a of the Romans, on whom shall
we place the entirely supportable responsibility of diminishing
tapestries from noble draperies down to mere furniture coverings?

The result came happily, with much fluttering of fans, dropping of
handkerchiefs, with powder, patches, intrigues, naughty sports, and a
general necessity for a gay company to divide itself into groups of
four or two--a lady and a cavalier, forsooth--the inevitable man and
maid. In the time of the preceding king, Louis XIV, the court lived in
masses. Life was a pageant, a grand one, moving in slow dignity of
gorgeous crowds, but a pageant on which beat the fierce light of a
throne jealous of its grandeur. No chance was here for sweet escape
and no chance for light communing.

But all that saw a change. The needs of the lighter court and the
lighter people, were for reminders that life is a merry dance in which
partners change often, and sitting-out a figure with one of them is
part of the game.

Perhaps the huge apartments were not to the taste of Regent Philippe,
and certainly they were not convenient to the life of the king when he
came to man's estate. So, down came the ceiling's height, and closer
drew the walls, until the model of the Petit Trianon was reached and
considered the ideal--if that were not indeed the miniature Swiss
Cottage.

What place had an acre of tapestry in these little rooms? How could
yards of undulating colour hang over walls that were already overlaid
with the most exquisite low relief in wood that has ever been carved
this side of the Renaissance in Italy? No place for it whatever. So,
out with it--the fashions have changed.

But there was the furniture. That, too, was smaller than hitherto. But
this was the day of artists skilled in small design, and they must
fill the need.

CHAPTER XIII

THE GOBELINS FACTORY (_Continued_)

And so it came about that tapestry fell from the walls, shrunk like a
pricked balloon and landed in miniature on chairs, sofas and screens.

How felt the artists about this domesticating of their art? We are not
told of the wry face they made when, with ideals in their souls, they
were set to compose chair-seats for the Pompadour. Her preference was
for Boucher. Perhaps his revenge showed itself by treating the
bourgeoise courtisane to a bit of coarseness now and then, slyly hid
in dainties.

The artist, Louis Tessier, appeased himself by composing for furniture
a design of simple bouquets