Seven Days in New Crete (Penguin Modern Classics) (31 page)

‘Have the King and Queen arrived yet?’ I asked in a minute whisper out of the corner of my mouth. ‘I don’t see them anywhere.’

‘Behind the curtain,’ he whispered back. ‘Hush!’

It had not occurred to me that this was to be a Royal performance in a literal sense, though Quant had given me a brief outline of the ballet as we returned to the enclosure late in the afternoon from a pleasant walk round the mere. ‘It’s about the succession to the Throne,’ he had explained. ‘As you know, the King’s seven months’ reign ends tonight, and he’s due to die unless the Goddess grants him the favour of rebirth as his other self. Now, he can’t be reborn as his own successor, so there must be an interregnum, however short, and during this a boy victim succeeds to his throne and marriage bed. In the first act you’ll witness the Adoration of the Sphinx, the Dance of the Holy Perverts, the King’s Last Day, his Warning and (if the Goddess is merciful) the Reprieve. The second act contains the Seduction of the Victim, Laughing Murder, the Food of the Dead, the King’s Despoilment, and the Victim’s Investiture. The third begins with his Warning, next he goes rapidly through the Transformations, and in the end the Wild Women tear him in pieces. Then there’s the Epilogue: the King is reborn as his other self and reigns serenely for the rest of the year.’

‘Who are these Wild Women?’ l had asked. ‘The nymphs of the months?’

‘No, they’re incarnations of the nine-fold Goddess: Three Maidens, Three Graces and Three Fates. They appear after the holy perverts –’

‘But I was told that your perverts are always killed?’

‘So they are, but they’re reborn as hand-maids of Mari, and live without benefit of estate in a convent at the back of this playhouse. Other men mustn’t come near them, or even see them, except during the ballet; in fact, they’re so holy that it’s death for any man to be touched by them. However, they have many friends among the women elders and make court dresses and embroideries for the Queen and her nymphs. The Goddess has a tender regard for perverts – not the unnatural perverts of your epoch who despised women and preferred boys, but natural ones, who love her so extravagantly that they want to be one with her, as women. She brings them on the stage as a terrifying demonstration of her power; it’s known that men who fail to love her as she deserves are liable to die and be reborn as perverts. Bite your thumb when they appear, don’t forget!’

I was prepared for a spectacle in which I had no immediate concern. ‘I’m a loyal subject of George VI, by the Grace of God King of Great Britain and his Dominions Overseas, Defender of the Faith,’ I reminded myself. ‘That red-haired drunk with the lollipop gun is nothing to me.’ But I had under-estimated the power of the ballet I was about to witness.

The light faded, and nine expressionless servants in royal livery marched in, each carrying a lighted candle which he fixed into one of the glass lamps that served as footlights. Then the curfew rang; Friday Eve had begun.

The Lord Chamberlain, a gaunt figure in crimson, appeared from behind the curtain. Lifting his hand in a propitiatory gesture, he bent forward and hissed sharply three times. The house froze into absolute immobility, and a broken, haunting melody on a single reed-pipe floated in from nowhere in particular – perhaps from the roof. The curtains parted soundlessly, and a sigh of awe went up from the audience, like a chance gust of wind on a stifling day.

The Adoration of the Sphinx

The Queen was standing motionless between the spread wings of a marble Sphinx that crouched, facing us, on a tall pedestal at the back of the stage. She was dressed in a copper-coloured short-sleeved bodice with green buttons, a heavily jewelled girdle, and a flounced skirt, striped in white, primrose and scarlet, with a broad hem of embroidered fruit and flowers. Her breasts were bare; her dark yellow hair fell in glossy ringlets; around her neck she wore a chain of tiny skulls, and on her head a towering crown of silver horns curving around a pale gold mirror. In her right hand she held a five-pointed star. A spotted snake, about three feet long, coiled round her left arm.

For some little time nothing happened, then came a soft cooing, a beating of wings, and a flock of doves flew in, fluttered around her head, and out again. A gilt screen that extended right across the stage divided, and the halves slid back slowly in opposite directions, revealing three groups of worshippers facing the Queen. On the right seven boys in blue tunics crouched on all fours; in the centre stood five young men, naked from the waist up, with red kilts and ivory-handled axes; on the left seven white-robed elders leaned on their wands of office. They bowed before the Queen in adoration, which she acknowledged with a gentle lifting of the star high above her head; the diamonds with which it was studded caught a ray of light and twinkled splendidly. She raised and lowered the star three times, between pauses, then moved her head to smile graciously at the boys, axe-men and elders in turn. The screen slid back again, concealing them.

I had fallen under the spell of the ballet as deeply as any New Cretan and ceased to notice the details of stage machinery; my critical faculties deserted me, and my body grew so rigid that I could not have turned my head to look at Quant, even if I had wished.

The Dance of the Holy Perverts

The Queen’s manner suddenly changed. With stealthy wriggling motions she hid the star in her bodice, drew out an evil-looking mask, half pink, half green, with a cruel, lopsided smile and blue-rimmed eye holes, and clapped it over her face. At this the perverts, in a grotesque mixture of male and female dress, entered to mad discordant music, tumbling and prancing either pathetically alone, or obscenely in pairs. Immediately every man in the audience, myself included, raised his right thumb to his mouth and bit it; but the women remained motionless. The Queen descended, vaulted lightly over the screen and stepped among the perverts, encouraging them in their gambols, which grew wilder and wilder until it was agony to look at them. They tore off their upper garments and began slashing themselves with knives and flogging one another with knotted whips. Blood spurted from their plump bodies, and they danced in ever-increasing ecstasy, spinning round and round like humming-tops. The Queen stood swaying in the middle, her head tilted on her left shoulder, while the snake coiled restlessly round her arms and body. Just so, but for the snake, Erica had stood one evening in a cafe on Montparnasse, delightedly watching a bottle fight which she had herself provoked between two Bock-soused German painters.

A trumpet flourish rose sweetly above the din, which died away in a nasty whimper. The perverts slowed to a dead stop, grimaced and scuttled off. The Queen removed her mask, and set the snake wriggling after them. From the right advanced a pair of heralds in uniforms magnificent with gold embroidery, and repeated the flourish. The screen had parted to allow passage to the Queen and now, once more her gracious and beautiful self, she sat down on a marble throne at the base of the Sphinx.

The King’s Last Day

The heralds sounded a third flourish and the King, my King, strutted in, sober and confident, in full regalia; six nymphs of the months walked ahead of him and six wood-men, dressed in oak-leaves, brought up the rear. He wore a coat of seven colours, buckskin breeches, a broad tasselled belt and high-heeled scarlet half-boots. A pair of antlers, each of seven tines, sprouted from his curly red hair.

The nymphs led him to the throne, where he abased himself before the Queen, submissively kissed her foot, then rose and took his place on her left. For a while they sat in state, motionless, until the Queen signed to the woodmen, who danced forward making soft, jingly sounds with handbells One handed the King a bow, and each of the others a long gold-headed, purple-heeled arrow; they lay down crouching and panting like dogs at the foot of the throne. The King stood up, drew the bow and, the Queen directing his aim, shot one arrow towards each of the four points of the compass, and the fifth straight up in the air: this expressed the dominion he enjoyed through his marriage with her. The Queen placed a double axe between his knees.

The handbells jingled softly again, accompanied by a small unseen drum and a dulcimer-like stringed instrument. The King and Queen advanced, hand in hand, to perform a ceremonious pas-de-deux, the King marking the beat by rhythmic stamping of his half-boots. The pace gradually quickened, until the Queen was whirling wildly and the King, slowed down by his stamping, was left far behind. He flung out his hands in a helpless gesture, then dropped on one knee, and at this the Queen divided into two: her gracious self, and her masked wicked self. The music slowed down again, and the two Queens danced in stately circles round the King, their arms upraised. He remained awed and motionless, gazing at them until the wicked Queen disappeared into the gracious Queen.

The Warning

The dulcimer twittered a slight, sleepy melody, and a couch of sedge and grasses rose up. The Queen led the King to it, removed his antlers, unbuckled his belt, and pillowed his red head on her lap. The music died away and all grew dark, except for the dim glow of the footlights.

‘Hoo-hoo-hoo!’ A white owl sailed noiselessly in, sailed back again and made a series of short, quick rushes, every now and then brushing the couch with her wings. The King was half asleep. The nymphs stole away, and the Queen slowly and gently transferred his head from her lap to a grass pillow; then tiptoed into the shadows and beckoned to nine dark crouching figures, in conical hats. They advanced in three groups of three, laggingly, almost imperceptibly, and the owl circled round them with doleful hoots, and flew off. A blue half-light spread over the scene, and the King awoke in terror at a burst of blood-curdling, wheezy music. The nine figures threw off their dark cloaks and danced menacingly in a wide ring round the couch. The first three were adolescent girls in tight greenish calf-length frocks; the second three were full-breasted women in copper-coloured bodices and short bright skirts; then came two elderly dames in long bedraggled mourning; and the last was a horrifying crone in shapeless rags who danced nimbly by herself, counter-clockwise, on the outer fringe. The music swelled more hideously even than before and a shudder went through the audience.

The Reprieve

The King sat bolt upright, resumed his antlers, buckled on his belt and, finding himself deserted by the Queen and nymphs, looked around in frantic terror. He tried to banish his visitants by grimaces and gesticulations, but this only added to their fury. Gradually they closed in, mouthing at him and cracking their fingers, and were almost at his throat when, in despair, he snatched a hunting horn from his belt and blew a loud rallying call. The blessed relief of that silver-tongued tantarara!

To skirling pipes and rolling drums in leaped the five axe-men, disguised in tall sugar-loaf head-dresses that covered their faces, with the eye-holes ringed in bright blue spirals and with round buttons painted like grinning mannikins’ heads at the peaks. They wore garters jingling with small silver bells. Dancing a dactylic Highland Fling, and whirling their axes round their heads, they fell upon the Wild Women. The two dance movements intermingled, but bagpipes and drums finally prevailed, and the blue gloom changed to white light. The Wild Women retreated, and the axe-men marched reassuringly up and down, and round the couch, finishing in a well-dressed line at its foot.

This ended the first act, but there was no interval.

The Seduction of the Victim

The Queen stood, as at the beginning, between the wings of the Sphinx, and the single plaintive reed-pipe took up the thread of the story. The King had settled contentedly on the couch, guarded by three nymphs at the foot and three at the head; the axe-men, posted between the boys and elders as in the opening scene, worshipped the Queen. She received their devotions with gentle wavings of the star, then pointed commandingly to the right and all filed out slowly, elders first, then axemen, lastly boys; but before they were well on their way, the light dimmed, the blue gloom returned and from the left the Wild Women came prowling in. The youngest trio made a sudden rush at the hindmost boy, who was taller and more robust than the others, and caught at his tunic. He struggled desperately to rejoin his disappearing companions, and made an appealing gesture to the Queen; but he saw to his terror that she had resumed her wicked mask, and the central trio skipped forward, barring his way. The six of them pirouetted round him to the seductive sound of flutes, and while the light changed from white to green, from green to gold and back again, each advanced in turn, curtsied before him and made him a present – an apple, a scallop-shell, a bell, a ball, a mirror, and a silver cup. These he accepted with delighted wonder, and no longer tried to escape.

Laughing Murder

The drums rolled majestically, and the Queen pointed to the vacant throne, promising the boy with stylized gestures that he was to be the King’s successor and her lover. He shrank away, he protested, he pleaded, he wept, but to no avail: he was the chosen Victim, the King’s surrogate, and finally he bowed in mute acceptance of his fate. The Queen descended and stood surrounded by the Wild Women, who went through an orgiastic dance called Laughing Murder – so horrible and obscene that I will not attempt to describe it. I tried to close my eyes, but the lids would not obey me, and I was forced to watch the dance to the end.

Food of the Dead

There followed a long eerie pause; low lugubrious bass voices chanted a spondaic dirge and women sobbed softly. Their voices sounded gradually nearer, but the expected funeral procession did not come into view. All that could be seen was a slight flurry on the couch where the King lay, as something black and furry detached itself from his corpse – a thing that seemed a cross between a monkey and a tadpole: his ghost. It flapped about despairingly under the strong red light shining on it from above, and I saw to my disgust that it was still connected to the King by a long red navel-string issuing from his throat. The frightful third trio swooped in and made a grab at the ghost. It fought like a pike in the gaff, but Clotho and Lachesis held him tight, while Atropos severed the navel-cord with a pair of shears. Then all raised an ear-splitting shriek of lamentation. I believe that every woman in the audience must have shrieked too, as one screams in a nightmare; the piercing ululation went through me like a knife. The ghost turned limp in their hands and while Atropos sat it on her bony lap, her bedraggled sisters fed it with the red foods of the dead – crayfish, mullet and cranberries and, forcing its mouth wide open, a trickle of blood from the severed head of a black pig. Then they cuffed it, beat it, and rushed it out of sight. It broke away and returned gibbering to the couch, where it made impossible attempts to re-enter the King’s body, by burrowing first into the mouth, then into the navel, lastly into the groin; baffled and frustrated, it hopped about in an angry monkey dance, shaking its small furry fists.