La Maréchale d’Aubemer, Nouvelle du XVIIIème Siècle, or The Widow of Field Marshal d’Aubemer: A Novella of the 18th Century, posthumously published in 1867, is a novel by the author and memoirist Madame de Boigne, born Adélaïde d’Osmond (1781-1866).   Mine is the first English translation, available here for the first time anywhere.

In Chapter 12, Henri meets with an accident…

THE WIDOW OF FIELD MARSHAL D’AUBEMER: A NOVELLA OF THE 18TH CENTURY

CHAPTER TWELVE

A Race Meeting at Vincennes

The end of the autumn saw M and Mme de Saveuse installed at the Hôtel d’Aubemer, and Lionel in the fulness of his glory, having manoeuvred his interests and pleasures to the fore.  Gudule, having been presented at court by her aunt,¹ had obtained a great success there, and everyone who anointed her that winter’s most brilliant star in the fashionable firmament attracted some of the hatred that the Princesse de Montford bore her.  Princesse Simon nonetheless made conspicuous advances to Mme de Saveuse, which were rejected with a cold politeness that was attributed to jealousy over Lionel.  The Maréchale was convinced of it and sought to distract her niece by surrounding her with attention and pleasures.  She hoped to have succeeded up to a certain point, for Gudule once again adopted that serene gaiety and gentle equanimity that seemed to have abandoned her for a time.  D’Estouteville, taking advantage of the new liaison so loudly publicized by Princesse Simon, had broken with her while at the same time keeping up appearances as expected of a well-bred gentleman; he still frequented the Duchesse de Montford’s salon, where he was perfectly polite to her daughter-in-law, but did not set foot in her house and no longer answered her letters.  Lionel was very cast down by all this; well-versed in the sacred texts of gallantry, he knew that he should be full of regard for the supplanted lover now that he was no longer in the lists with him, but no more than Prince Simon did Henri give him the opportunity to put theory into practice, and he treated him with precisely the same familiar condescension as before his great success, not giving him any occasion to play the new role for which he had so diligently prepared.

Even before it had been quite noticed, Mme de Saveuse had divined the rupture between M d’Estouteville and the Princesse de Montford.  She was very consciously pleased for him, and a bit more shamefacedly pleased to see a setback for the Princesse de Montford, whom it was her duty not to like.  As for herself, she of course had no personal stake in the matter, and poor Gudule was even rather pleased with herself and the victory she had won over her own heart when she noticed in the course of the winter that her animadversion towards the Princesse had been allayed a good deal.  There was no longer any question of returning to Limousin, and Comtesse Lionel, encouraged by her mother, resigned herself to her sojourn in Paris.

This week’s musical monarch, Frederick the Great, was not only a music lover, but a proficient flautist and composer.

Frederick the Great.  Credit: Wikipedia.

Prussia’s future third king developed his musical tastes and talent early.  In the little Crown Prince Frederick’s household was one Rentzel, who was not only Frederick’s drill master but a flautist.  Nancy Mitford, in her biography of Frederick, says of Rentzel that “it was he who started Frederick on music and taught him to play the flute, an accomplishment which was to mean so much to him.”  Frederick’s father, King Frederick William I, was not keen on the flute playing, which he regarded as effeminate, and at times attempted to ban his son from pursuing this past time.  He was not successful.

La Maréchale d’Aubemer, Nouvelle du XVIIIème Siècle, or The Widow of Field Marshal d’Aubemer: A Novella of the 18th Century, posthumously published in 1867, is a novel by the author and memoirist Madame de Boigne, born Adélaïde d’Osmond (1781-1866).   Mine is the first English translation, available here for the first time anywhere.

In Chapter 11, Gudule sits beside an old soldier at dinner.  He has much to say about his adored young colonel…

THE WIDOW OF FIELD MARSHALL D’AUBEMER: A NOVELLA OF THE 18TH CENTURY

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Secret Progress

Country air, exercise, and a manner of living closer to her own habits restored Mme de Saveuse’s health.  She had recovered her bloom, and sometimes her gaiety, but not the serene equanimity of her temperament; she had frequent relapses into sadness.  Lionel was more than ever under the thumb of the Princesse de Montford, who could not have ruled him more painfully.  For two years she herself had submitted to the yoke, having been dominated by Henri; she compensated by exercising an absolute and capricious tyranny over M de Saveuse.  The fact that Princesse Simon’s name came up incessantly in Lionel’s conversation forced Gudule to think about the sorrows that she considered her to have caused her, never without astonishment that such a woman could inspire tender feelings.  This thought came to her first with regard to Lionel, but quickly passed over him to settle for a long time on Henri, whose superiority she made no bones about acknowledging.  These purely philosophical reflections did not alarm her, but captivated her mind, and filled her leisure, so much so that she was constantly occupied in seeking to explain M d’Estouteville’s passion for Mme de Montford.  And yet it was the only thing she did not talk about to Mme d’Aubemer, who, for her part, did her best to hide Lionel’s conduct, and gave her the niece the greatest proof of her affection in sparing no effort to keep this husband, who was becoming more and more insufferable to her, at Magnanville.  One morning when the two ladies were working side by side, lost in their thoughts, the Maréchale broke the silence by asking Mme de Saveuse when her love for Lionel had begun.

“In truth, Aunt, I don’t really know.  I was always taught to consider him my future husband.”

“But, after all, you must have had a pressing reason to refuse the poor Chevalier d’Aubermer with such a high hand.”

“As to that, I can answer more clearly.  I wanted to stay at Saveuse with my grandfather, and never leave Mama.”

Mme d’Aubemer raised her eyes and looked at her without speaking.  Gudule blushed a little.

“It’s true, Aunt. But that wasn’t to be presumed.  And now I’m told it’s my duty.”

She turned her head to hide a few furtive tears, and the Maréchale, sorry to have provoked them, hastened to change the subject.

It’s well known that Louis XIV was an avid and accomplished dancer in his youth.  In 2000, the Belgian filmmaker the Gérard Corbieu memorably depicted the young king’s dance spectacles in the movie Le Roi Danse (The King is Dancing).

It’s also quite well known that the Sun King was surrounded by music from morning till evening.  Indeed, he was rarely out of earshot of one group of musicians or another.  Even while he was hunting there would have been horns, after all.

At HMV Canada’s going-out-of-business sale at its flagship store in Toronto, I purchased this boxed set of music from Louis XIV’s court.

Les Menus Plaisirs de Louis XIV de Paris à Versailles (Harmonia Mundi), a 10-CD boxed set of music from Louis XIV’s court.

La Maréchale d’Aubemer, Nouvelle du XVIIIème Siècle, or The Widow of Field Marshal d’Aubemer: A Novella of the 18th Century, posthumously published in 1867, is a novel by the author and memoirist Madame de Boigne, born Adélaïde d’Osmond (1781-1866).   Mine is the first English translation, available here for the first time anywhere.

In Chapter 10, Henri d’Estouteville’s well-laid plans prove difficult to carry through…

THE WIDOW OF FIELD MARSHAL D’AUBEMER: A NOVELLA OF THE 18TH CENTURY

CHAPTER TEN

Foiled Manoeuvres

At Magnanville, from which Lionel had promised not to stir while fully intending to do nothing of the sort, Mme de Saveuse recovered her health and part of her serenity.  The company that surrounded Mme d’Aubemer was more active in the mind than in its outward habits, but the Maréchale’s house attracted very agreeable young ladies of the neighbourhood with whom Gudule rode and took the exercise that is all but indispensable at her age.  She had been in the country for almost a month when Lionel, returning from one of his frequent sojourns in Paris, brought d’Estouteville back with him.  During the twenty-four hours that he was to stay, there was talk of the experiments of a very gifted chemist, a friend of the Maréchale’s who was present.  One question led to another, and one idea to another, until he felt moved to offer a little course in experimental physics¹ adapted for these ladies of high society if he could be furnished with a space to use as a laboratory and enough time to have the necessary equipment brought.  This idea enchanted Mme de Saveuse, and the Maréchale willingly lent a hand.  A pavilion at a right angle to the main courtyard was chosen in which to set up the laboratory.  Two hours had hardly elapsed when the workmen, under the supervision of M Chevreux, were working on adapting it to its new purpose.  D’Estouteville had been among those most ardent to clear away any difficulties.  He adored chemistry, he said, and had shown himself to be at once sufficiently knowledgeable and sufficiently ignorant, according to need, in order to excite the zeal of the learned chemist and to be called upon quite naturally to be his assistant for the course, of which he already had quite a good notion, but during which he would also have so much to learn; thus he would have to spend quite a goodly number of days at Magnanville, seemingly without any premeditated idea doing so and purely for the love of science.  He left the same evening for Paris, taking M Chevreux with him and answering for both of them that they would come back together the following week.

Though in modern times he’s acquired a reputation for Spartanism, Frederick the Great (1712-1786) did himself proud at table.

Die Tafelrunde by Adolph von Menzel (1850), once in the National Gallery of Berlin, where it was burned during the bombing that the museum sustained.  Fortunately, numerous copies and prints exist.   Credit: Wiki Commons.

La Maréchale d’Aubemer, Nouvelle du XVIIIème Siècle, or The Widow of Field Marshal d’Aubemer: A Novella of the 18th Century, posthumously published in 1867, is a novel by the author and memoirist Madame de Boigne, born Adélaïde d’Osmond (1781-1866).   Mine is the first English translation, available here for the first time anywhere.

In Chapter 9, Henri d’Estouteville helps Lionel de Saveuse hatch a plan.  Perhaps he has one of his own?

THE WIDOW OF FIELD MARSHAL D’AUBEMER: A NOVELLA OF THE 18TH CENTURY

CHAPTER NINE

Plans for Strategic Gallantry

Hardly had he returned to Paris when Lionel hastened to keep his engagement to attend the exquisite luncheon — to which invitations were highly sought after by all the most elegant young men — that Henri d’Estouteville gave on Mondays.  The habitual guests were a little startled by this new recruit, but d’Estouteville was their king and could be permitted any eccentricity.  The luncheon finished, Lionel expressed his regret at not being able to attend the next one.  He was going away.

“Where are you going?” inquired Henri casually.

“To take Mme de Saveuse back to her mother, but I shall come back immediately after for important business that will keep me here for a long time.”

Henri looked at Lionel fixedly with a sort of bantering amazement that began to embarrass him.  Then, throwing himself back in his chair, he broke into laughter: “You have important business in Paris and you take Mme de Saveuse back to Limousin!  Oh, country innocence!  You are nowhere more evident than in this! Truly, old chap, I thought you were really one of us.  But you see, gentlemen, we insulted his ingenuousness in thinking him so clever.”

It looks like a salon in a grand 18th century hôtel particulier in Paris, doesn’t it?

A salon in the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga (MNAA), Lisbon.

In fact, this salon is from the Paar Palace in Vienna, but it’s now installed in the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga (MNAA) in Lisbon.  I apologize for the slight blurriness of these images.  The light was difficult.  I also apologize for the inadvertent selfie!

La Maréchale d’Aubemer, Nouvelle du XVIIIème Siècle, or The Widow of Field Marshal d’Aubemer: A Novella of the 18th Century, posthumously published in 1867, is a novel by the author and memoirist Madame de Boigne, born Adélaïde d’Osmond (1781-1866).   Mine is the first English translation, available here for the first time anywhere.

In Chapter 8, Mme d’Aubemer begins to suspect Henri d’Estouteville’s intentions.  

THE WIDOW OF FIELD MARSHAL D’AUBEMER: A NOVELLA OF THE 18TH CENTURY

CHAPTER EIGHT

Unavowed Feelings

While returning to the salon, d’Estouteville approached Mme d’Aubemer and said to her in a low voice, “You were hardly generous to lend your support to the strongest in that way.”

Mme d’Aubemer stopped walking for an instant and looked at him with a flash of curiosity by which he was disconcerted, but both of them were too experienced in the ways of the world to let their expressions betray their thoughts for too long.  Everyone was still grouped around the fireplace when the little Rieux erupted into the room.  They precipitated themselves at Mme de Saveuse clamouring for the bourrée¹ that she had promised them.  Mme de Saveuse explained to them that she would play it for them as much as they wanted once the salon was free, which would have satisfied the children if their mother had not come to beg Comtesse Lionel to accede to their wishes on the spot.  Then all the little faces lengthened and tears began to flow; there was no going back, and Mme de Rieux herself opened the piano and her children’s victim sat down to play a bourrée.

The rape of Orithyia by Boreas seems to have been a popular subject in art during the Versailles Century (1682-1789).  A Google search turns up a number of works in oil, in bronze, and in porcelain.  Our featured art work today on the blog is the small bronze Rape of Orithyia by Boreas by the Florentine sculptor Foggini, pictured below. Dated “before 1702,” it’s on display at the Art Gallery of Ontario (AGO) in Toronto.

The Rape of Orithyia by Boreas; Giovanni Batista Foggini, Florence, before 1702.

The lighting was not conducive to getting a clear shot on my phone camera, so I’ve had to doctor it with filters.  My apologies for the sepia tone.