The Lost King of France: A True Story of Revolution, Revenge, and DNA by Deborah Cadbury Page B
Authors: Deborah Cadbury
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whom it was feared was seeking to destroy the new National Assembly that represented the people. “Citizens, they will
stop at nothing,” urged one speaker, the journalist Camille Desmoulins, a school friend of Robespierre. “They are plotting a massacre of patriots.” People rushed to arm themselves. As a wave of panic swept the Paris streets, armorers and gunsmiths were raided—one later reported that he was looted no less than thirty times. The monastery of Saint-Lazare, a depot for grain and flour, was sacked. The next day, at the Hôtel de Ville, the Marquis de La Fayette, a hero of the American war, set out to enroll a new National Guard with himself as colonel, creating a new citizens’ army. Early the next morning, on July 14, around eighty thousand people gathered at the Invalides, the army’s barracks, where they overwhelmed the troops and managed to obtain thirty thousand muskets and some cannon. Faced with rumors that royal troops were on the move, the citizens’ army needed gunpowder, and this was in the Bastille. The crowd swept forward, to rousing cries of “To the Bastille!”
The grey stone walls and menacing towers of this fourteenth-century fortress rose as a great, dark edifice on the Rue Saint-Antoine on the eastern side of Paris. For years, any enemies of the crown could be detained in this prison without a judicial process, merely by a royal warrant, the notorious lettres de cachet. Consequently, the almost-windowless walls, five feet thick, rising sheer from the moat, had come to represent a mighty symbol of royal tyranny and oppression. The cry went up to seize the Bastille, take the gunpowder and release the prisoners. Revolt was fast turning into revolution.
As nine hundred men gathered around the Bastille, the atmosphere inside was tense. The governor, Marquis Bernard-René de Launay, gave orders for his guards to defend the prison at all cost. After midday, the mob broke through the first drawbridge and behind a smoke screen formed by burning two carts of manure, they aimed their guns at the gate and the second drawbridge. With the fortress under siege, the garrison fought back, killing almost one hundred of the assailants and injuring many more. Yet the mob continued to attack. The guards eventually surrendered, defying de Launay’s orders, and lowered the second drawbridge. The crowds, now out of control, surged forward into the fortress, breaking windows and furniture, and killing
any guards who had not put down their weapons. The prisoners were released; for all the furor, there were only seven—including one madman.
With the people eager for revenge, the governor, de Launay, was seized and dragged toward the Hôtel de Ville, the excited crowd wanting his death and kicking him down until the governor, unable to endure another moment, screamed, “Let me die!” As he lashed out, the crowd finished off their victim with hunting knives, swords and bayonets. Finally a cook named Désnot cut off his head with a pocket knife. The still-dripping head was twisted onto a pike and paraded around the streets to the cheering crowd. He was described on a placard as “Governor of the Bastille, disloyal and treacherous enemy of the people.” For patriots, the fall of the Bastille created a wave of euphoria, and it would not be long before it was demolished entirely.
Faced with this new crisis, the king went to the National Assembly and effectively surrendered, promising to withdraw his troops from Paris. As the sense of desperation grew, many senior members of the Versailles court now fled. On the night of July 16, the king’s young brother, Artois, and the queen’s close friend, Gabrielle de Polignac, left the palace with their families. “Nothing could be more affecting than the parting of the queen and her friend,” wrote Madame Campan. The queen “wished to go and embrace her once more” after they had parted, but knowing that her movements were watched, was too frightened that
stop at nothing,” urged one speaker, the journalist Camille Desmoulins, a school friend of Robespierre. “They are plotting a massacre of patriots.” People rushed to arm themselves. As a wave of panic swept the Paris streets, armorers and gunsmiths were raided—one later reported that he was looted no less than thirty times. The monastery of Saint-Lazare, a depot for grain and flour, was sacked. The next day, at the Hôtel de Ville, the Marquis de La Fayette, a hero of the American war, set out to enroll a new National Guard with himself as colonel, creating a new citizens’ army. Early the next morning, on July 14, around eighty thousand people gathered at the Invalides, the army’s barracks, where they overwhelmed the troops and managed to obtain thirty thousand muskets and some cannon. Faced with rumors that royal troops were on the move, the citizens’ army needed gunpowder, and this was in the Bastille. The crowd swept forward, to rousing cries of “To the Bastille!”
The grey stone walls and menacing towers of this fourteenth-century fortress rose as a great, dark edifice on the Rue Saint-Antoine on the eastern side of Paris. For years, any enemies of the crown could be detained in this prison without a judicial process, merely by a royal warrant, the notorious lettres de cachet. Consequently, the almost-windowless walls, five feet thick, rising sheer from the moat, had come to represent a mighty symbol of royal tyranny and oppression. The cry went up to seize the Bastille, take the gunpowder and release the prisoners. Revolt was fast turning into revolution.
As nine hundred men gathered around the Bastille, the atmosphere inside was tense. The governor, Marquis Bernard-René de Launay, gave orders for his guards to defend the prison at all cost. After midday, the mob broke through the first drawbridge and behind a smoke screen formed by burning two carts of manure, they aimed their guns at the gate and the second drawbridge. With the fortress under siege, the garrison fought back, killing almost one hundred of the assailants and injuring many more. Yet the mob continued to attack. The guards eventually surrendered, defying de Launay’s orders, and lowered the second drawbridge. The crowds, now out of control, surged forward into the fortress, breaking windows and furniture, and killing
any guards who had not put down their weapons. The prisoners were released; for all the furor, there were only seven—including one madman.
With the people eager for revenge, the governor, de Launay, was seized and dragged toward the Hôtel de Ville, the excited crowd wanting his death and kicking him down until the governor, unable to endure another moment, screamed, “Let me die!” As he lashed out, the crowd finished off their victim with hunting knives, swords and bayonets. Finally a cook named Désnot cut off his head with a pocket knife. The still-dripping head was twisted onto a pike and paraded around the streets to the cheering crowd. He was described on a placard as “Governor of the Bastille, disloyal and treacherous enemy of the people.” For patriots, the fall of the Bastille created a wave of euphoria, and it would not be long before it was demolished entirely.
Faced with this new crisis, the king went to the National Assembly and effectively surrendered, promising to withdraw his troops from Paris. As the sense of desperation grew, many senior members of the Versailles court now fled. On the night of July 16, the king’s young brother, Artois, and the queen’s close friend, Gabrielle de Polignac, left the palace with their families. “Nothing could be more affecting than the parting of the queen and her friend,” wrote Madame Campan. The queen “wished to go and embrace her once more” after they had parted, but knowing that her movements were watched, was too frightened that
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