Did Louis XIV Have Absolute Power?
You can find an abridged version (5-minute read) here.
*last update: July 25, 2025
I spent the first five years of my life in Peterhof, a satellite town of St. Petersburg, Russia. There, I lived with my parents in an apartment my grandfather had received for his military service—he was a World War II veteran. Peterhof was originally created by Peter the Great, the same tsar who strategically founded the city of St. Petersburg in 1703 as the first port to connect Russia with the West. As part of his plan to modernize the country, Peter the Great brought in many innovations from Europe. In particular, Peterhof remains a testimony to his admiration for the French culture of his time.
This admiration was somewhat of a paradox. In his detailed account of Louis XIV’s reign, historian Philip Mansel notes that Peter the Great, despite his personal preference for simplicity, constructed Peterhof as a vast country palace inspired in part by Versailles—complete with gardens, fountains, and a villa modeled after Marly by J. B. le Blond, a pupil of Le Nôtre (see Chapter 24; here and below, I am referring to Mansel's book King of the World).
*last update: July 25, 2025
I spent the first five years of my life in Peterhof, a satellite town of St. Petersburg, Russia. There, I lived with my parents in an apartment my grandfather had received for his military service—he was a World War II veteran. Peterhof was originally created by Peter the Great, the same tsar who strategically founded the city of St. Petersburg in 1703 as the first port to connect Russia with the West. As part of his plan to modernize the country, Peter the Great brought in many innovations from Europe. In particular, Peterhof remains a testimony to his admiration for the French culture of his time.
This admiration was somewhat of a paradox. In his detailed account of Louis XIV’s reign, historian Philip Mansel notes that Peter the Great, despite his personal preference for simplicity, constructed Peterhof as a vast country palace inspired in part by Versailles—complete with gardens, fountains, and a villa modeled after Marly by J. B. le Blond, a pupil of Le Nôtre (see Chapter 24; here and below, I am referring to Mansel's book King of the World).
Image credit: Peterhof by Slava Korolev
I walked in the Peterhof park many times, alone and with friends, admiring its scope and beauty. Little did I know that years later, living in a different country, I would turn to Louis XIV's reign to help explain my theory of power. Peterhof seems to be a perfect manifestation of Louis’s immense influence. Even Peter the Great, who disliked luxury, chose to imitate the French king's extravagant style. But was Louis’s influence truly limitless? To answer this question, I turned to Mansel’s comprehensive biography of this controversial king, published in 2020. Relying on the authority of this reputable historian, I will explain below why Louis XIV’s power was far from absolute.
To be clear, I am not inventing the wheel. The idea that so-called absolute monarchs did not have absolute power is not new. As political science scholar Keith Dowding puts it in his entry on absolutism in the Encyclopedia of Power,
"These monarchs had great formal powers, which in practice extended to closing down other power centers, emasculating parliaments, creating powerful bureaucracies and standing armies, and generally centralizing power to a greater extent than previously happened... [However, their power] can be overemphasized. Certainly there were other centers of power, notably the churches and nobility, though absolutist monarchs attempted to enfeeble the latter by requiring them to work with state officials on their lands. [I]t is not clear that the absolute rulers had significantly greater power than other rulers. Absolute rulers still needed to negotiate with barons and with the church and were beholden to powerful figures within their palaces and bureaucracies." (my emphasis)
Still, the idea that absolute monarchs lacked absolute power might come as a surprise. In this essay, I draw on Mansel’s account of Louis XIV’s reign to bring some life to the dry language of the encyclopedia entry quoted above.
I must clarify that any historical account is ultimately a work of interpretation. Therefore, the description I offer below can be contested by those who interpret historical sources differently. I acknowledge that my work is guided by a personal belief in the importance of empathy. And as a scholar, I aim to support my theory of power, which holds that in any person's actions, power always coexists with powerlessness—though this combination takes different forms depending on the individual and their circumstances.
It is my choice not to see Louis XIV merely as a haughty and heartless lover of exquisite entertainments. Instead, I choose to see him as a person who, like all of us, was born into a world of meanings and relationships he did not fully comprehend. He tried to navigate this world as best he could, in the process making many mistakes and hurting numerous people—something he was able to do because of the meanings of absolute monarchy instilled in his mind and reinforced by those around him.
I walked in the Peterhof park many times, alone and with friends, admiring its scope and beauty. Little did I know that years later, living in a different country, I would turn to Louis XIV's reign to help explain my theory of power. Peterhof seems to be a perfect manifestation of Louis’s immense influence. Even Peter the Great, who disliked luxury, chose to imitate the French king's extravagant style. But was Louis’s influence truly limitless? To answer this question, I turned to Mansel’s comprehensive biography of this controversial king, published in 2020. Relying on the authority of this reputable historian, I will explain below why Louis XIV’s power was far from absolute.
To be clear, I am not inventing the wheel. The idea that so-called absolute monarchs did not have absolute power is not new. As political science scholar Keith Dowding puts it in his entry on absolutism in the Encyclopedia of Power,
"These monarchs had great formal powers, which in practice extended to closing down other power centers, emasculating parliaments, creating powerful bureaucracies and standing armies, and generally centralizing power to a greater extent than previously happened... [However, their power] can be overemphasized. Certainly there were other centers of power, notably the churches and nobility, though absolutist monarchs attempted to enfeeble the latter by requiring them to work with state officials on their lands. [I]t is not clear that the absolute rulers had significantly greater power than other rulers. Absolute rulers still needed to negotiate with barons and with the church and were beholden to powerful figures within their palaces and bureaucracies." (my emphasis)
Still, the idea that absolute monarchs lacked absolute power might come as a surprise. In this essay, I draw on Mansel’s account of Louis XIV’s reign to bring some life to the dry language of the encyclopedia entry quoted above.
I must clarify that any historical account is ultimately a work of interpretation. Therefore, the description I offer below can be contested by those who interpret historical sources differently. I acknowledge that my work is guided by a personal belief in the importance of empathy. And as a scholar, I aim to support my theory of power, which holds that in any person's actions, power always coexists with powerlessness—though this combination takes different forms depending on the individual and their circumstances.
It is my choice not to see Louis XIV merely as a haughty and heartless lover of exquisite entertainments. Instead, I choose to see him as a person who, like all of us, was born into a world of meanings and relationships he did not fully comprehend. He tried to navigate this world as best he could, in the process making many mistakes and hurting numerous people—something he was able to do because of the meanings of absolute monarchy instilled in his mind and reinforced by those around him.
King's Childhood
When his father died in 1643, four-year-old Louis XIV was proclaimed King. Of course, he did not begin managing France immediately. Upon the death of her husband, Queen Anne became regent and ruled with the help of Cardinal Mazarin until Louis reached the age of majority (13 years old) in 1651. Even then, although his mother was no longer regent, the young king did not fully take the reins of state until Mazarin’s death in 1661—ten years later.
Image credit: Louis XIV during his minority, c. 1643, by Pierre Mignard
Let us first take a look at the formative years of the future self-proclaimed Sun King. We could hardly claim that Louis XIV came anywhere close to absolute power as a child. But as a king by law, perhaps he enjoyed a life of exceptional happiness and freedom?
Mansel’s account dispels this myth from the outset. He writes that even by royal standards, the family into which Louis XIV was born was deeply dysfunctional
("a nest of vipers," as Mansel puts it in Chapter 1). Intrigues, mistrust, and rivalry flourished, even between closest relatives. Queen Anne herself, being of Spanish origin, conspired against her husband and aided Spain during the war between the two countries.
Louis XIV's family could hardly be called a healthy environment for a young child trying to make sense of the world. According to Mansel (Chapter 1), even at the age of two, Louis was used as a pawn in his parents’ strained marriage—his actions and feelings exploited as political tools. The court surrounding him was no less treacherous. Every personal interaction and physical space had political implications. It was, as Mansel puts it in Chapter 1, “a zone of negotiation, and a school of psychology, as well as a battlefield.” From a very young age, Louis had to navigate this battlefield while attending countless ceremonial events. As he grew older, his public life turned into “an unending sequence of ceremonies” (Chapter 2), which he soon came to detest but could not avoid.
One can only wonder how becoming king at age four might affect a child. No psychological study can tell us what it really means to grow up as an absolute monarch. But it is clear that before Louis XIV could begin exercising power, he received many lessons in powerlessness.
On the positive side, he had a close and affectionate relationship with his mother—something few contemporary monarchs could claim. Unlike many royal parents of the time, Queen Anne spent considerable time with her beloved first-born son and played an active role in his education.
In particular, she worked to instill in Louis a belief in the divine rights of the French king. Having experienced her own powerlessness, Queen Anne may have wished for absolute power for her son out of love—hoping it would protect him and bring happiness. These lessons appear to have taken root. The conviction in his divine authority—reinforced by life’s stresses, heartbreaks, and very human biases—contributed to the mistakes Louis XIV would later make, sometimes with harmful consequences. One such heartbreak was his mother’s painful death from breast cancer at the age of 64, when Louis was only 28. She died in a Parisian convent where she had retired after her regency. Shaken by her death, Louis rarely visited the city afterward, preferring instead to develop Versailles and other royal residences.
Let us first take a look at the formative years of the future self-proclaimed Sun King. We could hardly claim that Louis XIV came anywhere close to absolute power as a child. But as a king by law, perhaps he enjoyed a life of exceptional happiness and freedom?
Mansel’s account dispels this myth from the outset. He writes that even by royal standards, the family into which Louis XIV was born was deeply dysfunctional
("a nest of vipers," as Mansel puts it in Chapter 1). Intrigues, mistrust, and rivalry flourished, even between closest relatives. Queen Anne herself, being of Spanish origin, conspired against her husband and aided Spain during the war between the two countries.
Louis XIV's family could hardly be called a healthy environment for a young child trying to make sense of the world. According to Mansel (Chapter 1), even at the age of two, Louis was used as a pawn in his parents’ strained marriage—his actions and feelings exploited as political tools. The court surrounding him was no less treacherous. Every personal interaction and physical space had political implications. It was, as Mansel puts it in Chapter 1, “a zone of negotiation, and a school of psychology, as well as a battlefield.” From a very young age, Louis had to navigate this battlefield while attending countless ceremonial events. As he grew older, his public life turned into “an unending sequence of ceremonies” (Chapter 2), which he soon came to detest but could not avoid.
One can only wonder how becoming king at age four might affect a child. No psychological study can tell us what it really means to grow up as an absolute monarch. But it is clear that before Louis XIV could begin exercising power, he received many lessons in powerlessness.
On the positive side, he had a close and affectionate relationship with his mother—something few contemporary monarchs could claim. Unlike many royal parents of the time, Queen Anne spent considerable time with her beloved first-born son and played an active role in his education.
In particular, she worked to instill in Louis a belief in the divine rights of the French king. Having experienced her own powerlessness, Queen Anne may have wished for absolute power for her son out of love—hoping it would protect him and bring happiness. These lessons appear to have taken root. The conviction in his divine authority—reinforced by life’s stresses, heartbreaks, and very human biases—contributed to the mistakes Louis XIV would later make, sometimes with harmful consequences. One such heartbreak was his mother’s painful death from breast cancer at the age of 64, when Louis was only 28. She died in a Parisian convent where she had retired after her regency. Shaken by her death, Louis rarely visited the city afterward, preferring instead to develop Versailles and other royal residences.
Image credit: Queen Anne, Louis XIV's mother, c. 1620, by Peter Paul Rubens
But let us return to his childhood. There was another reason Louis XIV disliked Paris. Mansel describes the city as “a cauldron of combustible institutions” (Chapter 2), both supportive of and in tension with the monarchy. This combination could be confusing, frustrating, and frightening. In general, Mansel explains that royal lineage and divine claims to authority did not protect French kings from revolt or assassination. France, he writes in the Introduction, was “a monarchy on a knife-edge,” where rulers like Henri IV, Louis XIII, and Louis XIV faced constant threats of rebellion, religious conflict, and regicide. These threats haunted Louis throughout his life.
As a child, Louis could almost see his worst fears coming true in Paris. Before he reached the age of majority, the city became the epicenter of a major uprising known as the Fronde. It was essentially a civil war—though not a grassroots one. Led by aristocrats angered by the erosion of their privileges, the rebellion stoked popular discontent among Parisians already burdened by taxes and a weakened Parlement. At the age of twelve, Louis experienced a moment that would stay with him for life: on two consecutive nights, the Queen had to allow Parisians to file through the young king’s bedroom to confirm that he had not been moved or hidden (Chapter 3). This intrusion was probably deeply humiliating for Louis and his mother. At other points during the Fronde, they were closely watched and effectively confined in the Palais Royal, almost like prisoners. Even at that age, he must have felt how fragile royal power could become when popular suspicion and noble unrest converged.
This is not to say Parisians lacked reasons to be concerned about the government's actions—centralization was a defining trait of absolutist regimes. Rather than excusing the monarchy, my goal is to explore how these events may have shaped the young king’s understanding of the world. For Louis, the idea of divine kingship must have held strong appeal: it promised stability and safety in a world riddled with dangers, conflicts, and contradiction. The idea of absolute monarchy conveniently resonated with what Louis often witnessed. As Mansel notes in Chapter 1, for most French people under Louis XIII and Louis XIV, both monarchy and Christianity were “cults of hierarchy and obedience.” Rebellions like the Fronde, in the mind of the young Louis, could be dismissed as unfortunate deviations. Inspired by his mother, he grew up believing he was destined to rule the world.
Louis XIV was learning about his rights and responsibilities—but no one could explain how the power he had been promised would one day begin to change him.
But let us return to his childhood. There was another reason Louis XIV disliked Paris. Mansel describes the city as “a cauldron of combustible institutions” (Chapter 2), both supportive of and in tension with the monarchy. This combination could be confusing, frustrating, and frightening. In general, Mansel explains that royal lineage and divine claims to authority did not protect French kings from revolt or assassination. France, he writes in the Introduction, was “a monarchy on a knife-edge,” where rulers like Henri IV, Louis XIII, and Louis XIV faced constant threats of rebellion, religious conflict, and regicide. These threats haunted Louis throughout his life.
As a child, Louis could almost see his worst fears coming true in Paris. Before he reached the age of majority, the city became the epicenter of a major uprising known as the Fronde. It was essentially a civil war—though not a grassroots one. Led by aristocrats angered by the erosion of their privileges, the rebellion stoked popular discontent among Parisians already burdened by taxes and a weakened Parlement. At the age of twelve, Louis experienced a moment that would stay with him for life: on two consecutive nights, the Queen had to allow Parisians to file through the young king’s bedroom to confirm that he had not been moved or hidden (Chapter 3). This intrusion was probably deeply humiliating for Louis and his mother. At other points during the Fronde, they were closely watched and effectively confined in the Palais Royal, almost like prisoners. Even at that age, he must have felt how fragile royal power could become when popular suspicion and noble unrest converged.
This is not to say Parisians lacked reasons to be concerned about the government's actions—centralization was a defining trait of absolutist regimes. Rather than excusing the monarchy, my goal is to explore how these events may have shaped the young king’s understanding of the world. For Louis, the idea of divine kingship must have held strong appeal: it promised stability and safety in a world riddled with dangers, conflicts, and contradiction. The idea of absolute monarchy conveniently resonated with what Louis often witnessed. As Mansel notes in Chapter 1, for most French people under Louis XIII and Louis XIV, both monarchy and Christianity were “cults of hierarchy and obedience.” Rebellions like the Fronde, in the mind of the young Louis, could be dismissed as unfortunate deviations. Inspired by his mother, he grew up believing he was destined to rule the world.
Louis XIV was learning about his rights and responsibilities—but no one could explain how the power he had been promised would one day begin to change him.
Closer to Power
Between 1651—when Louis XIV formally began ruling on his own at the age of thirteen—and 1661, when Mazarin died, the young king was gradually learning to manage his country. But during this ten-year period, many of his decisions were shaped more by Mazarin’s and his mother’s wills than his own. In an interesting twist, it was rumored that Mazarin and Queen Anne had secretly married, forming with the king a kind of nuclear family (Chapter 2). Though not without tension, their bond was unusually tender by royal standards. Louis XIV trusted and admired both his mother and Mazarin, even if he did not always approve of their decisions.
Image credit: Cardinal Jules Mazarin, 1658, by Pierre Mignard
One moment that revealed the limits of his power came when Louis fell deeply in love with Marie Mancini, Mazarin’s niece. When he shared his intention to marry her, both Mazarin and Queen Anne rejected the idea. The Cardinal may have briefly entertained the possibility of becoming the king’s uncle-in-law, but the Queen stood firmly against it. Her opposition was not rooted in disregard for her son’s happiness. Rather, she most probably believed that securing his position as an absolute monarch—through strong political and dynastic alliances—was the best way to protect him from the uncertainties of life. In her view, marrying the daughter of Philip IV of Spain, Louis’s double first cousin, would offer the security and prestige she wanted for him.
To persuade the heartbroken king, Mazarin wrote a letter that perfectly captures the contradictory messages Louis was receiving about power. Mazarin reminded Louis that, although the latter had the authority to do as he wished, he was not merely an individual but an institution, accountable both to God and to the world for his actions and reputation (Chapter 4). And so, fulfilling his mother’s will, Louis married Maria Theresa of Spain in 1660.
It must be noted that monarchs—especially so-called absolute ones—rarely had the freedom to marry for love. Dynastic marriages were often fraught with biological, emotional, and political risks. As Mansel explains, European rulers usually married within the “family of kings,” often cousins, to preserve royal prestige. Ties within this "family" was so strong that European kings and queens "wore mourning for each other as relations even when they were at war" (Chapter 5). Unions between them, however, increased the risk of illnesses (physical and mental), infertility, and other consequences of inbreeding (Chapter 5). Most of the children born to Louis and Maria Theresa died young—likely an outcome of this genetic closeness. Louis loved his children dearly, and each loss left him devastated.
In 1661, a year after his wedding, Mazarin died—a blow that deeply affected the King. Louis reportedly wept so uncontrollably during the Cardinal’s last rites that he had to be asked to leave the room (Chapter 5). Saying goodbye to both Marie Mancini and his beloved mentor in such quick succession were likely the first major heartbreaks of his life. And yet, in his early twenties, Louis had not yet become the hardened ruler he would later be. As Mansel writes, between the age of fourteen and thirty, “between the abjection of the Fronde and the intoxication of absolutism,” Louis was still affable and informal, with a certain Parisian charm (Chapter 4).
Now 23, Louis XIV finally took the reins of power into his own hands. To everyone’s astonishment, he announced on the day of Mazarin’s death: “I am determined henceforth to govern my state by myself.” He would allow no one—not even his mother—to challenge his authority (Chapter 6). After all the lessons in powerlessness he had received so far, and fueled by the conviction that absolute power was his destiny, Louis was ready to seize as much control as he could.
Like all of us, Louis XIV was full of contradictions. He wanted to wield the power he believed was rightfully his, but not solely for selfish ends. For twenty years, those he loved and respected had told him his duty was to strengthen France and secure the Bourbon dynasty. Believing he could best serve his country by eliminating intermediaries, he threw himself into the task of governing—often to the point of micromanagement. He did so with conviction, telling himself that he was doing good. I believe that one of the greatest contradictions in his character was that he sincerely wanted to make France powerful and admired, yet could blind himself to his own motivations. Vanity, anxiety, and personal bias often guided his decisions more than he realized.
Louis is famously remembered as the monarch who declared, “I am the state.” But as Mansel points out, there is no record of him ever having said this in a speech or writing. It appears to be a later invention (Chapter 4). Similarly, the image of Louis XIV as an all-powerful absolute monarch is often distorted by time and myth. These stories can obscure the complex interplay of power and powerlessness that shaped his life and reign.
One moment that revealed the limits of his power came when Louis fell deeply in love with Marie Mancini, Mazarin’s niece. When he shared his intention to marry her, both Mazarin and Queen Anne rejected the idea. The Cardinal may have briefly entertained the possibility of becoming the king’s uncle-in-law, but the Queen stood firmly against it. Her opposition was not rooted in disregard for her son’s happiness. Rather, she most probably believed that securing his position as an absolute monarch—through strong political and dynastic alliances—was the best way to protect him from the uncertainties of life. In her view, marrying the daughter of Philip IV of Spain, Louis’s double first cousin, would offer the security and prestige she wanted for him.
To persuade the heartbroken king, Mazarin wrote a letter that perfectly captures the contradictory messages Louis was receiving about power. Mazarin reminded Louis that, although the latter had the authority to do as he wished, he was not merely an individual but an institution, accountable both to God and to the world for his actions and reputation (Chapter 4). And so, fulfilling his mother’s will, Louis married Maria Theresa of Spain in 1660.
It must be noted that monarchs—especially so-called absolute ones—rarely had the freedom to marry for love. Dynastic marriages were often fraught with biological, emotional, and political risks. As Mansel explains, European rulers usually married within the “family of kings,” often cousins, to preserve royal prestige. Ties within this "family" was so strong that European kings and queens "wore mourning for each other as relations even when they were at war" (Chapter 5). Unions between them, however, increased the risk of illnesses (physical and mental), infertility, and other consequences of inbreeding (Chapter 5). Most of the children born to Louis and Maria Theresa died young—likely an outcome of this genetic closeness. Louis loved his children dearly, and each loss left him devastated.
In 1661, a year after his wedding, Mazarin died—a blow that deeply affected the King. Louis reportedly wept so uncontrollably during the Cardinal’s last rites that he had to be asked to leave the room (Chapter 5). Saying goodbye to both Marie Mancini and his beloved mentor in such quick succession were likely the first major heartbreaks of his life. And yet, in his early twenties, Louis had not yet become the hardened ruler he would later be. As Mansel writes, between the age of fourteen and thirty, “between the abjection of the Fronde and the intoxication of absolutism,” Louis was still affable and informal, with a certain Parisian charm (Chapter 4).
Now 23, Louis XIV finally took the reins of power into his own hands. To everyone’s astonishment, he announced on the day of Mazarin’s death: “I am determined henceforth to govern my state by myself.” He would allow no one—not even his mother—to challenge his authority (Chapter 6). After all the lessons in powerlessness he had received so far, and fueled by the conviction that absolute power was his destiny, Louis was ready to seize as much control as he could.
Like all of us, Louis XIV was full of contradictions. He wanted to wield the power he believed was rightfully his, but not solely for selfish ends. For twenty years, those he loved and respected had told him his duty was to strengthen France and secure the Bourbon dynasty. Believing he could best serve his country by eliminating intermediaries, he threw himself into the task of governing—often to the point of micromanagement. He did so with conviction, telling himself that he was doing good. I believe that one of the greatest contradictions in his character was that he sincerely wanted to make France powerful and admired, yet could blind himself to his own motivations. Vanity, anxiety, and personal bias often guided his decisions more than he realized.
Louis is famously remembered as the monarch who declared, “I am the state.” But as Mansel points out, there is no record of him ever having said this in a speech or writing. It appears to be a later invention (Chapter 4). Similarly, the image of Louis XIV as an all-powerful absolute monarch is often distorted by time and myth. These stories can obscure the complex interplay of power and powerlessness that shaped his life and reign.
Image credit: Louis XIV, c. 1655, by Charles Le Brun
Powerful/less King
Louis XIV clearly did not have absolute power as a child-king. Nor did he have absolute power as a young man while Mazarin was still alive. But what about his reign beginning at age 23, when he started to manage France as best as (he thought) he could? From that point on and until the end of his life, Louis XIV’s decisions influenced—and hurt—numerous people inside and outside of France. Still, it would be wrong to argue that he could do whatever he wanted, even as one of the seemingly most powerful monarchs in Europe at the time.
It would also be wrong to assume that his life was always easy or enjoyable, despite the luxurious beauty of his court and the extravagant entertainments of Versailles. Far from justifying the many mistakes Louis XIV made during his eventful life, we can assume that he often tried to be a good person and to do what he thought—or wanted to think—was best for his country and people. We can also recognize that some of his mistakes stemmed from factors difficult for him to fully understand or change, and that his delusions of grandeur, combined with anxieties about losing his power, were shaped by the contradictions of his life.
I present details about various aspects of Louis’s life and reign in the sections below.
1. King and His Court
To understand the relationship between Louis XIV and his court, we first need to recognize that a court was essentially an extended royal household. It included thousands of individuals—many of them nobles—who lived near the king and queen, not only to serve them but also to enjoy the power and prestige that came with proximity. Once Versailles became Louis XIV’s primary residence, his court could include up to 10,000 people, depending on the day.
A grand and elegant court was essential for projecting royal power. But the splendor came at great financial cost. Louis XIV invested heavily in building and expanding Versailles, not only for symbolic reasons but also because such a residence had to accommodate a large number of courtiers. Though court life was shaped by strict etiquette, courtiers were not mere servants. Many were just as interested in advancing their own ambitions as in serving the monarchy. Courts were often breeding grounds for rivalry, gossip, and tension. Louis XIV, however, managed to keep his court more emotionally unified than many of his royal counterparts. As Mansel writes, “[he] made his family and court into an emotional community,” unlike the fractured and dangerous courts of the Stuarts, Hanovers, Romanovs, or his own father (Chapter 14).
Many court ceremonies had been passed down from previous reigns. Louis continued these traditions but also made adjustments that reflected his personal style. Compared to other European courts, his was known for being unusually open and less rigidly stratified. The King himself disliked excessive formality and once remarked that “if there is a singularity in this monarchy, it is the free and easy access of subjects to the monarch” (Chapter 13). This informality created a sense of disorder as well. A visitor described the court as “a real confusion of men and women,” and in 1698, another noted that one could “see, talk with and almost touch the King.” Notably, Mansel writes that, within this crowd of courtiers, the King "needed his cane not only for support, but to bar uninvited guests, or to fight to make room for the Queen and her ladies, or even for himself" "Not even Louis XIV," Mansel adds, "for all the fear and awe he inspired, was in total control" (Chapter 13).
This unusual mix of ceremonial tradition and casual accessibility was especially visible in two daily rituals: the lever (his waking and dressing) and the coucher (his bedtime routine). The lever could draw up to a hundred people into the King’s room once he was dressed. In his younger years, the atmosphere had been reverent, but later courtiers spoke openly even as he prayed. John Locke, visiting in 1678, was struck by the “noise and buzz” that filled the room (Chapter 13). In the evening, after most visitors had departed, a more intimate petit coucher followed. During this time, Louis—dressed in a robe—might sit on his commode (toilet) and receive one or two courtiers. These privileged individuals, recipients of the King's brevet d’affaires (chamber pot), used the opportunity to speak with him freely or request favors. As strange as these moments might seem now, they reflected the lack of privacy common to royalty, and in Louis XIV’s case, a willingness to reduce that privacy further in order to maintain visibility and access.
Despite his desire to control as much as possible, Louis could not oversee every detail himself, even within his court. He needed to delegate. Because of this, he placed great importance on choosing the right people for key roles. As Mansel puts it, “[t]he King regarded job allocation as one of his principal duties” (Chapter 13). Versailles, therefore, was not just a palace—it functioned like a national employment center for the nobility. Delaying appointments was one way the King could reinforce his authority while buying time to make what he hoped would be wise choices. But this also meant that courtiers were constantly vying for his attention. Each day, as he walked through the palace to attend mass, he was met with a stream of requests. On one occasion alone—June 12, 1702—over a hundred petitions were submitted, a reminder of his central role in distributing jobs and money (Chapter 13).
Courtiers, like the broader French public, held complicated feelings about the King. They admired and feared him, but also often criticized him. Louis was well aware of this. Even at the height of his success in 1672, members of his court were voicing disapproval of his ministers and decisions. By the end of his reign, his second wife Madame de Maintenon herself remarked that “freedom of speech in our court has been taken to excess”—although she too expressed doubts in private letters, including about his wars and entertainments (Chapter 13). Louis sometimes ignored criticism, but he did not always shut it out. He even welcomed to court individuals who disagreed with him.
Indeed, bringing so many bright and driven people together in one place often meant that loyalty existed side by side with opposition. Writers such as La Fontaine and La Bruyère lived partially at court but voiced sharp critiques in their work. The Duke of Saint-Simon used his years at Versailles to collect material for his famously hostile memoirs about Louis XIV. Yet even Saint-Simon, known for his cutting assessments, acknowledged the King’s grace and charm. He described Louis’s “incomparable grace and majesty,” and praised his generosity and consistently courteous manner—even noting that the King tipped his hat to women of all ranks, including maids (Chapter 14).
As Mansel observes, Louis XIV’s “warmth, charm and joie de vivre” played a real role in reinforcing the monarchy. These qualities amplified the traditional forces of power, fear, loyalty, and ambition on which kingship was built (Chapter 14).
It would also be wrong to assume that his life was always easy or enjoyable, despite the luxurious beauty of his court and the extravagant entertainments of Versailles. Far from justifying the many mistakes Louis XIV made during his eventful life, we can assume that he often tried to be a good person and to do what he thought—or wanted to think—was best for his country and people. We can also recognize that some of his mistakes stemmed from factors difficult for him to fully understand or change, and that his delusions of grandeur, combined with anxieties about losing his power, were shaped by the contradictions of his life.
I present details about various aspects of Louis’s life and reign in the sections below.
1. King and His Court
To understand the relationship between Louis XIV and his court, we first need to recognize that a court was essentially an extended royal household. It included thousands of individuals—many of them nobles—who lived near the king and queen, not only to serve them but also to enjoy the power and prestige that came with proximity. Once Versailles became Louis XIV’s primary residence, his court could include up to 10,000 people, depending on the day.
A grand and elegant court was essential for projecting royal power. But the splendor came at great financial cost. Louis XIV invested heavily in building and expanding Versailles, not only for symbolic reasons but also because such a residence had to accommodate a large number of courtiers. Though court life was shaped by strict etiquette, courtiers were not mere servants. Many were just as interested in advancing their own ambitions as in serving the monarchy. Courts were often breeding grounds for rivalry, gossip, and tension. Louis XIV, however, managed to keep his court more emotionally unified than many of his royal counterparts. As Mansel writes, “[he] made his family and court into an emotional community,” unlike the fractured and dangerous courts of the Stuarts, Hanovers, Romanovs, or his own father (Chapter 14).
Many court ceremonies had been passed down from previous reigns. Louis continued these traditions but also made adjustments that reflected his personal style. Compared to other European courts, his was known for being unusually open and less rigidly stratified. The King himself disliked excessive formality and once remarked that “if there is a singularity in this monarchy, it is the free and easy access of subjects to the monarch” (Chapter 13). This informality created a sense of disorder as well. A visitor described the court as “a real confusion of men and women,” and in 1698, another noted that one could “see, talk with and almost touch the King.” Notably, Mansel writes that, within this crowd of courtiers, the King "needed his cane not only for support, but to bar uninvited guests, or to fight to make room for the Queen and her ladies, or even for himself" "Not even Louis XIV," Mansel adds, "for all the fear and awe he inspired, was in total control" (Chapter 13).
This unusual mix of ceremonial tradition and casual accessibility was especially visible in two daily rituals: the lever (his waking and dressing) and the coucher (his bedtime routine). The lever could draw up to a hundred people into the King’s room once he was dressed. In his younger years, the atmosphere had been reverent, but later courtiers spoke openly even as he prayed. John Locke, visiting in 1678, was struck by the “noise and buzz” that filled the room (Chapter 13). In the evening, after most visitors had departed, a more intimate petit coucher followed. During this time, Louis—dressed in a robe—might sit on his commode (toilet) and receive one or two courtiers. These privileged individuals, recipients of the King's brevet d’affaires (chamber pot), used the opportunity to speak with him freely or request favors. As strange as these moments might seem now, they reflected the lack of privacy common to royalty, and in Louis XIV’s case, a willingness to reduce that privacy further in order to maintain visibility and access.
Despite his desire to control as much as possible, Louis could not oversee every detail himself, even within his court. He needed to delegate. Because of this, he placed great importance on choosing the right people for key roles. As Mansel puts it, “[t]he King regarded job allocation as one of his principal duties” (Chapter 13). Versailles, therefore, was not just a palace—it functioned like a national employment center for the nobility. Delaying appointments was one way the King could reinforce his authority while buying time to make what he hoped would be wise choices. But this also meant that courtiers were constantly vying for his attention. Each day, as he walked through the palace to attend mass, he was met with a stream of requests. On one occasion alone—June 12, 1702—over a hundred petitions were submitted, a reminder of his central role in distributing jobs and money (Chapter 13).
Courtiers, like the broader French public, held complicated feelings about the King. They admired and feared him, but also often criticized him. Louis was well aware of this. Even at the height of his success in 1672, members of his court were voicing disapproval of his ministers and decisions. By the end of his reign, his second wife Madame de Maintenon herself remarked that “freedom of speech in our court has been taken to excess”—although she too expressed doubts in private letters, including about his wars and entertainments (Chapter 13). Louis sometimes ignored criticism, but he did not always shut it out. He even welcomed to court individuals who disagreed with him.
Indeed, bringing so many bright and driven people together in one place often meant that loyalty existed side by side with opposition. Writers such as La Fontaine and La Bruyère lived partially at court but voiced sharp critiques in their work. The Duke of Saint-Simon used his years at Versailles to collect material for his famously hostile memoirs about Louis XIV. Yet even Saint-Simon, known for his cutting assessments, acknowledged the King’s grace and charm. He described Louis’s “incomparable grace and majesty,” and praised his generosity and consistently courteous manner—even noting that the King tipped his hat to women of all ranks, including maids (Chapter 14).
As Mansel observes, Louis XIV’s “warmth, charm and joie de vivre” played a real role in reinforcing the monarchy. These qualities amplified the traditional forces of power, fear, loyalty, and ambition on which kingship was built (Chapter 14).
Image credit: Louis XIV meets his Spanish bride Maria Teresa on the Island of Pheasants in 1660, a later copy painted by Jacques Laumosnier
2. Hardworking King
It’s easy to imagine Louis XIV constantly surrounded by music, fireworks, and elaborate parties. These events certainly happened—and they were as extravagant as one might expect—but they took up only a small part of the King’s time. Much of his day was spent working, often intensely, in service of what he saw as the interests of France. “Work is the first object of His Majesty and he prefers it to everything else,” wrote Colbert, his First Minister. Colbert was not exaggerating. Until the very end of his reign, Louis rarely missed a morning council meeting, held Monday through Friday from 9 to 11. He also led three evening sessions on financial matters each week. On top of that, he had private meetings with his secretaries of state—Lionne on weekends, Colbert midweek, and Le Tellier on Tuesdays for military affairs. Additional councils were often scheduled late in the evening, just before supper. His routine was so consistent that it was compared to monastic discipline (Chapter 7).
“Louis XIV spent as much time with his ministers as with his family, his court officials or his mistresses” (Chapter 14). His capacity for work was supported by what Mansel describes as “stupendous vitality.” In addition to participating in the formal rituals of lever, mass, public meals, and coucher, Louis often worked for six or more hours a day and still maintained a demanding schedule of outdoor activity—hunting, walking, and riding (Chapter 14).
His intense commitment to governing can be traced to the promise he made in his early twenties to rule without an all-powerful minister. But it also reflected something deeper: a fear that if he didn’t retain control, others would take it from him. There was certainly a desire for recognition—he wanted both the responsibility and the credit. But there was also sincere intellectual engagement and a desire to understand things firsthand, without relying entirely on intermediaries.
Whether he actually succeeded in governing on his own terms is a matter of debate. As Mansel notes, “Despite the King’s hard work, and his access to information from non-ministerial sources, many believed that... he could be ‘absolutely governed by his ministers.’” In this view, absolutism was more theatrical than real—a way of concealing how much influence ministers and factions actually had. Louis may have believed himself to be in charge, but some thought he was being directed by others (Chapter 14). The truth likely falls somewhere between these extremes: he was neither a puppet nor an omnipotent ruler. Louis did not have absolute power over those around him.
His obsession with control continued in times of war. During the Nine Years’ War, court memoirist Dangeau wrote in his diary, "the King is never for one moment not working.” Louis spent long hours inspecting military positions and then turned to political matters at night (Chapter 18). When he was not on campaign himself, he still tried to follow developments in great detail. After the death of his war minister Louvois, he eagerly took on more of the workload himself. Working closely with Louvois’s son Barbezieux, he dictated correspondence or wrote it out by hand. He sent hundreds of letters about military operations directly to commanders and administrators, bypassing the usual channels. Many believed he had effectively made himself war minister. He drew up campaign strategies, chose officers, and made key personnel decisions (Chapter 18).
Whether this intense involvement actually helped is doubtful. Louis’s contemporaries and later historians both criticized this style of leadership. “Louis’ critics... said that, as supreme warlord, he hampered generals’ actions in the field by micro-management from his office at Versailles” (Chapter 18). Some believed he acted less out of duty and more to prove to himself and others that he didn’t need advisors like Louvois. After one particular siege, memoirist Le Peletier wrote that the campaign had been motivated more by the King’s need for affirmation than by military logic—meant “to show all Europe that without the help of [the War Minister] M. de Louvois His Majesty on his own could execute a great design.” Louis himself seemed to agree: he later wrote that his satisfaction came from knowing the victory was “entirely his own work,” carried out by his judgment and “with his own hands” (Chapter 18).
Though this style of leadership may have begun with good intentions, it became counterproductive over time. As Mansel writes, “The King’s methods of government, and delusions about French power, would contribute to the disasters of the second half of his reign” (Chapter 14). Louis did not adjust his approach, even when results worsened. In later wars, he intensified his control. “Even more than before, generals were paralysed by micro-management from Versailles.” He stayed up late sending couriers to the front, demanding updates and offering cautious advice, often written in a rushed and anxious hand (Chapter 20).
So while Louis XIV was no idle monarch, and although part of his motivation was to bring glory to France and its people, his working style ultimately weakened the very country he aimed to strengthen. He may have believed he could rule as he wished, but understanding the real motivations behind his decisions—or grasping their full consequences—was beyond his power. His urge to control everything—from military planning to architectural design—reveals not just vanity and commitment, but also the deep anxieties of a man afraid to let go.
3. King's Image
Louis XIV viewed the political and cultural prestige of France as one of his central responsibilities. Of course, maintaining this prestige conveniently required him to elevate his own status—an idea that helped justify extravagant spending on food, clothing, residences, and lavish entertainments such as balls, hunting, and theater. After hours of work and ceremonies he often disliked, the King could attend an opulent gathering and reassure himself that such splendor served to showcase the grandeur of France both domestically and abroad. As Mansel writes, “His parties, like Versailles itself, were... intended to impress ‘all our subjects in general’ and Europe.” The Gazette de France echoed this message, claiming that these brilliant entertainments demonstrated that Louis XIV was the foremost monarch in the world. In his memoirs, Louis insisted—perhaps disingenuously—that such displays were held solely for the benefit of France, not for his own enjoyment. They made, he wrote, “a very advantageous impression” on foreigners and French citizens alike, projecting “magnificence, power, wealth and grandeur” (Chapter 13).
The impression was indeed powerful. France during Louis’s reign became a dominant force in fashion and the arts. The clothing worn at the French court was imitated by royal households across Europe—even in countries at war with France. Louis likely took pleasure in projecting these messages of luxury and influence, but sustaining the image of cultural power required constant effort and substantial resources. Money was a persistent concern.
2. Hardworking King
It’s easy to imagine Louis XIV constantly surrounded by music, fireworks, and elaborate parties. These events certainly happened—and they were as extravagant as one might expect—but they took up only a small part of the King’s time. Much of his day was spent working, often intensely, in service of what he saw as the interests of France. “Work is the first object of His Majesty and he prefers it to everything else,” wrote Colbert, his First Minister. Colbert was not exaggerating. Until the very end of his reign, Louis rarely missed a morning council meeting, held Monday through Friday from 9 to 11. He also led three evening sessions on financial matters each week. On top of that, he had private meetings with his secretaries of state—Lionne on weekends, Colbert midweek, and Le Tellier on Tuesdays for military affairs. Additional councils were often scheduled late in the evening, just before supper. His routine was so consistent that it was compared to monastic discipline (Chapter 7).
“Louis XIV spent as much time with his ministers as with his family, his court officials or his mistresses” (Chapter 14). His capacity for work was supported by what Mansel describes as “stupendous vitality.” In addition to participating in the formal rituals of lever, mass, public meals, and coucher, Louis often worked for six or more hours a day and still maintained a demanding schedule of outdoor activity—hunting, walking, and riding (Chapter 14).
His intense commitment to governing can be traced to the promise he made in his early twenties to rule without an all-powerful minister. But it also reflected something deeper: a fear that if he didn’t retain control, others would take it from him. There was certainly a desire for recognition—he wanted both the responsibility and the credit. But there was also sincere intellectual engagement and a desire to understand things firsthand, without relying entirely on intermediaries.
Whether he actually succeeded in governing on his own terms is a matter of debate. As Mansel notes, “Despite the King’s hard work, and his access to information from non-ministerial sources, many believed that... he could be ‘absolutely governed by his ministers.’” In this view, absolutism was more theatrical than real—a way of concealing how much influence ministers and factions actually had. Louis may have believed himself to be in charge, but some thought he was being directed by others (Chapter 14). The truth likely falls somewhere between these extremes: he was neither a puppet nor an omnipotent ruler. Louis did not have absolute power over those around him.
His obsession with control continued in times of war. During the Nine Years’ War, court memoirist Dangeau wrote in his diary, "the King is never for one moment not working.” Louis spent long hours inspecting military positions and then turned to political matters at night (Chapter 18). When he was not on campaign himself, he still tried to follow developments in great detail. After the death of his war minister Louvois, he eagerly took on more of the workload himself. Working closely with Louvois’s son Barbezieux, he dictated correspondence or wrote it out by hand. He sent hundreds of letters about military operations directly to commanders and administrators, bypassing the usual channels. Many believed he had effectively made himself war minister. He drew up campaign strategies, chose officers, and made key personnel decisions (Chapter 18).
Whether this intense involvement actually helped is doubtful. Louis’s contemporaries and later historians both criticized this style of leadership. “Louis’ critics... said that, as supreme warlord, he hampered generals’ actions in the field by micro-management from his office at Versailles” (Chapter 18). Some believed he acted less out of duty and more to prove to himself and others that he didn’t need advisors like Louvois. After one particular siege, memoirist Le Peletier wrote that the campaign had been motivated more by the King’s need for affirmation than by military logic—meant “to show all Europe that without the help of [the War Minister] M. de Louvois His Majesty on his own could execute a great design.” Louis himself seemed to agree: he later wrote that his satisfaction came from knowing the victory was “entirely his own work,” carried out by his judgment and “with his own hands” (Chapter 18).
Though this style of leadership may have begun with good intentions, it became counterproductive over time. As Mansel writes, “The King’s methods of government, and delusions about French power, would contribute to the disasters of the second half of his reign” (Chapter 14). Louis did not adjust his approach, even when results worsened. In later wars, he intensified his control. “Even more than before, generals were paralysed by micro-management from Versailles.” He stayed up late sending couriers to the front, demanding updates and offering cautious advice, often written in a rushed and anxious hand (Chapter 20).
So while Louis XIV was no idle monarch, and although part of his motivation was to bring glory to France and its people, his working style ultimately weakened the very country he aimed to strengthen. He may have believed he could rule as he wished, but understanding the real motivations behind his decisions—or grasping their full consequences—was beyond his power. His urge to control everything—from military planning to architectural design—reveals not just vanity and commitment, but also the deep anxieties of a man afraid to let go.
3. King's Image
Louis XIV viewed the political and cultural prestige of France as one of his central responsibilities. Of course, maintaining this prestige conveniently required him to elevate his own status—an idea that helped justify extravagant spending on food, clothing, residences, and lavish entertainments such as balls, hunting, and theater. After hours of work and ceremonies he often disliked, the King could attend an opulent gathering and reassure himself that such splendor served to showcase the grandeur of France both domestically and abroad. As Mansel writes, “His parties, like Versailles itself, were... intended to impress ‘all our subjects in general’ and Europe.” The Gazette de France echoed this message, claiming that these brilliant entertainments demonstrated that Louis XIV was the foremost monarch in the world. In his memoirs, Louis insisted—perhaps disingenuously—that such displays were held solely for the benefit of France, not for his own enjoyment. They made, he wrote, “a very advantageous impression” on foreigners and French citizens alike, projecting “magnificence, power, wealth and grandeur” (Chapter 13).
The impression was indeed powerful. France during Louis’s reign became a dominant force in fashion and the arts. The clothing worn at the French court was imitated by royal households across Europe—even in countries at war with France. Louis likely took pleasure in projecting these messages of luxury and influence, but sustaining the image of cultural power required constant effort and substantial resources. Money was a persistent concern.
Image credit: Versailles by Armand Khoury
Louis’s desire to affirm France’s prestige extended to his architectural and artistic supervision. At Versailles, he applied his micro-management not merely to follow courtly fashion, but to exert full control. As Mansel notes, the King “was not merely following fashion or building what he thought a king of France should build.” Unlike other rulers, he made decisions on everything from layout to decoration and personally visited the construction site (Chapter 8). In contrast to the unruly attitudes he encountered in Paris and the limits of his influence elsewhere, Versailles became a physical space where Louis could feel that he was entirely in charge.
Foreign ambassadors and travelers were deeply impressed by the grandeur of the palace, but they were not the only intended audience. The King also invited ordinary French men and women to witness the magnificence of their monarch’s residence. Thus, alongside magnificence, accessibility became another key component of Louis XIV’s image—one that also served to reinforce his power.
According to Mansel, “The public was usually allowed into the gardens and palace of Versailles ‘without distinction of sex, age or condition.’” Those stopped at the gates were typically dirty, diseased, or otherwise disruptive. Occasionally, the King requested privacy to issue orders or avoid overwhelming crowds, especially when many visitors arrived from Paris. One memoirist described this rowdy influx as “la canaille” (scoundrels) who damaged sculptures and vases. Still, Louis consistently reopened the palace to the public. Without them marveling, he might have felt, the gardens had no purpose. In 1704, he ordered that fences be removed from Versailles’s bosquets—its structured groves—so that visitors could walk freely inside (Chapter 12). In another example of detail-oriented rule, Louis even wrote his own guidebook for the gardens of Versailles, revising it six (!) times.
This principle of accessibility extended beyond Versailles. "The public could also wander in and out of the courtyards of the Louvre and its apartments, even in the evening after dinner." When Queen Anne lay dying, Parisian workers reportedly gathered in the guard room to hear news of her condition. Outside of special events, the King’s art collections at the Louvre, the Garde-Meuble’s furniture stores, the royal library, and the Gobelins tapestry workshop could all be visited by members of the public—provided they were well dressed (Chapter 8). In this way, the court of France not only funded creative work but also made it visible to ordinary people. As with the lever and coucher ceremonies, Louis used accessibility to stay in control. For example, one Italian visitor noted that Louis allowed this access so that he could be informed by members of the public of important events and potential threats.
Yet this openness came with complications. The King’s accessibility could encourage disorder or disrespect—both reminders of his powerlessness. During certain celebrations at Versailles, crowds proved unruly. At one festivity marking the end of a war, most foreign ambassadors left early after being jostled by the public ("as they often were at the French court"). The Gardes du Corps were either unable or unwilling to maintain order. The Queen had to wait half an hour to enter the theater, and Louis himself had to ask guests to vacate their seats so the ladies could be seated (Chapter 13). At another event, Louis’s brother, Monsieur, was knocked to the ground during a scramble for food. The King was also pushed and had to use his cane to make space for others. Still, these events had symbolic impact. As the Venetian ambassador noted, even amid the chaos, one could see the unmatched glory of France and how poor other nations’ imitations seemed by comparison (Chapter 18).
Louis also sought to appear as a forward-thinking monarch. Although he disliked Paris, he spent significant resources modernizing it for the benefit of its citizens. According to Mansel, he helped make Paris one of Europe’s most advanced cities—with organized postal routes, clean streets, and expanded public transportation. Public carriages were introduced in 1662, and by 1669 the old city walls were replaced by tree-lined boulevards. One English visitor praised the city’s cleanliness, order, and lack of beggars. In 1667, Louis introduced public lighting—making Paris the first city in Europe to implement such a system. By 1702, over 5,000 lamps lit the streets at night. Alongside his First Minister Colbert, one of Louis’s most ambitious cultural achievements was expanding the Louvre into a royal palace of the arts—a role it still plays today (Chapter 8).
The King’s obsession with his image had a cost. For example, in 1684, he announced a massive engineering project to divert the River Eure to improve water flow to Versailles’s fountains. Around 1,500 soldiers died during the work, while others fell ill and spread disease. Military engineer Vauban was horrified, writing in 1685 that Louis, in seeking to rival the feats of the Roman Empire while ruling only a fraction of its territory, would be judged harshly by history. As with the original construction of Versailles—on an impractical site—the difficulty of the task seems to have made it more appealing to the King. He wanted to project omnipotence (Chapter 12). In the years that followed, more lives would be sacrificed in the pursuit of what he hoped would be enduring glory.
Louis was so committed to shaping his image that he seemed unaware of how much that image had begun to shape him. The enduring view of Louis XIV as a ruler with absolute power is not only a product of his self-presentation but also of others’ perceptions. Flattery was widespread—not only from fear but from calculation. Many subjects praised his supposed omnipotence in hopes of gaining favors. Louis welcomed this adoration because it reinforced the belief that he had fulfilled the destiny laid out by his mother. For a man who often lacked control over the court, the state, or even his personal life, the image of the all-powerful monarch was comforting. Over time, he became dependent on such praise. This dependency changed him, making it easier to rationalize the cruelty of some decisions in the later years of his reign.
“By 1680, in his own eyes, Louis XIV was master of France and arbiter of Europe.” Colbert, likely overstating royal control, wrote that “everything reflects total submission,” and that the authority of the Parlement had been reduced to a mere shadow. Colbert even claimed that “the misery and distress of the peoples” served royal power by allowing the King to restrain “this proud and inconstant nation” through hardship (this phrasing was likely meant to justify the King's mistakes and obscure the limits of his power). Versailles was praised as the marvel of the age. Royal academies praised the monarchy and celebrated the King’s patronage, administration, and leadership. But behind this acclaim were serious faults. As a young man, Louis had been viewed as unusually kind and gracious. By age forty, that version of him had disappeared. According to Mansel, a new personality had taken hold—one marked by narcissism, insensitivity, poor judgment, and a growing inability to anticipate consequences (Chapter 14).
Louis XIV was a celebrity of his time, and as often happens with celebrities, he was surrounded by misunderstanding. His presence made people feel special, but when he wasn’t around, they gossiped about him. Upon his death, many mourned—but many also rejoiced—choosing to ignore his suffering. People admired the King without truly understanding him as a person. They projected onto him their own hopes and frustrations. During the long wars that drained France’s finances and provoked widespread hatred abroad, many French citizens were rightly outraged by the burden of taxation. Yet others still took pride in France’s victories, and some even wanted Louis to reject peace and keep fighting for national glory.
In the end, both Louis XIV and his subjects were caught in the illusions surrounding absolute monarchy. Ironically, his efforts to project France’s greatness often undermined its reputation. The very actions intended to secure glory—especially war and the persecution of Protestants (discussed in the following sections)—helped turn him into one of the most reviled monarchs of his time.
Louis’s desire to affirm France’s prestige extended to his architectural and artistic supervision. At Versailles, he applied his micro-management not merely to follow courtly fashion, but to exert full control. As Mansel notes, the King “was not merely following fashion or building what he thought a king of France should build.” Unlike other rulers, he made decisions on everything from layout to decoration and personally visited the construction site (Chapter 8). In contrast to the unruly attitudes he encountered in Paris and the limits of his influence elsewhere, Versailles became a physical space where Louis could feel that he was entirely in charge.
Foreign ambassadors and travelers were deeply impressed by the grandeur of the palace, but they were not the only intended audience. The King also invited ordinary French men and women to witness the magnificence of their monarch’s residence. Thus, alongside magnificence, accessibility became another key component of Louis XIV’s image—one that also served to reinforce his power.
According to Mansel, “The public was usually allowed into the gardens and palace of Versailles ‘without distinction of sex, age or condition.’” Those stopped at the gates were typically dirty, diseased, or otherwise disruptive. Occasionally, the King requested privacy to issue orders or avoid overwhelming crowds, especially when many visitors arrived from Paris. One memoirist described this rowdy influx as “la canaille” (scoundrels) who damaged sculptures and vases. Still, Louis consistently reopened the palace to the public. Without them marveling, he might have felt, the gardens had no purpose. In 1704, he ordered that fences be removed from Versailles’s bosquets—its structured groves—so that visitors could walk freely inside (Chapter 12). In another example of detail-oriented rule, Louis even wrote his own guidebook for the gardens of Versailles, revising it six (!) times.
This principle of accessibility extended beyond Versailles. "The public could also wander in and out of the courtyards of the Louvre and its apartments, even in the evening after dinner." When Queen Anne lay dying, Parisian workers reportedly gathered in the guard room to hear news of her condition. Outside of special events, the King’s art collections at the Louvre, the Garde-Meuble’s furniture stores, the royal library, and the Gobelins tapestry workshop could all be visited by members of the public—provided they were well dressed (Chapter 8). In this way, the court of France not only funded creative work but also made it visible to ordinary people. As with the lever and coucher ceremonies, Louis used accessibility to stay in control. For example, one Italian visitor noted that Louis allowed this access so that he could be informed by members of the public of important events and potential threats.
Yet this openness came with complications. The King’s accessibility could encourage disorder or disrespect—both reminders of his powerlessness. During certain celebrations at Versailles, crowds proved unruly. At one festivity marking the end of a war, most foreign ambassadors left early after being jostled by the public ("as they often were at the French court"). The Gardes du Corps were either unable or unwilling to maintain order. The Queen had to wait half an hour to enter the theater, and Louis himself had to ask guests to vacate their seats so the ladies could be seated (Chapter 13). At another event, Louis’s brother, Monsieur, was knocked to the ground during a scramble for food. The King was also pushed and had to use his cane to make space for others. Still, these events had symbolic impact. As the Venetian ambassador noted, even amid the chaos, one could see the unmatched glory of France and how poor other nations’ imitations seemed by comparison (Chapter 18).
Louis also sought to appear as a forward-thinking monarch. Although he disliked Paris, he spent significant resources modernizing it for the benefit of its citizens. According to Mansel, he helped make Paris one of Europe’s most advanced cities—with organized postal routes, clean streets, and expanded public transportation. Public carriages were introduced in 1662, and by 1669 the old city walls were replaced by tree-lined boulevards. One English visitor praised the city’s cleanliness, order, and lack of beggars. In 1667, Louis introduced public lighting—making Paris the first city in Europe to implement such a system. By 1702, over 5,000 lamps lit the streets at night. Alongside his First Minister Colbert, one of Louis’s most ambitious cultural achievements was expanding the Louvre into a royal palace of the arts—a role it still plays today (Chapter 8).
The King’s obsession with his image had a cost. For example, in 1684, he announced a massive engineering project to divert the River Eure to improve water flow to Versailles’s fountains. Around 1,500 soldiers died during the work, while others fell ill and spread disease. Military engineer Vauban was horrified, writing in 1685 that Louis, in seeking to rival the feats of the Roman Empire while ruling only a fraction of its territory, would be judged harshly by history. As with the original construction of Versailles—on an impractical site—the difficulty of the task seems to have made it more appealing to the King. He wanted to project omnipotence (Chapter 12). In the years that followed, more lives would be sacrificed in the pursuit of what he hoped would be enduring glory.
Louis was so committed to shaping his image that he seemed unaware of how much that image had begun to shape him. The enduring view of Louis XIV as a ruler with absolute power is not only a product of his self-presentation but also of others’ perceptions. Flattery was widespread—not only from fear but from calculation. Many subjects praised his supposed omnipotence in hopes of gaining favors. Louis welcomed this adoration because it reinforced the belief that he had fulfilled the destiny laid out by his mother. For a man who often lacked control over the court, the state, or even his personal life, the image of the all-powerful monarch was comforting. Over time, he became dependent on such praise. This dependency changed him, making it easier to rationalize the cruelty of some decisions in the later years of his reign.
“By 1680, in his own eyes, Louis XIV was master of France and arbiter of Europe.” Colbert, likely overstating royal control, wrote that “everything reflects total submission,” and that the authority of the Parlement had been reduced to a mere shadow. Colbert even claimed that “the misery and distress of the peoples” served royal power by allowing the King to restrain “this proud and inconstant nation” through hardship (this phrasing was likely meant to justify the King's mistakes and obscure the limits of his power). Versailles was praised as the marvel of the age. Royal academies praised the monarchy and celebrated the King’s patronage, administration, and leadership. But behind this acclaim were serious faults. As a young man, Louis had been viewed as unusually kind and gracious. By age forty, that version of him had disappeared. According to Mansel, a new personality had taken hold—one marked by narcissism, insensitivity, poor judgment, and a growing inability to anticipate consequences (Chapter 14).
Louis XIV was a celebrity of his time, and as often happens with celebrities, he was surrounded by misunderstanding. His presence made people feel special, but when he wasn’t around, they gossiped about him. Upon his death, many mourned—but many also rejoiced—choosing to ignore his suffering. People admired the King without truly understanding him as a person. They projected onto him their own hopes and frustrations. During the long wars that drained France’s finances and provoked widespread hatred abroad, many French citizens were rightly outraged by the burden of taxation. Yet others still took pride in France’s victories, and some even wanted Louis to reject peace and keep fighting for national glory.
In the end, both Louis XIV and his subjects were caught in the illusions surrounding absolute monarchy. Ironically, his efforts to project France’s greatness often undermined its reputation. The very actions intended to secure glory—especially war and the persecution of Protestants (discussed in the following sections)—helped turn him into one of the most reviled monarchs of his time.
Image credit: Louis d’or of Louis XIV (1709), National Museum of American History
4. King and Money
Louis XIV inherited a country teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. His mentor Mazarin, who effectively governed France for nearly two decades, contributed to this financial crisis. Like the King himself, Mazarin defies simple classification as hero or villain. He amassed one of the largest fortunes in Europe, diverting vast sums for personal enrichment. At the same time, he delivered important diplomatic and military victories that strengthened France’s position on the continent. As Mansel writes, “Mazarin left France the leading power in Europe, but his accumulation of a vast personal gold reserve, as well as jewels and other treasures, had exacerbated France’s financial problems” (Chapter 5).
Louis XIV, though deeply loyal to Mazarin, was also aware of his mentor’s shortcomings. Some might argue that Louis’s decision to govern without intermediaries—a declaration made shortly after Mazarin’s death—was shaped by what he had observed of the Cardinal’s greed. Free of Mazarin’s influence, the King began his personal rule with a program of administrative and financial reform. As Mansel notes, “Mastering institutional and individual opposition, Louis XIV was able to devote himself to an ambitious reform programme to galvanize the economy and modernize the monarchy” (Chapter 7).
One of the King’s first major actions was to remove Nicolas Fouquet, the Superintendent of Finances. Fouquet’s ambition and corruption mirrored Mazarin’s, but he was seen as more dangerous due to his overt self-promotion and growing independence. Louis treated him with extraordinary severity. Fouquet lost his position and wealth, and was condemned to solitary confinement. “The former Surintendant des Finances was condemned to solitary confinement in the castle of Pignerol in the Alps. He was not at first permitted to take exercise. Only in 1674, after thirteen years, was he allowed to exchange two letters a year with his wife. She and his family were not allowed to visit him until a year before he died. Louis XIV had shown a streak of cruelty, hitherto unsuspected, from which many thousands more, inside and outside France, would suffer in the future” (Chapter 6).
After Fouquet’s fall, Jean-Baptiste Colbert rose to prominence, eventually becoming First Minister. He played a key role in advancing trade and strengthening royal authority. Yet even Colbert’s financial practices were not free from the same kinds of abuses that had characterized his predecessors. This contradiction reveals a persistent problem: despite his efforts, Louis XIV repeatedly failed to surround himself with people who could strengthen France without simultaneously weakening it in other ways.
One of the King’s ongoing struggles was creating an effective system for collecting taxes. A familiar image of a greedy monarch taxing the poor while living in luxury contains some truth—but without context, it’s incomplete. The poor did bear the heaviest tax burden, but this was less the result of direct royal design than of a fragmented and corrupt fiscal structure. When collected, direct taxes passed through multiple layers of officials before reaching the royal treasury, and much of the original amount disappeared along the way. Indirect taxes were administered by “tax farmers,” private agents who often embezzled funds. Consequently, the state received only a portion of the revenue it was due. During Fouquet’s tenure, for example, “the King was receiving only 35 or 40 per cent of the value of French taxes” (Chapter 6).
It is valid to criticize the injustice of a system that placed so much pressure on the poor. Why, one might ask, did Louis XIV not impose greater taxes on the wealthy? The answer lies in a tacit agreement between the King and the nobility: in exchange for their political support, the King shielded them from most direct taxation. Having lived through the Fronde, Louis understood how fragile royal power could be when challenged by aristocratic resistance. Only near the end of his reign, under the pressure of financial desperation, did he introduce limited direct taxation of nobles—and even then, many secured exemptions.
Unsurprisingly, the tax system failed to meet the expanding needs of the state, especially the spiraling costs of war. To fill the gap, the monarchy turned to other sources of income. One approach was to sell offices and titles, which only deepened the inefficiencies of the system. Another was to borrow from bankers—often at ruinous rates. As Mansel recounts, “The government avoided bankruptcy by short-term borrowing at disastrous interest rates (far higher than those paid by its enemies) and creating more offices to sell. By 1708 government debt would reach 2 billion livres and servicing it would absorb over 50 per cent of government expenditure: 470 of 756 million livres” (Chapter 20). At its worst, “revenues were spent four years in advance, and the government was borrowing at 16 per cent interest or more” (Chapter 24).
The opulence of Versailles, while real, obscured the financial instability that haunted the monarchy throughout Louis’s reign. As Mansel summarizes: “Louis’ reign was a glorious façade, masking the continued power of financiers and beginning and ending in semi-bankruptcy” (Chapter 24). One could reasonably argue that Louis should have made more modest choices—whether in palace construction, military campaigns, or court entertainments. Yet those choices were shaped not only by personal taste but also by the weight of expectations tied to his role. As King, he was expected to uphold France’s political dominance, cultural prestige, and the majestic image of the monarchy. It is likely that his life had not prepared him to navigate those expectations in a way we might now view as more responsible or less self-indulgent.
4. King and Money
Louis XIV inherited a country teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. His mentor Mazarin, who effectively governed France for nearly two decades, contributed to this financial crisis. Like the King himself, Mazarin defies simple classification as hero or villain. He amassed one of the largest fortunes in Europe, diverting vast sums for personal enrichment. At the same time, he delivered important diplomatic and military victories that strengthened France’s position on the continent. As Mansel writes, “Mazarin left France the leading power in Europe, but his accumulation of a vast personal gold reserve, as well as jewels and other treasures, had exacerbated France’s financial problems” (Chapter 5).
Louis XIV, though deeply loyal to Mazarin, was also aware of his mentor’s shortcomings. Some might argue that Louis’s decision to govern without intermediaries—a declaration made shortly after Mazarin’s death—was shaped by what he had observed of the Cardinal’s greed. Free of Mazarin’s influence, the King began his personal rule with a program of administrative and financial reform. As Mansel notes, “Mastering institutional and individual opposition, Louis XIV was able to devote himself to an ambitious reform programme to galvanize the economy and modernize the monarchy” (Chapter 7).
One of the King’s first major actions was to remove Nicolas Fouquet, the Superintendent of Finances. Fouquet’s ambition and corruption mirrored Mazarin’s, but he was seen as more dangerous due to his overt self-promotion and growing independence. Louis treated him with extraordinary severity. Fouquet lost his position and wealth, and was condemned to solitary confinement. “The former Surintendant des Finances was condemned to solitary confinement in the castle of Pignerol in the Alps. He was not at first permitted to take exercise. Only in 1674, after thirteen years, was he allowed to exchange two letters a year with his wife. She and his family were not allowed to visit him until a year before he died. Louis XIV had shown a streak of cruelty, hitherto unsuspected, from which many thousands more, inside and outside France, would suffer in the future” (Chapter 6).
After Fouquet’s fall, Jean-Baptiste Colbert rose to prominence, eventually becoming First Minister. He played a key role in advancing trade and strengthening royal authority. Yet even Colbert’s financial practices were not free from the same kinds of abuses that had characterized his predecessors. This contradiction reveals a persistent problem: despite his efforts, Louis XIV repeatedly failed to surround himself with people who could strengthen France without simultaneously weakening it in other ways.
One of the King’s ongoing struggles was creating an effective system for collecting taxes. A familiar image of a greedy monarch taxing the poor while living in luxury contains some truth—but without context, it’s incomplete. The poor did bear the heaviest tax burden, but this was less the result of direct royal design than of a fragmented and corrupt fiscal structure. When collected, direct taxes passed through multiple layers of officials before reaching the royal treasury, and much of the original amount disappeared along the way. Indirect taxes were administered by “tax farmers,” private agents who often embezzled funds. Consequently, the state received only a portion of the revenue it was due. During Fouquet’s tenure, for example, “the King was receiving only 35 or 40 per cent of the value of French taxes” (Chapter 6).
It is valid to criticize the injustice of a system that placed so much pressure on the poor. Why, one might ask, did Louis XIV not impose greater taxes on the wealthy? The answer lies in a tacit agreement between the King and the nobility: in exchange for their political support, the King shielded them from most direct taxation. Having lived through the Fronde, Louis understood how fragile royal power could be when challenged by aristocratic resistance. Only near the end of his reign, under the pressure of financial desperation, did he introduce limited direct taxation of nobles—and even then, many secured exemptions.
Unsurprisingly, the tax system failed to meet the expanding needs of the state, especially the spiraling costs of war. To fill the gap, the monarchy turned to other sources of income. One approach was to sell offices and titles, which only deepened the inefficiencies of the system. Another was to borrow from bankers—often at ruinous rates. As Mansel recounts, “The government avoided bankruptcy by short-term borrowing at disastrous interest rates (far higher than those paid by its enemies) and creating more offices to sell. By 1708 government debt would reach 2 billion livres and servicing it would absorb over 50 per cent of government expenditure: 470 of 756 million livres” (Chapter 20). At its worst, “revenues were spent four years in advance, and the government was borrowing at 16 per cent interest or more” (Chapter 24).
The opulence of Versailles, while real, obscured the financial instability that haunted the monarchy throughout Louis’s reign. As Mansel summarizes: “Louis’ reign was a glorious façade, masking the continued power of financiers and beginning and ending in semi-bankruptcy” (Chapter 24). One could reasonably argue that Louis should have made more modest choices—whether in palace construction, military campaigns, or court entertainments. Yet those choices were shaped not only by personal taste but also by the weight of expectations tied to his role. As King, he was expected to uphold France’s political dominance, cultural prestige, and the majestic image of the monarchy. It is likely that his life had not prepared him to navigate those expectations in a way we might now view as more responsible or less self-indulgent.
Image: Louis XIV crosses the Rhine at Lobith, June 12, 1672, by Adam Frans van der Meulen.
5. King at War
The worst mistakes of Louis XIV's reign were, arguably, his wars and the treatment of Protestants. Notably, both of these mistakes were made in the second half of the Sun King's reign, when his biases and anxieties were getting the better of him. These mistakes also reflect Louis' delusions of absolute power: he thought he could achieve results that turned out to be outside of his control. Let us first take a look at Louis XIV's military pursuits.
As part of his project to strengthen the country, Louis started his reign by reorganizing the army. Under the direction of Marquis de Louvois, the new Secretary of War who worked with the King to support this important transition, the French army turned into a remarkably modernized, disciplined, and well-trained war machine. “One of Louis’ long-term ambitions, in addition to his drives to modernize and enlarge France, and to become the arbiter of Europe, was to win France a global empire” (Chapter 6). With his new army, he was ready to work toward these goals.
Unfortunately, Louis XIV did not see war as something to be avoided, but rather as a desirable opportunity to increase France’s and his own glory. Arrogance and vanity, worsening with age, played a role in his ill-conceived military decisions. We should also consider what Louis XIV was brought up to believe and how he was taught to act. In the minds of children growing up in noble and royal households of the time, war was normalized and celebrated. The King had learned early on that he was supposed to be a great warrior, victor, and military leader. “From the age of five he... drilled a troop of enfants d’honneur in the art of war... ‘pike in hand and beating drums’” (Chapter 3). A miniature fort built for him in the Tuileries ignited what would become a lifelong obsession with siege warfare.
During his reign, France took part in three major wars and two smaller conflicts. As a result, the country “was at war for thirty-three of the fifty-four years of his personal rule after 1661. The army was by far the largest item in the French budget, usually consuming over 50 per cent of revenues, and in war years over 80 per cent” (Chapter 18). As with other areas of Louis' life, his military pursuits reveal the combination of his power with powerlessness. He was able to wage wars that he desired, and he did achieve many important victories. At the height of France's glory under the Sun King, the country outshone the rest of Europe in terms of population size, wealth, and cultural influence. But this glorious state of affairs did not last. France started to lose its international prestige, while its population was ravaged by poverty, which was then exacerbated by famines. Louis's calculations were wrong, and his plans backfired. Even at the height of his influence, he never truly dominated Europe (Chapter 5). On the contrary, his military strategies, which he believed were carefully crafted, eventually led to both national and international disasters.
Almost till the end of his life, Louis XIV remained blinded by his military ambitions and delusions of grandeur. As his modernized army proved effective at expanding France’s territory, the praise he received at home seemed to validate his belief that he had chosen the right strategy to maintain his status as an absolute monarch. The fact that France’s reputation abroad was steadily worsening did not seem to trouble him. “For the King and many of his subjects, the number of his enemies revealed his strength, rather than his unpopularity and lack of diplomatic skills” (Chapter 18). It is likely that many of his military decisions were driven by anxiety about not being the kind of absolute monarch he believed he was supposed to be. “Desire to win praise, and to outshine both his rivals and his ministers, could be as important to Louis XIV as winning territory.” He preferred sieges to battles because the outcome was more predictable, yet the glory—at least in his eyes—was just as grand (Chapter 14).
In his blindness, the King chose to listen to advisors such as Louvois, who advocated for bold and brutal actions, rather than generals and diplomats who warned against them. He ignored the warnings of those who disapproved of violent tactics and who found the arrogant tone of French declarations dangerous. “He had once been a gentle youth who cried easily, and called mercy ‘the most royal of all the virtues’... By 1672, however, he had changed” (Chapter 10). Louis XIV became hardened. Under Louvois’ orders, French troops terrorized the Dutch countryside, looting, burning villages, and executing civilians. Though a few soldiers were punished, the terror was repeated in future campaigns to extract money from terrified locals. Louvois encouraged the destruction explicitly in letters: entire villages, he wrote, must be burned (Chapter 10).
The King’s power allowed him to make decisions that many—though not all—of his contemporaries opposed. But his powerlessness lay in his inability to see how these decisions undermined his own image and the status of his country. As historian Herbert Rowen noted, Louis chose “brutal methods which repeatedly led precisely to the result he was seeking to avert.” Even his famously ruthless general Condé warned that France was drawing “cruel aversion” from across Europe, and the Marquis de La Fare lamented that France had exchanged “the domination of Europe” for widespread hatred (Chapter 10). International alliances formed against France out of fear and resentment, setting the stage for the disasters of his last wars.
Early in his reign, Louis’s enthusiasm for war likely stemmed from inexperience and youthful idealism. In Louis’s imagination, it was like the game of war he had played as a child, waving a miniature sword and always winning. As he grew older, military victories boosted his confidence, but defeats brought bitterness and pain. By the time of the Nine Years’ War (1688–1697) and the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–1714), Louis’s decline as a military leader was evident. Though these wars demonstrated France’s might, they also made clear the King’s inability to control what he had set in motion.
Louis’s decisions during the Nine Years’ War were partly shaped by France’s alliance with the Ottoman Empire. Most other European powers had already been alienated by his behavior. According to Mansel's interpretation, “the Ottoman government... blackmailed Louis,” threatening to abandon its fight against Austria unless he launched a war in Europe. In response, Louis agreed to move his troops toward the Rhine and Italy (Chapter 17). This marked the start of a war that further damaged France’s reputation. Though the war brought some territorial gains, it deepened the country’s economic crisis.
In addition, it was becoming more and more obvious that “Louis XIV’s army had become a machine for destruction” (Chapter 18), one he could no longer fully control.
At one point, “Louis urged, without success, that Catholic churches be spared.” But he could not rein in the violence. From Düsseldorf to Freiburg, “cities, villages and farms... were burnt or blown up,” with civilians expelled and resources seized (Chapter 18). Even French generals were horrified. They warned the King and Louvois about the “terrible feelings of aversion” growing across Europe. But their warnings were ignored. Ironically, Louis’s actions benefited the Ottoman Empire more than France. The King and Louvois had failed to secure a buffer zone in the Rhineland, but their campaign helped protect the Ottomans by distracting Imperial forces (Chapter 18).
What had once seemed like smart military strategies proved disastrous. “The ‘wasting’ of the Rhineland,” following the persecution of the Huguenots (to be discussed in the next section), cemented Louis’s image as a “new Attila” (Chapter 18). European unity against France deepened, and former allies joined the growing anti-French coalition that would play a major role in the War of the Spanish Succession—the last war of Louis’s reign, which ended in 1714, a year before the King's passing.
His enemies could rejoice. Toward the end of this war, the Sun King wanted peace, but he was trapped by his own choices. The allies demanded that he attack his own grandson to remove him from the Spanish throne. The only alternative was to continue a war that had devastated France and left its once-mighty army crumbling from poverty and corruption—issues Louis could not fully resolve. In the end, he was spared only because Great Britain and the Dutch Republic dropped their demand for reasons unrelated to anything he had done. He was saved not by strategy but by luck. But his country and his reputation lay in ruins. “Many were reluctant to support official peace celebrations... It was a peace which dishonoured ‘the king and the whole nation’. Europe had beaten France” (Chapter 18). Once again, absolute power proved unreachable.
One may doubt deathbed confessions made in the hope of divine forgiveness. Still, it is worth noting what Louis said to his five-year-old great-grandson just before he died: “Do not imitate me in my wars; try always to maintain peace with your neighbours, to relieve your people... which I have had the misfortune to be unable to do, due to necessities of State” (Chapter 23). It seems the Sun King was finally acknowledging his powerlessness. But even if his words were sincere, they came too late—for him and for the monarchy he had tried so hard to preserve.
5. King at War
The worst mistakes of Louis XIV's reign were, arguably, his wars and the treatment of Protestants. Notably, both of these mistakes were made in the second half of the Sun King's reign, when his biases and anxieties were getting the better of him. These mistakes also reflect Louis' delusions of absolute power: he thought he could achieve results that turned out to be outside of his control. Let us first take a look at Louis XIV's military pursuits.
As part of his project to strengthen the country, Louis started his reign by reorganizing the army. Under the direction of Marquis de Louvois, the new Secretary of War who worked with the King to support this important transition, the French army turned into a remarkably modernized, disciplined, and well-trained war machine. “One of Louis’ long-term ambitions, in addition to his drives to modernize and enlarge France, and to become the arbiter of Europe, was to win France a global empire” (Chapter 6). With his new army, he was ready to work toward these goals.
Unfortunately, Louis XIV did not see war as something to be avoided, but rather as a desirable opportunity to increase France’s and his own glory. Arrogance and vanity, worsening with age, played a role in his ill-conceived military decisions. We should also consider what Louis XIV was brought up to believe and how he was taught to act. In the minds of children growing up in noble and royal households of the time, war was normalized and celebrated. The King had learned early on that he was supposed to be a great warrior, victor, and military leader. “From the age of five he... drilled a troop of enfants d’honneur in the art of war... ‘pike in hand and beating drums’” (Chapter 3). A miniature fort built for him in the Tuileries ignited what would become a lifelong obsession with siege warfare.
During his reign, France took part in three major wars and two smaller conflicts. As a result, the country “was at war for thirty-three of the fifty-four years of his personal rule after 1661. The army was by far the largest item in the French budget, usually consuming over 50 per cent of revenues, and in war years over 80 per cent” (Chapter 18). As with other areas of Louis' life, his military pursuits reveal the combination of his power with powerlessness. He was able to wage wars that he desired, and he did achieve many important victories. At the height of France's glory under the Sun King, the country outshone the rest of Europe in terms of population size, wealth, and cultural influence. But this glorious state of affairs did not last. France started to lose its international prestige, while its population was ravaged by poverty, which was then exacerbated by famines. Louis's calculations were wrong, and his plans backfired. Even at the height of his influence, he never truly dominated Europe (Chapter 5). On the contrary, his military strategies, which he believed were carefully crafted, eventually led to both national and international disasters.
Almost till the end of his life, Louis XIV remained blinded by his military ambitions and delusions of grandeur. As his modernized army proved effective at expanding France’s territory, the praise he received at home seemed to validate his belief that he had chosen the right strategy to maintain his status as an absolute monarch. The fact that France’s reputation abroad was steadily worsening did not seem to trouble him. “For the King and many of his subjects, the number of his enemies revealed his strength, rather than his unpopularity and lack of diplomatic skills” (Chapter 18). It is likely that many of his military decisions were driven by anxiety about not being the kind of absolute monarch he believed he was supposed to be. “Desire to win praise, and to outshine both his rivals and his ministers, could be as important to Louis XIV as winning territory.” He preferred sieges to battles because the outcome was more predictable, yet the glory—at least in his eyes—was just as grand (Chapter 14).
In his blindness, the King chose to listen to advisors such as Louvois, who advocated for bold and brutal actions, rather than generals and diplomats who warned against them. He ignored the warnings of those who disapproved of violent tactics and who found the arrogant tone of French declarations dangerous. “He had once been a gentle youth who cried easily, and called mercy ‘the most royal of all the virtues’... By 1672, however, he had changed” (Chapter 10). Louis XIV became hardened. Under Louvois’ orders, French troops terrorized the Dutch countryside, looting, burning villages, and executing civilians. Though a few soldiers were punished, the terror was repeated in future campaigns to extract money from terrified locals. Louvois encouraged the destruction explicitly in letters: entire villages, he wrote, must be burned (Chapter 10).
The King’s power allowed him to make decisions that many—though not all—of his contemporaries opposed. But his powerlessness lay in his inability to see how these decisions undermined his own image and the status of his country. As historian Herbert Rowen noted, Louis chose “brutal methods which repeatedly led precisely to the result he was seeking to avert.” Even his famously ruthless general Condé warned that France was drawing “cruel aversion” from across Europe, and the Marquis de La Fare lamented that France had exchanged “the domination of Europe” for widespread hatred (Chapter 10). International alliances formed against France out of fear and resentment, setting the stage for the disasters of his last wars.
Early in his reign, Louis’s enthusiasm for war likely stemmed from inexperience and youthful idealism. In Louis’s imagination, it was like the game of war he had played as a child, waving a miniature sword and always winning. As he grew older, military victories boosted his confidence, but defeats brought bitterness and pain. By the time of the Nine Years’ War (1688–1697) and the War of the Spanish Succession (1701–1714), Louis’s decline as a military leader was evident. Though these wars demonstrated France’s might, they also made clear the King’s inability to control what he had set in motion.
Louis’s decisions during the Nine Years’ War were partly shaped by France’s alliance with the Ottoman Empire. Most other European powers had already been alienated by his behavior. According to Mansel's interpretation, “the Ottoman government... blackmailed Louis,” threatening to abandon its fight against Austria unless he launched a war in Europe. In response, Louis agreed to move his troops toward the Rhine and Italy (Chapter 17). This marked the start of a war that further damaged France’s reputation. Though the war brought some territorial gains, it deepened the country’s economic crisis.
In addition, it was becoming more and more obvious that “Louis XIV’s army had become a machine for destruction” (Chapter 18), one he could no longer fully control.
At one point, “Louis urged, without success, that Catholic churches be spared.” But he could not rein in the violence. From Düsseldorf to Freiburg, “cities, villages and farms... were burnt or blown up,” with civilians expelled and resources seized (Chapter 18). Even French generals were horrified. They warned the King and Louvois about the “terrible feelings of aversion” growing across Europe. But their warnings were ignored. Ironically, Louis’s actions benefited the Ottoman Empire more than France. The King and Louvois had failed to secure a buffer zone in the Rhineland, but their campaign helped protect the Ottomans by distracting Imperial forces (Chapter 18).
What had once seemed like smart military strategies proved disastrous. “The ‘wasting’ of the Rhineland,” following the persecution of the Huguenots (to be discussed in the next section), cemented Louis’s image as a “new Attila” (Chapter 18). European unity against France deepened, and former allies joined the growing anti-French coalition that would play a major role in the War of the Spanish Succession—the last war of Louis’s reign, which ended in 1714, a year before the King's passing.
His enemies could rejoice. Toward the end of this war, the Sun King wanted peace, but he was trapped by his own choices. The allies demanded that he attack his own grandson to remove him from the Spanish throne. The only alternative was to continue a war that had devastated France and left its once-mighty army crumbling from poverty and corruption—issues Louis could not fully resolve. In the end, he was spared only because Great Britain and the Dutch Republic dropped their demand for reasons unrelated to anything he had done. He was saved not by strategy but by luck. But his country and his reputation lay in ruins. “Many were reluctant to support official peace celebrations... It was a peace which dishonoured ‘the king and the whole nation’. Europe had beaten France” (Chapter 18). Once again, absolute power proved unreachable.
One may doubt deathbed confessions made in the hope of divine forgiveness. Still, it is worth noting what Louis said to his five-year-old great-grandson just before he died: “Do not imitate me in my wars; try always to maintain peace with your neighbours, to relieve your people... which I have had the misfortune to be unable to do, due to necessities of State” (Chapter 23). It seems the Sun King was finally acknowledging his powerlessness. But even if his words were sincere, they came too late—for him and for the monarchy he had tried so hard to preserve.
Image credit: Protestant engraving representing the dragonnades against the French Huguenots under Louis XIV, after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, Godfrey Engelmann from a drawing of 1686
6. King and religion
"Fun" fact: thanks to Louis XIV's treatment of Protestants, the word "refugee" entered the world's vocabulary. How did it come to this? First, we need to recall that France of the time was a thoroughly Catholic country, where the cults of religion and monarchy depended on and supported each other. Wherever French leaders turned in their ambition for a global empire, they brought their religion with them. "Catholicism was presented overseas, as in Europe, as a buttress of monarchy" (Chapter 15). Same as Louis XIV's belief in absolute monarchy, instilled from an early age by people he loved and trusted above all (especially by his mother and Mazarin), so was his passion for Catholicism. Religion was associated with certainty, meant to maintain his right to wield absolute power that was supposedly given to him by God.
Not surprisingly, Louis XIV's "Catholicism reflected both his belief in God and his belief in monarchy. He wrote to his son that Catholicism taught obedience to kings as lieutenants of God. Therefore, for reasons of prudence and common sense as well as faith, Catholicism should be ‘the first and most important part of our policy’" (Chapter 14). Louis XIV was honest in his piety and took very seriously his status of a leader of France appointed by God. For instance, "[t]hroughout his reign, from his coronation in 1654 to his death in 1715, even when he was ill, Louis (after taking communion)... performed the ritual of touching for the King’s Evil (scrofula), usually in Versailles’ ground-floor galleries, sometimes more than a thousand people in one day…. On 1 November 1685, for example, although barely able to stand from gout, he touched 300: a triumph of duty over ill-health" (Chapter 14).
His piety did not mean that he had no tensions with other representatives of his faith. "The French Catholic or Gallican church was more powerful and more courageous in the seventeenth century than in the twentieth. It could challenge Louis XIV through its hold on his subjects’ hearts and minds, and through the independently elected Assembly of Clergy, on whose ‘free gift’, voted every five years, the crown relied for revenue. At times the Gallican church acted as an unofficial opposition to Louis XIV. However pious the King showed himself to be, however often he visited churches and followed processions, the Gallican church or the Papacy occasionally thwarted his desires. The King was unable to restrict the number and size of the monasteries which owned so much land and in Colbert’s opinion weakened the economy" (Chapter 9).
Individual Catholic priests enjoyed the King's respect even when they chose to point out his flaws (for example, his luxurious lifestyle or his love affairs). "The King fasted during Lent, and encouraged courtiers to do likewise, and he listened to Lent and Advent sermons, by a variety of preachers... some of whom criticized his private life with a frankness which few modern heads of state would tolerate" (Chapter 14). Representatives of another branch of Christianity – Protestantism – were less lucky, no matter how much respect and obedience they displayed.
Although some Protestants, known in France of the time as Huguenots, occupied high social and political positions, all members of this religious group were aware of their status as a marginalized minority. Fresh was the memory of French Wars of Religion, which had ended less than one hundred years before the Sun King's reign. These wars were known for their bloodshed, especially the infamous St. Bartholomew's Day massacre of 1572, when thousands of Huguenots were brutally murdered over a period of several weeks. The French Wars of Religion ended in 1598, as King Henry IV (grandfather of Louis XIV) guaranteed substantial rights to Huguenots in a document that became known as the Edict of Nantes. In 1685, it was this edict that Louis XIV decided to revoke.
The persecution of Huguenots under Louis XIV did not begin with this revocation, however. Several years prior, the King started introducing changes that dramatically intensified religious discrimination (for example, closing many Protestant churches and schools). The goal was to make French Protestants convert to Catholicism, which some did, at least on paper. Many Huguenots continued to resist; so in 1681, an infamous measure was taken that became known as dragonnades. Dragoons (cavalry soldiers) were told to stay in Huguenots' homes in-between war campaigns. This created a significant financial strain on homeowners forced to welcome such "guests", and often caused abuses by soldiers who were led to believe that they were allowed to do to their hosts anything they wanted. Protestants were not even allowed to leave France anymore. As a result of these measures, the number of conversions went up. The revocation of the Edict of Nantes was, then, presented as a next logical step. Since not too many Huguenots were officially left in the country, their privileges were declared to be redundant.
Dragonnades seem to be horrible enough, but what happened after the revocation was even worse. "All remaining Protestant churches and schools were destroyed, beginning with the Temple at Charenton a few miles east of Paris, and its surrounding graveyard. All Protestant assemblies and forms of worship were forbidden, all priests expelled. The possessions of all French Protestants abroad were confiscated. All Protestant children had henceforth to receive Catholic baptism and instruction or their parents would be fined. Even the graveyard for foreign Protestants outside Paris, to the horror of the Danish envoy, was destroyed" (Chapter 16).
Mansel believes that the revocation of the Edict of Nantes revocation was Louis' greatest single mistake. One can think of a variety of reasons behind the King's fateful decision. Some of these reasons reveal the Sun King's powerlessness rather than his power. Mansel notes that "[a]lmost since its promulgation, the Edict of Nantes had been under attack. The clergy, the one group in France with its own national assembly, agents and income, a portion of which it offered the King as ‘free gifts’ in lieu of taxes, had been urging the proscription of Protestantism since 1614… Louis XIV also needed the support of the French clergy, since he was in conflict with his personal enemy Pope Innocent XI, over the régale (income from vacant sees), the perennial problem of French diplomatic immunities in Rome, and what the King considered the Pope’s pro-Austrian bias. Perhaps there was an unwritten bargain between the King and the clergy: he would eliminate the Protestants; they would support him against the Pope" (Chapter 16).
Another reason “may have been [the King's] desire for a grand gesture to impress Catholic Europe and minimize his Ottoman alliance… To remove the shame of his alliance with the Ottoman Empire, Louis XIV needed to prove himself to be more Catholic than the Emperor [ruler or the Holy Roman Empire]“ (Chapter 16). Rivalry with other major political forces of the time (e.g., the House of Austria) for the leadership of Catholic Europe was probably also a factor. "In addition to his desire to outshine Leopold I, and please the Assembly of Clergy, Louis was corrupted by piety. He believed that he was doing God’s work, and that revocation would save Protestants’ souls: ‘I am persuaded that God will devote to his glory the deed which he has inspired in me,’ he wrote to the Archbishop of Paris" (Chapter 16). We could, of course, also consider this decision as yet another manifestation of the Sun King's megalomania that was only increasing with time. He did not like the fact that not all people in his kingdom practiced his own preferred faith (the faith that guaranteed his divine rights) and he thought he could do anything to change that.
Support that this religious persecution garnered in France further contributed to Louis's misguided conviction in his own righteousness. Some Catholics were horrified. However, "[f]ew others in France expressed... revulsion. The potential popularity of the Revocation may have hastened it. Like other persecutions of minorities, it gave part of the population the pleasure of joining in or watching what they considered patriotic acts, as well as opportunities to acquire, at low prices, the possessions of the persecuted… As Pierre Bayle wrote from Rotterdam, ‘you have thus all been complicit, in these crimes.’ Unlike many of the King’s other policies, including his wars, his taxes, his treatment of the Parlements and the Jansenists, his persecution of Protestants aroused little criticism in France" (Chapter 16). In fact, during that exact time "[m]any Frenchmen believed that they had entered a golden age. Panegyrics praised the King’s immortal, divine or supernatural powers. Frenchmen’s love for the King was compared to a second religion" (Chapter 16).
As with many other Sun King's attempts to prove his absolute power to himself and to the world, the revocation of the Edict of Nantes backfired spectacularly. First, it contributed to undermining France's image, which was already suffering as a result of inhumane military practices. Second, although Huguenots were not allowed to leave France, many in fact did, effectively turning into refugees (that's when the term was coined) and settling down in countries that welcomed protestants. Many of these refugees were highly skilled professionals; others were rich, and their flight drained the French economy, which was at the time already in a pitiful state. "By the Revocation, Louis XIV not only helped to unite Europe against France, but also transferred French cultural, commercial and technical leads to its rivals. The impact of even a small number of Huguenots outside France shows how advanced its culture and economy were, in comparison to other countries’ – and that for some exile can lead to success as well as suffering" (Chapter 16).
Louis XIV's persecution of Protestants weakened France while increasing the number of its adversaries and strengthening them. After the revocation "Louis faced not only enemy rulers like Leopold I and William III, but the wrath of a Protestant diaspora. By driving Huguenots into exile, Louis XIV turned them from obedient subjects, who had been hoping their King’s persecution would abate, into dangerous adversaries. From the safety of exile, they preached, wrote and fought back against their persecutor. Thousands of soldiers and officers and perhaps 15 to 20 per cent of the manpower of the French navy left, usually to fight for Louis XIV’s enemies" (Chapter 16).
Louis XIV's persecution of Protestants might lead us to doubt whether he truly understood what he was doing. It is possible that some combination of megalomania and anxiety – both outside of his conscious control – determined that the King let himself be persuaded by advisors who advocated for tough measures (like Louvois) instead of those who pointed out potential problems (e.g., reminding the King that "in nearly all trades the most able workers and richest businessmen were Protestants" (Chapter 16)). Louis XIV let his worst impulses guide his decisions, contradicting himself. The King "was allied to the Ottoman Sultan, curious about Confucianism and tolerant of Lutherans and Calvinists in Alsace. Yet in France he became a fanatic" (Chapter 16).
Notably, "Huguenot refugees spread not only religious scepticism, but also hostility to the French monarchy. A violent attack on the Bastille was written by a Huguenot officer who had been imprisoned there for eleven years, Constantin de Renneville. L’Inquisition française ou Histoire de la Bastille, listing Louis XIV’s prisoners in the Bastille and their sufferings, first published in 1715, was republished in six volumes in Amsterdam in 1724. It helped confirm the Bastille’s reputation as a symbol of royal tyranny" (Chapter 16). Louis XIV was powerful enough to take actions that affected and hurt numerous people. But he was powerless to see how these actions were damaging what he valued so much: his country, his image, and the Bourbon Dynasty.
6. King and religion
"Fun" fact: thanks to Louis XIV's treatment of Protestants, the word "refugee" entered the world's vocabulary. How did it come to this? First, we need to recall that France of the time was a thoroughly Catholic country, where the cults of religion and monarchy depended on and supported each other. Wherever French leaders turned in their ambition for a global empire, they brought their religion with them. "Catholicism was presented overseas, as in Europe, as a buttress of monarchy" (Chapter 15). Same as Louis XIV's belief in absolute monarchy, instilled from an early age by people he loved and trusted above all (especially by his mother and Mazarin), so was his passion for Catholicism. Religion was associated with certainty, meant to maintain his right to wield absolute power that was supposedly given to him by God.
Not surprisingly, Louis XIV's "Catholicism reflected both his belief in God and his belief in monarchy. He wrote to his son that Catholicism taught obedience to kings as lieutenants of God. Therefore, for reasons of prudence and common sense as well as faith, Catholicism should be ‘the first and most important part of our policy’" (Chapter 14). Louis XIV was honest in his piety and took very seriously his status of a leader of France appointed by God. For instance, "[t]hroughout his reign, from his coronation in 1654 to his death in 1715, even when he was ill, Louis (after taking communion)... performed the ritual of touching for the King’s Evil (scrofula), usually in Versailles’ ground-floor galleries, sometimes more than a thousand people in one day…. On 1 November 1685, for example, although barely able to stand from gout, he touched 300: a triumph of duty over ill-health" (Chapter 14).
His piety did not mean that he had no tensions with other representatives of his faith. "The French Catholic or Gallican church was more powerful and more courageous in the seventeenth century than in the twentieth. It could challenge Louis XIV through its hold on his subjects’ hearts and minds, and through the independently elected Assembly of Clergy, on whose ‘free gift’, voted every five years, the crown relied for revenue. At times the Gallican church acted as an unofficial opposition to Louis XIV. However pious the King showed himself to be, however often he visited churches and followed processions, the Gallican church or the Papacy occasionally thwarted his desires. The King was unable to restrict the number and size of the monasteries which owned so much land and in Colbert’s opinion weakened the economy" (Chapter 9).
Individual Catholic priests enjoyed the King's respect even when they chose to point out his flaws (for example, his luxurious lifestyle or his love affairs). "The King fasted during Lent, and encouraged courtiers to do likewise, and he listened to Lent and Advent sermons, by a variety of preachers... some of whom criticized his private life with a frankness which few modern heads of state would tolerate" (Chapter 14). Representatives of another branch of Christianity – Protestantism – were less lucky, no matter how much respect and obedience they displayed.
Although some Protestants, known in France of the time as Huguenots, occupied high social and political positions, all members of this religious group were aware of their status as a marginalized minority. Fresh was the memory of French Wars of Religion, which had ended less than one hundred years before the Sun King's reign. These wars were known for their bloodshed, especially the infamous St. Bartholomew's Day massacre of 1572, when thousands of Huguenots were brutally murdered over a period of several weeks. The French Wars of Religion ended in 1598, as King Henry IV (grandfather of Louis XIV) guaranteed substantial rights to Huguenots in a document that became known as the Edict of Nantes. In 1685, it was this edict that Louis XIV decided to revoke.
The persecution of Huguenots under Louis XIV did not begin with this revocation, however. Several years prior, the King started introducing changes that dramatically intensified religious discrimination (for example, closing many Protestant churches and schools). The goal was to make French Protestants convert to Catholicism, which some did, at least on paper. Many Huguenots continued to resist; so in 1681, an infamous measure was taken that became known as dragonnades. Dragoons (cavalry soldiers) were told to stay in Huguenots' homes in-between war campaigns. This created a significant financial strain on homeowners forced to welcome such "guests", and often caused abuses by soldiers who were led to believe that they were allowed to do to their hosts anything they wanted. Protestants were not even allowed to leave France anymore. As a result of these measures, the number of conversions went up. The revocation of the Edict of Nantes was, then, presented as a next logical step. Since not too many Huguenots were officially left in the country, their privileges were declared to be redundant.
Dragonnades seem to be horrible enough, but what happened after the revocation was even worse. "All remaining Protestant churches and schools were destroyed, beginning with the Temple at Charenton a few miles east of Paris, and its surrounding graveyard. All Protestant assemblies and forms of worship were forbidden, all priests expelled. The possessions of all French Protestants abroad were confiscated. All Protestant children had henceforth to receive Catholic baptism and instruction or their parents would be fined. Even the graveyard for foreign Protestants outside Paris, to the horror of the Danish envoy, was destroyed" (Chapter 16).
Mansel believes that the revocation of the Edict of Nantes revocation was Louis' greatest single mistake. One can think of a variety of reasons behind the King's fateful decision. Some of these reasons reveal the Sun King's powerlessness rather than his power. Mansel notes that "[a]lmost since its promulgation, the Edict of Nantes had been under attack. The clergy, the one group in France with its own national assembly, agents and income, a portion of which it offered the King as ‘free gifts’ in lieu of taxes, had been urging the proscription of Protestantism since 1614… Louis XIV also needed the support of the French clergy, since he was in conflict with his personal enemy Pope Innocent XI, over the régale (income from vacant sees), the perennial problem of French diplomatic immunities in Rome, and what the King considered the Pope’s pro-Austrian bias. Perhaps there was an unwritten bargain between the King and the clergy: he would eliminate the Protestants; they would support him against the Pope" (Chapter 16).
Another reason “may have been [the King's] desire for a grand gesture to impress Catholic Europe and minimize his Ottoman alliance… To remove the shame of his alliance with the Ottoman Empire, Louis XIV needed to prove himself to be more Catholic than the Emperor [ruler or the Holy Roman Empire]“ (Chapter 16). Rivalry with other major political forces of the time (e.g., the House of Austria) for the leadership of Catholic Europe was probably also a factor. "In addition to his desire to outshine Leopold I, and please the Assembly of Clergy, Louis was corrupted by piety. He believed that he was doing God’s work, and that revocation would save Protestants’ souls: ‘I am persuaded that God will devote to his glory the deed which he has inspired in me,’ he wrote to the Archbishop of Paris" (Chapter 16). We could, of course, also consider this decision as yet another manifestation of the Sun King's megalomania that was only increasing with time. He did not like the fact that not all people in his kingdom practiced his own preferred faith (the faith that guaranteed his divine rights) and he thought he could do anything to change that.
Support that this religious persecution garnered in France further contributed to Louis's misguided conviction in his own righteousness. Some Catholics were horrified. However, "[f]ew others in France expressed... revulsion. The potential popularity of the Revocation may have hastened it. Like other persecutions of minorities, it gave part of the population the pleasure of joining in or watching what they considered patriotic acts, as well as opportunities to acquire, at low prices, the possessions of the persecuted… As Pierre Bayle wrote from Rotterdam, ‘you have thus all been complicit, in these crimes.’ Unlike many of the King’s other policies, including his wars, his taxes, his treatment of the Parlements and the Jansenists, his persecution of Protestants aroused little criticism in France" (Chapter 16). In fact, during that exact time "[m]any Frenchmen believed that they had entered a golden age. Panegyrics praised the King’s immortal, divine or supernatural powers. Frenchmen’s love for the King was compared to a second religion" (Chapter 16).
As with many other Sun King's attempts to prove his absolute power to himself and to the world, the revocation of the Edict of Nantes backfired spectacularly. First, it contributed to undermining France's image, which was already suffering as a result of inhumane military practices. Second, although Huguenots were not allowed to leave France, many in fact did, effectively turning into refugees (that's when the term was coined) and settling down in countries that welcomed protestants. Many of these refugees were highly skilled professionals; others were rich, and their flight drained the French economy, which was at the time already in a pitiful state. "By the Revocation, Louis XIV not only helped to unite Europe against France, but also transferred French cultural, commercial and technical leads to its rivals. The impact of even a small number of Huguenots outside France shows how advanced its culture and economy were, in comparison to other countries’ – and that for some exile can lead to success as well as suffering" (Chapter 16).
Louis XIV's persecution of Protestants weakened France while increasing the number of its adversaries and strengthening them. After the revocation "Louis faced not only enemy rulers like Leopold I and William III, but the wrath of a Protestant diaspora. By driving Huguenots into exile, Louis XIV turned them from obedient subjects, who had been hoping their King’s persecution would abate, into dangerous adversaries. From the safety of exile, they preached, wrote and fought back against their persecutor. Thousands of soldiers and officers and perhaps 15 to 20 per cent of the manpower of the French navy left, usually to fight for Louis XIV’s enemies" (Chapter 16).
Louis XIV's persecution of Protestants might lead us to doubt whether he truly understood what he was doing. It is possible that some combination of megalomania and anxiety – both outside of his conscious control – determined that the King let himself be persuaded by advisors who advocated for tough measures (like Louvois) instead of those who pointed out potential problems (e.g., reminding the King that "in nearly all trades the most able workers and richest businessmen were Protestants" (Chapter 16)). Louis XIV let his worst impulses guide his decisions, contradicting himself. The King "was allied to the Ottoman Sultan, curious about Confucianism and tolerant of Lutherans and Calvinists in Alsace. Yet in France he became a fanatic" (Chapter 16).
Notably, "Huguenot refugees spread not only religious scepticism, but also hostility to the French monarchy. A violent attack on the Bastille was written by a Huguenot officer who had been imprisoned there for eleven years, Constantin de Renneville. L’Inquisition française ou Histoire de la Bastille, listing Louis XIV’s prisoners in the Bastille and their sufferings, first published in 1715, was republished in six volumes in Amsterdam in 1724. It helped confirm the Bastille’s reputation as a symbol of royal tyranny" (Chapter 16). Louis XIV was powerful enough to take actions that affected and hurt numerous people. But he was powerless to see how these actions were damaging what he valued so much: his country, his image, and the Bourbon Dynasty.
Image credit: Versailles by Diane Picchiottino
Flawed Legacy
The Sun King was most certainly not powerless. But how powerful was he really? Mansel reminds us that "Louis XIV was able to play a global role because of the power of the kingdom of France. His reign and personality were conditioned by the geography, history, demography and traditions of the country he ruled" (Introduction). The King's power had been given to him by circumstances and by other people. His power, therefore, depended on factors that, paradoxically, he had no power over. And when circumstances were not in his favor (or when certain people were against him), luck often turned away from the King.
No matter how hard Louis XIV tried to be in control, no matter how hard he tried to persuade himself and others that he was in control, his power clearly had its limits.
"Even hard work, and the vast theoretical authority of his crown... did not guarantee Louis XIV total control of France. Keen to show that they are not deceived by royal propaganda, or by the inflated view of royal power enshrined in Louis XIV’s memoirs written for the instruction of the Dauphin, many historians emphasize the constraints placed on the crown by the social and economic structures, the traditional institutions (especially the Church) and the conservatism of France. Even at the height of his power, as Fouquet’s trial showed, individuals and law courts could challenge or criticize the King. In 1662 the Chancellor and the Parlement of Paris would defeat his attempts to modify the composition of the royal family by adding the House of Lorraine to the French order of succession. The monarchy could be stronger than the King. Christianity, as well as conservatism, could encourage disobedience to Louis XIV – as he would find after 1680, when despite bribes and threats many Protestants would refuse to convert to Catholicism. There were also individual examples of disobedience..." (Chapter 7).
Most importantly, Louis XIV clearly did not have the power to see how his actions were undermining the very goals he was trying to achieve. The extent of his mistakes, as summarized by Mansel in the last chapter of his book, is mind-boggling.
"After the death of Mazarin in 1661, having inherited the strongest country and army in Europe, Louis XIV had been expected to become the greatest monarch in history. By the end of his reign, however, France was no longer the supreme power in Europe. His own character [something outside of his control – E.F.] was one reason. Power, leadership and hard work did not compensate for Louis XIV’s love of war and lack of judgement. He overestimated French resources and underestimated European reactions. In 1661 France had been protected by treaties with almost all the powers of Europe, except Austria – with Sweden, Denmark, Poland, Brandenburg, Bavaria, the Netherlands, England, Portugal and Spain – and by the long-standing alliance with the Ottoman Empire. As guarantor of the Treaty of Oliva in the north and the League of the Rhine in the Empire, France also had many pretexts for intervention abroad. By his wars and persecutions, however, Louis XIV had helped unite Europe against France. At his death in 1715, France had no allies but Spain, Sweden, Bavaria and the Ottoman Empire. Louis’ lack of judgement led him to pick losers. His alliance with the exiled Stuarts benefited neither them nor France" (Chapter 24).
The King depended on others for help and advice. When his advisors themselves were blinded by their own biases (which was not uncommon), multiple failures were sure to follow. "The number and gravity of Louis’ mistakes increased after Colbert’s death in 1683, showing both the power of his ministers and that the famous inscription in the Galerie des Glaces ‘le roi gouverne par lui-meme’ was in part an illusion. The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, the invasion of the Rhineland in 1688 (thereby helping to ensure the success of William III’s invasion of England), the dispersion of French forces on different fronts in 1690–93 and the commitment to the restoration of the Stuarts were self-inflicted disasters. The bombardments of Genoa and Brussels, the persecution of the Huguenots and the devastation of the Palatinate showed the cruelty which helped turn much of Europe against France" (Chapter 24).
Again and again, Louis's actions led to results that he was trying hard to avoid. "The transformations of its rivals England, Austria, Prussia and Savoy from second-rank into major powers (including England’s conquest of Gibraltar and union with Scotland) were helped by Louis’ wars, and in the case of England and Prussia by Huguenots fleeing his persecutions. Compared to Louis’ alternations between dynasticism and nationalism, expansion and retrocession, Gallicanism and Papalism, his fellow monarchs Leopold I, William III, Victor Amadeus II and his own grandson Philip V, none of whom had Louis’ initial advantages, proved more consistent and more successful. Finance was another of Louis’ weaknesses. In 1661 he had promised that ‘the relief of my people is my strongest passion.’ But, as he lamented on his deathbed, and as some of his subjects complained in their songs during his funeral procession, he failed in the task" (Chapter 24).
Louis XIV's bad judgments were something that he could not properly evaluate. They shaped his decisions related to numerous aspects of his reign and personal life, from military to health, and everything in-between. "His habit of conducting some of his wars by micromanagement from Versailles, and dividing commands between rival generals, helped lead to French defeats. Louis XIV did not even choose good doctors. The attentions of his doctors led to the premature deaths of his wife, son, eldest grandson, granddaughter-in-law, two great-grandsons and, in the opinion of some courtiers, the King himself" (Chapter 24).
Louis XIV's power and his powerlessness cannot be clearly separated from each other. After all, as Mansel reminds us, the Sun King "proved better at incorporating French conquests, and defending France, than his republican and Bonapartist successors. He helped make Frenchmen out of Flemish, Alsatians and Burgundians and gave France its present shape. He also provided many Frenchmen with immense emotional satisfaction, as he still does. Many were proud, like the King himself, of his wars, conquests and palaces, proud of his imposition of religious uniformity, of his hospitality to James II and of the fact that, as the lawyer M. Borelly of Nîmes wrote in his diary, ‘all Europe is against our great king.’ In 1698 Matthew Prior noted that ‘the common people of this nation have a strange veneration for their king’" (Chapter 24).
Louis XIV's mistakes, inherited by his successors, eventually led to the French Revolution, which was the Sun King's worst nightmare. "Partly because of the legacy of Louis XIV, and the economic and social disparities he had aggravated, the French social order had been the first in Europe to be overthrown" (Chapter 24). Mansel believes that "[t]he trigger for the revolution... was not famine, the unpopularity of the Austrian Queen Marie Antoinette or social tensions, but the financial system inherited from Louis XIV" (Chapter 24). Notably, the French Revolution only became possible when "[t]he great institutions which had served Louis XIV’s monarchy [ – ] the nobility, the church, the army, the Parlements [ – ] began to withdraw support or demand change" (Chapter 24). The Revolution could have happened during the Sun King's reign, but it did not – due to a combination of cultural, political, and personal factors rather than because of how powerful Louis XIV was. If anything, we can see that he was eventually powerless to stop the French monarchy from hurtling towards the precipice.
Even after all these blunders, Louis XIV was not universally detested in France, as one might expect. When he was dying a painful death from a gangrene in his leg, "[t]he churches of Paris filled with people praying for the King’s recovery – as the crowds at Versailles also showed, he was not as detested as critics would later claim" (Chapter 23). Meanwhile, in Versailles, "[c]ourtiers filled the gallery, and those with the right entrées the council chamber. Such was the magnetism of the King and the monarchy that both soon became impenetrable. Crowds filled the palace courtyards and the surrounding streets" (Chapter 23).
But power is a paradox after all, and the change of the mood after the King's death serves as a good reminder. "In contrast to the funeral procession’s outward dignity... ‘on all sides’ along the route from Versailles to Saint-Denis, people had been drinking, laughing, singing and playing music – as the young writer François Arouet, later known as Voltaire... remembered. Resentment of his wars and taxes, and oppression, was increased by the prospect of change in a new reign. Even the Master of Ceremonies Desgranges in his official register admitted, ‘the people regarded it as a fête and, full of joy at having seen the living king, did not feel all the sorrow which the death of such a great King should cause.’ Pierre Narbonne adds: ‘many people rejoiced at the death of this prince and on all sides you could hear the sound of violins.’ Perhaps for fear of popular reactions, the funeral procession, unlike that of the Duc and Duchesse de Bourgogne three years earlier, did not pass through Paris" (Chapter 23).
Soon after Louis XIV's death, he was being laughed at with glee. "[P]oems provided a mocking counterblast to the official narrative:
Here in the same tomb
Lie the great Louis and the finances.
. . our invincible king . . . died as he lived,
Without leaving us the
Quarter of an écu . . .
In Saint-Denis as at Versailles,
He is without heart and without entrails.
‘Our immortal king’ was attacked for his taxes even more than for his wars or his absolutism. Only financiers, wrote the curé of Saint-Sulpice near Blois in his parish register, had benefited from his reign, since they acquired all the money in the kingdom. Other poems called him ‘the slave of an unworthy woman’, the enemy of peace. ‘Do not pray God for his soul. Such a monster never had one.’ One called him Louis le Petit [Louis the Small, as opposed to Louis the Great]" (Chapter 23).
Balancing between mockery and veneration, some people pointed out Louis XIV's numerous mistakes while not taking away his dignity. "At a solemn memorial service... in the spiritual heart of the French monarchy... one of the most respected preachers of the day, Jean-Baptiste Massillon, praised ‘the father of kings, greater than all his ancestors, more magnificent than Solomon in all his glory’. However, he also mourned what he called ‘an entire century of horror and carnage, the elite of the French nobility precipitated into the grave, so many ancient lines extinguished, so many inconsolable mothers who still weep for their children, our countryside deserted . . . our towns laid waste; our peoples exhausted . . . trade languishing . . . burning, bloodshed, blasphemy, abomination and all the horrors of which war is the father.’ He described the glory of establishing Philip V on the throne of Spain as ‘triste et amère’ (‘sad and bitter’); lamented that the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes had weakened the monarchy as a result of ‘the escape of so many citizens’ (one of the few public criticisms of their persecution); quoted the King’s deathbed advice to his great-grandson to avoid wars; and deplored ‘our crimes’" (Chapter 23).
Yes, power is a paradox. Today, same as in the past, Louis XIV is both criticized and respected. And although his actions undermined the Bourbon Dynasty, they also strengthened it, although not in France itself. "The Bourbon dynasty in Spain would outlast both its cousins in France and British control of North America; and, as Louis XIV would have been proud to observe, reigns again today" (Chapter 24). The Sun King was at least partially successful. According to Mansel, "Louis XIV... is now more admired than a hundred years ago" (Chapter 24). His "role as Apollo, the dazzling patron who inspired so many musicians, dancers, writers, sculptors, painters, architects and gardeners, overshadows his crimes and failures as Mars" (Chapter 24). Louis XIV would probably be especially proud to learn about the fate of his beloved Versailles. "The palace is not only a unique asset for French diplomacy and tourism but also a valued show room for modern French businesses, as well as the traditional luxury trades which Louis did so much to encourage. Books and films and television have turned Louis XIV and Versailles into an international industry... Three hundred years after his death, Versailles keeps Louis XIV’s glory alive."
The question, however, remains: If Louis XIV could see what has transpired since he died, if he could visit Earth as a spirit freed from the blindness of his biases and see the full extent of his accomplishments and failures, would pride be his main emotion? Or would he be overwhelmed with painful embarrassment upon realizing how much suffering his decisions caused? Yes, he is remembered and admired (by some). But at the same time his worst vices and blunders are being meticulously picked apart by numerous historians, on display for anybody who would like to learn about them. He, who cared so much about his image, would be devastated to find out how much this image was tainted by actions that could have been avoided if he only truly understood what he was doing and why. The emotional person that he was underneath the crust of the hardened heart, if the spirit of Louis now perceived all the damage he caused, he would probably weep in despair. No matter all the power, the Sun King has never been able to escape powerlessness, either in his life or after death.
No matter how hard Louis XIV tried to be in control, no matter how hard he tried to persuade himself and others that he was in control, his power clearly had its limits.
"Even hard work, and the vast theoretical authority of his crown... did not guarantee Louis XIV total control of France. Keen to show that they are not deceived by royal propaganda, or by the inflated view of royal power enshrined in Louis XIV’s memoirs written for the instruction of the Dauphin, many historians emphasize the constraints placed on the crown by the social and economic structures, the traditional institutions (especially the Church) and the conservatism of France. Even at the height of his power, as Fouquet’s trial showed, individuals and law courts could challenge or criticize the King. In 1662 the Chancellor and the Parlement of Paris would defeat his attempts to modify the composition of the royal family by adding the House of Lorraine to the French order of succession. The monarchy could be stronger than the King. Christianity, as well as conservatism, could encourage disobedience to Louis XIV – as he would find after 1680, when despite bribes and threats many Protestants would refuse to convert to Catholicism. There were also individual examples of disobedience..." (Chapter 7).
Most importantly, Louis XIV clearly did not have the power to see how his actions were undermining the very goals he was trying to achieve. The extent of his mistakes, as summarized by Mansel in the last chapter of his book, is mind-boggling.
"After the death of Mazarin in 1661, having inherited the strongest country and army in Europe, Louis XIV had been expected to become the greatest monarch in history. By the end of his reign, however, France was no longer the supreme power in Europe. His own character [something outside of his control – E.F.] was one reason. Power, leadership and hard work did not compensate for Louis XIV’s love of war and lack of judgement. He overestimated French resources and underestimated European reactions. In 1661 France had been protected by treaties with almost all the powers of Europe, except Austria – with Sweden, Denmark, Poland, Brandenburg, Bavaria, the Netherlands, England, Portugal and Spain – and by the long-standing alliance with the Ottoman Empire. As guarantor of the Treaty of Oliva in the north and the League of the Rhine in the Empire, France also had many pretexts for intervention abroad. By his wars and persecutions, however, Louis XIV had helped unite Europe against France. At his death in 1715, France had no allies but Spain, Sweden, Bavaria and the Ottoman Empire. Louis’ lack of judgement led him to pick losers. His alliance with the exiled Stuarts benefited neither them nor France" (Chapter 24).
The King depended on others for help and advice. When his advisors themselves were blinded by their own biases (which was not uncommon), multiple failures were sure to follow. "The number and gravity of Louis’ mistakes increased after Colbert’s death in 1683, showing both the power of his ministers and that the famous inscription in the Galerie des Glaces ‘le roi gouverne par lui-meme’ was in part an illusion. The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685, the invasion of the Rhineland in 1688 (thereby helping to ensure the success of William III’s invasion of England), the dispersion of French forces on different fronts in 1690–93 and the commitment to the restoration of the Stuarts were self-inflicted disasters. The bombardments of Genoa and Brussels, the persecution of the Huguenots and the devastation of the Palatinate showed the cruelty which helped turn much of Europe against France" (Chapter 24).
Again and again, Louis's actions led to results that he was trying hard to avoid. "The transformations of its rivals England, Austria, Prussia and Savoy from second-rank into major powers (including England’s conquest of Gibraltar and union with Scotland) were helped by Louis’ wars, and in the case of England and Prussia by Huguenots fleeing his persecutions. Compared to Louis’ alternations between dynasticism and nationalism, expansion and retrocession, Gallicanism and Papalism, his fellow monarchs Leopold I, William III, Victor Amadeus II and his own grandson Philip V, none of whom had Louis’ initial advantages, proved more consistent and more successful. Finance was another of Louis’ weaknesses. In 1661 he had promised that ‘the relief of my people is my strongest passion.’ But, as he lamented on his deathbed, and as some of his subjects complained in their songs during his funeral procession, he failed in the task" (Chapter 24).
Louis XIV's bad judgments were something that he could not properly evaluate. They shaped his decisions related to numerous aspects of his reign and personal life, from military to health, and everything in-between. "His habit of conducting some of his wars by micromanagement from Versailles, and dividing commands between rival generals, helped lead to French defeats. Louis XIV did not even choose good doctors. The attentions of his doctors led to the premature deaths of his wife, son, eldest grandson, granddaughter-in-law, two great-grandsons and, in the opinion of some courtiers, the King himself" (Chapter 24).
Louis XIV's power and his powerlessness cannot be clearly separated from each other. After all, as Mansel reminds us, the Sun King "proved better at incorporating French conquests, and defending France, than his republican and Bonapartist successors. He helped make Frenchmen out of Flemish, Alsatians and Burgundians and gave France its present shape. He also provided many Frenchmen with immense emotional satisfaction, as he still does. Many were proud, like the King himself, of his wars, conquests and palaces, proud of his imposition of religious uniformity, of his hospitality to James II and of the fact that, as the lawyer M. Borelly of Nîmes wrote in his diary, ‘all Europe is against our great king.’ In 1698 Matthew Prior noted that ‘the common people of this nation have a strange veneration for their king’" (Chapter 24).
Louis XIV's mistakes, inherited by his successors, eventually led to the French Revolution, which was the Sun King's worst nightmare. "Partly because of the legacy of Louis XIV, and the economic and social disparities he had aggravated, the French social order had been the first in Europe to be overthrown" (Chapter 24). Mansel believes that "[t]he trigger for the revolution... was not famine, the unpopularity of the Austrian Queen Marie Antoinette or social tensions, but the financial system inherited from Louis XIV" (Chapter 24). Notably, the French Revolution only became possible when "[t]he great institutions which had served Louis XIV’s monarchy [ – ] the nobility, the church, the army, the Parlements [ – ] began to withdraw support or demand change" (Chapter 24). The Revolution could have happened during the Sun King's reign, but it did not – due to a combination of cultural, political, and personal factors rather than because of how powerful Louis XIV was. If anything, we can see that he was eventually powerless to stop the French monarchy from hurtling towards the precipice.
Even after all these blunders, Louis XIV was not universally detested in France, as one might expect. When he was dying a painful death from a gangrene in his leg, "[t]he churches of Paris filled with people praying for the King’s recovery – as the crowds at Versailles also showed, he was not as detested as critics would later claim" (Chapter 23). Meanwhile, in Versailles, "[c]ourtiers filled the gallery, and those with the right entrées the council chamber. Such was the magnetism of the King and the monarchy that both soon became impenetrable. Crowds filled the palace courtyards and the surrounding streets" (Chapter 23).
But power is a paradox after all, and the change of the mood after the King's death serves as a good reminder. "In contrast to the funeral procession’s outward dignity... ‘on all sides’ along the route from Versailles to Saint-Denis, people had been drinking, laughing, singing and playing music – as the young writer François Arouet, later known as Voltaire... remembered. Resentment of his wars and taxes, and oppression, was increased by the prospect of change in a new reign. Even the Master of Ceremonies Desgranges in his official register admitted, ‘the people regarded it as a fête and, full of joy at having seen the living king, did not feel all the sorrow which the death of such a great King should cause.’ Pierre Narbonne adds: ‘many people rejoiced at the death of this prince and on all sides you could hear the sound of violins.’ Perhaps for fear of popular reactions, the funeral procession, unlike that of the Duc and Duchesse de Bourgogne three years earlier, did not pass through Paris" (Chapter 23).
Soon after Louis XIV's death, he was being laughed at with glee. "[P]oems provided a mocking counterblast to the official narrative:
Here in the same tomb
Lie the great Louis and the finances.
. . our invincible king . . . died as he lived,
Without leaving us the
Quarter of an écu . . .
In Saint-Denis as at Versailles,
He is without heart and without entrails.
‘Our immortal king’ was attacked for his taxes even more than for his wars or his absolutism. Only financiers, wrote the curé of Saint-Sulpice near Blois in his parish register, had benefited from his reign, since they acquired all the money in the kingdom. Other poems called him ‘the slave of an unworthy woman’, the enemy of peace. ‘Do not pray God for his soul. Such a monster never had one.’ One called him Louis le Petit [Louis the Small, as opposed to Louis the Great]" (Chapter 23).
Balancing between mockery and veneration, some people pointed out Louis XIV's numerous mistakes while not taking away his dignity. "At a solemn memorial service... in the spiritual heart of the French monarchy... one of the most respected preachers of the day, Jean-Baptiste Massillon, praised ‘the father of kings, greater than all his ancestors, more magnificent than Solomon in all his glory’. However, he also mourned what he called ‘an entire century of horror and carnage, the elite of the French nobility precipitated into the grave, so many ancient lines extinguished, so many inconsolable mothers who still weep for their children, our countryside deserted . . . our towns laid waste; our peoples exhausted . . . trade languishing . . . burning, bloodshed, blasphemy, abomination and all the horrors of which war is the father.’ He described the glory of establishing Philip V on the throne of Spain as ‘triste et amère’ (‘sad and bitter’); lamented that the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes had weakened the monarchy as a result of ‘the escape of so many citizens’ (one of the few public criticisms of their persecution); quoted the King’s deathbed advice to his great-grandson to avoid wars; and deplored ‘our crimes’" (Chapter 23).
Yes, power is a paradox. Today, same as in the past, Louis XIV is both criticized and respected. And although his actions undermined the Bourbon Dynasty, they also strengthened it, although not in France itself. "The Bourbon dynasty in Spain would outlast both its cousins in France and British control of North America; and, as Louis XIV would have been proud to observe, reigns again today" (Chapter 24). The Sun King was at least partially successful. According to Mansel, "Louis XIV... is now more admired than a hundred years ago" (Chapter 24). His "role as Apollo, the dazzling patron who inspired so many musicians, dancers, writers, sculptors, painters, architects and gardeners, overshadows his crimes and failures as Mars" (Chapter 24). Louis XIV would probably be especially proud to learn about the fate of his beloved Versailles. "The palace is not only a unique asset for French diplomacy and tourism but also a valued show room for modern French businesses, as well as the traditional luxury trades which Louis did so much to encourage. Books and films and television have turned Louis XIV and Versailles into an international industry... Three hundred years after his death, Versailles keeps Louis XIV’s glory alive."
The question, however, remains: If Louis XIV could see what has transpired since he died, if he could visit Earth as a spirit freed from the blindness of his biases and see the full extent of his accomplishments and failures, would pride be his main emotion? Or would he be overwhelmed with painful embarrassment upon realizing how much suffering his decisions caused? Yes, he is remembered and admired (by some). But at the same time his worst vices and blunders are being meticulously picked apart by numerous historians, on display for anybody who would like to learn about them. He, who cared so much about his image, would be devastated to find out how much this image was tainted by actions that could have been avoided if he only truly understood what he was doing and why. The emotional person that he was underneath the crust of the hardened heart, if the spirit of Louis now perceived all the damage he caused, he would probably weep in despair. No matter all the power, the Sun King has never been able to escape powerlessness, either in his life or after death.
Image credit: Versailles by Stephanie LeBlanc
***
My goal in writing this essay was not to present a sanitized version of Louis XIV's life, focusing on his accomplishments while downplaying the extent of damage that his decisions caused. I am by no means trying to say that his actions were okay. But my readers will undoubtedly note that my interpretation of Louis XIV is rather sympathetic. I describe him as person with many flaws who made serious mistakes that had impact on numerous people – but I do not present him as a bad person. Moreover, throughout this essay I am offering explanations for why he had those flaws and made those mistakes. I know that some readers will find my attempts to find such explanations misguided or even insulting. However, I hope that others will appreciate the nuance between justifying an action (as in, showing that an action was right or reasonable) and explaining an action by referring to complexity of human psychology and social context.
Louis XVI made plenty of blunders as he was navigating life's pressures, complicated networks of personal and political relationships, his own needs, and what he saw as his responsibilities as a representative of the Bourbon Dynasty and the ruler of France. From our advantageous position as outside observers, we can theorize how some of these mistakes could have been avoided. But considering the complexity of cultural, political, and personal factors at play, avoiding them was not as easy for Louis as it might seem to us now. I am not arguing that there was no way to make different decisions. But I believe that we should be careful with an urge to claim that he could have made different choices if he really wanted to, because he had all the power he is known for. As a person who puts big emphasis on empathy, I believe that we should not get carried away by the conviction that "if only I had been in his place, I would have done so much better [because I am a good person and he was a bad person]." For what would it truly mean to be in Louis XIV's place?
It would mean not having a kind of childhood that many people today imagine and hope for their children. Instead, being Louis XIV would mean being born into a world of strange rigid rules, endless ceremonies, complicated and sometimes even toxic relationships, filled with serious responsibilities and pressures but without appropriate psychological support. Being Louis XIV would mean trying to navigate this world with the help of conflicting ideas provided by those he respected and loved: "you have special rights and power granted to you by God" but "you must ignore your needs if they do not benefit your dynasty and your country."
Being Louis XIV would mean to be a celebrity from the day you are born, and to gradually realize that you are at the same time feared and loved, hated and used by people around you. It would mean developing strategies of coping with those confusing circumstances without fully understanding how these strategies benefit you and how they can hurt you – or those around you. (Developing coping strategies that can later backfire is, actually, not uncommon. This happens to many people who have to navigate complicated circumstances. But not everybody has the power of a king – the power that would make downside of these coping strategies so visible and widely known).
Being Louis XIV would mean feeling the constant pressure to show and prove your power to the world. It would mean dealing with intrigues of the court and of your own family. It would mean realizing at some point that you cannot manage your country the way you think it needs to be managed, no matter how much hard work you put into it. Being Louis XIV would also mean realizing that in order to achieve your goals you often need to negotiate and give other people what they want from you (which might not always be in your best interests). It would mean having to admit that, despite all the power you supposedly have, you often cannot make people and institutions do what you want them to do.
Today, we have access to rich research on human psychology which can help us understand our own reactions and actions. We have therapists and meditation teachers to help us find peace with ourselves. (Even then, not everybody has access to these resources or knows how to use them.) But Louis XIV did not have any of that, so he was unable to understand what was going on in his heart and mind. He was given power by people around him, but nobody could explain to him how having this kind of power can impact one's personality. So, even though Louis had power to make decisions that had visible effect on numerous people, he did not have power to fully comprehend why he was making these decisions. Just as he did not quite understand himself, he also did not understand other people, despite all his knowledge about internal and international politics. This lack of understanding explains, in particular, why he miscalculated effects of his decisions related to wars and religion.
The goal of this essay was not to deny that Louis XIV had power but to acknowledge how this power coexisted with powerlessness. I also wanted to show different aspects of his powerlessness: not being able to control institutions or to make anybody do what he wanted them to do; not fully understanding reasons behind his own actions and reactions; not knowing how to predict or shape outcomes of his decisions. In each instance when Louis XIV did something what he seemingly wanted, it was because some other people wanted it as well. I believe that, in all his great mistakes and accomplishments, there was no instance where he would have been one against everybody, yet still being able to achieve his odds against all odds. He was able to do many things as a French monarch; but the monarchy, with all its privileges, rules, and responsibilities, was something he was born into, not single-handedly created. Monarchy depended on ideas and ideologies that Louis and most of his subjects did not know how to properly question.
As the name of my website suggests, I am especially interested in meanings – ideas and associations that our mind attaches to aspects of the world we live in. Meanings exist in our heads, and as human history suggests, they change over time due to people's interactions. Supposedly, people have power over these ideas: meanings do not change themselves, people change them. But meanings have also significant power over us. Nobody can escape their effect, including seemingly most powerful people we can think of. Louis XIV was certainly affected by meanings that he did not create, especially all the ideas about absolute monarchy that permeated his life. We cannot underestimate the role of meanings of monarchy in the way the Sun King chose to act, in the way he wanted to be seen by others, and in the way he was indeed seen. Meanings of monarchy was a source of his power, the reason why he was feared and admired. At the same time, not being in control of these meanings was a major aspect of his powerlessness.
Monarchy of the past – with its veneration of the King by his subjects and the King's attempts to craft his image according to certain standards – might seems almost barbaric to us today. We must realize that in the times of Louis XIV, "shared belief in monarchy and hierarchy... [was] as common... as enthusiasm for human rights today" (Chapter 15). It is easy to question these ideas now not because we are smarter than people of the past. These people lived in the world where ideas associated with monarchy were part of everyday life – not only of kings but also of all their subjects. People who supported monarchy might seem to have been blind in their fear and adoration, and monarchs of the past themselves might seem to have been the main cause of the persistence of veneration directed towards them. But their relationship with meanings was as paradoxical as our relationship with meanings today.
Louis XIV did not create the idea of monarchy, and he did not have much more control over it than his subjects. Part of his powerlessness was his inability to see how much not in charge of these meanings he was. It is known that, during the everyday evening ceremony of coucher, the Sun King would tell "his Premier Valet de Chambre to pass the bougeoir – a candle on a plate – to whomever he wished to favour that evening. As the King boasted in his memoirs, one of the most visible effects of his power was to give ‘an infinite value’ to something which in itself was nothing" (Chapter 13). The irony is that Louis thought he used his power by turning an ordinary candle into something special, a symbol of royal favor, which so many people craved. In fact, he was only able to do that because of the meanings of monarchy that, unbeknownst to the King, shaped his own existence.
After reading my essay, you might say that when one tries to see somebody as "not a bad person," there is a danger of starting to like them and then to diminish the harm that they have done. To that I can say, first of all, that one does not have to like somebody in order to acknowledge limits of their power. I can think of a few people who are far more controversial than Louis XIV and whom I do not quite like, and I do not need to force myself to like them in order to entertain an idea that there was a significant amount of powerlessness in their lives that could at least partially account for their decisions. If anything, if we insist on explaining society's problems by claiming that they are mainly caused by bad people, this might prevent us from properly understanding causes behind these problems and finding better solutions for them.
Now, after analyzing the life of one such clearly powerful person as Louis XIV in order to show his powerlessness, the next logical step would seem to do the opposite: to find an example of somebody powerless and to show how they did have certain power after all. This is something I need to consider, but I have my fears and reservations. It might seem acceptable (at least to some people) to take a famous figure like Louis XIV and push it off the pedestal. This might even feel like an entertaining and curious exercise in cognitive empathy. Going in the other direction, however, might be akin to taking a walk through a minefield. If I choose somebody who was extremely disadvantaged, even abused, and try to argue that they had some power after all, this will probably not be entertaining at all. In fact, some might find this exercise heartless and offensive. I probably will find it heartless myself. Luckily (for me), I would not be able to really do that for a simple reason that the most powerless people do not have historians writing heavy tomes about them. We just don't really known these people (actually, we don't know many details about most of the people who have lived on the Earth). For the purpose of continuing my exploration of power, I will need to find a solution for this conundrum. Stay tuned!
SOURCES:
Chateau de Versailles [official website]. (n.d.). Courtiers: The nobility surrounding the king.
Clarke, J. (2023). Cognitive empathy vs. emotional empathy. VerywellMind.
Dowding, K. (2011). Absolutism. In K. Dowding, ed., Encyclopedia of Power. Sage.
Mansel, P. (2020). King of the World: The Life of Louis XIV. University of Chicago Press.
Medscape. (2023). Scrofula.
Philip Mansel [official website]. (n.d.). About Philip Mansel.
Louis XVI made plenty of blunders as he was navigating life's pressures, complicated networks of personal and political relationships, his own needs, and what he saw as his responsibilities as a representative of the Bourbon Dynasty and the ruler of France. From our advantageous position as outside observers, we can theorize how some of these mistakes could have been avoided. But considering the complexity of cultural, political, and personal factors at play, avoiding them was not as easy for Louis as it might seem to us now. I am not arguing that there was no way to make different decisions. But I believe that we should be careful with an urge to claim that he could have made different choices if he really wanted to, because he had all the power he is known for. As a person who puts big emphasis on empathy, I believe that we should not get carried away by the conviction that "if only I had been in his place, I would have done so much better [because I am a good person and he was a bad person]." For what would it truly mean to be in Louis XIV's place?
It would mean not having a kind of childhood that many people today imagine and hope for their children. Instead, being Louis XIV would mean being born into a world of strange rigid rules, endless ceremonies, complicated and sometimes even toxic relationships, filled with serious responsibilities and pressures but without appropriate psychological support. Being Louis XIV would mean trying to navigate this world with the help of conflicting ideas provided by those he respected and loved: "you have special rights and power granted to you by God" but "you must ignore your needs if they do not benefit your dynasty and your country."
Being Louis XIV would mean to be a celebrity from the day you are born, and to gradually realize that you are at the same time feared and loved, hated and used by people around you. It would mean developing strategies of coping with those confusing circumstances without fully understanding how these strategies benefit you and how they can hurt you – or those around you. (Developing coping strategies that can later backfire is, actually, not uncommon. This happens to many people who have to navigate complicated circumstances. But not everybody has the power of a king – the power that would make downside of these coping strategies so visible and widely known).
Being Louis XIV would mean feeling the constant pressure to show and prove your power to the world. It would mean dealing with intrigues of the court and of your own family. It would mean realizing at some point that you cannot manage your country the way you think it needs to be managed, no matter how much hard work you put into it. Being Louis XIV would also mean realizing that in order to achieve your goals you often need to negotiate and give other people what they want from you (which might not always be in your best interests). It would mean having to admit that, despite all the power you supposedly have, you often cannot make people and institutions do what you want them to do.
Today, we have access to rich research on human psychology which can help us understand our own reactions and actions. We have therapists and meditation teachers to help us find peace with ourselves. (Even then, not everybody has access to these resources or knows how to use them.) But Louis XIV did not have any of that, so he was unable to understand what was going on in his heart and mind. He was given power by people around him, but nobody could explain to him how having this kind of power can impact one's personality. So, even though Louis had power to make decisions that had visible effect on numerous people, he did not have power to fully comprehend why he was making these decisions. Just as he did not quite understand himself, he also did not understand other people, despite all his knowledge about internal and international politics. This lack of understanding explains, in particular, why he miscalculated effects of his decisions related to wars and religion.
The goal of this essay was not to deny that Louis XIV had power but to acknowledge how this power coexisted with powerlessness. I also wanted to show different aspects of his powerlessness: not being able to control institutions or to make anybody do what he wanted them to do; not fully understanding reasons behind his own actions and reactions; not knowing how to predict or shape outcomes of his decisions. In each instance when Louis XIV did something what he seemingly wanted, it was because some other people wanted it as well. I believe that, in all his great mistakes and accomplishments, there was no instance where he would have been one against everybody, yet still being able to achieve his odds against all odds. He was able to do many things as a French monarch; but the monarchy, with all its privileges, rules, and responsibilities, was something he was born into, not single-handedly created. Monarchy depended on ideas and ideologies that Louis and most of his subjects did not know how to properly question.
As the name of my website suggests, I am especially interested in meanings – ideas and associations that our mind attaches to aspects of the world we live in. Meanings exist in our heads, and as human history suggests, they change over time due to people's interactions. Supposedly, people have power over these ideas: meanings do not change themselves, people change them. But meanings have also significant power over us. Nobody can escape their effect, including seemingly most powerful people we can think of. Louis XIV was certainly affected by meanings that he did not create, especially all the ideas about absolute monarchy that permeated his life. We cannot underestimate the role of meanings of monarchy in the way the Sun King chose to act, in the way he wanted to be seen by others, and in the way he was indeed seen. Meanings of monarchy was a source of his power, the reason why he was feared and admired. At the same time, not being in control of these meanings was a major aspect of his powerlessness.
Monarchy of the past – with its veneration of the King by his subjects and the King's attempts to craft his image according to certain standards – might seems almost barbaric to us today. We must realize that in the times of Louis XIV, "shared belief in monarchy and hierarchy... [was] as common... as enthusiasm for human rights today" (Chapter 15). It is easy to question these ideas now not because we are smarter than people of the past. These people lived in the world where ideas associated with monarchy were part of everyday life – not only of kings but also of all their subjects. People who supported monarchy might seem to have been blind in their fear and adoration, and monarchs of the past themselves might seem to have been the main cause of the persistence of veneration directed towards them. But their relationship with meanings was as paradoxical as our relationship with meanings today.
Louis XIV did not create the idea of monarchy, and he did not have much more control over it than his subjects. Part of his powerlessness was his inability to see how much not in charge of these meanings he was. It is known that, during the everyday evening ceremony of coucher, the Sun King would tell "his Premier Valet de Chambre to pass the bougeoir – a candle on a plate – to whomever he wished to favour that evening. As the King boasted in his memoirs, one of the most visible effects of his power was to give ‘an infinite value’ to something which in itself was nothing" (Chapter 13). The irony is that Louis thought he used his power by turning an ordinary candle into something special, a symbol of royal favor, which so many people craved. In fact, he was only able to do that because of the meanings of monarchy that, unbeknownst to the King, shaped his own existence.
After reading my essay, you might say that when one tries to see somebody as "not a bad person," there is a danger of starting to like them and then to diminish the harm that they have done. To that I can say, first of all, that one does not have to like somebody in order to acknowledge limits of their power. I can think of a few people who are far more controversial than Louis XIV and whom I do not quite like, and I do not need to force myself to like them in order to entertain an idea that there was a significant amount of powerlessness in their lives that could at least partially account for their decisions. If anything, if we insist on explaining society's problems by claiming that they are mainly caused by bad people, this might prevent us from properly understanding causes behind these problems and finding better solutions for them.
Now, after analyzing the life of one such clearly powerful person as Louis XIV in order to show his powerlessness, the next logical step would seem to do the opposite: to find an example of somebody powerless and to show how they did have certain power after all. This is something I need to consider, but I have my fears and reservations. It might seem acceptable (at least to some people) to take a famous figure like Louis XIV and push it off the pedestal. This might even feel like an entertaining and curious exercise in cognitive empathy. Going in the other direction, however, might be akin to taking a walk through a minefield. If I choose somebody who was extremely disadvantaged, even abused, and try to argue that they had some power after all, this will probably not be entertaining at all. In fact, some might find this exercise heartless and offensive. I probably will find it heartless myself. Luckily (for me), I would not be able to really do that for a simple reason that the most powerless people do not have historians writing heavy tomes about them. We just don't really known these people (actually, we don't know many details about most of the people who have lived on the Earth). For the purpose of continuing my exploration of power, I will need to find a solution for this conundrum. Stay tuned!
SOURCES:
Chateau de Versailles [official website]. (n.d.). Courtiers: The nobility surrounding the king.
Clarke, J. (2023). Cognitive empathy vs. emotional empathy. VerywellMind.
Dowding, K. (2011). Absolutism. In K. Dowding, ed., Encyclopedia of Power. Sage.
Mansel, P. (2020). King of the World: The Life of Louis XIV. University of Chicago Press.
Medscape. (2023). Scrofula.
Philip Mansel [official website]. (n.d.). About Philip Mansel.