terrible was about to be commemorated. They would tell their neighbors, in the momentous years to come, that they’d witnessed the beginning. Hawkers sold coffee and rolls. Enterprising merchants nearby charged two francs to use their privies. The most tireless prostitutes assembled, at nine in the morning under paper Chinese lanterns strung along an arcade, to advertise their wares. Farmers from the countryside gawked.
We pushed to the temporary reception tent at the rear of the church, remembering from Catherine that acting important is nearly the equivalent of being so. There was confusion as sentries denied entry to some and pulled others forward, so I took my boy on my shoulders, wife by the arm, and squirted our way to the front. Catherine was waiting, a good sign, and waved frantically from inside. When a sentry moved to block us, she intercepted and spoke sharply. He obeyed because the comtesse wore an artificial flower dyed the French tricolor to signify her authority. She was also wearing a white silk dress I’d never seen before, making her as dazzling as a marble statue. Did the imperial household provide the gown? She ushered us into the circular tent. When she grabbed to take the bag with the crown, I found myself clutching for a moment. A guard was approaching, and Catherine tugged impatiently, her eyes flashing warning. I let it go, and she swept it up to reveal the imperial seal. It warded off the curious gendarme.
“I have only moments,” she said breathlessly. “Tell me I won’t be damned.”
“Only if you fail. Can you get access to the crowns?”
“Presence is everything. I act important, and thus I am.”
“You’d make a fine marshal for Napoleon.”
“For the true monarchy, once it’s restored.” She leaned closer. “Did you pack the pistol as I asked?”
“Loaded and primed.”
“We shouldn’t need it but must brace for the worst. Now, I’ve tried to improve your seating—” She looked over my shoulder to someone behind me, eyes widening. “Oh!”
A hand gripped my shoulder, tight as a vise. I turned. It was the policeman Pasques, a black hangman in a sea of peacocks. Had we been caught?
No, he was only a messenger again. “The Grand Chamberlain Talleyrand requests your company, Monsieur Gage.”
“Talleyrand? Today?”
“It makes no sense to me, either. Come this way, to avoid the line.”
People gave my family a glance of both resentment and respect as Pasques bulled us into the church. I was apprehensive. Half the princes of Germany were here, and Talleyrand had time to see me? Pasques steered us through the throng like a barge cracking ice, and we stopped by a pillar. It was still cold enough that we could see our breath. The cathedral echoed from the theater buzz of assembling spectators and tuning instruments. The timber cribbing of temporary spectator stands broke the usual soaring sightlines of Notre Dame.
“Your wife must wait for you in the choir behind the thrones,” Pasques said. He frowned. “You brought your little boy?”
“We avoid separation. They both must stay with me.”
“Not to see the Grand Chamberlain. They can wait to take their seats with you together when we return. You’ve been moved next to great dignitaries.” He shook his head.
“I fear we’ll be separated in this throng.”
“I’ll watch them,” Catherine said, pulling Astiza from my grasp. “Don’t make a fuss that calls attention.” Her eyes signaled warning.
I nodded. “Papa will be back in a moment,” I told Harry.
“The Grand Chamberlain is waiting at a bell tower,” Pasques said. He cocked his head. “Why does everyone want to talk with you, American?”
“I suppose I’m affable.”
Catherine pulled Astiza and Horus into the shadows. We’d been in Notre Dame only moments and already were altering our plan. Astiza looked worried.
“Talleyrand is impatient,” the policeman said.
“As am I.” A quick meeting, and then reunion. “Lead on,” I told Pasques.
We passed from behind the spectator stands to the central nave. Notre Dame was almost unrecognizable. A broad green carpet covered the stone floor, overlain by a narrow blue one embroidered with Napoleon’s golden bees. To each side, in tiers between the nave’s pillars, temporary viewing stands narrowed the church’s width, giving the ceremony crowded intimacy. Each bank of benches was backlit by stained-glass windows and curtained at the base by fabric panels painted rose and gold. Banners, flags, and white tapestries hung everywhere, turning Gothic grandeur into operatic riot, the cathedral as overwrought as a bordello. And why not? Life today is performed as if onstage: desperate conspiracies, impassioned trysts, dramatic speeches, and doomed