by James Wyllie
As imports of French wine have collapsed, the best we can offer is a sweet Spanish variety. Beer, the staple drink of the day, is also available, despite being heavily taxed and its production restricted to keep the price of grain down. Fruit, the key ingredient in most contemporary DESSERTS, is nowhere to be found. Instead, the cook will rustle up some curd-cakes for you, fritters made from a pint of curd, four eggs, with two of the whites removed, sugar and nutmeg, all stirred together with a sprinkling of flour and fried with a little butter until golden brown.
If you’d rather go out to eat, we suggest you visit a local inn called, appropriately enough, THE KING’S HEAD, on the corner of Chancery Lane and Fleet Street. Again the fare on offer will be simple. The owner, like all tavern-keepers, is suffering hard times. He is selling less wine in a week than he used to shift in a day, while demand for the meals cooked in his kitchen has fallen by 75 percent. But tonight the King’s Head is full, jammed with ordinary Londoners engaged in intense conversation about tomorrow’s big event. Take a pew and listen in or, if you’re bold enough, dive into the heated arguments raging over this Great Matter.
TUESDAY 30 JANUARY
You will rise at dawn. BREAKFAST will consist of beer and the remains of last night’s loaf. Before you set off on this bitter, gloomy morning, you will be provided with a packed lunch and a bottle of beer to wash it down with; the cook has managed to find a hunk of scarce Cheddar cheese to accompany whatever’s left of the bread. We suggest you go to the TOILET now – there is a chamberpot in your room – as there are no public lavatories near the execution site. If you have to find somewhere to relieve yourself, you will almost certainly lose your place in the crowd; every second you are absent will put you further and further away from the action.
It will take you about 20 minutes to reach ST JAMES’S PARK, established in 1532 by Henry VIII and landscaped by James I. Today, the lake is frozen solid, the trees bare, plants and wildlife nowhere to be seen. Here you will join a smattering of onlookers waiting to catch a glimpse of the King leaving ST JAMES’S PALACE, an imposing red-brick, twin-towered Tudor structure built on the site of a leper hospital. At about 10am, KING CHARLES, looking older than his 48 years, his hair and beard grey, skin sallow and with deep rings under his eyes, will emerge escorted by the Bishop of London, WILLIAM JUXON, his guardian THOMAS HERBERT, and COLONEL MATTHEW TOMLINSON, leading two companies of helmeted infantry in crimson-red tunics with pikes raised, and with drummers out front beating a steady march.
You will see some spectators hurling abuse at Charles and an old man – a former servant of the King – weeping copiously as Charles and company trudge grimly across the park to an open wooden staircase that leads directly into WHITEHALL PALACE. The King will then proceed to his old room – now completely stripped of all the splendid fineries that used to fill it – where he will wait to be called to the scaffold.
GETTING INTO POSITION
It is a short stroll from the park to KING STREET, a broad thoroughfare that links Westminster to Charing Cross. This runs directly through Whitehall Palace, which extends about two hundred yards inland from its gardens and frontage on the river. Take up a viewing position in front of the BANQUETING HOUSE that stands at right angles to the red-and-black-chequered brick of HOLBEIN GATE, built by Henry VIII to create a corridor joining the residential section of Whitehall Palace to The Tilt Yard (the blank wall a bit further up on the opposite side of King Street), the galleried Cock-Pit and other outbuildings on the St James’s Park side, all of them currently occupied by the Army, who have mounted a battery of guns on a platform nearby.
Though King Street will already be filling up with people of all classes and descriptions, there will be none of the festivities normally associated with a public execution: no street sellers or performers, no jugglers or minstrels, no drunken high spirits. This will be a sombre occasion. Adding to the oppressive mood are two TROOPS OF CAVALRY, each rider armed with two pistols and a sword, wearing their distinctive Roundhead uniform – custard-yellow tunic, silver breastplate, and helmet with a curved lip to protect the neck and visor to shield the face – stationed at the north and south end of the street.
The SCAFFOLD, draped completely in black, has been erected to stand firm against the stone façade of the Banqueting House, which is all classical Roman motifs, columns and arches. Three or four staples (wooden pins with pulleys attached) have been driven into the scaffold so that Charles can be restrained if he tries to resist his fate. Also note the extremely low CHOPPING BLOCK; normally it would be two feet high, allowing a victim to kneel, comfortably place his neck down and insert his chin in the special groove hollowed out of its flat surface. Today, the block is only ten inches off the ground and Charles will have to stoop awkwardly to get his head onto it.
By lunchtime the crowd will have grown to occupy every available space. People are hanging out of windows, cramming balconies and standing on rooftops. As you munch your cheese and sip your beer, spare a thought for the King, who will be eating his last meal on earth – white bread and a glass of claret.
THE EXECUTION
At around 1.30pm, people will start appearing on the scaffold. You will see BISHOP JUXON, COLONEL TOMLINSON, COLONEL FRANCIS HACKER, some guards (including the Leveller journalist JOHN HARRIS) and several shorthand writers with notebooks and ink horns, ready to note down everything that happens. Centre of attention are the EXECUTIONER AND HIS ASSISTANT, both dressed in black tight-fitting coats, their faces disguised by masks, false wigs and fake beards.
Not surprisingly, the identity of the executioner is a matter of some dispute. The most likely candidate is RICHARD BRANDON, chief headsman. Known as ‘Young Gregory’ – his father was also in the execution game – Brandon has a good eye, steady nerves and hands and the necessary experience; he has already dispatched the Archbishop of Canterbury, an earl and several other nobles in his short career. In June, stricken down by a terminal fever, Brandon will make a deathbed confession and admit that he was paid £30 to wield the axe. His assistant is probably a volunteer from a staunchly Republican regiment.
At 2.00pm the King makes his appearance, stepping straight out of one of the Banqueting House’s eight large windows and onto the scaffold, wearing two heavy shirts so he won’t shiver in the cold and give the impression that he is scared. Though every word Charles speaks will be recorded for posterity by the reporters near the block, you will not be able to hear a thing. Lip-readers will be at an advantage. However, if you monitor his expressions and his body language, you’ll be able to work out who Charles is talking to and how long each exchange lasts.
First, Charles will unfold a small piece of paper on which he has scribbled a few words that he will now address to the crowd, his voice so quiet that every syllable will be lost before it reaches you. During his BRIEF ORATION, Charles will call himself ‘the martyr of the people’, and accuse those who condemned him of exercising ‘an arbitrary power’ and ruling by ‘the power of the sword’. Rather than rousing the crowd, his speech is met by deathly silence. The wind momentarily knocked out of his sails, Charles hesitantly asks Colonel Hacker to ‘take care to put me not in pain’; if Brandon botches the first stroke it could take a number of swings of the axe to dislodge the head, a prolonged, messy and excruciatingly painful business.
Next, Charles speaks to Bishop Juxon, confirming that he will ‘die a Christian according to the profession of the Church of England’. Juxon tries to comfort Charles by reminding him that he is bound for Heaven, where he will ‘find a crown of glory’. Charles nods appreciatively and replies: ‘I go from a corruptible to an in-corruptible crown; where no disturbance can be, no disturbance in the world.’ The Bishop (like many in his profession, he is keen to have the last word) agrees that it’s ‘a good exchange’.
Then there is a bit of stage theatrics. Brandon tucks his victim’s hair neatly under his cap, Charles removes his cloak, decorated with the jewelled pendant of the Order of the Garter that bears the fig
ure of Saint George, hands it to the Bishop, removes his doublet and puts his cloak back on. This ritual complete, Charles draws an icy breath and looks down at the low chopping block. Perturbed, he turns to his executioner; ‘You must set it fast.’ Brandon is unmoved: ‘It is.’ Charles, still not happy, tries again: ‘It might have been a little higher.’ Brandon remains firm: ‘It can be no higher, sir.’
Frustrated, but realising the futility of continuing, Charles mutters to himself, stands, hands and eyes lifted up, and bends sharply down to put his head on the block. While Brandon ensures that all Charles’s hair is firmly inside his cap, Charles stretches out his arms and makes one final request: ‘Stay for the sign’ (wait until I’m ready). Brandon, perhaps for the first time comprehending the enormity of what he is about to do, softly and humbly agrees, addressing Charles as ‘Your Majesty’.
CHARLES I ON THE SCAFFOLD, IN FRONT OF THE CROWDS, WITH A RATHER FANCIFUL BANQUETING HOUSE BEHIND. THE PRINT IS CONTEMPORARY.
An expectant hush falls over King Street as Charles stretches out both his arms. Brandon raises the mighty axe – supplied by the Tower of London, it is thirty-six inches long, weighs over seven pounds, and has a sixteen-inch blade with an especially bright (sharp) ten-inch cutting edge – and brings it hurtling down onto Charles’s neck, hitting the third and fourth vertebrae and cleanly severing his head. The terminal blow is greeted by an eerie moan from the crowd, so unnerving that an observer remembered it being ‘such a groan as I never heard before and desire I may never hear again’. You may find yourself joining in.
Brandon will briefly wave Charles’s head at the crowd, before it, and the rest of him, is swiftly placed in a coffin covered with black velvet and carried inside. While it is customary to put the severed heads of traitors on public display, in this case the regicides decide not to go that far; they are worried about arousing sympathy for the departed monarch and sparking a backlash. Instead, Charles’s head will be sewn back onto his body, and then his corpse will be embalmed and placed in a lead coffin. Despite showing the royal personage due respect, the regicides don’t want Charles resting in Westminster Abbey, so the body will be conveyed to Windsor on the night of 7 February. Two days later, Charles will be buried in the Henry VIII vault in Saint George’s Chapel.
DEPARTURE
In the seconds after the fatal blow is struck, a few spectators will be able to dip their handkerchiefs in the royal blood spilled on the cobblestones beneath the scaffold – as a memento or good luck charm. However, the troops quickly assert their authority and disperse the shell-shocked crowd, numbed by the cold and what they have just witnessed, sending it and you streaming away from the scene into back alleys and winding lanes. Half an hour later the place is deserted.
Those hoping to linger a little longer on the streets will be deterred by a show of strength from the cavalry. COLONEL JOHN HEWSON and his squadron will ride through the centre of town, sweeping from Charing Cross to the Royal Exchange, ensuring that Londoners return directly to their homes, rather than hanging around for hours as they normally would after a major public ceremony, leaving the city silent and empty, winter darkness fast approaching. It is clearly time to leave. Make way back to your LODGINGS as quickly as you can, from where you will DEPART.
The Women’s March on Versailles
4–5 OCTOBER 1789 PARIS/VERSAILLES
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION WAS ONE OF the greatest upheavals in history: its defining feature was chaos; its outcome anything but inevitable. At various crucial moments the people of Paris made decisive interventions, each time pushing the Revolution in a more radical direction. THE WOMEN’S MARCH ON VERSAILLES established the template for these mini-insurrections. Its display of strength emboldened the people, giving them the confidence to take control of events and bend them to their will.
Over forty-eight hours a group of tough working-class Parisian women – their contemporaries called them Amazons – ransacked the PALACE AT VERSAILLES and forced KING LOUIS XVI and QUEEN MARIE ANTOINETTE to up sticks and relocate to Paris, where they became virtual prisoners. Their stunningly opulent palace was left abandoned, its sumptuously decorated rooms and mirrored halls deserted, the doors shut, the gates locked, the glorious gardens patrolled by armed guards. A few years later, both the King and Queen would go to the guillotine, a journey that began on the day the women came to town.
On this trip, you will spend a NIGHT OUT IN PARIS, enjoying the pleasure gardens of the PALAIS ROYAL, where the whole city goes to play. Next day (5 October 1789), you will join the women on their march for bread and storm the Palace at Versailles, returning in triumph to Paris to party a second night away.
BRIEFING: REVOLUTION AND THE ‘AUSTRIAN WHORE’
Earlier in the year (14 July), Paris rose up to LIBERATE THE BASTILLE, the most loathed and notorious prison in France. It was the symbol of everything rotten about the ancien régime – a system that the delegates of the newly convened NATIONAL ASSEMBLY are determined to dismantle – and a cause for much celebration. However, the euphoria has not lasted for long. While the National Assembly has spent August consigning feudalism to the trashcan of history and framing the DECLARATION OF THE RIGHTS OF MAN, the citizens of Paris increasingly fear a counter-attack from the forces of reaction, either a direct intervention by a foreign power or an aristocratic plot. Adding to the mounting tension are severe bread shortages; though this summer France has had the first decent harvest in years, a drought has meant that millers did not have enough water to grind the corn. The price of a standard four-pound loaf has risen over the year by sixty per cent Throughout September, bakers have been attacked for over-charging and grain carts have been randomly seized.
By October, Paris is on a knife edge. And on 2 October there is a perfect provocation when a lavish banquet, attended by Marie Antoinette, is held in honour of the King’s Flanders Regiment (the Black Musketeers), who have been called to Versailles to bolster the royal defences. Over the course of a debauched evening the soldiers sing monarchist songs; they wear hats emblazoned with cockades in black (the Queen’s colour) or white (the King’s) rather than the TRICOLOUR that is an essential item for all true supporters of the Revolution. Worse still, they allegedly cursed and trampled on the Revolution’s tricolour cockade. When news of these outrages reaches Paris, it is swiftly inflated. Indeed, the gossip is that Marie Antoinette participated in an orgy with members of the regiment. These rumours lead inevitably to the Women’s March on Versailles.
MARIE ANTOINETTE PLAYING AT BEING A PEASANT.
On the march, you may be shocked by the women’s intense hatred of MARIE ANTOINETTE and the savagery of the abuse they hurl at her, often sexual in nature. Married at fifteen, queen at nineteen, Marie Antoinette secured a bad reputation by dressing inappropriately and attending Parisian theatres and decadent social gatherings without her husband. In 1777, Anandria, the first of what became a steady stream of pornographic novels about her, was published. It included generic elements – lesbianism, nymphomania and masturbation – that would be recycled in songs, satirical verses and other books. The most widely read is Essai Historique sur la Vie de Marie Antoinette, first published in 1781, reprinted in 1783 and then updated on a yearly basis until her death a decade later.
More firmly based in fact is the belief that the Queen is as profligate with money as she is in the bedroom. While ordinary people starve, she spends like there is no tomorrow and has a particular weakness for diamonds. This toxic combination of material and moral depravity, both real and imagined, will account for much of what you see and hear over the next few days. If, however, you are expecting to hear her say ‘Let them eat cake,’ or something similar, you have been woefully misled; she never said any such thing. As you will see, it would have been most unwise.
THE TRIP
You will arrive at 3.30pm on SUNDAY 4 OCTOBER 1789 in the courtyard of the HÔTEL DE SOUBISE, 60 Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, in the heart of Paris. The Soubise is what is known as a hôtel particulier – a ver
y posh B&B – one of the grand mansions of the super-rich that stand empty most of the time, as their owners spend no more than a few days a year in Paris. Our choice belongs to the Prince de Soubise – who is characteristically absent – and has dozens of rooms decorated in a rococo style. It has a small army of servants and is lavishly appointed with exquisite furnishings, fine art on the walls, marbled baths, bidets and king-size beds. Both sexes will have their own upholstered POTTY CHAIRS with a hole in the seat and a chamberpot underneath, the men’s receptacle purely functional, the women’s an ornamented bourdaloue, which looks like a gravyboat. The servants will be on hand to empty them.
Your clothes for your night out in Paris will be typical of the city’s professional middle classes. Men will be wearing a wig, dark green jacket (open at the front with tails), white leggings, calf-length leather boots and a top hat. Women will have their hair up in a bunch, a shawl and a relatively plain low-cut dress with a voluminous floor-length skirt and lace frills. Men may carry a silver-topped cane, women a parasol.
SUNDAY NIGHT AT THE PALAIS ROYAL
THE PALAIS ROYAL is the place to be after nightfall. Open to all and sundry, it belongs to the Duc d’Orléans, who inherited it in 1776 and decided to transform it into a pleasure palace. Its three-tiered arcades run in galleries round the perimeter of the site and contain sixty pavilions, all enclosed by trees which line a large promenade. Though the SHOPS will be closed – it is Sunday, after all – you can gaze at the fashionable clothes, designer wigs and exquisite lace garments displayed in their windows.