Chapter 13: Mai 1689, Versailles, L’comte et ‘Son’ Fils

(The Count and ‘HIS’ son)

It was a beautiful spring day, the weather had finally warmed, the formal gardens were full in bloom and the trees were in full blossom. After the long and cold winter followed by a wet spring, the entire Court was out rollicking about in the sun basking in the presence of the Sun King. Even the aged were walking with their canes and the cripples of the Court were being wheeled about.

It should have been a perfect time to be alive and in Versailles, the center of power in the civilized world. But for me, I was in my own purgatory, for my heart had been destroyed when my eternal love had died.

As I stood there at the doors of the palace watching the happy crowds before me, unburdened by the overweening grief that kept me socially isolated and alone, there was a tugging at my sleeve and the sound of a young throat clearing.

“Pardon, Monsieur, but the Comte d’F ... asked if it would be convenient for you to attend him. He would like to speak with you.”

The moment of truth had arrived. I had never even met the Comte before — and now, days after his wife’s death, he was summoning me.

Of course, politely as it was presented, this was an order and not a request. Not that it would have mattered; I had been preparing myself for this moment when I would be publicly condemned and executed in some gruesome manner.

Cuckolding a member of the high nobility was not a laughing or trivial offense. And the Comte had a boy child, living evidence of my perfidy, as the basis for his accusation.

“Lead on,” I told the pageboy, trying to be agréable and to appear as fearless as possible. Therefore I walked briskly with my head held high to my doom.

As we approached our destination, I realized that the situation was even worse than I had imagined.

There was the Comte and the child in his perambulator surrounded by King Louis, her Royal Highness the Queen, her contingent of Spanish ladies-in-waiting, a number of other nobles and, just to add the cream atop my fears, several of the high churchmen who attended the Court. Mon dieu!

The pageboy announced me.

“Your Highness, the médecine.”

I bowed deeply with my leg forward and my hat swept off to the side and waited, surprisingly for just a very brief moment.

“Rise, Monsieur,” came the King’s voice, “and attend us.”

I stood and silently waited, while the conversation that had been going on seemed to resume.

“So, the child is healthy?” the Queen asked the Comte.

“Oui, madame. The médecine here,” he said waving his hand vaguely in my direction, “has been seeing him every day and attests that my son is as robust a child as has ever been born!” he replied with a smile.

“And look at the size of his pénis!” she exclaimed, tittering along with her ladies in waiting. “A veritable cannon!”

A very smug looking Comte replied, “You know what they say:

Tel père, (pronounced: ‘tell pair’) Tel fils; ( ‘tell fee’) the apple falls, not far from the tree!”

His self-congratulatory rhyming witticism got a laugh from the entire group.

The Queen though, spoke again.

“You have our greatest sympathy for the loss of your lovely young wife. She was a picture of beauty and health. You know that shortly before she gave birth, I wished her ‘bonne chance’ for her delivery. Alas!”

One of the churchmen, the Bishop Cosnac, had to throw in his oar.

“The dangers of childbirth are well understood. It all stems from Eve and her sin in the Garden — the pain of birth; even death for the mother or child. And it is from Eve that we are born into sin. It is fortunate for the Comte that at least the child was preserved!” He then turned towards the Comte and made a slight bow.

Even the King, along with the rest, nodded his head in agreement with the Bishop. Merde! The sanctimonious hypocrites. Needless to say, I kept my opinion to myself.

Since the conversation seemed to be over, the Comte asked the King, “If you will excuse me, Your Majesty, I would speak to Monsieur l’médecine.”

Again the King nodded his head in acquiescence and we were dismissed as the conversation turned to other matters.

The Comte instructed the child’s nurse to take him back into the palace and began walking away. I followed as he led me into one of the less populated areas of the gardens where he sat on a bench and indicated I should sit as well.

The Comte turned and looked at me for some time before he spoke. He was a handsome young man of middling height, but slim with bright blue eyes, similar to his wife’s. I wondered if their families were related. I expected that he would have sandy blond hair beneath his opulent wig.

“I understand that you and my wife were very good friends.”

I didn’t dare answer, I just nodded my agreement.

“They also tell me that you wept when my wife departed this veil of tears.”

“Oui.”

“That is good. A physician must have a great compassion for his patients and everything I have heard indicates that you are an intelligent, skilled and knowledgeable man, in addition to your compassion,” he added to my surprise. I had hardly expected him to be lavishing me with praise, since he seemed implicitly to understand that I may have fathered ‘his’ son.

“I ask these questions of you because I have a great boon to ask of you.”

“If it is within my power I will certainly try, Monsieur l’Comte.”

The Comte resumed.

“You know his name, my son?”

“Oui.”

“My wife left a note to me giving her opinion regarding how my son should be named.” He shrugged his shoulders in that archetypical Gallic gesture.

“I followed her advice. His name is ‘Charles Phillip’ — after me; ‘August’ — after my father; ‘Martin’ — my wife’s father’s name, and finally ‘Christian’ — in honor of our Christian majesty, Louis. What a pleasant coincidence, for I understand that ‘Christian’ is also your given name. Oui?”

“Oui.” I was trembling on the inside. I had told Aurora not to name the child after me. I loved her even more, that she had ignored me and added my name anyway — but would I survive her gesture?

“But that is no matter. The boon that I wish from you is to take my son back to my estates in Normandy and raise him there. Ensure that he is educated and prepared for the day when he must become my successor,” he explained.

Inside myself I breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that perhaps I was not destined for the strangler or the hangman.

“But, Comte, don’t you want to keep him here to grow up at your side?” I asked.

The Comte thought for a moment and then he reached over and placed his hand on mine and looked directly into my eyes.

“Monsieur Christian, I am basically a military man. I am an adjutant of Philippe, Duc d’Orléans, brother of the King. I am a companion of the Monsieur and of the Chevalier de Lorraine. C’est ma vie — It is my life. We share, how shall we say it, our proclivities as well.

“I serve at his Majesties’ pleasure. It is a life I enjoy, but it is not a life that makes for good husbands or good fathers.

“I think that you would make a better ‘father’ to a young boy than I. Will you do this for me?” he finished staring intently at me, waiting for my answer.

“May I have a day or two to consider the ramifications?”

“Mai certainement! Of course!”

I had asked for a couple of days, but I knew in my heart that I could not say no to being, in effect, the father of the child whom Aurora and I had made together.

At that moment a comely young man ran up and spoke quietly to the Comte. The Comte smiled in a rather lascivious manner and nodded his head in agreement. Indifferent to my presence, he reached up and fondled the interloper between his legs and laughed.

“I’ll be right along. Wait for me there,” he instructed. The young man grinned back before running back towards the palace.

“You know, I loved Aurora, too. It was perhaps more like the love of a sister or a cousin, but I did love her. And because I loved her so much, I was glad that she had found a companion whose company made her so happy and fulfilled in ways that I couldn’t.

“Let us meet again two days from today in my chambers. We can work out matters of money and I will give you lettres to authorize you to live on the estate and to guide my son through this maze we call life. Bon?”

At that, he rose and without another word, walked away back to the palace; presumably for his liaison with his young sodomite friend.

It was a week later when all of the arrangements had been made that I found myself in a carriage with my infant son, a wet nurse, a full purse to fund our journey, and lettres from the Comte. Those lettres confirmed my authority over Charles Phillip, his education, his well-being and all decisions that needed to be made on his behalf. In other words, I was acting in loco parentis. And irony, of course, but as the Comte understood — who better to be a father to a son than his real father?

In addition, the Comte sent several of his personal servants with us as well — large, brutal men who had come with the Comte to Versailles, but when offered the opportunity to return to his estates in Normandy, leapt at the chance. They would serve as guards on the dangerous roads, full of highwaymen and brigands, between Versailles and Normandy.

They were also sent to make sure that everyone understood that I was in charge and was to be treated with the respect due to me as the guardian of the Comte’s heir. They would also train Charles in the skills of combat as he came of age.

Fortunately, among those country folks I was received with great joy; not simply because I was the Comte’s favored servant, but also because I became l’médecine — the local doctor, veterinarian, and one of the few educated men in the district.

That meant that I was welcome in any home in the district, as I plied my services. And once again I had no problem obtaining my sustenance — someone with a bit of indigestion and the solution: to bleed them of course. No questions asked.