Embers of Christmas Past, France 1907.
by Way Zim.

A quite brief explanation;

Way Zim, December 2013.

Embers of Christmas Past.

Chateau de Beaufresne, France - Mid December 1907.

"Hold your head still, child! " demanded the stern deep voice from a robustly aged dame, still handsome in her seniority. "You are way too aggressive a model for this fading light. I suspect oh so many sweets after that late luncheon is the culprit here. Yes? "

"Not true, Aunty. " proclaimed the fidgety girl, evidently quite confined within her rather restrictive deep lavender frock and matching coat. Perhaps she was even slightly chilled by the fresh winter snow upon the generous back lawn. "It's just that I saw the postman arrive, and possibly he has letters from Mother and Father ... "

"It's likely he does. " Miss. Mary chuckled, before turning a stern eye on her subject and eager pupil. "But they can wait, this can't. The moment must be caught on canvas as it happens. Now, hold that pose right there, impossible girl. Just one minute more and ... it's done. But please wait before you go bounding off to the manor like some gallivanting puppy. "

Hardly a prim child, young Mina Atwell giggled at the rude Americanism slipping through an otherwise genteel manner. This was why she'd loved Mary Cassatt so. The old woman could be as unexpectedly improper as she was contrarily a serious taskmistress in their shared passion. Miss. Mary, while not a direct relation to the child, had been a close family friend for so long that this love for pigments and pastels served as well as blood in their bond.

"Now, observe the light snowfall upon the lawn. Even though it's not entirely so, let's pretend it's the purest white for our lesson. Tell me, darling, where does it sit on your color palette? "

"To one side or the center, as it's considered to be a neutral. " Mina recited dutifully, as a good student should. "And the black? " pressed her teacher with a haughty voice, which practically gave the answer away as the old woman seemed finally to feel the cold herself.

"As far away as one can throw it. " the youngster announced sagely, in perfect imitation of Aunty Mary's disdainful tone. "An honest painter has no need of such a crutch. "

"Correctly said. " Mary chortled with approval. "It's for those counterfeit artists seeking mass approval, the ones who are afraid to let nature dictate the terms. These so called reformists to those who came before, they're unable to accurately reproduce the ugly along with the beautiful. "

She stood up somewhat shakily from her portable little seat, while Mina carefully took the wet painting down from it's easel. gingerly handing it over to her mentor. "And will this be put up for exhibition one day, Aunty? "

"I'm afraid you're just too pretty for my wall, darling. " laughed the great lady, sparing a free arm for her overloaded god-child who happily snuggled in, at the cost of some odds and ends which fell by the wayside. "That's the reason I'm training you for the other side of the easel. I let others such as Degas reproduce lovely ballerinas, while I drape my rough women and their babes in fine apparel. Do you understand the concept of irony? "

"Not really, Aunty. "

There was a hint of dark regret which flashed across that somewhat jowly face, before Mary exchanged it for a whimsical sort of melancholy. "It's like these long evening shadows on such a bright day as this. So contrary a state, and yet it fits this season of quiet for most living things. But you're still the spring flower, young lady. Such a bright prickly rose as you are, shouldn't be in a hurry to discover what we winter folk know by rote. "

"But you're not too old yet, Aunty. " protested the enwrapped child as they approached the chateau, warm in her fleecy overcoat yet chilled by her guardian's fleeting morbid turn. "And I'm learning so much from you ... I'm not afraid. "

"That's because you are so beloved, and still relevant to this world. The fears which we artisans entertain are those of obsolescence and infirmity. The former is that we no longer have anything to contribute. The latter is for when we can't communicate our passion anymore. When I have to stop painting - well - I won't know where to go from there ... "

"Then you'll tell me what to say, and I'll paint it for you. " declared Mina boldly, which earned the young champion a kiss to her uncovered head. "I just might take you up on that offer, girl. " chuckled Mary, as her mood improved at the sight of cook waiting with hot chocolate for the shivering pair. "But not just yet. "

Chateau de Beaufresne was well outside the bustle of Paris, where Mary enjoyed her somewhat sociable solitude. The house was a modest manor: a longish red brick affair, though not so much in width. Still, it suited this mistress of the avant-garde well enough, as always a spinster yet forever adored by her many nieces and nephews. But while in the company of this girl and a few servants, she felt a state of bliss which was rare for such turbulent times as these.

It was in such a state of happy indolence that the ladies lounged before the roaring fire, fiercely tearing open envelopes with gleeful abandon before Mary happened upon one which made her frown.

"Ugh! One of my solicitors has invited me to an exhibition of that Spaniard Picasso's work. " Mary chuckled. "A Meeting of The Old and The New, as he puts it. Why he believes that I would wish to quicken my fading eyesight with such dreadful art as that lecher produces, I can't imagine. So I must refuse the invitation. I hope your correspondence is more welcome, Bright Mina. "

In response to this tart commentary an odd focus crossed Mina's face, as if she was of two minds about the current topic. "I think you don't give Senor Picasso enough credit, Aunty. Somehow I feel that he just might bring a rightful advance for the movement. Maybe the last step before it all falls into chaos and cheap gimmickry. "

"That's a curious conclusion to make, darling. " Mary answered, normally both enchanted and confused by these eccentric insights from the girl. While such opinions were irregular and unexpected, they were almost always prescient in content. Not that she was a seer in any proper sense of the word, but there was just enough correctness in her asserts as to make Mary wonder. "It's more likely that our rude painter has hastened our decline instead. So what's the word from your mother? "

"She's with Father, on a tour of the Adriatic. But at her last mail stop, she mentioned receiving a letter from Madame Delacroix."

"That woman was the reason you came to me on the fly. " laughed the old woman with a derisive remembrance of the unexpected call. "Such a stuck up sanctimonious prig, unusual for the French. Why she decided to found an institute for young ladies, I don't know. Her so-called qualifications clearly have little to do with handling forthright girls like you. Is Rowan very angry with you? "

"Just a bit. " Mina confessed with an uncommon sheepishness. "Although I believe it's more embarrassment on her part. That she'd thought the school would be a good fit for me while they made this extended pilgrimage. I guess she figured our time apart would help further my social - as much as my formal - education."

"And then you were expelled for being too social. " scoffed her beloved guardian. "But while it's a better outcome in the long run that you came here, I'm so sorry it broke up your friendship with petite Giselle. "

Friendship was possibly a term couched euphemistically in this instance, but what adult truly understood anything about the hearts of young ladies?

Mina could only smile sadly; yet it was more for the far too tiny, too plain, and therefore more tragic girl from Arles than for herself. Such a timid awkward child as this was not one to be welcomed among those privileged brats. And as Mina was the mirror opposite to Giselle Joubert in every way, it somehow illuminated their mutual attraction that much more to the envious.

Two romantics were this odd pair; the reserved bookworm and her preemptive adventuress. One dreamed constantly while staying in one place, whereas her alter ego encouraged acting upon each new whim.

And even if this partnership was conducted as the mildest of rebellions, with tittering midnight talks or earnest conferences on the playground, it still rankled among the more traditional vain girls. However, as set against this union as most were, they'd yet to successfully challenge it directly, but were likewise unable to simply leave it be. And unfortunately for Mina and Giselle, a few of the angrier students exploited an opportunity to break up the relationship.

Now it's been known forever that all girls have an ever ready explorer lurking within them; if they hope to survive each new environ thrust upon them by Life, that is. As well traveled as young Mina was by this time, virtually from the cradle, the school was as inviting to her questing nature as any castle or lofty cathedral. Even before Giselle showed up, she'd set her sights on a musty seldom visited storeroom behind the cramped yet well stocked library.

And it was here, with her sister literati in tow, that Mina uncovered a hidden treasure trove of forgotten and likely forbidden tomes. It was a delightful secret for them to share, as Giselle knew most of the Latin, some Greek, and a smattering of other tongues: all the better to read foreign passages aloud for her friend while Mina sketched her by lamplight.

The truth be told, Giselle was hardly the ideal model, with an ungainly pear shape and a still quite babyish face which nevertheless seemed more bloated than beautiful. But when the girl spoke aloud such text by the likes of Rabelais or Balzac, she gained a wondrous inner glow which overwhelmed such physical handicaps.

"Love is the poetry of the senses. " the latter scribe had once said, and for Mina it was true. While she could scarcely draw more than what the eye saw, the captivated artist wished she could translate Giselle's soul to her rough paper pad as well.

"Chaucer, Rabelais, and Balzac. " was a line which sprung up from nowhere, but it made the portraitist laugh quietly all the same. It had the feel of a punch line to some ribald joke - a song even - which she couldn't recall ever hearing before. Still, she treated it as something which would become known eventually, as if Time itself had lost pace with her faster mind.

But all this was an aside, when the girls private revels were eventually reported to Madame Delacroix by resentful adolescent spies. And it was how she found them together which proved to be so unforgivable.

"Just what was this book which inspired such bold art from you, sweet girl? " Miss Mary inquired politely, as even during her long angry talk with the school mistress - some specifics had been left out.

"The Arabian Nights, as interpreted by Sir. Richard Burton. " Mina confessed ruefully, although that smirk on Aunty's face emboldened her confession just a bit. "There was flatulence and other filth mentioned, along with men and women performing .... "

"That, darling child, is something Rowan should discuss with you. Not me. " laughed Mary. "But for all her talk of moral virtue and chastity, I wonder just how that came to be in Madame's collection in the first place? Still, it wasn't the stories themselves which interested you, now was it? "

"Neither Giselle nor I could have ever imagined such illustrations, Aunty. " her charge giggled with far less guilt now. "And when she teased me about how plain my own drawings looked beside them, I just had to meet her challenge ... didn't I? "

Sappho la fille was the mildest phrase which the horrible woman had uttered in her tirade against the youth. But at least it strengthened Mary's resolve to deliver her god-daughter out of that institute of hypocrisy. Curious girls were the natural state, not evil or deviant as certain prudes believed. Still, there's some decorum which even Miss Cassatt observed - reluctantly. For one of her age, it was simply a nicety. For young Mina, however, it was still very much a necessity.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't have rescued Giselle for you, darling. " Mary half apologized, although she honestly sounded more relieved than regretful. "But she did have her own family to collect her; whose affections, one can hope, are liberal ... even if their politics aren't? "

"Yes, ma'am. " Mina agreed, though inside she felt quite different. Just a single prolonged kiss had convicted them. And while it was enthusiastically delivered by Giselle to her friend, still that buss was far less impure than the one which Judas used to betray Jesus. But that was exactly how Madame Delacroix had interpreted the gesture, although Giselle's half dressed state did help to further damn them in the woman's biased opinion.

They had not even been allowed to say goodbye to one another, whereas a few decades after, Wilhelmina would confess to a dear correspondent; a Ms. Dorothy Parker of Algonquin fame, that this parting cruelty made her freeze-frame a greater treasure in memoriam. Not that she set an eternal flame by it, or sought Giselle out afterwards. Rather it was that she came to understand they'd become allies only through a specific set of circumstances.

"So what else does Rowan say, sweetie? " Mary encouraged, as a misdirection from the moment. Mina glanced down at the slightly crumpled letter in her clenched hand, with the girl's slight melancholy broken by glad tidings for the season. "Mother says that they'll be cutting the tour short by a month. That if I didn't mind, we might meet in Calais in late January? "

"How wonderful! I think that I might be quite tired of you by then, child. " her guardian firmly decided with a sly wink, even as a maid came in to announce that dinner was ready. "But while you're here, you could assist me in managing the decor for our little Christmas party. Yes? "

"Yes, Aunty. " the girl replied cheerfully, helping Mary to stand up, keeping hold of that strong wrinkled hand even as they went to find food. And except for that happy family reunion yet to come, Mina had no other wishes for the holidays, save that this moment with her mentor last a bit longer ... Joyeux Noël!

Addendum For Those Festively Frustrated;

Again, by itself, this only reveals a young woman free( though not exceedingly flamboyant )with her love for her fellow females. On the other hand; combined with other aspects, we begin to assemble a portrait of a girl who merged an unusually gentle yet mannish calm with Sibylic Foresight. From age 16 until her death at 61, this amazing woman proved the antithesis for both the conventional and experimental within this time-period.

Finis.