Read Online Athenais by Lisa Hilton - Free Book Online
Authors: Lisa Hilton
Tags: BIO022000
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clear that these attentions were paid to her rank as Duchess and not to her role as his favorite.
Athénaïs de Montespan was lodged in the household of her friend Julie de Montausier, the elderly daughter of the famous salon hostess Mme. de Rambouillet. It was almost certainly here, at Avesnes, that she finally became the King’s lover. One version of the story is that the King, disguised in the livery of one of M. de Montausier’s servants, surprised Athénaïs at her bath. Did she know at once who the intruder was, detecting something less than servile in the sooty eyes beneath the slouched cap? Louis was so transfixed by her that he stood dumb and unable to move, gazing upon her until Athénaïs laughed at him and dropped her towel.
One of Mme. de Montausier’s rooms was close to the apartment of the King, and after a while, sharp eyes observed that a guard who had been placed at the door was removed downstairs. The Marquise de Montespan rather neglected her duties to the Queen, while the King spent much time in his private rooms. Athénaïs’s roommate Mme. d’Heudicourt took to leaving her discreetly alone so that Louis could visit her in disguise. Some days later, the old and the new mistresses attended confession together. It would be interesting to know whose was the more unquiet conscience.
At this time, Louis commenced the series of military successes that for ten years rendered him indisputably the most powerful monarch in Europe. If the Flanders campaign of 1667 marks the real beginning of the Great Century, then it corresponds precisely with the beginnings of the King’s greatest love affair. Disguises, midnight assignations, the trumpets sounding the King’s victories, love and glory allied — all the accoutrements of a romantic novel surrounded the young man triumphant in his first conquests. Like all lovers, Athénaïs and Louis must have lain at dawn in one another’s arms believing the world made new for them. In their case, it was true.
The campaign continued splendidly. Louis’s new passion made him more daring than ever, and his troops were inspired. The King personally led the attack on Tournai, advancing in the first line, unflinching even when his page was shot down next to him. The town capitulated quickly, and the army progressed to Douai, where Louis aroused delighted admiration in the soldiers as he led the charge on a white horse, an ostentatious white plume in his hat, fearlessly dodging bullets to be first on to the ramparts. He was not always so reckless as in the enthusiasm of the war of Devolution. In 1676, with the Spanish as the enemy once again, he took the advice of Louvois and remained behind the lines at the Battle of Bouchain. Louvois was afraid that if the King were killed, the country would be left in chaos. But Louis was genuinely a brave and committed soldier, and he was very hurt when he heard that the troops were muttering that his grandfather Henri IV had shown no such caution. Since the battle resulted in a resounding victory for the French, Louis blamed Louvois for making him appear a coward, a grudge that still rankled more than twenty years later.
Four days sufficed for Douai, then Louis rushed to Compiègne to join Athénaïs. Puzzled by the alteration in the King’s nocturnal habits, the Queen inquired at dinner what was keeping him from her bed until four o’clock in the morning. Louis replied that he was occupied with his dispatches, turning to his cousin Mademoiselle to hide his smile. She wisely kept her eyes on her plate. It must have been thrilling to conduct a new love affair right under the nose not only of the Queen, but of the maîtresse en titre as well. To keep Athénaïs with him, Louis dragged off the long-suffering Marie-Thérèse in the stifling summer heat to inspect the towns conquered in her name. In the King’s carriage, Louis and Athénaïs played jokes on Mademoiselle, pretending they had crashed every time she nodded off. When
Athénaïs de Montespan was lodged in the household of her friend Julie de Montausier, the elderly daughter of the famous salon hostess Mme. de Rambouillet. It was almost certainly here, at Avesnes, that she finally became the King’s lover. One version of the story is that the King, disguised in the livery of one of M. de Montausier’s servants, surprised Athénaïs at her bath. Did she know at once who the intruder was, detecting something less than servile in the sooty eyes beneath the slouched cap? Louis was so transfixed by her that he stood dumb and unable to move, gazing upon her until Athénaïs laughed at him and dropped her towel.
One of Mme. de Montausier’s rooms was close to the apartment of the King, and after a while, sharp eyes observed that a guard who had been placed at the door was removed downstairs. The Marquise de Montespan rather neglected her duties to the Queen, while the King spent much time in his private rooms. Athénaïs’s roommate Mme. d’Heudicourt took to leaving her discreetly alone so that Louis could visit her in disguise. Some days later, the old and the new mistresses attended confession together. It would be interesting to know whose was the more unquiet conscience.
At this time, Louis commenced the series of military successes that for ten years rendered him indisputably the most powerful monarch in Europe. If the Flanders campaign of 1667 marks the real beginning of the Great Century, then it corresponds precisely with the beginnings of the King’s greatest love affair. Disguises, midnight assignations, the trumpets sounding the King’s victories, love and glory allied — all the accoutrements of a romantic novel surrounded the young man triumphant in his first conquests. Like all lovers, Athénaïs and Louis must have lain at dawn in one another’s arms believing the world made new for them. In their case, it was true.
The campaign continued splendidly. Louis’s new passion made him more daring than ever, and his troops were inspired. The King personally led the attack on Tournai, advancing in the first line, unflinching even when his page was shot down next to him. The town capitulated quickly, and the army progressed to Douai, where Louis aroused delighted admiration in the soldiers as he led the charge on a white horse, an ostentatious white plume in his hat, fearlessly dodging bullets to be first on to the ramparts. He was not always so reckless as in the enthusiasm of the war of Devolution. In 1676, with the Spanish as the enemy once again, he took the advice of Louvois and remained behind the lines at the Battle of Bouchain. Louvois was afraid that if the King were killed, the country would be left in chaos. But Louis was genuinely a brave and committed soldier, and he was very hurt when he heard that the troops were muttering that his grandfather Henri IV had shown no such caution. Since the battle resulted in a resounding victory for the French, Louis blamed Louvois for making him appear a coward, a grudge that still rankled more than twenty years later.
Four days sufficed for Douai, then Louis rushed to Compiègne to join Athénaïs. Puzzled by the alteration in the King’s nocturnal habits, the Queen inquired at dinner what was keeping him from her bed until four o’clock in the morning. Louis replied that he was occupied with his dispatches, turning to his cousin Mademoiselle to hide his smile. She wisely kept her eyes on her plate. It must have been thrilling to conduct a new love affair right under the nose not only of the Queen, but of the maîtresse en titre as well. To keep Athénaïs with him, Louis dragged off the long-suffering Marie-Thérèse in the stifling summer heat to inspect the towns conquered in her name. In the King’s carriage, Louis and Athénaïs played jokes on Mademoiselle, pretending they had crashed every time she nodded off. When
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