The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Vol. 2 (of 3) — Background and Themes

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In Category - Relationships Society Historical Narratives

Authors: Wingfield, Lewis, 1842-1891 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2012 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Historical fiction; France -- History -- Revolution, 1789-1799 -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 42,949

Reading time 187 min

Text sections 5

This digital edition of The Maid of Honour: A Tale of the Dark Days of France. Vol. 2 (of 3) — Background and Themes is described by source-level measurements including 42,949 words, 3 hr 7 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 18.3 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Historical fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #38875

This editorial note examines how the opening, middle, and later excerpts of Lewis Wingfield's novel guide a first reading, focusing on the abbé's shifting fortunes, Gabrielle's emotional withdrawal, and the encroaching Revolution.

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The Situation Changes.

The Abbe is Terribly Perplexed.

Gabrielle has an Idea.

The abbe's departure left a void in the household. He had grown to be so conspicuous and necessary a feature in it that even Gabrielle regretted his mercurial presence, while conscious of a feeling of relief in that he no more pursued her. It was but a temporary respite, she knew. He would return ere long, renew the siege, demand an answer. What that answer was to be, she did not feel certain. Her interest in herself had gone. She missed the readings, the soft declamation of the musical voice; for, left more alone than ever, her mind brooded without distraction on the past and the tangled possibilities of the future. The chevalier's attentions were rather irksome than otherwise, for his conversational powers were limited. His position was that of watchdog, and, as all the world knows, watch-dogs are expected to watch and not to talk. He was content to sit staring with vacant eyes at his sister-in-law for an unlimited period, breathing very hard and emitting strong fumes of spirits with a meaningless but complacent expression of conscious rectitude. He was doing his duty, and knew it. Since his rebuff on that moonlight night, now long ago, he had seemed in his slow way to have become possessed by a fixed idea. The prize was not for him. His brother had behaved magnanimously in permitting him to try first for it. Having failed--as he might have known he would--he must keep his promise, and assist him in the chase to the best of his abilities.

He was a remarkable man, his brother, of that he had been convinced for years, who was destined to have his will in all things; and quite right, too, for commanding genius should surely achieve success.

Dreary fat Phebus! Lulled by the monotonous life at Lorge, the little intellect he possessed had gone to sleep. Now and again he had sallied forth to shoot with the gamekeeper, but could never hit it off with him. His oracular remarks were met by silence. Jean Boulot treated him with a sullen and enforced politeness, and it dawned on his sluggish mind by slow degrees that the gamekeeper heartily despised him. He despised by a common country peasant, who, instead of sneering, should have been grateful to be noticed by a half-brother of the Marquis de Gange! The position was so unsatisfactory that the chevalier gave up the chase. He also gave up riding, for his horse would take the direction of Montbazon, the welcome of whose inmates frightened him. Angelique looked so wistful, and the old lady was so effusively hospitable that he quite trembled in his shoes lest he should wake up some morning and find that he was married.

Moping about with no occupation either for mind or body, it was natural that he should have fallen into the trap which is prepared for the idle and empty-pated; that he should while away the laggard hours in the company of the best cognac.

Time hung very heavy on the hands of neglected Gabrielle. Toinon was a sweet girl who strove by many little acts to comfort her stricken heart; but the pride of the chatelaine stood between herself and Toinon. It was bitter to expose her wrongs to the tender touch of a loving foster-sister. Even when engaged on missions to the sick poor, of whom, alack, there were far too many, she could not keep her mind from brooding. "What was, and what might have been," formed a dismal refrain that was for ever ringing in her ears.

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The second volume of Lewis Wingfield's The Maid of Honour opens with the abbé's departure from the household at Lorge, a void that unsettles the domestic routine. Gabrielle, the marquise, feels relief mixed with regret, her mind brooding on "the tangled possibilities of the future." The chevalier, reduced to a silent watchdog, stares vacantly at his sister-in-law, breathing hard and emitting "strong fumes of spirits." Wingfield establishes a claustrophobic atmosphere where each character's limitations—the abbé's manipulative energy, the chevalier's dull fixity, Gabrielle's apathy—are laid bare through precise physical and psychological detail.

A Household in Suspense

The opening chapter, "A Crisis," introduces a static yet tense household. The abbé's absence leaves Gabrielle "more alone than ever," her interest in herself gone. The chevalier's role as watchdog is rendered with comic disdain: he sits "staring with vacant eyes" for unlimited periods, his only expression a "complacent expression of conscious rectitude." Wingfield uses the chevalier's limited intellect to underscore the power vacuum; the gamekeeper Jean Boulot treats him with "sullen and enforced politeness," revealing a class friction beneath the surface. The abbé, though absent, looms over the narrative as a schemer who will return to "renew the siege." This opening establishes a pattern of psychological observation over action, inviting readers to attend to the characters' inner states and the subtle shifts in their relationships.

The Abbé's Calculations

Later excerpts show the abbé reacting to the marshal's death with calculated relief. His "nimble mind" immediately considers the altered situation: the protector of the marquise is gone, leaving her vulnerable. He plans to lead her to "lean more and more on him" while exerting influence over the marquis, who might now act imprudently. Wingfield renders the abbé's thoughts in a cool, strategic register: "the horizon was rosy—clouds of difficulty were rolling away." The language of house-building and card-structures—"the newly-laid foundations of the house of cards"—emphasizes his view of people as manipulable elements. This section reveals how the novel tracks the abbé's evolving schemes, making him a focal point for understanding the interplay of personal ambition and political upheaval.

The Revolution Intrudes

In Chapter XVI, the abbé arrives in Paris to find his calculations upended by the Revolution. Names like Marat and Robespierre enter the narrative, and the abbé reads the Ami du Peuple, which openly advocates regicide. Wingfield describes the queen unable to look out a window for fear of insult, a soldier shaking his fist at her. The abbé realizes the movement is "no transient one"—a mighty nation has risen. The language shifts from domestic intrigue to historical alarm: "the scum of the earth had in the general upheaval risen to the surface." This passage marks a turning point where the personal and political collide, forcing the abbé—and the reader—to reckon with forces beyond individual control. The excerpts suggest the novel uses the abbé's perspective to bridge intimate drama and revolutionary history.

Gabrielle's Inner Distance

Throughout the excerpts, Gabrielle remains a figure of emotional withdrawal. She regrets the abbé's departure yet feels relief; her mind broods on the past without clear direction. When Toinon upbraids her for "morbid" thoughts, Gabrielle's tears offer no resolution. Wingfield presents her interiority indirectly, through the reactions of others—the chevalier's vacant stare, the abbé's plans to exploit her vulnerability. This restraint invites readers to infer her state from sparse cues: her interest in herself has gone, she misses the readings but not the pursuer. The narrative withholds her full perspective, creating a gap that the first-time reader must fill by attending to the power dynamics around her. Her silence becomes a telling counterpoint to the abbé's verbose scheming.

As you read Volume 2, track how Wingfield uses the abbé as a barometer for both personal ambition and historical change. His shifting fortunes—from confident schemer to perplexed observer—mirror the Revolution's encroachment on private life. Notice also the chevalier's comic yet ominous presence, and Gabrielle's reticence, which may signal a deeper agency yet to emerge. The novel rewards attention to small gestures and indirect speech, where the real drama often unfolds.

There’s something tender about watching the abbé’s certainty fray while Gabrielle pulls further inward, as if the quiet before the storm were being held in each of their hands. It reminds me of how The War-Workers lingers on ordinary people bracing for change they can’t yet name. That same ache of waiting, I suppose. The War-Workers — Themes and Context echoes it in its own way.