by Edmund White
“We loved our audience with the Holy Father,” Yvette said. I checked her expression to see if she was being ironic but it seemed all irony had been bleached out of her. Did you have to be an idiot in order to be holy? I felt like weeping over my lost Yvette, but then I reminded myself she’d always been unbelievably kind. What was new was her sweetness, but maybe that was caused by the proximity of her love, her Mercedes.
The children were brought in. They could say words in German, French, and English, but French was their go-to language if they really wanted something. I was afraid Yvette would swoop down on them like a giant black crow and frighten them, but she held herself back, and said, “They’re adorable.” She pronounced Foulques’s name as if it were two syllables in Spanish; I realized she’d never heard it said out loud. The children were curious but a bit bewildered; they were at that age when you think if you close your eyes you vanish. They closed their eyes for five seconds at a time.
I said in English, “This is Mommy’s sister, Yvette. We’re twins also—like you two.” Ghislaine seemed to understand and looked back and forth from Yvette’s face to mine. She was utterly still, and then in frustration she rubbed her fists in her eyes, scrunched up, and started acting silly. That was the way she’d react when people talked about her for too long. She and Foulques started hitting each other playfully and giggling, sticking out their tongues and saying, “Un deux trois, je vais dans le bois, quatre cinq six, cueiller des cerises, sept huit neuf, dans mon panier neuf, dix onze douze. Elles sont TOUTES ROUGES,” and they fell about laughing, twisting and turning, Ghislaine showing her lace-trimmed panties. I could see Yvette was hypnotized. Was she thinking these could be her children? She kept looking at Mercedes with a little smile on her face, as if to guage her reaction, hoping they were sharing this moment. Did they want children, their own children? The butler brought in the sandwiches, then came back with an urn to refill our teacups.
“And who is this gentleman?” Yvette asked, smiling at the butler.
“Georges-Thomas,” I said. And Yvette shook his hand. The poor guy looked completely flustered. It took me back to the time years ago when Yvette set out to go shopping with Pinky. This misplaced egalitarianism always ended up injuring or confusing the servants. And yet Yvette persisted: “Je suis Yvette.”
Poor Georges-Thomas murmured, “Enchanté.”
Yvette gestured toward her friend and said, “Mademoiselle Mercedes.” She even stressed the last syllable of her name as when the French refer to the automobile. Georges-Thomas clicked his heels together and bowed his head: “À votre service.”
As if things hadn’t become awkward enough, this was the moment Adhéaume chose to come into the little salon. I heard him say to Georges-Thomas, “Un whiskey. Pas de glace.” (One never thanked the servants or said “Please.”)
I wondered how Adhéaume would treat my sister. Since he despised me, would he make her feel miserable and unwelcome?
Not at all. He became utterly charming, as only he knew how. He could play the charm card so suavely because he had been trained since childhood to be polite and accommodating, especially to women, even if they happened to be nuns. His parents were very pious and never lost a chance to produce a list of the family saints. His mother was fundamentally egotistical, gossipy, and small-minded, but she was off to Mass every morning. And her good works (knitting for the poor) would have earned her more indulgences if she knew how to do anything else. Eudes was the sort who stood in front of the church smoking with the other men except on Christmas, Easter, and All Saints, when he knelt and took Communion with a sour, reluctant look on his face. Adhéaume had gone to Catholic boarding school, where the nuns must have been cruel, though he was at ease around them; they were part of his Frenchness.
He spoke to Yvette in English and even managed to maneuver his way through a few words of Spanish. “I didn’t know you could speak Spanish!” I exclaimed with a smile.
“I used to hunt with the prince of Asturias,” he said. “And he was monolingual. I still have a few surprises for you up my sleeve.”
Foulques was annoying his father by clinging to his leg and saying, “Uppy, uppy.”
“Fraulein, the children have amused us enough,” Addy said and she picked them both up and swept them away. They looked so startled they didn’t make a sound, though a moment later I could hear them mewling in the hallway. I hated to see them whisked away. No wonder children hated adults and identified with the dog.
Yvette said, “That was my first time to see them. They’re both angelic.”
“Terribly spoiled, you meant to say, but I’m content they pleased you. At least they’re not ugly,” I said, “though don’t be fooled by Ghislaine’s beauty. She’s a little devil.”
Yvette frowned for a second upon hearing this coldhearted assertion. I was pleased I could still read her thoughts after all these years and despite her piety. It seemed she could read mine as well, because she reached across suddenly to squeeze my hand, a gesture Addy clocked and was undoubtedly trying to decipher. Sisterly solidarity, presumably, but solidarity against what? I could tell he was running through his words; he must have understood because he said, “I adore those children. They’re so sweet and intelligent. Angelic, as you say.” I had to admire Addy’s perspicacity. There was no one on earth who wouldn’t find him agreeable on first meeting. I could imagine Yvette’s suspicion that my marital complaints must be all invented.
“Here’s a telegram for you I found in the entry hall.” Addy handed me the envelope.
“Oh,” I said. “It’s from Daddy.”
I looked at Yvette. She had pulled out her rosary and was saying it, but slowly, in a distracted manner. Mercedes stood and said something. Addy bowed his head and led her away, smiling. Over his shoulder he said, “She wants to nap, but I’m sure she’s saying that only out of discretion.”
“Isn’t she adorable?”
“Yes,” I said. “I can see you’re completely smitten.”
Sister Maria Caterina must not have liked the pagan sound of that because she said, “She’s a very good Christian. She’s as playful as Saint Thérèse de Lisieux, wanting to be the Christ child’s toy.”
“Or yours,” I added.
“Strangely, my English has deteriorated. I never speak it except with Bishop Oscar.”
“How is he?” I asked, suitably warned for my frivolity.
“I miss him so much! I know we religious are not supposed to single out particular friendships, but he and Sister Maria Immacolada are dearest to my heart, I must admit.”
“Addy will want to give a grand dinner for Daddy.”
“I hope it will be lunch, since I must be back to the convent in the early evening.”
“Of course. Addy will understand.”
Yvette sat beside me on the blue velvet love seat. “Your children are enchanting. So full of animal spirits—and, I’d say, of supernatural spirit, too.”
“How do you feel about seeing Daddy?”
“He and Bobbie Jean are both God’s creatures.”
I raised an eyebrow and said, “I wonder.”
Yvette caught my eye and started laughing, which she immediately suppressed. It was my first glimpse of the old Yvette.
When Addy came back in he said, “The holy sister is resting nicely in the guest room. So! Your father and his wife?”
“Bobbie Jean?”
“Such a mysterious name to a French. She might as well be called Genghis Khan. So we will have a big dinner in their honor—and Yvette’s and the charming Mercedes’s.”
“The nuns must be back at the convent by vespers, darling. Lunch?”
“Oh, of course. Do you think tomorrow is too soon?”
“It’s perfect,” said Yvette.
Addy added: “How careless of me to forget the rules.”
I could see how impressed Yvette was by Addy’s kindness. I wanted to whisper to her, “Don’t be fooled by it!”
“You can eat meat?”<
br />
“Rarely. But that would be a real treat.”
“And white rice!” I remembered that was Mercedes’s favorite.
“Then it’s settled. Just among us. One o’clock? Maybe I’ll ask my parents to come by for dessert?”
“That would be grand,” Yvette said. “Such a pleasure and honor to meet them.”
“They’re the ones who will be honored. They’re very pious.” That didn’t sound quite right. “And they’re very devoted to Yvonne and her family.”
“Why don’t you invite them for lunch?” Yvette asked.
“They don’t really speak English, alas. It will already be like the United Nations here with Mercedes.”
“Don’t worry,” Yvette said. “I’ll translate for her.”
“Just think,”Addy said. “Two Texas girls, one excellent in French and the other in Spanish.”
“Well,” Yvette said, “many Texans can speak Spanish. It’s really the second language. The big stores require all workers to speak both.”
“Any allergies? Food dislikes?”
“Daddy doesn’t like fish,” I said. “Bobbie Jean eats everything.”
“I gathered,” Addy drawled. “Well, leave it all to me. It will be perfect. I’ll serve it on the dishes from the Compagnie des Indes with my Venetian glasses and my vermeil silverware.”
“I’m afraid Daddy will scarcely notice.”
“He can always learn! In any event I like a pretty table—the round pearwood table in the library. Could you phone them, darling?”
They came the next day at one and they seemed wowed by the Avenue Foch apartment, which was larger than their house. I think Bobbie Jean felt sorry for me that so much of the furniture was old, but she could appreciate a bit of the grandeur.
The lunch conversation was torture. Daddy insisted on being seated next to Yvette, which threw off Addy’s placement. Four women and only two men … Then their East Texas drawls were nearly incomprehensible. When Addy, for a loss of a topic, began to explain his additions and restorations to the family castle, Daddy cut him off and said, “I don’t know what a fleur-de-lys is but I’m sure it’s costing my Yvonne a pretty penny.” Addy had been explaining how he was designing a giant fleur-de-lys of flowers on the château wall right next to the drawbridge.
“Yes,” Addy said, “it will be very pretty.”
“No,” Daddy persisted, “it will cost a lot of money. Young man, I’ve been reviewing your expenses and this has gone way out of bounds. Your pockets have holes in them.”
“Yes,” Addy said gaily, “I’m very dépensier, but they’re all solid investments—and beautiful! You appreciate beautiful things, don’t you, Mr. Cravfjord?”
“It’s Crawford to you and no, I don’t”—he pulled out an invoice and unfolded it—“I don’t appreciate fifteen thousand dollars spent on a lewis ex vee commode. Why the hell can’t you buy a new porcelain toilet like everybody else for fifty bucks? I have bills and bills from you for all this broken-down furniture of yours. You could get this old stuff for almost nothing from the Salvation Army.”
“Are you serious? L’Armée du salut?”
“If you like old things. Me, I prefer what’s up-to-date.”
“Oh, P.M.,” Bobbie Jean wailed.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Addy said angrily, flushing red. “The soi-disant old things I’ve bought are all the rarest, choicest antiques, which will increase in value immeasurably. I am building up your daughter’s fortune—tripling it, four times.”
Now it was Daddy’s turn to go into a rage. And I knew he was even worse at controlling his temper than Adhéaume. I tried to change the subject or at least the setting. “Shall we go into the next room for our coffee?” I rose but no one else joined me as I sailed into the little salon.
I could hear Daddy rumbling, “Now, look here, young man, my Dallas banker has told me that at this rate you’ll ruin my precious Yvette.” (He had confused my name with my sister’s.)
Addy said, “I have nothing to do with Yvette’s fortune.”
Daddy wiped his hand over his face. He’d sooner die than admit he’d made a mistake. “My Dallas banker, Jack Teddlie, tells me the only way to protect my daughter’s money is for her to divorce you.”
“Oh, P.M., you don’t know what you’re saying. You promised me.”
“Let’s join Yvonne,” my sister said calmly.
“Y’all go on in. Yvette, stay here. We’ve got something to discuss. That’s right, get along.” I could hear Addy inviting Mercedes in Spanish to join him. She said, “Gracias,” but she reminded him they had to be back at the convent before long.
“Close the door,” Daddy shouted. I leaped up and did so.
A full-stop silence installed itself in our room. At last I asked Bobbie Jean, “Have you ever seen Versailles? The real Ver-sales?”
“What’s that, dear?”
“Ver-sales. It’s a royal palace forty-five minutes out of town.”
“I know perfectly well what Ver-sales is. I studied up on it—yesterday.”
“That might be a nice day trip for you and Daddy. I could go with you in our car. I’m not an expert but I could show you the highlights.”
“I think P.M. wants to fly home tomorrow. He doesn’t much like Paris, you know. He says he’d rather visit Houston. It has everything—fine gentlemen’s shirts, the Antiquarium, dresses from vintage to top-end designers, the best steak houses …” She was running out of steam. “Everything … They’re building a galleria shopping center like the one in Milan, Italy, only better. Soon they’ll have a butterfly exhibit where you can watch these lovely insects sipping nectar or one might land on the lucky visitor.”
“How ghastly!” Adhéaume said.
I leaped up, rushed to the closed door, and threw it open. There I could see Daddy seated but sticking his hand up Yvette’s habit. She was crying. He looked crazy, his mouth working soundlessly. He was drunk.
She was standing there, allowing this terrible thing to happen to her, her oldest fear, the end of her vows of chastity, the ultimate defilement. In our family the worst things imaginable happened so fast they couldn’t be understood. The horrors weren’t unprecedented but were instantaneous. I could hear Addy chuckling.
Just then the butler announced Adheaúme’s parents.
I had the strongest desire to brush past them and to run into the street. I could hear the waiter joking with the cook down the corridor and I wished with all my might that I could change places with them. My eye was suddenly taken by a big framed black-and-white etching of Palladio’s Villa La Rotonda. I wondered how many Palladian villas there were in the Veneto.
Victorine looked around her slowly and saw, in the other room, a white-faced, sobbing nun being felt up by a seated old man, then in the small salon her own son sneering, a badly dressed old woman saying, “Oh, P.M.,” and a brown-faced miniature nun shrieking, “¡Ay! ¡ay! ¡ay!”
Victorine said, in a slow, awed voice, a complex French sentence: “Curieuse réunion où je ne suis peut-etre pas tout à fait à ma place” (“Strange meeting in which I’m perhaps not completely where I belong”).
In his confusion (had he suffered a stroke?) Daddy made little sense. Addy had accompanied the holy sisters back to their convent. Bobbie Jean commanded me to order her a taxi, which I did gladly. Victorine and Eudes had gone up to the nursery after I’d assured them that the children had seen nothing and that when they came down my “guests” would be gone. When they found me to say goodbye Victorine’s lace-trimmed dress was wet; she’d been splashed, she said with an indulgent smile, by the twins, who’d been in their bath. Adhéaume wanted them to take a cold bath every day but the French maid, because of their protests, filled the tub with warm water; when their father would be heard on the creaking staircase coming up to check, the German nanny would pour in a pitcher of ice water.
Victorine asked me why that nun had been weeping. “That nun was my sister, Yvette. The little nun is h
er companion,” I said. “I’m sorry we were having a family contretemps and I was unable to introduce you.”
Victorine said, “And that other sunburned older woman made up like a louesse de chaises” (a woman who rents out metal chairs in the Luxembourg Gardens for a franc)?
“My father’s wife.”
“Ah, of course.”
Adhéaume’s mother cherished these savory bits of gossip like a rodent squirreling away nuts for the long winter. I could see she was hoping for one more nut to add to her cheek pouch but didn’t dare seek it out. She and Eudes subsided and headed for the nearest taxi rank. No doubt she was congratulating herself on her “discretion.”
Later, at the cocktail hour, Addy came into my little boudoir with a glass of iced vermouth and a lemon peel. I thanked him as I screwed my new ruby earrings in place.
“Your family really is mad,” he said, as if he were simply making an observation.
“Do you find a lesbian nun and her incestuous father eccentric?” I asked.
“And your pater was so rude to me.”
“He thinks I must divorce you. That’s the only way to protect my fortune.”
“In my family,” Adhéaume said, “adultery is preferable to divorce. Adultery is normal, expected, whereas divorce is against the laws of the Church and a social scandal.” I didn’t say anything. After a moment Adhéaume erupted with, “That’s so American! To worry about the money. I don’t beat my wife, I gave him two lovely grandchildren, neither retarded nor criminal, no one in Paris frivole talks of anything else except the Courcys, I’m accumulating treasures that will quadruple in value, I’ve already been contacted by the Metropolitan Museum of Art and a scout for the Rockefellers. Did I tell you that the furniture at Versailles under Louis the Fourteenth was sheathed in silver until the king had it stripped to pay for one of his wars? And that the only silver replicas exist in Denmark—and that now I’ve bought them? Of course, the chairs and bergères and the duchesses brisées are unrivaled in the history of furniture.”