Edgar Allan Poe and the Empire of the Dead by Karen Lee Street

Author:Karen Lee Street
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pegasus Books
Published: 2020-05-05T00:00:00+00:00

19

As the day faded, the true character of Montparnasse emerged like a gaudy insect from a chrysalis. The streets were so lively, one would hardly imagine how near we were to the tombs of the Cimetière du Sud. The smell of food filled the air from restaurants selling mussels and fried potatoes, and revelers crowded around outdoor drinking stalls imbibing quantities of wine and beer. We walked past dance halls and pleasure palaces where men in theatrical suits tried to persuade us that the talented ladies employed there would not fail to entertain us.

The exterior of number twenty rue de la Gaîté gave little hint that a performance was to occur there that night. It was only the colorful and strange poster affixed to the wall by the door that suggested a theater might be inside. It offered an unsettling vision of a man in his prime dressed all in scarlet, a swirling black cape embroidered with stars and mystical symbols attached to his shoulders. He wore a top hat and a silken mask rather like a blindfold from which peered hypnotic—or perhaps deranged—green eyes. His pale skin was smooth, his hair black as coal, as were his short, pointed beard and mustache. In one gloved hand the fellow clutched what looked to be a sorcerer’s staff with a small silver owl embedded at its end. It had emerald eyes as fierce and strange as those of its master. “Le Grand Berith” was written in a bold arc above the man and his familiar. “Magicien” was printed in elaborate gold letters beneath the image, and miniature leering demons clung to each Gothic-styled letter.

“A devilish magician assisted by the imps of Hell,” Dupin said dryly. “Do you tremble with delicious terror, Poe?”

“I am doing my utmost to conceal that fact, my friend, though I fear the Great Berith will discern my unease.” In truth I was not without trepidation after the events of the day, and undoubtedly some trap had been set. Where might a misstep on our part land us?

We entered the building and came to a sizable reception room—a low partition separated it from the seats and there were two large entrances into the theater itself, which gave a welcome sense of spaciousness, for a large crowd was gathered and it was both noisome and boisterous. The size of the audience was unexpected. I had assumed few would be aware of the show, but clearly the Great Berith was renowned in Montparnasse, both admired and feared for his strange art. Men and women with countenances that suggested they would run a sharp razor across the throat of anyone who crossed them were giddy with the prospect of witnessing firsthand the magician’s supernatural powers.

“I believe most attending this performance are more familiar with la Cité than Montparnasse,” Dupin murmured.

“Certainly I can imagine most here at home in the Lapin Blanc,” I replied.

Then a loud voice captured my attention and I could not help but eavesdrop on a motley group standing nearby, waiting, as we were, to make their way through to the theater seats.

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