The fighting season of 1706 had ended very badly for France, with its armies driven out of Flanders and in retreat everywhere else.  The Archduke Charles, with an Anglo-Austrian army behind him, had even taken Madrid and been proclaimed king as Carlos III, one of the main objectives of the War of the Spanish Succession.  In short, Louis XIV and his allies were beaten to their knees.

Peace Offer

So parlous was the state of France that Louis, for the first time in his career, sued for peace.  He offered to surrender his Flemish fortresses to the Dutch and to recognize the Archduke Charles as King of Spain on the condition that his grandson Felipe V be allowed to keep Sicily, Naples, and Milan.  The Grand Alliance was not impressed, except for the Dutch, whose aims had been achieved for them by Marlborough’s victories. England, Austria and the allied German states, however, scented blood and were determined to bring France low.  The war continued.

Today we bring you Part 4 of the War of the Spanish Succession.  In Part 3, we saw that war was officially declared on France and Spain by England, the United Provinces (today’s Netherlands), and Austria in the spring 1702.

The States of Europe Take Sides

In the beginning, France and Spain faced Europe alone.  They were soon joined by Bavaria, whose Elector still believed that his late son, Prince Joseph Ferdinand, the designated heir to the Spanish throne in the late 1690s, had been poisoned by Austrian agents.  The Elector of Cologne also signed on.  The last addition to the team was Savoy. It should perhaps be explained that the duchy of Savoy was an independent state at this time.  Its duke also possessed the principality of Piedmont and ruled from its capital, Turin.  The Duke of Savoy was more or less obligated to support France and Spain because one of his daughters was married to the Duc de Bourgogne, third in line in to the French throne as the eldest grandson of Louis XIV, and another daughter was married to Bourgogne’s younger brother, the newly minted Felipe V of Spain.  Savoy was an unreliable ally, however.  Nancy Mitford remarks in her biography of Louis XIV, The Sun King, that Duke Vittorio Amadeo was famous for never finishing a war on the same side that he started on.  On the whole, it was an underwhelming team.  Apart from Savoy’s unreliability, there was the problem of Spain’s near bankruptcy and general weakness. The Elector of Bavaria was a solid ally, but lacked resources.  Cologne, of course, was too insignificant to make much of a difference.  France would have to shoulder most of the financial and military burden itself.

Those who have been following this series from the beginning will recognize the map below because I used it in Part 1.  It may be helpful here in Part 4, too, so I’m reproducing it again.

Europe in 1700. Credit: Wikipedia.

On the other side, the Grand Alliance, as the England-United Provinces-Austria axis called itself, was joined by Portugal, Brandenburg-Prussia, Hanover, and various other German states, the most important of which was the Palatinate (German: Pfalz), a Rhineland state on the French border that was coincidentally ruled by another branch of the Bavarian ruling dynasty.  The Palatinate, to the horror of Louis XIV’s sister-in-law, a Palatine princess, had been devastated by French armies in a prior war and was itching for revenge.  It was more or less understood that Austria would supply most of the military muscle on the continent while England and the United Provinces would provide sea power.

When we last left Felipe V, he had just arrived in Madrid, his new capital, on 22 January, 1701, carrying a letter of advice from his grandfather, Louis XIV.  At first, his accession went smoothly, with no war imminent.

The portrait of Felipe V at left hangs in a state room at Versailles, where he was proclaimed King of Spain on 16 November, 1700.

All of the Spanish dominions accepted him as their king.  The nations of Europe did, too, except for Austria.  At the beginning of 1701 it seemed that Felipe V’s accession was a fait accompli.  The calm was not to last, however.

Reader M. Reginald O’Toole (a splendid name) has written via a private message to ask a question about Louis XIV’s letter of advice to his teenaged grandson, the newly-minted Felipe V of Spain.  Did Felipe take his august grandfather’s advice?

I can’t give give an exhaustive, point-by-point answer, but in general, I would say the answer is both yes and no.  Of course, some of Louis XIV’s advice, as mentioned in the last post, is in the spirit of ‘Do as I say, rather than as I do.’  For instance, Louis enjoins his grandson not to have favourites.  This is amusing coming from the monarch who made the role of mistress to the King of France almost an official position.

Felipe is not known to have had any mistresses, so he can be said, in that sense, to have taken his grandfather’s advice.  The Bourbon men were highly sexed.  Even when they were both in their seventies, Louis XIV “honoured” Mme de Maintenon, his second, secret wife, twice a day.  In this regard, Felipe also took Louis’ advice.

A Letter of Advice from Louis XIV to His Grandson, Felipe V of Spain

Having been declared King of Spain on 16 November 1700, Felipe V, formerly Philippe d’Anjou, left Versailles for Spain on 4 December.  He didn’t reach Madrid until 22 January 1701.  Along the way, he would have had plenty of time to read and ponder the letter handed to him by his grandfather on his departure.

Louis XIV had composed a 33-point letter of advice for his teenaged grandson, bringing to bear the experience of his then nearly 6 decades on the French throne, 4 of them as sole ruler.  Some of his advice is in the spirit of ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’  It also reveals some of the Sun King’s notions of kingship.

Felipe V as Philippe d’Anjou, probably just before his accession.

The War of the Spanish Succession was one of the defining events of the Versailles Century (1682-1789).  Today on the blog we’ll examine the background of the conflict.

In the late 1690s, Europe was preoccupied by the question of who was to succeed Spain’s childless king, Carlos II, who was feeble of both mind and body.  Still only in his 30s, he was nonetheless thought to be on his last legs.  Unfortunately for him, his house, the Spanish branch of the Habsburgs, was the most inbred dynasty in the history of Europe.  His own parents, for instance, were uncle and niece.  The most visible outcome of this inbreeding in Carlos II was his deformed jaw, which made it difficult for him to speak and eat.

Charles II of Spain (1661-1700).  Credit: Wikipedia.

At last!  It’s taken decades, but my Mitford collection is now complete.  I’m referring to Nancy Mitford’s 4 historical biographies, rather than her novels.  In order of publication, the biographies are: Madame de Pompadour (1954), Voltaire in Love (1957), The Sun King (1966), and Frederick the Great (1970).

Attentive readers might remember this photo from an early post on this blog:

Madame de Pompadour and The Sun King, both by Nancy Mitford.  These are the lavish American editions published by Harper & Row.

At the time, these were the only items in my Mitford collection.  They’ve followed me from home to home through 4 countries over the last 30-odd years, which is why the dust jackets are slightly the worse for wear.  I had once owned a hard cover copy of Frederick the Great, but I donated it to a library that one of my former professors was setting up at Western University (my alma mater, formerly known as the University of Western Ontario).  It’s called the Pride Library.  You can visit its website here: http://www.uwo.ca/pridelib/.

During my long weekend in Toronto, I managed to check out the furniture of New France collection at the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM).

Attentive readers who also follow Versailles Century on Instagram might remember that I posted this photo some time ago.

Rococo to Rustique, a book about the early French-Canadian furniture collection at the ROM.

I promised to visit the museum and write a follow up post.  In fact, I think there will be a series of posts.

The only church that most visitors to Versailles see is the Château’s own chapel.  This is understandable, of course, because it’s the Château that people come to see.  Today, however, we’re going to explore 2 churches in the town of Versailles, the Church of Our Lady (Notre-Dame) and the Cathedral of St. Louis.

The interior of the chapel at the Château de Versailles.

Let’s begin with the older one, the Église Notre-Dame, or the Church of Our Lady.

This church was built quite early in the development of Versailles.  It was erected by Jules Hardouin-Mansart (1646-1708) between 1684 and 1686, presumably in the time that he could spare from his work at the Château.  Remember that Louis XIV had only moved into the Château for good in 1682.

Before the chapel that we see today was completed in 1710, there were other chapels in the Château, but the town needed a church, too, hence the construction of Notre-Dame in the Rue de la Paroisse.  If you walk northward from the Château, you can make the church out as you approach the Place Hoche.

Place Hoche, with the Church of Our Lady (Notre-Dame), one of the 2 main churches of Versailles, clearly visible to the right of the statue.

It’s a sad day for museum lovers and Versailles Century enthusiasts.  As of today, 3 October, 2016, the Carnavalet Museum in Paris is closed for a massive 3-year program of renovations.  If all goes well, it should re-open in the autumn of 2019.

A facade in the main courtyard of the Carnavalet Museum.