Two Presentations
Upon the 18th of November their Majesties, the dauphin, the royal
suites, and, in a word, the French Court, returned to Versailles and
took up its abode in palace or town for the winter. The little city
was alive with nobility and nobility's servants. Every fourth person
one met bore with him, as a mantle of dignity, some fifteen
generations of ancestry; and every third man with whom one came in
contact was one whose forebears, for fifteen misty and not wholly
glorious generations, had been accustomed to the honor of adjusting
nobility's wig and helping him on with his coat.
The great park of Versailles, with its leafless bosquets, its bare
avenues, its deadened terraces, its lifeless fountains, was forlorn
enough. But within the monster palace hard by everything hummed with
preparation for the gayest of winters. Here was a hero-King returned
from the scene of his heroisms, bored with doughty deeds, waiting to
be entertained with matters strained to less heroic pitch. There on
the second floor, behind the court of the grand staircase, with a
little private stair of its own, empty and desolate behind its locked
doors, lay the deserted suite of the favorite's rooms. And who shall
say how many a great lady, honorable to her finger-tips, with some
honor to spare, cast a mute, curious glance at that closed door, in
passing, and went her way with a new question in her heart? Who
shall tell the germs of intrigue, struggling jealousy, rivalry,
hatred, ambition, and care that were fostered in this abode of kings
during that third week in November, when the "season" was budding,
and would, on Sunday night, at the Queen's first salon, open into a
perfect flower?
During that week, ever since Richelieu's visit on Monday, one would
scarcely have thought that Deborah de Mailly had had time for
thinking. There was never an hour when she could be alone. Claude's
words were proven true. She had known nothing of what this life
would mean; and she possessed not one leisure moment which she could
have given to the care of their abiding-place. Slightly to her
husband's surprise, certainly much to her own amazement, she had
become a little sensation; and almost every member of the Court
followed the speedy example of Mme. de Mirepoix and called upon her
during that first week. The tale of the King's salute, of her
forthcoming presentation, and, more than all, a story whispered
behind Richelieu's hand of a possible favoritism, had wrought this
result.
Deborah bore herself very well at the innumerable afternoon visits.
Claude was always with her; but, after the first two days, she ceased
to watch his eye, and found herself able to pay some little attention
to the characteristics of the different people. She had small fancy
for the Maréchale de Coigny, and an equally accountable dislike for
de Bernis, who, for some reason of his own, paid her assiduous
attention.
Each morning Deborah went to Paris, to her milliner's, where the
presentation dress was being made. Claude almost always accompanied
her on these trips, and during the long drives there should have been
more than enough opportunity for them to discuss her first
impressions of the new life. Though Claude could not tell why, such
conversations never occurred. He felt, vaguely, that his wife was
holding aloof from him. She was perfectly courteous, sometimes
merry, in his company; but she was never confiding as she had been.
At home there was no longer any necessity for them to linger in an
antechamber before retiring, for the sake of being alone together.
After eleven at night they had their apartment to themselves. But,
oddly enough, they now never saw each other alone. Deborah was
occupied, was too tired, was not in the mood--any of a thousand
things. Claude wondered, and was disappointed, but never pressed the
point. Not once did it occur to him to connect her present
impenetrability with the singular crying-spell on Monday evening,
after her afternoon alone with Victorine de Coigny. He put her new
manner down rather to the growing influence of the Court customs.
And perhaps, to some extent, he was right.
Just now Claude's attention, like that of the rest of the Court, was
concentrated upon the approaching Sunday evening. He was ambitious
for Deborah. He wanted to make her success as great as possible.
The danger of success he knew, perhaps, but the other alternative was
worse; and, besides, not a hint of Richelieu's careful gossip had
reached his ears. As to the royal salute which had, at the time, so
annoyed him, he had now all but forgotten it in the renewal of his
old connections, his old associations with every foot of this ground
that was home to him. He had played a good deal during the week, to
such purpose that there was now small cause to fear the necessary
expenditures for the winter; and out of his first day's winnings at
Berkley's he could pay for Deborah's entire wardrobe. Claude took
more interest than his wife herself, perhaps, in the presentation
dress, which had been especially designed to emphasize her freshness,
her youth, and her slender figure. She was to wear very small hoops,
which articles of dress were now in their largest possible state,
preparatory to a long-needed collapse to the graceful puffs of the
Pompadour era. Her petticoat was of white India crépe, embroidered
in white. Her over-dress was of lace, made _en princesse_, with the
train falling from the shoulders and flowing behind her for more than
a yard, like a trail of foam in the wake of a ship.
The busy week ended almost too soon, and Sunday dawned--about an hour
before his Majesty rose. During the morning Versailles was deserted.
Not a lady had risen, and the gentlemen went shooting, after mass,
with his Majesty. Deborah, greatly to her displeasure, had been
commanded to stay in bed till three in the afternoon, at which hour
she might begin her toilet. Claude was with the hunting-party,
however, and his wife rose at ten o'clock and had her chocolate in
the dining-room, to the bland amazement of the first lackey. A
little later, however, Madame la Comtesse regretted her wilfulness,
for she had nothing to do. Despite Mme. de Conti's reassuring
instructions, she was extremely nervous as to the evening. She had
already practised the presentation at home, with Julie for her
Majesty, chairs for the ladies of honor, and the King rather
inadequately represented by her dressing-table. This morning,
however, Deborah was not in the mood for the tiresome manoeuvres, but
instead sat disconsolately at the window, rigorously keeping her
thoughts from home, and trying to fasten them, for want of a better
subject, on the lady who was also to be presented that evening by
Mme. de Conti. This, as history would have it, was a person of
somewhat humbler birth than Deborah herself, styled in the beginning
Jeanne Poisson, later wedded to solid Lenormand d'Etioles, and at
some day now neither dim nor distant to become that Marquise de
Pompadour whom an Empress of Austria should salute as an equal.
Deborah mused for some time on this unknown lady, ate her solitary
dinner without appetite, and lay on her salon sofa for two hours
more, thinking unhappily of Maryland, before Julie roused her to
begin the momentous toilet.
Evening drew on apace. Claude, returning at something past five from
his royal day, found the hair-dresser at his task, and so proceeded
to dress before he visited his wife. Supper was served to monsieur
and madame in their rooms. Claude ate heartily and gossiped with his
valet while his wig was being adjusted, his face powdered, and his
suit, the most costly that he had ever worn, together with his
diamonds, put on. When all was to his taste, he despatched Rochard
to inquire, with much ceremony, if madame would receive her lord.
Madame would. And so Claude, with a smile of anticipation, drew from
a little cabinet a large, flat, purple morocco box, and, with this in
his hand, crossed the passage and tapped gently at the door of
Deborah's boudoir.
Julie opened it. Within, facing him, her back to the toilet-table,
stood his wife. The room was not very light. Only four candles
burned in it, and the disorder of the little place was but dimly
exposed. Deborah was quite dressed. Her figure looked taller than
usual, from the smallness of her hoops; and, in her delicate, misty
robes, with the uncertain light she appeared like some shadowy
spirit. Claude stopped upon the threshold and looked at her in
silence. She did not speak. And Julie, who had rightly thought her
mistress the most beautiful woman in France, stood back in quick
chagrin that Monsieur le Comte did not go into ecstasies of delight
over madame.
"More light, Julie. She is very well so, but there will be a trying
glare in the Queen's salon," was his first remark.
Deborah herself felt disappointed, and turned aside as her maid
hastily lit the various waxen tapers in the brackets on the walls.
When the little place was as bright as it could be made, Claude went
to his wife, placed a hand upon her shoulder, and drew her gently
about till she once more faced him. Then he stood off a little,
critically examining her, and carefully refraining from any
expression of his pleasure. Finally, when he had decided that art
could do no more, he merely said, with a little smile, "You wear no
jewels, Debby."
She was silent with displeasure, knowing him to be well aware that
she possessed none. He passed behind her, however, picked up the box
that he had brought in with him, and put it into her hands.
"It is my presentation gift," he said, a little wistfully.
"Claude!" she whispered, without lifting the cover.
"Open it--open and put it on. It is growing late."
Quite breathless now, she opened the box, and gave a low exclamation.
Julie shrieked with rapture, and Claude, reading his wife's
expression, was satisfied with the reception of his gift.
"Oh, they are much--much more beautiful than Virginia's!" murmured
Deborah, as, half afraid to touch them, she lifted the jewels from
the box. They consisted of three rows of white pearls, clasped with
a larger one, the first string passing just comfortably about her
throat, the second somewhat longer, and the third touching the lace
edge of her dress. The ornament was simple enough, but the stones
needed no pendants to set them off. In size, evenness, and purity
they were incomparable. Deborah's heart was touched. He was very
kind to her--as kind as any real lover could be. Why must she always
remember that she was a secondary object to him? Why could she never
forget that he had only brought her here that his exile might be
ended?
"Well then--you are pleased?" he asked, still wistfully.
"Oh yes! You are too good to me, Claude."
"A kiss, then?"
As she kissed him gently upon the forehead he seized one of her
hands, clasped it tightly for an instant, and then, putting it
quickly away from him, let her go. Julie approached with her wraps,
and the lackey announced that the coach was waiting.
The apartments of the Queen in the palace of Versailles were on the
south side of the _rez-de-chaussée_, in the body of the palace,
looking out along the south wing. They consisted of five rooms, the
Salon de la Reine, where so many royal functions were held, being
between her Majesty's bedroom and the Salle du Grand Couvert; while a
third door on the north side opened into the antechamber which led
out to the Court of the Staircase. This last small room was, to her
Majesty's circle, what the Œil-de-Bœuf was to the general court.
The reception planned for this evening of Sunday, November 21st, was
to be rather more ceremonious than such affairs became later in the
season. There would be six presentations--a large number; and, to
the Queen's delight, not only her usual small circle of friends, but
the entire Court, had assembled here for the first time in more than
a year. Judging from her smiling appearance, it was not probable
that the Queen guessed that the reason why her rooms were so
frequented was that certain tongues had set afloat the rumor that a
new candidate for the favorite's post was to be presented to-night to
Queen and Court, to be judged by them as eligible or not.
At one side of her salon, upon a raised dais, beneath a golden
canopy, sat Marie Leczinska, royally dressed, looking only like the
gentle Polish woman that she was, talking in low tones with Mme. de
Boufflers, who would have liked very well to escape for a few moments
into the throng. In two semicircular lines, from the throne to the
door of the anteroom, leaving between them an open space, stood the
_dames d'étiquette_, or, more properly, the ladies of the palace of
the Queen, among whom, magnificently dressed, with the proceeds of
her forthcoming task, was the Princess de Conti. Behind these
formidable rows the rest of the Court stood, packed in such close
masses that many a hooped toilet was threatened with collapse. About
the throne were gathered the Queen's immediate friends, the "Saints,"
as they were termed by members of the King's set; Mme. de Boufflers,
from necessity; the Duc and Duchesse de Luynes; M. and Mme. de la
Vauguyon; the Duc and Duchesse de Luxembourg; the Cardinal de Tencin;
the Cardinal de Luynes; Mme. d'Alincourt; the inevitable Père
Griffet; and President Hénault. One person, however, who was
becoming a very familiar figure to the Queen's household, was not
with them to-night. This was the Abbé François de Bernis, whose
connection with Mme. de Coigny had never been discussed in that part
of the palace.
M. de Bernis was not, however, absent from Court on this interesting
occasion. At the present moment he was in the antechamber,
conversing in his peculiarly charming manner with a lady to whom he
had just been presented by Richelieu, and who was to be presented to
the Queen by Mme. de Conti--Mme. Lenormand d'Etioles. An extremely
pretty woman she was, thought the abbé; and well dressed also, in her
white satin, with stately hoops, and her neck covered with the
sapphires that matched her eyes. While chatting with de Bernis she
eyed Richelieu or made close scrutinies of the half-dozen other
ladies in the room, with one of whom her stout husband was talking
nervously.
"Are all the women here, Monsieur l'Abbé?" she asked, presently.
De Bernis glanced about him. "I have not yet seen Mme. de Mailly.
She is late."
"Ah, Mme. de Mailly--the new Countess, is she not? I am curious to
see her. She is a cousin of Mme. de Châteauroux."
"Her husband is the cousin. His wife--" de Bernis shrugged--"ended
his exile for him, and so brought him back to his famous Marie Anne.
However, they say that he never sees her now, so furious is the
jealousy of his fair colonial. You know it has been whispered,
madame, that his Majesty is less insensible than the young de Mailly."
"Ah! She is not lost yet, then?" inquired Mme. d'Etioles, hastily.
"Not yet. But--when you have been presented, madame--" and de Bernis
finished the tactful sentence with a look which completed it
admirably.
Mme. d'Etioles smiled with affected indifference; and her next remark
was interrupted by the entrance of some one whose arrival at the
anteroom created a small sensation. Deborah, with Claude beside her,
carrying her cloak, and Henri de Mailly a step behind, with her fan
and scarf, floated delicately in, her laces trailing noiselessly
about her, apparently unconscious of her beauty, or of the fact that
every eye in the little place was upon her. Richelieu, abruptly
leaving de Mouhy, hurried to her side, inwardly delighted with her
appearance. To Claude's surprise, and perhaps a little to Deborah's
also, he paid her no compliment whatever, but merely began a flying
conversation on the people, the evening, and the season's promise of
gayety.
"So that is the Countess de Mailly," observed Mme. d'Etioles, after a
long scrutiny. "How very--a--colonial she appears, and how inelegant
she is with those small hoops! Her manner is bourgeois, one can
perceive at once. Present her to me, Monsieur l'Abbé."
De Bernis, with an inward smile and very willing obedience, crossed
over to Mme. de Mailly, and, after his salutation and some murmured
phrases that made Deborah flush, informed her of the request of Mme.
d'Etioles. Deborah assented readily, for she hailed with no little
relief the prospect of talking to a woman. She was not fond of the
conspicuousness that Court ladies struggled for, and which resulted
from being surrounded with men. A Maryland training was not that of
Versailles.
In the end it was Richelieu who performed the introduction between
the women. After their courtesies, Mme. d'Etioles addressed Deborah
very cordially, and with so many pretty words about her toilet that
de Bernis nodded to himself at her display of one of the traits which
promised a Court success. While the little group stood talking in
one corner of the anteroom the first lady was summoned for
presentation. No one but the abbé took any notice of the exit. He,
however, whispered to Richelieu:
"They say that the King will not be present this evening. Is it so?"
The Duke took snuff, slowly. "My dear abbé, if I could read his
Majesty's mind I should be first minister in a week."
De Bernis smiled, but looked unsatisfied as he turned again to the
ladies. Presently, however, Richelieu continued in his ear: "The
King had supper with Monseigneur, who made certain dutiful remarks
regarding his _fiancée_, the Infanta Marie. These, since they might
be construed into casting a slur on his Majesty's devotion to the
Queen, threw Louis into a--well, a temper. One cannot tell whether
he will recover or not. I, like the rest of the Court, shall
infinitely regret it if he does not receive these charming women."
"Ah, my lord, has it ever occurred to you--beneath the rose--that
Mme. de Mailly almost, in beauty and charm, approaches her--cousin,
the Duchesse de Châteauroux?"
A quick frown passed over Richelieu's face, and he glanced sharply
about him. Seeing no one who could have overheard the remark,
however, he nodded shortly, saying in a tone that finished the
matter: "Approaches--perhaps. That, Monsieur l'Abbé, many women
might do."
By this time, in the salon, the first four presentations were over.
They had been utterly uninteresting, the costumes commonplace, the
courtesies only passably executed, and, worse than all, the King had
not appeared. It was already long after ten o'clock, and there was
small chance now of his entering on the scene. The Court yawned, not
even behind its hand, and the very "saints" began to long for some
better amusement. Rumor of interest to be found in such functions
was certainly false.
After the fourth presentation came a pause.
"Are they finished?" inquired the Queen, hopefully, of the first lady.
"Mme. de Conti announces still two more, your Majesty."
"Two! That is not quite customary. However, bid her hasten them.
This is very fatiguing."
A moment later the Princess de Conti passed into the antechamber, the
pages at her side. Two or three moments after came the clear
announcement from the chamberlain, at the door:
"Mme. de Conti has the honor to present to her Majesty the Comtesse
de Nesle de Mailly."
At that moment a small, tapestried door cut in the wall beside the
throne, and designed for unceremonious escape or arrival of royalty,
was pushed quietly open, and Louis appeared. He was not instantly
perceived, for every eye in the room was just then fixed on Deborah,
who, with Mme. de Conti at her side and a royal page bearing her
train, entered and passed slowly up the salon towards the Queen.
Half-way up the aisle, at a slight sign from her conductress, she
made the first reverence. They were not simple to perform, these
presentation courtesies. One was obliged to stop short in the walk,
and, without any perceptible break in movement, sink slowly to the
floor, rise again, and proceed. Many had been the nervous débutante
who overbalanced in going down, and had to be rescued from disgrace
by the skill of her lady of honor. The barest murmur--approval from
the gentlemen and assent from the ladies--floated through the room as
Deborah went gracefully down a second time. And the murmur
continued, changed into one of surprise, when, Marie Leczinska being
perceived to have risen, the King was discovered beside the throne,
his whole attention concentrated on Mme. de Mailly in her laces.
Deborah herself was extremely nervous. She alone, of all the
roomful, had witnessed the entrance of the King. And now, as she
finished the progress, her eyes, unconscious of what they were doing,
remained fixed on Louis' face. The King was delighted. He answered
the gaze with a slight smile, and beheld the young woman's eyes
quickly fall, while the color rushed into her cheeks. The Queen,
owing to the presence of her husband, stood, while Deborah made the
last of the three grand courtesies. Her Majesty was greatly pleased
with the youthful innocence of Mme. de Mailly's face and the odd
simplicity of her costly dress. Therefore, when Deborah made the
motion of kissing the hem of her garment, she extended her hand
instead, and afterwards murmured, graciously:
"It is with delight, madame, that we receive you in our salon."
And as Claude's wife repeated the formula of her gratitude and
devotion, his Majesty gayly advanced, and, with a "Permit me, Madame
la Comtesse," kissed her, as was his custom, upon the left cheek.
Deborah had not been informed of this possible part of the ceremony,
and would have backed away in horror had not Mme. de Conti vigorously
pinched her arm. A moment later they began the retreat. This time
all the ladies of the palace must be included in the semi-courtesies
which occurred with every four or five backward steps. It was a
difficult performance for all three of the party, the presented, the
presenter, and the train-bearer. Moreover, it was generally done
under a running fire of whispered comments, some of which generally
reached the ears of the débutante. Only one speech, however, was
audible to Deborah as she passed; and over this she pondered, at
intervals, for some days after, so that, when its full meaning was
apparent to her, the shock of it was lessened.
"Positively, my dear," observed Mme. Crequy to Mme. de Grammont, "I
begin to believe that the post is hereditary in this family."
It was with a sigh of perfect relief that Deborah saw the portière of
the antechamber fall before her, blotting out the view of the salon,
and, as she turned to Claude, Mme. de Conti said to her, graciously:
"Madame, permit me to make you my compliments on a most successful
début. It is a pleasure to have been your conductress."
Mme. d'Etioles, hearing this from the corner wherein she still talked
with de Bernis, at once advanced to her: "Mme. de Mailly, you put me
in a difficult position. How am I to equal your success?"
Deborah looked a little nonplussed, for the insincerity of the remark
was perfectly apparent to her. Claude, however, said at once, "Mme.
d'Etioles, you have but to enter the room, when any one who appeared
before you will be utterly forgotten."
Mme. Lenormand was satisfied, and responded to her summons without
any apparent embarrassment. She was so complete a contrast to Mme.
de Mailly that the two were not compared. Her manner, her bearing,
her dress, all were perfectly conventional, all were of Court make,
and of such extreme elegance that they defied criticism. There was
neither affectation nor particular modesty in her air as she made her
three graceful courtesies, was addressed by the Queen, and saluted by
the King. Neither were there many comments while she performed the
retreat. She was more or less a familiar figure to the Court, where,
though the fact of her low birth hampered her at every turn, she was
secretly a good deal admired by many. On her return to the
antechamber her husband received her, she exchanged a few cool words
with him, a jest with de Bernis, and then, leaning upon the arm of
the latter, returned to the salon, which was now a lively and
informal scene.
The presentation of Mme. d'Etioles having been the last of the
evening, her Majesty descended from the dais, the lines of the ladies
of the palace were broken, and the promenade began. Richelieu,
taking a flattering leave of Claude and Deborah, made his way as
rapidly as possible to his Majesty, who, by a coincidence, was
hurrying towards him.
"Ah, du Plessis, I find that I did well to come. Where is
d'Argenson?"
"Just behind us, Sire. He is talking with the Count de Mailly."
"Come with me, then. I must speak to them both, but separately. You
understand? You will occupy one, while--"
"I understand, Sire."
Claude and young Marc Antoine ceased their conversation as the King
approached. After saluting both gentlemen, his Majesty turned to
Claude. "Monsieur," he said, heartily, "we welcome your return with
the greatest satisfaction. You read our letter well. Oh, we have
not forgotten, you see. And we--compliment you, monsieur, upon
having won the most charming of ladies. She is English, Monsieur le
Comte?"
"From the colonies, Sire."
"A pity they are so far away. One would like to visit them."
Claude forced a smile, while Louis turned next to d'Argenson. Upon
this Richelieu at once crossed to the Count and opened conversation
with him so adroitly that the King's next remarks were happily
inaudible.
"And, by-the-way, my dear Voyer--put Mme. de Mailly, the new
Countess, on the supper-list for Choisy."
D'Argenson bowed profoundly, to conceal his expression. "And--Mme.
d'Etioles, Sire?" he ventured.
Louis hesitated. "Not--not as yet," he said, finally.