Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1874-01-09
THE SATIRIST.
AN INCIDENT IN THE RULE OF MADAME
DE POMPADOUR.

AN INCIDENT IN THE RULE OF MADAME
DE POMPADOUR.
IT was the time when Louis XIV was
on the French throne; when the beautiful
and clever Marquise de PompadOur gayly
wound her tolls around his scepter; the
time of pig-tails and patches, of the Bas-
tile and Of alchemy
In narrow street of Paris, as it was in
days ofyore, in one of those small private
residences which, in those days, they
were pleased to call a palace, and which
was in q somewhat diapidated condition,
there sat in coZy little boudoir charm
ing young girl She was piquant rather
than beautiful, graceful rather than sym
metric--a genuine Parisienne, Mile.
Adrienne de Marneville.
She at before her spinet and played
one Of Lully's sOndtGS, while at her feet,
on low, embroidered stool, there sat
young man who, from time to time, wrote
with pencil on sheet of paper,
spread out on q portfolio he held on his
knees. What he wrote seemed TO please
him amazingly, for at each period he
laughed heartily He was neither hand
some nor an elegant man, but his face
bore the impress OF talent, which, in his
generation, could hold it's head as high
as rank Or riches 1t was the poet Des-
forges, to whom the capricious little lady
at the spinet had given very dangerous
cOmmission--a commission that might,
indeed, easily send him to the Bastile.
She had demanded from him satire on
the all-pOwerful woman who had France
at her feet, and whose influence was felt
in all Europe.
81 have finished, Adrienne," suddenly
cried Desforges, springing to his feet and
dancing about the room for moment in
high glee; then he struck an attitude,
and began to read what he had written
Adrienne stopped playing and listened
with wrapt attention to the silver r-toned
but venomOus verses. Excellent =
charming" she cried, from time to time {;
and when he had finished reading she
Clapped her hands with delight.
"Then you are satisted?" asked Desfor-
ges.
"And so we'll, sir, that l proclaim you
from to-day my champion and court
poet" replied Mile. de Marneville, with
mock pathos.
"May | ever prove worthy" said the
poet, pressing her fingers to his lips.
"And these verses are mine?" asked
Adrienne.
yours; but first let me take copy of
them"
While he made transcript of the little
satire, Adrienne explained to him why
she had such an intense hatred for Nine
de POmpadOur, and was Overioyed when
Desforges promised to distribute copies
of the virulent verses in the cafes and in
the botredur desprit.
He pressed her hand once more to his
lips, and hurried away on his errand
while she turned again to her sonata as
though nothing unusual had occurred-a
genuine daughter of the rocOco times was
Adrienne de Marneville, tickle, careless
giddy.
Adrienne had just finished playing, as
Nine. de Marneville, still an attractive
woman of the beau monde, entered the
room somewhat hastily. r- Fl. Vs.
"Non enfant come with most agreea
BILE surprise"
"Ah, mamma, you have brought me the
set of iewelry l asked you for the other
day?" interrupted Adrienne.
mo, child, have brought you moth
ing. What l bring you offers itself-s
husband. The Marquise de Beauvoir is
suitor for your hand"
"Beauvoir--a handsome mani" replied
Adrienne, blushing violently.
"And very rich," added the mother.
"And you would have me marry him?'
asked Adrienne, naively.
"Certainly! How can you ask? Yol
know we are not rich. Itwould be insan
ity to refuse" "a
but Desforges? You know he Loves
me-
That's very comprehensive"
"And love him, too" sighed Adri
enne.
That's very incomprehensible," re
turned Nine. de Marneville, Indignantly
"And you really wish me to"
"To become the Marquise de Beauvoir
my child-to ride in your coach and four
to shine at court, and be served like al
Oriental queen, by Moors."
"That would be splendid"
"Then | may tell the marquis that 70,
consent?"
ellis servants are Moors-I have seer
them myself" murmured Adrienne
t'Then you CONSENT" asked the ambi
tious mother.
''.Well, yes, mamma, but--but wha
will Desforges say, poor Desforges?''
The mother embraced her daughter
and taking her hand led her into the salol
where the Marquis de Beauvoir waited.
When poor Desforges, the following
day, returned, in paroxysm of deligh
et the success Of his satire, he was re