The Cat and the King (16 page)

“Ah, that's where Madame la Duchesse is at her smartest. She has persuaded him that she can get him a dispensation. She's used her mother's old magic tricks. Incantations, formulas, who knows? Maybe even a black mass. The poor dauphin's fascinated by her wickedness. He probably finds it sexually stimulating! He's besotted with her. And he has to do everything she says, or she'll withdraw the charm, and then he'll go straight to hell when he dies!”

“Where they both deserve to go,” I retorted in disgust.

“Well, do you think the king will want Mademoiselle de Bourbon for Berry when he hears all
that?
”

“She's just as much his granddaughter as Mademoiselle de Valois.”

“Perhaps doubly so!” Gabrielle exclaimed with a sharp little laugh. “How do we know how long this affair with Monseigneur has been going on?”

I threw up my hands in a final expression of dismay. “I must go to the Palais-royal,” I told her now. “I must have this out with Orléans. The whole wretched thing!”

I
N MY LETTER
to the due d'Orléans, I did not mince my words.

I described in full detail my interview with Madame la Duchesse and then outlined Gabrielle's information and proposal. I told him that I should wait on him the following day at the Palais-royal and request his permission to approach the king through the duchesse de Bourgogne. This last had also been Gabrielle's idea. The duchesse de Bourgogne was not only the favorite of the king and Madame de Maintenon; she was a daughter of Orléans' half-sister (Monsieur's daughter by his first marriage, to Henrietta of England) and she was very fond of her uncle. Even more important, she detested and feared the cabal of Meudon.

To my surprise, Savonne, when he heard that I was going to the Palais-royal, offered to accompany me. He and I had to some degree patched up our old friendship, after the Polish fiasco, when Gabrielle had convinced him that she alone was to blame, but the relationship had never been the same. He had given up any idea of taking religious orders, and I disapproved of his dissolute bachelor's life. He was privy to our project of the Berry-Orléans marriage, and professed to approve of it, but I had not trusted him with Gabrielle's plan.

“But I shall have to talk to Orléans alone,” I pointed out.

“That's all right. I can pay my respects to the duchess. And to Mademoiselle de Valois.”

“Mademoiselle de Valois? She's only a child.”

“You haven't seen her for a while. She's developed. She's charming.”

“Oh, very well. Come along.”

It occurred to me on the drive into Paris that it was odd that Savonne should be showing so little desire to rejoin his regiment, from which he had obtained an indefinite leave. Some people thought he was courting the youngest Mademoiselle de Beauvillier, and indeed it was high time, at thirty-seven, that he should marry, but the old duke had not spoken to me about the possibility of such a match, and I was almost certain that he would have. I considered it more likely that Savonne was deep in some adulterous intrigue. Never in my wildest dreams did I suspect the truth.

We were waiting for the duchesse d'Orléans in the great portrait gallery when the door at the far end burst open and a young woman, or a girl, it appeared, came running across the floor to us. I stared at such unseemly behavior, but I stared a good deal harder when I realized that it was Mademoiselle de Valois herself.

“Monsieur de Savonne!” she exclaimed, as she pulled up, panting, before us. “I heard you were here. Why did you not ask for me? How dare you come to the Palais-royal without asking for me?”

I looked in amazement at my friend, who had turned very red. I had had no idea that he was on such terms with a princess who was young enough to have been his daughter. And where, for that matter, was the princess's governess?

“I would not have presumed,” Savonne murmured, bowing to her. “I had no idea... I could not tell that...” He paused and looked at me in embarrassment, for all the world like a boy caught in some silly prank.

“Do you think, because I shall be duchesse de Berry, that I am to have no friends of my own?” the little lady continued imperiously. “Tell him, Monsieur de Saint-Simon, that the court is not like that!”

I was struck dumb. Could this radiant, flashing-eyed blonde be only fifteen? She had certainly, in the year since I had last seen her, turned into a beauty. She moved, she laughed, she gesticulated, like her aunt Madame la Duchesse. She was small but perfectly formed, and conveyed a sharp sense of vitality. As I watched her turning her wiles on poor Savonne, I suddenly had a vision of this girl with her father, and my mind went dark.

“I had not been aware that you and Monsieur de Savonne were such friends,” I managed to murmur.

“Oh my, yes!” she replied. “He has been frequently at Saint-Cloud. He has given me riding lessons. We have fished in the stream. Monsieur de Savonne is much acquainted with the great out-of-doors. When I am married I shall join the king's hunt, and Monsieur de Savonne will accompany me.”

“He will be much honored, I am sure,” I observed, giving my speechless friend a glance. “But tell me, Mademoiselle, has something happened to your lady-in-waiting? I am sure your father would be distressed to have you so unattended in his house.”

“I am attended as I desire to be, Monsieur de Saint-Simon,” she replied in a lofty tone. “I am only surprised that you should comment on it.”

“The duke allows more latitude here than at Versailles,” Savonne put in, happy to change the topic from himself. “He has advanced ideas for the education of princesses.”

“I
see.
”

“Which means you don't,” Savonne retorted, taking refuge in the offensive. “Of course, we know that you think everything should be done as it was in the days of Charlemagne. It may interest you to know that Mademoiselle de Valois studies the heavenly bodies at night through her father's telescope and aids him with experiments in his laboratory.”

“I have no objection to learning in a princess,” I retorted. “But I do not know what
your
qualifications are in that respect. Now that Mademoiselle can ride and fish, perhaps she will graduate to more sophisticated instructors.”

“Oh, but Savonne is a
friend!
” the impertinent chit exclaimed. “I do not rank him with my tutors. He, like you, is helping to make my marriage!”

“I was aware of that.” I gave Savonne another stare. “But I did not realize, perhaps, at what cost to his personal feelings.”

Mademoiselle gave a little shriek of laughter. “Oh, he knows I couldn't marry
him!
So he naturally wants what's best for me. I should, I suppose, be marrying a crowned head, but what girl wants to leave France? Think of my poor aunt, who died a queen in Madrid, chained in etiquette. They say she was poisoned, but I'm sure she died of boredom. No, it's better to be a princess at Versailles than a queen anywhere else. As duchesse de Berry, I shall be the second lady of France. I shall outrank my mother and grandmother!”

I found at last that I was able to adjust to this new view of Mademoiselle de Valois. After all, she was a granddaughter of Madame de Montespan, and the Mortemarts were famous for their precocity, worldliness and wit. But what still remained as a shock was my sense of Savonne's involvement. He was staring at this young creature with positively watery eyes!

“The greater the rank, the greater the responsibilities,” I warned her. “And I do not consider that our etiquette is as much laxer than that of Spain as you suppose. Consider the king himself.”

“Oh, but he
likes
etiquette,” she said with a sniff. “That's different. I shall like it myself. At certain times. Oh, yes, I'm like
you,
Monsieur de Saint-Simon. My father has even compared me with you. He says that you and I know all the rules. But one has to know the rules to know how to get around them. Look at the duchesse de Bourgogne.
She
does.”

I was about to defend her future sister-in-law from this imputation (although there
had
been rumors there—God knew how this girl had got wind of them!), when both wings of the central door were thrown open and the duchesse d'Orléans entered, followed by two of her ladies. She was as fair as her daughter and of almost as smooth a complexion, but she was much taller and more statuesque.

“Elizabeth!” she said sternly. “You are not to receive gentlemen alone. I have told you that repeatedly.”

“I am not receiving anyone, Mama. I simply found these gentlemen here. I suppose I may walk about my own home as I please?” Mademoiselle de Valois' tone certainly did not show the slightest awe of her mother. She turned to me now as if the latter had not been present. “Of course, you noticed, Monsieur de Saint-Simon, that
both
doors were opened for the duchess. I do not suppose she would expect such a courtesy at Versailles, where it is reserved exclusively for the children of France. My father, as a grandson, does not claim it, even here. But Mama maintains, at least in her own domain, that a legitimated child of France ranks with a real one.”

“You are insolent!” cried the duchess. “Leave us!”

Her daughter continued to talk to me without offering her mother the slightest attention. “When I have my own apartment at Versailles, as duchesse de Berry, you may be sure that only
one
door of my salon will be opened for Mama. The double accolade will be reserved for myself, for my husband, for my grandmother, for the dauphin and for the due and duchesse de Bourgogne. You see, Monsieur de Saint-Simon, I
have
learned the rules!”

“You are not duchesse de Berry yet,” the duchess reminded her tartly. “
That
chicken should not be counted until it's hatched. Will you leave us, Mademoiselle?”

“Come, Savonne!” Mademoiselle de Valois called to him. “I want to show you my new portrait by Monsieur Rigaud. It is considered his finest.”

As she walked quickly away, followed by the subservient Savonne, the duchess turned to one of her ladies.

“Go with her and
stay
with her.” As the lady hurried off to obey, the duchess addressed me. “My dear old friend, the duke is waiting for you in his laboratory. But I want to have a word with you first.” Her other lady discreetly drew back, and Madame d'Orléans and I strolled together up and down the great empty chamber.

“Poor Berry,” she said, “he will have his hands full if he marries her. He's a most amiable and attractive young man, but he's short on brains, and she's going to lead him around with a ring through his nose. It doesn't make it any better that he's already crazy about her.”

“Like Savonne,” I said grimly.

“Oh, like half the men she meets,” the duchess agreed readily. “Savonne is just another convenient slave. There's nothing I or her grandmother can do with her. Of course, it's my husband's fault. He lets her get away with everything. There's never been so indulgent a father.”

I paused to glance at her. “So I gather.”

She returned my look without blinking. “That's what I wished to discuss with you. The rumor of which you quite properly informed us is without the smallest basis in fact.”

“Dear Madame, you don't have to tell me that!”

“Ah, but I do. Every such rumor must be strenuously denied. To everyone.” Here she actually condescended, great proud princess though she was, to place her arm under mine as we continued our stroll. “There is a nasty little something in all of us that tends to credit the vilest stories about our nearest and dearest. At first we stare and violently shake our heads. How too dreadful even to be thought of! And then we begin to reflect. A very little bit of reflection goes a long way. After all, is it so impossible? Wasn't he—or she—always somewhat inclined to... oh, yes, let's face it. Hadn't we even suspected it?”

“I never did!”

“Well, God bless you, I'm sure you didn't. But others have. So I know I must deny it. And here and now I do!” She took her hand from my arm and raised it, as if to affirm an oath. “I have had to put up with a great many infidelities from my husband. Nobody knows that better than you, my friend. But I have never forgotten that he was married to me against his will and that he has always tried to be kind to me. I have loved him for that, and I shall always love him. He is a man of high character. Had he been capable of the things you wrote to us about, I should have known!”

At that moment I forgave her all her airs and vanities, all her pretensions and ambitions. She was no longer “legitimated”; she had become to me, at least, legitimate. I dropped to one knee and kissed her hand.

“But as to the other rumor,” she continued, with a sudden flush, “the one about my sister and the dauphin, I believe it absolutely! And please, for the sake of my husband, for the sake of my daughter, for the sake of France, persuade the duke to make use of it!”

I nodded devoutly and took my leave of her, to find Orléans in his laboratory. This chamber, although paneled and decorated like the other rooms in the palace, was marred—at least to my vision—by a long trestle table on which stood some dozens of glass tubes and large, opened folios. Orléans was peering into a basin when I entered.

“I am studying the breathing of a frog,” he said, turning to face me. “It occurred to me that...” And then he stopped, observing my expression of distaste. “Oh, very well, I know you consider this unworthy of a prince. I should concern myself more with the delightful topics discussed at court. Fathers who sleep with their daughters. Sisters who sleep with their brothers.”

“These things were not of
my
invention,” I protested.

“No, of course not. But if we touch them, are we not defiled?”

“All I ask is that you let me handle the matter for you.”