The Glassblower of Murano - Marina Fiorato [77]
The buildings, while tall and grand, had none of the delicate traceries of the Venetian palaces on the Canal Grande. But they were certainly imposing. One great white church reached high into the sky, with twin towers and spires of jagged teeth.
`Observe,' said Duparcmieur, `the magnificent gargoyles watching over us'
A comical word. What can the fellow mean?
As Corradino craned out of the carriage he saw, high up, malevolent demons crouched in the masonry, gazing down on him with ill intent. He drew back in, suddenly afraid, and as the carriage drew up at a particularly impressive edifice Corradino felt a wholly unwanted pang for the city he had left behind.
`We're here,' said Duparcmieur, as a powdered and liveried footman sprang to open the carriage door.
The King's presence chamber was gilded and grand, but, to Corradino's mind, not a patch on the Palazzo Ducale where he had been with his father for an audience with the Doge.
And the King himself - wholly unexpected.
Slumped in a beautifully carved chair elevated on a dais, the monarch's face was all but obscured by the curls of his wig as he leaned to the floor where a small dog played around his ringed hand. The dog slavered for a treat concealed in the King's chubby palm. Ever a student of detail, Corradino noted the richness of the rings on the plump fingers, and the white powder clogged in the creases between the royal digits.Although they had been announced, the King spoke as if to himself.
`A gift from the English King. Epagneul de Roi Charles. A "King Charles spaniel".' A strange fit seemed to come over him as he began to snuffle like a truffling pig.
Corradino waited for the Royal aides to step forward with a draught of medicine, or to burn a feather under the King's nose to bring him out of his malady, when he realized the King was laughing.
`The English King is a dog! The English King is a dog! And a little one too!' Louis enjoyed his own wit for some further moments, before returning to the game. `I shall call you Minou. A good French name. Yes I will. Yes I will.'
The spaniel circled the hand, impatient now, and was rewarded for her persistence as the King relinquished the comfit. The dog gobbled the bon-bon, and then squatted, shivering and straining, to shit on the rug.There was silence as the court regarded the perfect turd glistening on the priceless Persian weave. Corradino looked to the King, anticipating anger, but the fit had overtaken him again - the King threw back his head in mirth and Corradino at last saw his face. Contorted like the gargoyle he had seen earlier, eyes closed and streaming, with a slick of mucus from nose to mouth. Corradino felt nothing but contempt for this man who was said to be the greatest monarch in Christendom. He glanced to Duparcmieur, who bowed low and made as if to leave, clearly acknowledging that the planned audience would not take place today. Corradino followed suit and they had all but reached the door when a voice stayed them.
`Duparcmieur!'
Both men turned to meet the sight of a different man sitting on the throne. The face was composed, the wig arranged, the eyes flint.
`So you have brought me the Venetian to complete my vision, yes?'
Duparcmieur's smooth mask slipped for an instant in the face of such a startling transition, but soon the practised urbanity was back.
`Yes, Majesty Allow me to present Signor Corrado Manin of the fair city of Venice. I believe and trust that you will not be disappointed in his artistry.'
`Hmmrnm: The King tapped his teeth with a nail, both teeth and nail yellow against the powdered white cheeks. And then, abruptly, `Have you seen the Sainte Chapelle?'
Corradino realized he was being addressed. He bowed low. `No,