So he was determined to show me everything, but first he took us to a fashionable dressmaker so that Sophie and I might have dresses made for a presentation at Versailles.
‘I want you to be acknowledged by the King,’ he told me, ‘because without that you cannot go to Court. It may be that you won’t be. We have to wait and hope that he will appear. All you have to do is curtsey lower than you ever have done before and if he addresses you, answer him clearly. It would be a brief encounter and if he should speak to you I will make it known that you are on a short visit to France in case he should ask someone to make plans for you. There will be others present all hoping for the honour of being addressed—however briefly—by the King, and he will be passing through the ante-room on his way to some engagement.’
‘And for this we must have new dresses?’
‘You must do me credit,’ said the Comte.
‘It seems a great deal of formality.’
‘That,’ said the Comte, ‘is France.’
So we went to the dressmaker—a very soignée woman—who seemed very old and was so patched and powdered that her face was scarcely visible. It was as though she were wearing a mask. She brought out bales of material which she caressed with long white fingers as though they were loved ones; she summoned her assistants and they turned me about, unpinning my hair and treating me as they might have done a bundle of merchandise; and all the time the dressmaker’s piercing eyes studied me. They glinted as she said: ‘She is a child … as yet … but we will do something.’
And to me: ‘When you are older … when you have become a woman eh? … then it will be a joy to dress you.’
They decided on rich peacock blue silk for me. ‘Very simple,’ she cried. ‘We show the child … but the woman to come.’
She spent a lot of time with me, less with Sophie. It was blue for her too, a light turquoise shade.
I laughed when we came out. ‘She takes her dresses very seriously,’ I said.
‘She is one of the greatest dressmakers in Paris,’ Sophie told me. ‘She once made for Madame de Pompadour.’
I was impressed, but more interested in the sights of Paris than the forthcoming visit to Versailles which was the reason for so much planning.
The Comte and I were often alone. He seemed to want that and poor Sophie was often excluded from our expeditions. We did not always use his coach but for fun would take the little carriages which were called pots de chambre because of their shape, and although they exposed us to the weather we did not mind that in the least. In these we would ride round Paris. Whenever I hear the clip-clop of horses’ hooves on a road, I can be transported to those days which seemed to hold a special magic for me.
The Comte wanted me to understand the life of Paris. He wanted me to hear the people coming in through the barriers from the country in the early morning bringing the produce they sold in the markets. It was a city which awoke early and at seven o’clock, although there were no carriages on the roads, people began to stir and go to their business. I was most amused when the waiters from the lemonade shops came running to the various apartment houses with their trays of coffee and rolls for the petit déjeuner of the people who lived there. The various trades seemed to have their special times for making themselves seen and heard. At ten o’clock the legal practitioners went to the Châtelet and, wigged and gowned, they made an extraordinary spectacle with those whose cases they were going to try running along beside them. At midday it was the stockbrokers. But at two o’clock all was quiet. That was the dinner hour and it was not until five that the city became lively again. Then it was at its most noisy, for the streets were blocked with carriages and pedestrians.
‘The most dangerous time is when it begins to get dark,’ said the Comte. ‘No lady must ever be out alone at that time. Thieves abound … and worse. The Watch is not yet on duty and no one is safe. Later on when the streets become full of people it is not so bad.’
The play started at nine and after that the streets quietened down a little until round about midnight when carriages carrying people from supper and gambling parties would go rumbling through the streets.
I loved it all. I wanted to get up early to see the peasants arrive with their fruit, flowers and provisions of all sorts as they made their way to Les Halles. I wanted to see the bankers of Gonesse bringing in their bread. I wanted to buy coffee from the coffee women who stood on the street corners with their tin urns on their backs; it was two sous a cup and served in earthenware vessels but it tasted like nectar to me. I loved the street singers, some of them singing sacred hymns and others specializing in obscenity.
I think the Comte enjoyed those days too and perhaps saw Paris more intimately than he ever had before. He would dress very simply when he took me walking and he always held my arm firmly. I was touched by the way he always protected me from the splashing of carriages, for the Paris mud was notorious and contained an element of sulphur in it which would burn holes in one’s clothes if not removed at once. He took me to Notre Dame, that great landmark of a great city. How it inspired me with its grandeur, but most of all by its antiquity. We went inside and when he had shown me the glorious wheel window in the north transept and the rose window over the organ and we had climbed the three hundred and ninety-seven spiral steps of the turret to look at Paris from the top of the Cathedral, we sat inside in the gloom and the Comte told me of some of the events which had taken place in the history of Notre Dame. Afterwards we looked at the gargoyles which decorated the walls of the Cathedral and somehow my mood changed. They were such strange faces … so wicked … so cunning.
‘Why did they put them there?’ I demanded. ‘They have spoiled its beauty.’
All the same I could not stop looking at those hideous faces … saturnine … evil, but what struck me most was that they seemed to be leering, revelling.
‘In what are they revelling?’ I asked.
‘The follies of human nature, I always thought,’ answered the Comte.
He must have been impressed by the effect this had on me, but he was determined to show me everything possible during our tours of the city. Our rides took us past various prisons. Two stand out in my memory—the Conciergerie on the Quai de l’Horloge whose circular towers could be seen from the bridges and bank of the river; and the Bastille at the Porte St-Antoine with its grim bastions and towers. I shuddered at the sight of the gallery from which cannon projected.
‘They are not all criminals who are imprisoned there,’ the Comte explained. ‘Some are victims of their enemies … men whose politics have betrayed them … or perhaps they have become too dangerous through Court intrigue.’
He then told me of the infamous lettres de cachet, which were warrants of imprisonment issued by the Kings of France. Although they were countersigned by a minister they had to be signed by the King. ‘There is no redress,’ said the Comte. ‘Any man can receive his lettre de cachet and never discover the reason why, for once he is incarcerated in the Bastille, he has little hope of ever getting out.’
Looking up at those grim walls I wondered about the people who were living behind them. ‘But it is so unfair … so unjust!’ I cried.
‘Life often is,’ said the Comte. ‘One has to be always wary to make sure one does not take a false step which could end in disaster.’
‘How can you be sure of that?’
‘One can’t. One has to walk carefully and one does learn as one gets older. In one’s youth one can be rash.’
He did not want me to be too depressed and that evening we went to the play; and how I loved to see those people’s elegant clothes and the women’s magnificent coiffures, all laughing and calling to each other.
Sophie was with us. She obviously enjoyed the theatre and when we returned to the hôtel I stayed in her room for a while and we discussed the play and laughed over the evening’s entertainment. I did believe I was getting to know Sophie better and beginning to understand that she had been rather lonely, and that she
wanted to confide was really rather glad that she had found a sister.
We shall be great friends, I told myself. But then I remembered that I should shortly be returning to England and wondered when we should meet again. When she marries, I promised myself, I shall visit her; and she will visit me.
There came the great thrill of our visit to Versailles. Oddly enough, after the exploration of Paris it did not impress me as greatly. Perhaps I had become satiated by so much splendour and luxurious extravagance. Of course I thought it was wonderful and the Le Notre gardens superb; the terraces and the statues, the bronze groups and ornamental basins from which the fountains rose and fell—they were like fairyland; the orangery had been built by Mansard, the Comte told me, and was reckoned to be the finest piece of architecture in the whole of Versailles and I could well believe that; and it was impossible not to be impressed by the great central terrace and stretch of grass called the tapis vert. But what I remember most about Versailles was that crowded ante-chamber, named the oeil de boeuf because of its oval window, in which I, with Sophie and the Comte, waited for the King to appear from his apartments.
Everyone was very elaborately dressed, and the Comte, I supposed because he was an important person at Court, stood in a prominent position near the door with me on one side and Sophie on the other.
There was an air of suppressed tension in that room and such eagerness on the faces of everyone. They were all so anxious that the King should notice them on his passage through the room. I kept thinking of those people in the Bastille who had been despatched there for something of which they might well be unaware, and just because they had displeased someone who had the power to put them there. But hadn’t the Comte said the lettres de cachet had to be signed by the King?
There was a sudden hush, for a man had come into the room. The King of France! He was followed by several men but I had eyes only for the King. I think I should have known him for the King anywhere. He had an air of great distinction in a way which I can only describe as aloof. It was a handsome face, certainly marked by debauchery but the good looks remained. He moved with grace and he was most exquisitely dressed; diamonds glittered discreetly on his person. I could not take my eyes from him.
He was close to us now and the Comte had caught his eye. I felt myself propelled forward and curtsied as low as I could. Sophie did the same and the Comte bowed low.
‘Ah, Aubigné,’ said the King; his voice was low and musical.
‘I would present my daughters, Sire,’ said the Comte.
I could feel those weary looking eyes on me. A very charming smile appeared on the King’s face and for a few seconds he looked straight at me.
‘You have a very pretty daughter, Comte,’ he said.
‘On a visit from England, Sire. She returns there soon to her mother.’
‘I hope we shall see her at Court before she goes.’
The King had passed on. Someone else was bowing with the utmost servility.
The Comte was delighted. As we rode back to Paris in the carriage he said: ‘It was a great success. The King actually spoke of you. That’s why I told him you were here only on a visit. He liked you. That was clear. Aren’t you flattered?’
‘I have heard that he likes young girls.’
‘Not all,’ said the Comte with a laugh, and I noticed that Sophie shrank into a corner of the carriage. I felt sorry for her because the King had scarcely glanced at her.
When we reached Paris the Comte said that he wanted to speak to me and would I go into the petit salon where he would join me shortly.
I changed into a simpler dress and went down to the room where he was waiting for me.
‘Ah Lottie,’ he said, ‘flushed with success, I see.’
‘It was a very brief glory,’ I reminded him.
‘What did you expect? An invitation to sup with him? God forbid. I should not have taken you if that had been possible.’
‘I didn’t expect anything. I was just surprised that he looked at me for what was it?—two seconds?’
‘You are a beautiful girl, Lottie. You stand out in a crowd. It means that now the King has spoken to you … or been aware of you … you could go to Court if the occasion arose. It is always well to be in a position to go.’
‘Well, I shall be on my way home soon. I suppose I should be thinking of my return now. I only came for a short visit, didn’t I?’
‘And you have enjoyed that visit?’
‘It has been wonderfully exciting and different from anything I ever knew before.’
‘I don’t intend to lose you now that I have found you, you know.’
‘I hope you won’t.
He looked at me steadily. ‘I think, Lottie, that you and I understand each other well. We stepped easily into the roles of father and daughter.’
‘I suppose we did.’
‘I am going to tell you something. I have written to your mother asking her to marry me and she has consented.’
I stared at him in amazement. ‘But …’ I stammered. ‘Her … her home is at Eversleigh.’
‘When a woman marries she leaves her home and goes to that of her husband.’
‘You mean she will come to live here?’
He nodded. ‘And it is your home too,’ he added.
This was bewildering. First a father appearing, then the scenes I had witnessed during the last weeks, and now … my mother was going to marry the Comte.
‘But …’ I said because I had to go on talking in the hope of collecting my wits meanwhile …‘you … er … you haven’t seen each other … for years before you came to England.’
‘We loved each other long ago.’
‘And then … nothing happened.’
‘Nothing happened! You happened. Moreover we are both free now. Neither of us was then.’
‘It seems to me so very sudden.’
‘Sometimes one knows these things at once. We did. You don’t seem very pleased. Are you wondering about yourself? Lottie, it is my earnest wish and that of your mother that you will be with us. This is your home now.’
‘No … My home is in England. You know about Dickon.’
‘My dear, you are so young. You know there can be no thought of a marriage yet.’
‘But I do know I love Dickon and he loves me.’
‘Well, you have to grow up a little, don’t you? Why shouldn’t you do that growing up here?’
I could not think of anything to say. I wanted to be alone to ponder this new turn in affairs and to ask myself what effect it was going to have on my life.
The Comte was saying: ‘Your mother is making arrangements to come to France.’
‘She can’t leave Eversleigh.’
‘Arrangements will have to be made. In fact she has been making them for some time. We agreed to this two weeks ago. We both decided that having found each other we were not going to risk losing each other again. Lottie, I can never explain what a joy it has been to find you … and your mother. I thought of her over the years and it seems she did of me. What is between us is something which rarely comes.’
I nodded and he smiled at me fondly, realizing that I was thinking of Dickon; and although he believed that I could not possibly understand, he did not say so.
‘Now we have a chance to regain what we have lost. We both realize that. Nothing is going to stand in our way. Your mother will be coming here soon. We shall be married then. I wanted you to hear it first from me. When your mother comes she will tell you what arrangements have been made. In the meantime we must prepare for the wedding.’
He put his arms about me and, drawing me to him, kissed me. I clung to him. I was very fond of him and proud that he was my father. But when I tried to look into the future, it seemed very misty to me.
The news that my father was to be married was received in his household with consternation, I think, although no one said very much to me. Armand shrugged his shoulders and seemed cynically amused because the bride was to be my mother
, and the romantic plans were clearly the outcome of an old love-affair.
‘So we have a sister and belle mère at one stroke,’ he said, and I was sure he went off to laugh about it with his cronies—worldly young gentlemen like himself.
Sophie was inclined to be pleased. ‘He will be so taken up with his own marriage that he won’t think about arranging one for me,’ she confided to me.
I replied: ‘You worry too much. If you don’t want to marry the man they choose for you, just say so. Be firm. They can’t drag you screaming to the altar.’
She laughed with me and it occurred to me that we were beginning to get on very well.
Lisette talked excitedly of the marriage.
‘He must be deeply enamoured,’ she said, ‘for there is no need to get heirs.’
‘Surely that is not the only reason for marrying,’ I said.
‘It usually is the main one in France. Otherwise men would never marry. They like a variety of mistresses.’
‘How cynical you all are! Don’t you believe in love?’
‘Love is very fine when there are advantages to let it flourish in comfort. I think that is the view of most people. I have learned to stare cold hard facts in the face and it seems to me that on this occasion your father must be truly in love.’
‘And that amazes you?’
‘I suppose such things can happen to anyone—even men like the Comte.’
She shrugged her shoulders and laughed at me.
I was delighted to see my mother when she arrived. She seemed to have cast off years. I felt very tender towards her because I realized that her life had not been easy. True, she had loved the Comte and betrayed her husband, but that was one of the reasons for her years of contrition, and being the woman she was, she suffered very deeply through what she would call her sin. Now she blossomed; her eyes shone and there was a faint flush on her cheeks. She looked years younger. Like Pilgrim, I thought, when the burden fell from his shoulders. She was like a young girl in love.
Zipporah's Daughter Page 4
