Page 64 of The Seven Sisters
48, Avenue de Marigny
Paris
France
9th April 1928
Dearest Mãe and Pai,
Well, here I am back in Paris after Italy. (I hope you received the letter I wrote to you from there.) Maria Elisa and her mother are feeling much better than they were when we were last here, so we have spent the past few days enjoying the sights of the city. We have been to the Louvre and seen the Mona Lisa, to the Sacré-Cœur in an area called Montmartre, where Monet, Cézanne and many other of the great French painters have lived and worked, and we have strolled in the magnificent Tuileries Garden and climbed to the top of the Arc de Triomphe. There are so many other sights still left to see – the Eiffel Tower being one of them – that I’m sure I will never become bored.
Just walking along the streets here is an experience, and Mãe, you would love the shops! The streets nearby contain the salons of many of the great French designers, and I have an appointment for my first wedding dress fitting, as Senhora Aires Cabral suggested, at the house of Lanvin in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré.
The women here are so chic, and even if they can only afford to buy from a department store, like Le Bon Marché, they are still turned out as stylishly as the rich. And the food . . . Pai, I must tell you that your daughter has eaten escargots, little snails cooked in garlic, butter and herbs. You must coax them out of their shells with tiny forks. I found them delicious, although I must admit the frogs’ legs were not to my taste.
At night, the city does not seem to sleep, and from my window I can hear the sound of a jazz orchestra playing from the hotel across the street. This kind of music is played in many places in Paris, and Senhor da Silva Costa has said we can go and listen one night, in a respectable establishment, of course.
I am well and very happy, and am trying to make the most of this wonderful opportunity I’ve been given and not waste a second of it. The da Silva Costas have been very kind, although Senhor da Silva Costa has been in Germany for the past ten days, and will return tonight.
I have also met a young Brazilian woman from Rio, who came here for tea with her mother two days ago. Her name is Margarida Lopes de Almeida and you may recognise her mother’s name, for she is Julia Lopes de Almeida, who has earned great acclaim as a writer in Brazil. Margarida is here on a scholarship, granted by the Escola Nacional de Belas Artes in Rio, and is presently in Paris learning the technique of sculpture. She has told me there are courses that run at the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts and I was thinking that I might try my hand at one. I have become very interested in the subject, due to Senhor da Silva Costa’s influence.
I will write again next week, but for now, I send you love and kisses across the sea.
Your loving daughter,
Izabela
Bel put down her ink pen on the writing desk, stretched and looked out of the window. In the past few days, the trees below her had blossomed and were now covered in delicate pink flowers. When a breeze blew, they fell like scented rain onto the pavements, covering them in a layer of petals.
She looked at the clock on the desk and saw it was just past four in the afternoon. She had already written to Loen telling her of Italy and there was plenty of time to pen a third letter to Gustavo before changing for dinner. But Bel was disinclined to do so, for she found it so difficult to match the loving sentiments of the letters she received every few days from him.
Perhaps she would write later, she thought, as she stood up and wandered to the coffee table, absent-mindedly placing a bonbon in her mouth and chewing it. The apartment was quiet, although she could hear the hum of the boys’ voices, busy with their lessons next door in the dining room. Maria Georgiana and Maria Elisa were both taking their afternoon naps.
Heitor, she’d been told, would be back from Munich in time for dinner with the family, and Bel would be glad of his presence. She knew she’d have to contain her eagerness to remind him about Laurent and his wish to sculpt her for a day or so, but at least the appearance of Margarida Lopes de Almeida in the apartment had cheered her up. As Margarida and Maria Elisa’s mothers had chatted, the two girls had also talked. And in Margarida, Bel had sensed a kindred spirit.
‘Have you been to Montparnasse?’ Bel had asked quietly as they sat drinking tea.
‘Yes, many times,’ Margarida had whispered to her. ‘But you mustn’t tell anyone. We both know that Montparnasse is not the place for well-brought-up young ladies.’
Margarida had promised to come back and visit her again soon, and share details of the sculpture course she was taking at the Beaux-Arts school.
‘Surely Senhor da Silva Costa cannot disapprove, given that Professor Landowski would be one of your tutors?’ Margarida had added as she’d left. ‘À bientôt,Izabela.’
*
Heitor duly arrived home later that evening, looking grey and exhausted from his long journey. Bel listened as he expanded on the delights ofBavaria, the statue he’d seen in Germany. But he also told them ominous tales of the rise of the National Socialist German Workers’ party, under a man called Adolf Hitler.
‘Have you decided on who you will choose to make your sculpture of theCristo?’ asked Bel, as the maid placed generous slices of tarte Tatin in front of each of them.
‘I have thought of nothing else on my long journey back to Paris,’ answered Heitor, ‘and I am still leaning towards Landowski, since his work displays such perfect artistic balance. It is modern, but has a simplicity and a timeless quality that I think would work well for the project.’
‘I am glad you feel that,’ Bel ventured. ‘Having met him and been to hisatelier, I liked his realistic approach. And his technical skill is obvious to anyone.’
‘Well, it’s not obvious to someone who has never seen it,’ grumbled Maria Georgiana, as she sat at Heitor’s side. ‘Perhaps you will allow me too to meet the man who will design the outer vision of your preciousCristo?’
‘Of course, my dear,’ Heitor agreed swiftly. ‘If that is what I finally decide.’
‘I thought his assistant was very accomplished too,’ said Bel, desperately trying to prompt Heitor’s memory.
