Marianne m-1

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  'In your place, I should trust him and have a little patience. As for running away, you cannot do that,' Fortunée said seriously. 'He would not let you go. He would have you pursued, caught, brought back to him willy-nilly. Napoleon has never let go anything he wanted. You belong to him! And, sooner or later, you must be prepared for him to bring you suffering, even if it is not by his own will. It is no easy task to love a man like that. But if you take it on, you will have to do all you can to make the best of it and not suffer more than you can help. That was why I asked you, just now, if you liked men. With more than one to think about, their power to make us suffer is that much less. For myself, I'd rather make two men happy than one miserable.'

  'Love more than one man?' Marianne exclaimed, genuinely shocked. 'But I could never do that!'

  Fortunée rose, stretched her long, supple golden body in its white gauzes and bestowed on Marianne a smile part-friendly and part-quizzical.

  'You are too young to understand. We'll talk about it again another time. But now, write a few lines quickly to your American and invite him to come and call on you. Where does he stay?'

  'At the Hôtel de l'Empire in the rue Cerutti.'

  'Not very far. I'll send a man round at once. Here, there are writing materials on this table.'

  A few minutes later, the side gate banged behind Fortunée's messenger and Marianne went to perform a toilet somewhat more complete than that which had been possible at the Tuileries. Without being altogether willing to admit it, she was glad to think of seeing Jason again with Jolival and Gracchus, whom she had asked him to bring with him. All three had now assumed a special place in her heart because they had shown her what true friendship could be. Once the letter had been written and entrusted to a servant, Fortunée had asked her suddenly whether Jason was in love with her and Marianne had answered quite sincerely:

  'No, not really. He believes he owes me a great debt and being an honest fellow, I see that now, he wants to give back what he has taken from me. He'll be disappointed that I do not go with him but nothing more.'

  'Has he never claimed – your part in your husband's wager?'

  'Oh no. Oh, I think he finds me attractive, but there is nothing in it. He is a strange person, you know. What he loves more than anything is the sea, his ship and his crew. There is not much room for love in such a life.'

  Fortunée had not insisted. She had merely shrugged and smiled indulgently. But when, an hour later, the doorbell rang announcing a visitor, she reappeared in the salon, fully dressed, as though by magic. Clearly, the American had piqued her curiosity. But it was not Jason who appeared. As the two young women came in through one door, Arcadius de Jolival was making his entrance through the other. He was dressed like a fashion plate, radiating elegance and cheerfulness. Marianne stared at him with a mixture of amusement and disappointment as he made a bow with all the elaborate grace of a past age.

  'You behold me, ladies, bursting with pride and happiness at the privilege of laying my homage at your charming feet!'

  'Fortunée was looking at the new arrival with frank curiosity. 'Who is it?' she asked.

  'My Greek prince of whom I told you, Arcadius de Jolival,' Marianne replied absently. 'But where is Jason, my friend? Why is he not with you?'

  The happy smile faded from Jolival's face.

  'But he is, my dear child, he is! Only, in the form of a letter which I have here. I could not persuade him to come. He said it could do no good. And as I left to accompany your servant, madame, he was on the point of setting out for Nantes.'

  'He has gone? Without seeing me, without saying goodbye?'

  The sudden break in Marianne's voice brought Fortunée's observant eyes upon her. It suggested something very like distress. Arcadius came forward slowly, taking a letter from inside his snuff brown coat and slipped it into Marianne's hand.

  'I think he says goodbye in this,' he said gently. 'He believed there was no more for him to do here. His ship and his business called for him.'

  'But, his wound?'

  'A small matter for a man like him. The Emperor sent him his personal physician this morning with expressions of his gratitude – and a memento. Besides, there is nothing like sea air for an invalid. Wounds are well known to heal far quicker at sea than on land. That, at least is the opinion of the Emperor's physician. He expressed it more than once. But—' the man of letters spoke with some hesitation, 'did you, then, still mean to go with him?'

  'N-no—' Marianne said doubtfully. 'No, of course not! That cannot be now.'

  She had not missed the reference to the imperial physician. Certainly Napoleon left nothing to chance.

  'Well then. Read his letter, it will certainly tell you more than I can.'

  Quickly, Marianne broke the black seal with its simple device of a ship in full sail, unfolded the paper and read the few words Jason had written in a large, bold hand.

  'Why did you not tell me what you were to him? It might have stopped me making a fool of myself. I realize it is not possible for you to come and live in my country. But did you really, honestly, wish to? I wish you all the happiness in the world, but if, some day, that happiness seems to you to leave a bitter taste, then remember me – and that I owe a debt to you – for the danger of which I told you is not yet past. But it is true that in future you will have a much better defence than any I could give you. Be happy. Jason.'

  Marianne held out the letter to Fortunée with trembling fingers. But a cloud had come over her happiness less on account of this new mention of the mysterious danger which hung over her than because he had gone making no attempt to see her, giving her no chance to explain, or even to ask his forgiveness, and tell him of her gratitude and friendship. The sharpness of her disappointment took her by surprise. God alone knew what she had been hoping for. Perhaps that Jason's wound would oblige him to stay longer in Paris so that they might have had time to see one another, to talk and get to know each other better. It would have made her so happy to establish their hitherto stormy relationship on a basis of real friendship. But then, she dared say, Jason did not want her friendship maybe because she was the Emperor's mistress and had not told him of it. The tone of his letter suggested that his masculine pride was injured. He could not have known how much he had come to matter to Marianne, to be someone dear whose absence could be a source of grief.

  She looked up and met Jolival's eye and it seemed to her that she read some pity in it. But just at that moment in her life, pity was one thing she could not endure. She threw up her chin, gripped her hands tightly together and forced herself to smile and speak of something else, no matter what, so long as it hid her feelings.

  'You are looking splendid,' she said to fill the silence which had fallen. 'What has happened to you? But please, won't you sit down?'

  Jolival sat, carefully smoothing the pale blue pantaloons over his bony knees where they fitted snugly into his elegantly pointed boots.

  'Our friend Beaufort lent me a little money with which I was able to recover my wardrobe and my room on the Montagne Sainte Geneviève. But none the less, I shall have to find some situation by which to earn my living. Gaming has few attractions for me and besides, I am not anxious to come up against Fanchon-Fleur-de-lis and her Philomène a second time.'

  'Do you think we have anything more to fear from her?' Marianne asked with sudden horror at mention of the dreadful old woman and remembering the danger of which Jason had still spoken.

  'For the present I do not think so. So long as we do not venture into her territorial waters, she will not sail into ours. And I cannot see that we should have much to do at the Epi-Scié or the Homme de Fer. Besides, Bruslart and Saint-Hubert managed to escape but the rest of the conspirators were arrested. Our friend Morvan is under lock and key. And I think there was a raid on the cabaret in the rue des Bonshommes, although Fanchon is certainly too clever to be caught like that.'

  At this point, Fortunée, who had finished reading the letter and had for a moment or t
wo been looking rather pensive, gave it back to her friend.

  'What is this danger he speaks of?'

  'Truly, I do not know. He has always talked of it and then said he can tell me no more in my own interests. But, apart from that, what do you think of his letter?'

  'If this man does not love you, I'll be hanged,' Madame Hamelin answered simply. 'For myself, I am very sorry he has gone. I should have liked to meet him.'

  'What for?'

  'Shall we say—' the Creole gave her teasing smile, 'I like his handwriting. I have always told you I was fond of men. Something tells me this one is a man. Should he come back, you must present him to me without fail.' She turned to Jolival. 'But did he say anything to you about this mysterious danger?'

  'Yes,' said the man of letters. 'I know what it is but it is best that Marianne should not. One never knows. It may never come to anything. So why worry? Forget it. And, should our American come back one day, I shall make it my personal business to present him to you, gracious lady!' he finished gallantly.

  Deliberately rejecting the possible notion of Jason and Fortunée's becoming one day attached to one another, Marianne launched into a grandiose account of what she hoped to do for those who had helped her and promised Jolival to do what she could on his behalf. She would speak to the Emperor, who would certainly find some employment for the varied talents of such an inveterate idler.

  'I wish I could do something for you,' he said with a sigh. 'Have you given up the idea of a singing career?'

  'It is not for me to say,' she answered blushing with mingled pleasure and embarrassment at this proclamation of her dependence.

  'Well, if you should come back to it, remember me. I have all the makings of a quite outstanding impressario.'

  Meanwhile, since it was by now almost dinner time, Fortunée invited Jolival to share it with herself and her new friend. She had a fondness for original characters and he had taken her fancy. In spite of the shadow thrown on Marianne's spirits by Jason's departure, the meal was a very cheerful one. Fortunée and Arcadius occupied themselves in thinking up a host of plans for their young friend, nearly all of which were centred on the theatre. Fortunée, like all Creoles, adored the theatre and music and her delight at finding out that Marianne was the possessor of an exceptional voice was almost child-like.

  'The Emperor must let her sing!' she cried, filling Jolival's glass up with champagne for the fifth time. 'If necessary, I shall tell him myself.'

  Marianne scarcely listened. It was as though all this did not concern her. She was still dazed by this sudden turn her life had taken. She was not yet used to the idea that a power quite out of the ordinary had taken charge of her life. Everyone was saying what she ought to do but surely she herself had some say in the matter. While the others talked, she was making her own decision.

  'I will sing,' she told herself fiercely. 'I will sing and he will have to let me! That is the one thing that would make it possible for me to live in his shadow without too much suffering. He has his glory – I shall have mine!'

  Late that afternoon, she was surprised when they received a visit from Talleyrand himself. Dressed with his usual dark elegance and leaning on his gold-headed cane, the prince bowed over Madame Hamelin's hand and then kissed Marianne on the forehead with a fatherly warmth that took her by surprise.

  'Nice to see you again, my child,' he said, for all the world as though they had parted the night before. 'The princess sends you her warmest regards and Madame de Périgord, who has been very anxious on your account, commands me to tell you how glad she is to know that you are safe and sound.'

  'My lord,' Marianne said in some confusion, 'your highness is too kind, I feared you might be offended—'

  'How? By seeing our lovely bird spread its wings and fly away into the sky to sing? But, my dear, it is what I have always wished. Why do you think I took you to – Monsieur Denis? I had foreseen, and am delighted by, everything that has happened, except of course the interlude at Chaillot! Let us keep your friendship, that is all we ask. And while I think of it, my dear friend,' he added turning to Fortunée, 'have your people take out the boxes which are in my carriage. The princess insisted that this child must have all her things at once.'

  Marianne's cheeks flushed with happiness. 'There is no end to the princess's goodness, my lord!' she exclaimed. 'Will your highness be so good as to convey to her my gratitude and also that I remain her servant as in the past?'

  'I will tell her. Did you know, my dear, that I had a letter from Cazimir this morning? He sends you a host of compliments.'

  'Could he not have sent them to me directly,' Fortunée said tartly, half jesting, half angry, 'or are the Dutch women keeping him so busy that he has no time to write to me?'

  'Believe me, he is far more occupied with money than with women.'

  Cazimir de Montrond, Talleyrand's closest friend, was also Fortunée's favourite of all her lovers. Attractive, witty, and as wicked as sin but a great lord to his fingertips, he was a born gambler with an inordinate love of money and had a finger in a host of financial pies, not all of which would have had the approval of the authorities. Fortunée adored this scapegrace who Talleyrand had nicknamed 'Hell's Infant Jesus', but, as a faithful subject of the Emperor, she had made no protest when he exiled her turbulent lover to Anvers on the grounds that virtue was impossible with him at court.

  'The truth is,' she explained to Marianne a little later when Talleyrand had departed after a brief visit, 'that poor Cazimir was unlucky. At the end of last year, there was a duel in the rue Cerutti. The fight took place at dawn in Queen Hortense's garden. Charles de Flahut and Augustue de Colbert crossed swords over her beaux yeux and Cazimir got drawn in because he lived near by. Napoleon could not take it out on Hortense or Flahaut and so he satisfied himself with sending Augustue de Colbert to get himself killed in Spain and despatching Montrond to Anvers with orders not to stir.'

  'Wasn't that rather harsh?'

  'I told you the Emperor was not easy. But I must admit that was not the whole of it. Before that, in the summer, that wretch Cazimir went to Cauterets where the Duchess of Abrantes was weeping because Metternich had left her and, so they say, helped to console her somewhat. On the whole, Napoleon acted wisely. And, in one way, he was doing Montrond a service because otherwise he might have been mixed up in the Abrantes scandal as well.'

  'What scandal?'

  'My dear, where have you been?'

  'In the quarries of Chaillot, as you know quite well.'

  'Oh, yes, of course! So you were! Well, you must know that last month, after Count Marescalchi's ball, Junot, who everyone knows deceives his wife quite shockingly, threw a frightful scene in the course of which he half killed her with a pair of scissors in a fit of jealousy. If Madame de Metternich had not intervened, I really think he would have killed her. The Emperor was furious. He sent Junot back to Spain and his wife with him, to force them to make it up. To my mind, he would have done as well to punish that cat Caroline as well!

  'Caroline?'

  'Her sister, Madame Murat, Grand Duchess of Berg and Queen of Naples for the last year and a half. A gorgeous, dimpled blonde, as pink and luscious as a bon-bon – and the greatest bitch ever born! It was she who told Junot about poor Laure d'Abrantes – when he had actually been her own lover!'

  This brief glimpse into the habits of the great ones of the court, made Marianne open her eyes wide, much to Fortunée's delight.

  'You had no idea such things went on, I daresay? But, while I am about it, let me give you some advice. Love the Emperor as much as you like, but take care with his noble family. Apart from his mother, the inaccessible Madame Laetitia, who remains as stiff-necked and Corsican as ever, and Lucien, who has chosen exile for love, the others have made themselves into a kind of nest of vipers, a collection of people as arrogant and greedy and as vain as peacocks and altogether, to my way of thinking, not fit to be with. Avoid them like the plague, for they will hate you as much as the Empero
r loves you.'

  Marianne took good note of her advice but she had no desire to come to blows with the imperial family, or even to be known to them. She wanted to love Napoleon in the shadows, without drawing attention to herself, because it was only away from the light and noise of the crowd that such a love as theirs could blossom fully.

  As the day wore on, her mood became more and more abstracted, so that she listened to Fortunée's gossip with only half an ear. Her eyes kept going back more frequently to the bronze gilt clock with its representation of the sleeping Psyche. Never had she been so glad to see night fall because the night would bring him back to her. A fever began to run in her veins when she thought of the hours of love ahead. Already, she had so much to tell him! And yet the hours seemed to go more and more slowly.

  Fortunée, having barred her doors to all her friends on the excuse of a headache, had yawned at least thirty times before ten o'clock sounded from the church of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette.[8] The last stroke had just died away when they heard the rumble of a carriage. It slowed down and entered the gates which the porter had been told to leave open, then stopped in the deliberately darkened courtyard. Marianne ran to the window with her heart beating wildly while Fortunée rose intending to withdraw to her own room. But she had no time. In an instant, Napoleon was there.

  'Don't run away, Madame,' he said as his hostess sank into a curtsey at the door of the salon. 'I have only a moment—'

  Flinging his hat on to a sofa, he caught Marianne into his arms and kissed her while she said protestingly:

  'What, only a moment?'

  'An Emperor cannot often do as he likes, mio dolce amore. I have to go back to the Tuileries. There are important despatches waiting for me and someone I must see, so I have not much time. But there were a number of things I had to tell you which would not wait. This first.'