Louis the Well-Beloved (17 page)

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.

‘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 Chambord.

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.’