Madame d’Orléans, Abbess of Chelles--A visit from the Archbishop--The
Jansenist nuns--The dispensary--Madame de Rochechouart’s
fête day--Her illness and death 182
PART THE SECOND
CHAPTER I
The Prince-Bishop and Stanislaus-Augustus--The Diet in 1773--Second
dismemberment of Poland--Prince Xavier and his
tutor 217
CHAPTER II
Hélène’s suitors--The Duc d’Elbœuf and the Prince de Salm--Negotiations
of marriage--The Marquis de Mirabeau and the
Comtesse de Brionne--Madame de Pailly--The Bishop of
Wilna’s refusal--A fresh suitor--The Prince Charles de
Ligne 230
CHAPTER III
The de Ligne Family--Prince Charles--War in Bavaria--Engagement
at Pösig--The Prince de Ligne’s letter to his son--The
Treaty of Teschen 256
INTRODUCTION
The prominent position assumed by women during the eighteenth century
has always been considered a characteristic trait of that period. We do
not here refer to the intrigues or friendships of the younger women.
We allude rather to the influence of women of a certain age, who, as
mothers and advisers, formed so powerful an element in society.
The Vicomte de Ségur, in his book upon women, gives us a vivid
description of the manner in which this feminine influence made itself
felt: “Society,” he says, “was at that time divided into three classes:
the young women, women of a certain age, and those elderly ladies
who, receiving every consideration and respect, were regarded as the
upholders of established principles, and, in a great measure, the
sole arbitrators of taste, tone, and fashion. A young man coming out
in society was said to make his ‘debût’ or ‘first appearance.’ He was
bound to succeed or fail; that is to say, he had to please or displease
these three classes of women, whose sentence determined his reputation,
his position at Court, his place and rank, and who nearly always made
up an excellent match for him.”
All education, therefore, tended towards the attainment of this
favourable object. The father merely directed a tutor to give his son
such general and superficial instruction as might inspire the child
with a possible taste for some branch of learning later on. But the
mother alone imparted to her son that polish, grace, and amiability
which she herself possessed, and to which she knew so much importance
was attached. Her self-love and her maternal affection were equally
involved. “If a young man,” M. de Ségur again writes, “had been wanting
in proper attention towards a lady, or a man older than himself, his
mother was sure to be informed of it by her friends the same evening,
and the next day the giddy young fellow was certain to be reprimanded!”
From this system arose that delicate politeness, that exquisite good
taste and moderation in speech, whether discussing or jesting, which
constituted the manners of what was termed “Good Society” (_La bonne
compagnie_).
The first question we naturally ask ourselves is: What was the training
that so well prepared young girls, when married, to take such a leading
part in society? Where had they learnt that consummate art of good
taste and tone, that facility of conversation, which enabled them to
glance at the lightest subjects, or discuss the most serious topics,
with an ease and grace of which Mesdames de Luxembourg, de Boufflers,
de Sabran, the Duchesse de Choiseul, the Princesse de Beauvau, the
Comtesse de Ségur, and many others, give us such perfect examples? This
question is the more difficult to solve from the fact that, although
the mothers were much occupied with the education of their sons, we do
not find that they concerned themselves in the same degree with that of
their daughters. The reason is very simple. At this epoch young girls,
especially those of the nobility, were never brought up at home, but
were sent to a Convent at five or six years of age. They only left
it to marry, and the mother’s influence was entirely absent, or came
but late into play. What was, therefore, the conventual education
which produced such brilliant results? We believe we have found an
interesting answer to this question in the _Memoirs_ of the young
Princesse Massalska, which are contained in the first part of this
work. They show us, without reserve, the strong and the weak points of
the training given to girls of good family, future great ladies,--a
training which enabled them to play their part on a stage where success
awaited them, but whose brilliant scene was so soon to disappear in the
storm that was already threatening the political horizon.
It is evident, however, that although this system fulfilled its
purpose, it could not entirely replace home education. But where did
family life exist in the eighteenth century? Perhaps in the middle
classes; but even that is not certain--for they strove to imitate the
upper classes; and under the conditions which prevailed at that time
amongst the nobility, family life, such as we understand it, was an
impossibility.
All gentlemen of good name held an office at Court, or a rank in the
army, and consequently lived very little at home. A great many of
the female members of the family were attached to the service of the
Queen or the Princesses by duties which required their presence at
Versailles, and took up half their time. The other half was employed
either in paying their court, or in cultivating those accomplishments
which were considered so important. They had also to read up the new
books, about which they would have to converse in the evening; and as
dressing, especially hair-dressing, took up most of the morning, they
generally employed in reading the time which the hairdresser devoted to
the construction of those wonderful edifices which ladies then carried
about on their heads.
All the great houses received daily twenty to twenty-five people to
dinner, and the conversation was hardly of a nature to admit of the
presence of young girls. The dinner hour was at one o’clock, they
separated at three, and at five went to the theatre, whenever their
duties did not summon them to Versailles; after which they returned
home, bringing with them as many friends as possible. What time could
have been devoted to the children in a day so fully occupied? The
mothers felt this, and by placing their daughters in a convent did the
best they could for them. But we shall see, by the life of the young
Princess herself, how incomplete was an education thus carried on by
women, themselves utterly ignorant of the world, and therefore unfit to
prepare their pupils for the temptations that there awaited them.
These _Memoirs_, begun by a child of nine years old and continued till
she was fourteen, commence with her entry into the Convent and end on
the eve of her marriage. They were not intended to be published, and
have lain by for over a hundred years in their old cases, from whence,
with M. Adolphe Gaiffe’s kind permission, we brought them to light,
when searching through his splendid libraries at the Château d’Oron and
in Paris. There, amongst treasures of the sixteenth century and austere
Huguenot authors bound in black shagreen, or dark turkey leather, we
found the journals of the little Princesse Massalska, whose bright
blue, yellow, and red covers contrasted with those of their sterner
neighbours.
Their genuineness is unquestionable. The margins covered with childish
caricatures, and scribbled over with her or her companions’ jokes, like
any schoolboy’s book; the old yellow-stained paper, the faded ink, the
large handwriting, which gradually improves; the incorrect and careless
style of the first chapters, which towards the end becomes remarkable
for its elegance;--all combine to show us that these _Memoirs_ are
really the production of a precocious and intelligent child.
The Princess died forty years after having written them, and she only
mentions them twice in her correspondence. She simply says that one day
at Bel Œil, the residence of the Prince de Ligne, her father-in-law,
she read some passages of the _Memoirs_ she wrote when she was a little
girl, and that her husband was so amused by them that he wanted to
print a couple of chapters in his private printing-press. Twenty years
later, during a long winter in Poland, she read them to her daughter,
the Princesse Sidonie, and was much pleased at finding her childish
recollections so ingeniously expressed.
Our researches have enabled us to test the veracity of these _Memoirs_.
We found by the records at Geneva how exact is her account of
Mademoiselle de Montmorency’s death; and the romantic story of Madame
de Choiseul Stainville, as related in the _Mémoires_ of Lauzun, in
the _Correspondance_ of Madame du Deffand, and in the _Mémoires_ of
Durfort de Cheverny, confirms and explains the narrative of the little
Princess, written forty or fifty years before these _Memoirs_ were
published. She also describes a taking of the veil, of which we have
found an official report in the national Archives.[1] After the names
of the Abbess and Prioress and other signatures, appears that of the
little Princess as one of the witnesses.
Convinced of the exactness of the facts related by Hélène Massalska, it
has seemed to us interesting to place before the public this faithful
picture of an education in the eighteenth century, with its detailed
account of the studies, punishments, rewards, and games of the
Convent, and its descriptions, often satirical, but always witty, of
the mistresses and scholars; in fact, the complete life of a young girl
in a Convent from 1772 to 1779. We must add that all worldly gossip did
not stop at the Convent door, that many echoes invaded the cloisters,
and that the little Princess does not fail to notice them. This is not
the least curious side of the book.
After reading these interesting pages, we felt regret at parting so
abruptly with the little writer; and we have, thanks to the kindness of
our friends and correspondents, been able to reconstruct the history of
her life.
The Princesse Massalska, later on Princesse de Ligne, though she did
not play a prominent part in history, found herself, through her uncle,
the Bishop of Wilna, and her father-in-law and husband, the Princes
de Ligne, mixed up with many interesting historical events. Besides
which, her own life was a most romantic one. The variety of documents
we have gathered together, and the brevity of many of the memoranda,
have not permitted us to quote them word for word, as we have done in
the case of the letters. We have therefore endeavoured to give them a
certain unity of style, and to avoid such sudden transitions as might
be distasteful to our readers.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Portfolio H. No. 3837, Abbaye-aux-Bois.
PART I
THE ABBAYE-AUX BOIS
I
Ignace Massalski, Prince and Bishop of Wilna--The Radziwill and the
Massalski--The feudal lords in Poland--Civil wars in Poland--The
Bishop in exile--His arrival in Paris with his niece--Letters
from Madame Geoffrin--Answer of the King Stanislaus-Augustus--The
Abbaye-aux-Bois.
On a dull December day, in the year of grace 1771, a coach drew up at
the door of the Convent of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, Rue de Sève,[2] and
three persons alighted from it--a lady advanced in years, very simply
dressed; a man of distinguished appearance, easily recognisable as a
foreigner; and a pale and delicate-looking little girl. These persons
were no other than the famous Madame Geoffrin; Prince Massalski, Bishop
of Wilna; and his eight years old niece, the little Princesse Hélène.
The Prince-Bishop, implicated in the late Polish revolution, had barely
escaped arrest by flight. He was bringing to Paris his niece and his
nephew, orphans who had been placed under his guardianship. It will
here be necessary to cast a retrospective glance at the series of
events which brought this exiled family to Paris.
The Bishop of Wilna was a son of Prince Massalski, Grand General of
Lithuania. He attained to the episcopate[3] at an early age, and became
possessed of considerable influence. His contemporaries describe him
as a learned scholar, erudite, and gifted with a quick and lively
intelligence, but at the same time add that he was frivolous and
fickle. To excessive timidity he united a disposition prone to meddle
with eagerness in every concern. Hasty in his schemes and irresolute
afterwards in their execution, his conduct was often at variance with
the principles he professed.
The Bishop was a gambler: he lost in three years more than a hundred
thousand ducats, and in spite of the immense territorial possessions of
the Massalski was continually in monetary difficulties.
His family was one of the most influential in Lithuania, where two
rival houses--the Radziwill and the Massalski--contended for supremacy.
The latter supported the Czartoryski faction, assisting them by every
means in their power to obtain, with Russia’s concurrence, the Polish
throne for their nephew, Stanislaus-Augustus. The Radziwill, on the
other hand, sworn enemies of the Czartoryski, upheld the ancient
traditions of the Polish Republic, proving themselves more than hostile
to Russian influence and to the nomination of Stanislaus-Augustus.
The Polish feudal lords exercised in their respective provinces the
authority of sovereigns;[4] their chamberlains, masters of hounds,
and equerries could compare with Crown officials. They possessed
body-guards of dragoons, cossacks, and infantry, and often a
considerable militia, of which the officers equalled in rank those of
the royal forces.[5]
It is evident that the nobles, although weakened by formidable
factions, could dispose of a power with which the king had to reckon.
They enjoyed all feudal privileges, and, heedless of the authority
of the Crown, were unwilling to yield up any of their prerogatives,
each one being determined to exercise solely that authority in
his own palatinate or _woivodie_, the result being that the lesser
_diètes_, called Dietines,[6] which preceded the election of a king
or of a grand _diète_, usually ended in a sanguinary conflict. At
the critical moment, when the Dietines met for the election of
Stanislaus-Augustus, the Massalski most opportunely distributed large
sums of money; sent their troops to surround the Dietines, of which
they felt least assured, and, thanks to these extremely efficacious
electoral proceedings, none of the members proposed by the Radziwill
were nominated. On hearing this result, Prince Radziwill hurriedly
left his castle, or rather fortress, and hastened to Wilna, escorted
by the two hundred noblemen who formed his usual retinue, and who were
the terror of the country. He broke into the episcopal palace, drove
out the judges appointed by the Dietines and, violently apostrophising
the prelate, he ran over rapidly the names of the former bishops whom
the princes had put to death for interfering in public affairs, ending
with these words: “Next time you are subjected to the same temptation,
remember that I have a hundred thousand ducats in reserve with which to
obtain my absolution at Rome.”[7]
The Bishop was at first dismayed by Radziwill’s insolent threats, and
allowed him to depart without opposition, but, suddenly recovering his
presence of mind, he sounded the alarm bell, armed the people, recalled
the judges, barricaded the episcopal palace and cathedral, and drove
Radziwill out of Wilna. This incident affords a striking illustration
of the violence commonly perpetrated in Poland at that time.
The Prince-Bishop having so warmly supported the election of
Stanislaus-Augustus, it was natural to expect that he would continue to
uphold the authority of the King. Such, however, was not the case.
The treaty of peace signed at Warsaw in 1768 between Russia and
Poland had given great offence to the heads of the Catholic clergy,
for it granted to the Polish dissidents, to the Greek community, to
the Lutherans and Calvinists, the same rights which had till then
been the exclusive privilege of the Roman Catholic Church.[8] Most
of the bishops refused to submit to these new terms. The share which
Polish dissidents might now claim in public affairs, the appointments
to which they might now aspire, combined to exasperate the nobility.
Armed confederations were organised on all sides, and entered into
conflict with the Court party, and with the Russians, whose troops,
under pretext of upholding the King’s authority, occupied in Poland
numerous forts, and perpetrated inconceivable outrages. Bishop
Massalski was one of the principal promoters of the most famous of
these associations--that of the Confederation of Bar. His father,
the Grand General of Lithuania, had just died, and Count Oginski had
succeeded him in that important command. The Bishop found no difficulty
in gaining him over to the new confederation.[9]
On the 20th of September, Oginski had already attacked and defeated the
Russians, captured half a regiment and massacred the other half, but
shortly after fortune deserted his cause. Overcome by numbers, and, it
is said, by treachery, he fled with difficulty to Königsberg amidst a
thousand dangers.
His defeat was the signal for the disbanding of the confederates. The
Prince-Bishop had left Warsaw for Wilna early in June to assist Oginski
with his powerful influence, but hearing of the victory of the Russians
and their advance on Wilna, he secretly left in great haste for France,
taking with him his nephew, Prince Xavier, and his niece, the little
Princesse Hélène, who had been confided to his care. The two children,
careless of events, allowed themselves to be hurried away by their
uncle, only too happy to leave a country where they saw nothing but
fierce-looking soldiers, “whose appearance alone frightened them.”
The Prince had no sooner crossed the Polish frontier than he might have
seen the following in the Dutch Gazettes: “Major Soltikoff, at the
head of the Russian troops, occupies Wilna, and has sequestrated all
the episcopal possessions; the household goods forming part of these
possessions have been at once removed and taken to the _résidence_. As
for the Bishop’s personal and family property, it will be judicially
seized by the _castellan_[10] of Novgorod, and be subject to his
administration.”[11]
The Bishop’s first care on arriving in Paris was to call on Madame
Geoffrin, whom he had seen during her recent stay in Poland. He was
aware of her influence with the King, and hoped to obtain by this
means his recall from exile as well as the removal of the decree
sequestrating his property. Madame Geoffrin, notwithstanding her usual
discretion and dread of being implicated in the affairs of others, took
the Bishop under her protection, and wrote to the King as follows:[12]--
_17th November 1771._
“The Bishop of Wilna is in Paris, where he intends making some stay.
He has brought me two children, his niece and his nephew, and has
begged me to take them under my care. I have placed the girl in a
convent, and sent the boy to college.”
It is apparent that Madame Geoffrin, according to her usual discretion,
does not compromise herself in this first reference to the Bishop; she
merely acquaints the King with the fact that she has seen the Bishop,
and then waits to know how he will receive the information. The King
appears to have shown no displeasure, for she writes again, and this
time more boldly:--
_13th January 1772._
“I implore your Majesty to write a few words of kindness to the
unfortunate Bishop of Wilna; he is a child, but a foolish child,
devoted to your person. I can assure you that he cannot be reproached
with a single step he has taken since his arrival in Paris. He is the
only Pole I receive, and he fears me like fire; truly I have forbidden
his talking about Polish affairs with any of his countrymen, and I
feel certain of his obedience. He has two servants I have procured
for him. The Abbé Bandeau and Colonel Saint Leu form part of his
household.”
It was not only in order to receive a few words of kindly notice from
the King that the Bishop made use of Madame Geoffrin’s influence.
The chief object in view was to obtain the removal of the decree
of sequestration under which his lands had been placed. The King
understood the case, but was unfavourably disposed towards the Prince,
whose fidelity he doubted. Nevertheless he wrote to Madame Geoffrin:
“My last letter to you enclosed one for the Bishop of Wilna, written
in accordance with the request contained in your letter of 13th
January. To what I then wrote both to you and to him, I can only here
now add that I see by a letter of his to the Abbé Siestrzencewiez he
is under the impression that I requested the Russians to sequestrate
his property. Nothing is more untrue; neither his estates nor those of
any other persons have been seized at my command. On the contrary, I
gave myself considerable trouble in order to protect them. But, once
for all, remember the fable of the horse that was jealous of the stag
without knowing why. How, in order to subdue him, he appealed to man,
lent him his back, and accepted the bridle. When, thus combined, they
had overcome the stag, the horse tried to shake off his rider. The
latter, however, kept his seat, and vigorously spurring him, compelled
the animal to submit to his mastery. The simile is apparent. The Poles
often feel the spur of the Russian horseman, whose assistance they have
invoked against their king or against one of their equals.
“The Bishop of Wilna is perfectly aware against whom he wished the
Russians to intrigue. He has been punished according to his deserts;
but again I repeat, it is not I who have drawn down upon him this
punishment. On the contrary, I have striven to lighten it, by obtaining
that part of his revenues should be left him, and the fact that my
ministers, two of whom are my near relatives, have for a year past had
their lands sequestered, is the best proof that I do not command these
Russian executions. However, you may again assure the Bishop from me
that the moment I see an opportunity of assisting him I will do so.”
The Prince-Bishop appeared satisfied with the King’s promise, and,
expressing his extreme gratitude to Madame Geoffrin, settled in Paris
as though he intended making it his permanent abode. He then proceeded
to place his nephew and niece in the best educational establishments
it was possible to find. We have already seen that he chose the
Abbaye-aux-Bois for the young Princess.
Two convents competed at that time for the privilege of educating the
daughters of the nobility, Penthemont and the Abbaye-aux-Bois. St.
Cyr was no longer the fashion, and, moreover, founded by Madame de
Maintenon for the gratuitous education of noble but poor girls, it was
restricted to a very limited sphere. The two convents we have just
mentioned were, on the contrary, intended only for the education of the
daughters of the richest and highest families.[13]
The Abbaye-aux-Bois had been founded by Jean de Nesle and his wife
Anne d’Entragues, in the diocese of Noyon, under the reign of Louis le
Gros, and belonged to the order of Cîteaux.[14] In the year 1654 the
Abbess and nuns of the Abbaye-aux-Bois had been reduced to flight in
consequence of the disturbances and devastations that had laid waste
the county of Soissonnais. They found shelter in Paris, and there
bought the convent of _Dix Vertus_, situated in the Rue de Sève, which
had just been vacated by the nuns of the order of the Annunciation of
Bourges.
The Cistercian nuns[15] obtained from the Pope the transfer of the
deeds and possessions of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, which the King ratified
by letters-patent, August 1667. On the 8th June 1718, Madame, widow of
Philip of France, brother of Louis XIV., laid the first stone of the
Church of Notre-Dame-aux-Bois,[16] little anticipating that at a later
period her own grand-daughter, Louise-Adelaide d’Orleans, would become
Abbess of that same convent.
At the time of which we write the Abbaye-aux-Bois was ruled by
Madame Marie Madeleine de Chabrillan, who had succeeded Madame de
Richelieu, sister of the famous Maréchal. All the ladies entrusted
with the education of the scholars belonged to the highest nobility;
the pupils themselves bore the noblest names in the kingdom, and,
strangely enough, their education combined the most practical and
homely domestic duties, with instructions best suited to mould them for
polished and courtly society.
Music, dancing, and painting were taught with the greatest care. The
Abbey possessed a fine theatre well provided with scenery and costumes,
which, in point of elegance, left nothing to be desired.
Moli and Larive taught elocution and the art of reading aloud, the
ballets were directed by Noverre, Philippe, and Dauberval, first
dancers at the opera. The professors were all chosen beyond the
precincts of the Abbey, the instructors in botany and natural history
alone being an exception to this rule. The ladies merely superintended
the studies of their scholars, and were present during the lessons.
They, however, took a much more active share in the domestic education
imparted to the young girls after their _first communion_.
This we shall see later on.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] It was only after the Revolution that the street called _Sève_ took
the name it now bears of _Rue de Sèvres_.
[3] Prince Ignace Massalski, born 15th July 1729, was consecrated
Bishop of Wilna 27th June 1762. His eldest brother, father of the
Princesse Hélène, had married a Radziwill.
[4] In order to form a correct idea of the lives of the great feudal
lords in Poland, refer to the accounts given by Onken in _Le Siècle de
Frédéric le Grand_; by Rulhières in _Les Révolutions de Pologne_; and
by Hermann in _Geschichte des russ Staats_, vol. vi. p. 110.
[5] The Bishop of Wilna paid out of his private purse the entire cost
of the 16,000 men forming the Massalski legion. At precisely the same
period Comte Potocki, Palatine of Kiowie, was obliged to disband the
25,000 soldiers who had been kept on war footing for a considerable
time past by his family. Prince Radziwill (uncle of the little
Princesse Hélène) had a revenue of ten millions, and maintained in his
cities and castles a regular army of 20,000 men.
[6] It was in the assemblies called “Dietines” that the representatives
to the general _diète_ were chosen, and also those judges who, during
the interregnum necessarily existing between the end of one reign
and the election of the next king, were empowered to hold courts of
justice. These courts, termed tribunals of mourning, were all-powerful
during the interregnum. Hence the immense importance the great families
attached to supremacy in the Dietines.
[7] For a more detailed account see Rulhières _Révolutions de Pologne_.
[8] The Confederation of Bar had been proclaimed for the first time in
1768, the principal leaders being Putawski, Krasenski, the Bishop of
Wilna, and his father the Grand General of Lithuania. With it began
the civil wars of Poland. Louis XV. and the Sultan secretly supported
the Polish patriots, but the downfall of the Duc de Choiseul and the
defeat of the Turks led to the dispersion of the confederates. The
Confederation was reorganised in 1771.
[9] Possessed of immense estates in Lithuania, Oginski had married the
daughter of Prince Michel Czartoryski; he was therefore first cousin
of the King Stanislaus-Augustus, but they had been rivals from their
earliest childhood, and were jealous of each other.
[10] The Polish _castellans_, more especially in Lithuania, were
originally invested with the supervision of the castles, from a
military as well as from a judicial point of view. Subsequently they
only retained their judicial functions, and they formed part of the
Senate. They were divided into two classes, of which thirty-three were
superior _castellans_ and forty-nine inferior _castellans_. They ranked
after the _woivodes_ or palatines.
[11] Prince Radziwill, the Bishop’s old enemy, was exiled at the
same time, his possessions being confiscated for the benefit of the
Russians. It would almost appear as if his ancestors had foreseen the
misfortunes which might befall their descendants, for they had placed
in their church at Diewick statues of solid gold, each a foot and a
half in height, representing the twelve apostles. When the war broke
out Prince Charles had the twelve apostles conveyed to Munich, and by
melting them down was able not only to live there for many years, but
was also enabled to extend the most liberal hospitality towards many of
his fellow-exiles.
[12] See _Correspondance du Roi Stanislaus-Augustus avec Madame
Geoffrin_, published and edited by M. Charles de Mouy.
[13] Even the princesses of royal blood conformed to this usage; the
Duchesse de Bourbon née Princesse d’Orleans was educated at Penthemont.
[14] Cîteaux, a celebrated monastery situated in the diocese of
Châlon-sur-Saône, five miles from Dijon, was founded in 1098 by Saint
Robert. The rules of Cîteaux were drawn up in 1107. The Abbeys of La
Ferté, of Pontigny, of Clairvaux, and of Morimond were termed the four
daughters of Cîteaux. Saint Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux, gave his name
to the monks of Cîteaux, now called Bernardines.
[15] The Cistercian nuns are as ancient an order as the monks. Saint
Hourbelle, mother of Saint Bernard, and several other ladies of rank,
adopted the order of Cîteaux, and were celebrated for their virtue
and austerity. But they did not long retain the favour of their
early piety. They acquired great wealth and, as the annals of the
convent state, “their iniquity sprouted up from their fatness and
their obesity.” They possessed numerous convents under the name of
“Bernardines.”
[16] In this stone was enchased a large gold medal, given by H.R.H.
Madame, on which was engraved in bas-relief the effigy of the Princess.
On the reverse she was represented seated on two lions, holding in her
right hand a medallion with the design of the church. Round this medal
was inscribed the following legend: “_Diis genita et genetrix Deum._”
II
The _Memoirs_ of Hélène Massalska--Her entry at the
Abbaye-aux-Bois--The dormitory--Illness of Hélène--Sister Bichon
and paradise--_La Grise_ and Mother Quatre Temps’s punishments--The
order of truth--Wars of the “blues” and the “reds”--The Comte de
Beaumanoir’s scullion--Madame de Rochechouart.
But it is time to let the little Princess describe in her own
ingenuous and charming language the details of her admission to the
Abbaye-aux-Bois. She pompously heads her copy-book with the following
title, which we reproduce as it stands in the original.[17]
MEMOIRS OF APOLLINE-HÉLÈNE MASSALSKA IN THE ROYALE ABBAYE DE
NOTRE-DAME-AUX-BOIS, RUE DE SÈVE, FAUBOURG SAINT GERMAIN.
“I was received on a Thursday at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. Madame Geoffrin,
my uncle’s friend, took me first to the Abbess’s parlour, which is
very handsome, for it is painted white with gold stripes. Madame de
Rochechouart came to the parlour also, and also Mother Quatre Temps,
for she is the head-mistress of the youngest class, to which I am to
belong.
“They were kind enough to say I had a pretty face and a good figure and
beautiful hair. I made no reply, having quite forgotten my French on
the way, for I had been such a long journey that I had passed through
I do not know how many towns, and always by coach, the driver blowing
his horn all the time. I understood, however, all that was said. They
then told me they were going to take me away to put on the scholar’s
dress, and that then they would bring me back to the grating for Madame
Geoffrin to see me. They therefore opened the wicket of the parlour
grating and passed me through it, as I was so small. They brought me
to a room belonging to the Lady Abbess, all hung in blue and white
damask, and sister Crinore put me on the dress, but when I saw that it
was black I cried so very hard, it was quite piteous to see me; but
when they added the blue ribbons I was a little comforted, and then
the head-mistress brought some preserves which I ate, and I was told
we should be given some every day. I was petted a good deal, and the
elder of the young ladies on service at the _abbatial_[18] came to look
at me, and I heard them say: ‘Poor little child, she does not speak
French; we must make her speak Polish, to see what kind of a language
it is.’ But I, knowing they would laugh at me, did not choose to speak.
They said I was very delicate, and then said that I came from a very
distant country, from Poland, adding: ‘Ah, how comical to be a Pole!’
“However, Mademoiselle de Montmorency took me on her knee and asked if
she should be my little mother, and I answered by a nod, for I was
quite determined only to speak when I could speak like everybody else.
I was asked if I thought the young lady holding me pretty, so I put my
hand to my eyes to show that I thought hers were beautiful, and then
they amused themselves in trying to make me say her name--‘Montmorency.’
“However, I was told that my uncle had come to the parlour and wished
to see me in uniform. I therefore went, dressed as I was, and it was
thought that it suited me very well, and after having well recommended
me to the ladies, my uncle and Madame Geoffrin left. Then the Lady
Abbess and Madame de Rochechouart tried to make me converse, but
found it quite impossible, so that Madame de Rochechouart called to
Mademoiselle de Montmorency and said: ‘Dear heart, I recommend this
child to your care; she is a little foreigner, knowing hardly any
French; you have a kind heart, take her to the school, and see that she
is not teased; it will be easy for you to have her well received.’
But when it came to giving my name Madame de Rochechouart never could
remember it; I repeated it, but seeing that it was thought ridiculous
I proposed it should not in future be mentioned; then Madame de
Rochechouart asked me if I had not a Christian name. I said ‘Hélène;’
so Mademoiselle de Montmorency said she would introduce me under the
name of Hélène.
“We started off. It was the recreation time. Mademoiselle de Narbonne,
who had seen me at the _abbatial_, had already announced me. She
had said I was a ‘little wild thing, who had not chosen to open her
lips; but that I was very graceful.’ As it was raining that day the
recreation was taking place in All Souls’ cloisters. As soon as I
arrived they all came towards us. Mademoiselle de Montmorency brought
me to the teachers, who made a great deal of me, and the class
surrounded me, asking all sorts of queer questions, to which I did not
reply, so that some of them thought I was dumb.
“Mademoiselle de Montmorency asked the head-mistress of the blue
class to be allowed to show me over all the departments in the
Convent. Mother Quatre Temps consented. Then she took me through the
whole house, and gave me a good collation. All the nuns and scholars
of the red class petted me extremely. They gave me pin-cushions,
_soufflets_,[19] _grimaces_,[20] and I was very happy.
“At supper-time Mademoiselle de Montmorency brought me back to the
classroom, and Mother Quatre Temps led me by the hand to the refectory.
I was given a seat next to Mademoiselle de Choiseul, who was the last
arrival. During supper Mademoiselle de Choiseul talked to me, and I
risked a few words in answer, so that she called out: ‘The little Pole
speaks French.’ After supper I became quite intimate with Mademoiselle
de Choiseul, who was very pretty. She told me that, when in the evening
our names were called over, I must ask Madame de Rochechouart for a
holiday, and give a collation, and that she would do the speaking. Then
we played at many games--the massacre of the innocents, and a thousand
other things. When it was bed-time we went to the nuns’ dormitory.
Madame de Rochechouart read the roll-call; I was called last. I came
forward with Mademoiselle de Choiseul, who in my name begged for a
holiday. Madame de Rochechouart inquired from Mother Quatre Temps if my
uncle had been informed of what was necessary to pay for ‘the welcome,’
as it was called, for it cost twenty-five _louis_[21] to give a grand
collation to all the pupils, and ices were absolutely necessary. Mother
Quatre Temps said Yes; so the following Saturday was chosen for the
holiday.”
It is easy to see by this opening scene that the little Pole would
soon get accustomed to her new life.
The blue class into which Hélène was entered was composed of children
from seven to ten years old.[22] It is interesting to note, from
the very first, what was the order of the lessons, the working and
recreation hours. Hélène gives it in her own writing: “Mondays,
Wednesdays, and Fridays: to get up in summer at seven o’clock, in
winter at half-past seven. To be at eight in the stalls of the
schoolroom, ready for Madame de Rochechouart, who comes in at eight.
Directly she has left, to learn the _Catéchisme de Montpellier_,[23]
and repeat it. At nine o’clock, breakfast; and half-past nine, Mass;
at ten, reading till eleven. From eleven till half-past eleven, a
music lesson. At half-past eleven till twelve, drawing lesson. From
twelve to one, a lesson in geography and history. At one o’clock,
dinner and recreation till three. At three o’clock, lessons in writing
and arithmetic till four. At four o’clock, dancing lesson till five.
Collation and recreation till six; from six to seven, the harp or the
harpsichord. At seven, supper. At half-past nine, the dormitory.”
The alternate days were arranged in the same manner, but instead of
receiving lessons from masters unconnected with the Convent, the
children studied under the superintendence of the ladies of the Abbey.
On Sundays and holy-days (these latter being very numerous) the classes
met at eight o’clock, the Gospel was read, and then all went to Mass at
nine. At eleven the young girls attended a short lesson given by the
directors, and at four o’clock went to Vespers.
Hélène has not omitted to portray the mistresses of the blue class,
and has sketched them with irreverent precision: “Madame de Montluc,
called Mother Quatre Temps, kind, gentle, careful, too minute, and a
busybody.
“Madame de Montbourcher, called Sainte Macaire, kind, stupid, very
ugly, believing in ghosts.
“Madame de Fresnes, called Sainte Bathilde, ugly and kind; tells us
many stories.”
Fifteen lay sisters performed the service of the blue class.
Though Hélène belonged to the youngest class, she had been temporarily
placed in the dormitory of the elder girls--a source of great
displeasure to them, as we shall soon see.
“About this time I began to fall ill, from the effects of the Paris
water. Monsieur Portal[24] ordered me some powders, and when I was in
bed, Madame de Sainte Bathilde, the third mistress of the blue class,
used to come with a lay sister in order to make me take them. On one
occasion she forgot to give them to me; and on that day the elder
girls were going to eat a pasty, and when the door was locked they got
up and began to eat by the glimmer of a street lamp. When I saw they
were eating I said I wanted some, and that if they did not give me any
I should tell. Upon which Mademoiselle d’Equilly brought me a large
piece of pie and crust, which I devoured. But Madame de Sainte Bathilde
remembered that she had not given me my powder, and got out of bed and
brought it me. No sooner did the young ladies hear the key in the lock
than they all ran to their beds, and one of them put all the fragments
of the pasty into her bed. Then the mistress and Sister Eloi came to
my side to give me my powder. As I did not dare to say anything for
fear of betraying the girls, I was obliged to swallow the powder,
having just eaten a large piece of pie crust.
“When Madame de Sainte Bathilde was gone the girls got up again; they
grumbled at me, saying it was insupportable to have a tiresome brat
like myself in their room, and then they set to and drank some cider. I
called out again for some to be given me, but they would not, because I
had just taken a powder, and even Mademoiselle de la Roche Aymon came
and slapped me, but I cried so much that at last they were obliged
to give me a glass of cider, which I drank off at one draught. Next
morning I had violent fever, and was carried to the infirmary. In the
night I was delirious, and a putrid fever came on. I was at death’s
door, and remained two months at the infirmary.”
After this fine freak the health of the little Princess was considered
too delicate for her to undergo the usual education. It was therefore
decided to give her separate rooms, a nurse, a maid, and a _mie_ (a
nurserymaid), her uncle having written to authorise in advance all
necessary expenses.
“My nurse,” she continues, “was called Bathilde Toutevoix, and
soon idolised me. I was given a very fine apartment, allowed four
_louis_[25] a month for my pocket money, and nothing was denied me for
my keep and my masters. Mr. Tourton, my banker, received an order from
my uncle to supply me up to the sum of thirty thousand livres[26] a
year if necessary.
“About that time my nurse became very cross with me. We had a cat that
was very fond of my nurse, and even of me, for whatever I did to it it
never scratched me, though I often put it sufficiently out of temper to
make it growl like a mad thing. This cat was called _La Grise_. Once
Mademoiselle de Choiseul and myself were eating some walnuts at the end
of the passage leading to the older part of the building; we had seated
ourselves on some steps there, when unfortunately _La Grise_ passed by.
I called it and it came to us, and while stroking it the idea came into
our heads to fasten the nutshells on its paws. Mademoiselle de Choiseul
had some ribbon in her netting box, so we carried out our plan, and
_La Grise_ was so funny, for it could not stand up. We laughed so loud
that my nurse and Madame de Sainte Monique heard us from my room; they
came downstairs and found _La Grise_ in this condition. My nurse nearly
cried; she scolded me very much and sent me to the schoolroom. But that
was not all. _La Grise_ always slept at the foot of my bed, because
my nurse thought it would keep me warm. That evening, when my nurse
had gone to bed, being cross with _La Grise_ for having got me into
disgrace I began kicking it so much that it got off my bed. Then it
went to lie down in the fireplace. After a few minutes I put my head
out of my curtains to see what it was about, but when I saw its two
eyes glistening in the fireplace I was frightened, and thought that if
I awoke in the night and saw those eyes I should not know what they
were. So I got out of bed, took it up, and not knowing where to put it,
gently opened the press and shut it up inside.
“Then the poor _Grise_ began to mew and moan so loud that my nurse
got up, not knowing what it could be. She looked about everywhere,
and at last discovered _La Grise_ in the press. I was so silly that I
maintained I had not put the cat there, and that apparently it had got
in by itself.
“My nurse said as that was the way I hated _La Grise_, she would
give it away the very next day; then I cried so much and screamed so
loud that Mademoiselle de Choiseul, Mesdemoiselles de Conflans, my
maid, and their maids ran into the room, not knowing what could have
happened. I told them I was the most unhappy person in the world, that
my nurse wanted to give away _La Grise_, that I could not live without
it, that I would have _La Grise_, it must be given me at once, and I
would beg its pardon.
“I had no rest till _La Grise_ was put on my bed; I took it in my arms,
I embraced it, I kissed its paws, and promised it I would never do so
again. Then my nurse said she consented to keep _La Grise_, but that I
should have nothing but dry bread for breakfast next day. I was only
too happy to be let off so easily; they all went back to their rooms
and I slept quietly the remainder of the night.”
Soon after, Hélène was brought to the Confessional for the first time.
Though only eight years old, she followed the religious instructions
for some days, and Dom Thémines, the pupils’ director, enjoined on her
a religious retreat to meditate on obedience; a very good subject for a
mischievous child. After the retreat she confessed, but unfortunately
has left us no record of her confession; she came back rather tired,
but satisfied with her day’s work, and thinking herself quite a grown
up person. She continues her narrative with charming ingenuousness.
“In the evening Sister Bichon came to see my nurse, and while
Mademoiselle Gioul, my maid, was undressing me, Sister Bichon begged
me to remember her in my prayers (for although I said them with the
others in the schoolroom, I was made to repeat them before getting into
bed). I said to Sister Bichon: ‘What do you wish me to ask God Almighty
for you?’ She replied: ‘Pray to God that He may make my soul as pure
as yours is at this moment.’ I therefore said out loud, at the end of
my prayer: ‘My God, grant Sister Bichon that her soul may be as white
as mine ought to be at my age if I had profited by the good teaching
I have received.’ My nurse was delighted at the manner in which I
had arranged my prayer, and kissed me, as did also Sister Bichon,
Mademoiselle Gioul, and _mie_ Claudine. When I was in bed I asked if it
was a sin to pray for _La Grise_. My nurse and Sister Bichon replied
Yes, and that I must not speak to God about _La Grise_.
“Then, as I was not sleepy, Sister Bichon came to my bedside, and told
me that if I died that night, I should go immediately into paradise;
then I asked her what one saw in paradise. She replied: ‘You must
imagine, my little darling, that paradise is a large room all made
of diamonds and rubies and emeralds and other precious stones. God
Almighty sits on a throne, Jesus Christ is on His right hand, and the
Blessed Virgin on His left; the Holy Ghost is perched on His shoulder,
and all the saints pass and repass before Him.’ While she was telling
me this I fell asleep.”
There is always a certain truth and simplicity about the little
Princess’s narrative which lend it a great charm; she praises or
blames herself with entire good faith, and her character becomes
apparent at the end of a few pages. The education in common, and the
intelligent management of Madame de Rochechouart, had an excellent
influence on this spoilt and wayward child, accustomed to see
everything give way before her. But she had to suffer at the beginning,
and she relates her first experiences in a most comical manner.
“I had at that time,” she says, “a terrible aversion for good
handwriting. Monsieur Charme was very much displeased with me, and
set me back to write nothing but O’s, which bored me very much, and
at the same time made the whole class laugh at me: they said I should
never be able to sign my own name. It was not that I absolutely hated
writing; on the contrary, I spent the whole day writing my _Memoirs_,
as was the fashion amongst the elder young ladies at that time, and
we, the younger class, chose to do the same. I therefore scribbled all
day long, but it was such a scrawl that only I could read it, and,
far from benefiting me, it spoilt my hand. Mademoiselle de Choiseul
often wrote for me, but, as they perceived it was not my writing,
Monsieur Charme complained of me to Mother Quatre Temps. She asked me:
‘Mademoiselle, is it you who have written this?’ I answered: ‘Yes,
Madame, in truth it is I.’ She said: ‘If it is you, write out at once
before me a similar page.’ Then I was very much embarrassed, I should
have liked to have got into a mouse-hole. What I wrote worst were the
M’s and N’s, and my copy was ‘Massinissa, roi de Numidie.’ As every
one knows, there are a great many tops and tails in that name; and
there they were, all awry, one going one way, the other another; in
short, it was easy to see that I was incapable of making such a copy.
Then Mother Quatre Temps fastened donkey’s ears on to me, and because
I had told falsehoods hung a red tongue, together with my copy, on my
back. I began saying that I wrote so badly because the table had been
shaken; I was told that I slandered, and the black tongue was added.
The worst of it was that Madame de Rochechouart, who was rather pleased
with me, and was beginning to show me much kindness, had told me at the
morning class to go to her cell that evening at six. But now the hour
was approaching, how could I make my appearance in the state I was in?
I would sooner have died. Was I presentable with donkey’s ears, two
tongues, and a tattered scrawl on my back? So when Mother Quatre Temps
told me to go to the _Maîtresse Générale_, I would not leave my place,
and I cried enough to make my eyes start out of my head. Mademoiselle
de Choiseul was also crying, and all my class pitied me. When Mother
Quatre Temps saw I would not obey her, she added into the bargain
the order of ignominy, and sent for two lay sisters, Sister Eloi and
Sister Bichon, who took me by the arms, dragged me from my stall, and
conducted me to the door of Madame de Rochechouart’s cell. When I
arrived there I was so wretched that I felt my life was not worth a
pin. Directly I entered Madame de Rochechouart called out and said:
‘Eh, my heavens, what has happened to you? you look like a merryandrew;
what can you have done to deserve being deprived of your human figure?’
Then I threw myself at her feet, and told her my faults. I saw she had
the greatest difficulty in the world to keep herself from laughing;
however, she said in a severe manner: ‘Your faults are very great,
and your punishment is not great enough.’ Then she called in the two
sisters who were at the door, and she said: ‘I order Mademoiselle to
be reconducted to the schoolroom, and to go without dessert for eight
days; and tell the head-mistress of the blue class to come and speak to
me.’ Madame de Rochechouart, moreover, asked if I had met any one on my
way to her, and I said I had met the doctor Monsieur Bordeu, and Madame
la Duchesse de Chatillon, who had come to see one of her daughters
who was sick. I was brought back to the classroom, but I heard,
shortly after, some of the red class young ladies say that Madame de
Rochechouart had said it was stupid to make such a guy of me, and that
she had soundly rated Mother Quatre Temps, requesting her to punish
her scholars without disfiguring them; that a few days before she had
entered the schoolroom and thought she must be looking at Egyptian
idols, on seeing five or six of us with asses ears and three tongues,
and as the Convent was constantly full of strangers, it might throw a
ridicule on the education of the pupils. From that time forth these
punishments were abolished, and instead we were made to go on our knees
in the middle of the choir, we were deprived of dessert, given dry
bread at breakfast and collation, or made to copy out the _Privilège du
Roi_[27] during play-time, which was very tedious.”
Hélène, however, was not at the end of her tribulations, and her quick
temper naturally brought her into a few more.
“About that time I experienced from all the class a bodily punishment
which I resolved long to remember. I was in the habit of repeating to
Madame de Sainte Euphrasie everything that took place in the class,
and as I saw it met with success, I listened to all the pupils said,
so as to repeat it to her, so much so that all the classes had taken a
dislike to me.
“I was at that time nine years of age. I had a quarrel with
Mademoiselle de Nagu; she had taken from my drawer the short _Lives of
the Saints_, with pictures in it, and was reading it. As I only allowed
my most intimate friends to rummage in my drawer, I went to her and
told her to return me my book. She said: ‘This book amuses me, you do
not want to read it just now, I will return it when I have finished
it.’ I was not satisfied with this answer, and tried to snatch it away
from her; but, as she was stronger than I, she gave me a sound box in
the ear; then, instead of giving her one in return, I began to cry,
and went and complained to Madame de Saint Pierre, head-mistress of
the white class, as Nagu belonged to that class. The mistress, seeing
me in tears, and my cheek red, called Mademoiselle de Nagu, desired
her to return me my book, to ask my pardon, and condemned her to go
without dessert at supper. Every one pitied Nagu, the more so that I
was not liked. Every one called me tell-tale, and hummed in my ears,
‘Tell-tale-tit, go and tell our cat to keep a place for you the day
that you die.’
“But that was not all. Mademoiselle de Choiseul and Mesdemoiselles de
Conflans, my three friends, were absent; Mademoiselle de Choiseul was
being inoculated, the others were in the country, so that I had no one
to uphold me. On leaving the refectory it is the custom to run as fast
as possible to the schoolroom, the mistresses, meanwhile, remaining
behind. Instead of remaining with them (for then no one could have
touched me), I was silly enough to be one of the first to run. I
unluckily found myself next to Nagu, who said: ‘Ah, I have caught
you,’ and at the same moment tripped me up, and threw me down on my
face. Then all the young ladies began jumping over my body, so that I
received so many kicks that I was bruised all over. The mistresses came
to me, and I was picked up, and the young ladies said: ‘Mademoiselle,
I beg your pardon, I never saw you.’ Others said to the mistresses,
who scolded them: ‘I did not do it on purpose, she was on the ground,
I did not see her.’ I was sent to bed, and the next day Madame de
Rochechouart came to me. I told her my story, and she said: ‘If your
companions loved you, this would never have happened; you must have
great faults of character for all the classes to be against you.’ Since
that day I have never repeated the least thing to my mistresses, and I
became so amiable that every one loved me, and Nagu also, with whom I
became such friends that we would have gone through fire and water for
each other.
“But now is the moment to speak of the game that was most in fashion at
the Abbaye-aux-Bois. It was the chase; but it required a whole day to
carry it out, and it could only be played in the garden. They elected
huntsmen and whippers-in; then they chose those who were to be the
deer, and marked one stag to lead. The younger class were the hounds;
and the red class always went very politely and asked the blue class to
take that part in the game. When we were not pleased with the red class
we refused; and even sometimes it has happened that, in the middle of
the game, the blues would leave and go away, so that the stag could not
be run down.
“I had then an adventure for which I revenged myself well. Among the
older girls of the red class there was a Mademoiselle de Sivrac
who had a very handsome face, but was subject to spasms, and was
rather crazy. We had had our recreation in the garden, and as we were
returning to the schoolroom she said to me: ‘I have forgotten my
gloves at the end of the garden, please come with me to fetch them.’ I
innocently accompanied her, but when we were behind the lilac bushes
she threw herself on me, upset me, seized a branch of lilac and whipped
me cruelly. When she had beaten me well she ran away. I picked myself
up as best I could, and returned crying to the classroom. I thought:
‘If I complain to the mistresses, Mademoiselle de Sivrac will deny the
fact; she will say she only gave me a few slaps, and I shall again be
thought a tell-tale. What should I do?’ I called together all the most
determined girls of the blue class, and told them my story, adding that
if they did not revenge me the blue class would soon be overpowered
by the older pupils; in fact, I stirred up their feelings as best I
could, so that we declared we would have no further intercourse with
the red class unless Mademoiselle de Sivrac made me an apology.
“On the first holiday after this the red class wished to play at the
chase; they sent to beg the blue class to lend them some girls to act
as hounds; but no one would go; and it was the same for all the other
games. Then they asked what was the meaning of brats like us being so
stuck up.
“In reality they were very annoyed, for the red class is the least
numerous; the white class is taken up with preparing for their first
communion, so that we were absolutely necessary for any games requiring
a large number.
“This was not all; we broke open Mademoiselle de Sivrac’s drawer and
stall, tore into atoms all her papers, and threw into the well her
purse, a pocket-book, and a comfit box that we also found in it. Then
the red young ladies told Mesdemoiselles de Choiseul and de Montsauge,
who were the most infuriated because they were my friends, that if they
caught them alone they would box their ears.
“From this moment there was the most fearful disorder in the
schoolroom. Anything that was found belonging to the red class was
thrown into the well, or torn up by the blue class; and whenever the
reds could catch the blues they beat them like plaster. At last all
this became known to the mistresses, for at every moment the little
ones were seen with marks of pinches or scratches, and when asked: ‘Who
put you in that state?’ they replied: ‘The red young ladies.’ On the
other hand, the older girls lost their books, found their copy-books
torn and their trinkets broken. The parents of both classes spoke to
Madame de Rochechouart, some saying that their daughters were covered
with bumps and bruises, the others that their daughters had lost or
had all their things torn up. Then Madame de Rochechouart came to the
schoolroom and asked the blues and reds what had given rise to all this
hatred. Mademoiselle de Choiseul came forward and related my affair
with Mademoiselle de Sivrac.
“Madame de Rochechouart asked her why she had whipped me, and she could
give no reason; but without Madame de Rochechouart saying anything more
to her, she came up to me, begged my pardon, and kissed me.
“Madame de Rochechouart said that if these quarrels continued the two
classes would have to be entirely separated; and she commanded us to
kiss each other. From that day peace was re-established, and we no
longer willingly hurt each other.
“One day, while running in the garden, we heard a subterranean noise,
and looking about to see where it could come from, at last discovered
that it issued from a drain-hole which corresponded with the kitchen of
the Comte de Beaumanoir, whose mansion was next door. Thereupon several
of us formed a line, to hide what we were doing from the mistresses,
while the others began to talk. We heard a little boy’s voice; we
asked him his name; he said it was ‘Jacquot,’ and that he had the
honour of serving in the Comte de Beaumanoir’s kitchen. We told him the
recreation hour was ending, but that we should return next day at the
same hour.
“The following day he played the flute, and we sang; then, as soon as
one of us spoke, he asked her name. He was told it, and in three or
four days he knew several by the sound of their voices, and called out:
‘Halloo! D’Aumont! Damas! Mortemart!’ He inquired if one was fair or
dark; and then asked what we were doing in the garden. We told him it
was our collation hour, and he replied that if it were not for an iron
grating in the middle of the drain he would be able to give us some
dainty morsels. So we said he must try and remove the grating, and he
promised to do his best. We were so taken up by our conversation that
Madame de Saint Pierre, one of the mistresses, was able to approach us
without our noticing it. When we saw her so near, we all ran away, and
Jacquot cried out: ‘Listen! Choiseul, Damas, the grating shall be taken
away to-morrow.’
“Madame de Saint Pierre went directly to Madame de Rochechouart and
told her what had happened. Madame de Rochechouart wrote at once to
Monsieur de Beaumanoir, that the drain leading from his kitchen was
going to be walled up, as his servants talked with the scholars. He
immediately replied that he was extremely vexed at what had happened,
and that he was going to dismiss all his kitchen servants. Madame de
Rochechouart begged he would not do so; the masons were sent for, and
the drain walled up that very day. Madame de Rochechouart did not
consider it worth while to come down to the schoolroom about such an
adventure. On the contrary, she thought it would be attaching too much
importance to it; but in the evening, at the roll-call, she made some
jests about the delightful conquest we had made, and added that we must
have very refined tastes and noble feelings to have set such store by
a scullion’s conversation; and, that as for those who had given him
their names, she trusted he would at some future time take advantage of
their former kindness, which would naturally be very pleasant for their
families. In this way she humbled without scolding us.”
Madame de Rochechouart, a woman of sound judgment and noble mind,
soon became very tenderly attached to the little Pole. The child,
almost abandoned, so far from her own country, inspired her with real
interest. Each day she had her brought to her cell, and without the
child being aware of it, watched her carefully. Hélène, who was like a
wild colt, felt a respect and at the same time a sort of fear mingled
with the greatest admiration for the _Grande Maîtresse Générale_. She
constantly mentions her in her _Memoirs_.
Madame de Rochechouart, sister of the late Duc de Mortemart, was
twenty-seven years of age: “Tall, a handsome figure, a pretty foot,
hands delicate and white, splendid teeth, large black eyes, a proud
and grave look, and a betwitching smile.” Such is the portrait the
little Princess has left us of her. She was undoubtedly, after the Lady
Abbess, the most important person in the Abbey, and directed as she
chose the studies and education of the pupils. It was thus that she
filled up the often tedious hours of a life and calling she had not
chosen. Madame de Rochechouart had two sisters who were beautiful and
witty, like all the Mortemarts. All three went through their novitiate
when hardly fifteen years old; for, according to the cruel custom of
those times, their fortunes went entirely to the inheritor of the
family name. They pronounced their vows three years after.
“I stood in great fear of Madame de Rochechouart in those days,” says
Hélène. “When she came to the classroom in the morning and went the
rounds, if by chance she spoke to me, I immediately became embarrassed
and had trouble to collect myself sufficiently to reply. Indeed, it may
be said that the whole class trembled before her, so that when she came
in of a morning, and we were all returning in confusion from breakfast,
she would clap her hands and every one would run to her stall, and one
might have heard a fly. When we made our curtsey to her on entering the
choir, I tried to read in her eyes, and if I thought her look severe I
was in despair. I had got the habit of tearing at full speed through
the house; but when I met Madame de Rochechouart, I stopped dead short.
Then, when she looked at me, as her customary gaze is naturally severe,
I fancied I had displeased her, and returned to the schoolroom quite
disheartened, saying: ‘Ah! Madame de Rochechouart has made big eyes
at me.’ The others replied: ‘How silly you are, do you expect her to
make her eyes smaller when she meets you?’ This was told to Madame de
Rochechouart. The next time she saw me she called me, and laughingly
asked me if she was looking at me the way I liked, and if her eyes were
still very alarming. I answered that I thought them so beautiful that
they gave more pleasure than fear; and she kissed me. She commands
the love and respect of all the pupils, and though a little severe,
is very just. We are all devoted to her, and yet fear her. She is not
demonstrative, but a word from her has a most wonderful effect. She is
accused of being proud and satirical to equals; but she is gracious and
kind to her inferiors; very well informed and highly gifted.”
FOOTNOTES:
[17] Hélène began her _Memoirs_ in 1773; she was then ten years old.
[18] The private apartments of the Lady Abbess are so called.
[19] Small pin-cushions in the shape of bellows.
[20] A thick round box with pin-cushion top.
[21] Twenty pounds.
[22] Children from five to seven years of age did not attend school;
but there was a considerable number of them at the Abbaye-aux-Bois,
under the care of the younger nuns.
[23] The _Catéchisme de Montpellier_ was a Jansenist catechism; its
doctrines were openly proclaimed by the ladies of the Abbaye-aux-Bois.
[24] Baron Antoine Portal, consulting physician to Louis XV. and the
successive sovereigns until Charles X., was Professor of Anatomy at the
Museum, President of the Academy of Medicine, and a friend of Buffon
and Franklin. His long career was devoted to remarkable works. By
command of the Academy of Sciences he drew up a report in 1774, on the
effects of noxious fumes, amongst others, of coal, on man. This small
work was reprinted several times, and translated into four languages at
the expense of the Academy; although the least important, it is best
known of all his works. He died in 1832, aged eighty-seven.
[25] About three pounds.
[26] Twelve hundred pounds. We must not lose sight of the fact that at
the Abbaye-aux-Bois the education was exclusively devoted to forming
future “great ladies,” and differed entirely from that of the middle
class.
[27] _Privilège du Roi_, a preface authorising the publication of a
work, granted in the king’s name.
III
The story of the Vicar of Saint Eustache--Hélène in the white
class--Death of Mademoiselle de Montmorency.
Hélène had taken the greatest aversion to Mother Quatre Temps and
her punishments. The more so that, thanks to her, she had been twice
delayed from promotion into the white class, not being considered
worthy of preparation for her first communion.
“I was only consoled,” she says, “when it was the hour of Mother Sainte
Bathilde’s superintendence, for she knew so many stories that I was
extremely amused by them.
“She was very fond of me, for I was always the most attentive listener
directly she began relating her stories. I remembered every word she
said, so that when she left us I was able to repeat her stories,
without omitting even one syllable. The whole blue class knelt around
me in order to hear better, and even some of the white young ladies
occasionally listened too.
“When I had finished telling Madame de Sainte Bathilde’s stories,
I related those of my grandmother, which were endless; for while
narrating, I invented all the incidents, and they were most curious.
“No one could have replaced me with Madame de Sainte Bathilde in the
attention I gave to the innumerable tales with which she deluged the
class, although Madame de Rochechouart had several times requested
her to desist telling these foolish stories, which made the pupils
credulous and frightened. The temptation was too great; she began
again every day. Sometimes she herself had seen things, or else it was
some of her friends, till at last she told us a story which nearly
caused her dismissal from the class. It was shortly after the death
of the Vicar of Saint Eustache, who had been found dead one morning
in his church. The Curate of Saint Eustache, by name Mr. Giron, often
came to see Madame Sainte Bathilde. The scholars had often seen him
crossing the yard, and had noticed that his neck was awry. One day,
when we were surrounding Mother Sainte Bathilde in the schoolroom,
and she seemed more animated than usual, a pupil told her that from
one of the windows of the depository[28] she had seen a priest pass
by, going to the tower, and that his neck appeared to be twisted in
a very peculiar manner. Madame Sainte Bathilde replied that he was
coming to call on her, and was the Curate of Saint Eustache, whose
neck had been dislocated by a most extraordinary adventure. We begged
her eagerly to relate it. After having assured us that what she was
going to relate was truth itself, she began as follows: ‘As we all
know, the late Vicar of Saint Eustache rebuilt the front portal of
his church, and stood in need of fifteen thousand livres[29] to finish
it. He did not know where to obtain the money. So one of his friends
advised him to consult a certain M. Etteilla, who had the reputation
of performing wonders. The Vicar therefore went to him, and told him
that he was in absolute want of fifteen thousand livres; begging him,
if possible, to procure that sum. After much pressing M. Etteilla told
the Vicar to meet him a little before midnight in the church of Saint
Eustache, accompanied by only one person, and that he would see what
he could do for him. The Vicar came punctually to the appointed place,
bringing with him Mr. Giron, his Curate, whose neck at that time was
as straight as yours or mine. When they were all three in the church,
M. Etteilla drew a circle around them and told them not to move out
of it, in spite of anything they might see; but that very soon they
would see near them a most appalling figure, who would inquire what
they wanted. In reply they were to ask without hesitation for the sum
of money required, and the phantom would present them with a purse,
which they must hasten to take. M. Etteilla then began his incantations
and closed the circle round the Vicar and the Curate. It was not long
before they saw a kind of monster with horns rise out of the ground,
who asked them in a voice of thunder: What they desired. The Vicar,
terrified, moved out of the circle, and the monster felled him to the
ground. He then returned to the circle, within which the Curate had
remained, and repeated his question. The Curate asked for the sum of
fifteen thousand livres. The monster held it out to him, but in taking
it, having advanced his head a little too far, he received a blow
which distorted his neck for life. The incantation being over, they
went to pick up the Vicar, but found he was dead. They therefore made
up their minds to leave the body there, and so left the church.’ The
pupils having repeated this story to several people, it came to Madame
de Rochechouart’s ears; so she sent for Madame Sainte Bathilde, treated
her with a high hand, and told her that when the next Chapter was held,
she would have her dismissed from the class.”
It must not be supposed that the belief in magicians was only the hobby
of a credulous old nun. On the contrary, it was widespread at that
time, and the most intelligent people were not above consulting them.
The Duc d’Orléans and even the Prince de Ligne became acquainted with
the famous Etteilla. The Prince says, in his unpublished writings,
called _Fragments des Mémoires_: ‘I very much regret having paid
so little attention to the predictions of the great Etteilla. This
magician had just arrived in Paris. I took M. le Duc d’Orléans to see
him, Rue Fromenteau, on the fourth floor. He could not be acquainted
with either of us. I know that he spoke to him of a throne, of
revolutions, of the royal family, of Versailles, of the Devil, but
I only remember it all most confusedly. It is a fact that Etteilla
described to Madame de Mérode the scene she witnessed a fortnight
later: her husband (then in sound health) laid in state, with the
description of the room and the people in it; all of which were unknown
to him; and that everything happened as he had predicted. He also
foretold that she would marry again.’
Etteilla was only the anagram of the sham magician’s real name. He
was called Alliette, sold engravings, and styled himself Professor
of Algebra in Paris,[30] where in reality he occupied himself with
fortune-telling by cards.
“It is customary every year to distribute prizes to the scholars on
Saint Catherine’s eve. It is always some married lady of rank who
gives them away. The pupils contribute towards the expense of the
prizes, each giving one louis. We were then a hundred and sixty-two in
number, which made a large sum of money, and was all spent on books.
There are three prizes for each class, the prizes being regulated as
follows: Three prizes for history and geography, three for dancing,
three for music, three for drawing. This year it was Madame la Duchesse
de la Vallière who distributed them. I had the first prize for history
and the second for dancing. Mademoiselle de Choiseul had the first
prize for dancing and the second for history; but the fact was, we were
about equal both in history and in dancing, neither M. Huart,[31] M.
Dauberval,[32] nor even M. Philippe[33] could manage to decide between
us. So, when we went up to receive the prize from the hands of Madame
la Duchesse,[34] Madame de Rochechouart told us that as there was only
a single first prize, one of us should have it for history and the
other for dancing, but that we both deserved them equally.”
This shows how great was the importance attached to accomplishments,
since the first prizes for history and dancing were adjudged together.
Young as she was, Hélène really danced remarkably well: “At that time,”
she says, “I danced the _farlànes_ and _montférines_ (old French
dances) most beautifully. Mademoiselle[35] came to our balls, and was
so pleased with my dancing that both she and Madame la Duchesse de
Bourbon[36] always begged that I should dance the _pas de deux_, and
they gave me comfits.”
Madame de Rochechouart knew what pleased her little favourite, and
often allowed her to go out during this carnival. “Not a week passed,”
she says, “without my going to four or five children’s balls at Madame
de la Vaupalière,[37] hotel du Châtelet.[38] At that time they were
going to act _Athalie_ at the hotel de Mortemart.[39] One day Madame
de Rochechouart made me read aloud the part of Joas, and she was so
pleased with the way in which I read it that she spoke of it to her
niece, the young Duchesse de Mortemart, who entreated, as a favour,
that I should be allowed to act that part at her house, where they were
going to perform _Athalie_. They had no one to undertake the part of
Joas, Mademoiselle de Mortemart having no talent for tragedy.”
The Dowager Duchesse de Mortemart and the Duchesse d’Harcourt mentioned
it to the Abbess, who consented to the little Princess going out three
times a week during one month for the rehearsals. Molé was sent for to
direct the company. “I was very happy,” Hélène writes, “for I always
brought back sweetmeats, and Mademoiselle de Mortemart accompanied
me. I went out three days during the performances, and it was thought
that I acted better than the child at the Comédie Française. M. Molé
recommended me particularly not to declaim at all, but to speak
naturally, without gestures, as I would in conversation, and this
succeeded very well.”
A curious custom existed at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. On Saint Catherine’s
Day, in honour of that saint, the pupils were allowed to assume the
dress, occupation, or rank of all the ladies in the Convent, from the
Abbess down to the simplest nun. The nominations took place by the
majority of votes, and the electoral body, composed of all the pupils,
solemnly met the day before in the Chapter-house in order to vote. This
year Hélène was elected Abbess, and she relates the ceremony in its
minutest details:--
“The Chapter-house was lent us for the elections. I was elected
Abbess, and chose Mademoiselle de Choiseul for _régente_; Mademoiselle
de Conflans was crosier-bearer, Mademoiselle de Vaudreuil chaplain;
Mesdemoiselles de Damas, de Montsauge, de Chauvigny, de Mortemart, and
de Poyanne were appointed as my personal attendants. The remainder of
the places were given by majority of votes. When this was done, we went
to the Lady Abbess, who, according to custom, kissed me, took off her
cross, fastened it on me, and put the _abbatial_ ring on my finger. I
entered into office the very next morning, and during High Mass, which
we sang, I was seated on the Abbess’s throne.
“It had been decorated with the carpet of purple velvet fringed with
gold, only used on occasions of great ceremony. I received the incense,
and, preceded by the crozier, went to kiss the paten. All the nuns
heard Mass and the services from the galleries, and the scholars
occupied their stalls. I gave the holy water, and received the public
confession of all the pupils. It was very funny to see nuns of five
and six years old. A great many ladies came to see us in the choir
and in the refectory, where I gave a grand dinner with ices. All the
nuns and lady visitors were in the middle of the refectory in order to
see us at table. Each of us put on the sedate mien appropriate to the
costume she wore. After dinner we took possession of all the different
functions, while the nuns, by way of a joke, settled themselves in
the schoolrooms. None of us, however, dared to go and see Madame de
Rochechouart; she could not endure these masquerades, and had said
the day before that she wished to see no one. As for Madame Sainte
Delphine, all this amused her intensely, and every one went to see
her, each in their turn; the young Duchesse de Mortemart, Madame de
Fitz-James, Madame de Bouillon, Madame d’Henin, and the Vicomtesse de
Laval spent the afternoon with her. We flocked in troops to see her;
first, I went with all my court. We were made to talk and converse; in
short, we greatly amused the ladies. But what pleased us most was, that
suddenly the door opened and Madame de Rochechouart entered. Then, as
we knew she did not like to see us like that, the Lady Abbess and her
retinue took to their heels and fled. In the evening we went in state
to carry back to the Abbess her cross and her ring, and we doffed our
monastical clothes. The same festivities are repeated on Innocents’
Day, and Mademoiselle d’Aumont was Abbess. Concerning the fear we had
of displeasing Madame de Rochechouart. Madame Sainte Delphine was in
the habit of saying that no Asiatic monarch could be more despotic in
his rule than her sister was in hers, and it is true that we had a real
worship for her. I must say in her praise that she rather influenced
our minds than our persons, for she seldom admonished or punished.
We were perfectly convinced it was impossible she could be wrong in
anything, and she inspired an unbounded confidence. It is difficult to
imagine the extent of the enthusiasm Madame de Rochechouart excited in
the schoolroom; our heads were turned with the honour we enjoyed in
having such a great lady to preside over our education.
“The other mistresses, who depended on her, were always quoting her
name as that of a divinity who punished or rewarded. The Lady Abbess
held her in great esteem, for she allowed little intimacy. Those who
saw her frequently formed a kind of court around her.
“About that time, my nurse having left a bottle of oil on the
chimney-piece, Mademoiselle de Choiseul and I discovered that by
rubbing oil on the door it could be opened without any noise. My nurse
slept in the room next to mine. She was in the habit of locking the
door inside at night, leaving the key in the lock. Mademoiselle de
Choiseul’s room opened into mine. She used, therefore, to get up at
night and come to my bedside; then we slipped on our dressing-gowns,
softly opened the door, and ran about the house all night, amusing
ourselves by playing all kinds of pranks; such as blowing out the
lamps, knocking at the doors, going and talking to the novices and
eating with them preserves, pies, and sweetmeats which we had secretly
bought.
“Once we took a bottle of ink and poured it into the basin for holy
water at the door of the choir. As the ladies go to Matins two hours
after midnight, and know them by heart, there is no other light than
that of a lamp, which throws a very faint glimmer on the holy-water
vessel. They therefore took the holy water, without perceiving the
state in which they put themselves; but as Matins were finishing the
day broke, when, seeing each other so strangely marked, they laughed
one and all so loud that the service was interrupted. It was suspected
that this prank originated in the school, and on the following day a
search was made, but its authors were never discovered.
“A few days afterwards we played another trick. The bell-ropes, called
‘The Gondi,’ because they had been blessed by the Archbishop of Paris
of that name, are used to ring for the services on working days, and
are placed behind the choir, the larger and more important bells being
in another belfry above the choir. These ropes pass through a gallery
situated behind the Abbess’s throne. We therefore went up into this
gallery and tied our handkerchiefs tightly to the bell-ropes. When the
novice who had to ring for Matins came, she pulled in vain. She thought
she was ringing; but when the rope came to the knots it stopped, and
the bells did not move, so that the ladies who were waiting for the
first stroke of Matins to come down never came, and the novice was
exhausted with ringing. At last some of the nuns, seeing that the hour
for Matins was going by, came down to see why no bells were ringing.
They found the nun half dead with pulling the ropes. Then, perceiving
that something must be wrong with the bells, they went up into the
gallery and found the handkerchiefs. Unfortunately our initials
were on them, H. M., J. C. They were, therefore, taken to Madame de
Rochechouart, who inquired next day when she came into the schoolroom
to whom belonged the handkerchiefs marked H. M. and J. C. Then we hung
our heads. Madame de Rochechouart ordered us in a severe tone to leave
our stalls, so we came to her, trembling all over, and knelt at her
feet. She asked us if we imagined these ladies were made to be the butt
of our practical jokes; she begged us not to exert our ingenuity in
tormenting them, and said that, in order to remember this, we should
kneel in our night-caps the following Sunday in the middle of the
choir during High Mass, as an apology to the ladies for having amused
ourselves at their expense; and also, that, as we were answerable to
God for the prayers which had not been said that day, Matins having
been curtailed, we should have to recite out loud, during recreation,
the seven penitential Psalms.
“Some ill-disposed nuns, having excited the Lady Abbess on the subject
of these pranks, she sent for Madame de Rochechouart, and charged her
with the disorders committed by the class, and with their wicked and
spiteful behaviour. Madame de Rochechouart said it was false; that
no doubt some of the pupils played tricks, but that as far as spite
was concerned, nothing had come to her ears, and, moreover, that she
had immediately punished the offenders. Then the Lady Abbess cited
the tampering with the holy water as an act of impiety. Madame de
Rochechouart, who was very quick tempered and hated mummeries, replied
that the deed was dark, because it was a question of ink, but that it
was impossible for her to see it in any other light than that of a
child’s frolic, carried rather too far she admitted, whereupon she
left the Lady Abbess in a tolerably bad temper.
“All the pranks Mademoiselle de Choiseul and I had played had
considerably retarded the ceremony of my first communion. Mademoiselle
de Choiseul had been in the white class for some time. As far as the
lessons were concerned, I ought to have been in that class since the
previous year, for I had at my fingers’ ends all that was taught in
the blue class. I knew ancient history, the history of France, and
mythology very well; I knew by heart the whole poem of _La Réligion_,
the _Fables of La Fontaine_, two cantos of the _Henriade_, and all the
tragedy of _Athalie_, in which I had acted the part of Joas. I danced
very well; I knew how to sol-fa; I played the harpsichord a little and
the harp a little; as for my drawing, that was the least good; but
these continual pranks, into which I was partly drawn by my weakness
for Mademoiselle de Choiseul, were very prejudicial to me. Every
piece of mischief done was set down to our account. I was so fond of
Mademoiselle de Choiseul that I preferred being in disgrace with her,
to seeing her punished alone. Her friendship for me was reciprocal,
and when I was punished for any fault she went to the mistresses and
grumbled in a way that soon caused her to share my disgrace. The whole
day was not long enough for the communications we had to make to each
other, and in the evening, as her room opened into mine, she came to
me, or else I visited her. We were both very fond of reading, and so
were Mesdemoiselles de Conflans: we read together in all our spare
moments, each reading out loud in her turn.
“As we had left off our pranks for some time, Madame de Rochechouart
availed herself of this opportunity to advance me into the white class,
for she quite worshipped me, and was rather amused than angry at the
tricks I used to play. Madame de Sainte Delphine, her sister, was also
very fond of me; she always said it would be a loss to the Convent
if Choiseul and I became steady. She said that my frolics always bore
the stamp of gaiety and wit, and, as a matter of fact, my tricks never
harmed any one, and were always a subject of merriment.
“When my removal from the blue class was decided, I went and begged
Mother Quatre Temps’s pardon for all the worry I had given her, and
thanked her for her kindness. She told me she was very sorry to be
no longer on as intimate terms with me, and that although I had
occasionally maddened her, there had been moments which had compensated
for all. I embraced her.
“Several of my companions, Mademoiselle de Chauvigny among them, had
tears in their eyes when Mother Quatre Temps came to take off my blue
ribbon.
“I was received with acclamations by the white class, whose ribbon
I received from the hand of Madame de Saint Pierre, head-mistress
of that class. The young ladies all came and kissed me. Of the three
mistresses, Madame de Sainte Scholastique took my fancy the most, and
I resolved to do all in my power to obtain her favour. She already
preferred my friend Mademoiselle de Choiseul to all the other pupils.
“I was most anxious for the ceremony of my first communion, and was
desirous not to remain long in the white class, where the mistresses
had the reputation of being very severe.”
Hélène’s _Memoirs_ prove that her intelligence and character were now
beginning to develop in a remarkable manner. Her style becomes bolder,
and frees itself from the childish phraseology in which she gives us
the story of the cat, or enlarges on Mother Quatre Temps’s punishments.
Moreover, she will soon have more serious events to relate.
“We had great sorrows about this time, owing to the death of two of
the pupils. Mademoiselle de Chaponay[40] was the first that died.
She was nine years old, and had a charming person. Mademoiselle de la
Roche Aymon[41] was very much grieved, as she was her little mother.
Mademoiselle de Chaponay was carried to her grave by four of the
scholars, her coffin was covered with white roses, and the church was
all draped in white.
“Mademoiselle de Montmorency’s[42] death was far more dreadful.
“The Princesse de Montmorency wished her daughter’s education to be
conducted with great severity. When she was twelve years old it was
noticed that her figure was growing awry. She might perhaps be alive
still if the suppositions of Madame de Saint Côme, the head lady
apothecaress, had been credited.
“Madame de Saint Côme said that Mademoiselle de Montmorency suffered
from a vitiated state of the blood, which impeded her growth, and
that she was certain a treatment of antiscorbutic herbs, taken in
decoctions, would purify the blood, when her figure would straighten
of itself. This the Princesse de Montmorency would not admit. However,
she was called away from the Convent on the occasion of her sister’s
marriage with M. le Due de Montmorency Fosseuse, her cousin. She only
returned after an absence of six months, and then quite unrecognisable.
Without actual beauty, she still had had a very pleasing appearance;
large fine black eyes, a white skin, a noble and proud carriage. Now,
she was most fearfully emaciated, with a livid skin and a hard cough.
She informed us of her marriage with the Prince de Lambesc,[43] which
was to take place during the course of the winter. It was with great
difficulty that the persons interested had obtained his consent to
the match, for he did not wish to marry, and it was only on their
representing to him that she was the greatest French heiress, both in
name and in fortune, that he finally pledged his word.
“Meanwhile Mademoiselle de Montmorency’s figure was decidedly
growing awry; and at last her mother put her under the care of _Val
d’Ajonc_[44] who tortured her for six weeks. She wore bandages day
and night, which aggravated the heated condition of her blood, till at
last, becoming quite ill, she lost her hair and her teeth. One day she
fell on her arm, which brought on a tumour in the armpit; the whole
faculty in Paris was consulted in vain; not one could cure this tumour.
“Meanwhile the winter advanced, and considering the state she was in,
it was impossible to give her in marriage. Moreover, M. de Lambesc told
every one that he had no affection for her, and even took no trouble to
conceal the repulsion he felt towards her; in consequence the marriage
was postponed for a year.
“They determined to take the young girl to Geneva in order to place her
under the care of the _Mountain Doctor_.[45] She came to say good-bye
to us. She had retained her beautiful eyes alone. I cried a great deal
on leaving her; she was my little mother. She gave me a keepsake in
old lacquer, and told me to pray for her, and to be very good. She was
much regretted, for she had a very beautiful nature, and was loved by
all.
“Three months after she had left I awoke one night feeling very much
agitated and called my nurse. She came, and I said to her: ‘Ah, I have
just dreamt that I saw Mademoiselle de Montmorency in a white dress,
and wearing a wreath of white roses; she told me she was going to be
married. Since then I keep fancying that I see her two large black eyes
looking at me, and it frightens me.’ A few days after we heard the news
of Mademoiselle de Montmorency’s death; she had died the same night I
dreamt of her.
“We heard that the bone of her arm had decayed and was all rotting
away. They had tried to induce her mother to leave the room, but
she flung herself down on the threshold of the door, sobbing most
violently. When Mademoiselle de Montmorency saw her arm had mortified,
she said to Madame de la Salle, a friend of her mother’s, who was with
her: ‘Now death is beginning!’ Then Madame de la Salle gently proposed
her receiving the Sacraments, and she consented.
“From that moment she ceased to see her mother, whose mind had
completely given way. She begged Madame de la Salle to ask her
mother’s forgiveness for any trouble she might have caused her; then
she requested her to tell Madame de Rochechouart, that if she died,
her greatest sorrow would be not to have had her with her during her
last moments; then she gathered her attendants round her, asked their
forgiveness, and received the Sacraments.
“Afterwards she sent for her doctor, and begged him to tell her frankly
if he thought she would recover. Seeing he appeared embarrassed and
that Madame de la Salle was crying, she said: ‘Ah! I did not know it
was so certain. Oh, my God! take all my fortune, and call me back to
life.’ Upon which, he told her not to lose courage. ‘Yes, she replied,
‘for I feel I need it all, to die at fifteen.’
“However, the young Duchesse de Montmorency and her husband arrived in
the evening with the Duc de Laval; the doctor informed them she could
not live through the night, as the gangrene was rapidly spreading.
“A few moments later Mademoiselle de Montmorency asked for her mother,
but she could not come, for she was almost out of her mind with grief.
They told her she was ill. She therefore asked for her sister, the
Duchesse de Montmorency, who came at once. She said to her: ‘Tell
all my companions at the Abbaye-aux-Bois that I am giving them a
great example of the nothingness of human life. I had everything to
make me happy in this world, and yet death snatches me away from my
high destiny.’ Then she gave her many particular messages for Madame
d’Equilly and Madame de la Faluère, and said she was to tell me to
pray to God for my little mother.
“She asked for her confessor, and said to him: ‘Well, since I must die,
you must teach me how to renounce life, for surely I should have the
merit of such a sacrifice.’ Then the confessor brought a crucifix and
began reciting the psalms, but he avoided those for the dying. Then she
said: ‘Ah, I no longer suffer!’ For the last two days indeed she had
hardly suffered, but previous to this she had gnawed her sheets with
frenzy, and her screams could be heard a long way off. She asked for a
peppermint lozenge, they put one in her mouth, she made an effort as
though to cough, and expired.[46]
“When her death was announced to the class the grief was universal, and
I in particular wept much for her. A magnificent commemorative service
was held, which was founded in perpetuity to her memory by the payment
of a sum of forty thousand francs.[47]
“There is one anecdote which I have heard related about Mademoiselle
de Montmorency which shows that she possessed some native energy of
character.
“When she was about eight or nine years old, and Madame de Richelieu
was the ruling power, she one day behaved with great obstinacy towards
the Lady Abbess, who said angrily to her: ‘When I see you like that,
I could kill you.’ Mademoiselle de Montmorency replied: ‘It would not
be the first time that the Richelieus had been the murderers of the
Montmorencys.’”
Such a haughty answer in the mouth of a child is surprising enough, but
it shows the extraordinary development of children at that period; and
the account that Hélène herself gives of the death of her companion is
a striking proof of this. It is impossible to relate a story better;
not a line is wanting in the picture; and the simplicity of the style
adds yet more to the effect of the narrative.
FOOTNOTES:
[28] Room in which the records were kept.
[29] Six hundred pounds sterling.
[30] He published in 1770 a small 12mo. vol. entitled _Method of
Diverting Oneself with a Pack of Cards_, and in 1784 a fresh edition
called _Method of Diverting Oneself with a Pack of Chequered Cards_.
[31] Professor of History at the Abbaye-aux-Bois.
[32] First dancer at the Opera.
[33] The leader of the ballet at the Opera.
[34] The Duchesse de la Vallière was the daughter of the Maréchal de
Noailles. At fifty years of age she was still marvellously beautiful.
On seeing her Madame d’Houdetot improvised the following stanza:
“La nature prudente et sage,
Force le temps à respecter,
Les charmes de ce beau visage,
Qu’elle ne saurait répéter.”