Free Royal Romances: Titillating Tales of Passion and Power in the Palaces of Europe by Leslie Carroll

give up his gambling.
    Other women in similar straits at court took lovers. Her own sister Gabrielle, the very married marquise de Thianges, was one of the king’s occasional flings. Yet Athénaïs remained faithful to Louis-Henri. Was it part of her strategy to ensnare the sovereign, on the assumption that making herself available for casual sex was not the way to win him permanently?
    Louis XIV noticed her, but his reaction was hardly what she was looking for. “She’s desperate to make me fall in love with her,” he once remarked to Louise de La Vallière, as they snickered over Madamede Montespan’s transparency. “She does what she can, but I don’t want her.”
    But two years later, in 1666, Louis and Athénaïs both lost their mothers. Free from the restraining influence of the formidable Anne of Austria, Louis no longer felt compelled to remain discreet about his affair with Louise de La Vallière. Ironically, under the court’s incessant scrutiny, the fragile blonde withered. The great chronicler of the age, Madame de Sevigné, described Louise as “that little violet which hid itself under the grass and was ashamed of being mistress.” Not only did it become apparent that she was abundantly lacking in the requisite clever repartee, but she would have to have been made of steel to withstand the perpetual gossip and the constant efforts to undermine her.
    And no one tried harder to do so than her dear friend the marquise de Montespan, who by now had become the royal favorite’s confidante. In the parlance of the day, Athénaïs was fighting for the king “avec bec et ongles” (with beak and talons), but with the subtlety of a hawk observing her prey, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop down and pounce. She also managed to charm her other rival, the queen, with her witty anecdotes about how she was perpetually fending off the advances of rakish courtiers.
    Louise gave birth to the king’s daughter in October 1666. Only a month later tongues were wagging that the real reason His Majesty so frequently visited her at the Palais de Brion (the charming château was a gift from the king) was to spend time with her glamorous friend. The duc d’Enghien observed, “We are saying at the court that he sighs a little after Mme. de Montespan, and, to tell the truth, she well deserves it, because one could not have more spirit nor more beauty than she has….”
    Athénaïs was more than a great beauty of her day; there were some, including the king, who were convinced she was the most gorgeous woman in France. Louis was an exceptionally acquisitive man, and so he doubtless felt the urge to append her to his collection of adornments the same way he might add a brilliant statue, a spectacular fountain, or the Mona Lisa . With her spectacular curvaceous figure, enormous china blue eyes, and tumbling honey blond curls that she arranged in a style she called the Hurluberlu (pulled off herforehead and cascading in soft ringlets about her face—a coiffure copied by every woman at court, including the queen), the glorious Madame de Montespan was herself a status symbol.
    Yet toward the end of the year Athénaïs declared, “Heaven defend me from becoming the King’s mistress, but were such a misfortune to befall me, I should certainly not have the audacity to appear before the Queen!”
    Was she being coy, deflecting attention from her true stratagem, or did she really mean it? A ruthless and calculating personality has historically been attributed to Athénaïs, but at the time, that opinion was far from universal. Madame de Caylus, a noblewoman and cousin of the king’s secret wife Madame de Maintenon, whose impressions of the court were edited by Voltaire, insisted that “far from being born debauched, the character of Mme. de Montespan was naturally distanced from gallantry [a catchall word for flirtations and affairs], and drawn towards virtue.” Regardless of her long-term adulterous relationship, Athénaïs