[Marianne 4] - Marianne and the Rebels

by Juliette Benzoni

  'I'm called Zani – same as the church.'

  'Well, Zani, can you tell me what day this is?'

  'Don't you know?'

  'No. I have been in a room with no light and no windows. It makes you lose count of time.'

  'Peccato! You were lucky to get out! They're a bad lot, the police, and they've been worse than ever since Bonaparte's people came. Each trying to go one better than the other!'

  'Very true, but please, please tell me what day…' She clutched at his arm.

  'Oh, yes, I was forgetting. It was the twenty-ninth of June when I set out. It must be the thirtieth now. It's not far off dawn.'

  Marianne leaned weakly against the wall. Five days! For five days now Jason must have been waiting in the lagoon! He was so near, was probably spending his nights peering into the darkness looking for her, while she had been submitting in passive despair to Damiani's hateful caresses!

  When she had left that dreadful house she had believed that she still had some time left to sort out her feelings, to think things over and try and wipe out the memory of the foul and shadowy time that lay behind her. She felt that she needed a breathing space before she faced Jason's penetrating eyes. She knew his perspicacity too well, and the unerring, almost animal instinct which made him invariably put his finger on the weakest spot. He would know at a glance that she was not the same woman he had said good-bye to aboard the Saint-Guénolé six months before. The blood which had been shed might avenge her shame but it could not do away with the living evidence that might remain inside her, although at this moment she could not bear to believe or even think of the possibility. Yet now, already, he was waiting for her!

  In a few minutes, an hour perhaps, she might be with him. It was agony to think that the moment she had looked forward to so passionately for so long now held nothing but terror for her. She did not know now what awaited her beyond these watery streets and streaming domes, across this rain-drenched city which lay between her and the sea.

  When she saw Jason, would it be as a happy lover, full of the joys of being reunited, or would he also be an inquisitor, nursing dark suspicions? He was expecting a happy woman, coming to him in the sunshine and in all the dazzle of beauty fulfilled, and he would see a hunted creature, as fearful and uneasy in herself as in her draggled clothes. What would he think?

  'It's stopped raining, you know.'

  Zani was pulling at her sleeve. She opened her eyes with a shiver and looked about her. It was true. The storm had ceased as suddenly as it had started. The thunder was rumbling away into the distance and the din and drenching rain of a moment ago had given place to a great calm, hardly broken by the trickle of water from the eaves. The exhausted air seemed to have paused for breath.

  'If you've nowhere to go,' the child went on, his eyes shining like stars in the darkness, 'you can come to us. You can shelter there from the rain and the carabinieri.'

  'But what will your sister say?'

  'Annarella? Nothing. She's used to it.'

  'Used to what?'

  But Zani did not answer and Marianne sensed that his silence was deliberate. He simply walked on with his head held high and that air of innocent self-importance which denotes the bearer of weighty secrets. Forbearing to question him further, his new friend followed. The thought of a roof over her head was an agreeable one. A few hours' rest would do her good and might help her to dredge up from somewhere some semblance of the woman Jason was expecting to meet.

  They set off in the direction from which Marianne had come but in the street of the vegetable stalls they turned left and were swallowed up in an infinity of narrow alleys broken by canals which appeared to Marianne a perfect maze.

  The way they took was so circuitous that she could have sworn they had doubled back on their tracks a hundred times, but Zani never hesitated for so much as an instant.

  The sky lightened to grey and somewhere a cock crowed, hailing the dawn, the only sound in the whole empty labyrinth where all human life lay hidden behind thick wooden shutters and the cats reigned supreme. These had lain snugly in some dry corner while the storm lasted but now they appeared on all sides, slinking past dripping gutters and leaping over puddles as they made their way home. Now, slowly, the houses were becoming visible: whimsical rooftops, pinnacles, balconies and weird funnel-shaped chimneys silhouetted against the first light of day. Everywhere was perfect peace and the two night-walkers might have thought they had the street to themselves when suddenly they ran into ill-luck.

  They had just turned into the Merceria, a thoroughfare a little wider than most, although twisting, and lined with shops on both sides, when they came upon a patrol of National Guardsmen. A bend in the street made it impossible to avoid them.

  In a moment, Marianne and the child were surrounded by soldiers, two of them bearing lanterns.

  'Stay right where you are!' their leader ordered, with more force than logic since it was impossible for them to do anything else. 'Where are you off to?'

  Taken by surprise and struck dumb by the sight of the uniforms, Marianne could only stare at him. He was a young officer with an arrogant expression, evidently very well-pleased with his smart uniform and white leathers and sporting a moustache big enough for a small breastplate. He reminded her of Benielli.

  But Zani, like a good Venetian, was already deep in a rapid stream of explanations. They poured from him at such a rate that his small, piping voice seemed to fill the street. He knew, of course, that this was no time for a boy of his age to be wandering round Venice but it wasn't their fault and the officer must please believe him because this was how it came about: he and his cousin had been called out last night to the bedside of Zia – that is, Aunt Lodovica who was sick with malaria. Cousin Paolo had sent for them before he went off fishing and of course they had gone at once because Zia Lodovica was old and so ill that her mind was wandering which was a terrible thing! She was such a clever woman, too, and the foster-sister and servant to Monsignior Lodovico Manin, the last doge. And, seeing her like that, himself and his cousin, they had not liked to leave her so they had stayed and watched by her and done what they could for her and so the time had gone by. And then, when the crisis was over and their aunt had gone to sleep it was very late. Since there was nothing more they could do and Cousin Paolo would be back in the morning, Zani and his cousin had set off home because his sister Annarella would be worrying about them. Then they had got caught in the rain and been obliged to take shelter until it was over. So now, if the noble soldiers would kindly let them go on their way…

  Marianne had listened to this extempore speech with fascinated admiration, nor did the soldiers make any attempt to interrupt, being probably too dazed by the flow of words. But neither did they stand aside and their leader asked again:

  'What's your name?'

  'Zani, signor officers, Zani Mocchi, and this is my cousin Appolonia—'

  'Mocchi? Any relation to the courier from Dalmatia who disappeared near Zara a few weeks ago?'

  Zani bowed his head, as though under the weight of great grief.

  'My brother, signor. It's a dreadful thing because we still don't know what has become of him…'

  He seemed to be prepared to continue in this vein but one of the soldiers leaned across and said something in the officer's ear which made him frown.

  'I understand that your father was shot in 1806 for making subversive speeches against the Emperor, and this sister Annarella, who will be worrying so, is the notorious lacemaker of San Trovaso who makes no secret of her dislike of us. Your family does not love us and there have been suggestions at headquarters that your brother may have gone over to the enemy…'

  Things were beginning to look awkward and Marianne cast desperately about for some way of assisting her small friend without betraying herself, but Zani spoke up bravely.

  'What cause have we to love you?' he cried boldly. 'When your General Bonaparte came here and burned our Golden Book and proclaimed a new republic we thought he
was going to give us real liberty! And then he handed us over to Austria! And now he's taken us back again, only he's not a republican general any more but an emperor, so all we've got out of it is a change of emperors. We could have loved you. It's your fault if we don't!'

  'Ho ho! You've a long tongue for such a little shrimp! I wonder now… but what about this one, your cousin is she? What has she got to say for herself?'

  One of the lanterns, held up by an arm in a braided sleeve, shone full on Marianne's face. The officer whistled through his teeth.

  'By heavens! What a pair of eyes! And what a rig-out for the cousin of such a ragged urchin! More like a fine lady!'

  This time, Marianne knew it was up to her to take a hand in support of Zani's story. The officer was altogether too suspicious. Entering into the spirit of the thing, she favoured him with a saucy smile.

  'Well and so I am a lady – almost! It's a real pleasure to meet with such a discerning gentleman, Signor Officer. It didn't take you long to see that I don't belong here even if I am Zani's cousin. I'm just on a visit for a few days to see my cousin Annarella. I live in Florence, really.' She smirked complacently. 'I'm a lady's maid to Baroness Cenami who's companion to her royal highness Princess Elisa, the Grand Duchess of Tuscany, God bless her!'

  She crossed herself several times very fast as evidence of her devotion to so illustrious a princess. The effect, indeed, was magical. At the mention of Napoleon's sister, the officer's face relaxed. He drew himself up, ran a finger round the inside of his high collar and gave a twirl to his moustache.

  'Indeed? Well then, my pretty dear, you can think yourself lucky to have met with Sergeant Rapin, a man that understands these things! Anyone else might have taken you in for questioning—'

  'You are letting us go?'

  'But of course! But we'll see you on your way a step, just in case you should happen to run into another patrol that might not know how to treat a lady like yourself…'

  'But – we should not like to put you to any trouble…'

  'Trouble! Not a bit of it! A pleasure! If you're going to San Trovaso, our way is in the same direction. You'll not have to look far for a ferryman to take you across the Grand Canal if you're with us, and besides…' he dropped his voice to a confidential whisper, 'Venice is not safe tonight. We've been warned to look out for conspirators! The south of Italy is full of them and they are sending their agents up here. Seems they call themselves Carbonari – charcoal burners, that is. Not that that makes it any easier to tell them in the dark.'

  Delighted with this evidence of his own superlative wit, Sergeant Rapin gave a roar of laughter, dutifully echoed by his men, and then gallantly offered his arm to Marianne who was still gaping at the success of her diplomatic invention.

  The patrol resumed its way, swelled by the addition of Marianne, walking ahead on Rapin's arm, and Zani who was so overcome with admiration for his new friend that he attached himself to her skirts and clung inseparably.

  The light was growing swiftly, driving out the darkness with the eager haste of a summer morning. In the east the grey dawn was already tinged with pink. In a little while, people and things stood out clearly and the lanterns, now no longer needed, were put out.

  Tired and anxious as she was, Marianne thought their curious procession certainly had its funny side.

  'We must look like a village wedding gone wrong,' she told herself, as her unlooked-for gallant went on pouring nonsense into her ear, doing his best to obtain an assignation although it was not clear whether he was prompted by her personal charms or by her connection with the court.

  The Merceria dived suddenly underneath a broad archway cut through the base of a tower supporting a vast clock surmounted by a bell. As they emerged on the other side, Marianne had a sudden sense that she had been transported into a fairytale, so beautiful was the spectacle which met her eyes.

  She saw a cloud of white pigeons fly up into the pale violet morning, and go circling up, like spiralling snowflakes about a slender rose-coloured campanile. She saw the twin green domes and alabaster pinnacles belonging to a church that was like a palace, and a palace like a jewel: delicate, flesh-tinted stone, gold mosaics, lace-work of marble and enamelled turrets. She saw a huge square fringed with a border of arcades and marked out in white marble like some outsize game of hopscotch. Last, between the splendid palace and another box-like building with a row of statues along the top, framed by a pair of lofty columns, one topped by a winged lion, the other by the figure of a saint with a kind of crocodile, there lay a wide expanse of silky blue that made her heart beat faster.

  Lateen-sailed vessels moved like bunches of anemones over the silvery surface, and beyond them another dome, another campanile emerging from the misty distance. Yet it was the sea all the same, the roadstead of St Mark where Jason might be waiting for her…

  Sergeant Rapin, for his part, had seen something rather different. He dropped Marianne's arm abruptly as they came out from beneath the clock-tower, for they were now in sight of the guards on duty outside the royal palace, formerly the Procuratie, and gallantry must yield to discipline. He saluted in correct military fashion.

  'I and my men leave you here, Signorina, but you are not far from home now. But before we part, may I beg the favour of another meeting? It seems a shame that we should be such near neighbours and not see one another, don't you think?' He smiled engagingly.

  'I'd be glad to, Sir!' Marianne simpered, with a readiness that did credit to her acting talents. 'But I don't know that my cousin—'

  'You're not dependent on your cousin, surely? And you a member of her Imperial Highness's own household?'

  Rapin's imagination was clearly as fertile as Zani's and in the short interval of time they had spent together he had contrived to do away with Marianne's supposed employer, the Baroness Genami, whose name evidently meant nothing to him, and remember only her august mistress, the Princess Elisa.

  'No, no, of course not,' Marianne said hastily. 'But I shall not be here much longer. Indeed, I am leaving—'

  'Don't tell me you are leaving tonight,' the sergeant interrupted her, giving another twirl to his moustache, 'or you will oblige me to stop all vessels leaving for the mainland. Stay until tomorrow… then we can meet tonight… go to a theatre… I can get tickets for the opera, at the Fenice. You'd like that…'

  Marianne was beginning to think her importunate soldier would be more difficult to be rid of than she had anticipated. If she were to rebuff him, he might turn nasty, and Zani and his sister might have to pay for it. So she controlled her irritation and glanced quickly at the boy who was observing the scene with a little frown. Then, her mind made up, she drew the sergeant a little apart from his men. They, too, were beginning to show signs of impatience.

  'Listen,' she whispered, remembering suddenly his questions to the child. 'I can't go to the theatre with you, or ask you to come to my cousin's to call for me. Ever since my other cousin, the courier from Zara, disappeared we have been more or less in mourning. And Annarella hasn't the same reason to like the French as I have.'

  'I see,' Rapin breathed back, 'but what is to be done? I like you, you see.'

  'I like you too, Sergeant, but the family would never forgive me. It's much better to be quiet about it – meet in secret, you understand? We shan't be the first.'

  Rapin's plain, honest face lit up. He had been long enough in Venice to have heard of Romeo and Juliet and now he was obviously seeing himself in a mysterious love affair with a spice of adventure about it.

  'You can count on me!' he declared enthusiastically. Then, remembering to lower his voice to a conspiratorial mutter, he said in muffled tones: 'Tonight… at dusk… I'll wait for you under the acacia at San Zaccharia. We can talk there. You'll come?'

  'I'll come. But take care! No one must know!'

  On this promise, they parted and Marianne had to bite back a sigh of relief. She had felt for a moment as though she were taking part in one of the farces so beloved of th
e strollers in the Boulevard du Temple in Paris. Rapin saluted, but not without stealing a furtive and passionate handclasp with one whom he evidently regarded as his latest conquest.

  The weary patrol marched off into the palace, trailing their weapons, and Zani led his supposed cousin, somewhat to her disappointment, away from the sea to the far end of the square where workmen were beginning to arrive on the site of a new series of arcades destined to fill up the fourth side.

  'This way,' he hissed. 'It's quicker.'

  'But – can't I have a look at the sea?'

  'Later. We'll get to it sooner like this, and the soldiers would think it funny if we went any other way.'

  The city was beginning to wake up. The bells of St Mark's rang out and women in black shawls, some of them made of lace, were hurrying to church for early mass.

  When, after a short walk, they reached the waterfront, Marianne's heart missed a beat and she had a temptation to shut her eyes, hoping and yet fearing to see the proud lines of Jason's brig Sea Witch at anchor in the roads. However much she reasoned with herself, she could not help feeling as guilty as an adulterous wife returning to her husband.

  But except for the little fishing boats, flitting out towards the Lido, the shallops laden with vegetables making their way up the Grand Canal, and the big barge which served as a passenger link with the mainland, there was no vessel worthy of the name in the pool. But before Marianne had time to feel disappointment, she caught sight of the tall mastheads of sea-going ships standing up behind the Dogana di Mare, on the other side of the Punta della Salute. The blood rushed to her cheeks and she grasped Zani by the arm.

  'I want to go across there,' she said, pointing.

  The boy shrugged and glanced at her curiously.

  'We are. That's the way to San Trovaso, surely you know that?'

  Then, as they made their way to the big gondola that ferried passengers across the Grand Canal, Zani voiced the question which must have been on his mind for some time.