The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 58

Chapter 58: The Sarabande Dance

The noblewomen's gazes immediately turned toward Madame Sanberant, waiting for her to announce the theme of the ball. As soon as she spoke, a wave of laughter filled the room.

"I think it's an excellent idea," Count Debonnénac was the first to approve.

Queen Marie smiled and nodded. "It sounds delightful. Let us proceed with it this year."

The noblewomen echoed their agreement one after another.

"This year's masquerade ball will surely be spectacular!"

"Madame Sanberant is truly full of wisdom."

"I'm planning to dance the whole night away!"

From that day on, a new face suddenly appeared within the Crown Prince’s quarters.

Enchanting and alluring, she drew the gaze of every man she passed. This was none other than Madame Sanberant.

Versailles had a long-standing tradition of the great nobles serving the royal family in person. For instance, every morning, the Queen was often assisted in dressing by duchesses or princesses of high rank.

Although Madame Sanberant’s status wasn’t exceptionally prestigious, it was sufficient for handling minor tasks in the Crown Prince’s quarters. Especially after she gifted small trinkets to the prince’s maids, she became a ubiquitous presence, except in duties with specifically assigned personnel.

Madame Sanberant was adept at subtly drawing attention. She would frequently appear in the Crown Prince's peripheral vision with a vase or tablecloth in hand, prompting other maids to call her name, but she never allowed the prince to notice her directly.

Joseph, unaware of the new maid, initially overlooked her presence in the flurry of palace life. However, after several days, her face began to seem familiar.

A week passed swiftly, and soon it was Saint Nicholas’ Day.

Joseph, reluctantly urged by the maids, emerged from his study with great reluctance.

Count Debonnénac, who also served as a maid to the Queen, approached with a black gown in hand, calling for the maids to assist.

Joseph’s face darkened, nearly as dark as the gown. Were it not for Count Debonnénac, who held an authority akin to a grand steward of the harem, personally supervising, Joseph might have fled Versailles.

The maids quickly stripped him of his coat and breeches. With great care, Count Debonnénac slipped the black gown over Joseph’s head, guided his arms through the sleeves, and tightened the corset at the back of the dress with considerable effort.

Joseph gasped in pain and cried, “Ease up! Ease up! I’m suffocating!”

“The ball is about to begin. Your Highness, please cooperate,” Count Debonnénac said as he draped a sheer silk shawl over Joseph’s shoulders, placed a towering wig adorned with feathers on his head, and stepped back to examine him with a nod of approval. “Perfectly suited.”

Joseph glanced down at the gown and thought bitterly about throttling whoever had come up with this idea. A man in his prime in a previous life, he was now forced into drag in the 18th century.

Indeed, the theme of this masquerade ball was "Gender Reversal," where men donned women's attire and women dressed as gentlemen.

Joseph looked at himself in the mirror and shook his head in disbelief. "The French certainly know how to have their fun."

In truth, compared to some private noble gatherings of the era, tonight's masquerade was considered rather tame.

Fortunately, Count Debonnénac had spared him high heels, which weren’t exclusively for women at the time.

When Joseph donned his mask and shuffled into the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles like a soulless puppet, a lively rhythm immediately filled the air.

The light from 24 massive Bohemian crystal chandeliers dazzled the assembled hundreds of nobles, all in their reversed roles, who collectively turned to look at Joseph.

The King and Queen had already arrived. Queen Marie, dressed in a bright red swordmaster's uniform with a false mustache adorning her upper lip, glanced at Joseph and teased, "Young lady, you are late!"

Louis XVI, dressed in a deep blue gown, held a matching silk fan to his face and smiled approvingly at his son.

The Chancellor, dressed as a shepherdess, stepped to the center of the Hall of Mirrors and delivered a festive greeting before announcing the start of the ball.

Masked men and women immediately began to dance to the music. In an instant, seven or eight young noblewomen dressed in various gentlemen’s attire surrounded Joseph, curtsied, and extended their hands.

“Dear lady, may I have this dance?”

“Miss, will you honor a police officer with a dance?” said one, clad in the latest Parisian police uniform.

“Madam, I was the first to ask for this dance.”

“Fair lady, please dance with me…”

Though Joseph wore a mask, he was immediately recognized by the noblewomen.

According to court etiquette, invitations to dance at a ball could only be initiated by those of higher status to those of lower status, and traditionally, men invited women. With the reversal theme, these noblewomen seized the opportunity, flocking boldly to the Crown Prince.

Eventually, a robust "coachman" elbowed the others aside and took Joseph’s hand, dragging him into the center of the dance floor. She cleared her throat forcefully. "Ahem!"

Evidently, she had prearranged this moment, as the surrounding nobles immediately paused to form a circle around her and Joseph.

The “coachman” asked gently, “Miss, what dance shall we perform?”

Mortified, Joseph wished he could vanish into thin air. Resignedly, he murmured, “The Sarabande.”

“As you wish.” The “coachman” signaled the musicians, and a piece by Bach began to play.

Joseph was dragged into the dance. Having practiced court dances for barely a month, his movements were painfully awkward.

The musicians strained to adjust their tempo to match the Crown Prince’s erratic steps. If they knew the term “Brownian motion,” they would undoubtedly have used it to describe Joseph’s movements.

Before long, Joseph stepped on the “coachman” three times and accidentally elbowed her.

Seizing the moment while the “coachman” rubbed her shoulder, the girl in the police uniform swept in. “Lovely lady, what shall we dance?”

“The Sarabande,” Joseph muttered helplessly.

He had only learned one dance.

As the music restarted, Joseph began another clumsy performance. Soon, the “police officer” gave up, yielding to a “cavalryman.”

“What shall we dance, miss?”

“Sarabande.”

Thus, Joseph danced the Sarabande for nearly an hour. Though his poor dancing tortured his partners, the noblewomen remained undeterred, rushing forward with relentless determination.

In a corner of the hall, Madame Sanberant, dressed as a scholar, clenched a copy of Descartes' Geometry in frustration, glaring at the swarm of young women surrounding the Crown Prince.

The ball had been her idea, intended as an opportunity to charm the Crown Prince. Yet now, she couldn’t even approach him—the other noblewomen were too formidable.

She flung the geometry book aside and smirked disdainfully. “Pathetic. Do they think they can compete with me?”

She called for pen and paper, wrote a quick note, and handed it to Viscount Léon, signaling toward Joseph.

Finally, after Joseph changed his tenth dance partner, Perna, clad in a fitted white coat, stepped forward. Seeing his exhausted and humiliated expression, she couldn’t bear it any longer. She gently pushed aside the “woodcutter” about to invite him.

“His Highness has not yet recovered from pneumonia. Prolonged exertion is inadvisable.”

“She’s absolutely right!” Joseph felt as though he had heard the voice of an angel. At that moment, Perna seemed like a divine savior, radiating pure light.

Grateful, Joseph nodded at her and escaped the crowd as if fleeing for his life.

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