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Bring back Camille!

Apologies if this has already done the rounds, but if not, here's a statue of Camille by Eugene Boverie, which was melted down by Vichy c.1941, and never replaced. Shame as I rather dig the dynamism here compared to many static statues. Perhaps a campaign to put it back in the Palais Royal where it belongs…?

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camille desmoulins writing his attack on brissot

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what's the sexiest thing a man can do with his mouth, and why is it biting the paper cartridge to load his flintlock musket?

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Susan all the way. So relatable . Literally me making things worse with my younger brothers

AUSTEN CHARACTER SHOWDOWN, Round Three

(The top two will move on.)

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Similar thing in Villette😂

i really love the way charlotte brontë writes her male love interests bc for the a-tier ones she always has her heroines be like "he's a weird ugly mean little freak absolutely DRIPPING with rizz and i NEED him carnally" and for the b-tier ones they're always like "finance, trust fund, 6'5, blue eyes 🤮🤮"

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I think my enormous obsession with Jane Eyre boils down to the fact that they’re both “unattractive” (so they are described) protagonists who are actually allowed to be in this strong and all-consuming love that, in your typical romance, is usually only reserved for the ultra-beautiful.

ALSO, the power-dynamic shifting is mwah and Jane’s insistence of equality: “equal, AS WE ARE” (That scene is devastatingly gorgeous) to her overtaking of power as his caretaker by the end is perfection. It’s my favourite favourite favourite novel of all time. AS WE ARE!!!

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I don't know if this is true, but I get this feeling that people want the clothing of the past to be oppressive to an unrealistic degree because they want to prove some weird point about how we're so superior today. See! No Evil Corsets! Women can Girlboss now!

Except that modern beauty standards seem to me to be almost more cruel than past ones. You can't build the figure you want with bustles and petticoats, our clothes are nearly skin tight and you're both ugly and immoral if you can't maintain some insane standard of thinness. We are expected not only to change our fashions but our very bodies in a way that has never even been possible before.

How exactly are we so superior?

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Poor Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even himself.

the moment they knew they had to get 90s hugh grant for this

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Dick Musgrove😭😭😂😂worried about my body

Which Jane Austen character are you switching bodies with?

Imagine: You are switching bodies for 24 hours with a Jane Austen character and living in the universe of their book right after it ends. For instance, if you get Elizabeth Bennet on the spinner, you're actually switching bodies with Elizabeth Darcy, wife of Mr. Darcy, mistress of Pemberley.

Spin this character picker one time only to get your character, and then vote on the option that speaks to you most strongly:

Yes, multiple might apply, but I'm forcing you to pick just one. Pick what's strongest. And no "other" option. Pick what's closest.

Share in the tags who you got and what you're doing on your day as them!

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Do we have any idea how ATG was perceived across medieval Europe and what was said about him? Is there any significant interpretation from this period that influences (influenced?) modern historians?

Alexander was fairly popular in the Medieval world as a result of the Alexander Romance—and not just in Europe. The Romance was also read throughout the Muslim world, and Alexander appears in the first part of the Persian Shahnameh too. And for that matter, in both the Quran and the Book of Daniel, and some later Jewish literature. He grew even more popular during the Renaissance, especially in art.

There is, in fact, a fair bit of writing on this, however it’s not my era or area. Richard Stoneman is probably the leading scholar on the Alexander Romance, and see his recent (2022) The History of Alexander the Great in World Culture. It’s an edited collection, so a very good starting place, as fairly recent. You might also take a gander at Ken Moore’s 2018 edited collection: Brill’s Companion to the Reception of Alexander the Great. Then you can chase down work by the various authors included. They are expensive, so as always, I recommend asking a library to get them for you via interlibrary loan, if you don’t have access to a uni library that has them. Sometimes individual book chapters can be found already uploaded (for free) at academia.edu, at least for the Moore collection, which has been out a while.

@reimenaashelyee has done really lovely work with the comic Alexander, the Servant, and the Water of Life, which is based on the Alexander Romance, although it’s a fictional retelling with her own flourishes. I'm always happy to recommend it because it's just a really lush, gorgeous (and well-researched!) work.

Last, below are also two links to a pair of book chapters that floated across my email in just the time since this query was dropped, so I saved links to them. Both are from academia.edu, which is where, as mentioned, one can sometimes find academic articles and book chapters uploaded for free. But publishing contracts usually require that we wait a couple years before being allowed to upload them. (Some of my own most recent work isn’t there yet for just that reason. Also, Brill still owes me a PDF of my religion and war chapter, and the Peeters one just came out, so the PDFs of that aren’t to contributors yet, either.)

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AITA for enjoying my vacation even though my boyfriend was out of town?

u/YourDreamGirl

I was recently enjoying a visit to Bath at the height of the season 🥳. My boyfriend showed up a few weeks in and then we got engaged, which was great 🎉❤️👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻❤️🎉

Here is the problem 🤦🏼‍♀️, he had to go home and ask his father's permission and work out his inheritance. It ended up being a lot less than I thought but that doesn't matter 😅 During that time I attended a ball with my best friend Cathy (his sister). While we were at the ball💃🏼, I was just watching my friend dance, I wasn't dancing at all, this man Fred approached me and would not take no for an answer. So I danced with him. I mean, I wasn't going to be rude.😅😬 Plus Fred's got a huge estate you can't snub men like that.

Fred kept following me around at the Upper and Lower rooms and asking me to dance 🤬😤. I wasn't going to lock myself up like a nun, so yes, I danced with him a few times. And we did spend some time together at the Pump Room but that was totally public 😅 Nothing happened.

Anyway, my boyfriend got back ❤️ and took everything the wrong way and got super jealous😢. I tried to tell him that it was not my fault at all, Fred was just obsessed with me 😫. Even his sister was against me and she saw how much Fred was going after me! My boyfriend told me it was over but I really love him and he won't even let me explain💔. And now Cathy isn't replying to my letters 🥺

AITA for enjoying myself while he was gone??? It was completely harmless! I just want him back and I want him to see that I didn't do anything wrong!!! 🥺 I was the victim here 😢💔 I'm going to show him the results.

Edit: I'm not a gold digger! I hate money. 😳

Top Comment:

u/TheGlassFunion

I ain't saying you're a gold digger... 🎶

YTA

Leave that poor boy alone!

AITA Jane Austen Masterpost

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Lieutenant Colonel George Allan of the 16th Hussars, ‘The Hussar’

Sir Henry Raeburn (English, 1756-1823)

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On April 5, 1794, due to the execution of the Dantonists:

Rest in peace:

Camille Desmoulins, journalist, deputy to the Convention (34 years old) Georges Jacques Danton, deputy to the Convention (34 years old) François Chabot, deputy to the Convention (37 years old) Philippe François Nazaire Fabre, known as "Fabre d’Églantine," deputy to the Convention (43 years old) Jean-François Delacroix (41 years old) Marie-Jean Hérault de Séchelles, deputy to the Convention (34 years old) Claude Basire, deputy to the Convention (29 years old) Joseph Delaunay, deputy to the Convention (41 years old) Pierre Philippeaux, deputy to the Convention (39 years old) Marc René Marie d’Amarzit de Sahuguet (41 years old) Junius Frey (40 years old) Andrés Maria de Guzman (40 years old) François-Joseph Westermann (42 years old)

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Camille had also studied with us at the College of Louis-le-Grand… Back then I didn't think he was so bad! He came to see me before the Revolution; he flattered me today, and saturated me tomorrow. He borrowed money from me, and tore me to pieces if I couldn't lend it to him. I have several letters from Camille, in which he gives me many flattering compliments; they are in prose and verse. He had talent, a lot of wit, maybe a good heart; but a very bad head…. The success of my Lunes made him frustrated. When slandering, he only thought to tell me. But, with this phrenesia, we would be sacrificing a whole world of innocent people; and, if it is true that, without having a bad heart, one is, in fact, as wicked and as barbaric as Camille was, then I return to my thesis, and I say that one can be a very dangerous terrorist, without having a bad heart. I do not believe, however, that he was guilty of what he was accused of in order to put him to death, I could not restrain my tears, seeing him pass by on his way to his execution. He had to be reduced to political nullity; but it was not necessary to cut his head off! Let's not cut anyone's head off anymore, if we can!

Testament d’un électeur de Paris (1795) by Louis Abel Beffroy de Reigny, p. 147.

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April 5th, 1794: Camille Desmoulins went to the Place de la Révolution to die.

There was no journal left to write, no crowd to stir, no chance to rewrite the last page. He had already said too much.

The Revolution had eaten through its own flesh, and Camille, once its poet, was now just another name on the list.

He left behind one final letter. Not quite a manifesto. Just a man, waiting to die, writing to his wife.

The Last Letter of Camille Desmoulins

Duodi germinal, 3 a.m. (April 1st)

Sleep has mercifully suspended my suffering. In sleep, one is free, unaware of captivity. Heaven has shown me mercy. Just moments ago, I saw you in a dream: I embraced you, Horace, and Daronnen (1), who was at home. But our little one had lost an eye to some fury that had attacked him, and the pain of this vision woke me. I found myself back in my dungeon. It was daylight. Though I could neither see you nor hear your replies, even as you and your mother spoke to me, I rose to write to you at least.

But opening the windows, the thought of my solitude, the dreadful bars and bolts that part me from you, vanquished all the strength of my soul. I melted into tears, or rather, I sobbed, crying out in this tomb: Lucile! Lucile! O my dearest Lucile, where are you?

(here, we notice the trace of a tear).

Yesterday evening I experienced a similar moment, and my heart broke anew when I saw your mother in the garden. A reflexive movement drove me to my knees against the bars; I clasped my hands together as if begging for her pity, she who must be weeping now in your embrace.

Yesterday I saw her sorrow

(here again a trace of tears)

In her handkerchief and veil, lowered as if she could not bear the sight. When you come again, let her sit a little nearer to you, so that I might see you both more clearly (2).

It is not dangerous, as far as I can tell. My spectacles are no good. I'd like you to buy me a pair like I had six months ago, not silver but steel, with two arms that attach to the head. Ask for number 15;: the merchant will know.

But above all, I implore you, Lolotte (3), by our eternal love, send me your portrait. Let your painter take pity on me, I who suffer only for having shown too much compassion for others. Let him grant you two sittings each day. In the horror of this prison, the day I receive your likeness would be a day of celebration, of pure rapture and intoxication.

In the meantime, send me a lock of your hair that I may press it to my heart. My dear Lucile! Here I am, back in the days of my first love, when I was interested in someone merely because they had come from your house. Yesterday, when the citizen who brought you my letter returned, I asked him "Well, have you seen her?", just as I used to ask Abbé Landreville. I found myself studying him as if something of you had lingered on his clothes, on his very person.

He is a charitable soul, for he delivered my letter intact (4). It seems I shall see him twice daily, morning and evening. This messenger of our sorrows has become as dear to me as a bearer of joys once would have been.

I discovered a crack in my cell; I pressed my ear to it, and heard a groaning. I hazarded some words, and a voice answered: a sick man in suffering. He asked my name. I gave it. “O my God!” he cried at hearing it, falling back upon his bed, and I distinctly recognised the voice of

Fabre d’Églantine (5).

(Yes, I am Fabre, he told me; but you, in here! Has the counter-revolution succeeded?)

Yet we dare not speak further, for fear that hatred might deprive us of even this small consolation. Should we be heard, we would surely be separated and confined more strictly. He has a room with a fireplace; mine would be a fair chamber... if a dungeon could ever be called fair.

But, dear friend! You cannot imagine what it means to be held in secret, not knowing why, never interrogated, never receiving a single journal. It is to live and be dead at once, existing only to feel oneself buried in a tomb. They say innocence is calm and courageous.

Ah!

My dearest Lucile! My beloved! Often, my innocence is weak like that of a husband, that of a father, that of a son (6)! If it were Pitt or Coburg who treated me thus…! But my colleagues! Robespierre, who signed the order of my imprisonment! The Republic, after all I have done for her! Is this the reward for so many virtues and sacrifices?

When I first arrived, I saw Hérault-Séchelles, Simon, Ferroux, Chaumette, and Antonelle (7). They suffer less than I do, at least they are not held incommunicado.

And I, who for five years devoted myself to hatred and peril in the name of the Republic. I who kept my poverty through the Revolution (8). I who have none to ask forgiveness but you, my dear Lolotte, and to whom you granted it, knowing my heart, despite its frailty, was not unworthy of you. I am cast into a dungeon, in secret, as though I were a conspirator! Even Socrates was allowed to see his friends and wife in prison when he drank the hemlock (9).

How much harder to be torn from you! Even the worst criminal would suffer too cruelly if separated from a Lucile by anything except death—which at least makes one feel such agony for but a moment. But a criminal could never have been your husband, and you loved me because I lived solely for the happiness of my fellow citizens... They call me...

Just now, the commissioners of the Revolutionary Tribunal have questioned me. One question only: “Have you conspired against the Republic?” What derision! Is it thus they insult the purest republicanism?

I see the fate that awaits me. Farewell, my Lucile, my dear Lolotte, my good little wolf, say farewell to my father. In me, you see the example of man’s barbarity and ingratitude. My final moments will not disgrace you. You see that my fears were justified, that my presentiments were always true.

I married a woman heavenly in her virtue. I was a good husband and a good son; I would have been a good father. I carry with me the esteem and the regrets of all true republicans, of all men, of virtue and of liberty.

I die at thirty-four, yet it is a marvel that I have survived these past five years and so many revolutionary precipices without falling into them. That I still exist and rest my head in calm upon the pillow of my writings; too numerous, perhaps, but all breathing the same philanthropy, the same desire to make my fellow citizens happy and free, writings that the tyrants’ axe shall never strike down.

I see now that power intoxicates almost all men, that they all speak as Dionysius of Syracuse (10):

“Tyranny is a fine epitaph.”

But take comfort, desolate widow! The epitaph of your poor Camille is nobler still: it is that of the Brutuses and the Catos, the slayers of tyrants (11). O my dearest Lucile! I was born to write verse, to defend the wretched, to make you happy, to compose, with your mother, with my father, and a few souls after our own hearts, a little Tahiti (12).

I had dreamed of a Republic that all mankind would adore. I could not believe men were so savage and so unjust. How could I think a few jests in my writings, aimed at colleagues who had provoked me, would erase the memory of all my services?

I do not deceive myself: I die a victim of those jests (13) and of my friendship with Danton (14).

I thank my assassins for letting me die with him and with Philippeaux (15). Since my colleagues were cowardly enough to abandon us, to lend an ear to slanders, of which I know nothing, save that they must be vile, I may say we die martyrs of our courage in denouncing traitors and of our love for the truth.

We can at least take with us this testimony: we perish as the last true republicans.

Forgive me, dear friend, my true life, which I lost the moment we were parted. I find myself dwelling on my legacy when I should focus only on helping you forget.

My Lucile! My good Loulou! My hen of Cachant (16)! I beseech you, do not linger on the branch, do not call to me with your cries; they would tear me to pieces in the depths of the grave. Go scratch the earth for your little one, live for my Horace (17); speak to him of me. Will you tell him, though he cannot yet understand, that I would have loved him dearly?

Despite my torment, I believe there is a God. My blood shall wash away my faults, the weaknesses of humanity, and God will reward what was good in me: my virtues, my love of liberty. One day, I shall see you again, O Lucile! O Annette!

Sensitive as I was, is death, which delivers me from witnessing so many crimes, so terrible a fate? Farewell, Loulou; farewell, my life, my soul, my goddess on earth! I leave you good friends, all men of virtue and feeling.

Farewell, Lucile, my Lucile! My dear Lucile! Farewell, Horace, Annette, Adèle (18)! Farewell, my father! I feel the shore of life receding before me.

I still see Lucile! I see her, my beloved! My Lucile! My bound hands embrace you still, and my severed head rests its dying eyes upon you.

Notes:

The original French text comes from the Correspondance inédite de Camille Desmoulins, published by M. Matton aîné (Ébrard, Paris, 1836). The translation is mine.

(1) Daronne was a nickname Camille had for his mother-in-law

(2) Camille was imprisoned in the Luxembourg. Families of prisoners would gather in the prison garden so their imprisoned relatives could see them from the jail cells above.

(3) Lolotte was Lucile’s nickname

(4) "Intact" in this case means uncensored, as prisoners' letters were routinely read and censored..

(5) Fabre d’Églantine (1750–1794) was a playwright, poet, and revolutionary politician, best known for creating the names of the months in the French Republican Calendar and for his close association with Danton.

(6) The phrasing is a bit awkward in English, but what Camille is trying to say is that human bonds make him vulnerable. He's not admitting guilt; he's defending his innocence, but he's acknowledging that emotional attachments can make one act from the heart rather than from strict principle or legality.

(7) Hérault-Séchelles was a member of the Committee of Public Safety and played a key role in drafting the constitution. Though not strictly aligned with the Dantonists, he was executed alongside them on April 5th.

Simion most likely refers to Jean-Baptiste Simon, less prominent, but known as a journalist and moderate revolutionary

Ferroux's identity is problematic. While there was a Ferroux imprisoned at that time, little is known about him as he wasn't a prominent figure. Some editions of the letter suggest this is a misrendering of either Philippeaux's name or refers to Jean-Pierre-André Amar.

Chaumette is Pierre-Gaspard Chaumette a leading figure of the Hébertist faction; radical dechristianiser; President of the Commune of Paris

Antonelle is François-Joseph-Marie Fayolle d’Antonelle A moderate republican, journalist, editor of Le Républicain, and supporter of the Girondins.

(8) Camille is very much stretching the truth here …

(9) Socrates was sentenced to death by the Athenian court in 399 BCE and died by drinking a cup of hemlock, a poisonous plant, as punishment for impiety and corrupting the youth.

(10) Dionysius I, tyrant of Syracuse in Sicily during the 4th century BCE, known for his authoritarian rule and for transforming Syracuse into a major military power. He became a symbol of despotism in classical literature and later political thought, often cited as an emblem of how power corrupts and tyranny can be glorified despite its brutality.

(11) Brutus and Cato the tyrannicides refer to Marcus Junius Brutus and Marcus Porcius Cato the Younger, two influential figures of the late Roman Republic who stood against dictatorship. Brutus helped kill Julius Caesar in 44 BCE to protect Rome's freedom, while Cato opposed Caesar through political means and chose suicide rather than live under his rule.

(12) The original is "composer, avec ta mère et mon père, et quelques personnes selon notre cœur, un Otaïti." Camille is referring to Tahiti (Otaïti being the 18th-century French spelling). After Bougainville's 1768 voyage, Tahiti captured the European imagination as an idyllic paradise, a place of natural abundance, innocence, and harmony, untouched by civilization's corruption.

(13) To see the jests he is referring to, I recommend you take a look at Camille's last publication, Le Vieux Cordelier. The first two issues aligned with Jacobin's sentiment, but from the third onward, he diverged from the party line and called for moderation. His tone, satirical, accusatory, and morally urgent, was perceived by many as politically subversive and ultimately led to his arrest.

(14) Georges Danton (1759–1794) was a leading figure of the French Revolution, known for his oratory, role in founding the Revolutionary Tribunal, and early leadership of the Jacobin movement. He and Camille Desmoulins were close friends and political allies… their relationship is far too involved and complicated to explain in a short note.

(15) Pierre Philippeaux (1754–1794) was a Convention member sent on mission to the West. His detailed report exposed the brutal repression in the Vendée, especially atrocities by Republican forces under Jean-Baptiste Carrier. Camille used this report in Le Vieux Cordelier to support his plea for clemency. Philippeaux's testimony provided concrete, documented evidence of revolutionary excesses, strengthening Camille's argument that the Revolution had strayed from its principles.

(16) Translation from the original notes of the 1835 edition of the letter: Cachant is a small village near Paris, on the road to Bourg-la-Reine, where Madame Duplessis owned a country house. During their visits to Mme Duplessis, Camille and Lucile had often observed a hen in Cachant that, grief-stricken at the loss of her rooster, perched day and night on the same branch. She would emit heart-rending cries, refuse all food, and seemed to long for death. This is the hen to which Camille alludes here.

(17) Horace was the young son of Camille Desmoulins and Lucile Duplessis, born in 1792 and just a toddler at the time of his parents’ execution in 1794.

(18) Translation from the original notes of the 1835 edition of the letter: Lucile's sister, who never married and lived with her mother, became her sole consolation after the deaths of Camille, Lucile, and M. Duplessis.

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Lucile Desmoulins’ letter to Robespierre, written shortly after the arrest of her husband

Is it really you (tu) who dares to accuse us of counter-revolutionary projects, of treason against the homeland? You who have already much profited from the efforts that we have made for it only. Camille saw the birth of your pride, he foresaw the road you wanted to follow, but he remembered your old friendship, and, as far from the insensibility of your Saint-Just as from his base jealousies, he recoiled in front of the idea of accusing a college friend, a companion in his works. This hand which has pressed yours left the pen before its time, once it could no longer hold it to trace your praise. And you send him to his death! So you understood his silence! He must thank you for it, the homeland might reproach him for it, but thanks to you, it won’t ignore that Camille Desmoulins was against all support the defender of the republic.

But Robespierre, can you really accomplish the disastrous projects which the vile souls that surround you no doubt have inspired you with? Have you forgotten these ties that Camille can never remember without tenderness? You who took vows for our union, who took our hands into yours, you who have smiled at my son and whom his baby hands have caressed so many times, can you then reject my prayer, scorn my tears, crush justice under your feet? For you know it yourself, we don’t deserve the fate that’s being prepared for us, and you can change it. If it strikes us, it will be because you have ordered it to! But what is then the crime of my Camille…

I don’t have his pen to defend him, but the voice of good citizens and your heart, its it is sensible and just, will stand with me. Do you think one will gain confidence in you in watching you immolate your friends? Do you think one will bless he who cares neither for the tears of the widow nor the death of the orphan? Had I been Saint-Just’s wife I would tell him: Camille’s sake is yours, it’s the sake of all of Robespierre’s friends! The poor Camille, in the simplicity of his heart, how far he was from suspecting the fate that awaits him today! He thought himself working for your glory in pointing out to you what is still missing in our republic! One has no doubt slandered him near you, Robespierre, for you cannot believe him guilty. Contemplate that he never asked you for the death of anyone, that he never wanted to harm through your power and that you were his oldest, his best friend. Even if he hadn’t loved the homeland so much, if he hadn’t been as attached to the republic, I think his attachment to you would have served as a substitute for patriotism, and you think that for this we deserve death!……..because to strike him, that’s…….

Correspondance inédite de Camille Desmoulins (1836), p. 217–219. The letter remained unfinished and never reached Robespierre.