William Maxwell - The Chateau

“NOTHING FROM ALIX?”

“Nothing,” he said, and sat down on the edge of the bed, ripped open an envelope, and commenced reading a long letter from Mme Straus-Muguet.

“What does she say?” Barbara asked when he turned the first page.

“I’ll start at the beginning: ‘Sunday … Mes petits enfants chéris, I am sad at heart at the thought that you are going to leave France without my being able to find you again —’ ”

“No! She’s not coming?”

“ ‘ — and embrace you with all my heart. But it is impossible’ —underlined—‘for me to return the fourteenth donc pas d’opéra le R.’ —whatever that means.”

“Let me see,” she said, looking over his shoulder. “ ‘Therefore not of the opera le Roi d’Ys’ … But she said for you to get tickets. What will we do with the extra one?”

“Take Sabine,” he said, “if she’s here by then. ‘… but there is at Mans a charity fête for “the work of the prisons” of my dear Dominicans, of which I occupy myself so much. It takes place Sunday the seventeenth and Monday the eighteenth, and it will be only after the twentieth that I will be returning!… And to say that during eight days in August I was alone in Paris! Then my poor dears, understand my true chagrin at not seeing you again, and just see how all the events are against us! Of more I was’ — Is that right?”

“Let me see … ‘de plus j’étais à une heure de Chartres … all the more since I was only one hour from Chartres and it was there that I would have been able to join you …’ ”

He continued: “ ‘And you would have passed the’ … or ‘we’ would. Her handwriting is really terrible. ‘… passed the day together. You would even have been able to come to Mans, city so interesting, superb cathedral! That all that is lacking, my God, and to say that in this moment (nine o’clock in the morning) when I am writing you, you are perhaps at Chartres . But where to find you?… Little friends, it is necessary to combler mon chagrin’ —what’s ‘combler’?”

“You’ll have to look it up,” Barbara said. “The dictionary is in my purse.”

The dictionary was not in the purse but in the desk drawer.

“ ‘Combler’ means ‘to fill up,’ ‘to overload,’ ‘to heap,’ ” he said. “ ‘… it is necessary to try to heap my sorrows by a kindness on your part. It is of yourselves to make photographs, tous les deux ensemble, and to send me your photo with dédicace — dedication — underneath. 19 rue de la Source, that will be a great joy for me, and at Paris there are such good photographers. Make inquiries about them and’ —it could be ‘épanchez.’ ”

“Exaucez,” Barbara said, and read from the dictionary.

“ ‘Exaucer: to grant, give ear to, answer the prayer of someone.’ ”

“ ‘ … grant the prayer that I make of you. You will be thus with me, in my chamber that you know, and I will look at you each day, and that will be to me a great happiness .… Thank you in advance!… I am enchanted that you are going to the Opéra to hear Le Roi d’Ys — so beautiful, so well sung, such beautiful music. But to avoid making the queue at the location’ —the box office, I guess she means— ‘do this: go take your two places at the Opéra at the office of the disection —’ ”

“That can’t be right,” Barbara interrupted.

“ ‘ … direction,’ then. ‘Boulevard Haussman. Enter by the large door which is in back of the Opéra. On entering, at right you will see the concierge, M. Ferari. He will point out the office of M. Decerf or his secretary Nelle’ —no, Mile.— ‘Simone cela de ma part. Both are my friends, and you will have immediately two good places à la corbeille’ —But we have the seats already, and it took exactly ten minutes in line at the box office, and they’re the best seats in the opera house … ‘where it is necessary to be to see all, salle et scène. I’m writing to M. Decerf by this same courier to reserve you two places, and it is Wednesday morning at eleven o’clock that it is necessary to go there to take them. In this fashion all will go well and I will be tranquil about you. Servez-vous de mon nom dans tout l’Opéra et à tout le monde .… In mounting to the premier étage, to the office of M. Decerf (they speak English, both of them) speak to M. Georges, on arriving, de ma part. He will lead you to M. Decerf. I hope I have explained sufficiently the march to follow to arrive à bien, and to all make my good compliments .… On your arrival in New York I pray you to write me immediately to tell me your voyage is well passed. Such is my hope, and above all do not leave alone in France your Maman Minou, who loves you so much and has so many regrets. But “noblesse oblige” says the proverb, and to the title of president I owe to be at my post. I will send you tomorrow the book of Bethanie Fontanelle’s work of the prisons. Perhaps they will go one day to America. I know the Mauretania, splendid boat, and I am going to make the crossing with you — in my thoughts. Et voilà, mes petits amis … a long letter that you are going to find too long, perhaps, but I was desirous of writing to you. An idea comes to me: if you have the time Saturday or Sunday to come to Le Mans, a train toward eight o’clock in the morning brings you here at eleven. We will lunch together, and that evening a train takes you to Paris, arriving at nine o’clock.’ That makes seven hours on the train. ‘Mais c’est peut-être grosse fatigue pour vous. Anyway, at need you may telegraph me at Arnage, Straus, Sarthe. Au revoir, au revoir, mes chéris, je vous embrasse de tout mon cour et vous aime tendrement .… Madame Minou.’ ”

He closed the window, and the cries from the school yard became remote.

“Chartres isn’t a very big place,” Barbara said thoughtfully. “And there is only one thing that people go there to see. She could probably have found us all right, if she had come. But anyway, I’m not going to Le Mans.”

“The trains may not even be running,” he said. “There is a railroad strike about to begin at any minute. We might get there and not be able to get back. Also, I never wanted to hear Le Roi d’Ys . I wanted to hear Louise and they aren’t giving it this week. Le Roi d’Ys was entirely Mme Straus’s idea.”

“I can’t bear it!” Barbara exclaimed. “It’s so sad. ‘Use my name all through the Opéra, and to everybody .… ’ ”

THE BOOK on the prison work of the Dominican nuns did not arrive, and neither did Harold search out the office of M. Decerf and tell him they already had three tickets for Le Roi d’Ys . He could not believe that Mme Straus had written to the manager of the Paris Opéra, any more than he could believe that after a stay of three weeks in Arnage she was in charge of a charity bazaar in Le Mans; or that it is possible for it to rain on the sixteenth arrondissement of Paris and not on the eighth. As the gypsy fortuneteller could have told him, this was perhaps not wise. The only safe thing, if you have an ingenuous nature, is to believe everything that anybody says.

In spite of his constant concern that she dress warmly enough, Barbara caught a cold. They were both showing signs of a general tiredness, of the working out of the law of diminishing returns. There were still days when they enjoyed themselves as keenly as they had in the beginning, but the enjoyment was never quite complete; they enjoyed some things and not others; they couldn’t any more throw themselves on each day as if it were a spear. Also, their appetite was beginning to fail. They found that once a day was all they could stand to eat in the little restaurant in the alley off the Place St. Sulpice. They bought bread and cheese and a bottle of wine, and ate lunch in their room, and at dinnertime were embarrassed by the welcome they received when they walked into the back room of the restaurant. Or they avoided going there at all.