Louis XVIII, The Last King Of France To Die Still Ruling


Prince Louis Stanislas Xavier, Count of Provence, always coveted the crown. Yet, no one thought he would really become king. Born on 17 November 1755 in Versailles, he was the third surviving on of the Dauphin Louis and his wife Maria Josepha of Saxony and far too removed from the crown for him to seriously aspire to it. But then first his oldest brother, the Duke of Burgundy, and then his father, died. Only his other elder brother, the future Louis XVI, and his grandfather, King Louis XV, stood between him and the crown.

Louis Stanislas was more confident than his older brother. Maybe that's due to his special relationship with his governess, Madame de Marsan, Governess of the Children of France, who had charge of the royal boys until they were deemed, at about 7, old enough to start studying with a tutor (his was Antoine de Quélen de Stuer de Caussade, Duke of La Vauguyon). Louis Stanislas was Madame's favourite.


Louis Stanislas was also the smartest and brightest of the royal boys. He enjoyed the same education as his older brother, even though he wasn't destined to become king. He excelled in the classics. He particularly liked history and literature, loved Horace (he could quote his verses from memory), was fluent in three languages (French, Italian, and English), and knew the Bible well.

The Prince excelled in intellectual pursuits but wasn't fond of physical activity. But he loved eating. So, although not bad looking, Louis Stanislas started to put on weight. He wasn't the most attractive of suitors, but then his wife, Princess Maria Giuseppina of Savoy, wasn't particularly attractive either. Mostly because her hygiene was very poor. She rarely wore perfume or even bathed, and never brushed her teeth. She was boring and, coming from a smaller court, ignorant of the many customs that regulated life at Versailles.


The couple tied the knot on 14 May 1771, but didn't consummate their marriage for years. Yet, the Count of Provence did boast of exploits in the bedroom just to spite his older brother, who had yet to consummate his own marriage to Marie Antoinette. The two brothers often quarrelled, as did their wives. In the end, Louis Stanislas managed to overcome his aversion towards his wife and got her pregnant twice. Sadly both pregnancies ended in miscarriages.

In 1774, Louis XV died. As the new king, Louis XVI, was still childless, Louis Stanislas was, for the moment, heir to the throne. He thought he now deserved a seat on the council, so that he could exercise his influence in politics. But the king had other ideas and refused him the post. Greatly offended, the Count of Provence started travelling around France. When, in the following year, Queen Marie Antoinette gave birth to two son, Louis Stanislas fell once again down the line of succession.


Kept away from politics, the Count enjoyed a retired and sedentary lifestyle. He read a lot, gambled and lost huge sums of money, and spent time with his mistress, Anne Nompar de Caumont. But, in 1878, he had his chance to finally get involved in politics. He was among the notables who opposed the new taxes required to keep the French government afloat. New taxes would now have to be approved by the Estates Generals.

In the next Assembly of Notables, Louis Stanislas was the only one to support giving more representation to the common people in the Estates Generals. This measure was supported by the finance minister, Jacques Necker, who managed to convinced the King to adopt it. The Estates Generals convened. The Third Estate demanded tax reforms, something Louis Stanislas was absolutely against. He advised his brother not to compromise with them and give in to their requests.


Revolution broke out. As their younger brother fled, Louis Stanislas stayed by Louis XVI's side at Versailles until the flight to Varennes. The Count of Provence and his wife left at the same time as the King and his family, but were luckier. They managed to arrived safely at their destination in Belgium. As his brother was held prisoner of the Revolutionaries, the Count proclaimed himself Regent. He also asked the various European monarch for help, money, and soldiers.

When Louis XVI died too, the Count of Provence was proclaimed king Louis XVIII of France by royalists. He moved to Verona, in the then Republic of Venice, and managed to have his niece Marie Therese, the only surviving child of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, freed from her prison. He wanted her to marry her first cousin, Louis-Antoine, Duke of Angoulême, the son of the Count of Artois. To convince her, he told her that was what her parents had wanted. Marie Therese agreed.


When, in 1796, Napoleon invaded the Republic of Venice, Louis XVIII was forced to flee once again. He wrote again to Napoleon, asking him to restore him as rightful king but to no avail. Napoleon wanted him to renounce his right to the throne but that didn't happen either. "I may have lost my country, I may have lost my possessions, but I still have my honor, and with it I will die," Louis said. Instead, Louis XVIII and his family travelled from one European country to another. As they fell under the control of Napoleon, they were kicked out and forced to look for a new home.

Soon, Great Britain remained the only country still fighting against Napoleon, so Louis XVIII and his family settled there. The King also realised that, if he wanted back his throne, some things had to change. Too much had happened for the monarchy to be restored as it once was. He started hinting that, once he was back on the throne, he would retain some of the changed wrought by the Revolution. For instance, he wouldn't return the lands confiscated by the Revolutionaries to their rightful owners, but the latter would be financially refunded for their loss.


This allowed him to attract the support of those who were disillusioned with Napoleon's regime without alienating ardent royalists. But when the moment for him finally came to rule, once Napoleon was defeated, Louis XVIII was held back in England by an attack of gout. He sent his bother, the Count of Artois, in his place to set up the new government.

When he finally returned, amid the cheers of the crowd, he did so as a Constitutional monarch. He issued the Charter of 1814, which included many progressive reforms: freedom of religion, a legislature composed of the Chamber of Deputies and the Chamber of Peers, and a somewhat free press. It was the best compromise between the old and new order that could have been reached. Sill, of course, many weren't pleased. For the royalists, too much had been conceded. For the republicans, too little.

Louis XVIII had barely had time to sit on his throne when Napoleon escaped from Elba, where he had been exiled. He was forced to flee France once again. This time, Napoleon was swiftly defeated, and Louis VIII was able to take back his throne. In 1824, his health began to fail. Very obese, he suffered from gout and gangrene. He died on 16 September 1824, passing the crown to his younger brother, Charles X. He was the last French monarch to die while still ruling.

Further reading:
Louis XVIII by Mary F. Sanders
Tea At Trianon
The Mad Monarchist

Life In The Temple Prison


The Temple had been, as its name imported, the fortress and palace of the Knights Templars, and, having been erected by them in the palmy days of their wealth and magnificence, contained spacious apartments, and extensive gardens protected from intrusion by a lofty wall, which surrounded the whole. It was not, unfit for, nor unaccustomed to, the reception of princes; for the Count d'Artois had fitted up a portion of it for himself whenever he visited the capital. And to his apartments those who had the custody of the king and queen at first conducted them.

But the new Municipal Council, whom the recent events had made the real masters of Paris, considered those rooms too comfortable or too honorable a lodging for any prisoners, however royal; and the same night, before they could retire to rest, and while Louis was still occupying himself in distributing the different apartments among the members of his family and the few attendants who were allowed to share his captivity, an order was sent down to remove them all into a small dilapidated tower which had been used as a lodging for some of the count's footmen, but whose bad walls and broken windows rendered it unfit for even the servants of a prince.

Besides their meanness and ruinous condition, the number of the rooms it contained was so scanty, that for the first few days the only room that could be found for the Princess Elizabeth was an old, disused kitchen; and even after that was remedied, she was forced to share her new chamber, though it was both small and dark, with her niece, Madame Royale; while the dauphin's bed was placed by the side of the queen's, in one which was but little large. And the dungeon-like appearance of the entire place impressed the whole family with the idea that it was not intended that they should remain there long, but that an early death was preparing for them.

Even this distress was speedily aggravated by a fresh severity. Four days afterward an order was sent down which commanded the removal of all their attendants, with the exception of one or two menial servants. Madame de Tourzel, the governess of the royal children, was driven away with the coarsest insults. The Princess de Lamballe, that most faithful and affectionate friend of the queen, was rudely torn from her embrace by the municipal officers; and, though no offense was even imputed to her, was dragged off to a prison, where she was soon to pay the forfeit of her loyalty with her blood.

From this time forth the king and queen were completely cut off from the outer world. They were treated with a rigor which in happier countries is not even experienced by convicted criminals. They were forbidden to receive letters or newspapers; and presently they were deprived of pens, ink, and paper; though they would neither have desired to write nor receive letters which would have been read by their jailers, and could only have exposed their correspondents to danger.

After a few days they were even deprived of the attendance of all their servants but two—a faithful valet named Cléry (fidelity such as his may well immortalize his name), to whom we are indebted for the greater part of the scanty knowledge which we possess of the fate of the captive princes as long as Louis himself was permitted to live; and Turgy, a cook, who, by an act of faithful boldness, had obtained a surreptitious entrance into the Temple, and whose services seemed to have escaped notice, though at a later period they proved of no trivial importance. [...]

After a time the ingenuity of Cléry found a mode of obtaining for them some little knowledge of what was passing outside, by contriving that some of his friends should send criers to cry an abstract of the news contained in the daily journals under his windows, which he in his turn faithfully reported to them while employed in such menial offices about their persons as took off the attention of their guards, who day and night maintained an unceasing espial on all their actions and even words.

From the very first they had to endure strange privations for princes. They had not a sufficient supply of clothes; the little dauphin, in particular, would have been wholly unprovided, had not the English embassadress, Lady Sutherland, whose son was of a similar age and size, sent in a stock of such as she thought might be wanted. But as the garments thus received wore out, and as all means of replacing them were refused, the queen and princess were reduced to ply their own needles diligently to mend the clothes of the whole family, that they might not appear to their jailers, or to the occupants of the surrounding houses, who from their windows could command a view of the garden in which they took their daily walks, absolutely ragged.

Such enforced occupation must indeed in some degree have been welcome as a relief from thought, which their unbroken solitude left them but too much leisure to indulge. Cléry has given us an account of the manner in which their day was parceled out. The king rose at six, and Cléry, after dressing his hair, descended to the queen's chamber, which was on the story below, to perform the same service for her and for the rest of the family. And the hour so spent brought with it some slight comfort, as he could avail himself of that opportunity to mention any thing that he might have learned of what was passing out-of-doors, or to receive any instructions which they might desire to give him.

At nine they breakfasted in the king's room. At ten they came down-stairs again to the queen's apartments, where Louis occupied himself in giving the dauphin lessons in geography, while Marie Antoinette busied herself in a corresponding manner with Madame Royale. But, in whatever room they were, their guards were always present; and when, at one o'clock, they went down-stairs to walk in the garden, they were still accompanied by soldiers: the only member of the family who was not exposed to their ceaseless vigilance being the little dauphin, who was allowed to run up and down and play at ball with Cléry, without a soldier thinking it necessary to watch all his movements or listen to all his childish exclamations.

At two dinner was served, and regularly at that hour the odious Santerre, with two other ruffians of the same stamp, whom he called his aids-de-camp, visited them to make sure of their presence and to inspect their rooms; and Cléry remarked that the queen never broke her disdainful silence to him, though Louis often spoke to him, generally to receive some answer of brutal insult. After dinner, Louis and Marie Antoinette would play piquet or backgammon; as, while they were thus engaged, the vigilance of their keepers relaxed, and the noise of shuffling the cards or rattling the dice afforded them opportunities of saying a few words in whispers to one another, which at other times would have been overheard.

In the evening the queen and the Princess Elizabeth read aloud, the books chosen being chiefly works of history, or the masterpieces of Corneille and Racine, as being most suitable to form the minds and tastes of the children; and sometimes Louis himself would seek to divert them from their sorrows by asking the children riddles, and finding some amusement in their attempts to solve them.

At bed-time the queen herself made the dauphin say his prayers, teaching him especially the duty of praying for others, for the Princess de Lamballe, and for Madame de Tourzel, his governess; though even those petitions the poor boy was compelled to utter in whispers, lest, if they were repeated to the Municipal Council, he should bring ruin on those whom he regarded as friends. At ten the family separated for the night, a sentinel making his bed across the door of each of their chambers, to prevent the possibility of any escape. [...]

As time passed on, the prospects of the unhappy prisoners became still more gloomy. On the 21st of September the Convention met, and its first act was to abolish royalty and declare the government a republic, and an officer was instantly sent to make proclamation of the event under the Temple walls; and, as if the establishment of a republic authorized an increase of insolence on the part of the guards of the prisoners, the insults to which they were subjected grew more frequent and more gross.

Sentences both menacing and indecent were written on the walls where they must catch their eye: the soldiers puffed their tobacco-smoke in the queen's face as she passed, or placed their seats in the passages so much in her way that she could hardly avoid stumbling over their legs as she went down to the garden. Sometimes they even assailed her with direct abuse, calling her the assassin of the people, who in their turn would assassinate her.

More than once the whole family had to submit to a personal search, and to empty their pockets, when the officers who made the search carried off whatever they chose to term suspicious, especially their knives and scissors, so that, when at work, the queen and princess were forced to bite off the threads with their teeth. And amidst all this misery no one ever heard Marie Antoinette utter a word to lament her own fate, or to ask pity for herself.

She mourned over her husband's fall; she pitied Elizabeth, to whom malice itself could not impute a share in the wrongs of which Danton and Vergniaud had taught the people to complain. Most of all did she bewail the ruined prospects of her son; and more than once she brought tears into Cléry's eyes by the earnest tenderness with which she implored him to provide for the safety of the noble child after his parents should have been destroyed.

The insults increased, each being an additional omen of the future. The most painful injuries were reserved for the queen. Toward the end of October the dauphin was removed from her apartment to that of the king, that she might thus be deprived of the comfort of ministering to his daily wants. But Louis himself was not spared. One day an order came down to deprive him of his sword; on another he was stripped of his different decorations and orders of knighthood.

The system of espial, too, was carried out with increased severity. Their linen, when it came hack from the washer-woman, and even their washing-bills, were held to the fire to see if any invisible ink had been employed to communicate with them. Their loaves and biscuits were cut asunder lest they should contain notes. The end was approaching. A week or two later the king was removed to another tower, and was only permitted to see his family during a certain portion of the day.

At last it was determined to bring him to trial. On the 11th of December he was suddenly informed that he was to be brought before the Convention; and from that day forth he was cut off from all intercourse with his family, even his wife being forbidden to see or hear from him. The barbarous restriction afforded him one more opportunity of showing his amiable unselfishness and fortitude.

The regulation had been made by the Municipal Council, not by the Assembly; and its inhuman and unprecedented severity, coupled with a jealousy of the Council, as seeking to usurp the whole authority of the State, induced the Assembly to rescind it, and to grant permission, for Louis to have the dauphin and his sister with him.

Yet, lest these innocent children should prove messengers of conspiracy between him and the queen and Elizabeth, it was ordered at the same time that, so long as they were allowed to visit him, they should be separated from their mother and their aunt; and Louis, though never in greater need of comfort, thought it so much better for the children themselves that they should be with the queen, that for their sakes he renounced their society, and allowed the decree of the Council to be carried out in all its pitiless cruelty.

While the trial lasted, the queen and those with her had been kept in almost absolute ignorance of what was taking place. They never, however, doubted what the result would be, so that it was scarcely a shock to them when they heard the news-men crying the sentence under their windows —the only mercy that was shown to either the prisoner who was to die, or to those who were to survive him, being that they were allowed once more to meet on earth.

Further reading:
The Life of Marie Antoinette, Queen of France by Charles Duke Yonge

Product Review: The Guardians: The League Of Nations And The Crisis Of Empire By Susan Pedersen


The League of Nations, the precursor to the United Nations, was an intergovernmental organisation created as a result of the Paris Peace Conference that ended the First World War. Its principle mission, at which it failed, was to maintain world peace. But it also had another important, but little known, function: it established and oversaw the mandate system.

At the end of World War I, the victorious allied powers wanted to annex the Ottoman territories and German colonies they had occupied. Woodrow Wilson, and anti-imperialist activists, disagreed. The Americans, supported by the British, proposed instead to let the allied powers hold and administer these territories, which included countries in the Middle East, African, and The Pacific, under "mandate" from the League of Nations.

Mandated territories weren't colonies. At least, they weren't supposed to be. The mandate system clearly stated that Western countries were supposed to help "backwards" people become civilised enough to be able to govern themselves. Then, they were supposed to leave. But only Iraq was given independence this way, and only with great reservations.

The League Of Nation had a very paternalistic and racist attitude towards the populations that lived in mandated territories. Its members believed that these people were too uncivilized, uneducated, and backwards to govern themselves and that they would need the help of the civilized western countries for decades to come.

Because of that, they often didn't pay much attention to the protests and grievances these people had against their "protectors". These suited the allied powers very well. They were able to exploit the natives, and then repress with force their protests, claiming it was the only way to deal with "those uncivilised people".

The treatment South West African and Belgium's mandated territories received was particularly appalling. They drew the censure of The League Of Nations, but its members were unable to take practical steps to help those populations. Also interesting is the section on Palestine. It highlights the eagerness of Germany, Poland, and other central European countries to create a Jewish state to deal with the "Jewish problem". Germany wasn't the only anti-Semitic country in the '30s.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. Although academic and at times dry, Pedersen's analysis of the mandate system is also fascinating and insightful. Her study shows us how the League Of Nations helped created a new kind of imperialism. One in which Western hegemony is secured thorough economic concessions.

It also helps us better understand how the misdeed of our imperialistic ancestors have shaped the world in which we live today and created problems that are far from solved. If that's something you'd like to know more about, I highly recommend you pick up a copy of this book.

Summary:
Although academic and at times dry, Pedersen's analysis of the mandate system is also fascinating and insightful. It helps us better understand how the misdeed of our imperialistic ancestors have shaped the world in which we live today and created problems that are far from solved.

Available at: Amazon

Rating: 4/5

Disclaimer: this book was sent by PR for consideration. In addition, this post contains affiliate links.

Marie Louise's Wedding Dress


On 2 April 1810, Marie Louise Of Austria walked down the aisle at the "Salon Carré" turned chapel, in the Palais De Tuileries, to marry Napoleon, the man she had been thaught to hate since she was little.

To add to her uneasiness, she wore a dress entirely chosen and made for her in France (like her great-aunt Marie Antoinette before her, Marie Louise had had to leave all her belongings behind at the French border). To make matters worse, reminders of Josephine, Napoleon's first wife, were everywhere. Including the new bride's outfit.

The imperial cloak, made of crimson velvet, lined with ermine, and embroidered with gold, the soon-to-be Empress was wearing had been donned by Josephine at her ex-husband's coronation in 1804. The long train was carried by Caroline Bonaparte, Queen of Naples, Hortense de Beauharnais, Queen of Holland (married to Napoleon's brother Louis), Julie Clary, Queen of Spain (married to Napoleon's brother Joseph), and Catharina of Wurttemberg (married to Napoleon's brother Jerome).

The wedding dress she wore underneath was created by Leroy, the most fashionable and famous dressmaker of the Directory and Empire eras. His success was due both to his own talent and to Josephine's patronage. The ex-empress had often worn his creations.

For Marie Louise, he designed long, flowing gown with a high waist that hugged her figure. It was made from silver tulle netting, embroidered with lamé and pearls. Her hair was covered by a veil in Alencon lace, held in place by a sparkling diamond tiara.

On her feet, she donned a pair of white satin slippers, embroidered with silver, created by Janssen. Unfortunately they were too small and hurt her feet. To finish off her outfit, she wore diamonds from the French Crown Jewels.

Do you like her wedding dress?

Historical Reads: Dando, The Celebrated Gormandizing Oyster Eater


All Things Georgian remembers Edward Dando, an infamous oyster eater. To quote:

He was also known by the appellation of the ‘celebrated oyster eater.’ For Dando, although not a thief (by his own reckoning) did not see why he should not have plenty of everything, even though he had no money to pay for it, when his betters relied constantly on credit to fund their lifestyles. He was determined to live as they did.

Trained as a hatter, Edward Dando, when in his early twenties, embarked on his career as an oyster eater, devouring up to thirty dozen large oysters in a sitting, with bread and butter, washed down with quantities of porter or brandy and water, before informing the keeper of the oyster house that he could not pay for his fare, with the usual results of a beating or a spell in gaol, or sometimes both. Although his dish of choice seems to have been oysters, he was not above devouring other fare too.


To read the entire article, click here.

Madness And Revolution: The Sad Life Of Théroigne De Méricourt


One of the most fascinating and sad figures of the French Revolution, Théroigne de Méricourt was born Anne-Josèphe Terwagne in 1762 near Liège. Her mother died when she was five, so Anne-Josèphe was sent to live with an aunt, who didn't really want her. First, she sent the little girl to a convent, but later, perhaps to save money, she changed her mind and brought her back to live with her. But rather than giving her a loving home, Anne-Josèphe was treated like a maid.

When her father remarried, he welcome her back home. His new wife didn't. Too busy taking care of her own children, she didn't care much for Anne-Josèphe. So, desperate for affection and a real home, she went to live with her maternal grandparents. But things didn't work out there either. As a last resort, she returned to her aunt. Needless to say, the arrangement was a disaster. Anne-Josèphe then decided to face the world on her own, and took any job she could to support herself.

Eventually, she was hired by a certain Madame Colbert as her companion. Madame Colbert taught her to read, write, play the piano, and sing. Anne-Josèphe now dreamed of becoming a singer. She certainly had the talent for it. But, her dreams were dashed by a man, the first of many who would use her and leave her. He was an English army officer who seduced her and brought her to Paris with promises of marriage he had no intention to ever keep.


During this time, she was also kept by the old and unpleasant marquis de Persan, who showered her with expensive gifts and money (although she insisted she had evaded his advances). Her reputation in tatters and any hope of a respectable life gone, Anne-Josèphe become a courtesan and called herself Mlle Campinado. Her affair with the Englishman continued and resulted in a child who died, probably to the relief of his father who had refused to acknowledged her, of smallpox.

After a brief affair with an Italian tenor, she fell for the castrato Tenducci and, in 1788, followed him to Genoa, hoping to start a musical career there, but she only gave a few concerts. After a year, she returned to Paris, alone, disappointed, and hurt. All her dreams, both professional and romantic, were shattered. Her hopes vanished. Or so she thought until she set foot in the city. Paris was on the verge of revolution. It was an exciting time that seemed to promise her a better, more just, world, and the opportunity to take control of her destiny and rescue her from the life of unhappiness and abuse she had so far known.

That summer, Anne-Josèphe transformed herself. She ditched her gowns in favour of a white riding habit called amazone, and a round-brimmed hat, an eccentric outfit that made her stand out from the crowd. She wanted to "play the role of a man’, she later explained, because I had always been extremely humiliated by the servitude and prejudices, under which the pride of men holds my oppressed sex’". She also gave up her job as a courtesan, and pawned her jewels to support herself.

After the storming of the Bastille, she became involved in revolutionary activities. She attended the meetings of the National Assembly every day. She was the first to arrive and the last to leave, and met many influential figures of the Revolution, such as Pétion, the Abbé Sieyès, and Desmoulins. Anne-Josèphe played a big role too. She sometimes spoke at the Cordeliers Club, founded her own club, and ran her own saloon. Soon, she was a celebrity. It's at this time that she became to be known as Théroigne de Méricourt.


Although Théroigne believed in the ideals of the Revolution, it soon became clear that most of its supporters were only interested in the rights of men, not of women. The press, scared of emancipated women, started portraying her as a whore, heaping all sorts of insults, accusations, and obscenities at her. In disgust, in the summer of 1790, Théroigne left Paris and returned to Liège.

If she hoped for some peace and quiet, she was bitterly disappointed. Liège was then under the control of the Austrian Empire, not a safe place for such a prominent and famous figure of the Revolution. She was kidnapped by mercenaries and taken to Austria. The journey lasted 10 days and was harrowing. The three French emigrés insulted, harassed, and even tried, luckily unsuccessfully, to rape her.

Once in Austria, Théroigne was interrogated, over the course of a month, by François de Blanc. Hoping to discover important information about the French Revolutionaries, de Blanc, who believed all the nasty rumours about her prisoner, spent many hours talking to her and examining the papers that were found on her when she was caught. But he soon realised she knew nothing important. More surprisingly, he began to like her. Worried about her health - Théroigne suffered from depression and splitting headaches, coughed up blood and had trouble sleeping - he helped secure her release.


At the beginning of 1792, Théroigne was back in Paris. She now supported Brissot, a Girondin, against Robespierre, and gave many an inflammatory speeches in the Jacobin Club in which she called for the liberation of women from oppression. But this time, she didn't just fight with words. She recruited an army of female warriors, and took part in the storming of the Tuileries on 10th August. It is said that she wounded a royalist journalist who had insulted her in the press. He was then killed by the mob.

But she didn't support the September Massacres, believing all this unnecessary violence was hurting the cause of the Revolution. She wanted it to stop. It didn't. Things got worse for Théroigne. In May 1793, a bunch of Jacobin women who hated the supporters of Brissot and the Girondin, attacked Théroigne in the gardens of the Tuileries. They stripped her naked and flogged her publicly. Only the intervention of Marat saved her.

Théroigne's mental health had always been fragile. Now, she descended into madness. In the spring of 1794, she was arrested. She became obsessed with Saint-Just, thinking of him as her saviour, but he did nothing to help her. She was eventually released from prison after the fall of Robespierre, but never recovered her sanity.

That year, she was officially declared insane. She spent the rest of her life in various asylums, and was ultimately sent to La Salpêtrière Hospital, where she lived for twenty years. All she spoke about was the Revolution. She still clang to her revolutionary ideals, even though everyone else had abandoned them. Théroigne died, following a short illness, on 9 June 1817.

Further reading:
Book Review: Liberty: The Lives Of Six Women In Revolutionary France

Fashions For 1842

What did fashionable ladies wear in 1842? Here are a few examples:


EVENING DRESS

Pekin dress. The corsage is made to fit closely to the shape, with a slight slope at the ceinture; the corsage is also embellished at the upper part with a berthe of point lace. The sleeves are laid in close gathers at the upper part, rather full thence to a little below the elbow, whence it terminates in a frill. The skirt is ornamented in the tablier form with a lace volan, and a spirally twisted ornament of the same material as the dress, terminating in a noeud with ends. The coiffeur is ornamented with bijouterie.

WALKING DRESS

Pelisse of velours epingles. The upper part made to fit tightly to the shape; the sleeves also tight, a series of ornaments of the same material as the dress, is added to the corsage as well as the front of the skirt, encreasing gradually from the centre to each end; the ornaments have the addition of a lace border: similar decorations on a smaller scale, commensurate with the size of the sleeve, are also added to the latter. The bonnet is of satin ornamented with feathers which droop over one side.

EVENING DRESS

Mousseline de laine dress. The corsage is ornamented with a volan of old lace embroidered, it is divided in the middle and fixed by a broach; the corsage is terminated by a long peak. The sleeves are made tight fitting, and terminate between the elbow and wrist in a full frilling. The skirt is ample hut without the addition of any flounce or other ornament, a small lace cap is decorated with a few delicate flowers.


The bonnets are in velvet, in satin, and in pekin; feathers prevail as ornaments, ribbon noeuds are also added, and decorations of he same material as the bonnets, particularly those in velvet.


PROMENADE DRESS

Mousseline de laine dress. The corsage cut rather high, except in the upper part of the bust, where it is cut in a slope, the border is composed of a double ruche, terminated by a tassel. A cordon with double tassels at regular intervals is placed as an ornament down the front. The skirt is disposed in ample folds. The sleeves are somewhat full, but graduate to the wrist, lessening downwards. The bonnet of the same materials is ornamented with feathers.

FANCY COSTUME

Transylvanian costume. The tunic and hat of velvet, the former faced with satin, ornamented with ribbon noeuds.

EVENING DRESS

Satin dress. The upper part of the corsage is laid in large drupes, with rosettes down the centre and at the termination of the sleeve, which is extremely short and close to the arm. Rosettes are disposed on the front of the skirt in a manner resembling the tablier shape. The coiffure as well as the arms is decorated with roses.


The first half figure is in satin with lace berthe, close waisted, and sleeves to the elhow with sabots.

The second half figure is in the same material, with a double berthe. Short sleeves, with bouffant ornaments terminating them.

Muslin capotes, drawn and satin bonnet trimmed with lace, ribbons, and flowers. Caps in the same and also in tulle, with blond and ribbon ornament.

Do you like these dresses and accessories?

Further reading:
The Magazine of the beau monde