people the Emperor wants to use in some way. What can he want from Henri?
A footman removed her dessert plate and served coffee. In less than an hour Henri will stand in front of all of these people, not as a guest but as a magician, here to amuse and divert the company. And my charade will have ended. I will be the magician’s wife.
At nine o’clock when Their Majesties acknowledging the curtsies and bowings of the audience had seated themselves in the Imperial Loge, the Master of Ceremonies announced that two of the invited guests would entertain the company before the evening’s dancing began. At that, the curtain went up. Standing at a podium, a tall gentleman began to read a poem. Emmeline’s neighbour whispered, ‘Who is he?’ and someone answered, ‘That’s Théophile Gautier.’
At least, Emmeline thought, Henri’s in good company. Even she had heard of Gautier: her father had once informed her that Gautier was a writer of genius. But during the reading, when she looked up at the Imperial Loge, she saw that the Emperor was slumped in his seat, his eyes closed as though asleep. After half an hour when the writer finished his reading and bowed to his listeners, the Emperor still seemed to be asleep. The Empress led the applause. Emmeline then saw the Emperor open his eyes, clap feebly, and turn to talk to his guests. The curtain descended.
After a short interval the Master of Ceremonies, strolling among the gentlemen in the parterre, looked up to the Imperial Loge trying to catch the Emperor’s eye. When the Emperor waved assent the Master of Ceremonies rapped his staff three times on the floorboards. The curtain rose on a stage, completely empty except for a small deal table at the rear, and at centre stage a plain wooden trestle of the sort used by artists for stacking their drawings. On this trestle stood a long green leather portfolio emblazoned in gold letters with the legend:
Henri Lambert
Carton du Dessins
The audience waited. After thirty seconds of silence, Lambert appeared from the wings, dressed in the frock coat he had worn at dinner and carrying a small ebony baton with olive-shaped ivory tips at each end. He smiled, bowed to the audience and walked all around the portfolio, using the baton to show that there was nothing concealed under the wooden trestle. He then put the baton down on the table at the rear, walked back to the trestle, opening and closing the long narrow portfolio to show that it was empty. He turned to face the audience, bowed, then reopened the portfolio, taking from it a sheaf of engravings. The audience applauded. He again opened the portfolio, taking from it four turtle doves which he released into the air. The applause increased as he closed the portfolio, smiled, then reopened it, this time taking out three large copper casseroles. He opened one to show that it contained green beans, the second to show that it contained a burning flame, and the third to show that it was filled with boiling water. Having displayed the contents of the casseroles to his audience he returned to the trestle and the portfolio, this time taking out a large cage filled with tiny birds which flew from perch to perch inside it. The applause was now generous and Emmeline looking up at the Imperial Loge saw the Emperor smiling and clapping, his sleepy lizard eyes lit with approval.
Lambert bowed to the Imperial Loge, then turned again to the empty portfolio, flipping it open with his index finger. At once, the head of a small boy appeared, smiling at the audience. Lambert reached in and lifted the boy out of the portfolio, setting him down on the stage. The boy was the same boy Emmeline had seen outside her room earlier that afternoon. Silencing the applause with a raised hand, Lambert gestured to the wings. At this point Jules, his servant, appeared, carrying a low wooden bench to centre stage. He then brought out three small stools which he placed on top of the bench,
A footman removed her dessert plate and served coffee. In less than an hour Henri will stand in front of all of these people, not as a guest but as a magician, here to amuse and divert the company. And my charade will have ended. I will be the magician’s wife.
At nine o’clock when Their Majesties acknowledging the curtsies and bowings of the audience had seated themselves in the Imperial Loge, the Master of Ceremonies announced that two of the invited guests would entertain the company before the evening’s dancing began. At that, the curtain went up. Standing at a podium, a tall gentleman began to read a poem. Emmeline’s neighbour whispered, ‘Who is he?’ and someone answered, ‘That’s Théophile Gautier.’
At least, Emmeline thought, Henri’s in good company. Even she had heard of Gautier: her father had once informed her that Gautier was a writer of genius. But during the reading, when she looked up at the Imperial Loge, she saw that the Emperor was slumped in his seat, his eyes closed as though asleep. After half an hour when the writer finished his reading and bowed to his listeners, the Emperor still seemed to be asleep. The Empress led the applause. Emmeline then saw the Emperor open his eyes, clap feebly, and turn to talk to his guests. The curtain descended.
After a short interval the Master of Ceremonies, strolling among the gentlemen in the parterre, looked up to the Imperial Loge trying to catch the Emperor’s eye. When the Emperor waved assent the Master of Ceremonies rapped his staff three times on the floorboards. The curtain rose on a stage, completely empty except for a small deal table at the rear, and at centre stage a plain wooden trestle of the sort used by artists for stacking their drawings. On this trestle stood a long green leather portfolio emblazoned in gold letters with the legend:
Henri Lambert
Carton du Dessins
The audience waited. After thirty seconds of silence, Lambert appeared from the wings, dressed in the frock coat he had worn at dinner and carrying a small ebony baton with olive-shaped ivory tips at each end. He smiled, bowed to the audience and walked all around the portfolio, using the baton to show that there was nothing concealed under the wooden trestle. He then put the baton down on the table at the rear, walked back to the trestle, opening and closing the long narrow portfolio to show that it was empty. He turned to face the audience, bowed, then reopened the portfolio, taking from it a sheaf of engravings. The audience applauded. He again opened the portfolio, taking from it four turtle doves which he released into the air. The applause increased as he closed the portfolio, smiled, then reopened it, this time taking out three large copper casseroles. He opened one to show that it contained green beans, the second to show that it contained a burning flame, and the third to show that it was filled with boiling water. Having displayed the contents of the casseroles to his audience he returned to the trestle and the portfolio, this time taking out a large cage filled with tiny birds which flew from perch to perch inside it. The applause was now generous and Emmeline looking up at the Imperial Loge saw the Emperor smiling and clapping, his sleepy lizard eyes lit with approval.
Lambert bowed to the Imperial Loge, then turned again to the empty portfolio, flipping it open with his index finger. At once, the head of a small boy appeared, smiling at the audience. Lambert reached in and lifted the boy out of the portfolio, setting him down on the stage. The boy was the same boy Emmeline had seen outside her room earlier that afternoon. Silencing the applause with a raised hand, Lambert gestured to the wings. At this point Jules, his servant, appeared, carrying a low wooden bench to centre stage. He then brought out three small stools which he placed on top of the bench,
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