Words of Command (Hervey 12) (Matthew Hervey) (43 page)

‘There is evidently no other place to be this night,’ said Hervey, finding that even putting his back against a column gave no refuge from the jostling. Before the first performance of
Messiah
, in Dublin, the posters had begged ‘Gentlemen are particularly requested not to wear swords’ and that ladies should appear ‘without Hoops, as it will greatly increase the Charity by making room for more company.’ Hoops, he knew, were not quite
la mode
– not, at least, those of Herr Handel’s day – but he trusted the princess would not choose them this evening. He’d certainly not considered leaving behind his sword, despite the doubts.

A little while later, the arrival timed fashionably, for the performance was not long due to start, her carriage hove into the square. There were no outriders, but two footmen in evening livery stood between the springs.

Hervey and his party, still with some difficulty even as the curtain bells began ringing, moved to the foot of the steps to welcome her.

An appreciative knot of onlookers applauded as she alighted. Her cloak – cream silk, edged in pink – was very full, and her hair was gathered up in a Grecian plume. She gave her hand to each of the officers (and the countess, dressed not dissimilarly but without plume, likewise), and then with effortless grace the footmen began leading the party to the boxes, the press of people parting like the sea before Moses.

There was champagne waiting, and they toasted the King’s health.

In a few minutes they were called to attention by applause for the conductor, and boisterous cheering in the pit, and took their seats expectantly. When the overture began, with its dramatic flourish, the cheering erupted again, only subsiding with the ‘Neapolitan’ tune that followed – but resuming with each return of the dramatic theme and its elaboration, so that when the overture came to an end after the better part of ten minutes the greater part of the audience was in a frenzy of cheering, stamping and singing – though with what words Hervey couldn’t fully discern. And it had to be reprised to satisfy the relentless calls of ‘
Une autre!
’

It was, he couldn’t deny, full of good tunes, and very lively – his foot tapped willingly – but the opera was two hours long, and repetitions would sorely test his devotion to duty. ‘Monsieur Auber evidently knows how to please an audience, ma’am,’ he said, and hardly needing to whisper.

‘He is very fine, Colonel Hervey,’ said the princess, lowering her opera glasses, ‘though not of the same order as Herr Weber.’

Hervey smiled. He did not know Herr Weber, but to be German was – naturally – to be
per se
the superior musician. But she said it with such sweetness that he could scarcely hold it against her.

He was saved from reply by the curtain, however, which rose to reveal, his card told him, the garden of the palace of the duc d’Arcos. A party of Spanish soldiers marched on stage, and at once there was booing. Hervey thought he might enjoy the evening after all.

Act One continued noisy, the audience very volubly expressing its dislike of the viceroy’s son, who, apparently having seduced
la muette
of the title, Masaniello’s sister, was to marry a Spanish princess.

The first interval was not long, and taken in the boxes rather than attempting a promenade. Princess Augusta gave her favourable opinion of the singing. Hervey said that it was as fine as any he’d heard in Rome when she pressed him for his estimation, though he then had to admit, when she asked him to elaborate, that he couldn’t quite remember what was the opera he’d seen.

Act Two began more peacefully, on the seashore, the stage filling with a chorus of Neapolitan fishermen sorting their catch, mending nets and the like, and some pleasing singing, and then Fenella,
la muette
, appeared, and danced a little – and very charmingly, Hervey thought – and seemed to be telling the fishermen somehow what had befallen her, the seduction, her imprisonment by the viceroy, and her escape, which did not go at all well with the more vocal of the audience (as well as with those the composer had presumably intended – the chorus). Masaniello then arrived, to encouraging cheers from the pit, and as he learned of his sister’s ill-use by the viceroy’s son, the mood turned dark. A duet began, not unlike the Marseillaise, sung by Masaniello and his friend Pietro, a call to arms which enlivened the audience a little more, and then suddenly, at the words ‘
Amour sacré de la patrie
’, both pit and boxes alike were convulsed with the loudest cheering.

‘
Amour sacré de la patrie, rends-nous l’audace et la fierté; à mon pays je dois la vie. Il me devra sa liberté
.’
^fn1
– The words came clearly even in the tumult, and as the fishermen swore perdition to the enemy there was a thunderous ovation which continued long after the fall of the curtain.

They remained in the boxes for the second interval, for Serjeant Acton reported there was a rather fevered crush in the promenade.

The start of Act Three was delayed by an altercation between General Aberson’s gendarmes and some of the most vocal of the pit, who had begun waving the Brabant
tricolore
– red, yellow, black – but a merry scene in the market place soon quietened tempers. But then the viceroy’s own police tried to arrest
la muette
(for a reason Hervey couldn’t entirely follow), which appeared to be the spark for a general revolt in Naples – and more uproar in the pit.

The hour was late, and Hervey was becoming uneasy, but the princess showed no inclination to curtail her enjoyment (the singing was unquestionably fine), and so he endured Act Four with reasonable equanimity, though the further complications of the plot – Naples in uproar and the viceroy’s son a fugitive, whom
la muette
for some reason now wished to save (the curious ways of women …) – he found trying (as well as the uproar on stage that was increasingly echoed throughout the theatre, even the boxes). But the house was truly elated when finally the city magistrate presented Masaniello with the royal crown and proclaimed him king of Naples, with cheering for several minutes after the curtain.

It was beyond the supper hour when the last act began – another gathering of fishermen, in which one of Masaniello’s friends revealed that he’d given him poison (perhaps, reckoned Hervey, to punish him for accepting the crown – though this, he’d thought, had been what
les pêcheurs
had wanted). But then another of his compatriots rushed on stage to tell of a fresh column of Spanish soldiers approaching, with the viceroy’s son at their head, and the crowd began entreating Masaniello to take command of them once more. A battle followed, quite lifelike compared with some he’d seen, complete with an eruption of Vesuvius (with more smoke and flame than he thought entirely prudent with so full a house) – but then Masaniello was cut down while saving the life of the Spanish princess (though Hervey wasn’t sure why she was even there), and
la muette
, discovering that her brother was dead, threw herself from a belvedere, and the Spanish retook the city.

Hervey breathed a sigh of relief as the curtain came down.

Serjeant Acton appeared as the cheering and curtain calls mounted, his jaw set firm. Hervey moved to the back of the box to ask what was wrong.

‘Riot, Colonel. All hell let loose. The princess’s men’ve gone to get the carriage but I don’t reckon they’ll be able to. I don’t think any of the carriages’ll be able to get into the square, let alone through it.’

Hervey thought for a moment. ‘Tell the adjutant. I don’t suppose there’s another door we can leave by? All the others will be thinking the same, mind. It may be safest to stay here, but it’s too great a crowd for my liking … We’re six, and the ladies – it ought to be possible to make our way tight through the square. Where
is
the carriage?’

‘In the littler square two streets off, Colonel – with a lot of others.’

‘Very well, we’ll make for there. You will lead.’

‘Colonel.’

He turned and told the princess.

She remained serene, though the countess looked troubled.

‘Have no fear, ma’am. It’s not the business we had at Waterloo. There’s no one being hunted – just an uncouth sort of rabble.’

Besides, five officers and a serjeant of light dragoons was an ample escort.

Nevertheless their progress down the grand staircase and out into the portico was a slow affair, with much jostling, pushing and elbowing – and unconscionably noisy.

But outside was noisier yet – and impossible to make out what was the commotion. Riot it certainly was, but against what or whom he couldn’t tell.

For the moment, however, he had but the one intent – to get the princess to her carriage. He motioned to Acton to lead on.

They edged along the inner wall of the portico until they could use the last of the columns as a rallying-point. Acton glanced back at Hervey for the ‘off’, and then with a few sharp words parted a knot of anxious patrons atop the steps to slip into the square, followed by the tight ring of blue protecting their charges.

It was doubly dark after the limelight of the theatre, and the crowd wasn’t that of the pit; they were menacing rather than merely rowdy. Hervey was glad of his sword, but prayed he wouldn’t have need in a press so tight.

Now came shots – at least, reports of some kind, fireworks perhaps; he couldn’t tell. The mood turned violent.

Flames began to lick at one of the buildings across the square.

Suddenly a dozen roughs brandishing clubs were barring their way.

‘
Kut-Hollander!
’ one of them spat.

Acton’s robust English reply only confirmed their misidentification.

‘
Sales Hollandais! Allez-vous faire foutre!
’

Hervey grimaced. Drunk – the roughs that Kuyff had spoken of no doubt, paid to do mischief. Where
were
his police, and the gendarmes?

‘
Nous sommes Anglais!
’ he barked.

They didn’t hear, or didn’t want to. ‘
Kut-Hollander! Moffen!
’

Then they rushed them.

Acton had his sabre out in a split second. Two of the roughs lunged but a cut to the wrist stopped one club. The other swung heavily but Acton sidestepped and sliced into the man’s upper arm. His yelp carried even above the tumult.

Hervey and the rest drew sabres and gave point.

The drink was powerful, though. The roughs weren’t deterred.

More now loomed.

Acton ran at them, choosing his man, felling him in a bloody heap with a flash of cuts.

Fell one, frighten twenty. A good rule.

But not all had seen it. Hervey was suddenly having to parry.

And no longer clubs. Swords came from somewhere.

Malet leapt forward as one of them charged, went to guard, deflected the blade and followed through with a looping cut that almost severed the arm.

Hervey pulled the princess to him with his left arm, parried a cutlass and put his point into a throat.

The other sabres were no less active.

Yet more came on, like savages.

The fight was unequal in skill, but numbers might yet tell …

Hervey held the princess tight. She made not a sound.

Parry, thrust, parry, cut – a dozen bloody bundles soon lay still or writhing on the cobbles.

He prayed she wouldn’t faint.

What sense to add more?

But more came at them, and they fell as bloodily, and not a single blade touching the party.

Until just as suddenly they were gone.

‘The carriage, Acton!’

Hervey loosed his grip to take the princess by the arm. She was shaken. No doubt of it.

‘Come, ma’am, it’s done.’

They hastened for the nearest side-street, the others following at his heels, Malet facing rear in case of another rush.

But they made it without check, slipped into its eerily empty haven and hastened into the next and beyond to the place where the carriages were parked.

The princess’s footmen had out their staves, ready, though the
cul
was still empty. Even by the dull light of the coach lamps her ordeal was evident. ‘
Ihre Hoheit!
’

‘
Denken sie sich nichts dabei, Clemens.
’

Hervey realized he still had hold of her arm, and loosed it awkwardly. ‘
Entschuldigung, Hoheit
.’

She said nothing, but turned to the countess. ‘Are you well, Beatrix?’

‘I am well, Your Highness.’

Hervey spoke to the coachman. ‘We can’t go out towards the square. Can you turn the carriage, or must we unhitch?’

The coachman said he could.

‘Then turn at once … Whose is behind?’

‘
Es ist zu mieten, Herr Oberst
.’

A carriage for hire two streets from a riot – as lucky as it was singular.

‘Worsley, Vanneck, Mordaunt – take the hackney behind, will you. Follow us to the princess’s.’

‘Colonel.’

‘Sar’nt Acton, take the footboard.’

‘Colonel.’

‘Malet, come with me in the princess’s carriage.’

‘Might it not be safer to get an escort from the barracks, Colonel?’

‘I fancy the road to the villa’s a good deal quieter than to the barracks, but we’ll only know when we begin.’

Shooting – if that it was – increased. And an orange glow lighting the sky.

‘Come, then, gentlemen,’ called Hervey breezily, not least for the ladies’ benefit. ‘We may have to forgo our supper, but we’ll not be without honour!’

fn1
‘Sacred love of the fatherland, give us courage and pride; to my country I owe my life. It will owe me its liberty.’