Tea at Trianon: A Note from Jo on Rest

John Wilson Croker on Marie-Antoinette

"We have followed the history of Marie Antoinette with the greatest diligence and scrupulosity. We have lived in those times. We have talked with some of her friends and some of her enemies; we have read, certainly not all, but hundreds of the libels written against her; and we have, in short, examined her life with– if we may be allowed to say so of ourselves– something of the accuracy of contemporaries, the diligence of inquirers, and the impartiality of historians, all combined; and we feel it our duty to declare, in as a solemn a manner as literature admits of, our well-matured opinion that every reproach against the morals of the queen was a gross calumny– that she was, as we have said, one of the purest of human beings."

~from History of the Guillotine by John Wilson Croker, 1844

Edmund Burke on Marie-Antoinette

"It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the queen of France, then dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely there never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she had just begun to move in, glittering like a morning star full of life and splendor and joy. Oh, what a revolution....Little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fall upon her, in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of men of honor and of cavaliers! I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards, to avenge even a look which threatened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone; that of sophisters, economists, and calculators has succeeded...."

~Edmund Burke, October 1790

Wednesday, November 18, 2020

A Note from Jo on Rest

From Magnolia:

As I write this, I’m sitting at my kitchen table and looking out at the garden. I’m thinking of all that’s grown from its soil over the past year. In the spring it was filled with tulips, snapdragons, lemon balm, and lettuce. In the summer we grew dahlias, basil, and way too many tomatoes. And then in the fall it produced a bounty of zinnias, cabbage, and kale. And now it’s empty.

Yet I know these months of barrenness will not be wasted, that they won’t ever return void. I’ve learned to appreciate the beauty of the garden at rest. How essential this season is. How it readies the soil for what’s to come, and how my own moments of quiet will do the same for me. Even if just for a breath or two.

So, I’ll sit back and take a deep breath and rest. I’ll pause to think about and give thanks for all the good work that has already been done and be restored for what work might lay ahead. (Read more.)