40A Cupcake For You…
Mister Louis XIV
Thank you to Marquise Alexandra for suggesting this fine man as the next victim recipient of the cupcake giving spirit. Also in dedication to my middle school French teacher (not that she will ever read this) who is retiring this year and who first taught me, albeit in a gentler light than my history teacher did, about Louis Quatorze.
The little girl looked at the next name in her planner. Mohandas Gandhi. With a dainty snort she crossed his name off the list. What was the point of giving a cupcake to someone who rarely ate?
xXxXx
She didn't think she'd ever seen anything so grand, opulent, and, well… ridiculous in all her small years on the planet. Oh she'd seen pictures, but never had she imagined what it could look like in person, this resplendent monument to a man's ability to burn money in the name of pleasure.
Ridiculous because the man hadn't thought to spend all that much of his people's money on security, she thought, slipping past the royal guards. They probably wouldn't see her if she walked right in front of them, for all their pomp. However, the little girl ducked through the immaculately crafter hedges instead, holding closely her delicately wrapped morsel. This particular cupcake was made with finer ingredients than she usually bothered with. This was, after all, Versailles. One could not bake the king a cupcake with mere commoner flour.
The windows were open, and she crept along the wall, listening for activity within. She passed people chatting lazily, maids arguing, a piano playing, someone trying to muffle her weeping, and someone snoring very obnoxiously. Finally there was a room from which oozed very welcome silence and, lowering the cupcake through the window in a handkerchief sling, the little girl followed quickly. As she dragged her feet through the window, a silk slipper fell to the ground outside. Well… she couldn't very well go back now. He probably wouldn't notice, self-absorbed as he was.
The little girl, after a run-in with Queen Elizabeth I for not being in proper court attire, was being very careful and trying to dress to the time as best as possible. She reasoned that they probably wouldn't notice she was wearing a cheap Halloween costume and throw her out. Just whisper loudly about her bad taste. But she could live with that.
She didn't need to consult her map of the palace as she had memorised the route she needed to take the night before, and with the air of someone who knew what she was doing fooling everyone she ran into, she came to the grand chamber of the king.
He wasn't there. The breeze from the open window on the far side of the room stirred the papers resting on his desk gently, and the fluffy puff of a quill pen resting in its place fluttered at her as if in greeting. She was prepared to sit in one of the well-stuffed embroidered chairs and admire the tasteful wallpaper. At a desk in the corner, however, was a young man in immaculate dress, his head tilted in concentration as he wrote carefully. She coughed delicately into a gloved hand, getting his attention. He looked up, eyebrows raised questioningly.
"Good morning young miss. Are you lost?"
"No, sir. I'm looking for the king." The man smiled warily and stood, coming over to her.
"Well… he isn't here at the moment…"
The little girl made a show of looking around.
"Really? Thank you for that insight." It was the dress. She blamed the stupid dress and its scratchy lace.
"Well… you could wait for him. I think he'll be back soon. Ah… what is it exactly that you wish to see him about."
"It's his birthday, is it not?"
"…Yes."
"I have a gift for him." The poor man was so nervous and agitated that the little girl decided to have pity on him and be coöperative.
"Here," she said, setting the carefully wrapped box on the man's desk and untying the bow. She lifted the lid of the small cardboard box and drew forth the cupcake. It was perfectly iced. So perfect, thought the man, that it almost hurt to look at. And yet he stared on. The icing was the faintest shade of pink, nothing more than the blush of a maiden's cheeks on her wedding night. He kicked himself for thinking that and swore to go to the church later. Such impure thoughts… Surely the delicacy was a thing of the devil?! But it was so… splendid looking! In white scriptive letters were the words "L'état, c;est vous". Gold and blue dragées decorated the edge, which dropped away to reveal the cakey part—the purest vanilla cake he had ever seen. The man almost fainted at the sight.
Gasping and clutching his heart, he reeled away. The little girl's brow furrowed in worry.
"Sir? Are you all right?" He began to mumble quickly, but the little girl caught the words "devil" and "Mephistopheles" and "baker" before the door was thrown open. Only one word could describe the way Louis XIV entered the room—sauntering. He sauntered into the room with such finesse that the young man before her reeled once more and gave a yelp.
"WHAT. Is that?" the king asked, pointing dramatically at th cupcake, which the girl was still holding on display.
"HOW dare you, child, give a gift to someone OTHER than ME on this most felicitous of days, my BIRTHDAY!"
"Sir, you're mistaken," the little girl began.
"No sir! You mustn't! It is the artistry of the devil, sent by she, the devil's messenger in the form of a little girl!"
"You vile commoner, you're just trying to take it for yourself! Fiend!"
"No! Sir, please, do not accept it! I am only looking out for you when I say this!"
"As if I could be fooled by so FLIMSY an argument, which is obviously a mere SHOW so that you will not get yourself in trouble with ME, the king, and centre of EVERYTHING. Do you forget where the sun is in the universe?"
"But, but sir!"
"I said DO YOU FORGET WHERE THE SUN IS IN THE UNIVERSE!"
"No, sir. The centre, sir."
"PRECISELY! And do you know my name? My OTHER name?"
"Sir, the devil—"
"NO! It is the Sun King!"
"Do you or do you not understand the implications of that?!"
"Mephistopheles in human form—"
"I AM THE CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE!"
"Yes, sir," the man answered meekly.
The little girl watched this exchange with chagrin. She had just escaped lunatics in Elizabethan England; need she encounter more in France?
"Sir?" she interjected in a brief lull in accusations and entreaties. "For your birthday, sir, would you accept this cupcake?"
The secretary squeaked in fright and the king raised an perfectly crafter eyebrow, nearly hitting the hairline of his perfectly coiffed wig.
"You would repent, little girl? Very well. After all, as long as I get the gift in the end, it doesn't matter for whom it was intended." He graciously took the cupcake from her grasp, smiling benevolently at her bowed head.
"Very good, child."
"Happy birthday, Mr. Louis XIV."
"Thank you, child."
He held the cupcake up to the light and admired it while the secretary passed out on the expensive rug. Mr. Louis XIV frowned down at him, one little wrinkle being the only indication that he was frowning. His mouth turned down at the corners, but only enough to make him appear displeased—not enough to create a crease. He sighed suddenly, bringing the cupcake down from its lofty position.
"Someone will have to be called to remove him," he groused distastefully.
"I shall get someone on my way out," the little girl volunteered. She'd always had a soft spot for the absolute monarchs of old. Mr. Louis XIV nodded and turned to his desk. He sat down and prepared to take a bite out of the cupcake. He paused as he looked down at it for the first time and, with one convulsive gasp, launched it out the window.
"How DARE you! HOW DARE YOU LITTLE GIRL!"
"Mr. Louis?"
"L'ETAT, N'EST PAS LUI! L'ETAT, C'EST MOI! That's MY line! How DARE you prepare a gift on which MY LINE is written and give it to SOMEONE ELSE!"
"If you'd let me explain—" At this moment, he let out a great cry, rather like the hunting cry of certain aunts who once belonged to the Quorn and Pytchley, and ran after her, powdered hands outstretched, manicured nails glinting in the soft morning light.
As the little girl ran for her life from Mr. Louis XIV, she thanked her lucky stars that she had not tried to bring up his policy of ruling as she had with Caligula two years back. BAD idea to question and attempt to helpfully aid absolutist rulers. She darted out the window from whence she came, grabbing her shoe and fleeing the screeching voice of the longest-ruling monarch France had ever seen.