unpopular. Athénaïs was not the only courtier who felt that the official mistress made a poor showing. In spite of her innocent reputation, she had in fact aroused resentment by being responsible for more placets, petitions to the King, than any of Louis’s subsequent mistresses. Nor, despite her piety, was she altogether averse to the wages of sin. She obtained the Abbey of Chelles for her sister, married her brother to a rich heiress and her daughter to a prince of the blood, and acquired for herself the small but sumptuous Palais de Brion near the Tuileries gardens as well as the title and estates of Duchesse de Vaujours. When Louise complained of a lack of friendly support in maintaining her position, the Maréchal de Gra-mont responded: “She should have taken care to make others rejoice with her, whilst she herself had cause to rejoice, if when she had cause to mourn, she desired that others should do likewise.” Be nice, in other words, to the people you meet on your way up . . .
This unpopularity gave Louise greater cause to turn with relief to the support of Athénaïs. She invited her friend to little supper parties at the Palais Brion, where Louis was entertained by Athénaïs’s cultivated conversation. She was delighted with the success of this strategy, for the King seemed to enjoy visiting her more than ever. In October, Louise gave birth to Marie-Anne de Bourbon, styled Mlle. de Blois, some consolation for the early deaths of her previous two children. But any contentment she felt was short-lived. By November, the court gossips had recognized the real focus of the King’s interest at the Palais Brion. “We are saying at the court,” wrote the Duc d’Enghien, “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, but I, however, have remarked nothing going on there.” Louis’s interest was apparent to Athénaïs, but she had the sense to keep him waiting. So what were her plans at this interesting stage?
It seems that when Athénaïs became aware of her power over the King, she feared his love as much as she desired it. Some commentators have attempted rather implausibly to cast her as a reluctant victim of the King’s passion, while others are determined to see her as a ruthless strategist with a clear mission to seduce him. Montespan’s role is thus equally ambiguous. Was her husband’s absence a convenience, allowing Athénaïs to pursue her schemes unimpeded, or was it his neglect that left her unprotected and vulnerable? Neither view is incompatible with the other. Though her pride and ambition may have pulled her towards Louis, her religion and sense of social position may have drawn her away. At the end of 1666 she was certainly vacillating between her duty to her husband and her desire for the King. She famously remarked, “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!,” an observation which, despite its obvious hypocrisy, may yet contain a germ of truth. It is true, as Saint-Simon recounts, that she pleaded with her husband to take her to his country estate at Guyenne as she was afraid of the consequences of the King’s interest. Montespan, with characteristic indifference to his wife’s feelings, did not find the journey convenient, and she remained at court.
If Athénaïs was secretly plotting to attract the King, why would she sabotage her plan just as it was coming to fruition? Perhaps she had a psychological need to believe that her hand had been forced, that her husband’s carelessness justified her actions. For all her celebrated boldness and defiance, Athénaïs remained a religious woman. She always adhered, for example, to the fast days of the Church, a particular sacrifice given her greediness, and when the Duchesse d’Uzès once expressed