Charlotte Brontë’s Villette, Hungry Hedgehogs; and Chatter

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:39

Hello and a very good evening. I've just tested the bird with a bird app and there's a yellow hammer apparently around here. And I'm just listening I mean that's beyond my knowledge at the moment, the sound of the yellow hammer. I'm up high above the the valley of Sherbourne, for high above the Yeo Valley, I should say, on the very crest of Sherbourne Hill that looks down, it's I think it's called Dancing Hill, that looks down on Sherbourne. And as I keep walking, I will then go down into a dip. It's not another, there's not another stream or river at the bottom, but it but it dips well as far as I know, but it dips down, and I'm looking now at the great landscape of castle estates that is the are the grounds around the new castle. And goodness, it's stunning. It's just so stunning. I can see the castle now, the tops of the new castle, little chimney pots. Of course, it's a Tudor castle, and Tudor at perhaps what they would consider its finest, in the sense that it's all it's all what's the word, flushed with mortar. Aidan's or someone's listening, thinking, come on, Greshel, get your words right. In other words, you can't see the masonry, you can't see the rubble, you can't see the any brickage underneath. And it's just peeping up, you can see the chimney pots through all the oak trees and the beech trees surrounding it, and there's a lovely copper beech there standing out in its ruddy, ruddy burgundy colour. And I can see the road that winds through the castle estate. A little bit over manicured for my liking. It looks like it's been mown recently, and you can see the stripes, and stripes do look pretty, but I think it's mown too short. And I'm on the path that the Castle Estate has allowed obviously for centuries to go through its land, which means it is legally protected. I know from my days when I was training to become a lawyer, and I've got two dogs with me, and I'm very, very pleased with how Scout is now getting on. She's very receptive, she's biddable, she doesn't pester Doggo all the time, or Lolly, as you know that she's called, but I like calling her doggy doggo to you. That's how you know her, I think. And Scout's now chase uh running up to a rook thinking, oh I can get that, I can get that, but the rook has just laughed and flown off. The birds just laugh at us, don't they? All apart from the poor grouse that don't really stand a chance because they're fattened up and coddled and loved, and then they get all heavy and fly in the air, and then people shoot them. The sky's blue, a few clouds, and I I've had a good day. I'm on the whole now I'm having more good days than bad, and uh a few months ago, maybe three, up to up to a few months ago, not only I was I having more bad days than good, but the the good days were very rare, and they weren't good all day, they were more like snippets of good. So I mean I am on light antidepressants, so they're probably helping too, but I've been on those for a little while, and uh it's just a relief not to feel sad all the time. It's not something that is easy to to feel you've got any power over, but but it must be that these walks and talking in this podcast in a way that is perhaps a bit like uh the a vehicle like the confessional for Catholics, maybe where you can own up to the things that you have done wrong and your feelings that you're not proud of. The fact that I can do that here, and also that I get nice response. In fact, I got a beautiful email yesterday, and it was from a Catholic priest, and I'm going to ask his permission to read it out because it really made me really happy to read it and made it just makes the doing this doing this whole enterprise worthwhile. The only thing is he says he's back at December 2024. So I think I've said this before. If you're new to the podcast, I don't suppose you'd be listening to this then, if you're new, because it seems that most people start at the beginning, but if you happen to be new and you're listening to this, don't worry perhaps about starting at the beginning, just just stay with us for from where we are. I mean, perhaps just start at the beginning of this uh series so that you can enjoy the whole of Villette, but don't worry about necessarily starting right at the beginning. I I haven't, I think I've said this before as well, that I I don't go back and listen because when I've done it, I'm horrified. A couple of months ago I listened to my first episode and I I felt so embarrassed at how ridiculous I sounded. So I just thought, well, and and I think actually I might have unpublished it because I was so embarrassed. So yeah, I think the trick is not to go back. I don't know if you've ever gone back and read diaries or anything like that, but even diaries that are quite recent, I'm embarrassed by. I think we're we're all embarrassed by ourselves, aren't we? I don't have you seen yourself on camera or anything like that, and you thought, oh no, do I does my mouth really do that when I talk? Do I really flip my eyes to and fro like that? And oh my my friend once, she had when she talked, and she her her she showed the whites of her eyes, and her eyes went in slightly different direction. And I just assumed she knew this, and because you assume people know what they look like, don't you, when they when they talk. But and she said, Oh, I've got this awful sister-in-law, and I had an argument with her the other day, and my sister-in-law said, you know, I hate it when you show the whites of your eyes, and your eyes go in different directions. And you know, this friend carried on talking as though the sister-in-law had completely made it up, and and she wanted reassurance from me that that didn't happen. Oh dear, and I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to do. So, well, it was a long time ago, how long ago? 20 years. I said, No, they don't. I just didn't want her to be sad. And I'm not sure whether that's an okay white eye or not. Who knows? Who knows? I think I think now what would I do? I would say something like, I know what she means, but then I would reassure her how lovely she is and looks. So who knows? Anyway, I'm gonna turn around now. The view I've got right now is the whole of southwest of the castle. I think the wind's coming up, so I had better stop. But at the southwest of Sherbourne Newcastle, let me see if I can see anything of the old castle. And of course, the newcastle is is uh partly positioned. Well, it's not, I mean, it was the hunting lodge for the old castle, so it would have been within the sight of the old castle. And uh hunting lodges, so this is something I only learned recently that it was hunting lodges that were often turned into the great palatial country of uh of grand people. You know, they would have their lovely grand London residents, uh, then they would have a hunting lodge in the country so that they would have somewhere to do their hunting and to take shelter. And bit by bit the hunting lodges became grander and grander. And yeah, I mean, maybe I should do some more research. You might be listening to this thinking I haven't quite got it right, but that's what I understand. As I look northeast, I can see the lake, the beautiful lake around the castle. And uh I might get in touch with them actually, the the Wingfield Digbees, because uh when I last went, they they they said that the policy was you couldn't take photographs, but I might say, you know, uh I well, I might ask if I can have permission to maybe pay for a private tour and take photographs because they've got so much uh amazing uh stuff that the furniture is absolutely gorgeous, and of course, quite a lot of it belonged to Sir Walter Raleigh, and it's just an awful shame in the history of shame is that our country have got bottles and bottles of things it should be ashamed of, all stored up. And one of them is that um James the First and Sick of Scotland and England, or the other way around, um permitted the beheading of poor Walter Raleigh, who was such a clever man a great poet and a great thinker, and yeah, what a shame. Anyway, I'm walking back now and I won't be publishing this till actually I can see the old castle. There it is, it's in a slightly different position than I thought it would be. How often is the case that you're walking in places like London and you if someone were to say, right, shut your eyes and point to where you think the London eye is, you do it and then you find you've got it completely wrong because the bending of the river Thames is so deceptive and it's so easy to think of your mind's eye that it's a straight line and you're parallel to a straight line. And of course, sometimes you're walking due south or north, whether you think you're walking due east or west. Right, I'll leave it at that. Hello, and apologies. It was very windy and I I think I cut out a little bit. I'm very excited this evening because for the first time ever, as I went out to feed the hedgehogs, they well, not they, it. One of them came running towards me and just waited for me to f put the food out and then started eating. So that's a first, but it might suggest it's very hungry. Also, where's the other one? Having said that, they don't normally run out together. I don't know why I laugh just suddenly the idea of two hedgehogs running towards me. I mean, how many hedgehogs would it take for it to be a frightening thing to see? I think maybe if I saw six hedgehogs running towards me, I think I'd be frightened. Oh dear. Anyway, it's lovely to see it and its little face. It didn't curl up in its ball, it showed me its face. And I'm not sure whether you would approve of this or not, but I did give it a little stroke on its nose. And what do you think about good old King Charles and his speech? Poor thing, he he's he's quite elderly and unwell, and what a long, exhausting day. And uh yeah, I I fell for him a bit. I think I I felt he looked tired, but he he seemed to deliver it okay, and I think it went down okay, and that's the important thing. And even though it's late, I'm gonna do a couple of readings tucked up in bed tonight. So my favourite no, my favourite place to do do readings is in the garden. After that, it's probably in a church, and after that it's tucked up in bed, but there's something very cocooning about being in one's little bedroom and it being all nice and warm. And I think I've forgotten what my husband's face looks like. He's been away for such a long time. But I do run a quite a tight ship when he's away, and I like that. Everything's organized, everything's tidy and clean, and he comes back, and I don't know, there's just a sense of chaos. Suddenly there's this chap lounging around and you know, being I don't know, th throwing everything into disorder. What can you do? Right, and tomorrow I'm off to London and I'm going to see a play with my friend Claire, and the play is called Summer Folk, and I can't remember the name of the author. Author, the playwright. It's uh it's a Russian playwright, and it's about Russia in 1905, in the kind of last uh hurrah, not last hurrah, but the the the summer of uh blindness before the tumult. And we had a similar well, there was a similar thing all over the world, wasn't there? I mean I know Russia was in a different situation, but that there was uh a lot of there was a lot of feeling that before the First World War England was at its happiest. We had uh we had it was the end of the Victorian period, it was a new century, and all was going to be well. And so I will update you from uh uh on my journey tomorrow. I used to take you to London once, maybe twice a week, sometimes. It was a real part of this podcast, and I'm very conscious I don't offer that to you anymore, but I'll do my best tomorrow. I'm not sure what the weather's going to do. It's annoying when it's windy because I have to keep popping my microphone thingy on, and I can't be quite so spontaneous. But I qu I'm I quite like to give you a bit of the hubbub of the sound of the theatre bar. It's at the National Theatre tomorrow, and that's well, I mean, say all the all the theatres are great for different reasons, but I do like the fact that at the National you get a great view wherever you are. Lots of such an old lady thing to say, but lots of loos, you know, lots of loos that are clean and easy to get to and so on. But also crucially, it means I can get back home because it's it it's near to Waterloo Station because I have to get back home because I've got animals and children probably in the other order, but they are quite old now, they don't really need the mummy as much as I think they do. So that's what's going on tomorrow. I love going to the theatre so much. I was about to say I almost could watch anything, but that really isn't true. I really don't like I I would don't like plays that are trying to be funny. I like plays that are trying to are not trying really to do very much other than deliver some fine lines and present some great acting around a reasonable story and the humour can drop out of it. But when I go to the I I went to the theatre last year with with Claire, this same friend, and and it was a sort of well it was a comedy. I still say sort of much too much, and I just can't bear it really, that whole kind of waiting for a laugh thing. It makes me I don't know, I think it's like it gets under me under my skin a little bit. Do you find that? I don't I don't find the same about watching a really good stand-up. I can really appreciate that and admire what they do and think it's great, but there's something about a play and it all gets a bit kind of farcical and yawn-worthy, if that's a word. Well, I don't think it is, but let's just invent it. Right, I better sort my downstairs out. Actually, shall I go and check on the hedgehogs? Come with me, come with me. I'm gonna check on the hedgehogs. I have to open the door quietly because I don't want to disturb puppy. Because he'll start, but she'll start making noises, yelp noises. Okay, so that's my old wooden door being opened. I'm now creeping out to the hallway. Let me just turn that light out so as not to give away my open the curtain, peek round the corner. Two hedgehogs. Great. Two heads so one obviously one one's the rearguard and one's the vanguard. That's good. There were three ones. There they are, happily eating three packets of cat food. That's what they get through the night. Obviously, really hungry. I hope they've got other access to food. I mean the fact that it came running out so fast shows how hungry it was, and they're both just at it, heads down. Chomp, chomp, chomp. I'm gonna take a photo of them and uh hopefully post it on Blue Sky, I think. Villette by Charlotte Bronte, Chapter 9, Isador. My time was now well and profitably filled up. What with teaching others and studying closely myself, I had hardly a spare moment. It was pleasant. I felt I was getting on, not lying the stagnant prey of mould and rust, but polishing my faculties and wetting them to a keen edge with constant use. Experience of a certain kind lay before me on no narrow scale. Villette is a cosmopolitan city, and in this school were girls of almost every European nation, and likewise of very varied rank in life. Equality is much practice in La Bassecourt, though not Republican in form. It is nearly so in substance, and at the desks of Madame Beck's establishment, the young countess and the young bourgeoise sat side by side, nor could you always, by outward indications, decide which was noble and which was plebeian, except that, indeed, the latter often had franker and more courteous manners, while the former bore away the bell from a delicately balanced combination of insolence and deceit. I'm sitting in the first class carriage, by the way, on the train from Sherbourne to London to Waterloo because I'm taking you to London for the night because we're going to see Summerfolk, but actually I don't want to interrupt this, so I just mention that and I'll now carry on right through to the end of the chapter. In the former, there was often quick French blood, mixed marsh phlegm. I regret to say that the effect of this vivacious fluid cheerfully appeared in the oilier glibness with which the flattery and fiction rang from the tongue, and in a manner lighter and livelier, but quite heartless and insincere. To do all parties justice, the honest aboriginal Nabamaskourien had a hypocrisy of their own too, but it was of a coarse order, such as could deceive few. Whenever a lie was necessary for their occasions, they brought it out with a careless ease and breadth, altogether untroubled by the rebuke of conscience. Not a soul in Madame Beck's house, from the scullion to the direct directrice herself, but was above being ashamed of a lie. They thought nothing of it. To invent might not be precisely a virtue, but it was the most venial of faults. Gemanti Plusier foi formed an item of every girl's and woman's monthly confession. The priest heard unshocked and absolved, unreluctant. If they had missed going to mass or read a chapter of a novel, that was another thing. These were crimes whereof rebuke and penance were the unfailing need. While yet but half conscious of this state of things and unlimited in its results, I got on in my new sphere very well. After the first few difficult lessons given amidst peril and on the edge of a moral volcano that rumbled under my feet and sent sparks and hot fumes into my eyes, the eruptive spirit seemed to subside as far as I was concerned. My mind was a good deal bent on success. I could not bear the thought of being baffled by mere undisciplined disaffection and wanton indecility in this first attempt to get on in life. Many hours of the night I used to lie awake thinking what plan I had best to adopt to get a reliable hold on these mutineers, to bring this stiff necked tribe under permanent influence. In the first place, I saw plainly that aid in no shape was to be expected from Madame. Her righteous plan was to maintain an unbroken popularity with the pupils at any and every cost of justice or comfort to the teachers. For a teacher to seek her alliance in any crisis of insubordination was equivalent to securing her own expulsion. In intercourse with her pupils, Madame only took to herself what was pleasant, amiable and recommendatory, rigidly requiring of her lieutenants sufficiently for every annoying crisis, where to act with adequate promptitude was to be unpopular. Thus I must look only to myself. In Primus it was clear as the day that this swinish multitude were not to be driven by force. They were to be humoured, borne with very patiently, a courteous, though sedate manner impressed them, a very rare flash of railery did good, severe or continuous mental application they could not or would not bear. Heavy demand on the memory, the reason, the attention they rejected point blank, where an English girl of not more than average capacity and docility would quietly take a theme and bend herself to the task of comprehension and mastery, a Labas Courienne would laugh in your face and throw it back to you with a phrase Dieu cousil genon veupa se la monoitro. A teacher who understood her business would take it back at once without hesitation, contest or expostulation, proceed with even exaggerated care to smooth every difficulty, to reduce it to the level of their understandings, return it to them thus modified, and lay on the lash of sarcasm with unsparing hand. They would feel the sting perhaps wince a little under it, but they bore no malice against this sort of attack, provided the sneer was not sour but hearty, and that it held up well to them in a clear light and bold type, so that she who ran might read their incapacity, ignorance and sloth. They would riot for three additional lines to a lesson, but I never knew them rebel against a wound given to their self respect. The little they had of that quality was trained to be crushed, and it rather liked the pressure of a firm heel than otherwise. By degrees, as I acquired fluency and freedom in their language, and could make such application of its more nervous idioms as suited their case, the elder and more intelligent girls began rather to like me in their way. I noticed that whenever a pupil had been roused to feel in her soul the stirring of worthy emulation, or the quickening of honest shame, from that date she was one. If I could but once make their usually large ears burn under their thick, glossy hair, all was comparatively well. By and by bouquets began to be laid on my desk in the morning by way of acknowledgement for this little foreign attention I used sometimes to walk with a select few during recreation. In the course of conversation it befell once or twice, that I made an unpremeditated attempt to rectify some of their singularly distorted notions of principle, especially I expressed my ideas of the evil and baseness of a lie. In an unguarded moment I chanced to say that of the two errors I considered falsehood worse than an occasional lapse in church attendance. The poor girls were tutored to report in Catholic ears whatever the Protestant teacher said. An edifying consequence ensued. Something, an unseen, an indefinite, a nameless something, stole between myself and these my best pupils. The bouquets continued to be offered, but conversation thenceforth became impracticable. As I paced the alleys or sat in the Berceaux, a girl never came to my right hand, but a teacher, as if by magic, appeared at my left. Also wonderful to relate, Madame's shoes of silence brought her continually to my back, as quick, noiseless, and unexpected as some wandering Zephyr. The opinion of my Catholic acquaintance concerning my spiritual prospects was somewhat naively expressed to me on one occasion. A pensioner to whom I had rendered some little service, exclaimed one day as she sat beside me Mademoiselle, what a pity you are a protestant. Why, Isabel? Pasquon Vort Vruulfer Crown Je cried Du Montle Say Etier Le Pretre Muladi. Isabel was an odd blunt little creature, she added Soto Vauquet Bassur Votresalo Envien Du Brule Tu te vive Isp I laughed, as indeed it was impossible to do otherwise. Has the reader forgotten Miss Genevanshaw? If so I must be allowed to reintroduce that young lady as a thriving pupil of Madame Beck's, for such she was. On her arrival in the Rue Fosette, two or three days after my sudden settlement there, she encountered me with very little surprise. She must have had good blood in her veins, for never was any Duchess more perfectly, radically, unaffectedly nonchalant than she. A weak, transient amaze was all she knew of the sensation of wonder. Most of her other faculties seemed to be in the same flimsy condition. Her liking and disliking, her love and hate were mere cobweb and gossamer. But she had one thing about her that seemed strong and durable enough, and that was her selfishness. She was not proud, and bonfant as I was, she would forthwith have made me a social friend and confidant. She teased me with a thousand rapid complaints about school quarrels and household economy. The cookery was not to her taste. The people about her teachers and pupils she held to be despicable because they were foreigners. I bore with her abuse of the Friday salt fish and hard eggs, with her invective against the soup, the bread, the coffee, with some patience for a time, but at last, wearied by iteration, I turned crusty and put her to rights, a thing I ought to have done in the very beginning, for a salad she setting down always agreed with her. Much longer had I to endure her demands on me in the way of work. Her wardrobe so far as concerned the articles of external wear, was well and elegantly supplied, but there were other habiments not so carefully provided what she had needed frequent repair. She hated needle drudgery herself, and would bring her hose, etc., to me in heaps to be mended. A compliance of some weeks threatening to result in the establishment of intolerable bore, I at last distinctly told her she must make up her mind to mend her own garments. She cried on receiving this information and accused me of having ceased to be her friend, but I held my decision and let the hysterics pass as they could. Notwithstanding these foibles and various others, needless to mention, but by no means of a refined or elevating character, how pretty she was, how charming she looked when she came down on a sunny Sunday morning, well dressed and well humoured, robed in pale lilac silk, and with her long fair curls reposing on her white shoulders. Sunday was a holiday which she always passed with friends resident in town, and amongst these friends she speedily gave me to understand was one who would fain become something more. By glimpses and hints it was shown me, and by the general buoyancy of her look and manner, it was ere long proved that ardent admiration, perhaps genuine love, was at her command. She called her suitor Isidore. This, however, she intimated was not his real name, but one by which it pleased her to baptize him, his own she hinted, not being very pretty. Once when she had been bragging about the vehemence of Isidor's attachment, I asked if she loved him in return. Cumsula, she said, he is handsome and he loves me to distraction, so that I am well amused Sasufi. Finding that she carried the thing on longer than from her very fickle tastes I had anticipated, I one day took it upon me to make serious inquiries as to whether the gentleman was such as her parents and especially her uncle, on whom it appeared she was dependent, would be likely to approve. She allowed that this was very doubtful, as she did not believe Isidore had much money. Do you encourage him? I asked. Feversimon sometimes, she said, without being certain that you'll be permitted to marry him. Oh how dowdyish you are, I don't want to be married, I'm too young. But if he loves you as much as you say, and yet it comes to nothing in the end, he will be made miserable. Of course he will break his heart. I should be shocked and disappointed if he didn't. I wonder whether this Monsieur Isador is a fool, said I. He is about me, but he is wise in other things, as Sir Condi. Mrs. Chambly considered him extremely clever, and says she'll push his way by his talents. All I know is that he does little more than sigh in my presence, and that I can wind him round my little finger. Wishing to get a more definite idea of this love stricken Monsieur Isidore, whose position seemed to me of the least secure, I requested her to favour me with a personal description, but she could not describe. She had neither words nor the power of putting them together so as to make graphic phrases. She even seemed not properly to have noticed him. Nothing of his looks, of the changes in his countenance had touched her heart or dwelt in her memory. That he was beau me pluto bellume que joligarcon was all she could assert. My patience would often have failed and my interest flagged in listening to her, but for one thing, all the hints she dropped, all the details she gave, went unconsciously to prove to my thinking, that Monsieur Isidore's homage was offered with great delicacy and respect. I informed her very plainly that I believed him much too good to her, and intimated with equal plainness my impression that she was but a vain coquette. She laughed, shook her curls from her eyes, and danced away as if I'd paid her a compliment. Miss Genevre's school studies were little better than nominal. There were but three things she practised in earnest vis-a-vis, music, singing, and dancing, also embroidering the fine cambric handkerchiefs which she could not afford to buy ready worked, such mere trifles as lessons in history, geography, grammar, and arithmetic she left undone, or got others to do for her. Very much of her time was spent in visiting. Madame, aware that her stay at school was now limited to a certain period which would not be extended whether she made progress or not, allowed her great license in this particular. Mrs. Chum, her chaperone, a gay, fashionable lady, invited her whenever she had company at her own house, and sometimes took her to evening parties at the houses of her acquaintance. Genevoix perfectly approved this mode of procedure. It had but one inconvenience. She was obliged to be well dressed, and she did not have money to buy variety of dresses. All her thoughts turned on this difficulty. Her whole soul was occupied with expedience for effecting its solution. It was wonderful to witness the activity of her otherwise indolent mind on this point, and to see the much daring intrepidity to which she was spurred by a sense of necessity and the wish to shine. She begged boldly boldly of Mrs. Chumney, boldly I say, not with an air of reluctant shame, but in this strain. My darling Mrs. C, I have nothing in the world fit to wear for your party next week. You must give me a book muslin dress, and then a Saint Bleu Celeste. Do there's an angel, will you? The darling Mrs. C yielded at first, but finding that applications increased as they were complied with, she was soon obliged, like all Miss Fanshaw's friends, to oppose resistance to encroachment. After a while I heard no more of Mrs Chumley's presence, but still visiting went on, and the absolutely necessary dresses continued to be supplied, also many little expensive etc, gloves, bouquets, even trinkets. These things, contrary to her custom and even nature, for she was not secretive, were most sedulously kept out of sight for a time. But one evening when she was going to a large party, for which particular care and elegance of costume were demanded, she could not resist coming to my chamber to show herself in all her splendour. Beautiful she looked, so young, so fresh, and with a delicacy of skin and flexibility of shape altogether English and not found in the list of continental female charms. Her dress was new, costly and perfect. I saw at a glance that it lacked none of those finishing details which cost so much and give to the general effect such an air of tasteful completedness. I viewed her from top to toe. She turned airily around that I might survey her on all sides. Conscious of her charms, she was in her best humour. Her rather small blue eyes sparkled gleefully. She was going to bestow on me a kiss in her schoolgirl fashion of showing her delight, but I said steady, let us be steady and know what we are about, and find the meaning of our magnificence, and so put her off at arm's length to undergo cooler inspection. Shall I do? was her question. Do, said I. There are different ways of doing, and by my word, I don't understand yours. But how do I look? You look well dressed. She thought the praise not warm enough and proceeded to direct attention to the various decorative points of her attire. Look at this par, she said. The brooch, the earrings, the bracelets. No one in the school has such a set, not Madame herself. I see them all. Pause. Did Monsieur de Bassonpierre give you those jewels? My uncle knows nothing about them. Were they presents from Mrs Chumley? Not they, indeed. Mrs. Chumley is a mean, stingy creature. She never gives me anything now. I did not choose to ask any further questions. But turned abruptly away. Now, old crusty, old Diogenes, these were her familiar terms to me when we disagreed. What is the matter now? Take yourself away. I have no pleasure in looking at you or your parreux. For an instant she seemed taken by surprise. What now, Mother Wisdom? I have not got into debt for it, that is, not for the jewels nor the gloves, nor the bouquet. My dress is certainly not paid for, but Uncle de Bastonquier will pay it in the bill. He never notices items, but just looks at the total, and he is so rich one need not care about a few guineas more or less. Will you go? I want to shut the door. Ginevre people may tell you that you are very handsome in that ball attire, but in my eyes you will never look so pretty as you did in the gingham gown and plain straw bonnet you wore when I first saw you. Other people have not your puritanical tastes, was her angry reply. And besides I see no right you have to sermonise me. Certainly I have little right, and you perhaps have still less to come flourishing and fluttering into my chamber, a mere jay in borrowed plumes. I have not the least respect for all your feathers, Miss Fanshaw, and especially the peacock's eyes, you call a par very pretty things, if you had bought them with money which was your own, and which you could well spare, but not all that pretty under present circumstances. Orne la poor Mademoiselle Fanshaw was announced by the portress and away she tripped. This semi mystery of the Par was not solved till two or three days afterwards, when she came to make a voluntary confession. You need not be sulky with me, she began, in the idea that I'm running somebody, papa or Monsieur de Bastompier deeply into debt. I assure you nothing remains unpaid for, but the few dresses I have lately had, all the rest is settled. There, I thought, lies the mystery, considering that they were not given to you by Mrs. Chomney, and that your own means are limited to a few shillings of which I know you to be excessively careful. Ecute, she went on, drawing near and speaking in her most confidential and coaxing tone, for my sulkiness was inconvenient to her. She liked me to be in a talking and listening mood, even if I only talked to chide and listened to rail. Ecuti cherniers, I will tell you how and about it, and you'll see then not only how right the whole thing is, but how cleverly managed. In the first place I must go out. Papa himself said that he wished me to see something of the world. He particularly remarked to Mrs. Chumley that, though I was a sweet creature enough, I had rather a bread and butter eating schoolgirl air, of which it was his special desire that I should get rid by an introduction to society here before I make my regular debut in England. Well then, if I must go out, I must dress. Mrs. Chumley is turned shabby and will give nothing more. It would be too hard upon Uncle to make him pay for all the things I need. That you can't deny. That agrees with your own preachments. Well, but somebody, who heard me, quite by chance, I assure you, complaining to Mrs. Chumley of my distressed circumstances and what straits I was put to for an ornament or two. Somebody, far from grudging one a present, was quite delighted at the idea of being permitted to offer some trifle. You should have seen what a blancbeck he looked when he first spec spoke of it, how he hesitated and blushed, and positively trembled from fear of a repulse. That will do, Miss Fanshaw. I suppose I am to understand that Monsieur Isodore is the benefactor, that it is from him you have accepted that costly Bar, and that he supplies your bouquets and your gloves. You express yourself so disagreeably, said she. One hardly knows how to answer. What I mean to say is that I occasionally allow Isidore the pleasure and honour of expressing his homage by the offer of a trifle. It comes to the same thing now, Ginevre, to speak the plain truth. I don't very well understand these matters, but I believe you are doing very wrong, seriously wrong. Perhaps, however, you now feel certain that you will be able to manage. Marry, Monsieur Isidore. Your parents and uncle have given their consent, and for your part you love him entirely. May Padu. She always had a recourse to French when about to say something especially heartless and perverse. Juis Sarine May Il nepa monco. Excuse me, I must believe this language is mere nonsense and cocketry. There is nothing great about you, yet you are above profiting by the good nature and the purse of a man to whom you feel absolute indifference. You love Monsieur Isidore far more than you think or will avow. No, I danced with a young officer the other night whom I love a thousand times more than he. I often wonder why I feel so very cold to Isidore, for everybody says he is handsome, and other ladies admire him. But somehow he bores me. Let me see how it is. And she seemed to make an effort to reflect. In this I encouraged her. Yes, I said, try to get a clear idea of the state of your mind. To me it seems in a great mess, chaotic as a ragbag. It is something in this fashion, she cried out ere long. The man is too romantic and devoted, and he expects something more of me than I find it convenient to be. He thinks I am perfect, furnished with all sorts of sterling qualities and solid virtues, such as I never had nor intend to have. Now, one can't help in his presence, rather, trying to justify his good opinion, and it does so tire one to be goody and to talk sense, for he really thinks I'm sensible. I am far more at my ease with you, old lady, you, you dear cross patch, who take me at my lowest, and know me to be cockettish and ignorant and flirting and fickle and silly and selfish, and all the other sweet things you and I have agreed to be a part of my character. This is all very well, I said, making a strenuous effort to preserve that gravity and severity which ran risk of being shaken by this whimsical candor, but it does not alter that wretched business of the presents. Pack them up, Genevre, like a good, honest girl, and send them back. Indeed, I won't, she said stoutly. Then you are deceiving Monsieur Isador. It stands to reason that by accepting his presence you give him to understand he will one day receive an equivalent in your regard. But he won't, she interrupted. He has his equivalent now in the pleasure of seeing me wear them. Quite enough for him. He is only bourgeois. This phrase in its senseless arrogance quite cured me of the temporary weakness which had made me relax my tone and aspect. She rattled on. My present business is to enjoy youth and not to think of fettering myself by promise or vow to this man or that. When first I saw Isador, I believed he would help me to enjoy it. I believed he would be content with my being a pretty girl, and that we should meet and part and flutter about like two butterflies and be happy. Lo and behold, I find him at times as grave as a judge, and deep feeling and thoughtful. Bah le penser, les hommes passion ne sonpa monc. Le Coronel Alfred de Hamel suits me far better. Vapour Le Beaufa Eli Joli Frepon, Vivle Joel Pleisier Abas Abal Passon Esse Vetu. She looked for an answer to this tirade and I gave none. Jemon Beau Cernon, she went on. Je ne jamais son rival, Jean Surreis Jamis de Bourgeois Bois. I now signified that it was imperatively necessary my apartment should be relieved of the honour of her presence. She went away, laughing. And I think I'm going to do a strictly vilette later on this evening, and it'll be chapter ten Dr. John and it starts. Madame Beck was a most consistent character, forbearing with all the world, and tender to no part of it. Goodbye and God bless for now. I hope the sound was okay, because obviously I'm on the train, and I wish you all a very happy Wednesday. Bye bye.