#death of the dauphin

[allegorypaintings]

Allegory on the Death of the Dauphin

Artist: Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée (French, 1725–1805)

Date: 1765

Medium: Oil on Canvas

Collection: Musée National du Château, Fontainebleau

Description

Legranée received several royal commissions in a busy life. In the Allegory on the Death of the Dauphin the figures are not strictly allegorical, apart from the sorrowing France behind the bed, for they represent the dauphine and the couple's sons (including the dead one who appears with a crown of stars for his dying father), the effect is of allegory rather than fact. And the idiom in which the picture is painted is certainly classical, much as interpreted by Batoni, though critics of the day it suggested Guido Reni.

[enigma-the-mysterious]

"You will never step foot near the Queen or the Dauphin again. I will make sure of that."

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love how louis told aramis he would never step foot near the queen or the dauphin again but at the end of the exact same episode he meets anne in secret and after louis dies, aramis get the job which is as close to anne and the dauphin as possible 💀

[royaltysimblr]

The Children of James V & Ophelia

1. James VI, King of Windenburg & San Myshuno (1636-1676) 2. Charles III, King of Windenburg & San Myshuno (1638-1680) 3. Louise, Queen Consort of Almeria (1641-1679) 4. Henrietta, Princess Consort of Brichester (1642-1673) 5. Prince George, Duke of Henford (1647-1666) 6. Sophie, Dauphine of Magnolia (1650-1672)

After the death of King Charles III, his daughter, Matilda, ascended the throne as Queen Matilda II. She reigned until 1714 and left an unclear plan of succession, causing the War of Windenburgian Succession which lasted from 1714-1720. Carlos I of Almeria attempted to claim the Windenburgian throne through the claim of his mother, Princess Louise, the eldest daughter of James and Ophelia. Many people did not consider Carlos's claim valid, because he was Jacoban. George Heinrich, Elector of Wittenburg and his wife, Princess Adelaide of Brichester, both grandchildren of Windenburgian Princesses, were the other claimants to the throne who were supported by the Peteran Kingdoms. The bloody war tore the Simtinent up and almost destroyed the Windenburgian Empire. In the end. George Heinrich and Adelaide's son, Joseph, would ascend the throne.

[wildechildwrites]

Bodice Ripper

Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+, noncon, kidnapping, violence, oral, masturbation

No use of Y/N

Summary: You, the princess of an unnamed kingdom, are attending a masquerade ball. You get kidnapped by a man in a skull mask with unclear intentions.

A/N: I got too caught up into the nuances of political kidnappings which is crazy because I really just wanted to write some bodice ripping smut but the social implications of being ravished were too detrimental to your fake life that I couldn't commit to it fully

AO3 Link: Bodice Ripper

18+

The gown you’re wearing is decadent, layers of pearlescent pink silk flowing around you, your shoulders bare, your waist tightly cinched. You’re wearing your mother’s best diamonds, glinting prettily in the hollow of your throat. The mask obscuring your face matches your dress, delicately resting on your nose bridge. 

The ballroom around you is lush with wealth, thousands of candles illuminating the space, rich tapestries covering the walls. Couples spin in the center of the room, and laughter fills the space. The masquerade is the event of the season, everyone decked out in finery. The prince is here, somewhere amongst the masked guests, and you’re determined to find him. Your country is small, but powerful, and there have been whispers of an engagement, an advantageous love match between you and the young dauphin. You survey the scene, looking for a familiar figure.

The man who catches your attention is massive, wrapped in a black burial shroud. His face is entirely obscured by a skull mask, the very visage of death. It's a horrible costume, brutal in a way that makes it striking, sticking out from the soft splendor of the rest of the crowd. He’s standing completely still, a harsh juxtaposition from the revelers milling about, and his eyes are unmistakably fixed upon you. A chill runs down your spine, and fear makes you turn away from his cold gaze.

A young man approaches you and asks for a dance, and you quickly recognize him as one of the sons of a duke your father often goes hunting with. He’s a fine enough dancer, despite his clammy hands, and you allow him to twirl you about, temporarily forgetting your unease. Your eyes catch on another man, tall and slender, dressed in velvety royal purple, and smile to yourself. The prince certainly hasn’t made the sport a difficult one. You detach yourself from your partner, politely making your excuses.

When you cross paths with the prince, you let your fan slip out of your hand. He smiles brightly at you, before leaning down to pick it up. His mask does little to hide his handsome face.

“You dropped this, madam.” He says, returning your fan to you with a gallant, slightly pompous, bow. When you reach for it, he captures your gloved hand in his, softly bringing it to his lips. 

“Thank you, your highness,” you say, dropping your eyes and curtseying appropriately.

“I believe you have mistaken me for someone else,” he responds, his voice playful. “But if you’ll do me the honor of dancing with me, I will attempt to behave as princely as I am capable.” 

You’d be a fool to think you’ve captured his full attention, and you ignore the way your dance partner's eyes stray hungrily away from yours. You know what’s expected of you, what is expected of him. True fealty from the future king is an unachievable goal, one you have no interest in. This is what you’re meant for, the duty that has been hammered in since you were a child. Resources and connections for your father’s kingdom, the admiration and envy of the court. The prince talks about his own accomplishments, the hunting he’s done recently and his skills with a blade. Your eyes flit almost unconsciously around the room while he speaks, looking for the terrifying specter from earlier, but the man that had frightened you is nowhere to be seen. You let yourself unwind, getting lost in the music and the prince’s eyes.  

You dance a few waltzes before the prince excuses himself. “I promised I’d play cards with the duke,” he says, his eyes following an earl’s daughter across the room. You curtsey sweetly, murmuring the appropriate tittering phrases, and you two part ways. The room is warm, and you head towards the balcony, desperately in need of some fresh air and solitude.

Outside, the terrace is deserted, and you’re grateful for the momentary peace. Music filters through the open doors, the sound of conversation muted to a dull hum. You sigh quietly. The gardens beyond are dark, but the moon is shining brightly. You stare up at the stars, picking out constellations. A branch snaps, just out of sight, and you stiffen, peering into the dark. 

“Is there someone there?” You call. 

The only response is the quiet chirping of crickets. 

You’re uneasy, hairs standing on end. Turning back, you yearn for the crowded safety of the ballroom.

The man in the skull mask stands between you and the french doors, and you let out a gasp. You grapple for your manners, trying to regain control of the situation.

“I–I apologize, sir, you startled me.” You say. The stranger makes no answer, taking a step closer to you. You step back. He takes another step. His eyes are cold, locked on yours as he advances. 

“You’re behaving most uncouthly.” Your tone is demeaning, but it makes no difference, not seeming to register as the man takes another step, closing in on you.

“You can’t– You’re not supposed to–” your composure cracks, adrenaline coursing through your veins. He reaches for you, and you evade his grasp, whirling around to run into the gardens. 

You hike your skirts up, uncaring of modesty, sprinting as fast you can through the darkness. Branches scrape at your skin as you dodge around them, trying to put distance between you and your pursuer. You hear him behind you, loud footfalls drawing closer and closer. Lungs burning, you desperately try to breathe around your tightly laced corset. There’s a hedge maze on the grounds, and if you could just get away from him–

You yelp when he lunges for you, tackling you roughly into the dirt. Your gloves rip, your palms and elbows aching from the impact, but you struggle against the weight on your back. You throw your head back hard, smashing the back of your skull into his nose, and are rewarded by a string of oaths, half of which you've never heard before, falling from the stranger’s mouth. His large, thick fingers wrap around your throat, pinning you in place. 

“Stay still,” the man snarls. He’s breathing heavily, voice raspy. His accent is thick and distinctively english. 

Something hard is pressed into your back, and you fearfully wonder if the man is armed. When he grinds his hips against yours,  a cold trickle of realization hits you. Your parents had kept you largely in the dark about what happens between men and women, but you had heard the whispered stories of the servants, the tittering of married friends. Horror stories about highway men and rapers. Your maidenhead is the only thing of any real value that you have, and you renew your struggles even as he keeps you pinned. 

“Get off of me!” You shriek, and the man freezes, as though caught off guard, before pushing himself off of you. He lets out a string of curses, before grabbing your arms and roughly pulling you up. 

He reaches up and pulls the mask off your face, drinking in your features hungrily. You stare at each other for a heartbeat.

“What do you want from me?” You ask, trembling. Your words seem to reset him, and he straightens up, towering over you. He’s massive, broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight, his costume sending a chill down your spine.

“It's not what I want from you, princess. It's what I want from your father. What you’re going to help me get from him.” he replies coldly. “The people are starving. Not that you’d even notice, hm?” He’s hurting you, his grip almost crushing, shaking you as he speaks. “Your father and that bastard of a prince don’t care about the common folk’s struggles.” 

“What exactly do you expect me to do about it?” you hiss, speaking before you have the sense to stop yourself, irritation rising. The man’s expression is impossible to read with the mask, but you think you’ve shocked him. “I have no claim, no real power. I do what I can, I feed the poor and donate to the church, but I do not write laws. I cannot influence my father’s decisions nor the prince’s.”

“You’re standing here, neck dripping with diamonds, telling me you’re powerless?” 

The aggravation in his voice scares you, but you forge on through gritted teeth. “I am merely a bauble and a future broodmare. You’d have better luck kidnapping one of my brothers. My father may not even condescend to pay whatever ransom you’ll demand, but you obviously didn’t plan this out quite well.” Your tone is frosty, haughty despite your terror.

He slaps you, hard, and you gasp in shock, tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t take that tone with me, princess.” He snarls. “Whether it’s money or your pretty little head on a spike, I’ll get what I want.” 

He pulls coarse rope from his cloak, binding your hands tightly, cutting into your delicate wrists. He heads into the darkness, dragging you behind him. You stumble in your heels, and he lets out an irritated sound before wordlessly throwing you over his shoulder. It’s as if you weigh nothing, and your face feels hot when his large hand presses against the back of your thighs, holding you steady. You can feel the warmth of him through the layers of fabric. You’re hyper aware of the indecency of it, your skin tingling.

The path isn’t lit, but his footsteps are confident. A horse snorts softly in the dark before the man suddenly puts you down, grabbing your bicep roughly. 

“Don’t move,” he says, his voice ice cold. You nod, too frightened to speak. The horse in front of you is beautiful, stormy gray and massive. He lets go of your arm and reaches into his cloak, procuring an apple. He offers it to the animal, whispering softly as he feeds it, petting its nose gently. You take a step back, trying to be subtle, and his head whips around. 

The man boosts you onto the horse, throwing himself on after you. You’re pressed against his chest, back flush against the hard planes of muscle as he urges the horse on, setting a quick pace. 

The horse is bigger than your own, stretching your legs uncomfortably wide, and you shift, quickly getting sore. Whatever is in his pocket is prodding into your lower back, and you wiggle your hips, trying to make yourself more comfortable with the limited space you have, when the man lets out a low noise in the back of his throat, a firm hand grabbing your waist.

“Quit squirmin’,” He grounds out. His voice sounds oddly strained, and you cease your movements immediately. You ride in silence for a few more moments. 

The path you're taking is unfamiliar, and curiosity wins over your reason.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask.

The man ignores you. Time passes, and you peer into the darkness, trying to spot any landmarks. Hopefully your absence has been noticed by your guards by now, and there are people looking for you. The night is cold, your arms covered in gooseflesh as you begin to shiver. Your captor wordlessly pulls you closer to his chest, wrapping the cloak he wears around your bare arms. You murmur a thank you automatically, and his grip on you tightens slightly.

“What's your name?” You ask softly. 

“It's Ghost,” the man replies after a moment. You feel a spike of irritation. 

“What’s your real name?” you ask, your tone slightly petulant.

“Why do you want it so bad, hm? Going to set your betrothed on me? If he’s not too busy whoremongering, maybe he’ll chop off my head.” His tone is mocking. “You’ll call me what I tell you to call me.” 

 You ride until dawn is breaking over the hill, coming upon a barn in the middle of a field. The surrounding countryside is unfamiliar, and you haven't seen any other houses or buildings for miles. You're exhausted and sore, body aching and stomach rumbling. Ghost stops short of the barn door, dismounting before pulling you into his arms in one fluid motion. You don’t resist as he carries you into the barn and places you with surprising gentleness on a pile of soft hay.

“I need to go feed and water the horse.” His voice is stern, a cruel bite to it that chills you. “There’s no one around us for miles. You've run from me once before and I caught you, if I have to chase you again I will punish you.” 

You stare up at him, trembling uncontrollably. There’s a beat of silence. He sighs, an almost wistful noise, before wordlessly leaving the barn. 

Your body is failing, the long horse ride and constant terror leaving you drained. You fight against unconsciousness, worried about what Ghost may do, but the hay is soft and sweet smelling, the barn warmer than the chill of the night.

Ghost finds you curled up on the hay, head cradled in your arms. He watches the soft movement of your breath pensively. The soft skin of your wrists is rubbed raw, angry beneath the ropes still holding them together. There’s a bruise forming on your cheek, and he’s sure that you’ve got more bruises hidden under your dress.

The concept had seemed so noble when the revolutionaries who hired him planned it. Distribute the ransom money amongst the poor, remind the monarchy of their own vulnerability. Standing in the dim light of the barn, confronted with a frightened girl and his own brutality, Ghost doesn’t feel noble. 

The desire that has been mounting since he had chased you down doesn't feel very noble either. 

Less of a man and more of a monster, he removes his mask and lowers himself on the hay beside you.

When you wake, you're laying on Ghost’s chest, hand curled in the tunic he wears. Your wrists are no longer tied, and he’s no longer wearing that horrible mask. Your face gets hot. He’s handsome but rough looking, light scars scattered across his face. There’s a smudge of dried blood under his crooked nose from when you headbutted him last night. You attempt to untangle yourself from him as gently as you can, scared of waking him. In response, his brow furrows, arms tightening around you unconsciously. You freeze and lie still, watching the shadows on the wall change as the sun rises, his heartbeat steady in your ear.

You can tell when Ghost finally wakes by the way his breathing changes. He pushes you off of him gently, and you feign sleep, listening to him move about. When the door of the barn creeps open and shut, you sit up and look around. It had been too dark before, but now you look around for any exits. There’s a loft, and you wonder if you could reach it before Ghost gets back. 

The mental image of him dragging you down after you’ve climbed up makes you reconsider the idea. 

You wonder if he can be bargained with. You knew how to play the game with men, how to simper and say the things they wanted to hear, and the game was much easier when they were attracted to you. You remember the way Ghost looked at you when he first ripped off your mask and heat rushes to your face as you begin to strategize.

When Ghost comes back inside, you’re standing, hands clasped behind your back and posture straight. You look more like you did when he first saw you, confident and blooming in the low light of the ballroom. The dirt on your face and gown do little to detract from your regal nature, and your eyes meet his without the fear from last night.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, your voice clear and almost musical. 

He doesn’t respond, his gaze trailing down your figure, and you bite your lip, pushing down your trepidation and stepping towards him. The surprise in his expression is poorly masked, and he tilts his head, an unspoken question.

“I’m being paid a large amount of money to bring you to a revolutionists group.” He says frankly. He’s stalking closer to you, soft and slow, like a fox after a hare. You resist the urge to step back.

“Please Ghost,” you respond, eyes wide, letting your bottom lip tremble, “My father can pay more than what they’re offering. Whatever you ask, I will write a letter demanding it, and we can have a courier from the nearest town take it to the palace immediately.”

You close the gap between the two of you, gently reaching out and placing a hand on his chest, tilting your chin to look him in the eye. Your expression is soft and pleading, and you resist a shudder at the odd, predatory look quickly forming in his eyes. One of his hands shoots out, grabbing your wrist, keeping you trapped against him. 

“Are you trying to negotiate with me?” Ghost murmurs. The intense look on his face frightens you, and you take an abrupt step back, trying to pull away from his iron grip, realizing your judgment of him had been erroneous far too late. You’d been desired before, exchanged longing looks across ballrooms, swapped love tokens and letters, but no one had ever looked at you with such fierce hunger. 

“I–I’ll tell the king that you rescued me. That you heard my screams and saved me.” You feel the tables quickly turning against you. “I’ll get you whatever you want.”

He laughs, a dissonant sound against the grim set of his features. “What I want,” Ghost leans in, his voice dropping. “Is something I can’t have.” Your chests are nearly pressed together.

 “I have been fighting my baser nature since the moment I saw you.” The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, his voice like velvet. 

“I don't care that you're a princess. I wish you were a shepherd’s daughter, then I'd have snuck you away to the woods to fuck you on the soft ferns while your father tends his flock.” 

No one has ever spoken to you in such a way. Heat fills you unexpectedly, but you rebel against the foreign sensations and growing need, tugging your wrist out of his grip.

“You can’t have me,” you say weakly. Ghost leans down, fisting his hand in your hair. You expect him to kiss you, but he uses his grip on you to pull your head to the side, exposing the smooth column of your throat. His breath is hot against your neck.

“Come now, princess. You expect me to believe that there have been no trysts with stable boys? I’m sure your beloved little prince has stolen a kiss or two. It’ll be our little secret.” His voice is a purr, and he places a delicate kiss right below your ear lobe. You tremble, gasping at the sensation.

 He huffs, amused, before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin. You let out an indecent mewl, hands rising up to fist the front of the tunic he wears. Ghost pulls back, his eyes sparking with an avian intensity before capturing your lips with his.

The kiss is fierce, want shooting through you as you gasp against his mouth. His tongue sweeps against yours, and you lose yourself in it until you feel his hands wandering, touching your breasts. You struggle against him, tears welling in your eyes as you try to pull away. He pulls you against him harder, grinding his hips against yours. You turn your head to the side, trying to escape his demanding mouth.

“Please don’t,” you cry. “I’ll be ruined.” 

“We wouldn’t want that.” His voice is full of sarcasm, but he cups your face tenderly, wiping the tears from your eyes. “Don’t cry now, dove, I just want a taste. We’ll keep you nice and pure.” 

He picks you up, laying you back onto the straw. You look at him, a pinched expression on your face, and he captures your mouth in another kiss, devouring you. You can feel the burning heat of his body through the layers of your dress. His hands run down your sides, bunching in the fabric of your skirt. He hikes your skirt up, forcing your legs apart, and you know what's coming, bracing for his touch as he mouths along your neck, but his rough hands are still a shock as he pushes your thighs apart. You freeze with anticipation as he lowers himself down your body.

The only warning you get is the feeling of Ghost’s skin brushing against yours before his warm tongue traces a long, relishing lick up your dripping slit, ripping a gasp from you. He buries his face against you, licking deeper, his tongue exploring previously untouched places as you writhe beneath him. The sensations are all so foreign and overwhelming. You fist your hands into his hair, unsure if you want to push him away or pull him closer. 

Ghost is relentless, his hands pinning you down, trapping you as he licks you open, and you let out a wail. An odd sensation is building in your stomach, and you try to escape his insistent mouth, squirming against his hold. His nose is pressed up against the top of your slit, his tongue circling around inside you. A shudder runs all the way through your body, reaching a pitch that has you crying out, bucking against him as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your thighs tremble around his head, and you whine as he continues his ministrations, feeling overstimulated, your head hazy. He finally allows you to push him away when he’s had his fill, leaning backwards. The lower half of his face is soaked, and you blush as he uses the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.  

Ghost unlaces his breeches, pulling you out of your haze. He’s still got one hand holding you down, and you begin struggling again, fear building.

“No, you can’t—” Ghost leans down and captures your lips with his, interrupting your pleas. He pulls back, gently cupping your face in his hand and shushing you, making soft noises as you struggle against him. 

“I promised princess, I just want to feel you.” You relax slightly, still nervous as he pulls his cock free. It’s huge, the tip leaking and nearly purple. He kisses you again, his mouth rough against yours, and you whimper as he presses himself against you, dragging his cock through your folds, gathering your slick. When the tip catches against your entrance, you let out a gasp. 

He pulls back, his eyes dark. You watch, entranced, as he wraps his hand around himself, pumping his fist slowly up and down, coating his cock with your slick. It’s obscene, and you feel yourself flush at the indecency. Heat rushes down to your core as you watch him stroke his cock.

Ghost’s gaze is burning, eyes flitting between your face and your wet center, drinking up the sight. 

“See what you do to me?” He snarls, picking up speed. He grabs your hip and pulls you closer, flat on your back with your legs spread around him as he fucks his fist, his knuckles brushing against your center. You whimper, and the hand on your hip digs into your skin, hard enough to bruise. 

When he finishes, he says your name like a litany. It echoes in the empty space of the barn, like the clanging of church bells. 

His cum dries on the soft skin of your navel and mound, sticky and uncomfortable. He helps you pull your dress down, and tucks himself back into his breeches. 

Ghost kisses you again, his mouth is softer against yours now, and you kiss back, your inexperienced tongue rasping against his. He pulls away, and the silence between you is heavy. 

“What are you going to do now?” You ask, your voice quiet. His expression is conflicted as he reaches up a large hand to push some stray hair out of your face.

After a long silence, he finally answers you. “I’m taking you home.”

[acrossthewavesoftime]

A curse that comes with Knowing History, and harbouring a particular interest in material culture, is that you can never watch a documentary, film, or series without paying attention to the tiniest details, which will inevitably ruin your viewing impression.

Watching a documentary about Louis XIV for Reasons, one of the scenes recreated by actors is the last illness of the Grand Dauphin, seen here drinking a fortifying bouillon from what would not be the type of bowl used in these circumstances in the early 18th century. That would likely have been an écuelle (a specific soup bowl that often featured a lid which could be converted into a plate), not this thing:

Thankfully, Monsieur le Dauphin here tilts his bowl of bouillon enough to allow a peek underrneath:

That is no 18th century porcelain mark. That is a modern Seltmann-Weiden mark, likely second half of the 20th century, possibly pre- German Reunification:

I put a couple of filters over the image to make the mark slightly more visible. Image of the reference Seltmann-Weiden mark found here.

For all ye who want the really very absolutely authentic soup bowls in use at Château de Meudon in the time of the Grand Dauphin, you will have to look for second-hand or new old stock options because Seltmann-Weiden has discontinued the Theresia/Heimatland series some time ago, but they are definitively still around, presumably because the Grand Dauphin's household, having been dissolved after his death, has flooded the second hand market with Seltmann-Weiden crockery:

I will leave whoever was in charge of the props that though: the Grand Dauphin was married to Maria Anna Victoria of Bavaria, and Seltmann-Weiden is a Bavarian firm, so if this was an intentional decision, I have to say it is a nice touch. Blue and white porcelain was much en vogue then, but this here pattern reminds me a tad too much of Meissen's iconic Zwiebelmuster, which was only created in 1730, 19 years after the Grand Dauphin's death. I get that it is not economically feasible to procure authentic surviving 18th century porcelain for filming a few scenes for a documentary. But still. This choice of soup bowl is not as historically informed as it could have been.

TL;DR: I beg you, never watch anything remotely historically-themed with me.

[dayhair]

dr rants!

the squirrelly, inane edition that leaves you wondering why your eyes loom over certain semicolons and en-dashes [ how self-deprecating, i know 🎀 ]

also .. my first post, a liberating departure from the chains of shifttok

marauders; tell me why sirius black, heir apparent to the noble house of inbreeding, behaves like a broken analog clock — drinking at the sixth hour, and a mental breakdown with the occasional tactless jab when his little hand strikes nine ( i'll admit the metaphor is bizarre because i can't even tell the hour hand from the minute, anywho .. )

sirius black? oh, he invented sarcasm. and ebony locks of hair, chainsmoking ( whilst listening to lana del rey, crying in the shower ), sporadicity & a taste for gryffindor's finest, a bowie-loving werewolf

with him, it's always, "lonnie, i swear to god if you don't leave regulus alone," or, "let's deflower a firewhiskey after divination," no in-between

the insipid crash-outs & tantrums of an old-money dauphin must sound riveting, but a half-blood beauxbatons transfer can only behave so .. cordially; after all, my family's motto does translate to something like, "strike the iron while it's hot," and i'm not sure pulling sirius black's hair back as he [ i don't want to gross you out ] is what my ancestors had in mind whilst stitching gilded threads on our coat-of-arms

so .. do i ghost the anti-hero? i'm sure we'd have way more fun anyway if he was sorted into slytherin, or if i wasn't in his brother's year

gossip girl; serena van der woodsen, silver spring of her family, once said to me, "it's not my world, i just live in it." i'm pretty sure she was drunk, because she's no sylvia plath, no matter how hard she pretends. naïve me, in the dregs of upper east side bacchanals, more or less, teenage debauchery, and affairs on both sides of the tennis court — i'd no idea the roman holidays she was referring to, for death had always taken vacation on mine

picture this: a soirée, a suicide, a suit of cards ( hearts for the ones broken, clubs for the ultraviolence, diamonds for the [ well, we're bourgeoisie, there isn't much else to say ], and spades for my blackened luck )

i won't name-drop, but this ballot triggers easily to the unyielding imagination. let's just say an un-judging breakfast club was left fractured, and now i know to mark my julian calendar for the next time death and his blooded scythe strike

90s fame; how does one recover from the faux-pas, glossy tabloids of la la land? mixed reviews from critics and i questioned my steed in the oscar race, no golden globe nomination ( must they ignore me, so? and i know i could just script it in, but what's the fun in that?? ) and i'd already booked an month-off to st. tropez

a few things that i remember from this era

candid shots of me & heath ledger, drunk & the snl parody skit that followed

rumors of false behind-the-scenes drama, which then spurred into actuality 🤦‍♂️

appearing in britney spear's '.. baby one more time' mtv mv ( i was so nervous dbsndjwa )

i was on nirvana's 4th album cover ( scripted out kurt's death )

".. a pretentious performance that crashes into itself and shatters the film's narrative into something maladroit and unworthy of watching" ( some stupid critic about my acting; they don't know true talent or art. like at all. the movie's already a cult classic here so whatever ig )

oh, tinseltown. you pretend to be as glamorous as the age of beatniks & true cinema, but hollywood really is dead ..!

you've reached the post-script; i'd love to go on-&-on, but sleepiness strikes 💤

a reblog wouldn't hurt, eh? ( please )

ok. i'm done

ta-ta, happy shifting !!

[whencyclopedia]

Marie Antoinette

Marie Antoinette (l. 1755-1793) was the queen of France during the turbulent final years of the Ancien Régime and the subsequent French Revolution (1789-1799). With the ascension of her husband Louis XVI of France (r. 1774-1792), she became queen at the age of 18 and would shoulder much of the blame for the perceived moral failures of the French monarchy.

Early Life

She was born in Vienna on 2 November 1755 as Maria Antonia Josepha Joanna, archduchess of Austria. Her birthdate was an inauspicious one, coming as it did a day after a great earthquake killed 30,000 people in Lisbon, a chilling portent of her unlucky future. But her parents, the Habsburg Empress Maria Theresa of Austria (l. 1717-1780) and Francis I, Holy Roman Emperor (l. 1708-1765), were at the zenith of their own glory and saw no reason not to celebrate the birth of their fifteenth and penultimate child, the future queen of France.

The young archduchess, affectionately nicknamed 'Madame Antoine' by her mother, enjoyed a happy childhood, spending her winters sledding down the hills near the family lodge at Laxenburg and her summers in the comforts of Schönbrunn Palace in Vienna. It was at Schönbrunn where Maria Antonia met child prodigy Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart when they were both seven and where she would take up her own interest in music, playing both harpsichord and flute, and excelling in the art of dancing. In a family so large, Maria Antonia found comfort in the friendship of her sister, Maria Carolina, future queen of Naples and Sicily.

Maria Theresa was never the warmest of mothers, but the death of her husband in 1765 would send the empress into a state of grieving that would last the rest of her life, often taking the form of dissatisfaction with the behavior of her youngest children. This distant and complex relationship with Maria Antonia, who was as much a political pawn as she was a daughter, could best be summed up in the later words of an adult Marie Antoinette, "I love the Empress, but I'm frightened of her, even at a distance; when I'm writing to her, I never feel completely at ease" (Fraser, 22). However, for a family as significant as the Habsburgs, duty would always come before filial love, and so Maria Antonia found herself betrothed to the dauphin of France in 1769.

A Franco-Austrian alliance was certainly a controversial development, as many people in each country hated the other; prior to the Seven Years' War (1756-1763), King Louis XV of France (r. 1715-1774) himself had been an enemy of Maria Theresa. Yet following that conflict, the weakened Kingdom of France had begrudgingly entered into an alliance of necessity with Austria, with both nations agreeing that such an alliance should be solidified with a marriage. It was eventually decided that Maria Antonia would be married to Louis XV's grandson, Louis-Auguste, Duke of Berry (l. 1754-1793) who had become heir and dauphin of France upon the death of his father in 1766. So, after a proxy marriage and a renunciation of all claims to Habsburg lands, Maria Antonia set off for France to meet her new husband and arrived in Versailles on 14 May 1770, aged only 14. Along with the title of dauphine, she also adopted the French version of her name: Marie Antoinette.

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[arebirthingofsorts]

the entirety of buzzfeed unsolved but the stories are in chronological order: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLGGIwil6tMX95BMdYvMY8Co5Y2J8yxpe-

supernatural was very hard to do so under the cut i've added my reasons for some difficult episodes to list! if anyone has qualms with it or if you notice any mistakes in the playlist please let me know!

the london tombs, la llorona, and the voodoo episodes were difficult due to no real timeframe being known for when they began so i based the london tombs off of ryan saying the bridge has been around since ancient rome which is why it's one of the first videos in the playlist. la llorona required me to do my own research which led me to believe the story came about in the 1500s? possibly predating that but the first written versions were apparently from the 1500s. for the voodoo new orleans episode i did some research and based it on when it could have been brought to the area.

for bigfoot, mothman, and the men in black, i listed those based on the first encounters/evidence presented

many of the locations, i listed based on when they closed their operations or the owners passed before becoming noted haunted locations. (winchester house, sorrel-weed, villa montezuma, whaley house, old city jail, pythian castle, vulture mine, waverly hills, bellaire house, eastern state, rolling hills)

other haunted ones are currently still operating so i listed those based on when they first opened or got into the hands of the current owners (viaduct tavern, st. augustine, tombstone, goatman's bridge, the viper room, bobby mackey's, moon river)

dauphine orleans hotel was listed as the date ryan said a license to may bailey was given for the bordello. im very unsure about this one so if anyone has suggestions on how to list this one, please reach out EDIT: decided on 1775 because ryan mentioned that year as the site the hotel is on and i felt more sure about it that choice

farnsworth was listed as the year of the battle of gettysburg due to the house being named after a soldier who died in that battle + notable events happening and around the house

the bermuda triangle was tricky so i listed that as the date the term "bermuda triangle" was first coined EDIT: it's been moved to close to the top of the playlist due to the first alleged reporting of weird bermuda shit being by christopher columbus in 1492. this made more sense to me

colchester and morris-jumel are museums now so those were dated as when they were officially museums

the uss yorktown and the queen mary are listed as when they docked for good.

the alien abductions episode is in the 70s area of the playlist because 2/3 of the stories happened in the 70s.

the date the island of the dolls began is where i based "3 horrifying cases of ghosts and demons" since there are separate episodes for the winchester mansion and the sallie house

i based all the haunted locations on those things because i figured that the ghosties would appear after the notable deaths and wild events instead of listing all of them as when they first opened.

i hope all of this makes sense. enjoy.

[vivelareine]

hello! i agree with your post about MA being blamed for her husband's actions broadly, but do you have a source for her being the one who suggested a more reasonable carriage for their attempted escape? not that i doubt you or anything but i would like to know more since i have heard many conflicting things about this detail. thank you :)

Oh I should clarify, Marie Antoinette didn't come up with the idea of smaller carriages for the flight--but there's no reason to think she disagreed with the suggestions when you read the related Fersen correspondence. As it was Louis who decided to reject the proposals (which came from Bouille, Breteuil and Fersen) which may have... may have... resulted in the family not being captured.

(I say may have because this was almost a "Titanic" situation in which everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong, and it wasn't necessarily anyone or any particular choice's "fault." But people love to blame Marie Antoinette for Varennes, usually claiming she wanted to have a big vain carriage or she refused to part from her perfumes or she was a dumb woman who didn't realize they shouldn't all travel together etc etc.)

The initial proposals (I believe direct from Fersen & Bouille, not sure offhand about Breteuil) was for multiple common carriages--which would require the family to be split up--whereas the king wanted one large carriage that would mean the family (and Tourzel) would be together, and would not need to stop for various necessities.

Sometimes Tourzel is blamed for this, the idea being that the reason for the larger carriage was because she refused to part from Louis Charles, but I haven't found any letters which suggest it was Tourzel who was the deciding factor here. NVM I remembered it was Bouille who blamed her initially; Bouille said in his memoir the reason why the king didn't have a military man in the carriage is because Tourzel refused to not go with the family. But this was not brought up at all in the actual 1791 correspondence, it's something Bouille claimed much later.

And in any case, Louis was the king, he could have easily told Tourzel that she must be in a separate carriage... and would a 5 person carriage really be all that smaller than a 6 person one?

Edit: To add, the Tourzel variation of why the carriage was so big is fascinating because Madame de Tourzel's version of events is that Marie Antoinette said she (Tourzel) would be too ill to make the journey and must leave the Tuileries before the flight.

Tourzel basically told Marie Antoinette that she was willing to die for the family and her charges, and that if she were a man Marie Antoinette would not have said she must stay behind, and that if she left the palace everyone would know about their plans because she had publicly said that "death along could make me abandon the dauphin," and that if she thought for a moment she was hampering the flight, she would of course stay behind/not go with them, but that she would otherwise wish to go and serve her country.

But this gets turned into "Tourzel wept to the king about it and he gave into a woman's tears."

Anyway--

Bouille and Fersen also proposed that the king have able military men with them for safety and to take charge; this was also rejected. Louis initially wanted M. de Bombelles with him but rejected it due to political implications. It was not until very late that this was rejected, a lot of the flight to Montmedy plans had to be rearranged and put off for many reasons. One being that one of the dauphin's attendants was a "strong democrat" who would have jeopardized the plan if she was there,and they were waiting for be away from the palace.

Although the book itself is not one I recommend for reasons anyone who reads my blog will already know, Farr's "I Love You Madly" has a good amount of the Fersen/Bouille/etc letters leading up to the flight which provide a decent look at Louis' choices in regards to rejecting the more, IMO, sensible proposals that were offered to him.

So to clarify my lil rant, it's not so much that Marie Antoinette came up with the smaller and multiple carriages, than it is that she was not the one who rejected it and she had no objections to it that we know about--it was Louis who ultimately rejected the idea.

[eddieshellscape]

I don't talk about my personal life on here, really at all, mainly for my privacy, but I need to share a personal story.

Justin Johnson, a 16 year old sophomore at Central Dauphin High School was killed on friday. He had a medical condition. He was chased by his fellow students as they yelled racially discriminatory words at him. He died of cardiac arrest after his dad found him passed out in their home after the chase. One of his peers from school was interviewed, they said that he was often ostracized, especially because of his language barrier. He had just recently moved from Jamaica and the student alleges that he was often at the end of jokes, not understanding what they meant.

Central Dauphin East High School, their sister school and my high school, organized a peaceful walk out during the last period of the day tomorrow (Friday May 3rd) over to the administration building, which is just across the parking lot. The admin shut it down. They told us that we couldn't peacefully protest and demand action. Bullying has been a growing issue in our district, i have seen it happen to others very close to me and now i see that someone has died from it. We have scheduled a sit-in at our office lobby for the same time and date, but we have to spread the word by mouth lest the people we protest shut us down again.

This is very personal to me, because this kid was in the same grade as my best friend was when he tragically passed away of brain cancer. This kids death didn't need to happen. My friend was horribly taken by a disease he could do nothing against, while Justin was harassed and killed, simply for the entertainment and enjoyment of his white, privileged peers.

This is a horrible situation, and our district has been crumbling. We are meant to sit by silently while kids die and do nothing about it. This story should not jsut stay in our community. This needs to be seen by the world. Bullying has gone to the extreme, and now kids die. Nex Benedict was murdered for being trans. Justin Johnson was killed by bullying and harassment for being black.

Justice for Justin,

and peace to all those victim to bullying and harassment.

[scotianostra]

22nd February 1540 saw Marie de Guise crowned Queen Consort of Scotland at Holyrood Abbey in Edinburgh.

A member of the prominent Guise family, Mary (known as Mary of Guise, Marie de Guise, and Mary di Guise depending on the source) was born into a house of prominent players in sixteenth-century French politics.

From the ages of six until fourteen, Mary lived in a French convent with her grandmother, Philippa of Guelders, before being removed by her uncle Antoine, Duke of Lorraine and his wife Renee of Bourbon, to prepare her for life at the French court. She made her first appearance there in in 1531 at the marriage of King Francis I and Eleanor of Austria.

At the age of eighteen, Mary became a duchess when she married Louis II d’Orléans, Duke of Longueville on 4 August 1534 at Chateau du Louvre. The happy union produced two sons, but Mary was left a widowed single mother, less than three years after exchanging vows when Louis died on 9 June 1537.

Late in the same year, Mary received offers of marriage from both James V of Scotland and Henry VIII of England. Henry’s offer was primarily to prevent James from securing a French alliance through his marriage, and Mary refused on the grounds that she did not fancy the idea of meeting a similar fate to Henry’s previous wives.

King Francis I of France accepted James’s offer on Mary’s behalf and offered James a dowry equal to what Mary would have been granted as a royal princess. The marriage contract was finalised in January 1538, and the wedding between James and Mary was held by proxy on 18 May 1538 at Notre Dame de Paris, with Lord Maxwell standing proxy for the absent King James V who was still in Scotland.

Mary landed in Scotland on 10 June 1538 and was formally received by her new husband a few days later as part of a larger pageant and celebration put on in her honour. A second marriage ceremony then took place at St Andrews and Mary was crowned at Holyrood Abbey on 22 February 1540.

The couple had three children – sons James, Duke of Rothesay and Robert, Duke of Albany both died before they were a year old and daughter, Mary. Mary, born 8 December 1542, just six days before her father’s death, became Queen Regent of Scotland before she was a week old. Six years later she was sent to France to be raised with her husband-to-be, the Dauphin Francis.

With her daughter on the continent, Mary served as Regent of Scotland in her daughter’s name. Mary’s regency was heavily influenced by her Guise brothers in France – Francis, Duke of Guise and the Cardinal of Lorraine – who she frequently consulted, meaning that the Scots and the French were allied in foreign affairs and approaches.

Her greatest threat during this time was the growing influence of the Scottish Protestants under John Knox whose hopes were stirred in 1558 when Protestant Queen Elizabeth came to the English throne.

Mary became seriously ill in 1560 while fortifying Edinburgh Castle against the advancing English and died of dropsy (known now as ‘Edema’) on 10 June 1560.

There's a whole load more on this powerful woman here on the excellent Marie-Stuart web page.

[royaltysimblr]

Ophelia of Lausanne, Queen of Windenburg (1620-1673) - Part 10 - Last Years and Death

In 1665, Ophelia successfully arranged the marriage of her daughter, Princess Sophie, to Louis Antoine, Dauphin of Magnolia. Ophelia attended the wedding celebrations and negotiated the wedding contract in Magnolia. Sophie received a dowry of 850,000 Livre and a pension of 15,000 annually from parliament. Parliament was initially reluctant but ended up supporting the marriage as it improved the relationship between Windenburg and Magnolia and promoted religious tolerance. Following the marriage of her daughter, Ophelia moved to Magnolia full-time. Ophelia was gifted the Chateau de Angers by King Louis XI which she used as a country retreat. Ophelia regularly attended court in Magnolia and was given luxurious apartments at the Palace of Blois. Ophelia was by her daughter’s side during the birth of her many children including the future King Louis XIII. 

In 1665, her son, Prince George, died from tuberculosis. Ophelia was devastated by the death of her son and immediately returned to Windenburg for the funeral. Ophelia returned to the continent after two months, accompanied by her daughter Henrietta. Ophelia spent three months at the court of her son-in-law, the Prince of Brichester. During this period, Ophelia at the behest of her son, helped secure new trade deals with Windenburg. 

Throughout her last few years, Ophelia helped finance the creation of new churches in Montmedy and Nancy. Ophelia became extremely devout toward the end of her life, attending church as often as she could. Ophelia corresponded with her children regularly, especially her elder daughter Louise whom she hadn’t seen in 17 years. In 1671, her daughter-in-law, Augusta, visited Magnolia to take the baths at Colombes which were said to bring fertility. Ophelia and Augusta met with each other, which would be the last time they would see each other before Ophelia's death.

In 1672, her daughter, Sophie, died after suffering a fatal miscarriage. Ophelia was heatbroken by the loss of her daughter and stayed by her son-in-law’s side during his grief. A year later in 1673, her daughter Henrietta bled to death after giving birth to a stillborn son. The death of her two daughters broke Ophelia completely. Ophelia stayed isolated in Magnolia, hardly leaving the Chateau de Angers. On August 15th, 1673, while her son-in-law, the Dauphin, was visiting the Chateau de Angers, Ophelia collapsed and suffered from a heart attack. Ophelia died shortly afterward.

After the death of Ophelia, her son, Prince Charles, traveled to Magnolia to collect her body and return to Windenburg. Ophelia was buried at St.Michael’s Church in Windenburg beside her husband and son. A funeral was held on August 25th. Her children were devastated by the loss of their mother, with King James reportedly weeping upon hearing the news. Upon Ophelia’s wishes, she was buried in the same dress she had worn when she first came to Windenburg in 1635. Her sons, James and Charles, and her eldest daughter, Louise, survived her. James and Charles would both become Kings of WIndenburg before the throne passed to Charles's daughter, Princess Matilda. After the death of Matilda, the throne passed to Prince Joseph of Wittenburg, a great-grandson of James and Ophelia through Princess Henrietta, Princess of Brichester.

[natequarter]

you wonder why the scots were so unstable, then you look at their monarchy and realise they had seven child monarchs in a row. oh your king's a twelve-year-old? that sucks. what, he's been assassinated? huh! good thing his heir-- HE'S SIX? good thing he isn't going to die a ridiculous death like getting blown up by a cannon any time soon! BUT NOT FOR LONG! what, he was actually blown up by a cannon? wow. anyway, we're leaving the throne in the capable hands of a nine-year-old. that won't go wrong! OR SO WE THOUGHT! well, at least it wasn't a cannon that took him out this time, just a little bit of rebellion and war. and we're leaving the throne in the capable hands of a competent and popular ruler.

BUT NOT FOR LONG! this idiot gets absolutely wrecked at the hands of the english. and by wrecked, i mean killed. great news for henry viii, terrible news for little one-year-old jamie (his nephew, i should point out), a.k.a. your highness, and fifth in a long line of idiots called james. (you'd think they'd learn to pick another name.) things work out eventually, right up until henry viii's lot come back onto the scene and get into a bunch of fights with the scots. unbelievably, things are about to get so much worse. in a real smart move, james dies at the grand old age of thirty. (i feel the need to point out that none of these jameses lived past the age of forty-two. and that's being generous.)

enter mary. she's catholic! she's not called james! she's the queen of scotland! and guess how old she is? six days! yes, you heard that right - six days. (and you thought six years was bad.) she's eventually whisked away to live in france and later marry the dauphin, handily solving the problem of the english trying to kidnap her and marry her off to edward vi. (she's five at this point. edward is ten. françois, the dauphin, is three. don't think too hard about any of that.)

they grow up. edward dies at fifteen. mary i, best known for her fondness for barbecues, dies five years later. françois, sensing a trend, dies two years after that at sixteen. mary returns to scotland, and all is well.

OR SO WE THOUGHT! whilst england was busy being torn apart by religious matters, scotland was busy being torn apart by religious matters. (you'll never guess what's happening in france.) mary, of course, is a devout catholic. some of the scots, who have spent twelve years without a monarch, let alone a catholic girl raised in france, are... not. rebellions! political instability! back to the status quo, basically. john knox is not happy, but when is he ever? elizabeth i kindly tries to help things by sending her bestie robert dudley (yes, that robert) to marry mary. this, unsurprisingly, does not go down well. fortunately, mary solves all these problems by creating a new one: she marries her half-cousin, henry lord darnley! yuck! i mean, yay! more rebellion (led by mary's half-brother)! henry turns on mary because he wants more power! he allies with the protestant lords, and they stab mary's private secretary to death in front of her whilst she's pregnant! the usual.

BUT NOT FOR LONG! mary and henry escape, they have a lovely little son called james (they still hadn't learn their lesson about scottish jameses), and they all live happily ever after until henry's house is blown up and he's found smothered outside in broad daylight. suspects include: everyone in scotland. but mostly lord bothwell, who proceeds to kidnap mary and marry her. now, you may struggle to believe this, but things go downhill from here. mary is eventually forced to abdicate, and flees to england. bothwell is imprisoned in denmark, and later goes insane. as for james, now the one-year-old james vi (anyone sensing a pattern here?), well, he's probably too busy learning to speak to care. because, you know, he's one. some people never learn.

from this point onwards, mary's kept under house arrest by elizabeth i. in a display of gratitude towards elizabeth, mary promptly spends the rest of her life plotting against her. or being involved in plots. in the meantime, james's regent, also called james stewart (mary's aforementioned half-brother; the name is cursed), earns the dubious honour of being the first head of government to be assassinated with a firearm. eventually, after mary, that virtuous angel, actively tries to kill elizabeth, elizabeth gets fed up and drops a sword on mary's neck. james, who last saw his mother at the age of zero years old, must have been devastated.

you all know what happened next: elizabeth died at the grand old age of sixty-nine, and james inherited the throne. thus followed decades of religious instability, parliamentary infighting, and stubborn monarchs who refused to listen to reason, which were surely new to the elizabethans. james, who was what is commonly known these days as a "hot mess" or "bisexual disaster" - don't quote me on that - was nearly blown up in a plot masterminded by a guy called tosser. sorry, i mean a tosser called guy. he also pissed everyone off by being a bit too buddy-buddy with several men, possibly lovers. (probably lovers.) that was not the end of the curse of james stewart (see: james ii of england), but it did at least put an end to mary queen of scots. oh, and england and scotland were united. that too. cue much chaos with a man you've probably heard of, named oliver cromwell... the rest is history. i mean, all of this is history, but you know what i mean.

and that's the story of why having seven child monarchs in a row is a really fucking bad idea!

[sillyletterscomposingsillywords]

can you speak more on buzot? why do you like him? i only really know of his death with pétion lol

His politicial principles

You will most likely hold your glaze on Buzot's name for the first time between April and June 1791, a period of high concentration of his speeches in Constituent Assembly given on various themes.

Buzot’s favorite idea was, probably, the one of separation of powers. Not necessarily the three branches of power, but any.

The declaration he wrote with Petion before his death starts as follows:

“The evils that Despotism had done to the Earth had, since long ago, inspired in us a hatred of Kings. It has always seemed to us absurd and degrading for people that the fate of Millions of them depended on the will and passion of one.

“It seemed to us it was revolting and dangerous that one man inherits the right to command his fellow men as a Sovereign.

“This system, the only one which weighed on the world for centuries, seemed to be the main Source of Mistakes, prejudices and evils which desolate and degrade a society of people.

“From the beginning of the Revolution we have hoped to see an annihilation of this fatal and criminal system.

“We have been constantly working to fulfill this object of our dearest wishes” (published in Vatel, Vol.2, p.360)

When the Constituent Assembly debated which form to use to inquire the King and the Queen returned from Varennes, Buzot defended, it was on 26th June, the need to entrust the questioning to the ordinary court without forming a commission of deputies to prevent mixing of legislative and judicial powers (Journal des débats et des décrets n°766, p13).

On May 17th, 1791, he spoke against re-election to the next Assembly and to executive power. "In general, the continuation of any powers and functions is a principle of corruption. <...> Could you forget your principles and your wise foresight for a matter able to compromise the purity of the legislative body and one day alter the respect and confidence which people have for representatives? And you place another one arm in the hands of executive power for it to grow insensibly at the expense of public freedom. <...> Do not believe that only entire corruption leads to the conquest of the majority in a big assembly. A small number of people, an eloquence of one orator, intrigues of another, some cleverly managed terrors can master it in spite of itself, deceive its probity, force it to abandon its principles, to show weakness and injustice it will later repent. And unfortunately, it is these infinitely dangerous and perverse people to whom ministries tend to attach themselves." (Moniteur)

On April 13th, 1791, he said that it is administrative power instead of the Minister of Colonies who National guard should obey to prevent the concentration of ministerial power (Moniteur).

He even proposed a project of dividing the Assembly into two equal parts formed by draw each month and discussing the same matters independently (21st May 1791, Moniteur).

He viewed the post of a deputy and the one of a Governor of the Dauphin incompatible. And the first was much more honorable for him: "I believe that it is unworthy of a Representative of the Nation to leave his post to be a Governor of the Dauphin." (28 June 1791, Journal des débats et des décrets n°768, p 9)

Another idea that needs to be noted is that all citizens must have an ability to participate in political life to maintain their republican spirit. On 28 April 1791 Buzot defended the right of everyone (not only active citizens) to serve in the National Guard (Moniteur).

He was amongst those who supported the right of petitions signed by organizations: "To leave the right of petitions only to individuals is to annihilate it. Wait until the despotism, which is already raising its head so proudly, will acquire the strength it is rising to. Who will then dare to defy the bayonets and be the first to sign a brave petition? Woe to that first signed. Even if there was someone brave enough to defy the power of the oppressor, the later would laugh at this petition. Whereas a petition which is a general wish strongly expressed by cities, associations and hundred thousand men would make the despots pale." (9th May 1791, Révolutions de France et des Royaumes etc., n°77)

It was 6th August 1789 when he said: “And first of all, I maintain that ecclesiastical property belongs to the Nation.” (Moniteur) He attacked the church as an institution, but do not hasten to classify him as a radical. On 18th April 1791 he supported the opinion that non-sworn priests must be allowed to worship (Journal des débats et des décrets n°693).

Who he was before

Such brilliant career in the National Assembly resulted in Buzot receiving, by the end of it, two offers: of a post of vice-president of the criminal court in Paris and of a president of the same court in his hometown. He chose the last.

François Nicolas Léonard Buzot was born in Èvreux on the first of March 1760. He is mostly known by the name François but Archives National and Louvet in his memoires call him Léonard. His father was a prosecutor and his maternal grandfather was a lawyer in the same court (baptismal certificate, published by Vatel, Vol.2, p.160). On December 26, 1787, he became a lawyer in the court of Èvreux and one year and three months later, on March 28, 1789, he was elected to États généraux (d'Actes de convocation et de députation aux États généraux, published by Vatel, Vol 2 p. 283).

“Born with an independent and proud character, never yielding to the command of any person, how could I support an idea of hereditary rule and inviolability of one person? My head and heart were full of Greek and Roman history, of great men who, in these ancient republics, honored people the most. I’ve shared their maxims from the youngest age. I fed myself with their virtues. My youth was almost wild. My passions, concentrated in my ardent and sensitive heart, were violent, extreme, but dedicated to a single object, always to it. Never debauchery will wither my soul with its impure breath. Lechery always horrified me and to the old age never a licentious word spoiled my lips. But I’ve known misfortune early, still I stayed attached to virtue, whose consolations were my only asylum. What charm I still feel when I recall those happy days of my life now never to return, when I wandered silently through the mountains and woods round the city I was born, reading some works of Plutarch or Rousseaux with delight or recollecting the pieces of their moral and philosophy I cherished the most. Sometimes, sitting on a flowering grass in a shade of dense trees, I, in a sweet melancholy, gave myself over to the memories of the pains and pleasures of my first days. At the evenings, the precious works of two good man often occupied and entertained me and my friend the same age as me whom death took from me when we were thirty years old and whose memory, always cherished and respected, protected me from many mistakes! That was my character, slightly changed by the clash of revolutionary passions, when I arrived at the Constituent Assembly.” (Memoires, p 24)

Development of his principles and his liaisons

Madame Roland opened her salon in the spring of 1791. Not surprising that one of its visitors was Buzot, a friend of Brissot and Pétion. They became friends. Rolands exchanged letters with him since they have all departed from Paris in September 1791, the letters which must have been nothing close to the tender, soulful lines madame Roland would wrote in little less than two years later. Yet these letters allowed them to thoroughly study the souls of each other and, having become intimate soon, brought up the love they found themselves in by the time they saw each other a year after. “Buzot with pure principles, courage, sensitivity and gentle manners has infinitely inspired me with esteem and attachment to him.” (Madame Roland, Memoires, p. 119)

Then, in the reopened salon, he would find two new close friends of him: Louvet and Barbaroux, whom he describes in his Memoires as talented and of great character (p.90).

On 24 September 1792, in the midst of a heated argument caused by Kersaint’s proposition of a law against those who instigate murders, Buzot climbed the rostrum to say:

“Strange to the revolutions of Paris, I arrived here with confidence that I would retain the independence of my soul. Good that I know what to wait for or to fear. What does citizen Kersaint propose? Firstly, to inform each of us about the actual situation in both the Republic and the capital. That is the first thing I demand to be clarified. Secondly, to discover if we have any laws against instigators of murders. <…> We need a public force to provide the compliance with laws. <…> I also demand a public force in which all the departments will participate, because I belong to Paris no more than to the other departments. That is my will, a strongly expressed which will not be suffocated by the declamations of those who speak about Prussians, whom I do not have the honor of knowing, because I lived in my department as if retired. <..> I ask for appointment of four or six commissaires for examining the state that Paris and 83 departments are in to propose in future a project of a law not bloody – I have always raised against those ones, I have fought against that Mirabeau, who had made a martial law – but gentle, which simultaneously reassures good citizens and gives justice to the miscreants. I demand the National Convention to be surrounded by force so imposing that not only did we have nothing to fear but also our departments were completely confident that we have nothing to fear. Oh! Some may think they will make us slaves of some deputies of Paris… I have said this word. It is not too strong. I ask the Convention to examine these questions and for us not to be portrayed as enemies of the people when we want to establish a government that will bring them peace and give them bread.”(Moniteur)

This proposal (which was adopted) and Girondins’ eagerness to bring the guard to life became later one of the reasons for accusing them in federalism.

“When I said yesterday that the Convention must be surrounded by the guard formed by men from all 83 departments, wasn’t I speaking in favor of this unity? I proposed this measure and I say that all we need to prevent the federal division, this tearing of the French republic is to bring departments here, is each primary assembly to send here a man as a guarantee of the unity. <…> One decree is not enough to establish the unity of French Republic. This unity must exist as a fact, as a union of people sent from 83 departments to surround the convention. But these ideas must be organized with care. So, I ask for these observations to be sent to the Editing Commission for it to present its report as soon as possible.” (Moniteur)

To the report on the departmental guard, which Buzot made on 8th October, belongs this definition of republic: “Republic is a holy confederation of people who see themselves as similar and proud, who cherish their kind, honor their character and dignity, work together for the happiness of all to better provide the happiness of every, because in society one necessarily depends on others and is made more significant, more solid by it; of people, finally, equal, independent, but wise and appreciating no rule except law emanated from the general will freely expressed by the representatives by the entire Republic. That beautiful association is not limited by the borders of a small land. It is one, indivisible throughout France. Its perfection, its safety is an interest of 25 million men.” (Moniteur)

What Montagnards called federalism was, in fact, an irritation from Parisians affecting politics under the name of the nation on the basis that they were the nurse of liberty and a fight against what Girondins saw as and called a tyranny of one city. And some party spirit, of course. An important part in this quotation is Buzot talking about cantons. He opposes Paris’ influence with every citizen in the Republic able to vote. During the debates on the king’s trial, he asked for an appeal to people. He would be happy to live in a direct democracy.

It was March 10, 1793. Cambacérès proposed proceeding to the organization of the (future-called) Revolutionary tribunal and the ministries, “the ministries which are now organized as if two powers existed”. He said: “All powers were given to you; you must exercise them all. No separation must exist between the body that discusses and the body that acts.”

“(Cries “to the vote! to the vote!” are heard in the big part of the Assembly. Some murmurs then follow the cries – that is Buzot appears on the tribune.)

Buzot: Citizens, I request the floor. (The murmurs on the left are heard once again) This noise tells me, and I knew before, that some courage is needed to oppose the ideas by which some want to lead us to despotism more terrible than anarchy. (The same murmurs) For every moment I live I thank those who let me to. I view my life as a voluntary concession from their side. (The murmurs continue in the very big part of the Assembly) But may they at least give me the time to save my memory from dishonor by letting me vote against the despotism of the Convention.” (Histoire Parlementaire, t.XXV, p.50)

A prophecy.

By that time Buzot was extremely unloved by all left. His endless attacks, sometimes absurd, e.g. his accusation of Robespierre and Danton being in the Orlean’s party (he did not believe it himself), his resistance to Dubois-Crancé’s army reform made him unbearable. He would become even more after his resistance to the Committee of Public Safety’s power expanding, his eager to bring Marat to justice (even more fiery because he had called him innocent for months before, but that is a story for another day). No one would forget that he stood for the stay of execution (and had an argument on that matter with Barbaroux).

On 8 May 1793 he tells the Convention the following story when one deputy reminds it to him.

 “My servant was arrested on fifth of that month. He was riding a horse of my friend [Dugazon]. He was taken to the Garde-Meuble and asked to show his civil card. He had no. Therefore, I had to present myself four times to the Section Quatre-Nations, where I live. I was refused. The servant said he was mine and this single circumstance determined his arrest and imprisonment. He was being held at the city hall, and I went there with my claim. There I saw, among others, a man with big moustache and big saber, a type which can be frequently seen near the Convention. I was refused taking my servant back in front of witnesses. I asked for their names but was refused. A big man [the man with big moustache] asked me if I needed his help, "the one on the end of my saber" — he added. I answered that I'm ready for it, armed with my courage and some bullets. I went out. The guard decided to follow me. I refused him, but he still did. I came to the mayor who received me decently. I've been there for a very little time when a municipal officer and a military officer began to argue. The object of their argument was the arrest of the man with big moustache and the cause of the arrest was his treat to leave only with my head. This man was taken to the Committee of police and released by it, because he said he was a true patriot and a good citizen. Finally, after two hours and a half of interrogation, when all means to get my servant make contradictions ended, he was returned to me.” (Moniteur)

On 22nd of May Buzot spoke about big municipalities division (Moniteur, I recommend reading it), and on May 23rd about 10th March (Moniteur). He said no single word on 31st of May. On the 2nd of June he stayed at Meillan's, as many other girondins did, and had no intention of participating in the session. Having heard that the idea of proscribing thirty-four deputies instead of twenty-two had been suggested, Buzot rushed to the door, willing to die on the tribune of the Convention. While his colleagues were holding him by pure physical strength, Barbaroux, possessed by the same desire, managed to escape unnoticed (Memories de Meillan, p.52).

Who he became

He became the soul of the Federalist revolt. A great inspirator. Next to his and Barbaroux 's names Brissot, in Saint-Just’s report on 8th July, looks like a petty hooligan.

Madame Roland, an author of at once chaste and passionate letters, wrote him on 6th July: "I’m penetrated by your courage, your affection honors me and I praise everything that inspires your proud and sensitive soul." (Madame Roland’s third letter, published by Dauban, p.36)

Those were the days of energy and hope. They soon ended, being followed by "cruel adventures" (Louvet's word) about which Buzot, in one of many fits of rage, writes in his memoires: “Yes, to avenge! To avenge my friends, their memory on the barbarians oppressing us. That is my goal, my will, my hope! It takes me whole; I think of it all day, I see it in my dreams, to fulfill this duty is the only reason I live! And who of us could agree, without this reassuring hope, to wander in this senseless, torturing life from district to district, from house to house, sometimes staying in the wild and desert forests of Bretagne and Perigord, sometimes sailing two hundred lieus on the sea, exposed to illnesses, inconstancy of the stormy sea, invasion of English, pirates and to the danger a thousand times more cruel than all English and storms, to the danger of being recognized by French, finding hearts cold everywhere, indifferent, frozen with fear or terrible souls tainted with our blood? Could we have another interest? Who of us could agree, without that reassuring hope, to live in our free land after death of our friends and our independence. Alas! We desire no more! What is left of us except pain?” (p.128)

He always was a man of feeling more than a one of thought. And so to say, a man of a deep, strong feeling. All his memories (and they consist of three chapters written in different times and places and to be the last words) are written to splash out the emotions he could not take any more. “My heart cannot handle the feelings oppressing it. There are still some cruel ones I have to devour in silence! Great God! How long do I have to endure? How much is it left of me? You’ve given hope to an unfortunate man but hope also abandoned me! <…> I search in vain for something dear to me, that will force me to once again love life. But in an isolated loneliness I now find nothing. On a despair of no longer having tender, honest feelings. Of no longer having a heart able to respond and rekindle my life with its sweet flame. All is lost for me, forever lost! How terrible those words! They plunge me into oblivion.” (p.132)

His Memoires possess no structure of Barbaroux's or facts of Pétion's. They were written in the same time, Buzot and Pétion were working on them literally elbow to elbow, so it says a lot about their priorities.

Prone to melancholy (Madame Roland's description of him), Buzot rapidly changes his tone from flashes of high lyricism to furious screams but is always uncommonly permeated by sadness.

"Celestial ray, shining from Divinity itself, I bless you for the evils I suffer for you! Support my courage and make me, always faithful to myself, never be unfaithful to your laws.” (p.41)

“Pache, Garat, awful names! Execrable memories! What regrets, what remorse they cause in me! You are partly obliged to me in your sudden rising and I’m well punished for it.” (p.100)

He barely tries to properly explain his theories. The only one chapter that contains them is the one about federalism (p.149), but it still has nothing specific, only an idea of it being a reasonable system, still never ever proposed by him to France.

A consequence of this will to turn his soul inside out is a brilliant honesty he writes with. Not objectivity, but honesty of judgements he had the moment he was writing.

“Following the basis of known ideas of Saint-Just, Robespierre and Barère, I see only a fatal advantage of having a new revolution every new year until the people, tired by its poverty and anarchy, finally fall back, under their own weight, to the most absolute despotism.” (p.158)

“Danton loves glory not less than pleasure and money; he is indifferent to crime as well as to courage, cruelty for him is only a calculated mean; following his interests, he signed pardon for September prisoners as he signed their massacre. <…> I don’t consider him as envious as Robespierre and as stained with blood as Marat, but he drinks it when it’s in his interests. <…> His mind knows no culture, he doesn’t hear arguments, he has no knowledge in any field; he was born awful and becomes even more in his convulsions of anger.” (p.94)

“What will happen with humanity, morals, virtues if Robespierre, Barère and Danton die peacefully in their beds?” (p. 131)

The attitude is clear. Yet – Memoires had been already finished – Buzot wrote on a piece of paper: “I’ve just read about Danton’s trial, and I found myself regretting his death.” (p.195)

"Alas! In the sad refuge where I am confined, I feel no longer the gracious heat of the sun, I see no green of the fields, the murmur of the stream doesn't come to my ear to doze the pains of my heart. Nothing living mixes its tears with mine. I see nothing breathing, and hope itself proposes to me nothing but a funeral shroud! Oh! A few more days, a few days after the fall of our tyrants to fulfil the supreme duty that remains to me, and the dream of life can vanish forever! But if it is my destiny to, after long sufferings, perish in France, in the midst of executioners, surrounding and pressing me, oh you, who are interested in the glory of mine and my friends, do not fear anything undignified of us. Our souls have never feared death, but never will the assassin have the glory of contributing it. And till the last breath Pétion, Barbaroux and Buzot will be free!.." (p.187, and the last)

He killed himself together with Pétion on the same day and the same wheat patch as Barbaroux.

"We've discussed a lot and decided nothing. I will always remember the opinion that Buzot developed with great energy. The question was if we were accused, should we prefer a voluntary death to the ignominy of mounting the echafaud. Buzot preferred the last and proved that the death on the echafaud was more courageous, more dignified to the patriots, and, even more, it was more useful for the Liberty." (Brissot, Memoires, Vol.4, p.261)

(A copy of a portrait belonged to Madame Roland published by Dauban)

[whencyclopedia]

The Hundred Years' War (1337-1453) was an intermittent conflict fought between England and France that started when king Edward III of England (r. 1327-1377) squabbled with Philip VI of France (r. 1328-1350) over feudal rights concerning Gascony and trade with the Low Countries. Edward also asserted that he was the rightful king of France and pressed this claim by winning great victories at the battles of Crécy (1346) and Poitiers (1356). In 1360, Edward renounced his claim to the French throne in return for lordship over a quarter of France. The war then continued as each side attempted to control north and southwest France. After Charles V of France (r. 1364-1380) steadily regained much of the lands lost since the war began, there was a period of peace when Richard II of England (r. 1377-1399) married the daughter of Charles VI of France (r. 1380-1422). Henry V of England (r. 1413-1422), eager to win glory, booty, and legitimacy for his own reign, then reignited the conflict with his stunning victory at the Battle of Agincourt in 1415 which enabled him to be nominated the heir to the French throne. After Henry V's untimely death and the ineffectual rule of Henry VI of England (r. 1422-61 & 1470-71), Charles VII of France (r. 1422-1461) retook the initiative. With help from such figures as the Duke of Burgundy and Joan of Arc (1412-1431), Charles won the war and managed to remove the English from all French territory except Calais. The causes of the Hundred Years' War and reasons for its continuation include: The seizure of English-held Gascony (Aquitaine, south-west France) by Philip VI of France. The claim by the English king Edward III to be the rightful king of France. The expedition of Edward III to take by force territories in France, protect international trade and win booty and estates for his nobles. The ambition of Charles V of France to remove the English from France's feudal territories. The descent into madness of Charles VI of France and the debilitating infighting amongst the French nobility. The ambition of Henry V of England to legitimise his reign in England and make himself the king of France through conquest. The determination of the Dauphin, future King Charles VII of France (r. 1422-1461), to regain his birthright and unify all of France.

[royalty-nobility]

Jacoba van Beieren (1401-36), Countess of Holland and Zeeland

Artist: Pieter Willem Sebes, (c. 1435)

Date: 1879

Medium: Oil on panel

Collection: Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam, Netherlands

Jacqueline, Countess of Hainaut

Jacqueline (Dutch: Jacoba; French: Jacqueline; German: Jakobäa; 15 July 1401 – 8 October 1436), of the House of Wittelsbach, was a noblewoman who ruled the counties of Holland, Zeeland and Hainaut in the Low Countries from 1417 to 1433. She was also Dauphine of France for a short time between 1415 and 1417 and Duchess of Gloucester in the 1420s, if her marriage to Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, is accepted as valid.

Jacqueline was born in Le Quesnoy and from her birth she was referred to as "of Holland", indicating that she was the heiress of her father's estates.

Jacqueline was the last Wittelsbach ruler of Hainaut and Holland. Following her death, her estates passed into the inheritance of Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy.