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Authors: Jean Plaidy
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estates at Brie,’ d’Artagnan answered him. ‘There, on the orders of the Duc d’Orléans, you will remain.’
‘I . . . I . . . Governor of the King!’
‘You no longer hold that post, sir.’
‘I’ll not endure this.’
‘There is one other alternative, sir.’
‘And that?
‘The Bastille,’ said the musketeer.
Villeroi sank back against the upholstery. He realised suddenly that he was an old man who had been foolish; and old men could not afford to be foolish. The long battle between the Regent and the King’s Governor was over.
‘Where is Papa Villeroi?’ asked Louis. ‘I have not seen him all day.’
No one knew. They had seen him preparing to call on the Regent that morning, and none had seen him since.
Louis sent for Orléans.
‘The Maréchal is missing,’ he said. ‘I am alarmed for him.’
The Regent smiled suavely. ‘Sire, there is no cause for alarm. Old Papa Villeroi is an old man. He yearns for the peace of the countryside – where he belongs.’
‘He has gone on a holiday! But he did not ask if he might go.’
‘He has gone for a long, long holiday, Sire. And I thought it best that you should not be grieved by sad farewells.’
Louis, looking into his uncle’s face, understood.
Tears came to his eyes; he had loved the old man who had flattered him so blatantly.
But Orléans was embracing him. ‘Dearest Majesty,’ he said, ‘you grow too old for such companionship; you will find the greatest pleasure in life awaiting you.’
Louis turned away. He wept all that night for the loss of poor Papa Villeroi. But he knew it was useless to demand his return. He must wait for that glorious day when it would be his prerogative to command.
There was little time for grief. Life had changed abruptly. Louis had a new Governor, the Duc de Charost; life at Versailles became staid, as it had been during the last years of Louis Quatorze. But the King passed from one ceremony to another.
In the autumn he was crowned at Rheims, and immediately after the coronation there was another ordeal to pass through which was very distasteful to him.
Many had come into Rheims to see the twelve-year-old boy crowned King of France; and among them were the maimed and the suffering. They were encamped in the fields close to the Abbey of Rheims awaiting the arrival of the King. Louis, seeming almost supernaturally beautiful in his coronation robe of cloth of gold, his dark-blue eyes enormous in his rather delicate face, his auburn hair hanging in natural curls over his shoulders, must walk among those sick people; he must stop before each, and no matter if their bodies were covered with sores, he must place the back of his hand on their cheeks and murmur that as the King touched them so might God heal them.
Watching him, the hearts of the sick were uplifted, and emotion ran high in the fields of Rheims. This boy with his glowing health and his beautiful countenance was chosen by Providence, they were sure, to lead France to greatness.
Louis longed to be at peace in Versailles, but before returning there he must be entertained at Villers-Cotterets by the Duc d’Orléans and, because the Bourbon-Condés could never be outshone by the rival house of Orléans, he must be similarly and as lavishly entertained at Chantilly.
Next February the King embarked upon his fourteenth year and he was considered to have reached his majority. More festivities there must be to celebrate his coming of age; and in honour of this was held the lit de justice in the Grande Chambre where he solemnly received the Great Seal from the Regent.
Orléans remained the most important minister in France. It was not forgotten that should the King die without an heir he was next in the line of succession. His greatest rival was the Duc de Bourbon, who yearned to step into his shoes.
Bourbon was far from brilliant. He was thirty-one and his mother was one of the bastards of Louis Quatorze; he could therefore claim to be grandson of
‘I . . . I . . . Governor of the King!’
‘You no longer hold that post, sir.’
‘I’ll not endure this.’
‘There is one other alternative, sir.’
‘And that?
‘The Bastille,’ said the musketeer.
Villeroi sank back against the upholstery. He realised suddenly that he was an old man who had been foolish; and old men could not afford to be foolish. The long battle between the Regent and the King’s Governor was over.
‘Where is Papa Villeroi?’ asked Louis. ‘I have not seen him all day.’
No one knew. They had seen him preparing to call on the Regent that morning, and none had seen him since.
Louis sent for Orléans.
‘The Maréchal is missing,’ he said. ‘I am alarmed for him.’
The Regent smiled suavely. ‘Sire, there is no cause for alarm. Old Papa Villeroi is an old man. He yearns for the peace of the countryside – where he belongs.’
‘He has gone on a holiday! But he did not ask if he might go.’
‘He has gone for a long, long holiday, Sire. And I thought it best that you should not be grieved by sad farewells.’
Louis, looking into his uncle’s face, understood.
Tears came to his eyes; he had loved the old man who had flattered him so blatantly.
But Orléans was embracing him. ‘Dearest Majesty,’ he said, ‘you grow too old for such companionship; you will find the greatest pleasure in life awaiting you.’
Louis turned away. He wept all that night for the loss of poor Papa Villeroi. But he knew it was useless to demand his return. He must wait for that glorious day when it would be his prerogative to command.
There was little time for grief. Life had changed abruptly. Louis had a new Governor, the Duc de Charost; life at Versailles became staid, as it had been during the last years of Louis Quatorze. But the King passed from one ceremony to another.
In the autumn he was crowned at Rheims, and immediately after the coronation there was another ordeal to pass through which was very distasteful to him.
Many had come into Rheims to see the twelve-year-old boy crowned King of France; and among them were the maimed and the suffering. They were encamped in the fields close to the Abbey of Rheims awaiting the arrival of the King. Louis, seeming almost supernaturally beautiful in his coronation robe of cloth of gold, his dark-blue eyes enormous in his rather delicate face, his auburn hair hanging in natural curls over his shoulders, must walk among those sick people; he must stop before each, and no matter if their bodies were covered with sores, he must place the back of his hand on their cheeks and murmur that as the King touched them so might God heal them.
Watching him, the hearts of the sick were uplifted, and emotion ran high in the fields of Rheims. This boy with his glowing health and his beautiful countenance was chosen by Providence, they were sure, to lead France to greatness.
Louis longed to be at peace in Versailles, but before returning there he must be entertained at Villers-Cotterets by the Duc d’Orléans and, because the Bourbon-Condés could never be outshone by the rival house of Orléans, he must be similarly and as lavishly entertained at Chantilly.
Next February the King embarked upon his fourteenth year and he was considered to have reached his majority. More festivities there must be to celebrate his coming of age; and in honour of this was held the lit de justice in the Grande Chambre where he solemnly received the Great Seal from the Regent.
Orléans remained the most important minister in France. It was not forgotten that should the King die without an heir he was next in the line of succession. His greatest rival was the Duc de Bourbon, who yearned to step into his shoes.
Bourbon was far from brilliant. He was thirty-one and his mother was one of the bastards of Louis Quatorze; he could therefore claim to be grandson of
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