From Velvet Thrones to Gold Toilets: How Trump and King François I Turned Power into Personal Spectacle
-While Ordinary People Paid the Price
I told some of our readers living in Europe that on Friday’s I’m going to tell bedtime stories, so this is one of the first in these Friday night bedtime stories.
Once upon a time there lived an unfair King (Francis I, reigned 1515–1547). His hunting lodge, the Château de Chambord, stands as a monument to this display of royal privilege and excess.
Now close your eyes so you can imagine the setting smack in the middle of the deep dark woods. During the 16th century-mist curling through the trees, the air alive with birdsong and the distant bark of hounds. Into this lush wilderness rode King François I of France, a monarch who loved hunting almost as much as he loved showing the world his power.
But François I did not simply ride out with a handful of friends and a few dogs. No, when the king went hunting, it was as if an entire city was on the move. Hundreds-sometimes thousands-of servants, courtiers, cooks, huntsmen, and guards packed up everything the king might need. Beds and tapestries, silver dishes and goblets, barrels of wine and mountains of food, even the king’s own chair and writing desk-nothing was left behind. The king’s world, in all its glittering comfort, traveled with him.
The centerpiece of these royal excursions was the Château de Chambord, a hunting lodge in name only. With its soaring towers and grand staircases, Chambord looked more like a fairy tale palace than a rustic retreat. It was surrounded by dense forests teeming with deer and wild boar-the perfect stage for the king’s favorite pastime.
When François arrived, the quiet woods came alive. Tents sprang up, fires crackled, and the scent of roasting meat drifted on the wind. Trumpets sounded as the king and his retinue rode out, their horses gleaming, their clothes bright with gold and velvet.
The hunt itself was a spectacle, but so was the feast that followed-tables groaning under the weight of rare delicacies, laughter and music echoing through the halls.
Yet, beyond the walls of Chambord, a very different France existed. While the king and his court reveled in luxury, the ordinary villagers who lived in the shadow of the château struggled to survive. Most were peasants, bound to the land, their lives ruled by the rhythms of planting and harvest. Their homes were small and drafty, their meals simple-mostly bread, with meat a rare treat. Taxes were high and always rising, and what little they had was often taken to pay for the king’s wars and his endless displays of splendor.
For these villagers, the king’s hunting parties were a distant, almost mythical event. They might catch a glimpse of the royal procession or hear the distant horns, but the world of François I was as far removed from theirs as the moon. While the king moved his entire household for a few days of sport, the peasants toiled from dawn to dusk, always one bad harvest away from hunger.
So, in the forests of Chambord, two worlds existed side by side: one of dazzling privilege, where a king could command hundreds to carry his comfort into the wild, and one of quiet struggle, where ordinary people bore the weight of that royal extravagance. And in the stories that have come down to us, the echo of those hunting horns still reminds us of the gulf between them.
Now my little villagers I hope you enjoyed your bedtime story (but before drifting into a deep sleep) please look for parallels in today’s world between this evil King and power structures surrounding us today.
Donald Trump and King François I of France, separated by five centuries, both embody a brand of leadership defined by spectacle, personal power, and a penchant for flaunting privilege-though their methods and contexts differ sharply.
François I ruled France as an absolute monarch, centralizing authority and surrounding himself with loyal courtiers and favorites. His reign was marked by extravagant displays: when he went hunting, he traveled with hundreds of attendants, moving his entire household and furnishings into the forest, turning royal leisure into a public assertion of power and wealth. The king’s court was a center of opulence and patronage, with François dispensing favors, pensions, and access to those in his inner circle. Meanwhile, ordinary French villagers bore the burden of heavy taxation to finance these spectacles, living in poverty and subsistence while the monarchy’s grandeur grew.
Donald Trump, while now the mob-boss of the US kleptocratic system, has shown identical instincts for centralizing power and cultivating loyalty. His administration has been marked by unpredictability, reliance on a close circle of advisors, and a communication style that favors spectacle.
Trump’s recent economic maneuvers-such as imposing and then abruptly proposing to slash tariffs on China, often without clear concessions-have sent markets into turmoil, with moderates and conservatives accusing him of manipulating public perception and even the markets themselves for political and personal gain.
His approach to governance almost always blurs public and private interests, as seen in the launch of his son’s $500,000-a-year private club in Georgetown, where access to power is literally sold to the highest bidder, and in the offering of private presidential audiences to major investors in his cryptocurrency venture, raising constitutional concerns about pay-to-play politics and foreign influence.
Both leaders have used their positions to enrich their own circles and project an image of personal grandeur-François with his traveling court and royal hunts, Trump with gold-plated jets and exclusive clubs. Each has justified their actions as serving the nation’s interests-François through the glory of France, Trump through “America First”-but in practice, both have presided over widening inequality, with ordinary people footing the bill for elite excess.
The core parallel is clear: both Trump and François I wielded spectacle, privilege, and centralized power as tools of rule, at the expense of the broader populace. The difference lies in the trappings-one with velvet and hunting horns, the other with tariffs, tweets, and gold-plated jets-but the underlying dynamic of personal power and public cost remains strikingly similar.
end of segment
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