It is titled The Queen's Diamonds. All right, the diamonds of the famous necklace were never Marie-Antoinette's, but they were to closely associated with her by public opinion that the name is appropriate. The necklace itself became known as the Queen's Necklace.

Elizabeth begins with portraits of some of the main characters, and she confesses to being hooked by Frances Mossiker's remarkable book. I certainly relate to that. Elizabeth is also writing a historical novel on the Affair, with Mademoiselle d'Oliva as the central character.

An excellent choice, by the way, because the young prostitute remains as much a mystery to me as any other character in this dauntingly complex plot. Mademoiselle d'Oliva had come to the notice of the La Motte couple because of her uncanny resemblance to Marie-Antoinette.

The La Mottes hired Mademoiselle d'Oliva to impersonate the Queen and took her, dressed in royal finery, to Versailles in a hackney. There, in the Grove of Venus, she handed a rose to a great lord, who was in fact the Cardinal de Rohan...

        

A follow-up on my recent post on Marie-Anne-Victoire, and a comment by Elena of Tea at Trianon.

        

A beautiful post by Elena at Tea at Trianon. 

        

This marriage, like all royal unions of the time, was prompted by political and diplomatic concerns. Infanta Mariana Victoria, age three, was the daughter of King Philip V of Spain, himself grandson of Louis XIV, the Sun King.

When negotiations began for her marriage to her eleven-year old cousin Louis XV, the groom was rumored to be in poor health, and Philip V no doubt thought of consolidating his claims to the throne of France by having his daughter become Queen of that country.

Louis XV himself was not informed of anything until the Regent, Phlilippe d’Orléans, broke the news to his ward during a cabinet meeting. Louis XV burst into tears at the announcement, and the attendants had to insist long and hard before he whispered the expected “yes.”

A few days later, the Regent sprung another surprise: the marriage of his own twelve-year old daughter, Louise-Elisabeth d'Orléans, to the heir to the Spanish throne, son of Philippe V. But that is another story, and the topic of another post.

That union would be celebrated very soon, and the King of Spain wanted to ensure that the symmetrical promise of marriage between Marie-Anne-Victoire and Louis XV became no less irrevocable. Though the marriage, given the age of the parties, could not be consummated or even formally celebrated, it was agreed that the Infanta would be sent to France and treated as Queen there.

A French envoy, the Duc de Saint-Simon, was dispatched to Madrid to deliver to the bride a “love letter” from her reluctant fiancé. Needless to say, Marie-Anne-Victoire, age three, could not read, but she nevertheless received the missive with perfect ease and poise. One had to hold her hand when she signed her marriage contract.

It is only when the Infanta crossed the Bidassoa River, which marked the border between Spain and France, and she was separated from the woman who had attended her since birth, that she lost her composure and began crying.

Against all rules, she was allowed to keep her wetnurse with her. Soon Marie-Anne-Victoire was reassured by that familiar presence and entertained by the countless dolls and toys sent from Paris. She had been greeted at the border by Louis XV’s beloved former governess, the Duchess of Ventadour, to whom had been assigned her French upbringing.

The cortege takes two months to reach the capital. In every town she crosses, the Infanta Queen, for such is her title now, is greeted by interminable speeches, through which she sits with a patience well beyond her tender years. She responds with gracious compliments, for she is already fluent in French.

Finally she arrives near Paris and meets the boy whom she already calls “my husband, the King.” She is, as usual, perfectly at ease but Louis XV, red in the face, only manages a single sentence of welcome in fifteen minutes.

The young King, shy and introverted under the best of circumstances, has nothing to say to this bride barely out of toddlerhood. Also, he had been orphaned almost as far as he could remember, and had developed a passionate attachment for his governess, Madame de Ventadour. Now he saw that lady engrossed by the delightful Marie-Anne-Victoire. Jealousy probably played a part in his resentment towards the little girl.

The Infanta Queen was nevertheless ready to make her solemn entrance into Paris in the midst of much popular rejoicing. Seated in the lap of the Duchess de Ventadour, she smiled at everyone, holding her favorite doll. Commemorative medals (below) were minted to celebrate the betrothal of the young cousins.

The Court is then settled in the Tuileries, but the Regent decides that it is now time for Louis XV and his bride to move to Versailles, abandoned since the death of the late King. Marie-Anne-Victoire is of course given the Queen's bedchamber and apartments. She is small for her age and still cannot reach her monumental bed without stepping on a stool.

Yet the little Queen adapts easily to the exigencies of her new role. By all accounts a precocious child, she learns to dine everyday in front of a crowd of strangers, for Versailles is open to all decently attired visitors. She also charms the royal family and courtiers, including the aging Princesse Palatine, mother of the Regent. She runs to the old lady and says, laughing: "I tell everyone that this doll is my child, but to you, Madam, I will admit that it is but a wax doll."

But someone does not fall under the charm of the Infanta Queen: her "husband." He remains sullen in her presence and tries his best to ignore her. When he cannot avoid addressing her, he keeps to "yes" or "no" answers. People assure her that his silence is a sure sign of affection. She is too bright to be fooled and facetiously tells one of the courtiers: "The King must like you very much, for he has not said a thing to you."

Is it so strange that Louis XV would resent having this miniature Queen foisted upon him, while they are not even married? The two children could not be more different: he is diffident, reserved to the point of shyness, she enjoys being the center of attention at Court. To use a modern term, she is a natural. He struggles with the terrifying weight of the responsibilities that await him in a few years. She unwittingly reinforces his sense of inadequacy.

Over the following years, things change: she has lost the charm of novelty, and the King is reaching his majority at fourteen in 1723. His opinion and feelings are beginning to matter. So his little Queen is not even invited to his coronation in the Cathedral of Reims. She is left behind at Versailles, and must be content with a few trinkets he brings back for her. From then on she is conspicuously absent from all important official occasions.

This of course reflects Louis XV's personal feelings, but there is more: the Spanish alliance, which their marriage was supposed to seal, is unraveling. The other royal marriage, between the Regent's daughter and the heir to the Spanish throne, has turned into both a private and very public disaster. Worse, in France the Regent himself dies of a stroke in the arms of his mistress. Another prince of the royal blood, the Duc de Bourbon, takes over, and he is no friend of Marie-Anne-Victoire.

Other problem: Louis XV has reached puberty early, and it is politically urgent that he sire a Dauphin since he has no brothers to succeed him. In case of a mishap, conflicting claims between the King of Spain and French princes of the royal would tear France and all of Europe apart.

On a personal level, the young King is very devout, and he  manifests the first signs of a voracious sexual appetite that will last till his death. He hunts and exercises with a passion to try and forget the call of the flesh, but he is becoming anxious to have a real wife. How does Marie-Anne-Victoire, now seven years old, fit in this situation?

The answer is easy: not at all. Louis XV, predictably, raises no objection when the Duc de Bourbon tells him that she must be sent back to her parents sooner or later, and preferably sooner than later. Then Louis XV is suddenly taken ill. The Duc de Bourbon, after a sleepless night by the King's bedside, seizes this opportunity to rid himself of Marie-Anne-Victoire.

The French Ambassador in Madrid is forthwith entrusted with the unenviable mission of breaking the news to her father, the King of Spain. This, of course, creates a diplomatic incident, and all the French in Madrid, including fifteen-year old Louise-Elisabeth d'Orléans, now widowed and Queen Dowager of Spain, are expelled unceremoniously.

Yet everyone tries to spare the feelings of Marie-Anne-Victoire. She is told that her parents are anxious to see her again, and she must meet them at the Spanish border. Cheerful as usual, she leaves Versailles with her wetnurse, apparently without suspecting the true reason for this unexpected journey. Louis XV has left the Palace earlier that day. He felt no desire to say goodbye, or farewell, to this most unwelcome fiancee.

As we know, he would soon greet a true bride, Marie Leszczynska. Was his delight at this second match explained in part by the fact that the new bride was a real woman, a few years older than himself, instead of a little girl? Probably.

As for Marie-Anne-Victoire, she returned safely to Madrid, where she became again Infanta Mariana Victoria. Four years later, she was engaged again, to the Prince of Brazil, heir of the throne of Portugal. She was still only eleven, but this time the marriage would indeed be celebrated, and she would bear four daughters. The union, however, was marred by her husband's infidelity and mental instability.

He nevertheless became King under the name of Joseph I in 1750, but delegated most powers to the famous, or infamous Marquis de Pombal. The former Infanta Queen was now Queen Mariana Vitoria.

A few years later, the capital of Portugal was destroyed by the Great Lisbon Earthquake of 1755, which made a deep impression on the contemporaries and is remembered as one of the major natural catastrophes of the 18th century, and indeed in all of history.

Following the disaster, the King's mental condition further deteriorated, and the Marquis de Pombal became the de facto ruler of Portugal. When the King was formally declared incompetent, Queen Mariana Vitoria briefly became Regent of Portugal, until her eldest daughter acceded to the throne in her own right under the name of Queen Maria of Portugal.

Queen Mariana Vitoria died in 1781, at the age of 62. Did she ever entertain any regrets for her early years at Versailles? She must have been disappointed, when she discovered the truth about her journey to Spain, to abandon her girlish dream of becoming Queen of France, but I very much doubt that this carried over into her adult life. She became Queen of Portugal at a crucial time in the history of that country. Hers was a full, if not always happy life.

As for Louis XV, his differences of temperament with his Infanta Queen, had she grown in Versailles to become his wife, would have been enough to guarantee a very difficult marriage.

        

And we have to wait two years until the next one! I had been warned that it would be great fun, but it far exceeded my expectations. I wanted to post a full report already, but unfortunately the hotel's sluggish internet connection won't allow me to do so now. Proper acknowledgements (and many, many are owed) will have to wait until I am back home. I have so much to share with you, but tonight I will be content to thank the readers who came to talk to me, my fellow panelists, all the attendees and the HNS volunteers who made this possible.

Tomorrow I will be taking a (well deserved) day off to visit Chicago and pay a visit to the treasures of its Art Institute, like this Watteau, before flying back to Europe.

        

I know, posts have been few and far between lately. Look no further than the preparation for the HNS Conference for an explanation. I will be on three panels: Debut Novels, Query Letters That Work (this one with my agent, Stephanie Cabot) and Plot versus Accuracy. All great topics, great panelists, and I will also be signing books on Saturday afternoon.

A very busy week-end, and more importantly, many friends, readers to meet.

Only problem: I unwisely picked a London-Chicago flight to get there on Thursday, and guess what? Tube strike and near closure of all lines until Friday...

I must say that, under the best of circumstances, I am no fan of the ever-unreliable London public transportation system (yes, the Tube is the oldest metro in the world, and it shows) but this will definitely make things interesting.

But I'll get there, if I have to walk to Heathrow!

        

Today, Pentecost Monday, the news in France is all about the loss of the Rio-Paris flight in mid-Atlantic. What happened? A newer aircraft, an experienced captain, and yet hundreds of dead, including several little children and one baby. Let us hope that nothing more sinister than a horrible mishap was at work. I cannot keep my mind off the anguish of those coming to the airport to welcome their loved ones, and finding only shock and grief.

        

Today we celebrate her Feast, in commemoration of her death at the stake on May 30, 1431, at the age of 19. For a brief and necessarily inadequate account of Jehanne's extraordinary life, I refer you to my post of last year.  This year I was wondering how to honor a woman whose memory has remained so alive through the centuries. And then I thought of that most unfairly ignored of Paris monuments, the Panthéon.

        

Sadly lilacs are gone already, and every year I mourn their passing. 

        

Better hurry, because today is already the 26th! This month went by fast, with an alternance of bitter cold, sweltering heat and thunderstorms here in Paris. Such is le joli mois de mai, the pretty month of May.

Here we meet again with the courtly Limbourg brother. He chose to show us a group of young people going out for a ride with a few musicians to enjoy the - sometimes unreliable - mildness of spring weather.

See how some of the characters have donned crowns of greenery, and the ladies wear light green dresses. As was the case for April, the man in the ample gold-embroidered blue robe seems to be the Duc de Berry himself in his youth. I suspect the lady on a white horse at the center of the composition is the bride to whom he was betrothed in that picture. Does she not look like the same young woman?

In the background, we recognize the towers of the Conciergerie and the Tour de l'Horloge in the Isle of the Cité, as they still exist to this day. This was the skyline of Paris in the late Middle Ages.

And above this lovely scene the signs of Taurus and Gemini dominate the month of May.

So let's enjoy what is left of it!

        

I wish to bring to your attention this excellent post at Glass of Fashion. 

        

Another great post by Elena Maria at Tea at Trianon on the ceremony and festivities:

On May 16, 1770 the Dauphin Louis-Auguste of France married Marie-Antoinette Archduchess of Austria... (more)

And, as promised, I will post shortly on other Versailles royal weddings. See also my prior post on 18th century bridal attire.

        

I have finished the “final” edits to For The King, and sent them to my agent, Stephanie Cabot. So I chose this beautiful portrait of Madame Récamier by Gérard to illustrate this post, because this is how I picture my heroine, Blanche. And, I must say, I feel the writer’s equivalent of postpartum blues.

What has changed in this new version? Blanche, precisely. She is more passionate about her political ideas. I tried to make her struggles to extricate herself from the moral and practical consequences of her choices more dramatic.

Also, thanks to a suggestion from my editor at Dutton, Bonaparte now makes a cameo appearance. In that new scene he confronts Fouché, his Minister of Police, immediately after the attack. I tend to be shy about injecting major historical characters into my novels, because I want to remain as historically accurate as possible while keeping my creative freedom. For that new scene I relied on the Memoirs of an eyewitness, Fouché himself.

About the ending? As before, not all of the “terrorists” are caught and punished (but I can't change historical fact: one of them did escape to the United States.) But otherwise the ending changed, much to my surprise! It is happier. I am yet unable to tell how this affects the reader’s overall take on the novel, and wait with bated breath for Stephanie’s opinion.

Then if she likes the result, she will forward the manuscript to Dutton, perhaps for another round of edits. So these may not be final after all…

        

Lilacs are in full bloom these days. Ah, their colors, from snowy white to deep purple, their fragrance, their graceful shapes, from shrubs to full-grown trees...

All the more reason to recommend this post at Weave a Garland of My Vows (don't you love that title?)

Lilacs were a favorite of Marie-Antoinette too, and she chose them as a motif for the silk hangings of her Bedchamber at Versailles, where you can still admire them.

        

A follow-up to my post on Flora Fraser's biography of Pauline. I am still at work on the final edits of For The King, which entails delving once more into the Memoirs of Joseph Fouché, Napoléon's Minister of Police, Duc d'Otrante (and many other things besides.) I stumbled upon what Fouché has to say about Pauline:

Of Napoléon's three sisters, Elisa, Caroline et Pauline, the latter, famous for her allurements, was the one of whom he was fondest, without ever being enthralled by her.

Flighty, bizarre, dissolute, devoid of intelligence but not without some wit and a few glimmers, she liked luxury, dissipation and all kinds of homages. She was never adverse to any man, save for [General] Leclerc, her first husband, and for the sweetest of men, Prince Camille Borghese, whom Napoléon made her marry the second time.

Her first marriage was what is called a marriage of garrison. Sick, and refusing to follow Leclerc in his expedition of Saint-Domingue [Haiti] she was carried, by order of Napoléon, on board the Ship Admiral on her couch.

Bothered by the fierce ardors of the tropical climes, and relegated to Island of Tortuga by the mishaps of the expedition, she plunged headlong, to daze herself, in all kinds of sensual pleasures. Upon Leclerc's death, she hastened to set sail, not ...with weeping her eyes and holding her husband's ashes, but free, triumphant, coming to immerse herself in the delights of the capital.

There, racked by a disease brought on by debauchery, Pauline sought all the resources of the Faculty, and healed. The odd thing in her miraculous cure was that her beauty, far from fading, only became more stunning and fresh, like those strange flowers that bloom and thrive on manure.

Anxious to experience pleasure without any curb or hindrance, but afraid of her brother and his sudden reprimands, Pauline hatched, with one of her ladies in waiting, the plan to subject Napoléon to the domination of her allurements. She put in it so much art, so much refinement, that her triumph was complete. Such was the the intoxication of the conqueror that more than once his entourage heard him proclaim that his sister was the beauty of all beauties and the Venus of our age. Yet she was but a daring beauty...

For over a year the infatuation of the brother for the sister remained strong, though without passion; indeed no other passion than domination and conquest could master his haughty and bellicose soul. When, after [the victory of] Wagram et the Peace of Vienna, Napoléon returned in triumph to Paris, preceded by the muffled rumor of his impending divorce from Joséphine, he ran on the same day to his sister, who was most anxiously waiting for him. Never did she show for her brother so much love and adoration. I heard her say on that very same day, for she knew I was in the secret: "Why don't we reign in Egypt? We would do like the Ptolemies; I would get a divorce and marry my brother." I knew she was too ignorant to have made such an allusion on her own, and I recognized there one of her brother's impulses.

Imagine Pauline's bitter and intense disappointment when, a few months later, she saw Marie-Louise, arrayed in all of her innocence, appear at the celebrations of her marriage and sit upon the throne next to Napoléon! The imperial court underwent a brutal reformation of its habits, its mores, its étiquette; the change was complete and implacable. Napoléon himself gave the example by the his strict adherance to decorum and the respect of his marital vows.

From that time Pauline's dissolute court was deserted; and this woman who joined all of the weaknesses to the graces of her sex, considering Marie-Louise as her happy rival, was mortally piqued and entertained in her heart the bitterest resentment. Her health was affected. Following the advice of her physicians, she left to take the waters at Aix-la-Chapelle, as much to recover as to dispel the gloom that was gnawing at her.

On her way, she crossed in Brussels the path of Napoléon et Marie-Louise, who were headed for the Netherlands border. There, compelled to make an appearance at the Court of the new Empress, and seizing this opportunity to gravely offend her, she dared, when she saw [Marie-Louise] walking through a salon, make, while sniggering indecently, the two-finger sign that common people, by way of a gross joke, apply to credulous and betrayed spouses. Napoléon, who had witnessed this, shocked by such impertinence, which had been revealed to Marie-Louise herself by the reflection of the mirrors, did not forgive his sister: [Pauline] was ordered to withdraw from Court the same day.

Refusing now to make any amends, she preferred to live in exile and disgrace until the events of 1814, which found her again entirely devoted to her brother and his misfortunes.

So what do we make of this? For one thing, the authenticity of Fouché's Memoirs, long called into question, is no longer seriously disputed. Written at the very end of the man's life, they are a fascinating read. Fouché's objectivity is another matter. He clearly hated Bonaparte, who returned the feeling but could never manage to dispense with the services of this exceptionally competent and devious Minister of Police.

Yet here I believe Fouché gives us, in addition to an entertaining portrait of Pauline (but then no one ever faulted her for being dull) a truthful glimpse at Napoléon's feelings: family pride, admiration for her beauty, exasperation at her vulgarity, and yes, historically inspired fantasies of an incestuous union on the banks of the Nile. Did it go any further? I have yet to read Flora Fraser's biography and will reserve my opinion until then.

        

To American Moms at least (French Moms have to wait until the last Sunday in May.) To celebrate the occasion, here is Titian's Madonna and Child with Saint Catherine, also known as the Madonna of the Rabbit. Painted in 1530, and the property of the Louvre. A tribute to the Blessed Virgin, maternal love and the beauty of nature in its spring glory.

Enjoy!

PS: and many thanks to the friend who pointed out that the last-Sunday-in-May rule does not apply whenever the Pentecost happens to be that day (which is the case this year.) Then Mother's Day is celebrated one week later. So in fact this year French Moms have to wait until June 7...

        

After visiting, and immensely enjoying the Van Dyck exhibition at the Jacquemart-Andre last fall in Paris, I was anxious to see this new one in London. There was very little overlap, apart from the self-portrait of the artist reproduced at the beginning of the prior post, and the portrait of Lady Killigrew at the bottom of this other post.

So how do the shows compare? The Paris one was by far the more pleasant to visit. The velvet on the walls, the smaller rooms, the careful lighting made it a pleasure to linger there.

At the Tate, the setting looks harsh and cheap by comparison, and the reflexions of the glaring floodlights make it difficult at times to distinguish the works presented. I also missed the wonderful, moving, insightful portraits of Van Dyck's Flemish period, but that was imposed by the theme of the exhibition. Here we see Van Dyck as the most gifted and successful painter of the court of Charles I.

But what is missing in terms of emotional depth in these royal or aristocratic portraits is compensated by the interest of the political context. Some of the models, including King Charles I himself and Archbishop William Laud, were beheaded only years after they sat for Van Dyck. Others perished in the battles of the Engish Civil War. Queen Henrietta Maria died in exile in her native France.

It is impossible to see this show without remembering that Van Dyck was painting a brilliant world on the verge of collapse. I was reminded of the refinenement of 18th century French aristocratic society on the eve of the Revolution.

I also appreciated glimpses into the artist's private life. There is a portrait of his presumed mistress, and one he painted of the Scottish lady he later married. Both beautiful ladies, in very different ways. He shows his wife clutching a rosary in her hands. This affirmation of their Catholic faith is a powerful statement at a time of dire political and religious strife.

Beyond the lace, pearls and satins, beyond the extraordinary talent of Van Dyck, there is a sense of impending doom in this show. History comes to life. If you happen to be in London, by all means see it.

Until May 17 at the Tate Britain.

        

After indispensable restoration work, the statue returns to its original spot. This is a mature Louis XIV, at his most majestic.

For more information, I refer you to this excellent article in the Art Tribune. The scaffolding will remain in place until the official inauguration on June 25.

And while you are on the topic of Versailles news, let's not forget the Court Pomp and Royal Ceremonies exhibit, until June 28. I do not want to miss this show, which I will see in the coming weeks. I will report on it here, of course.

        

Today is a holiday in France (Labor Day) and people present their loved ones with sprigs of muguet, lily of the valley.

If you have plans to visit Versailles today, please note that the Palace will be closed, though the gardens will remain open. Let me add that the grounds of Versailles in themselves are well worth a visit, especially on this gorgeous spring day.

So let me offer you my 1st of May wishes, and this bit of lily of the valley. A pity the delicious fragrance of its blossoms can't travel in cyberspace...

        

As we concluded the first installment of this series, we left the Tuileries on the eve of the French Revolution as a sleepy building abandoned by the royal family for decades.

The King and Court still resided at Versailles during the spring and summer of 1789, when Louis XVI summoned the Estates General, an elected Assembly of representatives of the Nation, to deal with the budget crisis. Paris had been briefly considered as the seat of the Estates General, but it was soon decided that they needed to meet close to the King and his ministers, in the Palace of Versailles.

Things were not going smoothly in the spring and summer of 1789, and many began talking of a "Revolution." Bread was lacking, the King has massed foreign mercenaries around the capital. The people of Paris were restless and the Bastille, the hated symbol of the absolute monarchy, was stormed on July 14, 1789.

The summer saw another dismal harvest, and Parisians were starving. On October 5, a crowd of women from Paris set forth for Versailles to ask the King and the National Assembly (the new name the Estates General had given themselves) fro bread. I describe these events in my first novel, Mistress of the Revolution, and they are also related in many memoirs of the time, in particular those of Madame Royale, daughter of Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette.

The King received a delegation of the Parisian women and succeeded in pacifying them. One of them, either from the emotion of seeing him or from malnourishment, fainted. A group of men from Paris, followed by Lafayette's National Guards, joined the women, and together they set camp in the gardens of Versailles. All seemed quiet when in the early hours of the 6th of October one of the Queen's Bodyguards fired a shot at a man in the gardens.

That was interpreted as a provocation from Marie-Antoinette and immediately triggered a riot. The women rushed inside the Palace to "make lace out of her guts." In her chemise and petticoat, she barely managed to escape to the King's Bedchamber. I will not relate here the details of that momentous day, but soon the crowd demanded that the royal family move to Paris. In a few hours Louis XVI had lost control of the situation and had to comply. The National Assembly declared that it would follow him forthwith. All of a sudden Versailles had ceased to be the center of power in France, and it would never recover that status.

After a harrowing journey at a snail pace, the royal family reached Paris late in the afternoon of the 6th of October 1789 and set forth naturally for the Tuileries. The little Dauphin, looking around at the dismal palace, exclaimed to Marie-Antoinette: "But it is so ugly here, Mama!"

In the following days, however, the other tenants were summarily invited to leave, furniture was brought in from Versailles, new apartments were set up for the royal family, including a King's Bedchamber, and a part of the park of the Tuileries was enclosed to create a garden for the Queen and her children, separate from the area open to the public.

There Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette were surrounded by a small Court of faithful followers, a pale shadow of the spendors of Versailles. Her closest friend, Madame de Polignac, had already fled France. Now the Queen, deprived of the pleasures and privacy of her beloved Trianon, occupied her days with politics, needlework and knitting, and a daily game of billiards after dinner. The King and Queen never forgot the circumstances of their arrival in their new palace, nor the dangers of its location in the heart of Paris. They were now at the mercy of any riot.

The National Assembly, right after the King's arrival at the Tuileries, had moved to the Salle du Manège, the former indoors riding arena built during the childhood of Louis XV next to the palace. The government was now firmly resettled in Paris.

From then on, the history of the Tuileries becomes tighly bound to that of France and the French Revolution. It was from there that the King and Queen set forth on their disastrous flight to Varennes. One of the causes of the fateful delay in the departure was that Marie-Antoinette,  unfamiliar with the surroundings of the palace even after an eighteen month stay there, lost her way in the neighboring streets before joining the rest of the royal family in the carriage driven by Fersen.

It is also to the Tuileries that the royal family was taken back after the failure of the escape plan. From then on they were closely watched to prevent any other flight and became effectively prisoners in their own palace. Finally it is the Tuileries that witnessed the demise of the monarchy after the storming of the Palace on the 10th of August 1792. On that day the royal family fled the Palace before the attack, which had been anticipated for a few days, and sought refuge with the Assembly in the Salle du Manège. The Palace was not defensible militarily, and the King made the mistake of waiting until the afternoon to order the Swiss Guards who defended the Palace to surrender. It was too late: over a thousand had died on that day, both Swiss Guards and insurgents. The Tuileries were ransacked, and Louis XVI and his family were taken prisoners and transferred to the tower of the Temple.

The legislative body elected after the abolition of the monarchy, the National Convention, disdained the Salle du Manège and settled within the Palace to mark the transfer of power from  the King to the representatives. Soon the Committee of Public Salvation, led by Robespierre, that ruled the country until 1794 held its sessions in the former apartment of the late Princesse de Lamballe.

Then Robespierre in his turn fell and was guillotined, but the National Convention remained in the Tuileries. People were tired of the bloodshed of the Reign of Terror, of the years of corruption that followed. In 1799 an ambitious young general by the name of Bonaparte seized power in a bloodless coup. The French Revolution was over, and another era in the history of the Tuileries was beginning...

To be followed