Very soon, an expedition was organised: everyone was off to Lyons, for the presentation to the King of a young maiden, Margaret of Savoy, a possible candidate for Louis's hand. He obeyed, but he took Maria with him and carefully avoided any contact with the Queen Mother. Every evening during the journey, instead of having dinner, the King performed in a ballet, having partaken of an abundant afternoon meal, so as to avoid dining with his mother. Then he would play at cards with Maria.
We had, I saw, left the Villa Spada and we were making our way towards the San Pancrazio Gate.
At the meeting with Margaret of Savoy, Atto continued, Louis was as cold as a mannequin. He had eyes and ears only for Maria. They were inseparable. During stages on the journey, he at first followed her carriage on horseback then acted as her coachman; in the end, he fell into the habit of joining her as a passenger. On moonlit nights, Louis would walk up and down until late under the windows of Mazarin's niece. When he attended some play, he would want her by his side, on a specially made platform. Those who accompanied them on their walks were by now accustomed to staying behind and leaving the lovelorn pair alone, a few yards ahead of them, so as not to disturb them. By now, they spoke of nothing else at court. The Cardinal and the Queen Mother, however, said nothing and let it be.
The whole court was stupefied by the disrespectful behaviour of the young King. The negotiations soon broke down and poor Margaret wept at the disgrace. Then came the surprise: a secret envoy arrived from Madrid. The Spanish King offered Louis the hand of his daughter Maria Teresa, Infanta of Spain.
"It seems almost as though you kept a diary of those days," I ventured, dissimulating my curiosity, for I was aware of Atto's aptitude for gathering information which he would then put to various quite unforeseeable uses.
"A diary, a diary!" he replied with some annoyance, "I was on an official diplomatic mission, in the retinue of Cardinal Mazarin, the purpose of which was to conclude with Spain the Peace of the Pyrenees; I registered every single detail with my eyes and ears, that's all there is to it. This was part of my duties."
Once the court had returned to Paris from Lyons, in February 1659, Louis's first thought was to celebrate the failure of the meeting with Margaret of Savoy.
"At the gathering, you could see festive costumes echancres after the fashion of the peasants of Bressannes, a small town through which the royal progress had passed on its way to Lyons, with manchettes and collerettes en toile ecrue, a la verite un peu plus fine," said Atto, showing off with a delighted and malicious little smile, in a mixture of French and Italian. "Mademoiselle and Monsieur were attired en toile d'argent with pink passepoils, tabliers et pieces de corsage in black velvet and gold and silver dentelles; while their black velvet hats bore pink, white and fire-coloured plumes and Mademoiselle's neck was covered with rows of pearls too numerous to be counted, and bestrewn with diamonds.
"And there was Mademoiselle de Villcroy, puree de diamants, and
Mademoiselle de Gourdon, all covered in emeralds, accompanied by the Due de Roquelaure, the Comte de Guise, the Marquis de Villeroy and the sparkling Puyguilhem (later to become the notorious Comte de Lauzun), they too costumed and coiffed avec les houlettes de vernis, like the peasants of Bressannes, and this was yet another silent seal which the great architect, Love, placed, 'midst scornful celebrations, upon the failure of Louis's planned nuptials with Margaret of Savoy.
"And the offer in marriage of the Infanta of Spain?" I objected.
"The negotiations had not yet begun. Between the Spaniards and Mazarin, secret contacts were taking place, but only gradually did they become public. All still remained to be decided. What was more," added Atto pensively, as we went through the San Pancrazio Gate under the watchful eyes of the guards. "What was more, I have always had the impression that the Cardinal had very different plans from these matrimonial arrangements for bringing Spain to heel and imposing peace on terms entirely favourable to himself. At least, until…"
"Until?"
"In March 1659, something unforeseen took place. Don John of Austria, the King of Spain's bastard son, arrived in Paris. He was coming from Flanders, of which he was the Governor, on his way to Spain. I recall those days very well, because Don John arrived incognito, at Vespers, and at court excitement was at its height. Queen Anne received him in her chambers, and I too was able to be present."
He was a small man, slight in build, well made, with a fine head and black hair — just a little rotund. Noble was the aspect of his face and agreeable to behold. The Queen treated him with great familiarity and in his presence spoke almost entirely in Spanish. She also presented to him the young King Louis. Don John, however, the son of King Philip of Spain but born of an actress, ever over-proud of his birth, behaved with excessive haughtiness, disappointing and arousing the indignation of the entire court which was playing host to him.
"The same embarrassing situation was repeated the day after,"
Atto recounted, "after he had had the honour of sleeping in Mazarin's apartments. Don John came at length to the Louvre, where Anne and the Cardinal received him with a friendliness which was not reciprocated. Monsieur, the King's brother, lent him his own guard without receiving the least thanks in return. Everyone was astounded and shocked by the Bastard's effrontery. Yet that was as nothing when compared with what was to happen later."
"Was there a diplomatic incident?"
Atto drew breath and raised his eyes, almost as though to force the riotous flock of memories into the sheepfold of logical discourse.
"An incident?… Not really. Something else. What I am about to disclose to you is a tale known to very few."
"Do not worry," I reassured him, "I shall tell no one."
"Good. You do well to behave thus — in your own interest, too."
"What do you mean?"
"Like all scalding hot information, you can never quite tell what awkward potentialities lie concealed in it."
Meanwhile, we had covered a good distance along the Via San Pancrazio. I had guessed where we were going. This was confirmed when Atto came to a halt. We were before the entrance.
"It is here. Or at least, it should be," said Atto, inviting me to cross the threshold of the Vessel.
We stood yet again in the fine courtyard, made gay by the ever renewed gurgling of the fountain. This time, no sign of any human presence came from within the villa; neither music nor even the slightest vague rustling that might stimulate one's imagination.
We advanced towards the tree-lined drives which we had explored on our first visit, near the espaliered citrus trees. After the amiable hubbub at Villa Spada, the silence here seemed designed to dispose Atto even more towards narration. Only a timid breath of wind caressed the foliage on the treetops, the sole witnesses to our presence. As we walked in the park of the Vessel, Abbot Melani spun out the thread of the tale.
Don John, or the Bastard, as many called him, had in his retinue a curious being, a woman who was known to all as Capitor.
"A mangled name, for in reality they called her la pitora or something of the sort — a word which, I believe, means in Spanish 'the cretin'."
Capitor was mad. Hers, however, was no ordinary madness. It was rumoured that she came from a family of clairvoyant lunatics who, among the folds of a distorted vision, mysteriously captured gleams of occult truth. The Bastard had made of her a sort of domestic animal, an entertainment for the cruel, rough amusement of his soldiery and, sometimes, the gentry.
"Her fame as a clairvoyant, but also as an outlandish, entertaining madwoman, had preceded her to Paris," said Atto. "So much so that, soon after his arrival, the Bastard was asked whether he had brought her with him."