Sex with Kings (17 page)

A portion of the mistress's cash went to maintain the ultimate status symbol of centuries past: a magnificent coach. The mistress needed to keep her coach in good order—fresh paint and gilding on the outside, plush upholstery and plump pillows on the inside. The carriage was pulled by horses which she needed to feed and stable. In addition, she had to pay the staff that looked after them. Madame de Montespan, the proud owner of a luxurious carriage drawn by six horses, was flabbergasted to see her younger rival, the teenage Mademoiselle de Fontanges, drive by in a grander carriage pulled by
eight
horses.

The mistress arranged entertainments for the king, often lavish ones, where she paid not only for food, cooks, and waiters but for actors, singers, musicians, theatrical sets, costumes, and fireworks. In 1671, for instance, as a token of her gratitude for being created a duchess, Louise de Kéroualle gave a dinner for the entire English court.

A portion of the royal mistress's pension went to purchase expensive gifts for courtiers, ambassadors, and servants, as well as for the king himself. She was expected to contribute to charities—the church poor box, indigent families, wounded soldiers, hospitals, orphanages, and the like. In time of war she might receive hints to donate money back into the royal treasury from whence it had come.

We can understand the financial side of a mistress's life by examining the meticulous records kept by Madame de Pompadour of her expenses from September 9, 1745, when she was officially installed as king's mistress at Versailles, until her death in
April 1764. During those nineteen years, she was given the astonishing amount of 36,827,268 livres, or what today might be valued at $200 million.

But though free-spending, Madame de Pompadour usually spent wisely, buying and renovating estates, which she could rent and sell, and amassing collections of gems and porcelain, which increased in value and were eventually bequeathed to the king. She even invested in what amounted to pirate ships, fitted out to prey on English merchants, and shared in the pirates' treasure. She was a leading force in the revival of French industry, founding the world-renowned Sèvres porcelain factory—still in existence today—and a successful glassworks that produced bottles, carafes, and enameled pieces.

However acquisitive Madame de Pompadour was—she loved buying and beautifying—she always retained a generous heart, contributing dowries to poor brides, even selling diamonds to endow a hospital for the poor. During her disastrous running of the Seven Years' War, she turned in to the treasury most of her jewelry to help pay the soldiers. Because of her generosity and her surprising promptness in paying her contractors' bills—a quality almost unknown in eighteenth-century France—Madame de Pompadour never amassed great quantities of cash. The returns from her many investments went out just as quickly. When she died only a few gold coins were found in her desk.

Her successor, Madame du Barry, was forever in debt despite her huge monthly income from the king—at one point three hundred thousand livres. In addition to exquisite gowns and jewels, she surrounded herself with luxurious furnishings—a chandelier of rock crystal, a mirror made of pure gold, perfume bottles of crystal with solid gold stoppers. She employed sixteen footmen and at least as many maids, whom she had to dress, feed, and house, and paid for the stabling and feeding of her numerous horses.

Charles II—who never concerned himself with paying the salaries of his soldiers and sailors—was constantly thinking about providing his mistresses with financial assistance. By 1674 Lady Castlemaine was receiving annually £15,000 directly from the
king, £10,000 from customs taxes, £10,000 from the beer and ale tax, £4,700 from the post office, and £3,500 from wine licenses. Louise de Kéroualle received £18,600 from Charles and, ironically, an annual pension from the taxes paid by the clergy. Gradually her pension increased to about £40,000, though in one year—1681—she received an eye-popping £136,000. Nell Gwynn, always coming in last, received a mere £4,000 for herself and her two sons.

While new monarchs often cut off pensions given to the mistresses of former kings, Lady Castlemaine miraculously retained hers. Many of her pensions continued after Charles's death in 1685, after his brother James II's exile in 1688, throughout the reign of William and Mary, and well into that of Queen Anne. While Lady Castlemaine periodically had to badger monarchs and their officials to send her the money, she retained her pensions until her death in 1709. Her success was no doubt due to the effective combination of her relentless will and the fact that she had married her royal bastards into the best families in England, who supported her quest to retain her pensions.

By the late nineteenth century, a monarch was in no position to give large amounts of cash to his mistress either from public funds or from his personal allowance. Parliament looked carefully into a monarch's spending; tabloid newspapers gleefully printed scandalous rumors, and the king's subjects frowned when reading them. But Emperor Franz Josef and his contemporary Edward VII found a way to help their mistresses financially that would avoid public scrutiny. Both men appointed clever financial advisers to quickly turn the women's meager savings into huge fortunes. Both also found lucrative employment for their mistresses' husbands, serving the dual purpose of earning even more money and getting them out of the house when the royal lovers came calling.

In addition to benefits bestowed by the king, royal mistresses were often the recipients of legitimate gifts from ambassadors,
public officials, and courtiers, and some not so legitimate gifts in the form of bribes to procure influence. Behavior that was acceptable before the French Revolution—the giving of valuables to influential people—was seen as corruption by the following generation.

One African ambassador, having heard about Louis XIV's Madame de Montespan, considered her the second queen of France. In presenting himself to Louis, he brought forth extraordinary gifts for the king, the queen,
and
the royal mistress. Not wanting to commit a faux pas, this honorable gentleman, who had three wives of his own, gave pearls and sapphires to “the King's second wife,” which delighted Madame de Montespan but must have infuriated the queen.
¹⁶

Gabrielle d'Estrées received gifts on a regular basis from foreign monarchs and the French nobility. She kept a detailed record of gifts she received when making an official visit with Henri IV to the city of Rouen. Queen Elizabeth I of England sent Gabrielle a large diamond-and-sapphire broach mounted in gold; Archduke Ferdinando de Medici of Tuscany gave her a set of twenty-four goblets of chased silver; a French politician presented an emerald pin; a noblewoman handed her a jar of fine perfumed oil; and a courtier bestowed on her two stags he had just killed.

In 1669, Barbara, Lady Castlemaine's rapacious appetite for gifts and bribes ate up the French ambassador's budget. “I have given away everything I brought from France,” he lamented, “not excepting my wife's skirts…. As for Lady Castlemaine, if we lavish handsome gifts on her King Charles will understand that we believe she rules him in spite of his denials. We ought to dispense no more than ribbons, dressing gowns and other little fineries.”
¹⁷

But Louis XIV had a difficult task in mind for Lady Castlemaine, one that required an ampler reward than mere ribbons. First, Lady Castlemaine was to convince Charles II that he should not extend a general religious indulgence. Second, she should persuade him against reconvening Parliament.

The French foreign minister replied to the ambassador,
“The King highly appreciates the confidence you have cultivated with Lady Castlemaine…and since…you believe she can put more pressure on King Charles…than any other person, His Majesty wishes you to cultivate this good beginning with her…. In this regard he has ordered your brother to send you a gift of jewels from France which you may present to her in your own name—and jewels always go down well with ladies, whatever their mood.”
¹⁸

The gift of jewels was valued at a thousand pounds. Delighted, Lady Castlemaine showed it to King Charles, who—not seeming to mind his mistress's being bribed to influence him—agreed it was in excellent taste. The French-English alliance took two years to craft, but Barbara abandoned the cause early in the game. She kept the diamonds, however.

The French king had more luck with Lady Castlemaine's replacement, Louise de Kéroualle, who, fortunately for Louis, happened to be French. She rendered her native land such indispensable services in influencing Charles II's pro-French position that in 1675 Louis gave her a pair of earrings worth the astonishing sum of eighteen thousand pounds, his most expensive gift to England that year, and certainly more lavish than anything he had ever given Charles's queen.

In addition to official gifts there were those that smelled faintly of contamination, and others that positively reeked. George I's mistress Ermengarda Melusina, countess of Schulenberg, was delighted at her lover's promotion from a mere elector of Hanover to king of Great Britain, because of the financial rewards she would reap. The new king gave her an annual pension of seventy-five hundred pounds a year and suggested she acquire funds on her own if this income did not suffice. The countess gratefully accepted bribes as large as ten thousand pounds each from courtiers who felt she would influence the king on their behalf. George was aware of her earnings on the side and, with traditional German thriftiness, approved of her tidy income, which did not diminish the royal coffers.

George II probably learned from his father how to keep his mistresses wealthy without draining the treasury. When Lady
Yarmouth asked him for thirty thousand pounds, he tactfully suggested that he sell two peerages with the funds made payable to her. Lady Yarmouth happily pocketed the money, and George was thrilled that it hadn't cost him a cent.

In the 1660s and 1670s, Lady Castlemaine routinely sold political offices, raking in some fifteen thousand pounds a year. Her successor, Louise de Kéroualle, did a brisk business selling royal pardons to wealthy criminals. But times had changed by 1809, when George III's son the duke of York was investigated by Parliament because his mistress, Mary Anne Clark, had been selling military commissions.

Upon making Mary Anne his mistress, the duke had promised her an annual income of twelve thousand pounds. The giddy woman immediately rented a huge house; hired numerous servants; bought horses, carriages, gowns, and jewels; and entertained extravagantly—all on credit. When the duke—kept on a tight allowance by his thrifty parents—could not keep his promise and creditors pressed, Mary Anne went into business for herself, selling promotions to ambitious officers.

Eight charges were brought against the duke but none stuck. Although he had clearly profited from the transactions, it could not be proven that he had actually known about them. Though known to be thoroughly guilty, Mary Anne was not charged and became something of a folk heroine, cheered by people in the street. It was a short-lived victory. The duke of York broke with her, hid himself for shame, and resigned his post as commander in chief, losing the annual income of six thousand pounds, which he so sorely needed. And Mary Anne Clark sank back into the streets from which she had risen.

Not all mistresses reaped piles of gold and diamonds from their royal lovers. Some actually lost money. Others could make ends meet only with the utmost frugality. When George, elector of Hanover, became king of Great Britain in 1714, he jumped on a
boat to claim his rich inheritance. His mistress Sophia Charlotte Kielmansegge, however, was detained in Hanover by her creditors. When the new king of Great Britain refused to help her out with her debts, she escaped by donning a disguise and followed him to his new land.

Frederick the Great of Prussia kept his nephew and heir, Prince Frederick William, on a tight financial leash. The prince lived in a charming estate outside Berlin with his mistress Wilhelmine Rietz, their children, and his children by several other mistresses. Wilhelmine had to stretch her small pension to keep up appearances. She carefully selected furniture that was elegant but affordable. Once, to provide the prince with an excellent meal, she pawned her silver. Wilhelmine was rewarded for her patience when her lover became King Frederick William II in 1786. She was given a beautiful palace in Berlin, a generous pension, and eye-popping jewels, and was later made a countess.

Of all royal mistresses, the one who fared worst financially was without doubt the English comic actress Dorothy Jordan. When speaking of her former royal lover, the future William IV, she once said, “Had he left me to
starve,
I would never have uttered a word to his disadvantage!”
¹⁹
Her statement would prove to be deadly accurate. He
did
leave her to starve, and she
was
too fiercely loyal to utter a word to his disadvantage.

Sprightly Dorothy Jordan, a comic genius, was already the mother of four children from two different men when William, duke of Clarence, saw her on the Drury Lane stage and wanted her for himself. One contemporary described her as follows: “Her face, if not exactly beautiful, was irresistibly agreeable; her person and gait were eminently elastic; her voice in singing perfectly sweet and melodious, and in speaking clear and impressive.”
²⁰

In 1791 Dorothy yielded to William's ardent suit for—it was reported in the papers—the princely sum of three thousand pounds before consummation and one thousand pounds a year. Together with her theatrical earnings, this would have made Dorothy a wealthy woman. But kindhearted Dorothy and her money soon parted ways.

Before long, papers reported that the duke, suffered to live on the pauper's allowance meted out to him by his parsimonious father King George III, not only was withholding Dorothy's allowance, but arranged profitable terms for her performances and actually showed up at the theater to collect her earnings himself. One wit quipped: