I laughed, but a little mirthlessly; although there could be no doubt that Louise de Keroualle had shown herself to be overly proud, and quite lacking in that sense of frivolity which so enlivened our time at court, I could not help feeling that I had not emerged terribly well from this episode myself. Tt seems I have been your dupe,’ I said shortly.
Olympe smiled. ‘You have duped yourself. I have done you a
favour. You were in danger of letting your emotions get in the way of your pleasures. Sometimes it is necessary to step back a little.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
There was no point in arguing further with Olympe; and she was right, of course: I held allowed my feelings to cloud my judgement. But I could not help reflecting on how very different I would be feeling now if Louise’s answer to my proposal had been ‘yes’.
Louise
On that fateful day I was a litde late returning to Madame’s apartments. There had been an incident with the one of the king’s confectioners, a thing of no consequence in itself but a little upsetting, as these things sometimes are. It was annoying, though, in that it made me late, and I found as I hurried up the steps to Madame’s apartment that I was a little out of breath.
Then, as I entered the apartment, I saw that noble lady crying, and all thoughts of the confectioner were instantly banished from my mind.
‘What is it, MadameI asked.
She started when she saw me. ‘Just a vile letter.’ For a moment I thought she would say nothing more, then she added, ‘From my husband.’
I kept my voice level. ‘I trust Monsieur le Compte is well?’
Madame smiled wanly. ‘Well enough to tell me that I am a traitor and a whore; that more rumours have reached him concerning myself and a certain person at court, and that I am to leave here immediately and go to him in Milan, so that he can once again attempt to get an heir on me.’ She spoke lightly, but of course I heard the distress in her voice.
I should now describe this paragon, chiefly for the pleasure of doing so, rather than from any need to fix her in my mind (for her portrait is as well known here in England as in France, and in any case there is still not a day that passes when I do not think of her). She was of slight build - so slight that her clothes almost fell off her. Only I and a very few others knew the extent of the padding under her court dresses, or how her skin was now so pale that in places you could see the blue veins far beneath the surface. But when you looked at her you did not notice her frailty, so radiant
was her expression, so intense the goodness in her eyes; and when she spoke of her great concern - the plan to unite her two dearest friends, her brother Charles and her protector Louis, in a political alliance which would form the basis for a great Europe-wide empire of peace and prosperity - her eyes seemed to burn with conviction; a conviction which, together with her many amiable qualities and her charm, had been instrumental in the considerable success of her diplomacy so far. But she was certainly in no state to bear anyone an heir, even if her husband had been able to leave off buggering his own male lovers for long enough to get one on her.
‘And? Will you go?’ I asked.
‘How can I? The traite simule has not yet been signed. Until it is, the traite secrete is not secure; and with it, my brother’s throne.’ She lifted another envelope. ‘There is a letter from him, as well.’
‘From King Charles? May I see?’
‘Of course.’ Madame smiled at my enthusiasm. ‘In fact, you may read it aloud. A draft of sweet cordial to take away the bitter taste of my husband’s words.’ She handed it to me.
Aware that my English was not as pure as Madame’s, I read slowly. ''My sweetest Minette . . .’
‘Minette! He thinks I am still a child,’ Madame commented, but there was a smile on her face.
'’First I must chastise you, for in your last letter you have once a£fain addressed me as Tour Majesty, not once but half a dozen times. Do not treat me with such ceremony, or address me with so many Majesties, as between you and me there should be nothing but affection . . .’ I paused. ‘He writes so kindly.’
‘He is the kindest man in the world,’ Madame said simply.
‘He certainly seemed so last month, at Dover.’ The signing of the treaty, the traite secrete as we called it, had been done under the pretence of celebrating Charles’s birthday. For two weeks the royal party, of which I was honoured to be a part, had sailed, picnicked, gone to plays and attended dances. When Madame’s ship finally took us away, Charles ordered his own yacht to pursue us
almost to the coast of France so that he could embrace his sister one last time, the tears streaming from his eyes.
Madame smiled again at the memory. ‘I think they were the happiest weeks of my life.’
‘How different the two letters are,’ I said neutrally.
‘It is difficult for my husband,’ Madame said. She could not bear to speak ill of anyone for long, not even him. She put a hand to her stomach, wincing.
‘Are you quite well.>’ I asked.
‘A little indisposed. Would you get me some iced chicory? Abbe Bossuet will be here soon, and I fear he may linger. He wants to discuss the arrangements for my brother’s conversion.’
‘I thought the timing of that had not been settled.’
Madame smiled. ‘My brother is a kind and charming man, but he is so often surrounded by those making demands upon him that he has a tendency to put things off I fear that if I do not hold him to his promise immediately, he may allow it to slip his mind.’ This remark, incidentally, was typical of her. She had an ability to believe the best of people, but also to see their weaknesses quite clearly, and to make arrangements accordingly.
‘Of course. And would you like me to draft a reply to your husband? Something polite that commits you to nothing?’
‘Thank you.’ j
I went to Madame’s closet - the little room she used as a study - and found writing implements. I sent a maid for the chicory water. It would be best, I decided, if I could keep out of the Italian confectioner’s way, at least for a few days, until this infatuation of his had passed. It was not the first time men had announced themselves in love with me, and I supposed it would not be the last, but for all the agonies they avowed I had noticed that they generally found someone to console themselves with after a week or two. Sometimes I felt sorry for these men, if they were sincere; or angry, if they were not; but I rarely felt any personal guilt, having long ago come to the realisation that it was
my face and figure, those accidents of my birth, that were the cause of these ardent protestations, rather than anything I myself might have done - just as it was another accident of birth, that of being born into a once-great but now impoverished family, that seemed to have condemned me to a life of spinsterhood. Not that I particularly wanted to find myself at the beck and call of a husband, of course, but whilst I did not have one I was without any kind of status whatsoever, a figure of derision at court, my entire life dependent on the whims of others.
So I resolved to give no further thought to Signor Demirco. Even so, I could not help glancing out of the window for a glimpse of him bringing the iced chicory water to Madame: I found myself surprised, and a litde disappointed, when it was delivered by one of the palace footmen instead.
There were so many letters to write - letters of thanks to the French ambassador in England; letters to the nobles who had been our hosts at various castles around Dover; everything possible that could be done to leave a favourable impression of our visit, so that an alliance with France - the Great Affair, as we had dubbed it - would, when it was finally made public, garner the support it needed. I heard the murmur of voices as the abbe arrived, but did not go to join them. Madame would call if she needed me, and the correspondence was more pressing.