Marianne and the Privateer

by Жюльетта Бенцони

  'I don't know how to thank you,' she said shyly.

  'Then don't try, or we shall never be done with thanking each other. How do you summon your maid? The girl must be deaf!'

  'No, no, don't call her! She does sleep soundly, so soundly that she ties the bell rope to her little finger in case I should wish for her in the night. But for once, I am glad of it. I – I am not precisely proud of what has happened.'

  'Don't see why you should be ashamed of it. Call it war-wounds! With his kind, it's always war to some extent. But I intend to rid him of any desire to repeat the experiment.' He turned to the Russian. 'Well, you? Are you ready?'

  'One moment,' the Russian said gravely. Then he walked with equal gravity to where a carafe of water stood on a table and emptied its contents straight over his head. Water streamed over the smart green uniform and dripped heavily on to the carpet, but Chernychev's eyes at once lost their dull, fixed expression. He shook himself like a dog and, tossing his soaking wet hair out of his eyes, drew his sword and smiled disdainfully at Fournier.

  'When you like,' he said coldly. 'I do not care to be interrupted in my amusements.'

  'Funny idea of amusement, you have! But I think, if it is all the same to you, we will settle this affair in the garden. There appears,' gesturing with the point of his sword at the torn curtains, the broken window, the shattered vase and the pool of water sinking slowly into the carpet, 'there appears to have been sufficient damage for one night.'

  Marianne uttered a small, contemptuous laugh. 'The count is not at liberty to fight,' she said frostily. 'He has a mission to perform and should be already on his way to his own country.'

  'I am already behind time,' Chernychev agreed. 'A little more or less… I can spare time to kill this interfering fellow – who I take it is another of your lovers?'

  'No,' Fournier corrected, with dreadful affability. 'Her best friend's lover. Come, now, Chernychev. Stop playing the fool. You know quite well who I am. The best swordsman in the Empire is not easily forgotten, once you have encountered him on the battlefield,' he added with simple pride. 'Remember Austerlitz.'

  'And you,' Marianne broke in, 'remember your present position. I swear on my father's memory that I would give ten years of my life to see this villain lying dead, but have you thought of what will be the outcome if you kill him? You have only just come out of prison. The Emperor will have you back there instantly.'

  'With the greatest of pleasure,' Fournier agreed. 'He dislikes me extremely.'

  'I can't speak for his pleasure, but he will certainly send you back. And for how long? This man must be covered by diplomatic immunity. It will mean the end of your career… and I owe you too much to let you do that—however much I may want to.'

  Fournier-Sarlovèze made a careless pass that made the air whistle past his naked blade and shrugged:

  'I will try not to kill him outright. I dare say a stiff lesson will be enough and, since he too is in the wrong, I should think he will keep quiet. As for yourself, Princess, it is useless to persist. There is no power on earth would prevent me from crossing swords with a Russian when I find one. You must realize that this is a high treat for me. You there, are you coming?' The last words were addressed to Chernychev, but before the Russian could reply, Fournier-Sarlovèze had vaulted swiftly over the edge of the balcony and dropped lightly down into the garden. His opponent, following more slowly, paused for a moment before Marianne where she stood with folded arms, watching him with eyes bright with hatred. 'He will not kill me,' he said, the faint slur of drunkenness still sounding in his voice. 'And I shall return.'

  'I do not advise you to.'

  'I shall come all the same, and you will go with me. I have set my seal upon you.'

  'Burns heal, or may be covered by another.' Marianne's voice grew suddenly fierce. 'And I would tear out my own flesh before I retained the least mark of yours! Go! And never set foot here again! And know that if you should ever dare to, the Emperor shall know of it within the hour, if I have to show him what you have done.'

  'What can he do to me? I serve the Tsar.'

  'And I serve the Emperor. And it may be that your master may not relish the displeasure of mine.'

  Before Chernychev could answer, Fournier's voice came up to them impatiently from the garden:

  'Are you coming down, or must I come up and fetch you?'

  'Go,' Marianne told him, 'but remember this also: I can use a man's weapons and if you ever dare to enter this house again, should you leave it alive this time, know that I will shoot you like a dog.'

  A shrug was Chernychev's only reply, then he turned and made for the garden at such speed that he all but dived over the balcony. The next instant, the two men were facing each other on the small, circular patch of grass in the centre of the garden. Clutching her green silken wrap around her, Marianne stepped out on to the balcony to see the fight. Her feelings had undergone a considerable alteration. She was as anxious as ever to see her late, unworthy attacker spitted without mercy, but gratitude towards the general made her hope that he would not ruin his career irreparably for the sake of chastizing a brutal sadist.

  Before stepping outside, Marianne had paused to relight the candles and now the light from the room threw a pale glow over the two duellists, making the naked blades gleam as they met in a shower of sparks. The two men were evidently well matched. The Russian was slightly taller than the Frenchman and looked the more powerful of the two but Fournier's lithe, southern build concealed formidable strength and tremendous agility. He was everywhere at once, encircling his adversary in a dance of death and weaving a flashing spider web all about him.

  Wholly intent, caught in spite of herself by the odd, boyish fascination which the formidable art of swordplay had always held for her, Marianne was eagerly following every step of the duel when suddenly a head appeared above the wall at the bottom of the garden, adjoining the rue de l'Université, the same wall which Chernychev and Fournier had both climbed in their turn. The head was surmounted, somewhat alarmingly, by a cocked hat. Another head appeared, followed by a third.

  'The law officers!' Marianne thought. 'That was all we needed!'

  She leaned over the balcony to tell the two men to put away their swords but she was too late. A gruff voice announced: 'Duelling, gentlemen, is against the law. You ought to know that. I arrest you in the name of the Emperor.'

  Unperturbed, Fournier laid his sword across his arm and presented it to the officer who was engaged in climbing over the wall, presumably by dint of standing on his horse's back, then smiled disarmingly:

  'A duel? Why, officer, whatever gave you such an idea? My friend and I were merely trying a few passes, nothing more.'

  'At four o'clock in the morning? And with a lady looking on, and not as if she was enjoying it much, either,' the officer said, looking up at Marianne's troubled face.

  It had not taken her very long to realize that the arrival of the officers of the law upon the scene was quite the worst of the night's disasters. After what had occurred at the theatre that evening, a duel at her house in the middle of the night between Chernychev and Fournier was bound to cause a scandal: it meant the wrath of the Emperor, who had grown extremely sensitive in the matter of the respectability of those about him since his marriage to his archduchess, and there would be severe penalties for the culprits as well as the dreadful blow to Marianne's own reputation. Add to that Chernychev's position as a Russian engaged on diplomatic service, and the affair could even develop into an international incident. Something must be done to stop it, and at once! Seeing that the officer, having succeeded in scaling the wall, was now warning the late adversaries that it was his duty to escort them to the nearest police station, Marianne leaned hastily over the parapet:

  'Wait, officer! I am coming down. We can talk this over more comfortably indoors.'

  'There is nothing to talk about, Madame, as far as I can see. Duelling is against the law. Unfortunately for these two gentlemen, we heard the
clash of swords as we were going our rounds. It's a clear case.'

  'Not quite as clear as you think perhaps. Do, please, be good enough to wait for me. It will in any case be necessary for me to have the gates opened – unless of course you wish to take these gentlemen out over the wall?'

  Hurrying down the great marble staircase as fast as her injured hip allowed, Marianne forced herself to think. The officer had quite obviously not believed in Fournier's rather unlikely explanation. They must think of something else, but unfortunately Marianne's mind, still wholly taken up with Jason and the danger threatening him, was not finding it easy to adjust to this new demand. She was burning to run to Passy and warn Jason and now this stupid duel had come to prevent her and to hold her up for goodness knew how long.

  When she emerged into the garden the darkness was already growing perceptibly less thick. A pale band of light showed in the east, revealing a scene of total confusion among the law officers and their prisoners. Fournier was defending himself vigorously against the efforts of two men to apprehend him, while the officer in charge was engaged in gallant but futile attempts to scale the wall from inside which, in the absence of the horse which had assisted him in his entry, was proving an altogether impossible task for a man of unathletic build and hampered, moreover, by a pair of outsize boots. Of Chernychev there was no sign, but from the other side of the wall came the sound of receding hoofbeats.

  Realizing the futility of his endeavours, the officer abandoned his assault on the wall and returned to where Fournier was still putting up a spirited defence. He was by this time thoroughly out of temper:

  'You are wasting your efforts. Your accomplice has got away, but we shall catch him and meanwhile you shall pay for both, my lad.'

  'I am not your lad!' Fournier exploded furiously. 'I am General Fournier-Sarlovèze and I will thank you, officer, not to forget it!'

  At this, the other drew himself up and gave a military salute:

  'Pardon me, General. I had no means of knowing! Nevertheless, you are my prisoner – I am sorry to say. Not but what I'd rather have kept a hold of the other fellow. It passes me why you should have helped him as you did by hurling yourself on my men like that.'

  Fournier gave a shrug, and favoured the officer with a mocking smile:

  'I told you. He's a friend of mine. Don't you believe me?'

  'How can I, General, when you would not give me your word that you were not engaged in fighting a duel?'

  Fournier was silent. Deciding that it was time for her to intervene, Marianne laid her hand, at once soothing and cajoling, on the officer's arm.

  'And if I were to ask you to close your eyes for once, Officer? I am Princess Sant'Anna – a close friend of the Emperor.' A timely recollection of the invitations she had received from Savary prompted her to add: 'The Duke of Rovigo is well disposed towards me, I believe, and no one, after all, has been killed or injured. We might—'

  'A thousand regrets, Princess, but I must do my duty. Setting aside any questions my men might ask and the awkwardness of explaining matters to them, I should not care to put myself in the position of a colleague in a similar situation. He was lenient, the matter was found out and it broke him. His Grace of Rovigo is very strict in matters of discipline. But then, you know him, Highness, and must surely know this? Now, General, if you please…'

  Unwilling to admit defeat, Marianne would have gone on pleading and in her distress at the thought that Fournier would be imprisoned again because he had defended her she might well have committed the folly of offering the man money, had not Fournier himself intervened: 'I am coming,' he said; then, turning to Marianne, went on more quietly: 'Do not worry about me, Princess. This is not the first duel I have fought and the Emperor knows me well enough. It seemed better to let the Cossack escape. The thing might have proved more serious for him. The worst I can expect is a few days in prison and a little holiday at home at Sarlat.'

  Marianne's sensitive ear did not miss the little note of regret in the hussar's voice. Sarlat might hold for him all the sweetness of home but it also meant inaction, idling away his time away from the battlefields which were his life and, but for this stupid affair, he would soon have been on his way back to in Spain. To be sure, she also remembered what Jean Ledru had told her of the horrors of war in that God-forsaken country but she knew that no such considerations weighed with the finest swordsman in the Empire and, indeed, would probably only whet his appetite for the fray.

  She held out both hands impulsively. 'I will go to the Emperor,' she promised. 'I will tell him all that has passed and what I owe to you. He will understand. I will tell Fortunée, too. Though I doubt if she will be as ready to understand.'

  'Not if it were anyone but you!' Fournier said, laughing. 'But for you she will not only understand, she will even approve. Thank you for your promise. I may well stand in need of it.'

  'It is I who should thank you, General.'

  Not many minutes later, Fournier-Sarlovèze was swaggering, hands in pockets, out of the front door of the Hôtel d'Asselnat under the bewildered and faintly shocked gaze of Jeremy, the butler, who, still only half-awake, regarded the officers of the law with a kind of scandalized disapproval. One of the men recovered the horse which Fournier, like the rest, had left outside the wall in the rue de l'Université and the general sprang into the saddle as lightly as if about to go on parade, then, turning, blew a kiss to Marianne who was standing on the steps:

  'Au revoir, Princess Marianne. And do not let this worry you. You can't think how exhilarating it is to go to prison for the sake of a woman as lovely as you!'

  The little cavalcade moved away into the dawn which was already beginning to touch the white stone face of the house with tones of rosy pink, while from the gardens all around came a faint freshness of rising mist and the first notes of birdsong. Marianne was deathly tired and her hip was hurting her atrociously. Behind her, her nightcapped servants, blinking sleepily, preserved a respectful silence. Only Gracchus, the last on the scene, barefooted and barechested, dared to ask his mistress: 'What is it? What has been happening, Miss M – Your Highness?'

  'Nothing, Gracchus. Go and get dressed and put the horses to. I must go out. And you, Jeremy, you need not stand there gaping at me as if I were about to sentence you to death. Go and wake Agathe. If the house fell down about her ears that girl would sleep through it!'

  'Wh-what shall I tell her?'

  'Tell her you're a blockhead, Jeremy!' Marianne exclaimed exasperatedly. 'And that I shall dismiss you from my service if she is not in my room inside five minutes!'

  Back in her own room once more, she anointed her burn with Balm of Peru and swallowed a large glass of cold water, without sparing a glance for the desolation of her once-charming bedchamber with its torn hangings and shattered porcelain. When the flustered Agathe came running in, she told her to go at once and make her some strong coffee but, instead of obeying, the girl stood in the doorway staring at the spectacle which met her eyes.

  'Well?' Marianne said impatiently. 'Did you hear me?'

  'Oh M-Madame!' Agathe managed to say at last. 'Who was it did this? It Hooks as if the d-devil himself had been here!'

  Marianne gave a small, mirthless laugh and went to the wardrobe. 'You may well say so,' she remarked as she took down a dress at random. 'The devil in person – or rather in three persons! Now, my coffee, and hurry.'

  Agathe departed precipitately.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The House of the Gentle Shade

  Sunset was lighting blood-red fires behind the hill of Chaillot as once again Marianne's chaise crossed the Pont de la Concorde en route for Passy. The coming darkness, brought on faster by the heavy clouds which had invaded the sky over Paris as the day wore on, seemed to be smothering the last red glow of the dying sun beneath a heavy grey blanket. The air was unbearably hot, clammy and oppressive, and little enough of it made its way through the open windows of the chaise to where Marianne sat stifling among the warm vel
vet cushions, scarcely able to breathe for the heat and the strain on her over-stretched nerves.

  This was her second journey to Passy. When she had reached the house that morning, determined to see Jason, even if only for a moment, at the cost of whatever scene might be necessary, in order to warn him, she had found the house shuttered and closed. A Swiss porter in carpet slippers, grumpy and half-asleep, had appeared eventually in response to Gracchus's repeated summons on the bell and told them in his heavily accented French that there was no one at home. Mr and Mrs Beaufort were at Mortefontaine, having gone there straight from the theatre.[1] The sight of a gold coin did however induce the man to admit that the American was to return that evening. Marianne turned back, disappointed, sorry for once that she had not taken Francis's advice. But then, she had to admit, it was unlike him to be telling the truth.

  Tired though she was as a result of her sleepless night and the pain of her injured side, which was making her slightly feverish, she was unable to rest. She had wandered about like a lost soul between her own room and the garden, and running into the salon a hundred times to look at the exquisitely decorated bronze enamelled clock there. The only event which occurred in the whole of that endless day was a visit from the police inspector who came to ask some embarrassed but persistent and distinctly leading questions concerning that morning's duel. Marianne had stuck to Fournier's story, that it had not been a duel, but the man had gone away visibly dissatisfied.

  The chaise had now passed out of the Cours la Reine and was travelling at a smart pace along the tree-shaded length of the Grand Chemin de Versailles, following the river Seine in the direction of the Barrière de la Conférence. There was a slight hold-up as they came to the massive building works around the Pont d'Iena, now nearing completion, on account of a load of stone which had been overturned at some time during the day and which was still partly blocking the road. But Gracchus, swearing like a trooper, had succeeded in circumventing the obstacle, coming perilously near overturning the chaise in the process, and, touching up the horses with a quick flourish of his whip, set them speeding towards the barrier.