My name is Coquette. I am a French louche with a cock-a-hoop twist. Sometimes people confuse me for Chinese. My nickname is jolly Vaseline. I have German blood as well.
I am the slave of whoever buys me. At the moment, I am the mistress of King Louis XVI , a real femme fatal, a mirage perhaps. I live in Versailles, ménage à trois.
Being a pièce de résistance, I am always placed at the head of the table, dressed in haute couture, surrounded by an entourage of connoisseurs. I am a chef d’oeuvre, an objet d’art par excellence. My colours are more beautiful than the rainbow or the feathers of a peacock, shaded of deep blue, white and red. Vive la France . I am most petrified at night when the party is over and the lights are off and there is nobody to compliment me. Tant pis . I am most fulfilled when a bouquet is placed within my hollow heart. A crystal is dropped, what a strange human phenomena. I have no headache.
Tant mieux. A soirée is taking place in Versailles with son et lumière. My Louis is there , so is Marie Antoinette. Suddenly, I am grabbed by two guards. —– ” Take your hands off me bête- noir ” , I thought to myself but to no avail. I am escorted to his Majesty, what a beau geste. I am covered by his robe, what a lovely feeling. We are now a deux, à huis clos . Slowly, I am lowered to the floor, I felt wet. Who says royal urine is perfumed ? .
What a lazy bump , he took his time . Entre-nous, he deserves the guillotine but he is still my paramour . I hear footsteps in the dark . The palace is mobbed. C’est la guerre ! The king is dragged away. Coup d’état. I whisper ” Bourgoisie stop, Bourbon oblige “. They hear me, I am smashed to pieces. Adieu. Whereas a broken vase can be reassembled …a broken heart is broken forever. Vive L’amour.