The Wondering Prince

NINE

Henriette lay on her bed. She was in need of rest, for she was pregnant again.

During last year she had plunged more deeply into the gay life at the Court; there had been a great need to hide the hurt she suffered. Louis was still devoted to La Vallière. In spite of his mother’s protests he had refused to give her up, and even when she had been far advanced in pregnancy she had remained at Court.

But not the Queen, nor the King’s mistress, had been the leader of the fêtes and ballets. It was Henriette who had been the center of the wildest amusements; she who had been more daring than any. She had taken the savants under her protection. Molière had dedicated his L’Ecole des Femmes to her. Certain holy gentlemen had declared that the playwright should be burned at the stake when Tartuffe had been produced, but Henriette had laughed at them and insisted on the King’s attending a performance of the play at Villers-Cotteret. She gave audience to Molière, delighting in his conversation. She laughed heartily when he told her that he had named his hypocrite Tartuffe because one day he had seen two devout priests, palms pressed together, eyes raised heavenwards, when a basket of truffles was brought into the apartment wherein they were performing their religious duties. They went on praying, reminding God and the saints how they had subdued their earthly appetites while their eyes were on the truffles and the saliva ran down their chins. At length they could not stop themselves crying aloud: “Tartuffoli! Tartuffoli!”

Racine had dedicated Andromaque to her, declaring that but for her protection in his struggling days he could never have produced the work. La Fontaine had also received her patronage.

She was the benefactress of artists and, while she reigned with Louis ostensibly as his Queen, there was more culture in the Court of France than in any other in Europe, and again people recalled the days of François Premier and his sister Marguerite.

Charles wrote that he wished she could be with him to reign as Queen over his Court. He had married a wife from Portugal. She was no beauty, he admitted to his sister, but he had the good fortune to be able to compare her favorably with her maids of honor who accompanied her—six of them, all frights, and a duenna who was a monster. He was amusing himself, he told her, playing the good husband and, somewhat to his astonishment, not mis-liking the role. He had the plays of Wycherley and Dryden with which to amuse himself, and Sir Peter Lely to paint the beauties of his Court. He lived merrily but there would always be one thing he lacked to make his contentment complete—the presence of his beloved sister at his Court.

News came to Henriette of the troubles between his mistress-in-chief, the brazen Castlemaine, and his Queen Catherine. Charles and Louis were alike in one thing, it seemed.

She had tried to be content, lacking two things which would have assured contentment: Louis and Charles as her constant companions; for these two she loved beyond all else in the world.

She had not come unscathed through the scandals which had surrounded her. There were many stories circulating concerning her and de Guiche.

De Guiche had been wounded in Poland and had almost met his death. The story was that a case, containing Madame’s portrait, which he carried over his heart, protected him from a bullet which would otherwise have cost him his life.

There had been many to notice the charms of Henriette, and since these scandals and her gay method of life suggested she was not inaccessible, many came forward to seek her favors. Among them were Monsieur d’Armagnac, of the house of Lorraine and Grand Ecuyer de France, and the Prince de Marsillac, son of the Duc de la Rochefoucauld. All were charming, all amusing, all certain that Madame could not prove continuously and tiresomely virtuous; but all were disappointed.

Then there was the Marquis de Vardes. Henriette found him more cultured, more amusing than any; and as a gentleman of the King’s bedchamber, he had won Louis’ regard, so she found herself often in his company.

He was a rake, but an extremely witty one, a companion of writers, artists and musicians; at this time he was the most popular man at Court. He had been involved in love affairs with Madame d’Armagnac and the Comtesse de Soissons, but he had now set his heart on the conquest of no less a person than Madame herself.

Henriette was at first unaware of this; indeed she believed him to be still involved with the beautiful Madame de Soissons who, since the King’s favor had turned to La Vallière, had accepted him as her lover.

As she lay in her bed, Henriette was thinking of Louis. She had seen little of him for some weeks and then only in the company of others; those pleasant confidences which were the delight of her life were no longer offered. There were times when she fancied his glances were more than indifferent; they were cold.

He had turned against her.

She felt wretched and alone. Her mother had gone to England and was residing at Somerset House. She missed her sadly, although Henrietta Maria, disturbed by the gay life her daughter led and the fact that she had incurred the displeasure of Anne of Austria, had lectured Henriette so incessantly that she had longed to escape. If she could have explained to someone, how much better would she have felt! But how could one explain to Henrietta Maria? How could the fiery little Queen ever understand this passion of her daughter’s? Henrietta Maria would never love as her daughter loved—secretly brooding, hiding her misery. Henrietta Maria had to parade hers that all might see it and commiserate with her.

Why had Louis suddenly turned against her? She had asked herself that question a hundred times. He had grown tired of their relationship and now he was not even taking the trouble to conceal that fact.

What satisfaction was there for her in the rounds of balls and fêtes? What did it matter if all complimented her on her elegant attire, her dancing in the ballet, her conversation? Louis had turned from her. He was not merely tired of her; he was beginning to dislike her.

And as she lay there, one of her women came to her and said that the Comtesse de Soissons, who was ill and seemed to be near death, wished to speak to her. Would she be so good as to go to the Comtesse’s bedchamber, as the Comtesse could not come to her?

Henriette rose from her bed then and followed the woman to the Comtesse’s apartment.

It was difficult to recognize the beautiful Olympia Mancini, the woman who had enslaved Louis before her marriage and had been his mistress after it, in the thin wasted woman who now lay on the bed.

Henriette, full of sympathy for the sick since she herself did not enjoy the best of health, touched the Comtesse’s hot forehead and begged her not to agitate herself.

“There is something I must tell you, Madame,” said the Comtesse.

“Later will do.”

“No, Madame. Later will not do. I feel so ill that I believe death to be near me, and I must warn you while it is in my power to do so.”

“Of whom is it that you would warn me?”

“De Vardes.”

“De Vardes! But he is my friend and your lover!”

“He was my lover, Madame. That was before he was determined to make you his mistress. When that determination came to him he vowed he would let nothing stand in the way of its fulfilment.”

“It seems that I stood in the way, Madame de Soissons.”

“Yes, Madame, you stood in the way. It is he who circulated the scandals about yourself and Monsieur de Guiche. He has carried these tales to the King.”

“I … see,” said Henriette.

“He believes that you love de Guiche, and has sworn to ruin you both.”

“And how … does he propose to do this?”

“Madame, he has the ear of the King.”

Henriette put her hand to her heart in a sudden fear that the violence of its beating might be betrayed to the sick woman.

“Does he think that the King would turn his favor from me if he believed I loved Monsieur de Guiche?”

“No, Madame.” That answer hurt Henriette more than one in the affirmative would have done. “No, Madame; it is not the scandals he has uttered against Monsieur de Guiche. It is … the letters you receive from your brother.”

“The letters of the King of England!”

“He says he has seen some of them.”

“It’s true. They are often witty. I remember being so amused with something my brother wrote that I showed the letter to de Vardes.”

“Madame, de Vardes has accused you of betraying French secrets to your brother of England.”

“But this is impossible!”

“Nay, Madame, it is true.” “And the King believes that … about me!”

“He knows how you love your brother. If Charles asked you to do little things for him it might be hard for you to refuse him.”

“So Louis thinks I am my brother’s spy! He thinks I would betray him to Charles!”

“He thinks you love your brother dearly.”

Henriette turned her head away, but Madame de Soissons was stretching out her hand. “You will forgive me, Madame? You see, I loved the King … and then de Vardes. I should have told you how de Vardes determined to ruin both you and de Guiche. I should have told you before.”

Henriette turned back to the sick woman. “You have told me now. That will suffice.”

“Then, Madame, I have your forgiveness?”

Henriette nodded; she hurried from the sickroom.

She must see Louis as soon as possible. Those doubts and suspicions must not be allowed to remain between them.

But before she saw him her child was born. This time it was a boy.

As she lay with the child in her arms, she felt that the boy would, in some measure, make up for all she had suffered.

Philippe was delighted; the King sent his congratulations and promised the boy a pension of 50,000 crowns. Anne of Austria declared her satisfaction at the birth of the boy, since the Dauphin was but a sickly child and his sister had recently died. Henrietta Maria was filled with more delight than she could express. As for Charles, he himself was suffering from a chill, having taken off his wig and pourpoint on a hot day, and was unable to write until almost a week later. Then he wrote of the extreme joy he felt because she had a son. Nothing, he said, could give him greater pleasure than that news.

She wanted to reply, telling him that she had fallen into disfavor with the King, and how unhappy this made her. She doubted whether he would understand. He would call her devotion to the King, folly. He loved easily and lightly—not one but many. Here again, Charles, perhaps, showed his wisdom.

It was not until she was up from her bed that she was able to secure the desired audience with Louis.

“I must,” she insisted, “speak with Your Majesty alone.”

Louis bowed his head in acknowledgment of her request, and she noticed with dismay how cold his eyes were.

As soon as they were alone, she cried out: “Louis, there has been a terrible misunderstanding, and I must make you see the truth.”

He waited impassively.

She continued hurriedly: “It is quite untrue that I have conspired with my brother against you.”

He did not answer, and she went on imploringly: “Louis, you cannot believe this to be so?”

“You are very fond of your brother.”

“That is true.”

“The affection between you has been marked by many.”

“I know it.”

“Brothers and sisters should have a certain regard for each other, but this affection between you and the King of England is unusual in its intensity, is it not?”

“I admit we are very fond of each other.”

“I have talked freely to you of matters of state … state secrets … because I have admired your lively mind. I did not think you would so betray me as to discuss such matters with the King of another country, even though that King was your brother.”

“You have been misinformed.” She had broken down suddenly. The tears had started to stream down her cheeks. She stammered: “It is not so much that you should think these evil thoughts of me … it is that you should look at me so coldly.”

Louis’ pity was immediately aroused. She looked so frail after her recent ordeal; he went to her and laid his arm about her shoulders. “Henriette,” he said, “if you have erred in this, mayhap it was due to thoughtlessness.”

“I have never erred. I would never betray your secrets. Cannot you understand that my only wish is to serve you?”

“And to serve Charles.”

“I love him, it is true. But he would never seek to embroil me in trouble. He would never ask me to do that which my regard for you would not allow me to.”

“You say you love Charles,” said Louis. “I know it. But what of Louis?”

“I love you both.”

“Can one person love two others equally?”

“He is my brother.”

“And I, Henriette?”

“You … you are the one beside whom I should have been content to live all the days of my life … had that been possible.”

“Most women would love such a one more than a brother.”

She did not answer, and he kissed her cheek gently.

“I have misjudged you, Henriette. Those who have slandered you shall not escape my displeasure. It may be that one day you will have an opportunity of showing me how much greater is the love you bear for the King of France than that you have for the King of England.

“I hope that day will not come.”

He had taken her hands and was kissing them fervently. “It would be infinite joy for me to know that I held first place in your heart,” he said. “Who knows … mayhap one day I shall ask you to prove that to me.”

For a long time after that Henriette was apprehensive.

The Comtesse de Soissons recovered, and seemed to regret her confidences. Louis had not redeemed his promise to punish de Vardes, and the man was still at large. Henriette knew that together he and the Countess planned to harm her in the eyes of the King; de Vardes because he knew that now she hated him and there was no hope of her becoming his mistress, the Countess because she was so infatuated with de Vardes that she was glad to help him in any way he wished.

Henriette realized how little Louis trusted her, and that he still believed she was in secret correspondence with her brother. It seemed to her that the most important thing was to win back Louis’ faith and trust.

De Guiche had returned to Court. Louis had only allowed him to come back on condition that he did not attempt to see Henriette; but the foolish man could not resist writing to her, and de Vardes, feigning to be his friend, offered to deliver this to Henriette.

It was only a few weeks after the birth of Henriette’s son, the little Duc de Valois, that she received a message from de Vardes. He assured her that he had been the victim of a terrible misunderstanding and implored her to grant him a short interview.

Disturbed and desirous of getting to the bottom of these intrigues, which were in progress to turn the King against her, Henriette agreed to see de Vardes and hear what he had to tell her.

De Vardes accordingly planned to visit her, but before going to Saint-Cloud he sought an audience with the King. He begged His Majesty’s pardon for the intrusion, but if the King would walk with him the length of the gallery, he would show him something which would convince him that he, de Vardes, had been misjudged.

Louis frowned but said testily that he would grant the interview; and the two strolled off together.

De Vardes said: “Sire, I have been misjudged with regard to Madame.”

“I have no wish to speak of Madame.”

“Your Majesty, I beg of you, allow me to defend myself.”

“On what grounds?”

“When I uncovered the perfidy of Madame in her relationship with her brother, my one thought was to serve Your Majesty. Your Majesty did not believe me, preferring to trust Madame.” De Vardes bowed. “I can do no other than accept Your Majesty’s decision. But Monsieur de Guiche has returned to Court, having promised on his honor not to see Madame again.”

“You suggest that they are meeting?” demanded Louis.

“I have this letter—a profession of his undying devotion. He knows full well that he disobeys Your Majesty’s command.”

“He is a man in love,” said Louis musingly.

“And Madame? Is Madame a woman in love?”

Louis was hurt and angry. It was true that La Vallière was his mistress whom he desired passionately, but for Henriette he had cherished an ideal love. If, while professing to love him, she was receiving a lover, it was more than he could bear. She had sworn to him that there were no lovers; she had in her way reproached him for lacking her own fidelity. And mayhap now she was laughing at him with de Guiche.

He said: “Take this letter to Madame. I will come with you, but you shall go to her and I shall remain hidden until you have handed her the letter. If she is my good friend—as she swears she is—she will not read the letter, which she knows comes to her in flagrant disobedience to my commands.”

De Vardes bowed.

Louis took de Guiche’s letter, read it and knew great jealousy.

He thought: I have been deceived. I have told myself that if I could have married Henriette, I should be the happiest man alive. I have idealized her; but if this man is her lover, she is unworthy of idealized love.

It was typical of Louis, openly unfaithful himself, to expect fidelity in others. Henriette had always known this side of his nature; but did she love him for his virtues? No more than she loved Charles for his.

And so the letter was brought to her, and the King was secreted in a closet to see and hear her reception of it.

When she saw what her visitor had brought, she turned away from him. “You bring me that which I have no wish to receive,” she said. “I pray you take it back to him who gave it to you and tell him that he breaks the King’s command by writing to me thus.”

De Vardes fell on to his knees; he tried to take her hands; he exerted all his fascination, to the potency of which there were so many women at Court to bear witness, in an effort to make her betray some weakness to the watching King.

But Henriette had no love for either de Guiche or de Vardes, although she entertained a certain fondness for the former.

“Pray leave me,” she said. “I wish to hear no more from either of you. I wish only to be left in peace; you have done me too much harm already.”

De Vardes left and immediately Louis joined Henriette. She was shocked to realize she had been spied upon; but it was a great relief to know that Louis was her friend again.

“Now I have heard with my own ears and seen with my own eyes how you spurn these fellows. Can you forgive me for accepting their word against yours? I was jealous, Henriette. Oh, what an unhappy state is this in which we find ourselves!”

“If I may see you often,” she said, “if I may enjoy your friendship, I could be happy.”

“We shall be together as we were before. My favor is yours as it ever was. Henriette, we love and our love is a sacred passion … above more earthly loves.”

Then she felt it was as it had been when they had first made that wonderful discovery regarding each other.

But still he did not carry out his threats to punish de Vardes; and he remained jealous of Charles.

One of the noblemen of the Court was giving a masked ball, and as the King was not present on this occasion, the principal guests were Monsieur and Madame.

There was a great deal of excitement, as there always was at these affairs; flirtations were conducted under cover of wigs and masks. Henriette was glad of the anonymity.

She and Philippe went by coach to the nobleman’s mansion—not in their own coach, which would have betrayed them, but in a hired one. Philippe scarcely spoke to his wife nowadays; he had ceased to show any great interest in her. He was pleased that she had given him a son who seemed to be more healthy than the Dauphin; he was pleased also that their daughter lived, although the King’s had died. Henriette knew that such rivalry would always exist between them. Anne of Austria and Mazarin had perverted Philippe’s mind during his childhood, when he had always been compelled to remember that his brother was his King.

When they arrived at the house Philippe gave his hand to the nearest lady, and a man immediately came forward to escort Henriette.

As she laid her hand on his satin sleeve she was aware of his excitement.

She said: “Have we met before, Monsieur?”

He answered: “Madame, we have.”

“Then you know my identity?”

“Who could fail to recognize the most elegant and beautiful lady of the Court? Madame is like a slender lily compared with weeds.”

Then since you know me, I pray you keep my identity secret. Remember this is a masked ball.”

Then glancing down she caught sight of his hand, and she remembered hearing that, in the recent battle in which he had taken part, de Guiche had lost several of his fingers. The hand of this man was maimed.

Henriette caught her breath. How could she have been mistaken? He had a distinguished air, this de Guiche. He had a recklessness, something of the adventurer in him. He was taller than most men—though not as tall as Louis; now she saw that the large mask did not entirely conceal the well-shaped nose and sensitive mouth.

She thought: So he has dared to seek me out in this way! This is folly. If Louis were to hear of our meeting he would believe that I have been guilty of conspiring to bring it about.

“Monsieur,” she said, “I wish you to leave me when we reach the top of the staircase.”

“Madame … dear madame … I had hoped to be your companion for longer than that.”

“You are a fool!” she cried. “I know who you are. So will others. And as you recognized me … so will they.”

“Madame, I had to speak to you. I had to find some way. I could not endure those days without a sight of you.”

“Monsieur de Guiche, you know you disobey the King’s orders. If you have any regard for me, bring no more trouble on yourself … or me.”

“It is not only to give myself the joy of seeing you and speaking to you which has brought me here. I know that to be dangerous. But I have to warn you; I do not believe you understand to the full the treachery of de Vardes and his mistress.”

“I think I understand full well how those two have tried to harm me in the King’s eyes.”

“I beg of you, listen to me. De Vardes is determined to ruin us both. Madame de Soissons is jealous, not only of the King’s regard for you, but because de Vardes desired you so passionately. De Vardes is not in high favor with the King, but Louis always has a soft spot for his mistresses, and Madame de Soissons has his ear. She has this day told the King that, in secret correspondence, you have suggested to your brother that you take possession of Dunkirk in his name; also that this is my plan, and that I am ready to place my regiment of guards at your disposal.”

Henriette caught her breath. “But this is madness.”

“The madness of jealousy … envy … and those determined on revenge. The King already suspects you are more ready to serve your brother than to serve him. Madame, beware.”

Philippe, who had reached the top of the staircase, had turned and was watching them.

Henriette whispered: “He knows you. He has recognized you. He has never forgiven you for turning from him to me. He too suffers from his jealousy. I beg of you, Monsieur de Guiche, as soon as we reach the top of the stairs, leave me. And leave this ballroom. It is unsafe for you to be here.

And when they reached the top of the stairs, she turned hastily from him and started to walk towards Philippe. In her haste her foot caught in her gown and she tripped and fell. It was de Guiche who leaped forward to catch her.

There were gasps of horror from those about her. Someone said in a loud voice: “Madame has fainted!”

Henriette realized that she was recognized, and in de Guiche’s arms. She hastily disengaged herself; but as she did so she was aware of de Vardes’ cynical voice beside her.

“There is no mistaking Madame. That beauty … that elegance cannot be hidden by a mask. But who is her savior? I think we may be forgiven a little curiosity on that score.”

He stepped towards de Guiche and with a swift movement tore off his mask.

There was a murmur of: “De Guiche!”

“Our gallant soldier!” said de Vardes mockingly. “It is no great surprise that he should be at hand … when Madame needs him.”

With great dignity de Guiche cried: “Monsieur de Vardes, my friends will be calling on you tomorrow.”

De Vardes bowed: “Monsieur, they will be most welcome.”

De Guiche then turned and walked haughtily through the press of courtiers and out of the ballroom.

Philippe, white-lipped with anger—for never had it seemed to him that de Guiche looked more handsome—gave his arm to his wife and led her away.

All through that evening, behind their masks, guests talked of this affair; and Henriette knew that, before the night was over, news of what had happened at the masked ball would reach the ears of Louis.

She had implored the King to believe her guiltless. He was kind. He agreed on the villainy of de Vardes, but still he allowed him to go free. In her heart, Henriette knew that he did not entirely believe in her innocence.

Was there no one to whom she could appeal? There was only one person in the world whom she could entirely trust, and he was on the other side of the water.

At last she decided to ask for Charles’ help, and she wrote to him:

I have begged the Ambassador to send you this courier that he may inform you truly of the affair which has happened about de Vardes. This is a matter so serious that I fear it will affect the rest of my life. If I cannot obtain my object, I shall feel disgraced forever that a private individual has been allowed to insult me with impunity, and if nothing is done to punish this man, it will be a warning to the world in future how they dare attack me. All France is interested in the outcome of this affair. Out of your love for me, I beg you ask the King for justice. I am hoping that the consideration in which you are held here will settle this matter. It will not be the first debt I have owed you, nor the one for which I shall feel the least grateful, since it will enable me to obtain justice in the future.

She knew that her cry for help would not be in vain. Charles answered at once that she could rely on his assistance.

Two weeks later de Vardes was lodged in the Bastille.

As for de Guiche, it was clear that he must not be seen at Court again. His father, the Maréchal de Gramont, advised him to beg one last audience with Louis, during which he must convince the King that he served no other master; after that he must depart and never see Henriette again.

This de Guiche promised to do, but he could not deprive himself of one last farewell. He dared not seek her in her apartments, so he dressed himself in the livery of one of the servants of La Vallière that he might see Henriette pass in her chair from the Palais-Royal to the Louvre.

This was the last he saw of her before he left for Holland and a brilliant military career.

The affair of de Guiche and de Vardes was closed, the King implied; but he continued to ponder on the relationship between Henriette and her brother.