The Loves of Charles II (48 page)

“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:

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.

year had passed since the imprisonment of de Vardes and the banishment of de Guiche.

Louis was often in the company of Henriette. Always he was deeply affectionate, although at times she was aware of those suspicions which would return to his mind, and they always concerned her brother Charles.

Now that Louis was coming into his kingdom, now that he had made himself true ruler of France, he began to realize that he could use Henriette’s influence with her brother in negotiations between the two countries. Moreover, Henriette’s quick mind was as good as that of any statesman he possessed; and Louis was shrewd enough to know that a woman who was in love with him would make a better servant than anyone who worked for his own fame and glory.

There was only one doubt which arose now and then in his mind: Did the affection of Henriette for her brother exceed that which she had for himself?

He could not be entirely sure. It was a matter of great fascination and importance to him. This love between himself and Henriette was of greater interest to him than the more easily understood passions which he felt for La Vallière and her new rival, Madame de Montespan.

His mother, Queen Anne, was very ill, and he was aware that she could not live long. As he danced with Henriette, La Vallière or Montespan, his thoughts went often to his mother. He was fond of her, although lately she had interfered too much in his affairs, and she could not forget that he was her child, and continued to look upon him as such.

“Poor Mama!” he often murmured. “How she loves me! But she never understood me.”

In the Palais-Royal, the great gallery of which was hung with mirrors and brilliant with torches, the new play by Molière,
Médecin Malgré Lui
, was performed for the first time, after the banquet.

Louis, with Henriette beside him, laughed loudly at the wit of his favorite playwright, and forgot his mother.

He was happy. He enjoyed such occasions. It was good to have a quiet little wife who adored him. She was not here tonight to admire him in his suit of purple velvet covered in diamonds and pearls, because she was in mourning for her father. He was glad she was absent, for the sight of his mistresses always distressed her, and La Vallière was pregnant again. It was
good to have such a meek and tender mistress as La Vallière and such a bold and witty one as Madame de Montespan. And all the time he was enjoying a love affair on a higher plane with his elegant and clever Henriette. He enjoyed the pathos of their relationship; he did not see why it should not endure forever. Tonight she had arranged this entertainment for him; all the most brilliant fêtes, masks and ballets were arranged by Henriette for the pleasure of her King. If only he could have been entirely sure that her affection for him obsessed her completely, he would have been content.

But he was forever conscious of the dark witty man on the other side of the water, in whose capital city men were now falling like flies, stricken by the deadly plague.

About the bedside of the dying Queen Mother of France were her children, Louis and Philippe, and with them stood their wives, Marie-Thérèse and Henriette.

All four were in tears. Anne had suffered deeply, and her death was by no means unexpected. The beautiful hands, now gaunt and yellow, plucked at the sheets, and her eyes, sunken with pain, turned again and again to the best loved of them all.

Louis was deeply moved; he was on his knees recalling that great affection which she had always given him.

Philippe was also moved. She had loved him too in her way, but, being a simple woman, she had not been able to disguise from him the fact that almost all the affection she had to give must go to her glorious firstborn.