Condemnation & Redemption Pt. 04

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Improvisation, Op. 84, #5, Gabriel Faure
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~~~* XIII. mai 1689, Versailles, l'Comte et 'son' fils *~~~

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 vale 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.

There was one other thing that demands mention: l'Comte also sent his library back to his estate with me. He personally gave me Newtons's 'Principe' — "I would never have understood it anyway!" he joked — the other books to form a library to begin his son's education.

Again he joked, "I'm not much of one for reading. I had them with us because Aurora enjoyed such nonsense. My time was better spent studying war and the arts of combat!"

Charles Phillip grew up to be a well-formed young man who fortunately inherited his mother's coloring, her blue eyes and sandy-blond hair and not my darker skin and hair color. He was a swift runner and was always tall and strong for his age. As an adult, he would be larger and taller than his legal 'father.'

The next fifteen years passed swiftly as I tried to raise my son to be the next Comte d'F... , but also to be a kind and humane man who understood that titles and lands of the aristocracy were granted by fickle kings and kept in large part by luck.

Several times l'Comte returned to visit his estates, to ensure that the caretakers were doing their duty (which meant mainly that they would continue squeezing every sous from his tenants to send him), and to visit with 'his' son.

He seemed to be pleased with both.

"Charles Phillip seems to be thriving here. I have spoken to him and he is happy and his studies are coming along well, too."

I tipped my head to him, "Oui, he is intelligent and values learning. Your men tell me that he is quick and adept with the sword, as well as an excellent shot. He enjoys the hunt greatly," I related, knowing that l'Comte valued his son's potential for military service as much or more than his ability to read Latin or Greek!

"Ah, yes. And I understand that with his good looks that his hunting includes a fair harvest of the local femmes!" he said with a smirk. Considering that l'Comte himself was, so far as I could tell, not interested in womankind, he seemed quite pleased that 'his son' would have no trouble carrying on the family name.

"Oui! Yes," I agreed, "But I have warned him against the lusts of the local peasant girls who would aspire to his station. But we have also reached out to the other noble families in Normandy, so that he can meet the more eligible potential brides to consider."

The Comte nodded his head in agreement.

"I can see that it was a wise decision to put you in charge of raising my son. You understand the needs of the future Comte."

Then, after some discussion, l'Comte and I agreed that it was time for Charles to go to Paris and attend the ancient University (as I had three-hundred years before.)

The three of us made a brief pilgrimage to the Abby of Mont St. Michel, just off the coast, to receive the blessings of the Abbot. I, still angry with my reception, or rather rejection by the Church, managed to eat in the great refractory with l'Comte and his local companions, but avoided the services and the actual blessing. I did watch my son being blessed, but that only from the furthest point that I could find and still see the alter.

The night before Charles and l'Comte left for Paris, Charles came to me and asked me to walk with him in the forest that surrounded the Chateau. We walked in silence for some time.

Then he looked at me and asked the question that I had feared and desired.

"You are my true father aren't you?"

I tried to obfuscate.

"I have certainly tried to be like a father..."

He interrupted me. "No. I mean you are really my father, aren't you? I have heard many things about my 'father' and I don't think that he bred my mother and I don't think that he loved her. You did. Every year on the anniversary of her death you grow silent and retreat to your rooms. Do you not think that I know, that I found in your room, the painting of my mother? So you must tell me before I go."

My silence spoke volumes.

He looked at me with a smile on his face.

"So you are. I'm glad Father. I always thought so. I am tall — you are tall. My face is so similar to yours. When you speak I hear my own voice. And..." he looked around to see if there were any ears that could hear, "I think that you are 'plus intelligent et cultivé,' much more intelligent and cultivated than the man who claims to be mon père."

There was a period of silence again as we walked and Charles digested that what he had suspected was correct.

"Will you be here when I return?" he finally asked.

"Mon fils, I will always be there for you. Toujour."

The next morning, he left for Paris with l'Comte.

He wrote me regularly about his studies, his masters, his impressions of life in 'la belle Paris' and about his life.

I visited him at the University on a regular basis. He was a worthy man to be called my son. His titles and wealth didn't turn his head. He grew to be his own man — an honorable and fair man.

L'Comte also wrote on a regular basis to both him and me. He was a Marshall in the army fighting for the King to maintain a Bourbon on the throne of Spain. The old fox Louis thought that he would be able to control his kin in Spain and create an unstoppable alliance of France and Spain.

The war, though, was fought far from the estates in Normandy, so it had little effect on us. Until one day.

Charles had returned to the estate not long after completing his studies when the news of his father's death at the Battle of Malplaque arrived. He was suddenly Charles Phillip August Martin Christian Molyneux, Comte d'F...

Not long after that, I left the estate. I wanted Charles to rule his little kingdom in peace, not always worried that I was second-guessing him.

He wept when we parted. I assured him that I would periodically return. And I did. For over 150 years.

One occasion that especially stands out in my mind was the time I returned to the estate to find that my son was dying. It was nothing unusual — he was 81 years old by then. He had already outlived two wives and three of his own ten children.

I remember entering his darkened chambre where he lay, ill and dying on the bed, his head propped up with pillows.

'"Mon père!" he exclaimed, seeing me through his aged eyes.

"You look the same to me as you did 65 years ago! Are you my father's ghost?"

I sighed, "This world is filled with mysteries. You see me as you remember me all of those years ago. I look at you and I see my 15-year-old son preparing to leave for Paris and the University! It was a good time for us, oui?"

"Oui, papa. It was the best of times. But I have grown so old and you remain young and vigorous."

"If I could tell you why, or how I am still this way, I would. But I can't, because I don't understand it myself. Some mysteries only God understands. But enough of this. Let's remember the years and how our family has prospered. You have set a good example to everyone around you," I offered.

My son looked my way, although I don't think that he was actually seeing me — he was looking through me at eternity.

"Papa, was I a good man? Did I live up to your expectations?" he asked.

"Oh, oui, mon fil. You have been firm and resolute when you needed to be. You have been kind and gentle to those around you. You have shown mercy to the weak and protected your family, your friends and the people of your village from the wolves who would have otherwise ravaged them.

"Your virtues have surpassed anything I could have hoped for. And you have your mother's bravery and soul. I could not have been prouder of you, my son."

"That is good, mon père. I've lived my life as you taught me and if I have done well in your eyes, je suis très contente — I am content."

I leaned over his bed and kissed his forehead.

"Now, rest. You deserve your peace," were my last words to my precious son, the gift of my eternal love, Aurora.

I sat next to him, holding his hand as I had when he was a small boy, until he had passed from this vale of tears to the next life.

We didn't mourn his death; instead we celebrated the long life of an honourable man — true to his family, his nation and his King.

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After the death of my son, I became known to the family as 'The Guardian.' I would appear for them in times of troubles. The family tradition was very strong, that they ought to listen to my words and, if possible, follow my advice. Such a thing was a terrible burden on me — always having to be the 'wise' one.

I continued to perform that task, until early in 1788, the year before the revolution. I returned after a long absence during which I saw the kingdom of France crumbling under the high taxes and corruption of the ancien régime. There was hatred and violence in the hearts of men. There was rebellion in the air across the land.

That was when I warned the family Molyneux to sell their estates and possessions, and flee to England and the new United States.

They dutifully followed my advice, and before the infamous storming of the Bastille, on 14 July of the next year, their estates had been rapidly liquidated.

As a consequence, the entire family survived. No — not just survived but survived with most of their wealth. Their libraries, their possessions, even their trusted servants were all whisked away to safer shores where they re-established themselves. They thrived in their new homes.

After that they spread. Some around different parts of England, others to Ireland and yet others across the ocean to the new lands of Les Ètats Unis.

It was after their diaspora that I finally lost track of them. For over two hundred years, until Aurora Stephanie Marie Molyneux stepped back into my life.

End of Chapter 4

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