Louis the Well-Beloved

by Jean Plaidy

  He explained his predicament. ‘The Queen is involved,’ he said. ‘Monsieur le Duc is First Minister. Monsieur de Fleury is merely my tutor.’

  ‘But, Sire,’ cried Mortemart, ‘it would seem unimportant that Monsieur le Duc is First Minister and Monsieur de Fleury merely your tutor. You are the King.’

  Mortemart was one of those astute courtiers who recognised the superior powers of Fleury, and was therefore ready to back the tutor against the First Minister.

  ‘Were you in my place, what would you do?’ asked Louis.

  ‘I should order Monsieur de Fleury to return at once. I should . . . I think I should, Sire, command Monsieur le Duc to write to him asking him to return.’

  Louis smiled slowly. ‘And I think,’ he said, ‘that I like your advice.’

  Marie was frightened. Fleury was now back at Court, and the King outwardly showed his affection for the old man while the coldness of his manner towards the Duc and his mistress was apparent.

  That was not all. The King’s attitude had changed towards Marie. Often she would find him looking at her critically, as though he were discovering certain facts about her which he had not noticed before.

  Marie knew that she was not beautiful; she had always understood that she was somewhat plain, before Louis had assured her to the contrary.

  He still spent his nights with her, leaving the state bedroom after the ceremonial coucher, his valet de chambre carrying his sword and setting it beside the bed before he helped Louis discard dressing gown and slippers. But a change had crept into their lovemaking. Louis was still overwhelmed by the act of love; yet it was as though he had made a further discovery. It was the act itself which appealed to him; his excitement had little to do with the woman who shared in it. It was his youth, his inexperience, his sudden awakening to manhood which had deluded him.

  A coldness had crept into his passion. It terrified the Queen.

  Fleury would not be satisfied until he had rid the Court of his enemies. He did not wish to include the Queen among these for naturally he could not rid the Court of her. He thought her a foolish woman to cling so stupidly to the Duc de Bourbon’s faction when any sensible person would have known that it was in decline.

  It was not that they had any affection for her. They were using her now as they had used her from the beginning; and she, poor fool, seemed unable to see it.

  There was no need, Fleury decided, to try to ingratiate himself with the Queen. At one time he had thought she might be an influence at the Court; now it was clear that she never would be. Louis was turning from her; very shortly there would be a mistress. Fleury hoped there would not be one only. A necessary evil, he decided, but less dangerous in the plural than in the singular.

  He was exerting all his efforts to oust Bourbon from Court. The time had come for him to take the helm, now that he had proof that the King was loyal to him. The sooner Bourbon, Pâris-Duverney and Madame de Prie were relegated to obscurity the better.

  Marie asked the advice of the old Maréchal Villars whom she believed she could trust.

  ‘The king once loved me,’ she said, her voice breaking in a sob. ‘I fear he no longer does.’

  The old Maréchal looked at her sadly. ‘It is clear, Madame,’ he said, ‘that the King’s feelings towards you have changed. You should not appear sullen because of this, but remember that there are many watchful women of the Court who are looking for an opportunity which could well arise out of such a situation.’

  The frightened Queen could not resist the temptation to appeal to Fleury himself.

  ‘Madame,’ the Bishop reproved her, ‘you so clearly support those who do not please the King.’

  ‘You mean Monsieur le Duc and Madame de Prie?’

  ‘Those two and Monsieur Pâris-Duverney.’

  ‘But what have they done? Why should I suddenly cease to feel affection for my friends?’ wailed Marie.

  ‘Pâris-Duverney has lowered the value of money. His laws have made chaos in the factories. The Duc and his mistress are completely egotistical. They do not seek to bring prosperity to France but to themselves.’

  ‘How could I turn against them when they have been my friends?’

  Fleury smiled wanly. ‘They may have been friends to you once, Madame,’ he said; ‘but they are so no longer.’

  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 simple 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.

&n
bsp; ‘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.