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Authors: Chantal Thomas
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M. de la Bilar-derie kept me from burning …
Louise Élisabeth’s fingers are covered with ink; she wipes them on her dress and rings for someone to change her. She’s made some lucky escapes, no doubt about that. In Chinay, the house she was staying in caught fire, and she was barely rescued in time. The next day, in Brioux, it was her wardrobe that went up in flames. And then, while traversing a forest, the troops of her cortege turned out to have been infiltrated by members of Cartouche’s army. A band of brigands made off with a quantity of silver plate and three trunks filled with rich gifts for the Spanish. The girlwonders how many more inconveniences are in store for her. She’s already had some intuition of one inconvenience — and a horrid inconvenience at that, she says to herself, swallowing painfully — namely the face and form of Don Luis. Aagh! Aagh! Is she going to have to lie down naked next to him and let herself be touched? Is he going to be equally naked next to her? And suddenly the expression
nu comme un ver
, naked as a worm, crosses her mind and fills her with revulsion.
BEHIND THE WALL OF DOLLS, DECEMBER 1721
The Uprooting
Of all this — the fires, the thieves, the promised young bride’s illnesses — no one in the Spanish prince’s entourage is remotely aware. The only kind of news that’s propagated (with difficulty, considering the times) is positive. What Don Luis knows, essentially, is that Mlle de Montpensier is getting closer to him, as is the blessed day of their marriage. The prince is moved. He contemplates the portrait once again. If he looks closely, he can see that the young girl’s lips are smiling slightly … Don Luis is mad for hunting, and he has no doubt that his future wife shares his passion. He has secretly ordered the best gunsmith in Spain to make two hunting guns as gifts for Louise Élisabeth.
The great event, however, is the departure of the queen of France for “her” country. The Masses, the concerts, the balls, the Duke of Lerma’s extravagant hospitality all delight Mariana Victoria when she’s in the moment, but after she goes to bed, she can’t sleep. She weeps and cries out. Shehears footsteps in the darkness. By way of preparing her for her new life, her mother speaks to her only in French — in a charming, bookish French made musical by her Italian accent. Excited and anxious as the child is, she has to make an effort to understand. She answers in Spanish, the language that’s the most foreign of all to her mother’s ears.
When it comes time to say goodbye, the little girl is brought to her parents. Her mother wipes away a few tears, her father fingers his rosary. They each impart counsel that the child must not on any account forget. This is no simple matter in the case of Elisabeth Farnese’s recommendations, whose subject is none other than forgetting, but forgetting of a partial kind. The queen says to the girl, “Become entirely French, my daughter, forget your Spanish years. All the same, never forget your parents, or your brothers, or what your grand establishment in the most beautiful of kingdoms owes to our generosity.” She holds her daughter’s hands. Mariana Victoria would like to withdraw those hands from her mother’s viselike grip. She’d also like her mother’s eyes to look upon her more gently. They force her to lower her own, even though she feels it would be best if she could manage to look her mother in the face. But she doesn’t dare. She’s trembling too hard, she’s too disconcerted. “Don’t forget to forget.” The queen repeats her recommendation in French and Italian. Mariana Victoria, seated sideways on the Duchess de Montellano’s lap, feels herself slipping off. She very much wants this conversation — this seriousness, this emotion — to end. Under her extensive array of protective medals, her little heart is wildly pounding. Now it’s her father’s turn. Unlike the queen, he speaks with
Louise Élisabeth’s fingers are covered with ink; she wipes them on her dress and rings for someone to change her. She’s made some lucky escapes, no doubt about that. In Chinay, the house she was staying in caught fire, and she was barely rescued in time. The next day, in Brioux, it was her wardrobe that went up in flames. And then, while traversing a forest, the troops of her cortege turned out to have been infiltrated by members of Cartouche’s army. A band of brigands made off with a quantity of silver plate and three trunks filled with rich gifts for the Spanish. The girlwonders how many more inconveniences are in store for her. She’s already had some intuition of one inconvenience — and a horrid inconvenience at that, she says to herself, swallowing painfully — namely the face and form of Don Luis. Aagh! Aagh! Is she going to have to lie down naked next to him and let herself be touched? Is he going to be equally naked next to her? And suddenly the expression
nu comme un ver
, naked as a worm, crosses her mind and fills her with revulsion.
BEHIND THE WALL OF DOLLS, DECEMBER 1721
The Uprooting
Of all this — the fires, the thieves, the promised young bride’s illnesses — no one in the Spanish prince’s entourage is remotely aware. The only kind of news that’s propagated (with difficulty, considering the times) is positive. What Don Luis knows, essentially, is that Mlle de Montpensier is getting closer to him, as is the blessed day of their marriage. The prince is moved. He contemplates the portrait once again. If he looks closely, he can see that the young girl’s lips are smiling slightly … Don Luis is mad for hunting, and he has no doubt that his future wife shares his passion. He has secretly ordered the best gunsmith in Spain to make two hunting guns as gifts for Louise Élisabeth.
The great event, however, is the departure of the queen of France for “her” country. The Masses, the concerts, the balls, the Duke of Lerma’s extravagant hospitality all delight Mariana Victoria when she’s in the moment, but after she goes to bed, she can’t sleep. She weeps and cries out. Shehears footsteps in the darkness. By way of preparing her for her new life, her mother speaks to her only in French — in a charming, bookish French made musical by her Italian accent. Excited and anxious as the child is, she has to make an effort to understand. She answers in Spanish, the language that’s the most foreign of all to her mother’s ears.
When it comes time to say goodbye, the little girl is brought to her parents. Her mother wipes away a few tears, her father fingers his rosary. They each impart counsel that the child must not on any account forget. This is no simple matter in the case of Elisabeth Farnese’s recommendations, whose subject is none other than forgetting, but forgetting of a partial kind. The queen says to the girl, “Become entirely French, my daughter, forget your Spanish years. All the same, never forget your parents, or your brothers, or what your grand establishment in the most beautiful of kingdoms owes to our generosity.” She holds her daughter’s hands. Mariana Victoria would like to withdraw those hands from her mother’s viselike grip. She’d also like her mother’s eyes to look upon her more gently. They force her to lower her own, even though she feels it would be best if she could manage to look her mother in the face. But she doesn’t dare. She’s trembling too hard, she’s too disconcerted. “Don’t forget to forget.” The queen repeats her recommendation in French and Italian. Mariana Victoria, seated sideways on the Duchess de Montellano’s lap, feels herself slipping off. She very much wants this conversation — this seriousness, this emotion — to end. Under her extensive array of protective medals, her little heart is wildly pounding. Now it’s her father’s turn. Unlike the queen, he speaks with
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