Commedia della Morte (32 page)

Photine took the paper from him and read it, her eyes narrowing. “They mean to spy on us,” she declared.

“Would you expect otherwise?” da San-Germain asked. “At least they will be readily identified, unlike in some other places.”

“Do you think we should change the play?” She wiped her mouth with her serviette and raised her hand to signal Theron. “We will have to discuss the script as soon as we’re finished dining.”

“Not again,” Theron exclaimed. “I can’t work at it again, Madame. I simply cannot.”

“Then we will have the actors make the changes,” Photine announced.

“I forbid it!” Theron declared, getting to his feet and spilling some of the sauteed vegetables onto the table and floor.

“There will be an officer of the Department of Public Safety coming to watch us rehearse—full dress, with music. He will be here tomorrow or the day after, so we must be prepared for him by then.”

Theron swore comprehensively, stamping his foot for emphasis as he called on God and His Saints to end this desecration. “If you insist on this madness, I suppose I must do what you require,” he told her as soon as he had ended his outburst.

“I think we must modify one of the scenes to praise the justice of the Revolutionary Courts,” Photine said, doing her utmost to summon up enthusiasm; the actors looked at one another in various states of dismay.

Olympe smiled her most fetching smile. “Theron, could you see your way to writing me a few more lines?”

This brought howls of protest and indignation from the rest; Photine raised her hand to stop it.

“Why not wait until the officer has seen it?” da San-Germain suggested. “He may be satisfied with it the way it is.”

Photine gave a prickly laugh. “You know nothing of censors, do you?” She did not wait for an answer, but shook her head. “And you may be sure, whomever they send will be a censor no matter what title he bears.”

“I have dealt with my share of censors, over the years,” da San-Germain assured her. “That is why I recommend letting him see the work—so he may take credit for any changes you may make to the script. It will make him less likely to complain about the play.”

Crepin slapped his palm down on the table. “You’re a clever one, Ragoczy, no doubt about it.” He swung around with a broad gesture and faced Photine. “I think that is an excellent plan.”

Constance leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “We’ll perform better if we stick to the script we know. I’m for Ragoczy’s plan.”

Sibelle sighed. “A few new lines would be nice, though.”

Pascal stared at Photine. “What if we work out a couple new versions, and if there are objections to the play, we can show the officer our alternatives for his approval?”

“What if he expects us to act the variations?” Constance protested.

“Tell him that we haven’t rehearsed the variations recently because Avignon preferred the version we—”

“Too complicated,” da San-Germain warned. “Keep the matter simple. Too many choices could cause more problems than they solve. The censor will be more inclined to ratify the license if he participates in the … improvements.”

Valence spoke up, his voice carrying the same dramatic weight it would have had if he had been delivering Horatius’ speech to his men at the bridge from desCastre’s play. “While I wouldn’t mind more lines, I think Ragoczy’s right about preparedness and giving the censor a hand in the matter. Besides, I’m tired, and I want to spend the night sleeping, not trying to memorize lines that I would probably stumble over.”

Hariot, still looking worn, nodded to Valence. “I agree with him.”

At that, Photine reminded them all, “I did not ask you for a vote, or to choose sides.” She waited while the room grew quiet. “But Ragoczy does have a point. Shall we agree to meet again after supper and look through the play for places where more can be said that is favorable to the Revolution, and make note of them in case the censor tells us we must modify the text?”

Theron sat down again. “I suppose we could do that,” he admitted as he reached to refill his wine-glass.

“Then we’re in accord,” Photine said. “Someone pass what’s left of the chickens.”

As quickly as excitement had taken hold of the actors it was gone. The meal was resumed, the conversation became desultory, and there was no more mention of changes to the script.

Da San-Germain bent down to speak softly to Photine. “Would you like me to join you for your discussion, or not?”

“I think not,” she replied after a short moment. “I’ll probably have to smooth our poet’s ruffled feathers, and that will be more difficult if you’re around.”

“As you wish,” da San-Germain said, standing upright once more. “Then I’ll spend my time putting new strings on my cimbalom; we don’t want any sour notes.”

“No, we don’t,” she said, and helped herself to another chicken-leg and some of the pickled onions that served as a garnish. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Da San-Germain nodded. “I look forward to it,” he said before he left the troupe to their dinner; as he closed the door, he found himself wondering what Photine was planning for the evening beyond the script discussion, and if she would ever tell him.

*   *   *

Text of a report to Vivien Zacharie Charlot, Deputy Secretary for Public Safety in Lyon, from Emile Louis Orgues, License-Clerk in the Department of Public Safety in Lyon, delivered in person the afternoon it was written,

To the Deputy Secretary for Public Safety, Vivien Zacharie Charlot, the dutiful greetings of Emile Louis Orgues, License-Clerk in the Department of Public Safety, on this, the 16
th
day of October, 1792.

My dear Deputy Secretary,

I have this morning attended the rehearsal of a theatrical troupe calling their play and themselves the Commedia della Morte at the Jongleur in the Place des Chevaliers. This troupe is led by Madame Photine d’Auville, and consists of eleven actors, a musician, and two or three men-of-all-work. Their stage is formed by putting two of their wagons together, lowering the on-sides to rest on braces not unlike saw-horses. Then they set up a framework for curtains and similar devices for the presentation of their play. Their musician plays an Hungarian kind of hammered zither, offering somber airs of what I am informed are his own compositions.

The play itself is intended to amuse and shock, and for the most part, it succeeds in these goals, which also contain certain moral lessons that keep the work from being gratuitously morbid. I made notes during their rehearsal and present the gist of them to you here: the scenes are unusual, some of them amusing in their own right, some as contrast for what is to come, for all end with the appearance of increasing numbers of Corpses, in their winding-sheets, their faces covered by skull-masks, a sight that is most disquieting. Each scene is in the manner of a vignette, showing some aspect of life from days before the Revolution, and how it ends in the arrival of the Corpses. Each appearance of the Corpses includes the players from the previous scene, identified by some point of recognition: a nosegay, a hat, a multitude of rings, and so forth. There is an epilogue in verse that sums up the themes of the scenes. It is clever in its way, and although some may find it too upsetting to be regarded as true entertainment, I have been assured by the author of the work, a Theron Baptiste Heurer, that some minor modifications of the play can be accomplished by next Friday; the leader of the troupe has told me that they need only two days of rehearsal to work the changes into their performance. They will deliver a copy of the changes and insertions to me in three days and I will review them before issuing the endorsed license for six performances, with the option to extend the license for another three performances if the reception of the work warrants such an extension.

I recommend that five Guards be assigned to the performances of the troupe, one of whom should keep watch behind the scenes, to prevent any disruption of the play by those overcome by the drama. It would be helpful if we could also provide a nurse, in case some in the audience should find the play too appalling to endure without support. I am certain that such a precaution is called for. Madame d’Auville agrees, and has thanked me for my attentiveness. I will inform you when I have reviewed the changes and insertions we have agreed upon, and see that the script is placed in the files of the Department of Public Safety. Any questions you may have in regard to the play and the troupe will receive my prompt attention, and will include the opportunity for you to see the play in rehearsal as I did, with the ameliorations I have authorized included.

Submitted for your attention, with respect,

Emile Louis Orgues

License-Clerk, the Department of Public Safety

Lyon

Vive la France!

Vive la Revolution!

7

“It looks like the rain will start before the play, more’s the pity; people won’t want to get wet at a play,” Roger remarked to da San-Germain as they busied themselves in the stable, attending to the horses and mules with brushes and combs; they were speaking in Russian, their voices just loud enough for each to hear the other. “Have you done anything to provide shel—”

“I have arranged to have an awning stretched over the wall of the inn-yard. The landlord has one that he usually sets up in summer, to protect animals from the sun. The ostlers should be installing it shortly. It will cover the wagons and about half the space where the audience can stand. Some will have umbrellas, I suppose.” He paused in brushing one of the mules. “The awning should be fully in place within the hour.”

“Does Madame know about this? The prospect of rain must be disappointing for her.” Roger did not sound surprised, but his curiosity got the better of him. He was almost through grooming the pair of Noniuses, stalled together now, as they were hitched together on the largest wagon when the troupe was on the road. There was a second pair of the same breed in the adjoining stall; Roger was finished with their care.

“I offered to make the arrangement last night, when the clouds came in; she was … amenable to the plan once she knew it would not be a charge on her,” said da San-Germain, and resumed brushing back along the flank, then paused to scratch the mule’s withers until its ears flopped and it craned its neck with pleasure. “I’ll need to bring some camphor balls here. The mules have fleas and other insects on their skin.”

“What about your appointment? about Madelaine?” Roger inquired as if he were speaking about the most ordinary thing in the world.

“After the performance, I am to meet with a Deputy Secretary Charlot of the Department of Public Safety at the foot of the Chevaliers; he will have a sprig of evergreen in his buttonhole, and an embossed leather portfolio in his hands,” said da San-Germain in the same commonplace tone. “He has told me he will have information for me.”

“For which you will pay him,” said Roger.

“Certainly.” He took a soft brush and went over the mule’s face, then went back to its coat and the stiffer brush. “Anything else would be folly.”

“A great deal of money?”

Da San-Germain patted the mule again. “And we still must attend to our creatures before the play begins.”

This time Roger would not be turned from the subject. “Are you sure he will give you accurate intelligence, whatever the price? He may be seeking to enrich himself, and will offer a false report; you would have no means of regaining the money without acknowledging the bribe you paid, and that would make it far less likely that you could find out anything useful, and your offer of payment would make it unlikely that you could approach another official to get real information, let alone access.”

“You mean like Decios?” Da San-Germain laughed once. “That thought did cross my mind, but our situation here is rather different than what we encountered on Cyprus—wouldn’t you agree? For one thing, I doubt Charlot would try to kill me.”

“He could denounce you, and that would mean the Guillotine and the True Death.” Roger made no apology for his blunt language.

“It would also mean the end of Charlot receiving bribes and prosecution for doing so; I’m willing to take the risk. He strikes me as a man who is eager to make his fortune and has more to gain by helping me than from condemning me.”

“I hope so,” Roger said, not at all satisfied with the situation.

“You and I can assess what he tells me after I have met with him,” said da San-Germain in a tone that told Roger he did not want to speculate on what he would learn from Charlot.

“The Noniuses are getting their winter coats, and will need more clipping if they’re not to become too long-coated,” Roger pointed out, aware that da San-Germain would say nothing more about Charlot. “And the rest of the horses are putting on weight against the cold. They’ll need more regular brushing.”

“All the more reason for camphor balls,” said da San-Germain. “The stable will be alive with all manner of pests if we don’t stop them now.”

“You’d think Feo would have said something about the problem.” Roger said, and took a pair of heavy scissors to cut a knot of hair out of one of the Hungarian Nonius’ tails. “I haven’t seen Feo this morning.”

“Nor I.” Da San-Germain set his brush aside and picked up a broad, heavy-toothed wooden comb. “He may be out looking for Enee; he didn’t come back to the inn last night, and Photine is worried about him.”

“That youngster is being impudent and foolhardy. He’s determined to upset his mother.”

“Which she tolerates—it only encourages him,”

“That’s obvious: to everyone but Madame.” Roger dropped the knot of mane into the grooming-box. “But why is he so … feckless? Doesn’t he realize he is more likely to damage himself than Madame.”

Da San-Germain considered his answer. “It may be something more than the wildness of youth: I believe that, for all his protests to the contrary, he is trying to remain a child as long as possible, so that he need not give up the luxury of having his mother attend to all his wants and responsibilities. She has done so all his life, making him the center of her world while doing it. There is a kind of fear in him, that he will not be able to command his mother’s love if he becomes an adult; he wants to be accepted as a grown man without sacrificing the advantages he has enjoyed as a boy.”