The cause of Athénaïs’s “inner sadness” was not hard to find, for Louis had not remained faithful to her. From the early 1670s onwards, he had taken a succession of minor or casual mistresses, one of whom was Athénaïs’s own lady-in-waiting, Mlle Desœillets.
Claude de Vin Desœillets was the daughter of a successful actress, but rather than follow her mother onto the boards, she decided to try her luck at court. With the help of the duc de Mortemart, who had also protected her mother, Mlle Desœillets entered Athénaïs’s household in about 1668. Athénaïs favored taking plain women into her service, and Mlle Desœillets was no exception. Nevertheless, she did not go unnoticed by Louis. According to Primi Visconti,6 Mlle Desœillets gave out that Louis had “commerce” with her at various times and even boasted that she had children by him. It is known that Louis had a daughter by Mlle Desœillets, who was given the name Louise de la Maisonblanche and brought up by foster parents. Although he did not acknowledge his daughter, Louis did not forget her; once she was of age, he married her to the marquise de la Queue, who received the post of captain of the guards and a suitable sum of money.7
Louis often found himself alone with Mlle Desœillets when her mistress was busy or unwell, but was she content to be just a casual lover? It has been hinted that she harbored hopes to replace Athénaïs to become Louis’s maîtresse déclarée and had, in fact, caught his attention long enough for her to believe her hopes might be fulfilled; but then Louis changed his mind and Mlle Desœillets was discarded. Whether or not this was true cannot be said for certain, but that Athénaïs did not dismiss her suggests that she was unaware of the close liaison between Louis and Mlle Desœillets, or that she did not regard her servant as a threat.8 Mlle Desœillets would remain in Athénaïs’s service for another two years.
If Louis’s feelings for Athénaïs had mellowed, she remained very important to him. Newly returned from the war in July 1676, he was spending time with Marie-Thérèse and the dauphin when he learned that Athénaïs was at Clagny, having just returned from taking the water cure at Bourbon. Louis promptly abandoned his disappointed son and weeping queen to spend a long time with her.9 By the following month, Athénaïs was pregnant.
Now that it was obvious that Athénaïs was once again in the king’s favor, some courtiers decided to cultivate her friendship. One day, her dressmaker arrived carrying a dress she had ordered.10 When he showed it to her, however, the bodice had entirely the wrong measurements, and the resultant cries and complaints made the poor man tremble with fear. “Madame,” he said, “as time is pressing, see if this other dress would suit you instead.” Athénaïs agreed, upon which he produced another gown. It was a magnificent creation of “gold upon gold, embroidered with gold, edged with gold, and on top of that a crinkled gold woven with gold mixed with a certain gold, which made the most divine fabric that can ever be imagined,” enthused Mme de Sévigné. “It was the fairies who made this work in secret,” she continued; “no living soul knew anything about it.” At that point, Louis arrived. “Madame, it is made for you,” he told her; but who had given it? “Langlée,” offered Louis, referring to Monsieur de Langlée, a quarterrmaster in the royal army and a celebrated arbiter of fashion. A while later, Athénaïs’s friend and gambling partner, the marquis de Dangeau, offered her some animals for her ménagerie at Clagny. It was filled, so said Mme de Sévigné, with “the most passionate turtle doves, the fattest pigs, the fullest cows, the curliest sheep and the goosiest geese.”11
Athénaïs was being wooed by courtiers, but it was not long before Louis turned his attention to another lady. Her name was Anne de Rohan-Chabot, princesse de Soubise. A beautiful woman of twenty-eight, with a good figure and strawberry blond hair, she maintained her delicate beauty with a diet of white meats, fish, salads, and fruit. Her name had been linked with the king’s as long ago as November 1668.12 She was glimpsed in his company again a year later, and though her family rejoiced at the thought of the rewards they might expect, no one was ever sure just what favors, if any, she granted Louis. Now, here she was again, seven years later, and observers still could not agree to what extent she was the royal mistress.13 Saint-Maurice commented that Louis “looks favorably upon madame de Soubise,”14 while Ezéchiel Spanheim thought she was too devoted to her husband and too virtuous to succumb to the king’s advances.15 Saint-Simon16 believed that their relationship had been consummated, and that Bontemps would take her through back passages to Louis’s bedroom. This account, however, is based upon an unconfirmed account by the maréchal de Rochefort. If the relationship was sexual, the prince de Soubise did not appear to object; rather, he saw it as an opportunity to advance the family’s fortune.17
One person who was most certainly not happy about Louis’s liaison, sexual or otherwise, with Mme de Soubise was Athénaïs. Noticing that Mme de Soubise wore emerald earrings on certain days, she placed her under surveillance only to discover that those days coincided with the absence from court of the prince de Soubise, at which times the princesse would dine with the king.18 Mme de Sévigné noticed signs of jealousy in Mme de Montespan on these occasions,19 but Athénaïs had nothing to fear, as Mme de Soubise merely wanted to serve her family’s interests. She had arranged to have her husband sent away from court so she could be free to pursue the king. Her plans worked, but only insofar as Louis surrendered to her charms. He offered to increase her pension, but he refused to appoint her to a court position, and, as Mme de Sévigné remarked, the princesse de Soubise was “too well advised to raise the standard of such perfidy with so little prospect of enjoying it for long; she would be precisely exposed to the wrath of Mme de Montespan.”20
Clearly, Mme de Soubise was never a serious contender for Louis’s affections; but, as Mme de Sévigné shrewdly observed, she had “opened the way to infidelity and served only as a thoroughfare for other women who were younger and more tempting.”21 Mme de Sévigné’s words proved prophetic. Although Louis remained friendly with the princesse de Soubise, his infatuation with her rapidly faded;22 however, with Athénaïs once again pregnant, Louis looked elsewhere for consolation, and his eye fell upon another court beauty, Marie-Élisabeth, dame de Ludres.
A lay-canoness in the convent of Poussay in the mountains of the Vosges, Marie-Élisabeth was a petite and pretty twenty-year-old with the figure of a Greek goddess and beautiful eyes of Atlantic blue.23 Many noticed the resemblance between her and Athénaïs; except while Athénaïs was blond, Marie-Élisabeth had glorious red hair. She also spoke with a strong northern accent, which Louis found enchanting.24
At the age of fifteen, Marie-Élisabeth had been engaged to the duc de Lorraine, who was then in his sixties. Accounts differ as to how the engagement ended, with some asserting that she became his mistress only to be dismissed when he tired of her. Other accounts maintain that he agreed to marry her but was dissuaded by his family and his current mistress, who persuaded Marie-Élisabeth’s family to take her away.25 Whatever the truth, Marie-Élisabeth entered the court in the service of Henriette d’Orléans before transferring to the queen’s household upon the death of her mistress.26
Shortly after this, all the queen’s maids of honor were dismissed and replaced by respectable married ladies-in-waiting. This was said to have been on the queen’s orders, but many believed that the jealous Athénaïs was behind the move.27 Marie-Élisabeth survived the cull and was invited by Liselotte to join her household. Almost six years later, in early 1677, the beautiful redhead caught the king’s eye.
It was not long before Marie-Élisabeth announced that she was pregnant with Louis’s child, which caused her stock to rise considerably. When high-ranking ladies of the court stood when she entered the room, the queen knew the king had a new love. Her indifference to the situation was revealed when she announced that it was Mme de Montespan’s business. Conversely, Athénaïs would fix withering looks upon the king’s new fancy, and exchanges between the two women always ended with them insulting each other.28 Meanwhile, Athénaïs per
suaded Louis that Marie-Élisabeth’s body was covered with scurf, the result of a poison which her mother had given her when she was twelve to make her ugly and so discourage the attentions of the duc de Lorraine.29
When, in February, Louis returned to the front, Marie-Élisabeth moved into the country home of a wealthy financier. Athénaïs also withdrew to the country, where she gave birth to a daughter, Françoise-Marie, on May 4. At the end of that month, Louis returned from the army to find Athénaïs more beautiful than ever, and those who had anticipated her dismissal saw how wrong they had been. As it happened, Louis had begun to be annoyed with Marie-Élisabeth, who openly flaunted her status and adopted an unattractive air of superiority. Moreover, it turned out that she had not been pregnant after all. When she fell from grace, few showed any sympathy for her, and Mme de Sévigné, who visited the court that summer, witnessed Mme de Montespan in all her glory: “Oh, my daughter! What triumph at Versailles! What redoubled pride! What solid establishment!” She compared Athénaïs with Diane de Poitiers, the mistress of Henri II, who retained the full power and influence of her beauty even into old age.30
Marie-Élisabeth de Ludres nonetheless maintained her position at court and Louis would give her a kind word from time to time, but this simply reignited Athénaïs’s anger, who took out her fury on her vanquished rival. Marie-Élisabeth refused Louis’s offer of a pension, but if she hoped he would revive their relationship, she was to be disappointed. A few months later, she finally gave up and left the court to enter a convent, the Dames de Sainte-Marie, in Paris. When she sought Philippe’s permission to leave, he consulted Louis, who asked, “Is she not there already?”31 He had not entirely forgotten her, however, and three years later he again offered her a pension. This time she accepted, taking the money with her as she retired to a cloistered life in Nancy.32
By this time, Louis’s passion for Athénaïs had cooled markedly, and she lived every day with the fear that a new lady might take her place in his heart. Under the strain of such insecurity, Athénaïs’s dark jealousy and stormy temper knew no bounds, and she exploded every time Louis so much as looked at another lady.33
So afraid was Athénaïs of losing the king’s love that she insisted on travelling with him when he returned to the front. Pregnant once again and having gained a lot of weight, she endured the long and arduous journey and harsh conditions only to become ill with a tertian fever.34 It was said that things were not good between them, and that Athénaïs was merely “an old habit that His Majesty could not break off.”35
Athénaïs went to the country to give birth to a son, the future comte de Toulouse, who was born on June 6, 1678. Louis welcomed her back at court, much to the surprise of many who thought she was gone for good. By now Athénaïs had lost her figure and Louis was more irritated than enchanted by her.36 She would have lengthy massages with aromatic oils, which annoyed Louis even more. He was allergic to perfume, and her heavy scent made him so sick that he was reluctant to share his carriage with her.37
As Louis’s relations with Athénaïs sunk ever further, something happened to offer him much-needed distraction, as well as the opportunity to strengthen the security of the state and boost his power still further in Europe. Carlos II, the sickly king of Spain whose imminent death had been expected for the past eighteen years, had grown into a cruel, ugly, and unkempt man. It remained uncertain whether or not he would be capable of fathering a child, but this did not prevent his announcing his intention to marry, and Louis promptly sent a portrait of his seventeen-year-old niece, Marie-Louise d’Orléans, to Carlos.38
Marie-Louise was beautiful, with dark, almond-shaped eyes set in an exquisite face framed by an abundance of black curly hair. She had all the delicacy of her late mother, Henriette, and the dusky coloring inherited from her father, Philippe, and his Médicis ancestors. When Carlos saw her portrait, he fell in love with her and wasted no time in opening negotiations for her hand. In January 1679, he offered his formal proposal, which Louis accepted.39 That summer, Louis announced the marriage to the court, when Liselotte noted that they were “overwhelmed with visitors, because the whole of France is coming to congratulate us in the betrothal of” Marie-Louise.40
Everyone, it seems, was happy with the match—everyone, that is, except Marie-Louise. Liselotte, who knew firsthand the difficulties involved in moving to a strange country, sympathized, but Marie-Louise had long set her heart upon marrying the dauphin, as had her father.41 The highest aspiration of any princess of France was, after all, to become queen of France. Sadly, this was not to be; Louis considered his niece too valuable an asset to be kept hidden away in France. Her marriage to Carlos was crucial for France because it offered a solution to the perennial problem of the Spanish succession. Marie-Louise, so Louis hoped, would produce a son and heir who could be educated to favor France. Failing that, and the prospect was admittedly a remote one, she could arrange the transfer of the Spanish crown to a Bourbon prince following Carlos’s death.42
The political and dynastic implications of her marriage did nothing to comfort Marie-Louise. As she wept, Louis tried to reassure her, saying. “I make you Queen of Spain: what could I do more, even for my daughter?” “Ah, Sire,” she replied, “but how much more you might do for your niece.”43 Later, when she had completed her round of farewell visits, Marie-Louise was still not reconciled to her fate. Frantically she flung herself at Louis’s feet as he was going to mass. “Don’t make me go,” she pleaded, but Louis would not be moved. He smiled and told her, “Madame, it would be a fine thing if the Most Catholic Queen prevented the Most Christian King from going to mass.”44 Then, as he sent her away, Louis bade her a firm “Farewell. For ever. It would be your greatest misfortune to see France again.”45 Indeed it would, for a queen would be repudiated if she failed to provide heirs. Louis’s sense of duty was so strong that he thought it was shared by all members of his family; he expected them to sacrifice their personal happiness for the sake of France, and this included his young niece.
Of course, Marie-Louise married Carlos, but her life was not a happy one. Aside from the strict court protocols that regimented and restricted every area of her life, she would have no children. Liselotte thought she understood the reasons: “It is not the Queen of Spain’s fault that she has no children,” she wrote, “but the King’s.”46 There was another reason for her misery, however. The duke of Pastranne took it upon himself to cause trouble for her. He never had a good word to say about her, and he spread malicious gossip in Spanish so she could not fully understand him. “There was not a woman in France worth anything, be she whom she might,” he said, “but that he found some extremely willing.”47 This slur naturally reached France, where it caused great indignation.
While life was looking very bleak for Marie-Louise, another princess was already making her way to a new life in France. As he was dining in the queen’s apartments one evening, Louis seemed lost in thought. He was studying a portrait of a lady, which he then attached to a tapestry and announced, “Here is the princess of Bavaria.”48 The diners maintained a tactful silence, for the face they looked upon could not be considered beautiful.
Marie-Anne Christine Victoire of Wittelsbach, princess of Bavaria, was the daughter of Christine de France, duchesse de Savoy, and Louis had selected her as a suitable bride for the dauphin as a means of securing the alliance between France and Bavaria. Louis had already shown the portrait to his son, asking him “whether he could endure to take unto himself an ugly wife.” The dauphin’s reply was admirable. “He wasn’t in the least bit in the world worried about it, and that he would be quite content if his wife was intelligent and virtuous, however uncomely she might be.”49 This reply sealed Louis’s decision to select Marie-Anne as his son’s bride, and when the dauphin saw the portrait, he pronounced himself very pleased with it. Louis agreed with the dauphin’s sentiments: “Although not handsome,” he said, “she is not displeasing; and is a person of much worth.”50 Still, he intended to test her sense
of humor: “If she has any wit,” he said, “I shall speedily begin to tease her about her ugliness.”51
The dauphin and dauphine were married by proxy at Munich, and as his new daughter-in-law made her way into France, the impatient Louis hurried off in his coach so he could meet her before anyone else. Driving back with her, he introduced her firstly to the queen. He then attended her coucher, the ceremony in which she prepared for bed, along with the rest of the court and watched with satisfaction as Marie-Thérèse presented her with her chemise. At the table, the dauphine, who was as yet unaccustomed to French ways, could not understand why everyone ate together. “They will eat all and leave me nothing,” she said, much to Louis’s amusement.52 Liselotte knew exactly how she felt, for she had experienced the culture clash firsthand. “If she were not going to be so great a queen,” she wrote, “I should pity her for having to go to a country about which she knows nothing at all.”53
As it was, Marie-Anne had both wit and intelligence in abundance. A linguist, she spoke French and Italian as well as her native German, and she had almost mastered Latin. She would not share all of her husband’s interests, though, for she disliked hunting and gambling. She excelled in engaging and delightful conversation, which immediately endeared her to Louis, as did her religious devotion, a subject that was becoming increasingly important to Louis.
Louis, meanwhile, continued his clashes with Athénaïs, but he found solace in the charms of a new beauty at court. Her name was Marie-Angélique de Scorailles, but she was known as Mlle de Fontanges, and she had been a member of Liselotte’s household since October 1678. Aged seventeen, she was strikingly beautiful, with her gray eyes and blond hair that was tinted with red, but she was no intellectual. Choisy declared her “beautiful as an angel and stupid as a basket.”54 Liselotte agreed, noting that she was a “stupid little thing,”55 although she did concede that she was also “good hearted and as beautiful as an angel.”56 She added that, while Louis loved her, her love for him was “only after the fashion of a heroine of romance, because she was dreadfully sentimental.”57
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