Excerpts from
Mathilda, Might and Mask
By Maria Helleberg
The Crown Prince looked exactly like a
marmoset, quite small and even thinner, and his silk suit fit closely upon his
long thin arms. Seen at a distance ha resembled the portrait. But the face
poured itself out over the figure and lost control. In particular the
protuberant eyes. They were like globes of glass, not especially handsome, and
he stared fixedly at her, slightly troubled. She knew the cause of his wonder.
Sister Louise would have made a prettier bride. Not quite so round, not quite
so childlike. But they had rejected Louise, who was ailing, and instead they
got her. A poor exchange. Sweet Louise with her thin yet round arms. She looked
like some elegant oriental bird, even when she dances the gavotte, quite lost
in the music, her eyes closed. Now they had to make do with her, Mathilde.
When he joined her in her carriage at Roskilde, he had brazenly begun to paw
her through her clothes, and at once her body had grown limp and unwilling.
Mother had prepared her for this inevitability. He would certainly, sooner or
later, begin to caress her. But these were not caresses, he was fumbling with a
gift which he did not know how to untie. Already then she had sensed that this
was going to be anything but easy.
She let her eyes lose their focus, looked no longer at the face, letting only
the figure come to the fore. That helped. From a distance the two of them must
appear enchanting, almost perfect. The plump woman, her skirt waving about her
like a full sail; the young man elegant and frail. Two delicate figures, not of
flesh and blood, but of silk, embroidery and jewels. Like the figures on a
cake, or atop an eleborate coiffure.
They danced in the new banqueting hall at the castle while all the others kept
back, forming around them a ring of admiration, murmured comments and hard
evaluating glances which sung her burning cheeks like sharp gravel flung up by
a wagon wheel.
She let her eyes lose their focus, smiled as she had been taught to do, and
danced. The music was of a fragile timbre that gently stroked the bare,
powdered skin of her lifted bosom and whirred around her feet squeezed into
tight, narrow shoes with pointed heels. They danced for the others, two
mechanical birds turning elaborately around each other. Only the soft sound of
whispering silken feet upon the cold, shiny floor still suggested realty. He
counted the turns aloud, was somewhat short of breath and his cheeks were
slightly flushed beneath the thin layer of powder. Yes, of course she had been
forewarned. She felt in her breast a surge of ungrateful superiority, and her
heart quickened so that she had to bring her fan level with her mouth as she
turned on her pointed heels.
The pair scarcely touched each other, only the tips of their fingers when they
met were permitted a slight immodesty. Less than a caress, just slightly more
than indifferende, an all of it prescribed, anticipated. It made life easier.
One always knew what one ought to do or say. Decorum was a useful thing. She
was even more accomplished than Louise, more diligent, had a better memory.
Never overstepped the boundaries.
And here she was dancing with her husband, whom moreover she addressed as “mon
cousin”. They were blood relatives and had in fact been married for several
months, only not to each other but rather to a shadow, an idea. It was really
all quite foolish, she reflected.
Had it not been for the plumpness, which grew and quivered in her body, she
would have been an excellent match. That was undeniable. All the languages she
had stored in her head, all the knowledge, all the information she had received
and accumulated. A good queen. The bright one of the family. Brother George was
past the age of eleven by the time he learned to read and write. Their mother
had been on the verge of despair. An illiterate king.
- Excuse me, Madam: are you a wet nurse?
Christian had never before spoken to her; but as he escorted her back to her
seat at the table, this remark dropped between them like an item of clothing
that had come undone and slipped to the floor.
He could be eccentric, they had said, but that was in the way of things only to
be expected. She would rather not comment upon her own brother, George. One
made allowances for that sort of thing. And his English had been charming.
- No my lord, she answered in a neutral voice, using a placatory tone which
ought to suggest that the subject was unsuitable, yet at the same time that the
infraction had already been forgiven so that the conversation might continue.
- But you have such large breasts that I
thought …
Translated by Birgit Stephenson
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