First Night

by Jane Aiken Hodge

  The road was clear at last up to the Palace. She was ashamed of it, but since the night of the New Year’s masquerade, she had found the walk up through the tunnel almost unbearable. Now she did not just suspect, she knew, that those sinister doors into the mountain led to a cold network of dungeons. Who else might be languishing there, in the cold cells that had frightened Lodge and Playfair into flight?

  But today they rode up in the carriage, windows down to let in the sun and a hint of spring in the breeze. They found Princess Amelia in deep mourning and the whole atmosphere of the Palace subdued. ‘I’ve never seen the Prince so angry,’ she told them. ‘It’s lucky Maximilian’s heart wasn’t in that engagement.’

  ‘Has the Prince said anything?’

  ‘Not yet. We’re all treading on egg-shells. The Prince has shut himself up in his rooms; he says he is making up his mind about the choice of opera for the celebrations this autumn, but I am sure he is also deciding what to do about Bonaparte. I wish I’d hear from my sister the Tsarina, but, of course, the news will have taken for ever to reach Petersburg.’ She shuddered. ‘It was cold murder. A prince of the blood!’

  ‘The true blood,’ said Lady Helen. ‘Not Bonaparte’s. Tell me, Highness, your stepson, does he correspond with Mademoiselle de Beauharnais?’ And then. ‘No, how stupid of me. The roads have been closed since she left. It’s hard to get used to.’

  ‘I never shall,’ said Princess Amelia. ‘I’m always racked by fear, when the roads open at last, of bad news from my family. You must have found it just the same, shut up here for the first time. Your brother – Lady Cristabel’s father – I trust he is well?’

  ‘My brother is always well.’ Lady Helen evaded the question, as well she might, since the Duke had never answered the letter warning him that he was an unconscious bigamist.

  ‘I was so sorry not to hear your niece sing Dido,’ Princess Amelia went on now. ‘Everyone said she exceeded even her own brilliant standards. A new depth to the characterisation, someone told me.’

  ‘She made me cry,’ said Martha, ‘which I don’t do easily.’

  ‘I’m sure of that.’ The Princess smiled at her. ‘I hear great things of you, Miss Peabody. I understand you have been quite a surprise to our Lissenbergers, who thought you a fowl for their plucking. I’m glad you came today, to give me a chance to congratulate you – and, forgive me – to warn you that you may have made yourself some enemies, some of whom have the Prince’s ear. He is not a great believer in female enterprise. I understand that one of the operas submitted in the competition earned his disapproval on that count. The hero took second place to the heroine, he thought. Understandable enough, I suppose, when we all know the operas are being written for Lady Cristabel. Everyone knows the tenor can’t hold a candle to her, poor man.’

  ‘He seems to take it very well,’ said Lady Helen. ‘When can we hope to hear the Prince’s decision, Highness?’

  ‘I wish I knew. About everything. It’s hard on my poor stepson, who looks wretched, and no wonder. God knows, he entered into that engagement reluctantly enough, but just because he did so, I am very much afraid he may feel honour-bound to stick to it. After all, it is not the poor girl’s fault that her uncle has turned despot.’

  ‘Not her uncle,’ said Lady Helen. ‘I don’t know whether it makes it better or worse, but the fact is that Minette de Beauharnais is merely his wife’s niece by marriage, no blood kin of hers, even let alone his. And if he is getting these dynastic ideas into his head, may he not arrive at the logical conclusion of a divorce from the wife who has failed to give him an heir?’

  ‘But he adores her.’ This was clearly a new and unpleasant idea to the Princess.

  ‘Despite the slanderous rumours?’ Lady Helen made it just a question. Martha, listening to this extraordinary exchange, thought the two older women had forgotten her presence, deep in a discussion that went much further than the words. ‘If he is setting up to be a Caesar, he may begin to think of the old saying about Caesar’s wife.’

  ‘And then the Beauharnais girls would be back to the nothing from which they came.’

  ‘Just so.’ Lady Helen rose, and Martha had a curious sense of a mission accomplished. Her mind was thick with questions as they drove back down the hill, but she waited until they were alone in their sitting-room to ask them.

  ‘The opera the Prince doesn’t like,’ she began when they were alone, ‘the one with too strong a heroine … I wish you had asked more about it –’

  ‘Princess Amelia would not have told me. I hope you took her warning to heart, my dear. Have you really been stirring things up among the Lissenbergers? I had no idea. I wish I had known.’

  ‘I’ve just been insisting on value for money, Lady Helen.’ When had she finally found it impossible to address her friend by anything but her title?

  ‘And trodden on some toes in the process. There are times, dear child, when other things are more important than money.’

  ‘But it’s the principle of the thing … Father always said –’

  ‘What your father said, he said in your United States of America, where, by all reports, things go on in a most unusual way. I do not think you should take his word for law here in Lissenberg. Patronage is important here, as you must have realised.’

  ‘All too well! And you think I should set up as a patron.’

  ‘But you have. What else are you to Cristabel and me?’

  ‘A friend, I thought.’

  ‘That too, of course.’ Lady Helen surprised her with a kiss, which she felt herself accept ungraciously. ‘But as our patron, I can understand your anxiety about the choice of opera. Personally, and for what it is worth, I suspect that the one of which the Prince has chosen to disapprove is the anonymous one by his son, which he will certainly have known about. I’m afraid poor Prince Maximilian is about to be disappointed in art as well as in love. If it is a disappointment.’

  This gave Martha the opening for her other question: ‘Will Princess Amelia tell the Prince what you said to her?’

  ‘Undoubtedly. I think those two work much more closely together than appears on the surface. That is why I beg you to take the Princess’s warning with the greatest seriousness.’

  ‘I see.’ What she would do about it was another matter.

  The trumpeters were out in the streets of Lissenberg a few days later, to summon the Prince’s loyal subjects to the theatre for the result of the opera competition.

  ‘Will they come?’ asked Martha.

  ‘Will there be room for them all?’ said Lady Helen. ‘You don’t yet seem to understand, dear child, the power of an absolute monarch.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Cristabel, ‘there is great interest both in the opera and the general plans for the celebration this autumn. I’ve heard some wild talk among the staff at the Opera House. They seem to think that the Prince will celebrate his twenty-fifth anniversary with some kind of liberalisation of the law here in Lissenberg.’

  ‘A gesture towards the democratic principle?’ asked Martha. ‘It doesn’t seem very likely to me.’

  ‘No, I was amazed how seriously it seemed to be expected.’

  ‘What a disappointment it will be if it doesn’t happen,’ said Martha thoughtfully. ‘Are there any rumours at the theatre about the winning opera?’

  ‘Not a word. That really is going to be a complete surprise. We’re all to be on stage to hear the announcement, along with the composers of the various operas. But there has been no list of their names even.’

  ‘I wonder if Prince Gustav is going to enter a dark horse. Imagine if after all the local excitement, he has commissioned a work from outside, maybe by that wild young man, Beethoven.’

  ‘If he has, he must be regretting it now,’ said Cristabel. ‘Someone told me that Beethoven is a devoted worshipper of Bonaparte, and has been working on a symphony in his honour this winter, to be dedicated to the “world’s great man”. If Prince Gustav is really going to announce a complete break
with Bonaparte tomorrow night, which is another of the rumours, he would hardly produce the work of one of his devotees. A pity. I would dearly like to sing in a work of Herr van Beethoven.’

  ‘Maybe we could arrange it.’ But Martha was thinking about something else. If the composers of the operas were to be lined up on stage for the announcement, Franz Wengel must be there. Even he could hardly ignore a direct order from his Prince. ‘Do you know where your aunt and I are to be placed?’ she asked.

  ‘On stage with the rest of us. I asked Signor Franzosi to make a point of it. You are our Maecenas, after all, dear Martha.’

  ‘You don’t need me any more.’ As she said it, she knew it was true, and minded. She had lost both her occupations. Now that the roads were open and the tunnel no longer in use, her friends, the porter-women, had gone back to their homes, mainly in Brundt, and she was surprised how much she missed them, and the day-to-day occupation with their affairs.

  The long-awaited day came at last. Theatre and stage were packed with people and so was the square outside, where the announcement would be relayed by the Lissenberg town-crier. Only the dais for the royal party was still empty, and, Martha craned to look, one of the seats reserved for the competitors. Now, as she watched, there was a little stirring on the crowded stage, and the unmistakable, erect figure of Frau Schmidt moved forward to take the vacant seat beside Prince Maximilian. Martha watched with interest as she dropped him a token bob of a curtsy, received a respectful nod in return, and bent forward to talk to him. What possible excuse could she be making for her grandson?

  The orchestra struck up the Lissenberg national song and Martha rose to her feet wondering if by any amazing chance Herr Haydn, who had written it on Prince Gustav’s orders, might have been persuaded to enter an opera in the competition? But he was in his seventies now, living in honourable retirement in Vienna. It did not seem likely.

  The royal party was arriving now, and for the first time Martha thought how odd it was that Prince Max was down among the competitors. The young Prince had grown since she last saw him, turned into a little boy with flaxen curls and a pale, sullen-looking face. As he settled on a stool at his mother’s feet he saw his half-brother down on the stage, and made to get up to join him. His father’s hand on his shoulder held him back. She saw him bite his lips in pain, the colour ebbing from his face as he subsided on to the stool.

  The trumpets sounded. Prince Gustav rose to his feet. ‘Loyal and beloved subjects,’ he began.

  12

  ‘I must speak to you.’ The speech over, Prince Maximilian pushed his way through the excited crowd to where Cristabel stood. And then, to Franzosi, beside her: ‘Where can we talk, Signor? By what my father said, Herr Wengel’s winning opera is going to be very much of a challenge. The sooner we begin to plan for it, the better. The Prince is no mean judge of music; if he says it is modern and unusual, we must believe him, and I cannot help wondering if Signor Carlucci will be up to the part of St. Brandt. If we are going to need a replacement tenor, there is not a moment to be lost. I have the score here.’

  ‘At last!’ said Cristabel. ‘I am finally to be allowed to see this opera that is supposed to have been written for me! A pity Herr Wengel did not have the courtesy to come himself. I’m surprised the Prince was so tolerant about that.’

  ‘So am I,’ agreed Maximilian. ‘But Frau Schmidt says Wengel is a very sick man. We must resign ourselves to starting work without him.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Franzosi. ‘I entirely agree with you, Highness. Let us adjourn to the rehearsal room and take a look at this challenging score.’

  Cristabel hesitated. ‘There are to be no more formalities?’

  ‘Why should there be?’ Prince Maximilian smiled savagely. ‘The Prince has told his “loyal and devoted” subjects what his plans are. Now he is going back to the Palace to be spared the sight of them for another year or so.’

  ‘Hush!’ She put a warning hand on his arm. ‘But you … Should you not be with the royal party?’

  ‘The last thing my father wants. Why do I call him that? My “employer”. And we must be thinking of our duties.’ They were out of the crowd now, in the comparative quiet of the green room. He opened the rehearsal-room door, turned to Franzosi. ‘Thank you, Signor. There are things, first, that I must discuss with Lady Cristabel. Wait outside, will you? I’ll call when we are ready. There.’ He closed the door on the surprised maestro. ‘At last.’ He turned back to Cristabel. ‘I’ve thought I’d go mad, all winter, seeing you, working with you, unable to talk to you. I’m a free man, Cristabel. You heard what my father said.’

  ‘I heard. Last autumn it suited him to make you engage yourself to poor Minette de Beauharnais; this spring he has changed his mind. You do dance to his tune, do you not?’

  ‘No!’ Explosively. ‘You heard his tone when he spoke of me. Did that sound like the father of an obedient son? Oh yes, I agreed gladly to release myself from your “poor Minette”. You’d hardly call her that if you knew how she used to speak of you and Miss Peabody last summer. She’s no friend of yours, Cristabel, never delude yourself about that.’

  ‘I am Lady Cristabel,’ she said. ‘And I choose my own friends.’

  ‘Forgive me! I’m going too fast, and all in the wrong order. Idiotic! But I’ve been so wretched all winter, thinking of you, dreaming of you, listening to you sing better and better. And, Cristabel, don’t pretend. You felt it too, that time, in rehearsal… If I were to touch you now, what would happen? Ah, don’t!’ She had moved a step away. ‘You broke my heart with your Dido. But what could I do but stay silent. I was honour-bound. You don’t understand.’

  ‘I most certainly do not. And we should not be longer alone, Prince Maximilian.’

  ‘How can you? Cristabel!’ He reached for her hand. ‘I won’t believe you have not felt it too, the happiness growing between us. The chance of it. Impossible then. I was committed. Did I flatter myself that you felt it too, suffered too, but understood, being who you are, that I must do my duty? But not again. Not this time.’

  ‘This time?’ She had withdrawn her hand from his.

  ‘Oh, yes! My father wants me to engage myself to a Russian princess now. He’s not absolutely sure which one, but is hoping that my stepmother’s influence will find someone who is close to the throne. Even my ambitious father does not look so high as the Tsar’s sisters Catherine and Anna. But he thinks a Russian alliance our best hope now that he has defied Bonaparte.’

  ‘Not an Austrian one?’ Interested, despite herself.

  ‘No. He’s afraid of being swallowed, and I don’t blame him. But what I am telling you, Cristabel, is that this time I was man enough to refuse. That’s why I am in disgrace, out of the succession, his opera manager, nothing else. And free, at last, to offer you my hand. Cristabel, I love you dearly. I can offer you only the life you have already chosen for yourself, but shared! Imagine the happiness of it! The world at your feet, and I beside you, your guide, your friend, your lover. Surely we both knew this was our fate, all those years ago, when I stood back to let you shine as Orpheus. I want always to be beside you, Cristabel.’

  ‘You’re sure, now?’ She faced him, head up, hands behind her back, a challenging pose she used on stage. ‘Yes, I admit it, Prince Maximilian, there was a time when I did let myself begin to think we had a future together, you and I. Fated? Perhaps. A long childhood dream come true? Maybe. You wakened me rudely enough when you yielded to your father, without a word to me, and let me learn it, like the rest of the world, in public.’

  ‘But what could I have said?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She admitted it. ‘But something. A glance, a look?’

  ‘Minette watched me like a hawk. She hates you.’

  ‘Poor Minette.’ She said it again. ‘I suppose she fell under your spell too. That little lost boy look of yours … But I’m grown up now, Prince Maximilian. I shan’t let myself be carried away again, infatuated as I was this winter, and I’m
grateful to you for that. If I ever marry, which I doubt, it will be someone older, someone with power. And it won’t be for a long time. I’ve my own way to make in the world, and I mean to do it on my own. You broke my heart for me, and I sang Dido the better for it. But I don’t ever mean to suffer like that again. I can’t afford to, it’s bad for my voice. I’ve made you angry. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes.’ He was white with rage. ‘Forgive me, Lady Cristabel, for troubling you with my ill-timed proposal. From now on, I promise, it shall be strictly business between us. I wonder, though, what you would have said to me if I had come to you, not as a young man with his way to make in the world, but as heir apparent to Lissenberg.’

  ‘Intolerable!’ She almost spat it at him. ‘You insult me, Prince. Make your own arrangements with Signor Franzosi and I will abide by them, but I think it would be best if we did not try to work together on this opera of Herr Wengel’s.’

  ‘But we must. You know we must. My father expects …’

  ‘I’m getting a little tired of what your father expects, Prince Maximilian.’ She turned away from him. ‘Goodbye, Prince. Let us do our best to pretend that this unfortunate conversation never happened.’

  ‘Miss Peabody!’ Prince Maximilian found Martha and Lady Helen still in the theatre. ‘Can you spare me a moment?’

  ‘As many as you like, Prince. We are waiting for Lady Cristabel, who seems to have vanished.’

  ‘That’s just it!’ He looked around the emptying theatre. ‘If you would excuse us, Lady Helen? Over here.’ He led Martha to two seats at the end of an empty row. ‘I’ve made a complete fool of myself. I need your help.’