Louis the Well-Beloved Page 16

  Louis’ grief subsided into melancholy. Madame de Mailly would have given him comfort which she well knew how to give, but he denied himself this.

  From now on, he had decided, he would change his mode of life. He was going to live virtuously. Her death had shown him what he must do. Had she not always influenced his actions?

  ‘Glad I am, my dear,’ he said to Madame de Mailly, ‘of your friendship, but the relationship between us must not go beyond that. From now on I shall abstain from all fleshly pleasures. I hope that by so doing I may expiate her sins . . . and my own.’

  Thus passed several weeks at Saint-Léger.

  Chapter VII

  DUCHESSE DE CHTEAUROUX

  A penitent King, in the eyes of such rakes as the Duc de Richelieu, meant a dull Court. Moreover ambitious men, such as the Duc had time to be when he was not indulging in his amours, had always dreamed of promoting some woman of their choice to the position of King’s mistress, thus ensuring special favours for themselves.

  The celibacy of a man such as Louis could not be of long duration. Louis did not know himself if he imagined it could be. But Louis, in many ways, was taking a long time to grow up. His natural innocence was so deep-rooted that only a long life of depravity could destroy it.

  Louis had a fondness for the Nesle girls. The Marquis de Nesle had had five daughters; the family was of the old nobility and, like so many in that category, had outlived its wealth. It seemed strange that these women should appeal in a sensual way to the King. Neither Madame de Mailly nor Madame de Vintimille had been beauties; yet for years the former had remained the King’s only mistress, only to be displaced by her ugly sister.

  There is some quality in these Nesle girls which only Louis has discovered, thought Richelieu; and he considered the rest of the family. Of the three remaining sisters one was ugly, even more so than Madame de Vintimille had been, for she lacked her extraordinary vitality. She was Diane-Adelaide, the youngest of the family. Then there was Madame de Flavacourt who had some beauty and a great deal of charm. But the one on whom the attention of the Duc de Richelieu became fixed was the widowed Madame de la Tournelle, for she was a beauty – the only beauty among the Nesle girls. Her complexion was dazzlingly clear, her wide eyes deep blue in colour, her face perfect in its contours; and above all she had a grace and elegance which were outstanding even at Court.

  Richelieu considered her. She was his cousin and he knew her to be the mistress of his nephew, the Duc d’Aiguillon, and that the two of them were passionately in love with each other; so enamoured was the Duc that he was contemplating marriage.

  Marie-Anne de la Tournelle could be, thought Richelieu, an ambitious woman; she was also a clever one. At the moment her love for the weak but handsome Duc d’Aiguillon obscured her judgement, but Richelieu believed that if she made herself agreeable to the King he would be ready to desert his life of piety, and the Court would grow lively again.

  Why should he not be interested in the young widow? She was beautiful and she had the mysterious quality of being a Nesle.

  Walking with the King at Saint-Léger he talked of her.

  ‘My nephew gives me some concern, Sire,’ he said. ‘He hopes to marry Madame de la Tournelle.’

  ‘You do not approve of the match?’ asked Louis.

  Richelieu was momentarily thoughtful. ‘It is good enough.’

  The King’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Is she not the sister of . . . of . . . ?’

  ‘Of our dear Madame de Vintimille, yes. I wonder she did not bring the young woman to your notice. But perhaps she wisely did not. Madame de Vintimille was noted for her wisdom.’

  ‘Why was she wise not to do so?’

  ‘Ah, Sire, one glance at this fair creature would suffice to tell you that. She is the most beautiful woman we have seen at Court for a long time.’

  ‘Madame de Vintimille was wise enough to know there was no such reason why she should not introduce her sister,’ said the King coldly.

  ‘No, Sire – indeed no. But those who love can be jealous, even when it is ridiculous to be so. Do you not agree? And Madame de la Tournelle is . . . quite enchanting.’

  ‘Why are you set against the match with d’Aiguillon?’

  ‘The boy is my nephew and, rake as I am, I would prefer not to be tempted to seduce his wife!’

  ‘I am surprised,’ said the King, ‘that you should consider such obstacles.’

  ‘One likes to set oneself a standard, Sire. But the lady . . . oh, she is enchanting.’

  Louis was thoughtful. It was long that he had lived in celibacy; and he had begun to imagine a woman who might compensate him for his loss: she would show the devotion of Madame de Mailly, the vitality of Madame de Vintimille – and if she were beautiful in addition, how fortunate he would be. But where find such a paragon? Perhaps in the Nesle family which had given him so much?

  Richelieu called on Madame de la Tournelle. She was inclined to be suspicious, believing he was eager to foil her romance with his nephew.

  ‘Salutations to the most beautiful lady at Court,’ said Richelieu.

  Marie-Anne de la Tournelle inclined her head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

  ‘And my nephew is the luckiest man in France. I understand his devotion, but frankly, Madame, if you will forgive the impertinence, your choice is a little surprising.’

  ‘I find it difficult to forgive your impertinence,’ she said icily.

  ‘Nevertheless you will. Aiguillon – he is a good fellow, a simple fellow at heart . . . but one would have thought that a lady of such grace and beauty would have looked beyond him.’

  She was alert. She had seen her sisters installed at Versailles as King’s mistresses; she had thought Louise-Julie a fool, but she had admired Pauline-Félicité. If she were ever in a similar position she would imitate the latter rather than the former.

  Being ambitious, having an imagination, it was impossible not to have imagined herself in the same position as her sisters. Was Richelieu suggesting that, if she made a bid to step into her sisters’ shoes, she would have his help?

  ‘My sisters looked high,’ she said; ‘and what did they gain? I am not the only one who is sorry for Madame de Mailly; and Madame de Vintimille is beyond pity and envy.’

  ‘Madame de Vintimille was unlucky. Madame de Mailly foolish. If you should find yourself in a similar position, you need be neither unlucky nor foolish.’

  ‘Good day to you,’ she said. ‘I see you have determined to separate me from the Duc d’Aiguillon. That, Monsieur, you shall not do.’

  Richelieu’s words had impressed Louis. He could not live the life of a monk for ever. His thoughts dwelt continually on Madame de la Tournelle. Surely if anyone could make him forget his sorrow it would be the sister of his dead mistress.

  He returned to Versailles and, when he saw her, he, who had abstained from feminine company so long, became obsessed by one idea: to make Madame de la Tournelle his mistress.

  Marie-Anne found herself in a difficult position. She was ambitious; she saw no end to the honours which would come her way if she became the King’s mistress. On the other hand she had the humiliating example of her eldest sister before her and, oddly enough, she was still deeply enamoured of the Duc d’Aiguillon.

  Louis sought her company on all possible occasions. He began by talking of his devotion to Madame de Vintimille. To this she listened gravely but refused to acknowledge that he was making advances to her. She wept over her sister’s death and told him how deeply she regretted it, making it quite clear to Louis that she had no wish to take that sister’s place.

  Louis was nonplussed. Most of the women of the Court had quite clearly shown their eagerness to comfort him.

  Strangely enough she appeared to be endeavouring to ingratiate herself with the Queen, conducting herself with the utmost decorum and eagerly seeking opportunities of being in attendance on Marie. On the other hand when invitations to join supper parties in petits appartements came
her way she found excuses to avoid doing so.

  The more she appeared to elude him, the greater did Louis’ passion grow.

  ‘I fear,’ he told Richelieu, ‘that Madame de la Tournelle is determined to remain faithful to the Duc d’Aiguillon.’

  ‘Does it not show, Sire, what a disinterested person she is – to choose my poor nephew when she might be the friend of Your Majesty? Such affection as she gives would be well worth winning.’

  ‘She reminds me of Madame de Vintimille,’ mused Louis.

  ‘Ah, there is the fire of that dear lady living on in her sister.’

  Louis said: ‘Is there no way of tempting her?’

  ‘She is beyond temptation, Sire. The only way would be to show her the worthlessness of Aiguillon. Alas, he is such a worthy young man. How tiresome of him!’

  Richelieu looked slyly at the King, wondering how long he was prepared to wait for Madame de la Tournelle.

  Richelieu decided to take matters into his own hands. D’Aiguillon might be a worthy young man, but he was human. If he were sufficiendy tempted he would surely succumb.

  He decided on action, and sent for a very beautiful woman who had been his own mistress and who was eager to profit from the benefit his influence could bring to her and her family.

  She came, and, when she asked what he wanted, he told her quite simply: ‘I wish you to tempt my nephew to write you an indiscreet letter.’

  ‘But how?’ she asked.

  ‘He is young; he is susceptible; and you are beautiful. If you write to him – not only once but many times – telling him that you have fallen madly in love with him, you are certain to receive some response.’

  ‘And when I do?’

  ‘I should like you to obtain a letter from him in which he agrees to visit you. It should be in no uncertain terms of course.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Duke’s ex-mistress. ‘I will do my best.’

  ‘I know my dear, that you will succeed. The young man is not a complete boor. He cannot fail to find you . . . irresistible, as I have done in the past, and as so many will in the future.’

  ‘And what reward shall be mine – apart from the amorous attentions of Monsieur le Duc d’Aiguillon?’ asked the lady.

  ‘You shall be presented at Court. Presented by the Duc de Richelieu. There, my pretty, is that not reward enough? For if you are clever you might find yourself a very exalted lover indeed. But first, of course, you must bring me what I need.’

  Richelieu was not disappointed.

  It was only some weeks after his interview with his ex-mistress when he was able to take a letter to the King.

  ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘I plead a private audience.’

  Louis complied with his wishes and, when they were alone, the Duc produced the letter.

  ‘It is from d’Aiguillon to . . . to whom?’

  ‘To his latest inamorata.’

  ‘Madame de la Tournelle knows of this? . . .’

  ‘Not yet. I thought Your Majesty would enjoy the pleasure of showing it to her.’

  The King read the letter. It was written in no uncertain terms. The Duc d’Aiguillon was sorry that he had ignored the lady’s previous letters, but she must not despair. He was going to see her and then, he believed, he could relieve her of her sadness and wipe away her tears.

  ‘You arranged this?’ Louis accused the Duc.

  Richelieu smiled his lewd smile. ‘Sire, I could no longer endure to see your wretchedness. It grieved me even more than the folly of the lady. Shall I have her brought to your presence?’

  Louis considered this. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Send her to me.’

  Madame de la Tournelle came at the King’s command, looking very lovely in a gown of lilac-coloured satin; and Louis exulted at the sight of her.

  When she knelt before him he raised her. ‘Madame de la Tournelle,’ he said, ‘I have long sought your friendship . . . your affection . . . and it has been denied me.’

  ‘Sire,’ she replied. ‘I am a foolish woman who cannot govern her own feelings.’

  ‘I admire you for it, Madame.’

  ‘And I thank Your Majesty for the indulgence you have shown me.’

  Louis inclined his head. ‘I fear, Madame, that you have been betrayed by one whom you trusted most.’

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘Read this.’

  As she read it the flush which grew in her cheeks made her more beautiful than ever, and her blue eyes flamed with anger.

  ‘You see by whom the letter is written?’

  ‘By the Duc d’Aiguillon.’

  ‘And not to you, Madame; although you doubtless believed that he would not write such a letter to anyone but yourself.’

  She crunched the paper in her hand.

  ‘I have made a mistake, Sire.’

  He would have put his arms about her, but she withdrew and he saw that she was trembling with misery or rage – he was not sure which.

  ‘Sire,’ she pleaded, ‘have I your permission to retire?’

  Louis smiled tenderly. ‘I would always have you do as you wish,’ he told her.

  Marie-Anne de la Tournelle paced up and down her room. Her anger against the Duc d’Aiguillon was great but her mind was not entirely on her lover. For a long time she had been tempted by the thought of becoming the King’s mistress, and had often called herself a fool for refusing such a triumph. Now it seemed that her mind had been made up for her. Her affaire with the Duc d’Aiguillon was over. Love had betrayed her; she was now at liberty to devote herself to ambition.

  She sat down at her toilette table and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She could be called one of the most beautiful women at Court; at the same time the face which looked back at her was not the face of a fool.

  Thinking of the future she could cease to think of d’Aiguillon. She saw herself as a figure of great power. France was at war and there was much suffering in the country. What if she, through the King, ruled France? What if her name were handed down through the years to come as the woman who made France great?

  She might make of the King a great soldier, leading his armies to victory. She would rid the country of the Cardinal who should have retired from Court life years ago. The Comte de Maurepas was another who should be dismissed. He was not suitable to hold a high post in the government of the country. He was nothing more than an elegant jester; he was far too frivolous for politics. His satires and epigrams were amusing enough, but one did not ask for that sort of cleverness in a minister. The state of the country was not a matter for joking.

  The more she considered what her new role might be, the more delighted she was with it. It was so soothing to contemplate this, because doing so she could feel less humiliation at the deceitfulness of d’Aiguillon. She could even become secretly pleased that he had failed her, so that now she could take the path which she felt had been ordained for her. She could dedicate herself to ambition and to France.

  One of her women came to tell her that the Duc de Richelieu was asking to be brought to her.

  She said: ‘Do not bring him to me. I will go to him.’

  She went to the room in which he waited; he was at the window looking out on the gardens, and swung round as she entered, and bowed ironically, she imagined, yet triumphantly.

  ‘Well, Madame,’ he said. ‘So my nephew is exposed in all his perfidy.’

  ‘Let us not discuss him,’ she said. ‘He is of the past.’

  ‘I have always known that sound good sense lay hidden beneath your feeling for that young man. Clear away the mists of passion, and there it lies . . . with its limitless horizons.’

  ‘Have you come to offer your advice?’ she asked.

  ‘So you would take my advice? How clever of you – you who are young and beautiful – to take the advice of one who is not young and not beautiful.’

  ‘Is that clever?’ she asked. ‘I want your advice about matters which I do not understand.’

  He nodded. ‘You have not made the con
quest very easy for His Majesty,’ he mused. ‘It has made the chase longer and more exciting and – happily, owing to the disaffection of my wicked nephew – not too fatiguing. It is well to remember that that is how the chase should be. It must be exciting and of sufficient duration. But never, never must the hunter become too tired to continue. You have two examples before you. Madame de Mailly was very foolish – there was no chase at all. Why hunt the tame hart? Madame de Vintimille . . . Oh, she died so soon. Who knows . . . His Majesty might have begun to tire of her tantrums . . . given time.’

  Madame de la Tournelle nodded in agreement. ‘Neither of them was possessed of physical charm.’

  ‘Yet even beauty can pall. There is one point I would stress: Insist on recognition. Do not let this affaire be a secret one. That would be beneath your dignity. Insist that you are proclaimed maîtresse-en-titre. Your status should not be that of a light-o’-love.’

  ‘I had thought of that.’

  Richelieu nodded. ‘I can see, Madame, that when you asked my advice it was not that you needed it but because you would be kind to one who adores you and wishes you all success.’

  ‘This also I have considered,’ she said: ‘If there should be children, they must be legitimised. As for my financial position . . .’

  ‘It would be undignified for you to be forced to consider money. Therefore it should be placed at your disposal as is the air you breathe.’

  ‘I should need rank . . .’

  ‘A Duchesse . . . no less.’

  ‘There are certain people whom I should not wish to remain at Court.’

  ‘The Cardinal is very old. It is unbecoming that a nonagenarian should be at the head of affairs.’

  Marie-Anne de la Tournelle smiled sagely. ‘I see, Monsieur le Duc,’ she said, ‘that your opinion coincides with my own.’

  ‘Then,’ said Richelieu, ‘you and I, Madame, are friends. There is only one relationship which could bring me more delight.’

  Her glance was a cold rebuke. Inwardly Richelieu grimaced. Already, he thought, she gives herself the airs of the first lady of the Court. One must tread warily with Madame de la Tournelle, but she will not forget the friend who has made her elevation possible.