“But I always thought he had taken me from the convent because he could no longer afford to keep me there.”
“He may not be rich, but his circumstances are more than comfortable. No, Gabrielle, it could not be the true reason. I spent sleepless nights praying for him, and for you. I represented to Madeleine the glaring imprudence of such a situation, which put you, at the age of eleven, daily at his mercy. I even pleaded to be allowed to receive you here, although Noirvaux is not a teaching institution and I do not usually accept children as boarders. Mother would not hear of it. She has always blamed me for seducing Géraud.”
I put my hand to my mouth in horror. “Oh, Hélène, what about that night I spent with him, when we were waking the Baron? Do you think he took advantage of me, next to my husband’s dead body?”
“Only Géraud can answer these questions. Please do not torment yourself, Gabrielle. The laudanum made you unconscious. God granted you the grace of innocence regardless of what Géraud may have done that night.”
“Do you believe that this…thing, if indeed it happened, is what prompted the Marquis to want to send me to Noirvaux?”
Hélène shook her head sadly. “The same thought has occurred to me, Gabrielle. Even if Géraud were innocent of that crime, he may have followed his better instincts by refusing to take you back after your widowhood. He may have tried to protect you and to resist further temptation by sending you away. Géraud is a good man, though a flawed one. A poor sinner, like all of us. Should I tell you this, dearest Gabrielle? I still love him more than anyone else on earth. I want God in His mercy to grant him forgiveness and to receive him among the blessed. I pray daily for Géraud to repent as I have repented myself. Do not fool yourself, Gabrielle. By returning to Fontfreyde, you would throw yourself into the abyss, this time with full knowledge of what you would be doing, and drag him along.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Now, dearest,” Hélène continued, “compare that evil to becoming the mistress of a man totally unrelated to you. That would be a violation only of the virtue of chastity, especially where neither party is guilty of adultery or an accessory to it. It bears no common measure to the enormity of the crime of incest.” She sighed. “Of course, Gabrielle, I have been praying for you to receive God’s call. There is nothing I wish more than to receive you here as a novice.”
“I have been praying too, but God has not heard me.”
“God hears all prayers. In His infinite wisdom, He has not seen fit to answer yours. You must be patient, Gabrielle. It will happen in due time. Tomorrow Mademoiselle de Vaucourt will take the veil. Perhaps you will receive a sign during the ceremony.”
The next day the bells rang as for a wedding. Mademoiselle de Vaucourt had relinquished her novice’s black habit and white veil. She was dressed in all the finery of a bride. Whether such attire was meant to remind her of the world she was giving up forever, or of her marriage to Christ, I am not learned enough to say. Regardless of the reason, I was struck by the contrast between her ornate wedding gown and the severe clothing of the nuns. The service took place as usual, with a lengthy sermon from Father Marceau, the confessor of the community. At last the time came. I could not help observing that the novice was trembling as she knelt at the foot of the altar. Her mother was sobbing in the front row outside the barred gate separating the chancel from that part of the Abbey Church open to the public. Mademoiselle de Vaucourt declared before the congregation that she was acting of her own free will and pronounced her vows of chastity, poverty and obedience. She left for a few minutes and reappeared to prostrate herself before the altar. She was again wearing her religious habit. But now her veil was black. She had become a nun.
I held Aimée’s hand, wondering whether Mademoiselle de Vaucourt had, like me, experienced moments of doubt, of dread, of despair. The ceremony had reminded me of my wedding and my own feelings upon that melancholy occasion. I remained grave and silent during the rest of the day. I asked Hélène for permission to spend the night in prayers in the Abbey Church. After putting Aimée to bed, I prostrated myself before the altar as I had seen Mademoiselle de Vaucourt do, my arms extended on each side of my body to form a cross, my cheek resting on the stone floor until the cold penetrated my flesh and bones. All night I fervently prayed for guidance. I was answered only by my own tears. Hélène joined me at dawn and knelt by my side.
After two weeks in Noirvaux, I was no closer to a decision than when I had entered its walls. The most sensible course of action seemed to remain there until I saw more clearly where my path lay. I wrote the Duchess to inform her of my decision and beg her to forgive me if the delay in my return caused her any sorrow or inconvenience.
The next morning, a lay sister interrupted my music practice to inform me that the Lady Abbess needed to see me. At that hour, after the Office of Lauds, Hélène was occupied with the business of the Abbey. She would not have interrupted her work without an urgent reason. A thousand thoughts crossed my mind, none of them pleasant.
I left Aimée in the care of the lay sister and hurried to Hélène’s study. I had the surprise to see a gentleman seated there with his back to me. He rose immediately, turned around and bowed to me. It was Villers. Men were allowed no farther than the apartments of the Lady Abbess, which explained why he had not been taken to my cell.
I stared at him and forgot my manners.
“What are you doing here?” I asked without any form of greeting.
“I wish you a good morning, My Lady, and apologize for disturbing your retreat. I was explaining to Madame de Montserrat that the Duchess d’Arpajon caught a chest cold a few days after your departure. Her condition was not worrisome at first, but she has declined fast. At her age, one can fear the worst. The Marquise de Bastide, who had left Paris to take the waters at La Bourboule in your country of Auvergne, is expected back in Paris shortly. So is her brother. Yet the Duchess’s chambermaid tells me that her mistress, feverish as she is, keeps speaking of you and is afraid of dying without seeing you again.”
I was torn between concern for the Duchess and anger at Villers’s intrusion. I made an effort to regain the appearance of composure.
“Did the Duchess ask you to bring me back to Paris?”
“Before she became too ill to see any visitors, she told me how much she missed you. I proposed to fetch you, Madam, but she refused to let me bother you on account of what she called a trifling illness. Now she is too unwell to receive me, but Mélanie, her chambermaid, told me that the Duchess now wishes for your return more than that of her own children.”
I fixed my eyes on his face, breathing fast. “So you took the liberty of coming here of your own accord?”
“Yes, Madam.”
“Why did you not inform me of this in writing, as would have been proper?”
“You would have returned my letter unopened. Furthermore, My Lady, I brought my own carriage. It can take you back to Paris, should you decide to return there, much faster than the stagecoach. I know that you do not wish for my company. I would follow the carriage on horseback.”
“May I have a moment alone with Madame de Montserrat?”
He bowed again and left.
“Is he the man of whom you spoke?” asked Hélène.
I sat in the chair he had vacated. “He is. I am amazed at his impudence.”
Hélène walked to me. “He seems to mean well, dear. I am sure that he would not invent such a lie about our cousin’s condition. He knows that any deception of that kind would discredit him forever in your eyes.”
I looked away. “You may be right. Still, Hélène, I cannot reconcile myself to the idea that he came here uninvited.”
Hélène stroked my cheek. “You will have time to reflect about your feelings later, dearest. The question is what you are going to do now.”
I looked up at her. “Do you think I should return to Paris with him?”
“If the Duchess is indeed so ill and wishes to see you, I believe her kindne
ss to you obligates you not to delay your return. Monsieur de Villers is right about his carriage. You will be in Paris faster than on the stagecoach. This does not prevent you from coming back once the Duchess’s condition improves.”
“I will be so sorry to leave you.”
“And I to lose your company. Do not worry, Gabrielle, we will find each other again.” She took both of my hands in hers. “Do not waste time now that you have decided to go. God bless you, dearest sister.”
In less than an hour, I had packed our baggage and taken a hasty leave of the congregation. Hélène embraced Aimée and me. We knelt to receive her benediction.
Some events have disproportionate consequences upon our fate. Had the Duchess not become ill, had my sister not encouraged me to return to Paris, I would likely have stayed at Noirvaux. I would have shared Hélène’s fate. I would not be writing these pages. I cannot chase away these thoughts, but it will not do to anticipate on the rest of my narrative.
33
Villers handed Aimée and me into the carriage and closed the door behind us without making any move to join us. I was too upset, both by the news about the Duchess and the shock of his arrival at Noirvaux, to pay much attention to the stages of the journey. The next day, it began raining rather heavily. I felt at first that it served Villers right to have to ride in such a downpour. Yet after ten minutes I reflected that it was not kind to let him be drenched on horseback while Aimée and I enjoyed the comforts of his carriage. I pulled on the cord to signal to the coachman to stop. Villers promptly stepped in, settling across from us and taking off his hat and cloak, which were already wringing wet.
“Thank you, My Lady,” he said. “I was wondering whether you would let me catch my death. It would, I hope, have weighed heavily upon your conscience.”
“You should be grateful for this storm. It drowned my resentment.”
“Pray which of us has reason to be resentful? A pretty trick you played on your friends by slipping out of Paris like a thief! Lauzun has stormed every convent in town in search of you. As for me, I guessed that, in an ancient family like yours, there would be at least one close relative at the head of some abbey in the provinces. I made enquiries and discovered the existence of Madame de Montserrat at Noirvaux. I knew where to find you less than a week after your departure. Still I had no intention of intruding upon your retreat. It was only when the Duchess was taken seriously ill that I made use of the knowledge I had gained of your whereabouts. Mélanie, her chambermaid, told me that the poor old lady is literally dying to see you again.”
I looked at him in alarm. “So it is true that she is very ill.”
“I would never have taken Your Ladyship away from Noirvaux under false pretenses.”
“I was not sure of it.”
He frowned. “I know, Madam, that I have had the misfortune of offending you by a candid avowal of my intentions, but I do not deserve to be judged so harshly.”
“I am no longer offended by your candor, Sir,” I said after a pause. “Please accept my apologies.”
I spent the rest of the journey worrying whether I would arrive in time to bid my friend farewell. Villers, without my requesting it, resumed following the carriage on horseback after the rain ceased.
We arrived at last in Paris. We were approaching from the Left Bank the Pont-Neuf, the New Bridge, where we were to cross the river to reach the Marais district. I heard a noise that would become all too familiar in the ensuing years: the many voices of a furious mob. I could smell smoke. Men and women alike shook their fists at the carriage and hurled insults at us.
“Mama, what is this?” cried Aimée. “See these people! They look so angry. Are they going to hurt us?”
I wrapped my arms around her. “Of course not, dear. This has nothing to do with us.”
I nevertheless worried about our safety, and that of Villers, who was still riding by the carriage. Yet he seemed unfazed. I saw him speaking to a man on foot, then give the coachman orders I did not hear. He dismounted and stepped into the carriage. I made room for him to sit next to me without thinking about it.
“Welcome to Paris, My Lady,” he said. “This happens once a year, if not more often. You will have to tolerate my presence by your side. I make too easy a target on horseback for any scoundrel with a gun. We cannot cross the river here. We will try through the Island of Saint-Louis. The bridges there may be clear.”
“What is happening?”
“They are burning Madame de Polignac in effigy. While Your Ladyship was away, the judges of the Parliament of Paris have openly defied the government over the taxation question. New pamphlets, more virulent than usual, have been published against the Queen. It is Her Majesty the mob really wishes to burn, and not in effigy. We must make haste. The French Guards will be here in a moment. I do not want us to be caught between the troops and the rabble.”
As we drove away, I saw more people hurrying towards the New Bridge, apparently eager to join in the commotion. I heard shots being fired and cries in the distance. The French Guards must have arrived.
The Island of Saint-Louis was quiet, as was the Marais. Now Villers’s presence by my side made me uncomfortable. When the carriage stopped in front of the Duchess’s mansion, he stepped out and offered me his hand. I ignored it and jumped out on my own. Carrying Aimée in my arms, I ran away without thanking him.
Mélanie exclaimed when she saw us and led me to her mistress. My friend was very pale, racked by a nasty cough and unable to speak. I knelt by her bed and kissed her hand. She pressed mine.
I spent the night sitting in a chair by her side. I must have dozed off in the morning and was awakened by a visit from Dr. Janseau. He found the Duchess slightly improved. Within a week, he pronounced her to be out of danger. Only then did the Duke d’Arpajon visit his mother. He left after ten minutes. The Marquise de Bastide, to whom I had written the day after my arrival to inform her of the Duchess’s slight improvement, sent word that it was no longer worth her while to interrupt her stay in La Bourboule. I was sorry for the Duchess, for she deserved better from her children. Their lack of affection made me all the more aware of my many obligations to my friend. Villers did not call during that time but sent a lackey to enquire twice a day after her health.
Following Dr. Janseau’s advice, the Duchess, leaning on my arm, was beginning to leave her bed for a few minutes at a time. I would read aloud to her. She once interrupted me in the middle of a comedy by Marivaux I had chosen to lift her spirits.
“Dear Belle,” she said, “I am sorry to broach this subject, but we do need to talk about the future.”
I opened my mouth to protest. She raised her hand. “I made a new will in your absence, dearest.” She looked at me gravely. “As you know, I may not dispose of this house or even of my diamonds. Yet I left you all I can, which, I am sorry to say, does not amount to more than a very few thousand francs. That should, along with the remainder of what you received from your husband’s estate, help Aimée and you keep body and soul together for a few months after my death. Yet I cannot bear the thought of leaving you in such a position. I begged my son when he visited the other day to let you stay here for some time after I am no more. He promised, but it may not do you much good. His wife will throw you out of here before I am cold in my grave.”
I took her hand in mine, tears in my eyes. “Madam, you have always been so kind to me that I cannot think of what to say. But you are on your way to a complete recovery. Dr. Janseau assured me of it again today.”
“Enough of this nonsense. Tell me, have you given the convent any more thought?”
“I still have no religious vocation, Madam. Of course, I could certainly go to Noirvaux as a boarder, and I am sure that Madame de Montserrat would allow me to keep Aimée with me. But if my daughter were raised there, she would not know any other place, she would not meet any other children. Being penniless, she would have no choice later but to take the veil. Oh, Madam, it is so difficult to decide what is right for
Aimée and myself. What would you do if you were in my place?”
“This is a question no one likes to answer, but if I were in your place, I would discover what Villers means.”
“He has already made clear what he does not mean. Sometimes I regret having been rude to him during our journey back to Paris, but I am still angry with him. Do you think that he fetched me from Noirvaux out of kindness to you and me, or to make me feel that I cannot escape him?”
“Probably both, dearest. If you wish, I will send him a note asking him to call. Please stay away. We will have a more candid talk outside your presence.”
Two days later, Villers called on the Duchess. I kept to my apartment and ran downstairs as soon as he was gone.
“Well, dearest,” she said, shaking her head sadly, “I represented to him how cruel it would be to force you into a situation that is sure to make you unhappy. I begged him to marry you since he seems to like you so much.” She sighed. “He would not hear of it. He said that he would make you happy enough without marrying you.”
I looked out the window. “He does not care about me or my feelings.”
“He certainly acts as one who likes to follow his own inclination. He told me that he was glad that I was at hand to discuss your situation with him. At least he has retained enough decency not to relish dealing directly with you about such matters.” The Duchess forced a smile. “I feel like a regular procuress now. Do not worry, it does not bother me if it can be of any help to you.”
“So, Madam, what does Monsieur de Villers propose?”
“My dear, he wishes you to go to Normandy with him for two weeks. Should you accept, you will receive a generous gift from him before your departure.”
“And then what would happen? Would I go live with him as his concubine?”
“Of course not, Belle. That would be disgraceful for you both. Upon your return, if you so wished, he would set up a separate establishment for you. In any event, you may keep his gift if you go to Normandy with him and while you are there let him have his way.”
Mistress of the Revolution: A Novel Page 21
