The Adultress (51 page)

After that he took me to those apartments where, in the past, he and his ancestors had entertained kings when they travelled in the district. In these rooms with their elegant furnishings, I was shown a different aspect of the château.

From the battlements one looked for miles over beautiful country to the town some way off with its shuttered houses and its narrow streets. There were so many impressions to absorb in a short time and I often thought: I will tell Dickon about this when we meet. He would be most interested and I was sure he would be in his element looking after an estate like this one.

But it was the people around me who interested me more than anything.

I was frequently with the Comte, for it seemed as though he could not have enough of my company, which considering the way in which he ignored Sophie was remarkable. I had obviously made a great impression on him, or it may have been that he had really loved my mother and I reminded him of that long-ago romance. I wondered. She must have been very different from the people he would have known. I had seen a portrait of his wife and she was just like Sophie, timid and nervous-looking. She had been very young obviously when the portrait had been painted.

Sometimes Sophie would come to my room and Lisette would join us. I felt sometimes that Sophie wanted to forbid the girl’s intrusion but she seemed afraid of her, as she was of so much.

I myself was rather pleased when Lisette came, for her conversation was lively and in spite of the fact that I was growing fond of Sophie, I did not find her company very enlivening.

I had caught a glimpse of the formidable Tante Berthe, a big woman with a stern face and tight lips which looked as though they would find it very difficult to smile. I had heard that she was very pious and kept the serving girls in order, which, Lisette told me, was quite a task as the men were always trying to seduce the girls.

‘You know what men are,’ said Lisette, laughing at me. ‘They are torn between their desire for the girls and their fear of Tante Berthe. If any of them were caught in what they call
flagrante delicto,
which means caught in the act, she would insist on their being dismissed.’

‘Surely the Comte would not allow that to happen.’

‘You mean in view of his own inclinations.’ Lisette continued to laugh. She did not seem to care what she said about anyone and I was sure she would never restrict her own behaviour. It was true that she had the redoubtable Tante Berthe behind her and that lady would surely not allow her own niece to be turned away.

Lisette liked to talk about lovers and I thought she did it to tease Sophie. I quickly came to the conclusion that she very much enjoyed showing her superiority in wit and looks over poor Sophie.

‘One day a husband will be found for me,’ she said, ‘just as yours will be, Sophie.’ Her mouth hardened. ‘The difference will be that yours will be a nobleman and mine a good solid member of the bourgeoisie who finds favour with Tante Berthe.’

Sophie looked apprehensive as she always did at the mention of marriage.

‘It might be very pleasant,’ I told her.

‘I know it will be awful,’ she replied.

I told them about Dickon and they listened avidly, especially Lisette.

‘Trust you,’ said Lisette, who enjoyed treating me with a mingling of familiarity and camaraderie, as though we were two of a kind.

‘It can’t be long now,’ said Sophie mournfully. ‘I shall be taken to Court. Papa thinks I shall be perfectly safe there. The King likes young girls but he won’t look at me.’

‘I sometimes think,’ said Lisette, ‘that I should like to be selected by the King’s pander to minister to His Majesty’s delight.’

‘Lisette!’

‘Well, it would be better than being pushed off to some boring old gentleman who has a little money but not too much, for being the niece of a housekeeper—even such a housekeeper—does not warrant too much.’

‘You mean you would like to go the Parc aux Cerfs?’ asked Sophie incredulously.

‘They say it is most luxurious and when the King grows tired of the girls they are given a good dowry and can marry, which they do, the dowry making them very desirable. Those dowries, they say, are more than an average husband can earn in a very long time. So those girls—and their husbands—are lucky. Don’t you think so, Lottie?’

I pondered it. ‘I believe a lot of people starve here and in England,’ I said. ‘But from what I hear it is worse in France. If those girls please the King in that way of their own free will and are paid for it, it may be it is better than living in dire poverty all their lives.’

‘You talk like Armand,’ said Sophie. ‘He is very loyal to the King and would like to live just as he does. He loathes the complaining poor—especially when they riot. He says they will never be content whatever they have so why bother to make conditions better for them.’

‘It is hard to pass an opinion on those girls,’ I temporized. ‘One would have to experience the sort of places they come from. Perhaps we are complacent … and lucky never to have known hardship.’

Lisette was studying us thoughtfully, but she did not speak which was unusual for her.

‘At least,’ said Sophie, ‘they can choose their own husbands.’

Poor Sophie, she was always uneasy when marriage was talked of.

I had been at the château a week when the Comte announced that he was going to take me to Paris and perhaps if possible give me a glimpse of the Court at Versailles.

I was greatly excited, but when he said that Sophie should accompany us she was thrown into a state of apprehension because she was afraid a husband would be found for her.

A few days later we were in Paris. I was so fascinated by this great and enchanting city that I did not think of Dickon for two whole days before I realized the omission and reproached myself for it.

We went first to the Comte’s magnificent town house—one of the mansions situated in the Rue Saint-Germain which were called
hôtels
and belonged to the country’s most wealthy noblemen. With their emblazoned pediments these tall buildings were very grand and impressive. The house was as luxuriously furnished as some parts of the château but in the style which had become so popular during the reign of Louis XV—a combination of classic severity and the rococo. I knew little of such things than I learned later. All I was aware of at that time was that the exquisite beauty overwhelmed me, and it gave me infinite pleasure merely to look at the beautiful chairs upholstered in Gobelin tapestry and the unusual sofas called sultanes, the carved cabinets and the inlaid tables. The rugs and carpets were of delicate colouring and toned beautifully with the paintings which adorned the walls. The Comte pointed out with pride his Boucher and Fragonard—two painters who had just been making their way when he had bought their pictures and were now Court Painters for the King, who might be profligate and given more to erotic pursuits than matters of state, but certainly had an appreciation of art. This had been encouraged by Madame de Pompadour when she had been alive and ruled the country through her lover.

I was enchanted by the mansion but even more so by what was inside it.

Then there was Paris itself—city of charm, noise, gaiety, mud and … contrasts. Perhaps it was the last of these which struck me more than anything else, when I come to look back—those few glimpses I had of the squalor and horror which existed side by side with the utmost elegance and richness.

The Comte was determined that I should love Paris. I was to discover later that there was a motive in this and that he and my mother were planning to divert my thoughts from Dickon. At that time I put it down to an intense national pride. And indeed he had much to be proud of in that respect.

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.