Vuillard: “The Mother and Sister of the Artist”

(Instructions for the Visit) Admire, when you come here, the glimmering hair Of the girl; praise her pale Complexion. Think well of her dress Though that is somewhat out of fashion. Don’t try to take her hand, but smile for Her hesitant gentleness. Say the old woman is looking strong Today; such hardiness. Remark, Perhaps, how she has dressed herself black Like a priest, and wears that sufficient air That does become the righteous. As you approach, she will push back Her chair, shove away her plate And wait, Sitting squat and direct, before The red mahogany chest Massive as some great Safe; will wait, By the table and her greasy plate, The bone half-chewed, her wine half-drained; She will wait. And fix her steady Eyes on you—the straight stare Of an old politician. Try once to meet her eyes. But fail. Let your sight Drift—yet never as if hunting for The keys (you keep imagining) hung By her belt. (They are not there.) Watch, perhaps, that massive chest—the way It tries to lean Forward, toward her, till it seems to rest Its whole household’s weight Of linens and clothing and provisions All on her stiff back. It might be strapped there like the monstrous pack Of some enchanted pedlar. Dense, self-contained, Like mercury in a ball, She can support this without strain, Yet she grows smaller, wrinkling Like a potato, parched as dung; It cramps her like a fist. Ask no one why the chest Has no knobs. Betray No least suspicion The necessities within Could vanish at her Will. Try not to think That as she feeds, gains Specific gravity, She shrinks, light- less as the world’s Hard core And the per- spective drains In her. Finally, above all, You must not ever see, Or let slip one hint you can see, On the other side, the girl’s Cuffs, like cordovan restraints; Forget her bony, tentative wrist, The half-fed, worrying eyes, and how She backs out, bows, and tries to bow Out of the scene, grows too ethereal To make a shape inside her dress And the dress itself is beginning already To sublime itself away like a vapor That merges into the empty twinkling Of the air and of the bright wallpaper.