suffering.

(16) Again, a reference to the Aeneid. Aeneas, after fleeing the destruction of Troy, arrives in Epirus (a region in modern-day Greece and Albania) during his long journey to find a new home for the surviving Trojans. There, Aeneas encounters Helenus and Andromache. Helenus is a Trojan prince and the son of King Priam of Troy. After the fall of Troy, he ends up ruling part of Epirus, having taken control of the land once ruled by Pyrrhus (Neoptolemus), the son of Achilles.Andromache was the wife of the Trojan hero Hector (who was killed by Achilles during the war). After Hector's death and the fall of Troy, Andromache becomes a captive of Pyrrhus, but in Epirus, she is eventually freed and marries Helenus.

(17) The Estates of Artois were a were a regional representative assembly or parliament the Artois province.

(18) Calypso is a nymph or Oceanid who appears in Homer’s Odyssey. Calypso lived on the island of Ogygia, where she detained the hero Ulysses for several years. She was surrounded by lesser nymphs who served her.

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francescas-land-of-weirdness · 19 days

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