Tracking a peripatetic king

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On the recommendation of Gary McCollim (a name familiar to the followers of this blog), I invested in Louis XIV, Chronographie d'un règne by Christophe Levantal. (It was expensive: the freight alone cost more than most texts.)

I'm glad I did, however, for it gives me an invaluable tool. This remarkable two-volume work traces, in close detail, where Louis XIV was on any particular day.

This is a mammoth undertaking. These are large-format volumes with very small type. The index alone is 200 pages!

For a writer of historical fiction, this is a god-send (or possibly a curse). Immediately, it has become the one book always beside me as I write.

What first surprised me was how often the King and Queen were on the move. Gary pulled together some interesting figures, which will give you an idea:

In the King's lifetime, he stayed in 508 different places, many for just one night.

He lived 7.2% of his days at the Palais Royal in Paris (all of these in his youth), 9.3% at the Louvre in Paris, and 17.6% at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, 8.9% at Marly, 8.1% at Fontainebleau, and 32.1% at Versailles.

It's hard to imagine such a movable court, frankly: they did not pack light. (They often traveled with their beds, after all.) Imagine the wagons and carriages required simply to carry their extensive households. Imagine the guard escort, the chaos of the dust on the rutted roads. The mind boggles.

Pity the courtiers, constantly on the move. Pity the Queen, his wife!

For that matter, pity the poor novelist, simply trying to move characters from one scene to another. Pity the readers? I hope not.



*****
Sandra Gulland
Author of the Josephine B. Trilogy and Mistress of the Sun
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The Hope Diamond meets the King of Bling

According to legend, the famous Hope diamond was cursed when it was stolen from the forehead (eye) of a Hindu statue of the goddess Sita. Thereafter, bad luck and death was believed to fall to its owner, as well as to anyone who touched it.

The truth: in the mid-17th century, Jean Baptiste Tavernier, a French jeweler, went to India in search of diamonds. Here, is his description of meeting the Emperor there:

"In the middle of this hall, and near the side overlooking the court, as in a theatre, they place the throne when the Emperor comes to give audience and administer justice. It is a small bed of the size of our camp beds, with its four columns, the canopy, the back, a bolster, and counterpane — all of which are covered with diamonds."

Clearly, he had come to the right place. Tavernier traveled on to the Golconda region, the center of India's diamond mining. There, sixty thousand slaves dug for diamonds, dressed only in loincloths — so that they could not steal. (Although it seems to me that one could manage to hide a diamond or two rather nicely in a loincloth.)

Golconda diamonds were known for their size and beauty, and they include some of the world's most famous stones: the Hope Diamond, the Orlov Diamond, the Darya-i-Nur Diamond, and the Koh-i-Noor Diamond are all Golconda diamonds. Tavernier claimed to have handled a nine hundred carat diamond there. (The rough equivalent of nine hundred engagement rings.)

It was likely here that Tavernier bought a crudely-cut 112 3/16 carat diamond. The jewel was so blue that at first Tavernier thought it was a large sapphire, describing its color as a beautiful violet. He traded ornate goldwork for diamonds — including the big one — and slowly made his way back to France, arriving twenty-six years later, in 1668. There, he found the perfect client: Louis XIV, the Sun King.

Some have called Louis the King of Bling. That's rather unfair, in truth. Louis XIV had a refined eye for — and passionate love of — beauty. One can only imagine his feeling of awe seeing 1,200 diamonds spilled before him. (One can also imagine the resistance of his sensible Finance Minister Colbert to the price: I've seen one estimate — unverified, I should note — that it equaled seventy-five million dollars today.)

At that time, European royals favored pearls. The Sun King set a new trend — for diamonds. He had the smaller stones set in buttons and shoe buckles, and gave away diamonds as gifts: the Court rained in diamonds for a time! French jewellers had refined a stone-cutting technique, and the King had the biggest diamond — the Tavernier it was called at the time — re-cut to enhance its brilliance. It was reduced to a "mere" 67 1/8 carats . . . but oh, the light it gave off! Described as an intense steely-blue, it was renamed le bleu de France — the French Blue — or the Blue Diamond of the Crown. Set in gold, Louis would wear it on a long ribbon around his neck on ceremonial occasions.

Thereafter, the diamond was passed from king to king until the French Revolution, when Louis XVI and his wife, Marie Antoinette, tried to escape the country — with the crown jewels. They were stopped, and the jewels were returned to the French National Assembly, which put the crown jewels on public display. Unsecured, the crown jewels were stolen; over time, all but the French Blue were recovered.

And thus began the French Blue's long journey: to England (where it was owned for a time by King George IV), to the United States (where it acquired the name the Hope Diamond after one of its owners, Henry Philip Hope), to London again, then to New York city, France, Washington, D.C., eventually ending up at its present home at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington.

Soon the Smithsonian plans to remove the Hope Diamond from its current setting (shown) and display it for a period of time on its own. Then it will be reset. In accord with the democratic nature of our times, the Smithsonian suggested three possible settings and offered the public the opportunity to vote for one or another on the Net. (The Smithsonian may have changed their mind on doing this: the vote site is not functioning at the time of this posting.)

As for the so-called "curse" — it is true that everyone who ever owned the Hope diamond died . . . in good time. I don't think the Smithsonian employees need to worry.

Related links:

•From Novelist Catherine Delor's excellent blog, Versailles and More: her post on the Smithsonian's plans to reset the Hope Diamond, and another on the diamond's history.

•"Dressing a Rock Star; a New Look for the Hope Diamond," NPR's coverage on the Smithsonian's plans.

•Check the Smithsonian site for further news.

*****

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This post was originally published on Hoydens & Firebrands.

Sun King and his world in the news

I've been remiss on my recaps of Sun Court news. ("Write the novel" takes up a lot of space on the To Do List.) That doesn't mean that there isn't quite a bit going on. Here are some short notes:
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•Cast in Bronze: French Sculpture from Renaissance to Revolution, a comprehensive exhibition at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles.

•Louis XIV's high heels for men are coming back. (I've been waiting for this.)

•Alexander Dumas in graphic novel form.


•Pair of Louis XIV coffers-on-stands (circa 1688) bought by the Rijksmuseum Amsterdam for over 2 1/2 million U.K. pounds (that's to say: a lot of money).


•A delicious looking recipe for parsnip and pear, Louis XIV's favorite fruit. I know: this is not of historical interest, but I couldn't resist. (Time for lunch.)

•Now available on-line (in theory: I haven't tested it) — "Merveilleuse Angélique", a 1965 movie based on the widely popular Sun Court Angélique novels by Serge and Anne Golon. I doubt that this has Cannes potential.

A flower clock

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I've been writing, and when I'm not writing, I'm researching, and when I'm doing neither, I'm recovering from both: hence the absence of posts. (Plus, my net connection can be a problem: so frustrating!)

All this simply to pass on Mary Novik's post on Wonders and Marvels today, on telling time by flowers. She includes a delightful diagram of a flower clock, shown here.

I've raved here about Mary Novik's novel Conceit here, as well as interviewed her (search "Mary Novik" for my posts). I'm eager to read her next novel.

Commedía dell'Arte (Comedy of Artists)

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Commedía dell'Arte (Comedy of Artists) was Italian street theatre of the 16th and 17th centuries, and — like Cirque Soleil today (which began on the streets of Montreal) — came to be a significant art form, influencing, among others, Shakespeare in England and Molière in France.

At a time when Italian theater was deadly serious, Commedía dell'Arte provided bawdy, improvised farces. The stock characters had distinctive masks, costumes, manners.The plots were familiar, but not without unexpected comments on politics and happenings of the day.

The troupes would travel from town to town, and often the language — the village patois — would not be understandable, but everyone could enjoy their universal humor. Laughter united. The characters signified human characteristics everyone could recognize: Capitano was a puffed up braggart, Pantelone was greedy and avaricious, ignorant Dottore pretended to know everything.

The universal favorite was Arlecchino, or Harlequin, the amorous acrobat and wit who carried a stick that made a loud noise when he engaged in combat: thus the origin of the term "slapstick" and the beginnings of our modern clown.



(This post was originally published by me on Hoydens & Firebrands.)

The King bathes with his mother

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I've been swamped with writing and research, making notes, learning a lot -- so much I hardly know where to begin posting here.

I'll begin with my research into the role of the First Valet du Chambre du Roi. One of my characters in The Next Novel has this position; hence my research.

One book, Moi, Marie du Bois, Gentilhomme Vendômois Valet de Chambre de Louis XIV, is a journal kept by a First Valet from 1647 to 1671. It's fascinating to get an inside view.

The first thing that struck me was an account of how requests for favors were made — in this case while the Queen was still in bed, with another valet arguing against it, in competition for the same favor (a post for a family member). The Royals must have been barraged by such requests, and apparently they didn't mind. It was part of the job.

Here is a charming (and surprising) snippet that gives a glimpse into the daily family life of the Royals:

L'après-dîner, il faisait chaud. La reine se baignait, et le roi, qui avait grande envie de se baigner avec elle, me commanda d'aller trouver M. Vautier, premier médecin, et de le prier instamment d'approuver que Sa Majesté se mit dans le bain avec la reine. [page 53]

My translation (corrections welcome!):

It was hot in the evening. The Queen (i.e. Queen-mother) bathed, and the King, who very much wanted to bathe with her, commanded me to go find M. Vautier, the Head Doctor, and beg him to instantly approve for him to go in the bath with the Queen.

The doctor was persuaded to approve the King's wish to bathe with his mother. This was August 7 of 1648, and the King would turn 10 the month following.

I'll have more from this diary to come...

A beautiful movie on Versailles

A day or two ago, novelist Catherine Delors announced on her wonderful blog, Versailles and More, the video Versailles: The Dream of a King, a BBC production.

Although the English version can only be viewed in the U.K., we are fortunate to have access to the original French version, which, according to Catherine, has more to do with Versailles.

Here is Catherine's post on the original French film, Versailles, le reve d'un roi, which can be seen for free on DailyMotion: here.

Even if you can't understand the French, the costuming and settings are well worth it.

Enjoy!