“She’s jealous,” said Roger.
“Perhaps,” da San-Germain allowed. “She says she fears that the Guards here may be looking for me, and that troubles her, but I don’t think that’s the whole of it, nor is jealousy.” He was silent for a long moment, then said, “The Jongleur. Get ten rooms if they can spare them, and stalls for the animals.”
Roger ducked his head and went off toward the older, larger inn.
“What do you want me to do?” Feo inquired.
Da San-Germain was a little surprised at the question; Feo was used to the routine of travel with the troupe. “Ready the wagons and carts to be stabled.”
“Nothing else?” Feo studied da San-Germain’s features, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts.
“Not just at present. Why do you ask?”
“I just thought … since you have your own intentions here in Lyon … that there might be something … more … that you would like me to do?” His hesitation was more from uncertainty than tact.
“There may be, but not quite yet. Our first task is to get rooms, then we will unload the wagons and carts, as always.” Da San-Germain glanced over the actors as they came out of their wagons and began to move about to loosen their joints. “We need to be more settled before I go to the Revolutionary Tribunal.”
“Beyond what your man is doing?” Feo asked. “By the time you reach the Tribunal, if you leave now, Roger will have arranged for everything.”
Da San-Germain took a long breath. “If we seem too eager, that may cause suspicion on the part of the Revolutionary Tribunal, to say nothing of the Revolutionary Court and Assembly, which could lead to the kinds of scrutiny we would all like to avoid. I will apply for the performance license when we are fully registered in our rooms and our vehicles and animals are in the stable. That way there can be no question about our intentions, or that we are a known commedia company, not a rabble of rogues and vagabonds.” He drew out a leather purse from under his driving-coat. “Roger knows how much we can pay to the innkeeper. We’ll take the rooms for eight days. If we need to be here longer, then we’ll pay the additional amount then. For now, I have more than enough for the license.”
“You will pay the extension fee after the troupe has collected money from their audiences?” Feo suggested.
“It would be better for us all if it seemed that way,” da San-Germain told him, his eyes dark caverns in his expressionless face.
Feo held up his hands. “Whatever suits you, Ragoczy.”
Da San-Germain shook his head. “What suits me is that the troupe should be housed and fed, and the animals stalled, groomed, and fed. After that I can tend to other things.”
“Those that are your true purpose for being here?” Feo asked with cherubic innocence.
“Once we have a license to perform, then, yes. Until then, I have a duty to the troupe, and I will attend to it.” Da San-Germain offered Feo a slight bow.
“Of course,” said Feo, and turned away. “I’ll see to the wagons and the horses, then the carts and the mules.”
It was over an hour later when Roger met da San-Germain at the front of the Jongleur; he had changed his coat to one more suitable to calling upon the Revolutionary Tribunal; da San-Germain had also put on more appropriate clothing—his black wool hammer-claw coat, a waistcoat of dull-red damask, and buff-colored unmentionables were fashionable enough to gain the attention of almost any civil servant—and donned a bicorn hat edged in tricoleur rosettes. He went to the front of the Jongleur, pulling on black Florentine gloves as he went. A few minutes later, Feo led up two saddled horses for them.
“Madame has ordered dinner in an hour—not that that means anything to you.” He held the stirrup for da San-Germain as he mounted the handsome blue roan gelding. “Shall I tell her you will take your meal elsewhere?”
“If you would,” said da San-Germain, gathering up the reins and waiting while Roger got up on his mouse-colored mare.
As they put their horses in motion, Roger said quietly to da San-Germain in Byzantine Greek, “Feo is becoming insolent.”
“More cheeky than insolent, I think,” da San-Germain remarked, and added, “He masks his worry with jests.”
“That may be so,” said Roger. He rode in contemplative silence beside da San-Germain; when they reached their destination, Roger took the blue roan’s reins while da San-Germain sought out whomever was in charge of issuing licenses.
The offices of the Revolutionary Tribunal were located in what had been the church of Saint-Jean le Moin; the Department of Public Safety occupied half the six-hundred-year-old building; the Revolutionary Tribunal had the other half; the central aisle provided the two bureaucracies a neutral ground where citizens could move without hindrance. Three clerks stationed in the aisle directed newcomers to the proper destination. The sanctuary had been converted into a kind of waiting room, the old wooden choir had been taken down and cabinets and shelving put up in its place, and most of the nave was filled with desks for the men who worked there.
After waiting nearly an hour, da San-Germain spoke to one of the secretaries of the Revolutionary Tribunal, who drew up a provisional license for six performances. “One of our officers will have to attend a rehearsal to ensure that your play is not seditious in any way. I will inform you when the officer will visit.”
“Sooner rather than later would be preferable,” said da San-Germain. “We have come all the way from Avignon—the troupe is eager to play.” He held out two gold coins. “We would appreciate any assistance you can supply.”
“I understand,” said the secretary, accepting the coins. “Tomorrow or the next day—is that soon enough?”
“Certainly. Will you require the full staging, or will a rehearsal in the stable-yard be sufficient for your officer?”
The secretary considered the question. “A full staging would be best.”
“In that case, we will need two hours’ notice to set up our stage and ready our costumes,” said da San-Germain, with another cordial gesture; he thought back to the venality of the royal court half a century ago and decided that the only thing the Revolution had changed in that regard was the recipients of the bribes.
“I will inform our officer of that.” He stamped the provisional license and indicated the half of the church given over to the Department of Public Safety. “Once you have your actual license, you will need to arrange for Guards to be present at your performances, to keep the crowds from untoward acts. They will make sure no cut-purses or other thieves take advantage of the gathered throng, and will serve to quell any riot that might disrupt your play.”
Although da San-Germain found this disquieting he said with complete affability, “A wise precaution in these turbulent times. Will you tell me how much we will have to pay for the Guards’ protection?” He folded the license carefully and slid it into the inside breast-pocket of his coat.
“That I don’t know. The Department of Public Safety will make the determination; it is their area of concern. Once you have your license, the Committee for Public Safety will decide how many Guards will be needed, and for how long. One of the Deputies will inform you, and the Department, how much you will be charged.” He gave a thin, meaningless smile and bade da San-Germain a good morning.
Riding back to the Jongleur, they heard trumpets sound the mid-day; almost at once, activity increased around them as the people hurried to complete their morning tasks before going in for their dinners. Da San-Germain held his gelding to a strict walk, letting those on foot eddy around them like flood-water; Roger trailed behind him to make it easier for those on foot to pass them in the narrow streets. By the time they reached the Place des Chevaliers, the square was largely empty; only a single groom came to claim their horses.
“Where do the players dine?” da San-Germain asked as he and Roger stepped in the main door.
The young man behind the desk pointed to the closed door on the right. “In there.”
“Thank you,” said d
a San-Germain, and turned to Roger, speaking in Hungarian. “I’ll go inform Photine of the conditions of our license. If you wish to get yourself a shoat or a goose to eat, please do, and take it to whichever chamber has been assigned to us.”
Roger gave a nod of compliance. “Is there anything you will require of me during the next hour?”
“I doubt it,” said da San-Germain. “If I do, I’ll find you in the room, will I not?”
“Yes,” said Roger, and moved away toward the inn’s kitchen.
Da San-Germain paused a moment, then opened the door and stepped into the smaller dining room. He bowed slightly to the troupe, then went to the far end of the table where Photine was sitting, removing the provisional license from his coat pocket and holding it out to her. “A provisional license for six performances. You’ll have to do a full performance for an officer of the Department of Public Safety before it will be official, but that should be no problem.”
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 16th 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—”
Commedia della Morte Page 25
