Scotch and Sirens

Chapter Thirty One

 

“And what exactly are we going to do for entertainment at this picnic affair once we have digested the no doubt excellent fare?” Mrs. Tournier asked her daughter as they were dressing in the hall. “Lizzy will take long walks communing with nature, Mr. Darcy will stand around and not say a word, you will be bent over every specimen of vegetation on offer when you and Lord Brougham are not breaking out in embarrassing rows, and Maurice will flutter around being impossibly witty and cultured without saying a single intelligent thing! Is that it?”

Her daughter gave her a stern look.

“Oh, I do not know how I let you and Lizzy talk me into this. Ludicrous. One fine waste of an afternoon. I have three letters I need answered by next week! Well, do not entertain the thought for a minute that you shall not all be employed in my entertainment as a result of my extreme reluctance to partake in such romantic and foolish notions as this!”

Despite her harsh words, Mrs. Tournier did manage to get dressed and join Holly, Monsieur Vian and Lizzy outside, where they all climbed into Monsieur Vian's carriage and made the journey to Clyne. Once there they found the gentlemen already waiting out front. Mr. Darcy had insisted that Mrs. Tournier ride in Lord Brougham's carriage, since it was more comfortably outfitted than Vian's rented one, and Holly followed her, leaving Lizzy to ride with the other two gentlemen. She laughed to herself at how easy it had been to ride with him in the end. She need not have said anything at all.

It took some time to arrive at the spot, and Lizzy did her best to carry the conversation in route, trying to involve Mr. Darcy but mostly succeeding in only getting Monsieur Vian to speak. She consoled herself for her own perceived failure with the knowledge that it did not take much for either thing to occur. Monsieur Vian usually talked quite freely, and Mr. Darcy only when he had something to say. She did manage to provoke a few barely perceptible smiles out of him, so she at least felt she had gained something for all of her efforts.

Once they had gone as far as the carriages would take them, they disembarked and went the rest of the short distance on foot. She had gone on ahead and was the first to see the falls as they drew near them. She was breathless at the majestic sight and lost all sense of her other surroundings until she felt someone brush against her shoulder as he came even with her on the narrow path. She glanced over and found herself looking into the eyes of Mr. Darcy, who was smiling at the expression of awe on her face. They said nothing but wordlessly moved together into the clearing ahead to make room for the others coming up from behind.

Mrs. Tournier supported herself on Lord Brougham’s arm, and Monsieur Vian and Miss Tournier followed behind them. Brougham’s companion seemed to have forgotten the reverence due the scenery as she eloquently lamented the state of the intellectual debate in the Scottish press on the favouring of high-church members in academic positions, but on the other hand she was obviously enjoying herself. As they reached the allotted spot for their outdoor escapade, she did stop and admit it was a good choice and quite scenic. Brougham smiled but could discern that the others were much more struck by the view.

“Well!” was Mrs. Tournier’s comment.

“Madam,” Brougham said with a mischievous smile, “since this is your elated opinion, let me be so bold as to straight away claim the best seat in the house and let the others settle themselves around you.”

He let go of her arm and with great ceremony planted an armchair under a weeping willow for her, right beside Miss Bennet, who was perched on the water’s edge admiring the view. “Madam?” he said and held out his hand. Mrs. Tournier gave him a saucy glance but very willingly and gracefully sat down to survey her kingdom.

“Lizzy?” she said dramatically. “I believe you are blocking my view.”

Lizzy broke from her fascination with the falls and turned to look at her aunt. “What? Oh, yes! I am sorry, Aunt!” As she moved to the side she noticed Mr. Vian carried several blankets and she helped him spread them out and then took a seat beside Lord Brougham and her aunt on one, while the others did the same with two others.

“How was your hunting expedition yesterday, Lord Brougham? Monsieur Vian seemed to find it most enjoyable, saying that he felt he accomplished much in the way of annoying his prey. That is how he put it I think, but I do believe he meant stalking instead of annoying. Did you find it the same?”

Brougham smiled enigmatically and sent the gentleman in question a look across the blanket. He was busy assisting Miss Tournier with unpacking. Darcy was uncorking wine bottles with an expression of deep concentration on his face.

“Monsieur Vian is a man of many talents, Miss Bennet. He is an excellent shot and rarely misses his mark. But I do think he must find the surroundings a little boring, for it seems to me he shoots at things he should perhaps rather leave alone. Live and let live. Understandable, I suppose; this is very different from Paris, and a man must have his sport. I am under the impression, though, that he has been able to make himself agreeable to his family at Rosefarm, and that his powers of entertainment are great.”

She thought about this for a moment. He had settled cosily in at Rosefarm, entertaining both her and Mrs. Tournier while Holly was away. He was agreeable enough there. She had quickly grown to think of him as a brother, but apparently he was not the sort to endear himself to men in as easy a manner as he did with women. At least that much was becoming apparent to her.

“Monsieur Vian is quite gifted at conversing with ladies who are in need of diversion, but perhaps that is only because he finds he has nothing else to occupy his time with, and so entertains himself by it as well. He has become a proficient walker, which I believe is a new occupation for him, and has managed to find an interest in many subjects dear to Mrs. Tournier. I would say he is adapting to his environment as well as he might for someone who is used to a more active social calendar.”

She glanced toward Mr. Darcy, who was now setting glasses out. He looked over at her briefly and then returned to his activity most diligently. Her gaze next turned toward the man in question, who was occupied with helping Holly.

“I must admit though, that I have found he is not always graceful when it comes to some activities, but he does like to make himself useful. Perhaps he is more careful when he is hunting and aiming a weapon?” She directed her question to Lord Brougham.

“As to the care he takes in the choosing of his prey, the hunt itself, to that I have no answer, but I do most certainly think Monsieur Vian’s aim is straight and true.

“Now take me, on the other hand. One of my many faults, Miss Bennet,” Brougham said philosophically while passing glasses to her, “is a tendency to let my curiosity and appreciation of folly cloud my judgement of what is right and wrong. I might look on, amused, at behaviour that is not amusing at all – merely insulting or even dangerous. I might even encourage such behaviour thinking it will be all the more amusing, when in truth it causes harm. My friend Mr. Darcy has no tolerance for such folly, and his conscience and sense of truth and justice serve him well. His principles will not let him lose his guard against protecting what he cares about and what he knows to be right at the expense of entertainment. I trust his judgement implicitly, Miss Bennet. I am not exactly always certain what his motivations are, but I know he values truth, loyalty and justice above anything else when he feels he has important interests to protect. I would always feel comfortable with him on a hunting trip.”

Brougham smiled warmly at his companion and reached over to gather some pillows.

“His only fault in that is a tendency to think instinct is more kin to temptation than conscience. That has not served him well in the past,” he said, and got up to help Mrs. Tournier place one of the pillows behind her back and another under her feet.

Darcy approached the party with an opened bottle of wine and began to fill the glasses.

“Brougham, with such a large collection of poetry in your library I would think you would be declaiming sonnets by now, praising the remarkable beauty of waterfalls above all other miracles of nature. Yet, I see that my humble person still remains your favourite subject.

“Miss Bennet, may I fill your glass?”

She nodded her assent as Brougham answered him.

“You may be humble, my friend, but you are fascinating for us more shallow and transparent fellow men.”

Brougham sat down again close to Miss Bennet and looked up at his friend with a big impish grin.

“What particular overheard comment offended you most this time? Or is it simply being in the position of the centrepiece for a scrutinising conversation?”

Mrs. Tournier received her glass from Darcy. “And I, for my part, quite expect it,” she intervened. “Nature can never take the place of you, Mr. Darcy, in my interest of study. A destiny you share with most other members of the human race. But do not despair. Your fate will be that of all the rest of this company if they insist on succumbing to gobble eyed romanticisms of scenery.”

Darcy seated himself opposite Elizabeth. He scanned those in the party with a mischievous smile and raised his glass to his lips.

“Pray, continue then. I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours.”

Mrs. Tournier tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at that. “Very well then. I had hoped I might rouse some opposition. Speaking of faults, that would be mine, but I cannot claim it has served me anything but well, although I admit freely it has perhaps done so at the expense of others. But as Lord Brougham puts it, yours would have done no one disservice but yourself. What do you propose he means by that?”

Darcy smiled slightly, “Mrs. Tournier, Lord Brougham merely derives pleasure from jumping to very hasty conclusions based upon scarce evidence. How scarce it is, only I can say, for he is not privy to my experiences. However, I cannot blame him as I used to be guilty of the same failure. I learnt my lesson while one is still ahead of him. That is all. Not a disservice to anyone, but simple dissidence.”

“Yes, I do believe you are right. You do not like hasty conclusions, do you? And, of course, he has a very good notion of doing exactly that to you, whereas he would choose another method with someone else.

“I am excessively fond of him, of course, and I will not perhaps be the one to teach him a lesson, but that lesson will surely come one day.”

Darcy was in agreement with Mrs. Tournier on the issue of a coming lesson for Brougham, though he chose not to voice his opinion for the sake of his friend. He smiled slightly instead and addressed the former topic.

“Whatever his trickery, he succeeds in keeping me on my toes. Every time he reveals his obvious truths I can better see the path of deceit that he so carelessly follows, and which I might ignore otherwise.

“But you are right. My good opinion once lost is lost forever. Thus I cannot allow myself the comfort of hasty conclusions. However, I do not claim that is the best way of dealing with things.”

He turned to Elizabeth with a slightly teasing smile. “Miss Bennet, I remember that you always trust first impressions.”

She blushed and smiled back at him, “Why, I do believe we have now touched upon one of my weaknesses. I say one, because I feel certain I have many. I would confirm however, that that is one lesson I have recently learnt, Mr. Darcy. First impressions are not all that I used to think them to be. Sometimes one must reserve judgement and allow a second impression to appear. I have come to agree that your method is the wiser one.”

Darcy looked at her tenderly, carefully choosing his words. “Miss Bennet, I am afraid you are too severe upon yourself. If your judgement might have ever been imperfect, it was only because you were offered ill evidence. In any other cases I may be privy to, your fist impressions have always served you well. Even if certain opinions of yours might not have been my favourite, I am sure they were well based.”

She knew he referred to what Wickham had told her, but what he did not realise was that she had already been predisposed to dislike him because of his slight of her at that first dance, but she would not mention that now.

She did not have to wonder what opinions of hers were not to his liking. What she had said when he had proposed at Hunsford came immediately to mind. Some of it had been just, she felt, but not all of it. She wanted to hide her feeling of shame with light banter, but she felt she needed to tell him that she was wrong then and that she knew it now. She had been examining the hem of her dress, but now looked up at him with a half smile on her face.

“You are too generous with me, Mr. Darcy. I do not deserve such kindness. A second fault of mine, and by no means the smallest one, is that I express my opinions too freely. When coupled with the fact that I also come to many rash conclusions about some things, I do not warrant such charity. I have come to realise that my opinions have been in error just as much as my first impressions have. They cannot always be trusted. I think I have paid the price for my misjudgements many times over, and rightly so.”

As much as Darcy knew that the conversation should be a private one instead of being kept in Mrs. Tournier’s presence, he could not let Elizabeth blame herself because of him.

“Miss Bennet, I must strongly disagree. I have observed long ago that your judgements, even if based on false convictions, are always very correct and accurate. I must ascribe it to the superiority of your mind, and the confidence in your intuition, which my friend accuses me of lacking. I will not have you think otherwise. I am sure Mrs. Tournier will agree with me, that nothing but good can come from honest opinions for all parties involved if only their receiver is not beyond improvement. I would merely hope that the addressees of your advices always proved to be worthy of your effort by being able to make the necessary amendments, and that the final effect of your well-pointed cues is to your satisfaction.”

She could not help but glow at the effect his words had had on her. It seemed they each had spent a lot of time taking turns assigning the blame to themselves alone, when there was obviously a joint responsibility in all of their misunderstandings.

But how was she to answer him with her aunt sitting right next to her. Why on earth could she not have a private word with him and somehow manage to have the courage to say all of this? She knew that could not be, yet the hope she inadvertently kindled yesterday afternoon grew just a little more deeply inside.

She glanced up at her aunt, who was now speaking with her daughter. Looking back to him, she saw that he was intently following her every move with his eyes.

“Mr. Darcy, I would be gratified indeed if any opinion expressed by me could have such an effect upon anyone, but if such a case as you proposed were to exist, I would have to say that I am very much satisfied with the results. How could I not be?”

Darcy’s eyes softened, and though he was never good at showing his emotions, he was sure that all of his gratitude could be seen in his regard now. He did not care. He only wanted to continue looking into her eyes for as long as she would look into his. Finally he said in a low voice.

“I am glad to hear it, Miss Bennet.”

She smiled at him as long as she dared without it becoming unseemly or noticeable to the others. When she finally looked away she realised Holly had already laid out all of the food. She admonished herself for not having helped and immediately asked if there was anything she could do. Holly laughed and gave her a look that clearly said it was too late now and she might just as well stay where she was.

 

 

Once Darcy had joined them, Brougham thought he might as well see to it that Mrs. Tournier was provided with some food straight away. He saw her brow was in wrinkles as she gazed around herself, and so excused himself, got up and strolled over to the carriage to bring the big sunshade. When he came back Monsieur Vian was holding the hem of Miss Tournier’s shawl and keeping it away from some imaginary food hazard.

“May I be so tiresome, Monsieur, as to drag you away from your duties and ask you to help me with this shade?” he said lightly. “I promise I will not detain you for long.”

Vian gazed up lazily at him and hesitantly excused himself from Miss Tournier’s side.

“Certainly, Sir.”

“Miss Bennet tells me you enjoyed your hunting trip yesterday enough to confess you achieved your ambitions concerning your prey. I am exceedingly glad to hear it. As I told her, such a master shot as you must take what opportunity he can find to exercise his talent. Tell me. What else do you hunt?”

“Why, I think the hunt is more important than the prey. I hunt whatever is available depending on where I am. If I were fastidious, how could I ever improve my skills?”

“Quite. There is the difference between us then. I have always thought, Monsieur, that the gentlemanly art of sport is a delicate balance between the laws of nature and the responsibility as the paragon of God’s creation – the dichotomy between the need to survive and the need for humanity, if you like. The shot itself is irrelevant, only the result is not. There is no glory in the accuracy of the aim if the kill is unjust. But you are fond of art for art’s sake. What is one to do, though, if art has no meaning?”

“Lord Brougham, let me say this: if you choose to think the best of yourself and the worst of me, it is your right and there is nothing I can do about it. But, Sir, let me remind you that while on the Continent one may hunt deer or even wisent, you, English gentlemen, get your pleasure from hunting inedible foxes.” Vian looked Brougham straight in the eyes. “Indeed, I do have an accurate eye and a steady hand. But believe it or not, Sir, the art is hunting, not killing.”

Brougham smiled gently and returned Vian's gaze.

“Thank you, Sir, for the clarification on your principles and sentiments. I feel enlightened.” He leaned over and offered Vian a plate. “Some cold cuts, perhaps?”

“Cold cuts are exactly what you get when you do not pursue your chase, but bore it to death instead,” Vian answered with a smirk and reached for an apple. “I prefer fruits, Sir, fresh and juicy.”

 

 

Everyone soon served themselves and sat together eating quietly for a while, savouring the fine meal and the view that was before them.

Vian held out his glass and addressed Darcy.

“Mr. Darcy, might we ask for more wine please. I am sure Mademoiselle Tournier would fancy some too.”

Darcy silently took a bottle and passed it over to Vian, who served it to Miss Tournier and himself. Vian drank from his glass with genuine pleasure.

“Hmm, un vin rouge. You know, one might think that a Frenchman knows everything about wine, and so did I, till I learnt one very interesting thing. The Bulgarian people, you know, they live in the Balkans, have one thousand songs about red wine and only one about white, which goes, O, white wine! Why are you not red? Interesting, do not you think?”

Brougham smiled politely and poured some wine for himself.

Or indeed, Oh, Frenchman! Why are you not a Frenchwoman? he thought to himself.

“What a perfect picture!” he said aloud and smiled to the rest of the party. “You have done an excellent job in the display of the food, Miss Tournier, and nature has done an admirable job of our surroundings. I believe it is my privilege of thanking the whole party for making the commendable effort of gracing this particular spot this fine day.” He raised his glass and drank to their health.

Vian observed Miss Tournier for a moment. He had made every attempt to entice her into conversation, but as yet had had little success. So far she had been stiff and had responded thusly. But he hoped this outing would relax her enough so she might finally loosen up and become at least a bit as engaging as her cousin.

“Mademoiselle Tournier, pray, what is occupying your thoughts so? As Molière said, Une femme d’esprit est un diable en intrigue, so I must admit a silent woman worries me.”

Holly looked at him in puzzlement.

“Well, that is a pretty a compliment to give to a woman!! I am happy to know that your shooting skills are more to the mark than your skills at flattery! I can now rest in the assurance that you will always be able to bring game to your table, whether or not you are able to provide it with a mistress.”

“Mademoiselle Tournier, I beg your forgiveness. I only suggested that my skills might not be up to the task you might now be thinking up for me, although I am ready to attempt every challenge, of course.”

“Oh, I quite understood the words, Monsieur, my father was French after all. You may put your mind at ease. I have no particular task in mind for you at the moment. Please, relax and enjoy the scenery and the company.”

Vian decided to do just that since it seemed he certainly would not enjoy her company. He was angry, and that seemed strange in itself, for he had scarcely ever lost his temper because of a woman. He leaned back on the blanket and tried to recognise the source of his irritation by relaxing his body and fixing his eyes on the blue sky above him.

The only thought that formed in his mind was one of disappointment. He did not know her really. He had come here to get to know her, but he had some expectations. Not little ones in fact. He remembered her from their youthful years and had hoped that her childish quarrelsomeness had grown into playfulness, her nosiness into intelligence, her annoyance into passion. Instead he found her capricious and repelling. Perhaps discovering the reason for her bitterness would help explain this state, but then would that really make a difference? He had always hoped that he and his future wife would meet in the middle – that they would have much to offer to each other. He had hoped the daughter of his father’s closest friend would be a fruit of common principles and aspirations. He had always seen his own marriage as a constant dialogue, an exchange of views and wishes. He would not be loath to learn from his wife, in fact he hoped her to be as willing to give as to receive. Now, however, it was clear that there was nothing he would want from Miss Tournier and nothing he would like to offer in return.

It was a shock perhaps, but only due to his expectations, not his feelings, since he had built none. Although, as he was thinking of her now and drawing the comparison to the vision he had grown in his thoughts lately, he could not ignore the strong nagging feeling that perhaps she was guilty of nothing but his own carefully caressed hopes that she would be someone she was not – someone whom he had so recently met and become attached to more than he had ever planned or expected to.

His eyes searched the party and fixed on Miss Bennet. He caught his breath at the astounding realisation.

 

 

Lord Brougham had been leaning back, enjoying his wine and the sights around him while he mused on Miss Tournier’s inability to see the humour in what Mr. Vian had said to her. A quick-witted woman is a devil in intrigue. The man had certainly meant it as a compliment. That she had spirit and intelligence was not in question, so why would she take such offence at the poetic quote spoken in these scenic surroundings and family-like atmosphere?

Perhaps she was not in the mood to be teased, but then he could not recollect her ever laughing heartily at anyone’s attempt to tease her. He found it highly amusing that she would so soundly put an end to any further conversation without even really offering a polite by your leave, and he noted with some glee that at least he was not the only man she snapped at. He wondered briefly if she was always misunderstanding his own remarks as well, but whatever the case he now triumphed at the thought that Vian would be much wiser if he heeded his advice and stuck to science and flattery when speaking to her. Quite the safer topics he had found.

“Lord Brougham.” Mrs. Tournier’s voice, loud and clear, with a dangerous ring to it, interrupted his thoughts. His Lordship turned around and fixed a smile at her.

“Madam?” he asked in a lazy voice.

“The waterfall is enchanting and the birds are providing us with quite a concert, but I find they have remained exactly the same since our arrival. Your most fortunate placement of my throne has made me well equipped to establish that. In short, it bores me. As appropriate as this location is for our al fresco, I hardly think you can rest on your laurels for much longer, since you only discovered it and did not devise it. Time to create and entertain in a slightly more civilized way, I should think.”

“I think, Madam, I am correct in assuming you have now deemed it necessary to arrive at the cultured part of our sojourn. Pray, your Majesty, what is your pleasure?”

“My pleasure is an escape from all this masculine jostling and a challenge that will please us unfortunate witnesses to your competitive natures, too. In short: poetry. I challenge each and every one of you – but naturally the gentlemen are obliged to use this opportunity more wisely and cleverly than the ladies – by way of poetry to put before us a depiction of one of us, whereupon we will hazard a guess whom is being described.”

Brougham laughed and looked around him to find out how the other unfortunates took to the sport. They seemed amused enough, although looks were exchanged between the young ladies that could have done with explanation.

“Very well, Madam! You shall no doubt have cause for both regret and mirth as a result, but I say that is a fair challenge, and afterwards we may safely hide our blushing countenances in the bramble bushes down the wood path. I insist then, on doing the obvious thing and offering this:

No more of your guests, be they titled or not,
And cookery the first in the nation;
Who is proof to thy personal converse and wit,
Is proof to all other temptation.”

Mrs. Tournier pursed her lips but her eyes danced.

“Very good, my Lord, you have my interest and my hopes up yet. But it is quite shameless to blow your own trumpet in being responsible for my first rate cookery by providing me with all the raw material like you have lately. Thank you, all the same.”

Mrs. Tournier looked over the gathering and fixed her eyes at her daughter on the other side of the blanket. She smiled a little, fully conscious of all eyes upon her, and in her clear and strong voice recited a Shakespeare sonnet.*

“You are speaking of Miss Tournier of course! How could one not guess that? For if not by your choice of poems, then the direction of your stare gives you nicely away.” Lizzy grinned mischievously. “And now I shall claim the right to go next. Please picture the person this verse conjures up before you, perhaps you have even heard this person utter these very words at a gathering such as this.” She went on to recite her pick, ending with, “A bore is a man who deprives you of solitude without providing you with company.”

Mrs. Tournier laughed and wagged her finger at her niece.

“I know I invited that, Lizzy, but I will never admit to anything but possibly the last line. In fact, you might have overheard me say it not so long ago, but I am certain I was accusing the divine Pan and not any mortal soul in our midst.”

Holly scooted over to sit at her mother's feet and smiled at the gathered friends.

“Maman would have you think she is all brambles and thorns, but in return for her doleful depiction of me, I will offer to you all a truer picture of her.” Holly proceeded to recite the second verse of Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms, by Thomas Moore.*

Mrs. Tournier smiled at her daughter and took her hand.

“Lie-Lie,” she said, very slightly shaking her head, but her eyes were full of love and warmth.

After a slight pause, Lord Brougham got up and raised his glass, his eyes once more twinkling.

“Now,” he said smiling, “I wonder which one here would readily admit to harbour this handsome pair?” He eloquently quoted the four stanzas of Conflict of Wit and Beauty, by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.*

Vian grinned. “Oh, it was about Mademoiselle Bennet, I am sure. I think it is my turn.”

He smiled, and looking ahead recited more of L'Ecole des femmes, by Molière* in a low and melodic voice.

Lord Brougham smiled to himself at Vian’s depicting Miss Tournier's nature as capricious. “I think we can all safely assume that your poem was meant for our dear Miss Tournier.” Diverting the attention away from the impertinence of the Frenchman, he recited a Burns song as the next poem, one amply titled, Here’s a bottle.*

Darcy smiled at the continuous attempts of Brougham to tease him. “I take it that was for me? Here is one for you then, Brougham. It is one for children, so I think it should suit you well.”

Darcy grinned and animatedly recited one titled Locomotive,** which made not only his friend, but the entire party laugh.

Vian took the opportunity to address Miss Bennet. He was sure she would not mistake his meaning. He looked deeply into her eyes and recited.

“There was once in a city a big flutter
An extremely beautiful performance was held
To everyone’s amusement
Everyone’s but hers

A young lady in the first row had everything for none
Even though the singer sang only for this lady alone!
And though he was losing his senses for her,
She laughed, clapped hands…

In the second act the singer sang much more prudently,
Yet the young lady still behaved not earnestly.
Till the moment, when suddenly, suddenly among the show,
Words were voiced:

Do not skylark, dear, do not skylark!
After all you’re not such a marvel!
Not at once, dear, not at once,
You can melt the ice of my heart!

There was also another moment, which I shall not forget,
It was a languid evening and unveiling hopes,
Because of a girl from the end of the room, similar to a rose...
Whose dance ruined holy peace in my heart.

Just then an unusual, uncanny incident has occurred,
Even I don’t know anymore how it was,
Difficult to tell...
There is only one thing I remember till today
How I sang to her:

“Lips are silent, my soul sings,
Lips are silent, the world resounds,”

There was more to the poem, and Vian recited it all, gazing at Lizzy as he did it, but she had become disconcerted and could not attend well at all after the first half was spoken. She knew the verse was meant for her, but she was sure she misunderstood it! Was it possible that Monsieur Vian had somehow read her feelings for Mr. Darcy and thought he saw things that were certainly not there in her interactions with that man? Was Monsieur Vian calling her a flirt? She was embarrassed and did not know what to think or say, so she sat still, only looking questioningly at the Frenchman when he finished.

Darcy noticed Elizabeth’s discomfort and decided to address Vian at once. He was not sure about Vian’s meaning himself. Either he was calling Elizabeth a tease, or the man was hinting about his own feelings towards her. Or both? He did not like it in any case. He cleared his throat and smiled mischievously. The poem he then quoted was a rather derisive one, at first proclaiming that a poet’s life was very fine, but soon illustrating that it was, in fact, quite an opposite one of vice and deceit. Darcy’s message could not be mistaken, and when he finished it, a smile played at the corners of his mouth and his gaze stayed on Vian.

Holly guessed who his target was, and the game went on for a while longer, while Darcy sat back and half listened. He had wondered for some time now if he should say what he wished to. There was one poem in his thoughts, which he could not get rid of. It might be much too strong for the picnic, but since nothing else would come to his mind, and he could not leave Elizabeth without a poem, it was now or never.

He guessed that Brougham’s last one was about Mrs. Tournier, and finally, smiling a bit sheepishly, said, “One theme runs strongly throughout this poem that speaks of one person here.

Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.

Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.

He gave Elizabeth a timid look to see how she had taken it.

Lizzy had sat back and watched him begin to recite the poem. He spoke shyly at first and then with more confidence after the first line was said. She listened for the theme to guess who it was about and instantly realized with delight that it must be about her, at least she hoped it was. When he had finished, and then sent her a look, she smiled to him and laughed.

“I know I shall seem to be very self centred, but if that poem does not refer to me I shall be shattered, for I have often been accused of laughing too much, so I wish to claim it as my reward for all of the strife my laughter has caused me!”

Darcy smiled to her with more confidence now. “Anyone who has had the privilege of hearing your laughter could not but wish for more. However, your guess was accurate, so now it is your turn.”

Lizzy stared hard at him. Her brow wrinkled and her eyes grew a mischievous twinkle in them.

I am afraid that my laughter has trapped me once again, and now my wit,” and she sent a quick look of acknowledgement to Lord Brougham for his earlier poem, “has escaped me altogether. I have only one verse left in my head today, and it shall have to be enough. After I speak it, I think my wit will tell my legs to take a walk to the falls, and rightly so!”

She stood up and dramatically began in a most serious voice.

“There once was a lazy poor poet,
But indignant she did not quiet know it.
Just one bad review,
And her blood turned all blue,
But she carried on much prouder for it.
One star: it is plenty enough.
For the tripe, for the drivel, and cruft.
When it does not keep time,
Paints no image, nor rhyme -
Well no thank you; you have written enough.”

She finished with a dramatic curtsy and a hearty laugh.

"Before anyone has to guess, I will tell you that it is also about me and my skill at remembering poetry today. But now I would ask who would like to go for a walk."

“I believe my cousin is right,” Holly agreed. “A walk sounds inviting. And lest we think too highly of our cleverness in rhyme, may I remind us all of the immortal words of Coleridge?

“Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool,
But you yourself may serve to show it
That every fool is not a poet.”

As Lord Brougham stood up and helped Mrs. Tournier out of her seat while her daughter gathered up the shawl for her mother, Monsieur Vian had walked up to them and elegantly offered his arm to the older lady. She took it and stalked off with him, leaving her daughter and Lord Brougham to follow behind in their wake to the river’s edge.

 

 

*Poems cited but not quoted can be found here.

** “Locomotive” can be found here.

Poems quoted:

“Do Not Skylark” by Marek Grechuta
“Your Laughter” by Pablo Neruda
“L'Ecole des femmes” by Molière

 

This story is written by Laura and Sylwia, and they own full © copyrights to it.

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