The Crayon Papers

addressing her husband, “if you approve of it, I will go immediately and have a conversation on this subject with the archbishop. There is not a moment to spare. It is now past midnight; the ceremony is to take place in the morning. A few hours and the irrevocable vows will be pronounced.”
    The prince inclined his head in respectful assent. The princess set about her generous enterprise with a woman’s promptness. Within a short time her carriage was at the iron gate of the archiepiscopal palace, and her servants rang for admission. Two Switzers, who had charge of the gate, were fast asleep in the porter’s lodge, for it was half-past two in the morning. It was some time before they could be awakened, and longer before they could be made to come forth.
    “The Princess de Beauvau is at the gate!”
    Such a personage was not to be received in deshabille. Her dignity and the dignity of the archbishop demanded that the gate should be served in full costume. For half an hour, therefore, had the princess to wait, in feverish impatience, until the two dignitaries of the porter’s lodge arrayed themselves; and three o’clock sounded from the tower of Notre Dame before they came forth. They were in grand livery, of a buff color, with amaranth galloons, plaited with silver, and fringed sword-belts reaching to their knees, in which were suspended long rapiers. They had small three-cornered hats, surmounted with plumes; and each bore in his hand a halbert. Thus equipped at all points, they planted themselves before the door of the carriage; struck the ends of their halberts on the ground with emphasis; and stood waiting with official importance, but profound respect, to know the pleasure of the princess.
    She demanded to speak with the archbishop. A most reverential bow and shrug accompanied the reply, that “His Grandeur was not at home.”
    Not at home! Where was he to be found? Another bow and shrug: “His Grandeur either was, or ought to be, in retirement in the seminary of St. Magloire; unless he had gone to pass the Fete of St. Bruno with the reverend Carthusian fathers of the Rue d’Enfer; or perhaps he might have gone to repose himself in his castle of Conflans-sur-Seine. Though, on further thought, it was not unlikely he might have gone to sleep at St. Cyr, where the Bishop of Chartres never failed to invite him for the anniversary soiree of Madame de Maintenon.”
    The princess was in despair at this multiplicity of crossroads pointed out for the chase; the brief interval of time was rapidly elapsing; day already began to dawn; she saw there was no hope of finding the archbishop before the moment of his entrance into the church for the morning’s ceremony; so she returned home quite distressed.
    At seven o’clock in the morning the princess was in the parlor of the monastery of De Panthemont, and sent in an urgent request for a moment’s conversation with the Lady Abbess. The reply brought was, that the abbess could not come to the parlor, being obliged to attend in the choir at the canonical hours. The princess entreated permission to enter the convent, to reveal to the Lady Abbess in two words something of the greatest importance. The abbess sent word in reply, that the thing was impossible, until she had obtained permission from the Archbishop of Paris. The princess retired once more to her carriage, and now, as a forlorn hope, took her station at the door of the church to watch for the arrival of the prelate.
    After a while the splendid company invited to this great ceremony began to arrive. The beauty, rank, and wealth of the novice had excited great attention; and, as everybody was expected to be present on the occasion, everybody pressed to secure a place. The street reverberated with the continual roll of gilded carriages and chariots; coaches of princes and dukes, designated by imperials of crimson velvet, and magnificent equipages of six horses, decked out with nodding plumes and sumptuous harnessing. At length the equipages ceased to arrive; empty vehicles filled the street; and, with a noisy and party-colored crowd of lackeys in rich liveries, obstructed all the entrances to De Panthemont.
    Eleven o’clock had struck; the last auditor had entered the church; the deep tones of the organ began to swell through the sacred pile, yet still the archbishop came not! The heart of the princess beat quicker and quicker with vague apprehension; when a valet, dressed in cloth of silver, trimmed with