The Kindly Ones

For the evening reception, Frank had not skimped. An honor guard, swords in hand, uniforms streaming with gold stripes, formed a diagonal line across the main courtyard of the Wawel; on the stairway, other soldiers presented arms at every third step; at the entrance to the ballroom, Frank himself, in an SA uniform and flanked by his wife, a stout woman with her white flesh bursting out of a monstrous green velvet concoction, was welcoming his guests. The Wawel gleamed with all its lights: from the town you could see it sparkling atop its cliff; garlands of electric lightbulbs decorated the tall columns surrounding the courtyard, and soldiers, posted behind the guard of honor, held torches; and if you left the ballroom to stroll in the loggias, the courtyard looked as if it were circled by flaming rings, a well of light at the bottom of which the parallel rows of torches gently roared; on the other side of the palace, from the immense balcony jutting out of its flank, the city, below the guests’ feet, stretched out dark and silent. On a stage at the back of the main hall, an orchestra was playing Vie