are sooo lucky! I wish
I were lucky! I wish I had a rich husband who would die and leave me all his money. Life is sooo unfair. Especially for women.
Men make all the rules and they make them to suit themselves. Do
you think that is true?”
“Yes, quite true.”
“It’s sooo unfair, don’t you
think?”
“Yes,” agreed the Countess,
“most unfair.”
“Sublime – I like that word.
Some men say my voice is a gift from God. I think it’s a gift from
the angels. What do you think?”
“I really cannot say either
way. Does it matter?”
“Oh, yes! I speak to angels,
you see. I think they might stop speaking to me if I turned my back
on them. I see auras too. You have a lovely aura, all yellow and
blue, like fields of sunflowers and stretches of summer sky.”
The grandfather clock chimed
the hour. It was eight o’clock. Time was ticking away, but the
observation of sunflowers and blue skies pulled the Countess up
short – yellow and blue - the colours of the Ukrainian flag. The
Countess urged herself to get a grip before her fertile imagination
got the better of her. It was time to get to work.
“Do you mind if I take a closer
look at the shroud?”
“Oh, not at all! Here, let me
help you.”
In the blink of an eye the
diaphanous fairy leapt off her perch and caught hold of the shroud.
It fluttered over their heads like a giant butterfly before coming
to rest on the floor of the gallery. Before the Countess could
thank the sprite she had disappeared. Thank goodness for that, she
thought, happy to be able to examine the ghost image without
interruption. But just as suddenly as the sprite had disappeared
she suddenly reappeared, this time with a glittering silver
candelabra in her hand.
“I thought you might need more
light,” she said helpfully, placing the candelabra carefully on the
bare boards.
The Countess was on her hands
and knees going over the every inch of the ghost image while the
fey creature garbled on about angels and auras. She had a
heart-shaped face and lips that formed a perpetual smile that would
have looked happy even when the person inside was sad. Hundreds of
women would have killed for that smile. One of the Countess’s
tutors had once informed her that the size of our eyes at birth,
are the size they will always be. The fairy creature had eyes so
large she looked like she’d just been born. They sparkled
incessantly and looked so full of wide-eyed innocence they charmed
without even trying. It was impossible to imagine them ever looking
dishonest or coquettish which made them even more irresistible.
“Your companion has a pale
aura. He must be suffering poor health. There is an unhealthy cloud
hanging over him.”
The fairy expressed her
personal opinions with all the candour and youthful naivety of a
girl-child, refreshing at first, but after a short time the sweet
sing-song voice began to grate. There were several times during the
one-sided colloquy the Countess wanted to stop what she was doing,
take the young woman by the shoulders and give her a violent shake.
In the end she simply stopped listening and gave her concentration
over to the shroud.
After a brief examination it
became obvious that it was not a scorch mark that had produced the
image and that meant her initial germ of an idea was all wrong. The
image could not have been achieved by placing the wet cloth on a
heated bas-relief in order to transfer the likeness of the 3
dimensional carving onto the cloth. Back in Odessa she had had free
run of the estate of her step-father and had often visited the
serfs at their labours. One of her favourite serfs was Xenia’s
godmother who worked in the ironing room. It was a prestigious
position. To iron the damask tablecloths, the fine bed-linen, and
the expensive dresses of the ladies of the house without scorching
the garments required great care and not a little knowledge of all
the different delicate fabrics such as satin, silk, taffeta,
velvet, muslin and linen,
I were lucky! I wish I had a rich husband who would die and leave me all his money. Life is sooo unfair. Especially for women.
Men make all the rules and they make them to suit themselves. Do
you think that is true?”
“Yes, quite true.”
“It’s sooo unfair, don’t you
think?”
“Yes,” agreed the Countess,
“most unfair.”
“Sublime – I like that word.
Some men say my voice is a gift from God. I think it’s a gift from
the angels. What do you think?”
“I really cannot say either
way. Does it matter?”
“Oh, yes! I speak to angels,
you see. I think they might stop speaking to me if I turned my back
on them. I see auras too. You have a lovely aura, all yellow and
blue, like fields of sunflowers and stretches of summer sky.”
The grandfather clock chimed
the hour. It was eight o’clock. Time was ticking away, but the
observation of sunflowers and blue skies pulled the Countess up
short – yellow and blue - the colours of the Ukrainian flag. The
Countess urged herself to get a grip before her fertile imagination
got the better of her. It was time to get to work.
“Do you mind if I take a closer
look at the shroud?”
“Oh, not at all! Here, let me
help you.”
In the blink of an eye the
diaphanous fairy leapt off her perch and caught hold of the shroud.
It fluttered over their heads like a giant butterfly before coming
to rest on the floor of the gallery. Before the Countess could
thank the sprite she had disappeared. Thank goodness for that, she
thought, happy to be able to examine the ghost image without
interruption. But just as suddenly as the sprite had disappeared
she suddenly reappeared, this time with a glittering silver
candelabra in her hand.
“I thought you might need more
light,” she said helpfully, placing the candelabra carefully on the
bare boards.
The Countess was on her hands
and knees going over the every inch of the ghost image while the
fey creature garbled on about angels and auras. She had a
heart-shaped face and lips that formed a perpetual smile that would
have looked happy even when the person inside was sad. Hundreds of
women would have killed for that smile. One of the Countess’s
tutors had once informed her that the size of our eyes at birth,
are the size they will always be. The fairy creature had eyes so
large she looked like she’d just been born. They sparkled
incessantly and looked so full of wide-eyed innocence they charmed
without even trying. It was impossible to imagine them ever looking
dishonest or coquettish which made them even more irresistible.
“Your companion has a pale
aura. He must be suffering poor health. There is an unhealthy cloud
hanging over him.”
The fairy expressed her
personal opinions with all the candour and youthful naivety of a
girl-child, refreshing at first, but after a short time the sweet
sing-song voice began to grate. There were several times during the
one-sided colloquy the Countess wanted to stop what she was doing,
take the young woman by the shoulders and give her a violent shake.
In the end she simply stopped listening and gave her concentration
over to the shroud.
After a brief examination it
became obvious that it was not a scorch mark that had produced the
image and that meant her initial germ of an idea was all wrong. The
image could not have been achieved by placing the wet cloth on a
heated bas-relief in order to transfer the likeness of the 3
dimensional carving onto the cloth. Back in Odessa she had had free
run of the estate of her step-father and had often visited the
serfs at their labours. One of her favourite serfs was Xenia’s
godmother who worked in the ironing room. It was a prestigious
position. To iron the damask tablecloths, the fine bed-linen, and
the expensive dresses of the ladies of the house without scorching
the garments required great care and not a little knowledge of all
the different delicate fabrics such as satin, silk, taffeta,
velvet, muslin and linen,
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