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It begins as a little used space just behind the landing of the Ambassador's Staircase. The tiled floors carry the sound of her heels as she surveys the length of the hall with a critical eye. It is small, but it will serve. Serve her, in her need and desire to serve him. A smile passing over his features, perhaps even laughter from his lips. And in a space still intimate enough that from her place on the stage? Reinette might see, and hear them both.
Fourteen chairs. It is all it might contain. Fourteen guests, Louis himself included, to witness the performance. She can envision them now, desperately plying words and gifts for an invitation. Trading on their reputation and status in favor of such intimacies. Her own rooms are nearby, just up the spiraling staircase. There she would seat them and serve them and entertain them further. Perhaps Louis himself would serve the coffee. And no servants, she decides. They will both serve, and speak as themselves. And she will be entertained herself in return.
She will know, Reinette thinks, how these people stand on their own. She will know more than their names and their titles and their histories. She will know their weaknesses and what they value. If she is done knowing them after, so be it. But she will know.
It seems more than one play will be performed.
More chairs are eventually added of course. For even as the audience remains select and completely at her discretion, there are still a great many people at court to see. And Reinette wishes for them to see her as well. The girl they had not wanted at court, that had been elevated to their ranks, not born to it. And even more? The woman in love with their King.
Rows of seats then, to see. Boxes of them, and balconies as well. They all look on from the beautifully appointed room as the second season of the theater des petits cabinets begins.
It is a triumph of design.
****************************************
In January she dances the lead role in Almasis. The music carries to her from the small orchestra, body itself lifting into graceful extension. Just as fluid in its own fashion, Reinette can feel her lover's eyes travel over her and lost within the steps of the dance there is little she can do to prevent the blush that travels over her skin, much of which is exposed.
The revealing bodice of her gown, tightly bound, is rose taffeta, delicately embroidered with silver threads that sparkle in the candlelight. The skirt is more of the same, earthly satin and spun starlight, opening to reveal a white underskirt with more rose and silver repeating. A cloak of white taffeta is a rich waterfall from her shoulders, the patters on the flowers there taken from the gardens she loves so. It lifts and falls with every step, and the fabric whispers its own, more intimate stories.
It is a triumph of detail.
****************************************
At February's close, Destouches' Ragonde is chosen. She is emboldened by her own success, and made even more daring with it. Claiming the role of Colin for herself she is the other side of love. A price himself, in all his courtly passions and in breeches and waistcoat as well. Her legs are encased in satin, and move freely across the stage. They are, of course, freely seen as well. But as always, she truly cares for only one man's gaze.
It is all rather scandalous. Their murmurs are louder than their applause. But even as it dies away he is there, with her, on the stage itself. Her king, pulling her close and the noise swells once more within the room. It is all rather freeing, Reinette thinks briefly, as Louis pulls her tightly to him. Without hoops and skirts and the space they afford, she can feel him. Not skin upon skin of course, but heat to heat. It merges into something shared and seems that much more intimate.
And they are still watching.
"You are," he smiles down at her. "The single most delicious woman in France."
The room is smaller, then. It is so longer halls and stairways, boxes and balconies. She is a woman ever aware of her audience, even when there is no stage to act upon, and yet somehow it all melts away. In some place, not here, they remain desperate for her notice and favor, for in the past months Reinette's place has been truly assured. It is her destiny, finally fufilled.
But is his body she feels. His smile she sees. Closer, and then closer still as he kisses both her, and the room, into worshiping silence.
It is a triumph of the heart.
Fourteen chairs. It is all it might contain. Fourteen guests, Louis himself included, to witness the performance. She can envision them now, desperately plying words and gifts for an invitation. Trading on their reputation and status in favor of such intimacies. Her own rooms are nearby, just up the spiraling staircase. There she would seat them and serve them and entertain them further. Perhaps Louis himself would serve the coffee. And no servants, she decides. They will both serve, and speak as themselves. And she will be entertained herself in return.
She will know, Reinette thinks, how these people stand on their own. She will know more than their names and their titles and their histories. She will know their weaknesses and what they value. If she is done knowing them after, so be it. But she will know.
It seems more than one play will be performed.
More chairs are eventually added of course. For even as the audience remains select and completely at her discretion, there are still a great many people at court to see. And Reinette wishes for them to see her as well. The girl they had not wanted at court, that had been elevated to their ranks, not born to it. And even more? The woman in love with their King.
Rows of seats then, to see. Boxes of them, and balconies as well. They all look on from the beautifully appointed room as the second season of the theater des petits cabinets begins.
It is a triumph of design.
****************************************
In January she dances the lead role in Almasis. The music carries to her from the small orchestra, body itself lifting into graceful extension. Just as fluid in its own fashion, Reinette can feel her lover's eyes travel over her and lost within the steps of the dance there is little she can do to prevent the blush that travels over her skin, much of which is exposed.
The revealing bodice of her gown, tightly bound, is rose taffeta, delicately embroidered with silver threads that sparkle in the candlelight. The skirt is more of the same, earthly satin and spun starlight, opening to reveal a white underskirt with more rose and silver repeating. A cloak of white taffeta is a rich waterfall from her shoulders, the patters on the flowers there taken from the gardens she loves so. It lifts and falls with every step, and the fabric whispers its own, more intimate stories.
It is a triumph of detail.
****************************************
At February's close, Destouches' Ragonde is chosen. She is emboldened by her own success, and made even more daring with it. Claiming the role of Colin for herself she is the other side of love. A price himself, in all his courtly passions and in breeches and waistcoat as well. Her legs are encased in satin, and move freely across the stage. They are, of course, freely seen as well. But as always, she truly cares for only one man's gaze.
It is all rather scandalous. Their murmurs are louder than their applause. But even as it dies away he is there, with her, on the stage itself. Her king, pulling her close and the noise swells once more within the room. It is all rather freeing, Reinette thinks briefly, as Louis pulls her tightly to him. Without hoops and skirts and the space they afford, she can feel him. Not skin upon skin of course, but heat to heat. It merges into something shared and seems that much more intimate.
And they are still watching.
"You are," he smiles down at her. "The single most delicious woman in France."
The room is smaller, then. It is so longer halls and stairways, boxes and balconies. She is a woman ever aware of her audience, even when there is no stage to act upon, and yet somehow it all melts away. In some place, not here, they remain desperate for her notice and favor, for in the past months Reinette's place has been truly assured. It is her destiny, finally fufilled.
But is his body she feels. His smile she sees. Closer, and then closer still as he kisses both her, and the room, into worshiping silence.
It is a triumph of the heart.
