Snuff-Boxes
It was the afternoon of November 22d, ten days after the King's
return to Paris, not yet twenty-four hours since her Majesty's first
salon at Versailles. The Abbé de Bernis, companionless, was
proceeding slowly out of the grand entrance of the palace and down
the broad avenue towards the first fountain. It was a raw day, gray
and bleak, with a northeast Austrian wind, and an atmosphere
resembling the relations between France and England. Nevertheless,
the Abbé François was not walking hurriedly. If he were going into
the town of Versailles, he was taking a circuitous route. The dress
that he wore was decidedly non-clerical, being a rich costume of
cramoisie satin, with very presentable Mechlin ruffles, and a heavily
embroidered waistcoat. The wig was the only thing about him that
proclaimed his calling, and even that, just now, was concealed by his
hat and the high collar of the black cloak in which he was muffled.
De Bernis was on his way to spend an hour or two with Mme. de Coigny,
whom of late he felt that he had neglected; and as he walked he
reflected upon certain objective but important things. In the Court
circles, as they stood to-day, and as he carefully reviewed them,
there were infinite possibilities for advancement. It was a time
when no level-headed man could fail to take certain advantages of the
present situation for the betterment of his position. For the first
time in ten years, the Court was open. No favorite ruled the King,
and, by consequence, the kingdom. And here the way was almost as
clear for the ambitious among men as among women. For he who should
be the one to bring to the notice of the King of France his next more
than queen might, by his own unaided effort, obtain all the honor,
glory, and left-handed, subtle power now divided among half a dozen
ministers and courtiers.
By the time de Bernis got so far in his meditations he had reached
the Star, and was about to enter the grand park, with its love-named
allées, and the gloomy bosquets, so enticing in summer, now so grimly
gray. The bare, black trees and shrubs, the frozen ground, the
unshaded statues, poetic only when set in plumy foliage, hideous and
indelicate now--all suddenly flashed over the abbé's senses as being
like the remains of a dead passion, stripped of all the softening
graces and secret beauty lent by love when love is hot. The simile
turned his mind again to the woman whom he was going to
see--Victorine, the little Victorine, whose whimsicalities had won
his heart, but who was as tiresome as any other woman when she became
to him devoted, submissive, content to obey, without even the desire
to rouse jealousy in him. Was he tired of Victorine? Was her
influence gone? Was she no longer of any use? De Bernis paused for
an instant and thought. Of use? There was only one usage to which
he could put a woman of Mme. de Coigny's position. That was--make,
or at least attempt to make, her the greatest lady at Court. Would
Victorine de Coigny be capable of filling that place at his request?
Had she influence enough in high places? Would she be fresh enough
to his Majesty to please? Should he make the attempt?
By the time the abbé reached his temporary destination he had made
shift to answer his not very creditable questions and come to a kind
of hazy determination concerning his course.
Mme. de Coigny was at home and would receive him. He was shown
directly from the antechamber to the little salon off her boudoir.
Here he seated himself by the heavily curtained window, after
throwing hat and cloak upon a chair beside the tall escritoire.
Madame kept him waiting. He crossed his knees, and pulled from one
of his pockets a little article wrapped in a feminine handkerchief.
Returning the wrapper to the pocket, he sat idly examining what he
held. It was a cross of golden filigree, apparently of Eastern
workmanship, and set with red stones. The sun, at the moment, was
near to breaking through the clouds, and he held the little thing up
to watch the light play over the garnets, when the boudoir door
opened and Victorine came quietly in.
"What have you there, François?"
He rose, looked approvingly at her toilet, and held out the cross.
"I found this, by chance, two or three days ago among some old
possessions of mine sent from Tours. Would you care for it? I offer
it--not as a symbol, you understand. Merely an ornament. It is not
valuable."
"Thank you. It is valuable to me. I will keep it always--like all
of your gifts."
He smiled slightly as she seated herself at a little distance from
him. She was even paler than usual, and looked as though she might
have been suffering physically.
"You are not well to-day?" he asked, gently.
"Oh yes; perfectly. I am never ill. I scarcely saw you last night.
What did you think of the presentations? Is not Mme. de Mailly
lovely?"
The abbé shrugged. "Very pretty. Parvenu, however. I prefer Mme.
d'Etioles; but you--before them all, Victorine."
A smile broke over her face, and, for a moment, transfigured it.
"Ah, François, that is as you were. Lately, sometimes, I had thought
you changed towards me."
He saw here an approaching opportunity for his difficult proposition.
Rising, he drew another chair close to her, seated himself in it, and
negligently took one of her hands into both of his. "Dear Victorine,
I shall never change towards you," he said, in a low voice. "But
there are some things--some things which you do not quite consider."
"What things? Tell me, François. Indeed, I will consider them.
Only tell me all that is in your heart. I belong to you. You know
that," she whispered.
De Bernis moved uneasily. Tell what was in his heart? He was wiser
than that; but his way was not easy. "You know, little one, that I
am not a powerful man--not an influential one. Yet I am ambitious.
I have but a small place to keep. There is a great one which I wish
to win. A--cardinal's hat, Victorine! That is my dream! You see, I
am opening my heart to you."
"Ah, if I could make you a cardinal--if I could make you Pope,
François! If I could make you the greatest man in the world!"
"You have made me the happiest," he answered, tenderly, touched a
little by her unselfishness.
"Then, if that is true, François, what more can you desire? The
beretta could do no more for you."
"I am caught, my philosopher. And yet--and yet ambition does remain.
I am not quite the happiest of men. I would wish to give you a
higher place. I wish to be worthy of you. I would give you, for
your slave, the most powerful man in France."
"Ah," she said, smiling, "I could love him no better than I love you.
My dear, if I were given my choice between you and the King of
France, do you not know which I should choose?"
He bent over her quickly. "Which would you choose?"
"How can you ask? You do not doubt me?"
"Nay, but, Victorine, if, by being favorite of the Court, of the
King, you could further your own interests, if you could further
mine--if I asked it of you--"
He broke off suddenly. Her face was changing.
"What do you mean?" she demanded, and there was something in the tone
which made him thankful that he had gone no further. "Are"--she
breathed convulsively, but went on in a lighter manner--"are you
testing me? Are you trying to learn my nature--how far I would sink?
Ah, François, you, who have given me such joy, the only happiness
that I have known, have given me also my greatest sorrow. Do not
think, because I renounced everything for you, that I am like the
women of the Court. I loved you--I love you--you always--more dearly
than--honor. But, François, it was only for love. I am proud that
you had no position to give me. I swear to you, by what I still hold
sacred, that if the post won by Mme. de Châteauroux were offered me
by his Majesty, on his knees, I would prefer to die than to accept
such a thing." She passed her hand over her forehead, and lay back
again in her chair, smiling a little at his earnest frown. "I do not
censure Mme. de Châteauroux, François, you understand. She loved the
King--as I love you."
The actual veracity of this last statement was an immaterial thing.
It was Victorine's belief in it that did her honor. François did not
remark upon it, neither did he voice any further confessions of
ambition. Mme. de Coigny was singularly blind to her interests and
his. She was not the type of woman that belonged to a court. True,
had her position been rather more influential, no man need have
desired better things than would have fallen to the lot of the
sagacious abbé. But, being only the wife of a Marquis field-marshal,
and too single-hearted for wisdom, she was a luxury undesirable for a
rising man. For an instant de Bernis' thoughts were directed to the
husband. After all, his position as one of the favorite courtiers,
and one really esteemed, would have been difficult to overcome in
order that madame might be installed alone in the palace. It was as
well, perhaps, that her trend of mind was such as he had discovered
it to be. It was also as well that, in the midst of the reflective
pause, the antechamber door should unexpectedly have opened, and M.
de Coigny himself have entered the room.
"Ah! Pardon me, madame. I was unaware that you were engaged."
Victorine rose quickly, looked at her husband, saw his eyes meet
those of the abbé, and remained silent. De Coigny was about to turn
upon his heel and leave them, to her great relief, when François
spoke:
"I beg, monsieur, that you will not let me deprive you of madame's
society. I am just on the way to Paris, and was taking my leave as
you came."
He finished, quite heedless of Victorine's imploring glance, which,
however, de Coigny caught.
"If you are going to the city, you must first have something--a glass
of wine. Yes, yes! It will not be long. I will order at once."
In spite of de Bernis' earnest protestation, Victorine summoned the
valet and ordered wine and rissoles for all three.
"You will, then, allow me to partake with you?" asked the Maréchal,
with a quizzical scrutiny of his wife, who merely nodded, saying,
dully:
"We are delighted, monsieur."
De Bernis was displeased. It was never agreeable to him to face
Jules de Coigny, and he would have been glad to escape at once after
that destructive silence of Victorine's. He had all his ideas to
readjust, a fresh plan to make, and a verse or two to compose for
extemporaneous use during the evening. However, he made better show
of being at ease for the next quarter of an hour than did madame; and
he managed to carry on a very creditable conversation about the
Vauvenaigues salon while sipping his wine and crumbling the _pâtê_.
He took his departure, without undue haste, at just the right moment,
kissed madame's hand with ceremony, and bowed himself away from the
Maréchal, feeling that he should not often see that small salon
again. It would not be wise.
When the abbé was gone, and Jules and his wife were left alone
together, Victorine looked uneasily about her, hoping for a means of
escape.
"I must ask your pardon, madame, once more, for having been so stupid
as to have intruded upon you. Gérome did not inform me--"
"It is of no consequence, monsieur. As you heard, the abbé was on
the point of departure. Did you, by some chance, wish to speak with
me?"
"The matter was not of great importance. However, I thought that it
might please you to learn that Mme. de Châteauroux is likely soon to
be reinstated. This afternoon his Majesty was good enough to talk
with me freely _en tête-à-tête_. He misses the Duchess very much.
He is preparing, quietly, to place her at her post again. She is
your friend. I thought that it might give you pleasure to know. Of
course, what I have told must not be repeated."
"Thank you, Jules. I am very glad. Marie has been my good friend
always."
"It was she, I believe, who presented to you M. de Bernis?"
"Yes," replied Victorine, looking up at him in surprise.
There was a pause. De Coigny should have been making his departure.
Yet still he stood there, as awkwardly as possible, half turned from
his wife, who sat regarding him in some astonishment, and without the
desire to say a word. The marshal's head drooped a little. He put
one hand to his forehead, and seemed to be going through an inward
struggle. Several moments passed. Madame moved restlessly. Finally
she said:
"What is it, Jules? What have you further to say to me?"
Coigny shook his head and passed his hand over his eyes. "It is
immaterial, Victorine. I have already said it once. I will not
repeat myself. It is--immaterial, I say. Good-afternoon."
"Good-afternoon."
And thus it was to the vague relief of the woman that he left her
there, in her small salon, alone.
The first part of the foregoing conversation might have proved very
serviceable, at this time, to the Abbé de Bernis. He was not,
however, so fortunate as even to chance upon the idea of such a thing
as the reinstallation of la Châteauroux. As he drove towards Paris
he continued his meditations on the topic which had occupied him all
day. They had now taken a surer trend. One doubtful possibility was
done away with. He found himself left with two others, less dubious,
but, had he the wit to surmise it, possibilities which half the men
of the Court were quietly planning, even as he himself, to make their
own.
De Bernis dined at the Café de la Régence, a popular and fashionable
resort; and thereafter, being now happily independent of the
Lazariste and all such houses, betook himself to his rooms in the Rue
des Bailleuls, not a great way from the Hôtel de Ville, and near the
old Louvre. After adding, here, a few touches to his toilet, he took
a chair to the Hôtel de Tours, where M. de Vauvenargues held his
brilliant salons.
It was a night when nothing was happening at Versailles. The Queen,
satisfied for the time with her success of the previous evening,
played cavagnole with Hénault, and prepared for an extra hour in her
oratory. His Majesty had claimed de Berryer for the night, and gone
off on one of those strange expeditions in which he occasionally
indulged. The great palace thus being desolate, all the world
bethought itself of Paris, and, in the same instant, of the Hôtel de
Tours and its host. The rooms there were crowded by the time de
Bernis arrived. Every possible circle, from the Court to the
philosophical, was in evidence. In the first room, where Monsieur
was obliged to receive till a late hour, the lesser and most
professional lights of society mingled in a heated throng. In the
second salon, connected with the first by a small, yellow-hung
ante-chamber, the gaming-tables were set, around which, talking or at
play, were grouped the aristocratic dwellers of Versailles. Among
these was Claude, sunk in piquet, and Deborah, conducted by Mme. de
Jarnac, and hence claiming place with the bluest-blooded dames of the
day; which fact, however, incredible as it seemed, failed to make her
happy.
While the crowded and uncomfortable devotees were circling in slow
masses through the larger apartments, there had been gradually
collecting, in the yellow antechamber, a small group of gentlemen
who, as it happened, had more at stake than gold. The tacit subject
of their apparently superficial conversation was the decision of the
next ruler of Versailles and the consequent determination of their
own forthcoming influence in Court circles. Here, foremost of all,
with most at stake, was Richelieu--Richelieu in violet satin and
silver, with pearls, point de Bruxelles, and snuff-box. Next to him,
upon a tabouret, apparently half asleep, indolent, smiling, was de
Gêvres, with opposition to Richelieu coursing in fiery determination
through every vein. Yonder sat d'Epernon and Penthièvre; while,
completing the group, were Holbach, who had left Montesquieu at the
point of interaction between body and soul, and François de Bernis,
swelling with vanity at being seen in such company. All about this
impenetrable band, during their conversation, incomprehensible to him
who should catch but a syllable or two of it, wandered men and women
of various degrees, curious, envious, anxious, one and all willing to
have given half a fortune to have been able to join this party, which
represented the dwellers in sacred, nearest places to royalty, to
France's King. Possibly these men were unconscious of their
greatness. Certainly they were too interested in themselves and
their plans to enjoy, for the moment, the apparent adulation of
outsiders. It was like a meeting of the Council of Ten held in the
middle of St. Mark's Square of an afternoon.
Penthièvre had finished an anecdote of the far-off days of Gabrielle
d'Estrées, containing a clever apologue, for which he was mentally
applauded by the group.
"A clever woman!" murmured Richelieu, dreamily. "I cannot help
thinking that if Sully had taken her part, instead of opposing her--"
"Marie de Médicis would have made less difficulty."
Richelieu stared at de Gêvres, who had interrupted somnolently, and
remarked, with some insolence: "You miss the point, I think. Her
Majesty is scarcely included in the affair."
"Noailles--Sully. Marie de Médicis--Fate," was the retort.
Richelieu shrugged. "It was too vague, Jacques."
"Let us return to the present. We shall find it less complicated,"
suggested Holbach, quietly.
The others acquiesced with alacrity. Their problem was too important
to trust to forgotten history for solution. At this moment
Richelieu, with serious intent, took snuff, raising the cover of his
box in so significant a manner that it was impossible that all should
not perceive its miniature to have been removed, leaving the
tarnished gold alone visible under the pearl-surrounded glass.
"Ah!" murmured d'Epernon, "what has become of the Duchess?"
"I shall present the picture, as a mark of my high esteem," said
Richelieu, "to M. d'Agenois."
There was a general smile. Then de Gêvres remarked, slowly: "I will
purchase that miniature of you for my own use, du Plessis."
"What! Have you not one of her?" cried de Bernis.
De Gêvres pulled out his own box and handed it to the abbé. In it
was an exquisitely painted portrait of Marie Anne de Nesle, done just
before she was created Duchesse de Châteauroux.
"What, then, would you do with another?"
"I should present it, in a few weeks' time, to the King."
"Diable! You are not stupid enough to believe that she is to be
reinstated?"
"I am sufficiently stupid--to believe exactly that."
Richelieu looked seriously annoyed. For a long time he and de Gêvres
had, from policy, been the best of friends and strong allies. They,
together, one summer evening, on the terraces of Versailles, had
first presented the Marquise de la Tournelle to the King. And since
then they had worked constantly on her behalf. De Gêvres, however,
having been the more moderate of the two, was now in a position which
Richelieu had recklessly forfeited--sure of favor in any case.
Baron d'Holbach, seeing the situation a little uncomfortable, broke
the pause by producing his own snuff-box and displaying its cover.
"Messieurs," he said, "we are carrying with us to-night the history
of France. Behold!"
All leaned forward to look upon the delicately painted features.
They were those of Pauline Félicité de Vintimille, the sister and
predecessor of Mme. de Châteauroux.
"It is old-fashioned, gentlemen, but I have always liked the face--so
young--so gentle--so sad beneath the smile," observed the philosopher.
"I can complete the trio," said Penthièvre, laughing, and producing
another round lid. "I was reminiscent to-night, and selected this
from my collection."
"Parbleu! it is entertaining," remarked d'Epernon, while the others
were silent, thinking a little, perhaps, of days not long past; for
the third miniature was of Louise Julie de Nesle, Comtesse de Mailly,
Claude's cousin and sister-in-law.
"D'Epernon and de Bernis, let us see yours. Perhaps they will have a
new bearing on the subject, and will bring a prophecy."
D'Epernon shook his head. "My top is merely amber, without
decoration."
"And you, Monsieur l'Abbé?"
De Bernis flushed. "Mine is--personal, gentlemen. I shall change
it."
"Let us see--ah! Mme. de Coigny. Did you take it from Mailly-Nesle?"
"No, M. de Gêvres. Mme. Victorine was so good as to present it," was
the slightly haughty reply.
"But you are going to change it, you know. Tell us, what new face is
to displace this?"
"I will tell you, M. de Richelieu, when you have confessed what one
is to fill your empty space."
"Ah, yes--make your prophecy, du Plessis," drawled de Gêvres.
"Well then, if you will know," Richelieu lowered his tone, "the post
is going to continue for a fourth turn in the family de Mailly.
Within three months I shall place here the face of--Count Claude's
wife."
"Ah!"
"Really!"
"The colonial?"
"Perhaps!"
"And now you, abbé?"
"I differ from M. de Richelieu. I should rather suggest--the lady
now standing behind M. d'Epernon."
The party glanced discreetly about to behold a pretty woman in pink
brocade, who was laughing at some remark from the Abbé Coyer.
"What! The last débutante? Mme. d'Etioles?"
"Bah! Pardon, de Bernis, but she is of the bourgeoisie."
"And is Mme. de Mailly of higher birth?"
There was a moment of unexpected silence. Then Richelieu said,
slowly: "I had understood that she was of excellent blood. Six
generations, it has been said."
Penthièvre and d'Epernon nodded agreement. Such, certainly, had been
the rumor. De Bernis looked a little nonplussed.
"Then Mme. de Mailly is--your choice?" he asked of Richelieu.
"Oh," the Duke shrugged, "that is a little direct, Monsieur l'Abbé.
I much admire Mme. de Mailly. His Majesty admires her."
"She is on the supper-list for Choisy," murmured Penthièvre.
"Ah! Where did you hear it?"
"From young d'Argenson. The King was pleased with her appearance at
the presentation."
"And it was not by his arrangement, either."
"I wonder," asked d'Holbach, musingly, of the air, "if Claude de
Mailly will let her go, without expostulation, to one of the Choisy
suppers."
"It is doubtful," replied de Gêvres, yawning.
Richelieu said nothing, but under his languid exterior was a fierce
determination that Mme. de Mailly, Claude or no Claude, should go to
a Choisy supper, and the first to which she was asked.
"And now, Monsieur l'Abbé, what attributes for the post has your
pretty bourgeoise, Mme. d'Etioles?" inquired d'Epernon.
Softly, as he answered, the abbé tapped Victorine's miniature. "One
attribute, Monsieur le Duc, which I think that Mme. de Mailly lacks,
and without which a woman is--to be frank--useless. Mme. d'Etioles
has ambition to win the place."
"You know that? She confesses it?" asked Richelieu, leaning suddenly
forward, and betraying more interest than, considering the proximity
of de Gêvres, was dignified.
"Confessed it? Not in words. There was but her eye, her animation,
her color, the quivering of the nostril--an air hard to describe,
easy to read, which you all know, messieurs."
"But yes!"
"And she has the tact to compliment a rival. That is excellent."
"True. But Mme. de Mailly is a far newer type. She is young,
ingenue, naïve; would not understand even that compliments were
required. And novelty, gentlemen, novelty, is what we all, not less
than his Majesty, require."
"That is true. I feel it necessary at this moment. Supper must
surely have been announced by this time. I go to seek 'la Poule',"*
observed de Gêvres, rising.
* Louis XV.'s nickname for Mme. de Flavacourt.
"Is Mme. de Flavacourt here?" whispered d'Epernon of Penthièvre as,
the conference over, the little group broke up.
"Yes. She has just passed into the other room with d'Hénin."
"Gêvres follows her."
"Of course, since he is avowedly for la Châteauroux."
"And Richelieu approaches the little American. Behold, he is going
to be her supper companion."
"Now it is only left for the abbé to seek Mme. d'Etioles."
"Dastard! He deserts his colors. See, he is coming with Mme.
d'Egmont. Coigny not being here, it seems he lays siege to the
second lady of that family."
"Hein? It is very warm here. _Au revoir_. I am going to seek the
Marquis de Mailly-Nesle--you see, I am on two sides so."
Penthièvre disappeared in the throng which had begun to move more
rapidly to the supper apartment in the rear. "It now behooves me,"
murmured d'Epernon to himself, "to take pity on de Bernis' choice.
But that will be an effort. No. I will be original. I will go in
alone. I will be the only man of all Versailles to-night who has no
woman in his brain!"