Portrait of Michel Richard de Lalande in an Architectural Frame with Musical Instruments Simon Thomassin (French; 1654–1733) after the painting by Jean-Baptiste Santerre (French; 1651–1717) 1726 Engraving Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam
Frontispiece to: Œuvres de Monsieur de Lalande
Inscribed in the cartouche: Mortels, C’est de ce beau Délire Que sontnez parmy vous ces accords si touchants, Á deux Divinitez Lalande doit ses Chants. Appollon le forma, C’est Louis que l’inspire.
From the people that keep bringing you stuff (me and @fortunatelyclevercandy) because what else are they going to do during quarantine–comes “I à XIV: Life in My Court”. Based entirely on a reality that doesn’t exist but who cares, it’s hilarious (sometimes). If you loved Versailles: The Series, nothing to see here. Currently on Instagram because no one else would have us.
And, as we celebrate our first year (and our 2nd Christmas):
We decided to ruin your childhood memories with this infamous retelling of a beloved classic. Coming Tomorrow: Check your local listings (or just go to the link).
Welcome to what will become another trilogy. From the authors of @tkwrtrilogy and @thehouseofdurin comes “The Secret of the House of Bourbon”. It has already found a home on InstagramandWordPress (as well as Facebook), now it comes to Tumblr.
But wait, there’s more: This story cover 197 years of the Bourbon Dynasty–from its “humble” beginnings with Antoine de Bourbon to the height of its majesty with Louis XIV.
Not only do you get to visit Versailles again, you get see it how it all began–from the hunting grounds to golden palace it became–and there are secrets that have been left untold (no, really, we’re not trying to be dramatic).
See something you like? Well, I can say one thing–I get to be the king of France (like I was Thranduil and soon-to-be Oropher in @tkwrtrilogy3) and the generations of the ruling Kings of Dale in @oflordsandkingstkwrtbook (that’s me, too). @fortunatelyclevercandy makes her debut as my brothers, (Duc d’Orléans–Gaston and everyone’s favorite, Philippe de France). As always, I am beginning in the middle of the book as Louis XIII, father of Louis XIV and Philippe. I have already started over on WordPress and I am about to add more (to both trilogies).
You’ll be surprised about what you DON’T know about Louis XIII.
After Louis XIII, I will be Louis XIV. Yes, you’ll be surprised about what you DON’T know about him, too.
AndMANY,many, many, many, many, many more exciting things about the Kings of France and Navarre (which actually ceased to exist around 1620 but that’s another story altogether ).
So, sit back and relax and read a lot of things in multiple languages (as my co-author will be writing in her native Italian and probably some English and I will be writing in my native English and in my third language which just so happens to French).
(Yes, there are even things you don’t know about Philippe, Monsieur, Duc d’Orléans–lots. ).
Welcome to the Kingdom of France–Again.
MyFrance, of course.
Another trilogy, another kingdom. This is going to be fun.
My baptism was one week away. One morning, Philippe and I decided to make our way to the kitchen. I always had a voracious appetite for as long as I could remember. Philippe was a finicky eater. He would only put the finest of delicacies in his mouth. But if the food was good, he could eat as much as I could.
If our mother had known of our near daily sojourns to the kitchen, she would have locked us in our rooms. As royalty, we were fraternizing with commoners too much. How could we not? They were friendly to us. Their children were uninterested in our titles and more into play. On this day, there were few people in the kitchen but there was plenty of food.
Straight away, Philippe headed for the macaroons. I helped myself to the omelettes. While I poked a piece in my mouth, I saw Philippe reaching for his treats. He dropped one and chased it as it rolled under a table. One of the servants noticed him squatting down to reach it.
“Thank you,” he said. “I am Philippe.”
“Who are you talking to,” I asked him.
“A girl,” he said without looking up. I noticed a little hand coming from under the table holding the macaroon he dropped.
A woman gasped and reached under the table and pulled out a little girl. She was as little as Philippe, with a head full of long black curls covering her features.
“Tu es une mauvaise fille,” she said angrily. “Are you stealing food again?”
“No,” she said, tearfully.
“She gave me my macaroon,” Philippe said, his mouth full. He walked over to the girl, and handed her a macaroon. “Here.”
She took it, smiled and ran out of the kitchen. Philippe gave the woman a mean look.
“Come, Philippe,” I said. I could see he was about say something awful.
He slowly turned toward me, still scowling at the woman.
“She is not nice, Louis,” he said, looking at me. I looked at the woman as I took Philippe’s hand. I did not say a word to her but I could see she feared what we might say to our parents. I led my brother away putting the incident out of my mind.
**** **** **** ****
No more than a few days before my baptism, I was playing with Philippe in the hall. Our mother approached us followed by several ladies with 2 girls and boy.
Everyone stopped in front of us and bowed.
“Louis, Philippe,” Mother said sweetly. “This is Gabrielle, Louis and Diane-Françoise. Louis and Diane have come to play with you.”
I did not know what to say but Philippe did.
“Why,” he asked.
Mother seemed a loss for words as several of her ladies tried not to laugh.
“Philippe, be polite to our guests,” she said.
“Why?”
“Yes, Maman,” I said quickly.
She smiled and left us with the little boy and girl as the older girl left with mother and the other ladies.
“I am Louis,” the boy said.
“Me, too,” I said.
“This is my sister,” he said. “Her name is Diane but we call her Françoise because she is named after our mother.”
“She is a girl,” Philippe said.
“I know,” she said. “And you are a boy.”
Philippe stuck his tongue out at her.
“Who is the other girl,” I asked Louis.
“That is my other sister, Gabrielle,” he said. “Papa said Maman is going to have another baby. I hope it is a boy this time.”
“That is a lot of girls,” I said. “Philippe is my only brother.”
“He is little,” Louis said.
Philippe gave him a mean look before pulling Diane’s hair.
“Philippe, stop,” I said. “That was not very nice.”
“No, it was not,” Diane said, hitting Philippe on the arm.
“Françoise,” Louis said. “You cannot hit him. He is a Prince.”
“That is right,” Philippe said, hitting her back.
She hit him again.
“Mine is two,” Louis said, pulling her away.
“So is mine,” I said, holding Philippe back. “They are still babies.”
“I am not a baby,” they said in unison.
“Come,” I said. “We can go play in the garden. We have a puppy out there.”
**** **** **** ****
On the day of my baptism, I entered the chapel with my mother. Philippe was to remain behind in the pew without our governess. As always, Philippe had other ideas. He managed to escape her grasp, and follow me down the aisle to the altar. Our father was waiting for us beside the font. His skin was pallid and his eyes did not seem to have the shine I remembered. He never moved from his position. He smiled at us as we met him and the priest at the altar.
It was intimate ceremony with only important members of the household in attendance. I stood before the altar of the chapel, I knew it was a solemn occasion even as I was too young to understand its meaning. I stood with my parents before the baptismal font as the priest began to speak.
Suddenly, I heard a splash. At first, I thought nothing of it. Then I heard it again and again. I looked down to see Philippe reaching into the font. I gently nudged him to get him to stop. I should have known that would entice him to continue more vigorously. I noticed everyone trying to ignore Philippe. It was a feat that was futile to attempt. My father gently pushed my brother’s hand away, and Philippe put it back. Even our father knew it was best to let Philippe have his way. So as long as he kept quiet, there was no harm done other than a slightly damp priest.
Papa did not say a word nor moved through it all. He just smiled and nodded once it was over. He and Maman exchanged glances while the priest and I exchanged words before mother took our hands and us out of the chapel of Château-Vieux.
The next time I would see my father would be 23 days later upon his deathbed.
**** **** **** ****
It was a quiet morning. By I remember I was playing with Philippe in my room when our governess came in. Her face was stoic.
“Your Highnesses,” she began, her voice trembling. “His Majesty wishes to you both.
“Papa,” Philippe exclaimed excitedly. “I want to see Papa.”
I knew something was wrong. Everyone in the room seemed disheartened. She picked up Philippe and offered her hand to me. I cautiously took it and she led me away to my father’s room.
It was the last moments of his life.
In his room, I could smell the scent of death and feel the burden that was about to put upon me. Though I was only four years old, I knew my presence in the moment gave everyone a feeling of helplessness and hope. When I saw my father, I was frightened at how sallow he was. Maman, Mazarin and Bontemps held vigil by his bedside as we approached.
“Louis,” he said, weakly. “Philippe.”
Our governess put my brother down beside me. I did not dare move closer to my father. I was afraid; he looked like the corpse he was to become.
“Papa,” Philippe said. “You look sleepy.”
“I am,” he whispered, with a faint smile. “I am going to sleep, Philippe. For a very long time. Louis, remember what I say to you. You will make a fine king. I know you will.”
I nodded. I did not know what else to do. I was passed a torch I was not yet able to carry. Suddenly, Papa said something I could not hear, took two labored breaths, then fell silent. Mother gasped as others in the room weeped softly.
“It is a quarter past two,” Bontemps said softly.
With everyone around him, my father slipped away peacefully.
“Why is Papa sleeping, Louis,” Philippe whispered.
“I do not know, Philippe,” I answered softly.
I knew our father was gone forever, but I did not believe it. Even I thought he was sleeping. It would be a while before I realized he had said his dying words to me months earlier at the château. Watch after your brother for me. Take care of Philippe. Looking at my father’s corpse, I said to myself, But who will take care of me, Papa?
Soon after, everyone turned and looked at me.
“Le roi est mort,” Mazarin said. “Vive le roi.”
I was the King of France.
“You are the king now,” Maman said to me.
“I do not want to be king,” I said.
“Your father is dead,” she said. “You must take his place now, Louis.”
“I do not want to,” I said loudly. “I do not want to be king!”
“Louis,” she began.
“No!”
I ran out of the room and down the hall crying. I did not want to be king. I did not know what it meant to be king, much less what it was. When I reached my room, I expected to see my governess, but there was another woman in her place.
“Who are you,” I yelled.
“I am your new governess, Your Majesty,” she said.
“No,” I yelled, pushing her. “Go away!”
I threw myself on my bed and started to cry into the pillows. I cried myself to sleep. I remembered hearing soft whimpering next to me. When I opened my eyes, it was evening and I was dressed in my nightgown. Philippe was lying next to me, his eyes red from crying.
“You scared me,” he said.
“I did not mean to,” I said.
“Why are you sad, Louis,” he asked.
“I do not want to be king but Maman said I am,” I answered.
“You are too short to be king,” he said. “You have to be tall like Papa.”
“I think he is gone, Philippe,” I said.
“When he comes back, you do not have to be king,” he said yawning.
He fell asleep, leaving me to my thoughts. I did not think Papa was coming back to us this time.–The Secret of the House of Bourbon–XIV by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 5-07-2022
I’m back it has been quite a journey. One of the longest journeys. One of these days I will talk about it when people actually care. Until then, read.
