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The Blessing Kindle Edition
When Grace Allingham, a naïve young Englishwoman, goes to live in France with her dashingly aristocratic husband Charles-Edouard, she finds herself overwhelmed by the bewilderingly foreign cuisine and the shockingly decadent manners and mores of the French. But it is the discovery of her husband’s French notion of marriage—which includes a permanent mistress and a string of casual affairs—that sends Grace packing back to London with their “blessing,” young Sigismond, in tow.
While others urge the couple to reconcile, little Sigi—convinced that it will improve his chances of being spoiled—applies all his juvenile cunning to keeping his parents apart. Drawing on her own years in Paris and her long affair with a Frenchman, Mitford elevates cultural and romantic misunderstandings to the heights of comedy.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherVintage
- Publication dateAugust 10, 2010
- File size386 KB
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Editorial Reviews
Review
“Mitford tells her story with much wit, intelligence, and polish.” —The Times (London)
“Deliciously funny.” —Evelyn Waugh
From the Trade Paperback edition.
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
‘The foreign gentleman seems to be in a terrible hurry, dear.’
And indeed the house, though quite large, what used to be called a family house, in Queen Anne’s Gate, was filled with sounds of impatience. Somebody was stamping about, moving furniture, throwing windows up and down, and clearing his throat exaggeratedly.
‘Ahem! Ahem!’
‘How long has he been here, Nanny?’
‘Nearly an hour I should think. He played the piano, very fast and loud, for a while, which seemed to keep him quiet. He’s only started this shindy since John went and told him you were in and would be down presently.’
‘You go, darling, and tell him he must wait while I change out of these trousers,’ said Grace, who was vigorously cleaning her neck with cotton wool. ‘Oh, the dirt. What I need is a bath.’
The drawing-room door was now flung open.
‘Do I see you or not?’ The voice was certainly foreign.
‘All right – very well. I’ll come down now, this minute.’
She looked at Nanny, laughing, and said, ‘He might go through the floor, like Rumpelstiltskin.’
But Nanny said, ‘Put on a dress dear, you can’t go down like that.’
‘Shall I come upstairs?’ said the voice.
‘No, don’t, here I am,’ and Grace ran down, still in her A.R.P.trousers.
The Frenchman, tall, dark and elegant, in French Air Force uniform, was on the drawing-room landing, both hands on the banister rail. He seemed about to uproot the delicate woodwork. When he saw Grace he said ‘Ah!’ as though her appearance caused him gratified surprise, then, ‘Is this a uniform? It’s not bad. Did you receive my note?’
‘Only now,’ said Grace. ‘I’ve been at the A.R.P. all day.’
They went into the drawing-room. ‘Your writing is very difficult. I was still puzzling over it when I heard all that noise – it was like the French Revolution. You must be a very impatient man.’
‘No. But I don’t like to be kept waiting, though this room has more compensations than most, I confess.’
‘I wouldn’t have kept you waiting if I’d known a little sooner – why didn’t you . . .’
He was no longer listening, he had turned to the pictures on the walls.
‘I do love this Olivier,’ he said. ‘You must give it to me.’
‘Except that it belongs to Papa.’
‘Ah yes, I suppose it does. Sir Conrad. He is very well known in the Middle East – I needn’t tell you, however. The Allingham Commission, ah! cunning Sir Conrad. He owes something to my country, after that.’ He turned from the picture to Grace looking at her rather as if she were a picture, and said, ‘Natoire, or Rosalba. You could be by either. Well, we shall see, and time will show.’
‘Papa loves France.’
‘I’m sure he does. The Englishmen who love France are always the worst.’
‘The worst?’
‘Each man kills the thing he loves, you know. Never mind.’
‘You’ve come from Cairo?’ she said. ‘I thought I read Cairo in your letter and something about Hughie? You saw him?’
‘The fiancé I saw.’
‘And you’ve come to give me news of him?’
‘Good news – that is to say no news. Why is this picture labeled Drouais?’
‘I suppose it is by Drouais,’ said Grace with perfect indifference.
Brought up among beautiful things, she took but small account of them.
‘Indeed? What makes you think so?’
‘Are you an art dealer?’
‘An art deal-ee.’
‘But you said you had news. Naturally I supposed it was the reason for your visit, to tell this news.’
‘Have you any milk chocolate?’
‘No, I’m sure we haven’t.’
‘Never mind.’
‘Would you like a cocktail – or a glass of sherry?’
‘Sherry, with delight.’
‘Did you enjoy Cairo? Hughie says it’s great fun.’
‘The museum is wonderful – but of course no pictures, while the millionaires, poor dears, have wonderful pictures, for which they’ve paid wonderful prices (from those ateliers where Renoirs and Van Goghs are painted on purpose for millionaires), but which hardly satisfy one’s cravings. Even their Corots are not always by Trouillebert. You see exactly how it is. So this afternoon I went to the National Gallery – shut. That is war. Now you will understand what an oasis I have found in Sir Conrad’s drawing-room, though I must have a word with him some time about this Drouais, so called.’
‘I’m afraid you won’t see many pictures in London now,’ said Grace. ‘Papa has sent all his best ones to the country, and most people have shut up their houses, you know.’
‘Never mind. I love London, even without pictures, and English women I love.’
‘Do you? Don’t we seem terribly dowdy?’
‘Of course. That’s what make you so amusing and mysterious. What can you possibly do, all day?’
‘Do?’
‘Yes. How do you fill those endless eons of time when Frenchwomen are having their hair washed, trying on hats, visiting the collections, discussing with the lingère – what is lingère in English?’
‘Underclothes-maker.’
‘Hours they spend with the underclothes-maker. What a funny word – are you sure? Anyhow, Frenchwomen always give one to understand that arranging themselves is full-time work. Now you English, like flowers in a basket, are not arranged, which is quite all right when the flowers are spring flowers.’ He gave her another long, approving look. ‘But how do you fill in the time? That is the great puzzle.’
‘I’m afraid,’ she said, laughing, ‘that we fill it in (not now, of course, but before the war) buying clothes and hats and having our hair washed. Perhaps the results were not quite the same, but I assure you that great efforts were made.’
‘Please don’t tell me. Do leave me in the dark, it makes you so much more interesting. Do let me go on believing that the hours drift by in a dream, that those blind blue eyes which see nothing, not even your father’s pictures, are turned inward upon some Anglo-Saxon fairyland of your own. Am I not right?’
He was quite right, though perhaps she hardly knew it herself.
Product details
- ASIN : B003F3PLEO
- Publisher : Vintage; 1st edition (August 10, 2010)
- Publication date : August 10, 2010
- Language : English
- File size : 386 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 217 pages
- Page numbers source ISBN : 1479133892
- Best Sellers Rank: #518,866 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #2,002 in Romance Literary Fiction
- #2,969 in Historical Literary Fiction
- #4,072 in Contemporary Literary Fiction
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Nancy Mitford, was an amazing novelist, who I'll admit, is an acquired taste, but like caviar, once you like it, there's no going back.
Reading...the eternal privilege. Here's to a great seller.
Nancy Mitford herself had left England for France in pursuit of her French lover. He too never really settled down into monogamy. Nancy nonetheless loved France and was a keen observer of the interaction of the British, the Americans, and the French. In her books, the characters are drawn in part by the understandings of their home countries and the subsequent misunderstandings do produce some delicious satire.
Blessed cuts no one any real slack, and there are telling observations for all involved. There is a broad occasion of a ball given to please Sigi that required everyone to produce a child. Throughout the community, people dug up neglected children, forgotten nieces and nephews, and considered adoption. Through much of Mitford's fiction, the world is well separated between child and adult, and in fact she finds this to be a preferable landscape. In fact Sigi's status as the sought after arbiter skews his world and that of the adults. It is unlikely that the trope on Freud's name is an accident given the nature of the Oedipus Theory.
For a cold winter's day, a visit to Mitford's world is highly recommended. She was visiting the world of the landed English long before America turned to Downton Abbey. I think you will be a fan.
A few years pass before Charles-Edouard receives his discharge and returns to Britain from the Far East. He returns to Grace and son like a force of nature, full of bonhomie. They relocate to France and what a life! Mitford gives the reader some interesting views into French culture and mores and offers some sparkling contrasts with the British mindset and contradictory/ambivalent views of the French.
In turns, "The Blessing" reads like a zany comedy of errors and a tender love story. I recommend it to any reader who is keen to read an entertaining and engaging novel.
Reviewed in the United States on July 31, 2016
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Such is the skill of Mitford, that whilst I thought that Grace and Charles-Edouard were charming together yet incompatible, I spent the second half of the book longing for their reunion. From the beginning they seemed, to me at least, mis-matched as she is rather conservative in thoughts regarding relationships and he so openly-adulterous. We are on the side of Grace for the first part of the novel, and yet in Charle-Edouard's absence, I longed for them to be back together - realizing that none of the alternative potential spouses measured up. Because of this, the second half of the novel, whilst enjoyable, was torturous for me - particularly regarding Sigi's schemes. So desperate was I to see them back together that I almost detested that child! Whilst his notions were understandable, it was still incredibly infuriating!
Another aspect that I particularly enjoyed was that Mitford included references to characters in previous novels! With Pursuit of Love and Love In A Cold Climate, I expected there to be a fluent reference and connection between characters and places in both novels, but with The Blessing I was impressed that these references were still made despite the novel following a different circle of characters. Though brief, that they mentioned Fabrice when at the cemetery, meant that Mitford's Paris, indeed Mitford's world, became a more rounded Parisienne world. It was certainly something I enjoyed and appreciated.
The only reason I have not awarded this novel 5 stars is because I generally reserve that for books that have a lasting impression of changing my mind or inviting me to question themes of the book.
Nevertheless, this was a truly great read! Recommended! Of what I've read, my favourite of Mitford's novels so far!
Edit: This is my favourite Mitford novel!
The Blessing is a rather awful little boy who plays his parents off against each other to his own benefit...but the best character is Nanny....who rules the household.
Out of date but an amusing read and an insight into another world