Author Foreword, First Two Chapters, and Some Historical Notes

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Thank you for reading Louisa Sophia and a Legion of Sisters. In all my writings, I strive to create fictional tales that weave themselves into the history of the story’s time and setting. The inspiration for writing this book came from discovering the two-hundred-plus-year history surrounding one of the most unique schools in the world.

 

Founded by Napoleon in 1811, les maisons d’éducation de la Légion d’honneur, or the schools of the Legion of Honor in France, are a fascinating mix of female educational excellence, anachronistic militaristic administration, and unequaled student comradery.

 

Most of the characters in this book are 100 percent fictional, while some are fictional representations of real people or they are fictional characters whose backgrounds are taken from actual people. If you’re interested in understanding more, please reference the “Historical Notes” section at the end of the book. For French and Greek translations reference “Translations”.

 

An epic journey follows, complete with bullies and villains, life-threatening situations, and historic destinations. But underlying it all, this is a story about a group of friends, sisters in the Legion, facing one of life’s first major crossroads. Enjoy the adventure. 

 

Chapter 1 – Changing Grades

 

From the ridgeline of the Basilica, the distant lights of Paris called Louisa to adventure. Perched like a gargoyle so high above the rest of the world, she reveled in the liberating power of standing so tall.

 

A handful of times during the last four years, the staff had allowed her to visit the city’s wondrous attractions. With each new experience, Louisa’s understanding of the world and her list of future goals expanded. Now seventeen years old, she longed for her coming emancipation and stretched out a hand as if to touch the city that had shaped her dreams.

 

A strong spring breeze pierced her thin cotton school uniform, and gooseflesh sprouted in the cold’s wake. She shivered, not wanting this moment to end. When her feet touched the ground again, this feeling would dissipate like the smoke wafting from nearby chimneys.

 

Most of the buildings in the suburban commune of Saint-Denis glowed with warmth, but a few were dark and showed damage from the Siege. Several had missing walls and cannon-disfigured facades, testimonials of a war whose loss still scarred the psyche of the French nation and its people.

 

Not my people.

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Louisa had arrived at the Saint-Denis branch of Les maisons d’éducation de la Légion d’honneur in 1870, just a month before the Prussians surrounded the capital. Sixty years earlier, Napoleon had created the schools to educate the daughters of those who earned the nation’s highest award for merit, the Légion d’honneur. They separated the girls attending the three schools according to each girl’s family’s status, with Saint-Denis being the topmost strata of social standing.

 

The first addition to Louisa’s limited French vocabulary was the name the other girls gave her when the sisters were out of earshot. Even now, she wore “the Greek Bastard” as a badge of honor. For the first time in her life, she claimed her mother’s heritage, something denied to her by the children back home in Corfu. There, they referred to her as “the English Girl,” the words dripping with disdain.

 

If it had not been for the Clan of the Dissipated, she might have fled the school and the other students’ constant derision. Like Louisa, the three girls who formed the rulebook-forbidden secret club were social outcasts for one reason or another. They had been the first ones to offer Louisa a hand in friendship. In truth, they became her first friends ever, and after her induction into the clan, they became her only real family.

 

As the wind whipped her raven-colored hair behind her, the building known only by its address of Cent Quatre captured her attention in the distance. Built during her tenure at La Maison de Saint-Denis, the monumental building’s slanted glass roof sent a large beam of light into the heavens. It amused her that anyone would build a funeral home on such a grand scale. Given the building’s purpose as life’s last waystation, she imagined the light as a beacon guiding departed souls to their desired destination.

 

Louisa turned to her task and padded along the roofline toward the flying buttress at the side of the church and the squatting gargoyle that guarded it. After patting the creature’s head, she slid down the pitched metal roof to the edge of the church with one hand on the arched buttress.

 

Saint-Denis’s massive school, built during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, stretched away from the Basilica. France’s oldest state-sponsored boarding school for girls was laid out like a giant “H,” but the somewhat skinnier administration building created a cap at the top of the letter to form a boxy capital “A.” Two beautiful courtyards containing four giant, starburst-shaped hedges, representing the Légion d’honneur medal, were in the middle, while extensive park-like grounds surrounded the school and the Basilica.

 

Closest to the Basilica, the administration portion of the building rose from the darkness, its outer wall and highest window separated from the church by a mere meter. Louisa only needed to climb ten meters down the column at the end of the flying buttress to gain entry.

 

Using the tips of her fingers, Louisa found the sloping beam and scooted hand over hand down toward the edge. She hung free at the bottom, thirty meters above the ground. She swung half her body around the column, then clamped her feet onto the flat end of the buttress. With her back to the administration building, she spidered down.

 

Her mind drifted to a time before Saint-Denis. In the dead of night, she had shimmied up a similar column on the side of the Holy Church of Saint Spyridon in Corfu City. Her uncle had waited below, acting as a lookout. It would be the second burglary for nine-year-old Louisa.

 

Six months earlier, Louisa’s mother had sent the little girl’s uncle to find her absentee daughter. That late afternoon, the young outcast had sought refuge by doing the one thing that made her feel in control in a life full of obstacles. Her uncle found her hanging by her fingernails on the side of a white limestone cliff with her feet dangling a hundred meters above the Ionian Sea.

 

A thief by trade, her uncle seized on the idea of using the little girl’s unique skill to make some easy drachmas. Louisa’s training began the next day and didn’t stop until their last job. As soon as her private studies in languages and mathematics ended each day, her uncle drilled her on picking locks and pockets, hiding in the shadows, cataloging a room with a quick look, and escaping confinement.

 

At nine years old, she knew right from wrong. But from harsh lessons learned, she also knew the world would never make life easy for a bastard. Her decision to do as her uncle said came with no remorse. Louisa vowed she would take from the world more than the world would take from her.

 

The now teenage burglar used her free hand to pull a long metal file from her pocket. She leaned across the space between buildings and jabbed the sharp tip under the lip of the darkened window, then wiggled the file under the wood to use it as a fulcrum. She shoved the lever down, and the window popped open a few centimeters.

 

She returned the file to her pocket and strained against the window, working it upward a centimeter at a time. A lifetime of climbing had given her hands, fingers, and wrists incredible strength, so, less than thirty seconds later, the opening was a half-meter tall.

 

More than enough.

 

Louisa pushed off with a twist. Her body arched up and into the open portal across the gap. She landed on her stomach, half in and half out of the window. Her eyes adjusted to the near-total darkness after a long pause. The outline of the secretary’s desk appeared in the small office. Each of the other three walls had a door. The one behind the small spartan table led to the headmistress’s office. A place Louisa had visited too often and never on good terms.

 

There were no sounds but her heartbeat as she wormed into the room. She landed on all fours. Louisa rose, then turned from the desk and headed for the door to the records room. A lock stood between her and her objective.

 

She pulled several special pins from her hair and, with deft fingers, clicked open the lock. The scent of pine cleaner and aged, musty paper met her as she slithered inside. Louisa left a small gap in the doorway and repinned her hair. She retrieved a small candle and a match from her pocket. As she struck the match, its light bathed the small room in a soft glow. She touched the flame to the wick, which revealed floor-to-ceiling shelves piled with large record-keeping notebooks.

 

Louisa stretched the candle high to illuminate the spines of the notebooks. She tip-toed around the room, searching for the recently married Professor Marie-Catherine’s Latin class grades and notes.

 

Dieu merci, she thought as she pulled the book from the lowest shelf. The volume opened near the middle to the leather-corded bookmark. She examined the format of several entries so that her “corrections” would match. After balancing the candle on the shelf, she produced a sterling silver fountain pen that she had “acquired” from someone’s wealthy parent who had visited the school.

 

The sight of the writing instrument reminded Louisa how alone she was except for the handful of friends she had made at Saint-Denis. Her mother and uncle were gone, and she never considered her absent father to be family. His man Stevens had dropped her at the school with a promise that her father would see her again at her graduation. With a shake of her head, Louisa refocused on the task. Due to her status as a social pariah, Louisa, along with Saint-Denis’s other rejects, was slated to participate in the school’s most despicable tradition, the Last Chance Tour. She could think of nothing worse than to be dragged across the continent and paraded before eligible bachelors from minor nobility or the wealthy merchant class.

 

Louisa sneered as she put pen to paper. With penmanship matching that of the teacher now living in Florence with her Italian husband, she detailed how Louisa, the best Latin student in class, had called Professor Marie-Catherine a horse-faced spinster. With a flourish, Louisa added the teacher’s recommendation to punish Louisa by depriving her of the privilege of taking part in the Last Chance Tour.

 

Satisfied, she returned the book to its shelf and blew out the candle. Muffled words and the distinctive clacking of button boots––the source of the headmistress’s apropos nickname, Buttons––followed by the softer tap-tap of a student’s shoes, echoed in the hallway outside the office.

 

Skatá.

 

Louisa pulled the door closed, hoping no one noticed the loud click of the latch.

 

The hallway door opened, and Headmistress Madame Le Ray said, “Mademoiselle Chanzy, I do not have much time. Please be brief.”

 

“Yes, Headmistress.”

 

The door behind the secretary’s desk opened, and the footsteps faded after it closed.

 

What the hell is Gabrielle up to?

 

Louisa cracked the door open. Lamplight peeked from under the door leading to the headmistress’s office. After closing the records room door without the loud click, Louisa crossed the secretary’s office and stuck her ear to the keyhole.

 

“As I was saying, Headmistress, my father, the general, has given me permission to accompany this summer’s tour,” Gabrielle said.

 

“But why would you want to go? You have countless suiters waiting on you.”

 

“I would just like one last adventure, and since Joséphine must go, Julie and I would like to go to advise her. I’m sure Mère de la Nativité would welcome some help keeping an eye on the Greek girl and her friends.”

 

That witch wants to go so she can torture us. Louisa’s thoughts raced at the implications.

 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

 

“My father will cover our expenses and a little extra to help offset the costs of replacing the old kitchen stoves.”

 

“Well, that would be welcome.”

 

The sounds of someone running came from the hallway outside the secretary’s office. Louisa dove to the side and slid behind the secretary’s desk. The door burst open, and Joséphine Maneval, Jeton Deux, rushed to the headmistress’s door. She knocked twice and bounced from toe to toe.

 

And here comes one of Gabrielle’s slimy shadows.

 

The headmistress opened the door, the light spilling into the office. Louisa closed her eyes, stilled her mind, and held her breath, becoming a shadow.

 

“Yes, Mademoiselle Maneval?”

 

The girl curtsied. “Headmistress, Mère de la Nativité sent me to tell you that the Greek girl was not at bedtime roll call.”

 

Louisa stayed a statue as she winced inside.

 

“That girl will make me lose the ball.” The headmistress sighed. “Let’s see what she’s up to this time.”

 

The two girls trailed behind her as the headmistress marched out of the office.

 

Exclaiming to the heavens, Louisa thought, Sapristi! 

 

Chapter 2 – The Race

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Louisa’s eyes darted to the half-open window. It would be a close call for her to reach the dormitory before the headmistress did. I can’t get caught again.

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She grabbed the bottom of the frame and shoved it as high as possible. Clamping her hands on the building wall, she high-stepped onto the windowsill. She angled her head and shoulders outside with both hands pressed into the inside wall to hold herself in place.

 

Louisa pictured the jump in her mind. Hope I don’t tear my dress.

 

She brought her hands forward, bunched her knees, and hopped across the meter of open air. Her fingers and knees clamped onto the column. Her stomach flipped, and a burst of energy shot through her as she slid down, her dress ripping. She gripped tighter, hands and thighs burning until she reached the end of the drop.

 

Each climb held the possibility of injury or death, and Louisa shook her head at the almost fatal mistake. Stay focused.

 

She reached high, straining to pull herself up using the strength in her arms, then locked her legs back onto the stone to repeat the process. At the top, she glided along the flying buttress back to the tiled roof using only her hands.

 

After regaining her balance on the incline, Louisa wiped the coating of stone dust off her scuffed and sweaty hands onto her dress. Then she fast-bear-crawled up the cold metal to the ridgeline on the Basilica’s cross-shaped roof. She hopped to her feet, then sprinted to the middle intersection. She turned toward the top of the crucifix and her emergency route.

 

The sixty-year-old headmistress had to go down three flights of stairs and walk to the far end of the school to reach the dormitory. Even if the other clan members enacted their stalling tactics, Louisa had only minutes to reach the lavatory next to the vast sleeping hall. Her uncle’s advice rang in her mind. Hurry and you die. Think before you move. His sage advice tempered her urge to rush.

 

Each time Louisa climbed the Basilica, she carried a long, black silk rope attached to a column inside a first-story classroom in the main building. On the first level of the Basilica’s roof, she would secure her escape route by knotting the rope around the waist of a gargoyle with a long serpentine tongue.

 

On reaching the top of the cross, Louisa angled to her right and stumble-ran down the slanted roof. With the edge approaching fast, she grabbed the statue’s hunched back and swung to a stop.

 

The thin black rope stretched from the gargoyle down to the last top window of the square A–shaped building. From there, Louisa would need to race the headmistress along the length of the school to the last classroom on that floor. The finish line lay a floor below inside the ground-floor lavatory.
 

She pulled on the rope to test the ties and picked up a long, five-centimeter-wide strap of greased leather with loops on each end. Louisa tossed the leather over the rope and grabbed both hand stirrups.

 

A candle appeared inside the large French window on the far side, and Virginie’s head popped outside. After several frantic one-armed waves, Pleasure, Virginie’s clan name, disappeared inside, leaving only a tiny glow as Louisa’s target.

 

I never get to enjoy this.

 

She took a deep breath through her nose and stepped back. Exhaling through pursed lips, she sprinted down the slanted buttress. Twenty centimeters from the edge, she jumped. The rope dipped under her weight, and the leather whirred as the belt zipped down the line. Louisa tightened her biceps and tucked her legs, aiming for the opening.

 

Her feet crossed the threshold. She let go of one hand stirrup and dropped toward the floor at breakneck speed. When her toe tapped the ground, Louisa used her forward momentum to tuck her head and shoulder-roll over the marble flooring, taking out the jolt as her uncle had taught her. She came to her feet and flew toward a plastered wall. Virginie wrapped her arms around Louisa’s waist, pulling her to a stop.

 

Virginie’s eyes bulged inside her gold wire-rimmed spectacles. “It’s bad. You have to hurry. Buttons was on the stairs, and Gabrielle has Jeton Deux looking for you.” She shoved Louisa toward the door. “I’ll take care of the rope.”

 

Mon Dieu. I’m an idiot. The mention of the bully and her minion made Louisa realize that as much as it disgusted her, she needed to go on the trip to protect the Clan of the Dissipated from Gabrielle’s foul plans. Later tonight, she’d have to go back and destroy the forged page.

 

With a nod, Louisa tossed her friend the leather strap and ran into the hallway. She pictured the headmistress’s button boots clapping down the corridor a floor below her and lengthened her strides.

 

As Louisa raced toward the room, she forced her eyelids open and thought about yawning. About now, Marie—clan name Joy—would be intercepting the headmistress. Their agreed-upon story required a rare item from Louisa. Tears. With her eyes starting to water, she ran into the classroom and toward the open window.

 

Louisa vaulted the windowsill and twisted as she started to fall. She caught the lip with her fingers and glanced down at the ground-floor window. She trusted that Eugénie, clan name Gaiety, had opened the lavatory window below.

 

With a slight push away from the wall, Louisa released her hold. She fell three meters. As she passed the arched molding, she grabbed the stone and kicked inward. Then she let go and flew through the window at an angle, feet first. She landed in the center of the huge lavatory.

 

Historical Note

 

The Inspiration: Les maisons d’éducation de la Légion d’honneur

 

The schools are officially part of the Légion d’honneur organization and not the Department of Education. The school superintendents are managed by a retired general whose boss is the president of France. At 213 years of age, these state-supported, all-girls boarding schools also have an unusual hereditary aspect to their attendance.

 

To apply to one of the schools, an applicant’s parent, grandparent, or great-grandparent must have been awarded France’s highest medal, the Légion d’honneur, similar to the United States’ Medal of Freedom. In addition to being educated at one of the top schools in France, the students live in an actual eighteenth-century abbey that reminds visitors of Hogwarts.

 

This is a great starting point for any novelist, but the magic I found in the history of real people associated with the school has added so much to the book. During my research, I discovered a dissertation written about European women’s education during the late 1800s. Part of Professor Roger’s paper incorporated a diary written by Eugénie Savant, a student who attended the Legion of Honor School at Écouen from 1875 to 1880. In her diary, Eugénie discussed how she and her friend, Virginie Ghesquiere, formed a secret society along with other students, the Clan of the Dissipated, to help bring them joy amid the school’s demanding class schedule and unflinching rulebook enforced by a staff of strict nuns.

 

I am proud to have included fictional representations of Eugénie, Virginie, and the Clan of the Dissipated within the following pages. Two chapters in the book are my take on a story from the diary, while another was shared with me by current students at Saint-Denis during my visit to the school in December 2023.

 

After speaking to six classes of young women attending Saint-Denis, I became invested in capturing the students’ female-centric esprit de corps. The young ladies I interacted with were intelligent, well-mannered, and confident. They are fantastic representatives of the school and of France.

 

The Author’s Journey: How the Book Came to Be

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Louisa Sophia is 99 percent fictional but is based on the real-life illegitimate daughter of the 1st Earl of Cromer, Evelyn Baring. The only factual aspects of her fictionalized life are her relationship with her father, that her mother was Greek, and that she was born on the Greek island of Corfu.

 

While looking for a high-end boarding school to be part of the Louisa character’s background for my historical science fiction series, Lamentations and Magic, I came across the Maisons d'éducation de la Légion d’honneur, which took me on a research binge.

 

The best English-based research I found on the schools was a synopsis written in the early 1990s by Professor Rebecca Rogers. Her thesis on women’s education in the nineteenth century extensively referenced the diary of a young woman who attended the Legion of Honor school at Écouen from 1875 to 1880.

 

Eugénie Savant was that young woman’s name. Through her diary’s translated words, I learned of her best friend, Virginie Ghesquiere; the rulebook; the nuns who ran the lower-level schools; an extraordinary classroom story; and the two girls’ secret society, the Clan of the Dissipated. The two primary nun characters in the story, Mère de la Nativité, and Mère Sainte Adeline, were mentioned by name in the diary. “Chapter 4: A Pyrrhic Victory” is my take on a diary entry describing a militaristic classroom competition.

 

My wife and I traveled to Portugal in March 2022. I outlined a plot with a younger Louisa Sophia as the lead protagonist during the trip. The story uses many historical locations we visited in Portugal and includes a supporting cast of nuns and students from the Saint-Denis branch of the Legion of Honor schools.

 

I chose the Saint-Denis branch because Écouen is no longer a functioning school and because of Professor Rogers’s connections. She put me in touch with teachers and administrators at Saint-Denis. Our Portugal trip took place at the tail end of the Covid lockdowns, and before flying home, we tested positive. I completed the plot outline while quarantining at the seaside town of Sesimbra, an hour south of Lisbon. Best illness ever.

 

In December 2023, I was invited by an English teacher at the Saint-Denis school to visit. My stepson and I attended six of the teacher’s classes where we spoke to current students. We confirmed that today's students were not so different from the teenagers who attended in the 1870s, secret societies and all. You can read my article about the school, “A Singularly Unique School,” on my blog, HistoryIsMagic.com.