Baby, It’s Cold Outside: How Frost, Famine & Inequality Fueled A Revolution

TLDR; The Little Ice Age  + Freaky Weather (+ Frosty Crops ) = Bread Crisis  → Sky-high Prices  + Starving Peasants  → All piled on centuries of inequality = Revolution

Transcription

Hello there! Welcome to Bygone Echoes, a history podcast, where we uncover the strange, forgotten, and downright chilling corners of history. I’m your host, Courtney, and today we’re diving into a story of frosty mornings, empty bellies, and a society on the brink of revolution.

Imagine waking up to a freezing morning where the sun barely warms the ground. Your crops have failed—again. Bread, your one daily staple, is now completely unaffordable. As you trudge into town, passing fields of icy, ruined crops, you hear whispers of riots—of bakeries stormed by desperate crowds. Meanwhile, the privileged sit down to lavish feasts of sugar-dusted pastries, blissfully indifferent to the hunger gnawing at the rest of society. It sounds like the plot of a dystopian novel, doesn’t it? But for millions of people in 18th-century France, this was reality.

Today, we’re connecting the dots between climate change—thanks to the Little Ice Age—economic inequality, and the fragility of systems built to favor the few. We’ll talk about volcanic eruptions that darkened skies, hailstorms that flattened fields, and economic policies that turned bread from a staple into a luxury. But this story isn’t just about France. Around the world, the same pressures were pushing societies to their limits. From West Africa’s gold-driven empire to Japan’s rice economy, the Little Ice Age exposed just how fragile these systems could be.

And here’s the twist: the patterns we’ll uncover might sound eerily familiar. From cash crops to climate-driven famine, the echoes of the past are impossible to ignore.

But fear not, friends! There will be no guillotines today, no powdered wigs, and definitely no Marie Antoinette declaring, ‘Let them eat cake!’—because, spoiler alert, she never said it. The cake…was a lie.

This episode isn’t just about frost, poor choices, and famine—it’s about how the Little Ice Age didn’t just chill the air; it cracked the foundations of systems built on exploitation, inequality, and short-sightedness. Cracks that, in France, would soon erupt into revolution.

History isn’t just hard-to-say Roman numerals and dusty old names; it’s a roadmap showing us how the past continues to shape our present—and our future. So grab a warm drink and settle in for a tale of frost, famine, financial follies, and inequalities.

While France was barreling toward bread riots and revolution, the rest of the world wasn’t exactly on pause—it was chugging along, thriving, struggling, and innovating in ways that might seem worlds away but were all caught up in the same historical currents. So, let’s set the stage on a global scale.

The idea of growing crops for profit instead of food isn’t new—we still do it today. Ancient China had silk, Southeast Asia had spices, and everyone wanted those goods badly enough to travel thousands of miles to trade. But back then, the scale was small. Slow trade routes and regional markets kept things manageable.

By the 1700s, though, everything had shifted into high gear. Farming and trade were becoming industrialized, thanks to innovations like Jethro Tull’s seed drill. Invented in 1701, this handy device planted seeds in neat rows and covered them with soil, boosting crop yields and making agriculture far more efficient. Suddenly, large-scale farming wasn’t just possible—it was profitable.

Then, in 1735, John Harrison, a self-taught clockmaker, created the marine chronometer. This clock solved the “Longitude Problem” and revolutionized navigation. For the first time, ships could calculate their position accurately at sea, making trade routes safer and more efficient. With faster and more reliable trade, crops like sugar, coffee, and tobacco flowed from colonies to Europe with staggering speed and precision. These innovations didn’t just make farming and trade easier—they supercharged the global economy.

While empires like the Dutch and British were cashing in on the frenzy, turning colonies into profit machines for cash crops, other parts of the world were charting their own paths. In Japan, the Tokugawa shogunate maintained its policy of isolation, or sakoku, limiting foreign trade to a few select ports. Japan’s economy revolved around rice, which served as both food and currency, and its society remained highly stratified under the shogunate’s rigid feudal system. Far from the cash crop frenzy, Japan was focused on stability, not global trade.

Meanwhile, in West Africa, the Ashanti Empire was thriving on something else entirely: gold. Centered in what is now Ghana, the Ashanti were a regional powerhouse, and the “Gold Coast” was famous for its vast reserves of the precious metal, which fueled the empire’s wealth and influence. But gold wasn’t the only currency of power. The Ashanti were deeply enmeshed in the transatlantic slave trade, capturing and selling other Africans to European traders in exchange for weapons, goods, and wealth.

This system wasn’t some reluctant necessity—it was calculated and cruel, just like every part of the transatlantic slave trade. Captured individuals were marched in brutal conditions to coastal trading forts, stripped of their humanity, and sold into a system where the average life expectancy on Caribbean plantations was less than five years. The Ashanti, like their European buyers, participated in a system built on suffering and death to sustain their power. No one walks away from this history clean.

But let’s be real—France? France was out here playing the game like it invented it. Its colonies were turning out sugar and coffee at staggering rates. Saint-Domingue—modern-day Haiti—was the crown jewel of the French Colonial Empire. This single colony produced nearly half the world’s sugar, enriching French merchants and aristocrats alike. But for the enslaved Africans who worked the plantations, this system was anything but sweet. The brutal conditions mirrored those seen across the Caribbean—backbreaking labor, constant violence, and a life expectancy that rarely exceeded a few years.

Meanwhile, back in France, the wealth flowing in from Saint-Domingue wasn’t trickling down—it was pooling at the top like a clogged fountain. The aristocracy and merchants feasted on roasted meats and colonial luxuries, while rural farmers and urban laborers could barely scrape together enough for bread. If anyone back then believed in trickle-down economics, they were probably as hungry as the peasants waiting for it to work.

France in the 18th century was an agrarian society, ruled by the king, who wielded absolute power under the divine right of kings—the idea that his authority came directly from God. Beneath him & his fam, society was divided into three rigid classes, known as the Three Estates or the Ancien Régime.

At the top sat the First Estate, the clergy, who controlled vast wealth and land, they paid little to no taxes. Next came the Second Estate, the aristocracy, a privileged class of nobles who also paid little to no taxes. Finally, there was the Third Estate—everyone else, from peasants and urban laborers to the rising middle class. While the upper estates lived lives of unimaginable luxury, the Third Estate carried the crushing weight of taxes and labor.

By the time Louis XV (whats before 15) inherited the throne in 1715, France was already drowning in debt from wars and endless spending sprees. He inherited the throne from his great-grandpap the Sun King, aka Louis the…XIV (after 13). Instead of addressing these problems, he leaned into the comforts of Versailles, ignoring the kingdom’s growing financial instability. But hey, atleast the rich loved him, right?

Fun fact: I never learned Roman numerals, so every time they come up—which is often because history is a cruel mistress—my brain glitches & I have a minor panic attack. …Roman numerals…. Are they doing math? Are they being math? Is it even math?! I have to spell the word out, otherwise I’ll say Louis X-V because my brain literally cannot and then we’d all have to collectively cringe at my failure.

Anyway.

Then came Louis XVI (WHATS AFTER 15 CHILE?!) in 1774, who wasn’t exactly set up for success. He inherited a kingdom riddled with even more debt, then made things worse by supporting the American Revolution. And while helping the Americans stick it to Britain might’ve been a flex, it came at a steep price—guns, ships, and massive amounts of money.

By the time the war ended in 1783, France’s finances were in even deeper ruin. And would you believe it—the Americans never really paid France back! Sure, they sent some thank-you notes (and maybe a few baguette emojis in spirit), but the actual cash? Nope. France’s hefty contributions to the revolution, including loans and supplies, remained largely unpaid, leaving French taxpayers to foot the bill. The irony? That ‘freedom loan’ to America helped inspire the French people to start demanding their own liberty. Talk about unintended consequences!

Meanwhile, the aristocracy floated through life as if nothing were wrong. Their world was one of opulent fashion, decadent feasts, and lavish homes. Fashion wasn’t just a way to dress—it was a performance of wealth and power, a daily reminder of who they felt the main characters were in this story. Every ruffled sleeve and embroidered silk gown shouted, ‘This is my world, and you’re just living in it.’ Basically, they were the nepo babies of their day—but with towering hairdos stuffed with fake ships.

The lifestyles of the rich and famous were sustained by crushing taxes, exploitative rent payments, and the wealth extracted from France’s colonies. The colonies weren’t just supplying exotic luxuries like sugar and coffee; they were propping up the entire economy, built on the backs of enslaved and oppressed laborers. At home, the disparity was just as stark. Landowners in the countryside sometimes prioritized export crops like wine grapes over essential staples such as wheat. Even during famines, grain could be shipped abroad to secure profits—starvation at home be damned.

It’s the kind of cold-hearted economic maneuvering that would make even a modern hedge fund manager blush.

For the Third Estate, life was grueling. Over 80% of the population were rural farmers, living off the land. Bread wasn’t just food—it was survival, making up as much as 80% of their daily calories. Yet farming methods hadn’t changed much since the feudal era. Outdated tools, crushing rent payments, and unpredictable weather meant a single failed harvest could bring entire families to starvation.

Meals were simple: bread paired with thin soups, cheese, or, on rare occasions, salted pork. Meat was a luxury, reserved for special occasions. During hard times, people foraged for acorns, weeds, or anything edible to survive. Clothing was practical and durable—muted browns and grays made from wool or linen—patched and repaired until it fell apart.

Homes were no better. Peasants lived in cramped cottages with dirt floors, often sharing their space with livestock in winter for warmth. Beds were straw-stuffed mattresses, and entire families slept in the same room, privacy a nonexistent luxury.

Peasant women bore a heavy burden, working as hard as men, if not harder. They tilled fields, cooked, cleaned, and raised children, all while spinning wool or weaving textiles to bring in extra income. Their labor kept households afloat, but their contributions were rarely acknowledged beyond the home.

While the Third Estate rationed bread and fought to survive, the nobility was utterly detached from their struggles. The gap between rich and poor wasn’t just economic—it was insulting. Remember, the aristocracy and clergy paid almost no taxes, while the Third Estate carried the weight of the kingdom’s debts. Resentment simmered as the monarchy and nobility appeared blind to the Third Estate’s suffering.

But if crushing inequality wasn’t enough to destabilize a society, Mother Nature had her own plans. Remember the Little Ice Age?

Throwback- we talked about this before in the episode Witchy Woman Woes.

The Little Ice Age may have had ‘little’ in its name, but its impact was anything but small. Beginning in the late 1300s and lingering well into the 19th century, this centuries-long cold snap saw global temperatures dip just 1 to 2 degrees Celsius (2 to 4 degrees Fahrenheit) compared to the warmer Medieval Period. That might sound like a tiny tweak on the thermostat, but even the slightest chill packed a massive punch, sending shockwaves through the environment, devastating crops, and turning livelihoods—and entire societies—upside down.

So, how did this deep freeze even begin? Well, friends, the 1300s were a perfect storm—literally. A cluster of volcanic eruptions over the centuries spewed ash and sulfur dioxide into the atmosphere, reflecting sunlight and cooling the planet. Around the same time, the sun entered the Wolf Minimum, a period of reduced solar activity that dimmed Earth’s natural heater. Then there were the oceans, which decided to join the chaos. Freshwater from melting glaciers during the warmer Medieval Period had disrupted the salty, dense waters that drive ocean currents like the Gulf Stream. These currents act like Earth’s thermostat, redistributing heat, but when they slowed down, the Northern Hemisphere got a whole lot colder.

And humanity may have played a small, ironic role: after the Black Death wiped out millions, abandoned farmlands turned into forests. These regrown forests sucked carbon dioxide—a greenhouse gas—out of the air, nudging temperatures even lower. It was as if nature looked around and said, ‘Go big or go home,’ and then threw Earth into a centuries-long chill.

The result? Winters grew colder and longer, delaying planting seasons, while cooler, wetter summers wrecked crops like wheat that needed warm, dry conditions. Freak weather events—massive hailstorms, torrential rains, and early frosts—became regular disasters, wiping out harvests overnight. Imagine frost so heavy it coated fields in icy armor or hailstorms so destructive they left farmers reeling. Even this slight cooling expanded glaciers and slashed growing seasons, pushing already fragile agricultural systems to the breaking point.

I genuinely feel bad for the people back then. Today, we have all our fancy science, tools, and historical hindsight to explain why things like this happen. But for them? They had no idea this was just a temporary blip in Earth’s climate. Imagine growing up thinking brutal winters and failed harvests were just the way life worked—or worse, that it was the wrath of God or witches casting spells. They had no way to know the planet was just going through a rough patch. And even though the worst was technically behind them by the 1700s, the effects of the Little Ice Age were still severe enough to help nudge France’s to the brink.

And while the Little Ice Age was already doing the most, Mother Nature decided to go all in and raise the stakes even higher. Enter the Laki volcano in Iceland, sitting over 1,400 miles from France. That’s not close, by the way—you’re not spotting it from a rooftop in Paris. To put it in perspective, that’s like flying from New York to Miami or Dallas. It’s far!

In 1783, the Laki volcano erupted, spewing ash and sulfur dioxide into the atmosphere and triggering a “volcanic winter.”

Let’s put our science hats on friends: What exactly is a volcanic winter? At first, I imagined ash falling like snow—sounds fun, right? Picture making ash-angels, throwing ash-balls, building ash-igloo’s, the works! Except no, it’s way, way worse. When a volcano erupts, it releases large amounts of ash, sulfur dioxide, and gases into the Earth’s atmosphere. And a volcanic winter is a type of climate cooling caused by a massive volcanic eruption.

Earth’s atmosphere is composed of five major layers, making life on this planet possible by regulating temperature, shielding us from space hazards, and keeping breathable air where it belongs. When a volcanic eruption is powerful enough—like Laki’s—it can launch ash, sulfur dioxide, and tiny particles into the stratosphere (the second layer of the atmosphere), where they can then spread across the globe. What started as Iceland’s problem soon became everyone’s problem.

The results? Crops withered, livestock died, and famine tightened its grip across Europe. The sulfur dioxide from the eruption formed particles that were disturbingly efficient at reflecting sunlight, cooling the planet. So for France, things just kept getting worse.

While the Little Ice Age was throwing its frosty tantrum and Laki was doing its volcanic worst, rural France went from struggling to whatever’s worse than struggling. But it wasn’t just nature’s fault—France’s economy was a ticking time bomb.

For the Third Estate—remember, that’s most of the people living in France– Bread wasn’t just food; bread was life.

But bread is made from grain, and France at this time had a serious grain shortage problem brewing. Ontop of that, France’s population grew by over 5 million people between 1720 and 1789, and the grain production didn’t keep pace.

In 1774, the guy who was like basically the CFO of France tried to liberalize the grain market by abolishing regulations and introducing free trade in grain. To be fair, his reasoning was kind of noble. I’m trying to assume positive intent here. He was inspired by Enlightenment economics, particularly the Physiocrats, who believed in laissez-faire policies and argued that freeing up trade would make markets more efficient. The idea was that letting farmers and merchants sell grain at market-driven prices would encourage production, lower prices in the long run, and put an end to the corruption plaguing the existing, heavily regulated system.

Sidenote: Deregulation often feels like a punch to the gut for me. I mean, regulations usually exist for a reason, right? Not every rule is perfect, sure, but most are there to address real problems or protect people. It’s like anything in life—there’s usually a lesson behind it. And in this case, that lesson came at a high human cost.

For example, this guy might have believed he was modernizing the economy, but he completely missed the big picture. France was already dealing with poor harvests, a fragile grain supply, and an exploding population. Bread wasn’t just a commodity—it was survival. Introducing free trade during a scarcity crisis gave merchants free rein to hoard grain and manipulate prices for profit. The result? Human greed did not disappoint. Skyrocketing bread prices, mass hunger, and violent riots known as the Flour War followed.

When deregulation failed, it felt less like economic reform and more like an attack on the people’s very existence.

For the people of France, these compounding crises turned bread from a staple into a luxury. Hunger wasn’t just a passing hardship—it was a daily reminder that the system was broken.

In July 1788, a catastrophic hailstorm flattened fields across the country, leaving farmers unable to plant in time for the next season. The result? A cascading food crisis. Bread, the cornerstone of the peasant diet, became increasingly scarce.

Landowners made matters worse by prioritizing profitable export crops like wine grapes over essential staples like wheat. Even during times of famine, grain was often exported to fetch higher prices abroad, leaving local communities to starve. Bread prices soared as shortages intensified, hitting artisans and laborers the hardest. Speculators hoarded grain to drive up prices, fueling conspiracy theories about corrupt millers, bakers, and even the monarchy itself.

Hunger soon turned into outrage. Bread riots erupted as desperate citizens stormed bakeries and grain warehouses, demanding fair prices—or simply taking what they needed to stay alive. These were not isolated events but a growing wave of unrest. As one observer noted, ‘The price of grain and of bread rose suddenly and became a desperate burden on the poorest populations. There ensued major popular unrest at markets and other flour distribution locations.’

By the summer of 1789, bread prices had become unbearable, and frustration turned into fury—not just over hunger, but against an oppressive system that left the people voiceless. Political dissent was dangerous; speaking out could mean imprisonment without trial, sometimes in the infamous Bastille. In June, representatives of the Third Estate, excluded from meaningful decision-making, declared themselves the National Assembly and vowed to draft a constitution reflecting the people’s will. This bold declaration directly challenged centuries of monarchy-dominated rule and heightened tensions across France.

As the summer progressed, fear gripped Paris. Royal troops massed near the city, fueling rumors of an ‘aristocratic conspiracy’ to crush the National Assembly and silence reform efforts. The dismissal of Jacques Necker, a popular minister sympathetic to the Third Estate, on July 11 only escalated the unrest.

By July 14, the citizens of Paris, determined to defend themselves and their cause, stormed the Hôtel des Invalides, seizing tens of thousands of muskets with little opposition. Though the weapons lacked powder, the people had already secured gunpowder the day before by intercepting barrels bound for another location and distributing them overnight. Armed and resolute, the people were ready to make their stand.

On July 14, 1789, their march for justice led them to the Bastille, a fortress-turned-prison in the heart of Paris. And let’s be clear: the choice wasn’t random. The Bastille was more than just a building; it was the ultimate symbol of the monarchy’s unchecked power. For decades, it had been a place where anyone who disagreed with the way the monarchy ran the show could be thrown in without even a trial.

Taking it down wasn’t just practical;sure, the fortress held supplies that might’ve been useful, but this wasn’t just about provisions. It was about making a statement: centuries of oppression were coming to an end, and the people of Paris weren’t backing down.

As the crowd gathered outside the Bastille and negotiations with the govenor went nowhere (shocker), the determination of the crowd only grew.

They stormed the fortress, overpowered the guards, and took control. The fall of the Bastille was a major mic drop moment—a symbolic punch to the monarchy’s face and the spark that ignited a revolution.

What began as a fight for bread and fairness became the spark of the French Revolution, toppling the monarchy and transforming France forever.

The Little Ice Age wasn’t just a cold snap—it was a centuries-long wake-up call about what happens when environmental crises and economic injustice collide. By 1789, France didn’t just push back—it erupted into revolution. But while the French Revolution brought change, it also unleashed chaos, proving that upheaval isn’t always the happy ending we like to imagine.

And France wasn’t alone. Around the world, societies grappled with the pressures of climate and inequality in wildly different ways. In West Africa, the Ashanti Empire thrived on gold and the transatlantic slave trade, but the human cost of sustaining their wealth was staggering. Meanwhile, Japan, with its sakoku (isolation) policy, avoided global trade pressures, but its rigid feudal structure left farmers vulnerable to the whims of weather and harvests. Across the globe, the Little Ice Age exposed the fragility of systems—whether built on exploitation, inequality, or outdated practices. At its core, the story stayed the same: who bore the burden of crisis, and who reaped the rewards.

Fast forward to today, and these global echoes are louder than ever. Rising global temperatures, more frequent and severe natural disasters, and unstable food supplies are creating the same kind of pressures that toppled France’s Ancien Régime. And just like then, those most affected are often those with the least power to respond.

Let’s talk about food. In 18th-century France, bread wasn’t just a staple—it was survival. When bread prices skyrocketed, so did tensions, because when you take away the basic means of survival, people don’t just sit quietly—they act. Now, consider what food insecurity looks like today. It’s not just about bread anymore—it’s about entire regions losing crops to floods, droughts, or wildfires. It’s about supply chain breakdowns that leave supermarket shelves empty.

And it’s not just food. Back then, inequality meant peasants carried the tax burden while the aristocracy feasted in luxury. Today, inequality takes different forms: it’s billionaires taking joyrides to space while communities can’t afford clean water. It’s rising rents and stagnant wages while corporations rake in record profits. The specifics may have changed, but the core issue hasn’t: when systems prioritize the needs of the few over the survival of the many, they don’t just fail—they collapse.

We’ve also seen how climate can amplify these inequalities. In 1788, a single hailstorm flattened fields across France, triggering famine and chaos. Now, we see hurricanes wipe out entire communities or heatwaves strain power grids to the breaking point. And just like in 18th-century France, those who suffer the most are often the ones who had the least to begin with.

But history offers us a chance to learn. The French Revolution was a warning—a wake-up call about the dangers of ignoring systemic inequality and environmental strain. Today, we’re at a similar crossroads. We know the science. We know the solutions. But are we willing to make the changes needed to avoid a repeat of history?

The French Revolution also showed us what happens when people are pushed to their absolute limits: they push back. Bread riots became the storming of the Bastille. Desperation became revolution.

But before we get carried away romanticizing it, let’s be real: the French Revolution wasn’t all sunshine and liberté. Sure, it toppled an ineffective and out-of-touch monarchy that let its people starve while the elites lived in luxury. But it also led to years of chaos, violence, and, let’s be honest, some serious unintended consequences at the cost of many innocent lives. At one point, they overthrew a king only to end up with Napoleon—a dictator by another name. It’s giving major Les Mis energy, where the more things changed, the more they stayed the same for the people at the bottom.

So, no, we’re not calling for a repeat of 1789. But the lesson is still crystal clear: when systems fail the people they’re supposed to serve, the cracks eventually become impossible to ignore. Bread riots might look like housing protests or climate strikes today, but the core issue hasn’t changed. When basic needs go unmet, people will push back.

And that’s where history feels eerily familiar. The patterns of exploitation, inequality, and climate crisis we saw in 1789 are still playing out today. It’s a reminder that history doesn’t just repeat—it evolves. The question is, are we paying attention?

So, there you have it—a story of ice, inequality, and revolution. The Little Ice Age wasn’t just a cold snap; it was a centuries-long wake-up call about what happens when environmental crises and economic injustice collide. By 1789, France didn’t just push back—it erupted. But while the French Revolution brought change, it also brought chaos, proving that upheaval isn’t always the happy ending we like to imagine.

Fast forward to today, and the patterns feel all too familiar: climate instability, wealth hoarding, and systems cracking under the pressure of inequality. But here’s the thing—we don’t need to repeat history. The lesson is already there if we’re ready to learn.

Thanks so much for tuning in to Bygone Echoes! If you enjoyed this episode, please leave a review—it helps more history lovers find the show. Don’t forget to subscribe so you’ll never miss an episode.

Until next time, be kind, be curious, and be ready to make history.