au destin !

le paradoxe du CYGNE : joséphine.        /      written  by  pius  .    xv .    belgium  .   

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shit i missed bastille day 

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apparently it's smooch day *:

      truly  ,   she  loves  this  man   ,    NAPOLÉON  BONAPARTE  ,   so  many  things  at  once  :    emperor  of  the  french  people ,   step-father  to  hortense  and  eugène ,   but  above  all ,   her  husband  .      a  fond  smile  makes  its  way  to  her  face   ,      a  playful  peck  placed  on  his  cheek .      ‘  is  it  ,    mon  bichon  ?   ’     JARRINGLY  aware  of  the  wedding  ring  around  her  finger         (   au  destin  !       -       always ,   my  bonaparte .   )     her  hand  goes  to  his  jaw  ,     tracing  LOVINGLY  one  of  the  nicks  constant  made  when  shaving  him  .

     she  does  not  need  to  say  more  ,   leaning  in  for  a  proper  kiss ,    at  last .       her  eyes  remain  closed  ,    forehead  resting  on  his  shoulder  ,   but  she  is  certain  he  can  hear  the  SMILE  in  her voice .      ‘   perhaps  we  should  continue  this  in  our  chambers     -    you  don’t  want  TALLEYRAND  to  catch  us  ,   do  you  ?   ’

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hiistoryerased . 

“Where is my BROTHER?” The question escaped him more quickly than he could have even thought about what he was actually asking for; if he had still been able to reason PROPERLY at least. 

Augustin’s head somehow ended up being pressed face-first into Joséphine’s shoulder when his feet slid apart on the marble floor against his own will, making him stumble, nearly FALL; well, not as if he would have cared much at the moment in the first place.

He already KNEW the answer, or believed to know it since right now there was actually not much he was really convinced of anymore; he has been told before what had happened, what could have happened to him if someone hadn’t decided that dragging him along was simply no fun at all. 

But he didn’t remember, he didn’t WANT to. “JOSIE, I want to talk to my brother.”

      marengo   ;     an  VIII    :     cue   a  combat  medic  dragging  a  wounded  fusilier  from  the  field   ,     to  safety   ,    to  larrey  .       while  the  sound  of  cannon-fire  is  conspicuously  absent       &      a  stench  of  alcohol  instead  of  mud  and  blood  ,       she  still  plays  the  role  of  medic  :    returning  robespierre  le  jeune  to  safety .

     ‘    oh  ,    augustin      !     ’      she  closes  her  eyes    ;     memories  of  the  revolution  returning  .      and  these  are  no  happy  memories     -       when  robespierre  fell   ,    she  was  imprisoned   ,     awaiting  a  fate  on  the  scaffold  .      ‘   you  know  . . .   ’    she  is  at  loss  for  words   ;     falls  still  .  

     fortunately  ,     they  have  almost  reached  destination     ;          joséphine  lights  a  candle  ,    guides  him  to  his  chambers  ,      seating  him  on  the  bed .        ‘   we  will  talk  of  your  brother  tomorrow  morning  .    ’

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ok but listen

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                “What is history, but a fable agreed upon?”

     historical multi-muse                                                          penned by: JK

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lostmemoriies  .      

“   oh , do not worry , madame ! fortuné is quite the precious little dog .   “   frances - eleanor  kneels down a bit to look at the small dog in the other’s arms , smiling widely .  “   if anyone should apologize , it should be me for getting in this little one’s way !   “   chuckles amusedly , stands up straight to look in the other woman’s eyes .

          ‘   why  ,   you  aught  to  tell  my  husband  !    ’     joséphine  chuckles   ;       said  husband  unfortunately  bears  the  marks  fortuné’s  teeth  have  left  in  his  leg  .      fortuné  growls    -    her  grip  tightens   .      not  only  napoleone  has  fallen  victim  to  her  pug’s  teeth    &    she  would  rather  avoid  further  incidents .      despite  all  this   ;     she  would  not  part  with  fortuné  for  all  the  money  in  the  world      -    they  go  back  a  long  time  together  .        ‘  there  still  is  a  scar  on  the  poor  man’s  leg .   ’

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🇫🇷

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anyways a headsup that i’m exclusive with @hiistoryerased‘s muses

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malmaisn:

     starter   /   plotting  call  !    

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If Joséphine had been my mother, my father would not have been buried at Saint Helena, and I should not be at Vienna. My mother is kind but weak; she was not the wife my father deserved.

Napoléon II, le Roi de Rome and duke of Reichstadt to his friend Prokesch von Osten. 

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         en  attendant ,    mio  dolce  amor  ,    reçois  un  millier  de  baisé ;   mais  ne  m'en  donne  pas ,  car  il  brûle  mon  SANG.               napoléon bonaparte.

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sm h  

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‘So she was held high in the heart and still she is so, by her beloved children, by Alkinoös himself, and by the people, who look toward her as to a god when they see her, and speak in salutation as she walks about in her city. For there is no good intelligence that she herself lacks. She dissolves quarrels, even among men, when she favors them.’ - the odyssey

                                                             written by jo. est. 6.1.17

                                                                           (credit)

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malmaisn:

JOSÉPHINE  INFIDÈLE    :    the  first  post  in  a  series  attempting  to  debunk  the  myths  surrounding  empress  joséphine  .  

over the course of time ,   joséphine  has  been labeled  many  things   -   foolish ,   backstabbing ,   cheating  ,  empty-headed ,   and  god knows what else  .   this  ‘ pop history ’  interpretation poses various paradoxes ,  hence  they cannot be a truthful narration of her life and times .  

among the most famous of allegations is the accusation of an affair with a hussar lieutenant ,   named hippolyte charles  ,   during napoléon’s first italian and egyptian campaign .    

THE ONLY  source to mention said suspicions of an affair during the italian campaign is ANTOINE HAMELIN .   how did hamelin and joséphine relate to each other then ?   why  ,   he was a merchant traveling with charles ,  JOSEPH bonaparte ,  jean-andoche JUNOT  & josephine to italy .     moreover ,  hamelin and joséphine had quarreled during said campaign and took a DISLIKE to each other    -   hence ,   the veracity of this source ,  especially considering it is not backed up by other sources ,   is  questionable .  

other sources are numerous ,  but they all share the fact that they are ostentatiously pro-napoléon and downplay joséphine’s role in the napoleonic era  or had a personal reason to dislike the empress   !      the same applies to any and all other mentions of affairs .    the most important issue then ,   are these so-called  ‘ love letters ’  by  joséphine  to charles .   

there is a big likelihood they are false  !    why  ,   you  ask  me  ,    they  have been incorporated in the official corpus of joséphine’s correspondence .   true ,  but those who   (  among others bernard chevallier )   put together the corpus and provided it  with  remarks  ,  have been very critical of said letters .  the key to solving this is the origin of said letters     -    they were uncovered in 1955 by louis hastier ,  who claimed to have obtained them from family of lieutenant charles .   ( le grand amour de joséphine ;   1955 .   )      now ,  the big PROBLEM with those letters is that we have no facsimiles ,  no  photographs  ,   ONLY THE WORD OF LOUIS HASTIER     -   suspicious  ,   no  ?      suspicious ,  you  say  ,   well  ,   i  have  something  to  add  to  this  :   pierre  branda   (  joséphine :  le paradoxe du cygne  ,   2014 )  researched this matter and talked with the descendants of lieutenant charles     -   they  claim to know of nothing  !   

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hiistoryerased . 

“Nah, I’m not as think as you DRUNK I am.”

His reply, so dumbly skewed that it merely sounded like utter non-sense, was simply followed by a babbling laugh, hoarse & humorless as he forced a toothy grin upon his lips; only for the blink of a second, one could have easily missed it if not a closer look was granted his piteous self, his face twisted into a PAINED grimace.

Even though Augustin was hopelessly intoxicated, by now barely apperceived anything around him anymore, the numbing fog which filled the emptiness of his head like cotton wool didn’t even slightly EASE the whole mess that was going on inside of him; the alcohol only deprived him of the ability to cope with it like a reasonable adult.

Abruptly his legs seemed to break away underneath his own weight, he wasn’t supposed to walk or stand too long without his crutches in the first place, his fingers desperately grasping for anything that could have kept him from falling into the dark hole beneath; her arm, her HAND.

Instantly a small gulp escaped him.

“Joséphine, Joséphine; I feel so much, too much, everything HURTS. My legs, good God, my legs; wait, they were like this before, weren’t they? Ugh.”

    he’s  talking  nonsense  .     excellent  .    she  shakes  her  head  ,   biting  back  a  sigh  ,     before  continuing  onward  firmly     -     supporting  the  dead  weight  of  his  body  with  her  own  lithe  frame    :      she  feels  bereft  of  all  grace  ,     an  ox .       his  chambers  surely  aren’t   that  far      -     yet  there  is  still  the  ghost  of  marie  antoinette  that   roams  les  tuileries    :      she  hates  this  .          ‘    augustin  ,   you  are  drunk  ,    period .    ’     

    his  legs   .  .  .      pauvre  homme  .      ‘   oui . . .      mon  ami  ,   i  know  .    ’      he’s  drunk    -    she  sees  no  point  in  commiserating  with  him  right  now  ,    despite  the  tragedy  that  befell  him    :      his  own  brother  guillotined    &    he  breaking  his  legs  in  an  attempt  to  escape  thermidorian  supporters  by  jumping  out  of  a  window .      it’s  a  wonder  he  survived  .

    ‘  augustin    ;     you’ll  be  fine    -    trust  me .       look    :    i’m  going  to  help  you  sober  up  a  bit  and  then  i’m  putting  you  in  bed  ,    yes  ?   ’         

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   oh ,   augustin    -    he’s  such  a  dear   :      bonaparte’s  old  friend      &    one  of  the  last  remaining  of  the  old  jacobin  regime .      and  frankly   ,   she  too  has  already  taken  a  liking  to  him    -      it  is  nigh  impossible  to  dislike  him  ,    at  least  in  her  eyes  .      but  here  he  is  ,     somewhat  inebriated     &    stumbling  along      -    time  to  intervene   .     bonaparte  will  have  to  THANK  her  later  .      

   ‘   augustin  ,   you  are  drunk  .    ’       she  speaks  gently  ,    but  determined    -    whether  he  comes  along  willingly  ,   or  she  has  to  drag  the  third  consul  along  ,    he  will  come  with  her  .     ‘  augustin  ,  dear ,   be  nice  and  work  along   ,   will  you   ?   ’       words  echo  ,     vanishing  in the  dark  corridors  of  les  tuileries  as  she  puts  his  arm  decidedly  around  her  shoulder  ,     intent  to  guide   him  to  his  own  bedroom  before  he  embarrasses  himself  further  .        /      @hiistoryerased    !   

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      she  is  seasick  ,     something  immediately  obvious  when  one  considers  rose  has  been  hanging  over  the  railing  of  the  ship ,   her  daughter  next  to  her    -    firmly  clutching  mother’s  hand .   at  last  ,   she  regains  her  composure  ,   tho’  skin  remains  ashen    -     all  color  drained   ,      yet  ,    she  still  manages  the  smallest  of  smiles ,   for  she  endures  it  with  fortitude  .       ‘    my  sincerest  apologies  for  having  to  watch  that  dreadful  scene  :    i  do  not  take  well  to  the  seas  .    ’         /    @affettuosos   !