#drouet

I once spoke in this post about how the memory of Olympe de Gouges has been instrumentalized and how it has overshadowed many other women of the Revolution—some of whom were even more famous than she was. I also mentioned the flaws in her historical portrayal that are rarely discussed, and @mathildeaquisexta enriched my post with some excellent additional information.

Now, I would like to talk about a far more problematic female figure in my view—one who has overshadowed other women who opposed Bonaparte: Germaine de Staël.

Often portrayed as one of the few who dared to stand up to Bonaparte—a woman of integrity, political genius, and rare courage, sometimes even described as a feminist—it is time to take a closer look at the flaws of this historical figure.

As for that last claim, I can confidently say it is false. Here is what she wrote about women:

“One is right to exclude women from political and civil affairs; nothing is more contrary to their natural vocation than anything that would put them in rivalry with men, and glory itself can only ever be, for a woman, a resplendent form of mourning for happiness.”

In this, her thinking is actually closer to that of certain women of the French Revolution such as Madame Roland and Louise de Kéralio—with the important difference that Germaine de Staël was much more conservative than they were, and far less engaged in the Revolution itself. Roland and Kéralio firmly supported the Republic, whereas Staël, even when King Louis XVI ruled as a constitutional monarch, found his powers too limited despite his veto power and even approved of the Champ-de-Mars massacre.

I do not question Madame de Staël’s ideological motivations—after all, many revolutionary women showed great courage and devotion, even if they did not advocate for women’s rights. But it is important to restore the truth about her stance. As historian Godechot observed, “she protested little and only vaguely against the inequality between men and women enshrined in the Napoleonic Code.” It is safe to say she was very far from being an advocate for women’s rights.

A political genius and a woman of incorruptible virtue? Not necessarily—she made some serious mistakes. No one is perfect, of course, but they should be acknowledged. While she was quick to grasp that Bonaparte would go far, she did not foresee all that he would do. I agree with historian Michel Winock, who pointed out that while Benjamin Constant and Staël did not take part in the Coup of 18 Brumaire, they were close to some of its key participants, including Sieyès, who sought to strengthen the executive branch and draft a new constitution.

Staël welcomed the coup of Brumaire—though she would later lie about her feelings, claiming:

“Undoubtedly, the majority of honest people, fearing the return of the Jacobins, wished General Bonaparte to prevail. My own sentiment, I confess, was deeply mixed. Once the struggle had begun, a temporary Jacobin victory could have led to bloodshed; yet, at the thought of Bonaparte’s triumph, I felt a pain that I might call prophetic.”

We have proof that she lied about this. Her father, Necker, wrote to his daughter about that very event, speaking of “your joy, your satisfaction,” and a month later referring to “your enthusiasm for Bonaparte” and saying, “I congratulate you on being happy about his glory.”

Contrary to what has often been claimed, the Republic was not as threatened as people liked to believe before the Coup of Brumaire. As historian Annie Jourdan noted in one of her works on France shortly before Bonaparte’s rise to power:

“By August, France could finally breathe. The grand royalist plan had failed. The expected junction never happened. The scattered royalist uprisings throughout the Republic were supposed to erupt at a strategic moment: during the foreign invasion. But because they failed to wait for the right time—which never actually came, since the Directory ultimately managed to repel its enemies on all fronts—the royalist plot ended in crushing failure, sacrificing thousands of men for a cause that peasants and city dwellers alike were increasingly abandoning, worn out by never-ending unrest. These undeniable victories contradicted the slanders accumulating that autumn against the Directors—slanders that many historians would later repeat. Even before Bonaparte returned from Egypt, France had already resolved most of its domestic problems. The Directory was not on its deathbed, though it remained, as always, divided.In early September 1799, reassuring news about the external situation finally reached Paris. By then, the Executive Directory and its new Minister of Police, Joseph Fouché, had already taken action against the democratic republicans—the so-called neo-Jacobins. Public opinion, it was said, feared these political gatherings and wished the government would put an end to these 'assemblies of tigers.' At least that’s what the police bulletins reported—though they may have reflected the expectations of the government more than the general public(...). But perhaps it was also because, with the worst dangers behind them, the Directory believed it could do without the support of the left and finally implement what Sieyès had agreed to become Director for: to revise the Constitution. From that moment on, the offensive was launched.By the end of its tenure, the Directory was victorious on nearly every front—except in Italy, where the young republics were occupied by the Allies. In Europe, it had defeated the Second Coalition; in France, it had crushed the royalist movements. The legislative councils, for their part, were working to republicanize the people and improve their comfort and education. But the harmony achieved after 30 Prairial Year VII began to unravel. The laws passed by the Councils shocked moderates, the Directors themselves, and also the wealthy, bankers, and speculators. Whether it was the Hostage Law of July 13, 1799, the forced loan of 100 million francs, conscription, or the mass mobilization of all classes that year—these measures revived memories of Year II and the burdens of the Revolution. Fear intensified further on September 13, when there was talk of declaring the patrie en danger—the homeland in danger. This too closely recalled the 'people rising up' in the summer of 1792. It evoked the revolutionary days of 1793 and everything that haunted the memories of both old and new republicans. According to a Prussian observer, the Hostage Law and the forced loan were poorly received by the French public. The former, he said, threatened 'society itself with imminent collapse,' and the latter would 'destroy all business and ruin the state.' The wealthiest tried to evade these measures: for instance, the financier Collot, who was taxed 200,000 francs, abruptly left Paris—he would have paid no more than 50,000. Only the banker Perregaux agreed to pay the full amount without protest—and was viewed unfavorably by his peers for his generosity. On that point, at least, 1799 looked very different from the earlier revolutionary years. The spirit of sacrifice had vanished. As a result, the forced loan of 100 million did not raise the expected amount—but it did terrify the “gens de bien” (respectable citizens), who were now eager to rid the legislature of its Jacobins.”

The excerpt speaks for itself. In reality, the great property owners and influential bankers (at least some of them) feared the measures proposed by Robert Lindet, who was then Minister of Finance, particularly his plan for a forced loan on large estates — a measure later annulled by Bonaparte once he came to power. These facts are also confirmed by historians Bernard Gainot and Antoine Resche.

However, according to several historians and biographers, she supported a property-based (censitary) suffrage. Jacques Godechot described her as follows:

“Germaine de Staël sees the Revolution from above, never from below. She ignores the peasants and artisans who made up 90% of the French population at the time. For her, equality is limited to equal rights between the upper bourgeoisie and the nobility. Property must be the foundation of the regime. The liberty to which she proclaims such deep attachment, she conceives only in limited terms. She accepts freedom of the press only for books, not for newspapers. Religious freedom, in her view, should allow for the expansion of Protestantism in France; she believed that this religion was best suited to a Republic.”

I mostly agree with what he wrote, since her republicanism appeared quite late — after all, she had approved of the shooting at the Champ-de-Mars. Godechot also provides another very interesting passage:

“She (Germaine de Staël) accommodated herself quite well to the censitary regime (…). Moreover, her contemporaries were under no illusions regarding the democratic nature of Mme de Staël’s ideas. Thus La Harpe wrote to Tsar Alexander I on April 3, 1804: ‘She is a woman of great wit, but consumed by ambition. Her friend Benjamin Constant […] and she long played at being democrats in France, while in Switzerland they made common cause with our former oppressors.’”

Moreover, I cannot ignore her financial motivations, which were far from disinterested. She was constantly trying to recover the two million francs — was she not afraid that, with the Jacobins’ proposed financial laws, she might lose that sum? I have already expressed my thoughts on Necker and this loan here; suffice it to say that if Necker had not obstructed a man more competent than himself in economic matters — namely Turgot — he would not have needed to make that loan.

It should also be remembered that the neo-Jacobins never called for their opponents to be guillotined. The speech of one of them, the famous Victor Bach, was deliberately distorted, even though he merely said:

“Yes, guilty as you may be, Reubell, Merlin, and all of you legislators, directors, or ministers who may be their accomplices! I do not wish for your death, but rather that you be condemned to sweep the streets of Paris, dressed in those grand costumes that gave you the pride, greed, and cruelty of the kings you sought to imitate.”

Therefore, given her first-hand access to information, I do not believe she could truly have thought that they would reintroduce the guillotine. Moreover, this woman had supported the repression of the insurrection of 1 Prairial, Year III, which shows that she could overcome her supposed horror of the guillotine whenever it suited her.

Her political relationship with Paul Barras is also troubling, considering both his actions at Toulon (she, who condemned the Terror) and his well-known corruption.

As for her political judgment, it was often lacking. Godechot writes of her:

“According to Mme de Staël, things began to go wrong in France when Necker resigned on September 5, 1790. (…) To regain the political influence she longed for, she turned to the press: Germaine wrote. On April 16, 1791, she published her first article in Suard’s short-lived newspaper Les Indépendants: it sought to determine ‘by what signs one can recognize the opinion of the majority of the Nation.’ In fact, the author wished to demonstrate that the Jacobins did not represent this majority. Mme de Staël failed to grasp the deep forces at work in the Nation; she believed the Revolution could be limited to a few superficial reforms, ignored the will of the masses, and sided with the monarchiens.”

She did not declare herself a republican until several years later.

The fact that she condemned the Prairial insurrection of Year III — an uprising by Parisians protesting the end of price controls amid widespread misery — yet approved of Bonaparte using the army to carry out a coup d’État, shows clearly that she was far from being the democratic icon some modern media have tried to make of her.

Was it really a surprise that she failed to see Bonaparte’s authoritarian nature, so contrary to the liberties she claimed to defend? Figures like Marat had long foreseen that such a thing would happen if a military man were allowed too much power. Men like Antonelle, Xavier Audouin, Buonarroti, Babeuf, and many others predicted this outcome — especially in Bonaparte’s case — but she did not? Her judgment was clearly inferior to theirs.

Winock also notes about Mme de Staël:

“On July 4, she praised the ‘wonders of Italy’ in reference to the victory at Marengo. The tone would be very different in Ten Years of Exile: ‘I wished Bonaparte to be defeated, because that was the only way to put an end to his tyranny.’ It is true that she added: ‘But I did not dare to confess this wish.’ At the very least, she was not obliged to sing the praises of the ‘hero’s wonders.’ Her bad faith was probably equal to her discomfort.”

Does she simply refuse to recognize her mistake? In any case, it is clear that she was far from a political genius, for she failed to see what was coming. Was she among those who accepted the use of armed force against a legally elected assembly during Brumaire, in order to preserve her privileges rather than to save the Republic?

On the other hand, Carnot — though later opposed to the lifetime Consulate and Empire — served Bonaparte while remaining a staunch republican; and Drouet, a fervent neo-Jacobin and defender of the Republic, also served Napoleon even during the Empire, though he refused any promotion beyond that of sub-prefect. So Mme de Staël deserves the same benefit of the doubt.

She would not foresee Bonaparte’s anger toward Constant and herself, according to Winock. Here is an excerpt:

“After consulting Mme de Staël, Constant had himself registered to speak on the issue during the session of January 5, 1800. The speech his colleagues heard—structured, rigorous, and logical—frightened them by its boldness. Constant essentially declared that the Tribunate was not meant to serve as a permanent opposition to the government, but that it was its duty to oppose ‘proposals that appear disastrous.’

For useful proposals, there should be no obstacle, no delay. But haste cannot be accepted under all circumstances, for ‘authority’ may abuse it: ‘To reason within this hypothesis is not to attack the Government. To describe possible abuses is not to assert that these abuses will occur; it is not to accuse the intentions of those who hold power. But liberty does not concern itself with intentions; it considers means. It is not enough for liberty to feel untroubled by the will of the present; it must be reassured about the power of the future.’

He then proceeded, article by article, to dismantle the bill aimed at reducing the powers of the Tribunate: ‘No doubt harmony is desirable among the authorities of the Republic; but the independence of the Tribunate is no less necessary to this harmony than the constitutional authority of the Government. Without the Tribunate’s independence, there would be neither harmony nor constitution—only servitude and silence, a silence the whole of Europe would hear and judge.’”

The bill was ultimately adopted, which reportedly drove Bonaparte into a furious rage.

Soon after, Germaine de Staël herself would face ostracism.

“She had hosted a reception on the eve of Constant’s intervention. Among her guests were Lucien Bonaparte, Talleyrand, and Roederer. Constant whispered to her: ‘Here is your salon filled with people who please you; if I speak tomorrow, it will be empty—think about it.’ Indeed, on the evening when Benjamin delivered his great speech, she held another gathering, but her guests did not come: ‘I received ten notes of apology at five o’clock.’”

There was also a violent outburst in the press against her, something she had not expected—though any politically seasoned person would have foreseen it.

She wrote to Roederer during this period, on January 9, 1800:

“But please explain to me, I implore you, Roederer, what has been happening for the past three days—this frenzy, this violence against Benjamin, this Journal des hommes libres turned against me only because I am the friend of a man who delivered an independent speech about a regulation!”

She professed affection for Benjamin but denied “directing” him, adding:

“What woman has ever shown herself more enthusiastic about Bonaparte than I?”

When she requested an audience, it was Fouché who received her. He informed her that, according to the First Consul, she had been the one who “pushed” Benjamin Constant to act. Nevertheless, Fouché advised her to withdraw for a while, to leave the public stage, and to let herself be forgotten. She thus settled in Saint-Ouen, though she would soon return to Paris.

In Madame de Staël et Napoléon by Paul Gaultier (a work in which the author often glorifies Mme de Staël, portraying her at times as one of the rare opponents of the Empire), Gaultier attempts to explain that Mme de Staël was a formidable enemy of the Empire, yet was spared imprisonment only because Fouché disliked unnecessary violence against women.

Here is an excerpt:

“She (Germaine de Staël) wrote a long letter to Narbonne in which she reproached him with great vehemence for his attitude toward Bonaparte. She mocked members of the aristocracy who had accepted positions at court, adding that she hoped never to suffer the sorrow of seeing his name listed among theirs. The Montmorencys, Rohans, and La Rochefoucaulds now served as valets and ladies-in-waiting to bourgeois men and women from Ajaccio! Such honors should be rejected! The challenge was to have the letter delivered without arousing police suspicion. Mme de Staël believed she had found the perfect solution by entrusting it to a certain Mr. de S***, who was on his way to Paris. This man, however, was none other than one of Fouché’s paid informers — one of the many who operated in and around Coppet. He immediately hurried to the Ministry of Police. When the Emperor read Mme de Staël’s letter, he flew into a violent rage; he spoke of having her arrested and imprisoned. Fouché dissuaded him, as he disliked unnecessary acts of violence, especially against women.”

In fact, it is fair to say that there is historical evidence showing that Fouché did protect certain individuals and supported some lenient measures, even proposing them to Bonaparte. Yet he did not hesitate—like many others—to take action against women, even when they had done nothing wrong (though under the Consulate and the Empire, Bonaparte himself was often directly responsible, sometimes forcing Fouché’s hand).

After all, during the repression of the Jacobins following the Rue Saint-Nicaise bombing—an attack actually carried out by royalists—women such as Albertine Marat and Simone Evrard, who had shown no suspicious activity under the Consulate, were arrested. Their connections to Jean-Paul Marat and to left-wing Jacobin figures such as the Hébertist Legray, Babeuf, or revolutionary clubs like the Cordeliers (or perhaps the electoral club) during the French Revolution likely made them targets.

Fouché bears part of the responsibility for this, for having obeyed Bonaparte’s orders in order to protect his own position as Minister of Police. He also shares responsibility for what happened to Madame Lacroix during the judicial proceedings and sentencing in the case of the kidnapping of Senator Clément de Ris. (That case is so complex that, no matter how much I study it, I cannot determine whether she was innocent or guilty—but the trial was clearly a travesty of justice. If you have more information on Madame Lacroix’s guilt or innocence, please let me know.)

Fouché did not target these women because they were women, but he had no hesitation in striking at them if he felt the situation—or his own situation —required it.

Therefore, Gaultier’s explanation does not hold up. In reality, Fouché often protected certain people, and Germaine de Staël was one of them. Moreover, she held him in some esteem—a fact conveniently ignored by some of the defenders of the “golden legend” surrounding Mme de Staël. It seems to disturb them that she respected a man with such a tarnished reputation, known for his shifting political allegiances and, above all, for his actions at Lyon.

Germaine de Staël also made comparisons that made little sense. She once called Napoleon “Robespierre on horseback.” But Robespierre never held power comparable to Bonaparte’s; he was a deputy and a member of the Committee of Public Safety, whose decisions were made collectively, even if he had important responsibilities. He would never have used the army against elected officials to take the power. There are countless other differences between him and Bonaparte.

As for courage, it must be said that she was never imprisoned, nor did she ever choose to face danger by staying put at all costs. I do not blame her for that—most people would have done the same—but we cannot therefore claim that she never trembled before Bonaparte or his repressive machinery. After all, many women during the French Revolution or under Bonaparte faced danger head-on and are less remembered for it — such as Manon Roland, who refused to flee, among others.

In Guadeloupe, too, women were not left behind. Rosalie, known as Solitude, though pregnant, fought against Bonaparte’s troops sent to restore slavery. She was executed after giving birth. Marthe Rose Toto also fought like Solitude; she was accused of inciting Louis Delgrès’ resistance and of urging the killing of white prisoners, and was hanged. Some say she was Delgrès’ companion. There were others like them as well.

Elsewhere in Europe, too, women fought against Napoleon’s armies — such as Nadezhda Andreyevna Durova, Manuela Malasaña Oñoro, Agustina de Aragón, and others.

Women also played an important role in political opposition within France, as historian Natalie Petiteau points out:

“On November 4, 1800, a new report announced the arrest of two ringleaders, Jumillard and Brissevin — the latter later deported — but the police continued to search for others, hampered by the fact that ‘the men hardly go out anymore; it is the women who spread the news and collect the money.’ In response to the police informers who had penetrated their private circles, the republicans organized a female sphere of activity that remained largely invisible to the authorities. The very existence of such a clandestine political space allowed women to enter political life. Admittedly, some of their actions may have reflected the usual submission to male authority, yet they appeared in police reports and were therefore stigmatized in turn — thus acquiring, paradoxically, a recognized political existence.”

Indeed, many women took action against Bonaparte:

The citizen Perrin, who lived on Rue de Verneuil in the Faubourg Saint-Germain and kept a market stall on the Quai Voltaire at the corner of Rue de Beaune, assisted Antonelle and Le Peletier in 1800 in their clandestine pro-Jacobin activities against Bonaparte. Antonelle and Félix visited her home to deposit their “mysterious” correspondence and sums of money, probably intended to finance their operations against the Consulate.

The widow Brisset, who sheltered Topino-Lebrun on Rue de Tournon for an entire month while he was being hunted by Bonaparte’s police. His eventual arrest happened by chance, which shows her considerable skill in maintaining secrecy.

Madame Dufour. When the Jacobins were arrested and many of them deported, among them was a Dufour — a Babouvist who had once sheltered well-known conspirators such as Darthé and later became a neo-Jacobin active at the Club du Manège before its closure. The wives of the arrested and deported men organized petitions and sought testimonies in their defense. Their courage must be noted, for during that time, public anger in Paris was high: the people, mistakenly believing that the Rue Saint-Nicaise bombing had been carried out by royalists, violently attacked anyone suspected of Jacobin sympathies. Moreover, since their husbands were imprisoned, most of these women were left destitute. Madame Dufour, the mother of six children, went even further. A police report dated September 19, 1803, states: “The wife of deportee Dufour, residing on Rue Papillon, stands out for the boldness of her remarks; she is a true fury; she is constantly running between brothers and friends; she openly proclaims the imminent successes of the Jacobins. This woman was once involved in Babeuf's conspiracy; it was at her home that most of the meetings were held.” (quoted by Aulard) Unfortunately, her efforts proved in vain — the deportations took place, and most of the deportees, including her husband, died in exile.

Marie-Anne Babeuf, the widow of Gracchus Babeuf, also presents a complex case. Because of the deceptions she told the police throughout her activist life, it is difficult to determine the extent of her involvement when her son, Émile, during General Malet’s first conspiracy, came into contact with Antonelle and Buonarroti, who was then working as a clerk for an opposition bookseller. Émile even wrote a letter to friends in Vendôme, saying that his mother sent her regards — it seems impossible that she was unaware of his activities (at that time, Émile was not yet Bonapartist). When she was questioned first at the police station and later at the prefecture, she was released, while her son escaped arrest only because he was abroad. Although she had already been imprisoned at the Madelonnettes in 1801, during the Jacobin repression following the Rue Saint-Nicaise attack, her 1808 arrest was more targeted. This is not surprising: during the French Revolution, she had demonstrated remarkable skill in political clandestinity and in misleading police interrogations. It is not hard to imagine her doing the same under the Empire, particularly given her close connections with Jacobin opponents of Bonaparte such as Le Peletier Félix (under the Consulate), Buonarroti, and Antonelle.

Marie-Joseph Sagnier, mistress of one of the most famous Jacobin opponents of Bonaparte, Rigomer Bazin. She courageously helped one of their allies, Claude-Henri de Saint-Simon, escape from the police through clever means. She was arrested for this act and displayed great intelligence during her interrogation by Veyrat, refusing to reveal Saint-Simon’s whereabouts. She was imprisoned for her silence and was falsely portrayed by Napoleon’s police as a prostitute.

Sophie de Grouchy, widow of Condorcet. In a televised program that sought to portray Mme de Staël, Sophie de Grouchy was mentioned only by name and then forgotten. In reality, according to some sources, she did not hesitate to stand up to Bonaparte on the question of women’s political involvement. When Napoleon reportedly declared that he disliked women meddling in politics, she replied: “You are right, General — but in a country where they cut off women’s heads, it is natural that they should wish to know why.” Sophie continued to host leading idéologues in her salon in 1802, including 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 in Madame de Condorcet’s home, as Henri Valentino notes in Madame de Condorcet, ses amis et ses amours.

Once again, the aim here is not to diminish Madame de Staël’s importance, but rather to insist that we cannot speak only of her while ignoring all the others — especially since many of these politically engaged women in France have been overlooked precisely because their revolutionary convictions or their closeness to radical republican men made them less convenient to celebrate. They all deserve to be mentioned — without distinction.

For more on Marthe Rose Toto, see:

Mini-portraits of three revolutionary women from Guadeloupe

Louis Delgrès and Marthe Rose Toto

For more on Rigomer Bazin, Saint-Simon, and Marie-Joseph Sagnier, see:

The Revolutionary Journey of Bazin, Saint-Simon, and Sagnier

For more on Émile Babeuf and his political convictions:

The Beginning of the Revolutionary Period

About the atrocities committed by Bonaparte’s troops in the overseas departments — it’s here https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/758502228409614336/here-we-come-about-a-shocking-act-by-french-army?source=share (which I’m talking about, the end of General Maurepas and his family)

Do you have any information about Darthé? I wish I knew him better for my art

Trigger warning: suicide attempt. May be distressing for sensitive readers.

Darthé and Babeuf in their suicide attempt

I'm not infallible, so please feel free to correct me. Also, I apologize if this text is too dense or not easy to read; it's just that with my computer problems, I preferred to publish it anyway, even if it means revising it next time.

Hello, thank you very much for your kind words.

It is true that Darthé is less well known than Babeuf and Buonarroti (although much more so than Charles Germain). There is a short biographical entry devoted to him on the Maitron (though one should be cautious with Maitron, which sometimes relies on a single source, leading to errors in certain biographies, such as that of Marie-Anne Babeuf, or worse, Victor Bach, whose author relied entirely on Jean Dautry, whereas Bernard Gainot has pointed out all the mistakes).

Darthé Augustin Alexandre was born in 1769 in Saint-Pol-sur-Ternoise, in what is now the Nord–Pas-de-Calais region. He studied law and took part in the storming of the Bastille in 1789, during which he was wounded. He later met Joseph Le Bon and became his brother-in-law. Robert Legrand said of him that he shared “Le Bon’s resolute and energetic character.”

In the summer of 1793, he participated in military operations against conscription resisters in the region of Pernes-en-Artois, a movement comparable to that of the Vendée. At that time, he was corresponding with Le Bas, a close associate of Robespierre and Saint-Just.

In 1794, he played an important role alongside Le Bon, who was on mission in the Pas-de-Calais. Their aim was to combat internal threats—foreign agents, royalists, and populations sympathetic to the enemies of the Revolution—through the methods of the Terror, particularly in the regions of Cambrai and Arras, which were suspected of supporting territorial separation in favor of foreign powers (if I understand correctly). He is also said to have served as a juror and later as public prosecutor for the Revolutionary Tribunal of Arras.

The Pache family has gradually faded into relative obscurity (except among historians), even though they were once prominent and well-known revolutionaries, comparable to the Duplays and the Robespierre for example.

In addition to the text below, I’ve included links to posts about this revolutionary family. These posts will introduce you to their stories, political paths, and the relationships they may have had—particularly with figures such as Maximilien and Augustin Robespierre, Manon Roland, Camille Desmoulins, Brissot, Dumouriez, Jean-Paul Marat, Hébert, Gaspard Monge, Lazare Carnot, Napoleon Bonaparte, Robert Lindet, and others.

Jean Nicolas Pache: The Swiss Minister of War During the Revolution, Then Mayor of Paris Part I Part II

Xavier Audouin: From Convicted Hébertist Republican to Neo-Jacobin Facing the Directory, Then a Devout Royalist Under the Restoration https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/776762458733002752/the-life-of-the-revolutionary-xavier-audouin-from?source=share

The Revolutionary Path of Sylvie Audouin, Daughter of the Hébertist Revolutionary Mayor and Minister of War Jean-Nicolas Pache, and Wife of the Famous Revolutionary Xavier Audouin https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/776418727578189824/the-revolutionary-path-of-sylvie-audouin-daughter?source=share

The Career of Jean Pache: From Soldier in the Service of the Revolution, Baron under the Empire, to Fervent Royalist during the Restoration https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/779573958449168384/the-career-of-jean-pache-from-soldier-in-the?source=share

Jean-Nicolas Pache, the most famous of them all, was born on May 5, 1746, in Verdun, the son of Nicolas Pache, a Swiss doorman in the service of the Castries family, and Jeanne Lallemand, who would faithfully follow her son throughout his life. He attended the Royal School of Engineering in Mézières, where he met and became one of the best friends of Gaspard Monge. His rise was facilitated by Castries, who recognized his potential, and when Castries became Minister of the Navy, Pache became the secretary-general of this ministry and even held the position of royal controller under Necker. After becoming a widower, he withdrew with his two young children (Sylvie and Jean) and his mother to Switzerland. He would only return in 1789-1790, where he began his revolutionary journey alongside his friend Monge. He founded the Patriotic Society of Luxembourg.

At first, Jean-Nicolas Pache befriended the Roland couple (especially Manon Roland), whose intelligence and abilities led to him becoming their secretary and later the Minister of War. However, their friendly relations soured for political reasons. Brissot attacked him, and Pache aligned himself with the Montagnards, notably supported by Maximilien Robespierre (although Augustin Robespierre apparently held him in high regard as well), Jean-Paul Marat, and Hébert. He was categorized as an Hébertist (although the situation was more complex). Despite losing his position as Minister of War due to the efforts of some Jacobins, he quickly became popular and was elected Mayor of Paris. He would align himself more closely with the Hébertists, face significant issues such as riots, famine, and participate in the events of May 31 and June 2, according to his own account. He supported the Law of the Maximum and was involved in the execution of Marie-Antoinette. A fervent advocate for dechristianization, he survived the fall of the Hébertists and was arrested on May 10, 1794, with his mother, daughter, and son-in-law, leading to his removal from office. Contrary to what is often said to perpetuate the black legend of Carnot, their arrest was not due to a dispute that went awry, but due to more complex reasons, such as their affiliation with the Hébertists, as well as suspicions arising from their connection to the former Minister of War Bouchotte, who was seen by some as allied with the faction of the Exagérés.

Jean-Nicolas Pache, along with other left-wing prisoners (including Xavier Audouin, Bouchotte, Rossignol, Marchand, Héron, and others), was dragged from prison to prison, facing imminent death as the right-wing regained power. They would only be saved on 4 Brumaire Year IV (October 26, 1795). Afterward, he withdrew to Thin-le-Mouthier, wrote works, became a member of the Agricultural, Arts, and Commerce Society of the Ardennes, and contrary to popular belief, did not immediately abandon political life. He published a manifesto in defense of the Babouvistes, which also criticized Lazare Carnot. It was only after the Brumaire coup, which brought to power a man he despised, Napoleon, that he withdrew from politics and rejected his friend Monge's offer to work for the First Consul, although he parted from him on good terms.

Xavier Audouin was a defrocked priest who began his revolutionary career in 1790. He quickly founded the Journal Universel in 1790, became a member of the Fontaine-de-Grenelle section, and participated in the August 10, 1792, insurrection. He befriended, among others, Hébert. After a month-long mission, he entered the Ministry of War under Pache, where he became the secretary-general. He married Pache’s daughter, Sylvie, who was 16 at the time. After Pache’s departure, Audouin became Bouchotte's deputy in the 6th division. He played a role in one of the most famous measures of the time, judicial reform: “We propose to relieve the Revolutionary Tribunal from the forms that stifle conscience and prevent conviction; 2) to add a law that gives jurors the ability to declare they are sufficiently informed. Only then will traitors be deceived, and terror will be the order of the day."

He was arrested at the same time as his father-in-law and shared the same fate until the amnesty of 4 Brumaire Year IV. Later, he founded Le Publiciste Philanthrope, becoming one of the most famous neo-Jacobins and opponents of the Directory (alongside figures like Félix Le Peletier, Topino-Lebrun,Antonelle, Victor Bach, Antonelle, Drouet, Jorry, René Vatar, etc.), and predicted Napoleon's rise. After the Brumaire coup, Xavier Audouin was included in a list for deportation, but this decision was quickly revoked. He became an historiographer at the War Depot and attempted, unsuccessfully, to rehabilitate the administration of Year II. He temporarily withdrew from political life in 1802 to become a lawyer. After the definitive Restoration of Louis XVIII, he became a royalist, a lawyer at the Royal Court, advocated for the abolition of the death penalty in political matters, and made proposals for better organizing the administration. He also wrote several books throughout his life. He always had an aversion to Camille Desmoulins, which seemed to be mutual.

Sylvie Audouin, born Pache, was just a teenager when her father took the family to Paris in 1790. She was a musician and played the harp like him. However, she already had a political consciousness when, in 1792, she signed alongside her future husband, Xavier Audouin, and other well-known revolutionaries like Pauline Léon. This suggests that she regularly attended the Luxembourg Patriotic Section. She also dined with her father’s collaborators such as Carnot-Feulins, Meusnier, Audouin, Vincent, Vergne, Hassenfratz, etc. According to historian Mathilde Larrère, Sylvie was already known during this period.

She married during the same period that Louis XVI was judged. According to her husband, she did not hesitate to discuss politics publicly or privately despite her young age. She showed great strength of character during the imprisonment of her father and husband, to the point where she was awarded a civic crown in Year IV. It can only be assumed that she continued to care about the politics of her husband while publicly supporting her father, remaining loyal to him even during the worst times. According to Pierquin, she did not become a royalist during the Restoration (unlike what Wikipedia said but also Tornare as he may not be reliable at times ) unlike her husband, her childrens and her brother.

Jean Pache, the youngest son of Jean-Nicolas Pache, made his career primarily in the military. As a young man during the French Revolution, he campaigned but returned to try to help his imprisoned father. He would continue his career under the Empire and was titled Baron. During the first Restoration, he became a fervent royalist and was awarded the Saint Louis Medal, while maintaining his noble title.

Debunking the "Black Legend": Accusations and Defences

There is a great black legend surrounding this family. Jean-Nicolas Pache, due to his secretive nature, has been seen as a traitor by the Girondins, and it is true that he did not make any gestures to assist some of his former friends, such as Manon Roland. However, as seen in the posts dedicated to him, the blame is shared. While he testified against them and did not react during the highly questionable executions of Madame Roland or other Girondins, this was not to his credit. Moreover, although he did not join his Hébertist colleagues in the attempted insurrection for valid reasons, he did not testify during the mock trial that sentenced them to death, despite their requests. He also did not intervene during the trial and execution of Chaumette, despite having worked closely with them and Hébert being one of those who had come to Pache’s aid against the Girondins. Additionally, the false testimony he gave about Marie-Antoinette’s son was atrocious. Some described him as a power-hungry man behind his discreet appearance. Even if, with his secretive nature, it is impossible to know his regrets, the only public remorse he displayed, according to Pierquin, was for failing to reconcile the Dantonists with the Commune (thus the Hébertists), as he believed that could have saved the revolution.

However, if it is true that he betrayed his former allies, he did defend Garin, who was harshly attacked. He showed great courage during his imprisonment, where he narrowly escaped the guillotine when the right regained power. He did not complain, especially not in the fortress of Ham, and did not throw his colleagues under the bus, particularly Bouchotte. Moreover, as mentioned earlier, after his release, he risked imprisonment or deportation again by writing in favor of the Babouvistes.

His lifelong friendship with Gaspard Monge endured, and he parted from him on good terms in 1803. Regarding his thirst for power, there is a strong counter-argument: he refused Napoleon’s offer to work for him on principle.

Xavier Audouin was occasionally accused of incompetence (his fortune was considered greater than his merit according to Adrien Sée) and cowardice, especially for not testifying in favor of his Hébertist friends, for having worked under the Consulate (potentially for the Empire) after denouncing Bonaparte during the Directory, and for being royalist during the Restoration.

Regarding the first accusation, it’s important to remember that he worked for Pache before he became his son-in-law and served as general secretary. Jean Nicolas Pache liked to surround himself with competent people, and therefore, Audouin must have had the qualities required for such an important position. He continued in this role as Bouchotte’s assistant. Furthermore, he was far from a "yes man," opposing certain matters, especially those related to his beloved father-in-law or his friend Vincent, particularly regarding the case of François-Siméon Chauvet. I also doubt that an incompetent person could have been part of the most important neo-Jacobins or predicted that Bonaparte would come to power if there wasn’t more vigilance. Not to mention that he was highly skilled at organizing certain administrations, a talent that would surface again when he became a lawyer at the Royal Court. He proposed interesting ideas regarding administrative reforms and the reorganization of ministries.

As for the accusation of cowardice, it is true that although testimonies show that Audouin was deeply affected by the death of his Hébertist friends, there is no written record of his opposition to the mock trials (even though Audouin claimed he had conflicts with the Committee of Public Safety). However, when he was arrested along with his father-in-law Pache and the guillotine was near, he openly requested in his letters that he share Pache’s fate, whatever it may be. He ends some of his letters with the republican saying “Liberty or death.” Furthermore, he remained a neo-Jacobin during the Directory at a time when it was very difficult for them, showing a form of courage. As for the fact that he rallied to Bonaparte for a time, it is unfortunate that he found himself caught in a contradiction between his attitude during the Directory and under the Consulate. However, he sought to rehabilitate the administration of Year II, even if it was in vain. I also believe that the reason he left the Consulate in Year II, according to some sources, may have been due to the persecution of Jacobins (after all, Topino-Lebrun, his colleague under the Directory, was executed under the Consulate following a mock trial, and the mass deportations of Jacobins led to the deaths of, among others, his colleague René Vatar, his former printer, and Rossignol, whom he knew well when they were imprisoned together). If Drouet, who had an impeccable revolutionary career until the era of Bonaparte, supported Napoleon and was "pardoned," why not Audouin?

When he became a staunch royalist under the Restoration, he did not renounce his revolutionary past, which could be seen as a defense in his favor.

Sylvie Audouin also has a certain dark legend that persists. Some historians, including Adolphe Thiers (although, given Thiers' political views, it’s no surprise he acted in bad faith), perpetuated the claim that she was part of the “lower Jacobinism,” and Taine even invented an imaginary sister for Sylvie, claiming that Pache “took pride in sending his daughters to the club to give the fraternal kiss to drunken Jacobins.” One of the most demonizing quotes about Sylvie came from Dumouriez, one of Pache’s sworn enemies, who said that “as ugly as she was wicked, this girl went to all the clubs to demand the head of the King.” Although Sylvie Audouin was known for openly discussing politics, signing manifests, she was too young to speak at a podium, even Lenôtre (who clearly was not a supporter of the French Revolution and partially criticized Pache) contested Dumouriez’s statement and defended Sylvie. Furthermore, one must consider Sylvie's actions: would a wicked girl have been friends with the daughters of Monge, as Louis de Launay stated? Would she have openly supported her husband and father in prison when their fate was uncertain, asking for forgiveness once freed, to be free before them? Would she have defied the guards’ insults, especially during the period of the White Terror, passed messages through the prison bars to Pache and Audouin, shared a tough winter in prison with her husband, and comforted other prisoners , notably Foussedoire, and written letters to try to secure her husband’s release? Would she have remained faithful to her father even during the Restoration? Between these facts and Dumouriez’s words, the choice is clear in my view.

Another point is that even in the memoirs of Pierquin, who conducted detailed research on Pache (although Pierquin often criticizes other revolutionary figures such as Carnot), it is said that Sylvie Audouin liquidated some of her father’s assets in 1825, even though she passed away in 1820 (unless she left posthumous instructions).

What is sad is that even the very small biographies (other than Louis de Launay's) that defend her or try to make her known focus solely on the prison aspect she endured, without mentioning her political actions, such as the manifest that she signed in 1792 against Louis XVI, for example, before her marriage.

Jean Pache also suffered his share of criticism. The first accusation is that after serving as a “soldier” and engineer during the French Revolution, he accepted a title under the Empire. Furthermore, during the first Restoration, he became a fervent royalist, adopting the title Baron Jean, renouncing his family name, and abandoning his father, who had just lost his mother, daughter, and granddaughter. However, one must also remember that during the French Revolution, he did everything he could to defend his father until his release in 1795. He did not espouse any significant ideology during this period (making it difficult to accuse him of being opportunistic), and the reason Jean Nicolas Pache was left alone despite his role in the trial of Marie-Antoinette was that his son had good relations with the royalists.

The last family member subject to these preconceived ideas is Jeanne Lallemand, Jean-Nicolas Pache’s mother. Described by Lenôtre as “a simple woman born in the time of the Regency, whose entire life had been spent in the humblest of circumstances, she certainly never understood the reasons for her son’s sudden rise or the disasters that followed,” (excerpt from Paris révolutionnaire: Vieilles maisons, vieux papiers). Nevertheless, a letter from Xavier Audouin disproves this view. He writes that Jeanne Lallemand always supported and applauded her son's revolutionary journey.

In conclusion, I make some suppositions and observations. I believe that Sylvie Audouin was always torn between the ideals of her father and her husband. According to Louis de Launay (although this is debatable because he provides an incorrect reason for the arrest of the Pache family), she was much more Hébertist than her father, as she allegedly argued over the executions of Prieur de la Côte d’Or and Lazare Carnot. Moreover, she engraved her husband’s name on her chest both out of loyalty and, for some, ideology (which Lenôtre compares to Bernadotte, who had the phrase “Death to kings” engraved on his arm). On the other hand, it seems that Xavier Audouin had little animosity towards Carnot, as according to Aulard, while he did not hesitate to admit that he had argued with Vadier, Collot, and Robespierre (who opposed the arrest of the Pache family), he claimed that his wife had argued with a governor (implied to be a member of the Committee of Public Safety) without naming them, which is strange. I believe it was Carnot or Prieur de la Côte d’Or (although Prieur was also one of those who refused to sign the arrest warrant for Pache). If this is true, then Sylvie's aversion to Carnot was shared with her father. Moreover, according to Pierquin, Sylvie did not become royalist like her husband and brother, a trait she shared with her father. I also wonder whether, given her background as the daughter of a Minister of War, who clearly taught her about politics and allowed her to interact with his collaborators, and as the wife of a former general secretary at that ministry, she understood some aspects of military operations or at least the workings of a ministry (within reason).

It is interesting to note the evolution of Xavier Audouin, who moved from judicial reform during the harsh three-day rule (which I mentioned earlier regarding the Revolutionary Tribunal) to, during the Directory, advocating “an emotional amplification of the country’s woes” and pleading for fraternity, forgiveness, and general reunification (though the context in 1793, when France was in a dire situation, explains this, while under the Directory, the Jacobin and Pantheon clubs disappeared). Finally, as a royalist, he became a man opposed to the death penalty in political matters. However, when his wife passed away, he ceased all political activity as if he had lost his political advisor and source of strength. Lenôtre says, “When he (Xavier Audouin) was no longer under the influence of his Cornélie (...), he softened permanently. He died a royalist in 1837.”

Key Moments in the Life of Jean-Baptiste Drouet:

The son of a timber merchant, Jean-Baptiste Drouet studied in Châlons-sur-Marne before briefly joining a regiment of dragoons, which he left in 1784.

In 1791, while serving as postmaster in Sainte-Menehould, he famously recognized King Louis XVI—disguised and fleeing the country. His intervention led to the king’s arrest in Varennes, making Drouet a national figure. He personally informed both the National Assembly and the Jacobins of the incident.

In 1792, he was elected to the National Convention, where he aligned with the Montagnards. He supported Philippe Égalité, voted for the king’s execution, and opposed the indictment of Marat.

Drouet was one of those who prevented Parisians from lynching Charlotte Corday following the assassination of Marat.

In 1793, Drouet was sent to the Army of the North, where he was captured by the Austrians during the siege of Maubeuge. According to Pierre Serna, in Maubeuge, the commander-in-chief wanted to remain in the citadel, but Drouet is said to have replied that a true republican has courage and goes out to fight.He puts himself at the head of his soldiers, is wounded and captured like these. Upon being recognized, he was reportedly beaten by an émigré. He was imprisoned under harsh conditions in Moravia and unsuccessfully attempted to escape (he will remain lame for the rest of his life). He was eventually exchanged in 1795 for Madame Royale, the daughter of Louis XVI.

He later served in the Council of Five Hundred and remained loyal to Jacobin ideals, maintaining significant popularity. Though absent during the Thermidorian Reaction, he was believed to be opposed to it.

Drouet played a central role in the Babouvist movement. After the conspiracy was dismantled, he was imprisoned at the Abbaye but escaped thanks to Barras, who knew that if Drouet were tried alongside the Babouvists, it would be far harder to obtain theirs convictions.

From Paris, Drouet traveled to Switzerland, then to India and eventually to the Canary Islands, which, according to Pierre Serna, had cast a particular spell on him.

Upon his return to France—now amnestied—he became one of the most prominent Neo-Jacobins opposing the Directory, alongside Audouin, Antonelle, Topino-Lebrun, Le Peletier, Jorry, Vatar, Lebois, and Metge (whose case is more complex). Within the Manège political club, he wielded considerable influence.

He eventually rallied to Bonaparte. Napoleon appointed him sub-prefect, a position he held until 1814. He was awarded the Legion of Honor in 1807.

In 1814, he organized local resistance against foreign armies. Elected deputy in 1815, he served during the Hundred Days. Condemned to exile in 1816, he went into hiding in Mâcon under a false name. He lived a modest life there, working as a pastry chef and later as a gardener for an ultra-royalist, until his death. His identity was revealed by his partner after his passing.

What Historian Jean-Marc Schiappa Said About Him: Jean-Marc Schiappa described Drouet as a “man of action.” When Grisel reported the Babouvist conspiracy to Carnot—including a meeting held at Drouet’s house—Carnot realized that in order to arrest the “hero of Varennes,” who enjoyed parliamentary immunity, they would need to arrest the entire group present (at Grisel’s suggestion). However, the police got the address wrong, and the meeting dispersed quickly.

That gathering included Lindet, Babeuf, Buonarroti, Darthé, Fyon, Massart, Rossignol, Drouet, Ricord, Javogues, and Laignelot. Their arrest would come later. Grisel later claimed:

“Around half past nine, a cavalry patrol stopped outside the door, naturally. I saw everyone trembling in that instant.”

But for the last sentence just like Schiappa said when you consider that Drouet was known as a man of action; that Javogues was executed singing the Marseillaise; that Rossignol, despite all his flaws, was known for his courage; and that Babeuf remained calm and composed even while being hunted by police in the streets—acting rationally to improve his chances of escape—it’s hard not to doubt Grisel, who had a reputation for exaggeration and self-aggrandizement.

Much later, Drouet would actually be arrested in flagrante delicto at Dufour’s home on Rue Papillon, where he was expected to meet Darthé and others—not due to any information from Grisel.

Schiappa also remarked that Drouet had "every qualification: the man of Varennes, an unblemished Conventionnel, prisoner of the Austrians, and the author of a dramatic escape—he jumped from a window of the Spielberg fortress, dozens of meters high, using a makeshift parachute, and was later found with a broken foot. Even better, his imprisonment kept him away from the factional infighting in the Convention. He cannot be blamed for May 31, the fall of the Dantonists, 9 Thermidor, or the events of Prairial—on either side.”

Where Things Become Confusing for me: How could someone who was part of the hard core of the Babouvist movement later rally behind Bonaparte? I still don’t understand — especially considering that Bonaparte’s regime caused the deaths of many of Drouet’s fellow Babouvists through deportation, leaving their families in misery. Many of the deported were primary breadwinners.

For example, Dufour—the man in whose home Drouet was arrested during the Babouvist conspiracy—died in deportation, leaving six children behind. His wife, who publicly upheld Jacobin ideals and gave speeches denouncing Bonaparte, fought desperately to save him, but in vain. There’s also the tragic case of Topino-Lebrun.

Even more strangely, Bonaparte despised the Babouvists. So it’s surprising that he valued someone like Drouet, who had been one of the movement’s most important figures. Perhaps it was a calculated move—Bonaparte may have wanted a symbolic figure like Drouet by his side. Or maybe he respect him For his impressive career.

Source:

Jean Marc Schiappa

Pierre Serna

Here a biography in french in the site Maitron about Drouet:

https://maitron.fr/drouet-jean-baptiste/

Sometimes biographies of the site are good, sometimes bad because they are sometimes based on a single historian (like for example that of Victor Bach which was not good because it was only Dautry as a source or the one which says that Marie-Anne Babeuf was only arrested for two days under the Directory whereas it was three weeks in the Petite Force prison). But you will find good sources for Drouet.

Here what Napoléon said about babouvist ( a translation in english of the work of the historian Victor Daline):

Warning: Sensitive souls should refrain: at one point, there will be a defamation of Gracchus brought by his political adversaries regarding cannibalism involving his daughter (completely false).

In my view, Émile was a revolutionary (yes, he actively participated in the French Revolution from a very young age—helping fold and send out his father’s press articles at age 9 when Guffroy was Babeuf’s printer; acting as a courier for his father at 11 during the Babeuf conspiracy; showing impressive skills as a press hawker for his age; and managing correspondence for Drouet—all while managing to elude police surveillance, according to Directory reports, just like his parents). He had one of the most violent and traumatic childhoods among French revolutionaries—perhaps even one of the worst.

At just two years old, he witnessed the death of his elder sister, Sophie, who died after being severely scalded on her hips. Gracchus never recovered from the trauma. He later described both Sophie and Émile to Dubois de Fosseux in terms filled with affection, pride, and deep love—so much so that he neglected his correspondence for a time out of grief.

Despite both Gracchus and Marie-Anne being diligent and responsible, the family often lived in precarious conditions due to deep social inequalities. Their revolutionary ideals only worsened their fate over time, as persecution increased.

When Émile saw his father arrested for the first time, in the middle of the night at their home in 1790, he reportedly cried as the scene unfolded—something I believe entirely, based on Gracchus’s testimony.

Though deeply loved by his parents—his father even sent toys when he could afford it—letters between Gracchus and Marie-Anne reveal the children often went hungry.

After Thermidor, Gracchus was briefly allied politically with Guffroy. But at age nine, Émile and his mother were thrown out by Guffroy—despite her work on the revolutionary newspaper. Guffroy even said to them that he would denounce Gracchus to the General Safety Committee . It must have been devastating for Émile to witness the violent argument between his mother and Guffroy, but even worse to hear a man threaten, in front of a child, to have his father arrested.

This wouldn’t be the last time Émile saw one of his father’s "allies" become either an enemy or betray him in ways that left lasting scars. The next, and even more traumatic, figure was Fouché. Their relationship was far more complex than the cliché of “Fouché manipulating Babeuf”—even Waresquiel, an excellent historian, has notable gaps in his treatment of this relationship, as does Victor Daline.

When Gracchus was imprisoned again and transferred to Arras, the family entered yet another horrific phase. In 1795, famine, rising prices, and corruption pushed them to the brink. Émile’s little sister Sophie—whom he shared his few toys with—agonized for nearly two months. With Gracchus in jail, Marie-Anne struggled alone while Émile and his younger brother Camille remembered their father's advice and ask Fouché to help them. Fouché responded with a lie, claiming poverty, and gave them a mere 10 livres—a miserly handout, treating them like beggars despite their desperate situation.

Émile, furious, wrote to his father that they were not surviving thanks to the "generosity of his friends." (he is referring to Fouché in this letter). Tragically, Sophie died—almost certainly of starvation, because they lacked money for food or a doctor . Émile had to be the one to inform his father of her death in prison—possibly because Marie-Anne, as usual, was also maintaining underground political contacts in addition to caring for her children. It must have been unbearable for him.

Later, when Marie-Anne wrote to Gracchus advising him to manipulate Fréron, Tallien, and Guffroy (and likely Fouché too, based on indirect clues) into thinking he wasn’t a threat—to get him released sooner and lower their guard—it’s noted that Émile fully supported the idea. Was it because he wanted to see his father sooner, or out of hatred for Guffroy and Fouché? It’s hard to say—but I wouldn’t blame him if it were the latter.

Once released, Gracchus returned to clandestine life. Marie-Anne became his key messenger, skilled in evading the Directory's police—even though they knew she was the only link to his allies. She hand-delivered his communications from his hideout. But this time, the authorities escalated. They arrested Marie-Anne, trying to force her to reveal Gracchus's location. She spent three weeks in the Petite Force prison, refusing to cooperate. Meanwhile, Camille was gravely ill during these period.

That means Émile had to fend for himself in those early days—his mother imprisoned, his father in hiding, and his little brother sick. A neighbor eventually took them in, but the damage was likely already done. According to police reports, Émile may have tried to warn his father, as officers followed him but eventually lost track—believing he made contact with Gracchus. So even as a child, he was under constant surveillance. Hardly the environment for a healthy upbringing.

He helped his parents however he could, even during the Conspiracy of the Equals, notably through his work with Drouet. And then came the repression. I’ve always wondered how he felt witnessing the failed uprisings, the bloody crackdown at Camp Grenelle, and the sight of his father and fellow conspirators caged in iron and abused by gendarmes. Émile was among those who walked the route from Paris to Vendôme on foot with his mother Marie-Anne, Teresa Poggi (Vadier’s wife), and others.

Worst of all, during the trial, the prosecution attempted to turn father against son. They used a note written by Émile that said “Gracchus I” to accuse Babeuf of wanting to restore monarchy. Gracchus, enraged, shut down the accusation by pointing to his son in the courtroom in a moment of defiant solidarity. It must have been painful—but likely not as painful as when, as a child, Émile heard the vile rumor that his father had once been a cannibal to his own daughter.

At least life with the Hesine family during the Vendôme trial offered Émile a bit of peace. But even then, his father was extremely strict about politics and education, and he watched as his mother continued plotting secret communications and even a failed escape attempt for Gracchus.

Despite being loving parents—buying the rare toy when they could, deeply concerned about their children’s health (Marie-Anne once wrote that her heart ached seeing her children suffer; when Émile was jailed, she fought to visit him regularly; Gracchus once awoke in tears imagining Émile ill, inventing nicknames like Fanfinot and calling himself “your little beggar,” even quoting Hébert in letters just to make Émile laugh)—I can’t help but feel they were too demanding of him.

Not necessarily for involving him in politics or revolutionary action, including the conspiracy—but in terms of his personal development, his emotional growth in other areas of life. That part seems to have been sacrificed entirely.

To illustrate my point, I will share a letter—but not before setting the context.

After the repression of the Babouvists, Babeuf knew his chances of survival were slim, even though he intended to keep fighting (frustratingly, he narrowly missed escaping with his comrades). During this time, Émile—who was being homeschooled—naturally grew distracted. Initially, Marie-Anne and Gracchus had hoped that Émile could continue his education close to his father, even going so far as to plan the adaptation of the prison cell for that purpose. But they were ultimately forced to abandon the idea due to administrative complications.

Given everything Émile had already endured in his short life, it’s entirely understandable that he began to lose interest in his studies.

Instead of gently encouraging him or, better yet, giving him a week or two to rest and recover mentally, Gracchus responded to a disagreement with this rather harsh letter:

“Why do you not tell me about your stilts, my dear friend? It is said they make you look very tall and that you cross the river with them. That is quite brave, but I am not, however, dazzled with admiration. I fear that, with all this height from the stilts, you remain a very small man in terms of intelligence, and your letter from yesterday does not dispel this fear.

You accuse me of having insulted you (you wrote faire des ingures—a spelling mistake). I guessed that you meant des injures (insults). I saw with regret that you understood neither the meaning of the word nor how to spell it, and it is the stilts and other such distractions that are to blame.

I told you never to speak like a parrot; that you should be sure of the meaning of expressions before using them; that even the simplest words should be well understood before you use them, because otherwise one risks babbling nonsense. Try to remember this lesson. It is one of the first and most important.”

When Émile later wrote a letter expressing his desire to improve, Gracchus wrote the following to Marie-Anne:

“I was not too displeased with Émile’s work yesterday. The copy was done with some precision. From what you tell me, I can hope that he will do well. However, he must realize that it is not enough to be sensitive, to cry, and to behave well for a day—he must make a lasting decision.”

Marie-Anne likely agreed with what Gracchus wrote—knowing her strong personality, had she disagreed, she almost certainly would have said so.

And then there's the violin episode. Émile played it the way most 11-year-olds do—lightly, for fun. But when Gracchus heard about it, he was unhappy. He wanted Émile to practice for several hours a day (even though one or two would have been enough) on top of his lessons.

I get the impression that Gracchus, in some ways, reproduced the family dynamic he himself experienced as a child—particularly in his high expectations (although, unlike his own father, he never raised a hand against his children). He was demanding, yes, but he also allowed Émile to choose between a scientific and a more literary path, ultimately supporting the latter because he believed his son would be both happier and more talented in that domain.

I understand their fears. If Émile failed in his education, what future would he have? Both Gracchus and Marie-Anne had their childhoods stolen by poverty and were forced to work at a young age for just a few coins. They knew better than anyone—especially Gracchus—what it meant to have a childhood stripped away. But even with the best of intentions, there are better ways to guide a child than placing such a heavy burden on his shoulders.

I’m not saying they were bad parents—on the contrary, they were deeply loving and committed—but they made mistakes. In my view, they bear part of the responsibility for Émile’s later development (though a much smaller share compared to the other reasons I’ve mentioned and will continue to explore), particularly in imposing an educational pressure that was simply too much for a child his age to carry.

Later, according to some historians, Émile took it upon himself to hand the knife to his father and Darthé so they could attempt suicide together. But the attempt failed—right in front of Émile’s eyes.

Later still, when Gracchus begged to see his sons one last time, the authorities denied his request. He never got to say goodbye face to face.

One might have thought things would improve once Félix Le Peletier became Émile’s adoptive father. He sent Émile to boarding school to ensure he received a proper education, and he took his role as protector of the Babeuf family—whom he considered his own—very seriously. But no. In Year VII (1798–99), Émile’s mother was denounced and placed under surveillance. Then, in 1801, Bonaparte rose to power. Many of Émile’s father’s friends—people he had known personally—were executed (like Topino-Lebrun) or deported, never to return (like René Vatar). His mother was arrested once again.

We must not forget that following the assassination attempt on Rue Saint-Nicaise, the press—under Bonaparte’s influence—incited such hatred against the Jacobins in Paris that they could no longer appear in public without risking being assaulted. And although some important Babouvists, like Drouet, aligned themselves with Bonaparte’s regime, those who had followed Babeuf closely—whether actively or passively—found themselves once again on the front lines of repression.

From boarding school, Émile must have feared not only for his mother, his two younger brothers, and his adoptive father Félix—who narrowly escaped deportation and likely death—but also for many of his father’s former friends and allies, whom he had known well. I wouldn’t be surprised if Émile also faced persecution among his peers, given the hostility toward Jacobins at the time.

His early adult life brought no relief. In 1808 came the first Malet conspiracy. I am certain Émile was involved—he had not yet become a Bonapartist—perhaps under the pretext of reconnecting with his father’s old comrades like Buonarroti, Antonelle, Le Peletier. A telling piece of evidence: in seized documents, a note in his own handwriting referred to “Father Antonelle,” not simply “Antonelle.” Most conspirators (except Hesine, who had more or less rallied to the Empire) were members of the Philadelphian Society. In addition, Buonarroti, Antonelle, and Le Peletier—among others—engaged in behavior that appeared overtly suspicious to the regime.

I strongly suspect that Marie-Anne was involved too, despite her denials. It would not have been the first time she lied to the police, claiming to be politically detached when in fact she was deeply trained in clandestine action—just like her son. Émile even wrote to some of his colleagues that his mother was sending them greetings from Paris.There are also some indirect clues that she might have been implicated in opposition to Bonaparte (the problem is that Marie-Anne was often so effective in her clandestine actions and in maintaining her lies—and since the time called for extreme caution, people avoided writing things down to keep from incriminating themselves—that it makes everything quite complicated. It's part of the mystery that surrounds this historical figure) .

When the plot was uncovered, Émile narrowly escaped arrest by being abroad. His mother, once again, faced police procedures; her papers were confiscated (though later returned), and she underwent a harsh moral interrogation. I believe only Marie-Anne’s cunning—and possibly an intervention by Réal—spared them from prison.

And who ordered the arrest warrant for Émile, alongside the harassment of his mother? Fouché—their so-called “former ally,” who had known Émile since childhood. If there was one person Fouché had a moral obligation to spare, it was Émile—especially considering the many people Fouché had wronged, who deserved far greater reparations because of him. But he didn’t and once again the family Babeuf suffered.

Soon after, Émile’s brother Camille suffered a mental collapse and was committed temporarily to Charenton.

About a year later, Émile was able to return to France and settled in Lyon, where he met Catherine Finet, a bookseller at least sixteen years his senior, whom he eventually married. In 1811, he experienced what may have been the happiest year of his life: the birth of his daughter, Émilie. Her name, I believe, was a feminine homage to Rousseau—an echo of the name his father had once given him in tribute.

During the Hundred Days, under the imminent threat of the Bourbon restoration, Émile once again fulfilled his revolutionary duty to the nation, setting aside any lingering resentment toward Carnot over his father's fate. (Gracchus Babeuf had never truly held Carnot responsible, and so perhaps Émile didn’t either.) He wrote a letter to Carnot about the state of France and may have contributed to the dissemination of his Memoir to the King. He allied himself with his adoptive father Félix Le Peletier and another key Babouvist, Toulotte.

But tragedy struck again. His younger brother, Caïus, died at the age of seventeen during the "defense of Paris". One account suggests he may have been hit by a stray Prussian bullet, although this remains unconfirmed. Shortly thereafter, the Bourbons were restored. As if that weren’t enough, his other brother, Camille, committed suicide in 1815—some say from madness, others from despair at the return of the monarchy. It was likely both, worsened by his poverty despite a careful education, as revealed in a letter he wrote to Réal.

Émile had now lost all his siblings in tragic, violent circumstances.

But his hardships didn’t end there. The White Terror hit him hard. After almost losing his adoptive father once again, Émile was caught up in the “Patriots Affair.” Le Maitron explains:

“Émile Babeuf was implicated in the Nain tricolore affair, a Bonapartist journal printed in Troyes in January 1816, artificially linked by the courts to the so-called ‘Patriots Affair,’ which was even more harshly repressed… He was charged with printing texts containing direct or indirect incitement to overthrow the government… and sentenced to deportation by the Seine assize court on June 11, 1816.”

His revolutionary background—and that of his parents—certainly worked against him. His wife and mother tirelessly supported him, filing petitions and handling legal matters. But he must have lived in terror, wondering what fate awaited his mother, his wife, and his daughter.

In 1818, Émile was pardoned by the king. This was due to the fact that, unlike his comrades, he refused to escape when the opportunity arose and instead turned himself in. I can’t help but wonder if his parents would have done the opposite—knowing them, they probably would have. I suspect something inside Émile broke at that moment. That may have been the beginning of his reactionary turn—a retreat into submission.

After his release, he settled once again near his mother. Though he initially collaborated with some of his father’s former colleagues—like Marc-Antoine Jullien—Émile gradually disappointed many of those around him. Buonarroti, though still affectionate, criticized his politics—not only his Bonapartist leanings. Émile was increasingly sidelined politically by Buonarroti, Le Peletier, and others during the Bourbon resistance—not because he was a traitor, but because he had become politically unreliable.

He also fell out with the Duplay family, especially with Philippe Le Bas Jr., over his Biographie nouvelle des contemporains, which Le Bas found dangerously Thermidorian and riddled with inaccuracies. From that point forward, Émile embraced a fully reactionary outlook—and frequently resorted to distortion and fabrication.

Even in his memoirs about his parents, he invented noble origins for his mother and falsely claimed a military rank for his grandfather. Yes, his parents had lied—but their lies were strategic, meant to protect themselves from repression or deceive enemies for the sake of their cause. Émile’s lies, in contrast, were self-serving. Buonarroti rightly disapproved. When Buonarroti wrote his own memoirs, he too distorted the truth—downplaying Marie-Anne’s major political role—but likely out of concern for her safety, as she was still alive under Charles X. That kind of lie had a purpose. Émile’s did not.

So what should we remember about Émile Babeuf?

On one hand: his admirable qualities. As a child, he worked for his father’s underground press without complaining himself, acted as a courier, and warned his father when his mother was arrested for better save her. In 1808, he was seen as reliable enough to be considered an ally in Malet’s conspiracy against Napoleon—evidence of both courage and conviction. During the Hundred Days, he collaborated with Carnot and even Bonaparte—perhaps out of pragmatism or, eventually, belief—in service of the revolutionary ideals he had inherited from his father.He willingly ignored the suffering that these two men (albeit for different reasons) inflicted on him in an attempt to save France and the revolutionary ideas that consolidated it.

But after 1818—especially after 1820—Émile took a reactionary path. He failed to uphold the very ideals he had once embraced, and he deeply disappointed many who had believed in him.

His shift likely came after his sentencing. Perhaps he thought: “What did the ideals of the revolution bring my family? My father, guillotined. My mother, perpetually persecuted. My siblings, all dead in tragic, violent ways. I nearly died myself. Meanwhile, our enemies prospered (aka Guffroy, Barras and Fouché).Even Tallien was treated better than us when the Bourbons returned. Enough. I’ll only honor my parents and their close allies like Buonarroti and Le Peletier. The rest? No longer my concern.This time I don't care about becoming a liar for personal reasons and being called unreliable.” And so, he began distorting the past, abandoning in his way old comrades, and writing biased, misleading memoirs. In this sense, he became a “failed revolutionary,” at least compared to the legacy of his parents.

His suffering doesn’t excuse him. He remains responsible for the damage his actions and lies caused.

And yet, it’s heartbreaking to see him become so utterly reactionary—the same person who once wrote to Félix Le Peletier: “I burn to know something so that one day I may make the name of Gracchus beautiful and great in history.” In the end, he became a marginal activist who relinquished his ideals.The saddest part in all of this is that Émile Babeuf had great potential, for all the reasons I mentioned. Unfortunately, all the hardships he went through ended up being wasted, as he turned his back on his responsibilities and hurt people who needed him — people who had never harmed him. In a way, he reminds me of Madame Royale, who also had great potential (especially in the way she handled military affairs on certain aspects ), but allowed the grudges of the past to blind her to that (I know it's a bit of a strange comparison, but since I made a post about her recently, I was able to see some parallels between these two very different characters).

Perhaps his daughter Emilie fared better: she moved to Vendôme to be near the community that once embraced the Babeuf family as public opinion shifted after the death of her father . She died unmarried, working as a linen presser. I hope she lived a good life—it would have been deserved after all they endured.

Sources :

Jean Dautry

Bernard Gainot

Pierre Serna

Victor Daline

Jean Marc Schiappa

Advielle

Claude Mazauric

Galina Tchertkova

Thanks to @saintjustitude, without whom I would never have discovered others informations on Emile Babeuf

Plus @aedislumen who told me about the possible link between Carnot and Emile Babeuf on the "Mémoires au Roi"