children. Another first cousin, Charles Emmanuel of Savoy, also enjoyed an energetic sex life, with at least five bastards: given Monsieur's talent for procreation, whatever his tastes, it seems right to salute the philoprogenitive blood of their shared grandfather Henri IV.
Despite that proverb to the effect that a man could beget as long as he could lift a sheaf of straw, Louis sired no known bastards after the son of Angélique who died. Thanks to Madame de Maintenon, he was still able to enjoy the pleasures of family life, including the cosy atmosphere of Saint-Cyr. Françoise's love of children was that particular emotion, with much of the teacher in it, common to certain women who have none of their own. Thus Louis was able to admire Françoise's tender maternal qualities without the inconvenience of her pregnancy.
One possible exception to this lack of victimhood might be Marie Mancini, promised so much by the eighteen-year-old Louis, but abandoned by him in the line of duty: a sacrifice which has become celebrated in Racine's line: ‘You weep and yet you are the King.’ Yet it is difficult to criticise Louis's decision, which was in any case heavily supported by Cardinal Mazarin, no fan of his erratic niece. The marriage of a great king was an important element in any foreign policy, particularly a marriage which could bring ‘peace’ along with ‘the Infanta’ to a war-torn country. Marie's subsequent unhappy wandering career deserves sympathy. She ended back in Italy after the death of her tyrannical husband Prince Colonna, and died in the same year as Louis: her son Cardinal Colonna erected a monument with the epitaph she had chosen herself: ‘Ashes and Dust.’ 2 At the same time Cardinal Mazarin, that wily man of affairs, was right to perceive in his niece something sadly self-destructive.
Louise de La Vallière is the sole plausible exception to the general rule that women did quite as well out of Louis XIV as he did out of them. Not for nothing did women passing through the King's bedroom when it was empty, according to etiquette, curtsy to the royal bed … On the whole the King did not press his attentions on young girls – a few boisterous adventures trying to reach the maids-of-honour do not count – but Louise was different. Unquestionably a virgin, she also had a strongly religious temperament; falling insanely in love with the Sun King at the age of sixteen meant that she transferred for a period her religious emotions intended for God Almighty on to Louis, her personal Apollo.
This was the great romantic affair of Louis's life: as with any seduction of an innocent religious girl in literature it was more or less bound to end in betrayal – and the shedding of rivers of tears. * Louise's subsequent long years of penance, which even precluded her mourning the death of her son because of the circumstances in which he had been conceived, attest to the sincerity of the religious side of her nature. Surely there was something self-punishing in her role as godmother to the daughter of Louis and Athénaïs, named Louise-Françoise apparently after her – but actually after the King and her supplanter. Thus Louise did truly incarnate the penitence of Magdalen, her favourite saint.
While La Vallière attempted to fulfil one Christian ideal, it has to be noted that Louis for a period enjoyed a feature in theory more familiar to oriental rulers than Christian ones: the harem. For it is difficult to see the period of ‘the three Queens’ Marie-Thérèse, Louise and Athénaïs, in their war-going coach, in any other light. It is true that the King needed Louise as a cover for his new affair with a married woman (who had a troublesome husband). Nevertheless this was the harem as described in Bajazet by Racine, who demanded in the Preface: ‘Indeed, is there a court in the world where jealousy and love can be better known than in a place [the harem] where so many rivals are shut in together?’ This