After the nurse was gone my father became more than ever our comrade,
and a better one two children never had. Oh, those long excursions to
Versailles, Montmartre, and Fontainebleau, our boat trips up and down
the Seine, and our shorter jaunts within the city! What happiness it
was to us when he came in whistling and cried, “Donald, Maizie, you are
horribly bad children, and I’m going to take you on a lark to punish
you!” After time spent in filling our lunch-basket with big rolls
bought at the _boulangerie_, a few sous’ worth of cherries or other
fruit lengthily bargained for with the _fruitier_, and a half litre of
cheap wine, plus whatever other luxuries our imaginations or our
appetites could suggest, away we would go for a long day of pure
delight, whether passed under green trees or wandering through
galleries and museums. My father was an encyclopædia of information,
and had the knack of making knowledge interesting to the child mind. He
could re-create a bygone period from a battle-axe or a _martel de fer_,
the personality of a queen from her lace ruff or stomacher, and the
history of plant growth from a fern or flower. If his mind had been
allowed to expand when he was young, instead of being stunted in a
broker’s office, I believe he might have been one of the world’s great
writers or critics.
Under such stimulating tutelage our progress in those two years was
really wonderful. No subject my father touched upon could remain dull;
we were at a receptive age when the mind is fresh and elastic for all
that interests it, and Paris was a great picture-book to illustrate
what he taught us. We did not know we were studying far deeper into
subjects than many educated people ever go. I laugh still at your
telling the old German on the train to Sèvres the history of the Faust
plot, and at his amazed “Ach, zo!” to hear such erudition pour from
your childish lips. I think you were the cleverer and the quicker, but
there was no competition, only fellowship about our learning. I suppose
you were above rivalry, as you are above all mean things.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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