Louis the Well-Beloved

by Jean Plaidy

‘You did not appear to be addressing the King.’

  ‘It is a masque, Sire.’

  ‘And now that I am exposed, you must tell me where I have met you before.’

  ‘Your Majesty cannot remember?’

  Louis desperately sought for the right answer. She was enchanting, this woman; he was sure that she was beautiful. Her body was fragrant, supple and yielding; and no mask could hide her charms. Vaguely he knew her, and yet he could not recall where they had met before. Surely he should have remembered. He was calling to mind all the women of the Court.

  ‘I must remind you, Sire. Do you remember a certain rainy day in the forest of Sénart?’

  ‘Ah!’ cried Louis. ‘I have it now. You were my charming hostess.’ He was melancholy for a moment, remembering that then Madame de Châteauroux had been with him; but she had been rather tiresome, and he had wanted to know more of the châtelaine of the house near the forest. He was trying now to recall her name. ‘It was so good of you,’ he went on, ‘to give us shelter.’

  ‘Sire, it was the happiest day of my life.’

  He could see her gleaming eyes through the mask. She flattered, but in a charming, innocent way. He was delighted with her and now, remembering her, he need not fear that when the mask was removed it would disclose some flaw. The young woman of the woods had been one of the prettiest he had ever seen.

  ‘I admired your carriages so much,’ he told her.

  ‘So Your Majesty noticed them!’

  ‘How could I fail to do so?’

  ‘Had I known . . .’

  ‘That would have been the happiest day of your life,’ he said lightly and mockingly. Then he saw the faint flush on her neck and added: ‘Forgive me. I . . . but meant to joke.’

  ‘Your Majesty would ask pardon of me!’

  She was certainly enchanting. How different she would be from dear Madame de Châteauroux or Madame de Vintimille! More of the nature of Madame de Mailly, but a thousand times prettier.

  He said: ‘Tell me, how is it you are here tonight?’

  ‘Monsieur Lenormant de Tourneheim procured the invitation for me.’

  ‘I feel very pleased with Monsieur Lenormant de Tourneheim.’

  ‘Oh . . .’ she paused and her body seemed to droop into sadness.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  ‘I was remembering that Your Majesty is the most courteous man in France. I was foolish enough to think that the kind things you have said to me were for me . . . only for me.’

  He touched her hand lightly. ‘If you thought that they were for you only . . . tell me, would this be? . . .’

  She burst out laughing; it was delightful, spontaneous laughter and it showed her perfect, white teeth.

  She lifted her head suddenly and he saw the beautiful neck, white as milk, strong yet graceful. She said boldly: ‘Yes, it would be the happiest night of my life.’

  Others had heard the laughter and Louis became aware that many were watching them. He was reluctant to commit himself. He knew who she was. Their adventure could go no farther tonight, as he must remain at the ball until the end, which would not be until morning.

  He said: ‘The time has come for me to remove my mask and go among the guests.’

  Then he left her.

  He took off his mask, and the company remained silent for a few seconds before the bowing and curtseying began.

  ‘I give the order to unmask,’ said Louis.

  Everyone obeyed and the dancers turned to look at each other with cries of astonishment, both feigned and real.

  ‘I pray you, carry on with your pleasure,’ continued Louis as, waving his hand and smiling, he turned to speak to a lovely woman whom he complimented on her costume.

  Then he strolled among the guests, stopping to talk here and there, but usually with the women, the most charming or the most beautiful.

  She saw him coming towards her, and held her breath with trepidation. It was so much easier to talk to him wearing a mask, now she was afraid, afraid of taking one false step which might be an end of the dream.

  He was smiling when he saw her as though he was seeking her alone in the vast crowd. Yet she was wise enough to know that was the secret of his charm – whether it was exerted for the benefit of the humblest soldier on the battlefield or the most ambitious woman at Versailles.

  ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘your costume too . . . it is charming.’

  Her legs trembled as she curtsied to the ground. Was it too deep a curtsey? Was it the way women curtsied at Versailles? Versailles was full of pitfalls for those who had never learned its etiquette. She must take care.

  ‘You are a dangerous huntress,’ he said lightly. ‘I believe your arrows could wound . . . mortally.’

  Those standing near laughed lightly, and she, wondering afterwards whether she did it on purpose or whether it was an accident, dropped her little lace handkerchief to the floor. It fell at the King’s feet.

  Louis looked at it and stooping picked it up. He smiled and tossed it to her. Then he passed on.

  Those close by exchanged glances. Was it a gesture? Did it mean something? The King to pick up the woman’s handkerchief . . . and to throw it to her in that manner! It was like an invitation . . . given and accepted.

  Could it be that the King this night had really chosen his new mistress?

  She could scarcely wait for her carriage to take her home. Madame Poisson had not gone to bed. How could she on such an occasion? She was anxiously waiting to hear what had occurred.

  She embraced her daughter. ‘Oh, but you are lovely . . . lovely! I’ll swear there was not any lady at the ball half as beautiful.’ She looked into her daughter’s shining eyes. ‘Well, my love?’

  ‘He danced with me. He talked to me. He seemed as though he liked me.’

  ‘And he suggested that you should go to the Palace?’

  Jeanne-Antoinette shook her head dolefully.

  ‘That’s how it is done,’ said Madame Poisson. ‘There is a supper party in one of the little rooms. Just one or two guests and then, after the party, he waves his hand and they disappear. The two of you are left alone together. Are you sure he didn’t say anything about a supper party?’

  ‘Yes, Maman.’

  Madame Poisson lifted her shoulders. ‘Well, the fortress wasn’t captured in a day.’

  ‘In a day! We have been fifteen years preparing for the capture.’

  ‘But he liked you, did he not?’

  ‘I swear he did.’

  ‘Come, let me comb your hair. You must see him again soon. He is a man who would acquire the habit of seeing a woman and want to go on seeing her.’

  She helped her daughter to bed, and there she lay, her eyes brilliant with reminiscence, her lovely hair spread out on the pillow.

  If he could only see her now, thought Madame de Poisson. Morceau du roi! There never was a better.

  It only showed, said Madame Poisson, that it was foolish to despair, for next morning, a carriage drew up outside the Hôtel de Gesvres and a man alighted.

  He asked for Madame d’Etioles, and when, in the company of her mother, Jeanne-Antoinette received him, he told her that his name was Le Bel and that he was one of the King’s principal valets de chambre.

  ‘You are invited, Madame,’ he said, ‘to join a supper party which His Majesty is giving after the ball at the Hôtel-de-Ville. It is a small party.’

  ‘I am honoured,’ said Jeanne-Antoinette.

  And when the King’s messenger had gone, she and Madame Poisson looked at each other for a second in silence; then they put their arms about each other in a tight hug.

  Their laughter verged on the hysterical. This was the dream, which had begun in the fortune-teller’s tent, come true.

  ‘There is no doubt what this means!’ cried Madame Poisson at length, extricating herself. ‘And there is much to do. You must have a new gown. Rose-coloured, I think. We must get to work at once. What a blessing Charles-Guillaume is away on business.’

>   Jeanne-Antoinette paused in her joy, which seemed to be touched with something like delirium; she had forgotten Charles-Guillaume who loved her with a passion which his uncle had likened to madness.

  But she had always told him that she could only be a faithful wife until the King claimed her. There was no avoiding her destiny.

  The ball at the Hôtel-de-Ville was very different from that which had taken place at Versailles. The people of Paris had determined to take a more active part in the celebrations, and they stormed the building and danced among the nobility.

  Jeanne-Antoinette, accompanied by Lenormant and her mother, was alarmed. The Dauphin and his bride were present but they decided to leave as early as possible, and so rowdy had the company grown that no one noticed their departure.

  On the road to Versailles the two royal carriages met. The Dauphin called a halt and, getting out of his, went to that in which the King sat.

  ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I advise you not to go on to the Hôtel-de-Ville. The people have broken in. It is like a madhouse.’

  The King smiled. ‘Where is the Dauphine?’

  ‘In her carriage.’

  ‘Then take her back to Versailles. I shall go on. For, my son, you have your business at Versailles to attend to; mine tonight takes me into Paris.’

  The King, unrecognised and accompanied by Richelieu, pushed his way through the crowd. Eventually he saw her sitting with her mother and Lenormant. He sent Richelieu to them.

  Richelieu went to their table and bowed.

  ‘Madame,’ said the Duc, ‘I believe you await a friend.’

  ‘It is so,’ began Jeanne-Antoinette.

  Richelieu swept his eyes over Madame Poisson’s ample but still attractive form.

  ‘His Majesty eagerly awaits you. Pray consider his impatience and come at once.’

  ‘Go along now,’ said Madame Poisson. ‘We will go home. May good fortune attend you.’

  ‘Good fortune already awaits the lady,’ murmured Richelieu.

  Louis caught her arm as she approached. ‘Let us leave here quickly. We sup near this place.’

  Richelieu accompanied them to their private room, and then Louis said: ‘Your presence, my friend, is no longer needed.’

  Thus it was that Jeanne-Antoinette found that the fortune promised her by the gipsy was at last beginning to materialise.

  At dawn she was taken back to the Hôtel de Gesvres in the royal carriage and, after a tender farewell, the King left her and returned to Versailles.

  So far, so good, but what now?

  She need not have worried. Monsieur Le Bel called later that day to bring her an invitation for Madame d’Etioles to sup in the petits appartements at the Palace of Versailles.

  Madame Poisson was gleeful. ‘You must keep Charles-Guillaume in the provinces for a while,’ she told Lenormant. ‘He is a very jealous husband. Who knows what indiscretion he might commit if he discovered what was happening!’

  So Lenormant and Madame Poisson conspired to further the romance between the King and Jeanne-Antoinette.

  Every time he saw Jeanne-Antoinette Louis became a little more enamoured of her. Not since the days of Madame de Mailly had he been so loved for himself.

  Jeanne-Antoinette was aware that his friends, and in particular the Duc de Richelieu who did not seem to like her, perhaps because he had not had a part in introducing her to the King, did not pay the respect which she felt was her due. She was not of the Court. She could not appear at any important function because she had never been presented. His friends saw her as one of the King’s light-o’-loves who made the journey to his apartments by way of the back stairs.

  If this procedure continued, the King himself would soon be accepting her as such; and that was not part of the destiny of which she had dreamed.

  She must be of the Court, accepted as the King’s mistress. Only then could her dream come true.

  One day she said to him: ‘Sire, my husband will soon be returning. He is passionately jealous. I cannot come to the supper parties when he returns.’

  Louis was astonished. It was not in the nature of husbands, he knew, to debar their wives from administering to the King’s pleasure. But she was astonishing, this little bourgeoise. Dainty as she was, and so sharp-witted, occasionally she amused because she was so different from others.

  ‘You must leave your husband for me,’ he said.

  Now he was aware of her dignity. ‘But, Sire, should I give up my home, my standing for . . . for . . . a few weeks of pleasure such as this?’

  The King was surprised. She was so humbly in love with him, so utterly adoring, that he could not believe he had heard aright. Then he thought he understood. In her bourgeois way she had set her standards, as the Court had at Versailles. To be presented at Court, accepted as the King’s mistress, would give her every reason to leave her husband; but not if she were treated like a woman who might be smuggled up the back stairs for an hour or so.

  Louis saw her point. There was an etiquette of every stratum of society and he, who had accepted it at Versailles, must respect it in other walks of life.

  He looked at her. She was very pretty indeed; she was very fond of him he believed, and not only because he was the King. He in his turn was delighted with her. She was well educated. He thought of Adelaide and Anne-Henriette, and those girls of his who were still at Fontevrault. This pretty little bourgeoise had received a far better education than any of his daughters. She was more clever than they. The only thing she lacked was an understanding of Palace manners, which could be taught her in a week or two. And then . . . what an enchantress she would be! He would defy any woman at Court to compete with her then.

  Why should not her education be undertaken? He could do a great deal towards it himself.

  A presentation! A worthy title! Then he could have the delightful woman with him on all occasions.

  He made up his mind.

  ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘you must not go back to your husband. We will make you into a lady of the Court.’

  ‘And then . . . I may be with you . . . always?’

  He took her hand and kissed it.

  She knew what this meant. She was to be brought to Court; many honours would be hers. She would be the acknowledged mistress of the King.

  Her eyes were gleaming with emotion. Her lips moved.

  ‘I will say it for you,’ said Louis. ‘This is the happiest night of our lives!’

  Charles-Guillaume came to the Hôtel de Gesvres in high spirits. He had been long away, and was longing to be with his wife and two children – but most of all with Jeanne-Antoinette.

  When he entered the house he was greeted by his uncle, who looked at him solemnly.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘Come along in,’ said Monsieur de Tourneheim. ‘There is something we have to say to you.’

  ‘Jeanne-Antoinette . . . she is well?’

  His uncle nodded.

  ‘The children then?’

  ‘They are also well.’

  He led him into a small parlour where the Poissons were waiting for him.

  It was Madame Poisson who explained. ‘Jeanne-Antoinette has gone away,’ she said.

  ‘Gone away! But where?’

  ‘She is at Versailles.’

  ‘Versailles!’

  ‘With the King.’

  ‘But I don’t understand.’

  ‘She always explained, did she not?’ cried Madame Poisson fiercely. ‘It is no fault of hers. It is her destiny. She is to stay at Versailles with the King.’

  ‘But this is fantastic. It cannot be true.’

  ‘It is quite true,’ said François. ‘Our Jeanne-Antoinette has become the King’s whore.’

  His wife turned on him. ‘Don’t say such things. She is to be acknowledged as his mistress.’

  ‘I’m a plain man with a plain way of saying what I mean,’ said François.

  ‘She must come back,’ cried Charles-Guillaume. ‘She must c
ome back at once. What of me . . . what of the children? . . .’

  ‘This was bound to happen,’ said Madame Poisson. ‘She always told you.’

  ‘That! It was a joke.’

  ‘There is nothing you can do about it,’ said François. He jerked his finger at his wife and Lenormant. ‘They arranged it. They always meant to.’

  Madame Poisson folded her arms across her breasts. What has to be will be,’ she said. ‘There’s no saying nay to it.’

  ‘My Jeanne-Antoinette . . .’ murmured the anguished husband.

  Then he shut himself into the bedroom he had shared with her, and he would not come out when they sought to comfort him.

  He wrote to her: ‘Jeanne-Antoinette, come back. This is your home. I am your husband. Your children are here . . . Come back to us.’

  Distracted he waited for her reply. She was kind, he knew. She would not ignore that anguished appeal.

  And she did reply.

  For the rest of her life, she said, she would be with the King. Neither of them could have prevented this thing which had happened to them. It had been ordained. When she had been only nine years old she had known that it would come to pass. Never, never would she leave the King.

  With the coming of the spring it was necessary for Louis to return to his armies, and while he was away he wished Jeanne-Antoinette to learn the intricacies of Court Etiquette, so that when he came back again she should join him at the Court, be presented, and henceforth be known throughout France as the woman with whom he had chosen to share his life.

  Her mother and Monsieur de Tourneheim made the arrangements, while poor broken-hearted Charles-Guillaume was dispatched to the South of France on business, that he might not distress them with his misery.

  It was inadvisable to remain in Paris because the people had become aware of the existence of Madame d’Etioles, and they were not very kind to the King’s mistresses when he was not at hand to protect them. Therefore to the Château d’Etioles went Jeanne-Antoinette.

  But how different was life there now from what it had been in those days when she had sought to attract the King’s attention by her sorties into the forest.

  Now courtiers flocked to the château to cement their friendship with a lady who was clearly going to be a power in the land.