privateandshamefulvices

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if you tag me in a chain post and i don't do it it's not because i hate you it's because i am very lazy. i love you thank you for tagging me.

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My first (and hopefully not last) mini comic done for the halloween event. The simplest way to explain it would be 'Monster high au, but what if they're university teachers instead of the students???'

It took me a while to decide what each would teach, and I still have some undecided ones, so please! Do tell me your opinions. Or just ask me questions so I can ramble. I love a good ramble.

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That book "The Revolutionary Career of Maximilien Robespierre" by David P. Jordan continues to amaze me. Here are more extracts...

As Robespierre lay on a table in the antechamber of the Commitee of Public Safety, drifting in and out of consciousness, his ball-shattered jaw bound up with a bandage, his triumphant enemies, in another room of the Tuileries palace, were creating the monster who would soon pass into historical legend. This Robespierre created by using materials scavenged from old calumny, damaging anecdote, and sometimes sheer malicious invention, was one of the founding acts of a new revolutionary government...

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This is how the first chapter started, followed by examples of this awful propaganda and slander, which I refuse to repeat here. *sigh*

Anyway, some interesting facts are brought up here.

In making Robespierre the monstrous symbol of the Terror, of all fanaticism and excess, they not only created a vile legend, which was politically useful at the moment, they also recognized, in their frantic efforts to exorcise Robespierre's disturbing shade, his significance. In a sense Thermidorian vituperation kept Robespierre alive. The very intensity of their malice tended to mythologize the man they sought to obliterate. The next generation, with different purposes and sensibilities, would take up the memory of Robespierre, still warm from the passion of Thermidorian hatred, and create a heroic figure, a savior of France and a champion of humankind. Monster and hero have remained the poles of Robespierre's changing reputation...

...The legend of a monstrous Robespierre not only grew unchecked, for when it was being made none dared challenge the new masters of the Revolution, but was reiterated and embellished by government apologists and men who found the legend useful for propaganda, a reminder of the revolutionary excesses from which they insisted they had saved France. Napoleon, whose coup d'état in 1799 ended the reign of the Thermidorians, as First Consul or later as Emperor, had no desire to remind the people of his brief but real robespierriste past. He had no intention of rehabilitating Robespierre's reputation, let alone connecting himself with the Terror....

Charlotte's Mémoires were then...the belated and necessary antidote for Thermidorian poison. (I love the author's language.)

Although she saw only the lovable brother, while... He never aspired to be loved for his personality (as Charlotte loved him). He demanded, and received, respect, devotion, even love - for he had several close friends who resembled and extended family - for what he insisted he was, a revolutionary.

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This novel is written in English in like 1996, why is Camille being called 'Windmill'???

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Reading of a new book

I've only read six pages of the prologue so far and I can't see past the tears. It evokes so many emotions.

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Robespierre is one of those rare figures in history who are perceived by their contemporaries as well as posterity as embodying the essence of the passions and contradictions of their historical moment, who seem to personify an age or a movement; whose lives represent general propositions about significant human experience. Robespierre is a central to any history of the French Revolution and republican France as Louis XIV is to the age of monarchy. His revolutionary career has become a reference point for judgments of the French Revolution, a metaphor for all revolutions and revolutionaries...

...His health, his physical well-being, was a topic of public revelation. He spoke of being consumed by the Revolution as by a slow fever; and this was more than a simile. His physical self was bound to the Revolution in a vague yet intimate way. His body as well as his soul were possessed by the great historical forces he simultaneously personified and analyzed...

...He left no confessions of a private self in the manner of Rousseau's celebrated book, althought he was deeply influenced by that remarkable work. His creation of a political self has proved as durable and perhaps as influential. Robespierre was and has described the prototype of the modern revolutionary. Long after the specific events to which he responded have been forgotten by all but the specialist, the revolutionary lives on, a cerebral, almost abstract being without a satisfying mundane dimension.

His remarkable dominance over contemporaries and hence his importance in the Revolution seems independent of those special powers of attraction that are sometimes called charisma. Robespierre himself attributed his success to the rightness of his principles and the sincerity with which they were expressed... He was his ideas rather than their conduit...

...He had a gift for analysis, argument, and abstraction, and possessed rhetorical and political skills of a very high order. But it was the self that infused these talents with a unique intensity and purpose. Just as he insisted on binding himself physically and spiritually to the Revolution, so were he and his ideas inseparably bound.

(Extracts from the book: The Revolutionary Career of Maximilien Robespierre by David P. Jordan)

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Have any of you read this? Will it continue in a similar vein?... To keep tissues handy, you know. ;-)

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Unintentionally hilarious moment from The Rest Is History's episode on the Diamond Necklace Affair where Tom Holland is talking about the King banging Beaumarchais up in prison for writing something he didn't like and Dominic Sandbrook says "by the way the king is not a despot"

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Napoleon, except he has the Death Star from Star Wars episode IV and also his normal army

Or the Duke of Wellington with his normal army

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Doesn't even need to be a book rec tbh even the Wikipedia page is more factually accurate than this lol

My Frev comic gained traction on Instagram. Earlier today I was so happy, and I thought

"Yay! Now I can correct some myths about Robespierre to more people!"

Then I got these comments:

And now I'm like "Oh...I have to correct some myths to more people..."

I was trying so hard to keep my cool and just recommend books as I read this comment lmao

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Someone (not me) PLEASE consider making a Midsommar-esque story/art about the Festival of the Supreme Being. Possibly based on Thermidorian propaganda, why not.

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One time in my modern violence class we were talking about the French Revolution and an entire group of people said they shouldn’t have killed Louis XVI. What were they gonna do with him instead???

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Please please PLEASE speak up about Ukrainians who are being held in russian captivity. About Ukrainians under russian occupation. About our defenders. Military doctors and paramedics. Orphans and children who are waiting for their parents from war or russian captivity. About first responders. Parents who had to bury their children. People who are dealing with the aftermath of russian shellings. Women who have to give birth in the bomb shelters. People who are being constantly shelled. Someone who is waiting for their loved ones from the war. Someone whose loved ones came back from the war in a casket. Teachers who are having lessons underground. Someone whose hometown doesn't exist anymore. Volunteers. People who visit their friends at the cemetery. Kidnapped Ukrainian children. Farmers. People who got disabled from the war. Refugees. Railway workers. People who went through russian torture chambers and didn't survive. Critical infrastructure workers. People who died and people who grieve. Please, don't let our stories be forgotten.

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list of palestinian fundraisers (part 1)

(part 2) (part 3)

during the past several days, i have received a mass influx of asks and messages from vetted palestinians seeking my support for their campaigns. up until now, i have been answering these people on an individual basis, but i no longer find that very practical given how many there are, so i'm going to try to create masterlists like this one instead. it's something i had been considering doing for a while now, since i find that lists tend to get more engagement, not to mention that it's recently become clear that a good handful of people on here baselessly equate asks with scams, so maybe this will help.

if you see this post, please consider not just reblogging. the point of lists like these is to spotlight various fundraisers and get people to support them monetarily. please, try picking out one of two of these and consider contributing! every little bit helps!

Ehab Ayyad (@ehabayyad23) - €319/€50,000 (0.63% progress) // new fundraiser not yet vetted but appears legitimate

Basel Ayyad (@basel-1995) - CHF5,403/CHF60,000 (9.01% progress) // vetted twice by @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi (#214 on this spreadsheet) // LOW FUNDS -> Note: Basel's daughter is chronically ill and requires medical care.

Safaa and Abed (@safaabed8) - €24,669/€50,000 (49.34% progress) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here) and @/northgazaupdates (here)

Adham Ayyad (@stupendouswolfearthquake) - kr6,941/kr750,000 (13.88% progress) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here)

Hadeel Mikki (@hadeelmekki) - €10,948/€35,000 (31.28% progress) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here)

Walaa Ahmed (@ahmed79ss) - $9,502 CAD/$50,000 (19.00% progress) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here) -> Note: Walaa has Type 1 diabetes and is in desperate need of insulin.

Mahmoud Alkhaldi (@mahmoud1995) - $6,567/$50,000 (13.13% progress) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here)

Abdel Muti Al-Habil (@abdelmutei) - €5,393/€50,000 (10.79% progress) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here)

Nour Alanqar (@noor-alanqar) - €17,114/€40,000 (42.79% progress) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here)

Heba Al-Anqar (@heba-baker) - €1,832/€60,000 (3.05% progress) // vetted by @/90-ghost (here) // LOW FUNDS -> Note: Heba's father is physically disabled with heart problems, and Heba's mother suffers from asthma.

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I mean La Terreur et la Vertu is the only example that comes to my mind of Robespierre actually being friend with the Duplays ?

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supporting communities & people impacted by the Southport attack and the far-right riots in the UK

here is a list of community fundraisers I found, starting with those aiming to support the Southport community after the appalling attack at a children dance party, to the fundraisers helping those affected by the subsequent racist and Islamophobic far-right/nazi riots

Southport:

Southport Strong Together Appeal - organised by the community foundation for Merseyside, for those affected by the Southport knife attack

United for Southport families - the funds will be distributed among the nine families of the children who were at the party

Swifties for Southport - a fundraiser for the Alder Hey Children's charity, which supports the victims and the affected families, as well as first responders and clinicians. Extra funds will also support the wider Southport community

Fundraiser for the Southport Mosque - a fundraiser to aid rebuilding or possibly re-locating the Southport Mosque after the damages it suffered during the riots

Rebuilding Windsor Mini Mart - fundraiser to rebuild the locally-owned grocery store that was targeted during the attacks, broken into, and looted

Liverpool:

Fundraiser for the Spellow Hub - the Spellow Hub was broken into, looted and set on fire at night during the riots. The Spellow Hub is a newly created one-of-a-kind (in the UK) institution, which consists of a library as well as a community centre with a mission to help people get education and pathways to work

Books for Spellow Lane - another fundraiser for the library in the Spellow Hub, to replace the books and rebuild the library there

Hartepool:

Fundraiser for the Nasir Mosque - the Nasir Mosque was attacked following Southport riots; this fundraiser is organised by Hartepool citizens to help the mosque deal with the damages as well as to show appreciation for the role of the mosque in the community

Rebuilding the Farm Shop - the shop was targeted during the riots, and when the owner and his son tried to protect it, they were also violently attacked. The fundraiser is to help fix the damages to the store.

Sunderland:

help rebuild Citizens Advice Sunderland offices after arson - two of the Citizens Advice Sunderland offices were set on fire during the riots, and one of them is completely destroyed.

Hull:

Hull Help for Refugees - a local fundraiser to support the Hull Help for Refugees charity, the donated money will be re-distributed to community members affected by the riots

Fundraiser for Hull Help for Refugees and Welcome House in Hull - collected money will be donated to the two charities

Belfast:

rebuilding the Sahara Shisha Cafe, now also other businesses affected by the riots - the Sahara Shisha Cafe was targeted by the far right in Belfast during the riots. The fundraiser for the Cafe was very generously supported, so now the collected money will also go to support other affected businesses in the area

If you want to donate locally but there is no fundraiser to support where you live, consider donating to your local charities oriented towards Muslim or Arab communities, or towards refugee organizations! And go support your local Muslim/Arab/Refugee owned businesses!

If you have any information about other local fundraisers, feel free to add to the post or don't hesitate to let me know and I will add them here! We have seen so much hate in the past few days, we have to stay strong and keep supporting each other!

Stay safe everyone 💛

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The Rest is History are doing a series on the French Revolution and it is uhhhhh

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I really like frev portraits where the revolutionary looks like an evil, mystical owl that's about to give you a sidequest.

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Dear Frevblr, I'm sorry, I couldn't wait for AO3 to send me an invitation, I wanted to share this with you now, while Thermidor's still fresh in all our minds.

This (below) is my short story. I tried to write it as spontaneously as possible, without too much re-reading and editing. In writing it, I drew especially on @sieclesetcieux's thesis on the memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay-Le Bas, which I was lucky enough to proof-read. However, please don't hold them responsible for any errors I've made - nor for those parts of the story which are, obviously, personal conjecture.

CW for bereavement and grief, execution, disease (cholera) and death - which has probably given some of you a clue as to who it's about. CW also for mention of smoking a pipe.

AFTERLIFE

Wednesday 25th July 1832

She stands on the threshold between the house and the yard with its two sheds, the wood store and the workshop, fallen quiet since Father died. Fallen – no, it had been a gradual quietening, a slipping into silence as he aged, rather than a fall. A decline. Not a drop.

The lamp-lighters will be starting their rounds, and the city’s noise is changing shift. It’s diminished somewhat these last months. Those who could afford it went into the country soon after they realised this disease would be no respecter of persons, any more than a thousand others that have torn through Paris’ tight-packed neighbourhoods. Even so, the rumour is that it’s a measure to clear out the unwanted poor from their tenements and lodging-houses. To assassinate the people.

Her brother comes out and stands beside her. ‘It’s a fair evening.’

It’ll be a fine day tomorrow.

‘Hot, though. I wish this weather would break. I heard there’ve been two more taken ill, round the corner.’

‘The little Bernard girl and her mother. Yes,’ Éléonore nods. ‘I heard that, too.’

 Jacques-Maurice puffs on his pipe. The tobacco inside glows like a sunset. ‘Buonarroti asked me to speak to you again. He says, he doesn’t understand why you won’t talk. I told him, Léo must have her reasons and whatever they are, you know her, they’ll be good ones.’ Puff, puff. ‘You needn’t worry about me anymore, though. And if you don’t think you can find the right words, Buonarroti’ll help you.’  

‘I’m sure.’

‘I know it must be uncomfortable to be asked, but… It’s been thirty-eight years, Léo. At least promise me that you’ll consider it.’

‘I will.’ She meets his enquiring look. ‘I always do.’

He takes another draft of smoke. ‘Well, I’m going back inside. You should too. This… It’s not healthy.’

Thirty-eight years. Some people don’t live that long. They die even on the finest of July days, bathed in tears and blood. And then the others, those left behind, they wait, as it seems they must.

Buonarroti believes their present hope lies in educating the people about their past. Discontent roams the city hand-in-hand with disease. Last month, there were demonstrations against the ‘King of the French’, as Égalité’s son is styled. Barricades were set up, and long live the Republic was heard. The revolt was suppressed quickly but, reminded often enough that they’ve experience of self-government - without kings or emperors - that once, they chose honest men amongst their own as leaders, might the people rise again to victory?

You know as much as I do about those times, she told Buonarroti. You can say as much as I can about his honesty, that anyone else needs to know.

Breathing heavily, she reaches the top of the stairs her father had built. Saint-Just used to sprint up them by twos. That’s the benefit of being young.

Always young.

To her right is a closed door leading to a tiny cubby and, she’s well aware, a second door behind it. His room was ransacked back then. Whatever could be found that looked important, that she hadn’t hidden, was taken off for further examination while the rest of his belongings were put under seal until they could be sold, at scant profit. Because she was the last to be arrested, she was still here for the laughter and insults. You must know he was never going to marry you? He was after Capet’s daughter. Because she was very nearly the last to be released, she came home to find the room cleared entirely. Babet said they did it, the family - the family that was left - to spare her any more pain.

Death’s most queer. Someone’s here, then they’re not. There’s a face you see, a voice you hear, a presence, a form in physical space, and suddenly all of that’s gone. You promise the gap where it stood, I’ll never forget, and that’s true, you don’t, not entirely; but after a while there’s a fading, and confusion. His cup, were the flowers on it yellow or red? Did he put sugar on the bread and milk he ate for his breakfast, when there was sugar to be had? And these, such small details, you can’t forgive yourself for forgetting them. You tear yourself apart.

It's those small details Buonarroti wants to pick over, to set before the people. The particulars of a great life lived humbly.  He’s asked Babet, too. What if Babet remembers them one way, and she herself remembers them another? Whose recollection will he trust?  

If you don’t think you can find the right words, Buonarroti’ll help you. People have been finding words for her these forty years, close enough. Some say betrothed; others, promised, which sounds less old-fashioned. Mistress, commonly, unless there’s a point to be made in joking that she wasn’t. A few go so far as to call her his widow, or they say that’s what she calls herself.  She wishes. She wanted to be Citizeness Robespierre.

She doesn’t like going into his room. Nevertheless, the shutters and the window have to be opened and closed every morning and night; there’s no sense in keeping the day air and sunlight out, nor letting the stale night air in. It’s the night air carries disease. She’d like to believe that’s what Jacques-Maurice meant by saying it wasn’t healthy for her to linger outside.

Her footsteps back towards the door resonate from bare walls and curtainless windowpanes.  There have been others who’ve come to view the room, with the idea of lodging, so they say, but it’s obvious when they arrive that they’re simply curious about where he lived, about those he lived with. About her. People want the memories she might hold - but not her grief, and nor does she. Grief is a useless, empty thing, like this room. She cried at first, when they took him, and then took Mother and Father; she cried when she was told how it ended for him and the others, and how Mother was found; and when Simon and Babet were arrested, and Sophie, and Victoire, she cried; but by the time she was put with Babet at the Talaru, she’d determined to give it up. Philippe had left Babet with a child to pour her love into but to do that, Babet would have to stay alive, and she’d need encouragement from her elder sister, not helpless tears.   

Didn’t he once say, the absence who fills this room, who sounds its emptiness like a bell, that she had a manly spirit? That she’d know how to die as she knew how to love?

Nobody asked her to die, though.

She closes the door behind her.

The papers she spirited out of his room – she’d have liked to give those to Buonarroti, she reflects, braiding her hair for bed, slower than she used to be from arthritis in her fingers.  Those papers were burned, of course, when fat Provence made his reappearance. Jacques-Maurice said it was too much of a risk to keep them. We don’t want this place turned upside down again. She’d found herself resenting that we.

Yet she understands that her own reluctance to speak to Buonarroti is founded in some similar anxiety to her brother’s. Not that it wouldn’t be safe - Buonarroti’s a friend, and a good man – but because there may be consequences to herself, her inner self where everything’s securely hidden away from scavengers, being opened up at last and maybe, who knows, turned upside down through being told, and printed, and talked about.

Besides, if the people ought to have self-government, then so ought she. Isn’t she one of them?

Long live the Republic.

Still, those papers… Possibly - she fastens her braid with a blue ribbon – possibly the several lines she can recall, running across her mind at a slight angle in his neat, rounded handwriting, might be useful. There are names. None of them will surprise Buonarroti, but they might come as a blow to others, both now and in the future.

She shivers. Tired. Work about the house, climbing those stairs, managing her thoughts, it’s all felt a heavier burden than usual today.  25th, 26th, 27th, 28th. July’s never easy. Thermidor. Drawing the bedclothes snug up under her chin, she thinks, perhaps I’ll speak to Buonarroti. I’ll say to him, what do you want to ask? - because this is as much as I’ll tell you. I hope it helps. Truly, I do. I hope I see your revolution in France and the ruin of tyrants from London to St. Petersburg. The liberty of peoples everywhere.

What remains, though, belongs only to me.

Author’s note:

Éléonore Duplay died aged 64 on Thursday 26th July 1832, 8th Thermidor in what would have been the fortieth year of the Republic, one of around 20,000 Parisian victims of the cholera epidemic mentioned in this story. The first symptoms of cholera include fatigue; untreated, it can kill within a few hours of more serious symptoms developing, as sudden and severe dehydration puts the body into shock. Éléonore lies buried in the 34th division of Père Lachaise cemetery, along with other members of her family including her sister Élisabeth (Babet), where their graves can still be visited.