like women overmuch – except of course his dear Maman Ventadour.
He much preferred the society of men and boys with whom he could hunt and play cards, two pastimes for which he was developing a passion.
‘I shall not have this girl brought to my country,’ he declared.
‘Sire, it is the will of the Council that she shall come.’
‘I am the King.’
‘It is the wish of the people.’
‘Do the wishes of the King never prevail?’
‘A King must consider his people.’
‘But you have always said that I am the King and the people are mine to command. No, Papa Villeroi, I will not have this girl brought to France.’
Villeroi returned, not without some elation, to the Regent.
‘His Majesty will have none of the marriage,’ he told him.
‘His Majesty must be persuaded,’ answered Orléans.
Villeroi put his head on one side and smiled his knowing smile. ‘I know His Majesty as well as any, and there is a streak of obstinacy in his character.’
Old fool, thought Orléans. It is certainly time you went.
He dismissed Villeroi and sent for Fleury. Here was a man worth four of the old Maréchal.
‘The King must be made to agree to this marriage,’ said Orléans.
Fleury nodded. Orléans was right. It was Fleury who in his lucid manner showed the King how foolish it would be to offend the King of Spain, not to trust his Regency who had decided that the marriage would be a good thing, not to accept this young girl who need make no difference to His Majesty’s life for many years to come.
It was Fleury who led a somewhat sullen boy into the Council Chamber.
He came without Blanc et Noir, and his eyes were red from crying. When he was asked if he would agree to the match with Spain he gave them a quiet ‘yes’.
He had lost his kitten, who had strayed out of his life as casually as he had come into it. He could not be found, and the necessity to accept a wife seemed of small consequence compared with the loss of his dear Blanc et Noir.
The pretty five-year-old Infanta had arrived in Paris. She was a charming child and the Parisians were immediately enchanted. To see those two together – handsome auburn-haired Louis and his little pink and white Infanta – would soften the hardest heart, and the people expected them to be seen often together.
So much, thought Louis, was expected of a King. He must have this silly little girl at his side every day; he must hold her hand in his while the people applauded them.
He would let her see though that it was merely because he was forced to do so that he appeared friendly to her. He had not spoken to her since her arrival.
But it was quite impossible to snub the child. She had been told that she was to make a brilliant marriage with the most desirable monarch in the world. She thought he was quite handsome and everything she had heard of him was true. It seemed natural to her then that such a god-like creature should not deign to speak to her.
She herself was delighted with all things French. She would jump and skip about the palace for very joy because, as she would confide in anyone from highest official to humblest lackey, one day she was to marry Louis and be Queen of France.
The arrival of the Infanta was followed by a period of celebrations, and always at the centre of these Louis must be seen, the five-year-old girl at his side.
When she gazed at him in adoration he wanted to tell her that it was due to her that he could no longer hunt as he wished or play cards with his favourite page; every day there must be this endless round of so-called gaiety.
He did not want that. He did not want a wife.
Meekly Maria Anna waited for his favour. It would come to her, she was assured, because she was going to be Queen of France and Louis’ wife. All husbands loved their wives, so Louis must love her one day.
In the meantime she was happy to bask in the caresses of the Court which could not do anything else but pet such a charming little creature –
He much preferred the society of men and boys with whom he could hunt and play cards, two pastimes for which he was developing a passion.
‘I shall not have this girl brought to my country,’ he declared.
‘Sire, it is the will of the Council that she shall come.’
‘I am the King.’
‘It is the wish of the people.’
‘Do the wishes of the King never prevail?’
‘A King must consider his people.’
‘But you have always said that I am the King and the people are mine to command. No, Papa Villeroi, I will not have this girl brought to France.’
Villeroi returned, not without some elation, to the Regent.
‘His Majesty will have none of the marriage,’ he told him.
‘His Majesty must be persuaded,’ answered Orléans.
Villeroi put his head on one side and smiled his knowing smile. ‘I know His Majesty as well as any, and there is a streak of obstinacy in his character.’
Old fool, thought Orléans. It is certainly time you went.
He dismissed Villeroi and sent for Fleury. Here was a man worth four of the old Maréchal.
‘The King must be made to agree to this marriage,’ said Orléans.
Fleury nodded. Orléans was right. It was Fleury who in his lucid manner showed the King how foolish it would be to offend the King of Spain, not to trust his Regency who had decided that the marriage would be a good thing, not to accept this young girl who need make no difference to His Majesty’s life for many years to come.
It was Fleury who led a somewhat sullen boy into the Council Chamber.
He came without Blanc et Noir, and his eyes were red from crying. When he was asked if he would agree to the match with Spain he gave them a quiet ‘yes’.
He had lost his kitten, who had strayed out of his life as casually as he had come into it. He could not be found, and the necessity to accept a wife seemed of small consequence compared with the loss of his dear Blanc et Noir.
The pretty five-year-old Infanta had arrived in Paris. She was a charming child and the Parisians were immediately enchanted. To see those two together – handsome auburn-haired Louis and his little pink and white Infanta – would soften the hardest heart, and the people expected them to be seen often together.
So much, thought Louis, was expected of a King. He must have this silly little girl at his side every day; he must hold her hand in his while the people applauded them.
He would let her see though that it was merely because he was forced to do so that he appeared friendly to her. He had not spoken to her since her arrival.
But it was quite impossible to snub the child. She had been told that she was to make a brilliant marriage with the most desirable monarch in the world. She thought he was quite handsome and everything she had heard of him was true. It seemed natural to her then that such a god-like creature should not deign to speak to her.
She herself was delighted with all things French. She would jump and skip about the palace for very joy because, as she would confide in anyone from highest official to humblest lackey, one day she was to marry Louis and be Queen of France.
The arrival of the Infanta was followed by a period of celebrations, and always at the centre of these Louis must be seen, the five-year-old girl at his side.
When she gazed at him in adoration he wanted to tell her that it was due to her that he could no longer hunt as he wished or play cards with his favourite page; every day there must be this endless round of so-called gaiety.
He did not want that. He did not want a wife.
Meekly Maria Anna waited for his favour. It would come to her, she was assured, because she was going to be Queen of France and Louis’ wife. All husbands loved their wives, so Louis must love her one day.
In the meantime she was happy to bask in the caresses of the Court which could not do anything else but pet such a charming little creature –
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