Orcas' lover

she/her, spanish and also 🇧🇴🇵🇹, 17, socialist, feminist, history enthusiast, currently obsessed with frev

[robespierres-secret-daughter]

I don't know if it's the fact that I'm on my period or the fault of the song I was listening to but I remembered that Robespierre's legacy was ruined by his political enemies and anglo-american propaganda meaning the general public sees Robespierre as a bloodthirsty dictator and I imagined the real Robespierre that loved dogs and that genuinely wanted to make France a better place and I started crying

[armotar]

loose doodles of doctor Marat and citizen Saint Just

[minvio]

Coming back to my dead Tumblr to post smth for Robespierre’s bday 🎉🧡

(I feel so bad for neglecting my historical stuff, but dw most of them are for my college works in the future. So sorry for not posting historical content for a while😢)

But anyways HAPPY BDAY BIG R

[azzrael99]

Joyeux anniversaire Max !!! 🎉

[tommypw]

🎂

[0cordei0]

Today I'm celebrating my birthday and, since last year I've been obsessed with Robespierre and the French Revolution, soo my friends gave me this as a gift 😊

[lovelydaydays]

Wholesome family, hope nothing bad happens to them😊

[0cordei0]

Hey, everyone! In Latin class we were given the homework of creating an ig profile for a historical figure related to Rome, so I chose Mark Antony. My teacher rlly liked it, so I share it with yall.

[fuckyeahhistorycrushes]

A couple of weeks ago, someone submitted French revolutionary Maximilien Robespierre as their history crush.

While I was pleased to see Robespierre spotlighted, I was not pleased to see how he was depicted. Contrary to popular (and frankly erroneous opinion), Robespierre was not a lunatic, a tyrant, or a mass murderer. He did not “go insane” or kill thousands of people. In fact, he saved thousands and lost his life because of it.

Pretty crush worthy right?

Well, it gets better.

Throughout some of the bloodiest points of the revolution, Robespierre made it his mission to stand up against the very excesses he is now accused of promoting. He protected the lives of thousands of his political enemies, personally intervened in the condemnation of King Louis XVI’s sister (Madame Elisabeth), and promptly scolded/recalled those deputies responsible for military atrocities on the war front.

Robespierre did believe in terror - but his terror was a necessary one, a terror which relied on clemency and reason to achieve its means. It was not “the Terror” we are taught or the the Terror that we know. That terror was the one carried out by Robespierre’s political enemies, enemies who then utilized propaganda to attribute their excesses to Robespierre posthumously.

As the esteemed historian William Doyle writes:

Robespierre himself, he was never a dictator, and there is no reliable evidence to suggest that it was his aim…men called him a dictator because they feared moral inflexibility in one who had power. After they had destroyed him, they used the charge to justify what they had done. It also enabled them to blame him for acts they themselves had helped to commit, but which became increasingly a subject for shame, recrimination, and revenge during the months of retreat from terror and ruthless government which now began.

Need more proof? Put down that AP Euro textbook and look into some accredited works on the subject from JM Thompson, Albert Mathiez, George Rude, or RR Palmer.

Vive Robespierre!  

[itssemisstuff]

Vive Robespierre!

[amateurvoltaire]

If you’re new to this corner of the internet, and what you’ve mainly seen is the sensationalist side of French Revolution history, you probably picture Paris as a continuous procession of carts rolling toward the guillotine. And, by the same logic, you’re probably imagining the Revolutionary Tribunal as a kind of legalised abattoir: a place where everyone arrived as a suspect and left with their head in a basket.

Unfortunately, despite what some books, films, and even documentaries would have you think, the Tribunal was, for quite a long time, a fairly dull bureaucratic institution where you had a respectable chance of being told to go home.

And today, because I like numbers, I’m not going to spend much time getting lyrical about the intricacies of the Tribunal or its most important cases. I’m just going to show you the statistics of the cases it handled.

The Start in March

The Tribunal was created on 10 March 1793 while the Republic was pretty much a mess. France was fighting most of Europe and losing at its borders, and people at home were getting restless.

The idea was pushed by Georges Danton (1), who famously argued that the state needed to be terrible so the Parisian mobs would not have to be. In other words, he wanted a formal court to deal with traitors before the public decided to deal with them itself, with pitchforks, as it had during the September Massacres (2).

In its first year, the Tribunal was very... judicial.

In fact, in 1793, most people brought before the Tribunal were acquitted. The Tribunal handled its highest volume of cases in July 1793, with a total of 66. That same month also saw the highest number of acquittals: 47. Death sentences reached their high point in September 1793 at 17. Seventeen for the whole month. Not exactly an abattoir, is it?

The Great Centralisation

By the spring of 1794, the revolutionary government decided to shut down most of the special provincial courts. Revolutionary justice would now be dispensed, strictly, in Paris. Decrees passed in April and May ordered that suspects from across the Republic be sent directly to the capital.

This created a serious bottleneck.

But to secure convictions in high-profile political show trials, the government had already started stripping away legal protections in a fairly methodical way. During the trial of the Girondins (3) in October 1793, the Convention decreed that juries could simply stop deliberating after three days if their consciences had been sufficiently enlightened. When Danton used his oratorical skill to dominate his own trial (4), the Convention passed another decree allowing the court to silence and remove defendants who resisted or insulted the justice of the nation.

In other words, the protections given to suspects were already being worn away before what is so often presented as “the law of the Great Terror,” and as the final proof that Robespierre wanted to become a dictator and purge his enemies: the Law of 22 Prairial.

The Law of Prairial

First, let me state my bias plainly: I am not especially fond of the Law of Prairial. I think parts of it should have been thought through a good deal better (for example, the whole acquit-or-die arrangement... the military-court atmosphere... I understand why those things are there, but on moral grounds, I am not a fan). That said, I also do not really see it as some uniquely bloodthirsty innovation. If anything, it looks more like a continuation of what had already been happening for several months.

The law redefined several basic parts of the judicial process. It officially removed the old category of “suspects,” replacing it with a new one: “enemies of the people.” However, this new definition remained extremely broad, covering anyone accused of trying to destroy public liberty, deceive the people, protect traitors, spread defeatism, or obstruct food supplies.

To speed trials up, the law removed the right to defence counsel and allowed juries to convict on the basis of moral, verbal, or written proof, using their own common sense, sometimes without even hearing witnesses. Judges and juries were also limited to just two possible outcomes: full acquittal or death, with no possibility of appeal.

Now, if you are looking at your screen or phone and thinking, well, whoever wrote this must have been insane, bloodthirsty, or angling for dictatorship, allow me a moment.

I will not go into too much detail here, because I think the law deserves an article of its own, but in brief, Couthon (5) (because it was Couthon who wrote it) and Robespierre did not simply wake up one morning and say: “muahhahahahah, we shall now dismantle a fair justice system so we can kill whoever we want”.

The law was not written in a vacuum. It was not some legal novelty appearing from nowhere. In fact, for the deputies of the Convention, the actual substance of the Law of Prairial was not necessarily a shocking innovation, because it directly repeated provisions from the decree of 23 Ventôse. The Ventôse decrees (6) had already begun the process of centralising revolutionary justice by suppressing existing tribunals and setting up six central commissions to judge the enemies of the Revolution under the tight supervision of the government committees.

The Law of Prairial effectively completed that process, bringing an end to the administrative confusion of earlier laws and to the incoherence of having several overlapping courts.

In fact, the only “innovation” that scandalised members of the Convention was the provision allowing deputies to be sent before the Revolutionary Tribunal without prior parliamentary approval. That was the real panic. (7)

Given that Paris was now responsible for all the cases coming before the Revolutionary Tribunal, both the workload and the number of death sentences went up. In six weeks, the court handed down 1,376 death sentences. Prosecutors used prison informers to draft indictments grouping together multiple suspects who were often entirely unrelated. During the month of Messidor, 796 death sentences were pronounced.

That is a sharp increase. That is a great many deaths. That is something that needs to be put in context.

France had, at the time, 28 million people and was at war.

The Numbers in Context

After Robespierre’s death and the Thermidorian Reaction, the Revolutionary Tribunal survived for less than a year, until May 1795. In that span, between 1793 and 1795, the Paris Revolutionary Tribunal pronounced exactly 2,639 death sentences, while acquitting almost as many people: 2,357 individuals.

Again, more than 2,500 people is not a trivial number. But in a country of 28 million, in a national state of emergency, it is not exactly abattoir-level either.

In fact, when you look at the broader picture of the Terror across France as a whole, the total number of official death sentences handed down by all revolutionary courts and commissions was 16,594. Which means the Paris Tribunal accounted for only 16% of the official executions, while the vast majority, 84%, or 13,955 death sentences, took place in the provinces, especially in regions in the midst of civil war, like the Vendée (8).

If you widen the statistics to include incidental victims, such as those who died of disease in overcrowded prisons (usually estimated at between 10,000 and 12,000), and those summarily executed without any formal trial at all (another 10,000 to 12,000), the overall death toll of the Terror rises to somewhere between 35,000 and 40,000 people.

To put the Tribunal’s numbers in perspective, the 2,639 death sentences handed down in Paris over the course of the Terror is actually fewer than the 2,700 individuals condemned by French military courts during the First World War. Likewise, the total 16,594 official executions across all of France during the entire Reign of Terror is roughly equivalent to the 15,000 to 17,000 Communards executed in Paris in a single week in May 1871 (9)

Notes

(1) Georges Danton (1759–1794) was a major French revolutionary politician and orator, especially prominent in 1792–93. He was later tried by the Revolutionary Tribunal and executed in April 1794.

(2) The September Massacres were the killings of prisoners in Paris between 2 and 6 September 1792. They were carried out by crowds who feared invasion, counter-revolution, and plots inside the prisons.

(3) The Girondins were a loose group of republican deputies associated with provincial interests, economic liberalism, and distrust of Parisian radicalism. Their trial in October 1793 ended with the execution of leading members after a strongly political prosecution.

(4) Danton’s trial took place in late March and early April 1794 and ended with his execution on 5 April. It happened in the context of the Indulgents, who were the more moderate revolutionary faction associated with a wish to ease the measures of the revolutionary government.

(5) Georges Couthon (1755–1794) was a deputy, member of the Committee of Public Safety, and close ally of Robespierre.

(6) The Ventôse decrees were laws passed in February and March 1794, mainly associated with Saint-Just, providing for the confiscation of property from those classed as enemies of the Revolution and its redistribution to needy patriots.

(7) Tellingly, the very first piece of the law to be repealed immediately after Robespierre’s execution was the article allowing deputies to be arrested without a prior Assembly hearing. Self-preservation, it turns out, is a powerful legislative motivator.

(8) The Vendée War was a civil war in western France from 1793, fought between the revolutionary government and a largely Catholic and royalist insurgency. It was the bloodiest conflict of the Revolution. I talk a lot about it on this blog, so check out the "vendee war" tag if interested.

(9) In May 1871, Paris was in the final phase of the Paris Commune, an insurrection against the government based at Versailles. The month ended with the Bloody Week, when government troops retook the city and killed large numbers of Communards.

Sources Greer, Donald. The Incidence of the Terror during the French Revolution: A Statistical Interpretation. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1935

Walter, Gérard, editor. Actes du tribunal révolutionnaire. Mercure de France.

[armotar]

yet another illustration of our friend... miss him more than ever

[czerwonykasztelanic]

Le 9 Thermidor, l'an II de la République une & indivisible / Age of Excuse VI, Mgła

[tomatohabanero]

[bunniesandbeheadings]

Robespierre did not have very neat drafts

[0cordei0]

Hey people from frev, I need your helpp

In history class I was saying I reallyy like Robespierre, but my teacher literally said that Robespierre is a bastard and a tyrant. This confused me because he had read McPhee's biography of Robespierre —he even said he would gift it to me so I can see, but I told him I had already read it lol. That confused both of us.

Then he told me that Robespierre killed Danton, who was a "good guy", and his friend —who I suppose he meant Desmoulins. I know Danton wasn't innocent, and if he was executed, I suppose he must have been a danger to the Republic. He insists that it's no justification for killing him. He also told me that he would gift a biography of Danton because it's important to see more perspectives.

I insisted many times that he cannot blame Robespierre for everything bad that happened, he wasn't in charge of everything and wasn't a dictator, but oh well. I know Robespierre isn't some saint who did nothing wrong, but calling him a bastard and a tyrant is too much. I told him I'd debate him, so I need more arguments than what I gave before.

It's not that I don't know barely anything, but I don't have everything clear, and I don't have sources to back up my words. I know there are some very well-informed people here on frev, so if it's not too much trouble, could you help me with the info? Or if someone made a post about it, could you please share the link?

[leathernlace00]

not sure where I was going with this

[lepeletier]

How was your life after the return of the Bourbons?

Ah… Those were times filled with both joyful and deeply violent, tragic memories — some of which still ache in my heart.

I played the hypochondriac (or at least exaggerated the effects of my very real illness) to make it seem like I had mellowed (a tactic I occasionally use against my enemies to buy time and devise better strategies), spending a bit of time with my daughter when the Bourbons returned.

Sensing an opportunity, I resumed action — as mayor and president of the canton of Bacqueville, I began stirring up incidents against the monarchy. I made several trips back to Paris to better organize the Republican opposition.

Unfortunately, my deputy, Panié held a celebration in honor of the monarchy, flaunting the white flag, candles, and blessed bread. I made it clear that next time, he should fund that little show out of his own pocket. Unsurprisingly, the courts ruled against me, just as I expected.

I gave speeches refusing to recognize Louis XVIII’s laws, arguing that the people had never been consulted. And just to irritate the authorities who accepted Louis XVIII, I walked around openly wearing a red sash around my waist — and no white cockade. To further express my rejection of the monarchy, I resigned from office — and, I admit, partly to annoy and humiliate my enemies who had been scheming to have me dismissed. They had spent a great deal of time writing reports against me — all for nothing once I resigned of my own accord.

During the Hundred Days, I faced a true political dilemma — one that cost me, for the first time, a rupture with my lifelong friend and comrade, Antonelle. It was painful, but I would do it again. He believed — wrongly — that we should support Louis XVIII under strict political conditions, probably driven by his hatred for Bonaparte. I understand that hatred — I share it. That man did terrible harm to us and to our friends, he even put to death some of them. But aligning with the Bourbons was a grave mistake. They would erase everything we had fought for without feeling bound to give anything in return. Bonaparte, during that brief moment, would have been forced to listen.

So I sided with my old enemy, Napoleon, knowing that, like many of my fellow citizens, I had to bury the grievances I held against him — in order to resist both foreign domination and the monarchy. I returned to Paris and was elected to the Chamber of Representatives. Alongside my adopted son Émile Babeuf and my loyal companion Toulotte, we chose to work with Lazare Carnot, whose reputation we knew well.

I can tell you — it truly warmed my heart to see Carnot again after all those years. Despite some political disagreements we had in public, I always admired the man in private — and he felt the same way about me.

Carnot appointed me Commissioner for the department of Seine-Inférieure.

But once again, the monarchy returned — briefly — along with foreign occupation. I was arrested, detained, and, shortly after being released, nearly killed by furious royalist fanatics. It was a time when a patriot could be murdered just for crossing the wrong crowd. Even Antonelle — despite siding with Louis XVIII — narrowly escaped death.

And so, for the umpteenth time, I was exiled. It was brutal and violent. I'd endured this before, but this time, none of my contacts could help. Carnot had helped me during the Directory. Saint-Jean d’Angely helped me too during my clashes with Bonaparte. But now, I had no one. Many of us were banished — including Carnot, Prieur de la Marne, and others.

I felt that I had failed my promise to Gracchus Babeuf — to protect his sons. Caius had been killed in 1814 by foreign armies , and Camille had taken his own life in 1815. I had to leave behind my adopted son Émile, who narrowly escaped deportation, and my dear friend Marie-Anne Babeuf, all alone. Learning that several of our comrades had been murdered by royalists — it was crushing.

In exile, I went first to Belgium like many of my fellow outlaws, but peace eluded me even there. So I moved to Germany. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve gone to Warsaw to see Carnot again, for old times’ sake — but the journey would’ve been too complicated.

Either way, my mind was already set on preparing for my return. As I said, I’ve escaped worse.

I focused on planning how I would — once back in France — continue to harass the Bourbons and push them out. And indeed, I was amnestied in 1819. Upon my return, I reconnected with my old friend Buonarroti, and we began weaving ties with the Charbonnerie (the Carbonari). We knew we couldn’t bring down those kings immediately — the ones who brought us so much misery. It would take time.

I deeply regret that Carnot died in exile — I would have gladly included him in our plans. One other thing we regret: Lafayette joined the Charbonnerie. What an unbearable man! Just as insufferable as he was in 1789, when I had the displeasure of dealing with him.

Buonarroti made the painful but correct decision to place limited trust in Émile — despite the deep affection we felt for him. He would never have betrayed us, but politically, he had become less reliable. Maybe that was for the best, given all the trauma he had endured.

So, we returned to our old ways — working in secrecy, as in the good old days — while some among us started writing their memoirs like Buonarroti .

Of course, the path was hard. But that idiot Charles X made the revolution easier by one foolish decision after another. The day I heard crowds shouting, “Long live the Charter! Down with the ministers!”, I knew we had won. Unfortunately, once again, it came at the cost of many lives among the people who rose up—just as they had on July 14, 1789, and August 10, 1792.

As usual, Charles X proved his idiocy by believing he could abdicate in favor of the Duke of Bordeaux. Truly, just when you think it’s impossible for him to surprise us with new depths of stupidity, he still manages to outdo himself.

Sadly, it still wasn’t the Republic. So, I quickly returned to my good old republican habits — this time, against the Orléans regime. As I said: routine for us revolutionaries. But that’s part of our charm, isn’t it?