The Prince and Princess Metternich knew the tenor and the singer well, and were in on the conspiracy.
The first part of the word, Ex, had been performed as a skit between invalids at Aix-les-Bains competing with descriptions of their elaborate diseases and miseries. Then the Princess had performed a song the Prince had written for her, “That Was Paris, and Now It Is Gone.” She had cracked a riding whip over her head with great authority, causing the audience to shriek, and smoked the pipe through the song. The audience laughed at it all, though I did not understand why. Following her had been a young man insistent on learning to fence in order to defend himself against the hordes of foreigners who had invaded Paris for the exposition. When he finished, the curtain came down to much applause, and then I was set on the stage to await my decoration.
I should have liked for the Princess and I to be friends, I had decided, watching her song. I tried to think of how to speak to her as she decorated me, but she treated me as if I were only another piece of her costume. That afternoon we had rehearsed my song and the various trills and pieces of songs I was to sing in the skit.
Your voice is very like hers was all the Princess had said at the rehearsal. You should do quite well. If she recognized me as the girl she had caught outside the ballroom, she did not let on.
The Empress had been at the councils all afternoon, something that the Princess found puzzling, and she said as much on my delivery to her by the tenor. So they are having her sit in, she said to the Prince and the tenor, as if I would not understand. She shook her head. She cannot even organize the paintings at the Tuileries, and yet here she is sitting in on the imperial council. It’s too much to believe! She will easily make a mess of things.
She cannot even keep her maids in line, she added.
I flinched under my mask.
§
The curtain opened again to tremendous applause. The Prince Metternich and the Comte de Vogüé played the showmen in this final act. The curtain went up on a stage with clockwork pairs. Antony and Cleopatra, with an enormous pearl; a Chinese couple, who, when wound up, clicked their chopsticks wildly, flinging the food in front of them across the stage; a Bavarian shepherd and shepherdess who wandered lost among their sheep.
I was last, unwrapped by the Prince, who had dressed himself as a caricature of a butler, with thick black brows, a wild beard, and a false hooked nose. The audience laughed wildly at his every expression. He introduced me as a Tyrolean doll singer sent from America for the Exposition, the latest in mechanics. He was to wind me up, and the idea was that the clockwork mechanism had gone wrong and I would sing brokenly from a series of pieces of songs interspersed with trills and shouts.
He turned the false key at my back. I looked at the candles lighting the theater, seemingly thousands of them. The audience, the candles, the theater, it was all so beautiful, the crowd so elegant, I nearly forgot myself until the Prince arched his eyebrow and I began.
It was a pleasure to see them laugh at me.
Eh, it’s quite terrible, the Comte said. Can we stop her? He then made a pun in French about screws and vice. Est-ce qu’il n’y a pas de vis?
To which the Prince said, Il n’y a pas le moindre vice.
We must send her back, the Prince said. It would seem the doll was deranged by the voyage. La poupée a été probablement dérangée pendant le voyage.
There was vigorous laughter at this all. They wound my key again.
I think she needs oil! the Prince said to the Comte, in a mock whisper to the side. She won’t sing! Perhaps we are missing a nail somewhere?
But this is terrible! She’s the main attraction! There must be a button we’ve missed. Look well!
And with that, they began searching around my figure, looking for the “button.” More laughter.
Not one sign of a button, the Prince said sadly. Perhaps the button should be gold! he then said with a shout, and there was more laughter at this.
Ah, I think we must give her a shake, said the Comte, and then they stood on either side of me and shook me. There were still silk ribbons around my neck from the wrapping, and the Prince made as if he had accidentally caught one end in his arm as he announced, And now, she will sing “Beware!”
I did this jokingly, halted in places by his playful yanks on the ribbon at my neck, which belied a viciousness. Soon I was choking, and the line I was to sing was a refrain I had sung a few times already, “Trust her not, she’s fooling you,” and instead, for I had become frightened, I sang, “Trust him not, he’s choking me,” and the audience laughed, howling as the Prince reddened and relaxed his grip on the ribbon.
The curtain came down again to much applause. The Prince and Princess, in their costumes, went out to take bows as I rubbed my throat.
I was sure the Prince had been cruel with his ribbons to show me the value of my silence in this matter.
All at once, the Empress was before me, thinking I was her friend in my disguise. Thank heavens, I thought the Prince was really to strangle you! I was so frightened, the Empress said. And then I think she sensed the disguise, but before she could say more, I gestured at my throat and ran to the back, where the American I had replaced waited. I washed my face of the powder, and when I ascended the back stairs to return to the Empress’s chambers, she walked out dressed in the costume I had removed, as if she had just cleaned herself to receive her fans.
§
The bench in the darkness was again welcome. I had not expected to be overcome, but I was, and I wept there, miserable, as I waited for the ring of the bell that would not come for hours.
As I had looked out on the audience, I’d remembered the last time I’d sung for the Emperor’s pleasure, over a year previous. His gift to me pinned now to the tenor’s coat.
I saw myself sneaking the rose back from the tenor, walking out into the crowd here in the Emperor’s little theater to where he sat, to see if the Emperor remembered me.
It’s me, I would say. Or sing—perhaps I would sing the round again, return the token to him. And thus revealed, beg for his protection.
But I would never sing for him again.
Pepa appeared, surprising me, asking me to admire one of her newest dresses.
This time I clapped, and when I was done, she gave me a calculating look and offered to buy the tea-gown gift from the Empress right there. She flashed the coins at me. Did she know a maid’s weakness for the sight of gold? I think she did.
She was surprised when I nodded yes and laughed after she paid me. She even thanked me, perhaps the one time she ever had, and I knew I had struck a poor bargain—I’d not even haggled. But no matter; her first offer was more than enough for Lucerne. I brought her the dress, and as I handed it to her, I smiled at her, my first smile of real affection for her. She eyed me suspiciously, as if it made the dress suspect, and I left her to her imaginations.
§
When the Empress had gone once again into another council, I made my way to the apartment where the tenor, sure enough, waited.
He hadn’t even needed to tell me.
Afterward, as I lay on the floor of the apartment, dressed in another of the Empress’s gowns, the tenor stroked my hair in the aftermath of his passion and described his plan to steal me away.
Tonight there is to be a costume ball, he said. The company of the Comédie-Fran?aise is here, and they will present a salon play, Madame Girardin’s La Joie Fait Peur, then they will leave before dinner. You will be mixed in among them in costume, as will I. I will beg off, saying I must return to Paris on urgent business. You will follow the actors, and then we will depart.
He reached up and traced my cheek with his left thumb, and he closed his eyes, his head turning slightly.
You will come as my guest to the ball, so I can look after you, he said, and there you will join the actors. You must come to the ball prepared to leave.
What of my things? I asked.