They groped their way down the dark stairway, built in the thickness of the wall, bumping against the sides and terrified as they felt the heat increasing moment by moment. By the time they reached the first floor the narrow space was so suffocatingly hot that it was like entering an oven.
'The fire must be very close,' Vania said, coughing. 'Lucky for us – this place – built of stone. If it were wood – like so many of them – we'd be cooked by now—'
'It's only a matter of time,' Lekain answered, swearing like a trooper. 'The stairs are beginning to burn.'
Even as he spoke, there was a red glow in the darkness and they rounded the last corner to see that the bottom steps were already well alight and a dense pall of smoke, almost as deadly, billowing up to meet them.
'We – we'll never get through,' Louise wailed. 'We'll all be killed—'
'Not on your life,' Vania shrieked. 'Hold your dress tight round you and run! We've a second or two yet. If your clothes catch, roll yourselves on the grass or on the gravel as soon as you get outside. Come on! Follow me!'
Giving Marianne no time to think, she caught her round the waist with one arm and clutching her robe around her with the other launched them both at the flames.
Marianne shut her eyes. She felt for a moment as if her lungs were on fire and held her breath. But Vania was half-carrying her forward in an irresistible rush and she scarcely felt the lick of the flames, even when her skirt caught alight. The scream that broke from her was caused more by the pain of her injured shoulder when her companion ran with her down the terrace steps and rolled with her on the grass to extinguish the fire in their clothes.
Seconds later they were joined by the others. Their clothes, too, were smouldering and they flung themselves down on the grass in turn, uttering shrieks of pain but fortunately without suffering any very serious injury. When they realized that they were all there, scorched, breathless and almost overcome by smoke but alive, they sat for a minute or two, staring at one another with a kind of incredulity, unable to believe their luck.
'Well,' Madame Bursay gasped, 'that was a narrow escape! We are all here and in one piece, so it seems.'
'Then let's see if we can stay that way,' Lekain said. 'Which we won't if we stay here. We must move away before the building falls in.'
Prince Dolgorouki's handsome mansion was blazing, now, from top to bottom in a great sheet of flame. The heat was unbearable. The building was like a fierce, roaring cascade of fire and the blinding light of it illumined every corner of the garden.
'Madona!' Vania groaned. 'Are there no fire engines in the city? If nothing is done to stop it, it will set the whole district on fire.'
Her words might have been a signal. Almost as she finished speaking, the heavens opened. Volumes of water poured down on Moscow with an apocalyptic roar, drenching in an instant the Dolgorouki gardens and those within them who fled precipitately to escape the clouds of boiling steam that rose from the burning building. In a short time the blaze had been transformed under the pelting rain to something more resembling a gigantic steam boiler.
Soaked to the skin, Marianne and the actors tried to find somewhere to shelter but the gardens contained none of the small summer-houses often found in other places and trees saturated with water, soon ceased to offer any protection at all.
'We must get out of here,' Mademoiselle Anthony called out, 'before we catch our deaths of cold!'
'Never mind that,' Vania complained. 'But I could be in danger of losing my voice. I'm a creature of the sun and I hate damp like the plague. If I take cold I cannot sing!'
'I'm amazed that you can think of singing at all at this moment,'
Lekain said with a chuckle. 'But I agree with you when you say that we ought to quit this inhospitable place forthwith. The question is, how?'
It proved, indeed, to be easier said than done. The garden was surrounded by walls and railings, except for one small door, bolted and barred as heavily as a strong room, which it was clearly impossible to open.
'Well, the looters got in somewhere,' Louise Fusil said. 'Why can't we get out?'
"They got in over the wall,' Lekain answered. 'I'm very willing to make a back for you to climb up if you will only help me up after you. Although I confess I don't see how.'
Vania had been tugging off her diadem and the snapped and sodden plumes which draggled over her face. Now, in answer, she unwound the length of red silk which constituted her Roman robe and held it out to him, sublimely disregarding the appearance she presented in her sleeveless petticoat.
'We'll drop this down to you once we are up. It's very strong. Then we can use it to climb down the other side.'
Thus armed, they proceeded almost gaily to the assault of the wall. Vania, as the supplier of the idea and the means, went first. She settled herself firmly astride the wall and leaned down to catch Marianne as the other women assisted her to climb painfully on to Lekain's back. From there, Vania's grip on her good arm was enough to hoist her up to the top. The rest followed and pulled Lekain up after them.
The descent was effected in the same order, using Dido's robe twisted into a rope. But once safely on the other side Marianne's small strength was exhausted and she found herself close to fainting. While Vania helped the others to scramble down, she was obliged to lean against the wall, her heart thudding violently and her head swimming, scarcely even aware of the rain which was still pelting down.
'Not feeling quite the thing, eh?' Vania said sympathetically, seeing her wan looks.
'Not quite. Where are we going now?'
'I don't honestly know. We had so many friends but there can be none left now.'
'No,' Madame Bursay said, 'but we should be able to find an empty house to shelter in. There are plenty of those.'
'Empty houses can contain unpleasant surprises,' Lekain said without enthusiasm, trying to put up his coat collar to keep some of the rain off his neck.
'Why not try to find the rest of the company?' Louise Fusil suggested. 'I've been thinking of them ever since we parted company and wondering whether they might not have sought refuge in the Naryshkin Palace. The Prince was being very particular to little Lamiral—'
'It's one thing to make up to a dancer and another to take in a whole company,' Lekain expostulated. 'But I suppose it's possible. The good prince seemed very much taken with her. We could always go and see.'
'Santa Madona! Think for a moment,' Vania broke in. 'The Naryshkin Palace is on the other side of the city, and this poor child could never walk so far! I have a better idea. The priest of St Louis-des-Français—'
'The Abbé Surugue?' Lekain spoke with evident distaste. 'What a notion!'
'Why not? He is a Frenchman and a man of God. He will take us in. I know him. He is generosity itself.'
'Maybe, but he is still a priest and I do not care for priests. Relations between the Church and the stage may not be as bad as they were in Molière's time, but they are not so good even now. I'm not going.'
"Nor I,' said Madame Bursay. 'I don't know whether—'
'Well I am,' Vania interrupted her, slipping an arm round Marianne's waist. 'You go where you like. You'll know where to find me. Besides, you may be right. Not to distrust the Abbé Surugue, but to spare him an invasion. He may be overwhelmed with refugees already.'
'But I don't want to be the cause of separating you,' Marianne exclaimed miserably. 'Take me to this priest's house and then go with your friends. It's stupid to break up your party for the sake of a stranger.'
"You're not a stranger. You're a singer like myself. And what is more you are a princess of Tuscany and I am a Tuscan myself. So let us have no more words but be on our way. God keep you all until we meet again.'
"We may as well go with you as far as St Louis,' Madame Bursay said. We can go on from there. It's not far and we can take shelter in the church until the rain stops.'
This being agreed upon, they made their way through the empty streets as far as the chapel which had bee
n dignified with the name of St Louis-des-Français, in imitation of that in Rome. It stood on the outskirts of Kitaigorod and adjoining it was a house of modest size, built of wood like nearly all those in the neighbourhood, but with a small garden bounded by a brick wall on its leftward side. The front door was up two steps and above it, well protected from the weather, a thick glass lantern illumined a small Roman cross carved in the stone. This was the presbytery.
With Lekain's help, Vania got Marianne up the two steps and, lifting the brass knocker, rained a series of loud bangs upon the door. The others, meanwhile, had discovered that the church door was locked and drifted off.
The door was opened by a little man dressed in black like a sacristan, with a skull cap over his grey hair. He carried a candle.
'You must be the verger,' Vania said in French, with her colourful Italian accent. 'This lady is hurt and we came to ask the Abbé Surugue if she and I might—'
The sight of a woman clad in a soaking wet petticoat did not appear to cause the verger of St Louis any particular surprise. He held the door open wide.
'Come in quickly, Madame,' was all he said. 'I will inform Monsieur the Cure.'
Marianne's head had drooped, exhausted, on to her companion's shoulder but at the sound of that voice she lifted it at once and their eyes met, not without amazement on both sides. For the verger of St Louis was Gauthier de Chazay.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Fire
The glance held for no more than an instant. Marianne's mouth opened. She was on the point of saying something, making some exclamation, but the strange verger had turned away quickly, murmuring something about fetching the Abbé, and vanished with his candle, leaving the two women in almost total darkness in a narrow entrance hall smelling of incense and yesterday's cabbage soup.
Marianne pulled herself together. Her godfather, she realized, did not want to be recognized, either because of Vania's presence there or for some other reason. There was never any shortage of mysterious reasons where he was concerned, as befitted the head of a religious order which, although underground, was none the less powerful for that. Clearly, he was here incognito, perhaps in hiding – but from whom? Or what?
Exhausted as she was, Marianne's persistent, insatiable curiosity was wide awake now and, in some curious way, seemed to revive her. What object could a cardinal of the Roman Church, and General of the Jesuits no less, which was to say the most powerful man in the Church after the pope, and possibly even before him, since Napoleon had been holding him a prisoner, what object could such a man possibly have for disguising himself in the modest garb of a verger of a parish church?
It was true that, ever since she had known him, Gauthier de Chazay had always shown a superb disregard for splendid attire. It was clad in a simple suit of black that his goddaughter would always remember him. The magnificent red robe which he had worn that epoch-making day at the Tuileries had struck her as some fantastic disguise. But on this occasion, the black garments were not simply modest but not even very clean.
'God forgive me,' Marianne thought, 'but I don't believe my godfather has shaved for days! He looks like a real moujik!'
She had no opportunity to verify this because it was not he who came back to them but a middle-aged priest wearing a soutane whose kindly face was surmounted by a few grey locks of hair shielding a balding crown. He flung up his arms to heaven at the sight of the two women sitting in their wet clothes on the bench in his hall.
'My poor children!' he cried, and the touch of the south in his voice brought a hint of sunshine into the dank passage. 'Have you, too, come to seek refuge here? But my house is full. Half the French residents of Moscow are here already. Where can I put you?'
'We don't need much room, padre,' Vania pleaded. 'Just a tiny corner in the church, perhaps?'
'It is packed to bursting. I was forced to shut the door into the street to keep more people from entering. One more and they will suffocate!'
'Here, then. If it were for myself alone, I should do very well on this bench, but my friend is hurt and exhausted… Only a simple mattress…'
The priest spread out his hands despairingly.
'I should not have said what I have if I had a mattress to offer you. But I have just given that belonging to Guillaume, my sacristan, to Madame Aubert's chief vendeuse, who is expecting a baby, and my own—'
'I understand. That was gone long ago,' Marianne said, trying to smile. 'If you had only a little straw we might lie down on, that would be more than enough. We belong to the stage and do not look for comfort—'
'To be sure! At all events I cannot turn you from my door on such a night – and in such a storm. Come with me.'
They followed him along the passage. From behind the closed doors on either side came a variety of sounds, whisperings, muttered prayers and snores, all telling how the priest's house was fulfilling its role of sanctuary that night. At the very far end the priest opened a small door beside the kitchen.
'There is a cupboard here where we keep tools and things. But I will fetch you some straw and I think there may be just room for the two of you to lie down. Then I'll bring you some means to dry yourselves and a warm drink.'
In a few minutes, Vania and Marianne found themselves installed in comparative luxury among the brooms and buckets and garden tools, with a truss of straw spread on the floor, a towel to dry themselves, tablecloths to wrap round them while they hung their wet clothes over the heads of the rakes to dry, and a steaming jug of hot spiced wine which they drank with infinite enjoyment by candlelight after their host had bidden them good night.
Before putting out the light, Vania made a careful examination of Marianne's bandaged shoulder. It was very wet but the thick layer of ointment she had spread on the wound had protected it from the rain. A strip torn from the towel made a fresh bandage. Then the singer laid her hand on her patient's brow.
'You will heal fast,' she said, with satisfaction. 'You have no sign of fever, even after all you have been through. Santa Madona, you must have a wonderfully sound constitution!'
'What's more, I'm very lucky – most of all in meeting you.'
'Bah!' Vania sang softly under her breath: "Luck is a woman…" And I might say the same. I have long wanted to meet you.'
Neither woman was long in falling asleep but Marianne's was restless and uneasy. The day had been a long and trying one for her: the panic-stricken streets, the meeting with Chernychev, the duel, Jason's arrest, then the gipsy's murderous attack and her own wound, ah culminating in their escape from the blazing building and the flight through the pouring rain, had given her a terrible battering. While her body slept, her mind, freed from its control, beat about like a frantic bird, finding no rest. She was still a prey to all the terrors which had assailed her but had been temporarily set at a distance by a warm-hearted, picturesque angel in a fiery robe and an absurd head-dress of feathers.
Strangely enough, she found herself caught up once more in the old dream which had so often haunted her. The sea – the sea rising in angry waves and making a foam-flecked barrier between her and the ship that was sailing away from her with all sails set. Despite the fury of the waves, she was fighting desperately to reach it, struggling with every ounce of strength and willpower until, just as she was about to sink, a vast hand came out over the sea and descended to pluck her from the abyss. But tonight the sea was red and no hand appeared. What came was something else, something that touched and shook her lightly. Marianne started awake to see her godfather bending over her and gently shaking her.
'Come,' he whispered. 'Out into the passage. I must speak to you.'
Marianne glanced quickly at her companion but Vania, curled up in the Abbé Surugue's tablecloth, was sleeping like a child and showed no signs of waking when her friend rustled the straw in rising.
The passage was in darkness. Only the lamp burning at the street door lightened the gloom a little, enough at least to show that the place was deserted. Even so, Marianne and
the cardinal stayed in the archway of the door.
'I'm sorry I had to wake you,' the cardinal said. 'I see that you are hurt?'
'It's nothing. I was hit – in the crowd,' Marianne lied, feeling herself unequal to the business of a long explanation.
'Good, because you must be gone from this house first thing in the morning, and from Moscow as well. From Moscow most of all. I can't understand how you come to be here at all. I thought you at sea, on your way to France.'
He spoke shortly, as though he had been running, and his breath smelled sour and feverish, nor was there the least tenderness in his tone, but rather a kind of querulous irritation.
'I might say the same to you,' Marianne retorted. "What is Cardinal San Lorenzo doing in Moscow, disguised as a verger, just when the Emperor is about to enter the city?'
In that dim light, she caught the flash of anger in the churchman's eyes.
That is no concern of yours. And I have no time now for explanations. Go, I tell you. Fly this city, for it is doomed.'
'By whom? And to what fate? Do you think Napoleon is mad enough to destroy it? That is not his way. He hates plunder and destruction. If he takes Moscow, Moscow has nothing to fear.'
'Ask me no questions, Marianne. Do as I tell you. Your safety, your very life depends on it. Who is this woman with you?'
'Vania di Lorenzo. She is a famous singer – and a very good-hearted person.'
'I know of the singer, but nothing of her heart. Never mind. She must know something of the city and I am glad that you are not alone. You will leave here in the morning – almost at once, indeed, for it will soon be light. Ask her to show you the road taken by those travelling to Siberia. At Kuskovo, you will find the house of Count Sheremetiev. It is not far, not more than a league and a half. The Count is a friend. Tell him you are my goddaughter. He will give you a welcome and you may wait there until I come to you.'
'Should I tell him also that I am Princess Sant'Anna, the friend of the Emperor? I think that might serve to cool his welcome somewhat,' Marianne said ironically. Then, speaking very firmly, she went on: 'No, Godfather. I am not going to Kuskovo. I am sorry to go against your wishes. It is the first time in my life that I have ever done so intentionally. But I have no business there and I mean to stay in Moscow.'
[Marianne 6] - Marianne and the Crown of Fire Page 10