Charles & The Lady of the Manor

A sense of déjà vu washed over me as I awoke in Paris. Arriving late the night before, the first thing that struck me was the magical facade of city nightlights when I exited the airport. The illuminated bridges, boulevards, and monuments created stunning scenery, along with the lighted cafes and buildings the taxi passed by. 

Towering before me as we turned into the street corner to get to the Hotel Arc de Triomphe was the majestic Arc de Triomphe de l’Etoile built by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1806 to celebrate his numerous victories in war. The whole stretch of Avenue des Champs-Élysées leading to the arc was resplendent in sparkling gaiety.

France has the history of the Vikings. Bold and triumphant, the French were warriors of prestige and honour, of kings and queens, of the intricate flamboyance of Gothic and baroque artistry and architecture.

While the Vikings, known for their strength in the army, looted and raided, the French overpowered them, eventually giving them Normandy as peaceful negotiations overcame the consciousness of a ridiculous war.

I had only two days in the city before I left for the South of France. The only way I could savour the place as much as I wanted to, especially the Palace of Versailles, was to take a ride down the Seine River and then walk, walk and walk everywhere my feet could carry me, so I could get to feel and not only see the historical landscape of France.

When I stepped out of the hotel, the near-autumn chill in the breeze invigorated my senses, and since it was still very early, the morning dew lingered. I covered my head with my hoodie and began my day of exploration with a ready smile.

Everything around me looked immaculately dressed in vintage colours, reminiscent of the historical era that represented France. That déjà vu feeling came back to me once more. I felt I had a past in this gorgeous City of Love, as the locals referred to it.

Then, it came to me through the whispering leaves on the trees I passed. The Horse Chestnut trees were deep-rooted in the history that France was renowned for. Their striking ambience added grace and beauty to evoke tranquil sensibilities in awestruck minds like mine.

Though the streets were paved and erected with modern structures, the refurbishments of the past were evident in the buildings. The Seine River ran below the Eiffel Tower, providing a picturesque view of grand historical sites along the river.

I once lived in the era of Charles Le Brun, renowned as a painter and designer of artistic embellishment of Versailles during the reign of King Louis XIV. I was the Lady of the Manor, with a distinct flair for artistry in architectural endeavours.

I fell hopelessly in love with Charles, the painter, who told me stories as he painted and sculpted stones into monuments. Charles Le Brun, the renowned sculptor and inventor of artistic genius from the era of the Great Renaissance, was acclaimed as the arbiter of artistic creation in France.

I ventured inside the massive Gardens of Versailles and entered the compounds of the princely palace.

The richness of the estate enveloped me to encapsulation. I was awed and astonished simultaneously and relived a time from the past there. 

The stunning gardens of the palace were designed uniquely and immortalised by its graceful ambience and intricate beauty. The Queen’s Grove, perfumed by the Damask and "Folie de Bagatelle" roses, greeted me with such poise and elegance that the breathtaking beauty of the flowers moved me.

That once, the lady of the manor lived amid such opulence made me envious. That she had a significant role in the social and cultural circles and the life of Charles didn’t come as a surprise, as he was the driving force for the splendour of the architecture and design of the palace.

Known for her grace, elegance and strength, the lady of the manor was a blend of sophistication and beauty, adding a touch of refinement to Charles’ art and treasure.

The Mars Room at the Palace of Versailles carried the spirits of Charles and the Lady of the Manor.

One day, as he sat painting in his atelier,  he heard her speaking to someone in the gallery across his room where his paintings hung.

Not accustomed to noises as he worked, he was distracted and walked out of his room to see who she was talking to. He stood quietly by the doorway and listened.

Her words had a note of authority, and Charles thought that strange. What could it be that had hinged her temperament?

As he watched the scene before him, he grew amused at her antics.

A boy of not more than ten years stood before her, and the Lady of the Manor, her face flushed, asked, “Well, can you reach the paintings so you can clear the dust off them?”

The child had his face down and looked up slightly to see the size and rise of the paintings.

Then, he quickly looked down again.

He started moving consciously in his torn and tattered shoes and jumped when the Lady repeated the question. “Well, my lad, what do you say? You beg me for a chore in exchange for bread. I need the paintings cleaned of dust. Are you able to reach them?”

He stammered his reply, “Well, my lady, I, umm, I…,” and he choked on his words and moved his feet, and quick tears filled his eyes.

“Oh, come with me,” said the Lady in exasperation. “Let me give you something to eat so you stay beholden to the promise of exchange! I shall give you some other chore, perhaps to water the gardens or a lesser chore so you eat a meal every day.”

The lad didn’t understand the intricate language of the aristocrat but nodded his head in acceptance of her terms. He was parched as he was hungry and grateful that she would give him some food. He would do the “beholden thing” right after.

Charles ran into the room to get his coat which lay on the floor below his drawing board, and quickly put it on before following the two to see where they were going. The winds outside rustled the leaves of the plants in the garden, and Charles thought them musical.

He had never been to the kitchen since he was served and feted like a royal. Nor had he ventured far from his atelier all the years he painted.

He was keen to know if the Lady would fill the lad’s belly with the food he craved. He liked her, he thought at that instant. He hadn’t noticed her before, but she eluded strength and beauty.

He would paint her someday, a sudden thought occurred to him. Yes, she would make an intriguing painted lady, a portrayal of the beauty of Vanessa Cardui - the butterfly that symbolised resilience and versatility. 

The Lady of the Manor held the hand of the boy as she walked fast down the hallway to the kitchen. They walked in silence.

Charles followed quietly behind, choosing to walk in the shadows of the pillars that lined the hallway so he stayed out of sight. 

Once or twice, she turned to look, swishing her gown in the process, but missed seeing him.

When they reached the kitchen, Charles slipped into the room from the back and watched as a few servants came running to serve the boy and the Lady.

“The food on the table is fit for a King,” the child thought in astonishment. “Oh, if only I knew what beholden meant would make me grateful for a meal! Why, I could die eating this way every day.”

The Lady of the Manor sipped her drink elegantly while the lad relished every morsel on his plate with quick gulps and went for seconds and thirds. The Lady watched him while he ate.

She didn’t say a word until the boy had finished eating. 

When the child had eaten to his fill, he noticed that the Lady hadn’t finished the drink in her cup. “Aren’t you going to finish that, My Lady?” he asked, his fear for the Lady diminishing with every second. Hadn’t she eaten with him at the same table?

As Charles watched, the Lady grew in beauty before him. He felt sorry for the boy and thought to ask the Lady if they could give him a place to stay at the palace.

He had never witnessed a scene like that before and left the kitchen deeply touched, promising to dine with her soon. He was captivated by the beauty of her heart and couldn’t wait to see her again.

As he stood by the window of his atelier that night, his painting lay forgotten. Charles was disturbed by the emotions he felt for a woman he had seen for the first time. She taught him about kindness and love for another human being. He had worked his whole life with inanimate structures to build beauty and fame, whereas the Lady had brought new meaning by showing beauty through human compassion.

The next day, Charles decided to walk in the palatial gardens. It was a beautiful day, and he wanted to be outside in the sun. He had missed out on many of life’s finer things.

He hoped to see the lad watering the plants in the garden, just as the Lady had suggested.  He would surely hand him some money to buy a new pair of shoes.

However, what he saw in the pristine Garden of Versailles amazed him even more.

The Lady and the lad were busy, bent over a large pot of roses and plucking the weeds off the soil. They were deep in conversation, and Charles was curious to know what subject engrossed them that they paid no heed to their surroundings, that even his footsteps went unnoticed.

“O, that he could join them,” he thought longingly. Perhaps dig into the sand with his bare hands as they did. O, what joy that would bring him. To know that he once had partaken in their love for the gardens.”

He wanted the two figures bent over the roses to see him. He stood inches behind the child and shifted in his shoes so they heard his presence.

The lady turned to look and got up quickly to greet him. “Oh, my Lord. How wonderful to see you here early this morning. Isn’t it a glorious day to be out?” Then, seeing the child still bent over the roses, she said, "Hurry, offer your salutation to the Lord as I have done. He is the master of the paintings I wished to have dusted."

The lad quickly stood up and wished Charles, “Good morning, kind sir.” The boy did not want to speak more than was necessary as it would surely be rude.

However, Charles wanted to be on friendlier terms than just be the Master of the paintings to them.

So he said in a cheery voice, “Good morning. I see you are working with the Lady of the Manor to keep this estate in good shape.” He stole a glance at the Lady standing next to the boy. The morning sun cast a gorgeous glow on her, and she looked radiant, while the boy had smudges of soil on his face and looked unkempt. 

The Lady smiled, and suddenly Charles bent down on his knees and started to weed, just as they did earlier. He removed his gloves, moved his fingers and felt the bare soil in his hands. A sense of pure liberation overcame him. The grains of the sand felt good in his hands, and he laughed loudly at the hilarity of the situation.

The Lady of the Manor flushed a crimson red, “Has he gone mad?” she thought, shocked at his antics. She had never seen him behave in such a manner before. He had always locked himself in the atelier and worked day and night. However, her love for his paintings brought her joy, and she had fallen secretly in love with him.

Charles kept on picking at the weeds until they were all gone. The boy and the Lady stood a little apart from him and watched in astonishment.

When finally satisfied that none remained to cast a cloud upon the cleared soil, he stood up, dusted his hands, and said, “I think this calls for a celebration. It’s the first time I have had the immense pleasure of doing a menial task and feeling utter liberation and peace of heart.”

Looking at the Lady, he called her by name. “Come, Isabella, let’s take this lad to town. We have to get him some clothes and shoes, don’t we? And what about some breakfast?

Aren’t you hungry yet, Isabella? I saw you with a cup of tea, and not all did you drink of the cup. You left a good portion behind. I’m sure you must be starving by now!”

The Lady of the Manor was surprised to learn that Charles had watched them the previous day.

“Go on and tidy yourself. We shall go into town to eat and do some shopping,” she ordered the boy before turning to say to Charles, “Would you please give us some time to get ready?"

With her heart aflutter, she hurried, leaving a radiant Charles in the garden, beaming and happy. "He seems delighted," she murmured under her breath when she noticed the look on his face.

She saw the boy running fast to his new room. She had allowed him a place to stay at the palace so he was safe. She feared that if he loitered in the streets of Paris, he would surely turn to negative influences or die in the harsh cold.

The carriage wheels on the asphalt were the only sound that broke the silence as they rode to the city. 

Charles sat next to Isabella while the boy sat opposite them inside.

The quiet cottages they passed were part of the rustic retreat known as the Queen’s Hamlet, built during the reign of Marie Antoinette. Charles was especially intrigued by the architecture of the cottages built around the lake.

Charles broke the silence to say,

"These cottages serve as a secluded sanctuary for the queen and her dearest companions, an interlude from the palace's formalities. Don't you find them exquisite?" Charles inquired of Isabella once he had concluded his conversation.

The cottages enthralled Isabella, “Yes, they are gorgeous and provide an aesthetic view to the eye. They do represent France’s rural outlook.”

When they reached the city, Charles took them to Café Procope, the first of France’s breakfast café. There, they had some traditional French breakfast and left soon after to shop for some clothes for the lad. 

The young boy felt elated to stroll alongside the aristocrats despite receiving disdainful looks from some higher-class people who passed by.

"Oh, what’s become of these two?" remarked a woman as she and her husband walked past quickly. "Are scavengers now being feted by royalty? They should be mindful of their place in society."

Isabella squeezed the lad’s hands and smiled at him. They entered a boutique, and Charles got him a pair of shoes and some clothes. 

As they walked out, Charles took Lady Isabella’s hand in his. He then strolled the streets of Paris with the lad carrying his bundle of clothes following closely behind. They sat by the fountain and talked about his paintings when suddenly Charles said,

“Someday, I will paint you, Isabella. The painting will fetch millions because you radiate the beauty of a simple woman, though an aristocrat.”

They saw a peddler with balloons cycling down the street and ran after him, and Charles bought them one each.

Isabella had an idea. They would let the balloons fly away as they passed the lake on the way back.

Perhaps the winds will carry them to water, and they float somewhere far. Who knows, the children from the cottage might chance upon them and have colourful balloons to play with until they popped. They laughed at the funny scene that would present.

When they returned to the palace, Charles took Isabella aside and kissed her. He promised to make her his bride.

On a bright summer morning, Charles walked his bride to the altar. They pronounced their wedding vows in the Gardens of Versailles, amongst the roses, jasmines and the gorgeous Palace as a backdrop.

The young boy became a handsome cavalier and lived protecting his master and the lady from evil forces.

The train to the South of France was late the next day. I waited in the station and watched the people rushing past.

Later, the station announced that the train drivers were on strike and told us to go home. They hoped the strike would end by midnight. 

As I took the taxi back to the hotel,  a thought sprang to mind.  I had another night to savour in Paris that might make me relive another story.