Jacques-Louis David’s The Death of Marat
Heroes and villains in the French Revolution
The setting is Paris, on the evening of 13 July 1793, at the height of the French Revolution.
A young woman from the provinces, Charlotte Corday, has managed to obtain a meeting with Jean-Paul Marat, a prominent extremist supporter of the Montagnard faction that governed France at the time. Bizarrely, due to a severe skin disease, Marat conducted most of his business affairs from his home, sitting in a full bathtub. Corday and Marat have a short discussion, then Corday suddenly pulls out a kitchen knife and plunges it deep into Marat’s naked chest. He was dead within moments, having only had time for a single fruitless cry for help. The water in the bathtub ran red with his blood.
In this article, we shall examine how and why Corday, a respectable 24-year-old woman from a minor aristocratic family, carried out this carefully-planned and bold murder, and how its depiction in art transformed Marat’s death into a potent instrument of propaganda.
A young woman from the provinces, Charlotte Corday, has managed to obtain a meeting with Jean-Paul Marat, a prominent extremist supporter of the Montagnard faction that governed France at the time. Bizarrely, due to a severe skin disease, Marat conducted most of his business affairs from his home, sitting in a full bathtub. Corday and Marat have a short discussion, then Corday suddenly pulls out a kitchen knife and plunges it deep into Marat’s naked chest. He was dead within moments, having only had time for a single fruitless cry for help. The water in the bathtub ran red with his blood.
In this article, we shall examine how and why Corday, a respectable 24-year-old woman from a minor aristocratic family, carried out this carefully-planned and bold murder, and how its depiction in art transformed Marat’s death into a potent instrument of propaganda.
PART 1: THE MURDER
Marat, the “Friend of the People”
Swiss-born Marat’s early career was as a scientist in England, but he failed to achieve the fame or prestige that he sought, and later turned to politics and journalism. During the French Revolution, he became widely-known for his radically anti-establishment views, his championing of workers’ rights and social equality, and his bloodthirsty enthusiasm for large-scale executions of any whom he perceived to be enemies of the Revolution. He also published a newsletter L’Ami du Peuple (“The Friend of the People”), which championed the cause of radical working-class partisans [1]. He was a strong supporter of using terror as a legitimate revolutionary weapon. In his view, “society must be purged of its corrupt limbs”… “Five or six hundred cut-off heads would have guaranteed… freedom and happiness… A false humanity will cost the lives of thousands” [2].
Fig 1: Joseph Boze, Portrait of Jean-Paul Marat (1793)
Marat was naturally despised by supporters of the monarchy, but many moderate revolutionaries were also troubled or outraged by his intemperately-expressed views and actions. By the time of his death, he was only 50, but his skin condition was severe and his health appeared to be declining.
Charlotte Corday, the aristocratic assassin
The 24-year-old Marie-Anne Charlotte de Corday D’Armont came from a family of minor and rather impecunious gentry whose roots went back to the 11th century. The family was based in Caen, in the north-west of France. Corday received an excellent education at a prominent convent and later worked there. Although she was regarded as strikingly attractive, Corday never married. She was deeply religious and, unusually for an aristocrat, firmly supported the ideals of the Revolution. However, major developments had confirmed her growing belief that the ruling faction, the Montagnards, had gone much too far and that the violence had got completely out of control. Moderate revolutionaries were being persecuted, the king had been executed (unnecessarily in her view), and the so-called September Massacres had left thousands dead. Indeed, almost half the departments of France were in revolt [3]. France was also embroiled in a series of wars with neighbouring countries arising from increasing tensions surrounding the Revolution.
Fig 2: Johann Jakob Hauer, Portrait of Charlotte De Corday (1793)
Corday came to believe that she herself needed to act decisively to prevent France falling further into chaos -- and to her mind the obvious target was the bloodthirsty Marat. “Surely we have not survived these four years of affliction only to allow a man like Marat to rule over France!” she despaired [4]. She saw herself as a modern-day Brutus, who needed to kill one man to save the Republic [5]. Killing Marat was her sacred patriotic duty, one that she was fully prepared to die for. After agonising over the situation, she finally decided to act.
Planning the murder
Corday kept her mission secret, pretending to her father that she was travelling to England. Instead, she took the coach to Paris. On 9 July, she checked into her room at the Hotel de Providence, on the Rue des Vieux Augustins [6]. Her extraordinarily ambitious plan was to stab Marat at the National Convention, but she discovered that his illness had prevented him from attending this for some time. Undeterred, she instead decided to kill him at his home.
On the morning of 13 July, she was ready. She left her hotel room, leaving her Bible open and underlined on the page with the biblical story of Judith’s murder of Holofernes [7]. Out on the street, she purchased a black bonnet with green ribbons, and an ebony-handled kitchen knife with a 6-inch blade, and made her way across the city to Marat’s modest house in the 6th Arrondissement.
Her first attempt to gain entry was thwarted by Marat’s sister, but she was undeterred and returned later that evening. This time she sneaked in, taking advantage of distractions caused by the delivery of some bread and newspapers, and made her way up the stairs towards Marat’s room, but was stopped by his wife Simonné. Corday protested, claiming that she had information about traitorous counter-revolutionaries that would be appreciated by Marat. He overheard the conversation, and called down to his wife to let Corday come up.
On the morning of 13 July, she was ready. She left her hotel room, leaving her Bible open and underlined on the page with the biblical story of Judith’s murder of Holofernes [7]. Out on the street, she purchased a black bonnet with green ribbons, and an ebony-handled kitchen knife with a 6-inch blade, and made her way across the city to Marat’s modest house in the 6th Arrondissement.
Her first attempt to gain entry was thwarted by Marat’s sister, but she was undeterred and returned later that evening. This time she sneaked in, taking advantage of distractions caused by the delivery of some bread and newspapers, and made her way up the stairs towards Marat’s room, but was stopped by his wife Simonné. Corday protested, claiming that she had information about traitorous counter-revolutionaries that would be appreciated by Marat. He overheard the conversation, and called down to his wife to let Corday come up.
A murder and an execution
When Corday entered Marat’s small room, she was met with a strange sight. Marat’s unsightly skin disease, coupled with the summer heat, meant that he needed to work in a bathtub filled with medicated water, naked from the waist up. A vinegar-soaked bandage was wrapped round his head like a white turban. He had been working at an improvised work desk, a simple wooden benchtop straddling the bathtub. On the wall was a map of the French Republic, a shelf with a pair of crossed pistols and, in large letters, a placard with word Mort (Death) [8].
Corday kept her composure, and sat down calmly beside her intended victim. They talked a little, and she then gave Marat a list of the supposed counter-revolutionaries, which Marat scribbled down. “I will soon have them all guillotined in Paris”, he boasted, to her disgust. He then asked Simmoné, who had been protectively hovering, to collect some more medication for his bath. It was a fatal error. Corday, emboldened by Simmone’s temporary absence, drew her knife and in one blow plunged it into Marat’s chest, severing a major artery [9]. He cried out for help, then died almost immediately. He lay with his head slumped back, his right arm hanging over the edge of the bathtub, his hand still holding a pen.
Corday was immediately seized by Marat’s colleagues, though she made little effort to escape. She already knew her fate. She was taken to prison, and over the next few days was repeatedly cross-examined. She explained that she had to murder Marat in order to save France from an outbreak of civil war. “I have killed one man to save a hundred thousand,” she said. It was a necessary political and patriotic action, not a crime. She also insisted that she had acted alone, angering officials who believed that a mere woman could not do such a thing, and that there must be a man involved.
Inevitably, she was convicted, and that evening she was guillotined in pouring rain, witnessed by a jeering multitude -- she had callously killed their hero. She managed to deep her composure right to the end but, weirdly, a carpenter who had been working on the scaffold picked up her decapitated head by the hair and slapped its cheeks. Strangely, the crowd abused him for this. Apparently, it was wonderful thing to cut off Corday’s head, but slapping her face as well was a bit too much!
The whole series of events – the murder, the arrest, the questioning, the trial and the execution -- had all taken place within a period of only four days.
Corday kept her composure, and sat down calmly beside her intended victim. They talked a little, and she then gave Marat a list of the supposed counter-revolutionaries, which Marat scribbled down. “I will soon have them all guillotined in Paris”, he boasted, to her disgust. He then asked Simmoné, who had been protectively hovering, to collect some more medication for his bath. It was a fatal error. Corday, emboldened by Simmone’s temporary absence, drew her knife and in one blow plunged it into Marat’s chest, severing a major artery [9]. He cried out for help, then died almost immediately. He lay with his head slumped back, his right arm hanging over the edge of the bathtub, his hand still holding a pen.
Corday was immediately seized by Marat’s colleagues, though she made little effort to escape. She already knew her fate. She was taken to prison, and over the next few days was repeatedly cross-examined. She explained that she had to murder Marat in order to save France from an outbreak of civil war. “I have killed one man to save a hundred thousand,” she said. It was a necessary political and patriotic action, not a crime. She also insisted that she had acted alone, angering officials who believed that a mere woman could not do such a thing, and that there must be a man involved.
Inevitably, she was convicted, and that evening she was guillotined in pouring rain, witnessed by a jeering multitude -- she had callously killed their hero. She managed to deep her composure right to the end but, weirdly, a carpenter who had been working on the scaffold picked up her decapitated head by the hair and slapped its cheeks. Strangely, the crowd abused him for this. Apparently, it was wonderful thing to cut off Corday’s head, but slapping her face as well was a bit too much!
The whole series of events – the murder, the arrest, the questioning, the trial and the execution -- had all taken place within a period of only four days.
PART 2: THE CONSEQUENCES OF THE MURDER
An increase in the terror
In the short term, Corday’s action did not have the positive results that she had sought. Far from it. Instead of leading to a reduction in the violence, it contributed to a radical increase in its level.
By killing Marat, Corday had unwittingly created a martyr [10]. At the time, Marat’s influence had been waning, but his death transformed him into the Revolution’s new sacrificial hero [11]. The assassination, together with the increasing level of revolts in the provinces, also reinforced the Montagnard leader Robespierre’s determination to enforce draconian emergency powers. The Republican constitution was suspended, and France became governed by a Committee of Public Safety with sweeping powers [12]. During the resultant so-called “Reign of Terror”, thousands of people deemed disloyal would be executed.
By killing Marat, Corday had unwittingly created a martyr [10]. At the time, Marat’s influence had been waning, but his death transformed him into the Revolution’s new sacrificial hero [11]. The assassination, together with the increasing level of revolts in the provinces, also reinforced the Montagnard leader Robespierre’s determination to enforce draconian emergency powers. The Republican constitution was suspended, and France became governed by a Committee of Public Safety with sweeping powers [12]. During the resultant so-called “Reign of Terror”, thousands of people deemed disloyal would be executed.
David’s Death of Marat
Shortly before the assassination, Marat had been visited by two deputies from the National Convention, who had been tasked with checking on the state of his continuing illness [13]. One of them was the renowned and accomplished painter Jacques-Louis David, himself an ardent Montagnard. David had previously been entrusted by the authorities with organising the elaborate funeral of another murdered Revolutionary martyr, Michel Lepeletier, and for painting him on his deathbed (Fig 3) [14]. His success with those twin tasks of public sanctification – the creation of a secular saint -- made him the obvious choice to do the same for Marat. He was also given the responsibility for organising the massive Festival of Federation and other celebrations glorifying the regime. He had effectively become the regime’s master of propaganda.
Fig 3: Anatole Desvoges, The Death of Lepeletier, drawing after David (1793)
For Manet’s funeral, David pulled out all stops. Marat’s body was exhibited, laid out in the deconsecrated church of the Cordeliers, raised up high on a Roman-style bed, with a great candlestick placed at each corner [15]. There had been problems – it was a hot July, and the diseased body was already decomposing. The face had to be lightened, and the tongue cut to avoid lolling out. Marat’s right arm, stiffened by rigor mortis, had to be replaced with an arm from another corpse, though this later fell off, still holding the pen.
Fig 4: Jacques-Louis David, The Death of Marat (1793), (aka To Marat, at the Moment of his Last Breath), 162 x128 cm, oil on canvas, Musée Royaux des Beaux-Arts, Brussels
For the painting (Fig 4), David borrowed heavily from his earlier painting of Lepeletier. He arranged for Marat’s death mask, the bathtub, the inkpot and the knife to be brought to his studio. He painted Marat with his turbanned head flung back but with his face turned toward us, and his right arm hanging limply over the edge of the bath. It is a pose similar to that of Christ in Pieta paintings of the Virgin Mary cradling her crucified son (Fig 5) and other works such as Caravaggio’s The Entombment of Christ (Fig 6). The knife wound was also tidied up to more closely resemble the spear wound that Christ incurred on the cross, and the artist depicts only small dribbles of blood, instead of what would have an ugly gash. David gives us only a tiny glimpse of the bloodied bath water, just below Marat’s left elbow.
Fig 5: Michelangelo, Pietà, sculpture (1499)
Fig 6: Caravaggio, The Entombment of Christ (1602-04)
David’s painting depicts Marat as miraculously cured of his unsightly and unheroic skin disease, and his normally rather scrawny face (Fig 1) has been subtly smoothed out to present an almost serene and gentle expression. The bath, which in most accounts is described as being the shape of a boot – very unheroic -- has been reshaped by the artist to more resemble a more elegant console, or even an altar-sarcophagus, covered by a neat green material [16]. The back wall has been shorn of any distractions. There is no sign of the wall map or the graffito “Death” that actually appeared there [17]. Instead, there is an infinite dark space with a faint reddish-gold light coming in from the right, giving the scene an ethereal sense of quasi-cosmic significance.
On Marat's bathtub "desk", his left forearm rests on bloodstained proofs of an issue of his journal L’Ami du Peuple that he has been correcting. In his outstretched hand is a blood-smeared note that Corday had written, seeking protection, but never delivered; it was later found in her pocket. In the version of the note that appears in the painting, David has changed "protection" to "goodness", as if to stress Corday's abuse of Marat's trust.
On Marat's bathtub "desk", his left forearm rests on bloodstained proofs of an issue of his journal L’Ami du Peuple that he has been correcting. In his outstretched hand is a blood-smeared note that Corday had written, seeking protection, but never delivered; it was later found in her pocket. In the version of the note that appears in the painting, David has changed "protection" to "goodness", as if to stress Corday's abuse of Marat's trust.
Fig 7: Bloodstained pages of L'Ami du Peuple held by Marat at the time of his death ( Bibliothèque Nationale de France)
On the wooden crate by the side of the bathtub is a letter and a banknote. These were entirely the artist’s invention [18]. The letter reads, “Give this banknote to the mother of five whose husband died defending the fatherland”. This fiction was clearly designed to remind viewers of Marat’s generosity and care for the common people. The quill pen in his right hand reminds us that he was still industriously working right up to the end.
Of course, the one thing missing from the painting was probably the most important, Corday herself. She must not be allowed to sully the scene with her wicked presence, or to take any of our attention away from the saintly Marat. The only clue to her involvement is the knife, which lies on the floor. David has changed the colour of its handle to white, to make it stand out more.
The humble wooden crate suggests a tombstone, which David uses to show that the painting is a tribute “À Marat”, and adds his own name in prominent letters. At its base he inserts the date “Year 2”, according to the new revolutionary calendar.
David presented the completed painting to the National Convention, receiving a rapturous response [19]. “Citizens’, he cried heroically, “the people… yearn to see once more the features of their faithful friend. David, they cry, seize your brushes, avenge our friend. Avenge Marat…. I heard the voice of the people. I obeyed”. A thousand printed copies of the painting were made for official distribution to political departments round the country, and the Convention passed a decree that the painting should never be removed from the assembly chamber. Clearly, David’s glorification of Marat was a triumph.
Of course, the one thing missing from the painting was probably the most important, Corday herself. She must not be allowed to sully the scene with her wicked presence, or to take any of our attention away from the saintly Marat. The only clue to her involvement is the knife, which lies on the floor. David has changed the colour of its handle to white, to make it stand out more.
The humble wooden crate suggests a tombstone, which David uses to show that the painting is a tribute “À Marat”, and adds his own name in prominent letters. At its base he inserts the date “Year 2”, according to the new revolutionary calendar.
David presented the completed painting to the National Convention, receiving a rapturous response [19]. “Citizens’, he cried heroically, “the people… yearn to see once more the features of their faithful friend. David, they cry, seize your brushes, avenge our friend. Avenge Marat…. I heard the voice of the people. I obeyed”. A thousand printed copies of the painting were made for official distribution to political departments round the country, and the Convention passed a decree that the painting should never be removed from the assembly chamber. Clearly, David’s glorification of Marat was a triumph.
The fall of David and Marat
The Death of Marat initially proved to be very effective in enhancing Marat’s short-term reputation. However, this was a chaotic era of rapidly changing political allegiances. Within a year, there was a reaction to the extremist Montagnards, with a dramatic shift in power which led to the fall of Robespierre and the installation of a more moderate regime. Robespierre and a number of his more ardent supporters were themselves guillotined, and Marat was transformed from a heroic inspiration to a detested villain. Even his remains were thrown out of the Pantheon where they had been lodged.
David and his painting also had a correspondingly precipitous fall. With the changing of the regime, he was forced to hide the painting for fear it would be destroyed. He himself was denounced and imprisoned, and only narrowly escaped execution. Some time later, he restored his fortunes somewhat by becoming the official painter to Napoleon, but after the disastrous Battle of Waterloo in 1815 he was exiled to Brussels, where he later died. His descendants ultimately bequeathed the discredited painting to the city of Brussels, where it now hangs, rather modestly, in the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium. David’s painting of Lepeletier, also removed from the assembly building, was inherited by his royalist daughter. She evidently had it destroyed.
David and his painting also had a correspondingly precipitous fall. With the changing of the regime, he was forced to hide the painting for fear it would be destroyed. He himself was denounced and imprisoned, and only narrowly escaped execution. Some time later, he restored his fortunes somewhat by becoming the official painter to Napoleon, but after the disastrous Battle of Waterloo in 1815 he was exiled to Brussels, where he later died. His descendants ultimately bequeathed the discredited painting to the city of Brussels, where it now hangs, rather modestly, in the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium. David’s painting of Lepeletier, also removed from the assembly building, was inherited by his royalist daughter. She evidently had it destroyed.
PART 3: THE CONSEQUENCES FOR CORDAY
An “unnatural” act for a woman
In France, Corday was portrayed venomously in French caricatures and cartoons. Not only was she a “cold-blooded killer”, but her actions were seen as “unnatural” for a woman. So what was the “proper” role of women in French society?
Under the Revolution, there had been some positive advances in women’s rights. Church marriages were superseded by civil marriages which could be dissolved, giving women the opportunity to divorce. Women also acquired some civil rights, such as the right to inherit property. However, the Revolution’s much-vaunted Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen (1789) did not apply to women, who were classed as “passive citizens”. They were also denied the right to vote or hold public office, and women’s clubs or assemblies were outlawed. The playwright/activist Olympe de Gouges’ counterpart Declaration of the Rights of Woman and of the Female Citizen (1791) challenged dominant male authority and advocated equal rights for women, but her increasingly critical attitude to the Revolution’s hard-line leadership led to her execution in 1793 [20].
Under the Revolution, there had been some positive advances in women’s rights. Church marriages were superseded by civil marriages which could be dissolved, giving women the opportunity to divorce. Women also acquired some civil rights, such as the right to inherit property. However, the Revolution’s much-vaunted Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen (1789) did not apply to women, who were classed as “passive citizens”. They were also denied the right to vote or hold public office, and women’s clubs or assemblies were outlawed. The playwright/activist Olympe de Gouges’ counterpart Declaration of the Rights of Woman and of the Female Citizen (1791) challenged dominant male authority and advocated equal rights for women, but her increasingly critical attitude to the Revolution’s hard-line leadership led to her execution in 1793 [20].
Fig 8: Alexander Kucharsky, Portrait of Olympe de Gouges
The personal nature of the initial reaction to Corday’s actions reflected a widespread belief – not just by French men, but also by many women -- that woman’s role should be limited to the home and family, and that any action outside that sphere was unnatural. Corday’s actions led to her being likened to a man in woman’s clothing, as a person who had wilfully sullied her true role in life. As a mere woman, she simply could not have the intelligence, the cunning, the physical or mental strength, or the skill to singlehandedly carry out the murder so efficiently. The authorities even ordered her to be physically examined to determine whether she had been engaged in a sexual liaison, with the idea that this would confirm their belief that it was a man who had masterminded the assassination. Disappointingly for the authorities, she was found to be “intact”.
A hero in England
In England, France’s traditional rival, the assassination was immediately seen as a massive poke in the eye for the French government, and right from the outset it was Corday, not Marat, who was regarded as the hero [21]. The fact that Corday had herself supported the Revolution was somehow forgiven. After all, she was only a moderate, and had opposed mass slaughter and the king’s execution.
So, for example, the English satirist James Gillray depicted Corday as a noble, heroic figure, the Revolutionary trial judges as a raggle-taggle bunch, and the “monster” Marat as a revoltingly spotted corpse.
So, for example, the English satirist James Gillray depicted Corday as a noble, heroic figure, the Revolutionary trial judges as a raggle-taggle bunch, and the “monster” Marat as a revoltingly spotted corpse.
Fig 9: James Gillray, The Heroic Charlotte la Cordé (1793), British Museum
Some went even further, likening the heroic Corday to Joan of Arc. The Romantic poet Robert Southey described Corday wielding the “sword of liberty” with her “avenging arm”, just as Joan had. The cartoonist Isaac Cruikshank described her as “a second Jean d’Arc” and depicted her as elaborately well-dressed, with a knife in hand, felling a cumbersome Marat – “a female arm has made one bold attempt to free her country”.
Fig 10: Isaac Cruikshank, A Second Jean d’Arc (1793), British Museum
Certainly, there were some similarities between Corday and Joan, even though they lived centuries apart [22]. They were both deeply religious young women, they both displayed impressive daring, risked their life for a cause, and were executed in the presence of jeering crowds. Both Corday and Joan also challenged the traditional view of women’s role being passive and domestic. Joan dressed in male clothing, and Corday was repeatedly likened to a man in female clothing. But treating Joan as a noble hero was a surprising attitude for the English, given that she had once been their bitter enemy.
A rising reputation
Even when she was in jail, Corday was of course aware of the hostile reaction in France to her actions. However, she responded to this perception in a novel way, by arranging a little propaganda of her own. She requested that an artist be brought to her jail cell to paint a portrait of her [23]. Even more surprisingly, her request was granted. The resultant portrait, by a sympathetic Jean-Jacques Hauer, presents her as an attractive, well-dressed pillar of respectability (refer back to Fig 2). The same painter would later do another painting of her, with her black bonnet, standing determinedly, almost heroically, in Marat’s room the moment after the murder [24].
Fig 11: Jean-Jacques Hauer, The Death of Marat (1793)
Even at the outset, Corday had some admirers and supporters in France, and after the moderates regained power under the new regime, this support increased – after all, she could now be seen to have ridded France of one of the moderates’ most detested enemies. And a number of other factors also contributed to ensuring that her reputation would improve from its base level up to somebody who was seen as “the angel of assassination” [25]. For one thing, her story maintained an air of mystery ~ it still seems intriguing that such a person would do such an act. And, in sharp contrast to Marat, she was attractive, well-presented and died with dignity. So, for example, Paul-Jacques-Aimé Baudry’s painting of the murder, painted some decades later, reduces Marat just to his face and outstretched arms, and portrays Corday as standing, apprehensive yet resolute, against a background of a map of the nation.
Fig 12: Paul-Jacques-Aimé Baudry, The Assassination of Marat (1860)
In addition, and perhaps most importantly, Corday represented a model which became more and more acceptable as time went on -- a model of a courageous, independent and decisive woman. While this provoked fear and resentment among many at the time, it would later come to encourage feminist movements in subsequent struggles for equality.
Indeed, it is tempting to speculate that if David had never done this painting, or it had not been of such high standard --- in fact, one of his finest works -- the whole episode, including Corday’s role, may well have largely forgotten in the chaos of the Revolution. Propaganda, it seems, can cut both ways.
© Philip McCouat 2026
This article may be cited as Philip McCouat, “Jacques-Louis David’s The Death of Marat; Heroes and Villains in the French Revolution, Journal of Art in Society (2026)
First published April 2026
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Indeed, it is tempting to speculate that if David had never done this painting, or it had not been of such high standard --- in fact, one of his finest works -- the whole episode, including Corday’s role, may well have largely forgotten in the chaos of the Revolution. Propaganda, it seems, can cut both ways.
© Philip McCouat 2026
This article may be cited as Philip McCouat, “Jacques-Louis David’s The Death of Marat; Heroes and Villains in the French Revolution, Journal of Art in Society (2026)
First published April 2026
Return to HOME
end notes
[1] For a measured and detailed biography of Marat’s life and career, see Keith Michael Baker, Jean-Paul Marat: Prophet of Terror, University of Chicago Press, 2025
[2] Rose-Marie and Rainer Hagen, “The holy revolutionary”, in What Great Paintings Say, Vol 1,Taschen, 2003, at 346
[3] Simon Schama, “Airbrushing the Revolution”, in Simon Schama’s Power of Art, BBC Books, UK, 2006, at 214
[4] Hagen, op cit at 348
[5] When she travelled to Paris, it is said that she took with her a copy of Plutarch’s Parallel Lives, in which an account of Brutus’s life appears: Janina Ramirez, Legenda: The Real Women Behind the Myths that Shaped Europe, W H Allen, UK, 2005, at 24
[6] Ramirez, op cit at 15ff
[7] According to that story, Judith was a beautiful Jewish woman who decapitated the drunken general Holofernes to prevent him from destroying her hometown
[8] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 217
[9] According to a popular story, as she stabbed Marat she cried “Villain, thy death shall precede theirs!”, referring to the people that he said he’d have guillotined
[10] Ramirez, op cit at 21
[11] Ramirez, op cit at 21; Simon Schama, Citizens: A Chronicle of the French Revolution, Knopf Doubleday Publishing, 1989, at 742ff
[12] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 226
[13] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 218
[14] The painting, since destroyed, is known only through a pencil sketch
[15] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 219 ff
[16] For a discussion of classical influences in the painting, see Michael Greenhalgh, “David's Marat Assassiné and its Sources”, The Yearbook of English Studies, Vol 19, The French Revolution in English Literature and Art Special Number (1989), 162
[17] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 223
[18] The banknote, incidentally, is possibly the first visual representation of paper money in Western art: Darius A. Spieth, “The Corsets Assignat in David’s Death of Marat”, Notes in the History of Art vol 25, No 3 (Spring), 22
[19] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 224 ff
[20] Ramirez, op cit at 20
[21] Ramirez, op cit at 25ff
[22] Ramirez, op cit at 25
[23] Ramirez, op cit at 21
[24] For discussion of the knotty issue of whether Corday was a blonde or a brunette, see Nina Rattner Gelbart, “The Blonding of Charlotte Corday”, Eighteenth Century Studies, Vol. 38, No. 1, Hair (Fall, 2004) pp. 201-221
[25] This term was coined by writer Alphonse Lamartine in 1847
© Philip McCouat 2026
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[2] Rose-Marie and Rainer Hagen, “The holy revolutionary”, in What Great Paintings Say, Vol 1,Taschen, 2003, at 346
[3] Simon Schama, “Airbrushing the Revolution”, in Simon Schama’s Power of Art, BBC Books, UK, 2006, at 214
[4] Hagen, op cit at 348
[5] When she travelled to Paris, it is said that she took with her a copy of Plutarch’s Parallel Lives, in which an account of Brutus’s life appears: Janina Ramirez, Legenda: The Real Women Behind the Myths that Shaped Europe, W H Allen, UK, 2005, at 24
[6] Ramirez, op cit at 15ff
[7] According to that story, Judith was a beautiful Jewish woman who decapitated the drunken general Holofernes to prevent him from destroying her hometown
[8] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 217
[9] According to a popular story, as she stabbed Marat she cried “Villain, thy death shall precede theirs!”, referring to the people that he said he’d have guillotined
[10] Ramirez, op cit at 21
[11] Ramirez, op cit at 21; Simon Schama, Citizens: A Chronicle of the French Revolution, Knopf Doubleday Publishing, 1989, at 742ff
[12] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 226
[13] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 218
[14] The painting, since destroyed, is known only through a pencil sketch
[15] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 219 ff
[16] For a discussion of classical influences in the painting, see Michael Greenhalgh, “David's Marat Assassiné and its Sources”, The Yearbook of English Studies, Vol 19, The French Revolution in English Literature and Art Special Number (1989), 162
[17] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 223
[18] The banknote, incidentally, is possibly the first visual representation of paper money in Western art: Darius A. Spieth, “The Corsets Assignat in David’s Death of Marat”, Notes in the History of Art vol 25, No 3 (Spring), 22
[19] Schama, Airbrushing, op cit at 224 ff
[20] Ramirez, op cit at 20
[21] Ramirez, op cit at 25ff
[22] Ramirez, op cit at 25
[23] Ramirez, op cit at 21
[24] For discussion of the knotty issue of whether Corday was a blonde or a brunette, see Nina Rattner Gelbart, “The Blonding of Charlotte Corday”, Eighteenth Century Studies, Vol. 38, No. 1, Hair (Fall, 2004) pp. 201-221
[25] This term was coined by writer Alphonse Lamartine in 1847
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