FRANCE is finally atoning for the savage revenge it took on its ruling class more than two centuries ago, revelling in a new-found affection for the remnants of its aristocracy.

The comeback of the upper class after the bloodbath of the revolution has never been so apparent. From the worlds of politics to entertainment, nobility is suddenly chic and les aristos, as they are known, are inspiring respect.

“In the messed-up world we live in, people are in search of fine values,” said Charlotte de Turckheim, the actress and film director. “Today, aristocrats are seen as the guardians of these values. What people want is a sort of King Arthur figure to guarantee the nobility and morality of our souls.”

Having beheaded their own royals, the French have long been obsessed with the monarchies of other countries, including Britain’s. The focus these days, however, has shifted to home-grown nobility: the French are rediscovering their aristocrats with all the excitement of a family dusting off some long-forgotten asset.

The rising reverence for the aristo has been reflected in a host of sympathetic books and films, among them de Turckheim’s Les Aristos, a comedy about an impoverished noble family struggling to pay a large tax bill that opened in cinemas last week. Palais Royal, another extremely popular recent film, featured Catherine Deneuve as the queen of a fictional east European country.

Some commentators have noticed the trend in the ranks of President Jacques Chirac’s government, which features several aristocrats, among them Gilles de Robien, the education minister, who is a count, and Dominique de Villepin, the poet prime minister, who is not titled but carries a very illustrious name.

At the same time, the aristocracy is branching out from its traditional, land-owning role, having discovered the power of a princely name as a marketing tool. The pioneer in this field was Louis Albert de Broglie, the prince who turned his hobby among the herbaceous borders into a lucrative retail brand called “the Gardening Prince”.

Suddenly, it seems, everybody wants a noble-sounding name and genealogy has become a national passion. Even the country’s most popular news presenter has fallen under the spell. Patrick Poivre won the right to tack “d’Arvor” on to his name — and pass it onto his heirs — in remembrance, he says, of his maternal grandmother. ()

“There are numerous means of making people think that you have blue blood in your veins,” the popular VSD magazine lectured its readers last week in a guide to the most likely places to find the nobles at play. “The simplest way of ennobling yourself is to try to get adopted by an aristocrat with no descendants.”

Failing that, it claimed a British title could be purchased for as little as £20,000.

Given the public’s fascination for aristocrats, the de Turckheim film seems certain to be a box office triumph. “I thought, if people want aristos, I’ll give them aristos,” she said.

De Turckheim, a buxom, blue-eyed blonde, certainly knows her subject: she is a baroness from the Alsace region of France, the setting for the film. In it, she plays Countess Solange Valerand d’Arbac de Neuville.

The family has fallen on hard times: the count is reduced to selling forged antique paintings and furniture to Japanese tourists. The countess sells them paté made out of dog food.

Told that they owe £1.5m in taxes, the family must find a way to make money or see their beloved but decrepit chateau go under the hammer. They try to get a bank loan and cadge money from wealthy relatives but are rebuffed. They try to get jobs, but are unqualified for serious work.

Their eldest son is in love with Pauline, the local postmistress, but as a last resort he agrees to marry an heiress in the interests of saving the family seat.

Love and true nobility win out in the end, however, when he balks at the marriage. The countess then seduces the tax inspector to win a reprieve on the debt while Pauline comes up with another solution: turning the chateau into an aristo theme park. It proves to be an enormous success.

The count and countess, in old-fashioned costumes, spend the rest of their days in bed, nibbling grapes and sipping champagne under the gaze of the tourist hordes.

The finale is evidence of growing nostalgia for the ancien régime which has already resulted in the partial rehabilitation of Marie Antoinette, the queen widely remembered — and wrongly, as it turns out — for saying “Let them eat cake” when the starving masses were banging at the gates of Versailles. Sofia Coppola’s film based on a biography by Lady Antonia Fraser prompted magazine features devoted to her childhood, wardrobe and jewellery.

“Royalty is a subject that arouses a lot of interest,” said de Turckheim. “France was a monarchy for much longer than it has been a republic and something of that remains. It is our greatest heritage.”

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