Part 5 (1/2)

PART THREE

Autumn

CHAPTER 11

The King's Need

This is not the time to leave the King; he has need of you. Duc de La Rochefoucauld to Madame de Maintenon, August 1683 The death of Queen Marie-Therese at the end of July 1683 plunged Louis XIV into an inner crisis. It was generally a.s.sumed by his counsellors and courtiers that the King would marry again: his bride would be once more some great princess. That is what kings did, again and again if their wives persisted in dying, as happened to many European monarchs.

And why not? On the eve of his forty-fifth birthday Louis was still a vigorous man. The golden looks of his youth had faded: the beautiful hair that the Grande Mademoiselle had once admired had begun to recede in his thirties and by now he was in effect bald, relying on the ma.s.sively full and curly wigs depicted in his state portraits. The King's mouth had begun to turn down from the Pan-like smile of his youth, his nose became more p.r.o.nounced. The fine legs and feet, which like his hair had been so much admired as he danced heroic roles in the Court Ballet, were sometimes tortured with gout.

He was beginning to put on weight: which was hardly surprising considering his enormous appet.i.te, the despair of those eating with him who were expected to match it with their own. Great piles of game birds were consumed, flagons of wine, starting early in the day and continuing to late-night suppers which would not have disgraced Rabelais's giant Gargantua; for night-time consumption, another fowl and more liquid refreshment were provided. Liselotte described how she had often seen the King devour a whole pheasant and a partridge after four plates of different kinds of soup, 'a large dish of salad, two great slices of ham, mutton served with gravy and garlic, a plate of sweet cakes and, on top of that, fruit and hard-boiled eggs'.1*

Yet if Louis no longer astonished onlookers with his G.o.dlike beauty, his sheer presence commanded them: 'that secret force of royal majesty'. And then there was his voice, the unmistakable voice of a King, seldom raised, expecting always to be obeyed. One veteran officer who was asking for a favour began to shake at the sound of his sovereign's voice and stammered out: 'Sire, I did not tremble like this in front of your enemies.'2 As for Louis's gaze, the lively look of the mischievous boy had become the penetrating stare of the great King, with his slanting dark eyes which had something quasi-oriental about them. As for Louis's gaze, the lively look of the mischievous boy had become the penetrating stare of the great King, with his slanting dark eyes which had something quasi-oriental about them.

Certainly there was still much about Louis XIV to make a princess content, to quote that wistful comment Francoise had made about Marie-Therese's choice of husband all those years ago at her official entry into Paris. His energies were undiminished. Despite his gout, the King still went shooting and hunting even if he sometimes used a convenient little carriage. His workload was as heavy as ever, and on the other side of the coin the Fetes at Versailles were still glorious. In 1684 Mansart would add the fabulous Hall of Mirrors to the state apartments. And besides all of this, the new bride of Louis XIV would be Queen of France.

Princesses of an appropriate age and status were not wanting: a Tuscan princess perhaps, in order to wield further influence in central Italy? Then there was the Infanta of Portugal: a Portuguese alliance always made good sense to balance the power of her mighty neighbour Spain on the Iberian peninsula. Liselotte's aunt Sophia Electress of Hanover nourished hopes that another German princess might join Liselotte herself and the Dauphine Marianne-Victoire at the French court: she had in mind her fifteen-year-old daughter Sophia-Charlotte, known as Figuelotte. Technically Figuelotte was a Protestant (as Liselotte had been), but Sophie delayed her daughter's Protestant Confirmation just in case another rapid conversion might be needed...3 As for Figuelotte, already a sensible girl, she was definitely up for the throne of France. There might be constraints to the position, but she would face constraints wherever she went; at least with Louis XIV 'it would be worth it'.* In spite of this sporting att.i.tude on the part of the young Protestant Princess, the Catholic Portuguese Infanta remained the front runner so far as the world knew. It was not until late November that the French Amba.s.sador was told to let trie Queen of Portugal down lightly: In spite of this sporting att.i.tude on the part of the young Protestant Princess, the Catholic Portuguese Infanta remained the front runner so far as the world knew. It was not until late November that the French Amba.s.sador was told to let trie Queen of Portugal down lightly:4 there would be no marriage of the Sun King with the Portuguese Princess, thirty years his junior. there would be no marriage of the Sun King with the Portuguese Princess, thirty years his junior.

What no one outside a very small circle knew about in the high summer of 1683 was that crisis which the King first faced, and then resolved. A meeting of the Council held on 13 August decided, according to the report at supper, that second marriages were unfortunate.5 The next year the sentiment (whether the Council's or the King's) was given emblematic significance. The Queen's apartments at Versailles were carved up, much of the s.p.a.ce being taken by the King. In Versailles terms it was now quite obvious that there would be no Queen, since there were no Queen's apartments. The next year the sentiment (whether the Council's or the King's) was given emblematic significance. The Queen's apartments at Versailles were carved up, much of the s.p.a.ce being taken by the King. In Versailles terms it was now quite obvious that there would be no Queen, since there were no Queen's apartments.

The ostensible reasons for the decision were twofold. First there was the present burgeoning royal family, coupled with the Dauphine's new, healthy pregnancy (she would deliver a second prince, the Duc d'Anjou, in December). Second, there was the awful example of past family squabbles. The rebellious behaviour of Louis's uncle Gaston d'Orleans had caused much pain, while the late Queen had disliked her stepmother, Philip's second wife, and felt nothing but hostility for her half-brother. A new young Queen of France would inevitably mean a new young family: Louis had after all begotten a child by Angelique de Fontanges only recently. These children would be half-siblings, possibly subversive half-siblings, to the Dauphin now in his twenties. Was that really welcome to a King who had grown up in the dreaded atmosphere of family dispute?

All this was true enough in dynastic terms. But one doubts whether Louis XIV would really have taken the unconventional step by royal standards of remaining a public widower if he had not had a strong private motive to do so. This motive concerned his salvation, that project which could at last be brought to a successful conclusion if he secretly married his best friend and now mistress, Francoise de Maintenon.

These secret unions, known as morganatic marriages, were in fact a feature of the period: they concerned the Church and not the state and were not registered. A marriage in a chapel, performed by the clergy with witnesses, sufficed, although the union brought with it no official position (that of Queen of France in this case). In 1665 for example George William Duke of Celle promised lifelong fidelity to his adored 'wife in the eyes of G.o.d', the lower-ranking Eleanore d'Olbreuse.* Another way of describing such an alliance except that an alliance in the diplomatic sense was exactly what it was not was as a 'marriage of conscience.' Another way of describing such an alliance except that an alliance in the diplomatic sense was exactly what it was not was as a 'marriage of conscience.'7 For of course both parties concerned would be in a state of grace for the future, where the Church was concerned, even if the lack of registration made the ceremony invalid in the civil sense. Children of morganatic unions were not able to inherit kingdoms or princedoms: but in the case of Francoise, now nearly forty-five, the question of children never seems to have featured at any point in her career. For of course both parties concerned would be in a state of grace for the future, where the Church was concerned, even if the lack of registration made the ceremony invalid in the civil sense. Children of morganatic unions were not able to inherit kingdoms or princedoms: but in the case of Francoise, now nearly forty-five, the question of children never seems to have featured at any point in her career.

The evidence of the rushed, hushed, anxious then ecstatic correspondence of Francoise at this point is that the King did not reach his decision in favour of the 'project of salvation' at once. This must mean that the Sun King took time to abandon the public values in which he had been raised, which would have made marriage to a woman of minor birth, a few years older than himself, widow of a dubious artist, an unthinkable proposition. He was for example declining to award the court the focal point of a new Queen; a role which he took extremely seriously, as we have seen, following the early example of his mother.

According to custom the King of France could not remain in the presence of death: following the demise of Marie-Therese, Louis went to Saint-Cloud. But Francoise stayed at Versailles. Madame Now, hitherto his constant companion for advice, solace and encouragement, quite apart from the lighter pleasures, was scrupulous enough in her conscience and careful enough of her reputation to know that her already equivocal position had been rendered still more precarious.

The idea that on her deathbed Marie-Therese pa.s.sed a diamond ring as a token of her approval of Francoise as her successor is certainly apocryphal, being quite out of character for a great Spanish princess who was in any case dying in agonies.8 What was true was that Marie-Therese had had a satisfyingly tranquil relations.h.i.+p with Madame Now during her lifetime, Francoise being careful to show the greatest respect at all times; the previous autumn Marie-Therese had bestowed her own portrait set in diamonds upon her, a traditional sign of exceptional royal favour. But Marie-Therese was gone, and with her the illusion of respectability. What was true was that Marie-Therese had had a satisfyingly tranquil relations.h.i.+p with Madame Now during her lifetime, Francoise being careful to show the greatest respect at all times; the previous autumn Marie-Therese had bestowed her own portrait set in diamonds upon her, a traditional sign of exceptional royal favour. But Marie-Therese was gone, and with her the illusion of respectability.

It was at this moment that Louis's friend and contemporary, the Duc de La Rochefoucauld, son of the author, took a fateful decision. He had been Grand Master of the Royal Wardrobe (an intimate appointment) as well as Grand Hunter (a convivial one) for the last ten years. No one knew the King better in all his moods of melancholy and celebration, the former suppressed by his formidable self-control, the latter by his sense of his own dignity.

'This is not the time to leave the King,' said the Duc to Francoise, 'he has need of you.' So Madame de Maintenon travelled after Louis to Saint-Cloud. When he went on to Fontainebleau, she joined him there too. Perhaps this ancient and romantic chateau was the appropriate setting for the critical discussions which now pa.s.sed between the couple. Fontainebleau was one of the few royal residences where Louis XIV had not so far cast his builder's eye, and remained much as he had inherited it. Grandly old-fas.h.i.+oned, not very large, quite dark with chimneys that smoked, it served as a kind of periodic retreat, especially for the hunting seasons with its convenient and beautiful forest. The transient nature of royal occupation was emphasised by the fact that when the court was away most of the year the children of the nearby villagers loved to bathe in the fountains of the chateau while their mothers did the laundry there, and their animals grazed on the terraces.9 In the forest where the young Louis had once ridden with Marie Mancini and Henriette-Anne, Francoise now took her walks in a state of constant agitation, accompanied by her long-time friend the Marquise de Montchevreuil, an unsmiling woman so devout that she was described as putting the most pious off religion. This frenzy on the part of Francoise, the violent uncertainty of her state her thoughts, her fears, her hopes was recalled later by Marguerite de Caylus, then twelve years old, whom Francoise had 'adopted' three years earlier.10 It is clear from her correspondence that Francoise at this point was still quite uncertain about the course the King would take: given their closeness, this makes it likely that Louis himself was uncertain too. On 18 August Francoise asked her friend Madame de Brinon to relate what people were saying on the subject (a reference to the Infanta of Portugal). On 22 August she hoped Madame de Brinon would go and see Madeleine de Scudery, now at quite an advanced age but still at the centre of polite gossip, and 'send me all you hear that is good or bad'.

On 22 August Madame de Maintenon in her cautious way was still ridiculing all the gossip about the 'Louis and Francoise' affair. It was not until 19 September that Francoise wrote to her director of conscience: 'My perturbations are over. And I am in a state of peace, which I will take much more pleasure in telling you about than the troubles we used to discuss between ourselves. Don't forget me before G.o.d for I have a great need of strength to make good use of my happiness.'11 The crucial decision seems to have been taken by the King in the first week of September. A riding accident on 2 September, in which his shoulder was feared broken but was actually dislocated, may have played its part. This was not so much because it gave Francoise an opportunity to display womanly tenderness (Louis was surely convinced of that already, since it was the quality which had first attracted him about her in the menage of the rue de Vaugirard) but because it anch.o.r.ed the King himself, kept him from returning to Versailles for a month, and thus enforced upon him a period of proper reflection. The King loved Francoise and he did not after all imagine that he would fall in love again. He was wrong about that, but in 1683 could hardly have imagined the circ.u.mstances of his last great pa.s.sion. When the twentieth anniversary of his mother's death was solemnly celebrated in January 1686, Louis could feel that her tears and prayers for his salvation had not been in vain.12 So when did this marriage, which was never officially announced to the world and for which no direct doc.u.mentary evidence exists, take place? For there can be little doubt that it did take place, although to the end of her life Francoise would never directly confirm it even to her most loyal acolytes.13 The preponderance of historical opinion goes for the night of 910 October, with the old chapel at Versailles, subsequently rebuilt, as the most likely venue. It would have been held late at night, for the sake of discretion, and was probably performed by the Archbishop of Paris, Harlay de Champvallon, with the cure of Versailles as another possibility. If it is known, as one source suggests, that green vestments were used, that means that it must have taken place on a weekday between Pentecost and the First Sunday in Advent. The ever-discreet Bontemps would have arranged everything and may in addition have acted as a witness, along with Francoise's faithful attendant since her widowhood, Nanon Balbien. Other potential witnesses, of less intimate standing, were the King's new supreme minister since the death of Colbert in September, the Marquis de Louvois, and the Marquis de Montchevreuil, a decent if rather stupid fellow, husband of Francoise's tight-lipped friend. The preponderance of historical opinion goes for the night of 910 October, with the old chapel at Versailles, subsequently rebuilt, as the most likely venue. It would have been held late at night, for the sake of discretion, and was probably performed by the Archbishop of Paris, Harlay de Champvallon, with the cure of Versailles as another possibility. If it is known, as one source suggests, that green vestments were used, that means that it must have taken place on a weekday between Pentecost and the First Sunday in Advent. The ever-discreet Bontemps would have arranged everything and may in addition have acted as a witness, along with Francoise's faithful attendant since her widowhood, Nanon Balbien. Other potential witnesses, of less intimate standing, were the King's new supreme minister since the death of Colbert in September, the Marquis de Louvois, and the Marquis de Montchevreuil, a decent if rather stupid fellow, husband of Francoise's tight-lipped friend.

Gossip spread across Europe on the subject of the marriage, and by 1686 a song was being sung contrasting the reputation of Francoise's old friend the courtesan Ninon de Lenclos with that of the virtuous Roman wife Lucrece: 'Whether she's wife or mistress / Whether Ninon or Lucrece / I couldn't care less.' As for the King who 'from lover has become husband / He does what one does at his age'. In 1687, according to Liselotte, few people at court doubted that the couple were married; though she personally found it hard to believe 'so long as there has been no official announcement'. Being Liselotte, she could not resist adding a swipe at the morals of the French court: 'If they were married their love would hardly be as strong as it is. But perhaps secrecy adds a spice not enjoyed by people in official wedlock.' The following year Liselotte, with her strong sense of rank, was still perplexed by the lack of official announcement (she should not have grumbled because it enabled her to continue to take precedence over 'the old woman'). But Madame had to admit that Louis had never felt 'such pa.s.sion for any mistress as he does for this one'.14 Francoise had her own ideas of how her position should be handled. She refused for example to take the post of Dame d'Honneur to the Dauphine, the senior female appointment at court, when the d.u.c.h.esse de Richelieu died, despite the pleas of Marianne-Victoire. (The latter had seen the light: when she arrived in France she had displayed hostility to Francoise, encouraged by her husband; now she realised her mistake.) This self-denial was said to be 'very generous and n.o.ble behaviour' on Francoise's part; but in truth she did not want to be seen to tread the path of Athenais, the mistress created Superintendent of the Queen's Household. On the other hand, by 1692 Francoise was enjoying the right to visit enclosed convents, theoretically exercised only by the Queens of France. She also had the crucial privilege of sitting down in royalty's presence always a vital clue to status at Versailles.

The real proof of the marriage lay, however, in the att.i.tude of the clergy, above all that of the Holy See. In order that Francoise should maintain her position as a woman of virtue, it was necessary that the Pope should be informed privately of the marriage. This had probably happened by 1685. Certainly the Papacy awarded her every respect, which would hardly have been the case if she had continued simply as the mistress or the so-called best friend of the King. A lapis lazuli crown for a statue of the Virgin and a gold medal were among the presents sent from Rome to Francoise.15 As the years pa.s.sed, there were clues, slips of the pen or of etiquette, which would admit of no other solution than marriage between the two of them. The drunken reference of the dissolute Charles d'Aubigne to his royal 'brother-in-law' should not be counted as evidence, since Charles liked to embarra.s.s when he could and certainly had no privileged information. But there was the letter of the Abbe G.o.det des Marais, Francoise's director of conscience following Gobelin, who referred to her as 'a woman occupied with the glory of her husband her husband (italics added). And there was the more ribald incident when Monsieur happened upon his brother alone with Francoise on a bed with the covers drawn back because of the heat (he was taking medicine rather than making love). The King merely laughed and said: 'In the condition in which you see me with Madame de Maintenon, you can imagine what she is to me.' (italics added). And there was the more ribald incident when Monsieur happened upon his brother alone with Francoise on a bed with the covers drawn back because of the heat (he was taking medicine rather than making love). The King merely laughed and said: 'In the condition in which you see me with Madame de Maintenon, you can imagine what she is to me.'16 One of the clear indications Louis XIV had given that there would be no new official Queen of France was his transformation of his late wife's living quarters. Now Madame de Maintenon's own apartments were adapted from time to time to suit her new status whatever it was and she was granted a proper reception room (and a better garde-robe garde-robe) so that the King could enjoy the domesticity he wanted. Instructions for redecoration were mixed up with orders for the King's own apartments, and those of the Dauphin and Dauphine. But despite the heavy damask in the various rooms, red, green, crimson and gold, on seats, beds and tables as well as walls, they could never be mistaken for the apartments of a Queen. Only the bed in the alcove with its four bouquets of feathers waving above had something quasi-royal about it.17 The King gained no kudos from the match, which in the eyes of his subjects awarded him neither the prestige of a royal bride nor the virility signified by a glamorous mistress. A popular rhyme indicated this: 'I sinned many times with Montespan / I sinned with that good wench / And with this one here / I do my penance.'18 What he gained was what he wanted to gain: a new puritanism at court. What he gained was what he wanted to gain: a new puritanism at court. O tempora! O mores! O tempora! O mores! There were gallants of both s.e.xes at the court who must have reflected with Cicero upon the change of morals brought by time when at Easter 1684 the King criticised sternly those who had not performed their religious duties. There were gallants of both s.e.xes at the court who must have reflected with Cicero upon the change of morals brought by time when at Easter 1684 the King criticised sternly those who had not performed their religious duties.

A certain gallant lady who must have looked quizzically upon the change was Athenais, still present at court, still receiving her ritual daily visits from the King. Her sumptuous New Year present to the King in 1685 was much admired: it consisted of a book inlaid with gold and miniatures depicting all the towns in Holland which Louis had captured in 1672; the text was partly supplied by Racine. The Marquis de Dangeau reported on its exquisite appearance and good taste in his Journal Journal19* (though there was surely an element of nostalgia in recalling those vanished campaign days and nights). A triple outing for the hunt in the autumn of 1685 in a carriage containing Francoise, Athenais and the King also recalled the pairing of Louise and Athenais fifteen years earlier. But power had s.h.i.+fted for ever. (though there was surely an element of nostalgia in recalling those vanished campaign days and nights). A triple outing for the hunt in the autumn of 1685 in a carriage containing Francoise, Athenais and the King also recalled the pairing of Louise and Athenais fifteen years earlier. But power had s.h.i.+fted for ever.

Already Athenais had been moved out of her gorgeous apartments to dwell solely in the Appartement des Bains on the ground floor. The inlaid marble floor had to be replaced with parquet to make it habitable in winter. In December it was Francoise to whom Athenais applied to get a position with the Dauphin for her son by her first marriage, the twenty-year-old Marquis, later Duc, d'Antin. (She had hardly seen him in childhood after her husband took him away, and her daughter Marie-Christine had died in her early teens.) At Francoise's instance, the King agreed. D'Antin, handsome and lively, with his mother's good looks and her wit, went on to have a distinguished career at court and in the army.

Francoise's power was however circ.u.mscribed both by her own inclination she had her particular notion of what she should do and by the King's disinclination to suffer feminine interference in what he saw as the male sphere. The Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685 was a case in point. In 1598 a law promulgated by Henri IV had granted civil and religious liberties to his Huguenot subjects. Although Cardinal Richelieu had annulled its political clauses in 1629, it was Louis XIV's Revocation which put into effect forced conversions, with other Huguenots fleeing abroad. All this had everything to do with the direction of Louis XIV's ecclesiastical policy since the beginning of his reign, and nothing to do with Francoise.20 The only people who blamed her for it were the spiteful Liselotte, who tried to pretend that 'the old wh.o.r.e' and Father La Chaise together had imposed this penance on the King for sleeping with the Montespan, and Saint-Simon, only nine years old at the time. Distasteful as the Revocation is to modern hearts and minds, still more so the horrifying sufferings of the Huguenots left in France which followed, the Revocation was popular among Louis's predominantly Catholic subjects.21 Tolerance at this time was widely seen as leading to social disorder Charles II had met with no success in attempting to establish 'freedom for tender consciences'. The princ.i.p.al first proposed in 1526 at the Diet of Speyer of cujus regio ejus religio cujus regio ejus religio (the religion of the territory was to be that of its ruler) was widely approved. The persecution of the 'pretended Reformers', that is the Protestants, was seen as adding to the King's glory rather than detracting from it. Louis was praised as extirpating the monster of heresy: 'this hydra that your hand has strangled'. (the religion of the territory was to be that of its ruler) was widely approved. The persecution of the 'pretended Reformers', that is the Protestants, was seen as adding to the King's glory rather than detracting from it. Louis was praised as extirpating the monster of heresy: 'this hydra that your hand has strangled'.22 For reasons to do with her mixed ProtestantCatholic background, Francoise had a far more pragmatic att.i.tude to religion than many of her contemporaries. She was not a persecutor by nature but a persuader. As a young woman, she had come to appreciate the truth of the Catholic religion in which she now profoundly believed. But she also had come to understand that in Catholicism, the state religion, lay the key to the better life, and she expected others to come to the same conclusion. As she wrote in 1681 to her cousin's wife, the Marquise de Villette, who was a Protestant: 'I hope that G.o.d who has given you so many good qualities will withdraw you from a state which makes you useless for this world and the next.'23 One notes the order in which the two worlds are placed. One notes the order in which the two worlds are placed.

Starting in about 1684, Francoise kept a series of little leather-bound 'Secret Notebooks' in which she noted religious texts, biblical quotations and sayings of the Saints that appealed to her such as St Francis de Sales and St Augustine, along with her own annotations.24* The result is a holy rag-bag with some anodyne pious sentiments: 'Keep a rule and it will keep you,' for example, and the frequently repeated text from the New Testament: 'He who does not become as a little child will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.' At the same time it does provide a clue as to how Francoise saw herself and her destiny. She must be as submissive towards the King as Sarah was towards Abraham (who were of course husband and wife). Nevertheless, Francoise resolves: 'that I may not keep from him anything of the things he needs to know from me and that n.o.body else has the courage to tell him'. Where kings in general are concerned, there is considerable emphasis, in the manner of Bossuet and Bourdaloue, on the reign of G.o.d: 'It is from me, G.o.d, that wisdom comes ...', 'Kings reign thanks to me.' And there is a critical reference to the hedonistic court behaviour Francoise had witnessed from the outside: 'Jesus Christ is offended above all by the lovers of pleasure' ( The result is a holy rag-bag with some anodyne pious sentiments: 'Keep a rule and it will keep you,' for example, and the frequently repeated text from the New Testament: 'He who does not become as a little child will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.' At the same time it does provide a clue as to how Francoise saw herself and her destiny. She must be as submissive towards the King as Sarah was towards Abraham (who were of course husband and wife). Nevertheless, Francoise resolves: 'that I may not keep from him anything of the things he needs to know from me and that n.o.body else has the courage to tell him'. Where kings in general are concerned, there is considerable emphasis, in the manner of Bossuet and Bourdaloue, on the reign of G.o.d: 'It is from me, G.o.d, that wisdom comes ...', 'Kings reign thanks to me.' And there is a critical reference to the hedonistic court behaviour Francoise had witnessed from the outside: 'Jesus Christ is offended above all by the lovers of pleasure' (amateurs de plaisirs).