“The King’s bed unmade!” murmured the guide. “What will Monsieur the Director say? I’ll lose my job!”
“Oh!” one of us whispered, pointing to one of the people putting the monarch’s bedclothes in order. “There’s Molière.”
It was, indeed Molière; there was no doubt about it. He resembled his well-known portraits.
“Yes,” a gentleman said to us, smoothing back the curls of his wig, “Sieur Poquelin de Molière is in service as valet de chambre. This Poquelin has a certain talent for farce and comedy, and His Majesty does him the honor of amusing himself occasionally at his plays…hum! It’s very indulgent of him, for this Molière is hardly respectful!”
Meanwhile, His Majesty had sat down with two or three individuals at a sumptuously-laid table in front of the large window. The other members of the audience formed a circle and looked on respectfully as the august monarch gave proof of his royal appetite.
“His Majesty has deigned to dine with Monsieur Colbert, his minister, and the Maréchal de Turenne,” said the obliging lord who had just spoken to us about Molière. “His Majesty is demonstrating his satisfaction with the Maréchal’s last campaign...”
Colbert! The great Turenne! Now, in fact, we recognized the severe face of the minister and the final martial features of the Maréchal. It was no illusion; the great Turenne, victor of so many battles, was before us in the flesh.
Our aristocratic individual in the periwig made light of our astonishment and continued in a low tone. “I see that you’ve come to Court for the first time; your costume is unfamiliar to me, and you’ve doubtless come by coach from some distant province. I’m His Majesty’s Chamberlain, and I can give you all the information you desire on the people and customs of Versailles…”
“A thousand thanks,” I said to the Chamberlain. “I don’t want to put you to too much trouble… I seem to recognize almost all the faces in the illustrious assembly now. That lord with the proud manner is…”
“It’s the great Condé!” said the Chamberlain. “He’s chatting with the Marquis de Louvois and Monsieur de Vauban, the grand-master of he kingdom’s fortifications… To the side, that’s Monsieur de Tourville, Amiral of the King’s fleet, Monsieur de Vivonne, the Gneral of the galleys and Monsieur Duquesne…”
Jean Bart came to join the group. The Chamberlain had no need to name him; we recognized him by his proud bearing, and his manners—those of a seaman unused to Court etiquette.
We had arrived at the limit of amazement, and were no longer able to say a word while the chamberlain continued to list the great names of the great century.
I looked for Célestin Marjolet; he had not met us but he had to be there. Suddenly, we caught sight of him behind a group at the back of the room. Unlike the others, he had no periwig, no sword, no lace; he was dressed in a modern black suit with a white cravat and an opera hat under his arm—and had a very respectful manner too.
“Isn’t that man from your province?” asked the Chamberlain, who had followed our gaze. “His costume bears some resemblance to yours. He’s a savant named Marjolet, who asked for an audience in order to talk to His Majesty about some novelties and marvelous inventions, which he described—but His Majesty’s apothecary, who is a great expert in all the sciences, told me that it’s stuff and nonsense, dangerous to the health…”
Louis XIV had finished his breakfast; he stood up and looked around at the crowd of courtiers with the clear and tranquil gaze of a master. The courtiers bowed, all of them hoping for the favor of a particular word, but Louis seemed to be looking for someone. We hid ourselves as best we could, but Louis’ gaze fell upon us nevertheless and manifested an astonishment that His Royal Majesty quickly suppressed.
Colbert made a sign and the brilliant circle of great lords immediately stood aside to let our friend Célestin Marjolet pass. His manner was serious but he was entirely at ease. Without saying a word he came forward and bowed to the King.
“Sire,” said Colbert, “Monsieur Marjolet has solicited the honor of entertaining Your Majesty with certain discoveries and new inventions with which other savants following in his footsteps, his colleagues, are destined veritably to change the faced of the world…”
Louis’ august eyebrow arched. “Is the world not good enough as it is?” he asked.
“To transform the habits and ameliorate the general conditions of life,” said Célestin Marjolet.
“All for the greater progress of the peoples and wealth at Your Majesty’s service,” Colbert hastened to say. “Monsieur Marjolet has shown me some of these novelties, and I thought that it was my duty to examine the assertions of this man of science with the utmost care.”
At a gesture from the King, Célestin began to speak. We could not hear him very clearly; the circle of courtiers had tightened around the royal group, and we humble folk, not daring to mingle our simple jackets with the embroidered doublets of all those illustrious lords, remained discreetly in the back row.
Besides, we were plunged into such amazement that we scarcely had the strength to pinch one another to assure ourselves that we were not dreaming. One of us even pinched so hard that a little squeal was emitted within our group, which made the Lord Chamberlain turn a severe eye upon us. Unconsciously, we edged towards the door, ready to escape if we committed any further breaches of etiquette.
Célestin was still talking, replying to Colbert’s questions; we also hear the King’s voice, which seemed to be giving orders—but a heavy tread in the antechamber, accompanied by the clink of weapons, caused all heads to turn. Chamberlains rushed to the door, and we went out with them.
“Go on,” said Louis’ imperious voice to our friend Célestin Marjolet.
III. The Great King’s Court in an Omnibus.
What a sight greeted us in the antechamber! Four exceedingly modern young soldiers in red trousers, commanded by a corporal and guided by the château’s warden, were involved in an altercation with other soldiers clad in 17th century uniform: the yellow jerkins and blue hose of Louis the Great’s personal guards.
Soldiers of the line and guardsmen, each party as astonished as the other, were looking at one another in stupefaction, the gazes of the troopers taking in the guardsmen’s swords, their embroidered bandoliers bearing cartridge-cases, powder-horns and pulvérin,4 and their lace cravats and ruffed sleeves, while the guardsmen’s eyes were drawn to Lebel rifles, cartridge-boxes and bayonets.
Needless to say, the dashing guardsmen could not help curling their lips expressively at the sight of army boots and coarse cloth tunics. The warden and the Swiss with the halberd, an important person, were exchanging words angrily; it was evident that things are getting heated.
“But what are you doing here in my museum?” demanded the warden. “And when are you going to leave?”
The Swiss rolled his eyes, astounded by the audacity of this man who dared to raise his voice in the King’s antechamber. “Scoundrel!” he cried. “Peasant! Bumpkin! You want a taste of the Bastille, it seems! That won’t take long! Guardsmen, take this man away, I beg you!”
“Put this man under arrest!” said the warden to the corporal in red trousers, pointing at the Swiss.
What would happen? The soldiers of the line were advancing, and the guardsmen, for their part, were already reaching for the warden’s collar—but a number of aristocrats, drawn by the noise, appeared at that moment. Monsieur de Turenne himself was among them, and compelled everyone to fall silent with a single glance.
“Monsieur le Maréchal,” said the Swiss, “it’s this peasant…”
At the word Maréchal the infantrymen immediately formed a line and presented arms. The frightened corporal went as red as his trousers. Meanwhile, Monsieur de Turenne gazed with visible astonishment at the uniforms and weapons that he did not recognize.
“What is this?” he said, turning towards a young gentleman in military uniform who was accompanying him. “Have they changed the troopers’ uniform during our campaign?”
“Not so far as I’m aware, Monsieur le Maréchal,” the gentleman replied.
“Where are you from, young man?” the Maréchal demanded of the corporal.
“I’m from Noyon, Maréchal,” stammered the corporal, executing a military salute.
“A Picard regiment, then? This new uniform lacks elegance somewhat, but it’s very military and seems suitable to me. And that musket? Let’s see that musket.”
“It’s not a musket, Maréchal, it’s a Lebel…”
Monsieur de Turenne took the rifle and attempted to cock it; his face briefly expressed a profound amazement. “What changes have taken place during our campaign!” he said. “I don’t know this mechanism. It must be a trial model…”
“Adopted, Maréchal—a repeater, 15 rounds a minute…”
The Maréchal did not ask anything further; he hurried back towards the royal chamber, doubtless to ask for explanations, while the warden, reverting to his plan, raised his voice again.
“Corporal, carry out my order—arrest this…”
The Maréchal turned round and made a sign to the soldiers.
The corporal put his hand on the warden’s collar. “The Maréchal’s giving the orders!” cried the soldier. “You’re trying to be clever, aren’t you? Getting us involved in reckless stupidities, when the Maréchal could have us banged up. It’s you I’m arresting. One, two, my good man!” And the poor warden went away crestfallen, flanked by four soldiers, while the guardsmen installed themselves on the benches at the back of the antechamber and the triumphant Swiss proudly took up his halberd.
The chamber door opened wide; we heard the voice of a chamberlain calling for the King’s coaches.
Louis XIV came out; we looked at one another. Where were the Sun King’s coaches? At the Trianon, or Cluny? Perhaps nowhere. But Célestin Marjolet hastened to speak.
“Sire,” he said, “I wonder if Your Majesty would like to take advantage of an entirely new form of locomotion, which will doubtless surprise him, but whose advantages he will appreciate…”
We did not hear everything he went on to say. A slight agitation was manifest; people were arguing. I recognized the voices of Monsieur Colbert and Monsieur de Turenne. Eventually, the King deigned to acquiesce to our friend’s suggestion, and it appeared to us that the Court was bound for Paris.
My God! What sort of transport was the audacious Célestin Marjolet about to offer all these noble personages? Was he expecting the Sun King to get into a tram?
We soon found out. Seeing all the courtiers preparing to depart, we ran down the staircase to arrive before them at the bottom step of the Marble Courtyard.
Ranged in front of the colonnade were dozens of tricycles and four of those immense omnibuses that carry English tourists around Paris.
Tricycles! Omnibuses! What would Louis’ courtiers say? Might not those august eyebrows frown of their own accord?
Célestin, opera-hat in hand, came down in front of the King. A number of ladies had joined the procession—ladies of the Court of the Sun King before our astounded eyes, princesses and duchesses who seemed to have emerged from the frames of the paintings that ornamented the corridors of the Palace! We immediately recognized Madame de Sévigné, the great letter-writer of the great century, among them.
Meanwhile, the King and his Court were studying the tricycles attentively.
“Must I wait?” said the King, severely. “These carriages are not hitched up.”
“You said that everything was ready,” Colbert said to Célestin Marjolet. “Where, Monsieur, are the horses?”
“There are no horses,” said Marjolet. “It’s the traveler who propels the vehicle by moving the pedals… This is the carriage of the future. It makes costly stables unnecessary; its advantages include lightness, speed, economy…”
“Economy?” said Colbert, interestedly.
“Were you able to imagine, Monsieur,” declared the King, “that I would get into that carriage, in order to serve as my own coachman and my own horse?”
The courtiers raised a murmur of disapproval, looking at the audacious and disrespectful scientist severely.
“No, Sire,” cried Marjolet. “These vehicles are for the members of the Court who wish to try them out; I have carriages for Your Majesty.”
As no one seemed inclined to try out such a novel form of locomotion, though, Célestin had to set an example by getting a tricycle moving before a few people decided to imitate him. The Sun King having paused to smile, the smile convinced other courtiers, and a few ladies to join them on the tricycles.
“My God,” said Madame de Sévigné, climbing on to the pillion of a noble duke. “This invention seems delightful to me. I must remember to mention it to Madame de Grignan.”5
Colbert was moved to take Monsieur de Turenne’s arm by the sight of an extremely fat lord perched on a tricycle, breathing heavily and wearing himself out trying to impress the monarch.
“Look at that, Monsieur le Maréchal,” said Colbert. “Could we not mount our cavalry regiments in this manner—our light cavalry, at least? We’d save a lot on fodder!”
The great Turenne burst out laughing. “If that’s all your savant has to show us, it seems to me he’s wasting the King’s time!”
Meanwhile, the King and his entire Court were installing themselves in the omnibuses. They were a trifle cramped. No one dared complain, but the coaches were missed. Only two men took exception right away—the painter Lebrun and the architect Mansard, who were being shown into the last omnibus with a few men of letters and lords of little importance.
“These coaches are very unstylish,” moaned Lebrun. “They aren’t even gilded.”
“It’s too much!” said the architect. “Several changes have been carried out to my Palace of Versailles without my being consulted. Am I in disgrace, then?”
The friends of Célestin Marjolet were piling into this last omnibus. Beside us we had Boileau, who was constantly reciting verses; Molière, the great comedian, who was in a rather bad temper that day; Racine; La Fontaine the fabulist, a very distraught fellow who had come to Court to reclaim a position in the superintendency of Champagne, from which he had been retired because he had forgotten to take it up ten years before; and finally, a gentlemen who told us that he was the celebrated Vatel, the Prince de Condé’s cook, summoned by his master for the preparation of an official feast in honor of the King.
IV. His Majesty experiences
some astonishment on the Versailles road.
The cortège set off. The tricycles went on ahead and waited for the omnibuses in front of the statue of the King on horseback. Louis had the carriages stop here and questioned Mansard, pointing at the statues. He seemed satisfied with his equestrian effigy—a surprise that someone had obviously prepared for him, by way of delicate flattery—but what did all the other statues distributed around the courtyard signify?
“Bayard, Duguesclin, Sully, very good! You’ve had yourself put up there too, Colbert… hum! But those: Masséna, Jourdain, Lannes, Mortier? Who the Devil are they?”
Mansard, who had got down from our omnibus, bowed to the royal omnibus without making any response.
“Generals, evidently,” Turenne answered, “but I don’t know them any more than Your Majesty…”
“You take the liberty,” cried the King, turning towards Louvois, “of sending the commander-in-chief of your armies generals that I do not know? Monsieur Mansard, you will prepare me a report on the changes made to my Château de Versailles, and you, Monsieur Louvois, will inform me at this evening’s Council of State regarding the services of these generals that I do not know.”
The cortège got under way again. As it passed through the château’s main gate, trumpets were heard and a platoon of the 8th Cuirassiers, after saluting with their sabers, took up position trotting behind the last omnibus.
Louis XIV had another surprise on seeing these cuirassiers; we saw him lean towards Monsieur de Turenne, who was equally
astonished. The arrival of the cuirassiers to escort the Sun King surprised us too, but what had happened was that the warden, having been placed under arrest on the order of Monsieur de Turenne, had been able to alert the château’s curator. The curator had only understood one thing in the warden’s confused report: that a Maréchal had come to visit the château, with some people of distinction. In response to an instruction sent to the barracks, a guard of honor had come to wait for the Maréchal at the gate.
What astonishments awaited the Sun King on the road! In the beginning, the sensibility of his dignity prevented him from manifesting his continually increasing surprise, except by slight movements of his eyebrows and his wig, but in the end, he could no longer restrain himself and summoned Célestin Marjolet—the only man able to enlighten him regarding the prodigious changes he observed on all sides—to sit beside him. Such an infraction of etiquette almost caused the master of ceremonies to faint; but this great favor raised my friend considerably in the esteem of the courtiers.
The cortège encountered numerous pedestrians, including a military band, two parties of schoolchildren on day trips, four wedding parties and a dozen groups of English tourists on omnibus excursions. Bewildered looks were exchanged on both sides. The ladies of the Court studied the costumes and asked us questions, while the omnibuses moderated their speed slightly, in order to permit the King a better view of various objects of interest.
“Has this transformation been brought about by waving a magic wand?” said Madame de Sévigné. “The world has been turned upside-down since yesterday. The Parisians will take us for people from Monomotapa!6 No more hoop petticoats! No more coiffures à la Fontanges! Look at those ladies over there, who are certainly women of quality, but have no pages to carry their trains!”
The Clock of the Centuries Page 3
