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Most Eminent Prince,
fallen into disuse, whether through the vanity of
authors or the humility or
patrons. But the
practice seems to me so very beautiful and
becoming that I
have ventured to make an
essay in the modest art, and lay with formalities
my first book at your feet. I have it
must be confessed many fears lest I
shall be
arraigned of presumption in choosing so exalted a
name as your own
to place at the beginning
of this history ; but I hope that such a censure
will
not be too lightly passed upon me, for
if I am guilty it is but of a most
natural
pride that the accidents of my life should allow
me to sail the little
pinnace of my wit
under your protection.
use
the tongue of apology, for with what face can I
offer you a book treating
of so vain and
fantastical a thing as love ? I know that in
the judgment of
many the amorous passion is
accounted a shameful thing and ridiculous ; indeed
it must be confessed that more blushes have
risen for love's sake than for
any other
cause and that lovers are an eternal
laughing-stock. Still, as
the book
will be found to contain matter of deeper import
than mere venery,
inasmuch as it treats of
the great contrition of its chiefest character,
and
of canonical things in certain pages, I
am not without hopes that your
Eminence will
pardon my writing of a loving Abbé, for which
extravagance
let my youth excuse me.
other than the Roman, but my small freedom in
Latinity forbids me to
wander beyond the
idiom of my vernacular. I would not for the
world
that your delicate Southern ear should
be offended by a barbarous assault
of rude
and Gothic words ; but methinks no language is
rude that can
boast polite writers, and not
a few such have flourished in this country in
times past, bringing our common speech to
very great perfection. In the
present
age, alas ! our pens are ravished by
unlettered authors and
unmannered critics,
that make a havoc rather than a building, a
wilderness
rather than a garden. But,
alack ! what boots it to drop tears upon the
preterit ?
merits that I should speak, else I should be
forgetful of the duties I have
drawn upon
myself in electing to address you in a dedication.
It is of
your noble virtues (though
all the world know of ʼem), your taste and
wit, your care for letters, and very real
regard for the arts that I must
be the
proclaimer.
judgment
on this or that, and not a few sufficient
impudence to print the
same (these last
being commonly accounted critics), I have ever
held that
the critical faculty is more rare
than the inventive. It is a faculty your
Eminence possesses in so great a degree that
your praise or blame is
something oracular,
your utterance infallible as great genius or as a
beautiful
woman. Your mind, I know,
rejoicing in fine distinctions and subtle
procedures of thought, beautifully discursive
rather than hastily conclusive,
has found in
criticism its happiest exercise. It is a
pity that so perfect
a Mecænas should
have no Horace to befriend, no Georgics to accept
;
for the offices and function of patron or
critic must of necessity be
lessened in an
age of little men and little work. In times
past it was
nothing derogatory for great
princes and men of State to extend their
loves and favour to poets, for thereby they
received as much honour as
they conferred.
Did not Prince Festus with pride take the
masterwork of
Julian into his protection,
and was not the Æneis a pretty thing to offer
Cæsar ?
not which
is greatest in you—your love of the arts,
or your knowledge
of ʼem. What
wonder then that I am studious to please you, and
desirous of your protection. How
deeply thankful I am for your past
affections you know well, your great kindness and
liberality having far
outgone my slight
merits and small accomplishment that seemed scarce
to
warrant any favour. Alas !
ʼtis a slight offering I make you now, but if
after glancing into its pages (say of an
evening upon your terrace) you
should deem
it worthy of the remotest place in your princely
library, the
knowledge that it rested there
would be reward sufficient for my labours,
and a crowning happiness to my pleasure in the
writing of this slender
book.
a moment beneath the ombre gateway of the
mysterious Hill, troubled
with an exquisite
fear lest a day's travel should have too cruelly
undone the
laboured niceness of his dress.
His hand, slim and gracious as La Marquise
du Deffand's in the drawing by Carmontelle,
played nervously about the gold
hair that
fell upon his shoulders like a finely-curled
peruke, and from point to
point of a precise
toilet the fingers wandered, quelling the little
mutinies of
cravat and ruffle.
shadows, when the enchanted woods are stirred with
light footfalls and slender
voices of the
fairies, when all the air is full of delicate
influences, and even
the beaux, seated at
their dressing-tables, dream a little.
with perfume, dripping with odours. Gloomy
and nameless weeds not to be
found in
Mentzelius. Huge moths, so richly winged
they must have banqueted
upon tapestries and
royal stuffs, slept on the pillars that flanked
either side of
the gateway, and the eyes of
all the moths remained open and were burning
and bursting with a mesh of veins. The
pillars were fashioned in some pale
stone
and rose up like hymns in the praise of pleasure,
for from cap to base,
each one was carved
with loving sculptures, showing such a cunning
invention
and such a curious knowledge, that
Fanfreluche lingered not a little in reviewing
them. They surpassed all that Japan
has ever pictured from her maisons
vertes,
all that was ever painted in the cool bath-rooms
of Cardinal La Motte,
and even outdid the
astonishing illustrations to Jonesʼs
“Nursery Numbers.”
mountain,
faint music as strange and distant as sea-legends
that are heard
in shells.
few chords of accompaniment, ever so
lightly, upon his little lute. Softly
across the spell-bound threshold the song floated
and wreathed itself about
the subtle
columns, till the moths were touched with passion
and moved
quaintly in their sleep. One
of them was awakened by the intenser notes
of the Abbe's lute-strings, and fluttered into the
cave. Fanfreluche felt it
was his cue
for entry.
Madonna,” as the cold
circle of the moon began to show, beautiful and
full of enchantments. There was a
shadow of sentiment in his voice as
he spoke
the words.
looking-glass before I
make my debut ! However, as she is a Goddess, I
doubt not her eyes are a little sated with
perfection, and may not be
displeased to see
it crowned with a tiny fault.”
first
flush of displeasure he would have struck it
brusquely away, and most
severely punished
the offending flower. But the ruffled mood
lasted only a
moment, for there was
something so deliciously incongruous in the hardy
petal's invasion of so delicate a thing,
that Fanfreluche withheld the finger
of
resentment and vowed that the wild rose should
stay where it had clung
—a passport,
as it were, from the upper to the under world.
excuse”; and, undoing a tangle
in the tassel of his stick, stepped into the
shadowy corridor that ran into the bosom of the
wan hill—stepped with
the admirable
aplomb and unwrinkled suavity of Don John.
Helen was seated in a little dressing-gown
of black and heliotrope. The
coiffeur
Cosmé was caring for her scented chevelure,
and with tiny silver
tongs, warm from the
caresses of the flame, made delicious intelligent
curls
that fell as lightly as a breath about
her forehead and over her eyebrows,
and
clustered like tendrils round her neck. Her
three favourite girls,
Pappelarde,
Blanchemains and Loreyne, waited immediately upon
her with
perfume and powder in delicate
flaçons and frail cassolettes, and held in
porcelain jars the ravishing paints prepared
by Châteline for those cheeks
and lips
that had grown a little pale with anguish of
exile. Her three
favourite boys,
Claud, Clair and Sarrasine, stood amorously about
with salver,
fan and napkin. Millamant
held a slight tray of slippers, Minette some
tender
gloves, La
Popeliniere—mistress of the
robes—was ready with a frock of
yellow and yellow, La Zambinella bore the jewels,
Florizel some flowers,
Amadour a box of
various pins, and Yadius a box of sweets. Her
doves,
ever in attendance, walked about the
room that was panelled with the gallant
paintings of Jean Baptiste Dorat, and some dwarfs
and doubtful creatures sat
here and there
lolling out their tongues, pinching each other,
and behaving
oddly enough. Sometimes Helen
gave them little smiles.
fardeuse, strode in and seated herself by
the side of the dressing-table, greeting
Helen with an intimate nod. She wore a gown
of white watered silk with
gold lace
trimmings, and a velvet necklet of false
vermilion. Her hair hung
in bandeaux
over her ears, passing into a huge chignon at the
back of her
head, and the hat, wide-brimmed
and hung with a vallance of pink muslin,
was
floral with red roses.
little gestures with the hands, strange
movements with the shoulders, a short
respiration that made surprising wrinkles in her
bodice, a corrupt skin, large
horny eyes, a
parrot's nose, a small loose mouth, great flaccid
cheeks, and chin
alter chin. She was a wise
person, and Helen loved her more than any
other of her servants, and had a hundred pet
names for her, such as Dear
Toad, Pretty
Poll, Cock Robin, Dearest Lip, Touchstone, Little
Cough Drop,
Bijou, Buttons, Dear Heart,
Dick-dock, Mrs. Manly, Little Nipper, Cochon-
de-lait, Naughty-naughty, Blessed Thing, and
Trump. The talk that passed
between
Mrs. Marsuple and her mistress was of that
excellent kind that passes
between old
friends, a perfect understanding giving to scraps
of phrases their
full meaning, and to the
merest reference a point. Naturally
Fanfreluche the
newcomer was discussed a
little. Helen had not seen him yet, and
asked a
score of questions on his account
that were delightfully to the point.
you have surpassed yourself
to-night.”
“Madam flatters
me,” replied the antique old thing, with a
girlish
giggle under his black satin mask.
“Gad, Madam ; sometimes I believe
I have no talent in the world, but to-night
I must confess to a touch of the
vain
mood.”
suffice it that the sorrowful work was
accomplished ; frankly, magnificently,
and
without a shadow of deception.
a flutter of frilled things. She was
adorably tall and slender. Her neck
and shoulders were wonderfully drawn, and the
little malicious breasts
were full of the
irritation of loveliness that can never be
entirely compre-
hended, or ever enjoyed to
the utmost. Her arms and hands were loosely,
but delicately articulated, and her legs
were divinely long. From the hip to
the knee, twenty-two inches ; from the knee to the
heel, twenty-two inches,
as befitted a
Goddess. Those who have seen Helen only in
the Vatican,
in the Louvre, in the Uffizi,
or in the British Museum, can have no idea
how very beautiful and sweet she looked. Not
at all like the lady in
“Lemprière.”
at her arms with kisses.
Millamant to bring her the slippers.
sufficient to make Cluny a place of naught.
There were shoes of grey and
black and
brown suède, of white silk and rose satin,
and velvet and sarcenet;
there were some of
sea-green sewn with cherry blossoms, some of red
with
willow branches, and some of grey with
bright-winged birds. There were
heels
of silver, of ivory, and of gilt ; there were
buckles of very precious
stones set in most
strange and esoteric devices ; there were ribbons
tied and
twisted into cunning forms ; there
were buttons so beautiful that the button-
holes might have no pleasure till they closed upon
them ; there were soles of
delicate leathers
scented with maréchale, and linings of soft
stuffs scented
with the juice of July
flowers. But Helen, finding none of them to
her mind,
called for a discarded pair of
blood-red maroquin, diapered with pearls. These
looked very distinguished over her white
silk stockings.
gloves.
loving to froler her ankles with their plumes, and
the dwarfs clapped their
hands, and put
their fingers between their lips and whistled.
Never before
had Helen been so radiant
and compelling. Spiridion, in the corner,
looked
up from his game of Spellicans and
trembled.
terrace. “Ah!” cried Helen,
“I'm famished!”
her
at supper.
and set with a hundred tables and four hundred
couches, presented a truly
splendid appearance. In the middle was a
huge bronze fountain with three
basins.
From the first rose a many - breasted dragon
and four little loves
mounted upon swans,
and each love was furnished with a bow and arrow.
Two of them that faced the monster seemed to
recoil in fear, two that were
behind made
bold enough to aim their shafts at him. From
the verge of
the second sprang a circle of
slim golden columns that supported silver doves
with tails and wings spread out. The
third, held by a group of grotesquely
attenuated satyrs, was centered with a thin pipe
hung with masks and roses
and capped with
children's heads.
from
the breasts of the doves, from the satyrs’
horns and lips, from the masks
at many
points, and from the childrens’ curls, the
water played profusely,
cutting strange
arabesques and subtle figures.
them, not numbering those upon the tables.
The candlesticks were of a
countless
variety, and smiled with moulded cochonneries.
Some were twenty
feet high, and bore
single candles that flared like fragrant torches
over the
feast, and guttered till the wax
stood round the tops in tall lances. Some,
hung with dainty petticoats of shining
lustres, had a whole bevy of tapers
upon
them devised in circles, in pyramids, in squares,
in cuneiforms, in
single lines regimentally
and in crescents.
every sort, were shell-like vases of excessive
fruits and flowers that hung
about and burst
over the edges and could never be restrained.
The orange-
trees and myrtles, looped
with vermilion sashes, stood in frail porcelain
pots,
and the rose-trees were wound and
twisted with superb invention over trellis
and standard. Upon one side of the terrace a
long gilded stage for the
comedians was
curtained off with Pagonian tapestries, and in
front of it the
music-stands were placed.
sixth terrace were all circular, covered with
white damask, and strewn with
irises, roses,
kingcups, colombines, daffodils, carnations and
lilies ; and the
couches, high with soft cushions and spread
with more stuffs than could
be named, had
fans thrown upon them.
rately and with so much splendour that the
architect of the Fêtes d'Armailhacq
could have found in them no matter for cavil, and
the still lakes strewn with
profuse barges
full of gay flowers and wax marionettes, the
alleys of tall
trees, the arcades and
cascades, the pavilions, the grottoes and the
garden-
gods—all took a strange tinge
of revelry from the glare of the light that fell
upon them from the feast.
and Clair, and Farcy, the chief comedian, sat at
the same table. Fanfreluche,
who had
doffed his travelling suit, wore long black silk
stockings, a pair of
pretty garters, a very
elegant ruffled shirt, slippers and a wonderful
dressing-
gown ; and Farcy was in ordinary
evening clothes. As for the rest of the
company, it boasted some very noticeable
dresses, and whole tables of quite
delightful coiffures. There were spotted
veils that seemed to stain the skin,
fans
with eye-slits in them, through which the bearers
peeped and peered ;
fans painted with
figures and covered with the sonnets of Sporion
and the
short stories of Scaramouch ; and
fans of big, living moths stuck upon mounts
of silver sticks. There were masks of green
velvet that make the face look
trebly
powdered : masks of the heads of birds, of apes,
of serpents, of dolphins,
of men and women,
of little embryons and of cats ; masks like the
faces of
gods ; masks of coloured glass, and
masks of thin talc and of india-rubber.
There were wigs of black and scarlet wools, of
peacocks’ feathers, of gold and
silver
threads, of swansdown, of the tendrils of the
vine, and of human hair :
huge collars of
stiff muslin rising high above the head ; whole
dresses of ostrich
feathers curling inwards
; tunics of panthers’ skins that looked
beautiful over
pink tights ; capotes of
crimson satin trimmed with the wings of owls ;
sleeves
cut into the shapes of apocryphal
animals : drawers flounced down to the
ankles, and necked with tiny, red roses ;
stockings clocked with fetes galantes,
and
curious designs ; and petticoats cut like
artificial flowers. Some of the
women
had put on delightful little moustaches dyed in
purples and bright
greens, twisted and waxed with absolute skill
; and some wore great white
beards, after
the manner of Saint Wilgeforte. Then Dorat
had painted extra-
ordinary grotesques and
vignettes over their bodies, here and there.
Upon a
cheek, an old man scratching
his horned head ; upon a forehead, an old
woman teased by an impudent amor ; upon a
shoulder, an amorous singerie ;
round a
breast, a circlet of satyrs ; about a wrist, a
wreath of pale, unconscious
babes; upon an
elbow, a bouquet of spring flowers; across a back,
some sur-
prising scenes of adventure ; at
the corners of a mouth, tiny red spots ; and
upon a neck, a flight of birds, a caged parrot, a
branch of fruit, a butterfly, a
spider, a
drunken dwarf, or, simply, some initials.
parallel. Never had he created a more
exquisite menu.
of any chef. What, then, can I say of
the
the
that surpassed even the famous
little suppers given by the Marquis de
Réchale
at Passy, and which the
Abbé Mirliton pronounced “impeccable,
and too good
to be eaten.”
divine mistress !
gourmet, and the strange wines, cooled in buckets
of snow, unloosed all the
décolleté spirits of astonishing
conversation and atrocious laughter.
personal. Pulex and Cyril, and Marisca and
Cathelin, opened a fire of
raillery, and a
thousand amatory follies of the day were
discussed.
inarticulate. Bad sentences were helped out
by worse gestures, and at one
table Scabius
expressed himself like the famous old knight in
the first part
pronounce each
other’s names, and became very affectionate
in the attempt ;
and Tala, the tragedian,
robed in roomy purple, and wearing plume and
buskin, rose to his feet, and, with swaying
gestures, began to recite one of
his
favourite parts. He got no further than the
first line, but repeated it
again and again,
with fresh accents and intonations each time, and
was only
silenced by the approach of the
asparagus that was being served by satyrs
dressed in white.