Athenais (25 page)

Athénaïs’s taste was paramount in sartorial matters. French court fashion is divided into three distinct periods during the reign of Louis XIV, of which the second, and most magnificent, is directly attributed to the influence of Mme. de Montespan. She had already introduced the
hurluberlu
hairstyle, as copied by Marie-Thérèse, and, as her delight in Langlée’s gift shows, Athénaïs had a taste for sumptuous fabrics. The richness and overdecoration of the fashions of the 1670s bears witness to her love of lace, shimmering fabrics and gold embroidery. Formal dresses were tightly corseted beneath a low boat neck, with an underskirt and an overskirt, or
manteau.
The first was often made of embroidered taffeta, with the
manteau
looped up on either side of the hips like a pair of curtains, descending into a train behind, whose length varied according to the social rank of the wearer. In 1676, two new fashions appeared:
falbalas,
flounces of fabric ornamenting the bodice of the dress, and painted gauzes or
transparents,
translucent colored materials embroidered with lace or velvet and worn over a plain black gown. Predictably, the Prince de Condé addressed a letter to the court ladies from Chantilly suggesting that the transparents would be more beautiful if worn over bare skin, but Mme. de Sévigné doubted it. Another fashion introduced by Athénaïs was the less formal
déshabillé,
a style prefigured by the
robe battante
she had devised to conceal (or announce) her pregnancies. This was a more relaxed, indoor ensemble consisting of a tunic worn over the skirt, and a taffeta scarf to cover the hair. The
déshabillé
was comfortable as well as being loose and seductive, and Athénaïs adopted it for entertaining in her own apartments. Ever conscious of Louis’s pleasure, she realized that the
déshabillé
was also easy to remove in private, and made her body more accessible than the complicated petticoats and lacings that took the help of a maid to get in and out of.

The enduring role of fashion in French culture began to take shape at Versailles, where it represented a symbolic weapon in the battle of etiquette and appearances to which the old aristocracy was being systematically reduced. A longer train or a deeper lace cuff could signify success in the microcosm of the court, where the traditional diffusion of wealth and power was giving way to the King’s new order of autocratic government assisted by men whose families were not drawn from the ancient nobility. The stays worn by an aristocratic woman beneath her heavy court dress were tighter and stiffer than those of a middle-class woman, creating “a proud, imposing, theatrical form, manifesting the qualities of a soul and the virtues of a state.”
⁴
One reason why Athénaïs’s
déshabillés
were found rather racy was the impression given by such an “undress” of the morals of its wearer. La Palatine was to complain that her daughter-in-law, the Duchesse de Chartres, demonstrated her lazy and dissolute character by refusing to have herself laced up tightly enough. The corset represented the cultivated as opposed to the natural, social control as opposed to permissiveness. For the
dévot
party, Athénaïs’s languorous silks were the outward manifestation of her sexual power over Louis, and it is no accident that during the subsequent reign of La Maintenon, fashion became more sober, monochrome and buttoned up.

For both men and women, footwear was symmetrical, pointed and high-heeled, emphasizing the refined idleness of the aristocrat, since any form of real walking was considered rather déclassé. For women, then as now, the high-heeled shoe was an erotic accessory rather than a practical item, and contorted the gait and posture so that only tiny steps were possible beneath their skirts. As a result the ladies of the court glided through the salons of Versailles looking like dolls on wheels. Although Louis was often to be found in his hunting boots, he also favored high-heeled shoes, to boost his height, while Athénaïs, despite the hours she spent in her gardens, showed no interest in outdoor exercise. Monsieur’s hearty German wife, the Princess Palatine, declared to a correspondent that only three people in France — the King, herself and a Mme. de Chevreuse — could walk twenty paces without puffing and sweating. Indeed, to get themselves about the courtiers were obliged to set up a private company of sedan chair-carriers who operated like taxis, stuffing their plump and befrilled cargo into the boxes and laboring in the King’s wake as he made his ritualistic progress around Versailles.

The uniformity of dress among the upper classes suggests that, for the “quality,” appearance and culture were strongly interconnected. This is demonstrated in Molière’s
Bourgeois Gentilhomme,
which made its debut at Chambord in 1670, when the protagonist, the parvenu M. Jourdain, is ridiculed for his desire to emulate the élite in his clothes. Frivolous though such minute concerns might seem, the court fashions aided the growth of an industry in France. In 1672, the gossipy
Mercure Galant
commented on the importance of Versailles for disseminating the fashions to Paris and thence to the provinces. Middle-class women began shopping to keep up. “The most beautiful silk fabrics, made up in the best of taste, are used for their clothes . . . They must have elegant
déshabillés
and mantillas of every type and color ...To this are added earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings, diamond buckles, a gold watch hanging from a clasp, a gold snuff box, a muff and a fan; this is on the outside!”
⁵
wrote one despairing father in Montpellier. Fashions were illustrated in engravings, and also by dolls in wax, wood or porcelain, often so beautiful themselves that the Parisian
précieuses
made exhibitions of them. So important did these dolls become to the French clothing economy that by the eighteenth century they were granted diplomatic immunity in order to travel and advertise abroad. As well as originating many of the fashions, Athénaïs also acted as a model for the finest work French couturiers could produce. Whatever she wore was discussed, copied and purchased, and her taste was a central part of the culture that was so influentially spread from Versailles.

“Versailles” is often seen as synonymous with the court of Louis XIV, yet the long period of Louis’s residence there sometimes disguises the fact that it did not become the permanent location of the court until 1682. Until this date, the King continued his peripatetic existence to a great extent, moving between the Louvre, St. Germain, Fontainebleau, Chambord, Vincennes and Versailles, partly to avoid the inconveniences of the building works continually in progress in the palaces, and partly to accommodate his love of hunting. Between 1672 and 1678, owing to the Dutch wars, a large proportion of the male courtiers were also absent in the spring. Nevertheless, Louis’s great love for Versailles led him to spend as much time as possible there, and many of the customs and rituals that later gave the palace its stately, balletic character were inaugurated in the 1670s. Louis announced the permanent move in 1677, although five more years of furious building were needed before the relocation could take place.

Athénaïs de Montespan does not really belong to the glacial, mechanical Versailles of the latter half of Louis’s reign, when Europe could set its watches by the King of France’s breakfast time, but to a lighter, more spontaneous period when courtiers who had danced all night in unimaginably sumptuous rooms squabbled over the privilege of a corner of a tiny, freezing garret to sleep in. The accommodation could be so haphazard that many aristocrats began to build their own homes at Versailles, encouraged by the King’s grant of free land in the new town in 1671 — Louvois had a house there, as did the Ducs de Guise, d’Aumont, de Noailles, de Créqui and de Luxembourg — and the appearance of Louis’s father’s old hunting park changed daily, though as ever, the King made sure he had architectural control over the buildings. Versailles in the 1670s, then, was a kaleidoscope palace, its vistas changing as often as the scenes of a theater set. The bedroom one slept in on one visit might not be there the next, it was easy to get lost, and one was as likely to glimpse the King returning from inspecting his gardens with mud on the royal boots as holding court in his robes of state.

While some of Versailles’s most famous rooms, such as the Galérie des Glaces and the Salon de la Guerre, were not begun until 1678, Louis was able to occupy his own apartments, where much of the court ceremonial took place, from 1673. Their interior décor was inspired by the style developed by Le Brun and perfected in the Gallery of Apollo he decorated at the Louvre in 1663. The scheme, which originally encompassed much of the palace but which may now only be seen, much diminished, in the state apartments of the King and Queen, was based upon ceilings of ornamental stuccos integrated with painted panels on a larger, richer and more imposing scale than anything that had been attempted before. Mythological spectators seemed to gaze down upon the visitor, leaning on trompe l’oeil balustrades, an effect designed by Veronese for the Villa Maser in Italy. The walls were decorated with panels or tapestries from the royal collections, some, such as the Salon de Vénus, covered with designs of colored marbles repeated in the floors.

The King’s apartments consisted of seven rooms, the Chambre des Gardes, an antechamber; the state room; the Grand Cabinet, or study; a smaller drawing room and a more private Petit Cabinet. In these rooms Louis displayed more than thirty of his favorite pictures, including works by Leonardo (among them the
Mona Lisa
and
San Giovanni
), Titian, Veronese, Andrea del Sarto, Raphael, Poussin and Rubens.

The most important was the great state chamber, the Salon d’Apollon, which was the throne room. The others were all named after Olympian deities that orbited the sun, each satellite representing the influence of its god on the lives of the great kings. Thus Venus was decorated with allegories of love, while Mars depicted the great warrior kings of classical history and Mercury, the King’s state bedroom, the wisdom of monarchs. Mercury, also known as the Chambre de Parade, was really only used for ceremonial purposes, since the King had a more private bedroom for actually sleeping in. Its furniture — a balustrade enclosing the bed alcove, eight two-foot candelabra, three three-foot basins, two pedestals holding incense burners, a pair of fire irons and a chandelier — was made entirely of silver. At some point, the room also contained a state bed with a portrait of Athénaïs, in a ravishing
déshabillé,
inserted into the canopy. The silver furniture did not last long — it had to be sent to the mint to be turned into coin during the war of the League of Augsburg in 1689 — but the bed was the one in which Louis XIV’s mortal remains were displayed to the world.

To reach the King’s rooms, Athénaïs would have climbed the Escalier des Ambassadeurs, possibly the greatest architectural effect so far created at Versailles. It was realized after Le Vau’s design, follow- ing his death in 1670, by François d’Orbay, who had previously created an apartment for Athénaïs at St. Germain which included a balcony garden and a fountain, where she loved to play. D’Orbay had played a significant role in Le Vau’s team when work on Versailles had begun. The staircase, decorated by Le Brun, was Le Vau’s last, posthumous collaboration with his old colleague; from now on his place was taken by Hardouin-Mansart, also engaged in constructing Clagny for Athénaïs.

The court met in the King’s apartments every morning before processing to Mass, and they were the location for the other main court gathering, which took place three times a week and was known as Appartement. Mme. de Sévigné attended Appartement on Saturday, 25 July 1676, and leaves a detailed description of her pleasure in the entertainment. Everything was divinely furnished, she wrote to her daughter; everything was magnificent. The renewed love between Athénaïs and the King made everything easy. “You wouldn’t believe the joy this gives everybody, and how lovely this makes the court.” The warring factions were reunited, and everyone was friendly — even Mme. de Maintenon and Athénaïs’s sister Mme. de Thianges.

Appartement began at three in the afternoon, after the Queen’s public toilette, Mass and the royal dinner. There was plenty of room for the entire court, so no one was crushed or hot, as was common at other large entertainments. Mme. de Sévigné strolled with delight through the marvelous rooms of “confusion without confusion,” bowing carefully to the King and reveling in the fact that he returned her bow just as though she were young and beautiful. To the background of the King’s musicians she chatted with Athénaïs, remarking on her elegant poise, and the diamonds in her uncovered hair. Athénaïs inquired after the Marquise’s visit to the spa at Vichy, and described her own visit to Bourbon, joking that the waters had given her toothache instead of curing a bad knee. Between three and six, everyone was seated at the gaming tables, although Louis popped out from time to time to receive his correspondence. Marie-Thérèse was mad on gambling, and a popular opponent, since she never got the hang of cards and always lost a fortune. The stakes were very high, with anything from 500 to 1,200 louis risked on the turn of a card. So possessed was the Queen by the gaming frenzy that she once missed Mass in order to play, one of the few sins she ever committed. At six, the court set out in a caravan of barouches, with Louis and Athénaïs in the first, accompanied by Monsieur and Mme. de Thianges, followed by the Queen. They drove through the park to the canal, where they took a gondola ride, the musicians still in attendance, returning at ten to watch a play before taking
medianoche
by the light of thousands of candles.

The gambling that was such a feature of Appartement had a crucial role in the court system Louis was in the process of establishing at Versailles. In fact, it increased so much during his reign that Bourdaloue devoted a sermon, “
Sur les Divertissements du Monde,
” to its evils, although his predictable disapproval placed him in a minority, for clergymen from Cardinal Mazarin onwards had gambled and cheated with as much enthusiasm as everybody else. Versailles was nicknamed
Ce Tripot,
this gambling den, and the furious gamesters “howled, blasphemed, made dreadful faces, pulled out their hair and wept”
⁶
with the zeal of the most miserable addicts on the Rue St. Denis. Cheating was all part of the fun. Louis himself was not particularly devoted to gambling, being too energetic to sit still for long periods, but he enjoyed it enough to permit Hocca, a form of roulette considered so dissolute that it was banned by two Popes and the chief of police in Paris, to be played. His favorite card game was Reversi (in which it was a standing joke that Athénaïs always held the King), among ten or so other games including Vingt-et-Un, Piquet, Quadrille, Cavagnole and Papillon. But more often than not he would retreat restlessly to the billiard table he had installed in the Salle de Diane, leaving the field to the far greater prowess of his mistress.