He was implying that, but for them and their selfish policy, the Queen of France would not now be Marie Leczinska. It was true, thought Marie. Her fairytale marriage had been the result of the determination of two ambitious people to seize power.
Marie laid her hand appealingly on Fleury’s arm.
‘I . . . I find the King grown cold towards me,’ she said.
Fleury looked at her, and there was a mild pity in his eyes. ‘That, Madame.’ he said, ‘I cannot change.’
There was no help from any quarter. Marie could not tell her parents what was happening to her marriage. They believed that the fairytale was going on; they believed in the ‘happy ever after’ ending. It did them no harm and much good to go on believing – for, as in the case of Fleury, they could not make Louis fall in love with her again.
* * *
The Court was waiting. They knew it could not be long delayed, for Fleury was impatient, and Louis was leaning more and more on his counsel.
The people were restive; they showed very plainly that they were dissatisfied with the rule of Monsieur le Duc and his mistress. Every day there were demonstrations in Paris. The heavy taxes must be abolished. Bread must be cheaper. On every occasion the Duc de Bourbon, his mistress, or the Minister of Finance were blamed for this state of affairs.
Suddenly the King seemed to have forgotten his enmity towards the Duc de Bourbon; he took to receiving him more frequently and in the most friendly fashion.
One summer’s day Louis decided to visit Rambouillet that he might hunt for a few days.
The carriage, which was to take him there, arrived and, as he was about to step into it, he saw the Duc de Bourbon among the courtiers.
‘You will join me at Rambouillet,’ he said to Bourbon, smiling affably. ‘Do not be late. We will expect you to supper.’
Bourbon’s face flushed with pleasure; his eyes glinted as he met those of Fleury and his other enemies. See, he seemed to be saying, you thought this was the end of me. You forget I am a Prince of the Royal House – ties of blood bind me to the King. I am not so easily dismissed.
The King’s carriage had rumbled away and Bourbon was preparing to enter his when the Duc de Charost came towards him.
‘Monsieur le Duc,’ he said, ‘I have been commanded by His Majesty to give you this.’
Bourbon stared at the paper in the other’s hand. A terrible suspicion came to him as he took it; that his suspicion was correct was clear to see when his face paled for a second before the blood rushed back into it as he read:
‘I command you, if you will avoid punishment for disobedience, to retire to Chantilly. There you must remain until I give further orders. Louis.’
* * *
This was his lettre de cachet, the dismissal from Court.
It was the first indication of Louis’ methods, of his determination to avoid unpleasantness.
Those who had seen the friendly smile he had bestowed on Bourbon before he stepped into his carriage were astonished that he could have behaved so, knowing that the worst blow which could befall an ambitious man was about to be dealt to the Duc de Bourbon.
* * *
The Queen was distressed.
Her friends dismissed from Court! She felt it would have been disloyal not to plead for them.
The King listened to her coldly. ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘you waste your time.’
‘But Louis . . . these were my friends!’
‘You have acted foolishly in giving your friendship to such people.’
‘But . . . they have been so good to me. When I first came to Court . . .’
‘When you first came to Court you were the Queen. If you had shown that dignity which your rank demanded, you would not have allowed such people to dominate you. You must understand that the Duc de Bourbon is no longer First Minister. I do not think Madame de Prie will be long at Court. And you, Marie, will listen to what Monsieur de Fréjus tells you, for he will make my wishes known to you.’
‘But Louis, surely you will make your wishes known to me.’
He smiled at her, almost tenderly, not because he felt tender towards her but because he could sense her growing hysteria.
He patted her arm. ‘All is well,’ he said. ‘We have rid the Court of those who did harm to the State. The people will be pleased that we have acted firmly.’
Marie controlled her feelings and bowed her head.
Was there no way back to that ecstatic honeymoon?
* * *
Although Fleury was not named First Minister he assumed power. His first acts were to assign Pâris-Duverney to the Bastille and banish Madame de Prie to her castle of Courbépine which was in Normandy. She went, raging against Fleury and her fate.
A Cardinal’s hat arrived from Rome for the Bishop of Fréjus – an additional honour. Fleury had proved that his waiting game had been a successful one.
The people applauded his accession to power, since the first law he made revoked the unpopular tax known as the Cinquantième. They believed that, with the dismissal of Bourbon and his mistress, prosperity would return to France; and the day on which the Duc’s retinue left for Chantilly was one of rejoicing throughout the capital.
* * *
Marie soothed the distress caused by the loss of her husband’s love, with her passion for food. Her appetite astonished everyone; she would sit at table calmly eating, for she let nothing disturb her at meals, and the amount of food she consumed was phenomenal.
There was an occasion when, after having eaten a hundred and eighty oysters and drinking a great quantity of beer, Marie suffered such acute indigestion that it was believed she had contracted a fever.
Louis had been hunting, and had reached the Palace very fatigued and hungry. After consuming a large quantity of figs, walnuts and milk, he too was taken ill.
The rumour spread through Paris. ‘The King and Queen are ill of fever. Both ill! Can it be poison?’ The King however quickly recovered; not so Marie, and her illness lasted for several days.
During that time Louis visited her and, feeling sorry to see her so wretched, he was more affectionate towards her than he had been.
Marie’s spirits rose. She believed then that now the Duc de Bourbon and Madame de Prie were safely exiled and Cardinal Fleury was making the country prosperous again, Louis might forget his disappointment in her.
While Louis was with her it was easy to believe this. Later that year the good news was spread throughout the country; the Queen was pregnant.
* * *
Fleury’s two great desires were to maintain peace and to curb the country’s expenditure. Although he was seventy-two when he came to office his vitality was amazing and he appeared to assume that he had a clear twenty years of good work before him. In the Court he was nicknamed His Eternity.
Having dismissed certain of the Duc de Bourbon’s supporters he chose his own ministers with care, the two chief of whom were Chauvelin, whom he made Keeper of the Seals and Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and Orry, who was created Controller General of Finance. These two men stood firmly behind Fleury, and they made a formidable trio – Fleury shrewd and cautious, Chauvelin possessed of a brilliant wit and a satirical tongue, and Orry a pompous man who could subdue all but the most brave by his frowns.
Fleury knew that he could not have better men to serve him than Maurepas and Saint Florentin, and he retained these two in their respective posts.
Fleury had his enemies who, behind his back, cynically compared him with two other great Cardinals who had ruled France – Richelieu and Mazarin. What a difference! they sneered.
They recalled the magnificence of these Cardinals of the past and the manner in which Fleury lived. It was said that his petit-coucher was the most ridiculous ceremony ever witnessed at Versailles. He would enter his cabinet, about which assembled all those who hoped for favours from the most powerful man in France, and take off his clothes himself; he then folded them as though he must take the utmost care of these s
imple garments; then he put on his old dressing gown and slowly combed his white hair (he did not possess more than four hairs, said the courtiers) while he chatted with those who had come to see him.
He kept a free table, which was necessary to his position, but the same dish was always served at it, and often there was not enough for all those who assembled there. When he was diffidently reproached for this he answered: ‘Silver and gold do not drop from trees as do the leaves in autumn.’
His great plan was to restore good relations between France and Spain, for these had naturally deteriorated greatly since the little Infanta had been sent home in such an insulting manner to make way for Marie Leczinska. He quickly made the Spanish aware that he, Fleury, had had no hand in that disgraceful business.
Louis looked on at the actions of the man who, although he did not the bear the title of First Minister of France, was so in all but name. He felt happy to be able to assure himself that the management of affairs was in such capable hands. With a good conscience he could give himself up to hunting and playing cards.
* * *
It was hot in the bedchamber. Outside the August sun shone down on the people who were waiting for the news. Many had crowded into the Palace, into the Queen’s bedchamber; it was the privilege of the people to witness the birth of royal children.
Louis was deeply moved. This was another new experience. He was about to become a father and he was full of exultation.
He forgot his annoyance with the Queen. Poor Marie, she had been led astray by that scheming woman, Madame de Prie. He should not blame her; she had come to the Court quite inexperienced of such women. Dear Marie! And now she was going to give him and France the heir.
In her bed Marie, suffering the pains of childbirth though she was, felt intensely happy. She was about to prove that she could do her duty by the King and France. His manner had been changing towards her. Eagerly he would talk of the child who was soon to make its appearance.
He referred to the baby as ‘He’.
‘Let the child be a Dauphin,’ she prayed.
She knew that her father and mother, all those who loved her, would be thinking of her at this time. If she could produce a Dauphin she believed she could regain all that ecstasy which had been hers when she first came to France.
‘A Dauphin,’ she whispered, as her women wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘Give me a Dauphin.’
* * *
All over Paris there were celebrations. The fireworks were magnificent; the churches were filled with those who had come to join in the thanksgiving; from the churches the people crowded to the Comédie Française and the Opéra, for on such occasions of rejoicing the actors and management gave the traditional free performances.
The Parisians were ready to take any opportunity for celebration; but the joy was not as wild as it would have been for a Dauphin.
‘Ah, well,’ said the philosophical citizens, ‘they are young yet. Time is before them; and at least she has shown that she is fertile.’
They crowded about the Palace and called for their King. When he appeared on the balcony, a baby on each arm, the crowd roared.
Two baby girls! It was almost as good as a Dauphin; and a Dauphin would come in time.
‘Long live the King!’ cried the people. ‘Long live Mesdames Première et Seconde!’
The cry was taken up all over Paris. Louis, walking up and down the apartment, a little girl on each arm, heard it and smiled at his wife.
‘I think,’ he said to her, ‘that the people are well pleased with Madame Louise-Elisabeth and Madame Anne-Henriette. Did you hear them, Marie? They are calling for another glimpse of Madame Première and Madame Seconde.’
‘You . . . are pleased?’ asked Marie anxiously.
Louis laid one of the babies in her arms and gently touched the cheek of the other.
‘When I look at these two little creatures,’ he said, ‘I would not wish to change them . . . even for a Dauphin. Besides! . . .’ His smile was affectionate. ‘The next will be a Dauphin.’
So Marie was able to close her eyes, to slip into a sleep of exhaustion, utterly contented, believing that the life which lay before her would be made good by her children and her loving husband.
* * *
The Duc de Bourbon was making frantic efforts to return to Court. His punishment had been very severe. The Court had been his life, and to be forced to live in the country without the company of Madame de Prie was hard to bear indeed; but an additional torment had been inflicted. He, whose great delight it had been to hunt, was forbidden to do so.
Bourbon was desolate, ready to humble himself to regain something of his old position. This was what Fleury and the King desired for him; it was gratifying to see the once arrogant Duke made humble.
Bourbon was constantly pleading with nobles of the Court to use their influence to have at least the ban on hunting rescinded, while in Chantilly he raged against his fate and spent his time planning how he could possibly escape this deprivation of all that had given him the greatest pleasure in life.
Eventually he achieved his desires, attaining them through his marriage with Charlotte of Hesse-Rheinfels – which, pleasing the King and Fleury, resulted in his recall to Court.
Madame de Prie was possessed of greater dignity than her lover.
In her Normandy château she attempted to gather about her a circle of wits and writers, and as many courtiers as she could lure from Versailles. She wanted to make her circle renowned and even feared at Court.
Despising the weakness of her lover Bourbon, and realising that he had escaped her, she took a new lover – a young country gentleman of great personal charm.
She was gay and appeared to be in high spirits, but she was thinking only of the Court and yearning to be once more its most brilliant member. She spent her days in planning entertainments, writing letters to her friend, that rake, the Duc de Richelieu, who was away on an embassy in Vienna.
Determined to attract attention to herself she pretended to be a prophetess and foretold her own death, but no one believed her, for she was extremely beautiful, full of vitality and only twenty-seven years old.
‘Nevertheless,’ she declared, ‘my end is near. I sense these things, and I know it.’
She continued to live gaily, adored by her lover, writing her verses and letters, giving one brilliant entertainment after another.
When the day drew near on which she had prophesied she would die, she saw sceptical looks in the eyes of her friends, and decided to give a great banquet three days before the appointed one. It was the most brilliant of all her entertainments. She read her newest verses to her guests and told them that this was a farewell banquet.
Her lover implored her not to joke about such a serious matter, but her answer was to take a diamond ring from her finger and give it to him.
‘It is worth a small fortune,’ she said. ‘It is yours to remember me by. I have other gifts for you, mon ami. Diamonds and other precious stones. They will be of no use to me where I am going.’
Her guests joked with her.
‘Enough of this talk of death,’ they said. ‘You will give many more parties such as this one.’
Her lover tried to give her back the ring, but she would not take it, and two days later she pressed more jewels on him.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘I want you to go away, for I would be alone.’
He had always obeyed her, and he did so now. She smiled at him fondly, as he said: ‘Au revoir, my dearest.’ But she answered ‘Adieu!’
The next day – that which she had named as her last on Earth – she shut herself in her rooms alone and thought of the past: of all the ambition and the glory which was hers no longer and which she knew she could never regain.
She poured herself a glass of wine and slipped into it a dose of poison.
When her servants came into her room they found her, dead.
* * *
Stanislas and his wife came to Versailles from Cham
bord.
The ex-King of Poland embraced his daughter with tears in his eyes. Queen Catherine watched them with restraint; she had never given way to displays of affection as these two had. She believed herself to be more of a realist than her husband and daughter.
Stanislas, his arm about his daughter, had led her to a window seat, and with arms still entwined they sat down.
‘And how is the King feeling towards you now, dearest daughter?’
‘So loving, Father. It is like a second honeymoon.’
The relief of Stanislas was obvious. ‘How glad I am! I have had some anxious moments. At the time of the dismissal of the Duc de Bourbon . . .’
‘I know, Father,’ said Marie. ‘Louis was very angry then.’
‘The whole Court expected him to take a mistress. Yet he did not.’
‘I could not have borne that,’ said Marie sharply.
Her father put his head close to hers and said: ‘Yet, my child, should it come, you must meet it with fortitude.’
His brow was slightly wrinkled; he was aware of his wife; he did not wish her to be reminded of his own peccadilloes, for he himself had found it impossible to live without women. His wife was a prim woman and he feared that Marie – much as he loved her – might be the same.
‘Louis is young and virile,’ murmured Stanislas. ‘Such matters could be unavoidable.’
Marie laughed. ‘I have something to tell you, Father.’
Stanislas took both her hands in his and kissed them. ‘Again?’ he said.
‘Yes, Father, I am already pregnant.’
‘It is excellent news. We will pray that this time it will be a Dauphin.’
‘Louis is enchanted!’ cried Marie.
‘Keep him so, my child. And remember, the more children a Queen bears, the stronger is her position. There must be many children, for children fall an easy prey to sickness. One son . . . two . . . three . . . You cannot have too many.’
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