Henriette’s childhood was austere. Her mother was deeply religious and disapproved of many of the court entertainments, but Queen Anne took pity on the girl and brought her to court whenever she could. Henriette took part in some of the court ballets, and she witnessed Louis’s coronation. Then, as though her situation had not been difficult enough, matters became still more delicate when Mazarin negotiated an alliance with Cromwell. As the daughter of a deposed and executed king, the sister of a king without a kingdom, and her native land now a republic, Henriette’s stock on the marriage market crashed. With one prince after another turning her down, Louis turned to Philippe and quipped, “You will marry the Princess of England, because no one wants her.” In fact, Louis feared that he would be made to marry her if his proposed match with Marie-Thérèse failed. This was the reason for his earlier rudeness toward Henriette, which was very much out of character for him. When it came to Henriette, however, the king’s tactlessness knew no bounds, and he told his brother that he “need not be in so great a hurry to espouse the bones of the Innocents,”40 a reference to the princess’s almost emaciated appearance.
Then, in May 1660, Charles II was restored to the throne of England and everything changed for Henriette. No longer the poor, unwanted relative, she was now the sister of a reigning king and eminently marriageable. The negotiations for her marriage to Philippe took place at the same time that Louis’s marriage was being discussed.
At first Philippe disliked Henriette. On one occasion, he showed his resentment towards her and her mother during a dispute over precedence at court. “We shall have enough to do with people who depend upon us for bread,” he said, “if we permit them to go before us.”41 However, when Philippe’s uncle, the duc d’Orléans died, Philippe knew that he would not inherit the Orléans appanage until he married. Suddenly the prospect of marrying Henriette did not seem so objectionable. For Philippe, therefore, the marriage was one of convenience. For Henriette too, marriage to the most eligible prince in Christendom promised to release her from her austere prison into a world of warmth and comfort, beautiful clothes, glittering entertainments, and, most importantly, freedom from her controlling mother. Louis, who felt a “natural antipathy to the English people,”42 was nevertheless pleased with the match because it provided him with an English ally, who would protect his interests in the event of a break with Spain.43 Moreover, his dislike of the English was “easily effaced in him by the ties of blood, which invited the princess and himself to like each other.”44 The marriage took place on March 31 at the Palais-Royal. It was a quiet ceremony with only a few guests, and, since it was Lent, there was no wedding banquet. Philippe and Henriette, whose official titles were Monsieur and Madame, withdrew to their apartments in the Tuileries. A few days later, Louis took his court to Fontainebleau, his favorite summer residence, where he would remain until December.
EIGHT
The Summer of 1661
Several weeks into his personal reign, Louis showed no sign that he was weary of the business of government. Much to the disappointment of those who wished to hold power in their own hands, Louis embraced his work with enthusiasm. He rose between eight and nine each morning, even though he usually went to bed late. Leaving Marie-Thérèse’s bed, he went to his own room, where he said his prayers and dressed himself.1 He then closed his doors so he could attend to whatever work was pressing at the time, but also to “relieve himself of the crowd.”2 At ten, Louis joined his council, where he remained until he went to mass at midday. Leaving the chapel, he would sometimes spend time with the two queens in private; at other times, he would meet his people. Louis was and would remain accessible to his subjects, granting audiences to anyone who wanted to see him and “listening patiently to such as had something to say to him.” Louis nevertheless maintained a “lofty and serious air,”3 although he was nothing but charming to the ladies. Mme de Motteville attributes this approach to the reputation acquired by his cousin, Charles II of England, and the praise he received for the way he governed his kingdom. Louis resolved to “make himself greater and more glorious than all the princes who had hitherto worn crowns.”4 Louis accepted their petitions and gave his answers on days assigned for the purpose. After dinner, he would remain with his family for a time before going to work with his ministers.
Assiduous in his application to his métier de roi, Louis surprised courtiers, councillors, and ministers alike, who now saw just how much he had learned while closeted with Mazarin. The king “suddenly appeared a politician in affairs of the state, a theologian in those of the Church, precise in matters of finance, speaking with justice, taking always the right side in council, [and] sensitive to the interests of private persons.” Louis hated intrigue, saw through flattery, and dealt severely with “the grandees of the kingdom whom he suspected of a desire to govern him,” a legacy of the Fronde. Yet no matter how much affairs of state exercised him or occupied his time, he always managed to devote some part of his day to amusements.
In the early weeks and months of his marriage, Louis was very happy with Marie-Thérèse. He thanked his mother for “having taken out of his heart Mademoiselle Mancini” and given him the Infanta, who would make him happy, “as much by her beauty as by her virtue, her compliance, and the affection” which she showed him.”5 For her part, Marie-Thérèse had been in love with Louis since childhood, saying that “not only had she loved the king, but she had even loved his portraits.”6
Since that time, however, Louis’s passion had cooled. The now pregnant7 Marie-Thérèse was beautiful, but beauty alone was not enough to retain the king’s interest, and life had become decidedly uninspiring for him. He wanted someone who would share his love of theater, dancing, riding, and cards, but the pious queen had no interest in these worldly pursuits. Instead, she “loved retirement more rather than a queen of France, who owes herself to the public, should love it.”8 While this virtue was commended by the ladies of the court, it annoyed Louis. He looked elsewhere for stimulation and found it in a most unexpected source.
Philippe and Henriette had arrived at Fontainebleau three weeks after their marriage. It soon became apparent that all was not well between them. Philippe preferred to spend time with his male favorites, and Henriette, in need of diversion, found it in Louis’s company. Louis, who had once delighted in deriding Henriette, now saw her in a new light. Gone was the awkward girl with the cheap clothes and the air of a pauper. Henriette had blossomed into a beautiful woman. With her delicate “rose and jasmine” complexion, soft and brilliant eyes, red lips, and perfect teeth, she was exquisite, but Henriette possessed an enchantment that defied description: “there was something in her that made itself loved,” said Mme de Motteville.9 While Henriette was still very thin, she was graceful; she loved to dance and was an excellent rider. She loved theater as much as Louis did, and her sense of fun and adventure and her love of amusements made Henriette, rather than Marie-Thérèse, the true queen of the court.
Louis and Henriette began to spend time together. Henriette liked to swim, and she and her ladies would ride out in carriages to the Seine, returning on horseback. They were elegantly dressed, their hats a profusion of colorful plumes. Louis and the young men of the court would join them, and, after supper, they would drive to the canal, where they would walk into the night to the sound of violins.10 At other times, Louis would take the two queens onto the canal at Fontainebleau in a gilded boat shaped like a galley. Philippe and Henriette would accompany them, and the small group would enjoy a collation served to them by Condé.11 The duc de Beaufort also joined the court occasionally, serving at meals and riding out with Louis at the hunt. Anne, Condé, and Beaufort were among the few older people at the otherwise youthful court: Louis and Marie-Thérèse were twenty-two, Philippe twenty, and Henriette younger still at sixteen.
Louis’s attachment to Henriette began during these sultry summer days. Although it is impossible to know how innocent, or otherwise, their friendship was, their being together for so m
uch of the time was enough to upset the young queen, awaken jealousy in Philippe, and anger in Anne and Henriette de France. At first, Anne dismissed Marie-Thérèse’s fears, saying she was wrong to want to restrain Louis and that the “honorable pleasures which he sought ought not to give her pain.”12 She also tried to warn the delicate Henriette that “her late hours and her hunting parties might injure her health.”13 It was only when Louis and Henriette persisted and “went to such extremes” that Anne finally had to put her foot down. She ordered Mme de Motteville to speak to Henriette on her behalf, but her counsel fell on deaf ears.14
Urged, cajoled, and threatened to come to their senses, the lovers concocted a plan to convince everyone that the king was not visiting Henriette but that the object of his affection was one of the ladies of the court.15 They identified three suitable candidates: Mlles de Pons, Chémerault, and La Vallière. In the end, their choice fell upon Louise de La Vallière, one of Henriette’s maids. Louise lived in her mistress’s household, which was convenient, because anyone watching Louis’s movements could be persuaded that he was visiting her.
Louise was pretty, very sweet, and terribly naïve. Like many young women, she was in love with the king. When she first arrived at court, she was too afraid even to talk to him. She was certainly not the sort of lady to capture the heart of a king, especially a king who liked his ladies to be spirited, not shy and retiring. However, much to Henriette’s chagrin, Louis fell deeply and passionately in love with Louise, and so began one of the most famous and charming love stories of all time.
Born at Tours on August 6, 1644, Louise-Françoise de La Baume Le Blanc de La Vallière was six years younger than the king. Her father, Laurent, was a chevalier and captain-lieutenant of the colonel of the Light Cavalry. To his family name he added La Vallière, which he took from a small manor in the parish of Reugny, west of Amboise, and it is here that Louise was brought up with her elder brother, Jean-François.16 When La Vallière died, Louise’s mother, Françoise Le Provost de la Coutelaye, married Jacques de Courtarvel, marquis de Saint-Rémi, first steward to Gaston d’Orléans.17 A playmate to Gaston’s daughters from his second marriage, Louise was present at Blois when Louis called on his way to his wedding the previous year, but her shyness prevented her from coming forward to meet him.
Louise’s family moved to Paris shortly afterwards, where she came to the attention of Mme de Choisy, a society lady of great wit; she once said to Louis, “Sire, if you want to become an interesting man, you must often come and talk with me,” which advice Louis took, visiting the lady twice a week.18 When Mme de Choisy wanted to establish relations with the newly wed Henriette, who was still establishing her household, she introduced Louise to the princess, who appointed her maid-of-honor.19 So poor was Louise that her mother had to borrow the money to buy dresses suitable for her new position, but when she joined her mistress’s household at the Tuileries just after the wedding, the new maid was found to be “extremely pretty, gentle, natural.”20
Louis was attracted to Louise’s beauty. Her silver-blond hair, pale complexion, and the essential dark eyebrows matched the accepted ideals of beauty, but Louise also possessed another quality that Louis could not resist: she was an accomplished equestrienne. One visitor to Paris described seeing Louise in the Tuileries gardens riding a fine Arab horse bareback and using a silk cord as a bridle.21 In her youth, Louise injured her ankle in a riding accident, which left her with a limp, but this did not impede her riding and dancing. Louis was captivated by Louise, and the shy and deeply religious Louise fell hopelessly in love with him.
The king’s attentions to Louise were meant to camouflage his friendship with Henriette; as such, it was essential that he should be seen with her, or that courtiers should notice him going to her chamber. As it was, the reverse happened. Louis openly spent time with Henriette, and his relationship with her now became a cover for his romance with Louise.
Louis danced the part of Impatience in a ballet of the same name. The role symbolized the king’s desire for glory in battle and in love,22 but few who watched guessed that their king was in the grip of a new passion. His attempt at secrecy proved the sincerity of his love for Louise,23 but perhaps the secret was too well kept, for Louis’s boyhood friend, Brienne, was straying a little too close to Mlle de La Vallière for Louis’s comfort.24
Brienne, who had joined the court at Fontainebleau in May, had secured Louise’s approval to commission Lefebvre de Venise25 to paint her portrait. One day, Louis entered Henriette’s apartments to find Brienne in the antechamber talking to Louise. The king asked what they thought they were doing, to which Brienne answered that they were discussing Louise’s portrait and playing with the idea that she should be portrayed as the Madeleine. He observed that Louise’s face possessed “something of the air of Greek statues, it very much pleases me.” At this, Louise blushed and Louis passed by without uttering a word. Brienne immediately realized he had made a mistake. Deciding to brazen it out, he asked Louise if she was still interested in being painted as the Madeleine, but Louis, who had overheard, said, “No, she must be painted as Diana; she is too young to be painted as a penitent.” There followed a sleepless night for Brienne, who rose in the early hours to attend council. Louis, however, was waiting for him, and he took Brienne aside into a private room and closed the door before asking him outright, “Do you love her, Brienne?”
“Who, Sire?” Brienne pretended to wonder, “Mlle de La Vallière?”
“Yes,” said Louis, “it is her of whom I speak.”
Brienne assured the king that he was not in love with Louise, although he admitted that he was attracted to her and that if he had not been married, he would have offered her his services.
“Ah,” sighed Louis, “you love her. Why do you lie?”
Brienne replied that he had never lied to the king, adding that he could love Louise, but not enough. “Indeed,” he sighed in his turn, “she pleases you more than me and you love her.”
Louis replied, “Whether I do or do not love her, leave her portrait alone and you will please me.”
In the end, Louise was painted as Diana, with Actaeon lurking in the background. Looking upon the pastoral scene, Brienne observed, “And this poor Actaeon was me, an innocent prank that the King played on me.”
The pastoral theme continued on the stage when, in July, Louis performed in Lully’s Ballet des Saisons. He took the part of Ceres, the goddess of the corn, which symbolized his power to look after his people as the goddess looks after nature, especially agriculture.26 He appeared again as Springtime, with Louise dancing the part of a nymph. The ballet was so well received that it was performed five times.
Louis had, at this time, a favorite named the duc de Saint-Aignan, an older man who knew how to keep a confidence. He was one of the few who were aware of Louis’s love for Louise, and when he lent them his room one day in late July, Louise became Louis’s mistress in the fullest sense.27
No matter how he tried, it was very difficult for Louis to keep anything private, and the affair soon came to the attention of his mother. Anne was distressed by her son’s new passion, but she listened to her advisors, who suggested she use more moderation than she had over the king’s affair with Henriette. Anne had a ready weapon: Louis was the Most Christian King, and he always endeavored to live up to the title. It was well known that he would tolerate no vice, and that he disliked the debauched, the blasphemous, and the impious.28 Anne played on these virtues as she reminded her son what he owed to God and his country, adding that there were those who would use his attachment to Louise to “form intrigues about him which would some day be to his injury.”29 She urged him to hide his affair from Marie-Thérèse for fear that grief might endanger the child she was carrying. Louis agreed, and the secret of his affair was preserved.
For Louis, the first summer of his personal reign was the nearest thing to paradise he had ever known. He was free to rule alone and in his own way; he had a child on the way, which he
hoped would be a boy; he was surrounded by the beauty of nature; and he was in love. There was one cloud on the horizon, however, and it heralded a storm that would threaten the peace of the French church: Jansenism.
Based on the teachings of Cornelius Jansen, bishop of Ypres, Jansenism taught that everything in the universe happened by divine will, and human lives and history were directed and controlled by the omnipotent God. Salvation, moreover, came through divine grace, similar to the Calvinist doctrine of predestination. The earliest and most important proponent of divine omnipotence, grace, and predestination was the 5th-century bishop Augustine of Hippo. Rendered into simple terms, some people were preselected for salvation, while others were condemned to unavoidable damnation.
Jansen’s teachings contradicted the doctrine of human free will, the efficacy of divine grace, and the idea that humankind could be saved from eternal damnation by right worship and the performance of good works, which was espoused by Catholicism. At this period, the most important Catholic sect was the Society of Jesus, or the Jesuits.30 When Jansen’s book, the Augustinus, was published posthumously in 1641, it was immediately criticized by Jesuit scholars. However, the Augustinus was not universally censured, and the abbé de Saint-Cyran, Jansen’s friend and collaborator, embraced his friend’s teachings.
Saint-Cyran was the confessor and spiritual director to the nuns of the convent of Port Royal, the abbess of which was Mère Angélique, and the convent became a center for Jansenist teaching. Two years after the publication of Jansen’s work, Mère Angélique’s brother, the theologian Antoine Arnauld, wrote the treatise On Frequent Communion, which promoted fear of God, as a polemic against the Jesuits.31
The doctors of the Sorbonne also denounced Jansen’s theses, and the university syndic, Nicolas Cornet, appealed to Pope Innocent X to issue a bull condemning the Five Propositions supposedly contained in the Augustinus. The bull appeared in 1653, and the whole of the French clergy was required to sign assent to it. Although Arnauld conceded that the Five Propositions mentioned in the bull contravened church doctrine, and were therefore heretical, he denied that they appeared in the Augustinus. The net began to tighten when schools run by Port Royal were investigated, and in January 1655, the duc de Liancourt was refused absolution until he removed his daughter from one of its schools and dismissed two members of his household who were thought to be Jansenists.32
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