The Battle Page 3

  'Don't mention it, my dear friend. My innate gallantry deserves most of the credit.'

  Henri, slightly stunned by what he'd just witnessed, followed after his friend, who was now running upstairs and along the corridors until he reached a massive door, which he began pounding on, calling out, 'It's me, it's Colonel Lejeune!'

  Having put on a dressing gown sewn with facings and trimmed with brocade, Perigord caught them up, still with only half of his moustache waxed. He started chatting to Henri as if they were at a soiree in the Trianon palace, while Lejeune carried on knocking.

  'Pillaging is a part of war, don't you think?'

  'I'd prefer not to,' said Henri.

  'Do you remember that story of one of Antony's veterans who fought in the Armenian campaign? He had hacked a gold statue of the goddess Anaitis to pieces to take one of her thighs. When he got home, he sold the goddess's leg and bought himself a house near Bologna, some land and some slaves. How many legionaries, my dear sir, must have returned with gold stolen from the East? That gold was spent developing industry and agriculture across the entire plain of the Po River. Twenty years after Actium, the region was flourishing.'

  'Enough, Perigord,' said Lejeune. 'Spare us your history lessons, please!'

  'It is in Pliny.'

  At last the door opened on an old woman wearing a white crepe turban. Lejeune, who had been born in Strasbourg, spoke to her in German, she answered in the same language and only then did the colonel feel reassured; he beckoned to Henri to follow him into the room.

  'I'll leave you,' said Perigord. 'In such a dishevelled state, I'm hardly fit for company.'

  Anna Krauss was seventeen, with jet-black hair and green eyes. She shut the book she was pretending to read, sat up as they walked towards her, swung her legs over the edge of the sofa to put on a pair of Roman sandals and then got to her feet in one slow, supple movement. Her long, very fine skirt of cotton cambric from the Indies was figured with jasmine; a lace tunic was draped over her rounded shoulders, and fastened by a clasp of classical design; her hands were bare, her stance both delicate and firm, her slim waist giving way to full hips. Seen like this, against the light which gave clearer definition to her figure under her gossamer-thin clothes, she seemed like an allegory of all that was contradictory in the midst of war. Lejeune looked at her, his eyes shining; he had been so afraid. Both of them started speaking in German, their voices almost hushed. As he hung back by the door, sweat ran down Henri's temples, his cheeks were on fire, his eyes fixed and staring. He felt hot. He felt cold. He didn't dare move. He contemplated Anna Krauss; her oval face, like an Italian woman's, reminded him of a pastel drawing by Rosalba Carriera which he had admired recently at a collector's house in

  Hamburg; but no, her velvet skin was real, and the sunshine filtering through the leaded glass windows softened it still further.

  After a moment, Lejeune turned to Henri to translate their conversation, because despite two years in Brunswick, when everyone had spoken to him in French — apart from the serving girls he'd sported with and had absolutely no need to understand - Henri had never got used to that country's harsh language.

  'I said that on Friday I was going to rejoin the ponto-neers on the Danube and then the headquarters staff, to take up my billet on the island of Lobau.'

  'Yes,' said Henri.

  'I said that in my absence there had to be someone trustworthy to protect the house from the mob our army trails along in its wake.'

  'The mob, yes.'

  'I said that you'd be moving in because you're going to be staying in Vienna.' 'Ah.'

  'Don't you agree, Henri?' 'Agreed.'

  'We can't leave her alone in an occupied city!' 'We can't.'

  Henri was lost for words and made do with repeating, with emphasis, snatches of his friend's sentences. 'Have you got many things?' 'Things.'

  'Henri? Are you listening to me?'

  Anna Krauss broke into a broad grin. Was she making fun of this fat, ruddy-cheeked young man? Was there an ounce of tenderness in her mockery? The slightest warmth?

  Did she love Lejeune? And Lejeune? The latter took Henri by the shoulders and shook him. 'Are you sick?' 'Sick?'

  'If you could see yourself!' 'No, no, I'm fine.'

  'Well then, answer me, you dunce! Do you have much luggage?'

  'An Italian grammar by Veneroni-Gattel, Bitanbe's Homer, Condorcet, Alfieri's Life, a few clothes, some other bits and pieces.'

  'Perfect! Have your servant bring them round tomorrow morning.'

  'My servant has left me.'

  'No money?'

  'Not much money.'

  'I'll take care of it.'

  'Daru has to give his permission as well.'

  'He will. Do you accept?'

  'Of course I do, Louis-Francois.'

  Lejeune briefly translated this exchange for Anna Krauss but she had already grasped the thrust of it and was applauding as if at a concert. Henri, still rooted to the spot, decided to learn German seriously, now that he had a real incentive. What's more, Anna Krauss had actually begun addressing him in her gibberish and he could only make out the melody: the meaning escaped him.

  'Louis-Francois, what is she saying to me?'

  'She's offering us tea.'

  Late that evening, as Lejeune had received orders to return immediately to Berthier at Schonbrunn, Henri accepted

  Pengord's suggestion that they take a stroll through Vienna; in point of fact, he had been hoping to draw him out on the details of Anna's life, which, since that afternoon, had become the only subject close to his heart. Lejeune had given his friend one of the bundles of Daru's counterfeit money, so he was in a position to invite Perigord, who was as garrulous as ever but also knew the city and its inhabitants from a previous visit. They set off for the gardens of the Hugelmann cafe, which overlooked the Danube and its burnt-out bridges. Despite the warm weather, there were no bathers, no cafe regulars, no Turkish sailors: just as everywhere else there were only soldiers. 'Normally,' said Perigord, 'garishly coloured sailing boats take one out on the Danube here, but they must have either been requisitioned by our men or sunk by the Austrians.' Henri couldn't care less about this piece of information, or about the renowned Hungarian billiards player, who was continuing to practise his craft during the hostilities and had just earned a round of applause. It seemed that he could knock balls around the table for hours without losing a point and the two Frenchmen ended up feeling exhausted. They decided to go to the Prater, which was only a step away in the Leopold suburb.

  Perigord wore a pelisse with gilded braid, black trousers and top boots and, to spare them any ridicule, he'd lent Henri a decent horse. In Spain recently, several expensive horses of his had been stolen and so, while they picked at crayfish, he'd had their mounts looked after by a very young soldier who had been passing by. The boy was waiting patiently for them.

  'Bravissimo!' Perigord said to him. 'Your name?'

  'Voltigeur Paradis, sir, Second Infantry of the Line, 3rd

  Division of General Molitor, under the command of Marshal Massena!'

  Perigord tucked a few florins in the voltigeur's jacket and said to Henri, who was looking pensive, or distracted, as if overcome by anxiety, 'My man will bring your belongings round tomorrow, Beyle, don't worry.'

  'Do you know Anna Krauss : '

  'I've lodged in her house for three days, no, two - well anyway, curious as I am and diaphanous as she is . . .' 'Her family?'

  'The father is a musician. A close relative of Herr Haydn.'

  'Where is he ;;

  'He has followed Francis of Austria's court to its place of refuge somewhere in Bohemia, so they say, but can one be certain?'

  'Her mother : '

  "I happen to know that she is dead. Air could no longer reach her lungs.'

  'So Mile Krauss stayed behind in Vienna on her own?'

  'With her younger sisters and her older governess.'

  'Her father abandoned her in the middle of a
war!'

  'My dear sir, the Viennese take nothing seriously. Consider: finding Monday a sad day which used to spoil Sunday, they simply turned Monday into a public holiday.

  Not bad, eh, for insouciance?'

  f

  'Do you think Lejeune is in love?'

  'With the Viennese?'

  'No, no! With that young girl.'

  'I don't know, but the symptoms are fairly conclusive: agitation, anxiety, near-swooning. As a matter of fact, she gives you palpitations as well.'

  'Sir, I did not give you leave . .

  'Tut tut! You can't do anything about it, and nor can I, but between you two promises to be a sight more delightful than the one between the rest of us and the Archduke Charles's troops! You see, what I don't like about war, what I simply can't abide, is the dirt, the wretched uniforms, the dust, the vulgarity, the unsightly wounds. To come back in one piece, ah, now that's the thing! Then one can cut a dashing figure at balls and dance with faux duchesses and real bankers.'

  They reached the sandy avenues of the Prater. The park's tall trees had been felled for derisory barricades. Dotted around the lawns stood grottoes, miniature houses, lodges, a Chinese pavilion, a Swiss chalet, savages' mud huts: a gallimaufry of pleasure haunts to which, in times of peace, crowds flocked from every corner of the planet. The ladies and gentlemen of Vienna would rub shoulders with Egyptians, Cossacks and Greeks, and the Emperor Francis often came to take his daily walk unescorted, raising his hat to his subjects like any respectable bourgeois. On summer evenings insects plagued one in swarms, and Perigord joked, 'A German explained to me recently that if it wasn't for these insects, love would wreak terrible havoc here!'

  They lingered in front of a caravan which was staging a curious show, in which the parts were performed by puppets and dwarves. Most of the audience of French and allied soldiers didn't understand a word, but were amusing themselves instead by distinguishing which of the actors were flesh and bone, and which wood.

  'What are they playing?' asked Henri.

  'Shakespeare, old man. Do you see the tiny fellow with the fake beard and the cardboard crown? He's delivering

  the famous monologue, "What, do I fear myself?'" Peri-gord acted out the scene as he recited. '"There's none else by. Richard loves Richard: that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No; — yes; I am: Then fly. What, from myself? Great reason why, — Lest I revenge. What, — myself upon myself! Alack, I love myself. Wherefore? For any good that I myself have done unto myself? Oh no! Alas, I rather hate myself for hateful deeds committed by myself!"' 'And I,' sighed Henri, 'I hate myself for not knowing German!'

  'Don't worry, my dear Beyle, I'm garbling it, but the play's title is written up on that board and I know Richard III by heart.'

  On the platform, the puppets and dwarves were flinging themselves at each other around a painted wooden throne. Perigord added, 'Act V, scene 3.'

  At Schonbrunn, in the Lacquer Saloon where flowers and gilded birds chased one another around the walls, Napoleon was rummaging in his tortoiseshell snuffbox and filling his nostrils with snuff. Wearing a white flannel dressing gown, and with a Madras bandana wound round his head like a shawl from the West Indies, he was examining maps. Different coloured pins showed the current position of his troops, of the stores of provisions, forage, and shoes, and the artillery park.

  'Monsieur Constant!'

  The head valet, a tall, heavy-lidded figure who moved noiselessly as if gliding above the ground, appeared at his side. The Emperor pointed to his glass, which the servant filled with Chambertin mixed with water.

  'My chicken, Monsieur Constant.' 'At once, sire.' 'Pronto /' 'Sire . . .'

  'Has that devil Roustan eaten my chicken again, like the other night?'

  'No, sire, no, the chicken is safely locked away in its wicker basket and I have the key to the padlock.' 'Well?'

  'Sire, the Prince of Neuchatel, His Excellency the Chief of Staff...'

  'Keep it simple, Monsieur Constant! Say Berthier.' 'He is waiting, sire.'

  7o lo so, I had him summoned. Bring him in, the dullard, and my chicken as well!'

  Immaculate in full-dress uniform, Major-General Berthier entered the study followed by Lejeune and put his cocked hat down on a pedestal table. The Emperor turned his back on them and they were forced to listen to his monologue without moving.

  'The English fleet lies at anchor off Naples. Tyrol is in revolt. Prince Eugene is in difficulty in the Kingdom of Italy and the Pope is becoming unruly. Our army's finest men are wearing themselves out in Spain. Can I count on the Tsar's neutrality for long? The English are bankrolling rebellions at every turn. In France the mood is souring and the people's impertinence is no longer to be contained by censorship. Talleyrand and Fouche, alas both so valuable, are conspiring to have me replaced by that puppet Murat, but I keep them in check, like everyone else, through fear and self-interest! Public funds are dwindling, desertions are on the increase, my gendarmes are shackling conscripts to

  bring them into barracks and camp. There's a shortage of non-commissioned officers, they have to be plucked from outside school gates . .

  The Emperor tore a drumstick off the chicken which Constant had left on a black table. He bit into it, grease spilling onto his chin, and growled, 'What do you think of this dismal picture?'

  'That it is unfortunately all too accurate, Your Majesty,' said Berthier.

  'Goddamn, I know that only too well! I've had to send for that scavenger Massena and insist that Lannes leave the peace and quiet of his chateau, which is all he cares about! Venga quiP

  With the chicken bone, Napoleon pointed to the island of Lobau on his large map. 'In three days we will take up position on this wretched island. The bridge?'

  'It will be thrown over the Danube,' answered Lejeune, 'since that is what you have decided.'

  'Bene! On Friday, Molitor's riflemen disembark and mop up the few Austrian cretins still bivouaced there. Organize enough boats. Meanwhile, with the material which you will have transported to Bredorf—'

  'Ebersdorf, sire,' Berthier corrected.

  'Keep your damned thoughts to yourself! Did I ask your advice? What was I saying?' 'The material/sire.'

  '5// Straight away we throw the pontoon bridge over the broad arm of the river to join Lobau to this bank. Lasalle's cavalry instantly reinforce Molitor's men, who then cross over to the left bank and occupy the two villages.'

  'Essling and Aspern.'

  'Whatever you like, Berthier! By Saturday evening, the

  main bridge and the second one, which will cross from the island to the left bank, must be fixed and secure.' 'It will be done, sire.'

  'Sunday, at dawn, our troops occupy your damned villages, whatever their names are, entrench and wait. The Archduke sees us. He wakes up. He thinks me a fool for stationing my troops with their backs to the river. He attacks. Massena meets him with cannon. You, Berthier, with Lannes, Lasalle and Espagne, lead the charge to break up the Austrian centre and cut their army in two. Then Davout crosses the main bridge with his reserves, reinforces your attack and we crush those coglioniV

  'May it turn out that way, Your Majesty.'

  'That's how it will turn out. I see it and I wish it. You don't approve, Lejeuner'

  'I listen, sire, and in listening to you, I learn.'

  The Emperor slapped him hard on the cheek to show that he was pleased with the reply, without really being taken in by it. He detested familiarity and advice: all he wanted from his officers, like his courtesans, was mute obedience. Lannes and Augureau were the only two who dared speak their minds to him. Otherwise, he had fashioned a court of spurious princes and trumped-up dukes, each as compromised, crass and dissembling as the other. He asked nothing of them save low, scraping bows which he rewarded with chateaux, titles and a fortune in gold.

  Constant was shuffling from one foot to the other by the door, which Napoleon eventually noticed. Grumbling, he said, 'What is this new dance, Monsieur Constant?'


  'Mile Krauss has arrived, sire.'

  'Have her undress and wait for me.'

  At the mention of that name, Lejeune thought he was

  going to faint. What' Anna was at Schonbrunn.' She was going to spend the night in the Emperor's bed : No. It was unthinkable. Nothing in her character suggested such a thing. Lejeune watched his sovereign finish the chicken, then wipe his fingers and mouth on the curtain. What could Lejeune dor Nothing. When Napoleon dismissed Berthier and him with a wave of his hand, like a pair of lackeys, he hastily asked permission to return to Vienna.

  'Off you go, my friend,' Berthier answered paternally. 'Have a whale of a time, but don't waste all your energy, we'll be needing it.'

  Lejeune saluted and rushed out.

  Will we still be alive next week' Berthier thought as he watched Lejeune leap into the saddle and ride away.

  Lejeune galloped to the pink house in the Jordangasse district. He ran up to the floor where Anna Krauss should have been asleep, went into her room without knocking, walked silently, holding his breath, up to the sarcophagus-shaped bed, there she was, dreaming, lit up by the last quarter of the moon, calm, almost smiling. He listened to her even, untroubled breathing. She moaned softly and stretched without waking. Lejeune pushed a chair over to the bed and and watched her sleeping. Later, he found out that the young lady visiting the Emperor may have had the same surname, *with one less V that is, but that her Christian name was Eva. She was the adopted daughter of a commissary of war. The Emperor had noticed her one morning at a parade in the palace courtyard; amongst so many women in bright colours, she alone had been dressed in black, like a terrifying portent.

  Henri also couldn't get to sleep in his room in an inn on