#Le Château des Tourelles

[russell-boncey]

Red films at sunset 4

Egg tempera and collage

30 x 90 cm

[magnificent-buckless-butt]

Ce que c'est que le vide

Day 4: Dead on your feet WC: 1,2k

Arthur relisait le compte rendu fait sur un simple palimpseste et soupirait presqu'à chaque mot, non tant à cause des fantaisistes désinences, résultat d’une romanisation mal entretenue, mais bien à cause du contenu même.

« Il commence vraiment à m'énerver avec ses tourelles. Et avec qui il les peuplerait de toute façon ! »

Par réflexe, il tourna la tête à droite, anticipant le soupir agacé de la princesse de Carmélide. Mais ce soupir ne vint pas. Le lit était vide, Guenièvre n'était plus là. Arthur eut une seconde de pause, comme surpris par ce dont il avait pourtant connaissance. Puis il se reprit et reposa le parchemin sur la table basse avant de souffler la chandelle. Il s'installa bien confortablement dans son lit et s'enroula très serré dans la couverture. Il ferma les yeux. Au bout d'une minute, il les rouvrit.

Quand il veillait aussi tard pour continuer à s'occuper des affaires du royaume, Guenièvre avait tendance à s'endormir bien avant lui et ne restait que sa bouche pour gémir de temps en temps quand il se plaignait trop. En même temps, elle prenait toute la couette et quand enfin il se décidait à dormir, il devait tirer dessus pour récupérer sa part. Guenièvre grognait et il en retirait une sorte de satisfaction de pouvoir la faire chier pour la dernière fois de la journée.

Ce soir, donc, il n'y avait personne pour lui retirer la couette. Personne pour, en voulant la récupérer, se rapprocher de lui jusqu'à qu'ils fussent deux corps respirant lentement côte à côte et se réchauffant par leur simple proximité. Arthur avait toute la couette, mais il avait froid.

Le lendemain, après un petit déjeuner sans histoire - ce qui revenait à dire : seul - il se dirigea vers la salle du trône. C'était, comme beaucoup de jours par mois, jour de doléance au château. Il y avait déjà foule. Bohort, aussi droit qu’un piquier, l'attendait près du trône. Arthur s'installa lentement sur son siège, mais avec cette espèce de lourdeur que confère ce sentiment d'immense lassitude. Le peuple commença à défiler. Bohort, à présent assis, lisait d'une voix claire, mais ennuyeusement monotone, la doléance du plaignant. Il y avait ce chevalier errant qui ne voulait plus errer autant et demandait une chambre au château. Il y avait ce paysan dont le coq s'était noyé et qui accusait de coquine la boulangère. Il y avait ce commerçant qui venait dénoncer un collègue qui ne respectait pas le prix franc.

« C'est la journée où ils blâment tous les maux du monde sur moi, en fait ? lança le roi, déjà blasé au pauvre Bohort qui grimaça.

- Sir, voyons, répondit ce dernier presqu'en geignant avant,heureusement, d’être emporté par sa flamme, ils ne vous blâment pas, ils comptent sur vous ! Vous êtes le roi, qui avait la justice au creux de la main ! C'est pour trouver l'espoir qu'ils viennent vous voir ! »

Arthur le fixa quelques instants. Bohort lui offrit un sourire sincère - et naïf. Surtout naïf. Il se détourna. Lancelot aurait haussé les épaules et proposé de les renvoyer pour cause de doléance non correctement formulée.

Puis vint un cas plus épineux. Les deux parties rejetaient la faute (un arbre pourri qui avait fait des dégâts en s'effondrant) sur l'autre en prétextant que l'arbre qui faisait évidemment borne entre leur deux propriétés n’était en réalité que sur la propriété de l’autre. Arthur, indécis, se tourna vers le sincère Bohort. Et Bohort lui retourna ce visage déjà vu cent fois : celui d'un Bohort confondu et peureux. Il bégayait tant qu'il ne put rien dire - et peut-être que c'était en fait là un stratagème pour s'abstenir de son devoir de conseil. Arthur soupira. Lancelot lui manquait comme quand s’installe l’hiver, le pépiement des oiseaux.

Le soir vint. Arthur s’installa confortablement dans son lit avec une assiette remplie de charcutaille et un pichet de vin. Ah, pouvoir manger et boire sans entendre sa femme le houspiller en prétendant qu’il mettait des miettes partout ! Finalement, c’était ça le bonheur. Il était en train de faire bonne chair, au lit. Et il allait se coucher dans le silence le plus complet et avec toute la couette. Non vraiment, s’il s’était laissé aller à quelque apathie ce jour, ce n’était qu’à cause du poids du quotidien. Maintenant, il pouvait en profiter de l’absence de Guenièvre la mièvre. Et Lancelot ? Bon débarras lui aussi. Il était parfois perspicace, mais qu’est-ce qu’il était insupportable avec ses grands airs et sa droiture trop rigide ! Bonne nuit, Caamelott, et à la nouvelle vie d’Arthur !

*

Le lit était froid.

Le siège à côté du trône n’était pas occupé par la bonne personne.

Quand il tournait la tête aux repas, il voyait un vide (Yvain se retenait absolument de prendre la place de sa sœur, même si cela faisait déséquilibre dans la tablée). Et ses oreilles recevaient en permanence les remarques acerbes de ses beaux-parents qui déversait leur fiel sur leur fille passée à l’ennemi. Il aurait pu y voir une marque de loyauté, mais il connaissait trop Léodagan et sa femme pour savoir que cela relevait davantage du manque de tendresse qu’ils accordaient à leur progéniture. Yvain s’écrasait, pour ne pas changer et Guenièvre seule avocate d’elle-même n’était plus là pour se défendre. Les pensées d’Arthur s’embrouillaient. Oui, Guenièvre était chiante. Mais non, elle ne l’était pas pour lui. Oui, Guenièvre mangeait trop. Mais non, il aimait sentir la boule que formait son corps entier et qui lui réchauffait le dos (car il n’osait jamais s’endormir le visage tourné vers elle). Non, Guenièvre n’était pas ingrate. Non, ce n’était pas une gosse indigne. Non, elle ne s’était pas jetée dans les bras du premier venu.

Guenièvre s’était jetée dans les bras du premier à l’avoir traitée comme elle le méritait.

Que le lit était froid, le soir.

*

« Sir… Sir, est-ce que vous nous écoutez ?

- Hum ? »

Arthur releva la tête, revenant au présent. Bohort faisait toujours sa tête de chien battu, le Père Blaise était aussi frustré que d’habitude par ses nombreuses ratures et les autres chevaliers regardaient leur roi d’un air mi-curieux, mi-blasé. Léodagan eut un rire sec.

« Bah dites-le nous si on vous emmerde. »

Arthur regarda à sa droite. Le siège habituellement occupé par Lancelot était demeuré vide. Bien qu’il ne s’agît pas du siège périlleux, aucun n’avait eu l’audace de venir s’y asseoir. À y repenser, peut-être que Lancelot aurait pu s’asseoir sur le siège périlleux, quand il était encore au château. Peut-être qu’en lui ravissant sa femme, il s’était déchu de cet exploit. Peut-être qu’au contraire, il l’avait gagné. Arthur revint à son beau-père.

« Oui, vous m’emmerdez. »

Même Léodogan ne s’attendait pas à une réponse aussi franche. Les chevaliers baissèrent la tête et s’entre-regardèrent, mal à l’aise. Arthur jeta un coup d’œil à la ronde (table). Il se rendit compte qu’il n’avait rien à faire là. Il hocha deux trois fois la tête puis il se leva. Personne ne le retint. Il s’en vint directement à sa chambre, se déshabilla et alors qu’il faisait grand jour, se coucha. La seule chose qu’il pouvait encore faire – dont il avait encore l’énergie ou l’espoir – c’était d’attendre.

Attendre son retour.

[thatscarletflycatcher]

The Grey Woman, by Elizabeth Gaskell, chapter 2

A Norman woman, Amante by name, was sent to Les Rochers by the Paris milliner, to become my maid.  She was tall and handsome, though upwards of forty, and somewhat gaunt.  But, on first seeing her, I liked her; she was neither rude nor familiar in her manners, and had a pleasant look of straightforwardness about her that I had missed in all the inhabitants of the château, and had foolishly set down in my own mind as a national want. Amante was directed by M. de la Tourelle to sit in my boudoir, and to be always within call.  He also gave her many instructions as to her duties in matters which, perhaps, strictly belonged to my department of management.  But I was young and inexperienced, and thankful to be spared any responsibility. 

I daresay it was true what M. de la Tourelle said - before many weeks had elapsed - that, for a great lady, a lady of a castle, I became sadly too familiar with my Norman waiting-maid.  But you know that by birth we were not very far apart in rank: Amante was the daughter of a Norman farmer, I of a German miller; and besides that, my life was so lonely!  It almost seemed as if I could not please my husband.  He had written for someone capable of being my companion at times, and now he was jealous of my free regard for her - angry because I could sometimes laugh at her original tunes and amusing proverbs, while when with him I was too much frightened to smile.  

From time to time families from a distance of some leagues drove through the bad roads in their heavy carriages to pay us a visit, and there was an occasional talk of our going to Paris when public affairs should be a little more settled.  These little events and plans were the only variations in my life for the first twelve months, if I except the alternations in M. de la Tourelle's temper, his unreasonable anger, and his passionate fondness.

 Perhaps one of the reasons that made me take pleasure and comfort in Amante's society was, that whereas I was afraid of everybody (I do not think I was half as much afraid of things as of persons), Amante feared no one.  She would quietly beard Lefebvre, and he respected her all the more for it; she had a knack of putting questions to M. de la Tourelle, which respectfully informed him that she had detected the weak point, but forbore to press him too closely upon it out of deference to his position as her master.  And with all her shrewdness to others, she had quite tender ways with me; all the more so at this time because she knew, what I had not yet ventured to tell M. de la Tourelle, that by-and-by I might become a mother - that wonderful object of mysterious interest to single women, who no longer hope to enjoy such blessedness themselves.  

It was once more autumn; late in October. But I was reconciled to my habitation; the walls of the new part of the building no longer looked bare and desolate; the debris had been so far cleared away by M. de la Tourelle's desire as to make me a little flower-garden, in which I tried to cultivate those plants that I remembered as growing at home.  Amante and I had moved the furniture in the rooms, and adjusted it to our liking; my husband had ordered many an article from time to time that he thought would give me pleasure, and I was becoming tame to my apparent imprisonment in a certain part of the great building, the whole of which I had never yet explored.  It was October, as I say, once more.  The days were lovely, though short in duration, and M. de la Tourelle had occasion, so he said, to go to that distant estate the superintendence of which so frequently took him away from home.  He took Lefebvre with him, and possibly some more of the lacqueys; he often did.  And my spirits rose a little at the thought of his absence; and then the new sensation that he was the father of my unborn babe came over me, and I tried to invest him with this fresh character.  I tried to believe that it was his passionate love for me that made him so jealous and tyrannical, imposing, as he did, restrictions on my very intercourse with my dear father, from whom I was so entirely separated, as far as personal intercourse was concerned.  

I had, it is true, let myself go into a sorrowful review of all the troubles which lay hidden beneath the seeming luxury of my life.  I knew that no one cared for me except my husband and Amante; for it was clear enough to see that I, as his wife, and also as a parvenue, was not popular among the few neighbours who surrounded us; and as for the servants, the women were all hard and impudent-looking, treating me with a semblance of respect that had more of mockery than reality in it; while the men had a lurking kind of fierceness about them, sometimes displayed even to M. de la Tourelle, who on his part, it must be confessed, was often severe even to cruelty in his management of them.  My husband loved me, I said to myself, but I said it almost in the form of a question.  His love was shown fitfully, and more in ways calculated to please himself than to please me.  I felt that for no wish of mine would he deviate one tittle from any predetermined course of action.  I had learnt the inflexibility of those thin, delicate lips; I knew how anger would turn his fair complexion to deadly white, and bring the cruel light into his pale blue eyes.  The love I bore to anyone seemed to be a reason for his hating them, and so I went on pitying myself one long dreary afternoon during that absence of his of which I have spoken, only sometimes remembering to check myself in my murmurings by thinking of the new unseen link between us, and then crying afresh to think how wicked I was.  Oh, how well I remember that long October evening! Amante came in from time to time, talking away to cheer me - talking about dress and Paris, and I hardly know what, but from time to time looking at me keenly with her friendly dark eyes, and with serious interest, too, though all her words were about frivolity.  At length she heaped the fire with wood, drew the heavy silken curtains close; for I had been anxious hitherto to keep them open, so that I might see the pale moon mounting the skies, as I used to see her - the same moon - rise from behind the Kaiser Stuhl at Heidelberg; but the sight made me cry, so Amante shut it out.  She dictated to me as a nurse does to a child.

 'Now, madame must have the little kitten to keep her company,' she said, 'while I go and ask Marthon for a cup of coffee.' I remember that speech, and the way it roused me, for I did not like Amante to think I wanted amusing by a kitten.  It might be my petulance, but this speech - such as she might have made to a child - annoyed me, and I said that I had reason for my lowness of spirits - meaning that they were not of so imaginary a nature that I could be diverted from them by the gambols of a kitten.  So, though I did not choose to tell her all, I told her a part; and as I spoke, I began to suspect that the good creature knew much of what I withheld, and that the little speech about the kitten was more thoughtfully kind than it had seemed at first.  I said that it was so long since I had heard from my father; that he was an old man, and so many things might happen - I might never see him again - and I so seldom heard from him or my brother.  It was a more complete and total separation than I had ever anticipated when I married, and something of my home and of my life previous to my marriage I told the good Amante; for I had not been brought up as a great lady, and the sympathy of any human being was precious to me.

  Amante listened with interest, and in return told me some of the events and sorrows of her own life.  Then, remembering her purpose, she set out in search of the coffee, which ought to have been brought to me an hour before; but, in my husband's absence, my wishes were but seldom attended to, and I never dared to give orders.

  Presently she returned, bringing the coffee and a great large cake.

  'See!' said she, setting it down.  'Look at my plunder.  Madame must eat.  Those who eat always laugh.  And, besides, I have a little news that will please madame.' Then she told me that, lying on a table in the great kitchen, was a bundle of letters, come by the courier from Strasburg that very afternoon: then, fresh from her conversation with me, she had hastily untied the string that bound them, but had only just traced out one that she thought was from Germany, when a servant-man came in, and, with the start he gave her, she dropped the letters, which he picked up, swearing at her for having untied and disarranged them.  She told him that she believed there was a letter there for her mistress; but he only swore the more, saying, that if there was it was no business of hers, or of his either, for that he had the strictest orders always to take all letters that arrived during his master's absence into the private sitting-room of the latter - a room into which I had never entered, although it opened out of my husband's dressing-room.

  I asked Amante if she had not conquered and brought me this letter.  No, indeed, she replied, it was almost as much as her life was worth to live among such a set of servants: it was only a month ago that Jacques had stabbed Valentin for some jesting talk.  Had I never missed Valentin - that handsome young lad who carried up the wood into my salon?  Poor fellow! he lies dead and cold now, and they said in the village he had put an end to himself, but those of the household knew better.  Oh!  I need not be afraid; Jacques was gone, no one knew where; but with such people it was not safe to upbraid or insist.  Monsieur would be at home the next day, and it would not be long to wait.  

But I felt as if I could not exist till the next day, without the letter.  It might be to say that my father was ill, dying - he might cry for his daughter from his death-bed!  In short, there was no end to the thoughts and fancies that haunted me.  It was of no use for Amante to say that, after all, she might be mistaken - that she did not read writing well - that she had but a glimpse of the address; I let my coffee cool, my food all became distasteful, and I wrung my hands with impatience to get at the letter, and have some news of my dear ones at home.  All the time, Amante kept her imperturbable good temper, first reasoning, then scolding.  At last she said, as if wearied out, that if I would consent to make a good supper, she would see what could be done as to our going to monsieur's room in search of the letter, after the servants were all gone to bed.  We agreed to go together when all was still, and look over the letters; there could be no harm in that; and yet, somehow, we were such cowards we dared not do it openly and in the face of the household.  

Presently my supper came up - partridges, bread, fruits, and cream.  How well I remember that supper!  We put the untouched cake away in a sort of buffet, and poured the cold coffee out of the window, in order that the servants might not take offence at the apparent fancifulness of sending down for food I could not eat.  I was so anxious for all to be in bed, that I told the footman who served that he need not wait to take away the plates and dishes, but might go to bed.  Long after I thought the house was quiet, Amante, in her caution, made me wait.  It was past eleven before we set out, with cat-like steps and veiled light, along the passages, to go to my husband's room and steal my own letter, if it was indeed there; a fact about which Amante had become very uncertain in the progress of our discussion.

 To make you understand my story, I must now try to explain to you the plan of the château.  It had been at one time a fortified place of some strength, perched on the summit of a rock, which projected from the side of the mountain.  But additions had been made to the old building (which must have borne a strong resemblance to the castles overhanging the Rhine), and these new buildings were placed so as to command a magnificent view, being on the steepest side of the rock, from which the mountain fell away, as it were, leaving the great plain of France in full survey.  The ground-plan was something of the shape of three sides of an oblong; my apartments in the modern edifice occupied the narrow end, and had this grand prospect.  The front of the castle was old, and ran parallel to the road far below.  In this were contained the offices and public rooms of various descriptions, into which I never penetrated.  The back wing (considering the new building, in which my apartments were, as the centre) consisted of many rooms, of a dark and gloomy character, as the mountainside shut out much of the sun, and heavy pine woods came down within a few yards of the windows.  Yet on this side - on a projecting plateau of the rock - my husband had formed the flower-garden of which I have spoken; for he was a great cultivator of flowers in his leisure moments.  

Now my bedroom was the corner room of the new buildings on the part next to the mountain.  Hence I could have let myself down into the flower-garden by my hands on the window-sill on one side, without danger of hurting myself; while the windows at right angles with these looked sheer down a descent of a hundred feet at least.  Going still farther along this wing, you came to the old building; in fact, these two fragments of the ancient castle had formerly been attached by some such connecting apartments as my husband had rebuilt.  These rooms belonged to M. de la Tourelle.  His bedroom opened into mine, his dressing-room lay beyond; and that was pretty nearly all I knew, for the servants, as well as he himself, had a knack of turning me back, under some pretence, if ever they found me walking about alone, as I was inclined to do, when first I came, from a sort of curiosity to see the whole of the place of which I found myself mistress.  M. de la Tourelle never encouraged me to go out alone, either in a carriage or for a walk, saying always that the roads were unsafe in those disturbed times; indeed, I have sometimes fancied since that the flower-garden, to which the only access from the castle was through his rooms, was designed in order to give me exercise and employment under his own eye.

 But to return to that night.  I knew, as I have said, that M. de la Tourelle's private room opened out of his dressing-room, and this out of his bedroom, which again opened into mine, the corner-room.  But there were other doors into all these rooms, and these doors led into a long gallery, lighted by windows, looking into the inner court.  I do not remember our consulting much about it; we went through my room into my husband's apartment, through the dressing-room, but the door of communication into his study was locked, so there was nothing for it but to turn back and go by the gallery to the other door.  I recollect noticing one or two things in these rooms, then seen by me for the first time.  I remember the sweet perfume that hung in the air, the scent bottles of silver that decked his toilet-table, and the whole apparatus for bathing and dressing, more luxurious even than those which he had provided for me. But the room itself was less splendid in its proportions than mine.  In truth, the new buildings ended at the entrance to my husband's dressing-room.  There were deep window recesses in walls eight or nine feet thick, and even the partitions between the chambers were three feet deep; but over all these doors or windows there fell thick, heavy draperies, so that I should think no one could have heard in one room what passed in another. We went back into my room, and out into the gallery.  We had to shade our candle, from a fear that possessed us, I don't know why, lest some of the servants in the opposite wing might trace our progress towards the part of the castle unused by anyone except my husband.  Somehow, I had always the feeling that all the domestics, except Amante, were spies upon me, and that I was trammelled in a web of observation and unspoken limitation extending over all my actions.  

There was a light in the upper room; we paused, and Amante would have again retreated, but I was chafing under the delays. What was the harm of my seeking my father's unopened letter to me in my husband's study?  I, generally the coward, now blamed Amante for her unusual timidity.  But the truth was, she had far more reason for suspicion as to the proceedings of that terrible household than I had ever known of. I urged her on, I pressed on myself; we came to the door, locked, but with the key in it; we turned it, we entered; the letters lay on the table, their white oblongs catching the light in an instant, and revealing themselves to my eager eyes, hungering after the words of love from my peaceful, distant home.  But just as I pressed forward to examine the letters, the candle which Amante held, caught in some draught, went out, and we were in darkness. Amante proposed that we should carry the letters back to my salon, collecting them as well as we could in the dark, and returning all but the expected one for me; but I begged her to return to my room, where I kept tinder and flint, and to strike a fresh light; and so she went, and I remained alone in the room, of which I could only just distinguish the size, and the principal articles of furniture: a large table, with a deep, overhanging cloth, in the middle, escritoires and other heavy articles against the walls; all this I could see as I stood there, my hand on the table close by the letters, my face towards the window, which, both from the darkness of the wood growing high up the mountainside and the faint light of the declining moon, seemed only like an oblong of paler purpler black than the shadowy room. How much I remembered from my one instantaneous glance before the candle went out, how much I saw as my eyes became accustomed to the darkness, I do not know, but even now, in my dreams, comes up that room of horror, distinct in its profound shadow.  Amante could hardly have been gone a minute before I felt an additional gloom before the window, and heard soft movements outside - soft, but resolute, and continued until the end was accomplished, and the window raised.  

In mortal terror of people forcing an entrance at such an hour, and in such a manner as to leave no doubt of their purpose, I would have turned to fly when first I heard the noise, only that I feared by any quick motion to catch their attention, as I also ran the danger of doing by opening the door, which was all but closed, and to whose handlings I was unaccustomed.  Again, quick as lightning, I bethought me of the hiding-place between the locked door to my husband's dressing-room and the portière which covered it; but I gave that up, I felt as if I could not reach it without screaming or fainting.  So I sank down softly, and crept under the table, hidden, as I hoped, by the great, deep table-cover, with its heavy fringe. I had not recovered my swooning senses fully, and was trying to reassure myself as to my being in a place of comparative safety, for, above all things, I dreaded the betrayal of fainting, and struggled hard for such courage as I might attain by deadening myself to the danger I was in by inflicting intense pain on myself.  You have often asked me the reason of that mark on my hand; it was where, in my agony, I bit out a piece of flesh with my relentless teeth, thankful for the pain, which helped to numb my terror.  I say, I was but just concealed when I heard the window lifted, and one after another stepped over the sill, and stood by me so close that I could have touched their feet.  Then they laughed and whispered; my brain swam so that I could not tell the meaning of their words, but I heard my husband's laughter among the rest - low, hissing, scornful - as he kicked something heavy that they had dragged in over the floor, and which lay near me; so near, that my husband's kick, in touching it, touched me too. I don't know why - I can't tell how - but some feeling, and not curiosity, prompted me to put out my hand, ever so softly, ever so little, and feel in the darkness for what lay spurned beside me. I stole my groping palm upon the clenched and chilly hand of a corpse!  

Strange to say, this roused me to instant vividness of thought. Till this moment I had almost forgotten Amante; now I planned with feverish rapidity how I could give her a warning not to return; or rather, I should say, I tried to plan, for all my projects were utterly futile, as I might have seen from the first.  I could only hope she would hear the voices of those who were now busy in trying to kindle a light, swearing awful oaths at the mislaid articles which would have enabled them to strike fire.  I heard her step outside coming nearer and nearer; I saw from my hiding-place the line of light beneath the door more and more distinctly; close to it her footstep paused; the men inside - at the time I thought they had been only two, but I found out afterwards there were three - paused in their endeavours, and were quite still, as breathless as myself, I suppose.  Then she slowly pushed the door open with gentle motion, to save her flickering candle from being again extinguished.  For a moment all was still.  Then I heard my husband say, as he advanced towards her (he wore riding-boots, the shape of which I knew well, as I could see them in the light), -  

'Amante, may I ask what brings you here into my private room?'  

He stood between her and the dead body of a man, from which ghastly heap I shrank away as it almost touched me, so close were we all together.  I could not tell whether she saw it or not; I could give her no warning, nor make any dumb utterance of signs to bid her what to say - if, indeed, I knew myself what would be best for her to say.  

Her voice was quite changed when she spoke; quite hoarse, and very low; yet it was steady enough as she said, what was the truth, that she had come to look for a letter which she believed had arrived for me from Germany.  Good, brave Amante!  Not a word about me.  M. de la Tourelle answered with a grim blasphemy and a fearful threat.  He would have no one prying into his premises; madame should have her letters, if there were any, when he chose to give them to her, if, indeed, he thought it well to give them to her at all.  As for Amante, this was her first warning, but it was also her last; and, taking the candle out of her hand, he turned her out of the room, his companions discreetly making a screen, so as to throw the corpse into deep shadow.  I heard the key turn in the door after her - if I had ever had any thought of escape it was gone now. I only hoped that whatever was to befall me might soon be over, for the tension of nerve was growing more than I could bear. The instant she could be supposed to be out of hearing, two voices began speaking in the most angry terms to my husband, upbraiding him for not having detained her, gagged her - nay, one was for killing her, saying he had seen her eye fall on the face of the dead man, whom he how kicked in his passion. Though the form of their speech was as if they were speaking to equals, yet in their tone there was something of fear.  I am  sure my husband was their superior, or captain, or somewhat.  He replied to them almost as if he were scoffing at them, saying  it was such an expenditure of labour having to do with fools;  that, ten to one, the woman was only telling the simple truth,  and that she was frightened enough by discovering her master  in his room to be thankful to escape and return to her mistress,  to whom he could easily explain on the morrow how he happened to return in the dead of night.  But his companions fell  to cursing me, and saying that since M. de la Tourelle had been  married he was fit for nothing but to dress himself fine and  scent himself with perfume; that, as for me, they could have got  him twenty girls prettier, and with far more spirit in them.  He  quietly answered that I suited him, and that was enough.  All  this time they were doing something - I could not see what - to  the corpse; sometimes they were too busy rifling the dead body,  I believe, to talk; again they let it fall with a heavy, resistless  thud, and took to quarrelling.  They taunted my husband with  angry vehemence, enraged at his scoffing and scornful replies,  his mocking laughter.  Yes, holding up his poor dead victim, the  better to strip him of whatever he wore that was valuable, I  heard my husband laugh just as he had done when exchanging  repartees in the little salon of the Rupprechts at Karlsruhe.  I  hated and dreaded him from that moment.  At length, as if to  make an end of the subject, he said, with cool determination in  his voice, -  

'Now, my good friends, what is the use of all this talking,  when you know in your hearts that, if I suspected my wife of  knowing more than I chose of my affairs, she would not outlive  the day?  Remember Victorine.  Because she merely joked about  my affairs in an imprudent manner, and rejected my advice to  keep a prudent tongue - to see what she liked, but ask nothing  and say nothing - she has gone a long journey - longer than to  Paris.'  

 'But this one is different to her; we knew all that Madame  Victorine knew, she was such a chatterbox; but this one may  find out a vast deal, and never breathe a word about it, she is  so sly.  Some fine day we may have the country raised, and the  gendarmes down upon us from Strasburg, and all owing to your  pretty doll, with her cunning ways of coming over you.'

I think this roused M. de la Tourelle a little from his contemptuous indifference, for he ground an oath through his teeth, and said, 'Feel! this dagger is sharp, Henri.  If my wife breathes a word, and I am such a fool as not to have stopped her mouth effectually before she can bring down gendarmes upon us, just let that good steel find its way to my heart.  Let her guess but one tittle, let her have but one slight suspicion that I am not a grand propriétaire, much less imagine that I am a chief of Chauffeurs, and she follows Victorine on the long journey beyond Paris that very day.'

 'She'll outwit you yet; or I never judged women well.  Those still silent ones are the devil.  She'll be off during some of your absences, having picked out some secret that will break us all on the wheel.'

  'Bah!' said his voice; and then in a minute he added, 'Let her go if she will.  But, where she goes, I will follow; so don't cry before you're hurt.'  

By this time, they had nearly stripped the body; and the conversation turned on what they should do with it.  I learnt that the dead man was the Sieur de Poissy, a neighbouring gentleman, whom I had often heard of as hunting with my husband.  I had never seen him, but they spoke as if he had come upon them while they were robbing some Cologne merchant, torturing him after the cruel practice of the Chauffeurs, by roasting the feet of their victims in order to compel them to reveal any hidden circumstances connected with their wealth, of which the Chauffeurs afterwards made use; and this Sieur de Poissy coming down upon them, and recognizing M. de la Tourelle, they had killed him, and brought him thither after nightfall.  I heard him whom I called my husband laugh his little light laugh as he spoke of the way in which the dead body had been strapped before one of the riders, in such a way that it appeared to any passer-by as if, in truth, the murderer were tenderly supporting some sick person.  He repeated some mocking reply of double meaning, which he himself had given to someone who made inquiry.  He enjoyed the play upon words, softly applauding his own wit.  And all the time the poor helpless outstretched arms of the dead lay close to his dainty boot! Then another stooped (my heart stopped beating), and picked  up a letter lying on the ground - a letter that had dropped out  of M. de Poissy's pocket - a letter from his wife, full of tender  words of endearment and pretty babblings of love.  This was  read aloud, with coarse ribald comments on every sentence, each  trying to outdo the previous speaker.  When they came to some  pretty words about a sweet Maurice, their little child away with  its mother on some visit, they laughed at M. de la Tourelle, and  told him that he would be hearing such woman's drivelling  some day.  Up to that moment, I think, I had only feared him,  but his unnatural, half-ferocious reply made me hate even more  than I dreaded him.  But now they grew weary of their savage  merriment; the jewels and watch had been apprised, the money  and papers examined; and apparently there was some necessity  for the body being interred quietly and before daybreak.  They  had not dared to leave him where he was slain for fear lest  people should come and recognize him, and raise the hue and  cry upon them.  For they all along spoke as if it was their  constant endeavour to keep the immediate neighbourhood of  Les Rochers in the most orderly and tranquil condition, so as  never to give cause for visits from the gendarmes.  They disputed  a little as to whether they should make their way into the castle  larder through the gallery, and satisfy their hunger before the  hasty interment, or afterwards.  I listened with eager feverish  interest as soon as this meaning of their speeches reached my  hot and troubled brain, for at the time the words they uttered  seemed only to stamp themselves with terrible force on my  memory, so that I could hardly keep from repeating them aloud  like a dull, miserable, unconscious echo; but my brain was  numb to the sense of what they said, unless I myself were  named, and then, I suppose, some instinct of self-preservation  stirred within me, and quickened my sense.  And how I strained  my ears, and nerved my hands and limbs, beginning to twitch  with convulsive movements, which I feared might betray me!  I  gathered every word they spoke, not knowing which proposal  to wish for, but feeling that whatever was finally decided upon,  my only chance of escape was drawing near.  I once feared lest  my husband should go to his bedroom before I had had that  one chance, in which case he would most likely have perceived  my absence.  He said that his hands were soiled (I shuddered, for it might be with life-blood), and he would go and cleanse them; but some bitter jest turned his purpose, and he left the room with the other two - left it by the gallery door.  Left me alone in the dark with the stiffening corpse!  

Now, now was my time, if ever; and yet I could not move.  It was not my cramped and stiffened joints that crippled me, it was the sensation of that dead man's close presence.  I almost fancied - I almost fancy still - I heard the arm nearest to me move; lift itself up, as if once more imploring, and fall in dead despair.  At that fancy - if fancy it were - I screamed aloud in mad terror, and the sound of my own strange voice broke the spell.  I drew myself to the side of the table farthest from the corpse, with as much slow caution as if I really could have feared the clutch of that poor dead arm, powerless for evermore.  I softly raised myself up, and stood sick and trembling, holding by the table, too dizzy to know what to do next.  I nearly fainted, when a low voice spoke - when Amante, from the outside of the door, whispered, 'Madame!' The faithful creature had been on the watch, had heard my scream, and having seen the three ruffians troop along the gallery down the stairs, and across the court to the offices in the other wing of the castle, she had stolen to the door of the room in which I was.  The sound of her voice gave me strength; I walked straight towards it, as one benighted on a dreary moor, suddenly perceiving the small steady light which tells of human dwellings, takes heart, and steers straight onward.  Where I was, where that voice was, I knew not; but go to it I must, or die.  The door once opened - I know not by which of us - I fell upon her neck, grasping her tight, till my hands ached with the tension of their hold.  Yet she never uttered a word.  Only she took me up in her vigorous arms, and bore me to my room, and laid me on my bed.  I do not know more; as soon as I was placed there I lost sense; I came to myself with a horrible dread lest my husband was by me, with a belief that he was in the room, in hiding, waiting to hear my first words, watching for the least sign of the terrible knowledge I possessed to murder me.  I dared not breathe quicker, I measured and timed each heavy inspiration; I did not speak, nor move, nor even open my eyes, for long after I was in my full, my miserable senses.  I heard someone treading softly about the room, as if with a purpose, not as if for curiosity, or merely to beguile the time; someone passed in and out of the salon; and I still lay quiet, feeling as if death were inevitable, but wishing that the agony of death were past.  Again faintness stole over me; but just as I was sinking into the horrible feeling of nothingness, I heard Amante's voice close to me, saying -  

'Drink this, madame, and let us be gone.  All is ready.'  

I let her put her arm under my head and raise me, and pour something down my throat.  All the time she kept talking in a quiet, measured voice, unlike her own, so dry and authoritative; she told me that a suit of her clothes lay ready for me, that she herself was as much disguised as the circumstances permitted her to be, that what provisions I had left from my supper were stowed away in her pockets, and so she went on, dwelling on little details of the most commonplace description, but never alluding for an instant to the fearful cause why flight was necessary.  I made no inquiry as to how she knew, or what she knew.  I never asked her either then or afterwards, I could not bear it - we kept our dreadful secret close.  But I suppose she must have been in the dressing-room adjoining, and heard all.

 In fact, I dared not speak even to her, as if there were anything beyond the most common event in life in our preparing thus to leave the house of blood by stealth in the dead of night.  She gave me directions - short condensed directions, without reasons - just as you do to a child; and like a child I obeyed her. She went often to the door and listened; and often, too, she went to the window, and looked anxiously out.  For me, I saw nothing but her, and I dared not let my eyes wander from her for a minute; and I heard nothing in the deep midnight silence but her soft movements, and the heavy beating of my own heart.  At last she took my hand, and led me in the dark through the salon, once more into the terrible gallery, where across the black darkness the windows admitted pale sheeted ghosts of light upon the floor.  Clinging to her I went; unquestioning - for she was human sympathy to me after the isolation of my unspeakable terror.  On we went, turning to the left instead of to the right, past my suite of sitting-rooms where the gilding was red with blood, into that unknown wing of the castle that fronted the main road lying parallel far below.  She guided me along the basement passages to which we had now descended, until we came to a little open door, through which the air blew chill and cold, bringing for the first time a sensation of life to me.  The door led into a kind of cellar, through which we groped our way to an opening like a window, but which, instead of being glazed, was only fenced with iron bars, two of which were loose, as Amante evidently knew, for she took them out with the ease of one who had performed the action often before, and then helped me to follow her out into the free, open air.  

We stole round the end of the building, and on turning the corner - she first - I felt her hold on me tighten for an instant, and the next step I, too, heard distant voices, and the blows of a spade upon the heavy soil, for the night was very warm and still.  

We had not spoken a word; we did not speak now.  Touch was safer and as expressive.  She turned down towards the high road; I followed.  I did not know the path; we stumbled again and again, and I was much bruised; so doubtless was she; but bodily pain did me good.  At last, we were on the plainer path of the high road.

 I had such faith in her that I did not venture to speak, even when she paused, as wondering to which hand she should turn. But now, for the first time, she spoke: -

 'Which way did you come when he brought you here first?'  

I pointed, I could not speak.  

We turned in the opposite direction; still going along the high road.  In about an hour, we struck up to the mountainside, scrambling far up before we even dared to rest; far up and away again before day had fully dawned.  Then we looked about for some place of rest and concealment: and now we dared to speak in whispers.  Amante told me that she had locked the door of communication between his bedroom and mine, and, as in a dream, I was aware that she had also locked and brought away the key of the door between the latter and the salon.

 'He will have been too busy this night to think much about you - he will suppose you are asleep - I shall be the first to be missed; but they will only just now be discovering our loss.'

 I remember those last words of hers made me pray to go on; I felt as if we were losing precious time in thinking either of rest or concealment; but she hardly replied to me, so busy was she in seeking out some hiding-place.  At length, giving it up in despair, we proceeded onwards a little way; the mountainside sloped downwards rapidly, and in the full morning light we saw ourselves in a narrow valley, made by a stream which forced its way along it.  About a mile lower down there rose the pale blue smoke of a village, a mill-wheel was lashing up the water close at hand, though out of sight.  Keeping under the cover of every sheltering tree or bush, we worked our way down past the mill, down to a one-arched bridge, which doubtless formed part of the road between the village and the mill.

  'This will do,' said she; and we crept under the space, and climbing a little way up the rough stonework, we seated ourselves on a projecting ledge, and crouched in the deep damp shadow.  Amante sat a little above me, and made me lay my head on her lap.  Then she fed me, and took some food herself; and opening out her great dark cloak, she covered up every light-coloured speck about us; and thus we sat, shivering and shuddering, yet feeling a kind of rest through it all, simply from the fact that motion was no longer imperative, and that during the daylight our only chance of safety was to be still.  But the damp shadow in which we were sitting was blighting, from the circumstance of the sunlight never penetrating there; and I dreaded lest, before night and the time for exertion again came on, I should feel illness creeping all over me.  To add to our discomfort, it had rained the whole day long, and the stream, fed by a thousand little mountain brooklets, began to swell into a torrent, rushing over the stones with a perpetual and dizzying noise.  

Every now and then I was wakened from the painful doze into which I continually fell, by a sound of horses' feet over our head: sometimes lumbering heavily as if dragging a burden, sometimes rattling and galloping, and with the sharper cry of men's voices coming cutting through the roar of the waters.  At length, day fell.  We had to drop into the stream, which came above our knees as we waded to the bank.  There we stood, stiff and shivering.  Even Amante's courage seemed to fail.  

'We must pass this night in shelter, somehow,' said she.  For indeed the rain was coming down pitilessly.  I said nothing.  I thought that surely the end must be death in some shape; and I only hoped that to death might not be added the terror of the cruelty of men.  In a minute or so she had resolved on her course of action.  We went up the stream to the mill.  The familiar sounds, the scent of the wheat, the flour whitening the walls - all reminded me of home, and it seemed to me as if I must struggle out of this nightmare and waken, and find myself once more a happy girl by the Neckar-side.  They were long in unbarring the door at which Amante had knocked: at length, an old feeble voice inquired who was there, and what was sought? Amante answered shelter from the storm for two women; but the old woman replied, with suspicious hesitation, that she was sure it was a man who was asking for shelter, and that she could not let us in. But at length she satisfied herself, and unbarred the heavy door, and admitted us. She was nor an unkindly woman; but her thoughts all travelled in one circle, and that was, that her master, the miller, had told her on no account to let any man into the place during his absence, and that she did not know if he would not think two women as bad; and yet that as we were not men, no one could say she had disobeyed him, for it was a shame to let a dog be out such a night as this. Amante, with ready wit, told her to let no one know that we had taken shelter there that night, and that then her master could not blame her; and while she was thus enjoining secrecy as the wisest course, with a view to far other people than the miller, she was hastily helping me to take off my wet clothes, and spreading them, as well as the brown mantle that had covered us both, before the great stove which warmed the room with the effectual heat that the old woman's failing vitality required.  All this time the poor creature was discussing with herself as to whether she had disobeyed orders, in a kind of garrulous way that made me fear much for her capability of retaining anything secret if she was questioned.  By-and-by, she wandered away to an unnecessary revelation of her master's whereabouts: gone to help in the search for his landlord, the Sieur de Poissy, who lived at the château just above, and who had not returned from his chase the day before; so the intendant imagined he might have met with some accident, and had summoned the neighbours to beat the forest and the hillside. She told us much besides, giving us to understand that she would fain meet with a place as housekeeper where there were more servants and less to do, as her life here was very lonely and dull, especially since her master's son had gone away - gone to the wars.  She then took her supper, which was evidently apportioned out to her with a sparing hand, as, even if the idea had come into her head, she had not enough to offer us any.  Fortunately, warmth was all that we required, and that, thanks to Amante's cares, was returning to our chilled bodies.  After supper, the old woman grew drowsy; but she seemed uncomfortable at the idea of going to sleep and leaving us still in the house. Indeed, she gave us pretty broad hints as to the propriety of our going once more out into the bleak and stormy night; but we begged to be allowed to stay under shelter of some kind; and, at last, a bright idea came over her, and she bade us mount by a ladder to a kind of loft, which went half over the lofty mill-kitchen in which we were sitting.  We obeyed her - what else could we do? - and found ourselves in a spacious floor, without any safeguard or wall, boarding, or railing, to keep us from falling over into the kitchen in case we went too near the edge.  It was, in fact, the store-room or garret for the household. There was bedding piled up, boxes and chests, mill sacks, the winter store of apples and nuts, bundles of old clothes, broken furniture, and many other things.  No sooner were we up there, than the old woman dragged the ladder, by which we had ascended, away with a chuckle, as if she was now secure that we could do no mischief, and sat herself down again once more, to doze and await her master's return.  We pulled out some bedding, and gladly laid ourselves down in our dried clothes and in some warmth, hoping to have the sleep we so much needed to refresh us and prepare us for the next day.  But I could not sleep, and I was aware, from her breathing, that Amante was equally wakeful.  We could both see through the crevices between the boards that formed the flooring into the kitchen below, very partially lighted by the common lamp that hung against the wall near the stove on the opposite side to that on which we were.

[whencyclopedfr]

Donjon

Le donjon, situé dans une cour et entouré d'une courtine, était le cœur du château médiéval. Le donjon-palais est un bâtiment bas, tandis que le donjon peut avoir trois étages ou plus et être surmonté de tourelles et de créneaux. Avec ses murs très épais et son entrée protégée, le donjon était généralement l'endroit le plus sûr d'un château pendant les guerres de siège des 11e et 12e siècles. À l'intérieur, le plus grand bâtiment qu'une personne du Moyen Âge ait probablement jamais vu dans sa vie était la grande salle, la chapelle du château et les quartiers résidentiels. Coûteux et lents à construire, les donjons furent peu à peu remplacés à partir du milieu du XIIIe siècle par de plus grandes tours rondes dans le mur d'enceinte, conçues pour empêcher l'ennemi de pénétrer dans la cour du château. Témoignage durable de leur solidité, de nombreux donjons subsistent encore aujourd'hui en Europe, alors que très souvent le reste des bâtiments du château a disparu depuis longtemps.

Lire la suite...

[expression-of-architecture]

Alsace, France 🥨

Dorlisheim, château dit de Brosses du nom d'un de ses occupants. Cette demeure aurait été érigée en 1714, restaurée en 1820 et transformée en 1868 avec l'ajout d'une tourelle ronde. Initialement propriété de la famille Hecht, elle fut rachetée par le baron Hervé de Brosses.

[toutsurlevin]

Une fructueuse alliance vinicole entre la France et le Québec

Cette heureuse aventure vinicole débute avec Hervé Durand, vigneron et propriétaire du Château des Tourelles sur l’appellation Costières de Nîmes dans le sud de la France, qui en 1981 fait un saut au Québec avec l’objectif de proposer ses vins à la SAQ. Par Janine Saine À la fois visionnaire et pionnier, il découvre pendant son séjour le potentiel viticole de la région de Dunham en Estrie où en…

[bsoubeyr]

Le château de La Grande-Jaille à Sammarçolles (Vienne)

Le château de la Grande-Jaille est un monument historique situé à Sammarçolles (Vienne). C’est un château de style Renaissance, avec des douves, un châtelet d’entrée à échauguettes, ces petites tourelles qui servaient à loger une sentinelle, et une porte du XVIIe siècle. Description historique Le château est une construction antérieure à 1555 et connut différents travaux d’aménagement entre…

[librairiemelodieensoussol]

Budapest Petit guide de voyage en très bon état général Voyager découvrir partir rencontrer Editions guides mondeos 120 pages Capitale de la Hongrie, Budapest est coupée en deux par le Danube. Son pont du XIXe siècle Széchenyi lánchíd ("pont des chaînes") relie le district vallonné de Buda au district plat de Pest. Un funiculaire rejoint le quartier Vár ("du château") et la vieille ville de Buda, où le musée historique de Budapest retrace l'histoire de la ville de l'époque romaine à nos jours. La place de la Sainte Trinité comporte l'église Matthias, du XIIIe siècle, et le Bastion des pêcheurs, dont les tourelles offrent une vue dégagée. #librairiemelodieensoussol #melodieensoussol #oiseaumortvintage #libraire #librairie #librairiemarseille #librairieparis #librairieindependante #librairieenligne #librairiedoccasion #livresdoccasion #guidesmondeos #budapest https://www.instagram.com/p/CoCMwZfMFd3/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ganhosdoelefante]

Vernon, 26 de novembro de Ano 1 - Quinta - Blogger - 25 anos

07:00 - Acordamos e corremos. 

08:00 - Voltamos, tomamos banho e nos arrumamos. 

08:40 - Tomamos café no quarto. 

09:00 - Saímos.  09:10 - Visitamos um parque:  Esplanade Jean-Claude Asphe

09:40 - Passeamos pela ponte:  Pont Clemenceau

10:00 - Entrevistamos: 

10:30 - Aprendemos arte:  MIRAÏ Giverny Workshop

11:10 - Avaliamos empresa:  La Pruniere

11:40 - Mais uma visita:  Château des Tourelles

12:10 - Outra visita:  Le Vieux-Moulin de Vernon

12:50 - Almoçamos:  La Base Vernon

14:00 - Avaliamos:  Le Meublier Parmentier

14:20 - Vamos a biblio:  Médiathèque de Vernon

15:00 - Voltamos ao hotel e trabalhamos.  16:00 - Tiramos uma soneca.  18:00 - Tomamos banho e nos arrumamos.  18:40 - Tomamos um bebida no jardim do hotel: 

19:10 - Vamos jantar.  19:20 - Jantamos:  Fleur de Seine - Crêperie, Salon de thé

21:10 - Chegamos no hotel e dormimos. 

[russell-boncey]

Red films at sunset 2

Egg tempera and collage

30 x 90 cm

[seebyanna]

C’est génial ! Je viens de recevoir le Prix de Photographie au Salon Artistique de Bois Colombes pour la série TransFiguration!!!! L’exposition est à voir jusqu’au 14 décembre au Château des Tourelles à Bois Colombes. @villeboiscolombes #transfiguration #artprice #photography #exhibition #salonartistique #chamanisme #spirituality #dance Modèle : @ruby_feathers_diary (à Bois-Colombes) https://www.instagram.com/p/CltzaEwrZDO/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bltrust]

2005 pichon baron

#2005 PICHON BARON HOW TO#

#2005 PICHON BARON MANUAL#

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Over the space of a few years, the grand vin of Pichon Longueville Baron has established itself as one of the best crus of Pauillac. The second wine, made of young vines, is nowadays called Les Griffons. Les Tourelles de Longueville, formerly the second wine, has become a separate cru. This property's wines are nowadays considered amongst the most renowned of Pauillac.

#2005 PICHON BARON MANUAL#

Total destemming is done though manual harvesting. Cabernet Sauvignon reigns indisputably in the vineyard of Pichon Baron, carefully managed by the team of Jean-René Matignon, the domaine's technical director. A significant renovation programme of the château, the wine cellars and the technical installations of Pichon-Longueville followed. It was managed by their descendants for the next fifty years and it was a Sleeping Beauty which the company AXA Millésimes purchased in 1987. The domaine belonged to the Pichon family until 1933 when it was then sold to the Bouteiller family. The dwelling itself, inspired by the Château d'Azay le Rideau, was built in 1851 by Raoul. Classified as a Second Cru in 1855, the property was divided in favour of a succession and the vinified wines separately from 1860 : Raoul, the only surviving son of the Baron Joseph, therefore takes the head of the current Pichon Longueville Baron, often nicknamed « Pichon Baron »,whilst his daughter Virginie, the wife of the count of Lalande, received the other part of the property, hence the addition : « Comtesse de Lalande ». Produced under the leadership of Jacques de Pichon, the Baron of Longueville, the wines follow in the footsteps of those of Latour at the start of the 18th century. Planted with vines since the end of the 17th century, it achieved almost instant renown. The vineyard of Pichon Longueville Baron extends over the exquisite land of Garonne gravel to the south of the appellation on the high plateau which is a transition between the commune of Pauillac and that of Saint-Julien. Grands crus, older vintages, large formats, Champagne, whiskies, cognacs, armagnacs, rare wines, or simply a good bottle More info With a few simple clicks, the iDealwine e-card gives your loved ones the chance to spend their gift voucher as they wish on the iDealwine website (and nowhere else). If you need a place to store your wine, you're in the right place, with our all-inclusive, simple, and digitalised solution.

#2005 PICHON BARON HOW TO#

Not enough time? Not sure how to navigate thousands of wines to pick out the right ones? Our wine consultants are here to help you put together your own bespoke cellar. It's our way to thank you for your trusting us. Meursault Clos des Ambres Arnaud Ente 2014 at 04:53:34 pm | Paris time €680Īt every stage of your experience on our site, iDealwine is delighted to offer you a great selection of benefits. Gewurztraminer Sélection de Grains Nobles Eichberg Scherer 5 at 04:58:42 pm | Paris time €45Ĭhâteau Sociando Mallet 1990 at 04:53:52 pm | Paris time €160 Muscat Grand Cru Kirchberg Kientzler 2014 at 05:00:07 pm | Paris time €28

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10:30 | PC - Non French Wines 2006-2015īarolo DOCG Pia Cascina La Badia 1967 at 05:12:58 pm | Paris time €13īolgheri DOC Sassicaia Tenuta San Guido 2010 at 05:09:26 pm | Paris time €420.

On the contrary, it is pure Pauillac, with that purity of blackcurrant that characterizes the terroir, plenty of acidity, almost perfect balance and a little held back that can be tasted well into the finish. In short I love the wine, but I do not find a New World ripeness and opulence. I have had this wine on multiple occasion, it was on my list of best buys when I tasted in barrel, and I purchased a case of it on my return, and recently bought an Imperial at auction. If you want a slightly less ripe style (not austere by any means but a more classic style) go for the 00 - another great PB which has the stuffing to last a long time. For the pundits who might criticize this wine as too new world I concur - it is a bit new world - it could pass for a CS blend from Rutherford - for me this is not a bad thing - in fact it is a good thing - This is a very well made wine and one I am happy to own - despite having a new world feel I think it will age effortlessly. Finished the bottle off tonight - gained a bit of weight overnight (vacuvin).

[secretsdeblackthornhall]

De Julian à Helen et Aline

Chères Helen et Aline,

Emma et moi avons pris le train à la Gare de Paddington très tôt ce matin. (Je suppose que nous aurions pu aller à l’Institut pour demander s’il était possible d’utiliser le Portail, mais ça semblait être dérangent et d’ailleurs, ce n’était pas notre premier voyage en train en Angleterre.)

Nous sommes descendus du train à Exeter, une ville immense avec une grande cathédrale gothique. Tessa était venue nous chercher et nous attendait dans une Mini Cooper vert britannique1, à l’arrière de laquelle Mina était attachée dans un siège auto, des lunettes de motocycliste sur les yeux. Elle m’a fait penser à Tavvy quand il était plus petit. Emma est montée derrière et amusait Mina en se cachant le visage avant de dire « coucou », et je discutais avec Tessa pendant que nous roulions dans la campagne d’un vert magnifique. Je déteste quand les gens disent « Ça ressemblait à ce qu’on voit dans les films », mais c’était un peu ça. Pendant tout le trajet, je voulais descendre pour peindre le paysage.

Nous sommes passés par un grand portail et avons continué sur un long chemin bordé de chênes et de peupliers. J’ai cru que nous étions dans une sorte de parc national : il y avait des sentiers et beaucoup de verdure et de fleurs. Tessa m’a dit que les fleurs violettes étaient des jacinthes des bois (on ne s’attendrait pas à en trouver dans un jardin), et que les jaunes étaient des chélidoines. Nous sommes passés devant une grande serre puis sommes arrivés devant ce que j’ai pris pour un château, je te le jure.

Je crois que je savais que Cirenworth était élégant, mais je ne crois pas que je me rendais compte à quel point ça l’était. C’est un immense édifice en pierres dorées avec des petites tourelles et des fenêtres à petits carreaux. Devant, il y a une grande allée circulaire, et nous nous sommes garés là, en bas des escaliers qui avaient l’air d’appartenir à la façade d’un musée. Jem et Kit nous attendaient en haut des escaliers et Mina s’est mise à hurler de joie dès qu’elle les a vus. C’était très mignon.

Ils nous ont fait visiter la maison : il s’avère qu’ils n’en utilisent qu’une moitié, et que l’autre moitié est condamnée parce que ça demande trop d’entretien. J’ai demandé s’ils avaient eu besoin de rénover la propriété et Jem a répondu que non, elle n’était jamais tombée en ruine comme Blackthorn House. Tessa a expliqué qu’elle avait dû redécorer parce que c’était plutôt sombre « et un peu moisi » quand ils ont emménagé, mais elle a ajouté que ce n’était pas la première fois qu’elle redécorait : apparemment elle avait refait tout l’Institut il y a longtemps. Je lui ai demandé des conseils sur les rénovations, mais elle m’a fait remarquer que quand elle s’était occupée de l’Institut, les canalisations étaient une nouveauté.

Kit a dit qu’ils avaient tout de même mis internet dans Cirenworth (est-ce qu’on « met internet dans » les choses ? Emma dit qu’on « branche les choses pour internet ». Je pense qu’aucun des deux n’est correct.) pour lui, parce qu’il en a besoin pour l’école. Je crois qu’il est heureux ici. Il nous a montré ce qui lui plaisait dans les différentes pièces… et il y a beaucoup de pièces. Une grande bibliothèque avec des tapis dorés, une salle de jeux avec une table de billard (mais ils lui donnent un autre nom2), une piscine enterrée, beaucoup de bureaux, une salle de musique, un atelier de couture… enfin, ils doivent avoir une salle dédiée à coller des timbres sur des enveloppes.

Je me suis rendu compte que je n’avais pas passé autant de temps avec Kit depuis qu’il est parti vivre avec Tessa et Jem. Je me suis éloigné des autres pour lui parler pendant que Tessa montrait la galerie de portraits des Carstairs du passé à Emma. Il a tellement grandi, il fait presque ma taille maintenant, et sa voix est plus grave. Et je me suis rendu compte qu’il avait l’air plus âgé de la même manière que Ty a l’air plus âgé, j’imaginais presque qu’il avait le même âge que la première fois que je l’ai vu. Mais non, il devient adulte. Il est adulte, peut-être. Presque.

Il m’a dit qu’il voulait me montrer quelque chose dans le jardin, alors je l’ai suivi et nous sommes sortis par une porte-fenêtre. Nous étions dans un coin envahi par la végétation : il y avait des fraisiers, mais pas de fraises (ce n’est pas la saison), et au milieu un cadran solaire fissuré. Kit a dit, sans me regarder, que si ça me mettait mal à l’aise d’être avec lui, ou si je ne voulais pas le voir, il pouvait prétendre avoir mal à la tête et aller se coucher.

J’étais déconcerté. Je lui ai demandé pourquoi ça me dérangerait qu’il soit là. Il a donné des coups de pied dans la terre, et a fini par dire :

— À cause… à cause de lui.

Au début, je n’ai rien dit. J’avais un peu peur de dire quoi que ce soit. Il semblait aller bien quand nous étions à l’intérieur, il riait, faisait des blagues, portait Mina pour qu’elle s’assoie sur ses épaules. Maintenant, il semblait plus être comme la première fois que nous l’avons rencontré, ou même comme Mark quand il est revenu de la Chasse Sauvage… Fragile.

— Tu veux dire Ty ? ai-je demandé.

Il a péniblement hoché la tête.

— Tu es son frère, a-t-il répondu. Enfin, je parle avec Dru, et c’est sa sœur, mais… tu as toujours été plus que son grand frère. Tu étais comme son père. Je sais que tu l’as élevé. Je crois que je voulais juste dire que si tu étais dans son camp… je ne t’en voudrais pas.

— Ty ne m’a jamais fait comprendre qu’il fallait choisir un camp, ai-je déclaré.

Il a levé les yeux vers moi.

— Il… il n’a rien dit ?

— Je sais que vous ne vous parlez pas, ai-je annoncé. Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Ty ne m’a jamais dit pourquoi. Mais il n’a jamais dit que c’était de ta faute, ou que c’était à cause de quelque chose que tu avais fait. Les gens se disputent, ai-je ajouté. Ça arrive. J’aimerais que vous soyez à nouveau amis, parce que quand vous l’étiez, c’était vraiment spécial.

« Ty était tellement heureux. » Mais je n’ai pas dit ça.

— Mais dans tous les cas, peu importe ce qu’il se passe entre Ty et toi, nous avons traversé tellement d’épreuves tous ensemble. Tu seras toujours l’un des nôtres. Tu feras toujours partie de la famille.

— Ça me touche beaucoup, a-t-il répondu d’une voix rauque.

Nous sommes tous allés dîner après ça, et nous avons parlé de beaucoup de choses – y compris du fait que le fils de Tessa, James Herondale, avait à une époque un pistolet qui pouvait tuer les démons, ce qui a beaucoup intéressé Kit – mais cette lettre se fait très longue, et je voulais surtout te parler de Kit. Je crois que je ne m’étais pas rendu compte à quel point la situation avec Ty le rendait malheureux. Je me demande si nous avons fait le bon choix en décidant de ne pas intervenir ? Enfin, je sais que ce sont leurs affaires, mais peut-être que Ty est malheureux lui aussi ? Est-ce que nous devrions faire quelque chose ?

— Jules

1 : Couleur nationale du Royaume-Uni pour les courses automobiles. Voir https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/British_Racing_Green

2 : Les noms, et les règles du jeu, sont différents en anglais américain (pool) et en anglais britannique (snooker).

Texte original de Cassandra Clare ©

Traduction d’Eurydice Bluenight ©

Le texte original est à lire ici : https://secretsofblackthornhall.tumblr.com/post/678896588234653696/julian-to-helen-and-aline

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 4 July 1840

7 20/..

10 ¾

very fine morning – rather dullish R17 ¾° and F72° at 7 ¾ a.m. breakfast at 9 and then had our Captain Loueur de chevaux 10 minutes till 10 20/.. – apologized for yesterday – very civil – will get me a sort of march-route of our excursion in the Ratcha [Racha] and Letchkoum [Lechkhumi] etc. – asked if he would like to have anything paid in advance – it seemed yes – proposed 1 month – then finding that would be 75x3 ½ =225+37/50 = 262/50 = proposed giving him a 200/. bill tomorrow morning or before setting off – he thought we had better set off tomorrow evening – and sleep in a village about 10v. off – before breakfast and till now 10 ½ wrote the last 16 lines of yesterday and so far of today – put on my pelisse and A- her habit, and all off (she and I and Cossack and George and Georgian guide) at 10 50/.. to the palais of queen Thamar – En passant called to ask if Colonel Boujouroff was arrived – no! saw Madame for a moment or 2 at the window – left the Choni road to the right and went close past château Boujouroff – pleasant ride – at the old ruin at 12 ¼, Tsikhédarbasi or Tamaritsikhé, vid. Dubois ii. 200 et seq. – aux bords du Phase: c’est le moukhérises de Procope p. 201. a mass of ruin – not shewing much at even a distance – it took 20 minutes to get A- seated at her sketching, and myself at Dubois – the high mountains almost entirely hid in cloud – some of the dark snow-striped summits peeped up now and then (left) as we rode along – to me this ruin seems the remain not of a palace but of a church – of the earliest Byzantine style – A- sketched it from the south – the foundations for 3 or 4ft. high a grouted mass of small boulders and angular fragments – then the brick walling – bricks 10 ½ and 11 inches square – hard and well burnt – very good bricks – as for the sough front “[?] de 4 embrasures” p. 202 – I could see no trace of them – there is a great gap, or breach, on each side the door-way accolée to the middle demi-tourelle the grand vestibule voûté remains with a large hole made (torn) in the top so as to let in light and weather – but as for the “vaste salle d’audience de la structure la plus imposante”, a regular cross of 86 and 76ft. French lighted only by the 8gon dome (darbase) 44ft. French diameter, and now covered with masses of tumbled down walling, I can see nothing in all this but the centre of a fine old church –East of the salle d’audience on pénétrait par une large porte dans un grands salon (p. 203) this porte is at a height from (above) the floor of the salle d’audience (or church) to have opened into a chamber above the one with the large fireplace and its cellar-treasury and one sees by the holes in the sides of the great open arch (to the east) where the joists of this floor rested – true there seem to have been communication  from this chimney room to other vaults right and left (north and south) – the little door to the south must have been that shape about 2ft. wide at bottom narrowing to 18in. or less at top 16ft. high (English feet) – how he could make out the couloir opening on to a wood balcony (p. 203) I know not – there is there a mass of old walling and rubbish some feet above the

actual level of the salle d’audience – but the mass of tall thick vegetation, - wild vine, large white convolvulus, a 5 or 6ft. high large leaved achillea like flower, etc. etc. should be removed before one can tell what is left to the east – to me instead of being no wall left to the East (p.204) there is great deal of mound or wall or rubbish or something, and the same to the north – and on the west are 6 pièces voutées – went into one of them – all the rest made up or nearly with rubbish? – the large opener [?]  vault must have been the great west entrance – a little fireplace fronting the little door of the little vault we went down into – very like a monks’ cell – not a single inscription (except a few Georgian letter on one stone somewhere inside) inside or out of the church close by the palais – faced with ashler stone – and some traces of fresco paintings remaining within – all bled de Turquie immediately around the ruin, and meadow at a little distance – It was 3 5/.. when I took A- and piloted her about – and at 4 went (rode) to the poor little church a verst off in grave of fine limes and poplars – there in 10 minutes one little window east and with Georgian inscription on each side and below the cross – one little window also north side and ditto south over the shabby little 2 or 2ft. 6in. wide entrance door and Georgian inscription over the door – poor little church not worth the trouble of going to see, if it had not been mentioned by Dubois – but as for all the inscriptions translated by Brosset etc.  where are they? – Desired to return par la rivière – could only do it in autumn – why – the road not good – mud – would try – went down to the river – must pass it – too much water – yes! did not wish that – did not know of passing it – yes! George declared that aller par la rivière voulait dire, le trauverser – the fellow sets up for teacher of French – Turned round my horse – returned to the ruin – it must then have been about 5 – it soon began to thunder and lighten and in about 20 minutes to rain pretty smartly – put on my Mackintosh and cantered on – stopt a moment to ask if colonel B- was returned – no! Madame B- was taking a bath but would be glad of our drinking tea with her – declined on account of the weather – nearly fair the rest of the way – home at 6 – tea over at 7 35/.. – George had been at our Captains’ – the Captain sent for him, and desired him to ask me for a month [money?] in advance for the horses – no! said all this was so strange, I really felt bound to believe he could not mean any such thing – all this so unexpected, did not what to make of it, and very uncertain that the horses would be strong enough for the journey – took the Cossack and off on foot to Madame B- at 7 ¾ - there in 20 minutes – the colonel arrived – taking a bath – Madame B- had the Cossack in – all went against George – it seemed that he had sent the Cossack (who thought I sent him) to decline paying the month – the officer not at home – and if he had desired George to ask for the money he would have taken care to be at home – agreed that the Cossack should take the horses tomorrow morning for the colonel to see – saw him for a moment declined tea, and off home at 9 and came in at 9 25/.. en nage tho’ it was fair all the way (going and returning) there had been a heavy shower while

SH:7/ML/E/24/0143

Koutaïs

I was with Madame B-  A- sent off an old soldier with the large umbrella and bourca – met him not much above the bridge, and beat him home by several minutes – undressed immediately and sat in my dry night things, and fur cloak delighted to have been and settled so much chez Madame B- fine day till the loud thunder and lightning followed by rain about 5 ½ or before and rain after our return – and heavy shower between 8 and 9 – Lightened all the way back from chateau Boujouroff