MEMOIRS
OF THE
Princesse de Ligne

EDITED BY
LUCIEN PEREY
TRANSLATED BY LAURA ENSOR

IN TWO VOLUMES.—VOL. I.

LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1887

Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh

CONTENTS

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.