Marianne m-1

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  At the end of a broad avenue, she had caught a glimpse of a small, lighted chateau. A berlin stood outside, a berlin and a number of horsemen dressed in red and green with flowing cloaks and tall red-plumed busbies. Jolival had clutched her arm in an excited grip.

  'You saw? The Emperor is still there!' 'That is his carriage, are you sure?'

  'Those were certainly the mounted chasseurs of the Imperial Guard. I don't know who else they could be waiting for. They are fine lads, Prince Eugene's cavalry. They are not many but I wonder if we should not let them deal with the conspirators.'

  'Are you mad? They are a dozen at the most—'

  'But equal to thirty! Never mind, you are right. A surprise attack can come suddenly – ah, and I think we too have come.'

  The carriage was indeed slowing down. Some little way past the gates of the chateau the road made a slight bend and there they could leave the carriage without risk of being seen. Jason sprang down from the box to open the door and help Marianne out. They stood in a road enclosed between high walls overhung with trees. The bare branches were etched as though in Indian ink against a sky that was hardly lighter, while the sides of the road and the tops of the walls were lightly outlined in snow.

  'We must be quick,' the American said, leading her to the left hand wall. 'The Emperor's coach is still outside but it is not far off midnight and he will surely be leaving soon.'

  'Why did you come past the chateau? You should have stopped before—'

  'So that the watch which the conspirators will certainly have posted could oversee our movements? One can tell you are not used to this kind of thing. Now, we have to get inside—'

  Marianne thought privately that he, apparently, was quite used to this kind of thing but she said nothing and only asked: 'How are we going to do that? Do you think the guards will let us past?'

  She saw the American's white teeth gleam for an instant in the darkness and heard his stifled laugh.

  'We shan't try. It would be so much waste of time. You, sweet Marianne, are going to show me how a well-brought up young lady can climb walls. After that, we can only pray to God we don't meet a patrol before we reach the house – at which point we can relax and get ourselves arrested.'

  'Arrested! What do you mean?'

  'That the only way of attracting the Emperor's attention will be to make as much noise as possible. Once outside the chateau we'll kick up such a rumpus that someone is bound to ask questions. Those splendid horsemen kicking their heels in the snow so quietly will be only too delighted to have it out with us.'

  It was wholly insane but, as put by Jason, the audacious plan sounded simplicity itself. After all, all that Marianne wanted to do was warn Napoleon of the danger lying in wait for him. After that, she did not care if they did send them to prison, her and Beaufort – even to St Lazare.

  'You are wonderful!' she said and meant it. 'Let's go!'

  'Excuse me,' Jolival's voice said politely, 'but what is my part in all this?'

  'The ladder, my friend. If you feel strong enough to bear me. After that, keep our coachman company. It will be best to have someone on watch outside.'

  'By the by, the coachman, are you sure of him?'

  'As sure as one can be of anyone who has been well paid. It was young Pioche who found him for me. He's as deaf as a post. I'm afraid you won't have a very chatty time, Jolival, although he can lip-read quite well. But we've wasted enough time. Quick now. And I'd as soon he didn't see us get over the wall. He might start wondering.'

  Without answering, Arcadius set his back against the wall, clasped his hands and waited. Setting the toe of his boot in the clasped hand, Jason moved with cat-like agility. The next instant he was sitting astride the top of the wall.

  'Now you, Marianne,' he called softly. 'Unless you'd rather let me go alone?'

  'Not for all the tea in China!'

  Her ascent was a matter of infinitely less ease than his had been. Weakened by her recent illness and hampered by her dress, she found herself a lot less agile than she had been in those days when she used to climb the great trees of Selton like a squirrel. But she was also lighter than the American and, half pushed by Jolival and half pulled by Jason from above, she found herself on top of the wall at last.

  'If we have not returned in two hours,' the American called down to Arcadius in a low voice, 'go back to Paris. Where do you live?'

  'Nowhere. I had been evicted from my lodgings when Fanchon-Fleur-de-lis took me under her wing.'

  'Then go and wait for me in my room at the Hôtel de l'Empire. The coachman has been paid.'

  'One way or another,' Jolival muttered, 'you'd better get out. I prefer to wait. Good luck!'

  For answer, Jason jumped down into the park and held out his arms to Marianne.

  'Jump! Don't be afraid, I'll catch you.'

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and jumped. She landed in Beaufort's arms and, for a second, before he let her slip gently to the ground, he held her against him, perhaps to feel for a moment longer the kiss of her loose hair against his face.

  'Marianne,' he whispered in a voice he could not altogether control, 'you will go with me tomorrow, truly?'

  She freed herself, not roughly, but with some impatience.

  'I had already told you so. And now is not the time to talk of that. We must run! He may be leaving—'

  All her agony of mind was in those words. The park was well wooded at this point and a thick belt of trees hid the chateau. Only a few lights shone twinkling between the trunks of the leafless oaks.

  'Make as little noise as you can,' Jason breathed.

  Hand in hand, like two lost children, they began to run towards the pin-points of light that showed where the chateau lay. Wet branches smacked their faces and their feet sank deeply into a slush of rotten leaves and melted snow. Marianne's were soon frozen but she was unconscious alike of the icy water and the scratching branches.

  The curtain of trees thinned out and Marianne and Jason came out abruptly into the open. Before them, rose the chateau, gleaming white under its steep tiled roofs. In the centre of the building, a glazed entry porch was lit up like a huge lantern. The coach was still there but a curt command had just sent the troop of chasseurs into the saddle.

  'The Emperor is coming out,' Jason breathed. 'Quickly—'

  Between them and the house lay a large garden in the English style, laid out in lawns and flower beds. Even as Jason spoke they could see figures moving in the porch, one of which made Marianne's heart beat faster. That grey form in the midst of all the colourful dresses and resplendent uniforms, that must be him.

  But scarcely had the two of them left the heavy shadow of the trees and started running towards the brilliantly lit chateau than a command came sharply from behind them.

  'Halt! Halt or we fire!'

  At the same time, the dogs began barking furiously behind the chateau.

  Marianne turned and saw some soldiers who must have been patrolling along the edge of the wood and recognized the yellow plumes of the Corsican tirailleurs. She let out a wail of despair. They were still a long way from the house. She gripped Jason's hand tightly. Ahead of them, the horses were stamping restlessly.

  Lackeys in powdered wigs were opening the doors of the berlin. There were people outside, men and women muffled in thick cloaks.

  'Run!' She gasped. 'Never mind if they fire!'

  'Marianne, this is madness!'

  She did not listen to him. She was already racing forward. Jason followed.

  They had hesitated barely an instant. With one accord, they began to run on. Behind them they could hear the click of weapons being cocked.

  'Halt!' The voice commanded once again. 'Stop, by thunder, will you!'

  There was a shot, quickly followed by another. Marianne felt fear in the pit of her stomach and commended her soul to God. She saw nothing but the lighted chateau coming rapidly nearer. She felt nothing but Jason's hand supporting her. The horsemen around the berl
in had dismounted hurriedly and now formed a barrier blocking their way. At the top of his voice, that powerful voice which could rise above the storm on board his ship, Jason shouted:

  'The Emperor! Save the Emperor!'

  More shots rang out but hampered perhaps by the darkness and by the speed at which their quarry moved, the riflemen fired raggedly. Even so, one bullet must have hit Jason because he gave a muffled curse and let his hand slip from Marianne's. But the chasseurs were already surrounding them. Rough hands seized them and they were subjected to a barrage of questions:

  'Who are you? What do you want? Are you conspirators?'

  'The Emperor,' Marianne gasped. 'For the love of heaven, take us to the Emperor – he is in danger.'

  'A woman? What are you doing here? How did you get in?'

  This time it was the officer in command of the troop, a splendid tall fellow, moustaches bristling under the plumed fur busby. He was already dividing Marianne from her wounded companion but she had eyes only for the brilliant group of men and women rushing excitedly out of the porch, all talking at once. A man had emerged from their midst, a man in a grey coat holding a wide cocked hat under his arm. At the sound of his curt voice, Marianne's heart almost stopped beating for happiness.

  'Captain Trebriant! What is going on there?'

  The handsome chasseurs had no time to reply. He was still coming smartly to attention, when Marianne wriggled away and flung herself headlong at the Emperor's feet.

  'Sire, for pity's sake, listen to me! They mean to kill you! There are men lying in wait for you at Fond-Louvet! There are many of them and your escort is small.'

  A low growl of disapproval gave Marianne a clear notion of what the chasseurs of the Guard thought of their own worth. However, Napoleon's eyes had widened a little at the sight of the dirty, dishevelled woman in her tattered, mud-stained garments raising to his face a pair of luminous green eyes he knew.

  'What's this? You – and in this condition?' He said, unable to conceal his surprise. 'Where have you sprung from?'

  Before Marianne could answer, a tall, fair young woman, in a dress and cloak of violet-coloured velvet sewn with seed pearls, with a simple diadem on her golden hair, broke in.

  'Sire, be careful,' she said nervously. 'This woman may be dangerous – or mad!'

  Napoleon gave a brief smile which never reached his eyes but in which Marianne, desperate and overawed, saw Charles Denis restored to her for an instant.

  'No, no, Hortense, I know her. She is not mad in the least. As for being dangerous—'

  'The man who came with her is unconscious, sire,' Captain Trebriant volunteered. 'He is wounded. One of the shots must have hit him.'

  'Jason! He is hurt! Oh God—'

  Marianne would have sprung to her feet in terror and run to him but the Emperor's iron hand held her fast.

  'One moment,' he said sternly. 'Who is this man?'

  'Jason Beaufort, an American, sire. He rescued me and brought me here to warn you. He is a brave man. Have his hurts seen to, I implore you, and do not send him to prison.'

  'As to that, we shall see. For the present—'

  'Sire,' the young woman he had addressed as Hortense spoke again, 'is it necessary to continue this out here? It is very cold—'

  'A Queen of Holland feels the cold here!' The Emperor scoffed. 'Whoever saw the like?'

  'Maybe, but my mother wishes to see this woman. She is very anxious. You know how sensitive she has always been to rumours of conspiracy.'

  'Very well, we'll go in. Duroc, look after this American the heavens have dropped on us and send a patrol to see what is going on at Fond-Louvet. Make it a strong one!' He turned to Marianne. 'How many are these men?'

  'About thirty, I think.'

  Marianne saw Duroc, her host of Butard, detach himself from the group of ladies and uniformed men but now he was dressed in splendid blue with gold braid. He too, threw her a glance of stupefaction, but it was only for an instant, then he turned and went to Jason who was being supported in the arms of two chasseurs.

  'This way,' Napoleon said guiding Marianne none too gently into a marble floored entrance hall adorned with antique busts. The brilliant crowd of onlookers parted before them, out of respect for the Emperor and from obvious disgust at his companion. Marianne, her mind in a ferment, could only think that they must make a strange couple. But she heard his voice whisper in her ear.

  'Take care you'll make no allusion to the other night. I will not have the Emp – her caused the slightest pain. I have given her enough already.'

  Marianne's heart throbbed with a sudden ache of mingled jealousy and pain. The curt words, the hard grip on her arm all told her that her estimate of her own part in the life of the supposed Charles Denis had been all too correct. She was a plaything, a passing fancy, a momentary distraction, soon forgotten – while she felt her love for him keener than ever. He was treating her almost as a criminal when she had risked her life to save him, when Jason had been shot by his guards. She asked nothing now except to be allowed to go away. She would go with Jason whenever he decided. She knew that she could never live in the same land with him, close to him, without the right even to be near him.

  'Your garden is full of odd surprises, Josephine,' he said with assumed lightness, 'look what I have found! The guards found this young person who merely seems to have climbed your wall in company with an American, who has been wounded by a shot.'

  Brought back to earth by Napoleon's voice, Marianne saw that she was in a long room decorated in pale green, a music room to judge by its furnishings. A rather plump woman dressed in white cashmere and a great deal of filmy lace was reclining on a sofa done up in light red silk with black trimmings like the rest of the room.

  'Bonaparte, please, do not make a joke of it. They told me of a conspiracy—' said the woman, who was none other than the former Empress herself.

  She held out trembling hands to him. He took them and gripped them warmly.

  'If there is a conspiracy, we shall soon know all about it. Don't upset yourself. Nothing will happen. Which reminds me,' he turned to Marianne who stood speechless, hardly daring to breathe, 'can you tell me who is their leader?'

  'Yes, sire. The chevalier de Bruslart.'

  'Him again!' Josephine cried and the Emperor frowned.

  'Come here, Mademoiselle, and tell us what you know. Here, sit here,—'

  She pointed to a low chair but Marianne did not even see it. She was fascinated by the still lovely woman with her pale, transparent skin, heavy mahogany coloured hair and huge Creole eyes, at present red with weeping. But all this was nothing without the truly inimitable grace which made Josephine someone quite exceptional. Every glance, every look on her face showed her love for the husband who had rejected her so that Marianne forgot her jealousy and felt drawn to her by a sympathy as spontaneous as it was unconscious. Both of them loved the same man, both feared for him. That was a much stronger bond between them than the distant tie of blood by which they were united.

  'Come,' the former Empress said again. 'Come and sit here.'

  Marianne made a faultless court curtsey. 'Madame,' she murmured, 'I dare not. Your Majesty sees how I am dressed – and the harm I might do to these pretty chairs.'

  'No matter,' Josephine cried airily with the sudden playfulness which was so much a part of her charming, unpredictable nature. 'I want to talk to you, I want to find out who you are! The truth is, you are a mystery to me. You are certainly dressed like a vagabond but your curtsey is like a great lady's and your voice goes with it. Who are you?'

  'Just a second,' Napoleon broke in. 'Here's another! It seems the conspirators were not the only ones on the road.'

  It was indeed Duroc once more, accompanied this time by a thin figure muffled in a furred driving coat in whom Marianne was disconcerted to recognize Fouché. The Minister of Police was paler than ever except for a somewhat red and swollen nose due partly to the cold outside and partly to a magnificent cold in the head
which thickened his voice and obliged him to be constantly using his handkerchief. The two men halted side by side and bowed. The Grand Marshal of the Palace spoke first.

  'There was indeed a conspiracy, Sire. I found his Grace the Duke of Otranto on the spot, very busy unravelling it.'

  'I see.' The Emperor stood with his hands behind his back regarding his two officials in turn. 'How is it, Fouché, that I was not warned?'

  'I was not warned myself, sire, until the last moment. But, as your majesty sees, I left my bed at once although my state of health should have kept me there – besides, your majesty's accusation is unjust. You were warned, sire. Is that not Mademoiselle Mallerousse I see there, beside her majesty the Empress? She is one of my most loyal and valued agents.'

  Marianne opened her mouth but no words came. Fouché's presence of mind was stupifying. That he should dare to claim the credit for what she had done and take it all to himself, when, but for Gracchus-Hannibal Pioche, she might have stayed in the underground cavern of Chaillot forever!

  But Napoleon's blue eye was turned on her and she felt her heart shrink at its hardness.

  'One of Fouché's agents, eh? That's news – what have you to say to that, Duroc?'

  The words were a threat. The Due de Frioul reddened and groped for a reply but Fouché gave him no time. Smiling, very much at his ease, he dabbed delicately at his nose and purred. 'Indeed yes, one of the best. I even christened her The Star. Mademoiselle Mallerousse is at present reader to the Princess of Benevento. A charming girl! Utterly devoted to your majesty as your majesty no doubt – er, appreciates.'

  The Emperor made an angry movement.

  'Talleyrand, now?' He turned to Marianne who was terrified by this sudden anger. 'It seems to me, mademoiselle, that there are some explanations you must give me. I had heard of a Demoiselle Mallerousse, a pupil of Gossec's, with a charming voice, but nothing more! I perceive now that your talents are not confined to singing – that you have more than one string to your bow. You are a consummate actress certainly – a great artist, truly! A very great artist! It is true that to be a star with Fouché requires a variety of talents – and a heart to match!'