He wore a dressing gown of green brocade and a diamond on his finger glittered as he turned the pages of his worn Bible.
Katharina swept forward and with a lovely gesture knelt beside him.
“I want to talk to you, Sire,” she said in a soft voice.
“What about?”
The question was sharp and disagreeable.
“About yourself. We are all worried about Your Imperial Majesty – worried and distressed.”
The Czar turned over another page and read aloud,
“‘When the ungodly are green as the grass and when all the workers of wickedness do flourish, then shall they be destroyed for ever!’”
“All your enemies shall be destroyed,” Katharina said consolingly, “but you must not destroy your friends as well.”
“What friends have I?” the Czar asked. “I can trust no one.”
“Perhaps you set too high a standard for those you love,” Katharina said softly. “You must remember that few people are as strong either in mind or body as you, Sire.”
“That is true,” the Czar agreed.
“Women especially, like myself, are weak and very foolish,” Katharina said. “You must not judge us too harshly.”
“It is impossible to tolerate some things,” the Czar replied.
He was thinking of Marie Narischkin, Katharina thought, and deliberately she turned away from that subject.
“Julia Zichy is not worthy of your interest in her.”
“She is beautiful,” the Czar retorted. “She is in love with Metternich! What power has he got that all women capitulate to him? Even you have worshipped at that shrine!”
Katharina shrugged her shoulders.
“He has a certain glamour about him – for a time.”
“She is in love with him,” the Czar repeated, “she told me so with her own lips.”
“She is not the only woman in Vienna.”
“And who am I to take only those who Prince Metternich is not interested in?”
He flung the Bible down on to the bed and swung his legs onto the floor.
“The man haunts me. I cannot rid myself of his presence whatever I do, wherever I go. He is like some demon that must fasten its hand into my very soul. I wanted Julia Zichy, I wanted her for myself and why not? I am a free man, free of the vows that I made to Marie Narischkin. She cannot expect fidelity when she herself takes lover after lover and each time expects me to forgive her. It has gone on long enough, too long. I won’t do it, I tell you, I won’t do it.”
The Czar’s voice rose to a high hysterical note.
He rose to his feet and walked backwards and forwards across the room.
“Listen to me, Sire,” Katharina said, “and I will tell you a way in which you can both take your revenge both on Clement Metternich and on Marie Narischkin.”
“Revenge?” the Czar questioned, arrested in his pacing. Katharina nodded.
“Tell me, then, tell me!” he commanded her impatiently.
Katharina looked around her.
“Not so loud,” she whispered. “Who knows who might be listening?”
She rose to her feet and moved towards the fireplace, where a big log fire was burning.
“Come and sit down, Sire,” she suggested. “What I have to say is for your ear alone.”
The Czar obeyed her, seating himself in an armchair on one side of the fireplace while Katharina once again sank down on her knees beside him.
“There is someone in Vienna who is far more beautiful than the Comtesse Julia,” she murmured in a low voice.
“I doubt it,” the Czar contradicted her. “I myself christened her ‘La Beauté Céleste’ and I consider that she is without doubt the most beautiful woman attending the Congress. But what is the use of my even thinking of her. Metternich has got there first. Metternich!”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Katharina said soothingly, “but Metternich is also interested in Wanda Schonbörn!”
“The girl Richard has been meeting? What about her?” the Czar enquired.
“Then you have not seen her?” Katharina asked. “She is very lovely and I have my suspicions that she is closer to Metternich than Julia Zichy or any other woman can be.”
“I am not interested in Metternich’s women,” the Czar parried pettishly.
“And yet supposing through one of them you could strike at him in a way that would hurt him desperately?” Katharina asked.
“How? What do you mean?” the Czar enquired.
“Wanda Schonbörn is Metternich’s daughter,” Katharina whispered.
“Are you sure of this?” the Czar enquired.
“As sure as one can be of anything,” Katharina answered. “Prince Volkonski has made enquiries about her. The agent came back yesterday from her home in the mountains. Metternich stayed there nearly nineteen years ago when he was on holiday from Paris. When you look into Wanda Schonbörn’s eyes, you find yourself looking into Metternich’s.”
“Can this be true?” the Czar enquired.
“The facts are indisputable,” Katharina replied. “When the Comtesse Carlotta Schonbörn was dying, she schemed to send her daughter to Vienna. She talked to those around her of her devotion to Prince Metternich and, although she had not seen him for nearly nineteen years, she was certain that he would help her child. Wanda Schonbörn came to Vienna and the Prince accepted her at once. She has been everywhere and met everyone. Is that an act of friendship or of something closer?”
“Does the girl know?”
“I have no idea, Sire,” Katharina answered, “but it doesn’t matter one way or the other. What does signify is that she is in love with Your Majesty.”
“With me?” the Czar enquired. “But I have never seen her.”
“You forget, Sire, that Richard had been playing the role of Emperor.”
“So she has fallen in love with him?”
“Only because she has been swept off her feet at the idea of meeting the Czar of all the Russias, the man whom all Vienna acclaims as a hero, the greatest warrior since Alexander the Great and a man women find irresistible.”
“And she is pretty?
“Lovely,” Katharina enthused, “and she is young, untouched and a virgin.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” the Czar enquired.
He was sitting alert and interested in his chair and the look of rage and sullen depression had lifted from his face.
“I am suggesting,” Katharina answered softly, “that she takes the place of the Comtesse Julia Zichy. Leave her to Metternich, but make Metternich’s daughter yours.”
“You think it would annoy him?”
“I think,” Katharina answered, choosing her words with care, “that Metternich believes in your fidelity to Marie Narischkin. It is well known to everyone in Vienna that you adhere most strictly to the vow she has extracted from you.”
“Why should Metternich know of such intimate matters?” the Czar asked angrily.
Katharina smiled.
“Marie Narischkin boasts of it quite openly. It is an impertinence on her part and she does not realise the great value of a love such as yours.”
The Czar’s eyes flashed.
“She certainly does not appreciate me,” he said. “This Captain of the Cavalry. Have you heard of him?”
“I am afraid, Sire, I do not associate with such people.”
“It is intolerable that someone of no importance should take my place,” the Czar fumed.
“Marie Narischkin will not expect you to make a fuss,” Katharina goaded him. “You have always been so longsuffering, so complacent.”
The Czar jumped to his feet.
“Too complacent!” he shouted. “I’ll show her I’m not a lackey to be kicked around.”
“And you can show Metternich too, Sire.”
“And Metternich, too,” the Czar repeated. “How can it be arranged?”
“I have thought of that,” Katharina said. “Tonight we are supposed to be di
ning here. Instead you must send a message to Count Razumovsky to say that Your Majesty will honour him by dining at the Palace. Make quite clear that we are all to go there, including Richard.”
“Yes, yes, go on.”
“At the last moment, Sire, you must make an excuse to stay here and we will go without you. You will refuse to let us change our plans. After you have dined alone, Your Majesty will feel better and you will proceed to the Palace. But you will enter by the side door and go up the secret staircase to the salon on the first floor, which has been used before. A note will have been sent earlier in the evening to Wanda Schonbörn to meet you there.”
“What point is there in everyone being at the Palace, too?” the Czar enquired.
“Can’t you see that we don’t want anyone to be suspicious of your movements?” Katharina said. “Baron Hager’s spies are everywhere. He will know where you are dining. It is always conceivable that Wanda Schonbörn might be warned not to go to the Palace at the last moment, but, if the Empress is there, who could object or forbid?”
It was a lame excuse, but the Czar did not realise it.
Katharina’s real motive was to make certain that Richard’s evening was fully occupied. She sensed intuitively that he would want to see Wanda that evening.
If they dined in the Hofburg and he asked to be excused from the Royal party, it would be hard to keep tracks on him. As a guest of Count Razumovsky he would be caught, at any rate until the Czar had finished what he intended to do.
“Yes, yes, I am sure you are right,” the Czar said decidedly.
“No one must know of your intentions, no one. You will not speak of it to Richard, Sire?”
“No, of course not. You are certain that this girl is in love with me?”
“Quite, quite certain. She has been swept off her feet with the wonder of meeting the Emperor Alexander of Russia. You must remember that she sees you every day, watching from the crowds as you attend military parade or drive in the Prater. She is young, inexperienced and unsophisticated. Can you imagine what it means to someone like her to receive the attentions of the most handsome, most brilliant man in the whole civilised world?”
The Czar bent down to pinch Katharina’s cheek.
“You flatter me, Katharine,” he said, “but how well we understand each other, you and I!”
“How kind you are to me, Sire,” Katharina answered. “You know there is nothing I would not do for you.”
“I believe that is true,” the Czar said, “and Metternich will be angry about this, you think?”
“Both Metternich and Marie Narischkin will be furious beyond words.”
“It delights me to think of their rage,” the Czar replied. “The girl will come when I send for her?”
“Can you doubt it, Sire, when she knows she is to see you?” Katharina answered.
The Czar smiled at that.
His ill humour had completely vanished by now. He glanced at himself in a mirror over the mantelpiece.
“I will wear my white uniform,” he said. “I find women always admire a uniform.”
“It depends who is inside it, Sire,” Katharina flattered him. “You won’t forget to arrange about dinner at the Razumovsky Palace?”
“I will send a note to the Count immediately,” the Czar replied, “but I must dine here?”
“Yes, here, Sire. A headache at the very last moment.”
“I won’t forget,” the Czar replied.
Katharina pressed her lips against his hand as she sank in a deep curtsey.
“She is a very fortunate young woman, Sire,” she murmured and left him preening himself in the mirror with a smile on his lips.
*
The Czar was still smiling three hours later when he stepped through the secret panel into the salon at the Razumovsky Palace.
Everything had gone according to plan.
The Imperial party had left the Palace, upset and disconcerted by the news at the very last moment that His Imperial Majesty would not be accompanying them.
The Czar had dined in his own apartments and, throwing a dark cloak over his uniform, had hurried down the side staircase to where a carriage was waiting for him.
He glanced round the salon appreciatively.
The great bowls of flowers scented the air, it was warm and a fire was burning brightly in the hearth. The lighting was discreet and his eyes did not miss the wine and cold collation of dishes in the further corner of the room.
There was a mirror set in one of the panels of the wall and he could see himself reflected in it.
Butinski had dressed his hair in a new way this evening. It was very becoming, he thought, and hid the slight tendency, which was beginning to perturb him a little, to thinness above his forehead.
He wondered how far Richard had advanced in his association with this young woman.
Katharina had said that she was in love with him and Katharina would know.
He had no intention of admitting that he had not been present at their previous meetings, as Metternich must never know that he had been clever enough to find an impersonator. There would be many other occasions when Richard could be useful to him.
He was a good boy, Richard. He would take him back to Russia after the Congress was over.
The Czar straightened a curl at the side of his forehead.
As he did so, he heard the secret panel in the wall open slowly. He had a quick impression of hair such as the Venetians liked to paint, a little oval face and smiling lips, of eyes so blue that they seemed almost too large and vivid, surrounded as they were with dark lashes. And then she had run towards him.
“Oh! but you are not masked tonight,” she exclaimed. “How wonderful, how – ” she stopped.
He had put his hands instinctively towards her and quite naturally and spontaneously she had laid her fingers in his. But at his touch her voice suddenly died away and he saw a strange expression wipe away the happiness on her face.
“You – and – your voice.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“The words came stammering from between her lips.
“What is worrying you?” he enquired. “Are you not pleased to see me?”
“But of course – I am,” she answered. “I have been wondering all day if I would hear from you and when your note came – but it is so strange! You are different. Could a mask really alter anyone so much?”
“Am I altered? What did you expect?”
“I expected to see you,” Wanda answered, putting up her hand to her eyes, “and yet – I cannot explain exactly. It doesn’t feel the same.”
“Is this what is wrong?” the Czar enquired and put his arm round her.
She made no effort to resist him, but she stared at him, her blue eyes troubled.
“You are very lovely,” he said appreciatively, looking down at her face.
He drew her closer as he spoke and then he bent his head and his lips found hers.
For a moment she seemed to respond and then, unexpectedly, she twisted herself free.
“Tell me what you have been doing – all day,” she said. “I expected to see you in the Prater – or at the concert this afternoon.”
She was talking quickly in a kind of flurry as if her words were but a screen to smother her emotions.
“Don’t go away from me,” the Czar said. “Your lips are soft and warm, like the feathers of a dove.”
She glanced at him quickly and looked away again.
“And your hair is the colour of the leaves in the autumn before the wind blows them away.”
He went nearer to her as he quoted.
“‘Thy breasts are like two young roses that are twins’,” he quoted softly, ‘which feed among the lilies’.”
He put his arms round her and drew her close.
But suddenly Wanda pushed him away from her.
“No! No!” she cried.
“Are you afraid of me?” the Czar asked.
“No – yes – I do
n’t know what to think. It is not the same – somehow it is not the same.”
“Look at me,” the Czar commanded and as she did so he encircled her even closer in his arms. “You have seen me before, as I have seen you. Tonight we are alone together, just you and I. And I have taken off my mask. It is because you see me as an Emperor that you are afraid?”
“It isn’t that!” Wanda answered.
“Then don’t be afraid anymore,” the Czar said, “for I am also a man.”
He picked her up suddenly in his arms and carried her to the couch covered in cushions.
He set her down amongst them and then, as she tried to struggle, he bent forward to fasten his lips on hers.
She tried to cry out and to free herself, but his great strength was too much for her.
His lips were hard and almost suffocating and she felt his hands on the nakedness of her shoulders and at the softness of her throat.
He raised his head from hers for a moment and, gasping for breath, she cried out at him,
“Let me go – please let me go!”
“But why? I love you and you love me.”
“It isn’t right – it is wrong,” Wanda answered, “please let me get up.”
He looked down at her, his hands holding her prisoner and she thought with a kind of sick horror that he was amused at her helplessness. It was like a nightmare that she could not wake from, a nightmare with the shadow of terror standing behind it.
“Please let me get up!”
She was ready to plead with him now, but there was no change in his expression.
His eyes seemed to be watching her with a detachment that was more frightening than if he had been ablaze with passion. There was something sensuous and at the same time cruel about the smile of his lips.
“Let me go – I insist.”
“And how will you do that?” he asked. “My beloved is mine!”
He bent forward again to bury his lips in the softness of her neck. His lips were hard and possessive and she felt as if every nerve in her body was repulsed by them.
She could not understand herself and yet she knew that she hated him. She was repulsed by the touch of his hands that had thrilled her before. She felt herself quiver and shrink from any contact with this man whom she had thought she loved.
The Enchanted Waltz Page 15