The Project Gutenberg eBook of Memoirs of the Princesse de Ligne,
Vol. I (of 2), by Hélène Massalska
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Title: Memoirs of the Princesse de Ligne, Vol. I (of 2)
Author: Hélène Massalska
Editor: Lucien Perey
Translator: Laura Ensor
Release Date: June 26, 2023 [eBook #71048]
Language: English
Credits: MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEMOIRS OF THE PRINCESSE DE
LIGNE, VOL. I (OF 2) ***
MEMOIRS
OF THE
Princesse de Ligne
EDITED BY
LUCIEN PEREY
TRANSLATED BY LAURA ENSOR
IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. I.
[Illustration]
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1887
_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_
CONTENTS
PART THE FIRST
INTRODUCTION ix
CHAPTER 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 Page 1
CHAPTER 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 19
CHAPTER III
The story of the Vicar of Saint Eustache--Hélène in the white
class--Death of Mademoiselle de Montmorency 56
CHAPTER IV
Moles and niggers--Mutiny in the Convent--Marriage of
Mademoiselle de Bourbonne--The first communion 90
CHAPTER V
The Convent duties--The Abbess’s department--Balls at the
Abbaye-aux-Bois--Madame de Rochechourt and her friends 114
CHAPTER VI
The record office--Madame de Saint Germain and her rasp--The
ballets _Orpheus_ and _Eurydice_--The refectory--The
gates and the tower--The community and the cellars--Story
of Mademoiselle de Saint Ange--Madame de Sainte Delphine
and the library 136
CHAPTER VII
Mademoiselle de Choiseul and her mother--Madame de Stainville’s
romantic adventures--Mademoiselle de Choiseul’s wedding--Taking
the veil 153
CHAPTER VIII
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.”
Nature prudent and wise, Forces time to respect, The charms of that
lovely face, Which she is powerless to repeat.
Madame de la Vallière’s sister was the Comtesse de Toulouse.
[35] Mademoiselle (Louise-Adelaide de Bourbon-Condé), born on the 5th
of October 1757, was the daughter of Louis-Joseph de Bourbon, Prince
de Condé, and of Charlotte-Godefriede-Elizabeth de Rohan-Soubise. She
became Abbess of Remiremont in 1786.
[36] Louise-Marie-Thérèse-Bathilde d’Orléans, sister-in-law of
Mademoiselle, was the daughter of the Duc Louis-Philippe d’Orléans and
of Louise-Henrietta de Bourbon-Condé. She married, 14th April 1770,
Louis-Henri-Joseph, Duc de Bourbon-Condé, born 14th April 1756, and
brother to the above-mentioned Mademoiselle. The Duchesse de Bourbon
was mother of the unfortunate Duc d’Enghien, shot under the first
Empire. Her husband, passionately in love with her, obtained permission
to marry her at fifteen years of age, but they were separated after the
ceremony. Furious at this, the young prince carried her off.
[37] M. and Madame de la Vaupalière were very agreeable; she had much
native grace and simplicity, and her affable and equal character
made her generally beloved. M. de la Vaupalière was, unfortunately,
a gambler, and nothing could cure him of this passion. At that time
a small sort of case was invented, of a novel and convenient shape,
for holding slips and counters. Madame de la Vaupalière had one made,
of the richest and most beautiful workmanship, which she sent to her
husband. On one side was her portrait and on the other that of her
children, with these words: “_Songez à nous_” (think of us).
[38] The hotel du Châtelet, which was just finished, was situated in
the Rue de Grenelle, Faubourg Saint Germain, near the city gates. It
was a magnificent building, and the interior arrangements and richness
of the apartments corresponded with the beauty of the exterior.
The Marquise, afterwards Duchesse du Châtelet, was the daughter-in-law
of the celebrated _Emilie_ of Voltaire.
[39] The Duchesse de Mortemart resided with her sons at their beautiful
house of the Rue Saint Guillaume, her daughter being educated at the
Abbaye-aux-Bois. The mansion still exists, and bears the number 14 of
the Rue Saint Guillaume.
[40] Daughter of M. de Chaponay, who had been implicated in Lally’s
trial, and was his aide-de-camp. M. de Chaponay was severely censured
by the Court of Parliament. When summoned by name and declared
infamous, he had the courage to refuse to kneel, and replied: “I see
nothing infamous except your judgment!” The Court deliberated as to
whether he should be imprisoned for making such a bold answer, but they
dared not do so.
[41] Great-niece of the Cardinal de la Roche Aymon, Grand Almoner to
the King.
[42] We have found in the records of the Council, at Geneva, an account
of the arrival of the Princesse de Montmorency and her daughter; the
authorisation given them “to harness their horses at night in order to
send for the doctor or apothecary,” and various other details, which
confirm Hélène’s narrative.
[43] Prince de Lambesc, grand equerry of France, son of the Comte de
Brionne, of the house of Lorraine, and of the Comtesse de Brionne, born
Rohan-Rochefort. He was colonel of the regiment called “De Lorraine.”
When, on the 12th July 1789, the populace, uttering seditious cries,
and carrying the busts of Necker and of the Duc d’Orléans round the
Place Vendôme, was dispersed by the Prince’s dragoons, they fled into
the Tuilerie gardens; but the Prince, sword in hand, pursued them and
forced them to leave. He died at Vienna in 1825.
[44] The Val d’Ajonc was a valley situated in Lorraine, and at this
period was inhabited by a family who enjoyed a wonderful reputation as
bone-setters. They took the name of the valley they inhabited. It is
said that they were so hated by the surgeons that they had always to be
accompanied and protected by armed force.
[45] We have been unable to discover the name of this doctor. In all
probability he was simply a bone-setter, or rubber, from the hills of
Vuache, such as still exist in Savoy, and who are often consulted at
Geneva.
[46] The Princesse de Montmorency, beside herself with grief, left
suddenly, and on her return to the Château de Sénozan, wrote to the
“Magnificent Council” of Geneva to thank them for the funeral honours
accorded to her daughter:--
“GENTLEMEN--M. des Chênes has arrived and informed me of the
many courtesies the Magnificent Council have shown him, as my
representative, and the honours they have bestowed on my daughter. If
anything could alleviate my grief, it would be the manner in which they
have taken part in my affliction. Your attentions during her illness
had already greatly touched me, but all that you have done under these
circumstances has engraved in my heart the most vivid and sincere
gratitude.
“Receive, gentlemen, I pray, my best assurances thereof, and be fully
persuaded of the perfect and inviolable attachment with which I have
the honour to be, sirs, your very humble and obedient servant,
MONTMORENCY.”
(Geneva, Records of the Magnificent Council, February 1775.)
[47] Sixteen hundred pounds.
IV
Moles and niggers--Mutiny in the Convent--Marriage of Mademoiselle de
Bourbonne--The first communion.
“About this time Dom Rigoley de Juvigny having come to confess a nun,
happened to be in the cloisters at the moment when the class was
leaving Mass, so that he was seen by all the pupils, and was the butt
of all their jokes.
“If it had been Dom Thémines, our own confessor, we should not have
allowed ourselves all these jokes, but we thought it of no consequence
when it was the nuns’ confessor. So one said one thing, one another.
“There was then in the red class a mistress we could not endure,
called Madame de Saint Jérôme. As her complexion was very dark, and
Dom Rigoley’s also, some of us declared that if they were married
their offspring would be moles and little niggers. Although it was very
silly, this joke became so much the fashion that in the whole class we
talked of nothing but moles and little niggers; and when we quarrelled
we said to each other: ‘Do you take me for a mole, or for a little
nigger?’
“However, as it was chiefly in our class (the white one) that this joke
had been made, and as some of us were in the midst of our devotions
preparing for the approaching first communion, we reproached ourselves
very much for this joke. So we determined to confess it; but as about
thirty of us were guilty, we wrote a letter in which we said we had
sinned against modesty and charity by saying that if Dom Rigoley
married Madame de Saint Jérôme, moles and little niggers would be the
result; and we sent the letter to Dom Thémines. This became known all
through the establishment, and was much laughed at; but Madame de Saint
Jérôme took a great aversion to the white class. But then, there was
not a single pupil whom she liked or who liked her.
“This worried and vexed Madame de Rochechouart, who said that she had
already for some time past begged that new elections should be held,
and that Madame de Saint Jérôme should be deprived of her place, since
she was not fit for it. For, during the six months she had occupied
that post she had succeeded in making herself universally hated,
without being feared by her pupils, since even the blue class amused
itself by covering her with ridicule. That she was made the subject
of all the satires, songs, and lampoons that were stuck up in All
Souls’ cloisters, that she had not the necessary coolness to deal
with children, and that when she inflicted punishments she always did
so when beside herself with anger. The Lady Abbess told Madame de
Rochechouart that it was impossible for her to attend to this, and that
she must speak to the Mother Prioress about it. The Prioress said they
would have to hold a general Chapter meeting, and that it was not worth
while calling one together for that purpose; as one was going to be
held shortly, it would then be possible to make a change in the school.
Then Madame de Rochechouart became very angry, and said she could
not answer for the disturbances that such a hot-headed person might
occasion amongst a hundred and sixty pupils. As ill luck would have it,
rumours of this dispute reached our ears, and we heard that Madame de
Saint Jérôme continued in the schoolroom against the wish of Madame _la
Maîtresse Générale_.
“A short time after the Chapter assembled; but Madame de Rochechouart
could not be present at it, as she had a cold. The other mistresses
had not the courage to propose to the Chapter the removal of Madame
de Saint Jérôme, so that she remained in the schoolroom. Madame de
Rochechouart was extremely vexed at this. Then the pupils, with
Mesdemoiselles de Mortemart, de Choiseul, de Chauvigny, de Conflans
and myself at their head, resolved to seize the first opportunity of
perpetrating some grand stroke which would oblige her to leave the
class.”
While waiting to execute their plans, the leaders of the conspiracy,
acting with prudence, wished to satisfy themselves as to the number
of their followers. Hélène relates this with all the solemnity of a
politician:--
“We called together a meeting of five or six pupils of each class, and
it was agreed that those who did not like Madame de Saint Jérôme, and
who were determined to do everything they could to have her removed,
should wear green; that is, either a leaf, or a bit of weed, or a
ribbon, in fact something green; that each of those who were present
at this meeting should make her friends in her class wear green, and
that in order to be able to recognise each other and avoid explanations
which might be over-heard when we met, we would say ‘Je vous prends
sans vert.’ (I catch you unawares.) That then we would show the colour,
and those who had not got it would be considered as not belonging to
the mutinous party; and that as it was very possible that either from
timidity or other reasons some of the pupils would change their minds,
those persons should then be obliged to leave off wearing the green; so
that in this way there would be no mistake as to who belonged to the
league.”
An opportunity soon occurred for putting these fine plans into
execution.
“One holiday, on the eve of Saint Magdalene, who was the patron saint
of the Lady Abbess, all the pupils had left their departments to come
and play in the schoolroom. As we already had had recreation for two
days, all the mistresses were tired out; so they had agreed, in order
to have some rest, to remain only one at a time in the schoolroom.
About four o’clock Madame de Saint Jérôme’s turn came, and we took
it into our heads not to do a single thing she should tell us. All of
a sudden the little de Lastic[48] and the little de Saint Simon girls
began quarrelling, and ended by coming to fisticuffs. Madame de Saint
Jérôme went up to separate them, and without knowing who was right
or wrong, she took Mademoiselle de Lastic by the arm, and tried to
make her go down on her knees. Mademoiselle de Lastic said: ‘Madame,
I assure you, it was not I who began.’ Thereupon Madame de Saint
Jérôme flew into a dreadful rage, seized Mademoiselle de Lastic by
the neck, and threw her down so violently that she fell on her nose,
which began to bleed. When we saw the blood we gathered round her, and
swore that not only we should not allow her to be punished, but that
we would throw Madame de Saint Jérôme out of the window, because she
had murdered one of us. Madame de Saint Jérôme was so frightened at
our screams, and the noise we made, that she quite lost her head. She
was afraid of some violence, seeing how excited we were. She therefore
resolved to retreat, saying she would go and complain to Madame de
Rochechouart. It was a great mistake on her part to leave the class at
such a moment without a mistress. Mortemart[49] got on the table and
said: ‘Let all those who have green show it.’ Then every one did so,
and those who had none begged the others to give them some. On seeing
that our party was so strong, Mortemart said we must withdraw from the
schoolroom, and return only under conditions both advantageous and
honourable. It was decided to go through the garden, secure the kitchen
and larders, and reduce the ladies by famine.
“We therefore crossed the garden, and went to the building containing
the kitchens. This building had only one floor; on which were the
storerooms, the larders, and the bakery. The kitchens were underground.
We first entered the storeroom, where we only found Madame Saint
Isidore and Sister Martha. We very politely begged them to leave, and
they were so frightened on seeing us that they went away at once. The
larders and the bakery being shut up, we proposed to burst them open;
then we went down into the kitchens, after having left one of our party
in the storeroom. We were rather astonished to find a number of people
in the kitchens, amongst others one of the schoolmistresses, Madame
de Saint Antoine, for whom we had great respect. She asked us what we
wanted: Mademoiselle de Mortemart replied that we had fled from the
schoolroom because Madame de Saint Jérôme had broken the head of one of
the pupils. Startled at this piece of news, she did not know what to
say; she, however, tried to induce us to return, but we told her it was
useless. Then she left us and ran to the schoolroom to verify it all.
Madame de Saint Amélie, head of the kitchen department, tried to turn
us out, but we turned her out. As for Madame de Saint Sulpice, who was
sixteen years old, she wanted to leave, but we would not allow her; we
told her that we should keep her as a witness that we did not waste the
provisions of the establishment. We wanted to turn out the lay sisters,
but Madame de Saint Sulpice having represented to us that in that case
we should have no supper, we kept Sister Clothilde. Then we bolted the
doors opening into the refectory, and left those on the gardens open;
but about thirty of the pupils remained to guard them. We then resolved
to capitulate, and these were our terms:--
“‘_The United Scholars of the Three Classes of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, to
Madame de Rochechouart, Maîtresse Générale._
“‘We entreat your forgiveness, Madame, for the measures that we have
taken; but the cruelty and incapacity of Madame de Saint Jérôme
forced them upon us. We request a general amnesty for the past,
that Madame de Saint Jérôme shall not put her foot again inside the
schoolroom, and that we have eight days’ recreation, to rest our
bodies and minds after the fatigues we have undergone. As soon as we
shall have obtained justice, we will return and submit ourselves to
whatever it may please you to dictate.
“‘We have the honour to remain, with the deepest respect and tenderest
attachment, Madame, etc.
“‘_P.S._--We send two of our party as bearers of this petition. If
they are not sent back to us, we shall consider it a sign that you do
not choose to treat with us: in which case we shall go in open force
to fetch Madame de Saint Jérôme and whip her round the four corners of
the Convent.’
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul offered to carry the letter, and I consented
to accompany her. When we came to the end of the garden we saw a
numerous assembly of nuns and sisters, brought thither by curiosity, to
see what the pupils would do. But none of them dared to approach the
building. When they saw us they came up to us, saying: ‘Well, what are
the rebels about?’ We answered that we were taking their proposals to
Madame de Rochechouart.
“We entered her cell, but she looked at us with an air of such severity
that I turned quite pale, and Choiseul, bold as she was, trembled.
Madame de Rochechouart asked whether the young ladies were in the
schoolroom. We said no. ‘Then,’ said she, ‘I will listen to nothing
from them; you may carry your complaint to the Lady Abbess, or to any
one you choose; I will have nothing to do in the matter, and you have
taken the best means of disgusting me with trying to manage such a
set of madcaps, more fit to be enlisted amongst the followers of some
army than to acquire the modesty and gentleness which are the charm of
woman.’ We were much confused, and Mademoiselle de Choiseul, who had
more courage than I, threw herself at her feet and said that a word
from her would always be sovereign law, and that she did not doubt that
each one felt the same, but that in an affair of honour we would sooner
die than seem to betray or abandon our companions. ‘Well,’ said Madame
de Rochechouart, ‘speak to whom you will, for I have ceased to be your
mistress.’ We left her, and went to the abbatial rooms. The Lady Abbess
read our petition, but not in our presence; we only knew that Madame de
Rochechouart was sent for, but we did not hear what took place. Only
when the Lady Abbess received us, she told us such conduct was unheard
of, that such an event had never occurred before, even in a college,
and she asked who was at the head of the rebellion. We answered that it
had been the inspiration of the moment, and that it seemed as if the
whole class had had but one mind.
“Madame de Rochechouart was there, and did not say a word. ‘Well,’
said the Lady Abbess, ‘if the young ladies will return, I will grant
a general amnesty, but that is all I can do. As for Madame de Saint
Jérôme, she is a person of great merit, and this fine hatred of her
is a mere whim.’ However, we went our way back to the kitchens. All
the people we met questioned us. When we got back everybody surrounded
us, saying: ‘What news?’--‘None!’ we answered mournfully. Then we
told them what had been said to us; and the young ladies soon made
up their minds. They begged Madame de Saint Sulpice to give out the
provisions. Madame de Saint Sulpice said she was only assistant nun in
the kitchens, and had not got the keys. Then we broke open the doors of
the bakery and meat-store, and Sister Clothilde, after some resistance,
was obliged to give in to numbers, and prepared the supper, which was
very merry. We did a thousand foolish things; we drank Madame de
Rochechcuart’s health, and the affection the pupils all had for her is
proved by this, that our only fear was lest she should leave the class;
but we said to ourselves, that in the bottom of her heart she would
forgive us all this; one of the chief reasons that had made us take a
dislike to Madame de Saint Jérôme being that Madame de Rochechouart
did not approve of her being in the schoolroom. The best joke was that
Madame de Saint Sulpice, who was lively and amiable, was in the best
possible spirits, and was quite reconciled to having been so forcibly
detained. After supper we played at all sorts of games, and she played
with us. She kept saying that she seemed to be there as a hostage,
and that if the young ladies were not pleased she would be the one to
blame. When bedtime came we made up a sort of couch, with some straw,
which we took from the backyard. It was decided that this couch should
be for Madame de Saint Sulpice, but she refused it, and said we must
give it up to the youngest girls, who were the most delicate. We
therefore settled on it the little Fitz-James, Villequier, Montmorency,
and several other children of five or six years of age. We wrapped up
their heads in napkins and clean kitchen cloths, so that they should
not catch cold. About thirty of the older girls posted themselves in
the garden before the door, for fear of a surprise. The others remained
in the kitchens. And so we spent the night, partly in talking, partly
in sleeping, as best we could. Next morning we prepared to spend the
day in the same way, and we felt as if this state of things was to
last all our lives. However, as we afterwards heard, they were all
in a great state of perplexity at the Convent. Some were of a mind
to frighten us by calling in the patrol; but Madame de Rochechouart
said the real mischief would lie in the scandal this would occasion,
and that it would be more advisable to send for the mothers of those
pupils who were supposed to be the ringleaders. Accordingly Madame la
Duchesse de Châtillon, Madame de Mortemart, Madame de Blot, Madame du
Châtelet arrived. They came to our camp, and called their daughters
and their nieces. These did not dare to resist, and so they carried
them off. Then a lay sister was despatched to the pupils to say that
the schoolroom was open, that it was ten o’clock, and that all those
who should be back in class by twelve would have a general pardon for
past conduct. After a great consultation, the principal mutineers being
gone, we all returned and ranged ourselves in our places. We found all
the mistresses assembled, and even Madame de Saint Jérôme, who seemed
rather embarrassed, was there. Madame Saint Antoine said we deserved
to be punished, but, however, that it was the return of the prodigal
child. This mistress was at the head of the red class,--she belonged
to the Talleyrand family,--and was much beloved and respected. Madame
Saint Jean was delighted to see us back; she told us she had felt very
dull during our absence; in fact all the mistresses were most indulgent.
“It was with much dread that we looked forward to the moment when we
should have to appear before Madame de Rochechouart. This was not till
the evening, when the names were called over. Much to our astonishment,
she did not say one word about what had happened; and indeed, some
of us innocently persuaded ourselves that she had altogether ignored
it. As for me, when the Duchesse de Mortemart had come to ask for her
daughter, she had said to me: ‘My sister-in-law has had great pleasure
in acting as a mother toward you; it is for you to show whether you
mean to confirm that title by obeying her orders. She has asked
for you. Let us go to her.’ I immediately followed the Duchesse de
Mortemart and her daughter. We were taken to the schoolroom, whither
the remainder of the scholars shortly after returned. I only saw
Madame de Rochechouart in the evening, when our names were called.
When my turn came, she looked at me with a smile, and chucked me under
the chin, and I kissed her hand. The next day everything resumed its
usual course.
“Madame de Saint Jérôme was left for another month in the schoolroom,
and then removed to other functions. About thirty of the pupils had not
joined in the insurrection, amongst others Lévis, and they were simply
wretched. They were tormented and run down by the whole class; they had
fancied they would gain great credit by their conduct; but Madame de
Rochechouart did not like them any the better for it. One of them said
one day to Madame de Rochechouart: ‘I was not in the insurrection,’ and
Madame de Rochechouart answered, in an absent manner: ‘I compliment
you.’”
Shortly after this memorable episode the young girls were much
interested in the marriage of one of their companions,--Mademoiselle
de Bourbonne,--and Hélène does not fail to describe it.
“One day Mademoiselle de Bourbonne returned from her stay in society
looking very depressed, and remained a long time with Madame de
Rochechouart. The next day all her relations came to see Madame
de Rochechouart, and ten days later she came to us, conducted by
Mesdemoiselles de Châtillon, the eldest of whom was her great friend,
to announce her marriage with M. le Comte d’Avaux, son of M. le Marquis
de Mesme. We all gathered round her, and asked her a hundred questions.
She was barely twelve years old, was to make her first communion a week
thence, to be married eight days after that, and then return to the
Convent.[50] She seemed so very melancholy that we asked her if her
intended did not please her. She frankly told us that he was very ugly
and very old, and she added that he was coming to see her the next
day. We begged the Lady Abbess to have the Orléans apartments, which
looked on to the Abbatial court, thrown open to us, so that we might
view the intended husband of our companion, and she granted our request.
“The next day, on awaking, Mademoiselle de Bourbonne received a large
bouquet, and in the afternoon M. d’Avaux came. We thought him horrible,
which he certainly was. When Mademoiselle de Bourbonne came out of the
parlour, we all said to her: ‘Ah! good heavens! how ugly your husband
is; if I were you, I would not marry him. Ah! you unfortunate girl!’
And she said: ‘Oh, I shall marry him, because papa insists upon it; but
I shall not love him, that is certain.’ It was decided that she should
not see him again till the day she made her first communion, so that
her attention should not be distracted. She made her first communion at
the end of eight days, and four or five days after was married in the
chapel of the hôtel d’Havré.
“She returned to the Convent the same day. She was given jewels,
diamonds, and magnificent wedding presents from Boland; what amused her
most was that we all called her Madame d’Avaux. She told us that after
the wedding ceremony there had been a breakfast at her mother-in-law’s;
that they had wanted her to kiss her husband, but that she began to
cry, and absolutely refused; and that then her mother-in-law had said
she was only a child. Henceforth her strong aversion to her husband
only grew and flourished, and once when he asked for her in the
parlour, she pretended to have sprained her ankle sooner than go down
to see him.”
On hearing of such marriages it is impossible not to feel some
indulgence for the theory of free choice so eloquently pleaded by
the women and philosophers of that period. We are therefore scarcely
surprised to hear that some years later Madame d’Avaux, on meeting in
society the Vicomte de Sègur, youngest brother of the ambassador, was
so captivated by his charming wit and personal attractions that she was
drawn into an intimacy which lasted all her life.
The arch and ingenuous narrative of the little Princess also enables
us to touch the weak point in this Convent education, so admirable in
many respects. These young girls, brought up away from a world they
were burning to know, were destined beforehand to be carried away by
its temptations. How was it possible for the nuns to warn them against
dangers of which they themselves were ignorant? A mother alone can
fulfil that duty; and though the Convent may form the character and
manners, adorn the mind and develop accomplishments, it is family life
alone that can create _woman_ in the highest and healthiest sense of
the word.
But let us return to Hélène, who was preparing for her first communion,
together with her friends Mesdemoiselles de Mortemart, de Châtillon, de
Damas, de Montsauge, de Conflans, de Vaudreuil,[51] and de Chauvigny.
The great day arrived, and the young friends partook together of the
communion.
“On that day,” says Hélène, “the pupils do not wear their Convent
dress, but a white gown, striped or embroidered in silver. Mine was in
watered silk striped with silver. Nine days after we made a gift of our
dresses to the vestry. We folded our gowns, fetched from the vestry
large silver salvers, and after the Gospel, during the offertory, we
went one after the other and laid our gift on the altar next to the
choir. After Mass we went to the schoolroom, where our white ribbons
were taken off and red ones given us instead, and all the class
embraced and congratulated us.”
FOOTNOTES:
[48] Her mother, the Comtesse de Lastic, was lady-in-waiting to
Mesdames de France.
[49] Mademoiselle de Mortemart was Madame de Rochechouart’s niece. She
married in 1777 the Marquis de Rougé.
[50] This kind of marriage was frequent at that period.
[51] Mesdemoiselles de Conflans and de Vaudreuil were sisters.
Mademoiselle de Conflans was pretty, had a great deal of wit and spirit
of repartee. She married the Marquis de Coigny. Her sister, who was
neither as pretty nor as witty, tried to imitate her in everything
(Hélène’s own note).
V
The Convent duties--The Abbess’s department--Balls at the
Abbaye-aux-Bois--Madame de Rochechouart and her friends.
When the retreat that followed the first communion was ended, the
Chapter assembled in order to decide what should be the function
assigned to each of the pupils recently admitted to the Holy Communion.
It was an established custom at the Abbaye-aux-Bois for the pupils to
perform the duties of the Convent in its nine different offices, which
were as follows:--
The abbatial.[52]
The sacristy.
The parlour.
The dispensary.
The linen department.
The library.
The refectory.
The kitchen.
The community.
A certain number of lay sisters were associated with them in these
employments, which only occupied a limited number of hours, and did
not interfere with accomplishments, but formed the greatest contrast
with them, as well as with the aristocratic names of the young
ladies. Mesdemoiselles de la Roche Aymon and de Montbarrey could
be seen carefully arranging the piles of napkins and sheets in the
presses, while Mesdemoiselles de Chauvigny and de Nantouillet laid
the cloth; Mesdemoiselles de Beaumont and d’Armaillé added up the
accounts; Mademoiselle d’Aiguillon mended a chasuble; Mademoiselle de
Barbantanne was on duty at the gate; Mademoiselle de Latour-Maubourg
gave out the sugar and the coffee; Mesdemoiselles de Talleyrand and
de Duras were at the orders of the community; Mademoiselle de Vogüé
had a particular talent for cooking; and Mesdemoiselles d’Uzès and de
Boulainvilliers superintended the sweeping of the dormitories, under
the direction of Madame de Bussy, irreverently nicknamed by the pupils
_la mère Graillon_; finally, Mesdemoiselles de Saint Simon and de
Talmont were responsible for repairs; and Mesdemoiselles d’Harcourt,
de Rohan-Guéménée, de Brassac, and de Galaar lighted the lamps, under
the supervision of Madame de Royaume, whom they called _the Mother of
Light_.
After having acted the part of _Esther_ in a dress embroidered with
diamonds and pearls worth a hundred thousand écus,[53] Hélène returned
to the Convent, and, resuming her little black frock again, prepared
decoctions and poultices in the dispensary.
Such an education may appear strange to us, but it unquestionably
prepared excellent housekeepers and accomplished women of the world.
“I was very anxious,” Hélène says, “that we should not be separated,
and that we should be placed together in the dispensary. On the
contrary, I was sent to the abbey-house, and Mademoiselle de Choiseul
to the record office. Mesdemoiselles de Conflans, who did not know how
to hold a needle, were sent to the sacristy. This made us very cross.
“However, if Mademoiselle de Choiseul had been with me, I should have
been very happy at the abbey-house, where the Lady Abbess[54] ruled
with the greatest gentleness and justice. She had taken a great liking
to me; she considered that I did her commissions with intelligence. I
was quick, and when she rang I was always the first to come; I knew her
books, her papers, her work, and was always the one she sent to fetch
what she required from her desk, her bookshelf, or her chiffonier.”
Hélène’s companions at the abbey-house were apparently amiable, judging
by the record she has left us.
“Mademoiselle de Châtillon, nicknamed _Tatillon_ (busybody), fourteen
years old, serious, pedantic, very pretty, but rather stout.
“Madame d’Avaux, born a Bourbonne, twelve years old, just married, very
small, a pretty face, silly, but good-natured.
“Mademoiselle de Mura, nicknamed _la Précieuse_ (the conceited),
eighteen years old, pretty, handsome even, witty, amiable, but rather
pretentious.
“Mademoiselle de Lauraguais, very pretty, quiet, gentle, not clever;
was married the same year to the Duc d’Aremberg.
“Mademoiselle de Manicamp, her sister, plain, kind, very intelligent,
hasty, passionate.
“I had become very intimate with Madame de Sainte Gertrude and
Madame Saint Cyprien; they were regular madcaps, fond of laughter
and amusement. Mademoiselle de Manicamp was also a great addition
to society. Madame d’Avaux used to tell us so very frankly that she
cordially detested her husband, that we were always joking about
it; and openly made fun of him whenever he came to see her, as
unfortunately for him the windows of the Abbess’s apartments looked out
on the yard, so that it was impossible for him to avoid our mischievous
glances.
“Mademoiselle de Mortemart was also on duty at the abbey-house, and her
presence alone was sufficient to banish all dulness and melancholy. We
laughed at the grand airs Madame de Torcy gave herself, and maintained
that she had only become a nun because she had found in Jesus Christ
alone a spouse worthy of her, and even then she was not quite sure she
had not made a _mésalliance_!
“Madame de Romelin, all bristling over with Greek and Latin, amused us
also; we called her Aristotle’s eldest daughter; this did not make her
angry, as she was very good-natured.
“But our great delight was to establish the pretentious Mura at the
harpsichord; then she sang, and Madame de Sainte Gertrude, who was
extremely merry and an excellent mimic, stood behind her, and imitated
all her affectations.
“A great many people also came to ask for permits, or to speak to
Madame de Royer, or to the Lady Abbess.
“This dissipation might suit a good many other people, but for my part
I was rather bored by the functions at the abbey-house; I do not know
why, but this fashion of dancing attendance on others seemed to me
humiliating.”
It was the custom at the Abbaye-aux-Bois to give a ball once a week
during the carnival.
“On that day,” says the young Princess, “we laid aside our school
dress, and every mother decked out her daughter as well as she could;
our attire on these occasions was most elegant. A great many women of
the world attended our balls, especially young married ladies, who, not
being able to go out alone, preferred them to those of the fashionable
world, as they were not obliged to remain all the time seated next to
their mothers-in-law.”
It is evident that already at this period a young married woman dreaded
the tyranny of a mother-in-law, who indeed exercised a far greater
authority over her than even her own mother. The mother-in-law was
alone privileged to accompany the young married woman in society.
Probably it was reasonable enough to expect less indulgence on her part
than on a mother’s, and the husband preferred this safeguard, precluded
as he was by custom and the fear of exciting ridicule from watching
or even noticing his wife. We shall see that the supervision of the
mother-in-law could ill be dispensed with for some of these giddy young
women.
“One day, when Madame de Luynes[55] and Madame de la Roche Aymon[56]
were at the ball, they sent away their carriages, and hid themselves in
Mademoiselle d’Aumont’s[57] apartment. After the bell had been rung for
silence, they began making the most horrible noise, which they kept up
in the Convent throughout the night. They broke all the pitchers that
are put outside the ladies’ cells; they stopped all the nuns whom they
met going to Matins; in fact, they made a most diabolical noise.
“The Lady Abbess gave orders that these ladies should not be in any
way insulted, but that they should be given no food, and not be
allowed to leave the Convent. When eleven o’clock struck, they asked
for something to eat, but they were refused; then they requested that
the gates should be opened, but Madame de Saint Jacques, who was head
portress, said that the keys were at the Lady Abbess’s. Then they sent
Mademoiselle d’Aumont to beg the Lady Abbess to have the doors opened
for them. The Lady Abbess sent them word that having remained without
her permission, they should not leave till their families came to fetch
them away; upon which they were in despair. Madame de Rochechouart, on
the other hand, warned them to be careful when the pupils were going or
returning from Mass or the refectory, as she could not answer for their
not being insulted should they find themselves in their way. If the
truth be known, we were most anxious to hoot them, and turn them into
derision; we were even ready to throw water at them. Meanwhile Madame
de la Roche Aymon was expected to dinner at her uncle’s, the Cardinal
de la Roche Aymon, and Madame la Duchesse de Chevreuse on her side was
expecting her daughter-in-law, Madame la Duchesse de Luynes. Their
attendants said they had remained at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. Accordingly
their relations sent word that they were waiting for them; but the Lady
Abbess wrote to Madame de Chevreuse, and to the Cardinal, that Mesdames
de Luynes and de la Roche Aymon were not quite right in their heads,
and that she would hand them over only to their relations. Madame
de Chevreuse, in a state of anxiety, hurried to the Abbey, when she
soundly rated her daughter-in-law; and the two prisoners, very much
annoyed at this adventure, were given into her charge.
“Mademoiselle d’Aumont excused herself by saying she was not aware that
these ladies were hiding in her room, but there was every reason to
believe she was implicated in the plot.
“A fine story occurred at another ball. Mademoiselle de Chevreuse
found a note appointing a meeting, addressed to Madame la Vicomtesse
de Laval, who had been at the ball and had dropped it. The note ran as
follows: ‘You are adorable, my dear Vicomtesse; trust in my discretion
and my fidelity. To-morrow at the same hour and in the same house.’
On finding this note, Mademoiselle de Chevreuse immediately read it
and put it in her pocket; after the ball she showed it to all the red
class. We could well imagine that it was a gentleman who wrote to her
like that. The mistresses, hearing of it, insisted on having the note,
and we believe it must have been returned to Madame de Laval, as she
never came again to the Convent for any of the carnival balls.”
There was much talk in Paris two years later concerning an affront
sustained by Madame de Laval. Bachaumont mentions that Madame de
Laval presented herself for the post of lady-in-waiting to Madame.
It had been almost promised her, but she was refused it because her
father, M. de Boulogne, had been treasurer in the war department, and
therefore was not of gentle birth. Her father-in-law, M. de Laval,
first gentleman of the chamber to Monsieur, sent in his resignation.
The whole family of the Montmorency made an outcry over it.
Madame de Laval was the daughter of M. de Boulogne, _fermier
général_.[58] From the anecdote related by the young Princess, and from
a certain account given in Lauzun’s _Memoirs_, it seems probable that
the alleged motive was only a pretext, in order to avoid placing in
attendance on Madame a person with such a reputation for heedlessness.
THE SACRISTY.
“After having served three months in the abbey-house I was sent to the
sacristy or vestry department, where the company was very amusing. As
for the duties, they did not suit me at all, for I have always had
an incredible aversion to needlework. There were at that time some
very agreeable persons employed in this department, amongst others
Mademoiselle de Broye and Mademoiselle de Paroi, with whom I was
very intimate, and Mademoiselle de Durfort, who was lively and very
charming. Mademoiselle de Paroi was pretty, had a good figure, and
played the harp like an angel; she was twelve years old. Mademoiselle
de Broye, a little older, was rather pretty, and overflowing with wit.
“One may well say that all the gossip and all the news was chronicled
in the sacristy. It was a general meeting-place for the whole blessed
day. If any one was complaining, or rejoicing, or had some event to
relate, it was always to the sacristy that they came.
“The two vestry nuns were Madame de Granville and Madame de Tinel.
Madame de Granville wished to teach me to embroider, for she herself
embroidered most beautifully; but she never succeeded in teaching me.
I therefore did no work, but was employed in folding and cleaning the
vestments, and helping Madame de Saint Philippe to arrange the church.
“In the evenings at least twenty persons came to talk about what had
taken place in the four corners of the establishment; but I did not
remain there, for I used to go to Madame de Rochechouart’s, where I
always found Madame de Choiseul, Mesdemoiselles de Conflans, Madame
de Sainte Delphine, Madame de Saint Sulpice, Madame de Saint Edouard,
and the best society. Madame de Sainte Delphine, sister to Madame
de Rochechouart, was generally stretched out, with her feet upon a
chair, beginning purses, of which she never finished one; I had much
amusement in listening to her, for she was very droll; and though
Madame de Rochechouart’s wit was more remarkable and striking, whereas
Madame de Sainte Delphine’s was often languid like her person, yet when
roused she was very agreeable. Moreover, it is well known that wit is
hereditary in the Mortemart family. Madame de Sainte Delphine was one
of the prettiest women one could see; she was twenty-six years old,
tall, with lovely fair hair, large blue eyes, the most beautiful teeth
in the world, charming features, a fine figure, and a noble carriage.
She suffered a great deal from her chest, was of an indolent character,
and entirely dominated by her sister.
“Madame de Saint Sulpice was pretty, lively, and amiable; Madame
de Saint Edouard pretty, amiable, and very romantic. We talked as
freely as we pleased, and whatever was said, I never saw Madame de
Rochechouart grow warm in discussing any opinion. At the very utmost,
she would throw ridicule on the matter--a talent in which she excelled,
and against which it was difficult to hold one’s own. New works were
read that could without inconvenience be read by us. We chatted about
all that took place in Paris; for the ladies spent their days in the
parlour, where they received the very best company, and the young
ladies went out a great deal, so everything was known.
“It was rare at Madame de Rochechouart’s to hear any one speak ill
of their neighbours, and even then it was always much more vaguely
than in any of the other sets in the Convent. Yet her circle was
the one most feared, for it was well known that every one there was
witty, and superior to the rest. It was therefore looked upon as a
kind of tribunal, whose criticism one dreaded to encounter. When, on
leaving Madame de Rochechouart, I returned to the sacristy, Madame
Saint Mathieu and Madame Sainte Ursule used to ask me: ‘Well, what do
those exquisites say about us?’--‘Nothing, Madame,’ I could honestly
reply; ‘they did not mention you.’ Then their astonishment was without
end, for they themselves ran down the whole household all day long.
I may say that Madame de Rochechouart, her sister Madame de Saint
Sulpice, and several other ladies of their society, had an indifference
amounting to contempt for anything that did not particularly concern
them, and were always the last to become acquainted with the news of
the Convent.
“It seemed to me that Madame de Rochechouart and her sister had a style
of their own, and a manner that we all caught; I mean those of us whom
she received. The women of the world were astonished at the style in
which we expressed ourselves. Mademoiselle de Conflans, especially,
never said anything like any one else; there was originality in her
every word.”
Madame de Rochechouart’s society, the advice, full of tact, and
refinement that she gave these young girls, admirably adapted them for
the part they were destined to fill in the highest ranks of society.
In our free and easy days we cannot have the faintest conception of
what was formerly considered good style and courteous manners, nor of
the value that was set on all the different shades of good breeding.
“Politeness, good taste, and style constituted a kind of truce that
each one guarded with care, as if it had been confided to them only.
Women especially were the chief supporters of this ground-work of all
the charms of society.”[59]
“I shall never forget what happened one day between me and Madame de
Rochechouart. She had told me to come to her cell in the evening. So I
went, and found her surrounded with papers, busily writing. I was not
astonished, as she was in the habit of being so occupied; but what
struck me was to see her look disconcerted and blush tremendously on my
arrival. She told me to take a book and sit down.
“I therefore pretended to read, and watched her; she wrote with great
agitation, rubbed her forehead, sighed, and looked around her with a
fixed and absent look, as if her thoughts were a hundred leagues away.
“She often wrote like that for three consecutive hours; at the
slightest sound she would give a start, which showed how absorbed she
was, and seemed in a way almost angry at having been disturbed. On
that day I so distinctly saw tears in her eyes that I could not help
thinking that perhaps she was not happy. While pondering, I looked at
her; she had a paper before her, her pen in hand, her mouth half open,
her eyes looking fixedly before her, while her tears were flowing. I
was so deeply affected that tears gathered in my eyes, and I was unable
to suppress a deep sigh; this aroused Madame de Rochechouart, who
raised her eyes, and seeing me in tears immediately concluded I had
noticed the state of anxiety she was in. She held out her hand to me,
in a most expressive and touching manner, saying, ‘Dear heart, what is
the matter?’ I kissed her hand and burst into tears; she questioned me
again, and I confessed that the extreme agitation I had seen her in had
led me to suppose that she was harbouring some sorrow, and that this
was the cause of my being so affected. Then she folded me in her arms,
and remained silent for a time, as though reflecting on what she would
say. Then she said to me: ‘I was born with a very vivid imagination,
and in order to employ it, I hurriedly set down on paper all that it
conceives. As among these fancies many are sad and melancholy, they
often affect me keenly enough to make me shed tears. Loneliness and
a life of contemplation keep up in me this propensity to give way to
imagination.’ The supper bell rang while we were still talking. We
parted with regret, and since then Madame de Rochechouart’s tenderness
towards me increased twofold, and nothing could equal the tender
interest I felt for her in return.”
FOOTNOTES:
[52] The apartments belonging to the Abbess.
[53] An écu was five shillings.
[54] Marie-Madeleine de Chabrillan. She was first a nun at the
Abbaye-de-Chelles, then Abbess of the Parc-aux-Dames, and lastly Abbess
of the Royal Abbaye of Notre-Dame-aux-Bois, where she succeeded Madame
de Richelieu, sister of the famous Marshal.
[55] Guyonne de Montmorency Laval. She married the Duc de Chevreuse in
1765, and became Duchesse de Luynes at the death of her father-in-law
in 1774. Their mansion was situated in the Rue Saint Dominique. She was
appointed lady-of-honour to the Queen Marie-Antoinette in 1775.
[56] The Marquise de la Roche Aymon was appointed in 1776
lady-in-waiting to the Queen. Her husband was major-general and nephew
of Cardinal de la Roche Aymon, first almoner to the King Louis XV., and
Archbishop of Rheims.
[57] Mademoiselle d’Aumont, daughter of the Duc d’Aumont, first equerry
to the King. The hôtel d’Aumont was in the Rue de Jouy. The ceilings,
painted by Lebrun, and the staircase, and buildings looking on the
gardens, were greatly admired.
[58] Tax-gatherer, who for a certain sum leased out from Government the
collection of the taxes.
[59] _Les Femmes_, by Vicomte de Ségur.
VI
The record office--Madame de Saint Germain and her rasp--The ballets
_Orpheus_ and _Eurydice_--The refectory--The gates and the tower--The
community and the cellars--Story of Mademoiselle de Saint Ange--Madame
de Sainte Delphine and the library.
“About this time I was removed from the sacristy and put into the
record office. I cried a great deal when I was sent there, for all the
nuns were old grumblers, with the exception of Madame de la Conception,
who was of the Maillebois family; she had a dignified manner, and it
was easy to see she was a lady of high birth. She knew everything
connected with the Abbey, and it was a pleasure to listen to her
anecdotes of former times at the monastery.
“Madame de la Conception had a mania for singing ballads; I never
heard a more nasal voice. She sang every day to us the ballads of
_Judith_, of _Gabrielle de Vergy_, and many others. Sometimes, to
amuse us, she would show us some curious things, for they possessed,
among the records, letters from Queen Blanche, from Anne of Brittany,
and from several other Queens of France, addressed to the Abbesses
of the Convent. Letters from Guy de Laval to his aunt, the Abbess of
the Abbaye-aux-Bois, written when he was with the army during the
disturbances of Charles the Seventh’s reign; La Hire and Dunois were
mentioned in these letters, and several other interesting documents she
showed us.
“The pupils at that time on duty at the record office[60] were
Mademoiselle de Caumont, handsome, witty, but easily offended, aged
thirteen; Mademoiselle d’Armaillé, fourteen years old, hideous,
affected, but a good creature; Mademoiselle de Saint Chamans, ugly,
with very short legs, quite out of proportion to her body, eighteen
years old; Mademoiselle de Beaumont, ugly and lame, but a good soul;
Mademoiselle de Sivrac, nineteen years of age, of noble appearance,
but subject to spasms, and rather crazy; Mademoiselle de Lévis, kind,
colourless, not clever, fourteen years of age.
“I have already mentioned Madame de Maillebois; the other nuns at the
record office were: Madame de Saint Romuald, an old grumpy; Madame de
Saint Germain, another old grumpy; Madame de Saint Pavin, forty-eight
years old, who never spoke, and was very sly.
“We spent the whole day, Caumont and I, making fun of all these people.
Madame de Saint Romuald was eighty years old, and Madame de Saint
Germain seventy-five. They spent the whole day quarrelling, first about
one thing and then about another; it was really incredible. They
were constantly making mistakes in their accounts, and always put the
fault on each other. It was comical to see them, with their spectacles
on, buried up to their noses in the large archive books. They spent
their days reading either the old letters that former Abbesses of the
Abbaye-aux-Bois had received, or else poring over the old lawsuits of
those ladies, and if ever any one wished to know anything concerning
the Abbey in former times, they never could tell a thing.
“On one occasion, Madame de Saint Romuald had lent a sugar rasp to
Madame de Saint Germain, who either lost it or forgot she had had it.
One Sunday, during High Mass, Madame de Saint Romuald remembers her
rasp; and as these two centuries were seated side by side, Madame de
Saint Romuald leans over to Madame de Saint Germain, and says in a low
tone--
“‘By the by, you have not returned me my rasp?’
“‘What do you mean by your rasp?’
“‘What! I did not lend you my rasp?’
“Madame de Saint Germain (annoyed at such a request in church)--
“‘I have not got your rasp.’
“The other (getting angry and raising her voice)--
“‘Give me back my rasp!’
“They continued so long and so loud that the pupils burst out laughing.
“Astonished at this, the Lady Abbess asked what had taken place; she
was told; she sent word to the two ladies to be quiet, and she would
send them each a rasp.
“When they returned to the office, they sulked at each other for a
whole week, and whenever sugar or things lent were mentioned, Madame
de Saint Romuald would at once relate the story of her rasp; how she
had once had one, that she had lent it, and that it had been lost. Then
Madame de Saint Germain would say that it was not true; and we often
amused ourselves with putting the conversation on this subject, so as
to see them quarrel.”
On leaving the record office Hélène went to the refectory department,
where she spent two months. Her duties there consisted in waiting on
the pupils at table, helping to lay the cloth, to keep the refectory
in order, and to put away the glass and china, etc.--all useful
acquirements for a future mistress of a household. However, although so
busy in the refectory, Hélène did not neglect her accomplishments.
“At that time I danced in the ballets of _Orpheus_ and _Eurydice_; we
danced them in our theatre, which was a very fine one, and handsomely
decorated; it was at the end of the garden, near the old plague-house.
“We were in all fifty-five dancers. Mademoiselle de Choiseul danced as
Orpheus, Mademoiselle de Damas as Eurydice, I as Cupid, Mesdemoiselles
de Chauvigny and Montsauge were two attendants. There were ten dancers
of the funeral entry, ten as the furies, ten as Orpheus’s followers,
ten as Eurydice’s, and ten for the Court of Love. That winter we also
played _Polyeucte_ in the Convent theatre. I took the part of Pauline,
Mademoiselle de Châtillon was Polyeucte, and Mademoiselle de Choiseul,
Sévère; it was a great success. Shortly after they made us study the
_Cid_. I played Rodriguez, and also Cornelia, in the _Death of Pompey_.”
These performances were so full of interest for the little actresses
that they frequently devoted their recreation hours to the study of
their parts. The audience was composed of the mothers and relations of
the pupils, and their friends. And these plays were the talk of all
Paris.
However, these worldly amusements did not interfere with the regular
course of their duties.
“After the refectory,” Hélène tells us, “I was a fortnight on service
at the gate. There were five of us: Mademoiselle de Morard, fourteen
years old, rather pretty, but stupid and insipid; Mademoiselle de
Nagu, aged seventeen, pretty and amiable; Mademoiselle de Chabrillan,
ugly but clever, fourteen years of age; Mademoiselle de Barbantanne,
fifteen years old, looking like a boy, a romp, pretty, and a very good
dancer.
“Our duty was to accompany the portress whenever she went to open the
outer gates.
“The movement was perpetual; at one moment the masters, then the
doctors, or else the directors; in fact, Mesdames de Fumel and de
Pradines, the two portresses, were completely tired out by the evening;
we did not like the former--she was sour, dry, and ill-natured.
“The turning box,[61] where I was next sent, suited me better; we saw
a number of people all day long; I was there with Aumont, Cossé, and
Chalais, all very amiable young ladies.
“The two nuns in charge, Mesdames de Calvisson and de Nogaret, were
sisters; the latter was fond of reading, and very learned.
“We had to ring for every one who was wanted, and there was a different
bell for each person. It was rather difficult not to make a mistake;
for one, there would be 3, 8, and a peal; for another, V, 8, and a
peal; it was endless.
“Aumont was eighteen years old, and was witty and talented; she was
rather pretty, and had been married some time.
“Cossé was only twelve; she was plain, but full of charm, and very
delicate; she married later the Duc de Mortemart.
“Madame d’Avaux, of whom I have already spoken, was good-natured and
pretty, but silly.
“Lastly, Mademoiselle de Chalais, very pretty, fifteen years old,
rather an invalid.
“This department amused us, but as the work was very fatiguing, no one
ever remained there long.
“From the duties of the tower I passed on to those of the community.
I could have spent a long time in this department without feeling dull
if only I had been left there. I was with Mademoiselle de Talleyrand,
who was pretty, amiable, and very popular, and Mademoiselle de
Périgord, her sister, also pretty; Mademoiselle de Duras, pretty, and
rather amiable; and finally, Mademoiselle de Spinola, who was awkward,
ill-natured, but very handsome.
“Among the ladies who attended to these duties was an old nun named
Madame de Saint Charles; although seventy-five years old, she was
lively, and nothing disturbed her; we might make any noise around
her, she did not mind it. There were always about fifty people in the
community-room, busy at all kinds of needlework. Talleyrand played the
harpsichord and I the harp, and we sang; these concerts greatly amused
the nuns.
“This room was hung all round with full-length portraits of the
Abbesses of the Abbaye-aux-Bois; nearly all of them had their coats
of arms painted on an escutcheon at their feet. In this way one could
tell who they were. Mother Saint Charles told us of an adventure that
occurred during her novitiate, which I will relate here.
“On one occasion a certain Madame de Saint Ange came to propose her
daughter as novice to Madame de la Trémouille, at that time Abbess of
the Abbaye-aux-Bois. The young lady seemed of a gentle disposition,
and, moreover, the mother offered a pension and dowry suitable for
a girl of good family. She was therefore accepted, and entered the
next day, and soon every one in the Convent was enchanted with her
grace, her wit, and her gentleness. She was novice together with
several others, including Madame de Saint Charles, who sometimes said
to her: ‘Mademoiselle de Saint Ange, it is incredible that a young
lady so modest and well-bred as you are should have the gestures and
manners that you sometimes have; for when you are standing before the
fireplace you spread your feet in an odd manner, and when you move up
your chair you often seem about to take hold of it between your knees;
in fact, it is extraordinary to see, in the same person, an air of
modesty verging on constraint, occasionally combined with the gestures
of a musketeer.’ Mademoiselle de Saint Ange blushingly replied that she
had been brought up with a brother, whose manners she used to copy as a
child, and that she had never quite got rid of them.
“One night, during a terrible thunderstorm, Madame de Saint Charles,
who at that time was Mademoiselle de Ronci, came and knocked at the
cell of Mademoiselle de Saint Ange, and begged her to open the door.
“Mademoiselle de Saint Ange kept her waiting a few moments, and then
opened. ‘Ah,’ said Mademoiselle de Ronci, ‘I am horribly frightened in
my cell; you must let me sleep in yours till the storm is gone by.’
But Mademoiselle de Saint Ange would not hear of it, telling her the
holy rules forbade it, and begged her to go away. At last Mademoiselle
de Ronci, seeing she was determined not to let her remain in her cell,
went away, highly displeased at this want of good nature.
“When Mademoiselle de Saint Ange had been doing her novitiate for three
months, her mother came one day to the Lady Abbess, to say that her
daughter felt no longer any vocation for a religious life, and to beg
that she might be restored to her. Mademoiselle de Saint Ange departed,
to the grief of the whole Convent, who regretted her very much. Some
days after, Madame de Saint Ange wrote to the Lady Abbess, to ask her
pardon for the deception she had practised on her. She informed her
that she had had in her establishment her son instead of her daughter.
The young man having had the misfortune to kill his adversary in a
duel, she had made him wear his sister’s clothes, and had put him in
the Abbaye-aux-Bois, that being the only plan she could devise for
sheltering him from the severity of the law.
“The Lady Abbess replied that since the thing was done, she
congratulated herself that by this means the life had been saved of one
who, during his stay in her house, had given her such a good impression
of his character. Madame de Saint Charles told us that Mademoiselle de
Saint Ange would often inadvertently speak of herself in the masculine
gender.
“THE LIBRARY.
“At length I was sent to the library, to the great satisfaction of
Madame de Mortemart. I was seated quietly reading in the kitchen when
they came to tell me that I was appointed to the library. I quickly ran
to find Madame de Sainte Delphine; as soon as she saw me she said: ‘At
last you come to me; I hope we shall spend our lives together.’ Indeed
I hardly left her; she was nearly always at her sister’s and I with
her.
“She took no more notice of what happened to the books than if they had
not existed, and yet she was fond of reading; when she wanted a book
she would ask Madame de Saint Joachim for it.
“Sometimes when she was in the library, and saw that when books were
fetched or returned Madame de Saint Joachim noted them down, she would
express her astonishment at so much trouble being taken.
“I spent the morning doing commissions for her, and generally went
to her immediately after appearing before Madame de Rochechouart at
morning class.
“After going to _prime_[62] she had gravely returned to bed, and
thought no more of getting up; when I went in I used to say: ‘Madame,
it is half-past eight o’clock.’
“‘Ah, good heavens, is it possible? I cannot believe it!’
“Sometimes Madame de Rochechouart, on returning from the schoolroom,
would come into her cell, and say: ‘My sister, it is shameful for a
nun to be still in bed.’ Thereupon Madame de Sainte Delphine would
reply: ‘I have taken no vow not to sleep to my heart’s content.’
Madame de Rochechouart would then say: ‘Well, Hélène, you must make my
sister get up.’ I would call Sister Leonard, then she would close her
curtains, put on her chemise, and dress herself without doing her hair.
She looked charming thus, when dressed, with her head still bare; she
kept her hair rather long, for fear of catching cold; it was of the
most beautiful colour. She next washed her head in tepid water, and
put on her guimp and veil. ‘Madame,’ I would say, ‘is there nothing
you have forgotten?’--‘No, nothing to-day.’ But scarcely had she
entered the library[63] when she exclaimed: ‘Hélène, I have forgotten
my hand-kerchief.’ I would run to fetch it; sometimes it was one
thing, sometimes another. She would keep me thus running about all the
morning, but I was so fond of her that I did not mind it.”
FOOTNOTES:
[60] This department consisted of a large hall, entirely fitted up with
drawers for the archives; a second hall containing the library of the
repository, and a room for the nuns in charge.
There were four ladies, two secretaries, six pupils, and two lay
sisters.
[61] There were two nuns at the turning box, and five pupils.
[62] Prime, a term of the Roman Catholic Liturgy, the first canonical
hour succeeding lauds, beginning at six in the morning.
[63] The library at the Abbaye-aux-Bois occupied three large halls,
contained sixteen thousand volumes, and possessed a very complete
collection of theological works.
VII
Mademoiselle de Choiseul and her mother--Madame de Stainville’s
romantic adventures--Mademoiselle de Choiseul’s wedding--Taking the
veil.
“My intimacy with Mademoiselle de Choiseul increased day by day; we had
everything in common, our books, our trinkets, and even the keys of our
drawers and writing desks, were mutually in each other’s possession.
“It happened about that time that Mademoiselle de Lévis[64] one day
publicly taunted Mademoiselle de Choiseul before the whole class with
the fact of her mother’s being kept in confinement on account of her
having been in love with an actor.
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul, although very angry, was not disconcerted,
and said: ‘No; my mother lives in the country because she prefers it,
at least that is what I have always been told. But if what you say be
true, it will not be the most commendable action on your part to have
enlightened me on the subject.’
“The whole class was exceedingly irritated with Mademoiselle de Lévis,
and all the young ladies told her that her conduct was infamous; that
no one could be reproached for a thing of that kind; that they were in
despair at its having happened in their class; and that they would ask
as a favour for her removal back into the blue class, in consideration
of her own honour, since the more she was treated like a child the more
excusable her behaviour would be.
“Then Mademoiselle de Lévis sought out Mademoiselle de Choiseul, who
was in a corner of the classroom, and being mean-spirited, knelt down
before her and begged her not to repeat the story. All the young
ladies of her class followed and hooted her. Mademoiselle de Choiseul
replied aloud: ‘Mademoiselle, all that I can do for you is not to
mention your name, and I give you my word of honour that it shall not
pass my lips; but I should be condemned for ever in the eyes of my
companions if I appeared unconcerned after what you have told me in
their presence, and if I did not seek information about my mother from
my relatives.’
“At that moment a mistress, who had noticed during the last hour
the disturbance amongst the pupils, came forward and asked what had
happened. Mademoiselle de Choiseul said that she had had a dispute with
one of the pupils, and that it was now over; the mistress asked if any
one had a complaint to make, and as we remained silent she returned to
her seat.
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul and I afterwards held a consultation, in
order to see what steps she should take, and we decided that she must
speak of this event to Madame de Rochechouart.
“I asked Mademoiselle de Choiseul if she had had no suspicions of
what she had been taunted with, and she said: ‘No; I fancied that
my mother was a peculiar woman, and was disliked by her family, and
that was her reason for preferring to live in the country.’ She also
added: ‘Neither my father[65] nor my uncle ever mention her to me, and
when occasionally I have spoken of her, I noticed that the subject
was distasteful; but now that I recall a host of things said before
me, I am afraid what Mademoiselle de Lévis told me is true.’ Then she
added: ‘I am suffocating, I feel an imperative need to weep, and am
controlling myself here.’ I went to Mother Quatre Temps and asked her
to allow me to go to Madame de Rochechouart, as I had something to say
to her, and she gave me the permission. Mademoiselle de Choiseul, on
her side, went to ask Madame de Saint Pierre, who, being very strict,
replied that she might wait to see Madame de Rochechouart till the
names were called over in the evening.
“Choiseul, who was very quick tempered, could bear it no longer, and
burst into tears. Madame de Saint Pierre said she was out of temper,
and ordered her to go and kneel down. She obeyed. All the pupils pitied
her, and made much of her. They told Lévis that she was the cause of
all this trouble; she had remained in a corner of the room, not daring
to show herself. Mademoiselle de Choiseul said to me in a low voice:
‘As you have permission, go to Madame de Rochechouart, tell her my
trouble, and beg her to send for me; but do not mention Lévis, as I
have promised not to do so.’
“I therefore ran off to Madame de Rochechouart. I did not find her in
her cell, but only Madame de Sainte Delphine, who said to me: ‘Ah! it
is you, my pussy. I am very glad to see you, for I was feeling as dull
as a dog, waiting for my sister. Tell me something amusing, I beg of
you, for I am in exceedingly low spirits.’
“Then I said to Madame de Sainte Delphine: ‘Mademoiselle de Choiseul
and I have something to tell Madame de Rochechouart, but she has not
obtained permission to come; if you would be so kind as to send for
her, by Sister Leonard, saying that Madame de Rochechouart asks for
her, it would not be a lie, as it is also your name.’ She consented,
and shortly after Madame de Rochechouart came in.
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul arrived at the same moment, and we told
Madame de Rochechouart what had taken place. She appeared most
indignant. ‘And who said such a thing?’ she inquired. We absolutely
refused to tell her. Thereupon Madame de Rochechouart, who did not
wish to commit herself with Mademoiselle de Choiseul, said: ‘I have
withdrawn myself from the world, and events of this kind do not reach
us; but tell me which member of your family you wish me to write
to, who may be able to give you some explanations.’ Mademoiselle de
Choiseul named her aunt, the Duchesse de Gramont.[66]
“Madame de Rochechouart accordingly wrote to her: she came the next
day, and Mademoiselle de Choiseul having told her the cause of her
trouble, Madame de Gramont replied: ‘I do not wish to deceive you;
you are now growing up and cannot be left in a state of ignorance
that might lead you to make injudicious remarks. It is quite true
that your mother’s misconduct has obliged her family to place her in
a convent. You have a sister[67] who has been brought up in another
convent, and who is coming to be with you at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. Your
demeanour towards the pupils must be sufficiently authoritative to
prevent any one broaching the subject in future, and above all, have no
confidantes. You can easily imagine that this is not an agreeable topic
of conversation for your father; do not therefore mention it to him,
unless he be the first to speak to you.’
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul asked if she would not be allowed to write
to her mother. Madame de Gramont said that she could not take upon
herself to give her that permission, but that she would speak of it to
her family.
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul came and told me all this, and we agreed that
we would appear to have forgotten what had taken place, and that if the
others referred to it we should show our displeasure.”
Unfortunately, Mademoiselle de Lévis’s cruel gossip was but too
well-founded, and the romantic adventures of Madame de Stainville,
especially the final catastrophe, had created a great scandal.
When the Duc de Choiseul became war minister (at the death of the
Maréchal de Belle-Isle) he had his brother, the Comte Jacques de
Choiseul-Stainville, named lieutenant-general. The Count had no
fortune; his family, wishing to secure for him a brilliant match,
turned their thoughts to Mademoiselle Thérèse de Clermont-Revel, who
was a great heiress, and endowed with a charming presence. The Duke
cleverly conducted the negotiations, and the marriage was decided
upon. The Count was nearly forty years old, his betrothed was only
fifteen, and had never seen her future husband. He obtained leave of
absence, came to Paris, and _six hours after_ his arrival the marriage
was celebrated.[68]
The young Comtesse de Stainville was presented in society by her
sister-in-law, the Duchesse de Choiseul, and created quite a sensation.
She danced like an angel, and shone with grace and beauty. It was
easy to suppose that before long she would receive attentions from
the most fashionable men. Contemporary memoirs even pretend that her
brother-in-law, the Duc de Choiseul, dared to hazard a declaration,
which was badly received. It is said that Lauzun fared better, but
this passing fancy was shortly superseded by another sentiment. It is
well known how actors were then run after in society. Their conquests
were innumerable. At that time Clairval was the actor most in vogue,
and the favourite of all the ladies. He united to undoubted talent
a handsome face, an elegant figure, and a natural audacity which
nothing could check. He was not long in perceiving the impression
that he had made on Madame de Stainville, and determined to risk all
and take advantage of it. A lady’s-maid and a footman were taken into
the secret, and Madame de Stainville even went so far as to receive
Clairval at her own residence.[69]
Some time passed: Madame de Stainville gave birth to a second daughter,
and nothing foreshadowed the scandal that was about to take place; but
the intimacy between Clairval and the Countess was gradually becoming
known; the Duchesse de Gramont was the first to hear of it. She hated
her young sister-in-law, and was not slow to inform her brother of the
rumours which till then he had ignored.
The Count was away on military service with the army, and was to
return to be present at an entertainment in which all Paris was
interested. The Maréchale de Mirepoix was preparing a wonderful fancy
ball at the hôtel de Brancas. National dances were to be performed by
twenty-four gentlemen and by as many ladies, in Chinese and Indian
costumes. These were being rehearsed for the last week. “The guilty and
unfortunate Madame de Stainville,” says Madame du Deffand, “had Prince
d’Hénin for a partner, and was present every day at these rehearsals.
On Tuesday, two days before the ball, all the dancers were entertained
at a supper given by the Duchesse de Valentinois; it was noticed that
Madame de Stainville seemed very dejected and constantly had tears in
her eyes. Her husband had arrived that morning.” On the following day,
Wednesday,[70] at three o’clock in the morning, Madame de Stainville
was carried off in a post-chaise and conducted by her husband in
person to the Convent of the _Filles de Sainte Marie_ at Nancy. The
Count had easily obtained a _lettre de cachet_ through his brother, the
Duke, and his wife was confined for the rest of her life. He returned
her all her fortune, and had a trustee appointed, who was authorised to
give the Countess everything she required, but not a farthing in money.
A sum was devoted to his daughters’ maintenance, and the remainder of
her income put under sequestration for their benefit.
The lady’s-maid was sent to the Salpetrière and the footman to
Bicêtre, as a punishment for having aided in the affair. It was
generally considered that M. de Stainville had inflicted on his wife
a chastisement of unheard-of severity. In those days of easy morality
it was not the custom to consider this sin as an unpardonable offence,
and the beautiful Madame de Stainville excited a universal feeling of
pity. It was even said that the Count’s mistress, a young and charming
actress at the opera, notified to him on his return from Nancy that she
would never see him again, for fear of being taken for an accomplice in
such an iniquitous proceeding.[71]
Some time after this sad revelation, Mademoiselle de Choiseul, very
much agitated, came to Hélène as she was leaving the parlour, and said
to her: “Fancy, they are going to put my sister at the Abbaye-aux-Bois,
and she will arrive next Monday. What distresses me is that she is
simply sent to the dormitory, whilst I have my own apartment. This
difference is certain to make the pupils talk.”
Hélène advised her to say that it had been considered proper to make
this difference on account of her being the eldest.
“She told me she was to go out the next day and make her sister’s
acquaintance, as she had never seen her.
“She went out, accordingly, and as she was late in returning we were
not able to talk together in private. But in the evening she came
into my room, and told me that her sister was four years younger than
herself, and a mere child; that she was rather pretty, but did not
appear very lively, and she thought her ignorant and badly brought
up; that she had made a great deal of her, but that she had appeared
very untamed. She also told me that she was called Mademoiselle de
Stainville. We decided to notice her a great deal, in order that no
unpleasantness should occur when she was received.”
She was brought to the Convent by Madame la Duchesse de Choiseul, who
gave instructions that she should be appealed to for all requirements,
being specially in charge, instead of her father or the Duchesse de
Gramont, as was the case for Mademoiselle de Choiseul. It is evident
that the kindness of the Duchesse de Choiseul did not belie itself, and
that she was determined to act the part of a mother to the forsaken
child, whom every one seemed to repel.[72]
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul presented her to the class, saying that she
was her sister, and that she begged every one to behave kindly towards
her. Then Mesdemoiselles de Conflans, Mademoiselle de Damas, and
myself, went up to her, and made a great deal of her, but she was very
shy, and received us very coldly.
“As soon as she had made some acquaintances, Choiseul left her, and
never became very intimate with her, for there was a great difference
between the two sisters.
“When the Duc de Choiseul, Madame de Stainville, and Madame la Duchesse
de Gramont came to see Mademoiselle de Choiseul, they never asked for
Mademoiselle de Stainville; but Mademoiselle de Choiseul insisted,
and said she would not go down to the parlour if her sister was not
also asked for; so they were obliged to see Mademoiselle de Stainville.
It was the same thing about going out. Mademoiselle de Choiseul would
never go by herself to the hôtel de Choiseul;[73] and all this was from
a generous and kindly feeling, as she did not care for her sister,
but she would not allow herself any distinction which might be to her
disadvantage.”
Mademoiselle de Choiseul’s generous conduct under these circumstances
proves a nobility of character most uncommon in a child of fourteen.
No doubt the exalted opinion these young girls had of their rank and
their birth contributed to develop sentiments of honour and refinement:
they practised the axiom _noblesse oblige_ to the full extent, and
to say that they had a base mind was to them the bitterest reproach.
But, at the same time, it must be acknowledged that they had the
greatest contempt for any one who did not belong to their caste. Hélène
expresses herself on this point in the most ingenuous manner.
“At one time,” she tells us, “there was a breach in the walls of the
Convent, while the garden wall was being rebuilt. It is the custom,
whenever there is a breach in the enclosure, for the rules of seclusion
to be set aside for as long a time as the breach lasts. This wall
separated the Convent on one side from the street, whilst on the other
side lay the Convent of the _Petites Cordelierès_, so that now, there
being a way open, the nuns were able to visit each other.
“The Convent of the _Petites Cordelierès_ was neither as large nor
as fine a building as ours. They only received about thirty pupils,
but they were not young ladies of good birth, and they were very much
embarrassed when they saw our numerous classes entirely composed of the
daughters of the best families of France.
“At that time, on returning to the Convent one evening, Mademoiselle de
Choiseul said she had a great event to tell me. She said she was going
to marry the son of M. de Choiseul-La-Baume, who was only seventeen
years old,[74] that he was very nice, that she would become the
Duchesse de Choiseul-Stainville, and that the next day her family were
coming to inform Madame de Rochechouart and the Lady Abbess of the
match, and she begged me to accompany her on her visits.”
It was a time-honoured custom at the Abbaye-aux-Bois for the young
girls personally to inform their companions of their marriage, and on
this important occasion the betrothed was accompanied by her greatest
friend. Hélène, delighted at playing such an important part, prepared
herself to escort Mademoiselle de Choiseul with due solemnity the
following afternoon.
“The next day, accordingly, in the morning, the Duc and Duchesse de
Choiseul, Madame de Gramont, and M. de Stainville came to the Lady
Abbess’s parlour, and Madame de Rochechouart also came. They said
that the settlements were to be signed at Versailles on the following
Sunday; that on Monday the family and friends would sign them; that
on Tuesday Mademoiselle de Choiseul would receive her wedding-gifts;
and that on Wednesday she would leave for Chanteloup,[75] where the
marriage ceremony would take place; and that two days after she would
be brought back to the Abbaye-aux-Bois, as she was only fourteen
years of age. Directly her family had left I went with Mademoiselle
de Choiseul all through the establishment, in order to announce her
marriage. On Monday, the day on which the contract was signed, the
whole class were looking out of the windows to see M. de Choiseul
arrive, and he appeared to us very good-looking. All Paris was at the
signing of the settlements. On leaving the parlour, Mademoiselle de
Choiseul came to the window where the other pupils were, and M. de
Choiseul on seeing her made her a low bow, which delighted us. She told
us that her mother-in-law appeared very strict, and that it was said
she was most difficult to get on with. The next day she received a
magnificent wedding-casket, bought at Mademoiselle Bertin’s, a case of
beautiful diamonds, jewels in blue enamelling, and a purse containing
two hundred louis.[76]
“On the day of her departure Madame de Rochechouart allowed me to
go out and breakfast with Madame la Duchesse de Gramont. Madame de
Clermont brought me back.
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul gave me a keepsake made of gold and
ornamented with hair, a bag, and a fan. She distributed forty bags and
forty fans among the pupils.
“It had been proposed that her sister should not go to Chanteloup, but
Mademoiselle de Choiseul complained so bitterly that Madame la Duchesse
consented at last to take her. She gave her sister a beautiful diamond
locket, and M. de Choiseul gave her a keepsake also mounted in diamonds.
“Mademoiselle de Choiseul, whom I shall call Madame for the future,
came back at the end of a fortnight. She told me all about the
festivities given in her honour, but added that her mother-in-law had
not let a single day pass without scolding her; as for her husband, she
said she was madly in love with him, that he was lively and amusing,
and that although they had never been left alone together he had
managed to say a great many things to her, but that she had scruples
about repeating them to me.”
An event took place at this time which created a great impression on
the young pupils at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. They were accustomed to be
present at the ceremony of taking the veil, which was rather a frequent
occurrence in the Convent. It seemed quite natural to them, and did not
excite any painful emotion. This time, however, it was different.
“There had been for two years at the novitiate a young lady called
Mademoiselle de Rastignac, who was twenty years of age. She appeared
absorbed in the deepest melancholy, was constantly ill, and spent most
of her time in the infirmary. She had already adopted the nun’s habit;
and twice had been on the point of pronouncing her vows, but each time
she fell ill, and the ceremony had to be put off. Her director, Dom
Thémines, urged the indefinite postponement of her vows, and it was
rumoured that she was being made a nun against her will. Once we spoke
to Madame de Rochechouart about it, and she replied that she did not
interfere in any way with the novices; but that if she thought she was
being made to embrace a monastic life against her will she would not
give her vote. Two or three times she was sent back to her family, so
as to bring her once more into contact with the world, but in vain. At
last a day was fixed for the final ceremony to take place, and it was
said that although she was very ill, and could hardly stand, she wished
to pronounce her vows.
“On the day of her initiation all the Hauteforts in the world filled
the church, for she was their near relative. Mademoiselle de Guignes
carried the wax taper and acted as her godmother; the Comte d’Hautefort
was her squire. She was very pretty. First she went to the outer
church and knelt down on a praying chair. Her dress was white crape,
embroidered with silver and covered with diamonds. She bore up very
well during the address from the Abbé de Marolle, in which he told her
it was a great merit in the sight of God to renounce the world, when
one was made to be loved and be the charm and ornament of society. It
seemed as if he took pleasure in painting a glowing picture of all that
she was going to give up; but she bore it with a firm countenance.
“After the address the Comte d’Hautefort took her hand and led her to
the cloister door. As soon as she had entered it was closed upon her
with a great crash--it is a way they have on these occasions. We all
remarked that she turned very pale. She entered the court more dead
than alive. It was said that she was ill, but it seemed to us as if her
mind suffered more than her body. When she reached the choir gates they
were closed, while she was undressed and her worldly ornaments taken
from her. She had long fair hair; when it was let down we were all
on the point of crying out to prevent its being cut off, and all the
pupils exclaimed under their breath, ‘What a pity!’ At the moment when
the mistress of the novices put her scissors to it she gave a start.
They laid her hair on a large silver platter; it was lovely. Then they
clothed her in the dress of the order, put on the veil, and a wreath of
white roses, after which the grating was opened, and she was presented
to the priest, who blessed her.
“An arm-chair was then placed near the grating for the Lady Abbess, who
seated herself, with her cross-bearer and her chaplain on either side.
Mademoiselle de Rastignac knelt down before her, and put her hands
in hers. The formula used on taking the vows is as follows: ‘I take
the vow before God, and at your hands, Madame, of poverty, humility,
obedience, chastity, and perpetual reclusion, according to the rule of
Saint Benoit, as observed by Saint Bernard, in the order of Cîteaux and
the affiliation of Clairvaux.’ She was so weak that she could hardly
support herself on her knees. The mistresses of the novices, Madame de
Saint Vincent and Madame Saint Guillaume, were behind her. She seemed
to have a veil over her eyes, and hardly to know where she was; Madame
de Saint Vincent said the words of the vow, and she repeated them after
her. When she had pronounced the vow of obedience and came to the vow
of chastity, she made so long a pause that all the pupils, who till
then had been crying, could hardly refrain from laughing. She looked on
every side, as if for help, so at last the mistress approached her and
said: ‘Come, take courage, my child; accomplish your sacrifice!’ She
gave a deep sigh at the words ‘of chastity and perpetual reclusion,’
and at the same moment her head drooped on the knees of the Lady
Abbess. It was seen that she had fainted, and she was taken to the
sacristy.
“It is the custom that, after pronouncing her vows, she should go and
kiss the knees of all the nuns, and embrace the pupils. But it was said
she was not well enough, and that she would only come and prostrate
herself in the centre of the choir. Nothing has ever affected me more
than seeing her appear at the door of the sacristy, pale as death,
her eyes dim, and supported by two nuns. Mademoiselle de Guignes, who
carried her taper, was trembling so violently that she could scarcely
walk. Madame Sainte Madeleine, for that was the name Mademoiselle de
Rastignac had taken, advanced to the centre of the choir, where they
helped her to prostrate herself. She was covered with the pall; the
_Miserere_ of La Lande was sung. We also sang it, as well as the _Dies
Iræ_ and the _Libera_ of the _Cordeliers_, which is beautiful. It
took altogether an hour and a half, as the prayers for the dead were
said over her, to remind her that she was dead to the world. The same
evening she had an attack of fever, and was taken to the infirmary,
where she remained for six weeks. When she left it she was appointed to
the refectory, but she has not recovered her health. She remains in a
state of languor which causes everybody to take an interest in her, and
each one seeks to cheer her, trying to make her life as agreeable as
possible.”
FOOTNOTES:
[64] The Marquis de Lévis, her father, lieutenant-general in the king’s
army, had married Mademoiselle de la Reynière, daughter of the rich
_fermier général_ and of Mademoiselle de Jarente de la Brière.
[65] Jacques de Choiseul, Comte de Stainville, youngest brother of the
Duc de Choiseul. He became a Marshal of France, and died in 1789.
[66] Beatrix de Choiseul-Stainville, born at Lunéville in 1730. She
was Canoness of Remiremont, and had no other income but that derived
from her prebendary. She was ambitious, and united to a stern and hard
character a masculine intellect, capable of grappling with affairs
and intrigues. She soon formed the project of ruling her brother, but
for this purpose a great name and a large fortune were indispensable;
moreover the man who would bring her these advantages was bound to be
a mere cipher, in order not to overshadow the Duc de Choiseul. She
found all these requisites united in the person of the Duc de Gramont,
whom she married the 16th of August 1759. The Duchesse de Gramont’s
influence over her brother became absolute, to the great despair of the
Duchesse de Choiseul, who was devoted to her husband, and found herself
supplanted by her domineering sister-in-law.
[67] Thérèse Félicité de Choiseul-Stainville, born in 1767, married in
1782 the Prince Grimaldi-Monaco. From contemporary accounts she appears
to have been pretty, and endowed with a captivating personality. She
was guillotined in 1793.
[68] The 3d April 1761.
[69] She had left the Choiseul family mansion, and was living at No. 7
Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.
[70] The 31st January 1767.
[71] The time came, however, when, thanks to the efforts of the
Duchesse de Choiseul, Madame de Stainville’s home was again opened to
her; but she refused to return, and died in the Convent, in great piety.
[72] M. Durfort de Cheverny, in his _Memoirs_, says that the Duc de
Choiseul having severely reprimanded his sister-in-law on account of
her intimacy with Clairval, the Countess had solemnly declared that
the child she had just given birth to was a legitimate daughter of the
Count. (See the _Memoirs of the Comte Durfort de Cheverny_. Paris,
1886.)
[73] The family mansion of the Choiseuls was at No. 3 Rue de la Grange
Batelière, and occupied the site of the former Opera House. The gardens
and outer buildings extended as far as the Rue Neuve Saint Augustin;
the Opera Comique (burnt down in May 1887) was built on land belonging
to the Duc de Choiseul. We can hardly realise at present the size and
importance of the hôtels of the eighteenth century, many of which were
regular palaces. The little hôtel of Madame de Gramont was next to her
brother’s.
[74] Claude-Antoine-Gabriel de Choiseul-La-Baume, born on the 24th
August 1760, was a son of the Marquis de Choiseul-Beaupré and
Diane-Gabrielle de la Baume de Montrevel. He was brought up at
Chanteloup, under the personal supervision of the Duc de Choiseul, his
education having been begun by the Abbé Barthélemy. After the death
of the Duc de Choiseul, who left no children, he inherited the title
and peerage of that minister, in consequence of his marriage with his
niece. The young Duke later on became governor of the Palace of the
Louvre. He took an active share in the King’s flight to Varennes, and
died in 1838.
[75] The ceremony took place on the 10th October 1778. The young
Duchesse de Choiseul had two children: Etienne de Choiseul, a very
distinguished young man, aide-de-camp to General Berthier, who was
killed in the campaign in 1807, and a daughter, who married the Duc de
Marmier, a peer of France.
[76] One hundred and sixty pounds.
VIII
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.
In the extensive building of the Abbaye-aux-Bois there was one
apartment which was rarely opened. It had formerly been occupied
by Madame d’Orléans, better known under the name of the Abbess of
Chelles.[77] From her youth she had been destined to the cloister,
which certainly was not her vocation. After a short novitiate she
pronounced her vows, and was named Abbess of the Abbaye-aux-Bois.
Her remarkable beauty recalled that of her grandmother, Madame de
Montespan, but her haughty and violent temper and ungovernable passions
soon made her the terror and shame of the Convent, and at the time that
Hélène was writing the end of her _Memoirs_ Madame d’Orleáns’ apartment
was still a source of dread to the pupils.
“It was asserted,” says Hélène, “that shrieks and sounds of beating,
and the rattle of chains, could be heard in the Orléans’ apartment, and
it was said that Madame d’Orléans’ soul came back there in order to
expiate all the evil she had done during her lifetime.
“People were so afraid of these rooms that they never entered them
except a number at a time; and Sister Huon, having once gone in
alone to sweep, found marks of blood in the bedroom, and was nearly
suffocated by a strong smell of sulphur. She immediately fetched some
of the others, but they saw nothing.
“When this apartment has to be cleaned, which is only twice a year,
for no one ever occupies it, five or six people go in at the same time
to sweep. There are I know not how many rooms of an immense size, all
opening into each other, and it is dangerous to be there alone. The
apartment is only opened for strangers, to show them the ceilings,
which are beautifully painted, and the magnificent high warp tapestry
on the walls, representing the histories of Esther and Judith. It is
said that these tapestries are the finest the Gobelin manufactory have
ever produced.”
Madame d’Orléans had left cruel memories of her stay at the
Abbaye-aux-Bois.
“It was said,” continues the young Princess, “that in the time of
Madame d’Orléans, who was a monster of cruelty, she had caused some of
the nuns to be nearly beaten to death; others she had had shut up; and
sometimes she made them chant the services the whole night through.
“Meanwhile M. le Régent would come to her rooms, and she would spend
the night in laughing and amusing herself, eating and perpetrating
all sorts of follies before the young nuns she had chosen as her
companions. She said that she made the ladies spend their nights in
prayer in order to expiate the sins she committed. It is also said that
she used to take off all her clothes, and send for the nuns to admire
her, for she was the most beautiful woman of her time. She took baths
of milk, and the next day had it distributed among her nuns at the
refectory, ordering them by their vows of obedience to drink it.
“At last her excesses reached such a point that the nuns made a formal
complaint, and they were told she would be transferred to the Abbaye of
Chelles.
“M. le Régent came himself to bring her the king’s commands, and
told her that ‘she had so persecuted her unfortunate nuns that their
complaints had reached the ear of the king; and that, notwithstanding
his tenderness for her, he felt compelled to move her to another
abbey, for the public feeling would be aroused if he did not do justice
to these ladies.’ Then Madame d’Orléans was in despair; she wept,
she implored her father to let her remain at the Abbaye-aux-Bois,
and promised that henceforth her rule should be as gentle as it had
hitherto been cruel and despotic. But the Regent was inexorable, and
told her she must be ready to leave for Chelles in a few days. When she
saw that she could not win him over, she called the Chapter together,
and going down on her knees before the nuns, entreated them to petition
Government in her behalf, promising them that they should never again
have to complain of her conduct.
“The Prioress at that time was a Madame de Noailles. She came forward
and said these words, which have been repeated to us a hundred times:
‘We have borne without murmuring, Madame, the cruel penalties you
indicted upon us. Blindly submissive to your will, we only saw in our
sufferings the hand of God laid heavily upon us. The respect which we
have for you, and our attachment to the family you belong to, make us
feel that it is a great misfortune not to end our days under your rule.
But, in the same way that we should have been to blame had we refused
to accept the afflictions God sent us, so likewise it would be tempting
Providence if we sought the storm when it pleases Him to restore us to
peace. We trust that you will find happiness where you are destined
to live, and this, Madame, will be the object of our prayers and
supplications.’
“Madame d’Orléans, seeing by this speech and the attitude of the nuns
that she had nothing to hope for from them, got up like a fury and
returned to her rooms.
“A few days later M. de la Tourdonnet, secretary for the commands of
the Regent, and Madame la Duchesse de Villequier, came to tell her
that her father’s carriages were ready, and that she must leave for
Chelles; but she declared she would not go. In vain Madame la Duchesse
de Villequier tried every form of persuasion, she could not prevail on
her to leave. So they returned to M. le Régent, who said ‘that when
gentle measures failed, strong ones must be used.’ He then sent with M.
de la Tourdonnet and Madame de Villequier his captain of the guards,
M. de Lyonne, and two officers; and Madame d’Orléans was informed that
these persons had orders to put her in the carriage. When she heard
this, she completely undressed herself, got into bed, sent for M. de
Lyonne, and asked who would be bold enough to lay hands on a daughter
of the royal blood of France. M. de Lyonne, much embarrassed, returned
to M. le Régent, who sent Madame la Princesse de Conti with orders
to try and call his daughter to reason, and if she did not succeed
to have her wrapped up in her mattresses and carried away. So Madame
la Princesse de Conti came, and by tears and entreaties at length
prevailed on her to leave. She was conducted to Chelles, a distance of
four leagues from Paris, where she retained the title of Lady Abbess,
but without any authority. Some time after, the Abbey of Saint Anthony
of Paris becoming vacant, she asked for it, and it was granted to her,
but under the same conditions, namely, that she should have merely an
honorary title. She died a few years later, and asked to be buried at
the Abbaye-aux-Bois, which request was granted. Her body lies in the
choir, under a mausoleum of white marble.[78]
“There was in the Abbaye-aux-Bois, over the fireplace in the Community
Hall, a very fine portrait of Madame d’Orléans. She was represented
standing, with crowns and sceptres trampled beneath her feet; in one
hand holding a crucifix, and with the other taking from an altar a
crown of thorns. A peculiarity of this picture was, that though she was
dressed as a nun, her feet were bare.”
It hardly seems likely that the Abbess of Chelles would have busied
herself with theological discussions. She, however, professed very
decided Jansenist opinions. Her father the Regent strongly supported
the Jansenists, out of opposition to the Court party, who belonged to
the opposite sect; he probably inculcated his ideas to his daughter,
and either under the influence of their Abbess, or that of their
directors, the Abbaye-aux-Bois had become entirely Jansenist. The nuns
expressed their opinions so openly that the Convent was put under an
interdict during the last years of Madame de Richelieu’s rule. However,
they got back into favour, and Monseigneur de Beaumont,[79] who was the
avowed enemy of the Jansenists, consented to give confirmation to the
young pupils of the Abbaye-aux-Bois in the year 1777. Hélène gives a
faithful account of this event, which agitated the whole Convent, and
not one detail of which escapes her keen observation.
“I was at that time being prepared for my confirmation, for I was to be
confirmed at Whitsuntide.
“His Grace the Archbishop was to come that day, and as Mother Quatre
Temps was supposed to be very Jansenist, I bethought myself to say, in
order to please her, that I feared his Grace the Archbishop, instead
of confirming me in the Holy Spirit, would confirm me in the evil
one. Instead of scolding me, Mother Quatre Temps laughed extremely
at this joke, and, delighted at having said such a witty thing, I
went and repeated it all over the house. Mother Saint Ambrose, regent
of the abbey-house, held very strong Molinist opinions, and when my
joke came to her ears she complained to Madame de Rochechouart, who
sent for me and rated me soundly. She decided that I should not be
confirmed then, and I was only confirmed the following year. I took at
my confirmation the names of Alexandrienne-Emanuelle. On Whitsunday,
after having officiated at Mass and confirmed the pupils, His Grace
the Archbishop entered the Abbey. The Lady Abbess, with her crozier
and all the community, received him at the gate, and he visited all
the establishment, even the schoolrooms. It is the custom for all the
nuns to come forward, one after the other, and kiss his episcopal ring,
but many of them avoided doing so. I even saw several, who, carried
away by party feeling, stood behind his back and put out their tongues
at him. He went into the library, which is very fine; it consists of
three rooms opening into each other containing thirty thousand volumes,
and some very curious manuscripts. It is said that the nuns possess
Jansenius’s writings in the original edition, but they are not in the
library, and are no doubt carefully concealed. When his Grace the
Archbishop came to the library he sat down. Madame Sainte Delphine, who
was head librarian, did the honours of the place. He was shown some
handsome books, bound in vellum and ornamented with miniatures. He saw
that some of the presses had their curtains drawn, and inquired what
was in them. He was told that they contained romances and books on
literature. He desired to see them, so the presses were opened and he
admired the beauty of the editions, amongst others _The Romance of the
Rose_ and the _Holy Grail_, which had magnificent miniatures. He asked
how it came that books of that kind formed part of a convent library,
for they had certainly not been purchased. Then Madame Sainte Delphine
replied that formerly a great many people had on their death bequeathed
their libraries to the Convent; that Madame d’Orléans had for her part
given hers, which contained a great many books of this kind. Passing
on to the shelves where the works of Nicole, Arnaud, Pascal, and other
Fathers of Port Royal were ranged, the Archbishop said: ‘These have
turned many a brain, and will turn many more.’ On passing the division
containing the works of the Fathers of the Church, he remarked that
many shelves were empty, and asked the reason. Madame Sainte Delphine
said that several of the ladies had got the books. He expressed his
surprise that women should take pleasure in reading scholastic works
written in Latin, and said: ‘I am not astonished at my curates telling
me that they are a better match for the doctors of the Sorbonne than
for the ladies of the Abbaye-aux-Bois.’ He asked laughingly where
Jansenius and the writings of Father Quesnel were usually kept. Madame
Sainte Delphine replied that those books were not in the catalogue
which was under her charge.
“Then he inquired whether she had ever seen these works in the house.
She replied that for some years past they had been so questioned about
this Jansenius that, even if they had not possessed his works, they
would have tried to procure them, as it is against all conscience to
speak evil of a person unless you are certain that he deserves it; and
that it could only be the obligation under which they were to answer
questions which made them read works so far from entertaining as those
of Jansenius. After this the Archbishop left. Two days later he sent
his curates, who had all the theological books returned to the library,
locked up the shelves, and sealed them with the Archbishop’s seal,
which the ladies were forbidden to remove. The ladies then said that
in the interior of their establishment they recognised no authority
but that of the Abbot of Cîteaux or Clairvaux, their superior. They
wrote to him on the subject; he immediately sent two visitors of the
order, who complained to his Grace the Archbishop, telling him that
his authority could only be exercised with regard to the steps the
nuns might take outside their Convent, but that the interior was under
the sole jurisdiction of Cîteaux or Clairvaux.[80] As his Grace the
Archbishop was afraid the affair might be brought before Parliament,
he sent to remove the seals; then the visitors assembled the Chapter.
I do not know what took place; I only know that when they separated
they left the Abbey as well pleased with the nuns as the nuns were with
them. Shortly after the Abbot of Clairvaux sent an immense quantity of
Burgundy wine as a present to the Convent.
“We resolved at that time to give a performance in honour of Madame
de Rochechouart, on her fête or Saint’s Day, which was the 15th of
August, Mary being her name. We wanted to get it up with more care than
usual, so that it might be a success. So we acted _Esther_. I took that
part. Mademoiselle de Choiseul was Mordecai, Mademoiselle de Châtillon
Ahasuerus, and Mademoiselle de Chauvigny was Haman. Our costumes
were copied from those of the _Comédie Française_. I had a white and
silver dress, the skirt of which was fastened with diamonds from top
to bottom; I had on more than one hundred thousand écus’[81] worth of
diamonds, having all those of Mesdames de Mortemart, de Gramont, and
of Madame la Duchesse de Choiseul. It was the Vicomtesse de Laval who
dressed me. I had a mantle of pale blue velvet and a gold crown. All
the pupils in the chorus had white muslin dresses and veils. Before
the play, still wearing the simple costume of the Convent, I advanced
and pronounced the following words:--
“Nous sommes en un lieu par la grâce habité,
Où l’on vit dans la paix et la tranquillité.
L’innocence, qui fut leur compagne éternelle
S’y plaît et n’eut jamais d’asile plus fidèle.
“À MADAME DE ROCHECHOUART.
“Tout un peuple naissant est formé par vos mains.
Vous jetez dans son cœur la sémence féconde
Des vertus dont il doit sanctifier le monde.
Ce Dieu qui vous protège, ici du haut des cieux
A commis à vos soins ce dépôt précieux.
C’est lui qui rassembla ces colombes timides
Afin que vous soyez leur secours et leur guide.
* * * * *
We live in a place where grace inhabits,
Where one dwells in peace and tranquillity.
And innocence, their eternal companion,
Is happy in this her safest refuge.
TO MADAME DE ROCHECHOUART.
An entire people is formed by your hands.
You sow in its heart the fruitful seed
Of virtues which will sanctify the world.
God, who from the heavens protects you here
Has committed this precious charge to your care.
It is He who gathered these doves together
For you to be their guide and their succour.
Grand Dieu que ses bienfaits aient place en ta mémoire!
Que les soins qu’elle prend pour soutenir ta gloire,
Soient gravés de ta main au livre où sont écrits
Les noms prédestinés de ceux que tu chéris!
Tu m’écoutes, ma voix ne t’est point étrangère,
Je t’implore souvent pour celle qui m’est chère;
Elle-même t’envoie ses plus tendres soupirs;
Le feu de ton amour allume ses désirs.
Le zèle qui l’anime au lever de l’aurore,
Au coucher du soleil, pour toi l’enflamme encore.
Tu la vois tous les jours donner de grands exemples,
Baiser avec respect le pavé de tes temples.
O vous, qui vous plaisez aux folles passions
Qu’allument dans vos cœurs de vaines fictions
Profanes amateurs de spectacles frivoles
Dont l’oreille s’ennuie au son de mes paroles,
* * * * *
Great God! may her goodness be remembered by Thee!
May the care with which she supports Thy glory
Be engraved by Thy hand in the book where are written
The predestined names of those Thou dost cherish!
Thou will’st hearken to my voice, it is not strange to Thee,
Oft I implore Thee for her who is dear to me;
She herself gives Thee her tenderest sighs;
The fire of Thy love is all her desire.
The zeal which fills her at rise of dawn
Still flames for Thee at set of sun.
Thou dost see her each day give great examples,
Kiss with respect the pavement of Thy temples.
Oh you who rejoice in mad passion,
Aroused in your heart by vain fictions,
Profane admirers of frivolous shows,
Whose ear is wearied with the sound of these words,
* * * * *
Fuyez de nos plaisirs la sainte austérité:
Tout respire ici Dieu, la paix, la vérité.[82]
* * * * *
Flee from our pleasures full of saintly austerity:
All here breathes of God, of peace, and pure verity.
“I cried towards the end, and Madame de Rochechouart also. The
chorus was sung and a ballet was danced while I dressed. After the
performance, as soon as she saw me, Madame de Rochechouart held out her
arms to me; I rushed into them, and she folded me to her heart. She did
not hide her great partiality for me.
“I was so happy at that time that I should have been glad for it to
last for ever. I had at last been appointed to the dispensary,[83]
which had been the summit of my ambition, and I lived there very
pleasantly. I was with Madame de Choiseul, Mesdemoiselles de Conflans,
Mademoiselle de Montsauge, and Mademoiselle de Damas, all of whom were
pretty and amiable.
“Among the nuns Madame de Saint Côme was a person of rare amiability;
Madame de Saint Laurent, who was of the Cossé family, was witty and
scatterbrained. Madame Sainte Marguerite, who was only sixteen years
old, had just taken her vows, and thought only of amusing herself.
Madame Sainte Véronique was a ridiculous old woman, without a particle
of common sense, and that in itself was a source of amusement.
Madame de Saint Côme taught us botany; she taught us to know all the
different plants and their virtues. In the evening we went to Madame de
Rochechouart’s. I would have liked to have spent my life in that way.
“I have said that there were six of us in the dispensary. Here are our
portraits, all faithful likenesses: Madame la Duchesse de Choiseul,
fifteen years old, married, pretty, amiable, bright, witty, but
satirical, violent, and hot-tempered. Mademoiselle Hélène Massalska
(myself), fourteen years old, pretty, clever, graceful, stylish, a good
figure, as stubborn as the Pope’s mule, and incapable of controlling
her first impulse. Mademoiselle de Damas,[84] pretty, most graceful,
but with more jargon than wit, sixteen years of age. Mademoiselle
de Montsauge, the most beautiful eyes in the world, but with a
dark complexion, gentle, witty, fifteen years old. Mademoiselle de
Conflans,[85] rather pretty, remarkably brilliant and full of wit, aged
fifteen. Her sister, Mademoiselle de Vaudreuil, was not pretty; she
tried to copy her sister, but was far from being so clever.
“One morning, Madame de Rochechouart said to me: ‘Hélène, come to me
at six o’clock; I want to speak to you.’ I went therefore, according
to the order I had received; but she only said to me: ‘My dear child,
I am very sorry, but I cannot talk to you now; my head is burning, and
I feel feverish; you must go away, and I must go to bed.’ I returned
to the dispensary, which was my department, and said that I had found
Madame de Rochechouart ill. As this was very seldom the case with her,
Madame de Ferrière and Madame de Cossé, the second and third dispensary
nuns, went to her immediately. When Madame de Ferrière returned she
told us she had found Madame de Rochechouart in a high fever. We were
all seized with the greatest apprehension; on going to the refectory we
carried the news to all the class, and the consternation was general.
After supper Sister Léonard, who waited on Madame de Rochechouart,
came with a message from her to say our names would not be called
over; and we went sorrowfully to bed. The next day, on going down to
the schoolroom, we were told that the fever had increased, and that
Madame de Rochechouart was going to be taken to the infirmary. Then we
all burst into tears; Madame de Choiseul, Mesdemoiselles de Conflans,
myself, and a few others were in dreadful grief. The Duchesse de
Mortemart[86] came in the afternoon, bringing with her Bouvart[87] and
Lorry.[88] The same evening Madame de Rochechouart became delirious,
and remained in that state till the eve of her death.
“Meanwhile, the masters were dismissed, we left off playing at any
games, and were in a state of utter despair. Every hour one of the
pupils went to ask for news at the infirmary. The Lady Abbess went
herself every day to see her. The Duc de Mortemart and his brother were
admitted.[89] The Duchesse de Mortemart remained day and night by her
beside. Mademoiselle de Mortemart seemed sad, but less afflicted than
we were: it is true that her aunt had never cared much for her. At
last, after eleven days of continuous fever, the doctors declared that
she could not recover, and that the Sacraments must be administered as
soon as she should become conscious.
“The following day, the twelfth of her illness, towards the morning,
she appeared to recover consciousness. She was asked, by way of
precaution, if she would not receive the Sacraments, and she made a
sign of assent. They were therefore administered, and although it
is the custom for the pupils to assist at these ceremonies from the
passage of the infirmary, as it was feared that our cries might be
heard from her room, and that some of us might try to see her, we were
conducted during that time to the choir.
“At night her agony began; but they did not toll the bell, as is
customary at such moments, partly because of the pupils, and also on
account of Madame Sainte Delphine, who had fallen into a state of
stupor. From the moment she had seen her sister’s illness take a fatal
turn she had not left the foot of her bed, but after the Sacraments had
been administered, the Duchesse de Mortemart conferred in a low voice
with the Lady Abbess, and told Madame Sainte Delphine that she begged
her not to spend the night in the infirmary. The Lady Abbess told her
she insisted on her going, and gave orders to Madame Saint Sulpice
not to leave her. So she was taken to the dispensary, where we all,
belonging to that department, spent the night in weeping.
“The Lady Abbess was informed, as she requested, that Madame de
Rochechouart was at the point of death. Her confessor, Dom Thémines,
had not left her side. The Duchesse de Mortemart was in the Abbess’s
rooms, for she would not leave the Convent. When they came to call the
Lady Abbess she begged to go with her, but the Lady Abbess implored
her not to come, and she sent word to the Duc de Mortemart to come
immediately. He arrived, having on the previous day asked for a
permission from his Grace the Archbishop to take Madame Sainte Delphine
away from the Convent if her sister died. At about eight o’clock in the
morning Madame de Rochechouart, who had not spoken a word since the
Sacraments had been administered, asked for her sister. They told her
that she was not there, but that they would fetch her.
“‘Raise my pillows,’ she said. Madame de Verrue and Madame de
Domangeville, first and second infirmary nuns, did so; then she took
hold of Madame de Verrue’s arm, and said: ‘Oh, what pain! I am dying!’
and she expired. The class had just come down, and Madame de Royer had
said that Madame de Rochechouart was not dead, so that we did not know
but what there might still be hope. As soon as she had expired, the
Lady Abbess left the infirmary, in order to convey the intelligence
to Madame la Duchesse and her son. The Duchess fainted away. When she
came to herself again they said there was nothing else to do but to put
Madame Sainte Delphine in a carriage and take her away. So a carriage
with six horses was sent for; when it arrived, Madame de Mortemart
went to the dispensary, where Madame Sainte Delphine had remained,
as yet unconscious of her sister’s death. Madame de Mortemart told
her nothing, but simply gave her the Archbishop’s permit to remain
three months out of the Convent. Madame Sainte Delphine immediately
understood what that meant, and had a violent attack of hysterics. At
last they managed to put her into the carriage, and convey her into the
country at Everli, where she spent one month. The other two she spent
at Paraclet, with her sister, and then returned to the Abbaye-aux-Bois.
“The Lady Abbess sent Madame de Villiers with orders to Madame de Royer
to announce the news to the pupils, but we already suspected it. She
came forward, when each of us had taken our places, and said: ‘Young
ladies, it has pleased God to recall to Himself our beloved Madame de
Rochechouart. Offer up to Him the sacrifice of your legitimate grief,
and pray for the repose of her soul.’ Then we asked to be taken to the
choir, where we recited the prayers for the dead.
“We had been so deeply attached to the person of Madame de
Rochechouart that we obtained permission not to appear in the
schoolroom either that day or the next, on which she was to be buried.
“The class did not follow her funeral, but passed the time in prayer.
She was to have been buried in the cloister, as all the nuns are, but
the family requested that the body should be placed in one of the
chapels of the choir, which was accordingly done. A slab of black
marble covers her tomb. Each pupil had two Masses said for her soul,
and she had a magnificent funeral at the expense of her family.
“It now became necessary to elect another mistress-general, but nobody
wished to take the office, each one dreading the comparisons which
would be made by the pupils. Some of them wished to have Madame de
Royer, but she would not accept. We wanted Madame Sainte Delphine, but
she was certainly not equal to the work; she was far too indolent.
“At last, on the day fixed for the meeting of the Chapter to decide on
the appointment, a novice came at three o’clock from the community, to
tell the class that the ladies begged us to pray that the light of the
Holy Ghost might guide them in the choice they were about to make of
a mistress-general. We immediately all knelt down, and after a short
silence sang the _Veni Creator_.
“At six o’clock the Lady Abbess came to the schoolroom; we placed
ourselves in our stalls, and she addressed us as follows: ‘Young
ladies, I have come to express to you my grief at the loss we have
sustained, and at the same time inform you that the ladies have
endeavoured to retrieve it as far as in them lay. They have elected
Madame de Voyers, second mistress of the novices, in the place of
Madame de Rochechouart.’ We made no reply to the Lady Abbess, but
merely bowed, and she left the room.
“Shortly after Madame de Voyers, conducted by Madame de Royer, came
in; she had a fine figure, and enjoyed much consideration in the
novitiate. She was about forty years of age. She said: ‘Young ladies, I
feel that my presence here can hardly be agreeable to you. I know how
difficult is the task that lies before me. I pray you to make it easier
by placing your confidence in me. The regrets that you rightly accord
to the memory of Madame de Rochechouart are a credit both to you and to
her; I cannot flatter myself that I shall worthily replace her, but I
ask you to rest assured that I shall make every effort to do so.’
“This little speech, made with much sincerity of manner, touched us; we
applauded vehemently, and asked permission to kiss her hand. She begged
us to embrace her, and on the following day everything resumed its
usual course.
“For my own part, I never loved her, and in truth I was to blame, for
she deserved our affection. Madame de Rochechouart’s death was the
cause of my first wish to leave the Convent.”
Here the _Memoirs_ written by the young Princess during her stay at
the Abbaye-aux-Bois come to an end. Henceforth we shall have ourselves
to relate the history of her life; drawing the materials of our story
from her own correspondence and that of her family, from her notebook,
and other sources of information discovered by diligent and patient
research.
FOOTNOTES:
[77] Louise-Adélaïde de Chartres, grand-daughter of Louis XIV. and of
Madame de Montespan, second daughter of the Regent Philippe d’Orléans,
and of Mademoiselle de Blois, born the 13th August 1698, died the
20th February 1743. She was eighteen years of age when she became
Abbess of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, and one-and-twenty when made Abbess of
Chelles. (_Vide_ the Correspondence of Madame la Duchesse d’Orléans née
Princesse Palatine.)
[78] Hélène’s account differs from that of Madame, the Regent’s mother.
She was fond of her grand-daughter, and does not describe her in such
dark colours. She never mentions her stay at the Abbaye-aux-Bois, and
only speaks of her installation at Chelles. The perfect accuracy of
those portions of Hélène’s narrative which we have been able to verify
gives great weight to her account of the facts.
[79] Christophe de Beaumont, Archbishop of Paris, Peer of the Realm,
_Duc de Saint Cloud_ (this latter title belonged to that of the
Archbishopric of Paris). His archbishopric brought him in a hundred and
eighty thousand francs a year, and he had in his gift four hundred and
ninety-two livings. This prelate, whose conduct towards the Jansenists
was so harsh and even sometimes so violent, was admirable in private
life for his gentleness, his equanimity of character, and for his
liberality. Born the 26th July 1703 in the Château de la Roque, in
Périgord, he died on the 12th December 1781.
[80] By the agreement signed between the Pope Leon X. and Francis I.
the nominations to all the Abbeys of France belonged to the King, with
the exception of those of Cluny, _Cîteaux_, Prémontré, and Grandmont,
which were reserved and their abbots appointed by the Pope.
[81] An écu was worth five shillings.
[82] This curious mixture of the prologue of _Esther_ and other lines
of Racine was arranged by M. de la Harpe.
[83] The dispensary. This department consisted of--(1) A large room
lined with shelves on which were the medicines; (2) Two immense rooms
with two chimneys and four alembics.
[84] Mademoiselle de Damas was the sister of the Comte Royer de Damas,
of whom we shall speak later on. The Damas family showed the greatest
devotion to the cause of King Louis XVIII. during the emigration.
[85] Afterwards Marquise de Coigny, one of the wittiest ladies of the
Court of Louis XVI.
[86] Charlotte de Manneville, Dowager-Duchess of Mortemart,
sister-in-law to Madame de Rochechouart.
[87] Bouvart (Mich.-Ph.), born at Chartres, 11th January 1711, died
the 19th January 1787. He was professor at the College of France,
and a great enemy of the system of inoculation; he is supposed to
have been the author of the act of accusation brought against Joly de
Fleury for this innovation. “This Bouvart,” writes Grimm, “a legalised
assassin in the streets of Paris, is only too glad, by way of pastime,
to insult his fellow-members, and even to get up some little criminal
cases against them. It is he who attacked Tronchin, accused Bordeu of
stealing a watch and sleeve-links off a dead body, and who fought with
Petit.” It is certain that Bouvart was detested by all his colleagues,
but at the same time he was the most fashionable medical man in Paris.
[88] Lorry (Anne-Charles), President of the Faculty of Paris, born the
10th October 1726, at Crosne, near Paris, died at Bourbonne les Bains
the 18th September 1783. His character formed a striking contrast
with that of Bouvart. His gentleness, kindness, and the compassionate
interest he took in his patients, brought him great success. Hating
discussions, he was occasionally reproached with giving way too readily
to the opinions of his fellow-doctors. He never aimed at making a
fortune, and died poor.
[89] Victorien-Jean-Baptiste-Marie de Rochechouart, born 8th
February 1752, died 14th July 1812. He had married Mademoiselle de
Cossé-Brissac. His brother, the Marquis de Rochechouart, born in 1753,
died in 1823.
PART II
THE PRINCESS CH. DE LIGNE
I
The Prince-Bishop and Stanislaus-Augustus--The Diet in 1773--Second
dismemberment of Poland--Prince Xavier and his tutor.
We must now return to the Bishop of Wilna, and see what had befallen
him since 1772. We left him settled in Paris, as though he intended
to remain there for life. Through his amiable disposition, cultivated
mind, and taste for science and erudition, he formed many ties there.
He was even made an Associated Member of the Academy of _Inscriptions_
and _Belles Lettres_, and Madame Geoffrin, certain of her influence
over him, was persuaded that he no longer meddled with politics. She
little understood the changeable and restless mind of her protégé.
Since the month of January 1773 the Prince-Bishop had left Paris, and
the following is a letter Madame Geoffrin received from the King of
Poland:--
_16th April 1773._
“The Bishop Massalski, after having urgently requested my uncle to
judge his cause, after having refused to give him colleagues, as my
uncle had himself proposed, has induced the Austrian minister to
interfere by means of the authority, or rather the power, which his
Court exercises in Poland, in order to prevent his suit being judged
by my uncle, who, if the truth be known, is only too glad to be rid of
the whole business. This inconsiderate conduct has greatly discredited
the Bishop. It is a pity, for I have always said that there is a great
deal of good in this Bishop.”
Madame Geoffrin, although very much embarrassed at having to explain
the Bishop’s conduct, endeavoured still to find excuses for him.
MADAME GEOFFRIN TO THE KING.
_2d May 1773_
“I will at once answer your Majesty about the Bishop of Wilna. It
is true that he has an amiable and gentle disposition that becomes
him in society; but his character is so weak that he is incapable of
keeping the resolutions he makes with the best intentions. The first
person who cajoles him, or who raises the least suspicion in his
mind, distracts him, so that he does not know on what he can rely. He
has written to me, and I could see that he was in a great fright on
writing to inform me of the new aspect of his affairs. He fears that
this may estrange your Majesty from his cause. I assured him of the
contrary, and told him I was certain that your Majesty and also the
Prince Chancellor would be very glad to avoid judging this affair,
which in all probability never will be tried.
“He has left us the Abbé Baudeau, to whom, as well as to Colonel
Saint Leu, he had made the most splendid promises. They are both much
attached to his person; and if he forgets them I do not know what will
become of them. Saint Leu is perfectly devoted to the Bishop.”
Meanwhile nearly all the exiled senators who had taken part in the
Confederation of Bar were restored to favour, and returned to Poland to
take their seats in the Senate. The Bishop of Wilna arrived amongst the
first.
THE KING STANISLAUS-AUGUSTUS TO MADAME GEOFFRIN.
“The Bishop of Wilna, when writing to inform you that my uncle would
not judge his business, might have informed you also of several
other changes in his conduct and in his principles. He is now the
intimate friend of those who, not satisfied with having despoiled me
of three-quarters of my kingdom, are anxious to deprive me to a very
great extent of my royal prerogatives.
“Moreover the appointment of a Permanent Council is contemplated,
which will grant pardons instead of the King, and superintend,
besides, all the transactions that take place between the Diets.
“Such are their intentions with regard to us. I was only informed of
their decision at the opening of the Diet by the three Powers who have
dismembered the kingdom.”
The creation of the Permanent Council that the King dreaded was
decided in August 1774. The delegations of Poland had resumed their
sittings on the 1st of August. The ministers of the three Powers were
present at the Assembly, and proposed the plan of a Permanent Council.
The scheme met with the most strenuous opposition in the following
sittings, especially on the part of the Lithuanian deputies; however,
it was reported that the King had already given his consent to the
establishment of the council, and deputies were immediately sent to his
Majesty in order to hear him confirm this rumour. The report was true:
the King with his customary weakness had submitted. Pleading illness,
he begged for a delay of several days, during which time he secretly
hoped that the Bishop of Wilna would persuade the Lithuanian deputies
to consent to the scheme.[90] Some slight modifications were made
and urged by the foreign ministers, the King and the delegation were
obliged to assent, and on the 7th of August the project was signed.
This may be considered as the date of the overthrowing of the ancient
Polish constitution, and of the utter annihilation of the sovereign
power.
The Bishop of Wilna had returned to Paris with a portfolio crammed full
of schemes: “He had consulted all the philosophers of the time on the
state of Poland, and brought back plans borrowed from Rousseau and
Mably, etc. He fancied he would find the salvation of his country in
the abstract paradoxes of the former, or in the democratic delirium of
the latter; and the confused state of his mind, open to every theory,
exposed him to numerous delusions.”[91]
He was named a member of the Permanent Council, and the King had little
reason to be satisfied with his conduct. In the Warsaw paper called
_Journal Encyclopédique_ we find the following: “As for the Bishops of
Cajavia and Wilna, they persist in distinguishing themselves by their
constant opposition to the King’s wishes.”
Madame Geoffrin also writes to the King:--
_19th September._
“As long as the Bishop of Wilna was in Paris, I could see how weak he
was and how much he required to be guided.... When I saw him start
for Poland, without taking either of his two acolytes, I foresaw all
that would occur. I am more than ever convinced that one can have no
confidence in weak minds and frivolous characters. The poor man will
be his own dupe; others will avenge your Majesty.”
In this case Madame Geoffrin showed herself a true prophet; but in the
meantime honours and distinctions were being showered on the head of
the Prince-Bishop. The Polish Government had lately constituted a body
for the general direction of public instruction. This body received
the name of Commissioners of National Education, and the Bishop was
appointed president. It proceeded to reorganise the studies which had
been completely interrupted by the suppression of the Jesuits, who
until then had educated the Polish youth. It was decided that the sale
of their possessions should furnish the capital necessary for the
founding of schools and universities as well as for the purchase and
printing of the students’ books.
While the Bishop of Wilna was busied with the education of his
countrymen the tutor he had chosen during his stay in Paris for his
own nephew, Prince Xavier, was discharging his functions in the worst
possible manner. The Bishop had not wished to send the child to college
on account of his delicate state of health. He preferred confiding
him to some trustworthy man, who would be exclusively attached to his
person. Madame Geoffrin consulted her friends on the subject, and
Masson de Pezay,[92] a clever intriguer, a colonel and a poet, proposed
his uncle, M. Boesnier-Delorme; he was a commissioner of woods and
forests, a talented man and accustomed to good society, but his head
was turned by the economists, and he was infatuated with their new
theories.
Notwithstanding this, as he was warmly recommended both by the Marquis
de Mirabeau and the Abbé Baudeau, for whom the Bishop had a great
regard, the offer was accepted. A salary of thirty thousand livres[93]
per annum was agreed upon for M. Delorme, including an under-tutor,
a gentleman, and a lackey, who were more specially assigned to the
child’s service. The same amount was offered to Masson de Pezay on
signing the agreement, and a further sum of sixty thousand livres was
promised besides to M. Delorme when his pupil’s education should be
finished.
It would have been difficult to make a worse choice. M. Delorme spent
his time travelling for the benefit of his agricultural affairs, and
squandered his money in costly experiments on his property near Blois,
situated on the banks of the Loire. During the winter he resided
chiefly in Paris, where he faithfully attended the receptions of the
Baron d’Holbach and Madame Geoffrin, as well as the political dinners
given by the Marquis de Mirabeau. As for his pupil, he dragged him
about in his summer travels, and during the winter left him at the
mercy of underlings without exercising the slightest supervision.
The child, barely seven years old, and an orphan from his birth, was
puny and delicate, and would have required a mother’s incessant care.
Instead of getting stronger, his health deteriorated from bad to
worse; either left to himself, or ill-treated by a brutal and ignorant
under-tutor, encouraged in low and precocious instincts by a debauched
lackey, the unfortunate child contracted bad habits, and when, at the
end of the term fixed for his education, the uncle claimed his return
to Poland in 1778, M. Delorme brought back a child of fourteen, half
crazy, absolutely ignorant, and in a most deplorable state of health.
It is easy to understand the indignation of the Bishop, who had been
carefully kept in ignorance of his nephew’s condition. M. Delorme
did not dare to face an interview. He sent the young Prince to Wilna
accompanied by a servant, and prudently remained himself at Warsaw. He
had, nevertheless, the audacity to claim the 60,000 livres promised on
the completion of Prince Xavier’s education. The Bishop flatly refused
it, and only paid the travelling expenses. But by dint of successful
scheming in Warsaw Delorme obtained a sum of 20,000 francs from the
family council, and returned in haste to Paris. He had received 30,000
livres during six years--that is, 180,000 plus 3600 at the outset, and
20,000 at the end, which made up a total of 230,000 livres,[94] in
payment for so successful an education.[95]
The young Prince was settled at Werky, in the magnificent residence of
his uncle, at a short distance from Wilna. He was treated with the
most tender care, his uncle never let him out of his sight, and took
him with him during his frequent visits to Warsaw. A confidential man
named Levert was attached to his person; he was sent by the Marquis
de Mirabeau, who, indignant at Delorme’s conduct, and most distressed
at having recommended him, had remained on the best of terms with
the Prince-Bishop. It was precisely at this period that unforeseen
circumstances, in which Hélène was concerned, gave rise to a rather
curious correspondence between the Bishop and the Marquis.
FOOTNOTES:
[90] See the _Journal Encyclopédique_, September 1774.
[91] _Vide_ Ferrand’s _History of the Dismemberment of Poland_.
[92] Alfred-Frédéric-Jacques Masson, called Marquis de Pezay,
inspector-general of the sea-coast, born 1741, died 1777.
[93] Twelve hundred pounds sterling.
[94] 230,000 livres are £9200 sterling.
[95] This story is told differently in the _Memoirs of Durfort
de Cheverny_, edited by M. de Crêvecœur; but even after a careful
consideration of his version, we consider our own the most correct.
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.
While Hélène was bringing to a close the story of her peaceful years of
convent life, the reputation of her beauty, her name, and her fortune
had spread beyond the walls of the old Abbey.
The young Princess had already made her appearance at children’s balls.
The Duchesses de Mortemart, de Châtillon, du Châtelet, de Choiseul,
and others, whose daughters or nieces were her companions, often took
Hélène out with them. More than one mother, anxious for her son’s
provision in life, had turned her thoughts towards the little Pole, and
disposed her artillery with a view towards securing auxiliaries in the
field. The young girl was not long in finding this out, but with much
discretion she appeared not to notice anything. Her plans were already
marked out; she was better acquainted than any one with her uncle’s
weakness of character, and knew well she would only make the marriage
she chose. Two suitors came forward at the same time. The first was
the Duc d’Elbœuf, Prince de Vaudemont, second son of the Comtesse de
Brionne, of the house of Rohan-Rochefort, and of Comte Charles-Louis
de Lorraine, Grand Equerry of France. Though of such noble birth, the
Prince’s fortune was small, and an alliance with a rich heiress was
for him the chief object in view. The Comtesse de Brionne, an intimate
friend of the Duc de Choiseul, saw Hélène at Chanteloup. The grace
and charm of the young girl attracted her attention, and on returning
to Paris she carefully informed herself of both Hélène’s present and
future prospects. It has not been forgotten that at the beginning of
her _Memoirs_ the little Princess mentions the Comtesse de Rochefort
as a friend of her uncle’s. This lady and her friend, the Marquis de
Mirabeau, were among those who frequented the Comtesse de Brionne’s
receptions. The Marquis de Mirabeau was, as we know, a great friend of
the Bishop of Wilna, and kept up a constant correspondence with him;
nothing was therefore easier than for the Countess to procure all the
information she desired.
It was in this small circle that was woven the matrimonial plot which
is now to be unfolded before our eyes, and we can see how in those
days, as at present, slight importance was attached to mutual feeling,
or to conformity of taste or character; fortune, rank, and name were
the only conditions required.
It was decided that the Marquis de Mirabeau should open fire by writing
to the Bishop. But it was felt that he could not bring the affair to a
good issue unassisted; his haughty and violent temper, the uncertainty
of his disposition, required the controlling influence of a feminine
mind. The right person was ready to hand, and Madame de Pailly, whose
intimacy with the Marquis was well known, was deputed to assist him in
this matter.[96]
Madame de Pailly was very pretty, and possessed a quick, shrewd
intelligence, well fitted for intrigue. The great Mirabeau, who had
good reason to hate her, wrote as follows:--
“This woman has the cleverness of five hundred thousand demons, or
angels, if you prefer it; but she is equally dangerous by reason of her
beauty, and her intensely designing disposition.”
We are not concerned with the unedifying position that Madame de
Pailly occupied in the Mirabeau family;[97] we merely conclude that
she must have conducted herself with sufficient reserve or decency, as
it was then called, to be admitted into the society of the Comtesse de
Brionne and that of her aunt, the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg. The
_black hen_, as she was called by her intimates, was delighted to play
a part in this affair. She desired beyond everything to be useful to
such great ladies, and neglected nothing to attain this end. Madame de
Pailly’s letters were quoted in her society “as models of sentiment and
elegance;” we may add of acuteness and moderation.
MADAME DE PAILLY TO THE PRINCESSE DE LIGNE-LUXEMBOURG.
PARIS, _26th December 1777_.
“I enclose, Madame, a copy of M. de Mirabeau’s letter to the Bishop.
On handing it to me yesterday morning he said: ‘Be assured that this
negotiation will succeed; Providence will aid you. I could not have
written you this morning, but having suffered all night from a violent
attack of asthma I employed the time in doing so. It may have suffered
from my condition,[98] but nevertheless I think I have said all that
was necessary.’
“He begs the Comtesse de Brionne will forgive the freedom with which
he has spoken of her and her family; he thought it advisable to
preserve towards the Bishop the same frankness he has always shown
him, and, moreover, that his letter should not appear to have been
dictated. The Abbé[99] was quite satisfied with it.
“We are agreed as to what he (the Abbé) should say in his letter. He
will resolutely treat the question of the dowry, and will make all
necessary observations. He even adds that in order to influence the
undecided character of the Bishop he will enclose in his letter a copy
of the answer he should send the Marquis de Mirabeau. The Abbé has
often used this plan with success on previous occasions.
“He does not appear much alarmed at the competition of the ‘modern
prince,’[100] and following the usual bent of his mind, which leads
him to believe in what he wishes, he does not doubt for one moment of
our success in this affair, and will carry it through rapidly.”
The Marquis de Mirabeau was perhaps not the best person for
a negotiation of this sort, and his nature was certainly not
conciliatory; but in spite of his violence, his tyrannical character,
and fantastical ideas, his was not an ordinary intelligence. He had
much observation, and expressed his ideas in an original, glowing, and
picturesque style, though occasionally somewhat obscure.
THE MARQUIS DE MIRABEAU TO THE BISHOP OF WILNA.
PARIS, _25th December 1777_.
“MY LORD--My gratitude for your kindness, and the affection I feel
in return for the friendship you have conferred upon me, have caused
me to entertain an idea which I think suitable both as regards the
greatness of your family and your own happiness. I have conducted
the affair to a point where, if it meets with your approval, it can
be further developed, but without compromising you in the slightest
degree should you have other intentions.
“I know your affection for the scions of your illustrious family,
whose destiny both law and nature, the will of their ancestor,[101]
and their own helplessness, have confided to your care.
“I have not forgotten that it formed part of your plan that the young
Princess, your niece, should be established in France. I have heard
that she has given much satisfaction, and that each day she has shown
herself more worthy of your care and affection. I have therefore
thought of an alliance worthy of you in every way. Next in rank to our
Princes of the blood, who, though always ‘peers’ of the blood were
only raised by law above the other peers less than two centuries ago,
we have nothing in France that can equal the House of Lorraine.
“This family is now reduced in France to two branches. One of them
is almost extinct; the only remaining male representative being the
Prince de Marsan, who has never married. The other branch is that
of the Princes of Lambesc, Grand Equerries of France, at whose head
stands the beautiful Comtesse de Brionne, whom you know,[102] and
who occupies her position with as much dignity as splendour. This
Princess has been left a widow with two sons and two daughters. The
two Princes are: the Prince de Lambesc, Grand Equerry, and the Duc
d’Elbœuf,[103] a young Prince eighteen years of age, of a fine, noble
mien and gentle character, with whom all his family are satisfied--a
rare thing anywhere, in the present day, especially with us. The
eldest, the Prince de Lambesc, has until now refused to marry with a
persistency that time alone can overcome.[104] His younger brother
even went so far as to throw himself at his feet to implore him to do
so on one important occasion.[105] The two brothers are very amicable.
It is on the Prince d’Elbœuf that I have cast my eye, as representing,
in the interim, the sole hope of his family, and I thought it well not
to delay.
“Madame de Brionne is very clever, very watchful over the interests of
her family, especially with regard to the settlement of her children.
Active, without being restless, noble and elevated in her ideas on
general matters, easy on questions of detail, amiable to the exact
degree or extent she chooses, but having never displeased anybody or
anything any more than her own mirror. This is not a portrait: it is
a plain description, such as is necessary, for all depends upon her;
she will be a pillar of support--to the young Princess, who, with
her noble mind and ardent feelings, will prosper under such guidance;
to the young couple also, who will require sustaining and directing;
and lastly, to your Lordship, when you come to live amongst us; for
if I cared for society I should prefer the dull moments of Madame de
Brionne to the wittiest of all the others.
“Pray take counsel with yourself, my Lord, and send me word if I am to
withdraw my promises. Any other will follow up the affair as well, and
better, than I can, and ought even to do so. But I alone could give
you my idea with all its developments. If the plan suits you avoid
all delays. State things exactly as they are to be, so that we may
consider them as signed and ratified.
“In any case, pray forgive the liberty I have taken by interfering in
your affairs, and consider me, etc.
“_P.S._--I ask: 1. If the idea meets with your approval.
“2. The conditions you require.
“3. Those you will grant.”
While this negotiation was being carried on Hélène had met, in the
course of her frequent appearances in society, Prince Frédéric[106]
de Salm, who had come as if by chance to a young ladies’ ball. His
reputation as a successful man of the world, his debts, and his
conduct, did little credit to the name he bore. Unscrupulous in the
choice of his amusements, frequenting the worst society, of doubtful
courage, he commanded in Paris no sort of consideration. He was
reproached, on the occasion of a duel he fought with an officer of the
King’s guards, with having taken the precaution of secretly protecting
himself with a large muff. On arriving at the ground he refused to
undress, and rushed on his adversary unawares. The latter gave him a
thrust that would have pierced him through and through had it not been
for the protecting muff. The recoil caused by this obstacle threw the
officer to the ground, and the seconds had all the difficulty in the
world to prevent the Prince from killing his fallen adversary.
The Prince de Salm had a handsome face, easy manners, a gay
disposition, and a supple mind. Hélène ignored the dishonourable
details of his private life. She only saw in him an elegant cavalier,
bearing a great name, and above all, the certainty of a fixed residence
in Paris, in the magnificent mansion the Salms had built, on the Quay
d’Orsay.[107]
She would not hear of the Duc d’Elbœuf, in spite of his brilliant
prospects; she dreaded Madame de Brionne as a mother-in-law, and
allowed herself to be strongly influenced by the Prince de Salm’s
friends, who did not miss an opportunity of exciting the young girl’s
imagination. The Bishop, led by his niece, returned an ambiguous
answer, adjourned his decision, spoke of a probable journey to Paris,
and ended by no longer concealing the fresh candidature of the Prince
de Salm.
The Comtesse de Brionne ardently desired to continue the negotiations,
and she consulted Mirabeau as to the best means of attaining her end.
The Marquis replied in a long letter, of which the following is an
extract:[108]--
“It is absolutely necessary that the Countess should have as
representative a staid and honourable man, acting on her authority,
and capable of defeating the intrigues he will meet with. National
jealousy, errors of fact, important changes in places and ideas,
distractions and dissipations of all kinds, in fact every sort of
disappointment, await him; quite enough to worry out of his mind any
sensible man.
“It must, however, be borne in mind that he must not be expected to
conclude, treat, or decide anything, but only to obtain ample and
reliable information as to the family possessions, customs, etc.,
to keep the Bishop in a favourable frame of mind, to sketch out the
conditions with him, and try to bring him round to our views. I cannot
deny that this is too much to expect from a man alone, in a strange
country; for this there is only one remedy, which, if we can obtain
it, I think will succeed--it is to get the Abbé Baudeau to accompany
him on the journey. I know all that can be said against him, and he
is the first to own his faults; he would spoil any business requiring
time, but an affair that has to be carried off at the outset is quite
another matter, and he is the first man in Europe for that kind of
thing, thanks to his business-like aptitude and resources. He is
ingenious, insinuating, as good as he is scatterbrained, of easy and
lively habits, knowing how to influence the Bishop, which he does, not
by thwarting him, but by turning him round like a glove. In short,
whatever objections there may be to him, we cannot have men made on
purpose. This one has a clear head, and will elucidate matters both
here and over there; he enjoys the confidence of the young Princess,
and knows how to manage her; he can work up the Bishop as he pleases.
In fact, even had he none of these advantages, which I consider quite
exceptional for the affair in hand, or did he not know the country
as he does, I should think it of capital importance to employ him in
carrying through a business of this kind.
“What I can guarantee, not only as the result of my express warning,
but also by the fact that he has already suffered from it, is, that
he will not meddle with politics or economy, or any other subject of
discussion, and that, provided his travelling companion behaves to him
in a simple and friendly way, neither allowing himself to be ruled
by him, nor still less contradicting him openly, he will be quite
satisfied with him, and will find him most useful. I must appear
to write at great length on this subject, but I assure you that I
am actuated by no prejudice. In reality I have more liking than is
supposed for sensible business; but try watering cabbages with lavender
water, and you will see if they grow!...”
Notwithstanding the Marquis’s eloquence, the Abbé Baudeau did not
start for Poland, as the negotiations fell through. By a second letter
the Prince-Bishop, under the influence of his niece, declined for her
the honour of entering the house of Lorraine.[109] The unsuccessful
result of the negotiations undertaken by Madame de Pailly had vexed
her much; she feared the displeasure of the Comtesse de Brionne, and
still more that of her aunt, the Princesse de Ligne-Luxembourg,[110]
whom she had special reasons for wishing to please. The Princess,
formerly lady-in-waiting to the late Queen of Spain, had, by virtue
of that office, been given by the King an apartment in the palace of
the Tuileries. She received a limited but carefully-chosen circle,
of which Madame de Pailly would have been proud to form part, though
the society was a very dull one. The old Princess, according to her
contemporaries, had the most hideous fifty-year-old face that had ever
been seen, a fat, shiny countenance, without any rouge, lividly pale,
and adorned with a chin three stories deep. The Duchesse de Tallard
used to say “that she was like a dripping tallow-candle.” But she was
obliging and kind, and soon consoled herself for the failure of the
projected marriage. She confided to the negotiating lady that she had
another scheme in view. This time she had turned her thoughts to Prince
Charles de Ligne, nephew of her late husband. In point of fortune the
young Prince’s position was far superior to that of the Duc d’Elbœuf,
and if his family occupied in France a less elevated rank than that of
the house of Lorraine--which was a reigning family--on the score of
nobility it was inferior to none.
Madame de Pailly, delighted at the confidence the Princess reposed in
her, thanked her for it as for a favour, and set to work, resolved to
profit by the experience she had acquired and avoid another failure.
She began by making the Abbé Baudeau and the Marquis write to the
Prince-Bishop that nothing could be concluded in his absence, and
that among the crowd of suitors, which every day increased, it was
impossible he could discern at a distance what would be the best match
for his niece.
Then she cleverly tried to discover what was the influence which
had been brought to bear on the young Princess that disposed her so
strongly in favour of the Prince de Salm. She learned that he had
gained over to his cause one of the lady residents in the Convent,
whom Hélène frequently went to see.[111]
Once fully acquainted with all the details of the situation, she
drew up her batteries accordingly, and won over to her side three
of Hélène’s best friends: the young Duchesse de Choiseul and
Mesdemoiselles de Conflans. She got mutual friends to urge them quietly
to influence the young Princess, and then patiently awaited the arrival
of the Bishop, which could not long be delayed.
Before seriously opening up negotiations the Princesse de Ligne had
written to Prince Charles and his mother to inform them of her plan,
and of the advantages she saw in this alliance. But she did not hide
the preference over his numerous competitors which the young girl
showed towards the Prince Frédéric de Salm. Prince Charles did not
seem very much flattered, and wrote to his aunt as follows:--
_March 1779._
“I have received, my dear aunt, the letters you have had the goodness
to write to me, and have immediately forwarded them to my father.
I foresee that there will be many difficulties in the affair you
mention. It will require all the perseverance you possess with regard
to what interests you, and tax to the utmost your kindness towards the
whole of our family; a kindness whereof we are deeply sensible, and
for which once more, my dear aunt, we offer you our best thanks.
“The little lady appears to me of decided character, and not very
delicate in her choice, since she prefers the Prince de Salm, who has
such a bad reputation. I only hope the Bishop will not decide! for it
takes so long to receive the answers.
“Receive, my dear aunt, etc.”
From this letter it appears that the young Prince was not very much
delighted at the proposed marriage, but his mother took up the matter
with more eagerness, and begged her cousin to continue the negotiations.
The latter, then staying at her niece’s, Madame de Brionne, in the
Château de Limours, wrote to Madame de Pailly, and offered to come
herself to Paris to talk over the great affair. Madame de Pailly
replies:--
“I had hoped, Madame, that this week would not have elapsed without
your coming to Paris. I greatly desire to have the honour of seeing
you, in order to tell you about our affair. You may be sure that I have
made the best possible use of what you deigned to inform me. It would
be too long for me to write to you all that has been said on one side
and on the other, but the last word of _our uncle_ is that he must know
what will be the total fortune of the young Prince in the future, and
what allowance his father means to give him at present. He has repeated
several times that that was the essential point to be cleared up; that
he found all the other conditions most suitable; that with regard to
the residence in Brussels, his niece was very-sensible, and that he
flattered himself he would have no difficulty in persuading her, if
that was the only obstacle in the way.
“It is true that he adds: ‘But may we not hope that the Prince de Ligne
will come to Paris?’ I answered that I thought not, and, indeed, that
this change of residence would not be to his advantage; that I thought
his niece would find it very agreeable to be at the same time a great
lady in Brussels, in Vienna, and at Versailles; that the Prince de
Ligne’s establishments in Flanders were such that they were preferable
to any that might be had elsewhere....”
Madame de Pailly conducted the whole business very cleverly. She called
on the young Princess, and, feigning to ignore the preference that
Hélène openly avowed for the Prince de Salm, she carefully avoided
mentioning the subject. But she boldly faced the other obstacle--that
of an establishment in Brussels.
She dwelt at great length on the exceptional position of the Princes de
Ligne in Vienna and in the Netherlands. Then she gave a most brilliant
description of that occupied by the Prince’s father at Versailles,
where he spent most of his time when free from military service. She
gave Hélène to understand that with the great preference the Prince
showed for the French Court, she would easily find in him an ally
towards obtaining an establishment in Paris; for he adored his son, and
would be happy to have him near. Only it was essential to gain time,
and care must be taken not to clash with the Princesse de Ligne, who
was the least disposed to accept this arrangement.
This conversation made a tolerably deep impression on Hélène, who,
for the first time, did not oppose a formal refusal to the proposed
alliance with the Prince de Ligne; she merely asked to be allowed
to reflect, and to await the arrival of her uncle before taking a
decision. The delay was granted the more easily that the Princes
de Ligne, both father and son, were at that time engaged with the
army, Austria being at war with Prussia as to the succession of the
electorate of Bavaria.
We will now leave Hélène to her reflections, and turn our attention to
the two personages who are about to play such an important part in her
life.
FOOTNOTES:
[96] Madame de Pailly was the daughter of Captain de Malvieu, of the
Swiss guards; her family came from Berne, but her father’s rank keeping
him in France, she had been brought up there, and while still very
young had married M. de Pailly, a Swiss officer, also in the French
service. Her husband took his pension and returned to Lausanne; Madame
de Pailly often went to see him there, but she continued to reside in
Paris, and was, in fact, completely separated from him after the year
1762. For more details see _Memoirs of Mirabeau_, by Lucas de Montigny;
_The Comtesse de Rochefort and her Friends_, by Louis de Loménie.
[97] The Princesse de Luxembourg, born de Bethisy, was a sister of the
Princesse de Rohan-Montauban, mother of the Comtesse de Brionne.
[98] The Marquis was ill, and very much taken up trying to obtain an
order for the imprisonment of his son at the Bastille.
[99] The Abbé Baudeau, who thoroughly understood the Bishop’s
character, having been attached to his service in 1772, during his
first stay in Paris.
[100] Prince Frédéric de Salm.
[101] Prince Massalski, Grand General of Lithuania.
[102] The beauty of the Comtesse de Brionne was famous. The Duchesse
de Villeray, in sending her a netting needle, addressed to her the
following lines:--
“L’emblême frappe ici vos yeux.
Si les grâces, l’amour et l’amitié parfaite
Peuvent jamais former des nœuds,
Vous devez tenir la navette.”
An emblem here meets your gaze, If grace, love, and perfect friendship
Can ever be knit together, Then you must hold the shuttle.
[103] Prince Marie-Joseph de Lorraine, Duc d’Elbœuf, Prince de
Vaudemont, was the son of Charles-Louis de Lorraine, Comte de Brionne,
Grand Equerry of France, and of Julia-Constance de Rohan. He emigrated
with his brother, the Prince de Lambesc, and they entered into the
service of Austria. Their rank of Princes of Lorraine gave them special
favour in the Emperor’s eyes, and they both attained the rank of
field-marshal. It was to the Prince de Lambesc that the young Princesse
de Montmorency was betrothed.
[104] Time effectually overcame it. He married in 1812 the Countess
Colloredo, a widow, beautiful in spite of her forty years, witty and
ill-natured. He separated from her at the end of two years.
[105] On the occasion of his proposed marriage with Mademoiselle de
Montmorency.
[106] Frédéric-Jean Othon, hereditary Prince of Salm-Kybourg; his
mother was a Princesse de Horn. He was born on 11th May 1746, and died
on the scaffold in 1794.
[107] This hotel is actually the palace of the Legion of Honour; it was
built by the architect Rousseau.
[108] The letters of the Marquis de Mirabeau and those of Madame de
Pailly on the subject of Hélène’s marriage are numerous, and are
amongst the sequestrated papers. Letter T, _Portfolio de Ligne 1-4 of
the National Archives_. We only give extracts from them.
[109] In the same year the Duc d’Elbœuf consoled himself by marrying,
on 30th December 1778, Mademoiselle de Montmorency-Lagny.
[110] Henriette-Eugénie de Bethisy de Mézières, widow of the High and
Mighty Lord Claude-Hyacinthe-Ferdinand Lamoral, Prince de Ligne and of
the Holy Empire.
[111] This lady was no other than the Marquise de Mesnard, separated
from her husband, the Marquis de Marigny, brother to Madame de
Pompadour. She inhabited in 1778 a magnificent apartment in the
Abbaye-aux-Bois, where she received the most brilliant society. She was
on intimate terms with the Prince-Cardinal Louis de Rohan, and with the
Princesse de Salm, mother of Prince Frédéric.
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.
The De Ligne family was one of the most illustrious in Flanders. Its
head, Charles-Joseph, Prince de Ligne, Prince of the Holy Empire, Lord
Paramount of Fagnolles, and Lord of the Manors of Beaudour, Bel Œil,
Valincourt and other territories, Marquis of Roubaix and Dormans,
Baron of Fauquenberghe, Baron of Wershin, Knight of the Golden Fleece,
Grandee of Spain of the first class, first _ber_ of Flanders, Peer,
Seneschal and Marshal of Hainault, was General in the Austrian army,
Captain of the Trabans, Colonel and owner of a regiment of Walloon
infantry, and chamberlain to their Imperial Majesties.[112]
These honours were certainly sufficient to satisfy the highest
ambition, but they were not all. In addition to all these titles we
must add the position enjoyed by the Prince de Ligne at Versailles,
Vienna, and Brussels--a position acquired by his brilliant personal
qualities. Handsome, brave, generous, chivalrous, gifted with a
dazzling imagination, lively wit, and a mind full of impulsive
brilliancy, he was, notwithstanding all these advantages, the most
unaffected of men. He is mentioned in all contemporary memoirs, even by
those of most diverse opinions. Mesdames de Staël, de Genlis, the Comte
de Ségur, the adventurer Casanova, the Emperor Joseph, Voltaire, the
Empress Catherine, and others, all unite in a concert of praise, and
not a discordant note jars upon the general harmony. Madame de Staël
winds up her portrait of him by saying, like Eschine: “If you are
astonished at what I say of him, how much more so would you be if you
knew him!” Such was the future father-in-law of Hélène.
Prince Charles-Joseph had been brought up by his father in the
strictest manner. “My father did not care for me,” he says: “I know not
why, for we hardly knew each other. He never spoke to me; it was not
the fashion at that time to be either a good father or a good husband.
My mother feared him extremely. She gave birth to me dressed in her
farthingale, and died in the same dress, a few weeks later, so strict
was he as to appearances and stately formalities.”
His military career was most brilliant, and his promotion rapid. At
the age of twenty he was named colonel of his father’s regiment of
dragoons. He immediately wrote to inform him of the fact, and the
following is the answer he received:--
“It was already unfortunate enough for me, sir, to have you as a son
without the additional misfortune of having you as my colonel.”
His son replied: “My lord, neither the one nor the other are my fault,
and it is the Emperor your Highness must make responsible for the
second misfortune.”
The Prince married in 1755 the Princesse de Lichtenstein,[113] and
in September 1759, while he was busy fighting the Prussians before
Meissen, he received the news of the birth of a son.
“I have a son,” he writes joyfully. “Ah! how I shall love him; I
already wish I could write and tell him so.... If I come back from this
war I shall say to him: ‘Be welcome: I am sure I am going to love you
with all my heart!’”
The Prince had suffered too severely from the harshness of his father
to be willing to imitate it. All his children were brought up with
the greatest affection, but he was never able to refrain from showing
a marked preference to the eldest, Prince Charles, suitor to our young
Princess. He taught him what he knew so well himself--“to fight like a
gentleman.” The little Prince, while still a child, was led to battle
by his father.
“I had a slight skirmish at the outposts with the Prussians,” he says,
“and, jumping into the saddle with him as we galloped along, I took his
little hand in mine. At the first shot I ordered I said to him: ‘It
would be charming, my Charles, if we had a little wound together.’ And
he laughed, and swore, and became excited, and spoke quite judiciously!”
After having been at Strasburg[114] for four years, Prince Charles
entered the Austrian service, at the age of sixteen, as second
lieutenant of engineers. He would have preferred the artillery, but
chose the engineers to please his father.
At the moment when the negotiations for Hélène’s marriage were begun
war had just broken out between Austria and Prussia, on the question of
the succession in Bavaria, and the two Princes de Ligne were with the
Austrian army.
The Elector of Bavaria, Maximilian-Joseph, had died on the 30th of
December 1777 without male issue. Notwithstanding the indisputable
rights of the Elector-Palatine, several other princes raised
pretensions to the succession. The most formidable of these pretenders
was the Emperor Joseph II. Barely had the Elector closed his eyes when
the Austrian troops marched on the Bavarian frontier.
This caused great uneasiness in Prussia, and the young Duc des
Deux-Ponts, urged on and supported by Frederick the Great, protested
before the Germanic Diet against Austria’s designs. The Elector of
Saxony followed his example, and while this serious discussion was
going on Joseph and Frederick went, the one into Silesia, the other
into Bohemia, to take command of the large armies they had raised.
They remained thus in presence of each other for several months.
Marie-Thérèse, who feared war, carried on secret negotiations to stop
it. Joseph, on the contrary, anxious for a contest with the great
Frederick, urged it on with all his might.[115]
The Austrian army was divided into two corps, the one officially
commanded by the Emperor, but in reality by Marshal de Lascy, and the
other by Marshal Laudon; it included the Lycanians or Croats, and
picked grenadier regiments under the Prince de Ligne. His headquarters
were at Bezesnow, in Bohemia. His son was in Marshal de Lascy’s corps,
occupying a strong position behind the steep banks of the Elbe; three
lines of forts defended the passage of the river. Prince Charles was
in fact principally occupied with the construction of these forts,
and his father constantly wrote to him. The following letters will
show the affectionate terms that existed between them. It would appear
that Prince Charles was dissatisfied at the manner in which the
fortifications were being made,
_From my Headquarters at_
BEZESNOW, _26th June 1778_.
“Well, my engineer, so you are still fortifying your position, but you
are not fortifying your esteem for the genius of our engineers? I have
much trouble, on my side, to fortify myself against _ennui_.
“The Emperor came here to make what we may well call a fuss. He
said he wished for war, but did not believe in it. ‘_Who will
take a bet?_’ he said to us the other day. ‘_Everybody_,’ replied
Marshal Laudon, who is always in a bad temper. ‘_Everybody means
nobody!_’--‘_But I for one will bet_,’ said Marshal Lascy. ‘_How
much?_’ said the Emperor, who expected him to propose about twenty
ducats. ‘_Two hundred thousand florins_,’ said the Marshal. The
Emperor pulled a long face, and felt he had received a public
reprimand.
“He has been very gracious to me. He is in constant fear lest one
should play the pedant by him. He was satisfied with my troops, and
said many nice things about you, my dear Charles, for he had seen you
work marvellously well. He has just left; I can still see him from my
windows.
“I laugh at myself and the others when I think that, unappreciated
though I be, I value myself so much more than they suppose. I
personally superintend every platoon. I make myself hoarse with giving
the word of command to six battalions at the same time.
“I personally inspect even the very smallest huts, called in Bohemia
_kaloups_, each containing only four soldiers, and taste their soup,
their bread, weigh their meat, in order to see that they are not
cheated. There is not one whom I do not talk to, whom I do not supply
with something; not an officer I do not feed, and whom I do not rouse
to the war. My comrades do nothing of this kind, and they are very
wise, as no one cares. Not one of them cares for the war; they utter
the most pacific speeches before the young men, whom they expect in
the future to be zealous and good generals. This is also very well.
They will be made generals before I shall, and that also will be very
well.
“It is six weeks since I have spoken a word of French; but, on the
other hand, to repay me for a tiresome dinner, I have the pleasure, on
leaving the table, of receiving thirty bows at a time.”
“If an infantry officer may salute an engineer in the exercise of his
genius, I embrace you, my dear boy. I am delighted that you should
get praised for doing bad work. Good-bye, my excellent work; good-bye,
my master-piece, almost as much so as Christine.”[116]
In the meantime the Emperor and the King of Prussia remained
stationary, constantly exchanging letters. The Prince de Ligne, who was
well posted up, kept his son informed of what was going on.
BEZESNOW, _5th July_.
“I have this moment heard that the Marshal asked the Emperor, on
Saint John’s Day, how he had answered the letter he had received that
day from the King of Prussia. ‘I have nonplussed him,’ he answered;
‘I represented that the season was advancing, and that I wished to
receive some lessons from so great a master. When do you think, my
dear Marshal, that I shall get his answer?’ The Marshal counted on his
fingers, and replied: ‘In eight days; but he will bring it himself to
your Majesty.’
“I have just heard that he has entered Bohemia; to-day is the 5th
July, the calculation is exact; so much the better; I have received
orders to march with all my corps.”
The King of Prussia had suddenly made his appearance at Nachod, at the
head of his advanced guard. “We hoped it,” says the Prince de Ligne,
“but did not expect it.” He writes to his son:--
_July._
“As I do not suppose you have already left Pardubitz for the army, I
must write and give you some news of it. The Emperor was informed that
the King was advancing at the head of I do not know how many columns.
He went at full gallop to the redoubt number 7, and asked about twenty
times: ‘Where is the Marshal?’ The latter came up slowly for the
first time in his life: ‘Well, Field-Marshal, I have had you looked
for everywhere.’--‘Well, Sire, there is the King.--Give me your
spy-glass.... Ah! there he is himself, I bet! on a large English horse
... perhaps his Anhalt, look.’--‘That is possible; but they have not
come alone to beat us; look at the strength of the columns, Oh! there
is one that certainly numbers ten thousand men. They are coming to
attack us?’--‘Perhaps, what o’clock is it?’--‘Eleven o’clock.’--‘They
will only be in battle line in two hours’ time, then they will cook
their dinner, so shall we; they will certainly not attack your Majesty
to-day.’--‘No, but to-morrow?’--‘To-morrow! I think not, nor the day
after, nor even at all during this campaign.’
“You will recognise the phlegmatic and bitter style of our excellent
Marshal, annoyed at the constant interference and anxiety of the
Emperor, who on these occasions feels that he is not master of the
situation.”
At last the war began, but the opposing parties contented themselves
with observing each other’s movements. Prince Charles rejoined his
father at Mickenhau on the 30th of July, and he became one of his
aides-de-camp; he was always to be found at the outposts, and in
the midst of danger was remarkably cool and courageous. His father
constantly speaks of him with a pride that he cannot conceal: “Charles
is splendid under fire; I cannot restrain his ardour, he has such
presence of mind, such spirits and animation, that he encourages
every one. I must also add that the Emperor is very much pleased with
him.” It is thus that the Prince expresses himself in the picturesque
and delightful description he has given of this Bavarian war; a war
presenting this peculiarity, that not a shot was fired in Bavaria, and
that two armies of more than a hundred thousand men, one commanded by
the King of Prussia, the other by the Emperor of Austria, remained
during nine months in sight of each other without fighting a single
battle, contenting themselves with slight skirmishes or small outpost
attacks.
The Prince, in despair at this state of inaction,[117] seized every
opportunity of attacking the enemy. We will quote the account he gives
of the fight of Pösig; it was the first action in which Prince Charles
took part, and had a great influence on his military career.
“Prince Henry’s[118] hussars had taken up a strong position on the
heights of Hühnerwasser. In order to dislodge them it was necessary
first to take the Convent of Pösig, where there was a small garrison of
about forty men, who spent their days watching all that took place in
our camp. This perpetual spying irritated M. de Laudon a great deal. I
told him that Colonel d’Aspremont had already proposed to attack them,
but that even if the position were carried it would be difficult to
retain it, being situated nearer to Prince Henry than to us. He told
me to try if I could.... But the garrison was on the watch. A sentinel
had been placed at the door of the monk who gave me information, the
main entrance to the Convent had been barricaded, and they had raised
trestles. The brave Lycanians began the attack an hour before daybreak,
at the very moment that I was drawing up my men on the small plain.
Fifty were chosen to form the scaling party. All wanted to go, but
there were only five ladders, and if I had sent for more the news would
have spread in the country. Although the ladders were short, one of the
brave Croatians was killed on the wall. On arriving they were greeted
by a shower of stones, and Colonel d’Aspremont could no longer restrain
them. The excellent and worthy Lieutenant Wolf went up first; he was
shot through the arm. All of a sudden they heard, without knowing where
the news came from, that the gates had been burst open, and every
one rushed thither. Wolf was shot through the body, and died two days
after, telling me that if he had a thousand lives he would be glad
to sacrifice them all in my service. A sergeant and five sappers who
burst open the gates were killed on the spot, and twenty-five men were
wounded.
“Nothing has ever grieved me so much as seeing these fine, excellent
fellows, stretched side by side with their lieutenant uttering these
touching things. Formerly when I sacrificed the lives of my men,
sometimes needlessly, we shared the same dangers, and it had not the
same effect on me. But I had sent these poor fellows forward, and
unable to be everywhere at once, thinking moreover to be of more use
where I was, I remained behind, and perceived that it is often a hard
thing to be a general officer, as one is obliged to expose one’s men to
dangers which one cannot share.”
Prince Charles was so struck with the confidence and devotion his
father inspired in his men, and with the praises bestowed on him by
Lieutenant Wolf on his deathbed, that he remembered it all his life,
as we shall see later on. A few days after Marshal Laudon[119] came to
the Prince, and ordered him to advance all his troops, and dislodge the
Hühnerwasser huzzars.
“We had scarcely got to Jezoway when the rattle of the carbines was
heard; the Marshal in consequence began to get excited, and I saw, on a
reduced scale, the conqueror of Frankfort and of Landshut; it was the
first and last time he smiled through the whole of the campaign.
“Charles is so brave that it is a pleasure to see him. I was galloping
by his side, and holding his hand, saying as formerly: ‘It would be
a joke if we were struck by the same shot!’ After that, he carried
an order to retreat to an officer, who was wounded on receiving it.
Charles was delighted at having exchanged pistol shots with the enemy.
M. de Laudon and I were also under fire; the first time he sees the
enemy after a long period of peace he gets as excited as if he were
still a mere lieutenant of Lycanians, and went himself to order
Klégawiez and Pallackzi to retire from their positions, which had been
turned.
“I said to him: ‘Marshal, let us rather send our orderly officers and
our aides-de-camp.’ When I looked round there were none left; they had
all gone off like giddy fellows with Charles. Pösig was taken at about
twelve o’clock.
“Such is the simple story of a very pretty and amusing little
affair--similar, however, to many others that our generals make a
fuss about, and the newspapers describe as serious battles, for the
edification of the coffee-rooms and society of the capital.”
Meanwhile Marie-Thérèse, in her ceaseless efforts to bring the war to
a close, won over the Czarina to her cause, and at length succeeded
in spite of the Emperor Joseph, who was ignorant of his mother’s
negotiations.
A Congress met at Teschen on the 10th of April 1779, and peace was
signed on the 13th of May 1779. This war was peculiar in many respects.
The Palatine dynasty, in whose interest the war had been undertaken,
took no part in it. Bavaria, the subject of dispute, was not involved
in the hostilities; and the Elector-Palatine, who had refused the
King of Prussia’s assistance, owed the chief advantages of the peace
to his influence. The termination of this war without a single battle
left everybody in a bad humour, especially the Prince de Ligne: “I was
not the only one displeased,” he says; “the Empress was dissatisfied
because peace had not been made soon enough; the Emperor because it
was concluded without his knowledge; Marshal Lascy because his plans
had been interrupted, which, if they had been carried out, would have
proved far more advantageous; Marshal Laudon because he had only played
the part of observer and observed; the King of Prussia because he had
spent twenty-five millions of écus[120] and twenty-five thousand men,
and had not once done what he intended; Prince Henry because he had
been constantly crossed by the King.”
FOOTNOTES:
[112] At a latter period he became field-marshal, like his father and
grandfather.
[113] Françoise-Marie-Xavière de Lichtenstein, born 25th November 1740,
daughter of Emanuel, Prince de Lichtenstein, and of Marie-Antoine de
Dietrichstein-Weichseltadt.
[114] At that time there was a famous school of artillery at Strasburg,
directed by de Marzy.
By the treaty of Ryswick, signed in 1697, Alsace at that time belonged
to France. Strasburg had capitulated on the 30th September 1681, and
made its submission to Louis XIV. Fortified by Vauban it had become a
formidable fortress. The arsenal contained nine hundred cannon.
[115] Rulhière, a passionate but keen observer, wrote of the Emperor
Joseph: “Peace was pain and anxiety for him, _invasion_ and _conquest_
was the result of all his meditations. These two words had made the
celebrity of Frederick, and it was by them that Joseph wished to attain
and even surpass his rival. This proud man was constantly tortured by a
nervous and jealous anxiety.”
[116] Princess Christine was the eldest daughter of the Prince de
Ligne; she married in 1775 Comte Clary, eldest son of the prince of
that name; she was adored by all who knew her.
[117] War was a real delight to the Prince de Ligne; from his childhood
he was passionately fond of it. When he speaks of a battle he says: “A
battle is like an ode of Pindar: you must throw into it an enthusiasm
bordering on madness! To describe it properly would, I think, require
the sort of intoxication one feels at the moment of victory.”
[118] Prince Henry of Prussia, brother of the King, born 8th January
1726, died 3d April 1802. He is said to have had great military talent;
but his brother was jealous of him and did not like him.
[119] Laudon (Gédéon-Ernest, Baron of), an Austrian field-marshal, born
16th October 1710 at Trolsen in Livonia. He first served in the Russian
army from 1733 to 1739, and not finding his promotion rapid enough, he
entered the Austrian service. As a reward for his brilliant services
the Emperor Joseph made him, in 1769, Commander-General of Moravia, and
Field-Marshal in 1778. The Empress Catherine used to say: “I cannot
see Admiral Tchitchakoff without thinking of a saying of the Prince
de Ligne about Marshal Laudon. Some one asked him how he could be
recognised: ‘Go,’ he replied; ‘you will find him hid behind the door,
ashamed of his merit and superiority.’ That quite describes my admiral.”
[120] Equal to £6,250,000 sterling
END OF VOL. I
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