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| The Goddess |
Yet another ball. The lights of the golden chandeliers were refracted in thousands and thousands of glows on the Hall of Mirrors, multiplying themselves in cascades of sparks of light. Richly dressed people with a rather bored air were crowded in there, looking for some novelty to escape the emptiness of life.
Next to a beautiful statue, a woman with as much splendor, a marquise just introduced to the Court, was waving her fan slowly and lazily before her face. I am married, she meant, according to the Court's language. Her interlocutor, a young and good-looking man, not concerned at all about that fact, was whispering her a few words. The fan settled, brushing on her right cheek: Yes.
Girodelle, leaning against a column, brought the chalice to his lips, holding it elegantly by the stem. He drank slowly and then smiled to himself. Like every evening the little theatre of �Court love� was taking place before his eyes. He had become, like all the nobles who assiduously frequented the Court, a true expert on this "secret" language. In fact, in the course of time he had earned a reputation as a libertine, letting himself getting involved in those games as well.
Yes, he had several conquests in his record and he could undoubtedly be considered a man with a remarkable success with women. Cynically, he indulged in seduction games, without ever letting his heart to get involved. And he expected the same from his conquests. He had made everything very clear from the beginning: no woman could ever complain of being tricked by him. And none of them knew the secret of his heart.
The libertine Count, who loved women without ever really loving them, from whom no woman could boast of having received a word of love, had his heart wounded, by none other than love itself for a long time. Since when, he didn't even remember. Actually he didn't know the exact day when he had begun to have feelings of love for his Commander. He helped himself to another glass, sipping it with the calm of a connoisseur. Yes... the beautiful woman Commander, untouchable and untouched. How many times he had, in his mind, compared her to a goddess. He smiled making a mockery of himself, of the dichotomy between his libertine life and the purity of his love, innocent almost like that one of a child.
She was Artemis, Themis, Hebe, Athena... his preceptor would have been proud of having so well inculcated the classical mythology into him. His goddess in uniform walked through the corridors of Versailles like an angel, without even brushing for a moment the filth of the world. He knew very well that the icy colonel felt a real repulsion towards the falseness of that place, yet she never neglected her duty. Except that evening. She too should have been present at that ball, but she had sent a message, informing that she wouldn't show up due to an indisposition. Girodelle had read the missive, perplexed. Yes, indeed that afternoon she had risked her life while chasing a terrorist who had tried to attack the Queen during the displacement from the Petit Trianon to the Royal Palace.
But there was something else... he couldn't forget the look his Commander cast at the balcony where Count Fersen appeared that very afternoon. He couldn't be wrong, that was the look of Love. He had hoped that he had misunderstood, but that certainly wasn't the first time he had caught that look on his goddess' face. And this time her cheeks had slightly blushed.
That damned Swedish seducer! As if the Queen, or all the ladies of the Court who literally fell to his feet weren't enough! His collection was lacking a goddess! Girodelle dangerously clenched the fragile glass between his fingers, risking shattering it. He could never expect a similar look from his Colonel for himself. Despite the many years spent side by side on duty, he had never managed to cross the barrier of the simple respect and comradeship among colleagues to enter the boundries of a true friendship, he thought bitterly.
If he couldn't have her love, he would have liked to have her friendship, at least. But that was reserved for her servant, Andr�. Childhood friends and life-long companions. Something that he could never be with anyone. He, a Count and His Majesty's officer, found himself envying a servant, a simple squire! But that man had the greatest richness in the world, he enjoyed the affection of that sublime creature every day . Girodelle shook imperceptibly his head. He used to hate him for this until the day he realized that this man was suffering exactly like him, adoring an unattainable deity. The same pain. Now he felt almost united in friendship with him for their common suffering. And he didn't envy him anymore like before, for that privilege of being always by her side had to be a terrible torment of Tantalus.
A murmuring that suddenly crossed the hall roused him from his thoughts. Intrigued by the crowding of the people in front of the entrance he drew near, so as to see whatever had managed to shake the torpor of that place.
And a goddess appeared before him, as if coming alive from a Greek statue. Tall, blonde, dressed � l'odalisque... an exotic beauty. Among the crowd the people were saying she was a foreign noblewoman of the highest rank who intended to partecipate the ball incognito.
Stunned, Girodelle admired the splendid figure, who walked with an air of dignity through the hall elegant as a swan gliding on the water. She turned imperceptibly her beautiful features to look around, as if she was looking for something. When she passed before him he could see her eyes.
By Saint George! Those eyes! He would have recognized them among thousands and thousands! He felt as if he was being pierced by those aquamarine eyes, clear and transparent. But he wasn't the one she was searching for. With horror and disappointment he saw Count Fersen come forward. She kept walking but the Count dared to address her, to invite her to a dance. And she accepted it, bowing her head gracefully.
Girodelle leaned against a column again, but this time to support himself. She... his goddess! She was there, wearing a silk dress marvellous in its simplicity, luminous like the first star of evening! [1] Her natural beauty, devoid of artifices and cosmetics, was complemented by her hair pinned up simply, that uncovered her thin neck and girl's fragile shoulders.
He had to gather all his strength to stand on his legs that didn't want to obey to him anymore, watching the scene as if he was being hypnotized. She gently laid her hand on the Count's hand, and he, in his turn, drew her in his arms to take her to the centre of the hall in a few dance steps. She looked like a splendid butterfly, ethereal and elegant. He could hear the enraptured comments of the courtiers around him. But they were like an indistinct buzz to his ears. His focus was on the sight offered before him.
In his enumerations he had forgotten a goddess, Aphrodite. Beautiful. Beautiful as the goddess of the roses [2], rose was the colour of her cheeks now. In fact Count Fersen was whispering her a few words, but she kept her lips closed, going on whirling lightly in the ballroom.
Girodelle understood why: there was no doubt that she intended to strike him with her feminine charm and then to reveal her true identity when they were alone, far from indiscreet eyes and ears. He wondered how it could be possible that the Swedish Count hadn't immediately realized who was standing before him. And suddenly he was sure of it. The foreign nobleman had never cast her a look beyond the superficiality. A dull, useless and senseless anger pervaded him: selfishly, he should have been happy about it. On the contrary, no, he wasn't. That man was going to break the heart of the woman who deserved more than anybody else to be loved with all the love of the world.
His prediction came true immediately: he saw her suddenly staggering, about to fall down. The Swedish Count held her by an arm, supporting her with his other hand at her waist, to prevent her from falling. Girodelle saw the Count whispering her some more words, while her face turned pale. With a sudden gesture, she freed herself from his hold, turned and fled away, among the surprised looks of the whole ballroom, leaving Fersen petrified on the spot.
Without letting people notice it, Girodelle headed discreetly to the exit with the intent to follow her. The divine creature had already vanished, but he had an idea about where she could be gone. To that part of the gardens, where anybody hardly ever went. Being the deputy commander of the Royal Guard and a regular visitor of the Palace now revealed its usefulness. He pretended to do the rounds and set off for the most discreet corner. The autumnal evening was cold and he couldn't keep himself from shivering at the transition from the heat of the hall to the fresh air of the night. The clear sky was full of bright stars. But the most beautiful star had descended on the earth and had hidden herself from men's sight.
After the maze, a large fountain appeared, the streaming water becoming wavy with the whiff of wind, like the dress flaps of a slender figure, leaned against the edge of the basin and slightly tilted on the water.
Girodelle approached her slowly, without making noise and came up alongside to the woman. She raised her eyes, casting at him a look wet with tears, the same tears that streamed down her cheeks, then she modestly turned her head away. He decided to pretend not to have recognized her and spoke as Deputy Commander of the Royal Guard.
�Such beautiful eyes should never shed tears.� he said, offering her a handkerchief bordered with lace. That sentence could be one of the most banal, said by a courtier, but his tone was warm and sincere. Oscar stretched her hand to take the handkerchief, thanking with a nod.
While she was drying her eyes Girodelle continued softly: �Mademoiselle, this place is too isolated. Allow me, as a Deputy Commander of the Royal Guard, to escort you until the salon.�
Oscar shook her head as a sign of refusal.
�Then, if you do not intend to return to the palace, perhaps you'd rather prefer I accompany you to your coach.�
And she nodded, still without saying a word.
Girodelle offered her his arm, chivalrously, and she didn't refuse.
Offering his arm to his goddess! Girodelle had dreamed about it countless times, but now he would have preferred a thousand and thousand times more that this situation didn't occur, at least, not like that. Making such a woman unhappy... This was something inconceivable for him! And if she was unhappy he was unhappy as well, infinitely. [3]
They walked a short path like that without speaking.
The coach had no coat of arms of course, since she appeared incognito. And then, still pretending not to have recognized her, he helped her to get on, like a perfect gentleman.
They looked at each other's eyes for a moment. Then through the window she gave him back the handkerchief wet with tears, saying: �Thank you, Victor.�
The coach moved, leaving him nailed on the place, unable to move, struck by those words. She had called him by name, for the first time.
Now he knew that he had the friendship of a goddess.
~ THE END ~
Notes:
[1]The first and brightest star of evening in reality it isn't a star, it's the planet Venus!
[2] The roses are sacred to Aphrodite.
[3] Inspired by the scene in the manga in which Girodelle withdraws from his marriage proposal.
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