Then, just as Anne was about to undress for bed, the chief equerry, Béringhen, arrived, acting on Anne’s secret orders. She told him to order the king’s carriages, but, while Mme de Motteville and the other ladies suspected some plan, nobody except Anne was sure what was to happen. The queen then went to bed as usual, while the gates of the palace were closed “under orders not to open them again.”
At three in the morning, Louis and Philippe were roused from their sleep and bundled into the carriages that stood at the garden gate of the Palais-Royal. Anne joined them, accompanied by the maréchal de Villeroy, Villequier, and Guitaut, captains of the royal guards, and Mme de Beauvais, Anne’s chief lady-in-waiting. The carriages slowly made their way through the darkened streets, stopping at a prearranged rendezvous point to await Orléans, Condé, and members of the royal household. Mazarin’s carriage drew up a few minutes later. Gradually, other members of the royal family converged, aroused at the last minute to flee the capital, so surprised by the orders that they carried no provisions with them. So much was at stake and “never was a night, without assault or warfare, more full of horror and anxiety” than the night of January 5, 1649.
The necessity for secrecy meant that no furnishings or linens had been taken to Saint-Germain in readiness for Louis’s arrival. Mazarin had sent two small beds a few days earlier, one each for Louis and Anne, while he slept on a little camp bed; but the rest of the court and their households had to make do with straw, which rapidly “became so scarce at Saint-Germain that none could be bought for money.”
When the people of Paris woke up to find that their king had left, all was despair and confusion. Those who could, left the city and returned to their country estates, others fled to Saint-Germain “to fulfill their duty.” The duchesse de Montpensier noted that the Parisians would let nothing pass through the city gates, so Louis and Anne were deprived of every necessity.21 They endured the hardship for several days until supplies finally came through.
The parlement saw that “visible marks of the royal vengeance were about to fall”22 upon Paris and ordered the burghers to take up arms, while curses rained down upon Louis, Anne, Mazarin, and the princes. However, both Anne and Louis had written letters to the mayor and sheriffs of Paris, who then transmitted them to the parlement. Louis wrote:
Very dear and well-beloved. Being obliged with keen displeasure to leave our good city of Paris this night, in order that we be no longer exposed to the pernicious designs of the officers of our court of parliament, who, having understandings with the enemies of the State, after attacking our authority in various conjunctures and long abusing our kindness, have now conspired to seize our person, we therefore desire, by the advice of our very honored lady and mother, to tell you of our resolution, and order you, as we do hereby expressly, to employ yourselves, in all ways depending upon you, to prevent that anything shall happen in our said city to disturb its peace, or be prejudicial to our service: assuring you, as we hope, that all good burghers and inhabitants therein will continue in the duty of good and faithful subjects as they have until now, and that such will surely receive good and favorable treatment. We shall let you know within a few days the results of our resolution; meanwhile, confiding in your fidelity and your affection to our service, we shall now say nothing further or more expressly.23
It is easy to forget that this confident and authoritative letter was written by an eleven-year-old. Louis made it clear that he had been aware of his imminent departure from Paris, but the event was traumatic all the same. The memory of that night—the fear of discovery, the cold, unprepared rooms at Saint-Germain, the inconvenience and the indignation of having to flee his own capital for the second time—would remain with Louis for the rest of his life. It instilled in him a dislike for Paris and led ultimately to his permanent removal to Versailles.
Of course, the court knew that friends and allies remained in Paris, officials who owed their posts to the crown or who operated under Mazarin’s command. They had no quarrel with the cardinal and had no other desire than for life to return to normal. Moreover, Condé and a large force besieged Paris, although his efforts were resisted by the frondeurs, who mounted a spirited defense, and the vicomte de Turenne, who led an equally large army and threatened to storm the city and lift the siege. However, as well provisioned as they had been, the frondeurs began to run out of food, and, in the face of starvation, military failure, the threat of Spanish intrigues, and a general weariness, the Fronde began to fragment. News of the execution of Charles I in England brought home to many of the moderates the folly of continuing the uprising, and, on April 1, 1649, the Treaty of Rueil was signed. This was celebrated by a Te Deum and a display of fireworks, but it turned out to be nothing more than a truce. The treaty posed so much restriction on the royal authority that the court had no option but to regard it as a temporary measure.
Despite their insistence to the contrary, Anne feared that the frondeurs had wanted to dethrone Louis,24 and she was naturally concerned about the effect the troubles would have on him. Although he had been forced to leave Paris on two occasions, the young king had at least been spared the libels of the authors of the Mazarinades. All that changed in the summer of 1649, when a pamphlet derided Louis and threatened him with the same fate as Charles I. Shortly afterwards, Le Custode du Lit de la Reine was published.25 The title referred to the relationship between Anne and Mazarin, implying that they were lovers and, implicitly, once again raising questions about Louis’s legitimacy; not for the last time would Louis’s middle name, Dieudonné, be used as a weapon against him.26 Anne’s retribution was swift. Since the pamphlet was anonymous, she sued the printer, Morlot, in the court of the Châtelet, and he was sentenced to be hanged. The scaffold was duly erected in the Place de Grève, but as Morlot’s tumbril approached, the crowd surged forward and beat off his escort with sticks. They then tore down the scaffold, broke the hangman’s ladder, and smashed the windows of the nearby Hôtel de Ville for good measure. Morlot, under cover of the frenzy, disappeared into the mob, never to be seen again.27
Although tensions in Paris remained high, councillors meeting at Compiègne urged Anne to return Louis to his capital. She readily agreed in order to “let the enemies of the State see that neither she nor the king feared anything.”28
On August 18, 1649, after more than eight months away, Louis made a magnificent entry into Paris.29 On the plain of Saint-Denis, which was decorated with triumphal arches, Louis was met by his cheering people. The city officials knelt before him and declared their loyalty before escorting him on horseback to the Palais-Royal.30
On the following Saturday, Louis accompanied his mother to Notre-Dame. It was their first visit for many months and the queen’s carriage was besieged by crowds of the king’s subjects anxious to pay their respects, shower them with blessings and beg their forgiveness. Once inside the cathedral, Louis had to be lifted up so he could be shown to his people; delighted, they responded with shouts of “Vive le roi!”31 Mme de Motteville was struck by the “natural impression of fidelity and love in the hearts of subjects towards their king. It is variable and defective, but it always easily returns.”32
Then, on August 25, Louis went on horseback to the Jesuit church of Saint-Louis in the rue Saint-Antoine.33 He “appeared at his best with his beautiful figure and wearing an admirably handsome suit,” said Mme de Motteville, who described the purpose of the visit as “to awaken as much as possible the love of his subjects towards his person.”34 Louis was accompanied by the prince de Condé and his brother, the prince de Conti, while a number of seigneurs followed on behind. The people lining the streets shouted, “Vive le roi!” as the king, his hat in his hand, saluted princesses, ladies, and anyone who appeared at windows or on the specially erected scaffolding.35 Here, at this Jesuit church, Louis gave “thanks to God, who had preserved France from the evils which had seemed to threaten her.”36
Days later, on September 5, 1649, Louis celebrated his eleventh birthday, a
nd the city of Paris marked the occasion with a huge fireworks display in the Place de Grève. Louis accepted an invitation to a grand ball at the Hôtel de Ville, where he danced the first branle with Mademoiselle, his cousin.37 Amid all the beautiful people in their finest gowns, lace ribbons, and glittering jewels, “the good grace, the majestic bearing, and the flair of the king engaged, in all honesty, all the admiration of the company.”38 After the branle, Louis danced with Mme Le Feron,39 who was followed by Laure Mancini, one of the cardinal’s nieces, and several of the queen’s ladies.
A sumptuous collation was served, complete with confections and excellent fruits; and while the fireworks bejewelled the sky,40 the dancing carried on until dawn. Yet, for all the music and laughter, all was not well. Anne had ordered the whole court to attend the fête specifically “to embarrass the painted ladies, some of whom, belonging to the Fronde, displeased her.”41 More than this, she wanted “to avoid all show of fear, on the king’s part, of his subjects so recently repentant.”42
For a while a sense of calm had descended upon Paris, a feeling that life was returning to normal; but it was ephemeral. Condé, who felt he had not been sufficiently rewarded for his services to the court during the Fronde parlementaire, demanded redress. The immense popularity he had enjoyed following his victories at Rocroi and Lens was destroyed by his arrogance, pride, and cruelty.
Condé, supported by his brother, Conti, and their sister, the duchesse de Longueville, agitated to remove Mazarin from power and from France. The new uprising, the Fronde of the Princes, was driven by entirely selfish reasons, albeit concealed beneath a feigned concern for the interests of the people and the state. “An ill-intentioned prince of the blood is always to be dreaded,” said Mme de Motteville, “his name is a great consideration among fractious minds, and he can be the cause at all times of great evils.”43 Now those fractious minds were demanding places in central government, provincial governorships, the restoration of their sinecures and honors. In short, they wanted a return to the old feudal system in which Louis would merely be the first among equals. The activities of the princes and the nobility demonstrated their political incompetence and fully justified the stance of Richelieu and Mazarin, who sought to exclude them from politics.
Most of the princes were influenced by powerful ladies: the coadjutor de Retz and the arch-intriguer, the duchesse de Chevreuse; Beaufort and the duchesse de Montbazon; Condé and the duchesse de Chatillon; Conti and Charlotte de Chevreuse, the beautiful daughter of the duchesse de Chevreuse. More dangerously, Turenne, who with Condé was one of the finest generals France had ever known, was brought into the new Fronde by his mistress, the duchesse de Longueville. In many ways, therefore, the Fronde of the Princes was as much driven by romantic intrigue as politics. Retz also engaged the services of La Rochefoucauld, who knew how to use propaganda for maximum impact.
Facing increasing hostility, Mazarin determined to continue Richelieu’s work, which was to centralize power held by the king to create an absolute monarchy;44 he would eventually be pressured into granting the princes’ demands in a signed declaration, but his acquiescence would be merely a delaying tactic.
Anne, meanwhile, worried about Louis’s religious instruction. She wanted to ensure that he would live up to his titles of His Most Christian Majesty and the Eldest Son of the Church, and on October 28, 1649, she wrote to the Jesuit father Florent de Montmorency, to ask him to recommend a director of conscience for the king. Their choice fell on Père Charles Paulin, who was thrilled to take on so important a post and vowed to form Louis “in all the piety worthy of so great a prince, to sow and develop in him the seeds of royal, or rather divine, virtue.”45
Paulin would use Godeau’s Catechism royal, in which the Catholic concept of the divine right of kings was upheld, teaching that kings were called to priestly office. However, it failed to offer any intellectual discussion of these concepts and gave no indication of how theologians had arrived at them. Louis, notwithstanding his divinely appointed status, knew the practical application of these concepts but would never fully understand their mystical origin.46
Within weeks, Louis was ready for his confirmation, and the Gazette reported that the young king was confirmed on December 8, 1649, by Dominique Séguier, bishop of Meaux, his first almoner. The service took place at the chapel of Mazarin’s Palais-Cardinal in the presence of Louis’s close family, including Condé, and “many other lords and ladies of high condition.”47
The next step was communion. For several weeks, Anne had toured nearby churches to beg for divine favor for Louis as he prepared for the sacrament. Unusually, the service was due to take place during the Christmas Midnight Mass, rather than at Easter. Two reasons have been put forward as to why Louis’s first communion should be different, the first being that Louis’s piety was such that he could not wait until Easter but was impatient to take the sacrament earlier. Alternatively, to bring the celebration forward to Christmas would associate it with the baptism of Clovis, an event remembered with great affection in France and which, according to tradition, had taken place at Christmas. Could the greatest Christian king have a finer example than that of the first Christian king? wondered the Gazette.48
While Louis’s confirmation had been a private, family affair, his first communion would be a public occasion in which his subjects would share. The royal children of France were, after all, “the children of the people of Paris and of the entire nation.”49 With this in mind, the timing of the service was changed from midnight to earlier in the day. Moreover, it would not be held in the chapel of the Palais Cardinal but in Louis’s own parish church, Saint-Eustache.
At ten in the morning of Christmas Eve, Louis made his confession to Père Paulin before entering his carriage, accompanied by Mazarin, Philippe, and his governor, the maréchal de Villeroy. At the entrance to the church, he was supported by the duc de Mercoeur, Villequier, the captain of the guards, and the chief equerry, Béringhen, on one side, and the comte de Saint-Aignan, the marquis de Chapes, and Montglat on the other. Louis was received by the priests, and, carrying the cross and the holy water, he processed to the choir.
The mass was celebrated by Bishop Séguier, after which the altar was prepared for Louis’s first communion.50 The king approached “with humility and zeal,” while Mazarin presented the Gospels for Louis to kiss. Séguier then offered Louis the bread before receiving the golden, lidded cup of wine from the chef de gobelet, which was then offered to the king.
After dining with Mazarin at the Palais Cardinal, Louis and his cortège went to hear vespers at the Jacobins of the rue Saint-Jacques before he joined his mother at the Val-de-Grâce. Louis’s first communion had been a day of piety and celebration, which he had shared with his family and his people, who had lined the streets to see him, despite the Christmas Eve services that were taking place in every parish.
The first week of 1650 saw Louis performing religious duties. On New Year’s Day, he attended services at Notre-Dame before going to the Maison Professe du Jesuits for vespers and a sermon by Père Guiard, Jacobin of the Grand Convent. Two days later, he was to be found at Sainte-Geneviève, where he accepted an invitation to take a collation with the canons following the office. On the fifth, he presented six consecrated loaves to his parish church of Saint-Eustache, which was decorated for the occasion with streamers bearing the king’s arms.51 Louis’s acts of piety were entirely sincere. He was, and always would be, deeply religious and ever mindful of his divine appointment and his relationship with God. This would lead to much self-reflection and inner conflict in the years to come.
Of course, Louis was not only a king but also a young boy overflowing with energy. While the court was staying at Fontainebleau, Louis was getting ready for bed when he decided he would do a hundred jumps and a hundred somersaults on his bed before he climbed in to sleep. On one particularly high jump, he missed his footing as he landed, which caused him to fly off the side of the bed and bang his head on the platform. La
Porte rushed to pick him up and was relieved to find that the king had only a slight injury, having been saved from the worst of the impact by landing on the carpet.52 Needless to say, Louis was banned from turning somersaults ever again, but he loved energetic pastimes, which included playing soldiers in a specially built fort in the gardens of the Palais-Royal.53
In those early days of 1650, when he was not to be found in church, Louis was practising manège, or the art of horsemanship. A special course had been built in the grounds of the Palais-Cardinal, where Louis would tilt at the ring. On this particular occasion, he carried off the ring in five out of seven courses, much to the delight of everyone watching.54
On January 18, 1650, Anne hurried Louis into her oratory, shut the door, and made him kneel down. In the quiet of this sacred space, she explained to the king that she, Mazarin, and the duc d’Orléans had agreed to arrest Condé, who now posed a real danger to the crown. She then ordered Louis to “pray to God with her for the success of the undertaking, the end of which she awaited with much emotion and a beating heart.”55
Condé was arrested as he arrived, so he thought, for a council meeting. At the same time, Conti and the duc de Longueville were taken into custody to prevent their attempting “by a civil war to succor the first.”56 All three were imprisoned in the donjon at Vincennes. The plan, which had been devised under conditions of the utmost secrecy, had been carried out to perfection, and it provided Louis with an indelible lesson in dissimulation. Moreover, since the princes had alienated many of their former friends and supporters in Paris, there was little chance that anyone would come to their rescue. However, they still had loyal supporters in the provinces, where they held governorships and exercised considerable power over the people. As such, Mazarin took Louis on tour of these provinces in order to ensure the support of his subjects.
Louis XIV Page 5