A FAIR SUITOR.
The following evening at her Majesty's circle Lauzun approaches
Mademoiselle. A smile is on his face, and his manner is less formal.
Mademoiselle seats herself apart in a recess, and signs to him to place
himself beside her. "Now, now, he will speak," she repeats to herself.
"Are you prepared, M. de Lauzun, to give me your opinion on my
approaching marriage?" The tone of her voice is low and sweet; her hand
falls near his; he draws a little back.
"Believe me, madame, each word you have uttered is graven on my heart.
I have founded many _châteaux d'Espagne_ on them."
Mademoiselle is enchanted. "This is the moment," thinks she. She grows
hot and cold by turns, and with difficulty conceals her delight.
"Pray speak to me with frankness, Count. I want to discuss with you the
most important event of my life—my marriage."
"I am deeply gratified at being appointed president of your council,
madame." Lauzun's manner suddenly changes. He is all at once
disagreeable, stiff, and supercilious. He settles his ruffles over his
hands, and pulls at his moustache. "Allow me to say, however, that
no one in the world could enter into this delicate matter with more
profound respect for you than myself."
Mademoiselle is strangely baffled; spite of herself the conversation is
drifting away, she knows not whither. She cannot decide if Lauzun is
gratified or offended at her advances—a strange dilemma for a love-sick
princess worth many millions!
"Pray, Count, let us resume our discussion of your own opinion on the
matter in question. Do you advise me to marry?"
"Your merit, madame, is so great, I know no one worthy of you." He
speaks with the utmost indifference. "Why resign your present brilliant
position?" he adds.
"Is he mocking me?" she thinks, "or is he bashful?" As this doubt
presents itself, Mademoiselle's heart sinks within her. "What can I say
to make him understand me?" she murmurs. When she next speaks a slight
asperity is apparent in her tone. She is not used to be trifled with;
she cannot brook it even from Lauzun. She rises impatiently.
"I beg you will remember, Monsieur de Lauzun, that I consider no
sacrifice too great to ensure me the husband I have described to you."
Lauzun feels that he may go too far; he instantly assumes a look of
intense humility.
"Such a man as you describe, madame, ought to esteem himself supremely
blest. He should love you more than life!" He speaks with enthusiasm.
Mademoiselle thrills with rapture; her cheeks mantle with blushes. "At
last the moment is come," she thinks. She reseats herself and turns,
with breathless impatience, towards Lauzun, who meets her ardent gaze.
Lauzun instantly checks himself; the cold look is again on his face.
"Where will you find such a man?" he says. "Will your highness permit
me to search for one?"
"Monsieur de Lauzun, if you are in earnest you need not search long,"
she replies significantly. Could she then have caught his eye, all
would have been told.
"Pray inform me on whom your choice has fallen, madame? We may both
have fixed on the same person."
Had she dared she would have openly named himself, but he is suddenly
grown so cold and distant, she is utterly discomfited. Lauzun crosses
his arms on his breast and falls into a muse.
"Have you ever, madame, contemplated the advantages of being a nun?" he
asks abruptly. "Devotion is often the refuge of single women."
Mademoiselle is aghast. Her hands drop helplessly to her side, her head
sinks on her bosom.
"Good heavens!" she thinks, "what evil fortune pursues me? Will no man
ever understand I love him?"
"Upon the whole, madame, I advise you to remain as you are." Lauzun's
voice is harsh, his sallow face is flushed. He is conscious of the
difficulty of his position, with an ardent princess beside him, whose
passion must be irritated to the utmost in order to induce her to
overleap all obstacles. "It is too soon to yield," he thinks.
"I have the honour to tell you, Monsieur de Lauzun, I have selected
marriage," rejoins Mademoiselle haughtily. She is fast losing her
temper. Lauzun instantly assumes a deeply penitent air.
"For myself," he says meekly, "my only pleasure is in the service of
his Majesty. I am fit for nothing else." As he speaks his dejected
look sends a pang to her heart. "If I leave his Majesty, it will be——"
he stops, Mademoiselle listens breathlessly—"it will be to enter a
monastery. Nothing but my attachment to my royal master restrains me."
"Blessed Virgin!" ejaculates Mademoiselle, clasping her hands. "Who
could have believed it?"
"I shall never marry," continues Lauzun. He hangs down his head,
apparently overcome with despondency.
"How?—Why?" demands Mademoiselle eagerly. "For what reason?"
"Marriage has often been proposed to me, your highness, but there are
insurmountable difficulties."
"Name them, I entreat you," she cries imperiously.
"My wife, madame, must be a paragon of virtue, or I should murder her.
I dread the morals of the Court. Not the wealth of the Indies would
tempt me to marry and to doubt. I would not unite myself to a princess
of the blood, under such conditions."
"Noble heart!" exclaims Mademoiselle aside. "You can very easily find
the virtuous lady you seek," she adds aloud, in a voice tremulous with
suppressed passion. She turns towards Lauzun, and for a moment touches
his hand which lies close to her own. "My choice is made," she adds
resolutely. "I shall announce it to his Majesty to-morrow."
"For heaven's sake, forbear!" exclaims Lauzun, with real earnestness,
starting to his feet; "you make me tremble. You must say nothing. It
concerns my honour, madame," and he smote upon his breast. Mademoiselle
turns her glowing eyes upon him. "My honour as your adviser, madame, I
mean," adds Lauzun, correcting himself and speaking in an altered tone.
But all his self-command could not wholly conceal the triumph he felt
at having so successfully acted his part. "As your adviser, madame,
I forbid you to speak to the King. The time is not yet come. (I hold
her," he says to himself, "she is mine!")
At this moment a page enters and desires him to join his Majesty,
who is walking up and down in the quadrangle with some gentlemen.
Mademoiselle is as much at a loss as ever to make Lauzun understand
her. Just as a crisis approaches, they are always interrupted. She
longs to ask him why she should not tell the King? Once or twice she
tried to do so, but Lauzun invariably turned the conversation into
such a channel as effectually silenced Mademoiselle, who spite of her
pride was easily abashed.
At last she hits upon an expedient.
"I have the name of my intended written on this slip of paper, Monsieur
de Lauzun," she says, and she offers him a sealed note at their next
meeting.
Lauzun draws back, stares at her, and frowns. "I do not wish to take
the note, madame. I feel that it forebodes me misfortune, my heart
beats so violently." Still he stretches out his hand and takes the
paper which she offers.
This takes place in the morning, at the Queen's lever. Maria Theresa is
on her way to mass, accompanied by Mademoiselle, who is in a state of
indescribable perturbation. She had seen Lauzun open the note, and read
the paper, on which is written the magic words, "_It is you._"
This great princess, arrived at a mature age, and as proud as Lucifer,
trembles like a leaf during mass, and requires all the restraints of
etiquette to hide the tumult of her feelings. After mass the Queen goes
to visit the Dauphin, who is ailing. Mademoiselle awaits her return in
a gallery outside. Lauzun is there. He leans against the chimney-piece,
lost in thought. A bright fire of logs is burning on the hearth.
His countenance betrays nothing. He neither seeks nor avoids her.
Mademoiselle rubs her hands, advances to the fire and shivers.
"I am paralysed with cold," she says, in a soft voice. She bends over
the fire. Lauzun bows and retires some steps to make room for her.
"I am more paralysed than your highness," he says stiffly, looking
round to see that no one is near. His face is inscrutable. "I have read
the note you did me the honour to place in my hands. I am not, however,
so foolish as to fall into such a snare; your highness is amusing
yourself at my expense. You conceal the real name of your intended
husband and substitute mine. You do this to mortify me. You are very
cruel." He gives her a stealthy look. Mademoiselle staggers backward;
she supports herself against a chair. She does not know whether to
laugh or cry. Then feeling that the moment so longed for is come, she
collects herself and speaks with dignity.
"I assure you, Monsieur de Lauzun, the name you have read on that
paper, is the name of the man I mean to marry."
Lauzun shakes his head incredulously.
"Not only so, Monsieur de Lauzun, but I intend immediately informing
the King of my intention, unless," adds she, in a tender voice, "you
forbid me." She would have liked to have gathered into one glance all
the love she felt for him. To have told him her passionate admiration
for his person, her respect for his magnanimity in rejecting the
splendid position she offered him. She would have liked to do this;
but, in the face of such exalted independence, her womanly delicacy
takes alarm. She can neither look at him nor utter a single word.
"Madame," says Lauzun at length, addressing her with the utmost
solemnity, "you have ill recompensed the zeal I have shown for you.
Henceforth, I can approach you no more. Great as is my respect for your
highness, I cannot permit myself to be exposed to ridicule. You are,
madame, making me the butt of the whole Court."
Mademoiselle starts violently, then she places her hand upon his arm.
"Lauzun," she says, and her voice sinks into a tone of the humblest
entreaty, "I beseech you to understand me. My resolution may seem
hasty, but your great qualities excuse it. I have made up my mind. I
shall ask his Majesty's permission to marry you."
At last she has spoken! The woman has overcome the princess. Lauzun
stands before her with downcast eyes—a victim, as it seems, to his own
perfection. The time was now come that he must coquet no more. Placing
his hand on his heart, he made her a deep obeisance.
"But, madame, I am only a Gascon gentleman. None but a sovereign is a
fit consort for your highness."
"I will make you a prince, Count," rejoins she, with a tender look. "I
will create you Duc de Montpensier. I have wealth and dignities; both
are yours."
Her eyes sparkle, her cheeks burn. An air of mingled power, pride,
love, and exultation overspreads her face. Her tall figure is raised
to its full height: she clasps the hand of Lauzun; he raises it to his
lips.
"Your highness overwhelms me," he whispers, with genuine feeling. For
an instant, Lauzun—the cold, heartless Lauzun—felt her influence. Could
he really love this exalted lady, who had thus honoured him? He looks
fixedly into her face, now transfigured by the deep passions that
stirred her inmost soul. Could he love her? He, a penniless cadet, of
an insignificant name? Etiquette set at defiance, a princess at his
feet, enormous wealth, a royal dukedom in his grasp! Could he love
her?—For a moment a rush of wild thoughts whirl through his brain. She
worships him. He could make her life a long enchantment. He was about
to kneel to her, to thank her, even to press her in his arms. But he
stops and steadies himself. No—she is too old; wrinkles gather about
her mouth, her fair hair is partly grey, the bloom has long faded from
her cheeks, the fire of youth from her eye. What is she but an old
maid, inflamed by a furious passion for a man greatly younger than
herself? Should he, the brilliant Lauzun, burn incense on the altar
of such an idol? Impossible. He would be the laughing-stock of the
Court! His lively imagination grasps the whole situation in an instant.
Lauzun's baser nature conquered. The momentary warmth fades out of his
heart for ever. He heaves a sigh of relief.
"Monsieur de Lauzun," says Mademoiselle, far too much occupied with her
own raptures to heed or to understand what was passing in his mind,
"you sigh. Fear nothing; I will obtain his Majesty's permission for our
speedy marriage."
Would Louis XIV. consent to the marriage of his cousin-german with
a simple gentleman? Would Madame de Montespan, with whom Lauzun
had intrigued, fall into this arrangement, or would she use her
all-powerful influence against it? These are awful questions.
Lauzun's blood ran cold when he thought of it. Madame de Montespan is
treacherous, and as vindictive and clever as himself. Louvois, too,
the minister, is his enemy.
Mademoiselle, however, ignorant of these dangers, acted without a
moment's hesitation. She wrote a long letter to the King, announcing
her choice, and asking for his consent. Lauzun saw and approved the
letter. It was then confided to Bontemps, who carried it to his Majesty.
Louis did not vouchsafe an immediate answer. He sent word to his cousin
that she had better reflect well upon what she was about to do. But the
countenance of the royal Jupiter beamed upon his favourite Lauzun with
undiminished warmth, and he was most affectionate to his cousin. Both
naturally drew favourable augeries. Mademoiselle was now steeped in the
sweets of an acknowledged passion. Lauzun condescended to be gracious,
spite of some little eccentricities such as not always approaching
her, or even replying to her when she addressed him—eccentricities
attributed by her to his great modesty and discretion. Still, the King
had not given his consent.
One evening his Majesty played late at _écarté_, so late indeed that
it was two o'clock, and he was still at the table. Mademoiselle sat
nodding on a brocaded fauteuil beside the Queen. She was determined to
see every one out, and to speak to her royal cousin.
She longed so much to salute her lover Duc de Montpensier; to behold
him raised to the Olympian circle that surrounded the family god. She
longed for many things; life had of late become a delightful mystery to
her. Each day unfolded some link in that delicious chain that bound
her for ever to her adored Lauzun!
At last the Queen rose. As she passed by she whispered to
Mademoiselle—"You must have some very important business with the King
to remain so late. I can sit up no longer."
"Madame," she replied, rising, "it is a matter of life and death to me.
If I succeed it will be announced at the council to-morrow morning."
"Well, my cousin," said the poor Queen, who never understood anything
that was going on, and was not intended to do so, "I wish you all
success. Good night."
By-and-by Louis left off playing. He rose, and walked up to
Mademoiselle. "What, cousin, you are still here? You did not accompany
her Majesty? Do you know the time? It is two o'clock."
"Sire, I wish to speak a few words to you."
The King yawned, gave a glance towards the door, then leant wearily
against the wall. "Excuse me for to-night, cousin," said he; "I am
tired."
"I shall not be long," urged Mademoiselle; "but do be seated, or I feel
I cannot address you properly."
"No, I am very well thus. Speak, my cousin. I am all attention."
This was an awful moment. Mademoiselle's heart thumped audibly against
her side. Her throat became so parched no words would come.
"Sire," she began, and her voice failed her. The King watched her; he
had seen a good deal of women by this time, and understood their ways.
He knew she was about to speak to him of Lauzun, and smiled.
"Take time, my cousin," said he graciously; "you are agitated; take
time."
"Sire," again began poor Mademoiselle—fortunately her voice now came to
her, and she continued—"I want to tell you that the resolution I had
the honour of submitting to your Majesty respecting the Comte de Lauzun
is unshaken. I shall never be happy unless I am his wife."
"Yet, my cousin, you have hitherto been most severe on those princesses
who have married beneath their rank—your step-sister, Madame de Guise,
for example. Lauzun is certainly the most complete grand seigneur of
my Court; but I still advise you to reflect well upon the step you are
taking. I do not wish to constrain you."
Mademoiselle clasped her hands; her face beamed.
"I love and esteem you beyond measure, my cousin," added Louis, taking
her hands in his. "I shall rejoice to have you always about my person.
But be careful; Lauzun has many enemies. I do not forbid you; but
remember, a sovereign is often forced to act against his will. This
intended marriage is now little known; do not give time for all the
world to discuss it. Let me warn you and Lauzun to be cautious; above
all, lose no time, my cousin. Take my advice, lose no time."
"Oh, Sire!" exclaimed Mademoiselle in an ecstasy, "if you are with us,
who can be against us?"
Louis embraced her, and they parted.
Any one less infatuated than Mademoiselle, less arrogant than Lauzun,
would have understood the King's friendly caution, "_to lose no time_."
But they were both too intoxicated with their different feelings to
heed the advice of the really well-meaning Louis. Lauzun lost his head
completely. He accepted, day after day, the magnificent presents sent
him by Mademoiselle. He ordered fresh equipages, horses, jewels, and
plate. He was created Duc de Montpensier. He shrank from the amorous
ardour of the doting Princess, but he gloried in her munificence. Still
unmarried, he revelled in it without a drawback! He was a mean, selfish
fellow, Monsieur de Lauzun, like all men who marry heiresses they do
not care for. The words of warning came again, and this time to his
ear. "_Marry while you can_," was said to him. Mademoiselle, still
enacting the masculine part, urged an early day, but she urged in vain.
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE LUXEMBOURG (LATER CALLED THE PALAIS
D'ORLÉANS) IN THE 17TH CENTURY.
FROM AN OLD PRINT.]