'A thousand thanks for the meal, but I cannot work for you. All-People looked at the wrong constellation. There is other work more fitting…'
I bowed to him and left. He drew himself up, folding his arms over his ancient coat, with the funniest expression on his face.
At the far end of the gallery, beyond the counter, was a doorway into a coffee lounge. My fair creature was making her way through it with a friend. No chaperons that I could see. The friend was about the same age as — Armida? — Armida! — and striking too in her own way, a plump girl with chestnut ringlets. On an ordinary day she would certainly have attracted one's attention; her only fault was to be caught with the divine Armida. They made a pretty pair as they moved into the lounge, although I had eyes for only one of them.
Pausing in the doorway, I wondered whether to appear tragic or cheerful; the poverty of my clothes decided me on the latter course.
The two of them were settling at a nearby table. As Armida sat back, our eyes met. Streams of animal magnetism poured across the room. On impulse, holding her gaze, I went forward, seized one of the empty chairs at her table, and said, 'Ladies' — but I addressed myself only to her — 'I see in your faces such human warmth that I venture uninvited to thrust my company upon you. I desperately need counsel and, since we are total strangers to each other, you can give me impartial advice at a time when my whole life is in crisis.'
There was hauteur in their manner directly I started speaking.
As they looked at each other, I saw that the companion with the brown hair was quite a beauty, by no means as elegantly slender as Armida, but with a chubbiness that had its own undeniable attractions. Whatever passed between them I know not; I only know that when they looked back towards me, the ice had slightly melted.
'Perhaps your crisis will allow you time to drink chocolate with us,' Armida said in a voice freighted with light musics.
Gratefully, I sat down. 'Five minutes only… Then urgent business must take me elsewhere. You were enjoying the exhibition?'
'It's tolerably familiar to us,' said Armida, waving a dismissive hand. 'What is your crisis, sir? You have us agog, as I expect you intend.'
'We all confront crises in our lives…' But that would not do. 'My father,' I said, thinking quickly, 'he's a stern man. He is forcing me to decide my future career. I have to tell him by the week's end whether I will enter the Army or the High Religion.'
'I'm sure your heart's pure enough for the Church,' said Armida, smiling with enough warmth to cook an egg. 'Is it not brave enough for the Army?'
'My dilemma is that I wish as a good son to please my father, but I want to become something more fulfilling than a monk or a grenadier.'
Two pretty heads went to one side as they gazed upon me. My head was turned completely.
'Why not,' said the brown-haired one, 'become a player? It's a terribly varied career which gives pleasure to many.'
My hopes rose within me, so much so that I reached forward and seized her hand where it lay on the table. 'How kind of you to suggest it!'
Armida said, 'Pooh, not a player! They're poor and the stories they play out are dull… It's the lowest form of animal life! There's no advancement in it.'
The effect of this speech from those lips was enough to cool my blood by several degrees, down almost to frost level. Matters were only saved by Armida's leaning forward and adding, confidingly, 'Bedalar's latest fancy is a player — he's handsome, grant you that — so she thinks nothing male is of any use unless it basks before the limelights every evening at seven.'
Bedalar put out a pretty tongue at her friend. 'You're only jealous!'
Armida showed her an even prettier tongue back. I could have watched such rivalry all evening, while thinking how cordially I would receive that nimble little tongue into my own cheek. So involved were my senses that only later did Bedalar's name register on me; I had heard it before that day.
Armida's air of imparting a confidence had soothed me, but there was a chill in the conversation, as the two girls gazed at each other and I gazed moodily at them.
Fortunately, chocolate arrived in a silver pot, and we occupied ourselves with drinking.
Setting down her cup, Bedalar announced that she must leave.
'We all know whom you're going to meet, so don't be coy,' said Armida. Turning to me as her friend left, she said, 'The new-found player. He's out of work, so they can enjoy a rendezvous at any old time that Bedalar's chaperon is out of sight. I have a friend of high connection — one must not say whom — who is involved with his duty today, and many other days as well.'
I thought this was more unkindness and said, 'Perhaps you wish me to leave…'
'You may go or stay as you like. I didn't invite you to sit down.'
It was no good sulking before this little minx. 'I came voluntarily, yes; I now find myself unable to leave voluntarily. I am already under such a spell as it would take a dozen gentlemen of connection, drunk or sober' — I thought I'd strike there —'to disperse.'
She half-pouted, half-laughed.
'How silly I shall look on the street with you running behind my carriage. And you even sillier, following rather like a carriage dog.'
'I make it a rule never to run behind carriages. Let's walk together instead. Come, we will walk in Trundles Park and see who laughs at us.'
I rose and offered my arm. She got up — and what a movement that was! La Singla could not have managed it better — and said with exquisite seriousness, 'And I'm supposed to pay for the chocolate consumed by all and sundry?'
'Is this not your father's establishment? Do you insult them by trying to offer them money?'
'You know who I am… I don't frequent many strata of Malacian society, so I have no notion who you are.'
When I told her my name, I noted that it was unfamiliar to her, although in view of her poor opinion of players that was possibly as well.
I offered my arm again. She rested four gloved fingers upon its upper surface and said, 'You may escort me to my carriage.'
'We are going to walk in the park.'
'You are presumptuous if you believe I will do anything of the sort. I could not at all afford to be seen in the park with you.'
We stood looking at each other. Close to she was startling. Hers was a face which beauty made formidable; yet there was about her mouth a kind of wistfulness which seemed to contradict the hauteur.
'May I see you tomorrow, then, in whatever circumstances you prefer?'
She adjusted her hair and the ribbons in her hair, and put on a bonnet which an assistant brought. A smile grew about her lips.
'You'll be involved in battles or canticles tomorrow, won't you?'
'Swords and holy vows alike mean nothing to me where you're concerned. You are so beautiful, Miss Hoytola, I've never seen anyone like you.'
'You are certainly a forward young fellow — though I don't necessarily hold that against you. But I begin a special commission — not work of any kind, naturally — tomorrow, and so shall not be at liberty.'
We moved towards the door, which a lackey opened, bowing low and hiding a glint of envy in his eye. We emerged into the mid-day street, almost empty as siesta took over Malacia.
'What sort of commission, Miss Hoytola?'
A frown, barely rumpling the exquisite brow. 'That's no concern of yours. It happens to be something to please the whim of my parents, who fancy they cannot have enough portraits of me, doting things. So I am to pose a little for a mad foreigner in our employ, one Otto Bengtsohn. He's something of an artist in his fashion.'
Although I had lingered to the best of my ability, we were at her equipage. The carriage shone like a crown with sun and polish. A highly groomed mare waited between the shafts. The powdered driver was opening a door for Armida. She was lifting her apricot skirts, preparing to climb in and be whisked away.
'We must part here, sir. It was pleasant making your acquaintance.'
'We shall meet again, I feel su
re.'
She smiled.
The door was closed, the driver mounted behind. The whip was cracked, she waved, they were off. Stand still to act effectively; it had no application here.
As I turned, the gallery was closing for siesta, the blinds were being drawn down. I walked slowly away.
Of course I could not be in love.
Strolling down the street I ran over our brief conversation in my mind. I was far too poor for her, for Armida Hoytola. Yet she had been interested. Her friend could be Bedalar, Caylus Nortolini's sister, whom de Lambant had mentioned. If Bedalar deigned to look at a player, then her friend might also find it fashionable. Unbidden, a picture came to my mind of my marrying Armida and walking secure in the sort of society I knew I would enjoy…
The vision passed, and I was left with her words about the commission with Bengtsohn. There lay my opportunity!
At once I turned down the expansive Exhibition Road and into the narrow alleys behind, until I found myself again in the gloom of the Court of the Dark Eye.
A group of men, all dingily dressed, stood in the darkest recesses of the court; there were women among them, old and young. They turned guiltily as I entered. One of them came forward, carrying a stout stick; it was the apprentice I had met, Bonihatch.
'What do you want?'
'I need to speak to Bengtsohn.'
'We're busy. There's a meeting, can't you see? Shove off, as you did before.'
But Bengtsohn moved up behind him, saying mildly, 'It's siesta and we talk of pigeon racing, de Chirolo. What do you wish from me? You left me abruptly enough.'
I gave him a bow. 'My apologies for that discourtesy. I had a mission.'
'Thus it seemed.'
'I am interested in the work you offered me, if you would be kind enough to tell me what exactly you require.'
'Come back this evening. I have business now. I will then talk with you.'
I looked at Bonihatch, who stood ready with his stick.
'I may have become a monk by evening, but I'll see what I can manage.'
Love, what a power it is! Nothing but love could have induced me to enter that dreary court three times in one day — and what dedication I showed, for the lady had revealed herself to be uncertain-tempered, vain, and I know not what else besides. Also irresistible.
How wise one feels to be a fool of love!
'Even a fool can do this job,' Bengtsohn said. 'Is why All-People indicated an actor, I suppose.'
By night, moving behind smoky lanterns in intermittent shadow, Bengtsohn looked almost sinister, his sunken eyes sometimes hiding, sometimes glittering, in their sockets. His long fingers were talonlike as he wove his explanation.
'I told how I have discovered the method to mercurize real views through the zahnoscope, so that they have become implanted on glass slides. My ambition is to tell a story by such methods. People I need, actors. A simple story to begin. Big acorns from little oaks grow. I will mercurize the actors against real or painted settings. The product will be of an extraordinary originality and cause certain consequences. You shall be one from the four characters in the simple drama. The scenes of the drama will be emblazoned on glass far more faithfully than what artist could ever depict. This will be the real image, painted by light — light, that great natural force what is free for all, rich and poor alike.'
Keen to make him look a little less inspired, I said, 'It will only be like a stage play with the action stopped, and paralysis suddenly overtaking everyone.'
'You players are so ephemeral, your actions sketched in the air and then gone, the whole thing forgotten when the final curtain will come down. But when you are mercurized through the zahnoscope, why, then your actions become imperishable, your drama continuous. I will not mind wagering that the drama what you will enact for me will still be viewed by connoisseurs after you yourself will have grown old and died, young Perian!'
At that, I had to laugh. He was cutting an absurd figure, stroking an old japanned magic lantern with fluted chimney as he spoke, as if he expected a genie to emerge.
'And what is this great drama you wish me to perform? Are we to put Sophocles or Seneca on glass?'
He came closer. Then he took a turn away. Then he returned, and clutched my hands in his. Then he dropped my hands and raised his to the sky.
'Perian, my life is beset with difficulties and hedged by enemies. Let there be trust between us, as well as business also.'
'You told me when we met that you had enemies and the State had eyes.' The proposition was somehow more reasonable here in the stuffy darkness of his workshop than it had appeared in the sunlit street.
'We must each trust each. We are both in a same situation — namely we don't have no security in the world. I am old and have a wife for to support; you are young and free but, believe me, the gods — and society, more important — are against us both. That is a political situation. I have two passions, art and justice. As I grow more old, justice becomes more important. I hate to see the poor grinded down by the rich, hate it.'
'That's a natural law. I intend to be rich one day.'
He scratched his head and sighed. 'Then we will defer justice for a day later and instead talk about art. Is that more to your taste?'
'Tell me about your drama.'
He sighed again, staring about the untidy workshop, shaking his head. 'Young men care so little.'
'You have no business saying that. Why do the old always hold the young in contempt? I'm a fine actor, as you can discover if you enquire, and my art is my life. My life is my art. Tell me about this drama of yours, I ask you, if you want my help.'
'My dear young man… Well, let's keep to art if you wish it! I have a love for all the arts, all the arts, including the drama, though I am always too much poor to pursue them. For the first mercurized production, I have written a contribution to drama, entitled, Prince Mendicula: or, The Joyous Tragedy of the Prince and Patricia and General Gerald and Jemima.'
'A striking title. What is a Joyous Tragedy exactly?'
'Well, Doleful Comedy, if you will — minor details aren't too clear in my mind yet — clear, but not too clear… I have some troubles with detail. Indeed, for simplification on to glass, I plan a drama without detail…'
'Am I to be Prince Mendicula?'
He beamed, showing his shortage of teeth. 'You, my dear boy, you have insufficient years for to be Prince Mendicula. You shall play the dashing General Gerald.' And he began to unravel the beauties of a plot which would enrich, if not indeed terminate, world drama. I paid what heed I could. As he talked with increasing rapidity, he took me to a lumber room and showed me some props for his drama. They were very poor, the clothes almost threadbare.
My interest in Bengtsohn's affairs was generated by the understanding that they would involve the divine Armida Hoytola. I began to see that there might also be profit for my career here; Bengtsohn was supported by a powerful patron, the Hoytola family, and, if the novelty of his mercurized melodrama were to catch popular fancy, it would be advantageous to have my name associated with it.
I broke in on the old man's account and said, 'Will you not let me play the Prince?'
He drummed the fingers of his left hand upon his stringy cheek. 'Gerald is more suitable for you. You might make a good general. You are not venerable enough for Mendicula.'
'But I can make up my face with beard and black teeth and a patch and what-you-will. Whom have you marked out for this princely part?'
He chewed his lip and said, 'You understand this is a — what's the word? — yes, unproved venture. We all take a chance from it. I cannot afford to pay for more than one real player, and that is yourself. Your looks and modest reputation will help. Whereas to play the Prince I rely on one of the boys in the workshop, the not ill-favoured man called Bonihatch.'
'Bonihatch? With the yellow whiskers? What acting experience has he? He's just an apprentice!'
'For a mercurized play, little acting is required. Bonihatch is
a good man, what I depend on. I must have Bonihatch, that's my decision.'
'Well. The others? Princess Patricia?'
'For the Lady Jemima, with whom the prince is captivated, I will hire a seamstress who lives in this court, by name Letitia Zlatorog. She will be happy to work for a pittance. Her family has a sad history what exemplifies injustices. Her uncle is a friend of mine, a friend of poverty. A pretty girl, too, with quite an air about her, is little Letitia.'
'And what blazing bundle of talent and beauty is destined for the role of Princess Patricia?'
He gave me another mouth-numbing smile.
'Oh, I thought you had discovered that. The success of our enterprise, alas, depends heavily on my employer. So we are exploited. To satisfy his whim — and not from other reasons — the role of the Princess Patricia will be played by Armida Hoytola. It is a consolation that she is not ugly.'
'Armida as Patricia… Well, you know that my art is all to me. It comes as a surprise to learn that Armida, whom I scarcely know, is also to act in your drama. Even so, I will work with you for the sake of this marvellous new form of drama you have perfected.'
'Arrive here punctually at eight of the morning and that will suit me. There'll be time enough for speeches then. And let's keep secret the enterprise for a while. No boasting, if you can withstand it.'
* * * * *
It is a curious fact about old people that, like Bengtsohn, they do not necessarily soften if you speak them fair. It is almost as if they suspect you of being insincere. This trait manifests itself in my father. Whereas you can always get round friends of your own age. But Bengtsohn was civil when I appeared next morning, cutting me a slice of solid bread-and-blood pudding for breakfast; he even paid me half a florin in advance for my work, from his own pocket. I helped him, his wife, and Bonihatch load up a cart with the things he needed, including the zahnoscope, a tent, several flats, and some costumes, before the others arrived. As we worked a true seigneur rolled up, the great Andrus Hoytola himself stepping down from his carriage.
Andrus Hoytola was a well-built, dignified man, lethargic of movement, with a large, calm face like a pale sea. He wore a flowered silk banyan over pantaloons that buckled at the knees. He had white silk stockings and his feet were thrust into slippers. His hair was done in a short stumpy queue tied with grey velvet ribbon. He looked slowly about him.
The Malacia Tapestry Page 4