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.