Le Temps des Cerises (29 page)

The boot stitcher leaned over and whispered to her friend. ‘Is that his way of admitting his mistress is with child?'

Laurie stood up, trembling violently. He felt so lightheaded he thought he was going to faint. Is it true, he wanted to shout at the top of his voice. Is it true that you and Alphonse…

‘Are you well, Laurie?' Eveline cried out in alarm. ‘Are you quite well tonight, Laurie?'

‘Quite well thank you.' Laurie sat down again with a thump. Perhaps it was best not to hear it articulated. It was best not to hear it articulated that Alphonse loved Eveline and Eveline loved Alphonse. Better to keep looking at it out of the corner of his eye.

The legendary Mabille got to her feet then, prodded on by the girls in her charge. ‘Is it true,' she began in an embarrassed and quavering voice for despite her vocation she was prim and proper as a high court judge. ‘Is it true that illegitimate companions and children of National Guardsmen killed in action are to receive the same pension as the legitimate companions and children?'

‘Yes it is true,' replied Alphonse, his eyes frank and smiling. ‘The Commune recognises partnerships between men and women other than marriage.'

‘Marriage is a crime!' a young girl piped up, as dainty as a ballerina. ‘A crime against morality!'

Hear Hear!
There was more thunderous applause at this.
All for the free women
, came a chorus of shouts from Mabille's corner.
None for the slaves!

‘All for the free women!' Eveline repeated a little hesitatingly though nobody but Laurie would have noticed her uncertainty. ‘Marriage is a crime against morality!'

Miss Grist, head bowed, was writing as fast as she could. A glass of water stood on her desk, untouched as always and somebody had mischievously placed a cream cake right under her very nose to tempt her into what she would have called a ‘dereliction of duty'. It sat there oozing sugary nonsense and her mouth twitched now and again at the sight of it.

Marriage is a crime against morality, she wrote, pressing so hard with her pen that the nib broke. She cried out in dismay. This was a catastrophe indeed for she hadn't brought another.

‘BREAK BREAK!' she called out in a shrill and flustered little voice, raising a skinny arm in the air. ‘I need a new pen.'

‘Not a patch on Tessier,' Laurie murmured to Eveline who nodded in agreement. Tessier had always brought an array of coloured inks for his doodles and symbols which was why he'd always taken so long over the affair and been forced to concoct the system Léon in the first place. But to forget an extra pen at a political meeting –
that
was a crime against morality.

Miss Grist, waiting for a new pen to be brought, was beginning to agitate over the fact that she couldn't write down that she couldn't write anything for want of a pen. It played on her mind that even when she got the new pen she'd have to write down that she'd had to stop writing for lack of a pen, what had happened in the interim and that she was able to start writing again because so and so had brought a replacement. As the minutes ticked by with nobody seemingly able to produce the right equipment – someone offered up a ruler, another a protractor – Miss Grist got so het up that she took a great bite out of the cream cake in front of her, gulping it down with an oddly bobbing little action.

‘Miss Grist is eating cake!' somebody gasped as if mortally offended. ‘Miss Grist never eats cakes!'

Poor Miss Grist. Her face suffused with blood at the reproachful glances cast in her direction; and mayhem might have ensued if a scholarly looking gentleman hadn't suddenly turned up with a pencil and the rather unjust little quip that if Miss Grist would deign to stop eating cakes they might get on with the meeting.

The mood became quite revolutionary after that. The sight of Miss Grist eating cake turned everybody's head, even more than Alphonse's speech. Someone proposed chairing a debate on whether the rich should be made to give back what they owed to the poor or simply be exterminated.

‘Make them give back what they owe,' suggested a grisly looking fellow with an eyepiece, ‘and then have them all exterminated – along with priests and nuns!'

There was laughter at this. Everyone agreed that the dandies who par­ad­ed along the boulevards with their pince-nez and kid gloves should be made to dig up the pavements in the fight against Versailles. There was even talk of blowing up the city rather than letting the old government back in.

‘I should set myself alight,' went on the grisly looking fellow, his eyepiece twitching, ‘rather than let Tom Thumb back into town.'

‘I should set myself AND my children alight,' a passionate-looking woman declared, going one stage further, ‘for the sake of the Commune!'

Tremendous applause at this. What an example! What a woman! Everyone was suddenly eager to sacrifice their nearest and dearest on the altar of the Commune.

‘I should set myself, my sister and my canary ablaze!' a little old woman puffed, slyly watching Alphonse descending the platform, ‘if it would help the revolution.'

‘Thank you, madame,' Alphonse responded, looking her straight in the eye, ‘but I don't think that will be necessary.'

An elderly gentleman suddenly sprang on to a pew, waving a bible. He was often at meetings and most people usually tried to ignore him.

‘REVELATIONS,' he began with a roar.

The whole church yawned in unison. Honest to goodness. Take him away somebody, please do, and string him up. They'd had God rammed down their throats for eighteen centuries and that was more than enough for any of them.

Laurie, having drunk nearly three entire bottles of wine, was feeling strangely elated. Tears of joy pricked at his eyes as he looked around at the gather­ing. He had never felt so at one with humanity, so at peace with him­self and mankind. It was like dreaming the most wonderful of dreams that one fought to recall upon waking. Like singing the most eloquent of songs in sleep that you couldn't retrace in the mornings. His heart flew out to the people around him: the sinners and villains, heroes and ragamuffins. He would share himself with them all tonight. He would share his soul for once in his life. He staggered to his feet, waving away the worried protest­ations of Alphonse and Eveline and laughing outright at their sugges­tion that he ought to get some bitter coffee down his neck. There was nothing wrong with him. He was just dandy thank you. They were the ones slurring their words by the sound of things! He lurched out of the pew, waiting for the sharp intake of breath from the laundress on his left for he could still cut a figure with the best of them in his finery for the even­ing's enter­tainment – white gloves, blue cummerbund – quite a heart-throb in fact. He propelled himself up the aisle, beaming at the faces smiling back at him red hot and glowing in the lamplight. All here in their common humanity. All here for the one idea – to celebrate the revolution. It was glorious indeed!

He stepped up to the lectern and clung on tight as the bloodshot faces swum beneath him and the stained-glass panes frowned down at him. Mary with a distaff, Mary with a little lamb… He spied Alphonse gestic­ulat­ing violently at him to come down. Good old Alphonse! Always there to save the day. Always there to play the hero. But he needn't have worried. Laurie was in fine form tonight. He'd never felt such a surge of inspiration, such an outpouring of emotion. It was as if he'd tapped a wellspring inside him, a little wellspring of words to anoint his fellow men with.

‘
Homo sapiens
,' he began, quite off the cuff and impromptu, ‘
are really at the Vatican

God no hope

Look where we're at again!
'

The audience approved. It was in the mood for a bit of recitation. Just what the doctor ordered, especially after that raddle-headed religious nut.

‘
Little Thiers
,' Laurie went on, gaining confidence, ‘
has got no ears!

Trochu's plan

Went down the pan.
'

The hail of applause was music to his ears and he grinned in delight. He was on fire tonight! The words were coming thick and fast, leaping into his head like bright green frogs. He glanced meaningfully at Miss Grist as if to say that she better be getting this down, pen or no pen. It might very well end up in Volume Two by Laurie Marçeau, working title: Gods and Monsters.

‘
The Ichneumonidae

Are very greedy

Said the caterpillar host.

That a cat should play with mice

Ain't very nice

Darwin wrote.
'

Nobody had a clue what
ichenondiae
were but they cheered even harder to make up for it. One woman went so far as to say she'd had them in her privy and Mr Darwin knew what he was talking about alright.

‘Is he the one who married a monkey?' the grey-haired little woman asked, craning her neck to get a look at Laurie.

‘Hardly!' scoffed the stately matron beside her. ‘He said that as a race we humans are descended from monkeys.'

‘Adam and Eve were monkeys?' The little old woman patted her hair with a startled look.

‘Well, in a manner of speaking, I suppose. As a species we are constantly evolving.'

The little old woman gave a solemn nod. ‘No doubt about it,' she puffed. ‘No doubt about it. You've only got to look around you.'

Laurie didn't know how he'd got from St Nicolas-des-Champs to the Tuileries but he found himself a little while later ensconced between his friends on a seat in the Salle des Maréchaux. His head was still spinning with drink and the four cups of coffee Eveline had brought in an attempt to sober him up. He had a feeling he'd done something vaguely reprehensible but he couldn't think what and he was still too elated to care. He crunched on a nut brittle and listened to the violin tuning up behind the curtain, the people rustling into their places behind him. He was looking forward to the evening's entertainments – a concert in aid of widows and orphans. There were to be a few amateur-dramatical turns, a juggler apparently, La Bordas herself and some poetry reading. He hugged his knees in anticipation and watched the ushers in their white gloves handing out tea served with sugar, lemon and Normandy cream. It was all very civilised, he thought wryly, considering there was a war going on. The main attraction of course was the Tuileries itself. For fifty centimes anyone off the street could come and satisfy their curiosity as to how the other half had lived. Red flags had been stuck in the cheekiest of places to emphasise the point that the Tuileries was now the property of the Commune or rather the people; and posters reading ‘the gold that drapes these walls is your sweat and toil' adorned every bit of marble and gilt. People were lining up in droves to see where their sweat and toil had ended up. Women fingered the satin sheets the Empress herself had slept between, dabbed their necks with her bottled perfume, riffled through her stockings and political dresses; children pressed the bells that went through to the servants' quarters; and men gazed up at the chandeliers or pointed out to one another where they lived on the replica floor map in the Emperor's study. It was accurate in every detail apparently, right down to the flower stalls on the Madeleine and the curving loops of the Seine; and it was changed every year to keep it up to date with modern development. Laurie tried to imagine the poor old Emperor in night cap and slippers traversing the streets of Paris in his room before ringing for cocoa and bed. Now he was traversing the streets of London for real in complete anonymity.

Laurie accepted some tea with lemon and cream, much to Eveline's disgust. ‘You'll give yourself stomach ache,' she chided. ‘Lemon and cream curdle in the stomach.' But Laurie didn't mind. The concert was about to start and he wanted to be refreshed for the performances. ‘Anyway,' he said with an all-inclusive grin at Alphonse, ‘it can't be any worse than mouth warmer!'

Alphonse made a grimace and Laurie laughed out loud. It was good to be with his friends. It was good to be with his friends on such a memorable occasion. The Tuileries open for the public at large. It was everything he and Alphonse had dreamed about.

‘Has it all been worth it, my friend?' he asked, vaguely gesturing with his cup.

Alphonse started a little though no one but Laurie would have noticed it. Something flickered into those bright blue eyes and then disappeared again like the ripple of a stone in a bright blue lake. Laurie suddenly realised that he had misunderstood the question. He had misunderstood the question and given a different answer. And Laurie knew. He had seen into the soul of Alphonse the hero, Alphonse the enigma. And he knew that Alphonse knew that he knew.

The curtain went up then and a man rushed on stage with a small prop for the first act. Laurie felt as if he were watching the workings of his own mind as a variety of characters raced on and off in different guises. There were tumblers and acrobats with sleeked-down hair and well-oiled bodies who somersaulted and cartwheeled their way around the stage; a violinist with a wild moustache and a plaintive tune; and a juggler who could juggle anything in the universe apparently, anything the audience cared to throw at him. Someone threw a hat, another a scarf and he juggled these without shifting an inch from his jewel-coloured carpet. A man threw a shoe at him then and a boy his penknife and even these he managed to juggle without batting an eyelid. Laurie was astounded and Eveline said she wished Jacques was there to see it. ‘He would have loved it so,' she sighed, wiping a tear from her eye.