[Marianne 6] - Marianne and the Crown of Fire

by Juliette Benzoni

  'Is the Emperor within?'

  Ali nodded, indicating that Napoleon was in his bedchamber in the company of his valet.

  'Constant?' Marianne cried. 'He is just the man I need! Go and fetch him, for the love of heaven! Tell him the Princess Sant'Anna is here and wishes to see His Majesty upon the instant.'

  A minute later, Napoleon's Flemish valet came hurrying through the door and literally fell upon Marianne, for whom he had always had a particularly soft spot. He was almost in tears.

  'Mademoi—Princess, I should say! Your Serene Highness! This is an unexpected pleasure! But by what happy chance—?'

  'Later, my dear Constant, later. I want to see the Emperor. Is it possible?'

  'But of course! There has been no time yet to establish protocol. And he will be so happy. Come! Come quickly!'

  Several doors, a succession of rooms, another door and Marianne found herself precipitated into a large chamber, littered with an assortment of baggage, with Constant's voice announcing her in ringing tones, as if she had been another victory. Beside the great tented bed, surmounted by the double-headed eagle and an imperial crown, Napoleon was engaged, with Duroc's assistance, in hanging up the portrait of a fair-haired child.

  Both men turned and Marianne dropped into her curtsy.

  There was a moment's astonished silence, so profound that Marianne, almost on her knees, could not even bring herself to raise her head. Then she heard Napoleon's voice.

  'What? Is it you?'

  'Yes, Sire, it is I! Forgive me for bursting in on you like this, but I have travelled a long road to come to you.'

  Once again there was silence, but this time she gathered the courage to look up. And as she looked at him she was suddenly conscious of a wave of disappointment, and even of a vague disquiet. After what Murat had told her, after Trobriant's warm welcome and Constant's ecstatic one, she had expected him to show pleasure, to be really glad to see her. But that seemed to be very far from the case. The Emperor's face had set in its most forbidding expression. He was frowning at her grimly, kneading his hands behind his back, and since he showed no disposition to give her leave to rise she repeated softly: 'I ventured to tell Your Majesty that I had travelled a long road. I am very weary, Sire.'

  "You are – oh, yes, very well. You may get up. Off with you, Duroc. Leave us, and see that I am not disturbed.'

  The smile which the Grand Marshal of the Palace bestowed on her in passing was some comfort to Marianne as she rose, not without effort for it was some time since she had been obliged to perform a full court curtsy.

  Meanwhile Napoleon, falling naturally, in this strange palace, into his old habits of Saint-Cloud and the Tuileries, had begun pacing up and down the thickly carpeted floor, glancing now and then out of the windows which commanded a view of the Moskva and of the whole of the southern part of the city beyond. Not until the soft click of the latch told him that he was alone with Marianne did he pause for a moment in his pacing and look at her.

  'You seem to be got up very oddly for a court lady,' he observed drily. 'Upon my word, your dress is full of holes. And dirty into the bargain. And if your hair is not too bad, no one could say that you were looking your best. What do you want?'

  Stung by the harshness of this address, Marianne felt the blood rush to her face.

  'My dress is like myself, Sire! It has travelled three-quarters of the way across Russia, all the way from Odessa, to reach you! There may be holes in it, but it has served at least to keep this safe!'

  From its inner pocket, she drew out the letter and the Tsar's note which she had managed to preserve unharmed through so many vicissitudes, as she had also the diamond still sewn inside her chemise.

  'What's this?' Napoleon asked gruffly.

  'A letter from the Swedish crown prince to his good friend the Tsar,' Marianne said, speaking very clearly so that he could not possibly seem to misunderstand her. 'For a one-time general of the Republic, Your Majesty will see that he has some strange counsel to give. You will see also, Sire, a note from the same source, making clear the prince's ambitions and the price he is willing to pay for their fulfilment.'

  He almost snatched the letter from her hand and, after a sharp glance at her, began to read it. As he read, Marianne saw his nostrils tighten and a little vein swelled in his forehead. Knowing his temper, she expected him to give vent to an angry outburst, but he did nothing of the kind. Instead, he tossed both papers on to the bed, as if unwilling to soil his hands with them. 'Where did you get these?' was all he asked.

  'From the Duc de Richelieu's desk, Sire – after seeing him suitably drugged, and shortly before setting fire to a number of vessels in the port of Odessa.'

  Now he was looking at her in frank amazement, an eyebrow lifted alarmingly.

  'Drugged?' he said faintly. 'Setting fire to—' Then, without warning, he gave a shout of laughter and held out his hand to her. 'Come and sit here by me, Princess, and tell me all about it. Truly, you are the most astonishing woman I have ever met! I send you off on one mission in which you fail magnificently and then you carry off another on your own initiative and make an unbelievable success of it.'

  He was just sitting down beside her when a timid knock at the door made him start up again.

  'I said I did not wish to be disturbed,' he shouted.

  Constant's head peered cautiously round the door.

  'It's General Durosnel, Sire. He insists that you must see him. He says it is a matter of the utmost importance.'

  'Another of 'em! Everything seems to be vitally important this morning. Very well, send him in.'

  The general entered and saluted. Then, remaining stiffly at attention, he said: 'Sire, I ask your forgiveness. But it is right that your Majesty should know at once that I have insufficient men to keep order in a city of this size. Fires have broken out during the night and everywhere we find desperate-looking fellows with weapons who fire upon my men—'

  'Well, what do you suggest?'

  'Appoint a governor at once, Sire. The Gendarmerie is not enough. With your Majesty's permission, I should advise giving the post to the Duc de Trévise—'

  'Marshal Mortier?'

  'Yes, Sire. The Young Guard under his command have already taken up positions in and around the Kremlin. It is vital that he should be given overall control of Moscow.'

  Napoleon thought for a moment, then: 'Very well. Send Berthier to me. I will instruct him accordingly. You may go.' The Emperor turned back to Marianne. 'To come back to you, my dear. Tell me the story of your adventures. I shall enjoy hearing it.'

  'Sire,' Marianne cried, beseechingly, 'I beg you, let that wait, for I have something much more serious to tell you.'

  'More serious? Good Lord, what's that?'

  'You are in danger in this city, Sire – in very great danger. Believe me, you should not stay another hour in this palace – or in Moscow! For by tomorrow there may be nothing left of Moscow, or of your army either—'

  Napoleon rose so abruptly that he almost toppled the sofa, and Marianne with it.

  'What is this nonsense? Upon my word, you must be out of your mind!'

  'I wish I were, Sire. Alas, I fear that I am all too sane.'

  Then, since he made no answer, she went on hurriedly to tell him all that she had learned in the Rostopchin palace, of the arsenal at Vorontsovo, the balloon, the emptying of the prisons and the dangerous felons at large and of the abandoned city.

  They will not return, Sire. Already, last night, fires have broken out. It will happen again tonight, at any moment, perhaps, and since there is not a single fire engine left in Moscow you are in deadly danger. Listen to me, Sire, I implore you! Leave this place! Leave before it is too late! I know that all those who value their lives must have left the city before tonight.'

  'You know, you say? How do you know?'

  She did not answer immediately and when at last she spoke it was slowly, choosing her words carefully so as not to risk involving her godfather.

>   'The night before last, I was obliged to seek shelter in the house of a catholic priest. There were refugees there – émigrés, I suppose, for I overheard one of them pressing his companions to quit Moscow before tonight at all costs.'

  'The names of these people?'

  'I do not know, Sire. I have only been here for three days. I know no one.'

  He was silent for a moment, evidently thinking, then he turned back to her and sat down again with a shrug.

  'Don't take what you overheard too seriously. It came, as you quite rightly thought, from émigrés, I am sure of that. They hate me but they have always taken the wish for the fact. The Russians have more sense than to burn their holy city on my account. Besides, I shall be writing to the Tsar tonight with an offer of peace. Yet, if it will make you happier, I will give orders for Moscow to be searched with a fine toothcomb. But I am not alarmed. To burn this fine city would be more than a crime, it would be a mistake, as your friend Talleyrand might say. And now, tell me your story. I long to hear it.'

  'It may take some time.'

  'Never mind. I have earned a little rest. Constant! Bring us some coffee! A great deal of coffee and some cakes if you can find them.'

  As clearly and concisely as she could, Marianne described the incredible sequence of events which had happened to her since Florence. She suppressed nothing, not even those details most painful to her modesty. To her the man who listened so attentively had ceased to be the Emperor, or even her former lover. He was only a man whom she had once loved with all her heart and for whom, in spite of all his faults, his temper and the set-downs he could deliver so freely, she still retained a very deep affection, respect, admiration and a real trust. She knew that he could be cruel and even ruthless, but she knew, too, that inside this small man of genius, on whose shoulders rested the weight of an empire, there beat the heart of a true gentleman, whatever his inveterate enemies might say of him.

  And so it was that she had no hesitation in revealing Prince Sant'Anna's secret and the reason why that great aristocrat had desired the blood of an emperor for his son. Yet, for all that, as she told him she did experience a momentary fear of what Napoleon might say. She need not have worried.

  She was on the point of taking up her narrative again after a brief pause when she felt the Emperor's hand on her arm.

  'I was angry with you once for marrying without my consent, Marianne,' he said, with the rare but very real tenderness which belonged to him alone. 'Now, I ask you to forgive me. I could never have found you such a husband.'

  'What? You are not shocked? Do you really think—'

  'That you have married a most exceptional man, and one of rare quality. You realize that, I hope?'

  'Certainly. I could hardly fail to do so. But—'

  He got up then and, putting one knee on the sofa, took her chin in his hand so that she was obliged to meet his eyes.

  'But what?' he said, and there was that steely note in his voice which boded no good. 'Are you, by any chance, going to talk to me again about that American of yours? Take care, Marianne. I have always believed that you, too, were no ordinary woman. I should not like to have to change my opinion.'

  'Sire!' she exclaimed in some alarm. 'I beg of you! I – I have not finished yet.'

  He let her go and walked away from her.

  'Go on then. I am listening.'

  There had been a subtle change in the atmosphere which, for a moment, had become what it had been in earlier days. Napoleon had resumed his pacing of the room but he was walking very slowly, his head sunk on his chest, listening and pondering at once. And when at last Marianne fell silent he turned towards her slowly and his grey eyes looked consideringly at her for a long time, and once again the anger had gone from them.

  'What do you mean to do now?' he asked her gravely.

  She hesitated a little. She had, naturally enough, omitted all reference to Cardinal de Chazay's presence in Moscow and it was therefore impossible to declare her intention of proceeding to Count Sheremetiev's country estate. Moreover, if she had done so, Napoleon might very well have taken exception to this trafficking with the enemy.

  Dropping her head to avoid his searching eyes, she said in a low voice: 'I thought – I thought to leave Moscow tonight. My friend Jolival is lying in the Rostopchin Palace with a broken leg and if there should be trouble it would be difficult for him to escape.'

  'Where will you go?'

  'I – I don't know.'

  'You're lying.'

  'Sire!' she protested indignantly, furious to feel herself blushing.

  'No protests. I tell you you are lying, as you very well know. What you want is to go running after the cossacks, isn't it? Come hell or high water, you want to find this Beaufort because you are so besotted about him that it has addled your wits. Don't you see that he is destroying you?'

  'That's not true! I love him—'

  'What has that to say to anything? I loved Josephine but I divorced her because I wanted an heir. I loved you – oh, yes, you may smile, but I loved you truly and perhaps I love you still. Yet I married another because she was the daughter of an emperor and the foundation of a dynasty demanded it.'

  'It's not the same—'

  'Why not? Because you think you have invented love? Because you think that he is the one love of your life? Come now, Marianne – not to me! When you married him, did you not love the man I sent to the guillotine at Vincennes?'

  'He killed my love. Besides, I was a child, infatuated—'

  'Come, come! If he had not been the wretch he was but the man that you had pictured him, you would have adored him your whole life through and never looked at another. Yet you had already met Monsieur Beaufort—And myself?'

  'You?'

  "Yes, me. Did you love me, yes or no? Or were you playing with me at the Trianon? And at the Tuileries?'

  She gazed at him in terror, knowing that in the face of this remorseless logic she was lost.

  'I hope,' she murmured softly, 'that you don't believe that. Yes, I loved you – loved you so much that I was mad with jealousy on your wedding day.'

  'And if I had married you, I should have had no more faithful empress. And yet you knew Jason Beaufort then! Tell me, Marianne, can you recall the precise moment when you knew you loved him?'

  'I don't know. It's all so vague… These things don't happen all at once. But I think that when I really knew it was – at the Austrian ambassador's ball.'

  The Emperor nodded. 'When you saw him with another woman. When you learned that he was married and so lost to you. Just as I thought.'

  'What do you mean?'

  He smiled at her fleetingly, with that smile that brought back all his vanished youth, and very tenderly he put his arm round her and drew her to him.

  'You are like a child, Marianne. Children always want what they cannot have, and the more it eludes them, the more they want it. They will spurn the prettiest toys, the greatest treasures even, for the sake of a thing of no value at all that lies beyond their reach. They are even capable of dying in the effort to grasp a star that glitters in the darkness of a well. You are like that. You would throw away the world for a reflection in the water – for something you will never reach and which will destroy you.'

  She protested again, but with less conviction.

  'He loves me too.'

  'You do not say it quite so loudly – because you are not really sure. And you are right. What he loves is, above all, the image of himself which he sees in your eyes. Oh, to be sure, he may love you in his fashion. You are lovely enough. But admit that he has done little enough to prove it. Believe me, Marianne, and give up this idea. Relinquish this love for no good will come of it. You must not go on living a life that is not for you, living for another and through another—'

  'I cannot! I cannot!'

  He moved away without answering and left her to her tears. Going quickly to the wall, he took down the portrait which he had hung there so carefully a little while before,
and put it in her hands.

  'See! That is my son. The portrait is by Gerard. Bausset brought it to me from Paris on the eve of the Moskva. It is my most precious possession. See how beautiful he is.'

  'Very beautiful, Sire.'

  Filled with a despair she could not comprehend, she stared down through her tears at the picture of a fine, fair-haired baby boy who looked back gravely, in spite of the muslins and the garlands of flowers which were his scanty clothing. The Emperor's voice had dropped to a confidential murmur, yet there was an urgency in his words:

  "You too have a son. You told me what a fine boy he was. You say you cannot help loving Beaufort, but what of your son, Marianne? Is it so easy to cease loving him? You know it is not. If you persist in this mad quest for an impossible happiness, in running after a man who already has a wife – for the Señora Beaufort still exists, you know, however much you may seek to forget her – so, if you persist, the day will come when the longing to see your child again will be more than you can bear, even, indeed especially, if you have other children by then, for he will be the one whose love you have never known.'

  Marianne could bear no more. She let go of the portrait and threw herself at full length on the sofa, torn by shattering sobs that made her whole body tremble. She scarcely heard the Emperor when he murmured: 'Weep! It will do you good. Stay here. I will come back soon.'

  And weep she did, for how long she did not know, nor was she even very sure what she was weeping for. For the life of her, she could not have said who was the cause of the despair that racked her, whether it was the man she so persistently adored or the child so suddenly recalled to her mind.

  At last she felt herself being lifted up and a gentle hand wiping her face with a cloth drenched in eau de Cologne, which made her sneeze.

  She opened her eyes and saw Constant bending over her with such an anxious expression that, for all her wretchedness, she had to smile.

  'It's a long time since you last had to take care of me, Constant, my friend.'

  'It is indeed, Princess. I have often thought so with regret. Do you feel better now? I have made some more coffee.'