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anotherhumaninthisworld · 4 months ago

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Frev appearance descriptions masterpost

Jean-Paul Marat — In Histoire de la Révolution française: 1789-1796 (1851) Nicolas Villiaumé pins down Marat’s height to four pieds and eight pouces (around 157 cm). This is a somewhat dubious claim considering Villiaumé was born 26 years after Marat’s death and therefore hardly could have measured him himself, but we do know he had had contacts with Marat’s sister Albertine, so maybe there’s still something to this. That Marat was short is however not something Villaumé is alone in claiming. Brissot wrote in his memoirs that he was ”the size of a sapajou,” the pamphlet Bordel patriotique (1791) claimed that he had ”such a sad face, such an unattractive height,” while John Moore in A Journal During a Residence in France, From the Beginning of August, to the Middle of December, 1792 (1793) documented that ”Marat is little man, of a cadaverous complexion, and a countenance exceedingly expressive of his disposition. […] The only artifice he uses in favour of his looks is that of wearing a round hat, so far pulled down before as to hide a great part of his countenance.” In Portrait de Marat (1793) Fabre d’Eglantine left the following very detailed description: ”Marat was short of stature, scarcely five feet high. He was nevertheless of a firm, thick-set figure, without being stout. His shoulders and chest were broad, the lower part of his body thin, thigh short and thick, legs bowed, and strong arms, which he employed with great vigor and grace. Upon a rather short neck he carried a head of a very pronounced character. He had a large and bony face, aquiline nose, flat and slightly depressed, the under part of the nose prominent; the mouth medium-sized and curled at one corner by a frequent contraction; the lips were thin, the forehead large, the eyes of a yellowish grey color, spirited, animated, piercing, clear, naturally soft and ever gracious and with a confident look; the eyebrows thin, the complexion thick and skin withered, chin unshaven, hair brown and neglected. He was accustomed to walk with head erect, straight and thrown back, with a measured stride that kept time with the movement of his hips. His ordinary carriage was with his two arms firmly crossed upon his chest. In speaking in society he always appeared much agitated, and almost invariably ended the expression of a sentiment by a movement of the foot, which he thrust rapidly forward, stamping it at the same time on the ground, and then rising on tiptoe, as though to lift his short stature to the height of his opinion. The tone of his voice was thin, sonorous, slightly hoarse, and of a ringing quality. A defect of the tongue rendered it difficult for him to pronounce clearly the letters c and l, to which he was accustomed to give the sound g. There was no other perceptible peculiarity except a rather heavy manner of utterance; but the beauty of his thought, the fullness of his eloquence, the simplicity of his elocution, and the point of his speeches absolutely effaced the maxillary heaviness. At the tribune, if he rose without obstacle or excitement, he stood with assurance and dignity, his right hand upon his hip, his left arm extended upon the desk in front of him, his head thrown back, turned toward his audience at three-quarters, and a little inclined toward his right shoulder. If on the contrary he had to vanquish at the tribune the shrieking of chicanery and bad faith or the despotism of the president, he awaited the reéstablishment of order in silence and resuming his speech with firmness, he adopted a bold attitude, his arms crossed diagonally upon his chest, his figure bent forward toward the left. His face and his look at such times acquired an almost sardonic character, which was not belied by the cynicism of his speech. He dressed in a careless manner: indeed, his negligence in this respect announced a complete neglect of the conventions of custom and of taste and, one might almost say, gave him an air of ressemblance.”

Albertine Marat — both Alphonse Ésquiros and François-Vincent Raspail who each interviewed Albertine in her old age, as well as Albertine’s obituary (1841) noted a striking similarity in apperance between her and her older brother. Esquiros added that she had ”two black and piercing eyes.” A neighbor of Albertine claimed in 1847 that she had ”the face of a man,” and that she had told her that ”my comrades were never jealous of me, I was too ugly for that” (cited in Marat et ses calomniateurs ou Réfutation de l’Histoire des Girondins de Lamartine (1847) by Constant Hilbe)

Simonne Evrard — An official minute from July 1792, written shortly after Marat’s death, affirmed the following: “Height: 1m, 62, brown hair and eyebrows, ordinary forehead, aquiline nose, brown eyes, large mouth, oval face.” The minute for her interrogation instead says: “grey eyes, average mouth.”Cited in this article by marat-jean-paul.org. When a neighbor was asked whether Simonne was pretty or not around two decades after her death in 1824, she responded that she was ”très-bien” and possessed ”an angelic sweetness” (cited in Marat et ses calomniateurs ou Réfutation de l’Histoire des Girondins de Lamartine (1847) by Constant Hilbe) while Joseph Souberbielle instead claimed that ”she was extremely plain and could never have had any good looks.”

Maximilien Robespierre — The hostile pampleth Vie secrette, politique et curieuse de M. J Maximilien Robespierre… released shortly after thermidor by L. Duperron, specifies Robespierre’s hight to have been ”five pieds and two or three pouces” (between 165 and 170 cm). He gets described as being ”of mediocre hight” by his former teacher Liévin-Bonaventure Proyart in 1795, ”a little below average height” by journalist Galart de Montjoie in 1795, ”of medium hight” by the former Convention deputy Antoine-Claire Thibaudeau in 1830 and ”of middling form” by his sister in 1834, but ”of small size” by John Moore in 1792 and Claude François Beaulieu in 1824. The 1792 pampleth Le véritable portrait de nos législateurs… wrote that Robespierre lacked ”an imposing physique, a body à la Danton,”supported by Joseph Fiévée who described him as ”small and frail” in 1836, and Louis Marie de La Révellière who said he was ”a physically puny man” in his memoirs published 1895. For his face, both François Guérin (on a note written below a sketch in 1791), Buzot in his Mémoires sur la Révolution française (written 1794), Germaine de Staël in her Considerations on the Principal Events of the French Revolution (1818), a foreign visitor by the name of Reichardt in 1792 (cited in Robespierre by J.M Thompson), Beaulieu and La Révellière-Lépeaux all agreed that he had a ”pale complexion.” Charlotte does instead describe it as ”delicate” and writes that Maximilien’s face ”breathed sweetness and goodwill, but it was not as regularly handsome as that of his brother,” while Proyart claims his apperance was ”entirely commonplace.” The foreigner Reichardt wrote Robespierre had ”flattened, almost crushed in, features,” something which Proyart agrees with, writing that his ”very flat features” consisted of ”a rather small head born on broad shoulders, a round face, an indifferent pock-marked complexion, a livid hue [and] a small round nose.” Thibaudeau writes Robespierre had a ”thin face and cold physiognomy, bilious complexion and false look,” Duperron that ”his colouring was livid, bilious; his eyes gloomy and dull,” something which Stanislas Fréron in Notes sur Robespierre (1794) also agrees with, claiming that ”Robespierre was choked with bile. His yellow eyes and complexion showed it.” His eyes were however green according to Merlin de Thionville and Guérin while Proyart insists they were ”pale blue and slightly sunken.” Etienne Dumont, who claimed to have talked to Robespierre twice, wrote in his Souvernirs sur Mirabeau et sur les deux premières assemblées législatives (1832) that ”he had a sinister appearance; he would not look people in the face, and blinked continually and painfully,” and Duperron too insists on ”a frequent flickering of the eyelids.” Both Fréron, Buzot, Merlin de Thionville, La Révellière, Louis Sébastien Mercier in his Le Nouveau Paris (1797) and Beffroy de Reigny in Dictionnaire néologique des hommes et des choses ou notice alphabétique des hommes de la Révolution, qui ont paru à l’Auteur les plus dignes d’attention… (1799) made the peculiar claim that Robespierre’s face was similar to that of a cat. Proyart, Beaulieu and Millingen all wrote that it was marked by smallpox scars, ”mediocretly” according to Proyart, ”deeply” according to the other two. Proyart also writes that Robespierre’s hair was light brown (châtain-blond). He is the only one to have described his hair color as far as I’m aware.

For his clothes, both Montjoie, Louis-Sébastien Mercier in 1801, Helen Maria Williams in 1795, Duperron, Millingen and Fiévée recall the fact that Robespierre wore glasses, the first two claiming he never appeared in public without them, Duperron that he ”almost always” wore them, and Millingen that they were green. Pierre Villiers, who claimed to have served as Robespierre’s secretary in 1790, recalled in Souvenirs d'un deporté (1802) that Robespierre ”was very frugal, fastidiously clean in his clothes, I could almost say in his one coat, which was was of a dark olive colour,” but also that ”He was very poor and had not even proper clothes,” and even had to borrow a suit from a friend at one point. Duperron records that ”[Robespierre’s] clothes were elegant, his hair always neat,” Millingen that ”his dress was careful, and I recollect that he wore a frill and ruffles, that seemed to me of valuable lace,”Charlotte that ”his dress was of an extreme cleanliness without fastidiousness,” Williams that he ”always appeared not only dressed with neatness, but with some degree of elegance, and while he called himself the leader of the sans-culottes, never adopted the costume of his band. His hideous countenance […] was decorated with hair carefully arranged and nicely powdered,” Fiévée that Robespierre in 1793 was ”almost alone in having retained the costume and hairstyle in use before the Revolution,” something which made him ressemble ”a tailor from the Ancien régime,” Thibadeau that ”he was neat in his clothes, and he had kept the powder when no one wore it anymore,” Germaine de Staël that ”he was the only person who wore powder in his hair; his clothes were neat, and his countenance nothing familiar,” Révellière writes that Robespierre’s voice was ”toneless, monotonous and harsh,” Beaulieu that it ”was sharp and shrill, almost always in tune with violence,” and Thinadeau that his ”tone” was ”dogmatic and imperious.”

Augustin Robespierre — described as ”big, well formed, and [with a] face full of nobility and beauty” in the memoirs of his sister Charlotte. Charles Nodier did in Souvenirs, épisodes et portraits pour servir à l'histoire de la Révolution et de l'Empire (1831) recall that Augustin had a ”pale and macerated physiognomy” and a quite monotonous voice.

Charlotte Robespierre — an anonymous doctor who claimed to have run into Charlotte in 1833, the year before her death, described her as ”very thin.” Jules Simon, who reported to have met her the following year, did him too describe her as ”a very thin woman, very upright in her small frame, dressed in the antique style with very puritanical cleanliness.”

Camille Desmoulins — described as ”quite tall, with good shoulders” in number 16 of the hostile journal Chronique du Manège (1790). Described as ugly by both said journal, the journal Journal Général de la Cour et de la Ville in 1791, his friend François Suleau in 1791, former teacher Proyart in 1795, Galart de Montjoie in 1796, Georges Duval in 1841, Amandine Rolland in 1864 (she does however add that it was ”with that witty and animated ugliness that pleases”) and even himself in 1793. Proyart describes his complexion as ”black,” Duval as ”bilious.” Both of them agree in calling his eyes ”sinister.” Duval also claims that Desmoulins’ physiognomy was similar to that of an ospray. Montjoie writes that Desmoulins had ”a difficult pronunciation, a hard voice, no oratorical talent,” Proyart that ”he spoke very heavily and stammered in speech” and Camille himself that he has ”difficulty in pronunciation” in a letter dated March 1787, and confesses ”the feebleness of my voice and my slight oratorical powers” in number 4 of the Vieux Cordelier. In his very last letter to his wife, dated April 1 1794, Desmoulins reveals that he wears glasses.

Lucile Desmoulins — The concierge at the Sainte-Pélagie prison documented the following when Lucille was brought before him on April 4 1794: ”height of five pieds and one and a half pouce (166 cm). Brown hair, eyebrows and eyes. Middle sized nose and mouth. Round face and chin. Ordinary front. A mark above the chin on the right.” Cited in Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république (2018). Described as beautiful by the journal Journal Général de la Cour et de la Ville in 1791 (it specifies her to be ”as pretty as her husband is ugly”), former Convention deputy Pierre Paganel in 1815, Louis Marie Prudhomme in 1830, Amandine Rolland in 1864 and Théodore de Lameth (memoirs published 1913).

Georges Danton — Described as having an ugly face by both Manon Roland in 1793, Vadier in 1794, the anonymous pamphlet Histoire, caractère de Maximilien Robespierre et anecdotes sur ses successeurs in 1794, Louis-Sébastien Mercier in 1797, Antoine Fantin-Desodoards in 1807, John Gideon Millingen in 1848, Élisabeth Duplay Lebas in the 1840s, the memoirs (1860) of François-René Chateaubriand (he specifies that Danton had ”the face of a gendarme mixed with that of a lustful and cruel prosecutor”) as well as the Mémoires de la Societé d’agriculture, commerce, sciences et arts du department de la Marse, Chalons-sur-Marne (1862). As reason for this ugliness, Millingen lifts his ”course, shaggy hair” (that apparently gave him the apperance of a ”wild beast”), the fact he was deeply marked with small-poxes, and that his eyes were unusually small (”and sparkling in surrounding darkness”), while Chateaubriand instead underlines that he was ”snub-nosed,” with ”windy nostrils [and] seamed flats.” Mercier writes that Danton’s face was ”hideously crushed.” The former Convention deputy Alexandre Rousselin (1774-1847) reported in his Danton — Fragment Historique that Danton developed a lip deformity after getting gored by a bull as a baby, had his nose crushed by another bull, got trampled in the face by a group of pigs and finally survived ”a very serious case of smallpoxes, accompanied by purpura.” In 1792, John Moore reported that ”Danton is not so tall, but much broader than Roland; his form is coarse and uncommonly robust,” while Vadier claims that Danton possessed a ”robust form, colossal eloquence,” the anonymous pamphlet that ”he was very strong, he said himself that he had athletic forms,” Desodoards that he ”held the nature of athletic and colossal forms,” Chateaubriand that he was ”a vandal in the size of Goth” (don’t know who he’s referring to), Pierre Paganel (in Essai historique et critique sur la révolution française: ses causes, ses résultats, avec les portraits des hommes les plus célèbres (1815)) that he was of an ”enormous stature,” while the pamphlet described him as a ”gigantic orator” whose voice ”shook the vaults of the hall.” René Levasseur in 1829, John Moore, Millingen, Paganel and Desodoards all agreed with this, the first four writing that Danton possessed a ”stentorian voice,” the latter that he had ”a very strong voice, without being sonorous or flexible.” In her memoirs (1834) Charlotte Robespierre claims that ”[Danton] did not at all conserve the dignity suited to the representative of a great people in his manners; his toilette was in disorder.”

Louis Antoine Saint-Just — In Saint-Just (1985) Bernard Vinot writes that Saint-Just’s childhood friend Augustin Lejeune recalled his “honest physiognomy,” and that his sister Louise would evoke her brother’s ”great beauty” for her grandchildren (I unfortunately can’t find the original sources here). The elderly Élisabeth Le Bas too stated that ”he was handsome, Saint-Just, with his pensive face, on which one saw the greatest energy, tempered by an air of indefinable gentleness and candor” (testimony found in Les Carnets de David d’Angers (1838-1855) by Pierre-Jean David d’Angers, cited in Veuve de Thermidor: le rôle et l'influence d'Élisabeth Duplay-Le Bas (1772-1859) sur la mémoire et l'historiographie de la Révolution française (2023) by Jolène Audrey Bureau, page 127). In Souvenirs de la révolution et de l’empire, Charles Nodier (who was twelve years old when he met Saint-Just…) agrees in calling him ”handsome,” but adds that he ”was far from offering this graceful combination of cute features with which we have seen it endowed by the euphemistic pencil of a lithograph,” had an ”ample and rather disproportionate chin,” that ”the arc of his eyebrows, instead of rounding into smooth and regular semi-circles, was closer to a straight line, and its interior angles, which were bushy and severe, merged into one another at the slightest serious thought that one saw pass on his forehead” and finally that ”his soft and fleshy lips indicated an almost invincible inclination to laziness and voluptuousness.” How would you know what his lips were like, Nodier. In Essai historique et critique sur la révolution française (1815) Pierre Paganel writes that Saint-Just had ”regular features and austere physiognomy.” He describes his complexion as ”bilious” while Nodier calls it ”pale and grayish, like that of most of the active men of the revolution.” Similar to Élisabeth’s description, Nodier writes that Saint-Just’s eyes were big and ”usually thoughtful,” while Paganel instead writes they were ”small and lively.” Saint-Just was of ”average height” according to Paganel, but ”of small stature” according to Nodier. According to Paganel, Saint-Just had a ”healthy body [and] proportions which expressed strength,” while Saint-Just’s colleague Levasseur de la Sarthe instead wrote in his memoirs that he was ”weak in body, to the point of fearing the whistling of bullets.” Finally, Paganel also gives the following details: ”large head, thick hair, disdainful gaze, strong but veiled voice, a general tinge of anxiety, the dark accent of concern and distrust, an extreme coldness in tone and manners.” In Lettre de Camille Desmoulins, député de Paris à la Convention, August général Dillon en prison aux Madelonettes (1793) Desmoulins jokingly writes that ”one can see by [Saint-Just’s] gait and bearing that he looks upon his own head as the corner-stone of the Revolution, for he carries it upon his shoulders with as much respect and as if it was the Sacred Host.” In Histoire de la Révolution française(1878), Jules Michelet claims that Élisabeth Le Bas had told him that this portrait, depicting Saint-Just as having ”a very low forehead, [with] the top of his head flattened, so that his hair, without being long, almost touched his eyes,” was similar to what he had looked like.

Jacques-Pierre Brissot — The following was documented after Brissot had been arrested at Moulins on June 10 1793 — ”height of five pieds (162 cm), a small amount of flat dark brown hair, eyebrows of the same color, high forehead and receding hairline, gray-brown, quite large and covered eyes, long and not very large nose, average mouth, long chin with a dimple, black beard, oval face narrow at the bottom” (cited in J.-P. Brissot mémoires (1754-1793); [suivi de] correspondance et papiers (1912)). In Journal During a Residence in France, from the Beginning of August, to the Middle of December, 1792 John Moore described Brissot as ”a little man, of an intelligent countenance, but of a weakly frame of body” and claimed that a person had told him that Brissot had told him that he is ”of so feeble a constitution” that he won’t be able to put up any resistance was someone try to assassinate him.

Jérôme Pétion — described as ”big and fat” (grand et gros) by Louis-Philippe in 1850 (cited in The Croker Papers: the Correspondence and Diaries of the late right honourable John Wilson Croker… (1885) volume 3, page 209). Manon Roland wrote in her memoirs that Pétion ”had nothing to regret physically; his size, his face, his gentleness, his urbanity, speak in his favor” as well as that he ”spoke fairly well,” a descriptions which Louis Marie Prudhomme partly agreed with, himself recording that Pétion ”had a proud countenance, a fairly handsome face, an affable look, a gentle eloquence, movements of talent and address; but his manners were composed, his eyes were dull, and he had something glistening in his features which repelled confidence” in Paris pendant le révolution (1789-1798) ou le nouveau Paris (1798). In Quelques notices pour l’histoire, et le récit de mes périls depuis le 31 mai 1793 (1794) Jean-Baptiste Louvet reported that, while on the run from the authorities after the insurrection of May 31, the less than forty years old Pétion already had a white hair and beard. This is confirmed by Frédéric Vaultier, who in Souvenirs de l'insurrection Normande, dite du Fédéralisme, en 1793 (1858) described Pétion during the same period as ”a good-looking man, with a calm and open physiognomy and beautiful white hair,” as well as by the examination of his mangled courpse on June 26 1794, which states he had ”grayish hair” (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées (1872) by Charles Vatel, volume 2, page 154.

François Buzot — according to the memoirs (1793) of Manon Roland, he had ”a noble figure and elegant size.” In the examination made of Buzot’s body after the suicide there is to read that he had black hair (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées (1872) by Charles Vatel, volume 2, page 153)

Charles Barbaroux — his son wrote in Jeunesse de Barbaroux (1822) that ”nature had richly endowed Barbaroux; a robust and large body; a charming, fine and witty physiognomy.” In 1867, François Laprade, who had witnessed Barbaroux’ execution as a thirteen year old, recollected that ”he was a brown man - that is to say he had brownish skin, black hair and beard, reclining figure” (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées, volume 3, page 728)

Marguerite-Élie Guadet — According to his passport (cited in Charlotte de Corday et les Girondins: pièces classées et annotées, volume 3, page 672): ”height of 5 pieds, 5 pouces (176 cm) middle sized mouth, black hair and eyebrows, ordinary chin, blue eyes, big forehead, thin face, upturned nose.” According to Frédéric Vaultier’s Souvenirs de l'insurrection Normande, dite du Fédéralisme, en 1793(1858), ”Guadet was a man of fine height, meagre, brown, bilious complexion, black beard, most expressive face.”

Joseph Le Bon — his passport description (cited in Louis Jacob, Joseph Le Bon, (1932) by Louis Jacob, volume 1, page 63) gives the following information: ”Height of five pieds six pouces (178 cm), light brown hair and eyebrows, high forehead, average nose, blue eyes, medium-sized mouth, smallpox scars.”

Claire Lacombe — the concierge of the Sainte Pélagie documented the following about the imprisoned Lacombe: ”height of 5 pieds, 2 pouces (168 cm). Brown hair, eyebrows and eyes, medium nose, large mouth, round face and chin, plain forehead” (cited in Trois femmes de la Révolution : Olymps de Gouges, Théroigne de Méricourt, Rose Lacombe (1900) by Léopold Lacour)

Charlotte Corday — according to her passport, ”height of five pieds one pouce (165 cm), brown hair and eyebrows, gray eyes, high forehead, long nose, medium mouth, round, forked (fourchu) chin, oval face.” (cited in Dossiers du procès criminel de Charlotte Corday, devant le Tribunal révolutionnaire(1861) by Charles-Joseph Vatel, page 55)

Prieur de la Marne — a passport dated October 1 1793 gives the following details: ”age of 37 years, height of 5 pieds 5 pouces (176 cm), blondish brown hair and eyebrows, receding hairline, long nose, grey eyes, large mouth.”

Maurice Duplay — ”height of 5 pieds 6 pouces (179 cm), blondish brown hair and eyebrows, receding hairline, grey eyes, long, open nose, large mouth, round, full chin and face.” Descriptions given in 1795 and cited in Les deniers montagnards (1874) by Jules Claretie.

Jean Lambert Tallien — Both a spy report written in 1794 found among Robespierre’s papers and Mme de la Tour du Pin, a noblewoman who met Tallien in late 1793, describe Tallien’s hair as blonde. Mme de la Tour du Pin adds that said hair was curly and that he had a pretty face.

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 8 months ago

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Frev friendships — the Robespierres and the Duplays

(Shout-out to @sieclesetcieux whose thesis on Élisabeth Duplay Lebas is the origin of the majority of the primary sources gathered here.)

People will be curious to know how my brother Maximilien met the Duplay family. The day when the red flag was deployed and martial law proclaimed on the Champ-de-Mars by Lafayette and Bailly, my brother, who had seen the fusillades ordered by the hero of two worlds, and who returned, heartbroken with all these scenes of horror, following the rue Saint-Honoré. A considerable crowd pressed about him; he had been recognized, and the people cried vive Robespierre! M. Duplay, cabinet-maker, left his house, came before my brother, and engaged him to come into his house to rest. Maximilien accepted his invitation. After an hour or two he wanted to return home, but he was kept for dinner, and not even that evening did they want to let him leave; he slept in M. Duplay’s house, and remained there for several days. Madame Duplay and her daughters showed him the liveliest interest, surrounded him with a thousand delicate cares. He was extremely sensitive to all those sorts of things. My aunts and I had spoiled him by a crowd of those little attentions of which women alone are capable. All at once transported from the bosom of his family, where he was the object of the sweetest solicitudes, into his household on the rue Saintonge, where he was alone, let the change he had had to submit to be judged! The Duplay family’s provenances in his regard recalled to him those that we had had for him, and made him feel still more vividly the emptiness and solitude of the apartment he occupied in the Marais. M. Duplay proposed to him that he should come live with him, and be his host’s lodger. Maximilien, to whom this proposition was quite agreeable, and who anyway had never known how to refuse in fear of disobliging, accepted and came to live among the Duplay family. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1835) page 84-85

On the day of the massacre on the Champ-de-Mars, [Robespierre] came to the session at the Jacobins. The friends of liberty gathered there in very small numbers. The courtyard was soon filled with gunners and hunters from the barriers, blind instruments of the furies of Lafayette and his supporters. Robespierre was trembling with fear as he crossed this courtyard to return home after the session, and hearing these soldiers vomit imprecations and threats against the Jacobins, he was obliged, in order to support himself, to take the arm of Lecoitre [sic] of Versailles, in uniform of commander of the national guard of Versailles, and of Lapoype, since division general, then member of the club. He did not dare go to sleep on rue Saintonge au Marais, where he lived with Humbert. He asked Lecointe [sic] if he did not know any patriot in the vicinity of the Tuileries who could give him shelter for the night. Lecointe [sic] suggested Duplay’s house to him, and took him there. From that day on, he never exited. It is perhaps to this change of domicile that we must attribute the development of his ambition. As long as he remained with Humbert, he was accessible to his friends and patriots. Once at Duplay, he gradually became invisible. They sequestered him from society, they adored him, they entranced him, they destroyed him by exalting his pride. It should be noted that from his arrival in Paris until the time of Champ-de-Mars, he had been housed, fed, maintained, heated, served at Humbert's house. He never spoke to the latter about compensating him; he thought he was too honored to have had such a great man as himself as a companion. He never did him the slightest service, and during the last six months of her life, he had his door barred from him: the presence of a benefactor bothered him. Stanislas Fréron’s ”Notes on Robespierre,” published for the first time within volume 1 of Papiers inédits trouvés chez Robespierre, Saint-Just, Payan, etc., supprimés ou omis par Courtois; précédés du rapport de ce député à la Convention nationale (1828) but most likely dating back to right after thermidor.

My grandfather (Maurice Duplay) was not Robespierre’s compatriot; he was from Forez. It was not in Artois, where he never set foot, that he met Maximilien. Their reports had an equally honorable origin for both: they date from the day when martial law was proclaimed on the Champ-de-Mars. That day, the rumor having spread that the most influential members of the democratic party, and in particular Robespierre, were going to be arrested, my grandfather offered the latter, whose character and talent he admired, asylum at his home. His proposal was accepted, and, from then until his last moment, Maximilien did not cease to be the companion of my family. Undated letter from Philippe Lebas Jr. to Alphonse Lamartine. On August 9 1791, around three weeks after the massacre on Champ-de-Mars, Robespierre still gave his adress as ”n. 8 rue de Saintonge” when appearing as witness before the court of the 6th arrondissement. A month later, September 14 1791, the journalist François Suleau, who had gotten arrested shortly after the massacre, was asked who he wanted to represent him in court and answered ”M. Robespierre, residing on rue Saintonge,” whereupon he got the answer that Robespierre no longer lived there. Formally, Robespierre must therefore have moved to rue Saint-Honoré 398 somewhere between these two dates.

One evening, the carpenter brought back a stranger from the Jacobin club, whom he led by the hand into his apartment. It was a person of about thirty years old, dressed, according to the fashion of the time, in a waistcoat with a large lapel, a brown coat and silk breeches. “You are at home here,” he said to him as he entered: ”you shall be my son, and I shall be your father.” Then, showing him a group of young girls who were discreetly standing aside in a corner of the living room, he added: “My friend, here are your sisters.” He called his children with a gesture of authority: “Come here, Éléonore, Sophie, Victoire, Élisabeth; come, my children, come my daughters. I have brought you a brave citizen whom the counter-revolutionaries want to have arrested. This house will serve as his asylum. You already know him by name: it’s Maximilien [Robespierre].” The young girls, who had read that name in the public papers and who had heard it often pronounced by their father with enthusiasm, surrounded the stranger. From that day on, the house had one more child. The carpenter, his wife, his daughters, everyone hurried to show a smiling face to him. He was asked to choose his own room: he designated one at the end of the courtyard under the roof, a simple and modest room which was lined, according to his tastes, with a hanging of blue damask with white flowers on it. [Maximilien's] habits were soon known; although not sumptuous in his attire, he was very clean: he liked white linen and put elegance into his clothes. Every morning, a hairdresser ran the detangler through her long, powdered hair. Having finished washing, he gathered with the carpenter's family for the morning meal. Maximilien had a sobriety worthy of the golden age: his breakfast consisted of bread and dairy products. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). At the end of this article, Esquiros claimed to have obtained the information contained in it from Élisabeth Duplay Lebas herself. Shortly thereafter, said Élisabeth did however write a letter to the paper in order to ”protest loudly against the use that, without consulting me, you have made of my name, and to declare that this article, on many points in contradiction with my recollections, also contains a large number of inaccuracies.” She does unfortunately not indicate exactly which parts of the article are inaccurate and which ones are not, and certain details contained in it match up too well with what Élisabeth writes in her memoirs for me not to believe Esquiros hadn’t actually interviewed her prior to writing the article. In spite of her complaint, all the information in article was republished, almost entirely word for word, in volume 2 of Ésquiros’ Histoire des Montagnards (1847).

My dear friend, I arrived safely in Bapaume this Friday. The national guards of Paris, earlier camped out at Verberies, those of the department of Oise who had just arrived in the city the same day, joined by the patriots of Bapaume, presented me with a civic crown together with the testimonies of the most fraternal affection. The district and municipal directories, although aristocrats, did not disdain to come and visit my body. I was delighted by the patriotism of the National Guards, who seemed very well composed. Those of Paris found no preparation to receive them in Bapaume; those of Oise were forced to leave without weapons, and still do not have any. From Bapaume, several officers of the two corps, joined by a part of the national guard of Arras, who had come to meet me, took me back to Arras, where the people received me with demonstrations of an attachment that I cannot express, and which I cannot think of without emotion; a multitude of citizens came out of the city to meet me; to the civic crown that they offered me they added one for Petion; in their acclamations they often mingled with my name that of my comrade in arms and friend. I was surprised to see the houses of my enemies and of the aristocrats (who only appear here in ministerial or feuillantine form; the others have emigrated), illuminated as I passed, which I attributed only to their respect for the wish of the people. Eight days earlier one had made the same preparations because I was expected at that time. On both occasions, the municipality, which is of the order of the Feuillants, had spared nothing to oppose these steps taken by the people and the patriots: “If it were the king, it said ingeniously, we would not do the same; when we were installed, were we given honors? So no sooner had I entered my house when it sent out the alguazils of the police with the order to put out the lanterns, which was not always punctually carried out. The next day, another disorder broke out in the city: the national guards of Oise arrived in Arras through which they had to pass in order to get to their destination. They danced in the public square singing patriotic tunes and came to my house resounding with cheers that were extremely unpleasant for the ear of a feuillant. No other misfortune happened. The national guards stationed in this country are viewed very negatively by the ministerial aristocracy, which is very numerous; they spread to the surrounding villages to protect the inhabitants of the countryside against the dangerous insinuations of refractory priests who do incalculable harm; they revive languishing patriotism everywhere. I have no doubt that we will continue to do everything we can to disgust them and get rid of them. On our way we found inns full of emigrants. The innkeepers told us that they were astonished at the multitude of those they had been lodging for some time.

A miracle has just taken place here, which is not surprising, since it is due to the Gallvaire of Arras, who, as we know, has already done so many others: an unsworn priest said mass in the chapolle which contains the precious monument; truly devout people understood this. In the middle of the mass a man throws away two crutches that he had brought, stretches his legs, walks; shows the scar that remains on his leg, displays papers which prove that he had a serious injury; right after the miracle this man's wife arrives; she asks for her husband; is told that he walks without crutches; falls unconscious; regains her senses to thank heaven and cry out for a miracle. However, it was resolved, in the devout sauhedrin, that it would not be in the city that much noise would be made about this adventure, but that it would instead be spread throughout the countryside: since this moment several peasants have, in fact, come to burn small candles in the Calvary chapel. I still intend to not stay long in this holy land; I am not worthy of it. I shall however not leave it without regrets; because my fellow citizens have so far only given me the sweetest of pleasures: I will console myself by embracing you (vous). Please present the testimonies of my tender friendship to Madame Duplay, to your young ladies, and to my little friend. Also, please do not forget to remind me of La Coste and Couthon. Robespierre to Maurice Duplay, October 16 1791

Brother and friend, I received with gratitude the new mark of interest and friendship that you (vous) gave me in your last letter. I am seriously proposing, this time, to return to Paris in a few days. The pleasure of seeing you again will not be the least advantage I shall find there. I think with sweet satisfaction about the fact that my dear Pétion may have been appointed mayor of Paris as I write. I will feel more keenly than anyone the joy that this triumph of patriotism and frank probity over intrigue and tyranny must give to every citizen. Present the testimonies of my tender and unalterable attachment to your ladies, whom I very much desire to embrace, as well as our little patriot. Robespierre to Maurice Duplay, November 17 1791

My mother saw our attachment to Robespierre and his family with pleasure. For us, we loved him like a good brother! He was so good! He was our defender when my mother scolded us. That happened to me sometimes: I was quite young, a bit scatterbrained; he gave me such good advice that, as young as I was, I listened to it with pleasure. When I felt some unhappiness, I told him everything. He was not a severe judge: he was a friend, a good brother indeed; he was so virtuous! He venerated my father and mother. We all loved him tenderly. […] At that time (summer 1793) we often went walking as a family in the Champs-Élysées; ordinarily we chose the most retired paths. Robespierre often accompanied us in these walks. We passed happy moments together thus. We were always surrounded by poor little Savoyards, whose dancing it pleased Robespierre to watch; he gave them money: he was so good! For him it was a joy to do good: he was never happier than in those moments. He had a dog, named Brount, that he loved a lot; the poor animal was very attached to him. In the evening, after returning from the walk, Robespierre read us the works of Corneille, Voltaire, Rousseau; we listened to him as a family with great pleasure; he knew so well how to make what he was reading felt! After an hour or two of reading, he retired to his room, saying good evening to all. He had a profound respect for my father and mother; they too regarded him as a son, and we as a brother. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas Duplay, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 104 and 107-108

The days, the months, the years followed one another. Maximilien had become so well acquainted with this family that it had, in a way, become his own. He had another in Artois to whom he sent part of his salary as deputy, but he was nonetheless the adopted son of his hosts. The carpenter's four daughters loved him like a brother; they confided to him their sorrows, their feelings, their reveries. When one of those light clouds, which pass over the most united families, obscured the pure forehead of one of his young sisters, he gently drew her onto his knees and asked her in a low voice the secret of her sadness. If it was the trace of a discord or of some small domestic debates, he acted as conciliator between the offended parties. It was especially through him that Sophie, Élisabeth and Victoire had recourse after a falling out with their mother, to spare themselves the trouble of asking for pardon from their mother. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

[Maximilien] constantly went out in the middle of the day: where did he go? One didn't know. The carpenter told his daughters that Maximilien was going working for the public good; they had no idea in what way. […] Maximilien returned at six o'clock for supper. After leaving the table, he followed the carpenter and his daughters into the salon; these were charming family gatherings, full of grace and severity: the young girls, grouped in a circle around their mother, were working, with downcast eyes, on various needleworks. They separated at nine o'clock and said goodnight. On Thursdays only, these evenings took on a ceremonial character, a few guests, all friends of the house, gathered that day: it was David, the painter; Buonarotti, descendant of Michelangelo; Lebas, deputy; the brother of Maximilien, and some other close friends. Large mahogany armchairs covered in cherry velvet formed as they approached, a narrow but pleasant circle. They sometimes talked about literature: Maximilien read his favorite author, the tender Racine; as he said the verses well, he was asked to recite a few tirades from Bérénice or Audromanque; he carried it out with so much soul that he brought tears to all eyes. The carpenter's daughters, seated around their mother, listened to the reading while working; with modestly bowed eyelashes and feet on their stool, they contained their emotion within themselves. Then Buonarotti, who was a great musician, sat down at the piano: he was a dreamy and ardent soul, he played pathetic airs whose effect was inevitable: it seemed as if life was escaping beneath his fingers touching the quivering keys of the the instrument; they approached the windows to look at the sky, as this music lifted their hearts. However, the sky was full of stars, and hearts were full of love. One believed in family, in humanity, in the future. Seeing this interior so serious and so united, this sweet religion of the home, this cult of bare gray hair among old men and of modesty among young girls, one understood that the ancients had raised altars to the lare gods. These meetings did not last very far into the night: Maximilien retired at eleven o'clock to his room in order to work; often, until the whiteness of the morning, a little light could be seen shining in his window. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

Maximilien had brought back from a trip to Artois a large dog named Brount, whom he loved. This dog brought joy to the carpenter's daughters. He was another ally in the house. The animal, serious and thoughtful with its master, was playful with Victoire or Éléonore. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

Patriot Dupleix [sic], I learned indirectly that my brother is indisposed; I am worried; let me know about his situation as soon as possible. Send me also the cartridge that I asked my brother's friend to look for in his papers. Tell my brother that my sister is convalescing, and that I will send back Mme Witty's book in a few days. Don't waste a moment, send answers right away. My worry is at its peak. If neccesary I’ll come to Paris. Also send me some copies of the speech on the war that your friend gave and the observations of Pethion [sic] and Robespierre. I embrace you and your family. Augustin to Maurice Duplay, March 19 1792

In my second excursion to Paris, I experienced a surprise, which gave me anxiety for the future, and here you see the occasion. A rich carpenter by the name of Duplay, his wife, his three or four daughters and his son, a boy of fifteen or sixteen years old, all good people at heart, but very passionate and very narrow-minded, had become passionate about the Revolution. Towards the end of the Constituent Assembly, Duplay came in the name of patriotism to invite me to dinner and to spend the day in a house of his, on the Champ-Élysées, with my wife and children. I accepted, so as not to let them believe that I disdained their thoughtfulness, and also because our departure being very imminent, this connection could not last long. Among the guests were Pétion, Robespierre and Giraud de Pouzol, deputy of Puy-de-Dôme, a good and honest man, and a man of merit. The Duplay family was, moreover, all kinds of accommodating to our children. In this last trip of which I speak, I thought it necessary, therefore, to go and see them. I went there one morning. I was received very warmly, and ushered into the salon, to which was adjoined a small cabinet whose door remained open. What do I see when I enter? Robespierre, who had impatronized himself in the house, where he received homage such as those paid to a divinity. The small cabinet was particularly dedicated to him. His bust was enshrined there with various ornaments, verses, mottos, etc. The living room itself was furnished with small busts in red and gray terracotta, and lined with portraits of the great man, in pencil, blur, bistre, and watercolor. He himself, well combed and powdered, dressed in the cleanest dressing gown, was spread out in a large armchair, before a table laden with the finest fruits, fresh butter, pure milk and aromatic coffee. The whole family, father, mother and children, tried to guess in his eyes all his desires, in order to instantly please them. Mémoires de La Révellière-Lépeaux (1895), volume 1, page 114-115. The second meeting described took place somewhere in the summer of 1792, before the Insurrection of August 10.

The next day I (Barbaroux) was invited to another conference at Robespierre’s house. I was struck by the ornaments at his cabinet: it was a pretty boudoir where his image was repeated in all forms and by all the arts. His painted portrait was on the wall on the right, his engraved one on the left, his bust was at the back and his bas-relief opposite; there were also half a dozen small engravings of Robespierre on the tables. Mémoires inédits de Pétion, et Mémoires de Buzot et de Barbaroux (1866) page 358-359. This meeting took place shortly after the Insurrection of August 10 1792. Given the fact Barbaroux was executed in 1794 and his memoirs published 1866, 42 years after Révellière-Lépeaux’ death (his memoirs were in their turn published 1895) their claims that the Duplays had several busts and portraits of Robespierre were most likely independent from one another.

I should tell the whole truth. I have nothing but praise for the demoiselles Duplay; but I would not say the same for their mother, who did me much wrong; she looked constantly to put me in bad standing with my older brother and to monopolize him. Maximilien’s character took very will to Madame Duplay’s views; he let himself be led as she wished, and this man so energetic at the head of the government had no other will in his interior than that which was suggested to him, as it were. When I arrived from Arras, in 1792, I came to live with the Duplay family, and I saw at once the ascendancy they exercised on him; an ascendancy which was founded neither on wit, since Maximilien certainly had more of it than Madame Duplay, nor on great services rendered, since the family among whom my brother lived had not for some time been in a position to render them. But, I repeat, this ascendancy took its source, on one side, from my brother’s debonair attitude, if I may express it thus, and on the other from Madame Duplay’s incessant and often importune caresses. I resolved to take my brother out of her hands, and, to succeed at this, I looked to make him understand that, in his position, and occupying such a high rank in politics, he should have a home of his own. Maximilien recognized the fairness of my reasons, but long fought my proposition that he should separate from the Duplay family, fearing to distress them. In the end, I succeeded, not without effort, to make him take an apartment in the rue Saint-Florentin. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre… (1835) page 85-87

Robespierre only moved away from my father’s house a single time, in order to go live with his sister, whose imperious character rendered him really unhappy… Note written by Élisabeth Lebas, cited in Histoire de Robespierre (1867) by Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 286.

Madame Duplay was very angry with me [for making Maximilien move away]; I believe she remained bitter towards me her entire life. We had lived thus alone for some time, my brother and I, when Maximilien fell ill. His indisposition was in no way dangerous. He needed much mare, and certainly, I did not let him lack for it; I did not quit him for an instant, I watched over him constantly. When he was better, Madame Duplay came to see him; she had not been informed of his indisposition, and made a great fuss because she had not been warned of it. She said some very disobliging things to me; she told me that my brother had not had all necessary care, that he would have been better cared for with her family, that he would lack for nothing; and that is what pressed Maximilien to return to her house; my brother at first refused weakly; she redoubled her insistences, I should say, her obsessions. Robespierre, despite my protests, decided finally to follow her. “They love me so,” he said to me, “they have such regard, such goodwill toward me, that it would be ingratitude on my part to repulse them.” This fact alone gives an idea of my brother Maximilien. He cedes to Madame Duplay, he resolves himself to leave his home, to become again a lodger in a foreign house, whale he has his house, his household, because he does not want to pain a person for whom he has friendship. I do not want to recriminate against him; far from me the thought of addressing reproaches to his memory; but in the end should he not have considered that his preference for Madame Duplay distressed me as much at least as his refusal could have afflicted this lady? Between Madame Duplay and me should he have hesitated? Should he have sacrificed me to her? After the disobliging words she had said, after having reproached me for having let my brother lack care, he who knew so well the contrary, should he not have reflected that leaving me to deliver himself to Madame Duplay’s care was to corroborate what she had said? And yet my brother loved me tenderly; his friendship for me was a thousand times stronger than that which he could have felt for a stranger; how then to explain the contradiction? Here it is: Maximilien was all devotion, he did not belong to himself, his life was a continual sacrifice, with great heart he hurt himself to please others; he did not hesitate thus, he who regarded me as a part of himself, to sacrifice me, as he sacrificed himself, so as not to affect a family who, by their caresses and kindnesses without number, had taken from him all methods of resistance. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre… (1835) page 87-89. We have no date for when Maximilien moved out, and then back in, with the Duplays. Hamel places it in September of 1793, when he claims Robespierre was ”slightly indisposed.” Mary Young, biographer of Augustin, places it in early 1793, in time for Rosalie Jullien to report about a dinner with the three siblings where Charlotte would have told her their domestic morals consisted of ”simplicity and candor.” In his memoirs (seen below), Maurice Gaillard claims Charlotte in May 1794 told him that ”when my younger brother passed through Melun (that is to say, December 1793) the three of us were living together.” Élisabeth’s memoirs imply Charlotte still lived with the family in April 1793.

I said before that I had much to complain about regarding Madame Duplay, and certainly, if I were to report everything she did to me I would fill a fat volume. When my brother, in fear of disobliging her, once again became once a lodger in her house, I went to see him quite assiduously. One cannot have any idea of the disgraceful manner in which she received me. I would have pardoned her dishonesties, her impertinences; but I what I will never pardon her is a word, a dreadful word, that she pronounced on my account. I often sent my brother jams or fruit comfits, which he liked a lot, or other sweets; Madame Duplay always let her bad humor show every time she saw my domestic arrive. One day when I had charged her with bringing a few jars of jam to my brother, Madame Duplay said angrily to her: “Bring that back, I don’t want her to poison Robespierre.” My domestic returned in tears to tell me of Madame Duplay’s dreadful blasphemy. I remained stupefied and could not speak. How to believe it? In place of going to ask an explanation, in place of going to complain to my brother of the horrible words she had said, the fear of causing him pain, and of provoking a scene which could only be very disagreeable restrained me, and I swallowed in sadness my grief and indignation. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre (1835) page 89-90

Robespierre the younger [was] nicknamed Bonbon, a repetition of his firstname Bon. Note written by the elderly Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901). An indicator Augustin was called by his nickname within the Duplay family.

[Robespierre’s] host's daughter passed for his wife and exercised a sort of empire over him. Causes secrètes de la révolution du 9 au 10 thermidor (1794) by Joachim Vilate, page 16

It has been rumored that this daughter [Éléonore] had been Robespierre's mistress. I think I can affirm she was his wife; according to the testimony of one of my colleagues, Saint-Just had been informed of this secret marriage, which he had attended. Mémoires d’un prêtre regicide (1829) by Simon-Edme Monnel, page 337-338

Madame Lebreton, a sweet and sensitive young woman, said, blushing: “Everyone assures that Eugénie [sic] Duplay was Robespierre’s mistress.” “Ah! My God! Is it possible that that good and generous creature should have so degraded herself?” I was aghast. “Listen,” cried Henriette, “don’t judge on appearances. The unhappy Eugénie was not the mistress, but the wife of the monster, whom her pure soul decorated with every virtue; they were united by a secret marriage of which Saint-Just was the witness.” Souvernirs de 1793 et 1794 par madame Clément, Née Hémery (1832) by Albertine Clément-Hémery

The eldest of the Duplay daughters, who Robespierre wanted to marry, was called Éléonore. Robespierre allowed himself to be cared for, but he was not in love. […] The Duplay family formed a kind of cult around Robespierre. It was claimed that this new Jupiter did not need to take the metamorphoses of the god of Olympus to become human with the eldest daughter of his host, called Éléonore. This is completely false. Like her entire family, this young girl was a fanatic of the god Robespierre, she was even more exalted because of her age. But Robespierre did not like women, he was absorbed in his political enlightenment; his abstract dreams, his metaphysical discourses, his guards, his personal security, all things incompatible with love, gave him no hold on this passion. He loved neither women nor money and cared no more about his private interests than if all the merchants had been free, obligatory suppliers to him, and the inn houses paid in advance for his use. And that’s what he acted like this with his hosts. Notes historiques sur la Convention nationale, le Directoire, l’Empire et l’exil des votants (1895) by Marc Antoine Baudot, page 41 and 242.

All the historians assert that [Robespierre] carried out an intrigue with the daughter of Duplay, but as the family physician and constant guest of that house I am in a position to deny this on oath. They were devoted to each other, and their marriage was arranged; but nothing of the kind alleged ever sullied their love. Testimony from Robespierre’s doctor Joseph Souberbielle, cited in Recollections of a Parisian (docteur Poumiès de La Siboutie) under six sovereigns, two revolutions, and a republic (1789-1863) (1911) page 26.

Madame Duplay had three [sic] daughters: one married the conventionnel Le Bas; another married, I believe, an ex-constituent; the third, Éléonore, who preferred to be called Cornélie, and who was the eldest, was, according to what people pleased themselves to say, on the point of marrying my brother Maximilien when 9 Thermidor came. There are in regard to Éléonore Duplay two opinions: one, that that she was the mistress of Robespierre the elder; the other that she was his fiancée. I believe that these opinions are equally false; but what is certain is that Madame Duplay would have strongly desired to have my brother Maximilien for a son-in-law, and that she forget neither caresses nor seductions to make him marry her daughter. Éléonore too was very ambitious to call herself the Citoyenne Robespierre, and she put into effect all that could touch Maximilien’s heart. But, overwhelmed with work and affairs as he was, entirely absorbed by his functions as a member of the Committee of Public Safety, could my older brother occupy himself with love and marriage? Was there a place in his heart for such futilities, when his heart was entirely filled with love for the patrie, when all his sentiments, all his thoughts were concentrated in a sole sentiment, in a sole thought, the happiness of the people; when, without cease fighting against the revolution’s enemies, without cease assailed by his personal enemies, his life was a perpetual combat? No, my older brother should not have, could not have amused himself to be a Celadon with Éléonore Duplay, and, I should add, such a role would not enter into his character. Besides, I can attest it, he told me twenty times that he felt nothing for Éléonore; her family’s obsessions, their importunities were more suited to make feel disgust for her than to make him love her. The Duplays could say what they wanted, but there is the exact truth. One can judge if he was disposed to unite himself to Madame Duplay’s eldest daughter by something I heard him say to Augustin: “You should marry Éléonore.” “My faith, no,” replied my younger brother. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 90-91.

We were five children: four daughters, Éléonore, Sophie, Victoire, Élisabeth; one brother named Maurice: he was the youngest of the family. My eldest sister was promised to Robespierre; my sister Sophie married M. Auzat, lawyer in Issoire, in Auvergne, under the Constituent; my sister Victoire never married. I married Philippe Le Bas. Note written by Élisabeth Duplay, cited on page 150 of Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

Duplay's eldest daughter, Éléonore, shared her father's patriotic sentiments. She was one of those serious and just minds, one of those firm and upright characters, one of those generous and devoted hearts, the model of which must be sought in the good times of the ancient republics. Maximilien could not fail to pay homage to such virtues; a mutual esteem brought their two hearts together; they loved each other without ever having said so to each other, there is no doubt that if he had succeeded in bringing order and calm to the State, and if his existence had ceased to be so agitated, he would have become his friend's son-in-law. The slander, which spared none of those loved by the victim of the Thermidorians, did not fail to attack the woman he wanted to make his wife, and we were not afraid to write that a guilty bond united them. We, who knew Éléonore Duplay for nearly fifty years, we who know to what extent she carried the feeling of duty, to what extent she rose above the weaknesses and fragility of her sex, we strongly protest against such an odious imputation. Our testimony deserves all confidence. France: Dictionnaire Encyclopédique (1840-1845) by Philippe Lebas jr, volume 6, page 821.

A virile soul, said Robespierre of his friend [Éléonore], she would know how to die as she knows how to love... The destitution of her fortune and the uncertainty of the next day prevented him from uniting with her before the destiny of France was clarified; but he only aspired, he said, to the moment when, the Revolution finished and strengthened, he could withdraw from the fray, marry the one he loved and go live in Artois, on one of the farms that he kept from his family's property, to there confuse his obscure well-being in common happiness. (Extract from a part of l’Histoire des Girondins looked over by Philippe Le Bas). Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 78.

[Robespierre’s] relationship with Éléonore, the carpenter's eldest daughter, had a less protective and more tender character than with her other sisters. One day, Maximilien, in the presence of his hosts, took Éléonore's hand in his: it was, in accordance with the customs of his province, a sign of engagement. From that moment on he was seen more than ever as a member of the family. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844).

I have nothing but praise for Madame Duplay’s second [youngest] daughter, the one who married Lebas; she was not, like her mother and older sister, stirred up against me; many times she came to wipe away my tears, when Madame Duplay’s indignities made me cry. Her younger [sic, she means elder] sister was good like her. Both of them would have made me forget their mother and Éléonore’s lack of courtesy, if it had not been that these things once engraved in such an indelible manner in one’s heart, are not thereafter effaced. Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre (1835), page 91-92

[Charlotte] occupied an apartment in the front, in my father’s house on the Rue Saint-Honoré. I was also good friends with her, and it was a pleasure to go see her often; sometimes I even pleased myself to help her with her hair and her toilette. She too seemed to have much affection for me. Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 104. The friendship between Élisabeth and Charlotte is confirmed here.

Robespierre rarely dined outside of his house — six times at most during his stay on rue Saint-Honoré, said Buonarotti. Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol, page 98. I was unable to discover the place where Buonarotti says this.

[Robespierre] rarely went out in the evening. Two or three times a year he took Madame Duplay and her daughters to the theater. It was always to the Théâtre-Français and to classical performances. He only liked tragic declamations which reminded him of the tribune, of tyranny, of the people, of great crimes, of great virtues; theatrical even in his dreams and in his relaxations. Histoire des Girondins (1847) by Alphonse de Lamartine, volume 4, page 132. Lamartine claimed to have interviewed Élisabeth Lebas Duplay (see below) and it therefore seems likely for this detail to come from her.

One day Camille familiarly enters the Duplay house; Robespierre was absent. He starts a conversation with the youngest of the carpenter's daughters; as he retires, Camille hands her a book he had under his arm. ”Elizabeth,” he said to her, ”do me the service of holding onto this work; I will come back for it.” No sooner had Desmoulins left than the young girl curiously half-opened the book entrusted to her custody: what was her confusion, seeing paintings of revolting obscenity pass under her fingers. She blushes: the book falls. All the rest of the day Elizabeth was silent and troubled; Maximilian noticed it; drawing her aside. "What's the matter with you," he asked her, "you look so worried to me?" The young girl lowered her head, and as an answer went to fetch the book with the odious engravings which had offended her sight. Maximilien opened the volume and turned pale. "Who gave you this?" he asked in a voice shaking with anger. The girl frankly told him what had happened. "It’s fine," Robespierre went on, "don't talk about what you've just told me to anyone: I'll make it my business. Don't be sad anymore. I'll let Camille know. It is not what enters involuntarily through the eyes that defiles chastity: it is the evil thoughts that one has in the heart.” He admonished his friend severely, and from that day on, visits from Camille Desmoulins became very rare. Histoire des Montagnards (1847) by Alphonse Esquiros, volume 2, page 417-418. In his Histoire de la Révolution Française (1858) volume 10, page 345, Louis Blanc, who claimed to have had the story told to him by Esquiros, who in his turn had obtained it from Élisabeth, writes that the book Élisabeth was given was l’Arétin. Given the fact that Élisabeth in a list written in her old days still places Desmoulins among the revolutionaries who frequented the Duplay house ”often,” I imagiene this incident happened in 1793.

It was the day when Marat was borne in triumph to the Assembly (April 24 1793) that I saw my beloved Philippe Le Bas for the first time. I found myself, that day, at the National Convention with Charlotte Robespierre. Le Bas came to greet her; he stayed with us for a long time and asked who I was. Charlotte told him that I was one of her elder brother’s host’s daughters. He asked her a few questions about my family; he asked Charlotte if we came to the Assembly often, and said that on a particular day there would be a rather interesting session. He urged her to come to it. Charlotte asked my good mother for permission to take me there with her. At that time, my mother liked her a lot; she still had nothing to complain of. My mother was so good that she never refused her anything that could please her. She allowed me to accompany her many times. Therefore, I was with her at the Convention. Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 102-104.

At last, Charlotte came to get me to be present at a [Convention] session which was to be quite noisy. Le Bas came up to me; for the first time, he addressed me to tell me quite good things. He told Charlotte that there would be a night session, that it should be quite interesting, that she should ask permission for me to come with her. Charlotte had no difficulty obtaining it. She was Robespierre’s sister, and my mother regarded her as her daughter. Poor mother! She believed Charlotte as pure and sincere as her brothers. Great God! This was not so! We went therefore to that session. We had brought oranges and some sweets. Charlotte offered some to Le Bas and to her younger brother. These messieurs, after having stayed with us for some time, left us to go vote. I asked Charlotte if I could offer Le Bas an orange; she said yes. I was happy to be able to show him some attention. He accepted with pleasure. How good and respectful he seemed to me! As I said already, Mademoiselle Robespierre seemed pleased with me. At another session of the Assembly, where we once again found ourselves together, she took a ring from me that I had on my finger. Le Bas saw and asked her to let him see it, which she did. He looked at the figure that was engraved on it, and he was obliged, at that moment, to go away to give his vote, without having the time to return the ring, which caused me great torment; for he could not return it to me, and I no longer had it on my finger. Our good mother was dear to all of us and we trembled to cause her pain. At that same session, Le Bas had lent us, Charlotte and I, a lorgnette. He returned, for a moment, to speak to Mlle Robespierre of what had just happened in the session; I wanted to return his lorgnette to him; he did not want to take it back and said that we were going to have need of it again. He begged me keep it. He went away again, and, at that moment I pleaded with Charlotte to ask him for my ring back; she promised me to do so, but we didn’t see Le Bas again. He had charged Robespierre the Younger with making his excuses and telling us that he had found himself indisposed and had been obliged to leave, quite to his regret. And myself too, I regretted no longer having my ring and not being able to return his lorgnette to him. I feared to displease my mother and be scolded; this was a great torment to me. My mother was good, but very severe. Charlotte said, to console me: “If your mother asks you for your ring, I will tell her how it happened.” All this made me quite unhappy: it was the first time such a thing had happened to me. From that time, we did not have occasion to return to the Convention again. Charlotte told me to be calm about what tormented me so. She also told me that M. Le Bas was quite sick and could no longer return to the Assembly. I admit that this news made a great impression on me. I could not take account of it: I, so young and so gay, I became sad and pensive; everyone observed my sadness, even Robespierre, who asked me if I had some sorrow; I assured him that nothing was wrong, that my mother had not scolded me, that I could not take account of what I was feeling. He said kindly: “Little Élisabeth, think of me as your best friend, as a good brother; I’ll give you all the advice one needs at your age.” Later, he saw how much confidence I had in him. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas Duplay, cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) page 102-207

For some time, my health had been less good; my parents observed this and resolved to send me to stay a month in the country, with Mme Panis (in Chaville). She had all a mother’s cares for me; she took me walking in very beautiful gardens. One day, among others, she took me to Sèvres, to a country house inhabited by Danton. I had never seen him; but great God! How ugly he was! We found him with a lot of people, walking in a very beautiful garden. He came to us and asked Mme Panis who I was; she replied that I was one of Robespierre’s host’s daughters. He told her I appeared to be suffering, that I needed a good [boy]friend, that this would return me to health. He had the sort of repulsive features that frighten one. He came up to me, wanted to take my waist and kiss me. I repulsed him forcefully, though I was still quite weak. I was very young; but his face scared me so much that I pleaded insistently with Mme Panis not to bring me back to that house; I told her that this man had said horrible things to me, such as I had never heard. He had no respect for women, and still less for young people. […] I did not even want to stay in the country anymore; but my brother came to see me, and we passed a few more days there; and we departed once more for Paris. God! How happy I was to see my parents again! I had such a need to recount everything to my mother! The horrid mien of that man followed me everywhere. My mother did not find my health much better; she asked me several questions, asked what I had done in Chaville and if I had had fun there, if I had gone on many walks and where we had been. Poor mother! I could hide nothing from her; she seemed very perturbed by what I told her and asked me if I would like to return to Sèvres again; but I said no with such emphasis that she no longer spoke to me on the subject. I was still quite sad; our good friend Robespierre tried every means of finding out what was wrong with me, told me that this sadness was not natural at my age, and so much the more since I had always been cheerful until then. What could I say to him? I could not resolve myself to explain the reasons for my sadness to him! Upon my return I went to see Charlotte; I feared to speak to her about Le Bas; I was afraid she would think it was only about the ring. She seemed happy to see me and also found me changed. I asked her then if it had been a long time since she had gone to the Convention; she said yes and I could learn no more from her. Memoirs of Élisabeth Lebas, cited in Ibid, page 108-110

It was after these two months of absence that I saw my beloved again (that would be July-August 1793). My mother, having gone one day to dine in the countryside with Robespierre, had left us, my sister Victoire and I, at the house, recommending that we should go reserve seats at the Jacobins for the evening session, at which it was thought that Robespierre would speak (the days when he was to be heard there was always so large a crowd that one was forced to reserve seats in advance). I went alone and arrived early so as not to miss out. What was my surprise and joy when I saw my beloved! […] ”Robespierre [said Lebas] came one day; he was the only man from whom I could have gotten news of you; but how unhappy I was! I did not know I how to ask him. Finally, it occurred to me to speak to him of his hosts; he praised the entire family most highly, spoke to me of the happiness he felt to be among people so pure, so devoted to liberty. I already knew this from several of my friends; but, my Élisabeth, he did not speak to me of you. My God! How I suffered for many days. This time was so long… Robespierre the younger came at last to see me. What joy for me! I was more familiar with him: we were of the same age. We spoke of his brother. Finally, I could no longer restrain myself; I spoke to him of your family, of your sisters; I spoke to him of you, my Élisabeth. He praised you, told me that he had the friendship of a brother for you, that you were cheerful and good and that it was you who he loved the most, that your good mother was excellent, that she had raised you well, as housewives, that your household was perfect and recalled the golden age, that everything there breathed virtue and a pure patriotism, that your good father was the most worthy and generous of men, that his whole life had passed in goodness. He told me that his brother was very happy to be among you, that you were a family to him, that he loved you like sisters and regarded your father and mother as his own parents. If you could have known, my Elisabeth, how happy I was to hear him speak thus of a family I already honored, and whose conduct toward Robespierre, toward the friend of liberty, had made me recognize and esteem! I wished for the return of my health in order to be able to meet you like in the past with Charlotte…” Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 110, 114-115.

[After Lebas had asked my mother for my hand] I passed a very agitated night; my mother, returning to the house, had spoken to my father of the conversation she had just had with M. Le Bas; I admit to my shame that, from a room next to theirs, I heard their conversation. My father seemed happy; but my mother still wanted to marry off my sisters before me. Finally, I heard my father call our good friend: he was so good that we loved him better than a brother. My father informed him of the subject of the conversation and told him: “My friend, it’s our Élisabeth, our scatterbrain, that M. Le Bas is asking us in marriage.” “I congratulate you on it,” he replied, “so much the better. Élisabeth will be happy; my dear friend, don’t hesitate for a moment: Le Bas is the worthiest of men by all accounts; he is a good son, a good friend, a good citizen, a man of talent; he’s a distinguished lawyer.” That good Maximilien seemed happy to see me asked in marriage by his compatriot and pleaded in our favor with my parents; he added: “This union will, I believe, make for Élisabeth’s happiness; they are in love; they will be happy together.” He praised me and my good friend; my mother made a few more objections on my distractedness; but our friend assured her that I would be a good wife and a good housekeeper. It was almost one in the morning when he retired to his room, wishing my father and mother a good night. I then heard my father say: “There is no reason to hesitate after the way Robespierre has just praised his friend.” […] [The following day] the good Robespierre came to share our happiness [of Françoise and Maurice giving Lebas Élisabeth’s hand]; that good friend said to me: “Be happy, Babet, you deserve it; you are made for each other.” Then my father, Robespierre, Le Bas and my mother took chocolate together while I returned to my work; the conversation lasted until after eleven o’clock. I was still in the dining room when Le Bas crossed it to go out; he took my hand and said: “Goodbye, my beloved, I’m dining with you, your worthy family, and our friend Robespierre.” Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 117-118, 120.

M. Le Bas continued to come assiduously to my parents’ home. One evening, he appeared sad to me, he who, until then, had always showed himself to be so cheerful and so happy with me. He was worried and a bit cold. I wanted to know the cause of this change and asked him whether he was still ill; he replied that he was not but that something he had learned recently had much afflicted him; he hesitated to confide it to me; however I insisted and I then learned from him that a man of his acquaintance had abused me to him, and had strongly discouraged him from marrying me, seeking to make him believe that I had had lovers and that one of them ought to marry me, adding that my father had no fortune, that moreover I was uneducated, that finally, as a compatriot, he owed him the whole truth, and that, in his interest, he strongly advised him not to make a fool of himself by marrying me, and that if would be easy for him to do better than me, insisting that I had had affairs, and telling him that he would do well not to rely on me. I could see that these calumnies had made an impression on my friend’s thoughts. I was profoundly afflicted my this, and I told him: “As far as education goes, if mine has not been very broad, nature has gifted me with a pure heart, and good and tender parents, who have raised us wisely and given us an education capable of making us virtuous women.” As to the infamies that had been produced to him on my account, I told him that I was quite pained to see that my Philippe could have believed them, and I cried much in speaking to him. He then sought every means to console me, told me that he did not believe those calumnies, but that, despite himself, he had felt great sorrow in thinking that she whom he had chosen for a wife could be suspected of being capable of deceiving him. “You do me much wrong,” I told him; “I will tell everything to our good friend Robespierre. He will be very cross to learn that you could have believed the ill that had been said of me. He knows how good and yet how strict our parents are, and how they raised us.” He saw my distress and finally named Guffroy [as the calumniator]; he was a printer and bookseller. He left me that evening in assuring me that he wanted to believe only me, and promised me that he would come the next morning early, in order to pray my parents to marry as early as possible. […] My good mother, who was working with my sisters in a room next to the little chamber in which we had been talking, had heard a few words of our long conversation and seen that I had been crying. She had great confidence in Philippe after what Robespierre had said of him, and we were engaged. That good mother told me to go speak to her in her room before going to bed. I went therefore to find her and recounted everything Philippe had told me to her. She proposed that I should speak to our friend about it and told me: “You must hid nothing from him; he knows Philippe, and he will tell us if he knows the villain who spoke so odiously; we must get to the bottom of this; it is a question of your honor.” I could see that this afflicted my mother greatly and I feared too to cause Robespierre pain. Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 121-123, 120. In his Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices… (1795) page 116, Guffroy admitted that he had attempted to stop the marriage between Lebas and Élisabeth, writing: ”This young man (Lebas) for whom I had held esteem, and whom I had sometimes kept company during an illness, stopped seeing me when I saw him assiduously frequenting Hébert and David; and when I told him the truth about Duplay's daughter whom he married despite the truthful stories I told him.”

[The day after he had told me about the Guffroy incident], during dinner, Philippe spoke to Robespierre of everything that had happened. Our good brother scolded Philippe and told him that he was very wrong of him not to have spoken to him about it first, because it would have spared much chagrin to both us. “Poor little one,” he said to me, “be cheerful again, this is nothing. Philippe does indeed love you; he is happy to have his Élisabeth.” He took our hands and pressed them together; he seemed to give us his blessing. Poor friend! You had for our parents the tenderness of a good son and for us the tender friendship of a good brother; which we returned, for we loved you sincerely! After dinner, I heard my Philippe ask my parents to fix the date of our wedding, saying that he would be happiest with the earliest possible date. Robespierre supported his request and said: “He’s right; we must get this marriage over with.” My parents asked that it take place in two décades, in order to have time to prepare my trousseau and our lodging. My father, the owner at that time of several houses, had a vacant one at that moment in the Rue de l’Arcade; he gave us lodging there and everything was promptly settled for the agreed-upon date. But, great God! What chagrin came to strike us again! At the moment of being united, we were separated. My friend was obliged to go promptly to the army. The Committee of Public Safety had just named him [representative on mission] and enjoined him to depart the same day; he barely had time to pack his trunk and have something to eat; he came in haste to bid us adieu; the post-chaise was at our door. He departed with his cousin Duquesnoy, a pure man of integrity, a devoted patriot. Judge of the sorrow of my beloved and of mine! To see ourselves separated on the eve of being united! I could not prevent myself from saying to Robespierre that he was doing us much ill. “My good Élisabeth,” he replied, “the homeland above all else when it is in danger; this departure is indispensable, my friend; you must have courage; he will return soon; his presence his necessary where he is being sent. You will be much happier, as patriotic as you are, to see him return after having rendered a great service to his country.” I was so distressed that I did not want to be a patriot any longer. I reproached him for having made my Philippe leave; he replied that having to fulfill such a mission spoke very highly of him, especially in a moment such as the one where we then found ourselves; that men like him were necessary in a moment like this. He sought, as well as my good parents, to console me, but it was useless; I was inconsolable. My health suffered greatly for it; this alarmed my family and our friend, who indeed promised me to seize upon a favorable moment to have him return. It would still be quite a long time, but we had to wait: I had confidence in our friend; I knew that he would do all in his power to have Le Bas return to Paris and have him replaced by one of his colleagues. Philippe wrote to me often and charged me to tell Robespierre that if he did not find a means of having him return, he would see himself as forced to absent himself for a few days to come to Paris, get married, and bring me back with him, for it was impossible for him to bear our separation any longer; that he could not live as he was and would fall ill. I insisted so energetically to Robespierre, I obsessed over it so often, that that good friend found a way to have my Philippe return; [this last] wrote me to pray our parents to have everything ready for the moment of his return. He arrived, and everything being ready, we were married at the [Hôtel de] Ville, by Lebert; it was 10 Fructidor (26 August 1793). What joy for us, and how happy I was! I believed that I would never again be separated from my husband; but alas! It had to be otherwise. Memoirs of Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in Ibid (1901) page 126-128.

The (Lebas) marriage certificate states that it was celebrated at the Commune on August 26 1793, in the presence of Jacques-Louis David, 43, deputy, residing at the Louvre; Jacques-René Hébert, Deputy Public Prosecutor of the Commune, rue Neuve de l'Égalité. Witnesses of the spouses: Maximilien Robespierre, deputy rue Saint-Honoré, section des Piques; J.-Pierre Vaugeois, 61 years old, carpenter, uncle of the wife. The document is signed: Le Bas, Élisabeth Duplay, Hébert, David, Vaugeois. Ibid (1901) page 164.

Duplay has rented to Robespierre the older and the younger for the term and from the first of October 1793, old style, the small apartment at the back where we are, fully furnished, as well as an unfurnished apartment in the main building on the Rüe, all for the sum of one thousand pounds per year and without a lease, all for the sum of thousand pounds per year and this without a lease. The lease decided between Augustin, Maximilien and Maurice, cited in Notes et Glanes (1908).

Robespierre was choked with bile. His yellow eyes and complexion announced it. So Duplay was careful to serve him for dessert (in all seasons of the year) a pyramid of oranges, which Robespierre ate with avidity. He was insatiable; no one dared touch this sacred fruit. No doubt its acidity divided Robespierre's bilious humor and facilitated circulation. It was easy to distinguish the place that Robespierre had occupied at the table, by the mounds of orange peels which covered his plate. One noticed that he became more relaxed as he ate it. Stanislas Fréron’s ”Notes on Robespierre,” published in Papiers inédits trouvés chez Robespierre, Saint-Just, Payan, etc., supprimés ou omis par Courtois; précédés du rapport de ce député à la Convention nationale (1828) volume 1, page 157.

At that time, Daillet had acquired the trust of Robespierre the older, so much so that he was the only one who had the talent to tie his cravat the way he wished: because he was so difficult, that he had it untied and tied several times. In the absence of Daillet, the Duplay girls rendered him this service. It is a rather singular thing that Robespierre the elder was able to make people believe in his sobriety; he was not greedy, it is true, when it came to common dishes, such as boiled meat, of which he hardly ate: but he needed some refinement and delicacies. At Pétion’s house, the only time Robespierre took me there; I saw the latter eating a pot of fine jams, which were very expensive at the time. The Duplays went leagues away to get him the dishes he wanted; they stuffed him with fine oranges, and when he had to speak to the Jacobins, father Duplay knew to give him a few shots of old wine. So he hardly liked to dine in town, because he knew how people dined there. Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices… (1795) by Armand-Joseph Guffroy, page 417. The claim in particular that the Duplays fed Robespierre oranges reappears here. It can be noted that Élisabeth too mentions she and Charlotte brought oranges to the Convention in her memoirs.

…This carpenter, a member of the Society of Jacobins, had met Robespierre at its meetings; with the whole of his household he had become an enthusiastic worshipper at the shrine of the popular orator, and had obtained for himself the honor of securing him both as boarder and lodger. In his leisure moments Robespierre was wont to comment on Emile of Jean Jacques Rousseau, and explain it to the children of the carpenter, just as a good village parish priest expounds the Gospel to his flock. Touched and grateful for this evangelistic solicitude, the children and apprentices of the worthy artisan would not suffer his guest, the object of their hero-worship, to go into the street without escorting him to the door of the National Convention, for the purpose of watching over his precious life, which his innate cowardice and the flattery of his courtiers were beginning to make him believe threatened in every possible way by the aristocracy, who were seeking to destroy the incorruptible tribune of the people. It was necessary, in order to reach the eminent guest deigning to inhabit this humble little hole of a place, to pass through a long alley flanked with planks stacked there, the owner's stock-in-trade. This alley led to a little yard from seven to eight feet square, likewise full of planks. A little wooden staircase led to a room on the first floor. Prior to ascending it we perceived in the yard the daughter of the carpenter Duplay, the owner of the house. This girl allowed no one to take her place in ministering to Robespierre's needs. As women of this class in those days freely espoused the political ideas then prevalent, and as in her case they were of a most pronounced nature, Danton had surnamed Cornelie Copeau "the Cornelia who is not the mother of the Gracchi." Cornelie seemed to be finishing spreading linen to dry in the yard; in her hand were a pair of striped cotton stockings, in fashion at the time, and which were certainly similar to those we daily saw encasing the legs of Robespierre on his visits to the Convention. Opposite her sat Mother Duplay between a pail and a saladbasket, busily engaged in picking salad herbs. Two men in military garb, standing close to her in a respectful attitude, seemed to be taking part in the duties of the household, obligingly picking herbs, in order to be free to chat more unrestrainedly under the shelter of this familiar occupation. These two men, since famous in their respective positions, were, the one General Danican, who since then, on the 13th Vendemiaire, became impressed with the idea that he was a Royalist, and who perhaps still retains the belief because he is one of England's pensioners; the other was General, later on Marshal, Brune. Freron and I told Cornelie Copeau that we had called to see Robespierre. She began by informing us that he was not in the house, then asked whether he was expecting our visit. Freron, who was familiar with the premises, advanced towards the staircase, while Mother Duplay shook her head in a negative fashion at her daughter. Both generals, smilingly enjoying what was passing through the two women's minds, told us plainly by their looks that he was at home, and to the women that he was not. Cornelie Copeau, on seeing that Freron, persisting in his purpose, had his foot on the third step, placed herself in front of him, exclaiming: ”Well, then, I will apprise him of your presence," and, tripping upstairs, she again called out, "It’s Fréron and his friend, whose name I do not know." Fréron thereupon said, "It’s Barras and Freron," as if announcing himself, entering the while Robespierre's room, the door of which had been opened by Cornelie Copeau, we following her closely. Memoirs of Barras: member of the Directorate (1899) page 167-169, regarding a meeting he and Fréron tried to have with Robespierre following their return from Marseilles in March 1794.

Those whom fate did not lead to the Duplay family presume that it was enough to be introduced to them to see Robespierre: they are wrong; I appeal to the testimony of all his former friends; not one could reach him: the entrance to his residence, similar to Tartarus, was constantly guarded by Cerberians who overshadowed everything... You, whom terror has compressed for so long, have you understood it well? No: to feel its full weight, compelling circumstances would often have had to drag you into its temple, where the sinister look of a Chalabre was sometimes equivalent to a death sentence; where once suspected your loss was sworn, which you accelerated even by no longer going there. À Maximilien Robespierre aux Enfers (1794) by Paul-Auguste Taschereau-Fargues, page 11.

Duplay was a poor carpenter, who had little idea that he was destined to play a sort of role in the revolution, and that his name would become almost historic. When the constituent assembly was transferred to Paris after the October days, Robespierre came to stay in the house of Duplay, located on rue Saint-Honoré, opposite the convent of Assomption, and wasted no time in becoming a zealous devotee. The father, the mother, the sons, the daughters, the cousins, etc, swore only by Robespierre, who deigned to raise the eldest of the two [sic] daughters to the honors of his bed, without however marrying her other than with the left hand. At the time of the organization of the revolutionary tribunal, Robespierre had father Duplay appointed as juror; the two sons had a distinguished rank among Maximilien I’s bodyguards, whose leader was Brigadier General Boulanger. Mother Duplay became superior of the devotees of Robespierre; and her daughters, as well as her nieces and several of her neighbors, obtained high ranks in this respectable body. Souvenirs thermidoriens (1844) by Georges Duval, volume 1, page 247.

I must not, moreover, pass over in silence the picture that you (Lamartine) give us of the private space where Robespierre lived with admirable simplicity of morals. Never has your imagination shown itself more poetic or more creative than in this painting of an interior life where all the virtues of the golden age reigned. The chaste loves of Robespierre for the eldest daughter of this house, the patriarchal habits of this family, the innocent pleasure she took in hearing Maximilien read to her the verses of the tender Racine, inspire the sweetest interest. But monsieur, is this really how one is allowed to write history, and contemporary history? The excellent father of the family of whom you speak in such touching terms, this brave craftsman, who should have remained a carpenter, was nothing less than a member of this revolutionary tribunal whose servile barbarity you yourself have so eloquently condemned. His wife, fanaticized by Robespierre, appeared every day in the stands of the Convention or the Jacobins, which were certainly not a school of gentle philosophy. Finally, no one is unaware that this unfortunate woman hanged herself in the prison where the revolution of 9 Thermidor had brought her. Would she have met such a cruel end had she had the housekeeping virtues, the pure and modest qualities that your gallant imagination likes to attribute to her? You say, I do not know thanks to what information, that she was put to death by furious women; but you provide no proof to support this assertion, contrary to all the reports published in 1794. It is fair, moreover, to say that the young family of the carpenter was in good faith in their enthusiasm for Robespierre; and that once it had recovered from its illusions, it did not take long for it to be esteemed by good people through the gentleness of its morals and character. I like to recognize this truth! Le Robespierre de M. de Lamartine : lettre d’un septuagénaire à l’auteur de l’Histoire des Girondins, (1848) by Fabien Pillet, page 7-8.

A young and pretty person aged 17 to 18, accompanied by her aunt, arrives one morning, by carriage, at Robespierre's door, to ask for her father's liberation. These two women speak to Mother Duplay, who they ask if Robespierre is avaliable. “No,” this she-cat replies abruptly. This initial reception intimidated the young person so much that, without daring to open her mouth, she sadly returned to her carriage. As she was about to climb into it, she said to herself that the way in which she had been received was perhaps the result of a lack of formality towards this woman whom, due to her dirty and disgusting attire, she took for the servant of the house. She therefore returns, the 25 livres assignat in hand, to try to make the female dragon yield. Femme Duplay eagerly runs to meet her, and, grabbing her by the arm, says to her: “Now that you are alone, you can go up. Citizen Robespierre really likes young people your age.” This innocent girl got so disturbed that she immediately went back to her aunt, whom she told, completely frightened, about her adventure. I have from the mouths of irrefutable witnesses the following anecdote: One of the pleasures of this tyrant was to provoke with harsh words the sensitivity of young people who came to ask for some grace, and at the moment when they shed tears in abundance, he would take out his handkerchief and hasten, with a sort of interest, to wipe away the tears of his victims. Racine put this verse into Nero's mouth, about Junie: I loved even the tears which I made her flow. Notes et souvenirs de Courtois de l’Aube, député à la Convention nationale, cited in La Révolution française: revue d’histoire moderne et contemporaine (1887), volume 12, page 929-930.

Simon Duplay, nephew of Duplay the carpenter, with whom Robespierre lived, served as Robespierre's secretary. He had collected many facts about this famous character and he was the only one capable of giving true memoirs on Robespierre. He died two or three years ago without having published anything. Moreover, Simon Duplay could only have done it from memory, because all his papers were seized as well as those of his patron. He was thrown into prison with the entire Duplay family. It is remarkable in the imprisonment of this family that one of the young ladies Duplay (Sophie), married to a husband strongly opposed to the Revolution, was found after much research and imprisoned for having borne the name Duplay. Simon Duplay was an ardent young man, full of spirit, who had enlisted voluntarily at the start of the Revolution, and he had been wounded and amputated: at the time of 9 Thermidor he was using a wooden leg. He wrote under Robespierre's dictation, and if necessary served as his secretary. There is no need to say that he was poorly paid. In those days, zeal did everything. Notes historiques sur la Convention nationale, le Directoire, l’Empire et l’exil des votants, (1893) by Marc-Antoine Baudot, page 40. Note written 12 July 1829.

One evening, at table, Robespierre vaguely inquired about what [Maurice] had done at the revolutionary tribunal, where he had sat during the day: “Maximilien,” Duplay replied, “I never ask you (vous) what you do at the Committee of Public Safety.” Robespierre understood the discretion of his old friend, and, without saying a word, he shook his hand affectionately. Histoire de Robespierre (1867) by Ernest Hamel, volume 3, page 289. In a footnote, Hamel claims to have had this anecdote told to him by Philippe Lebas jr.

Did your uncle lodge the Robespierre brothers? Yes, but Robespierre the younger left it after his return from the army of Italy, to instead go and live on rue Florentin. Interrogation of Simon Duplay, held January 1 1795, cited in Les divisions dans les comités de gouvernement à la veille du 9 thermidor d’après quelques documents inédits (1915) by Albert Mathiez. It is unknown if Simon is referring to Augustin’s first return from the army of Italy (December 1793) or his second one (June 1794) here. In her memoirs, Charlotte writes Augustin went to live with a colleague by the name of Record during the first leave in Paris, while a letterfrom her to him dated July 6 1794 indicates he planned to settle in the apartment on Rue Saint-Florentin the three siblings briefly moved into after his second return.

”When my younger brother passed through Melun,” said Mlle Robespierre, ”all three of us were living together; I still hoped to be able to bring back the older, to snatch him from the wretches who obsess over him and lead him to the scaffold. They felt that my brother would eventually escape them if I regained his confidence, they destroyed me entirely in his mind; today he hates the sister who served as his mother… For several months he has been living alone, and although lodged in the same house, I no longer have the power to approach him… I loved him tenderly, I still do… His excesses are the consequence of the domination under which he groans, I am sure of it, but knowing no way to break the yoke he has allowed himself to be placed under, and no longer able to bear the pain and the shame of to see my brother devote his name to general execration, I ardently desire his death as well as mine. Judge of my unhappiness!… But let’s return to what interests you. The addresses to the king on the events of 1792 are already far from us; it seems to me that the signatures of these addresses are persecuted less than those who protested against the day of May 31. Try to see Maximilien, you will be content; he was very glad that our younger brother saw you at Melun. On this occasion he spoke with interest of the exercises of your pupils and of the attention you had in entrusting him with presiding over them. I won’t introduce you to him, I would not succeed; I even advise you not to speak to him about me. You will be told he is out, don't believe it, insist on your visit.”

The Robespierre family was housed on rue Saint-Honoré, near the Assomption chapel, the sister and younger brother at the front, the older brother at the back of the courtyard. Gaillard went to Maximilien’s apartment; a young man, looking at him with the most insolent air, said to him, barely having opened the door: “The representative isn’t home…”

“He may not be there for those who come to talk to him about business, but that is not my doing; I will talk to him about his family that I know a lot, you have seen me come out of his sister's apartment who is involved in state affairs no more than I am... Bring my name to the representative, he will receive me, I’m sure of it.”

The fellow did not dare refuse to carry a paper on which Gaillard had taken care to indicate himself in such a way as to be recognized, he immediately came back and gave the visitor his paper saying: “The representative does not know you,” and the door was violently slammed shut!…

The insolence of this brazen man whom Gaillard knew to be the secretary of Robespierre, son of Duplay, to whom the sister attributed the excesses of his brother, the sorrow he felt at losing the hope of saving the judges of Melun and to ensure his personal rest, all these thoughts made him very angry; he calls the young man a liar, insolent, he accuses him of deceiving Robespierre and of increasing the number of his enemies every day, all this in the loudest voice with the intention of being heard by Maximilien and lure him to one of the windows where, surely, he would have recognized him. New disappointment, no one appears and Gaillard goes back to tell Mlle Robespierre about his misadventure.

“I prepared you for it, she told him. ”No one can approach my brother unless he is a friend of those Duplays, with whom we are lodging; these wretches have neither intelligence nor education, explain to me their ascendancy over Maximilien. However, I do not despair of breaking the spell that holds him under their yoke; for that I am awaiting the return of my other brother, who has the right to see Maximilien. If the discovery I just made doesn't rid us of this race of vipers forever, my family is forever lost. You know what a miserable state we found ourselves in, reduced to alms, my brothers and I, if the sister of our father hadn’t taken us in. It’s strange that you didn’t often notice how much her husband’s brusqueness and formality made us pay dearly for the bread he gave us; but you must also have noticed that if indigence saddened us, it never degraded us and you always judged us incapable of containing money through a dubious action. Maximilien, who makes me so unhappy, has never given a hold, as you know, in terms of delicacy. Imagiene his fury when he learns that these miserable Duplays are using his name and his credit to get themselves the rarest goods at a low price from the merchants. So while all of Paris is forced to line up at the baker's shop every morning to get a few ounces of black, disgusting bread, the Duplays eat very good bread because the Incorruptible sits at their table: the same pretext provides them with sugar, oil, soap of the best quality, which the inhabitant of Paris would seek in vain in the best shops... How my brother's pride would be humiliated if he knew the abuse that these wretches make of his name! What would become of his popularity, even among his most ardent supporters? Certainly my brother is very proud, it is in him a capital fault; you must remember, you and I have often lamented the ridicule he made for himself by his vanity, the great number of enemies he made for himself by his disdainful and contemptuous tone, but he is not bloodthirsty. Certainly he believes he can overthrow his adversaries and his enemies by the superiority of his talent.” La Révolution, la Terreur, le Directoire 1791-1799: d’après les mémoires de Gaillard (1908) page 263-266. This anecdote implies Charlotte had moved back in with the Duplays somewhere before May 1794, when it is described as taking place.

On Floréal 18 (May 7 1794), I wrote to Robespierre, having been unable to meet him both at the Committee of Public Safety and at his house. This man, to whom many people ran, was never able to get hold of me, nor lure me into his home. The Duplays, his hosts, had extended invitations to me; but my wife told them: Robespierre is younger than my husband; let him come to us if he wants to see him. To be useful, at that time, I wanted to see him; but I could not obtain it. I only met him once, on my way from the Convention to the Committee of Public Safety: it was then that he told me that Sains-Just [sic] and Lebas were going to leave. Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices… (1795) by Armand-Joseph Guffroy, page 72-73. Does this imply the Duplays were willing to invite Guffroy to their place even after he had slandered Élisabeth?

Robespierre believed in the Supreme Being and in the immortality of the soul. How many times he scolded me when I did not seem to believe with the same fervor as he! He said to me: “You are greatly mistaken! You will be unhappy not to believe; you are still quite young, Élisabeth! Consider that it is the only consolation on earth!” Note written by Élisabeth Duplay, cited on page 150 of Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

In the morning, the daughters of the carpenter with whom Robespierre lived dressed in white and gathered flowers in their hands to attend the feast [of the Supreme Being]. Éléonore herself composed the bouquet for the president of the Convention. The sun had risen without a cloud, everything in nature was laughing, and the four young sisters were touched in advance by the solemn character of the ceremony which was being prepared: the spring of the year was getting married for them in the spring of the age and innocence. They had heard Maximilien speak more than once about the existence of God. He had read to them, in the winter evenings, beautiful pages from Jean-Jacques Rousseau, his master, on the Author of nature and on the immortality of the soul. The time having come to go to the Tuileries garden, the head of the house, Duplay, delighted to see his daughters so pious and so charming, placed a kiss on the forehead of each of them to bring them good luck. They left with joy in their souls. The craftsman's family only returned to their father's house at nightfall. How the faces had changed! It was no longer this joy of the morning, this enthusiasm of young girls who, fresh and naive, advanced, like the virgins of Judea, to meet the Lord; Murmurs and sinister warnings had been heard in the crowd. A cloud was on all fronts. Robespierre seemed sad and resigned: “I know well,” he said, looking at his hosts, “the fate reserved for me; you won't see me for much longer; I will not have the consolation of witnessing the reign of my ideas; I leave you my memory to defend; the death that I will soon suffer is not an evil: death is the beginning of immortality.” He was silent. A gloomy presentiment froze hearts. They separated for the night. Histoire des Montagnards (1847) by Alphonse Esquiros, volume 2, page 447-449. In a footnote inserted on page 28 of Thermidor, d’après les sources originalets er les documents authentiques (1891), Ernest Hamel writes that Esquiros obtained this description from Élisabeth herself.

This letter will be delivered to you under the address of my wife, because I do not have the greatest confidence in your secretary and in many other people that surround you. It is still friendship that makes me speak like this. Letter from Antoine Buissart to Maximilien, June 28 1794. Could it be Charlotte, who reached Arras on May 17 and left it around the time this letter was written, who inspired this mistrust of the Duplays in Buissart?

…Éléonore, Victoire, Sophie, Élisabeth, raised in the peaceful interior of the home, in the oasis of the family, sincerely imagined that the same happiness extended to the whole city; they blessed in their hearts the God of the revolution who had given such rest to the French nation. Only one circumstance worried them, it was that for some time the porte-cochère of the house had been strictly closed night and day on orders from the carpenter. Éléonore timidly asked Maximilien the reason for it in front of her other sisters. He blushed “Your father is right,” he said; ”Everyday right now something passes along this street that you must not see.” In fact, around two o'clock in the afternoon, a tumbril was rolling heavily on the pavement of Rue Saint-Honoré; the sound of horses and the cries of people could be heard even in the courtyard. It was the thing that passed by. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). The incident is portayed as happening during the time of the ”great terror” of June-July 1794. When republishing the anecdote in his Histoire des Montagnards (1847), Esquiros instead has Robespierre say this on January 21 1793, the day of the king’s execution.

The day before he had planned to deliver [the speech of 8 thermidor] before the National Convention, [Robespierre] went out with his secretary, Simon Duplay, the soldier from Valmy, the one they called Duplay with the wooden leg, and took him to the Chaillot promenade at the top of the Champ-Elysées. He appeared cheerful and playful, even going after the very abundant cockchafers this year. Nevertheless, at times, a cloud seemed to veil his countenance, and he felt himself gripped by some sort of wave. Thermidor: d'après les sources originales et les documents authentiques avec un portrait de Robespierre gravé sur acier (1897) by Ernest Hamel, page 241-242. In a footnote, Hamel claims this information was provided to him by ”Doctor Duplay, son of Duplay.”

It was the first days of Thermidor: Maximilien continued his evening walks at the Champ-Élysées with his adoptive family. The sun, at the end of the sky, buried its globe behind the clumps of trees, or swam softly here and there in a dark gold fluid. The sounds of the city died away in the agitated branches; everything was rest, silence and meditation: no more tribunes, no more people; nothing but the peaceful and solemn teaching of nature. Maximilien walked with the carpenter's eldest daughter at his arm: Brount followed them. What were they saying to each other? Only the breeze heard and forgot everything. Éléonore had a melancholy brow and downcast eyes: her hand carelessly stroked the head of Brount who seemed very proud of such beautiful caresses; Maximilien showed his fiancée how red the sunset was. Here ends the story of intimate life; here Mme L(ebas) movedly wiped her eyes. This walk was the last. The next day, Maximilien disappeared in a storm. Une Maison de la Rue Saint-Honoré by Alphonse Ésquiros, published in Revue de Paris, number 9 (May 1 1844). When republishing the anecdote in Histoire des Montagnards (1847), volume 2, page 460, Esquiros adds the following part right after reprinting the anecdote word by word: “It will be good weather tomorrow,” said [Éléonore]. Maximilien lowered his head as if struck by an image and a terrible presentiment.

Toulognon, volume 11. p. 502—, writes that Robespierre upon returning to the house where he lodged spoke quietly about the morning debates (8 Thermidor); and said: “I no longer expect anything from the Mountain; they want to get rid of me like a tyrant; but the mass of the assembly will hear me.”These expressions, which Toulongeon clearly indicates to have been repeated by some member of the Duplay family, are in conformity with what Robespierre declared on the morning of the 9th before going to the Convention. As Duplay spoke to him with great concern about the dangers that awaited him, as he insisted on the need to take precautions, Robespierre replied: “The mass of the Convention is pure; do not worry; I have nothing to fear.” We obtained details from Buonarotti, who collected them while in prison, from the mouth of Duplay. Histoire parlementaire de la Révolution française: ou Journal des Assemblées Nationales…(1837) by Philippe-Joseph-Benjamin Buchez, Roux-Lavergne, volume 34, page 3-4.

Legendre: At the time of 9 Thermidor, I was secretary as well as Dumont: I said to him: “There’s going to be some noise. Do you see in this rostrum the whole Duplay family? Do you see Gerard? Do you see Dechamps?” At the same moment Saint-Just began his speech; Tallien interrupted him and tore the veil. Louis Legendre at the Convention March 26 1795

One of those who had witnessed the outcome of this catastrophe (the execution on 10 thermidor) told me that he recognized in the crowd Duplay's eldest daughter, who had wanted to see for one last time the man whom her whole family had looked upon as a god. Mémoires d’un prêtre regicide (1829) by Simon-Edme Monnel, page 337.

…A moment later the whole Duplay family was brought in[to prison]. One of the prisoners cried out: ”I announce to you the ganimede of Robespierre, and his prime minister.” It was then learned, from several questions asked to them, all the circumstances surrounding the fall of the tyrant. The next morning, as soon as the women saw these two individuals [Maurice and Jacques-Maurice] among the prisoners; they cried out: ”You are with your slaughtermen, you should knock these beggars out!” One contented oneself with molesting them a little, because one needed them to learn all the details of the insurrection. On 11 Thermidor, around nine o'clock, the rumor spread that femme Duplay had hanged herself in the night; a citizen announced this news by saying: ”Citizens, I announce to you that the dowager queen has just fared a somewhat unfortunate excess.” ”What? What happened? cried the two Duplays, who did not understand what it was he meant. ”Citizens, he added, it is a great day of mourning for France; we no longer have a princess.” What amused us the most in all of this was that the same evening, Duplay’s son gave ten francs to a jailer to go and gather information about his mother’s situation, whom he believed to be free; and that the same man came to tell her that she enjoyed perfect health! He remained in this belief for a very long time; which earned the unscrupulous teller at least fifty ecus for supposed commissions. Almanach des prisons, ou Anecdotes sur le régime intérieur de la Conciergerie, du Luxembourg, ect., et sur différens prisonniers qui ont habité ces maisons, sous la tyrannie de Robespierre, avec les chansons, lettres et couplets qui y ont été faits (1794) by Philippe-Edme Coittant, page 165-167. Maurice, Françoise and Jacques-Maurice were all ordered arrested on 10 thermidor. Françoise death could be both a murder and a suicide, though the fact that the arrest orderstates all three were to be kept isolated, while the report made after her death underlines that there’s no sign of any fight, would point towards the latter.

13 thermidor, year two of the Republic, one and indivisible

There was brought before us citoyenne Carraut, found on rue du Four, section du Contrat Social n. 482, at the house of citoyenne Béguin.

She was asked her name, age and residence.

Marie-Marguerite-Charlotte Robespierre, 28 years old, living on her income, residing with citoyenne Laporte, rue de la Réunion n. 200, and this since about a month back.

She was invited to tell us why she didn’t live with the Duplays on rue Honoré where the conspirator Robespierre lived and what motivated her to leave this residence.

To which she answered that she used to live there, but that her brothers and femme Duplay had told her to leave her apartment, and that femme Duplay reproached her for seeing counter-revolutionaries, among which was Guffroy, representative of the people; that her older brother resented her because she had the courage of letting him know the danger he ran by being sourrunded so badly, and that the Duplays had taken up the case to lose him, and that this was what motivated her to go live with citoyenne Laporte.

[…]

She was invited to declare if she had been aware of the infamous conspiracy that her older brother had been hatching and if she knew which were the men who frequently visited him.

She responded that she loved her country so much that she had the courage to lament this diabolical conspiracy, that every time she had met him she had found the occasion to tell him that the men around him were trying to deceive him, that if she had suspected the infamous plot that was being hatched, she would have denounced it rather than seeing her country lost.

She read her interrogation and said it contained the truth and signed while observing that she sometimes saw at the Duplays a man named Didier, who for a period of time served as secretary to her older brother, that through that position, he had been appointed juror to the Revolutionary Tribunal.

Robespierre. Interrogation of Charlotte Robespierre, held on July 31 1794. Can Charlotte’s denounciation of the Duplays here have played a role in the decision to arrest Élisabeth, Simon (order given July 31) Victoire, Sophie (order given August 1) and Éléonore (order given August 4)? The Guffroy Charlotte namedrops is the same man who tried to stop the marriage between Élisabeth and Lebas. Charlotte’s connections to him are furthered comfirmed by the work Les secrets de Joseph Lebon et de ses complices (1794) and an undated decree, both in Guffroy’s hand, as well as a letter to him from Antoine Buissart, dated May 7 1794. Charlotte’s claim here to have been forced to move out from the Duplay house line up rather well with Gaillard’s story, where’s she’s portrayed to have moved back in by May 1794.

The same 13 thermidor there then appeared before us citoyenne Béguin, wife of citizen Béguin, employed as secretary at the Commission of Representatives of the People at the Army of Italy, rue du Four-Honoré, n. 482.

[…]

She was asked if she had visited the infamous Robespierre the older, which were the people who frequented him and if she had known about his infamous conspiracy.

To which she answered that she had never visited Robespierre the older, that the infamous Duplays didn’t leave his side… Interrogation of citoyenne Béguin, at whose house Charlotte was arrested, held July 31 1794

Citizens, When giving orders for the arrest of the Duplays, where Robespierre was lodging, you forgot their nephew, the wooden leg, who, after their arrest, went to the Jacobins, where he denounced the commissioner of the Revolutionary Committee charged by your Committee to carry out said arrest. This individual took the liberty of saying that he should not recognize orders given against patriots so well known and worthy of Robespierre. Commissioner Labarre was consequently kept in custody in the hall of the Jacobins and a motion was made to send him to the Commune. His Jacobin card was taken away from him and he was searched, at the request of said nephew Duplay, to see if he was carrying orders to arrest the mentioned patriots. Not having seen nephew Duplay yesterday, and having heard that he was outlawed, I thought myself excused from making this denunciation, but I learned that he was seen this morning entering the house of Duplay. I think I have to denounce him. We can question Citizen Labarre about these facts. Letter from an anonymous police agent to the Committee of Public Safety, July 29 1794, cited in the article L'arrestation de Simon Duplay (1919) by Albert Mathiez.

Citizen representatives, I was arrested on 12 Thermidor by order of the Committee of General Security and the order read: Robespierre’s secretary. I don't know who could have given me a title that I never had, and you yourselves are aware, representative citizens, that Robespierre did not have a secretary, that he did not even give away his speeches to copy. I lost a thigh in the service of the homeland. The pain caused by this injury is too serious for me to remain in this state for a long time, and unfortunately at this moment, for lack of air, I am attacked by a very considerable fever, which, combined with my injury, puts me in a very sad state. If this reason can speed up the examination of my case, I ask you, representative citizens, to take it into consideration. I had the misfortune to be taken in, on my return from the army, by my uncle with whom Robespierre was staying. He deceived me like so many others, those are all my crimes. I beg you, representative citizens, to have regard for my unfortunate position, to give me the justice I deserve and the freedom for which I lost a limb. Salut and fraternity, Simon Duplay, disabled soldier, detained at Magdelonnettes. Letter from Simon Duplay to the Committee of Public Safety, August 19 1794. Cited in Ibid.

To citizens representatives members of the Committee of General Security, We have been arrested for a year, because our father lodged Robespierre, we have not exercised any public function, no denunciation has been raised against us. Prevention alone was therefore able to prolong our detention. We hope that the solemn judgment which returned our father to society will have dissipated him, and we expect from the justice of the Committee the end of our misfortunes and our long detention. We observe that we cannot produce exculpatory documents, since no accusation weighs against us and we cannot destroy what does not exist. As for proof of good citizenship, one of us [Simon] gave unequivocal proof in the plains of Champagne. The pension certificate that the Republic granted him to compensate him for the loss of a leg is proof of this. The other two could only make wishes for public liberty, since one had barely reached his sixteenth year and the other is a woman. Salut et fraternité. Undated petition from the imprisoned Simon, Jacques Maurice and Éléonore Duplay. Cited in Ibid.

…I managed to get introduced to Madame Lebas, this naive and passionate witness of the intimate life of Robespierre, this living and ardent protest against the slander (because even the crime gets slandered) of the historians of the Revolution. I found in Madame Lebas a woman from the Bible after the dispersion of the tribes in Babylon, withdrawn from the commerce of the living in the upper floor of a modest apartment, conversing about her memories, surrounded by portraits of her family decimated on the 18th Fructidor [sic], of her sisters, of whom Robespierre had wanted to marry the most beautiful, of Robespierre himself in all these elegant costumes in which he took pride in presenting the contrast on his person with the vest, the red cap, the clogs, sordid signs, ignoble flatteries of the Jacobins to the equality and misery of the populace. Histoire de Robespierre : d’après des papiers de famille, les sources originales et des documents entièrement inédits, (1865) by Ernest Hamel, volume 1, page 365.

…It was through an academic that I was truly introduced to the republican world. M. Philippe Le Bas, my history teacher at the École Normale, welcomed me into his home, brought me into a few families who remained faithful to the memories of 1793.

He was the son of the deputy Le Bas, friend and disciple of Robespierre. He was proud of his father's fame. It is even said that before becoming a member of the Institute, he presented himself in salons under this title: “M. Philippe Le Bas, son of the deputy”. I had wanted to see survivors of the Revolution up close: my success exceeded my expectations, since I immediately found myself in the world of Robespierre. I was like a young beginner who wanted to taste a generous wine, and who had been poured abundantly with alcohol. I had had enough firmness to more or less put up with the Girondins, but I was on the verge of losing my mind when I found myself among Robespierre's friends.

The widow of the deputy Le Bas, who gave birth to the man who was to be my teacher, was one of the daughters of the carpenter Duplay. This Duplay family had become Robespierre’s family. He lived with them, and when he died, he was engaged to Mademoiselle Éléonore, the sister of Madame Le Bas. The fiancée mourned Robespierre up until her death. This whole family was closely united, and the memory of the deceased contributed not a little to this union. The Committee of Public Safety, universally condemned and cursed, still had a few friends in this corner of the world; and for these survivors, for these persisters, the Le Bas family was the object of particular respect.

Moreover, the carpenter Duplay had given his daughters an excellent education. This carpenter was a carpentry contractor; for some time he had served as judge at the Revolutionary Tribunal. His grandson, the one who was my teacher at l’École normale, was the gentlest and most benevolent man in the world. When he no longer had to explain himself about his father and his father's terrible friends, he spoke and acted like a cultured man, a friend of peace, and preoccupied, above all, with his scholarly research. He had been tutor to a prince. It is true that this prince was Prince Louis-Napoleon, the same one who, against all expectations, became Emperor of the French. The advent of his student to the supreme rank changed nothing either in the ideas, conduct, language or life of Philippe Le Bas. He remained until the end as I had known him in 1834, M. Philippe Le Bas, son of the deputy.

It was known among those familiar with M. Le Bas that I knew no one in Paris; and that was a reason for them to invite me to dinner or super on Sunday. I was invited once with solemn and mysterious forms which gave me reason to think that I was going to attend some important event. I arrived at the appointed time. There were a few guests, all avowed republicans and editors of party newspapers. Nearly an hour passed; the person who had initiated the meeting was kept waiting. I think everyone except me was in on the secret; but I was too shy to ask a question. Finally a great movement occurred, the whole family went into the antechamber to make the reception more solemn, and we lined up around the door.

There was no advertising in this modest house. I saw an elderly woman enter, walking with difficulty and giving her arm to the lady of the house. She had come alone. They saluted her very profoundly; she responded to this greeting like a queen who wants to be amiable to her subjects. She was a very thin woman, very upright in her small frame, dressed in the antique style with very puritanical cleanliness. She wore the costume of the Directory, but without lace or ornaments. I immediately had, as it were, an intuition that I was seeing Robespierre’s sister. She sat down at the table, where she naturally took the place of honor. I kept looking at her throughout the meal. She seemed serious, sad to me, without austerity however, a little haughty although polite, particularly kind to M. Le Bas, who showered her with consideration or, to put it better, with respect. When the conversation started revolving around general things, she took little part in it; but listened to everything with politeness and attention. If she happened to say a word, everyone would immediately shut up. I thought to myself that one couldn’t have treated a sovereign better.

Robespierre's name was not even mentioned. Essentially, it was him that everyone thought of, and it was him that they talked about without naming him. That was the habit in these devoted families. I wasn’t planning on compromising myself by pronouncing this name which was revered there, and execrated everywhere else. It was not pronounced, because it was implied in every word spoken.

There are two Robespierres: the fierce Robespierre and the reasoning and sentimental Robespierre. The cult of his fanatics was equally aimed at the dictator and the humanitarian orator. The ghosts with which I was seated did not belong to 1834. They were from, and wanted to be from, 1793. The great killings were for them only necessary acts of government. The Thermidorians had barely overthrown the Committee of Public Safety when they began copying it. On 18 Fructidor, La Réveillère-Lépeaux, the toughest of men, deported Directors, representatives and journalists to Sinnamari. For a quarter of a century, proscription was the custom. I believe that the killings of 1793 were excused by those around me, that perhaps they were even glorified. But one thought above all about the disciple of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, of the speeches against the death penalty and on the Supreme Being, of the author of so many touching homilies on fraternity and virtue. I am sure that Charlotte saw him again in her dreams, preceding the Convention at the altar, on the day of the religious festival, in a light blue habit and white tie, carrying a wreath of flowers in his hand.

Mlle Robespierre was seventy-four years old when I saw her. I knew that she had passionately loved her two brothers and that, when Maximilien had moved in with the Duplays, she had been irritated and jealous. She made a crime out of the friendship these new friends had for him. She went so far as to claim that Éléonore had used cunning to get herself married. She lived far from them after the catastrophe. The First Consul gave her a pension of 3,600 livres, which was later reduced by more than half, but which she received almost without interruption until her death. She lived on this meager resource in absolute isolation. She published Memoirs which focused on known events, and did not pique curiosity. I suppose she agreed to allow this publication in a moment of distress. No doubt, as death approached, she had wanted to forget her old grudge. She had remembered with tenderness a venerable woman who had almost been her brother's sister. She had wanted to get closer for a moment to this already famous man, whose father had been Maximilien's most faithful friend. She finally felt that those who had met in those dismal days should be reunited in memory as they had been in life.

I thought I was dreaming and that was in fact the case. The two women who were there, whatever their name, had lived in the intimacy of Robespierre, listened to his words as if they were those of a pontiff, admired his life like that of a hero and a sage. Questions crowded in the tumult in my mind, and I wondered with terror if I would dare to question my master or if I would allow myself to be oppressed once again by my accursed timidity. He led me to the door and said triumphantly, “What did you think of her?” I fled and as I ran through the streets of Paris I told myself that I was out of place in that world. Everything in this temple was respectable, except the God. Premières années, (1901) by Jules Simon, p. 181-187.

Madame Lebas must have been pretty in her youth. She had dark eyes, distinguished manners and a very reliable memory. It is from her that two or three historians of the French Revolution learned interesting details about the Duplay family and the private life of Robespierre. Her memories hardly went beyond the circle of intimate relationships; but as from 93 the house of Duplay became the center towards which all political life around Robespierre converged, she had spent her youth at the very heart of the Revolution. She had loved her husband, as she herself said, with a patriotic love; but through a reserve and a delicacy of heart that women will understand, it was the one she talked about the least. From Saint-Just, from Couthon, from Robespierre the younger, she cited beautiful and good deeds that had touched her. Her great admiration was for Maximilien. The interior of the Duplay family was a Jean-Jacques Rousseau-style house, an ark of domestic virtues risked on a flood of blood. When she spoke of the 9th of Thermidor, her brow darkened, her eyes filled with tears. Unfortunately her son was present for all our conversations and watched closely, doubtless fearing indiscretions which could hurt his self-esteem as the son of a member of the Convention and as a member of the Institute. I will never forget the dismayed expression on his face one day when this respectable widow confided to me the state of distress and misery to which she had been reduced after the death of her husband. She became a laundress and went to wash on the boats of the Seine. This time it was too strong, and the academician turned pale. Telling such things is permitted, but to write them down (and he knew well that I would do so later), according to him, was to deviate from the classical dignity of history. Histoire des Montagnards (1875) by Alphonse Esquiros, page 2-3. Section titled ”my witnesses.”

…Naturally, Madame Le Bas talks to me about Thiers, the Revolution, Robespierre; and, as she sees me as a little lukewarm towards her hero, she does not miss this opportunity to say that he was “well slandered by his enemies!” I quote word for word…I still hear her: ”And I certainly would have loved him!… He was so good and affectionate towards young people!” Victorien Sardou recounts a meeting he had with the elderly Élisabeth Duplay Lebas, cited in the preface of Le conventionnel Le Bas: d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve(1901) by Stéfane-Pol.

[Edgar Degas] told me that, when he was a child, his mother one day took him to rue de Tournon to visit Madame Lebas, widow of the famous Convention deputy who, on 9 thermidor, killed himself with a pistol. When the visit was over, they withdrew with small steps, accompanied to the door by the old lady, when Madame Degas suddenly stopped, deeply overwhelmed. Letting go of her son's hand, she pointed at the portraits of Robespierre, of Couthon, of Saint-Just, that she had just noticed were hanging on the walls of the antechambre, and she couldn’t keep herself from crying out with horror: ”What! You still keep the faces of these monsters here!” ”Be quiet, Célestine!” Madame Lebas cried out ardently, ”be quiet… They were saints!” Discours de l’Histoire prononcé à la distribution solennelle des prix du Lycée Jeanson-de-Sailly held by Paul Valéry on July 13 1932, cited in Robespierre ou les contradictions du jacobinisme (1978) by Albert Soboul.

I was able to converse, between 1838 and 1839, with a famous parrot who had been the friend of Robespierre. He belonged to Mme the widow Lebas, the wife of the famous Convention deputy who chose to die with Robespierre, and the mother of M. Lebas, Hellenist scholar, who died a few years ago. Mme widow Lebas, a very respectable woman, whom I had the honour of seeing often in her little house in Fontenay-aux-Roses, where she would make the sign of the cross when she pronounced the name Robespierre, adding these words: Saint Maximilien. As for her parrot, when one said "Robespierre", it replied Hats off! Hats off! It sang the Marseillaise with perfect diction and Ça ira like a Jacobin. It was — and perhaps, thanks to its diet of grain, still is — a sans-culotte parrot, the like of which can no longer be found. Mme Lebas recounted with great emotion how she had managed to save this precious psittacus after Thermidor. It had been seriously compromised. After the arrest of Robespierre and Lebas, in the course of a long domiciliary inspection, every time the name of Robespierre was pronouned the parrot would repeat its refrain, Hats off! Hats off! The government agents had grown impatient and were about to wring its neck, when Mme Lebas, as quick as lightning, grabbed the bird, opened the window and set it free. The poor parrot flew from window to window, until it found a charitable person to open up for it; a few days later Madame Lebas was able to regain possession of this last friend left to her by Robespierre, the only one perhaps, besides his elderly mistress, who has remained faithful to his memory. L’Union médicale: journal des intérêts scientifiques et pratiques, moraux et professionnels du corps médical (1861) volume 12, page 258-259. A somewhat dubious anecdote given the fact Élisabeth hardly would have been able to go and fetch the parrot ”a few days” after the arrest of Robespierre, having already been arrested herself.

[My husband] knew how to die for the patrie; he could only have died with the martyrs of liberty! He left me a mother and a widow at twenty-one and a half years. I bless heaven for having taken him from me that day; he is the dearer to me for it. […] Yes, I preferred to go take in wash on a boat rather than ask assistance of our poor friends’ assassins. I feared neither death nor persecution. I was not the one who repudiated my name; it pains me to say it, but Mlle Robespierre was the one who took her mother’s name, Charlotte Carreau [sic]. If you had been informed of my residence, I would have been eager to tell you the truth. The good that you say of our martyrs is not too charged: they were the true friends of liberty; they lived only for the people, for their fatherland; but some monsters, in one day, destroyed everything; in one day they assassinated liberty. Yes, monsieur, a republican like you would have been happy to know those men, so virtuous on all accounts; they all died poor. Note written by Élisabeth a few years before her death in 1859, regarding ”a work treating the revolution” (l’Histoire des Girondins?). Cited in Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve, page 145-147.