The Glassblower of Murano (24 page)

Was that the baby? Or the realization that I've just lost the job
that I came here for?

She put a hand down there and he turned in time to catch
the gesture. He waved at her stomach.

`And now with your ... wonderful news, there are not
just financial considerations but implications for your health.
All the chemicals and pigments that we use here, to say nothing of the heat.You'd have to leave soon anyway.When
are you due? February?'

She nodded.

`Well.' He sat heavily at his desk. `Let's just call this maternity leave. I'll have to see how things go here. I must
re-trench.'

Leonora found her voice, `And afterwards?'

Adelino shook his head. `I really don't know. It depends
on business. We always have a slump in between Christmas
and Carnevale. It could be the end of me: He took off
his glasses and rubbed his eyes. `To be honest Leonora, I
can't afford to pay you anything, apart from your money
to the end of the month. You could sue me, I suppose,
for maternity pay, or whatever you call it. It would certainly be a first on this island. But there's nothing to give
you.

`I never asked' She felt absurdly like crying - as if she
had done this to him. Although she never wanted a part
of the ad campaign, and although it was his greed that had
sunk his ships, she felt responsible.

`I'd love to say that you could come back. But the truth
is, I just don't know. And certainly for the moment, in the
light of all the press your presence here is somewhat ...'

She finished for him, `Embarrassing?'

Adelino's eyes, small and unfamiliar without his glasses,
dropped to the desk.

There was one more thing she must know `And Roberto?
Will you reinstate him?'

`Leonora, you're not listening. I can't employ anyone else
at present, however accomplished. Even if ...'

`Even if what? You've tried, haven't you?'

Adelino let out a long sigh. `I went to see him, yes. But
his neighbours said he'd gone away.'

`Gone? Where?'

`They don't know. They think abroad.'

Leonora looked at him. She wanted to feel anger but
felt instead only pity. Her sadness at the inevitable course
of the interview was only tempered by relief that Roberto
had gone from the city.

She got up. She walked down the stairs, through the hot
door, and onto the factory floor. The men stopped to stare,
but without Roberto's malign presence she felt animosity
but no sense of danger. She felt the heat of the furnaces,
so well-loved, so final. The maestri swung their blowpipe
canne in cooling arcs like so many pendulums. Tick, tock.
Time is up. She looked at the pieces of glass, a rainbow
of colours, ranged around the workshop in various states
of evolution. She smelled the silica and sulphur and turned
for the door before the flames blurred in her tears. It felt
so odd, this muddle of emotions. In one sense, she was
happier than she had ever been. She was going to have a
child, a child that grew inside her every day. She held the
heart at her throat. The baby was this size now - the size
of the heart she wore. But at the same time, she had lost
what she came here for. Her creative outlet, her livelihood.
Outside she took her leave of the street sign.

The Fondamenta Manin. If I could just f nd out that Corradino
was innocent, if he could become a hero again, could he save this
place that I have helped to ruin?

Corradino felt sick. He didn't know whether the stench
was worse inside or outside of the carriage - outside the
bewildering sounds and rotten smells of Paris, and inside
the overpowering perfume of the powdered and pomaded
Duparcmieur, all dressed up for their audience with the
King. Corradino, too, was richly dressed in fine brocade;
his transition from the mud-covered-risen-dead to aristocrat-amongst-craftsmen had been accomplished on the
voyage. He felt even sicker now than he had then, when
he was shuttled from bark to boat, from boat to ship, from
ship to carriage.

I could vomit on my fine new breeches.

Paris seemed to him a bewildering and hellish place. Against
all sense it was the space that oppressed him - the tight
canals and calli of Venice and Murano had made him feel secure, but here the streets were wide and he felt vulnerable.

And the stench.

The smell of human ordure was everywhere - no wonder
Duparcmieur constantly held a small perfumed kerchief to
his nose. At least in Venice there was an efficient and healthy
disposal of wastes; with a canal on every doorstep, you
could merely throw your filth into the water, or shit directly
into the canal. Here it seemed that the sluggish brown
Seine was a central artery of human waste that infected
the whole city with its stench and miasma of pests.

And the noise! In Venice there was barely a sound to be
heard beyond the gentle splashing waters as gondolas cleaved
through the canal's surface. The only cacophonies were the
pleasing sounds of Carnevale merriment or play-making.
Here Corradino's head rang to the sound of horses' hooves,
and the rumble of carriage wheels. Before today the greatest
number of horses that Corradino had seen together were
the four bronze statues standing silent sentinel over Venice
from the top of the Basilica di San Marco. Here there were
thousands of the creatures - big, ugly and unpredictable.
The foul sweet aroma of their leavings was everywhere in
the streets, steaming piles which the well dressed citizens
stepped delicately over.

The buildings, while tall and grand, had none of the
delicate traceries of the Venetian palaces on the Canal Grande. But they were certainly imposing. One great white
church reached high into the sky, with twin towers and
spires of jagged teeth.

`Observe,' said Duparcmieur, `the magnificent gargoyles
watching over us'

A comical word. What can the fellow mean?

As Corradino craned out of the carriage he saw, high up,
malevolent demons crouched in the masonry, gazing down
on him with ill intent. He drew back in, suddenly afraid,
and as the carriage drew up at a particularly impressive
edifice Corradino felt a wholly unwanted pang for the
city he had left behind.

`We're here,' said Duparcmieur, as a powdered and liveried
footman sprang to open the carriage door.

The King's presence chamber was gilded and grand, but,
to Corradino's mind, not a patch on the Palazzo Ducale
where he had been with his father for an audience with
the Doge.

And the King himself - wholly unexpected.

Slumped in a beautifully carved chair elevated on a dais,
the monarch's face was all but obscured by the curls of his
wig as he leaned to the floor where a small dog played
around his ringed hand. The dog slavered for a treat concealed in the King's chubby palm. Ever a student of detail, Corradino noted the richness of the rings on the plump
fingers, and the white powder clogged in the creases
between the royal digits.Although they had been announced,
the King spoke as if to himself.

`A gift from the English King. Epagneul de Roi Charles.
A "King Charles spaniel".' A strange fit seemed to come
over him as he began to snuffle like a truffling pig.

Corradino waited for the Royal aides to step forward
with a draught of medicine, or to burn a feather under
the King's nose to bring him out of his malady, when he
realized the King was laughing.

`The English King is a dog! The English King is a dog!
And a little one too!' Louis enjoyed his own wit for some
further moments, before returning to the game. `I shall call
you Minou. A good French name. Yes I will. Yes I will.'

The spaniel circled the hand, impatient now, and was
rewarded for her persistence as the King relinquished the
comfit. The dog gobbled the bon-bon, and then squatted,
shivering and straining, to shit on the rug.There was silence
as the court regarded the perfect turd glistening on the
priceless Persian weave. Corradino looked to the King,
anticipating anger, but the fit had overtaken him again -
the King threw back his head in mirth and Corradino at
last saw his face. Contorted like the gargoyle he had seen
earlier, eyes closed and streaming, with a slick of mucus
from nose to mouth. Corradino felt nothing but contempt
for this man who was said to be the greatest monarch in
Christendom. He glanced to Duparcmieur, who bowed low and made as if to leave, clearly acknowledging that
the planned audience would not take place today. Corradino
followed suit and they had all but reached the door when
a voice stayed them.

`Duparcmieur!'

Both men turned to meet the sight of a different man
sitting on the throne. The face was composed, the wig
arranged, the eyes flint.

`So you have brought me the Venetian to complete my
vision, yes?'

Duparcmieur's smooth mask slipped for an instant in the
face of such a startling transition, but soon the practised
urbanity was back.

`Yes, Majesty Allow me to present Signor Corrado Manin
of the fair city of Venice. I believe and trust that you will
not be disappointed in his artistry.'

`Hmmrnm: The King tapped his teeth with a nail, both
teeth and nail yellow against the powdered white cheeks.
And then, abruptly, `Have you seen the Sainte Chapelle?'

Corradino realized he was being addressed. He bowed
low. `No, Your Majesty.'

`You should. It is really quite beautiful. It is considered
a marvellous example of stained glasswork.' For a moment
the King's face seemed to shine with pride at his city's
finest jewel. `But of course, it is in fact, no more beautiful
to me than Minou's little tribute there: To underline his
startling volte face, he indicated the dog's waste, still sitting
on the rug. `Little nuggets of glass, multicoloured fancies, tiny bon-bons, minute panes all muddled together. Good
enough for a child. Good enough for God.' He rose from
his chair. `But I am King. I want glorious, clean glass, huge
pieces, mirrors of white and gold to reflect my Majesty.
Can you do that for me, Signore?'

Corradino was afraid, but he knew his capabilities. `Yes,'
he said in ringing tones. `I can.'

The King smiled pleasantly. `Good' He came close -
Duparcmieur lowered his head but Corradino met the
royal eyes. `If you please me, we will reward you greatly.
Fail me, and you will find me no more merciful than your
own Venetian overlords, with their embarrassingly thorough
methods of justice' The King turned and walked back to
his throne, deliberately stepping in the dog turd on the
way. As the great doors closed on Duparcmieur and himself, Corradino could see the underside of the King's satin
slipper, smeared with shit.

Duparcmieur was surprisingly cheerful in the carriage.
`Good. You've met the King, and he seems pleased with
you. I thought that went terribly well.'

Corradino was amazed and silent.

`Do you not think he is indeed the most glorious of
monarchs?'

`My experience of monarchs is limited to that one audience, Duparcmieur, but I'll admit he had an ... interesting
... manner.

In truth your King is a disgusting child, but to speak my thought
would show little diplomacy, and may even be dangerous.

`You find him charming? I do. He seemed in a very good
mood today.'

I hope that I am never witness to his bad mood.

Duparcmieur leaned forward in a businesslike fashion. `Now,
we'll take you to your lodgings in Trianon - quite well
appointed, I think you'll find. We have provided work
clothes for you there. When you are properly attired for
work I'll take you to the site of the palace at Versailles. I
think you will be impressed by the building work - it
looks marvellous already. Although, you have seen many
marvels today, to be sure.'

Corradino grimly agreed. He had seen a King who was
not a King. Thinking of the monarch's double nature he
voiced a concern which had grown in his chestspoon over
the last hours. `Duparcrieur. How can I know that I can
trust you and your - the King? How do I know that you
will bring Leonora to me as you promised, and that you
will not kill me when I have told my secrets?'

Duparcmieur met his troubled eyes with a candid gaze.
Either the eyes of a man telling the truth or the eyes of
a practised liar.

`My dear fellow, you have my word. I don't know how
you run things in Venice, but in France a man's word is his bond.'

`Oh in Venice too. Even The Ten keep their word once
given, for good or ill.'

`Then you understand me. I propose that you teach our
foreman your ways with the mirror for one month, to
show good faith. Then we bring Leonora to you. Then
you remain for the next eleven months to oversee the
work in the palace. At the end of the year you are free, to
live with your daughter, and you can work with the glass
or not, just as you choose.'

It sounds too wonderful to be true.

`Your foreman of the glassworks, what kind of man is
he?'

`His name is Guillaume Seve. He is very experienced, a
man of mature years, a good craftsman.'

Corradino shook his head. `No good. I need a young man,
someone with natural aptitude, a willingness to learn, but
who has not already learned all the wrong methods. Someone
who will learn from me, a servente, not someone older than
me.

`Very well.' Duparcmieur thought for a moment. `Then
that would probably be Jacques Chauvire, just an apprentice, but talented. He is but one and twenty.'

Corradino nodded. `Perfect. It will take time, and dedication. Such things cannot be taught in a short span.'

Duparcmieur sat back. `All will be well,' he said airily.

`You'll have everything you need - time, materials, men.
The palace will be magnificent, you'll see'