by EM Castellan
“Tonight is a procession,” Athénaïs said, her eyes on her program. “The main character Roger is going to arrive with his brave knights, and the wicked magicienne Alcine is going to capture them and lock them on her enchanted island.”
“Of course there’s a wicked magicienne.” Olympe rolled her eyes.
It was indeed interesting to note Louis had chosen to focus on the part of the story that involved a female magician hindering the hero’s plans. Was it a subtle hint of his disapproval of the power of magiciens in general, and female ones in particular?
“So His Majesty will be Roger?” Louise asked, her eyes brightening with excitement. She wore a beautiful gown of silver silk that shimmered with magic in the dimming light, and she looked as lovely as I had ever seen her. Next to her, Athénaïs’s dark blue dress and Olympe’s burgundy one made them appear as two ominous birds of prey appraising a chickadee.
“Who else?” Olympe replied. “And all the kingdom’s highest-ranking noblemen will be his knights.”
Before leaving after breakfast to join the rehearsals, Philippe had complained about having to indulge his brother in this fashion, but I was looking forward to seeing him take part in what promised to be an outstanding spectacle. Wrapped in a white fur mantle that offset my yellow brocade gown, I felt warm and rested enough to face the evening with the proper enthusiasm and decorum.
“Well, I can’t wait!” Louise announced.
Olympe and Athénaïs exchanged a snide glance, which reminded me of Olympe’s idea that this whole entertainment was in fact a gift to Louise. No one else had mentioned this particular piece of gossip to me, which made me doubt its veracity. Surely Louis wouldn’t be so blatantly disrespectful to his own mother and wife? As the light grew dimmer and the conversations of waiting courtiers louder, I moved toward the two ladies in question.
Marie-Thérèse had her hands folded in her lap and a bored expression on her face, while the Queen Mother’s wan face stood out very white against her mourning clothes. They both sat in silence, and their features relaxed at my approach, as if they’d been waiting for someone to save them from the awkwardness between them.
“Isn’t it a lovely night?” I smiled in the most encouraging manner I could devise. Given the queen’s still-secret pregnancy and her mother-in-law’s illness, I doubted either woman’s first wish was to be here tonight, so I strived to direct their thoughts toward a positive outlook.
“It’s cold.” Marie-Thérèse pouted.
A chill indeed hung in the air, but the sky was clear, with the evening star already visible above our heads.
“At least it’s not raining,” I said in such a bright tone I sounded like Louise. “And I hear tonight’s entertainment is an unprecedented feat.”
“My son has indeed worked very hard on it,” Anne d’Autriche said.
Encouraged by their replies, I treaded toward bolder inquiries. I had come here with a purpose, after all.
“Yes,” I said, “I heard his new Source is very good. A perfect match for His Majesty’s great talent.”
The Queen Mother remained composed, but Marie-Thérèse’s features at once became more animated.
“He is very gifted. And so amusing! Have you met him? He tells the best stories.”
So even the queen wasn’t immune to Lorraine’s charms, then. My posture sagged a little, but I stayed focus on my goal.
“And what’s his story?” I asked. “Surely such a talented Source didn’t just appear out of nowhere.”
“He didn’t,” Marie-Thérèse said, warming to her subject. “His family is from Burgundy. He came to court to offer his services to the king. There are so few Sources in the kingdom; really, it’s a blessing he came forward.”
The Queen Mother shot me a sharp look. Her daughter-in-law ignored the truth about my own gift—there had never been a reason to share that secret with her—but I wondered how much she knew about her husband’s magical plans. From Anne d’Autriche’s expression, maybe not much.
“So he does magic with the king?” I asked to steer the conversation away from the topic of Sources.
“He does magic with everybody!” Marie-Thérèse replied. “Of course, most of his time is devoted to Louis, but he is so hardworking that he also aids the court magiciens.”
“And His Majesty allows it?” I said with a pointed look at the Queen Mother. We both knew how much Louis hated to share anything in his life, and as the one who had taught him the importance of such behavior, she had to find Lorraine’s conduct an unwelcome development.
“Louis is very generous,” Marie-Thérèse said, and it took all my concentration to keep a straight face at the claim. She lowered her tone in a dramatic fashion. “And you know his gift isn’t very strong. He doesn’t really need a Source all to himself.”
Letting everyone think his magical talents weren’t very much developed had always been Louis’s strategy: a way to let his enemies underestimate him, as Fouquet had found out last year. As it happened, letting everyone underestimate me was also my favorite tactic.
“So the man is a godsend, then?” I said in a teasing tone. “No annoying flaws? No dark secrets?”
This was more heavy-handed than I had planned, but helplessness made for desperate measures. Everyone—from the lowly footman to the queen of France—seemed to have the same things to say about Lorraine, and I needed more to go on.
“I don’t think so,” Marie-Thérèse said. “I think he’s charming.”
I turned to the Queen Mother, whose lack of interest in the discussion struck me as more concerning than her pale coloring. She had spent half her life working and scheming to protect and guide Louis. Yet now that a new adversary had appeared on the stage, she sat back and let everyone talk about the man like he was a blessing sent from above.
“I don’t know him,” she said. “I haven’t met him. But as far as I’ve heard, he’s the second son of an obscure provincial nobleman. What I know is that I trust my son’s judgment. If the man proves unworthy or is hiding anything, I’m certain Louis won’t be fooled.”
I met her golden gaze and stared at her thin features, lined with more wrinkles than I remembered. She had really stepped back, then. After twenty years at the forefront of every decision taken on France’s behalf, she was not only retiring from politics but also withdrawing from any sphere of influence around her son. As Louis had planned after Mazarin’s death, he ruled alone, ignoring even his own mother’s counsel. And for now, he was choosing to trust Lorraine at his side.
The situation was therefore clear: Lorraine wasn’t going anywhere. As the Queen Mother pointed out, the man was one among many low-ranking courtiers. Yet he had climbed his way to the top, and unless he made a mistake—or I managed to prove his misdeeds—he would remain there. Whatever his means of action, which I suspected involved getting rid of the competition but still had to confirm, his goal appeared obvious: to become so indispensable to the king that he would be impossible to dismiss. He was ambitious, charismatic, and now powerful. How was I ever going to bring him down?
The blare of a trumpet snapped me out of my low spirit. All of a sudden, dazzling light replaced darkness as thousands of colorful magic lamps came to life on the gravel path and in the trees around us. A collective exclamation of delight escaped the assembled courtiers, and applause rippled along the crowd.
By Latona’s Fountain in the distance, a herald and a small suite appeared, all dressed in magically enhanced outfits that sparkled in the night. They proceeded down the great lawn toward us at a slow pace, their features taking shape as they approached. I moved back next to my ladies, and Louise took my hand in her glee.
“Look! It’s D’Artagnan!”
It was indeed the old musketeer on horseback behind the herald, surrounded by squires and a dozen drummers and trumpeters whose music filled the air with a bewitching rhythm. The blue and red of his uniform glittered in the magic light, and he waved at the greeting courtiers as he led his mount aroun
d Apollo’s Fountain.
For an instant our eyes met, and he inclined his head in a respectful nod. D’Artagnan had been there when Louis and I had defeated Fouquet for good. He was among the few people who knew who I really was, and he was one of the most respectful and loyal too. As far as I was concerned, he deserved this special place in the king’s procession. I joined the general clapping, but already the first part of the pageant was dissolving to leave room for the main event.
“It’s the king! It’s the king!” Louise exclaimed. She squeezed my arm hard and jumped up and down with a squeal.
“Thank goodness she’s here for the running commentary,” Olympe said in an icy tone. “I would have no clue what’s going on otherwise.”
But loud music swallowed her words, and Louis appeared, riding what appeared to be a giant horse fashioned out of magic. If D’Artagnan and his retinue had sparkled, the king and his mount shone like a flame in the dark. Golden and silver fabric, colorful gems and precious garments covered him, and he wore a tall headpiece that was half-crown, half-feathered hat. It would have looked ridiculous if it hadn’t been magnificent. Awe took over delight among the assembly, and if the clapping went on, the conversations died down. Even Olympe found nothing to say.
The magic horse, a huge beast made of shimmers or flames or sunshine, carried him forward at a regal pace, and the king rode it with his trademark impassive expression, neither waving nor nodding at anyone.
When he reached Apollo’s Fountain, the rest of the procession came down the Royal Way at a trot. Princes, dukes, counts, and marquesses rode down the lawn in pairs, their bearing straight but with smiles on their faces. Philippe and Lorraine came first, resplendent in matching shining silver-and-blue outfits and feathered hats. Bitterness pinched my heart. As the king’s brother and the king’s Source, it made perfect sense for them to ride first and together. Yet I couldn’t help but read mocking triumph in Lorraine’s expression as he rode past me. Philippe waved at me, and I returned his gesture with a smile, because it was my duty and I would have hated for anyone to read my thoughts just then, but the look I gave Lorraine was the naive one he no doubt expected.
Thankfully the rest of the procession was there to distract me: I recognized Prince Aniaba in an impressive red-and-green outfit, and the Comte de Saint-Aignan rode with Olympe’s husband, the Comte de Soissons. Armand came behind them, in a bold cream-colored ensemble and a magnificent white-feathered hat. He threw kisses at the crowd and grinned when our gazes met. Athénaïs’s husband came next with the other marquesses, and I laid eyes on the man for the first time. Good-looking enough, with a straight nose and a happy smile, the young man was dressed all in red and sported golden gloves, boots, and hat that gleamed in the magical light. He waved at his wife, who was chatting with Louis’s cousins Elisabeth and Françoise and pretended not to notice. I exchanged a glance with Olympe, who shrugged in helplessness.
After the noblemen came the comedians. Molière’s troupe joined the procession in the most arresting way: like the king, they rode enchanted animals so big they sat far above our heads.
“Mademoiselle Du Parc is Spring on an enchanted horse,” Athénaïs read from her leaflet, seemingly eager to avoid any mention of her husband at all cost.
The famous actress rode by with a seductive grin and a dress made of beautiful flowers and green ivy that moved about her body in a perpetual cycle of death and rebirth.
“Not covering much, that dress, is it?” Olympe said.
“Oh, do be quiet,” Athénaïs snapped. “Du Parc is amazing, and I won’t hear anything against her.”
“You’re in a mood,” her friend replied. But she fell quiet after that.
“Next is René Du Parc as Summer on an elephant.”
I had never beheld a real elephant in my life, but I doubted they were giant gleaming beasts that appeared made of water or a piece of the sky.
“Then it’s La Thorillière,” Athénaïs went on as we all gaped at Du Parc’s mount. “He’s dressed as Autumn, and he’s riding a camel.”
As with elephants, my experience with camels was limited to engravings in books, and I had never seen one pictured as a huge animal built out of copper leaves and tree bark.
“And finally, Louis Béjart is Winter, on a bear.”
Wrapped in sparkling white fur, the comedian rode an enormous bearlike illusion, whose pelt seemed to be made of snow.
The courtiers’ applause hadn’t yet ceased when the trumpets signaled another event, and the herald called our attention to Apollo’s Fountain. The king and Lorraine dismounted to meet in front of the gilded lead statue of the Greek god surrounded by water jets. They removed their gloves and joined hands, a hush falling over the press of guests now craning their necks and pushing to get a better view. Even the two queens left their seats to approach the scene.
In a theatrical gesture that I knew from experience to be unnecessary, Lorraine took a deep breath, threw his head back, and closed his eyes before whispering a spell. A dramatic shudder ran through him, and Louis extended his free hand toward the fountain in a commanding motion.
The assembly held a collective breath, and the statue moved.
Golden Apollo on his chariot slapped the reins of his four horses, which shook their heads and struggled to extricate themselves from the water. Their bodies shining with their own unnatural internal light, god and beasts splashed their way out of the shallow pool.
In the gathered assembly, courtiers gasped. A few cries rang out, and a commotion to the left indicated someone had fainted. Meanwhile, the statue of Apollo, god of the sun and Louis’s favorite symbol, stopped his chariot in front of the king. In a symbolic gesture any guest would be able to read, he and his horses halted their race across the earth to bow to Louis. The Sun King acknowledged them with a curt nod, then snapped his fingers. Immediately Apollo guided his mounts back into the fountain, where they froze once more. Louis and Lorraine turned to receive the audience’s applause.
The crowd clapped and whooped, eyes bright with wonder and cheeks red with elation. I felt the same as they did. If this was the opening of the celebrations, what did Louis have in store for the rest of the week?
Despite myself, some of my hard feelings toward Lorraine melted in the face of such grandiose magic. Maybe the Queen Mother was right. The man had an incredible talent. His gift could be used for the good of the kingdom and the crown. He may have taken much from me, but was I really entitled to destroy him for my own gains when he could help France and its subjects with his magic, when my own gift faltered? Was my life meant to change anyway, and was his arrival the catalyst for such a difficult-to-accept but inevitable new era in my existence?
I had but an instant to ponder these thoughts when a sudden gust of wind found its way between the trees and blew through the courtiers, sweeping up skirts, knocking wigs askew, and ruffling feathers. Squeals and surprised exclamations punctuated the appearance of the draught, which I feared heralded a coming shower. I shivered, grateful for my fur mantle, when Louise let out a shout. Her jeweled silver hat, blown away by the wind, was skipping toward the fountain at great speed. Two guards rushed after it, but before they could get a hold of it, the elegant headpiece flew into the fountain and bobbed on the water like a toy boat made of cork bark.
“Oh!” Louise exclaimed, her face a picture of discomfiture.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the king put one booted foot into the fountain to retrieve the hat. He plucked it out of the water in a deft gesture, and handed it back to Louise with a gallant bow.
Louise blushed and curtsied, accepting her rescued hat with thanks. Everyone stared. Marie-Thérèse stood a couple of steps away, her face pinched into a haughty pout. Oblivious, her husband exchanged a few words with Louise, who let out a happy giggle.
“Someone has to save them from themselves,” Athénaïs whispered.
Olympe decided this someone was she, and she joined them as if Louise speaking with the king was the si
gnal for every courtier to pay their own compliment to their sovereign.
“Your Majesty, what a wonderful spectacle!” she said, stepping between them in a deliberate gesture. “You spoil us!”
The rest of her words were lost to my ears as other guests stepped forward and called out to the king. A small gathering formed around Louis, while the rest of the spectators mingled with the noblemen who had taken part in the procession.
Just then the masked servants in glittering costumes emerged from the trees, this time carrying trays of colorful drinks and piles of food. They weaved in and out of the crowd to hand out the savory bouchées and sweet delicacies.
“I’m famished,” Athénaïs announced. She grabbed Olympe’s hand, and they both took off, chasing after a silver platter of meat and vegetables in the shape of a pyramid. I took one step in the direction they’d disappeared toward, when a voice called out behind me.
“Darling, you’re here.” Armand pushed a lady in a pink dress out of his way to reach my side and hand me a glass of wine. “What are you doing standing here all by yourself? Don’t you have ladies to look after you?”
“I’ve been abandoned.” It was becoming such a common state of affairs for me that I dismissed it with a wave of my hand and changed the topic. “Did you enjoy the procession?”
Armand grinned. “Did I enjoy it? Who doesn’t love the clapping and cheering of an adoring crowd? No wonder our king is addicted to it. What was your favorite part? Please say when you saw me on my horse.”
“When I saw you on your horse,” I teased him obligingly.
His good mood was contagious, and I sipped some of my wine while he steered me toward the lawn, away from Louis and his gaggle of admirers by the fountain.
“Since you’ve been behind the scenes today, do you know what’s in store for tomorrow?” I asked. “More illusions? Magical fireworks? Molière’s comedians metamorphosing into fantastical creatures?”