Mademoiselle d'Amurande.--The Married Nun.--The Letter to the
Superior.--Monseigneur's Discourse.--The Abduction.--A Letter from the
King.--Beware of the Governess.--We Leave Fontevrault.
Amoung the novices at Fontevrault there was a most interesting, charming
young person, who gave Madame de Mortemart a good deal of anxiety, as she
thought her still undecided as to the holy profession she was about to
adopt. This interested me greatly, and evoked my deepest sympathy.
The night of our concert and garden fete she sang to please the Abbess,
but there were tears in her voice. I was touched beyond expression, and
going up to her at the bend of one of the quickset-hedges, I said, "You
are unhappy, mademoiselle; I feel a deep interest for you. I will ask
Madame de Mortemart to let you come and read to me; then we can talk as
we like. I should like to help you if I can."
She moved away at once, fearing to be observed, and the following day I
met her in my sister's room.
"Your singing and articulation are wonderful, mademoiselle," said I,
before the Abbess; "would you be willing to come and read to me for an
hour every day? I have left my secretary at Versailles, and I am
beginning to miss her much."
Madame de Mortemart thanked me for my kindly intentions towards the young
novice, who, from that time forward, was placed at my disposal.
The reading had no other object than to gain her confidence, and as soon
as we were alone I bade her tell me all. After brief hesitation, the
poor child thus began:
"In a week's time, a most awful ceremony takes place in this monastery.
The term of my novitiate has already expired, and had it not been for the
distractions caused by your visit, I should have already been obliged to
take this awful oath and make my vows.
"Madame de Mortemart is gentle and kind (no wonder! she is your sister),
but she has decided that I am to be one of her nuns, and nothing on earth
can induce her to change her mind. If this fatal decree be executed, I
shall never live to see this year of desolation reach its close. Perhaps
I may fall dead at the feet of the Bishop who ordains us.
"They would have me give to God--who does not need it--my whole life as a
sacrifice. But, madame, I cannot give my God this life of mine, as four
years ago I surrendered it wholly to some one else. Yes, madame," said
she, bursting into tears, "I am the lawful wife of the Vicomte d'Olbruze,
my cousin german.
"Of this union, planned and approved by my dear mother herself, a child
was born, which my ruthless father refuses to recognise, and which kindly
peasants are bringing up in the depths of the woods.
"My dear, good mother was devotedly fond of my lover, who was her nephew.
From our very cradles she had always destined us for each other. And she
persisted in making this match, despite her husband, whose fortune she
had immensely increased, and one day during his absence we were legally
united by our family priest in the castle chapel. My father, who, was
away at sea, came back soon afterwards: He was enraged at my mother's
disobedience, and in his fury attempted to stab her with his own hand. He
made several efforts to put an end to her existence, and the general
opinion in my home is that he was really the author of her death.
"Devotedly attached to my husband by ties of love no less than of duty, I
fled with him to his uncle's, an old knight-commander of Malta, whose
sole heir he was. My father, with others, pursued us thither, and scaled
the walls of our retreat by night, resolved to kill his nephew first and
me afterwards. Roused by the noise of the ruffians, my husband seized
his firearms. Three of his assailants he shot from the balcony, and my
father, disguised as a common man, received a volley in the face, which
destroyed his eyesight. The Parliament of Rennes took up the matter. My
husband thought it best not to put in an appearance, and after the
evidence of sundry witnesses called at random, a warrant for his arrest
as a defaulter was issued, a death penalty being attached thereto.
"Ever since that time my husband has been wandering about in disguise
from province to province. Doomed to solitude in our once lovely
chateau, my father forced me to take the veil in this convent, promising
that if I did so, he would not bring my husband to justice.
"Perhaps, madame, if the King were truly and faithfully informed of all
these things, he would have compassion for my grief, and right the
injustice meted out to my unlucky husband."
After hearing this sad story, I clearly saw that, in some way or other,
we should have to induce Madame de Mortemart to postpone the ceremony of
taking the vow, and I afterwards determined to put these vagaries on the
part of the law before my good friend President de Nesmond, who was the
very man to give us good advice, and suggest the right remedy.
As for the King, I did not deem it fit that he should be consulted in the
matter. Of course I look upon him as a just and wise prince, but he is
the slave of form. In great families, he does not like to hear of
marriages to which the father has not given formal consent; moreover, I
did not forget about the gun-shot which blinded the gentleman, and made
him useless for the rest of his life. The King, who is devoted to his
nobles, would never have pronounced in favour of the Vicomte, unless he
happened to be in a particularly good humour. Altogether, it was a risky
thing.
I deeply sympathised with Mademoiselle d'Amurande in her trouble, and
assured her of my good-will and protection, but I begged her to approve
my course of action, though taken independently of the King. She
willingly left her fate in my hands, and I bade her write my sister the
following note:
MADAME:--You know the vows that bind me; they are sacred, having been
plighted at the foot of the altar. Do not persist, I entreat you, do not
persist in claiming the solemn declaration of my vows. You are here to
command the Virgins of the Lord, but among these I have no right to a
place. I am a mother, although so young, and the Holy Scriptures tell me
every day that Hagar, the kindly hearted, may not forsaken her darling
Ishmael.
I happened to be with Madame de Mortemart when one of the aged sisters
brought her this letter. On reading it she was much affected. I feigned
ignorance, and asked her kindly what was the reason of her trouble. She
wished to hide it; but I insisted, and at last persuaded her to let me
see the note. I read it calmly and with reflection, and afterwards said
to the Abbess:
"What! You, sister, whose distress and horror I witnessed when our stern
parents shut you up in a cloister,--are you now going to impose like
fetters upon a young and interesting person, who dreads them, and rejects
them as once you rejected them?"
Madame de Mortemart replied, "I was young then, and without experience,
when I showed such childish repugnance as that of which you speak. At
that age one knows nothing of religion nor of the eternal verities. Only
the world, with its frivolous pleasures, is then before one's eyes; and
the spectacle blinds our view, even our view of heaven. Later on I
deplored such resistance, which so grieved my family; and when I saw you
at Court, brilliant and adored, I assure you, my dear Marquise, that this
convent and its solitude seemed to me a thousand times more
desirable than the habitation of kings."
"You speak thus philosophically," I replied, "only because your lot
happens to have undergone such a change. From a slave, you have become
an absolute and sovereign mistress. The book of rules is in your hands;
you turn over its leaves wherever you like; you open it at whatever page
suits you; and if the book should chance to give you a severe rebuke, you
never let others know this. Human nature was ever thus. No, no, madame;
you can never make one believe that a religious life is in itself such an
attractive one that you would gladly resume it if the dignities of your
position as an abbess were suddenly wrested from you and given to some
one else."
"Well, well, if that is so," said the Abbess, reddening, "I am quite
ready to send in my resignation, and so return you your liberality."
"I don't ask you for an abbey which you got from the King," I rejoined,
smiling; "but the favour, which I ask and solicit you can and ought to
grant. Mademoiselle d'Amurande points out to you in formal and
significant terms that she cannot enrol herself among the Virgins of the
Lord, and that the gentle Hagar of Holy Writ may not forsake Ishmael.
Such a confession plainly hints at an attachment which religion cannot
violate nor destroy, else our religion would be a barbarous one, and
contrary to nature.
"Since God has brought me to this convent, and by chance I have got to
know and appreciate this youthful victim, I shall give her my compassion
and help,--I, who have no necessity to make conversions by force in order
to add to the number of my community. If I have committed any grave
offence in the eyes of God, I trust that He will pardon me in
consideration of the good work that I desire to do. I shall write to the
King, and Mademoiselle d'Amurande shall not make her vows until his
Majesty commands her to do so."
This last speech checkmated my sister. She at once became gentle,
sycophantic, almost caressing in manner, and assured me that the ceremony
of taking the vow would be indefinitely postponed, although the Bishop of
Lugon had already prepared his homily, and invitations had been issued to
the nobility.
Madame de Mortemart is the very embodiment of subtlety and cunning. I
saw that she only wanted to gain time in order to carry out her scheme. I
did not let myself be hoodwinked by her promises, but went straight to
work, being determined to have my own way.
Hearing from Mademoiselle d'Amurande that her friend and ally, the old
commander, was still living, I was glad to know that she had in him such
a stanch supporter. "It is the worthy commander," said I, "who must be
as a father to you, until I have got the sentence of the first Parliament
cancelled." Then we arranged that I should get her away with me from the
convent, as there seemed to be little or no difficulty about this.
Accordingly, three days afterwards I dressed her in a most elegant
costume of my niece's. We went out in the morning for a drive, and the
nuns at the gateway bowed low, as usual, when my carriage passed, never
dreaming of such a thing as abduction.
That evening the whole convent seemed in a state of uproar. Madame de
Mortemart, with flaming visage, sought to stammer out her reproaches. But
as there was no law to prevent my action, she had to hide her vexation,
and behave as if nothing had happened.
The following year I wrote and told her that the judgment of the Rennes
Parliament had been cancelled by the Grand Council, as it was based on
conflicting evidence. The blind Comte d'Amurande had died of rage, and
the young couple, who came into all his property, were eternally grateful
to me, and forever showered blessings upon my head.
The Abbess wrote back to say that she shared my satisfaction at so happy
a conclusion, and that Madame d'Olbruse's disappearance from Fontevrault
had scarcely been noticed.
The Marquise de Thianges, whose ideas regarding such matters were
precisely the same as my own, confined herself to stating that I had not
told her a word about it. She spoke the truth; for the enterprise was
not of such difficulty that I needed any one to help me.
On the twelfth day, as we were about to leave Fontevrault, I received
another letter from the King, which was as follows:
As the pain in your knee continues, and the Bourbonne waters have been
recommended to you, I beg you, madame, to profit by being in their
vicinity, and to go and try their effect. Mademoiselle de Nantes is in
fairly good health, yet it looks as if a return of her fluxion were
likely. Five or six pimples have appeared on her face, and there is the
same redness of the arms as last year. I shall send her to Bourbonne;
your maids and the governess will accompany her. The Prince de Conde,
who is in office there, will show you every attention. I would rather
see you a little later on in good health, than a little sooner, and
ailing.
My kindest messages to Madame de Thianges, the Abbess, and all those who
show you regard and sympathy. Madame de Nevers might invite you to stay
with her; on her return I will not forget such obligation.
LOUIS.
We left Fontevrault after a stay of fifteen days; to the nuns and novices
it seemed more like fifteen minutes, but to Madame de Mortemart, fifteen
long years. Yet that did not prevent her from tenderly embracing me, nor
from having tears in her eyes when the time came for us to take coach and
depart.
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