Free EBook Samples: Free ebook sample of "Ward of the Sun King" by Mildred Allen Butler (powered by Smashwords)

The first exciting event of my life happened at the Palace of Versailles, for it was there that I found myself making a deep curtsy to our King, His Gracious Majesty, Louis XIV. This was a great honor for me, and I had been coached for hours in the proper deportment by a lady-in-waiting. My feet must be placed just so—the right, forward and pointed out; the left, turned slightly and the leg bent with the weight on my left foot so that I should not fall or make myself ridiculous by wobbling; my back straight so that I could sink nearly to the floor and then incline my head gracefully. My long, full gown was of gold silk brocade with a cream-colored, gathered overskirt trimmed with lace; my slippers were of gold satin to match; and my dark hair was dressed and hung in curls on my shoulders. That was eight years ago, when I was twelve, but I still remember that beautiful gown.

The great moment was most unexpected, for I really had no right to be presented at the Palace of Versailles at all, my father not having been a courtier. I owed it all to Madame de Maintenon. When in 1685 it was announced in all parishes that Madame had opened a school for young ladies and was accepting only girls of noble birth whose families were, nevertheless, poor, my mother was most anxious that I be admitted. The pupils of this school were to be wards of the King, and he would provide generous dowries for them when they married.

I had not realized that we were poor until my mother explained to me that when my father was killed in battle we had come to live at the Château de Ronne on the charity of my grandfather, for my father’s lands had been sold to pay his debts. Though we were very welcome and lived comfortably, there would be no dowry for me when I was of an age to marry. My father, Etienne Lavelle, Marquis de Chacun, was slain in the service of the King and so I was eligible for admittance to Madame’s school. The convent schools, of which there were so many, gave little education except in religion, and my mother wanted more for me than that. Besides, the convents demanded a fee, as much as—often more than—a family could afford, else the girls became drudges, serving the nuns. Madame had narrowly escaped such a fate and had never forgotten it. She was once herself a poor demoiselle and opening this school was the way her kind heart prompted her to act for the good of others like herself. Such a one was I.

For some reason—she said it was the pretty manners my mother had taught me—Madame de Maintenon took a fancy to me and summoned me one day, during my first week at the school, to go with her to Versailles. I was in awe of her, for as everyone knew she had recently been married to the King, though because she was not of royal blood, the marriage had never been officially announced.

As I made my curtsy, I heard Madame say: “Here is an example, sire, of the girls I am educating at Noisy [pronounced Nwa-zée] to be gracious hostesses and good wives to the gentlemen of France. Your Majesty, may I present Adrienne Lavelle? She is new to the school, is pretty and refined, and it is for her and those like her that I am asking you to erect a larger building.” Turning to me, she added, “You may rise, child. You have done well.”

The King said: “She is very thin.”

Madame answered: “She is only twelve. She will fill out.”

I recovered my balance and stood before His Majesty, not daring to look up.

Then he spoke to me: “Come here, my dear, and let me see one of Madame’s pets.”

I went forward, trembling, and he put a finger under my chin, lifting it so that I had to look at him. His appearance was dazzling, and I could see why people called him the “Sun King.” My eyes passed over his elaborate clothes, which looked to me like a blur of gold and amber, and rested on his proud, imperious face surrounded by an enormous black, curled wig which fell to his shoulders. His gaze was keen but not unkind, and I stopped trembling.

“If you can collect more like this demoiselle, Madame,” he said, “I will build you the new school.”

Then and there was born in me a great desire to be a part of this splendid Court. I glanced down the long hall thronged by gentlemen and ladies in costly dress—reds and purples, blues and greens—the whole assemblage doubled by the marvelous mirrors that lined one side of the huge gallery. Doubled, too, were the rows of crystal chandeliers and the windows with their glimpses of trees and hedges, making the space seem very wide as well as very long.

I should have kept on looking forever had not Madame spoken to the lady-in-waiting who brought me and told her to escort me back to the school. As we walked backwards, making our three obeisances, I looked longingly at the scene of fairyland until the door opened and we were ushered out. It was my first sight of the Court of Versailles at the time of its greatest splendor, and the last I was to have for many a day.

I have never forgotten the kindness of Madame de Maintenon in selecting me to be presented to the King. I am sorry that my daring escapade later on caused her so much anxiety. She is a very warmhearted person, though strict.

Madame de Maintenon

Painting by Pierre Mignard, 17th century

King Louis XIV of France

Painting by Hyacinthe Rigaud, 1701

Palace of Versailles

Painting by Pierre Patel, 1668

I had already heard a lot about the size and magnificence of the Palace of Versailles from my cousin Pierre, who had just become a page there in the entourage of Madame de Maintenon. It was not on his account, though, that she made so much of me when I arrived; she could hardly have known of his existence since she had three or four hundred persons, both those of rank and servants, to attend her.

Pierre, who is two years older than I, is only distantly related to me. He is a third cousin—our grandfathers are first cousins—but I have known him ever since I can remember because our families have always been very close, and we often visited his home, the Chateau de Charlefont. ‘When Pierre’s father died, his grandfather, the Comte de Charlefont, whom I call Cousin Armand, took charge of Pierre, his older brother Raimond, two sisters who married soon after, and his mother who died when Pierre was ten years old. Though he is not heir to the estate, Pierre has always been his grandfather’s favorite and it was through the Comte’s influence that he was given a place at Court.

The Comte, Armand de Lys, performed some service for our King’s father, Louis XIII, and a letter from the dying monarch recommended preferment for all the family of de Lys whenever possible. Pierre’s uncle, for whom he was named, did not take advantage of this opportunity. He became a Huguenot and thus forfeited his right to attention at Court, for the Protestant religion was very unpopular throughout France even before it became unlawful. This uncle spent most of his time in La Rochelle, and returned home only when he became ill. He died of lung fever the year before I entered Madame’s school.

I had often heard the story of the strong friendship between the Comte de Charlefont and my own grandfather, and of how the Comte married grandpère’s adopted sister Madeleine. They named their eldest son Raoul after my grandfather, who named his eldest son Armand after the Comte. Grandpère had studied for the priesthood but gave it up when his brother Henri was killed in the wars and he became heir to the Chateau de Ronne.

After that he married; besides his son, who died young, he had two daughters, of whom my mother was the elder.

All this is, of course, ancient history, but I have taken an interest in all I could learn of my family and Pierre’s because of the course in blazonry which was given at school. We were taught this so that when we made our debut into society, we would know the origin and alliances of every illustrious family in the realm and understand the exact rules of precedence, so necessary in entertaining.

From the time we were young children, Pierre and I got along well together. As a child he loved horses, as did I, and later he owned a great many. He was generally cheerful and lively, yet sometimes thoughtful and silent for long periods. At these times he was probably thinking of his whittling, for he could carve wood into wonderful shapes. He would fashion sticks in such a way that they could be put together to form tiny chalets, or farms and wagons—things such as that. He could do anything with his hands.

One day—I was about nine, I think—he gave me something he had carved especially for me out of a piece of chestnut wood from a tree on the estate. It was a little horse no more than four inches long. Brown and polished, it stood on its four delicately carved legs, absolutely perfect. But he disparaged it.

“I wish I could have done better,” he said. “I was trying to make it look like your mare, Belle, but it turned out to look more like a race horse.”

“It is beautiful, Pierre,” I assured him. “It does look like Belle. Anyway, you know I’m mad about horses.”

“I wanted to give you something worth keeping, Rienne,” he said. “Someday you’ll be married, I suppose, and I’ll be going off to the wars and—well, I just wanted to give you something, that’s all.”

“I love it, Pierre,” I told him, “and I’ll keep it always.”

I have it still.

In order to make application for admission to Madame de Maintenon’s school, my mother and I made the two-day journey from our home at the Château de Ronne to meet the great lady, and she received us graciously. The school at that time was at Noisy, near Versailles, but later the new one, which the King had promised, was built very close to the Palace grounds. It is very famous and is called Saint-Cyr.

A girl must have a line of at least five noble ancestors to be considered for the school, but that was no problem for me since my lineage was well established. A few weeks after our meeting with Madame, we received word that I had been accepted as one of a hundred new pupils, and that I was now a ward of the King under the guardianship of Madame de Maintenon.

Soon after this, and before I entered the school, we were visiting the Château de Charlefont one day when my mother asked Cousin Armand to tell us all he knew about that lady. The Comte was obliged to be at Court often, since it was the custom, though he preferred to live on the beautiful estate given to him by King Louis XIII. Court gossip flows freely, but my mother knew that he was clever enough to distinguish the false from what was probably true.

“Is it a fact,” she asked him, “that Madame de Maintenon was once married to a notorious Parisian whose body was so deformed that he was said to resemble the letter Z?”

“Yes, that is so,” answered Cousin Armand. “When she came to live at Versailles she was known as Madame Scarron, but by then her husband had been dead for several years. She became Madame de Maintenon later, when she purchased the estate of that name.”

“Tell us what you know about her,” I begged.

He drew me to him and I leaned against his chair and smoothed his thick gray hair affectionately—he wore a curled wig only at Court—as he told his story.

“You must realize, Rienne, that her life is no secret to those of us who have been around her for a long time, but to you it will seem quite like a fairy tale.”

I was eager to hear about this grand lady who was the King’s wife, though not the Queen, and in whose presence I had been shy and almost speechless at our first meeting.

“Madame Scarron first became known to the Court as governess to King Louis’ three children by his favorite, Madame de Montespan. The name Madame Scarron was born with was Françoise d’Aubigny, and she was born in a prison; her father had been convicted of coining money illegally. Later he was released and took his family to the West Indies, but there they lived in poverty and were glad to get back to France. Her childhood, spent partly with relatives who were Huguenots, was miserable. She felt herself to be a Protestant and it was with great difficulty that she was converted to the Catholic faith in a convent. She detested the convent, and by great good fortune escaped being an unwilling resident for life.”

Cousin Armand went on to tell me all that happened to her after that. It was very interesting but I shall only put down the main events here. She had no dowry, but because she was very pretty, some relative arranged a marriage for her with Paul Scarron, quite an old man, well-known in scandalous society, clever and witty, but deformed and thoroughly bad. He was, however, very good to Françoise (it seems strange for me to use her first name), and she was grateful. When he died, she was without support for some time until she was engaged to take care of the King’s first child by Madame de Montespan. She and the child were housed secretly in Paris. In a few years there were three children. The King had them and their governess brought to Versailles, and it was not long before he pronounced these children legitimate, though they could never inherit the throne. The eldest is the young man we know as the Duc de Maine, who was to have an influence on both Pierre’s life and mine.

Madame’s rise from being prison-born to the highest position in the land was indeed like a fairy tale. I was glad to know of it and I think that after I entered the school I appreciated her kindness more and forgave her the more easily when sometimes she seemed too strict. But I kept her story to myself and did not tell it to the other girls. I could not bear to have her misfortunes joked about as they probably would have been if everyone had known about her career. The girls at school knew nothing about Court scandals, as I soon found out.

On that same visit to Charlefont, Pierre told me what the Palace was like. He first described the outside to me, for I had never seen it then.

“It is huge,” he said, “with two sets of enormous wings jutting out from the long main building. Between the first two wings is a courtyard paved with squares of black and white marble leading into the vast main courtyard, which is hundreds of feet across. In front there is a high wrought-iron fence ornamented on top, and in the middle, the great gates of golden bars surmounted with the Sun King’s crest. These open wide enough to admit the King’s coach, which is, of course, the largest in the world, and therefore any lesser coach can easily enter. The gates are opened nearly every day to admit people from the country around and from Paris who come to watch the King eat his dinner.”

He told me about the Palace of stone and brick, two stories high, with sculptured windows topped all around by an ornamental balustrade of stone and above that a sloping blue-tiled roof with little windows in it. Up there under the roof are many little cubicles occupied by some pages and lackeys and also, most unwillingly, by nobles of the realm when it pleases the King to have them near him. I found it hard to believe that any palace could be so large, but Pierre assured me that there were usually five thousand people living there, a thousand of them royalty and nobles, and four thousand attendants and servants. He ought to know, for he carried messages from one apartment to another and he declared that they were leagues apart!

Then he tried to describe the gardens at the back, with lawns, flowers, and statuary, and an artificial lake on which several large sailing vessels could ride. But he said I should have to see it to believe it. Later I did see it and knew that he was right.

He told me about the sculptured decorations of the interior, the marvelous tapestries on the walls, the gold chairs and divans upholstered in velvet and needlepoint. There were not many of these, he said, because only a few people were allowed to sit down, and the ladies who were not of royal blood had to sit on stools without backs. But his greatest praise was for the magnificent Hall of Mirrors, the silks and satins worn by the courtiers, the perfumed wigs of the gentlemen and elaborate coiffures of the ladies. It was no wonder that I thought I could never be happy until I had seen it with my own eyes!

So it was that when I did have my first glimpse of the Palace on the occasion of my presentation to His Majesty, my imagination was fired by the glamour that briefly surrounded me, and I determined to bend every effort toward obtaining the honor, as soon as I became sixteen, of being lady-in-waiting to one of the duchesses living at Court. This would be difficult. I could not depend on Madame de Maintenon, for it was agreed when I was admitted to the school at the age of twelve that I would stay there until I was twenty. It would take that long, thought our benefactor, to train her demoiselles in all they should know before going out into the world. When we were twenty, suitable husbands would be found for us and dowries would be provided; but until then we were wards of the King. All the girls consented to abide by these rules and considered themselves very fortunate indeed. Since we were poor, it was either that or the cloister. But none of us knew how coming events would tempt us, and to me, even at the beginning, it seemed a very long time to be shut up in a school.

As it happened, the years passed swiftly and were filled with adventure—for me, at least. I am twenty now, and as I gaze over the wide, fast-flowing Saint Lawrence River toward the silent, fir-forested wilderness of Quebec in New France, I like to look back and remember all that has happened to me since I was first admitted as a schoolgirl to the institution that became known as Saint-Cyr.

Chapter 2

Before I could set forth to Madame de Maintenon’s school, there were preparations to be made. My wardrobe had to be gone over carefully, for we had no money for new clothes. I had a warm cloak with fur and a light one for summer. As for dresses, I had several which would do well enough, for Madame had said that as soon as the school was moved into the new building which she hoped the King would erect, she would provide uniforms for all the pupils. My three dresses with fitted bodices, lace-edged at neck and sleeves, and full skirts sweeping the floor were all made of fine fabric. Though we never had any money—maman and I—material for dresses was always to be found laid away in the Château, and good cloth never wears out. I was overjoyed to be taking with me the beautiful brocaded gold silk gown that had been my mother’s. She was small in stature, too, so it fit me except that it had to be taken in a little. At home there had never been an occasion to wear it, but when I was presented to His Majesty I was glad to be able to display the treasure.

I was sorry to leave the Château de Ronne, and somehow it seemed a final parting. Though Madame had said in the interview that the pupils could go home occasionally, she made it clear that she wanted us nearly always under her eye, and the days between the present and the time when I should be twenty stretched out endlessly.

It was with that feeling in my heart that I bade farewell to all my well-loved places in the Château. Its furniture and furnishings were very old, but I loved them all the more for that, and they were beautiful. There were the kitchens, which had always interested me, where so many good things were cooked; there was the long hall lined with family portraits; and there was the library which had been started with some of Cousin Armand’s books when he lived here. But my favorite room was a small sitting room between my mother’s bedroom and mine, which contained most of the objects that I held dear. We two had spent many a winter day there ever since I could remember. I was an only child, you see, which is quite unusual. But my mother, though still young, had loved my father so much that when he died she did not want to marry again. Except for my cousin Pierre, she was the only companion I had.

There was, of course, my grandfather, whom we both loved. He taught me to ride and play games when I was very little. He also taught me to read and write—some Latin as well as French —and he gave me the privilege of reading his books whenever I liked. Having once studied for the priesthood, he had more learning than most men. But he was gray-haired now and I thought he would not be a very lively companion for my mother when I was at school.

“Will you miss me, grandpère?” I asked, knowing he would but wanting to hear him say it.

“Of course I’ll miss you, my child. Your mother and I will be all alone.”

“But don’t forget,” said maman, “that we can visit Charlefont often and entertain friends at home.”

I hugged her and wished that it were not settled that I must go. “You are sure that you want me to enter Madame’s school?” I asked for the twentieth time.

“Very sure, darling,” she answered, though I knew she hated for us to be separated. “We must think of your future.”

The day before I left, I visited the farm animals, the flower garden, the moat where I used to sail boats—it was clear water kept fresh by springs—and even the vineyard. Then I went to the stables to see my sleek brown mare, Belle. I rubbed her soft nose and whispered loving words in her ear, and she seemed to understand. I cautioned the stableman to take good care of her, and he promised to bring her treats every day as I always did.

I felt even more sorrowful when I took leave of Princesse. My yellow and white cat with green eyes was my dearest pet. She was ten years old—even older than Belle. As I smoothed her fur, my heart ached at the thought that when I came home to visit she might not be there to purr in my ear.

When the time came for parting, maman put on such a cheerful face that I could do no less. It was some consolation to realize that I should be near Pierre in the Palace when I was at Noisy, though I might never see him. I bade farewell to the servants and wished them well—we did not keep many servants since the revenues of the land had fallen so low—and kissed my mother quickly, so that I should not start crying. Then I mounted into the old coach and rode off with my grandfather, who would see me safely to Noisy.

The chateau that housed the school was quite magnificent, though no more beautiful than Charlefont. The rooms were spacious and there was a charming garden laid out by the famous landscape artist Le Nôtre, and a chapel for which the Pope himself had sent relics. Originally the school had been a charity school for poor girls and was located at Rueil. I was one of the first demoiselles of noble blood that Madame de Maintenon was gathering together at Noisy for her educational project. Others arrived in the months that followed until there were one hundred and twenty-four of us. The girls who had been at Rueil said that place was a barn compared to the handsome Château at Noisy.

The headmistress was Madame de Brinon, a lady so formal in her manner that I was at first terrified of her. Her face was rather pretty but she seemed proud and overdressed. Later, when I came to know her better and she displayed her interest in dramatics, in which she was very good at directing us, I had great admiration for her. Madame de Maintenon came from the Palace nearly every day to visit us. She often came as early as six o’clock in the morning to superintend the dressing and hair-combing of the little ones. It was due to her supervision, we were told, that the kitchens, laundries, workrooms, and schoolrooms were kept so clean and that the food was plentiful and good. She sometimes arrived in a coach filled with butter, jam, and other treats, and when that happened, all the school rushed out to meet her at the first rumble of wheels.

The greatest lack at Noisy was water. All our water had to be brought to us in carts, for there were no wells on the property. As to the instruction, that too was lacking as far as I was concerned, for I had already received more training in the realm of letters than most of the girls. Only the promise that it would be different when the new school was built kept me from being terribly disappointed.

As it was, I helped the school mistresses, of whom there were several, by teaching the little ones their catechism and simple reading. I was myself a pupil when it came to learning to spin and weave and make lace, for these skills had never been taught me. We also learned to embroider, and we worked on some beautiful vestments for the priests who officiated in our chapel.

My particular friend was Toinette, a girl of about my own age who entered the school soon after I did. Her full name was Antoinette de Grieux and she had blond hair and a delicate, graceful figure. We liked each other at our first meeting and became firm friends, though such attachments were not encouraged— we were supposed to like all the girls equally. This we found at the outset was impossible and we did not try too hard, I am afraid. Toinette, like me, was the daughter of a King’s officer who had died in battle. Indeed, such was the case with all the new girls and it was strange, when I thought of it, to realize that none of them had a living father. It made me feel less lonely and I appreciated more the privilege of being a ward of the King.

The work of construction at Saint-Cyr went on all that summer, and sometimes we were allowed to go in a group to watch the handsome building take shape. I was also allowed to go home twice, once at Easter time and once in the summer. I need not have sorrowed so over parting from my loved ones after all!

When I think of Saint-Cyr, I think, naturally, of the way things were after we moved into the fine new building. It was even nearer to the Palace than was Noisy—actually on the grounds—and that in itself made it thrilling. It was built of stone with forward-jutting wings, a wrought-iron fence across the courtyard, and central, ornamented gates—like the Palace on a small scale. There were gardens and an orchard at the back, surrounded and protected by a high brick wall. When it was being planned, one of the mistresses heard Madame de Maintenon say, “The King will give me a palace of exquisite external symmetry, lacking in every single convenience of a school.” Perhaps that is the way it seemed to her, but it was magnificent, and all the girls were impressed. We did notice, when we were conducted to our new home, that there were many ponds around it and even standing water in the fields. We did not know it then, but it was perhaps because of all this water that many of the girls and mistresses came down with fevers in the years that followed. At any rate, some people said the fevers were due to the dampness.

The move from Noisy to Saint-Cyr was such a tremendous undertaking that it required five days. There were the one hundred and twenty-four demoiselles to be transported, at least thirty teachers and a hundred servants, and, in addition, all the household goods and classroom equipment—books, paper, spinning wheels, tapestry frames, and much, much more. It began on July twenty-eighth, and we were not really all together again until August second.

There was the greatest bustle and confusion that can be imagined. “I do hope we will not be separated!” Toinette said to me as the royal coaches began to draw up in the entrance court at Noisy. We were each carrying a draw-string bag with our small personal belongings, and we shoved and pushed our way through the throng so that we could get into a coach together. It was a short migration but exciting, for people were gathered all along our way to watch and cheer. As we rode through the streets in the coach with its crimson satin upholstery and crimson cushions, I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a princesse and used to such luxury.

Toinette and I were in the second coach, so we entered our new home right behind a group of teachers who had occupied the first coach. Madame de Maintenon was standing in the formal portico to welcome us, and we heard her say: “These walls are my retreat and my tomb; may this establishment live as long as France, and France as long as the world!”

“That sounds as if she were going to die!” whispered Toinette.

“I don’t think she meant it that way,” I said. “She meant that the school would be dear to her all the days of her life.”

In spite of what seemed like confusion, the moving was well organized. Madame de Maintenon knew every girl in that vast group and she had planned dormitories for us all. At Saint-Cyr there were many beds in each of the large chambers, with a girl’s name on every bed. As we flitted about from room to room examining everything, I discovered our names.

“Oh, see!” I cried out to Toinette. “Your bed is next to mine!”

It seemed to us a wonderful coincidence, but I have no doubt, now, that it was planned. In spite of her precepts, Madame was always kind to me. That is why I feel so sad that I disappointed her.

On the first evening that we were all together in the great hall of Saint-Cyr, Madame de Maintenon gave us a most inspiring talk. She said that this school for girls, of which we were all members, was something new in the world. It was not to be a convent, but a place of education for the future wives of some of the finest gentlemen of France. There would be rules that we must obey, but we would not take vows, as do the nuns. We would be taught the Christian ideals of noblesse, how to behave in society, and how to manage a house or estate with dignity. We must apply ourselves to learning everything that had been prepared for us so that we could pass on the lessons of nobility of character to our husbands and children, and they, in turn, could teach the servants and peasants in their employ, until gradually all France would reflect the atmosphere of Saint-Cyr, and honesty and kindness would prevail. It was such a beautiful speech that some of the girls cried.

She next described the dresses that we were to wear, all details of which had been thought out by herself and the King; it was His Majesty, she told us smiling, who had insisted on the more frivolous touches. We were all to be dressed alike, except that each class would have ribbons of a different color. The dresses were of lightweight brown wool—striped cotton for summer— with a white collar and a white cap, each edged with lace and decorated with ribbons. There was an apron to match, also with ribbons. The color of my ribbons was green, and I remember it well.

The children from seven to eleven were the Reds; those between eleven and fourteen were the Greens (Toinette and I, of course); those between fourteen and seventeen were Yellows; and those between seventeen and twenty were Blues. The Ladies, our teachers, wore black gowns with a white linen collar and a black hood.

Each group of girls had a particular classroom, though mixed sessions were held in many other places, and these classrooms were painted in the group’s color, having pictures and maps attached to the walls with ribbons of that special color. I liked my color—green (then, later, yellow)—but I suppose the little ones were happy with bright red.

Everything in the Château was kept spotless, which, I heard, was more than could be said of some of the convents. We had a certain luxury in the dining room that Madame said the King insisted upon—silver forks, spoons, and goblets. He said that since we were to go out into a world of elegance, we must acquire habits of refinement. We were urged, on this account, to take good care of our complexions and to dress our hair in a becoming style, so that even though we wore uniforms, each of us would have some individuality.

The studies were well organized at Saint-Cyr—better than at Noisy. The children in the Red Class learned to read and write and figure sums; they also learned some grammar, sacred history, and the catechism. The Green Class continued these lessons for those who had not progressed far enough, but added classes in music, French history, geography, and mythology. Because I had become well versed in the last three in my grandfather’s library, I was promoted to many of the advanced classes before I became fourteen. I was sorry to be separated from Toinette, but we had our music class together and I still wore the green ribbons.

The Yellow Class was taught French literature (I was advanced in that, too), music (I had two classes in music), and theology. We also had classes in etiquette and dancing, and those were really fun. It was in these classes that we began to act out little plays that Madame de Brinon had written. Each was an exercise in deportment and usually included some dancing.

We were allowed to read many books—very proper ones, of course—and were encouraged to write letters, because letter writing was an accomplishment of polite society. We also had to practice conversation to improve our French diction. To help us, Madame de Brinon had made up little dialogues—different ones for each age group—but I liked it best when we expressed our own thoughts. And the activity I enjoyed the very most was memorizing and reciting poetry.

As I look back, I wonder that I did not rebel at the exact schedule we were obliged to follow, but a lot of it was so much fun that I didn’t—not until the pleasant part was taken away from us. We all had to rise at six o’clock; we heard Mass at eight, were kept very busy till six in the evening, and went to bed at nine. This was not so different from the way I was reared, but we were seldom free to do as we pleased, and now, being grown up, I think that would be very unpleasant.

We spent a part of every day in the common room in winter (for that was the only place where it was really warm) or in the gardens in summer, where we sewed and embroidered while one of the mistresses read to us. At these times certain pupils in each class would recite poetry or the proverbs that Madame de Brinon had written for our instruction in what is worthy and what is unworthy. I was always happiest when it was my turn to recite. Toinette was not like me. She dreaded the ordeal and would beg me to take her place.

“But I can’t do that, Toinette. Not only would you then never get over your shyness, but the teachers would not allow it.”

It was on her account, however, that almost two years later I got into trouble with the mistresses. Toinette was supposed to recite a poem one afternoon and she was cold with fear. I had helped her to learn it, and I must admit that she forgot some of it every time. There was one spot in particular that bothered her.

“I know I won’t be able to get through it!” she said at last. “Won’t you please help me, Adrienne? You need only hold the paper in the folds of your dress, and if I forget, you can make the word with your mouth without sound and I will see you and be able to go on.”

It seemed a little thing to do for my friend and so I agreed, though I felt sure our teacher would not approve. When the time came, Toinette came to that fateful word and stopped. As she stared at me in desperation, I formed the word with my lips. After clearing her throat, she went on—but finished miserably.

Everyone had seen and noticed her distress, and though I did not know it, Madame de Brinon had seen me prompt her. I was called into the headmistress’ apartment that very evening—not Toinette, but me.

“You know, Adrienne,” began the Lady, “every girl must learn her lessons herself in this school. Do you think you were helping Antoinette by trying to make it seem that she had learned her poem?”

“But Madame,” I cried, “I did help her all the week to learn the lines. She tried very hard, but she is very shy and there was one place where she always forgot. That is why I helped her.”

“But you were helping her to deceive us. I saw you prompt her, so we were not deceived. But you were at fault.”

I started to reply indignantly, but caught myself. If there was one thing we were taught at Saint-Cyr, it was to keep perfect control of ourselves.

“I have been looking up your age, Adrienne,” she said, “and I find that in two weeks you will be fourteen. Is that not true?”

I nodded, dumbly.

“You should therefore be with the Yellows. From now on you will be in a different class from Antoinette and must sleep in a different room. If you are separated, perhaps she will learn to rely on herself.”

I left Madame de Brinon, feeling deeply wronged, and told Toinette, and we cried together. It did not end our friendship, but after that it was more difficult to see and confide in each other.

It turned out to be a good thing for me that I was now a member of the Yellows, for it was from that group that Madame de Brinon selected girls to take part in the little plays she wrote. Though they were not very good plays in comparison with those we became acquainted with later, they were easy to learn and great fun to act out. We gave one every month that winter and spring, not only for the girls but often for a much more distinguished audience.

I should explain that from the time the school moved to Saint-Cyr we had visitors nearly every afternoon—the great ladies and gentlemen of the Court, always with a train of followers, and more important still, the King himself. The Court wanted to see the school out of curiosity, or to flatter Madame de Maintenon for her accomplishment, or just because it had become the fashion. But His Majesty was truly interested in everything that went on. He had helped to plan it, was supporting it, and intended to give us all dowries when we married. We girls were very much in awe of him and for the most part we looked on while he played with the little ones, petted them, and took them on his knee. He never seemed too busy to listen to their stories or help comfort their hurts. You could see that he was more sincere than the courtiers and their ladies and, indeed, he was interested in all his wards.

When we began to give little plays, there were visitors from the Palace to watch us, even such distinguished ones as the King’s former favorite, Madame de Montespan, and his cousin, Mademoiselle de Montpensier. They were very pleasant and applauded a lot and of course this made us feel very important. I am afraid we got rather spoiled and wanted to act all the time and not spend our days in studying and embroidering vestments and altar cloths.

In one of our performances, I took the part of the Queen of a mythical country. It was a really good part, in which I had to show joy and then sorrow and weeping. I had enjoyed the rehearsals immensely and was not sorry to see that quite a large audience had gathered to watch our performance, many of them from the Court. I did not know that Pierre was there with Madame de Maintenon’s entourage until after it was all over. He came forward in the hall and slipped behind our homemade curtain to congratulate me. I was wearing the gold gown with a purple velvet cloak over it, and I was glad that he could see me so elegantly dressed. I was overjoyed to see him, for it had been many months since I had been on vacation. At that time he had managed to get one day off from his duties and we had spent that whole day riding and picnicking at Charlefont. Now he bravely approached Madame de Maintenon and asked her permission to take a few days’ holiday, for his grandfather had promised to come after him at this time on his way back from Paris. He also asked her permission to take me to Charlefont with him. He explained our relationship and I think it was the first time she knew about it or, for that matter, had noticed Pierre as one of her many pages. She considered a moment and then very graciously consented.

“Run along, my child,” she said to me. “You have done very well today and we are proud of you. Report to your mistress first and change your clothes, and then you may go to the Palace with your cousin in my coach.”

I did not need a second bidding, and only a few minutes later I rejoined Pierre in the courtyard and traveled to the Palace in a coach full of attendants. It was my second view of the Palace of Versailles, but I hardly had time to take in its magnificent appearance, for Cousin Armand was waiting in his coach in front of the portico. Since I could not enter the Palace, as I longed to do, I gave myself over to the pleasure of seeing the Comte again and being taken so unexpectedly to Charlefont.

“You look blooming,” he told me. “The school agrees with you.”

“You should have seen her in her beautiful gown as the Queen in the play,” said Pierre, and I was pleased by his admiration.

After supper that evening, Pierre took me on a short tour of the estate. From earliest childhood we had run and played about the gardens, the farm buildings, the stables, and the river. Now we walked quite sedately, for we were both almost grown up. The moonlight lay white over everything and threw a path across the river from the little summerhouse which had a view of it. We stood there a moment, and then Pierre showed me a little object he took from the pocket of his doublet. It was a fleur-de-lys carved out of wood, exquisitely done—Pierre’s best work, even lovelier than the little horse he had carved for me years before.

“This is for you, Adrienne,” he said. “I knew it was for you when I made it, but I did not know what it would signify. See—it is the lily of France, and my name, ‘de Lys,’ too.”

Then, to my surprise, he told me that he loved me and wanted to marry me! “I did not realize it until today,” he said, “when I saw you in that gold gown. But now I know I have always hoped that we would marry someday. The household thinks of us as the children we have been and allows us to go about unchaperoned. Because I must not take advantage of that fact, I cannot yet talk to you of love as I wish.” He kissed my hand as he had seen it done at Court and I felt very grown up. “If you are willing, Adrienne, I should like this fleur-de-lys to be a private symbol of our betrothal. Do you feel as I do? Will you take it?”

He was shy and a bit awkward, but he pressed the little carving into my hands and for a moment covered them with his own. What could I do but agree? Except for my mother, Pierre had been all the world to me ever since I could remember.

All thoughts of the reason why maman had wanted me to go to Saint-Cyr—to give me not only an education but a dowry for my future husband—left my mind at that moment. The far-off, shadowy figure of the nobleman I should someday marry faded instantly. How had it escaped the notice of the family that Pierre and I belonged together? Because they thought of us as children still, I supposed. It never entered my head that I would need a dowry to marry Pierre. But I was to find that family pride enters into any question of marriage—an arrangement which two young people are not supposed to settle by themselves.

Chapter 3

When I went back to school, I put the delicate, carved fleur-de-lys into my drawer—each girl had one to keep her private treasures in, along with scarves and ribbons. The little horse was already there, and I looked at them both with especial interest. I wondered if I was in love, since I had agreed to be betrothed, though no one knew it but Pierre and me. I understood very little then about love except what my mother had told me. She had said that it is something thrilling and beautiful that lasts forever, but that quite often it doesn’t exist between married people since, for financial reasons, a girl is generally given in marriage by her parents to someone whom she knows slightly, if at all. The feeling I had for Pierre was warm and comforting, and it was nice to know that my future was settled. That was about all. I did not miss what I did not know about, nor did I have a hint, yet, of any obstacles in our path.

I confided to Toinette that I was secretly betrothed but made her promise not to tell anyone else.

Soon I was caught up in the excitement of a new theatrical production. Madame de Brinon’s little plays were to be followed by something much more important and difficult. Madame de Maintenon said, “If the girls are to waste their time by learning poetry, at least let it be something good.” She did not spare the headmistress’ feelings but decreed that our next play should be by a real playwright, and settled on Andromaque by one of the most famous poets of the time, Jean Racine. The play was written, as were , in what we were taught in school to call “alexandrine couplets”—that is, poetic lines of twelve syllables, each two rhyming. These were not hard to learn, but saying them in a dramatic manner was more difficult. And after I had read the play, I knew much about love that I had never known before. It was not always a good, comfortable feeling, I discovered; it could be upsetting and frantic and even lead to suicide.

Those of the Yellows who liked to act practiced a small scene over and over, and then the great day came when Madame de Brinon was to select those who were to play the roles. There were two good female parts—Andromaque and Hermione—but the latter was the more dramatic, and I was eager to play it, to throw myself into the passionate role and see if I could feel as Hermione was supposed to feel. All the girls wanted that part it seemed, because it was more showy than the other. Hermione was really wicked, a much more interesting character to portray than the noble Andromaque. It was with fear and trembling that we awaited the decision, so imagine my surprise and joy when I was chosen to play Hermione! I think some of the girls hated me for a while after that, but, with the exception of Mademoiselle de Blois, they got over their envy eventually.

Mademoiselle de Blois was the only royal personage among us; she was a princesse, the daughter of Madame de Montespan (though not one of those brought up by Madame de Maintenon ). I tried to remember that she was the King’s daughter, too, and that I should show her respect, but it was hard to do. We had been told to treat her as one of ourselves, though she was always called Mademoiselle de Blois and not by her Christian name, Françoise; we tried to, but she was a spoiled child when she arrived two years before, and I could not see that she fitted in any better now. She wanted the part of Hermione, and what

she wanted she usually got. But not this time! I tried to keep out of her way after rehearsals began, for she often acted in a spiteful way. I should not have been surprised to find my ribbons cut up or my precious things destroyed, so I hid everything I could, and my friends promised to keep an eye on my quarters when I was busy elsewhere. Actually, she did not try to take anything away from me—until later.

A very talented girl was chosen for the part of Andromaque, and two others who had quite deep voices for the roles of Pyrrhus and Orestes. It was fortunate that I was only an inch over five feet—a fact I had always deplored—because that made the taller girls seem more suited to the men’s parts. You might think that Madame de Brinon would have given Mademoiselle de Blois some part in the play because she was of the royal family. However, she would not take any but a leading part. The truth was, she could not act at all, and Madame cared a great deal for the success of her plays.

All the girls were familiar with Greek mythology and tales of the Trojan War, so the story of the play was not new to us, though to make for greater drama, Monsieur Racine had altered the facts as we knew them.

It is the story of how Andromaque, widow of the Trojan Hector, pleaded for the life of her son after the fall of Troy, when Achilles’ son Pyrrhus planned to murder the child. It is also the story of Hermione, daughter of Helen and Menelaus, who was loved by the Greek envoy, Orestes, but who loved and was betrothed to Pyrrhus. Because Pyrrhus loved Andromaque and wanted to spare her son, he decided to cancel his betrothal to Hermione and marry Andromaque, though she did not love him. When she found this out, Hermione, in a jealous rage, persuaded Orestes to kill Pyrrhus at the marriage altar, but when he had accomplished this she turned on him and berated him for the death of her beloved. Crazed with grief, she stabbed herself and fell dead over the body of Pyrrhus as it was placed on a bier for burial.

This was the story, but the murder and the suicide took place

off stage. All the girls thought it would have been much more dramatic if we had been able to act out those scenes instead of merely talk about them on the stage. We also thought the speeches very long, but that was good for our elocution.

The parts were well cast (I say this in all modesty) and our rehearsals, which went on for six weeks, were tiring but absorbing. This play was not like our little scenes of manners and propriety. It was full of mature emotions, feelings we did not know much about but tried to imagine. I learned about something totally new to me—jealousy. I had to, because it was jealousy that made Hermione order the murder of Pyrrhus, and I had many long speeches that showed that emotion. I suppose our studies suffered somewhat from the time spent in rehearsal, but our French diction improved. We were never allowed to skip anything like chapel or prayers, and the altar cloths got embroidered and the sewing got done somehow. Of course not all the girls in our class were involved in the production, but most of them were. There were several minor parts in the play, and some girls were needed to work on our costumes and prepare little things we used in the performance. And all were required to memorize scenes from the play as an exercise.

During the summer of 1688 we had three days’ rest before polishing the production of Andromaque, and I was given leave to go home. Since the time was so short, my mother made the journey to Charlefont to be with me there; it was much nearer to Versailles than Ronne. We all had a wonderful time and I remember it particularly because it was a “last” time, though I did not know it then. I told the family all about the play we were rehearsing, and Cousin Armand told us about acting with the Théâtre du Marais when he was a boy and later, after his escape from the Château de Nantes (a story I was already familiar with), about traveling for a time with a company of Italian players in commedia dell’ arte. He gave us an example of the swashbuckling Captain he had portrayed, and we all laughed and applauded. Although he was over sixty years old—a great age it seemed to me—Cousin Armand always appeared young, for he was, and still is, strong and vigorous.

When we were alone in the orchard, Pierre and I talked about the young fruit on the trees, the ripening grain, the horses in the stables—about everything, it seemed, except our secret betrothal. Finally he asked me, shyly, if I had kept the fleur-de-lys. As if I would ever have parted with it!

Continue reading this ebook at Smashwords.
Purchase this book or download sample versions for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-26 show above.)