Paris, November 3, 1921
Dear nephew,
Rain does not know its bounds
or limits here. Every now and then the Ile Saint-Louis and the
towers of the Notre Dame emerge from behind another downpour -
each a final curtain call but no applause. I am still here
though.
It is good to know that you two are out there, maintaining some
of the style and spirit of old Chéveny, or should I say,
maintaining Style in general? Of course, Style was on the way out
already, but the War finished it before its time.
However, I should not complain. Yes, I have lost a castle to
live in, a little palace even in our own eyes, yes there are more
familiar faces looking from the pictures on the cupboard than I
see on parties - the few parties that I go to these days. But a
good many of people would be happy to live in an apartment like
this one, looking out on the Seine. And although too many friends
have found an early grave in the trenches, a nameless grave
often, I still have the two of you.
Where I can but yearn back to the old days, you actually seem
to do your best to call them back, to restore them by putting
them to record. Forgive me if I bore you with all my complaints,
I am an old woman before my time.
Now to your chronicles, documents and archives, Alphonse. I
have found a newspaper article about the destruction of Chéveny,
but I have to say it is but a sideline in an report about end of
the battle of the Marne. I found it together with a obituary card
for my husband between the leaves of a book a was reading at the
time. Symbolical in a way - I am still convinced it was the
knowledge that Chéveny was reduced to rubble that killed the
duke, not some vague malfunction of the heart.
Also you asked me about the precise circumstances of Eugénie's
role in our household. I must say I am inclined to remain silent
about that, as you write that Eugénie is too discrete to tell
about it herself. On the other hand I feel I may not have been
completely honest to Eugénie in the past, so some sort of
confession would be in order. Although, what use a confession if
I do not repent my sins? On the contrary, I love to think back to
that summer afternoon in 1896 ...
This was what it must be like to be a spider in a web, when a fat
fly has flown into it, Charlotte thought. Well, not that she was
going to eat the girl. After all she was a duchess, not a heathen
cannibal. Eugénie, her lady-companion, seemed small between the
baroque furniture of the duchess' room.
The way the Duchess had ended her last sentence gave the silence
a different quality, as it was more than being the mere absence
of words. The ticking of the pendulum clock seemed to emphasise
it instead of dividing it in conveniently sliced bits of time,
even in the duchess' mind, who was supposed to be in control of
the situation.
The girl's mouth had fallen open, her words frozen on her tongue.
Her eyes blinked, big brown, round eyes, a dainty little nose,
and almost hart shaped mouth - doll's eyes, doll's nose, doll's
lips, she had her ultimate destiny written on her face, the
duchess thought. The beauty of the girl's face had its own
nobility, but the open mouth gave it away: the girl had not had a
proper education. No relative or any woman the duchess knew would
stand there like that, gaping, not if the world would go down in
flames before their very eyes.
`That is the deal?' Eugénie finally said.
`That is the deal. You will take residence in the castle
permanently and you will wear this contraption every minute you
are awake.'
`But what did Louis ... I mean the duke think about this?'
`He liked it ... are you surprised? All the times you had to play
those doll games?'
The girl shook her head in amazement. `You knew about that?'
She was really naive, almost charmingly naive.
`My dear child, the fact that the walls of this castle have been
built to withstand gun shots, does not mean that they can not be
penetrated by a quick whisper.'
`Even if he had not liked it, he would have agreed,' the girl
said bitter. `He is like soft wax in your hand.'
`There can be but one captain on a ship,' the duchess replied.
The girl looked at the thing on the chaise longue. It
looked like a rough mechanical replica of herself, or like a
life-size antique doll, or both. It was lying on its left side,
and was kept balanced in that position by a large windup key
protruding from its back.
`What if I refuse?'
The duchess sighed.
`You may remember that only two years ago my late, beloved friend
the baron of C. was blackmailed and had a `hunting accident'. The
prefect who handled the situation was a very discrete man, who
consulted my husband and me about a desirability of a
prosecution. In the end, he left the decision to us ... and the
evidence. Recognise these letters, Eugénie?'
The duchess held up a bundle of papers, cheques and other
documents.
`It is a mistake ...'
`It certainly was. The fact that your blackmail drove your victim
to suicide will not do much to make the judges more lenient. So
what will it be?'
`This means I will be your prisoner ... I might as well go to a
real jail.'
The duchess rummaged through another stack of paper, finding
quickly what she was looking for. She waved a copy of the records
of a women's prison in Paris. `I am sure you are qualified to
make an informed decision,' Charlotte said.
There was a doctor's attest attached to the record. `Eugénie
Grandjean, infectuous fever, the 26th of October 1907. Recovered
the 23th of November same year,' the duchess read. `Eugénie
Grandjean, pneumonia, the 3d of December 1907, recovered the 8th
of February 1908. I have to conclude that you liked it there so
much that you fell ill with delight.'
`Would it be any better here?' Eugénie muttered.
`You will have a comfortable room, dry, clean and well aired,
unlike your beloved old prison cell, and you will eat the same
food that we eat. You were my husband's toy and you still will
be. You will just have to get used that you will need someone to
turn your windup key before you can speak or move ... and that
was a game you liked anyway.'
With a wry satisfaction the duchess noticed the girl's surprised
look.
`Yes, I knew that too. So, do you still need to think about it?'
Eugénie had a puzzled frown on her forehead. `After all the ...
friendship we had, I can not imagine you really hate me ... that
is not like you.'
`You abused my trust and my friendship, but I do not hate you. In
our circles this kind of thing is bound to happen in a marriage.
I just want a fair chance. A fair chance to share in the love and
attention of my husband. So, I have to compensate for the
advantage that you have, with your youthful energy.'
`It is not much of a choice that I have.'
`It was not really meant to be a choice.'
They stared each other in the eye. For a moment the duchess
expected the girl to break down and cry, but Eugénie just bowed
her head.
`Good ... do with me what you like. When do I start?'
The duchess walked to the wall and knocked on a hollow sounding
panel.
`Now,' she said.
Two servant girls entered followed a bald man in a white coat.
`You know the girls. Meet Dr. Lacot, Eugénie. He is not just a
medical doctor, but a scientist interested in electricity.
Doctor, you have heard about Mademoiselle Grandjean.
`Your Grace ... Mademoiselle ...' the doctor nodded, his
spectacles flashing by the reflected light from the window.
The two servants stripped Eugénie of her clothing, which was
quite a job. Clearly the girl had spent a large part of the money
she earned as a lady-companion to her dresses. When the girls
were finished, the doctor began to fit the pieces of the
apparatus on the girl's body, apparently without giving to much
attention to the beauty of her naked forms, which seemed to glow
in the soft afternoon light.
It took him about twenty minutes to change the girl in a five
foot windup doll.
Even though her body had been completely encased in porcelain,
the change was not really big, the duchess noticed. The face of
the head was very much like her own - and yet it was a doll that
was standing there, not a girl.
As quickly as they had undressed her, the maids dressed her up,
in a white dress that stood out in a circle of lace around her
legs. A long black wig was fitted on the shiny bald head of the
doll.
`I bought an eighteenth century automaton from a Russian friend
of mine,' the duchess said. `It was not really an automaton, as
there was meant to be somebody inside it to make it move. But the
technology had its possibilities, especially when combined with
electricity. You are ready, doctor?'
The doctor attached a wire that was still dangling loose, put a
windup key in the back of and turned it. Finally he flicked a
switch in the neck of the doll. A series of clicks and whizzing
noises followed. After that, there was a soft, ticking noise. A
spring was winding down.
`I am ready, your Grace.'
`Thank you doctor. Eugénie, you may try to walk and talk, if you
like.'
`With some hesitation, the girl did a clumsy step. And another
one.
`Walk up and down the room, Try your arms.'
The girl obeyed, but mumbled: `I don't know ...'
The soft, ticking noise stopped, two clicks followed. Her left
arm that had been moving froze next to her body.
`I don't k...' Click.
Click click. Her left arm froze.
Click. `I do ...' Click. Click `I ... I ...' The spring seemed to
block her speech on and off, which made her uncertain. There was
another click, followed by a muted, almost growling sound. The
mouth of the doll had snapped shut. Click-click. Click. Click.
The sound of four clicks coming from under the skirts of the girl
made it clear that her legs were immobile too.
`As long as the spring in the little machine on your back is
unwinding, there is an electric current keeping the clasps on
your body open,' the duchess explained. `When the spring stops to
pull, the current disappears and they shut close, making you an
immobile doll. Of course, I would have preferred to exchange your
boundless energy with an energy coming really from a windup
spring, but this is the next best thing.'
She caressed the hair off the doll, straightened a ply of the
skirts and kissed the cold porcelain cheek.
`I love you, Eugénie, but I have to take care of myself.'
She tugged at bell chord. Two male servants appeared.
`You have put the showcases in place?'
`Yes, your Grace.'
`Good. Carry this doll to the salon and put her in it.'
The two man lifted the girl up, one by shoulders and one by her
feet. The doll remained totally stiff and straight, as if she
were a statue.
The duchess followed the men to the saloon and watched as they
put the frozen girl in the showcase. When they were finished, she
pulled the with skirt straight and fastened light golden chain
around the doll's neck, using little padlocks.
`It is not that I am afraid that you run away, but I don not want
anyone to fool around with you in absence of me or the duke.'
She closed the door of the case, locking it as well, and looked
at the immobile white form inside.
`My turn now,' she said, and she knew the expression on her face
was almost cruel.
They tested the apparatus and it worked as planned. The doctor
was a perfectionist. Impatiently the duchess took some more
steps, waved her arms once more and then the ticking of the
spring stopped. It was one of the leg claps that snapped shut
first, followed by the two of her arms. Click. Click-click. She
decided to try the effect on her speech. and begun a sentence.
`You have your instru ... Click. She could not move the chin
piece of her mask any more. Click. She knew she could talk again
now, and she could open her lips. `I trust you will ... Click.
Click. Click. While she had been trying to talk, the other clasps
had sprung in place. Apart from her body warmth, her breathing
and her heartbeat there was little that made her different from a
doll now.
Calmly she waited for the servants to execute her instructions.
The doctor pulled her and there at her limbs, which did not give
way. He nodded to the two men who lifted her from her feet and
carried her to the salon, just as they had taken Eugénie.
A windup mannequin, she thought, as they carried her through the
main corridor. Rather unusual, but sure to please Louis. There
had been an elegant mannequin standing in their bedroom for
years, until it became the victim of a careless chamber maid.
When they entered the salon, the duchess could see Eugenie in her
glass case. The duchess would have smiled, if the porcelain mask
had not prevented her from doing so. What would the girl think
right now?
The men put the duchess on her feet inside the other showcase. As
the doctor locked the golden chains around her neck and her waste
and closed the door, the duchess realised she had lied to the
girl. She would have much more than a fair chance over the girl,
now that she had let herself transform into a doll too. Louis
would take the doll play with the girl for granted by now, but to
have his overbearing wife as a toy would be a new experience. And
not only to him. She felt a moist heat in her crotch. And hidden
under the porcelain doll mask, and any wrinkles when they would
show up, would not count - not as much as experience and
character. With both women immobile inside their china skin,
Eugénie vivacious energy would not count. He would not be able
to take this girl to the Opera, to the Cabaret and - late at
night - to some shady hide out. She would be here, under her
eyes, as their mutual toy. That was the deal between her and
Louis.
Through the glass of her showcase she saw how the doctor handed
two gilded keys to the first chambermaid, who had followed them
to the salon after she had dressed up her mistress.
Tonight she would hand four keys to the duke, and the duke would
make his choice. Fair enough, Charlotte thought, whatever the
outcome. It did not matter. Rather the most prized possession of
a duke than his second choice as a wife.
... So, nephew, there is the little story behind `the two
mysterious dolls of the duke', as a newspaper called them.
Perhaps I deceive myself if I think that Eugénie found some sort
of happiness in her role as a toy - just like I found some
unexplainable delight in playing this role often, standing in my
glass case, silently waiting for the duke.
If some good has come from all the years in between, it must
certainly be that Eugénie can live a normal life now, as your
beloved wife.
Give her my regards and tell her that I miss her more than
I can tell,
Charlotte duchesse de Chéveny
Alphonse sipped from his Burgundy. The letters from his aunt were
never too long to him, but reading them out loud was sure to
cause a dry throat. He reached for a dossier to file the letter,
but just in time he remembered it might be that Eugénie would
like to have her say about it.
He had to look under the stack on his desk to find the windup key
- like his aunt he never managed to keep his desk clean and
empty. The gilded key had roughly the size of a man's hand; the
grip was shaped like a butterfly's wings. Alphonse walked to the
white figure that stood in a glass showcase, facing the window.
Eugénie had been frozen in mid movement it seemed, with her
hands forward as if she was going to grab something. She liked it
that way; Alphonse himself preferred to see her in a stance that
was more natural, as if she just was a normal person standing
still. The doll game did not have the same fascination to him
like to his uncle and to his wife, although he admitted it could
be entertaining from time to time.
After he had opened the case and lifted her from her spot, he
found the tiny opening in the lower back of Eugénie's dress and
put the key in it. After a few turns some clicks sounded from
various parts of the doll girl's body - a few more turns and she
began to come to live, slowly, while the springs and locks let go
of their control of her body. He grabbed her shoulders.
Occasionally she would fall when she would revive - mesmerised by
her immobility, submerged in her dream come true she would have
forgotten to flex her muscles from time to time and it would take
some time before a restored blood circulation would give her
control over movements.
She was alright though. With stiff movements she walked to the
couch and sat down. As far as was possible with her porcelain
hands, she brushed a few loose curls from her face.
`What do you think?' Alphonse asked.
A click sounded. The spring that controlled the clasp of the
mouthpiece of the mask was getting worn, and it had only sprung
open after the girl had tried to open her mouth. Her lower jaw
went up and down as she had to swallow. Alphonse wondered what
the expression was of Eugénie's own eyes, that were hidden
behind the ever radiant gaze of the big round doll's eyes of the
mask.
`I remember well that first afternoon, when I was standing in
that showcase. I had been wondering why there were two, when this
beautiful mannequin doll was brought in and locked into the other
case. It took me minutes to realise it was her, but when I did
realise that, I knew I had lost. You see, the actual reason that
I stood there was that I liked to play a windup doll. She did it
out of love for her husband, or perhaps because she was too proud
to loose him. But no matter what, in our sacrifices we show our
measure, and her measure was such that I regretted immensely I
had tried to cheat her.'
`Yet she feels guilty too.'
`I have never questioned or doubted her claim that she did not
hate me. Perhaps we should give away our little secret. She might
feel better.'
`It would be your decision.'
Eugénie looked out of the window. Alphonse could guess what her
expression would be now, behind the mask. Often enough he had
seen her look pensively out of the window, in the days that she
had not taken to wearing the doll costume again, shortly after it
had been found miraculously unharmed in a cellar under the rubble
that had been Chéveny. She drew her strength from the sight of
the green hills outside, like he drew his from the family past
and traditions. After you had spent time in prison, the sight of
the open fields can make you religious, she had said once.
`She feels terribly lonely,' she answered his unspoken question.
`A Paris apartment is no place for a woman who spent most of her
life in a castle in the country,' Alphonse said.
Eugénie turned her head away from the view to look at the
showcase.
`You know this was hers actually? It was mine that was destroyed
by the German grenades.'
As she looked to him, he had to blink, for the shiny china of her
face had caught a ray of the setting sun and deflected it into
his eyes. He smiled, and he knew that under the porcelain mask,
there would be a smile too.
With his inner eye he saw the duchess arrive at their mansion;
for some trivial reason her niece and former lover would be
absent at her arrival, but her nephew would show her to a six
foot elongated parcel that was waiting for her.
And what better way to restore some of the style and spirit of
old Chéveny than by the presence of two porcelain women that had
been the pride of the old duke? Of course, he was not completely
sure that the duchess would agree with that idea, but it was not
too late to write and ask.
Click. Click. The sounds that told him Eugénie was changed back into a doll interrupted his daydream. He waited for the last clamp to snap shut before he went to his frozen lover to press a kiss on her gleaming white surface of her forehead - and to return to his desk for another letter.