Alexis watched from her perch on the second level balcony as the elderly man slowly shuffled into the cavernous building. Each of his steps echoed through the granite foyer as if to announce his much anticipated arrival. As she descended the massive staircase, the young woman noted that today the man was holding onto a walker for assistance rather than his usual cane. In spite of the fact that she knew nothing about the man, Alexis was accustomed to seeing him almost daily as she had been working at this museum for nearly three years now. Due to this continual exposure, she was able to observe that his spark of life grew weaker and he appeared frailer with each passing week. Although she had often acknowledged his presence, she had never taken the time to do anything but say ‘hello’ and rush off to complete her work tasks.
She believed that the man must be lonely as he never came to the museum accompanied by others. She rarely noticed people stopping to speak to him other than the occasional security guard. For some reason, today Alexis felt compelled to find out his story and perhaps ease his isolation for a time. Checking her calendar, she cleared a few hours from her schedule and made a decision that this would be the day that she would finally sit with him to talk.
She walked over to the bench where the man had settled near the painting of The Little Girl in a Blue Ribbon by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. She had always been drawn to this work and the elderly gentleman sat in this exact location each day. Now eager to hear what he had to say, Alexis quickly introduced herself to him. Slowly he looked up at her, not really understanding that she was actually speaking to him. Gently and in a softer voice, she repeated her name and asked about his well-being.
He offered his hand and said “I am Michel Beaumont and I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance. I was wondering how long it would take for you to come sit with me.”
Alexis turned red with embarrassment. “I am sorry that I did not introduce myself to you before, Mr. Beaumont. I am never certain if people wish for company in the museum or if they wish to just enjoy the art and be left alone.”
He answered “That is true but I thought you would be curious about why I always sit in this same spot after so many years.”
“You are right, sir. I am curious about you. I have often wondered why you come to this place each day and why you sit in front of this same painting. The museum houses many other great works by this artist besides this one of which you seem so fond.”
He sat, quiet for a few moments, with his eyes no longer focused in the present as if he was visiting another place and time in his far distant memories. He suddenly smiled broadly and said “I believe that behind every painting there is a story to be discovered. I guess you will think that the one about the little girl in this painting is quite the tale and I should tell you what I have come to know. Perhaps you will find some lessons in the experiences I have had in my lifetime. It will take me a little time to relate this account and I do not wish to keep you from your work. Are you certain you can spare an hour or so to listen to the ramblings of an old man?”
Alexis simply nodded her head “I have all the time you need, Mr. Beaumont.”
“All right then, I will start at the beginning. A long, long time ago, I was born in the south of France, not too far from the city of Marseille. In fact it was nearly a hundred years ago as I recently had my ninety-sixth birthday. My father was the son of a very wealthy Jewish banker and my mother was the daughter of a poor Christian fisherman. They were not exactly the perfect match based on society’s standards of the early twentieth century but according to my mother, they loved each other deeply and together they conceived a child. My parents never married and I did not have the opportunity to even meet my father. I found out when I was in my teens that my father was a fighter pilot during the First World War and he had died in an air combat mission in 1917 just before I was born.
I had a wonderful childhood but I was always saddened by the fact that I did not know my father or his family. I believe that family is very important and it seemed that I was missing out on being a whole person without this necessary connection to my father.
I was raised in my grandparents’ home where I lived with my mother until I joined the army right after Paris fell to the Germans in 1940. I have been witness to some terrible events which have left me with mental, emotional and physical scars. The worst of these wounds were inflicted on me when the Germans were defeated and their atrocities were discovered. I was devastated to learn of the many victims who had been sent to the concentration camps and this knowledge continues to haunt me to this very day.
Once I was given an honorable discharge from the army, I returned to Marseille to help with the family business. Perhaps because my father was Jewish, I was determined to find out if any of my father’s relatives had been sent to the death camps. I spent years researching those who had perished in the camps under the sadistic cruelty of the Nazis. I also tried to unlock the secrets of my ancestry during that time frame as well.
My mother had very little information regarding my father’s family but what little she had was a good starting point. Using the limited knowledge, I was able to determine my father’s lineage and find out facts about several family members.”
Alexis had a perplexed look on her face not understanding where he was going with his story and started to interrupt. Mr. Beaumont held up one hand to stop her and said “I am sure you are wondering what all this has to do with this painting and your museum but you will soon understand. Bear with me just a few minutes longer.”
He took a deep breath before continuing “My father’s grandfather was Louis Cahen d’Anvers, a very wealthy Jewish banker who died in 1922. He married Louise de Morpurgo and together they had two sons and three daughters. As was typical of the time, he wished to have portraits of his children painted. He decided to employ an artist who was experimenting with new techniques in painting and one who did not always paint in the classical style. The artist was Pierre-Auguste Renoir. This man commissioned Renoir to paint the portraits of his daughters, Irene, Elisabeth and Alice. This painting of the little girl with the blue ribbon is the portrait of my grandmother, Irene at the age of eleven. I sit and stare at this young girl and I feel as if I am there with her. I wish I could have known her in this lifetime but it allows me to feel somehow strangely connected to my father just knowing that this beautiful child was his mother.”
Alexis gasped “That is amazing. How did you find this out?”
Mr. Beaumont sighed “As I said, it is a difficult story to hear so if you would like me to continue I will.”
Alexis nodded “Please I would like to hear the whole thing. I promise I will not interrupt you again.”
“It seems that when the portraits were completed, my great-grandparents detested them and hung them in a service area of the hotel where they lived. Even though they were aware that Renoir was using a modern technique called Impressionism when they hired him, they were furious at the outcome of the paintings. My great-grandfather went so far as to not pay Renoir for his work in a timely manner. In fact, my ancestors ended up paying him much less than was normally required for a commissioned piece of artwork of the time. It seems that Renoir kept extremely good records with his finances so that information was fairly easy to obtain.”
Alexis shook her head in disbelief “So he earned very little money for this masterpiece. I heard that this painting had been lost for many years and only reappeared after the end of World War II. Where was the painting and how was it found?”
“Show a little patience and listen to the rest of my story, my dear and I believe all of your questions will be answered. I am just about to explain all that I have found out over many years of conducting my extensive research.” Mr. Beaumont continued.
“My grandmother Irene, the young girl in this painting, married my grandfather, Moise de Camondo in 1891. They had two children together, my father, Nissim and my aunt, Beatrice before they divorced. My grandmother wen
t on to marry a Christian nobleman and she converted to Christianity. As I have already said, my father died during an air battle in 1917 so my aunt inherited their father’s great wealth after the death of my grandfather.
Because my father’s family was Jewish, my Aunt Beatrice, her husband and two children along with my Grand Aunt Elisabeth were sent to Auschwitz. The Nazis stole all of the family property including this painting. I came to find out that my relatives were put to death in the gas chambers as soon as they arrived at this notorious concentration camp.
My grandmother Irene however, was spared because she now had a Christian surname. After the divorce from my grandfather, she had married a Christian nobleman and had taken his name even though she later had also divorced this man. I was able to discover that my grandmother lived in Paris through the war years and up until her death in 1963. When the artworks and other property that had been stolen by the Germans were recovered, this painting was among them. My grandmother recognized the portrait that had been painted of her by Renoir so many years before and had it finally returned to her. She later sold it to the current owner and this museum.”
Alexis looked dumbfounded “Did you ever meet your grandmother, Irene? Did your father’s family know that you were his son?”
The elderly gentleman sat for a moment not speaking as if lost in all the old memories inside his mind before saying “I wrote a letter once to my grandmother after I was able to locate her. In it I explained that I was her grandson and I gave her quite a bit of family history from all of the research I had done. However, I was never brave enough to mail it. I finally got up enough courage to go to visit her and I planned on giving her the letter at our first meeting. Unfortunately, by the time I traveled to Paris and arrived at her home it was too late. She had recently died and I never got the opportunity to tell her that I was her grandson. I still have the letter in my possession. Would you like to read it?”
The young woman said quietly “Yes, I would like to read the letter you wrote to your grandmother. This story is very moving. Did you ever marry and have children?”
Mr. Beaumont shook his head “I was married for a short time but it did not last. I believe that the disintegration of my marriage was due to my preoccupation with the past. No, my wife and I did not have any children. With all the sorrow and the horror I had seen when I was a soldier; I did not wish to bring children into this world. As I have aged, I think that may have been a mistake not becoming a father. I now believe that I would have been a very good parent. I regret that I have lived my life dreaming solely of the past always wishing for something that could never be. For all of my many years on this earth, I have not lived for the present nor have I even considered a future.”
Alexis said “I find your story very compelling but I hate to think that you are alone in the world. What about your mother’s family? Do you have any relatives left through that side?”
“My mother’s parents died during the war and my mother died about a year after my return to our home in Marseille. I think that they could not bear all that had occurred during that long terrible war and they no longer had the strength to start all over again. I was an only child of an only child so there is no one still alive. As I said, I returned to Marseille and took over my grandfather’s fishing business. I managed to make it successful after many years of hard work. I have never wanted for material possessions but I have always felt I lacked in personal and family relationships.”
The pair sat in silence for a few moments as the young woman considered the lessons which could be learned from Mr. Beaumont’s story. He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a yellowed letter which was very creased from having been folded and unfolded numerous times over the past fifty years. He pressed the letter into Alexis’ hand and she took it from him.
He said “Read it when you are alone and think of me.”
Without warning, the elderly gentleman suddenly turned very pale and clutched his chest. He fell to his side as Alexis called out for help. In all the ensuing confusion, he reached for her hand for solace. She held onto it and then cradled his head in her lap to calm him. She tried to comfort and soothe him until the medics could arrive. He kept trying to speak all the while Alexis would urge him to stay quiet and still.
He continued to hold her hand as if trying with all his remaining strength to hold on to his dwindling life force. In a faint whisper which was difficult to decipher, he managed to say “Please remember to read my letter so I know that what I did meant something to someone else as well. It is not good to go through your life aimlessly and one must have a purpose. One lesson I should have learned is that you must forgive and try to forget the past. You will never live fully until you are able to move forward. Promise me you will try to do this and you will master the lessons I never could.” With tears in her eyes, Alexis nodded her head and swore she would try. Seemingly content with her reply, Mr. Beaumont closed his eyes one final time and died.
The young woman continued to hold the elderly man in her arms until the medics came to relieve her. They moved him from her lap to start CPR but it was too late. After several minutes of heroic attempts the time of death for the elderly man was announced and noted for the death certificate. The medics carefully placed him on the gurney and covered the old man with a sheet before wheeling his body out to the waiting ambulance.
Alexis stood watching long after they had taken the old man out the door. She held the letter in her hand and looked at it in a pensive manner without reading the contents. Checking her watch she shook her head at the seemingly wasted hours she had spent in talking with the old man. She had deadlines and commitments to keep and now she would have to work late into the evening to make up for all this lost time.
She crumbled the old yellowed letter into a ball and dropped it in the wastebasket in her office. Without another thought to the promises she had just made to the dying man, she went back to her desk to finish her work for the day.
Late in the afternoon, Alexis made her way back to the trash receptacle. She turned the can upset down to empty its contents onto the hardwood flooring. She quickly located the elderly man’s letter as the yellowed fragile linen paper was easy to spot amongst the lesser quality of the copy paper. She gently pried the paper out of the ball shape she had tossed earlier in the day and smoothed it out with her hands.
With tears flowing from her eyes, Alexis read the document written so many years ago by a man who wished only to connect with his family. When she was finished she carefully placed the letter in a fresh manila file folder and labeled it with the elderly gentleman’s name and the date.
Speaking aloud to an empty room, she said “Thank you Mr. Beaumont for sharing your story with me. I will cherish this letter for all time. I hope you are now with your father, your mother and all your family in heaven. I am very happy that you have earned your final rest after your long difficult life on earth. You must know that you have touched my spirit and I am changed for the better for having spent time with you. May you walk in the light with God.”
Alexis gathered her belongings and left for the night. Tomorrow was another day filled with promise of many new experiences to enjoy and savor. For now though, just as she had vowed, she would focus only on the present while living solely and completely in the moment.
THE END
ONCE MORE BACK
by Gay Ingram
https://www.amazon.com/Gay-Ingram/e/B008VS6AJI