Chapter XI
Our hero is caught between a rock and some very soft, sensual pillows indeed.
The northern Italian landscape rolled on by for mile upon mile. There were, over the several days of carriage travel, a good many stops to change the horses stretch, and take repast. Inns and guesthouses took their coins in the nights and it was not until the Ides of March that the trio was closing on Parma.
His traveling companions did not amuse Etienne. The Italians were no substitute for that fun-loving and quick-witted Hussar. Despite subtle and less-than-subtle suggestions, Francesco had seemingly made a point in not bathing or cleaning himself up at any of the presented opportunities. Ruffolo had some hygiene issues also but it was his regular foul emissions in the cramped carriage that were Etienne’s greatest complaint against him. The one time that Etienne voiced his disapproval was interpreted as barracks humour and all that got him was several hours of witless banter on all manner of body excretions. The Frenchman was not offended by Francesco’s vulgar vocabulary but nor was he amused by it. With every curse the man was further being stuffed into that small box in Etienne’s mind that was reserved for people thought to be beneath him. He was not hateful of the wild haired man but for all his lowly station and lack of education, Etienne felt superior to him.
From the first days after they had departed Valvasone, it was an uncomfortable journey for Etienne. There had been an arrangement to take in turn the luxury of being alone on the bench seat but inevitably he found himself spending his days crushed against one of the Italians while the other lay out in comparative comfort. Even then, it wasn’t spacious enough to straighten a leg out. The chief advantage was to simply allow a blessed variety of postures. There, in that congested, bumping buggy, with its intense odours of scoundrels and horses, Etienne once again found himself alone.
All day, every day, lying on the floor of the coach was Henri’s saber. At first, Etienne had thought it was some cruel taunt or comment upon the Hussar’s passing. In time, though he decided that it was more apathy and simple carelessness that had them stow the weapon there. Perhaps even it would be handy if it were ever required. Certainly, during a good many hours of the confinement, Etienne’s thoughts would stray to the saber and he would imagine flights of fantasy where he could use the weapon to visit violence upon his cellmates. These thoughts would creep into the open light of Etienne’s mind space most often when their rudeness or odour most pronounced themselves. He would never act on such thoughts though, he knew, because these men trusted him. They had come to terms. They were at peace. He would tell himself all these things and then Etienne would see Ruffolo’s holed boot resting atop his former friend’s blade.
Somewhere west of Bassano, Ruffolo had related the tale of Otto and his bandits. Once upon a time, Otto was holding some rank as an officer in a company of Tyrolean light infantry. When the Tyrol fell to Napoleon in ’05 a good many of the soldiers had set down arms or changed sides but a small group took to the hills to fight on against the French. They had had some small successes and tied up various numbers of soldiery over the years. Eventually the line blurred between freedom fighters and bandits so that when the province fell back under the authority of the Austrian Empire, Otto, with a last few of his soldiers (along with a few other new recruits), had chosen to continue the life that they had become accustomed to so continued to roam through the lands avoiding legitimate authority and eking out an existence through smuggling and banditry. For the restored rulers of the affected provinces they were a political inconvenience thus they remained unmolested by the local militaries for the time being. It had not been difficult for Ruffolo to find them and they had readily accepted the money to grab a pair of French couriers. This act would even buy them more credit with the Austrians.
Francesco and Ruffolo, on the other hand, had no interest in getting into the good books of any Austrians. They had nothing against the French anymore than the Austrians. It could not be said that they were supporters of the Italy for Italians movement either. No, these two scoundrels were entirely for themselves. Money drove their interests. Money and freedom. It was a dishonest freedom that meant never committing to a trade and never committing to being a part of civil society. It was a selfish philosophy and this was made abundantly clear to Etienne as they traveled together. They had his money so as he was penniless, it did not take long before he was performing menial services in exchange for pittance. He could stave off humiliation by reminding himself that at least he was not a prisoner nor dead and he would soon be in Parma. When he got to the Princess, everything would be good again.
They never questioned Etienne’s motivations. He was doing a soldier’s duty. Even if, by his costume, they had never thought him to be a soldier it would have been explanation enough that he was a Frenchman doing a Frenchman’s duty. Indeed, the real mystery would have been if he weren’t doing what his country had asked of him.
Things though were far less clear for the former farm boy. He had little idea what France wanted him to do and had less understanding of where his duty lay. What then had brought him to this point? He knew perfectly well why he was now going to Parma even though he would not allow himself to articulate it but if asked to explain why he was here in the congested company of unkempt rogues he could only answer that he had come because a friend had asked him to. It must surely have been a good friend of many years. No, it was a lunatic that he had met but a few hours before… and now that lunatic was gone.
Maybe it was just an adventure, a lark. It was over now. He was not losing ground, he would think as he saw witnessed recurring landscapes roll past. He was moving forward.
When Etienne put boot to the long step and emerged from the coach to the Thurn und Taxis establishment in Parma, he was near to overwhelmed by a sense of relief and excitement. It was somehow both a homecoming and a new adventure. It was not exactly a fresh start though. The youth immediately found himself alert to the possibility of seeing familiar faces. Was there a chance that he could catch a glimpse of the Princess Pauline here at the post house? Hope demanded that he remain watchful. If he should accidentally happen across her, it would mean that Destiny was making her presence felt. If She approved then great things would surely come to pass. So there he was straining to surreptitiously examine every face or form that passed through his view. With trepidation though, Etienne also was on watch for that other critical visage: Prince Borghese. He tried to imagine what might occur if either spied the other but he could not avail himself of any clear prescience.
Ruffolo’s instruction was that Etienne was to be taken to the Princess Borghese on the following day. They desired to present him to her in an effort to gain favourable compensation. Ruffolo had devised some elaborate scheme to persuade some more coins from Pauline and something about it somehow involved the passage of more time.
Etienne though was not so patient as to confine himself to their schedule.
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The shadowy figure of the youth pulled himself up and through the open window almost noiselessly. Within, he crouched at the sill and waited as though allowing the room to slowly settle. The night light but barely illumined the chamber but he could see the vague silhouette of a large four-post bed. He could discern almost no other furniture save for a nightstand and a chair. Perhaps his eyes had not yet adjusted to the gloom. The intruder crept forward toward the shrouded bed.
A phantom, feminine whisper broke through the black to ask, "Who is that?" It was more curious than alarmed.
Etienne arrested himself. Persona non grata. Dare he? He had already dared too much.
"Etienne." He tried to make it sound confident, as Henri would have said it.
There was a pause. It became prolonged and remained so even while the faintest sounds suggesting movement from the bed emerged to flavour it. Finally it fully broke when that same throaty whisper almost purred out an intrigued, “Ooooooh.” Sensing an invitation to advance, Etienne made movement forward yet his pace and posture remained cautious. More cautious, he reflected, than the Princess appeared.
“Let me make light.” The woman suggested and Etienne remained quietly beside the bed to guess at the movements in the dark while she performed the task. There were a few brief sparks and then a small glow began to cast the woman’s form in silhouette.
Etienne spoke quietly while waiting, saying “I had to come back. I had to see you… to ask you questions…” to which there was no immediate reply so he fell silent.
When the bedside candle was finally lit, flickering forms emerged from stark shadows. The Princess Pauline was abed all dishevelled, half draped in rumpled cotton sheets and yet she appeared, of course, to be of alarming beauty. The chiaroscuro played well upon her soft, flowing flesh, shifting through slow transitions from faint pink to the darkest of her mysteries. Her eyes, half hidden in the flashing shades, still appeared wide, bright, and curious. For the moment, Etienne’s gaze was transfixed though upon the simple play of light and shadow on the extended long muscle on her sweet, sculpted neck.
“Come.” She beckoned. There is nothing to fear.”
Etienne took sure comfort in the warm manner yet curious, he asked, “You have no protection?”
Perhaps too affected, Pauline’s smile verged upon a titter. “Do I need any from you? Have no fear for I have none.” She shifted her body upon the bed and a naked thigh rose up briefly before it again submerged beneath white sheets. A hand then lifted to demonstrate that it limply possessed a walnut-gripped duelling pistol but she aimed the weapon well away from danger. Because her intruder was still reacting, Pauline let the pistol fall away off her fingertips and then reached back for the candle. Doing so, the covering sheets slid slow off her bosom…but dark shadows fully veiled her. As the small candle was brought to the front of the woman, she leaned forward into the bedclothes to demurely display her illumed cleavage to full effect and spoke with a conspiratorial whisper, “Tell me what happened.”
“Your ambush worked.” recounted Etienne. “We were held by your bandits but I have returned with your henchmen to ask why you did this? Why did you stop us?” He knelt by the side of the bed and looked up into the Princess’ eyes to earnestly assure her. “I am loyal to Napoleon…and I am loyal to you.” He held his breath then until the warm flame held between those two faces ceased its agitated dancing and hovered still. “I love you.” He proclaimed with a whisper that set the fire in motion.
The Princess drew back slowly and she would have pulled the candle away with her but Etienne grasped her slender wrist. He repeated his declaration once more but she only shook her head.
“I know…” she began “…that you think you love me. You cannot.” She turned away to hide her visage from his sight but his free hand touched her chin gently and drew her back.
Etienne protested against her protests. “Do not doubt my heart.” and so he found himself reading like a romance novel, saying “I have known that I loved you since I first laid eyes upon you.”
Pauline played her part. The performance was well scripted and oft rehearsed. She touched her fingertips to Etienne’s lips and whispered that he should be silent. “I will believe in your love then, for I believe in you. We must speak no more of it.” and then she leaned in to kiss the back of those same fingers before she once more sat back and gathered the sheets about her nakedness. The young man had no hold on her.
He only nodded. His mind was awhirl with possibilities and fantasies yet he could not imagine how next to proceed. Perhaps sensing this, Pauline advanced the encounter.
“How could I doubt your loyalty to my brother. How could you doubt my loyalty to him? I love Napoleon…” Pauline asserted, “…and I would do anything for him.” She turned away and set the candle down upon the nightstand. She continued as she rose, gathering the sheets about her round, pale derriere a moment too late. “He has done so very much for us all, and given us so much but I loved him before all that. We have always been dear to one another.” Turning back to face Etienne, she tilted her head elegantly and added “You can’t imagine how clever he is… how devoted …and his energy!” Her guest could hardly discern it from where he knelt by the bed, but the Princess was up on her toes, transported to dance as she continued by recalling, “I remember when he came home to Corsica. He had presents for us all in his threadbare pockets. We are all made Kings and Queens by his brilliance and his generosity. All that we now are we owe to him.”
“Yet you tried to thwart him!?” challenged Etienne as he rose to full height.
The Princess was defiant, "I want to protect him! On the Island of Elba he was safe. He could have been content there. Mama and I could visit him as we liked. Why couldn't he remain on Elba? He could have stopped all the stress and pain to his family. He chose though to throw his happiness... perhaps all of our happiness away with this mad flight of his." She clutched angrily at her costume of sheets and stomped a tiny foot. "I tried to persuade him but what can a woman's words do to a man already seduced by Glory. Surely he has enough laurels to make himself a massive bed." Her gesture then toward Etienne was plaintive, saying "He could have found happiness there if it were not for hubris... if not for ambition."
Etienne tried to defend his Emperor's motives, asking " if not for France? Is it all for personal gain and glory?"
Pauline's shoulders sagged " Yes. For France… for Glory… for ambition… for the revolution… for his son… Any reason at all." She sat down then on the end of the bed. "Why can't he just let the story end quietly?"
Sensing weakness in his Princess, Etienne move to offer her strength. Gently, almost tenderly, be eased himself onto the bed beside her and in the half-light let his hand rest upon the flesh of her naked shoulder. Her reaction was to immediately make to rise. She did not tear herself away but got to her feet slowly so that Etienne's fingers slid down her shoulder blades and spine for a long sensual moment. She might even have arched her back.
"He is so proud, so confident, yet he is also so frightened." She said and turned to face Etienne, readjusting her sheets as she did so. "Defiance marks his every step."
"Defiance…" answered Etienne, " is a heroic virtue."
Pauline became exasperated then. "Why couldn't he be happy just being happy? Why does he need to be heroic? Me? I aspire to happiness and when I've obtained it, I embrace it and aspire no more." She spun about as she railed so that elegant calves emerged from her rumpled drapery. "Can you be happy? Can no men ever be content with simple satisfactions?" and then she struck upon a thought, saying "Captain Darlon seems content. Is he?"
Etienne tensed. She didn't know. There was nothing for it but to be truthful.
"Captain Darlon is dead." he said.
The Princess stopped moving of a sudden. Distraught, she fell to her knees before Etienne and threw herself into his lap. "Dead!" she gasped.
The young man awkwardly fumbled to find the correct reaction to this unforeseen assault. He settled upon resting his palms upon the Princess' shoulders reassuringly. "The bandits...."
"I'm so sorry, I told them to not hurt you." she said, looking tenderly into Etienne's eyes. For his part, Etienne could not swear to how earnest Pauline's demonstrations were. It was easier to believe her though and he was surprised at how warm it felt to believe that someone cared about the loss of someone… anyone. This princess would grieve for him, he believed, and he didn't know anyone else who might do so except his parents. They would never hear of his passing.
"Yes." answered Etienne, "I think Henri was content. He was not an ambitious man." but even as he spoke the words, something about them rang false. Henri was driven by a powerful desire but an articulation escaped Etienne.
The Hussar's voice echoed through Etienne's memories "You are, I swear, more determined to fail than to succeed."
The Princess Pauline drew the young man's hands down to clasp them between her own and said in a soft tone "Let the Captain's death be the last death for this foolishness. Let your mission be ended." She felt the youth stiffen in her grasp so she inhaled a deep breath and relaxed to rally her thoughts. These movements let slip the sheets that had so tenuously clung to the soft spheres of her bosom such that divine gravity betrayed those light pink areola to Etienne's downcast view. He would not deny the opportunity to admire.
If he had been asked a few days ago, even a few hours ago, if he had abandoned the quest, Etienne would have replied with certainty that he had. Unasked, even a moment ago he felt sure that he was free of it but now when the question is so clear he does not know his answer. He could not identify exactly why he was now unable to turn from it but his heart told him that it had to do with Henri. Etienne's hands slipped free from the Princess. His view turned to that candle that continued to quietly illuminate the scene.
"I may have to continue. To quit would abandon ... would betray Henri."
Pauline's reaction was to sigh and rise, reconfiguring her white shroud with an eye toward decorum. Suddenly she showed all the weariness of a woman awoken in the night. She turned away from the other and moved to observe through the window, saying "Betrayal of friends is not what Dante would have us believe. Sometimes...: she sighed again, "...if you truly love someone, it is your duty to betray them."
Turning to watch the beauty posing at the window, Etienne quietly murmured by way of clarification, "I do not love Henri."
The Princess continued, saying "I love Napoleone perhaps more than anyone in the world. I have always gone running to him when he needed me. I gave him almost all of my diamonds when he needed the money. It takes great courage though and the greatest love to save a man from his own follies." She stretched languidly and presented the young man with a marvelous view of the length of her spine. "Adalbert taught me that."
Turning to confront her silent accuser, the Princess Pauline defended herself saying, "That Austrian china doll does not love him. She wants nothing more than to see Napoleon brought to ruin and for her father to be victorious! Spy! Saboteur! Whore. We saw how quickly she deserted him."
Etienne was unprepared for this new side of his feminine ideal. Rising, he took one tentative step toward her but halted there. His retort was naive, "But she is his wife and his Empress."
Pauline put her back to the panes and spent a moment in silence. She studied Etienne where he stood and tried to read what was being unsaid. "Yes, you worry for France. You worry for your comrades and your economies. I am just little Maria-Paola who wants to protect her big brother." Holding up tiny hands she appealed, "Who am I? I am nothing. I could do nothing to prevent Napoleon from the folly of returning to France. I tried to tell him about Marie-Louise but he spurned me." She caught the draped sheet before it slid off and then began pacing the room anew with petite bare feet. "He may indeed be France. Has he grown so big that he can no longer find his own heart?"
Etienne ventured poetic, "What of his son? Could the King of Rome not find his way to that heart?"
The Princess dismissed the notion with a hand wave, saying "His son. Yes, but it is impossible. The son could never be separated from the mother."
The man meditated on impossibilities while Pauline continued apace, "He has lost them. He lost the throne. He has lost everything but he has enough. He can be happy. He can turn his back on heartache and suffering and just live." she paused then and changed her tone. "But he won't. Glory is his mistress and he loves her above all else. He does not see her as she is: a diseased, ancient harlot that cannot leave her own soiled bed."
Now Etienne too took to treading the tiled floor, forth and back. He was not listening and was thinking about twice falling from a wall.
"Glory be damned!" declared the Princess and waved an emphatic finger in the air. "Just find happiness. Just find contentment."
Visions and memories of his own life caught up to Etienne then. He thought of home and he thought of happiness. Could he find contentment there? Could he live a happy life among the people that he had left behind? He could. He knew that with certainty. Everyone else lived that way and he was nothing special. He was no different from any other man. He still dreamed of quiet nights at a hearth and getting a good night's sleep. What was wrong with that as a tomorrow?
Pauline hovered behind him, so very close behind him, and whispered with a tone that promised as much as it asked, "Do not go to her. Stay with me."
Etienne did not turn. Along the whole length of his body he could feel the Princess pressed light to his back. Through his clothes he could still feel her warm touch and her slow, measured movements. "Stay with you?" he asked almost incredulously.
She spun him about and smiled coyly up into his face. The dim light played upon the two faces and between every flicker of shadow new, subtle variations of expressions were showing in the blond man's visage. Doubt. Determination. Love. Desire. Happiness. Hope. Strength. Weakness.
Princess Pauline Bonaparte breathed a fragrant promise, "Abandon your mission and I will give you a night of love. One night. One glorious night. I yearn for it as much as you do." As Etienne began to give his answer her fingers once more found their way to his lips to silence him. There was another condition.
"You must promise to never seek more. Take the night and then return home. Take a wife. Live your life. Carry memories of me away with you. I shall forever carry a part of you with me... but you must promise me that you will live your life in search of nothing more than quiet contentment."
"Kiss me, Etienne, and say 'yes'."
The Princess' slightly swollen lips then lingered, parted and patient but a breath away from the farm boy. Her slim fingers slid slow from his mouth, baring it for pleasure, and traced a long, lazy line down the man's throat to rest upon Eden's apple. He swallowed hard.
Etienne ensured that his answer was not a whisper. "No."
He did not retreat. His heart was building strong breastworks and he intended to defend the position.
"No." he repeated. Pauline came down off of her toes and Etienne knew that the high ground was his to hold. Brazenly, he clasped her wandering hand gently and held it to his tunic. He spoke down to Pauline "You are a great woman. A Princess among women and you are capable of so very much more."
Pauline actually rolled her eyes but Etienne insisted.
"Do not be common. Be great."
She pulled away to regroup. It was not yet a decisive victory and perhaps she could hold her strength together for another assault. "I am great." Pauline insisted. "I aspire daily and I strive to make myself beautiful." A rear guard was thrown up. "You think me common?"
Etienne gave pursuit, "You are beautiful, of course. You have all the appearances of greatness but you could be so much more. Instead of looking great, be great." and then he answered the question with a sweeping flank move. "You think yourself common."
"Why should I be great?" she challenged defiantly. Red brightened Pauline's cheeks. Her forces were being routed but she would not surrender. Not yet.
"For all of us." was the first part of Etienne's answer. The second part was him stepping forward and raising a hand to the Princess' cheek. He touched a thin lock of dark hair and set it neatly back into place for her. They shared a smile in silence for a moment and then the farm boy continued. "We need you to be great."
Etienne checked himself. This wasn't about the Princess. It was about more. "How dare we not seek greatness? We, who are capable of so much, must attempt difficult things... always."
"Who is 'we'?" asked Pauline. She was not yet committed to being a signatory.
"Every one of us. Humanity." but his cavalry would not recall, "It is irresponsible to not achieve great things. Complacency is cowardly!"
Pauline wrinkled her nose prettily. "Now you are sounding like Captain Darlon."
Accepting this compliment, Etienne effused, "Greatness... Glory is nothing more than refusing to be bound by mediocrity."
She laughed aloud then but it was a cheerful, musical laughter, "Now you sound like Napoleon." Shaking her head, Pauline stepped a dainty step back and gave a demure curtsey to the conqueror. "You have convinced me of two things. Firstly that you should not make too many speeches..." and she laughed when she saw Etienne did so first and then continued, "…but more, that I must let you go. I must wish you all the best and aid you as I can."
"I have your blessing?" Etienne was surprised at the victory.
"Go. Be my Hero. Redeem me."
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"I am the finest shot in the regiment."
With walnut-handled dueling pistols thrust into their faces, Ruffolo and Francesco made no effort to challenge either Etienne's claim or his authority. The saber was surrendered without ceremony. They gave up the letters almost hastily. Francesco swore quite vociferously when their coinage was plundered but he took some solace when it turned out that Ruffolo was throwing much more into the pot than he was.
"After I am gone," he instructed the cowering Italians as he balanced in the window, preparing to make his daring escape, "...you will take a bath."