Book III/Part X: ⚜️XIV⚜️
“En passant, si l'on considère que le Soleil de France s'éclipse à jamais, que tous les charmes de la nature sont ensevelis avec lui dans ce Tombeau, voyant un objet aussi funeste, tu désireras de mourir pour l'amour de celui qui ne confesse que pour un autre: si ce n'est que tu dis en toi-même pour votre consolation, non ce grand Roi n'est pas mort, il ne repose que sous ce tombeau.*”
When we woke up, there was an eerie silence throughout the palace. Even as our valets prepared to dress us for the day, they did so--in silence. The only sounds that could be heard were the rustling of our clothing being handed between the valets. Philippe and I stood still as we were dressed. We somehow knew this was a solemn day, and we acted beyond our years.
We were dressed in silk gowns with embroidered sleeves. Across our shoulders were our blue sashes. Attached to the end was a pendant in the shape of a star. It would be years before I recognized it as the cross of the Order of the Holy Spirit into which we were born as sons of a king. Once our lace falling bands were tied, our valets placed small ermine-lined royal blue mantles covered with little golden fleurs-de-lis around our shoulders.
When we were ready, my chamber doors were opened for Mother. She wore a simple black gown beneath her own mantle. As everyone bowed to her, she stood before us admiringly.
“You look like a king, Louis,” she said. “Your father would be proud of both of you. Shall we go?”
We nodded as she took our hands and walked between us out of my chamber and down the hall. The nobles lined the halls and bowed to us as we walked toward the main doors. Once outside, the royal carriages awaited us. More servants stood in the Court of Honor and paid obeisance as we passed. As we approached our carriage, I saw Mazarin waiting.
“You’re Majesties,” he began as he bowed. “Your Highness.”
We said nothing. As the footmen helped Philippe and me into the carriage, I noticed Mazarin was whispering something to our mother. Once inside the carriage, we sat down to wait. I watched out the window as Maman and Mazarin smiled at each other before she was helped inside the carriage. I did not think much of it until I was much older. We watched as Mazarin helped Maman into the carriage. She sat down across from us. There was no expression on her face to discern. As the carriage pulled away, we sat in silence.
Unlike Philippe, I did not dare look out the window. The buildings cast short-lived shadows upon the velvet curtains. They were tied back for the subjects to catch a glimpse of me, but I kept myself hidden behind them as best as I could. Maman did not seem to mind the adoration. She occasionally waved to onlookers as we rode through the city. I kept my eyes fixed on the sky--what little I could see of it. Suddenly, the sky disappeared behind a large stone arch—only to reappear moments later. It was then that I got the courage to peek from behind the curtain that had been my shield. We had left the city of Paris behind its ancient walls.
There was little beyond the city walls to see. Montmartre was the peak of the lonely valley we had entered. My childish eyes saw little value in the countryside. They were use to seeing vibrant green topiary of the palace gardens. This landscape was colorless by comparison. On the way to Saint-Denis, we passed several tall stones with crosses on top of them. Some had figures carved into them. Their weary faces innocuously stared at us from somewhere in time. It seemed our journey would never end when I looked out to see the walls of another city in the distance. The closer we got to the gate, the more anxious I became. I was king about to oversee the burial of my predecessor rather than a child burying a father.
As our cortège entered the small village from its southern gate, the only fanfare was the ringing of the church bells. Philippe found them fascinating; I found them cacophonous. Our carriage stopped in front of an ancient stone church. We waited briefly for our carriage door to open after the steps were put down. Mother was helped out first, followed by Philippe. Then it was my turn. I slowly emerged. As two footmen helped me down, I looked to see several clergymen waiting by the enormous doors of the church. Though our walk was short, it was made longer by Maman acknowledging all the spectators bowing to us.
“Your Majesty,” one of the clergy said to me as he bowed. “We are honored and humbled to be in your presence.”
I looked at Maman. She nodded. I nodded back at the man.
“Come, Your Majesty,” he said.
We followed him into the church. I paid little attention to anything except the floor beneath our feet. Beneath the ancient stone arched ceilings we stood before the decorated coffin in which my father lay. I did not understand what was being said when the words were not in French, nor could I put those I understood in context. I watched Philippe for a while. He spent most of his time looking at his shoes. When he caught me looking at him, he would grin at me. I knew he knew less about what was going on than I did.
Once the talking was finished, everyone bowed to us. We were led out of the church and into the light of day. The sun hurt my eyes. As Mother spoke to the clergy, I saw the footmen preparing for our return to Paris. I was tired. When Maman took our hands, we were led back to our carriage. Once inside, I sat down and leaned against the side of the window. After Maman had sat down, the door shut, and our journey began. Philippe lay his head on my lap and quickly fell asleep. Soon after, I drifted to sleep. Until my majority, France was in my mother's hands, even as I bore the burden of its people as King Louis XIV.--The Secret of the House of Bourbon–XIV by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 10-2-2023
*In passing, if we consider that the Sun of France is forever eclipsed, that all the charms of nature are buried with him in this Tomb, seeing such a fatal object, you will desire to die for the love of one who lives only for another: if only you say for your consolation, "No, this great King is not dead, he only rests under this tomb."— 1643, the epitaph of Louis XIII
Louis and his baby brother go with his mother to put their father to rest at Saint Denis.