The unsettling contradictions of Fanny’s childhood charm

Oh! How pretty she was, Fanny, back in the days of her childhood, with her shiny black boots and her long blue eyes with their golden-brown lashes, climbing onto walls and the branches of trees, the top of her wardrobe, calling herself Felix which means happy, powerful as a wrestler and clenching her teeth when she played the piano.

One summer, a child from next door asked her if he could use her piano and Fanny refused, saying quite simply, 'No'. There was nothing gracious about it, no attempt was made to comfort him or soften the blow. It was No.

The child was taken aback and hurt, and went off looking distinctly sad. Even when Fanny was a full-grown adult and well into her thirties, her forties even, she could look at children in a most unpleasant way.


At other times Fanny would dote upon these children, making a show of charm and affection that was again disproportionate and in response to which they would shrink back slightly, keeping their distance.