The Historical Nights' Entertainment, Rafael Sabatini [freenovel24 .txt] 📗
- Author: Rafael Sabatini
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such capable men as Colbert and Louvois at the King’s side’; there
was the great genius of France which manifests itself when and as
it will, whatever the regime - and there was Madame de Montespan
to whose influence not a little of Louis’s glory may be ascribed,
since the most splendid years of his reign were those between 1668
and 1678 when she was maitresse en titre and more than Queen of
France. The women played a great part at the Court of Louis XIV,
and those upon whom he turned his dark eyes were in the main as wax
under the solar rays of the SunKing. But Madame de Montespan had
discovered the secret of reversing matters, so that in her hands it
was the King who became as wax for her modelling. It is with this
secret - a page of the secret history of France that we are here
concerned.
Francoises Athenais de Tonnay-Charente had come to Court in 1660 as
a maid of honour to the Queen. Of a wit and grace to match her
superb beauty, she was also of a perfervid piety, a daily
communicant, a model of virtue to all maids of honour. This until
the Devil tempted her. When that happened, she did not merely eat
an apple; she devoured an entire orchard. Pride and ambition
brought about her downfall. She shared the universal jealousy of
which Louise de la Valliere was a victim, and coveted the honours
and the splendour by which that unfortunate favourite was surrounded.
Not even her marriage with the Marquis de Montespan some three years
after her coming to Court sufficed to overcome the longings born of
her covetousness and ambition. And then, when the SunKing looked
with favour upon her opulent charms, when at last she saw the object
of her ambition within reach, that husband of hers went very near
to wrecking everything by his unreasonable behaviour. This
preposterous marquis had the effrontery to dispute his wife with
Jupiter, was so purblind as not to appreciate the honour the SunKing
proposed to do him.
In putting it thus, I but make myself the mouthpiece of the Court.
When Montespan began to make trouble by railing furiously against
the friendship of the King for his wife, his behaviour so amazed the
King’s cousin, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, that she called him
“an extravagant and extraordinary man.” To his face she told him
that he must be mad to behave in this fashion; and so incredibly
distorted were his views, that he did not at all agree with her.
He provoked scenes with the King, in which he quoted Scripture,
made opposite allusions to King David which were in the very worst
taste, and even ventured to suggest that the SunKing might have
to reckon with the judgment of God. If he escaped a lettre de
cachet and a dungeon in the Bastille, it can only have been because
the King feared the further spread of a scandal injurious to the
sacrosanctity of his royal dignity.
The Marchioness fumed in private and sneered in public. When
Mademoiselle de Montpensier suggested that for his safety’s sake
she should control her husband’s antics, she expressed her
bitterness.
“He and my parrot,” she said, “amuse the Court to my shame.”
In the end, finding that neither by upbraiding the King nor by
beating his wife could he prevail, Monsieur de Montespan resigned
himself after his own fashion. He went into widower’s mourning,
dressed his servants in black, and came ostentatiously to Court in
a mourning coach to take ceremonious leave of his friends. It was
an affair that profoundly irritated the SunKing, and very nearly
made him ridiculous.
Thereafter Montespan abandoned his wife to the King. He withdrew
first to his country seat, and, later, from France, having
received more than a hint that Louis was intending to settle his
score with him. By that time Madame de Montespan was firmly
established as maitresse en titre, and in January of 1669 she gave
birth to the Duke of Maine, the first of the seven children she
was to bear the King. Parliament was to legitimize them all,
declaring them royal children of France, and the country was to
provide titles, dignities, and royal rent-rolls for them and their
heirs forever. Do you wonder that there was a revolution a century
later, and that the people, grown weary of the parasitic anachronism
of royalty, should have risen to throw off the intolerable burden
it imposed upon them?
The splendour of Madame de Montespan in those days was something
the like of which had never been seen at the Court of France. On
her estate of Clagny, near Versailles, stood now a magnificent
chateau. Louis had begun by building a country villa, which
satisfied her not at all.
“That,” she told him, “might do very well for an opera-girl”;
whereupon the infatuated monarch had no alternative but to command
its demolition, and call in the famous architect, Mansard, to erect
in its place an ultraroyal residence.
At Versailles itself, whilst the long-suffering Queen had to be
content with ten rooms on the second floor, Madame de Montespan was
installed in twice that number on the first; and whilst a simple
page sufficed to carry the Queen’s train at Court, nothing less than
the wife of a marshal of France must perform the same office for the
favourite. She kept royal state as few queens have ever kept it.
She was assigned a troop of royal bodyguards for escort, and when
she travelled there was a never-ending train to follow her six-horse
coach, and officers of State came to receive her with royal honours
wherever she passed.
In her immeasurable pride she became a tyrant, even over the King
himself.
“Thunderous and triumphant,” Madame de Sevigne describes her in
those days when the SunKing was her utter and almost timid slave.
But constancy is not a Jovian virtue. Jupiter grew restless, and
then, shaking off all restraint, plunged into inconstancy of the
most scandalous and flagrant kind. It is doubtful if the history
of royal amours, with all its fecundity, can furnish a parallel.
Within a few months, Madame de Soubise, Mademoiselle de
Rochefort-Theobon, Madame de Louvigny, Madame de Ludres, and some
lesser ones passed in rapid succession through the furnace of the
SunKing’s affection - which is to say, through the royal bed -
and at last the Court was amazed to see the Widow Scarron, who had
been appointed governess to Madame de Montespan’s royal children,
empanoplied in a dignity and ceremony that left no doubt on the
score of her true position at Court.
And so, after seven years of absolute sway in which homage had been
paid her almost in awe by noble and simple alike, Madame de
Montespan, neglected now by Louis, moved amid reflections of that
neglect, with arrogantly smiling lips and desperate rage in her
heart. She sneered openly at the royal lack of taste, allowed her
barbed wit to make offensive sport with the ladies who supplanted
her; yet, ravaged by jealousy, she feared for herself the fate
which through her had overtaken La Valliere.
That fear was with her now as she sat in the window embrasure, hell
in her heart and a reflection of it in her eyes, as, fallen almost
to the rank of a spectator in that comedy wherein she was accustomed
to the leading part, she watched the shifting, chattering,
glittering crowd. And as she watched, her line of vision was
crossed to her undoing by the slender, wellknit figure of de Vanens,
who, dressed from head to foot in black, detached sharply from that
dazzling throng. His face was pale and saturnine, his eyes dark,
very level, and singularly piercing. Thus his appearance served to
underline the peculiar fascination which he exerted, the rather
sinister appeal which he made to the imagination.
This young Provencal nobleman was known to dabble in magic, and
there were one or two dark passages in his past life of which more
than a whisper had gone abroad. Of being a student of alchemy, a
“philosopher” - that is to say, a seeker after the philosopher’s
stone, which was to effect the transmutation of metals - he made
no secret. But if you taxed him with demoniacal practices he would
deny it, yet in a way that carried no conviction.
To this dangerous fellow Madame de Montespan now made appeal in her
desperate need.
Their eyes met as he was sauntering past, and with a lazy smile and
a languid wave of her fan she beckoned him to her side.
“They tell me, Vanens,” said she, “that your philosophy succeeds
so well that you are transmuting copper into silver.”
His piercing eyes surveyed her, narrowing; a smile flickered over
his thin lips.
“They tell you the truth,” he said. “I have cast a bar which has
been purchased as good silver by the Mint.”
Her interest quickened. “By the Mint!” she echoed, amazed. “But,
then, my friend - ” She was breathless with excitement. “It is
a miracle.”
“No less,” he admitted. “But there is the greater miracle to come
- the transmutation of base metal into gold.”
“And you will perform it?”
“Let me but conquer the secret of solidifying mercury, and the rest
is naught. I shall conquer it, and soon.”
He spoke with easy confidence, a man stating something that he knew
beyond the possibility of doubt. The Marquise became thoughtful.
She sighed.
“You are the master of deep secrets, Vanens. Have you none that
will soften flinty hearts, make them responsive?”
He considered this woman whom Saint-Simon has called “beautiful as
the day,” and his smile broadened.
“Look in your mirror for the alchemy needed there,” he bade her.
Anger rippled across the perfect face. She lowered
“I have looked - in vain. Can you not help me, Vanens, you who
know so much?”
“A love-philtre?” said he, and hummed. “Are you in earnest?”
“Do you mock me with that question? Is not my need proclaimed for
all to see?”
Vanens became grave.
“It is not an alchemy in which myself I dabble,” he said slowly.
“But I am acquainted with those who do.”
She clutched his wrist in her eagerness.
“I will pay well,” she said.
“You will need to. Such things are costly.” He glanced round to
see that none was listening, then bending nearer: “There is a
sorceress named La Voisin in the Rue de la Tannerie, well known as
a fortuneteller to many ladies of the Court, who at a word from me
will do your need.”
La Montespan turned white. The piety in which she had been reared
- the habits of which clung to her despite the irregularity of her
life-made her recoil before the thing that she desired. Sorcery
was of the Devil. She told him so. But Vanens laughed.
“So that it be effective …” said he with a shrug.
And then across the room floated a woman’s trilling laugh. She
looked in the direction of the sound and beheld the gorgeous figure
of the King bending - yet haughty and condescending even in
adoration - over handsome Madame de Ludres. Pride and ambition
rose up in sudden fury to trample on religious feeling. Let Vanens
take her to this witch of his, for be the aid what it might, she
must have it.
And so, one dark night late in the year, Louis de Vanens handed a
masked and muffled lady from a coach at the corner of the Rue de
la Tannerie, and conducted her to the house of
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