Letters of Two Brides | Page 6

the
fugitives of the Revolution the value of their property, and that my
father is waiting to do up his house till this restitution is made, the
king's architect having estimated the damage at three hundred thousand
livres.
This piece of news flung me back despairing on my drawing-room sofa.
Could it be that my father, instead of spending this money in arranging
a marriage for me, would have left me to die in the convent? This was
the first thought to greet me on the threshold of my home.
Ah! Renee, what would I have given then to rest my head upon your
shoulder, or to transport myself to the days when my grandmother
made the life of these rooms? You two in all the world have been alone
in loving me--you away at Maucombe, and she who survives only in
my heart, the dear old lady, whose still youthful eyes used to open from
sleep at my call. How well we understood each other!
These memories suddenly changed my mood. What at first had seemed
profanation, now breathed of holy association. It was sweet to inhale
the faint odor of the powder she loved still lingering in the room; sweet
to sleep beneath the shelter of those yellow damask curtains with their
white pattern, which must have retained something of the spirit
emanating from her eyes and breath. I told Philippe to rub up the old
furniture and make the rooms look as if they were lived in; I explained
to him myself how I wanted everything arranged, and where to put each
piece of furniture. In this way I entered into possession, and showed
how an air of youth might be given to the dear old things.
The bedroom is white in color, a little dulled with time, just as the
gilding of the fanciful arabesques shows here and there a patch of red;
but this effect harmonizes well with the faded colors of the Savonnerie
tapestry, which was presented to my grandmother by Louis XV. along
with his portrait. The timepiece was a gift from the Marechal de Saxe,
and the china ornaments on the mantelpiece came from the Marechal de

Richelieu. My grandmother's portrait, painted at the age of twenty-five,
hangs in an oval frame opposite that of the King. The Prince, her
husband, is conspicuous by his absence. I like this frank negligence,
untinged by hypocrisy--a characteristic touch which sums up her
charming personality. Once when my grandmother was seriously ill,
her confessor was urgent that the Prince, who was waiting in the
drawing-room, should be admitted.
"He can come in with the doctor and his drugs," was the reply.
The bed has a canopy and well-stuffed back, and the curtains are
looped up with fine wide bands. The furniture is of gilded wood,
upholstered in the same yellow damask with white flowers which
drapes the windows, and which is lined there with a white silk that
looks as though it were watered. The panels over the doors have been
painted, by what artist I can't say, but they represent one a sunrise, the
other a moonlight scene.
The fireplace is a very interesting feature in the room. It is easy to see
that life in the last century centered largely round the hearth, where
great events were enacted. The copper gilt grate is a marvel of
workmanship, and the mantelpiece is most delicately finished; the
fire-irons are beautifully chased; the bellows are a perfect gem. The
tapestry of the screen comes from the Gobelins and is exquisitely
mounted; charming fantastic figures run all over the frame, on the feet,
the supporting bar, and the wings; the whole thing is wrought like a
fan.
Dearly should I like to know who was the giver of this dainty work of
art, which was such a favorite with her. How often have I seen the old
lady, her feet upon the bar, reclining in the easy-chair, with her dress
half raised in front, toying with the snuff-box, which lay upon the ledge
between her box of pastilles and her silk mits. What a coquette she was!
to the day of her death she took as much pains with her appearance as
though the beautiful portrait had been painted only yesterday, and she
were waiting to receive the throng of exquisites from the Court! How
the armchair recalls to me the inimitable sweep of her skirts as she sank
back in it!

These women of a past generation have carried off with them secrets
which are very typical of their age. The Princess had a certain turn of
the head, a way of dropping her glance and her remarks, a choice of
words, which I look for in vain, even in my mother. There was subtlety
in it all,