THE QUEEN'S SOIRÉE
What chronicler of true events will ever attempt to explain exactly
how rumour succeeds in breaking through every bond with which privacy
would desire to fetter her, and having obtained a perch on the
swiftest of all currents of air, travels through infinite space, and
anon, observing a glaringly public spot wherein to alight, she
descends with amazing rapidity and mingles with the crowd.
Thus with the news anent milor Eglinton's resignation of the General
Control of Finance.
By the time the Court assembled that evening for the Queen's
reception, every one had heard of it, and also that milor, having had
a violent quarrel with his wife, had quitted or was about to quit
Versailles without further warning.
The news was indeed exceedingly welcome. Not from any ill-will toward
Lord Eglinton, of course, who was very popular with the ladies and
more than tolerated by the men, nor from any sense of triumph over
Madame Lydie, although she had not quite so many friends as milor, but
because it happened to be Thursday, and every Thursday Her Majesty the
Queen held her Court from seven o'clock till nine o'clock: which
function was so deadly dull, that there was quite an epidemic of
dislocated jaws--caused by incessant yawning--among the favoured few
who were both privileged and obliged to attend. A piece of real
gossip, well-authenticated, and referring to a couple so highly
placed as Lord and Lady Eglinton, was therefore a great boon. Even Her
Majesty could not fail to be interested, as Lydie had always stood
very highly in the good graces of the prim and melancholy Queen,
whilst milor was one of that very small and very select circle which
the exalted lady honoured with her conversation on public occasions.
Now on this same Thursday evening, Queen Marie Leszcynska entered her
throne-room precisely at seven o'clock. Madame Lydie was with her as
she entered, and it was at once supposed that Her Majesty was already
acquainted with Lord Eglinton's decision, for she conversed with the
neglected wife with obvious kindliness and sympathy.
His Majesty was expected in about a quarter of an hour. As Madame de
Pompadour and her immediate entourage were excluded from these solemn
functions, the King showed his disapproval of the absence of his
friends by arriving as late as etiquette allowed, and by looking on at
the presentations, and other paraphernalia of his wife's receptions,
in morose and silent _ennui_.
This evening, however, the proceedings were distinctly enlivened by
that subtle and cheerful breath of scandal, which hovered all over the
room. Whilst noble dowagers presented débutante daughters to Her
Majesty, and grave gentlemen explained to fledgling sons how to make a
first bow to the King, groups of younger people congregated in distant
corners, well away from the royal dais and discussed the great news of
the day.
Lydie did not mingle with these groups. In addition to her many other
dignities and functions, she was Grande Maréchale de la Cour to Queen
Marie Leszcynska and on these solemn Thursday evenings her place was
beside Her Majesty, and her duty to present such ladies of high rank
who had either just arrived at Court from the country or who, for some
other reason, had not yet had the honour of a personal audience.
Chief among these reasons was the Queen's own exclusiveness. The proud
daughter of Stanislaus of Poland with her semi-religious education,
her narrow outlook on life, her unfortunate experience of matrimony,
had a wholesome horror of the frisky matrons and flirtatious minxes
whom Louis XIV's taste had brought into vogue at the Court of France;
and above all, she had an unconquerable aversion for the various
scions of that mushroom nobility dragged from out the gutter by the
catholic fancies of le Roi Soleil.
Though she could not help but receive some of these people at the
monster Court functions, which the elaborate and rigid etiquette of
the time imposed upon her, and whereat all the tatterdemalions that
had e'er filched a handle for their name had, by that same unwritten
dictum, the right of entry, she always proudly refused subsequently to
recognize in private a presentation to herself, unless it was made by
her special leave, at one of her own intimate audiences, and through
the mediation either of her own Grande Maréchale de la Cour, or of one
of her privileged lady friends.
Thus Madame la Comtesse de Stainville, though formally presented at
the general Court by virtue of her husband's title and position, had
never had the honour of an invitation to Her Majesty's private
throne-room. Queen Marie had heard vague rumours anent the early
reputation of "la belle brune de Bordeaux"; this very nick-name,
freely bandied about, grated on her puritanic ear. Irène de
Stainville, chafing under the restrictions which placed her on a level
with the Pompadours of the present and the Montespans or La Vallières
of the past, had more than once striven to enlist Lydie's help and
protection in obtaining one of the coveted personal introductions to
Her Majesty.
Lydie, however, had always put her off with polite but ambiguous
promises, until to-day, when her heart, overfilled with gratitude for
Gaston de Stainville, prompted her to do something which she knew must
please him, and thus prove to him that she was thinking of him at the
very time when he was risking his entire future and probably his life
in an attempt to serve her.
Her own troubles and sorrows in no way interfered with the discharge
of her social duties. Whilst she still occupied certain official
positions at Court, she was determined to fill them adequately and
with perfect dignity. A brief note to Irène de Stainville acquainted
the latter lady with the pleasing fact, that Madame la Grande
Maréchale would have much pleasure in introducing her personally to
Her Majesty the Queen that very same evening, and "la belle brune de
Bordeaux" was therefore present at this most exclusive of all
functions on Thursday, August 13, 1746, and duly awaited the happy
moment when she could make her curtsey before the proudest princess in
all Europe, in the magnificent gown which had been prepared some time
ago in view of this possible and delightful eventuality.
She stood somewhat isolated from the rest of the throng, between two
or three of her most faithful admirers, holding herself aloof from the
frivolity of the surrounding gossip and wearing a sphinx-like air of
detachment and of hidden and sorrowful knowledge.
To every comment as to the non-appearance of her lord at the soirée,
she had mutely replied by a slight shrug of the shoulders.
Up in the gallery, behind a screen of exotic plants, the band of
musicians was playing one of M. Lulli's most famous compositions, the
beautiful motet in E flat which, alone amongst the works of that
master of melody, was sufficiently serious and sedate for the Queen's
taste. Anon Her Majesty gave the signal that dancing might begin. She
liked to watch it, if it was decorously performed, though she never
joined in it herself. Therefore a measured and stately gavotte was
danced by the young people every Thursday, and perhaps a majestic
pavane afterward. But the minuet was thought unbecoming. Her Majesty
sat in one of the heavy gilded chairs underneath the canopy, the other
being reserved for King Louis.
Lydie watched the gavotte with dreamy, abstracted eyes; every now and
then the Queen spoke to her, and the force of habit caused her to
reply coherently and with that formality of expression, which Her
Majesty liked to hear. But her mind was very far from her
surroundings. It was accompanying Gaston de Stainville on his reckless
ride through the rich plains of Normandy; her wishes sped him on his
way, her gratitude for his noble self-sacrifice would have guarded him
from the perils of the road.
The monotonous tune of the gavotte with its distinct and sharply
defined beat, sounded to her like the measured clink of a horse's
hoofs on rough hard ground. She was quite unconscious that, from every
corner of the room, inquisitive and sarcastic eyes were watching all
her movements.