The Quintland Sisters(60)
“We are bringing them up to take all this attention in their stride. Their attitude must be like that of princesses in England: they must not notice anything unusual in all of the attention that is bound to be lavished upon them.”
Used with permission.
January 6, 1938
The New Year is just a few days old and already the mood in the nursery is curdled with tension, the poor girls at the center of it. This would be funny if it wasn’t so awful, and if I had someone to laugh about it with.
Mme. Dionne has been sick, I learned, likely with the same cold that triggered my own illness over Christmas. She—or Papa Dionne—must have decided she was well enough to visit today, and visit she did, bringing with her a large cake she’d baked to celebrate the “Solemnity of Mary,” whatever that is. Well, I shouldn’t say “whatever that is,” because I got an earful about it from Miss Tremblay, who clearly knows her Catholic holidays. It’s a big feast day, apparently, to celebrate the eighth day of Christmas. The problem is, today’s the wrong day. Even Miss Tremblay looked a tad sheepish about this. January 1 was the feast day, but as Papa Dionne explained to the girls, Maman was too ill last Saturday, so they would be celebrating today.
The Dionnes arrived all bundled up against the cold, snow melting on their hats and shoulders. Mme. Dionne was carrying a pedestaled cake platter with a domed tin cover that she set down on the games table, then lifted off the lid with a flourish. The girls’ eyes practically bugged out of their heads, and they rushed over to take a better look, squealing, “Legato, legato!” Maman’s broad face broke out in a smile—so rare a sight, I was caught off guard. Nurse No?l sailed off to get a knife, forks, and plates while I stood back and tried to keep my mouth shut. The girls are not allowed cake and other sweets—this is one of the strictest rules in the Blatz handbook—but they know le gateau from the few times they’ve been allowed to have it, usually for a photo shoot for special occasions (the Solemnity of Mary not included). Moreover, Dr. Dafoe was due to arrive at any moment with Dr. Blatz and Miss Beaulieu. Miss Tremblay had pulled a large chair over to the quintuplets’ tea table, and Mme. Dionne had managed to lower herself into the seat, her eyes shining as the girls reached out tentative little fingers and poked them into the frosting. I know I should have spoken out, but I was loath to draw attention to myself and something about the sight of the girls crowded around their beaming mother made me keep my distance.
Of course, just as Maman Dionne was cutting the cake, the doctors arrived and fireworks ensued. Miss Beaulieu bustled in, clucking, and tried to take the cake from the table. Mme. Dionne bellowed at her to back off and grabbed at the platter, dislodging the cake, which tumbled facedown onto the linoleum. The girls froze, poor lambs, their eyes wide and darting as their treat plunged through the air. Marie and Cécile started whimpering and groping for each other’s hands, while émilie simply stared from Miss Beaulieu to Mme. Dionne. Yvonne, little rascal, dropped to all fours and thrust her fingers into the side of the cake, bringing a sizable handful swiftly to her mouth before anyone could stop her. Dr. Dafoe actually laughed, but Dr. Blatz was furious, launching into a high-pitched diatribe, in English, about why sugar was not permitted, particularly in the morning. I thought M. Dionne was going to combust, and Mme. Dionne burst into tears, bending awkwardly to try to retrieve the cake, looking every bit like a sofa cushion trying to fold itself in two. I managed to sweep the girls out of the playroom before the fight began in earnest, but they could hear the argument despite my best efforts to get them into their snow gear and out into the private yard. We didn’t see the Dionnes leave.
Later, Dr. Dafoe summoned me, Miss Tremblay, Nurse No?l, and Miss Beaulieu to his office, where he and Dr. Blatz had been sequestered for most of the afternoon. They didn’t say a word about the incident with the cake, merely presented us with Dr. Blatz’s new “quintuplet schedule” as he likes to call it. It is much the same as the old one, with every single minute of the day accounted for, including Toilet Trips, Nourishment, Relaxation, and Directed Play.
“The parents must be reminded of the importance of visiting during Outdoor and Indoor Free Play times, but not during Directed Play or Constructive Play times,” Dr. Blatz said sternly. “We have explained this to them today, but we would ask that you help to reinforce this message. This is essential for the equilibrium of the nursery.”
I did my best to translate for Miss Tremblay. I could see none of this was sitting well with her, or with Nurse No?l, but they didn’t say a word.
January 11, 1938
LAST WEEK’S FIASCO with M. and Mme. Dionne has left a bad taste in everyone’s mouth, especially the girls’; they keep asking when the “legato” is coming again. Miss Tremblay and Nurse No?l are clearly fuming over the treatment of the parents and are at pains to make the girls take sides. Yesterday, when the girls heard Dr. Dafoe’s car pull up outside the rear playroom, where they like to wave and blow kisses, Miss Tremblay pulled them away from the windows, telling them, “No, no, Docteur is not nice, the doctor is dirty.” Dirty is a ridiculous word, but it’s clearly something the girls picked up over Christmas. I find it very unsettling. Things they don’t like are now “dirty” and “naughty”—words we’ve never used with them in the past. They scrunch their sweet faces when they say it and whip their heads back and forth as if smelling something bad, plainly mimicking their prudish minders.