Tag Archive: napoleon

By Jed Z. Buchwald and
Diane Greco Josefowicz
In August 1799, Napoleon returned to France from an ill-fated imperial adventure in Egypt, leaving behind a demoralized force headed by Jean-Baptiste Kléber, the Revolutionary hero shortly to be assassinated in Cairo. “L’oiseau était déniché” was how the disappointed Kleber described Napoleon’s departure: The bird had flown the coop.
In France, Napoleon touted the campaign as a triumph despite the late debacles at Acre and in Aboukir Bay, where not only lives but also the expedition’s greatest prize, the Rosetta Stone, were lost. Back home in France, his propaganda touched off a wave of popular enthusiasm for all things Egyptian. This “Egyptomania” was additionally fueled by the publication of compelling eye-witness travelers’ accounts, such as the artist Vivant Denon’s illustrated Voyage dans la basse et la haute Egypte.
These immensely popular publications provided rich sources of imagery for fine and decorative artists. Wallpapers featuring Egyptian motifs, furniture carved with Egyptian emblems, and variations on themes from Egyptian architecture (including the 1806 peristyle of the Hôtel de Beauharnais in Paris) flooded French homes and buildings.
Perhaps the strangest—certainly the most fragile—of these artifacts was the “Egyptian Service,” a 115-piece, Egyptian-themed porcelain dinner service commissioned from the Sèvres porcelain factory by Napoleon in 1804. Using Denon’s and others’ drawings as inspiration, the designs were produced by one Lepére, an architect who had served on Napoleon’s expedition. (Denon’s drawings were also featured on the set’s seventy-two plates, including one that bore the image of the Dendera zodiac, the central subject of our book.) Most magnificent of all, the set included porcelain models of the temples of Dendera, Edfou, and Philae, as well as the colossi of Memnon, and even a colonnade of rams leading to a replica of the temple at Luxor (ancient Thebes).
Despite the difficulty of fabricating these objects, and despite Napoleon’s exigent demand that the result be “of the first, not the second order,” the Sèvres company was pressured to work quickly, lest they lose the imperial imprimatur and with it, their position as Europe’s premier porcelain manufacturer. An initial set of plates, decorated in rich blue and gold, appeared in relatively short order at the end of 1805.
The first complete service, including the magnificent replica temples, was produced in 1808, and sent by Napoleon to Czar Alexander as a gift; it is today exhibited at the Kuskowo ceramics museum in Moscow. Napoleon ordered a second set as a divorce gift to Josephine, who rejected it as too severe for her taste. It was later given to the Duke of Wellington, and it can be seen today at his residence, Apsley House, in London.
Jed Z. Buchwald is the Doris and Henry Dreyfuss Professor of History at the California Institute of Technology. His books include The Creation of Scientific Effects: Heinrich Hertz and Electric Waves. Diane Greco Josefowicz teaches in the writing program at Boston University. They are co-authors of The Zodiac of Paris: How an Improbable Controversy over an Ancient Egyptian Artifact Provoked a Modern Debate between Religion and Science
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IMAGE: Photograph of a replica temple in the Sèvres tea service, from the set in London.

Congratulations to the following W & M winners of this book:
Sheri, Evelyn, and Chris

By Tony Perrottet
Today’s oenophiles have to consider the possibility that their valuable wine bottles may be corked, oxidized, “maderized” (ruined due to over-heating), re-fermented (gone fizzy in the bottle) or sullied by a contaminant.
Things were much easier in 16th century Italy: You could just blame the witches. It was commonly believed that after their satanic midnight Sabbath parties witches had the nasty habit of invading a village’s wine cellars and sullying the vats with their urine or excrement. This, needless to say, did nothing for a wine’s bouquet. Thousands of European women were being burned at the stake for their evil powers, but somehow the problem could not be controlled.
The situation was better if you happened to live in northern Italy’s alpine province of Friuli on the border with Austria (still a fine wine-producing region), because there dwelt a team of occult heroes: the benandanti, or Good Walkers, a revered group of men who practiced white magic for the protection of local vintners. These specialists were identified at birth – they emerged from the womb with their faces wrapped in the caul or amniotic membrane – and as they grew up, they were instilled with a sense of sacred duty. By adulthood, a Good Walker would regularly slip into a deep, trance-like sleep, when his spirits could leave his body and sally forth to do battle with the witches. Not only would these spirits protect the wine in the cellars, they saved the annual crops from devastation and stopped witches from sucking the blood from infants or stealing souls from the innocent. Often,
these supernatural wine regulators returned from their moonlit journeys victorious; at other times they woke up exhausted and defeated.
Around 1575, the Inquisition grew suspicious of these strange men, but after many extended interviews, investigators decided to class their gifts as “benign magic” rather than satanic, and no executions were ever carried out. Perhaps, like many a gout-ridden cleric of the period, they too were connoisseurs of the grape.
IMAGE: Courtesy of MSNBC