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Authors: Deborah Cadbury
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When Dr. Locard analyzed the reddish-brown hair taken from Naundorff’s exhumed body, he made a startling discovery. These hairs were quite different from the ones he had examined earlier from Baron de Geniebvre, for they did not show the rare anomaly in the medullary canal found in Louis-Charles’s hair. With this new result, Naundorff’s hair did not match that of the real dauphin. So how could the early tests have given the wrong
result? Castelot knew that Baron de Geniebvre had received these hairs from an ardent Naundorff supporter, Mlle. de La Tour du Pin. He speculated that she had accidentally mixed the Naundorff sample with hair from the real dauphin that she possessed—a mistake done quite genuinely since she believed that Naundorff was Louis XVII.
result? Castelot knew that Baron de Geniebvre had received these hairs from an ardent Naundorff supporter, Mlle. de La Tour du Pin. He speculated that she had accidentally mixed the Naundorff sample with hair from the real dauphin that she possessed—a mistake done quite genuinely since she believed that Naundorff was Louis XVII.
In court, Naundorff’s lawyers argued that these forensic tests did not prove that Naundorff was an impostor. After all, hair could easily have become damaged over time. There were discrepancies, too, in the analysis of the dauphin’s hair: the samples taken in the early 1790s did not match the hairs taken during the autopsy in 1795. Recent studies had shown that the medullary canal can be fragmented and differ from one hair to another on the same person, or even be absent entirely! The forensic examinations of Naundorff’s grave and the exhumations at Sainte-Marguerite cemetery had all produced interesting information, reasoned Maître Chresteil, but none of it provided definitive proof as to the fate of the dauphin.
However, as the trial gathered pace, Maître Garçon and Maître Malzieux, counsel for the Bourbon family, tore into Naundorff’s case. Apart from the lack of forensic evidence to support his claims, the historical evidence, too, was flawed. According to the
Times
on May 21, 1954, Maurice Garçon began by tracing the captivity of Louis-Charles in the Tower and analyzing the inconsistencies in the arguments used to show that the boy who died there in 1795 was a substitute. For example, the guardian, Laurent, had insisted on having an assistant, but surely would not have wished for a witness if he had been planning the prisoner’s escape? As for the child’s solitary confinement, this was not to conceal the fact that he was an impostor, argued Maître Garçon, but merely because the revolutionaries had wished to democratize the wolf cub by making him “forget his family and antecedents.” Regarding his rapid degeneration, “no doctor would support the claim that it was impossible for a relatively healthy child to die of tuberculosis of the bones, after thirty-three months of imprisonment in a cold, damp tower.”
Times
on May 21, 1954, Maurice Garçon began by tracing the captivity of Louis-Charles in the Tower and analyzing the inconsistencies in the arguments used to show that the boy who died there in 1795 was a substitute. For example, the guardian, Laurent, had insisted on having an assistant, but surely would not have wished for a witness if he had been planning the prisoner’s escape? As for the child’s solitary confinement, this was not to conceal the fact that he was an impostor, argued Maître Garçon, but merely because the revolutionaries had wished to democratize the wolf cub by making him “forget his family and antecedents.” Regarding his rapid degeneration, “no doctor would support the claim that it was impossible for a relatively healthy child to die of tuberculosis of the bones, after thirty-three months of imprisonment in a cold, damp tower.”
Then he scrutinized Naundorff’s own characteristics and history. Despite his remarkable physical resemblance to the Bourbons, the pretender had a vaccination scar only on his left arm whereas Louis-Charles was known to
have had scars on both of his arms. Quite apart from this, was it credible, he demanded, that in 1833, after a gap of over nearly forty years, Louis XVII should suddenly reappear in Paris, barely able to speak French? On the contrary, he was a cunning impostor who had duped ardent royalists into giving him their life savings, and had spent three years in prison for counterfeiting money. He had failed, in spite of repeated efforts, to convince his “sister,” who considered his letters “a pack of lies.” As for his death certificate as Louis XVII, this too could be explained. When he had arrived in Holland from England, the police had confiscated his passport because of a mistake at the Dutch consulate in London. When Naundorff died, the police did not want to reveal that they had seized his passport, since this was illegal, and so they had turned a blind eye when he was buried under a false name. His case had already been thrown out twice before by the French courts and was, in short, nothing but a scandal and a fraud that had lasted 150 years!
have had scars on both of his arms. Quite apart from this, was it credible, he demanded, that in 1833, after a gap of over nearly forty years, Louis XVII should suddenly reappear in Paris, barely able to speak French? On the contrary, he was a cunning impostor who had duped ardent royalists into giving him their life savings, and had spent three years in prison for counterfeiting money. He had failed, in spite of repeated efforts, to convince his “sister,” who considered his letters “a pack of lies.” As for his death certificate as Louis XVII, this too could be explained. When he had arrived in Holland from England, the police had confiscated his passport because of a mistake at the Dutch consulate in London. When Naundorff died, the police did not want to reveal that they had seized his passport, since this was illegal, and so they had turned a blind eye when he was buried under a false name. His case had already been thrown out twice before by the French courts and was, in short, nothing but a scandal and a fraud that had lasted 150 years!
On July 7, 1954, after weeks of argument by some of the country’s top lawyers, a packed courtroom waited for the verdict. The court ruled that although the historical record was far from complete, the story usually told in the history books is correct: Louis-Charles did not leave the Tower but died there at the age of ten on June 8, 1795. There was insufficient evidence to support the claim that Karl Wilhelm Naundorff, the watchmaker who died in Delft, was indeed the dauphin. Quite the reverse, he was nothing but a bold adventurer, capable of cunning and deceit on a grand scale. The appeal by the Naundorff family against the 1874 decision was dismissed.
This third court verdict was a crushing blow to the Naundorff family’s hopes. Yet they still refused to accept defeat and remained convinced that the French authorities had deliberately withheld information to prevent the truth about Naundorff’s claim from being established. From Paris they continued to act as though there was no doubt that the blood that flowed through their veins was of the royal line, traced back through the mists of time to French kings of undisputed glory. They persisted in proclaiming their royal identity and publishing documents to support their cause.
As for the remaining Bourbon, Orléans, and Bonaparte princes, as time
progressed it became clear that postwar royalism in France was little more than a fantasy. The Comte de Paris himself, an effete figure at the best of times, became increasingly distanced from the president while desperately trying to maintain his image of the leader of a great royal house, irrespective of the cost. His palaces, his luxurious way of life and the needs of his large family slowly consumed his immense fortune. Gradually, the count realized that his dream of leading France was slipping away from him, and his monthly newsletter, embellished by the
fleur-de-lys,
was finally shut down. By 1967, the count’s political aspirations had become the butt of jokes even for De Gaulle. When he was asked whether the count would make a good president, De Gaulle is alleged to have replied, “Yes … of the Red Cross.”
progressed it became clear that postwar royalism in France was little more than a fantasy. The Comte de Paris himself, an effete figure at the best of times, became increasingly distanced from the president while desperately trying to maintain his image of the leader of a great royal house, irrespective of the cost. His palaces, his luxurious way of life and the needs of his large family slowly consumed his immense fortune. Gradually, the count realized that his dream of leading France was slipping away from him, and his monthly newsletter, embellished by the
fleur-de-lys,
was finally shut down. By 1967, the count’s political aspirations had become the butt of jokes even for De Gaulle. When he was asked whether the count would make a good president, De Gaulle is alleged to have replied, “Yes … of the Red Cross.”
Meanwhile, almost unbelievably, the soil at the cemetery of Sainte-Marguerite was to be turned over yet again as the 1970s brought further investigations at the site. Although the French court had ruled in 1954 that Louis XVII had died in the Temple prison, historical and forensic evidence to support this was still not conclusive. Questions about the 1846 and 1894 exhumations at Sainte-Marguerite remained unanswered. Was the skeleton of the fourteen-year-old boy uncovered in the 1846 and 1894 exhumations a substitute or just the wrong corpse? Why had Louis-Charles’s body still not been found? To try to resolve these issues, in 1970, Michel Fleury, Director of Historic Antiquities of the Île-de-France, obtained permission for yet another excavation at Sainte-Marguerite cemetery.
He undertook a full investigation of the area where the gravedigger, Pierre Bertrancourt, claimed to have reburied the child. Once more, the earth to the left of the chapel door was removed, exposing the foundations. His team painstakingly sifted through the soil, delving much deeper underground than in previous exhumations. They were looking for a ten-year-old male skeleton showing signs of tubercular lesions and with a sawn skull. Yet they failed to find any remains that matched this description. The work continued in 1979 and one skeleton was retrieved: Lot 1, forty-one pieces, which proved by the maturation of the bone to belong to an adult, over eighteen years. Fleury could only conclude that the gravedigger had made
a mistake; boasting or deliberately deceiving his wife and friends—perhaps in the hope of making money.
a mistake; boasting or deliberately deceiving his wife and friends—perhaps in the hope of making money.
His team turned their attention to the common grave, the official burial site of the dauphin. This was difficult to investigate, since a nursery for small children had been built above the grave. Although a few human remains were retrieved near the edge of this site, none of the bones came from a ten-year-old boy buried almost two hundred years previously. After detailed research, Michel Fleury was forced to concede that the body of Louis-Charles could not be found. The earth, which had swallowed the final evidence of his troubled life, remained impenetrable, yielding none of its secrets. The forensic science had drawn a complete blank. The mystery was unlikely to be resolved unless there was some new evidence or an unexpected advance in forensic science.
As for the child’s heart in the crystal urn, this too continued its eventful history. After the July revolution of 1830, it remained with Philippe-Gabriel Pellatan for the next fifty years until his death in 1879. Pellatan’s executor tried once more to return the heart to the royal family and approached the Comte de Chambord, Marie-Thérèse’s nephew, who was still living in exile at the Château de Frohsdorf. After checking on its authenticity, the count did finally agree to accept the heart, but before he could receive it, he too died in 1883.
In Paris, the boy’s heart passed into the hands of a distant relative of Pellatan’s wife: a Monsieur Édouard Dumont. He approached the Spanish Bourbons, since, on the death of Marie-Thérèse’s nephew, many royalists now recognized the duke of Madrid, Don Carlos de Bourbon, as head of the senior branch of the Bourbon family. The duke scrutinized the detailed records of the heart’s history from the Pellatan family and from the archbishop of Paris and finally wrote to Édouard Dumont on June 15, 1895, to confirm his acceptance: “I cannot thank you enough for conserving for my family the heart of my great-uncle, Louis XVII.”
Later that month, a ceremony was held in Édouard Dumont’s house at
Neuilly-sur-Seine to hand over the precious relic to representatives of the Spanish Bourbons. It was quite a gathering: notaries were present to make official records of the transfer, as well as journalists and representatives of the Bourbon and Pellatan families. The ceremony was to take place in front of a portrait of Dr. Pellatan Sr., in recognition of his great struggles to return the heart to the royal family. Édouard Dumont wished him to be present in some way “at the triumph of his actions,” reported the local paper, the
Littoral de la Somme.
After so many years of distrust and neglect, the heart was at last acknowledged, even welcomed by its new owner. “Oh, gentle child’s heart! Sacred heart of a martyr, rest at last close to your own family! Rest in peace, sir, my king!” said Monsieur de Junquière, representative of the Spanish Bourbons, in an emotional speech. He turned to Édouard Dumont, on behalf of the Pellatan family, and said, “You have shown … that throughout all revolutions and years of exile, close to the heart of a real Bourbon, the heart of real France still beats.”
Neuilly-sur-Seine to hand over the precious relic to representatives of the Spanish Bourbons. It was quite a gathering: notaries were present to make official records of the transfer, as well as journalists and representatives of the Bourbon and Pellatan families. The ceremony was to take place in front of a portrait of Dr. Pellatan Sr., in recognition of his great struggles to return the heart to the royal family. Édouard Dumont wished him to be present in some way “at the triumph of his actions,” reported the local paper, the
Littoral de la Somme.
After so many years of distrust and neglect, the heart was at last acknowledged, even welcomed by its new owner. “Oh, gentle child’s heart! Sacred heart of a martyr, rest at last close to your own family! Rest in peace, sir, my king!” said Monsieur de Junquière, representative of the Spanish Bourbons, in an emotional speech. He turned to Édouard Dumont, on behalf of the Pellatan family, and said, “You have shown … that throughout all revolutions and years of exile, close to the heart of a real Bourbon, the heart of real France still beats.”
The duke of Madrid deposited the heart in the chapel of the Château de Frohsdorf in Austria. Here, next to Marie-Thérèse’s treasured mementos, the stool that her father had made and her mother’s lace cap, the heart in the crystal urn was all but forgotten. And there it was to remain, untouched and unseen, for the best part of fifty years, until Europe was transformed once more and Austria became part of the Third Reich.
During World War II, the Château de Frohsdorf was first occupied by the Germans and then on liberation was looted by the Soviet army, who turned it into a military hospital. After the war, Marie-Thérèse’s former home was unrecognizable, having the sad air of something about to be demolished. The chapel was desecrated; it had been used for storage, the stained-glass windows were broken, the marble altar was shattered, and rubbish was piled high. A worn emblem of the crown and
fleur-de-lys
still clung to the doorway, but the child’s heart, which had survived two revolutions, was nowhere in sight.
fleur-de-lys
still clung to the doorway, but the child’s heart, which had survived two revolutions, was nowhere in sight.
RESOLUTION
I do not know whose heart this is, but it is certainly symbolic of children anywhere in the world who have suffered
PRIEST AT THE BASILICA OF SAINT-DENIS,
DECEMBER 15, 1999
DECEMBER 15, 1999
S
ome thirty kilometers east of Brussels, in Belgium, lies the ancient Flemish town of Leuven. It was once part of the empire of Marie-Antoinette’s mother, Maria-Theresa, and the ghosts of the old Habsburg empire still seem to linger in the narrow streets and squares that bear their names; there is even a college named in honor of the Empress Maria-Theresa. Now the charm of the old town, with its shady maze of cobbled streets and tall, narrow, red-tiled houses, each with its profusion of geraniums tumbling precipitously from window ledges and balconies, contrasts with the noisy, almost carnival atmosphere of the market square.
ome thirty kilometers east of Brussels, in Belgium, lies the ancient Flemish town of Leuven. It was once part of the empire of Marie-Antoinette’s mother, Maria-Theresa, and the ghosts of the old Habsburg empire still seem to linger in the narrow streets and squares that bear their names; there is even a college named in honor of the Empress Maria-Theresa. Now the charm of the old town, with its shady maze of cobbled streets and tall, narrow, red-tiled houses, each with its profusion of geraniums tumbling precipitously from window ledges and balconies, contrasts with the noisy, almost carnival atmosphere of the market square.
Away from the excitement of the old city, on the outskirts of town, lies the sprawling, modern campus of the University Hospital, the largest hospital in Belgium. At the top of the hill in a large concrete block is the Center for Human Genetics. Crisscrossed by a series of long corridors, the windows open out onto an endless series of laboratories providing a view of technicians in masks and gowns absorbed in their specialist tasks. At the far end of the building, approached through all this gleaming paraphernalia of late-twentieth-century science, is a bright, airy room overlooking the campus. Outside is a secretary screening the calls; inside, a neat array of
studies, piles of papers, classical music playing softly. It is the office of Professor Jean-Jacques Cassiman.
studies, piles of papers, classical music playing softly. It is the office of Professor Jean-Jacques Cassiman.
Now in his fifties, Cassiman is of medium build, with a thick crop of dark brown hair, tanned face, and watchful dark eyes. As a specialist in genetics, for much of his career he has been in charge of all the molecular diagnostics for the University Hospital. He also leads a research team trying to understand the role of genetic change in life-threatening diseases such as certain cancers and leukemia.
In 1992, Cassiman received a call out of the blue from a Dutch historian who introduced himself as Hans Petrie. Petrie had been intrigued by the Naundorff case for years and was studying it for a thesis at the University of Groningen in Holland. He explained the history of Louis-Charles and wanted Cassiman to use genetic testing to find a solution to the dauphin mystery. From his interpretation of the historical data, he was doubtful that Naundorff could be the prince, and thought that genetic testing would finally settle the issue, one way or another.
By studying the archives, Hans Petrie had traced the very lock of Naundorff’s hair that had been removed from his coffin during his exhumation in 1950. These hairs, he explained to Cassiman, were now stored in a sealed envelope in the archives of the dutch city of Delft. “Could these hairs be compared genetically to those from the dauphin or other members of his family to solve the mystery?” Petrie asked.
Professor Cassiman was only too aware of the advances in genetics over the last fifty years that might make this possible. In 1953, while Naundorff’s descendents were stealing the headlines as they prepared their third attempt to prove their royal pedigree in court, a scientific discovery, barely reported in the press, was to transform twentieth-century science. In the same year, James Watson and Francis Crick at Cambridge University had discovered “the secret of life”: DNA.
It had long been suspected that a substance, invisible to the naked eye yet found in the nucleus of every living cell, called DNA, or deoxyribonucleic acid, was the magical ingredient that could make us all unique, carrying chemical messages of inheritance from generation to generation. Watson
and Crick deciphered the structure of DNA as an elegant double helix made of two spiralling strands of alternating molecules of sugar and phosphate. They showed that the strands are joined, like the steps on a ladder, by molecules known as bases which form a code along the lengths of DNA: A for adenine, T for thymine, G for guanine and C for cytosine. Watson and Crick’s landmark paper in the science journal Nature soon led to a revolution in our understanding of genetics.
and Crick deciphered the structure of DNA as an elegant double helix made of two spiralling strands of alternating molecules of sugar and phosphate. They showed that the strands are joined, like the steps on a ladder, by molecules known as bases which form a code along the lengths of DNA: A for adenine, T for thymine, G for guanine and C for cytosine. Watson and Crick’s landmark paper in the science journal Nature soon led to a revolution in our understanding of genetics.
With the molecular basis of DNA defined, questions inconceivable just a few years before could now be explored. By the late 1970s, advances in genetics were being applied to detect individual variation in DNA, the unique genetic blueprint for each individual. Incredibly, 99.8 percent of a person’s DNA is the same in everyone; this is what makes us human, with the same basic structure of organs and bones, rather than some other creature. However, the remaining fraction of a percent can vary greatly from one person to another. In 1984, Professor Alec Jeffreys at Leicester University developed a method of identifying individual differences in DNA. He discovered that within the highly variable regions of DNA there are repeated sequences of bases, such as ATGATGATGATG and so on. The number of repeats can vary enormously from one individual to the next. He realized that if he could find a way of counting the number of repeats then he would have a unique “genetic signature” for an individual.
He designed a specific DNA “probe” that could attach to these sections of repeated or stuttered DNA. The probes were radioactively labelled so that wherever they bond to the DNA there would be radioactive emissions. This was then exposed to X-ray film to provide an image of this DNA as a series of dark bands, not unlike a supermarket bar code, different for each individual. “It was a eureka moment,” says Jeffreys. “We had a unique ‘DNA fingerprint’ of an individual.”
As news of the breakthrough spread, Jeffreys was approached by the local Leicestershire police who were trying to solve the double murder of two young women. Jeffreys’s team was able to extract a “DNA fingerprint” from a tiny semen sample collected at the crime scene. Blood samples were taken from almost four thousand local men, until finally they found an exact match
to the DNA collected at the crime scene. This led to a successful conviction in 1987 and, within a year, DNA testing was being used in many criminal cases around the world.
to the DNA collected at the crime scene. This led to a successful conviction in 1987 and, within a year, DNA testing was being used in many criminal cases around the world.
Alec Jeffreys went on to develop increasingly sophisticated techniques of DNA fingerprinting and was soon to apply this to solve historical mysteries, notably the case of Dr. Josef Mengele, the Auschwitz “Angel of Death.” Mengele had evaded capture after World War II and escaped to South America until his death in 1979. He was buried as Wolfgang Gerhard, but exhumed six years later. In 1990, Jeffreys extracted trace amounts of DNA from his bone and compared it to DNA from Mengele’s family. The presence of all the paternal bands in his son provided very strong evidence that this was indeed the Nazi war criminal.
The DNA in the Mengele case was successfully extracted from bone that had been buried for six years. In 1992, in an ambitious and high-profile case, this genetic technology was to be applied to solve the mystery of the death of the Russian czar and his family more than seventy years previously. As with the dauphin, this story too was one of royalty imprisoned and in danger, and they too came to a bloody and mysterious end and spawned famous pretenders. The Russians had uncovered nine bodies in a shallow grave near Yekaterinburg in Siberia which matched the description of the Russian royal family murdered by the Bolsheviks in 1918. The bodies showed evidence of a brutal death: bayonet marks and bullet wounds to the skulls, bones crushed and damaged by sulphuric acid. A British forensic team was collaborating with the Russians to carry out forensic tests. They hoped to extract DNA from the bones found in the Siberian grave and compare it to DNA from living descendents of the Russian royal family, including Prince Philip, the duke of Edinburgh, to confirm the identity of the bodies.
By the early 1990s, Professor Cassiman was leading one of the few teams at the forefront of this genetic technology in Europe. “Jeffreys’s work opened the door,” he says. “He established the principle—there are areas of DNA with extreme variation in composition and this can be used to identify individuals.” At the request of the Belgian criminal justice system, Cassiman
had set up a specialist forensic laboratory at Leuven to advise on criminal cases, and his team was also involved in archaeological research into human remains found at a site near Brussels. He was intrigued as Hans Petrie explained the story of the lost dauphin and the pretenders and agreed to take on the case. “It was a scientific challenge,” he says. “We wanted to be able to show whether the Prussian clockmaker was Louis XVII or not.”
had set up a specialist forensic laboratory at Leuven to advise on criminal cases, and his team was also involved in archaeological research into human remains found at a site near Brussels. He was intrigued as Hans Petrie explained the story of the lost dauphin and the pretenders and agreed to take on the case. “It was a scientific challenge,” he says. “We wanted to be able to show whether the Prussian clockmaker was Louis XVII or not.”
Cassiman explained to Petrie that they would stand a greater chance of success if they tried to extract a particular type of DNA known as mitochondrial DNA. This is contained outside the nucleus of each cell, in slender structures known as the mitochondria, the powerhouses of each cell which convert nutrients into energy. Unlike the vast majority of DNA inside the nucleus of the cell which is inherited from both parents, mitochondrial DNA, or mtDNA, is inherited
only
from the mother—the so-called umbilical line passed unchanged from mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and so on. Since mtDNA comes only from the maternal line, genes can be traced over the generations much more easily than genes that may have come from either the mother or father.
only
from the mother—the so-called umbilical line passed unchanged from mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and so on. Since mtDNA comes only from the maternal line, genes can be traced over the generations much more easily than genes that may have come from either the mother or father.
All the mementos lovingly saved by various members of the dauphin’s family in times of crisis now took on a new significance. Invisible to the naked eye, the genetic essence of the maternal line might perhaps be revealed within locks of hair or other relics that had been so carefully treasured. Cassiman was hoping to find samples of hair or bone from Marie-Antoinette or her female relatives, even blood samples from living female Habsburg descendents, to compare to DNA from Naundorff’s hair. If Naundorff was Marie-Antoinette’s son, the mtDNA extracted from his hair should be an exact match to mtDNA from Marie-Antoinette’s line.
In the autumn of 1992, the sealed envelope bearing Naundorff’s hair was duly conveyed to Cassiman’s laboratory in Leuven by the mayor of Delft and other dignitaries from Holland. Before they went ahead with their investigation, they wanted permission from the Naundorff family. There were two lines of descent, headed by different Naundorff-Bourbons. The oldest surviving member of the senior branch of the family, Charles-Louis-Edmund de Bourbon, who was in his seventies, lives out his days in Marly-le-Roi,
near Versailles, firmly in the belief that he is of royal blood. His followers still recognize him as King Charles XII, and, in 1990, founded the Institut Louis XVII in Rue des Moines in Paris to promote the Naundorffist cause. There is also a Dutch-Canadian branch, headed by Charles-Louis de Bourbon, who lives in Ontario, Canada. Both sides of the family were aware that Cassiman could potentially rule out their claim and yet were in full agreement. For Naundorff’s descendents it was a chance, finally, to prove their royal connections. They called Cassiman to confirm that they were happy for the tests to proceed.
near Versailles, firmly in the belief that he is of royal blood. His followers still recognize him as King Charles XII, and, in 1990, founded the Institut Louis XVII in Rue des Moines in Paris to promote the Naundorffist cause. There is also a Dutch-Canadian branch, headed by Charles-Louis de Bourbon, who lives in Ontario, Canada. Both sides of the family were aware that Cassiman could potentially rule out their claim and yet were in full agreement. For Naundorff’s descendents it was a chance, finally, to prove their royal connections. They called Cassiman to confirm that they were happy for the tests to proceed.
In gloved hands in a special laboratory at the Center for Human Genetics dedicated to DNA extraction, the seal on the envelope from Holland was broken. Inside were a handful of red-blond hairs pressed tightly together. All the equipment was sterilized to avoid any contamination; all the chemicals used to remove impurities were specially filtered. To obtain Naundorff’s DNA, the hair shafts had to be dissolved completely. They could extract DNA even from just one hair. “This can give you nanograms of DNA,” said Cassiman. “It’s a little—but just enough.” Gradually the clue to Naundorff’s identity was reduced to a few mere drops of colorless solution in a test tube.
Since the DNA samples were so small, Cassiman used a new technique to amplify the DNA, known as PCR or polymerase chain reaction. Millions of copies of a specific section of DNA can be chemically synthesized in a short time in a small PCR machine. This technique has transformed research with very degraded DNA samples, since tiny sections of DNA can be singled out and copied millions of times to provide a large enough sample for identification.
Although there are sixteen thousand base pairs in the whole of the mitochondrial DNA, Cassiman’s aim was just to isolate a particular region of the mtDNA known as the D loop, comprising 1,100 base pairs. They needed to determine the exact sequence of bases A,C,T,G, and so on, along the length of two specific regions of Naundorff’s mtDNA, known as HVR1, or hypervariable region 1, and HVR2, or hypervariable region 2. This would show the maximum variation from one individual to another.
Once these two sections of mtDNA had been copied millions of times in the presence of labelled nucleotides, they were taken to yet another specialist laboratory to the sequencer, which could read the sequence of bases along the length of the two sections of mtDNA. “You put your samples into the machine and run it on a gel. The laser will detect the type of fluorescence that passes through and give a readout of different colors that correspond to the difference bases,” says Cassiman. If they were successful, the sequence of Naundorff’s mtDNA would finally emerge as a unique sequence of As, Cs, Ts and Gs.
While this research was under way, Cassiman and Petrie had to track down biological samples from Marie-Antoinette or her maternal relatives for comparison. They announced details of the genetic testing in the Dutch and Belgian newspapers in the hope that private collectors might come forward with suitable artifacts or mementos. Some of the responses took them by surprise. One collector arrived with a handkerchief stained with blood—supposedly from Marie-Antoinette herself. The cloth was said to have been soaked in her blood at the time of her execution. “I didn’t think that was likely to be true,” said Cassiman, “so I did not pursue it.”
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