“What a wonderful surprise! I can’t believe my eyes! I never would have imagined finding you in a situation such as this! From now on we shall be inseparable! I want to learn all about you, every minute of everything you’ve been doing in the past twelve months. And how is Picardy doing? And my in-laws? I abandoned everyone to pursue this marvelous adventure of anthroposophy. Oh, we have so much to tell each other! Let’s never separate ever again!”
The three musketeers were immensely flattered by this warm reception, even though they didn’t understand much of what Bette was telling them.
“Bette, my dear,” Geoffroy finally dared to say, “what is all this you’re talking about? We are only soldiers and don’t understand a thing about all this anthroposophy business.”
“There will be plenty of time for me to tell you all about it, but what did you think of the performance? Did you like it?”
“Oh very much,” they all replied warmly.
They spent the rest of the evening evoking pleasant memories of Enguerrand and their friends. Bette also asked for news of her new sister-in-law. Papyrus didn’t hesitate to share the strange story of how she saved his life with the medal and Bette was enormously stirred up by it — so stirred up in fact that they found it worrisome. Then with a pale and distant stare she pronounced these oracular words:
“So many signs mark the way. It’s up to us to open our eyes and notice them. Do you understand Louis,” — Papyrus’s real name was Louis—“that my sister-in-law protected you from a distance with the force of her love?”
“I don’t believe in that sort of thing, you know, but all the same I was very struck by it, no pun intended.”
“Where is the medal?”
“I always carry it with me. It’s in the pocket of the coat I left in the vestibule.”
“Would you mind getting it? I’d like to see it.”
Papyrus was only gone a minute and then returned with the medal and handed it to Bette. An elegant Russian gentleman joined their little group and Bette introduced him. The Russian took the medal in his hand and reacted enthusiastically to the miraculous story.
“It’s indeed quite amazing, I agree,” said Papyrus. “But I don’t believe in the supernatural one bit.”
“And so what do you make of it? Purely an accident?” asked the Russian in impeccable French.
“Naturally. I must seem rather rough around the edges to you, however…”
“However, you keep it in your pocket,” Bette interjected softly.
“Yes, because it was given to me by a pure and innocent hand, and after all, this little piece of silver did save my life.”
“It’s really quite amazing,” repeated the Russian, taking the medal in his large hand again. “You know, I too was until recently quite skeptical of such things, but lately I’ve been coming upon more and more bizarre incidents.”
“For example?”
“Do you know my good friend, the painter Wassily Kandinsky?”
“No, you are probably the first Russian I have ever met.”
“Well, Kandinsky is in my opinion the greatest painter alive today, but that is not why I bring him up. The reason is he told me about an experience dating back a few years that left him rather upset. After a lively dinner with his friends Thomas and Olga von Hartmann, they decided to try to talk with ghosts by turning a plate with an arrow and the alphabet around the outside. They were then stupefied by the contact made with a female spirit named Musutsky who had lived in Ufa in Bashkiria, where she is buried. She asked them to pray for her cousin and she spelled the first three letters of his name: S, H, A.”
“Yes, but your Kandinsky and his friends may have been having a collective hallucination.”
“That is precisely why he wrote to the priest in Ufa to ask if he had known a parishioner by that name.”
“And what was his reply?”
“He replied one month later that the cemetery contained many named Musutsky, but only one with a cousin named Shatov. Rather curious, don’t you think?”
“No, most likely just a coincidence. You will not convince me.”
“But that is not my aim,” said the Russian laughing freely. “I’m not sure I’m convinced myself. I simply wonder at it, that’s all. I’m humble, more humble than you are.”
“So you only believe in physical matter, Louis, despite what this little medal tells you?” said Bette.
“I believe in God, but I maintain a strict boundary between the world of the living and the dead.”
“There are so many things that we must talk about, my dear Louis,” whispered Bette as she took him by the arm.
The four met again frequently and ran into each other at the same social events. I know that Vincent soon became tired of Bette’s theories and started going to Paris less often. He had also begun courting a young, levelheaded Norman woman whose lighthearted teasing turned Bette’s earnest theories into uproarious laughter. That woman would become our aunt Elodie.
Chapter Nine
On our way back to Paris we stopped off at the château of my maternal grandparents. Luna wanted to see where my mother was raised. We began at the cemetery — that seemed like the normal thing to do. My mother and her parents as well as Enguerrand and Aunt Bette were all buried there. I felt a little guilty about not having gone back there for many years, but really she was the one who chose to return to her origins instead of being buried somewhere more accessible for her children. My poor mother — everything she did irritated me. I did the introductions and Catherine crossed herself. Luna and I did the same, feeling a little self-conscious about not having thought of it on our own. I did, however, say some nice things to my mother in a low voice, and I greeted my grandfather, the communion wafer muncher.
We next went on to the castle. We first stood in front of the iron gate and contemplated it. Of course for Luna and Catherine it must have looked spectacular, but I immediately spotted broken shutters, unruly grass, a broken-limbed eucalyptus lying scattered in the garden. One should not retrace one’s steps, one quickly smells death and abandonment. All the same it was not unpleasant to be alive in the company of these two women I love and who give meaning to everything I lived through.
Luna took a few pictures and Catherine asked me some questions about where the bedrooms were and the layout of the other rooms. Luna was rather proud that her family could claim to have such a glorious estate in its history—we all laughed. She then asked that we go see Warvillers, where I had grown up, but I was not too pleased at the suggestion. I didn’t dare say that to her and we were very close by.
“You won’t see anything, you know. It’s well hidden by a forest of poplars and an allée of plane trees.”
“But we’ll ring the bell. Just like in the movies, we’ll ring and say that the daughter of the Count of Corbois wishes to see her old bedroom.”
“And they’ll answer, ‘The daughter of the Count of Corbois does not live here and if you want to see her look her up in the phone book.’ No one remembers us, and it’s a good thing too, given the scandal back then. I assure you I’m quite happy that they’ve entirely forgotten us!”
“Come on, let’s at least try!”
She took out her smartphone and entered the address in Warvillers. It was a fifteen-minute drive away. How could I disappoint her and say that what for her was just another story was for me like returning to a house filled with vampires? I got back in the car stoically and let the proposal go forward. My mother’s castle was already having an effect on me. After all, it was the place where Aunt Bette had lived out the end of her life and Gabriel and I had spent a lot of time in our younger years. But the house of my childhood was another matter entirely.
Luna, however, was filled with interest for these bits and pieces of my past life. We parked in front of the gate. My legs felt like jelly. Unexpectedly, it was Catherine who came
to my rescue: “Luna, it’s not really a good idea, you know.”
“No?”
“No.”
Luna glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I looked at her and said nothing.
“Of course, I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re such a good storyteller I felt like I was in a movie.”
We got back on the road to Paris. The sky was gray.
I was careful not to point out that Catherine’s phone had been silent all day. When we reached the highway the sky was black and I wondered if there was going to be enough time for us to get home before the heavens let loose.
We rushed to park the car near Place Saint-Sulpice and ran to my entryway just as the first heavy drops of rain were coming down. What a relief to be together, and dry, in my building. I was thrilled at the prospect of having a nice little dinner with a nice bottle of Burgundy while the storm raged outside, and I sensed that my girls were also savoring the moment. Then when I turned to unlock the inside door we all saw a letter on the doormat. It was addressed to Catherine — just Catherine, with no other writing or stamp. The fellow must have come and left it himself.
“But how did he get inside?”
“He must have got the concierge to let him in, or a neighbor.”
“Oh great, Mom, so anyone can just come into your building whenever they like! You should really do something about that.”
“Settle down, my dear. We’ll hire a bouncer if you like, but for now would you please just open the letter?”
“It’s from Lorenzo.”
“Yes, well, I’d guessed that.”
She opened the envelope delicately and I stood thinking how very different we were. Luna and I stood there nosily trying to interpret her facial expression as she read. I held the keys in my hand and a far-off ambulance broke the silence.
“He’s here. He’s at the Relais Saint-Sulpice in the rue Garancière. He wants me to go meet him there.”
Catherine kept looking at the piece of paper — a cruel doubt gripped her, it was clear. I wanted to tell her that her life was not at stake, that a couple’s duet does not turn on one note, that what brings on its downfall is never-ending, complicated, and brimming with good intentions.
She is so afraid of making a mistake that she forgets to ask if she still loves this man who showers her with presents but sleeps with women who are younger, slimmer, and funnier. Does she really know what she wants? Does she want to be desired or cheated on and indemnified? Catherine has lost track of herself within this long and banal marriage saga.
She stared at the key hanging in my hand as though she expected it to give the answer. I opened the door and the three of us walked in. The thunderstorm was going full blast. I turned on all the lights, but despite the golden, welcoming light of my living room a nervous feeling came over us.
“Okay, I’m putting on some makeup and going.”
“Oh, wait at least for the rain to let up a bit, you’ll get soaked.”
She didn’t listen to me, and after three minutes in the bathroom she rushed off, telling us she’d keep us informed.
I couldn’t help peeking out the window as she crossed Place Saint-Sulpice, hunched over and holding her umbrella like a shield. She seemed nervous and powerless and that broke my heart.
Luna offered to prepare some pasta for us and we went into the kitchen to pull together a meal. I was startled by each clap of thunder. My idea of the three of us huddling together in my cozy living room was shattered. Instead I became extremely anxious thinking of my daughter crossing the square amid thunder and lightning to go off to that man who didn’t love her as much as she’d like. I had never been an apprehensive mother, and look at me now in my advanced age and how I felt lacerated with worry. Or maybe I was always more afraid than I ever allowed myself to admit. When she used to hide and I’d call her like an idiot and get no response, I remember how severe but contained my irritation was. In fact I always had the impression that I was putting her in danger by having her in my care. I knew full well that I was not up to the task — too nervous despite my courageous air, and too responsible not to have understood the mad act I had committed. And so why then did I have her? It couldn’t have been from love, since we didn’t know each other. When she was young, Catherine would put her little feet into my shoes and she’d walk around the apartment as though she were on a cross-country skiing expedition. She looked funny and I wondered what pleasure her awkward movements could be giving her. Maybe that was why I’d had her, so that she’d step into my shoes after me, after I wouldn’t be going anywhere anymore. And then love got in there and as always complicated everything, simplified everything, or let’s say explained everything. My greatest love story is her. And now suddenly I’m petrified at the idea that a bolt of lightning might strike her. Since that moment when she leaned her head against my shoulder in Brittany I’ve become the mother of a child again.
Luna and I ate in the kitchen. Her pasta was delicious and she was talking on gaily but I didn’t have the heart to join in. I could only think of her mother.
“Do you think we should send her a text message to ask if she got to the hotel okay?”
“But Mamie, the hotel is just behind the church, right? She’s there for sure! You can see the square is empty. I didn’t know you were such a worrywart.”
“A worrywart? No, certainly not, but really this is quite a storm we’re having this evening.”
“That’s for sure. I just hope he’s at the hotel.”
“Oh my God, and what if he went out?”
“But Mamie, she’s got a brain, she’ll call him in that case! Don’t worry. If he came all this way to bring her back, they’re not going to get lost wandering around Place Saint-Sulpice!”
After having some herb tea in the living room, we both went off to bed. Luna was tired of course, she had done all the driving. The storm had subsided and in its place came a strange silence. In darkness behind the window I looked out at the square, which was oddly empty. The night is so beautiful when one has it all to oneself.
Chapter Ten
I often wondered how Aunt Bette managed to convince Papyrus to accompany her to Munich to listen to Rudolf Steiner give a lecture. Uncle Geoffroy I could understand, given what happened later, but my father — it was really an odd occurrence. Nevertheless, in 1922 Papyrus, who hated the Germans, didn’t speak German, and who had no elective affinity for spiritual matters, found himself attending the last lecture that Rudolf Steiner would give in Germany.
At the time Steiner had just published The Renewal of the Social Organism, which became a best seller. That book set out his ideal society, which he based on a “threefold social order” analogous to the order of the human body and onto which he also grafted the ideals of the French Revolution: liberty, equality, fraternity. Briefly stated, he affirmed the head as the sphere of culture and creativity. To it must be guaranteed the liberty that every individual needs for self-realization. The senses and the circulatory system correspond to the realm of politics and the law, and every person must be guaranteed the same rights. Finally, the economy corresponds to the metabolic system, and the priority there is fraternity or solidarity. Riches are to be produced for the collectivity and not merely for individual profit.
These ideas, though considered utopian by most politicians, who hardly paid any attention to them, were pleasing to many people during the chaotic postwar era. They also brought down on him a good number of enemies. Marxists were hostile to the influence he had within the working class, which he was supposedly diverting from the true revolutionary combat, while the far right detested him for his antiwar declarations and his call for the abolition of borders. In short, Steiner’s life was not simple. I say all this without the least pretension of being an expert on the topic, I’m only passing on what I can still dredge up from my spotty memory.
As soon as they arrived in Munich, Papyru
s realized he was not fond of this city, which seemed to give off an aura of uncertainty. It’s important to underline that Bavaria in 1922 was a bit topsy-turvy. The dissolution of the monarchy was still fairly recent, the prime minister Kurt Eisner had been assassinated three years earlier, and one year later in 1923 there would be Hitler’s putsch and the imprisonment of the future führer. The social climate was unusual to say the least. For Aunt Bette things were different. She was Swiss, loved modern art, and she would have followed her passion for anthroposophy to the ends of the earth. She therefore ran off to every new exhibition, while Geoffroy and Papyrus discovered the city and its churches with the aid of a thick guidebook. Bette had given them instructions to meet her at the Frauenplatz for lunch. She arrived with rosy cheeks and a big grin on her face. She told them she had seen the most wonderful paintings, so filled with spirituality and freedom that she couldn’t get over it. The two men listened to her patiently, but were probably thinking more about what they were going to order.
“I recommend the Schweinsbraten with potatoes, and after we’ll have Apfelstrudel — how’s that sound?”
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