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- Spring 1924.
BarbizonUntil now this delightful village had fortunately been preserved from any unsightly, poorly designed building. Today it is a conservation area, and one would hope that nothing is likely to come to destroy the typical rural and forested character of this region. Discovering this wonderful setting for the first time one can be overtaken by joy to the heart and spirit, this rare emotion, can affect each of us more intensely according to how we view things. As a boy of barely 4 years old in 1924, I was lucky to have a sense of wonderment that beauty can bring. At an early age mother had shown me how to recognise things of beauty and this stayed with me. When it seemed justified I would shout aloud: "it's beautiful," and mother would approve, at other times I could shout: "it's good" if the meal on my plate pleased me. Mother would join me in this delight, and if some disapproved of us voicing our pleasure, we were even more delighted. In front of Glycines, next to Bas Breaux, a big and beautiful house drew ones gaze. It was there that the painter Charles Jacques was born and had lived with his family. The House continued to be occupied by one of his sons “X” Jacques, his wife and five of his seven children. It was an ingrained instinct that these children, ranging from about 15 to 25 years, drew and painted. 'The Father' (that is how everyone addressed him) had inherited a real talent from his father, and it forced everyone to work. He was feared because he was authoritarian and had a terrible temper. At least it seemed so because really he had a heart of gold; anyway, among his team, he had to be o. At the beginning I was very afraid of him because of his great beard, his stentorious voice and his wrestler’s physique. Although his appearance was not very pleasant, it was indeed impressive, but with his wife, "The Mother", he was just a little lamb. Soon we became very good friends but events were to bring us closer. Just beside the ‘House-Jacques’ was the wonderful pastry shop owned by Mr. and Madame Cheddeville. This was one of the highlights of the village, well justified, because all the products were of the highest quality. We paid frequent visits and "les Glycines" also had an account there. I soon realised that if unnoticed I could cross the street and obtain one or two cakes by stating confidently: "on Mother’s account”. My mistake was to abuse this nice find and the ruse was soon uncovered, with the inevitable reprisals. But that is another story (as Kipling would have said). The neighbouring property to Glycines, in the direction of the forest, was named "Vertes Feuilles", a very beautiful and important place, as much for its park and garden as the main house and the annexes. It already had its name and was for sale. After a very short time a rich American tourist was captivated by its charm and bought it. The buyer was named 'Greenleaf '! This neighbour was a charming, strong, handsome young man. He was very solicitous towards mother, and I felt a confused jealousy. This was completely unjustified, because he was "dedicated" to his gardener whom he had also brought over with his luggage. This relationship was completely alien to a boy of my age. Continuing towards the forest, adjacent to "Vertes Feuilles" was “la Clairière” which was also a large and beautiful property. Mr. and Ms. Charlot were the owners. She was a cabaret singer-dancer and had managed to marry this "businessman", a somewhat ambiguous and mysterious man. They had a two-year-old girl with them: Odette. She was actually the daughter of Madame Charlot’s brother, the owner of a bistro-restaurant in Orléans, a boorish and rough man who was quite pleased with this agreement with his sister and brother-in-law, entrusting his daughter to them, but actually getting rid of a problem; a solution that satisfied everyone. They wanted Jacky and Odette to get to know each other. What an idea! She was too young for me. Mother did not push the matter but perhaps a childish friendship would come out of it and even a little love. Spring 1924.The winter had been harsh. On many mornings we found footprints of deer in the fresh snow, The deer and their fawns, emboldened by the cold, came to the village at night to find warmth and to scavenge food. Deer have a hard life during winter. It was also hard on the little train. One cold and icy morning, the locomotive was derailed in front of the war memorial at the entrance of the village. Many came to see all the activity. Since our move to “Les Glicines” in early January, things had moved on quite quickly. In February the first guests arrived, strangers for the most part, mostly English or Russian. The first attracted by painters and the beautiful scenery, the latter due to the quietness of the place and also the proximity to Paris (52 kms). One should not forget that it was in Barbizon that Trotsky had lived, in a beautiful estate on the edge of the forest (on the Boundary Road). He then had to flee in the United States where he was finally assassinated. Quite soon our 'friends' the Russians arrived, those we had met in the Marmosets at Christmas time. The parents stayed only a few days leaving us with Olga and Natacha. They came to see them from time to time. All three of us became a small close-knit team, sometimes mischievous and sometimes well behaved. We became well known in the village where everyone took to us. Natasha and I were inseparable and always supported each other whatever happened. Olga, the eldest by two years, considered herself the bossy sister. We bowed to her superiority while rebuffing her when necessary. But events were overtaking us: my brothers Maurice and Roger were due to arrive. Maurice was 23 years old and had completed his military service as a second lieutenant under the command of Lyautey whom our mother knew well during the war. She had treated one of his seriously injured relatives with dedication and competence. He remained grateful and an exchange of correspondence had been established (I could unfortunately find only a few letters written in 1945). Maurice was now an engineer for Terrot, the famous motorcycle constructor of the same name. They came on a super sports model which was much admired by the young people from the village. Maurice (known as ‘Yo’ by family and friends) was a very handsome young man of 1.98m well-built in relation to his height. He was much admired, and we were very proud of him; sweet natured, modest, strong, good and firm at the same time, culminating in a beautiful voice. He found everything to be easy. His catch phrase was: "in life one should not be..." He loved his mother and his two brothers, with a particular affection for "the little one".
Roger was very different. Not always easy; nervous, active, fast, mind working ceaselessly, versatile, courageous, angry, hating the unknown and unjust. I always considered him my big brother who gave good advice and affection. Yo the elder, would unfortunately leave us at the age of only twenty four. * * *
EasterThe House was full. We even had to make a few 'rearrangements' to our rooms to ensure that the guests had all the comfort that they deserved. We had wonderful weather; nature began to revive after the winter. Mama, my brothers and I lived together, without knowing that it was the nicest, happiest, most joyous days that we would know. Summer approached. The forest was beautiful and we often went for magnificent walks, often in the company of our residents. Most had become good friends. Maurice and Roger had left. "Yo" had returned to his motorcycles. Roger had begun his military service. He was enrolled into a Spahi unit equipped with the burnouse and superb red sash that he proudly wore. ‘You’2 and I were proud of him and the admiration that he attracted by virtue of his splendid uniform. Andrée Jacques ─ known as “Dany” by her family and now also by us, often talked about him, and even I had to understand that there was something between them. Dany helped You at les Glycines. She was active and efficient and always cheerful and smiling, and funny. Oh, how she could be funny! I had the annoying habit of going around with a load of pieces of string which I would leave all over the place. No admonition, despite my quite sincere promises, could cure me of this mania, nor Rip, the adorable house dog, which aided and abetted me in this little game. One morning Dany and You called me with wide-eyed expressions. Mother told me seriously that Rip was ill due to all the bits of strings that he had swallowed. And while she held Rip by the collar, Dany lifted the tail of my dog. In her hand she had deftly hidden a ball of string, with the other hand she began to unroll a small length of twine, it grew in length to one metre, then maybe two. Both put on a serious look, almost sad, which I also saw in Rip’s face as a sort of reproach for being an unwilling accomplice. For a long time I kept the pieces of string in hand. Summer came. I had to be reasonable and not interfere with the hectic activity prevailing in Glycines. While doing my best to keep out of the way I did what I could to take part. I managed pretty well, polishing the silverware and weeding the terrace. As a reward I would sometimes be allowed to cross the street to Mr. and Madame Chedeville, the pastry chefs. Every day of the summer of 1924 was a day of joy. And this one in particular, when my two brothers were with us, as well as Uncle Cham (Chamarel) and Aunt Hélène his very pretty wife. Uncle Cham was not only fond of TsF3, he also enjoyed beautiful cars. He came with a nice "Torpedo". Yo and he had lively conversations about engines and their performance. I envisage us around a large table in the garden. Quiet and happy, I would watch everyone I loved and I was filled with wonder ─ it was an absolute certainty ─ they were all were beautiful; without exception. My mother You, of course was beautiful, but as far as I as concerned Yo and Roger, had a similar beauty although very different. Everyone agreed that life was wonderful. Uncle Cham impressed me greatly. He seemed to know everything in all fields; he answered everything like a distinguished professor. My brothers seemed amazed and this confirmed my admiration. His charm and encyclopaedic knowledge was what emanated mostly from Cham. In addition he was beautiful, but old also (for me, at least, he was then 47 years old). How could he be that old and beautiful at the same time? This question eluded me. Aunt Hélène was sweet and pretty. I liked her perfume and I just closed my eyes with rapture when she kissed me. I had but a small reserve in its regard, because it seemed to me that she was a little jealous of the great affection that Chamarel and his sister, Suzanne my mother, had one for the other. At the end of this time full of joy and sunshine, we quaffed champagne to celebrate this exceptional reunion. My wonderful brother Yo took me on his knees and made me soak my lips in his glass; just two small sips, the first of my life, which I will always remember. To general approbation I showed that I enjoyed it. I had only recently turned four years old. So what? The summer went by happily. You and Dany, assisted by friendly and efficient staff, worked hard because there was much to be done, the house was full. But I never felt left out. We took every opportunity to have a hug. And then together with Olga and Natacha we were a good gang, we never got bored. Also we had the opportunity, if they offered to take us, to accompany different guests in woodland walks. So this is how we spent our time and the summer came to an end. Yo spent a few days with us, and it was a great pleasure to hear him sing, to see him live; beautiful and strong and always energetic. One evening however, he went to bed early because he said he had a riveting book he had started and wished to read. The next morning as soon as he heard our mother getting up, he called out. He complained of severe abdominal pain that came upon him without warning and had kept him awake and that he had endured during the night without wishing to wake anyone. Mother quickly diagnosed a serious problem and persuaded him to go to the hospital in Fontainebleau. He was hospitalized immediately. It was acute peritonitis. You, with her vast experience of nursing, knew that the chances of recovery were slim. The days that followed were agonizing. You spent all her time at the hospital. I did not understand what was happening; they hid the terrible truth from me. One morning You took me with her and I saw our Yo in bed, pale faced and covered in a cold sweat. I threw myself on him and he kissed me with special tenderness which surprised me and delighted me at the same time. When I recovered, mechanically, awkwardly I wiped the back of my hand against my cheeks to wipe off his sweat. It made him smile, a smile full of goodness and sorrow. This last smile and this ultimate contact of our two faces will forever remain part of me. Two days later, after a grey and rainy day, night had fallen on Barbizon and Glycines. All was quiet in the House. The majority of clients had left at the end of August. Olga and Natasha came with me to the kitchen where Elise and Victor told us about their trip to Brittany. The large clock in the hall struck nine. The large, heavy door opened and closed noisily. With despair and anger my mother shouted in a loud voice: "it is finished". This occasion will also always remain engraved upon my memory. This August 29th evening would be a defining moment. Throughout the month of September an atmosphere of sadness and fatigue prevailed. You, usually so cheerful, courageous and enterprising, became silent and indifferent to everything. Dany gave her much affection, attention and assistance in any way she could. For my part I think I took on an even more important role for them both. I was spoiled more than ever, while enjoying great freedom. I had the impression that I had passed the stature of a four year-old boy, to one who must participate with more seriousness and responsibility in the life of the house, and especially to try and watch over You as a man should. In these few days I had in fact changed a lot. My mother’s immense grief had reinforced, if that were possible, our bond. Yo, having gone, we had to take heart and be strong. Every evening we prayed: 'my God, let Yo be happy in heaven and watch over us in our grief'. And I added ‘let me be a good boy and may mother have a long life for me '. Not forgetting, of course, Roger who was fighting the Rif War in Morocco. Mother dared not consider that he may be wounded or even killed in the fighting of that special war. And yet a few months later, while on a scouting patrol he was ambushed and seriously wounded. Of his group of Sipahis, the majority would fail to return. Olga and Natasha were still with us. They were very kind to me and often made me play with them as before. Their parents returned, stayed a few days at Glycines and then all four left permanently. Maybe they would return the next year. This hope somewhat softened the sadness of the separation. * * *
Three or four days after their arrival, Dimitri’s owners, and also the rest of us, saw some strange behaviour by our companion. He became silent, seeking quiet corners and sometimes growled quietly. He was not aggressive, but avoided any petting. When he started to bite the furniture legs, his master understood he was suffering from rabies. The diagnosis was confirmed by the veterinarian. With caution my young friends’ father managed to gently bundle him into an old empty jute coal-bag. He took it to the bottom of the garden where we soon heard two gun shots. He returned with misted eyes that still held tears. Olga and Natacha wept their hearts out for the companion that they had loved so much. * * *
The very next day, our Russian friends set off for Paris. Mother and I would follow them in the afternoon. We didn’t see him them again. Our doctor did the necessary with the Pasteur Institute. Vaccination consisted of twenty one subcutaneous injections in the abdomen. It was painful and each injection was more painful than the last, especially for a child of four years old. We stayed at the Hotel Pereire in Place Pereire. Mother had good reason to know Madame Emilie, the owner. She owed You an eternal debt of gratitude because she had cared for Ms Emilie’s father with dedication until his death at Epinal hospital during the war. Every morning, for three weeks, a taxi took us to the Pasteur Institute where I suffered, with less and less fortitude; the inevitable sting being more painful every time despite the ministrations of my torturers. One morning when I felt the matter unbearable, I found a way of gaining more confidence and reassuring the attending adults. I spoke out with a firmness, which I did not really feel in my distress, declaring that “I will not cry so as not to upset mother” It was a surprising statement, and everyone was moved and somewhat impressed. That injection and the four or five following were much easier to bear. * * * Since our unfortunate episode in Paris, time had passed. We were back in Barbizon. In our absence, Dany and the staff at Glycines, sometimes aided by one of Dany’s brothers, had ensured that our enterprise continued to work well. The Jacques family were wonderful. I looked for Rip but could not find him. It was finally admitted that as a precaution he had had to be put down. I was grief stricken. Rip was more than a dog to me, he was my companion and play-mate. I will not forget him. We learnt that a tragedy had taken place before our return. A servant girl working at Lower Breaux Hotel was run over by the little train just in front of our home; carelessness or suicide? We will never know. She always spoke kindly to me; I liked her look of sadness. We returned towards the end of autumn, the forest was beautiful with its foliage of a thousand hues. You succeeded from time to time to overcome her infinite sadness and give me the attention I had previously known. We had great excursions in our beautiful forest, sometimes in the company of Dany or Madame Boffo, the owner of the Bas Breaux. I understood, overhearing certain conversations, that a significant change in our situation must take place within the next few months; this did not upset my natural innocence; the important thing was that You be by my side, nothing else mattered. The Jacques family, Dany’s parents and brothers, invited us to spend Christmas with them. Everyone worked diligently and with great delicacy and affection to give us a happy time. ‘The Father' spoke softly in a voice that we did not imagine he was capable of. It came from the heart of this gruff but talented painter. I was allowed a taste of Champagne from You’s glass; this was the second after that which Yo had given me that summer. My heart welled up. Directory: wp-content -> uploads -> 2016 2016 -> 2017 afoCo Landmark Scholarship Program 2016 -> Instructions for the Preparation of Camera-Ready Contributions to the Conference Proceedings 2016 -> Step student Scholarships for Year 10-13 2016 -> The united church of canada 2016 -> Idan raichel biography – May 2016 Brief Producer, keyboardist, Lyricist, composer and Performer Idan Raichel 2016 -> An introduction to centre’s interventions expanding access to justice 2016 -> Sanchar Shakti 2016 -> Unit analysis should help here. We want number of bananas 2016 -> The Autobiography of Elder Joseph Bates 2016 -> The Great Heat and the Rhode Island Deep Water Bay Scallop (Argopecten irradians) Fishery 1875-1905 Download 1.3 Mb. Share with your friends:
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