The Black Swan

“You see, the building is dominated by the tower,” he said. “In the old days it was called the watch tower; and in times of trouble a man would be posted up there, his sole duty being to watch and give warning of any suspicious person or persons approaching. He used to while away the time by singing songs or playing the flute. A musician always had to be chosen for the job because he could practice his art while watching. I remember its being done when I was here in the ‘70s, at the time when we were expecting trouble. People would hear the singing or the flute playing and know that all was well. We had our watcher. The songs were called Watchman’s Songs and they were often his own compositions. In French we called them chansons de guettes. You see, the tower is right in the center ... just below is what is called the palace. That is the part where the family live.”

He waved his arms toward the lawn and went on, “Tournaments used to be held here... tilting and jousting. The chateau was the center of life in the neighborhood at that time. You see how that staircase is supported by the vaults. Beggars and hangers-on used to congregate there. They were given the remains of food after meals. Everything is different now.”

We mounted the steps and went into the hall.

“This was the main living room in medieval days,” he continued. “Look up and you will see the hole in the roof where there was once a vent to let out the smoke. But that was changed a hundred years ago and we have our big fireplace over there, you see, and our chimney to take away the smoke. If you look closely you can see, in the center of the hall, where the fire used to be. You see those tiles? The chateau has indeed changed since medieval times, but we are still proud of the past and my family have always kept as much intact as possible, but when it was excessively uncomfortable then we felt it advisable to move with the times.”

So he talked and I could visualize what it had been like in the old days. I could see the beggars under the steps, the guests in their brilliant costumes sitting on those same steps on a warm summer’s evening. I wondered about the long-dead Bourdons and what their lives had been like. They seemed to linger on ... even in daylight. He showed us the salon and the salle a manger which had been introduced into the chateau within the last two hundred years; we saw the extra wing which had been added to make more bedrooms. It was a mingling of the ancient and... well, not exactly modern, but later periods than those when the Chateau Bourdon had been erected. I could see why he was proud of it, and how great a tragedy it must have been to his family when they had felt obliged to leave it.

I wondered why they had not been lured back.

Jean Pascal said, “My parents were devoted to Napoleon and Eugenie. They spent a great deal of time at Court ... far more than they did here and when the Emperor and Empress were forced into exile, they had to join them.” There was so much to see that the tour of the castle lasted a long time.

“Years ago,” he told us, “noble families would send their sons and daughters to be brought up away from their own homes. I don’t know why this was the custom; perhaps it was thought that parents would be too lenient. Young girls and young men were brought up here. The men would learn courtly manners, how to joust and so on, to make them worthy to go to Court when the time came.”

 “And what of the girls?” asked Belinda.

“Oh, they were taught how to be good wives and mothers and please their husbands.”

“Were the men taught to please their wives?” I asked.

“Ah, Miss Lucie, that was something they knew how to do without tuition. I see you are skeptical. You do not believe that is something which comes naturally to a man?”

“I am sure it does not. I just wondered whether it might not have been a good idea to give them a little tuition as it was thought necessary for the women.” He smiled benignly at me. “I think you may be right, Lucie,” he said. “Now let me show you where the girls used to come to learn how to embroider, how to sing, how to play some musical instrument and how to charm the men. It is called the Maidens’ Room or La Chambre des Pucelles. We always keep it just as it was. I like to think of the girls here ... so young ... so pretty ... so docile ... all so eager to learn.” He was regarding me with an expression I did not understand, but it made me a little uneasy.

I wished that I could cast off that sense of foreboding which the place seemed to inspire in me. It was not as intense as it had been on the previous night, but it lingered. I told myself it was the strangeness of the place-and, of course, my fanciful nature.