#mademoiselle revolution

[kazz-brekker]

back at it again with my book-recommending ways

[usergreenpixel]

JACOBIN FICTION CONVENTION MEETING 33: MADEMOISELLE REVOLUTION (2022)

1. The Introduction

Well, hello there, my dearest Citizens! Welcome back to Jacobin Fiction Convention! I missed you but, unfortunately, real life ™️ was a bit complicated yet again.

Either way, I’m back at it again, roasting analyzing historical fiction. Today’s “masterpiece” was graciously sent to me by @suburbanbeatnik in PDF form as a future review subject. And boy is it one hell of a ride.

Now, on paper, I was intrigued by a story of a Haitian biracial bisexual female protagonist, as there are many possibilities for that kind of story to unfold in a Frev setting.

Besides, it was written by an author who is promoting the #OwnVoices stories, which is a good intention in my opinion. Let’s see if the execution matches though.

(Spoiler alert: IT DOES NOT!)

Unfortunately, it looks like the book is only available in English at the moment and has to be purchased, mainly through Amazon. But maybe both of those things are for the best, since, upon finishing the book, I will be happy if it stays as contained and inaccessible to the wide audience as humanly possible.

Why? Well, more on that later.

This review will be longer than the ones I usually post, so please keep that in mind and grab some popcorn.

Also, it’s a very explicit book with scenes of sexual assault and gore. Goya’s “Disasters of War” and even “Innocent Rouge” levels of gore. So yeah, please be warned.

Anyway, this review is dedicated to @suburbanbeatnik , @jefflion , @lanterne , @on-holidays-by-mistake and @amypihcs . Love you, guys!

Now, let’s tear this sucker apart!!!

2. The Summary

The book follows the story of Sylvie de Rosiers, an aristocratic young woman born to a slave but raised by her plantation owner father as a free member of local nobility. Although not enslaved, Sylvie never felt truly accepted by the elites of Sainte Domingue.

However, following the outbreak of the Haitian Revolution, Sylvie and one of her half-brothers manage to escape to France, where another revolution is unfolding.

Intrigued by the ideas of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity, Sylvie must fight to find acceptance in this new context and carve out a place for herself.

Sounds interesting so far, right? Let’s see if the story lives up to expectations or not.

3. The Story

I have to admit that the first few chapters, the ones taking place on Haiti, were actually pretty good, or at least not bad. The pacing was good, the storyline building up to the uprising made sense and the introductions of the characters and the world building were fine.

Too bad that this lasted only for about four beginning chapters. The French chapters making up the bulk of the book were awful.

The characters suffer from assassination like they’re mafia snitches, the pacing turns into a speed run, the historical context isn’t explained well at all and the story rapidly stops making sense:

First Sylvie arrives and quickly meets Robespierre and the Duplay family, then becomes an ardent revolutionary, then flip flops between loving Eleonore Duplay and pining for Robespierre, then just so happens to meet Danton and Marat, then becomes a spy, then murders Marat… No, I’m not joking.

All of this is in the book with very little justification that makes sense. The worst part? The book isn’t stated as alternative history, so the author is very dishonest and presents everything in the book as actual history that is accurate to reality when it’s definitely not.

Oh, and flashbacks. The fucking flashbacks breaking immersion like a cat breaking a vase don’t help at all.

There’s also a ton of Thermidorian propaganda as well, so yeah… Fail.

4. The Original Characters

Let’s tackle the OCs first because the historical peeps deserve a separate category here.

First and foremost, I don’t like Sylvie as a character. She starts out as a vain spoiled brat growing up surrounded by privilege and luxury and openly looking down on slaves, especially on women.

Then she witnesses the execution of a rebel and very suddenly goes: “Fuck, slavery is awful!”, renounces her old ways, disowns her father and does a 180. It’s not written well though and is more like a teenage tantrum than character development.

Sylvie keeps flip flopping like this throughout the entire story too. Yay…

Oh, and she’s a Mary Sue. Everyone adores her except the villains, she’s able to charm her way through anything and obviously plays an important role in almost all of Frev! Robespierre even calls her The Mother of the Revolution at several points, even though she did nothing to earn that title.

She also pines for Robespierre for no reason at all, except for “he’s cool and charming I guess”, but in order to get closer to him, Sylvie Sue ™️ starts an intimate relationship with Eleonore Duplay.

So yeah, our protagonist manipulates another person (which is abuse) and plays Eleonore like a fiddle, but she also flip flops between only using Eleonore and actually loving her. Is Sylvie ever called out for that? Technically yes, but it gets resolved too quickly so it doesn’t count.

Also, Sylvie is INCREDIBLY selfish. She’s fine with manipulating Eleonore, fine with Charlotte Corday being executed for killing Marat (in the book Sylvie did it) and taking the blame… Again, everything revolves around Sylvie and she never gets called out on that either and never gets better.

She lacks consistent personality aside from those traits, however. She claims to want safety yet always takes the risky option and refuses to emigrate when it would help her obtain actual safety, for instance.

Gaspard, one of her half-brothers, is a much better character in my opinion, but still underdeveloped. But at least his journey from privileged fop to a revolutionary is less clunky. Too bad he dies with the Montagnards in the end.

Sylvie also has another half-brother, Edmond, who is cartoonishly evil and tries to murder Sylvie at one point.

Sylvie also has a standard issue evil stepmother who is eager to marry her off and thus get rid of her but at least has enough decency to not be actively malicious.

Her dad is loving, but painfully ignorant.

Sylvie’s aunt Euphemie de Rohmer is a good character, always looking out for Gaspard and Sylvie. She does emigrate to London during the reign of terror though.

Okay, now let’s discuss the historical figures.

5. The Historical Characters

I know that I usually don’t discuss accuracy, but an exception must be made here.

Maximilien Robespierre seems to undergo a typical “character arc” of “actual revolutionary turned ruthless dictator”. He is also one again coded as asexual and thus shown as not giving two shits about his lover, Eleonore Duplay. He tries to marry Sylvie for political reasons only later in the book and it’s all but stated that he condones all the violence going on and is called a hypocrite multiple times. Oh, and he also kisses Sylvie without her consent… Err… DID SIVAK CONFUSE HIM FOR DANTON?!!! Okay, one sec…

(Shows up with a bloody face) Okay, let’s continue…

Eleonore Duplay is a promising artist who is fiercely loyal to Robespierre but cheats on him with Sylvie and later turns out to be a member of a women’s secret society that is trying to curb the terror. She’s on board with murdering Marat and is also friends with Olympe de Gouges and Charlotte Corday. Wtf?!

(Checks that the antidepressants didn’t cause a hallucination)

Elisabeth Duplay falls in love with Gaspard and her marriage to Le Bas is portrayed as arranged by Robespierre to “reward” Le Bas for being a loyal Jacobin, but at least she is relatively happy in said marriage. Uhm, okay…

Olympe de Gouges and Charlotte Corday are portrayed as basically saints and also part of the secret society.

Corday in particular is willing to sacrifice herself for the sake of France and Sylvie is fine with that because, apparently, Corday has nothing to live for anyway but Sylvie does.

It’s not like in reality Corday actually had a family and Girondist friends or anything so yeah, TOTALLY OKAY to throw her under the bus amirite?!

Danton, luckily, is portrayed fairly accurately as a crass womanizing brute so at least that’s correct.

Marat is a stereotypical bloodthirsty monster who is supposed to be very smart yet acts like an idiot in the presence of our dear Sylvie Sue.

Charlotte Robespierre makes exactly one cameo and acts like a total ass to both Duplay sisters and to Sylvie (who she just met). Don’t get me wrong, Charlotte was at odds with the Duplay family but not all of them and certainly she wasn’t a bitch to every single fucking stranger.

Augustin Robespierre is merry, a gentleman, loyal to his ideas but also a part of that secret society and also supports the idea of offing Marat. Nice…

Surprisingly, Henriette Robespierre makes a cameo alongside Charlotte and also acts like an ass but at least less so than Charlotte. Except she shouldn’t even be in the book because the cameo happens in 1792, yet Henriette died in 1780. So it’s either a ghost or the author doesn’t care. I’m kind of inclined to believe the latter.

Where are Camille Desmoulins and Saint-Just, you may act? ABSENT, believe it or not! No, I’m not kidding! They’re nowhere to be seen for some reason!!! I have no idea why. They’re not even fucking mentioned!!!

Anyway, let’s move on before I lose my sanity.

6. The Setting

Again, the first chapters are much better than the rest. In the majority of the book the descriptions are not that great and the world building is laughably inaccurate, to the point that, if I were told that it’s a joke fanfic, I’d have believed it instantly!!!

7. The Writing

Thankfully, there’s no “First Person Present Tense” bullshit, but the writing is still full of problems. The aforementioned flashbacks are just one problem, but there are others.

For example, extremely clunky use of French. I’m the beginning of every chapter we get a date and the months are in French. This would’ve been fine but gets ridiculous in cases like “early avril 1793”. What’s wrong with writing “early APRIL”?!

Oh, and in another instance, the houses of families are called “Chez + Family name”, like Chez Rohmer and Chez Marat. It gets weird when the text has phrases like “went at Chez Marat”. Chez already means “at” in this context, so it’s extremely redundant and a damn eyesore. Wouldn’t it be better to say “Went to Marat’s apartment”? Apparently, not for Zoe Sivak!

Also, the author describes all the brutal and gory scenes of executions and torture at an alarming length and with a concerning amount of details, to the point that I got very uncomfortable despite not being squeamish most of the time.

8. The Conclusion

Phew, it’s finally over. As you may have guessed, I don’t recommend wasting your time and money on this pile of trash.

A 13-year old here on tumblr can write a better novel than whatever the fuck this author published.

It’s poorly researched with inaccuracies that even a quick Wikipedia search could fix, the protagonist is an awful Mary Sue, the historical characters get constantly fucked over… so yeah, please skip this shit.

Anyway, on that note, let’s conclude today’s meeting. I think I might need time to recover from reading this book…

Stay tuned for updates!

Love,

Citizen Green Pixel.

[empirearchives]

Excuse me?

[digitalfashionmuseum]

Miniature, 1790, French.

By Jean-Baptiste Isabey.

Portraying Mademoiselle de Salienne.

Musée du Louvre.

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

François-Hubert Drouais (1727-1775) "Portrait of a Woman, Said to be Madame Charles Simon Favart (Marie Justine Benoîte Duronceray, 1727–1772)" (1757) Oil on canvas Located in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, New York, United States In 1745 Mademoiselle Duronceray—the singer, dancer, and comedienne probably portrayed here—married Charles Simon Favart, the father of French comic opera. Among her best-known roles was that of the heroine in The Loves of Bastien and Bastienne, 1753, in which she inspired a revolution in theatrical costume by wearing authentic peasant dress. Drouais’s portrait of her seated at a harpsichord recalls traditional representations of Saint Cecilia, patron saint of music.

[fortuna-et-cataclysmos]

Ms. Sans-Culotte and the obvious French Revolution symbolism

This episode is a field day for me, so I'll need to analyse it bit by bit. Let's first start with the obvious and less obvious French Revolution references in this episode. This will be especially obvious for French viewers, but I thought that it may be interesting for others.

Sans-culotte

I know that the term sounds funny to most, but sans-culottes are a key figure in the French history. Those were the commoners who revolted to the King and aristocracy, and undertook the French Revolution of 1789. As Mademoiselle Bustier explains in the beginning of the episode, the sans-culottes were called so because:

Contrary to rich aristocrats, they would wear simple pants.

So when Mlle. Bustier is akumatised, we see the following character design:

THE PANTS. Very obviously the pants. But there are more obvious symbols in this character design.

Marianne

Marianne is the national personification of the French Republic. She is very much synonymous with the free and republican spirit of France. Yes, that's also the name of Master Fu's girlfriend, and for good reason (she was a Résistance fighter during the German occupation of France!).

By the way this exact painting is in the background in the few seconds after Mlle. Bustier is akumatised:

Marianne is usually depicted with the following symbols:

the Phrygian cap

Greco-Roman clothes

Partial nudity

We see these signs in Mlle. Sans Culotte's character design.

Mlle. Sans Culotte's helmet has the unique shape of the Phrygian cap.

2. Mlle. Sans Culotte is dressed in a Greco-Roman armour. The usual depiction of Marianne is in flowy Greco-Roman clothes, but the helmet and armour really add to that fighter spirit of Mlle. Sans Culotte. Also, even though rarer, there are some depictions of Marianne with a Greco-Roman armour.

3. Partial nudity. Obviously they couldn't actually show that on a kids show. However, I think that the character design does hint to a type of nudity. The fact that the white of the French flag covers all of Mlle. Bustier's face and body make it seem like it is not actually her clothes but her skin. And other than the golden armour she wears, she has no other clothes on her.

The Guillotine

Mlle. Sans Culotte's weapon of choice is a freaking guillotine knife. This was a device used by the French revolutionaries to behead their opponents. To this day, it is associated with the violence of the French revolution.

Now to more implicit references:

Ça ira

When Mlle. Sans Culotte hits people, they turn into balloons that chant:

Ça ira, ça ira, ça ira!

Which is a song sang by the sans-culottes during the French Revolution (thanks to @2manyfandoms2count for helping out with this one!)

Other quotes and remarks

There are various quotes throughout the episode with a revolutionary lexicon.

Monarch: The power of Jubilation will help you show the people their dream of freedom, and as such gain partisans/supporters to your cause.

Monarch: To arms, citizens! Form batallions!

This one is especially striking for me, because it is very explicit call to violence (frequently used in French revolutionary history too).

Mlle. Sans Culotte: No one stops the revolution. Long live the revolution!

She quite literally says Vive la révolution. Seriously, it doesn't get any more obvious than that.

She literally runs head-first into a group of policemen, paralleling the Storming of the Bastille on 14 July 1789. And literally afterwards Chat Noir mentions this same event:

Chat Noir: It is not the 14th of July, my Lady. Do you think that this akuma victim wants to celebrate the Bastille Day early?

And later on:

Mlle. Sans Culotte: Ladybug, Chat Noir! Help the sans-culottes (plural!) to liberate Paris from its aristocratic Mayor!

Ladybug: Terror is not the solution!

Chat Noir: To get your voice heard there are the elections!

Ok, the word "terror" here is important. I had previously mentioned in my post on Felix's anarchist revolution that the French Revolution was followed by a period of violence where all those against the revolution were murdered. The name of the period is literally the Reign of Terror. We see that Ladybug's words is a reference to that.

Ladybug: (after receiving her lucky charm) Revolution, sans-culotte, and the Mayor of Paris who acts like the King?

The parallel is there. They're not even trying to be subtle. This is the retelling of the French Revolution.

Except that it doesn't turn out like the French Revolution. In the end, Mr. Bourgeois willingly steps down, Mlle. Sans Culotte rejects Monarch's powers (as in, she drops her weapons), so there is no revolution and no bloody reign of terror.

But still, the power dynamics end up shifting tremendously in the Miraculous Paris. How and why? I'll make a post specifically analysing this. Stay tuned for part two!

(Also, I have likely forgotten or omitted some other symbols, feel free to add them to the comments - if there are enough, I can make an addition to the post :))

[babybluebex]

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your latin tutor is one of those revolutionaries that your father despises and, after he invites you to a citizen’s meeting, his true intentions are revealed. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: enjolras (BBC les miserables) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: canon divergence, mentions of drinking, kissing, forbidden romance, names (mon cher = my darling, mon amour = my love, mon ange = my angel) 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg alright it's happening everyone stay calm (also pls lmk if this is all glitchy bc my tumblr has been acting weird lately so like. grr.) ((and yes, there will be a part 2 hehe...))

“Well, mademoiselle,” Enjolras started, shutting his textbooks as he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s that time again.” 

You groaned, hating that your lesson had come to an end. Ever since you had turned eighteen, you had been begging your father to let you go to university, just like your brother had gone, but he had forbidden you from even entertaining the idea of university. It was no place for a lady, he told you, and you had pouted and stamped your foot and demanded to be allowed to go. The middle ground for your father were private tutors, just as you had had when you were growing up, but for sophisticated topics. You chose to learn Latin, and your father had hired the perfect Latin tutor for you. 

Tall and thin, short caramel curls and dark eyes and plush lips, mustache and thin beard. His name was Enjolras, one of angels in the original Latin, as he had told you. He was handsome and a good laugh, and, even if you got frustrated with the language, he soothed you with a gentle hand on your arm and soft words of encouragement. “You can do it, mon cher,” he said. “Just think about it for a moment.” He always called you sweet names as well, names that made you blush and avoid his eye to keep from exploding. 

“Oh, no, Enjolras,” you begged him, reaching out and taking his arm in your hand. “Please don’t go, please stay!” 

“Oh, mon cher, I have to,” Enjolras bemoaned. “I have somewhere to be.” 

“But can’t you stay long enough for tea?” you asked quickly. “It’s rather cold outside, I’d hate to send you out into the cold without something warm to drink first.” 

“Mon cher,” Enjolras said softly, putting his hand over yours. His hand was warm, his fingertips stained with days-old ink, and you wondered how it would feel for him to touch your bare skin. You often had dreams about your Latin tutor, less than ladylike dreams about the things you wished he would do to you. Just last night, you had dreamt of him taking you against your desk, pulling up your dress and making love to you, and you had hardly been able to meet Enjolras’s eye during your lessons. “I just can’t.” 

“What do you have to do?” you asked. “Where do you have to be?” 

“So curious,” Enjolras chuckled with narrowed eyes. “Why do you want me to stay so badly?” 

“I just—“ you started shyly. “I like talking to you. You’re the only one who treats me like an equal as opposed to someone lesser.” 

“Yes, well,” Enjolras started, shuffling around the papers on your desk as he tried to tidy and pack up. “The revolution preaches equality amongst all men, and women are included in that.” 

That bloody revolution of his. Enjolras brought it up every so often, equality and friendship among all, the abolition of kings and monarchies, and, while he never went very in depth about it, you knew that it was a cause that was dear to his heart. You didn’t know if he had a woman in his life or not (the very thought of it made your heart drop in despair), but he spoke about his revolution as if it were his only love. 

“Equality among all,” you scoffed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.” 

Enjolras regarded you with those narrowed eyes again, his pupils the color of dark, bitter chocolate, and he said, “Is it that hard to believe that you could be treated as I am?” 

“Only because I’ve never been treated that way,” you said gently. 

“I treat you that way,” Enjolras said. “I treat you and speak to you as any one of my friends.” 

“Are we friends?” you asked. “Or do you tolerate me because my father pays you?” 

“I do like you, mon cher,” Enjolras smiled. “Genuinely. Perhaps if things were different, I’d offer to…” He hesitated for a moment, a bit of restraint that you had never seen from him before, and he finally mumbled, “I’d offer to bring you with me to my meeting tonight.” 

“Meeting?” you echoed. “What sort of meeting?” 

“A citizens’ meeting,” Enjolras said. “Me and my friends, and revolutionaries all over Paris, we come together weekly to discuss ideas. I look forward to it every week, almost as much as I look forward to our lessons.” 

“Oh, that sounds lovely!” you smiled, and you clutched his arm tightly. “Please take me with you, Enjolras, please!” 

“I can’t do that,” Enjolras told you firmly. “Believe me, I wish I could. But if your father found out—“

“My father,” you scoffed. “So what if he found out?” 

“He would fire me,” Enjolras said. “No more Latin lessons, mon cher. Your father, he’s an aristocrat, the revolution does not benefit him, so he’s against it. If he knew you went to a citizens’ meeting, he might even disown you.” 

“He could never,” you mumbled, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. “He loves me too much.” 

“People don’t like their politics to be challenged,” Enjolras said. “He would punish you, and that likely would come at my expense. Like I said, no more Latin lessons, I would never be permitted to see you.” 

“I don’t want that,” you said quickly. “I like you too much. Erm, your lessons, I mean. I don’t want to find another tutor.” 

“I didn’t think so,” Enjolras said with a coy smile. “I’d hate to see you punished, so I won’t invite you to the meeting. In fact, on very certain terms, I am telling you not to come.” 

“Alright, alright, I understand,” you grumbled. “No meeting.” 

“Don’t be cross with me, mon cher,” Enjolras begged, taking your hand in his. He squeezed your hand and gave you a tight smile, and he dropped your hand as he spoke again. “I’d hate to make you upset with me before I leave for my meeting.” 

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” you huffed, and Enjolras set his eyes on his papers and books, looking at you quickly before looking back down at the papers. You took his hint and looked at the paper, and your eyes widened as you saw that his own neat script covered the paper. Even though you saw it upside-down, you could see a date and an address. 

“Remember,” Enjolras said, passing the paper to you. “I told you not to come. But, if I left this and you wanted to return it to me, you know where to find me.” 

“Oh, Enjolras,” you said softly. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” Enjolras asked. “Denying you to come to a meeting? I should think I’m hurting your feelings.” 

“Oh,” you said quickly, catching onto his game. Enjolras was wonderfully playful, and this was only proof of that. “Yes, yes, it hurts my feelings so much. In fact, I might think twice about returning your paper to you.” 

“But you’re a good girl,” Enjolras said. “You’ll return it to me hastily, just as soon as I’m gone and you’ve noticed I left it.” 

“Of course, of course,” you said passively, and your stomach shrank behind your stays. He had called you a good girl. Did he know the effect his words had? “Anything for you.” 

“Alright,” Enjolras said. “I really must be leaving. Have a good evening, mademoiselle.” 

“You as well, monsieur,” you told him, and you stayed seated at your desk and lazily tidied up your things as Enjolras left. Your heart hammered inside your chest at the prospect of seeing Enjolras again, outside of your lessons, at this revolutionary meeting. Would he treat you as a friend, or like some girl that had hopelessly fallen in love with him and followed him? 

About an hour after Enjolras left (because you definitely weren’t paying too much attention to the clock), you crumpled the paper up in your hand and went to the front foyer, tying your cloak around your neck. You hoped that maybe you could slip out of the house unnoticed, but the creak of the stairs made your heart stop. 

“Are you going out?” your father asked you, and you sighed. 

“Just for a moment,” you said. “My Latin tutor left something of his, and I’m going to return it.” 

“You can’t wait to give it back next week?” your father asked, and you shook your head, looking up at the stairs to see him. Enjolras’s words swam in your head, about how your father’s politics were better left unchallenged, how angry he would be if he knew the truth, but the promise of seeing Enjolras was too great for you to back down now. 

“It looks important,” you said, looking down at the paper in your hand. “Doesn’t he work as a copier? This looks like an unfinished piece of his work. I don’t want him to get into any trouble.” 

“I can deliver it,” your father offered, and you shook your head. 

“I’d rather do it,” you said. “I’ve been inside all day, I’d like to go out for a moment.”

“If you say so,” your father said. “Just be back before dinnertime.” 

“Yes, sir,” you told him, and you quickly left the house before he could ask any more questions. The air was cold against your cheeks as you began your walk to the small pub that Enjolras’s flyer indicated, and your heart was beating quicker with every avenue and rue that you turned down. Eventually, you heard the chatter of a pub as you turned onto a street, and you steadied yourself as you pushed open the door. The air inside was warm and smelled like ale, but you weren’t focused on that. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the back corner where, on a raised stage-like area, your Latin tutor sat. He looked incredibly laid-back and handsome, his jacket slung across the back of his chair and exposing his vest and chemise, and you had to keep yourself from shouting his name to catch his attention. 

Luckily for you, his attention was captured by your mere presence. His eyes found you instantly, and a smile crossed his face as he swept his arm towards him and the other men at the table. He beckoned you over several times before your feet finally started to move, and you crumpled the flyer in your hand as you made your way to the back corner. 

“I know you’d come,” Enjolras beamed. “Come, sit, would you like a drink?” 

“Oh, umm,” you started, eyeing the other men at the table. Any friend of Enjolras’s was a friend of yours, but you didn’t miss the odd ways that they stared at you, like they were seeing some fantastical being for the first time; almost like Enjolras had spoken of you and they didn’t expect to actually meet you. “Not now, but maybe later.” 

“Of course,” Enjolras said, and he tugged a seat over the table, where sheaths of cards laid out, in the middle of a game. “Here, you can sit here—“

“Uh, Enjolras?” one of the men asked. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the lady?” 

“Hardly a lady,” you quipped before you could stop yourself. “I-I mean, why am I a lady if that title comes with consequences? Why am I not just one of his friends?” 

“Ah,” the man said. “So you’re the girl he’s been tutoring. Corrupting, as it were.” He reached over and jostled Enjolras’s arm, and your tutor rolled his eyes. “Tell me, how often does he speak about revolution during your lessons?” 

“Not often,” you said, and you playfully bit your lip as you considered your next words. “But enough for it to be a bother.” 

Enjolras gaped at you, his game still afoot, and he turned his nose up. “See, I told you that you shouldn’t have come,” he said. “I would only bore you with more revolution speak.” He took the cards back up in his hands and carefully began to shuffle them, and you took notice of the way his ink-stained fingers shook a little. Was he nervous? Surely not as much as you. 

“What if I wanted to come?” you asked softly. “To see you?” 

Enjolras smiled gently, and he carefully touched your hand, taking your fingers in his grip. “Well, that’s the best reason,” he said. “Because I also get to see you.” 

“I thought for sure you’d hate seeing me,” you told him. The conversation at the table had resumed, leaving you and the handsome older man to your own devices, and Enjolras shook his head. “That-That you wouldn’t want me around…” 

“I can hardly get enough of you,” Enjolras told you. “I hope you enjoy the meeting. Speak up if you have something to say.” With that, Enjolras stood from his chair and began to bang his fist on the table in front of you, startling you into a jump. His compatriots started to do the same, and it flooded the pub until you yourself were compelled to slam your hand into the table with them. The sense of camaraderie was astounding, and you laughed as Enjolras started to hush the crowd. 

“Citizens,” he started, and the eager crowd silenced themselves to listen to him. You had learned from him that equality among all meant no leaders, nobody with a higher standing or rank than any other person, but you could instantly tell that Enjolras was their leader. Everyone looked at him with bated breath, awaiting his words, and a shiver ran down your back at his authority. 

“General Lamarck lays dying,” Enjolras announced. “He is a supporter of the revolution, one of our first and strongest supporters. As soon as he dies, we need to do something. Paris is a powder keg, yes? And Lamarck’s death needs to symbolize something, it needs to symbolize everything. It is the spark that we need to make the whole of Paris go up in flames.” 

“Hear, hear!” one of Enjolras’s friends said, banging his fist on the table again, and a giddy excitement filled your chest. You looked up at him from where he stood, and you found Enjolras looking down at you, the hint of a smile on his face. 

“Take this woman!” Enjolras began, brandishing a hand out to you. Your face went cold then before flooding hot with blush, and you shook your head. 

“Mon ange, please, no,” you protested. “Not in front of everyone—“ 

“Strip her of her aristocratic clothes and what do you have?” Enjolras asked. “You have a woman. A woman with wishes, dreams, hopes! And there is no better way to ensure her success in the world than with…” He trailed off, looking to you, and you gulped, knowing what he wanted from you. 

“La révolution!” you squeaked, wholly unsure of yourself, but Enjolras clapped his hand down on your shoulder as the pub exploded with cheers and cries. You grinned at him as he squeezed your shoulder, and he leaned down to nestle his mouth right next to your ear, speaking so that only you could hear him. 

“How do you like it?” he asked. 

“I…” you started, and you reached up to gently touch his cheek, the rough stubble under your fingers. His hand went to cover yours, his eyes big as he watched you, and, under the commotion in the pub, you said, “I think you should kiss me.” 

He didn’t hesitate at all, reaching to capture your cheek in his hand, and he pressed his mouth to yours. Fireworks exploded in your chest as you held him close, your eyes fluttering shut to enjoy the kiss. You had never kissed a man before, and Enjolras was a good first kiss; his lips were soft, his mouth gentle, his grip soothing on your jaw. 

When you drew away, the din of the pub still raging as Enjolras’s friend spoke now, Enjolras suddenly looked forlorn, his eyebrows furrowing as he bit his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, and he tore himself away from you, grabbing his jacket from off the back of his chair. “I shouldn’t have—“ 

“Mon ange, wait,” you told him, and you grabbed at his hand as he started to walk away from the table. “Wait, what do you mean?” 

“I shouldn’t have just kissed you,” Enjolras told you. “That was a mistake.” 

“But why?” you asked. “I asked for it, and I liked it! I didn’t—“

“Because there’s no room for love in this,” Enjolras said, grabbing his hand away from you. He stepped away from you, and turned to the room, and he hesitated for a moment before he quickly scaled down the steps and made to leave the pub. 

“Wait!” you exclaimed, grabbing your cloak, and you chased after him, threading through the crowd. You finally caught up with him outside the pub in the cold air, and you grabbed his hand again and tugged him back to you. “Mon ange, wait just a moment, please!” 

“Stop it, don’t call me that,” Enjolras said quickly. He turned to you and you saw his cheeks red, his eyes aflame, but not with anger. He truly regretted kissing you, and your heart sank into your stomach. “I’m not your angel, as much as you wish.” 

“Don’t be mean!” you exclaimed. “What’s the matter? You said there’s no love in this? What is ‘this’?” 

“The revolution,” Enjolras answered. “Love means that one person matters more than others, there is no love in revolution, everyone is equal in everyone’s hearts—“

“But!” you huffed. “Why did you kiss me then? Just to play with me? I thought you were better than that.”

“Because I wanted to kiss you,” he told you. “I want nothing more than to kiss you, to have you be mine and mine alone, but I can’t just abandon all I’ve worked for for you. Falling in love is not what I’m supposed to do—“

“So don’t call it love,” you told him. “Don’t call it anything. We are… Citizens, comrades, yes? There’s no sense in being upset over something that doesn’t truly exist. If you can decide that I’m not high born and decide that I’m just a woman, then you can just as easily decide to not love me.” 

“But I do love you,” Enjolras said. 

“Just don’t call it love,” you said back. “Call it anything other than that.” 

In an instant, Enjolras stood closer to you, throwing his arms around your middle, and he tugged your body right on top of his. His hands explored your body, gripping your hips and feeling up your sides, and he pressed his forehead to yours. “How can I resist you?” he whispered. “My sweet girl, mon amour…” 

“Mon ange,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “Kiss me, my angel.” 

“I’ll regret it,” Enjolras warned you, and you shook your head. 

“Only if you let yourself regret it,” you told him. “Kiss me, please—” 

His hands cupped your jaw as he kissed you, his lips plush against yours again, and you clutched his jacket tightly to keep him from leaving you again. You could never let him go again, not as long as you lived. Enjolras held you tightly as well, equally as passionate about keeping you, and he broke the kiss with a gasp. “Mon amour,” he whispered. “You had an awfully hard time at your lessons today. I might need to come back tomorrow and give you some extra lessons.” 

“Yes, please,” you said quickly. “Yes, tomorrow, yes.” 

“So eager,” Enjolras chuckled. “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“What if I want to stay for the meeting?” you asked. 

“Do you really want to?” Enjolras asked with playfully narrowed eyes. “Or do you just want to spend time with me?” 

“Maybe both,” you teased him, and Enjolras smiled. 

“Go home, mon amour,” Enjolras told you. “I’ll see you as soon as possible. I’ll dream of you.” 

“I’ll dream of you as well.”

[telekinetictrait]

True paradise is not in heaven but on the lips of one's beloved. (Mademoiselle de Maupin – Theóphile Gautier, 1835)

guys... i love the 1830s. i would kill to wear the 1836 dress :( so the sim modeling this decade is based loosely off of how i look! i am flying through these decades lol sorry

anyway. 1830s! you see the puffy sleeves in this era that you also associate with the 1890s, but they're much more romantic and soft in this area. as the decade goes on, the hemline falls again, and you see the skirt start to widen exponentially.

1834 deviates in this series, but that's just because i wanted to use it to honor anne lister, a.k.a 'gentleman jack', who is known often as the "first modern lesbian".

1800-1809 / 1810-1819 / 1820-1829

cc links under the cut!!

see my resources page

darcy : linzlu's fancy bonnet / the-melancholy-maiden's ringlets updo / peebsplays' 1830s riding outfit

deridre : the-melancholy-maiden's pinned curls updo / the-melancholy-maiden's 1820s-1830s hair flowers / peebsplays' 1830s tabitha day dress / acanthus-sims' rose brooch / simverses' silk flats

dionysia : buzzardly28's 1830s hair / glitterberrysims' turquoise necklace / acanthus-sims' simple fichu / peebsplays' 1830s eliza dress / simverses' silk flats

djene : cringeborg's amelia hair / elfdor june hat / makesims' revolution rosette / tzuhu's lace accessory top / vintagesimstress' 1830s ballgown / joliebean's satin tipped shoes

dmitriya : buzzardly28's anne lister hair + top hat / renorasims' lilith corset / vintagesimstress' 1890s working girl bottom (i know, i know, but it worked.) / gilded-ghosts' hartfield boots

dorcas : cringeborg's amelia hair / the-melancholy-maiden's 1820s-1830s hair flowers / glitterberrysims' saxe necklace with pearls / tzuhu's lace accessory top / moon-simmers recolor of sunlittides' simple 1830's evening dress / gilded-ghosts' hartfield boots

drusilla : the-melancholy-maiden's ringlets updo / linzlu’s birthday bonnet / sunlittides' 1830s dainty dress / simverses' silk flats

dsinara : buzzardly28's anne lister formal hair / moon-simmers recolor of vintagesimstress' 1830s mourning dress / simverses' silk flats

dulcie : buzzardly28's ann walker hair / the-melancholy-maiden's 1820s-1830s hair flowers / simverses' mistress mysterium scarf / sunlittides' plain 1830s day dress / joliebean's satin tipped shoes

dymphna : simverses' hat with plumes, bow, and roses / deathpoke1qa's nancy rosary / sunlittides' 1830s garden stroll dress

thank you to @linzlu @the-melancholy-maiden @peebsplays @acanthus-sims @simverses @buzzardly28 @glitterberrysims @cringeborg @makesims @vintagesimstress @joliebean @renorasims @gilded-ghosts @moon-simmers @sunlittides and @deathpoke1qa !!!!

[la-femme-au-collier-vert]

IWTV Season 2 Sources & References (So Far)

The Ethnic Avante-Garde: Minority Cultures and World Revolution by Steven S. Lee

Paris Journal 1944-1955 by Janet Flanner (Genet)

The Vampire: A Casebook by Alan Dundes

Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles: An Alphabettery

Melmoth the Wanderer by Charles Maturin

The Lost Boys (1987)

Casablanca (1942)

The Third Man (1949)

Movie Posters (in chronological order by year):

Tarzan and his Mate (1934)

Avec le Sourire (1936)

Les Deux Gosses (1936)

Le Jour Se Leve (1939) about a man who commits murder as a result of a love triangle and locks himself in his apartment recounting the details as the police attempt to arrest him. Credit to @laisofhyccara

Nuit de Décembre (1940)

Mademoiselle Swing (1942) about a girl who follows a troupe of swing musicians to Paris.

Les Enfents du Paradis (1945) about a woman with many suitors including an actor and an aristocrat.

Fantomas (1946) about a sadistic criminal mastermind. This version includes a hideout in the catacombs where he traps people.

Quai des Orfevres (1947) watch here

Monsieur Vincent (1947)

Le Cafe du Cadran (1947) about a wife’s affair with a violinist.

La Kermesse Rouge (1947) film about a jealous artist who locks up his younger wife and a fire breaks out while she’s trapped.

Play Posters:

Morts Sans Sepulture by Jean-Paul Sartre (play) also published in English translations as “The Victors” or “Men Without Shadows” about resistance fighters captured by Vichy soldiers struggling not to give up information.

Mon Faust by Paul Valery (play)

Le Triumph de l'amour by Pierre de Mariveaux (play)

Season 1 here

[microcosme11]

Charlotte Robespierre mentions Bonaparte in her memoirs

Bonaparte had a very high regard for my two brothers, and especially for the eldest; he admired his talents, his energy, the purity of his patriotism and his intentions. So Bonaparte was sincerely a republican; I would even say that he was a montagnard republican; at least he had that effect on me by the way he looked at things at the time when I was in Nice. His subsequent victories turned his head and made him aspire to dominate his fellow citizens; but when he was only a general of artillery in the army of Italy, he was a partisan of broad liberty and true equality. One thing that has not been reported, as far as I know, by any historian of the revolution, is that after 9 Thermidor Bonaparte proposed to the representatives of the people who were on mission in the army of Italy, and who had succeeded my younger brother and Ricord, to march on Paris to punish the authors of the counter-revolutionary movement which had killed my two brothers. This bold proposal, revealing courage, an extraordinary spirit and patriotism, terrified the representatives, who hastened to repel him. 

I had known Madame Bonaparte when she was the wife of General Beauharnais; she had even then shown me a great deal of affection; and after the 9th Thermidor I had continued to see her. For some time she still received me with the same regard, but soon I noticed a change in the reception she gave me. The coldness and indifference which I had noticed in her redoubled to the point that I thought it my dignity to cease visits which seemed to me to be burdensome to her. Several times her door had been refused to me; one day, when I met her, I expressed my astonishment to her on this subject; she made a thousand apologies to me, and accompanied them with so many demonstrations of friendship, that I ingenuously believed that if I had not been able to penetrate as far as her, it was because of a misunderstanding. "When you want to honor me with your visit," she said to me, "name yourself, and immediately my door will be opened to you." I remembered this recommendation when, a few days later, I called on Madame Bonaparte; the concierge having told me that she was not there, I named myself, telling him that Madame Bonaparte herself had recommended me to state my name, and that I would immediately be received. "Eh, mademoiselle," replied the concierge in a tone that was half mocking and half curt, "Madame says the same thing to everyone, and she's home to no one." It was all the insolence of a grande dame of the court of Louis XV. 

Bonaparte's admiration for my elder brother, his friendship for my younger brother, and perhaps also the interest which my misfortunes inspired in him, enabled me to obtain a pension under the consulate. When Bonaparte was First Consul I was advised to ask him for an audience. I had no resources; since the death of my brothers I received the hospitality of my respectable and excellent friend, M. Mathon, who had been their friend and who was from Arras like us. Bonaparte received me perfectly, spoke to me of my brothers in very flattering terms, and told me that he was ready to do everything for their sister: "Speak, what do you want?" he said to me. I explained my position to him; he promised to take it into consideration; in fact, a few days later I received the patent for a pension of 3,600 francs.

[qbdatabase]

Hello, I saw that you had awesome recs for bi4bi books! I rarely have found bi4bi books in genres other than contemporary so I was hoping you could help me with that? Could you please recommend bi4bi (sapphic) books in fantasy, horror, mystery and basically any genre other than contemporary

heads up, these lists will include poly pairings with at least two female characters, pansexual / queer / unlabled multi-gender-attracted identities, and F/NB pairings

bi4bi WLW Fantasy

The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza by Shaun David Hutchinson: Cuban-American bisexual female x white bisexual female

Payback's a Witch by Lana Harper: bisexual female x Russian-American bisexual female

The Lost Girls by Sonia Hartl: bisexual female x bisexual female

The Goddess of Nothing At All by Cat Rector: Norse bisexual female x pansexual genderfluid LI

Thornfruit by Felicia Davin: starts with lesbian female x bisexual female, but ends with an FFNB poly triad with a bisexual genderfluid MC

A Lake of Feathers and Moonbeams by Dax Murray: polyamorous bisexual female x queer non-binary MC x Asian bisexual female

Vicious Devotion by Aveda Vice: queer female x queer female x queer male x queer male in a polyamorous quartet

The Sea Witch by Katee Robert: half-Vietnamese polyamorous bisexual sub female x older fat black mga Domme female LI x (sub?) male LI in a polyamorous triad

bi4bi WLW Historical

The Companion by E. E. Ottoman: polyamorous bisexual transgender female x bisexual transgender female x transgender male

Her Countess to Cherish by Jane Walsh: pregnant bisexual female x mga bigender LI

Mademoiselle Revolution by Zoe Sivak: biracial Haitian bisexual female x French bisexual female (possible) LI; French male (possible) LI

Windfall by Shawna Barnett: bisexual female MC x bisexual female MC x asexual male LI x male LI (love square, but the bi!F MCs do also romance each other)

Scandalous Passions by Nicola Davidson: Domme bisexual female x sub questioning bisexual female x sub straight male with a stutter in a polyamorous triad

bi4bi WLW Horror

Wilder Girls by Rory Power: mga female x queer female

A Dowry of Blood by S. T. Gibson: polyamorous bisexual female x bisexual female with mood swings and depression x bisexual male

bi4bi WLW Mystery

Missing, Presumed Dead by Emma Berquist: bisexual female x bisexual female

All the Things We Do in the Dark by Saundra Mitchell: white pansexual female with PTSD x Korean-American queer mga female

The Girls I've Been by Tess Sharpe: bisexual female x mga female

Bury the Lede by Gaby Dunn: bisexual female x bisexual female, black lesbian female

The Night She Disappeared by Lisa Jewell: mga female x straight male (possible) LI; bisexual female (possible) LI

The Drowning Summer by Christine Lynn Herman: bisexual female x bisexual female

bi4bi WLW Sci-Fi

Curved Horizon by Taylor Brooke: bisexual female x demisexual panromantic female

City of Shattered Light by Claire Winn: chronically ill bisexual female x Japanese/ Portugese bisexual female

Victories Greater Than Death by Charlie Jane Anders: white pansexual female x black Brazilian bisexual trans-nonbinary femme

Honor Among Thieves by Rachel Caine: black bisexual female x Brazilian bisexual female x bisexual male in a polyamorous triad

full notes on representation and publishing info at qbdatabase.com

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Hello! I just saw your reply to an ask and noticed this passage:

At the end of a century which had profaned love, Robespierre distinguished himself by the purity of his morals and by the delicacy of his procedures towards a sex, which the literature of the time regarded as born almost solely for pleasure. Above all, he respected the marital bed.

Do you know more about Robespierre and his views and relationships with marriage/women (I don't mean in the political sense)?

I've heard that he was meant to marry once but the lady ended up marrying someone else. And that he wrote a poem to a lady once, and that he enjoyed talking/singing/dancing with the ladies at the poets club he used to frequent (I can't remember the name of it atm). Overall, I get the idea that he loved/respected/admired women a lot and wanted to marry in the future. And also that he had conservative views on marriage and women. Am I correct? Are there any other examples I missed?

Thank you!

Yes, Robespierre overall seemed to have respected and gotten along well with women. He gets described in friendly terms by both his sister, Élisabeth Lebas and Rosalie Jullien, who all met him in private. The woman he sent poetry to was Charlotte Buissart, whose entire family was close to both him and his siblings (they would however fall out with each other during ”the terror”). In the 1780’s Robespierre also sent works of his to one mademoiselle Duhay (1, 2, 3) who in her turn gave him canaries and puppies, as well as to ”une dame”, to whom he wrote that ”the sweetest, the most glorious of all, is to be able to communicate these feelings to a kind and illustrious lady whose noble soul is made to share them.” The historian Ernest Hamel reportedly tracked down an old woman in Arras who told him her mother used to dance with Robespierre and found him a pleasant partner, and once Robespierre got into politics the amounts of female fans he had was noted by contemporaries. There evidently exists so much material regarding his relationship with women that the historian Hector Fleischmann in 1913 could release a whole book with the title Robespierre and the women he loved (original title Robespierre et les femmes).

For the moment I can only really remember one instance where Robespierre is reported to have acted in an inappropriate way towards a woman, and it was reported in Souvernirs d’un déporté (1802) by Paul Villiers, who claimed to have served as Robespierre’s secretary for a few months 1790-1791:

As for [Robespierre’s] continence, I only knew of a woman of about twenty-six years, whom he treated rather badly, and who idolized him. Very often he refused her at his door; he gave her a quarter of his fees; tre rest of it was split between me and a sister he had in Arras whom he loved very much.

Villiers’ work was declared apocryphal by the historian René Garmy in 1967. When Hervé Leuwers 47 years later wrote he still thought it authentic, he added that some parts of it still seemed like ”probable fabrication” and listed the mistress claim as an example, though without elaborating why he thought that was.

There are three women Robespierre is alleged to have been engaged to — mademoiselle Deshorties, Adélaïde Duplessis and Éléonore Duplay — though none of these allegations were ever confirmed by Robespierre or the women themselves. The lady you’re thinking of is the first of those listed — mademoiselle Deshorties (it’s often said her firstname was Anaïs, but I don’t know what the source for that is). She was Robespierre’s step-cousin and had, according to Charlotte Robespierre’s memoirs, been courting him for two to three years at the start of the revolution. Charlotte claims that it’s very likely the two would have married had things remained the way they were, however, with Maximilien away in Paris, mademoiselle Deshorties soon enough got engaged to someone else, and the two got married in 1792. When Robespierre found out about this after returning to Arras for a short stay, he was ”very grievously affected” according to Charlotte.

If Robespierre would have married had he lived if of course something we can’t know for sure. There does exist an anecdote where he, upon his friend’s Pétion’s insistence that they must find him a wife to lighten up his stiff behaviour, firmly responds: ”I will never marry!” If it is to be treated seriously or not is of course another story (and, if it happened, who knows if he changed his mind between this moment and his death).

As for if Robespierre held conservative views on marriage and women, for the first of these topics, I can only really find one place where he’s recorded to have mentioned it at all, and it’s when he on May 31 1790 argues for granting priests the right to marry, stating among other things that ”to unite priests with society, we must give them wives.” However, this of course has more to do with men’s relation to marriage and not women’s.

For his view on these, his perhaps most feminist moment takes place in 1787, when the Arras Academy of which he since one year back was the director, accepted two well-read women as honorary members — Marie Le Masson Le Golft and Louise de Kéralio. Robespierre was not present when the two were elevated to membership, but he was the author behind the response to the discours de la réception written by de Kéralio (who ironically, would go on to voice much more sexist opinions compared to Robespierre). In the text, he regretted that there were so few women in the academies and advocated for letting more in, arguing that ”habit and perhaps the force of prejudice” had intimidated women from presenting themselves as candidates for open academy positions, but that ”their sex does not make them lose the rights that their merit has earned them. […] If we grant that women have intelligence and reason, can we refuse them the right of cultivating them?” This is however not to say he viewed men and women as being the same in essence, but rather that they had received different sets of talents from nature that complemented each other. Men and women, he argued, were not meant to study the same subjects, the former being more suited for ”the initricacies of the abstract sciences,” while the latter should not be forbidden to contribute to those fields that ”demand only sensibility and imagination,” such as litterature, history and morality. Another argument put forward is that women will be able to make the sessions more interesting for the men:

The mere presence of a lovable woman is enough to enjoy these cold pleasures. They give interest to nothing, they spread a secret charm over this insipid circle of monotonous amusements which usage brings back every day. Women make a conversation where nothing is said, an assembly where nothing is done, more than bearable. They share laughter and merriment around a game table. Beauty, when it is mute, even when it does not think, still interests; it animates everything around. It is Armide who changes the dreadful deserts into laughing groves, into delicious gardens. From this, let us form the idea of a society where we would see the most amiable and witty women conversing with enlightened men about the most pleasant and interesting objects that could occupy beings made to think and to feel. Ah! If those who have no other merit than the amiability of their sex can respond so gently about the business of life, what will it be like for those who, freed from the false shame of appearing educated, without blushing to be more amiable and more enlightened would boldly deploy in an interesting conversation the playfulness of a delicate mind and the graces of a laughing imagination and all the charms of a cultivated reason!

A year earlier, the lawyer Robespierre had also been given as client the Englishwoman Mary Sommerville, widow of Colonel George Mercer, Governor of South Carolina, who had been imprisoned for debt. In his defence of her, Robespierre first and foremost underlined the fact that the Ordonnance de Saint-Germain-en-Laye from 1667 expressly stated that women and girls couldn’t be kept imprisoned. But he also voiced his personal support of this differential treatment between the sexes:

When the legislators introduced this terrible right to throw a man into prison for the non-performance of a civil commitment, I observed that they made it their duty to soften its rigor by a large number of restrictions. One of the main ones was to exclude women; reason and humanity indicated this exception to them; its motives can be discovered by every man made to think and feel. The ease, the inexperience of this sex which would have led it to contract too lightly commitments fatal to its freedom; its weakness, its sensitivity which makes it more overwhelming for the shame and rigor of captivity; the terrible impressions that the apparatus of such constraint must have made on its timid nature; the fatal consequences that it can cause, especially during pregnancy; what will I at last say? The delicate honor of women, which the glare of a public and legal affront irreversibly degrades in the eyes of men, whose tenderness vanishes with the respect they inspire in them; the sacred interest of modesty injured by the violence which accompanies this rigorous path, and the facilities which it can provide to outrage it...

Once we get to the revolution, I have yet to find a place where Robespierre talks about women much at all. Searching for the term ”femmes” in the volumes of Oeuvres complètes de Robespierre covering this period, the most common phrase it shows up in is probably ”women and children,” as in, something good and precious that needs protection against counter-revolutionaries. The two instances I’ve found where he speaks a bit more on women as such are the following:

Women! this name recalls dear and sacred ideas. Wives! this name recalls very sweet feelings for all the friends of the society. But aren't the wives republican? And doesn’t this title impose duties? Should Republican women renounce their status as citoyennes to remember that they are wives? Robespierre at the Convention, December 20 1793, showing his hesitation towards a commission of women that has arrived from Lyon to plead for mercy for their husbands.

You will be there, young citoyennes, to whom victory must soon bring back brothers and lovers worthy of you. You will be there, mothers of families, whose husbands and sons raise trophies for the Republic with the debris of the thrones. O French women, cherish the liberty purchased at the price of their blood; use your empire to extend that of republican virtue! O French women, you are worthy of the love and respect of the earth! What do you have to envy of the women of Sparta? Like them, you have given birth to heroes; like them, you devoted them, with sublime abandonment, to the Fatherland. Robespierre’s report on religious and moral ideas and republican principles, held on May 7 1794

Robespierre is not confirmed to have ever openly advocated for women being granted more political rights in general, like Condorcet and Guffroy in 1790 or Guyomar in 1793, or that married ones deserved to share the right to administration of property with their husbands, like Desmoulins, Danton, Lacroix and Couthon in 1793. However, this is not to say he ever openly spoke against these ideas either. In the third number of his journal Le défenseur de la constitution (1792) Robespierre does however warn about a girondin plot that includes a ”female triumvirate,” seemingly implying he thinks the concept of women in power needs to be side-eyed:

When following the thread of this plot, we arrive at a female triumvirate, at M. Narbonne who, then struck by an apparent disgrace, nonetheless named the ministers; at Mr. La Fayette, who arrived at this time from the army in Paris, and who attended secret meetings with the deputies of Gironde, what vast conjectures can we not indulge in?

The three women Robespierre is alluding to here have been identified as Manon Roland, Sophie Condorcet and Louise de Kéralio-Robert, the latter of which ironically being the same de Kéralio he had welcomed as an honorary member to the Arras academy five years earlier.

Finally, in a notebook he kept in the fall of 1793 regarding measures to be taken, Robespierre has written ”Dissolution of F.R.R” as in the society Femmes Républicaines Révolutionnaires, which would indeed be shut down by the Committee of General Security on October 30, alongside all other women’s clubs. This has however been accepted as part of a bigger pattern of the deputies cracking down on anything that may pose opposition to the government and not a move against women in particular, even if Jean Pierre André Amar, when announcing the dissolution to the Convention, did motivate it in sexist terms.

It’s however hard for me to say if all these factors added together makes Robespierre have an overall conservative or an overall radical view on women. This due to the fact I still haven’t fully discovered what the standard perspective on the topic was for the time for an educated, middle class man. Instead, the concept of women and what they are and are not capable of comes off as deeply controversial, look for example at the aforementioned debate on women’s right to the administration of property, where men with overall similar backgrounds and educations come to fully different conclusions, some arguing women are biologically incapable of handling such things and some that women are born with as much capacity as men and that not letting them enjoy this right would be akin to slavery. Someone could ask for women to more or less be granted the same rights as men only for someone else to suggest women shouldn’t even be taught to read a few years later. The article Robespierre: old regime feminist? (2010), while underlining Robespierre’s suggestion to let women into the academies was met with a lot of backlash (nine out of eleven correspondents disagreeing with his views), also makes sure to state he was nevertheless far from alone in pushing for this integration, and that those who were against it argued less for the notion that women were incapable of learning (the actual amount of well-read ones making it come off as weak) and more that ”they could but they shouldn’t” since they needed to take care of the home and children. All of this makes it hard to say exactly how normal/radical/conservative Robespierre’s views were for the time. I would conclude by saying he deserves a ribbon for neither ”Revolution’s number one feminist” nor ”World’s most raging misogynist.” In his private life, he does however appear to have gotten along well with women, at least we don’t really possess any serious testimony hinting at anything else.

[usergreenpixel]

@suburbanbeatnik , remember how you sent me a book called “Mademoiselle Revolution” by Zoe Sivak?

Well, dear citizens, this will be the topic of my next Frev review! Stay tuned!

Editing me: Take a look at this synopsis! @maggiec70 , @frevandrest , @suburbanbeatnik , I don’t have high hopes…

[dolphin1812]

Hugo’s choice to describe both the woman who fires Fantine and the woman who teaches her how to live in poverty as “spinsters” indicates that there are parallels between them. The former is “full of the charity which consists in giving, but not having in the same degree that charity which consists in understanding and in forgiving”, while the latter, Marguerite, is “pious with a true piety, poor and charitable towards the poor, and even towards the rich.” I think what we’re once again seeing is the debate over the place/value of charity. The woman who fired Fantine is praised for her charity - that is likely what convinced Madeleine to hire her - but as her charity is limited by her idea of who is “deserving,” it can never truly have that great of an impact. In contrast, Marguerite is willing to help everyone. As we know from the latter half of this chapter, Fantine is scorned by the rest of the townspeople, so interacting with her could be risky. Marguerite, however, cares more that there’s someone in need, making her charity more impactful. At the same time, Marguerite is poor herself. While this may be exactly what gives her solidarity with Fantine, it seriously limits her ability to change her situation. It’s true that without her, Fantine wouldn’t have been able to survive after losing her job. But it’s also true that Fantine’s health is constantly deteriorating (her cough is getting worse) and that, even with all of the time she spends working, her payments to the Thénardiers have become irregular. Charity is wonderful, but only social change and a real support system could help Fantine.

This is less direcly related, but I’m fascinated by the number of women in this book who don’t have husbands, given the expectation for women to marry. Some of them, like Mme Victurnien, are widows, but many of them (Baptistine, the two “spinsters” in this chapter) simply never married. To some extent, it’s possible this is simply a realistic representation of France at the time. After years of war, it wouldn’t be surprising if many women lost their husbands either during the Revolution, one of the wars relating to it, or during Napoleon’s campaigns, for instance. These women would also be more directly vulnerable to poverty. We don’t know how much Fantine was paid while she worked at the factory, but afterward, she makes 12 sous a day, which is less than what Valjean made working on his way to Digne (and that’s even after he was paid half as much because he was a convict). Consequently, they’re less likely to be able to support themselves, as their salaries are very low and, if they don’t have a male relative to provide for them in the way that Baptistine does (and that Valjean’s sister did, although poverty still caught up to her), it’s very hard to live off of what they earn alone. Additionally, these women would be more likely to work for that same reason: they need the money if they don’t have a husband who can work. And on top of that, their behavior in relation to men is constantly scrutinized. Even their titles - Madame, Mademoiselle - automatically indicate to us if they have ever been married. Hugo himself pointed out the difference in status accorded to women based on marriage and motherhood while describing Baptistine, and that’s certainly at play here (although without one, the other isn’t given value; otherwise, Fantine would be much more respected as a mother). As an unmarried woman who hasn’t been in town long enough to establish “respectability” in the same way that, say, the woman running the factory, has, Fantine’s behavior in relation to men remains what is used to condemn her (the idea that she had a relationship with a man that left her with a child outside of marriage). For once, this horrible treatment of women is actually not on Hugo, but it’s very frustrating to read about.

[myrddin-wylt]

One more thing about Gil and Marie-Solène if you don’t mind. You’ve gone into Marie-Solène’s gender a bit and you said you really liked the idea of Gil being trans too. What’s Gil’s gender identity? And maybe more Marie-Solène gender HCs if you have any?

Gilbert would be a transman, which.... actually makes his relationship with Elizaveta much funnier in hindsight now that I think about it.

in general, there's a lot of historical, cultural, and religious context that needs to be taken into account here. because prior to the Protestant Reformation and Enlightenment, neither Gilbert nor Marie-Solène actually face significant transphobia? like people definitely think they're kinda weird, especially Marie-Solène, but they have two very potent advantages in that they belong to Catholic monastic orders.

like, without going into a history/theology lesson, the Catholic Church - and especially the pre-Protestant Reformation Catholic Church - gives a lot less of a shit about gender than it does sexual intercourse. and because vows of chastity are valued very, very highly by the Church regardless of gender, Marie-Solène and Gilbert have a nice buffer against a lot of societal pressures. like you can see it with Joan of Arc, but the medieval Church was pretty explicit and insistent that failing to conform to gender roles is, in of itself, not a sin. like they'll still be Weird about it, but technically how Marie-Solène and Gilbert present is irrelevant at worst and sanctioned by God at best. so they'd likely face a lot, lot more prejudice and transphobia from the average layperson than the average bishop (and there's no telling with priests >_>).

regarding Marie-Solène specifically, she does decide she dislikes the titles Lady, Sister, Mademoiselle, etc. like the feminine pronouns are fine but she has a problem with the titles, so people start calling her... Saint. Saint Marie-Solène. Blessed Marie-Solène. like it's very tongue-in-cheek (and doesn't work in all languages anyway) because immortality is A Bit of an obstacle in achieving sainthood so she's not officially a saint in the eyes of the Catholic Church. amusingly enough, treating her like a saint would actually be much more heretical to the Catholic Church than the gender nonconformity part lol. Gilbert doesn't get informal sainthood because he's, well, he's Gilbert. have you seen him. he does get masculine pronouns/titles etc though, due to pre-Enlightenment ideas about gender.

the real problems arise with the Protestant Reformation, Scientific Revolution, and Age of Enlightenment. because in the modern/early modern West, gender becomes not only a societal/cultural role but also inherently biological. which is why gender non-conformity is "unnatural," and why women are "naturally inferior" to men, etc etc. so Early Modern/Modern opinion on Marie-Solène and Gilbert is........ mixed.

for one thing, they actually present very differently; Marie-Solène isn't sure what this whole Gender thing is and at this point is too afraid to ask, whereas Gilbert loves gender, gender is his best friend and he loves that he's a man. as a result, Marie-Solène makes zero attempt to pass or be consistent in how she presents, whereas Gilbert is much more concerned about conforming to ideas of masculinity and acts accordingly. on the other hand, Marie-Solène remains Catholic and keeps her vow of chastity, whereas Gilbert gets excommunicated for becoming Protestant and thus loses his monastic privileges, so now he's gotta pass or face a shitstorm of transphobia. but it's not like Marie-Solène is completely immune to the Enlightenment ideas of gender and whatnot, and being in France means she gets the double whammy of Enlightenment bullshit and French misogyny.....

basically the medieval period is much more accepting of them than the Early Modern period, which is overall a mixed bag. the 19th century for Marie-Solène is better than the Early Modern but she still keeps her head down for the most part, especially as she really starts to lose the prestige and protections that the Catholic Church had previously afforded her. Gilbert, meanwhile, is generally able to keep from being outed or, when he is outed, has the advantage of being powerful in his own right along with being fucking terrifying so no one's gonna actually do shit about it. like maybe someone tries to do something about it, but dueling is still a perfectly valid way of resolving conflict and are you really gonna duel Gilbert Beilschmidt? no. no one in their right mind is going to out Gilbert Beilschmidt in the 19th century. don't ask about the 20th century.

I have zero idea if this post is coherent and I'm pretty sure it's just very sloppily written because I don't write paragraphs in order. godspeed!

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and Fight

Part 6

Summary: One chapter comes to an end for Enjolras, while another begins. While reader is visited by her past.

Warnings/Notes: References to being gravely ill…possibly passing as a result. Angst over this and “one’s duty” some gifs of Joseph come from Dickensian and the bottom image is of Marius’s love interest..but its just to give an impression of the moment.

French to English translations…

ma douce fille - my sweet girl **** Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité! - liberty equality fraternity (was the main slogan of the French Revolution)

mon doux petit rêveur - my sweet little dreamer. **** Juste des rêves, maman - Just dreams, mama *** Ma fille forte s'évanouit enfin. - My strong girl finally swooned. **** mon trésor - my treasure *** mon ange - my angel *** C'est moi, ma petite fille. - I am here, my sweet girl

His carriage bounced and skipped along the road, his was consumed by you. He had to focus. He could not even imagine what the General wanted.

Yet, his mind wandered. The touch of your gloved hands were fresh. He could still recall, the sweet memory of laying his hand your lower back.

******

Gavroche, with a twist of his head smiled at you . “I wouldn’t have wanted to tie you up.”

You swallowed. “You recognize me?”

He nodded. “Only because you were standing beside Enjolras. You were also the only person, I’ve ever seen to make him pause.”

Confusion filled you. “Pause?”

“Enjolras and his friends are very methodical in making France better. We cannot afford to have anyone trying to stop us or obtain information.” He spoke fast.

“Understandable.” You nodded. “It’s smart.”

“He is.”

“Are you fond of him?” You asked.

The young man shrugged. “He is a kind man, yet has the ability to be incredibly ruthless.” Gavroche smiled. “And he wins at card a lot.” He beamed.

You could tell by that the young man saw Enjolras as a hero. It was endearing. “So he enjoys card games?” Imagining Enjolras in such a way, made you happy.

“Occasionally with his friends.” He chuckled.

“I enjoy a good card game.” You absently mused.

“Oh, I believe he has never played with a lady. And he only plays after four to five drinks.”

You nodded. “Was just musing.”

“Good. Don’t want to try his patience.”

His words made your stomach lurch. What could that possibly mean. You shrugged off the sentiment. “Here we are.”

Once you felt the weight of the satchel, you were grateful for Gavrouche. Reaching in. “Gavroche, thank you for your time.” You held out a few more coins.

“No, mademoiselle. Enjolras paid handsomely.” He handed you the two pheasants. “And you are such a sweet woman. I don’t want any more coin.”

You rose an eyebrow.

“Alright, Enjolras paid me far more then what my time was worth.”

“That is generous of him.”

“He has a generous streak.”

“Interesting.” You thanked him and bid him a good day.

********

Enjolras’s stomach lurched, as he saw the older man. His cheeks were flushed but was pale. His eyes were too shiny.

“My boy, I feel weak. Not terribly confident I can fight this one.”

Enjolras, sighed. “You’ve fought the English, the Russians. You will fight this too.”

“Such a good boy.” He rubbed at his stomach. “France needs more like you.” His hand shook as he drank from his cup.

“These letters contain the lists of people who are my connections, along with the locations of warehouses that house supplies. I wish I had more time.”

“General, please you are going to be alright.”

******

“Greta? Greta?” You called entering the kitchen. “I’m back.”

With a sigh and a heave you put the satchel onto the large wooden table that sat in the middle of the kitchen. Beside it you placed the pheasants.

“I’m here ma douce fille.” The woman wiped her hands on a rag, as she came up from the root cellar.

“Greta. What do you think?” You smiled, as you began taking things out of the satchel.

“Oh!” She rubbed her hands together. “You found a lot of things.” She smiled.

“It was a good day at the market.” A flutter went through you at the memory of Enjolras.

*******

Enjolras, took the envelops and slipped them into his coat.

The older man ran a hand over his stomach groaning. “You may not have fought along side of me,” The man winced. “but, but I consider you a brother in arms.”

He swallowed. “I don’t know what to say, sir.”

“No words are necessary.”

Seeing this man, his hero so sickly filled him with such anguish. He had done so much.

“Keep at it, son. Don’t give up.” He leaned forward and extended a hand. “Take my hand.”

Enjolras reached out, the older man took his hand with a fantastic amount of strength. “Enjolras, say it with me!”

“It would be an honor.”

He smiled. “Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité!”

His heart swelled with pride. It was a great honor to share this moment.

******

“There were apples at the market?” Your mama wheezed while she sat in the salon with you. She was still ill but getting better. There was a good flush of color in her cheeks.

“Yes. They were pleasing to see. It had been awhile.” The two of you shared some slices. This one was particularly tangy and sweet.

“Tell me mon doux petit rêveur,” Your mama said sweetly, her eyes finally having a touch of their old glimmer. “Have you had any new adventures? You have been so terribly quiet since that night.”

You pressed your lips together as you debated what to say. “No mama. No adventures since. Juste des rêves, maman.”

She shook her head. “I was so happy for you.” She barked out of cough. “You deserve to be. You haven’t been in so long.”

You jumped up and rubbed her back. “You getting better is all I wish for.” You gave her the glass to drink from, hoping to ease any pain.

There was no way, you could tell her of your plans at midnight.

*****

Enjolras, glanced at the general’s house before the carriage began to pull away. The wheels were soon were creaking and clanking against the cobblestones.

A pang, sliced through his chest at the prospect of never seeing the general again. He had been a good and kind man to him; he dared admit he was like a second father. Sitting back he felt ill, at losing a great man and powerful ally.

Though in the deepest part of his heart he also struggled with his feelings for you. He still couldn’t believe he had promised to see you in your gardens.

What had come over him, he wondered tugging on his red scarf. France was a far more important then what he could ever feel for you. People were dying and the Royal guard, the upper class did not care.

Over the last few months, since Marius had met his angel. He had even told him , he was being foolish.

Now he had his own angel. The idea of you being his angel made his heart swell. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he wondered if it was it all worth it, were you worth it.

******

You made sure your mama was tucked away and comfortable. You also placed a glass on the table near her in case she grew thirsty and most importantly you snuffed out her candles.

Safely back in your room you went about freshening yourself. Sitting at your vanity, with your hands trembling, you opened a beautiful porcelain jar. You held it your nose and smiled.

Memories, floated and swirled around you. It was as if the jar itself had been holding onto your memories. One of your favorites came for a visit.

You remembered the last time you dressed up for an elegant dinner party. Father was throwing one for his good friends. It had been four long months since he had been home so a party had been in order.

That night he promised you that after he returned from his next journey; him and your mama would begin planning a party worthy of you. The idea of courting excited and terrified you.

He was eager for you to finally have the flush of love. He had met your mother when she was a mere sixteen years of age graced her while twenty years had called on him. Though, it had been another four years before the two would become man and wife. He had gone away to war and done other tasks to prove that his love was true. By then she was an even lovier and stronger flower for him to love, and love he did. He wanted you to have that kind of love.

You were already past the years your mama had on her when she met your father, but he had wanted you to be lovely, strong but also smart.

For you, he wanted you and your man to care equally for each other. No simple man, would have a chance at his daughter’s heart. He had promised you that after his next adventure he would start meeting with potential suitors.

You were fine waiting for him to go on this next journey. This one held the promise of great tales and items one only could dream of.

“One day, a true suitor will see how precious and how sweet you are.” He assured you as Greta weaved a lovely ribbon into your hair.

“Will he be kind?”

“I will see to it. And I will make sure he is a true and rightful suitor, for ma belle fille. He will bring you exotic gifts that will bring a smile to your lips.“

“But father, you have already have given me so many exotic gifts.”

He smiled. “He will, he’ll care for all things about you, just like I do with mama.”

You glanced over and once again you were lone getting ready for your visit from Enjolras. The memory of your father faded like a fog. It brought a pain to your heart.

******

Stepping down from the carriage Enjolras struggled over what to do. He really should tell his comrades what he knows.

Entering the boardinghouse, he hoped terribly to have a few more moments alone. Climbing the creaking stairs, he entered his room and was relieved to find it empty.

Sitting down on his bed, he opened his journal. Despite knowing that he was alone, he still glanced around before tucking the envelops from the general into its safe confines.

Catching his reflection in his window, he made a face. Quickly he shed his scarf, followed by his coat and vest. After wiping his razor, he prepared his shaving soap and face. Gritting his teeth, he soon sliced away all the stray growth.

Looking from side to side, he was pleased. He had done good, he looked much better.

Pulling off his shirt, he took out and slipped on a fresh one along with one of his better vests. He ran his fingers through is always rebellious curls. There was not much that could be done about them. Moments later, he back on the cobblestones walking.

*****

You glanced at your dresses. Satisfied with yourself, you found a simple dress with a light blue silken ribbon. It was the easiest to slip on. The cotton was exceptionally soft. Opening your drawer, you removed the light blue scarf that reminded you of the night you met Enjolras. As you wrapped it around yourself, you smiled.

After slipping on some shoes, you very slowly crept down the hallway. You paused at Mama’s door. You could hear her wheezing, it was steady and deep. You knew she was deeply asleep. Then holding your breath you made your way down the stairs.

Going into the kitchen, you found one of the pears that Enjolras had given you. Glancing over your shoulder you undid the latch on the door that led into the garden.

You leaned in the doorway. Your heart beat bard against your chest. You were becoming breathless. You had never done anything like this.

*****

The moon was in the sky and the stars had begun to twinkle he reached the pub. He glanced in the window. Seeing his friends, he decided to he had better speak with them.

Pushing the heavy door in, he made his way over to them.

“Enjolras! You’ve arrived!” Grantaire cheered holding up a large mug.

The girl who usually attended to them was at his side before he could even reply ro Grantaire. She pushed a mug into his hands. “Thank you.” He put it down on the table.

He looked around at his friends as he braced himself. “I have something important to discuss with all of you.”

Grantaire, roared with laughter. “Enjolras, we all know.”

Courfeyrac, happily nodded and tapped on the table. “We want to know more. I especially since I haven’t been graced by her presence.” A wide smile was across his face.

Enjolras gritted his teeth, he glanced over at Gavroche who looked away. “So you told them? And yet the more pressing news of General Lamarque being is gravely ill isn’t important?”

His friend’s eyes smile didn’t wane. “Look, we care about you.” Grantaire practically whined.

“Seriously. You the one who only ever beds red heads and never the same woman; and my possible angel is of concern to you.” Thinking of you caused a lump in his throat.

“So you have found yourself an angel?”

Shaking his head, he looked down at the worn wood, exhaling. “To be honest.” He looked at his friends. “I may just let that angel have her wings.”

“But why?” Gavroche, cried out and looked over with wide eyes. “She seems pleasant enough, for a lady.”

Enjolras made a face. “Regardless, I do not care to discuss that matter. I am here to tell you that General Lamarque has become gravel ill.”

Grantaire, shrugged and took a swig from his mug. “Look, I know he was like a father to you, but what difference does it make. We have so many who’ve come to our side and all our supplies; we’re in a good place.”

Enjolras grabbed his mug. “Lamarque was one of the last heroes who stood up for the common man. He’s fought in the revolution and has been on our side ever since.”

“That’s all fine and good but we also care about you.”

Enjolras sighed, inwardly he was in turmoil. He put the mug back in front of his friend. “There is no talking to any of you.”

Turning, he left. He practically tore open the door.

He welcomed the silence of the cobblestone. Behind him, he left the stuffiness of the pub, the clatter of the wood scrapping against wood and his ridiculous comrades.

*******

Your heart had not stopped thudding hard in your chest as you sat in your alcove. You had placed the pear on its side, then you had it rest on its plump base then on its side. You were so nervous. In the end you decided on its plump base would be a nice way for Enjolras to find it.

******

He walked past several buildings, finally crossing a few of the streets as his heart began to beat harder. When he could just see your house in the distance, he stopped to look at the sky above. He looked towards the bright, silvery moon smiling as he took in all of the sparkling stars.

As he looked at them, he remembered what his mother had always told him, if you are to ever to make a wish, it had to be on the twinkling of a star. So placing a hand over his heart, he wished that he could do right by you. As he had made his way to your house he realized, just how much he wanted to have you at his side.

He truly hoped that he could be a good man for you, care for you as you deserved. He would strive to do be good for you while making a France that was worthy of you.

******

You held your hands out in front of you. They fragrant like the powder you had so keenly dusted yourself with. Were they truly how you wished they looked. They were not claw like Gretas, they also were not padded and speckled like mama’s own hands.

You would meet Enjolras with no gloves on. You fretted. Perhaps you should run in and retrieve a pair. You got up, walked a few steps and then shaking your head you walked back to the bench.

You shifted where you sat. You really shouldn’t worry, you remembered that the gentlemen that made your gloves, assured you, that your hands were a delight to make for. But right now, you sat there worried.

Looking skyward, you watched as a cloud passed by the moon. It was full and bright with the stars were all there twinkling and filling the night sky. As you looked up, you spotted one that was brighter then all the rest.

Placing a hand over your heart, you wished for happiness with Enjolras. You didn’t wish forever. You wished for two of you to know happiness for as long as fate thought it was just. You sealed the wish with a tear. It was a tear, that slipped free from deep within you. Now you could hope that the angels of above would look kindly down upon the two of you and grant the wish.

*******

Enjolras, found himself outside of the wall. If he did this there would no be going back. His hearted thudded, his mind brought him a memory of your sweet smile and he had the strength.

Walking around he studied the wall, seeing a bench up against the wall worried him. He shook his head. With all the unrest in the city, he was grateful no brutes had chose to climb your wall.

Taking a firm hold, he looked it over to see if it was strong. Having determine it would be able to hold him, he climbed onto it. Taking a breath, he leapt up and got a hold. Somehow, he really didn’t know how he found places to put his booted feet and pull himself up. Feeling triumphant, he got himself to the top.

Gazing skyward then back at your garden, he smiled. The moonlight poured into your garden. Standing there he looked, a small smile played on his lips when he saw the fabric of what he could only guess was your dress.

The smile dropped as nervousness grasped tightly onto him. He rocked back and forth on his booted feet. He was reminded of having a similar nervousness before addressing his comrades or when he would have to fence again Pierre and Jacques, he sneered at the memory. Those two had become so insignificant. Yet, right now the nervousness he felt was similar to those days. It wasn’t until he do his first lunge did his nerves calm.

If he could sit with you in a pub or even have his hand gently resting against you while walking in a market, he could do this. He wanted to do this. So bracing himself on one hand and crouching down, he jumped down. Pleased with himself, he stood up after landing smoothly.

He ran his finger through his rebellious curls a final time. His nervousness had great diminished, though his heart beat terribly fast. He swallowed a few breathes, the best he could and as he drew nearer. As he did, he saw you move. Just then, he stepped onto to a twig, that snapped as loudly as whip used by a coachman.

You turned, surprise splashed across your face.

“Tis me, tis me!” He whispered, stopping where he stood and held out a hand.

“Enjolras?”

He watched as you shifted trying to get a better look. He stayed rooted where he stood, as to not startle you more.

You finally stood and stepped out from behind archway over the bench where you sat. He finally noticed it was covered in greenery. That was you most likely had not been able to see him. Smoothly, turning towards him you were fully bathed in moonlight.

“Yes, it is.” He uttered.

He resisted smiling, once again like all of your scarves this one was no exception as it fluttered away from you and floated to the ground behind you. As you grew closer, he realized just how taken by how lovely you were but now in the moonlight, you had become ethereal.

You quickly closed the distance between the two of you. “Enjolras, you came.” You were breathless.

He took a step so he stood right in front of you. “I promised.” His coat just grazed you.

His eyes moved over you. Your hair was looser then it had ever been before. Your dress, was unlike he had ever seen you wear before. It made him swallow. Somehow, how it was revealing yet also very tasteful. It made his heart beat harder. Then finally he saw your hands, actually saw them. Finally, no gloves hid them from him, this pleased him very much.

“Is everything ok?”

He could hear your voice quiver. A painful flush at possibly hurting you blossomed in his heart.

Meeting your eyes. “Yes, of course.” He whispered.

Without thinking, he reached out and with both of his hands brought yours up. They were just as soft as he had hoped. Inhaling deeply, their sweet scent made him tremble.

“Enjolras.” Your voice came out as a breath.

The most exquisite knots formed in his stomach. It was the single most delightful way he had ever heard his name spoken. Another tremble came over you.

“Yes? We…we” He glanced around stumbling to find the right words, his mind had gone blank. You robbed him of any coherent thought. He grazed his lips against you knuckles. “We should sit.” He finally was able to utter.

“Yes. Yes.” You agreed repeating yourself.

You wavered before him. Always quick on his feet, he moved with you and caught you as you swooned.

Moving just so, he ended up sitting just the right way so he could hold you close. Gazing down at you, a smile curled his lips. A soft tremble came over him holding you as such.

Once the girl who always took care of him and his comrades at the pub, had draped herself across his lap. Perhaps it was to show her feelings toward him or at the very least, display what she wanted to offer him. He was just glad that she had not spilled his drink when she had done it. He had helped her to her feet and dusted himself off. She was the last thing, he had wanted to feel against him.

While right now, he was enjoying just how soft you felt against him. You felt so good. Your sweet scent tickled his nose in the best possible away. “Ma fille forte s'évanouit enfin.” His voice barely above a whisper as he traced his finger tips along the gentle curve of your cheek and long your jaw.

He studied your features in the silvery light. He could not stop the flutter of his heart, as the idea of tracing the curve of your lips. One always heard there was nothing sweeter then a kiss, he licked and bit his bottom lip. Curiosity, blossomed within him.

A soft sound came from you.

“Mon trésor, mon ange are you with me?” Speaking such sweet words felt as if he had always said them and especially to you. He had never thought that he had that in him or at the very least, he never thought it would be part of his life. That was until you came walking in.

Your eyelashes fluttered open, and a soft smile appeared on your lips but he could see as your brow creased ever so slightly.

“Enjolras, is that you?” Turning your head, reaching up your hand found a cupped his cheek.

“It is me, mon trésor.” He replied.

You smiled. Following, his heart he placed one of his hands over yours pressing it more against his cheek. Tilting his head he gazed down at you smiling back at you.

“Tell me, I am not dreaming. I could not bare it.” Your voice cracked.

“C'est moi, ma petite fille. You are not dreaming.” Gently he eased your hand to his mouth and pressed kisses to your palm.

You giggled. “En..Enjolras.” You gasped and giggled.

He smiled and pressed more kisses.

“Stop.” You smile grew even bigger. “Enjolras, that tickles!” You exclaimed.

“Only if I truly must.”

“Yes. Yes. I can barely think.”

You moved to sit up.

“Allow me to continue holding you.” He swallowed. “That is if you will allow me to do so.”

Surprise over took you and you nodded. “There is nothing, I’d enjoy more. So yes, I think I would like that very much.

Slowly shifting, you were facing now him. You were laying across his lap just so. It made it easier so he was able to hold you up higher. Now, you two could look into each other’s eyes.

“You have given me such a sweet pleasure.”

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