Marianne m-1

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  The page vanished, with significant haste, to return a moment later and throw open the door to allow the entrance of a soldier so liberally plastered with mud and dust that it was impossible to see the colour of his uniform. The soldier advanced to the middle of the room and stood to attention, chin up, heels together, his shako on his arm. Marianne stared thunderstruck at a face fringed with a few days' growth of golden beard, a face she knew from the first moment, even before he fixed his eyes in a blank, military stare on the grey and gold silk covering the wall and spoke.

  'Sergeant-major Le Dru, with special despatches from his excellency the Duke of Dalmatia to his majesty the King Emperor. At your majesty's service!'

  He it was, the man who had made a woman of her and to whom she owed her first, disagreeable experience of love. He had not changed much in these past two months, despite the ravages of fatigue upon his face, and yet Marianne had the feeling that she was looking at a different man. How, in so short a space of time, had Surcouf's sailor become transformed into this stony-faced soldier, the messenger of a duke? On his green jacket she noted with surprise the brand new mark of the Legion d'Honneur. But Marianne had been long enough in France to realize the kind of magic which surrounded Napoleon. What might have seemed preposterous or absurd elsewhere was the daily bread of this strange country and the giant who ruled it. In no time at all, a ragged sailor out of an English prison hulk could become a hero of the army, galloping like a centaur from one end of Europe to the other.

  Napoleon, hands clasped lightly behind his back, walked slowly round the newcomer who, stiff with pride and awe, strove desperately to overcome his weakness under this august scrutiny. Marianne sat wondering how long it would be before Le Dru's glance fell on her and what would happen then. She knew the Breton's impulsive nature too well not to fear the worst. Who could tell how he would react on seeing her? Better to slip away quietly now and disarm Napoleon's probable wrath later.

  She rose, intending to make her way unobtrusively to a side door. As she did so, the Emperor stopped in front of Le Dru and put out a finger to lift the cross that glittered on his breast.

  'You are a brave lad, it seems. Where did you get this?'

  The soldier's set face flushed with pride.

  'At Ciudad Rodrigo, sire. From Marshal Ney in person.'

  'What for?'

  'For – a peccadillo, sire.'

  The Emperor's face lit briefly with his rare and wonderful smile. He put up his hand and tweaked the boy's ear. The young eyes filled with tears.

  'I like such peccadillos,' Napoleon said, 'and I like your modesty. What is your message, my friend?'

  Marianne had stayed where she was, held in spite of herself. After all, she thought, why should she run away? Her past was no secret from the Emperor now and even if Le Dru dared to attack her in his presence, he could not hurt her. Somewhere inside her, there was an irresistible curiosity, tinged perhaps with perversity, urging her to stay and watch this young man of whom at one time she had been so afraid, and towards whom she was no longer very sure what her feelings were. Quietly, she resumed her seat at the harp.

  Le Dru was feverishly pulling a large sealed package from inside his jacket. His colour had faded and now he looked to Marianne to be growing paler with every second, as though about to collapse. The spasm of pain that crossed his face as he held out the despatch told her all she needed to know. She found her voice at last, experiencing a sense of excitement in thus challenging the danger.

  'Sire,' she said tranquilly, 'this man can hardly stand. I am sure he must be wounded.'

  At the sound of her voice, Le Dru turned to look at her. Marianne saw with some amusement the erstwhile sailor's blue eyes widen with astonishment.

  'True, by thunder,' Napoleon began. 'Are you—'

  The sound of the man's fall cut short his words. Le Dru had only held himself upright by a supreme effort of will but the unexpected shock of finding himself gazing full at Marianne had been too much for his overstrained nerves, and the courier from Madrid had fainted clean away at the Emperor's feet.

  'Well, well,' commented his sovereign, 'if my dragoons take to swooning like green girls…'

  But even as he spoke he was on his knees ripping open the high collar of the green dolman to give the man air. Blood spread in a widening stain across his shirt near the shoulder.

  'You were right,' Napoleon said to Marianne, 'this man is wounded. Come and help me.'

  She had already fetched a crystal decanter from a side table and was pouring a little water on to her handkerchief. Kneeling beside the Emperor on the carpet she began bathing Le Dru's temples, but without effect.

  'He needs a cordial,' she said, 'and a doctor as well. Have we any brandy?'

  'We call it cognac in this country,' Napoleon retorted. 'As for the doctor – '

  He went quickly to the hearth and pulled the bell. The frightened page reappeared, his eyes growing rounder than ever with horror as he saw the man he had let in stretched unconscious on the floor.

  'A doctor, at once,' the Emperor commanded. 'Also a stretcher and two footmen to see this man put to bed in the soldiers' quarters.'

  'Send a wounded man out in the cold in this weather?' Marianne protested. 'Your majesty cannot be serious?'

  'You may be right, though my soldiers have tough hides, you know. Never mind. Have a room made ready for him here. Well, go on, hurry, imbecile! What are you waiting for?'

  Le Dru must have been in the last stages of exhaustion. He was still deeply unconscious when the palace doctor appeared, accompanied by the servants who were to carry him to bed.

  While the medical man made his brief examination, Marianne retired to an armchair and watched Napoleon break the seal on the despatches and cast a quick eye over them. She was disturbed to see him frown and look grim. The news must be bad. When he had finished reading, the Emperor crushed the thick sheet angrily in his fist.

  'Incompetents!' he muttered between his teeth. 'I am surrounded by incompetents! Could there not be one person in my whole family capable of making reasonable plans, or at least of carrying mine out with disinterested greatness!'

  Marianne said nothing. The words, she knew, were not addressed to her. For the moment, Napoleon had forgotten her, preoccupied as he was with the new problems raised by the despatch. He was talking to himself and to have risked a reply would inevitably have been to seek a rebuff. In any case the doctor was on his feet again.

  'The man may as well be put to bed, sire,' he said. 'I will be able to attend to him more readily there.'

  'See to it, then. But make sure he is fit to talk soon. I have several things to ask him.'

  While the servants, acting on the doctor's instructions, were getting the unconscious Le Dru on to the stretcher, Marianne approached the Emperor who, with the letter still in his hand, was clearly about to depart for his office.

  'Sire,' she said, 'have I your permission to go and inquire how the man does?'

  'Are you afraid he will not be well cared for?' Napoleon sounded half angry, half in jest. 'My medical men know their job, I promise you.'

  'It's not that. The reason I wish to learn how he goes on is because I know him.'

  'What, another? You are as bad as Talleyrand for being intimately acquainted with half Europe! Do you mind telling me how you come to know this fellow who is sent from Spain when you yourself came straight from England?'

  'I met him in England, on a stormy night in Plymouth Sound, on board the vessel belonging to Nicolas Mallerousse. He was escaping from the hulks. He had sailed under Surcouf and was with me when I was taken by the wreckers.'

  Napoleon frowned. Evidently the story did not altogether convince him.

  'I see,' he said sardonically. 'You are old comrades-in-arms! But what intrigues me is what your friend is doing in the dragoons? There is still fighting at sea and Surcouf needs men more than ever. And, I might add, his men are generally so devoted to him they would rather lose their right arms than lea
ve him. So what is he doing on land? Was he seasick?'

  Marianne began to wish she had not spoken. Napoleon's ironic tone boded no good and she even had a vague suspicion that he did not altogether believe her. But it was too late now to draw back. She could only go on to the end.

  'He was indeed devoted to Surcouf but he loved the Emperor more,' she began cautiously, wondering how she was going to explain the episode at the Compas d'Or without provoking a storm and, still more important, without finding herself obliged to go into the mortifying happenings in the barn. It had not occurred to her that he could ask so many questions and as she paused, searching for a way to go on, she was expecting every instant to hear a dry: 'That is no explanation,' or something equally forbidding.

  But to her surprise, the ominous crease vanished from the imperial brow, to be replaced by an indulgent smile.

  'There are some such,' Napoleon said complacently. 'Very well, my heart, go and visit your fellow-fugitive whenever you wish, you have my permission. The page on duty, young St Géran, will take you. But don't forget what time we sup. Until then, farewell.'

  A second later, to Marianne's intense relief, he was gone. She heard his quick tread fading down the corridor and could not repress a grateful sigh. It had been a near thing and she sank into a chair to recover. She was in no hurry to visit Le Dru. First, she needed time to think what she meant to say to him.

  She was certainly under no obligation to go and see a person she had no cause to remember with kindness. If she made no move he might even think when he recovered consciousness that he had been under a delusion and had dreamed her sudden appearance. But the idea no sooner presented itself than Marianne rejected it. Le Dru might be a superstitious Breton, but he would hardly believe in hallucinations of that order. At least he would ask the doctor whether the woman in the green dress he had seen with the Emperor had been dream or reality. And how could she be sure that once he had learned the truth he would not commit some folly in order to see her again? As a result of which Marianne would undoubtedly find herself compelled to furnish explanations infinitely more detailed than those she had already provided… No, her request to visit the injured man had been an inspiration. In that way she had every hope of doing away with misunderstandings and putting matters to rights with him without the Emperor suspecting anything.

  Her mind made up, Marianne went to her room to fetch a large cashmere shawl in a mixture of autumnal shades from dark green to palest gold, and with this draped round her shoulders over the low-cut gown, she went in search of young St Géran to ask him to take her to the bedside of the wounded man.

  The page was killing time out in the gallery, staring out with a disillusioned air at the sentries marching to and fro in the snow outside with their bearskin hats pulled well down to their eyebrows. He welcomed Marianne with eagerness.

  'Do you know where the injured courier was taken?' she asked him. 'The Emperor wishes me to inquire how he does and would have you lead me to him.'

  'It will be an honour, madame! He has been put in one of the small rooms upstairs.'

  The boy was clearly delighted at the chance and Marianne suppressed a smile as she caught the admiration in his gaze. He could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen, but even at that age boys know beauty when they see it and Henri de St Géran had instantly constituted himself her slave. With the utmost dignity he went before her up the staircase and flung open the door of one of the rooms, then stood back for her to enter, inquiring politely if she wished him to wait for her.

  'No, thank you. And I should prefer not to be disturbed.'

  'As you wish, madame.'

  With a lordly gesture he beckoned to the woman who sat by the bed and went out with her, closing the door behind him. Marianne was left alone with the wounded man. A deep silence reigned in the room and she hesitated a trifle nervously before going forward.

  The curtains, patterned with exotic flowers, had been drawn against the early dark outside and the room was unlighted except for the glow of the fire in the hearth and the nightlight burning on a table by the bed.

  The bed was placed in such a way that its occupant was unable to see the door and Marianne moved forward softly in case he should be asleep. It would scarcely be wondered at if he were after his long ride, and with his wound and the sedatives which the doctor must have given him. But then she heard a very human sound: someone sniffing hard, like a person who had been crying.

  Without more hesitation, Marianne stepped up to the bed and into the pool of light thrown by the nightlight. Once there she saw that the man who had once sailed with Surcouf and was now a soldier of Napoleon was indeed crying like a baby.

  At the sight of Marianne, however, Jean Le Dru stopped short and stared at her, without surprise this time but with sudden anger.

  'What do you want?' he asked abruptly.

  'To know how you feel – and also, perhaps, a little how we stand, you and I. Don't you think it might be time you confessed at last that you were wrong about me? And that we were both serving the same cause, you knowingly, I without yet being aware of it?'

  She spoke with great gentleness, firstly because she was dealing with an injured and exhausted man, and secondly because she genuinely wished to make an end of the tragic misunderstanding which had developed between them as a result of the mischievous words of Morvan's vindictive mistress, Gwen. But the boy was determined to regard her as an enemy and no amount of sweetness in her voice could have any effect on him. He gave a short, bitter laugh.

  'The same cause? When we know where you came from?'

  Marianne shrugged, hugging the big, soft shawl more closely round her.

  'When will you make up your mind to understand? Or are you really too stupid to accept the truth? When we met, I was escaping from the English police and you from the hulks. We were equal then. I had nothing left but my life and I did my best to keep that.'

  'You seem to me to have succeeded admirably. When I asked just now who was the woman in the green dress I saw with the Emperor, no one could tell me your name but they said you were his latest love and that you were living here in this palace with him – and if I wept just now, it was for rage and helplessness because I was powerless to save him from you!'

  Marianne had heard that Bretons were accounted unusually obstinate but she would never have believed they could be so to this extent. She sighed resignedly and sat down on the bottom of the bed.

  'Suppose we have a little talk – if you are not too feverish.'

  'I have not yet lost my reason.'

  'Then try to use it. Let us take matters up from where we left off. When you denounced me and had me thrown into prison you were convinced, if I remember rightly, that I was an English spy sent here especially to bring about the downfall of the corsair, Robert Surcouf. Is that correct?'

  'Correct,' Le Dru admitted unwillingly.

  'I was therefore thrown into prison, only to be released through the intervention of that very Surcouf who did not seem to appreciate your part in the affair.'

  'He sent me away,' the Breton said sourly. 'Sent me packing just like a felon, me, one of his best seamen who loved him more than anything in the world, except the Emperor, of course.'

  'And I realize that is something you find hard to forgive me for. But afterwards, I had every chance to do what I liked with Surcouf. With you out of the way, I could carry out my supposed purpose at leisure?'

  'Yes.'

  'Are you trying to tell me that anything untoward has happened to the man you admire so much? I have not seen the baron since but I do know that he is at present at St Malo and threatened by no worse dangers than those he ordinarily runs at sea. So what do you think happened? Did I betray my masters and abandon my mission? Or will you finally admit that I was never a spy except in your own imagination?'

  'The fact that you are here with the Emperor is the best answer to that. Beside him, even Surcouf is a poor prize! You'd be a fool to stick to the first when you could have
the second!'

  Marianne exclaimed angrily. She had a sudden, strong desire to slap the stubborn face which looked at her with such implacable sternness from the shadow of the bed curtains, but she controlled herself with an effort and managed to ask in a tone of the utmost detachment:

  'And what, according to you, am I supposed to be doing with him? Am I to persuade him to abandon his empire and his subjects and go with me to England to live in perfect love so that, no doubt, I can hand him over duly bound and gagged to the British government? Or do you expect me to open the palace gates one dark night and let in a band of secret conspirators? Unless, of course I am hiding a dagger under my clothes—'

  Sarcasm was, to all appearances, lost on Jean Le Dru. He was a Breton, solemn, obstinate and utterly without imagination. He answered roughly:

  'I don't know. But I daresay you are quite capable of any of those.'

  'Simply because I failed to return the sentiments you were pleased to feel for me,' Marianne finished for him calmly. 'It has not occurred to you that I too could love the Emperor as much or even more than you do, that I could be his in soul as much as in body?'

  Jean Le Dru said nothing but his eyes closed for a second and Marianne could have sworn that a fresh tear slid furtively from beneath his lid.

  'And yet, suppose it were so?' she persisted gently. 'Don't you think, you who serve him with such blind devotion, that he has charm and glory enough to make a woman mad about him? For that is what I am. Believe me or believe me not, Jean Le Dru, but I love Napoleon as no one, except perhaps the Empress Josephine, has ever loved him. And, let me tell you, you are wrong once again if you think me at the peak of happiness. There is a poison in my joy. My days here can have no future to them because the future belongs to the one who comes here to marry him, the Austrian stranger who will take from me – and from you too, perhaps, a little of his heart! And you can never know how wretched I am!'