Enchantress of Paris (39 page)

“Why must I go to the queen mother's apartments?”

“Because the queen cries at the mere mention of you, and if the king received you in his own apartments, it would only upset her more.”

I crossed my arms. “Did the king give the Archbishop of Amasia no answer?”

Philippe rang the bell to call Moréna. When she appeared he said to her, “Dress Marie well.” Then he turned back to me. “The king's answer is going to depend on you.”

*   *   *

I wore gray silk, simple but lustrous, and all the king's pearls. It was the first time I'd shown myself at court in months. The courtiers in the queen mother's apartments seemed to be waiting for me. Painted fans started fluttering as soon as I appeared. I ignored them as I always had. Both doors to the queen mother's bedchamber opened to let me enter.

The queen mother sat at the window, clearly unhappy. She said nothing. King Louis stood behind her. As I walked in he rushed to me, and the queen mother moved to her adjacent music room.

“Marie,” he said, “don't marry Colonna. Choose a Frenchman and stay at my court. Marry the Prince of Lorraine if you like.”

“Through Colonna and me, you have your alliance with Naples. The documents are signed.”

“I will destroy them, find some legal means to dispute their terms. There is nothing to prevent us from being together now.”

I pulled my hands away. “That isn't what Mazarin wanted for you. It isn't what I want.”

“Marie, I had no choice but to marry.”

Can a man be forced to do something he doesn't secretly desire? I looked away. “You altered my heart the day you let me leave the Louvre.”

“I didn't understand then.” He grabbed my shoulders. “Stay and help me become the king you foresee.”

“And subject myself to the whims and humiliations of being a mistress? Mazarin would have tried again to kill me if he thought I would resort to it.”

“I would protect you.” He held the sides of my face.

“Our fates … they won't allow us to be happy together.”

His hands fell to his sides, but he didn't back away. His face was so close to mine he might have kissed me. He might have kissed me and made me forget everything. “You are the one who encouraged me to lead. How can I be true to your own vision of me if I let you go?”

“Because you want what is best for me. In Rome I will be a legitimate princess.”

“How do we end
this
?” His lips came so close to mine that I could feel his warmth. I remembered how passionately he would devour me, and wondered how things might be if I just let him.

Instead, I threw my arms around his shoulders and put our cheeks together. I tipped my head back and squeezed my eyes shut. “With dignity.”

He pulled me to him, and it wasn't possible for two people to hold each other any closer. He dug his fingers into the small of my back until I thought he might tear into me. Then, gradually, I felt his struggle to rein himself in, master his passion. Acceptance made it no easier to let go.

“I wouldn't trade a moment, Louis. Not for a thousand years with a hundred princes would I trade my days with you at Fontainebleau.”

He laughed a little. “Or our nights in Lyon.”

We separated enough to rest our foreheads together. I forced myself to grin. “I'll never forget how many races I beat you on horseback.”

He tried a smile. “I'll always remember how you shone like gold that night at Berny, the brightest part of my life.”

“Call me cousin, stand at my wedding, send me to Rome with your blessing.”

He took a deep breath and, finally, stepped back. “No one will rule my heart as you did.”

My throat ached with the effort of suppressing sobs. I smiled, hoping to show him all the tenderness I felt for him. His expression crumpled, and I knew I would lose control if I watched him cry. So I curtsied. My tears splashed silently on the floor. I kicked my skirts behind me and backed from the chamber. He didn't try to stop me.

*   *   *

The next morning, enthusiasm lit Moréna's ebon features. She sorted out tools to assemble a blood-filled chicken bladder for me when the time came. She hummed while packing my herbs and tinctures and my forbidden books for our journey to Italy, where I might practice with them openly, study the stars, and be myself for the first time in my life.

Hortense laced me into a bodice covered in my small share of the Mazarin diamonds. Olympia pinned diamonds and pearls to my sleeves and my neckline, and Marianne slid pearl and diamond combs into my hair. I wore the king's pearl necklace and earrings, which I had vowed to wear every day, and my family escorted me.

We appeared as we had so many times before, we Mazarinettes descending on the Louvre in our uncle's extravagant carriages with enough plumed horses to drive an army. We alighted, each in our shimmering silks and jewels, our guards and men of rank in rows. King Louis met me, dry-eyed, at the door of his private chapel. I took his arm, stone-faced, and pretended I felt the strength I showed.

The Archbishop of Amasia arrived, leering at me and smelling strongly of ale. He stood as proxy for the Constable of Colonna. King Louis stood witness. An exchange of vows was made and a mass was said. Never had a wedding been so stoic. Never was I so grateful for Olympia, who, in her charming, authoritative way, led us through crowded chambers to the Mazarin apartments, where we dined. Afterward, the king presented me with a
tabouret,
saying, “To my beloved.” Now considered a foreign princess, I could officially sit upon the little stool in royalty's presence. Thus I sat alongside him with his expressionless queen and his tight-lipped mother while Mazarin's favored men streamed in with gifts. My family members carried the conversation, and King Louis and I glanced silently at one another across the chatter.

He had not ruled my heart as he claimed I'd ruled his. But he had helped me understand how to set my own heart free.
I will always love you for that,
I wanted to say. Now the time for words had passed.

My sisters and I uttered no farewells upstairs. We had borne separation before, and distance wouldn't diminish my memories of the glory we'd shared in Paris.

With Philippe and Olympia on one side and Hortense and Marianne on the other, I walked for the last time down the stairs of the Mazarin apartments into the sunlit Cour Carrée. I kissed each of them quietly before I took the king's arm. He walked me to the carriage where the Archbishop of Amasia awaited. A throng of courtiers stood along the walls, ever watchful.

“Was it only two years ago that we parted in this very spot?” I asked.

He grinned, eyes filling. “You made a remark. That I wept and, though a king, I was letting you go. I will always regret that moment. Now I understand, yet I cannot make you stay.”

I put a hand over my heart. “The better part of me does stay.” I moved my hand, placing it over his heart.

He grabbed my hand, clung to it, searching my face.

“Take courage,” I whispered. And I knew he'd learned strength from the pain we'd endured.

There was a flicker of disappointment. Then he nodded, and he said loudly enough for onlookers to hear, “Destiny, which is above kings, has disposed of us contrary to our inclinations. But it will not prevent me from giving you proof of my esteem in whatever country of the world you might be.”

His words caused gasps in the crowd, even little cries of pity. Then King Louis took my hand from his chest and bowed over it, kissing it softly.

When he let go, we both turned without another word. I climbed into the carriage, and he marched back into the Louvre. The Archbishop of Amasia pounded the door, signaling the driver to move. We lurched forward and a hundred musketeers trotted into place, surrounding us so I could not see out. I wouldn't have been able to see a thing anyway through the tears that finally fell.

 

EPILOGUE

Madrid

February 1689

Just look at the four Mancini sisters: what wandering star rules them!

—MADAME DE SÉVIGNÉ
in a letter

The hour had advanced from late night to early morn at my
casa
in Madrid while Olympia and I reminisced about Paris.

Olympia had nearly emptied a bottle of wine, and now packed Virginia tobacco into a long, slender clay pipe. “Do you regret it?”

“I regret losing the king,” I said. And I often wondered if he'd felt torn in half the rest of his life as I had. “But I do not regret leaving.”

She nodded. “You would have hated being his mistress. He isn't constant to any of them for very long.”

I had known it would be so. His palm lines had warned me. “When King Louis didn't have the strength to make me his queen … it changed us.”

“He was never truly happy again.” She blew smoke rings into the air. “Oh, I tried. Heaven knows every woman at court tried her utmost to please him. Any pleasure he found was fleeting, gilded by his new palace at Versailles and ceremony, tedious pomp, nothing substantial. I often think he spent so outrageously to fill the void you left. You'd hardly recognize Paris with all the changes he made, all clean and lit up at night.”

I stared past the smoke to the window. The dark sky paled with the imminent sunrise.

Olympia watched me carefully. “You do regret leaving.”

I shook my head. “I threw such glorious pageants and parades with Colonna in Rome and never had such fun as during our carnivals in Venice. No palazzo was more opulent than ours, with our opera and our artists. Colonna granted my every whim.”

“Why did you leave Colonna? You caused more scandal in your escapades to escape him than you ever would have as the French king's mistress.”

I'd worn ermine in Rome, dressed myself as the sorceress Circe, the goddess Venus, and the witch Armida for portraits and parades. I'd published my own astrological books, patronized opera singers and painters. I'd been myself, but never truly free. I crossed my arms. “He's a murderer.”

She gaped.

“Don't look so surprised. He
is
Italian. I might have overlooked it … if he hadn't tried to murder
me.
He wanted me for my gifts, but he didn't realize how strong I'd be. Colonna decided he wanted a less stubborn wife, and I decided I wanted to stay alive.” Olympia said nothing. “King Louis kept his word. Everywhere I roamed since leaving Colonna, the ambassadors and nobles knew the king supported me. It enabled me to stay one step ahead of my husband's assassins. But that is a story for another day.”

Olympia put aside her spent pipe, and we walked through my front hall.

“Men think they can beat and mistreat wives,” Olympia said with a frown.

She meant poor Hortense. I was glad I hadn't been in Paris to witness Meilleraye abuse her, grateful she had escaped him, and delighted when she moved to England. Her old admirer King Charles had showered her with gifts, shared her bed, and used his reclaimed crown to shield her from Meilleraye. “Hortense came to Rome and helped me run away from Colonna. You should have seen her in men's breeches, a pistol in each hand, ready to kill anyone who tried to stop us.”

Olympia laughed. “You should have seen Marianne and me at the witchcraft trial in Paris a few years ago. The Chambre Ardente was draped in black, alight with torches and candles. The tribunal charged Marianne and her lover with poisoning her husband. She walked in with her lover holding her right hand and her husband holding her left. The charge couldn't stand!”

Philippe fared best. With a rich wife and houses in Rome and Paris, he helped us when he could. Each of my sisters had not only paid the price for our family name, but for taking control of our own destinies. “Our stories are told in broadsheets all over Europe. Women talk of us. They see how we defend ourselves, liberate ourselves, and wonder if they ought to do the same.”

Olympia snorted. “Nonsense. The world will call Hortense a king's whore and Marianne a pagan.”

I laughed. “You're the poisoner.”

She pointed. “You're an astrologer!”

We leaned on each other, shaking with silent laughter.

Finally Olympia embraced me. “You carry the loss of the king's love within you. I am sorry for my part in it.”

I nodded.

“You shared a prediction with me tonight,” Olympia whispered. “So I leave you with one of my own. One that will lighten your heart. A messenger. Shortly after dawn you will know you were never forgotten by the man to whom you gave your heart.”

I gave her a questioning look. She turned, disappearing into the carriage. I was too tired and too sad to pursue it. I watched the carriage disappear down the street.
Lord, keep her safe.

I returned to the parlor and collapsed on the divan. Moréna brought me a cup of hot Spanish chocolate. I finished it just as the sun touched the terra-cotta tiles of Madrid's rooftops. That's when I heard the carriage. I stood.

Normally I wouldn't receive visitors at this hour. But Olympia's prediction rang in my mind.

Moréna entered the parlor. “It is the French ambassador.” She straightened my skirts and smoothed my hair.

I nodded. “Show him in.”

Comte de Rebenac, the French ambassador to Madrid, presented his leg and bowed, sweeping his hat so low it brushed the floor. “Constabless Colonna, you are gracious to admit me so early in the morning.”

“Stand, sir, for I am most anxious to hear you.”

He gripped his hat nervously. “I come in the name of His Royal Highness, King Louis the Fourteenth of France. Because he considers you his cousin and because of the esteem he holds for you, he bid me to warn you of measures being taken against your sister Olympia, the comtesse de Soissons.” He spoke softly. “The Spanish Guard is preparing to arrest her and charge her with poisoning the Spanish queen. Some suspect her of witchcraft.”