THE USHER OF THE BLACK ROD
For the courtiers of _Louis le Grand_ there was no such thing as hunger
or thirst, want of appetite, heat, cold, lassitude, depression, or
fatigue. If he chose they should accompany him on long journeys, in
crowded carriages, over bad roads, they were expected, nevertheless, to
appear fresh, well-dressed, exuberant in spirits, inclined to eat or
content to starve, unconscious of sun and wind; above all, ready to agree
with his Majesty upon every subject at a moment’s notice. Ladies enjoyed
in this respect no advantage over gentlemen. Though a fair amazon had
been hunting the stag all day, she would be required to appear just the
same in grand Court toilet at night; to take her place at lansquenet; to
be present at the royal concerts, twenty fiddles playing a heavy opera
of Cavalli right through; or, perhaps, only to assist in lining the
great gallery, which the king traversed on his way to supper. Everything
must yield to the lightest whim of royalty, and no more characteristic
reply was ever made to the arbitrary descendant of St. Louis than that
of the eccentric Cardinal Bonzi, to whom the king complained one day at
dinner that he had no teeth. “Teeth, sire!” replied the astute churchman,
showing, while he spoke, a strong, even well-polished row of his own.
“Why, who _has_ any teeth?”
His Majesty, however, like mortals of inferior rank, did not touch on the
accomplishment of his seventy-seventh year without sustaining many of the
complaints and inconveniences of old age. For some time past not only
had his teeth failed, but his digestion, despite of the regimen of iced
fruits and sweetmeats, on which he was put by his physician Fagon, became
unequal to its task. Everybody but himself and his doctor perceived the
rapidity with which a change was approaching. In vain they swaddled him
up in feather-pillows at night, to draw the gout from him through the
pores of his skin; in vain they administered sage, veronica, cassia,
and Jesuit-bark between meals, while they limited his potations to a
little weak Burgundy and water, thereby affording some amusement to those
present from the wry faces made by foreign lords and grandees who were
curious to taste the king’s beverage. In vain they made him begin dinner
with mulberries, and melons, and rotten figs, and strong soups, and
salads. There is but one remedy for old age, and it is only to be found
in the pharmacopœia, at the last chapter of the book. To that remedy the
king was fast approaching—and yet hunting, fiddling, dining, promenades,
concerts, and the whole round of empty Court gaiety went on all the same.
The Marquise de Montmirail returned to her apartments at the palace with
but little time to spare. It wanted but one hour from the king’s supper,
and she must attend with the other ladies of the Court, punctual as
clockwork, directly the folding-doors opened into the gallery, and his
Majesty, in an enormous wig, should totter in at one end to totter out
again at the other. Nevertheless, a good deal of decoration can be done
in sixty minutes, when a lady, young and beautiful, is assisted by an
attendant whose taste becomes chastened and her activity quickened by
the superintendence of four distinct toilets every day. So the Marquise
and Célandine between them had put the finishing touches to their great
work within the appointed time. The former was going through a gratifying
revision of the whole at her looking-glass, and the latter was applying
to her mistress’s handkerchief that perfume of orange-flowers which alone
his Majesty could endure, when a loud knocking at the outer door of the
apartment suspended the operations of each, bringing an additional colour
to the Marquise’s cheek, and a cloud of displeasure on the quadroon’s
brow.
“See what it is Célandine,” said the former, calmly, wondering in her
heart, though it seemed absurd, whether this disturbance could relate in
any manner to the previous events of the day.
“It is the Abbé, I’ll be bound,” muttered Célandine, proceeding to do as
she was bid; adding, sulkily, though below her breath, “He might knock
there till his knuckles were sore if I was mistress instead of maid!”
It was the Abbé, sure enough, in plain attire, as became his profession;
but with an expression of hope and elation on his brow which even his
perfect self-command seemed unable to conceal.
“Pardon, madame!” said he, standing, hat in hand, on the threshold;
“I was in attendance to conduct you to the gallery, as usual, when
the intelligence that reached me, and, indeed, the confusion I myself
witnessed, induced me to take the liberty of waiting on you at once.”
“No great liberty,” answered the Marquise, smiling, “seeing that I
must have encountered you, at any rate, within three paces of my door.
But what is this alarming news, my cousin, that agitates even your
imperturbable front? Nothing wrong with the barb, I hope!”
“Not so bad as that, madame,” replied the Abbé, who was rapidly
recovering his calmness. “It is only a matter affecting his Majesty. I
have just learned the king is taken seriously ill. Fagon crossed the
courtyard five minutes ago. Worse than that, Père Tellier has been sent
for.”
“Père Tellier!” repeated the Marquise. “The king’s confessor! Then the
attack is dangerous?”
“There is no doubt that his Majesty’s state is precarious in the
extreme,” answered the Abbé, seriously. “It is a severe and exhausting
malady from which he suffers, and at his time of life we may anticipate
the gravest results. Madame, I must be in Paris by break of day
to-morrow, to wait on the Duke of Orleans.”
She looked at him with a half-contemptuous indulgence, and laughed.
“So soon?” said she. “Nay, then, I am satisfied you think the worst.
My cousin, you are wise in your generation, no doubt; and it would
be a sudden blow, indeed, that should fall and find you unprepared.
Nevertheless, is not this haste indecent? Worse; is it not ill-judged?
The king has a wonderful constitution; Fagon is a cautious physician.
His Majesty may recover in spite of the doctor.”
“And sin again in spite of his confessor,” added the Abbé. “Nevertheless,
I think both have foreseen a crisis for some time past. Fagon has called
in Marechal to help him; and Père Tellier has been asking for every
vacant benefice during the last three weeks.”
“It was very polite of you, my cousin,” observed the Marquise, after a
pause, “to come and tell me at once; though the only immediate result of
all this confusion to _me_ is, that I suppose I may undress and go to
bed. I have had a fatiguing day.”
“Pardon again,” answered the Abbé. “I fear you must attend as usual in
the gallery; and, indeed, it would be a thousand pities that such a
toilette should be wasted, for you look beautiful, and are charmingly
dressed. You know, besides, that only the king’s own order can rescind
the daily regulations for the Court.”
“We had better proceed, then,” said Madame de Montmirail. “Célandine has
revised me thoroughly, and the sooner I go the sooner I shall get it
over. Believe me, it would require some excitement stronger than common
to keep me awake to-night.”
“One instant, madame,” replied the Abbé. “I will not detain you longer;
but at a crisis like the present what I have to say merits your most
earnest attention. In the first place, will you permit Célandine to
examine if the outer door be shut?”
The scowl on the quadroon’s brow grew deeper, while, in obedience to a
sign from her mistress, she retired into the outer chamber. The Marquise
seated herself on a couch near the toilet-table, spreading her skirts out
carefully, lest their freshness might sustain damage in that position,
and prepared to receive her cousin’s confidences, as he stood near, cool,
polished, smiling, but obviously repressing, with an effort, the strong
agitation under which he laboured.
While she sat in that graceful attitude, her head turned up towards his
face, one beautifully moulded arm and hand resting in her lap, the other
yet ungloved holding a closed fan against her lips, it may have occurred
to the Abbé that so many charms of person and manner might be applied
to a worthier purpose than the furtherance of Court intrigues or the
advancement of any one man’s ambition. It may even have occurred to him,
though doubtless if it did so the thought had to be stifled as it rose,
that it would be no unpleasant task, however difficult, to woo and win
and wear such beauty for himself and his own happiness; and that to be
his cousin’s favoured lover was a more enviable position than could
be afforded by comptroller’s wand, or cardinal’s cap, or minister’s
portfolio. For a moment his rugged features softened like a clearing
landscape under a gleam of sun, while he looked on her and basked, as it
were, in the radiance of her beauty, ere he turned back to the chill,
shadowy labyrinth of deceit in which he spent his life.
Madame de Montmirail’s exterior was of that sparkling kind which, like
the diamond, is enhanced by the richness of its setting. In full Court
toilette as he saw her now, few women would have cared to enter the lists
as her rivals. The dress she wore was of pale yellow satin, displaying,
indeed, with considerable liberality, her graceful neck and shoulders,
glowing in the warm tints of a brunette. It fitted close to her
well-turned bust, spreading into an enormous volume of skirts below the
waist, overlaid by a delicate fabric of black lace, and looped up here
and there in strings of pearls. Her waving hair, black and glossy, was
turned back from a low, broad forehead, and gathered behind her ears into
a shining mass, from which a ringlet or two escaped, smooth and elastic,
to coil, snake-like, on her bosom. One row of large pearls encircled her
neck, and one bracelet of diamonds and emeralds clung to her ungloved
arm. Other ornaments she had none, though an open dressing-case on the
toilet-table flashed and glittered like a jeweller’s shop.
And now I have only made an inventory of her dress after all. How can I
hope to convey an idea of her face? How is it possible to describe that
which constitutes a woman’s loveliness? that subtle influence which,
though it generally accompanies harmony of colouring and symmetry of
feature, is by no means the result of these advantages; nay, often
exists without them, and seems in all cases independent of their aid. I
will only say of her charms, that Madame de Montmirail was already past
thirty, and nine men out of every ten in the circle of her acquaintance
were more or less in love with her.
She had a beautiful foot, besides. It was peeping out now from beneath
her dress. The Abbé’s eyes unconsciously fixed themselves on the small
white satin shoe, as he proceeded with his confidences.
“It is good to be prepared, my cousin,” said he, in a low, hurried voice,
very different from his usual easy, careless tone. “Everything will now
be changed, if, as I expect, the indisposition of to-night is but the
beginning of the end. You know my situation; you know my hopes; you know
the difficulties I have had to contend with. The king’s suspicions, the
courtiers’ jealousy, the imprudence of my patron himself; and you know,
too, that through good and evil I have always stood firm by the Duke of
Orleans. It is evident that in a few days he will be the most powerful
man in France.”
“Afterwards?” asked the Marquise, apparently unmoved by the contingency.
“Afterwards!” repeated Malletort, almost with indignation. “Do you not
see the career that opens itself before us all? Who is best acquainted
with the Duke’s early history?—Abbé Malletort. Who is the Duke bound to
serve before the whole world? Not from gratitude—bah! that is a thing of
course—but from motives of the clearest self-interest?—Abbé Malletort. In
brief, in whom does he confide?—In Abbé Malletort. And to whom does the
Abbé lay bare his hopes, his aspirations, his ambition?—To whom but to
his sweet cousin, Madame de Montmirail?”
“And what would you have me do?” asked the Marquise, yawning, while she
carelessly fastened the bracelet on her arm.
“I would have you guard your lips with a clasp of iron,” answered the
Abbé. “I would have you keep watch to-night and to-morrow, and every
day till the end comes—on your words, your looks, your gestures—the
very trimmings and colour of the dresses you wear. Be polite to all;
but familiar, cordial, even communicative with none. In brief, have no
friends, no enemies, no dislikes, no predilections, till the old state of
affairs is ended and the new begun.”
“I think you can trust me,” answered the Marquise. “My feelings are
little likely to betray me into indiscretion; and though I have plenty of
lovers at Court, I do not imagine I have many friends.”
She spoke wearily, and finished with something like a sigh.
The Abbé’s eyes sparkled. “I _know_ I can!” said he. “My cousin has none
of the weaknesses of her sex, and all its beauty for her own share.” Then
he opened the door and spoke loud enough for Célandine to hear. “We must
have mademoiselle back from her pension. She is old enough now to take
her place as an ornament to society and the Court.”
Malletort understood true economy, and he knew that this bribe, while it
cost him nothing, would purchase favour with the quadroon, whose dislike
he had observed and resolved to efface.
Madame de Montmirail bowed and took his arm. It was now high time they
were both in attendance on his Majesty, should the concert fixed for that
night be permitted to take place.
As they walked through the corridor, however, a great confusion was heard
in the gallery they were about to enter. There was a scuffling of feet,
a murmur of agitated voices suppressed to whispers, and the smothered
sobs of women, denoting some sad catastrophe. When the door opened, the
musicians crowded hurriedly out, carrying with them their instruments,
and tumultuously impeding the progress of a spare grave man in a priest’s
dress, who pushed his way through, with every appearance of anxiety and
dismay.
It was Père Tellier, the king’s confessor, summoned in mortal haste to
the bedside of his dying master.
The Marquise and the Abbé had that day looked their last upon the face of
_Louis le Grand_. Already, through pale attendants and anxious courtiers,
through valets and chamberlains and musketeers of the guard, might be
seen approaching the real Usher of the Black Rod.