Now, like a cruel boy who inflicts unspeakable suffering on a little bird, the King watched the shipwreck of those wretched women's illusions to see whether they were suffering as he had suffered, and whether indeed it was possible to suffer so much. He wanted to tear from those hearts the secret of their pain, the only thing that once defeated the magnificent Sun King.
"But all that happened in the secrecy of the King's bedchamber," warned Atto, as we proceeded along the gallery, with the great vault echoing our footsteps.
At court, however, Athenais reigned undisturbed: the "reigning Mistress", they called her, paraphrasing the title of "reigning Queen" which distinguishes the King's consort from the Queen Mother. They were not so mistaken. With Madame de Montespan, Louis had presented the court with a surrogate Queen: here at last was one who possessed the exceptional beauty and wit needed to enhance the splendour of the French court.
"She radiated luxury and magnificence, just like the Aurora of Pietro da Cortona," said the Abbot, pointing to the splendid fresco on the ceiling of the gallery.
Atto's attention was suddenly drawn to the fresco of Midday which, between Aurora and Night, occupied the middle of the gallery. It depicted the fall of Phaeton, struck down by Zeus's thunderbolt for having dared drive the Sun's chariot.
"The first time I came here, I passed over this: to celebrate the culmination of the day, Benedetti chose an event of pride punished. On the walls below, he placed sayings praising the King of France. How very singular."
"Yes," I acknowledged in surprise, "it seems almost a warning to the Sun King."
'"Thy destiny is to be mortal, Phaeton, but what thou de- sirest is not for mortals,'" Atto quoted from Ovid's Metamorphoses in confirmation of my remark. The Abbot then continued his tale. Without being one, Athenais played the part of a Queen: she received, she entertained, she fascinated all the ambassadors. The King showed her off with extreme pleasure and gloried in her: all in all, she was a service to the monarchy.
"She knew perfectly well that the King did not really love her," said Atto with a certain bitterness, "but he had great need of her 'to show himself loved by the most beautiful woman in the kingdom', as she herself liked to say. An ornament like so many others, when all's said and done."
"In common with Maria, Athenais had the courage to stand up to the King," added Atto. "She was not afraid to speak her mind, and she had good taste, like a true Queen."
During the decade of her 'reign', the Palace of Versailles became what it is today. The papier mache of ephemeral architecture which, in Louise's day, lasted for the duration of some fete, was transformed into rocks, travertine, bronzes and marbles, arranged according to the secret order of surprise and the unexpected, bringing to life new groves, fountains and flower beds. The Grand Canal was populated by a tiny fleet of gondolas and feluccas, brigantines and galleys. The park, stifling under the mantle of the summer heat, was dotted with the white and azure of Chinese pavilions.
But above all, Athenais dedicated herself to her personal residence, not far from Versailles, repeating the splendour of the palace in miniature: the great Le Notre (the sublime genius of architecture, he who had laid out the palace gardens and, before them, those of Vaux-le-Vicomte, Fouquet's ill-starred chateau) was called upon to surpass himself, with gardens of tuberoses, narcissi, jasmine, violets, anemones, and basins of tepid water perfumed with aromatic herbs…
"And that which you simply cannot imagine if you have not seen it. Alas."
"Why do you say that?" I asked, hearing that melancholy moan."Because all that grandeur came to no better end than Fouquet's chateau. It all fell in ruins with the disgrace of its patroness, just as Vaux was wrecked when its lord was arrested. And this too confirms what I am telling you."
"Why? What happened?"
"The Affair of the Poisons broke out, my boy, the greatest trial of the century, as I have already mentioned to you. Almost everyone had a part in it; and, after Olimpia Mancini, Athenais was the most deeply involved. Witnesses emerged who had seen her participate in black masses, in which children were sacrificed, all to keep the King's love. All this was hushed up, but for her it was the end. And the hunter understood at last that all along he had been the quarry."
Learning of what iniquities his mistresses were capable, hearing of satanic rites and of witchcraft performed to gain orgasms in his bed, Louis understood that in all his amours there was very little love. From that revelation he never recovered. He had imagined that he had reversed the roles since the time of Maria Mancini, when he himself had been sacrificed on the altar of power. Instead, his destiny had been repeated: once again he had been a pawn on the chessboard of those who swore fidelity to him. And this time, he was alone; he had not even the consolation of sharing his sad fate with the woman of his life. It was thus that the doors of old age opened up for him.
We had completed our exploration of the first floor and we were now climbing the grand staircase. We continued right to the top, coming to the third floor, where the servants' quarters had once been. By comparison with the rest of the villa, this was another world: there was no furniture, no mouldings on the walls and ceilings, no embellishments. There were a number of mezzanines for the servants, others for the saddlery, and various service rooms. Spiders, flies and mice were the undisputed lords of those sad, empty rooms. It seemed just the squalid image of the Most Christian King's old age.
We began patiently to beat on the walls with our knuckles in search of secret rooms and to check whether some floorboard concealed a trap door, or if a windowsill contained a strongbox. We then moved on to a chest of drawers. It would not open; unlike all the furniture we had hitherto inspected, it was locked.
"Ah, here, perhaps, we have it!" exclaimed the Abbot, recovering his good humour. "Go down to the first floor and find me a knife in the cutlery drawers. I seem to have seen some in that great cupboard held up by old Generalissimo Goatleg," he sniggered, alluding to the imposing and severe wooden satyr carved on it.
I went down to the first floor but found nothing. I then went down to the ground floor and there I found a knife. Before returning, my attention tarried a moment on one of the portraits of women hanging on the walls which had hitherto escaped my attention.
It was a lady no longer young, a little too plump, with features that were not repugnant, yet so wan and ordinary that they contrasted no little with the pomp of the portrait, from which one gathered without the shadow of a doubt that this must be a person of great consequence. I read below, on the frame:
Madame de Maintenon
It was the fourth time that I had come across that name. Was she not the lady whom the Most Christian King had secretly married, as Atto Melani had told me? She was. I looked once more at the portrait: the face was absolutely anonymous, contrasting oddly with the vivacity and aristocratic grace of the other royal favourites depicted beside her. I returned to the third floor.
"Madame de Maintenon," I murmured. "How could the King of France have married her? I mean, after all those fascinating women…"
"You saw her portrait down below? Incredible, eh?" commented Atto as he grasped the knife I held out to him. "The King married her one October night seventeen years ago, just two months after the death of Queen Maria Teresa."Secretly," I repeated. "You told me that a few days ago, the first time we visited the Vessel. However, I fear that I did not fully grasp your meaning. Is she some kind of a wife but not the Queen? I seem already to have heard of this kind of royal marriage in which the king's wife does not reign beside him and her children have no right of succession to the throne…"