The Letters of M. Vernet – July – You are cordially invited to the Wedding of…

July 6, 2014

Ma Chere MoMo,

Everyday is so busy now I hardly have time to write! L’adventure de la cigales continues. The Veterans have found a marching band that wishes to be added to the parade. This group of elderly Veterans from Avignon still play together on special occasions, and were slightly insulted that they were not included in the festivities. My experiment to fire a cannon to see if cigales are deaf may be compromised by the sound of a brass band! I have enlisted the army of Vernet cousines to help me. Now it is a matter of family pride that we have the best pique-nique Serignan has ever seen. And a local vineyard has offered to supply the wine. Seems you can not have a pique-nique without the proper wine!

Marianna Vernet-Fabre’s diary reflects the busy time leading up to her wedding. She became sporadic in her entries, with occasional rants about the local patisseries baker and the price of beef. but her account of her wedding day written a few days later is quite endearing. You are invited to the Wedding!

.oOOo.

March 21, 1884

My heart is still so full of joy, even a week after our wedding, that I am convinced the feeling will never leave. We decided to spend our Honeymoon right here in Serignan, we simply traded homes with Sherlock and John who offered to baby/bee sit for us. Of course Henri’s children (I should say our children, how lovely that sounds!) are well behaved and can take care of themselves as well as their forgetful Father. But the idea of being alone with my new Husband for a week or two was quite appealing. Henri had much to make up for.

We planned the wedding day for March 15th so that the weather would be nice for traveling. And more importantly, My Little Professor would not be engaged in any new Springtime experiments and be able to focus his attentions on me. The wedding took place in Orange in the old church my Uncle Jean and Aunt Manon were married in. And after, the Vernets set up a wonderful wedding supper at Uncle Jean’s Home which was about ten miles from town, a pleasant ride on good roads.

The week before our wedding the air was enticing with the sweet smell of Spring in the air. Henri and the children had already been staying at Uncle Jean’s. The children were helping with the preparations of the feast, taste testing all the sweets. Several Vernet cousins whose specialty was weddings popped in and out constantly. Michelle and Michel had arrived. Michel brought extra horses, “Just in case,” he said. Even Sherlock and John were staying at Uncle Jean’s, setting up their photograph equipment and plotting something with Michel. I did not want to know what. Michelle was my Maid of Honor and Henri’s dear friend John Mill was the Best Man. Papa said it was like a secret police operation. Everything was double checked and ready and I would certainly get my man.

And Papa was right! The wedding went off without a problem and everyone was exceedingly happy, smiling and laughing and wishing us well. Later at the wedding supper, after a few toasts with very good champagne, I learned the truth.

I overheard John talking about close calls and brilliant planning with Sherlock, so I cornered John and asked him sweetly for a dance and forced him to tell me what happened. It seems that My Darling Husband almost missed our Wedding Day! If not for Sherlock I would have been left at the alter embarrassed, heartbroken and as angry as a Vernet can be. Not a desirable outcome.

According to John, Sherlock in the weeks before the wedding had been observing the bees. Sure enough they were beginning to stir a little early this year. There were just enough early wildflowers in bloom to sustain a hungry bee newly awakened by the Spring air. He also observed Henri. All the jokes about him being absent minded were taking their toll.  It was a matter of pride to him and he insisted on being the last to leave Orange for the church, he did not need a nurse maid to get him to his own wedding. He insisted he wanted some time alone for prayer and reflection before his vows. Henri did not like to socialize generally and Vernet women talking about lace and pastry and the men joking with him about his beloved insects had put him into a distracted mood. Sherlock deduced that the wedding’s success was in danger. For Sherlock knew Henri was not strong enough to resist the buzz of the first bees of Spring calling to him. So Sherlock devised a plan. Two days before the wedding, Henri was given a men only party at a local cafe’. Henri was pleased to be away from wedding planners and had a bit too much to drink. The night before the wedding everyone but Henri went to stay with the Vernets who lived in town. They were planning a simple breakfast for the wedding guests while the bride was pampered and prepared for the wedding at noon.

Henri slept fitfully and was lying in bed fully awake when the dawn chorus of the birds started and drew him to the window. He had no doubts in marrying his sweet little bride. He was only upset by all the fuss and attention and wanted the wedding to be over. It was then he heard the buzzing of the hive. Way too early, he pulled on his rumpled clothes and his bedroom slippers  and rushed ouside to investigate. “I have plenty of time.” he muttered.

Sherlock and John were watching from a nearby hill through a spy glass. Sherlock had wished it had not come to this, but he knew he had to set his plan into action.

Henri, completely distracted by a new dance the bees were exhibiting, had forgotten the time. He heard softly in the distance the peeling of the church bells. The peeling of the wedding bells, his wedding bells at noon! He looked at his pocket watch. Noon. He fell to his knees and cried out, looking up he saw three horses with two dark riders approaching.”The Vernet men have come to fight a duel with me, and I deserve to die!” he said out-loud.

Sherlock and John rode up to Henri and smiled at him. “Up! Up! Monsieur Fabre! Your Bride awaits, Sir!” cried Sherlock dramatically as they dismounted. “But the time. Sherlock! Noon! I have disgraced my Dear Marianna.” Henri hid his face.

“Monsieur,” said John exchanging a worried look with Sherlock,”It is less disgraceful to be late and face the ridicule with head held high, than to destroy Marianna by letting her go unwed.”

“If you do not come with us right now, I will have to challenge you to a duel.” said Sherlock in his best mad-brother tone, but with a smile on his face.

Henri realized that John was right. He stood and embraced both men.”I am lucky to have gained brothers such as you, bless you,” he said.

The boys grabbed Henri and rushed him into the house. John helped him clean up and dress in his wedding clothes that somehow were neatly arranged on Uncle Jean’s bed. Sherlock had seen to the horses, and strangely each saddle had a man’s hat box attached. “For the Wedding,” Sherlock explained. They mounted and raced to the waiting bridal party in Orange.

I stopped John at this point. Henri was not late! He was right on time, and perfectly groomed and tranquil. John then explained what Sherlock had done.

He noticed the bees, he noticed Henri’s stubborn mood and devised a plan to save the wedding and Henri’s pride. He had the help of Michel, John and Claude, Henri’s son. Michel had brought three strong fast horses from his farm, fully equipped for a riotous ride.When the Vernet men took Henri to the cafe’ Sherlock made sure Henri had plenty to drink. He then removed Henri’s pocket watch from his coat and changed the time. He moved the hands forward two hours and replaced it. Back at Uncle Jean’s, Claude did the same to all the clocks there. Sherlock told Claude that his new Uncle Michel would handle anyone who noticed that the clocks were changed, but that he doubted anyone would notice while so distracted by the wedding. Sherlock was right. On the night before the wedding when everyone was ready to leave, Claude arranged his Father’s wedding suit on his Great Uncle’s bed and closed the door behind him. Sherlock knew Henri would never open that door out of respect for Uncle Jean’s privacy. Sherlock and John returned at dawn on the wedding day, with the three fast horses provided by Michel, and watched Henri with a spy glass. Sherlock had arranged that Claude would sneak into the church and ring the bells at ten o’clock instead of noon. Uncle Michel stood by in case there was trouble. Sherlock had said probably no one would notice. Sherlock was right. Then John saw Henri fall to his knees, clutching his pocket watch at the sound of the church bells. John did not like putting Henri through Sherlock’s charade. But as Sherlock explained there was about a 99% chance that Henri would be late if left to himself. He pointed out to John that he was already distracted by the bees and he had never bothered to find out where his wedding clothes were before everyone left, and Henri’s old horse was slow as molasses on a good day, and Henri had yet to saddle him up! Sherlock was right.

So with Henri believing it was after one o’clock, and in reality it being five minutes after eleven. The three men rode frantically into Orange and tied their horses behind the church entering through the back door vestibule. Sherlock fussed with the hat boxes, hung up the hats and produced a hip flask from inside of one, passing it around.  John  had retrieved a wooden box with a bee carved on it from his saddle bag. John opened the bee box that was usually used to store honeycomb, and produced three perfect red carnations for their lapels. Henri  looked hesitantly into the church. John Mill was stationed by the alter looking as distinguished as ever, he was whispering to Henri’s son who was looking manly and proud in his  first formal suit. And his Daughter nearby, dressed in pink with flowers in her hair looking like a delicate rosebud. Everything was calm and a hush was over the church. The sound of reverent whispers filled his ears. Henri looked at John confused. John sighed and explained briefly what they had done. Sherlock looked at the floor in embarrassment. Henri looked at Sherlock with tears starting in his eyes, then grabbed him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Sherlock, you were right,” he said, and walked into the church with a proud yet tranquil look on his face.

I looked across the room at Henri, who was deep in conversation with Sherlock. I caught Sherlock’s eye and he winked at me. I decided that my first act as Madame Fabre would not be an angry scene but one of forgiveness. I winked back.

Next thing I knew I was being pulled away from John and into a quiet corner by Michelle. I thought I could not be happier, but what Michelle told me made my already full cup of joy overflow. She told me that when I was reciting my vows, she was overcome with boredom (I gave her a kick with my dainty slippers at that point, which made her giggle) and started glancing around. She saw Sherlock and John at the back of the church standing like guards in their usher poses, hands folded in front of them. But during the vows they looked at each other silently, never looking away. When I exchanged rings with Henri, she saw Sherlock and John exchanged something too. A moment later they resumed looking straight ahead, hands folded. But now each of them were wearing a signet ring and small smiles on their faces. Later Michelle danced with John and took a good look at the gold ring. In an elaborate script that was hard to make out were the initials SH. Michelle did not say anything, but she hugged John tight, her smile saying volumes.

Later I pulled Sherlock into a dance, and glanced at his new ring with the elaborate initials, JW, inscribed in it. “Congratulations, my dear brother,” I whispered in his ear. “Thank you, darling sister,” he said. He lifted me up and spun me around in a spirited dance. My wedding day was complete.

.oOOo.

What a lovely wedding! I visited  Orange the other day and walked into the old church. I imagined my ancestor’s joy in this sanctified place. I imagined Sherlock, Henri and John putting on their red carnations, and my little wooden bee box holding such treasure. Then I stopped by Mari’s mas and tried to imagine where they would have been dancing. Mari asked if I were thinking of adding a dance to my pique-nique. I surprised myself and said, yes. Well, we will have a band!

Cordialement, 
Marianna

The Letters of M. Vernet – June – Lucioles, Phospheresence, and Photographs

June 14, 2014

Ma Chere MoMo,

I have been so busy! The “Cigale & Veteran Parade and Pique-Nique,” has evolved into quite an event! It will be in August when the cigales are sure to be nice and loud. The Orange Veterans are always stopping by with flowers, herbs, homemade sausages, tapenades, and early vegetables. I have not had to go to market in two weeks! They are delightful gentlemen. The harmas has such roses hidden here and there. I have been trimming them and they have rewarded me with plentiful blooms for my bees. And last night I saw the first Lucioles (Fireflies). There are so many here, making the night full of light and glowing love.

Marianna Vernet the bride-to-be, has been very busy also. She returned to Serignan with her trousseau and her wedding gown, but sadly, leaving her sister Michelle behind. The trip to Paris was a long one back then, about 600 miles and taking more than a week. After her trip her diary was full of intricate wedding plans and finances. She next mentions Sherlock and John in November of 1883.

.oOOo.

November 16, 1883

We have changed the date of the Wedding yet again! Sherlock of all people pointed out that Winter would not be the best time for family to travel as the roads might be in bad condition. I pouted a good two days before I gave in and Henri’s daughter baked me a chocolate cake. After that I could not even fake being disappointed. She is my Darling! The new date is March 15th 1884. Seems like so far in the future, when now there is an autumn crispness in the air.

Sherlock and John have been very busy and I think quite content the past few months. The boys have been tending the bees, and somehow made their honey crop taste like chocolate mint. It is amazing. They will not tell me how they did it, but I know Henri knows, and I will get the information out of him somehow. I have my ways! The boys are also very interested in Photography. They met a scientist named Edmond Becquerel and his son Henri while in Paris. They have asked John to come to Paris to work with them on their research into light, phosphorescence, and capturing the energy of the sun. John had been reading about their work in the French Journals he reads to practice his French.  The Becquerels have been hoping to meet a doctor that would be willing to do research on the effects of “light” on the human body. It sounds like strange Gothic tales to me. Sherlock has tried to explain it to me and I can see how important it could be to the future. In the meantime my boys have been taking very blurry photographs of everything under the sun. They have yet to take a nice portrait. But John promises me he will learn to take a Wedding portrait before the big day. John also promised me he would not decide about the Becquerel’s offer till I am married and settled. I think Sherlock is considering Papa’s offer of working for the Secret Service as well. Men like Sherlock and John can not be expected to live a quiet life for long. But I will treasure this time with them and always remember the last days of my maidenhood spent with my dear brother and his dear John.

.oOOo.

Well, that is all for today. The sun has gone down and the Lucioles have begun their luminous flight. Are they lighting the night where you are MoMo? I miss you!

Cordialement, Marianna

The Letters of M. Vernet – May – Parades, Green Eyed Dragons, and Absinthe

May 23, 2014

Ma Chere MoMo,

L’aventure de la cigales, is continuing! The Orange Veterans now want to have a parade when they bring the cannon to my harmas. There are six of them and they love parades. So I am now hosting a patriotic parade, pique-nique and cannon experiment. Oh, well, how many people could possibly come. Twenty? I can handle that. You must send me your potato salad recipe. I remember having it at your Memorial Day BBQ and bonfire . Is that soon? I have lost track of American Holidays, they move around so much. But I remember that salad. Marianna Vernet-Fabre is not having an easy time planning her wedding day, I can sympathize.

OoOo

July 19, 1883

I am so worried I can hardly write. I wish I were home with my Darling in Serignan, and not in this overwhelming city! Oh, Paris is beautiful and I do love her, but she makes me anxious. I am such a little country mouse!

John and Sherlock had a huge argument last night, and John walked out. Sherlock was so jealous of Michelle, and John was angry that Sherlock didn’t trust him enough to let him have other friends. Other female friends. I could see both sides. Chelle is acting like Chelle, charming, loving and not the least bit worried about her actions. She is a free spirit and a free thinker, she has no wish for settling down or even having an affair. L’artiste. She leaves a trail of broken hearts behind her. She told me she likes John more than the others, but considers him a brother-in-law. A Vernet. To be honored and loved.
She does not believe in marriage certificates. Only the bond of the heart is real, she has said. So, she is furious at Sherlock for being jealous.

And here I sit with three angry and very emotional companions, surrounded by samples of fabric, lace and ribbons. And worried sick about dear John wandering about Paris by himself. He doesn’t know the language and has not fully recovered from his illness. I shudder to think of what could happen to him.

Sherlock and Michelle has gone looking for him. But of course they first had to have a row that woke half of Paris. Luckily not my elderly cousin or we would all be on the street. I started to cry, I was so worried, then they both got flustered and settled down. The green-eyed dragon sulked away and they reached an understanding. Then they went into the night to search for John. And I am left to watch for him here and keep him here until morning, if he returns.

July 20,1883

Thank the Lord, John is back safe and sound. But he does have a black eye, seemingly caused by a bit too much Absinthe, and a misunderstanding of the phrase that describes it “la fee verte”. [the green fairy]

Sherlock and Michelle brought him in about four a.m.  They were able to talk things out and make up, but not before joining John in a drink or two.  John was most apologetic to me in the worst French I have ever heard. I was furious, but when he said I was like an oyster claw to him. I had to laugh.

I find it hard to stay mad at John, but I am determined to be very cross with my sister and brother. A bride-to-be should be protected and nurtured by her family. I shall have them all make it up to me by helping choose the dreaded lace, and with an expensive dinner with only mineral water to drink.

OoOo

I wish you a Happy Memorial Day! Toast a marshmallow and think of Sherlock and John.. and me!

Cordialement, Marianna

The Letters of M. Vernet — May — Trousseau, Travel, and a Wild Bird Sings

May 14, 2014

Ma Chere MoMo,

I have good news! There is a Veterans group in Orange who has a cannon they are allowed to use for their special meetings. And the gentleman are considering loaning their cannon to me for my experiment. Their only request is that I provide them with a pique-nique lunch. They are quite excited! I so wish you could be here, I need another scientific mind to watch the cigales since I have the feeling I will be watching out for the Veterans! Marianna Vernet-Fabre is going shopping in Paris. How exciting that would have been!

OoOo

July 2, 1883

My sister is taking me to Paris to buy my trousseau, and order my Wedding gown! Michelle knows Paris very well, but fancy clothes and gowns? Not her specialty. Now if I needed to know where to get cafe’ and pastry at two am, that she would know. But she does live with an elderly Vernet cousin, who will know just where to go. We were having dinner with Sherlock and John, (Chelle is quite taken with our Poet Doctor), I was bemoaning my country ways and Chelle’s Bohemian lifestyle. How would we ever find someone who would know fine fabrics and good stitching and find what we needed at a good price? All of our eyes at the same time fell on Sherlock! He laughed and agreed to come, but only if John came too. And so the four of us are off to Paris next week. Michelle has been singing like a little Serin bird. I wonder why?

July 12, 1883

We have arrived safely in Paris, the sun shone on us all the way and John proved to be a good driver, although he is a city boy. Paris is just as pretty as ever and in honor of Bastille day on the 14th, she is dressed up in all her Summer finery. There are flags and flowers everywhere. And everyone is getting ready for great feasts and a festive parade.

July 15, 1883

Oh! What a day and night I had! We watched the parade with all of Paris. The Soldiers looked magnificent in their brightly colored uniforms. John enjoyed the parade, but when he told me his uniform was the color of sand, he seemed a little sad. But Michelle cheered us all up with a lovely pique-nique with her friends. Sherlock was like a celebrity. He basked in their praise and told amazing stories in French, which left John out a little. But John was surrounded by Michelle and some of her friends who wanted John to recite a poem. After a glass or two of wine he recited a beautiful one about a wild bird. I am sure this wild bird is Michelle. In the evening the City of Light was in her glory. Michelle took us to Pigalle’s, an open-air cafe’ and cabaret in Place Pigalle. I’m afraid my fiance’ would not have approved of my seeing the cancan dancers, but I had to peek. Michelle and John stayed to watch all of the show, but Sherlock ushered me outside at the best part. I had a little too much wine I’m afraid, and although I protested, I was glad when my big brother Sherlock took me for coffee and chocolate cake. I adore him. We had a lovely chat after the coffee refreshed me. We talked mostly about John and Michelle.

OoOo

Mon amie, I wish we were not so far apart. I would take you to Paris and we could try to find Pigalle’s and the cancan dancers. Someday, someday.

Cordialement, Marianna

The Letters of M. Vernet — May — Colds, Cocaine, and LoveLoveLove

May 10, 2014

Ma chere MoMo,

My project for shooting of a cannon to see if cigales can hear is at an impasse. The local Police will not issue my permis d’armes a feu, because I was not born in France. Do they think I would attack city hall? Arrrrgh! They suggested I play music really loud in my car and point it at them. Imbeciles! So I take a break and write to you, travelling back in time for an hour or two. Marianna Vernet-Fabre was a good writer, non?

June 10, 1883
I am going to stay with Sherlock and John for a week. Seems Sherlock caught a cold riding around in a storm and John is really not up to waiting on a demanding Sherlock. They are like children, both of them! But I will be happy to to mother them a little. And I will see My Love during part of the day. I may stay for two weeks! John is doing much better, but he is still weak. I think he misses London too.

June 15, 1883

Sherlock feels better now, but I had to take him firmly in hand. I found his hidden vials of cocaine and a syringe in a case and I destroyed them. I will not have my Sherlock do such things to his mind and body. He started to be angry, but became the lamb I know he is when I asked him what he would do if John preferred this drug to him. I told him he was loved and should not throw such a gift away. You only have a certain number of people who love you in your life, and even the luckiest can only count them on their two hands. I don’t think he realized how selfish he was being. He does now!

June 30, 1883

I could stay with my boys forever! I love them so. They are so happy here. I saw them laughing and kissing by the beehives and my heart soared. How sad they can not be free to express such devotion in public. I do not understand how such love could be thought of as evil. Prejudice, hate, these things are evil. But to love? To love is to be in the image of our Maker. Why can not that image include all such love?

OoOoO

I must go tend my bees, I will send you some honey when it is time.  Sherlock and John tended these bees, their kisses will make it extra sweet, non?

Cordialement, Marianna

The Letters of M. Vernet — May — Cigales, Passionate Poets and Terrible Nights

May 1, 2014

Ma Chere Momo,

I have been making arrangements to reproduce J. Henri Fabre’s famous experiment on the cigale (cicada) to see if the insect was deaf. The Little Professor shot off a cannon, and alas I have not been able to find one yet or get permission to fire it. But I have time since the cigales have not emerged yet.

I have finished reading Marianna Vernet-Fabre’s diary, and it holds much information about Sherlock and John. She starts out in the Spring of 1883 when she becomes engaged to her Little Professor. The wedding is planned for January 1884, when the Professor is not busy with experiments and can be sure to give all his attention to the bride. I have translated some of her thoughts from the original french.

April 15 ,1883

Sherlock has written that he and his friend John wish to live in France for a year or so, and he hopes Papa would not object to him living in Uncle Jean’s little house next to the Fabre home. I am so thrilled! I will see my dear Sherlock again! We are all excited, and the cousins have been tidying up the place. It will be a great comfort to Sherlock and John after all they have been through. I believe John is very dear to Sherlock, he has not said, but I can tell. Love is my specialty now!

April 30, 1883

They arrived today! Doctor John H. Watson is so very English. He stands straight like a soldier, but walks   like a man who has carried great sorrow on his shoulders. He has a wonderful laugh and a constant twinkle in his eye. I think Michelle was a little smitten, it is hard to tell with my sister. He is a bit lost, dear soul, with the Vernets rattling off questions in French but it is just as well he did not understand them all! Sherlock is so happy when around John, they seem to talk without words.

May 10, 1883

John is a poet! I caught him writing in the garden and he allowed me to read his creation. So passionate, yet strong and humorous at the same time. He says he never shows them to a soul, but that Serignan was an inspiration to him. He thought he might be improving. I think it is being in love that has inspired him. I am so happy he shared this with me. I hope my cousin Sherlock knows what a gift he has received. It can be very hard to love a Vernet, ask my darling fiance’.

May 21, 1883

Papa has gotten Sherlock and John involved in a case for the Paris police! I am so angry with him! These men will never know what we women have to go through every time they put themselves in danger! As if I would not know they were up to something! I tried to make Sherlock at least leave John behind. Sherlock blends in as French, but John will not be able to yet. I’m afraid my new friend will be harmed. He is already a brave English hero, must Sherlock and Papa make him a brave but dead French hero too! Thank the Lord my future husband loves life and does not throw it away! Henri has made me a coffee and a piece of cake. I adore him. But his way of calming my temper will make me quite plump, I’m afraid.

May 31, 1883

What did I say? I might as well talk to the horses! Sherlock brought John home injured and it has been such a terrible night. I was so afraid he would not make it through. Oh, how Sherlock clung to him, like clinging to life itself. And John calling for his love, with such fear in his voice! My heart broke for them. Michel and Michelle were here and Michel was better than the Doctor from Orange, who seemed to give up on poor John. Michel instructed Sherlock how to bring the fever down, which kept Sherlock from going crazy. When the fever broke, I thanked God on my knees. I thanked him for sparing this strong yet gentle man, I thanked him for giving John to my darling Sherlock and I thanked him for My Little Professor, who is happy to be home with his insects and me.

Sorry, mon amie, the local Police are at the door, must be about my application to own a cannon. I will write soon!

Cordialement, Marianna

 

 

 

The Letters of M. Vernet — April — The Legacy of a Violin

April 26, 2014

Ma Chere MoMo,

Mari, Vedette and her sisters have all read Marianna’s diary and I have just put it down. I’m afraid all thoughts of work have vanished, disparu! I am transported back in time. I must give you a little information about the rest of Marianna’s family mentioned in the diary.

Honore’ you know. He was married to a beautiful girl from Avignon named Simone Jadin. Simone was brought up in an orphanage run by the Holy Sisters. The only thing she had of her father’s was her name and an inexpensive violin. Simone could not read music but she taught herself to play and she sang like an angel. She worked odd jobs in a cafe’ and sometimes played and sang for the customers. She was not strong in body, but she made up for it in strength of character. She began to notice a certain Detective would always seem to be around when a drunken customer got too friendly. She called Honore’ her “Agent Special” He liked it. He asked her to marry him before he even held her hand. Simone loved Honore’ and their life together. She got all the excitement she needed from Honore’s tales about his work. She played love songs she wrote for him when he was downhearted, and that was all he needed.

Simone and Honore’ had three children ( although Honore’ used to say “3 French 2 English” for he always included Sherlock and Mycroft in his family and he loved confusing his neighbors). They had twins, a girl Michelle and a boy Michel. Marianna was the youngest.

Michel had a great love for animals, especially horses. He taught Mycroft and Sherlock to ride, and how to care for their steeds afterwards. Sherlock loved brushing down the horses and always seemed to end up brushing all three horses whenever they rode. Mycroft and Michel were the same age and often left little brother behind, but Sherlock preferred Marianna’s company anyway. When Michel studied Veterinary Medicine at Universite’ Montpellier, Sherlock sometimes accompanied him. Michel taught him safety and the scientific method at the laboratory.

Michelle was unique. She was the Artist in the family, but for Vernets, that was to be expected and considered very normal. She studied art in Paris and lived with a Vernet Parisian cousine. She was outspoken, her art was modern, and her opinions before their time. She signed her work M. Vernet and had been known on occasion to wear pants! She was the essence of La Boheme. But at home she was just “Chelle”. Sherlock and Marianna loved when she was home for she led them on mighty adventures.

Simone died in 1880. She had Tuberculous for years and finally lost her battle. Simone had taught young Sherlock how to hold and play the violin. She loved to tell how he played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” perfectly the very first day. She was very proud when Sherlock formalized his musical education and learned to read and write music. When she was ill Sherlock would spend hours with her jotting down her tunes in a music book he bought in London. She was so happy to see her little compositions, written in Sherlock’s classical hand, in the handsome leather clad book.

Sherlock played her composition “The Laughter of Love” at the funeral. It made Honore’ smile through his tears. Honore’ wanted Sherlock to have Simone’s violin. But he refused, saying he would need it at home to play Simone’s songs for Honore’ whenever he visited. Marianna was pleased to hear Sherlock call her home his home too. She insisted he take the music book. She said Simone would have loved to hear her tunes played on Sherlock’s violin and that maybe somehow, she would hear him and smile.

This is a long letter, and I am tres fatigue’. We will dream of violin music tonight, non?

Cordialement, Marianna

The Letters of M.Vernet — April — The Irregulars vs. The Scuttlers

April 21, 2014

Ma Chere MoMo,

I am glad to hear that your April snow has turned to April showers. “We have much to hope from the flowers…” as Sherlock says. It is quite  perplexite’, what you write about the four carpenter bees you found dead on your deck. No apparent cause you say. Perhaps they died from the freezing temperatures of your April ice storm? C’est dammage. You and I should be as Sherlock and John and investigate insect deaths. Consulting Entomology Detectives. Only most people want our little insect friends dead to begin with. It would be like people coming to Sherlock Holmes and asking for imaginative ways to kill someone. Wait, that would be Moriarty, n’est pas? But it would be tres amusement to investigate insect murders! How did this “yellow jacket” die? Why, it was drowned in a can of beer! And the beer belonged to… duhduhduh…

I think I have gone too far with this analogy.

Anyway, on to more serious matters. I paid a visit to Mari on Easter. Oh! Her holiday cooking was magnifique! Anchoiade, Cavier d’ Aubergine, Daube and her baguettes. Heavenly! Vedette was there with her sisters Valere and Viollette. After dinner, after a little wine and sisterly persuasion, my young cousines told me what Vedette had been hesitant, non, afraid to tell me.

When John Watson wrote “A Study in Scarlet” he was persuaded by his friend and colleague, Arthur Conan Doyle, to allow him to reprint the reminiscences and publish them. John was unsure. Even being a detective for so short a time had taught him the need for secrecy. But he also felt that Sherlock was a brilliant gem that should not be hidden away.

When Sherlock became famous, he drew the attention of the London underworld. Especially one James Moriarty. At this point Sherlock was just someone to keep an eye on. And the eyes and ears of the city were the street gangs. These gangs of poor young boys were everywhere at the time. And Moriarty used them to his advantage, although he was never actually known to them. Moriarty set word to start one to watch Sherlock Holmes and The Baker Street Scuttlers (BBS) were formed. But Sherlock, always one step ahead, had already adopted a local gang, The Baker Street Irregulars (BSI) and they were fiercely loyal to him. It helped that Sherlock paid them well for helping him. But the boys knew that since Sherlock came into their lives, not one of them ever went hungry, and they knew Sherlock would tell them to just keep an ear open. And would pay them regularly for doing nothing more. “The Doc” was a hero to them. He seemed stern, but was always there to help a wounded boy. The Irregulars knew no matter what they did or where they were hiding out “The Doc” would come, giving them a hard lecture, while saving their lives with his gentle hands. And he would never turn you in to the coppers.

When The Scuttlers invaded The Irregular’s turf. A war broke out. The Scuttlers would mess with 221b, throwing garbage at the door, knocking bins and boxes over, stealing the newspaper. Trying to harass Mrs. Hudson. Trying, because Mrs. Hudson was a force to be reckoned with, she could hit a boy with her umbrella with such speed they could not run away.  The Irregulars took turns watching 221b and escorted Mrs Hudson on her errands.

In 1883 the street war escalated. Boys were being hurt more often. John was especially concerned for his boys. He was a Soldier and did not like the idea of these children fighting on his behalf. When The Scuttlers stole his Bull pup, The Irregulars scoured the city, to no avail. A boy got seriously wounded on that search and John was outraged. It had to stop.

Then the letters started. Nasty, disgusting letters, delivered by, but certainly not written by any boy. They accused Sherlock and John of being lovers, and threatened exposure, arrest and death. They were under a death sentence, with hate-filled criminals as the judge and jury.

John wanted to fight, but Sherlock was concerned for John’s welfare. But when word came of the death of a 8 year old Irregular, they were devastated. They decided to leave London and live with Sherlock’s cousins for a while, letting their notoriety become old news. The public was fickle and would soon forget them. The Baker Street Irregulars would grow, as boys do, and be safe. Mrs. Hudson took over the care and feeding of the BSI, with Sherlock’s and John’s support.

What Vedette and her sisters are concerned about is just as the BSI still exists today, (you are a scion member, oui, just like Vedette and her sisters). The BSS still exists also. Only now they send threatening emails to anyone who insinuates that John and Sherlock were lovers or dig too deep into the past. There are some members of the BSI that have secretly sworn to fight the BSS. Vedette and her sisters are such members, but they are also Vernets. And we protect our own.

The cousines agree, the blood and the heart have come together again. No more secrets. The story of this great love should be bravely and boldly told.

Cordialement, Marianna

 

The Letters of M. Vernet — April — Joyeuses Paques

April 15, 2014

Ma Chere MoMo,

Joyeuses Paques, Happy Easter! The weather here is tres belle. The vines are greening on the hillsides. The lavender farms look like a blue-gray mist has settled over the fields. Everything is verdant and alive.

How could you have a snow storm, 20 degrees, and icicles forming on the eaves again!!! Ma pauvre amie!!! I bring you news that will make the sun shine for you.

Remember the old-fashioned brass key that was in the bee box with John’s notebook? Of course you do. Vedette came to see me this past weekend and she carried with her an antique box. It was a heavy wooden box with brass bindings. It had been taken care of recently, but the signs of old age and former neglect could be seen by worm holes where the wood had decayed. Vedette told me it had belonged to Marianna Vernet and was handed down to her along with a poem she was made to memorize.

This little box so dark and grave
Belonged to an Englishman, Musgrave.
It now holds the secrets of the Vernet,
And Vernet women will always save
The contents from eyes unworthy.
Guard it well and guard the key.

Vedette and her sisters often tried to open it, but out of respect they never tried to break into it. And now it seems box and key have been re-united! For Vedette tells me the tag on our key, the one with the stick figures, is a code. The Dancing Men code from a Sherlock story. It translates to “Musgrave’s box”. (That is a story too! I really must read those!) Now was the proper time for it to be opened, you see, the blood and the heart had come together again.

With shaking hands Vedette opened the box. Inside were a few letters and photos and a blue silk covered diary. The Diary of Marianna Vernet – Fabre, (it read).

We eagerly looked through the diary. It was started in 1883 when Marianna became engaged. She wanted to write about and treasure those happy times. Most of the diary is about her new Husband, their work together and later her children. But peppered here and there are entries about Sherlock and John. I am letting Vedette read it first. It must have been the excitement, but she still seems to be holding back… something.

One thing I can tell you right away. Those missing years, when there are no Sherlock stories written? They were right here, living right here, in Serignan in my own little harmas home!

I will write soon! Enjoy your Easter! Eat some chocolate bunny ears for me!

Cordialement, Marianna

 

The Letters of M. Vernet — April — Smoke Bombs and Weddings

April 8, 2014

Ma Chere MoMo,

Thank you so much for the gift of The Complete Sherlock Holmes. Two volumes, it is very long, oui? About 2000 words? How very thoughtful of you! I promise I will read it when I am not so busy.

This is a stupefiant Printemps! The old cherry trees by the road have such a profusion of blooms. The bees and wasps are everywhere. I have found some pine processionary caterpillars (Thaumatopoeidae processionea). As you know they follow the leader, and if you take the leader and make him follow the last caterpillar they will go in a circle till they starve. I am observing them on the wild cherries. Just as J.Henri Fabre (I think I will think of him as Professor Fabre from now on, but I am ahead of myself.) did so many years ago. The years seem to meld together on my little harmas. I feel sometimes I am in 1883, till a car passes on the road. It is timeless here. So very sorry you still have snow and the crocuses are not to be seen yet. C’est dommage. I put a wild cherry blossom in with this letter.

Now I will continue the story of my namesake. There is so much to tell! Vedette talked to me a long time, but still something is missing I think. I will not push her, but I am quite perplexe.

In 1870 Marianna was 14 and took a job as a ladies maid for the wife of her father’s good friend John Stewart Mill in Avignon. He was a famous English economist and writer. He also loved Botany and would often call on his friend J. Henri Fabre with questions about specimens he found. Mr. Mill and his wife found Marianna to be an exceptional girl, and doted on her. Marianna was never so happy as when her duties allowed her to spend time in the woods and fields helping to catalog wildflowers of Serignan.

Sherlock age 16, also became friends with the Mills. Mr. Mill would pay Sherlock to run chemical tests on botanical specimens. J. Henri Fabre was a Professor at The Lysee’ in Avignon and allowed Sherlock access to the lab and to his lectures. Marianna often tagged along. She loved Entomology and Botany and wished she could attend the Lysee’ herself, but girls were not allowed. She also had a schoolgirl secret love for  Professor Fabre. He was a married man, who really only cared about his insect friends and never noticed. But he did notice her excellent mind and allowed Sherlock and Marianna to attend his lectures in the back of the class. The board of The Lysee’ found out and was shocked! A girl attending class! So shocked Professor Fabre was asked to leave immediately.

Marianna was heartbroken. To have caused such damage to someone she loved! Fabre’s many friends were outraged! But The Lysee’ would not be moved. Sherlock let off a smoke bomb of his own creation in the Chemistry Laboratory and was also asked to leave. Honore’ was secretly very proud of Sherlock when he saw the entire Board out on the street coughing and crying. Mr. Mill gave him a bonus!

Although he never found out, Professor Fabre’s friends took care of him and his family. Mr. Mill lent him money, Honore’ found him a home in Orange with extremely low rent. (it was owned by a Vernet of course!) and when Fabre set out to earn his living by writing, every little book was a small success. Many of these books were found in the homes of Vernets and Vernet in-laws!

Marianna and Sherlock spent many a day at the Fabre home, caring for the children, helping with chores and helping with the writing of Souvenirs Entomologiques, Fabre’s magnum- opus, his 10 volume work on the insects.

As Sherlock grew older, he fell in love with London and his visits to his cousines came less often. But Marianna’s many letters were a healthful and sobering influence on the young man. And he knew whatever happened to him, he would have a safe secret home in the land and the hearts of his French kin. And Honore’ had made a standing offer of employment to Sherlock with La Securite Nationale.

In 1879 Professor Fabre finally saved enough money to buy his harmas, his “Laboratory of the Open Field”. Oncle Jean sold him the land at a good price since he said the land was good for nothing but wild things. The Professor was overjoyed. But his joy soon turned to sorrow when his beloved wife and son were taken from him. As ever he turned to his insect friends for solace. but in a year or so he started to take solace in the small things his little friend Marianna did for him.

In 1883 Marianna wrote to Sherlock to tell him of her engagement to “Her Little Professor”. He wrote back to wish her much joy and to promise to come to the wedding. He also told her of his great joy, his best friend, Doctor John H. Watson. In her next letter she invited John to her wedding. She could not have been happier.

Vedette stopped here and said she was suddenly very tired. She wished me a goodnight and gave me a small hug. I thought I saw fear in her eyes, but it was fleeting.

I sat in Mari’s kitchen and read John’s notebook. I noticed some of the poems had a subtext saying “The Missing Years 1883 – 1886”. I will send them on to you.

Do you know what this means? What missing years? I really must read the stories! Could Sherlock and John have lived here? Oh, fantastique!

Cordialement, Marianna