In the Eye of a Storm (6 page)
Safely inside Laneve felt her strength slowly return again. ‘What can I
do for you now?’ Malande was eager to assist her in any way she could.
‘All I want is a long hot bath and a chance to wash my hair. Come
upstairs with me as I take off these filthy rags. Burn everything in your
stove, Malande. After I bathe you can help me dress again, comb my hair and we
will talk together, just the two of us.
Thank you, thank you, Malande for all you have done here for me. I am
so happy to find you, Daniel and Edouard safe and well.’
After Laneve had bathed, dried her hair and dressed, Malande brought
them both hot tea and bread. ‘This will refresh us until lunch is ready.’ They
embraced one another again as they exchanged their news.
‘Laneve, I have the contents of the strongbox safely hidden. It has
never been touched. What are the plans for our future now that you are safely
home again.’
‘I have been pardoned so that I can take up my teaching position at the
new
Conservatoire
in October of 1795. As that is still a year and
a half away all I want to do is leave France for a while. We must go away for a
complete rest and a change of place.
Remember when we both tried to escape to Berlin? After a few days here
we will leave for Berlin again and this time we will reach our destination.
Daniel and Edouard can stay on, but of course I will have to return to prepare
for my teaching position to fulfil the condition for my release. In the
meantime though, we are both free and soon we will be away.’
‘Where will we go in Berlin?’
‘Tomorrow I will send a letter to Dunod. He has asked me to do so and
he will welcome us both. It will be wonderful to see him once again. Besides
you, Malande, he is the only person I have left in my life now. All the others
have been killed or have moved far away.’ Then Laneve began to shake with
sobbing as tears flowed down her cheeks.
‘Let these tears come, dear one. Weeping is good for the soul as it
washes the pain away.’ Malande held Laneve close to her and dried her tears
until all the crying had stopped.
‘I feel so much better now and after I eat some good food and
rest in my own bed I will be fit to travel once again.’
‘I will let you rest until I serve our little feast and I will come for
you when this meal is ready. But close your eyes now, say your prayers and all
will be well.’
As Laneve gazed over her room and the familiar items she loved and
cherished, she gave thanks again and again.
‘I am happy that Rene is not here now to see all this suffering. He is
resting in peace. I am thankful that both Papa and Mama died some time ago and
were spared from living through this dreadful revolution.
My own ordeal is over now and I can live my life again. Tonight I will
open my pianoforte and play music far into the night. All who are in the
chateau can join me if they wish. Tomorrow Malande and I will begin to pack and
we will be on our way to Berlin soon. All will be well as we take command of
our own destiny once again.’
Time passed and 1795 arrived. The fragrant scent of spring flowed
through the windows of Laneve’s study in Paris. She carried her morning cup of
tea to her writing desk and while it cooled she closed her eyes recalling the
extraordinary events of the past fourteen months.
‘How grateful we both were to arrive safely in Berlin and to find Dunod
waiting for us. He had a large comfortable home in the heart of the city so
Malande and I accepted his invitation to live there with him.’
Much to Dunod’s relief, Malande took over the running of the household
as Laneve began her preparations for teaching.
One afternoon Dunod called out to her, ‘Come Laneve, I have something
to show you. You will love it!’ When she entered the large room adjacent to the
main living area, there stood a new Broadwood fortepiano.’
‘Dunod, how can I ever thank you enough for this beautiful instrument.
Now I can begin to practice again.’
‘You can thank the contents of your strongbox – particularly those two
lovely rubies that had never been set. After all, you can’t draw music from a
stone.’
As the months passed Dunod and Laneve grew closer to one another as
they spent more time together at home. Berlin was so oppressive.
Despite Malande’s suggestions to our German cook, her food was
always heavy and her language - so guttural. We were not comfortable either
when we went out socially. French women all have innate style, while the German
women seemed so dowdy.
Even Malande always looked beautifully elegant in her choice of
clothing. As we often felt so different we made few friends.
‘What can you expect,’ Dunod laughed. ‘Here we have two beautiful
peacocks among a brood of plain brown hens.’
But finally a letter came from the newly installed Republican
Government, inviting all the émigrés to return to France once again.
‘What a surprise!’ Dunod remarked. ‘They were so quick to cut off the
heads of the nobility, but sadly with those heads went their brains. Now they
discover that more is needed to administer and organize a large country than
what a butcher, a baker or a candlestick maker can supply.
As the reign of terror is over now and if we wish, we can return to
help them out of all their dilemmas.’
‘We must go back again to France, Dunod. I have made a commitment and
my pardon depended upon it.’
‘Laneve, we will return in several months. But now I have two surprises
for you.
The first is that I have been making arrangements to accept a position
through one of the Treasury Committees. It seems my skills in trade and finance
are suddenly needed. And do you remember my eccentric uncle, Hippolyte, the one
with the razor sharp wit?’
‘Yes, I believe I met him at one of my concerts. He was charming and
very entertaining.’
‘He is a financial wizard as you know, and he also managed to find
himself a safe haven in the south of France, there to wait out the revolution.
The new Department of Treasury wants him back and me with him, so I will accept
this post. Between the two of us we could live very comfortably in Paris
again.’
‘Indeed we could, Dunod. And tell me now, as I’m curious? What is this
second surprise?’
‘I’m going to speak forthrightly to you. No beating about the bush as
they say.
Laneve, will you marry me? I’ve loved you for such a long time and I
can’t bear to see you and Malande live alone in Paris.
We could return home together as man and wife, as the Count and
Countess of Charnade, even though we will be known as Monsieur and Madame
Charnade. Malande will join us of course. Think on this before you speak.’
Laneve thought quietly for a moment then simply said, ‘Oh yes, Dunod. I
have deep and loving feelings for you as well. We have grown so close together
during our time here in Berlin. Nothing would make me happier than to spend the
rest of my life with you.’
And so they were married in a simple service at the end of that month.
Laneve wore a flowing ankle length crème silk dress with matching high heel
shoes and a wide brimmed hat. She had always been a lover of hats, and her
milliner had sewn tiny silk roses to the hat band.
Dunod was dressed in a new brocade waistcoat, with a splendid lace
jabot at this throat, black satin breeches and his wavy hair tied back and
fastened with a black ribbon. They were the very picture of a modern young
couple.
Laneve sipped her tea as her thoughts returned to the present and her
new home in Paris. I did love Rene. He was a kind and thoughtful husband but it
was Mama and Papa who chose him for me. Now I have chosen the man I love
myself, as so many other French women are also doing. This has been a gift to
us from the revolution.
Dunod found a large, elegant home for them all in the city of Paris,
close to the
Conservatoire
. Here Laneve could practice and prepare
for her students. One evening after their dinner, she surprised them with a new
piece of music, a
Rondeau
. When she had finished playing it everyone was
enthusiastic with their praise. ‘Who wrote this music? You never mentioned the
composer’s name.’
‘It is my own composition, one I completed several years ago.’
‘Why Laneve, it is superb. You have a gift for this and should keep on
composing,’ Dunod suggested.
‘I find it so easy to create the music at the keyboard, then I move
over to my desk, which I’ve now placed next to the fortepiano. Here I begin to
write down my ideas on music paper.
I never told you that after my first meeting with the faculty of
the
Conservatoir
e, when I accepted their teaching offer, I played my
Rondeau
.
And just imagine - Bernard Sarrette made the services of a music
copyist available to me whenever I needed this assistance. All he requested is
that a second copy of my music be placed in the library.’
At last October arrived, and the new
Conservatoire
opened its
doors. At the official ceremony Laneve was introduced as the P
rofesseur de
Premiere Classe,
the highest ranking and best paid at 2500
livres
per
year. Her teaching career was off to a flying start.
In May of the following year Laneve also discovered another interest
that would occupy her time and thoughts. This exciting news was presented to Dunod
one evening after dinner.
‘Now it’s my turn, Dunod, to share a surprise with you. I am expecting
our first child. If all goes well our baby will be born in early November, just
as the academic year is finishing. As I am in my 33rd year and I can still
work, but I must rest too, as often as I can. My doctor doesn’t foresee any
difficulties and if all goes well we will be a Mama and Papa this year.’
Dunod was ecstatic. ‘You are wonderful. I had always hoped we might
have children and now this beautiful gift has been given to us. You have made
me a happy man, Laneve.’
The year passed quickly and in mid-November a healthy little daughter
arrived to grace the Charnade household with her presence.
Laneve continued her teaching career completing the academic year of
1797, but offered her resignation to the
Conservatoire
in January, 1798.
Her second child would be arriving that year and the concerns of a young family
occupied her full attention.
‘You have repaid your pardon now, Laneve. Our family life is of most
importance yet this decision is yours alone.’
‘I enjoy teaching so much that I’d like to set up a private studio,
here in our home. And you know how much Malande loves little children. She
spends much of her time with our daughter and joyfully awaits the new baby. She
will care for them both during the times I am teaching. Yes, once again dear
Malande has stepped in to assist me.’
In the years that followed Laneve continued to give lessons in her home
studio, dividing her time between her family, teaching and performing. She was
always much sought-after due to her great talent and reputation. Bernard
Sarrette continued to send
Conservatoire
students to her home for
advanced study, while other young musicians joined her long waiting list.
But as the years slipped away Laneve developed an occasional cough.
Dunod grew concerned. ‘I fear that you are finding the winter chills of Paris
difficult. Perhaps we should live somewhere warmer. I’m not worried yet about
your coughing as it seems to come and go. Have you seen a doctor?’
‘It doesn’t worry me either, but I will see one and perhaps he has
medicine I could take for relief.’
By now both she and the Count had begun to show signs of ageing. They
decided to escape from Paris altogether to live in Florence, Italy. Its warmth
and sunshine appealed to them and put an end to Laneve’s coughing. Their
lifestyle had become much simpler too as their later years passed.
Both of their children had grown up, married and were living successful
lives of their own. Malande had also left them. In 1833 she experienced a
sudden stroke and died peacefully in Laneve’s arms. Malande was deeply missed
and was often spoken of as, ‘the light of our lives.’
In 1836 as Laneve and Dunod were strolling together along one of the
Florentine hills, a sudden gust of wind caught them and swept her hat away. In
vain Dunod tried to retrieve the hat but either the wind was too fast, or he
had become too slow.
‘Oh Dunod, I’m so sorry I’ve lost my beautiful hat. You know how I
loved it. It was one of my favourites.’
‘Come now, Laneve. Never forget that you may have lost your hat, but
you have kept your head. Now which was better?’
Laughing together they slowly strolled home, remarking on the epic
events of their long lives, of their love for each other and their present
happiness.
Later that evening Laneve died peacefully in her sleep. A grieving
Dunod buried his beloved wife in Florence and here she rests today.
