‘Yes. We have quite a stake in it,’ said Lady Helen, ‘since Miss Peabody has undertaken to copy it for him. Have there been many libretti submitted?’ She had hoped for the chance to ask the question.
‘Two or three, I think, before the roads were closed. I know the Prince was disappointed, and angry, that there were not more.’ She smiled and Lady Helen thought what a charming girl she must have been. ‘It’s a great state secret, but my stepson is busy writing a libretto for anonymous submission. I think the Prince may be glad to have it, just to swell the numbers.’
‘He knows about it?’
‘Lady Helen, you should always assume that the Prince knows everything that goes on in Lissenberg.’
‘Never forget that.’ Lady Helen was telling the two girls about the Princess’s visit.
‘No.’ Cristabel, who had come in glowing from a successful rehearsal, now looked quenched, subdued. ‘Poor Max, so his father knows about it… What does that make his chance worth?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Martha, thoughtfully. ‘If the Prince really wants Prince Max out of the way, might this not be a means of downclassing him a little?’
‘Oh, no.’ Cristabel was firm. ‘The Emperor Leopold used to write opera, remember.’
‘A Holy Roman Emperor can do almost anything he pleases. And I doubt he ever won a competition. Something just a little vulgar about that, don’t you think? Is there to be a prize, by the way?’
‘Just production of the opera, I believe. How are you getting on with your copying, Martha, and when may I read Crusader Prince?’
‘I think I shall finish tomorrow. In fact, I must, as I’ve sent a message to Herr Wengel to tell him so. But, Cristabel, he did say no one was to see it.’
‘He can’t have meant me!’
‘I promised him. I’m sorry; I should have asked about you, but you know what his visits are like; he’s come and gone before you know what’s happening.’
‘But I’m to sing in it!’
‘If it wins. Cristabel, it may be one of the terms of the competition, that no one is to see it before the Prince does.’
‘Max would let me see his!’ Cristabel was angry now, her colour high. ‘He knows that my advice might be useful. I do know something about opera after all.’
‘Of course you do! That may be why Herr Wengel is nervous. It’s quite an undertaking to write both libretto and music. He may be unsure of himself, not ready yet for criticism.’
‘Herr Wengel, unsure of himself! Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘When he comes for the fair copy, I promise I’ll ask if you may see the original.’
‘I’ll see to it that I’m here to ask him myself,’ said Cristabel.
But it was Ishmael Brodski who arrived to collect the fair copy. ‘I have business with Prince Gustav,’ he told Martha. ‘And undertook the commission for Herr Wengel. He asks me to thank you a thousand times, and begs you to forgive him for not coming in person.’
‘We might have known he would not.’ Cristabel was angry, and Martha could hardly blame her.
The snow came early that year. It fell quietly, persistently, all through December, piling up in great drifts on either side of the narrow track that was kept open, with difficulty, down to the town of Lissenberg. Supplies for the Palace were brought up by cart as far as the opera buildings, then transferred laboriously to huge baskets for cartage up the tunnel to the castle.
‘It’s women who carry the baskets!’ Martha and Lady Helen were watching the loading from the window.
‘Yes, the Princess told me. She doesn’t much like it, but they have always been the burden-bearers here in Lissenberg. It’s not thought fit work for men, and, she says, women are only too glad to get the extra winter wage it brings in.’
‘It can’t be good for them. Look, there’s one with a child at her skirts. And they all look starved and cold. Do they live up here, do you know?’
‘No, they come up on the first cart of the morning; work all day; go home at night. Only two days a week, mind you. The tunnel is kept clear for the Prince and his guests the rest of the time.’
‘It must be a long day. I wonder what they get to eat.’
Martha had not penetrated into the rear quadrangle of the opera complex where the servants lived and worked, having felt at first that she was very far from welcome there. But things had changed since their visit to Brundt. Maids encountered in passages now smiled shyly as they curtsied; there was a friendly informality about the menservants’ bobs. Emboldened by this, she went down now to the ground floor and pushed her way through the heavy swinging-door that divided masters’ from servants’ quarters.
The air struck chill. The change was extraordinary. Bare walls gleamed damp in the light of flares, stuck in sockets on the wall. No daylight. Of course, she worked it out, the whole complex had been built into the side of the hill. The gentry quarters were on the lower side, with daylight, servants worked without windows.
More light ahead and the sound of women’s voices. Walking carefully over the roughly flagged floor, she came to an archway opening on to a room below. Stone steps led down, but she paused for a moment in the entrance. It was noon and the women basket-bearers, who had started at first light, were eating their mid-day meal huddled around a huge fire that burned in the centre of the room, its smoke, or at least some of it, escaping through a hole in the ceiling. The air was heavy with this smoke and the smell of damp clothing, but something was missing. There was no smell of food. Used now to the half-light, she could see that the women were eating individually, out of little bundles they had brought with them. Some had no bundles and were sitting listlessly, gazing into the fire, if they had been so lucky as to get near it. Where Martha stood, it was ice cold, and damp.
‘Fräulein Peabody, what are you doing here?’ One of the maids had appeared from a doorway further down the corridor and was looking at her in amazement. ‘Did you get lost?’
‘Not precisely. But, tell me, are they given nothing hot, these poor women?’
‘They are given nothing, Fräulein. Lucky to get the work! My mother is down there, with my little brother. Promise not to tell on me, Fräulein, I was bringing her this.’ Martha now saw that she was carrying a steaming flagon wrapped in a cloth. ‘The trouble is to get it to her without the others noticing.’
‘She’d get mobbed? I’ll help you. I’ll go down first, ask some silly questions. You come quietly after.’
‘Thank you, Fräulein. It’s her first year, you see, since my father died. She’s not used to it.’
‘Nor should she be! It’s wicked. But we must lose no time.’ Martha moved forward and down the slippery flight of stone steps. ‘What in the world is going on here?’ she asked, in her American-German.
‘We’re eating our lunch, Fräulein.’ A woman came towards her from close to the fire. ‘And not much time to do it in.’ She spoke with the flat civility of exhaustion. ‘The bell will ring any minute now.’ She had packed up her diminished bundle, now tucked it into a capacious pocket of her ragged dress.
‘Take this.’ Martha reached into her own pocket for her purse, wishing there was more in it. ‘Share it among you. Something for tomorrow. I’m sorry it’s so little. May I come again?’
‘And with a blessing.’ The woman seized the purse. A bell clanged and frantic activity broke out. Children cried as their mothers formed hurriedly into line. ‘First come, first basket and first to go home.’ The woman gave Martha a ghost of a smile and moved away to take her place in the line.
‘Thank you Fräulein, they had it all.’ The maid was waiting for Martha by the steps.
‘So quickly? But it’s monstrous. They should all have hot soup. They shouldn’t be doing this work at all.’
‘Someone has to.’
What could she say? ‘I must think about this. Come to me this evening – it’s Anna, isn’t it?’
‘Fancy your knowing,’ said the girl.
‘Yes, I agree it is ent
irely monstrous,’ Lady Helen had listened to Martha’s explosive report of what she had found. ‘But you must be careful what you do, my dear. This isn’t your United States of America, you know.’
‘I should just about think it isn’t,’ said Martha angrily. And then, more soberly. ‘But you’re right, of course. No use going at it like a bat at a brick wall, as my father would say. Lady Helen, may I come with you next time you call on the Princess?’
9
The Princess received them alone and listened in grey silence to Martha’s story. Then she sighed, and said, ‘I know. It’s wretched. I was as shocked as you when I first came here and heard about those poor women. But I had no idea their conditions were as frightful as you say. I’m ashamed not to have found out.’ She looked from Martha to Lady Helen. ‘No need to tell you how little influence I have now.’
‘You are the mother of the heir,’ said forthright Martha, shocking Lady Helen.
‘I’m not even sure about that any more. This engagement of Prince Max’s may change everything. I’ve never been told what the terms of the agreement with Bonaparte are, but sometimes I see the Prince looking at little Gustav as if… as if he disliked him. It’s not the child’s fault he’s afraid of his father. The Prince has always been so rough with him.’ She was crying now, suddenly pouring out her troubles. ‘I thought everything would be better after he was born, but it’s not, it’s worse. Before, I had only myself to worry about, now, there’s little Gustav.’ She looked from one of them to the other. ‘I’ve put my life in your hands.’
‘Hardly that, surely.’ Lady Helen was shocked all over again.
‘You don’t know, nor do I. I can’t have another child: the Prince hasn’t been near me since the doctors told him that. Once or twice I saw him looking at Minette de Beauharnais as if he was thinking, wondering … Why am I telling you this?’
‘Because you need to,’ Lady Helen told her, ‘and because you know it is entirely safe with us. You have no one here in the Palace that you can trust?’
‘Not since the Prince sent my ladies back to Baden. Long ago. Oh – I trust Max entirely. But he’s a man. And the Lissenbergers don’t like me, and I hardly blame them. I’ve been so useless, so inadequate. I sometimes wish the Prince would get rid of me; send Gustav and me home to Baden.’
‘Don’t think like that.’ Lady Helen frowned at her. ‘Defeatist thinking. You have your son’s future to think of, Highness.’ Did she use the title on purpose? ‘And your duty to your family and to both your countries, Lissenberg and Baden. A public rift between you and the Prince might so easily mean trouble between the two states … Just the kind of thing Bonaparte wants. We all know how swift he is to take advantage. I’m talking too much!’ She rose. ‘Forgive me. Our attendants will be waiting to light us down the tunnel. You may count on our absolute discretion, Highness.’
‘I am sure of it.’ Was there a shine of tears in the Princess’s tired blue eyes? ‘And come again next week?’
‘If you wish me to.’
‘Both of you. Please. I am so very sorry about those poor women, Miss Peabody, but you do understand, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’ Warmly. ‘I’m only sorry I brought it up, to distress you. If there was ever anything I could do –’ She had been angered by Lady Helen’s reproof, the hint of a drawing aside of skirts. For the first time, she felt herself and the Princess as the younger generation, together against the disapproving old.
‘Thank you.’ As Martha began her unpractised curtsy, the Princess surprised her with a quick, shy kiss. ‘I’ll remember that.’
They went down the long tunnel in silence. With torch-bearers in front and behind, the need for discretion was absolute, but Martha did not much want to talk.
‘Will you do something for me, Cristabel?’ There had been a hint of coolness between the two girls since Martha had refused to let Cristabel read Crusader Prince.
‘If I can.’ Cristabel was trying on the scarlet tunic she was to wear for the Christmas performance of Mozart’s Il Re Pastore.
‘Those poor women. I can’t get them out of my mind. The Princess says it would be of no use her speaking to her husband, and I believe her. But if you were to say something, when he congratulates you on your performance as the shepherd-king – he’s bound to be feeling pleased, the flattery in that opera is laid on with a trowel – could you say something then about your crazy friend who wants to pay for a soup-kitchen for the women porters? I truly think he might listen to you.’
‘You don’t think speaking to Prince Max would be better?’
‘What use would that be? Besides, we see him so seldom.’
‘He’s been coming to rehearsals again.’ (Was Cristabel blushing?) ‘He says he wants the Christmas performance to be a tremendous success. He’s got us all working like maniacs, and as for the orchestra, he says they are as important as us singers in this one!’
‘What does Franzosi think about all this?’
‘Oh, such a good man! He’s delighted; says he had no idea that early opera of Mozart’s could be made so interesting; thinks Prince Gustav is bound to be impressed. And I’m sure he will give all the credit to Prince Max – I could ask him to approach his father then.’
‘You don’t want to do it yourself,’ Martha went to the heart of the matter.
‘Martha, you have to understand. It’s a difficult part for me – it’s always hard taking on the ones written for castrati – and Mozart is something special. I have to think about nothing else; I can’t get involved in your politics.’
‘Politics? Some poor, cold, hungry women?’ And then, seeing she had hurt her friend. ‘I’m sorry, Belle, forget I said it. You concentrate on your music! I’m a fine one to suggest anything else, am I not? I’ll find some other way.’
The conversation left her with a good deal to think about. Prince Max was coming to rehearsals again and Cristabel had not thought fit to mention it. Enormously tempted to drop in on a rehearsal herself, she did not do so and was glad to be at home when an unexpected caller was announced.
‘I thought I’d come to see you before the snow got any deeper,’ Frau Schmidt greeted her like an old friend. ‘That bad grandson of mine has been urging me to do so. He sends his regards and his thanks all over again for your great kindness. I’m afraid you must have thought him very uncivil not to come himself and collect his manuscript. It’s the Palace he keeps away from, you know. He has a very profound detestation for protocol, poor boy. Frankly, I’m always terrified he’ll lose his temper, say something he shouldn’t, so I do urge him to keep away.’
‘He has a temper, Herr Wengel?’
‘Be glad you haven’t encountered it. There were times, when he was a boy, that I was frightened for him. Bullying at school, the kind of casual cruelties you see every day in the street, he would fly out, say anything, do anything. Many’s the time I’ve had to talk him out of trouble.’
‘I know how he feels,’ said Martha. ‘You’re just the person I need to talk to, Frau Schmidt.’ She poured out the story of the women porters. ‘I so badly want to help them,’ she concluded, ‘but, like your grandson, I have learned to control myself a little. I do see that I can’t do anything for them without the Prince’s permission, but how do I set about getting it?’
‘The Christmas gift,’ said the old lady at once, ‘I’m surprised the Princess didn’t suggest it, but she has troubles of her own, poor lady.’
‘The Christmas gift?’
‘You’ve not heard of it, why should you? It’s an old Lissenberg custom, going back long before Prince Gustav bought us. After the Christmas performance, the Prince holds court for his subjects. It used to happen up at the castle. In the old days, everyone was welcome up there, the tunnel was open to all, and the theatre was within the castle wall. Tiny, of course, only room for the royal circle, but when the performance was over they all went outside and the Prince mounted a covered dais and held court. It was the time for petitions, things
people didn’t dare ask in the ordinary way, and traditionally, he granted one unusual request: the Christmas gift. Lives have been saved that way, unlikely marriages made, taxes forgiven. So far as I know, there’s nothing of great significance likely to come up this year. I think you might have a very good chance, if you made your request then. He’d be having it both ways, wouldn’t he? Being good to a foreigner, and getting his workers fed for nothing. And naturally it would be very popular in town.’ She rose. ‘I must be down the hill before dark. I think if I put the word around you will be safe from competition. I’ll get my cousin Anna to explain the routine to you. She thinks the world of you, Miss Peabody.’
‘Anna’s your cousin?’
‘We’re all cousins, here in Lissenberg.’
‘Except Prince Gustav?’
‘Acute of you.’
‘And Prince Max? Don’t tell me his mother was a cousin of yours too?’
‘Naturally. Goodbye, Miss Peabody. And God bless you.’
Prince Gustav did not approve of open-air ceremonies in mid-winter. After the curtain had fallen for the last time on Il Re Pastore and the roar of applause had died away, flunkeys hurried to clear the stage and set up what Martha thought a rather theatrical-looking throne. As the royal party moved up to take its places, the gilded chairs they had sat on were hurriedly removed from the auditorium to make room for a silent crowd of Lissenbergers who had not found room in the gallery, and had been waiting outside all through the performance.
‘Poor things, they look frozen. No wonder they choose a short opera for this occasion,’ said Martha as a flunkey ushered her and Lady Helen forward to the few remaining chairs at the front of the house.
Lodge and Playfair came to sit beside them. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,’ said Lodge. ‘Quite aside from Lady Cristabel’s singing, which is more brilliant every time I hear her, I understand this is the one time in the year that the Prince actually meets his “devoted” subjects.’
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