My curiosity piqued my interest. So, I began frantically researching various historical sources.
Step One: Sorting Out the Disorganized Accounts
First, of course, I looked at Wikipedia. There was a short sentence that roughly said, "Excuse me, sir. I didn't mean it."
Sounds a bit strange, doesn't it? People usually portray her as a luxurious, frivolous, and detached queen, yet she would apologize for stepping on the executioner's foot at that moment?
To find out, I spent Tuesday night on a French history forum, sipping coffee after coffee. I saw people discussing eyewitness testimony, and the accounts were completely inconsistent. Some simply said, "Don't take it too seriously; those records might be unreliable."
At this point, I suddenly thought of a British historian friend. At two in the morning, I texted him directly, asking, "What did she actually say?" His response was simple: "The most credible version is—'Sir, I beg your pardon.'" In other words, she politely apologized after accidentally bumping into the executioner.
Hmm, it does sound a bit anticlimactic, lacking any earth-shattering historical quotes.
Step Two: Reviewing Source Materials
Early Wednesday morning, I went to the local university library, specifically searching for source materials on the French Revolution. I stumbled across a dusty biography by Henri Sanson, the great-grandson of the executioner. His family had kept the executioner's notebooks.
I flipped through page after page, my fingers white with wear. Finally, I found the relevant record—the note read, "She had a brief conversation with my ancestor... Her words were an apology for her clumsy movements."
So, that's the truth?
No passionate speech?
No roars cursing the revolution?
Just a polite apology?
This, in turn, made me feel particularly humane at that moment. Even knowing she was about to die, she instinctively said "I'm sorry" for bumping into someone. However, some have questioned whether this was a customary aristocratic gesture at the time—a proper etiquette for facing the executioner.
Step 3: Experience it for Yourself
Last night, I couldn't sleep, my mind filled with images of the Place de la Revolution in Paris on October 16, 1793. So I paced the kitchen in my slippers, pretending it was the guillotine. I tripped over my cat and blurted out, "I'm sorry."https://fairytales.cc/marie-anttoinette-death-story-her-last-words-before-execution/
At that moment, I realized that perhaps this was a conditioned reflex—even in the final moments of life, humans retain some small habits of courtesy.
What This Incident Reflected on Me
I had originally assumed that Marie Antoinette would leave behind some meaningful "last words," perhaps a critique of the revolution, a reflection on her life, or at least a few memorable quotes. But the truth is, she likely just whispered an awkward apology. That's truer than any flowery rhetoric.
In that cold, bloody moment in history, the brutality of revolution and the most common courtesy of humanity unexpectedly collided. This contrast is more heartbreaking than any legend.
Thinking of this, I feel like laughing—maybe tomorrow I'll bake a croissant and pretend I'm in Versailles in my kitchen. History never follows the script we imagine.