Angelique - Part 3. The Corridors of the Louvre Chapter 2 - Read online

“WILL YOU SING FOR US?” asked the King.
Joffrey de Peyrac winced. He turned a haughty glance towards Louis XIV, staring at him as if the King were some stranger who had not been introduced to him. Ang^lique trembled; she gripped his hand.
“Sing for me,” she whispered.
The Comte smiled and made a sign to Bernard d’Andijos, who rushed out.
The evening was drawing to its close. Near the Queen Mother, the Cardinal, the King and his brother sat the Infanta, stiff and with lowered eyes, in front of this husband to whom the ceremonies of the morrow would unite her. Her parting from Spain was consummated. Philip IV and his hidalgos were leaving, with aching hearts, for Madrid, leaving behind them the proud and pure Infanta as a token of the new peace. . . .
Giovanni, the little violinist, threaded his way through the ranks of the courtiers and handed the Comte de Peyrac his guitar and his velvet mask.
“Why do you wear a mask?” asked the King.
“The voice of love has no face,” replied Peyrac,“and when the lovely eyes of ladies start to dream, no ugliness should disturb them.”
He played a prelude and began to sing, mingling the ancient songs in langue d'oc with fashionable love couplets.
Finally, unbending his tall figure, he went to sit down by the Infanta and launched into a wild Spanish refrain, broken by hoarse Arab cries, in which burned all the passion and fire of the Iberian peninsula. The insipid face, pink and pearly, awoke at last to emotion; the Infanta’s eyelids rose and her eyes sparkled. Perhaps she was re-living for the last time her cloistered existence as a small divinity, among her camera major, her women, her midgets who made her laugh; a slow and austere but familiar existence where one played cards, received nuns who predicted the future, or pre¬pared delicate meals with preserves and orange and violet-scented pastries.
There was a rather frightened expression on her face as she looked around her at all these Frenchmen.
“You have charmed us,” said the King to the singer. “I desire only one thing, and that is to have frequent opportunities to hear you sing.”
offrey de Peyrac’s eyes shone strangely behind his mask.
“Nobody could wish it more than I, Sire. But it all depends on Your Majesty, does it not?”
It seemed to Angelique that the sovereign was frowning slightly.
“That is so. I am glad to hear you say it, Monsieur de Peyrac,” he said a little blundy.
When they reached their hotel late that night, Angelique pulled her clothes of f without waiting for assistance from her maid and flung herself on the bed with a sigh.
“I am exhausted, Joffrey. I believe I am not yet broken in to life at Court. How do all these people manage to indulge in so many pleasures and still find a means of deceiving each other at night?”
The Comte lay down beside her without answering. It was so hot that the mere contact of a sheet was unpleasant. Through the open window passing torches sometimes cast a reddish light on to the bed, whose curtains they had not lowered. Saint-Jean-de-Luz was still busy with the pre¬parations for the morrow.
“If I don’t sleep a litde, I shall collapse during the ceremony,” said Angelique, yawning.
She stretched, then curled up against the lean, brown body of her husband. He put out his hand, caressed the round thigh which shone like alabaster in the darkness, followed the supple curve of the waist, found the high, firm litde breast. His fingers quivered, became more eager, fondled the lithe body. As he risked a bolder caress, Angelique protested half-asleep.
“Oh Joffrey! I am so drowsy!”
He did not insist, and she glanced at him through her lashes to see if he was vexed. Propped on an elbow, he was looking at her with a little smile.
“Sleep, my love,” he whispered.
When she awoke, she would have believed that he had not moved, for he was still looking at her. She smiled at him.
It was cool. The darkness was not yet dispelled, but the sky was assuming a greenish hue before the brightness of dawn. A transient torpor lay over the town. Still numbed with sleep, Angelique reached towards her husband, and their arms joined and carefully intertwined.
He had taught her the delights of protracting their enjoyment, the skilful joust, with its feints, its retreats, its boldnesses, the patient striving of two generous bodies, leading each other mutually to the height of rapture. When at last they broke apart, tired and sated, the sun was high in the sky.
“Would anyone think that we had an excruciating day before us?” said Angelique, laughing.
Margot knocked at the door.
“Madame, Madame, it is late. The carriages are already on their way to the cathedral, and you’ll find no more room to see the procession.”
The cortege was small. At the head walked the Cardinal-Prince de Conti, brilliant and fiery, former hero of the Fronde, whose presence on this fine day confirmed the determination of both sides to let bygones be bygones.
Then came Cardinal Mazarin in flowing purple.
At a distance walked the King, dressed in gold brocade decked with abundant black lace. At either side of him were the Marquis d’Humieres and Peguilin de Lauzun, captains of the two companies of the becs-corbin gentlemen, each holding a blue baton, emblematic of their of fice.
In their wake came the Infanta, the new Queen, led by Monsieur, the King’s brother, on her right and by her knight-of-honour, Monsieur de Bcmonville, on her left. Her dress was of silver brocade and her violet velvet coat was strewn with golden lilies. This coat, very short at the sides, had a train several feet long, which was carried by die King’s young cousins, the Mesdemoiselles de Valois and d’Alen^on and the Princesse de Carignan. Two more ladies were holding a crown over the Queen’s head. The dazzling group advanced slowly along the narrow, carpeted street, which was flanked by Swiss and French guards and musketeers.
The Queen Mother, draped in black veils with silver embroideries, followed the couple, surrounded by her ladies and guards.
At the tail-end came Mademoiselle de Montpensier, “the great scatter¬brain of the kingdom”, a cumbersome object at Court, dressed in black but with twenty rows of pearls.
It was but a short way from the royal residences to the church. There were nevertheless some moments of trouble. It was quite obvious that d’Humieres was quarrelling with Peguilin. The two captains took their places in church at the King’s side. Together with the Comte de Charost, captain of a company of bodyguards, and the Marquis de Vardes, captain- colonel of the Hundred Swiss, they accompanied the King for the ceremony of of fering.
Louis XIV took a taper laden with twenty louis d9or from the hands of Monsieur, who, in turn, had received it from the grand master of cere¬monies, and handed it to Jean d’Olce, Bishop of Bayonne. Mademoiselle performed the same duties for the young Queen Maria-Theresa.
“Did I not carry my of fering and drop my curtsy as well as anybody?” she later asked Angelique.
“Certainly. Your Highness displayed much majesty.”
Mademoiselle puffed herself up.
“I am well suited to ceremonies, and I believe that my person adorns these occasions as effectively as my name adorns the ceremonial.”
Thanks to Mademoiselle’s protection, Ang6lique was able to observe very closely all the festivities that followed, the banquet and the ball. In the evening she took part in the long parade of courtiers and nobles who bowed, one after the other, in front of the large bed in which the King and his young bride were lying side by side.
Angelique saw these two young people as motionless as wax dolls, stretched out between the lace sheets under the eyes of the crowd. This surfeit of etiquette deprived the consummation of their marriage of both life and warmth. How could this couple, who had met each other only yesterday and who were now posing, stiff with magnificence, starched with dignity, turn presently to each other to embrace, after the Queen Mother, according to custom, had dropped the curtains of the sumptuous bed over them? She felt pity for the impassive Infanta who had to conceal her maidenly embarrassment from curious eyes. Perhaps she was ex¬periencing no emotion whatsoever, accustomed as she was to bowing since childhood to the demands of public display. It was just one more cere¬mony. One could trust Louis XIV’s Bourbon blood to rise to the occasion.
As they walked down the stairs, the lords and ladies exchanged ri$qu£ pleasantries. Angelique thought of Joffrey, who had been so gentle and patient with her. Where was Joffrey? She had not seen him all day. . . .
In the hall of the royal mansion Peguilin de Lauzun came up to her. He was a little out of breath.
“Where is your husband?”
“Why, I too am looking for him.”
“When did you last see him?”
“I left him this morning to go to the cathedral with Mademoiselle. He himself was accompanying Monsieur de Gramont.”
“You have not seen him since?”
“Why no, I told you so. You seem very upset. What do you want of him?”
The short nobleman grabbed her hand and dragged her along.
“Let’s go to the residence of the Due de Gramont.”
“What is happening?”
He did not answer. He was still in his beautiful uniform but his face had lost its customary gaiety.
At the Due de Gramont’s that great lord, dining among a group of friends, told them that the Comte de Peyrac had left him after Mass that morning.
44 Was he alone?” inquired Lauzun.
44Alone? Alone?” muttered the Due. 44What do you mean, my boy? Is there a single person in Saint-Jean-de-Luz who can boast of being alone today? Peyrac did not inform me of his intentions, but I can tell you that his Moor was with him.”
44Good. I like that better,” said Lauzun.
“He’s probably with the Gascons. That lot is carousing in a tavern at the port; unless he accepted an invitation from Princess Hcnriette of England, who intended to ask him to sing for her and her ladies.”
4<Come, Angelique,” said Lauzun.
The English Princess was that pleasant young girl next to whom Ang£lique had been sitting in the boat during the trip to the Pheasant Island. In answer to Peguilin’s inquiry she shook her head:
4‘No, he is not here. I sent one of my gentlemen to look for him, but he could not find him anywhere.”
44Yet his Moor, Kouassi-Ba, is a figure that hardly escapes notice.”
44Nobody has seen the Moor.”
At the tavern of the Golden Whale, Bernard d’Andijos got up with some difficulty from the table at which was gathered the finest flower of Gascony and Languedoc. No, nobody had seen Monsieur de Peyrac. Lord knows they had been looking for him, shouting, even hurling pebbles at the windows of his hotel in the rue de la Riviere. They had even broken some glass-panes at Mademoiselle's. But of Peyrac, not a trace.
Lauzun stroked his chin, pondering.
“Let’s find de Guiche. The Petit Monsieur was ogling your husband. Maybe he dragged him along to an intimate party at his favourite’s.”
Angelique followed the Due through crowded lanes, lit by torches and coloured lanterns. They walked into houses, questioned, left again. Everywhere people were dining surrounded by the smtll of cooking, the smoke of a thousand candles, the bibulous breath of servants who had been drinking at the fountains of wine all day. There was dancing in the squares to the sound of tambourines and castanets. The horses neighed in the dark courtyards.
The Comte de Peyrac had vanished.
Angelique suddenly gripped Peguilin and made him face her.
“This is enough, Peguilin, speak up. Why are you so worried about my husband? You know something?”
He sighed and, discreetly lifting his wig, wiped his forehead.
“I know nothing. A gentleman of the King’s suite never knows anything. It would cost him too dearly. But for some time I have been suspecting a plot against your husband.”
He whispered into her ear:
“I fear they may have tried to arrest him.”
44Arrest him?” repeated Angelique. “But why?”
He made a gesture of ignorance.
44You are mad,” said Angelique. “Who could give the order to arrest him?”
“The King, of course.”
“The King has other things to think about than having people arrested on a day like this. What you are saying doesn’t hold water.”
“I hope so. I had a word of warning sent to him last night. There was still time for him to jump on his horse. Madame, are you quite certain that he spent the night with you?”
“Oh yes, quite certain,” she said, blushing a little.
“He didn’t understand. He has gambled once more, juggled with Fate.” “Peguilin, you drive me mad,” cried Angelique, shaking him. “I believe you are playing a vile joke on me.”
“Hush!”
He pulled her towards him with the familiarity of a man used to women, and pressed his cheek against hers soothingly.
“I am a wicked fellow, my love, but wounding your heart is something I wouldn’t be capable of. Anyway, after the King there is no man I love so much as the Comte de Peyrac. But let’s not get panicky, my dear, he may have fled in time.”
“But after all . . .’’cried Angelique.
He silenced her peremptorily.
“But after all,” she went on in a lower voice, “why should the King want to arrest him? His Majesty talked to him very graciously only last night, and I myself overheard talk in which the King did not conceal his liking for Joflrey.”
“Alas! Liking . . . Reasons of State . . . Influences ... It isn’t for us, poor courtiers, to determine the King’s feelings. Remember that he was a pupil of Mazarin’s, who said of him: 4He’ll be late in starting but he’ll go farther than the rest.’ ”
“Don’t you think this may be some intrigue by the Archbishop of Toulouse, Monseigneur de Frontenac?”
“I don’t know anything ... I don’t know anything . . repeated Peguilin.
He escorted her back to her house, told her that he would keep on inquiring and would call to see her in the morning. As she approached the hdtel, Angelique had a wild hope that her husband might be waiting for her there, but she found only Margot watching over the sleeping Florimond, and the old aunt, who had been quite forgotten amid the festivities and who was trottingabout the landings. The other servants had gone to a dance in the town.
Angelique flung herself fully dressed on the bed. Her brain was reeling.
Til be able to think tomorrow/ she told herself. And she fell into a heavy sleep. ■.
She was roused by a shout coming from the street.
“M&l&ne! Medeme!”
The moon was travelling across the flat roofs of the town. Clamouring and singing still came from the port and the main square, but the district was quiet and almost everybody had gone to sleep, broken with fatigue.
Angelique ran out on to the balcony and saw the negro, Kouassi-Ba, standing in the moonlight.
“MedSme! M£deme! . . .”
“Wait, I’m coming/’
She rushed down, lit a candle in the vestibule and pulled the door open. The negro slipped inside with the supple grace of an animal. His eyes gleamed with a strange light; she saw he was trembling as if overcome with fright.
“Where have you been?”
“Down there,” he said with a vague gesture. “I need a horse. A horse at once!”
His teeth gleamed in a savage grimace.
“They attacked my master,” he whispered, “and I didn’t have my big sabre. Oh! why didn’t 1 have it with me just today!”
“What do you mean—attacked, Kouassi-Ba? Who did?”
“I don’t know, Mistress. How should I know, who am a poor slave? A page brought him a piece of paper. The master went there. I followed. There weren’t many people in the courtyard of that house; only a coach with black curtains. Some men got out of it and surrounded him. The master drew his sword. Other men came. They struck him. They put him in the coach. I shouted. I clung to the coach. Two footmen had mounted behind on the axle. They beat me till I fell of f, but I made one ol them fall, too, and strangled him.”
“You strangled him?”
“With my hands, like this,” said the negro, opening and dosing his rosy palms like pincers. “I ran all the way. There was too much sunshine, and my tongue is bigger than my head, I am so thirsty.”
"Come and drink. You can talk afterwards."
She followed him into the stables» where he picked up a pail and took a long draught.
“Now," he said, wiping his thick lips, “I shall take a horse and I’ll go after them. I’ll kill them all with my big sabre.”
He foraged in the straw and pulled out his meagre luggage. While he was removing his torn and mud-cakcd satin garments to put on a simpler servant’s livery, with clenched teeth Angelique went into a stall and untied the negro’s horse. Wisps of straw pricked her feet, but she paid no heed. She seemed to be living through a nightmare, where everything moved slowly, too slowly. . . . She was running towards her husband, she was stretching her arms out towards him. But never again would she be able to reach him, never....
She watched the black horseman dash of f. The horse’s hooves drew sparks from the round pebbles of the paved road. The noise of his galloping receded as another sound came alive in the limpid morning: that of the bells chiming for matins, for a thanksgiving service.
The royal wedding night was drawing to its end. The Infanta Maria- Theresa was Queen of France.