I’m just going to leave this here.
I finished making another outfit to dress up as Philippe I le duc d’Orléans!! This time I’m wearing a short doublet and petticoat breeches. I based the color scheme on Philippe’s outfit for the grand Carrousel des Tuileries in 1662.
Anonyme a demandé: What do you think of the portrayal of Monsieur in 'Marquise'? I personally find it both slightly horrific and yet decidedly adorable.
Its been a while since I’ve seen it, but I remember parts of it were really cute. Like when he fed candy to one of his mignons, and then towards the end he had this cute pink and purple outfit. If they had chosen an actor that actually looked like Philippe, or was at least closer to his age in relation to Louis, I would have loved it! Instead, they made him look a lot older then he was supposed to be and he came off sort of creepy. But the real Philippe aged so well! Old man Philippe was super cute! It think it was a case of bad casting.
Gentlemen’s costume and the Duke of Orleans, Brother to King Louis XIV, 1663
Anonyme a demandé: So, who deflowered Phillipe d' Orleans? :D
Mon dieu, what a perfect question to start your day and I’m almost convinced that you so put this question to my inbox just for the kinks :P
It was Cardinal Mazarin’s own nephew Philippe Jules Mancini!A simple google search will enlighten you way better :3 , but in general, Philippe’s deflowering was more or less a family—> state affair [:P] because back then it was believed that a gay royal younger brother was a convenient royal younger brother.
Just Monsieur looking fabulous on a horse with a small head
Philippe I Duke of Orléans, brother of Louis XIV, was allowed to freely exercise his desire for men (though of course as expected, he did marry women and have children). With Philippe ‘distracted’ in pursuing his natural inclination toward men, there was (perceived) lessened risk of him challenging the legitimate ruler, his brother Lois XIV. Cardinal Mazarin, chief minister of France, is even credited with arranging the “deflowering” of Philippe by his own nephew, Philippe Mancini. (p408, Who’s who in Gay and Lesbian History: From Antiquity to World War II, Robert Aldrich & Garry Wotherspoon, 2002— also cited in a couple other sources but hey, let’s not clutter this post just yet)
No need to look so smug about it, Mazarin.
Phillipe wasn’t just known for favoring men. He was out about it. So much to the point that the letter correspondences of his second wife, Elizabeth-Charlotte duchess of Orléans, can be read as an encyclopedia of homosexuality within the upperclass. Philippe’s entanglements with men, and in turn their affairs with other men, stretched beyond France and throughout Europe. In one letter to her half-sister, Elizabeth Charlotte claimed to be such an expert on this interpersonal network that she could "could write books on it" (p344, Homosexuality and Civilization, Louis Crompton, 2003)
Something to this effect, I imagine…
On top his vast favoritism for men (at one point Philippe suggested he and his wife have separate beds), and his passion for fashion, Philippe I was also a fierce fighter.
"Surprisingly, the man who seemed more concerned with beauty patches than feats of arms proved an affective warrior. The abbe de Choisy wrote of Monsieur that "I have seen him during campaigns for an entire fifteen hours on horseback," risking not only his life but his complexion to sun and gun smoke. On April 11, 1677, during the war with Holland, Philippe was given credit for defeating the forces of William III at the battle of Cassel. Even Saint-Simon, whose sketch of Monsieur is acidly critical, admitted that he showed "much valor" "(p341, Homosexuality and Civilization, Louis Crompton, 2003)
There we are, the man who risked life, limb and complexion— Philippe!
20 janvier 1666
Les pleurs, chauds, fluides, innombrables, voulant extirper de son corps tout le mal, toute la douleur qu’il ressentait et ne voulait plus en lui. Il fallait être fort et pourtant il ne le pouvait pas, enfermé dans son propre corps victime de sa faiblesse charnelle. Son isolement l’avait rendu plus faible encore, pauvre créature répandue sur le sofa, il ne se tenait plus, ne l’avait plus voulu. Son sourire l’avait quitté, sa joie de vivre était morte et pendait au fond de son cœur comme le cadavre qu’il avait quitté quelques heures plus tôt.
Les larmes s’étaient mêlées au khôl noir, avaient terni le rouge de ses joues, perverti le blanc de son teint pour s’insinuer dans la dentelle de son cou, imprégner la soie qui reposait sur son torse. Son cœur retrouvait alors ces larmes qu’il avait voulu bannir à jamais, nourrissant ce fleuve qu’il ne parvenait a endiguer. S’il pouvait l’arracher il le ferait. Quels remords, quels regrets aurait-il d’ôter cette épine qui le faisait tant souffrir?
Le sang est plus beau que les larmes, le rouge vivant l’emporte sur la transparence des pleurs. La couleur toujours, et elle jaillirait de sa poitrine, sublime, tragique. Il achèverait le tableau, mourrait dans sa dignité perdue.