Brian Aldiss - The Malacia Tapestry

‘I told how I have discovered the method to mercurise 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 mercurise 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 mercurised 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 of 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 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 mercurised 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 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 mercurised melodrama were to catch popular fancy, it would be advantageous to have my name associated with it.

I broke in 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 mercurised 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 in 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 my 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 in a short stumpy queue tied with grey velvet ribbon. He looked slowly about him.