Zipporah's Daughter полностью

First, the boys liked him. He had a knack of making lessons interesting. He came to table with us. He, being such a gentleman, had made that natural and the servants accepted him, which was in itself something of a miracle because they usually took umbrage if anyone, as they would say “stepped out of their class”. I was not sure into which class a tutor fitted, but it seemed that in Léon Blanchard’s case there was no question. He fitted naturally.

I thought Lisette might be a little put out because he took meals with us, something which I had wanted her to do, but she had refused. However, at least she showed no resentment.

He used to sit over the dinner table and talk with my father, usually about the state of the country. He had travelled widely and could discuss other countries with first-hand knowledge; and he could be very entertaining. He had a wonderful gift of words and could create a scene vividly with a few well-chosen sentences.

‘I am grateful to the Duc for sending us such a man,’ said my father.

There was one thing he did which was the most outstanding of all.

One day he was looking for the boys and strayed up to Sophie’s turret. Thinking that part of the castle was uninhabited, he opened a door and walked in. Sophie and Jeanne were playing a card game together.

I can imagine her horror. Fortunately she was wearing her hood and that must have saved her considerable embarrassment.

She must have been horrified, for the rest of the household respected her wish for privacy and whenever we did attempt to see her we did so by asking Jeanne if it were possible first.

Lisette got out of Jeanne exactly how it had happened.

‘There was Mademoiselle Sophie seated at the table,’ said Jeanne, ‘and this man was walking into the room. I stood up and asked what he wanted. He guessed I was a servant and went straight to Mademoiselle Sophie. She got to her feet, her face scarlet with mortification, and he took her hand and bowed and explained that he was the tutor looking for his charges and she must forgive him for the intrusion. Well, she surprised me. She asked him to be seated. He looked at her as though he was interested. She always says she is hideous but that isn’t so. With her hood on she looks like a lady wearing a special fashion, and fashions, heaven knows, are crazy enough these days. She asked him to take a glass of wine with us and there she was telling him how she had got her scars. I’d never heard her talk like that with anyone before. She explained her terror when the crowds pressed in on her … and the pain … and everything.

‘He listened attentively and said he could well understand her horror of crowds. People en masse could be terrifying. And he said he thought what a charming fashion it was to wear a hood in the way she did. It would be the rage at Court if she appeared there in it. She said she was not likely to do that, but it was clear that she enjoyed his company and when he rose to go he apologized once more for coming in so unceremoniously, and he asked if he might come again. You could have knocked me down with a feather when she said he might.’

How amazing it was that this stranger had been able to break through what had seemed an impenetrable barrier.

Even Lisette was a little charmed by him, and I thought what a happy solution it would be if he married her. She needed a happy married life. Her experiences with the farmer whom, I began to understand, she had come near to loathing, had embittered her in some way. I was sure that a happy marriage with an attractive man would heal her wounds.

Lisette and I found great pleasure in riding together and we often tied up the horses and stretched ourselves on the grass and indulged in the pleasure of light-hearted conversation. Lisette was an inveterate gossip and if she could discover a hint of scandal about anyone in the neighbourhood she was delighted. What she liked most was discussing the royal family. She had the Frenchwoman’s dislike for Marie Antoinette and declared her belief in the rumours about her when they were scandalous. She often went into the town and once brought back two books which were allegedly about the Queen. One was Les Amours de Charlot and ’Toinette which told of the supposed love-affair between the Queen and her brother-in-law Charles, Comte d’Artois. The other was even worse. This was Essai Historique sur la Vie de Marie Antoinette … a scurrilous production.

I read it with indignation and told Lisette she should burn the book. ‘It is obviously full of lies,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

‘I think it is only fair that when queens behave immorally they should not be allowed to escape criticism. Think what happens to poor girls who are not queens. One false step and their lives are ruined.’

‘But this is lies. You have only to read it to see through it. It is written by someone who hates the Queen.’