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Three women sat in chairs of equal height atop the raised dais. The king’s throne sat behind them, broken and toppled. The women wore knee-length black dresses with white aprons and white ribbon headbands. Two bright torches stood on either side of the women, offering some of the only light in the darkened evening hall of Versailles. No moonlight shone through the boarded up windows.
“Andre De La Marck.” The woman in the center of the dias spoke in a loud accusing tone that filled the massive chamber. “You are accused of fondling the behind of my colleague Josephine and calling her demeaning epithets. How do you plead?”
She addressed the noble standing below her. His hands were bound behind him. Another maid and a butler held him firmly by the upper arms.
“This trial is a sham!” shouted the noble. “The Third Estate has no jurisdiction over us!”
“Guilty,” said the woman on the left side of the dias.
“Guilty,” said the woman on the right.
“Guilty,” said the woman in the center. “Put him with the others.”
The noble was roughly taken to the back of the chamber, where hundreds of nobles stood, some gagged. All were surrounded by dozens of maids and other servants of Versailles, each wielding swords or muskets.
Another nobleman was dragged before the three judges. He had a full head of bright blonde hair and looked utterly incensed. The judge on the left bit her lip and furrowed her brow.
“Manon de Rieuz. You are accused of impregnating my colleague and personal friend Annabelle.” The judge in the center nodded to the judge on the left.
“Despite great personal reticence on her part, I may add,” said the left judge through gritted teeth.
The center judge nodded. “And on top of that, you failed to offer even token assistance in regards to the care of the resulting child. How do you plead?”
“I’ll kill you for this, Annabelle,” spat the man. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll kill you.”
The left judge sneered. “You’re welcome to try. I vote guilty.”
“Guilty,” said the right judge.
“Guilty,” said the center judge.
The man was dragged away. He snarled and yelled until a maid ran up from behind and gagged him with a leather strap.
A meek, older man with grey hair walked to his place before the judges. His guard stood closely behind him, but unlike the others he didn’t need to be dragged.
“Curtis de Noailles,” said the center judge. “Unlike nearly all of your fellow defendants, we cannot find a single staff member who can testify that you subjected them to personal abuse. This is relatively commendable.”
The old man blinked and looked up. Hope brightened his face.
“You still stand accused, however, of the crime of inaction. How many times did you stand by silently while one of your fellow nobles abused a servant of Versailles? We have testimony of at least six occasions.”
The man’s face lowered. He said nothing.
“Guilty,” said the left judge.
“Guilty,” said the right judge.
“Guilty,” said the center judge.
The man walked to the back of the hall and joined the other nobles.
The crowd of defendants had been reduced to just one man. He walked with a proud demeanor, adamantly refusing to be dragged before his judges.
“Louis.” The judge made a show of checking her notes. “The fourteenth. Your reputation precedes you, unfortunately. Will female members of Versailles’ servants who have suffered abuse at the hand or word of the king raise their hand?”
All three judges raised their hands.
Dozens of hands went up around the hall.
“It might actually be more expedient,” said the center judge, “for all those who haven’t suffered such abuse to raise their hands.”
All hands went down throughout the hall.
One small, shaking hand lifted into the air. The judges looked at the woman raising her hand almost quizzically.
“I, uh, only started here a week ago,” she said in a small voice.” “I haven’t met the king yet.”
The center judge nodded. “I don’t think a plea is necessary. Guilty.”
“Guilty,” said the left and right judges in unison.
“You women are standing against your king, chosen by God,” said the defendant. “You will be damned for this.”
“Perhaps,” said the center judge. “That’s a risk we’ll have to take, I suppose.”
The king was led to the back of the hall with the rest of the second estate.
The judges watched as most of the doors out of the hall were nailed shut. The trial was nearly finished. All that was left was carrying out the sentence.
The judges left through the remaining open door, carrying their torches with them. The rest of the servants soon followed, ignoring the disgruntled cries and confusion of the nobles. The door was sealed behind them.
It didn’t take long to set up wood and tinder around the walls of the main palace of Versailles. It took even less time for the flames to consume the building, a titanic monument to the ego of its monarch and the product of decades of labor and wasted resources.
The judges shed no tears as the screams of the second estate rang out through the night. They shed no tears when the screams finally stopped.