As it happened, two sisters of charity, the members of whose community often visited Paris during Lent to beg for alms, were staying at Molière’s house. They made him comfortable, while he “expressed to them the sentiments of a good Christian and all the resignation which he owed to God.”33 Shortly afterwards, Baron returned with Armande to find Molière dead.
Upon hearing the story, Louis was shocked and saddened, for he genuinely loved and admired Molière, one of the finest playwrights of the age. More distressing than this sad story, however, was that Molière had died without benefit of clergy.
The church in Paris had long excommunicated actors and refused to allow them a Christian burial unless they renounced their profession. Armande explained to Louis how her husband had sent to the nearby church of Saint-Eustache for a priest, but two of them had refused to come, while a third, having been awoken from his sleep, arrived too late. Armande then turned to the archbishop of Paris, Harlay de Champvallon,34 who referred her petition to one of his officers. Since then, a further four days passed and Molière remained unburied. In desperation, Armande now approached Louis for help. She knew Louis had supported Molière in the past and had even taken his side during the controversy over Tartuffe. Louis promised the unhappy widow that he would do all he could. However, he had always been reluctant to offend the church, and he was anxious to avoid a public outcry. He sent Armande back to the archbishop, insisting that his must be the final word. At the same time, he sent a message to Harlay de Champvallon ordering him to “so arrange matters as to avoid any demonstration or scandal.”35 As a result, the archbishop agreed to give Molière a Christian burial, but only on condition that it was “conducted without ceremony or advertisement.”36
In the end, Molière was buried in the cemetery of Saint-Eustache at night, but it was no quiet affair. A crowd, friends or protestors, it cannot be said which, descended upon the house in the rue de Richelieu, after which the funeral cortège moved slowly towards the cemetery, where Molière was finally laid to rest by the light of a hundred torches.
With the coming of spring, Louis’s thoughts returned to war, and on May 1, he left once again for the front. He focused his efforts on capturing Maastricht. This large fortified town was of strategic importance, since it guarded the route to France across the Meuse. Moreover, Maastricht was used by William of Orange and Emperor Leopold as their center of communications.
Now Louis’s siege of Maastricht gave Vauban the opportunity to try out a new siege technique he had learned while observing the Turks at Candia.37 The usual method was to dig a straight, narrow trench towards the walls of the city to be besieged and then mine the walls or launch an assault. The disadvantage was that it left little room for maneuvering and exposed the diggers to enemy fire. Vauban’s method was to construct a series of concentric trenches joined by a short perpendicular trench until the town walls were reached. It was a slow process, but the diggers were better protected, it allowed the troops freer movement, and the high parapets offered greater cover.38
After thirteen days, the third parallel was completed and the troops moved in. Maastricht was ready to fall. Many men were killed or injured on both sides in the ensuing assault, among them d’Artagnan.39 A week later, on July 1, the governor of Maastricht, Jacques de Fariaux, surrendered.
Now in French hands, Maastricht required fortification. A despairing Colbert, worried as always by the cost, protested that he would have difficulty finding the required 20 million livres. In the end, he was forced to resort to “extraordinary means”; that is, he now understood the difficulties faced by Foucquet as he raised funds for wars, and he was obliged to adopt the former superintendent’s methods. Now Colbert sold offices, alienated royal domains, and introduced new taxes. Colbert’s incompetence in raising the necessary funds in due time did not please Louis.40
Despite the emperor’s support of William of Orange, Louis’s campaign had been largely successful. The only significant loss so far had been Naarden: when Luxembourg was unable to prevent Orange from capturing it, he was ordered to withdraw.41 This, however, was about to change. The commander of the Austrian army, Raimondo Montecuccoli, was making his way towards Bonn, where he expected to rendezvous with William of Orange. Louis sent an urgent message to his commander at Utrecht, the duc de Luxembourg, ordering him to prevent Montecuccoli from crossing the Rhine. Unfortunately, Luxembourg was unable to reach the Austrians in time, and the joint forces of Montecuccoli and Orange besieged Bonn, which surrendered on November 12.42 What Louis had most feared now became a reality. The German states formed an alliance, and they joined the war on Orange’s side.43
In February 1674, the Congress of Cologne attempted to find acceptable peace terms, while England signed a separate peace treaty with Holland. A few weeks later, Louis’s allies, the bishop of Münster and the elector of Cologne, deserted him. At the diet of Ratisbon, on May 28, Leopold declared war on France. The whole of Europe, it seemed, was turning against Louis.44 However, with the fall of Besançon and Dôle, Franche-Comté once more fell to Louis.45 Four medals were struck to commemorate these victories.46 On July 9, the king was back at Fontainebleau.
As though the war were not enough to contend with, Louis was aware of rumors that Louise de La Vallière was making plans to leave the court for good. The lady who served to hide Louis’s relationship with Athénaïs desperately wanted to take the veil, but she had not yet confided her intentions to the king. Nevertheless, he had heard enough to be alarmed. He had long been concerned that the marquis de Montespan might reclaim his wife and her children by Louis, dragging them away from court against their will and his.
Louis decided to act. One option was to legitimate Athénaïs’s children, as he had done with Louise’s; but the fact that Athénaïs was a married woman complicated matters considerably. There was, however, a way past even this complication. Louis looked to the example of his grandfather, Henri IV. Henri had legitimated César de Vendôme and Antoine de Moret, both of whom had been born to married women.47 The old king had simply declared, “We knew that the marriage was null and unconsummated, as is proved by the decree of separation and nullity of the said marriage which ensued.”48 Unfortunately, the Montespan marriage had been consummated, and the couple had two children to prove it, so annulment was not an option in this case. Meanwhile, when Athénaïs gave birth to a daughter on June 1, 1673, this further increased the pressure on Louis to find a solution. The answer he came up with was to use subterfuge.
On December 18, Athénaïs’s little girl was baptized Louise-Françoise, an interesting choice of name. While the certificate gave the name of the child, it omitted that of her mother. The godfather was Louis-Auguste, the future duc du Maine, Louis’s three-year-old son by Athénaïs, but no family name was entered on the certificate. The godmother was Louise-Françoise de La Vallière, who, once again, proved herself so useful that it is easy to see why Louis did not want to let her go.
Two days later, the parlement registered the deeds of legitimation. They carried this short preamble: “Louis, by the Grace of God, etc. The natural love that we bear Our children, and many other sentiments, oblige Us to recognize Louis-Auguste, Louis-César and Louise-Françoise.”49 The identity of the mother had been concealed beneath the phrase “many other reasons” to frustrate any attempt by the marquis de Montespan from claiming these children of the royal blood as his own.
Louise had given her name to Athénaïs’s child, but if she thought that Louis would show his gratitude by allowing her to take the veil, she was mistaken. As long as Athénaïs’s husband presented a threat, Louise’s presence at court was essential.
Several years previously, the marquis de Montespan had made an attempt to secure a formal separation from Athénaïs, only to find himself accused of injuring his wife, of cruelty, and dissipating a fortune he had never had.50 Now Louis decided to appeal to Montespan, and his moment could not have been more propitious. For some time, Montespan’s mother had been unwell. He had be
en allowed to return from his exile in order to comfort her in her final weeks and settle her affairs, including his inheritance. The marquis came to Paris, but there was to be no repetition of the scandalous behavior, despite the fears of Louis and Athénaïs. In mourning and subdued, he was resigned to his fate and agreed to all that Louis and Athénaïs asked of him.51 Montespan was ordered to repay Athénaïs the 64 thousand livres of her dowry that he had already received, as well as 4 thousand livres each year in alimony. More importantly, at least from Louis’s perspective, he was served with a formal petition forbidding him to come near Athénaïs.52
With Athénaïs formally separated53 from her husband, there was no reason to keep Louise at court, yet Louis still required one more service of her. He had planned a series of festivities to be held at Saint-Germain, and he intended them to be magnificent. He had given up dancing some three years before, but he once more took to the floor for this special occasion. Beginning on January 12, 1674, the court was treated to a sparkling round of plays, operas, and balls, but one of the highlights was the début of Marie-Anne, Mlle de Blois, Louis’s eight-year-old daughter by Louise. The little girl had been practicing her steps for weeks and now here she was, a beautiful doll in her first ball gown of black velvet glittering with diamonds. She was escorted onto the dance floor by the young prince de Roche-Aymon, who was not much older than his partner. Three days later, Mlle de Blois was pronounced the chef-d’oeuvre among the young people of the court, while January 24 saw her final appearance, for this occasion at least. The sight of her daughter’s triumph moved Louise deeply. “I admit that I was delighted to see her looking as pretty as she was,” she said, “at the same time, I have my scruples. I love her, but she will not hold me back for one moment.”54
The time had finally come. Louise had spent several weeks putting her affairs in order as she prepared to leave the world. Louis could do no more to stop her. He wept as the woman he had once loved so passionately bade him farewell. Louise, fearing her resolve would weaken, or that the king’s love for her might reawaken, simply bowed and withdrew.
Another who feared that the old flame would rekindle in Louis’s heart was Athénaïs. Bored and a little disconcerted by her rival’s leave-taking, she was impatient for the former favorite to leave.55 Still, she grabbed Louise and whisked her off to the apartments they had once shared and treated her to her last supper at court.56
The next day, Louise attended the king’s mass, oblivious to the tears that streamed down Louis’s face. An hour later, she sat in her carriage as courtiers milled around her. She had changed into a sumptuous gown for her final journey before her cloistered life began, and it was remarked that she had never looked more beautiful. At the age of twenty-nine, the duchesse de La Vallière, who had been so burdened with guilt for the sin of having loved the king, left Fontainebleau, her face lit up with the sweetest smile. Going to a living death, she had never been happier or more content.57
Louis’s emotions ran deep, and he expressed them freely, but such displays were quickly over. He had other matters on his mind. The Dutch war, now a pan-European conflict, was still ongoing. In August 1674, the prince de Condé achieved a victory at Seneffe, where 107 enemy colors were captured, but Condé chose this moment to retire, and he returned to his château of Chantilly. With the death of the maréchal de Turenne, who was stuck down by a stray cannonball as Salzbach, Louis had lost two of his finest generals. On the king’s orders, Turenne was buried with honors at Saint-Denis, to rest among Louis’s Bourbon ancestors.
Louis’s pursuit of gloire was costing more than valuable lives. His people were facing increasing hardship. In July 1675, Bossuet wrote to inform Louis of the miserable state of the people, which was caused by the behavior of soldiers billeted in the provinces, as well as the increased taxation that the people simply could not afford to pay. Bossuet implored Louis to find some remedy.58
For now, however, Louis did nothing. In 1676, he appointed Vauban to establish a secure frontier in the east. Vauban identified the towns of Condé and Bouchain as good places to begin what he called the pré carré, or ‘duelling area.’ Beyond these lay the strategically important Valenciennes and Cambrai.
Leaving Bouchain to his brother, Louis was now positioned at Heurtebise, close to Valenciennes, as Orange began his descent on the French camp. The maréchal de Lorges was ready to meet them without hesitation, but Louis held back. His way had always been to consult a military council, and that is what he did now. The consensus was not to attack, and Louis followed this advice, but he would always regret missing an encounter that could have shortened the war considerably.59 While Louis could only stand by and watch the advance of the Dutch, Philippe had better luck at Cassell, from which Orange was forced to flee so quickly that he left behind his gold plate and some very useful maps of all the strongholds in Europe.60
By this time, peace talks had already opened at Nijmegen. Louis had all but ignored them, but now he began to pay them proper attention. His change of heart was due in part to the great financial burden the war imposed upon his people. There was already unrest in some provinces; that revolt was taking place in Brittany and Bordeaux, both “difficult” provinces, was almost inevitable. What was worse, the chevalier de Rohan had made overtures to the governor of the Spanish Netherlands concerning an armed invasion of Brittany by the prince of Orange. When the plot was uncovered, Rohan and his fellow conspirators were executed for treason.
At Nijmegen, peace negotiations continued, and it was here at the forum of peace rather than the theater of war that Louis “appeared the master of Europe.” As La Fare explained, the king could choose between enslaving Europe or granting it peace.61 That he chose peace was Louis’s masterstroke.
To secure the peace, Louis offered Ghent, recently captured with Ypres by France, to Charles of England. In the end, he managed to extend part of his frontier to the Rhine and formally acquired Franche-Comté, Cambrai, and Valenciennes, although Ghent, Courtrai, and Charleroi were restored to Spain. While the emperor gave Louis Breisach and Freiburg, the king broke the links connecting the Habsburg’s possessions between Milan and Luxemburg.62
The treaty of Nijmegen, however, brought more than peace. Louis had imposed his conditions
with the arrogance of a conqueror; nevertheless they were not so outrageous as to render his enemies desperate and force them to reunite against him in a final conflict: he often spoke to Europe as a master, but at the same time acted as a statesman.63
Indeed, as La Fare wrote, “We had never dreamt of taking Holland, but to chastise her: a bad idea, for we impressed fear and hatred in the hearts of men who, in their own interests, were our natural allies.” Moreover, France had caused the Dutch to throw themselves under the influence of a leader who had made them warlike and a republic, transforming a state that could never have been a danger to them into one of their most potent enemies, “without whom all the others would not be capable of resisting us.”64
The ink on the treaty of Nijmegen was barely dry when Orange graphically demonstrated his scorn for it. He attacked the maréchal de Luxembourg, who had broken off the siege of Mons the moment he heard of the peace. A long and bloody battle ensued, “which cost the lives of two thousand French and as many of the enemy.” Louis was now
at the height of his greatness. Victorious since he had begun to reign, having besieged no place which he had not taken, superior in every way to his united enemies, for six years the terror of Europe and at last her arbiter and peacemaker, he now added Franche-Comté, Dunkirk, and one-half of Flanders to his possessions; moreover, and he might well count this the greatest of his advantages, he was the king of a nation happy in itself and the model of all others.65
Time would tell how long this situation would last.
EIGHTEEN
Les Femmes
When, in July 1675, Louis returned from the war, one of his first thoughts was to visit Mme de Montespan, but it was clear to close observers that something had c
hanged. Just as he had in the time of Louise de La Vallière, Bishop Bossuet had warned Louis to give up his mistress for the salvation of his soul. Bossuet had chosen his moment well, for it was Easter, when the king would receive the sacraments in a public ceremony, but only if he was truly repentant and only if the church would grant him absolution for his sins.
According to Primi Visconti, Louis had let Athénaïs go to Paris, resolved that she would never set foot in Versailles again.1 Clearly Louis had listened to the bishop, but in the end he proved incapable of being parted from Athénaïs for very long, and she maintained her apartments at Versailles after all.
Yet even though Louis was seeing Athénaïs once again, courtiers were uncertain whether or not he loved her as he had done. While there were those, such as Mme de Richelieu, the queen’s lady-in-waiting, who thought that they were no longer lovers, others, such as Primi Visconti, thought relations had resumed as usual.2 Louis was dining at Athénaïs’s house at Clagny when news of the death of Turenne arrived, a disaster the devout attributed to the resumption of sin.3 The following day, Louis created eight new maréchaux, one of whom was Athénaïs’s brother, Vivonne, which inspired the quip that “seven had been made maréchaux by the sword and one by the scabbard.”4 Mme de Sévigné thought that the attachment between Louis and Athénaïs was “still extreme,” although she remained uncertain whether they were still lovers, for behind Athénaïs’s apparent triumph lay an inner sadness.5
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