Our Precious Wars by Perrine Tripier

Author:Perrine Tripier
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Europa Editions
Published: 2025-10-14T13:17:17+00:00

Babel spent three consecutive autumns at the House. They were the loveliest autumns of our life. On unpacking her trunks every September, she took away with her all the essence of leaves that are decaying, yet grandiose. She was the spell of the undergrowth, exhaling strong odors of humus peppered with thick moss. She was the shadowy creature who gazed at herself in the black ink of the lake.

At dinner Babel was the only one who spoke, but anyway, what could we have possibly had to say that might have been more interesting, or better articulated? She had the perfect, old-fashioned eloquence of an erudite sophisticate whose knowledge serves only to vie in brilliance with her peers. She had lived an extraordinary life, which fascinated Klaus, Louisa, and even Harriett, but which rather alarmed me. Babel had met the crown princes of extinct dynasties; Babel had traveled on camelback across the dunes of ancient deserts; Babel had been divorced three times and had dozens of lovers. When she is tired of her apartment, Babel takes a suite at the Grand Condé, Place du Palais. She rings the bell at least three times an hour, gives orders, and gets what she wants, and men nevertheless fall in love with her, because she is strong enough to break them. Babel has friends who are witches, yes indeed, they do exist, I assure you, she asserts in her breezy manner, and she tells of potions for relieving menstrual pain that are made from an infusion of ermine’s foot. She has seen all the great orchestras, and has advised Klaus, if he must be a trumpet player, to be the best, and even to become a conductor, if he can. She talks about the Opéra Royal, its huge chandeliers, its loges with their heavy curtains. She prefers the symphonies of Smigernsson to the more simplistic rhapsodies of Zibelli-Mostronov, because she sees herself most definitely as belonging to the postdestructuralists. Babel takes another helping of gratin, then continues; she does eat, but never talks with her mouth full, which means she talks continuously. By the time we leave the table, we are both intoxicated and sated, and we can still hear her, grumbling in her sleep, all night long.

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