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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 248
🕑 Added 2025-06-07 19:08:01 +0000 UTCChapter 248: Deciding Discourse Power Through Turmoil
The Duke of Duroc's nephew, Roul, slammed the armrest of his chair and glared at the dejected nobles before him. “Complaining here won’t solve anything!”
Pointing towards the square outside where the reformist nobles were gathered, he continued, “We can’t allow those people to destroy ancient traditions or deceive Her Majesty the Queen!
“We must confront them to ensure that our innate rights are not undermined!”
Standing abruptly, he gestured for others to follow. “Don’t act like cowards here. Come with me to see Her Majesty the Queen. She will listen to us.”
Since their interests were at stake, more than ten individuals immediately rose to their feet.
“Indeed, let Her Majesty decide for us!”
“We can’t let those young ones run amok!”
“Come on, I’ll berate them myself…”
Roul led the charge out of the banquet hall, heading downstairs, with many old-guard nobles following in his wake. By the time they reached the marble courtyard, their numbers had swelled to three or four hundred.
Roul’s group soon clashed head-on with the reformist nobles, who were listening to a speech. He immediately shouted, “What exactly are you trying to do?”
“You’re nobles yourselves! Why are you tarnishing the honor of nobility?”
The young man standing near a lion-headed statue carved into the palace wall retorted loudly, “Corrupt privileges should have been abolished long ago!”
“What nonsense! Do you want the nobility to be no different from the sans-culottes in the streets?”
“The nobility already has more than enough comforts. Go take a look at those impoverished peasants…”
“Their poverty stems from laziness and ignorance. What does it have to do with us?”
“It’s you people who are truly lazy and ignorant!”
“How dare you insult me! I demand a duel!”
“Then come at me!”
The argument quickly devolved into a shouting match and escalated into physical scuffles. Neither side showed any signs of backing down, summoning more supporters as the confrontation spread from the confined marble courtyard to the vast square of the Palace of Versailles.
Before long, both factions numbered over a thousand people, with more arriving continuously. Although the intervention of the palace guards prevented severe bloodshed, the shouting had already echoed throughout the entire palace. Some participants, emulating the commoners of the marketplace, began hurling rotten vegetables and clumps of dirt at each other.
Joseph stood at the floor-to-ceiling window on the second floor of the southern wing, observing the uniquely French spectacle of chaos in the square with great interest.
If this were Russia or Prussia, anyone daring to cause such a commotion in the royal palace would have been dispersed by guards and their leaders imprisoned. But at Versailles, such scenes were considered normal political activity.
Eymond approached and looked out the window, remarking, “Your Highness, it seems that our side is at a disadvantage.”
As one of the Crown Prince’s closest confidants, Eymond naturally understood the underlying dynamics.
Joseph smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, Count Mirabeau’s main force hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Main force?”
Eymond’s question was soon answered. As carriages began pulling up on the outskirts of the square, a large number of well-dressed individuals, though not adorned as extravagantly as Versailles nobles, entered the square. Guided by a dozen young men, they quickly joined the reformist faction.
Taking the tea cup Eymond handed him, Joseph gestured toward the newcomers. “You see, everyone seems to have forgotten that the nobles of the robe are also nobles.”
The so-called nobles of the robe were individuals who had purchased their noble titles. In contrast, hereditary nobles were known as the nobles of the sword.
The latter often looked down on the former as mere upstarts. Most nobles of the robe were not residents of Versailles, so they rarely had the chance to participate in such “collective political activities.”
However, in sheer numbers, they far outstripped the nobles of the sword.
While others overlooked them, Joseph did not. Historically, the core backbone of the French Revolution consisted of this group, whose fighting spirit was formidable.
More than half a month earlier, Joseph had instructed Count Mirabeau to rally the nobles of the robe to prepare for reinforcements at Versailles.
Within an hour, the reformist faction’s forces had swelled to two or three times the size of their opponents, with more arriving by the minute.
Most of these nobles of the robe had experience in law or commerce, making them far superior in rhetoric and agility compared to the old guard of Versailles.
The tide of battle turned instantly. The old-guard nobles were driven back step by step, eventually cornered in a small section of the marble courtyard, pressed against the walls of Versailles, struggling to maintain their position.
When Roul was struck on the forehead by a clump of dirt, grimacing as he withdrew from the fray, the old-guard faction began to collapse.
Within half an hour, only the reformist faction remained in the square. Amid cheers, they surrounded a few leading nobles and marched toward the Trianon Palace to express their unwavering support for Viscount Chantal’s proposal.
This is the political tradition of France—deciding discourse power through turmoil. The French Revolution repeatedly demonstrated this principle.
Clearly, the old-guard nobles had been completely defeated in this skirmish.
Of course, this outcome was largely due to Joseph’s deliberate indulgence. Had the situation taken a different turn, he would have immediately ordered the guards to disperse the nobles.
Unlike Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette, Joseph was not so lenient.
In reality, no matter how boisterous these nobles appeared, a few hundred guards could easily send them scurrying back to their homes.
Outside the gates of the Trianon Palace, Queen Marie Antoinette was astonished by the overwhelming number of supporters advocating the abolition of noble privileges. She hurriedly announced that she would promptly approve the proposal and enact it into law.
The crowd erupted in cheers, bowing and lavishing her with praise such as “Savior of the downtrodden,” “An angel of mercy,” and “The people will forever remember your benevolence,” nearly drowning her in flattery.
That evening, in the Duke of Mouchy’s drawing room on the second floor of Versailles, over a dozen high-ranking nobles gathered in gloom to discuss the day’s events.
“They actually brought so many low-born people into Versailles to create chaos!”
“Yet Her Majesty seems inclined to agree with them, to abolish noble traditions.”
“Their momentum is overwhelming. Even Her Majesty can’t withstand the pressure…”
While these grandees refrained from directly participating in the day’s petitions and confrontations, they closely monitored the developments.
A middle-aged noble remarked, “We need to rally more people to balance the situation!”
“Indeed! I can go to my hometown and mobilize the local nobles…”
The Duke of Duroc shook his head thoughtfully. “No, we can’t compete with the liberals in sheer numbers. All they need to do is give a street speech, and they can gather a thousand supporters.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“We must leverage our strengths.” The Duke of Duroc looked around the room. “Our numbers may be few, but we wield greater influence within Versailles.
“While those people can only petition in the square, our letters can reach the Queen’s desk—or even her tea room for a direct audience!”
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