SIGNING THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT.
A day is at length fixed. The contract between Mademoiselle and Lauzun
is to be signed at the Luxembourg Palace. Mademoiselle arrays herself
in the white robe of an affianced bride. Lauzun is beside her. He is
ostentatiously humble; indeed, he had never been thoroughly civil to
her before.
As he enters the boudoir in her private suite of apartments, he salutes
her with his grandest air, and kisses her hand. Mademoiselle cannot
take her eyes off him. Her senile transports are ridiculous; Lauzun
feels that they are.
A table is placed in the centre of the room; at this table sits
Boucherat, notary to her royal highness. He is dressed in the quaint
clerical robe, white bands, and short wig that still distinguished
his profession in France. The marriage contract, of portentous size,
lies open on the table before him. Boucherat, a tall spare man, with a
singularly doleful expression of countenance, looks discomposed, coughs
several times, then, finding that no one attends to him, looks up.
Mademoiselle is talking eagerly with Lauzun.
"Your royal highness—" begins Boucherat, hesitating. "Will you
permit me to address you, madame?" he adds in a louder tone, finding
Mademoiselle pays no attention to him.
"What is it, my good Boucherat?" asks Mademoiselle, turning round at
last towards him.
Boucherat rises to his feet. He bows, standing on the tips of his
toes, then folds his arms. He is purple in the face, and appears to be
suffering acutely, especially as, suddenly unfolding his arms, he rubs
them violently together.
Lauzun laughs. Mademoiselle cannot altogether command her countenance.
"I have known your royal highness from a child," says Boucherat
hurriedly, as though speaking between spasms of pain. "I have had the
honour of serving your illustrious father, Gaston, Duc d'Orléans, as
notary before your birth—exalted lady." Here Boucherat stops, gasps
as if going into a fit, wipes his forehead with his handkerchief, and
adjusts his wig.
Lauzun roars with laughter, and Mademoiselle contemplates the notary
with silent amazement.
"I have the honour to say,—great lady," continues Boucherat
spasmodically, "that I have known you from a child. I have always
obeyed you, blindly, as was my duty and my pleasure. I have obeyed you
now, madame," and he utters a sound between a snort and a groan. "I
have at your command drawn up these deeds, as you bade me. But," and he
again stops, blows his nose violently, and makes a hideous grimace, "I
cannot allow your highness to sign these deeds and contracts without
presuming to ask you if you have fully considered their import." Here
such a succession of twitches and spasmodic contortions passes over his
countenance, that he is scarcely human.
"I have well considered what I am doing, Boucherat," replies
Mademoiselle loftily, advancing to the table and taking a pen in her
hand.
Lauzun, no longer laughing, stands contemplating Boucherat, with a
savage expression.
"Your highness—permit me," pursues the notary, not seeing him. "Is it
to be an _entire_ donation of the princedom of Dombes, the county of
Eu, the dukedom of——"
"Yes, yes, Boucherat, an entire donation," replies Mademoiselle,
interrupting him.
She dips the pen into the ink and prepares to sign.
"An _entire_ donation, madame?" gasps Boucherat, rising noisily to his
feet, then re-seating himself, and repeating this several times in
his excitement. "Let me caution your highness——" Another snort and a
succession of loud coughs silence him.
"This good man will certainly have a fit," says Mademoiselle half
aloud. "What can I do with him? Do not agitate yourself, Boucherat,"
and she turns towards him. She well knows his great fidelity and
attachment to herself. "Have no fear. I know what I am about. I shall
never be more mistress of my fortune than when I give it to this
gentleman."
She turns round and glances fondly at Lauzun, who is standing behind
her. She starts back at the furious expression on his face. He looks
diabolical. His eyes are fixed on Boucherat. The pen drops from her
hand.
"Believe me, madame, I—I have reason for my caution"; and again all
human expression passes from the face of the notary in a succession of
the most violent winks.
"How, villain! what do you mean?" cries Lauzun, advancing. "I shall
break my cane on your back presently."
Boucherat rises, looks for a moment at Lauzun, then at Mademoiselle,
shakes his head, readjusts his wig, and reseats himself.
Mademoiselle had taken the pen—which Lauzun presents to her this
time—again in her hand.
"Ah, your highness," groans Boucherat, "I have done my duty. God help
and guard you!"
"Are these deeds as I commanded them, Boucherat?"
"Yes, madame; they are a donation, an _entire_ donation, of the
princedom of Dombes, the——"
"Be silent, scoundrel!" roars Lauzun, "or by heaven I will split your
head open."
Boucherat shudders; his eyes seem to turn in his head; a look of horror
is on his face.
Mademoiselle draws the parchment towards her.
"I sign here," she says, and she traces her name in a bold, firm hand,
"Louise de Montpensier."
While she writes, Boucherat digs his hands into his wig, which, pushed
to one side, discloses his bald head. Then with a piteous glance at his
mistress, he flings his arms wildly into the air.
"Alas, alas! would I had died before this! the princedom of Dombes
gone—the county of Eu gone! Oh, madame!"
"Be silent, madman!" roars Lauzun, "or, _pardieu_, I will throttle you."
* * * * *
The folding-doors leading into the state apartments are now thrown
open. Mademoiselle appears, led by the Comte de Lauzun. These state
apartments had been decorated by her grandmother, Marie de' Medici,
who had lived in this palace. The walls are ornamented with delicate
arabesques, panelled with golden borders, and painted above in
compartments. The vaulted ceilings are divided into various designs,
executed by Rubens, illustrating the life of his royal mistress. Around
hang the effigies of the Medici and the Bourbons, the common ancestors
of Marie de' Medici and her granddaughter.
Mademoiselle passes round the brilliant circle which forms itself about
her, still holding Lauzun by the hand.
"Permit me," says she, in her stateliest manner, taking her position
at the top of the throne-room under a canopy—"Permit me to present to
you my future husband, the Duc de Montpensier. Let me beg all of you in
future to address him by that title _only_."
The royal princes present and the great personages of the Court bow
their acquiescence. The Maréchal de Bellefonds advances and salutes
Mademoiselle.
"Permit me, madame," says he, addressing her, "to congratulate you in
the name of your highness's devoted friends. I desire to thank you
especially in the name of the nobility of France, whom I represent, for
the honour you are conferring on our order by choosing from amongst us
a consort to share your dignity. We esteem Monsieur de Lauzun one of
the brightest ornaments of the Court; he is worthy of the proud station
for which you have selected him."
"I thank you, Maréchal de Bellefonds, and I thank the nobility of
France whom you so worthily represent. I thank you from my heart," and
Mademoiselle curtseys with royal grace. "No one is so well acquainted
as myself with the merit of Monsieur de Lauzun," and she glances
proudly at her future husband. "I accept with pleasure the sympathy of
his friends."
Lauzun bends, and kisses the hand of his affianced wife.
Then the Maréchal de Charost steps forth from a glittering crowd of
officers. Charost is a captain in the royal body-guard.
"I must also thank your highness for the honour you confer on the army
of France. My post is now without price; for what would a soldier not
give, what sacrifices would he not make, to become the brother-in-arms
of the husband of your highness?"
A laugh follows this hearty outburst of enthusiasm. It is scarcely
audible, but Mademoiselle instantly suppresses it with a frown. Lauzun
is a sacred object in her eyes, and she permits no jests, however
flattering, to mix with his name. Turning towards the Maréchal de
Charost, she replies with haughty courtesy—
"I thank you, Maréchal, and, in your person I thank the brave army of
his Majesty, my cousin."
Before this august company separates it is announced that the marriage
contract is to be at once submitted to the King, Queen, the Dauphin,
the Duc d'Orléans, and the princes of the blood-royal.
The marriage is to take place next day at Charenton, at the villa of
the Marquise de Créqui. The Archbishop of Rheims is to officiate.