Free Merivel A Man of His Time by Rose Tremain

generously loaned to me a wooden plate and spoon, and we sit side by side on Hollers’s bed, spooning Peas and Oatmeal into our ravening mouths.
    And I reflect that, in the middle of the richest Court in the world (and despite a Letter from the King of England in my possession) I am living like a Pauper, which paradox both weighs me down and makes me laugh. And I try to hold to this laughter, as a weapon against melancholy. For I do not see any imminent chance of my fortunes being turned round and the thought of returning to Norfolk with a terrible burden of Failure upon me feels somewhat difficult to contemplate.
    I have been advised by Hollers as to the Only Means of presenting my Letter to King Louis. It seems there are but three:
    I am to seek out, if I can, one Monsieur Bontemps, who is the King’s chief
Valet de Chambre
. ‘If,’ says Hollers, ‘you have the Ear of Bontemps, then you will get the Ear of the King.’ But though I have been told what Bontemps looks like and that he stands out in the crush of people surrounding the Monarch because that his wig is small and fluffy, I have never yet managed to set my eyes definitively upon him.
At eight in the morning, when the King leaves his
Appartements
to attend Mass in the Chapel, I am to contrive to position myself in the corner of the
Salle des Gardes
nearest to the
Appartements
doors. For here, King Louis is in the habit of pausing and, from among the press of Courtiers, receiving one or two Petitions.
     ‘I have heard,’ says Hollers, ‘that he is gracious. And whatsoever thing he promises, this will he do, or cause to be done.’
     I told Hollers I would attempt this and he ground his molars in approval. However, on the first morning that I was due to do so I overslept. And on subsequent mornings, after endeavouring to brush my wig and shake the creases from my Best Coat and shine with spit the Buckles of my shoes and hasten to the
Salle des Gardes
, all before the striking of the Eight o’clock bell, what did I find already there but a vast crush of People, all pressed like animals in a cage into the corner and pushing vilely at each other the moment the doors opened and the King stepped forth. He then walked on, without glancing in my direction.
     I was, however, able to observe him at last. He is not as tall nor as handsome as my Master, King Charles. Yet his bearing has great dignity and he holds himself straight and composed, as though about to begin upon a formal Gavotte. His nose is very long.
Near to Dinner Time, which is to say at about eleven-thirty in the morning, King Louis very often (but not invariably) likes to walk up and down in the
Galerie des Glaces
, one of the most sumptuous rooms at Versailles, having within it seventeen windows and more than one hundred Mirrors. Here, it seems, he may sometimes be approached. So, in due time, I will try this. Yet it seems that, for the moment, I lack the courage. For if I were to be rebuffed here, this rejection would be a most public and horrible thing, and I would have no alternative but to pack my Valises and take the road back to Dieppe.
    Many days have now passed. I myself have made no Progress in my attempts to catch the attention of King Louis, but I am happy to relate that today Madame de Maintenon sent for Mr Hollers.
    Hollers dressed himself in his best Cambric coat and, in his hands, held tenderly like a child, wrapped in a cloth of baize, was the small but very beautiful clock he had brought out from Holland as a Sampling of his work.
    I asked him if I might examine this object before he left on his Great Errand. I am no connoisseur of clocks, but I could nevertheless judge that the Facework was extremely delicate and the Brass Pointers fabricated with great simplicity and beauty. Yet I could not prevent images of Hollers, snoring on his bed, gobbling Jam, delousing his wig, grinding his teeth and farting and shitting into our shared pisspot, from coming into my