and dressed his family in full mourning. He draped his carriage in black crêpe and rattled about the countryside with a large pair of antlers strapped to the roof. His eccentricities might be confined to the provinces for the present, but it was always possible that the mad Marquis might reappear.
As for Julie de Montausier, her elderly nerves never recovered from the shock of the episode. Her mother may have been a famous précieuse, but the rude intervention of real passion was too much for a woman more accustomed to the elegant, casuistical gallantries of the salon. Julie went into a decline and died, begging forgiveness on her deathbed for her involvement in promoting the King’s affair with Athénaïs.
For Louis, the next years were happy ones, filled with his favorite activities of fighting, building and lovemaking. Although Athénaïs was now certain of his regard for her, there were still many obstacles in the way of the domination she was coming to crave. Louise de La Vallière was still a lingering, reproachful presence, and Athénaïs’s marriage was still a potential barrier to the certainty she sought.
Perhaps she felt rather exhausted at the prospect of all the plotting and intriguing, lovemaking and quarreling, cajoling and charming that lay ahead of her. Louise was so stubbornly entrenched that more than natural means might be necessary to remove her, and traditionally, the Devil had always been a friend to the Rochechouart women. During her childhood at Lussac, Athénaïs may have shivered with fear in the candlelit nursery as her nurse Nounou recounted the family legend of her early sixteenth-century ancestor, Renée Taveau. In 1530 Renée, the young daughter of the Baron de Mortemart, fell ill, and her husband, François Rochechouart, found her dying. She was buried, still in her teens, covered with her jewels, notably a magnificent diamond ring. After the interment, a greedy servant tried to rob her grave and steal the jewel. Unable to force it off her stiff, cold finger, he decided, horribly, to bite the finger off at the joint in order to get the diamond. As he bit into the chilly flesh, the “corpse” suddenly woke up. It was not long, of course, before stories of vampirism and devil worship were added to the tale. Poor Renée — who, presumably, had not died at all but had merely fallen into a coma — was rumored to be a demon, full of supernatural lust, but her husband was so delighted to get her back that, demon or not, he gave her three children, one of whom was Athénaïs’s grandfather.
In the seventeenth century, many court ladies still consulted “sorcerers,” clattering down in their carriages from St. Germain, masked and giggling, to have a fortune told, a beauty potion made up, or perhaps to purchase a little “powder” to encourage a lover’s flagging ardor. Two such practitioners, Mariette and Lesage, operated from the slum district of St. Denis, and offered a variety of devilish products and services, including aphrodisiac potions imbued with special powers from having been passed under the holy chalice used for Mass. Athénaïs and her sister-in-law, Mme. de Vivonne, paid them a visit hoping to acquire a mixture that would put the finishing touch to Athénaïs’s plan to replace Louise de La Vallière as maîtresse en titre. Mariette recited an incantation over Athénaïs’s head and sent her away with a powder, probably composed of Spanish fly, well known for its capacity to excite and harmless enough if administered in small doses. It would not be difficult for her to administer the aphrodisiac, as Louis was in the habit of taking “purges” for his bowels, and was not curious as to their contents. In the 1670s, the royal doctor D’Acquin, who owed his position to Athénaïs’s favor, was prepared to turn a blind eye to her ministrations, particularly as he probably knew that such love powders were no more dangerous than the purges he himself prescribed. Maybe
As for Julie de Montausier, her elderly nerves never recovered from the shock of the episode. Her mother may have been a famous précieuse, but the rude intervention of real passion was too much for a woman more accustomed to the elegant, casuistical gallantries of the salon. Julie went into a decline and died, begging forgiveness on her deathbed for her involvement in promoting the King’s affair with Athénaïs.
For Louis, the next years were happy ones, filled with his favorite activities of fighting, building and lovemaking. Although Athénaïs was now certain of his regard for her, there were still many obstacles in the way of the domination she was coming to crave. Louise de La Vallière was still a lingering, reproachful presence, and Athénaïs’s marriage was still a potential barrier to the certainty she sought.
Perhaps she felt rather exhausted at the prospect of all the plotting and intriguing, lovemaking and quarreling, cajoling and charming that lay ahead of her. Louise was so stubbornly entrenched that more than natural means might be necessary to remove her, and traditionally, the Devil had always been a friend to the Rochechouart women. During her childhood at Lussac, Athénaïs may have shivered with fear in the candlelit nursery as her nurse Nounou recounted the family legend of her early sixteenth-century ancestor, Renée Taveau. In 1530 Renée, the young daughter of the Baron de Mortemart, fell ill, and her husband, François Rochechouart, found her dying. She was buried, still in her teens, covered with her jewels, notably a magnificent diamond ring. After the interment, a greedy servant tried to rob her grave and steal the jewel. Unable to force it off her stiff, cold finger, he decided, horribly, to bite the finger off at the joint in order to get the diamond. As he bit into the chilly flesh, the “corpse” suddenly woke up. It was not long, of course, before stories of vampirism and devil worship were added to the tale. Poor Renée — who, presumably, had not died at all but had merely fallen into a coma — was rumored to be a demon, full of supernatural lust, but her husband was so delighted to get her back that, demon or not, he gave her three children, one of whom was Athénaïs’s grandfather.
In the seventeenth century, many court ladies still consulted “sorcerers,” clattering down in their carriages from St. Germain, masked and giggling, to have a fortune told, a beauty potion made up, or perhaps to purchase a little “powder” to encourage a lover’s flagging ardor. Two such practitioners, Mariette and Lesage, operated from the slum district of St. Denis, and offered a variety of devilish products and services, including aphrodisiac potions imbued with special powers from having been passed under the holy chalice used for Mass. Athénaïs and her sister-in-law, Mme. de Vivonne, paid them a visit hoping to acquire a mixture that would put the finishing touch to Athénaïs’s plan to replace Louise de La Vallière as maîtresse en titre. Mariette recited an incantation over Athénaïs’s head and sent her away with a powder, probably composed of Spanish fly, well known for its capacity to excite and harmless enough if administered in small doses. It would not be difficult for her to administer the aphrodisiac, as Louis was in the habit of taking “purges” for his bowels, and was not curious as to their contents. In the 1670s, the royal doctor D’Acquin, who owed his position to Athénaïs’s favor, was prepared to turn a blind eye to her ministrations, particularly as he probably knew that such love powders were no more dangerous than the purges he himself prescribed. Maybe
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