The Hurlyburly's Husband by Jean Teulé Page A

for the King,’ continued the white-haired old woman, ‘if he deems it his duty to take your wife as his mistress – the most beautiful woman in France, the most desirable in the kingdom – and to flaunt her like a treasure, there is no cause for anger and for coming to bore us with some petty quarrel of the kind a German might make. You would do better to invoke Saint Leonard, the patron saint of childbirth, for the successful arrival of the bastard!’
    Montespan could not believe his ears. He had been a captain of the light cavalry and had become so forgetful of good form that he addressed the duchesse in the language of the barracks. She would have another flower that she could add to her Guirlande de Julie.
    ‘You are nothing but a flower of priggish pedantry and vileness, perfumed with lucre and servility, cultivated in a soil of hypocrisy!’
    ‘Oooooh!’
    ‘Rag-bag, harpy, hog’s tripe, old maggot-pie! Dislodge your buttocks from there and go and fetch me my wife or I’ll blow your backside to kingdom come!’
    ‘Oooooh!’
    The duchesse began to tremble beneath the parasol held by the black slave. So shocked by the Gascon’s cruel words was the Princesse d’Harcourt that she defecated in her gown. Thick-lipped, with white hair, she often had an urge to shit and was prompt to find relief when on her feet, which drove all those she visited to despair. She moved off into the glow of the flames from the grand fireplace, where they flickered against the golden interior; she dirtied the parquet floor with a ghastly smear. Lauzun went up to Montespan, chuckled and told him, ‘One time, a count put a firecracker under her seat in a salon where she was playing piquet. Just as he was about to light it, being a charitable soul I advised him that the firecracker would maim her, and thereby I stayed his hand. Then there was an evening at Saint-Germain-en-Laye when the courtiers introduced twenty or more Swiss guards with drums into her chambers and roused her from her sleep. They assailed her with snowballs. She sat up, her hair all dishevelled, shouting at the top of her lungs and wriggling like an eel, not knowing where to hide. The nymph was afloat, and with water pouring from her bed, the room was awash. Enough to finish her off!’
    Louis-Henri took his leave. In the street, a singer was bellowing a fashionable refrain.

    ‘’Tis said that fair Montespan
    Hey nelly nelly, hey nelly
    ’Tis said that fair Montespan
    Hides a round belly.’

    On Rue des Rosiers, at the Hôtel Mortemart, the Gascon was greeted by Françoise’s moon-faced father. The marquis immediately asked his father-in-law what he thought of the disaster.
    ‘God be praised, good fortune has entered our house!’ he responded.
    The son-in-law failed to understand. ‘What do you mean?’
    The Duc de Mortemart with his big green protruding eyes and jovial little mouth explained.
    ‘I was three hundred thousand livres in debt, and the King paid them for me, simply because I am the father of his new mistress … He also offered me the title of governor of Paris and Île-de-France. And to compensate him for having appropriated his sister’s virtue, His Majesty appointed my son Vivonne (that imbecile) general of the galleys and vice-admiral of the Levant! Therefore you, the husband, can well imagine the glories you may hope for!’
    ‘I hope only for Françoise …’
    ‘Louis-Henri, you are a fool. Every favour, every honour is about to rain upon you, if you will only hold your tongue and close your eyes. But there you go, shouting out loud, even when you know you stand to suffer cruelly from what is arbitrary. That is why many will not forgive you. You disturb them by daring as you do to put a great king in a regrettable position.’
    ‘I place him in a regrettable position?’
    ‘You ought to be shut away in the Petites-Maisons like a madman. Cast off that grey hat. His Majesty despises grey hats and one must never displease His