The Château

 

      Anita was sitting in the alcove in the escritoire, while Jean was sitting in his chair on the balcony smoking his pipe. She started writing in the journal she had found months ago in a cubby in the closet in the Master during the renovations of the chateau .

    The renovations on Anita's château were nearly complete when she encountered l'esprit of the gentleman who lived here from the mid-eighteenth century until his death in the early twentieth century. She advised by l'esprit sensitive (ghost hunter) who advises her not to provoke the l'esprits living in one of the suites in the south tower of the château, as they were temperamental esprits who could make life uncomfortable for her.She excepts Jean's advice and decides to enter into an amicable relationship with these ghosts.

The Château

    Anita’s brother Erick was killed nearly ten years ago in Iraq in 2005, her father was killed the next year in 2006 in Afghanistan, her mother followed in 2007, and finally her husband died of Cancer in 2011.  Anita Garrison decided to make her dream of buying as château, doing a complete renovation and living in France for the rest of her life become reality.

    This had been a goal since she was fourteen years old when she’d seen a picture of one of the white stone structures in a history book.  Everything she had planned since that day was focused on that single-minded obsession.

    She took three years of French and one year of French Culture Studies at LSU in order to make her dream a reality. Two months ago before leaving New Orleans she was searching the internet for a château at least two-hundred, and perhaps three-hundred years old to completely renovate and restore to the glory it had once known.

  She’d seen this particular château in an ad in the Parisian Rental Brokers. The charcoal stains left on many of the structures for sale as a result of the Revolution had been only partially steamed back to their original white, this meant that only the stones on the portions for the structure that served the buyer’s purposes were steamed.

    The stones on the structure had been completely steamed at least once, but the stones on the very third floor of the château still retained slight shadow of the past.

  Anita, however, had made up her mind that she was going to do a complete renovation and restoration of the structure, as opposed to a total renovation. There was a difference. The total restoration was simply a renovation of parts of the structure that would be used for the purposes of the owner, whereas the complete renovation meant that the project would include the entire structure.

    Anita decided that also meant steaming every stone as many times as necessary to restore them to their former glory, as the French were so fond of saying. Although she’d been living in a refurbished apartment near Pont Neuf and she could do so indefinitely.  It had been six months since the renovations had begun, the time had come for her to make the château her home. The third floor was all but finished; all that was incomplete was for the contractor to construct four private entrances on the bottom floor of each of the square towers.

    There were many ruins outside of Paris and Versailles, dating back as the seventeenth and eighteenth century. The lovely white stones were charcoaled as a result of being burned by the Revolutionary Guard during the French Revolution, but this chateau was among the best preserved of any of them.

    Anita was sure that it had been restored to its former grace and elegance at least once, and fully renovated as recently as one hundred years ago. There were a few final alterations remaining before the third floor was ready to occupy, but she’d been living here for over a month now.

    One night a week ago she was digging around in a tiny cubby in the wall beneath a dresser in the massive double walk-in armoire, her fingers brushed a fur animal skin that had been forced into the cubby probably to discourage the curiosity seeker. Not being one to shirk away from expending a little worthwhile elbow grease, she did a little each night until five days later she dislodged the square package from its hiding place.

    She unfastened the fine satin ribbon wrapped several times around the Rabbit skin and then tied in a knot. It wasn’t easy, but she was finally able to penetrate the knot, loose the skin and unwrap the book. It too was remarkably well preserved. The fur was white and perfumed with a rather heady musk scent which she guessed was for the purpose of preservation. The black leather journal was like new and Anita sat down on the chaise that very night and began to read.

    It was penned in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. From all indications the author was both a Poet and a Philosopher and he was in love with the subject of his narrative. While that in itself was quite uncommon in those days as fathers were still quite chauvinistic, and errant fathers still believed in arranging
loveless marriages between their daughters and a man who was of the same religion, prominence and social status as themselves.

    But this love arrangement, although tolerated was highly scorned, especially by the religious. The author and his paramour were the same sex. They enjoyed an enduring, but of necessity secret relationship. Anita read a little each night, but because the first one hundred or so pages were mostly narrative with very little dialogue she found it difficult to maintain interest.

    One night a week ago she came to a section of the diary which seemed so real that she felt like an intruder. Anita could even see where the memories took place. Last night she started about an event that occurred several years later in Paris.

    I remember that first meeting well. Jules was twelve years old, I was fourteen and we were both attending the same ecole. Mon mere would have had quite a large tree if she had known that Jules was attending the same elite school as her privileged son. I had not seen Jules since he and his parents came to Paris when he was nine years old. His father was ill and Monsieur Adams had sponsored him into the Le Conservatoire de le Musique. You see that elite school was not only just for Catholics, it was also exclusively for wealthy sons of France.

    While Jules was neither wealthy nor was he Catholic, neither was he a poor boy. His father made a modest living, and until he became ill with cancer and was forced to move to Paris to be near a Medical Docteur, Monsieur Massenet was an iron worker.

    This occupation was by no means a shame, nor was he struggling, as is already the rumor, but Paul Massenet’s wrought iron creations were much in demand in those early days after the revolution, as Parisians were reconstructing, restoring, and renovating the château and other marble structures; many of these became hotels and apartment buildings. All of them sporting balconies.

    L’ecole de L’Enfant’s for young people ranging in ages from six years to l’age de Majority or 14 ans (years). Before the revolution, L’ecole had been a grand chateau of white stone. When restored the stones were steamed back to their original white. A large auditorium, a Bibliotheque, and a Musique room were all located in the front on the first floor of the building; while the drawing room became the Principal’s office. The kitchen and dining room were located in the back on the first floor.

    Twenty four classrooms for L’Enfant’s ranging in age from six to ten years of age were located on the second floor and thirteen classrooms for youths from eleven to fourteen years were located on the third floor. There were two unisex restrooms on each floor.

    Outside in the back of the building was a great dirt courtyard. The paving stones had been destroyed by the Revolutionary Guard during that terrible time. A grand old oak tree had somehow escaped the destroyers with all but one great, thick, long, branch being cut off. It was lying on the ground quite close to the trunk of the tree.

    Every day during recess and at lunch time Jules went to that tree, sat down on the branch, and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. After removing his portable writing desk and setting it, several pencils, a notebook and an eraser beside him, he set his backpack at his feet and began to write.

  Jules had just turned twelve years old at the beginning of that year, and already he had the temperament of the great musician and composer. If one got close enough Jules could be heard grumbling before he erased his latest error . . .

    Anita listened to the wind chimes that hung from the frame of the French doors. Strange, there was no wind. She heard the sound again, and was about to return to the journal when she could have sworn she heard a man chuckling.

    Shaking her head she looked down at the journal, only to hear liquid being poured into a glass. But there were no longer any glasses nor was there any wine up here in the Master. The oak bar was now a Pony Wall separating the sitting area from the sleeping area.

    “Why do you read the journal when I can enlighten you? It would not be quite as boring as wading through the words that were written into that journal nearly one hundred and fifty years ago.”

    “Who is there?” Anita asked, more than a little perplexed.

    The air in front of her shimmered and a tall portly man stood before her. He was wearing a white satin Smoking jacket over a pair of very tight knee breeches, a diamond was glittering from the gold fleur de lis broach that was pinned within its folds, and the cravat was tied around the neck of the linen shirt beneath his Smoking jacket. On his feet, he was wearing black patent leather dancing slippers. He tipped his glass back and took a sip.

“Why, it is Philippe de Fleurs, of course. Jules and I lived together in this château for nearly thirty years.

    “Jules purchased it and had it restored to its former glory after his beloved Anna died of fever in 1878. He really loved her you know. The three of us lived in a three bedroom flat in Paris, but after she died, Jules said memories of Anna were stifling his creative flow. It was true you know? Anna’s presence could be felt in every corner of that flat. He purchased this château and completely restored it late that year.”

    Philippe walked back to the Pony Wall, set his glass on the bar, pulled a bottle of wine from mid–air and filled his glass again. “Escuse Moi,” he said. “Would you like a drink, Madame?”

    “Merci, no, Monsieur. How do you know that I am not a mademoiselle?” She asked.

    “I know nearly as much about you as you do me.” He grinned. His blue eyes sparkled with life. “I am sorry, Madame, I do not mean to eavesdrop, but it is difficult not to hear what is being said when you are l’esprit. I can hear every spoken word.” He replied. “Ah, but those which come across quite clear are spoken by you. You do make friends easily, Madame.”

    “I could take offense at that.” She said.

    “Do you want to know why you will not take offense at my admission?”

    Anita blinked her eyes and the corner of her mouth turned up. “You are the one who knows about me.”
She said. “Why don’t you tell me why?”

    “Very well, you will not take offense, because you still do not believe we are having this conversation or that I exist. Albeit, I am standing here before you.” He said. “L’heur is late. Even a ghost needs his rest. I am after all, quite old.”

    The air shimmered and he disappeared. Anita walked across the room to where Philippe had been standing mere moments ago, stuck out her arm and waved her hand. Philippe chuckled. “Only ma mere, (my mother) tickled me beneath the chin that way.”

    Anita pulled her arm back as though she had been bitten. She was actually blushing. Philippe chuckled again. “See you de jour Noir, Madame. Bon Noir (good night)”

Chapter 2

    Anita noticed upon entering the living room the next morning that changes had been made in the designer’s furniture arrangement. Some of the furniture had been moved, not just across the room, but into a totally different place. Michel, Anita’s designer, who came with a very high recommendation from the realtor, came to her a month ago with a request that she visit the large suite in the South tower of the château.

    “There are a great many pieces of furniture in that suite. Many of the pieces have been quite well preserved,” he told her, “I would say they were used at least as recently as thirty years ago. The piano, the chaise and an escritoire have been fully restored to their former glory several times over, but they are still in very good condition. Let me know if you care to use any of the pieces. They are all antiques of course.”

    Anita, being a pianist, later requested the Steinway, as well as the oak escritoire and costly Brocade upholstered chair, and finally, the Brocade upholstered oak chaise longue be restored once again and moved downstairs, a move she realized would not be easily facilitated by Michel’s team, and yet they had done so.

    Michel had placed the Steinway in the center of the living room beneath the large chandelier, the chaise was set in the small alcove north of the fireplace between the living and the informal dining area, and she had the escritoire and matching chair set in the small foyer just south of a massive set of oak double doors, and beneath the rectangular mirror. She'd ordered that the rest be sold to an antique consignment dealer that Michel had recommended.

    However, this morning the large white Persian wool area rug had been taken up from the living room, and spread upon the marble tiles in the alcove beneath the chandelier, the piano was sitting atop it near the French doors; the chaise now sat in the living room just north of the alcove, and the escritoire was now sitting in the small alcove.

    Since Anita was pleased with the new arrangement, she left the furniture where it was. Michel arrived just after ten o’clock and when he saw the arrangement he commented. “Ah, Madame, I see you have rearranged the furniture.” He said as he studied the new arrangement. “I must say I do like this arrangement much better.” He paused, petting his moustache. “It just seems to fit the room better.”

    “Anita wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of the change since she didn’t know if Michel believed in ghosts. One day before her mother died, and while she was attending LSU, she had asked her mother about the existence of ghosts. “A ghost is nothing more than a restless spirit. Before the individual died, he or she, maybe both, inhabited the home they now haunt.” She said.

    “Michel sensed her uneasiness and broached the subject himself. “You know many of these old châteaux are haunted or enchanted,” he said, “I encounter many esprits in my line of work.” He scratched his head as he studied the room again.

    “This room was like this when I came down this morning.” She said.

  “The arrangement somehow seems to go with the house as though it has always been there.” Michel replied.

    “Last night I had a visitor, Michel.”

    “That so,” Michel commented again, “this news does not surprise me at all. My team and I have encountered at least two ghosts since we began the restoration of the inside of this château. It’s my suspicion that they are both males.”

    “Yes, they were,” Anita replied. “I met what I expect was the elder of the two last night. He told me that he and his paramour were forced to live a secret and separate lifestyle.”

  “Oh my, of course, many of these old châteaux and country maisons were occupied by homosexuals. That lifestyle was grudgingly tolerated even after the revolution, Catholics you know,” he replied, “and many Protestants. I know an Esprit Senstive who can tell you everything about this château. I have his number here in my pocket.”

“Do you mean a Ghost Hunter?” Anita asked.

“I suppose you could call it that, but a Ghost is only an unhappy spirit.” He said.

“My mother said the same thing before she died,” Anita said.

♦♦♦

    Jean Schroeder came into the living room where Anita was relaxing on the chaise longue in the living room near the bookshelves, reading a book. “Madam, I have a report,” he said from the doorway. He was just over six feet tall with thick wavy dark auburn hair and deep blue eyes.

    Anita looked up from her book and smiled, her own auburn hair hanging over her shoulders. “Come in, Jean,” she said, “and tell me what you have discovered?”

    Jean walked across the room and sat in the large chair across from the chaise. He set his laptop on his lap and opened it. “First of all, this château truly is enchanted and secondly, you have two male ghosts residing in the south tower suite.” He said.

    “I encountered one of them last night,” she said,” I am going to call a consignment dealer after the restoration is complete.”

    Jean was alarmed. “Madame, do not do this. Those two gentlemen live in that suite. They actually utilize the furniture. I don’t know how, but they do. I encountered what I believe to be the elder of the two a couple of hours ago, and the younger just before I came downstairs. I didn’t talk to either of them or see one, as you did last night. I sensed in my thoughts that they were talking to me though.

    “They have asked that you remove no more furniture from that suite. The things you brought down here did not belong up in that suite. They were transferred to the tower by a previous owner,” He replied. “The furniture that remains is minimal. Nobody will buy it. The previous owner tried to sell it, but when there were no buyers he brought it back to the château and put it all up in that suite.”

    “Even though it is all antique?” Anita asked.

    “It was perhaps too antique for anyone; besides I know those antique dealers, they charge twice what the piece is worth, so they can make a handsome profit after they pay the consignee,” he replied.

    “I think perhaps Philippe was a little irritated with me last night, because I didn’t believe in him.” She said.

    “I sensed this earlier, although I did not speak to him as you did last night, he was quite upset that you ignored him. He can tell you much about himself and his partner, but you must trust him. It you do this, at some point, Monsieur de Fleurs will introduce you to his paramour.”

    “I thought that if I just ignored him he would go away.” She said.

    “No, Madame, you must not do this. I had the distinct impression that both men could make life most uncomfortable for you if provoked. I sensed that each men was talented. The older was perhaps a Poet or a Philosopher, perhaps both; the other was a musician, and the musicians’ temperament is easily provoked as you know.” He said looking at the piano.”

    “Yes, I am aware of this.” She said.

    “They are cordial at this point,” Jean said, “but if you persist with your ignorance, as I said, they can make life quite uncomfortable for you.”

Chapter 3

    The French doors were open onto the balcony and Anita sat down in the chaise in the sitting area of the master. There was actually a breeze blowing tonight, and it didn’t feel as humid as it had been all day. The fresh smell of rain filled her nostrils. It must have stormed in Paris. She thought as she opened the journal and began to read. It had been two days since she’d read this. She thought that if there was actually a ghost or ghosts living in the tower suite, he or they’d appear whether she was reading the journal or not.

    “You know, you’d be right, normally,” a baritone voice replied, “but usually people are afraid of me? You’re different. You just don’t believe I exist, and that is in itself unsettling in a way.”

    “Can you hear my thoughts too?” She asked now.

    There was a gentle chuckle, the air shimmered in front of her and Philippe appeared. This time he was sitting in the chair across from her.

    “That would be an invasion of privacy, my dear.” He said.   

    “Then how did you know what I was thinking?” She asked.

    “I knew, because that’s what they all think before they vacate this room and lock the doors.” Philippe said.

    “I have no intention of leaving this room,” Anita told Philippe, “besides, Jean told me there were two of you and I would be wise not to provoke you.”

    “Wise young man, Jean,” Philippe replied, “he has been here several times, but few of the people who choose to live in this chateau take his advice. It is sad too. Many of them were quite amiable, but they just couldn’t accept that esprits can be benevolent creatures. Angry, mean esprits were angry and mean while they still lived. Neither Jules nor I were angry men by nature, but being a composer he was easily provoked.”   

    “Jean said you could make it very uncomfortable for me if I ignored your presence.” Anita said.  Why don’t you tell me about yourself, Philippe? I am curious.”

    “Esprits do not have to be mean to make life uncomfortable for a human,” he replied, “indeed, we only have to prove our existence to a living individual and they become uncomfortable,” Philippe chuckled. “The real irony comes when they are made fully cognizant of the reason they purchased a centuries-old chateau or house in the first place. 

      “I can understand that,” Anita replied, “it was not until I examined the possibility myself, that I realized how uncomfortable the truth can be.”

  “Un Moment por favor (One moment please) Madame” Philippe said standing from his chair, “but I find that I am quite thirsty. May I get you something to drink?” He said, as he walked toward the Pony Wall.

    “Please call me Anita,” she replied, “I no longer have wine or glasses up here, in the Master.” She said before she remembered that Philippe could produce a bottle of wine and glasses from mid-air.  “Tell me, Philippe, did you actually produce a bottle of wine and a glass the other night or was Jules actually in this suite with you?”

    “But of course Jules is with me, he is however quite shy with strangers. It would be quite impossible for me to do such a thing,” he said, “I am an esprit not a god you know.” He busied himself filling two glasses with wine.

    “Why don’t you invite Jules to join us? I would like to meet him.” Anita said.

    “It is safe, Mon ami, she has invited you to join us. Pour yourself a glass of wine and join us.” Philippe said as he came back into the sitting area.

    He handed a wine goblet to Anita and then stood near the chair until the air shimmered a second time. Jules was standing next to the chair. He set down his glass of wine upon the small table between the settee and the chair. 

      “Would you introduce me, Mon amour (My love)?” He said.

    “Anita Garrison, this is Jules Massenet.”

    Anita extended her hand toward Jules, but rather than shaking it, Jules caught her fingers in his and kissed her knuckles. “Beinveneu, Madame,” he replied.

    Anita’s stomach did a little flip. She had never been treated with such deference, Erick had always been polite and gentlemanly, but he had never kissed her hand; however, in today’s modern era in the United States women were seldom treated differently than men. “Merci Monsieur,” she said.
   
    “A lady should always be given the respect entitled her.” Jules replied.

    “Men in America do not see it like that,” she said, “there are scarce few who will even hold the door or a chair for the lady, and to stand up until the lady sits is unheard of.”

    “This is sadly also true in France,” Jules said, “the effects of a successful Revolution when everyone was called 'Citizen' and gender was confused.”

    Anita sat down again in the chaise, Philippe sat down on the settee, and Jules sat down in the chair caddy corner from the settee. “Monsieur,” she spoke to Philippe, “I asked you to tell me about yourself.” She said.

    Jules nodded his head and Philippe spoke. “But of course, Madame, he began, “It is a long story however. Are you quite sure you want me to begin a long narrative at this late heur?”

    “It is only eleven o’clock, Philippe,” she said, “and I rarely go to bed before midnight.”

  “It began in 1859 when Jules was nine years old and I was eleven. I met him in Etienne one day at the L’ecole de Enfants. Even at that time he was composing musique and he had much the same temperament as he exhibited four years later in Paris when we saw each other again. He was sitting on a rock writing in his notebook when I approached him.

    “Although it had been four years, Jules remembered me. I was not sure that he did, but he reassured me that I was wrong. Actually, he kissed me, right there in the playground! Of course many of the students had gone home by that time. He had just turned twelve years old at the beginning of the year.

      Jules raised a hand interrupting Philippe’s narrative. “Let me tell it from here,” he said, “I like to tell this part of the story.” He cleared his throat and delved into his part of the narrative. “Mon père had not yet died, and Ma mere was teaching me to play piano. Although le piano was never my instrument of choice I learned it well enough to be further mentored by a prominent Pianiste.

    “During the next four years Philippe and I grew very close indeed. I won La Paix de Roma, a scholarship to attend L’Academy de Musique in Rome. The summer before I went to Rome was the best summer of my life. Philippe and I cultivated a close relationship that endured through the years even though I was married, and we could be only friends and nothing more.

    “The scholarship also provided me with the opportunity to travel. When I returned to Paris four years later I was a very different man on the outside. I had a wife and I was now taller and,” he grinned, “better looking.” Do you want to tell it from here, Mon amour?” He asked.

  “Jules would begin a long tenure as le instructor at le Conservatoire, and he moved with his wife into Faculty Housing. I was studying Philosophy at University. Later that year Jules invited me to come live with him in his and Anna’s flat as it had three bedrooms.

    "Jules was hesitant at the beginning, but he introduced me to Anna who told me that Jules had told her about us. 'It is all right, Monsieur de Fleurs, Jules has told me about you and him. I am also aware that his love is not absolutely exclusive to women, but he has explained that he would never betray my love.' Jules remained true to Anna right up to the day she died.”

    “This is where I began my narrative two nights ago. Would you like me to continue?” Philippe asked.

    Anita sighed, “Perhaps you can tell me the rest tomorrow night, Philippe. I have grown tired and I am finding it very difficult to keep my eyes open. Wine does that to me.” She said.

    “Very well,” Jules said, “tomorrow evening then. Bon Noir.”

Chapter 4

Suite in South Tower


          A bottle of Chardonnay appeared to be floating in mid-air, tipped and wine gurgled into a pair of glasses; the bottle disappeared again or seemingly so but the glasses moved across the room to a settee. One of them was one of them was held out and subsequently removed from the air, as a man in a white suit came into view sitting on the settee which, like the wine and glasses, materialized from nothingness. The other glass seemingly floated to a small table sitting between the settee and a high-back Queen Anne chair.

    The chair rocked slightly, as another man appeared. He was sitting in the chair, which was set upon a swivel base.

    “Ah, Jules, Chardonnay in the morning, you violate propriety.” Philippe was sitting on the settee and chuckled as he tipped his glass and sipped the wine.

    “But Philippe, time does not exist for us. You know this.” Jules said, as he sipped from his glass of wine and then set it on the table again.

    " I know this, of course, Mon amour.

    “Philippe, I have been thinking a great deal since we returned to the suite last night,” Jules replied, and I do believe you and I can safely leave this château in the capable hands of la Madame Anita and move on to explore new horizons.”   

    “Oui, La Madame has indeed done a complete renovation as opposed to a total restoration of this château.” Philippe replied, “She is actually adding private entrances to the four towers, which means that she is going to use them to generate income to help make the payment to the realtor.”

    “I was thinking that perhaps when we finish our Cordial we can go out into the countryside around Paris and explore some of the many options for housing in one of those maisons that the Revolutionary Guard did not completely destroy.” Jules replied.

“The big irony being that they did this while bringing egality, fraternity and liberty to France.” Philippe replied.  “The Revolution was a colossal failure on all counts, because the man in charge was an Atheist and his disciples were nothing more than angry men.”

  “Even his own brother thought he was  quite insane after he proclaimed himself to be God" Jules replied, "and promoted God to a Supreme Being, which is of course, much closer to truth than the word that everyone is content to worship.

    “Ah, you are right, Mon amour,” Philippe said, “the time has indeed come for us to move-on. Nobody is going to rent an apartment in a tower inhabited by two ghosts who live on the third floor of that apartment.” He chuckled.

  “Then we should, of course, go out and explore the countryside and return before we keep our date with La Madame this evening.” Jules replied. He and Philippe touched their glasses together in a toast, the air shimmered and everything disappeared.

♦♦♦

    Earlier this evening before the caterer arrived bringing her dinner Anita carried a bottle of her best vintage Chardonnay and three glasses, upon a silver tray, up to the Master Suite. She set the tray upon the wide lipped Pony Wall and went downstairs again. After Dinner she watched two movies which she’d purchased at the open Street Market yesterday afternoon.

    One of the movies was a thirty minute documentary; the other was the full-length French version of a movie that Hollywood had signed a contract for rights to. Since it's first premier in America later that same year the movie had enjoyed three remakes (1966, 1975, and the most recent 2005 release). 

    She was thankful for the three years of French she had taken at LSU.The movie was easily understood, the actors and actresses performed the story well, and the story itself, being the original was easily understood and the message came across quite clear.

    The same message in the American adaptation was clouded by too much Hollywood and not enough truth. Being based on truth, it required a certain Professional responsibility to do more than make money.

♦♦♦

      As she walked down the corridor to the Master suite in the south west corner of the second floor, she felt a strange change in the air, something had been moved into the Master, and recently too. Anita grasped the brass lever on the double doors pushing one of them open.

    She sensed the difference before she saw it. She surveyed the large suite and sitting against the end of the built-in High–Boy chest in the alcove, sat a beautiful Strativarious violin. The bow was lying atop the chest.

    In addition to the violin, a highly polished harp sat before a straight–backed upholstered chair, and the bow lay on the round table near the chaise. Anita fully expected to see both men sitting in their chosen places, but when she looked, both pieces of furniture were vacant and the wine had not been touched.

    Anita had the sudden realization that on this night she was to become the highly privileged sole audience to a very private solo performance by a world-renowned Composer. She walked across the room and entered the large built–in oak armoire, brought out a vintage satin robe and a pair of heavy, clear plastic inch–high matching satin slippers.

♦♦♦

    When Anita returned from the bathroom her white satin robe flowed behind her every step. She felt like a queen making preparations for a special event. Her long auburn curls were still damp, but they waved obediently down the back of her satin robe, barely turning under at the ends. There was an almost otherworldly quality to her appearance. She heard movement behind her. She turned to find both men standing there watching her. She had no idea how long they had been there, but she knew they would just stand there until she sat down.

    “You are indeed as beautiful as a queen, as a matter of fact, you would put Marie Antoinette to shame. You are indeed quite beautiful, Madame.” Philippe replied.

    “Ah, oui,” Jules replied, “you put me in remembrance of my dear Anna”.
   
    “Merci Boucoup, Messieurs,” she replied, you both do me a great honor.”

    " Madame, we only give honor when it is due,” Jules replied, “There are few women as lovely as you, believe me.”

  “Jules is telling the truth Madame,” Philippe said, “after the Revolution women were content to cut their hair, dress like men, and be called 'Citizen' as opposed to the deferential titles of honor. Women today, would rather be in vogue than reveal their beauty and femininity.”

    Anita had to agree it did seem that in today’s world models were so thin their clothes just hung on them, and other women emulated that appearance at the risk of their health. She extended her arm and both men kissed the back of her hand. She sat down on the chaise in the sitting area, Philippe sat on the small settee, and Jules busied himself at the Pony Wall pouring their wine.

    “Madame, I see you have brought your favorite and best vintage for this night.” He replied with obvious pleasure. “Chardonnay has always been a favorite of ours. Is that not truth, Mon amour?” Jules asked as he looked at Philippe.

    "Oui," Philippe replied, “we drink it even when it is not dark outside, of course for an esprit, time has no meaning.”

    “One day is but a thousand years, and a thousand years is but one day, I believe is the exact quote,” Jules replied, “but then you have to be religious and gullible to believe what is written in the Holy Book. I tend to believe it is the grandest fairytale ever told or published. Religion is the grandest con ever perpetrated upon the human race. The sad thing is that every day the con scores as many millions of individuals as it loses, and life goes on.”

    Anita sipped her wine. Although she was inclined to agree with Jules, she didn’t want to get involved in a theological discussion on this night; instead, she changed the subject. “Are you going to finish your narrative, Gentlemen?” she asked.

“Ah, Madame, Pardonne moi. This is neither the place nor the time to engage in a theological discussion.” Jules replied. “But to answer your question we shall indeed finish our narrative on this night, there is however, another more urgent sujet (subject) that takes precedence,” he looked at Philippe. “Do you want to tell her or shall I, Mon amour?” He asked.

    “Merci, Mon ami,” Philippe replied as he looked at Anita, “Madame Jules and I could not help but notice that you are preparing to turn the Towers into apartments. It is a wise decision as you will need help with the payments on la château,” He grinned, “and this very afternoon Jules and I have found a maison to inhabit in the country side around Paris.”

    “But Messieurs, you don’t have to leave this château. I can close off the top floor to anyone who wishes to lease that apartment.” She said.

    " Madame, this is true of course, but there are few in Paris who will be content to share their home with two esprits; besides Mon amour and I have decided that you are indeed among the best owners to live in this château since ourselves.” Jules replied, “And you will be a very good landlord.”   

    Anita set her empty glass on the small table beside the chaise. “Will I see you again after tonight?”

  “But of course we will not abandon you,” Jules replied, “we will visit often. 

      "This chateau was after all our home for many years. Now that the immediate solution is satisfactory to both parties involved it is time to complete our narrative.”   He exchanged glances with Philippe who nodded minimally, and with another glance born of centuries of practice, Philippe began the narrative. 

    “You will of course forgive me if I fall back upon redundancy,” he replied, as he waved a hand before his face, “the years,”

    "Of course, Monsieur,” Anita replied.

    “Late one evening before we moved to this château Jules and I were in the living room of le apartment in the city when Jules threw open the balcony doors, went outside and just stood out there for a long time, letting the breeze rifle his hair.    

    “He came into the alcove again, grasped his violin from its place leaning against the chest, took his bow from atop the same chest, and walked outside again. I sat down in front of my harp, tipped it toward me, and prepared to accompany him.

    Presently, Jules positioned his violin just so, beneath his chin, drew the bow once across the strings, and began to play the solo sans la symphony. He’d played the musique every night on the piano, but since his beloved Anna died he had not played that particular musique.

    "Although the violin has always been his instrument of choice, he had always played the solo on the piano, but on this night as he played, my heart constricted and tears filled my eyes as I accompanied him. He must have played for a good ten minutes, I never really knew, but it seemed like a long time. When he was finished he just gazed into the night sky.

    "He then walked calmly into the room and closed the doors, put his violin away and walked back to the closed doors.  He leaned inward and rested his forehead upon them. It was so quiet you could have heard a mouse walk across the carpet.

    “For my part,” Philippe replied, “I will never forget that night, because I was watching the tears flow down Jules face through a blur of tears that were flowing from my own eyes. Jules turned to look at me, threw his arms into the air and proclaimed excitedly: “I have done it, Philippe! I have finished my masterpiece! It will be played worldwide for centuries to come! I have done it!”

    “Oui Mon ami,” I said, “you have done it! I am so glad for you. It was amazing!”

    Jules played that solo one more time shortly after we moved to this château, and again he proclaimed that he had finished his masterpiece. Sadly, however, after that night, he put the opera and the music away and forgot about it. Jules composed several other operas and much incidental music during the next ten years. In 1895 he suffered a stroke and spent ten days in the hospital. His physician told him that he would never compose or play musique again, and Jules determined to prove his mind was still as good as it had ever been.

    ‘Docteurs are all pessimists, he said, ‘you see the rain when the sky is blue. I will show you that my brain is just as good as it has ever been, my hands and arms work quite well. I may not be walking now, but you just wait, in another year I will be doing that too. You will see!’

    “Jules was not exaggerating either, he had a new determination and within the next five years one would never know he’d had a stroke, but for a weak leg. He might have walked with a fancy cane, but that did not stop him from writing and playing musique.”


    “I can imagine what it would have done to Jules never again to be able to do what he loved. He was very fortunate to have recovered so completely. Even today, few people are unscathed after a stroke.” Anita replied.

    “I know this is true,” Philippe said, I have watched a strong man become little more than a vegetable, but I am convinced that once the Docteurs convince these individuals that they can no longer participate in life they just give up. But Jules wasn’t like that. He did his best work after he was told that he would never succeed.

    “In 1897, Jules completed his opera and decided to retire. Even before I died in 1919 they were saying that Thais was not premiered until after Jules death. This is quite untrue, in part, for in 1900 a wealthy patron of the arts rented L’Opera Comique in Paris for two nights, and each night the theatre was filled with 125 Parisians.

    Jules did something on the first night of this private premier which he had never done for any other premier. The first night he not only attended, but he also did two encore performances of Meditation for the audience.

    “Following that performance we were sitting at the back table in the corner of our favorite restaurant around the corner from the l’opera house; Jules had this faraway look in his eyes and a serene smile on his face as he sat there: ‘Philippe, Was Anna proud of me tonight?’

    “I knew as did he that Anna was of course proud, but I was also aware that he needed to hear me say the words: ‘Jules, if Anna was listening you know she is proud of you. Nobody who heard that opera and those soloes cannot be proud. It is a shame that Monsieur Adams and your father could not have attended tonight.’

    “Twelve years later Jules played that solo for the last time right here in this suite. That night he died. There was no pain. He just closed his eyes and never opened them again.”   

♦♦♦

    The tinkling of the wind chimes hanging from the lintel of the French doors Jules was standing on the balcony.

    As if on cue, Philippe walked across the room, sat down in the upholstered chair in front of his harp, tipped it toward him and started plucking the strings as Jules came in from the balcony to get his violin. He took it back outside, stood at the rail for some time, put his violin beneath his chin, and began to play the solo.

    Anita had heard Meditation many times over the years and she always thought it was one of the most beautiful soloes she’d ever heard.  It was played at her uncle’s memorial service and she’d given a CD to the rabbi requesting that it be played at her mother’s funeral.

    She had even seen the opera once, but she was convinced now, as she listened, that nobody could play a masterpiece as well as the composer himself. When Jules was finished, he stood on the balcony for a long time, but instead of coming into the suite, everything just disappeared as though it had never been there. Everything was gone including Jules and Philippe.

    “Ah, Madame, do not worry. We are fine and we will return. Bon Noir.” Philippe said.

     

Epilogue

    Tonight was the fifth anniversary of the night Jules and Philippe retired to their country maison. They still visited Anita often, Jean leased the apartment in the south Tower, and she and Jean were later married.

    They grew close and he moved into a suite on the second floor in the main house. Several months later they were married in Paris. Although they couldn’t be seen, Jules and Philippe’s presence was felt, and on their wedding night Jean had found a rather large present wrapped in lovely satin sheen paper, tied with a beautiful blue bow.

    It was sitting on the round oak table in the center of the suite between the bedroom and the sitting room. Jean unwrapped it, opened the beautiful Mahogany box, he lifted a Brass fleur de lis out of the box and set it atop the marble mantle over the white stone fireplace. He read the note in the bottom of the box. Congratulations on your nuptials. Jules and Philippe.
   
      Last week when Philippe arrived for their weekly visit, Jules wasn’t with him and when Jean asked why, Philippe said Jules was not doing well. She and Jean realized that he was saying that Jules had been fully absorbed by the spirit realm and he could no longer materialize.

    “I am sorry, Philippe,” she said.

    “Ah, but my time will come very shortly,” he replied, “Jules’ purpose was fulfilled the day you and Jean were married.”

    “I always believed that you had brought Jean and me together,” she said.

    “It was not quite like that, Madame,” Philippe replied, “but when le monsieur moved into the south tower apartment Jules merely suggested that Jean take action on his attraction to you. Le young monsieur took it from there, but it does seem that Jules’ advice was on the mark, no?”

    “Oui, Monsieur, Jules’ advice was indeed on target,” she replied.

♦♦♦

    Jean entered the suite interrupting her thoughts as he closed the door again. He held up a CD case. “What is that?” Anita asked.

    “I found it lying on the mantle over the living room fireplace.” He said. “What do want to bet that it is the final performance of Meditation that Jules played for you on the night before he and Philippe left for the country?”

    “This wouldn’t  be surprising,” she replied.

      Jean deposited the tape on the table as he passed on his way to the chaise in the sitting room. He extended his arm, kissed her knuckles, pulled her up from the chaise and into his arms closing them around her as he bent his head and kissed her.

    He raised his head, and looking into her eyes he said, “Let us table further discussion on this topic, I can think of more stimulating performances; besides, I fully intend for my wife to conceive a son before the end of this year.” He grinned, lifted her into his arms, carried her to the bed, and deposited her in the middle of  the warm comforter and proceeded to unfasten her robe.

    "I see you are in agreement with my agenda then," he said as he slid it over her shoulders.