“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.”