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Authors: Kathryn Lasky
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patient! I don’t understand.
Later: Lulu came to my apartment to apologize for her shortness with me this morning. She said I should not look for a reply to my letter before Christmas, but she thought by the end of January might be a reasonable time. Then she took my hand and gave it a squeeze and sighed. Ordinarily, I would have been pleased by this. Lulu was her old patient self and calm and reasonable, but I am unsettled. It is the old Lulu but she is different. She has grown painfully thin and her face is drawn. “Are you feeling well, Lulu?” I suddenly asked. She smiled at me, a brittle, unnatural smile — not like Lulu at all. Then she quickly got up from the chair and made an excuse about having to run off. I am worried.
November 30, 1769
I was right! Lulu is not well. A maid of her chamber was sent and told me I would not be having my morning etiquette review with her. We were supposed to begin studying the etiquette of the card room. It all sounds so tedious. Tedious is a new word I have learned from Elizabeth. She says I say boring too much and tedious is a better word than boring although it means the same thing.
If it weren’t for the fact that I was so worried about Lulu, these days would be lovely — no etiquette lessons, and Abbé de Vermond has gone to France for the upcoming holidays, so all I really have to do is have my riding lessons. Titi came this morning and said we really had to start thinking about our Christmas play.
December 8, 1769
I do not really understand Lulu’s illness at all. She coughs, yes, but it is not pneumonia or a chest catarrh. She is just very weak and she has much pain in her hip, or it might be her leg. I am not sure but it hurts her to walk. She seems to grow grayer and thinner. When I ask what is wrong with her no one tells me. They do not seem to want to speak of it and I, of course, dare not ask Lulu herself. But I wish I knew. It is awful to just see her withering away like a flower going dry, losing its petals. Lulu was always so pretty. She had lovely sparkling gray eyes with a hint of green, but now they are dull and seem no real color and there is no light in them. The angles of her face have turned sharp. I just don’t understand. What else is there to get sick from besides pneumonia, smallpox, and childbirth?
December 10, 1769
I am so mad at Mama. I finally decided I had to ask her what was wrong with Lulu and she lied, I know it. She treated Lulu’s illness as if it were nothing, and then she said this awful thing. “Lulu has been your Grand Mistress for only two years. I never realized how attached you have grown.” As if there were something wrong with that. I told Abbé de Vermond that I was very upset with Mama. I asked him what was wrong. He looked concerned and told me not to worry, that Mama was probably trying to protect me in some way. Protect me from what? I asked.
They are treating me as if I am a child and yet they are expecting me to be a wife in less than six months’ time. I do not understand why they put me in these situations. And my love for Lulu is questioned. I am not expected to love someone I have known for such a “short” time as two years, but I am expected to marry and be wife to someone I have never met. I’ve never even seen his likeness. I purposely shut my mind now to thoughts of my letter. It is there now. But I shall not torture myself wondering whether Louis Auguste will choose to reply.
Oh, I’m feeling most depressed and vexed these days. Abbé de Vermond has required that I do more practice in sketching and painting. Normally, I would love this. It would be a diversion and so much more pleasant than the etiquette lessons and the memorizing of the endless pamphlets sent from Versailles, but now I just have no heart for sketching. I think I would never mind those silly pamphlets again if I knew Lulu would get better.
December 12, 1769
I am much heartened. I went to visit Lulu today and she seems much improved. She was
Later: Lulu came to my apartment to apologize for her shortness with me this morning. She said I should not look for a reply to my letter before Christmas, but she thought by the end of January might be a reasonable time. Then she took my hand and gave it a squeeze and sighed. Ordinarily, I would have been pleased by this. Lulu was her old patient self and calm and reasonable, but I am unsettled. It is the old Lulu but she is different. She has grown painfully thin and her face is drawn. “Are you feeling well, Lulu?” I suddenly asked. She smiled at me, a brittle, unnatural smile — not like Lulu at all. Then she quickly got up from the chair and made an excuse about having to run off. I am worried.
November 30, 1769
I was right! Lulu is not well. A maid of her chamber was sent and told me I would not be having my morning etiquette review with her. We were supposed to begin studying the etiquette of the card room. It all sounds so tedious. Tedious is a new word I have learned from Elizabeth. She says I say boring too much and tedious is a better word than boring although it means the same thing.
If it weren’t for the fact that I was so worried about Lulu, these days would be lovely — no etiquette lessons, and Abbé de Vermond has gone to France for the upcoming holidays, so all I really have to do is have my riding lessons. Titi came this morning and said we really had to start thinking about our Christmas play.
December 8, 1769
I do not really understand Lulu’s illness at all. She coughs, yes, but it is not pneumonia or a chest catarrh. She is just very weak and she has much pain in her hip, or it might be her leg. I am not sure but it hurts her to walk. She seems to grow grayer and thinner. When I ask what is wrong with her no one tells me. They do not seem to want to speak of it and I, of course, dare not ask Lulu herself. But I wish I knew. It is awful to just see her withering away like a flower going dry, losing its petals. Lulu was always so pretty. She had lovely sparkling gray eyes with a hint of green, but now they are dull and seem no real color and there is no light in them. The angles of her face have turned sharp. I just don’t understand. What else is there to get sick from besides pneumonia, smallpox, and childbirth?
December 10, 1769
I am so mad at Mama. I finally decided I had to ask her what was wrong with Lulu and she lied, I know it. She treated Lulu’s illness as if it were nothing, and then she said this awful thing. “Lulu has been your Grand Mistress for only two years. I never realized how attached you have grown.” As if there were something wrong with that. I told Abbé de Vermond that I was very upset with Mama. I asked him what was wrong. He looked concerned and told me not to worry, that Mama was probably trying to protect me in some way. Protect me from what? I asked.
They are treating me as if I am a child and yet they are expecting me to be a wife in less than six months’ time. I do not understand why they put me in these situations. And my love for Lulu is questioned. I am not expected to love someone I have known for such a “short” time as two years, but I am expected to marry and be wife to someone I have never met. I’ve never even seen his likeness. I purposely shut my mind now to thoughts of my letter. It is there now. But I shall not torture myself wondering whether Louis Auguste will choose to reply.
Oh, I’m feeling most depressed and vexed these days. Abbé de Vermond has required that I do more practice in sketching and painting. Normally, I would love this. It would be a diversion and so much more pleasant than the etiquette lessons and the memorizing of the endless pamphlets sent from Versailles, but now I just have no heart for sketching. I think I would never mind those silly pamphlets again if I knew Lulu would get better.
December 12, 1769
I am much heartened. I went to visit Lulu today and she seems much improved. She was
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