At the end of 1673 Louise finally concluded that it would be acceptable to God if she ceased tormenting herself in this way and withdrew from the world. Not only did she decide to become a nun but, instead of choosing a fairly comfortable convent of the sort that not uncommonly provided a refuge for aristocratic ladies, she resolved to join the Carmelites, a particularly severe order whose occupants never touched meat and practised numerous austerities. While it is clear that she was responding to a sincere religious impulse, it seems probable that she derived some satisfaction from the reflection that this very public way of renouncing sin would be a good way of embarrassing Athénaïs. Certainly Mme de Montespan appeared worried that it would reflect badly on her if Louise adopted a saintly way of life. While she had no objection to Louise retiring to a reasonably relaxed convent (indeed, she would probably have welcomed it), she tried to deter her from entering the Carmelites by covering the idea in ridicule. This prompted Bishop Bossuet to intervene and Athénaïs was forced to desist after he warned her that she must not shake Louise’s resolve.46 As for the King, he put up no resistance to Louise’s departure for, though she had dreaded informing him of her decision, he had reached the stage where he could not be bothered to dissuade her.
For Athénaïs the weeks leading up to Louise’s departure from court were very trying. Although as a mistress Louise had been notably shy and self-effacing, she insisted on staging her withdrawal from the world in the most conspicuous fashion. In front of the entire court she threw herself on her knees before the Queen and tearfully begged Marie-Thérèse to forgive her for the pain she had caused her. When the Maréchale de La Mothe remonstrated that such self-abasement was uncalled for, she said that, as her crimes had taken place in public it was right that her penitence should be equally well observed. Understandably, all this ‘very much wearied Mme de Montespan’.47
In 1674 the King said goodbye to Louise in private before setting off on his spring campaign against the Dutch. Afterwards it was noted that his eyes were rimmed with red.48 Athénaïs followed him on his travels but those at court who did not go to the war attended the ceremony on 19 April when Louise was received into the convent. Just over a year later she took her final vows.
The King had no difficulty forgetting Louise. Saint-Simon claimed that he later said that, from the day she had taken the veil he had looked on her as dead and certainly he acted as if this were the case. When her brother died in 1676 he sent her a polite message that, if he had been a good enough man to see so ‘saintly a Carmelite’ he would have offered his condolences in person, but as it was he thought it best to stay away.49
Louise’s commitment to her enclosed order never wavered. During the rest of her long life, she subjected herself to still greater mortifications than was normal, fasting on bread and water, and depriving herself of sleep so she could spend more time at prayer. However hard her existence, she claimed she found it more restful than the years when she had lived in permanent dread of damnation, for ‘now I sleep in peace without fearing apoplexy’.50
* * *
Whereas Louise’s presence had once provided a useful screen which deflected attention away from the King’s relationship with Athénaïs, this was no longer necessary, for by the time Louise retreated to a nunnery the threat posed by M. de Montespan had been at least partly negated. The King had found a way of legitimising his children by Athénaïs, taking as a precedent a decree passed by Parlement that a son produced by the Maréchale de La Ferté was the legitimate offspring of the Duc de Longueville, who had been killed on active service in 1672. In the deed certifying this, the name of the child’s mother was not mentioned, thus overcoming the danger that her husband could claim the boy as his own. The King now adopted the same arrangement. On 23 December 1673 his three surviving children by Athénaïs were legitimised and the titles of Duc du Maine, Comte de Vexin and Mlle de Nantes were conferred on them. The children no longer were kept hidden away in the Rue Vaugirard. Courtiers started to catch tantalising glimpses of the Duc du Maine when he was brought to see his parents, and within a few months he and his siblings had been installed at court with their governess.
Athénaïs’s separation from her husband, which had taken so long to resolve, was also finally formalised. On 4 July 1674 the courts pronounced on the matter in a ruling that had disastrous implications for Montespan. He was required to repay with interest the 60,000 livres of dowry that Athénaïs’s father had handed over when he married her, despite the fact that the money had gone to Montespan’s parents. Athénaïs was freed from responsibility for debts they had jointly incurred and Montespan was required to pay her maintenance of 4000 livres a year. He was also denied access to her, being forbidden from now on ‘to haunt or frequent’ his wife.51
When it became clear that Montespan was not going to fulfil the financial obligations imposed on him, Athénaïs sent bailiffs to seize furniture from the rented lodgings he had taken while in Paris for the case. Facing complete ruin, Montespan was obliged to seek an accommodation, pleading that his children by Athénaïs would suffer unless the terms of separation were modified. A fortnight later a new settlement was reached, deferring repayment of Athénaïs’s dowry until after Montespan was dead and accepting that the allowance earmarked for her could be used for their children’s education.
Montespan had seemingly been subdued but in years to come the King remained concerned that he would cause fresh problems. Although Montespan had no further legal dealings with his wife (to whom, of course, he remained married, despite their separation), he was by nature litigious. When cases that concerned him were being heard in the Paris courts it was not possible for the King to exclude him from the capital, but Montespan’s proximity always made the King uneasy. In May 1678, for example, he was so alarmed to hear that Montespan was in Paris on legal business that he instructed Colbert to have him placed under observation. ‘He is a madman, capable of great extravagances,’ the King declared roundly, ordering that he be kept informed of Montespan’s conversations and the company he was keeping. The King suggested that pressure should be exerted on the judges to hear Montespan’s case as soon as possible so that he no longer had an excuse to remain in town. This seemed still more desirable when Louis discovered that Montespan was indulging in indiscreet outbursts and even threatening to see his wife. ‘Since he is capable of it and the consequences are to be feared I rely on you to ensure that he does not appear,’ the King told Colbert.52
In the event the threat was averted but it was many years before Montespan lost his capacity to unsettle the King. Only after his wife left court was he permitted to return to it. According to Madame, in his later years he would sometimes come there to play cards with the daughters Athénaïs had produced by Louis, of whom he at one time could technically have claimed paternity. Madame stated that while he always treated them with exaggerated respect, ‘it used to amuse even himself, and he always turned round and smiled slightly’.53
* * *
Once Mme de Montespan’s separation from her husband had been regularised the King could be more expansive about demonstrating his love for Athénaïs. In 1674 work was started on a residence for her at Clagny, a property to the east of Versailles, which the King had purchased some years earlier. As originally designed by Antoine Le Paultre, this was to have been a fairly substantial long, low building. It had a domed central section with a triangular pediment and a modest upper storey, but Athénaïs soon professed herself dissatisfied. When she and the King inspected the building works in March 1675 she is said to have told him that the result would be fit only for a showgirl and the King accepted that she deserved something much grander.54
Le Paultre was replaced with Jules Hardouin Mansart, the architect who would go on to design the Galerie des Glaces at Versailles. He adapted the original plans to produce a palatial ‘house of delights’, far more imposing than its predecessor. Not only did it have a much more lofty first floor, but the dome was now enlarged and flanked by oeil de
boeuf windows and the façade was punctuated by slightly projecting pavilions. The finished ‘Hôtel de Vénus’ had a magnificent gallery on the ground floor adorned with numerous sculptures and paintings on the theme of Dido and Aeneas. It was lit by thirteen windows and its barrel-vaulted ceiling, enriched with painted panels and gilded coffers, anticipated the glories of the Hall of Mirrors. The house was set in magnificent gardens designed by André Le Nôtre and in 1676 alone 1300 narcissus bulbs and 5600 hyacinths were planted there.55
* * *
Clagny was a magnificent testimonial of the King’s love for Athénaïs, but that love would soon be shaken. Until this point the King appears to have been remarkably successful at suppressing feelings of guilt about his adultery but at Easter 1675 things changed. Exactly what prompted this is unclear. It is usually claimed that in April, when Athénaïs went to confession in preparation for receiving the sacraments, the curé of Versailles refused to give her absolution. Furious, she complained to the King, who consulted the Duc de Montausier and Bossuet. Both men were adamant that the curé had been absolutely correct, forcing the King to confront his own sinfulness. Unfortunately, the most detailed description of these events is to be found in a letter attributed to Mme Scarron, which is of questionable authenticity.56 It is, however, clear that something of the sort did occur and persuaded the King that he and Athénaïs must part.
According to the same somewhat dubious source, Athénaïs withdrew to the house in the Rue Vaugirard that had been purchased for her children. There, she locked herself away and sat alternately raging and scribbling letters, which she soon afterwards frenziedly destroyed. Even if this account is not genuine, there can be no doubt that the King’s renunciation of her caused her dreadful anguish. The King, too, was deeply distressed and was seen at court with red eyes.57
Not only was he personally wretched but he felt guilty for having ruined her life and did his best to make amends for this by ensuring that her status at court did not suffer. Before leaving for the war on 16 April, he visited her twice at Clagny but there was no lapse of decorum: their ‘long and sad conversations’ were conducted behind glass doors and were supervised by various court notables stationed just outside. Even when he went on campaign it was clear that Athénaïs was constantly in his thoughts, for he talked about her all the time and wrote to Colbert urging him to see that work on Clagny continued. He even drew consolation from the fact that its costs were so high, perhaps reasoning that this was his sole means of compensating her.58 The poor Queen was also required to emphasise that Mme de Montespan was not an outcast by going to see her and taking her on outings. The King tried to ease things further by asking prominent court ladies to entertain Athénaïs at their houses.
Bossuet, meanwhile, was doing everything he could to encourage both parties to follow the path of virtue. At the King’s request he visited Mme de Montespan as often as possible and he wrote reassuring Louis that he had found her in a ‘fairly tranquil’ frame of mind, although it was clear she had shed many tears. He reported with satisfaction that she was keeping herself busy with good works and that she had been ‘very moved by the truths which I put to her’.59 In a bid to fortify the King’s will Bossuet warned him,
Your heart will never belong peacefully to God while this violent love, which has separated you from him for so long, reigns there … How difficult it is to withdraw from so fatal and unfortunate a connection. However, Sire, it is necessary, or there is no salvation to be hoped for. Jesus Christ … will give you the strength for this, as he has already given you the desire. I do not ask, Sire, that you extinguish so violent a flame in an instant; this would be to ask the impossible; but, Sire, try to diminish it little by little.60
Bossuet’s admonitions ultimately proved in vain. It had been assumed that, if the King was serious about renouncing Athénaïs she would have to vacate her court apartments. However, when he returned from the war in July 1675, Mme de Montespan was in her usual rooms at Versailles and the King at once went to see her. It is, admittedly, not absolutely certain that the affair resumed immediately. On his return Louis tried to convince the Queen that he had not abandoned his resolution to lead a purer life and told her that she could say as much to others. The Duchesse de Richelieu also promised the Queen that whenever the King visited Mme de Montespan she would be present and act as a chaperone. This arrangement certainly did not prove effective for very long – after Mme de Montespan had given birth to two more children by the King the Queen would say wryly, ‘There are the witnesses to this guarantee’ – but it is possible that it delayed a reunion for some months. In October 1675 Mme de Richelieu insisted that she could vouch that Mme de Montespan was not living in a state of sin when a priest expressed reservations about receiving her confession.61 The fact that the King performed his Easter duties in April 1676 has also been taken as an indication that even then, he was refraining from sexual relations with his mistress.
Whatever the truth of the matter, most people at court were sure that he and Mme de Montespan had wasted no time resuming their relationship. In late July 1675 the King was dining at Clagny when a message arrived that the great French general, Turenne, had been killed. Pious people ‘immediately attributed the bad news to the resumption of sin’. The next day eight new field marshals were created, including Mme de Montespan’s brother. His military record justified the appointment on merit, but this did not stop wags saying of the new promotions, ‘Seven had been made marshals by the sword, and one by the scabbard.’62
Nor was it surprising that it was so widely assumed that Athénaïs and Louis were again committing adultery, for the attraction between them was manifest to all. ‘The attachment is still extreme,’ Mme de Sévigné told her daughter on 31 July, although she at least was prepared to admit the possibility that, although the King was ‘doing enough to annoy the curé and everyone else’, he was not doing as much as Athénaïs would have wished.63
There can be no disputing that the King’s resistance did not last. The strength of Athénaïs’s hold over him was demonstrated in July 1676, when he returned from campaigning. He was having a reunion with the Queen and the Dauphin – whom he had not seen for weeks – when news came that Mme de Montespan had arrived back from Bourbon, where she had been taking the waters. Louis at once rushed off to see her, leaving the Queen in tears.64 It was shortly after this that Mme de Sévigné came to court and wrote her rapturous description of Athénaïs in her full glory. Within a month of the King’s return, Athénaïs had conceived another child by him.
* * *
The King had proved incapable of giving up Athénaïs, but he did not remain faithful to her. A month after she had seen the exultant Mme de Montespan queening it at Versailles Mme de Sévigné reported, ‘Fresh blood is smelt in Quanto’s* domain.’ The King was paying marked attention to the Princesse de Soubise, an elegant strawberry blonde in her late twenties who had been named as a possible rival to Athénaïs as early as November 1668. The following autumn she had again been linked with the King and her family were said to be very excited about her prospects. Some people were sure that she had already granted Louis the final favour, naming the time and place, but it is not clear whether their information was accurate. At any rate, at that point Athénaïs had swiftly regained her ascendancy. Despite subsisting on a rigorous diet ‘so as to preserve the brilliance and freshness of her complexion’, Mme de Soubise always lost her looks when pregnant. In the course of the next few years she had produced several children in succession and during that time had posed little threat to Mme de Montespan.65
In August 1676, however, Mme de Soubise re-emerged into the spotlight when the King’s liking for her again became apparent. It is impossible to tell whether the relationship was consummated. The German diplomat Ezechiel Spanheim was certain that as a ‘virtuous woman … who loved her husband’, she rejected Louis’s advances. Saint-Simon was equally positive that she did not. He claimed that the Maréchale de Rochefort told him that Mme de Soubi
se used to wait in her apartment for the royal valet, Bontemps, so that he could conduct her by back passages to his master’s bedroom, but this may not have been true.66
Certainly the Prince de Soubise evinced no jealousy of the King. Saint-Simon claimed that this was because he was devoid of honour and that he was prepared to accept ‘a humiliating and only half-concealed affront’ in the belief that this was the best way of advancing the family fortune. If so, his calculations proved correct, although Saint-Simon sniffed that the riches which subsequently accrued to him from royal largesse were ‘the fruits of discretion such as few would care to imitate’.67
Mme de Montespan was very upset by the King’s dalliance with Mme de Soubise. On 11 September Mme de Sévigné reported that Athénaïs was displaying the usual signs of jealousy – tears, affected gaiety and sulks – but that it was doubtful whether these displays of pique would be effective. Shortly afterwards Athénaïs appeared to rally, for she was at the King’s side when he appeared at the gaming tables, leaning her head ostentatiously on his shoulder. Within days, however, it seemed that she was once again in danger of being eclipsed by Mme de Soubise. As always, Mme de Sévigné’s assessment of the situation was shrewd: she remarked that even if the King’s feelings for Mme de Soubise were not very serious, ‘She is someone else and that means a lot.’ His affection for her might well prove transient but ‘she would open up the path to infidelity’ and serve as ‘a way to other women who were younger and more savoury’.68
So it proved. Before long Mme de Soubise’s attractions were diminished by the loss of a front tooth and though she remained in favour with the King his interest in her became less pronounced. By this time, however, Athénaïs was six months pregnant and so not at her best. The result was that the King looked elsewhere.
* * *
In early 1677 Louis started an affair with Marie-Isabelle de Ludres, an unmarried girl who was an altogether more alarming rival for Athénaïs than Mme de Soubise. Now nearly thirty, she was known as Madame de Ludres on account of being a lay canoness of Poussaye Abbey in her native Lorraine. When she was no more than fifteen the Duke of Lorraine, then aged over sixty, had fallen in love with her on a visit to Poussaye. There are conflicting accounts as to what happened next. According to some sources he took her as his mistress and then grew tired of her. Alternatively, he may have tried to marry her, so alarming his family and long-established mistress that they prevailed on her parents to remove her. At any rate she moved to the French court and in 1670 became a maid of honour to Monsieur’s first wife.
The Affair of the Poisons: Murder, Infanticide, and Satanism at the Court of Louis XIV Page 16