Encased in Silk —
a Sonnet Sequence introduced by a Villanelle
En Liberté Conditionnelle
“La parole nous été donnée pour déguiser notre pensée.”
[“We were given speech to hide our thoughts.” ~ Talleyrand]
Napoleon reckoned Talleyrand was turds
In silk, but men all, all of them used him
For his dirty purposes. For his words
They wanted him because, like hummingbirds’
Wings his words whirred, blurred. They all amused him.
Napoleon reckoned Talleyrand was turds
In finest stockings, smoother than curds
And whey—and whiter. Men all excused him
For his dirty purposes, for his words.
If Turks had hired him, he’d have charmed the Kurds.
I’d wager Empress Josephine cruised him.
Napoleon reckoned Talleyrand was turds.
His foes and friends insult him and he girds
Himself with bon mots. Men never bruised him.
For his dirty purposes, for his words
They courted him. Royalty came in herds
For his advice. Only scheming enthused him.
Napoleon reckoned Talleyrand was turds
For his dirty purposes, for his words.
Young Talleyrand
………………
Now I ask you, who could judge, just looking
At ce gosse of sixteen, what kind of trick- [ce gosse=this kid]
ster he’d become? Front of Jove, no hooking
Nose, a lawn cravat (only its white flick
Of generous knot revealing any style)
Provide slight wispy whisperings about this
Boy. Seemingly he lacks the will to smile
And certainly that sad mouth could not kiss,
Though lower lip is full of promise, or
Foreboding. He doesn’t look like a wimp
(A head and shoulders portrait
Revealing nothing crippling as a limp.)
But still, I just don’t like the haughty space
Between his eyes and brows. It’s a mean face.
Victor
“and he limped like the devil himself”— Victor Hugo
This spitefulness arises in a man
When meeting someone larger than himself,
When he encounters someone greater than
His own capacities; makes him an elf—
Or Quasimodo—in comparison,
But jealous only, without high passion
Like the hunchback’s. There’s a whole garrison
Of Périgord carpers, since their ration
Of talents and skills are quite pitiful.
They seem as ugly as Tracey Emin,
Their egos a bit Walter Mittyful,
All because of his scoring with women.
But still, setting this and that groan apart,
We can say he wasn’t a Bonaparte.
Trinkets
The atheistic Charles de Talleyrand
Had all the little perquisites a man
Could hope for (with the exception of brawn
In leg). Whatever his luck didn’t span,
The women in his life took action to
Correct. The Countess de Brionne felt wrong
About his not having the traction to
Obtain a cardinal’s hat. Before long
She procured her pup, the Protestant king
Of Sweden on his trip to see the Pope,
To ask His Holiness to give this bling
To Charles. The Pope said Yes. The Queen said, “Nope.”
This aristocratic godless blighter
Had to settle for a bishop’s miter.
Talleyrand by François Gérard
……………~ commonswikimedia.org
He isn’t looking quite askance at us
From oils and frame. The gilt surrounding trim,
The mouldings, desk, rectangle-rimmed canvas)
Are as close as he’ll allow shame near him.
Proximity to guilt was not his style.
He wears or sits among mild orangey-pink,
Aristocratic blue, a ribbon vile
As blood from guillotines—and a wink
Of off-white lace around his cuffs—warm brown
On walls and even green. In brief, he
Refuses to be written or pinned down
To one Estate, except the free
Estate of medal-round-the-neck seeming
And velvet-smooth mendacious scheming.
Talleyrand & Gouveneur Morris Crippled Twinning
“Your character is such that you destroy
Unhappiness much faster than can fate
Create its sadnesses,” said Monstesquiou
To Adelaïde, who had the lovely trait
Of being charming Countess de Flahaut—
Which meant that she could do much more than string
Along two men at once, would make them grow
To like each other. She could do a song
As a duet but much preferred to make
Up trios or quartets . . . in her salon
At least. What’s not clear is if she could take
Concurrent crippled men to her chiffon
Budoir, her sex salon (besides of course
The Count). True scandal would have been divorce.
[The following sonnet may offend some readers. Do not read it if you think you may be offended.]
These two engaged in a competition
With long dead Baron Byron–the French lords
T and Duc de Biron . The ambition
Was for them to strike more holes with their swords
Than George did; these later playboys between
Them would heat more orifices to melt
Around their manly members than had been
Stretched wide when Byron had undone his belt.
The contest set between the unfrocked priest
And randy Gordon seemed to be quite fair
Since both were lame of leg and so at least
Were matched as a Special Olympics pair.
But Byron had an advantage. His pole
Would willingly poke a masculine hole.
[The following sonnet may offend some readers. Do not read it if you think you may be offended.]
Preincarnation:
Rear Regard Action*
Talleyrand said, “Love is a reality in the domain of the imagination.”
“Celui qui n’a pas vécu au dix-huitième si cu au
dix-huitième siécle avant la Révolution ne connaît
pas la doucer de vivre.” (“Those who haven’t lived
in the eighteenth century before the Revolution do
not know the sweetness of living”)
~ Talleyrand
I lived then. Silks as sweet as marzipan
Made satin afternoons. When twilight came,
The candles gave off sweetness, smoother than
Light bulbs now. Electricity’s the same
As saccharine, faux sweetness, neon bland.
I had a stallion, black, delicious to
The eye as liquorice from the footman’s hand,
The one that taught mon coq to sing like blue
Bird notes in swirls of sugar spun on top
Of pink meringues that tasted like the tongue
The Duke deployed greedily to mop
Up my juices as they ran from the bung
Hole of the Duchess. That was the sweetest sin,
Principally when he worked his finger in.*
[The following sonnet may offend some readers. Do not read it if you think you may be offended.]
Message to Minister Talleyrand
What must it be like, this having no friends?
I guess it would be pretty much all right
If ladies’ offerings, their bottom ends,
Those double holes, both front and back, are tight.
Who needs the blasted men, who, like you, can
Think only of cunt and rear female holes
(Well, yeah, their tits and mouths—if you’re a fan
Of blow jobs)? Men blether on about goals
And games. What can guys give? Warmth, straight thinking
And beery sentiment. You’re right. Not much.
You’d better get back to women’s slinking
Because . . . what do blokes have that you can touch?
Well, yes, their brains and hearts, but then, so what?
Une femme has those and you can get your nut.*
*Un femme has those and you can stoke her butt.
July 14, 1790
The rain slopped on le Champ de Mars so hard
It was as if the air had disappeared.
For this great morn the bishop gave up card-
And dicing-table addiction. Revered
By no one as a priest, lame Talleyrand
Approached the Mass in front of King and Queen.
Autun had put his noblest vestments on,
The outfit violet, almost obscene,
Nearly violent in its resplendence.
Two other clergy had to help him climb
The steps so he’d not fall. This dependence
Was hidden, though. And when at last the time
For his escape came round, he didn’t thank
God, but rushed to gambling and “broke the bank.”
French Cuisine
There’s nowt like sour grapes to put men’s teeth
On bitchy edge and that would do a lot
To clear up why Talleyrand was beneath
The others in the heap. He was warm snot–
Or worse—to those he bested, if it’s right
To use a word closely related to
“Best” in reference to that high-stench piece of shite.
Still, it couldn’t all be down to a crew
Of malcontents. Even his parents thought
The cripple wasn’t up to very much.
The ladies liked him, gave him what he sought;
They wilted to his sweet-wine words and touch.
“He would exchange his soul,” said Mirabeau,
“For piled up dung—and be right to do so.”
Feline Thoughts on Pedigree
The English, as usual not nonplussed
By foreign aristocracy, impressed
No, not at all by noble, upper crust,
Unbishoped Talleyrand, were not hard pressed
To sneer at Duc de Biron. After all,
Detesting frog and wog, Brits would snigger
At European titles. They would call
Everyone beyond Le Manche a “nigger.”
So never mind the fact that both these men
Were studs of some renown beyond Paris,
One of them having bedded Catherine
Of Russia (and allegedly Marie
La reine de France). As far as snooty poms
Could be concerned, these two were feral toms.