Marianne m-1

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  Le Dru spoke slowly, as though speech were infinitely painful to him.

  'You love him – so much?' Then he added, as if to himself: 'Of course! How could it be otherwise! Even if you were the lowest of the low, you could not help it! I know he casts his spell on women almost as readily as he dominates men. No woman has been able to betray him yet and why should you be the first? No one can help but love him…'

  'And yet, I know those who hate him, though it is true that they are men…' She was silent for a moment, allowing the Breton to think his own thoughts. She knew, all her quick woman's intuition told her, that she was gaining ground and that his doubts were gradually lessening. After a few seconds, she stretched out her hand and laid it on the boy's hot, feverish one.

  'Since we both love and serve the same master, can we truly not be friends, Jean Le Dru?'

  'Friends? You and I?' he said slowly, as though striving to weigh the words he uttered. Then, with sudden anger: 'No! It cannot be!'

  'Why not?'

  'Because—' A pause, followed by an explosion. 'Because you are you. And because there has been that between us which I cannot forget! And yet, God knows I have done my best! When I entered the army, I knew it was for Spain but I was glad to go because it was a long way off and perhaps I might not think of you when I was there. But you would not let me go, not for all the distance I travelled, not for the battles, the sun and the snow, the blood and all the horrors that I saw! You can have no idea what it is like, those frozen sierras where nothing seems to live, where one is cold and hungry and yet where death is hidden behind every rock, in every hollow – and such a death!'

  Jean had forgotten Marianne. His eyes were wide open as if on a present terror. Marianne held her breath and when she spoke it was very gently, so as not to break in too suddenly on the tragic scenes she sensed were in his vision.

  'Was it – so very dreadful?'

  'Worse than that. The men there are savages! And worse than savages. I have seen savages in my seafaring days and none of them had faces so twisted with hatred and hideous cruelty. But these – these olive-skinned devils can make our poor fellows suffer endless tortures before they let them die. They are worse than animals! Woe betide any isolated detachments or any stragglers! They'll soon be carried off into some barn or other lonely spot by a band of leering demons, as often as not led by a priest waving a crucifix, and tortured cruelly. They even mutilate the wounded and not even dead men can be left in peace without their corpses being treated to fearful indignities. We found them all along the road, some half burned, others with their limbs lopped off, yet others nailed to trees or hung up by their feet, their eyes and nails torn out…'

  Marianne shrank with horror and put her hands before her eyes.

  'For pity's sake – no more!' she cried. 'Don't say such things!'

  He started at her cry and turned to look at her in vast surprise.

  'Why not? They talk of us in drawing-rooms as barbarians. They say we burn villages and shoot the Spanish guerrilleros, but how can any man not give way to fury after seeing such sights? All we want is to give them back a taste of what they have done themselves, make them pay – for all that.' His voice changed suddenly as he added, quite calmly, as though making a simple statement of fact: 'There have been times in that hell when I have thought I was going mad – yet even then, I never managed to forget you. I think I even accepted it all because of you.'

  'Because of me?'

  'Yes, as if it were a price I had to pay.' And suddenly he turned on Marianne a pair of eyes so blue and innocent that she almost gasped. 'I know that you are far from me by birth, that you are an aristocrat, but all that counts for very little in the Emperor's armies, because there are ways of lessening the distance. Men whose fathers were innkeepers or blacksmiths have been known to rise to high rank, earn pensions and titles and marry duchesses. And however much I might pretend I had gone there to forget you, the truth was that I was hoping to become someone – someone who could address you as an equal. But now, it is all up with that – all up with everything! What can I do to compete with the Emperor? I have not even the right to be jealous of him, while as for bearing him a grudge – that I could never do.'

  He turned on his side abruptly, and hid his face in his folded arm. Marianne found herself gazing in perplexity at the shirt covering one thin bony shoulder and a mop of tousled fair hair.

  For a second she was unable to speak. The boy's naive and touching confession that he had done his best to hate her and only succeeded in loving her the more, and had undergone the most frightful dangers in the vague hope of one day winning her, wrung her heart. She suddenly wanted very much to be done once and for all with all misunderstandings and get back to the comradeship they had shared on board Black Fish's boat, when they were no more than escaped prisoner and fugitive. She realized that those were the only moments which had really mattered to her and that this odd, rough, unsophisticated boy was dearer to her than she knew.

  As she bent over him, she heard him muttering:

  'I cannot fight my Emperor – all I can do is go back there, when I am better, and hope that this time it will make an end of me.'

  Tears sprang to her eyes and she put out her hand and began gently, very gently to stroke the roughened hair.

  'Jean,' she said softly, 'please, don't cry! I do not wish to cause you such unhappiness. I can't bear to see you so distressed.'

  'There's nothing you can do about it, is there?' he answered in a muffled voice. 'It isn't really your fault that I fell in love with you … and not your fault at all if you love the Emperor… if anyone's to blame it is myself.' He looked up suddenly and his blue, tear-drenched eyes fastened on Marianne's. 'It is true that you do love him, isn't it? That, at least, was no lie?'

  'It is true – I swear it on my mother's memory and it is true that I am very nearly as wretched as you are yourself and you would do wrong to be jealous of him. I may not have the right to love him for much longer. And so – I wish we could be friends now, you and I.'

  Jean sat up suddenly and, taking Marianne's two hands in his, drew her down to sit beside him on the bed. He was smiling a little wistfully but his anger had gone.

  'Friends? You are sorry for me, is that it?'

  'No. It is not pity. It is something else, something deeper and warmer than that. I have met many people since I saw you last, but very few have made me want their friendship. But I do want yours. I – I think I am fond of you.'

  'In spite of everything that happened between us?'

  Before Marianne could answer, a harsh voice spoke from behind the curtains close to her ear.

  'And I should like to know precisely what it was that did happen between you.'

  At the sudden appearance of Napoleon, Jean Le Dru gave a cry of alarm but strangely enough, Marianne showed no sign of shock. She stood up quickly, hugging her shawl more closely around her, and folded her arms.

  'Sire,' she said boldly, 'I have learned to my cost, on more than one occasion, that listeners hear nothing to their advantage and in general miss the real sense of what they over-hear.'

  'By God, madame,' the Emperor said in a voice of thunder, 'are you accusing me of listening at keyholes?'

  Marianne curtseyed, smiling. This was in fact precisely what she meant, but he must be made to admit it without an outburst of wrath for which the injured man might suffer.

  'Not at all, sire. I merely wished your majesty to know that if you desire any further information as to my past dealings with Jean Le Dru I shall be happy to supply it myself, later on. It would be unkind to question one so truly devoted to his Emperor, and who has suffered so much in his service. I cannot think your majesty has come here with that in view.'

  'I have not. I desire to ask this man some questions…'

  The curt voice left no doubt of his intentions. Marianne sank into a deep, respectful curtsey and with a smile and a pleasant word of farewell to Jean Le Dru, left the room.

  Back in
her own apartment, she had little time to prepare herself for the storm she guessed was coming. This time she would not escape close questioning. She would have to tell him everything, except the episode in the barn which nothing on earth would force her to confess. And this not for her own sake alone. She was herself too much in the grip of jealousy not to feel strongly tempted to tell Napoleon frankly that Jean Le Dru had been her first lover. But there would be no enjoyment for anyone but herself in arousing the imperial jealousy and poor Le Dru would very likely have to bear the consequences. Moreover, she was under no obligation to mention an amorous incident which she only wished to forget. It was enough – but Marianne's reflections were interrupted at this point by the Emperor's return.

  At first Napoleon merely threw her a glance loaded with suspicion and began striding nervously up and down the room, his hands clasped behind his back. Marianne forced herself to keep calm, and going to a chaise-longue near the fire reclined upon it in a graceful posture, arranging the shimmering folds of her dress becomingly about her ankles. Above all, she must not appear ill at ease, must not let him see the small, nagging fear within her or the unnerving effect his anger always had on her. Any moment now, he would come to a halt in front of her and fire his first question…

  Almost before the thought was formulated, he was there, saying in a harsh voice:

  'I imagine you are now ready to explain, madame?'

  The formal address made Marianne's heart contract. No hint of softness or affection showed in the marble severity of his face – no trace of anger, either, which was infinitely more disturbing. Even so, she managed to conjure up a gentle smile.

  'I thought I had already told the Emperor the circumstances of my meeting with Jean Le Dru?'

  'Indeed. But your confidences did not extend to the most intriguing parts of what – er – happened between you. And it is just this which interests me.'

  'And yet it is hardly worth it. It is a pathetic tale, the tale of a boy in unusual and tragic circumstances falling in love with a girl who could not return his feelings. Out of pique, perhaps, he preferred to listen to certain slanderous stories presenting her as the irreconcilable enemy of his country and of all he held most dear. The misunderstanding grew to such an extent that the time came when he denounced her as an agent of the princes and an émigrée returned to France illegally. That is more or less the whole of what happened between Jean Le Dru and myself.'

  'I do not care for "more or less"! What else?'

  'Nothing, except that his love changed to hatred because Surcouf, the man he worshipped most next to yourself, dismissed him for what he had done. He entered the army, was sent to Spain – and your majesty knows the rest.'

  Napoleon gave a short laugh and resumed his walking up and down, although more slowly now.

  'From what I saw, not an easy tale to believe! I'll take my oath that had I not come in, the fellow would have taken you in his arms. I'd like to know then what faddle you'd have told me.'

  Stung by the contempt in his voice, Marianne rose, white-faced. Her green eyes met the Emperor's, flashing a greater defiance than she knew.

  'Your majesty is in error,' she retorted proudly. 'Jean Le Dru would not have taken me in his arms. It was I who would have taken him in mine!'

  The ivory mask had grown so deathly pale that Marianne found herself exulting wickedly in her power to hurt him. Disregarding the menacing gesture he made, she stood her ground as the Emperor bore down on her, eyeing her relentlessly. Nor did she flinch when Napoleon caught her wrists in a grip of steel.

  'Per bacco!' he swore. 'Do you dare—?'

  'Why not? You asked for the truth, sire, and I have told it you. I was about to take him in my arms, as one would do to anyone one wished to comfort, like a mother with a child—'

  'Cease this farce! Why should you comfort him?'

  'For a bitter grief – the grief of a man who finds his love again only to see her in love with another, and worse than that, with the one man it is forbidden him to hate, because he worships him! Can you dare say that does not merit some comfort?'

  'He has done you nothing but harm and yet you could feel such compassion for him?'

  'He harmed me, yes, but I think that I did worse to him unwittingly. I want to forget the wrongs that lay between us and remember only what we suffered together and that Jean Le Dru saved my life, and more than that, when I was washed up from the sea into the hands of the wreckers.'

  Napoleon was silent. Marianne could see his taut face close to hers. His fingers bruised her wrists until the pain brought tears into her eyes. He was breathing hard and she was conscious of the hot breath on her eyeballs.

  'Swear to me,' he rasped into her face, 'swear to me that he has never been your lover…'

  The moment she dreaded had come and Marianne almost swooned with the anguish of it. She could not lie and yet she had to lie to him, to the man she loved more than all else. If she refused him the oath he demanded he would banish her without mercy. Within the space of a few minutes she would have left the Trianon, banished like a slave who had ceased to please, for she knew that he would give no quarter. Already he was growing impatient, was shaking her roughly.

  'Swear, I tell you! Swear, or get out!'

  No, that she could not take. They could not ask her to tear out her own heart. Mentally praying for forgiveness, she closed her eyes and with a little moan—

  'I swear,' she said. 'He has never been my lover…'

  'That is not enough. Swear by the great love you say you bear me!'

  The pain of her wrists made her cry out.

  'For pity's sake! You're hurting me!'

  'Never mind. I want the truth—'

  'I swear, swear there was never anything between us – I swear it by the love I bear you!'

  'Take care! If you are lying, our love will not endure…'

  'I am not lying!' she cried in terror. 'I love only you… and I have never loved that boy. I feel nothing for him but pity – and a little kindness.'

  Only then did the terrible fingers relax their hold.

  'Good,' the Emperor merely said. He took a deep breath. 'Remember you have sworn.'

  Superstitious, like all Corsicans, he attached an almost fanatical importance to oaths and feared the vengeance of fate on perjury. But the ordeal had been too much for Marianne. Once the cruel hands no longer supported her, she fell to the ground, convulsed with sobs. She was broken by the fright she had endured and also by shame that was already overwhelming her for her perjured oath.

  But she had been forced to do it, as much for Napoleon himself as for the wretched Le Dru.

  For an instant longer, the Emperor remained motionless, as though petrified, listening perhaps to the chaotic pounding of his own heart as it slowly returned to normal. The hand he brushed across his forehead was trembling slightly. Then, suddenly, he seemed to become aware of the desperate weeping that filled the room. He looked down and saw the girl huddled at his feet in heartbroken tears, and at the pitiful sight the demon jealousy relaxed its grip at last. Kneeling swiftly, he put his arms around her and gently raised the tear-stained face to his and began covering it with kisses.

  'Forgive me – I am a brute but I cannot bear the thought of another man touching you. Don't cry now, mio dolce amore – It's all over now. I believe you—'

  'T-truly?' she sobbed. 'Oh, you must believe me – or the grief of it would kill me. I couldn't bear it.'

  He laughed suddenly, the young, lighthearted laughter that sometimes followed his worst rages.

  'I will only let you die of love. Come, we must wipe out all this.'

  He helped her to her feet and holding her close against him led her softly to the bed. Marianne went with him, scarcely conscious. But he was right, only love could restore them to what they had been before the arrival of the courier from Madrid. She felt the silk counterpane beneath her shoulders and closed her eyes with a sigh.

  Some while later, as Marianne emerged from her happy
trance, she saw Napoleon leaning on his elbow gazing earnestly at the great purple bruise that marked one of her wrists. Thinking that she could guess his thoughts, she tried to draw her hand away but he held it fast and laid his lips to the place. She expected some word of regret but all he said was:

  'Promise me you will not try to see that boy again.'

  'What! Are you still afraid—'

  'Not in the least! But I should prefer you not to see him. Love is too strong.'

  She smiled a little sadly. What a man he was, and how hard it was to understand him. When he himself was actually on the point of taking a new bride, he could still demand that his mistress break off all connection with another man whose only fault was that he loved her. She might perhaps have said something of this, when another idea came to her. Very well, it should be tit for tat. She would make a bargain with him.

  'I promise,' she said sweetly, 'but on one condition—'

  He stiffened at once and jerked away from her a fraction.

  'A condition? What is it?'

  'That you repair the hurt I inflicted without meaning to. Don't let him go back to that dreadful Spain where he will get killed for nothing, for a country he does not know and cannot understand. Send him back to Baron Surcouf. One word from you and he will certainly forgive him and take him back. Then he will have the sea again, and the life he loves, and a man he loves to serve under, and so he will more easily forget me.'

  For a moment there was silence. Then Napoleon smiled. He gave Marianne's earlobe a gentle, loving little tug.

  'There are times, carissima mia, when you make me feel ashamed, and I tell myself I do not deserve you. Of course I promise. He shall not go back to Spain…'

  When Marianne took her seat at the supper table two hours later, she found beside her place a green leather case stamped with the imperial arms. Inside, were two wide bracelets of chased gold set with a pattern of seed pearls but when, the next day, she sought discreetly for news of Jean Le Dru, she learned that he had left the palace at dawn in a closed carriage for an unknown destination.