The Lost King of France: A True Story of Revolution, Revenge, and DNA by Deborah Cadbury Page A

vitality. When the Princesse de Lamballe visited him at Meudon with her lady-in-waiting, they could hardly bear to look at his “beautiful eyes, the eyes of a dying child.” The queen watched helplessly as his emaciated body became covered in sores. “The things that the poor little one says are incredible; they pierce his mother’s heart; his tenderness toward her knows no bounds,” observed a friend. On the second of June, services were held for him across France and prayers were said. It was to no avail. Two days later he died in his mother’s arms.
    The significance of these events was lost on the four-year-old Louis-Charles playing in the nursery at Versailles. He wept to hear of the death of his older brother, now lying in state at Meudon in a silver and white room, his coffin covered with a silver cloth, his crown and sword. All around him, the chambers of Versailles resounded to the acrimonious debates of the deputies. Louis-Charles had now become the symbol of the royal future of France, “Monsieur le Dauphin,” next in line to a throne increasingly devoid of authority as well as funds.
    The king, somewhere during these events, private and public, missed his opportunity to rally the deputies and inspire their support. Overwhelmed with grief, he and the queen left Versailles to mourn their oldest son. In his absence, the deputies of the Third Estate seized the initiative. At a pivotal meeting, on June 17, 1789, they passed a motion that since they represented 95 percent of the people, the Third Estate should be renamed as a new body, called the National Assembly, which had the right to control taxation. With flagrant disregard for the king, they planned to proceed, with or without royal approval.
    While the king vacillated, hopelessly torn between the advice of ministers
such as Necker who counselled compromise, and that of his wife and brothers who argued for a tougher line, the Third Estate went even further. When the deputies of the new National Assembly found themselves locked out of their usual meeting room, they adjourned to an indoor tennis court. Here each member solemnly swore not to separate until France had a new constitution. This became known as the “Tennis Court Oath.”
    The king’s power was collapsing. His specially appointed Assembly of Notables had defied him, the parlement had defied him, now the Third Estate was defying him. With each successive swipe at the monarchy, the king was racked with indecision. “All goes worse than ever,” Madame Élisabeth reported frankly to her friend, the Marquise de Bombelles, as she confided her despair at her brother’s lack of the “necessary sternness.” Foreseeing disaster, she wrote, “The deputies, victims of their passions … are rushing to ruin, and that of the throne and the whole kingdom. As for me,” she told the marquise ominously, “I have sworn not to leave my brother and I shall keep my oath.”
    As support grew rapidly for the new National Assembly, the king was obliged to recognize it. He ordered the other two Estates to join the Third. As a result, the commoners, who had had their representation doubled, now held a majority. Many took the Third’s victory and the king’s acquiescence as a sign that his authority had completely broken down. There was rioting on the streets; civil war seemed imminent. The king summoned extra regiments to Paris. He told the deputies of the National Assembly that the troops were stationed as a precaution, to protect the people. The Assembly, however, saw the presence of twenty-five thousand troops in and around the capital differently and feared that they themselves were under direct threat from the king. One of its members spoke out: “These preparations for war are obvious to everyone and fill every heart with indignation.”
    On July 12, following the dismissal of the popular finance minister, Necker, crowds gathered to hear rousing revolutionary speeches against the tyranny of the monarchy,