Gates of Gold

A Warning

Cécile trudges behind Madame’s horse for hours through meadow and forest. Her feet are blistered inside her wooden sabots, unused to traveling this far from her village. A dozen soldiers ride out to meet them partway and discover it is Madame. They gallop ahead to warn the king she is coming.

By the time they reach the courtyard, the sun hangs low and Cécile’s heart patters like a caged mouse. Fountains, waterfalls, and flower beds surround buildings already larger than her village church. If a mere hunting lodge looks like this, she can hardly imagine Versailles itself.

A groom takes the horse’s reins as the king steps out, trailed by at least fifty courtiers. He is tall in his curled brown wig, with a rounded belly and a somber face, brisk despite his cane. He says, with a teasing edge, that a search party was sent after Madame, but it seems she delivered herself back to them. He sweeps a hand toward the crowd and asks her to tell the tale.

Mud-caked and disheveled, Madame stands tall and recounts her fall, her rescue, and her decision to take Cécile into her service. The king declares it a splendid story and calls for a return to the gaming tables. There are huge winnings for some and losses for others. The court applauds, and Madame walks off arm in arm with him without a word to Cécile. Cécile stands frozen on the cobblestones, unsure what to do next.

A young woman soon taps her shoulder, introducing herself as Françoise, Madame’s lady-in-waiting, sent to fetch her. Ashamed of her filthy clothes, Cécile follows her through corridors thick with marble statues, towering paintings, mirrors, and tapestry carpets. She can hardly breathe.

In a smaller room, waiting women peel off her rags and settle her into a tub. They laugh that they can hardly tell a boy from a girl beneath such grime. Mid-bath, the maids fall silent as an elderly woman in black sweeps in, parting them like the Red Sea for Moses. A jeweled gold cross gleams over her lace shawl. Wrinkles deepen between her eyes as she looks Cécile over. She asks whether Cécile is Madame’s new servant, disgust tugging at her lips.

She introduces herself as Madame de Maintenon and warns Cécile that she knows Madame stretched the truth about Cécile’s noble blood. Her every move will now be watched, whether for spying or, worse, poisoning the king. Cécile nearly leaps from the bath, insisting she would never dream of it. But Maintenon silences her with a raised palm, calling it simply a warning, since one can never be too careful at court. Then she leaves as swiftly as she arrived. The maids sigh in relief, finish the bath, and tuck Cécile into bed. She doubts she will sleep, but she soon drifts into a deep slumber.

At dawn, Françoise wakes her with a gown of dusty green sewn overnight, its waist tiny and sleeves tufted. Someone must have measured Cécile while she slept. She protests such finery is wasted on a servant meant to tend dogs. But Françoise explains the king demands elegance from everyone, and the gates of Versailles open to all who arrive properly dressed. She laces Cécile into the gown and shoes that fit almost too perfectly. Then she presses bread into her hand to eat along the way.

Trumpets sound as Cécile watches the royal family depart. She feels caught in a dream, wishing Maman, long gone, could see her dressed so finely. The king leads the procession, followed by the stiff, unsmiling Madame de Maintenon, garbed head to toe in black. Next come Princess Marie-Adélaïde and her husband, le Duc de Bourgogne, arm in arm and trading smiles. Their singing five-year-old son and a toddler trail behind, both dressed in the same red as their parents.

Watching the young family stirs a hope tangled with sadness in Cécile. It carries her back to her goodbye with Papa the day before. At the edge of the meadow, he kissed both her cheeks and told her, “You are my pride, Cécile. Be true to who you are.” She promised to write, then watched him vanish as they crested the nearest slope. Remembering it now, her throat tightens. Court is no place to cry.

Then Madame steps forward. Cécile starts to follow, but Françoise yanks her back with a whispered warning to wait. Every movement at court comes wrapped in rules of etiquette. More than one position has been lost over not knowing who goes first. Moments later, a footman announces that Madame, la Duchesse d’Orléans, Elisabeth Charlotte, has requested Cécile’s presence. It takes her a moment to realize he means Madame at all. Nearby ladies, their powdered hair piled high, murmur in surprise.

Françoise leads Cécile to the carriage, murmuring for her to walk slowly and stay close behind. Madame praises how naturally she carries herself, then remarks that she looks overwhelmed. She must remember that Marly is smaller than Versailles will be. She insists Cécile always answer her honestly. Cécile claims her feet feel much better, then admits her new shoes pinch. Madame tells her to slip them off and rest. Only she and Françoise will see. She confides that she sometimes loses herself in the palace’s vastness. That is why she loves her dogs so much, her only companionship in one of the loneliest places on earth.