Read Online The House in Paris by Elizabeth Bowen - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Bowen
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sold at once. One cannot afford to live in a house, in Paris. But I prefer to die here.'
Miss Fisher's interruptions had alternate objects, to save her mother's breath or to turn the talk. Now she said: 'My mother's family come from Touraine: they were always notaries. But my father was a captain in the English artillery. The Fishers were always soldierly.'
'Yes,' said Mme Fisher, 'my marriage was most r-r-r-romantic.'
Mocking herself, she smiled at the memory of her marriage, as at any fanciful object, cameo or painted fan, that might have caught her notice, having its place here and valued once. Whatever she might think of, lying on this high bed, her smile was for the present and Henrietta: an un-reminiscent smile. Mrs Arbuthnot spoke so much of living among memories that it shocked Henrietta to feel Captain Fisher gone. His military rattling ardour was silent for good, for where should it be remembered if not here? A man of strange courage, who had begotten Miss Fisher, then, by dying, let flow back an undisturbed solitude. Henrietta, being not ripe for grown-up reflections, did not wonder how he had treated his wife, or speculate as to the lastingness of his passion for the ironical French governess, never pretty, not from the first young. He had married Mme Fisher. Love is the unchallenged motive for some kinds of behaviour: Mrs Arbuthnot said: You will understand some day,' and Henrietta was still willing to wait. Therefore she simply wondered what had brought him to Paris (or had they met in England?), what he had done all day here, whether he liked the house. There was comfort in the idea of the plain Englishman's presence: she looked round the crowded walls for his photograph. Mme Fisher had made her mark, she had struck his heart. See what marriage had done for Mrs Arbuthnot and Caroline! But Mme Fisher lay back disclaimingly on her pillows, seeming to say: 'We take nothing out of this world.'
'Yes, look there is my father's photograph.' Miss Fisher twisted round to point to it, over her head. Inside its oval frame the photograph had faded. Captain Fisher's moustache chiefly appeared; Englishness or any kind of expression had dulled out after years on the red wall. 'Just before leaving the regiment,' said his daughter. 'Before he married my mother he sent his papers in.'
His widow's hand, in the cuff of a grey bed-jacket, came out over the sheet a moment to pull the bedclothes closer still to her chin. Did she marry because she was tired of rapping knuckles and Frenchmen will not marry you with no dot?
Henrietta began: 'My father was in the army; he — '
' — So, Henrietta,' said Mme Fisher suddenly, 'you have not only your monkey but Leopold down there?'
'Yes.'
'And, tell me, do you like Leopold?'
'Oh, I like him. Of course, today he's excited. He — he's not very tall for his age, is he?'
'I have not seen him. I may.'
'Mother ... You slept this morning. Also, I am most anxious to keep Leopold quiet until — '
'He is not quiet down there. What has he been breaking?! heard something fall just now.'
Henrietta said: 'Oh, that was my dispatch case. He, Leopold, swung it and everything fell out.'
'Ah! He likes to touch things?'
'I suppose so,' said Henrietta, perplexed.
'Excited ...' said Mme Fisher, making the first restless movement Henrietta had seen.
'They have been playing,' Miss Fisher said quickly, 'talking and eating apples. It is nice for them both.'
'Oh yes, we've been talking,' said Henrietta. Encouraged by Mme Fisher's attention, she went on brightly, 'He told me about his mother.'
' — Look, Henrietta, my mother gets so soon tired. Perhaps you should go back to Leopold now.'
'No,' exclaimed her mother, point-blank, going under the bedclothes rigid with opposition. How frantically but coldly she loved the present! Henrietta, who had got up, sat down again. The fatal topic of Leopold was magnetic: she was not nearly so anxious to go now. Mme Fisher looked at her avidly. 'Oh, so you
Miss Fisher's interruptions had alternate objects, to save her mother's breath or to turn the talk. Now she said: 'My mother's family come from Touraine: they were always notaries. But my father was a captain in the English artillery. The Fishers were always soldierly.'
'Yes,' said Mme Fisher, 'my marriage was most r-r-r-romantic.'
Mocking herself, she smiled at the memory of her marriage, as at any fanciful object, cameo or painted fan, that might have caught her notice, having its place here and valued once. Whatever she might think of, lying on this high bed, her smile was for the present and Henrietta: an un-reminiscent smile. Mrs Arbuthnot spoke so much of living among memories that it shocked Henrietta to feel Captain Fisher gone. His military rattling ardour was silent for good, for where should it be remembered if not here? A man of strange courage, who had begotten Miss Fisher, then, by dying, let flow back an undisturbed solitude. Henrietta, being not ripe for grown-up reflections, did not wonder how he had treated his wife, or speculate as to the lastingness of his passion for the ironical French governess, never pretty, not from the first young. He had married Mme Fisher. Love is the unchallenged motive for some kinds of behaviour: Mrs Arbuthnot said: You will understand some day,' and Henrietta was still willing to wait. Therefore she simply wondered what had brought him to Paris (or had they met in England?), what he had done all day here, whether he liked the house. There was comfort in the idea of the plain Englishman's presence: she looked round the crowded walls for his photograph. Mme Fisher had made her mark, she had struck his heart. See what marriage had done for Mrs Arbuthnot and Caroline! But Mme Fisher lay back disclaimingly on her pillows, seeming to say: 'We take nothing out of this world.'
'Yes, look there is my father's photograph.' Miss Fisher twisted round to point to it, over her head. Inside its oval frame the photograph had faded. Captain Fisher's moustache chiefly appeared; Englishness or any kind of expression had dulled out after years on the red wall. 'Just before leaving the regiment,' said his daughter. 'Before he married my mother he sent his papers in.'
His widow's hand, in the cuff of a grey bed-jacket, came out over the sheet a moment to pull the bedclothes closer still to her chin. Did she marry because she was tired of rapping knuckles and Frenchmen will not marry you with no dot?
Henrietta began: 'My father was in the army; he — '
' — So, Henrietta,' said Mme Fisher suddenly, 'you have not only your monkey but Leopold down there?'
'Yes.'
'And, tell me, do you like Leopold?'
'Oh, I like him. Of course, today he's excited. He — he's not very tall for his age, is he?'
'I have not seen him. I may.'
'Mother ... You slept this morning. Also, I am most anxious to keep Leopold quiet until — '
'He is not quiet down there. What has he been breaking?! heard something fall just now.'
Henrietta said: 'Oh, that was my dispatch case. He, Leopold, swung it and everything fell out.'
'Ah! He likes to touch things?'
'I suppose so,' said Henrietta, perplexed.
'Excited ...' said Mme Fisher, making the first restless movement Henrietta had seen.
'They have been playing,' Miss Fisher said quickly, 'talking and eating apples. It is nice for them both.'
'Oh yes, we've been talking,' said Henrietta. Encouraged by Mme Fisher's attention, she went on brightly, 'He told me about his mother.'
' — Look, Henrietta, my mother gets so soon tired. Perhaps you should go back to Leopold now.'
'No,' exclaimed her mother, point-blank, going under the bedclothes rigid with opposition. How frantically but coldly she loved the present! Henrietta, who had got up, sat down again. The fatal topic of Leopold was magnetic: she was not nearly so anxious to go now. Mme Fisher looked at her avidly. 'Oh, so you
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