
Louis XVI in 1775

King's trial
On 21 January 1793, Louis XVI was put to death, by guillotine, in Paris. He was 38.
Technically, he was no longer king, royalty having been abolished on 21 September 1792. The offenses for which he was executed were conspiracy against public liberty and general state security.
The execution took place on the place de la Concorde (then named the place de la Révolution, formerly named the place Louis XV). From contemporaneous engravings, we can form an idea of the scene: a public execution, in plain view, with many soldiers pressing close around the guillotine.


Vestiges of this day are still visible in Paris, often in unexpected places.
Anyone who has visited Paris will remember the giant Egyptian obelisk that now dominates the place de la Concorde. The obelisk sits on a pedestal, but the pedestal was not always meant for the obelisk: back in 1826, French king Charles X –Louis XVI’s younger brother– planned for it to support a monument to the memory of Louis XVI.

In the 8th arrondissement, not far from the gare St Lazare, there is a small park: the square Louis XVI. I’d been past it many times before I asked what a small building in it was. I learned that the park formerly had been a cemetery, that Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette had been interred there during the revolution (today, their remains lie in St Denis, with those of other French monarchs), and that the small building was a chapel: an expiatory chapel. This is the only expiatory chapel I’ve ever seen anywhere; not surprisingly, it was built during the 19th-century restoration, when Louis XVI’s execution was considered worthy of expiation. Today, it’s a state-owned monument that you can visit, although there’s an unfortunate €5 fee.

My favorite vestige of the execution of Louis XVI is also the best-hidden, and it may be just an urban legend.

On the rue de Beauregard –a small street off the beaten path, in the Paris garment district– a municipal plaque is affixed to a building, at a height slightly above that of the average person. It reads (in French): “Here Baron Batz and his friends tried to help Louis XVI escape on the morning of 21 January 1793″.
An escape? An attempted escape? On the day of the execution? What did the baron and his friends do? Why didn’t the attempt work? The plaque provokes all sorts of questions but answers none.
Baron Batz was a colorful fellow, gifted in matters of high finance and a fast friend of the king. His plan apparently was to rescue Louis XVI on the day of his execution, as his carriage made its way from the prison to the guillotine. Aware that the carriage would be guarded by armed men, the baron had rounded up a few hundred hard-core royalist supporters. Ever the optimist, the baron had also found a safe house, where Louis XVI could avoid detection. On the appointed day, the hundreds of royalists did not show up at the rendez-vous, either because revolutionaries had unwound the plot, or because the venture was a product of the baron’s imagination. True or not, the story deserves to be made into a major motion picture.