The Prisoner of the Castle of Enlightenment

by Therese Doucet

  I still doubted the reality of the night before. Not only that, I doubted the substantiality of the Château of Boisaulne itself, and the whole history of my being there, for it seemed nothing more than a fantastical fairy tale. However, M. Bayle reminded me that the grounds of doubting were themselves doubtful, and therefore we ought to doubt whether we ought to doubt. Moreover, I found empirical evidence to support a conclusion from inductive logic that last night’s interview was reality and no mere dream, for when I went downstairs for my noon meal, there on the little table before the fire in the great hall, where the Marquis and I had become accustomed to leaving notes for one another, he had left me a book of naturalist drawings and observations about all the varieties of caterpillars and butterflies. Underneath it were two books of poetry and a note telling me to look at the pages he had marked. Each had a verse about caterpillars, one comical, the other serious. In his note, the Marquis expressed the hope that he hadn’t given me too great a fright with the manner of our first meeting. He looked forward to seeing me again that evening.

  Shyness overtook me at the thought of meeting him again in my bedroom, in the dark. It seemed exceedingly strange that an aristocrat who had troubled to buy my company at such a cost hadn’t availed himself of the opportunity to try to make love to me. I was relieved he hadn’t and that my worst fears weren’t realized. But had I been granted only a temporary reprieve? In the end, it was I who had placed my hands on him and he who had submitted docilely to my touch. Would he think it was his turn tonight?

  All day long, I found myself storing up questions to ask him, since it occurred to me he had let me do most of the talking the night before, apart from the strange stories of the beast who hunted in the forest and the unsettling revelation about his having watched me in the dark. I wondered too whether he hadn’t touched me because he wasn’t so attracted to me after all. Had I disappointed him? Or was I merely one of a number of women he had acquired in this same manner, so that he simply felt no urgency where seduction was concerned?

  Nonetheless, the anxiety and excitement I felt at the thought of speaking further with the Marquis weren’t entirely unpleasant. There was a sweetness to the gesture of the caterpillar books that touched me, beyond the pleasure I had felt so often in reading his letters to me.

  I sat in the garden to make notes on my new poem, which I envisioned as a silly satirical epic for Valentin, “The Clash of the Caterpillars.” My eyes teared up a little as I thought of Valentin and Aimée and how much they would have loved playing in this garden. I could almost hear their voices echoing from the stone walls as they shouted to each other in their games, like two fey, mischievous ghosts. If only the Marquis could meet them. How could he help but love them as dearly as I did? And then perhaps he would allow me to have them here with me. Perhaps I could ask him about it when he came to me that night.

  My concentration was miserable, and after an hour or two I had only written the title at the top of my sheet of paper. The sun had made me drowsy, so I went back inside and took a nap in my bedchamber through most of the afternoon. After supper I paced up and down in my room, arguing with myself about whether to undress for bed. If I went to sleep in only my chemise, knowing the Marquis would see me in it, might he not mistakenly regard it as an invitation? On the other hand, I certainly didn’t wish to lie down and go to sleep in my stays.

  I compromised by wearing a pretty robe over my chemise, which I tied with a sash for more modesty. I settled into my soft feather bed with a book, but I must have dozed off quickly, for the next thing I knew, I was woken by the chiming of the clock. The candle had burnt out or had been extinguished, and all was dark again.

  I stretched and yawned, filled with a sense of warmth and well-being. I realized the Marquis was seated on the edge of my bed again.

  “There you are,” he said. “I wondered if I ought to try to wake you. You looked beautiful, lying there in the dark.”

  I struggled to gather my thoughts and wake more fully. In my confusion, the first question on my mind rose to my lips. “Monsieur le marquis … do you …” I murmur.

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you mean to make love to me?”

  He laughed. “This is one thing I like about talking in the dark. People are more honest.”

  I blinked, more alert now. “It’s like being drunk on wine. Forgive me.”

  “It’s a reasonable question, my lovely Madame Bergeret. Do you wish me to make love to you?”

  This was not a question I had anticipated. “I … I don’t know.” What was it about talking in the dark that unmasked me this way and made it so much more difficult to dissemble?

  “I was honest with you in my first letter. Another way of explaining why I brought you here is that I didn’t think a woman of your education was suited to a life of poverty. I wanted to rescue you from it, with no obligation on your part other than staying here. But if you mean to ask, am I attracted to you? Would I like to stroke your black hair, to feel the touch of your hands on my lips again, to see you without your nightdress, to give you what pleasures a beast’s love can afford? The answer must be yes.”

  I lay motionless, frightened and aroused by his words. Perhaps there was safety in a change of subject. “May I ask, how old you are?”

  “Four and thirty. And you?”

  “Six and twenty.”

  “Ah.”

  “I was afraid you’d be much older. Is it true you’re estranged from your wife, as Monsieur du Herle told my father?”

  There was a silence that somehow felt sullen. Then he said, “But we were going to speak more of Montesquieu’s books, weren’t we? Tell me, what did you think?”

  Had I made him angry? I tried to remember what I had thought of Montesquieu. “It seems to me perhaps he idealizes the English form of government too much in the Spirit of the Laws. I don’t know how free any people can really be under a monarchy. The nobles might be free, but the poor work so hard, what he calls ‘political freedom’ can’t mean much to them. He’s a baron, isn’t he? He must have grown up rich and likely doesn’t understand what it is to be poor.”

  “Indeed. It’s a good point about freedom for the poor being different from freedom for the rich. Perhaps I’d go even further and say freedom can be a great burden if it isn’t granted along with freedom from want.”

  “Hmm. Anyway, I think a justly governed republic would be better for the common people, if the rulers and lawmakers could see to it that things were fairer. I don’t know why some people should have so much, just because they were born noble, while others starve.”

  “Things are beginning to change, though, here in Savoy. There’s been talk of doing away with the old seigneurial rights and privileges, and I think it will happen. I don’t see it as a bad thing. The villages will be enfranchised. They can buy lands back from the old hereditary estates, so it’s not as if we noblemen will lose our holdings without getting something in return. Things won’t be so unequal, when those who work hard can rise more easily in the world.”

  “But the people I met on the way here seemed to be doing quite well, I must say. The famine seems not to have touched Maisnie-la-Forêt. When I passed through with Monsieur du Herle, the buildings looked in good condition, and there were flower gardens in front of the houses. The people seemed healthy and well-clothed.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it, and even more pleased you noticed. Monsieur du Herle does a good job as my steward. My conscience could never bear to collect my full seigneurial dues, so generally he takes no more than the minimum we require to maintain the household here. You’d be surprised at how little that is. In return, the villagers take what’s been hunted. I like to imagine my old ancestor, the roi des aulnes, watches over them and blesses them in return for leaving his part of the forest alone.”

  “I never thought of ogres being in the habit of blessing people. The prosperity seems to be mostly your doing, though. Madame Jacquenod told me you arranged for a doctor too.”
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  “I thought they ought to have one. I only regret that I can’t permit them to gather wood and hunt in the entire forest. But it’s always been the tradition of my family to protect the forest on this side of the river, and to protect the villagers from it. There are supposed to be certain trees there sacred to the roi des aulnes, and if anyone were to fell one by mistake, he’d come to harm. Or children or animals might go missing. The tradition has it the alder-king is lord of the plants and animals in the forest, the master of life and death, and only he or his descendants, the lords of Boisaulne, have the right to hunt there.”

  I shuddered. “And you believe in the traditions?”

  “It’s an old superstition and must be as true as those generally are.”

  “But do you know what I’m curious about? You say you don’t need much to maintain the household here. Yet the manor and garden are so beautiful and full of fine things. Aren’t they very costly to keep up, if you haven’t even collected your full dues?”

  “Many of the furnishings and fine things are from my grandfather’s day, or older. I suppose the past lords of Boisaulne had less sympathy for the petites gens of the villages. My father, God rest his soul, was a generous-hearted man, they say. I suppose he must have been, since my grandfather’s fortune was only a fraction of what it had been by the time I came into my inheritance. But I barely knew the man. I was sent away to school in Paris at six years of age, and my father and mother both passed away not long after. And when I came of age, I did my share in spending what little remained of the fortune.”

  “You were an orphan?”

  His silence was an agreement.

  “I’m sorry. I lost my mother, too,” I said.

  “I know. Your father’s done a fine job of raising you, though. He seems a good man.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I do. That’s why I didn’t mind helping him out of his predicament. It wasn’t greed that got him into it, but a desire to support his family, and perhaps a nature that was too trusting, and his strict sense of honor. If he hadn’t been determined to pay his creditors honestly, he could have found some relief in defaulting on his debts. He only needed more time and wiser counsel, and Monsieur du Herle has provided him with both.”

  I bit back the bitter words that rose in my heart: My father sold me to you for gain, into a dishonorable position, and let my children be taken from me, and little care did he have that according to his own religion he’d be making a sinner of me and endangering my soul for all eternity.

  The Marquis said, more quietly, “Perhaps you weren’t happy at first about the arrangement he made with me to bring you here, but you must understand, he had your best interests at heart. As do I. Monsieur du Herle can be very persuasive, and he laid out the advantages to your father well. That’s why I’ve employed him to see to my affairs. I hope you won’t have ill feelings toward your father. He meant well and chose wisely. I noticed you haven’t asked me to pass on any letters to him.”

  I maintained a resentful silence. What did the Marquis know of honor or wisdom or my best interests? He was arrogant and patronizing, like my father, like Pastor Bergeret. Men were all alike.

  “Were you very angry at your father?” he asked at length.

  I was exasperated by his thick-headedness. “Of course I was. Wouldn’t you be, in my position? I’m still furious. It’s demeaning to be sold like a milk cow and kept locked up like a bird in a cage. I’m not an animal. I’m a human being, after all.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Will you let me go?”

  “I promised to protect you, to take care of you and keep you safe.”

  I could make no quick answer to this.

  He said, “I thought you didn’t wish to leave. Is there anything you lack that might make your stay here more tolerable?”

  My heart beat quickly. “My children. If only I could have them here with me.”

  “This is no place for children,” he said with a vehemence that startled me. More gently he said, “I’m sorry to deny you anything, but no, I’m afraid they can’t be here. Perhaps there’s some other wish I could grant you.”

  My heart had fallen and it took me a moment to recover from my disappointment. With little hope I asked, “Will you let me see your face?”

  “Alas, I can’t permit that either. Isn’t there anything else you desire?” There was a touch of desperation in his voice. “There must be something.”

  I paused to consider. “If only I weren’t always all alone here during the day. The animals in the gardens are my only company apart from you. It’s difficult never to see another human face.”

  “Ah! Yes, I’ll see what I can do.” He laughed. “I thought you might ask for jewels or clothes, or at least more books.”

  “But didn’t you say you were trying to keep the manor’s expenses to a minimum? Don’t you have to avoid such extravagances?”

  “No, no, there’s no need for that.”

  “But it must have cost a good deal to rescue my father from his debts. You said you spent your inheritance. How do you manage it all? Are we living on fairy gold here?”

  He laughed again. “You’ve guessed it. That’s the real reason I brought you here, as payment to the Erl-King, who’s shared his fairy gold with me. You’re the sacrificial maiden.”

  “But I’m no maiden.”

  He laughed harder. “I should hope not. No, my dear, it’s not fairy gold that sustains us.”

  “You laugh at me, but it might help explain the strange magic of this place.”

  “I’m not sure how to explain it. I remember it feeling magical when I visited as a child. Then I was sent away to school in Paris, and it was all shut up after my parents passed away. I thought the magic had been only my imagination. An uncle became my guardian, but I saw more of his solicitors than I ever saw of him. I completed my education in Paris and lived an aimless life for a few years. And, yes, I spent what was left of my inheritance, which had already been diminished by my father’s extravagant manner of living. Then, in my straitened circumstances, I made a deal with the Devil.”

  I remembered the illustration of the legend of Doktor Faustus and Méphistophélès, and my breath caught in my throat. “I wondered.”

  “No, no. I mean I married, richly and badly. I was four-and-twenty, younger than you are now. Her father approached me. He knew of my predicament and offered me his daughter’s hand as a way out. My debts would all be paid, and a generous sum settled on me. He’d risen from being a clerk to a rich financier, and he wanted a nobleman’s name for her. She’d taken a liking to me. So all I had to do was make her my marquise and treat her with correctness, and my fortune would be restored twice over.”

  “I suppose that’s not unheard of.” I recalled reading many similar stories in the chroniques scandaleuses in my former husband’s bookshop, noblemen marrying wealthy merchants’ daughters to replenish their dwindling funds.

  “I lasted a few years with her, remaining faithful and playing the role of the dutiful society husband. Her father kept his end of the bargain. Then, thanks to a tip he gave me, I had a great coup on the stock market, the Paris Bourse, and increased my holdings enormously. After profiting so greatly, I proceeded to make a monster of myself by neglecting my wife and avoiding her as much as I could. We continued to keep a house together and I occasionally attended the balls and dinners she gave – always drunk, which was the only way to endure them – but otherwise we’ve lived separate lives. There never was such a cad in all of Paris, in the eyes of her family. So you see, our wealth and the villagers’ prosperity all stem from my villainy. Be glad I don’t inflict on you the horror of having to look upon such a creature.”

  It took me a moment to absorb all this, painful as it was to hear. “But if that’s so … you must have had some reason for behaving as you did. What was the cause of the estrangement between you?”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “You asked about the magic of this pla
ce. After I married, I found I could will myself here. I think it was my desperate longing to be far away, to be alone. My will was so strong, and perhaps the Erl-king’s blood in my veins was potent enough, that the manor seemed to respond to my wishes. It’s almost as though we live here in a place formed by my thoughts, in a world that’s a reflection of my dreaming.”

  Against all logic and sense, I tried to make out his form, the outline of his face, through the impenetrable darkness. “If that’s true, it’s a beautiful world. If this place were a reflection of your soul, I’d think you had an exquisite one.”

  “All I’ve wanted was someone to share it with. Now you’re here at last, real and no dream. But I must tell you, my wishes and dreams aren’t the reality or substance of me. My actions are. My wishes have a good deal of darkness in them, too. That includes my wishes for you. Don’t you see the world I’ve created around you now is all dark, pure night?”

  My breaths came shallowly, and my muscles tensed, waiting for him to reach for me. Now he would take his due, I thought.

  We breathed in the dark, but he didn’t stir. A tension pulled taut between us, like a straining cord. I had the wish to feel his face with my blind hands once more. I knew he wouldn’t object, but I asked him if I might.