Movie Review: Jeanne du Barry (2023)

Starting off a new round of movie reviews, I have chosen five factors to be considered: historical accuracy, costumes, casting, locations and attention to detail.

Historical accuracy 

The initial part of the movie correctly show the early years of Madame du Barry but towards the end of the movie, the producers seem to have taken active steps to imbue Madame du Barry's story with a more dignified ending.

For instance, in the movie, Jeanne is constantly at Louis XV's side while he is dying from smallpox - in reality, he was nursed by his daughters, not Jeanne. Once he officially renounces her in order to receive the sacraments, there is a dramatic scene in which she nearly leaves quietly in a carriage (as she actually did) but then bolts back over the courtyard, forces her way into the antechamber and is permitted by Louis Auguste, the dauphin, to say a last goodbye.

Throughout the movie, Louis Auguste (later Louis XVI) is shown to be the only one in the royal family who shows her any kindness. In reality, he had no regard for his father's mistress and absolutely ignored her. But at least he is present; both of his brothers and sisters are completely cut from the movie, even when all the royal children gather at their father's apartment throughout the movie. Instead, Louis is presented as the sole child of the next generation, thus cutting four children, three of whom would themselves become monarchs: the Comtes de Provence and d'Artois as well as Madame Clothilde. Marie Leszczynska, too, is mentioned but only as being "discreet" and then conveniently dying without appearing on screen.

The movie focuses on her life before and at court - the last shot of the main character shows her disconsolate in a barren cell at a nunnery. The 15 years she spent at Louveciennes are not included which is reasonable considering the otherwise overly long movie. As is typical for period dramas, the fate of the protagonist is explained by writing on the screen - unfortunately, it is not quite accurate.

For one, it is claimed that Marie Antoinette eventually turned from her bitterest enemy to a supporter. While Marie Antoinette did plead her case and eventually convinced Louis XVI to release Jeanne from the convent and let her live at Louveciennes, it is a massive stretch to imagine that the two women became friendly. In fact, they never saw each other again and certainly did not correspond. Marie's goodwill was a typical display of kindness and magnanimity from her side which was likely gratefully accepted by Jeanne.

Finally, the last words of Jeanne are recorded - or are they? The movie claims that her last words are the poetic "Please Monsieur, one more moment" followed by the even more serene "I have loved life too much to die in such a manner". While it is fairly accepted that she did plead for one more moment, the latter appear to be somewhat invented for the movie; sadly, the poor Jeanne was utterly terrified and refused to go quietly to her death. She (understandably) panicked while being transferred to the scaffold, crying out "You are going to hurt me!" - heartbreaking but not nearly as dignified as that last statement displayed on the screen.

And what of the court? A recurring theme is the truly bizarre way of leaving a room in a society where it was forbidden to turn one's back on the king. It is shown that people took tiny steps, scurrying backwards towards the door - while they did walk backwards, there is nothing to indicate that they scurried like cockroaches which seems to have been added for comedic effect.

However, the king's routine is briefly mentioned which is fairly accurate - council meetings, hunting, dinners etc.

But then there is the comment regarding Madame de Pompadour, Jeanne's predecessor. She is outright said to have created the Parc-aux-Cerfs to provide the king with women for her less pleasant duties as royal mistress. In fact, there is nothing to suggest that Madame de Pompadour did any such thing - on the contrary, every woman who emerged through the Parc-aux-Cerfs was a potential threat to her own position. Considering that that very threat is explicitly mentioned - even shown by the fact that Louis XV continues to sleep with other women in the movie - it is odd that the statement should be included at all.

Costumes

The costumes of the king's household are immaculate - particularly La Borde and the king's royal bodyguards. These rarely appear at all in movies about Versailles and if so, it is very briefly. Yet, this movie often put the king's household servants up front, particularly when the king is walking. He was always flanked by the royal bodyguards in their blue/red uniforms which is clearly represented.

Many of the costumes for the dauphin, dauphine and Louis XV are quite accurate - but then, something went wrong.

Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI

While Mesdames - with the exception of Louise, who (for some reason) is dressed like a March-sister from Little Women - are typically dressed in the panniered rococo-gowns, their wigs are outrageous. Particularly the choice for the presentation of Madame du Barry is downright bizarre, especially because the women surrounding them are wearing period-accurate hair.

A good example - notice the outrageous hair of the Mesdames to the left and the 
oddly Puritan ensemble of Madame Louise (brown dress)

Then there is the protagonist. Undoubtedly, her wardrobe has some accuracy to it - for instance, Madame du Barry was well-known to favour white gowns because the colour suited her particularly well. Stripes, too, were becoming increasingly popular. But then again, it seems like the same irrationality that seized the hairdresser of Mesdames also found Jeanne's wardrobe. Whether it is the modern wedding gown she wears for the feast upon Marie Antoinette's arrival or the gauzy, crinoline gown chosen for her mourning, it is just odd. 

Another example of the sheer oddity of Mesdames costumes

Just like Mesdames, no one else is dressed in a similar fashion and it is only sporadically for the main character which would rule out the Reign-tendency to dress historical characters in modern couture. Perhaps this is due to the fact that Chanel was chosen as the sole partner for the movie?

Credit: Chanel (yes, this is an actual
still from the movie)

For those who appreciate the details in costuming, the pannier used by Madame du Barry is very clearly shown in all its glory. Also, the attention to the costumes of the king's household is praiseworthy. La Borde's uniform is an exact replica of the ones worn by the officers in the king's household. His military household, too, is pristine in its blue/red uniform complete with both swords and halberds.  

Casting

Maïwenn Besco succeeded in bringing the easy-going nature of Madame du Barry forth; her ready laughter and saucy side is both very well represented. However, from a purely external point of view, the casting choice is somewhat odd. Madame du Barry was praised for angelic softness in her features with her rounded cheeks and soft nose and chin. In contract, Maïwenn Besco has gorgeous cheekbones sharp enough to cut oneself on, an aquiline nose and narrow chin - quite the opposite. 

Likewise, Madame du Barry was notoriously blonde whereas the dark tresses of Besco has been preserved for the movie. So, while Mäiwenn Besco clearly understood the complexities of du Barry's character, her look simply does not resemble the real Jeanne.

The real Jeanne du Barry

As can be seen, the rosy cheeks of Madame du Barry and those near-purple pale eyes are clearly on display. It does not help that the makeup chosen for Besco was often very heavy on the lips with focus on very dark red tones.

Maïwenn Besco

On the other hand, the choice of Pauline Pollmann for a teenaged Marie Antoinette is perfect. Pauline Pollman shared the archduchesses' golden locks, large blue eyes and soft lips. The makeup department certainly did everything to make Pollmann look the part - and for once, she actually looks like a teenager:

Pauline Pollmann as Marie Antoinette

Marie Antoinette as dauphine

Locations

While drones have clearly been used to give some beautiful shots of Versailles, the interior locations seem replicated in a studio. Only the Hall of Mirrors and the chapel appears to have been shot on location. For instance, a lot of the movie takes place in the king's private bedchamber but the room chosen for movie has nothing to do with the king's actual private bedchamber; its décor is completely off and even the windows' placement indicates that it is not the real deal.

The same can be said for the council chamber - in a scene in which Madame du Barry interrupts a council meeting, the room is fairly easy to examine from several perspectives. The room is clad in somewhat dark wooden panelling rather than the gloriously rococo council chamber of Versailles.

Even Madame du Barry's own apartment seems somewhat computer-reproduced. Her apartment was vast and luxuriously decorated but it is shown only briefly - only one room is shown in its full length - and even then, the attention seems to be deliberately drawn away from the room. For instance, when about to leave Versailles upon the death of Louis XV, the bedchamber of du Barry is almost entirely obscured by trunks and the camera focuses on her face and person. Overall, it gives the impression that the majority of the movie was not shot on location - perhaps they were not given permission?

It is, however, a nice touch that Marie Antoinette's arrival at court is observed from the birds'-eye-view of Madame du Barry's apartment - exactly where she would have seen her soon-to-be rival arrive.

Attention to detail

While the plot took some liberties with its accuracy, the producers did include some wonderful details. A personal favourite is the inclusion of the justaucorps bleu - these were the gentlemen who followed the king on his hunt by the king's explicit invitation. They were always 12 in number and wore a matching hunting suit of blue fabric. For a brief moment, when Louis XV (Johnny Depp) goes off hunting, a few gentlemen can be seen following him on horseback wearing the justaucorps. It is neither elaborated nor even noted in any particularity but is a treat nonetheless.

Another treat was the king's levée - it is seen in all its glory, even including the varying entrées - stages by which certain courtiers could access the king's chamber - and the sight of courtiers waiting in the king's antechamber if they did not have the entrées. 

The Tragic Decline of the Comte de La Vauguyon

On 29 November 1693, Louis XIV was informed of the tragic suicide of one of his courtiers: the Comte de La Vauguyon. The incident was related in a rather casual manner by the Duc de Saint-Simon in his memoirs. However, Saint-Simon made it clear that the gunshots in his throat was of "less surprise than interest" due to the Comte's obviously declining mental health.

For years, André de Béthoulat, Comte de La Vauguyon had suffered a steady decline. Being unfortunately poor in finances, he possessed several traits necessary to make a successful career at court. Gallantry (highly prized by Louis XIV himself) was one, a good singing voice and the good fortune of enjoying the favours of Madame de Beauvais. She was the one who had allegedly "initiated" Louis XIV into life's more sensual pleasures for which she was generally respected and treated remarkably well by the king.

Saint-Simon attributed the seemingly good career of La Vauguyon to his mistress' favour with the king; the duke never seems to have considered that perhaps the king also liked La Vauguyon for his own sake. Either way, on the outside, La Vauguyon was doing quite well for himself at court. After several stints abroad as ambassador (a post which in itself required a certain degree of trust from the king) he was made councillor of state before finally being awarded the knighthood.

Yet, then followed a period of nothing - no appointments, no favours, no positions. This left him in a dire financial situation which Saint-Simon attributed to his increasingly odd behaviour. In other words, the duke argued that La Vauguyon's failing fortunes had literally made him lose his mind.

Thanks to Saint-Simon, we know of some of the odd incidents leading up to the tragic conclusion in 1693. La Vauguyon seems to have been overcome by episodes of extreme and unprovoked anger. One episode was said to have occurred at the house of Madame Pelot, the wife of the President of the Rouen Parliament. The party had been playing in the gambling room when the hostess gently teased him about the game. He allegedly waited until the remaining company had left before attacking poor Madame Pelot, pinning her against the wall and threatening to bash her skull in. According to Saint-Simon, she had only mentioned it after his death but it had been noticed that after that evening, she was never alone with him again. However, it seems remarkable that she would never say anything to anyone - after all, she had been attacked in her own home.

Another incidence of such unprovoked rancor occured at Fontainebleau in October 1691 when he passed the Prince de Courtenay, a gentleman with whom he had never had an issue before. Yet on that day, La Vauguyon suddenly drew his sword in such a threatening manner that Courtenay was obliged to do the same. Drawing one's weapon within the king's residence was a massive mistake - it could easily result in either exile or downright imprisonment. Passers-by managed to prevent further escalation but not before La Vauguyon turned on his heel and bolted away. 

He headed straight for the king's apartment where he forced his way past the usher who desperately tried keeping him away. Finally, he literally broke into the king's private chamber where the king - somewhat startled, one might imagine - demanded to know what was happening. Thus, La Vauguyon threw himself to the ground and insisted that M. de Courtenay had grievously insulted him and he had therefore had no choice but to draw his weapon. Understandably, Courtenay claimed the same and both were sent to the Bastille for a short while. The king was greatly disturbed by the incident and even ordered an investigation into the matter. It was up to the Prévôt d'Hôtel to ensure the safety of the court - consequently, he was put in charge. The feuding pair was released in July 1692.

Having been granted permission to return to court, La Vauguyon was considered with a wary eye by his fellow courtiers. If they were hoping for another bizarre incident, they were soon satisfied. Being free from the Bastille, La Vauguyon soon convinced himself that he had somehow angered the king beyond reason. In October 1692 (a year after his would-be duel) he happened to pass by a servant of the Prince de Condé who was walking the prince's horse. Having ascertained whom the horse belonged to, La Vauguyon claimed that the prince would not object to his lending it before jumping onto its back and riding off - poor servant, he must have been both utterly confused and somewhat fearful of his employer's reaction.

Where was La Vauguyon going? He headed straight for Paris, more precisely the Bastille. Having convinced himself of the king's ire, he had apparently decided to hand himself in. Consequently, he approached the governor of the prison and demanded to be locked away as he expected the king's anger to conduct him there anyhow. Taken aback, the governor checked his papers and found no order for the confinement of La Vauguyon and declined to imprison him. It took a remarkable effort on the governor's behalf to make La Vauguyon leave and they agreed initially that La Vauguyon would retire to his house while the governor investigated. Thus, sending a quick messenger to Versailles, the king confirmed that no arrest had been ordered and the "house arrest" was lifted.

Meanwhile, the king continued to allow La Vauguyon at court. Clearly, the man was suffering from some sort of mental disorder which unfortunately rendered him quite unpredictable. Upon the death of his wife, he appeared to go completely over the edge. Insisting on traveling with loaded pistols - not for safety, mind you - he frequently drew them and aimed at his own servants before calmly putting them away again.

By this point, his finances were said to be entirely dreadful. Saint-Simon, for one, was sure that he would never have survived without the assistance of both M. de Beauvais (Madame de Beauvais' son) and the king's own charity. While the king continued to treat him with kindness, he also withheld any means of improving La Vauguyon's situation. According to the Marquis de Sourches, he had requested to be sent as ambassador to Sweden which would provide him with both a fixed wage and honorable employment. However, the king refused which prompted La Vauguyon to lament that he was being sabotaged - not by the king, but by others who rendered him "bad service", i.e. bad-mouthing him to the king.

Interestingly, these incidents are not the first oddities concerning the Comte. Years earlier, the Marquis de Sourches casually remarked that La Vauguyon was being recalled from his position as ambassador to Vienna due to "great inconveniences". The wording is tantalizingly vague. Were these inconveniences financial in nature? Perhaps La Vauguyon's finances were already so disturbed as to prevent him doing his job properly. However, it is worth considering whether La Vauguyon was already exhibiting odd behavior. Obviously, he was not already plagued by the outbursts of his later years, as this would undoubtedly have been reported elsewhere. 

The end was the tragic suicide of La Vauguyon in November 1693. It is interesting to speculate what exactly led him to such a desperate act?

He might have been utterly depressed at his situation - penniless with no prospects of gaining employment or receiving aid from the king. Given that his behaviour seem to have gotten worse after the death of his wife, it is not unlikely that her loss only furthered his spiral into depression.

Desparation and frustration could also explain the odd outbursts of violence but there is another element which warrants consideration: early dementia.

La Vauguyon was 63 when he committed suicide. Every odd incident had occurred within a few years previously which indicates that he had not always been prone to the behaviour he was suddenly showcasing. Changed personality, confusion, mood changes, depression - all are symptoms of early dementia. The phrasing of the Marquis de Dangeau is worth noticing. When La Vauguyon was informed that he would, in fact, not be going to Sweden, he "fell into such a fit of despair, that he became rather deranged". The following day, Dangeau reported that he had "recovered his senses". The choice of words could indicate that La Vauguyon was experiencing an episode of some king. 

Furthermore, Louis XIV was notoriously prickly when it came to his honour. The fact that he never considered La Vauguyon's odd outbursts - even when directed at the king's behaviour - to be an affront could indicate that the king saw fit to treat La Vauguyon with more kindness and consideration than usual.

Whether or not La Vauguyon suffered from dementia or succumbed to depression, it is difficult not to sympathise with him. Either way, he was clearly suffering from a horrible mental health crisis - potentially worsened by the pressure of his awful financial situation - which eventually cost him his life.

The Only Protestant Lord in France: The Persecution of the Duc de La Force

Jacques Nompar de Caumont, Duc de La Force, was said to be "le seul grand seigneur huguenot" - the only great, Huguenot lord in France. As a duke and peer, Jacques was definitely a grand lord - he was also a Protestant.

Protestantism had not entirely passed by France which otherwise remained staunchly catholic. Few of the aristocrats had adopted the new religion but they were far outnumbered. Until the 1680's this divergence was treated rather as the proverbial elephant in the room - not to be acknowledged. However, when Louis XIV revoked the Edict of Nantes in October 1685 spelled disaster for Protestants within France.

Established as so-called "irrevocable law" (ironic, considering that it not even last a century), the Edict of Nantes had established fundamental rights for Protestants within France. Catholicism was acknowledged as the state religion but Protestants were ensured their freedom of religion. Yet, with the stroke of a pen, Louis XIV made Protestantism illegal - those practicing were given a dire ultimatum: convert to Catholicism or leave France (and everything you have). 

Whereas thousands of commoners found themselves in a downright deadly situation - with evidence of some being tortured into conversion or facing starvation as a result of having to abandon every earthly belonging - the courtiers were not in direct peril.

Jacques Nompar, for one, was somewhat protected by his status as a duke and peer - or so he might have thought. Attempts were made to make Jacques willingly convert - civilised conversation, gentle prodding etc. etc. However, two factors made the conversion almost impossible. For one, Jacques Nompar does not appear to have had any particular, personal interest in religion. While there is little doubt that he did believe in god, the finer mechanisms of Protestantism versus Catholicism were far more open to discussion than for most of his contemporaries. One of those contemporaries also makes up the second factor. His second wife (and mother of his sons) was an intensely Protestant woman whose devotion to her faith made even the king's attempts to convert her utterly useless. The fact that the two enjoyed a close relationship certainly heightened the influence her conviction had on her more pliable husband.

Fanatical, Jacques certain was not, yet his refusal to simply obey and convert was a sore spot for the king. Having attempted the gentle approach, the king had enough of his "obstinacy" and decided that if the duke could not be persuaded, he could be forced.

On 22 April 1685 (mind you, before the official revocation of the Edict of Nantes), the Duc de La Force was arrested by the king's police while staying in Paris. As befit his rank, he was escorted to the Bastille. There, he was subjected to immense pressure with the background of the royal fortress to remind him of his position. To convince him of the errors of his ways, the king appointed M. Bordes who was in for a long and tiring mental battle. In the end, the duke remained steadfast - he would not convert.

Meanwhile, if the duke was determined not to convert, the king was determined not to release him until he did. Thus, two years later, Jacques Nompar was still imprisoned. He had been placed under the care of the Duc de Duras who could eventually report to the king that his charge was seriously ill. Whether the illness was a matter of chance or the result of misuse is not known. Realising that he might die in prison, Jacques Nompar gave the king the conversion he wanted - on paper, at least.

For his compliance, he was released into the care of his wife. She, too, was a staunch Protestant, but had remained out of prison although the king had tried to force her into a conversion, too. Suzanne de Béringhen (as was her name) was described as being even more determined in her faith than her husband and she undoubtedly supported his return to Protestantism. It says something of her faith that her husband was considered a reasonable target for "persuasion" whereas she was "a lost cause".

Having been nursed back to health, it soon became clear that Jacques Nompar had little intention to actually become a proper Catholic. Angry at the seeming turnabout, the king promptly refused to grand Jacques Nompar the prestigious Order of St. Michel. According to Dangeau, the king even deigned to have private discussions with the duke on the importance of his converting. When that did not have the desired effect, Jacques was sent to his estates to mull things over in 1686. However, if the king had thought that some good old-fashioned public snubbing would bring the duke to heel, he was wrong. Jacques Nompar continued his insistence of religious freedom, much to the annoyance of the king. Perhaps the irritation was made even worse by the fact that Jacques continuously allowed the king's preachers to assume that they had won.

In May 1686, the Mercure Gallante reported that the Duc de La Force had finally been convinced of the "errors of Protestantism" and had therefore become a good Catholic. It did not even last a year before it became clear that that was definitely not the case. Still, the same publication gleefully reported on the successful conversion of his sons not long after. 

Eventually, Louis XIV could not abide the open defiance of an obviously Protestant duke at his own court. It was honestly getting embarrassing considering the harsh measures taken everywhere else; the duke's refusal could potentially be seen as disobedience which in itself would be damaging to the king's power. The duke himself did nothing to hide his continued adherence to Protestantism. His private château left little doubt that its lord was not a Catholic. Even worse, from the king's point of view, he allowed his household servants to also continue in their Protestantism. In a particularly petty move, three servants were seized from his estate and imprisoned.

Meanwhile, his papers were seized and his private testament was discovered which showed that he still considered himself a Protestant. If the king ever needed concrete proof that the abjuration had been false, he had it now. There was only one thing to do: sent him back to the Bastille.

So, on 14 July 1689, Jacques Nompar was once again escorted back to the Bastille. It was whispered that his arrest was the result of an alleged conspiracy with the British. Conveniently, that would serve to draw a link between the French rival and this obstinate duke, thus villainising both. The Duchesse did not escape notice either. She remained a thorn in the eye of the king - it was one thing to imprison an obstinate nobleman but Louis XIV had always been raised to be the very picture of gallantry. It did not sit right with him to force the Duchesse into the Bastille as well - consequently, she remained under house arrest, far from her husband. House arrest turned into downright prisons where she was kept as isolated as possible.

The duke had three sons and four daughters - before escorting Jacques to his prison, the king made a show of removing his children. On the orders of the king, the daughters were quickly dispatched to convents where they would be converted; meanwhile, the sons quickly bowed to the pressure and lack of any type of support. They would not be handed back to their parents afterwards but would be the charges of their god-mother, the Duchesse de Saint-Simon. One of the girls, Marie-Anne-Louise, was rewarded with a position in the household of the dauphine and a marriage. Sadly, she would widowed after just two years and would later be exiled from court for improper conduct - the whispers of an illegitimate child with none less than the Grand Dauphin could explain the reason. 

Another, Jeanne, eagerly took to convincing the court that she had indeed converted and was promptly married off advantageously to the marquis de Courtomer. The two others remained at the convent as nuns.

It must have been heartbreaking, particularly for the Duchesse de La Force, to have her children forcibly removed and then bullied into converting to a religion she herself had always resisted. Yet, there was nothing to be done.

The entire de La Force-family soon came under fire, although not nearly as intensely as the head of their house. Many fled to England or the Netherlands where the men joined the army or simply blended into the aristocracy. For one, Pierre Nompar de Caumont married the daughter of another Huguenot who happened to serve as the Prince of Wales' doctor.

What of Jacques Nompar? He remained imprisoned until 29 April 1691 before being transferred to a monastery. It was said that he - having always been less fiercely religious than his wife - had actually wanted to convert this time. Perhaps the king thought the change of scenery would evoke the same change of heart as it had for his daughters? If so, the king was mistaken. Whatever change might have happened in the monastery, once he was permitted back to his estates, his wife was released as well - and she quickly undid the persuasive techniques of the monks. The king was furious with the Duchesse; in his mind, she was undoing everything he had spent years accomplishing. He even went so far as to order her to relocate as she was "inspiring her husband with sentiments contrary to the good faith".

Obeying, the Duchesse retired - for a while. Then she returned to her husband which led the king to continue his spying on the couple, irate that the duke listened more to his wife than his king. He even dispatched both policemen and M. Bordes to counteract the influence of the Duchesse. 

Henri Jacques - the heir who 
turned Catholic with a vengeance

By the time he was 67, Jacques' health was seriously declining. It soon became clear that he was dying. Realising that they had to move quickly to ensure his soul for the Catholic faith, he was continuously pressed to reconsider before it was too late. The Duchesse was even forcibly kept from his apartment to prevent any "relapse". Yet, Jacques Nompar refused - proving that his initial abjuration had been a sham. He would die as he had lived - as a Protestant. And so he did, expiring on 19 April 1699. 

Louis XIV was allegedly told that he died a good Catholic although he never did make a genuine abjuration. 

Upon his death, the Duchesse de La Force finally obtained permission to leave France for England where she was received with sympathy. She was allegedly presented with the age-old dilemma: convert or go into exile. She would die in England at 81, having survived Louis XIV by 16 years and his attempts at forcible conversion even longer. Ironically, one of her own sons - the heir, Henri Jacques - became intensely Catholic (unfortunately of the bigoted kind) who would forcibly convert those living on his estates. 

The Princesse de Lamballe & the Duchesse de Polignac: Rivals for the Queen's Favour

The duo of the Princesse de Lamballe and the Duchesse de Polignac are usually mentioned as the friends of Marie Antoinette; generally, the three women have been depicted as forming a trio of female friendship through turbulent times. While it is true that both Lamballe and Polignac were integral parts of Marie Antoinette's inner circle, their mutual friendship seem to have been somewhat more prone to petty jealousies and rivalry.

The Savoyard princess Marie Thérèse was married into the extended royal family in 1767 when she became the Princesse de Lamballe. Being widowed at just 19 years old, she enjoyed the privileges of being a princess of the blood. As such, she was there to welcome the new dauphine, Marie Antoinette, when she arrived in 1770.

Meanwhile, Yolande Martine Gabrielle de Polastron was French by birth, but had moved in rather obscure circles of nobility before being invited to Versailles by her cousin, Diane, in 1775. It was there that she was introduced to Marie Antoinette who was said to have been immediately struck by the newcomer. Thus, Yolande was the latest edition to the little group and she would soon become well-acquainted with Madame de Lamballe.

Coincidentally, the two women shared an exact birthday - 8 September 1749. Hierarchically, however, Polignac was far beneath the Princesse de Lamballe. Not only was Marie Thérèse a member of the Savoyard royal family - and thus related to the kings of France - she was also a princess of the blood by marriage. In contrast, Gabrielle's family was old nobility but had become quite impoverished and had hitherto failed to break through into the very elite of the aristocracy. 

Ideally the two women would have found a common cause in the resentment their favour with the queen brought; after all, Marie Antoinette was an extremely generous friend. Both ladies were showered in favours, positions, even money when at the height of their respective favour. While the position of Surintendante of the Queen's household was reinvented for Lamballe, Polignac was granted the post of governess to the royal children. These were two of the most prestigious positions available for women and its distribution shows both the queen's wish to benefit her friends - and their rivalry.

Madame de Polignac

Conveniently, the Austrian ambassador Mercy-Argenteau kept the queen's august mother, Empress Maria Theresia, abreast of everything regarding her daughter's life. This included her social life, and it is partially thanks to the assiduous ambassador's frequent missives to Vienna, that we are able to follow the unfolding rivalry between Lamballe and Polignac.

As early as 15 November 1775, Mercy-Argeanteau wrote:

"Her Majesty (Marie Antoinette) does not know how to reconcile the princesse de Lamballe to the Comtesse de Polignac, because these two favourites, who are jealous of each other, have been presenting the queen with respectful little complaints disguised as marks of the most loving sensitivity"

Remember that Yolande had only been presented to the queen earlier that year. Perhaps - not entirely unfounded - did Lamballe see the new-comer as a threat to her position. Undoubtedly, the queen began to spend more time with the headstrong Yolande and slightly less with the sensitive Lamballe. If Marie Thérèse did indeed feel herself slipping out of royal favour, she was not handling it well.

By May 1776, Marie Antoinette was showing clear signs of being very irritated with Lamballe who was picking fights with everyone in the queen's household. Thus, the queen turned even more to Polignac which only further exasperated the frustrations of Lamballe. As mentioned by Mercy-Argenteau, this (quite frankly silly behaviour) caused the queen to constantly having to act as peacemaker in her own household.

As time went on, Marie Antoinette continued to split her favour somewhat equally - at least outwardly. When Yolande's husband was made the queen's Premier Écuyer, the Duc de Chartres (a dear friend to Lamballe and son of the Duc d'Orléans) was immediately made governor of Poitou. Tit for tat. Yet, these attempts at keeping the peace only worked for brief periods of time.

By January 1777, Mercy-Argenteau once again reported on the state of the queen's closest friends:

"The queen often has some difficulty in keeping up the appearance of friendship between the princesse de Lamballe and the Comtesse de Polignac."

If Mercy-Argenteau was correct in his assessment (and he did have access to the queen which few others did) the relationship had become more than strained. The ambassador was personally in no doubt of the reason for this enmity. In the same letter, he wrote:

"As the latter's favour (Polignac) grows, that of the Surintendante withers away so that she has now become a bore and an annoyance to the queen"

Mercy-Argeanteau might be slightly harsh here. Marie Antoinette was not known for doing things she rarely wished to do and it would have been very easy for her to dispense entirely with the social company of the Princesse de Lamballe. Yet, she did not. As her surintendante, the queen could not escape her company but she did have the option of excluding her from social events which she refrained from doing. There can be little doubt that Lamballe - despite often being likened to an angel - was intensely jealous of her rival.

Madame de Polignac herself was entirely aware of this and - equally as petty as Lamballe's jealousies - took full advantage. As her company was increasingly considered necessary to the queen, Madame de Polignac did not rise above the temptation to "bad-mouth" Madame de Lamballe. Both Marie Antoinette and Yolande de Polastron shared a somewhat sharp sense of humour which (unfortunately) occasionally delighted in ridiculing others. It can easily be imagined that such snide comments were carefully intertwined in otherwise casual conversation in the queen's private company.

Mercy-Argenteau - the man who had
plenty to say of the two ladies

While the Princesse de Lamballe was not known for her intelligence, she was clearly not unaware of the decline of her favour with the queen. The later years of the 1770s, she spent an increasing amount of time away from court, primarily for health reasons. Publicly, this was widely seen as a natural consequence of the clear change in favorites exhibited by the queen; however, when she returned, Lamballe was still welcomed into the queen's inner circle, albeit with less warmth than before. Even so, Lamballe did not surrender without a fight. Knowing the queen's near-constant search for amusement, she ensured that her well-stocked coffers offered what the royal treasury increasingly could not: balls, high-stakes gambling, operas. Alas, even these attempts had little impact as Lamballe often found herself snubbed in favour of La Polignac. 

Socially, they moved in slightly different circles. Besides the all-important company of the queen, the two women drew support from separate groups at court. Whereas Madame de Polignac surrounded herself with her family members and the male members of the queen's entourage, Madame de Lamballe found support in the princes of the blood. Particularly, the Duc de Chartres was a close friend as was the Comte d'Artois. Unfortunately, this division only further added to the schism between the women as their individual supporters gladly took sides in any conflict between them.

By 1780, Mercy-Argenteau bluntly reported Lamballe's deroutement to the Empress of Austria:

"The Comtesse Jules (Polignac) has completely succeeded her rival in the affection of the queen"

Did this mean that Madame de Lamballe was entirely excluded? Not quite. Hers was the lot of previous royal favourites whose time has run its course. She was welcomed politely into the queen's circle but over the following years, the queen made no attempt at hiding her preference for Polignac. There was nothing for Lamballe to do but to accept her new position and attempt to regain her former ascendancy. For a brief period towards the latter half of the 1780s, Madame de Polignac felt briefly out of favour with Marie Antoinette. The result was a trip to London where Gabrielle basked in the company of the Duchess of Devonshire. Upon her return, things seem to have mended (perhaps she had rid herself of a noisome alleged lover, the Comte de Vaudreuil, infamous despised by the queen?).  

Marie Antoinette

If Lamballe was jealous, what was Polignac? Considering the immensity of the favours she reaped from her friendship with the queen, it is possible that Yolande never truly considered Madame de Lamballe a threat to her position. The queen's generosity ensured that she had amble proof of Marie Antoinette's esteem, so maybe her somewhat backhanded comments regarding Lamballe was considered sufficient to keep her rival at bay.

While Mercy-Argenteau provides a wonderful insight into the private sphere of the queen, it should be remembered why he was at the French court. He was, first and foremost, a politician. Throughout his correspondence, he rarely refers to the two ladies solely in their own capacity. In his eyes, they each represented a different faction; each was carefully weighed and measured according to the level of threat he regarded them as. It should be pointed out that Mercy-Argenteau had continuously reported to the Empress that Polignac was the greater threat but he still would prefer if the two ladies could cancel their respective influences out. Either one - he mused - presented a threat in her own right to the queen's reputation and proper conduct. This should be kept in mind when discussion his depiction of their relationship.

It is highly unlikely that the queen considered her relationships with the same political cynicism. To be sure, she might have found Madame de Lamballe slightly boring after a while, but she never ceased caring for her first friend in France. When Madame de Lamballe fell ill at her private estate, the queen assiduously inquired after her and never excluded her entirely from her private apartments.

What the queen did do, however, was almost as mortifying. As Madame de Polignac's influence grew, so did the number of relatives of hers who surrounded the queen. It was noted by Madame Campan (another insider to the queen) that Lamballe had been greatly concerned at the rapidity with which Madame de Polignac gained the queen's favour. Her concern turned to mortification when the queen began shutting herself in her private apartments. This, of course, had always been the queen's tendency, but hitherto, Madame de Lamballe had been on the other side of the door. While not exiled from the queen's presence, she was not invited to the gatherings when they consisted of Madame de Polignac and her family and friends.

The possibility exist that Mesdames de Polignac and de Lamballe were not so irreconcilable as observers such as Mercy-Argenteau mused. Both would have known full well that royal favour was fleeting. Considering that they seemingly kept any quarrels somewhat private - very few contemporary sources noted any concrete examples of outright infighting - it is possible that their relationship had developed into one of necessary tolerance rather than blatant enmity. After all, by the mid-1780s, they had both been in the queen's company for ten years and neither had succeeded in formally ousting the other. Perhaps, then, it was better to seek the queen's good graces by more subtle, courtly manners. 

While neither Lamballe nor Polignac have left written testament to their personal feelings for one another, their outward conduct tells its own tale. Neither woman visited the other at their private estates - not even following an illness or an accouchement. The separation of the Polignac-clan from Madame de Lamballe's company is a further indicator that they did not see eye to eye. Finally, whereas Marie Antoinette wrote them both assiduously, they did not seem to have corresponded.

Madame de Lamballe

When the revolution broke out, once again the two ladies found themselves in completely different situations - but with the same outcome. By the end of 1793, Marie Antoinette, the Princesse de Lamballe and the Duchesse de Polignac were all dead.

The first to succumb to the violence of the time was the Princesse de Lamballe. Having been hauled before a tribunal, her captors demanded that she swore an oath to liberty and denounced the royal family. She agreed to the former but utterly refused to denounce her friend. Upon leaving the courthouse, a furious mob set upon her and massacred her. Stabbed, beaten and decapitated, her head was placed on a pike and placed outside the queen's window. The queen herself died on the guillotine just a month later. 

This left Madame de Polignac. By the time of her erst-while rival's grisly death, she was long gone. Her unpopularity had reached almost unprecedented heights and she had fled France and gone to Vienna, the birthplace of Marie Antoinette. There, she died in December 1793 of an unknown illness.

Mesdames de Lamballe and de Polignac had certainly been rivals for the queen's affection and the bounty of royal favour. Yet, they had also shared years of their lives together with their mutual friend. None of them survived the Revolution and thus their relationship remains inextricably tied with their lives at Versailles. 

Were They, Weren't They? Yolande de Polignac & the Comte de Vaudreuil

The relationship between the Duchesse de Polignac and the Comte de Vaudreuil was a stormy one, at best. The queen's (in)famous friend, Yolande de Polastron, had been married to Jules de Polignac since 1767 whereas Joseph Hyacinthe François de Paule de Rigaud remained unmarried until after Yolande's death. While at Versailles, the Comte served as Captain of the Gardes du Corps which would have brought him into contact with both the queen and - by extension - Yolande. He might already have known Yolande, though, as they were distant cousins. Legend has it that the two were actually intended to have married when both very young but Joseph refused after glimpsing her in a convent and finding her not pretty enough - he would later drastically change his mind but she had already been married off. He had also attached himself to the company of the Comte d'Artois and therefore already had an "in" with the royal family's inner circle.

As the relationship between the two grew, it caused many of Yolande's friends - including Marie Antoinette - to worry. The Comte de Vaudreuil was known for his violent temper and his extreme ambition which made him unwelcome in most circles. However, as the two became closer, he became indispensable to the queen's favourite. Even Marie Antoinette begrudgingly accepted his presence in their small circle of friends, despite often lamenting his presence - notably, the queen was outraged that a raging Vaudreuil had broken one of her billiard cues. 

Interestingly, the exact nature of Yolande and Joseph's relationship is not quite clear. Even at the time, people were doubting whether their liaison had become physical. Yolande was considered to be a rather cold woman who did not lend herself easily to a physical relationship. This has been further evidenced by the ease with which she distanced herself from Vaudreuil when he overstepped the queen's patience. If they were in love, it was evidently not a blinding sort of love, and Yolande was not willing to risk her position for him.

Yolande de Polignac

Meanwhile, others gleefully (and loudly) speculated that when Yolande gave birth to a son in 1780, it was Vaudreuil's. Neither Marie Antoinette nor Louis XVI believed that particular rumour, though, and even went so far as to visit the infant which was otherwise not done.

Another intriguing fact about their relationship is the utter lack of correspondence between them. It is possible that they burned or otherwise destroyed such evidence - or maybe they did not write to each other? 

Greed was an unfortunate characteristic shared by both Yolande and Joseph. They both shamelessly exploited their proximity to a generous queen, although Yolande was considerably more successful. However, as the 1780s wore on, Marie Antoinette became increasingly disillusioned with the grasping nature of Madame de Polignac. The queen had already showered her with money, favours, positions, etc. yet, the demands kept coming. The relentless pressure from Vaudreuil is said to have contributed to the cooling of their relationship, although it did not end entirely.

When Yolande died in late 1793, Joseph wrote a letter to the exiled Comte d'Artois. The letter clearly expresses the Comte's seemingly heartfelt sorrow at her death - but also ends on an entirely different note. Rather than focusing the short letter on the death of a woman he cared for, Joseph ends it with a practical note regarding his financial matters. It does give the impression that Joseph was not that distraught - despite his eloquent expressions.

On another note, the memoirs of Yolande's life - written by her own sister-in-law - does not mention Vaudreuil at all. Likewise, Yolande's last will and testament also left nothing to Joseph. Rather unhelpfully, the attitude of Yolande's husband does not help clear the situation up. The relationship between husband and wife was rather more like two friends; they got along, but no one suspected that they had any particular romantic love for one another. The fact that Joseph was welcomed into their home - by both parties - consequently cannot be taken as a token of platonic relationship.

Collectively, these clues give their relationship an odd character. Joseph was clearly important enough for Yolande for her to risk the queen's wrath by bringing him with her - but not important enough to risk the queen's displeasure. It poses the question of whether Vaudreuil - in his capacity as a relation - was yet another blindly ambitious family member who was more than willing to use Yolande's relationship for his own advantage? If so, he succeeded, as he was granted both a pension of 30.000 livres and the position of Grand Fauconnier of France - neither of which he would have gained without Yolande.

Comte de Vaudreuil

Their behaviour during the revolution is quite telling, too. Both fled France during the revolution but went in separate directions. Yolande embarked on a journey through Europe, ending in Vienna where she herself died shortly after Marie Antoinette's execution. Joseph, meanwhile, had left far in advance. Already by the storming of the Bastille in 1789 - before the attack on Versailles, mind you - Joseph had left for the Austrian Netherlands. Furthermore, there is nothing to suggest that Yolande made any attempt at contacting Joseph after she fled France. It should not be ignored, either, that Joseph did not attend her funeral. Therefore, it seems likely that any connection they might have had in France was well and truly over by 1789.

Coincidentally, Yolande experienced a resurgence in her relationship with Marie Antoinette in the dying years of the 1780s. Whereas the queen had - as mentioned - become exasperated by her friend's demands, something changed after Yolande had spent a bit of time in England. Perhaps that change was the discarding of Vaudreuil? It would explain both why the queen happily accepted her friend back as her pushy lover would no longer be an inconvenience. It would also explain the seemingly sudden rupture of Yolande and Joseph's relationship. Considering that just a few years before, Yolande had been constantly flanked by Joseph, it would have taken quite a turn-around for something to change that drastically.

Given Yolande's willingness to remain in the queen's good graces, it might have become obvious that her relationship (whatever its nature) with Vaudreuil was more hindrance than help.

1783: Marie Antoinette's Mysterious Pregnancy

The year-long struggle for Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette to have children is well-known; once they did manage to consummate their marriage, Marie Antoinette found herself pregnant fairly frequently. The birth of Marie Thérèse in 1778 was followed by Louis Joseph in 1781, Louis Charles in 1785 and Sophie in 1786.

It is also known that the queen suffered a miscarriage in 1779; however, in 1783 something odd happened. That happened to be the year of the queen's mysteriously discreet pregnancy. Extremely few court sources mention the queen being pregnant in 1783 at all - except for the queen herself.

References to this mysterious pregnancy are found in the intimate correspondance between Marie Antoinette and her brother, Emperor Joseph II. In September 1783, Joseph II wrote to his sister: "I await with infinite impatience ... the news of your pregnancy". On first glance, this might just have been an expression of the emperor's wish to see his sister have another child; yet, the queen herself responded to the letter by informing him that "My pregnancy and health are marvelous" - then ... nothing. None of either Marie Antoinette or Joseph's ensuing letters ever referenced the pregnancy again. 

The obvious implication was that the queen miscarried again. In fact, it is widely accepted that the queen did indeed suffer a dramatic miscarriage in November, about the time of her own birthday. The pregnancy had apparently been difficult from the beginning and the ordeal made her health worse for months. However, this does not explain the utter silence of the courtiers on the subject. After all, the pregnancy of a queen was not personal news - it was state business. The fact that Marie Antoinette was apparently certain herself that she was pregnant implies that the pregnancy was established. Consequently, it ought to have been remarked upon by everyone. Yet it was not.

It is generally accepted that the queen's pregnancy was announced in June 1783 which would mean that she was at least three months pregnant by the time of the September letters. Consequently, when she lost the baby in November, she was at least five months along.

Marie Antoinette in 1783

The oddity of the radio silence of the court is the marked oddness of it. Nothing at court was ever truly secret, especially not when it came to the lives of the royals. It has even been suggested that the child was not even Louis XVI's but that of Count Fersen. This, alone, would have made it gold for gossip mongers set on further destroying the queen's reputation. Sadly, that particular story has been repeated by authors such as Evelyn Farr who remains convinced that Marie Antoinette not merely loved Fersen, but had a physical affair with him, too. Farr speculate that the queen had fallen pregnant by Fersen. The theory is extremely doubtful, at best. 

There is nothing concrete to suggest that Marie Antoinette and Count Fersen ever developed a physical liaison. On the contrary, throughout her life, the queen had shown marked distaste for adultery and relations outside marriage - even going as far as entirely snubbing Madame du Barry because of her role as royal mistress. While the subject of Marie Antoinette and Fersen deserves its own post, suffice it to say, that the theory lacks credibility of any kind.

Considering that the pregnancy was allegedly a difficult one it is puzzling that no one bothered to mention it. Discretion or consideration of the queen's loss seems unlikely. By this point in time, Marie Antoinette was already the object of remarkably vicious rumours and slander. There is nothing to suggest that everyone at court would suddenly have become gracious enough not to torment her on that head. The fact that no one then suggested that the child was not the king's adds to the unlikeliness of the Evelyn Farr-theory. Her detractors would have given anything to be able to pin such a story on the queen - just imagine the outrage it would cause, if the already deeply unpopular queen was thought to have fallen pregnant by another man! The story would have been too tantalizing to receive so little attention. 

As stated, few remarked on the pregnancy. Amongst these was the Marquis de Bombelles who wrote on 29 August 1783: 

"There is a worrying silence on the Queen's condition. Many people think that she had a miscarriage last Sunday; and conclude this from the fact that at 11.00, the queen sent for Madame de Polignac, who seemed sad and very worried when she returned..."

This snippet further murks the waters. It suggests that even at the time, the court was eerily silent on the matter, although the fear of a miscarriage in itself ought to have set tongues wagging. Bombelles' statement also confirm that the pregnancy was a difficult one. After all, he wrote the excerpt in late August, when the queen was still pregnant. If it was already suspected that she might have miscarried, it is fair to assume that there were considerable problems with the pregnancy. Furthermore, the queen was said to have been so big at just 4-5 months that doctors already predicted twins. Relying again on Bombelles, he himself reported in October that she queen already looked as if she was at least 6 months pregnant.

Bombelles goes on to comment on the fact that the queen's dame d'honneur, Madame de Chimay, was refused access to her mistress - something that was entirely unheard of as Madame de Chimay - in her capacity as dame d'honneur - had the right to enter the queen's apartment at any time. At any rate, the situation was deeply unusual for the court.

Another aspect must be considered which likely contributed to the aura of mystery of this pregnancy. The queen - and king - had already established a court life in which the monarchs were far more withdrawn from their own court than usual. The couple's love of privacy meant that they retired to their own apartments with a select group of friends whereas hitherto the lives of the monarchs were lived entirely in public. It was noted that Marie Antoinette withdrew even further during her difficult pregnancy. Being thus only surrounded by her entourage, the queen might have felt more comfortable, but to the excluded courtiers, the queen's condition became all the more mysterious. After all, it is far easier to conjure up shadows when kept in the dark.

Miscarrying in itself was - and remains - a deeply personal tragedy. Given Marie Antoinette's pride and determination not to appear weak, it is not unlikely that she consoled herself with her friends over her loss. There might have been nothing mysterious, at all, in the entire affair.

When the queen did miscarry in November, Bombelles is again remarkably well-informed. He felt sure enough of his knowledge to state outright that the miscarriage was luck in disguise, as the fetus was deformed. How would he have known? Unlike the birth of a child (stillborn or living) a miscarriage was not a court event; people were not summoned for it, nor had they the right to witness it. Considering that the miscarriage took place in the middle of the night, Bombelles would not have been anywhere near the queen herself. He cannot have seen the "deformed fetus" for himself. It makes it more likely, then, that he was speculating or repeating rumours he had heard elsewhere. 

As for the queen's own silence on the matter - especially in her correspondance with her brother - that has a far more reasonable explanation. The loss of a child in itself was harrowing enough; the situation was only made the worse for the health issues it brought it with. It was not until December 1783 that the queen once again remarked to her brother that her health was good. Interestingly, that same letter reveals her desire to have a second son, but her own assurance that "a few months rest will put me in a better condition to carry it (the pregnancy) through". Clearly the ordeal had been traumatic for both mind and body.

It has been speculated that the queen was remarkably - even unusually - silent about the episode. It can be argued that her behaviour was not different from her typical self. Having a sensitive nature, the queen was not the daughter of Maria Theresia for nothing. Sensitive, yes, but deeply devoted to duty and the image of herself as queen. The latter automatically required her to appear constantly composed - even in the throes of heartache. All in all, it is not unlikely that Marie Antoinette wished to put the episode behind her and focus on the two children she did have.

The Aftermath: The Men who Killed the King

21 January 1793 - the day cemented in history as the execution date of Louis XVI. The king's execution had had a remarkably short prelude; from his arrest on 13 August 1792 the king was still kept prisoner after the official abolition of the monarchy on 21 September 1792. The king was read his indictment on 11 December 1792 although the conclusion of the trial was already apparent - the king himself informed his counsel that he was prepared to die for the good of his country.

Considering that the king was already found guilty of colluding with invading, foreign powers, the question remained - what to do with the former king, now merely called citizen Capet?

That question was put to the 721 deputies. As predicted by Louis XVI, none of them had voted for his acquittal. A total of 693 deputies cast their votes while 23 abstained from voting at all. Most devastating to the king was the involvement of his own cousin - the Duc d'Orléans - who voted for the king's death. Sadly, the king's death was determined by just a single vote.

Several of the men who resisted the death penalty made eloquent responses in which they vehemently refused to act as judge or acknowledge the deputies' right to do so. As they rightly argued, they were not created as a court of law and as such had no authority to sentence anyone to death. Others made their vote of death dependent on certain events, such as invasion of foreign powers.

The vote took place on 15 January 1793; the following day, the deputies once again met to decide whether the king was to be reprieved from his sentence. The suggestion was rejected and five days later the 38-year old king was beheaded.

Besides the Duc d'Orléans, the assembly included several other noblemen, albeit of far lesser status than the king's own cousin. Amongst these were:

Jean Pierre André Amar - voted for execution

From a minor noble family from Dauphiné, his family had been in the lower ranks of the noblesse de robe

Paul de Barras, Vicomte de Barras - voted for execution

He had served in the American Independence War and was not a fervent anti-monarchist before the revolution but was somewhat radicalized during the late 1780s - early 1790s

Aubin Bigorie du Chambon - voted for execution

Another member of the noblesse de robe, he would himself be assassinated on 20 November 1793

Antoine Bonnier d'Alco 

Also a member of the noblesse de robe, he shared the fate of Chambon; Antoine was assassinated in 1799

Jean Dyzès, Comte d'Arène - voted for execution

Having bought the barony of Samadet, he was eventually made Comte d'Arène although his primary occupation was as a lawyer at the parliament of Navarre

Antoine Joseph Marie d'Espinassy de Fontanelle - voted for execution

From a very old but provincial aristocratic family, he served in the military but was eventually accused of leaving his post without leave

Louis-Michel Lepeletier de Saint-Fargeau - voted for execution

Descending from a long line of magistrates, he was also a noblesse de robe, even owning a large château in Paris. He was confronted by an old bodyguard of the king's who requested if he had voted for the death of the king. Upon answering in the affirmative, the bodyguard stabbed him to death.

Antoine de Mailly, Marquis de Châteaurenaud - voted for execution

His family had been raised to the marquisate by Louis XV and he himself would seek out Voltaire - he became his secretary before becoming a member of the parliament 

Ironically, several of these men also faced their own demise on the scaffold:

• Louis-Philippe, Duc d'Orléans - beheaded on the very same scaffold that he sent his cousin to
• Charles Jean Marie Barbaroux, guillotined on 25 June 1794
• Claude Basire, guillotined on 5 April 1794
• Jacquirs Boilleau d'Ausson, guillotined on 31 October 1793
• Pierre Bourbotte, guillotined on 17 June 1795
• Jean-Baptiste Boyer-Fonfrède, guillotined on 31 October 1793
• Jean-Baptiste Carrier, guillotined on 16 December 1794
• François Chabot (former cleric), guillotined on 5 April 1794
• Georges Couthon, guillotined on 28 July 1794
• Joseph-Marie Cusset, shot on 10 October 1796
• George Jacques Danton, guillotined on 5 April 1794
• Jean-François Delacroix, guillotined on 5 April 1794
• Camille Desmoulins, guillotined on 5 April 1794
• Jean Duprat, guillotined on 31 October 1793
• Jean-Michel Duroy, guillotined on 17 June 1795
• Marc-Antoine Huguet, shot on 9 October 1796
• François Joseph Antoine de Hell, guillotined on 22 April 1794
• Élie Guadet, guillotined on 19 June 1794
• Armand Gensonné, guillotined on 31 October 1793
• Jean-Bertrand Féraud, massacred on 20 May 1795
• Fabre d'Églantine, guillotined 5 April 1794
• Claude Javogues, shot on 10 October 1796
• Charles-Nicolas Osselin, guillotined on 26 June 1794
• Pierre Philippeaux, guillotined on 5 April 1794
• Maximilien de Robespierre, guillotined on 28 July 1794
• Louis Antoine de Saint-Just, guillotined on 28 July 1794
• Pierre-Amable de Soubrany, guillotined on 17 June 1795
• Pierre Victurnien Vergniaud, guillotined on 31 October 1793

Execution of Robespierre

Other fates of the men involved included:

• François Buzot - committed suicide in 1794. He would likely have been guillotined if he had not taken his own life first.
• Étienne Nicolas de Calon - became mayor of Saint-Leu-la Fôret. He was a very old man at that point, as he had served Louis XV as a general; he had also voted for the execution of Louis XVI.
• Jean-François Delmars - died in 1798 (at 47 years old) after having been committed to a mental institute.
• Ernest Dominique François Joseph Duquesnoy - also committed suicide in 1795. He had just been found guilty and was sentenced to the guillotine.
• Thomas-Augustin de Gasparin - died of gangrene in November 1793
• Joseph-Pierre-Marie Fayau - was arrested but finally released in the grand amnesty in 1795. He returned to his native village where he was initially elected to a minor post before having his election overturned. He then died at just 33. 
• Claude Dominique Côme Fabre - despite being a lawyer by trade, he was involved in the attacks on the French from the Catalonian coast. He was killed in battle and his widow awarded a pension by Robespierre 
• Philippe-François-Joseph Le Bas - remained a loyal follower of Robespierre, even after his downfall. Committed suicide on 28 July 1794.
• Jean-Paul Marat - assassinated by Marie Anne Charlotte Cordray d'Armont, an aristocrat with a vengeance 
• Jérôme Pétion de Villeneuve - found himself with the tables turned when he was accused of wrongdoing following the insurrection of 2 June 1793. He fled the capital but was recaptured which prompted him to commit suicide.

There are clear indications that the men above were subjected to downright threats in the effort to force a verdict of guilty and punishment of execution. Several of those who refrained from sentencing clearly mention the "menacing" they experienced as well as the "tricks" employed; including perhaps physical threats (at least one referred to the threat of weapons). Louis XVI was seemingly quite right in assuming that his fate was already decided.

The Queen Versailles Did Not Want: Marie Leszczynska

When the Duc de Bourbon proclaimed that the then-15 year old Louis XV was to marry the 22-year old Marie Leszczynska, the reaction was prompt. Neither the court nor the Parisians - for once on the same page - considered the young woman suitable for the throne of France.

For one, who was she? Marie Leszczynska was the daughter of Stanislaus I Leszczynski and Catherine Opalinska - the deposed king and queen of Poland. Not only had her father lost his throne, her mother had lost her immense fortune. The family had fled to one place after another before being finally granted permission to reside in Wissembourg. As such, they were under the protection of the king of France (as France had annexed Alsace where Wissembourg is located) but they had no influence, no power, no money. Even more bleak, there was nothing to suggest that they would ever regain their former grandeur. 

Thus, the main question was - what did Marie Leszczynska bring to France? As far as the public was concerned, it was not much. Her marriage would not provide France with a new, powerful ally nor with a significant dowry. In fact, her father had to borrow heavily to even scrape one together for her.

Also, there was no prestige in the marriage. To the French, the king of France was the most eligible match in the world (literally). The idea that he should be "squandered" on an unknown, impoverished princess - seven years his senior even - was completely unfathomable. Therefore, it did not take long before vicious tongues started wagging; rumours soon began that Marie Leszczynska was not just a poor choice but a dangerous one.

The entire point of importing a royal bride was to produce an heir. Therefore, her health was vital and any doubts were immense causes for concern. It is not difficult to see, then, why the rumour of Marie Leszczynska being epileptic started.

Alarmed, the court of France demanded that she be subjected to a medical exam - performed by French doctors, of course. The examination took place on 6 May 1725 by doctors Duphénix and Mouges. Their report was unequivocal - the princess was not epileptic. The rumour had it that her mother had frequently taken her to a nunnery where one of the sisters aided the symptoms. The Duc de Bourbon promptly - and discreetly - sent out scouts to discover the truth. As it happens, Catherine Opalinska was a frequent visitor to the nunnery but - as it was found - the nun was a life-long friend of hers.

Their good report was further bolstered by Marie's personal doctors who proved that her menstrual cycle was "perfectly regular" - thus alleviating accusations of infertility. On the contrary, the doctors found her health to be robust.

Marie Leszczynska

Other unpleasant accusations were hurled her way too - that some of her fingers were webbed or even entirely paralysed (the latter being reported directly to the Duc de Bourbon by Cardinal Rohan), that she was hideously ugly etc. Neither were true nor did they need to be particularly counter proven.

Her nationality was a thorn in the eye of most people. It was said that the French "could not love" the Polish; they were considered to be republican (because their king was elected, not born to the role) and far too different from the French. There were even fears that her Polish-ness would result in a massive European war - however, this seems unlikely. Augustus II (the reigning king of Poland) was understandably not pleased at this development but upon being assured that France would not attempt to replace him with Stanislaus, he backed down.

The other European powers were equally stunned - few mentioned anything about the bride herself with the exception of the king of Sardinia. He was Louis XV's grandfather and thus in a position to publicly disclaim that the marriage was a massive mésalliance. To his shame, the Sardinian king also repeated the rumours of physical disabilities. Madame (Elizabeth Charlotte of the Palatinate) were equally aghast at the marriage, writing to her friend that the trend of mésalliances had even reached the king himself. Some has claimed that the rumour of epilepsy originated in the court of Lorraine where none other than Madame's own daughter was the reigning duchess. The point was that the Duchesse de Lorraine had several, very eligible daughters herself whom she considered to be far worthier of Louis XV - after all, they were already related!

Other, anonymous letters arrived, all warning against the ghastly deformities said to plague the queen-to-be. Hunchbacked, one-eyed - if even half the things said against her were true, she would truly have been an unfortunate woman. Some even pointed to the fact that Marie was unmarried at the ripe old age of 22 - surely something must be wrong with her? Poor Marie!

The people were quickly won over by Marie Leszczynska as she travelled toward Versailles. Once they saw her, they could dismiss the rumours of hideousness and her grace and kindness did much to endear her to them. It certainly helped that she would become pregnant very quickly after the marriage which further disproved any theory of infertility - on the contrary, as she would go on to be pregnant for a decade in total.