[Marianne 6] - Marianne and the Crown of Fire

by Juliette Benzoni

  Between her prayers and these bitter thoughts, she ceased to notice the passage of time. Only after they had been marching for four hours and the mist parted suddenly as they came to the end of the forest did she realize that the danger was past. The convoy was now in an open plain, empty except for an occasional dump of trees. They had made it! A great shout of joy went up from every throat. Beyle turned round and Marianne saw that he was as white as a sheet and his lower jaw was quivering uncontrollably, but he was smiling.

  'It seems it wasn't to be this time, after all,' he said simply. She smiled back at him.

  'It's a miracle! I can't believe it!'

  'Perhaps it is. Let's hope we have a few more miracles between here and Smolensk. This time, the enemy can't have thought us worth pursuing.'

  Certainly they were not seen again. They went on for two more days and saw nothing of them. But another problem arose, which was the lack of food. They had brought from Moscow only sufficient for a ten days' march, for no one could have imagined that the journey would take so long. In addition, the weather became much worse. Snow began to fall, thickly and continuously, hindering their progress. They had to slaughter some of the horses, partly because there was no fodder for them and partly to feed the men. Every night it was a little harder to find shelter and each morning, when they broke camp, they found a few men missing. Men who had gone looking for food in the unharvested fields or ruined villages about.

  One night a few cossacks attacked them. Uttering their shrill war-cries, they charged like thunderbolts at the rearguard, transfixed several men with their lances and then disappeared as quickly as they had come. The dead were buried and fear crept slowly and insidiously into the hearts of the weakening convoy.

  Ignoring all Mourier's efforts to persuade her, Marianne steadfastly refused to take a place in one of the wagons reserved for the wounded, although he was much distressed by her pinched cheeks. With Beyle on one side of her and Barbe, as tireless as a machine, on the other, she marched on with blistered feet, gritting her teeth and trying not to listen to the groans and screams of the most severely injured men. And always there was the same lowering, yellowish-grey sky with, now and then, a flight of black birds like a presage of misfortune.

  Beyle did his best to cheer her and the men. He was always saying that Smolensk was not far now, that they would be safe there and find everything they needed. The wounded would be fed and cared for. They need only be brave a little longer.

  'I may reach Smolensk,' Marianne told him one evening when they had managed to find shelter in a huge barn that was still standing, 'but I shall never see Paris again. I can't. It's too far. There's the cold and the snow – and the country's so vast! I shall never do it.'

  'Then you had better spend the winter in Smolensk with me. The Emperor will be at Kaluga, so you will have nothing to fear. In the spring, as soon as it is possible, you can resume your journey.'

  Weary and depressed after a painful day's march, in the course of which they had suffered another attack by cossacks, Marianne shrugged.

  'How can you be sure the Emperor will stay at Kaluga? You know as well as I do that he wants to be nearer to Poland. If he winters in Russia at all, it will be at Smolensk or Vitebsk. Kaluga is nearly as far from the Niemen as Moscow itself. Sooner or later we shall see him come. So I must go on, and the sooner the better if I want to avoid the worst of the winter.'

  'Very well, then, you shall go on. After all, this convoy is bound for Poland. Why should you not stay with it? I'll ask Mourier to take care of you.'

  'Upon what pretext? Everyone thinks I'm your secretary – all except Mourier and he thinks I'm your mistress. What would they say if we were to part company?'

  'You might be ill, unable to endure the climate, frightened of the snow – or something of that sort. Our gallant general is more than half in love with you already. He'd be delighted to be rid of me.'

  'That is precisely what I wish to avoid,' Marianne answered uncommunicatively. She had not been unaware of the alteration in Mourier's feelings towards her and she did not like it, for she was not at all attracted to him. She had found him an annoyance from the beginning but she had come to regret the bluff, soldierly manners and the coarse pleasantries because now he had taken to hovering close to her at every possible opportunity, especially when there was no one else at hand. Consciously or unconsciously, he had begun to treat the supposed secretary with something perilously close to gallantry, stroking her hand furtively whenever it came within reach and trying to slip his arm round her waist when an alarm obliged them to stand close together. His barrack-room jokes had at least had the advantage of making the men laugh and so helping to lull their suspicions. Now, whenever they were together, men followed them with their eyes, wondering…

  More than once, already, Marianne had warned him tactfully. He would apologize and promise to take more care but almost at once the glowing look would be back in his eyes and, to an attentive observer, it looked odd to say the least. No, it was quite simply impossible for her to continue the journey under those conditions, and especially without Beyle! Marianne felt that she would a hundred times rather go on alone and on foot than have to defend herself against continual pressure to which, sooner or later, she would be bound to yield.

  Barbe had listened to the conversation with Beyle but she said nothing then. That night, however, she watched until she saw Marianne turn away to go to the fire and then came up to her.

  'Don't worry,' she whispered. 'I'll think of something else. I don't want to go on like this either.'

  'Why not, Barbe? Is something troubling you?'

  Barbe's broad shoulders were seen to shrug under her mass of shawls.

  'I'm the only woman in this convoy,' she said shortly, 'and I've no intention of going back to my old ways.'

  'Then what do you suggest?'

  'Nothing for the moment. The first thing is to reach Smolensk. After that, we shall see.'

  To reach Smolensk! That had become the unbearable refrain. None of them could ever have dreamed that it could be so far. It seemed to be drawing away from them as they went on, like places in nightmares. Some were even beginning to murmur that they must have taken the wrong road and would never get there. And so it was with a mixture of surprise and incredulity that, on the evening of the second of November, they heard the news that was flying down the convoy.

  'We are there! There is Smolensk!'

  The army had been there before and the men recognized the place with delight, Beyle most of all.

  'Yes,' he said, with a deep sigh of relief, 'there is Smolensk. And not before time!'

  They had come to the edge of a deep valley with the quicksilver gleam of the River Dnieper flowing through it and the town was before them. It stood dreaming within its circle of high walls on the right bank of the river, amid a landscape of wooded ravines, firs, pines and birches standing out starkly against the fresh snow. That great fortress town with its thirty-eight towers and great smooth walls which for three hundred years had defied all that time and men could do would have presented a picture both archaic and beautiful, but for the fresh scars of war that were so clearly visible in the form of trees felled and burned by gunfire, ruined and fire-blackened houses there had not been time enough yet to rebuild, and a temporary bridge made of logs. Of the outlying suburbs practically nothing remained.

  Above the walls, they could see the domes of the churches and smoking chimneys, waking thoughts of evening meals in well-warmed rooms. A bell began to ring and was followed by the clarion call of a trumpet and a roll of drums, indicating the presence of troops behind those antique walls that gave the place such a secretive air.

  The city had such an air of reassurance and refuge that a great shout of joy went up simultaneously from every throat capable of uttering. At last they would be able to rest, eat, warm themselves and sleep under a roof again. It was almost unbelievable.

  Beyle, however, only shrugged and muttered: 'Like the crusader
s arriving before Jerusalem, isn't it? You can't see from here, because the walls are too high, but half the town is gone. All the same, I daresay we shall all find a lodging – and I hope to see the results of all that frenzied letter-writing I did in Moscow.'

  He was making an effort to seem unconcerned but his dark eyes were shining with happiness and Marianne could tell that he was just as excited as the rest of them, for all his supercilious airs.

  They covered the distance to the city gates in record time in spite of the snow and the difficulties encountered by the horses – which no one had thought to shoe for icy conditions – on the steep sides of the valley. Moreover they had been seen by the watch inside the city and men came running out with welcoming cries to help to lead the wagons in.

  As they passed through the great gate bearing the arms of the city, a cannon supporting the mythical bird Gamayun, symbol of power, Marianne, despite her weariness, could not help smiling at her companion.

  'You may think what you like, but I am just like all the others – very happy to be here. I hope you're going to provide me with something other than raw, frosted potatoes for my dinner?'

  She was not the only one to be dreaming of food. All round them, the soldiers were talking of nothing but the good meal they were going to have and their entry into Smolensk was as gay as if they were going to a fair. But their gaiety and the eagerness subsided a little once they were inside the gates and could see the damage that had been hidden before. The snow threw a merciful covering over the ruins but it could not hide the tragic gaps in the streets as the tapers were lit behind the squares of waxed paper that replaced shattered window panes.

  As the convoy made its way along the street, people came out from such houses as were still standing and stood in groups on both sides of the road, watching the new arrivals silently. They were all like so many bundles of shawls and old rags, except for their eyes, which glittered with a hostile light, and now and then there came from them a murmur that had nothing friendly in it. All Marianne's happiness fell away from her. Here, even more than in Moscow, she felt that she was in enemy territory.

  Mourier had paused by the gate to exchange a word with a captain of carabiniers, but now he rejoined them, looking worried.

  'It seems that our three hundred men are a welcome addition. I was thinking we'd find Marshal Victor's 9th Corps here, but there's only a remnant of them left. The Marshal's gone off with the bulk of his force to Polotsk, where Gouvion St Cyr is said to be in difficulties. Even the governor has gone.'

  'Who is it?' Beyle asked.

  'General Baraguey d'Illiers. He ought to be here with the Illyrian Division which should have left Danzig on the first of August. He's gone to take up a position on the Yelnia road, leaving Smolensk to General Charpentier, chief of staff to the 4th Corps and before that governor of Vitebsk. I'm wondering what we are going to find here with so slender a garrison and all this chopping and changing in the command.'

  Beyle, listening, was growing visibly gloomier, evidently worrying about his famous supplies. When they came out into a square, he suddenly left his companions and darted towards a private house, from the doorway of which two figures had just emerged. They proved to be the temporary Governor of Smolensk in person and, with him, none other than the Intendant of the province, Monsieur de Villeblanche, with whom Beyle promptly entered into a brief and clearly acrimonious dialogue. By the time he came back to Marianne, the unhappy director of Reserve Supplies was in something approaching a state of collapse.

  'This is appalling! They haven't got a quarter of what I asked for! I hope to God the Emperor doesn't show up here or I'm a ruined man! Come on, we can't stay here. This is where we leave the convoy and rejoin the Supply Corps. I must see for myself. We'll easily find a lodging here somewhere.'

  In fact, it was less easy than he imagined because, although the Quartermaster's staff had managed to acquire an undamaged house for their own use, this was already so full that they could offer the director of Reserve Supplies nothing more than a mattress squeezed into a small room already occupied by two of his colleagues. There could be no question of Marianne's inclusion in this offer, much less Barbe, whose ample dimensions required no less ample space to house them. They would have to find somewhere else.

  Beyle deposited what remained of his baggage and then set out with one of the young men on the staff in search of a lodging for his 'secretary' and his cook.

  They found one, in the end, in the house of an elderly German Jew, not far from the New Market. It was little more than an attic, but provided with a stove which made it seem to the two women the very height of comfort. In order to move in there with Barbe, Marianne was obliged to reveal herself as a woman but this scarcely signified since she was leaving the military convoy and the usefulness of her disguise was at an end. Nor did she have cause to regret discarding it. Solomon Levin and his wife Rachel were good souls and full of compassion for the girl's white face and pinched cheeks. They were tactful, too, and neither showed any surprise at her unusual garb. Concluding that questions would be out of place, they asked none, merely assuring the gentleman that he might go about his business with an easy mind for the ladies would be safe with them. Good relations, moreover, were very quickly established when it emerged that Marianne's German was as fluent as their own. Satisfied as to his friends' welfare, Beyle left them, promising to return next morning.

  Solomon Levin, as a trader in furs and other such essential commodities as dried herring, was on terms with the invader which, if not precisely cordial, were at least very correct and had therefore been permitted to pursue his business in a city where most things had come to a standstill. Which is to say that no one in his house was actually starving.

  Solomon's big wife Rachel went to work busily and Marianne found her attic provided with mattress, blankets, sheets and, most rapturous of all, a great bearskin rug. But she almost burst into tears of joy when Rachel and her little servant maid brought in a big washing copper and two huge jugs of hot water, with towels, rough but clean, and a bar of soap. In the twenty-eight days since leaving Moscow, she had not had her boots off once and her linen was the same that she had set out in. Never had she felt so dirty, and the smell that clung about her was a far cry from her favourite scent of tuberoses.

  The sight of the copper full of steaming hot water filled her with such joy that she flung both arms round the old woman and kissed her impulsively.

  'I'll bless you as long as I live for this, Madame Levin,' she said. 'You can't think what that bath means to me!'

  'I think I can. Our house is not large or handsome, or even very comfortable, but we set great store by cleanliness, for that is the way of all those of our faith who would follow closely the law of Moses. Give me your clothes and those of your maid and I will see that they are washed.'

  Up to that point, Rachel's reply had been made with great dignity, but there she broke off and added, smiling very shyly: 'I, too, shall remember you always, my lady, for I would never have believed that a European lady would ever do what you have just done. Had you forgotten that I belong to a despised race?'

  The sudden sadness in the old woman's voice went to Marianne's heart. She went to her quickly and took both her hands in hers.

  'To me, a stranger, you have been more than hospitable, you have been friendship itself and I always kiss my friends. Have you forgotten that I belong to a nation of invaders?' And she kissed Rachel again, never for a moment suspecting what was to come of those two kisses prompted by nothing more than gratitude and liking. Then Solomon's wife withdrew, telling Barbe that she might, if she wished, come down and wash herself in her kitchen. Marianne was left alone to the delights of her tub.

  When Barbe returned, well-scrubbed, she brought a big tray with her. On it were a number of dishes: kasha, a thick buckwheat porridge, a kind of stew made with cabbage and blinis, little stubby pancakes eaten with sour cream. There was also a steaming pot of tea.

  It was a long time si
nce Marianne and Barbe had seen such a feast. They ate like the starving people they were, too intent on their food to utter a single word. Then, as though the act of eating had taken all their strength, they lay down on the mattresses and, heavy with food, fell into a deep sleep which, for Marianne at least, lasted until well into the following afternoon.

  She woke to the contented realization that her long sleep had done her good. She had not felt such a sense of well-being for a long time because she had gone straight from a life of total seclusion indoors to an exhausting outdoor one. After another meal she felt full of energy again and equal to anything, a state of affairs which expressed itself in an acute impatience to continue her journey to France as soon as possible. Her brief sight of Smolensk, or what was left of it, had cured her of any wish to linger there, even in the warmth and simple friendliness of the Levins' house.

  Beyle came again at nightfall, just as she was finishing dressing. She had found it a relief to put on the women's clothes that she had brought with her in her bundle.

  Beyle had clearly not been enjoying the same measure of comfort as Marianne. He was pale and his face was puffy with fatigue and his nerves were so much on edge that it was evident he was deeply worried. He seemed quite offended to see Marianne looking so fresh and clean and rested. He himself was still almost as dirty and complained of a night tormented by fleas. After that, however, he ceased to dwell on his own sufferings and reverted to a subject which, although less personal, was equally on his mind.

  'The convoy leaves again tomorrow,' he began without preamble. 'Do you want to go with it or not?'

  'You know I do not. The pretence that I was your secretary ended here and I've no wish to face the prospect of several hundred leagues as the only woman, apart from Barbe, among a thousand or more men, all of them practically reverting to the condition of savages. Ask Barbe what she thinks of it. Even she will not do it.'

  'This is silly and stupid! You know quite well that Mourier will look after you—'