The Lost King of France: A True Story of Revolution, Revenge, and DNA by Deborah Cadbury
Authors: Deborah Cadbury
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nursery with his friends he enjoyed games of “wedding” and playing with sand or horses—his great aunts had given him eight small black ponies, which had been specially trained so he could ride them. Madame Campan observed, “His ruddy health and loveliness did, in truth, form a striking contrast to the languid look and melancholy disposition of his elder brother.” Increasingly, the king and queen’s hopes for the future of their line were now concentrated on this charming little ruler of the nursery who, at four and a half, was already wearing coat and trousers.
May 4, 1789. The streets of Versailles were hung with tapestries for the magnificent opening procession to mark the historic gathering of the Estates-General. With great ceremony to mark this rebirth of France—as some believed—the parade of two thousand people filed though the crowded streets for a service at the Church of St. Louis. The king walked behind the archbishop of Paris, followed by the royal family, then representatives of the three Estates, each with lighted candles.
Marie-Antoinette, sumptuously bejewelled in a silver dress, looked sad as she passed. Unable to take part, but watching the proceedings from a balcony, was her seven-year-old son; his twisted little body stretched on a daybed. She now knew he was dying and could scarcely hold back her tears as he smiled valiantly at her. At that moment, some “low women,” according to Madame Campan, “yelled out ‘Vive le Duc d’Orléans!’ in such a rebellious manner that the queen nearly fainted.” Many of the representatives, she wrote, arrived in Versailles with the “strongest prejudices” against the queen, certain she “was draining the treasury of the State in order to satisfy the most unreasonable luxury.” Some demanded to see the Trianon, convinced that there was at least one room, “totally decorated with diamonds, and columns studded with sapphires and rubies.” Disbelieving representatives searched the pavilion in vain for the diamond chamber.
The first session of the Estates-General met the next day in the opulent surroundings of the Salle des Menus Plaisirs in the palace. The clergy, in imposing scarlet and black ecclesiastical robes, were seated on benches on the right. The nobles, richly dressed in white-feathered hats and gold trimmed suits, took the benches on the left. The commoners sat furthest from the king at the far end, dressed simply in black. One of those among them taking in the scene—the large ornate chamber, the symbolic ranking of the representatives with the Third Estate in plain clothes at the back—was a young lawyer called Maximilien Robespierre.
At the age of eleven, Robespierre had won a scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools in France, Louis-le-Grand, in Paris. He had graduated in law in 1780 and returned to practice in his hometown, Arras, in the northern province of Artois. When the Estates-General were summoned, he seized his chance to further his career and successfully secured a position as one of eight Third Estate deputies for Artois. Like many commoners, he arrived in Versailles determined to challenge the structures of privilege at the heart of French society and create social equality.
As the speeches and debates began, the great expectations that had preceded the opening of the Estates-General soon disintegrated. Far from even attempting to resolve the all-important financial crisis, which Necker outlined
at great length, there were increasingly bitter arguments about voting procedures, with each Estate continually plotting for positions of power over the others. As the weeks of May passed, rather than resolving the issue of tax reform, the meeting served as a catalyst, crystallizing grievances at the very heart of the constitution of France.
At this time, the queen was almost completely preoccupied with the young dauphin. The young prince suffered as his illness slowly destroyed every trace of childish
May 4, 1789. The streets of Versailles were hung with tapestries for the magnificent opening procession to mark the historic gathering of the Estates-General. With great ceremony to mark this rebirth of France—as some believed—the parade of two thousand people filed though the crowded streets for a service at the Church of St. Louis. The king walked behind the archbishop of Paris, followed by the royal family, then representatives of the three Estates, each with lighted candles.
Marie-Antoinette, sumptuously bejewelled in a silver dress, looked sad as she passed. Unable to take part, but watching the proceedings from a balcony, was her seven-year-old son; his twisted little body stretched on a daybed. She now knew he was dying and could scarcely hold back her tears as he smiled valiantly at her. At that moment, some “low women,” according to Madame Campan, “yelled out ‘Vive le Duc d’Orléans!’ in such a rebellious manner that the queen nearly fainted.” Many of the representatives, she wrote, arrived in Versailles with the “strongest prejudices” against the queen, certain she “was draining the treasury of the State in order to satisfy the most unreasonable luxury.” Some demanded to see the Trianon, convinced that there was at least one room, “totally decorated with diamonds, and columns studded with sapphires and rubies.” Disbelieving representatives searched the pavilion in vain for the diamond chamber.
The first session of the Estates-General met the next day in the opulent surroundings of the Salle des Menus Plaisirs in the palace. The clergy, in imposing scarlet and black ecclesiastical robes, were seated on benches on the right. The nobles, richly dressed in white-feathered hats and gold trimmed suits, took the benches on the left. The commoners sat furthest from the king at the far end, dressed simply in black. One of those among them taking in the scene—the large ornate chamber, the symbolic ranking of the representatives with the Third Estate in plain clothes at the back—was a young lawyer called Maximilien Robespierre.
At the age of eleven, Robespierre had won a scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools in France, Louis-le-Grand, in Paris. He had graduated in law in 1780 and returned to practice in his hometown, Arras, in the northern province of Artois. When the Estates-General were summoned, he seized his chance to further his career and successfully secured a position as one of eight Third Estate deputies for Artois. Like many commoners, he arrived in Versailles determined to challenge the structures of privilege at the heart of French society and create social equality.
As the speeches and debates began, the great expectations that had preceded the opening of the Estates-General soon disintegrated. Far from even attempting to resolve the all-important financial crisis, which Necker outlined
at great length, there were increasingly bitter arguments about voting procedures, with each Estate continually plotting for positions of power over the others. As the weeks of May passed, rather than resolving the issue of tax reform, the meeting served as a catalyst, crystallizing grievances at the very heart of the constitution of France.
At this time, the queen was almost completely preoccupied with the young dauphin. The young prince suffered as his illness slowly destroyed every trace of childish
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