Mademoiselle de Chartres, Madame d’Orleans’ second daughter, is well
made, and is the handsomest of my granddaughters. She has a fine skin, a
superb complexion, very white teeth, good eyes, and a faultless shape,
but she stammers a little; her hands are extremely delicate, the red and
white are beautifully and naturally mingled in her skin. I never saw
finer teeth; they are like a row of pearls; and her gums are no less
beautiful. A Prince of Auhalt who is here is very much in love with her;
but the good gentleman is ugly enough, so that there is no danger. She
dances well, and sings better; reads music at sight, and understands the
accompaniment perfectly; and she sings without any grimace. She persists
in her project of becoming a nun; but I think she would be better in the
world, and do all in my power to change her determination: it seems,
however, to be a folly which there is no eradicating. Her tastes are all
masculine; she loves dogs, horses, and riding; all day long she is
playing with gunpowder, making fusees and other artificial fireworks.
She has a pair of pistols, which she is incessantly firing; she fears
nothing in the world, and likes nothing which women in general like; she
cares little about her person, and for this reason I think she will make
a good nun.
She does not become a nun through jealousy of her sister, but from the
fear of being tormented by her mother and sister, whom she loves very
much, and in this she is right. She and her sister are not fond of their
mother’s favourites, and cannot endure to flatter them. They have no
very reverent notions, either, of their mother’s brother, and this is the
cause of dissensions. I never saw my granddaughter in better spirits
than on Sunday last; she was with her sister, on horseback, laughing, and
apparently in great glee. At eight o’clock in the evening her mother
arrived; we played until supper; I thought we were afterwards going to
play again, but Madame d’Orleans begged me to go into the cabinet with
her and Mademoiselle d’Orleans; the child there fell on her knees, and
begged my permission, and her mother’s, to go to Chelles to perform her
devotions. I said she might do that anywhere, that the place mattered
not, but that all depended upon her own heart, and the preparation which
she made. She, however, persisted in her desire to go to Chelles. I
said to her mother:
“You must decide whether your daughter shall go to Chelles or not.”
She replied, “We cannot hinder her performing her devotions.”
[In the Memoirs of the time it is said that Mademoiselle de
Chartres, being at the Opera with her mother, exclaimed, while
Caucherau was singing a very tender air, “Ah! my dear Caucherau!”
and that her mother, thinking this rather too expressive, resolved
to send her to a convent.]
So yesterday morning at seven o’clock she set off in a coach; she
afterwards sent back the carriage, with a letter to her father, her
mother, and myself, declaring that she will never more quit that accursed
cloister. Her mother, who has a liking for convents, is not very deeply
afflicted; she looks upon it as a great blessing to be a nun, but, for my
part, I think it is one of the greatest misfortunes.
My son went yesterday to Chelles, and took with him the Cardinal de
Noailles, to try for the last time to bring his daughter away from the
convent. (20th July, 1718.)
My heart is full when I think that our poor Mademoiselle d’Orleans has
made the profession of her vows. I said to her all I could, in the hope
of diverting her from this diabolical project, but all has been useless.
(23rd August, 1718.) I should not have restrained my tears if I had been
present at the ceremony of her profession. My son dreaded it also. I
cannot tell for what reason Mademoiselle d’Orleans resolved to become a
nun. Mademoiselle de Valois wanted to do the same thing, but she could
not prevail upon her mother. In the convent they assume the names of
saints. My granddaughter has taken that of Sister Bathilde; she is of
the Benedictine order.
Madame d’Orleans has long wished her daughter to take this step, and it
was on her account that the former Abbess, Villars’ sister, was prevailed
upon to quit the convent. He is in the interest of the Duc du Maine. I
do not see, however, that his sister has much to complain of, for they
gave her a pension of 12,000 livres until the first abbey should become
vacant. Madame d’Orleans is, however, vexed at the idea of Villars’
sister being obliged to yield to my son’s daughter, which is,
nevertheless, as it should be.
Our Abbess is upon worse terms than ever with her mother. She complains
that the latter never comes but to scold her. She does not envy her
sister her marriage, for she finds herself very happy, and in this she
displays great good sense.