Commedia della Morte (43 page)

“I’m weaker than I would like to be,” he said in a neutral tone.

“But you’re much improved,” she enthused. “You have some of your color back, and you need only that cane to walk.”

Before da San-Germain could speak, Pascal hurried up to him. “Oh, thank God. You seem to be over the worst.”

“So I hope,” said da San-Germain as Valence and Constance got down from the stage and came toward him. “How good of you to greet me so—”

“Are you going to rehearse with us?” Crepin asked, offering a practiced smile.

“That is my intention,” said da San-Germain at his most genial. “I hope that I have stamina enough to complete the whole play with you, but I may have to stop before the end; if I do, you have my apology.” He inclined his head a little, in a manner that made him seem somehow taller than he was. “So if I may ask one of you to bring me a stool, we can find out if I am truly improving.”

Photine signaled to Pascal, who was still standing next to the joined wagons. “A stool, a tall one, and the cimbalom. It’s still in the larger cart. Put them on the stage left side.” She took his hand, patting it affectionately. “I hope you will tell me what you think of the new version of the text.”

“I will,” he pledged. “And to add to your parade, Roger will bring you some drums and pipes and trumpets for all of you to carry. You needn’t play them well, just use them for noise. I think there may be cymbals, as well.” Da San-Germain gave a slight smile that found a faint reflection in Photine’s face. “You’ll attract attention, most assuredly.”

“Oh, very good. It will give us the opportunity to demonstrate our popularity. Theron, if you would?” She raised her arm and gestured to the poet to approach; Theron complied at once, jumping down from the stage and rushing to her side.

“What is it, Photine?” he asked, watching her with possessive zeal mixed with pride.

This time her smile beamed. “Our problems may be solved. We won’t have to bother with chanting or shouting. Ragoczy will provide simple instruments for us.” She opened her arms to encompass all her players. “You will all choose your instruments shortly, and you will play them when the Corpses parade through the streets.” She started back toward the stage. “We’ll talk later, Ragoczy. When the rehearsal is over, there are matters we must discuss.”

“As you wish,” said da San-Germain, and glanced at Theron. “Have you any time to spare just now?”

Theron nodded to da San-Germain. “Ten minutes. A pleasure to see you out of bed and on your feet, Com—” He stopped himself before he finished the title.

“It is good to be out of bed,” da San-Germain said smoothly, then lowered his voice. “I gather there have been some changes in our plans.”

Color mounted in Theron’s face. “Yes. Yes, there have.”

“Can you tell me what these changes comprise?”

“Not now. We should discuss them later.”

“After rehearsal?” da San-Germain suggested.

“If you aren’t too tired,” Theron said.

“We’ll have to see.” He motioned toward the stage as if content to wait to talk over the changes. “Are you satisfied with your revisions?”

“Not entirely, no,” Theron admitted. “But, given the circumstance, I think they’ll do well enough. We can make adjustments later.” He smiled self-consciously, and hurried on, “The play is gaining quite a reputation. We may have to find a larger stage for the performance after next.”

“You must be pleased,” said da San-Germain, thinking that Theron was no longer planning to leave the company when Madelaine was free.

“We’re doing better here than we did in Avignon. The whole troupe is pleased.” He moved a little closer to the stage. “Frankly, I’m glad we don’t have to put up with Enee’s antics any longer.”

“You have found him difficult?” da San-Germain asked at his most urbane.

“Not as difficult as you have, but yes, a problem.”

“Heurer!” Photine called from the edge of the stage.

“Coming!” he answered, turned back toward da San-Germain, and shrugged. “She needs me. May we meet later?”

“Later will be fine,” was da San-Germain’s answer addressed to Theron’s back. He stood for a short while, staring into the distance, his thoughts buzzing like saws as he set about how to deliver Madelaine from danger without the help or specific knowledge of Theron Heurer. When he had satisfied himself that he had the skeleton of a plan, he went to tune the cimbalom which was set up at the edge of the stage, sat on the stool, and got out his tuning key.

*   *   *

Text of a letter from Jean-Marie Collot d’Herbois in Paris to Theron Baptiste Heurer in Lyon, carried by Revolutionary Assembly courier and delivered three days after it was written.

To the most celebrated playwright in all of Lyon, Theron Baptiste Heurer, Jean-Marie Collot d’Herbois sends his most profound greetings on this, the 22
nd
day of October, 1792.

Esteemed Heurer,

I have had many reports of your remarkable play,
Commedia della Morte,
which have reached me in Paris, and roused my admiration for your talent and invention, and I have decided that we may be of service to one another. All commentary regarding your play has been fulsome in its praise of your cleverness, expounding on your wit and philosophy with enthusiasm that is not often encountered in these times. There have been those who claim they were shocked at the subject matter, but in such an age as this one, who has not seen much the same in everyday life? Please convey my congratulations to the troupe performing your work, for it is generally agreed that they have brought your scenario to vivid life.

I have recently been informed that I am to be sent to Lyon shortly to deal with the Girondais there, and to show them, who are so recalcitrant regarding the necessity of Louis XVI’s execution, which you must know I have called for a month since, that they are committing a grave error in seeking to establish a constitutional monarchy and a judicially responsible Church. Dare I hope that you would be willing to lend your pen and great gifs to my cause? There would be opportunities not only for you, but for the troupe with whom you work. Such decisions cannot be taken without reflection, so I will not expect your response before the end of this month. Let me assure you that those who do not support or endorse my policies will be permitted to leave Lyon without let or hindrance, if there are members of the troupe who are not in sympathy with the goals I have stated for the progress of the Revolution.

I envision two new scenarios, the texts of which you will pen, showing the future we will have once we are free of the chains wrought by the aristocracy, the clergy, and royalty. When those shackles are at last broken, when the last tool of our subjugation is dead, when our enemies are gone from the earth, France will emerge as a shining example for all the nations of the world to be guided by and emulate. Tyranny must end, and those who embrace tyranny must perish with it. Unlike America, where no one ever had to endure the burdens imposed by high-born despots and the minions of a corrupt clergy, we have an obligation to sweep away those elements of oppression and awaken the spirits of our people. Our collaboration will make it possible for everyone to see what we may achieve once those despicable nobles and clerics are no longer our masters.

I ask you in the name of the glorious Revolution to help me complete the work that has at last begun, to raze the edifice of monocracy from the land we both love, to banish all trace of the land-holders and aristocracy from within our borders through the device Doctor Guillotine has provided for that purpose, and to usher in the new age of Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality.

Vive la France!

Vive le Revolution!

Jean-Marie Collot d’Herbois

4

“Are you sure of this?” da San-Germain asked Feo in a near-whisper; they were in the stable grooming the horses and mules while the troupe gathered in the large parlor to confer on the offer that had arrived from Jean-Marie Collot d’Herbois yesterday; most of the actors were eager to accept the offer, but Crepin and Constance were leery of the dangers of being caught up in politics, and Valence worried about how they would be paid; Photine’s excitement for the project ranged from forcefully logical to grandiloquent. So far they had spent two hours in discussion, and it seemed likely that they would continue for another two hours, giving da San-Germain and Feo ample time to tend to the horses and mules; as the afternoon was waning, a thin fog was moving in off the river, bringing a penetrating chill to the city. “They’ve changed plans again?” He cursed himself for the time he had spent lying atop his native earth instead of seeking to free Madelaine from prison. “I dislike having to improvise.”

“Yes, the plans are changed: I’m certain of it because I heard it from two officers,” Feo said in Italian while using the stiff brush on the muddy legs of a liver sorrel gelding; he was crouched down behind the half-wall that separated the stalls. “The Guard in the tavern by the north gate was complaining about yet another change just as you are. He’s unhappy with the old Saone River Road. He thinks his superiors are being too clever, trying to outwit an opponent who doesn’t exist. He dislikes night duty: he says it’s too easy for enemies to attack late at night, and to make good their escape.”

“He may be right,” said da San-Germain with grim humor. “Who was your second source?”

“A groom at the Guards’ stable. He told me that they were going to have to house another fifteen horses at two in the morning. He wasn’t very happy about it.”

“Why did he tell you this?”

“He knows I’m a coachman, and we occasionally talk about what our work demands of us. I see him at the horse-market, where I go to buy the feed you require. Since his family is from Torino, he regards me almost as a cousin, being frank with me and expressing himself openly when we talk.” Feo sensed some reservation from da San-Germain, so he added, “He and I discuss the horses for sale, and we usually agree about them, so we’ve become a bit friendly.”

“How much have you told him about your own work?”

Feo grinned roguishly as he stood up, returning the brush to the box of grooming tools set on the top of the half-wall. “I tell him what it’s like to drive for a troupe of performers, with just enough gossip to give him a thrill. He’s occasionally said he’d like doing my job for a change—drive around the country, staying here a while and there a while. He used to be a coachman, before he overturned one of those heavy Hessian coaches and broke three bones from the crash. He misses driving.” As if in sympathy with the groom, Feo found a rag and used it on the bridle hanging on a hook outside the door, giving it a cursory cleaning.

“Do you think he’s reliable?”

“He gains nothing by lying.”

Da San-Germain gave himself a little time to cogitate, and finally asked, “Do you have any reason to suspect he might be misinformed?”

“Deliberately, you mean? I doubt it. What would be the benefit?” Feo shook his head. “Most Guards still seem to think that it will be during the day, and on the new road.”

“No benefit to the groom, but the same thing you and I are doing now—doing our best to keep a secret secret.” He was growing tired, but did not stop his chore. “Photine was right about theatrical companies—keeping secrets is impossible—and I imagine that it’s much the same for others who must live and work closely together.”

“The groom isn’t privy to most of the rumors the Guards share among themselves. He has his own sources,” Feo said.

“And what are they?”

“The Guards’ servants, of course.” Feo chuckled. “Servants know everything.”

“But why tell him the truth?”

“They need his help; same with the Guard. There are occasional clandestine missions the Guards undertake that require his services. He told me about this in confidence.”

“As you’ve been told other information in confidence.” Da San-Germain shook his head. “If this is the plan they will use, we will have much to do in the next few hours.” He wished he were stronger, more recovered from Enee’s attack, for he would need every atom of strength he possessed to get through what lay ahead. At least, he reminded himself, the transfer would be at night when he would have more energy than he would in daylight, and he could use the time to rest on his native earth.

“That means that we must take her tonight. She’ll be in the new jail by morning, and then the thing becomes insurmountable.” Feo put the bridle back on the hook, then took a heavy comb to work on the liver sorrel’s flaxen mane. “The plan for tomorrow is for show, but with no real prisoners, so it may have another purpose. They want to bring out the supporters—”

“—of those who oppose wholesale executions, and the Girondais.” Da San-Germain nodded his understanding.

“All those who don’t like the idea of killing King Louis.” He stopped combing the mane on the large gelding. “It’s a trap, Conte, the announced transfer. They want the Girondais to make an attempt to save the prisoners, so that they can be detained.”

“It may well be,” da San-Germain said, unperturbed. “It’s what others have done before them.” He recalled a similar feint used by Gaius Julius Caesar during his campaign in Gaul, and the deceptions practiced on the pilgrims bound for Ethiopia.

“What will that do to the troupe? If there is a disruption that isn’t of their making, will they be held responsible?”

“As a scapegoat, you mean? I think it likely that the Department of Public Safety is inclined to see the parade and performance as the work of pawns in their chess game, to be moved and sacrificed as needed. So long as we serve their purpose, the troupe is safe enough.” He took a jar of ointment and spread some of the odorous contents on a small cut on the mule’s rump. “Looks like a buckle-rub from the crupper,” he remarked to the mule.

“Then you don’t expect any trouble coming to the troupe on account of our rescue of your kinswoman?” For the first time Feo seemed worried.

“Why should there be?” He was less certain of this than he sounded, but kept his reservations to himself.