Enchantress of Paris (26 page)

Philippe kicked the leg of my toilette table. The coral face paint mixture sloshed out onto my fingers. “I've been nosing around for you when I could have been working on my poems and songs. Pimentel and our uncle work constantly on the peace treaty. They grow closer to a first draft by the day.”

I threw down my mixing spoon. “Our cardinal-uncle promised the king he would keep the Spanish marriage out of that treaty. If he doesn't, the king will be so outraged neither Mazarin nor the queen mother will dare cross him.
That
will be the perfect time.”

He thought it over. “Will it be enough?”

I should have pondered that question. Instead I wiped face paint from my hands and said, “Be proud, Philippe. You've discovered the clue to France's best-kept secret.”

 

CHAPTER
32

March 1659

With carnival over, our fêtes and dances were replaced with the long excursions to country fairs, the rides through the farmlands and fields surrounding Paris, and the never-ending supper banquets with platters and trays of fish that marked the Lenten season. Eel, scallops, trout, salmon, and sole. Boiled and braised, baked and basted, with delicate sauces or crusts, topped with sturgeon eggs and offered up in increasingly fanciful silver dishes. At the Pavillon du Roi and Palais Mazarin, at Monsieur's table at the Tuileries or Mademoiselle's at the Luxembourg, we ate fish until we thought we'd sprout gills.

One quiet evening we sat in my chambers before a table of half-eaten truffle pies and
gâteau
cakes topped with cream and fruit. Venelle sewed quietly before the hearth. Hortense and Marianne sat on the floor by the window, drawing the constellations on huge sheets of parchment.

“You're dreary this evening,” I muttered to King Louis.

“I've something I hate to discuss in front of the spy,” he said.

Venelle stiffened but did not look up from her embroidery.

I tried to make a joke of it. “Why so serious? Are we to be visited by some mighty angel of death?”

“Worse.” He sighed. “Don Juan, my mother's nephew, has arrived. My mother greeted him with a feast at Val de Grâce. He will stay a few days before returning to Spain.” He leaned back in his seat. “He wants a better feel for Frenchmen's attitudes toward the alliance.”

“He will push for the marriage articles in the draft treaty while he's here,” I said, leaning forward. “Don't let your mother make promises or assurances.”

“I have final say.”

I relished seeing him cloak himself in his authority.

He shifted. “The inroads to peace are fresh, fragile. Don Juan will have to be handled delicately.”

My relish melted away. “Are you saying you won't protest if my uncle included an article of marriage?”

“I'm saying I want to marry you, my love, but that we must first have Spain's assurance of peace.”

Venelle sewed furiously. Hortense and Marianne looked up from their constellations.

I clenched my glass goblet hard. “I'm trying to make sense of this, Louis.”

“France's resources are strained. If we remain at war with Spain, I'll have to marry some rich princess from Portugal and use her dowry to pay my troops.”

I whispered so Venelle couldn't hear. “You could pay for a dozen wars with the gold Mazarin has hidden at Vincennes.”

He shook his head. “He doesn't.”

“I'll take you. I'll prove you have the money to protect France.” I stood. “Moréna, have the stables saddle Trojan.”

“Don't, Moréna.” King Louis remained seated. “Marie, if the marriage is in the draft, it won't be in the final treaty.”

I fought the urge to overrule him and drag him to Vincennes. “And if it is?” Should I wait until then to show him the letter? “I don't trust my uncle.”

He grabbed my hand. “Trust
me.
”

And so I did. I trusted him to shield me with his cloak of authority. I trusted him with all my lovesick heart.

*   *   *

The next evening I dressed in my finest
robes de cour
and insisted my sisters accompany me to the queen mother's presence chamber at the Louvre. Venelle begrudgingly agreed. I stepped from Mazarin's carriage and let my skirts of red satin, bustled at my hips and backside, settle into place. The gold-embroidered toes of my high heels peeked out with each shimmery step. The heavy boning of my tight-laced bodice emphasized my slender form and supported the train sewn to the back.

Mazarin's diamonds glittered around my neck, from my ears, and in my hair. Even my sleeves, layers of Venetian lace, were as fine and delicate as Her Majesty's. But the train, made of blue satin and lined with white rabbit fur, mimicked that of royalty. Had it been lined with ermine instead, and the blue satin embroidered with gold
fleur-de-lis,
I might pass for a queen.

Everyone noticed. The king's favor gave me more power than any charm or spell. The throng of lords and ladies crowding the chamber saw me and parted. They divided to create a path they all desired to take—one that led directly to the dais holding the queen mother and the empty armchair where King Louis would soon sit. The usual Mazarinettes stood around the dais in order of rank.

Monsieur stepped from his place behind the king's chair to take my hand. “You must meet my cousin, Don Juan,” he said. He swept his arm toward a dark-haired man upon the dais and made the introduction.

Though Don Juan was King Philip of Spain's acknowledged bastard son, he had no right to stand on the royal dais. But royal favor surpassed convention, so I curtsied for him.

He nodded a fraction.

A short person peeked from behind Don Juan to ogle me. Seeing cropped hair and a riding suit, I first took this person for a man, but I noticed the curve of breast and hips as she walked toward me. She also had a curve in her spine, and her eyes looked crossways. She cocked her head in strange directions to get a good look at me. “So this is she, the famed Marie; who hopes one day the queen to be.”

Her little rhyme drew laughter from everyone within earshot. I was not amused. I glared at Monsieur.

Monsieur cleared his throat. “This is Capita, Don Juan's infinitely amusing jester.”

I chose not to acknowledge her. I passed her to stand with my brother and sisters by the dais to await the king's arrival.

But Capita did somersaults in my wake. She pranced around us Mazarinettes. Hortense looked nervous. Capita circled me the way a cat would a mouse.

I turned to Philippe. “Where is the king? Get him quickly.”

My brother hurried out with Mazarin glaring at his back. Capita tugged Olympia's purple silk skirts. Olympia swatted at her.

“Ignore her,” I whispered to Olympia.

But Capita heard, and she pointed at me. “This Mazarinette is very proud; sailing through court on a jeweled cloud. But I wonder, Marie; what will you do; when your king abandons you?”

Everyone roared at her bad poetry—the queen mother, her ladies, even my own uncle and all the courtiers who had parted in deference for me only moments before. They all hooted and jeered. Hortense put a hand on my arm. The king's herald called from the doorway.

Face flaming, I fixed Capita with my haughtiest glare. “You think you can see into the future with those squinty crossed eyes? Go back to Spain, you little hunchback.”

Everyone looked to Capita. She put both hands over her heart and stumbled to the ground. She did sloppy backward rolls into the throng of courtiers, who leapt out of the way with exclamations. She lost momentum and splayed across the floor at the king's feet.

“What now, Capita?” King Louis said, staring down at her.

She didn't rise. “My infanta bid me lie before you; to proclaim she loves you true.”

The king laughed!

Capita scrambled up and made a courtly bow. “The Spanish infanta has no malice nor pride; for a king of your stature she's the one perfect bride.”

King Louis scanned the dais until he spotted me. He gave Capita a tight nod. “I bid good evening to the jester who always speaks in rhyme.”

She hopped up, landing in a ridiculous pose. “Only when I have the time!”

The courtiers applauded. King Louis walked past her. He kissed his mother but didn't sit with her. He acknowledged his cousins, nodded to the cardinal, then stood beside me. I took his arm with relief.

Capita stood on her hands and walked in circles, holding everyone's attention. “My infanta is light of hair and sweet of heart; a dark Italian miss would tear France apart.”

My sharp intake of breath stunned even me. Every single head in the chamber turned toward King Louis. The muscles of the king's arm flexed.

The fool did an awkward backflip, landed with her arms wide, and said, “For all Marie might pluck and preen; when Louis weds his Spanish queen; Marie will not again be seen!”

King Louis turned to Don Juan. “Your jester doesn't know her place.”

Don Juan chuckled. “Ridiculing the vain tends to elicit laughs.”

The king stepped to him, stretching to his full height. “You insult me.”

Don Juan backed away with his hands up. “Not you. Your Italian mistress. Surely she understands she must disappear once you're married.”

I wanted to slap him.

King Louis clenched his fists. “You make me glad I beat you at Dunkirk. Tonight I rejoice in that victory anew.”

“Victory? Our war isn't over.” Don Juan's confidence seemed to return. “There is life in the Spanish army yet.”

The queen mother twisted her thick frame. She gave King Louis the sign to hold his tongue.

King Louis paused. “Your jester's stay at the Louvre has come to an end. I want her on the road back to Spain before first light.”

Soft groans of disappointment rose among the court.

Don Juan leaned forward in a small bow, so shallow it screamed of disrespect. “As you wish.” He backed away, snapped at his jester, and they both left the chamber. She swayed like a damned monkey with each exaggerated step.

I could not contain myself. “You should have dismissed the don as well,” I muttered to the king.

“Don't you understand?” he replied. “This peace is uncertain.”

Mazarin heard us. “Now he'll demand to see our outline. I'll have to make reparations. Marie, go back to Palais Mazarin. Stay there, and stay out of this mess.”

The king spun on his heel. “Handle it, Cardinal, as is your duty. Quit barking orders at Marie.” He pulled me away, calling for his carriage. Everyone scattered. Together we left the Louvre, Venelle hustling close behind.

We didn't speak in the carriage, unable to do so freely in front of the spy. King Louis ripped open the curtains to let in the chilly air. Venelle huddled in her cloak.

He looked at the sky beyond the rooftops and torchlights of the city. “What do your stars have to say about this?”

“You know I don't consult them anymore.”

He eyed me.

I understood. “But I watch them sometimes, from the northwest corner of the garden where the shadows help my eyes see them arc across the sky.”

He smiled. Venelle just shivered.

After his carriage pulled out of our court and Venelle watched Moréna undress me and tuck me dutifully into bed, I waited for our wing of the palais to fall silent. I donned my fur cloak and slippers, crept noiselessly outside, and ran to the northwest corner of the garden with the hand of fate against my back.

We could hardly see so far from the lights of the palais. But we sensed each other and fell into each other's arms.

“Did you come here to read the heavens?” he asked.

I glanced up and searched for the constellation of Virgo, the virgin. But she had not yet ascended to the early spring sky. Instead I saw a shooting star sweep across the heavens. A sign of change? I chose to believe it meant we would overcome the odds. “You know I came for you.”

He ran a hand inside my cloak, feeling my satins. “You'll be cold in this.”

“Not with the Sun King to warm me.”

“Look at us, forced to meet in the dark. What will happen to us, Marie?”

“You will shine,” I whispered, “and darkness will flee.”

There, under stars tossed like silver against a velvet sky, our lips met. We held each other as if we would soon be torn apart, fighting to keep our grip. We fell to the ground, wrapped in my fur cloak, and thrust into each other like animals. I fumbled with the ties to his pantaloons until they gaped wide. He groaned, pulled up my chemise, and devoured my breasts, muttering, “You'll be queen, I swear … you're the only queen for me.” I forgot politics and schemes and lost all resolve. I gave myself to him, dreaming the garden was our marriage bed, where we generated enough heat to force an early spring.

 

CHAPTER
33

Easter 1659

I pass my days in great delight,

With wise Marie and Hortense Bright.

—PHILIPPE MANCINI, DUC DE NEVERS

Easter morning I stood before the mixing table in my chamber and tipped a vial of citron into a dish, savoring the lemony scent, then added powdered pearls and coral. In another dish I combined citron and bismuth powder. Lent had given way to Easter at last. Tomorrow I would combine my mixtures with peach flower essence to make Spanish White. As a powder or mixed with pomade, it would add a luminous fleshy-pale glow to my face and shoulders for the upcoming balls. As I set a pot containing a block of wax and rosewood oil by the hearth to melt for pomade, Moréna burst in.

“Your brother,” she cried. “He's been arrested!”

“He went to Roissy for Good Friday,” I replied. “He will be back on the morrow.”

“He returned early because his companions were eating meat and he disapproved.”

“It was Lent. What's wrong with refusing meat?”