The Loves of Charles II (42 page)

And most vivid of all, it seemed, were the figures who moved about in this perfect setting. Jewels flashed; silks and satins rustled; blue, green and scarlet feathers drooped over shoulders and the air was filled with perfume. Fans were of brilliant colors and exquisite design; gloves were elaborately embroidered; swords were diamond hilted; spurs were of gold. In the center of all this magnificence were the royal lovers—Henriette, so different from others because she was frail and slender, yet vivacious and gay as she had never been before. She was able now to give expression to her natural elegance and good taste in clothes, and it was she who set the fashion. Louis, in cloth of gold, with black lace, in silks; velvets and satins, jewels adorning his handsome person, diamonds flashing in his hat, towered above them all—a fitting King of this paradise.

He could not honor Henriette enough. He must make up for all the years of neglect. He would have her take the Queen’s place on Maundy Thursday in the hall of the Louvre at the ceremony of washing the feet of the poor. At the grand fêtes, he would open the ball with Henriette. “Where the King is,” said the Court, “there is Madame.”

She was just seventeen; she was romantically in love. Louis, in all his manly beauty and with his new authority, was all that she would ask in a lover. She did not seek sexual satisfaction; her experiences with Philippe
had not made her desire to extend her knowledge in such matters. This was the perfect love; romantic, idealistic, untouched by the sordid needs of daily life.

She had a great influence over him. At her instigation he was turning to more intellectual pursuits. They wrote verses together and often read them aloud, when they were vociferously applauded by the courtiers.

Sometimes Henriette and her women would drive out to bathe in a stream in the forest; the King would ride through the trees to greet her returning from her bath that she might have an escort back to the palace. She was more beautiful than she had ever been; and she had always looked well on a horse, in her gold-laced habit with the brilliantly colored plumes in her hat shading her face. At the head of the retinue she and Louis would ride side by side.

Often there were picnics under the trees. She had inspired in him an appreciation of the arts, and sometimes musicians would play to them as they went along the river in a gondola decorated with purple velvet and cloth of gold. They would plan the entertainments for the next day as they sat side by side or rode through the forest. For Henriette that was an enchanted summer. Hunting was continued into the night, and Henriette and the King often went for long walks through the moonlight alone through the forest. If they did not meet each other every day they would write notes.

She had introduced to his notice many of the artistic personalities of the day. Lulli, the musician, must compose the music for his ballet; Molière must write the lyrics. Louis was reading the romances of Madeline de Scudèry and the dramatic pieces of her brother Georges. Because Henriette wished writers to be encouraged, Louis followed her lead, and, much to his delight, he found that a new world full of interest was opening to him.

The Court was changing; it was becoming more intellectual, and so more elegant than it had been for many years. “We are returning to the days of François Premier,” it was said. “He loved writers more than any other men. He also loved his sister!”

It was impossible for this new relationship to pass unnoticed. There were sly glances and shaking of heads when the King was not present.

“So Madame is his newest mistress?” ran the murmurings. “What a situation! And, Monsieur! What does he think of his honeymoon’s being interrupted?”

Philippe was more quickly aware of the sly looks, the whispered comments. All had worked out as he had been told it would. De Guiche had been right in his hints. Louis was in love with Henriette and had been for a long time, only he had been too simple to know it. The King of France envied his brother. That was quite satisfactory to Philippe. But it was not turning
out quite as he had wished. Louis was not tormented by jealousy; Louis was indulging in a romantic love affair, and, it seemed, was content with life. Therefore Philippe was dissatisfied.

He walked in the gardens of Saint-Cloud with his dear friend de Guiche. He should have been contented. This palace was delightful, especially since those excellent architects, Lepante and Girard, had improved it that it might be ready for Philippe on his wedding. The beautiful parks and gardens had been designed by Le Notre himself, and the fountains, which equaled those of Fontainebleau, were the work of Mansart. From the terraces could be seen the river winding its way to Paris. Clipped yew hedges, arbors, palisades and parterres planted with orange trees and embellished with statues of Greek gods and nymphs, were an added glory. Saint-Cloud was indeed beautiful, and he was proud to possess it. Madame could spend as much time with the King as she liked—so he had thought—he would not object. He had his own friends to amuse and flatter him, and—constant gratification—Louis envied him his wife and compared her with the plain Spanish woman.

But it was not quite as he had planned.

“You were right,” he said to his friend. “Louis was certainly in love with her. He needed her marriage to me to show him that.”

“She has changed, has she not?” said de Guiche quietly. “Who would recognize her as the little Princess she was before her marriage? Now … she shows great charm. She has her brother’s wit, I am glad to say, but not his looks—I am equally pleased to add. She is the natural friend of the most intellectual people at the Court. She has shown the Court that there is more to beauty than layers of fat. Henriette happy, is not only the most elegant, she is the most desirable woman at Court; and to be elegant and desirable—those are higher attributes than mere beauty.”

“You speak as though you yourself are in love with my wife. If I did not know you so well, I should say you were. But it is not as I wished it to be—this love my brother has for my wife. They revel in it. She is changing him; she is ruling the Court. Now we do honor to those artists of hers. That fellow Molière would seem to be an intimate of the King … because Madame wishes it. Those de Scudèrys … this fellow he has taken from his band of violins … what is his name … Lulli? Old Corneille is made much of; and this young fellow, Racine … They surround the King; they swamp the King; he spends much time listening to their verses and their music. And it is at the command of my wife! It would seem to me that in marrying Henriette, I have made her Queen of France.”

“A worthy Queen!” said de Guiche.

“I shall have to remind my brother that Henriette is Madame—not Queen—of France.”

“You will dare do that?”

“I shall speak to my mother. She never cared for scandal which touched her own family—much as she loves it concerning others. She will make my brother see that there must be an end to these amorous talks tête-à-tête, these moonlight rambles, these dainty perfumed notes they send each other. I shall bring Madame back here to Saint-Cloud. She must be made to understand that she is not—although she and my brother may wish she were—the Queen of France.”

“Alas! Madame makes an enchanting Queen!”

Philippe looked sharply at his friend.

If I did not know him so well, and that he does not love women, I should say he was in love with Henriette, thought Philippe.

But he did not entirely know his friend.

Anne of Austria asked that she might see her son alone.

“Louis,” she said, “my beloved, this is a delicate matter of which I must speak to you. Forgive me, I know that it is merely idle gossip which I repeat, but there must not be gossip concerning our great King.”

“Gossip!” cried Louis. “What is this?”

“It concerns you and Madame.”

“Who speaks this gossip? I will have him brought before me. I …”

“You cannot punish the whole Court, dearest. You will, I know, be your wonderful, reasonable self and, although there is no cause for this gossip, you will remove all excuse for it.”

“What has been said of me … and Madame?”

“Merely that you are always together, that you treat her as your Queen, that you neglect the real Queen, that you write notes to each other if you are parted from her for a few hours at a time; in short, that you love your cousin who is the wife of your brother.”

“This … this is monstrous!”

“Is it true that you spend much time in her company?”

“And shall continue to do so. Tell me who brought this news to you!”

“It was not one. I heard it from many. I beg of you be discreet. Do not give rise to such rumors. Have a mistress if you want one. Why should you not? And particularly while the Queen is indisposed. But let it not be your brother’s wife. Philippe is jealous.”

“Philippe! Let him return to his boys!”

“Henriette is his wife. It is the future we must think of, dearest. If she had a child … and it was believed to be yours …”

“This is foul!” cried Louis. “This is scandalous! That any should dare talk thus of Henriette!”

He strode from his mother’s apartments and went to his own. He paced up and down, waving away all attendants. So they were talking about his devotion to Henriette! They were whispering sly things! They were besmirching his beautiful romance! It would never again be quite the same for him.

Henrietta Maria tapped her foot and looked at her daughter.

“You must be more discreet. What an unfortunate thing this is! If Louis had but felt towards you a short time ago as he does today, what a wonderful thing that would have been! What glory! My son King of England; my daughter Queen of France! But this will not do. They are calling you the King’s mistress.”

“It is not true,” said Henriette.

“Of course it is not true!” Henrietta Maria’s arms were about her daughter, and Henriette received one of those suffocating embraces. “My daughter … so to forget herself … no! It is not true. But there must be no scandal. You and the King! Your husband’s brother! You can see what scandal there could be! What if you were to have a child? We shall have them saying it is the King’s! That would be intolerable.”

Henriette said coldly: “These rumors are false. The King has never been anything but a good brother to me.”

“Then I beg of you curb your affection for one another. You are too ostentatiously affectionate. You are too often in each other’s company.”

“I am tired,” said Henriette. “I can listen to no more. I will do my best, I assure you, to see that you suffer no anxiety on my account.”

She went to her apartment and asked her women to draw the curtains about her bed, shutting her in.

So … they were watching her and Louis! They were spying on their love.

It was true that she was going to have a child—Philippe’s child. If only it had been Louis’!

Now she knew that she had passed the summit of her happiness. She knew the romantic idyll was less bright than it had been. She had been aware that it could not last forever. She buried her face in the silken cushions and wept.

Louis sought her out. They did not always have to be asked to be left alone; discreet attendants withdrew. That was a sign, they both realized now, of the construction which was being put on their relationship.