CHAPTER III
POMPADOUR'S CHOICE
M. Durand's retreat had fortunately occurred just in time; men'svoices and women's laughter sounded more and more distinct, as ifapproaching toward the _salle d'armes_.
In a moment, with the swiftness born of long usage, the demeanour ofthe three gentlemen underwent a quick and sudden change. They seemedto pull their gorgeous figures together; with practised fingers eachreadjusted the lace of his cravat, reestablished the correct set ofhis waistcoat, and flickered the last grain of dust or snuff from thesatin-like surface of his coat.
Ten seconds later the great doors at the east end of the hall werethrown open, and through the embrasure and beyond the interveningmarble corridor could be seen the brilliantly lighted supper-room,with its glittering company broken up into groups.
Silent, swift and deferential, MM. Joseph, Benedict, and Achilleglided on flat-heeled shoes along the slippery floors, making aslittle noise as possible, effacing their gorgeous persons in windowrecesses or carved ornaments whenever a knot of gentlemen or ladieshappened to pass by.
Quite a different trio now, MM. Joseph, Benedict, and Achille--justthree automatons intent on their duties.
From the supper-room there came an incessant buzz of talk andlaughter. M. Joseph sought his master's eye, but M. le Duc was busywith the King of England and wanted no service; M. Achille found hisEnglish milor, "le petit Anglais," engaged in conversation with hisportly and somewhat overdressed mamma; whilst M. Benedict's master wasnowhere to be found.
The older ladies were beginning to look wearied and hot, smotheringyawns behind their painted fans. Paniers assumed a tired and crumpledappearance, and feathered aigrettes nodded dismally above the highcoiffures.
Not a few of the guests had taken the opportunity of bringing cards ordice from a silken pocket, whilst others in smaller groups, youngerand not yet wearied of desultory talk, strolled toward the _salled'armes_ or the smaller boudoirs which opened out of the corridor.
One or two gentlemen had succumbed to M. le Duc's lavish hospitality;the many toasts had proved too exacting, the copious draughtsaltogether too heady, and they had, somewhat involuntarily, exchangedtheir chairs for the more reliable solidity of the floor, where theirfaithful attendants, stationed under the table for the purpose, deftlyuntied a cravat which might be too tight or administered such coolingantidotes as might be desirable.
The hot air vibrated with the constant babel of voices, the frou-frouof silk paniers, and brocaded skirts, mingled with the clink of swordsand the rattle of dice in satinwood boxes.
The atmosphere, surcharged with perfumes, had become overpoweringlyclose.
His Majesty, flushed with wine, and with drowsy lids drooping over hisdulled eyes, had pushed his chair away from the table and waslounging lazily toward Mme. de Pompadour, his idle fingers toying withthe jewelled girdle of her fan. She amused him; she had quaint sayingswhich were sometimes witty, always daring, but which succeeded indissipating momentarily that mortal ennui of which he suffered.
Even now her whispered conversation, interspersed with profusegiggles, brought an occasional smile to the lips of the sleepymonarch. She chatted and laughed, flirting her fan, humouring theeffeminate creature beside her by yielding her hand and wrist to hisflabby kisses. But her eyes did not rest on him for many seconds at atime; she talked to Louis, but her mind had gone a-wandering about theroom trying to read thoughts, to search motives or divine hiddenhatreds and envy as they concerned herself.
This glitter was still new to her; the power which she wielded seemedas yet a brittle toy which a hasty movement might suddenly break. Itwas but a very little while ago that she had been an insignificantunit in a third-rate social circle of Paris--always beautiful, butlost in the midst of a drabby crowd, her charms, like those of aprecious stone, unperceived for want of proper setting. Her ambitionwas smothered in her heart, which at times it almost threatened toconsume. But it was always there, ever since she had learnt tounderstand the power which beauty gives.
An approving smile from the King of France, and the world wore adifferent aspect for Jeanne Poisson. Her whims and caprices became thereins with which she drove France and the King. Why place a limit toher own desires, since the mightiest monarch in Europe was ready togratify them?
Money became her god.
Spend! spend! spend! Why not? The nation, the bourgeoisie--of whichshe had once been that little insignificant unit--was now thewell-spring whence she drew the means of satisfying herever-increasing lust for splendour.
Jewels, dresses, palaces, gardens--all and everything that was rich,beautiful, costly, she longed for it all!
Pictures and statuary; music, and of the best; constant noise aroundher, gaiety, festivities, laughter; the wit of France and the scienceof the world all had been her helpmeets these past two years in thiswild chase after pleasure, this constant desire to kill her Royalpatron's incurable ennui.
Two years, and already the nation grumbled! A check was to be put onher extravagance--hers and that of King Louis! The parliamentsdemanded that some control be exercised over Royal munificence. Fewerjewels for Madame! And that palace at Fontainebleau not yet completed,the Parc aux Cerfs so magnificently planned and not even begun! Wouldthe new Comptroller put a check on that?
At first she marvelled that Louis should consent. It was a humiliationfor him as well as for her. The weakness in him which had served herown ends seemed monstrous when it yielded to pressure from others.
He had assured her that she should not suffer; jewels, palaces,gardens, she should have all as heretofore. Let Parliament insist andgrumble, but the Comptroller would be appointed by D'Aumont, andD'Aumont was her slave.
D'Aumont, yes! but not his daughter--that arrogant girl with thesevere eyes, unwomanly and dictatorial, who ruled her father just asshe herself, Pompadour, ruled the King.
An enemy, that Lydie d'Aumont! Mme. la Marquise, whilst framing awitticism at which the King smiled, frowned because in a distantalcove she spied the haughty figure of Lydie.
And there were others! The friends of the Queen and her clique, ofcourse; they were not here to-night; at least not in great numbers;still, even the present brilliant company, though smiling andobsequious in the presence of the King, was not by any means a closephalanx of friends.
M. d'Argenson, for instance--he was an avowed enemy; and Marshal deNoailles, too--oh! and there were others.
One of them, fortunately, was going away; Charles Edward Stuart,aspiring King of England; he had been no friend of Pompadour. Evennow, as he stood close by, lending an obviously inattentive ear to M.le Duc d'Aumont, she could see that he still looked gloomy and out ofhumour, and that whenever his eyes rested upon her and the King hefrowned with wrathful impatience.
"You are distraite, ma mie!" said Louis, with a yawn.
"I was thinking, sire," she replied, smiling into his drowsy eyes.
"For God's sake, I entreat, do not think!" exclaimed the King, withmock alarm. "Thought produces wrinkles, and your perfect mouth wasonly fashioned for smiles."
"May I frame a suggestion?" she queried archly.
"No, only a command."
"This Comptroller of Finance, your future master, Louis, and mine----"
"Your slave," he interrupted lazily, "and he values his life."
"Why not milor Eglinton?"
"Le petit Anglais?" and Louis's fat body was shaken with suddenimmoderate laughter. "Par Dieu, ma mie! Of all your witty sallies thisone hath pleased us most."
"Why?" she asked seriously.
"Le petit Anglais!" again laughed the King. "I'd as soon give theappointment to your lapdog, Marquise. Fido would have as much capacityfor the post as the ornamental cypher that hangs on his mother'sskirts."
"Milor Eglinton is very rich," she mused.
"Inordinately so, curse him! I could do with half his revenue and be asatisfied man."
"Being a cypher he would not trouble us much; being very rich he wouldneed no bribe for d
oing as we wish."
"His lady mother would trouble us, ma mie."
"Bah! we would find him a wife."
"Nay! I entreat you do not worry your dainty head with these matters,"said the King, somewhat irritably. "The appointment rests withD'Aumont; an you desire the post for your protege, turn your brighteyes on the Duke."
Pompadour would have wished to pursue the subject, to get something ofa promise from Louis, to turn his inveterate weakness then and thereto her own account, but Louis the Well-beloved yawned, a calamitywhich the fair lady dared not risk again. Witty and brilliant, forevergay and unfatigued, she knew that her power over the monarch wouldonly last whilst she could amuse him.
Therefore now with swift transition she turned the conversation tomore piquant channels. An anecdote at the expense of the old Duchessede Pontchartrain brought life once more into the eyes of the King. Shewas once more untiring in her efforts, her cheeks glowed even throughthe powder and the rouge, her lips smiled without intermission, buther thoughts drifted back to the root idea, the burden of that controlto be imposed on her caprices.
She would not have minded Milor Eglinton, the courteous, amiablegentleman, who had no will save that expressed by any woman whohappened to catch his ear. She felt that she could, with but verylittle trouble, twist him round her little finger. His dictatorialmamma would either have to be got out of the way, or won over to Mme.la Marquise's own views of life, whilst Milor could remain a bachelor,lest another feminine influence prove antagonistic.
Pompadour's bright eyes, whilst she chatted to the King, sought amidstthe glittering throng the slim figure of "le petit Anglais."
Yes, he would suit her purpose admirably! She could see his handsomeprofile clearly outlined against the delicate tones of the wall;handsome, yes! clear-cut and firm, with straight nose and the low,square brow of the Anglo-Saxon race, but obviously weak and yielding;a perfect tool in the hands of a clever woman.
Elegant too, always immaculately, nay daintily dressed, he wore withthat somewhat stiff grace peculiar to the English gentleman the showyand effeminate costume of the time. But there was weakness expressedin his very attitude as he stood now talking to Charles Edward Stuart:the kindly, pleasant expression of his good-looking face in strangecontrast to the glowering moodiness of his princely friend.
One Lord Eglinton had followed the deposed James II into exile. Hisson had risked life and fortune for the restoration of the oldPretender, and having managed by sheer good luck to save both, he feltthat he had done more than enough for a cause which he knew was doomedto disaster. But he hated the thought of a German monarch in England,and in his turn preferred exile to serving a foreigner for whom he hadscant sympathy.
Immensely wealthy, a brilliant conversationalist, a perfect gentleman,he soon won the heart of one of the daughters of France. Mlle. deMaille brought him, in addition to her own elaborate trousseau and adowry of three thousand francs yearly pin-money, the historic andgorgeous chateau of Beaufort which Lord Eglinton's fortune rescuedfrom the hands of the bailiffs.
Vaguely he thought that some day he would return to his own ancestralhome in Sussex, when England would have become English once again; inthe meanwhile he was content to drift on the placid waters of life,his luxurious craft guided by the domineering hand of his wife.Independent owing to his nationality and his wealth, a friend alike ofthe King of France and the Stuart Pretender, he neither took up armsin any cause, nor sides in any political intrigue.
Lady Eglinton brought up her son in affluence and luxury, but detachedfrom all partisanship. Her strong personality imposed something of herown national characteristics on the boy, but she could not break thefriendship that existed between the royal Stuarts and her husband'sfamily. Although Charles Edward was her son's playmate in the gardensand castle of Beaufort, she nevertheless succeeded in instilling intothe latter a slight measure of disdain for the hazardous attempts atsnatching the English crown which invariably resulted in the betrayalof friends, the wholesale slaughter of adherents, and the ignominiousflight of the Pretender.
No doubt it was this dual nationality in the present Lord Eglinton,this detachment from political conflicts, that was the real cause ofthat inherent weakness of character which Mme. de Pompadour now wishedto use for her own ends. She was glad, therefore, to note that whilstCharles Edward talked earnestly to him, the eyes of "le petit Anglais"roamed restlessly about the room, as if seeking for support in anargument, or help from a personality stronger than his own.
Lady Eglinton's voice, harsh and domineering, often rose above thegeneral hum of talk. Just now she had succeeded in engaging the PrimeMinister in serious conversation.
The King in the meanwhile had quietly dropped asleep, lulled by theeven ripple of talk of the beautiful Marquise and the heavily scentedatmosphere of the room. Pompadour rose from her chair as noiselesslyas her stiff brocaded skirt would allow; she crossed the room andjoined Lady Eglinton and M. le Duc d'Aumont.
She was going to take King Louis's advice and add the weightyinfluence of her own bright eyes to that of my lady's voluble talk infavour of the appointment of Lord Eglinton to the newly createdMinistry of Finance.