be at matching girl to client, at keeping them all happy, and a happy actress was both a good performer and a better earner off-stage. He certainly didn’t want to give reluctant girls to his clients, his men liked cheerful girls.
‘This is the new Rome after all – we’re good Christians, not Barbarians who would force unwilling girls to fuck.’
And his friends raised their wine glasses in agreement.
*
Soon after Theodora’s backstage debut, Anastasia took her place as Comito’s stool-bearer and cloak-holder, and Theodora graduated to bigger roles. Comito had quickly become a favourite and the public didn’t care who stood behind their new songbird beauty, just as long as no one interrupted the perfect view. The comet-like streak of her hair that matched her name, the height and majesty in such a young woman, in addition to her lovely voice – within a very short time Comito had earned both fame and, for an actress, was even starting to amass a certain amount of fortune, not least because she had a mastery of the old songs the audience knew and loved, as well as a knack for choosing the best of the new ones regularly offered her. On the several occasions she was invited to give private performances in the homes of respectable matrons – having graduated from the private dinners that quickly became private brothels – Comito behaved with impeccable grace and tactful discretion. The fact that on the public stage she refrained from singing the old pagan songs, even in the Kynegion, despite the building itself being ringed round with pre-Christian statues, and that she kept her body fully covered, albeit in the most translucent of costly silk, meant she was now at least on nodding terms with patrician society. Even in Constantinople, the stage and the circus kept their old function as a vent for the wilder excesses of the masses. That those masses loved Comito could have made her dangerous, but Comito knew her place, was grateful for it. She was no threat to society – a singer and actress, she didn’t even speak her own words – the upper echelons were safe with her. The same could not be said of Theodora.
From the moment she was first allowed on the main stage as a fully fledged public performer rather than as Comito’s assistant or just a comedic interlude, Theodora was totally at ease. The people did not fall in love with her immediately, years ofwatching her father, as well as other actors and singers, had taught her they would not – she knew she would have to make them want her, and so she wooed them, won them without their even noticing it. While Theodora allowed the audience to think she was earning their applause and working for their appreciation, she was actually forcing them to come to her. From her first monologue, she never once changed her manner, she simply convinced the audience – offering her routines in the same style over and over again – that she was hilarious. She had been studying this crowd all her life, she believed she knew exactly what they wanted, and she would make them learn it, earn it.
Gradually, once the public started to smile as soon as they caught sight of her waiting off-stage, or parrying a mock blow from an outraged classical actor whose line she’d stomped over with a joke of her own, once she could be certain that her mere presence guaranteed a relaxed anticipation in the audience – they knew Theodora would be on time, on cue, could be heard, always hit her mark – she began to play up to them, give them exactly what they expected and just a little more. A nod of the head that included a secret wink for the first two rows only. A single line, perfectly enunciated, ideally when the piece was at its bawdiest, while sticking word for word to the writer’s actual script, would be delivered in just the right tone and timbre to recall immediately one of the City’s most famously arrogant matrons, a patrician lady renowned for her virginal piety, even after two
‘This is the new Rome after all – we’re good Christians, not Barbarians who would force unwilling girls to fuck.’
And his friends raised their wine glasses in agreement.
*
Soon after Theodora’s backstage debut, Anastasia took her place as Comito’s stool-bearer and cloak-holder, and Theodora graduated to bigger roles. Comito had quickly become a favourite and the public didn’t care who stood behind their new songbird beauty, just as long as no one interrupted the perfect view. The comet-like streak of her hair that matched her name, the height and majesty in such a young woman, in addition to her lovely voice – within a very short time Comito had earned both fame and, for an actress, was even starting to amass a certain amount of fortune, not least because she had a mastery of the old songs the audience knew and loved, as well as a knack for choosing the best of the new ones regularly offered her. On the several occasions she was invited to give private performances in the homes of respectable matrons – having graduated from the private dinners that quickly became private brothels – Comito behaved with impeccable grace and tactful discretion. The fact that on the public stage she refrained from singing the old pagan songs, even in the Kynegion, despite the building itself being ringed round with pre-Christian statues, and that she kept her body fully covered, albeit in the most translucent of costly silk, meant she was now at least on nodding terms with patrician society. Even in Constantinople, the stage and the circus kept their old function as a vent for the wilder excesses of the masses. That those masses loved Comito could have made her dangerous, but Comito knew her place, was grateful for it. She was no threat to society – a singer and actress, she didn’t even speak her own words – the upper echelons were safe with her. The same could not be said of Theodora.
From the moment she was first allowed on the main stage as a fully fledged public performer rather than as Comito’s assistant or just a comedic interlude, Theodora was totally at ease. The people did not fall in love with her immediately, years ofwatching her father, as well as other actors and singers, had taught her they would not – she knew she would have to make them want her, and so she wooed them, won them without their even noticing it. While Theodora allowed the audience to think she was earning their applause and working for their appreciation, she was actually forcing them to come to her. From her first monologue, she never once changed her manner, she simply convinced the audience – offering her routines in the same style over and over again – that she was hilarious. She had been studying this crowd all her life, she believed she knew exactly what they wanted, and she would make them learn it, earn it.
Gradually, once the public started to smile as soon as they caught sight of her waiting off-stage, or parrying a mock blow from an outraged classical actor whose line she’d stomped over with a joke of her own, once she could be certain that her mere presence guaranteed a relaxed anticipation in the audience – they knew Theodora would be on time, on cue, could be heard, always hit her mark – she began to play up to them, give them exactly what they expected and just a little more. A nod of the head that included a secret wink for the first two rows only. A single line, perfectly enunciated, ideally when the piece was at its bawdiest, while sticking word for word to the writer’s actual script, would be delivered in just the right tone and timbre to recall immediately one of the City’s most famously arrogant matrons, a patrician lady renowned for her virginal piety, even after two
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