“How old are you?” he asked abruptly.
Startled, I turned to look at him. “Is it not considered a rude question, Sir?”
“Not when it is asked of one so young as you. Come, Madam, tell me.”
“I turned eighteen in July.”
“And Your Ladyship did not breathe a word about it! I would have been delighted to invite you here to celebrate the occasion.”
“That may be the reason why I chose not to tell you about it.”
“Very sly of you, I dare say. You have all the wiles of a schoolgirl and deserve to be punished like one for playing such pitiful tricks. What did the nuns make you do for your penance at the convent? Did you spend dinnertime on your knees in the middle of the refectory?”
“I did, more than once, and they did not spare the rod on my fingers.” I smiled. “Yet it does not appear that you are in a position to punish me.”
“Oh, you may be wrong, Madam. I could embarrass you by giving a party in your honour on the holiday of the Archangel Gabriel. It is, if my memory serves me well, the 29th of this month.”
“Please, if you wish to remain my friend, do not. And I am no schoolgirl. I am a widow and a mother.”
“You must forgive my impertinence on account of my advanced years. I am old enough to consider ladies of your age as schoolgirls and, indeed, to be their father.”
I stared at him.
“Yes, it is true, Madam,” he continued, “though it is kind of you to look surprised. You were born the same year as my son.”
“I did not know you had grown children.”
“My late father made me marry at the age of eighteen. My bride was fourteen and not to my taste, but I was not given much opportunity to voice my complaints. We were introduced on the eve of our wedding. Yet I did not ignore the call of duty. Madame de Villers presented me with an heir ten months later and died in the process.”
“Where is your son?”
“I had him raised on my estate of Dampierre, in Normandy. The country is in my opinion a better place than Paris or Versailles for a child to grow up. When he reached the age of twelve, I purchased an ensign’s commission for him, as my father had done for me. He has been in the army ever since. He is a First Lieutenant in the Royal Flanders Regiment and, if I may say so, a fine fellow.”
“So you have no other children.”
“No legitimate ones. As to bastards, I do not know of any, save a pretty little daughter of fifteen. Her mother was a lady of the Court. I am not, of course, at liberty to mention her name, although you might hear it mentioned in connection with mine. I will not bore you with a full account of my adventures, but some gossip may reach you concerning this one and I would rather have you hear the story from me.”
Villers bit his upper lip. “The lady’s husband, upon learning of our liaison, requested a lettre de cachet, which was granted. He personally took her—she was then with child—to the convent in Lorraine where she spent the rest of her short life. I cannot fathom how a man can be so closed to all feelings of pity as to spend several days in a carriage with his young wife, knowing that she is going to be entombed alive at his behest and that he will never see her again. She must have tried all the way to beg his forgiveness, to plead for him to take her back. This is too painful to imagine, even after all these years. She died before reaching one and twenty.”
I was astonished at the turn the conversation had taken. He shook his head, lost in his thoughts. “My child is now being raised as another man’s daughter. That sad affair taught me a lesson. I have been careful not to father any more bastards. Legitimate children have also been out of the question since I am not one of the warmest advocates for matrimony. I was widowed when I was almost as young as you, Madam, and have never felt any inclination to change my situation. Wedlock is an undertaking suited only to youths who are forced into it or to fortune hunters. I am neither. I have no intention of marrying again.”
I looked at the river. The water reflected the glare of the sun. I blinked and turned away.
“Come,” he added, “reward my candor with equal sincerity. There is no point in trying to deceive me. You are, as I already told you, a poor liar. From what I saw of your late husband, he must have been a harsh master. Why, Madam, should you be so eager to place yourself under the yoke of a new one? Why give a man such near absolute power? I understand that your finances are a bit awkward, but that in itself is no reason to remarry. Would you not be a thousand times more independent, and in the eyes of reasonable people, just as respectable with a decent, discreet, generous man for your lover?”
I gasped at his insolence. “What have I done to give you the idea that I would stoop so low? Your proposals, Sir, are the grossest insult I have ever received.”
“It truly pains me to have upset you, Madam,” said Villers, “but I felt that I could not continue my attentions without making my purpose perfectly clear. I never intended to mislead you, nor do I believe that I have done so.”
I closed my parasol and stopped walking.
“I too will be candid, Sir. Though I am not surprised by what you are telling me, I am disappointed. I kept hoping for something else, although I knew that those hopes were not very reasonable. I thank you for dispelling my doubts. May we return to the house now?”
We walked back in silence. Once in the house, I barely heard a word of what was said by anyone. I could not bring myself to meet Villers’s eye during the rest of the day. I was impatient to leave and hastened our departure. During the carriage ride back to Paris, the Duchess watched me with silent concern. It was only after I put Aimée to bed that my friend asked me what was ailing me. The tears I had been holding back began to roll down my cheeks.
“Oh, Madam,” I said, “you were not mistaken. Monsieur de Villers will not marry me.”
“My poor child, I have never been so sorry to be right. Did he propose any kind of arrangement?”
“He said something about my taking a lover, and a generous one, but it does not matter. I have no intention of becoming his mistress.”
“You are not in love with him, are you?”
I was sobbing. “If I were, Madam, I would never admit it now, either to you or to myself.”
She took me in her arms. “My poor dear, do not be so unhappy. If his visits annoy you, my door will be closed to him. You should know that, as long as I live, you will have a home here. I will always be grateful for your company. Take your time, Belle. There are other men.”
“Who? The Duke de Lauzun? Worse, the Duke d’Orléans?”
“Poor Orléans! He seems to have made quite an impression on you. But you are not acquainted with everyone in Paris yet, dear, and some whom you have met have not yet had a chance to appreciate you as you deserve.”
I took the Duchess’s hand in mine. “Dear Madam, would you be angry with me if I visited my sister at Noirvaux? Now seems a perfect time to meet her at last.”
“Well, the Chevalier des Huttes could take you there.”
“I would rather not wait for his next leave of absence, Madam. Aimée and I can travel to Nantes by the stagecoach, and, if I wrote my sister to announce my visit, her carriage would take us from there to the convent.”
The Duchess frowned. “I hope, Belle, that you will not make any rash decisions in the first bitterness of your disappointment. Villers deserves no such honour.”
“Do not worry, Madam. The purpose of my journey will be to meet my sister, and also to see for myself whether convent life suits me. I promise not to make any irrevocable decisions in haste.”
I purchased two tickets to Nantes for the same night. I waited until after the servants went to bed to prepare my trunk myself lest one of my suitors, through his spies within the house, was informed of my flight. Taking in my arms Aimée, who was barely awake, I kissed the Duchess good-bye.
32
I had never traveled by public coach before and soon understood the drawbacks of that mode of transportation for a young woman wi
thout a male escort. Aimée, rocked by the movement of the carriage, fell fast asleep against me. An ill-favoured fellow with large yellow teeth was seated across from me and tried on several occasions to start a conversation. He was not discouraged by my lack of response. I put an end to such attempts by pretending to doze off while keeping an eye on him. He looked like a thief. I had left all of my jewellery in Paris with the Duchess but did not want to be robbed of the money I had taken for the expenses of my journey. That night at the inn, I avoided the common room and ordered dinner brought to the apartment I shared with Aimée.
The next day, the man renewed his questions. I answered that I was joining my sister in a convent. This silenced him at last. The rest of my fellow travelers seemed harmless enough and, whether because of my youth, the presence of my little girl or the modesty of my dress, no one else harassed me. Madame de Montserrat’s carriage was waiting for us in Nantes to take us to Noirvaux, where we arrived late in the afternoon of the fourth day. I was sore and tired, but happy to have left Paris and my worries behind.
Noirvaux Abbey was an imposing stone building situated twenty miles from the boundaries of the city of Nantes. We must have been expected, for the doors swung open before the coachman had time to ring the bell. We alighted in a courtyard and were greeted by a lay sister who invited us to follow her to the Lady Abbess’s apartments. I was very affected at the idea of meeting my sister at last and grasped Aimée’s hand.
We were shown into a study. A lady, around thirty years of age, rose from behind her desk. I had never seen a face so much like my own. It was a perfect oval, the beauty of which was enhanced by the severity of the white wimple and black veil. She wore the insignia of her rank as an Abbess, a ring adorned with a large amethyst and a gold pectoral cross on a purple ribbon. She smiled and opened her arms in a gesture of welcome.
“Gabrielle, dearest,” she said, “at last.”
I knelt, seized her hand and brought her ring to my lips. “It is an honour to meet you, Madam.”
She raised me to kiss me on the cheek. “I am your sister. I hope that you will call me Hélène when we are alone.”
Her black habit had caught the attention of Aimée, who was staring at her with some apprehension.
“So this is my niece,” she added, smiling. “God has blessed you with a lovely little girl. I cannot look at her without being reminded of Christ’s words: Let the little children come to me.”
Hélène caressed Aimée’s cheek and seemed lost in her thoughts for a moment.
“We will have some time by ourselves later,” she added, “but now you should meet our community. Everyone is gathered in the refectory, and impatient to welcome both of you.”
Our arrival in the refectory caused a commotion. A group of novices, recognizable by their white veils and youthful appearance, cried aloud with excitement. One look from Hélène silenced them. Nuns in black veils, their hands crossed on their chests, waited more sedately to be introduced to us. Lay sisters in grey habits were disposing refreshments on the tables. The nuns, all noblewomen, were called Madame and kept their family name. The lay sisters, who were commoners, were called Sister, followed by their religious name. They performed all menial tasks in the convent and several attended Hélène as maids.
Altogether the community comprised thirty nuns, ten novices and over a hundred lay sisters. In addition, Noirvaux housed two dozen ladies who stayed as boarders. A few, who had settled there permanently, had a religious vocation although their married status did not allow them to take holy orders. Most boarders were officers’ wives. Under the military regulations of the time, they were not allowed to follow their husbands to their garrisons. The gentlemen temporarily locked their wives in the convent to keep them from any opportunity to stray. From these ladies’ conversation, it was easy to discern that they lacked any kind of religious leanings. They missed the amusements of the world and looked forward to the time when it would please their husbands to put an end to their reclusion.
Nuns, novices and boarders alike feted us and admired Aimée’s beauty and sweetness. After half an hour of that bustle, Hélène took us to her private rooms, which were vast and as well appointed as any lady’s apartment in a château. There we were served hot chocolate by a lay sister. I had been at first intimidated by Hélène’s beauty and the dignity of her countenance, but her look of kindness soon reassured me. She spoke of and asked about Mother, the Marquis, Madeleine, Fontfreyde and the servants, in particular poor disfigured Antoinette. All seemed to belong to an ancient past for her. It felt no less distant for me, although I had left Fontfreyde only three years earlier. Tears came to my eyes. Hélène put an end to the conversation and took me to my cell, the name given to the nuns’ apartments in convents.
The room she showed me was comfortable and inviting. The bed was hung with immaculate white curtains. A large cross, made of dark wood, was the sole ornament on the whitewashed walls. A cot had been prepared for Aimée, who began to smile shyly at Hélène. In her thoughtfulness, my sister had ordered a harpsichord brought to the room. She let us settle in and returned half an hour later to take us to supper in the refectory. We attended the Office of Complin in the Abbey Church before retiring for the night.
The next day, I joined the rest of the community in its usual activities of worship, prayer, meals and entertainment, of which music composed a great part. I found the monotony of convent life soothing. The choir of female voices during the divine offices was truly beautiful and reminded me of my childhood in the Benedictine Convent in Vic.
Hélène would spend most of her days in her study, attending to both the spiritual direction and the secular business of the Abbey. Its landed property comprised more than fifty parishes, over which it had the right of high justice. It had its own jail, judges and gallows. Hélène told me that its court was then investigating a robbery on the highway to Nantes, during which one of the Abbey’s vassals had been severely injured.
The rank of Abbess of Noirvaux also entailed social engagements. Once or twice a week, Hélène gave entertainments, which I attended, in her private dining parlour. The company comprised ladies and gentlemen of the local nobility, as well as those nuns and boarders whom Hélène had invited. Most evenings, however, after we took our meal at her table in the refectory, I followed Hélène to her drawing room. Once we were alone, she would remove her wimple and veil, revealing her short hair. It was indeed very like mine in waviness and colour, only a shade darker.
During those quiet evenings I felt free to tell her of things I had not revealed to anyone. I spoke of my past sorrows, of our brother, of my late husband, even of Pierre-André, without omitting anything, however painful to recall or confess. I also told her of the choices now open to me. She listened and did not speak much herself. I had expected her to give me advice, but she would only ask a few questions about what I felt or thought. She did not try to force her opinion on me, as so many had done before.
“Dearest,” she said at last one night, “I have been praying for guidance with regard to you. Taking orders is entering into a mystical union with Christ. It is an atrocious sin to do so without a true vocation, a trespass much worse than marrying without love. It would be to God that you would risk being unfaithful. Last month, I discovered that one of our novices had been sent here solely because she was in love with a penniless cousin. I summoned her father here and explained to him why I would have to dismiss the young lady. He finally agreed to the marriage.” Her eyes became stern. “Convents are not convenient repositories for women whom their families wish to discard or punish, but hallowed places where God calls His own. To think or act otherwise is blasphemy.”
“What of my other choices?”
“You may have to balance between sins of very different gravity. Contrary to what you believe, incest does not flow only from fully consummated carnal acts, but also from incomplete, tentative touchings. Yes, Gabrielle, what Géraud did when you were fourteen was sufficient to make him guil
ty of that crime.”
I looked at her in amazement.
“Now,” she added, “if you were to beg him to take you back, as you are thinking of doing, would you not deliberately expose him, and yourself, to a repetition of the mortal sin he has already committed?”
We remained silent for a long time.
“Gabrielle,” Hélène said at last, “what I am going to say I have not revealed to anyone, except under the seal of confession. Apart from Géraud and me, only Mother and Madeleine know of it. This took place when you were still an infant. Géraud was sixteen and I thirteen. I worshiped him. He loved me too.” She paused. “You can guess what happened. It lasted an entire summer, while Géraud was on holiday at Fontfreyde. We were seeing each other in secret, in a sort of bedroom in the attic. One night, Father heard a noise and surprised us. You do not remember him, Gabrielle, but he had a fierce temper. He gave Géraud such a thrashing that he left him for dead. I could no longer be married. Think of the scandal if it had been discovered that not only was I disgraced, but that my own brother was the author of my shame! Géraud left immediately. Father purchased for him an ensign’s commission in the Light Cavalry. I was crushed by the discovery of our secret and, truth be told, I pined for Géraud. As soon as it was ascertained that I was not with child, I was sent to Noirvaux as a novice.”
I stared at Hélène in silence.
“I learned through Madeleine,” she continued, “that Géraud did well in the army. By the age of eighteen, he was promoted to the rank of Captain, but he was never allowed to return to Fontfreyde as long as the old Marquis lived. Father died two years later and of course Mother welcomed Géraud back. He has always been her favourite child.” She reached for my hand. “Madeleine wrote me that Géraud had taken you from the Benedictine Convent. She said that you resembled me, that Géraud and you were riding all over the country together. I shuddered when I thought of his motives.”
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