Her Sacrilege

Savigny, Wednesday the 23rd of August, 1809

From the desk of Mademoiselle Marie-Julie de Bellamy

My dear cousin,

What a joy it is to finally carve out a bit of time to write you, dear Louise. Yes, it is I, your beloved Marie-Julie. Have you forgotten me? I should not blame you if so—it has been at least two months since my last letter! But you cannot scold me too much, dear. Married! How is life as a new wife? And your trip abroad went well, I hope? I did not think you would receive my letters until you returned, so I preferred to wait to write. And in addition, here Maman has become unwell and I have had so much to do.

Allow me to begin by relaying the events concerning Maman. As you know, we all await a most joyous addition, although Maman is not as young as she once was, and the physician has told us that her health is suffering from the burdens of her condition. She was very fatigued in the early months, you may recall, and that was somewhat alleviated as time went on, but now as her time approaches I am afraid that exhaustion has returned with a vengeance. Much of the day she must remain supine, and she cannot engage in any of the activities she enjoys the most. Alas, poor Maman. She does love the gardens so, and she never fails to do the rounds for giving alms to the impoverished people who live nearby. But now she simply cannot do it, and so it falls to me.

Yesterday was the first time Maman must needs send me out alone. You may well imagine my trepidation, and Maman was no more confident than I—oh, and I daresay I had not told you the news about our governess, Mademoiselle Simard—that is, the former Mademoiselle Simard, for she is married, just as you now are! If you do recall her, you shall be as amused as I am, for she is well over forty, you know. But love comes unexpectedly at times, does it not, my dear Louise? It is a vintner, a Monsieur Charlet, who has whisked our well-loved governess away as his new bride. It is a very good marriage for her, as he is the proprietor of a large area of land, all vineyards of course. Thus when Maman took ill, I had no recourse to Mademoiselle Simard as I might have before her marriage. And this was already an unexpected burden to me, for the servants are most attentive to Maman, and wish to spare her any fatigue that may be avoided, and have begun to come to me with questions and such. I confess I am quite unprepared. Of course Maman has often spoken to me and my sisters of matters of the household, you know, and Mademoiselle Simard—that is, Madame Charlet, now—was never remiss in her lessons pertaining to such things, but Maman has always run the household quite independently of anyone else, including Papa, so I never was actually solicited for anything of any significance pertaining to it before now.

Yesterday Maman was quite out of sorts, for she is so very attached to the proper execution of her duties as the benevolent Marquise de Savigny—you know how she is—and in any case I had to agree with her, knowing that so many depend on the charity we offer them. I squared my shoulders and told myself I must face the duty bravely, even if I must go alone, but of course, that would have been most improper, which Maman was well aware of.

“Julie,” she said to me—for you know she never uses my full name, nor that of my sisters, I suppose because it would become tiresome to constantly speak the “Marie” before each of our names— “Julie,” she said, “you must see to Madame Meunier at the very least, and the Houblon family as well. And there are the Plourdes and the Fourniers! Oh heavens, it has been too long since I visited any of them.” Then her face became a picture of consternation, and she said, “But you cannot go alone, or the tongues will never stop wagging, and you shall be ruined before you know it. And it won’t do to send Angélique with you, for I have need of her here.” Ever since she took ill, Maman wishes to keep Angélique at her side at all times, for not only does she prefer to have Angélique assist her, but Angélique has her cards, you know. You mustn’t be scandalized, Louise, although I suspect you are. If my sister has cards for divination, it is only an amusing parlor trick—although I can hear you in my ear even as I write this, and you are correct, of course, to point out that Angélique herself believes them to be more than that. But Papa has no patience for such ideas, and says it is all superstition, and I am inclined to agree.

“I shall take Renée,” I said, looking for her—Renée is never hard to spot, Louise! I know this must make you laugh, but it is true. Her fiery hair can be seen from across the entire flower garden even on a foggy day, I declare. But my mother was not satisfied with my taking Renée.

“She is too young,” Maman protested, which I thought rather silly, for Renée is seventeen now, and many young ladies are already married by such an age. And I knew that if Renée was too young, the rest of my siblings would not do either.

And then I had a bright thought, and said, “Ah, Maman, fear not—I shall take Cécile along with me!”

Do you remember Cécile? I should think so, for we played together many times when you came to visit us here years ago. At the time, Cécile was but a scullery maid, but I did so love to play with her, and she has remained my friend all these years later. She has risen in rank in the household, too—she’s a chambermaid now, and between you and me, Louise, it is my intention to elevate her to be my lady’s maid soon, if Maman agrees. If I am ever to find a beau and marry, I shall need my own lady's maid.

As an aside, I was so jealous to hear that you had such a grand ball for your eighteenth birthday. And to have met your husband at that very ball! Such good fortune, I was simply green with envy. Here I am at twenty, and not a single prospect!

I do wish you could have attended my debutante ball. How vexing that the weather was so terrible last summer.

In any case, yes, I have been out a year but not a single suitor courts me. But Maman is in no hurry and Papa is far too involved in other matters to pay any mind to such concerns. Maman has said that next spring we shall go to Paris and attend upon the Empress, however! Won’t that be delightful? And we shall host a lovely ball for Angélique’s debut, and I shall meet all of the eligible noblemen, new and old, in Napoléon’s court, and Angélique, too, in all likelihood. Maman says we shall wait until I’m married for Renée to come out, but Renée has no interest in it, in any case. But I suppose if we are to have her sing for any balls or soirées she must be out, mustn’t she? I am uncertain of the rules in such matters. I must ask Maman about it, I suppose.

Well, returning to the story of yesterday—Louise, something simply dreadful happened, and I must tell you all. When I suggested Cécile, Maman hesitated, but after a moment she decided it was a wise choice. “Yes, Cécile may accompany you. That shall do perfectly well.” And then she looked at Pompon—I know you remember him, for you were always sneaking scraps to him from the table—and she ruffled his white curly fur and gave him a kiss on the top of his little head. “And you simply must take Pompon!”

“Very well, Maman,” I agreed, for I could see the wisdom in such a thing. Since her illness Maman has had no way to take Pompon outside. The poor little dog is accustomed to romping about in the gardens with her, and he must suffer greatly at the confinement of his mistress.

Thus it was that I gathered everything necessary into a couple of baskets. Cécile carried one and I the other. Pompon fairly danced at our heels as we left the manor. He is such a funny little dog, hopping up on his hind legs at times—one would think he belonged in a circus. And as we were leaving I heard a yelp. Well, you can imagine how startled I was—I thought it must be Pompon, and that one of us had stepped on him, but the yelp had been too far away. I looked around, and to my distress I saw the head cook, Paul, chasing poor Escargot across the kitchen garden on the side of the house. I told you about Escargot last fall, do you remember? He was one of several puppies born in the stables to one of the farm dogs, and I just love him. It was I who named him Escargot, for he looked so very like a little gray snail, speckled with black and brown in his brindle coat, all curled up among his brothers and sisters. It seems Escargot got up to some sort of mischief in the kitchen, and Paul was quite out of temper and intent on beating the poor animal. I stopped him, of course, and took Escargot with me, so that when at last we found our way to the road, there were four of us—Me, Cécile, Pompon, and Escargot. We made a merry little party as we left the gates of the estate behind us and passed through our family vines, especially with the two dogs, who were most overjoyed to be taking a walk with us.

It is beautiful this time of year, Louise. Do you remember it? The vines are all full of grapes and I so adore picking one here and there to taste them. I had to shoo silly Pompon away, however—he is a mischief maker, for if he sees me eating a grape he thinks it a grand idea to do the same, and Maman has always said that grapes are poison for dogs. I became rather annoyed with him, I must say.

But Louise, if it weren’t for the dogs, we might never have—oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself, and I must not ruin the shock of the story, I daresay. So read on, and you shall learn why the dogs became such an important feature of the day’s adventures.