Palafox

7

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.

Then darkness falls again, which restores silence (a generic expression used to designate various droning insects of the order of diptera, with their stocky shapes, their short antennae, dangerous because of the microbes carried on their feet and probosces, according to the clarification of professor Pierpont). Nothing lasts, a cymbalist waiting in the shadows crushes the unfortunate black fly. Music explodes. Drums beat each other up. Pupi Luzzatto returns with light, himself radiant and twinkling, and tips his white top-hat by way of announcement, Mesdames and Messieurs, Giuseppe Luzzatto and his performing fleas! There aren’t many performing fleas left, Olympia notes. Generally speaking, the quality of primary education isn’t much to speak of these days. Most nine year olds can barely read. Then there’s the question of recruitment, Algernon observes. I don’t have an explanation but there seems to be a stunning paucity of fleas these days, even though the blood of our fathers, which used to delight them, still flows through our veins. The spectators in the first row are the most fortunate, Maureen notes. Giuseppe Luzzatto has Charybdis and Scylla jump from his right wrist to his left wrist, then back again. It would seem that they execute a series of airborne acrobatics, barrel-rolls, loop-de-loops, between the two, a first good idea worth noting for Palafox’s performance.

Darkness, silence, cymbals, top hat, Mesdames Messieurs, Polo the Clown! Polo the Clown runs along a tightwire, dances on the tightwire, descends, bows, steps on his shoe-lace, takes a spill. Polo the clown juggles three oranges, four oranges, five oranges, and a lemon, two lemons, and a pineapple, bows, steps on his fruit, takes a spill. Polo the Clown pulls a violin out of his ear, plays Brahms with great sensitivity, waves, steps on his violin, takes a spill. The crowd roars each time Polo falls.

…, Mesdames Messieurs, Perla and her wild animals! A cage has been placed in the ring. For reason x or y, Perla is in a swimsuit. The animals are released, two lions, three lionesses, a leopard, a cheetah not to be confused with the leopard, and a jaguar whose spotted coat recalls Palafox’s own. Perla produces a hoop, the eight beasts leap through, the hoop is set on fire, the eight beasts leap through, another hoop is added, the eight beasts leap through. Perla sticks to her idea, she lights the second hoop, but the eight beasts leap through. Palafox should be able to handle this trick. Then Perla sticks her head into the lion’s mouth. I could do that too, Algernon thinks.

…, the great, the fabulous Massimo Luzzatto! The prestidigitator flattens his opera hat with one fist, throws it to the ground, tramples it, pops it back into shape with the flick of a foot, from it withdraws eggs, doves, three white rabbits, in short, the old false bottom. Murmurs of disappointment from the peanut gallery. The fabulous Massimo next fills ten empty bottles from a single full one, so apparently identical to the others, and yet too apparently a matter of another false bottom, once again. “Mademoiselle if you would be so kind,” Massimo lays Maureen in a box, which he nails shut, which he saws in half, out from which Nino and Nina burst, while Maureen reappears in her seat, wearing his opera hat. Polite applause for the illusionist who, really, has to give the false bottom thing a rest. These old tricks aren’t fooling anyone, mutters the fabulous Olympia who, on the other hand, knows a card-trick that will knock your socks off. It’s actually very simple. Take a deck of fifty-two cards. Shuffle well. Have someone pick a card at random. Close your eyes while saying, Do not, I repeat, do not show me the card. Cut the deck. Let your opponent place the card on the pile of the deck of his choosing. Gather the deck together again. One by one turn over the cards. You say It’s this one, and you read the look of pristine surprise on the face of your opponent who says Why yes it is. Now, of course, no magician worth his salt reveals his secrets, but, in this case I’ll make an exception. When you reconstitute the two piles of cards, covering the opponent’s card with the other half of the deck, you peek at the card on the bottom of the deck you are covering the card with. The card at the bottom will be the card that precedes your opponent’s card. Therefore, when you are turning over the cards, you will know that your opponent’s card will follow when the card you spied arrives.

All things considered, it’s hard to imagine pulling an animal Palafox’s size from a hat. As a matter of fact, five elephants are now in the ring. While we were hanging on Olympia’s every word, we missed their entrance. They stand stock-still, huddled together, one animal. Giovanni and Noretta Luzzatto bump them, unsettle them, pile into them, palpate this fine flesh in their hands; then, at a sign from Giovanni the pachyderms prostrate themselves, before what, great gods, before whom, or does there exist someone or something worthy of such striking humility, of such reverence, of all that ivory? It would be unfortunate were the answer no, were the effort wasted. Then, they rise as one, interlace their trunks, cradle Noretta. Then they shower her. Then they groom her. Then they don’t know what to do next for a joke and turn to Giovanni who nods to a cluster of stools. Ah! Yes, the stools, they almost forgot the stools, they heave themselves onto the stools, and nothing is sadder to see than these five elephants, torn from their natural habitat as babes, and made to sit like this, ridiculously plumed, while there are old women without seats in the crowd.

In all honesty, scaling an elephant isn’t the hardest thing in the world. It’s just the sort of thing I’d be good at, thinks Algernon.

Pupi Luzzatto announces the next act with an a note of gravity quite rare coming from him — but, of course, what do we know of Pupi Luzzatto and his customary customs? What do we know of his true features? Laughter scrambles a face. Joviality only proves the elasticity of the rubber, after all. That’s Pupi Luzzatto for you. The true waxen face of this orphan, this cuckolded husband, this aging man. For Pupi Luzzatto announces the acrobats. They will risk their lives before our very eyes, without a net, Mesdames Messieurs, in a high-wire act unlike any in the world. Do not applaud during their feats, please, move around as little as possible. Rolando Luzzatto is balancing in the void, suspended by his feet from a trapeze. Rosella Luzzatto, his own wife, hangs from his outstretched arms. Twelve yards away, Nanni Luzzatto, her own brother, balances in the void, suspended by the feet from a trapeze. His own wife, Antonella Luzzatto, hangs from his outstretched arms. But that’s only the beginning: Rolando lets go or more accurately launches Rosella, Nanni lets go of or more accurately launches Antonella, Rolando and Nanni part fiercely, Rosella and Antonella execute a first spiral, Rolando and Nanni split apart, a second spiral, Rolando and Nanni grow nearer nonetheless, a third spiral again and the two brothers at the ends of the arc grab their respective sisters-in-law by the ankles nose down, Rolando Antonella and Nanni Rosella, while Algernon thinks of the harmony of a world where relations between men and women would never be more complicated than this. Then he snaps out of it, and at once he and the rest of the spectators feel the irresistible urge to crack their knuckles, as if they were afraid they had broken a bone. If we were to subsitute for the real trapeze artists above an imaginary string quartet, then all the spectators would feel the irresistible collective urge to clear their throats, as though a choir at mass about to burst into song. The spectators above all else need to remember that they are there, very much alive, they must be understood, that they exist and would be capable of such feats themselves, it’s just that no one ever gives them the opportunity for God’s sake. On the other hand, Algernon will ask all his friends to approach Palafox, to touch him, to harness him, to fight him, it will be an interactive performance. The animal will be allowed to choose his own partner for the high wire act. For this launch into the void, his partner, whoever she may be, will be at somewhat of a disadvantage. Palafox possesses over Madame Franc-Nohain or the general’s wife the double advantage of being able, primo, to glide effortlessly thanks to his patagium, and secondo, to latch onto anything with his prehensile tail.

Next into the ring come Nino and his monkey, Nina and her dogs, Antonio and his velocipede. The Human Cannon is unwell. The evening therefore ends with Clara Luzzatto and her ponies. Algernon rubs his hands together, Palafox’s show will go well, he thinks. The program is almost completed in his head. A bold opening: an arrival on tricycle, trumpet improvisations. Real crowd-pleasers. After the laughter, the shivers, Algernon will crack his whip. Stools and hoops on the grass, if time allows, and trapezes in the trees. Yes, he can see it all. Maureen will look smashing in jodhpurs.

Palafox nearly choked to death curled up on his side like a bum. After having tugged in vain on his tether, he started to graze unhungrily just to pass the time, how else could we explain his clockwise course? The cord wrapped around the stake, and with each new lap the tether drew shorter, and tighter for want of slack, as if caught in a collar, the poor thing falling to his knees and onto his side, nearly choking to death. Sure, all he needed to do was turn back in the opposite direction, counter-clockwise, to see comfort once again restored. But Palafox isn’t there yet. He possesses only the fuzziest sense of the interdependence of space and time in his world. He still has to ask the stars (how dare he?) which way to go. Maureen disentangles him, tosses his peanuts into a saucer. Palafox capers about, rolls around at Olympia’s feet, unties the laces of her boots. No, he’s decidedly not an eagle.

Algernon would get a lot more credit if he were able to get the thing to speak. He’s been trying for quite some time. Palafox as his own ringmaster, that’s the idea. Thanks to so many of you for coming, Algernon repeats endlessly into his ear. Chirp, says Palafox. Articulate more clearly, Algernon instructs. Chirp? ventures Palafox. Better. Once again. Chirp! Recites Palafox. And Algernon is so happy he could kiss him. (Ovid, Cato, Petronius and Pliny all mention the art of teaching birds the rudiments of conversation, whereas Cicero’s silence on this matter could be seen as a silent reproach of the practice. Later, Clement of Alexandria scolded women who tried to teach their nightingales. And yet look at where we are now. We hardly read Cicero, Clement of Alexandria wouldn’t manage to find a publisher for his Hypotyposes, Madame, Mademoiselle, Monsieur, your work unfortunately does not quite fall within the constraints of our list — but each night, in spring, in the gardens and the undergrowth, rise the sad songs of the Roman and Greek women they found so frivolous.

Most of Palafox’s lesson-time is devoted these days to matters of elocution. As for the remainder, just tweaking and fine-tuning. His stride, for example, is still somewhat heavy, halting, which wouldn’t be so surprising if he were devoid of limbs. At first glance you’d be so sure he was, you’d take the bet. But he’s just a torso! exclaimed Franc-Nohain after his capture. In reality, the seal has two paws, which may as well be called flippers since the five fingers are joined by webbing — thanks to which he is able to move forward, in spite of everything, painfully sure, as if he were dragging himself forward beneath a sack of geological bric-a-brac. Palafox should shake it off before he enters the living room of La Gloriette, in order to move with ease between tables, and he should trim his mustache, and above all he should overcome his fear of taking his head out of his shoulders. He has made great lingual leaps. Léon, he says while doing cartwheels, Léon, but the next part of his story is less clear. Léon, he keeps repeating, and once again he unfurls the one hundred fifty ocellus feathers of his tail, Léon gyrryrryrryvnid-vnid… Could it be that he knows some bawdy anecdote about one of the thirteen popes that blessed this name? Unless he meant to quote Tolstoy or Trotsky. But, in that case, Tolstoy or Trotsky?