The Loves of Charles II (47 page)

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.”