Broken Friendships During the French Revolution That I Wish More Films and Books Would Explore
Warning: for sensitive readers: at one point, there will be mention of torture.
I'm not infallible, so if I make a mistake, please feel free to correct me — just politely, if possible :)
During the French Revolution, some friendships between revolutionaries remained strong throughout their lives, while others, unfortunately, didn’t survive the political turmoil. We often hear about the broken friendship between Camille Desmoulins and Robespierre, or sometimes the rift between Brissot and Desmoulins. But many other broken friendships are rarely, if ever, mentioned.
One particularly interesting case is that of Marat and Barbaroux, which is explored in this brilliant post by @sillyletterscomposingsillywords: https://www.tumblr.com/sillyletterscomposingsillywords/782810395976105984/i-had-a-special-liaison-with-barbaroux-back-at?source=share. It's both ironic and tragic to think that Barbaroux later met Charlotte Corday in Caen — though, to be fair, Barbaroux had absolutely no responsibility in Marat's death. Had he known what Corday intended to do, I believe he would have done everything in his power to prevent her from traveling to Paris, despite his falling out with Marat.Killing Marat was a completely stupid initiative on Corday's part, which led to the death of some Girondins, among others.
I still wonder why this past friendship between Marat and Barbaroux is so rarely acknowledged. Even in the (rather awful) film La Révolution française by Heffron, the two never interact — Barbaroux only mentions Marat during a speech in Caen against him. But portraying their former friendship would have undermined the film’s goal of depicting Marat solely as a deranged fanatic. I haven’t found a single historical novel about the French Revolution that portrays their prior bond — much to my deep frustration.
Honestly, I’ve often lost hope that films or graphic novels will ever portray the broken friendship between Pétion and Robespierre. I was thrilled when the comic book series Ils ont fait l’Histoire finally included their friendship — and its eventual rupture. What makes it even more poignant is that they tried, for a time, to preserve their bond until around August 1792. For more details, I recommend this excellent post write by @anotherhumaninthisworld: https://www.tumblr.com/anotherhumaninthisworld/760041507348692992/hi-a-lot-has-already-been-written-about?source=share. If we ever get new films that stop demonizing the revolutionaries, the friendship between Pétion and Robespierre deserves to be highlighted.
Another case is the friendship between Pache, Monge, and Manon Roland — before they became political enemies. At first, Jean-Nicolas Pache was close to the Rolands (especially Manon), whose intelligence and skills helped him become their secretary, and eventually Minister of War. Their friendship was so strong that, according to Louis de Launay, Monge and Manon would go on countryside walks with Pache, and the three of them even played games together when they had time.
In her memoirs, Manon Roland wrote that Pache’s children, Jean and Sylvie, missed Paris terribly when they were in Switzerland. While I doubt the full truth of this — they were still very young when they left Paris — it’s more likely they missed their friends rather than the city itself. (I’ve also noticed some inconsistencies in Manon Roland’s memoirs, so they shouldn’t always be taken at face value — just like many other revolutionary writings.) Still, this suggests that Roland truly knew Pache’s children, or that despite his famously secretive nature, Pache confided in her — which shows how close they must have been, in my opinion.
Unfortunately, their friendship broke down due to political disagreements. For instance, Pache distrusted Dumouriez (who in turn came to hate him), and while he initially agreed with Roland on centralizing military supply procurement through the "Directoire d’achats," he later diverged. As the Montagnards increasingly supported Pache over Dumouriez, political tensions grew. Monge, siding with Pache, also broke ties with Manon Roland. In her memoirs, she would later write harsh — even violent — words about both men.
When Pache became mayor of Paris, tensions with the Girondins worsened. Notably, he supported his son-in-law's chilling proposal: “We propose to relieve the Revolutionary Tribunal of the formalities that stifle conscience and prevent conviction; to add a law that grants jurors the right to declare they are sufficiently informed. Only then will traitors be deceived, and terror will be the order of the day.”
I can’t help but wonder how Pache and Monge reacted to Manon Roland’s execution. Yet, according to Pierquin, Pache’s greatest regret at the end of his life was not her death, but his failure to reconcile the Dantonists and the Hébertists. I often wonder how Manon Roland would have reacted if their roles had been reversed (though like Vergniaud, she refused to flee Paris or lead insurrections — albeit with more ambiguity on the matter).
For more on the friendship between Pache, Monge, and Roland, I recommend these two posts:
https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/777295133948411904/jean-nicolas-pache-the-swiss-minister-of-war?source=share
https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/778721992245477376/jean-nicolas-pache-the-swiss-minister-of-war?source=share
Ironically, Buzot( who was very close to Manon Roland) once made an insulting remark about Pache’s daughter Sylvie (who was only 16 at the time), claiming:
“Pache’s children, his daughters, ran like madmen to the places where murder and pillage were preached with the most impudence, and they were often seen in so-called fraternal embraces, warming themselves up for the disgusting orgies.”
Either Buzot imagined sisters Sylvie didn’t have, or he was referring to all the women in the Luxembourg section — but the innuendo is clear.
Gracchus Babeuf and Dubois de Fosseux: Dubois de Fosseux and Gracchus Babeuf exchanged regular correspondence well before the French Revolution — from as early as 1785 — when Dubois became the permanent secretary of the Royal Academy of Sciences and Fine Letters of Arras. They wrote to each other about social rights (including women’s rights), inoculation, and agricultural models — particularly the usefulness of farm division. Dubois even asked Babeuf to suggest topics for the academy’s future programs. He was the one who encouraged Babeuf to write and publish Le Cadastre Perpétuel.
Their exchanges weren’t only intellectual: they shared personal anecdotes, especially about their children. When Babeuf became a father, he expressed his joy, while Dubois shared his own experiences of parenthood. And when Babeuf lost his daughter, Dubois sent him comforting words — as seen at the beginning of Émile Babeuf’s biography:
https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/797597465829359616?source=share
However, with the onset of the Revolution (perhaps even as early as 1788, according to Galina Tchertkova), a sharp break occurred between the two. It's worth noting that pre-revolutionary Babeuf still had a certain respect for feudalism and, according to historian Markov, considered redistributionists to be economically misguided.So, like so many other revolutionaries, Babeuf evolved towards much more left-wing ideas, so there must have been this break.
Later, when Babeuf was imprisoned in Arras, he considered sending false letters of friendship — a strategy advised by his wife — to men like Fréron, Tallien, Guffroy, and even possibly Fouché, to appear naïve and corruptible in hopes of securing his release. Dubois de Fosseux was among the recipients. Babeuf resumed correspondence with him for the reasons mentioned above. Sadly, we don’t have access to the content of these letters, since, according to Tchertkova, Dubois de Fosseux’s descendants refused to allow historians to consult them (at least as of 1974).
How did a relationship filled with shared joy, consolation, and personal connection dissolve into such distance — and eventually manipulation? Jean-Marc Schiappa points out that Dubois de Fosseux employed several assistants who read and replied to letters on his behalf, so perhaps he wasn’t as involved as it seemed. Still, given the personal nature of their early correspondence, I find it hard to believe there wasn’t a genuine connection between them.
Topino Lebrun and Jacques-Louis David:
Topino Lebrun was more than just a student of Jacques-Louis David — they shared a real friendship. In 1792, Topino referred to David as “his dear friend.” According to Alain Jouffroy and Philippe Bordes’s book on Topino Lebrun, they had known each other since 1784, having met in Rome, where David offered to take him on as a pupil. Their friendship lasted until around 1800.
However, while David eventually sided with Bonaparte, Topino came to detest him. During the so-called “Dagger Plot” (la conspiration des poignards) — which most historians now agree Topino was innocent of — David made a half-hearted attempt to defend him. He spoke up, but weakly. He was also forced to explain his connection to the sculptor Ceracchi. In contrast, Chauveau-Lagarde was a much stronger and more effective witness for Topino’s defense.In his article, James Henry Rubin accuses David of accepting Topino's execution too easily, particularly since he went on to accept appointments under Bonaparte — whose police tortured Ceracchi into trying to falsely implicate Topino. There is evidence suggesting that Ceracchi, Demerville, and Arena were innocent, and that they never actually plotted to kill Bonaparte — though historians remain divided.
This one is frustrating because I know very little about this subject despite several searches . According to Waresquiel, Fouché “would often emphasize his friendship with Condorcet.” In his memoirs — which are widely considered unreliable, though some historians argue Fouché himself may have authored them — he writes:
“My first introduction into the Government was in the Committee of Public Instruction, where I connected myself with Condorcet, and through him with Vergniaud.”
Historian Antoine Resche notes that Fouché seems to have formed a close relationship with Condorcet in 1792, during their time on the Committee of Public Instruction. I would love to know more, but surely their friendship must have ended when Fouché turned his back on the Girondins.
Interestingly, Sophie de Grouchy — Condorcet’s wife — continued to host prominent idéologues in her salon in 1802, including someone named Ginguené. Later, when the Moreau conspiracy was uncovered, Fouché’s police began persecuting the idéologues, forcing them to abandon Rue du Bac. They eventually took refuge at Madame de Condorcet’s home, as Henri Valentino notes in Madame de Condorcet, ses amis et ses amours.
Bonaparte and Buonarroti:
Initially close friends, Bonaparte and Buonarroti eventually became bitter enemies. According to Victor Daline’s article Napoleon et les babouvistes, Buonarroti told the Turgenev brothers in 1836 — shortly before his death:
“Old man Buonarroti... had lunch with us. He’s a living chronicle of the last half-century. He vividly characterizes many people and recounts little-known details. In his youth, and later, he knew Napoleon: in Corsica, he lived in Napoleon’s mother’s house. On the last night Napoleon spent there as a sub-lieutenant, they even slept in the same bed. Later, they argued frequently and never reconciled. Bonaparte rose to the throne; Buonarroti went to prison.”
Buonarroti, a fervent Jacobin, was outraged when Bonaparte shut down the Panthéon Club. After the events of 13 Vendémiaire, Bonaparte allegedly summoned Buonarroti. In the Cahiers de Sainte-Hélène, General Bertrand reports Bonaparte recalling:
“He was a Babouvist. I summoned him. He answered proudly. I said, ‘That’s fine, but you promoted communist ideas to have the commander of Paris beheaded — I won’t have that. I’ll have you judged by a military commission and shot.’”
Of course, we can’t take Bonaparte’s version at face value. Still, it’s true he loathed the Babouvists. And the fact that Buonarroti was one of the closest friends of Babeuf — who despised Bonaparte and was despised in return — certainly didn’t help.
We don’t know how deeply Buonarroti was involved in clandestine opposition networks like the Société des Philadelphes, as he was very careful to leave no trace (as was Antonelle, for instance). But we do know he associated with known Bonapartist opponents like the neo-Jacobin Rigomer Bazin and General Malet. The police kept a close eye on him throughout the Consulate and Empire, though he managed to avoid execution or deportation — unlike many of his comrades.
At Saint Helena, Bonaparte finally softened his stance. According to Daline, he said:
“Napoleon reads Le Moniteur. He reads the Babouvist trial and finds it interesting… Buonarroti was a man of great talent… He was a friend of the common good, a leveler. I had him released. I don’t believe Buonarroti ever thanked me, or ever addressed me. Perhaps it was pride, or maybe he thought himself too insignificant. Or maybe I just forgot — I was so busy! Buonarroti was so far from my system that I may have paid no attention. But he could have been very useful in organizing the Kingdom of Italy. He would have made a great professor — a descendant of Michelangelo, a poet like Ariosto, writing better French than I did, drawing like David, and playing piano like Paisiello.”
But Buonarroti never let go of his hatred. In a 1828 letter to Émile Babeuf (Gracchus Babeuf’s son), he wrote:
“Don’t speak to me of the ‘great man’: he delivered the death blow to the Revolution and completed, for his own benefit, the work of iniquity that immorality and aristocracy had long begun. He could have repaired everything — instead, he ruined it all. That is his greatest crime.”
I would love to see a film, a comic book, or a historical novel that explores their complex relationship — it would be absolutely fascinating.
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