Louis the Well-Beloved

Chapter V MADAME DE MAILLY

All through France there was rejoicing, for on a September day in the year 1729 the Queen gave birth to the Dauphin.

The child was doubly welcome for the baby who had been born in the year following the arrival of the twins, had been a girl – Louise-Marie, Madame Troisième.

The Queen had come triumphantly through the ordeal. She had shown the people that she could bear children – in 1727, the twins, 1728 Madame Troisième, and now in 1729 the Dauphin. Who could ask more than that?

The bells were ringing throughout Paris and the people were determined to make these celebrations excel those which had taken place in honour of the girls. The fireworks were more dazzling, the illuminations brighter. As soon as darkness fell boats bearing lights passed along the river, and the people danced and sang in the streets.

When the King went to Notre Dame for the thanksgiving service the crowds cheered him as even he had never been cheered before. They were delighted with their King – handsome and gracious, he had again proved his virility. They had not been pleased when such a godlike creature married a plain woman of little importance, yet even the marriage was proving successful. Four children in three years! It was as though Providence had sent the twins as a sign of the fertility of the Queen.

Louis insisted that the little boy should have for his governess the person whom he considered most suited to the task, one whom he had loved all his life: Madame de Ventadour.

And as she took the child in her arms immediately after his baptism by the Cardinal de Rohan, she looked at the little figure with the ribbon of Saint-Esprit wrapped about him, and tears came into her eyes for, as she said, it was as though her dearest one was once more a baby.

The next few years passed pleasantly for the King, and slightly less so for the Queen.

She was being more and more deprived of the King’s society. She realised that she could not mix happily with his friends; Marie found much at Court to shock her.

The King was a faithful husband – though a demanding one. Yet in spite of this, morals at the Court were in the Queen’s eyes outrageous.

One of the leading lights was Louis Armand du Plessis, the Duc de Richelieu, who was notorious for his love affairs and who had papered the walls of his apartments with pictures of the nude female form in attitudes which he considered amusing. The Queen remembered that before she had seen this man – he had been away from the Court on a mission to Vienna – she had heard that two women had fought a duel for his favours. It was said that he had begun his rakish career in his very early youth at the Court of Louis Quatorze, and his first mistress had been the Duchesse de Bourgogne, the King’s mother.

Matching him in vice was Mademoiselle de Charolais who made a point of taking a new lover once a year. Love affairs to be complete should be fruitful, she declared; and to prove how successful she was, had a child every year by a different lover.

The Comte de Clermont kept numerous mistresses and made no secret of this.

As these were typical of the people who frequented the King’s hunting parties, it was small wonder that the Queen was not encouraged to attend them. In fact during those years it seemed to Marie that she had either just borne a child or was about to do so. The little Duc d’Anjou had been born in 1730, the year following the birth of the Dauphin. 1731 was surprisingly a barren year, but in 1732 Adelaide made her appearance; and already Marie was pregnant again.

Each night, with occasional exceptions, the King visited her; she found herself exhausted by her nights with him and her frequent pregnancies, and made excuses for sleeping alone.

‘I believe it to be sinful to gratify the lusts of the flesh at certain times,’ she told Louis.

He was indulgent and as long as the saints’ days were not too frequent made little protest.

The courtiers were watching this state of affairs between the Queen and the King with some amusement; secret wagers were laid as to how long it would be before the King took a mistress.

Richelieu and that rake, the Comte de Clermont, would have advised the King of all the pleasures he was missing by remaining faithful to his far from attractive wife, but they were not unmindful of Fleury who, in his cautious way, was watching Louis no less closely than they.

Fleury had no desire for the King to select a mistress. He knew, from the records of the past, what havoc a mistress could play in state affairs. At present the King was faithful to the Queen and the Queen was producing children. That was satisfactory. Fleury was eager that this state of affairs should be preserved as long as possible; and remembering the astute conduct of Fleury in the case of the Duc de Bourbon, those courtiers who might have induced the King to satisfy the lusts of the flesh outside the marriage bed refrained from doing so.

That year 1733 was a significant one in Marie’s life. One event which seemed of overwhelming importance to her was the sudden death of Augustus II, who had usurped the throne from her father.

Marie trembled with excitement when she heard the news, and she asked herself, now that Stanislas was Louis’ father-in-law, why he should not regain his throne with the help of France.

His greatest rival for power was the son of Augustus, whom Austria and Russia favoured; but Stanislas with France behind him, thought Marie, had as good a chance of aspiring to the crown of Poland as any.

Fleury was not anxious to give that support. Both Portugal and Prussia had candidates and, with Austria and Russia supporting the son of Augustus, he feared war. He was also uncertain what effect her father’s regaining his throne would have on the Queen. She would naturally become more influential, and he and she never been good friends.

There were many in France who were ready to go to Poland to defend the cause of Stanislas. England, Fleury knew, would be watching affairs closely. Fleury was eager for good relations with England and had formed a friendship with the Prime Minister, Robert Walpole, Earl of Orford.

Walpole’s advice to Fleury was that the electors of Poland should be bribed to elect Stanislas, and that the ex-king should go to Poland in person to conduct the campaign. Fleury decided to accept this advice, and the Queen took a fond farewell of her father who, embracing her warmly, told her that he loved her beyond all others and that he was happy to think that it was she who had wrought this change in their fortunes.

He left France disguised as a merchant, taking only one friend with him who in his turn hid his identity in the guise of a merchant’s clerk. At the same time a French noble, the Comte de Thianges, who bore a faint resemblance to Stanislas, sailed from Brest with all the pomp of a King. This somewhat unnecessary and farcical project, it was said, originated in England and Fleury had adopted Walpole’s suggestions.

Stanislas had some initial success, for the bribes were effective and he was elected King of Poland.

The news was taken first to Louis who read the dispatch and hurried to the Queen’s bedroom to explain to her what had happened.

They embraced and, when Marie wept, the King was moved to see her do so; that night they were very tender to each other and it was like a return of the honeymoon days.

But that was not a happy year.

The little Duc d’Anjou, who from birth had not been as sturdy as his brother the Dauphin, became weaker as the year progressed and, before its end, he died.

The Queen’s grief was as great as that of Louis. They had only one son now and they were alarmed for the health of the other children. All, with the exception of the five-year-old Louise-Marie, were healthy, but death struck suddenly and unexpectedly and there was fear in the royal household.

Nor was it groundless. Shortly after the death of the Duc d’Anjou, litde Madame Troisième fell sick, and none of the doctors could save her.

To lose two children so suddenly, and with a short interval of time between the two deaths, threw Marie into a frenzy of superstitious fear.

‘It is as though God seeks to punish us for something,’ she told her ladies.

She thought of the extreme sensuality of the King, in which she was forced to join, and she shuddered.

There was bad news from Poland. The Russians and Austrians were not prepared to see Stanislas oust their candidate for the throne.

They threatened invasion, and Stanislas, finding himself deserted by those friends who had accompanied him to his country, realised that there was nothing he could do but abdicate.

The son of Augustus II, Augustus III, was elected King of Poland.

Stanislas appealed to France; and Fleury, realising the strategic position of the country, decided on war.

‘Disaster!’ mourned the Queen. ‘There is disaster threatening on all sides.’

Then she thought of her dead son and daughter, and wept afresh.

‘It would seem that those I love are doomed,’ she cried. ‘What will become of my dear father?’

When Louis came to her that night she told him that it was a saint’s day and that as she was already pregnant there could be no reason for their indulging in sexual relations, except sheer carnality.

The King was annoyed.

‘We are married,’ he pointed out. ‘Now if I were like some members of my Court you might have reason to complain.’

‘As it is a saint’s day . . .’ she began.

‘A very obscure saint’s day,’ he grumbled.

‘Louis,’ she said earnestly, ‘these tragedies have made me consider. I think we should abstain on all saints’ days.’

Louis stared at her in horror. ‘You have forgotten how many saints’ days there are in the calendar,’ he said curtly.

‘No, I do not forget,’ she said; ‘and we must always remember them in future.’

Louis disliked scenes, so he did not insist on sharing her bed.

He left her. On his way back to his own apartments he met the incorrigible Richelieu who, seeing the King returning from the Queen’s bedchamber, hastily veiled his expression; but Louis had seen the cynical smile, the puzzled look which indicated that Richelieu was trying to remember what saint’s day it was.

Louis felt angry; the Queen was putting him into a ridiculous position. He considered Richelieu and his innumerable amorous adventures; he recalled some of the exploits of the Comte de Clermont. It seemed that in the whole Court only the King behaved like a respectable married man – and the Queen had the temerity to decline his attentions.

Yet she had suffered greatly over the loss of the children, and the anxiety regarding her father’s position. Louis was not easily aroused to anger; he was a patient man.

Give her time, he thought. She will recover from these griefs. But when he began to consider all the saints’ days which occurred in a year, he was uneasy.

The following night he sat with his friends at a small supper party. Richelieu on his right hand was as usual boasting of his affairs with women. The King drank more than usual and after the solemn coucher in the state bedroom made his way to the Queen’s bedchamber.

When his dressing gown and slippers had been taken from him by his valet de chambre the Queen started up in her bed. In horror she stared at his flushed face.

‘But Louis,’ she cried, ‘you are not sober.’

He signed for the curtains to be drawn about the bed, and this was immediately done. Marie however set her mouth in prim lines. This was more to be deplored than usual. This was drunken lechery.

‘No,’ she protested. ‘You must leave me at once.’

‘Do not be so foolish,’ said Louis, the wine having heated his blood, destroying his usual calm.

‘Is it foolish to hate . . . lechery?’ cried Marie, her arms folded across her breasts.

Louis looked at her and suddenly he knew that he disliked her. He remembered that when he had married her she had been the daughter of a penniless exile.

‘Madame,’ he said, his voice slurred, ‘you forget to whom you speak.’

‘I am in full possession of my senses. I am not drunk,’ she retorted.

‘You will be sorry for this night’s work,’ said Louis.

‘Sorry! If I can send you back to your apartments I shall be sorry for nothing.’

‘I repeat,’ said Louis, ‘that you will be sorry, Madame.’ He left the bed and stood looking at her through its curtains, inclining his head unsteadily. ‘I pray you,’ he said, ‘no longer take such pains to protect that which is not desired.’

Then he left her and went back to the state bedroom.

His valet looked astonished to see him – not only returned, but obviously in a state of unusual anger.

Looking at the man, Louis knew that even if no one had overheard that quarrel in his wife’s bedroom, what had taken place would soon be conjectured and rumours spread.

‘Go out,’ he said to his valet, ‘and bring me a woman . . . Find a beautiful woman and bring her to me . . . without delay.’

The valet ran from the King’s apartment. It had happened at last. Now the fun would start. This would be but the beginning. Tomorrow the whole Court would be seething with the news.

Who? pondered the valet. That was important.

He wanted advice – the advice of Cardinal Fleury or Monsieur de Richelieu. But there was no time. The King was in no mood for delay. The King had changed; never had he been as he was tonight. He was angry, and the valet must act with speed.

The first likely woman he saw was one of the waiting-women of the Princesse de Rohan.

He stopped her. He said: ‘Will you spend the night with the King?’

She stared at him. ‘Are you quite well?’ she asked.

‘Quite, and there is no time to waste. The King is furious with the Queen. He wants you to take her place . . .’

‘Only for tonight?’ she said; and her eyes glistened. The King was handsome; and the possibilities were endless.

‘That rests with you,’ said the valet.

She threw back her head and laughed suddenly.

‘Take me to him.’

The valet wondered what he would find when he returned to the royal bedchamber. Would Louis have become more sober? Would he have to get himself and the young woman out of a delicate situation?

He need not have worried. When he returned, the King was impatiently waiting – a strange new King full of fire and passion, a King who was weary of playing the faithful husband to a woman who was too concerned with saints’ days.

The next day there was great excitement throughout the Court. The old era was over; a new one was about to begin. Richelieu, Clermont, Mademoiselle de Charolais might be amused; the King’s ministers – Fleury at the head of them – were deeply concerned.

This was no time to stand quietly by, letting matters take their course.

The young lady of last night’s adventure was unlikely to be of any importance. She was not exceptionally beautiful or clever, and the very manner of her coming to the King’s bedchamber would make it difficult for her to be the participant in anything but the lightest love affair.

She gave no concern. But it was quite clear that very soon there would be someone who could have a great influence on the King.

There were two rival circles of the Court, one of them, known as the Chantilly circle which had its headquarters at the home of the Bourbons and of which Mademoiselle de Charolais, the Duc de Bourbon’s daughter, was the leading spirit, and the other, that of Rambouillet which was presided over by the Comte and Comtesse de Toulouse.

The more respectable of these two groups was that of Rambouillet, and it was in this circle that Fleury proposed to look for the woman who should be the King’s new mistress.

The Comte de Toulouse was the illegitimate son of Louis Quatorze and Madame de Montespan, and therefore a kinsman of the King; and it was with his Comtesse that Fleury decided to discuss this matter of providing a mistress for the King. He therefore asked the Comtesse to visit him, which she promptly did, guessing the nature of the matter he had to discuss with her.

Madame de Toulouse was only too glad to be of assistance. For if the King’s mistress were a friend of hers, she would lose nothing by the connexion.

Fleury bowed over her hand and begged her to be seated. He then came straight to the point.

‘You are aware, Madame,’ he said, ‘of this rift between their Majesties?’

‘Yes, Monsieur le Cardinal. Who is not?’

‘It was inevitable. The Queen has many good qualities but she lacks some of those which are necessary to a man such as the King.’

‘It is true,’ said the Comtesse. ‘In the first place she is six or seven years his senior. That is not good. Some women might have seemed nearer his age, but she, who is always wrapped round with shawls and has no sense of elegance . . .’ The Comtesse lifted her shoulders. ‘Poor lady – she is for ever pregnant, and that is not conducive to elegance, I fear.’

Fleury went on: ‘Her good deeds are numerous. Her friends are virtuous.’

‘But so dull,’ murmured the Comtesse.

She smiled, thinking of the Queen’s efforts to attain culture – her singing, her playing on the harpsichord, her painting. She excelled in none of these pursuits and the courtiers inwardly groaned when asked to hear her sing and play or were given one of her pictures which they must praise enthusiastically and place in a prominent position in their apartments lest it should come to the Queen’s ears that they did not appreciate her efforts.

‘It is natural,’ added Fleury.

‘And I marvel that it did not happen before.’

‘The King will shortly settle his affections on some woman other than his wife, I fear,’ said Fleury. ‘And when that happens it will be well for us all that she should be the right woman.’

‘Indeed yes,’ agreed the Comtesse.

‘I would wish,’ went on the Cardinal, ‘that she should be modest. It would be painful if she sought great favours for herself and her family. For that reason I would not wish her to be a member of a house of high nobility.’

The Comtesse’s eyebrows were raised in surprise. ‘Your Eminence would not introduce a woman of the lower classes to the King’s bed!’

‘Oh, no, that would be unthinkable. What we need is a woman who has charm, is of the nobility but not the haute noblesse, you understand. She must be discreet, glad to serve the King in this capacity and not ask too much in return.’

‘I will be frank,’ said the Comtesse. ‘I anticipated this call and I have already given the matter much thought.’

‘You have a suggestion?’

‘I have. I am thinking of the eldest daughter of the Nesle family, Louise-Julie. She is married to the Comte de Mailly. He is very poor and could be persuaded to stand aside, I doubt not. Louise-Julie is a pleasant creature. I would not call her beautiful, but she has great charm.’

‘The Nesle family,’ interrupted the Cardinal, his eyes sparkling. ‘I see that you have understood perfectly, Madame. But is not Madame de Mailly one of the Queen’s own ladies?’

‘It is true, but is that important? Kings have chosen their mistresses from their wives’ circles before this; and in any case, if she were not already one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, she would very soon wish to be so.’

The Cardinal nodded. ‘We will see what happens with Madame de Mailly. First we must bring the King to a receptive mood. I do not think it will be difficult. He is incensed with the Queen’s rebuffs, and his pride is hurt. I think at this stage we should call in the help of one of his close friends. I am sure the Duc de Richelieu would be only too delighted to help. I know he has long been trying to lure the King to unfaithfulness. I will send for him now, and we will put this project before him.’

When the Duc de Richelieu heard the plans of the Cardinal and the Comtesse he was much amused.

‘I approve,’ he said. ‘I approve with all my heart. If we do not do something for our beloved Louis he will become as dull as his Queen. We shall have him walking about the Court muffled in shawls, painting – Oh, God, preserve us from that! – playing the harpsichord and telling us that Madame Adelaide has taken three tottering steps, or has learned to say “Your Majesty”. No, something must be done.’

He gave them the benefit of his sardonic grin.

‘Madame de Mailly? H’m. Charming. She has such delightful legs. One of those women who have been given subtler gifts than beauty. Madame de Mailly would be ideal . . . for a start.’

‘Then I pray you,’ said the Cardinal, ‘prepare His Majesty to meet the lady. You could explain better than most . . .’

‘The delights of love!’ cried Richelieu. ‘But it is natural, is it not, that I, a sinner, should give a better account of them than a man of Holy Church.’

The Cardinal was too pleased with the plan to be irritated. Madame de Mailly would be an ideal mistress. He was certain that she would not only keep her fingers out of the great state pie, but prevent the King from dipping his into it also.

Richelieu winked lewdly at the Cardinal. ‘Leave His Majesty to me,’ he said. ‘The task of luring him from the virtuous paths of matrimony shall begin without delay.’

The King’s three principal valets de chambre, Bachelier, Le Bel and Barjac, were excited. Life had been a little dull. It was not very amusing to conduct the King to the Queen’s bedchamber every night, place the sword close to the bed, take the King’s dressing gown and slippers and come quietly back to the royal bedchamber to wait the return journey next morning and the conducting of the King back to the state bedroom for the ceremonial lever.

Now there would be more exciting times ahead; and if the King were going to develop a taste for women other than the Queen, the duties of the valets de chambre could become not only more interesting but more profitable.

Madame de Mailly, when approached by the Comtesse de Toulouse, was excited.

She had no love for her husband, her cousin, the mercenary Comte de Mailly who was continuously bewailing his poverty; moreover she had always greatly admired the King. She and Louis were both in their twenty-third year and she, in common with most, had always considered the King the most handsome man at Court.

A meeting was arranged between them, and Bachelier took Madame de Mailly to the King’s apartment; but when they were alone together they were both overcome by shyness.

Louis had up to this time never been at ease with women. The efforts, first of Villeroi and later of Fleury, to keep him innocent had had this effect on him which, even though he was a deeply sensual man, made it difficult for him to deal with a situation such as he now faced.

Madame de Mailly, who was by no means inexperienced, was half in love with the King, and for this reason found herself embarrassed. She could have wished that they had met at one of the gatherings at Rambouillet and become attracted to each other. That she had been brought to the King’s apartments by his valet added to her embarrassment.

She, who was noted for her vivacity and kindly wit, found herself tongue-tied. The King, unable to banish from his mind the erotic images which the conversation of the rake, Richelieu, had put there, was equally unable to make adequate conversation.

They were cool and polite with each other and the meeting was a failure.

She left the King, certain that she would never be sent for again.

Louis was not eager to grant her another private interview, and those who had planned for him were afraid that soon he would be the prey of any scheming woman who sought to rule France through him.

Madame de Mailly was severely talked to by her promoters. Doubtless she had behaved like a prim young virgin. Did she not realise that the King was in revolt against the primness of the Queen? She must greet him with voluptuous looks. She must not enter and curtsey. Let her be lying on a couch, say en déshabillé; her most attractive feature was her legs, which all admitted were the best at Court. Let her make the most of her charms. Would she try again?

She was eager to do so. All that remained was to persuade Louis to meet her once more. This was difficult but, when it was pointed out to the good-natured young man that if he did not see her, poor Madame de Mailly would be brokenhearted, he gave way.

His surprise was intense when he entered the intimate apartment to find her already there. He could only stand and stare at the half-nude young woman who was smiling at him seductively from the couch.

For a moment he was prepared to turn and escape; but Bachelier was behind him, and he did not want the valet to witness his embarrassment.

‘The lady awaits Your Majesty,’ said Bachelier, and in the excitement of the moment gave Louis a push which sent him reeling forward.

Madame de Mailly held out her arms and caught Louis in them, while Bachelier gently closed the door.

The seduction of the King was thus effected, and Fleury sighed with relief. He was now free to deal with state matters.

But first he presented the Comte de Mailly with 20,000 livres – his reward as a complaisant husband. Fleury was eager also that the affair should be conducted with as much secrecy as was possible. Versailles of course could not but be aware that the King had a mistress, but he did not wish the people of France to know of the King’s lapse.

At this time he was adored by his subjects; and although the squat and rather heavy Queen did not appeal to them as did their handsome King, they were ready to concede that she was a good Queen who had done her duty to the state. The people liked to think of their Louis as a sedate young man, eager to do his duty, a worthy husband and father – for all that he was handsome and looked god-like in his robes of state.

There could not have been a better choice, thought Fleury, for Madame de Mailly was a kindly woman, one who seemed content with the King’s affection, not seeking honours for herself.

After the awkward beginning Louis became more and more interested in Louise-Julie de Mailly. The Queen had never joined him in his ecstasy as this woman did. It was like learning new lessons, each more delight-giving than the last.

To him his mistress was the most beautiful woman at the Court as, in the first few days of his marriage, the Queen had been. She was tall and very slender; her only beauties were her large dark eyes and the legs for which she was already famous. Her complexion was sallow, her features irregular; but she was very charming because of a particularly sweet nature.

Louis had been fortunate. She did not seek honours. Very quickly she had fallen in love with the King and she declared that merely to be with him was reward enough for her.

The King was enchanted, for she was ready at any time to lead him into thickets of sensuality which he had never dreamed existed.

She gave herself no airs about the Court and was always extremely respectful to the Queen. The liaison was ideal and the King and Louise-Julie de Mailly believed it would go on all their lives.

Marie bore another daughter that year; this was Victoire.

The King did not altogether neglect his wife, nor forget the need to add to the royal nurseries. Almost immediately after the birth of Victoire, the Queen was once more pregnant. Marie had grown more bitter, and declared fretfully that her life was little more than going to bed and being brought to bed.

Meanwhile the King and Madame de Mailly fell deeper in love. It was she who was present at all the hunting parties and rode beside him; who sat with him at intimate suppers he gave to his friends.

It seemed now that the King would be as faithful a lover as he had been a husband.