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flowwochair · 4 months

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Doves and their Peculiar Taste (Aimevout) - Prologue

After much debate (and because apparently I have to wait to make an AO3 account????) I decided to post the prologue to the fic I have been working on here, depending on how long AO3 takes to release me from purgatory I might just go ahead and post the chapters I have so far on here too. NOTE: The fanfic starts with Aimée's engagement to Lannes and is meant to end with her wedding to Davout following her as she becomes disillusioned with Lannes and falls in love with Davout, who she meets by chance at an event hosted by her brother, the prologue is set before this. Although I tried to stick as much as possible to historical accuracy here there will most likely be bits that are not as accurate. I attempted to be as accurate as I could be to Aimée's initial engagement to Lannes and how things were going back then but I don't have a lot of specific info on that and the specific circumstances she was in and this fic is largely my own creative take on how the engagement was dissolved and how Davout and Aimée met. In reality, I don't even know if Davout and Aimée had met at all prior to their wedding, let alone have a soapy lovey dovey will they won't they slowburn romance develop between them. Likewise, I did my own take in characterization to some extent, I wrote the characters involved the way I see them/think of them, but some of them will change throughout the fic (notably Lannes, Davout, and Aimée). I apologize for any historical inaccuracies, like I said this is my own creative take about a very specific situation which I don't have a lot of insight on :((( . TLDR: there will probably be some historical inaccuracies here and there PLEASE dont be mean to me about it or I'm gonna cry and show up in your living room and throw up on your carpet, thank you. Anyways, enjoy.

Prologue – Scene 1

“An illegitimate child with another man?”

The words slapped Lannes back into consciousness as they left Bonaparte’s mouth.

“I find I should be concerned myself, my situation is not much better than yours, but, how do you feel?”

Lannes realized he had been venting to Napoleon without a second thought, and only then did the reality hit him. What now? Well, Napoleon was the best person to ask wasn’t he? “What now?” Lannes looked up at Bonaparte with a puzzled look, seeming almost as if half awake. “I guess I need a new wife”. Bonaparte could see his sorrow being converted into anger, typical for Lannes given his nature, “And have you thought of someone?” he asked, to which he earned a quick reply from Lannes’s increasing frustration “Fuck no.”

Bonaparte reclined on his chair, staring down at Lannes who sat on a camp bed, his back hunched, his eyes on the floor. “Lannes,” as Bonaparte called, he looked up, eyebrows still furrowed, “You’ve become a close friend to me… and what do we want in life if not to see our friends cared for?”. Lannes’s expression changed to one of confusion, “What? Do you have someone in mind?”, he didn’t like it when Napoleon was vague with him. “I have already sought connections for my sisters, they are cared for, however, they themselves have connections which aren’t.”

“Well honestly I’m not sure if I wanna think about women at all right now.” Lannes hastily got up as he spoke, grabbing his hat in the process and turning towards the tent’s opening, until Napoleon stood up and grabbed him by the arm, “God, listen to me won’t you” with a movement of his chin he gestured towards he chair he previously occupied, “Sit.”

“Fine”, Lannes sat “Hurry up.” “My sister, Pauline, is married to Charles Leclerc, you know him do you not?” “Yeah whatever I think so”, Lannes gestured vaguely. “Leclerc has unmarried sisters, one in particular who is at proper age, Louise-Aimée-Julie Leclerc.” “I never met this girl.” “I have heard and read snippets of her character here and there, she seems like a docile girl, well behaved, just a bit shy but perfect for marriage, especially as a rebound after something like this. Not to mention, by marrying her, you would be brought into my family through her connection to my sister. You would be cared for in being provided with a good loving wife, a wealthy familial connection to the Leclercs, and a connection to me.” He spoke more as if he were pitching a business deal than as if he were pitching a marriage.

Lannes still looked at him, but this time with some interest. It would seem the ‘sales’ pitch may have been successful at hooking him in. Access to wealth… a connection to Napoleon… a docile wife who would not give him a bastard child. “Huh… What does she look like?”.

“Brunette, brown eyes, small stature, she is quite petite.” Bonaparte replied, still in the tone of someone selling furniture. “Well you know how I am-“ “I do and I am hoping you would not take such a style with her.” Bonaparte replied sternly, “Her brother is quite protective of her Lannes, you should treat her as a crystal if anything.” “Sure… well, fine, let’s give it a shot.” Lannes said, standing up once again, this time with a much more interested expression. “Great.” Napoleon stood up as well, extending his hand towards Lannes, “I will propose the idea to Leclerc tomorrow, he has been looking for a suitor to his sister, surely he will be pleased.” Lannes shook his hand “Surely”, he said with a smirk.

Lannes, having put his hat back on, then left Napoleon’s tent, as Napoleon sought an aide to write a letter to Leclerc on his behalf.

Prologue – Scene 2 Egypt had been hell for everyone involved, by then the campaign was falling apart and if anyone knew this for certain it was its leader, Napoleon Bonaparte, his return to France was already in plans. One of the many men condemned to stay in the hellish uncaring desert was one Louis Nicolas Davout. In a situation not too dissimilar from that of Lannes, having recently divorced his wife for an incident of a similar nature, he was down on his luck, one of the few things which at the very least kept him alive was his friendship to one Louis Desaix. “Davout?”, Desaix whispered, entering Davout’s messy tent, a stained jacket sat in rough shape on a chair near his bed, where Davout himself was sitting, staring at his glasses, the left lens badly shattered.

“Still awake hm?” Desaix sat on the chair facing him, his eyes attempting to meet Davout’s downward gaze. “Mhm.” He didn’t speak much, he never did, even to his closest friends, but still Desaix could read him so well, and he knew Davout was tired, he had been for a while. Desaix gently took the pair of glasses from Davout’s hands, which made Davout look up at him, “I’ll get take these with me, and send you a brand new pair from France! Whaddya think?” Desaix smiled at him. Although his expression did not change, Desaix could tell Davout’s mood had lightened slightly at the interaction. “Have you thought about what I said to you?”, Desaix kept his eyes fixed on Davout, concentrating in reading his expression. Davout looked down again, making Desaix concerned. “I don’t see the point. I tried once, it did not go well, why should I try again? I doubt it would result in success, besides I don’t have much to offer, it would simply be a pointless transaction on both ends.” Davout answered in a matter-of-fact manner, he looked up at Desaix once more with a straight expression. “You just haven’t met the right girl yet, you’ll see”, Desaix had been insisting a similar plea to Davout for long now, it wasn’t the first time Davout had heard him say this. “I am to return soon… I could… I could sneak you, yes, in the ship back to France, and-“ “General Bonaparte would never-“ “I don’t care what he has to say! I’ll sneak you in, I’ll take you to France, maybe you’ll meet someone there! Maybe at least you’ll change your mind, I could-“ “Desaix.” At this point, Davout was looking at him with concern. Desaix realized he was failing at hiding his distress. “I’m sorry.” He realized he had lifted off the chair towards Davout when he was speaking, he sat back down. “I worry about leaving you alone, I really do.” He placed his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his knuckles. There was silence between them for a little while.

“I’ll be fine,” Davout spoke, as he did Desaix looked up at him, his smile slowly reappearing. “I suppose as long as I am alive I am fine”, Davout shrugged. “Surely”, Desaix chuckled. Hesitantly, he stood up. “Keep me informed Davout, we should meet as soon as you yourself return to France, which I am hoping will be soon.” “I’ll try to remember to write to you, but you should write to me when you get there.” Davout responded, Desaix laughed at his response much to Davout’s confusion. “I will, have a good night Davout, I hope you’ll be at the port before I leave.” “I am hoping you do not intend to-“ “I won’t sneak you into the ship I swear! I just want to say my goodbyes that’s all” Desaix spoke honestly. “I’ll be there.” In a rare sight, Davout smiled at Desaix. “See you.” Desaix gave Davout a pat on the shoulder before leaving his tent, still holding Davout’s glasses in his left hand. Not long after, Davout blew the only lit candle inside the tent, and tried his best to fall asleep.

Surely I’ll be fine.

#idk what's wrong with the line spacing and idk how to fix it xoxo #this is literally the first fic I ever wrote in my entire life please don't be mean to me #napoleonic era #napoleonic #napoleons marshals #louis nicolas davout #aimevout #aimée davout #aimée leclerc #jean lannes #napoleonic fan fic #fanfic

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joachimnapoleon · 11 months

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"A delightful surprise"

Browsing through the memoirs of the hilariously snobbish Countess Potocka a little while ago, I randomly decided to see if she had written anything about Davout.

I was not disappointed. Enjoy Countess Potocka’s otherworldly visit to the Davout couple at Savigny.

[Source: Memoirs of the Countess Potocka, (English translation, 1900) pages 142-144.]

I was taken to several entirely denuded rooms; I was shown into one little less ornamental than the first, but at least there were a sofa and chairs! The lady marshal was not long in appearing. I easily perceived she had dressed up for me, for she was still sticking some pins into her bodice. After a few minutes of languishing conversation she rang to have her husband notified. Then we resumed our painful interview. It was not that Madame Davout was deficient in the ways of the world, or devoid of that sort of cleverness which facilitates intercourse between two people of the same social rank, but there was a certain stiffness about her which might have been taken for haughtiness. She was always Homer’s Juno, or, better still, the strong woman who would not laugh until the Last Day.

The marshal finally arrived in a state of perspiration which bore witness to politeness; he sat down all out of breath, and, holding his handkerchief to wipe his forehead, he took care to moisten it with saliva, so as to remove the dust more thoroughly that covered his face. This rather military freedom tallied badly with his wife’s starched deportment; she was visibly put out by it. Finding myself superfluous in this mute scene I rose, intending to take my leave, but I was asked to stay to luncheon. While the table was being laid we took a walk in the park. There was not a road laid out, the lawns were grown with high grass all ready to become haystacks, the trees clipped during the Revolution were sprouting like thickets; at every bush I left a piece of my flounces, and my lilac laced boots had taken a greenish hue. The marshal urged us on with voice and gesture, promising us a delightful surprise! What was not my disappointment when, turning a clump of young oaks, we found ourselves facing three small wicker huts! The duke went down on the ground on one knee and exclaimed:

“Ah, here they are! Here they are!”

Upon which, modulating his voice:

“Peep—peep—peep!”

Immediately a flock of partridges fluttered about the marshal’s head.

“Do not let the others out until the youngest have gone in again, and give these ladies some bread. They will enjoy themselves like queens,” said he to the yokel who performed the duties of gamekeeper.

And there we were, in the scorching sun, feeding partridges!

With imperturbable dignity the duchess emptied the basket handed to her. As for me, I nearly fainted, and, the thing becoming too much for me, remarked that the sky was overcast and that we were threatened with a storm.

#Davout summoning partridges by going PEEP PEEP PEEP will stay with me to the end of my days #Memoirs of Countess Potocka #memoirs #Louis-Nicolas Davout #Aimée Davout #Napoleon's marshals

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yaggy031910 · 1 year

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Random fun fact of the day

There is one letter in which Davout writes about how Aimée told him in a previous letter how she had to visit someone where she didn’t want to go and how she didn’t laugh since Davout’s departure (him being in Hamburg if I remember correctly). His response to all that was basically: “They really do suck, my Aimée, no wonder you left without saying a word. Btw, same, since I have left you, I haven’t either smiled or left my office in two weeks. I really should take a walk and exercise.” 😭💕

#I promise I am going to translate that one properly one day #I am just to busy being anxious about my life right now #In one month everything is going to be alright.#louis nicolas davout #aimée leclerc #aimée davout #napoleon's marshals

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josefavomjaaga · 11 months

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Louise Soult’s health

A lot has been said already about Aimée Davout’s health issues and her “melancholy” (which we would today probably call a depression). But the long separations from their husbands, the stress to manage court duties and financial issues, to raise their children alone, and last but not least the daily concern for a husband at war, all that took its toll on probably most of the marshals’ wives. Louise Berg-Soult to me comes across as a very calm, thoughtful, stable personality. But she, too, suffered from a long period of “maux de nerfs”, a nervous breakdown with insomnia, restlessness, anxiety and depressive phases, during spring and summer 1807, when Soult fought in Poland.

On 29 March 1807, the day of his birthday, Soult writes to her:

I'm very sorry to see you still suffering from nervous problems. Your imagination worries you too much, my good friend, and you should moderate yourself. Think, I beg you, of the three objects who, for their happiness, impose on you the sacred duty of taking care of your health; and may the hope of seeing all three of them looking after your own happiness dispel the sorrows and pains that my absence and my situation can cause you.

However, the situation worsens over the next weeks, to the point when the doctor feels he has to write to Soult directly (as Louise herself was quite “laconic” about it, in Soult’s words). Soult of course freaks out, insists that the doctor write to him every day and Louise as often as she manages, sends her to their country estate, implores her to take care of herself etc. But it still takes until July for her to recover, when after the peace of Tilsit there is a chance that Soult might either come home or she might go see him (it would be the latter option).

As Nicole Gotteri notes in her book on Soult, Louise often copied sentences from books she had read and that resonated with her in a notebook. One of them read:

Strong souls keep their secret of joy or sadness and don't let it show on their foreheads.

So she somehow managed to fight through her own periods of anxiety and depression by putting on a mask, and by sheer self discipline. It would explain why she was often looking after Aimée Davout. She could relate to what Aimée was going through.

#napoleon's marshals #and their wives #jean de dieu soult #louise berg-soult #aimée davout

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perdicinae-observer · 26 days

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Title.

Urgh, how do people normally start this... Fancy greetings? Right, right. Hm...

Afternoon. (That was not fancy at all.)

This is Marshal Louis-Nicolas Davout writing. Or...well, typing.

I've decided to finally excuse myself from my moping session solitude and venture into unknown territory that is this strange platform. (Which I have been...observing from a distance.)

Seeing as my late colleagues have been up to some...shenanigans on this platform, I might as well find something to amuse myself with the ample time I'm given and do some...[*grimaces*]...socialising.

[*sigh*] I'm going to regret this...

So, to whoever may see this and care; you are free to send me your questions, letters, and queries regarding whichever subject you wish. I will be reading through and answering them accordingly when I am not busy tending to domestic matters around the painfully quiet estate.

However, do be mindful of the things you send. Respect goes both ways and I do not like to squabble. Unless it's against certain bastards.

Unsavoury comments regarding my hair will swiftly be ignored and used as fuel for the fireplace.

...Don't expect me to initiate interactions much. Sorry.

Regards,

L Davout.

!! This is a joke RP account run by @mbenguin, a guy who is in no way shape or form a bona fide historian-- just really enthusiastic about balding dead nerds and French history! This is in no way meant to be accurate, analytical, or faithful 100% to reality despite being based on actual historical facts to a certain degree. This is a fictionalised parody that is meant to be in-character as possible to my interpretation of the man himself and I'm doing it for shits and giggles !!

Handy list of folks participating in this madness (whose exchanges will be tagged separately!)

Events ──

Birth of "Lenoir", Hell's cutest ink demon chick

Local old man turned into the cutest owl ever, more on page 2

Princess of Eckmühl(?)

Tags ──

#correspondance de Savigny-sur-Orge -- The marshal's replies to his letters- sent straight from his humble, lonely manor. Could both be written and spoken answers.

#dépêches personnelles -- General responses/exchanges

#proclamations du Prince d'Eckmühl -- Important announcements/event messages

#représentations par la mystérieuse étranger -- Drawn visual representation by the marshal's mysterious companion...

#galerie d'oiseaux -- Collection of bird images that 'tickled his feathers.'

Be careful when asking questions regarding Aimée or his family!

#a wild davout appears!#proclamations du Prince d'Eckmühl #historical rpf #napoleonic rpf #napoleonic shitpost #louis nicolas davout #napoleon's marshals #rp blog #ask blog

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carolinemurat · 30 days

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Fuck, marry, Exile to Masséna bed

Hortense de Beauharnais

Laure Junot

Aimée Davout

Fuck Hortense, but it’s complicated.

Marry Aimée

Exile… Laure, for all the things she’s said about my husband!

#exchanges with the queen of naples

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histoireettralala · 3 years

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An assessment of Davout-

Davout died of consumption, aged 53 years, on June 1, 1823. Marshal Jourdan spoke a fitting eulogy at the Cemetery of Père-Lachaise, and old soldiers mourned the passing of "the Iron Marshal" who, despite his severe demeanor and carelessness of popularity, had always had the interests of his soldiers at heart, second only to those of his family and to his unbending concept of duty.

A paragon of virtue is rarely popular, and it is not difficult to understand why Davout was disliked by so many of his contemporaries. His unexpected appointment to the marshalate in 1804 caused resentment among such less fortunate officers as Marmont and Gouvion St Cyr. His proven ability as a commander from Auerstädt onward attracted envy, as well as respect, from the less gifted, particularly as Davout was never slow to criticize shortcomings in others in the most forthright terms. At Konigsberg in 1812, a Dutch general recalled: "He treated Rear-Admiral Baste in an indecent fashion in my presence, and spoke to him with such injurious words that I could not conceive how he dared to thus address a senior French commander, nor he to put up with it." The balding, short-sighted marshal had little time for social graces, however exalted his audience. "Marshal Davout's visit has been got over," wrote the duchess of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld with evident relief on March 19, 1809. "It was a weary business trying to enliven him, for it is impossible to be more stolid and uncommunicative than was this thoroughly unpleasant man. His face betrays that he can be very harsh and brutal though not specially spiteful." On certain occasions however, he was known to apologize publicly for undue brusqueness or downright rudeness.

Davout's unflinching sense of duty made him a tricky colleague to serve with. He was forever seeking out evidence of disloyalty or treason; and if a man indulged in any "irregularities", whether of a political or a venal nature, which came to his attention, he could expect short shrift from the austere and unsmiling Burgundian. To his incorruptibility was allied a total, chilling ruthlessness. "If the Emperor told Maret [Minister of Foreign Affairs] and myself to destroy Paris and everyone in it, Maret would keep the secret but warn his family. I would not even warn my family for fear the secret might leak out." And yet he was an affectionate husband to his second wife and a good and caring father to his children. If his first marriage proved a disaster and served only to increase his introspective isolation, his union to Aimée Leclerc in 1801 proved a great success. It produced eight children, only four of whom survived infancy; and although the exigencies of Napoleonic service made for long absences, the marshal's thoughts were often directed toward his family and the beloved estate at Savigny-sur-Orge they purchased in 1802. From Holland he sent Aimée tulip bulbs "for your garden", and from Germany in mid-1813 "some Saxon linen; the people here are famous for it, and I think you will like it." Her indifferent health gave him cause for concern, but the happiness of his personal life proved a major solace and support through tempestuous times.

Part of the drive behind Davout was a strong ambition. He enjoyed his ducal title and princedom, even if he found the financial concomitants of high social rank difficult to bear - and several times Napoleon had to take steps to ensure his servant's continued liquidity. He may also have aspired to the crown of a re-created kingdom of Poland- an ambition that led to a cool relationship with Jérôme Bonaparte, King of Westphalia from 1810. His particular foes among the marshals were Bernadotte ("the miserable Ponte-Corvo"), Berthier (from April 1809), and Murat, whom he regarded from mid-1812 as a military incompetent, even a "madman". He was not, however, without friends. In early days he was close to General Marceau and then Desaix. Until his death, he got on well with his brother-in-law, General Leclerc, and was friendly with Oudinot (until 1815), Duroc, and Bessières. He was cordial with General Friant, and particularly appreciative of Gudin. But he was always a hard and unbending disciplinarian, bearing down ruthlessly on his subordinates (earning thereby the positive dislike of Lasalle, Morand, and even Gudin, but never forfeiting their respect).

Concerning his relationship with his rank and file, few, if any, among his fellow marshals showed greater solicitude for their welfare. His formations were famous for being equipped correctly down to the last detail, and pay and rations were usually issued on time. In return Davout expected- and enforced- total obedience and good discipline. Pillaging was severely repressed, and in 1811 it was noted with wonder that "chickens wandered about the barracks without fear" in the area of the marshal's Corps of Observation on the Elbe. At the same time, no commander was more inflexible in demanding his full measure of regional "contributions", whether in cash on in kind, for the proper maintenance of his formations. But his consistency was appreciated by Poles and Germans alike, and some termed him "the Just".

Davout was also known to his opponents with excellent reason as "the Terrible". His command skills became outstanding and although he never had the opportunity to demonstrate his ability to wage a full campaign on his own (Hamburg was an exceptionnal case), only Masséna and possibly Suchet rivaled his intellectual and experiential pre-eminence. Murat, Ney, and Lannes may have had more fire and dash in action and been more adulated by their men, but none had more personal coural- both physical and moral- than Davout, peering at the field of battle through his spectacles. He was the quintessential professional soldier of first-rate quality, military skill and determination; and if his reputation suffered during the retreat from Moscow, his showings at Auerstädt, Eckmühl, and Hamburg placed him in the foremost category of the marshalate even if "no one ever accused the 'Iron Marshal' of being well-liked, much less loved, by his comrades-in-arms."

This cold, appraising aloofness was one characteristic that recommended Davout to Napoleon, who liked to play his marshals off against one another. From 1800 he also appreciated his unquestioning loyalty, which lasted until the second abdication. It is also possible that from Auerstädt onward there was a tincture of envy and suspicion, and Davout's enemies, such as Bourienne, Marmont and Thiébault made determined efforts to besmirch his repute. But Napoleon's declaration on St Helena that "Davout was one of the purest glories of France" was, despite its hyperbole, not far from the mark.

David G. Chandler- Napoleon's Marshals.

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northernmariette · 2 years

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The Ideal Wife of the Napoleonic Era

Madame Campan, Marie-Antoinette’s former chambermaid, ran a very successful school for girls after the fall of the Monarchy. Among her pupils was the future wife of Marshal Davout, Aimée Leclerc. Teacher and pupil continued to write each other until Madame Campan’s death many years later.

Shortly after Aimée’s marriage to Davout, Madame Campan writes her:

Croyez-vous qu'un mari puisse jamais être infidèle quand il trouvera réuni dans sa femme de la grâce et de la simplicité dans les manières, du goût dans sa parure mais de la modestie dans la mise et de l'économie dans la dépense; quand elle aura veillé le matin aux plus petits détails d'ordre dans sa maison, inspecté jusqu'à la propreté qui y est nécessaire, et que le soir elle recevra ses amis avec empressement, égards et politesse; quand elle entretiendra son jugement par des lectures utiles, et partagera son temps entre l'aiguille et le crayon; quand elle n'aura jamais de caprices, connaîtra les prérogatives des hommes et se réservera seulement le droit modeste et aimable de la représentation? Il faudrait un être odieux pour n'être pas sûre de son bonheur.

Do you believe that any husband could ever be unfaithful when he finds united in his wife grace and simplicity in her manners, taste in her attire, but modesty in her appearance, and thriftiness in her expenditures; when in the morning she will have attended to the smallest details of tidiness in her home, inspected the cleanliness that is requisite within it, and when in the evening she will welcome her friends with eagerness, regard, and courtesy; when she will nurture her judgment through useful readings, and divide her time between the needle and the pencil; when she will never be temperamental, will be ever aware of the privileges of men, and will only retain the modest and amiable right of representation? It would take an odious being [as one’s husband] to be uncertain of her own happiness.

https://www.google.de/books/edition/Le_mar%C3%A9chal_Davout/WrkFAAAAQAAJ?hl=de&gbpv=1&dq=Marechal+Davoust+valse&pg=PA42&printsec=frontcover , p.143

So there you have it, the secret to wedded bliss for the wife during Napoleon’s time. One must be modestly but tastefully dressed, simple, thrifty, attentive to the smooth running of the household, a welcoming, courteous hostess, a reader of useful books (no novels!), occupying her free time with needlework and drawing, not given to temperamental demands, and ever mindful of men’s superior rights and of the need to make them look good. If you have all these qualities, only a monster will be unfaithful and cause you to be unhappy. The results are guaranteed!

But Madame Campan goes on to reassure Aimée that General Davout has an excellent reputation and is as far from being an odious being as can be conceived.

#napoleonic era #napoleonic history #aimee davout #louis-nicolas davout #madame campan

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elisabeth515 · 3 years

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FMK: Bernadotte, Soult, Davout

F: Bernadotte

M: Davout (for a minute then give him back to Aimée because I don’t want Aimée to be upset)

K: Soult (I’m sorry)

#send me more bois OwO #please🥺

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flowwochair · 9 months

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Aimée Davout ^-^

#artists on tumblr #digital art #illustration #napoleonic #napoleonic era #aimée davout

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joachimnapoleon · 3 years

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“I am not at all easy to stir...”

A letter from Marshal Davout to his wife Aimée, sent during the 1812 campaign and intercepted by the Russians.

***

Moscow, 14 October 1812

I have received, dear friend, your letter from the 26th of September and that of Mme Gudin for His Majesty. I have fulfilled her desires. Assure her that the Emperor does not forget the dead any more than the living, especially the first, when they have as much right to his benevolence, to his esteem as poor General Gudin did. I do not doubt that before long she will be favored anew. I will write to her within 2 or 3 days to let her know. Tell her that the friendship, the esteem that I had for her husband will make me keep the promises that I made him an instant after he was wounded. I am not at all easy to stir, yet on this occasion I was as I might have been at 15 years old.

It appears that our losses have been greatly exaggerated. One doesn't have a battle of this nature without that happening, but they weren't as considerable as has been published, and many persons made out to be dead are full of life, let me cite for you, among others, General Laraboisière, who not only is not dead, but hasn't even been wounded. Nearly all the men who have been wounded were lightly enough wounded and are now recovered.

Everyone you are interested in is enjoying good health.

I send a thousand caresses to our children and kisses to my Aimée; all yours for life, your good and faithful.

***

Source: Léon Hennet & E. Martin, Lettres interceptées par les Russes durant le campagne de 1812, 1913.

#Louis-Nicolas Davout #Aimée Davout #General Gudin #Napoleonic wars #1812 #letters #translations

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yaggy031910 · 1 year

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It‘s Davout time!

Happy 253th birthday, dear iron marshal! ☺️🇫🇷🥖✨

Louis-Nicolas Davout is known for the devotion and love he had for his wife, Aimée Davout (born Louise-Aimée-Julie Leclerc), so I was interested about their correspondence. To cut a long story short, I started reading their letters (specifically the ones around the Russian campaign because I also wondered how Davout had dealt with this mess of a campaign).

Let‘s say it was simply heartwarming and I was melting away most of the time so how about I share one of my favourite little moments? Shall we? :D Davout‘s desire to have a second son and how he throws all of it away as long as Aimée‘s health is fine:

Ce 12 décembre Je profite, ma chère Aimée, de l‘estafette pour te rassurer sur la santé de ton Louis; elle est, malgré la rigueur de la saison, très bonne. Tu trouveras mon écriture tremblée. Je te jure par toi que la seule raison en est au froid qu‘il faut, et que je sens d‘autant plus que je t‘écris en plein air pour ne pas masquer cette estafette. Desessart part demain pour Paris, il va bien. Beaupré, malgré son âge, s‘en tire assez bien. Beaumont et les deux Fayet ne sont que fatigués. J‘envoie mille baisers à mon excellente Aimée, qui est peut-être, - à l‘heure où je lui écris, - dans les douleurs: puisse mon Aimée me donner un second fils! Cependant, si c‘est und filled, elle sera bien accueillie. J‘envoie mille caresses à l‘enfant chéri qui es Louis et à nos deux petites. Assure ta bonne mère de ma tendresse. Tout à toi. L.

German translation: Der 12. Dezember Ich profitiere, meine liebe Aimée, von dem Kurier, um dich über die Gesundheit deines Louis zu beruhigen; sie ist trotz der Strenge der Jahreszeit sehr gut. Du wirst meine Handschrift zitternd finden. Ich schwöre dir, dass der einzige Grund dafür die Kälte ist und ich fühle mich dementsprechend mehr dazu, dir im Freien zu schreiben, um den Kurier nicht zu verpassen. Desessart bricht morgen auf für Paris, ihm geht es gut. Beaupré hält sich trotz seines Alters gut. Beaumont und die zwei/beiden Fayets sind nur müde. Ich schicke 1000 Küsse an meine exzellente Aimée, die vielleicht in der Stunde, wo ich ihr schreibe, in Schmerzen ist: Möge meine Aimée mir einen zweiten Sohn geben! Jedoch, wenn es ein Mädchen ist, wird sie auch willkommen sein. Ich schicke 1000 Streicheleinheiten an die lieben Kinder, die Louis und unsere zwei Kleinen sind. Versichere deine Mutter meiner innigen Liebe. Alles an dich. L.

English translation: The 12th of December I benefit, my dear Aimée, from the courier/messenger to reassure you about the health of your Louis; she is very good despite the harshness of the season. You will find my handwriting shaking. I swear to you the only reason for that is the cold and I feel more like writing in the fresh air to not miss out the courier/messenger. Desessart leaves for Paris tomorrow, he is fine. Beaupré, despite his age, is going well. Beaumont and both Fayets are just tired. I send a thousand kisses to my excellent Aimée, who is perhaps in pain in the hour I write her: May my Aimée give me a second son! However, if it’s a girl, she is going to be welcomed. I send a thousand caresses to the dear children, who are Louis and our two little ones. Assure your mother about my tenderness. All for you. L.

Just like Napoleon, Davout had a desire to sire sons and - as far as I am concerned - it‘s clear that his enthusiasm for the possibility of having another son is strong. We might say it’s even stronger than for the possibility of having another daughter although he wrote that a daughter would be welcomed. Now, let’s read the next letter he wrote to his wife where he threw all of that away, shall we? :D

Gumbinnen, ce 17 décembre Je suis bien tourmenté, ma chère Aimée, du long silence auquel les ciconstances m’ont forcé et de toutes les inquiétudes qu’il t’aura données, à toi si ingénieuse à te tourmenter sans motifs. L’état où tu te trouvais, à la veille de faire tes couches, ajoute à mes tourments: jamais je n’ai plus éprouvé le besoin de recevoir de tes nouvelles, et j’ignore quand j’aurai ce bonheur, malgré les estafettes qui arrivent régulièrement; mais le comte Daru, sous le couvert de qui tes lettres me parvenaient, étant parti pour Koenisgsberg, me prive absolument de tes nouvelles. […] Ta santé, dans ce moment, est tout ce qui occasionne mes inquiétudes; lorsque je serai rassuré sur ce point, je désirerai connaître de tes couches: fille ou garçon, l’enfant sera le bienvenu si la santé de mon Aimée est telle que je la souhaite. […]

German translation: Gumbinnen, der 17. Dezember Ich bin sehr gequält, meine liebe Aimée, von dem langen Schweigen, zu dem mich die Umstände gezwungen haben und von den ganzen Sorgen, die es dir bereitet hat, so geistreich von dir, dich ohne Anlass so zu quälen. Der Zustand, in dem du dich am Vorabend mit der Geburt befandest, fügt mir Plagen zu: Nie habe ich mehr den Bedarf verspürt, deine Neuigkeiten zu erhalten und ich weiss nicht, wann ich diese Freude haben werde, trotz der Kurier, die regelmässig eintreffen; aber der Graf Daru, unter dessen Deckmantel deine Briefe mich erreichten, hat mich, nach Königsberg aufbrechend, von deinen Neuigkeiten beraubt. […] Deine Gesundheit ist in dem Moment alles, was mir Sorgen bereitet; wenn ich darüber beruhigt bin, wünsche ich mir, über das Wochenbett zu erfahren: Mädchen oder Junge, das Kind wird willkommen sein, wenn die Gesundheit von meiner Aimée so ist, wie ich es wünsche. […]

English translation: Gumbinnen, the 17th of December I am quite troubled, my dear Aimée, of the long silence to which my circumstances forced me to and of all the worries it caused you, so ingenious of you, to torment yourself without reason. The state you were in on the eve with the birth caused me torment: Never have I felt more the desire to receive your news and I don‘t know when I am going to have the happiness despite the couriers who regularly arrive; but the count Daru, under whose cover your letters came to me, having left for Koenisgsberg, deprives me absolutely of your news. […] In the moment, your health is everything what causes me concern; when I am reassured, I desire to find out about your postpartum period: girl or boy, the child will be welcomed if the health of my Aimée is how I wish. […]

MY HEAAAAART, GAHWD, THEY ARE ADORABLE.

#Louis Nicolas Davout #Aimée Leclerc #Aimée Davout #look at Davout being a nice and thoughtful hubby #Davout talked in another letter about him preferring his wife over his children lol #btw this is baby Jules‘ birth they are talking about and I am scared of getting to the letters where this baby dies #Like really really scared #Translating into German and then into English was a fun exercise #It took hours but still #HAPPY BIRTHDAY!#napoleonic era #How do y‘all post so often so long posts??? You are beasts! :D

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josefavomjaaga · 10 months

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The marshals' wives: first or family name?

Title is deliberately misleading because I'll be adding some husbands who were not marshals, simply because I do not have enough data (yet, I hope). This is something I've been wondering for some time: Some wives adressed their husbands in letters or private conversation by their first names, while others used the family name - which at least to me seems rather weird but apparently was far from uncommon.

Can we put together a list of who did what? I wonder if there is a pattern.

In the "first name" camp, we find:

Aimée Davout (calling her marshal "Louis")

Auguste von Bayern (though I'm not sure how much weight her testimony has because apparently everybody called Eugène de Beauharnais simply "Eugène")

Hortense de Beauharnais (calling her husband "Louis")

ADDED: Laure Junot (at least sometimes referred to her husband as “Andoche”, thanks @snowv88)

In the "family name" camp, we have:

Josephine Bonaparte (still calling her Napoleon "Bonaparte" even when the latter was emperor)

Caroline Murat (calling her Joachim "Murat" in letters, I believe?)

Louise Lannes (? I think? She writes something like "Lannes has killed two wolves, you bet he's enjoying himself" to her mother from Portugal.)

Louise Soult-Berg (in her diary/itinerary, much to the astonishment of Soult's biographer Nicole Gotteri)

Cathérine Lefèbvre-Hübscher (apparently, at least she says "this still smells of Lefèbvre" when sniffing at her late husband's hat after his death, according to d’Agoult’s memoirs)

ADDED: Eugénie Oudinot (calls her husband “Oudinot”; thanks again @snowv88)

Does anybody have something to add to this list? How about Laure Junot? Julie Bonaparte? Désirée Bernadotte? Aglaé Ney? The wives of Larrey, Oudinot, Macdonald etc.? Are there letters from Madame Visconti to Marshal Berthier? Or from Elisabeth Berthier? Any letters or quotes by the wives of famous generals or other personalities of the era?

I would love to list as many examples as possible to see if people in both camps have something in common. Thanks to everybody who can help me out!

#napoleon's marshals #and their wives #family versus first name

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