#laure junot

I finally finished that so here's the deal. The events take place exactly 200 years later and folks here work as economists, other than that everything's (almost) the same. Also everyone who died in battle or executed because of war now alive and well, maybe just fired/quit their job.

Thank you so much for your kind words ! 🤍

Given the unexpected success of my "dudes described by women" collection, I indeed have made a new compilation (not yet about English gentlemen, unfortunately), after @ic-napology asked for it back in May :

And it was so fun and interesting ! So :

Napoléon described by women, a compilation

“At that stage of his life, Napoleon was ugly. Since then, he has undergone a complete transformation. I am not referring to the prestigious aura of his glory; I am speaking solely of the physical change that took place gradually over the course of seven years. Thus, everything about him that used to be bony, sallow, even sickly, has become rounder, lighter, and more handsome. His features, which were almost all angular and sharp, have taken on a rounder appearance, as they have filled out with flesh, which had been almost entirely absent. His gaze and his smile remained as admirable as ever; his entire appearance also underwent a transformation. His hairstyle, which seems so peculiar to us today in the engravings of his crossing of the Arcole Bridge, was quite simple back then, as those very muscadins he raved so much about had even longer hair; but his complexion was so sallow at that time, and he took such poor care of himself, that his unkempt, poorly powdered hair gave him an unpleasant appearance. His small hands, too, had been transformed; back then, they were thin, long, and dark. It is well known just how vain he had become, and quite rightly so, since that time. Finally, when I picture Napoleon entering the courtyard of the Hôtel de la Tranquillité in 1795, crossing it with a rather awkward and uncertain gait, wearing a shabby round hat pulled down over his eyes, his two poorly powdered oreilles de chien peeking out, and the collar of that iron-gray frock coat—which has since become a glorious banner, no less so than Henry IV’s white plume—hanging down; without gloves, because, as he said, “it was a useless expense,” wearing boots that were poorly lined and poorly polished, and then that whole sickly appearance resulting from his thinness and his sallow complexion—in short, when I recall his memory from that time and see him again later, I cannot see the same man in these two portraits.”

– Mémoires de Madame la duchesse d’Abrantès, t. 1, Garnier Frères, Paris, 1893, pp. 195-196

“It was between Bonaparte's return and his departure for Egypt—that is, toward the end of 1797—that I saw him several times in Paris, and the difficulty I felt breathing in his presence never subsided. [...] I studied Bonaparte’s face intently; but whenever he caught me looking at him, he seemed to strip his eyes of all expression, as if they had turned to marble. His face would then become motionless, except for a vague smile that he would occasionally let appear on his lips to throw off anyone who might be trying to read the outward signs of his thoughts.”

– Madame de Staël, Considérations sur la Révolution française, v. I, Charpentier, Paris, 1862, p. 495

“Buonaparte himself, as I have already said, was in his undress consular uniform, but with silk stockings and small buckles. His hair is very dark, and cropped much shorter than it appears on any of his busts, and it does not lay well or smoothly upon his head. He, by no means, struck me as so little as I had heard him represented, and as, indeed, he appeared on horseback. His shoulders are broad, which gives his figure importance. His complexion, though pale and yellow, has not the appearance of ill health. His teeth are good, and his mouth, when speaking, as I saw him in good humour, has a remarkable and uncommon expression of sweetness. Indeed, his whole countenance, as I saw him in this circle, was more that of complacence and quiet intelligence than of any decided penetration and strong expression whatsoever. [...] His eyes are light grey, and he looks full in the face of the person to whom he speaks. To me always a good sign. Yet, after all I have said of the sweetness of his countenance, I can readily believe what is said that it is terrible and firedarting when angry, or greatly moved by any cause.”

– Mary Berry, Journals and Correspondence, v. II, Longmans, Green and Co, Londres, 1865, p. 189

“During dinner, I found myself seated between my mother and a general who, whenever he spoke to her, would lean in with such vigor and persistence that it annoyed me and forced me to lean back. Thus, despite myself, I found myself observing his face, which was handsome and very expressive, though remarkably pale. He spoke passionately and seemed entirely absorbed in my mother. It was General Bonaparte.”

– Mémoires de la Reine Hortense, v. I, Plon, Paris, 1930, pp. 41-42

“I cannot express how happy I was to see the Emperor from such a close distance, or how eagerly I studied him and took in his every word. It was the first time I had been able to see and hear him so at ease, for he usually came to the queen’s residence only in the evening, when she was hosting a grand ball. There, lost in the crowd, it would have been very difficult for me to even attempt to approach him. [...] I absorbed the tone of his voice and the expression in his eyes—so precious to study in a man as great and extraordinary as he was. Seen from so close up, he commanded respect mixed with admiration from everyone; but at the same time, he touched people's hearts with a great air of good nature, which one was surprised to find in him, given the shyness he inspired in everyone. Soon I was able to see how much those who accused him of insensitivity were mistaken about this strong soul, which was nonetheless open to all the emotions of genuine feelings.”

Mathilda Malling was a Swedish author known for her controversially bold depictions of women’s sensuality, and she wrote several romance books set during the Napoleonic era, including “The Governor’s Wife” - a novel about the marriage of Jean-Andoche and Laure Junot, and the strains put upon their marriage by the Bonaparte family.

However, this book is far more than regular historical fiction - at the time that she wrote the book, Malling was living in Copenhagen and made the acquaintance of Junot’s granddaughter, Valentine de Moüy (presumably because Valentine’s daughter, Marie-Madeleine had married into the Danish Castenschiold family - thank you @apurpledust for finding this connection!). Valentine allowed Mathilda to read the full correspondence of Junot and Laure as research for her book, and Mathilda got a very romantic impression of their relationship:

It is known that's Napoléon who started calling her like that. Was it imposed on her, meaning "I prefer the name Joséphine, so I'll call you like that from now on" similar to what Laure d'Abrantes did to Junot or did it start just like a cute nickname, like those that people in love sometimes address each other with? Did she like it or silently accepted this sort of "new baptism"?

Ciao Aurora,

First of all never worry about questions especially if you feel new to a topic:) and I love talking about these cute details, it's my(/our?) favourite ship after all ☺️

I personally don't know how Josephine took it, but it's probably impossible to determine per se. Her perspective on things in general is particularly hard to get, because she left little to no letters and no memoirs. That is also a huge factor behind her image as uncaring, frivolous and somewhat passive woman: only secondary voices held the narrative about her too for those who came after.

My personal guess is that she may have genuinely liked it; it derived from one of the components of her entire name anyway, Marie-Joseph Rose. Curiously, "Joseph" it's the only one of the three she had never used before Napoleon, probably because it's the least flattering, but "Joséphine" is a much more graceful version of it. (Io però detesto quando glielo traducono in Giuseppina, non suona altrettanto bene. Un po' come Geneviève che diventa Genoveffa😅)

And no matter how strange and demanding he may have seemed, she might have recognized the lovely intention behind Napoleon's choice, as a way to say "I want you to understand that I see you like no one else sees you".

I get Napoleon could be an invasive person to deal with, but to me "Josephine" rather looks like it started as name to give her in private. He had done the same thing with Desirée Clary after all, whom he called "Eugénie" in his letters; but from the moment he broke up with her he resumed calling her Desirée. It's not like he demanded women changed their names forever for him.

Another guess of mine is that "Josephine" became her public name as well because people kept catching Napoleon calling her like that - he was notoriously more publicly affectionate and informal than the average gentleman, especially in his younger years - so they started to do the same as he became more and more popular, as a subtle way to signal their allegiance to him.

I don't know what you meant about Laure and Andoche Junot instead so I'll gladly ask you, did she give him a nickname too? I didn't know about that :)

some crappy photos I took from this Napoleonic magazine I bought (only because it had Junot as its cover 😭) . it was published like 13 years ago but holds up pretty well I think