Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle Part 1, Chapter 5 (view annotations) |
5 |
In the early afternoon he descended with his two suitcases into | |
the sunny peace of the little rural station whence a winding | |
road led to Ardis Hall, which he was visiting for the first time | |
in his life. In a miniature of the imagination, he had seen a | |
34.05 | saddled horse prepared for him; there was not even a trap. |
The station master, a stout sunburnt man in a brown uniform, | |
was sure they expected him with the evening train which was | |
slower but had a tea car. He would ring up the Hall in a | |
moment, he added as he signaled to the anxious engine driver. | |
34.10 | Suddenly a hackney coach drove up to the platform and a |
red-haired lady, carrying her straw hat and laughing at her | |
own haste, made for the train and just managed to board it | |
before it moved. So Van agreed to use the means of transporta- | |
tion made available to him by a chance crease in the texture | |
34.15 | of time, and seated himself in the old calèche. The half- |
hour drive proved not unpleasant. He was taken through pine- | |
woods and over rocky ravines, with birds and other animals | |
singing in the flowering undergrowth. Sunflecks and lacy | |
shadows skimmed over his legs and lent a green twinkle to the | |
34.20 | brass button deprived of its twin on the back of the coachman’s |
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coat. They passed through Torfyanka, a dreamy hamlet con- | |
sisting of three or four log izbas, a milkpail repair shop and | |
a smithy smothered in jasmine. The driver waved to an in- | |
visible friend and the sensitive runabout swerved slightly to | |
35.05 | match his gesture. They were now spinning along a dusty |
country road between fields. The road dipped and humped | |
again, and at every ascent the old clockwork taxi would slow | |
up as if on the brink of sleep and reluctantly overcome its | |
weakness. | |
35.10 | They bounced on the cobblestones of Gamlet, a half-Russian |
village, and the chauffeur waved again, this time to a boy in a | |
cherry tree. Birches separated to let them pass across an old | |
bridge. Ladore, with its ruinous black castle on a crag, and its | |
gay multicolored roofs further downstream were glimpsed— | |
35.15 | to be seen again many times much later in life. |
Presently the vegetation assumed a more southern aspect as | |
the lane skirted Ardis Park. At the next turning, the romantic | |
mansion appeared on the gentle eminence of old novels. It was | |
a splendid country house, three stories high, built of pale brick | |
35.20 | and purplish stone, whose tints and substance seemed to inter- |
change their effects in certain lights. Notwithstanding the va- | |
riety, amplitude and animation of great trees that had long re- | |
placed the two regular rows of stylized saplings (thrown in by | |
the mind of the architect rather than observed by the eye of a | |
35.25 | painter) Van immediately recognized Ardis Hall as depicted in |
the two-hundred-year-old aquarelle that hung in his father’s | |
dressing room: the mansion sat on a rise overlooking an abstract | |
meadow with two tiny people in cocked hats conversing not | |
far from a stylized cow. | |
35.30 | None of the family was at home when Van arrived. A |
servant in waiting took his horse. He entered the Gothic arch- | |
way of the hall where Bouteillan, the old bald butler who | |
unprofessionally now wore a mustache (dyed a rich gravy | |
brown), met him with gested delight—he had once been the |
[ 35 ]
valet of Van’s father—"Je parie," he said, "que Monsieur ne me | |
reconnaît pas," and proceeded to remind Van of what Van had | |
already recollected unaided, the farmannikin (a special kind of | |
box kite, untraceable nowadays even in the greatest museums | |
36.05 | housing the toys of the past) which Bouteillan had helped him |
to fly one day in a meadow dotted with buttercups. Both | |
looked up: the tiny red rectangle hung for an instant askew | |
in a blue spring sky. The hall was famous for its painted ceilings. | |
It was too early for tea: Would Van like him or a maid to un- | |
36.10 | pack? Oh, one of the maids, said Van, wondering briefly what |
item in a schoolboy’s luggage might be supposed to shock a | |
housemaid. The picture of naked Ivory Revery (a model)? | |
Who cared, now that he was a man? | |
Acting upon the butler’s suggestion he went to make a tour | |
36.15 | du jardin. As he followed a winding path, soundlessly stepping |
on its soft pink sand in the cloth gumshoes that were part of the | |
school uniform, he came upon a person whom he recognized | |
with disgust as being his former French governess (the place | |
swarmed with ghosts!). She was sitting on a green bench under | |
36.20 | the Persian lilacs, a parasol in one hand and in the other a book |
from which she was reading aloud to a small girl who was pick- | |
ing her nose and examining with dreamy satisfaction her finger | |
before wiping it on the edge of the bench. Van decided she | |
must be "Ardelia," the eldest of the two little cousins he was | |
36.25 | supposed to get acquainted with. Actually it was Lucette, the |
younger one, a neutral child of eight, with a fringe of shiny | |
reddish-blond hair and a freckled button for nose: she had had | |
pneumonia in spring and was still veiled by an odd air of re- | |
moteness that children, especially impish children, retain for | |
36.30 | some time after brushing through death. Mlle Larivière sud- |
denly looked at Van over her green spectacles—and he had to | |
cope with another warm welcome. In contrast to Albert, she had | |
not changed at all since the days she used to come three times a |
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week to Dark Veen’s house in town with a bagful of books and | |
the tiny, tremulous poodlet (now dead) that could not be left | |
behind. It had glistening eyes like sad black olives. | |
Presently they all strolled back, the governess shaking in | |
37.05 | reminiscent grief her big-chinned, big-nosed head under the |
moiré of her parasol; Lucy gratingly dragging a garden hoe | |
she had found, and young Van in his trim gray suit and flowing | |
tie, with his hands behind his back, looking down at his neatly | |
stepping mute feet—trying to place them in line, for no special | |
37.10 | reason. |
A victoria had stopped at the porch. A lady, who resembled | |
Van’s mother, and a dark-haired girl of eleven or twelve, pre- | |
ceded by a fluid dackel, were getting out. Ada carried an untidy | |
bunch of wild flowers. She wore a white frock with a black | |
37.15 | jacket and there was a white bow in her long hair. He never |
saw that dress again and when he mentioned it in retrospective | |
evocation she invariably retorted that he must have dreamt it, | |
she never had one like that, never could have put on a dark | |
blazer on such a hot day, but he stuck to his initial image of her | |
37.20 | to the last. |
Some ten years ago, not long before or after his fourth birth- | |
day, and toward the end of his mother’s long stay in a sana- | |
torium, "Aunt" Marina had swooped upon him in a public park | |
where there were pheasants in a big cage. She advised his nurse | |
37.25 | to mind her own business and took him to a booth near the band |
shell where she bought him an emerald stick of peppermint | |
candy and told him that if his father wished she would replace | |
his mother and that you could not feed the birds without Lady | |
Amherst’s permission, or so he understood. | |
37.30 | They now had tea in a prettily furnished corner of the other- |
wise very austere central hall from which rose the grand stair- | |
case. They sat on chairs upholstered in silk around a pretty | |
table. Ada’s black jacket and a pink-yellow-blue nosegay she |
[ 37 ]
had composed of anemones, celandines and columbines lay on | |
a stool of oak. The dog got more bits of cake than it did or- | |
dinarily. Price, the mournful old footman who brought the | |
cream for the strawberries, resembled Van’s teacher of history, | |
38.05 | "Jeejee" Jones. |
"He resembles my teacher of history," said Van when the | |
man had gone. | |
"I used to love history," said Marina, "I loved to identify | |
myself with famous women. There’s a ladybird on your plate, | |
38.10 | Ivan. Especially with famous beauties—Lincoln’s second wife or |
Queen Josephine." | |
"Yes, I’ve noticed—it’s beautifully done. We’ve got a similar | |
set at home." | |
"Slivok (some cream)? I hope you speak Russian?" Marina | |
38.15 | asked Van, as she poured him a cup of tea. |
"Neohotno no sovershenno svobodno (reluctantly but quite | |
fluently)," replied Van, slegka ulïbnuvshis’ (with a slight smile). | |
"Yes, lots of cream and three lumps of sugar." | |
"Ada and I share your extravagant tastes. Dostoevski liked | |
38.20 | it with raspberry syrup." |
"Pah," uttered Ada. | |
Marina’s portrait, a rather good oil by Tresham, hanging | |
above her on the wall, showed her wearing the picture hat she | |
had used for the rehearsal of a Hunting Scene ten years ago, ro- | |
38.25 | mantically brimmed, with a rainbow wing and a great drooping |
plume of black-banded silver; and Van, as he recalled the cage | |
in the park and his mother somewhere in a cage of her own, | |
experienced an odd sense of mystery as if the commentators of | |
his destiny had gone into a huddle. Marina’s face was now made | |
38.30 | up to imitate her former looks, but fashions had changed, her |
cotton dress was a rustic print, her auburn locks were bleached | |
and no longer tumbled down her temples, and nothing in her | |
attire or adornments echoed the dash of her riding crop in the |
[ 38 ]
picture and the tegular pattern of her brilliant plumage which | |
Tresham had rendered with ornithological skill. | |
There was not much to remember about that first tea. He | |
noticed Ada’s trick of hiding her fingernails by fisting her hand | |
39.05 | or stretching it with the palm turned upward when helping |
herself to a biscuit. She was bored and embarrassed by every- | |
thing her mother said and when the latter started to talk about | |
the Tarn, otherwise the New Reservoir, he noted that Ada was | |
no longer sitting next to him but standing a little way off with | |
39.10 | her back to the tea table at an open casement with the slim- |
waisted dog on a chair peering over splayed front paws out into | |
the garden too, and she was asking it in a private whisper what | |
it was it had sniffed. | |
"You can see the Tarn from the library window," said | |
39.15 | Marina. "Presently Ada will show you all the rooms in the |
house. Ada?" (She pronounced it the Russian way with two | |
deep, dark "a"s, making it sound rather like "ardor.") | |
"You can catch a glint of it from here too," said Ada, turning | |
her head and, pollice verso, introducing the view to Van who | |
39.20 | put his cup down, wiped his mouth with a tiny embroidered |
napkin, and stuffing it into his trouser pocket, went up to the | |
dark-haired, pale-armed girl. As he bent toward her (he was | |
three inches taller and the double of that when she married a | |
Greek Catholic, and his shadow held the bridal crown over her | |
39.25 | from behind), she moved her head to make him move his to |
the required angle and her hair touched his neck. In his first | |
dreams of her this re-enacted contact, so light, so brief, in- | |
variably proved to be beyond the dreamer’s endurance and like | |
a lifted sword signaled fire and violent release. | |
39.30 | "Finish your tea, my precious," called Marina. |
Presently, as Marina had promised, the two children went | |
upstairs. "Why do stairs creak so desperately, when two chil- | |
dren go upstairs," she thought, looking up at the balustrade |
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along which two left hands progressed with strikingly similar | |
flips and glides like siblings taking their first dancing lesson. | |
"After all, we were twin sisters; everybody knows that." The | |
same slow heave, she in front, he behind, took them over the | |
40.05 | last two steps, and the staircase was silent again. "Old-fashioned |
qualms," said Marina. |
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