“Name it.”
“I want to oblige the friend of one of my friends.”
“What’s his name?”
“Malicorne.”
“An ugly name.”
“But very well borne, Monseigneur.”
“That may be. Well?”
“Well, I owe M. Malicorne a place in your household, Monseigneur.”
“What kind of a place?”
“Any kind of a place; a supervision of some sort or another, for instance.”
“That happens very fortunately, for yesterday I dismissed my chief usher of the apartments.”
“That will do admirably. What are his duties?”
“Nothing, except to look about and make his report.”
“A sort of interior police?”
“Exactly.”
“Ah, how excellently that will suit Malicorne,” Manicamp ventured to say.
“You know the person we are speaking of, M. Manicamp?” inquired the prince.
“Intimately, Monseigneur. He is a friend of mine.”
“And your opinion is?”
“That Your Highness could never get a better usher of the apartments than he will make.”
“How much does the appointment bring in?” inquired the comte of the prince.
“I don’t know at all, only I have always been told that he could make as much as he pleased when he was thoroughly in earnest.”
“What do you call being thoroughly in earnest, prince?”
“It means, of course, when the functionary in question is a man who has his wits about him.”
“In that case I think Your Highness will be content, for Malicorne is as sharp as the devil himself.”
“Good! the appointment will be an expensive one for me, in that case,” replied the prince, laughing. “You are making me a positive present, comte.”
“I believe so, Monseigneur.”
“Well, go and announce to your M. Mélicorne—”
“Malicorne, Monseigneur.”
“I shall never get hold of that name.”
“You say Manicamp very well, Monseigneur.”
“Oh, I ought to say Malicorne very well, too. The alliteration will help me.”
“Say what you like, Monseigneur, I can promise you your inspector of apartments will not be annoyed; he has the very happiest disposition that can be met with.”
“Well, then, my dear de Guiche, inform him of his nomination. But, stay—”
“What is it, Monseigneur?”
“I wish to see him beforehand; if he be as ugly as his name, I retract every word I have said.”
“Your Highness knows him, for you have already seen him at the Palais Royal; nay, indeed, it was I who presented him to you.”
“Ah, I remember now—not a bad-looking fellow.”
“I know you must have noticed him, Monseigneur.”
“Yes, yes, yes. You see, de Guiche, I do not wish that either my wife or myself should have ugly faces before our eyes. My wife will have all her maids of honor pretty; I, all the gentlemen about me good-looking. In this way, de Guiche, you see, that any children we may have will run a good chance of being pretty, if my wife and myself have handsome models before us.”
“Most magnificently argued, Monseigneur,” said Manicamp, showing his approval by look and voice at the same time.
As for de Guiche, he very probably did not find the argument so convincing, for he merely signified his opinion by a gesture, which, moreover, exhibited in a marked manner some indecision of mind on the subject. Manicamp went off to inform Malicorne of the good news he had just learned. De Guiche seemed very unwilling to take his departure for the purpose of dressing himself. Monsieur, singing, laughing, and admiring himself, passed away the time until the dinner-hour, in a frame of mind that justified the proverb of “Happy as a prince.”
131
Story of a Dryad and a Naiad
Everyone had partaken of the banquet at the château, and afterwards assumed their full court dresses. The usual hour for the repast was five o’clock. If we say, then, that the repast occupied an hour, and the toilette two hours, everybody was ready about eight o’clock in the evening. Towards eight o’clock, then, the guests began to arrive at Madame’s, for we have already intimated that it was Madame who “received” that evening. And at Madame’s soirees no one failed to be present; for the evenings passed in her apartments always had that perfect charm about them which the queen, that pious and excellent princess, had not been able to confer upon her reunions. For, unfortunately, one of the advantages of goodness of disposition is that it is far less amusing than wit of an ill-natured character. And yet, let us hasten to add, that such a style of wit could not be assigned to Madame, for her disposition of mind, naturally of the very highest order, comprised too much true generosity, too many noble impulses and high-souled thoughts, to warrant her being termed ill-natured. But Madame was endowed with a spirit of resistance—a gift frequently fatal to its possessor, for it breaks where another disposition would have bent; the result was that blows did not become deadened upon her as upon what might be termed the cotton-wadded feelings of Maria-Theresa. Her heart rebounded at each attack, and therefore, whenever she was attacked, even in a manner that almost stunned her, she returned blow for blow to anyone imprudent enough to tilt against her.
Was this really maliciousness of disposition or simply waywardness of character? We regard those rich and powerful natures as like the tree of knowledge, producing good and evil at the same time; a double branch, always blooming and fruitful, of which those who wish to eat know how to detect the good fruit, and from which the worthless and frivolous die who have eaten of it—a circumstance which is by no means to be regarded as a great misfortune. Madame, therefore, who had a well-disguised plan in her mind of constituting herself the second, if not even the principal, queen of the court, rendered her receptions delightful to all, from the conversation, the opportunities of meeting, and the perfect liberty she allowed every one of making any remark he pleased, on the condition, however, that the remark was amusing or sensible. And it will hardly be believed, that, by that means, there was less talking among the society Madame assembled together than elsewhere. Madame hated people who talked much, and took a remarkably cruel revenge upon them, for she allowed them
