Marianne and The Masked Prince

'His highness said that they were the same green as my lady's eyes. His grandfather, Prince Sebastiano, brought them back from Peru for his wife, but she did not care for the stones.'

'Why ever not?' Marianne was holding the perfect gems up to watch the play of light upon them. 'They are beautiful!'

'They were thought in earlier times to be a symbol of peace and love. Dona Lucinda believed in love – but she hated peace.'

So it was that Marianne heard for the first time the name of the woman who had been so enamoured of her own reflection that she had covered the walls of her room with mirrors. But there was no time to ask more. Dona Lavinia informed her with a curtsey that her bath was prepared and the cardinal awaited her company at breakfast. Before the new Princess could summon up courage to ask her to stay and answer her questions, she had gone, leaving her to Agathe's ministrations. A shadow had undoubtedly passed over the old woman's face, a faint darkening of her eyes as if she regretted having uttered that name, and she had certainly been in a hurry to be gone. Clearly, she was anxious to avoid the questions that she sensed were coming.

When Marianne joined her godfather in the library, where he had ordered breakfast to be served, she lost no time in asking the question which had put Dona Lavinia to flight. She began by describing how she had been presented with the ancestral jewels.

'Who was the Prince's grandmother? I gather that her name was Lucinda but no one seems anxious to talk about her. Do you know why?'

The cardinal spread a thick layer of delicious-smelling tomato sauce over his pasta then added cheese and mixed the whole carefully together. At length, having tasted the resultant combination, he said coolly: 'No. I have no idea.'

'Oh come, that is surely impossible! I know you have been acquainted with the Sant'Annas for ever. Otherwise how does it come about that you are permitted to share the secret which surrounds Prince Corrado? You must know something of this Lucinda. Say, rather, that you will not tell me.'

The cardinal chuckled. 'You are longing to know so much that in a moment you will be calling me a liar,' he said. 'Well, my dear, let me tell you that a prince of the Church does not tell lies, or at least, no more than a simple parish priest. It is quite true that I know very little, beyond the fact that she was a Venetian, of the noble family of Soranzo, and extremely beautiful.'

'Hence the mirrors! But the mere fact of being beautiful and over-fond of her own reflection does not explain the kind of reserve which everyone here seems to feel with regard to her. Even her portrait seems to have vanished.'

'I should add that, by what I have heard, Dona Lucinda's reputation was – er – unsavoury. There are those among the few people still alive who knew her who claim that she was mad, others say that she was something of a witch, or at least in league with the devil. Such things do not make for popularity here – or elsewhere.'

Marianne had an idea that the cardinal was being deliberately evasive. For all the trust and respect in which she held her godfather, she could not help having an odd suspicion that he was not telling her the truth, or at any rate not the whole truth. Determined, however, to drive him as far as possible, she asked innocently, while pretending to be absorbed in the selection of cherries from a basket of fruit: 'Where is she buried? In the chapel?'

The cardinal choked as if he had swallowed a mouthful the wrong way but it seemed to Marianne that his subsequent fit of coughing was not altogether accidental and that it was designed to cover up the sudden flush which coloured his cheeks. However, she smiled prettily and offered him a glass of water.

'Drink this. It will help.'

'Thank you. Her grave – hmm – no, there is not one.'

'No grave?'

'No. Lucinda died tragically in a fire. Her body was never recovered. No doubt there is, somewhere in the chapel, an inscription – er – commemorating the fact. Now, do you care to step outside and take a look at your new estate? The weather is perfect and the park is looking its best. There are the stables, too. You will certainly be impressed by them. You used to be so fond of horses as a child. Did you know that the animals here are of the same stock as those in the famous Imperial Riding School in Vienna? They are Lipizzaners. The Archduke Charles, who founded the famous stud at Lipizza in 1580, presented the Sant'Anna of the period with a stallion and two mares. Ever since then, the princes of this house have devoted themselves to the perfecting of the breed.'

Once the cardinal had begun on this subject it was impossible to stem the flow, much less to bring him back to one which, like Dona Lavinia, he clearly preferred to avoid. This flood of eloquence was intended to prevent Marianne from getting a word in and at the same time give her thoughts another direction. In this it was to some extent successful for as soon as the two of them entered the vast stable yard, Marianne temporarily forgot the mysterious Lucinda in abandonment to her lifelong passion for horses. She found, too, that her coachman, Gracchus-Hannibal Pioche, was there before her, apparently as happy as a pig in clover. Although he spoke no Italian, he had succeeded in making himself perfectly understood with his Parisian street urchin's capacity for mime. He was already friends with all the grooms and stable lads who instantly recognized a fellow worshipper at the shrine of the horse.

'This place is heaven, Mademoiselle Marianne!' he exclaimed joyfully as soon as he set eyes on her. 'I never saw finer animals!'

'Well, if you want to be allowed in here much longer, young man,' the cardinal observed, half-angry, half-amused, 'you will have to learn to say your highness – or even your serene highness, if you prefer.'

Gracchus blushed violently and stammered: 'Ser – you'll have to be patient with me, mad – I mean your highness. I'm not sure I'll find it easy to get it right first off.'

'Just call me madame, Gracchus, and that will do very well. Now, show me the horses.'

They were in truth magnificent, full of fire and blood, with powerful shoulders and strong, slender legs. Nearly all of them had pure white coats. A few were pitch black, but no less beautiful. Marianne had no need to feign admiration. She had an excellent eye for the points of a horse and within an hour had succeeded in convincing all the inhabitants of the stables that the new Princess was altogether worthy of the family. Her beauty did the rest and by the time she returned to the villa, late in the afternoon, Marianne left behind her one small world irrevocably won, much to the cardinal's satisfaction.

'Do you realize what you are going to mean to them? A real, live mistress, someone visible who can understand them. Your coming is a real relief to them.'

'I am glad of it, although they will have to continue to do without me for a great part of the time. You know that I must go back to Paris – if only to explain my new position to the Emperor. You do not know him in his rages.'

'I can imagine it. But you are under no compulsion to go. If you were to remain here...'

'He would be quite capable of sending an armed guard to fetch me, just as he escorted you – or your double – to Rheims. No, I thank you. I have always preferred to stand and fight and this time I mean to explain myself in person.'

'What you mean is that you would not for the world lose this opportunity of seeing him again.' The cardinal sighed. 'You are still in love with him.'

'Have I ever denied it?' Marianne retorted proudly. 'I do not think I ever pretended otherwise. Yes, I do love him still. I may regret it as much as you, although for different reasons, but I love him and that is all there is to it.'

'I know. We need not quarrel about that again. There are times when you put me very much in mind of your Aunt Ellis. The same impatience and the same relish for a fight! And the same generosity. Never mind. I know you will come back here, and that is what matters.'