The carriage passed through tall gates and entered what seemed to be a park. They drove along a paved avenue and drew up at last before a lighted entrance. Still half dazed, Marianne caught a glimpse of the pink marble columns of a vast peristyle which had been enclosed with glass windows,[9] the magnificent extent of a large, low palace surmounted by a marble balustrade, a few splendid rooms, in the best Empire style, through which she was led by a servant in a powdered wig, carrying a heavy branched candlestick. Duroc had vanished as soon as they were inside, without her even noticing. A door opened, revealing a room decorated in beige satin and deep mauve velvet. And Marianne found herself suddenly face to face with Napoleon.
He was sitting in a claw-footed armchair by the fire, watching her with a teasing smile, evidently enjoying her bewilderment as she struggled vainly to get her thoughts into some kind of order. She had a gloomy feeling that she must be going mad. She felt deathly tired, her body ached and her legs felt like jelly. It did not occur to her to curtsey, or make the least polite acknowledgment of his presence. She simply leaned back against the door post.
'I wish I understood—' she murmured.
'What? How I could be here before you? It's quite simple. Duroc had orders to take you a long way round before reaching the Trianon.'
'No – it's you I wish I understood. What, exactly, do you want of me?'
He stood up at last and came towards her and tried to take her in his arms but she resisted. Far from being angry now, he merely smiled briefly.
'A test, Marianne, a simple test. I wanted to know just what kind of woman you were. Remember, I hardly know you. You fell from the skies one night like a beautiful meteor, but you could have been any number of things: a clever adventuress, a courtesan, an agent of the princes, an unusually devoted friend of our dear Talleyrand – and you must admit the last was the most likely. Hence this test – I had to know just what you were.'
'A test that could have been the death of me—' Marianne murmured, still too shaken to feel in the least comforted.
Even so, Duroc's words were gradually coming back to her. She realized that they had made their way into her mind and that now she saw this extraordinary man with new eyes and, more important, according to his true dimensions.
'You are angry with me, aren't you? But that will pass. You must understand that I have the right to know who it is I love.'
'Because – you love me?'
'You don't doubt it for a moment,' he said softly. 'As for me, you can't imagine how many women they try to get into my bed, for their own reasons. Everyone around me is trying to provide me with a mistress so as to have some kind of influence over me. Even my family! Especially my family and especially since I have been obliged to part from the Empress. Only a few weeks ago, my sister Pauline presented me with one of her ladies-in-waiting, a certain Madame de Mathis, a charming girl—'
'And – without success?'
He could not help laughing at that and the odd thing was that it was his laughter, so young and gay, that melted Marianne's resentment more surely than any amount of explanation.
'Oh,' he admitted, 'to be sure, to begin with. But I did not know you then. Now everything is different.'
Very gently, he laid his hands on Marianne's shoulders and drew her to him. This time, she let him do it, though with still a faint trace of rigidity. She was trying, with all her strength, to understand, to catch hold of this quick incisive mind which she admired, even while it frightened her. She knew well enough now that she had not only not stopped loving him but that, on the contrary, her love had emerged from this nightmare stronger than ever. But he had hurt her so! She felt as though she were slowly coming to life again after a long illness. She tried to smile.
'And so,' she murmured, 'have I passed my examination?'
He tightened his arms around her till they hurt.
'Admirably. You would make a worthy Corsican! Oh no, you have not the soul of a slave, you proud little aristocrat! You are not servile or self-seeking, but clean, open and upright. If you had been what at one moment I feared, you would have given in on all points, but you did not give an inch. And yet – you could not have guessed how I should react. You do not know me either. But I love you, Marianne, you can be sure of that, for all these and many other reasons.'
'Not just my voice and my person?'
'Idiot!'
Then, at last, she gave in. Suddenly, her nerve broke. Shuddering, she pressed herself against him and with her head on his shoulder she began to cry in great tearing sobs, like a little girl who has been punished and forgiven. The tears eased her and tenderly, with patience, Napoleon waited until she should be calm again, holding her with most brotherly gentleness. Still cradling her close, he led her over to a small sofa and sat her down. When her tears had died away a little, he began murmuring in Italian, the fond words she had loved so much that first time. Little by little, his kisses and caresses calmed her. After a while, she freed herself from the arms that held her and sat up, wiping her eyes with Duroc's handkerchief which he had put into her hand earlier.
'Forgive me,' she said unsteadily. 'I am very stupid—'
'Perhaps, if you really think so – but you are so lovely not even tears can make you ugly.'
He went over to a large silver-gilt wine cooler standing on a small table with some clear glasses and a small cold supper, took out a bottle of champagne and filled two glasses. Then he brought one to Marianne.
'Now, we must set the seal of our reconciliation. We will begin again from the beginning. Only this time, we know who we are and why we love one another. Drink, mio dolce amore, to our happiness.'
They drank, gazing into one another's eyes, and then Marianne let her head fall on to the back of the sofa with a little sigh. For the first time, she looked around her at the exquisite fabrics, the gilt bronze and satinwood furnishings, all these strange and magnificent surroundings. What had he told her a moment ago? That this was the Trianon?
'Why here?' she asked. 'Why this journey, all this comedy?'
'There too I have an excellent reason. I am going to give myself a little holiday – comparatively speaking. I remain here a week – and I am keeping you with me.'
'A week?'
'Yes. Do you think it's too long? Don't worry, you will have plenty of time afterwards for your audition with the Director of the Opéra. You are engaged in advance. Rehearsals begin on your return. As for your house—'
He paused and Marianne held her breath, not daring to interrupt. What was he going to say? Surely their stupid argument was not going to begin all over again after all? lie looked at her, smiling and then, dropping a light kiss on the fingertips he had taken in his own, he finished calmly:
'As for your house, Percier and Fontaine do not need you to carry out their work. Don't worry, they have orders to act strictly in accordance with your wishes. Does that make you happy?'
For answer, she offered her lips and dared for the first time to say the words.
'I love you.'
'You've taken your time about saying it—' he observed between kisses.
***
Much later in the night, a log falling in the fire woke Marianne from a light doze. Lifting herself up on the pillows, she flung back the heavy mass of hair out of her eyes and leaned on her elbow to look at her lover as he slept. He had gone into sleep in an instant after their lovemaking, and now he lay across the bed as naked as a Greek warrior on the field of battle… For the first time, Marianne was struck by the perfection of his body.
Stretched out like that, he looked taller than he really was.[10] The firm muscles showed through the smooth, ivory-coloured skin in the manner of some ancient marble. Napoleon's chest and shoulders were broad, almost hairless, and his arms and legs modelled on the strictest canons. He had excellent hands and took the greatest care of them, as of all his person. Marianne laid her face softly against his shoulder, stroking it with her cheek and breathing in the faint smell of eau-de-Cologne and S
panish jasmin, softly taking care not to wake him.
A great Venetian mirror over the fireplace gave her back their two reflections. She saw herself, pink in the soft candle-light, half shrouded in the gleaming wave of her hair and was pleased with what she saw. It made her glad and triumphant because if she was beautiful tonight it was for him, and because of him. Happiness had given her a glow which she had never had before, and which filled her at the same time with joy and humbleness. There, in that quiet room that still throbbed to their caresses, Marianne offered to the man she loved a more total and absolute submission than any he had asked of her earlier, a submission which she herself perhaps would deny him when daylight came again.
'I'll give you all the love you want,' she whispered softly, 'I'll love you with all my heart, and all my strength – but I will always speak the truth to you. You can ask anything of me, my love, any suffering and sacrifice, anything except lies and servility—'
The fire in the hearth was almost dead. The room which had been warm a moment before was growing chilly. Marianne got up quickly, and opening the white and gold rail that enclosed the bed, ran on bare feet to the hearth and stirred up the glowing embers. Then, piling on a few more logs, she waited for them to catch and burn up again.
She glanced at her naked image in the mirror and smiled to think of the picture she would present should any of the four men who, according to etiquette, slept in the ante-chamber dare to open the door.[11]
Faithful Constant also slept in a little room close by, ever ready to answer a ring at the bell, and then there was the impressive Rustan, barring the door with his great, sleepy body.
Marianne stood on tiptoe and leaned forward to examine the new woman she had become. It was something to be the mistress of an emperor! No doubt, the servants and officials, like the Grand Marshal of the Palace, would treat her with the greatest respect during her brief stay here, a stay which might well be unique because the new Empress—
She thrust back the unpleasant thought as hard as she could. She had suffered enough for one night. And now, she was going to have him all to herself for a whole week. In a way, she would be Empress herself and she meant to extract every last ounce of happiness from those few days. She did not mean to waste a single second.
She walked with her light step back to the bed and pulled up the covers softly over the sleeping man. Then with infinite caution, she slipped in beside him, and cuddled up close to him, drawing his warmth into her own shivering body. He turned in sleep and put his arm around her, murmuring something indistinct. With a happy sigh she pressed close against his chest and fell asleep, satisfied with the pact she had concluded with herself and with the sleeping master of Europe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
So Brief a Happiness
The Grand Trianon, a huge, shimmering, translucent soap bubble of crystal and rose-coloured marble set amongst immemorial trees, unreal and splendid as a dream ship anchored to the shores of heaven, was covered in the early hours of the morning by a soft silent mantle of snow. Far more than the remote splendours of the Tuileries or the rather sophisticated charm of le Butard, it came to stand in Marianne's mind first as an ideal and then, afterwards, as the symbol of paradise lost.
She very soon discovered, however, that Napoleon had his own peculiar ideas of what he called a holiday. When the first ray of cold, wintry sunshine struck through the windows of the Imperial bedchamber, which faced East, like all the private rooms the Emperor had set aside for his own use in the Palace, she found that she was alone in the big bed and that Napoleon was nowhere to be seen. The fire was blazing cheerfully in the hearth, and a frothy lace wrapper lay over the back of a chair but there was no-one else in the room.
Alarmed in case Constant or some other servant should come in, Marianne hastily slipped on the night-gown she had left unused the night before. It was the property of the Emperor's sister, Pauline Borghese, who frequently resided at the nearby Petit Trianon. Next, she put on the wrapper, thrust her feet into a pair of pink velvet slippers and throwing back the heavy black masses of her hair, ran to the window like a happy child. As if in her honour, the park was dressed in an immaculate white splendour, enfolding the Palace within a casket of silence. It was as if heaven had decided to cut off the Trianon from the rest of the world and halt the vast machine of Empire at the gilded gates of the park.
'All mine!' She thought joyfully. 'I am going to have him all to myself for a week.'
Thinking that he might be at his toilet, she turned and made quickly for the adjoining dressing room. Just then Constant came out, calm and smiling as ever, and bowed respectfully.
'May I assist mademoiselle?'
'Where is the Emperor? Is he already dressing?'
Constant smiled and, taking a large enamelled watch from his waistcoat pocket, studied it gravely.
'It is nearly nine o'clock, mademoiselle. The Emperor has been at work for more than an hour.'
'At work? But I thought'
'That he was here for a rest? That is so indeed, but mademoiselle is not yet familiar with the Emperor's idea of a rest. It means simply that he will work a little less. Has mademoiselle never heard his favourite description of himself: "I was born and made for work—"?'
'No,' Marianne said, feeling somewhat disconcerted. 'But then, what shall I do meanwhile?'
'Breakfast is served at ten o'clock. Mademoiselle will have ample time to dress. Afterwards, the Emperor is accustomed to set aside some time for what he calls "recreation". Here he very often takes a walk. After that, he returns to his desk again until six o'clock, when he will dine and then spend the evening in a variety of ways.'
'Good God!' Marianne said weakly. 'How dreadful!'
'It is, indeed, rather taxing. But the Emperor may relax his rule somewhat in honour of mademoiselle. I should add that on Tuesday and Fridays, his majesty generally presides over his Council of State – but this is Wednesday and, by God's grace, the Trianon!'
'And it has been snowing and Paris is a long way away!' Marianne cried so impetuously that the faithful valet's eyes twinkled. 'I hope the Council of State will stay where it is until next Friday.'
'We may always hope. But at all events, mademoiselle need have no anxiety. The Emperor will not allow her to be bored or disappointed with her stay.'
In fact, for a creature like Marianne, bubbling over with youth and vitality, it was wonderful, tyrannous, absurd, agonizing and incredibly exciting all at once. She was discovering Napoleon as he really was and also that daily life with him, even when hemmed in by protocol and etiquette, was a continual adventure. The very first meal she had alone with him was a startling revelation.
She had been slightly puzzled when, as he opened the door for her, Constant had murmured in her ear:
'Mademoiselle would be advised to waste no time at the table in contemplating his majesty, especially if mademoiselle should be at all hungry, or she may be in some danger of rising from the table without having swallowed a morsel.'
But, once seated facing the Emperor across the large mahogany table, she forgot the warning. The table was laid with an exquisite blue Sevres breakfast service and a great deal of cut glass, which went very well with the cutlery and the silver-gilt epergne. Napoleon attacked his food as though it were an English redoubt, but his eating habits were so eccentric that Marianne gazed at him in astonishment. He began with the cheese, swallowing a large slice of Brie, then, after selecting and disposing of a tiubele milanaise, proceeded rapidly to an almond cream before finishing up by gnawing at a wing of chicken Marengo. All that in the space of ten minutes, to the accompaniment of two glasses of Chambertin, and a shower of splashes and stains inseparable from such speed. Marianne, having practically fainted with horror at seeing him attack his chicken, had just decided that meals at the French court must be taken backwards, as in China, and was beginning at random on the almond cream, when Napoleon wiped his lips, threw his napkin down on the table, and exclaimed:
'What, not
finished yet? You are a slow coach. Come along, hurry up, coffee will be here in a moment.'
Marianne was obliged to follow him with a sinking heart while Dumas, the butler, long accustomed to the vagaries of the Imperial digestion, did his best to hide a smile. The coffee, boiling hot and strong, went down Marianne's throat like a ball of fire, but her heroism earned her a beaming smile from Napoleon.
'Bravo!' he said, slipping his arm into hers. 'I too like my coffee very hot! Now go and fetch a coat and we'll go out. We must take advantage of this weather.'
In the bedroom she found Constant waiting imperturbably with a coat lined with miniver, and a hat and muff of the same fur, also borrowed from the wardrobe of the Princess Borghese, as well as a pair of pattens for the snow. As he helped her into the warm coat, Constant murmured softly:
'I did warn mademoiselle. But don't worry, when the Emperor returns to his desk I will see that a substantial collation is served to mademoiselle in here. Otherwise, since dinner will be the same as breakfast, mademoiselle would be in some danger of death by starvation.'
'And is it always like this?' Marianne sighed, calling to mind, with a good deal of admiration, the gracious figure of Josephine who had lived this life for years on end. Then as she slipped her hands into her muff, she added in a different tone: 'Tell me, Constant, what would the Emperor's sister say if she knew I was wearing her clothes?'
'Nothing at all. Her highness would be in no way disturbed. She has so many dresses, coats and garments of all descriptions that she scarcely knows what belongs to her. The Emperor, and with some reason, has nicknamed her Our Lady of Frippery. Mademoiselle may see for herself! But hurry now, the Emperor does not like to be kept waiting.'
Marianne ran to meet Napoleon, thinking that a faithful servant was indeed a blessing of the gods. She was duly grateful for the help, at once friendly and discreet, which she received from the imperial valet. But for him, God alone knew how many mistakes she might have made!
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