sieclesetcieux

[sieclesetcieux]

the terror was so weird and random and inexplicable, you guys 

x x

[sieclesetcieux]

Did st-just actually say that "I'll make [camille desmoulins] carry his [head] like st-denis" thing

Thank you for your question, Anon. I assume you’re asking in relation to the supposed exchange between Saint-Just and Camille Desmoulins.

In short: Desmoulins, with his usual bite, is reported to have quipped that Saint-Just carried his head "like a Holy Sacrament." Saint-Just, in turn, is said to have replied: "I’ll make him carry his like Saint Denis" (Et moi, je lui ferai porter la sienne comme un Saint-Denis) (1).

But did it happen? Let's break it down.

Camille Desmoulins’ Jibe: "Il porte sa tête comme un Saint-Sacrement."

Yes. No debate there. Camille wrote it himself, in his Lettre au général Dillon (2). In that pamphlet, true to form, he takes the piss out of several figures in the Convention, including Saint-Just.

Here’s the bit:

"After Legendre (3), the member of the Convention who has the highest opinion of himself is Saint-Just. One sees in his gait and bearing that he regards his head as the cornerstone of the Republic, and that he carries it with reverence, like a Holy Sacrament." (4)

No ambiguity there. It’s in print. Camille’s tone is mocking, as usual. Saint-Just was not known for his sense of humour, so the odds of him enjoying this were low. It wouldn’t have been surprising if he replied. In fact, you’d expect it. But did he?

Saint-Just’s Alleged Reply: "Et moi, je lui ferai porter la sienne comme un Saint-Denis."

I’ll spare you the suspense: no, he probably didn’t.

Unlike Camille, Saint-Just never wrote this down. It’s nowhere in his Œuvres complètes, and the quote doesn’t appear in any Convention minutes or known correspondence.

So where did this supposed retort come from?

Early Attributions and Édouard Fleury

The earliest source I can find is Biographie moderne (1816) by Étienne Psaume. In a very unfriendly write-up on Saint-Just, Psaume claims:

"It is said that, beyond party hatred, Saint-Just also bore a personal grudge against Camille Desmoulins, who had written in Le Vieux Cordelier that Saint-Just carried his head like a Blessed Sacrament; to which the proud decemvir replied: 'I’ll make him carry his like Saint Denis.'" (5)

Note the classic dodge: “it is said.” Also, Psaume claims the line appeared in Le Vieux Cordelier, which it didn’t. It was in the Lettre à Dillon. So much for rigorous sourcing.

Still, the line got picked up. Most notably by Édouard Fleury, in his 1852 two-volume Saint-Just et la Terreur. Like Psaume, he provides no source. Which is on-brand for Fleury, who, in true 19th-century historian (and I use the term loosely) fashion, was allergic to citations.Nor was he particularly restrained when it came to building a dramatic narrative.

Seven years later, Ernest Hamel, in Histoire de Saint-Just, called nonsense on the whole thing and rightly pointed out that no primary sources back it. Even the sources Fleury does quote, such as Joachim Vilate’s (6) ridiculous Thermidor-era libel screeds , don’t mention the exchange. Didn’t matter. The quote was catchy, dramatic, and vaguely plausible, so it spread.

By the early 20th century, it had hardened into “fact.” Both the 1911 Encyclopaedia Britannica and Samuel Arthur Bent’s Familiar Short Sayings of Great Men repeat it without a second thought. In fact, Bent’s version goes further, by having Camille directly attribute his death to this jest: 

“Camille Desmoulins gained the implacable hatred of the stern and haughty St. Just by saying jocosely of him, “He carries his head like the Host” (comme un saint sacrement), to which St. Just retorted, “I will make him carry his like a St. Denis.” Desmoulins soon afterwards accompanied Danton to the guillotine, saying, “My pleasantry has killed me” (C’est ma plaisanterie qui m’a tué).”

Modern biographies are more careful. Bernard Vinot’s 1985 Saint-Just confirms Camille’s “Saint-Sacrement” remark and details how much Saint-Just came to despise him."Penetrated his soul," "never wanted to see him again," and so on, make that what you will. But no Saint-Denis line.

Albert Ollivier’s Saint-Just et la force des choses notes the jibe too, but again no trace of the comeback. Antoine Boulant’s L’Archange de la Révolution doesn’t mention it at all.

Would it have been a good line? Yes. A clean mic drop, particularly considering what happened to Camille later. And yes, 19th-century historians did love their dramatic one-liners, whether or not they ever happened.

Is it plausible he said it? (Speculative zone ahead)

There’s no document, no record, no contemporary witness. But sure, it’s plausible. I mean, Saint-Just was human. Maybe Saint-Just grumbled to Le Bas about Desmoulins over a drink.  He probably said a lot of random, petty things about a lot of people to his friends. We all do. 

Still, I don’t think it happened. And here’s why.

Because if it had, Camille would have written about it. Not Saint-Just, Camille. The man had a well-read journal and a persecution complex. A public death threat from a man in the Committee of Public Safety helping draft your indictment? Desmoulins would not have let that pass. He’d have used it. Repeatedly.

And yet, silence.

He never mentions it. Not in his trial. Not in Le Vieux Cordelier. Not even in passing. And there’s no way Camille Desmoulins would have kept his mouth shut about something like that.

Which tells you everything you need to know.

Notes

(1) Saint Denis is a 3rd-century Christian martyr and the patron saint of Paris, often depicted carrying his decapitated head after being executed.

(2) General Arthur Dillon was a monarchist general arrested for suspected counter-revolutionary ties in 1973. 

(3) Legendre was a butcher turned Montagnard deputy in the National Convention, known for his bluster.

(4) Original Quote in French: Après Legendre, le membre de la Convention qui a la plus grande idée de lui -même, c'est Saint  Just. On voit dans sa démarche et dans son maintien qu′il regarde sa tête comme la pierre angulaire de la République, et qu'il la porte sur ses épaules avec respect et comme un Saint−Sacrement."

(5) Original text in French: On prétend qu’outre la haine de parti, Saint-Just nourrissait encore un ressentiment particulier contre Camille Desmoulins,  qui avait dit, dans un des numéros du Vieux Cordelier,  que Saint-Just portait sa tête comme un saint sacrement ;  à quoi l’orgueilleux décemvir avait répondu : « Je lui ferai porter la sienne comme saint Denis. »

(6) Joachim Vilate was a former juror of the Revolutionary Tribunal and author of a number of scandalous Thermidorian pamphlets accusing leading Jacobins of corruption and tyranny. 

[sieclesetcieux]

Manuscripts of Robespierre

Written between September 1791 and July 1794, these drafts of manuscripts of Robespierre, crossed out, struck through, corrected feverishly by the hand of the most famous of the Revolutionaries, remained preserved for over two centuries by the descendants of his friend Lebas; they have been bought by the State during a prestigious public sale in April 2011. 

Manuscript of Robespierre on the finances of France / Unpublished manuscript, written during the last days of the Constituent Assembly (September 1791)

Unpublished letter of Robespierre to an unknown receiver on happiness and virtue, undated [1792]

Speech of Robespierre on war, delivered at the session of the Friends of the Constitution or Jacobins (fragment), 25 January 1792

[Robespierre acquiesces to war]. Speech at the Jacobins on the current circumstances (fragment), 26 March 1792. […]

[Against Brissot]. Robespierre’s considerations on one of the principal causes of our troubles. Footnote. The Defender of the Constitution, #3, May 1792. 

[Against the Girondins]. Three fragments of a speech of Robespierre: On the influence of calumny on the Revolution, speech at the Jacobins on 28 October 1792, and two unpublished manuscripts.

[Against Pétion]. Answer of Maximilien Robespierre to Jérôme Pétion (fragment), 30 November 1792. / Lettre à ses commettans. Seventh letter of the first series. Draft, numerous crossed out passages, corrections.

[Against the indulgence for Louis XVI]. Opinion of Robespierre on the proposition […] to ban all the Capets. Followed by: Report of the sessions of the Convention from 10 to 13 December (fragment), December 1792. / Lettre à ses commettans. Eleventh letter of the first series. Draft, numerous crossed out passages, corrections.

[Robespierre at the process of Louis XVI, against the appeal to the people]. Letter to MM. Vergniaud, Gensonné, Brissot and Guadet, on the sovereignty of the people and on the system of the appeal of the judgement of Louis Capet (fragment), January 1793. / Lettre à ses commettans. First letter of the second series. Draft, numerous crossed out passages ad corrected words.

[Robespierre calls to war]. Response of the National Convention to the kings that are leagued against the Republic (fragment), 15 Frimaire, Year II (5 December 1793). Important struck out passages.

[The preparation of the Festival of the Supreme Being]. Report of the Committee of Public Safety to the Convention on the rapports of the religious and moral ideas with the republican principles, and on the national festivals (fragment), 18 Floréal Year II (7 May 1794). Important struck out passage.

[Robespierre’s last speech]. Speech of 8 Thermidor Year II (26 July 1794), fragment.

[sieclesetcieux]

Manuscripts of Robespierre

Written between September 1791 and July 1794, these drafts of manuscripts of Robespierre, crossed out, struck through, corrected feverishly by the hand of the most famous of the Revolutionaries, remained preserved for over two centuries by the descendants of his friend Lebas; they have been bought by the State during a prestigious public sale in April 2011. 

Manuscript of Robespierre on the finances of France / Unpublished manuscript, written during the last days of the Constituent Assembly (September 1791)

Unpublished letter of Robespierre to an unknown receiver on happiness and virtue, undated [1792]

Speech of Robespierre on war, delivered at the session of the Friends of the Constitution or Jacobins (fragment), 25 January 1792

[Robespierre acquiesces to war]. Speech at the Jacobins on the current circumstances (fragment), 26 March 1792. […]

[Against Brissot]. Robespierre’s considerations on one of the principal causes of our troubles. Footnote. The Defender of the Constitution, #3, May 1792. 

[Against the Girondins]. Three fragments of a speech of Robespierre: On the influence of calumny on the Revolution, speech at the Jacobins on 28 October 1792, and two unpublished manuscripts.

[Against Pétion]. Answer of Maximilien Robespierre to Jérôme Pétion (fragment), 30 November 1792. / Lettre à ses commettans. Seventh letter of the first series. Draft, numerous crossed out passages, corrections.

[Against the indulgence for Louis XVI]. Opinion of Robespierre on the proposition […] to ban all the Capets. Followed by: Report of the sessions of the Convention from 10 to 13 December (fragment), December 1792. / Lettre à ses commettans. Eleventh letter of the first series. Draft, numerous crossed out passages, corrections.

[Robespierre at the process of Louis XVI, against the appeal to the people]. Letter to MM. Vergniaud, Gensonné, Brissot and Guadet, on the sovereignty of the people and on the system of the appeal of the judgement of Louis Capet (fragment), January 1793. / Lettre à ses commettans. First letter of the second series. Draft, numerous crossed out passages ad corrected words.

[Robespierre calls to war]. Response of the National Convention to the kings that are leagued against the Republic (fragment), 15 Frimaire, Year II (5 December 1793). Important struck out passages.

[The preparation of the Festival of the Supreme Being]. Report of the Committee of Public Safety to the Convention on the rapports of the religious and moral ideas with the republican principles, and on the national festivals (fragment), 18 Floréal Year II (7 May 1794). Important struck out passage.

[Robespierre’s last speech]. Speech of 8 Thermidor Year II (26 July 1794), fragment.

[sieclesetcieux]

hi! i wanted to know if your depictions of couthon standing with mobility aids (cane, crutches) are historically accurate? i've always thought that he was fully paralysed by adulthood. lmk, please! :3

Hello!

(Firstly, if you see some grammatical errors I apologize, English is my second language)

A lot of records and books about Couthon are just in French so I might be missing some info from those (since i can't speak french)

As far as my knowledge on Couthon goes, it´s surprisingly hard to point out when exactly he started using the wheelchair. (Most sources don´t even agree on his medical condition that left him paralyzed although meningitis comes up a lot). Couthon blamed his paralysis on the frequent sexual experiences of his youth. Some sources say he was hiding behind a girl’s window as the father of the girl caught the pair. Others that, he spent the entire night hiding in cold water up to his neck. His family had apparently denied this claim and offer a different story.

„As the revolution approached, Couthon was fast becoming a cripple, so that by 1793 he was unable to walk. Doctors in 1792 gave a diagnosis of meningitis, in which modern consultants, reexamining the evidence, have concurred. Couthon told his doctors that from an early age he had freely indulged in sexual proclivities. He thought his paralysis might be due to such excesses. He lost the use of one leg shortly after an amorous adventure, in which, surprised by the girl´s father, he caught a severe chill while hiding outside her window. He took mineral baths and electric treatments, but the trouble grew worse, spreading into the other leg. In 1793 he was happily married, but so helpless that he had to be carried from place to place“

R.R. Palmer- Twelve who ruled, page 13-14

Disturbed by a jealous husband whilst he was engaged in a gallant escapade, he had passed an entire night in a cesspool up to his neck in water. He escaped at dawn, cured of a love of adventure, but crippled for life.

Lenotre G. Romances of the French revolution

On the other hand, Couthon's family, denying this version, stated that his disability appeared after a very hot prolonged bath at a French spa where he had sought to relieve his pains. This would rather point to meningitis or myelitis, of viral, bacterial, syphilitic or tubercular origin; or to multiple sclerosis. He may also have suffered from a combination of trauma and disease.

This post talks more about Couthons early illnesses

The illness seems to start as early as 1782 but progressing slowly with the breaking point in 1792/93

In 1787, before he was paralyzed, he had married Marie Brunel

Lenotre G. Romances of the French revolution, page 178

Sources seem to agree that while he may have had some pains, he was still capable of walking by the time he married Mary Brunet in 1787 when he was 32 years old. But even here are some disagreements, although my findings lead me to believe that describing Couthon completely paralyzed and fully using his wheelchair before the year 1792 is rare.

Couthon was 32 when he married a childhood friend in 1787 and his first son was born in that same year. It appears that he started having pains around that time. A year or two later his legs became paralysed. His second son was born at least 1 year later. Couthon required to be carried or to use a wheelchair. He suffered from weakness, pain, and had a gibbous deformity. Despite his worsening condition Couthon's sexual and reproductive functions remained unimpaired. His disability did not prevent him from work, political activity, travels and family life to the end.

(May 1792)

„…and a new friend Georges Couthon, confined to a wheelchair, probably as a result of meningitis, and with whom Robespierre frequently worked in the evenings in his room in the Duplays house“

Peter McPhee, Robespierre a revolutionary life, page 119

He himself believed that he could walk some distances with crutches or cane. However, it’s interesting to note that he doesn’t say anything about a wheelchair in the year 1792 and instead talks about being carried. I think even though social norms were changing at that time and the revolution wanted the public to be enlightened, I don´t think any of the options were optimal for Couthon as there must have been a lot of ableism targeted towards him. If he chose the wheelchair he would be seen as not physically fit enough to lead the revolution. If he chose to be carried it would seem like he was making himself superior (by having someone carrying him) and again not physically fit enough AND relying on other people to help him? But out of the two of these wheelchair sounds like more of a comfortable option so why would he not choose it if it would be available to him in 1792?

This residence, he wrote in October 1791, “will be very convenient for me, inasmuch as it is quite near the Assembly, and will enable me to walk there.” “With the aid of a stick or two crutches,” he could still walk at that time. But soon his sufferings increased, and his legs refused to carry him any longer. “When my pains allow me to go to the Convention,” he recorded in May 1792, “I am obliged to have myself carried right into the sanctuary.”

Lenotre G. Romances of the French revolution

Georges Couthon suffered joint problems from childhood, however it wasn't until 1782 that his condition significantly worsened, necessitating the use of a cane by 1791 and complete reliance on a wheelchair by 1793

Geoffrey Brunn, "The Evolution of a Terrorist: Georges Auguste Couthon.

The wheelchair itself wasn’t apparently that hard to operate and didn’t require much of Couthons strength

There you have a solution of the problem – Couthon propelled himself in this arm-chair upholstered in lemon colored velvet, now very much faded. He set it in motion by means of two cranks fitted to the arms, a gearing arrangement transmitting movement to the wheels. Without being as light as a tricycle, the machine which is still intact, can attain, with little effort, a fairly high speed. We can now imagine the inform Couthon-suffering from extremely violent headache, shaken by nausea and almost perpetual hiccoughs, enervated by frequent baths, fed almost exclusively on veal-broth, prostrated by pain and undermined by caries- being placed in his mechanical arm-chair, and, by a prodigious effort of his will, his hands grasping the cranks like those of two coffee-mills, setting off alone in the direction of the Convention, outdistancing able-bodied men and maneuvering among the traffic in the Rue Saint-Honoré and over the large paving-stones of the Carrousel. It must indeed have been a terrible sight to witness this wreck of a man rolling along with the noise of a rattle, his arms in perpetual horizontal rotary movement, his body bent forward, and his lifeless legs covered with wraps, perspiring and shouting „Look out there! “

Lenotre G. Romances of the French revolution, page 174

Some have said that he was carried in a back basket, whilst others have supposed that he travelled on a man’s back, and a few reports, when mentioning Couthon name do, in fact, speak of „his gendarme“ in such a way as to lead one to believe that this soldier was the cripples vehicle.

Lenotre G. Romances of the French revolution, page 173

The mentions of his almost exclusive wheelchair use seem to come around the year 1793. But it seems he could still stand up.

(On june 2 1793)

Then Georges Couthon rose to speak, physically a broken man, paralytic and ailing, who propelled himself through noisy crowds in a wheelchair, and had to be bodily carried where his wheelchair would not go.

R.R. Palmer- Twelve who ruled page 32

Couthon hobbled to the rostrum (30 brumaire 1793)

R.R. Palmer- Twelve who ruled page 147

Although he was by then confined to a wheelchair, he was sent on several important missions to the French provinces…In August 1793, he was sent to supervise the military operations against the rebellious city of Lyons, which not only proves his strong political status at the time, but also shows that his disability was not considered to be an obstacle by himself or by those surrounding him

Famously, on 26th October (1793) Couthon had himself carried "in an armchair" around the Place de Bellecour where he struck the houses with a silver hammer to symbolise their imminent demolition

The description on the plaque at Carnavalet Museum (where the wheelchair is on display) just tells us who Couthon was and that he used it. But not when he started using it. We do know that it was given to him from Versailles.

No relie presents a character of more absolute authencity than this bath-chair. It originally came from the Chateau de Versailles, where it was used by the „wife of Charles Philip Capet“- otherwise known as the Comtesse d´Artois: and it was lent to Couthon by the administrators of the national furniture warehouse.

Lenotre G. Romances of the french revolution, page 180

Now comes the year 1794 and Thermidor. By this time Couthon is completely relying on the wheelchair and others to transport him. However, there are still questions about where he could use it since CPS offices were blocked to him by a flight of stairs as was Robespierre’s room at Duplays that he often visited. So, they had to carry him up the stairs. Did they also take the chair with them? At this point it’s kind of nitpicking, but it’s noteworthy to talk about because of Robespierre’s (and Couthons) arrest.

But let’s start at the Convention on Thermidor. He most definitely sat in it while Robespierre was trying to make his speech.

Leaving Couthon in his wheelchair trailing behind, the group rushes out down the corridors towards the Convention Hall.

Colin Jones, The fall of Robespierre, 24 hours in revolutionary Paris, page 187

„Couthon“ said Fréron „is a tiger thirsting for the blood of the national representation… He wanted to make of our corpses so many steps to mount the throne. „Oh yes, I wanted to get a throne“ answered Couthon wryly looking at his withered legs.

R.R. Palmer- Twelve who ruled page 377-378

Maximilien Robespierre, Augustin Robespierre, Saint Just, Couthon and Le Bas are arrested and taken to different prisons. All of them are slowly one by one busted out of these prisons and taken to Maison Commune. (If I remember correctly Couthon was one of the last ones to arrive) Couthon was carried there.

It must be shortly after this chat that Cn. Paris perks up, to witness and join the applause for Couthon who is being carried into the Council chambre by one of his duty gendarmes.

Colin Jones, The fall of Robespierre, 24 hours in revolutionary Paris, page 368-369

Dulac was able to inveigle himself into the Maison Commune and then follow Couthon and his gendarme escort into the council chambre where he found both Robespierre and Le Bas present.

Colin Jones, The fall of Robespierre, 24 hours in revolutionary Paris, page 370

Jones also refers to them as „trusted gendamre carriers“ and the book Romances of the French revolution mentions an official report where two of these gendarme carriers are named Muron and Javoir.

On arriving he was embraced by Robespierre,… who also took the gendarme´s hand, saying to him: Worthy gendarme, I have ever loved and esteemed your body. Get to the door and continue to incense the people against the factionists. The advice was doubtless good, but Robespierre thereby did Couthon a bad turn, for, deprived of his bearer, he was at the mercy of the first comer

Lenotre G. Romances of the French revolution, page 177

Now most accounts say that Couthon fell down the stairs and injured himself in the head. The question is whether he had the wheelchair with him. Significant amount of the French revolution movies do show Couthon in his wheelchair in the Maison Commune, but it’s not very likely. Taking the wheelchair would slow down the people that were carrying Couthon to the Maison Commune from prison and that’s not very ideal when you can be arrested at any corner. Moreover, why would the Convention let Couthon keep his wheelchair when they sent him to prison? He most certainly won’t need it there.

He did indeed fell down those stairs. But without the wheelchair.

The helpless Couthon, trying to move, plunged down a staircase and injured himself in the head.

R.R. Palmer- Twelve who ruled page 379

Couthon was found at the bottom of a staircase with blood streaming from a headwound. Had he fallen, been pushed, or were he and his gendarme carrier merely seeking a way out?

Colin Jones, The fall of Robespierre, 24 hours in revolutionary Paris, page 383

Ochrnutý Couthon se zřejmě vyplazil ze zasedací místnosti až na schodiště, kde sjel po zábradlí dolů. Tam ho útočníci objevili, paralyzovaného až po nějaké době.

Translation: The paralyzed Couthon apparently crawled out of the meeting room to the staircase, where he slid down the railing. There, his attackers discovered him, paralyzed, sometime later.

Vladimír Vokál, Saint-Just, krvavý démon Francouzské revoluce, page 256

Couthon, without weapons or assistance, and incapable of even rising from the seat on which he had been placed, let himself slide to the floor, and, using his hands as crutches, succeeded in dragging himself under a table. Someone, however, discovered him in his hiding-place, and he was pitched like a bundle on to the landing at the very edge of the topmost step. A movement which he made caused him to roll to the bottom of the stone staircase and he was found the next morning, with a deep cut in his forehead, stretched in a small back courtyard to which he had crept. Motionless and his face pressed to the wall, he „feigned death“, but when the men shook him to make him stand up he tried to stab himself with a pen-knife which he held open in his hand.

Lenotre G. Romances of the French revolution, page 177

Do we really envisage him trundling to the Convention?  In the Tuileries both the hall of the Convention and the notorious green room where the Committee of Public Safety met had inconvenient flights of steps.  Historians unravelling the confused events of 9th/10th Thermidor often have Couthon toppling or throwing himself from his wheelchair down the steps of the Hôtel de Ville at the same time as Robespierre's suicide attempt, but the idea that he was moved around Paris in this contraption seems improbable.  If it was really with him at the end, how come it turned up eventually not in the official depository but among the family furniture?

His execution overall summarizes the stage of his condition towards the end of his life.

Couthon died the first, under circumstances of particular ghastliness, for the executioner took fifteen minutes to force the twisted body on to the straight plank of the guillotine, during which the screams of the tortured man mingled with the frenzied howls of the audience.

R.R. Palmer- Twelve who ruled page 381

So, in conclusion I think that up until 1791 he was using a cane or crutches. In 1792 he had himself carried but could still stand up for short periods of time and walk some distance with canes and crutches. By 1793 he started using the wheelchair but could still stand up. By 1794 he was completely paralyzed and was using his wheelchair when the surroundings allowed him to, or he had to be carried by someone.

I tried to find some paintings or engravings of Couthon in the wheelchair made during this life but every single one I found was made after his death + Couthon doesn't have that many paintings or engravings compared to Robespierre or Saint Just. Some of his paintings were burned after his death.

I reccomend looking at this account for more info about Couthon:

So because of this historical uncertainty/confusion I draw him with crutches, canes and the wheelchair : )

If I missed something or said something wrong please say so in the comments. I love learning about Couthon and will take every piece of info I can.

[sieclesetcieux]

The Collaboration and Eventual Break Between Guffroy and the Babeuf Family

Context: We are in the Thermidorian period. On July 18, 1794, Babeuf was imprisoned for the fourth time in his life. At that point, although he approved of the Thermidorian reaction, he still sought to defend the principles of the social revolution—placing him in line with other revolutionary figures such as Charles Gilbert Romme. Babeuf briefly alleviated his family’s poverty by returning to his position at the Paris Food Commission (a role he had also held in 1793), but this income was insufficient to sustain his revolutionary ambitions.

On September 3, 1794, he launched Le Journal de la Liberté de la Presse. His printer was none other than Guffroy, the proprietor of a large and well-known press located at 35 Rue Honoré, close to where Babeuf lived. Notably, this was the same press that had previously published Méhée de la Touche’s pamphlet against “Robespierre’s clique” (to borrow the phrasing of historian Jean-Marc Schiappa).

Babeuf and Guffroy entered into an agreement, and Gracchus (Babeuf) reportedly wrote: “When I launched my paper, I made no secret to him of the principles by which I intended to guide it.” At the same time, Babeuf was one of the leading figures in the Club Électoral. Following the 9th of Thermidor, this club took over the political role once held by the Cordeliers. Many active participants in the Prairial insurrection emerged from this club. Historian Tomasso referred to them as “left-wing Thermidorians,” while others dubbed them néo-hébertistes (even though Varlet was not affiliated with the exagérés faction).

The club’s most influential members included Legray, Joseph Bodson (a staunch Hébertist, close to Chaumette and Hébert, and a fervent opponent of Robespierre), and Varlet, who had emerged from the enragés movement. Bodson would later become one of the leading figures in the Babouvist conspiracy and later a prominent neo-Jacobin— even if I can no longer find any trace of him after the the Brumaire coup d'état- .

A close friendship developed among these four committed militants, even though Babeuf’s fame would only peak after being denounced by Tallien. But what was Guffroy’s role in all this? For a while, he remained aware of their activities, did not openly oppose them, and continued to serve as Babeuf’s printer. Perhaps the small size of the group and the unofficial nature of the club made it seem less threatening. Even when the Convention ordered the arrest of Varlet and Bodson and eliminated the 40-sou payment for poor citizens attending sectional assemblies, Guffroy did not immediately sever ties with Babeuf.

Meanwhile, while Babeuf led the Club Électoral, the Journal continued to be published every three days—thanks to the tireless work of his wife, Marie-Anne Babeuf, and their nine-year-old son, Émile. An August 1794 excerpt captures the family’s dedication:

“My wife (Marie-Anne) and my son, aged 9—both as devoted and republican as their husband and father—assist me in every possible way. They make the same sacrifices. They spend day and night at Guffroy’s print shop, folding, distributing, and dispatching the newspaper. Our home is abandoned. Two younger children, one only three years old (likely Camille and Sophie, the latter having died of malnutrition), are left alone, locked inside for a month. This neglect causes them to wither, yet they utter no complaints; they already seem filled with patriotic love and prepared to make all sacrifices. No meals are cooked anymore; during the publication period, we lived on bread, grapes, and nuts.”

However, tensions soon arose between the Babeufs and Guffroy. Gracchus accused the printer of theft, and Marie-Anne directly confronted him. In issue 27, Babeuf wrote:

“Guffroy shamelessly steals from me. He reaps all the rewards of my labor. My earliest issues were printed in duplicate; he sold many copies, kept all the revenue, accepted all subscriptions—and I never saw a single penny.”

Evidence of Guffroy’s guilt may lie in a letter Babeuf sent on the 21st of Vendémiaire, which included this postscript:

“The previous issues are our joint property. However, your wife (Marie-Anne) took them against my wishes. They will all be yours if you pay me for the printing.”

No subscription register existed, adding further ambiguity.So I can't know to what extent there was theft on Guffroy's part or not.

Clearly, the relationship between the Babeufs and Guffroy soured rapidly. On the 22nd of Fructidor, Roger Ducos convinced the Convention that the Club Électoral was no longer meeting in the hall of the former Archbishop’s Palace. Then, on the 7th of Vendémiaire, Year III, the club submitted a petition requesting the release of Bodson and Varlet and for the reassignment of their meeting hall. But the next day, two hundred workers and an architect were sent to demolish the hall, sparking protests and altercations. Nevertheless, on October 1, the club presented a new meeting address to the Convention. Its president, André Dumont, responded: “The revolutionary government exists, and the National Convention has sworn to preserve it in peace.” According to historian Jean-Marc Schiappa, this address was forwarded to the Committee of General Safety—where Guffroy sat—as a denunciation.

This marked the beginning of the final rift. In issue 25 (17 Vendémiaire / October 8), Babeuf declared:

“All friends of liberty seek to overthrow the revolutionary government—because it undermines all freedoms.”

In the following issue, he attacked Dumont and Fréron, both allies of Guffroy.

The break occurred shortly after. Guffroy sent Babeuf a long letter dated 21 Vendémiaire, which appeared intended for publication due to its formal, political tone. In it, he also stated he would no longer serve as Babeuf’s printer. Unfortunately, I don't find the full letter , but one notable line remains:

“You reject and you approve of the revolutionary government.”

Gracchus later claimed the break had been violent. According to him:

“Guffroy, deputy and my printer, halted the printing of issue No. 26 yesterday. He also stopped its sale, seized around thirty thousand copies of my previous issues, expelled my wife and son, and told them he intended to denounce me to the Committee of General Safety.”

If this is true, one can only imagine how intense the confrontation was for Guffroy to make such a statement in front of a nine-year-old child. The situation likely escalated gradually, especially since Marie-Anne had previously defied Guffroy by taking printed materials against his will.

Ultimately, Guffroy did denounce his former ally to the Committee of General Safety, whether to protect himself or out of ideological conviction. On the same day, Legray was arrested.

However, Babeuf soon received support from two prominent revolutionaries: Simone Evrard and especially Albertine Marat. This is unsurprising, given the longstanding correspondence and mutual admiration between Babeuf and Jean-Paul Marat. Marat had even once intervened to secure Babeuf’s release (as evidenced in this link).

Babeuf later wrote:

“I sought refuge in the home of the Friend of the People’s family. In my distress, I felt an instinctive pull toward this sanctuary of liberty. I told Marat’s widow and sister what had just happened to the one who tried to follow in his footsteps.”

Albertine, a subscriber to Babeuf’s paper, wrote a letter denouncing Fréron (available in the same link about the relationship between Marat and Babeuf ). Babeuf published it in his journal, particularly in relation to Legray’s arrest. It is notable that in issue No. 27, Babeuf publicly accuses Guffroy of theft, still referring to him as “my printer” rather than “former printer”—raising the question of whether Babeuf was attempting to pressure or shame Guffroy into cooperating.

Interestingly, Albertine’s letter, while directed at Fréron, could also be read as an implicit critique of Guffroy, especially considering the political context.

One might assume the story ends here, but from February 7 to October 18, 1795, Babeuf was once again imprisoned. According to Jean-Marc Schiappa, Marie-Anne advised her husband to use cunning—to feign submission and attempt reconciliation with his former adversaries to secure his release and resume his revolutionary work.

In a letter to his friend Thibaudeau, Babeuf explained:

“(...) My wife and son’s advice is driven by conjugal, maternal, and filial love—by their circumstances. Naturally, they urge me to do what might restore hope of my return. So I am not unaware of one of the greatest challenges: appearing as a supplicant before men I despise. In my letter to Guffroy—after which I sent my wife to him—I pretended to be humble, even apostate. I strained my imagination to craft specious arguments justifying the current regime. You’ll see it, and no doubt you’ll laugh in private. But I ask myself: will these people allow themselves to be fooled? Haven’t I shown too austere a virtue to be believed corruptible? Rougiff’s reception of my wife confirms my doubts, although he may have had his own motives…”

Thus, months after their dramatic falling-out, Marie-Anne returned to Guffroy, acting as if nothing had happened, with the clear intent to deceive him. However, it appears Guffroy was not fooled, as evidenced by Babeuf’s pessimistic reflections. One could argue that Guffroy, unlike Fouché (who did fall for the Babeufs’ deception and later paid for it in reputation), was shrewder—and perhaps more politically perceptive.

Or maybe, as speculated, Guffroy respected the political agency of women and thus never underestimated them. Perhaps that is what truly distinguished him.

P.S.: Rougyff is, in fact, Guffroy. This might partly explain why Albertine Marat reportedly disliked Charlotte Robespierre—not just for her alleged pension from Bonapartist and Bourbon regimes (which Albertine considered enemies), but also because Charlotte remained friendly with Guffroy, who opposed the Club Électoral.

As for Guffroy’s phrase, “You reject and you approve of the revolutionary government,” I’m also unsure what he meant. Perhaps it referred to Babeuf’s stance on Robespierre—whom he had come to harshly criticize, calling him wrongly a tyrant even if months laters he will become a Robespierrist again. But many anti-Thermidorians—like Albertine Marat or Bodson—also opposed Robespierre, so if Guffroy’s accusation rests solely on that, it seems illogical—unless it was a calculated political maneuver.

Sources:

Babeuf’s full letter to Thibaudeau: Read here

Tomasso: Annales Historiques de la Révolution Française

Jean-Marc Schiappa

Galina Tchertkova

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The Incidence of the Terror during the French Revolution (Donald Greer): Statistics

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The second page:

And the reference:

https://www.jstor.org/stable/41919035

Finally got my hands on the Chinese bio of Saint-Just, published in 1957 by Yang Renbian! Flipped through it and it's looking really well researched.

Also it comes with what is now my favorite portrait of SJ, omg

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A table over Robespierre’s activity at the Convention, Jacobin club and Committee of Public Safety from his election to this last body up until his death, as given by volume 10 of Oeuvres complètes de Robespierre, volume 5-15 of Recueil des actes du comité de salut public, Correspondance de Maximilien et Augustin Robespierre (1910) and Rapport au nom de la Commission des vingt-un, crée par décret du 7 nivôse, an III, pour l’examen de la conduite des Représentans du Peuple Billaud-Varennes, Collot d’Herbois et Barère, membres de l’ancien Comité de Salut Public, et Vadier, membre de l’ancien comité de Sûreté générale (1795):

Red - amount of interventions made at the National Convention. Green - amount of interventions made at the Jacobin club. Blue - amount of decrees signed at the Committee of Public Safety. — - Robespierre is recorded to have been present at the CPS, but without signing any documents there.

Out of the 83 interventions made by Robespierre at the Convention during this period, seven were bigger reports/speeches written by him (November 17, December 5, December 25 1793, February 5, May 7, June 8, July 26 1794). As can be seen, these speeches are often preceded by a rather long period of silence.

Out of the 607 CPS decrees signed by Robespierre, 83 were also drafted by him, while 40 have his signature only on them.* The subject which these decrees appear to occupy themselves the most with is arrests (20 drafted himself [1], 19 signed alone [2]) and liberations (11 drafted himself [3]). Another 19 of the decrees Robespierre had drafted himself were letters to different representatives on mission. [4]

*I’ve here reached a different conclusion than Peter McPhee, who on page 193 of his Robespierre: a revolutionary life (2010) writes: ”Of the 542 decrees of the Committee of Public Safety signed by Robespierre, 124 were written in his own hand, and these along with the 47 others that he signed first were largely to do with policing and arrests.”

[1] On August 22, August 28, September 7, September 27, October 4, October 12, October 22, November 2, November 4, November 27, December 15, December 29, December 31, March 17 (two arrests), March 18, March 29 (two arrests), April 14, May 22.

[2] On September 9, June 19 (seven arrests), June 24 (two arrests), June 25 (four arrests), June 29 (three arrests), June 30 (two arrests)

[3] On October 29, November 4, November 22, December 16, January 18, February 7, March 18, March 25, April 14, April 15, May 7.

[4] On October 12, October 13 (four letters), October 27, October 28, November 2, November 3, November 4 (two letters), undated November, December 10, December 31, January 8 (three letters), May 14, May 25.

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Resources on Prieur de la Côte-d'Or

I decided it was about time to compile a convenient list with all the information and resources I could find about Claude-Antoine Prieur, also known as Prieur de la Côte-d'Or.

It's very much a work in progress: some posts, those without a link, are yet to be written. The list will be updated and edited with time.

♢ Biographies

Full books

Paul Gaffarel - Prieur de la Côte-d'Or, Librairie Noury, Dijon (1900).

Georges Bouchard - Prieur de la Côte-d'Or, un organisateur de la victoire, Librairie Historique R. Claveruil, Paris (1946).

(Not only I plan to transcribe both of them in a lighter, more readable format, but also to write a post comparing the two, though this should wait until I finish reading them fully. For now, from what I could see, none of the two could be considered a definitive Prieur biography: Paul Gaffarel didn't have access to Prieur's personal papers, resulting in a very incomplete work and inaccuracies; as far as Bouchard is concerned, he was no historian but a chemist and it shows both in his very superficial interpretation of the historical period in which Prieur lived and in the uncritical way in which he analyses primary accounts and sources about the latter.

For anyone interested in Prieur's life, I would recommend you to start from the 1946 one: despite the many criticism I personally have towards it, it's more complete, since Bouchard was granted access to Claude-Antoine's papers.)

Summaries

Timeline for Prieur's life

"Profile card" by @saintjustitude.

Translation of Gainot's entry on Prieur mentioned in Dictionnaire des membres du Comité de Salut Public

♢ Primary Sources

Correspondence and personal writings

Prieur's letter to Louis XVI on the importance of having a unified metric system in France

Prieur's letter to Guyton dated 10 Thermidor an II (28 July 1794)

Prieur's speech of 3 Germinal an III

Prieur's last written letter (to Simonne Frilley)

C.A. Prieur - Révelations sur le Comité de Salut Public (I plan to translate them all into English eventually)

Modern transcription of Prieur's first work on the metric system: Mémoire sur la nécessité et les moyens de rendre uniformes, dans le royaume, toutes les mesures d’étendue et de pesanteur

PNG Vector of Prieur's signature (by @senechalum)

Some excerpts from Prieur's first work on the metric system: 1. On the benefit of using the decimal scale 2. Conclusion of the memoir (summary of Prieur’s proposal)

Prieur's speech on the occasion of his admission to Dijon's Academy of Science

CSP decrees written and/or signed by him

Copy of the Letter of the Committee of Public Safety to the Directory of the District of Valence dated 19 Pluviôse [Year II]

♢ Secondary Sources

Camille Richard - Le Comité de Salut Public et les fabrications de guerre sous la Terreur, Rieder Ed., Paris, (1922) (A very interesting book on the warfare during the Terror (93-94), explaining Prieur, Carnot and Lindet's duties and contributions.)

Bertrand Barère on Prieur

Paul Arbelet on Prieur

Paul Arbelet - La jeunesse de Prieur de la Côte-d'Or, Revue du dix-huitième siècle (1916)

Bulletin de la Sabix - n°8 (décembre 1991) (it's a small journal written in French with some articles about the founding of the Polytechnic School and Prieur's role in it)

♢ Posts

Prieur's personality: an introduction by @saintjustitude

Various portraits

Quotes (by him and on him)

Prieur's baptism certificate

Prieur's family crest

On Prieur's family

On Prieur's daughter (some additions by @nesiacha)

On Prieur's disability

Charles Bossut on Prieur's school perfomance at the École de Mézières

On Carnot and Prieur’s friendship (1, 2, 3, 4)

Prieur was never named Compte de l'Empire by Napoléon

On the mutual dislike between Prieur and Bonaparte

Historical inaccuracies in Arte's documentary Un mètre pour mesurer le monde

Prieur's contributions to the establishment of a new unified metric system

How Prieur and Carnot were elected members of the Committee of Public safety

Prieur's duties and contributions as member of the CSP

Prieur's contributions in the foundation and political defense of the École Polytechnique

Prieur's attendance at the CSP

Prieur's depiction in media

The bizarre legend about Prieur knowing that Louis-Charles Capet was freed from the Temple and substituted with another child

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Portrait of Charlotte Robespierre, in Collection d'autographes, de dessins et de portraits de personnages célèbres, français et étrangers, du XVIe au XIXe siècle, formée par Alexandre Bixio

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Finding things like that is worth more than prizes given by prestigious institutions tbh:

Knowledge being shared freely across borders and languages.

That's beautiful.

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Exhibition 1793-1794 at the Carnavalet Museum (Part I)

For anyone interested in the French Revolution, a visit to the Carnavalet Museum is essential. Though the museum covers the history of Paris from its very beginnings to the present, it’s also home to the world’s largest collection of revolutionary artefacts. Which makes sense, given that Paris was the epicentre of it all.

Frankly, if you plan to explore it all, you’ll want to set aside a good 3–4 hours. For those focused solely on the French Revolution, head straight to the second floor, where you can get through the collection in under an hour. Best of all, the permanent collection is free, making it a brilliant way to spend an afternoon in the city on a budget.

Currently, though, there’s a special treat on offer. Running from 16 October 2024 to 16 February 2025, the museum is hosting an exhibition dedicated to my favourite (and arguably the most chaotic) year of the revolution: Year II (1).

Now, since the family and I were in Reims for a long weekend, I somehow managed (possibly after too much Champagne) to convince my husband to drive 150 kilometres to Paris just so I could see Robespierre’s unfinished signature. It helped that the kids were on board, too. Yes, the four-year-old fully recognises Robespierre by portrait. The one-year-old is, predictably, indifferent.

So, slightly worse for wear after a ridiculous amount of Champagne tastings, off we went to the museum.

1. Why Year II?

Because it was a catastrophe. No. Really.  Let me explain, in a very overly-simplified summary:

In Year II, France was plunged into an unparalleled storm of internal and external crises that would define the Revolution’s most radical year and ultimately mark its turning point.

Internally, the government was riven by factional divides, economic collapse, and civil war. The Jacobins (2) took control of the Convention, sidelining the federalist Girondins (3), aligning themselves with the sans-culottes (4), and arguing that only extreme measures could preserve the Revolution. Meanwhile, the more radical Enragés (5) demanded harsh economic policies to shield the poor from spiralling inflation and food shortages. The Convention introduced the Maximum Général (6) to placate them, which capped essential prices; however, enforcement was haphazard, fuelling discontent across the country. At the same time, the Indulgents (7) called for a reduction in violence and a return to clemency.

Externally, France’s situation was equally dire, encircled by the First Coalition—a formidable alliance of Britain, Austria, Prussia, Spain, and the Dutch Republic, all intent on crushing the Revolution before it spread further. With the execution of Louis XVI, France found itself diplomatically isolated, and the army was, frankly, a shambles. Most officers were either nobles or incompetent (8), and the soldiers were inadequately trained and equipped. In a desperate bid to defend the Republic, the Convention issued the Levée en Masse (9) in August 1793, sparking revolts in many cities and outright civil war in the West.

Confronted with this barrage of existential threats, the Convention dialled up its response in spectacular fashion, unleashing what we now know as the Terror—a period of sweeping repression backed by some rather questionable legislation. As you can likely guess from the name alone, this was a brilliant idea…

Put simply: by the end of Year II, nearly all the key figures who had spearheaded the Revolution up to that point were dead. And no, they didn’t slip away peacefully in their sleep from some ordinary epidemic. They met their end at the guillotine.

In short, Year II wasn’t just the Revolution's most radical and defining phase—it was also the year the Revolution itself died. Yes, the Revolution, in its truest, purest, most uncompromising form, met its end the moment the guillotine's blade struck Robespierre’s neck.

2. Overview of the exhibition

The visit  opens with the destruction of the 1791 Constitution and closes with Liberty, an allegorical figure of the Republic depicted as a woman holding the Declaration of the Rights of Man in her right hand. In between, the experience is structured around five main themes:

A New Regime: The Republic

Paris: Revolution in Daily Life

Justice: From Ordinary to Exceptional

Prisons and Execution Sites

Beyond Legends

More than 250 artefacts are featured, including paintings, sculptures, decorative arts, historical items, wallpapers, posters, and furniture. The layout is carefully structured around these themes, with a distinct use of colour to set the tone: the first three sections have a neutral palette, while the final two glow in vivid red, creating a very nice change in atmosphere.

What I appreciated most was how the descriptions handle the messy legacy of Year II. The texts actually admit that, while some Parisians saw this year as a bold step towards equality and utopia, for others it was an absolute nightmare. This balance is refreshing, even if things are a bit simplified (because how could they not be?), and it gives a well-rounded view of a wildly complicated time.

In this first part, I'll focus on the first two sections, as the latter three fit together neatly and deserve a deep dive of their own. Besides, there's so much to unpack that I'll likely exceed Tumblr's word limit (and the patience of anyone reading this).

3. A New Regime: The Republic

The first section covers the shift from the Ancien Régime to the First Republic, and, fittingly, it starts with a smashed relic of the old order: the Constitution of 1791. After the monarchy’s fall and the republic’s proclamation in September 1792, the old constitution was meaningless. Though it technically remained in force for a few months, it was replaced by the Constitution of Year I in 1793, marking the end of France’s brief experiment with a constitutional monarchy. In May 1793, the old document was ceremonially obliterated with the “national sledgehammer”—a bit dramatic, perhaps, but Year II was nothing if not dramatic.

This section zeroes in on the governance of the new republic, featuring the Constitution of Year I, portraits of convention members, objects from the Committee of Public Safety and the National Convention (including a folder for Robespierre’s correspondence), and national holiday memorabilia. There’s even a nice nod to Hérault de Séchelles (10) as a principal author of the republican constitution.

3.1 Martyrdom as a political tool

Interestingly, the exhibition places a heavy emphasis on the concept of martyrdom. A significant portion of this first area is dedicated to the Death of Marat (11) and, to a lesser extent, the assassination of Le Peletier (12). It’s a clever angle since martyrs—whether well-known figures or nameless soldiers—have always been handy for rallying public opinion. The revolutionary government of Year II understood this all too well and wielded the concept to its full advantage.

In this spirit, the middle of this section features a reproduction of David’s Death of Marat, several drawings from Marat’s funeral, Marat’s mortuary mask, a supposed piece of his jaw, and more. Notably absent are any issues of L’Ami du Peuple, as though the display suggests Marat’s death was more impactful to the Republic’s narrative than his actual writings. I’d agree with that—the moment he died, he was elevated to a mythic status, and his legacy as a martyr of Year II took on a life of its own.

4. Paris: Revolution in Daily Life

While the first section focuses on the workings of governance, this part delves into Year II’s impact on ordinary Parisians. This period stands out for two reasons: France was in economic and political turmoil (wars, both internal and external, aren’t exactly budget-friendly), yet it also managed to introduce some remarkably forward-thinking legislation aimed at improving the lives of the common people.

4.1 The Paris Commune & Paranoia

To understand life in Paris during Year II, we can’t overlook the role of the Paris Commune (13). Rooted in the revolutionary spirit of the Estates General of 1789 and officially formalised by the law of 19 October 1792, the Commune was the governing body responsible for Paris. Divided into forty-eight sections, each with its own assembly, it gave citizens a strong voice in electing representatives and local officials. Led by a mayor, a general council, and a municipal body, the Commune handled essential civic matters like public works, subsistence, and policing.

From 2 June 1793 to 27 July 1794 (the height of Year II), the Commune implemented the policies of the Montagnard (14) Convention, which aimed to build a social structure grounded in the natural rights of man and citizen, reaffirmed on 24 June 1793. This social programme sought to guarantee basic rights such as subsistence (covering food, lighting, heating, clothing, and shelter), work (including access to tools, raw materials, and goods), assistance (support for children, the elderly, and the sick; rights to housing and healthcare), and education (fostering knowledge and preserving arts and sciences).

All this unfolded in an atmosphere thick with paranoia and intense policing; enemies were believed to lurk everywhere. The display does a solid job of capturing this side of the Paris Commune, featuring various illustrations that urged people to conform to new revolutionary norms—wear the cockade, play your part in the social order, fight for and celebrate the motherland, and so on.

One of my favourite pieces was the record of cartes de sûreté (safety cards) from one of the 48 Parisian sections. Made compulsory for Parisians in April 1793, these cards were meant to confirm that their holders weren’t considered “suspects” in a climate thick with paranoia. This small, seemingly random document—issued or revoked at the discretion of an equally random Revolutionary Committee—had the power to decide a person’s freedom or the lack of it.

At the risk of sounding sentimental, in the study of history, we often focus on broad events and overlook the "little guy" who lived through them. But here, this record reminds us that behind each document was, in fact, a real person. And that this very real person was trying to make their way through a reality that, 230 years ago, must have felt stifling and, at times, terrifying.

4.2 Education

A significant spotlight is rightly placed on education in this exhibition section, given the sweeping changes it underwent during the Revolution.

Before 1789, Paris was well-supplied with educational institutions. Eleven historic colleges and a semi-subsidised university offered prestigious studies in theology, law, medicine, and the arts, drawing students from across France. Inspired by Enlightenment ideals, boarding schools and specialised courses in subjects like science and mathematics had sprung up, mainly catering to the middle class, while working-class children attended charity schools. Private adult education also provided technical and scientific training. The catch? Most of these were church-operated.

Revolutionary policies targeting the Church caused a mass departure of teachers, financial difficulties, and restrictions on hiring unsalaried educators. Military demands, economic turmoil, and protests added to the strain on schools. Even the Sorbonne (15) was shut down in 1792, and by late 1793, nearly all Parisian colleges were closed except for Louis-le-Grand (16), which was renamed École Égalité. With the teacher shortage and soaring inflation, a handful of institutions struggled on.

This left the Convention and the Paris Commune scrambling to find new ways to educate the young, and they rose (or at least attempted to rise) to the occasion. On 19 December 1793, the Bouquier Decree aimed to establish free, secular, and mandatory primary education—a remarkable move, though it never fully materialised due to lack of funding.

With France at war, the Convention turned public education towards the needs of a nation in crisis. Throughout 1793 and 1794, new scientific and technical programmes sprang up to meet urgent demands, combat food shortages, and push social progress. Thousands of students were trained in saltpetre refinement (vital for gunpowder), and scientific knowledge spread beyond chemists to artisans and tin workers. In the final months of Year II, a saltpetre refinement zone was set up, the École de Mars was founded to rapidly train young men in military techniques, and the École Centrale des Travaux Publics (future École Polytechnique) was established to develop engineers in military-technical fields.

The education display features a fascinating array of educational degrees, lists of primary school students, and instructor rosters. Although a bit more context on the educational upheaval would have been helpful, the artefacts themselves are intriguing. Placed in the context of the rest of the exhibit, it’s clear that the new educational system wasn’t just about breaking away from the Ancien Régime; it was also very deliberately and openly crafted to instil republican ideals. Nothing illustrates this better than the way Joseph Barra(17) was promoted as a model for students at the École de Mars.

And, of course, this section also showcases one of the most enduring legacies of the Revolution: the introduction of the metric system and modern standardised measurements.

4.3 The (lack of) Women in Year II

The women of Year II were not real women. They were symbols—or so the imagery from the era would have us believe. There is shockingly little about the actual experiences of women in the collective memory of Year II.

Women played active roles in the Revolution. They filled the Assembly’s tribunes as spectators, mobilised in the sections, founded clubs, joined public debates, signed petitions, and even participated in mixed societies. In many cases, they worked side by side with men to bring about the Republic of Year II. So where are they?

Well, they’re certainly not prominent in this exhibition—but that’s not the fault of the organisers. It’s a reflection of how the time chose to represent them. In revolutionary imagery, women became allegories: symbols of Liberty, wisdom, the Republic, or the ideal mother raising citizens for the state, often reduced to stereotypes and caricatures. Rarely were they depicted as part of the public sphere.

The absence of a serious discourse on women’s rights in this part of the exhibition speaks volumes and is true to the period itself. At the time, there was no cohesive movement for women’s rights, and while specific individuals pushed for aspects of female citizenship, these efforts lacked unity or a common cause. Eventually, being perceived as too radical, all women's clubs were closed in 1973.

4.4 Dechristianisation

In my view, dechristianisation was perhaps the greatest misstep of the various governments from 1789 onwards. Not because I think religion should be central to people’s lives—not at all—but because, in 18th-century France, it simply was essential for most. The reasoning behind this attack on religion was sound enough: no government wants to be beholden to a pope in Rome who had heavily supported the deposed king. But in practice, the application of this principle was far from effective.

By Year II, Parisian authorities were still grappling with the fallout from the Civil Constitution of the Clergy (1790), which had left Catholics split between two competing churches: the constitutional church, loyal to the Revolution, and the refractory church, loyal to Rome. Patriotic priests suspected refractory priests of using their influence to fuel counter-revolutionary sentiment—a suspicion that only intensified the general atmosphere of paranoia.

As tension mounted, it devolved, as these things often do, into outright destruction. On 23 October 1793, the Commune of Paris ordered the removal of all monuments that "encouraged religious superstitions or reminded the public of past kings." Religious statues were removed, replaced by images of revolutionary martyrs like Le Peletier, Marat, and Chalier (19), in an effort to supplant the cult of saints with the cult of republican heroes.

The exhibition presents this wave of destruction with artefacts from ruined religious statues, the most striking being the head of one of the Kings of Judah from Notre-Dame’s facade. These 28 statues were dragged down and mutilated in a frenzy against royalist symbols in 1793. . Ironically, they weren’t even French kings; they were Old Testament kings, supposedly ancestors of Christ—a fact that most people at the time were probably blissfully unaware of. But hey, destruction in the name of ignorance is nothing new, is it?

Many in the Convention and the Commune were atheists and enthusiastically supported the secularisation of public life. Unfortunately, they didn’t represent the majority of the French population. To bridge this gap, Robespierre proposed a "moral religion" without clergy, a way for citizens to unite and celebrate a shared, secularised liberty. In December 1793, the Convention passed a decree granting "unlimited liberty of worship," leading to the Festival of the Supreme Being, held in Paris and throughout France on 8 June 1794.

As with so much in Year II, the "Supreme Being" affair was a logical solution to a pressing problem that ended up blowing up in Robespierre’s face—by now, you might detect a pattern. But that’s a story for Part II of this already very long post.

5. Conclusion to Part 1

Overall, the exhibition presents the first two themes—A New Regime: The Republic and Paris: Revolution in Daily Life—in a balanced way, which I really appreciate. I was expecting a bit more sensationalism, given that Year II is known for its brutality, but instead, it provides a thoughtful overview of how the Republic was structured and the impact this had on Parisians.

The range of media and text offers a good dive into key points, especially on everyday life during the period. I didn’t listen to everything, but from what I saw, the explanations were well done. Naturally, since the exhibition is aimed at the general public, many aspects are simplified.

For younger audiences (pre-teens, perhaps?), the exhibit includes 11 watercolour illustrations by Florent Grouazel and Younn Locard. These two artists attempt to fill the gaps by depicting events from the period that lack contemporary representation (like the destruction of the Constitution with the “national sledgehammer” on 5 May 1793—an event documented but unillustrated at the time). For each scene, they created a young character as an actor or observer, sometimes just a witness to history, to make the scene more immersive. It’s a nice touch, though easy to overlook if you’re not paying close attention.

In Part II, I’ll share my thoughts on the remaining themes: Justice, Prisons and Execution Sites, and Beyond Legends. And yes, a lot of that will involve Thermidor—how could it not?

In the meantime, if you made it this far… well, I’m impressed!

Notes

(1) Year II: Refers to the period from 22 September 1793 to 21 September 1794 in the French Revolutionary calendar.

(2) Jacobins: A political group advocating social reform and, by 1793, strongly promoting Republican ideals. Most revolutionaries were, or had once been, members of the Jacobin club, though by Year II, Robespierre stood out as its most prominent figure.

(3) Girondins: A conservative faction within the National Convention, representing provincial interests and, to some extent, supporting constitutional monarchy. Key figures included Brissot and Roland.

(4) Sans-culottes: Working-class Parisians who championed radical changes and economic reforms to support the poor. The name “sans-culottes” (meaning "without knee breeches") symbolised their rejection of aristocratic dress in favour of working-class trousers.

(5) Enragés: An ultra-radical group demanding strict economic controls, such as price caps on essentials, to benefit the poor. Led by figures like Jacques Roux and, to some extent, Jacques Hébert, the Enragés urged the Convention to fully break from the Ancien Régime.

(6) Maximum Général: A 1793 law imposing price caps on essential goods to curb inflation and aid the poor. Though well-intended, it was difficult to enforce and stirred resentment among merchants.

(7) Indulgents: A faction led by Danton and Desmoulins advocating a relaxation of the severe repressive measures introduced in Year II, calling instead for clemency and a return to more moderate governance.

(8) Incompetence: At the Revolution’s outset, military positions were primarily held by nobles. By Year II, these noble officers were often dismissed due to mistrust, and their replacements—particularly in the civil conflict in the West—were frequently inexperienced, and some, quite frankly, incompetent.

(9) Levée en Masse: A mass conscription decree of 1793 requiring all able-bodied, unmarried men aged 18 to 25 to enlist. This unprecedented mobilisation extended to the wider population, with men of other ages filling support roles, women making uniforms and tending to the wounded, and children gathering supplies.

(10) Hérault de Séchelles: A lawyer, politician, and member of the Committee of Public Safety during Year II, known primarily for helping to draft the Constitution of 1793.

(11) Jean-Paul Marat: A radical journalist and politician, fiercely supportive of the sans-culottes and advocating revolutionary violence in his publication L’Ami du Peuple. Assassinated in 1793, he became the Revolution’s most famous martyr.

(12) Louis-Michel Le Peletier de Saint-Fargeau: A politician and revolutionary who voted in favour of the king’s execution and was assassinated in 1793 shortly after casting his vote, becoming a symbol of revolutionary sacrifice.

(13) Paris Commune: Not to be confused with the better-known Paris Commune of 1871, this Commune was the governing body of Paris during the Revolution, responsible for administering the city and playing a key role in revolutionary events.

(14) Montagnard Convention: The left-wing faction of the National Convention, dominated by Jacobins, which held power during the Revolution’s most radical phase and implemented the Reign of Terror.

(15) Sorbonne: Founded in the 13th century by Robert de Sorbon as a theological college, the Sorbonne evolved into one of Europe’s most respected centres for higher learning, particularly known for theology, philosophy, and the liberal arts. It was closed during the Revolution due to anti-clerical reforms.

(16) Louis-Le-Grand: A prestigious secondary school in Paris, temporarily renamed École Égalité during the Revolution. Notable alumni include Maximilien Robespierre and Camille Desmoulins.

(17) Joseph Barra: A young soldier killed in 1793 during the War in the Vendée, whose death was used as revolutionary propaganda to inspire loyalty and martyrdom among French youth.

(18) Civil Constitution of the Clergy: A 1790 law that brought the Catholic Church in France under state control, requiring clergy to swear allegiance to the government. This split Catholics between “constitutional” and “refractory” priests, heightening religious tensions.

(19) Joseph Chalier: A revolutionary leader in Lyon who supported radical policies. He was executed in 1793 after attempting to enforce these policies, later becoming a martyr for the revolutionary cause.

[sieclesetcieux]

30 Rue des Cordeliers, today - 20 Rue de l’École de Médecine, Paris, France.

Last place where Jean-Paul Marat lived in (with Simmone Evrard). [x x x]

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[sieclesetcieux]

The Women of the French Revolution (and even the Napoleonic Era) and Their Absence of Activism or Involvement in Films

Warning: I am currently dealing with a significant personal issue that I’ve already discussed in this post: https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/765252498913165313/the-scars-of-a-toxic-past-are-starting-to-surface?source=share. I need to refocus on myself, get some rest, and think about what I need to do. I won’t be around on Tumblr or social media for a few days (at most, it could last a week or two, though I don’t really think it will).

But don’t worry about me—I’m not leaving Tumblr anytime soon. I just wanted to let you know so you don’t worry if you don’t see me and have seen this post.

I just wanted to finish this post, which I’d already started three-quarters of the way through.

One aspect that frustrates me in film portrayals (a significant majority, around 95%) is the way women of the Revolution or even the Napoleonic era are depicted. Generally, they are shown as either "too gentle" (if you know what I mean), merely supporting their husbands or partners in a purely romantic way. Just look at Lucile Desmoulins—she is depicted as a devoted lover in most films but passive and with little to say about politics.

Yet there’s so much to discuss regarding women during this revolutionary period. Why don’t we see mention of women's clubs in films? There were over 50 in France between 1789 and 1793. Why not mention Etta Palm d’Alders, one of the founders of the Société Patriotique et de Bienfaisance des Amies de la Vérité, who fought for the right to divorce and for girls' education? Or the cahier from the women of Les Halles, requesting that wine not be taxed in Paris?

Only once have I seen Louise Reine Audu mentioned in a film (the excellent Un peuple et son Roi), a Parisian market woman who played a leading role in the Revolution. She led the "dames des halles" and on October 5, 1789, led a procession from Paris to Versailles in this famous historical event. She was imprisoned in September 1790, amnestied a year later through the intervention of Paris mayor Pétion, and later participated in the storming of the Tuileries on August 10, 1792. Théroigne de Méricourt appears occasionally as a feminist, but her mission is often distorted. She was not a Girondin, as some claim, but a proponent of reconciliation between the Montagnards and the Girondins, believing women had a key role in this process (though she did align with Brissot on the war question). She was a hands-on revolutionary, supporting the founding of societies with Charles Gilbert-Romme and demanding the right to bear arms in her Amazon attire.

Why is there no mention in films of Pauline Léon and Claire Lacombe, two well-known women of the era? Pauline Léon was more than just a fervent supporter of Théophile Leclerc, a prominent ultra-revolutionary of the "Enragés." She was the eldest daughter of chocolatier parents, her father a philosopher whom she described as very brilliant. She was highly active in popular societies. Her mother and a neighbor joined her in protesting the king’s flight and at the Champ-de-Mars protest in July 1791, where she reportedly defended a friend against a National Guard soldier. Along with other women (and 300 signatures, including her mother’s), she petitioned for women’s rights. She participated in the August 10 uprising, attacked Dumouriez in a session of the Société fraternelle des patriotes des deux sexes, demanded the King’s execution, and called for nobles to be banned from the army at the Jacobin Club, in the name of revolutionary women. She joined her husband Leclerc in Aisne where he was stationed (see @anotherhumaninthisworld’s excellent post on Pauline Léon). Claire Lacombe was just as prominent at the time and shared her political views. She was one of those women, like Théroigne de Méricourt, who advocated taking up arms to fight the tyrant. She participated in the storming of the Tuileries in 1792 and received a civic crown, like Louise Reine Audu and Théroigne de Méricourt. She was active at the Jacobin Club before becoming secretary, then president of the Société des Citoyennes Républicaines Révolutionnaires (Society of Revolutionary Republican Women). Contrary to popular belief, there’s no evidence she co-founded this society (confirmed by historian Godineau). Lacombe demanded the trial of Marie Antoinette, stricter measures against suspects, prosecution of Girondins by the Revolutionary Tribunal, and the application of the Constitution. She also advocated for greater social rights, as expressed in the Enragés petition, which would later be adopted by the Exagérés, who were less suspicious of delegated power and saw a role beyond the revolutionary sections.

Olympe de Gouges did not call for women to bear arms; in her Declaration of the Rights of Woman and the Female Citizen, addressed to the Queen after the royal family’s attempted escape, she demanded gender equality. She famously said, "A woman has the right to mount the scaffold; she must equally have the right to mount the rostrum," and denounced the monarchy when Louis XVI's betrayal became undeniable, although she sought clemency for him and remained a royalist. She could be both a patriot and a moderate (in the conservative sense; moderation then didn’t necessarily imply clemency but rather conservative views on certain matters).

Why Are Figures Like Manon Roland Hardly Mentioned in These Films?

In most films, Manon Roland is barely mentioned, or perhaps given a brief appearance, despite being a staunch republican from the start who worked toward the fall of the King and was more than just a supporter of her husband, Roland. She hosted a salon where political ideas were exchanged and was among those who contributed to the monarchy's downfall. Of course, she was one of those courageous women who, while brave, did not advocate for women’s rights. It’s essential to note that just because some women fought in the Revolution or displayed remarkable courage doesn’t mean they necessarily advocated for greater rights for women (even Olympe de Gouges, as I mentioned earlier, had her limits on gender equality, as she did not demand the right for women to bear arms).

Speaking of feminism, films could also spotlight Sophie de Grouchy, the wife and influence behind Condorcet, one of the few deputies (along with Charles Gilbert-Romme, Guyomar, Charlier, and others) who openly supported political and civic rights for women. Without her, many of Condorcet’s posthumous works wouldn’t have seen the light of day; she even encouraged him to draft Sketch and received several pages to publish, which she did. Like many women, she hosted a salon for political discussion, making her a true political thinker.

Then there’s Rosalie Jullien, a highly cultured woman and wife of Marc-Antoine Jullien, whose sons were fervent revolutionaries. She played an essential role during the Revolution, actively involving herself in public affairs, attending National Assembly sessions, staying informed of political debates and intrigues, and even sending her maid Marion to gather information on the streets. Rosalie’s courage is evident in her steadfastness, as she claimed she would "stay at her post" despite the upheaval, loyal to her patriotic and revolutionary ideals. Her letters offer invaluable insights into the Revolution. She often discussed public affairs with prominent revolutionaries like the Robespierre siblings and influential figures like Barère.

Lucile Desmoulins is another figure. She was not just the devoted lover often depicted in films; she was a fervent supporter of the French Revolution. From a young age, her journal reveals her anti-monarchist sentiments (no wonder she and Camille Desmoulins, who shared her ideals, were such a united couple). She favored the King’s execution without delay and wholeheartedly supported Camille in his publication, Le Vieux Cordelier. When Guillaume Brune urged Camille to tone down his criticism of the Year II government, Lucile famously responded, “Let him be, Brune. He must save his country; let him fulfill his mission.” She also corresponded with Fréron on the political situation, proving herself an indispensable ally to Camille. Lucile left a journal, providing historical evidence that counters the infantilization of revolutionary women. Sadly, we lack personal journals from figures like Éléonore Duplay, Sophie Momoro, or Claire Lacombe, which has allowed detractors to argue (incorrectly) that these women were entirely under others' influence.

Additionally, there were women who supported Marat, like his sister Albertine Marat and his "wife"Simone Evrard, without whom he might not have been as effective. They were politically active throughout their lives, regularly attending political clubs and sharing their political views. Simone Evrard, who inspired much admiration, was deeply committed to Marat’s work. Marat had promised her marriage, and she was warmly received by his family. She cared for Marat, hiding him in the cellar to protect him from La Fayette’s soldiers. At age 28, Simone played a vital role in Marat’s life, both as a partner and a moral supporter. At this time, Marat, who was 20 years her senior, faced increasing political isolation; his radical views and staunch opposition to the newly established constitutional monarchy had distanced him from many revolutionaries.

Despite the circumstances, Simone actively supported Marat, managing his publications. With an inheritance from her late half-sister Philiberte, Simone financed Marat’s newspaper in 1792, setting up a press in the Cordeliers cloister to ensure the continued publication of Marat’s revolutionary pamphlets. Although Marat also sought public funds, such as from minister Jean-Marie Roland, it was mainly Simone’s resources that sustained L’Ami du Peuple. Simone and Marat also planned to publish political works, including Chains of Slavery and a collection of Marat’s writings. After Marat’s assassination in July 1793, Simone continued these projects, becoming the guardian of his political legacy. Thanks to her support, Marat maintained his influence, continuing his revolutionary struggle and exposing the “political machination” he opposed.

Simone’s home on Rue des Cordeliers also served as an annex for Marat’s printing press. This setup combined their personal life with professional activities, incorporating security measures to protect Marat. Simone, her sister Catherine, and their doorkeeper, Marie-Barbe Aubain, collaborated in these efforts, overseeing the workspace and its protection.

On July 13, 1793, Jean-Paul Marat was assassinated by Charlotte Corday. Simone Evrard was present and immediately attempted to help Marat and make sure that Charlotte Corday was arrested . She provided precise details about the circumstances of the assassination, contributing significantly to the judicial file that would lead to Corday’s condemnation.

After Marat’s death, Simone was widely recognized as his companion by various revolutionaries and orators who praised her dignity, and she was introduced to the National Convention by Robespierre on August 8, 1793 when she make a speech against Theophile Leclerc,Jacques Roux, Carra, Ducos,Dulaure, Pétion... Together with Albertine Marat (who also left written speeches from this period), Simone took on the work of preserving and publishing Marat’s political writings. Her commitment to this cause led to new arrests after Robespierre's fall, exposing the continued hostility of factions opposed to Marat’s supporters, even after his death.

Moreover, Jean-Paul Marat benefited from the support of several women of the Revolution, and he would not have been as effective without them.

The Duplay sisters were much more politically active than films usually portray. Most films misleadingly present them as mere groupies (considering that their father is often incorrectly shown as a simple “yes-man” in these same, often misogynistic, films, it's no surprise the treatment of women is worse).

Élisabeth Le Bas, accompanied her husband Philippe Le Bas on a mission to Alsace, attended political sessions, and bravely resisted prison guards who urged her to marry Thermidorians, expressing her anger with great resolve. She kept her husband’s name, preserving the revolutionary legacy through her testimonies and memoirs. Similarly, Éléonore Duplay, Robespierre’s possible fiancée, voluntarily confined herself to care for her sister, suffered an arrest warrant, and endured multiple prison transfers. Despite this, they remained politically active, staying close to figures in the Babouvist movement, including Buonarroti, with whom Éléonore appeared especially close, based on references in his letters.

Henriette Le Bas, Philippe Le Bas's sister, also deserves more recognition. She remained loyal to Élisabeth and her family through difficult times, even accompanying Philippe, Saint-Just, and Élisabeth on a mission to Alsace. She was briefly engaged to Saint-Just before the engagement was quickly broken off, later marrying Claude Cattan. Together with Éléonore, she preserved Élisabeth’s belongings after her arrest. Despite her family’s misfortunes—including the detention of her father—Henriette herself was surprisingly not arrested. Could this be another coincidence when it came to the wives and sisters of revolutionaries, or perhaps I missed part of her story?

Charlotte Robespierre, too, merits more focus. She held her own political convictions, sometimes clashing with those of her brothers (perhaps often, considering her political circle was at odds with their stances). She lived independently, never marrying, and even accompanied her brother Augustin on a mission for the Convention. Tragically, she was never able to reconcile with her brothers during their lifetimes. For a long time, I believed that Charlotte’s actions—renouncing her brothers to the Thermidorians after her arrest, trying to leverage contacts to escape her predicament, accepting a pension from Bonaparte, and later a stipend under Louis XVIII—were all a matter of survival, given how difficult life was for a single woman then. I saw no shame in that (and I still don’t). The only aspect I faulted her for was embellishing reality in her memoirs, which contain some disputable claims. But I recently came across a post by @saintejustitude on Charlotte Robespierre, and honestly, it’s one of the best (and most well-informed) portrayals of her.

As for the the hébertists womens , films could cover Sophie Momoro more thoroughly, as she played the role of the Goddess of Reason in her husband’s de-Christianization campaigns, managed his workshop and printing presses in his absence accompanying Momoro on a mission on Vendée. Momoro expressed his wife's political opinion on the situation in a letter. She also drafted an appeal for assistance to the Convention in her husband’s characteristic style.

Marie Françoise Goupil, Hébert’s wife, is likewise only shown as a victim (which, of course, she was—a victim of a sham trial and an unjust execution, like Lucile Desmoulins). However, there was more to her story. Here’s an excerpt from a letter she wrote to her husband’s sister in the summer of 1792 that reveals her strong political convictions:

« You are very worried about the dangers of the fatherland. They are imminent, we cannot hide them: we are betrayed by the court, by the leaders of the armies, by a large part of the members of the assembly; many people despair; but I am far from doing so, the people are the only ones who made the revolution. It alone will support her because it alone is worthy of it. There are still incorruptible members in the assembly, who will not fear to tell it that its salvation is in their hands, then the people, so great, will still be so in their just revenge, the longer they delay in striking the more it learns to know its enemies and their number, the more, according to me, its blows will only strike with certainty and  only fall on the guilty, do not be worried about the fate of my worthy husband. He and I would be sorry if the people were enslaved to survive the liberty of their fatherland, I would be inconsolable if the child I am carrying only saw the light of day with the eyes of a slave, then I would prefer to see it perish with me ».

There is also Marie Angélique Lequesne, who played a notable role while married to Ronsin (and would go on to have an important role during the Napoleonic era, which we’ll revisit later). Here’s an excerpt from Memoirs, 1760-1820 by Jean-Balthazar de Bonardi du Ménil (to be approached with caution): “Marie-Angélique Lequesne was caught up in the measures taken against the Hébertists and imprisoned on the 1st of Germinal at the Maison d'Arrêt des Anglaises, frequently engaging with ultra-revolutionary circles both before and after Ronsin’s death, even dressing as an Amazon to congratulate the Directory on a victory.” According to Généanet (to be taken with even more caution), she may have served as a canteen worker during the campaign of 1792.

On the Babouvist side, we can mention Marie Anne Babeuf, one of Gracchus Babeuf’s closest collaborators. Marie Anne was among her husband's staunchest political supporters. She printed his newspaper for a long time, and her activism led to her two-day arrest in February 1795. When her husband was arrested while she was pregnant, she made every effort possible to secure his release and never gave up on him. She walked from Paris to Vendôme to attend his trial, witnessing the proceeding that would sentence him to death. A few months after Gracchus Babeuf’s execution, she gave birth to their last son, Caius. Félix Lepeletier became a protector of the family (and apparently, Turreau also helped, supposedly adopting Camille Babeuf—one of his very few positive acts). Marie Anne supported her children through various small jobs, including as a market vendor, while never giving up her activism and remaining as combative as ever. (There’s more to her story during the Napoleonic era as well).

We must not forget the role of active women in the insurrections of Year III, against the Assembly, which had taken a more conservative turn by then. Here’s historian Mathilde Larrère’s description of their actions: “In April and May 1795, it was these women who took to the streets, beating drums across the city, mocking law enforcement, entering shops, cafes, and homes to call for revolt. In retaliation, the Assembly decreed that women were no longer allowed to attend Assembly sessions and expelled the knitters by force. Days later, a decree banned them from attending any assemblies and from gathering in groups of more than five in the streets.”

There were also women who fought as soldiers during the French Revolution, such as Marie-Thérèse Figueur, known as “Madame Sans-Gêne.” The Fernig sisters, aged 22 and 17, threw themselves into battle against Austrian soldiers, earning a reputation for their combat prowess and later becoming aides-de-camp to Dumouriez. Other fighting women included the gunners Pélagie Dulière and Catherine Pochetat.

In the overseas departments, there was Flore Bois Gaillard, a former slave who became a leader of the “Brigands” revolt on the island of Saint Lucia during the French Revolution. This group, composed of former slaves, French revolutionaries, soldiers, and English deserters, was determined to fight against English regiments using guerrilla tactics. The group won a notable victory, the Battle of Rabot in 1795, with the assistance of Governor Victor Hugues and, according to some accounts, with support from Louis Delgrès and Pelage.

On the island of Saint-Domingue, which would later become Haiti, Cécile Fatiman became one of the notable figures at the start of the Haitian Revolution, especially during the Bois-Caiman revolt on August 14, 1791.

In short, the list of influential women is long. We could also talk about figures like Félicité Brissot, Sylvie Audouin (from the Hébertist side), Marguerite David (from the Enragés side), and more. Figures like Theresia Cabarrus, who wielded influence during the Directory (especially when Tallien was still in power), or the activities of Germaine de Staël (since it’s essential to mention all influential women of the Revolution, regardless of political alignment) are also noteworthy.

Napoleonic Era

Films could have focused more on women during this era. Instead, we always see the Bonaparte sisters (with Caroline cast as an exaggerated villain, almost like a cartoon character), or Hortense Beauharnais, who’s shown solely as a victim of Louis Bonaparte and portrayed as naïve. There is so much more to say about this time, even if it was more oppressive for women.

Germaine de Staël is barely mentioned, which is unfortunate, and Marie Anne Babeuf is even more overlooked, despite her being questioned by the Napoleonic police in 1801 and raided in 1808. She also suffered the loss of two more children: Camille Babeuf, who died by suicide in 1814, and Caius, reportedly killed by a stray bullet during the 1814 invasion of Vendôme. No mention is made of Simone Evrard and Albertine Marat, who were arrested and interrogated in 1801.

An important but lesser-known event in popular culture was the deportation and imprisonment of the Jacobins, as highlighted by Lenôtre. Here’s an excerpt: “This petition reached Paris in autumn 1804 and was filed away in the ministry's records. It didn’t reach the public, who had other amusements besides the old stories of the Nivôse deportees. It was, after all, the time when the Republic, now an Empire, was preparing to receive the Pope from Rome to crown the triumphant Caesar. Yet there were people in Paris who thought constantly about the Mahé exiles—their wives, most left without support, living in extreme poverty; mothers were the hardest hit. Even if one doesn’t sympathize with the exiles themselves, one can feel pity for these unfortunate women... They implored people in their neighborhoods and local suppliers to testify on behalf of their husbands, who were wise, upstanding, good fathers, and good spouses. In most cases, these requests came too late... After an agonizing wait, the only response they received was, ‘Nothing to be done; he is gone.’” (Les Derniers Terroristes by Gérard Lenôtre). Many women were mobilized to help the Jacobins. One police report references a woman named Madame Dufour, “wife of the deportee Dufour, residing on Rue Papillon, known for her bold statements; she’s a veritable fury, constantly visiting friends and associates, loudly proclaiming the Jacobins’ imminent success. This woman once played a role in the Babeuf conspiracy; most of their meetings were held at her home…” (Unfortunately for her, her husband had already passed away.)

On the Napoleonic “allies” side, Marie Angélique, the widow of Ronsin who later married Turreau, should be more highlighted. Turreau treated her so poorly that it even outraged Washington’s political class. She was described as intelligent, modest, generous, and curious, and according to future First Lady Dolley Madison, she charmed Washington’s political circles. She played an essential role in Dolley Madison’s political formation, contributing to her reputation as an active, politically involved First Lady. Marie Angélique eventually divorced Turreau, though he refused to fund her return to France; American friends apparently helped her.

Films could also portray Marie-Jacqueline Sophie Dupont, wife of Lazare Carnot, a devoted and loving partner who even composed music for his poems. Additionally, her ties with Joséphine de Beauharnais could be explored. They were close friends, which is evident in a heartbreaking letter Lazare Carnot wrote to Joséphine on February 6, 1813, to inform her of Sophie’s death: “Until her last moment, she held onto the gratitude Your Majesty had honored her with; in her memory, I must remind Your Majesty of the care and kindness that characterize you and are so dear to every sensitive soul.”

In films, however, when Joséphine de Beauharnais’s circle is shown, Theresia Cabarrus (who appears much more in Joséphine ou la comédie des ambitions) and the Countess of Rémusat are mentioned, but Sophie Carnot is omitted, which is a pity. Sophie Carnot knew how to uphold social etiquette well, making her an ideal figure to be integrated into such stories (after all, she was the daughter of a former royal secretary).

Among women soldiers, we had Marie-Thérèse Figueur as well as figures like Maria Schellink, who also deserves greater representation. Speaking of fighters, films could further explore the stories of women who took up arms against the illegal reinstatement of slavery. In Saint-Domingue, now Haiti, many women gave their lives, including Sanité Bélair, lieutenant of Toussaint Louverture, considered the soul of the conspiracy along with her husband, Charles Bélair (Toussaint’s nephew) and a fighter against Leclerc. Captured, sentenced to death, and executed with her husband, she showed great courage at her execution. Thomas Madiou's Histoire d’Haiti describes the final moments of the Bélair couple: “When Charles Bélair was placed in front of the squad to be shot, he calmly listened to his wife exhorting him to die bravely... (...)Sanité refused to have her eyes covered and resisted the executioner’s efforts to make her bend down. The officer in charge of the squad had to order her to be shot standing.”

Dessalines, known for leading Haiti to victory against Bonaparte, had at least three influential women in his life. He had as his mentor, role modele and fighting instructor the former slave Victoria Montou, known as Aunt Toya, whom he considered a second mother. They met while they were working as slaves. They met while both were enslaved. The second was his future wife, Marie Claire Bonheur, a sort of war nurse, as described in this post, who proved instrumental in the siege of Jacmel by persuading Dessalines to open the roads so that aid, like food and medicine, could reach the city. When independence was declared, Dessalines became emperor, and Marie Claire Bonheur, empress. When Jean-Jacques Dessalines ordered the elimination of white inhabitants in Haiti, Marie Claire Bonheur opposed him, some say even kneeling before him to save the French. Alongside others, she saved those later called the “orphans of Cap,” two girls named Hortense and Augustine Javier.

Dessalines had a legitimized illegitimate daughter, Catherine Flon, who, according to legend, sewed the country’s flag on May 18, 1803. Thus, three essential women in his life contributed greatly to his cause.

In Guadeloupe, Rosalie, also known as Solitude, fought while pregnant against the re-establishment of slavery and sacrificed her life for it, as she was hanged after giving birth. Marthe Rose Toto also rose up and was hanged a few months after Louis Delgrès’s death (if they were truly a couple, it would have added a tragic touch to their story, like that of Camille and Lucile Desmoulins, which I have discussed here).

To conclude, my aim in this post is not to elevate these revolutionary, fighting, or Napoleonic-allied women above their male counterparts but simply to give them equal recognition, which, sadly, is still far from the case (though, fortunately, this is not true here on Tumblr).

I want to thank @aedesluminis for providing such valuable information about Sophie Carnot—without her, I wouldn't have known any of this. And I also want to thank all of you, as your various posts have been really helpful in guiding my research, especially @anotherhumaninthisworld, @frevandrest, @sieclesetcieux, @saintjustitude, @enlitment, @pleasecallmealsip, @18thcenturythirsttrap, @usergreenpixel, etc. I apologize if I forgot anyone—I’m sure I have, and I'm sorry; I'm a bit exhausted. ^^

[sieclesetcieux]

Do you happen to know how often it occurred for wives of arrested deputies to share the same fate of their husbands, so either imprisoned, or condemned to death ? Do you have some examples? I'm referring to the years between 92-95. Moreover if it's not too much to ask for, could you also point out the signature of the CSP members who signed such warrants?

That’s a very interesting question, especially since no official studies seem to have been made on the subject. What I’ve found so far (and it wouldn’t surprise me if there’s way more) is:

Félicité Brissot — after the news of her husband’s arrest, Félicité, who had lived in Saint-Cloud with her three children since April 1793, traveled to Chartres. There (on an unspecified date?) she and her youngest son Anacharsis (born 1791) were arrested by the Revolutionary Committee of Saint-Cloud (the two older children had been taken in by other people) which sent her to Paris. Once arrived in the capital, Felicité was placed under surveillance in the Necker hotel, rue de Richelieu, in accordance with an order from the Committee of General Security dated August 9 1793 (she could not be placed under house arrest in her own apartment, since seals had already been placed on it). On August 11 she underwent an interrogation, and on October 13, she was sent from her house arrest (where she had still enjoyed a relative liberty) to the La Force prison. Félicité and her son were set free on February 4 1794, after six months spent under arrest. The order for her release was it too issued by the Committee of General Security, and signed by Lacoste, Vadier, Dubarran, Guffroy, Amar, Louis (du Bas-Rhin), and Voulland. Source: J.-P. Brissot mémoires (1754-1793); [suivi de] correspondance et papiers (1912) by Claude Perroud)

Suzanne Pétion — According to a footnote inserted in Lettres de madame Roland (1900), Suzanne was imprisoned in the Sainte-Pélagie prison since August 9 1793. In an undated letter written from the same prison, Madame Roland mentions that not only Suzanne, but her ten year old son Louis Étienne Jérôme is there too. I have however not been able to discover any official orders regarding Suzanne’s arrest and release, so I can’t say for exactly how long she and her son were imprisoned and who was responsible for it right now. @lanterne you wrote in this super old post that you’re waiting for a Pétion biography, did you get it? And if yes, does it perhaps say anything about Suzanne’s imprisonment in it? 😯)

Louise-Catherine-Àngélique Ricard, widow Lefebvre (Suzanne Pétion’s mother) — According to Histoire du tribunal révolutionnaire de Paris: avec le journal de ses actes (1880) by Henri Wallon, Louise was called before the parisian Revolutionary Tribunal on September 24 1793, accused “of having applauded the escape of Minister Lebrun by saying: “So much the better, we must not desire blood,” of having declared that the Brissolins and the Girondins were good republicans (“Yes,” her interlocutor replied, “once the national ax has fallen on the corpses of all of them”), for having said, when someone came to tell her that the condemned Tonduti had shouted “Long live the king” while going to execution; that everyone would have to share this feeling, and that for the public good there would have to be a king whom the “Convention and its paraphernalia ate more than the old regime”. She denied this when asked about Tonduti, limiting herself to having said: “Ah! the unfortunate.” Asked why she had made this exclamation she responded: ”through a sentiment of humanity.” She was condemned and executed the very same day.

Marie Anne Victoire Buzot — It would appear she was put under house arrest, but was able to escape from there. According to Provincial Patriot of the French Revolution: François Buzot, 1760–1794 (2015) by Bette W. Oliver, ”[Marie] had remained in Paris after her husband fled on June 2 [1793], but she was watched by a guard who had been sent to the Hôtel de Bouillon. Soon thereafter, Madame Buzot and her ”domestics” disappeared, along with all of the personal effects in the apartment. […] Madame Buzot would join her husband in Caen, but not until July 10; and no evidence remains regarding her whereabouts between the time that she left Paris in June and her arrival in Caen. At a later date, however, she wrote that she had fled, not because she feared death, but because she could not face the ”ferocious vengeance of our persecutors” who ignored the law and refused ”to listen to our justification.” I’ve unfortunately not been able to access the source used to back this though…

Marie Françoise Hébert — arrested on March 14 1794, presumably on the orders of the Committee of General Security since I can’t find any decree regarding the affair in Recueil des actes du Comité de salut public. Imprisoned in the Conciergerie until her execution on April 13 1794, so 30 days in total. See this post.

Marie Françoise Joséphine Momoro — imprisoned in the Prison de Port-libre from March 14 to May 27 1794 (2 months and 13 days), as seen through Jean-Baptiste Laboureau’s diary, cited in Mémoires sur les prisons… (1823) page 68, 72, 109.

Lucile Desmoulins — arrested on April 4 1794 according to a joint order with the signatures of Du Barran (who had also drafted it) and Voulland from the CGS and Billaud-Varennes, C-A Prieur, Carnot, Couthon, Barère and Robespierre from the CPS on it. Imprisoned in the Sainte-Pélagie prison up until April 9, when she was transferred to the Conciergerie in time for her trial to begin. Executed on April 13 1794, after nine days spent in prison. See this post.

Théresa Cabarrus — ordered arrested and put in isolation on May 22 1794, though a CPS warrant drafted by Robespierre and signed by him, Billaud-Varennes, Barère and Collot d’Herbois. Set free on July 30 (according to Madame Tallien : notre Dame de Thermidor from the last days of the French Revolution until her death as Princess de Chimay in 1835 (1913)), after two months and eight days imprisoned.

Thérèse Bouquey (Guadet’s sister-in-law) — arrested on June 17 1794 once it was revealed she and her husband for the past months had been hiding the proscribed girondins Pétion, Buzot, Barbaroux, Guadet and Salles. She, alongside her husband and father and Guadet’s father and aunt, were condemned to death and executed in Bordeaux on July 20 1794. Source: Paris révolutionnaire: Vieilles maisons, vieux papiers (1906), volume 3, chapter 15.

Marie Guadet (Guadet’s paternal aunt) — Condemned to death and executed in Bordeaux on July 20 1794, alongside her brother and his son, the Bouqueys and Xavier Dupeyrat. Source: Charlotte Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées (1872) by Charles Vatel.

Charlotte Robespierre — Arrested and interrogated on July 31 1794 (see this post). According to the article Charlotte Robespierre et ses amis (1961), no decree ordering her release appears to exist. In her memoirs (1834), Charlotte claims she was set free after a fortnight, and while the account she gives over her arrest as a whole should probably be doubted, it seems strange she would lie to make the imprisonment shorter than it really was. We know for a fact she had been set free by November 18 1794, when we find this letter from her to her uncle.

Françoise Magdeleine Fleuriet-Lescot — put under house arrest on July 28 1794, the same day as her husband’s execution. Interrogated on July 31. By August 7 1794 she had been transferred to the Carmes prison, where she the same day wrote a letter to the president of the Convention (who she asked to in turn give it to Panis) begging for her freedom. On September 5 the letter was sent to the Committee of General Security. I have been unable to discover when she was set free. Source: Papiers inédits trouvés chez Robespierre, Saint-Just, Payan, etc. supprimés ou omis par Courtois. précédés du Rapport de ce député à la Convention Nationale, volume 3, page 295-300.

Françoise Duplay — a CGS decree dated July 27 1794 orders the arrest of her, her husband and their son, and for all three to be put in isolation. The order was carried out one day later, July 28 1794, when all three were brought to the Pélagie prison. On July 29, Françoise was found hanged in her cell. See this post.

Élisabeth Le Bas Duplay — imprisoned with her infant son from July 31 to December 8 1794, 4 months and 7 days. The orders for her arrest and release were both issued by the CGS. See this post.

Sophie Auzat Duplay — She and her husband Antoine were arrested in Bruxelles on August 1 1794. By October 30 the two had been transferred to Paris, as we on that date find a letter from Sophie written from the Conciergerie prison. She was set free by a CPS decree (that I can’t find in Recueil des actes du Comité de salut public…) on November 19 1794, after 3 months and 18 days of imprisonment. When her husband got liberated is unclear. See this post.

Victoire Duplay — Arrested in Péronne by representative on mission Florent Guiot (he reveals this in a letter to the CPS dated August 4 1794). When she got set free is unknown. See this post.

Éléonore Duplay — Her arrest warrant, ordering her to be put in the Pélagie prison, was drafted by the CGS on August 6 1794. Somewhere after this date she was moved to the Port-Libré prison, and on April 21 1795, from there to the Plessis prison. She was transfered back to the Pélagie prison on May 16 1795. Finally, on July 19 1795, after as much as 11 months and 13 days in prison, Éléonore was liberated through a decree from the CGS. See this post.

Élisabeth Le Bon — arrested in Saint-Pol on August 25 1794, ”suspected of acts of oppression” and sent to Arras together with her one year old daughter Pauline. The two were locked up in ”the house of the former Providence.” On October 26, Élisabeth gave birth to her second child, Émile, while in prison. She was released from prison on October 14 1795, four days after the execution of her husband. By then, she had been imprisoned for 1 year, 1 month and 19 days. Source: Paris révolutionnaire: Vieilles maisons, vieux papiers (1906), volume 3, chapter 1.

[sieclesetcieux]

Godineau also wrote a full book on the topic: S’abréger les jours. Le suicide en France au XVIIIe siècle, Armand Colin, Paris, 2012

Was suicide really seen as noble during the French Revolution? Was there any recorded tension regarding this cultural shift with more religious or less revolutionary people/groups? Thanks!

In the book La liberté ou la mort: mourir en député 1792-1795 (2015) can be found a list of all the deputies of the National Convention that died unnatural deaths between 1792 and 1799. Of the 96 names included on it, 16 were those of suicide victims, and to these must also me added a number of botched suicide attempts as well. 

Only a single one of these suicides appears to have been driven by something outside of politics, that of the deputy Charlier, who shot himself in his apartment on February 23 1797, two years after the closing of the Convention. The rest of the suicides are all very clearly politically motivated, more specifically, deputies killing themselves just as the machinery of revolutionary justice was about to catch up to them. There’s those who killed themselves while on the run and unsheltered from the hostile authorities — the girondin Rebecqui who on May 1 1794 drowned himself in Old Port of Marseille, Pétion and Buzot who on June 24 1794 shot themselves after getting forced to leave the garret where they for the last few months had been hiding out, Maure who shot himself while in hiding on 3 June 1795 after having been implicated in the revolt of 1 Prairial, Brunel, who on May 27 shot himself after failing to quell a riot in Toulon, and Tellier, who similarily shot himself on September 17 1795 due to a revolt directed against him in the commune of Chartres. Barbaroux too attempted to shoot himself on June 18 1794 but only managed to blow his jaw off. He was instead captured and guillotined. There’s those that put an end to their days once cornered by said authorities — Lidon, who on November 2 1793 shot himself after having been discovered at his hiding place by two gendarmes (he did however first fire three shots at said gendarmes, one of whom got hit in the cheek) and Le Bas who shot himself in the night between July 27 and 28 1794 as National guardsmen stormed the Hôtel de Ville where he and his allies were hiding out (according to his wife’s memoirs, already a few days before this he had told her that he would kill them both right then and there wasn’t it for the fact they had an infant son). In an interrogation held two o’clock in the morning on July 28 1794, Augustin Robespierre too revealed that the reason he a few hours earlier had thrown himself off the cordon of the Hôtel de Ville was ”to escape from the hands of the conspirators, because, having been put under a decree of accusation, he believed his death inevitable,” and there’s of course an eternal debate on whether or not his older brother too had attemped to commit suicide at Hôtel de Ville that night or if he was shot by a guard (to a lesser extent, this debate also exists regarding Couthon). There’s those who committed suicide in prison to avoid an unfriendly tribunal — Baille who hanged himself while held captive in the hostile Toulon on September 2 1793, Condorcet who took poison and was found dead in his cell in Bourg-la-Reine on 29 March 1794 (though here there exists some debate on whether it really was suicide or if he ”just” died from exhaustion) and Rühl, who stabbed himself while in house arrest on May 29 1795. On March 17 1794, Chabot tried to take his life in his cell in the Luxembourg prison by overdosing on medicine (he reported that he shouted ”vive la république” after drinking the liquor) but survived and got guillotined. Finally, there’s those who held themselves alive for the whole trial but killed themselves as soon as they heard the pronounciation of the death sentence —  the girondin Valazé who stabbed himself to death on October 30 1793 and the so called ”martyrs of prairial” Duquesnoy, Romme, Goujon, Bourbotte (in a declaration written shortly before his death he wrote: ”Virtuous Cato, no longer will it be your example alone that teaches free men how to escape the scaffold of tyranny”), Duroy and Soubrany who did the same thing on June 17 1795 (only the first three did however succeed with their suicide, the rest were executed the very same day).

To these 24 men must also be added other revolutionaries that weren’t Convention deputies, such as Jacques Roux who on February 10 1794 stabbed himself in prison, former girondin ministers Étienne Clavière who did the same thing on December 8 1793 (learning of his death, his wife killed herself as well) and Jean Marie Roland who on November 10 1793 ran a sword through his heart while in hiding, after having been informed of his wife’s execution, Gracchus Babeuf and Augustin Darthé who attempted to stab themselves on May 27 1797 after having been condemned in the so called ”conspiracy of equals,” but survived and were executed the next day, as well as two jacobins from Lyon — Hidins who killed himself in prison before the city got ”liberated,” and Gaillard who did the same thing shortly after the liberation, after having spent several weeks in jail.

With all that said, I think you could say taking your life was considered ”noble” in a way, if it allowed you to die with greater dignity than letting the imposition of revolutionary judgement take it instead did. It was at least certainly a step up compared to before 1789, when suicide (through the Criminal Ordinance of 1670) was considered a crime which could lead to confiscation of property, opprobium cast on the victim’s family and even subjection of the courpse to various outrages, like dragging it through the street. To nuance this a bit, it is however worth recalling that this was only in theory, and that in practise, most of these penalties had ceased to be carried out already in the decades before the revolution, a period during which suicide, in the Enlightenent’s spirit of questioning everything, had also started getting discussed more and more. The word ”suicide” itself entered the French dictionary in 1734. Most of the enlightenment philosophes reflected on suicide and the ethics behind it. There’s also the widely spread The Sorrows of Young Werther that was first released in 1774. Furthermore, most revolutionaries were also steeped in the culture of Antiquity, where suicide was seen as an admirable response to political defeat, perhaps most notably those of Brutus and Cato the younger, big heroes of the revolutionaries. Over the course of the revolution, we find several patriotic artists depicting famous suicides of Antiquity — such as Socrates (whose death is considered by some to have been a sort of suicide) (1791) by David, The Death of Cato of Utica (1795) by Guillaume Guillon-Lethière, and The death of Caius Gracchus (1798) by François Topino-Lebrun. According to historian Dominique Godineau, the 18th century saw ”the inscription [of suicide] in the social landscape, at least in large cities: it has become “public,” people talk about it, it is less hidden than at the beginning of the century,” and she therefore argues that the decision to decriminalize it in the reformed penal code (it didn’t state outright that suicide was now OK, but it no longer listed it as a crime) of 1791 wasn’t particulary controversial.

Furthermore, that committing suicide was more noble than facing execution was still far from an obvious, universal truth during the revolution. In his memoirs, Brissot does for example recall that, right after the insurrection of August 10, when he and other ”girondins” discussed what to do was an act of accusation to be issued against them, Buzot argued that ”the death on the scaffold was more courageous, more worthy for a patriot, and especially more useful for the cause of liberty” than committing suicide to avoid it. The feared news of their act of accusation did however arrive before the girondins had reached a definitive conclusion on what to do, leading to some fleeing (among them Buzot, who of course ironically ended up being one of the revolutionaries that ultimately chose suicide over the scaffold) and some calmly awaiting their fate. In her memoirs, Madame Roland did her too consider going to the scaffold with her head held high to be an act of virtue — ”Should I wait for when it pleases my executioners to choose the moment of my death and to augment their triumph by the insolent clamours of the mob to which I would be exposed? Certainly!” In his very last speech to the Convention, convinced that his enemies were rounding up on him, Robespierre exclaimed he would ”drink the hemlock,” a reference to the execution of Socrates. The girondin Vergniaud is also said to have carried poison on him but chosen to have go out with his friends on the scaffold, although I’ve not yet discovered what the source for this is. It can also be noted that the number of Convention deputies who let revolutionary justice have its course with them was still considerably higher than those who attempted to put an end to their days before the sentence could be carried out.

According to Patterns and prosecution of suicide in eighteenth-century Paris (1989) by Jeffrey Merrick, there was indeed tension regarding the rising amount of suicides in the decades leading up to the revolution. Merrick cites first and foremost the printer and bookseller Siméon Prosper Hardy, who in his journal Mes loisirs ou journal des evenements tels qu'ils parviennent a ma connaissance (1764-1789),  documented a total of 259 cases of Parisian suicides. Hardy saw these deaths as an unwelcome import from the English, who for their part were led to kill themselves due to ”the dismal climate, unwholesome diet, and excessive liberty.” He also blamed the suicides on "the decline of religion and morals," caused by the philosophes, who in their ”bad books” popularized English ways of thinking and undermined traditional values. He was not alone in drawing a connection between the suicides and the new ideas. The clergy in general ”denounced the philosophes for legitimizing this unforgiveable crime against God and society, which they now associated with systematic unbelief more than the traditional diabolical temptation.” In practice, many parish priests did however still quietly bury the bodies of persons who killed themselves. The future revolutionary Louis Sébastien Mercier did on the other hand blame the government and its penchant for inflated prices and burdensome taxes for the alleged epidemic of suicides in his Tableau de Paris (1782-1783).

In La liberté ou la mort: mourir en député, 1792-1795 it is also established that there weren’t that many participants of the king that killed themselves once the wind started blowing in the wrong direction, but that is not to say they didn’t exist. As example is cited the case of a man in April 1793 shot himself on the Place de la Révolution, before having written ”I die for you and your family” on a gravure representimg the head of Louis XVI. There’s also the case of Philippe Nicolas Marie de Pâris, former king’s guard and the murderer of Michel Peletier, who, similar to Lidon, blew his brains out when the authorities had him cornered a week after the murder.

Sources:

Patterns and prosecution of suicide in eighteenth-century Paris (1989) by Jeffrey Merrick 

Pratiques du suicide à Paris pendant la Révolution française () by Dominique Godineau

La liberté ou la mort: mourir en député, 1792-1795 (2015) by Michel Biard, chapter 5, ”Mourir en Romain,” le choix de suicide.

Choosing Terror (2014) by Marisa Linton, page 276-279, section titled ”Choosing how to die.”