Push Not the River

by James Conroyd Martin

  Once in the hired carriage, she had time to think. Might that letter in Zofia’s secretary have been a letter from Jan? Was Zofia trying to hide it? Or was she imagining things? And if it were from Jan, was it addressed to Anna? Was her cousin up to her old tricks of intercepting mail? Or was it possible Jan had written to Zofia?

  It had been so very long since Anna had seen or heard from Jan, she could only wonder if he still cared about her, if he had forgotten Zofia. Anna struggled to put this doubt from her mind. Why couldn’t she fully trust in someone? Jan still loved her, he must. Her concerns turned then to the matter of his safety. God protect and keep him, she prayed.

  Presently, Anna realized she was in the Royal Castle’s outer courtyard when from her window she saw the column with the statue of Zygmunt atop it. She suddenly remembered her first trip to the capital on a search for a doll. She had fallen in love with a crystal dove instead.

  The tall clock tower on the castle came into view. Is that truly where the king lives? she had asked her father. What would he think to know his daughter was going to see the king? And on such a mission? Somehow, his memory gave her strength as she alighted the carriage in the inner courtyard.

  Russian guards were in evidence everywhere. Anna’s heart tightened. Would it even be possible for her to speak to him away from Russian ears?

  The King’s Apartment was on the first floor. Anna was shown up the Great Stairs and into the white Officer’s Hall. Two guards stood at the door through which she entered, another two at the door at the far end. She was relieved to see that these, at least, wore the red and yellow uniform of the Polish Royal Guards. A long stretch of green and white marble squares moved beneath her as she nervously approached the King’s Deputy who sat at an ornate desk of French design. No one else was present waiting to see the king. She noted a tall white and gold clock that was chiming three o’clock. Supposedly, he held audiences until five. Anna could only pray he was here today.

  She presented herself. “I am the Countess Anna Maria Berezowska. I am seeking an audience with the king.”

  Anna’s heart beat rapidly as she surveyed the man. Everything about him was large: his girth, his features, his moustache. His cordiality, however, was as lacking as the hairs upon his head. “You are expected, Countess?” he inquired, unsmiling.

  “No,” Anna said, the veneer of her confidence already cracking.

  “Hmmm,” he murmured, opening a leather binder. Officiously, he began running his stubby finger up and down its pages, humming as he did so.

  It was not long before both the finger and the humming stopped. The fat official’s milky blue eyes rose to stare at Anna, as if in accusation. “Your name, Countess Berezowska, does not appear on the list of those who have access to his Royal Highness. The king knows you?”

  “Yes.”

  The eyes narrowed underneath their fleshy folds. He was openly contentious.

  “It is not my first time at the Royal Castle.”

  “And the other occasion?” he asked impertinently, as if she had been there only once before.

  Anna bristled at the boorish official. That he was correct irked her. “I attended a concert and supper reception. It was some time ago.”

  “And if I were to send your name into the king, would he recognize it?”

  “Perhaps not,” Anna conceded. “Please, Officer, it is imperative that I see him.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Countess Berezowska. For an audience, you must state your business in writing. On the letter’s merit, your request will be granted or denied. It may take a week.”

  “A week! I don’t have a week. This matter is urgent!”

  The chubby fingers of both hands interlocked now, and he leaned forward. “What is the nature of your business?”

  “I’ll not discuss it with anyone other than King Stanisław.”

  “Then I can help you no further, Countess. Good day to you.”

  The man had the effrontery to dismiss her. Anna felt blood running hotly into her face. She turned from the desk, not to retrace her steps, but to rush the entrance of the next room.

  She heard the fat man bellow behind her, but the two guards at the doors were so startled they failed to react in time. She ran right past them.

  Anna met with immediate disappointment, however. She found herself in a huge ante-room, massive paintings lining its walls and people sitting on uncomfortable looking French couches. The men and women here were waiting to see the king, too.

  The official and his guards were in quick pursuit. Anna had little to lose now, so she ran for the two doors that surely led into the king’s audience chamber. “Stop that woman!” the official shouted.

  The two guards in front of these doors were quicker to react. They stepped together in front of the doors, effectively barring her from entering. “I must see the king!” she cried. “I must!”

  The other two guards came from behind now. Though Anna still fumed with anger and embarrassment, she knew she had lost. She turned to see the deputy bustling over to her, his face inflamed, his taut lips thinned in a taut smile. “You two,” he said to the guards who had let her slip by, “escort the countess to her carriage without delay. See if you can do something right! And it would be best,” he said, addressing Anna, “if you do not return, Countess.”

  For once Anna spoke before filtering her words. “And your nose would not be so red if your capacity for vodka were as spare as your good manners.”

  She watched him blink in dumb surprise. Then she swept out of the room so quickly the soldiers had to step in double time.

  Inside her moving carriage, Anna laughed at the image of the deputy’s face. She could not imagine what had come over her.

  But the sweet taste of her little victory quickly dissipated as the carriage wheels rumbled along the bridge to Praga. What was she to do? She could not meet her friends a failure. She prayed for some direction, some plan.

  By the time she stepped out at the Gronski townhome, the scheme had come to her. She had less than two hours.

  Anna stared at her reflection in disbelief.

  Zofia had gone out and the countess had taken to her bed. She was having one of her bad days—these seemed to come more frequently now. Anna was free then to bribe Babette into helping with her scheme.

  The servant dressed her in Zofia’s breathtaking red velvet gown with its wide skirt, puffed sleeves, and trim of hundreds of undulating silver beads. Then she fitted to Anna’s head one of Zofia’s towering wigs, weaving through it red ribbons tied in many bows. She painted Anna’s face as if it were a canvas: the red lips were heart-shaped, her cheeks well-rouged against the whitest powder, and her upper right cheek was home to a black beauty patch in the shape of a crescent moon. A Renaissance poet would have dedicated a sonnet sequence to her, she thought to herself, a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth.

  The array of jewelry was impressive, too. But it was her neckline that gave her pause. The dress was scandalously cut, leaving little of her breasts covered. She thought of changing, but there was no time.

  “Oh, Madame,” cried Babette, “you are exquisite!”

  “Am I? Tell me, Babette, do you think that, for today at least, I might equal Zofia’s allure?”

  “Oui, Madame. Today you surpass your cousin.”

  Anna knew she was going to need that little confidence.

  “Is it a big party you’re going to, Countess Anna?”

  “It’s more of a masquerade, Babette.”

  “Oh, Madame! What fun!”

  The hands of the tall white and gold clock in the alcove read 4:45 when Anna re-entered the Officers’ Hall. Her heart leapt at the small miracle she found there: the fat officer had been replaced by another soldier!

  Anna could not believe her luck. She presented herself, leaning forward and saying confidently, “I wish to see the king without delay.”

  The old man’s forehead wrinkled in nervous amazement at the vision before him. �
�Yes, yes, milady,” he stuttered, the wide eyes beneath wiry gray brows moving down, lingering over Anna’s breasts. “And you are. . . ?”

  Anna stiffened at the man’s forward gaze, but was quick enough to assign her involuntary reaction a motive other than modesty. “You don’t know?” she asked in mock astonishment. “You truly don’t?”

  “Why, why, why, no, milady, I—”

  “I am,” Anna intoned, mustering her mother’s confectionery smile, “the Countess Zofia Gronska of Halicz.” Anna could only pray that he didn’t know her cousin by sight.

  “Oh, yes, yes, the Countess Gronska, of course! Do forgive me, milady.” Bending so low over the leather binder that his nose nearly touched its pages, the intense little man quickly located Zofia’s name. He stood immediately. “If you’ll excuse me but a minute, Countess Gronska, I’ll see if the king will receive you. Will you be seated?”

  “Thank you.” Anna allowed the man to seat her, then watched as he quickly shuffled into the next room.

  The minutes were insufferably long. Anna was only too well aware that the four soldiers in the room were the same that had helped abort her earlier visit. To disguise her nervousness as impatience, she tapped her polished fingernails on the desk. I must carry this off, she said to herself, I must.

  Anna knew of at least one reason why Zofia was so disinclined to help her get to the king. She was deathly afraid that he would say something to her about his intrigues with her. But what did that matter, after all? It didn’t compare with the importance of her message. And what if Zofia knew Anna had read her diary long ago? Anna chuckled to herself. What if Zofia could see her naive little country cousin now?

  At long last the old man returned. “You are to see the king directly,” he announced.

  Anna’s condescending smile was her answer. She stood, but before she could pass through into the next room, several citizens were escorted out. Their dour faces made her suspect her arrival had cut short or superseded others’ visits. So be it, she thought, my business is the business of all the people.

  Anna advanced now, her head held high, her eyes straight before her, every inch aware of the stir she was creating. Every eye was upon her. All was proceeding as planned.

  Anna passed into the large anteroom, its walls lined with a series of panoramas of Warsaw. She felt dwarfed and somehow intimidated by the paintings. How was she to help save the capital and the Commonwealth?

  Just as she was nearing the entrance to the king’s audience chamber, the door opened and he stood there—the fat official she had hoped to avoid at all costs. He stood aside to allow Anna to pass, and, bowing slightly—what his girth would allow—he smiled, his lusty eyes taking her in, from head to toe.

  The veins at Anna’s temple pulsed more with fear than indignation. Praying that Babette’s makeup hid her emotions, she forced a smile of greeting, nodded, and walked past him. Her affability may have been a mistake, she immediately realized. Zofia wouldn’t have given him a sideward glance.

  As she passed him, she saw his smile fade. The lackluster blue eyes stared intently, and Anna could almost see his mind at work, challenging his power of recall.

  Then she was past him and in the audience chamber, wondering if she had been recognized. She could imagine him checking with the old man to see under what name she had been admitted. If he knew Zofia by sight, Anna would be undone.

  She was startled now when a guard she had passed announced, “The Countess Zofia Gronska of Halicz!”

  The room was all red, gold, and white. The king sat on his audience chair under its elaborate canopy. His hand lifted slightly, a finger motioning her forward.

  Anna’s confidence waned. She became dizzy. Aside from a single guard, she was alone in the room with the King of the Commonwealth. She doubted her ability to speak. What crazed derring-do had led her here?

  Anna pushed herself forward.

  “Why, Zofia,” the king exclaimed, “this is a surprise, but then you are always full of surprises!”

  Anna slowly advanced.

  It was not long before the king’s eyes were squinting. “You seem different,” he said.

  Although he appeared a slight figure in the huge gilded chair, Anna thought he seemed less old and decrepit than he had at the supper. She knew he was into his sixth decade. His own gray hair was drawn and tied behind his head. Though his bearing was noble, his plain face bespoke gentleness. Anna could have imagined him more as a tailor or a barber than a king.

  Anna came to stand just before the dais.

  “Why, you’re not Zofia!” he cried.

  “No, I’m not, Sire.”

  “Well, then, just who are you?”

  “I am Zofia’s cousin, Countess Anna Maria Berezowska of Sochaczew. Forgive me, Your Majesty, but it was the only way I could get in to see you.”

  “Let me get a look at you.” The king leaned forward. “My, you certainly are no less beautiful than my wicked Zofia.”

  Anna felt her face flushing. “I’m afraid it took some doing.”

  The king laughed loudly. “A masquerade, is it?”

  “Yes, exactly, Sire.” Anna could scarcely believe she had the king laughing. “Actually this pretense involves a very grave matter.”

  “You are far too young to be thinking about the grave,” the king quipped. “As for myself—”

  A voice boomed out now from behind Anna. “Your Majesty,” the fat official cried, “this woman is not the Countess Gronska. She is an imposter!” He had already taken several steps into the room and was bearing down on Anna.

  Anna’s heart stopped. She had needed only a few more minutes.

  “Do you think that I don’t know that, you fool?” the king snapped, halting the official in his tracks. “Do you think I’ve lost my sight and hearing? Of course, she is not Zofia.”

  “But, Your Majesty—”

  “But nothing! Be gone! I intend to receive this lovely creature.”

  Anna could not resist turning to see him lumbering away like a wounded bear.

  “An altogether impossible man,” the king muttered.

  “I’m afraid he’s especially angry with me.”

  “Whatever for?”

  Anna related the earlier encounter that had ended with her comment about his red nose and the consumption of vodka.

  King Stanisław laughed again, more vigorously than before, and Anna could not help but join in.

  “Now, my dear, what is it that has prompted your little enterprise?”

  Anna whispered because the guard was within earshot. “It is rather confidential, Your Majesty.”

  “Ah, I see. Secret, is it? Well, come with me to my little portrait chamber. There we can talk in front of all the heads of Europe, as well as the Pope, but they’ll not repeat a thing, I promise!”

  The king stood and stepped down from the dais. He was no taller than Anna. He escorted her then through several other rooms and into a small chamber behind his new Throne Room. This gold chamber was dedicated to his contemporaries. Anna took in the seven monarchs’ portraits, noticing that Catherine’s hung over the fireplace, as if in the place of honor.

  The room had a grand intimacy about it, and Anna was certain that this was where the king took celebrated guests for confidential talks and decision making.

  As the king directed her to a chair, she could not help but notice the intricately inlaid floor.

  “Thirteen kinds of wood,” the king said, noticing her gaze. “And look at the porcelain painting on this tabletop,” the king continued with increasing enthusiasm. He directed her to an exquisite table in the middle of the small room. “It depicts an adventure of Telemachus. Do you know him?”

  Anna smiled. “Telemachus was the son of Odysseus, was he not?”

  “Oh, excellent,” the king crooned. “Excellent, my dear!” They sat across from each other. Anna had the impression the king would chat at length about Telemachus if given the opportunity, so she came right to the point. “Your Maje
sty, do you know of a man, a shoemaker by the name of Jan Kiliński?”

  “I can’t say that I do. All my shoes are foreign made, you know.”

  Anna didn’t know whether he was serious or whether it was a little joke. She plunged ahead. At length, she set about explaining everything she knew about the rebel plot. Her friends had armed her with a store of information detailing the insurrection. She stressed especially the reaction that would come from Catherine should it be a bloody purge.

  “Oh, you needn’t tell me of Catherine’s temperament. I know it well.” His bead-like eyes moved to the portrait over the fireplace, lost focus momentarily. Anna suspected he was thinking about his long-ago liaison with the woman who had schemed to put him on the throne. “But you, Countess Berezowska,” the king said, once again in the present, “you are a very courageous woman. Your love of your homeland is quite apparent.”

  “What can be done?” Anna pressed.

  The king slowly shook his head. “It is indeed a volatile situation. If only they would wait for Kościuszko. Oh, what a great man that little general is. It is a sad day when a king can do nothing for his people.”

  “Nothing? But, Sire, surely something can be done to stifle this—”

  “My dear Anna,” he interrupted. “May I call you Anna?”

  “Of course. You’re the King!”

  “Oh! And you do make me laugh. My God, I need to laugh these days. Anna, whom did you see when you came into the courtyard?”

  “Soldiers.”

  “Russian soldiers. Why, even the loyalty of my own guard may be in question. The Russians are famous for their bribes. I may be the King of the Commonwealth, but I am a pawn to Russia’s Empress. Nothing is decided in this room anymore. And you’ll see only grim faces leaving the audience chamber. The power is in the Russian embassy.”

  “If you speak, your citizens will listen.”

  “Citizens like you and your marvelous little group of patriots will listen, but those who are at the core of the threat—the rebels and the rabble who, mind you, have just concerns—will not. I lost their respect long ago. And perhaps rightly so. I’m caught now in an ever-tightening vice between my people whom I love and Catherine whom I once loved.”