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if i look back, i am lost

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EXPECTATIONS

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@cato4000
Welcome to my history side-blog! mostly frev and ancient rome stuff.
"Hysterical rioters"
"Misshapen idolaters"
I'm sorry it is just stubbornness at this point and the fact that this book makes me love my revolutionary babes all the more (Ok, not Danton, but I'm probably even falling in love with Marat at this point purely because of how much this book calls him ugly). Like, literally this is the reason why I'm ok with being kinda enamored with Max et al, to balance out the hundreds of years of extremely slanted depictions in the opposite direction.
Don't read this book. There's more accurate fanfic on Ao3.
Lafayette by Harlow Giles Unger
Dear Saint-Just, wherever you are:
It’s a little creepy how the pretty privilege makes you a consumer product and not a serious political figure who deserves to be read as such.
Unsurprisingly, he himself criticized the commercial society (aka: early capitalism) for suppressing the individual's self-worth. He meant that the only thing that matters becomes consumption, without true freedom of expression.
Imagine criticizing a system that denatures humanity, dying, and becoming what you feared most.
For me, it's appalling that anyone can be reduced to that; humans are not products to be consumed. And much less dolls.
The Brothers of Romulus, Cynthia J. Bannon
Claire Lacombe timeline
Here is my earlier Pauline Léon timeline for those interested.
A timeline over the 61 year long life of Claire Lacombe, based primarily on the chapter dedicated to her (page 317-415) in Trois femmes de la Révolution: Olympe de Gouges, Théroigne de Méricourt, Rose Lacombe (1900) by Léopold Lacour.
4 March 1765 — birth of Claire Lacombe in Pamiers. Here is her baptism record:
The fourth of March 1765 is born Claire Lacombe, legitimate daughter of Bertrand Lacombe and Jeanne-Marie Gauché, married to one another, baptised the same day by we the undersigned, prayed by monsieur the priest. Godmother: Demoiselle de Lagresel de Pontaut. In faith of the undersigned Galmier priest.
The claim that Lacombe’s firstname was Rose is, according to Lacour, not supported by any primary sources. In those, she is never known under any other name than ”Claire Lacombe.”
September 1790 — Voyage en France de Halem écrites à Lyon reports the following about an actress that according to Lacour is most likely Lacombe: ”Mlle Lacombe, an actress from Marseille, had wanted to make her debut in Lyon in Sémiramis, but the director had not agreed to. The audience loudly demanded Mlle Lacombe, and the uproar only ceased when the director appeared and satisfied the audience by agreeing to the actress's debut.”
January 1792 — Lacombe moves into Hôtel de Bretagne on Rue Croix des petits Champs in Paris (in Rapport fait par la citoyenne Lacombe à la Société des Républicaines révolutionnaires, de ce qui s'est passé le 16 septembre à la Société des Jacobins, page 8, released in September or October 1793, she specifies that she’s lived there for the past 22 months.
25 July 1792 — Lacombe makes her debut on the political scene when she shows up at the parisian jacobin club and delivers the following speech intended to later be read to the Legislative Assembly:
French, artist and without a place, that is who I am. However, legislators, what should be the object of my despair fills my soul with the purest joy. Unable to come to the aid of my country, which you have declared in danger, by pecuniary sacrifices, I come to pay homage to it in person. Born with the courage of a Roman and the hatred of tyrants, I would be happy to contribute to their destruction. Perish to the last despot! Intrigans, vile slaves of Nero and Caligula, may I annihilate you all! and you mothers of families whom I would blame for leaving your children to follow my example, while I do my duty by fighting the enemies of the homeland, fulfill yours by inculcating in your children the feelings that every Frenchman must have at birth, the love of liberty and the horror of despots. Never lose sight of the fact that without the virtues of Veturia, Rome would have been deprived of the great Coriolanus. Legislators, you have declared the homeland in danger, but that is not enough: dismiss from their powers those who alone have given rise to this danger and have sworn the destruction of France. Can you leave at the head of our armies this perfidious Catiline, excusable only in the eyes of those whose infamous projects he wanted to serve? What are you waiting for to launch the decree of indictment against him? Will you wait for the enemies, to whom he daily delivers our towns, to arrive in the senate to destroy it with ax and fire? You have only to keep a culpable silence for a few more days, and soon you will see them in your enclosure. There is still time, legislators, raise yourselves to the height which belongs to you; appoint leaders in whom we can give our confidence; say one word, one word and the enemies will disappear.
Lacombe is positively received. Delaunay d’Angers, the president during the session, answers her: ”Women have always had a great deal of influence over the minds of the French; may you have as much influence over that of our representatives! The Society invites you to assist in its session.” The very same day Lacombe, wearing a garland of roses according to the journal Le Courrier des 83 départemens, reads the same speech to the Legislative Assembly, which orders it to be printed. Viénot de Vaublanc, the current president of the Assembly, answers Lacombe with the following words: ”Madame, more made to soften tyrants than to fight them, you offer to bear arms for liberty. The National Assembly applauds your patriotism, and grants you the honors of its session.”
Jacobin Translations Archive.
PRESENTATION
—On the intentions of the blog.
In dark times, willful ignorance is the greatest negligence of all. We are not interested in trademarking these translations beyond philanthropic causes. We embarked on this project due to a recurring observation within the history community: the lack of translations and accessibility to them. Because of this, information circulating outside the niche depends almost entirely on what publishing corporations deem important, often resulting in texts or media that perpetuate propaganda or fetishism with the sole intention of profiting.
Failing to seek the truth constructs an irrational, unjust, and uninformed ideological identity, and therefore, one that is not free.
Revolution always represents a profound and significant rupture between two eras in the culture of any nation. It is always the people in search of their emancipation, the foundation of their material conditions that they need, to realize the revolution, a free and rational spirit and mind are needed.
Reason comes from true freedom, and true freedom comes from knowledge. Knowledge is a privilege for the majority of the people. Therefore, our interest lies in democratizing information as much as possible and making it available in various languages, which, in almost all cases, is the greatest barrier to accessibility.
Our choice of the French Revolution as our primary focus stems essentially from the fact that the majority of our community is on this social network. Therefore, it is more practical to share information on this site than on any other.
Another of our key objectives is to make all the primary sources needed for in-depth research on the topic accessible. These include official documents, historical research articles, and manuscripts from the revolutionary participants themselves.
In this way, we ensure that those interested can stay informed about the history of the revolution and develop the content or projects they wish.
While we still expect this archive to expand to include more topics related to the Revolution in general and global social resistance, for now, we have decided to remain focused on the French Revolution.
—On the translation request.
To request a translation, please contact us through our inbox (link provided).
In your request message, include the link to your text and the target language. The link must have a secure domain belonging to a reliable website.
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There is no limit to the number of translations you can request, so feel free to request as many as you need, as long as you consider the guidelines already mentioned.
—Formats we can translate
Due to the historical context, only the following types of texts will be accepted, temporarily:
1. Legal or Directive: Used in the legal field. Therefore, texts such as proclamations, decrees, articles, reports, and letters are acceptable.
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—How to browse in the blog.
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Then find the tag you want to open, as each post will be published with a main tag depending on the faction or administrative body it belongs to.
Other than that, thank you all for everything and for supporting this project.
—Liberté, égalité, fraternité!
I love the fact that you also draw unpopular people from the frev 🥹🥹🥹🥹 Please draw Babeuf...
Those short ass bangs aint saving you king💔
Saw thid and folded so fast i love drawing him now
I'm back
robespierriste historians (me) when the supreme being comes down the republican chimney on le jour du chien eve and brings revolutionary virtue and liberty cakes for all the exemplary sans-culottes
New book incoming!
“MORT AUX ROIS - VIVE ROBESPIERRE” (“DEATH TO KINGS - LONG LIVE ROBESPIERRE”)
-Marseille, France
A letter from Marat corresponding with a woman who was a victim of domestic violence
I found, at this Facebook link: https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=pfbid0RLEHHiWmgP7xnDBDRP4Scq7CbRNjyX7mwUHqLPK8quFFRgGuK5fcdmKR1KunibgLl&id=100037757173955 , a letter by Jean-Paul Marat addressed to a woman who was a victim of domestic violence. He published it in this newspaper (although he concealed the young woman’s name for her safety). Here is the English-translated version.
No. 555 of the newspaper L’Ami du Peuple.
Monday, 20 September 1791 Letter from the Friend of the People to Miss F****
*“I am deeply distressed, Mademoiselle, to hear of the troubles you are suffering on my account, from a brutal man who has over you neither the rights of marriage nor the rights of love; who cruelly abuses your gratitude for the few lessons he gave you in an art through which you hoped to earn an honourable and independent living; who has carried his brutality so far as to leave you marked by his violence; who strives to bind you to his fate so as to make of you a faithful servant; and who now dares to keep you confined, in order to prevent you from receiving the counsel of friendship.
Fear no longer to assert your rights.
If the suspicious or treacherous persons he has placed around you have not already destroyed your resolve to free yourself from so revolting a yoke, open a window, call for help, and bring before the magistrate the unworthy man who so abuses your natural timidity and has made of you a slave at a time when it is acknowledged that even despots ought no longer to have any.
But while waiting for the law to avenge you, seek refuge in the home of your aunts, and then return to your province, to your family. The humblest existence in the parental home is a hundred times preferable to the deceptive comfort you would be forced to purchase at so high a price.
Perhaps your oppressor will cry out that it is monstrous to take the side of a stranger against a man who once gave me shelter; perhaps honest people, misled by his clamours, will accuse me of violating hospitality. I leave the matter to their judgment. But I ask them first whether any consideration should prevent a sensitive man from defending the oppressed weak? What then should the Friend of the People do in such circumstances—he who has devoted his life to fighting tyranny in whatever form it appears?
Let them then tell me what I could possibly owe to a man who took me into his home at a time when I came and went freely and when there was no danger for him in having me at his table; at a time when the patriots he imitated called me the guardian angel of France; at a time when he had no other motive for receiving me than that ridiculous vanity that drives so many fools to seek the company of men who make noise in the world, always regarded as curious beasts.
What could I owe to a man who, renouncing his country the moment there was danger in defending it, and not daring to acknowledge his fears, forced me by sheer disgust to seek another lodging; a man who, taking me as judge of his quarrels, reproached me for not approving his fits of temper, and who, to excuse himself, then said, ‘You know well that I am a brute’; a man who, furious to see his victim about to escape him, attributed to my advice what was but the result of his own excessive ill-treatment, gave way to his rage, and did everything in his power to disturb my new refuge—to frighten the honest citizen in whose house he himself had introduced me, to expose that household to being ransacked by a brutal soldiery, and to deliver me to the fury of the enemies of the nation who have sworn my death.
You shall judge for yourself of his treachery and his atrocity.
A few days ago, in order to alarm my host, he sent him a prude—against whom he had formerly spoken a thousand horrors—who has borne me a cruel grudge ever since I ceased to be the milk cow enriched at my expense by a person (in whom I had blind confidence and to whom I had entrusted the management of my affairs), something he was the first to reveal to me. He threatened to betray me unless I was refused shelter that very evening. The next morning he carried out his threats.
A messenger brought the master of the house a note written under a false name and couched in these terms: ‘Noël warns Mr. So-and-so that he has in his house a person who exposes him to great danger.’ This note was given to me with the request not to endanger my benefactor—something my sense of propriety would not have allowed, no matter what risk changing lodgings might bring.
Not trusting sufficiently to his spies, he used yet another device to force me to leave. At half-past noon he sent, through a second messenger, an unsealed letter addressed to “Mr. So-and-so,” to be delivered to whom?—to Mr. Marat. This letter, written in a disguised hand, contained these words: ‘M. Marat, lose not an instant in securing your safety.’ The more infamous because he used, to destroy me, the very veil of humanity.
The lady of the house, inattentive, received the note without reading the address; it was thus giving the messenger indirect confirmation that I was still there. She handed the note to me. Seeing my name written in full, the consequences of this dark artifice flashed at once into my mind, and I cried out involuntarily: ‘It is done. I am lost.’ And I would indeed have been lost had the messenger been able to read or had he shown the note to some soldier or enemy of the Revolution—so many of whom fill our streets—to ask for the address.
Soon the house would have been surrounded and I would have been cut to pieces by ferocious hirelings, who would afterward have claimed the credit before their general, well known for not being my friend.
My first thought was that this cowardly hypocrite had sold me and that an emissary of the police had been charged with delivering this note, whose style bore the marks of the artifice commonly used to discover the victims of tyranny. My papers were spread out on my table—I hurried to put them out of sight. Motier’s henchmen might be only a few steps away; how was I to escape them?
The lady of the house, who was alone with me, wanted to hide me in a cupboard. I refused such a petty measure. I dressed in haste and went to the home of a neighbour reputed to be a good patriot. He welcomed me warmly, without showing the least fear; he too had suffered persecution and his spirit was hardened.
After a moment of melancholy reflection on the dangers that my zeal in defending oppressed innocence and a tyrannized people had always drawn upon my head, I thought only of ways to elude them. I understood well that the darkness of night could favour my escape. But I feared to await it, almost certain that if I gave the emissary time to report on his mission, the house would soon be surrounded with spies and alguazils. To forestall them by leaving immediately seemed the wisest course, and I took that decision at once, however rash it might appear.
Another consideration strengthened me. Certain that I would be cut down by the soldiery, unwilling to fall alive into their hands, resolved to perish by my own, and fearful of exposing my host to such a scene, I preferred a hundred times to die under the eyes of the people for whom I had made myself a target.
Not wishing to appear suspicious and better to deceive any spies lying in wait, I wished to offer my arm to a lady; while she was putting on a gown, I heard much noise in the street. I armed my pistols, awaiting the fatal moment. It was a false alarm.
The lady arrived and we left after asking someone to make sure that no suspicious person was in the porter’s lodge or lurking outside the house. And so I found myself walking boldly through the streets in broad daylight, with as much assurance as the traitors to the nation themselves.
We reached the fields near the new boulevard; we sat on the grass and remained there five hours until dusk. That evening, Motier was walking near us at the head of his spies.
Once back in Paris, I went alone, at a distance, to ask a friend for a bed, and the next day I prepared to depart for London, where I hope to be by the time you read this letter.
Such, Mademoiselle, is the manner in which I escaped the dangers your persecutor had drawn down on my head in order to satisfy his dark suspicions. However atrocious his conduct, I shall refrain from naming him, out of regard for you and for myself. But I declare to him that if he places the slightest obstacle in the way of your departure, I will proclaim his name aloud, I will cover him with shame, and I will deliver him to public retribution.
Whatever my enemies may think of the motive that inspires me, let them know that I lay down my pen in the act of defending the oppressed. Yet I am pained to offer these melancholy services to a person I hold in high esteem, and to whom I owe so much for the good offices she rendered me during my captivity.”*
MARAT, The Friend of the People
N°555 du journal de L' Ami du Peuple.
Du lundi 20 septembre 1791.
Lettre de l'Ami du Peuple à Mlle F****
« Je suis penetré de douleur, madamoiselle, à l'ouïe des désagréments que vous éprouvez à mon sujet, de la part d'un homme féroce qui n'a sur vous ni les droits de l'hymen, ni les droits de l'amour, qui abuse cruellement de votre reconnaissance pour quelques soins qu'il a pris de vous exercer dans un art où vous cherchiez un moyen de vivre dans une heureuse indépendance; qui a poussé la brutalité jusqu'à vous faire porter des marques de sa violence, qui s'efforce de vous attacher à son sort pour faire de vous une honnête servante, et qui ne craint pas de vous retenir aujourd'hui en charte privée, pour vous empêcher de recevoir les conseils de l'amitié. Ne craignez plus de faire valoir vos droits. Si les personnes suspectes ou perfides, dont il vous a environnée, ne vous ont pas déjà fait perdre la résolution de vous affranchir d'un joug aussi révoltant, ouvrez une croisée, appelez du secours, et traduisez devant le magistrat l'homme indigne qui abuse de la sorte de votre timidité naturelle et qui a fait de vous une esclave, dans un temps où il est reconnu que les despotes eux-mêmes n'en doivent plus avoir. Mais en attendant que la loi vous venge, cherchez un asile chez vos tantes, et puis retrouvez dans votre province, au milieu de vos parents. L' existence la plus humble dans la maison paternelle, est préférable cent fois à l'aisance trompeuse, que vous seriez réduite à acheter si cher.
Peut être votre oppresseur criaillera-t-il qu'il est affreux de prendre de la sorte les intérêts d'une étrangère, contre un homme qui a nous donné asile, peut-être aussi les personnes honnêtes mal instruites par ses clameurs, m'accuseront-elles d'avoir violé l'hospitalité. Je les en fais juges. Or, je leur demande avant tout s'il est quelque consideration qui doive empêcher un homme sensible de défendre la faiblesse opprimée ? Que devait donc faire dans une pareille circonstance l' Ami du Peuple, qui a consacré sa vie à combattre la tyrannie sous quelque forme qu'elle se montre ?
Qu'ils me disent ensuite ce que je puis devoir à un homme qui m'a pris en pension chez lui dans un temps que je sortais librement et qu'il n'y avait aucun risque à courir pour lui à m'avoir à sa table, dans un temps que les patriotes qu'il singeait, m'appelait l'ange titulaire de la France, dans un temps qu'il n'avait d'autre motif de me recevoir que cette ridicule vanité qui porte tant de sots à se rapprocher des hommes qui font du bruit, toujours regardés comme des bêtes curieuses; ce que je puis devoir à un homme qui, reniant la patrie à l'instant où il y eut du danger à la défendre, et n'osant pas avouer ses craintes, prit de m'obliger à partir à force de dégoûts, à chercher une autre demeure ; à un homme qui me prenant pour juge de ses démêles, me faisait un crime de ne pas approuver ses emportements, et qui, pour s'excuser, me disait ensuite, vous savez bien que je suis un cheval; à un homme qui, furieux de voir sa victime prête à lui échapper, attribua à mes conseils ce qui n'était que l'effet de ses mauvais traitements poussés à l'excès, se livra à sa rage et mit tout en œuvre pour troubler mon nouvel asile, pour effrayer l'honnête citoyen, chez lequel il m'avait conduit lui-même, pour exposer sa maison à être saccagée par une brutale soldatesque et me livrer à la fureur des ennemis de la patrie, qui ont juré ma mort.
Vous allez juger de sa perfidie, de son atrocité.
Il y a quelques jours que, pour alarmer mon hôte, il lui dépêcha une béguele, contre laquelle il m'avait débité mille horreurs, laquelle m'en veut cruellement depuis que je ne suis plus la vache à lait, dont une personne (en qui j'avais une confiance aveugle et à qui j'avais abandonné la conduite de mes affaires) l'engrassait à mes dépens, ce qu'il a été le premier à m'apprendre. Il menaçait de me livrer, si le soir même, l'on ne me refusait pas le couvert. Dès landemain matin, il executa ses menaces. Un commissionaire apportait un maître du logis un billet écrit sous un faux nom et conçu en ces termes : "Noël prévient Monsieur un tel, qu'il a chez lui une personne qui lui fait courir de grands dangers". Ce billet m'est remis avec prière de ne pas exposer mon bienfaiteur, ce que ma délicatesse ne m'aurait pas permis de faire, quelque danger qu'il y eût pour moi à changer d'asile. Ne s'en fiant point à ses espions, voici le moyen qu'il employa pour me faire déloger. A' midì et demi, il envoya par un second commissionnaire, un billet décacheté, à l'adresse de M. Un tel, pour être remis, à qui ? à M. Marat. Ce billet, écrit d'une plume contrefaite, portait ces mots "M. Marat, ne perdez pas un instant pour vous mettre en sûreté." moyen d'autan plus infâme qu'il employait à me perdre, le voile même de l'humanité.
La dame du logis eut l'inattention de recevoir ce billet sans lire l'inscription; c'était donner au porteur l'assurance indirecte que j'y étais encore. Elle me présente ce billet. En voyant mon nom en toutes les lettres, les conséquences de ce noir artifice se presenterent à la fois à mon esprit, et je m'écriai involontairement : C' en est donc fait, je suis perdu. Je l'aurais été infailliblement, si le commissionnaire avait su lire ou s'il l'eût présenté à quelque soldat ou à quelque ennemi de la Révolution, dont nos rues sont pleines, pour demander l'adresse. Bientôt la maison aurait été investite, et j'aurais été haché par de feroces satellites, qui s'en seraient fait un mérite après de leur général, bien connu pour n'être pas de mes amis.
La première pensée qui me vint fut que ce lâche hypocrite m'avait vendu et qu'un émissaire de la police avait été chargé de ce billet, dont la tournure portait l'empreinte de l'artifice le plus en usage pour découvrir les victimes de la tyrannie. Mes papiers étaient étalés sur ma table, je m'empressai de les mettre hors de vue. Les satellites de Motier pouvaient n'être qu'à deux pas, comment leur échapper ? La dame du logis, qui s'y trouvait seule avec moi, voulait me cacher dans l'armoire ;je rejetai ce petit moyen; je fis toilette en deligence, et je passai chez un voisin réputé bon patriote; il me reçu avec plaisir et sans témoigner la moindre crainte, lui-même il avait eprouvé des persécutions et il avait l'âme aguerrie.
Après m'être livré un moment à de tristes réflexions sur les dangers que mon zèle à défendre l'innocence opprimée et le peuple tyrannisé avaient toujours attirés sur ma tête, je ne songeai plus qu'aux moyen de m'y dérober. Je sentais bien que l'obscurité de la nuit pouvait favoriser mon evasion. Mais je craignais de l'attendre, presque certain que si je donnais le temps à l'émissaire de rendre compte de sa mission, la maison serait bientôt entourée d'espions et d'alguazils. Les prevenir en délogeant me sembla le plus sage, et je pris à l'instant ce parti, quelque téméraire qu'il parût. J'y étais d'ailleurs déterminé par une autre considération. Sûr d'être haché par la soldatesque, ne voulant pas tomber vivant dans ses mains, résolu à périr dans la mienne, et craignant d'exposer mon hôte à une scène de cette nature, je préferai cent fois périr sous les yeux du peuple, pour lequel je m'étais fait anathème. Pour ne point paraître suspect et mieux tromper les espions qui pouvaient être en embuscade, j'ai voulus donner le bras à une dame; tandis qu'elle était à passer une robe, j'entendis beaucoup de bruit dans la rue, j'armai mes pistolets, dans l'attend du fatal moment. C'était qu'une fausse alerte. La dame arrive et nous partons après avoir prié quelqu'un de s'assurer qu'il n'y avait personne de suspect dans la loge du portier ou quelque mouchard aguets devant la maison. Me voilà donc courant les rues en plein jour avec autant d'assurance que peuvent en avoir les traîtres à la patrie. Nous gagnâme le champs du boulevard neuf; nous nous assimes sur l'herbe, et nous passâmes cinq heures à atteindre la brune. Ce soir-là, Motier se promenait près de nous à la tête de ses mouchards. Rentré dans Paris, j'allais seul et au loin, demander un lit à un ami, et le lendemain, je me disposait à partir pour Londres, où j'espère être rendu au moment où vous lirez cette lettre.
Voilà, mademoiselle, de quelle manière j'ai échappé aux dangers que votre persécuteur avait attiré sur ma tête, pour assouvir ses noirs soupçons. Quelque atroce que soit sa conduite, je m'abstiendrai de le nommer, par égard pour vous et par égard pour moi. Mais je lui déclare que s'il met le moindre obstacles à votre retraite, je déclinerai son nom tout que s'il met le moindre obstacle à votre retraite, je déclinerai son nom tout haut, je le couvrirait d'opprobre et le dévourai à l'exécution publique.
Quelque idée que mes ennemis puissent prendre du motif qui m'anime, qu'ils sachent que je quitte la plume en défendant les opprimés. Mais je suis peiné d'avoir à rendre ces tristes devoirs à une personne que j'estime infiniment et à laquelle j'ai tant d'obligations pour les bons offices qu'elle m'a rendus durant ma captivité » .
MARAT, L' Ami du Peuple
He's such a kindhearted honest person im crying myself to sleep i love you Mr.Marat
i think i’m finally getting the hang of him
Help im so down bad for Marat and David😭
Holds your hand you are so not alone twin.
And theres more... i cannot get him out of my head...
Marat was only one of the 749 delegates to the Convention. He held no special title or position, and was at first deeply isolated from the vast majority of his fellow delegates. In spite of all that, he and his agenda soon became the central focus of the Convention’s concerns. He did not dominate it in the sense of being able to dictate its policies, but he did dominate its consciousness. A few months later a hostile delegate groused: “Do you remember our first sessions? Hardly a member would even sit next to him. Now he gets the floor endlessly.”
Clifford D. Conner, Jean Paul Marat, Tribune of the French Revolution.
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Malagasy stamp featuring the Committee of Public Safety, put together from separate paintings of the various members, with a misidentified painting of Talleyrand being used for Saint-Just
It happened again
man, I know it's not him, but I do love that haughty slouch & I love picturing him like that maybe early in the Committee days before being ravaged by war & 1794 in general, at which point he becomes that worn, exhausted figure, fixed in my mind by that scene in Thermidor.