Heretic Dawn

by Robert Merle

  At this, Miroul’s brown eye lit up like a candle and, as Corinne left, parading her beautiful emerald dress bordered in almond green, to ask Nicotin to add two places to the table setting, my good valet stepped over to me and said, in langue d’oc and in a rascally tone, “Monsieur, I don’t know what the mistress will be like, but the chambermaid is all ready to be thrown in the game bag, and so hot I think she’s going to pluck herself!”

  “Precisely,” I whispered, “and I don’t like it a bit. A girl likes to be persuaded, and this one isn’t putting up enough resistance. I fear they’re laying a trap for us and they’re going to lead me on to make an ass of me. Why would they make me take this little tower if they’re ready to abandon the castle to me?”

  “Well, Monsieur,” said Miroul, “if I were you, I wouldn’t look so hard for possible troubles. This long journey has kept us for so many interminable days in bitter chastity.”

  “What, you devil! How dare you speak to me of your chastity, when you had Maître Béqueret’s chambermaid right under my nose!”

  “Ah, Monsieur,” smiled Miroul, “that’s the inconvenience of being a gentleman. You don’t have the easy familiarity with the servants that we valets do. But back to your Turkish slave. Enjoy her, Monsieur! Believe me, what’s up for the taking is to be taken!”

  Corinne, all smiles and amorous glances, was followed by Nicotin, looking very put out, who added two places to the table, very disappointed that he wasn’t invited to join us, since Miroul was. Seeing this, I let myself be softened by his pouting (for he was as pretty and cute as a girl, his cheeks so smooth that the barber, Babette, wouldn’t have found anything to shave) and, not wishing to make an enemy of this little hornet, I told him to bring another place setting for himself. This made him jump for joy and smile broadly, and, running over like a child, he kissed my hand and offered a thousand thanks. And then, Corinne having left the room again, I slipped a few sols into his fingers, which so completely won him over that I thought to myself that, when I wasn’t attacking the castle, I could well have spent my leisure time exploring this little watchtower. But reader, you know very well that I’m neither attracted to nor repulsed by such fantasies, considering them somewhat foreign to my nature, though I accept them easily enough in others, however much they’re considered cardinal sins by our Churches and severely punished by the executioner—something that, in my opinion, should be left to our Sovereign Judge to decide in the next life.

  I’m not unaware that some will turn up their noses at the idea of dining with a chambermaid and two valets. But for me, who was raised in the old, rustic ways at Mespech, where servants dine with their masters, I see no malice nor lowering of myself in this, believing, moreover, that if a chambermaid is good enough to bed, then she’s good enough to share your meal, where her beauty will add spice to the food. What’s more, I hold that there’s no meal so sumptuous that it can do without the company of our fellows, and, to tell the truth, my plate languishes when I’m forced to dine alone.

  And, at the risk of displeasing certain people, I would add that I found both Nicotin and Corinne to be in full possession of their health, their eyes bright, their complexions clear and their breath quite fresh, and I’m not afraid of saying that, in this regard, I was happier dining with them than with certain noblemen (whom I shall refrain from naming), with whom I was inclined to clean my spoon with the corner of my napkin, given how little the cleanliness of my hosts inspired my confidence. How I would love it if, in this kingdom, the refined people at least copied the ways of our good, clean Swiss neighbours, who, for each meal, give a spoon to each of their guests so that none risks putting an implement in his mouth that has already been in someone else’s.

  The meats served at this meal were abundant and delicious, the wines as well, though I sipped the latter in moderation, knowing full well that Bacchus is an unfaithful friend to Venus, and to carouse too much with him will likely disappoint her later. Corinne appeared to know this as well, for she refrained from urging me to drink, but instead worked to attract my attention to her blonde hair, bright eyes and frisky body by inflammatory looks that would have lit up the worst dullard. Her behaviour greatly intrigued me, for I knew that her mistress planned to return at midnight, and seriously risked finding her meal already consumed by her servant. As to where all this could be leading, I didn’t have the least clue, but I proceeded in this business like a cat whose whiskers are bristling, eyes watchful and paws ready to retreat.

  Our delicious meal finished, Corinne rose from the table with a very determined air, but still looking most seductive, her bosom heaving, her pretty blonde braids dancing around her pink cheeks, and, in a quiet but firm voice, told Nicotin and Miroul to clear the table. This command they seemed ready to obey, Miroul’s brown eye shining with delight and Nicotin with a knowing air that made me even more suspicious.

  “Now, before leaving us, my dears,” said Corinne, “I think we should drink a toast to Monsieur de Siorac, and wish him as much success in love as he is superb in his new clothes.”

  This said, she placed in the bottom of a beautiful crystal glass a small piece of grilled bread, called a tostée in Paris (and which the English call toast since they copy us in everything), and then filled the glass with an excellent Burgundy wine. She brought the glass to her lips, took a sip and handed it to Miroul, who immediately understood the ceremony (which is, however, entirely unknown in our Périgord) and drank a generous mouthful; then Nicotin drank a larger one still, before he handed the glass to me. I took the goblet in both hands and emptied it with all the gravity that the occasion seemed to call for, and then, taking the piece of toast at the bottom—as I supposed I was meant to do—gallantly devoured it.

  “Monsieur de Siorac has drunk the wine!” cried Corinne while the two valets applauded vigorously. “He has drunk the wine and eaten the toast that I brought him! And so he will be happy and satisfied in his loves, God willing! And now,” she continued her eyes blazing with desire, “be gone, my lads, and hop to it! No objections and no delay! Monsieur de Siorac and I have business of our own to attend to!”

  She then took me by the wrist and led me into a small chamber where, by the light of a single candle, I saw an enormous bed with purple curtains and the most prodigious pile of cushions I’d ever seen. But I hardly had time to admire it, for Corinne nimbly shut and bolted the door, threw her arms around my neck and planted her fresh lips on mine.

  Oh reader! What a tostée that was! You can imagine how hard I had to struggle not to finish it on the cushions I’d just been admiring. Oh, heaven! How I detested the fastidious point of honour that forbade me from enjoying the servant when I had promised myself to her mistress.

  But vanity has its own part to play in such matters. Pleasure isn’t enough. Glory demands its due. And although in Mespech I could enjoy my little serpent Little Sissy (to whom Anjou’s money would allow me to present the gold ring I’d promised her when I left), Madame de Joyeuse had taught me to place great value in the dignity of my lovers.

  It’s not that I’m dazzled by a title, or that I put a baronne above a chambermaid. But though they may be the same flower, they don’t have the same perfume. I read several years later a passage in Michel de Montaigne’s Essais in which he discussed the delicacies of “adorned and sophisticated ladies”. I liked this phrase, whether because Montaigne had invented it by analogy with “sophism” or because he used it by analogy with wines that they try to refine by skilful combinations (a technique that’s called sophistiquerie in our southern provinces). In regard to my own relations with women, I think I understand what Montaigne means by this: for I love a wench who’s not too naive, but who knows how to make one feel, by her art and her touch, the extraordinary value of the gift she’s providing. I abhor the arch-coquettes whose promises come to nothing. But on the other hand, I have to confess that, when her consent has been given, those sweet nothings, ambiguous glances and double-entendres, and the je ne sais quoi of teasing,
all contribute to the pleasure of her ultimate gift of herself.

  But, of Madame des Tourelles, I knew only what Quéribus had told me (which may have been coloured by the spite of an unhappy lover), and, believing that the proof of a deed is in the doing, I needed to know for certain whether this haughty and gallant lady really wished me so ill that she wouldn’t provide what she’d promised. Indeed, how can a woman tell her lover that she wants him to shave his entire body if she isn’t interested in kissing him a bit?

  “Corinne,” I asked, taking her hands from around my shoulders and holding her at arm’s length, “what’s the meaning of your caresses? What’s going on? Where is all this leading?”

  “Oh, heaven, Monseigneur,” she cooed, “isn’t it clear enough? Didn’t I already tell you that I am at your service in everything? Why are you waiting to subject me to your will? Don’t you desire me?”

  “You know well enough that I do.”

  “Well then, Monsieur, let’s forget the talking! Don’t act like a badly trained falcon! Your prey is flying straightaway! Swoop down on it!”

  “Ah, Corinne,” I laughed, “it’s assuredly a beautiful, tender bird I’d put beak and claws to. But unfortunately it’s other game that I’m hunting.”

  “Well, then, my good gentleman,” she cried, “can’t you hunt both?” And pulling her wrists from my hands, she tried to put her fresh and comely arms around my neck again, but again I pulled away from her advances and, seizing her shoulders, forcibly separated us, so uncertain was I that I would be able to resist her if she started in again.

  “Fie, then, Corinne!” I said, frowning. “Would you then steal the first fruits from your mistress and leave her only the gleanings of your harvest? This is no way to treat a noble lady who has taken you into her confidence and who treats you so well!”

  At this, Corinne blushed deeply and said with some indignation:

  “Ah, Monseigneur, I love my mistress deeply and am completely loyal and devoted to her! I’m only doing her bidding here!”

  “What?” I gasped. “This is her bidding? Do you really dare claim it’s so?”

  “Yes, indeed!” she hissed angrily.

  “Corinne! I’m lost! Are you telling me that Madame des Tourelles told you to offer me your body here? I can’t believe it!”

  “Believe or not, Monsieur,” she cried, her eyes blazing, “it’s true! I swear it before the Blessed Virgin and all the saints in Paradise.”

  “But why?” I exclaimed, raising my arms heavenward.

  “In order to test you.”

  “To test me?” I asked, amazed. “And why?”

  “To find out whether you’re good enough for Madame to admit you to the familiarities she desires.”

  “My God!” I shouted, suddenly drunk with rage. “Is this what happens in Paris? Are these the refinements of the court? Test me? I’ve never heard of such impertinence! Am I a stallion that I should need to be tested before I can be taken to the stud farm? Are you going to put a ring through my nose like a bull? ’Sblood! This is insufferable! Who does this lady think she is that she can parade herself with such royal self-esteem that I should be confined to the outskirts of her good pleasure?”

  “Monsieur,” countered Corinne harshly (good wench though she was), “I don’t understand you at all! Our handsome gentlemen of the court don’t put on such airs and seem to like me well enough!”

  “That’s not the point, Corinne,” I said, softening my approach. “You have enough all by your pretty self to damn all the saints you just evoked! I don’t disdain your attractions, quite the opposite! But I can’t help refusing the presumption that would make you my judge. My friend,” I added, pulling back the bolt, opening the door and crossing into the room where we’d supped, “bring me pen and paper. I want to explain myself to your mistress, and don’t want to wait here until midnight.”

  Miroul and Nicotin were still clearing the table, and were amazed to see us reappear so soon, Corinne blushing deeply and me looking very cross. But neither of our valets made a peep, so obvious were my anger and the chambermaid’s embarrassment.

  The good wench would doubtless have wished to refuse me the writing materials, as she could divine easily enough that my letter to her mistress was not going to be very pleasant, but she didn’t dare, and, eyes downcast, she brought me what I’d requested. And so, having taken the time to decide what to write, I sharpened my quill, and, having scribbled a quick draft that I could keep for myself, I wrote the following to the baronne des Tourelles.

  Madame,

  I spared no effort in following each and every one of the commandments you gave me yesterday in your carriage, and if you had done me the courtesy of being at home when I visited this evening at your invitation, you would have seen me as you wished: shaved as cleanly as Nicotin, and as beautifully clothed as one of Anjou’s lordlings.

  I could not, however, extend my obligingness as far as you would have wished to push it, as it seems to me, upon reflection, that you displayed too little consideration of me in using your chambermaid to put my talents to the test.

  Having too much deference for you and for your rank to dare suggest that my valet, Miroul, assay the merits you might yourself possess, I see no other way out of this predicament than to abandon the intoxicating beauties you had encouraged me to claim, and to renounce henceforth the honour of being able to say, Madame, that I am

  Your humble, obedient and respectful servant,

  Pierre de Siorac

  I folded and sealed this billet-doux and gave it to Corinne, who looked quite crestfallen, her cheeks red with spite under her blonde braids.

  “Well, Monsieur,” she said, “I don’t know what you’ve scribbled there, but Madame will be very angry that you’ve dared confront her in this way, and as for me, I’ve missed out on an evening I was very much looking forward to, being made in such a way that the first Gautier to come along can send me to Paradise, and given your gallant and lively air, you all the more so!”

  To tell the truth, I did not take my leave of this sweet wench without it costing me something, for I put several sols in her hand as I departed.

  We unsheathed our swords, Miroul and I, as soon as we set out, and were careful to walk in the middle of the street, amid all the sewage and offal, so that we wouldn’t be surprised if someone rushed us from a darkened doorway.

  “Ah, Monsieur,” lamented Miroul, as he moved to my left, since, being left-handed, he could better protect me there, “you have to admit that it was madness to have sacrificed your pleasure and comfort for a point of honour, while at the same time making a sworn enemy of this proud baronne! Couldn’t you have just let things go their way, which wouldn’t have done you any harm, instead of provoking this noble lady? You can be assured that she will try to get her revenge!”

  “Ah, Miroul,” I said, “I understand! But should I have abjectly submitted to having this lady stomp me underfoot in order to be admitted to her bed afterwards? Madame de Joyeuse, though a lofty vicomtesse, would never have dared play such an impertinent trick on me, however imperious she could be when moody. Why should I allow Madame des Tourelles such nasty tomfoolery?”

  “But, Monsieur,” Miroul countered, “she’s a lady of the court, and at court, from the little I’ve seen, you can’t take things as lightly as you can in our southern provinces without some serious result, as we saw earlier today with Monsieur de Quéribus. Monsieur, we have to bend more to the customs of the capital or I fear we’re going to lose everything.”

  But Alizon, who was still at work with Baragran and Coquillon when we returned, though the evening was well advanced, had a different reaction when she saw me looking for my candle, and smiled broadly to have me returned so quickly to our lodgings, having learnt from Miroul where we were going and why.

  “Well, my good gentleman,” she laughed, “you did the right thing! You wouldn’t have got anything in any case. The baronne is closely directed by her confessor and would never allow hersel
f to commit adultery on her husband, though she likes to give the impression that she would, in order to keep up with Parisian fashion. And if I’m to believe Corinne, nothing ever actually happens at the little house in the rue Trouvevache except some familiarities between herself and Nicotin.”

  “But,” I said, amazed, “aren’t these ‘familiarities’, as you call them, sins as well?”

  “Don’t be silly, Monsieur!” laughed Alizon bitterly. “A chambermaid and a valet? They’re too low to matter.”

  Maître Recroche came to tell me the next morning that, since hay and oats had become so much scarcer due to the masses of people arriving in Paris for the royal wedding, the price of these staples had been driven way up, and that, instead of one sol per horse per day, he was very vexed to have to raise the price to two per horse, and for the water it would be four sols per day instead of two.

  “What?” I cried. “Maître Recroche, water shouldn’t go up with the price of grain! Don’t you draw yours from your well?”

  “Which, Monseigneur,” he said with a deep bow, in which, as usual, one could detect a hint of disdain, “has gone down so fast that I fear it’s going to dry up completely! So, as the water level goes down, the price must go up!”

  “Maître Recroche,” I observed, “ten sols for my four saddle horses and my packhorse. And four sols more for the water they drink: that makes fourteen sols a day just to stable them here. That’s unreasonably exorbitant!”

  “Monseigneur,” countered Maître Recroche, making a second bow, one so low that the sleeves of his spidery arms dragged on the ground, “it’s not as exorbitant as it seems. If you were to sell one of the little jewels on your superb doublet, you’d have enough money to nourish your cavalry with me for an entire year!”