The Loves of Charles II (32 page)

Louis was not really interested in the question as to which of his cousins stepped aside for the other. Greater matters concerned him. Since Madame de Beauvais had initiated him into the
doux scavoir
he found no pastime to equal it. He would be grateful to Madame de Beauvais for the rest of his days; he would always feel tender towards her, but his desires strayed elsewhere. There were three beautiful nieces of Cardinal Mazarin: Olympia, Marie and Hortense. Louis, who had been violently in love with Olympia—quickly married off to the Count of Soissons—had now transferred his affections to Marie. He was eager to marry her. She was after all the niece of the Cardinal and she bewitched him. Louis could not think very much about his thin little cousin, who was only a child, when his thoughts and feelings were so deeply involved with the fascinating Marie.

All the same, he was sorry for the little Henriette. She and her mother were out of favor now because of foreign affairs, and it was certainly not the fault of the Princess. Philippe was wrong to speak of her so slightingly, for what he had said would surely be carried hither and thither until it reached the ears of the desolate Queen and her little daughter.

So Louis joined his mother in reprimanding Philippe, who slunk off in some annoyance to go and find his favorite de Guiche and tell him what had happened, to complain that Louis and his mother conspired together to
humiliate him, and to receive de Guiche’s assurance that he was the most charming and clever of princes even though he had had the misfortune to be born two years later than his brother.

Louis went on dreaming of the beauty of Marie Mancini.

Love! What a pastime! What a pleasure! He would not of course wallow in it as did his cousin, Charles of England. Louis must have more dignity; he had so much to remember, so much to live up to. He was no wandering exile. That was why he would try to persuade his mother and the Cardinal to agree to his marriage with Marie. Then he could enjoy legitimate love, which would be so much more gratifying since it would not involve a lack of dignity.

Marie! Beautiful, charming, voluptuous Marie! But if the occasion arose, and he remembered, he would be kind to poor little Henriette.

In his bedchamber at Versailles, Louis awoke to a new day. His first thoughts were of Marie. He intended to plead with his mother to allow him to marry her; he would do so this very day, without delay. Marie was urging him. Marie loved him, but she was also very eager to be Queen of France.

Louis’ morning in Versailles involved a ritual. As soon as he awoke he said his prayers and rosary in bed, and when his voice was heard, his attendants would come to his bedside; among them would be the Abbé de Péréfixe whose duty it was to read to him from the Scriptures. Sometimes the Abbé substituted a part of the book he was writing—a history of Louis’ grandfather.

When the Abbé had finished his reading, the valets, La Porte and Dubois, would come forward; they would put his dressing gown about him and lead him to his commode, on which he made a habit of sitting for half an hour. On rising, he went back to his bedroom where the officials of state would be waiting for him; he would chat with them in that charming and easy way which made them all so delighted to be with him. He continued to chat while he washed his face and hands and rinsed his mouth; then prayers began. After that his beautiful hair was brushed and combed amid expressions of admiration, and he was helped into the light breeches and cambric shirt which he wore for his morning physical exercises. At these he excelled, but on this morning he showed less than his usual skill, so that it was clear to those about him that something was on his mind. He did not land on the seat of the wooden horse with his habitual agility, although the usher, seeing his mood, had taken the precaution of not winding it quite so high as usual. It was the same during the bout of fencing; Louis was not displaying his customary good judgement. Even during the drill with pike and musket he
was absentminded. But no one reproached him. Even when he made a fault there came a chorus of admiration. Then followed the ballet dancing to which he usually looked forward with such pleasure. Now he imagined himself to be dancing with Marie; and although he ignored the instructions of Beauchamp, the foremost master of the ballet in the country, he danced with inspiration that morning.

Sweating from the dance, he returned to his chamber, there to change his clothes before eating breakfast.

After that he went to the apartments of Cardinal Mazarin to discuss state matters.

Cardinal Mazarin! He was quite excited to be with him, for the Cardinal had a special importance at this time, being Marie’s uncle.

He wondered whether to approach the Cardinal on the matter of his marriage; surely the great man would be on the King’s side and would wish to see his niece Queen of France. All the same, Louis did not entirely trust Mazarin, and dared not speak to him until he had laid his plans before his mother.

He went to her as soon as he had left the Cardinal. It was now eleven o’clock and she was still in bed, for Anne never rose early.

Her face lighted at the sight of her son. Each morning it seemed to her that he had grown in beauty; he was like one of those romantic heroes of whom Mademoiselle de Scudéry wrote so entertainingly; and indeed this was not to be wondered at, for all writers of the day saw in Louis the romantic ideal, and no man could be a hero—even in fiction—unless he bore some resemblance to the King.

This was one of the hours of the day which Anne enjoyed most. To lie in bed and receive the filial duties of her beloved boy; to watch him as he gracefully handed her her chemise; to chat with him while she consumed the enormous breakfast which was brought to her bed; these were indeed great pleasures. She almost wished that he were a small boy again, that she might pop titbits into that pretty mouth.

She was glad he was so physically perfect. What did it matter if he were not a bookworm or if, after he left her, he indulged in sports and devoted but an hour or so a day to books?

“I have something to say to you, dear Mama,” he said.

“You would wish us to be alone?”

He nodded. She waved her hand, and in a few moments her chamber was deserted.

“Now, my beloved?”

“Madame, it is this: “I am no longer a boy, and it is time I thought of marriage.”

“Dearest, that is true. I have thought of your marriage ever since you were in your cradle.”

“I have now found one whom I would wish to make Queen of France. I love her,
chère Maman.
I cannot live without Marie.”

“Marie?”

“Marie Mancini.”

“My son! But you joke!”

“It is not a joke. I love her, I tell you.”

“Oh yes, you love her. That is understandable. It is not the first time you have loved. But marriage … the marriage of the greatest King in the world, my boy, is not a matter to be undertaken lightly.”

“I am not a boy. I am twenty and a man.”

“Yes, you are a man, and marry you shall. But you shall have a wife worthy of you.”

“I love Marie.”

“Then love Marie. She will be honored to become your mistress.”

“This is a different love, Mama. Marie is too good, and I love her too deeply …”

“Fortunate Marie! Now, my son, there is nothing with which to distress yourself. Have your Marie. She is yours … in all ways but that of marriage. Why, you demean yourself, Louis! You … the King of France … and such a King as never before sat on any throne! Why, none but a royal bride would do for you.”

“If I married Marie I should make her royal.”

Anne was so distressed she could not do justice to the delicious cutlets which she so enjoyed.

“Dearest, you love Marie, but you have a duty to your country. Think about this, and, with your good sense, you will see that a marriage between you and Marie Mancini is out of the question. You must have a royal bride. I thought you were going to tell me that you wished to marry your cousin Henriette.”

“Henriette!” Louis’ eyes were wide with distaste.

“Do you not like Henriette?”

“She is but a little girl.”

“She is fourteen now …”

“She is quiet and oh … I think of her as a little girl. I do not like little girls. I wish for a woman … a woman like Marie.”

“Then we will find you a woman like Marie … a royal woman. But if you had wished to marry Henriette, if you had been in love with Henriette, in spite of her brother’s exile, we should have been ready to consider the match. For you see, dearest, you are the son of a line of Kings and you must
continue that line. Your children must be royal. You understand that, beloved. Henriette is royal. She is a princess, and her grandfather was your own grandfather, great Henri. The people would not be displeased to see you united to his granddaughter, pitiable though the state of her country’s affairs may be. But … I would not say that was the best marriage you could make. There are other royal houses in Europe which are not in eclipse. If we could make peace with Spain you might marry the daughter of the Spanish King.”

In the King’s mind, love battled with his sense of duty. He never forgot for a moment the responsibilities of his position. He was fully aware that he must not make a
mésalliance.
He wished to be perfect in all things; he must not fail in this matter.

“But I love Marie,” he persisted. “It is Marie whom I wish to marry.”

“But, dearest, you will do your duty, I know. And in a little while you will forget Marie. There will be so many women to love you. Believe me, dearest, the one you marry need not necessarily come between you and your pleasures. Give France royal sons; and give as many sons as you wish to others. You will enjoy the begetting, and there is no woman in France who would not be proud to bear the King’s sons, even though they be bastards.”

“Such behavior seems wrong.”

“What is wrong for ordinary men is right for kings. Never forget, my loved one, your brilliant destiny. You are not to be judged as ordinary men. Oh, my beloved, do not turn from your mother because she cannot give you what you want. How willingly would I give my consent if I could! My one wish is to give you all you ask. There! See how I love you! I have been unable to eat my breakfast.”

He stooped and kissed his mother’s cheek.

“Then you do not blame me, dearest?” she said anxiously.

“I understand, of course,” answered Louis. “But, Mama, I cannot marry Henriette. Do not ask that of me.”

“Why are you so much against her?”

“I think it is because I am sorry for her. I do not like to be sorry for girls. I like to admire, not to pity. And she is too learned. She spends too much time in study. No! It must not be Henriette.”

“How vehement you are against this poor child, Louis. One would think you hated her.”

Louis shook his head. He did not understand his feelings for his cousin. He protected her when he could from slights and insults; but he was determined on one thing; he would not marry her.

Sorrowfully he left his mother and went to the riding school, where he
forgot his problems temporarily as he galloped round the school, picking up rings on his lance and holding them suspended during the gallop.

He was an expert at such feats, but as the cheering of his attendants filled his ears that day he began to think of what he would tell Marie; yet he found that it was the tall figure of Henriette which troubled his mind.

Shortly after that interview with her son, Anne, in panic, invited to the Court of France the Dowager Duchess of Savoy, a daughter of Henri Quatre. The Dowager Duchess had a daughter. This was the Princess Marguerite, a small, dark-skinned girl, very plain, and, knowing the purpose of her visit to the French Court, very nervous.

Louis received her with all the courtesy he could muster, but it was impossible to hide his feelings of distaste. It seemed to him that, the more he saw of other women, the more he was in love with Marie.

“I shall not marry my cousin Marguerite,” he told his mother. “I could not entertain the idea.”

“You need see very little of her,” said Anne. “And you would soon grow accustomed to her.”