Eric Chevillard - Palafox

By the same token, his innocence is blinding. Palafox did not exist in 64, when the emperor Nero first fed Christians to the lions. Other persecutions followed, under Domitian (81–96), under Trajan (98-117), under Decius (249–251), under Valerian (257–258), under Diocletian (309–311), before the Edict of Tolerance of Milan put these massacres to an end, in 313. But at that time, still no Palafox: neither the imago we know, nor the silken chrysalis swaddled in silk, nor the first worm, nor the blackberry shrub where he first nibbled the tender young leaves, one by one, avoiding those awful fruits and the hooked hand of the vampire that gathered, to make jams, these clots of black blood. The counts of indictment are laid to rest, one upon the next. Dismissed. Dismissed. How could he have spread the plague to London in 1347? Dismissed. Nothing to keep him from his training sessions. The routine needs to be ready this summer at La Gloriette. Algernon is counting on the attendance of professors Pierpont, Zeiger and Baruglio. They will come, they promise. But not my wife, alas! Cambrelin makes clear, she is unwell, she no longer goes anywhere, do please excuse her.

The caravan of the Luzzatto circus ungirds before the church, it is early, the little town still sleeps. They silently unyoke the horses, no words are necessary, everyone knows what to do, movement precedes thought. Clowns and acrobats spill into the night — off to pounce on all the key positions — posters rolled up under their arms — then they cover walls and fences with the official notices, surrender, give your weapons to the authorities, eight p.m. curfew. Everyone must act fast. Every minute counts. Everything must be ready by dawn.

Mission accomplished. When they awake, the inhabitants discover the red and white tent, already raised above the church square. All resistance is futile. They capitulate. The nearness of the two structures inspires among a few some cynical notions of a general sort. They claim to see there the symbol of the destiny of the human race, the decline of ideals, of universal history, of the emptiness and vanity of it all, of the docility of the masses, or the irresolution of hearts, etc. Those who seek a wider audience compare the big top to a birthday cake, or to some sort of miraculous mushroom that cropped up overnight. Pupi Luzzatto, abetted by a megaphone walks at the front of the procession. Behind him, in a tutu, wearing handcuffs, is Antonio the Bear. Nino the dwarf follows, sitting on the shoulders of a trumpet-playing monkey (a rare sub-species of gorilla whose most stupefying trait isn’t its talent for jazz, in fact overblown, but the silver-plated zipper visible between its shoulder blades), then Nina the dwarf in her carriage drawn by white poodles, then three elephants who hold each other by the tail so as not to lose themselves in this crowd. A concern because the gathered population on the sidewalk cheers the happy troupe. Then a squad of unicyclists, then a single girl-jockey on two different ponies each with plans of their own, then a laughable clown handing out pamphlets — the great luzzatto circus has inspired awe in all the capitals (…), feats that will take your breath away, Perla and her wild animals, the prestidigitator Massimo (…), the Human Cannon, Giuseppe’s performing fleas (…). The great luzzatto circus will perform an amazing show tonight.

Palafox, left without surveillance in the Buffoons’ garden, will not waste away. The grass is thick, abundant. Three meters of rope to move around his pole, some families are worse off. Algernon, Maureen and Olympia won’t be gone for long. They will be back at night, after the show, with a surprise. Roasted peanuts — the surprise, the suspense will not last, Palafox would eat them all day if he could. Maureen bought this bag for him, in front of the menagerie, from the occupant of the first cage who also takes the tickets, it was enough to toss in a few coins. Twelve smart wire-covered horse-drawn caravans, arranged in a circle, look toward each other. The two ponies trot side by side, driven by habit, but the girl-jockey has provisionally disassociated herself from the movement. Visitors press against the cages. An old man stooped or hunched, often one wonders which, whose ravaged face is adorned with a gleaming straight nose, as if this nose alone had by stroke of luck or magic or miracle escaped from accident or illness or explosion, observes the lions while mumbling or chewing, something bitter, in any case. Farther along, a little boy with jutting ears and his two little brothers, twins dressed alike, similarly jutting, similarly merry, make fun of the chimpanzees. But impossible to witness everyone and everything, mankind is present, with his sex, that of a sergeant or a majorette, with deerskin gloves or red fingers, with or without his tie, pretty well-represented. Antonio nonetheless notices that coalminers, shoe repairmen, blowers of glass or of verses, the moleskinners and repairers of chairs have very nearly become extinct. When I was a cub, there were countless. And the lady grocers? I who am speaking to you, I remember the time when it wasn’t rare to see a lady grocer. I don’t see them anymore. The savage destruction of their habitat has condemned them. The nimblest of them have found refuge in the mountains but, unless a law is suggested and passed and at this rate who could believe such a thing possible, the last of their kind will disappear within a few years. Antonio could care less after all. He’s primping in his trailer, in the shadows. Pssst, say the photographers, pssst, as if the bear will leap onto all fours and offer up the world premiere of his latest number. They don’t know Antonio at all. Pssst, Olympia says. Two somersaults to start things off then the bear stands up, then an about-turn, a back-bend, flat as a board, another somersault, full split, back onto his feet at last, a curtsy. There really wasn’t enough space in the trailer to execute, between back-bend and handstand, the cartwheel without which this too-sudden revival of a cut-up tree is a bit laughable. But Antonio is easy to forgive. No, it was perfect, just perfect. Olympia offers him a hearty thanks since it is formally forbidden and practically impossible to stick your hand or any other food between the bars. And then of course tonight we’ll get to see the whole thing.

Algernon is expecting a lot from the performance. Perhaps he’ll steal some ideas for the Palafox show he’s planning. No harm there. When you steal an idea you’re liable to go on to steal an apple, announces Algernon who could care less about assonance. Ideas belong to everyone, like apples. The lucky devil who finds them didn’t make them, his job is nothing more than watching them ripen, tending to them, keeping crows away. Who would dare claim paternity of an apple? Algernon dreams up an original routine for Palafox, something original or perilous, original and perilous, or burlesque, and burlesque. We’ll have to see.

Lorenzo Luzzatto, Dino Luzzatto, Stefano Luzzatto, Pietro Luzzatto, Oneto Luzzatto, and Claudio Luzzatto kneel, onto the shoulders of whom are hoisted and then kneel Giorgio Luzzatto, Aldo Luzzatto, Ermanno Luzzatto and Leonardo Luzzatto, onto the shoulders of whom are hoisted and then kneel Francisco Luzzatto, Luciano Luzzatto, and Silvio Luzzatto onto the shoulders of whom are hoisted and then kneel Carlo Luzzatto and Domenico Luzzatto, onto the skulls of whom is hoisted and then kneels the little Giaquinto Luzzatto. We applaud the Luzzatto brothers. But it isn’t over yet. Little Giaquinto Luzzatto lifts himself slowly, arms extended, and stands on tiptoe on the skulls of Domenico Luzzatto and Carlo Luzzatto who stand on tiptoe on the shoulders of Francisco Luzzatto, Luciano Luzzatto, and Silvio Luzzatto who stand on tiptoe on the shoulders of Giorgio Luzzatto, Aldo Luzzatto, Ermanno Luzzatto and Leonardo Luzzatto, who stand on tiptoe on the shoulders of Lorenzo Luzzatto, Dino Luzzatto, Stefano Luzzatto, Pietro Luzzatto, Oneto Luzzatto, and Claudio Luzzatto. A new ovation for the Luzzatto brothers’ pyramid. Which risks dragging on forever since Lorenzo Luzzatto, Dino Luzzatto, Stefano Luzzatto, Pietro Luzzatto, Oneto Luzzatto, and Claudio Luzzatto all lift their right legs, and since Giorgio Luzzatto, Aldo Luzzatto, Ermanno Luzzatto and Leonardo Luzzatto all lift their left legs, and since Francisco Luzzatto, Luciano Luzzatto, and Silvio Luzzatto all lift their right legs, and since Domenico Luzzatto and Carlo Luzzatto both lift their left legs, and since little Giaquinto Luzzatto balancing on a hand alternates his perch between the head of Domenico Luzzatto and that of Carlo Luzzatto. As they get older, they’re bound to collapse. Algernon hardly hides his boredom. So, after a final round of applause, the Luzzatto brothers throw themselves into the demolition of their pyramid, but with every conceivable safety-measure, stone by stone, in a way that later can allow for rapid reconstruction if necessary, as soon as tomorrow, in some new metropolis.