Athenais (17 page)

So anxious was the royal governess to conceal the existence of her charges that she had herself bled before her social engagements to prevent herself from blushing if she were asked any difficult questions. She grew thin and exhausted, but she executed her strategems so well that no one suspected the reason — not even the nosey Mme. de Sévigné, with whom she frequently dined. But this complicated arrangement was far from ideal, and when Athénaïs’s third child by the King, the Comte de Vexin was born in 1672, it was clear that a proper establishment was needed.

A pretty house (which may still be seen today) was purchased on the Rue Vaugirard, near the Luxembourg Gardens, in what was then a quiet, leafy suburb. It was secluded, with a large walled garden where the children could play in private. After taking up residence here, Mme. Scarron virtually disappeared from society, though she did continue to see a few old friends from the Hôtel d’Albret, including Mme. de Sévigné and Mme. de Lafayette, both of whom remarked on her new carriage and horses, and the magnificent materials of her dresses. Mme. Scarron’s wardrobe was as elegantly understated as Athénaïs’s was flamboyant: she favored plain, dark dresses and discreet jewelry, but now the dresses were beautifully made in the most sumptuous fabrics. Paris society was very curious about Mme. Scarron’s new lifestyle which, according to one of Mme. de Sévigné’s friends, was “astonishing. Not a single soul has any communication with her. I have received a letter from her, but take care not to boast about it, for fear of being overwhelmed with questions.”
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Many of the rumors which circulated were less than flattering to Mme. Scarron’s virtue, which must have been particularly galling for such a woman, but she maintained her reserve, even going so far as to take in another little girl, the child of a lady-in-waiting, to allay any suspicions. And soon Athénaïs had two more daughters of her own by Louis, Mlle. de Nantes, born in 1673, and Mlle. de Tours, born in 1674, to join the household.
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The eldest child, born in 1669, died during the Vaugirard years. Athénaïs’s reaction to the death is not recorded, but it may be imagined from her response to the loss of her three other children who died young. Her daughter by Montespan, Marie-Christine, never reached her teens, and the little Comte de Vexin died aged eleven in 1683, outliving his little sister Mlle. de Tours, who only reached the age of seven, by which time the children had been established at court. Athénaïs wrote movingly to her elder son, the Duc du Maine:

I do not speak to you of my grief, you are naturally too good not to have experienced it for yourself. As for Mlle. de Nantes, she has felt it as deeply as if she were twenty, and has received the visits which the Queen, Madame la Dauphine and all the court have paid her, with marvelous grace. Everyone admires her, but I confess I have paid too dearly for these praises to derive any pleasure from them. Every place where I have seen that poor little one affects me so deeply that I am very glad to undertake a journey which is in itself the most disagreeable that can be imagined, in the hope that the distraction will diminish to some extent the faintness which has not left me since the loss we have sustained.
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In describing her daughter’s fortitude, Athénaïs seems to be trying to bolster her own courage. The letter gives the impression of an effort to contain terrible grief in a measured framework of words. Despite the frequency of infant death in the seventeenth century, there is no reason to suppose that such bereavements were experienced with any less pain than they would be today.

Mme. Scarron grieved with Athénaïs. She was extremely attached to her charges, and loved Du Maine in particular as though he were her own son. Indeed, she was an excellent governess and truly devoted to the children, for whom she cared tenderly. Unfortunately, she often found herself disagreeing on childcare matters with Athénaïs who, on her fleeting visits, would spoil her babies with sweets and keep them up late, disrupting their routine and leaving them fretful and overexcited. Mme. de Montespan’s detractors often seek to prove that among her other crimes she was a bad mother, which certainly was not the case, but it is true that she lacked the governess’s firm patience. Although Athénaïs accepted that her position as mistress, which involved duties as well as perquisites, precluded looking after the children herself, she still felt guilty and frustrated and tended to overcompensate when she did see them. So she often found herself losing her temper with Françoise, whose virtuous reputation seemed like a mute reproach to the immorality of her own life. It must have been hard not to be jealous when the children seemed to respond better to their steady, quiet governess than they did to their distant, glamorous mother, and Athénaïs frequently vented her frustration in passionate tears. She felt the governess’s assumed superiority particularly when she was pregnant. “In God’s name,” she wrote to Françoise of a projected visit to court, “do not make any of your great eyes at me.”
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It is typical of Mme. Scarron’s character that she was able to take the moral high ground with Athénaïs, to whose “sin,” after all, she owed her good fortune. The King was never included in any of this implied disapproval.

Yet Louis did not take to Mme. Scarron at first. Intimidated by intellectuals, he disliked
précieuses
and bluestockings, and he was put off by Mme. Scarron’s frigid reserve. Athénaïs made sure she kept her own displays of intelligence light and amusing, whereas Mme. Scar-ron seemed serious and, perceived through the prism of the court fashion for mocking the
précieuses,
rather ridiculous. Louis referred to her to Athénaïs as “
votre belle esprit,
” “your learned lady.” But gradually, as he got to know his children, he began to appreciate and respect her. Initially he spent very little time with his illegitimate children, but in 1672 the baby boys, the Duc du Maine and the Comte de Vexin, were brought to court for the first time. The nurse came in with them, while Mme. Scarron waited outside.

“Whose children are these?” asked the King.

“They surely belong to the woman who lives with us,” replied the nurse, “if one judges by how upset she is when the least harm comes to any of them.”

“And who do you believe to be their father?”

“I don’t know anything,” said the nurse. “But I imagine that it is a duke or a president of the Parlement.”

The King found the nurse’s ingenuousness hilarious, and he warmed to Mme. Scarron because of the care she took over his children. He came to enjoy her quiet humor and sound good sense, and remarked once that there would be pleasure in being loved by her, as she knew how to love.

It has been argued that Mme. Scarron had laid her plans for the King’s soul — and even that she became his lover — at this early stage, but the latter suggestion is ridiculous. Louis was far too much in love with Athénaïs (and still involved in complications with Louise), to consider another serious attachment, and Mme. Scarron would have accepted nothing less. She was far too calculating to believe that she could hold the King on the strength of a one-night stand — Athénaïs would have chased her out in an instant. Moreover, Mme. Scarron loathed sensuality, and had a pious abhorrence for sex, indeed for any kind of passionate feeling: “Her lips were never touched with fire, and no flame, holy or unholy, ever burned in the depths of her heart.”
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She confessed rather sadly that her mother had never kissed her as a child, so she may always have been uneasy with physical affection. And whatever sexual relationship she had had with Scarron must have destroyed any pleasure she might have taken in lovemaking. Although paralyzed, Scarron had retained the use of his right hand, and, it was rumored in Paris, of another member, and salacious gossip abounded as to the unnatural gratifications he demanded from his young wife. The type of satisfaction Scarron required to accommodate his deficiencies might well have disgusted a sixteen-year-old girl.

Perhaps Françoise Scarron offered up her marital sufferings to God, with whom she was always on excellent terms, and if she took any interest in physical matters it may have been that they offered her a taste of the only pleasure she would ever covet, which was power. She was not particularly interested in personal attachments for any other reason; indeed, her own explanation of her emotions was always rather dismally priggish: “I did not desire to be loved in particular by anybody. I wished my name to be uttered with admiration and respect.” The governess, then, was quietly concerned with her own advancement, which she interpreted as a service to God. As for the King, it would be a long time before his passion for Athénaïs began to wane.

There is ample proof of this in the fact that, in 1673, Louis legitimized his children by Athénaïs. This was a difficult maneuver, because if Montespan chose to exercise his rights, he could cause a terrible scandal. Given Louis’s diplomatic ambitions in Europe, he could hardly be seen to be engaging in litigation against one of his subjects in so delicate a matter. But the King was determined to find a solution, motivated by the desire not only to resolve the legal issue, but to demonstrate his affection for his children and their mother. Athénaïs was equally set on achieving a secure position for her children, and Louis could hardly refuse the reigning mistress what he had already granted the displaced one. Furthermore, Athénaïs knew that the acknowledgment of the children would finally bring her recognition as the official
maîtresse declarée
and, after six years of hiding behind Louise de La Vallière’s petticoats, her ambition was no longer prepared to tolerate an ambiguous role.

A legal precedent had to be found to authorize an act of legitimization in which the mother was not named. Louis’s grandfather, Henri IV, had legitimized two of his bastards by married women, César de Vendôme, the son of Gabrielle d’Estrées, and Antoine de Moiret, son of Jacqueline de Bueil, but he had been able to name the mothers because their marriages, mere contracts of convenience, had been annulled, and no such judgment had as yet dissolved the sacred and legal union of Athénaïs and her husband. M. de Harlay, Louis’s procurer general, suggested a solution. The Duc de Longueville, who had recently perished in battle on the borders of Flanders, had a son from an affair with the wife of the Maréchal de Ferte, and had requested in his will that his mother should pursue the legitimization of this natural grandson, to whom he had left a large fortune. No mention was made of the identity of the child’s mother. The dowager duchess, who adored her lost son, accordingly petitioned the King, who was delighted to grant her request.

Longueville’s will was most fortuitous, since it allowed Louis to establish the necessary legal precedent while appearing to generously grant the dying wish of a hero. So, on 7 September 1673, letters patent were issued to legitimize the child, giving him the title of Chevalier d’Orléans. On 18 December, Mlle. de Nantes, born at Tournai while Athénaïs was following the campaign of 1673, was baptized Louise-Françoise at St. Sulpice. The register of baptism leaves the names of father and mother blank, mentioning only Louis-Auguste, the baby’s elder brother, the Duc du Maine, as godfather, and, extraordinarily, Louise de la Beaume le Blanc, Duchesse de La Vallière, as godmother. The rather brutal use of Louise as a cover to divert attention from the child’s maternity is explained by the fact that on 20 December, letters patent were issued to legitimize all three children. Presumably, it was thought necessary to conceal the King’s intentions lest Montespan intervene at the eleventh hour.

In the documents, Louis merely announces that “the affection with which Nature inspires Us for our children and many other reasons which serve to considerably augment these sentiments within us compel us to recognize Louis-Auguste, Louis-César and Louise-Françoise.” The children were given their official titles, but Athénaïs had to remain disguised by the phrase “many other reasons.” It was hardly on a par with the effusive compliments dished out to “our well-beloved Louise de La Vallière.” But if her exclusion rankled, Athénaïs still had much to be pleased about. There could be no doubt now that the King regarded her as his official mistress, and her children had had their royal blood acknowledged. As a woman who took delight in the flimsiness of words, she could not have been too distressed by the verbal precautions her lover had taken.

It is interesting to note, given the polygamous model on which Louis established his incoming and outgoing mistresses, that Mme. Scarron did not arrive at court until 1674, the year that Louise de La Vallière finally left it, though of course at the time no one foresaw the role she would come to play in the King’s life. The presentation of the children at court was delayed until the Montespan separation bill, which was still creeping through the Châtelet, had been decided in favor of Athénaïs. The Duc du Maine made a discreet appearance on 5 January that year, witnessed by Mme. de Sévigné, but the formal introduction of the children was not made until July, when Du Maine, the Comte de Vexin and Mlle. de Nantes came to live at court under Mme. Scarron’s care. Mme. de Sévigné, who had perhaps observed the pattern in Louis’s habits, predicted that her arrival would be a source of conflict. “The Dew and the Torrent are bound close together by the need for concealment, and every day they keep company with Fire and Ice [Louis and Mme. Scarron]. This cannot continue long without an explosion.”

Louise, meanwhile, had finally realized that the King was never going to return to her, and her conviction that she should devote the rest of her life to God had been growing steadily. Her instinct for dramatic gestures of penitence was still strong, and instead of taking the advice of Louis’s cousin Mademoiselle that she enter a convent simply as a lady boarder, Louise decided to apply for admission to the Carmelite order on the Rue St. Jacques. The Carmelites were one of the strictest of the conventual orders, and Louise’s desire to be accepted there formed part of her plan for repentance, since the nuns traditionally refused to accept any woman who did not have a spotless reputation. Louise had visited the convent in disguise, but her companion had accidentally addressed her by her real name, whereupon the pleasant demeanor of the nuns had become cold and disapproving. All the more reason, then, for Louise to force her entry, in an ironic display of pride, into a community that would have no truck with such a public sinner. The choice of the Carmelites was a strong reproach to Athénaïs: if Louise deemed her sin so grave as to require incarceration in a silent convent, where she would go barefoot and live on alms to atone for it, how much greater, she seemed to be suggesting, was the sin of the double adulteress?