Secretum

by Rita Monaldi;Francesco Sorti

  Proof of this was her friendship with Ninon de 1'Enclos, an influential bawd to high society," sneered the Abbot, "from whom she inherited a pair of fiery lovers, thanks to whom she came to the attention of Athenais de Montespan."

  The latter had just borne the King her first child, a daughter. Having to bring her up in great secrecy, she offered Frangoise a post as governess. Subsequently, more children followed and, after a few years, a stroke of luck: the bastards were made legitimate. By the will of the King, Madame de Montespan moved to court with all her baggage and all her children; needless to say, governess included.

  "She then proved sly enough to pass herself off as a very pious lady, even a zealot," commented Atto bitterly. "A fine piece of effrontery when one considers that a few years earlier Madame de Montespan had unleashed her on Louise de la Valliere to dissuade her from becoming a Carmelite, trying to scare her with the life of privations into which she would be entering."

  "But she could surely not hope to please the King in a saint's guise!"

  "She was far-sighted. For years, the clergy and zealots at court had been grumbling about la Montespan and the King's excesses. She became their mouthpiece, working in the shadows. For years, she had been living side by side with AthenaTs: the classic serpent in one's bosom. When the Affair of the Poisons culminated, her time came. Madame de Montespan was by now ruined and the King had undergone a sudden awakening."

  "Do you mean that the King converted to a more sober life?""Not exactly," Atto hesitated. "In fact, the King's conduct was never so libertine as at the time when the Affair of the Poisons concluded, almost as though he hoped thus to exorcise his fears. He would move from one strange woman to the next, a different one every night, all of them, it was rumoured, very young. It was then that he suffered another grievous blow, too soon after the previous one. His most recent favourite, the beautiful Angelique de Fontanges, gave birth to a stillborn child and herself died very soon after that, suffocated by a flood of blood from a horrible pain in the chest. She was only twenty: she could have been his daughter."

  The King's health reeled under all these blows. What was more, in those years, he was suffering from continual boils in the loins after a fall from horseback, which were removed with red- hot irons, so that he was constrained to promenade along the avenues of Versailles on an armchair with wooden wheels. He felt surrounded by hostile forces: first betrayal and now death, along with his own illness, cried out to him that he was dramatically alone.

  "In the midst of all those poisoners and shrews, whom was he to trust? He desperately needed someone. But he had had enough of beautiful favourites. In middle age, they had proved too dangerous a game."

  Meanwhile, we had opened the chest of drawers, only to find that it contained nothing whatever. We threw open all the windows to let in some clean air and the sweet sounds of the Roman afternoon. We sat briefly on a windowsill facing west. The soft and gentle foliage of the tallest trees was spread out below us. I again turned my eyes to the servants' quarters: after Abbot Melani's narration, they no longer seemed so squalid to me. Like the face of Madame de Maintenon, they were extremely plain, which was precisely why they showed more signs of wear and tear. But the absence of pomp and splendour gave the visitor's soul a rest from sentiments of emotion and wonderment, inspiring instead peace and familiarity.Françoise de Maintenon, continued Atto, had in the meantime become a true mother to the royal bastards and that gave the King an unparalleled feeling of security. She was the only one, in those restricted court circles, of such ordinary origins that she could not aspire even to the role of official favourite, as the latter must always be chosen from among the families of the best nobility. Her conversation, too, was pleasant, without being brilliant. The King, in other words, felt himself in no way either attracted or threatened, which pleased him greatly. Thus, he took to enjoying ever more frequently a few hours chatting with her, talking of the children and about other subjects, none of which were ever too demanding. He could relax with this governess, who did not physically excite him in the least, while neither did she displease him.

  "Frangoise, in other words," Abbot Melani summed up, "gave him peace without taking up any room in his soul. His senses were tired; his spirit, mistrustful. What was more, when he became a widower, he was horrified by the idea of being pressed on all sides to remarry and give France a new Queen. He had already been subjected to one forced marriage. So he decided that the time had come to take his revenge: as I told you, he imposed that tramp of an ex-prostitute on the same kingdom that had imposed Maria Teresa on him and taken Maria from him. And he took no little pleasure in the scandal to which his choice gave rise at court; his minister, Louvois, even threw himself at his feet, begging him not to marry her."

  We came down from the windowsill on which we had been sitting and continued our search.

  "But this time too, a nasty surprise awaited the Most Christian King. His spouse was far less placid than he had thought. .."

  "What do you mean?"

  "A few years ago, the King discovered that Madame de Maintenon had for years been passing information, obtained in confidence from himself, to her own private circle of priests, bishops and miscellaneous devots, of whom a number were even suspected of heresy. The purpose of all this: the King's 'conversion'; or, to put it more clearly, the infiltration of the clergy into government."

  I was left open-mouthed. Of course, I reflected, one could hardly say that the King of France had been fortunate with women: first Madame de Montespan with her black masses, and now this Madame de Maintenon, whom he was even so good as to marry, was betraying state secrets to churchmen in order to bring them to govern the land. Once more, the place we were in seemed squalid and hostile and I wanted to return to the magnificent rooms below. Likewise, perhaps, the King of France may have missed la Montespan's beautiful face when he found that his colourless wife was in reality no less poisonous than she had been.

  "Just think of it," continued Atto, "the King had already had quite enough of Cardinal Mazarin. The blood went to his head. How dare this nondescript little woman whom he had amused himself imposing upon the court as his wife, conspire behind his back and reveal to that handful of zealots the most secret affairs of state; she whom the King had never even permitted to eat at his table! She who to this day occupies a mistress's apartments in the Palace of Versailles. She who, if she may be addressed as 'Your Majesty' in private, must in public be content with taking last place."

  "And why did he not dismiss her, as he did with Madame de Montespan?"

  "He would have had to have her put on trial. The accusation in the air was one of political conspiracy. But that would have meant exposing to ridicule he who had insisted on flouting all good sense by marrying her."

  What did the King then do before the court, which awaited his reaction with bated breath? He surprised everyone by pretending that nothing had happened; instead of exiling the traitress, he moved his daily meetings with ministers. . . to her bedchamber!

  King and ministers, seated, faced each other. Behind the latter sat Madame de Maintenon, crouching in the shadows of her "niche", the padded wooden cabin she had had built for her, hypochondriac that she had always been, to shelter from draughts. Every now and then, the King would even ask her opinion. But this was only for show. The proof of that is that she had perforce to answer in the most general terms. And there would be trouble if she spoke without having been asked explicitly for her opinion by the Sovereign. She would at once be confronted with her spouse's most extreme fury."His Majesty is not prepared to admit before the court that he allowed himself to be hoodwinked by that counterfeit saint, so he has chosen to impose her even more than before," the Abbot concluded.

  Behind an old stove, we found an improvised palliasse, with next to it a box of fresh figs, some of which were still intact, a canvas bag with a few slices of bread and another bigger one full of cheeses. Next to that, stood a half-empty bottle of red wine, with a fine goblet of historia
ted blue glass. A fat, half-consumed candle completed the refuge.

  "So our Flying Dutchman sleeps here," observed Atto scornfully. "That is why he's always in our way. Look at how much cheese he eats. Too much, like all Dutchmen. Can one be surprised that he rants so much after that?"

  Hunger, however, took the upper hand. The Abbot indolently reached out for a fine piece of caciocavallo, placed it on a slice of bread and added half a fig (for nothing is more pleasant than sweet fruit, offsetting the saltiness of the cheese) and greedily bit into it. I too felt the pangs of hunger, so I took the same ingredients and imitated him, sharing with him both wine and glass. But while I had soon devoured that meagre dinner, 1 saw Atto chewing more and more unwillingly until, in the end, he threw away the cheese and contented himself with the bread and fig.

  "I cannot bear cheese any more. In France, too, they serve it up with everything. I have come to detest it."

  While I was finishing my picnic, Melani rummaged under the palliasse, drawing out a comb and ajar of salted sardines.

  "Stuff bought from street vendors," observed Atto without disguising a certain disdain for Albicastro's frugal habits.

  At long last we moved on. At the northern end of this floor, we found a great walnut table, with an enormous drawer set in it which, like the previous one, looked somewhat suspicious to us.

  "'Tis truly massive," observed Atto. "There might be something inside it."

  The Abbot tried with the knife.

  "It is not locked, only jammed," said he.We then tried to get it out with our bare hands, which cost us much time and trouble.

  "What with poisons, conspiracies and betrayals," I commented, "the gallery of the Most Christian King's wives and mistresses really does him scant honour."

  "Despite that, even to this day, I have to put up with hearing the court speak with disdain and scorn of my Maria," Atto replied hotly, as he puffed and panted, trying to extract the drawer from the table by brute force. "They say that the shipwreck of her life has unmasked her for the cold, ambitious, scheming and calculating woman they suspected her of being all along. The most indulgent among them maintain that she has proved less intelligent than her brilliant conversation let one suppose. 'She had wit,' they laugh, 'but no discernment. Ardent and impulsive, her angry outbursts drew one to her for a while, but ended up provoking disgust.' All this 1 have had to hear from those ferocious slandering tongues. Their spite for Maria has never died down. Not even now, after fifty years and many more than fifty lovers in the King's bed."

  "How do you explain that?"

  "Because Maria was a foreigner, and what was more, Italian, like Mazarin. And the French had had enough of the Italians imported en masse by the Cardinal. Add to that the fact that his niece made the Sovereign fall for her!"

  "But as you were saying, the King has had so many lovers since then! Is it possible that the court should still remember the Connestabilessa to this day?" I insisted, in the hope of gleaning some hint of the current secret contacts between the King and Maria Mancini.

  "And how could one forget her? To take just one example: only once did Queen Maria Teresa and Madame de Montespan join in alliance. This was about thirty years ago, and the alliance was against Maria Mancini. Maria, fleeing her husband, asked for sanctuary in Paris. The King, however, was not at court. He had gone off to war with Holland and, according to custom, had entrusted the regency to Maria Teresa. Maria's request thus fell into the hands of the Queen, who turned it down. But it wasAthenai's who convinced her to do so. She had understood everything: Maria had not only been the King's first love, but his last; some flame might still have remained alight."

  Meanwhile, we had completed our (somewhat violent) examination of the walnut table. In our attempt to force its more intimate parts, we had grazed our hands and wrists. Inside, as we found in the end, nothing was hidden.

  "By the time that news of Maria's request reached the King's ears," continued my companion, bandaging his scratches with a handkerchief, "it was already too late to revoke Maria Teresa's veto.

  "But Louis did not decide to return Maria to her husband, although the latter was claiming her. He instructed Colbert to place her in a convent far from Paris and assigned her a pension. Maria, who knew nothing of the manoeuvres of Maria Teresa and Athenai's, exclaimed: 'I have heard of money being given to women to see them, but never not to see them!'"

  "But you said all this happened thirty years ago," said I, egging him on.

  "Then listen," countered Atto, irritated by my caution in the face of his passionate assertions, "I know for certain that Madame de Maintenon has for some time been trying to persuade the King officially to invite Maria to Paris. Now, why do you think she should do that, she who is so jealous?"

  "I would not know," I replied, with feigned hesitation.

  "She is doing this because he is more and more frequently muttering half-phrases, or half-sighs, calling for Maria, now that at sixty-two years of age he is wearied and disillusioned and drawing up the balance sheet of his life. Maria is the same age as he. If the King should see her now, or so la Maintenon hopes, perhaps his angelic memory of her will be shattered. Only, she has not taken account of Maria's timeless fascination," Atto exclaimed pompously, despite the fact that he could know little of Maria's physical appearance, since he too had not seen her for thirty years.

  "Presumably Madame de Maintenon has never seen her?""On the contrary, they knew one another and were friends. Maria even brought her with her to watch from a balcony the triumphal entry of the King and Maria Teresa into Paris, immediately after their wedding. But one must live shoulder to shoulder with Maria in order to understand that not a thousand years in time or a thousand leagues in space could ever make her memory pale," said the Abbot, all in one breath.

  "Such an irony of fate: the first woman and the last in His Majesty's life, both together on the same balcony," I commented. "But Signor Atto, I must insist. Is it possible that the King's feelings should have remained unchanged for thirty years? After all, he never saw her again." This I added in the hope that he might at last give something away.

  He hesitated for a moment, looking pensive.

  "Nor have I seen her for thirty years," he answered quietly.

  "Now at last she is coming," I encouraged him.

  "Yes, so it seems."

  The minutes that followed passed in total silence. Atto was musing.

  "I shall go outside again to catch a breath of air," said the Abbot all of a sudden. "I cannot take all this dust any longer. You, do whatever you feel like; we shall meet here in twenty minutes."

  I looked at him questioningly.

  "Of course, you have no watch," he remembered. "Come, let us go downstairs."

  We stopped on the second floor where Melani began to open the drawers of a tallboy.

  "I saw a carriage clock somewhere around here. Ah, there we are."

  He placed it on the edge of a nearby desk and began to wind it up. Then he set the time and handed it to me.

  "There, this way you can make no mistake. I shall see you later."

  Atto was exhausted. We had spent hours rummaging. But the true reason for his going out was the rush of memories which had swelled his chest. He now needed a little solitude in which to calm his emotions.Thus it was that I soon found myself in complete silence, holding the clock in my hand like a lantern.

  I sat down on an old cordovan leather stool and set to thinking once again about Abbot Melani's long narration. Three were the Sun King's women of whom he had spoken to me, and three the storeys of the Vessel which we had inspected. This might have seemed too bold a leap of fantasy, but as I had already sensed, the three floors of the Vessel were just like the three women: the gardens on the ground floor, the secret garden and the little grotto, airy and graceful as la Valliere; on the first floor, the decep- tiveness and sophistication of the splendid gallery of mirrors and the magnificent, breathtaking Aurora of Pietro da Cortona were like la Montespan, "the most beauti
ful woman in the kingdom", the "reigning mistress", while, next to the Aurora, the fresco of Midday with the fall of Phaeton from the Sun's chariot seemed to be a warning against the arrogance of Louis XIV who, at the time of Madame de Montespan was at the very height of his reign. Finally, the third floor was as bare and ordinary as the face of Madame de Maintenon, as sad as the King's life beside her, as empty as the Sovereign's old age.

  By now, I knew everything, or almost, about the Most Christian King's intimate life, with the exception of what mattered most to me: his current relations with the Connestabilessa and the purpose of the love mission which the King (as I had by now guessed) had confided to Atto. It was just then that I discovered I was not alone.

  Does the day the night surpass?

  And can a human make an ass?

  Did Socrates or Plato run?

  Such learning's in our schools begun.

  He is a fool who doesn't falter

  At trying what he cannot alter.