It is the tradition that at each royal enthronement, a sample of each woman from the provinces of France is presented (offered) to the sovereign so that he can consume the fruits. It’s a shoot, it’s a film we’re making. Maybe Pasolini, maybe Fellini, we don’t really know. But the cameras are there, ready to shoot, the electric cables on the ground, numerous but discreet. The lighting, too. A few microphones, suspended in the air, like metal spiders at the end of their thread… I am aware of my luck. In my heart of hearts I am overjoyed to be able to witness such a historic moment, mixing dream and reality. It is a huge room with cubicles placed next to each other, like fitting rooms: one line on the left, another on the right. I walk slowly looking both ways. Each is “closed” by a quasi-transparent curtain which reveals rather than conceals. Inside, a kind of high pedestal, a small throne placed on it, and a woman seated, well wedged against the backrest, legs wide apart, naked. Blonde, brunette, redhead, mestizo, quadroon, Annamite, black ebony, Indian – there are counters and colonies -. The king is going to penetrate them all, diligently, slowly but surely, without wasting a drop, he is going to fuck them systematically, it is the protocol. He will go around his kingdom, in front and behind, he will sow it, fertilize it, bless it with his seed. He will make love for hours, one cabin after another, he will taste them, smell them, lick them, suck them, bite them, he will know them by heart, he will blend into them, into the multitude. At the back of the room, behind a semi-transparent curtain, the royal throne – full-length, but bigger than the others – is empty. The actor who is to play the role of Louis XIV has not yet arrived. In a corner of the sets, I take off my clothes and get ready to take his place…