Read The Broken Bards of Paris Page 5


  ~ Napoleon ~

  Behind an elegant writing desk sits Napoleon Bonaparte. The white walls of his office are pristine and decorated with colorful portraits. His windows are draped with marvelous red velvet to match his splendid red suit. Upon his desk sit five things: his hat, a letter he has read countless times, and three large bags of gold. After finishing the letter one last time he calls out, “Gerard! I am ready. Send them in!”

  A nervous officer opens the door and puts his head into the office. “I…uh…regret to say that the Phantom has yet to arrive, First Consul.”

  “He will come,” Napoleon replies with a sly smirk. “Have the other two been introduced?”

  “No, First Consul. We have kept them separate as you requested.”

  “Good. Show them in.”

  “Yes, First Consul.”

  A moment later, Cyrano de Bergerac and Quasimodo are summoned from their separate waiting areas and shown to the office. The leader of France stands when they enter.

  “Welcome, friends! Welcome!” Napoleon greets them as he raises his open arms. “Thank you for attending this conference. Introductions are in order.”

  “Indeed, First Consul,” Cyrano replies with a beaming grin. With an elegant bow he says, “Hercule-Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac! And you are the man who saved France from itself, or so I heard while rotting in prison. I suppose, I should thank you for having me freed.”

  Napoleon frowns in polite sympathy. “It is indeed a shame that so many good members of the old nobility, such as yourself, were punished along with the ones who did evil.”

  Cyrano narrows his gaze. “There is at least one more good-hearted noble deserving of freedom, I assure you. Someone that you have the power to set free, someone very dear to me.”

  Napoleon smiles and gestures toward the other man in the room. “Yes, yes. But first let us both make the acquaintances of a very special man. May I present to you Quasimodo, the -"

  “The Hunchback of Notre Dame!” Cyrano finishes, raising his chin. “I remember the day he was crowned King of Fools at the festival. I was challenged by a man that day who suggested that I was more worthy of the crown. Ironically, he died a greater fool than anyone!”

  Napoleon offers his hand to the Hunchback. “Pleased to meet you, sir. I hope that the services I provided for your…lady…were adequate.”

  The Hunchback lets out a heavy sigh. “It was beautiful. So many flowers, candles…it was a funeral fit for a queen! Thank you! Oh, thank you!”

  Napoleon places a brotherly hand on Quasimodo's shoulder. “I pray that you can now make peace with your loss and continue living to realize your potential.”

  “What potential?” asks a mysterious voice.

  The three others are startled by the masked man’s sudden presence, Quasimodo by the sight, the rest by the sound. There is no sign of how the Phantom got into the room. “What potential, First Consul Bonaparte, do you suggest this imbecile has? He lacks bearing, style, intellect! And what is worse, he is more hideous than I am! Ha! Potential!”

  Napoleon raises his chin and scoffs in return as he casually returns to the seat behind his desk. “He has the same potential as you, Monsieur Erik. The three of you, in fact, are much the same. That is why I assembled you all here.”

  Cyrano steps forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the Phantom. “What have I in common with this mask-wearing, murderous sneak-about? I remember his infamous exploits, killing a man during a live performance!”

  The Phantom laughs. “As I recall, Master Cyrano, you have done the same!”

  “If you are referring to the night I frightened that deplorable actor from the stage, I say in my defense that it was a fair duel, and I personally refunded the audience their fees of admission!”

  The Phantom laughs again. “I see no difference! Both audiences were still treated to an unexpected spectacle! I guess we are much the same, at least, you and I!”

  Cyrano scoffs. “Ha! You may be the best operatic composer Paris has ever known, Ghost! I admit that your songs have moved me to tears. But my panache and blade can shed more than mere tears from you!”

  “But you have no sword, Maestro de Bergerac!” Napoleon interrupts. “I see that my messenger has outfitted you with new clothes and boots but no sword! I do beg your pardon.”

  Cyrano places his hands on his waist and declares. “Your man said that I would have the sword of my choosing, First Consul. And I have held off on my choice until now. I choose… your sword, Napoleon Bonaparte!”

  Napoleon scoffs and stands straight up. “Ha! Only in surrender would I ever give up my sword!”

  Cyrano smiles. “Then I urge you, First Consul, surrender your pride and give it me. If anything, as a sign of good faith.”

  For a moment, Napoleon bites the inside of his cheek as he considers the request. Then he nods and removes his sword. “This blade is one of the finest in all of Europe. I do not mind so much that it be in the hand of one of France’s finest swordsmen.”

  “France’s finest swordsman!” Cyrano corrects as he claims the sword from Napoleon’s hands.

  As this happens, Quasimodo gingerly tugs on the cape of the Phantom and whispers, “Please, sir, remove your mask so that I can see what you say. I am deaf, you know.”

  The Phantom ignores him and steps away.

  Napoleon claps his hands in a grandiose collision of palms, drawing everyone’s attention. “And now, the reason I have assembled the three of you.”

  He sits and regards them all one by one. Then his eyes descend to the letter on his desk. For a moment, he sighs and shudders. He then raises his gaze again at his guests, and they see that the First Consul is on the verge of tears.

  “No one in all of France, in all the world, can understand my pain but you three men. Indeed, the four of us are much alike. We have all loved women with the all-consuming passion and desire that drives us to lunacy. And we, the wretches that we are, have all had that love ripped away from us! My wife! My wife, my angel, and my soul, Josephine! She has been taken from me—kidnapped!”

  “By whom and for what reason?” Cyrano asks.

  Napoleon offers the letter. “Read this, and you shall know all that I do on this matter.”

  Cyrano takes it and reads it aloud clear and strong.

  To he who would usurp the throne of France,

  I have taken your love and lay claim to the heart that was given to her, the heart of the man who now controls France. Lest she die a cruel and crude manner of death, you will honor my demands. I need but only three things if you ever wish to see your Josephine alive again. The first is a key that is hidden inside the portrait of Louis, Dauphin of France, painted by Claude Deruet. The second thing I demand is a man: General Claude-Luc de Tupen. He is to be liberated and delivered. The third is the channel port of Le Havre, where you are to remove all of your forces by the 12th of March. On that day, bring Tupen and the key to the city square to be exchanged for the woman of your heart's freedom.

  When I have this person, this place, and this thing, then I will set your Josephine free.

  With the most dire regards,

  The Man in the Iron Mask

  Cyrano’s brow is furrowed in thought as he raises his eyes from the letter. “Most curious and most intriguing! This Man in the Iron Mask requires a key and a prisoner that he himself is apparently unable to steal himself. Yet, he had no difficulty kidnapping the wife of the First Consul!”

  “Indeed!” Napoleon says. “The details of her disappearance are hidden in mystery. I had her guarded at all times by my most trusted men. She was nonetheless taken during the night these five days past.”

  “Who is General de Tupen?” asks the Phantom.

  “A former commander of the old royal army,” Napoleon answers with a sinking look of disgust. “And the only living relative of the late Louis the XIV. He is a mere second cousin, but to free him might start an uprising to restore the old monarchy. I would never openly allow such a thing.”
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  Cyrano arches an eyebrow while tweaking his mustache. “Openly? What mean you by that? And more so, why assemble us? To fetch these three things?”

  “In a way…” Napoleon answers as he steeples his fingers.

  The eyes of the Phantom’s volto mask seem to squint suspiciously. “In what way?”

  Napoleon smiles, his eyes glinting with sparks of genius. “In a way that only you three can do. You see, it would not be advantageous to let the public know that my wife has been kidnapped for some mysterious ransom. I would look weak. Also, my image would weaken further if it appears that I have submitted to these demands. To think, me actually giving the command to free that butcher, Claude-Luc de Tupen! I would look foolish if I let him go. That is why the three of you must break him out.”

  “B-Break the law?” Quasimodo mumbles.

  “Yes, and no. You three have my permission to break into the prison in which he is being held, liberate him, and then deliver him to Notre Dame at the appointed time.”

  “But no one must know that we have your permission,” Cyrano says gravely.

  “None but the four men in this room,” Napoleon replies.

  There is silence in the room for a long, tense moment before Cyrano lets out a sad laugh. “And I suppose you also wish for us to find out the plan of this Iron Masked man while we complete these duties?”

  “I do,” the First Consul answers. “The key must also be stolen by you three. As for removing my forces from Le Havre, I still need time to plan how to do it and still keep it secure.”

  The Phantom eyes the three sacks of gold on the desk. “And you suppose that this money will motivate us to complete these tasks?”

  “No,” answers the First Consul firmly. “This gold is but a resource to aid you in the mission. Only love can motivate men such as you, men such as we.”

  Cyrano tweaks the end of his mustache before crossing his long arms. “Speak on, Commander, from your heart, so all is understood. Why have you selected us?”

  The most powerful man in Europe allows a single tear to grace his cheek. With quaking voice, he answers. “The four of us are lovers made great by our inherent passion. To each of us the Fates have bestowed a muse, an angel in our lives, to augment our greatness, to inspire us to perform acts beyond the capacity of normal men. The love of a woman—no greater power exists or compels. I know your stories, my brothers. Quasimodo—enamored of the gypsy girl, Esmeralda—sought and fought to protect her when she was wrongly accused. Cyrano de Bergerac, who so loved the debutant, Roxanne, that he swallowed his own heart to arrange a marriage to the man she adored. And Erik the Phantom, who so obsessed over the singer, Chri—”

  “Do not say that name!” The Phantom says, raising a finger less than a foot from Napoleon’s face. “My Angel of Music has shed her mortal name and mortal form to become a true angel. I heard the news last year that she and her husband the Count Raoul were dragged from their noble estate to face the guillotine. When she died so, too, did my heart.”

  Napoleon cocks his head and grins. “News and rumors are oft confused, Monsieur Erik. Your lady and your heart still live. Her husband, you see, was able to bribe the jailer for her release. The Widow Countess Christine Daae is alive and well and living, well, somewhere…”

  The form of the Phantom seems to shiver and shimmer. “Where?” he asks in a low whisper. “Where is she? If you are lying…”

  “I am not,” Napoleon says with a sharp stamp of his foot. “And, on my honor, I will tell you where she is if you complete this mission, and my lady Josephine is returned.”

  “And for I?” Cyrano inquires. “I suppose you will swear to release my Roxanne from prison if I do the same.”

  “You suppose correctly, as well as any friends you hold dear. On my honor.” Napoleon turns with a sad gaze to the Hunchback. “And would that I possessed the divine power to restore your love to life. All I can offer you is a wish granted, anything you desire that I can give; name it, and it shall be yours.”

  Quasimodo's good eye blinks several times as he answers. “I will have to…think on it, my lord. But I am your man. I will save her…your Josephine.”

  At this moment a feeling invades the chest of Cyrano De Bergerac, an exhilarating feeling that floods his mind with hope and inspiration. “Three lovers transmogrified by Fate's cruel hand, three musicians with skill unrivaled, three men of action capable of feats impressive! A Trinity of trinities to rival the Fates themselves!”

  At this, the Phantom scoffs and points at the Hunchback. “This cretin is no musician! Why, not only is he a lumbering fool, but he is deaf!”

  Cyrano laughs courageously at the mask upon the Phantom's face. “My dear Phantom, thou art the fool! Tis true that you compose operas that stir the hardest of hearts. And my lute playing excites the whimsy of the dullest spirit. But this man—this man!” He places a hand on the Hunchback's shoulder. “This man plays the music of salvation and redemption. This man rings the bells of God's Holy House. All of Paris has heard him play, from the poorest vagabond to the noblest king. I tell you that no greater musician exists than Quasimodo de Notre Dame!”

  As the Hunchback reads the lips of his defender, he stands a bit taller. A lump of gratitude forms in his throat. “You are kind, sir!”

  Cyrano meets his good eye and smiles. “With your strength, my sword, and the Phantom's guile, we can return the First Consul's wife and vanquish this sinister Man in the Iron Mask.”

  He regards the Phantom. Without uttering a word, he asks the masked man to join them.

  The Phantom's shoulders droop as he looks away. “Alive or dead, I do not deserve my sweet Christine. To know where she is might only bring more sorrow to us both. Once perhaps there had been a chance for our love to take root and blossom, but no more. I will haunt her no more.”

  He raises his gaze to Napoleon. “You have summoned me from my personal abyss. That took more power than you realize. Perhaps it was the power of love you spoke of. I will help you. I will help France. Perhaps, that is why I still linger here.”

  “Excellent!” declares Cyrano with clap of his hands. “We three broken bards of Paris, with the great Napoleon as our commander, are sure to quell this foul plot!” He turns to the First Consul with a flourish and a bow which Napoleon promptly returns. “I've questions, Commander.”

  “Ask them, sir,” Napoleon says as he takes his seat.

  “This Man in the Iron Mask, I have heard of him while in prison. The tales are many and conflicting. What do you know of him?”

  “He was a prisoner in the Bastille. During the revolution, he was freed by a liberty-crazed mob, although his identity and crimes were unknown. He was one of many of Louis the XIV's political prisoners. Reports say that, once freed, he refused assistance to remove his mask and simply disappeared.”

  Cyrano paces about the room. “A political prisoner of the dead king, who wishes the freedom and custody of that king's only surviving relative. Most peculiar, most strange. And what of this painting of the king and the key it contains? Where is it?”

  Napoleon frowns. “It is in the home of Voltaire, the philosopher and historian. I have offered him six thousand francs for it, but the stubborn old scribe refused.”

  “Why? It seems a fair price.”

  Napoleon rolls his eyes as he reclines in his chair. “He said exactly this, ‘While I admire you, Bonaparte, it is my job to preserve history and your job to preserve peace and make history.’”

  “Does he live alone?” asks the Phantom.

  “He does,” answers Napoleon. “He has a few servants, but that is all.”

  The Phantom laughs unmoving, chilling the hearts of all who hear him. “Easy enough then! We will simply sneak in while he sleeps and steal the painting.”

  Napoleon shakes a finger in the air. “Ah, but he already knows that I desire it! Steal only the key the portrait contains, and you must avoid any visible damage to it. As for sneaking in while he is sleeping, you'll have no luck; Vo
ltaire never sleeps!”

  “Nor do I,” says the Phantom, his voice allowing some smug timbre.

  “How is it he never sleeps?” Cyrano asks, his eyebrows raising. “How is it he still lives? The great Voltaire was old before any man here was born!”

  The First Consul shrugs. “Some say he is simply too busy to die.”

  Chapter 5