The Loves of Charles II (44 page)

De Guiche threw up his hands in a gesture of despair. “I see this is an impossible situation. I shall leave the Court, I shall go to the country. I cannot stay here any longer.”

“Then go!” cried Philippe. “I have other friends to fill your place.”

So Armand de Guiche retired to the country, and all the Court whispered that he did so because Monsieur had discovered his love for Madame.

Louis had kept his part of the bargain. He had sought out the little Vallière. He enjoyed being kind to her because she was such a frightened little thing and overawed to have the attention of the King focused upon herself. She could not understand why, until other maids of honor told her that he was falling in love with her.

“It is impossible!” cried the little Vallière. “The King would never fall in love with me, when there are so many beauties of the Court all sighing for him.”

But Louis continued to seek her out. He would be by her side when the Court rode together; he would join in the dance with her, for she was present at those informal occasions at Fontainbleau; he would say: “Come, Mademoiselle de la Vallière, come and watch the piquet.”

Sometimes he himself would play, and when everything he did was applauded, La Vallière would clasp her hands together and her big brown eyes would be wide with adoration.

Louis thought: Poor child! She seeks too much to please. Oh, Henriette, if we could but be together! If only you were with me now!

The Queen was near her time. She spent much of the day lying in bed playing cards, in which she took great delight, still eating a great deal—far too much, it was said, for the good of the child.

Louis visited her as rarely as he could without calling attention to the fact that she bored him.

His mother was delighted because he was no longer constantly in the company of Henriette. She did not appear in public as frequently as before; she was content to leave state matters to Louis and his ministers. Like her daughter-in-law, her chief interest was in food and cards, although she had a love of the theater; she was content to keep certain ladies with her to gossip in her
ruelle
every night and bring her the latest scandals.

It was evening, and Louis was strolling through the grounds of Versailles with a little party of noblemen and ladies. Among the group was La Vallière.

The conversation was by no means profound; there were no literary allusions as there would doubtless have been had Henriette been present. The jokes were trivial and obvious, and everything the King said was greeted with hilarious laughter. He felt a longing to have Henriette beside him, to be free of these empty-headed sycophants.

Then he looked into the face of La Vallière who was close beside him. He knew that she was in love with him, and he was moved because of the sincerity of this young girl who could not hide her devotion; she was like a young fawn, fascinated yet apprehensive.

Louis realized that he had been faithful to Henriette ever since he had discovered that he loved her. He had had no mistress since then, and from those days when Madame de Beauvais had initiated him into the pleasure of the
doux scavoir
such delights had been a frequent need. He felt sexual desire upon him then like thirst in the desert or hunger after a long fast. It came to him as he stood there in the scented gardens with La Vallière beside him.

He looked at the girl, and felt pity for her. Pity! He had first felt that for Henriette, and in some ways this girl reminded him of Henriette—not as she was now, not Madame, but the shy Princess Henriette with whom he had once refused to dance.

He was unaware of the silence which had fallen about him, his large eyes had become a little glazed, and he was still looking at La Vallière.

He said, and although his voice sounded normal to him, it seemed to those about him—accustomed as they were to anticipating his moods—that it held a note of high-pitched excitement: “Mademoiselle de la Vallière, have you seen the new summer house I have had built near the ornamental grotto?”

La Vallière stammered, as she always did when directly addressed by the King: “N-no, Sire. Why … yes … I believe I have, Sire.” “Then let us go and make sure that you have.”

By the time they reached the grotto the party which had accompanied them had lingered here and there, and there was none left but La Vallière and her King. They went through into the new summer house where were set out gilded chairs and a velvet-covered couch—scarlet, and decorated with golden fleurs-de-lis.

“So … you see it now,” he said, and taking her hands he drew her to him and kissed her.

La Vallière trembled. The frightened fawn … the eager fawn … thought Louis. It is Henriette whom I love, but she is my brother’s wife, and this timid little Vallière is so eager to be loved.

Armand de Guiche soon returned to the Court. He found that his longing to see Henriette forced him to return. So he asked Philippe’s pardon, which was graciously accorded him, and he became again the close friend of Henriette’s husband in order that he might not be banished from Henriette’s presence.

Henriette had an opportunity to speak a few words in private with the King while they danced together.

She said: “So we have produced the desired effect. There is talk of you and the little Vallière.”

“Is that so?” said Louis.

“And I have heard my name is mentioned with that of de Guiche.”

“I like that not,” said Louis.

“Nor do I like to hear it said that you are in love with La Vallière.”

“You could not believe that I would love anyone now … that I ever could, after I came to love you!”

“I hope not, Louis. I hope your love for me is like mine for you.”

“Mine is infinite,” declared the King; but he avoided meeting her eyes. He wished that he had not fallen into temptation with La Vallière. He wished that he did not keep remembering her little fluttering hands, her cries of protest and pleasure.

It should not happen again; he had promised himself that. He had not meant it to happen that second or third time, but it had been almost impossible to avoid it; she was so ready, so shy, so adoring. It would have been churlish not to. It was not love he had for the little one, he assured himself; it was pity … and the desire to honor her.

Henriette said: “Armand de Guiche came to my rooms this day, disguised as a fortune-teller. He is very bold. I had forbidden him to come near me. I thought there had been enough scandal, and I had no wish for more. Montalais, one of my maids of honor, came to me and said there was a teller of fortunes without, who had great things to tell me; and when I had him brought in I discovered it was de Guiche. I recognized him when he raised those mournful eyes to my face. I sent him off at once. I was thankful that none of the others present knew who my fortune-teller was.”

“The insolent fellow!” exclaimed the King.

“Do not be hard on him, Louis. We chose to make use of him, remember.”

Louis, heavy with the guilt of his affair with La Vallière, found that he was feigning anger against de Guiche which was greater than he felt. But Henriette was smiling tenderly; she felt it was wonderful to know that Louis could love her so much.

In the streets they were singing songs about the amours of the Court. Madame was loved by Monsieur’s
bel ami;
the King was neglecting his wife for one of Madame’s maids of honor.

Mademoiselle Montalais, who loved to make mischief and knew more of her mistress’s affairs than Henriette realized, whispered to her one day, “La Vallière is absentminded these days … They say it is her preoccupation with the King. She is afraid because she has surrendered her chastity to the King and, like all the pious, she seeks to justify her actions and tells herself
that it would have been worse to have been a disloyal subject and refused him than to offend the laws of the church by lying with him in the summer-house.”

“There is always gossip,” said Henriette.

“There is some truth in this, I’ll warrant,” said Montalais. “I have heard La Vallière saying her prayers. She asks for courage to resist when the next time comes, and then in the same breath she seems to be asking that the next time may come soon … I could never endure pious harlots.”

“I cannot believe this of … La Vallière!”

“Madame, it is true. The whole Court knows it. Though doubtless it is kept from you on account of your friendship with His Majesty.”

Henriette dismissed the woman. Could it be true? Little La Vallière … the last person worthy of him, and yet her very timidity might make an appeal to Louis! She, Henriette, who loved him, knew him well.

Henriette hesitated to face the truth, yet she could not bear to remain in ignorance. She sent for La Vallière, and when the girl stood trembling before her, she said: “Mademoiselle de la Vallière, I have heard gossip concerning you. I do not want to believe that it is true. In fact I find it hard to believe, but I must ask you to tell me the truth. You are—as one of my maids of honor—in my care, and I should not wish to think that you had behaved wantonly while in my household.”

Before the girl was able to speak she had revealed the truth to Henriette. First a wild anger possessed her—anger against Louis, against this girl, against herself for being such a fool as to recommend the girl to his notice, against Fate, which had been so cruel to her.

She stood trembling, her face pale, her hands clenched together; she could not look at the girl.

La Vallière had thrown herself at Henriette’s feet and was sobbing out her confession.

“Madame, I did not mean it to happen. I could not believe that His Majesty would ever care for me. I know that I have done wrong … but His Majesty insisted and … I could not refuse.”

“You could not refuse!” cried Henriette, pushing the girl from her. “You lie! You … you lured him with your seeming innocence. You feigned shyness … modesty … reluctance …”

“His Majesty is so…so handsome,” stammered La Vallière. “Madame, I tried hard, but I could not resist him. No one could resist him once he had made up his mind. Even you … you yourself … could not have resisted him … had you been in my position.”

Henriette cried in anguished fury: “Be silent, you wretched girl! You lying, hypocritical wanton, be silent!”

“Madame, I implore you. If you will speak to the king. If you could ask him to explain how it happened …”

Henriette laughed. “I … speak to the King … about you! You are of no importance to His Majesty. You are one of many … many!”

Henriette was trying to shut out of her mind pictures of Louis and this girl together; she could not. They would not be shut out. She saw Louis—passionate, eager, refusing to be denied.

Oh God, she thought, I cannot bear this. I could kill this silly girl who has had that for which I so longed. I hate her … I hate Louis for deceiving me. I hate myself for my folly. What a fool I have been! I gave him to her.

But she must be calm. All her life she had had to be calm. No one must know how she suffered. She must not be the laughingstock of the Court.

She said coldly: “Get up, Mademoiselle de la Vallière. Go to your apartment. Prepare to leave. I will not allow you to remain another night in my household. Not another night, I tell you. Do you think I shall let you stay here, corrupting others! You … with your sham humility! Prepare to leave at once.”