Виктория Холт - Flaunting, Extravagant Queen

‘It would appear,’ said Turgot, ‘that the rising was by no means a riot of the people, which had come about because the price of bread was so high that they were starving. These riots have been organised with great care.’

The King was not often angry, but now a rage possessed him which was not less fierce because his lethargic nature was so rarely stirred in this way. He was filled with righteous indignation, for he realised that, while he wished to serve his country with all his heart and all the mind of which he was capable, there were enemies in his kingdom who, seeking to destroy him, would make France suffer as she had not suffered for two hundred years.

His righteous anger was so great that it swamped his embarrassment, and in that moment Louis was truly King. He dismissed Lenoir and called the Parlement to Versailles.

When it arrived it was to find a banquet awaiting it, and after the members of the Parlement, somewhat mellowed by good food and wine, were ready to listen to what the King had to say, Louis told them that he was determined to stop the dangerous brigandage which must soon degenerate into revolution. He wanted tribunals set up so that the real culprits might be discovered.

His speech was fluent, and it was as though a new man had taken the place of the old Louis.

‘You have heard my intentions,’ he declared. ‘I forbid you to make any remonstrances on the orders I have given or do anything to counter them. I rely on your fidelity and your submission at a moment when I have resolved to take measures which shall ensure that during my reign I shall never again be obliged to have recourse to them.’

Afterwards Turgot congratulated him, and there was wonder in this statesman’s eyes. Could this be the dull King who always seemed so awkward with his ministers and his courtiers? Could this be Poor Louis, as they had often called him, even as his grandfather had dubbed him Poor Berry?

‘The fact is,’ Louis confided to Turgot, ‘I feel more embarrassed with one man than with fifty. Moreover this I feel so strongly.’

He had need to feel strong when, on the door of his apartment, he found a notice which told him: ‘If the price of bread does not go down and the Ministry is not changed, we will set fire to the four corners of the château.’

On the walls of the château was written: ‘If the price does not go down we will exterminate the King and the whole race of Bourbons.’

The King was more distressed than ever for he knew that his enemies were within the Palace.

He wanted to talk of this with someone whom he could trust. He turned to the Queen, but could he trust her? She would mean no harm but she was too impulsive; she spoke without thinking. No, he could not speak to the Queen.

And thinking of her, he remembered those men whose blood was his blood, his own relations.

Antoinette could not grasp how deeply she had offended Orléans, Condé and Conti, when her brother had been visiting France. Antoinette could never put herself in the place of another. She saw the world through the eyes of Antoinette – a gay and lovely place where everyone should be kind to others and all should realise that nothing was of any great moment compared with enjoyment of the sunny hours.

And thinking thus, Louis remembered Conti, Conti, the most vindictive of them all, Conti who had held aloof from the Court, blaming his gout. Conti, whose house of L’Isle Adam was in Pontoise, that area in which, so it had been discovered, the riots had started.

Conti, the King knew, had speculated heavily in grain, and Turgot’s edict which was calculated to bring down prices – and which would have succeeded but for bad harvest and lack of transport – had been resented by him, Conti, who was hostile to Turgot, hostile to the Queen.

It was alarming. An enemy so close. An enemy in his family. And an enemy who could contemplate the destruction of the monarchy.

Louis trembled. He knew he must act with firmness.

The wig-maker and the gauze-worker were publicly hanged, and the sight of those two men on the gallows brought about a more serious mood among the rioters.

The example had been necessary. Those men who had been paid to begin the Guerre des Farines, and who, when arrested, had been found to have money in their purses, were glad to be released, and keep the peace.

The great turning-point of Louis’ life had come; but he did not know it, and he hesitated. His moment of firm determination was over.

Because of those hideous suspicions which had been aroused in his mind, he was afraid to continue with the enquiry. He was afraid to discover who might be behind this rehearsal for a revolution.

Louis was not the only one whose suspicions had fallen on his cousin. It was being whispered in knowledgeable circles that Conti was deeply involved in the disturbances. Louis was afraid, and he continued to waver.

To Turgot he wrote: ‘The suspicion is dreadful and it is difficult to know what line to take. But unhappily, those who have said this are not the only ones. I hope for the sake of my name that they are only calumniators.’

The riots had subsided with the punishment meted out to the wig-maker and gauze-worker.

Louis’ hour of boldness had passed. He took a definite turning on that day when thankfully he decided to let matters rest because he was afraid whom revelation might expose.

It was a June day, and the citizens of Rheims were eager to show the loyalty they bore towards their King and Queen. Forgotten were the recent riots. Here was pageantry, all that royalty meant to people whose lives were so drab that they rejoiced in those days when the kings and queens came close to them in their brilliant splendour.

On the previous night the Queen, with her brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, had ridden through the moonlit streets while the crowds had cried: ‘Long live the Queen! Long live the royal family!’

This was the day when Louis Seize was to be crowned King of France.

Antoinette was not with him. Louis was anxious to spare his country the expense of a double coronation; he was even anxious to spare the country the expense of his own traditional crowning.

‘I would rather,’ he declared, ‘hold my crown by my people’s love. There is no need for them to swear to serve me. Let them do so only while it is their will that they should.’

Louis in any case hated such ceremonies.

But his desire for privacy and avoidance of expense was overruled. The people wished for the ancient ceremony to be performed.

‘Soon,’ he had said, ‘we shall have further expense with Clothilde’s wedding. Then there will be the lying-in of Thérèse.’

But it was no use. The people demanded to see their King in purple velvet. So Louis must submit, although both he and the Queen had agreed that he only should be crowned.

So the ancient ceremony began that morning with the procession arriving at his bedchamber and the Grand Chorister rapping on the door.

The words were still ringing in Louis’ ears as he rode in his great state carriage to the Cathedral.

‘What is your wish?’

‘I wish for the King.’

‘The King sleeps.’

There followed a repetition of these words three times, when the Bishop replied: ‘We ask for Louis Seize whom God has given us for King.’

So they had led him to his carriage, he feeling gauche in the crimson robes with his mantle of silver and the plumes and diamonds in his cap.

How could he help thinking of those monarchs who had gone before him: Charlemagne, St Louis, Henri Quatre, Louis Quatorze – even his grandfather! How different they must have looked to the people from the fleshly, somewhat sullen-faced man who was now their King.

But, as he knelt before the altar and the robes of royal velvet decorated with golden lilies were laid about him, he was swearing that he would never cease to work for his country, that his aim in life should be to restore France to prosperity, that he would give his life if need be in the service of his country.

He looked up suddenly and saw Antoinette. She was in a gallery close to the altar, and he saw that she was leaning forward and that she was quietly weeping.

He paused and she smiled at him through her tears, while many witnessed their exchange of glances, sensing their emotion and the affection in those looks they gave each other. Some wept, and all applauded, crying: ‘Long live the King and his Queen!’

It was a moving moment, a departure from tradition; and never, it was said, were there a King and Queen so devoted to one another as this King and Queen.

As soon as he was able he joined Antoinette. She held out her hands to him and lifted her face to his.

‘We will always be together,’ said Louis.

She nodded mutely, for she, who was much more easily moved than he was, had at this time nothing to say.

The people were calling for them. They must walk along that gallery which had been erected from the Cathedral to the Archbishop’s Palace.

‘Come,’ said Louis, and he drew her hand through his arm.

Thus they walked, and the crowds on either side of the gallery saw the affection in the King’s face, saw the emotion in the Queen’s.

‘God bless them!’ the cry went up. ‘Long life to Louis and his Queen!’

* * *

Thérèse, Comtesse d’Artois lay back on her pillows; she was exhausted but triumphant. She was the first of the royal wives to give birth to a child.