Le sort nous fait périr ensemble, n'en accuse point la rigueur...

...la mort même est une faveur, puisque le tombeau nous rassemble: very apt lines for today, sung by Pylade to Oreste in Gluck's Iphigénie en Tauride, which our Revolutionaries could well have been familiar with.

I am commemorating this sad day in the usual fashion, wearing black and watching the second half of "La Terreur et la Vertu." I also got my wisdom teeth out yesterday, so while I can't quite say that I know what it's like to have one's jaw shattered - I imagine it's about a million times worse - I do empathize with Robespierre even more than I usually would, and so I wrote a fic from his point of view, but I don't know if I'll post it... we'll see.

In any case, it is my fervent hope that all the Robespierristes are resting from their travails in Jacobin Paradise.

S&F.

EDIT: I painted this very stylized portrait of Éléonore Duplay post-Thermidor more than three years ago. Now seems as good a time as ever to share it with you: