It was on this day 300 years ago, on 30 November, 1718, that Charles XII of Sweden, one of the heroes of the Versailles Century (1682-1789), was killed in action. He was only 36.

Charles XII came to the throne early, succeeding his father, Charles XI, in 1697. He was only fifteen at the time. As a young man, we was nordically handsome, with a lush mane and piercing blue eyes. Charles initially reigned under a regency, but only 7 months after his accession he assumed full power.

Charles XII in his youth. Credit — by Michael Dahl — Nationalmuseum, Domaine public, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=52121845

Charles XII was a dedicated soldier who soon led Sweden into the Great Northern War (1700-1721), a lengthy and ultimately ruinous conflict. In the early stages, it went well for Charles and Sweden. The young king won a number of brilliant victories and managed to impose the king of his choice on Poland — Louis XV’s future father-in-law Stanislas Lesczcynski — as well as strengthening his position in the Baltics. In 1709, however, he was decisively defeated by Peter the Great at Poltava, in what we now call Ukraine. This defeat was to mark a watershed in the history of eastern and northern Europe: the Swedish empire, which had dominated the lands around the Baltic Sea for 200 years, came to end, and the Russian empire took its place as the regional hegemon.

Small though it is, my local secondhand bookshop keeps turning up Versailles Century treasures.  Yesterday it was this original edition of John Miller’s The The Life and Times of William and Mary, which was part of a ‘Life and Times of —–‘ series on British monarchs published by Weidenfeld and Nicolson.  The series editor was the eminent biographer Antonia Fraser.

‘The Life and Times of William and Mary’ by John Miller.

This book, like the others in the series, is lavishly illustrated with both black and white and colour plates.

I’ve always been intrigued by William and Mary, who are such an anomaly in our history.  They were the only joint sovereigns of the British isles, and among the few anywhere.  That their reign was successful is due largely due to their harmonious marriage, and the fact that one generally deferred to the other, thus avoiding a power struggle.  Mary, like any God-fearing woman of her time, believed it was her place to submit to her husband.  William, for his part, who knew from the start that his wife was a potential heiress to the English, Scottish, and Irish crowns, once said that he would not be his “wife’s gentleman usher.” Even so, I had never really understood how the unprecedented joint sovereignty came about.  The book explains it succinctly.

One faction of Parliament, keen to maintain as much legal continuity as possible in the wake of the ouster of Mary’s father, the deeply unpopular James II, wanted Mary to succeed on her own.  An even more conservative faction wanted her merely to serve as regent and not ascend to the throne until her father’s natural death (overseas).  A more radical faction wanted William to take the throne as sole monarch by right of conquest, for which there was a precedent in the case of William the Conqueror more than 600 years earlier.  In the end, the compromise choice was joint sovereignty, with Mary’s sister Anne to be accepted as heiress presumptive.  Thus the pair were crowned William III (r. 1688-1702) and Mary II (r.1688-1694).

Versailles: A Visit to the King’s Private Apartments, Part 2

In the late afternoon of the first day of my visit to Versailles, I went along to the ticket office of the Chateau to buy my ticket for the next day, including a guided tour of the Private Apartments.  There were various tours in several languages, but the young woman behind the counter flatteringly recommended that I take the French language tour at 10:30, on the grounds that it was the most thorough one.  I duly purchased a ticket and wandered off in the rain — the weather was relentlessly wet throughout my visit — to find my dinner.

Semi-restored room in the ticket wing. My inner interior decorator sees some sleek Italian sofas and striking contemporary art in here.

All but skipping with excitement, I turned up the following morning at the designated entrance for the Private Apartments tour.  This entrance is on the north side of the Cour Royale (the Royal Court), the great courtyard that precedes the Cour de Marbre (the Marble Court) at the heart of the palace.  A uniformed man checked my ticket and waved me inside.  A young woman in a smart black pantsuit and a headset then asked me which tour I was there for, and directed me into an adjoining salon.  This turned out to be the holding tank for imminent tours.  It retained its 18th century boiserie, but was furnished with sleek contemporary furniture, which I’m tempted to say was by Philippe Starck, but I’m not sure.  Another pant-suited young lady appeared and gave me a pair of earphones.  I nearly protested that I hadn’t asked for an audio guide, but held my peace.  All became clear when the actual guide appeared, a brisk, middle-aged Frenchwoman.  She instructed us to put in our earbuds and see if we could hear her on the audio system that was connecting us.  A very sensible system, this.  Nothing is more annoying on a guided tour than straining, and failing, to hear what the guide is saying.  We were a group of about 15 or 20.  As far as I could tell, I was the only non-francophone apart from a young woman from Brazil who was studying art history in Paris, which I know because we had a chat after the tour.  In fact, it turned out that she was taking a course on museology and asked me if I would oblige her by taking a short survey about my Versailles experience.  I obliged, of course.

Versailles: A Visit to the King’s Private Apartments, Part 1.

It’s a little embarrassing to admit, given my longstanding interest in the place and the fact that I have a degree in French, that I didn’t visit Versailles, or even Paris, until April of this year. Basically, I was distracted for nearly 20 years by my work and travels in Asia, which you can read more about on my other blog and gallery website, Lotus & Persimmon.

I’m happy to say that Versailles lived up to 30 years of expectation.  My visit did not proceed quite as planned, though.  I had devised a very specific program for myself:

Day 1: Take a midday train from Paris to Versailles; check in to my hotel; scout the town; but my tickets for the Chateau for the next day; wander in the gardens of the Chateau; dine in the town; turn in early.

Day 2: Join a guided tour of the Private Apartments; see the State Rooms; have lunch in the town; see Mesdames’ Apartments; visit the Musee Lambinet in the town; dine in the town again; turn in early.

Day 3: Visit the Trianons in the morning; have lunch in town; take an early afternoon train back to Paris.

Needless to say there was a fly in the ointment, which in this case was the weather.  Late March and early April 2016 were very wet in France (and Portugal, as I subsequently experienced).  I saw very little of the gardens because of the frequent downpours, and by the end of Day 2 I simply abandoned the idea of visiting the Trianons, which was just as well because the Chateau was closed on Day 3 due to a transport strike!  I was lucky even to make it back to Paris.

Versailles from the garden on a rainy day.

Frankly, I’m hoping to coin a phrase.

Epochs don’t necessarily fit into the neat and mathematically precise notion of a year, a decade, a century, or a millennium. I’ve often thought, for example, that what we in English-speaking North America think of as “the Fifties” wasn’t just the years 1950-59. That strange amalgam of post-war optimism, conformity, and Cold War paranoia was actually the spirit of the whole era from the end of WWII in the summer of 1945 to the assassination of President Kennedy in the autumn of 1963.

Similarly, the 17th and 18th centuries cannot be neatly demarcated in 1700, I feel. The French sensibly take the view that the reign of Louis XIV, in calendar terms only 72 years from 1643 to 1715, was a notional century in itself, which is why they speak of le siecle de Louis XIV (the century of Louis XIV; by the way, please forgive the lack of French accents in my posts so far — I haven’t yet learned how to do them on a Mac). His reign, so consequential for France, Europe and beyond, thus straddles the 17th and 18th centuries.

Louis XIV

I would like to go a few steps further. I propose that the period from 1682, when Louis XIV moved permanently into his newly constructed palace of Versailles, to 1789, when his great-great-great-grandson Louis XVI was involuntarily removed from it, is a recognizable epoch in European and world history. This is not a new idea, but I also humbly propose to give it a new name: The Versailles Century. But why?