Marianne and the Crown of Fire

Barbe's violet eyes darkened briefly.

'To Janowiec? No, there is nothing for me there any more. No one is waiting for me or wishes to see me again. Besides, for us Poles, France does not seem so very far from home. But most of all, if your highness will allow me to say so, I've taken a fancy to you – and there's no gainsaying that!'

After that, there was nothing more to be said and so it came about that Barbe Kaska came to occupy the place in Marianne's life left vacant by young Agathe Pinsart, much to the disappointment of Henri Beyle who had already been picturing the Polish woman ruling over his own bachelor establishment in the rue Neuve du Luxembourg. But he was not the man to give in to disappointment and nevertheless gallantly offered to pay the new abigail's wages for as long as her mistress remained in his company.

These matters of domestic economy once settled, Barbe set to with a will to assist François in turning her master out creditably. The young man departed for the Kremlin looking distinctly presentable.

Marianne's heart beat high with hope as she watched him go. All the time he was away, she could hardly sit still. While Barbe settled herself by the window with some sewing – she had undertaken to run up a chemise or two for Marianne out of a length of batiste acquired by Beyle out of the products of the sack – singing to herself one of those lugubrious Polish ballads of which she seemed to have an unending repertoire, Marianne paced up and down, hugging her arms across her chest, unable to control her excitement. The hours dragged on, keeping her suspended between hope and foreboding. At one moment, she would be sure of seeing Beyle come back bringing Gracchus and Jolival with him, the next she would be on the brink of tears, convinced that everything had gone wrong and Beyle too had been flung into prison, if not worse. She had suggested to her friend that he should try and speak to Constant who, she was sure, was still her friend.

It was late before Beyle returned. Marianne ran to meet him when she heard his footsteps on the stairs but hope was snuffed out like a candle when she saw his face. He was looking so unhappy that it could only mean bad news.

The news was certainly not good. The Vicomte de Jolival and his servant had not left the Kremlin where, on Napoleon's orders, they had been kept under guard ever since the cardinal's escape.

'They have never left the Kremlin, do you say?' Marianne demanded incredulously. 'Do you mean to tell me the Emperor left them there when he went to Petrovskoi himself? But that's dreadful! They might have been burned to death!'

'I don't think so. Plenty of people stayed there. A good half of the imperial household and all the troops detailed to try and save it from the fire. Napoleon only left in response to the united entreaties of his whole staff who felt they could not guarantee his safety, that was all.'

"Were you able to speak to them?'

'Lord, no! They're closely confined. No one is allowed to communicate with them on any pretext whatever.'

'Did you see Constant? Does anyone know where they are being held? Are they in their rooms or have they been put in prison?'

'I don't know. Even Constant, who sends you his respects, by the way, knows nothing concerning them. When he dared to mention your name to the Emperor, he was told that he had much too great a weakness for the rebellious Princess Sant'Anna, and that if you wanted to know what had become of them, you had only to give yourself up.'

There was a short silence. Then Marianne shrugged despondently.

'Then that is that. He has won. I know what I must do now.'

Instantly, Beyle was between her and the door, barring the way with outstretched arms.

'You are going to give yourself up?'

'I don't see what else I can do. They may be in danger. How do you know the Emperor isn't planning to have them tried and condemned in order to force me to go back?'

'It has not come to that yet. If their fate had been decided, Constant would have known. He would have been told, if only so that he might try and communicate with you. In any case, it will do no good for you to give yourself up. You did not let me finish what I was saying. If you want to secure the release of your friends, you must not only go yourself but also take with you the man whom you helped to escape. Only then will Napoleon forgive you.'

Marianne sat down abruptly on a chair and stared up at him with drowned eyes.

'Then what can I do, my friend? I don't know where to find my godfather even if I wanted to, which I do not. I've no idea whether he went back to St Louis-des-Français—'

'No,' Beyle told her. 'I went there after I left the Kremlin. The Abbé Surugue has not set eyes on him since the day of the fire. He doesn't even know where he might have gone to.'

'To Kuskovo, I expect, to Count Sheremetiev's house.'

'Kuskovo has been burned and our troops are encamped in what remains of it. No, Marianne, you must not look for anything in that direction. In any case, there is nothing you can do that will satisfy the Emperor and your own heart.'

'But I can't just abandon Jolival and Gracchus! The Emperor must be mad to vent his spleen on them. He is so angry with me that he is quite capable of putting them to death!'

She was crying hopelessly, the tears running down her cheeks. She had so much the look of a trapped doe that Beyle, overcome with pity, came and sat by her, putting a brotherly arm round her.

'There, there, my little one, don't cry! You are making a great to-do about nothing, you know. You've a good friend in the Kremlin, for Constant won't betray you, bless him, neither for love nor money. In his opinion, the Emperor has the whole affair out of proportion. I did not tell him where you were to be found, of course, but if there should be any danger he will send word to me at my office and then it will be time enough to consider what to do.'

'But, you don't understand! The Emperor will be obliged to do something. He can't clutter himself with prisoners on the road back to Paris.'

'And what makes you think he is going back to Paris?'

Marianne was so startled that she stopped crying and stared at her friend with disbelieving eyes.

'Isn't he?'

'Certainly not. His Majesty has decided to winter here. Count Dumas and your humble servant have precise instructions concerning the victualling of the army. General Durosnel has his for the movement of troops and Marshal Mortier is settling into his role as governor. Even the company of actors who were here when we came are to hold themselves in readiness to perform, as a means of maintaining French morale.'

'But he can't! Spend the winter here? I'd like to know what his Majesty's staff think of it.'

'Nothing good. I never saw so many long faces. None of them have ever wintered out of France except during the Polish campaign. According to what I've been told, the Emperor has two opposite ideas in mind. Either Alexander will agree to discuss terms and we'll think about going home as soon as the peace treaty is signed, or else we'll spend the winter here, bring the army up to strength with the reinforcements that have been sent for and then, in the spring, we march on Petersburg.'

"What? Another campaign – after the disasters of this one?'

'It may not happen. An envoy has been sent to the Tsar. He is carrying a letter from General Tutolmin, the director of the Foundling Hospital, witnessing that the French did their utmost to save Moscow, and another from the Emperor to the Tsar, assuring him of his goodwill and brotherly feelings.'

'Brotherly feelings! But this is absurd! It cannot work!'

'That is Caulaincourt's opinion and he knows Alexander. But the Emperor, thinks he's being unduly pessimistic and won't speak to him. The fact is that Murat is still flirting with Platov's cossacks and doing his best to persuade Napoleon that the Tsar will be only too happy to fall into his arms. Oh, it's a bad business altogether! I don't know what the outcome of it all will be, but I do know one thing – I've no hope of seeing Milan this year!'