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Authors: Jean Teulé
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naïve tone of voice.
‘Madame de Guiche curls her hair, powders her nose and eats all at once, the same fingers in turn holding a powder puff and the bread. She eats her powder and butters her hair. Which all makes for a delicious luncheon and a charming hairstyle!’
In this egotistical, frivolous company in the Marais, infinitely uncharitable by nature and where the struggle for favour could take a most savage turn, Athénaïs excelled.
‘The King’s confessor? That Father La Chaise is a veritable commode. He has a mistress, Madame de Bretonvilliers, whom I refer to as “the Cathedral”.’
La Montespan had a mocking word for everyone: ‘Mademoiselle Thingamajig? Lovely from head to toe but no more wit than a kitten.’ ‘Madame Whatsit: her grace and beauty have turned to dust.’ ‘The Duc de What’s-his-name is so fond of entertaining that his tablecloth is nailed down. He has a fake diamond that may dazzle the dull-witted but cannot deceive those who think.’ ‘Mademoiselle Thingy is equally self-important and unimportant.’ ‘Monsieur is the silliest woman in the world and his wife, Madame, the silliest man ever seen. Her husband gives her children with the help of a rosary that he winds around his staff, thereby causing prolific clicking beneath the conjugal sheets.’
‘Ooooh!’
Laughter splattered from the stinking toothless gums of idiotic powdered courtiers … What could have been more magnificent than the clothing of all these people! As for Louis-Henri, he felt gauche in his old rags, beneath his enormous, heavy, poorly mended wig. Amidst the elegantly casual attire and coloured mantillas, the earrings and the necklaces, he felt ashamed, cumbersome, encumbered. Athénaïs, bowing her head to acclaim, now looked up and noticed her husband standing alone on the other side of the room. She got up and went over to him.
‘Are you not bored, Louis-Henri? Would you prefer we went home? Are you all right?’
‘I’m well enough. To see you so glad to be here makes me very happy.’
‘You are kind…’
‘When you enter the room, the other women become invisible. When you speak, you strike them dumb. You are so amusing, so lovely …’
‘Marquise, your husband is right,’ exclaimed their hostess, the Duchesse de Montausier, coming up to the Montespans; in her arms she was holding a cat wearing necklaces and earrings. ‘In France there is no woman wittier than you are, and very few who are your equal. To come within your sight is to expose oneself to your wicked tongue!’
‘Aye,’ said Athénaïs with a smile, ‘I do have a talent for saying pleasant and singular things, always fresh, which no one, not even I myself, expects.’
‘Ah!’
Le Montespan chuckled, as did the Duchesse de Montausier. Her husband joined them and laughed as well, saying, ‘As for your beauty, Marquise, one autumn day you came to dance at Versailles and I said to His Majesty, “Look, Sire, there is a most beautiful statue; when I saw it, I wondered whether it was not created by the chisel of Girardon, and I was most surprised when I was told it was alive.” The King replied, “A statue if you like but, God be praised, ’tis a beautiful creature.”’
Louis-Henri was astounded. ‘Do you hear, Athénaïs, the greatest monarch on earth finds you to his liking!’
La Montespan blushed. The Duchesse de Montausier – sixty years of age, with thinning frizzy white hair – was followed by a black slave. Attired in richly coloured garments, with a turban on his head, he carried a parasol (in her apartments!). He was like one of those little domestic animals that were all the rage, and the colour of his skin caused the whiteness of the hostess’s to stand out all the more as she took Athénaïs by the arm and led her into another salon.
‘Precisely, my dear, I was thinking … Queen Marie-Thérèse, fearful that she might be providing a harem for the King, has decided to dismiss all her
‘Madame de Guiche curls her hair, powders her nose and eats all at once, the same fingers in turn holding a powder puff and the bread. She eats her powder and butters her hair. Which all makes for a delicious luncheon and a charming hairstyle!’
In this egotistical, frivolous company in the Marais, infinitely uncharitable by nature and where the struggle for favour could take a most savage turn, Athénaïs excelled.
‘The King’s confessor? That Father La Chaise is a veritable commode. He has a mistress, Madame de Bretonvilliers, whom I refer to as “the Cathedral”.’
La Montespan had a mocking word for everyone: ‘Mademoiselle Thingamajig? Lovely from head to toe but no more wit than a kitten.’ ‘Madame Whatsit: her grace and beauty have turned to dust.’ ‘The Duc de What’s-his-name is so fond of entertaining that his tablecloth is nailed down. He has a fake diamond that may dazzle the dull-witted but cannot deceive those who think.’ ‘Mademoiselle Thingy is equally self-important and unimportant.’ ‘Monsieur is the silliest woman in the world and his wife, Madame, the silliest man ever seen. Her husband gives her children with the help of a rosary that he winds around his staff, thereby causing prolific clicking beneath the conjugal sheets.’
‘Ooooh!’
Laughter splattered from the stinking toothless gums of idiotic powdered courtiers … What could have been more magnificent than the clothing of all these people! As for Louis-Henri, he felt gauche in his old rags, beneath his enormous, heavy, poorly mended wig. Amidst the elegantly casual attire and coloured mantillas, the earrings and the necklaces, he felt ashamed, cumbersome, encumbered. Athénaïs, bowing her head to acclaim, now looked up and noticed her husband standing alone on the other side of the room. She got up and went over to him.
‘Are you not bored, Louis-Henri? Would you prefer we went home? Are you all right?’
‘I’m well enough. To see you so glad to be here makes me very happy.’
‘You are kind…’
‘When you enter the room, the other women become invisible. When you speak, you strike them dumb. You are so amusing, so lovely …’
‘Marquise, your husband is right,’ exclaimed their hostess, the Duchesse de Montausier, coming up to the Montespans; in her arms she was holding a cat wearing necklaces and earrings. ‘In France there is no woman wittier than you are, and very few who are your equal. To come within your sight is to expose oneself to your wicked tongue!’
‘Aye,’ said Athénaïs with a smile, ‘I do have a talent for saying pleasant and singular things, always fresh, which no one, not even I myself, expects.’
‘Ah!’
Le Montespan chuckled, as did the Duchesse de Montausier. Her husband joined them and laughed as well, saying, ‘As for your beauty, Marquise, one autumn day you came to dance at Versailles and I said to His Majesty, “Look, Sire, there is a most beautiful statue; when I saw it, I wondered whether it was not created by the chisel of Girardon, and I was most surprised when I was told it was alive.” The King replied, “A statue if you like but, God be praised, ’tis a beautiful creature.”’
Louis-Henri was astounded. ‘Do you hear, Athénaïs, the greatest monarch on earth finds you to his liking!’
La Montespan blushed. The Duchesse de Montausier – sixty years of age, with thinning frizzy white hair – was followed by a black slave. Attired in richly coloured garments, with a turban on his head, he carried a parasol (in her apartments!). He was like one of those little domestic animals that were all the rage, and the colour of his skin caused the whiteness of the hostess’s to stand out all the more as she took Athénaïs by the arm and led her into another salon.
‘Precisely, my dear, I was thinking … Queen Marie-Thérèse, fearful that she might be providing a harem for the King, has decided to dismiss all her
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