Commedia della Morte (41 page)

“Did you … just now … think of this?” He was panting now, every word an agonizing effort.

Photine paused, then lowered her eyes. “Crepin came to me before he sought out your manservant, as he should do. I have been trying to decide how to see to Enee’s freedom ever since.” She paced down the room, as restless as a caged tiger. “I didn’t think you would refuse to help me.”

Watching her, da San-Germain could not determine how much of her behavior was genuine emotion and how much was performance, as he had so many times. He was convinced that she was genuinely upset, but the mercurial shifts and dramatic delivery could be the product of a scenario, gauged to persuade him to withdraw any complaint that might be given against her son. “He … has broken the … law, in front of … witnesses. I cannot … keep the … Court from … charging him and … trying him.”

She rounded on him, as grand as anything in Racine. “If you paid a large enough bribe, you could. You have already bribed the Warden of Anti-Revolutionary Prisoners in order to see your noble relation. You could bribe the clerks of the Revolutionary Court to rescind the complaint. I know you could.” She came back to the bathtub, an eloquent remorse in her face. “You have done so much for us. Can’t you do this as well? Is it so different than paying bribes for the troupe to perform?”

He was trying to decide how to answer her so that they could delay this confrontation when the door to the room opened and Roger came in, a basket filled with long strips of linen in one hand and a branch of lit candles in the other. Da San-Germain gestured to Roger to shut the door. “What news?” he asked breathlessly.

“The Guards have just arrived. They’re talking with Feo and Pascal. The groom apparently summarized the problem as he brought them back here,” he replied, looking toward Photine with a wary shine in his faded-blue eyes. “I believe they will interview Enee when they have finished with the witnesses. Then, if my master can receive them, they will ask him what transpired, or so their sergeant informs me.”

“Tell them that you were mistaken!” Photine exclaimed. “Roger, go get them. Tell them that your master wishes to modify his complaint.”

Roger regarded her steadily for several seconds, then said without any outward show of emotion. “I am sorry, Madame, but I cannot do that.”

“But if you don’t, Enee will face trial,” she all but shrieked.

“That is for the Department of Public Safety to decide,” said Roger. “They will advise the Revolutionary Court if a trial is warranted.”

“Did the … sergeant tell you … that, too?” da San-Germain inquired muzzily; his attention was slipping, and warm as the water was, he was beginning to feel something he rarely felt: cold.

Photine gave a frenzied scream and rushed out of the room, calling for Constance and Olympe, for Sibelle and Tereson, proclaiming that they had been betrayed.

Roger went and closed the door. “Don’t fret, my master. The Department of Public Safety will explain the matter to her. She won’t intrude on you until you are better.”

“Do you … think so?” da San-Germain asked, and stared at the closed door. “I wonder.”

*   *   *

Text of a report to the Department of Public Safety of Lyon from their advisory physician, Jules Topinard, carried by Topinard’s footman the morning after the report was written.

To the Department of Public Safety, the greetings of Jules Topinard, physician, and the report on the condition of the foreigner, Ragoczy Ferenz, Hungarian exile, with the troupe known as Commedia della Morte, on this, the night of the 21
st
of October, 1792.

To the Secretary of Public Safety,

As you have required of me, I called at the Jongleur, the inn where the Commedia della Morte is presently residing, in response to your order that I should examine Ragoczy Ferenz to determine the extent of injuries inflicted upon him yesterday, October 20
th
, 1792, at the hands of Enee d’Auville, son of the leader of the Commedia della Morte, currently held in detention in the cells of the Revolutionary Guard barrack at #52, Place et Porte en Sur.

I arrived at the Jongleur at seven of the clock in the evening and was directed to Ragoczy’s room at the rear of the first floor of guest-rooms. Ragoczy’s manservant admitted me, and described the measures he had taken to care for his employer’s injuries, most of which were prudent and appropriate to Ragoczy’s state.

Ragoczy himself lay in bed, dozing. He showed no signs of fever: he was, in fact, quite chilly, so while I do not believe he will suffer any putrescence of his wounds, he may be reacting to the severity of the attack upon him, which can be dangerous in its own way. There were sixteen severe stabs to his body, another twenty-three assorted cuts and slices, and two abrasions that appear to have been caused when he fell to the ground.

That his assailant intended to inflict serious or even deadly injuries there can be no doubt: the number of wounds indicates that the injuries were deliberate. The reports from the witnesses all confirm: that Enee d’Auville was doing his utmost to deliver fatal blows to the said Ragoczy is beyond cavil; his detention is a sensible precaution, given the extent to which he tried to incapacitate Ragoczy. It required four men to pull the youth off of Ragoczy and to hold him, so I believe it is fair to assume that Enee d’Auville poses a real danger to Ragoczy Ferenz, and for all we can guess, perhaps to others as well.

Let me recommend an extension of the performance license for the Commedia della Morte, for between the rain and this unfortunate incident, it would be unreasonable to expect the troupe to be able to present their play with two of the company unable to participate, and they have paid for the right to perform. It would appear to be that the city has extorted fees from them without providing the opportunity the license is intended to authorize. I have been told that Theron Heurer, the dramatist of the work, is presently revising the script to allow for the loss of one of the actors and the musician.

Since Ragoczy will not be able to travel for some weeks I would recommend adding performances to their license so that they will be able to maintain themselves at the Jongleur until the Revolutionary Court has come to a decision in regard to Enee d’Auville, and Ragoczy Ferenz has improved to a point that he can safely take to the roads again.

It being close on midnight, this will be put in your hands by nine of the clock tomorrow morning. If you have any additional questions in regard to this case, I will be honored to answer them.

Vive la France!

Vive Lyon

Vive la Revolution

Jules Topinard, physician

#27, Rue des Bergers

3

“The prisoners will be moved within the city walls in four days, which is a performing day for our commedia; the next will be tomorrow,” Roger informed da San-Germain three days after the attack upon him; it was mid-morning and the troupe was already setting up the stage on the two wagons in the inn’s yard in anticipation of the next day’s performance, and the sounds of their labors drifted up to their room. “Their run has been extended by two more performances. The Revolutionary Tribunal approves of it, and thus far there has been no scandal about Enee’s attack, or his accusations. Heurer has changed the script so that they won’t need Enee.”

“How set is that—the day they will move the prisoners? This makes the sixth change so far; is it likely the day will be changed again?”

“It may, but probably not. The weather isn’t going to stay clear for much longer, and they don’t want to move them in a downpour, or worse.”

“And the horses? Have you purchased the number we agreed upon?”

“Yes. They’re being kept at a stable on the Saone Road, half a league from the city gates.”

Da San-Germain sat a little straighter. “Were they bought outside the city?”

“Of course. And I made sure there was no connection with any member of the troupe. The agent I employed was informed that the horses were needed for a courier service.” He did not smile, but a look of satisfaction came over his features.

“How does Photine feel about the run being extended again?” da San-Germain asked abruptly, glancing toward the window and the sound of the players’ preparation. For once the sky was nearly clear, and the hazy sunshine brought a brilliance to the world that it had lacked for the greater part of a week.

“She says little to me: only tells me that she expects you to provide the music. Other than that, she isn’t forthcoming; Pascal says she’s embarrassed by what happened,” said Roger. “I believe that embarrassment is a factor for her, but not the only one.”

“Does she mean Enee’s attempt to kill me when she says ‘what happened’?” The question was sharper than he intended, and he cleared his throat and added, “I understand why she might want to express it that way.”

Roger nodded. “It’s her hope to put the incident in the past; she is giving all her attention to the play and her troupe. That’s why they’re rehearsing again today, and why she’s said she has to have the music for the parade tomorrow, and in four days, since the license for it has come through. Heurer agrees.”

“So nothing more about Enee.”

“He remains in jail, or so Constance tells me,” said Roger.

“I gather he will not be brought to trial soon.” For all his voice revealed, they might have been discussing the stenciled decoration above the windows. “By the way, of what crimes has he accused me?”

“Seduction, lewdness, fraud, coercion, endangering Photine’s welfare. There may be more, but these are what I’ve heard.”

“Being his mother’s lover and forcing her to come to France, in other words,” said da San-Germain as if he were talking about something from his distant past. “I suppose he’ll bring those things up at his trial.”

“It’s likely.”

“Do you think we’ll be here when he does?” He sounded even more detached.

In his long experience with da San-Germain, Roger knew it was folly to challenge him on his apparent indifference. “No; there is too much of a back-log for political cases—he will have to wait his turn, and by then we should be well away from France.”

Da San-Germain took a long, slow breath. “Which means that Photine will want to remain here until he’s been before the Revolutionary Court.”

Roger nodded his agreement. “So she has declared.”

“What does the rest of the troupe say?”

“Nothing that they will discuss with me.” He shook his head slowly. “No, that’s not quite accurate. Valence told me that they weren’t all in agreement with her.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” da San-Germain said as he fiddled with the bandage on his thigh. “I doubt they’d discuss it with me, either.”

“Probably not, though you are their patron. Pascal is encouraging the rest of the troupe to take no more money from you, and pay their way from the money their play brings in.”

“Do the others concur?”

“Some do.” Roger faltered, then went on. “The rest do not. They argue about it often. There is growing rancor in the troupe because of this debate.”

“All the more reason to keep their opinions to themselves.” He stretched awkwardly. “Well, I imagine it would be best for me to make an appearance before them, since there is a performance tomorrow, and with a parade. I’ll need something less fitted than most of my clothes.”

Roger pulled a black wool swallow-tail coat from the armoire. “Will this do?”

“I trust so; and one of the looser shirts.” Da San-Germain, sitting on a chest of his native earth, had recovered a little from Enee’s assault, though he still had moments of incapacitating pain; beneath his dressing-robe he was swathed in bandages, and both his eyes were black from the cut on his forehead. “Concerning the prisoners: do we know what time of day they’ll be moved?” He considered the possibilities. “It could be a ploy, to continue to announce changes and move them at an entirely different time.”

“That’s possible,” said Roger. “But in this instance, I think there may be some truth to what I’ve learned.”

“Why?”

He considered his response carefully. “It is how I came to learn of it: I had it from one of the Revolutionary Court clerks, who is making arrangements for the transfer and setting up the escort. He was at the Cinq Etoiles—you know, the tavern near the Revolutionary Court’s building?—complaining to his fellows about the complications they were encountering in arranging for Guards along the route they were going to use; I happened to overhear him.” He studied da San-Germain with concern.

“Happened, old friend?” da San-Germain inquired, a sardonic lift to his brows. “It was an opportunity you came upon by accident?”

“A fortunate chance,” Roger said, refusing to be needled.

“Fortunate indeed, if it is accurate. Were the clerks good enough to mention the time of this endeavor?”

Roger had observed this remote, sardonic mood before, and knew that it masked profound misgivings. “Not one of the clerks: a Guard was in the Cinq Etoiles, and he was upset that the plan was for the afternoon, during the riposino. He disapproved of the time: he doesn’t want to give up his nap.”

“The performance is supposed to be immediately after the riposino rather than before,” said da San-Germain, doubts making him critical. “Will the parade permission be upheld, or will the Department of Public Safety withdraw the license?”

“There has been no notice of withdrawal,” said Roger. “But that doesn’t mean that the Revolutionary Tribunal or the Revolutionary Court couldn’t change its mind.”

For a short while, da San-Germain said nothing while he pondered the likelihood of a change; when he looked up at last, he said, “I doubt they will withdraw it: it could give public attention to the transferring of prisoners, assuming that takes place according to plan, and the Department of Public Safety will try to keep everyone distracted while they move their prisoners. The parade will make that possible. It’s likely that they chose the time of the parade as a diversion.”