in a marvelous
degree, the gift of tears: none knew better than she did when to weep, or
how many tears it was necessary to shed. As a poet of the time has said,
"She wept with so much art that she was enabled to give to her tears the
value of pearls." Those who had seen her in the morning, superb,
imperious, a queen in all the splendor of power, would find her in the
evening, gay, whimsical, capricious, presiding over one of these _petits
soupers_ with all the exuberant and madcap gayety of an actress after the
theater. The Abbe Soulavie, who saw her often, has left us a well-studied
portrait of the favorite;--

"In addition to the charms of a beautiful and animated countenance,
Madame de Pompadour possessed also, in an eminent degree, the art of
transforming her features; and each new combination, equally beautiful,
was another result of the deep study she had made of the affinity between
her mind and her physiognomy. Without in the least altering her position,
her countenance would become a perfect Proteus."

With intuitive tact, Madame de Pompadour very quickly perceived, that in
order to amuse a king who took neither interest nor pleasure in arts and
letters, other and more material enjoyments were necessary. She
commenced, then, by transforming herself into an actress. The king was
there like a wearied spectator of life; she felt, that in order to
interest and enliven him, it was necessary to diversify frequently her
character, and the spirit of her character. Twenty times a day would she
change her dress, her appearance, and even her manner of walking and
speaking; passing from gayety to gravity, from songs and smiles to love
and sentiment. With syren-like voice, and a heart as light as the bird of
the air, she would invent a thousand graceful blandishments for the
amusement of her royal lover. Her beauty, which was marvelous, served her
well in all these metamorphoses. She dressed, too, with exquisite art.
Among the many costumes which she has invented, we may cite one which
made quite a _furore_ in its day, and this was the _neglige a la
Pompadour_; a robe in the form of a Turkish vest, which designed with
peculiar grace the _contour_ of the figure. She would frequently pass
entire mornings at her toilet in company with Louis XV., who would stand
by giving his opinion and advice respecting the different costumes she
adopted. The king, however, grew tired at length of having but one
comedian. In vain would she