Alexander Chee - The Queen of the Night

The King is very interesting, said Sand, and we laughed.

I was Ophelia, but also the Queen of the Night, which thrilled me.

Why is there a Queen of the Night? Pauline asked. Was she in the original?

No, Sand said. A German affectation. Done because they love her, I suppose.

There’ll be one in every opera once the Prussians are done, Turgenev said.

You’ll see, she said. She’s terrific. I like her very much. You will, too. You won’t mind when they eventually include her in Don Giovanni. They also call her the Queen of Silence.

We laughed at this, Pauline most of all.

Sand chose Plauchut for the head of the troupe of actors, who were, in the play, from Germany, made to perform a play that reminds the murdering royal couple, Hamlet’s mother and uncle, of their guilt.

We need Furies to accompany the Queen, Sand declared, and appointed Maurice, Pauline, and Turgenev as the Furies — Alecto, Megaera, and Tisiphone.

I stood before them, cloaked in a blue wool blanket for my starry mantle of night. I wrapped it dramatically around my head, but as soon as I did, to my surprise, I felt something sad descend — something sad but nobly sad. Outside, the lightly fervid humor of the night.

Where are we? murmured Turgenev, from just offstage. Is it her land of women from The Magic Flute?

Well, they are Furies, Sand said. That is all you must know. Now let’s start.

This version of the play begins when the Queen of the Night calls her Furies to her. I am dark Night that sends the world to sleep, I recited.

I am Morpheus’s wife, the time for vicious pleasure.

Protector of thieves, guardian of illicit love;

I am dark Night, and it is in my power

To give the whore her rest, and cover up her shame,

Give Evil its free rein, all mankind to betray.

Ere Phoebus arise, I shall have my prize.

Ye children of my breast, ye daughters of my lust,

Rise up, rise up, you Furies, appear before thy mother!

Regard with care all that she is about to share!

The Furies appeared and welcomed me. The comedy of it had fled at first, but it returned at the sight of Turgenev in the light from the fire, both hilarious and very convincing as a crone.

Maurice, as Alecto: What says dark Night, Queen of Silence?

What new game does she propose? What is her wish and will?

Pauline, as Megaera: From Acheron’s dark pit come I, Megaera, hither,

To hear from thee, mother of all evil, all thou might desire.

Turgenev, as Tisiphone: Dark Night! Speak!

What wishes wait in that dark heart?

Pauline giggled.

Listen, ye Furies all three, listen, ye children of darkness and mothers

of all misfortune. Listen to your poppy-crowned Queen of the Night,

patroness of thieves and robbers, friend and light to all that burns,

lover of stolen goods, dearly loved goddess of unlawful love:

how often are my altars honored by it?

This night and the coming morrow, stand with me;

The King of this land burns with love for his brother’s wife,

Whom for her sake he has murdered so that he might possess both wife

And crown. Now is the hour at hand when they lie together.

I shall throw my mantle over them both, that neither may see their sin.

Make ready to sow the seeds of their disunion, mingle poison with their

Marriage, put jealousy in their hearts. Kindle a fire of revenge and let the

Sparks fly over this whole realm, till murder burns in Hamlet’s heart, and

Gives joy to Hell, so that those who swim in this sea of murder may soon drown.

Begone, hasten, and fulfill my command!

As this last was said, it left my mouth with the whistling of something terrible set loose in the dark.

That those who swim in this sea of murder may drown.

The Furies gave their last speeches.

Tisiphone: I have already heard enough, and will soon perform

More than dark Night can herself imagine.

Megaera: Pluto himself shall not prompt me to so much

As shortly I’ll be performing.

Alecto: I fan the sparks and make the fire burn;

Ere it dawns the second time, the whole game I’ll shiver.

Then they scattered to rip the royal family into blood and shreds, and fill the world with justice. More giggling ensued, and all was as it had been, a comedy again.

Sand made for an amusing Hamlet. Every line she spoke made us shake with laughter. Pauline was regal as the Queen, whom she played as a bit thick and wintry toward her son. Maurice turned out to be an able and elegant choice for the young soldiers as needed, vanishing and reappearing in yet another costume — borrowing hats and helmets from the coatroom and, in one case, a long ostrich feather that made us all laugh as he entered.

The night was like the play, familiar and unfamiliar — and hilarious, as Sand had promised, and we got through it, murder after murder, to the end.

Ophelia, in this version, to my mind, could only be ridiculous, and so I played her that way. Befuddled as to why her world had gone mad but certain she had not changed. Her death a moment of unexpected happiness for her.

After it was done, cognac was brought, and we sat outside on the lawns. It was still very dark but it was morning. I lay back, my hair in the grass, a slight chill to it.

I watched Pauline with Turgenev — they were the opposite of the play we’d just enacted. The brother had not murdered a brother for his wife, but had instead gentled himself.

Sand came over to me. She’d lit a cigar and looked like an old elf. And how are you doing with your studies there with my old friend? she asked.

She is a demanding teacher, I said. But I love her.

That sounds exactly as it should be, I should think, she said, and tapped an ash into the lawn with a cast-down grin. I look forward to hearing you sing, she said. Somehow I am sure you are extraordinary. Pauline does not trifle.

Thank you, I said.

This was when I looked up at her and wondered if she would one day write a novel about me. This was one of the first vanities of my career, that I could somehow attract the literary attention of Sand. I hoped she would, that I would someday be famous enough, interesting enough, and find myself browsing a stall along the Seine, her newest novel there, and opening it to discover it was finally of me.

On the day I open the novel Simonet has written of me, I will remember this moment. Of staring up at her and wondering if I was to be her next subject. It was what I had always imagined it would be like to see God as He made up His mind. As He decided whether or not I was to be forgiven.

§

The novel, when I finally read it, disappointed some of my suspicions, resupplied others, and confirmed one.

I was initially amused that Simonet had transformed the Settler’s Daughter into a sort of female Baron Munchausen, the Baroness Munchausen, if you will. All it lacked for was a ride on a cannonball, a fish for me to crawl out of, and a ship I could take to the moon.

After the Paris Exposition Universelle, the young circus rider who sang before the Emperor and was rewarded with a ruby rose falls under its spell. Unbeknownst to her, the Emperor had the rose enchanted with a love spell. She escapes from the circus, intent on pursuing him, but outside the Expo waits a tenor who had seen the performance and lusted for her, determined to possess her. He seduces her, promises to make her a singer, and brings her to his house in the Marais, where he keeps her prisoner, jealously guarded.

The tenor finds the spell has affected her singing, however; she lacks the passion she might have if she was free of the enchantment, which troubles him. She also keeps trying to escape and will not let go of the ruby rose. The tenor goes off in search of a remedy.