Love And Louis XIV: The Women In The Life Of The Sun King Part 3

It was the women of the tribe, those who endured it or who were enduring it, who spoke of having commerce commerce as a burden. It was generally thought of as the 'conjugal debt', or in the words of Madame de Sevigne (constantly advocating separate rooms to her daughter) a duty that her daughter owed her husband, not something from which she could expect pleasure. Of course not all women disliked having as a burden. It was generally thought of as the 'conjugal debt', or in the words of Madame de Sevigne (constantly advocating separate rooms to her daughter) a duty that her daughter owed her husband, not something from which she could expect pleasure. Of course not all women disliked having commerce. commerce. An anonymous seventeenth-century verse in English, 'Sylvia's Complaint', drew attention to the fact that females did feel s.e.xual desire but 'Custom and modesty / Strictly forbid our pa.s.sion to declare.' A future d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans would write in some surprise of her daughter's recent marriage: 'She is already quite used to the thing and does not dislike it as much as I did ...' An anonymous seventeenth-century verse in English, 'Sylvia's Complaint', drew attention to the fact that females did feel s.e.xual desire but 'Custom and modesty / Strictly forbid our pa.s.sion to declare.' A future d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans would write in some surprise of her daughter's recent marriage: 'She is already quite used to the thing and does not dislike it as much as I did ...'31 Athenais went further and was an enthusiast. Athenais went further and was an enthusiast.

There was a danger in all this, the height of s.e.xual enterprise which Louis and Athenais indulged in together, sometimes three times a day for long sessions. Louis was now verging on his thirtieth birthday (5 September 1668). He certainly showed no sign of that reform promised four years earlier, rather the contrary. There might come a time when such excess, by normal standards, was not so easy. The temptation might arise to provide or indulge in artificial stimulants.

That lay ahead. The public face of Athenais was now as the dazzling creature, the brightest star in the galaxy which surrounded the Sun King, the one for whom, without knowing it, he had always craved to complete his image in the world at large (if not the world of the Catholic Church). Her second child by the King, a boy named Louis-Auguste, was born at the end of March 1670. He turned out to be clever, sharp, and amusing like his mother; unlike Athenais he was not physically perfect, being born with one deformed leg which made it very difficult for him to learn to walk.

Obviously proper attention had to be paid to these secretly housed children even if they could not for the time being figure at court Montespan's behaviour was still raw in everyone's mind and the legal situation unchanged. The solution was surely a governess, someone of good but not grand birth, someone known for her virtue rather than her glamour, intelligent and attractive nevertheless, someone who would be able to inspire children; and someone discreet. In this casual way Athenais's choice fell upon her friend Francoise d'Aubigne, the Widow Scarron. She could have no idea n.o.body could, least of all Francoise herself where the new path of this modest thirty-five-year-old widow would lead her.

The little crippled boy, Louis-Auguste, was handed to Madame Scarron shortly after birth. She stood in a waiting coach and received in her arms a sacred trust.

* She was baptised Francoise but became known as Athenais, from Athena the G.o.ddess of Wisdom, while moving in the sophisticated Parisian circle of the Precieuses, Precieuses, and never looked back. and never looked back.3* Duelling, the curse of a n.o.ble society, was strictly illegal in France at this point, successive kings making their disapproval felt in terms of strong punishment. Nevertheless it took place.* D'Artagnan, a real-life character immortalised in Dumas's Three Musketeers, Three Musketeers, exemplified this kind of Gascon arrogance and awkwardness. exemplified this kind of Gascon arrogance and awkwardness.* Allegedly written in Portuguese in 16678 by Mariana Alcoforado, and translated into French, Letters of a Portuguese Nun Letters of a Portuguese Nun was actually composed in French by Gabriel-Joseph de Guilleragues. was actually composed in French by Gabriel-Joseph de Guilleragues.21 It is for this reason that one should reject the apocryphal story of Louis rushing through Louise's room to reach Athenais, hurling the latter's spaniel, called Malice, for Louise to tend as he went. The manners of the Sun King were something on which he prided himself; the story is only important for calling attention to the physical intimacy in which they all lived.

CHAPTER 7

Marriages Like Death

Marriages are like death. The time and season are marked, you can't escape. Liselotte, d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans Neptune, G.o.d of the Sea, and Apollo, G.o.d of the Sun, were the last two roles Louis XIV danced in a Court Ballet. The occasion, once again a joint effort of Moliere and Lully, was ent.i.tled The Magnificent Lovers; The Magnificent Lovers; it was held at the chateau of Saint-Germain-en-Laye on 7 February 1670. Appropriately enough, in view of the ballet's t.i.tle, it was Athenais who had made the choice of Moliere; she could not however dance herself, given that she was nearly eight months pregnant. Two men were needed to take over Louis's parts: a week later Neptune was danced by the Comte d'Armagnac and Apollo by the Marquis de Villeroi. it was held at the chateau of Saint-Germain-en-Laye on 7 February 1670. Appropriately enough, in view of the ballet's t.i.tle, it was Athenais who had made the choice of Moliere; she could not however dance herself, given that she was nearly eight months pregnant. Two men were needed to take over Louis's parts: a week later Neptune was danced by the Comte d'Armagnac and Apollo by the Marquis de Villeroi.1 The King had been dancing with much-praised skill for twenty-odd years. What prompted his decision? There was a rumour that some lines in Racine's Britannicus, Britannicus, first staged a few months earlier, had irked him. In the play the Emperor Nero, in a hostile portrait, was accused of 'wasting his life on the theatre'. But Racine was a jovial courtier in his approach to the King, rather than a critical artist; it was a distinction made with approval by Saint-Simon: 'There was nothing of the poet in his conversation and all of the civilised man'. first staged a few months earlier, had irked him. In the play the Emperor Nero, in a hostile portrait, was accused of 'wasting his life on the theatre'. But Racine was a jovial courtier in his approach to the King, rather than a critical artist; it was a distinction made with approval by Saint-Simon: 'There was nothing of the poet in his conversation and all of the civilised man'.2 He remained popular with Louis, who made him one of his two Historiographers Royal. He remained popular with Louis, who made him one of his two Historiographers Royal.

More to the point was the King's own sense of gravitas. gravitas. He was now in his thirty-second year, and one remembers the emphasis that had been put on his thirtieth birthday as marking the end to gallantry. Even if that had not been the case, the art of the Court Ballet was an increasingly complex one: it demanded more of him in public than love-making did in private. And there were his responsibilities of government, the pursuit of martial glory in the cause of national security: that perennial formula which has enabled nations to invade their neighbours throughout history. For the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, it became evident, was merely a truce in France's struggle (as she saw it) to improve her boundaries with the Spanish Netherlands. He was now in his thirty-second year, and one remembers the emphasis that had been put on his thirtieth birthday as marking the end to gallantry. Even if that had not been the case, the art of the Court Ballet was an increasingly complex one: it demanded more of him in public than love-making did in private. And there were his responsibilities of government, the pursuit of martial glory in the cause of national security: that perennial formula which has enabled nations to invade their neighbours throughout history. For the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, it became evident, was merely a truce in France's struggle (as she saw it) to improve her boundaries with the Spanish Netherlands.

One should realise that this patriotic militarism was a development which aroused much admiration at the time in Europe: pacifism was not after all a common emotion among kings or peoples. Samuel Pepys for example spoke at a dinner in late 1668 of 'the greatness of the King of France and of his being fallen into the right way of making the Kingdom great, which none of his Ancestors ever did before'. A few years later there began to be a nostalgia for Cromwell in England, at the expense of Charles II; it was expressed in lines written by Andrew Marvell: 'Though his [Cromwell's] government did a tyrant resemble / He made England great and his enemies tremble.'3 At the end of April, the entire court or so it seemed set out at the King's behest to Flanders. As before, the cortege was more majestic than 'warlike'; the public reaction of bafflement to the royal relationships may be judged by the fact that even Athenais got some cheers. The ostensible reason was that the Queen needed to display herself to those new subjects gained by the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle; the presence of her eight-year-old son the Dauphin, heir to her own rights, gave plausibility to the idea. The real plan was to provide cover for an important diplomatic mission on the part of Henriette-Anne to her native England.

The past years had not dealt gently with the charming, pleasure-loving girl who had enchanted Louis XIV that summer of 1661. An idyllic scene inscribed on a fan showed Henriette-Anne with the brown-and-white spaniel Mimi she adored which had been given to her by Charles II (she even danced a Court Ballet with Mimi in her arms). There was a boy musician in attendance, as Madame had her hair dressed.4 The reality was not so happy. Not yet twenty-six, Henriette-Anne already showed upsetting signs of ill health. Repeated pregnancies, eight in nine years, had not helped. The reality was not so happy. Not yet twenty-six, Henriette-Anne already showed upsetting signs of ill health. Repeated pregnancies, eight in nine years, had not helped.

There were several miscarriages; her only son died as a child and she was left with two daughters, Marie-Louise born in 1662 and Anne-Marie born on 27 August 1669. The death of Madame's mother, Queen Henrietta Maria, three days later brought another little princess to her household: this was her niece Anne Stuart, daughter of James Duke of York and his wife Anne Hyde.* Anne had spent the previous year in France with Henrietta Maria to consult French doctors about her chronically weak eyesight; at the age of four and a half she moved over to her Orleans first cousins. Little Anne loved France, retaining a French Huguenot servant for the rest of her life; she also preserved feelings of closeness for these particular Catholic cousins. Anne had spent the previous year in France with Henrietta Maria to consult French doctors about her chronically weak eyesight; at the age of four and a half she moved over to her Orleans first cousins. Little Anne loved France, retaining a French Huguenot servant for the rest of her life; she also preserved feelings of closeness for these particular Catholic cousins.

Unlike the robust Athenais, Henriette-Anne never felt well during pregnancy, and needed various pain-killing remedies including opium. But the real cause of her melancholy and distress was the unkindness of her husband. This cruelty was the repeated theme of her letters, either to her brother Charles, or to her old governess, Madame de Chaumont. It was not imaginary. The English Amba.s.sador, Ralph Montagu, wrote to a colleague at the end of 1669 that if Madame had married an English country gentleman with five thousand a year, she would have led a better life than she did in France, for Monsieur 'takes pleasure in crossing his wife in every-thing'.5 Compared with this malevolence, often taking the form of public rudeness, her husband's s.e.xual preference hardly upset her. There had to be a certain kind of philosophic acceptance of such matters in an arranged royal marriage (especially as he performed his marital duties regularly with the aim of begetting an heir). Compared with this malevolence, often taking the form of public rudeness, her husband's s.e.xual preference hardly upset her. There had to be a certain kind of philosophic acceptance of such matters in an arranged royal marriage (especially as he performed his marital duties regularly with the aim of begetting an heir).

Under the circ.u.mstances, Charles, although not seen for nearly ten years, became the lodestar of her existence and the idea of Franco-British friendship, of which she would be the private conduit, immensely important to her. All this suited Louis XIV perfectly. The carousel of European alliances was on the move again. Louis was anxious to detach England from its defensive alliance with Holland the so-called Triple Alliance including Sweden on the grounds that sooner or later he would have to attack the Dutch. Charles II was equally anxious to move closer to France having made peace with Spain and Portugal in 1668. Who better than Madame, the beloved younger sister, to promote a secret treaty, and by her presence with a large entourage provide cover for the signing? In theory against women's interference in politics, in practice Louis was happy to be the beneficiary.

There was only one flaw in all this: Monsieur's spitefulness towards his wife was expressed in his determination that she should not visit England, since that was what she so pa.s.sionately wished to do. Her last pregnancy, ending with the birth of Anne-Marie, had effectively grounded Henriette-Anne and Monsieur was quite prepared to use the same biological ploy again. It all came down to Monsieur's slavish love for the courtier his wife described as 'the man who is the cause of all my sorrows, past and present'. This was Philippe de Lorraine-Armagnac, a minor member of the Guise family, generally known as the Chevalier de Lorraine. The Chevalier was about three years older than Monsieur and in the contemporary cliche cliche 'beautiful as an angel'. He was also intelligent, very amusing and utterly unscrupulous. Everything had to be done according to his wishes, Monsieur even going so far as to suggest to Madame that he could not love her 'unless his favourite is allowed to form a third in our union'. 'beautiful as an angel'. He was also intelligent, very amusing and utterly unscrupulous. Everything had to be done according to his wishes, Monsieur even going so far as to suggest to Madame that he could not love her 'unless his favourite is allowed to form a third in our union'.6 Fortunately the Chevalier de Lorraine, rather like the Marquis de Montespan, overreached himself in a way that enabled Louis XIV to take action. The King absolutely refused to allow the Chevalier to take over the income from some bishoprics theoretically in Monsieur's gift, on the grounds that his dissolute private life made him unsuitable. The furious Chevalier made a feature of denouncing the King, and as a result was speedily imprisoned on Louis's orders on 30 January 1670. Public criticism of the monarch could not be tolerated; it provided the King with an excellent excuse to defend Henriette-Anne without appearing to do so. The incident was the equivalent of the King Condemning Montespan for his words about the Dauphin's governor when he could not protect Athenais outright from her husband's violence.

In a pa.s.sion of anger and loss, Monsieur withdrew to his distant property of Villers-Cotterets, dragging his wife with him. 'We go today,' she wrote miserably on 31 January, 'to return I know not when,' and Henriette-Anne spoke further of 'the fear I feel that the King may forget me'. This departure again Louis could not stop outright the rights of the husband were paramount but he certainly showed no sign of forgetting his sister-in-law. He bombarded the exile with presents from some mythical Court Lottery: caskets full of cash, jewelled garters, perfumes and glove, even some country walking shoes with lavishly expensive silver buckles.7 In the end there was a compromise. The Chevalier was allowed out of his prison on parole and vanished for a while to Italy. Monsieur's restlessness with the delights of provincial Villers-Cotterets provoked him into returning to court and granting, albeit sulkily, permission for Henriette-Anne to make a brief visit to England. As for her, when the King asked her whether she had been very bored, she replied, with a flash of her old spirit, that she had spent her exile learning Italian but was glad she had not had to stay at Villers-Cotterets long enough to learn Latin.

To outsiders, the great caravan of Louis XIV which set out for Flanders in 1670 might appear awesome. Jean Nocret, a painter who specialised in allegorical compositions, painted the entire royal family this year at the request of Monsieur.8 There they all were as G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses, ineffably dignified and handsome in their robes: from Louis and Marie-Therese, blonde locks flowing, patting the head of an equally golden-haired Dauphin, Monsieur and Henriette-Anne, the Grande Mademoiselle as Diana with a crescent moon in her hair, down to the half-naked children with their lyres and wreaths. The reality was rather different and had its absurd side. On rolled the vagabond court including the Queen, the d.u.c.h.esse de La Valliere, the Marquise de Montespan, the Grande Mademoiselle, and of course the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans. Moliere and Lully went too so that civilisation should not be altogether abandoned, and Racine was present in his role of Historiographer Royal. There were thirty thousand others when all the soldiers were included. But none of this travelling majesty was proof against the weather. There they all were as G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses, ineffably dignified and handsome in their robes: from Louis and Marie-Therese, blonde locks flowing, patting the head of an equally golden-haired Dauphin, Monsieur and Henriette-Anne, the Grande Mademoiselle as Diana with a crescent moon in her hair, down to the half-naked children with their lyres and wreaths. The reality was rather different and had its absurd side. On rolled the vagabond court including the Queen, the d.u.c.h.esse de La Valliere, the Marquise de Montespan, the Grande Mademoiselle, and of course the Duc and d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans. Moliere and Lully went too so that civilisation should not be altogether abandoned, and Racine was present in his role of Historiographer Royal. There were thirty thousand others when all the soldiers were included. But none of this travelling majesty was proof against the weather.

Waterlogged roads impeded progress. On one occasion the river Sambre, a tributary of the Meuse, had so far overflowed its banks that the royal party could not pa.s.s. Marie-Therese screamed out in terror at the rising water and Henriette-Anne, who felt so ill that she could swallow nothing but milk, fainted. Refuge had to be taken in a primitive farmhouse at Landrecies. The Grande Mademoiselle got stuck in the mud carrying the Queen's train. The food was uneatable. There was only one room and everyone had to share it. 'Sleeping all together is dreadful!' cried the indignant Queen. Only Athenais's sister Gabrielle retained her equilibrium and, with that sweet Mortemart wit, said that hearing the noise of cattle lowing outside the window, with straw inside, made her think of the birth of Christ.

All in all Henriette-Anne cannot have been sad to part from the court at Lille before travelling to Dunkirk, where a British squadron awaited her for the journey to England. She had a long interview with Louis before departure and he clasped her hand tightly and tenderly in farewell. The disagreeable mood of Monsieur had not lifted: referring to his wife's marked pallor, he chose to meditate on the message of an astrologer who had predicted that he would marry several times ... He duly made a last-ditch attempt to block the expedition, and made no affectionate sign of farewell.

Henriette-Anne arrived at the cliffs of Dover at dawn on 26 May.* She got an ecstatic reception not only from her brothers King Charles and James Duke of York with his wife Anne (whose little Anne was currently in her household in France) but also from James Duke of Monmouth, Charles's handsome, twenty-one-year-old illegitimate son. To the annoyance of Monsieur, Henriette-Anne had had one of her light-hearted flirtations, an exercise in gallantry, with Monmouth at the French court. She got an ecstatic reception not only from her brothers King Charles and James Duke of York with his wife Anne (whose little Anne was currently in her household in France) but also from James Duke of Monmouth, Charles's handsome, twenty-one-year-old illegitimate son. To the annoyance of Monsieur, Henriette-Anne had had one of her light-hearted flirtations, an exercise in gallantry, with Monmouth at the French court.

Jollifications, many of them by sea, where the 'fearless and bold' Henriette-Anne walked on 'the edge of ships', covered the diplomatic negotiations considered vital by both kings.9 The way had been well prepared in advance and accord was reached by 1 June. And joy of joys, Louis XIV (not Monsieur) had agreed to an extension of her visit, so that Henriette-Anne actually remained in England until 12 June. The way had been well prepared in advance and accord was reached by 1 June. And joy of joys, Louis XIV (not Monsieur) had agreed to an extension of her visit, so that Henriette-Anne actually remained in England until 12 June.

The Secret Treaty of Dover, as it became known much later, was literally a secret from all but Charles's closest advisers. For all the lip-service paid to the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle concluded by France with Spain, Charles agreed to support Louis's further claims to his wife's alleged possessions in Flanders. England's theoretical fidelity to the recently signed Triple Alliance was equally ignored: the two Kings agreed to attack the Dutch together. Linked to this notional aggression was however a crucial clause in which Charles, being convinced of the truth of Catholicism, was resolved to reconcile himself publicly with the Church of Rome 'as soon as the welfare of the kingdom will permit' 'as soon as the welfare of the kingdom will permit' (italics added). In return he was to receive generous financial subsidies from his French cousin. (italics added). In return he was to receive generous financial subsidies from his French cousin.10 It will be obvious that the italicised clause, although sometimes held to prove Charles's determination to turn Britain Papist, in fact did no such thing; the timing was left to him to decide in the future, the money came at once from Louis.* Was this secret religious clause put in to please Henriette-Anne? Raised a Catholic in France (after her Protestant baptism in England), she was however not a noticeably ardent one. Although it remains in the realm of conjecture, it seems more likely that Louis XIV, an ardent Catholic if an ardent sinner as well, supported the clause as putting him on the side of the (Catholic) angels. Was this secret religious clause put in to please Henriette-Anne? Raised a Catholic in France (after her Protestant baptism in England), she was however not a noticeably ardent one. Although it remains in the realm of conjecture, it seems more likely that Louis XIV, an ardent Catholic if an ardent sinner as well, supported the clause as putting him on the side of the (Catholic) angels.

All too soon Henriette-Anne had used up her extended leave and had to return to the French court and Monsieur. As she departed, her brother Charles was in visible anguish, rushing back three times to embrace her, seemingly unable to let her go. The French Amba.s.sador commented that he had not realised until he witnessed this scene that the cynical English King was capable of feeling so much for anyone.

Eight days after returning to France, Henriette-Anne went with Monsieur to their chateau at Saint-Cloud, a short distance from Paris. The next day she complained of pains in her side as well as the stomach ache 'to which she was subject' in the words of the Comtesse de La Fayette.11 But she was oppressed by the summer heat (it had rained in England) and determined to bathe in spite of her doctors' advice. On Friday 27 June Henriette-Anne did bathe; on the Sat.u.r.day however she felt so much worse that she had to stop. The Comtesse arrived in Saint-Cloud later that Sat.u.r.day night to find Madame looking ghastly and admitting that she felt even worse than she looked. (This was from someone famous for her patience in the face of suffering.) Nevertheless, her nervous energy had not altogether departed: Henriette-Anne walked in the moonlit gardens until midnight. But she was oppressed by the summer heat (it had rained in England) and determined to bathe in spite of her doctors' advice. On Friday 27 June Henriette-Anne did bathe; on the Sat.u.r.day however she felt so much worse that she had to stop. The Comtesse arrived in Saint-Cloud later that Sat.u.r.day night to find Madame looking ghastly and admitting that she felt even worse than she looked. (This was from someone famous for her patience in the face of suffering.) Nevertheless, her nervous energy had not altogether departed: Henriette-Anne walked in the moonlit gardens until midnight.

On Sunday morning she went to Monsieur's apartments and had a long talk: he was planning to return to Paris. She visited her daughter Marie-Louise, whose portrait was being painted. Dinner took place. Afterwards Henriette-Anne, feeling terrible, lay down as she often did, and put her head in the lap of the Comtesse de La Fayette. The Comtesse was wont to think her mistress beautiful in all her att.i.tudes, but now Madame's face seemed to have changed and she looked quite plain.

About five o'clock that afternoon her true ordeal began, a horrifying process of torment which would not terminate for over nine hours. First Henriette-Anne asked for some chicory water, which was prepared for her by one of her most trusty waiting-women and administered by a similarly devoted lady-in-waiting. Immediately she started to cry out: 'Ah, what a pain in my side! What agony! I can't bear it!' As the hours pa.s.sed, her pains only grew worse until the doctors who had begun by a.s.suring everyone that there was no danger were forced to change their tune totally, and admit that Madame was actually near to death. Her limbs were icy, her expression glazed, although she never lost consciousness. The bleedings from the foot which were the recommended panacea of the time added to her sufferings.

It was distressing both then and afterwards that in her agonies Henriette-Anne cried out that she had been poisoned by the chicory water and must be given antidotes. Monsieur showed no signs of guilty dismay (the Comtesse de La Fayette admitted with shame that she watched his expression). There was a suggestion that a dog might be given the chicory water until a lady-in-waiting came forward and said she had drunk some without ill effect. The antidotes such as powder of vipers were however administered without doing more than, once again, increasing the pain.

In spite of her torments, Henriette-Anne managed to retain that graceful quality which had marked her all her life. Now the court rushed to their adored Madame's side, Louise and Athenais among others. To Monsieur she said sadly: 'Alas, you have long ago stopped loving me, but I have never failed you.' The scene with the King was more affecting. He embraced her and embraced her again as the tears fell. She told him: 'You are losing the truest servant you ever had.'

Given the seriousness of a deathbed at the time, already mentioned with regard to Anne of Austria, the Grande Mademoiselle worried that the sacraments were not being brought.12 The stern Father Feuillet, a local priest of Jansenist sympathies, was introduced. He provided little solace: when Madame was convulsed with suffering, he suggested that this was a suitable punishment for her sins. Then the greater-souled Bossuet, now a bishop, arrived. It was Bossuet who gave her the Sacrament and Extreme Unction and promised her forgiveness. Later the English Amba.s.sador, Ralph Montagu, arrived. It was typical of Madame's good manners that she tried to tell him in English about an emerald she wanted to bequeath to Bossuet lest the Bishop be embarra.s.sed. Finally she kissed the crucifix Bossuet held out. Henriette-Anne, Princess of England and France, died at two o'clock in the morning on 30 June. She was just past her twenty-sixth birthday. The stern Father Feuillet, a local priest of Jansenist sympathies, was introduced. He provided little solace: when Madame was convulsed with suffering, he suggested that this was a suitable punishment for her sins. Then the greater-souled Bossuet, now a bishop, arrived. It was Bossuet who gave her the Sacrament and Extreme Unction and promised her forgiveness. Later the English Amba.s.sador, Ralph Montagu, arrived. It was typical of Madame's good manners that she tried to tell him in English about an emerald she wanted to bequeath to Bossuet lest the Bishop be embarra.s.sed. Finally she kissed the crucifix Bossuet held out. Henriette-Anne, Princess of England and France, died at two o'clock in the morning on 30 June. She was just past her twenty-sixth birthday.

It was inevitable, in view of the state of the Orleans marriage, and Madame's unfortunate involuntary cry after drinking the chicory water, that accusations of poison should be flung at the widower. Although the Machiavellian Chevalier de Lorraine was absent, there were many who thought that he was indirectly if not directly responsible. But it has always been regarded as proof of the Chevalier's innocence that Louis allowed him back to court despite his behaving in 'so insolent a manner towards the Princess, whilst she was living', in the words of the English Amba.s.sador. In fact these accusations were endemic at this time, as we shall see.

The truth was simpler and sadder. Henriette-Anne's health had been wrecked by childbearing and exacerbated by her own misery. The prospect of taking permanent refuge in England was not one a princess of her time would have contemplated, given that it involved abandonment not only of her children but also of her honoured place at the French King's side he for whom she had just acted the amba.s.sadress so triumphantly. Modern opinion inclines to the view that she died of acute peritonitis following the perforation of a peptic ulcer. It was a tortured end but it was not the result of a criminal deed.

Monsieur's mourning took the form of extreme attention to etiquette (he was rapidly becoming the private arbiter on such matters, if the King remained the supreme public source). Marie-Louise, aged nine, was draped in purple velvet, the mourning of a princess, and received the condolences of the court in a long procession. That was suitable enough. She was joined by the five-year-old English Princess Anne, similarly attired; with the death of her aunt, she would shortly sail back to England to join her parents, armed with two splendid pearl and diamond bracelets given her by the French King. Even the baby Anne-Marie, less than a year old, was similarly bundled up in purple velvet and had to receive compliments, which she can hardly have registered.13 In order to a.s.suage the horrified grief of Charles II, Louis ordered a state funeral as for a Queen of France, while one of Henriette-Anne's rings was delivered back to her brother. In an even greater departure from tradition, Louis sent Queen Marie-Therese to the ceremony incognito. (The King himself by custom never attended such rituals.) It was Bossuet's oration at these obsequies in Saint-Denis on 21 August which crowned the life of Henriette-Anne with the n.o.bility it deserved.14* He stressed the shortness of her life: 'Madame pa.s.sed at once from morning to evening like the flowers of the field.' He harked back to her early years in France: how 'the misfortunes of her House could not crush her in her youth and already at that time we saw in her a greatness which owed nothing to fortune', she who had a head and heart even above her royal birth. But now: 'O disastrous night! O frightful night! When there arrived all at once this astonishing news: "Madame is dying! Madame is dead!"' And the Bishop told Louis XIV that Madame had been 'gentle towards death as she was to all the world. He stressed the shortness of her life: 'Madame pa.s.sed at once from morning to evening like the flowers of the field.' He harked back to her early years in France: how 'the misfortunes of her House could not crush her in her youth and already at that time we saw in her a greatness which owed nothing to fortune', she who had a head and heart even above her royal birth. But now: 'O disastrous night! O frightful night! When there arrived all at once this astonishing news: "Madame is dying! Madame is dead!"' And the Bishop told Louis XIV that Madame had been 'gentle towards death as she was to all the world.15 Just as La Fontaine had saluted Henriette-Anne for the recovery of 'our court's laughing face', so Madame de Sevigne wrote to her cousin Bussy-Rabutin that 'all happiness, charm and pleasure' had departed from the court with her death. The Comtesse de La Fayette put it quite simply: it was 'one of those losses for which one is never consoled.16 A few days after Henriette-Anne's death a scene took place which might seem bizarre by any standards except those of the French court created by Louis XIV. The King was devastated by the death of his brother's wife: his thoughts dwelled on her perennial youthfulness as he remembered it (never mind what had happened to her in recent years), her devotion to him seen in her emba.s.sy to England. Above all Henriette-Anne was the first beloved contemporary to die, an epochal moment in the life of any human being, including a king.

Finding himself with the Grande Mademoiselle, Louis indicated to her that there was now what in modern terms would be called a job opportunity: the position of Madame was vacant and she might wish to fill it.17 Anne-Marie-Louise was forty-three years old and her childbearing capacity, which had been doubted in her thirties, had certainly now vanished. The King was therefore thinking along two lines. On the one hand he was, as ever with the unfortunate heiress, eyeing those rich properties coveted by so many over the years, and wondering about their fate after the Grande Mademoiselle's death. On the other hand he sincerely believed in the necessity of a new Madame to replace the old one. As a future inc.u.mbent would say later, 'being Madame' was a Anne-Marie-Louise was forty-three years old and her childbearing capacity, which had been doubted in her thirties, had certainly now vanished. The King was therefore thinking along two lines. On the one hand he was, as ever with the unfortunate heiress, eyeing those rich properties coveted by so many over the years, and wondering about their fate after the Grande Mademoiselle's death. On the other hand he sincerely believed in the necessity of a new Madame to replace the old one. As a future inc.u.mbent would say later, 'being Madame' was a metier, metier, a profession. Effectively the second lady at court Louis's surviving legitimate daughter, known as 'the Pet.i.te Madame', was only three Madame had a role to play in the royal order of things. a profession. Effectively the second lady at court Louis's surviving legitimate daughter, known as 'the Pet.i.te Madame', was only three Madame had a role to play in the royal order of things.

As it happened, both the spinster-bride and the widower-bridegroom had other priorities. Monsieur definitely wanted a son and heir whereas the Grande Mademoiselle had for some time harboured the extraordinary, even exotic design of marrying a courtier named Lauzun, who was by no conceivable means a proper match for her. Anne-Marie-Louise therefore told the King that she had had thought of marrying without specifying whom she had in mind. thought of marrying without specifying whom she had in mind.

Antonin Nompar de Caumont, Comte de Lauzun, was now in his late thirties, a man of good family connections and much favoured by Louis himself. Unalluring to the eye of posterity, he clearly possessed considerable s.e.x appeal, despite being described as 'very diminutive' by the Duke of Berwick, who was baffled by his attraction. Perhaps it was the charm of outrageous, even louche louche behaviour which benefited him in such regimented society. Not all his reported remarks to his would-be fiancee were chivalrous: for example he criticised Anne-Marie-Louise for going to the ballet and parties at her age when she should be praying and doing good works. He also disapproved of an over-youthful red ribbon in her hair. The Grande Mademoiselle took a different line. 'People of my rank are always young', she once said. behaviour which benefited him in such regimented society. Not all his reported remarks to his would-be fiancee were chivalrous: for example he criticised Anne-Marie-Louise for going to the ballet and parties at her age when she should be praying and doing good works. He also disapproved of an over-youthful red ribbon in her hair. The Grande Mademoiselle took a different line. 'People of my rank are always young', she once said.18 At any rate he caught her eye and somehow (the potential rewards to him were enormous) suggested in her emotionally virginal mind the dazzling prospect of marriage. That is to say, it was dazzling to this long-term spinster in romantic terms, otherwise horrifyingly daring and even foolhardy. At any rate he caught her eye and somehow (the potential rewards to him were enormous) suggested in her emotionally virginal mind the dazzling prospect of marriage. That is to say, it was dazzling to this long-term spinster in romantic terms, otherwise horrifyingly daring and even foolhardy.

Astonishing most of his court, Louis did give permission for the marriage, essential for public acknowledgement of the union (a secret marriage with the Church's blessing was another matter). Queen Marie-Therese and Monsieur, both sticklers for the formalities, were vociferously opposed to the match. Yet it was significant that the shock, horror at the news of this fearful mesalliance mesalliance was felt most keenly by the Grande Mademoiselle's own servants. Three days later, on 18 December, with a heavy heart but conscious of the duty of the sovereign, Louis rescinded his permission, to the devastation of Anne-Marie-Louise. His excuse given in a memorandum on the subject was that Anne-Marie-Louise had pretended falsely that he, the King, had promoted the marriage: 'my reputation was involved'. was felt most keenly by the Grande Mademoiselle's own servants. Three days later, on 18 December, with a heavy heart but conscious of the duty of the sovereign, Louis rescinded his permission, to the devastation of Anne-Marie-Louise. His excuse given in a memorandum on the subject was that Anne-Marie-Louise had pretended falsely that he, the King, had promoted the marriage: 'my reputation was involved'.19 But court disapproval was the major reason. Whether Louis had been weak in the first place in giving in to her desire so strongly expressed, or was acting weakly now in cancelling his decision, was a matter of opinion. Most people at the time thought the former. But court disapproval was the major reason. Whether Louis had been weak in the first place in giving in to her desire so strongly expressed, or was acting weakly now in cancelling his decision, was a matter of opinion. Most people at the time thought the former.

Louis, having broken the poor woman's heart in the cause of the royal order in which he believed so pa.s.sionately, now showed himself at his most supportive. When Anne-Marie-Louise broke down at a ball, it was the King himself who went to her aid, thus preempting the unpleasant ridicule of the courtiers. 'Cousin, you are not well,' he said and personally escorted her away. So the Grande Mademoiselle remained with her fortune who would now inherit it? The subject did not go away as she grew older and her high position at the court. Louis also retained Lauzun in his favour, even using him on a confidential mission, until the rakish count, in a highly melodramatic manner, brought about his own disgrace.

It was a question of the reputation of Athenais. Lauzun asked the favourite to intervene on his behalf with the King on the subject of the marriage and then hid himself under her bed when Louis was in situ in situ to make sure she had carried out her mission. Athenais, believing herself in private, did no such thing. She then lied about it to Lauzun. He was a man of whose violence people at court tended to be frightened, and for good reason. Furious at what he saw as a gross betrayal (never mind his own gross invasion of the lovers' privacy), Lauzun now shouted at the King that he himself had slept with Athenais. Louis, with the greatest difficulty mastering his seething outrage, broke his own cane in half and threw it out of the window 'lest he strike a gentleman'. (His self-control would later incur the ultimate approval of that courtly purist Saint-Simon.) to make sure she had carried out her mission. Athenais, believing herself in private, did no such thing. She then lied about it to Lauzun. He was a man of whose violence people at court tended to be frightened, and for good reason. Furious at what he saw as a gross betrayal (never mind his own gross invasion of the lovers' privacy), Lauzun now shouted at the King that he himself had slept with Athenais. Louis, with the greatest difficulty mastering his seething outrage, broke his own cane in half and threw it out of the window 'lest he strike a gentleman'. (His self-control would later incur the ultimate approval of that courtly purist Saint-Simon.)20 Lauzun ended up in prison in the south, in the company of the disgraced minister Fouquet, where he languished for ten years. Lauzun ended up in prison in the south, in the company of the disgraced minister Fouquet, where he languished for ten years.

All this left the problem of Monsieur's second marriage unresolved. It was the eventual solution, in November 1671, which brought to the court of Louis XIV not only its most original female member but also its most entertaining observer, rivalled only by Saint-Simon (but the new d.u.c.h.esse d'Orleans had over twenty years' start on the great memorialist).* The person in question, known to history by her family name of Liselotte, was Elisabeth-Charlotte, daughter of Charles Louis, Elector Palatine. The person in question, known to history by her family name of Liselotte, was Elisabeth-Charlotte, daughter of Charles Louis, Elector Palatine.

At first sight Liselotte was an obscure German princess, very far from being the greatest match in Europe as Marie-Therese had once been. Nor was she a King's sister, and that King an important European player, like the first Madame. But the Palatinate, a princ.i.p.ality on the Rhine with its capital at Heidelberg, had considerable geographical importance where the plans of Louis XIV to the east were concerned. The Wittelsbach dynasty had acquired the Palatinate in the thirteenth century, and by the beginning of the seventeenth the Palatinate was the leading Protestant German state. However, it suffered much devastation during the Thirty Years War. Liselotte's marriage contract, if not fulfilled, offered rights over and opportunities in the Palatinate, in a grim parallel (from the point of view of that country) with the rights of Marie-Therese in the Spanish Netherlands.

Liselotte was born on 27 May 1652 and was thus nearly twelve years younger than her future husband. Her interesting ancestry included her paternal grandmother Elizabeth Stuart, the daughter of James I, known as the Winter Queen, who was herself the granddaughter of Mary Queen of Scots, the most romantic femme fatale in history.* Liselotte however was neither beautiful nor romantic. She was stolid, not to say earthy, and even on occasion downright vulgar. In her letters home Liselotte would cover these vulgarities with the airy words: 'By your leave, by your leave', when she gave vent to such comments as this: 'With my cold, I shall probably look like a shat-on carrot.' More entertaining was her frequent use of folksy proverbs: 'The snow falls as easily on a cow-pat [ Liselotte however was neither beautiful nor romantic. She was stolid, not to say earthy, and even on occasion downright vulgar. In her letters home Liselotte would cover these vulgarities with the airy words: 'By your leave, by your leave', when she gave vent to such comments as this: 'With my cold, I shall probably look like a shat-on carrot.' More entertaining was her frequent use of folksy proverbs: 'The snow falls as easily on a cow-pat [Kuhfladen] as on a roseleaf' was one of them. 'When the goat gets too frisky, she goes dancing on ice and breaks a leg' was another.

It will be seen that in a world where style and dignity, everything possessed by the first Madame, were so highly esteemed, Liselotte was the exception. The Grande Mademoiselle deplored her 'lack of a French air' Duc to her German origins. Certainly she must have spoken French with a strong German accent, as her phonetic spelling of some French words indicates. And Liselotte positively hated dancing, the art which distinguished the French court, starting with the exceptional skill of the King himself. This 'confounded ball' she exclaimed in exasperation on one occasion, probably the only person at court to feel that way (Monsieur like his brother was an excellent dancer). Nor was she a romantic. Berenice's lament over losing t.i.tus in Racine's eponymous play did not move her: 'All the howlings she sets up about this make me impatientx2019;.21 In the matter of her appearance, the second Madame was also at the opposite end of the spectrum from her predecessor. Where Henriette-Anne was graceful and slender, getting thinner with the years, without ever sacrificing her charm, Liselotte was big and got bigger. A vivid interest in food and drink helped on the process: she never lost her taste for German food and drink such as sausage, sauerkraut and beer, which had to be sent to her by her favourite aunt Sophia. Liselotte was the first to describe her face in comic terms it was a 'badger-cat-monkey' face and her nose a 'badger's snout'. As for her complexion, the apple-cheeked freshness of her youth quickly gave way to a coa.r.s.e weatherbeaten appearance, her skin prematurely wrinkled and 'red as a crayfish' Duc to her mania for hunting all day and every day without the conventional mask to protect her. All this was very far from Henriette-Anne's legendary complexion of'jasmine and roses'. As her weight increased Liselotte once again p.r.o.nounced the best verdict on her appearance: 'I would be good enough to eat if 1 1 were roasted like sucking-pig. were roasted like sucking-pig.22 Nor did her clothes help: Liselotte boasted of taking no interest in them; no alluring Nor did her clothes help: Liselotte boasted of taking no interest in them; no alluring deshabille deshabille for her, either c.u.mbersome court clothes or serviceable hunting costumes, nothing in between. for her, either c.u.mbersome court clothes or serviceable hunting costumes, nothing in between.

The peculiar circ.u.mstances of her family background surely explain the excessive attention the adult Liselotte would come to pay to what Saint-Simon called 'honour, virtue, rank, n.o.bility', with the emphasis on the last two. In time this attention would have something quite hysterical about it, especially about the status of the royal b.a.s.t.a.r.ds: 'mouse-droppings in the pepper' was her blunt way of describing them.23 Yet Liselotte had been raised against the background of a highly unusual marriage, or rather two of them. The constant disputes of her parents led in the end to the disappearance of her mother from court. Already Charles Louis had installed his mistress in a room above his own, and she had given birth to several of his children; Charles Louis now bigamously married this mistress in the lifetime of his wife to 'legitimise' them. Yet Liselotte had been raised against the background of a highly unusual marriage, or rather two of them. The constant disputes of her parents led in the end to the disappearance of her mother from court. Already Charles Louis had installed his mistress in a room above his own, and she had given birth to several of his children; Charles Louis now bigamously married this mistress in the lifetime of his wife to 'legitimise' them.

The happiest times of Liselotte's childhood were the seven years spent with her beloved aunt Sophia, her father's sister, married to the Elector of Hanover.* Sophia, to whom many of Liselotte's letters were later addressed, took the girl on a prolonged visit to The Hague, where her grandmother Elizabeth the Winter Queen had taken up residence. It was here that Liselotte got to know her cousin William of Orange, two years older and like herself a Protestant. It had been Liselotte's wistful hope to marry him eventually. Now, for reasons of realpolitik, she was not only marrying elsewhere, but marrying a Catholic, in consequence of which she had to change her own religion. n.o.body in her family circle seemed to see anything odd about this, including the stoutly Protestant Sophia: the French King's brother was a splendid match for someone like her niece. One simply had to make sacrifices ... Sophia, to whom many of Liselotte's letters were later addressed, took the girl on a prolonged visit to The Hague, where her grandmother Elizabeth the Winter Queen had taken up residence. It was here that Liselotte got to know her cousin William of Orange, two years older and like herself a Protestant. It had been Liselotte's wistful hope to marry him eventually. Now, for reasons of realpolitik, she was not only marrying elsewhere, but marrying a Catholic, in consequence of which she had to change her own religion. n.o.body in her family circle seemed to see anything odd about this, including the stoutly Protestant Sophia: the French King's brother was a splendid match for someone like her niece. One simply had to make sacrifices ...

Liselotte said later that she had only agreed to conversion in order to honour her father. It certainly cannot be said that Catholicism was ever really imprinted on Liselotte. Once again this was something which set her apart from those at the French court, forever worrying about their own salvation. The torments of a Louise de La Valliere were unknown to her. Louise wrestled with a Catholic conscience; Liselotte did not. It was something she faced in herself: she was not devout and did not have the kind of faith that moved mountains. The most Liselotte could do, she declared, was try to keep the Ten Commandments. As for G.o.d Almighty, she conceded that she did admire Him 'although without understanding Him'.24 Over the years Liselotte became by inference quite anti-Catholic: 'the boredom of all that Latin whining', she wrote privately of one particular long-drawn-out Easter. Any sermon longer than fifteen minutes sent Liselotte unashamedly to sleep. Perhaps her cynicism had begun with the day of her proxy marriage in the Gothic cathedral of Metz where a plethora of sacraments was rained down on her in a very short s.p.a.ce: conversion, communion, confirmation and marriage. (At the time her conversion was said to be Duc to 'the Holy spirit'.)25 On arrival at the French court Liselotte did have one great a.s.set which for the first few years outweighed her disadvantages of style: she amused the King who had, as it were, commissioned her arrival. Her frank speaking was an agreeable novelty, as people in power always do enjoy frank speaking until it wounds them. Her enthusiasm for the outdoor life, whatever it did to her complexion, was very much to his taste too. Liselotte, who had once wanted to be a boy, was a marvellous rider not a graceful Diana of the chase as Marie Mancini had been, but an Amazon. The gazette Mercure Galant Mercure Galant wrote that 'few men were as vigorous in pursuit of this exercise' and certainly Madame was capable of hunting from five in the morning until nine at night. Liselotte also liked to walk, unlike most people at the French court, who she complained were left 'puffing and panting' twenty paces behind her, with the exception of the King. Like Louis himself, Liselotte was also pa.s.sionate about the theatre. wrote that 'few men were as vigorous in pursuit of this exercise' and certainly Madame was capable of hunting from five in the morning until nine at night. Liselotte also liked to walk, unlike most people at the French court, who she complained were left 'puffing and panting' twenty paces behind her, with the exception of the King. Like Louis himself, Liselotte was also pa.s.sionate about the theatre.26 Louis therefore showed his new recruit to court great kindness from the beginning, when he introduced her to Marie-Therese: 'Courage, Madame,' he said gently. 'She is far more frightened of you than you are of her.' He also liked the fact that Liselotte was virtuous. No gallantries were to be expected from this Madame, and when the sophisticated Princesse de Monaco, a swinger avant la lettre, avant la lettre, suggested a lesbian affair, Liselotte was outraged. If she was, as some suspected, a little platonically in love with the King, that was only to be expected from one of 'these other stars' which surrounded the sun 'like a court' in the words of Louis's memoirs, and hardly displeasing to him. suggested a lesbian affair, Liselotte was outraged. If she was, as some suspected, a little platonically in love with the King, that was only to be expected from one of 'these other stars' which surrounded the sun 'like a court' in the words of Louis's memoirs, and hardly displeasing to him.27 Contradictory as it might seem, Louis XIV had a great taste for virtuous women whom he could admire wholeheartedly as he remembered admiring his mother. One of these was Colbert's daughter, Jeanne-Marie, married to the Duc de Chevreuse, Liselotte's contemporary with 'her admirable virtue which never failed her in any predicament'; she was incidentally one of the few fellow walkers Liselotte discovered, so perhaps virtue and exercise went together. Later Louis would admire Saint-Simon's young wife, daughter of the Duc de Beauvillier, for her mixture of modesty and n.o.ble bearing. The supreme example was the beautiful dark-eyed Italian princess, Mary Beatrice d'Este, who pa.s.sed through France at the age of fourteen in 1673 to marry James Duke of York. On this occasion Louis described himself paternally as her 'G.o.dfather', but he did not forget Mary Beatrice, that vision of Catholic youth and beauty, even if he could scarcely have predicted the circ.u.mstances in which they would next meet. Then there was his children's governess, Francoise Scarron, whom Louis was getting to know, in clandestine visits to the Parisian house of her little charges: she was nothing if not virtuous.

Liselotte's take on the whole subject of marriage was expressed like this: 'Marriages are like death. The time and season are marked, you can't escape. That's how Our Lord wished it and how we must do it'.28 It was a view which her predecessor would have shared, just as Liselotte quickly came to share Henriette-Anne's dislike of the Chevalier de Lorraine, who now proceeded to humiliate the second wife wherever possible just as he had humiliated the first. As for Monsieur himself, the best Liselotte could do, describing him to her aunt Sophia, was to call him 'not ign.o.ble', with his hair, his eyebrows and lashes all very black, his large nose and his small mouth. It was a view which her predecessor would have shared, just as Liselotte quickly came to share Henriette-Anne's dislike of the Chevalier de Lorraine, who now proceeded to humiliate the second wife wherever possible just as he had humiliated the first. As for Monsieur himself, the best Liselotte could do, describing him to her aunt Sophia, was to call him 'not ign.o.ble', with his hair, his eyebrows and lashes all very black, his large nose and his small mouth.

But in one crucial respect, the marriage of Monsieur and the second Madame was a success. Liselotte conceived her first child, a son, less than a year after marriage. 'Very soon there is going to be a big bang,' she wrote in her merry way in May 1673. Although this boy did not live long, a second and healthy son Philippe, given the t.i.tle Duc de Chartres, was born in August 1674. His horoscope predicted that he would be pope, 'but I am very much afraid that he is more likely to be the Antichrist', added Liselotte.* A daughter, elisabeth-Charlotte, followed two years later, who evidently took after her mother: she was 'as fat as a Christmas goose and large for her age'. After that, by mutual agreement, Monsieur and Madame ceased marital relations. Monsieur had found them, it seems, even more testing with Liselotte than with Henriette-Anne, when he had after all been a decade younger. From Liselotte's confidences we know that Monsieur needed the inspiration of rosaries and holy medals draped in appropriate places to perform the necessary act. A daughter, elisabeth-Charlotte, followed two years later, who evidently took after her mother: she was 'as fat as a Christmas goose and large for her age'. After that, by mutual agreement, Monsieur and Madame ceased marital relations. Monsieur had found them, it seems, even more testing with Liselotte than with Henriette-Anne, when he had after all been a decade younger. From Liselotte's confidences we know that Monsieur needed the inspiration of rosaries and holy medals draped in appropriate places to perform the necessary act.*

Liselotte's satisfactory fertility was in contrast to that of the unfortunate Queen. There was a sad catalogue of royal infant deaths around this time: three in just over a year. The little Duc d'Anjou died at the age of three in July 1671; his brother, born the following year, was dead by the beginning of November; then the Pet.i.te Madame, an especially beloved child, died at the age of five in March 1672. The line of royal succession now led from the Dauphin to Monsieur, and so to the new baby Philippe. There were evil tongues which ascribed the deaths of the Queen's children to the scandal of her husband's philanderings, although as has been noted, repeated intermarriage was the more likely explanation.

There was a further, even more marked contrast, to set the tongues wagging again, between the Queen's experiences and those of the Ceres-like G.o.ddess of fertility Athenais. A second boy, Louis-Cesar, was born to her in 1672 (very shortly after Marie-Therese's son who died) and a second daughter Louise-Francoise in June 1673. With Louis-Auguste, born in 1670, and her two children by her husband, Athenais had given birth to six children in under ten years, only one of whom, that mysterious baby of 1669, had died in infancy. It was a prodigious record, especially when combined with the sensual duties of a mistress, and as it turned out Athenais's ready powder would be lit again in the future.

There was however a question mark over these little pledges of love or symbols of royal, even national virility as many of less censorious disposition would have seen them. How long would they remain in the comfortable obscurity of the rue Vaugirard, tended by the virtuous Francoise Scarron? This was especially true after Athenais gave birth to Louise-Francoise on 1 June 1673 at Tournai, while the whole royal cortege of war was once more in Flanders.

Louis had declared war on the Dutch in 1672 in pursuit of solidifying his north-western dominions. This so-called Dutch War was expected to end in another triumph for Europe's most dazzling military monarch. But for once the victorious French armies had met their match. The heroic resistance of the Dutch took the form of opening the d.y.k.es and flooding their own country, making further French advances virtually impossible. All this was done under their newly appointed leader, the young Prince William of Orange (that Protestant nephew of Charles II Liselotte had once hoped to marry).* The French were obliged to withdraw in early 1673. The French were obliged to withdraw in early 1673.

In the new season's campaign Louis was engaged in the siege of Maastricht, the court remaining at nearby Tournai. The Queen and Louise de La Valliere occupied the Bishop's house while Athenais gave birth in the town's citadel. This distinction of dwelling hardly made for concealment.

* The future Queen Anne was already third in line to the British throne at this point after James and her elder sister Mary, since Charles II had no legitimate children.* The following dates are given in French New Style as opposed to English Old Style which, as has been noted, lagged behind that of the Continent at this period.* To look ahead, one should note that the 'welfare of the kingdom' never did permit Charles to declare himself a Catholic until he was lying on what was manifestly his deathbed.* Compared by Lytton Strachey in the twentieth century to 'molten lava'. There was always a considerable gap between a death and a state funeral, the corpse having been embalmed and the vital organs removed to be interred elsewhere.* The copious correspondence of the second Madame to her relatives and friends at home starts in 1672 and const.i.tutes a first-hand record which did not benefit from hindsight. Saint-Simon's own personal memories begin in the 1690s, and were written down from 1739 onwards.* Liselotte's great-granddaughter was Marie Antoinette: she thus provides the direct blood link between the two tragic queens without resembling either.* This feisty twelfth child of Elizabeth the Winter Queen was born in 1630, the same year as her first cousin Charles II, with whom she had flirted in 1648 when he was in exile. As a granddaughter of James I, she was of course within the English succession, which admitted females, although at this point there were many candidates between her and the throne.* Philippe, forty years later Regent of France, did not fulfil either prophecy, although from the single point of view of personal profligacy he was nearer the latter than the former.* Since Monsieur begot at least eleven children in the course of his life, the rosary was evidently effective.* William, born in 1650, was the posthumous son of another William of Orange and Princess Mary Stuart, daughter of Charles I and Henrietta Maria; he was thus Louis's first cousin once removed.

CHAPTER 8

A Singular Position

I have already got a singular position, envied by the whole world. Francoise Scarron On 18 December 1673 a baby girl of six months was baptised at the church of Saint-Sulpice on the Left Bank in Paris. This was the important parish church for those living in this 'countrified' area, as Madame de Sevigne called it.11* These included Madame Scarron and her mysterious charges. The child was given the names Louise-Francoise by her G.o.dmother who was none other than Louise-Francoise d.u.c.h.esse de La Valliere. No one mentioned the fact that these two names also linked those of the King and Francoise-Athenais de Montespan. The parish priest stood proxy for the three-year-old G.o.dfather, the baby's elder brother. These included Madame Scarron and her mysterious charges. The child was given the names Louise-Francoise by her G.o.dmother who was none other than Louise-Francoise d.u.c.h.esse de La Valliere. No one mentioned the fact that these two names also linked those of the King and Francoise-Athenais de Montespan. The parish priest stood proxy for the three-year-old G.o.dfather, the baby's elder brother.

Two days later something more unusual than a mere parish baptism took place. The King issued an edict, duly registered by the Parlement, legitimising Louise-Francoise and her brothers Louis-Auguste and Louis-Cesar. They received t.i.tles: Mademoiselle de Nantes, Duc du Maine and Comte de Vexin respectively. The edict referred to 'the tenderness which Nature leads us to have for our children', an echo of the edict which had legitimised Marie-Anne and the Comte de Vermandois four years earlier, as well as 'the many other reasons which increased such fe