The Second Seal

by Dennis Wheatley

  She gave him a strange look. “I don’t think he is really sorry about my cousin Franz’s death. He was shocked, of course, and horrified at the brutality of the act. But I am told that when Count Paar broke the news to him his first thought was that by the succession passing to my cousin Charles, it has once more been secured from risk of taint to the Imperial blood. They say he exclaimed, ‘How horrible! But the Almighty does not allow himself to be challenged with impunity. A higher Power has restored the old order, which I unfortunately was unable to uphold’.”

  De Richleau shook his head. “How sad that anyone could possibly believe that God would exact vengeance on a man because he married for love, instead of according to the dictates of an entirely artificial convention. In point of fact, his own blood is no bluer than the poor Chotek’s—or, for that matter, any street-sweeper’s.”

  “That may be true. Yet one cannot altogether rule out heredity. Generations of nobility beget a sense of duty and responsibility to others that is not found as an instinct among common people. They may acquire it later, but are not born with it; and to come by such a sense naturally is of great importance for all who are destined to rule.” Ilona sighed suddenly, and added: “All the same, I would to God I were a man.”

  “Why should you wish that, when God has made you the most beautiful of women?”

  She smiled at him. “Because, if I were a man and you were a woman, I would follow Franz Ferdinand’s example.”

  His hand trembled as he took hers. “Do you really mean——?”

  “Yes. Even if it broke my grandfather’s heart, I would marry you.”

  “My sweet!” he murmured. “My sweet!” Then he swallowed hard, now utterly at a loss for further words. But his mind was racing with wild thoughts which he had never before permitted it to entertain. To have her for his wife! To wake with her beside him! To spend long carefree days with her in the sunshine of the Riviera! The opposition would be terrific. He would be branded as a fortune hunter. It would never be permitted, and some charge would be faked up against him as an excuse for shutting him up in a fortress. But they could elope. That would mean that she would have to live in exile for the rest of her life. How much would she mind that? He felt certain that his love for her would endure. But by the time she was forty, would she curse the day she had met him? She was born to be a queen or empress. Would she later bitterly regret all she had given up for his sake? No! Why should she? Thrones held no glamour for those who occupied or stood near them. To her, a throne would mean only a loveless marriage and condemnation to a life-long round of official duties.

  Slavery had been abolished in the modern world; except for those of royal blood, who were forced daily to leave their palaces in invisible chains, to posture and smirk before their peoples. How infinitely more fortunate were those even of modest means, but born free to live where and how they would. Ilona would be giving up nothing that could bring her real happiness. On the contrary, she was beating on the bars of her gilded cage and asking him to rescue her. And she was quite old enough to know her own mind. Then he would do it, and be damned to the consequences.

  At length he said, “Ilona, if you will entrust yourself to me, I swear to you that I will never give you cause to regret it.”

  With a start, she drew back. “Oh Armand, no! I did not mean that.”

  “From what you said, I thought——”

  Sadly she shook her head. “I said only that were our sexes reversed I would marry you. God, or whoever made the rules for us, has been hard on women in many ways, and my case is an example of that. If a man chooses to marry beneath him, he can, at worst, only be accused of having displayed ill-taste. And if the girl be beautiful, he escapes severe criticism on the grounds that physical desire is natural in man, so a legitimate excuse for becoming bewitched into almost any folly. But women are supposed to be made differently. If a girl runs away with an attractive man of lower station than herself, she is immediately stigmatised as unchaste. For the rest of her life people whisper about her behind her back and point at her. She soon becomes a woman with a past and fair game for every unprincipled man she may meet: and she has brought indelible dishonour on her family That, I could not support. Marriage, alas, can never be for us; and I beg you, my love, to forget the stupid thing I said just now.”

  He kissed her hand again. “I understand. It was foolish of me to dream such dreams, even for a moment.

  Then, in order to break the awkward pause that followed, he fingered the ribbon about his neck, and said: “This favour that the Emperor has shown me: does it mean that I may be able to see more of you without giving rise to scandal? If so, I shall prize it even more highly, as a magic talisman to Heaven.”

  Ilona brightened again. “It will certainly help. Greatly as it distressed me at the time, your immediate departure from Vienna, after my birthday ball, nipped scandal about us in the bud. And Adam tells me that now I am simply accounted cleverer than people thought, in having secured a paladin for my regiment. Unfortunately, as the Court is in full mourning, there will be no entertainments of any kind at which we can meet. But as soon as you are well enough, you can take up your duties, and that will enable you to come to see me at the Palace at least once a week without exciting undesirable comment.”

  “And in the meantime?”

  “That will be even easier,” Her blue eyes sparkled. “One of the heaviest crosses that we poor royal women have to bear is the convention that we should spend half our lives posing as angels of mercy, visiting the wards of hospitals. Heaven knows how weary I am at pretending interest at the sick beds of people I have never seen before, and shall never see again. But now the dreary custom will stand us in good stead. Owing to the manner in which you received your wounds, it will be thought only proper that a member of the Imperial Family should regard you as her special invalid. I’ll come to see you every other day. I would make it every day, were it not that my visits could be only an unhappy farce on the days that Paula is on duty.”

  “Then I shall never recover,” he laughed up at her. “The temptation to remain here and be sure of an hour with you in every forty-eight will prove too great. But you have not told me yet about your own health, my sweet, and I have been intensely worried about you.”

  “Do I not look well?”

  “You look more beautiful than any houri the dreams of man could fabricate.”

  “Then let it rest at that.”

  “No. I am told you had to keep to your bed for the best part of a fortnight. That seriously alarmed me. I have no confidence in a physician who maintains that there is nothing really wrong with you, when these attacks not only keep recurring, but are of increasing severity. I beg you to call in a lung specialist—someone really first class, like that Swiss, Dr. Bruckner, who spends a good part of the year here as a consultant—and submit to a thorough examination by him.”

  She shrugged. “It is quite unnecessary. But I like you being so concerned for me, dear Knight; so to please you, I will consider seeing Bruckner. Tell me now of your extraordinary adventure.”

  He told her, a little sheepishly, the same story that he had told Count Berchtold and the others earlier in the week. Her eyes widened with excitement when he spoke of his fight for life in the châlet and, when he had done, she said:

  “How fortunate I am to have the love of such a courageous and resourceful man. You can have no idea how proud of you this makes me. But do you know the amusing story that is going round the town? They say now that I was requested by our secret service to appoint you as a Colonel of my regiment as a blind—simply to throw dust in the eyes of those horrid Serbians, and lead them to suppose that you were a stupid court dandy whom I favoured for your good looks; while all the time you were a great nobleman, who had consented to demean himself by becoming a spy in the service of Austria from patriotic reasons.”

  De Richleau squirmed. The guess was so horribly near the truth, yet in fact poles apart from it. He wondered miserably what Ilona
would think of him if she knew that he was indeed a spy, and one who had deliberately set about penetrating the secrets of Austria as well as Serbia. He took refuge in a half-truth, and said:

  “How utterly absurd! People of my standing have never been known to dabble in such matters, and personally I should find work of that kind most uncongenial.”

  “Naturally,” she rejoined quickly. “The very idea is fantastic. And on your behalf I resented the suggestion as an insult.”

  In the pause that followed Adam Grünne said without turning his head, “May it please Your Highness, since I have been sitting here I have not once looked at the Great Wheel. But my watch suggests that it must have gone round at least ten times, as each revolution takes a good ten minutes.”

  “Oh, Adam! How horridly right you are,” Ilona exclaimed. “We must be off. Please go on saying nice things to Sárolta for just another two minutes, then I’ll let you drag me away.”

  Again she put her arms round de Richleau’s neck, and he held her to him in a sweet embrace; while between more kisses she murmured, “Till Monday, Armand! Till Monday! I’ll hardly live till then.”

  Five minutes later they had gone, and he was left to his whirling thoughts. She loved him! She loved him! And he loved her most desperately. But what could come of it? And if she learned the truth about him, what then? She would regard him as beyond words despicable.

  On the following Monday and Wednesday Ilona paid him further visits. As before, Sárolta and Adam accompanied her and occupied chairs in the big bay window, while she sat perched on the invalid’s bed so that they could hold hands, gaze fondly into one another’s eyes and exchange caresses easily.

  She appeared to be glowing with health and happiness on both occasions; but from time to time she could not repress a fit of coughing, and on the Wednesday de Richleau caught her trying to conceal from him a handkerchief that was tinged with the brilliance of blood. Attempting to laugh it off, she declared that it came from a strained muscle in her throat that had bled a little now and then for a long time past, and that she had been too busy to do anything yet about consulting a specialist. But now he insisted that she must, and extracted a firm promise from her that she would see Dr. Bruckner during the coming week.

  The Duke was now well enough to be allowed visitors in the evenings as well as in the afternoons, and it was after dinner on this night, July the 8th, that Count Tisza came to see him. The Hungarian Minister-President had already sent the invalid kind messages with a present of books and wine, and he said at once that he would have come in person before this, had not the crisis of the past week kept him desperately busy.

  Ilona and some of de Richleau’s other highly placed visitors had told him a certain amount about what was going on behind the scenes and although the popular fury against Serbia remained unabated, he had gained the impression that the likelihood of any drastic step being taken had materially decreased in the last few days. But Count Tisza soon disabused him of that comforting belief.

  The Hungarian statesman made no secret of the fact that he was at loggerheads with all his colleagues, and desperately worried by their attitude. It was, he explained, his unhappy sense of isolation that had given him the idea of talking matters over with the Duke, as a man with wide knowledge of international affairs who was unprejudiced by any official connections and entirely to be trusted.

  Mentally, de Richleau squirmed at the last portion of this statement, and he would far rather not have been made the recipient of his friend’s confidences. But, short of giving himself away, there was no means of avoiding that; so he listened with the most sympathetic attention while the Count went on to disclose the cause of his terrible anxieties.

  On 1st July Count Berchtold had informed him that he meant to make ‘the horrible deed at Sarajevo the occasion for a reckoning with Serbia’. Tisza had objected, warning the Foreign Minister of the measureless consequences that might follow such a fatal mistake. He had also written to the Emperor, pointing out that the participation of the Serbian Government had not been proved, and that if they could furnish satisfactory explanations the Dual Monarchy would be exposed before the world as a war-monger, and possibly have to enter on a great war with everybody’s sympathies against her. He had insisted on a proper inquiry being made, stressed the possibility of Rumania joining Serbia, and advocated the taking of immediate steps for entering into an alliance with Bulgaria as a vital precaution against the Rumanians coming in. Finally, he had dwelt upon the appalling danger that Russia might seize the chance to attack them, and Germany leave them in the lurch.

  The only satisfaction he had got was the Emperor’s decision to await the result of the inquiry before agreeing to any drastic step. But in the meantime Berchtold was pressing for immediate punitive action against Serbia, and von Hötzendorf for permission to mobilise so that he could launch a full-scale war. That day Count Hoyos had given an interview to a German publicist who was in close touch with Herr von Jagow, the German Foreign Minister, and had received unofficial but weighty assurances that Austria could count on German support on the following grounds:

  Over a long period of years the German army had been built up to a marvellous pitch of perfection, but its sword was rusting in its scabbard, and the Generals feared that if it were not used soon it might show signs of serious deterioration. The German Foreign Office was satisfied that England was not in a mood to fight, so considered the moment for war propitious, and that if Austria-Hungary failed to assert herself in this dispute with a small nation, she would be finished as a great power. However, the last word remained with the Kaiser. Ambitious as he was by nature, in previous crises he had shown a reluctance to go to extremes. But this case was exceptional. Not only was he boiling with rage at the murder of his personal friends, Franz Ferdinand and his wife, but he regarded the attack as one calling for prompt chastisement as a deterrent to similar ones being made on other royalties. Therefore, if he was approached without delay, there were excellent grounds for believing that, on this occasion, he would back Austria to the point of war.

  Tschirschky, the German Ambassador at Vienna, had, at first, appeared much more pacific minded, and had counselled moderation; but he had later received a reprimand from Berlin for interfering in what was not his business, and had then been instructed officially to inform the Emperor that the Kaiser would stand behind every firm decision made by his ally.

  Nothing could have been better calculated to encourage the Austrian war-mongers; but it was still considered imperative to secure a categorical declaration that Germany would support Austria by force of arms; so on the 4th Count Hoyos had been sent to Berlin. With him he had taken a document proposing steps to be taken for the inclusion of Bulgaria in the Triple Alliance and a letter from the Emperor to the Kaiser urging the necessity for chastising Serbia, and asking for German approval of such an act, whatever its consequences might be.

  On the 5th, Hoyos had handed his letter to Count Szögyény, the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador, for delivery to the Kaiser. When William II was informed of the dispatch, he invited the Ambassador to lunch at Potsdam. After the meal he at first said he must consult his Chancellor, Herr von Bethmann-Hollweg; but later he impulsively disclosed his own views. He did not think that an Austrian attack on Serbia would precipitate a European conflict. His information led him to believe that neither France nor Russia were prepared for war and he felt certain that the Czar would not associate himself with the murderers of princes. If the Dual Monarchy felt impelled to march into Serbia he advised that such action should not be long delayed. She would have his blessing, and whatever might follow he was fully prepared to stand by her.

  Count Hoyos had come hurrying back from Berlin in triumph, and a Cabinet meeting had been called for noon on the 7th. At it had been Count Stürgkh, the Minister-President of Austria, Counts Tisza, Berchtold and Hoyos, Krobatin and Bilinski, the War and Finance Ministers, Admiral von Kailer and General Conrad von Hötzendorf.

  When Berchto
ld announced the news that Hoyos had brought, with the one exception of Count Tisza the others could hardly contain themselves for excitement and delight. For years they had watched internal dissension weaken the Empire, and the potential enemies who ringed it in on every border, except that with Germany, become stronger and more menacing. Now they had something for which they had never really dared to hope—a blank cheque on the whole might of Imperial Germany with only one condition attached—that they should use it soon.

  As Count Tisza described to the Duke this Cabinet meeting of the previous day his strong face was harrowed with distress. He had protested that he would never consent to a surprise attack on Serbia without previous diplomatic action, and that such a project should never have been discussed in Berlin. He had argued that such an attack would lead to their being branded as aggressors by the whole of Europe and would bring every Balkan country, with the possible exception of Bulgaria, in against them. And that, although Serbia must make suitable reparation, the idea of attempting to destroy her, or seize a large part of her territories, was suicidal, as it would inevitably lead to a life and death struggle with Russia.

  But the others no longer cared if Rumania and Russia came in or not. The mailed fist of the Kaiser was now theirs to wield as they would. They had only to press the button and the mightiest army in the world would instantly march to their assistance. But it was now or never! If they showed weakness now, this God-given opportunity to crush their enemies once and for all might never occur again.

  All that Count Tisza’s most determined opposition had been able to secure was the postponement of any attack until an ultimatum had been sent and the Serbians given time to consider it. But he now feared that the terms of the ultimatum would be made so deliberately harsh as to ensure that Serbia would reject it, in which case war must inevitably follow.