The next day, June 22, Louis, “showing his grief publicly,”36 accompanied Marie and her sisters to their carriage. Their parting was made less bitter by a promise Louis had extracted from Mazarin that he would be permitted to see Marie again on his journey south.37 Nevertheless, as Louis closed the coach door, he whispered a few words in Marie’s ear, at which she threw herself back into her seat, sobbing, “Ah! I am abandoned!”
As the carriage bearing his love drew away, Louis hurriedly took leave of his mother and rode out to Chantilly, where, it was expected, he would recover his strength. Here, Louis “found it in his reason, in his sound nature, and in a soul such as his, to which God had given the loftiness necessary to a great king.”38 From Chantilly, he went on to Fontainebleau, from where he bombarded Marie with a constant stream of letters. Mazarin, who had now joined his nieces for part of their journey, worried about the king’s behavior, which was in danger of causing a scandal. It was already being talked about as far away as Flanders and Germany, and the cardinal, terrified the news would reach Madrid, wrote to Louis begging him to break off his correspondence with Marie; Louis had no intention of doing so.
The first meeting between Mazarin and Don Luis de Haro, the Spanish first minister, took place on August 13, 1659; they would not conclude until November 7, after a total of twenty-four difficult conferences. The price of peace included the restoration of the prince de Condé. Spain was keen to reward their ally, while France, not surprisingly, wanted to punish him for his treachery. In the end, France agreed to pardon Condé and to reinstate his titles and lands; his offices were also restored, with the exception of the governorship of Guyenne.39
Agreement was reached regarding territorial settlements, with Spain ceding several strategically important towns along France’s vulnerable northeastern and eastern borders. In return, France surrendered all its conquests and promised not to support Cromwell or the king of Portugal.40
Then there was the question of Maria Teresa’s place in the Spanish succession. Although this problem had apparently been solved by the birth of her half brother, Philip Prospero, the boy was sickly, and many did not expect him to live. Philip IV wanted his daughter to renounce her rights to the Spanish throne, a clause that was accepted by Mazarin, who nevertheless demanded an exception to certain Spanish holdings in the Low Countries.
Linked to the succession clause was the Infanta’s dowry. This was set at 500 thousand écus d’or,41 a massive sum that was to be paid in three installments, the first of which would become due upon the consummation of the marriage. The Spanish crown, however, was known to be impoverished, notwithstanding its treasures taken from the New World, and so a small word was slipped into the marriage contract—moyennant, which stipulated that on condition that the agreed sums were paid to Louis, Maria Teresa would remain “content with the dowry and would not sue for any of her other rights.”42 In other words, should the dowry not be paid, the renunciation clause would be invalidated.
As the talks were beginning, Louis and the court began the journey to the Spanish border. It was to be slow progress, with the court making several stops on the way. Blois, southwest of Fontainebleau on the Loire, was the home of Gaston d’Orléans, who served the court dinner and entertained Louis, but the visit was awkward, the food ordinary, and Louis was in a hurry to leave. The one highlight came when Louis was received by Gaston’s daughters from his second marriage, one of whom, Marguerite-Louise, had once been considered as his future queen. Standing behind the Orléans ladies was a timid sixteen-year-old girl whose stepfather was attached to Gaston’s household; Louise de La Vallière went unnoticed by all.
Another stop was Saint-Jean-d’Angély, to the east of Brouage, where Louis had arranged a very special rendezvous. Marie Mancini and her sisters travelled to meet the king, who had solicited from Mazarin a reluctant promise that he could speak once more to his mistress. Louis begged Marie to forgive him for “all that she had suffered for his sake,”43 promising to do all he could to obtain permission for her and her sisters to rejoin the court at Bordeaux. In the event, Anne replied that she would give her consent willingly provided the cardinal agreed. Marie knew that her uncle would never allow it, but Louis asked her to try to conciliate the cardinal, since doing so appeared to be the only way of ending her exile. There followed a tearful good-bye as Louis tore himself away to continue his journey.
Louis appointed the maréchal de Gramont to represent him at Madrid and officially to ask for the hand of the Infanta on his behalf. Gramont carried a letter from Louis to Maria Teresa, asking:
very humbly to give your consent, and to consider the matter solely as a step necessary for the welfare of our respective States, but, regarding me a little as a person keenly desirous of your friendship and esteem, to do me the favor of consulting your heart to some extent. You will find me ever ready to honor and respect you, and to show you by all my actions how solicitous I am that you shall never repent of the choice which it has pleased you to make.44
January 1660 saw Louis travelling in the south of France, and it was at Aix-en-Provence that Condé returned to the court. Kneeling before Louis, he declared his extreme sadness for having, for so many years, acted in a manner disagreeable to His Majesty and how he wished to buy back with the best part of my blood, “all the trouble he had caused within and outside France.” Louis forgave his cousin and promised to forget all that had passed, adding that he would keep Condé in his good graces.45 The reconciliation with Condé and news of the death of Gaston d’Orléans the following month lifted the shadow of civil disturbances that had threatened Louis’s reign.
Louis’s progress took him through the Pyrenees and on to Saint-Jean-de-Luz, where he arrived on May 8, 1660. Agreements had been reached the previous November, but there were still small details to be finalized, and when they were completed, Louis and Maria Teresa were married by proxy at Fuenterrabía on June 3. All eyes were on the Infanta, whose beautiful, clear white complexion was greatly admired, as were her blue eyes. Her hair, though, was hidden beneath a monos, or false hair, and covered with a white cap that wrapped her head. Her dress, made of white stuff embroidered with talc46 and worn over a guard-infanta,47 was unanimously considered horrible by the French ladies. The Infanta also wore precious stones set in a great deal of gold.
The ceremony, led by the bishop of Pamplona, began with low mass, after which the proxy deed was read out aloud, upon which the bishop immediately married the couple. When the time came for the Infanta to say yes, she made a deep curtsey to her father and pronounced the word modestly. The second time she said it, though, was much louder, and with the ceremony now at an end, she knelt before her father, who kissed her tenderly and raised her with tears in his eyes.48
After dinner, Mme de Motteville, curious to see the new queen’s own hair, asked her to show it to her. Maria Teresa was happy to oblige, and she removed her monos to reveal a luxurious silver blond mane.
The next day, the French court played host to the Spanish at Saint-Jean-de-Luz. Anne, now the queen mother, met her brother for the first time in forty-six years. Strict Spanish protocol got in the way of human feeling, and when Anne attempted to kiss Philip, he drew back, so that they held each other by the arms. There was no such restraint with the two queens, aunt and niece, who embraced each other tenderly, while Maria Teresa was presented with jewels, sent to her by Louis as a wedding present.49
The conversation between Anne and Philip opened with talk of the war, with Anne lamenting its duration. “Alas, madame, the devil made me do it,” explained Philip, observing that as things stood now, they would soon have grandchildren. Anne told him she would prefer “a son for the king, rather than a wife for the prince my nephew.”50
Mazarin, who had been talking with Don Luis de Haro, approached Anne and Philip with the news that an unknown gentleman was waiting at the door, asking to have it opened. Anne, with Philip’s consent, ordered the cardinal to allow the stranger to be seen. The stranger was, of cour
se, Louis. He was supposed to have shown himself on horseback to Maria Teresa through the windows of the room in which they sat. Instead, he had been unable to resist coming to the door in person. Anne blushed slightly at the sight of her son, but the young queen blushed even more as she watched him intently. The smiling King Philip told Anne that he had a lindo hierno, a handsome son-in-law.51
Anne wanted to ask Maria Teresa what she thought of this stranger, but King Philip told her, “It is not the time to tell it.”
“And when may she tell it?” Anne inquired.
“When she has passed that door,” said Philip.
Philip turned to Maria Teresa and asked in a low voice, “What does Your Majesty think about that door?”
The young queen laughed and answered, “That door seems to me very handsome and very good.”52
As Louis withdrew, he confided to Conti and Turenne that he had been surprised by the ugliness of Maria Teresa’s clothes and headdress, but when he looked at her intently, “he saw that she had much beauty, and was well assured that it would be easy for him to love her.” He then went to take up position on the riverbank so he could watch his queen embark. All the way he was pressed on all sides by Spanish dignitaries, all eager to get a look at him, while his own guards mingled with their Spanish counterparts to give their blessings. As Maria Teresa’s boat sailed by, Louis rode gallantly along the riverbank, hat in hand, to follow it. Three days later, on June 6, Louis and King Philip met on the Ile de Faisans to take the oath that secured peace between their two countries.
The wedding of Louis XIV and Maria Teresa took place on Wednesday, June 9. Louis wore a black costume and no jewels.53 Maria Teresa wore her own hair, left loose and flowing. It was so abundant that the duchesse de Navailles54 had difficulty fixing the closed crown on her head. In the end, the crown had to be held in place by ribbons tied under the queen’s chin. Maria Teresa wore a sleeved bodice and petticoat skirts, dotted with little fleur-de-lis beneath royal robes powdered with golden fleur-de-lis, which fell to the ground with a very long train, rounded at the end.
The church was richly decorated, and a dais of velvet powdered with fleur-de-lis had been erected especially for the ceremony. As Louis and Maria Teresa sat under the marriage canopy, Mazarin gave them the pax to kiss. The service was conducted by the bishop of Bayonne. When it ended, the young queen went to rest for a while, but when she returned, she was dressed à la Française, and her hair, which so fascinated the French ladies, was beautifully dressed. After spending a little time alone with her aunt, Queen Anne, Marie-Thérèse, as she would henceforth be known, went with Anne and their ladies to show themselves to the people and to watch as Louis threw golden coins, which had been specially minted for the occasion, to the waiting crowds.
As darkness fell, Louis and Marie-Thérèse dined in public. The moment he finished eating, Louis indicated his desire to go to bed. Marie-Thérèse, tears shining in her eyes, turned to Anne and said, “It is too soon,” but upon being told that Louis was already undressed and waiting for her, she went to her room, where she changed out of her dress. When a messenger arrived to tell her that the king awaited her, she urged her ladies to hurry: “Presto, presto, qu’el Rey m’espera”—“Quick, quick, the king expects me.”55 Queen Anne closed the bed curtains on the young couple, confident that the marriage would be consummated that night.
As the time came for the court to leave Saint-Jean-de-Luz and begin the long journey back to Paris, Marie-Thérèse asked Louis to grant her the favor “of allowing her to be always with him, and that he would never propose to leave her, because it would be to her the greatest pain she could receive.” Louis, who was a picture of happiness, was touched by these words, and he immediately ordered the grand master of the household never to separate the queen from himself, no matter how small the house might be.56
The royal honeymoon was spent travelling back to Paris. The court reached Fontainebleau on July 13, and four days later, Louis and Marie-Thérèse were guests of honor at Vaux-le-Vicomte, the magnificent château of the superintendent of finances, Nicolas Foucquet.57Here they were treated to a sumptuous dinner before they moved on to Vincennes to prepare for Marie-Thérèse’s entrance into Paris. There was a moment of sadness for Louis, who asked the cardinal’s advice on some matter. Mazarin replied, “Sire, you are seeking the counsel of a man who has no longer any mind, and who raves.”58 It was his way of telling Louis that he was now seriously ill. Deeply touched, Louis withdrew to a little gallery and wept.
Arriving at Vincennes on August 26, Louis and Marie-Thérèse prepared for their entrance into Paris. The procession passed beneath an arch, which had been specially erected near the newly rebuilt Porte Saint-Antoine. Louis, wearing a costume of silver and carnation, a hat decorated with plumes and diamonds, and a sword by his side, sat on a gilded dais beside Marie-Thérèse as they received delegations from the clergy, the universities, corporations and guilds, and the four sovereign courts. They then accepted the keys to the city of Paris on a cushion and a box containing the seals of the state, after which they watched the traditional releasing of the doves.
That afternoon, their cortège took four hours to travel through the streets as it made its way to the Louvre. Anne of Austria watched from the window of the Hôtel de Beauvais in the rue Saint-Antoine with Mazarin, who was too ill to take part in the procession, Henriette de France, and Turenne.59
Among those who looked on were two young poets who were destined to be among the brightest lights of French literature—Jean de La Fontaine and Jean Racine—while Mme Scarron, the wife of the poet Paul Scarron, was captivated by the twenty-one-year-old king. The next day, she wrote to a friend, “I don’t think anything more beautiful could be seen, and the Queen must have gone to bed last night well pleased with the husband she has chosen.”
SEVEN
A New Dawn
Louis attended the theater on September 5, 1660. It was his twenty-second birthday, and one of the plays on the program was Les Précieuses Ridicules, a witty and well-observed comedy by Molière.
The play poked fun at salon society, which had developed in the 1620s largely under the influence of Mme de Rambouillet. The salon provided a response to the vulgarity and violence into which the court, then strictly a man’s world, had descended; a world in which disputes were settled by the sword, and speech was peppered with profanities.
The salon sought to promote good manners, good taste, and elegant speech. This new refinement was articulated in polite conversation, but especially in literature and the use of language that became increasingly affected to the point that some, such as Molière, felt that the exquisites or précieuses, as those who frequented the salons were known, were legitimate targets for ridicule. Having attended an earlier performance of Les Précieuses Ridicules, the poet Gilles Ménage commented, “We admired all the absurdities which have just been so delicately and sensibly criticized; but, in the words of St. Remy to Clovis, we must now burn what we have adored and adore what we have burned.”1
When he was in the Pyrenees the previous year, Louis was sent a copy of Les Précieuses Ridicules by an offended exquisite. This person, who preferred to remain anonymous, had expected the king to be equally affronted by the play and to ban it forthwith. Instead, Louis loved it and, even as he travelled back to Paris, he invited Molière and his company to Vincennes, where the play was performed on July 19, 1660. A month later, Louis commanded another performance, this time at the Louvre and in the presence of Philippe. By now, however, a dark cloud had descended upon the court; its cause was the rapid and steady decline of Cardinal Mazarin. When Les Précieuses Ridicules was performed on Louis’s birthday, Louis, in deference to his godfather, stood incognito behind the cardinal’s chair. As though to remove all doubt that Molière enjoyed his favor, Louis awarded the actor and playwright a grant of three thousand livres.
The king spent the autumn and winter months practising maneuvers with the musketeers, an elite regiment of which he was
captain. His lessons in statecraft continued, with Louis going up to Mazarin’s rooms as he always had; but entertainment was not neglected, and balls, hunting, and gambling kept the court amused throughout the slow, dismal months.
In early February 1661, Louis made plans to dance before the court, but as the workmen were making preparations in the galerie des rois2 in the Louvre, a candle was accidentally knocked over, causing a fire. A few buckets of water from the Seine soon put it out, although Mademoiselle credited the Holy Sacrament, which had been sent for.3 Mazarin was receiving treatment for gravel, which was aggravating his gout, and he had also begun to suffer convulsions. Knowing he did not have long to live, he moved into his favorite palace at Vincennes to await the end. When Louis received a message that the cardinal desired to see him, the king wept and told the messenger that he wished Mazarin could have lived another four or five years, for then he would have left Louis “capable of governing the kingdom; but that now he should be embarrassed, not knowing whom to trust.”4 Louis’s apparent lack of self-confidence would be short-lived.
By now, Louis had joined the cardinal at Vincennes, where he visited him daily. Mazarin would rally, but the good days were becoming fewer. Often, as he left the cardinal’s chambers, Louis’s eyes would be filled with tears.
In March, the rapidly declining cardinal was warned by his physicians that the end was approaching. Mazarin had done tremendous things for France. He had secured peace with her neighbors, guided Louis in personal matters, and given the king a thorough education in every aspect of statecraft except, significantly, finance. He had also formed a massive collection of treasures in the form of books, manuscripts, jewels, paintings, tapestries, plates, and other objets d’art, while accumulating a vast personal fortune. Mazarin was very attached to his precious possessions; one day, the young Brienne found the dying cardinal looking at his beloved paintings one final time and sighing, “I must leave all this! I’ll never see these things again.”5
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