#soult and his paintings

[hoppityhopster23]

Genetics can be a fascinating thing. I find great joy in looking at pictures of people and comparing them to photos or paintings of their ancestors, mostly to see what features remained in the family. It is also a great way to know what features on a person are accurate in paintings since oftentimes they can be tweaked to the person's benefit. After talking with @yaggy031910, I discovered some examples that are worth posting about.

The first of the two examples is that of Marshal Murat and his Granddaughter, Anna.

What stands out to me the most between these two is how alike their eyes are. they're almost the same shape. Their cheeks and mouths are similar too, making it hard for me to doubt that they are directly related.

The second one, and by far my favorite of the two, is between Marshal Soult and his Granddaughter Geneviève.

If I were to imagine a female version of Soult, at least a slightly older version of him than the one above, an image very close to Geneviève comes to mind. They are so alike that it scares me a little. It's easier to say what isn't similar between their faces than to say what's is.

[your-dandy-king]

SPLIT THE PARTY #1: Lannes, Petiet, Duroc, Lydia, and the nixa

((Reference the Master List of Previous Posts here))

Duroc's glow makes it easy to follow him. This has the unfortunate effect of plunging Soult, Lameth, and Caroline back into relative darkness because now Duroc's gone and the nixa with its lantern is following him. The shadows seem to shrink away viscerally from his light.

The hallway of mirrors ends at the foot of a multistory marble staircase, the uppermost landings are barely visible even with Duroc's bright glow.

"Please! Get me out of here!" the unseen woman sobs. The faint thumping starts again, like she's beating her fists against a wall or a door. Her voice is still low and muffled, but seems louder once you step up to the fifth floor landing. It may be coming from one of the theatre boxes, or further down a black corridor.

There seems to be debris, bits of broken statues, ripped paintings, and smashed furniture on this level.

A glowing, grinning face leers at everyone from the darkness from where the voice seems to be coming from, and then blinks out like it was never there.

(Tagging all peeps: @armagnac-army, @murillo-enthusiast, @the-symphony-of-lydia-brown, @askgeraudduroc, and @carolinemurat)

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

Portrait of a prince

Previously... A mysterious king donates some paint so Eugène can have his portrait painted by Francisco de Goya...

.~.~. (here) .~.~.

Sᴏᴜʟᴛ: Good lu̐ck͊.̪ I w̡il̮l not be back̻ for... let us say, a week? Do tak͘e your t̬ime. Thi̫s... should be a w̹ork of͉ art̶.

Aɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ̳ɴ ʜᴇ ꜱᴛ̻ᴇᴘꜱ ɪɴ̴ ᴀ͞ ᴅ̱ɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪ͜ᴏɴ̃ ᴛ͎ʜᴀᴛ ʜᴜʀᴛꜱ ʏ̦ᴏᴜʀ̢ ᴇ̎ʏᴇꜱ ᴛ̓ᴏ ꜱ̖ᴇᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ʜ͐ᴇ'ͨꜱ̶ ɢᴏɴᴇ͉, ʟᴇᴀᴠ̂ɪɴɢ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ̟ ᴛͧʜʀᴇ̞̈́ᴇ ᴘ́ᴀɪɴᴛ̈́-ᴘᴏᴛꜱ ꜰɪʟʟ̧ᴇᴅ̙ ᴡɪᴛʜ̗ ᴄᴏ͜ʟᴏᴜ̇ʀꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪ͟ᴛᴇʟʏ̷ ɴᴏᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜͤ. Iꜰ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀ̞ɪ̓ɴᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ꜱᴜ͆ʙͮᴊᴇᴄᴛ͖ ᴡʜᴏ ɪꜱ... ɴᴏᴛ̜ ʟͪɪᴋᴇ͠ ᴛʜᴀᴛ? Gᴏᴏͩᴅ̖ ʟᴜᴄᴋ ɪɴᴅᴇᴇ̿ᴅ, Mᴏɴꜱ͛ɪ̂ᴇᴜʀ Gᴏʏᴀ,̧ Pʀɪɴᴄᴇ Èᴜɢ̑ᴇ̀ɴᴇ.

.~.~. (and here) .~.~.

[...] The sun slips below the horizon entirely and disappears. The twilight deepens from blue, to purple, to velvety black. The Milky Way glitters like a ribbon formed of brilliant, but cold, diamonds, and untainted by the skyglow that plagues modern cities.

Night has come to the domain of the Dandy King.

.~.~. (and here) .~.~.

[... Eugène, shouting out of the window into the night:]

Well, up yours, you insufferable, traiterous peacock! The sun will have to rise again at some point, and we can wait as long as it takes. And if not, we'll just go elsewhere or collect enough lamps and candles to lighten up this room better than daylight could! You will not keep my portrait from being done!

.~.~. (and finally here) .~.~.

After wine, the encouraged painter prepares a new canvas and instructs Eugene to assume a refined pose fit for a monarch like himself. Priming the canvas and the initial sketch went on as normal… until some paint got inevitably smudged on Goya’s clothes…

He suddenly froze in horror, clenching the brush. His eyes widened and he took several steps back, as if trying to escape an invisible monster.

.~.~.

And now:

.~.~.

Eugène is still a little exhausted from running up and down the stairs in search for every source of light, every lamp and every candle stub he managed to find in Bessières' house. And while the resulting brightness is still far from daylight, it seems to be enough for Monsieur Goya to start his work.

It is a very similar experience to his earlier portrait sessions, with Monsieur Gérard or Signore Appiani: Eugène is asked to strike as stately a pose as possible - and feels downright stupid while doing so. That's not him at all, and he knows it.

But what if Eugène "being Eugène" is not appreciated by the rest of the world? Maybe he has to act against his own beliefs in order to be somebody people can admire and respect - or even only notice? He glances at the paints the now royal Marshal Soult has so generously left for the portrait. Right at that moment, Monsieur Goya is dipping his brush into the deep red colour, and this colour seems to whisper into Eugène's mind that he is right, that this is the way for him to go. With new confidence, Eugène once more adopts the pose that feels so ridiculous to him.

Until Monsieur Goya suddenly gasps, his fingers clutching the brush, knuckles turning white. He looks at Eugène with an expression of utter horror.

Monsieur Goya?

Immediately, the pose is forgotten. Eugène may desire this portrait, he may even want to have it badly enough to be ready to hurt himself. But he is not (yet?) willing to let another being suffer because of his personal wishes. He hurries to Monsieur Goya's side, takes him by the arm and tries to guide him to a sofa.

Please, sit down and catch your breath, Monsieur! Here is your glass, please drink something. What has happened? Is it the paint again? I shall run and get a wash basin and more soap, so we can clean it off. And then, if you wish, we shall take a break, so you can rest and regain your strength. King Nicolas said he would only be back in a week, there is no reason to rush this.

[flowwochair]

idk how much I believe the "Soult was a ginger" thing bcuz his hair just looks so dark in some portraits or at the very least with black undertones instead of red, maybe it has to do with the paint they used and how it dried up (some shades of cobalt blue used at the time dried into shades of yellowish gray for example), maybe the varnish they used? idk, I'm not gonna change the hair colour of my Soult design though I think he looks cute <3

[19th-century-calamity-crew]

Roleplay blog: @le-brave-des-braves

Meta information

Owner: @neylo

First post: 28th February 2024 (https://www.tumblr.com/le-brave-des-braves/743594245757222912/bienvenue-you-have-reached-my-communication)

Current pinned post: https://www.tumblr.com/le-brave-des-braves/747279352345083904/bienvenue-you-have-reached-my-communication

Characters

Main character: Michel Ney

Regular appearances: his aides-de-camp Octave Levavasseur, Pierre-Agathe Heymes (both pictured here) and Antoine-Henri Jomini

Irregular appearances: His family, in the Ney's painted paradise thread

Lore

Supernatural characteristics:

This version of Michel Ney has been granted wings by an anonymous message and still retains them. He also carries marks of his execution in the form of dark spots in place of the original gunshot wounds that occasionally show under stressful conditions. This kind of state can also result in a temporary delay of another bodily death.

As of Ney's Painted Paradise, it has been revealed that this version of Ney is able to manipulate the fabric of the afterworld. He does so on instinct, however, and is unable to consciously control the results.

With the manifestation of these powers, his appearance underwent several major changes.

His blood appears to have a golden sunset colour now, which is also present in golden streaks in his otherwise light blue irises.

When changing his surroundings, his eyes go to full gold and he re-gains his wings, which he no longer has by default. The lighting also takes on a sunset hue in the area.

The colour of his wings has been established as coppery red.

Realm:

An ever-shifting tangle of sceneries. A somewhat stable Chateau Bessonies (currently vacant/undergoing reconstruction)

In Ney's Painted Paradise, his realm starts out as a simulacrum of content family life based on several peaceful memories he has. It also contains places based on his regrets though and is for a long time actively hostile towards intruders, mostly forcing a long-forgotten corporeal form onto them, one so incompatible with the surrounding substances that they are toxic to it.

Stories (not exhaustive, regular size text for longer threads:)

-Assisted marshal Lannes who consumed a dubious brownie

-Received his birthday mail two months late and got covered in glitter

-Levavasseur confessed his feelings for his Marshal with a serenade, was rejected

-The Marshal was granted wings, immediately invented aerial fencing. Meanwhile, Jomini returned.

-Discovered Rammstein. This will play a role later.

-Jomini rediscovers the joy of mutual disdain with Berthier, would not apologise properly over his own dead body

-Ney's aides-de-camp are granted wings. Some of them are more happy with them than others.

-Everyone has beef with Napoleon, nobody wants to risk fighting and potentially hurting Lannes, so the Emperor gets out of it this time.

-Soult was turned into a dragon. Berthier's house is flooded by plants. Was it a good idea to start a fire? No.

-Fairy dust can heal burned wings. It also temporarily diminishes the ability to filter your words.

-the twice-heartbroken Levavasseur, after receiving lots of mostly dubious advice, decides to care as he always did. The Marshal does hold him dear.

-Ney is transformed into his 23 year old self

-The wings are healing too slowly, Ney is disheartened

-And gets pep talked by Soult of all people

-Meanwhile, Jomini pockets a potion and makes a bad decision

-Ney and his aides-de-camp move to Soult's domain temporarily. Their host is turned into a cat. Things get very awkward

-The Marshals have a meeting over being turned into female versions of themselves. The workplace violence that follows results in Ney's disappearance.

-To a seemingly idyllic place where all is preserved as it was in days of happiness. But not all is as it seems... - finished

18th of June - that date carries a lot of bad memories. What happens when they come to life?

Upon learning he can accidentally project his trauma into a wide area of the afterlife, Ney decides to find an area that doesn't have people in it. He is stopped in his tracks by a very familiar-looking eight-year-old... (Ongoing)

Drop off a wedding gift and disappear - the plan was simple. But no plan has ever survived first contact with a child... Or Murat, for that matter. (Ongoing)

So Ney is able to shift the fabric of reality. But what exactly do these powers entail? Ney, Soult and their staff officers run some experiments to find out. (Ongoing)

[josefavomjaaga]

About Bessières

Very belated for his birthday a short description of Bessières by general de Bourjolly, quoted in "Les cinq épées":

His attitude is cold, calm, dignified and almost proud, but deep down you couldn't be more benevolent. He observes a lot and speaks little, rarely writes and wants to see everything for himself; on battle days he is all eyes and ears and does not get off his horse; he tires out three or four of them in a day. On the march and while on business, he eats a piece of bread rubbed with garlic, as they do, he says, in his country; he never has any money and is always giving to wounded soldiers. His sensitivity is extreme, and we have seen him refuse objects offered to him by the local authorities, such as paintings and weapons.

[Soult shouting from off-screen: "Paintings? Leave them here, I'll take them!"]

All his luggage fits into a small carriage that a major would not be content with. Although polite to the point of sweetness, he nevertheless inspires fear, because he is stern. He is superb under fire, with unrivalled composure; but when the moment comes to charge the enemy, his face is animated and his eyes flash lightnings; then his voice dominates the noise of the gunpowder, he puts himself at the head and leads his riders, who admire him and love him like a father. Always elegantly dressed, he puts on his finest for battle. His hair is slicked back, exposing a high, broad forehead. His hairstyle is that of the old regime, with white powder and a brigadier's tail. He does not like saucy remarks or irreligious jokes.

The part about his single carriage cannot have been true anymore in Russia, as I have seen a letter to his wife, stating that he had been able to sell some of his vehicles "to the viceroy".

[le-brave-des-braves]

OOC: A bit of organisation

I originally created the blog so I could beef with Soult. Well, it ended up bigger than I expected. Since multiple storylines relate to the surreal Afterlife AU RP, I will try to minimize the chaos.

General tags:

Communication personelle du Maréchal - all the ask replies

Archived correspondence - you ask, Ney will answer. It will be the Ney without any character development from the events.

Live Ney reaction - Ney reacts to posts, usually, he is pissed about it.

Ney is angy - I told you he was pissed

Les portraits du Maréchal - My art relating to Ney or the blog events.

Meine Adjutanten sind Idioten - Having aides-de-camp is great (except for the times it isn't). Featuring Octave Levavasseur, Antoine-Henri Jomini and Pierre-Agathe Heymes

Neylo cosplays Ney - I'm ginger, I have a historical outfit, and I am often too lazy to draw.

Storylines:

Joyeux anniversaire - after two months, the ADCs finally remembered to bring Ney his birthday correspondence. Feat a sticky situation and glitter, a lot of it.

Young and beautiful again - Not really. A magical anon turned Ney into his younger self with long hair, pigtails and a desperate attempt at a moustache. He picked a fight, was pranked by Desaix and in the end got struck by the melancholy of youth. Since his memories from youth prevailed, he accepted Soult's help

La Princesse de la Moscowa - Ney became a woman. Levavasseur got lucky. It didn't end up well - after picking up a fight with female Murat, Murat takes off her heels and hits Ney, accidentally hitting his (her) throat. Ney disappears

Ney's painted paradise: After being killed for the second time, Marshal Ney is stranded in a paradise with his family. But something is very wrong:

The Rescue Group POV

Ney's POV

Prequel - What did Roi Nicolas do

[usergreenpixel]

This is probably a bit impolite because I have not answered your question yet, but as you mentioned Joseph still being hated with a passion in Spain, I wondered if there were similar sentiments in Spain today for Murat (because of Dos de Mayo) and for Soult (because of his Murillo paintings). I have tried looking up Soult's name on Spanish websites and found that he was still accused of all sorts of crimes but as I do not speak the language I cannot tell how correct that perception is. Do you happen to know more? Thanks in advance, as always!

Pretty much everyone connected to Naps and Naps himself have a bad reputation but Murat doesn’t seem to pop up much. So probably no particularly strong hatred for him but bad attitude simply because he was involved.

Soult is hated too, but most marshals aren’t mentioned much. The hatred is more on Naps and Joseph, it seems.

[le-brave-des-braves]

What Soult and the others could see was a glimpse of a familiar figure. This wasn’t Ney shooting at them. This Ney had twelve bleeding wounds, eleven from the bullets and one from that one unfortunate laceration on his throat. But it is not blood, it is brighter, more reminiscent of fire. The light seems familiar though, it is the same as the light passing through the window, yellow and unnatural. His expression is that of pain and confusion. And then he is gone.

Ney's Painted Paradise, part 7

OOC post:

I have realised that I never thanked you all -

@murillo-enthusiast for the perfect organisation and archiving, long lore discussions, the splendid final showdown and the great prequel thread

@your-dandy-king for getting shot in the ass

@perdicinae-observer for staying a loyal friend even when facing hell

@askgeraudduroc for leaving Hell and providing us with great Marmont and ever-kind Duroc

@alexanderfanboy for having just enough of this shit. I'm sure the next time, the garlic will work

Special thanks to:

@the-symphony-of-lydia-brown for the theme song and waking Ney up from his dream for the last time

@impetuous-impulse for ambient music that you really need to upload somewhere so I can share

...And to you all for playing along and sending all the asks for Ney's dream family!

Sorry not sorry for the RPF art!

There are not many things that I would be truly proud of. But one of them must be running the storyline of Ney’s Painted Paradise from the Tumblr’s Napoleonic Roleplay Scene.

For anyone who is not into RP - our favourite dead French face various difficulties in their afterlives. Sometimes it’s modern technology, other times it’s the stupid questions. And in some cases, they face eldritch horror powered by their faults and regrets. Which is the case of Marshal Michel Ney in Ney’s Painted Paradise.

I would like to thank @cadmusfly for his generosity without which we couldn’t have the art you see.

I hope you enjoy your commission which was a true challenge to me.

[your-dandy-king]

All Together Again (For Now)

((For all the previous posts here's the Master List for the Phantoms of the Opera Campaign.))

((As last left off, Duroc was awake, Dr. Larrey has arrived, and the party is starting to come back together again.))

Roll call for everyone in this scene: Soult, Lannes, Lydia, Bory, Petiet, Lameth, Duroc, Caroline, Murat, the nixa, Ombre (in Soult's pocket) ((Am I missing anyone?))

As Lannes, Lydia, and Petiet limp their way back down the stairs and out, it may be noted that perhaps some of the murals and paintings have changed. There seem to be fewer tragedies, sinners burning in hellfire, martyred saints, and monstrous otherworldly creatures. Instead, they are replaced by pastoral and even almost-cheerful Rococo and Baroque scenes of fat cherubs, pretty ladies, prettier men, and verdant landscapes.

The lobby is as brightly lit as it's probably ever been, still clean and neat and completely dust free. Duroc is sitting up on the marble floor, his arms gone above the elbow. Tourniquets improvised from fabric ribbons have been used to tie off the stumps, but he doesn't appear to be in that much pain. Disoriented, but not in pain. Dr. Larrey is tending to him.

((Tagging @armagnac-army, @the-adventures-of-lydia-brown, @murillo-enthusiast, @trauma-and-truffles, @carolinemurat, @askgeraudduroc - oh my god i think that's everyone?))

((Everyone seems to have this in good hands, the GM will step in when necessary. OOC questions are welcome in DMs. Go run with it!))

[a-mysterious-wisp-of-mist]

Home sweet home (1/?)

Once again, Eugène has set out to explore the strange realms of the afterlife. This time, however, while walking the dusty road leading away from Monsieur Goya’s cottage, in some undefined direction, through some undefined and vaguely Spanish-looking countryside, he’s starting to connect some dots (or so he thinks).

Both Marshal Soult and Marshal Lannes (or rather "Roi Nicolas" and "Sir Roland" Lannes) have assured him that there must be a way for him to find his own place in these realms. His journey to find Monsieur Goya has shown him that, in order to get to a certain point, he needs to focus his thoughts and energy on it (not that he’s quite sure how this is done), and that, the longer he stays in a place and with people unrelated to his memories, the weaker his grip on this afterlife seems to get.

So, obviously he needs to go to an important place connected to his memories in order to find his own home. Right?

There’s only one problem: Not many places feel like home in Eugène’s memories. Whereever he stayed during his adult life, and no matter how much he loved the place, he only ever was representing somebody else there or enjoying another person’s hospitality. Without ever fully realizing it, and surely without ever resenting it, he has to some degree lived the life of a vagabond. A pampered and spoilt vagabond, but still a vagabond at heart.

Auguste is going to kill me if I ever tell her this.

But even in a life full of war and unrest, there must have been a certain sense of security, of belonging once. He fondly remembers the town of Fontainebleau, the home of his aged grandfather, where he would meet with his mother and sister during school holidays, where his father was present at least in one of the paintings on the wall of the salon, and sometimes even in person, during one of his rare and embarrassed visits. The narrow streets Eugène had roamed as a child, the small buildings with their two or three stories and large shuttered windows, where he knew every gate, every fence, where people would recognize and greet him as he walked by – did this not represent some sort of home? Surely it was the closest thing to a childhood home Eugène had known, and surely this has made big enough of an impact on his mind to allow him to find this place again now?

Maybe it has indeed. Without Eugène even realizing it, his surroundings have changed. The scorching heat and the dusty road have been replaced by a cloudy sky and a gentle breeze on cobbled streets. Houses have grown out of the ground and lined up along the alleys, gathered around small squares. There are people on the streets, wearing the somewhat old-fashioned clothes of Eugène's childhood, only a few at first, but more and more the further Eugène goes.

It takes a while untile he realizes that something is amiss.

The buildings seem to have grown - or has he himself rather shrunk? Passers-by seem to have grown taller, too. Eugène's point of view has turned into that of a child. Both people and buildings tower over him. Is that the reason why there's suddenly so little sunlight anymore, why the sky seems even darker than before, why the shadows seem to have thickened and grown?

No, it's not. The sky has indeed grown black, it may start raining soon, the wind has turned chilly. People are holding torches and wearing dark, hooded cloaks all of a sudden, Eugène cannot recognize their faces anymore, can barely make out if they have any. The buildings have indeed changed, too, they are wider, have far more stories and larger, more decorated portals than those Eugène remembers from Fontainebleau, they sport doors ridiculously wide and high, cold white marble columns rising up until they almost disappear in the twilight, heavy enough to topple over and bury you beneath their weight...

This does not feel like Fontainebleau at all anymore. And indeed, it isn't.

Eugène does not want to, but he is dragged along with the crowd, people all moving in the same direction, gathering like in trance, moving like automatons. In vain he tries to turn, to squirm free, to run in the opposite direction. He does not want to go there. He knows where this is, when this is, as he is pushed closer and closer to a place everyone who's lived in Paris during that time would immediately recognize.

The place du Trône-Renversé.

He can hear the rattling of the cart before he sees it, frozen with shock, his heart beating in his chest as if to compete with the drum rolls echoing through the street, eyes wide with fear. He can see the convicts' heads moving above those of the crowd, as if already detached from their bodies, and while he can make out barely anything in the sudden darkness that has engulfed his surroundings, he can clearly recognise the faces of those in the cart.

Can clearly recognise those eyes that blindly stare into his own.

Papa!

[flowwochair]

Hi, I've only recently come across your art and wanted to thank you for sharing - in particular for the napoleonic marshals. 💖Also, you've mentioned in a recent post that you had found out that Soult was an exceptionally unlucky person. Could you please elaborate on that? I've become increasingly interested in Soult over the last years myself. Thanks a bunch for all information in advance!

Hi, tysm!!! I always get nervous when sharing my art so it's nice to hear that people enjoy it ^-^

Regarding Soult, it's mostly that I've noticed a pattern whenever I read stories about either his personal life or military life in which a series of coincidences or unprecedented events somehow combine and lead to him suffering unfortunate consequences 😭😭 I've read of situations like this so often at this point that I just kinda feel bad for him, be it some terrible coincidence happening to him during a hunt, or one of the many chaotic situations he had to deal with in Spain, sometimes I think maybe his bad luck is why he became such a hardened and somewhat distant person. Basically every time I find out some new story about him it's one that ends in disaster (I'm not sure if that just happens to be a coincidence that painted him as an unlucky person in my mind, but it's just so often that it stuck out to me), I would name specific examples off the top of my head but I have very poor memory 😭😭 I just remember reading about his part in the peninsular war in particular and thinking "man this guy really can't catch a break", whenever he accomplished something it would be undone very shortly afterwards, I felt bad 😭😭

[josefavomjaaga]

Difficult topic, and I'm serious about it.

First assumption is clearly not correct. Calling husbands, lovers and close friends by their family name was at least as common as calling them by their first name; I would argue that between friends, it was even the rule. (We've had a topic about how wives referred to their husbands a while back. Josephine famously called her husband "Bonaparte", Caroline Murat called her husband "Murat", Louise Soult called her husband Soult.) The only people always referring to them by their first names seem to have been parents and siblings.

Those "Jeans" are very different Jeans. "Jean Baptiste" would be the guy from the bible who baptised Jesus Christ and ended up decapitated, i.e., this saint:

Whereas Jean de dieu (or Jean-de-dieu, I've seen both, and with spelling rules the way they were it's unlikely there was a "correct" form), or "John of God" was a 16th century - and here it comes! 😁 - Portuguese saint. So maybe Soult's Oporto adventure had been his destiny... 😋

Saint John of God painted by - Murillo. In Sevilla. Where the painting apparently stayed despite Jean de dieu.

Question for 18th/19th century Frenchmen fandom - I’m approaching this from Napoleonic fandom but this broadly applies

So some of these lads have hyphens in their names - lots of Jean-Baptistes around, Jean-de-Dieu, really there’s a whole lotta Jeans around, real denim store hours here

It’s my assumption that 1. Close friends, lovers and marital* partners would use a first name and 2. Those double barrelled Jeans would go by “Jean” in such situations

Are those assumptions correct or would they go by the full name? Or is it dependent on the specific Frenchman?

Re ally I don’t really know the protocol around double barrelled first names and whether those are middle names or not, I don’t really know the protocol around middle names in general

* I typoed this as martial, which when writing about soldiers, lol

[19th-century-calamity-crew]

Jean-de-Dieu Soult (murillo-enthusiast)

Created by the same entity and process as Lannes (armagnac-army) and governed by much the same rules, this version of Soult is also a commander of the Army of the Beyond. Under his glamour, he is a painting and the fixed part of his realm is a gallery containing his most beloved artworks. Occasionally, the Soultberg mansion appears, along with the memory of his beloved wife, Louise Berg-Soult. Apart from the memories of soldiers, he is accompanied by his aides (Saint-Chamans, Lameth, Brun, Petiet, Bory, Pierre Soult, Coco Lefebvre... - and Citoyen Ombré), some of which are animated versions of their memoirs or written works. Notable exceptions to this include Citoyen Ombré, a shadow elemental who joined Soult's staff after being found by Soult in Bessieres' (askgeraudduroc ; your-dandy-king) realm and Lameth, who was originally made of scraps of the other aides' memoirs and later transformed into a water/ink elemental after being submerged into a hallowed spring.

[josefavomjaaga]

(Yes! A post about paintings that does not mention Soult … ooops.)

One impression I have got so far on reading up more on the medical service is that Dominique Larrey was an excellent self-promoter. (And no, that does not much endear him to me. But that's me.) In particular, he seems to have been very aware of the importance of (official, propagandistic) art in Napoleon’s Empire, and was keen on figuring in it. He was close friends with painter Anne-Louis Girodet, who after Larrey’s return from Egypt did a portrait of him:

After the battle of Eylau in 1807, when it became clear that the court would commission a painting of the battle, Larrey wrote to Girodet, who he believed would receive that job, in order to tell him that he wanted to be in that painting "in his function of chirurgien-inspecteur général". And just to be on the safe side, he added:

The advantage of being painted by you, my friend, will increase the satisfaction of my heart if I am fortunate enough to occupy a small corner of your canvas. If, against my expectations, you do not wish to treat this subject, please ask Monsieur Gros to grant me this satisfaction. It is a truth that he will place in his painting if he finds it worthy of being there.

Gros in the end did receive the commission – and added the guy to the painting who had actually been in charge of the surgeons during that campaign: Percy.

And then there’s the matter of Lannes’ death. Larrey on June 14 1809 writes a long letter to his wife (after, as he says, having been struck by deep melancholy ever since Lannes had died), and it ends with – yet another idea for how he could figure in a painting:

I wish someone had the idea of painting the moving scene in which the Emperor embraced his worthy friend carried on a stretcher, shortly after having undergone my operation. This is where I could appear with honour, if such a painting were ever done.

While trying to tell myself that a military surgeon who saw people dying every day must have felt very differently about the matter, I still can’t help but find this remark tasteless to the extreme. If he had said something about wanting to be remembered next to his friend or something, I would understand. But no. He wants to be in an official painting with Napoleon, and Lannes’ death is just a nice opportunity for that.

There is even a second letter regarding this matter. When Denon (on Larrey’s suggestion?) really commissioned a painting, the surgeon Ribes in Paris demanded some more details on the event. Larrey complied with this demand on 18 July 1809, adding:

At the request of M. Denon, military painter, who wants to depict the death of Lannes, Larrey sends this information to his friend, but expresses the formal wish that he not be named [as being involved in the matter]; he nevertheless takes the opportunity to ask to appear in this painting.

I do not know if there ever was an "official" painting done in the end. Part of me hopes no.

[le-brave-des-braves]

Maybe, I was too quick, maybe I was being inappropriate and I thought that you might find that rashness appealing, and I made a horrible mistake. I feel like this reassignment has something to do with the situation between us and I wish we could meet and talk it through.

Just tell me, what did I do wrong? What should I change?

With love

René.

Cpt Levavasseur

The temperature in the house dropped, but this was his safe haven hidden in the painting Soult provided him, a place where he would shield the rest of existence from himself. Entering the place was not possible unless you were made of painting. He would never expect Soult bringing wine to cheer him up at occasions, but here we go. Maybe Soult’s decisive arrogance was what he needed after all he went through after having discovered the nature if his second life.

This letter reaching him was like the twelfth bullet.

Why did you not run away the morning after. Why would you care about a man who doesn’t need any care at all.

Ney sighed, thinking of words to write. But there were none. Why does sex feel so good when it only brings problems, regardless of the sex of person you just fucked?