S.T.T.T.S - Part III: "Mademoiselle en Rose" (Lady in Pink)
- Gabrielle Marie Kelley
- Feb 16
- 12 min read
Updated: Mar 18
A Word from the Author
"Thank you again for patiently waiting for Part III of S.T.T.T.S. In this part, Sally meets her first historical figure: Marie Guillemine Benoist accompanied by her brother Jean-Baptiste David Le Roy.
Marie Guillemine Benoist (born December 18, 1768) was a French portrait painter renowned for her elegant depictions of both aristocratic and enslaved individuals during the late 18th and early 19th centuries. A student of Jacques-Louis David, she became one of the few female artists to achieve recognition in a male-dominated field. Her work often blended neoclassical styles with her keen focus on social issues, as seen in her notable painting La Négresse (1800), which was groundbreaking for its portrayal of a Black woman with dignity and grace. Despite the societal constraints of her time, Benoist made significant contributions to French portraiture, leaving a lasting impact on the artistic scene.
Sally meets Benoist when she is 17 years old in 1825, a year before Benoist dies at the age of 58 years old. Besides his name, little is known about Benoist's brother, Jean-Baptiste David, so I showed some creative freedom in writing his character and demeanor.
Sally tells Moby that she is leaving Texas and traveling to Paris with Mrs. Abigail. Moby asks if Paris is in Texas and Sally responds no. If you're familiar with Texas, you know that a small city called Paris does actually exist in The Lone Star State, however, the city was not established until 1839. When Sally and Moby have this conversation, she is 9 years of age and it is the year 1818, a little over 2 decades before Paris, Texas was founded.
Paris, Texas, was originally founded as a trading post in the Republic of Texas and was named after Paris, France, in the hopes of it becoming as influential as its European counterpart. The town grew rapidly and became an important center of trade and commerce in the region. Today, Paris, Texas, is known for its distinctive landmarks, including a replica of the Eiffel Tower with a red cowboy hat on top!
Sally witnesses her mistress being driven away in a type of coach called a Coupé while she gets the privilege of riding in a Berline coach. Both the Coupé and the Berline were actual types of coaches in the early 1800s. The Coupé was widely used by members of sophisticated society, but the Berline was usually used to escort members of aristocracy.
I hope you enjoy Sally's adventures and discoveries in Part Three! Please subscribe to keep up with the story and follow @gabietheauthor on IG and @gabie.the.author on Tik Tok to learn more about the historical people, places, and things mentioned throughout the story."
Happy Reading,
Gabie the Author
(TAP PLAY TO LISTEN)
“Well now, Sally, don’t you look like a proper little lady?” Mrs. Abigail said while removing her gloves.
Looking down at her shoes, Sally’s mind was back home. She daydreamed into the glare of the shined polish. Lifting her head, she saw Mrs. Abigail looking out the window.
“Such a pity you will never know what it feels like to be a proper lady. I hear some niggers are free in France, and that they even attend high tea. I can hardly believe it.”
Mrs. Abigail sighed and said, “I also still can’t believe William enjoys these sorts of voyages. I’ve already grown tired and would have contented myself to stay in Texas for the rest of my living. But now, we are off to Paris. Sally, hand me that book.”
Standing up, Sally reached overhead in Mrs. Abigail’s leather duffel bag. All the faces of those she left behind surfaced as she dug deeper.
“Master Livington is sending Mrs. Abigail to Paris, along with her maids, including me.” Sally told them.
“That be here in Texas?” asked Moby.
“No, Moby, there’s no such thing as Paris, Texas. It’s in France. We will take a train and a ship ride to reach Bordeaux, France. It’s going to take us an awful long time.” Sally explained.
Moby and the other slaves hugged Sally goodbye. The reassurance of her return did nothing to stop their tears.
Betsy glared on from a distance and then turned her back to tend to her day’s work. She did not understand why Betsy didn’t bid her goodbye.
Sally handed Mrs. Abigail the book and fixated on the glare, it somehow steadied her thoughts and concerns.
“Ah ha! I found it, shoes. The word for shoes is chaussures. I figured you might want to know that since that’s all you can seem to focus on." Mrs. Abigail leaned toward Sally with her index finger on the word, inviting Sally to repeat after her.
“That’s right, Sally. You really are a clever nigger, aren’t you? I think Mr. Peterson might have been right; I have taught you too much. It won’t serve you nothing but trouble, for sure”.
Mrs. Abigail handed Sally the book and positioned herself to make the passing landscape her muse.
“Do you think I will truly learn French, Sally?”
Sally closed the book, looked down again at her shoes and responded, “Oui.”
“Sally, fait attention à toi-même! You can’t be so senseless to walk and read. Watch where you’re going!” Mrs. Abigail yelled from behind Sally.
Rolling her eyes, Sally placed the yellow ribbon in between the pages and closed the storybook. She was just getting to the good part; Prince Etienne was professing his love for Princess Gabrielle. He had pulled her in for a kiss. Did they share the kiss of truth? Sally would have to wait to find out.
When they first arrived in Paris nine years ago, perhaps Mrs. Abigail would have been right. Sally was just a wide-eyed little girl, lost in a cocktail of street signs, crossways, and French. But now that she was 17, she could practically navigate the pathways of Paris with her eyes closed.
“Honestly, I don’t know why you fill your head with such stories. You’re only doing yourself a disservice in so many ways. You will never experience love, Sally, because you are a nigger and, what is more, that sort of love doesn’t even exist,” said Mrs. Abigail as she lifted her dress to climb the steps of the fabric shop.
Mrs. Abigail immediately greeted the shopkeeper like a long-lost friend that had come with good news. Instead of entering and being forced to listen to the city’s gossip and the latest ribbon trends, Sally decided to rejoin the Prince and Princess on a bench outside of the shop:
Etienne pulled Gabrielle closer, and their lips were mere centimeters apart. He whispered, “You will feel the truth in true love’s kiss”. Etienne placed his hand on Gabrielle’s back and his other on her neck, pressing her body against…
Again, the exploits of the prince and princess were interrupted. Sally raised her head at the order of a commanding voice. Standing on the porch of one of the storefronts, a man proudly disserted to an audience of about 20 in a classic Parisian accent. He spoke with such vigor and conviction that the crowd swelled in number and respect. Sally concentrated on every word as the man spoke of peace and liberty for all, for negroes and for women. She had never heard a white man speak of negroes and women as he did; he asked the audience about humanity, freedom, and autonomy. All his questions incited hands to rub chins and heads to nod. The man spoke of the type of freedom that Sally saw in Ezekiel’s eyes.
While the gentleman gestured and pontificated, Sally scanned his appearance: A sturdy fellow with dark features and pale skin. A rosiness to his cheeks gave him a healthy and jovial appearance. Brunet with blonde highlights that softened the chiseled and pointed features of his nose and chin. He was quite the Frenchman; handsome and smartly dressed, obviously a member of polite French society.
His appearance and his diction made him undeniably mesmerizing, hence, the crowd hung onto every word.
When he finished his speech, everyone clapped and inspired, Sally joined in the applause. The man smiled holding his vest with his chin in the air, scanning the crowd until his eyes fell onto Sally’s.
“Bonjour, mademoiselle. He is quite the captivator, is he not?” A beautiful middle-aged brunette appeared in front of Sally, relieving her of the gentleman’s gaze.
“Pardonez-moi Madame?” Sally asked, in a daze.
“My brother, he’s quite the speaker, is he not?” The woman repeated.
“Oui madame, he speaks very well, indeed.” Sally said, regaining her composure.
“I believe in what he says. Je m’appelle Madame Marie Guillemine Benoist. But you can call me Marie,” she said.
“My name is Sally of the House of Livington. I am waiting for my Mistress.” Sally responded.
“Ah, I see, an American servant. You speak French very well. Please do not hold your head down when you speak to me, mademoiselle, I am an ally.” Madame Benoist said while holding her hand out to Sally.
Sally reached for her hand and stood to greet the kind woman.
“Sally, unhand la madame at once!” Mrs. Abigail scolded.
“It is perfectly fine madame. I insisted that she greet me as all ladies do.” Madame Benoist said.
“A lady?” Mrs. Abigail laughed. “Sally is not a lady; she is my slave.”
"Is a female slave not a human woman? Should a human woman be denied her ladyship?” Madame Benoist asked, sounding much like her brother. She graciously introduced herself to Mrs. Abigail and ask, “…and who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
Sally gauged that Mrs. Abigail was deeply perplexed by Marie’s questions, but like a true lady, her demeanor remained pleasant as she shared her name and status. “Benoist? Would you happen to be the understudy of Monsieur Jacques-Louis David?”
“Oui! I must say that Jacques-Louis is much more than my teacher, he is responsible for my greatest masterpiece.”
“I follow his work, and impressed is an understatement; his ability to put life on a canvas is breathtaking. What a beautiful privilege you have!” Mrs. Abigail said, beaming.
“Ah oui, it is a privilege indeed. I have recently completed a portrait that is a true testament of his influence and my beliefs. Not many have viewed it without sentiment. Sally, I think you would be deeply inspired by this piece. Would you like to accompany my brother and I this evening for dinner?” Madame Benoist asked the women.
“I think they would like that very much,” the gentleman said. He had left his audience and now stood next to his sister.
“I know that I would,” he added staring at Sally, his eyes falling near her chest and his brows furrowing as he inspected the bulge in her bodice.
“I would be delighted to dine with you and to view your art Madame Benoist, but Sally, here, has plenty of work to…”
Madame Benoist interrupted and said, “What a shame it would be to deny the complete invitation. Madame Livington, you don’t strike me as a classless woman.”
“Mrs. Abigail is right. I also don’t have a proper dress for dining,” said Sally, hoping to quell the rising tension.
“Do not worry, I have just the dress in mind,” Madame Benoist responded. “Jean-Baptiste, keep the company of Madame Livington while Sally and I speak with the shopkeeper.”
“Avec plaisir,” Jean-Baptiste answered while ushering away a stuttering and confused Mrs. Abigail.
While Sally fitted dress after dress, avoiding the blue and white fabrics, Madame Benoist shared stories and perspectives that confirmed that she did indeed hold the same beliefs as her brother, Jean-Baptiste. She spoke poetically and her words stirred a fire in Sally’s heart.
"Sally, I know that the world may seem unfair, and that your life is shaped by forces beyond your control. But remember this: your worth is not defined by the color of your skin, nor the position you are forced into. You possess beauty, strength, and dignity that no one can take away. Art has the power to reveal truths, to capture the spirit within, and to challenge the world. Never forget that your story, your soul, deserves to be seen, respected, and remembered. Through your gaze, through your presence, you too can create something that speaks to the hearts of others,” she said while helping Sally adjust the sleeves of yet another dress.
“By God, Sally, la couleur rose suits you well. I think this is the dress! What do you think?” Madame Benoist asked.
“I think you’re right.”
The walk home was tense. Mrs. Abigail seethed with envy to see Sally so endeared to Madame Benoist. She muttered something about Sally being negatively influenced in Paris and how the time that they spent here had changed them both for the worse.
For nine years, Mrs. Abigail had begged Master William to receive them back in Texas and each time he insisted she stayed to further their economic and social status. Sally could see that Mrs. Abigail had reached her wits’ end.
When they arrived at the apartment, Mrs. Abigail turned to Sally and said, “Meet me downstairs in a quarter ‘till. I cannot be late. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sally went to her room carrying the box full of items that Madame Benoist had gifted her; a dress, ribbons, heels, and a pink rose headpiece made from the finest silk. In disbelief that the items were in her possession, she lay them neatly on her bed to admire them.
Using a worn bristled brush, Sally brushed her hair and added water to define her coils. With her fingers, she parted a portion of her hair at the top of her head and braided it leaving the rest of her hair down creating a partial up-do. Sally tied a ribbon at the bottom of the braid and affixed the rose piece right above the ribbon. Peering into the small heavily oxidated mirror, Sally could see most of her work and was satisfied.
She dressed in her undergarments and heels. The dress fit snuggly on her bodice and waist and draped the rest of her frame in a flow of elegant ruching. The chain holding the coin dangled as she fastened it around her neck. The center of the coin had not glowed in the 9 years she had been here in France. Thinking it to be a useless rock reminding Sally of home, Mrs. Abigail had it chained to cheer Sally up. Sally rubbed her fingers along the coin's edge and then stuffed it back into her bodice.
Sally grabbed the storybook and left her room to meet Mrs. Abigail in the foyer.
“My cloak, Sally,” Mrs. Abigail commandeered.
Sally gathered the cloak and placed it on Mrs. Abigail’s shoulders.
“I do not know when I will return, so do not wait up for me. Do not forget to turn down my bed.”
“Would you like me to turn it down now, or upon our return?” Sally asked.
“Our return? You can prepare it at the usual time because you will be here.”
“But…Madame Benoist is expecting me, also.” Sally said.
“Sally, did you truly think I would be accompanied by a nigger? I’m sure Madame Benoist was just being kind. She doesn’t understand that it’s improper to dine with one’s slave. And apparently, you have forgotten the rules, too.”
Mrs. Abigail stepped closer to Sally and said, “You are and will never be anything more, than a nigger. I am utterly disgusted with your antics. Know your place, girl!”
Scanning Sally from top to bottom, Mrs. Abigail sneered, “A nigger-girl in pink silk. What a waste of fine fabric.”
She turned to exit the opened door. Sally watched from the window as she was assisted by the coachman to enter the Coupé. The coach rattled off leaving Sally in a sobering silence. She walked to the tearoom holding her book to her chest.
Was this the freedom Ezekiel imagined? This sort of liberty only made her desire grow for the restricted but predictable life back in Texas. She missed Betsy, Moby, and everyone. But did they even remember her? Would they recognize who she had become? She wasn’t sure if she recognized herself. Who was she? Was she a free woman dressed in pink silk sitting in a tearoom reading a French book or was she just a nigger playing dress up?
Sally sat on the chaise, opened the book and began to read, starting from the beginning of the scene:
Etienne grabbed Gabrielle’s waist and drew her into him. She could feel the heat of his body through her corset. Her hands planted firmly on his forearms, ready to push him away or eager to draw him closer, she did not yet know.
“I am the Princess of Lamballe. Unhand me, now.” Gabrielle whispered.
“Gabrielle, I will unhand you, and for eternity, I will, after I have spoken my truth. I love you with all my being and I have loved you before I knew what love was. You must see my love; you must feel it. I must make you feel it,” Etienne said in his breath.
“How do I know this is true?” Princess Gabrielle asked, her eyes scanning his in desperation.
Etienne pulled Gabrielle closer, and their lips were mere centimeters apart. He whispered, “You will feel the truth in true love’s kiss”. Etienne placed his hand on Gabrielle’s back and his other on her neck, pressing her body against his, he leaned in and…
Sally dropped the book startled by a knock at the door. Grabbing the book, she rose and scurried against the wall with her ear to the entrance of the room.
“Bonsoir monsieur, how may I help you this evening?” the doorman asked.
“Bonsoir, je viens chercher Mademoiselle Sally. Elle est attendue à la Maison Benoist.
Puzzled, the doorman asked, “Mademoiselle Sally?”
Sally rushed from her hiding place and presented herself. “I am Mademoiselle Sally, and I am ready, sir.” The doorman’s confusion was only compounded when he saw how beautiful Sally appeared in pink. But not wanting to stall any further, he stepped aside and grabbed the door handle to perform his duty.
“This way, mademoiselle.”
The coachman led Sally to a Berline, the finest coach to exist in all of Paris. A luxurious car used to escort the aristocracy. Sally ran her fingers along the plush interior and giggled with excitement. The enclosed coach hid her identity but made her respectable to all who passed.
Madame Benoist must have sent her coach to retrieve Sally seeing that Mrs. Abigail had arrived without her. Anxiety about how Mrs. Abigail would react once she saw Sally was pushed away by elation of this newfound freedom. Sally grabbed the coin and clutched it in her palm.
“I don’t know who you believed me to be, Ezekiel, or what you thought I could accomplish, but this evening, I am the lady in pink.”
Discussion: Did you enjoy Madame Marie Guillemine Benoist's role in helping Sally gain self-esteem? How do you think Mrs. Abigail will react when Sally walks through the door? Tell us what you think in the comments below.
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