Виктория Холт - Louis the Well-Beloved

* * *

Louis wept bitterly. His genial Uncle Philippe . . . dead! Life was too cruel. He had been taken from Madame de Ventadour; Papa Villeroi had been torn from him, and now Uncle Philippe was dead. There was only one to whom he could turn: Fleury. His tutor now occupied first place in his affections; and Fleury was there to comfort and advise.

The shrewd Bishop of Fréjus was determined one day to be France’s Premier Minister, but he was clever enough to see that the time had not yet come. He would wait until an occasion arose when he would have the King solidly behind him, and when the King’s support would count for something.

At the present time he would have too many against him if he stepped forward into the position he coveted. He summed up the qualities of the Duc de Bourbon who, he guessed, would immediately do his utmost to step into the place vacated by Orléans, and decided Bourbon was no very formidable rival.

Let Bourbon take the place he coveted; let him hold it . . . for a while, until the time was ripe for Fleury, Bishop of Fréjus, to become the power behind the throne.

Bourbon lost no time in coming forward, prodded as he was by his indefatigable and most ambitious mistress. The Duc de Chartres (now Orléans), but twenty years of age and devoted to theology, was not a suitable person for the post, he declared; therefore, as Prince of the Blood Royal who had, he was always ready to point out, family connexion with great Henri Quatre, it was for him to step into the breach.

Would the King accept him?

The King, mourning his beloved Uncle Philippe and prompted by Fleury, gave the required answer.

* * *

The most important lady of the Court was now Madame de Prie. Gaily she gave herself to the task of governing France.

She realised however that her favours came from her lover, and was determined that he should not marry a lady who was as eager for power as herself; so her first task was to find a suitable wife for him. She should be the most insignificant woman in the world.

She confided her plans to her lover, who was so besottedly enamoured of her that he agreed with all she suggested.

‘Will you marry the lady I have found for you?’ she asked him.

‘If you command it,’ he told her.

‘Then prepare yourself – for I have found her.’

‘Pray tell me her name.’

‘It is Marie Leczinska, daughter of Stanislas.’

‘What! The exiled King of Poland?’

‘Exactly. Why should you not have a King’s daughter? As an exile he will be glad of any match. She is very plain, but I shall be there to compensate you for that.’

‘You have enough beauty to satisfy any man,’ he told her.

‘That is why you shall have the plainest wife in the world.’ Bourbon grimaced.

‘Plain, homely, humble, she will be delighted to marry a royal Bourbon. She is exactly the wife I have been seeking for you. She will never interfere with us. Is that not what we seek?’

‘It is.’

‘You may leave it to me,’ Madame de Prie told him. ‘I shall see that a marriage is arranged.’

* * *

In the scandal which ended in the dismissal of the Duc de la Tremouille, Bourbon forgot his suggested marriage with the King of Poland’s daughter. The Duc de la Tremouille was the leader of a little group of young men which included the Duc d’Epernon, son of the Comtesse de Toulouse, the young Duc de Gesvres, and another boy who, although only fifteen, was already a secretary of state. This last was de Maurepas – far more clever than any of the others but, because he was not of such high birth, less prominent.

Fleury, anxious that Louis should not become interested in women, had encouraged the King’s friendship with these young men, not at first realising that in their languorous habits, their fondness for lying about on cushions, doing a little fine embroidery, talking scandal and eating innumerable sweetmeats, lay danger.

The Court was horrified. Was Louis to become another Henri Trois to be ruled by his mignons? Louis was fourteen – strong and healthy, apart from those occasional bouts of fever which seemed to attack him from time to time; he was capable of begetting children. What was the Duc de Bourbon thinking of, what was Fleury thinking of, to allow such dangers to come within the range of the King?

Bourbon acted promptly. He ordered de la Tremouille’s guardian to get the young man married and remove him from Court; so the little coterie was scattered.

Louis allowed them to go without comment. He was now becoming accustomed to losing his friends.

Shortly after the dismissal of de la Tremouille Louis became ill with fever, and once more alarm spread through Paris.

When Madame de Prie heard the news she hurried to her lover.

‘What will happen to us if the King dies?’ she demanded.

Bourbon regarded her in perplexity.

‘I will explain,’ said the strong-minded woman. ‘Young Orléans will take the throne. Then, Monsieur le Duc, you will be dismissed from your office.’

Bourbon nodded. ‘The King must not die,’ he declared.

‘Indeed not! And there must be no more shocks such as this.’

‘How can we prevent his taking these fevers?’

‘We cannot. Therefore he must produce an heir to the throne. If he died then, you would still continue in your position.’

‘But the Infanta is only a child. There can be no heir for years.’

‘Not if he is going to wait for the Infanta.’

‘But indeed he must wait for the Infanta. How else?’

‘By taking another wife, of course.’

‘He is betrothed to the Infanta.’

‘A child of eight! It is quite ridiculous. That boy has become a man, I tell you. What is going to happen if you keep him unmarried? There will be a mistress before long. A mistress! Imagine that. How many ambitious women do you think there are in this Court simply waiting to leap into his bed? And then, what of us? Or what if he should have a friend . . . a mignon like de la Tremouille? The position would be the same. We are here, my dear friend, at the head of affairs. We must not be so foolish as to allow others to push us aside.’

‘But an heir . . . it is impossible!’

‘Nothing is impossible if we decide otherwise. The King must be provided with a wife, and that silly little child sent back where she belongs – to her own country.’

‘You would make war with Spain!’

‘Bah! Does Spain want war with France? France and Spain . . . are they not both ruled by Bourbon Kings? No! A little coolness perhaps. But what of that? It will be forgotten, and we shall make our little King a husband and get the heir we need.’

‘But . . .’ stammered Bourbon . . . ‘how can we do this?’

She smiled and, putting her hands on his shoulders, drew him to her and kissed him. ‘First,’ she said, ‘we will have the people talking. That is always the way to get delicate matters started. Oh, the people of Paris! How they love their little King! You will see, in a very short time you will hear them saying that our King is a man, that were he married to a woman of his age there would be a Dauphin of France by now. Wait, my darling. You have but to leave this little matter in my hands.’

‘You are not only the most desirable woman in France,’ murmured the Duc, ‘you are possessed of genius.’

* * *

Tears streamed down the fat pink cheeks of Maria Anna as her carriage rolled southwards.

Louis had not said goodbye to her. She had not known at first that she was being sent away. She had merely thought that she was going on a visit.

Now she had been told. ‘You are going home. Will that not be delightful? You will see your dear family; and how much more pleasant it will be to live in your own country!’

‘Is Louis coming?’ she had asked.

‘No. Louis must stay in France. You see, he is the King.’

‘But I am to be the Queen.’

‘Perhaps of some other country, eh, my little one?’

Then she had understood, and she could not speak for crying. Ever since that day at the firework display, when he had spoken to her, she had always believed that one day he would love her. He had spoken to her several times since then – not much, but when she had said to him it was a fine day he had agreed, and she adored him.

But it was all over. She was no longer the affianced bride of the beautiful King of France.

So, though she stared at the French countryside, the little Infanta was aware of nothing but her own grief.

* * *

Madame de Prie laughed when she heard of the reactions of Philip V.

‘He is so furious,’ declared Bourbon, ‘that he is ready to go to war. He declares that he will not allow his daughter to be so insulted.’

‘Let us not concern ourselves with him.’

‘He is sending back the Regent’s daughter, widow of Luis.’

Madame de Prie snapped her fingers. ‘That for the Regent’s daughter! Let her come back. We will accept her in exchange for their silly little Infanta. Come, we must find Louis a wife quickly.’

The persistent Madame de Prie had already made a list of ninety-nine names; among these were the fifteen- and thirteen-year-old daughters of the Prince of Wales – Anne and Amelia Sophia Eleanor.

Bourbon hesitated over these two before he said: ‘But they are Protestants! The French would never accept a Protestant Queen.’

Even Madame de Prie was ready to concede that he was right on that point.

‘There is young Elizabeth of Russia . . .’ she began; then she stopped.

She must be very careful in this choice of a bride for the King. If a dominating woman were chosen, all her efforts would be in vain. Who knew what influence a wife might not wield over one as young and impressionable as the King.

Then she turned to her lover, her eyes shining.

She said slowly: ‘When I was searching for a bride for you I selected the most humble woman I could find.’

‘Marie Leczinska,’ said Bourbon.

‘My friend,’ cried Madame de Prie, ‘I am going to ask you to relinquish your bride. The King shall have her instead.’

‘Impossible!’ murmured Bourbon; but a light of excitement had begun to shine in his eyes.

‘Have I not told you that nothing shall be impossible?’

‘The people will never accept her.’

She threw herself into his arms. She was laughing so much that he believed she was on the verge of hysteria.

‘I have decided,’ she said. ‘I swear that in a very short time Marie Leczinska shall be Queen of France.’

It was quiet in the sewing-room of the Wissembourg house. Mother and daughter stitched diligently; they were both working on a gown of the daughter’s, which caused them many a grimace, for the gown should by now have been consigned to the rag-bag or at least to a lower servant.

How tired I am, thought the ex-Queen of Poland, of living in such poverty!

The younger woman had not the same regrets, for she could not remember anything but a life of exile and poverty. She had been mending her clothes and getting the last weeks of wear out of them for the greater part of her life.

‘Perhaps,’ sighed the Queen, ‘our luck will change one day.’

‘Do you think my father will be recalled to Poland?’

Queen Catherine laughed bitterly. ‘I see no reason whatsoever why he should be.’

‘Then,’ said Marie Leczinska, ‘how could it change?’

‘Your father hopes you will make a good marriage.’

‘I?’ Marie laughed and, as she stared at the garment in her hand, a flush touched her cheeks. ‘What chance of making a brilliant marriage has a penniless Princess, daughter of an exiled King, without dowry, without grace, without beauty?’

‘Marie Leczinska, do not say such things.’

Marie knew that her mother was really angry when she called her Marie Leczinska; for in the heart of the family she was affectionately called by her nickname Maruchna.

‘Should not one say what is true?’ she asked quietly.

‘Many less beautiful than you have made grand marriages.’

‘What use to delude ourselves?’ demanded Marie. ‘I have not forgotten the words of Anne of Bavaria when she heard that there were plans to marry me to the Duc de Bourbon.’

‘These Bourbons!’ cried Queen Catherine. ‘They have too grand an opinion of themselves. Anne of Bavaria, Princess Palatine, does not forget that she was the widow of a Condé – and, so, thought her grandson too good for you. She forgets that the Condés are not what they were in France since the death of the great Condé.’