Commedia della Morte (8 page)

“Is that a satisfactory arrangement?” he asked, taking care not to sound too curious.

“We manage well enough most of the time,” Photine said, being deliberately vague.

Da San-Germain came up behind her and took the undergarment in hand. “Let me do this for you; there’s no need for you to tangle yourself so uncomfortably when I am here.” With a few twitches, he settled the corset in place around her and began to pull the laces. “How tight do you want these?”

“Tight enough. I’ll let you know.” She stood straight to help him work. “That is tight at the waist, but not too tight. The same tension will do all the way up the laces.”

“Very good,” he said, continuing at his self-appointed task.

A minute or so later, she said, “You do this very well.”

“Fashion makes demands: one learns to accommodate them.” He thought of the extravagant body cosmetics of the Athenian youths in Socrates’ day; of the elaborate wrappings of a formal toga in Imperial Rome; of the embroidered paragaudions of Byzantine fashions; of the stiffened silk caps of the professors at Lo-Yang, before Jenghiz Khan began his campaigns; of the complicated head-dresses of the Bohemians, five centuries ago; of the elaborate cartwheel ruffs and jeweled cod-pieces of the Elizabethan court, two hundred years past; of the grand court clothing in the mud and mire of Sankt Piterburkh not quite a century ago … He tied the laces at the top of the corset and tucked the ends inside the undergarment. “There.” He bent and kissed the nape of her neck. “Will that do you?”

“You accommodate more than I would have expected,” she said archly as she bent awkwardly to gather up her petticoats and skirt, dragging the ties up to her waist and securing them quickly.

“What would you like me to do now?” he asked, regarding her with interest.

“That’s very nice, but I would like you to lace my bodice, if you don’t mind?” She found herself marveling at his accommodation; his response was all she wanted, appreciative and gallant.

He picked up her bodice and slipped it over her head. “Will this do?” He tugged on the laces to get her approval of his adjustment.

“A little tighter,” she suggested, and stood still, feeling the bodice-back close over the laces of her corset.

“As you wish,” he said, and complied.

When she felt him tuck in the bodice-laces, she swung around to face him, her thoughts no longer on the transports they had shared such a short while ago, but on the coming preparations for Racine’s great tragedy. “So, Conte. Tomorrow we begin to prepare the
Phaedre.
Will you want to watch us rehearse? The first few days are not likely to be very interesting—more stage movements and working out the placements of the properties and scenery, but you’re welcome to join us.”

“I may,” he said. “Unless you would prefer that I wait a day or two, when you are more familiar with how you will play it.”

She leaned toward him to kiss his cheek. “I don’t know how a man of your rank can be so understanding of our needs, but I thank you for it.”

“You forget I’m an exile; you and I have more in common than you realize.” He stepped back from her. “That, and your son is jealous of my attentions to you, I think.”

She sighed. “Enee is young, but trying to be my protector and guardian. Don’t think ill of him.”

“I’ll try not to, but I had best let you have some time with him; I don’t want to encourage his rancor. As you say, he is young, and he has an exaggerated sense of his maturity.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Best go out by the terrace door and through the garden. Your troupe will be wanting to see you.”

“So they will,” she said with a small, artistic sigh. “This has been a most astonishing hour.”

“That it has,” he told her with warmth in his dark eyes.

“I’m thankful to you for all you’ve done for me.” She made a little curtsy. “Shall you want an account of our first rehearsal, since you won’t attend?”

“Only if there’s something you need me to address with the Universita,” he replied, and reached for his coat, pulling it on as he walked beside her to the door of the withdrawing room.

“I trust your knowledge, and your good sense. You need not give me constant details of what transpires.” He adjusted his neck-cloth and collar, then opened the door for her. “I look forward to seeing you perform, Photine; you and all your troupe.”

She gave him her most melting smile. “It will be a joy to play a classic again.”

“Then I am delighted to have helped bring this about.” He gave her a long, steady look. “You must tell me if the site is not to your liking.”

“I will, but I have no doubt that all will be—” She stopped herself. “Time enough tomorrow for such talk. Now, I must hie myself back to my players so that we may read through our parts again before we have supper. You have a most generous cook, you know.” Glancing at the sconces, she said, “A pity the mirrors are so small and deeply beveled. I can’t see enough of my reflection to be certain my hair is in order.”

“It isn’t, quite,” said da San-Germain, opening the door for her. “But there is a breeze that can account for it.”

“Ha! If you believe that, you don’t know how actors think,” she said, and with a roguish wink, she was gone.

Da San-Germain bowed his head, listening to her departing footsteps and trying to discern how much of what they had shared was intimacy and how much was superb performance.

*   *   *

Text of a memorandum from Vivien Zacharie Charlot, Deputy Secretary of Public Safety of Lyon, to Jean-Claude Sauvier, Deputy for Public Safety of Dijon, carried by Revolutionary Guard couriers and delivered three days after it was written.

To Jean-Claude Sauvier, Deputy Secretary for Public Safety of Dijon, the fraternal greetings of Deputy Secretary for Public Safety of Lyon, Vivien Zacharie Charlot, on this, the 2
nd
day of August, 1792,

All hail the glorious Revolution!

My dear Deputy Secretary Sauvier,

It has come to the attention of our Revolutionary Court here in Lyon that many of the regional Revolutionary Courts have become overwhelmed with carrying out the people’s business and can no longer mete out justice in a timely way. I am writing to you and to several other regional Revolutionary Courts to inform you that we at Lyon have the capacity to handle many more cases of suspicions that there may be those holding reactionary opinions, or protecting members of the nobility who deserve to be brought before the people to answer for their crimes, or those who have taken in the clergy in the misguided belief that these superstitious frauds will gain them access to heaven. We have thus far uncovered four groups who have harbored aristocrats, claiming that these enemies of the people were not exploiters and criminals, but sound landlords, worthy of respect and protection. They have paid the price for their stubbornness and folly.

If you have in your custody any who might fall within these categories, or who have demonstrated other criminal inclinations, and would want to have them dealt with with dispatch, I ask that you consider the offer of the Revolutionary Court of Lyon and send the accused, under appropriate guard, to us. You may rest assured that they will receive our full attention, and that their wrongs will be fully and quickly addressed in the name of the people.

We of Lyon are seeking to ease the burdens of those regional Revolutionary Courts that are unable to deal with these cases with vigor and speed, or who have not the facilities to hold the reactionary elements of the region, so that the aristocrats or religious may not, through the passage of months, come to be regarded as sympathetic figures, who could then be permitted to leave France without answering for the many abuses they have wrought upon their people. Here you may be sure we are intent on swift justice, and will not be swayed by sentiment, misguided piety, or inappropriate nostalgia.

This offer has been extended not only to you, but to the Revolutionary Courts of Grenoble, St-Etienne, Avignon, Clermont, Nevers, and Limoges; it is the hope of our tribunal that you will consider our offer and inform us of what you would want from us in this regard, and thus enable the work of the Revolutionary Courts to go forward. It is our duty to the people of France, who have for so long borne the weight of the aristocrats’ feet upon their necks to see that the wrongs they have suffered for so long are redressed through the most effective prosecutions our Revolutionary Courts can provide, as well as the full satisfaction of the law, and to that end, we of Lyon seek to answer these demands. I most sincerely entreat you to allow us to augment your work for the glory of our Revolution.

Long live France.

Long live the Revolution.

Yours in justice,

Vivien Zacharie Charlot

Deputy Secretary of the Department of Public Safety

Lyon

4

Theron paused in his pacing down the library to regard da San-Germain with a mixture of worry and frustration. Finally he halted and burst out in French, “But how on earth do you think you can get into France? The borders are watched. There are agents of the Revolutionary Courts everywhere, and others, who want to gain the good opinion of the Revolutionary Courts. If they should discover you, you would be a danger to Madelaine, not a help. Then, both of you would pay the price for your high-handed audacity.” He was dressed for the theater in clothes worthy of a diplomatic reception: his coat and knee-length britches were heavy black silk, his waistcoat, neck-cloth, and stockings were perfect white. Although there would be no ball that evening, he had donned dancing pumps, and carried an ebony walking-stick. His hair, newly cut, was combed into artless waves, giving him the currently fashionable wind-tossed look.

“Then I will have to take care not to be discovered for what I am, will I not? To that end, I have been speaking with men who were dispatched to France. Two of them have returned, and you may hear—after the play—what they have observed. They will bathe and dine while we attend the performance, and be ready to give us their thoughts when we return. If anything they say distresses you, you must say so, and I will take your reservations into account.” Da San-Germain was as elegantly clothed as Theron, but his presence lent his appearance a quality of understated authority that commanded the attention of others. He had worn ruby instead of mother-of-pearl studs and cufflinks, and this small addition set him off as much as his manner did. “I know you will have questions for them, but I ask you to withhold them until we have their preliminary account of their travels.” His French was almost flawless, if a trifle old-fashioned, and tinged by an accent that Theron had been unable to place.

“All very well and good,” said Theron impatiently. “But what will you do with what they tell you?”

“Why, learn from it, and plan. We will need more than one way to get Madelaine safely out of France, in case the circumstances of her detention change, and we cannot wait until the hazards are upon us to decide what our options are, not if we are to succeed.” He motioned to the tray of wine, cheese, pickled relish, and bread set out on the central table. “Have something to sustain you. This is going to be a long evening. You will want to have something to eat now, I think, rather than wait until supper after the play.”

“Thinking about food and the theater! How can you care about such things when you know that Madelaine is in danger, and waiting for you to come?” His exasperation gave his words a sharpness that went beyond what was acceptable in polite company, but da San-Germain took no umbrage at his outburst.

“Whether or not you have something to eat, or you and I see
Phaedre,
will make no difference in Madelaine’s situation this evening. If denying yourself the pleasures of life while you can savor them gives you some kind of satisfaction, then it seems to me that you’ve misunderstood much about Madelaine. Take what enjoyment you can while you may. You’re not likely to have the chance to do so once we’re on the road.” He made an infinitesimal pause, then added, “That is, if you’re still determined to come?”

“Of course I’ll come. What kind of poltroon do you take me for?—not come!” His scorn was almost palpable, and he underscored it with an abrupt bow that bordered on contempt. “Grand merci.”

“What I propose may not be to your liking,” da San-Germain warned. “The risks are very real, and once begun, we will not have many opportunities for insouciance.”

Theron rounded on him. “Then you
do
have something in mind.”

“I trust I do, at least the beginning of an idea,” said da San-Germain. “I will know more once I speak with the men who were in France at my request. All I have from them at present is a cursory report. After I hear from them in greater detail, I’ll put my full attention on the possible ways that we—”

“I want to hear what they have to say!”

“You may join us, of course, and listen to their reports,” said da San-Germain, speaking as calmly as he could, attempting to rein in Theron’s impulsivity. “But again, I implore you to let me ask the questions when we meet with these couriers.” He chose his next words carefully. “You’re an impetuous young man, and in your fervor to learn as much as possible, you may keep them from providing information that we can use. In your efforts to urge them to—”

“I’m not such a fool as that,” said Theron, flushing.

Da San-Germain raised his fine brows; he said nothing but “May I pour you a glass of this excellent Lachrymae Christi?” He began filling a glass before Theron responded.

“You’re a most perplexing fellow, Conte. I don’t know what to make of you.” He came to the low table and took the glass of wine da San-Germain held out to him.

Da San-Germain inclined his head. “As you say.”

“Why does the Universita want a performance of
Phaedre
anyway?” He took the glass and tasted it. “Yes. Very good.”

“A number of the professors are championing French culture, since so much of the populace in France appear to be bent on destroying it. Racine is as much out of favor as Molière and Corneille, and it is likely that it will be some time before the French rediscover them. So the Universita is seeking to preserve what they see as admirable in French achievements, and this is one of the ways in which they intend to do it.” Da San-Germain indicated the tray. “Do help yourself, Heurer. My cook will be offended if you don’t eat what he provides.”