Read Online The Hurlyburly's Husband by Jean Teulé - Free Book Online

rocking wigs. Athénaïs walked by the billiard table, where there was talk of a duc from Auvergne who had recently been appointed a maréchal of the realm, and she remarked, ‘A maréchal who swoons away at the mere sight of young wild boar.’ Her ferocious humour enchanted as it hit the bull’s eye. ‘He’s neither man, nor woman, nor little; he’s a little woman.’
    ‘Oh!’
    The courtiers guffawed. They drew back their lips to reveal broken, rotten teeth, but they sucked on cinnamon and cloves to sweeten their breath. One aristocrat counselled another: ‘Cavities are due to dental worms that one must kill with poultices of stag’s-horn powder mixed with honey.’ And they raised their glasses of fennel spirits in a toast and asked Montespan, ‘What do you think?’ Beneath the gilded ceiling, Louis-Henri, in his worn lace cravat, threadbare jerkin and misshapen organ-pipe hose, turned his dirty jacket and did not answer. He did not feel at ease among these people with whom one always had to have one’s mouth open in order to laugh or speak. Just ahead of him he recognised Athénaïs’s characteristic hairstyle, hair drawn back and kept in place by a hoop, then falling on either side of her neck. He seized her by the waist from behind, leant towards her ear. She turned round. It was not Athénaïs but a stranger with the same hairstyle. He apologised: ‘Please forgive me, I thought that …’ and he noticed that many of the women at the gathering that evening had adopted his wife’s hurluberlu . A duc (Lauzun), of ordinary height, sniggered at the way the women presented themselves. ‘If women already were what they become through artifice, their faces as lit up and leaden with the rouge they wear, they would be inconsolable.’
    Three little dogs from Boulogne were at his side. When Lauzun farted, he accused them of the misdeed. Montespan moved away. An orchestra of violins was playing a mixture of branles and courants . Candied fruit was served by a cohort of lackeys. At one of the hoca tables, Louis-Henri made a small wager and played cards. He encountered mocking whispers and felt gazes upon him, but he only had eyes for his own blonde.
    Stretched out on a divan and much in demand, she resembled a magnificent voluptuous toy. The sparkling scene beneath the stucco ceiling, embellished with flowers, fruit and pastoral scenes, pleased her. She delighted in the volatile nature of words.
    ‘Madame de Ludres has been left by her lover and no longer talks of a retreat among the Carmelites; ’twas enough to have spoken of it. Her chambermaid fell at her feet to prevent her; how can one resist such a thing?’
    The frills and flounces on everyone’s clothing came alive, whilst Athénaïs continued her story. ‘She is fatter by a foot since her misfortune befell her. Most astonishing. Every whale I meet reminds me of her. The other day, when she climbed out of her carriage, I caught a glimpse of one of her legs, almost as fat as my chest. But to be fair, I must say that I have lost a great deal of weight!’
    ‘Aaaah!’
    Women stood up and pissed beneath their gowns; servants appeared with mops. Montespan was filled with tenderness as he watched Athénaïs in her endeavours to shine forth, amidst the laughter she provoked, like a child playing at being a princess. No doubt because Louis-Henri’s armed exploits had all come to a sudden end, and he had been unable to find glory on the battlefield and ensure the monarch’s favour, his wife had determined to succeed, with the means at her disposal. When speaking of Madame de Guiche, who had been disgraced at the palace, Athénaïs dealt the death blow. ‘She is asymmetrical down to her very eyes. They are two different colours, and as our eyes are the mirror of our soul, such a departure from nature must serve as a warning to those who go near her not to set great store by her friendship.’
    Athénaïs professed the most murderous truths quite absently in a