Marianne and The Masked Prince

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  Triumphantly, he led her to her friends. In a second, she was surrounded, petted, kissed, congratulated, passing from Fortunée Hamelin's lavishly rose-scented arms to the tobacco-smelling ones of Arcadius de Jolival. She abandoned herself, unresistingly, too dazed even to think. It was all so sudden, so unexpected. In the ballroom, while Talleyrand proposed a toast to her return, she took Arcadius aside.

  'This is all very touching, and very pleasant, my friend, but I wish I understood. How did you know I was coming bade? You seem to have been expecting me?'

  'I was expecting you. I was quite sure you would come today, even before this came.'

  This' was a large, sealed envelope at the sight of which Marianne's heart beat faster. The Emperor's seal! But the contents, brief and to the point, held little of comfort.

  'His Majesty the Emperor and King commands the attendance of the Princess Marianne Sant'Anna on Wednesday the twentieth of June at four o'clock in the afternoon at the Palace of Saint-Cloud…' It was signed: Duroc, Duc de Frioul, Grand Marshal of the Palace.

  'Wednesday the twentieth is tomorrow,' Jolival observed, 'and you would not have been asked if it had not been known that you were on your way. Consequently, that meant you would be here today. Besides, Madame de Chastenay came straight here from the Duke of Rovigo's.'

  'How could she have known I should not be detained?'

  'She asked Savary, that is how. Now, Marianne, my dear, I must not monopolize you like this. Your guests are calling for you. You cannot think what a celebrity you have become since we had the news about your marriage from Florence.'

  'I know – but, oh, I would so much rather have been alone with you, at least for tonight. I have so much to tell you!'

  'And I have so much to hear,' Arcadius responded, pressing her fingertips affectionately. 'But Monsieur Talleyrand made me promise to tell him as soon as I knew anything. He was determined that your return should be something in the nature of a triumph.'

  'That is one way of drawing me, willy-nilly, into his circle, is it not? All the same, he will have to recognize that I have not changed at all. My heart does not alter quite so fast.'

  She looked thoughtfully at the imperial summons which she still held in her hand, trying to work out the meaning behind those brief, almost menacing words. She wagged it slowly under Jolival's nose.

  'What do you think of this?'

  'To be honest with you — nothing at all. Who can tell what is in the Emperor's mind? But I'll wager he's not best pleased.'

  'I'll not take you. You would win,' Marianne said with a sigh. 'Dear Arcadius, be kind and take care of my guests while I change and freshen up a little. As this is the first time, I do think I should play the hostess worthily. I owe them that.'

  Half-way to the stairs, she paused and turned: 'Tell me, Arcadius, have you heard anything of Adelaide?'

  'Nothing,' said Jolival with a shrug. The Pygmy Théâtre is closed for the present and I did hear that it had moved to the spa at Aix-la-Chapelle for the present. I suppose she has gone also.'

  'How stupid it all is. Well, that is her affair. And —' There was a tiny pause before Marianne continued: 'Jason?'

  'No news of him either,' Arcadius answered easily. 'He must be on his way to America and your letter still awaits him at Nantes.'

  'Oh.' It was almost a sigh, a tiny ghost of a sound that yet betrayed the odd jerk at her heart-strings. It was true, of course, that the letter left with Patterson no longer mattered, the die was cast and there was no going back, but weeks of hope had ended in a void. The ocean was vast and a ship no more than a straw upon it: she had sent out her cry for help into infinity and no echo came back. There was nothing Jason could do for her now, and yet, as she mounted slowly to her bedchamber, Marianne found that she felt the same longing to see him again. It was strange when only the next day she would be facing the anger of Napoleon, waging one of those exhausting battles in which her love made her so vulnerable. It would not be easy, and yet her mind refused to worry about it. Instead, her thoughts obstinately kept going back to the sea. Strange, too, how insistently the memory of the sailor returned. It was as if all Marianne's youth, filled with wild dreams and the deep, almost visceral longing for adventure, were clinging to him, the supreme adventurer, as a last means of survival.

  The time for adventure was past, however. Listening to the babel of aristocratic voices that mounted to her through the open window, against a background of an air from Mozart, the new Princess reflected that this was the beginning of a quite different life, adult, full of calm and dignity in which the child could share. Tomorrow, when she had arranged matters with the Emperor, there would be nothing left to do but let the days flow past, and live like everyone else, alas.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The First Rift

  Four o'clock was striking from the clock set in the central pediment of the palace of Saint-Cloud as Marianne ascended the great staircase, built in the previous century. She felt ill at ease, not so much at the glances which had followed her ever since she entered the courtyard as at the thought of what awaited her in this unfamiliar place. Two and a half months had passed since the dramatic scene in the Tuileries and this would be the first time she had seen him since. It was enough to make her heart quake.

  A brief note accompanying the imperial command had informed her that full dress was not worn, the court being in mourning for the Crown Prince of Sweden, and that she should appear in a round gown and 'fanciful head-dressing'. She had therefore selected a dress of thick white satin with no train and with no other ornament than a single gold and pearl pin just below the bosom. Her thick, black hair was dressed with a turban of the same material, trimmed with black and white ostrich plumes that curled softly on her neck. She carried a long black and gold cashmere shawl draped negligently over one shoulder and caught up on the other arm. Baroque pearls hung in her ears and gold bracelets, worn over long white gloves and reaching up almost to her sleeves, completed a toilette which roused envy in the breast of every woman who beheld it. Marianne suffered no qualms on this score. She had thought out every detail, from the deliberate simplicity of the dress which did full justice to her long, slender legs to the absence of jewels at her throat so as not to mar the smooth line of her slender neck, melting gracefully into her rounded shoulders. Even the snowy edge of her daringly low-cut bodice was designed to show off the golden warmth of her skin which, as Marianne well knew, had always been irresistible to Napoleon. As far as appearance was concerned she was a complete success, her beauty was perfect. On the moral plane, however…

  She had scarcely slept that night for thinking of the coming interview and there had been ample time to decide on her attitude. She had reached the conclusion that to betray the least consciousness of guilt would be the greatest foolishness. Napoleon had nothing to blame her for except for having taken steps to safeguard the future of his child without consulting him. It was therefore as a woman certain of her own power, a mistress determined to have her lover again, that she meant to go to him. She was tired of all the raptures she had heard since her return to France depicting Napoleon and Marie-Louise as a pair of turtle doves. Only last night, Talleyrand had whispered to her, with a hint of his rakish smile, that the Emperor spent the best part of his time either in his wife's bed or at least closeted with her.

  'He is present at her toilette every morning and selects her gowns and jewels for her. He thinks that nothing can be too splendid for her. Our Mars has become a Mars in love.'

  Marianne was set on causing a diversion in these amorous skirmishes. She had endured too much since the announcement of this marriage, suffered too much from the ravages of an almost animal jealousy at the thought of their nights together. She knew that she was beautiful, far more beautiful than that other woman, and well able to turn the head of any man. She was out to conquer. It was not the Emperor she was going to see but a man she meant to keep at any cost. It may have been this which made her heart beat so fast when she reache
d the waiting-room on the first floor where, by custom, the palace chamberlain and four of the Empress's ladies were on permanent duty whenever their majesties were giving audience.

  Marianne knew that today she would find there Madame de Montmorency and the Countess de Périgord, for the latter had told her the evening before that she was on duty.

  The custom is,' Dorothée had added, 'for one of the palace ladies to present you to the chief lady-in-waiting and to the palace chamberlain before you are admitted to the audience chamber. The chamberlain, the Marquis de Bausset, is a charming man but to my mind the lady-in-waiting, the Duchess de Montebello, is a perfect harpy. Unfortunately, the Empress can think of no one else, listens to no one else, loves and trusts no one else. But never mind. I shall be there and I will present you to her. Madame de Montebello handles me with kid gloves.'

  That Marianne could well believe, knowing the young countess well enough to be sure that she would never allow Madame de Montebello to forget that she was born Princess of Courland. It was therefore with a smile of perfect ease that she advanced to meet her friend Dorothée. But before the two young women could utter more than greetings, a third person intervened.

  'Is it a ghost come back to us?' It was Duroc's gay voice that spoke. 'And what a ghost! My dear, it is a real pleasure to see you again! And in such beauty! Such elegance! You are – I cannot find words for what you are.'

  'Say "imperial" and you will not be far from the truth,' said Dorothée in her rather mannish tones, while Duroc bowed low over Marianne's hand. Dropping her voice a little, she added: There is no denying that she takes the shine out of our beloved sovereign, and I have always maintained that Leroy's gowns cannot be worn by everyone!'

  'Come, come,' the Grand Marshal protested. 'Countess, your tongue will get you into trouble one of these days.'

  'Say rather my imperfect French,' Dorothée retorted with her abrupt laugh. 'I meant of course that they do not suit all figures. One has to be slim and lithe, and long-legged,' she added, throwing a complacent glance at her own reflection in a nearby mirror as she spoke. 'And her majesty is a little too fond of pastries.'

  Madame de Périgord's own elegance was beyond question. Marianne had been struck the night before by the change in her. The thin, gawky girl with the huge eyes had blossomed into a real beauty. Not even Marianne herself was better able to carry off Leroy's creations. Today, she was displaying a robe made of alternating bands of black velvet and heavy white lace. She slipped her arm through Marianne's in a friendly fashion.

  'It is wonderful to see you yourself again,' she said with a happy sigh. We are a long way now from Mademoiselle Mallerouse and from the Signorina Maria Stella!'

  For all her self-command, Marianne felt herself blushing.

  'I seem to be a kind of chameleon,' she sighed. 'And I can't help worrying a little about what people in general will think of me.'

  Madame de Périgord's fine black brows rose sharply. 'People in general will not presume to judge you, my dear. As for those who are your equals, well, they have seen worse. Did you never hear that my grandfather was a groom in the Czarina Elizabeth's stables before he became her lover and married the Duchess of Courland? Yet that does not prevent me from being extremely proud of him – in fact he is my favourite of all my forbears. Moreover, I know a good many of you émigrés who have engaged in infinitely less respectable occupations than acting as companion to a princess and giving concerts! Now, stop tormenting yourself and come and be presented to our Cerberus.'

  'One moment,' Marianne said. She turned to Duroc. 'Can you tell me, Duke, the reason for my summons? Why am I here?'

  The Grand Marshal's round, slightly flabby face creased into a broad smile.

  'Why – to be presented to their Majesties, that is all. It is the usual custom. In the normal way, this would have taken place at an evening party, but as we are in mourning…'

  'Is that really all?' Marianne said doubtfully. 'You are quite sure?'

  'Indeed it is. The Emperor commanded me to invite you and I issued the command in his name. In fact,' consulting his watch, 'it is already time to go into the drawing-room and Madame de Montebello has not yet arrived. The Empress must have detained her. However, I am equally privileged to present new arrivals, so come, madame…'

  Two liveried footmen flung open the double doors and the guests moved slowly into the next room and took up positions around the walls, the women in front and the men behind. Duroc, however, remained by Marianne whom he had placed a little apart, not far from the door by which the imperial couple were to enter. There were a great many people present but Marianne hardly gave them a glance, she was too absorbed in her own nervous anticipation and in her eagerness to see again the man whom she still loved. To her, they were merely a faceless mass of gowns and glittering uniforms. She was content with a glance at one of the tall mirrors, in passing, to check that her own appearance was in order. There was room for only one thought in her mind: what would her reception be?

  She had thought at first that she was to see him alone, that he would have her brought to his own room, without witnesses. It had not occurred to her that she was in for a formal presentation, and she was bitterly disappointed. It was as though Napoleon were telling her that she was no longer anything to him, merely a woman like any other. Was it really possible that he could have fallen so deeply in love with that fat German? Moreover, Napoleon's reputation for bestowing public insults on a number of ladies was too well established to allow her to welcome the prospect of coming face to face with him in the presence of so many watching eyes and avidly listening ears.

  'Their majesties, the Emperor and Empress!' The voice of the master of ceremonies rang out and Marianne shivered. Her nerves tensed. The great doors opened and her heart missed a beat. Napoleon, hands clasped behind his back, trod briskly into the room.

  More slowly, a little behind him, Marianne saw Marie-Louise come in, looking pinker than ever in a white gown trimmed with roses of the same colour but edged with silver.

  'She is fatter than ever!' was Marianne's first, maliciously gleeful thought.

  A number of important people entered in their wake but these remained at one end while the Emperor and Empress made their progress round the room, to a rippling wave of silken gowns and braided uniforms that dipped in endless homage. Marianne recognized Napoleon's sister, the enchanting Pauline, and the Duke of Würzburg, Marie-Louise's uncle. She was third in line after two haughty-looking dames considerably older than herself but she could not have recalled their names or repeated what Napoleon said to them for the buzzing in her own ears. Only Duroc's deep voice penetrated it.

  'In response to your majesty's commands, allow me to present her Serene Highness, Princess Corrado Sant'Anna, Marquise d'Asselnat, de Villeneuve, Countess Cappanori and Galleno…'

  The long list of the titles which she had acquired by her marriage fell with the weight of doom on Marianne. At the same time, her knees folded in the deep court curtsey which was far more demanding in grace, suppleness and sense of balance than merely kneeling. The blood was pounding in her temples and there was a mist before her eyes as Marianne heard the last of her titles. Her field of vision was limited to a pair of legs clad in white silk and silver-buckled shoes. There was silence. The Emperor was so close that she could hear him breathing but a sudden terror stopped her from raising her eyes. What was he going to say?

  A hand she knew well was stretched out suddenly to raise her and Napoleon's cool voice said: 'Rise, madame. This is, I think, a long-awaited pleasure.'

  She dared to look at him then and, meeting the grey-blue eyes, read in them no anger but rather a kind of amusement and wondered suddenly if he were mocking her gently. Certainly, the smile he bestowed on her was full of laughter.

  'We are pleased, also, to felicitate you on your marriage, and to note that it has not altered you. You are as beautiful as ever.'

  It was hardly a compliment. Merely a statement of fact. His gaze flickered
rapidly from the charmingly flushed countenance to the uncovered shoulders and the breast that rose and fell so close to him but she could read nothing there. Already he was turning away to present the young princess to Marie-Louise and, like it or no, she was obliged to repeat her curtsey to the one woman whom she detested above all others. But before sinking into her reverence, she had time to note the discontented pout that accentuated the famous Habsburg lip.

  'How do you do?' said the Empress sulkily.

  That was all. Had she recognized the woman who had made the shocking scene at the Tuileries on the day following her wedding? The woman she had found sobbing at the Emperor's feet and called 'that wicked woman'? Marianne could have sworn that she had. As she rose, she could not prevent her eyes from meeting those of Marie-Louise in a silent challenge. A fierce joy surged up in her. There was an almost electric shock. Marianne was certain that the Austrian woman loathed her and she felt a delirious sense of triumph at the thought. Hatred vibrated between the two women, hatred which gave the measure of the fear which inspired it. Marianne was aware of people around her holding their breath in cruel anticipation. Was this the first encounter between the new bride and the latest mistress to become a confrontation?

  No. With a nod, Marie-Louise passed on to join her husband who, in this brief interval, had managed to traverse half the room.

  'There!' Duroc's voice murmured in her ear. 'That went off better than I hoped. As soon as this is over, you are to come with me.'

  'What for?'

  'Why – because you are now to be granted a private audience. The Emperor instructed me to take you to his private office after the reception. You did not imagine that a few polite words would be the end of it, did you?'

  Alone. She was to see him alone. Marianne's heart leaped joyfully. All this had been merely a formality, a necessary ceremony due to her new rank, but now she was to be alone with him again, have him to herself for a little while. Perhaps all was not lost.