Chapter 11: fevrier 1689, L’Mort d’amour

For the first time since I arrived at Fontainebleau to produce a horoscope for Madame de Montespan, I was approached by one of the Royal Guardsmen with a measure of respect and politeness.

“Monsieur Astrologie, l’Roi has requested your presence in his chambers.”

I was probably as astounded as he, for although the King had summoned me many times before, it was never to his private chambers. I wasn’t sure of why I was being brought into his presence this evening, but I honestly couldn’t remember anything specific that I had done to offend him. Perhaps he was ill?” But no. He had an entire cadre of physicians at his fingertips at all times.

Since the guardsman had treated me with such deference, I took only a second to prepare myself.

“Lead on, Captain. The King’s request is our highest command.”

The guardsman nodded in agreement but didn’t reply; he simply began walking before me, his face and rank all that was required to open doors and pass the guards who blocked the rooms that were the inner sanctums of the King’s residence.

As we passed through the outer rooms, I could see the looks and glances of the many courtiers waiting there. Some looked with simple curiosity, wondering who this servant being taken into the King’s interior rooms might be. Others of the lesser nobility looked on me with an irrational anger, that while they waited for the chance to have a moment with the King, I, in my plain garb and my lowly status was preceding them into the aura of the Sun.

We passed through four or five rooms, I can’t remember, each one smaller and occupied with fewer but higher ranking members of the aristocracy than the previous room, before we reached the royal sitting room, just one room away from His Majesties’ bed chamber. But still, I felt as if I was in the Sanctum Santorum — the Holy of Holies. I had never been this close to the King’s private chambers at Versaille, and this one time in Fountainbleau would never be repeated.

It was a private chamber that we arrived at; a comfortable, small sitting room, the easier to heat. And there on a chair that wasn’t quite a throne but which was more regal and grand than any others in the room, sat Louis Quatorze, Le Roi Soleil; Louis XIV, The Sun King.

I immediately bowed and paid my obeisance as court etiquette demanded, until he told me to rise. It was only then that I saw Madame de Montespan sitting in a similar (but much smaller) chair next to the King.

“Ah, Monsieur Coeur d’Noir, you seem well and I understand that you have provided my friend Madame de Montespan a great service?”

I modestly bowed my head in agreement keeping silent before the great man. He always appreciated silent servants.

“Good,” he continued, “this is as it should be.

Then he began a new thought, “You are perhaps wondering why you are here?” Again, I was silent and simply waited for his words.

“It seems that a message arrived for you today from a midwife — a Madame d’Amboise — and it made it’s way to our attention.” I looked in Madame de Montespan’s eyes and she, with a slight movement of her head, affirmed that it was she who had raised this issue with The Great King on my behalf.

It was a little disconcerting that the note — no doubt addressed to me — had been waylaid and read. But those who protected the King were always on the lookout for conspiracies against his royal Majesty.

“According to this note, your patient, who you left at Versailles to accommodate our needs here, has entered into her travails. It has been requested that I release you from your duties here in order that you may return to Versailles to assist in this birth.”

He motioned for me to approach him and when I was close enough, with his own hand he gave me a piece of paper. This was a great honour! I took it, bowed and back away again, much to the relief of his guardsmen, who seem to think that I might suddenly pull a dagger from my clothes and stab the King! Imbeciles.

“This will assist your return to Versailles. Travel well and I hope that your patient appreciates that even the King of France wishes her an easy birth and a healthy child.”

With that and a wave of his hand, I was dismissed.

As I left the room the next petitioner, one of the angry faces from before, was ignoring me as he tried to gather his wits for his time before the King. He leapt to his feet even before I was completely in the antechamber.

I only stopped when I had reached the outermost, most public of the rooms that led to the King, where I finally read the note that the King had given me.

It read,

“I, Louis, King of France, direct my servants to return the bearer of this note to Versailles with all dispatch.

Louis”

Armed with that note I found myself once again in a carriage, this time in the middle of the night, being delivered back to my love at the great palace. As rough as the ride was, wrapped in my cloak for warmth, I fell asleep sitting up.

Back at Versailles, it soon became obvious that the note regarding Aurora’s impending delivery had been delayed for days — her delivery not being important to anyone except me. By the time I returned, our son had been three days already in this world of tears.

“Ah! Monsignor, I am so glad that you’ve returned,” exclaimed a weary Madame d’Amboise.

“The Count’s son is healthy and robust with the lungs of a singer. Although loud, his notes are not always sweet,” she continued, “but his mother suffers from the fevre!” Her face fell as she told me that, for she, like all of us, knew that even if a mother survived the ordeal of birth, that childbed fever could take the mother; from the most common women to the Queen!

“Take me to her, immediately!” I instructed her, most likely in a voice much harsher than she deserved, for she was an excellent and careful midwife.