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At some point I became aware of voices-a man’s and a woman’s-and I knew that they had been conversing nearby for quite some time. With all of these other concerns and distractions I had taken no note of them. I lifted my head to gaze directly across the canal at two figures on horseback: a tall magnificent well-built man in a vast wig like a lion’s mane, and a woman, built something like a Turkish wrestler, dressed in hunting clothes and carrying a riding crop. The woman’s face was exposed to the sun, and had been for a long time, for she was ta
I simply could not imagine any way to recover from this indignity, and so I pretended I had not seen him. As the crow flies we were not far apart, but by land we were far away-to reach me, the King and his Diana-like hunting-companion would have had to ride west for some distance along the bank of the canal; circumnavigate the large pool at that end; and then go the same distance eastwards along the opposite bank. So I convinced myself that they were far away and I pretended not to see them; God have mercy on me if I chose wrong. I tried to cover my embarrassment by ranting to the children about Descartes and Euclid.
The King put his hat back on and said, “Who is she?”
I closed my eyes and sighed in relief; the King had decided to play along, and act as if we had not seen each other. Finally I had coaxed the floating cork back into my hands. I drew myself up and sat on the brink of the canal with my skirts spread out around me, in profile to the King, and quietly lectured the children.
Meanwhile I was praying that the woman would not know my name. But as you will have guessed, Doctor, she was none other than his majesty’s sister-in-law, Elisabeth Charlotte, known to Versailles as Madame, and known to Sophie-her beloved aunt-as Liselotte.
Why didn’t you tell me that the Knight of the Rustling Leaves was aclitoriste? I suppose this should come as no surprise given that her husband Philippe is a homosexual, but it caught me somewhat off guard. Does she have lovers? Hold, I presume too much; does she even know what she is?
She gazed at me for a languid moment; at Versailles, no one of importance speaks quickly and spontaneously, every utterance is pla
It strikes me as unlikely that Liselotte could have recognized me in this way without another cha
These cruel words would have brought me to tears if I’d been one of those rustic countesses who flock to Versailles to be deflowered by men of rank. But I had already seen enough of this place to know that the only truly cruel words here are “She is nobody.” And Madame had not said that. Consequently, the King had to look at me for a few moments longer.
Louis and Beatrice had noticed the King, and were frozen with a mixture of awe and terror-like statues of children.
Another one of those pauses had gone by. I heard the King saying, “That story was told in my presence.” Then he said, “If d’Avaux would only put his letters into the bodice of some poxy old hag he could be assured of absolute secrecy, but what Dutchman would not want to break the seal on that envelope?”
“But, Sire,” said Liselotte, “d’Avaux is a Frenchman-and what Frenchman would?”
“He is not as refined in his tastes as he would have you think,” the King returned, “and she is not as coarse as you would have me think.”
At this point little Louis stepped forward so suddenly that I was alarmed he would topple into the Canal and oblige me to swim; but he stopped on the brink, thrust out one leg, and bowed to the King just like a courtier. I pretended now to notice the King for the first time, and scrambled to my feet. Beatrice and I made curtseys across the canal. Once more the King acknowledged us by doffing his hat, perhaps with a certain humorous exaggeration.
“I see that look in your eye, votre majeste, ” said Liselotte.
“I see it in yours, Artemis.”
“You have been listening to gossip. I tell you that these girls of low birth who come here to seduce noblemen are like mouse droppings in the pepper.”
“Is that what she wants us to believe? How banal.”
“The best disguises are the most banal, Sire.”
This seemed to be the end of their strange conversation; they rode slowly away.
The King is said to be a great huntsman, but he was riding in an extremely stiff posture-I suspect he is suffering from hemorrhoids or possibly a bad back.
I took the children back straightaway and sat down to write you this letter. For a nothing like me, today’s events are the pi
To M. le comte d’Avaux
1 September1 68 5
Monseigneur,
I have as many visitors as ever (much to the a
These conversations are all the same, and their particulars are too tedious to relate here. Obviously you have been spreading tales about me, Monseigneur, and half the petty nobles of Versailles now believe that I (or, at any rate, my fictitious uncle) can help them get out from under their gambling debts, pay for the remodeling of their chateaux, or buy them splendid new carriages. I can only roll my eyes at their avarice. But if the stories are to be believed, their fathers and grandfathers used what money they had to raise private armies and fortify their cities against the father and grandfather of the present King. I suppose it’s better for the money to go to dressmakers, sculptors, painters, and chefs de cuisine than to mercenaries and musket-makers.
Of course it is true that their gold would fetch a higher rate of return wisely invested in Amsterdam than sitting in a strong-box under their beds. The only difficulty lies in the fact that I ca