Читать книгу Revelation by Elohim. The Mystery of Diana de’Poitier - Claude Angie - Страница 4

She looked at the ugly old man, and revulsion pierced her heart. He looked at her with his fishy, cold eyes and she said yes. Now he is her husband. A thought flashed through my head, and like a wounded bird plunged into darkness.

They were sitting at a beautifully set silver table. The morning was lovely. The birds chirped happily and a fragrant breeze blew from the open window. She looked down at the omelet, trying to pretend she was eating. Thoughts swirled in a string of tangled chains, wedding night memories, burning her brain. Cold, dry and rough hands on his skin, and such a disgusting smell of his body. Somewhere there, in the depths of her soul, something broke and fell into a bottomless abyss, black and cold, the same as this night. The memory stabbed with almost physical pain in her temple, as if a shot echoed somewhere inside her heart. She tightened her grip on the fork. And then, long-term use of a sponge and water. She rubbed herself so hard, trying to wash off his touch that her skin turned red. Well, then. Oh, nightmare! His presence is near and his smell is so unpleasant. Her whole being was filled with disgust for him, for her father, for the whole world! So she lay on the edge of the bed until day touched the window. His voice brought her out of the cold memory like a slap in the face. She shuddered involuntarily.

My dear. He said.

Do you like breakfast?

I see you are not eating anything.

So what good are you weakening. But, an exhausted woman, he continued, cannot bear healthy children.

Children? Horror gripped her in a cold grip, and it became difficult for her to breathe.

Children! His children! The very thought that inside her womb there would be a particle of him, this person, led her to indescribable horror. Her stomach ached and she thought she was going to vomit.

But keeping her composure, she looked at him coldly and answered.

That she doesn’t have such a hearty breakfast in her habits and promised that at lunchtime she would definitely be hungry and eat everything.

I hope, I hope. He answered.

Breakfast was finally finished.

She never ate a bite.

He got up and said that he was going on a horse ride to go around the estate. She replied that she was tired and would stay at home. He went to the exit and already at the door suddenly turned and said.

My dear.

How lucky you are! You are now Madame de Brese!

Even yesterday, you could not imagine and hope for such a great success in your life! He said to her, curling his thin lips into a semblance of a smile, and left.

And she remained standing humiliated and insulted to the depths of her soul by his words. Only her eyes for a moment flashed with a yellow fire and somewhere far away, in the very depths, lit up with burning hatred for the retreating figure of the Comte de Molvrier.

She clenched her little fists so tightly that her nails dug into her skin and drops of blood oozed from the wounds. And the heart seemed to sink into emptiness and stopped beating forever.

Winter, winter!

Everything outside the window dressed in white clothes and ruined the already not very good roads. A year has passed since her marriage. The count had been absent for over a month. Going to Paris on business. But what the count was doing, everyone knew, perhaps. Despite his almost incredible parsimony, the count was an avid gambler. It is not known how such incompatible qualities as incredible stinginess and a gambler were intertwined in him.

He forced his young wife, who was already pregnant, to walk in indecently patched petticoats for his meager outfits. Diana only had a few decent dresses. Fortunately or unfortunately for her, Diana almost never appeared. Upon learning of her pregnancy, she fell into deep melancholy, secretly hoping for a miscarriage. The pregnancy was difficult. She was even paler than usual and had dark circles under her eyes. The contractions began unexpectedly. She felt pain, bending over, groaned. She understood what had begun. The servant who was with her came running to her call. The maid screamed, waving her arms.

Oh, you’re giving birth, madam! Oh oh! She repeated.

The maid helped her to the bed.

They sent for an experienced midwife who took on more than one birth. Enough time passed, and the Countess gave birth.

Everything turned out well, she gave birth to a girl.

Madam, it’s a girl. The midwife said. She wanted to bring the baby to her mother.

Take it away, came the dull voice of the Countess. Take it away, Diana repeated, hoarsely.

Get her away from me, she repeated. Not wanting to look at the child. The old woman was taken aback. Diana, white as death itself, with blue lips, repeated breathlessly.

Take it away! I told you!

But what about, madam? The beginning was an old woman. The Countess sat up in bed, pale with tangled hair, her eyes widening. She looked at the child with full eyes, it seemed of some kind of horror.

Take her away! She repeated it firmly, turning away from her daughter.

Find a wet nurse, let them bring a woman here. Do you understand me?! She gave the order to the maid holding the crying child. His scream cut her to pieces like a knife, but she did not look in his direction.

Come on already! She cried out, unable to bear this agony any longer.

Leave me alone. Finally, she said softly, as if her last strength had left her. The old woman and the maid did not move, not yet recovering from her words.

Go ahead! She screamed at them, pulling them out of their stupor. Finally, they left, taking the child with them.

A week passed, she was sitting by the large fireplace, wrapped in a large woolen blanket, and her eyes fixed on the window. She looked at the coldness of nature, the frosty patterns of the world. She has not seen her daughter since her birth. I only asked the servant how a child was and whether she was healthy. The nurse was quickly found, it was a pink-cheeked, healthy woman. The Countess ordered the servant who entered the room to be called.

After a while a woman waddled into the room with a brisk gait. She stopped next to the Countess. Diana looked from the window to the woman and asked her in a quiet, calm voice.

How is my daughter?

Madam, very good. The woman answered.

Eats for two.

Smiling innocently, she said.

My tomboy is barely enough.

But, I have more than enough milk. She hastened to assure the Countess. Afraid that she might think that she has little milk and will look for a replacement for her.

Would you like to take a look at her? Timidly, she added, looking down.

The Countess sighed wearily.

No, not now, later. She added, thoughtfully.

You can go now. She finished the conversation. Moving again my gaze to the cold landscapes outside the window. The woman waddled to the exit. Suddenly, as if remembering something, Diana called the woman’s name.

Margarita.

The woman turned around.

Thanks, Diana added quietly, and smiled wearily at the nurse. And she answered her with a bright, open, sincere and happy smile. Which only a loving mother who remembered her child has.

What are you talking about, madam. Yes, not at all. She answered good-naturedly and left the room.

Poitier stared at the cold outside the window again, her gaze fixed.

Cold, she thought.

God! So cold! She said barely audibly. Feeling cold inside with all my being.

I have a daughter. Even more quietly, she spoke her thoughts aloud. Not noticing that she is talking to herself.

But why is it so cold?! A thought flashed.

She saw her daughter a month later. They brought her a rosy-cheeked girl, already rounded in the milk of a country woman. She looked at the child, but the cold did not disappear, only her heart pricked, as if it had been pierced with a thin needle. The girl smiled at her mother, the countess smiled back at her. The baby looked at her as if she knew that she was her mother. Looking at her with interest, and now and then, touching her with his little hands. After holding the baby in her arms for some time, Diana gave the baby to the nurse. Strange, but the girl suddenly burst into tears, finding herself in the arms of the nurse, as if she knew exactly who her mother was. Diana felt the pain of the needle in her heart again. And then, again, the cold filled her entire being. So the second meeting of mother and daughter took place.

The count returned from Paris.

He was extremely annoyed and dissatisfied.

Why do I need girls?! He repeated.

They’re useless!

I need an heir!

Do you hear, Madam?!

As if she was the fault of the daughter being born instead of her son. Diana raised her eyes, cold and dark as night.

Well, pray to the Lord! Monsieur!

He might hear you! She rapped out coldly.

He looked at her and snorted in displeasure, continuing to mutter something, nervously left the room.

The girl was named Louise.

She was three years old when her sister, who was named Françoise, was born.

Like the eldest daughter, the Countess gave her to the nurse. The count was simply furious. He vomited and thrashed, telling Diana rather rudely.

You give birth to some girls!

You seem to do it for my evil! He blamed her.

I need an heir! He shouted.

No good from you!

You are useless!

Poitiers turned pale, she was tormented by only one desire that he would finally shut up!

Be silent forever!

She wanted to kill him!

Oh yes!

She looked at him and thought how wonderful it would be to never hear him again!

She even imagined how best to do it.

Poison or knife?!

Which is better?

But, Poitiers was incredibly God-fearing and a believer and her thoughts were just thoughts, and perhaps this was the only thing that stopped her from taking such a step.

And she just answered coldly.

You seem to be praying badly for an heir, monsieur! She parried evil.

Their life flowed monotonously and monotonously, the count very often went to Paris. As he spoke on business. Poitiers, it was completely indifferent where he was. He was on the road more often than on his estate. Diana was only glad of this. Years passed. Winter changed imperceptibly to summer. Poitiers saw her grown-up daughters often. The eldest was nine, and the youngest was only six. Both girls were surprisingly very similar to their father. They weren’t very pretty. They had the same delicate features, the same colorless eyes and a thin nose. They took all the facial features from the count. They had almost nothing from Poitiers. They were surprisingly different from their mother, that those who stood next to them could be mistaken for strangers.

Summer shone with colors, the world passed its usual circle. The trees were blooming again, filling the world with the scent of rain mixed with the scent of flowers.

Once, one such beautiful morning, when the girls were walking with the nanny in the garden, and Diana was standing on the large front staircase of the mansion. Her eldest daughter came up to her and asked.

Mom, she said.

Can I ask you something?

Yes, of course, honey. Diana answered.

Mommy, don’t you love us at all? Me and Françoise? The Countess was taken aback by such a question.

The child’s question was incredibly simple. But, she shuddered and froze in place from the surprise of the question. She looked at this not very pretty girl, at her own daughter. And her heart sank so hard in her chest that it seemed to her that she would now cry out in pain. It was as if a cold, bony hand had grabbed him, and, closing his fingers, decided to crush him. Her breath caught and it became difficult for her to breathe, and her eyes were moist, filled with tears. But, they just froze in her eyes, leaving somewhere deep in her soul.

She knelt down next to the child, hugged and hugged her daughter to her, and answered quietly.

Of course, I love you! Her voice was trembling.

Of course I love you!

How can I not love you?! My dear!

You are my children!

How can I not love you?!

How can this possibly be?! She spoke to the girl, stroking her hair.

It just can’t be!

Remember this honey, okay! She whispered softly, kissing the girl on the forehead.

The little arms of the girl put their arms around her neck, and the child happily hugged her mother. Poitiers hugged her daughter tenderly.

Do you really love us, Mom? The girl said naively, hugging her mother.

Of course! Of course dear! Poitiers whispered, trying not to burst into tears and tenderly hugging her daughter.

Poitier got up from her knees and stroked the child’s hair.

Now go my dear.

Look, Françoise and the nanny are waiting for you. She said softly.

The girl smiled, the pure smile of a child, and answered.

Okay, Mom.

Françoise and I love you very much too!

Her little baby, as clean as an angel’s face, became serious.

We love you very much! She added and ran away to the nanny and sister.

Diana waved her hand and turned away, tears streaming down her cheeks, tearing her heart. She had cried for the first time in those years of her unhappy marriage. But, tears flowed from her eyes, not because her daughters might think that their own mother does not love them. She cried because she understood. That she didn’t love them all this time, didn’t love her own children! Like her heart was a piece of ice, nothing more. And only today she realized that this ice had collapsed, causing her incredible pain. She realized it was just now. She still loves them! She cried, realizing what a monster such a woman must be, who did not love her own children! She cried, because only now she realized that it was not so! She went inside the mansion. The realization of all this tore her apart from the inside. She ran so quickly up the steps to her bedroom, as if a pack of dogs from hell were chasing after her, and, collapsing on the bed, burst into sobs, choking with tears and trembling all over. From the very depths of her soul, a sound like a howl escaped. It burst from the very depths of her being, from the most hidden part of her soul.