I traced my finger over the letters of my name, printed in glossy black on the playbill. Rémi Victoire. To see it printed so boldly there was astounding. It made me feel real. A family name was important to us children of the Comédie-Italienne. My friend Pascal was simply known as Pascal and it meant he belonged to the theatre with all the other orphans. But to know your family name made you special, it tied you to someone. Everything changed for me from the moment my mother returned. I was no longer just Rémi, I was Rémi Victoire, the orphan whose mother came back.

The playbill announced the opening night of our production and a thrill ran through me to see it. Tonight, I was to play Arlequin in the famous Arlequin poli par l’amour by Marivaux. The lead role, no less! I had longed for this chance since I was old enough to watch the actors take their bows before an enraptured audience. I was the first of the orphans of the Comédie-Italienne in Paris ever to take the stage. In a real play, before a real audience. My heart was singing

Rogerio, our lead actor, had disappeared a week ago. Some said he gambled too much and had had to flee his debtors. Some thought he had been taken by the conscriptors. Others pointed out that he was a carouser who drank to excess and had likely ended his days in the Seine.

Whatever the cause, the director was frantic—it was only a week till opening night. I was sad for Rogerio, but I was hopeful too as I begged Gianni for the part…

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