The King's Transgressions

An image is truly “worth a thousand words,” piquing our curiosity and awakening our emotions. When browsing artworks, however, we may not always be aware of the unique messages and ideas conveyed by an artist’s depiction of characters, colors, time of day, weather, or objects in the painting. Moreover, the absence of characters or objects can also be significant.      

In Pierre Mignard’s seventeenth-century portrait of Duchesse Louise de la Vallière and her children at the Palace of Versailles, for example, King Louis XIV was missing. Why? Because Louise was his mistress and the two children, Mademoiselle de Blois and the Comte Louis de Vermandois, were illegitimate children—the result of an adulterous affair kept secret from the court of Versailles—until this portrait was displayed in the galleries of Versailles.

Mignard’s rather subdued, almost melancholic scene was meant to be a souvenir for the children because Louise, troubled by her adulterous affair with the king, had decided to take up the veil in a strict Carmelite convent. Here, just days before her retreat, she sat proudly upright, albeit rather stiffly which was more than likely due to her corset. Her red lips were tightly but sweetly pursed, making it difficult to detect her demeanor. Was she saddened by her decision to leave the children behind or was she at peace, knowing she would soon escape the court’s prying eyes—a constant reminder of her indiscretions?

Louise may have already distanced herself from her children. In an early portrait, Louise sat next to her children with Mademoiselle de Blois leaning on her lap as her mother held her arm and Count Louis holding onto a fold of his mother’s gown. In Mignard’s portrait, in contrast, the duchess sat alone as if the children were a testament to her guilt.

Just days before sitting for Mignard’s portrait, Louise gleamed with joy upon seeing Mademoiselle de Blois dance for the court. And what mother wouldn’t have been proud to see her daughter’s first debut at the Palace of Versailles in such a splendid ballgown? Nevertheless, whispers flittered about the ballroom: How could such an adoring mother take up the veil! And courtiers may have wondered how a mother could ever abandon such lovely children.

When confronted by her priest with whom she regularly corresponded, Louise wrote: “I was vulnerable, and I must confess that Mademoiselle de Blois moved me deeply. I was delighted to see her so pretty, too. I have scruples about seeing her with such worldly pleasure, but I will leave her without any difficulty. Yes, these are contradictory feelings, but I am telling you how I feel.”

Spectators viewing the portrait may have asked why Louise’s gaze was not fixed on the artist rather than looking a bit higher and to his right. Perhaps she feared that viewers were going to look into her eyes for an answer to so many questions. Or perhaps the shame was so pervasive that she wanted to disappear. In any event, she avoided making eye contact with them, preferring to look into the not-too-distant future, far from the temptations of Versailles. She also chose a white, bride-like silk gown for the sitting; it was elegant but not luxurious, and most suitable for a woman about to leave her world behind to take up a nun’s black attire. She did choose a gown, however, with gold braids outlining her shoulders and the cuffs. After all, she had been the envy of many courtiers who vied for the Sun King’s affection.

Curiously, a ruby earring with an oblong pearl adorned her left ear, and the matching earring dangled from her right hand as if she were removing any signs of her former sumptuous life—one jewel at a time. More telling, however, was the faded rose also in her right hand. The flower had just begun to wither, and the fallen petals marked the end of a blossoming love affair with the King of France, a monarch now parading a new mistress by his side.

Louise’s left hand was directed towards two books on the ground, one on top of the other, entitled “Imitation of Jesus Christ” and “Order of Saint Theresa,” to foreshadow what was to come. The back of her hand notably showed disregard for the playing cards,[2] the guitar, and the mask lying at her feet, alluding to gambling, music, and masquerades—all favorite court pastimes that would soon come to pass.

On the same plane with her mother, eight-year-old Mademoiselle Marie-Anne de Blois faced the artist half-turned with a mischievous gaze and a flirtatious smile as she arranged flowers in a vase. Known to be precocious, the beautiful Mademoiselle Marie-Anne showed no sign of sadness. She was either not aware of her mother’s nearing departure or she could have cared less; after all, she was the king’s favorite daughter and a twinkle in every man’s eye at court.

In the middle of the painting was seven-year-old Count Louis de Vermandois, sitting on a cushion at his mother's feet in his velvet cloak and white stockings. He held a compass in one hand and rested his other hand on a nautical chart, representing his meaningless title of Admiral of France. He may not have known that, unlike his sister, he would not be permitted to remain at Versailles upon his mother’s departure. There had been rumors that Count Louis was not the king’s son; moreover, the boy was the object of derision at court for his girlish demeanor. Ironically, his gaze was oblique and the only one that completely avoided the viewers’ eyes.

The children both shared their mother’s creamy complexion, cherry-shaped lips, and the same wavy locks. Curiously, however, each of the three personages ignored the other two in the sitting. Were they all locked into their most secret thoughts on this cloudy day? If it were twilight, it would have been the perfect time of day for reflection or even nostalgia as Louise prepared to take up the veil and leave her life, her king, and her children behind her.

Due to the placement of the characters and objects in Mignard’s painting, there was no specific focal point, although the right-hand side of the work was less dismal and brightened somewhat by Louise’s white gown and the sun trying to peek through the wintry clouds. Perhaps Mignard highlighted the absence of King Louis XIV as the focus of his portrait. At the bottom right of the painting and far from being a focal point, a sheet of music aptly captured the essence of this intriguing portrait. On close examination, it read:

The world displays its pomp and attractions in vain.

I hear its voice calling me,

But it’s the one I easily disdain to enjoy eternal glory.

The one that passes in a moment,

The one that passes in a moment.

This short verse enshrined Louise’s spiritual determination as she prepared to leave the court of Versailles. She was leaving her children a portrait as a souvenir, but she was also leaving us a reminder of her sincerity to make amends for generations to come, knowing that history would judge her as well.

With the guidance of her confessor, Louise had written a theological work, Reflections on the Mercy of God, which turned the courtesan of Versailles into a religious celebrity; however, her zealous writings also humiliated King Louis XIV. Courtiers may have wondered whether the “other woman” was punishing the king by making his sexual infidelities and religious hypocrisy known to the public. They might even have questioned whether she was truly repentant. The latter appeared to be true according to her treatise, especially considering the vile environment of Versailles where courtiers used divine mercy as an excuse to delay repentance: "If You are a God full of compassion for sinners who return to You with all their hearts with hope in Your mercy, You are a terrifying God toward those who trust in You only to multiply their own offenses and who, having tasted the sweetness of Your graces, only mock and hold them in contempt."

Was Louise saying that the concept of guilt was useless at the court of Versailles? Was it too weak to force courtiers, including herself, to change the direction of such wayward lives? Was divine intervention the only answer? To the point of leaving one’s world behind?

No sooner was the portrait hung in the palace gallery did the stern-looking abbess in the convent cut off Louise’s flowing golden locks, removing the last sign of feminine seduction. When Louise traded her white gown for the black veil, she retreated from the world. She was no longer Duchess Louise de la Vallière, the king’s official mistress. For the next thirty-five years, she would only be known as Sister Louise of Mercy.

Not everyone, however, was moved by the public display of devotion and repentance, especially the main character of the portrait---who was notably absent. On Sister Louise’s death, King Louis XIV uttered, “She was dead to me the day she entered the Carmelites.”