The Affair of the Poisons: Murder, Infanticide, and Satanism at the Court of Louis XIV
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It turned out, however, that Louise was not unassailable. In the autumn of 1666 she produced a daughter by the King, christened Marie-Anne, who survived to adulthood. By the following year Louise was once again pregnant but her hold over the King appeared increasingly precarious and informed observers detected unmistakable signs that Louis had grown tired of her.
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Louise was supplanted by the Marquise de Montespan, a married woman whom she had considered a friend. Born in 1641, the Marquise was the daughter of Gabriel de Rochechouart, Duc de Mortemart. Her family lineage, which dated back to the eleventh century, was so illustrious that Mme de Montespan’s sister liked to claim that the Bourbons were mere parvenus in comparison. Originally christened Françoise, as an adult she had abandoned this commonplace name for the more distinctive and flamboyant Athénaïs, which accorded better with her personality.
In 1663, three years after becoming a maid of honour to the Queen, Athénaïs had married Louis-Henri de Pardaillan de Gondrin, Marquis de Montespan. Since it was not a great match in material terms (Montespan already had debts, possibly from gambling) this might suggest that love had played a part in bringing them together. In theory Athénaïs had a dowry of 150,000 livres but at the time of her marriage her parents produced only 60,000. Even this sum was handed to Montespan’s parents and the young couple were only permitted the income. The balance of 90,000 livres was not payable till Athénaïs’s parents died, although she and her husband were entitled to the revenue from it. In theory they should have been able to manage on these amounts but they soon found themselves in financial difficulties and had to borrow money.
In early 1664, having already presented her husband with a daughter (a son followed in September 1665), Athénaïs was chosen to be a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. She soon became a favourite with Marie-Thérèse, who loved Mme de Montespan not only because she found her entertaining but also because she supposed her to be virtuous. This was not as naive as it may seem, for at the time others shared her opinion of Athénaïs’s good character. When the Comte de Saint-Pol tried to pursue her in 1666 the Duc d’Enghien had no doubt that he was unlikely to succeed in so ambitious an enterprise.6
The Queen also approved of the fact that Mme de Montespan took communion regularly and, while one cannot rule out the possibility that this was a cynical exercise deliberately designed to commend her to her mistress, there is good reason to believe that Athénaïs had a strong underlying faith, which did not desert her even when her behaviour most flagrantly contravened Church law. There is a story that, once she had become the King’s mistress, the Duchesse d’Uzès queried why, in her concern to maintain her Lenten fast, she even weighed her bread to ensure she did not eat too much. Athénaïs retorted that just because she was guilty of one sin, it did not mean she had to commit every other.7
Saint-Simon confirmed that she adhered to her religion with surprising tenacity. He recorded, ‘She had never sinned carelessly, for often … she had left the King to go and pray in her closet. Nothing would have induced her to miss a meatless day or a fast. She kept her Lents strictly and was most scrupulous in fasting during the whole time of her evil living … never showing the least sign of religious doubt or impiety.’8
Saint-Simon, who was not even born at the time Louis started his affair with Mme de Montespan, asserted that she tried to resist the King’s attractions. He claimed that as soon as she realised Louis was falling in love with her she pleaded with her husband to remove her from court, but Montespan failed to act on this. Things then progressed to a point where the temptation became too much for her. This seems implausible and conflicts with the recollections of others. Primi Visconti was told that Athénaïs set out to ensnare the King but that at first Louis was unimpressed, telling his brother, ‘She does what she can but I want none of it.’ Others maintain that Louise de La Vallière unwittingly brought ruin on herself. Believing that it would be a good way of keeping Louis amused, she arranged for Athénaïs to spend a great deal of time with them, with the result that the King ultimately came to prefer her company to Louise’s.9
The first contemporary reference to the King being attracted to Athénaïs comes from the Duc d’Enghien, who noted in October 1666 that Louis was showing an interest in her. He added that there was probably nothing in it but ‘to tell the truth she would well deserve it, because one could not be more witty or beautiful than her’.10
Enghien was not alone in considering Athénaïs a beauty, for everyone concurred that her looks were dazzling. Like Louise she was blonde with azure eyes, but her other features were far superior. She had what Primi Visconti considered ‘a perfect face’ with a nose that was ‘aquiline but well shaped’ and ‘a small vermilion mouth with very fine teeth’. Her figure – which after multiple pregnancies ran to fat – was more voluptuous than Louise’s and her shapely arms were also singled out for praise.11
But it was not just her beauty that made Athénaïs so exceptional. Elizabeth Charlotte of the Palatinate (the German princess who became Monsieur’s second wife in 1671 and who was known, like her predecessor, as Madame) recalled, ‘One was never bored with her,’ while another person praised her knack of making ‘the most serious subjects agreeable’. This was a trait she shared with her brother, the Duc de Vivonne, and her sister, Mme de Thianges. The three of them ‘gave universal pleasure through their singular way of talking, a blend of jokes, artlessness and refinement which was called “the Mortemart wit”.’ Their utterances were gloriously unpredictable and at times seemed to take even them by surprise, for they had ‘the gift of saying unusual and amusing things, always original, which nobody expected, not even themselves as they said them’. Athénaïs in particular had ‘a witty languishing manner’ that was wonderfully beguiling and possessed ‘a special turn of phrase and a gift for selecting the apt word that was all her own’. ‘It was enchanting to hear her,’ Saint-Simon declared.12
Unfortunately, few examples of her wit survive. Her letters give little hint of her humour and she herself declared that she much preferred the spontaneity of conversation to the ‘coldness’ of the written word. It was the way she phrased her remarks, quite as much as their witty content, which made them so irresistible and besides this, her gaiety had an infectious quality. There is an account of her and Monsieur going into ‘peals of laughter, which would have been audible at two hundred paces’ when the Chevalier d’Arvieux regaled the King with an amusing account of his diplomatic mission to Turkey. She also had a keen sense of the ridiculous and the King loved the way she could deflate pomposity. According to Primi Visconti, when people talked to him in an affected manner he would later laugh about it with Mme de Montespan. At other times they shared silly jokes together. Mlle de Montpensier recorded huffily that on one occasion when the three of them were travelling in a coach together the King and Mme de Montespan woke her with a start by shrieking, ‘We’re overturning!’13
In addition she was a marvellous mimic. She made everyone laugh by imitating Mme de Mecklembourg’s guttural way of speaking, which had acquired strange Germanic overtones after she married a foreigner. When the Savoyard ambassador Saint-Maurice was having an audience with the King in 1672, he noticed Mme de Montespan scrutinising him keenly and he guessed that this was so she could later ‘tell some tale to make his Majesty laugh at my expense and to imitate me, for she makes use of everything to divert him’.14
Mme de Montespan was also a talented raconteuse who could spin ‘a good yarn to make the King laugh’. Mlle de Montpensier fondly recalled Mme de Montespan relating how, during a grand wedding at court, there was a muddle and her dogs’ cushions became mixed up with the hassocks. She reduced Mademoiselle to fits as she conjured up a picture of the bride and groom kneeling reverently on these canine accoutrements.15
Some people at court felt aggrieved that, in her determination to keep the King entertained, Athénaïs did not scruple to make fun of them. It seems she did not set out to cause trouble: the King’s German
sister-in-law (who in other ways was highly critical of Mme de Montespan) affirmed that neither she nor her sister, Mme de Thianges, were at all malevolent. While acknowledging that ‘no one was sacred from their raillery on the pretext that it amused the King’, she stressed that there was nothing spiteful about this, for ‘when she had had her laugh at a person she was content and dropped the matter’. However, as Mme de Montespan herself admitted, there were times when she became so intoxicated by her own wit that she unintentionally caused offence. She ruefully admitted that in conversation, ‘One is often carried away to say things one does not really think … In this way one makes enemies of people to whom one wishes no harm.’16 Sensitive courtiers were conscious that they often became the butt of her mockery as they crossed the marble courtyard at Versailles (which was overlooked by her apartment) and they likened this to ‘going under fire’.
As one court lady remarked, ‘These things may be considered trifles and in effect so they are between private persons, but it’s not the same when the Master is involved.’ It was felt that these ‘satiric barbs’ could have a decisive effect on people’s fortunes, for once the King had taken against an individual the prejudice was hard to shift. Years later Mme de Maintenon noted regretfully that when the King formed ‘a disadvantageous idea of someone it is almost impossible to efface it’ and the Comte de Bussy was likewise sure that Louis ‘gains poor impressions of people that others like to give him as easily as he gains towns’. Once instilled in his mind, these could only be dislodged with the utmost difficulty.17
Some people were apt to blame Athénaïs if the King seemed ill-disposed towards them when in reality she was not responsible. The Comte de Bussy, for example, developed a hatred for Athénaïs and her sister after he heard that Mme de Thianges had been saying disagreeable things about him to the King. However, at the time Bussy was already exiled from court for having written a scurrilous novel satirising prominent figures there and the King had been so furious about this that it was hardly fair to hold Athénaïs accountable for the Comte’s continued disfavour. Nevertheless, despite the fact that the Marquis de Saint-Maurice was adamant that Mme de Montespan ‘has never hurt anyone’, she was viewed by many as a malign force and this was not easily forgiven. In the words of the great preacher Bossuet, ‘To infect the ears of a prince, ah! It is a greater crime than poisoning the public fountains.’18
Some people maintained that Athénaïs was a shockingly callous woman. A possibly apocryphal story relates that one day she was riding in a coach with several ladies when it ran over a pedestrian. The other passengers were very upset by the incident, but Athénaïs was unmoved. Calmly she pointed out that such accidents took place every day without arousing their concern; why, then, should they worry simply because they had witnessed this one? Another example was cited by the Marquis de La Fare, who considered it reprehensible that Athénaïs failed to intercede when the Chevalier de Rohan (who was believed to have been a lover of Mme de Thianges) was condemned to death for treachery. Since Rohan’s treason had been of a very high order, it is hard to believe that such a plea would have had any effect, but La Fare contended it was ‘not the first time she displayed a hard heart, insensible to pity and gratitude’.19
It was hard for someone in Athénaïs’s position to avoid such criticisms, whether merited or not, but other faults of hers are less open to dispute. She was by all accounts proud and imperious, and her temper, which had always been short, deteriorated as she grew older. Her increasing corpulence as successive pregnancies took their toll on her figure and possibly a tendency to drink to excess may have contributed to her bouts of ill humour but, certainly, her rages became more easily provoked and unpredictable. All too often the King was on the receiving end of her tirades and this ultimately played an important part in alienating him from her.20
The King’s affair with Athénaïs is usually deemed to have started in 1667. Certainly, if one reads Mlle de Montpensier’s account of what happened between the King and her that summer, the conclusion is inescapable that that was when they consummated their relationship. However, one should perhaps sound a note of caution, for such events can rarely be dated with utter certainty. As late as February 1668 the Marquis de Saint-Maurice reported ‘the King loves Mme de Montespan and while she does not hate him, she is holding firm.’ Athénaïs did not become pregnant by the King until the summer of 1668 and it was only then that M. de Montespan became jealous. All this means that one cannot wholly reject the claims put forward by the magician Lesage during the Affair of the Poisons. He alleged that in late 1667 Mme de Montespan came to him because she wished ‘to attain the good graces of the King’. The implication is that at that point she and Louis were not on intimate terms and she wanted Lesage to use his occult powers to remedy the situation.21
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In June 1667 Louis took the Queen and her ladies to see the army he had massed on France’s northern frontiers in preparation for an attack on Flanders. Louise was left behind at Saint-Germain on the pretext that she was pregnant, although normally that never prevented the King from taking his mistresses on voyages. Before leaving, Louis created her Duchesse de Vaujours and legitimised their daughter, who from now on was known as Mlle de Blois. Ostensibly, these were marks of high favour but shrewd observers considered them to be more in the nature of parting gifts.
Poor Louise realised she was being discarded and did her best to retrieve the situation. In July, when the Queen and her entourage were staying at La Fère, prior to rejoining the King, Louise turned up uninvited. The incensed Queen gave her an icy reception and most of her ladies did likewise. Mme de Montespan was especially scathing and was heard to say sanctimoniously, ‘God keep me from being the King’s mistress! But, if I were, I would be very ashamed in front of the Queen.’22
Next day the Queen and her ladies drove to a review of troops, which the King was conducting at Avesnes. When their destination was in sight, Louise’s coach suddenly overtook the Queen’s, but though this breach of protocol enabled her to reach the King first, Louis was not at all welcoming. Shortly afterwards the wretched Louise had to return to Versailles, having succeeded only in making herself an object of scorn.
The King was now able to pursue Athénaïs without fear of being distracted by Louise’s reproachful presence. At Avesnes Mlle de Montpensier noticed that only a short staircase separated Mme de Montespan’s room from the King’s bedchamber. At first this was guarded by a sentry but he was soon removed, making communication between the two rooms easier. The King spent a great deal of time in his bedroom and Mademoiselle noticed that Mme de Montespan was only rarely in attendance on the Queen during the day. She told Marie-Thérèse that she was exhausted and had to catch up on her sleep but, while the Queen accepted this, she expressed annoyance at seeing so little of the King. Later in the voyage she complained to him that he never came to her bedroom till four in the morning, and wanted to know what he was doing in the meantime. Louis – whose mood during these weeks was one of ‘wonderful gaiety’ – replied that he was busy reading and writing despatches, but Mademoiselle saw that as he said this he turned his face away so the Queen could not see the sly smile playing across his features.23
The Queen still had no idea that Athénaïs had become a rival. Since she was so fond of her company she was delighted when the King suggested that Mme de Montespan should join them when they travelled in a coach together, superseding ladies of higher rank. Even when she was sent an anonymous letter warning her that her husband was having an affair with Athénaïs, the Queen flatly refused to believe it. It is not known how long it took for the unpalatable truth to penetrate, but once the situation became clear to her she had no alternative but to accept it.
Perhaps her only consolation was that the same show of resignation was required from Louise. In October, after the court had returned from its travels, Louise gave birth to the King’s son, the future Comte de Vermandois. Thereafter she, the King and Athénaïs formed a curious trio. Fo
r much of the time they were inseparable: in fine weather the two ladies were regularly to be seen accompanying the King on carriage rides in the gardens of Versailles and in due course Louise and Athénaïs shared an apartment at court with every appearance of amity. The Savoyard ambassador assumed that for a time the King divided his sexual favours between the two women and at one point Saint-Maurice understood that Louise was expecting another baby. As she never actually produced another child it is not clear whether he had been right about this. However, by March 1671 even he was sure that Mme de Montespan ‘would no longer tolerate’ the King sleeping with Louise.24 Despite this, Louise remained a fixture at court, loving the King too much to summon up the resolve not to see him and thus prolonging her own agony.
If the King went on voyages during the summer, both mistresses went too. Sometimes they shared a coach with the Queen, to the amazement of watching peasants, who marvelled at the passage of ‘three queens’. If this proved an ordeal, accompanying the King in his coach was scarcely preferable, for Louis was notoriously inconsiderate to travelling companions. As Saint-Simon put it, ‘Pregnant, sick, less than six weeks after labour, otherwise indisposed, no matter, they had to be fully dressed, bejewelled, tight-laced into their bodices, ready to travel to Flanders or further … to be cheerful and good company, move about, seem not to notice heat or cold or draughts or dust, and all punctual to the moment, giving no trouble of any kind … As for the needs of nature they could not be mentioned … To feel sick was an unforgivable crime.’25
Mme de Scudery described Louise’s life at court during these years as ‘a martyrdom’ and Madame claimed that Mme de Montespan did all she could to add to Louise’s misery. ‘She used to mock at her publicly and treated her very badly,’ Madame informed a correspondent. Furthermore, she ‘made the King act in the same way’ and Louise had to endure the humiliation of watching Louis pass through her own bedroom on his way to sleep with Athénaïs.26 Madame’s allegations have to be treated with caution, but there can be no doubt that throughout this period Louise suffered terribly.