Chapter Text
The first time I saw her on a dusty road, a confused and frightened girl, surrounded by many children dressed in funny costumes made of large red and green rhombuses, who jumped, made stunning somersaults, and almost threw themselves at the feet of the horses. But she was not pleased with the surrounding fun. Absolutely terrified, she waited for the one to whom she was pledged in addition to the silver mine. She was waiting for me...
I went up to her. Never before had I felt my ugliness so keenly. In the radiance of her youth and beauty, she seemed to me the embodiment of the goddess of Spring, but only fear gazed at her, as she saw the devil himself, suddenly appearing from the Underworld. I tried to speak to her, but she only slightly nodded to me and sat down in a curtsy. Her hands were trembling. And at that very moment, I felt that in my heart there bloomed a feeling that I had never known before, which I would carry throughout my whole life - the feeling of love...
I helped her into the carriage. The touch of her gentle hand filled my soul with inexpressible happiness as if I were an unreasonable youth, and not a grown man, oversaturated and even cynical in relations with a woman. What happened to me? I have asked myself this question countless times and have not found the answer. I have never experienced anything like this before. Suddenly a huge bouquet of roses and several small bouquets of violets fell on her lap.
“Flowers, or, as we call them,“ the delight of life, ”rule in Toulouse,” I informed her.
Angelica turned her head, looked at me with her wonderful eyes, in which bewilderment was immediately replaced by hostility. She hastily leaned towards the flowers so as not to see my terrible face. I gritted my teeth and leaned back against the pillows. My heart sank with pain. I desperately wanted to touch her hand again, but I did not dare - there was a wall between us, built out of her disgust for me, out of hatred for the marriage imposed on her, out of fears generated by terrible stories about me as an evil sorcerer. Then I swore to myself that she would never regret becoming my wife, that my love and care would sooner or later awaken in her heart a reciprocal feeling for me.
***
In the palace garden, in the shade of the trees, there were long white tables. There were fountains of wine at the entrance, and any passer-by could drink from them freely. All noble lords and eminent townspeople were invited to our wedding.
All evening I could not take my eyes off my charming young wife, but never once could I catch the return glance of her. She devoted all her attention to the archbishop sitting next to her. I barely heard what they were talking about, I enjoyed the sound of her voice, admired her perfect profile, the glow of candles playing on her golden hair...
To get Angelique's attention, I lightly touched her hand. She immediately recoiled. A sudden rage gripped me, and I directed all of it at the archbishop. I taunt him sarcastically, my jokes, I knew, were shocking her, I knew I was driving him mad, but I couldn't stop. Damn it, this woman was mine by right, I longed for her love, but she was cold and unapproachable, like the marble statues that adorned my garden.
At the peak of my anger, she suddenly looked at me - in her eyes, I read the alarm. Well, of course, this innocent child has just come from the monastery, she probably considers it inconceivable to talk like that with a clergyman. All my rage has disappeared somewhere. I smiled at her.
"I beg your pardon, madam, that we started this dispute in your presence. His Eminence and I are sworn enemies!"
***
Angelique let her luxurious hair down and shook it with a rebellious movement, the movement of a little savage who grew up in the vastness of her native Poitou. Desire so keenly pierced me that I grabbed the jamb of the balcony door. She turned around, frightened. I went up to her and bowed.
"Will you allow me to sit next to you, madam?"
She nodded silently. I sat down, rested my elbow on the stone balustrade, and began to stare at Garonne, a silvery line under the light of the moon. I didn’t know what to talk with her about, all the topics that fit the occasion seemed banal and vulgar, unworthy of her purity and innocence. Finally, I said:
"Several centuries ago, under the same highest stars, ladies and troubadours walked the galleries of the fortress walls that surrounded the castles, and there they talked about love. Madame, have you heard of the Languedoc troubadours?"
She was so confused that it amused me. In a joking tone, I continued:
"This is how poets were once called, poets of love. Provencal! Sweet tongues! How different it is from the rude language of the northerners! In Aquitaine, they taught the art of love, because, as Ovid said long before the troubadours: "Love is an art that can be learned and in which one can improve upon knowing its laws." Have you, madam, already shown an interest in this art?"
Judging by the fact that she turned away from me and fixed her gaze into the distance, at the sleeping valley, I understood that she was embarrassed by such a turn in our conversation. I moved closer and felt the heady scent of her body, hair, youth. My head started spinning and although I continued saying something, my thoughts were only about one thing - to touch her, to draw her to me, to see the stars reflected in her green witch's eyes, and to feel the sweetness of her lips on my lips... I could no longer resist the temptation. With force, I pulled her to me, and with a fury that I never expected from myself, pressed my lips to her tightly pursued ones. She screamed and began to fight back. Reluctantly, I let go of her, my heart was pounding like crazy. In her eyes, fixed on me, I read the unshakable determination to throw herself from that balcony rather than belong to me. I got up and looked at her with a grin.
“I won't force you, poor little virgin. This is not my rule. So, then, you, innocence itself, were given to be torn apart by this lame brute from Languedoc? Monstrous!"
She looked at me with hatred. I continued.
"Believe me, I knew a lot of women in my life, white and black, yellow and red, but I did not take any of them by force or seduce with money. They came to me themselves, and you will also come one fine day or evening..."
"Never!" she cried out involuntarily.
“You are a young savage, but I like it. An easy victory devalues love; a difficult victory makes it dear. So said André Le Chaplain, Master of the Art of Love. Goodbye, my beauty, sleep well in your wide bed, stay alone with all your charms, which are so lacking in affection. Farewell!"
I left the room, but apart from the bitterness of unsatisfied desire, the hope blossomed in my heart: the hope to conquer this proud, rebellious, and incredibly beautiful woman, my wife...
***
I decided to leave her alone. What was the use of reminding her that I was her husband if she disliked me? I did not restrict her freedom or her desires in anything, I was helpful and kind, I expected her to start looking for my company, like other ladies, but this did not happen. She performed all the duties of the mistress of the castle flawlessly, I admired her when she gave orders to the servants or kindly communicated with our guests. Despite her youth, she possessed a lively and sharp mind, which, combined with her beauty, charmed and attracted everyone to whom she gave her attention.
I watched her from the sidelines, not taking any steps towards rapprochement, and not only because I was afraid to frighten her, but also because I was afraid to succumb to a rush of passion, being in the immediate vicinity of her tender lips and other exciting charms, about which I tried to not even think. I gave her gifts, but it seemed that she was indifferent to them, at least she never thanked me. And then one day, when I walked along the gallery past her room, she rushed to meet me with shining eyes.
"What a luxury! How can I thank you, sir?"
In her impulse, she ran up to me so swiftly that her cheek already touched my velvet jacket. Experiencing inexpressible happiness from her joy, from the proximity of her body, drunk from the smell of her hair, I drew her to me. She turned her gaze to my face and her smile immediately faded, and she, unable to contain a shiver, recoiled in horror. I immediately let her go, and with irritation behind which I tried to hide my excitement and annoyance, I said:
"Thank me? Whatever for? Do not forget, my dear, that you are the wife of the Comte de Peyrac, the only descendant of the illustrious Counts of Toulouse. Since you carry this title, you must be the most beautiful and most elegant. And do not feel obliged from now on to thank me."