Marianne and the Rebels

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  He made up for it by taking in only hand-picked visitors in whom he took as much interest as if they had been his personal guests. Twice a day he would attend them in person, or send his daughter Alfonsina to make sure that they had everything they required. Naturally he could not do enough for the Princess Sant'Anna, in spite of her somewhat unconventional arrival, clad in a soaking wet gown, in the arms of an officer of dragoons, and he had given strict orders to his staff that no noise be allowed to disturb her rest.

  As a result of his care, Marianne had succeeded, in a single day, in erasing the marks of her imprisonment, and she now presented a fresh and blooming countenance to the sun. If it had not been for the evil memories which still persisted, she would have felt gloriously well.

  As soon as the Witch's lines became clear beyond a doubt, Jolival had gone down to the harbour to tell Jason of Marianne's arrival and explain what had happened to her, or that version of it which had been concocted between them. Agreeing that the simplest was always the best, this was what they had decided upon together: Marianne had been carried off by her husband's orders and kept prisoner under strong guard in a house whose whereabouts she did not know, where she remained in total ignorance of the fate in store for her, a fate which her injured husband seemed in no hurry to reveal. All she knew was that she was to be put on board ship for some unknown destination. One night, however, when her guards were unusually lax, she had succeeded in escaping and making her way to Venice where Jolival had found her.

  It was Jolival, of course, who had applied himself to fabricating a sufficiently circumstantial account of her actual escape, and Marianne had spent much of the day going over her lesson until she was sure of being word perfect. Even so, she could not help feeling uncomfortable at telling a lie against which all her natural honesty and truthful instincts rebelled.

  The story was a necessary one, certainly, because, as Jolival himself said, 'the truth cannot always be told', especially to a lover, but Marianne found it all the more distasteful because it involved the name of one who was not only innocent of any wrong but was actually the chief victim of the affair. It went against all her instincts to portray as a ruthless abductor the man whose name she bore and for whose death she was, indirectly, responsible.

  She had always known that everything, in this imperfect world, had to be paid for, and happiness above all, but the thought that her own would be built upon a lie brought with it a superstitious dread lest fate should exact its penalty for the deception.

  All the same, she knew that she was capable of enduring anything for Jason, even the hell of these past days… even to live a lie.

  A large mirror ornamented with glass flowers, hanging on the wall near her sofa, showed her her reflection looking charmingly graceful in a dress of white muslin, with her hair beautifully dressed by Agathe, but neither rest nor any amount of beautifying had been able to dispel the worried look in her eyes.

  She forced herself to smile but the smile did not reach her eyes.

  'Is there anything wrong, your highness?' asked Agathe, who had observed this manoeuvre from the corner where she was sitting quietly with her needlework.

  'No, nothing at all, Agathe. Why should you think so?'

  'Only that you did not look very happy, my lady. You should go out on to the balcony. At this time of day the whole city is out there on the quayside. And you will be able to see Monsieur Beaufort when he comes.'

  Marianne told herself she was a fool. What did it look like for her to be sitting here, skulking on a sofa, when she ought ordinarily to have been bursting with impatience to see him? The previous day's exhaustion made it natural for her to let Jolival go alone to the harbour, but not to be lurking here indoors instead of looking out for him like any woman in love. She could hardly explain to her maid that she was afraid of being recognized by a sergeant in the National Guard or by a nice small boy who had helped her.

  At the thought of Zani, she was aware of a twinge of remorse. The child must have watched in utter bewilderment as she was knocked out and carried off by Benielli. He must be wondering now what kind of a dangerous person he had been consorting with and Marianne felt some regrets for a promising friendship which had been broken off.

  Nevertheless she got up from her couch and took a few turns up and down the loggia, while taking care to keep in the shade of the Gothic pillars that supported it.

  Agathe had been right. Down below, the Riva degli Schiavoni was crowded with people. It was like an endless ballet, full of noise and colour, moving back and forth between the Doges' Palace and the Arsenal and offering an amazing spectacle of life and gaiety. Even defeated, uncrowned, occupied and reduced to the status of a provincial town, Venice still remained the incomparable Serenissima.

  'Which is more than I do!' Marianne muttered, remembering that she bore the same title. 'Much more than I do!'

  A sudden swirl in the crowd dragged her from her melancholy thoughts. Down there, a few yards away, a man had jumped from a boat and was forging through the throng towards the Palazzo Dandolo. He was very tall, much taller than those he was thrusting out of his path. He cut through the crowd like an irresistible force, as easily as a ship breasting the waves, and Jolival, behind him, was having considerable difficulty keeping up. The man was broad-shouldered and blue-eyed, with a proud face and unruly black hair.

  'Jason!' Marianne breathed, suddenly wild with joy. 'At last!'

  In an instant, her heart had made its choice between fear and happiness. Everything but the glow of love had been swept away. Her whole being was irradiated.

  As Jason, down below, vanished inside the palace, Marianne picked up her skirts with both hands and ran to the door. Speeding through the rooms like lightning, she flung herself down the stairs just as her lover was starting up them two at a time. With a shriek of joy that was almost a sob, she cast herself on his chest, laughing and crying at once.

  He, too, cried out as he saw her. He roared out her name so loudly that the vaulted ceilings of the ancient palace rang again, making up for the many months of silence during which he had only been able to murmur it in his dreams. Then, his arms were round her, and he swung her off the ground, covering her with frantic kisses, devouring her face and neck like a starving man, regardless of the servants who, drawn by the noise, were hanging over the banisters to watch.

  Jolival and Dal Niel stood, side by side, at the foot of the stairs and gazed upwards with approval.

  'E meraviglioso! Que belle amore!' the Venetian sighed, clasping his hands.

  'Yes,' agreed the Frenchman modestly. 'It's well enough.'

  Marianne, her eyes closed, saw and heard none of this. She and Jason were alone together in a storm of passion, cut off as though by some strong enchantment from the world around them. They scarcely even noticed when their audience, good Italians for whom love is no light matter, was moved to express a connoisseur's appreciation of the scene. The applause rose to a climax when the privateer picked Marianne up bodily and, still without taking his lips from hers, bore her up the stairs. The door, kicked back by an impatient boot, slammed shut behind them to the cheers of the delighted onlookers.

  'Will you do me the honour to drink a glass of grappa with me to the health of the lovers?' Dal Niel said, smiling broadly. 'Something tells me they will do quite well without you… and such happiness deserves a little celebration.'

  'I should be delighted to drink with you. But, at the risk of disappointing you, I shall be obliged to interrupt the lovers' meeting before long, because we have important matters to decide.'

  'Important matters? What matters can a pretty woman like that have to decide beyond the choice of her clothes?'

  Jolival laughed.

  'You'd be surprised, my friend, but her toilette plays only a very small part in the Princess's life. I spoke of decisions and here, I see, is one coming upon us now.'

  Lieutenant Benielli, very smart in uniform, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, had just marched into
the hall. His entry, although somewhat less tumultuous than Jason's, nevertheless had the effect of bringing about the instant dispersal of the inquisitive servants.

  He approached the two men and clicked his heels.

  'The American vessel has returned,' he announced. 'I must see the Princess at once. I may say that it is of the utmost urgency. We have already wasted too much time.'

  Jolival sighed. 'I see. You will have to excuse me, Signor Dal Niel, but I am afraid we must postpone the grappa. I shall have to take this impulsive military gentleman upstairs.'

  'Peccato! What a pity!' was the understanding answer. 'Do not be in too great a hurry to disturb them. Leave them a moment longer. I will keep the lieutenant company.'

  'A moment? Upon my soul, a moment to them could well mean hours! They have not seen each other for six months.'

  However, Arcadius was mistaken. No sooner had Marianne allowed her love to overcome her fears than she was regretting it. She had not been able to resist the impulse which had made her fly into the arms of the man she loved, as soon as she set eyes on him, an impulse to which he had responded with equal passion. Too much so, perhaps. But even as he was carrying her upstairs two at a time and slamming the door behind them in his haste to be alone with her, Marianne was suffering a return of all the clearheadedness which had flown so deliciously to the winds a moment before.

  She knew what would happen next: another moment and Jason, in an ecstasy of love, would cast her on to her bed; in five minutes, or even less, he would have undressed her and in a very short time after that, he would have made her his own, giving her no chance to stop the tender hurricane in which she was caught up.

  Yet there was something inside her which refused, something she had not been aware of until now, and that something was the depth of her love for Jason. She loved him enough to crush down her own, fiercely urgent desire for him. In a lightning flash of understanding, she knew that she could not, must not be his while that doubt still hung over her unresolved, while her body was still horribly mortgaged to Damiani.

  Of course, if some germ of life was beginning to grow inside her, it would be undeniably convenient, and even easy to throw the responsibility for fathering it on to her lover. Given a man of his passionate nature and so deeply in love, any goose could do it! But although Marianne might not be prepared to tell the truth about her six weeks' disappearance, she was even more determined not to make him her dupe – and in that worst way of all! No, until she was absolutely certain, she could not let him make love to her. On no account. It could lead them both into a morass of lies from which she would never escape. But, heavens, it was going to be difficult!

  As he paused for a second in the middle of the room and stopped kissing her for long enough to get his bearing and find out the door of her bedchamber, she uncoiled herself smoothly from his arms and stood up.

  'My God, Jason! You are quite mad! And I think I must be as mad as you.'

  She walked across to a mirror and began putting up her hair which was falling down her back but he came after her at once, enveloping her once more in his warm embrace. Laughing, his mouth in her hair, he murmured:

  'I sure hope so! Oh, Marianne, Marianne! For months I have dreamed of this moment… when I'd be alone with you again at last… Just the two of us, you and me… with nothing between us but our love. Don't you reckon we've deserved that much?'

  His voice, so warm and yet with a sardonic undertone never far away, was roughened and he was putting her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck. Marianne shut her eyes. Already she was in torment.

  'We are not alone,' she murmured, disengaging herself once more. 'There is Jolival… and Agathe… and Gracchus – any one of them might come in at any moment. This house is practically public property! Didn't you hear them clapping on the stairs?'

  'Who cares? Jolival, Agathe and Gracchus have all known for long enough how matters stood. They'll understand that we want to be together, now, this minute.'

  'They will, yes – but they are not all. The people here are foreigners and I must respect—'

  Abruptly he had had enough. In a voice sharpened perhaps by disappointment, he flashed back:

  'Well, what? The name you bear? It's a good while since we heard much about that! And if Arcadius is to be believed, you'd be a fool to waste too much consideration on a husband capable of abducting you and keeping you prisoner! Marianne, what's come over you? You're playing propriety all of a sudden, aren't you?'

  Marianne was spared the necessity of answering by the arrival of Jolival. Jason stood frowning, somewhat put out, it seemed, by this untimely interruption which appeared to support Marianne's previous arguments.

  Taking in the scene at a glance, Jolival saw Marianne at the mirror pinning up her hair while Jason stood at a little distance with folded arms, looking broodingly from one to the other in evident displeasure. Arcadius's smile was a masterpiece of conciliation and fatherly tact.

  'It's only me, my children, and, believe me, I hate to interrupt your first meeting. But Lieutenant Benielli is here and he insists on coming up at once.'

  'That confounded Corsican again? What does he want?' Jason growled.

  'I didn't stop to ask him, but it may be important.'

  Marianne stepped quickly over to her love and, taking his head between her hands, stifled his protests with a swift touch of her lips.

  'Arcadius is right, my darling. We had better see him. I owe him a great deal. But for him, I might be lying drowned in the harbour by now. Shall we at least see what he wants?'

  The cure was miraculous. The captain calmed down at once.

  'The devil fly away with the fellow! But if that's what you want… Go and fetch the nuisance, Jolival.'

  As he spoke, Jason turned away, straightening the dark-blue coat with the silver buttons which fitted so closely to his wiry, muscular form, and took up his stance at the window, clasping his hands behind his back, which he kept firmly to the unwanted visitor.

  Marianne's eyes followed him lovingly. She did not know exactly why Jason should feel such antipathy towards her bodyguard but she was sufficiently well-acquainted with Benielli to guess that it had probably not taken him long to rub the American very thoroughly up the wrong way. So she respected his evident wish to have no part in the conversation and prepared to receive the lieutenant. His entrance and initial bow were punctilious enough to have wrung approval from the most exacting commanding officer.

  'If your serene highness will permit, I have come to take my leave. I rejoin the Duke of Padua tonight. May I tell him that everything is now satisfactorily settled and that you are safely on your way to Constantinople?'

  Before Marianne could reply, an icy voice spoke from behind her.

  'It pains me to have to tell you that there is no question of this lady's travelling to Constantinople. She sails with me tomorrow for Charlestown where it is my hope that she will be able to forget that women were not made to be pawns on some political chessboard. That will be all, Lieutenant.'

  Stunned by this uncompromising declaration, Marianne looked from Jason, pale and angry, to Jolival who was chewing his moustache with an air of embarrassment.

  'Arcadius, didn't you tell him?' she asked. 'I thought you would have explained to Monsieur Beaufort about the Emperor's orders?'

  'And so I did, my dear, but without a great deal of success. Our friend simply refused to listen and I thought it best not to insist, relying on you to be better able to convince him than I.'

  'Then why didn't you tell me at once?'

  'Don't you think you had enough to trouble you when you came here?' Jolival said quietly. 'It seemed to me that such diplomatic arguments could wait at least until—'

  'I don't see that there is any argument about it,' Benielli broke in harshly. 'To my mind, when the Emperor commands he is obeyed.'

  'You are forgetting one thing,' Jason said. 'Napoleon's commands are no concern of mine. I am an American subject and as such answerable only t
o my own government.'

  'So? Is anything being required of you? The lady does not depend on you. The Emperor desires merely that she sails on a neutral vessel and there are a dozen in harbour. We can do without you. Go back to America!'

  'Not without her! Can you not understand what is said to you? Very well, I will spell it out for you. I am taking the Princess with me whether you like it or not. Is that clear?'

  'So much so', snarled Benielli, his slender patience at an end, 'that short of having you arrested for kidnapping and incitement to revolt there is only one answer—' He drew his sword.

  Instantly, Marianne sprang to her feet and flung herself in between the two men who were measuring one another dangerously.

  'Gentlemen, I beg of you! I suppose you'll allow me a say in the matter, at least? Lieutenant Benielli, be good enough to leave the room for a moment. There is something I wish to say to Mr Beaufort in private.'

  Contrary to her expectations, the officer acquiesced without a word. He clicked his heels and gave a curt little bow.

  'Come along then,' Jolival said amiably, leading the way to the door. 'We'll go and try some of Signor Dal Niel's grappa to pass the time. There's nothing like a glass before a journey. A kind of stirrup cup, you know.'

  Left alone again, Marianne and Jason stood and looked at one another with some amazement: she on account of the hard, stubborn line which had settled disquietingly between her beloved's black brows; he because, for the second time, he had encountered resistance from that soft and graceful creature with her deceptive air of fragility. He sensed that all was not well with her and in the hope of finding out what it was, he made an effort to overcome his bad temper.