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kind, very dignified, and I looked up to him. From what Uncle Agrippa has told me about him, he appeared cold because he was shy, but altogether a most scrupulous and upright person: he had that moral uprightness which is the glory of Genevan Protestantism. There are ever so many dead people in our family! Éliane and Jacques were killed in a car accident. I can't say anything about Jacques and dear Éliane. If I did, I'd only cry and then I wouldn't be able to go on.
    'As I write, the radio is playing "Zitto, zitto" from the Cenerentola by horrible old Rossini, who was a silly man only interested in cannelloni, which he made himself. A moment ago, it was Sams'on and Delilah by Saint-Saens. Even ghastlier. Talking of the radio, the other night there was a repeat of a play by somebody called Sardou, entitled Madame Sans-Gine. Awful! How could anybody be a democrat after hearing the audience guffawing and clapping? The imbeciles positively hooted at some of the lines given to Madame Sans-Gene, Duchess of Danzig. Such as, for instance, when she was at a court reception, she said in a plebeian accent: "'Ere we are then!" Can you imagine it? A duchess who was once a washerwoman and proud of it! And her tirade against Napoleon! I thoroughly despise this man Sardou. Of course, old Madame Deume loved it. Another thing that's horrible on the radio is the vulgar braying of the mob at football matches. How can anyone not despise people like that?
    'After Daddy died, all three of us went to live with. his sister Valérie, whom we called Tantlérie. In the novel, don't forget to describe her villa at Champel, with its walls crammed with bad portraits of a whole string of ancestors, verses out of the Bible and Views of Old Geneva. Tantlérie's brother, Agrippa d'Auble, also lived at Champel. I used to call him Uncle Gri. He's quite interesting but I'll describe him some other time. For the time being, I'll stick to Tanderie. She's one character I shall certainly put in my book. While she was alive she did her best to show me as little affection as possible, though she was deeply fond of me. I am going to try to describe her properly, as though this were the start of the novel.
    'Valérie d'Auble was very aware that she belonged to the Genevan aristocracy. In reality, the first of the Aubles was a draper in the days of Calvin, but that was a long time ago and there is no sin but has its pardon. My aunt was a tall, regal woman with handsome, regular features, who always dressed in black and professed the utmost disdain for fashion. Whenever she went out, she always wore a peculiar flat hat, rather like a large apple-pie, which had a short black veil hanging down behind. Her purple sunshade, from which she was never separated and which she held out in front of her like a walking-stick as she leaned on it, was famous in Geneva. She was given to good works and shared the bulk of her income among various charitable organizations, evangelical missions in Africa and an association for the preservation of the beauties of Old Geneva. She had also endowed bursaries for good behaviour for which pious girls were eligible. "Will you do the same for boys, Aunt?" She said: "I won't have anything to do with scallywags."
    'Tantlérie was part of a group, which has now all but disappeared, of particularly strict Protestants who were called the Very Holy. To her way of thinking, people were divided into the elect and the damned, most of the elect being Genevan. There were a few elect in Scotland, though not many. But she certainly did not believe that being Genevan and Protestant was enough to save your soul. To find grace in the sight of the Almighty, you needed to fulfil five further conditions. First, you had to accept the literal inspiration of the Bible and consequently believe that Eve was made of Adam's spare rib. Second, you needed to be a member of the conservative party, then called, I believe, the National-Democrats. Third, you had to feel Genevan