I promised to share some of my Marie Antoinette and/or Henry VIII research, and, since I finally got around to organizing my sloppy notes, here is the first!

Music is one of my favorite things (when I was a kid, I told everyone I was going to be an opera singer when I grew up–until I discovered I have a terrible singing voice!). So, I always love reading about composers and court music, of which both the 1780s and the 1520s had a plethora. Marie Antoinette and Henry VIII were both musical in their own ways (the portrait is MA at the spinet), and both enjoyed the finest instructors and performers. More about England later–this week we’re in France, in the middle of the last showdown between Marie Antoinette and Madame du Barry.

The man caught in the middle was Christoph Willibald Gluck (1714-1787), one of the most important opera composers of the day. Born in Bavaria, his first position was in a Milan orchestra, where he received lessons from Giovanni Battista Sammartini. His first opera, Artaserse, premiered on December 26, 1741 to some success, and he traveled to London, Saxony, and Copenhagen before settling in Vienna in 1753. He became Kapellmeister to Empress Maria Theresa, and instructor to her children, including Archduchess Antoine (who seems to have been more enthusiastic than really talented!).

Gluck advocated the reform of opera, wanting to eliminate all that was “undramatic.” He insisted on focusing on human drama and passions, making the words and music of equal importance, doing away with folderol like mannered ballets. His best-known opera, Orfeo ed Euridice, had its first performance on October 5, 1762, with the famous castrato Guadagni in the title role.

In the 1770s, Gluck’s Viennese career was slipping a bit, so he was happy to accept an invitation from his former pupil to come to France. In 1774, he signed a contract to perform six works at the Paris Opera. The first, Iphigenie en Aulide, was to premier in April, and it sparked a war. Gluck knew his new style wouldn’t catch on right away with the French, stating “There will be considerable opposition because it will run counter to national prejudices against which reason is no defense.” But somehow the music got mixed up with Court factions! Louis XV’s mistress, Madame du Barry (who detested Dauphine Marie Antoinette and her snooty Viennese ways!) and her supporters brought in the more conventional Italian composer Piccinni. It was the Gluckists vs. the Piccinnists!

It didn’t much help that Gluck refused to coddle tempermental French stars. To Sophie Arnould, the Iphigenie, who wanted more fancy arias for herself, he snapped, “”To sing great arias, you have to know how to sing.”

But in the end the Gluckists triumphed. The premier on April 19, 1774 was packed–even du Barry couldn’t stay away. Mari Antoinette came with her husband, the comte and comtesse de Provence (her brother and sister-in-law), the duchesses de Chartres and de Bourbon, and the princesse de Lamballe. The opera started at 5:30 p.m. and ran even longer than the usual five and a half hours because of the copious applause. Even Rousseau left the theater in tears.

The run of Iphigenie didn’t last long. At the end of April, Louis XV fell ill with smallpox and died. Gluck’s patron was now Queen, and she saw to it he spent several years traveling between Vienna and Paris. He sponsored many patrons in his turn, including Salieri.

I once saw a performance of Orfeo, blessedly NOT five hours long (more like three), and really enjoyed it. Great singing, but sadly no Gluckist/Piccinnist throwdown in the audience. What’s some of your favorite music? Which side in the G/P battle would you have been on?

“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, the comfort of being sometimes alone!”

I sometimes think that one of the greatest and most subtle difference between our time and the Regency period is that now we take privacy and the right to time alone for granted. Then, it wasn’t so clear cut. Very few people lived alone, and “living alone” then might well mean a household with a servant or two. If you were an unmarried woman, you’d live with your family. I ran into an interesting fact somewhere that a household of three or more unrelated women was considered a brothel under the law in London (oh, how I wish I could give a source and a time period for this–I believe it was Georgian).

Living alone for a woman would be particularly difficult since she’d need someone to lace her into her stays. I’ve seen mid nineteenth-century front-lacing stays of linen for a working-class woman, and I’m sure they existed in our period. Yet, if you were a lady, you’d have back-lacing stays because that’s what ladies wore–and a maid, or sister or other female relative had to lace you into them every morning and out every night. And even at night you wouldn’t be alone–chances are a sister would share the bed.

Even if poets could wander lonely as a cloud, it wasn’t encouraged for women. Your activities would be tied into those of your family and you would be busy, busy, busy–there was a prevailing belief that women were weak and inconsistent creatures who would get into trouble morally if left to their own devices. Finding time “for yourself” was an alien concept; even Jane Austen had to snatch time to write, pretending she was producing something of little consequence.

How do you think you’d cope?

In Georgette Heyer’s FREDERICA, the heroine’s little brother calls the hero, the Marquis of Alverstoke, a “second-best nobleman.” Of course, the “best” is a duke. Maybe that’s why I found 121 romance titles at Barnes & Noble with “Duke” somewhere in the title.

For me, “duke” (or “millionaire” for that matter) in the title doesn’t affect my buying decision either way. Beautiful estates and gardens and horses are fun to imagine, but I don’t necessarily prefer a hero with vast wealth and power over one who’s in dire straits or one that is somewhere in between. I do want to know how his situation affects him and how he deals with it.

A duke was kind of like a CEO of a large company. He had political and economic clout, influence over people’s lives and the state of his country. If the hero’s a duke, his power and the responsibilities that go along with it ought to be important elements in his story. Otherwise it seems that his rank is just a shortcut for creating a “perfect” hero (who sounds like a bore to me). If he is a duke, I want to know how that affects him besides the obvious attraction he has for golddiggers.

Anyway, here are a few from my Dukes Done Right list:

Possibly my favorite fictional duke is the Duke of Salford in Georgette Heyer’s SYLVESTER. He is so busy being the perfect duke he has trouble being a human being. Of course, Phoebe, the heroine, helps him in that area.

Rafe, Duke of Candover in Mary Jo Putney’s PETALS IN THE STORM. I am usually skeptical of spy-dukes. In this case it works because he is busy being an impeccable duke when the spy thing is thrust upon him. His rank also plays into part of the conflict with the heroine.

Christian, Duke of Jervaulx in Laura Kinsale’s FLOWERS FROM THE STORM. In this case, Maddy, the heroine, is a Quaker. Christian’s rank creates a daunting chasm between her simple and unworldly view of life and his approach to dealing with his vast holdings and responsibilities. It raises the stakes when his relatives try to declare him insane.

So what do you think about romances featuring dukes?

Do you love them? Who are some of your favorite fictional dukes?

Or do you think there are too many dukes already? Do you think Romanceland could use more marquesses, earls, etc…, or even (gasp!) a few mere misters?

Elena, who likes variety in her fantasy men 🙂
www.elenagreene.com