The Magician's Wife

by Brian Moore

  The Emperor, turning his glance to Deniau, said, smilingly. ‘Ah, Colonel, there you are.’

  ‘Your Majesty, may I present Monsieur and Madame Lambert?’

  Emmeline, sure that she would trip on her crinoline, made a hasty and awkward curtsy. Her husband bowed in almost oriental fashion.

  ‘That was indeed wonderful tonight,’ the Emperor told Lambert. ‘You, sir, are a necromancer. I believe I saw you perform a few years ago. Was it at Fontainebleau?’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty. I had that honour.’

  ‘And this delightful lady is your wife? Oh, how I would like to sit now and talk to you, my dear. But the trouble with these evening conversaziones is that there is no real conversation. Too many people. Colonel, I believe we are to discuss our project tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘That is correct, Your Majesty.’

  ‘In that case I must beg Madame Lambert to honour us with her presence. It will make the meeting something that I specially look forward to.’

  As the Emperor said this Emmeline saw that the Empress and Princess Metternich had come up and that the Empress had heard what was said. She saw the Empress give her a cool appraising glance and then turn to her husband: ‘Mon ami, I think it is time for us to rejoin the company.’

  The Emperor rose at once, bowed to Emmeline and took the Empress’s arm. They moved towards the doors which led to the grande salle des fêtes. At once, the chamberlains indicated that all of the guests in the petit salon should follow.

  Later, when the imperial couple had retired and the guests were going upstairs to bed, Lambert, pausing at a landing, turned to her, put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her intently. ‘This was your evening,’ he said. ‘Not mine.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Don’t you know? The Emperor has an eye for you. And Deniau took you off this afternoon to Pierrefonds. Picnic à deux. Should I be jealous?’

  She smiled and shook her head.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Madame? Madame Lambert?’

  Emmeline, walking in winter sunlight among banks of fuchsia in the château’s formal gardens, saw the old lady’s maid hurrying up the path.

  ‘What is it, Françoise?’

  The old woman, out of breath, stammered, ‘Madame, the Marquis de Caux has sent word that you are to sit beside His Majesty at déjeuner. You must be ready at the doors of the grande salle as soon as Their Majesties enter the dining room. I think you should dress now, Madame.’

  ‘And my husband?’

  ‘The invitation is for you alone.’

  At five minutes to eleven, Emmeline, waiting with the other guests outside the grande salle, saw the doors open to allow the imperial couple to enter the dining room. At that moment a gentleman who introduced himself as the Marquis de Caux came up to her, gave her his arm and led her down the long room to that part of the dining table where the Emperor and his party had just taken their seats. On His Majesty’s right was an empty chair. The Emperor did not rise, but smiled at her as she slipped into her place. Across the table the Empress nodded to Emmeline in a queenly manner. The Emperor then gestured to the maître d’hôtel and at once the first dishes were brought into the dining room. Behind the Emperor’s chair his personal chasseur took the dish from the hands of the maître d’hôtel and presented it to His Majesty who then helped himself, whereupon the chasseur handed the dish back to the maître d’hôtel as a signal that guests could now be served.

  ‘Do you know the game of croquet, my dear?’ the Emperor said, turning to Emmeline.

  ‘No, Your Majesty.’

  ‘I’m told it’s now the rage in London and I want to know what the fuss is about. As a matter of fact I’ve ordered a set from Paris. If they arrive before we leave Compiègne, you and I must learn this game together. Would that amuse you, my dear?’

  ‘Is it a card game, Your Majesty? I’m afraid I’m very stupid at cards.’

  The Emperor laughed. ‘No, it’s an outdoor game. Hitting a ball with a mallet. Anyway, we’ll see. Tell me. Will you go to Africa with your husband? That is, if I can persuade him to help us. I want you on my side this afternoon. On my side and by my side.’

  He smiled and put his hand on her arm. She felt herself flush as she looked at the Emperor’s hand, hairy, its long buffed fingernails gently tickling her bare flesh. This man, the son of Hortense de Beauharnais, the nephew of Bonaparte, his lecher’s eyes appraising her, his covetous, faintly mocking smile. And Africa? What was this about Africa?

  ‘And let us not forget the chasse à courre.’ His fingers tightened on her forearm. He leaned forward, his long waxed moustaches only inches from her face. ‘You will be my guest at the curée on Sunday evening.’

  Curée? She smiled at him vaguely. ‘What is that, Your Majesty?’

  ‘The finale of the stag hunt. Did you not know about it? Well, why should you? You are so young. How pretty you are. Indeed you are. So pretty.’

  Having said this he pushed aside his plate which was promptly removed by his chasseur. A second dish was served at once and as the Emperor sampled it and turned to the lady on his left, an old gentleman on Emmeline’s right began to talk to her about a dance called the lancers. ‘I dread it,’ he said. ‘I am too old for it, but it is mandatory that if one is asked to take part one cannot refuse. Do you enjoy it, Madame? I may tell you that the Emperor is very fond of the lancers.’

  It was at this point that Emmeline sensed the rule of conversation in high society. She did not have to understand what was being said to her, she had only to answer with the vaguest of assents, smiles and nods. It was conversation without purpose, a brief break in the quick and ruthless service of food, necessary to the fulfilment of the Emperor’s demand that lunch or dinner must never take more than an hour at table.

  And so when, fifty minutes later, the Emperor stood up, his chasseur drawing the chair away from the table, lackeys at once stepped forward and put their hands on the back of the guests’ chairs, as a signal that all must rise. The chairs were drawn out and the procession followed the Emperor and Empress out to the grande salle. Emmeline, escorted by the Marquis de Caux, was suddenly accosted by her husband who bowed to the Marquis then took her arm and led her out on to the loggia.

  ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The Emperor. I saw him talking to you. Did he say why he invited you?’

  ‘He wants me to go to Africa. With you. Henri, what’s this about? Why won’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because it’s confidential. You’ll know soon enough. What else did he say?’

  ‘He wants me to be on his side this afternoon, whatever that means.’ She saw that this pleased him.

  ‘So they really want me.’ He smiled. ‘What did he say about me?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘By the way, I was watching him all through luncheon. He was laughing and smiling at you. I saw him put his hand on your arm. You know, of course, that he has the reputation of being a terrible roué. Did he . . .?’

  ‘Did he what?’

  ‘When he had his hand on your arm. What was he talking about?’

  ‘Croquet.’

  ‘Croquet?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a game. He wants us to learn it together.’

  ‘You and me?’

  ‘No. Louis Napoleon and me.’ She began to laugh. He looked at her as though she had slapped him.

  ‘Deniau will meet us at the foot of the main staircase at two o’clock sharp,’ he said. ‘Don’t be late.’

  And walked away.

  When Colonel Deniau came down the central staircase of the château that afternoon, Emmeline did not at first recognize this imposing figure in dress uniform with long cape and gold-leafed kepi. Previously the Colonel had worn civilian clothes like most of the other gentlemen attending the série. But now, in uniform, his dark good looks and military bearing were heightened to a point that seeing him approach she suddenly felt a quick, guilty excitement. Instinctiv
ely, she hurried towards him and as he bent to kiss her hand it seemed as if he, too, were caught up in her mood.

  ‘Where is your husband?’

  ‘He will arrive exactly three minutes before the time of our meeting,’ she said. ‘It is always like that.’

  ‘Just like the Emperor,’ Deniau said. ‘As you may have noticed, he divides his time into neat compartments. Of course, who can blame him? He has a great deal on his mind, these days.’

  She did not know what could be on the Emperor’s mind. Croquet, perhaps? But she held her tongue.

  Lambert appeared exactly as she had predicted and they all three went down a long corridor and through a door which led to an antechamber where two chamberlains waited. Precisely as a clock chimed the half-hour, three gentlemen emerged from the inner chamber, deep in whispered conversation. As these gentlemen went out, one of the chamberlains beckoned to Deniau, who turned to Emmeline. ‘After you, dear Madame.’ And so it was Emmeline who led the way into the Emperor’s study. The Emperor came to greet her, taking her hands in his and leading her solicitously to a chair on the right of his desk. He sat her down on this chair, then sat at his desk, close to her, waving absent-mindedly to Deniau and Lambert to seat themselves opposite. It was then that Emmeline saw that the Emperor seemed ill: he grimaced with pain as he bent forward to pick up a folder on his desk; his eyes were circled by dark shadows, his face was puffy and she realized, with shock, that his cheeks were rouged. Nevertheless, when he began to speak his voice was forceful and filled with conviction.

  ‘Gentlemen, we know why we are here today but perhaps Monsieur Lambert does not know how badly I need his help. I believe that some months ago Colonel Deniau asked you to assist us and that, for good reason, no doubt, you refused.’

  ‘If Your Majesty will excuse me,’ Lambert said. ‘I did not realize that the request had come from Your Majesty.’

  ‘But you were right, my dear fellow. The request did not come from me. I was unaware of the proposal at that time. Now let me explain why I see this as an important project. As all of France knows, our armies have given us a great victory in the Crimea. Generals MacMahon and Pelissier will be honoured by me in a special ceremony on my return to Paris next week. Our soldiers will also be decorated and rewarded. The Army has fought hard and well and because of that’ – he looked at Colonel Deniau – ‘I have informed our Governor-General in Algeria that I do not want us engaged in what I hope will be the final struggle for the conquest of that country until our troops have enjoyed a period of rest at home. Accordingly, I told him he must wait until spring before we commit our armies to this task. However, I can understand why Governor-General Randon is worried about this delay. He fears that a certain powerful and dangerous marabout could launch a holy war before then. You are the Arab expert, Colonel. What do you think?’

  ‘There is that risk, Your Majesty,’ Deniau said. ‘And if the final campaign is to be delayed until spring, all the more reason for us to try the gambit I have proposed.’

  The Emperor turned to Emmeline. ‘This must be confusing for you, my dear. I don’t know how much you have been told.’

  Emmeline, having learned her lesson at luncheon, smiled and nodded vaguely, whereupon the Emperor lit a long cigar and blew the match out with a whistling sound. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘It will become clear soon enough. Now’ – he turned to Lambert – ‘I know that what you showed us the other evening is but a fraction of your talents. What we need to convince the Arabs is something even more spectacular, something which will both frighten and amaze them. Colonel Deniau tells me that you are our man. He says he has seen you demonstrate illusions so astonishing that even we might be tempted to believe you have supernatural powers.’ The Emperor laughed, puffed on his cigar and turning to Emmeline, winked at her like a wicked uncle. Then, leaning back in his chair, he said to Lambert, ‘Let me explain what I have in mind. I have great plans for Algeria. I see it as the meeting ground between East and West and the key to our empire’s economic expansion. Next year, in the spring, I will bring our armies to Africa, subdue the Kabylia region and complete our conquest of the entire country.’

  The Emperor looked at Deniau. ‘Now, Colonel – tell us about the marabout.’

  ‘The marabout, Your Majesty? First let me explain that Muslim countries are very different from ours. There, marabouts or saints have a political and spiritual influence which is greater than the power of any ruler.’

  The Emperor blew smoke. ‘An unfortunate situation for the sheikhs.’

  ‘Indeed. And because of that, only the marabout can proclaim a jihad or holy war against us. At the moment, Your Majesty, all of Algeria is in thrall to a certain Bou-Aziz, a charismatic marabout who has risen up in the South and is said to possess miraculous powers. Because of his influence, should he call for a holy war, the Arabs will believe that God is on their side and that, if they fight, they will defeat us. It was my suggestion, and Governor-General Randon agrees, that if we can bring Monsieur Lambert to Algeria to put on a series of performances for native audiences, we may convince them that Islam is not alone in possessing miraculous powers. In other words we will present him as a greater marabout than Bou-Aziz and convince them that God is not on their side but on ours.’

  ‘I think it’s a capital notion,’ the Emperor said. ‘It’s a gamble of course and may well come to nothing. But if we win it? If you succeed, Monsieur Lambert, you will be saving thousands of our soldiers’ lives.’

  At once Lambert made a small bow in the Emperor’s direction. ‘Your Majesty, I am honoured by your confidence and, of course, I will do my utmost to be worthy of it.’

  ‘Good.’ The Emperor turned to Emmeline. ‘Madame, your husband will be in Algeria for several weeks. He may have to travel to different venues. Colonel Deniau has suggested that it might make his stay more pleasant were you to accompany him. It’s up to you, of course, but Algeria is, I am told, a very interesting country and it will be part of our plan to send your husband there with all the ceremony we would afford our highest ambassador. You will be fêted and dined by both the sheikhs and the French community. You will be housed in Algiers as the guests of the Governor-General.’

  Emmeline looked at Lambert who, with an almost imperceptible nod of his head, was urging her to accept. ‘I will be glad to go, Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘As you say, it will be very interesting.’

  At once, the Emperor leaned towards her and again put his hand on her arm, his fingers moving from her elbow to her shoulder in a long lascivious caress. ‘Good, good. What a lucky man you are, Lambert, to be married to this charming girl. Don’t forget, you will both be my special guests at the curée tomorrow night.’

  He rose and, lifting her hand in his, put his moustachioed lips to her skin. ‘Till then, dear Madame.’

  A few minutes later, walking down the long draughty corridor between her husband and Deniau, she was filled with a sudden rush of excitement. ‘But when will we go?’ she asked Deniau. ‘And what sort of clothes will I need in Africa?’

  ‘There is a ship sailing from Marseille to Algiers on the 27th,’ Deniau said. ‘And a second one sails three weeks later. It depends on whether your husband can assemble what he needs in time to make either sailing. What do you think, Henri?’

  ‘I have already decided on what I will need,’ Lambert said. ‘I can be ready for the sailing on the 27th. What about you, my dear?’ He turned to her as if in question but she knew it was rhetorical. ‘Yes, we can be ready,’ he said to Deniau.

  ‘As for clothing, at that time of year it will be like a dry summer’s day in France,’ Deniau said, smiling at her. ‘Don’t worry, we will go over all the necessary arrangements. You know, I’m delighted that you’ll be with us on this adventure.’

  ‘The Emperor is an extraordinary man, isn’t he?’ Lambert said. ‘I’ve met many kings and queens and rulers, as you know, but no one like him. Obviously, a man of great vision.’

  Emmeline, listening, knew now that
her husband had not needed to be persuaded to accept this mission. In the five years of their marriage she had never seen him so happy as at this moment. Now he was more than a magician. Now, he was France’s emissary on an important mission. But at the same time she sensed that Deniau was aware of this conceit and amused by it. For, turning to her with his usual intimate smile, he asked, ‘What did you think of him, Madame? He has an eye for the ladies, no?’

  ‘But we ladies have eyes too,’ she said, laughing. ‘The Emperor uses rouge.’

  ‘That could be,’ Deniau agreed. He turned to Lambert. ‘But you’re right, of course. He is a man of vision. Think of it. Nine years ago he was a simple member of the National Assembly. Then, four years later, he staged his coup d’état and now he’s Emperor Napoleon and the victor of Crimea. And by this time next year I hope he’ll be the conqueror of Algeria. With your help, of course.’

  ‘My help?’ Lambert laughed. ‘He doesn’t need me.’

  ‘He does, my dear fellow. We all do.’

  But when he said this, Deniau turned to her and winked. And at that moment she sensed that in a strange exotic country she would face a new dilemma. For, in that momentary covert closing of an eye, was proposed the ultimate betrayal.

  Next morning the valet who brought to their rooms, as usual, coffee and the programme for the day handed Emmeline an envelope containing a note from Vicomte Walsh, one of the Emperor’s chamberlains. It informed her that today’s programme, the last of the série, would include the stag hunt and, in the evening, the curée or celebration of the day’s sport. The Vicomte’s note added that a place had been reserved for her in the carriage of Madame de Fernan Nunez so that she could have a good view of the chase. No mention was made of her husband. She passed the letter over to Lambert.