The Unknown Favourite: Thérèse-Lucy de Rothe

The Princesse de Lamballe and the Duchesse de Polignac are primarily known as two of Marie Antoinette's closest friends - yet, there was another young woman whose charm quickly earned her a place in the inner circle of the queen.

Thérèse-Lucy de Rothe came to Versailles as the Comtesse de Dillon; she had married her cousin, the Irish Arthur Dillon, in 1770. Although her rank made her appearance at court acceptable, there was nothing in her family relations to suggest that she would initially be considered as a suitable companion for the queen. Her parents - Charles Edward de Rothe and Lucy Cary - were hardly amongst the most well-known names at court. Yet, they were not entirely unimportant. For instance, they were amongst the highest ranking nobles of Ireland and Arthur Dillon became Maréchal de France. As such, the young Thérèse-Lucy - as a Maréchale - was not entirely unsuitable but there were many of other (French) candidates for the queen's attention.

What, then, attracted the attention of the one woman whose company was sought by all? For one, Thérèse-Lucy was a very beautiful woman which always help - particularly at the rather superficial world of Versailles. The queen was taken in by the charm and beauty of the newcomer and quickly considered her indispensable. Certain of her contemporaries noted that Thérèse-Lucy could be sweet as sugar which was another trait which had always attracted the queen.

The queen's attentions towards to the Comtesse was noted at the typical card parties of the court. The queen began paying increasing attention and extending various minor courtesies towards the otherwise somewhat unknown young Thérèse-Lucy which caught the courtiers' attention.

The Comtesse de Dillon was not in a position which warranted an immediate place in the queen's entourage. Marie Antoinette herself came up with the solution of attaching Thérèse-Lucy to her personal household as a supernumerary dame du Palais. Typically, the queen had twelve such but Thérèse-Lucy was soon made a thirteenth.

Thérèse-Lucy - she has a slight resemblance to
Marie Antoinette in this portrait

The court was quite outraged at the Comtesse's sudden rise in the ranks; however, her lack of pedigree was not the primary concern for everyone. Some were uneasy at the behaviour of the new dame; the queen's abbé de Vermond even warned Marie Antoinette of the undesirable company of certain of her friends. The clergyman primary referred to Thérèse-Lucy and the Princesse de Guéménée - as it happens, Thérèse-Lucy was the mistress of the Prince de Guéménée.

But was Thérèse-Lucy truly so bad? The Abbé de Vermond was not wrong in warning the queen of the people she associated with. For instance, the Duchesse de Polignac was notoriously grasping and quite blatantly used the queen's friendship to further herself and her family. Meanwhile, Thérèse-Lucy does not appear to have been an active part in the increasing amount of scandals which surrounded the royal court but she died share Polignac's tendency to be grasping. Her own mother, Madame de Rothe, was notoriously avaricious and relentlessly used her daughter's connection for further gain. It is said that Thérèse-Lucy's requests to the queen eventually caused Marie Antoinette to look elsewhere for companionship. It is only ironic that the person who took the lion's share of the queen's attention at this time was none other than Madame de Polignac who was just as bad in that department.

That Marie Antoinette genuinely cared for Thérèse-Lucy becomes apparent in the fact that she never gave up their friendship. Instead, the queen seemed to have listened to her advisors and made it clear to the Comtesse that her continuous requests for favours had to come to an end. Even after that, the queen continued to extend her personal friendship.

There might have been another reason for Thérèse-Lucy's seemingly reluctance to engage herself in court squabbles. By the early 1780's, Thérèse-Lucy was thirty years old. She had borne a single child at the age of 18 but does not appear to have conceived again. It is not unlikely that there were complications with her first pregnancy, as it was noted that her health had never quite been the same. Despite being young, Thérèse-Lucy was not healthy. It should be said that her absence from specific scandals does not necessarily mean that the Comtesse was a saint of a woman. Some attributed her health issues to her "nastiness" which could indicate that there were something less pleasant about her.

In 1782, she began coughing up blood. On the recommendation of her doctor, she planned a trip to Spa but lacked the funds. Eventually, Marie Antoinette aided her dear friend but it seemed to have little effect. Returning to Paris in the autumn, Thérèse-Lucy worsened to the point of her having to remove herself from court. Marie Antoinette's genuine nature is evidenced in the fact that the queen herself visited her. Afterwards, the queen sent her royal pages on daily trips to enquire after her health. Alas, there was no hope for Thérèse-Lucy; she died on 8 September 1782, at the age of 31. 

It is likely her early death which has rendered her somewhat anonymous in the eyes of history. She died seven years before the revolution broke out and before the even larger scandal of the Diamond Necklace befell the queen. Also, the Duchesse de Polignac was taken up a large portion of the queen's time which naturally lessened the focus on the increasingly absent Thérèse-Lucy. Thus, she was not connected to these turbulent times nor was she a target of particular ire from the public. Her husband, Arthur Dillon, was less fortunate. He served in the army and saw little of his wife - he did not return for her final illness. In the end, he was guillotined during the revolution just like Thérèse-Lucy's erstwhile friend Marie Antoinette.

The Grand Habit: Symbol of the Court

The tightly corseted, widely panniered silhouette of a female courtier has become synonymous with the extravagance of the 18th century. While the robes à la Française, à l'Anglaise and à la Polonaise are the variants of female dress typically referred to, the epitome of Versailles-elegance is the grand habit.

Interestingly, the grand habit's roots were not the 18th century but rather the preceding 17th century. The term "habit de cour" itself was slightly longer taking hold; by 1708, it was still a fair new concept. Over the decades (only interrupted by the revolution), the silhouette grew in size. The sheer volume of the skirt increased drastically as the 18th century marched on, to the point of the borderline ridiculous. Still, the grand habit's "building blocks" remained the same: pannier, petticoat, corset, bodice and train. Added to that were the essential accessories such as the chemise, the engageants (lace trimmings of the sleeves) and various adornments to the gown itself.

This Mantua is a good example of 
how the grand habit started out during
Louis XIV

Briefly put, the grand habit de cour was the formal attire of a noblewoman. As such, it was the required "uniform" for the larger events such as coronations, royal weddings, diplomatic meetings, bals parés etc. Given its purpose, it is hardly surprising that the grand habit were created from the most lavish - and expensive - articles of clothing. The original purpose appear to have been a tad more universal; for instance, Elizabeth Charlotte of the Palatinate wrote in 1702 that everyone who appeared before herself or the king were in grand habit. This indicate that at this time, it was still a court staple rather than the rare requirement for special occasions.

The grand habit was a cumbersome affair to wear. As mentioned, it consisted of several large pieces of clothing including a train, a skirt, a stiff bodice and a petticoat. Typically, their backs would be cut like a robe à la Française, that is, with two pleats running from the shoulders to the ground. 

While the grand habit was designed for splendour, very little thought had been given to comfort. The corsets used for this type of dress was the rigid, boned corsets typically associated with the high society of the time. For the queen, this would usually be made from whalebone. The bodice itself would be remarkably low-cut - one can only surmise at the irony of a society which frowned on an exposed ankle but dictated a very deep cleavage. 

While the train was detachable, it was often very heavy and could be quite long - however, the length depended on the rank of the lady wearing it. A length of about 4 meters was not unusual for the higher ranking ladies which must have made it a nightmare trying to navigate between the many, varying trains without stepping on one. The length of the train also presented difficulties for the wearer; it was one thing when moving straight ahead, but turning around or even backing was quite a challenge.

As can be seen from this specimen, the panniers assumed 
ridiculous widths 

The grand habit was a status symbol; as such, its use was not permitted for everyone. Only ladies who had been officially presented to the royal family were entitled to don the ensemble. The only exceptions were the dames de chambre to either the queen or royal princess - yet, they were prohibited from using a train. The public transformation of a woman from an unpresented lady to an official, presented lady always occurred in a grand habit. The lady to be presented was heavily adorned with everything to symbolise her family's standing - naturally, this was a grand habit. 

The Baronne d'Oberkirch has left a vivid description of the grand habit ordered for her own presentation at Versailles in the 1780's. By this point in time, the panniers were massive which consequently required immense amounts of fabric. The Baronne's choice of fabric was an expensive gold brocade which was heavily embroidered with a myriad of flowers. While she did receive a good many compliments, she also admits that the gown was unbearably heavy.

Trimmed with metallic lace thread

When looking into the make-up of the royal versions of the grand habit, it is little wonder if the dress was terribly heavy. Besides the usual meter upon meter of fabric, it was very en mode to have gemstones - particularly diamonds - sewn into the bodice. In her younger years, Marie Antoinette's grand habits were often pale colours - even entirely white - with just such adornments. Pearls, too, were a go-to for ladies of the court. Marie Leszczynska were no less richly adorned than her successor. Several of her state portraits show the queen in rich, extravagant concoctions adorned with everything from gemstones to golden thread.

It was also a remarkably cold outfit to wear. While the amount of fabric used would typically give the impression that the wearer was well-protected against the cold, the intricate concoction beneath the gown offered little protection. Particularly the extremely wide panniers made it all too easy for cold air to seep up under the skirt - and the only barrier from there was the thin chemise and the corset. For the most parts, the legs were fair exposed to such breezes as chemises were not floor-length. Added to that was that the fabrics were not chosen for their insulation function; no wools were used. Brocade was a popular staple but even the heat-retaining qualities of silk were not always enough.

A young lady in a grande robe - notice
how tight the corset is and how low-cut
the bodice 

The panniers certainly added their fair share of weight to the ensemble. By the mid-18th century they could reach up to 3 meters in width! Typically, the fabric of all the pieces matched each other. The opportunities in the trimming department were endless: bows, jewels, ribbons, flowers (real and artificial), buttons, knots, flounces - whatever the customer desired was possible.

The sleeves were the length of a modern 3/4 sleeve - it typically ended just above or below the elbow. Over time it became the accepted tradition of having three layers of exquisite lace for the engageants.

Marie Leszczyńska in grand habit

The cost of a grand habit could be ruinous. According to Garsault, no less than three different craftsmen were needed to fully achieve the goal. A tailor was hired to make the train and bodice, a coutière for the petticoat and a so-called marchande de modes to add all the vital trimmings. Besides the obvious expense for the labour involved, the cost of material was immense.

The type of grand habit popular during
Marie Antoinette

Marie Antoinette's grand habits often featured a personal passion of hers: flowers. Particularly the fleur-de-lys was a favourite for the official state portrait. However, despite the epitaph of "queen of fashion", Marie Antoinette was less than thrilled with the concept of the grand habit. Her personal taste developed towards the more simple and even once declared to Louis XVI that the grand habit of a lady was "obsolete and unbearable". She entreated the king to allow the ladies to reduce the size of their panniers for royal functions which he agreed to.

The need for the king's approval to alter the restrictiveness of the grand habit truly demonstrate how the gown had become the almost the state sanctioned uniform for ladies of the court. Wearing the gown was not merely the privilege of the aristocratic ladies - it was their duty. It speaks volumes that the queen herself - and one who adored fashion herself - had to bring it to the king's attention to achieve some change.

Louis XVI: The Hunting King

Hunting was the greatest pastime of French kings for centuries; over the years, entire journals were dedicated to the exploits of certain royal hunters. Amongst the more famous ones is that of Louis XVI whose hunting from his ascension in 1774 until 1787 were extremely well-documented. Truly, Louis XVI had been documenting his hunts since 1766 but it was not until his personal reign began that we get an idea of the man behind the pages.

The ill-fated king has received spectacular criticism over the contents of his journal. Particularly, the use of the word "rien" - "nothing" - for the day which marked the Storming of the Bastille, has often been used to indicate how disinterested the king was. However, that is hardly an accurate interpretation. Journals of the kind were solely dedicated to hunting, especially the amount of prey killed by the hunters. Typically, days of "nothing" merely indicated that he had spent the day working. No other political event of the time featured extensively in the king's journal which beggars the question: why should this?

If anything, the March on Versailles in October 1789 distinctly was referred to as it directly interrupted a hunt in progress. The king was at Châtillon where his hunting party had just killed several animals when the king noted "interrupted due to events". At the time, the march by the women of Paris was yet another demonstration of public displeasure. Even during Louis XIV's time, occasional riots were not unheard of and there was no reason for anyone to think that this was the beginning of a revolution. While it easy to judge the king in hindsight, neither he nor his minister could possibly have known that this was just the beginning of the end. 

The few non-hunting related events which seeped into the king's journal often gives a clear insight into the king's personal life. For instance, the brief illness and death of his youngest daughter, Sophie, is mentioned in a single line. Other deaths were equally recorded which in itself shows that the king was truly affected by these losses - the brevity of the logs should not be confused with indifference as the king was notoriously reserved about his personal feelings.  

Louis XVI on horseback 

That being said, the king's hunting journal gives a valuable insight into a pastime which had truly assumed immense proportions. The king's civilian household had an entire department dedicated to the king's hunting: la Vénerie. This department catered to every perceivable type of hunting. Of course, stag hunting was a favourite with the French kings but they were far from the sole prey. Wolfs and boars were likewise popular; the Grand Dauphin was particularly fond of wolf hunting which was often used as a public means of pest control. On numerous occasions, the king received petitions from besieged villages which then made for a perfect excursion for the Grand Dauphin and his wolf-hunting company.

The kings of France certainly had several pristine hunting grounds.  The massive park of Versailles provided plenty of game but faded when compared to the forests of Rambouillet, Fontainebleau and Compiègne. Particularly Fontainebleau was the "hunting-palace" of France; the court's annual removal there every autumn provided the perfect backdrop for autumnal hunting.

Throughout these estates, small pavilions were erected solely to accommodate the hunt. These were sparsely furnished and often consisted of a single room. They served as rendezvous points for the hunt and potential refuges in the case of sudden downpours. 

Louis XVI preferred stag hunting or hunting from horseback. During his time - and his grandfather's before him - the scale of killing had reached positively barbaric proportions. Oddly, some of the years have specifically detailed the number of stags shot. Several thousand animals were killed in the royal hunts; the king's journal meticulously recording each year's total tally:

1774: 6.757 animals

1775: 8.424 animals

1776: 10.285 animals

1777: 13.675 animals 

1778: 18.141 animals (133 deer)

1779: 18.033 animals (152 deer)

1780: 20.534 animals (128 deer)

1781: 20.291 animals

1782: 13.155 animals (121 deer)

1783: 11.151 animals (161 deer)

1784: 8.676 animals (122 deer)

1785: 13.039 animals (150 deer)

1786: 17.675 animals (158 deer)

1787: 9.965 animals (149 deer)

In total, this period of 13 years saw the killing of 189.251 animals. To a hunter, the journal was a truly a labour of love. Everything was detailed with care including the environments (the forests, the fields, the lakes), the number of attendants. Besides the numerous hunters on horseback, the hunts were often followed by ladies in carriages which only further added to the numbers. The whole tableau was made even more picturesque by the fact that the king's specially chosen hunters were entitled to wear the blue justaucorps which signified their good standing. For instance, the image below clearly show the difference between the king and his entourage and the hopeful hangers-on.

Louis XVI (holding a leash)

It should be said that the numbers above do not reflect the king's prey tally alone; that would be almost impossible. The royal hunting party often counted several hundred people which accounts for the disturbingly large numbers involved. As it happens, the dauphin Louis Auguste were able to indulge his fondness for hunting far more often than the king Louis XVI.

For instance, in 1772 the young dauphin hunted up to five times per week whereas the royal hunts during Louis XVI were typically twice a week. But why did Louis XVI enjoy hunting so much? Historians have often depicted the king as a clumsy, oafish man. That appear to be the king's image from a purely court-minded side. Louis XVI was a tall man and not particularly graceful. However, his strength made him a solid rider and he was a remarkably good rifleman, while perhaps not endearing him to a dance partner. The solitude could also be a factor which appealed to the king. Despite being the centre of a several hundred huntsmen, the king had the luxury of surrounding himself specifically with chosen courtiers. When hunting, no one was asking for favours, presenting petitions or glaring at him. Perhaps he saw it as a welcome break from his rigid schedule.

It should probably not be disregarded either that it was immensely socially acceptable. The king's passion for locksmithing was seen as somewhat demeaning but hunting - that was the hobby of kings. So, Louis could enjoy himself without fear of social sneers or pressure.

Detail of Louis XVI (horseback) with a pack
of hunting dogs

The king's "rien" has also been the subject of another suspicion: did the king suffer from depression? Whereas Louis XV was well-known to struggle with melancholia throughout his entire life, Louis XVI might have inherited his grandfather propensity for depressive episodes. For instance, it has been pointed out by Jean-Dominique Bourzat that the king's journal often contained the word "rien" for entire weeks, even months, despite also containing brief references to hunting. Bourzat suggest that the "nothing" does not necessarily refer to a lack of hunting but a more general "nothing to report". If the theory that Louis XVI did suffer from depressive episodes, then these periods might reflect such dips in his mental health.

Bourzat's theory is not unlikely. Louis XVI was well-known to truly care for the people of France but simply lacked any idea as to how to fix the numerous and considerable social issues of the day. Fully realising the enormity of the responsibility of his position, the king was intelligent enough to also realise that he could do little about it. His numerous attempts at forcing reforms were met with immense opposition from one side or another  which eventually left him looking either weak or powerless. In turn, his natural lack of confidence led him to doubt to his abilities, only furthering the issues - that is where hunting served as a respite.

Guilty By Association: The Condemned of the Court

The nobility was neither the only nor the largest population group who were targeted by the revolutionaries. As paranoia grew across the increasingly chaotic first days of the new republic, anyone who was considered anti-revolutionary was deemed an enemy. On occasion, such persons were targeted due to their association with the former royal court of Versailles - despite not being amongst the higher nobility (or any nobility) themselves.

The Tribunal which sentenced both Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette to death, kept a meticulous record of its victims - they can hardly be termed anything else, as the Tribunal itself issued a compiled list of those executed by it. As could be expected, the reasons given for the Tribunal's guilty verdict is ambiguous at best. "Counter-revolutionary activities" or "conspiracy" are used on numerous occasions but without any further explanations as to exactly what those activities were or why they were considered to be anti-revolutionary. 

The executioner shows off the severed head
as proof of death to the crowd

Death by Employment: Servants in the Royal Households

Nicolas Pasquin had served Madame Élisabeth as her valet-de-chambre; he was accused of having used his house to plot "an assassination on the French people" in 1792 - apparently, the Tribunal conveniently forgot that he, too, was of the French people. He was guillotined on 6 February 1794.

Like Nicolas, Étienne-Claude Marivetz had served the royal family in a very periphery manner. He had been an écuyer to Mesdames Tantes and was brought to "trial" for having participated in the alleged conspiracy by the then-late king and queen. Although it is not mentioned how Étienne-Claude played any part, he was still found guilty and beheaded on 25 February 1794 at the age of 65.

The 42-year old Denis Joisel worked as a guard of the nationally-owned forests - likely a forester who prevented poaching of wood - but his attachment to the court was far vaguer. It is merely mentioned that he had served the household of Monsieur, the king's eldest brother (later Louis XVIII). That would likely have made him a colleague of P. Tissère who had been the Comte de Provence's bodyguard.

Dominique Laffilard had connections to two royal households. Initially, he had been employed by the Comte d'Artois as a cook before being moved to the Comte's son's household. This first son of his generation, the Duc d'Angoulême, received quite different services from Dominique. Despite having previously been a member of the kitchen staff, Dominique was transformed into a sort of cashier for the new addition to the extended royal family. Dominique was 69 years old when he was guillotined in 1794.

Another member of the Comte d'Artois' household was a man simply named Carbillet. The then-52 year old had worked as a carpenter before the revolution. He was accused of having aided the royal family and attempted to restore the monarchy; for this, he was guillotined.

Even the coiffeur to the young Madame Royale was hauled before the Tribunal who sentenced the 34-year old to death. The same fate awaited the 60-year old former écuyer to "the late Dauphine"; likely this means Marie Josèphe, mother of Louis XVI, as well as M. Duchesne who served as the Comtesse de Provence's intendant.

Such a vague accusation of conspiracy came in handy as a catch-all for anyone who had had even a minor role at court. Noël Deschamps (40 years old) was a lawyer who was executed 1 March 1794 for having been "complicit in the conspiracies which existed at the court of the tyrant". In other words, he had somehow been linked with the court - again, the how, where, when or why is entirely omitted.

An execution on the Place de la Révolution -
most of the victims of the Tribunal were executed
here

Serving the King

From the time the royal family was brought back to Versailles from their failed escape attempts at Varennes, any show of loyalty to the sovereigns was considered treason. Even something as simple as wearing a symbol of devotion to the king was enough which François-Étienne-Joseph Champleury found out at his own expense. His execution on 3 March 1794 was justified by him having worn just such a symbol of "antipathy" towards the French people. Even having once guarded the king was given as the sole crime of 44-year old Louis Étienne Tenailles Chamton who therefore met his end on the scaffold.

18 March 1794 saw the execution of several people including Jean-Rabaud Lafardie who had served as the king's secretary. This was not the king's personal secretary but rather refers to a clerical position within the king's massive household. It is unlikely that Lafardie ever worked directly with Louis XVI himself.

Having acted as a banker to the court, Jean-Joseph Laborde was 70 years old when he was found guilty - of what is unclear as it is only his connection to the court which is stated.

On occasion, the Tribunal had to go even further back in time to find a connection to the court. Marie-Marguerite-Geneviève-Victoire Lemesle was the wife of a man named simply as Boulaud. He had served as maréchal-de-logis which meant that was attached to the department of the king's household which dealt in arranging lodgings for the court. However, he had not served Louis XVI but Louis XV - by this time, Louis XV had been dead for 20 years.

Jacques-François Descombiés is mentioned as having been a page in the king's chamber during Louis XVI's reign. At the time of his execution in the summer of 1794, he was 66 years old. Another page (albeit not of the chamber) was the 48-year old E. Jardin who had been born in Versailles. 

A Monsieur Béguin Perceval had served the king's passion for hunting at Compiègne. Here, he had been a so-called lieutenant of the hunt from 1787-1788; particularly, he was responsible for the wolf-hunt which had all but faded from fashion at this point. This meant that it was typically used as a form of "pest control" when the wolves came a bit too close to the country villages.

It appears that particularly men who had served in the king's military household was targeted - perhaps the new regime was threatened by their military experience? Amongst the many former guardsmen or even officers were Langlois de Rezy (46 years) who had been a lieutenant in the king's French Guard. He was accused alongside his brothers and their wives for having correspondence with the enemy and embezzlement. They were executed on 1 May 1794.

Those headed for the guillotine were taken
there by open cart

P. L. Bertrand had been an officer in the Gobelet of the king's household - this department took care of the king's beverages. He was charged - and sentenced - alongside another former member of this department: J. C. Brenon who was head of the department. Amongst the charges laid against them was that of spreading misinformation and aiming at reinstating despotism. 

Other members of the king's household who were executed by the Tribunal included his children's master of arms (Rousseau - not the philosopher), governor of the royal pages (Dalvinart), inspector of buildings (Pelchet), valet (Lambrequet), head of the Gobelet and even Louis XV's 68-year old page, Louis Bernard Descours. 

Lastly, the head of the Menus Plaisirs stands out amongst the hundreds of condemned. Papillon de la Ferté authored an minute account of his tenure as head of this prestigious royal household. It is odd to imagine that the same man who had been so concerned with organising private concerts or large operas would later have far more serious matters on his mind. Denis-Pierre-Jean Papillon de la Ferté was executed on 7 July 1794.

Serving the Queen

Marie Antoinette was likely the most hated person in France at the time of her execution. Even two years after her death, association with the late queen was sufficient to land someone in hot water - even if they had never met the queen in person. 

One such was Gabriel-Charles Doyen who had been one of the many cooks employed in the queen's kitchen. He must have entered her service as quite a young man as he was 31 years old when he was executed.

The Unknown Aristocrats

Besides the more prestigious names of the kingly couple and other well-known personages - including Madame du Barry and the Duc d'Orléans - several other ex-nobles were sentenced to death by guillotine by this very same tribunal. Interestingly, the tribunal often dealt with people who were of noble families but who were neither of the high nobility nor even the "nuclear" family of their name; typically, they would be relatives whose familial connection was typically enough for them to be considered anti-revolutionaries. This was also the case when the persons in question were neither rich, powerful nor famous - like Anne-Joseph Lauloup who was listed as "noble" but worked as a doctor. Like their bourgeoisie counterparts above, they were guilty by association with the nobility.

Touissant-Jean Duplessis Grenedan was a 29 year old man who shared a surname with the Duc de Richelieu. Likely he was a distant relative but was not rich enough to sustain himself without supplementing income. Thus, he served as a navy captain and was accused of having corresponded with unsavory types. He was guillotined on 16 January 1794.

The 23-year old Comte de Béthune-Charost was amongst a larger group of ex-courtiers who were accused of conspiracy against the new regime. He was joined by the Comtesse Fargeon and the Marquis P. A. G. V de La Tour du Pin Gouvernay. All were executed in April 1794.

The 46-year old Étienne-Thomas Ogier Baulny was caught with his 14-year old son and their bodyguard when they attempted to flee France. Forcefully, they were taken back to Paris where their attempt at escape was considered enough for the Tribunal to find them guilty. Étienne - and likely his son and bodyguard, too - was executed on 31 January 1794.

A potential relative to Étienne was Claude-Jacques Ogier who had served as a counsellor to Louis XVI. By 1794, Claude-Jacques was 73 years old and was executed on 1 February 1794.

Claire-Magdeleine Lambertie was accused of keeping up a correspondence with the intensely hated Polignacs whom she was also supposed to supply with money. Her husband had been secretary to the king which immediately linked her to the court. She was executed on 28 March 1794. She was not the only one with connections to the Polignac-family. Louis-François Poiré (36) had been a servant in the households of the Talleyrand family before being hired by that of the Polignac. Like Claire, he was guillotined in the Spring of 1794. His crime was having corresponded with the English.

Jean-Jacques Baillard, Comte de Trousse-Bois had thoroughly distinguished himself through his military service to the point of being granted the post of maréchal de camp. As such, he served as colonel of the Angôuleme-regiment; he was likely still in this position when he was accused of conspiracy which led to his death on 8 February 1794. 

Jean Rouganne de Barodines was 52 years old when he was executed in the early Spring of 1794. He had not only been an aristocrat but also a knight of the Saint-Louis; he had served as a gendarme in the king's guard.

L. A. F. Bongare d'Apremon was a ci-devant marquis who was wealthy enough to live off of his revenues; these were largely subsided by his post of Grand Bailiff of Gisors. He was executed in 1795 at the age of 68.

M. A. Lévis was likely a relative of the Lévis-family; he was noted as having previously been a Comte as well as a Chevalier de Saint-Louis. He was condemned alongside the former Marquis C. A. C Choiseul Lebaune in 1794. The two men were 58 and 62 years old respectively.

A tad higher up the ladder was the former Minister for War, Louis-Antoine-Athanaise Loménie.

Notice the cart to the left - once it had been used to carry the 
condemned to the guillotine, it could handily be used to remove 
their bodies

These were often members of the noblesse de robe which was made up of the nobility who manned the judicial and political system of the Ancien Régime. Unlike the noblesse d'épée, they were often of more recent creation but had an uncanny ability to create remarkable fortunes in a few generations. This meant that they could even marry into the older nobility which had happened to such an extend by the 1790's that the two spheres of nobility had practically merged.

One of these main families was that of Lefebvre d'Ormesson. A member of this family - Anne-Louis-François-Paul - had followed in the family's footsteps and worked as a president of the Parisian Parliament. A colleague of his was H. J. Poulet who had been a councillor in the Metz Parliament. Both were executed in 1794 and both were considered to be of the noblesse de robe.

Others were more vulnerable due to their position in society. Widows with no surviving (male) relatives were often brought in and charged as associates to a crime based - apparently - on the connection of their husbands. Their actual, personal guilt is extremely doubtful as no official charge is necessarily given. That was the case for the 23-year old Camille-Thérèse Lepelletier Rozambo who lived in her father-in-law's house. Those are the only pieces of information given to justify her execution - that and the fact that she was married to the 34-year old Château-Brillant who had served as a captain of a royal cavalry regiment.

A similar case was that of the widowed Marie-Victoire Rochochoir whose husband had been a brigadier in Louis XVI's guard. He had also held the title of Vicomte. Like Camille, she was charged conspiracy - they were likely executed together as they were accused of the same conspiracy. These two women were young but that cannot have been said for the widow of F. Goursac. Simply termed T. Thomas, she was 80 years old when she was beheaded.

Grand Relatives

The 40-year old Anne-Alexandrine-Rosalie La Rochefoucauld shared her surname with one of the greatest families in France which appears to have been her primary crime. Of course, she, too, was accused of a "frightful conspiracy" but no further details are given - except her date of execution: 9 March 1794.

Antoine Brochet (called Saint-Prest) was only 25 years old but had already served Louis XVI as a guardsman before the revolution which would mean that he was a teenager at the time; he was executed for having aided and abetted - and even authored - conspiracies against the new republic. 

Scions of some of the greater families of France were perfect targets - they represented the old order and their familial ties made it easy to attribute some sort of connection to higher-ranking family members. It also made any alleged conspiracy appear to run deep, almost like an ingrained trait in the aristocracy.  Once such "conspiracy" counted several members of notable families including P. Laval-Montmorency (25 years), L. M. Saint-Maurice (38 years, ex-prince), J. C. Guthenoc Rohan Rochefort (24 years). They were executed together.

The very blade which beheaded Marie
Antoinette

Serving the aristocracy

It was not only those who had served the royal family who became objects of interest but those who had offered their services to the leading aristocracy as well. One such was a man by the name of L. Armand (61 years) who had been in the household of the Duc de Mortemart. However, he is also stated as having been a winemaker which indicate that it might be some years since Armand had actually served the aristocracy.

The 49-year old Moreuil had served as maitre-d'hotel to the Comte de La Marck who himself had emigrated. After the fall of the Ancien Régime, he had taken employment for the newly-formed state. He was condemned to death on charges of having forwarded money to the enemies of the state.

A more odd destiny was that of J. Mordok who had been born in Edinburgh but somehow made his way to France where he found employ in the household of the Montmorency-family. He served as a valet-de-chambre in this household before moving to that of the Prince Pownia. He was executed alongside several other English-born soldiers who had somehow deserted the English army for the French one - including a young man of just 18 years.

Even a rather unknown aristocrat such as the Comte de Sénéchal was not considered beneath the notice of the Tribunal. J. Hypolythe Curton was just 18 years old when he was sentenced to death; he served as a servant to the Comte.

Thus, several more well-known surnames made their way into the registers of the Tribunal including those of Damas, Hautefort, La Baume, Lévis etc.

With the death of Louis XVI, the Tribunal turned its attention towards those who still showed loyalty to the new child-king, Louis XVII. Consequently, several people were executed from the middle of 1793. 

The Aristocrats

Naturally, the king and queen are the most famous victims of the Tribunal but they were far from the only ones of the higher nobility who were sentenced by that institution. Amongst the other members of the aristocracy who were guillotined on the orders of the Tribunal were:

Élisabeth de Bourbon, Princesse de France and sister to Louis XVI - 10 May 1794

Béatrice de Choiseul-Stainville, sister to the Duc de Choiseul and duchesse de Grammont - 17 April 1794.

Paul Marie Victoire de Beauvilliers, Duc de Saint-Aignan - 25 April 1794

Gabriel Louis François de Neufville de Villeroy, Duc de Villeroy - 28 April 1794

Philippe de Noailles, Duc de Mouchy - 27 June 1794

Anne de Boufflers, Duchesse de Biron - 27 June 1794

Marquis de Polastron, Comte de Polastron (father of Madame de Polignac) - 27 June 1794

Anne d'Arpajon, Comtesse de Noailles (nicknamed Madame Étiquette by Marie Antoinette) - 27 June 1794

Charles Alexandre d'Hénin-Liétard d'Alsace, Prince d'Henin - 8 July 1794

Catherine Françoise Charlotte de Cossé-Brissac, Duchesse de Noailles - 22 July 1794

Louis-Armand-Constantin de Rohan, Duc de Montbazon - 27 July 1794

Marie Louise de Laval Montmorency, abbess - 27 July 1794

Louis Joachim de Potier, Duc de Gesvres - 7 July 1794

Execution of Madame Élisabeth

If you want a post listing all the ex-nobles who were executed by order of the Tribunal, let me know in the comments!

Infanta Isabel Luísa: A Second Wife for Louis XIV?

Upon the untimely death of Marie Thérèse in 1683, the court's thoughts immediately went to filling the now vacant position of Queen of France. While not a young man anymore, Louis XIV was still only 45 years old which was certainly not too late for marriage.

As can be imagined, there were plenty of princesses being suggested - and they were all far younger than the king. Amongst those who were pushed forward was Sophia-Charlotte of Hanover who happened to be a  relative of Madame, the king's sister-in-law. While the 15-year old girl was suitably connected - and her mother even postponed her confirmation as a Protestant in case she needed to convert for the French throne - there were those who protested the presence of another German princess at court. Besides Elizabeth Charlotte, Duchesse d'Orléans, the Grande Dauphine herself was a Bavarian princess. So, Sophia-Charlotte was eventually discarded.

Whereas Spain had been the go-to for French royals for their brides for quite some time, the late queen had herself been a Spaniard - and the king's first cousin at that. By 1683, the throne of Spain was occupied by Charles II who was notoriously inbred (even for the times). He had no children by either of his two wives, the first one being none other than Louis XIV's own niece, Marie Louise.

Yet, Spain was not the only powerhouse on the Iberian peninsula. Portugal had both considerable attractions, including colonial wealth. There was the further advantage that the reigning king - Afonso VI - was mentally challenged which meant that an alliance with a Portuguese princess could ensure considerable French influence in the country. To be sure, Portugal did have a princess available: Isabel Luísa, Princess of Beira.

Louis XIV, ca. 1685

Isabel - or Isabelle Louise in French - was the daughter of Infante Peter of Portugal who would soon take over power from his brother. In 1683, Peter had no male heirs which meant that Isabel was heir presumptive to Portugal - quite a tempting dowry. Born in 1669, she had also been considered as a bride for Louis XIV's own son, the Grand Dauphin but had eventually been jilted in favour of Marie Anne Victoire of Bavaria.

If Isabel had married Louis XIV in 1683, she might have been spared the rather humiliating nick-name of Sempre-Novia or the Always-Engaged. She had been the proposed bride for the Grand Dauphin, Infante of Spain, Duke of Savoy, Duke of Parma and Count of Neuberg, but had never married. By 1683, she was 14 years old which made her 31 years younger than her potential husband. It also meant that she was entering her prime childbearing years.

Louis XIV was a dutiful man and he would have remarried, if it had been in the best interest of his kingdom. However, before the year 1683 came to a close, he had given discreet orders to his Portuguese ambassador to kindly reject the offer. Nor would he accept any other offer which might have softened the blow for the Portuguese crown. To some it was quite a surprise. The king was not old - not even by the standards of the time - nor was his health failing. On the contrary, he was remarkably robust and clearly enjoyed the company of ladies. Furthermore, the system he had established at Versailles needed a queen for equilibrium.

There are two weighty arguments to explain why Louis chose not to marry Isabel. One was that he might have already decided to marry Madame de Maintenon in secret. Those who label their union as an indisputable fact points to 1683 as the year of their marriage. Naturally, if he either had plans to or already had remarried, the king would not be available for another bride. It has been estimated that if the two did indeed marry, the ceremony likely took place in late October or early November 1683. Since Marie Thérèse had only died in July of that year, there would not have been many months for the king to make up his mind.

Isabel Luísa

It is not unlikely that Louis XIV wished to remarry but was wary of the pitfalls of a second royal marriage.  A royal bride - especially a young, seemingly fertile one - always presented the possibility of further children. Normally, this would be a positive, particularly as the king had only one legitimate son himself. However, by 1683 that legitimate sons had begun having true born sons himself. As it happens, the Grande Dauphine was pregnant and would give birth to her second son, Philippe, in December. Therefore, the succession was already secured with the legitimate males: the Grande Dauphin, the Duc de Bourgogne and the still-unborn Duc d'Anjou. Later, the Duc de Berry would join the trio of grandsons.

While the succession was clear, there was the risk that any sons born from the union between Louis and Isabel would lead to contention within the royal family. A son would know that he would never inherit the throne which might lead him to offer his military services to another monarch - especially, if his half-brother should prove himself unwilling to favour him. Within the court itself, such a division might lead to internal factions springing up around the various princes. This would be pure poison to a system which relied on the courtiers being entirely dedicated to the reigning king.

It should also not be disregarded that the middle-aged Louis might not have been eager to marry a girl of just 14 years. At this point in life, he had already taken a turn for the solemn and he had never shown an inclination for mistresses much younger than him. Typically, the women he chose for his company were either his same age of slightly younger but not nearly as young as Isabel. King or not, he might have wanted a more suitable partner.

Whatever may have been the true reasoning behind the king's choice will never be known. Louis himself has left no account of his perception of events; all we know is that he likely married his mistress, Madame de Maintenon whom he remained close with for the rest of his life.

And what of Isabel? Sadly, the Always-Engaged turned out to be the Never-Married. By 1689, she lost her position as heir presumptive with the birth of her brother, John. The following year she contracted smallpox and died at the age of just 21 years.