France’s loudest July 14 since 1789—and that’s saying something
Every July 14, someone dusts off their beret, misquotes Les Misérables, and chirps “Happy Bastille Day!” with a croissant in one hand and a glass of Cabernet in the other. But what the hell are we actually raising a toast to?
Short version: In 1789, a very cranky crowd in Paris stormed the Bastille—a medieval fortress that doubled as a royal prison and general house of bad vibes. At the time, it held just seven inmates (and no, none of them were political martyrs or tragic poets—unless you count the guy who thought he was Julius Caesar).
The real target wasn’t the prisoners, it was the idea: the monarchy was bloated, broke, and out of touch, and the people were out of bread and patience.
Cue the revolution. Heads would soon roll. Literally. Enter the guillotine—a sleek, Enlightenment-era gadget designed to separate body and soul with scientific precision and democratic flair.
Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t invented by a bloodthirsty maniac, but by a physician named Dr. Joseph-Ignace Guillotin, who—head rolling fact—actually hoped it would be a more humane form of execution. (Spoiler: it worked a little too well.)
So why all the fuss today?
Bastille Day—La Fête Nationale—is France’s biggest public holiday. It features military parades, fireworks, presidential speeches, accordion music, and enough wine to float the French navy. Think of it as the Fourth of July but with better cheese and more philosophically justified beheadings. It’s not about violence—it’s about revolution, baby.
It’s a day to remember when the little guys knocked over the big guys, burned the playbook, and rewrote the rules. It didn’t end perfectly (see: Robespierre, Reign of Terror, and that whole “Napoleon crowned himself” thing), but for one brief moment, the people had the power. So yeah—eat your croissant, drink your Alsace white, and give a subtle nod to Dr. Guillotin. He never wanted to be famous. He just wanted cleaner executions. Vive la révolution—and pass the Bordeaux.
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It worked on Louis XVI. |
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