Chapter III: Part I: The Abbaye-Aux Bois (1)

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.”