[Marianne 3] - Marianne and the Privateer

by Juliette Benzoni

  'He is mad!' Marianne thought, although it required very little imagination to divine the form that Chernychev's punishment was to take. She guessed that he meant to rape her and just then, as though his intoxicated brain were telling him that he had talked enough, the Russian bent and, setting aside the green robe, ripped open her shift from neck to hem and parted the two sides carefully, yet all without laying so much as a fingertip on Marianne's bare skin. This done, he straightened and without another glance at her began to divest himself of his clothes as calmly as if he had been in his own bedchamber.

  Half-throttled by the handkerchief which had been rammed so far down her throat that it made her retch, Marianne watched appalled as he revealed a body as white and well-muscled as a Greek god's but approximately as hairy as a red fox. This body descended, without further preliminaries, upon her own and what followed was unbelievably swift and savage and, to Marianne, as unpleasant as it was unexciting. This drunken Cossack made love with the same furious concentration that he might have given to chastising some insubordinate moujik with the knout. Not only did he make no attempt to give the least pleasure to his companion, he seemed to exert himself to cause her the greatest possible discomfort. Fortunately for Marianne, nature came to her rescue and her martyrdom, which she bore without a murmur, was mercifully brief.

  Weak and half-stifled, she thought that her release had come at last and that Chernychev would leave her and take the road to Moscow; but her tormentor got up and, far from releasing her, said in the same toneless voice: 'Now I am going to make quite sure that you can never forget me. No other man shall touch you and not know that you belong to me.'

  It seemed that he had not finished with her after all. Marianne, watching helplessly, saw him take from his finger a large, gold seal-ring of the kind used for sealing letters, with his arms engraved upon the stone, and hold it to the flame of the lamp. As he did so, his eyes roved over the girl's sweat-streaked body with a calculating expression. But Marianne, guessing his intention, was moaning wildly and writhing against her bonds with such a fierce energy of desperation that the Russian's hand, which was in any case none too steady, missed its aim. He had aimed for the belly but it was on Marianne's hip that the searing hot seal landed…

  So excruciating was the pain that, despite the gag, a strangled shriek of agony burst from Marianne's throat. The only response was a chuckle of drunken satisfaction, followed almost immediately by the sound of breaking glass. More dead than alive, Marianne heard the window flung open with a crash and then, as though in a dream, she saw the curtains round the bed dragged away and in their place the dark figure of a man in hussar uniform, his right hand holding a naked sword. As he took in the extraordinary spectacle before him, the newcomer uttered a magnificently comprehensive oath.

  'Well, well,' he remarked, in a strong Périgord accent which sounded to Marianne like the sweetest music in all the world. 'I've seen a good deal one way and another, in my time, but nothing quite like this.'

  Marianne was in too much pain from her burned hip and had been through too much that night already to be capable of further surprise. Not even the sight of Fortunée Hamelin's favourite lover, the effervescent Fournier-Sarlovèze, standing at the foot of her bed with a drawn sword in his hand had any power to amaze her. In any case, after a curt command to the Russian, who was sitting blinking on the bed, a good deal astonished, to get dressed 'sharpish' and be prepared to answer to him for this, the dashing François turned his attention swiftly to Marianne, removing the handkerchief which was all but suffocating her, cutting the gilded cords and folding the torn clothes modestly over her maltreated person, all of this without interrupting the flow of his conversation.

  'It seems it was rather a bright idea of mine to go home by way of the rue de l'Université,' he said cheerfully. 'In fact, I was only thinking of you, dear lady, and telling myself it was high time I called on you to thank you for getting me out of prison, when I saw this fellow here just heaving himself over your garden wall. Naturally, my first thought was that he was expected, but then I said to myself that a lady who lives alone has no need to make her lovers ruin their clothes with scrambling over walls. When I visit Fortunée, I go in by the door like everyone else. You're up to something, I thought. Besides, if you must know, I'm not overly fond of Russians, and this chap less than most. So I thought about it for a bit, and finally made up my mind to follow. Once I was in the garden, though, I nearly popped out again. There was nothing to be seen and all the windows, even those with lights in, were closed. Damned if I know what it was made me climb up here – curiosity, perhaps. I never could resist other people's business.'

  While Fournier talked, Chernychev had been putting on his clothes, still in the same mechanical way, paying not the slightest attention to what was going on.

  He was soon brutally reawakened. No sooner was Marianne released than she leapt up, regardless of the pain in her hip, and rushing at her tormentor dealt him a ringing box on the ears. Then, beside herself with fury, she picked up a large Chinese vase which with its bronze base was no light weight and smashed it over his head.

  The vase shattered into a thousand pieces but the Russian remained on his feet. His eyes opened wide in an expression of enormous surprise and he swayed slightly. Then he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed while Fournier-Sarlovèze gave vent to a great shout of laughter that effectively drowned the torrent of abuse which Marianne was heaping on her late attacker. When, however, she made a lunge for a second vase, the twin of the first, with the object of following up her advantage, the hussar general saw fit to intervene:

  'Now then, easy does it, young woman! Pretty things like that don't deserve such treatment.'

  'And what about me? Did I deserve such treatment as this brutal savage meted out to me?'

  'Precisely. So there's no need to add to the injury by destroying your own property. You might use the poker or the fire irons just as well—No!' he added firmly, seeing Marianne's eye light with a gleam on the heavy bronze poker. 'Leave that where it is. All things considered, I'd rather kill him myself.'

  With difficulty, because she was still in great pain, Marianne summoned up a smile for her unlooked-for preserver. She wondered how on earth she could ever have disliked François Fournier.

  '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 li
ttle 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 sh
all 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.'