provide me with something other than raw, frosted potatoes for my dinner?'
She was not the only one to be dreaming of food. All round them, the soldiers were talking of nothing but the good meal they were going to have and their entry into Smolensk was as gay as if they were going to a fair. But their gaiety and the eagerness subsided a little once they were inside the gates and could see the damage that had been hidden before. The snow threw a merciful covering over the ruins but it could not hide the tragic gaps in the streets as the tapers were lit behind the squares of waxed paper that replaced shattered window panes.
As the convoy made its way along the street, people came out from such houses as were still standing and stood in groups on both sides of the road, watching the new arrivals silently. They were all like so many bundles of shawls and old rags, except for their eyes, which glittered with a hostile light, and now and then there came from them a murmur that had nothing friendly in it. All Marianne's happiness fell away from her. Here, even more than in Moscow, she felt that she was in enemy territory.
Mourier had paused by the gate to exchange a word with a captain of carabiniers, but now he rejoined them, looking worried.
'It seems that our three hundred men are a welcome addition. I was thinking we'd find Marshal Victor's 9th Corps here, but there's only a remnant of them left. The Marshal's gone off with the bulk of his force to Polotsk, where Gouvion St Cyr is said to be in difficulties. Even the governor has gone.'
'Who is it?' Beyle asked.
'General Baraguey d'Illiers. He ought to be here with the Illyrian Division which should have left Danzig on the first of August. He's gone to take up a position on the Yelnia road, leaving Smolensk to General Charpentier, chief of staff to the 4th Corps and before that governor of Vitebsk. I'm wondering what we are going to find here with so slender a garrison and all this chopping and changing in the command.'
Beyle, listening, was growing visibly gloomier, evidently worrying about his famous supplies. When they came out into a square, he suddenly left his companions and darted towards a private house, from the doorway of which two figures had just emerged. They proved to be the temporary Governor of Smolensk in person and, with him, none other than the Intendant of the province, Monsieur de Villeblanche, with whom Beyle promptly entered into a brief and clearly acrimonious dialogue. By the time he came back to Marianne, the unhappy director of Reserve Supplies was in something approaching a state of collapse.
'This is appalling! They haven't got a quarter of what I asked for! I hope to God the Emperor doesn't show up here or I'm a ruined man! Come on, we can't stay here. This is where we leave the convoy and rejoin the Supply Corps. I must see for myself. We'll easily find a lodging here somewhere.'
In fact, it was less easy than he imagined because, although the Quartermaster's staff had managed to acquire an undamaged house for their own use, this was already so full that they could offer the director of Reserve Supplies nothing more than a mattress squeezed into a small room already occupied by two of his colleagues. There could be no question of Marianne's inclusion in this offer, much less Barbe, whose ample dimensions required no less ample space to house them. They would have to find somewhere else.
Beyle deposited what remained of his baggage and then set out with one of the young men on the staff in search of a lodging for his 'secretary' and his cook.
They found one, in the end, in the house of an elderly German Jew, not far from the New Market. It was little more than an attic, but provided with a stove which made it seem to the two women the very height of comfort. In order to move in there with Barbe, Marianne was obliged to reveal herself as a woman but this scarcely signified since she was leaving the military convoy and the usefulness of her disguise was at an end. Nor did she have cause to regret discarding it. Solomon Levin and his wife Rachel were good souls and full of compassion for the girl's white face and pinched cheeks. They were tactful, too, and neither showed any surprise at her unusual garb. Concluding that questions would be out of place, they asked none, merely assuring the gentleman that he might go about his business with an easy mind for the ladies would be safe with them. Good relations, moreover, were very quickly established when it emerged that Marianne's German was as fluent as their own. Satisfied as to his friends' welfare, Beyle left them, promising to return next morning.
Solomon Levin, as a trader in furs and other such essential commodities as dried herring, was on terms with the invader which, if not precisely cordial, were at least very correct and had therefore been permitted to pursue his business in a city where most things had come to a standstill. Which is to say that no one in his house was actually starving.
Solomon's big wife Rachel went to work busily and Marianne found her attic provided with mattress, blankets, sheets and, most rapturous of all, a great bearskin rug. But she almost burst into tears of joy when Rachel and her little servant maid brought in a big washing copper and two huge jugs of hot water, with towels, rough but clean, and a bar of soap. In the twenty-eight days since leaving Moscow, she had not had her boots off once and her linen was the same that she had set out in. Never had she felt so dirty, and the smell that clung about her was a far cry from her favourite scent of tuberoses.
The sight of the copper full of steaming hot water filled her with such joy that she flung both arms round the old woman and kissed her impulsively.
'I'll bless you as long as I live for this, Madame Levin,' she said. 'You can't think what that bath means to me!'
'I think I can. Our house is not large or handsome, or even very comfortable, but we set great store by cleanliness, for that is the way of all those of our faith who would follow closely the law of Moses. Give me your clothes and those of your maid and I will see that they are washed.'
Up to that point, Rachel's reply had been made with great dignity, but there she broke off and added, smiling very shyly: 'I, too, shall remember you always, my lady, for I would never have believed that a European lady would ever do what you have just done. Had you forgotten that I belong to a despised race?'
The sudden sadness in the old woman's voice went to Marianne's heart. She went to her quickly and took both her hands in hers.
'To me, a stranger, you have been more than hospitable, you have been friendship itself and I always kiss my friends. Have
When Barbe returned, well-scrubbed, she brought a big tray with her. On it were a number of dishes: kasha, a thick buckwheat porridge, a kind of stew made with cabbage and blinis, little stubby pancakes eaten with sour cream. There was also a steaming pot of tea.
It was a long time since Marianne and Barbe had seen such a feast. They ate like the starving people they were, too intent on their food to utter a single word. Then, as though the act of eating had taken all their strength, they lay down on the mattresses and, heavy with food, fell into a deep sleep which, for Marianne at least, lasted until well into the following afternoon.
She woke to the contented realization that her long sleep had done her good. She had not felt such a sense of well-being for a long time because she had gone straight from a life of total seclusion indoors to an exhausting outdoor one. After another meal she felt full of energy again and equal to anything, a state of affairs which expressed itself in an acute impatience to continue her journey to France as soon as possible. Her brief sight of Smolensk, or what was left of it, had cured her of any wish to linger there, even in the warmth and simple friendliness of the Levins' house.
Beyle came again at nightfall, just as she was finishing dressing. She had found it a relief to put on the women's clothes that she had brought with her in her bundle.
Beyle had clearly not been enjoying the same measure of comfort as Marianne. He was pale and his face was puffy with fatigue and his nerves were so much on edge that it was evident he was deeply worried. He seemed quite offended to see Marianne looking so fresh and clean and rested. He himself was still almost as dirty and complained of a night tormented by fleas. After that, however, he ceased to dwell on his own sufferings and reverted to a subject which, although less personal, was equally on his mind.
'The convoy leaves again tomorrow,' he began without preamble. 'Do you want to go with it or not?'
'You know I do not. The pretence that I was your secretary ended here and I've no wish to face the prospect of several hundred leagues as the only woman, apart from Barbe, among a thousand or more men, all of them practically reverting to the condition of savages. Ask Barbe what she thinks of it. Even she will not do it.'
'This is silly and stupid! You know quite well that Mourier will look after you—'
