Chatou, précédemment

[Everybody’s goes to see the Luncheon of the Boating Party at the Phillips, but hardly anybody knows the real story behind it like we do…]

When I arrived, it was clear I had overestimated the formality of the occasion: I was looking forward to meeting Maupassant – I had been told he was interested in sharing ideas about the short form. Pierre-August, who had invited me, had also promised to share his thoughts on the strength of brevity in description and depiction. At the moment, he himself is briefer than expected; in fact he is nowhere to be seen. Instead of a seminar, I seem to have strayed into some fête galante.
In jacket and tie I cannot hope to blend in. My bowler, so anonymous in Paris, here floats conspicuous in a catonier tide. Escape seems my best option. Before I can mumble apologies and sneak back out, Aline catches my attention. She holds her dog with one hand and waves me over with the other, calling, “Baron! Over here Baron! Please sit here and join us.” (“Wait, ‘Baron’? How is it that you’ve become a Baron? Are you trying some kind of power trip?” I have no delusions of surpassing you; it’s not even my fault. In fact it’s a bit confusing to me still at this point. If it makes you more comfortable, I’ll see if I can upgrade your ‘Wonderful’ to ‘Princess’ somehow. But first, I have to figure out what this Baron thing is all about…) I look over my shoulder to see who the Baron could be, but no one is there. I turn back and raise an eyebrow at Aline, but she persists. “Oh Baron, quit fooling around and sit here where people are anxious to finally meet you. Pierre-August told them to expect you, and we’ve saved you a seat.” Intrigued, but wary, I take the open seat in the middle. Aline leans over to pour me a drink with a wink and slips a note into my hand with the glass. It reads, “You must be Baron Barbier for one hour. If you succeed, dinner is on me. –PAR”
Aline introduces me to the ladies I’ve been placed between, “This is Angèle, and Ellen Andrée, and you must have recognized Jeanne Samary.” Yes, hello,… glad to meet you,… a great pleasure. Mlle. Andrée keeps my hand a bit longer than I expected and says, “We’ve heard you have fabulous tales of your time in Cochinchine.” And where had you heard that? “Pierre-August was very effusive about your stories of adventure.” Well, the artists can be prone to exaggeration, can’t they? This comment causes Angèle to let a giggle escape, which, in turn, makes Caillebotte shrug and raise his palms with a guilty grin. I wonder what story he got caught trying to sell? The sense of superiority is fleeting, as at that moment I realize I could soon be in the same predicament.
I take a slow drink from my glass, taking extra time to savor it while I cast around for ideas. The new ironwork on the other side of the river gives me a starting point, and I decide to begin at the imaginary beginning. Playing to my strengths, I start to tell a travel tale (“Is it one that I know?” Not yet, but if I get it written down, I’ll be sure to share it with you. “Do I at least make an appearance?” Why would I bother to remember it otherwise? “Will you promise to tell me later?” In it’s turn. Let me get back to starting this one first, okay? “Fine, but don’t forget?” Don’t worry, I think you bring it up again later...)
It’s a good audience for the most part – they’ve got the right combination of intoxication, willingness to be entertained, and disinclination to critical listening. Ellen Andrée adjusts herself to sit directly opposite me. She’s playing the part of the avid fan today: prolonged eye contact (though with a spot that seems to be through me somewhere), exaggerated facial responses, laughing too much at the jokes. While her face and torso seem to hang on every word, she’s completely absent-minded in her attention to my tall tales of an imagined administrative life in Saigon.
The stories themselves are losing cohesiveness because of my own growing distraction. That woman at the edge of the party is listening in, but pretending not to. She looks at me when I face right, but every time I look back over to try and gauge her reaction she has already turned away again. I take the stories through odd turns and sudden changes of pace as I try to catch her off guard. The rest of my audience is eager to catch my eye, but the meanings elude them. The one person who seems to really be listening is the one who appears to give me the least attention. There! – a small flicker of a grin as I spiral off on a tangent about diplomacy, espionage, and eavesdropping. You catch me noticing your grin, and we see each other for what must’ve only been a moment for everyone else. Time declines to hold still though, and before I can say anything to you directly to ask you if you would join us, you’ve been caught by the elbow and spun around.
Jules LaForgue has pulled you aside to speak to you. He makes a great show of himself, and keeps trying to find the right angle to adjust his cap to. You’re supposed to be impressed – he makes too much of his influence at the Gazette des Beaux-Arts. You’re very tolerant and gracious towards him, and I can’t imagine why. Then it occurs to me: you must be our hostess Mlle. Fournaise. You don’t look quite like your portrait – it’s the hat perhaps, or maybe the hair color. Now I understand your attention to my story was likely politeness rather than interest (“I’m not like that you know.” No, but I am. Wait though, it’s not over yet, we really show up here in a bit…)
P-A’s game was fun, but my hour must be up by now. I pull out my watch and Aline sees it and nods: I win again. I’ll have to choose something particularly splendid for that meal. Mlle. Andrée is telling me how fond she was of the stories and how impressed she is at my accomplishments – some of which I don’t remember making up. She needs to rehearse this scene more, she’s having trouble sounding sincere to me. I’m listening past her to where Jules is now trying to get you to listen as he recites his poetry to you. He agrees with himself that it is quite good, and has launched into the first lines of another when his boss shows up and interrupts. Probably to remind him to pick up his laundry, I allow myself to think. You slip away and lean on the railing with a sigh. Ellen pauses mid-sentence to empty another glass, and I stifle a sigh of my own.
This time, it’s you that catches my eye, and nothing interrupts. I raise an eyebrow, cast a glance at Jules, then raise both eyebrows. You allow a small smile, then return the sentiment by glancing at Ellen, followed by mocking a vacant stare. When you focus again, there’s a smile on my face and a question in my eyes – it puts a smile on your face too.
I excuse myself from the table, promising to be back as soon as I can – it seems everyone wants to know how the incident with the Colonel turned out, and I have no idea. You step forward as I make my way to the railing and tip my hat. Thank you for the hospitality, I’ve had a wonderful time.
“Well, I do what I can.”
Everything was quite nice, did you pick the cabernet yourself?
“Oh yes, did you like it?”
Of course, I always order it at your father’s restaurant.
“My father’s…?”
Yes, the Fournaise establishment is a favorite out here away from the city.
“Right! My father Alphonse Fournaise.”
And may I assume you are Alphonsine?
“You may assume that.”
I’m sorry, have I been too forward? You seem distressed or conflicted by something.
“It’s just that we haven’t exactly been introduced. Yet, you look, familiar to me.”
I am your servant Ma’m’selle, call me what you will.
“Shall I call you ‘Baron’ then?”
For the short term. Perhaps I’ll call you ‘Princess’ in that case?
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Well then, Princess, would you allow your Baron to get you a drink?
“Thank you, but no. Actually, I was hoping to leave – I’ve had enough for today.”
In that case, let me transport and escort you. I’ll ask Alphonse Junior if he’ll lend us a skiff. Back in a moment…
I turn around to where Alphonse Jr. is leaning back. He looks at me with a puzzled look. Al, you’ll lend your sister and me a skiff to get back off the island won’t you?
/My sister?... (just behind where I am now Aline waves to him, shows him the money for the fee and puts a finger to her lips. Her dog sees the opening, jumps down and starts to beg scraps from the other guests) Oh, sure, My sister. Okay Baron take whichever one suits you. You might be a bit warm in that jacket though./
I‘ll tell you what Al, you can be the Baron of this party now. I take my coat off and give it to him, then turn to offer you my arm.
“You seem more familiar to me somehow in shirtsleeves. Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
Not before, but maybe we’ve met after, and we just don’t realize it yet.
“Maybe,… maybe that’s it.”
Go ahead and climb in, I’ll hold it steady. Now take the oars from me so I can get in.
“You’re sure you know how to pilot one of these? ‘Cause I don’t intend to do any swimming unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Well, you won’t win any races with me up in Argenteuil, but I can paddle across here.
“I was just wondering if you had some special aversion to water. I thought it was unusual that you arrived in the port of Saigon by train.”
Well, I was coming from Tourane in the south.
“Tourane is north of Saigon.”
Alright, you got me. Now I’ve got one for you: I was wondering why Alphonse Jr. didn’t seem to recognize his own sister.
“He drinks too much at these things.”
He doesn’t drink at all.
“Fine. I knew you couldn’t be some administrative royal – you’re not suited to it.”
And I knew you were out of place amongst the actresses back there – too genuine. Where is it you have to get to that made you decide to leave.
“I just had to leave. And you? Why didn’t you stay with your beautiful admirers back there?”
Why stay after the only interesting person leaves?
“So, here we are, two fictions with no plans; what are we rowing towards?”
Maybe we ought just let the current take us a ways. I’ll pull us ashore a bit further downstream and try to talk you into risking other adventure.
You acknowledge the lift in my voice and the raised eyebrow (“You ought to be careful you don’t overuse that. You might sprain something.” Yeah, I know, or maybe it’ll get stuck that way.) with a cautious squinty look – more than necessary for the sunlight glinting off the Seine. “Real or imagined adventure ‘Baron’?”
Somewhere between the two: the kind where you risk sharing your true self with someone who’s truly listening. Daring to trespass on your insecurities in order to discover another perspective on your self.
“That’s too slick – I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”
Only the princesses.
We’ve pulled up to the landing, and disembarking is going in the reverse of boarding. You sit steady and hold the oars as I get out. You start to hand me them just as I bend down to pull the skiff in further and you catch me right on the chin, and the strike sits me down on the bank. That’s gonna bruise nicely – I’ll have to keep an eye on you. Wait, no I’m fine, wait till I get the boat steady before you start out.
“I’m so sorry.”
Just a little bruise, by the end of the week you may be hearing second hand accounts of the Baron’s bar fight. Give me your hand now and come walk with me. Right up here is the place I wanted to bring you to.
“Here, this wall?”
(“Wait, wait, back up – you’re not going to follow up with the getting clobbered with the oars?”
I would if it amounted to anything, but it’s nothing, really. It was my fault for sticking my chin out like that when you’re handing me the oars. Wouldn’t do to get distracted by something like that.
“You should let me take a look at it though – let me see.”
Okay, what do you think, any broken skin?
“No.”
Any teeth missing?
“Smile for me – nice by the way – nope.”
Look into my eyes, do I look dazed at all? Am I having trouble focusing?
“No more than usual, smart aleck, just trouble with being too obvious.”
Just laugh at it, and let’s get back…)
The gate’s over here, it’s been left unlocked.
“What if someone’s around?”
I don’t think anyone is – I spent the morning here with my coffee, writing. Come on, it’s beautiful inside. Maybe a thorn or two…
(“Are those supposed to represent our insecurities?”
Don’t work so hard at it, sometimes it’s just what it is.
“Which is what?”)
Through the iron gate in the brick wall we step into a large rose garden. I lead you along the paths to admire the varieties. We end up at a bench shaded by a lattice covered by climbers. A light breeze keeps both the scent and the late afternoon heat from becoming too intense. The rest of the afternoon is spent laughing at our own true stories. It’s starting to get late, perhaps we should head along the river to find some guinguette for a light supper. If we’re lucky, there might be music.
“That would be lovely I’m sure, but I need to get to the station. I can’t stay in Chatou overnight. I have to be in Paris in the morning.”
I hadn’t planned on staying either – I’ll escort you on the train then, as far as Paris. I myself am heading just east of the city. The day is coming to a close as we board the train headed back for the city. Most everyone else is staying through the weekend, so we are able to get a compartment to ourselves: you can have that seat facing forward, and I’ll take the one opposite. As the train pulls away from the station, we hit a pause in the conversation. It’s been a long day, and we feel no time pressure to keep talking. We both watch the landscape pass by beyond the window. It loses more and more detail as the sun sets until the only thing visible in the window is the reflection of ourselves. The gentle sway of the car and the repetitive clack under the wheels help me give way to my fatigue and I slip just below the surface, just awake enough to still be aware of you. You’re leaning forward to touch the back of my hand with your fingertips. You pause for a moment, then go ahead and put your palm down on my hand.
“Did you say you were writing in the rose garden?”
One eye opens, and I reply. Yes, something occurred to me, and I wanted to see how it’d work out.
“May I hear it?”
Of course, I’m pretty sure it was meant for you. Sit back and close your eyes while I get my notebook out…
“Am I in this one?”
It’s quite possible…