Marianne

again. The mere fact that she had mentioned Beaufort had been enough to bring him back, tenacious and encroaching, into Marianne's mind though she still persisted in trying to drive him out again. Why? Marianne began to have strange doubts. Could she perhaps have loved the American? Oh dear, it was clear that she was still very young and there was still a great deal she had to learn!

She became aware that Adelaide was walking purposefully in the direction of the kitchen staircase and called out to stop her.

'But – where are you going?'

'Down to the cellar, child. I forgot to tell you it communicates with that of Mrs Atkins. A circumstance I discovered not long ago but one which I have found very useful ever since you changed the locks. Goodnight.'

She walked on but Marianne called after her.

'Cousin!'

It was only one word but there was a world of feeling in it. It suddenly seemed to Marianne that in Adelaide she had rediscovered something of her Aunt Ellis and that cry was the product of her need for some of the warmth of kinship. Adelaide paused in the doorway as though something tangible had struck her. She turned slowly, a look of strain on her face.

'Yes?'

'Why – why must you go on living with a friend when there is this house, our house? It is too big for me. I – I need someone – you! I will ask the Emperor to pardon you and then we can—'

She could not go on. There was a silence. Blue eyes and green eyes met and held one another with an intensity that was far beyond words. Was it an illusion, or was that a tear that gleamed for a moment under the older woman's lashes? She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose vigorously.

'I dare say I'd better move,' she muttered. 'It's dreadfully gloomy here with nothing over the fireplace.'

Patting her tottering pile of hair into place with an air of stern determination, Adelaide turned and marched firmly in the direction of the cellar.

Left alone, Marianne gazed at her surroundings in triumph. It seemed to her that now, suddenly the old house was really itself again, that only now had the old walls begun to live and to accept their new dress. The wheel had come full circle. The house had got its soul again and Marianne a home.

***

Six days later, on the 19th March, the streets around the Theatre Feydeau were crammed with carriages all turning in to deposit their elegantly dressed contents beneath the round arches of the former Theatre de Monsieur. Women muffled in expensive furs from beneath which came the occasional gleam of jewels, heads crowned with flowers, feathers and diamonds, men in huge overcoats that concealed splendid uniforms or dark coats studded with decorations. In spite of the persistent rain which had been drenching Paris for some days, all that was most distinguished by rank or fortune in the French capital was thronging to the doors of the famous Theatre.

The choice of the Theatre Feydeau was a late one and due particularly to the size of the auditorium which was much larger than that of the opera in the rue de la Loi. It had also been thought that an Italian singer would find herself more at home on a stage traditionally the preserve of the Italian Comedy and then of the Opera Comique, rather than at the Opera where ballet was generally the chief spectacle. The dancers were notoriously averse to sharing the limelight, while the Theatre Feydeau was truly the temple of bel canto. If the Director of the Opera, Picart, had felt some twinges of regret at the fabulous takings which would not come his way, he consoled himself by thinking of the trouble it would have called down on his head from the temperamental Auguste Vestris, that 'god' whom age did not mellow and who ruled as a despot over a theatre which he regarded as his own personal property.

The members of the Feydeau company, the celebrated Dugazon, the lovely Phyllis and Madame de Saint- Aubin and their male counterparts, the irresistible Elleviou and his colleagues Gavaudan, Martin, Solie and Chenard, had all displayed great deference to the imperial command and declared their willingness to welcome the singer Maria Stella whose great fame, most of it due to the efficient publicity which sprang full-grown from Fouche's fertile brain, had gone before her.

The four Parisian daily newspapers, Le Moniteur, the Journal de l'Empire, the Gazette de France and the Quotidienne, duly instructed, had all published laudatory articles about the new star of bel canto whom none of them had yet seen. Meanwhile, the streets of Paris became covered with bills announcing the forthcoming event at the Theatre Feydeau presenting 'for the first time in France, the celebrated Venetian diva Signorina Maria Stella, the golden voice of the peninsula'. As a result, Paris was talking quite as much about the mysterious new singer as about the new Empress still making her slow way towards France. Fashionable gossip had done the rest. The Emperor was rumoured to be wildly in love with the beautiful Maria, to have installed her secretly in an apartment in the Tuileries and to spend a fortune covering her with jewels. The magnificent preparations for the marriage went almost unnoticed: the alterations to the salon carre in the Tuileries for the ceremony, the overworked dressmakers and seamstresses, the endlessly drilling of troops, and even the transformations taking place on the site of the triumphal arch at the Etoile, where a false arch was being erected out of scaffolding and canvas until the real one could be built. This, too, was not without set-backs caused by the carpenters going on strike for more pay every five minutes.

Marianne was both amused and terrified by all the fuss. She was well aware that on the great night, all the eyes in Paris would be on her, that her figure and her clothes would be subjected to the closest scrutiny and that the slightest weakness in her voice would be fatal. And so she had worked to the very utmost of her strength until her friends became actually worried about her.

'If you wear yourself out,' said Dorothee de Perigord, who now came to the rue de Lille every day in order to encourage her friend, 'you will be too tired on Monday night to bear the fatigue and excitement of the evening.'

'Who would travel far must spare his horse,' cousin Adelaide, who now watched over her like a mother, would remark sententiously, while every morning, Napoleon sent his personal physician Corvisart to check on her health. It was the Emperor's command that Mademoiselle Maria Stella should take care of herself.

But Marianne, scared to death, would listen to none of them. It took Gossec himself to declare that he refused to practise with her more than one hour a day and Arcadius de Jolival to take it upon himself to lock up the piano for the rest of the time before she would finally agree to take a little rest, and even then the harp had to be shut up in the attic and the guitar in a cupboard before she could be brought to resist temptation altogether.

'I'll be a success,' she cried, 'if it kills me!'

'If you go on like this, you'll not get the chance,' retorted Fortunee Hamelin, who was constantly obliging her to swallow mysterious concoctions from her native islands, intended to sustain her, and waging a daily battle against Adelaide who prescribed egg-nogs. 'You'll be dead first!'

The Hotel d'Asselnat, so peaceful a few weeks before, had become a forum for the expression of everybody's opinion and filled all day long with seamstresses, bootmakers, furriers, milliners and purveyors of endless frills and fancies. Rising above the general uproar was the greedy voice of the couturier Leroy, who ordered everyone about. The great man had not slept for three nights while he was designing the clothes that Marianne was to wear on stage, and in between times had wandered about his salons with such a distracted and distant expression that three princesses, five duchesses and the wives of half a dozen marshals had practically died of rage. A fortnight from the imperial wedding day and Leroy could think of nothing but one lovely figure!

'The evening will either be my triumph, or it will not!' was all he would say, wading through miles of satin, tulle, brocade and gold thread, to the even greater confusion of the scribblers for the various journals, who one and all concluded in their article that Maria Stella would be dressed with such splendour that even the glories of the most fabulous sultanas of Golconda would pale in comparison. They claimed that she would stagger under rivers of diamonds, that she was actually to wear the crown jewels, that the Emperor had had his largest diamond, the 'Regent', mounted in a necklace for her to wear, that he had given her permission to wear a diadem like a princess and a great deal more nonsense of the same kind. Paris retailed it with all the more assurance when it was known that the Austrian Ambassador had gone anxiously to visit Fouche in private to find out how