The courtiers returned to the great salon and resumed their previous activities as if nothing had happened.
But before long, an officer of the Maison du Roi appeared and approached several people. The Duke of Choiseul, Minister of Foreign Affairs; the Count of Boynes, Minister of the Navy; the Marquis de Monteynard, Minister of War; the Duke of Burgundy... and Marshal de Richelieu.
The latter raised an eyebrow.
Turgot and Quesney exchanged a glance, both curious and uneasy.
"You... Were you expected at an audience today?"
"No," the Marshal replied absently, lost in thought. "Nothing of the sort."
If His Majesty was summoning these particular men, it could hardly be to discuss the weather over a cup of tea. It had to be serious.
And judging by the faces that had turned in their direction, everyone in the room seemed to realize it.
Madame du Barry gave nothing away, nor did the Dauphine. Marie-Antoinette, however, bit her lip. She turned her head and glanced toward her husband, the Duke of Berry. Like the rest of the royal family, he was present at the château and seemed very busy amiably conversing with a few officers of the Navy.
He had not been summoned.
Marie-Antoinette felt a mixture of worry and anger tighten in her stomach.
Perhaps the worst part was that her husband, kind but lacking in strength of character, seemed not to have noticed anything. The fact that none of his brothers, with the exception of the Duke of Burgundy, had been summoned either did nothing to change that.
The young woman, whose beauty seemed to grow with every passing year, shot him a discreetly irritated look. He did not notice that either—or perhaps he simply pretended not to.
She turned her attention back to the gaming table where she was seated, and to the five people gathered around it. Her hand was not particularly strong, but she had held worse. She could still win this round, and, more importantly, recover what she had lost in the previous ones.
Her eyes swept over the other players as she tried to read their emotions. A slight movement of an eyebrow, a tightening of the lips, a hesitant hand before placing a card.
She thought she was getting better at this little game, which was very useful at a Court where no one ever revealed what they truly thought.
Her gaze eventually settled on her sister, the wife of the Duke of Burgundy. She was sitting at the same table, but only as a spectator. A faint smile lingered on her crimson lips—the same smile she had worn for the past three weeks, particularly whenever she rested a hand on her stomach.
And despite all the love Marie-Antoinette felt for her, she was finding it increasingly difficult to bear.
She frowned and, as though to drive certain thoughts from her mind, pushed a small fortune toward the center of the table.
"I raise."
-----------------------------------------
The room chosen for the meeting was neither large nor small. It was simply the right size for a gathering of this kind, large enough to speak comfortably without feeling as though they were constantly getting in one another's way.
Tall windows overlooking the Oval Courtyard allowed plenty of light into the room. On the opposite wall, several portraits hung between the wood paneling, including those of the great kings who had contributed to the improvement and embellishment of the palace. One day, perhaps, a portrait of Louis XV would join them and complete the gallery.
Armchairs had been arranged around a polished oval table made of wood so dark it was almost red.
The King and the Dauphin were already seated.
One after another, the most illustrious men in the kingdom entered in a very precise order.
Richelieu, despite his name and titles, entered last. He bowed deeply before the monarch, who remained seated.
"Sire."
"Marshal."
Louis XV indicated an armchair.
"Gentlemen, sit."
They all took their places around the table. Their eyes immediately converged on a small, closed dossier lying before the King. His son sat to his right, and his grandson to his left.
Three generations of Bourbons.
"I have summoned you because, upon my return, I received several reports that I find troubling."
He placed one hand flat on the dossier.
"Therefore, I wish to discuss them with you. I want to hear your opinions, and above all, your advice."
His expression hardened.
"Of course," he continued, exchanging a glance with his grandson, "everything said here must remain between us."
No one answered.
The young Duke of Burgundy, who was not yet twenty-two, gave a curt nod.
Richelieu's expression remained impassive.
Louis XV finally opened the dossier.
"This concerns, above all, Great Britain and her colonies in America."
He took out the first sheet.
"As you know," he continued in a calm, deep voice, "our old enemies have been experiencing unrest for several years now, both in their cities and in their countryside. None of this is truly new."
He paused.
"What is new, however, is that several of our informants report that matters have reached a new stage over the past few weeks."
Richelieu and the others wore serious expressions, but none looked surprised. No one spoke, for the King had not yet given them leave to do so.
"Let us begin with Ireland."
He lowered his eyes to the document, reread the first few lines, and continued.
"Despite the deployment of regular troops, the army is struggling to restore order in several regions of the island. The reports we have been receiving for several months now are deeply troubling. There have been particularly violent clashes in several parts of Dublin and Belfast."
His expression hardened.
"According to this latest report, the unrest caused by excessive rents, evictions, and access to land has changed in nature. This crisis is turning into a sectarian uprising, increasingly pitting Catholics against Anglicans. In several counties, the authority of the Crown is being seriously challenged. The redcoats, overwhelmed at first, have been considerably reinforced and are showing extraordinary violence. And naturally, they systematically side with the Protestant authorities."
He tapped the document with one finger, his voice tinged with anger.
"It says here that men are being executed or massacred less for their actions than for their faith. It is shameful, but we already knew the English were capable of such depravity."
Louis XV placed the document back in front of him.
"It appears that several regions still lie beyond the authority of the British Crown. My question, then, is this: should we ignore the plight of our Catholic brothers and sisters, or should we offer them our support?"
Silence.
The King turned toward his ministers, and all of them adopted a cautious stance. The Dauphin, although the leader of the devout party, gently shook his head.
"Sire, although we share the same faith, we must think of our kingdom and our people. The suffering of the Irish people is a pain we can understand and share, but we cannot support them without paying a heavy price. Providing military support to the Irish would be a risky undertaking, given the naval power that Britain has managed to preserve despite the state of its finances. If we attempt to cross the sea, the Royal Navy will oppose us and do everything in its power to prevent a landing."
His eyes met those of the Minister of the Navy, who inclined his head ever so slightly in thanks.
Louis XV noticed, but said nothing. He merely nodded slowly before turning to the Marshal-Duke of Richelieu.
"Marshal? What is your opinion?"
"Your Majesty, I share the views that have been presented to you. I would simply add that even if we manage to land troops on the island, we will face numerous logistical difficulties. With the sea between us, even if the distance may appear short on a map, the operation could quickly turn into a catastrophe. In the worst-case scenario, our men and officers could find themselves isolated, without supplies, waiting to be taken prisoner."
He clasped his hands in front of him.
"In the event of defeat," he concluded in a more ominous voice, "it could cost us dearly. And if we are victorious, it seems to me that we would have little to gain from it beyond the satisfaction of having done a good deed. I shall leave it to His Majesty to decide whether he believes it worth putting our treasury at risk at this time."
Louis XV frowned but did not answer. He simply stared at the man for several long seconds before turning to the Duke of Burgundy.
"Louis."
The young man looked up.
"As the Dauphin's eldest son, you will one day, God willing, be called upon to make important decisions. Some of them will be difficult. What do you think?"
The young man hesitated for a long moment.
"Sire, I am still young and sorely lacking in experience. You know war and the difficulties one may encounter when venturing into hostile territory far better than I do."
He inclined his head slightly.
"I would not presume to advise you on a matter of such importance."
The King kept his eyes on him.
"Yet I would like to hear your opinion."
The Duke of Burgundy remained silent for a few moments. This time, he did not try to evade the question, knowing that this was a test set by his grandfather. He could not disappoint him.
"I... do not believe we can save Ireland without going to war with Great Britain. And I doubt that a war for Ireland would be in our interest."
He exchanged a quick glance with the great men seated around the table, its polished surface gleaming like a mirror.
"The arguments just presented by these gentlemen, the ministers, my father the Dauphin, and Monsieur the Marshal seem very convincing to me, and I believe their considerations deserve to be taken into account."
The King showed no reaction. Not a smile, not a frown.
Finally, he nodded slowly and set the sheet aside.
"I see. Thank you for your thoughts," he said before taking a second document from his dossier. "Next, I wish to address the cases of England, Wales, and Scotland. Since the situation differs in each, they should be considered separately. Hmm. I believe I am correct in saying that the unrest in England has not ceased despite generally sufficient harvests."
He turned to Monteynard.
"Monsieur the Secretary of State for War, what is the situation?"
"Your Majesty," he replied, straightening in his chair, "England has indeed experienced favorable agricultural conditions, but not everywhere. And this does not seem to have been enough to calm tempers. Tensions remain high in many places."
He took out a small handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"Taxation is particularly inflaming the population, even in regions where the fields have yielded abundant harvests. Taxes, rents, prices charged by merchants, not to mention the scandals that regularly tarnish the reputation of members of Parliament, are all contributing to their anger. A good harvest does not make this kind of resentment disappear."
Louis XV nodded, undoubtedly thinking of the situation in his own kingdom.
"And Wales?"
"The situation there is more complex, Sire. Our reports speak of highly uneven harvests. Some regions have been experiencing difficulties for several seasons, which is why tensions may be higher there."
Monteynard nervously fidgeted with his handkerchief.
"But that is nothing compared to what Scotland is going through."
The Dauphin raised an eyebrow in surprise and leaned slightly over the table, looking toward the minister.
"Is it really that bad?"
"Yes, Your Royal Highness," Monteynard replied, his expression grave. "Poor harvests have followed one another there, much as they have here. This year's harvest, it seems, is expected to be particularly poor, especially in some of the northern regions, which will undoubtedly worsen an already long-standing discontent."
He thought of one report in particular, from Edinburgh.
"There are also the diseases. They spread throughout the winter, killing many people as well as livestock. In the north, some families who were still living comfortably not long ago are now reportedly reduced to begging for alms."
The silence that followed was heavier. Neither the Dauphin nor the King showed more than limited compassion.
Yet they had not forgotten the ties that bound their two peoples. They shared an equal hatred of the English, which made them allies. France had become a land of refuge for the survivors of the Jacobite uprising nearly thirty years earlier, after it was crushed at Culloden.
"Do you believe, Monsieur de Choiseul, that these tensions could turn into something more serious? Something more organized?"
"For the moment," the Minister of Foreign Affairs replied, "that does not appear to be the case, Your Majesty. The memory of Culloden and the reprisals that followed is still too vivid. The former clan chiefs who might still claim some influence are being closely watched by the British authorities."
He considered his words for a moment.
"I cannot be certain, but I believe that even if they had the means, they would not allow another uprising to take place."
"Do they not want to regain control of their kingdom? Of their laws? Do they not want to restore Scotland's greatness by restoring the clans?"
It was the Duke of Burgundy who had spoken.
Every gaze turned toward him, but he was not reprimanded for speaking out.
"Perhaps, Your Royal Highness, but taking up arms is another matter... That is a very big step. It is only natural, especially after what happened during the last uprising, for them to consider the risks before even thinking about the benefits they might gain from a victory. And above all..."
"Above all?"
"They would need a leader."
Louis XV tilted his head slightly.
"Speaking of which," he said calmly, "I heard a rumor. Is it true that the 'king without a kingdom' has given up alcohol?"
Everyone immediately understood that he was referring to Charles Edward Stuart, the man who had become the laughingstock of Europe less because of the failure of his Scottish adventure in 1745 than because of his personal decline. Bonnie Prince Charlie, as he had once been known, had become a sort of amusement for the European courts, a buffoon who was displayed in certain salons.
No one had forgotten the time, during one of his stays in Paris while seeking allies to restore his house to the throne of Great Britain, when he had made a fool of himself by appearing drunk in the presence of the Dauphin.
Nor had the Dauphin forgotten it, and his face immediately betrayed his disgust.
"Your Majesty," Choiseul began hesitantly, "it has indeed been confirmed that... the Pretender has stopped drinking. It is said that he has not touched a drop of alcohol since news of your great victory over the British became known."
Louis XV raised an eyebrow, deepening the wrinkles that lined his forehead.
"Really? That seems rather sudden."
"Yes, Sire. However... I do not believe he could be used in Scotland."
The subject went no further. The King pulled out another document, covered in fine handwriting.
"Very well."
He turned it between his fingers before placing it in front of him.
"Let us now turn to the British colonies in the New World."
He picked up a second document.
"As you know, tensions there are extremely high, particularly in Philadelphia and New York. The risk of a large-scale uprising appears to be growing by the day."
His finger slid across the paper and stopped at the beginning of a rather dense paragraph.
"The Parliament in London continues to make decisions without consulting the colonial assemblies, and the latter are challenging them more and more openly. Every report I receive is more troubling than the last."
He swept his gaze across the room before letting it rest for a moment on Richelieu.
"We now know that those who sometimes call themselves 'Patriots' are no longer merely a handful of isolated agitators. They are organized and have established correspondence networks through which they exchange information and coordinate their actions."
He tapped the paper firmly with one finger.
"My question is therefore simple: should we take any particular measures? Monsieur the Duke of Choiseul?"
"Your Majesty, I believe we have done what was best by publicly affirming our neutrality should an uprising occur in the British colonies."
"Hmm. His Majesty King George was very pleased with that, if I recall what you reported to me."
"Very pleased. Although I suspect His Britannic Majesty has some doubts about our sincerity."
"Why would that be? Have we done anything in particular?"
The Secretary of State for the Navy then spoke.
"No, Sire. We have taken particular care to ensure that, especially in the New World. That is precisely what is troubling our neighbors. Our two states have clashed repeatedly over the past centuries, to the point that even the slightest action on our part is liable to be interpreted as a stratagem intended to harm them. And now we announce that we will not take advantage of an opportunity to weaken them should one arise."
He lowered his eyes to his hands.
"It is only natural that King George should question and doubt us."
Louis XV frowned and looked coldly at de Boynes.
"Does my word carry so little weight in his eyes?"
The minister immediately lowered his head.
"Forgive me, Sire. That is not what I meant."
"I should hope not."
The Minister of War then intervened, quickly enough to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"That being said, Your Majesty, our neutrality does not necessarily preclude all action."
The King's gaze left the Minister of the Navy and settled on Monteynard.
"Go on."
"If their colonists do indeed take up arms against their government, we could support them discreetly, without officially involving France. We would remain neutral, in a manner of speaking, so long as we limited ourselves to that. The important thing is not to deploy troops or move our squadrons."
He paused and briefly glanced at the other two ministers.
"We have already discussed this possibility several times, and I continue to believe it is the most advantageous course of action. Weapons, powder, ammunition, intelligence, small arms and equipment... perhaps we could unofficially allow a few volunteers to travel there to train and command troops, with the sole objective of prolonging the conflict."
Richelieu narrowed his eyes, and a frightening smile appeared on his thin lips.
"Our expenses would remain small compared with those Britain would be forced to incur if this conflict lasted even two or three years. And the longer the war continues, the greater the strain on their finances."
The young Duke of Burgundy felt a cold shiver run through him. He stared at the Marshal and suddenly had the impression that he was facing a wild tiger that had been let loose.
The Dauphin intervened, speaking without the slightest hesitation.
"Are we even certain that this conflict will break out?"
"We obviously cannot be certain of that, Your Royal Highness," de Boynes replied cautiously as he straightened in his chair. "Our intelligence reports clearly indicate that tensions have been rising for several years, but not every crisis ends in an uprising."
He pulled a small notebook from inside his coat and opened it with a trembling hand to the last page.
"On the other hand, we must take this possibility very seriously, particularly since the violence continues to reach new heights. Businesses owned by Loyalists are being targeted by the Patriots, and vice versa. Retaliations are multiplying in the major cities, with both sides accusing the other of being responsible for the violence. They are mobilizing supporters and are now clashing in the streets of Philadelphia."
The Dauphin listened very attentively to the minister's answer and murmured:
"If this escalation continues, it will not be long before sticks are replaced by muskets and pistols."
Louis XV remained silent for a moment, studying his son, before turning back to the Minister of the Navy.
"Monsieur de Boynes, I have received news from Philadelphia. From the South as well. But nothing from New York for some time now. Yet, from what you have just told me, that city appears to be at the heart of the storm."
The minister looked uncomfortable.
"Er... I regret to say, Sire, that I have received no report since the one I had the honor of presenting to you last month."
Another silence fell.
"Very well. Let me know what is happening there as soon as you receive any news. For the time being, we will do nothing. Let matters run their course. It is to our advantage. And if our interests should find themselves threatened by these... Patriots, or whatever they may call themselves, we shall decide what to do then."
He turned the page and moved on to the next document.
"And I doubt it will take us very long to set things right."