1636: The Cardinal Virtues – Snippet 31
Today we arrived at the Castle of Miolans in Saint-Pierre d’Albigny. It’s in the mountains, about halfway between Turin and Lyon. Monsieur Gaston doesn’t exactly travel light: he has a half-dozen gentlemen at arms, along with servants and guards — along with his wife and her ladies in waiting and servants and whatever. And me.
He is headed for Paris, where he’s going to become the king of France. You might have heard by now that the king, his brother, is dead; there was some sort of ambush. I can’t tell you more than that but I’ll know more when we get there. He decided that he needed a telegraph operator and I was drafted.
I have to tell you about this place. It’s a fortress in the mountains that belongs to the duke of Savoy. A while back they turned it into a prison, and the prince had to take a tour, and asked me to come with him . . .Â Â
“Monsieur,” the warden said, fawning painfully. “I cannot adequately convey how honored we are to have you visit.”
“I will soon no longer answer to that title, Monsieur LeBarre.” Gaston said. “As you know.”
“Of course,” LeBarre said. He was a short, sweaty man with stubby fingers and deep-set eyes in a pudgy face. “Of course. My deepest, sincerest apologies.”
Gaston’s facial expression did not change from the very slight smile, and he did not answer.
“Majesty,” LeBarre added, looking at Gaston and then down at the floor.
“Quite.” Gaston’s smile inched slightly upward. “Show us your wonderful fortress.”
LeBarre bowed slightly and then scurried away. Gaston followed leisurely, along with his entourage.
“Our chÃ¢teau was build more than six hundred years ago, Majesty,” LeBarre said, glancing over his shoulder to see if the prince was following. He was in luck. “It belonged to the family Miolans, who have since emigrated to the New World, and now it is the property of His Grace the duke. His grandfather . . . or was it great-grandfather? Or possibly great-great-grandfather?”
“His ancestor,” Gaston said.
“Yes. Of course. My apologies. His Grace’s ancestor converted it for use as a prison. My grandfather was a warden, then my father, then my uncle — ”
“I was too young,” LeBarre said. They had reached the end of a corridor, where a guard in a metal cuirass and helmet stood guard in front of a banded oak door. He held a stout halberd, and had a brace of pistols. “But I came into the position when my uncle . . . when there was an unfortunate accident.”
He fumbled at his belt and drew out a ring of keys; from where Terrye Jo stood, it looked like a stage prop from a play. The guard stood aside, and LeBarre inserted a large ornate key into the door lock. He turned it and, with the help of the guard, swung the door wide to reveal a broad set of stone stairs leading down.
And from below, they began to hear noises: moans and cries, as if from people in pain or despair, mixed with the sound of rattling chains.
Terrye Jo was at once reminded of a story that made the rounds of the sensational “newspapers” that were always on racks at supermarket checkout counters up-time. Some miners — or some guys in a submarine — found a crack in the earth or at the bottom of the ocean and through it they could hear the moans and cries of souls suffering in Hell. The sounds from below made her think of it.
“If Your Majesty wishes, we can tour the dungeons,” LeBarre said, looking pointedly at Terrye Jo and adding, “though it might not be suitable for . . .”
“She is an up-timer,” Gaston answered, looking back at her. “I am told that the entertainments of her time depicted many things far more barbaric and violent and shocking than anything we might witness here.”
LeBarre looked unconvinced. Terrye Jo was so surprised by the exchange, particularly Gaston’s response, that she didn’t answer for a moment. Finally she said, “How many prisoners do you keep here, Monsieur LeBarre?”
“Let me see.” He scratched his chin. “Winter was somewhat cruel to us this year,” he said. At that moment there was a particularly painful scream from somewhere beyond the door. “I believe we have one hundred and sixty-five at present. Thirty of them are in Hell — ”
“Excuse me, Monsieur?”
Gaston smiled, as if he already knew something she didn’t.
“That is one of our dungeons, Mademoiselle,” LeBarre said, smiling unctuously. “Hell, Purgatory, Paradise, Treasure, Little Hope and Great Hope. Hell is for the . . . most particularly recalcitrant.”
“I am sure that its punishments are suitably severe to warrant the name,” Gaston said.
“We would not want to disappoint the duke,” LeBarre responded. “Of course.”
“Of course,” Gaston repeated.
“But I am sure they would be . . . tame compared to your up-timer entertainments,” he added, with the slightest bow to Terrye Jo.
She gave an annoyed glance at Gaston and then looked away.
No, she thought. They hadn’t had dungeons in the 20th Century, unlike the civilized 17th. But they did have genocides and Holocausts. They’d had wars that killed millions of people. They’d had weapons that could destroy the whole world, and her country had been the only one that ever used them. TV was full of these things, and full of cop shows and Westerns and war movies and horror flicks. And sometimes they’d laughed all of that off like it was nothing.
“I’ll take your word for it,” she said.
I have to admit I was surprised what Gaston said about ‘up-timer entertainments.’ Nothing like having a down-timer look at a movie review book and decide that we’re all into homicide and zombies and whatever. We’re so used to thinking about all the civilized stuff we lost and how much more violent and primitive down-time is, that it’s hard to see up-time the way they see it.
So we toured the dungeons, and they were pretty much what you’d expect, but worse. There’s one thing that ties us together though, up-timers and down-timers: after a while we’re indifferent. LeBarre, and the prince, and all the down-timers just took the dungeons in stride. It was surreal, like a horror movie, except without the popcorn.
It took us six more days to reach Lyon. Each place we stopped was another chance for Gaston to play the part of the heir advancing toward his kingdom.
Then the fireworks started . . .
Gaston was pacing back and forth, cursing under his breath. The only other person in the room sat patiently, almost indolently, waiting for Monsieur to return attention to him.
“I cannot believe that you are showing such recalcitrance,” Gaston said at last. “De la Mothe. Pierre.” He let his angry face relax into a smile. “In view of the changes to the realm, I need to know that I can count on every loyal subject.”
Philippe de la Mothe-Houdancourt nodded, smiling in return. “I would not want you to believe anything else.”
“Then you need to answer my question.”
“I wish I could, Monsieur — ”
Gaston stopped smiling.
“I wish I could, Your Royal Highness,” De la Mothe said. “I wish I could tell you where Marshal Turenne’s army has deployed. He did not choose to confide in me.”
“You are on his staff.”
“I have served on his staff,” De la Mothe said. “I do not presently have the honor to be in his service, or indeed in his company.”
“That much is obvious.”
“It was his contention that there was an imminent threat from the Spanish. I would assume that the army has moved to intercept it.”
“To the south?”
“I would assume so, Sire.”
“I have installed my telegraph operator and her equipment,” Gaston said. “She has been provided with the — code, is it? — for Turenne’s telegraph. He — it — does not seem to be responding.”
“There are a hundred reasons for a telegraph system to fail. These devices are based on up-time technology, Your Highness, but they lack the reliability of actual up-time equipment.”
“My telegraph operator says that the equipment is remarkably reliable, Philippe. There are only a few ways in which they can fail. And one of them is simply turning the device off. Is that the problem? They turned it off?”
“It would have to be disassembled during maneuvers, Highness. If the army is on the march, there would be no way to use it.”
“So the army is on the march.”
“As I said — ”
“He did not confide in you.” Gaston began to pace once more. “They have headed south. Not toward Paris, but south.”
“That is my impression, Highness.”
“I had hoped to have it accompany me on my progress to the capital.” He stopped walking. “Very well: he shall have to come to Reims for the coronation, to give fealty to me once I have come to the throne.”
De la Mothe did not answer. For several moments Gaston frowned at him, as if expecting some acknowledgment, but none was forthcoming.
“You shall travel with me, my lord de la Mothe. As we travel, you will bring me up to date on Turenne’s army.”
He wasn’t real happy with Lyon. I heard about his interview with de la Mothe, who got left behind or something; he’s like a nobleman out of The Three Musketeers: a dandy with lace and a fine wig, with a big nose, the kind that gets you into fights when someone makes fun of it.
We’re still on the road to Paris now, but I’m posting this from Dijon, where the Bishop has what they say is a reliable service. I hope it gets to you soon, and I’ll write again when I get to Paris. Like just about every place else down-time, I’m amazed at the places I’m going. There are supposed to be up-timers there — maybe I’ll see someone I know.
I know you’re worried about me and want me home. I want you to know I miss Grantville and I miss you, but I have to make my own way. I feel like I’m at the center of big things, but I think everything will eventually work out.
Say hi to everyone for me.
Messrs Flint and Weber clearly share the same nasty streak. :-)
A big factor, maybe the biggest, is the radio. I’m guessing Mazarin and Sherrilynn each have a radio. Turenne’s too good to not have several. Does the Cardinal have one squirreled away somewhere?
Question for the french historians, what are minimum requirements for Baby Louie to be crowned? Does it have to be Reims? Is there a specific portion, or number of the Court and grand high religious muckety-mucks that must be present?
What will Fernando, Bernard, etc want to come in on Baby Louie’s side?
Bernard is more likely to look for a piece of France he can steal. As I understand it, Fernando has just taken control of Lorraine. And Bernard has
Alsace. Even at the best, Louis Preemie’s reign won’t look anything like Louis XIV’s.
I’m by no means a historian of France. My understanding is that being crowned at Rheims is enough to make L. king, although that doesn’t mean he will be recognized by everyone. Still it gives him the best chance.
I’m no historian of France but could a minor be crowned King according to French law of that time?
Of course, being crowned King didn’t protect his father and grandfather from being murdered. [Wink]
Fernando has just taken control of Lorraine. And Bernard has
I hope Bernard negotiates with Fernando. Iâ€™d love to hear people chanting, â€œReunite Lotharingia!â€
According to Virginia DeMarce, the phrase you are looking for is “Lotharingia shall rise again!”
Back when Gaston made his demand, I hoped Terrye Jo would be smart enough to quit the Duchessâ€™ service. Better out of work than fatally betrayed by Gaston.
I doubted that Terrye Jo would. She probably had the writers against her. Or for her. In either case, she is cursed with an adventure.
If Gaston spent less attention on extorting abasement from his supporters, and more attention on political/military strategyâ€”his chances would be better.
They would still be bad. The man makes his own catastrophes. (See â€œAbase his supportersâ€ above.)
He will stupid his way to small victories. Then stupid his way to large defeat.
Looks as if Terrye Jo is sending a lot of coded information to someone.
This sounds like one time when reading the newspapers and idly gossiping is sufficient to get useful intelligence.
So, as we can see Gaston is spending weeks gallivanting through southern France. Weeks!
Instead of making a rush for Paris, like future Henry III did 50 years ago, he is so slow it’s actually painful. In other circumstances he’d be in Paris in 10 days max after his brother’s demise.
This begs a question – why queen Anne and a newborn Louis (plus all their wise advisers and supporters), who were, let’s not forget about it, much, much more closer to Paris than Gaston, didn’t attempt to do exactly that – rush to Paris, rally support and crown baby Loius in Reims? Once again – it won’t take more than 10 day, possibly less.
But the fact that Gaston’s creature is silent and doesn’t bombard his master with panickstricken TGs about how Paris fallen to “pretenders”, signifies, that Anne and jolly company SUDDENLY decided not to do that.
Because Anne doesnâ€™t have a small army to protect her?
Lacking that, Anne and Louis in Paris might find the Snark is really a Boojum. Think what just happened to her husband.
Nod. She knows who killed her husband. She suspects Gaston was involved (correctly). She doesn’t know how many people Gaston has who are willing to kill her and her child.
What about Parisian garrison? What about other armies loyal to the “crown”? What about King’s musketeers? What about Cardinal’s Guard?
What really prevents them in just 24 hours barge in Paris, present the rightful heir to the throne and begin preparations for coronation? Meanwhile, Mazarini could’ve salvage Richeliue’s assets, agents and connections and put them on rooting out traitors and Gaston sympathisers.
Running in the middle of nowhere instead of Paris – that’s a road to nowhere. Plot-wise, Mazarini and Anna don’t know about Turenne’s choice (or even his loyalties). They can’t expect that in the middle of nowhere they’d find an army.
And while Gaston is remaining his pompous self and slooooooowly “marching” on Paris, while the legitimate heir is unknown to France, the entire French monarchy (and the realm of France) remains in Limbo. Which, given it’s neighbours attitudes, is a recipe for disaster.
Let us not confuse tactics with strategy. All we know about Queen Anne is her tactics: â€œGet away before the assassins arrive.â€ If she fails at that, she has no need of strategy. If she succeeds, then she can think long term.
What about Parisian garrison? What about other armies loyal to the â€œcrownâ€? What about Kingâ€™s musketeers? What about Cardinalâ€™s Guard?
Yes, what about them? How many of them have, in whole or in part, joined Gastonâ€™s cause? If Anne guesses optimistically, and wrong, end of story.
This is not a good time for Mr. Look Before You Leap.
All we know about Queen Anne is her tactics: â€œGet away before the assassins arrive.â€ If she fails at that, she has no need of strategy.
True. That’s why they’re leaving their present safehouse. But where to go afterwards is more important. If they just travel at random then there won’t be any friendly army or powerful allies to save them. They’ll just give Gaston more time to arrive in Paris and solidify his grip on France. But if they go to Paris then (with some work) they can get both loyal troops and the support of powerful aristocrats – and more.
Besides, it’s supposed to be Good Cardinal’s job to know who’s traitor, who’s potential sell-out and who’ll be loyal no matter what. Servien is alive and kicking, and if Mazarini is not equally well-informed, I’ll be surprised.
Tl;dr – by avoiding Paris and instead running in parts unknown Anne&Co are surrendering initiative to Gaston and his cohorts, losing vital time while endangering the entire kingdom currently without ruler. While shortterm wise they are avoiding clear and present danger from would be assassins, that won’t protect them in the long run. They need resources and followers, and Paris is the optimal place to get them all.
Wikipedia says the crowning isn’t essential for legal succession: “The new king ascended the throne when the coffin of the previous monarch descended into the vault at Saint Denis Basilica, and the Duke of Uzes proclaimed ‘Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi!'” In particular, the anointing (chrismation) was considered more important than the actual crowning. Louis XVIII (King of the French 1814-24) and Emperor Napoleon III (1852-70) were never crowned; Napoleon I was anointed by the Pope and then crowned himself.
In England, no formalities are required at all: the new monarch ascends as soon as the old monarch dies. 1660 in OTL , the first year of Charles II’s reign, was formally speaking his twentieth, for he had legally been king since the moment Charles I’s head hit the ground.
Drak! Is it July yet? This going to be a ‘can’t put the book down’ Book.
But there’s this: http://www.baenebooks.com/p-2715-1636-the-cardinal-virtues-earc.aspx [Wink]
Hi mates, its enormous post concerning tutoringand fully defined, keep it up all the time.