When he was last in Paris, an irate French aristocrat who swore he had seduced his wife had challenged him to a duel.
The fact that she had required no enticement, and it was far from being a case of seduction, did not prevent the King from accepting the challenge.
Although the aristocrat was a noted duellist, who had actually killed two men, he had fallen wounded from the King’s bullet, while the King himself received the merest graze on his arm.
All Valdastien had been agog with rumour and speculation when the news broke.
The King was well aware that to the Prime Minister and his colleagues this was another urgent reason for them to persuade him to beget an heir.
“I do not need to tell Your Majesty,” the Chancellor was saying, “how happy the country has been under your wise rule and how they look forward to many contented years of continuing prosperity, but at the same time – ”
His eyes met the King’s and he stopped speaking.
It was almost as if he was afraid to say any more, but waited to receive a response that in its violence might almost be physical.
Then, as the King tightened his lips as if he proposed to tell the Prime Minister, the Chancellor and everyone else that they could go to the Devil before he would marry, he remembered that there was a far greater menace to Valdastien.
In Paris last year the Emperor had told him bluntly that he feared the ambitions of Prussia and said that he was certain Bismarck was determined to unite all the smaller German states into an overwhelming Imperial Germany, which would swallow them up one by one.
The King, who had never thought a great deal of the intelligence of Napoleon III, had not listened.
Now the warnings, some voiced by other Frenchmen, others conveyed to him in letters from Monarchs reigning over other small countries like his own, seemed to swell up like a tidal wave.
He could see in his mind’s eye Germany rolling over the map of Europe, swallowing the small Principalities one by one until they formed a Federation that could face Britain and France on equal terms.
To the Prime Minister’s surprise, the King now said in a very different tone from what he had expected,
“I will certainly consider your proposition, Prime Minister. I realise that what you are suggesting is common sense and, although I have no wish to be married or to share my throne, I can understand my country’s desire for an heir.”
The Prime Minister drew a deep breath of relief, which seemed to come from the very depths of his body.
“I can only thank Your Majesty for your most gracious understanding,” he said in a low voice.
“I will give it my consideration,” the King said, “and I think I would be wise to call first on the neighbouring countries on our borders with whom we could join to form a firm defensive alliance, should the necessity arise.”
The Prime Minister, who was a shrewd man, realised exactly what the King was saying.
He too was afraid of Germany and the ambitions of Bismarck, who, as all Europe knew, was manipulating the weak King William, who was more concerned with his own personal health than his country’s greatness.
The King rose to his feet.
“Thank you, gentlemen, for calling on me,” he said. “I will notify you of my plans as soon as I have had time to make them.”
Elated with the success of their visit, the Prime Minister and the Chancellor withdrew.
When he was alone, the King sat down in the armchair to stare with unseeing eyes at an exquisite painting by Fragonard on the opposite wall.
He did not see the graceful figure in a romantic garden or the cupids hovering in the sky above her.
He saw only the incredible boredom of having to endure the companionship of a Queen, whose only asset as far as he was concerned would be her Royal blood.
He thought of the dreary, pompous little Courts he had encountered in the past on his journeys round Europe and the Monarchs he had met when either a Coronation or a funeral of one of them obliged him to be present.
They were all very much the same, very conscious of their own importance, terrified of being deposed and having nothing to talk about but family affairs and the gossip which emanated from other Courts exactly like their own.
Remembering the indifferent food they invariably served, which the King detested, the uncomfortable beds and long-drawn-out State Ceremonies, he knew that a Queen would bring into his own Palace all such causes of irritation that he had avoided as much as possible.
At the moment, because he was a bachelor, he was able to keep Court Ceremony down to a minimum and could enjoy himself almost as freely as if he was an English gentleman living on his estate in the country.
He went hunting and shooting when he wished, entertained only those whose company he enjoyed and left all the pomposity, except for one or two State occasions a year, to his Prime Minister and other members of the Government.
Thinking it over, he supposed that the people of Valdastien saw less of their Monarch than the people of any other country in Europe and because of it, the King thought mockingly, they were much more contented.
A Queen would change all that!
She would expect to appear on innumerable public occasions, she would want to inspect hospitals, receive bouquets and drive in State whenever possible with crowds cheering her.
She would also interfere with the running of the Palace, which the King considered was quite perfect as it was, because he had a gift for organisation.
Instead of dining either with his particular cronies or enjoying an evening by himself, reading in his study or going down the secret passage to visit La Belle or whoever else was occupying the Château at that moment, he would have to make desultory conversation with some plain Frau.
Her ladies-in-waiting would doubtless be plainer and duller than she was and the boredom of it all was unthinkable.
But the King was well aware that he had little or no alternative.
He knew the Prime Minister would not have spoken to him unless he had been seriously pressed by other Statesmen, and certainly by the citizens, to preserve them from the German menace.
Worse still was the prospect of finding a foreign Ruler to occupy the throne should he die without an heir.
He was aware how the Greeks had searched desperately to find a Monarch to rule over them and had recently elected the second son of the King of Denmark to be King George I.
However, he knew that if that happened here, Valdastien was too small a country to survive, and he told himself somewhat wryly that it was only fair that he should make some sacrifice.
He had been reigning for eight years and had enjoyed every moment of it.
He had been unconventional, but no one had protested – he had been completely selfish in his interests and the people had admired him for it.
Now, just as every bill had to be paid sooner or later, he had to pay the price for the freedom he had enjoyed, but he considered it a very high one.
“God knows where I can find a woman I could even tolerate as my wife!” he muttered beneath his breath.
Almost as if the Devil was taunting him, he saw a procession of Princesses pass before his eyes – tall, short, fat, thin, dark, fair, red-headed – in the King’s eyes they all looked exceedingly unattractive and the idea of touching one of them made him shudder.
But one of them would bear his children, one of them would wear the crown of Valdastien and be his wife.
“I cannot bear it!” he shouted out aloud.
Then, as if the Devil had changed the scene and raised the curtain on another act, he saw instead the women he had chosen for their attractions and who had held his interest for a short while.
Each one had seemed to have a particular perfection.
Like the paintings he had chosen to hang in the Palace to complement those that were already there, like the jewels he had given in payment for the favours he had received and like the beauty his eyes sought in architecture, the women had been each
in her individual way been perfect.
It was ugliness, the King thought, that he disliked more than anything else and he knew that he had inherited his love of beauty, not only from his father, but also from his mother, who with her Hungarian blood had been one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
A brilliant rider, she had died when she was very young because, like him, she preferred wild horses to those who would carry her slowly and carefully and without danger.
If she had been beautiful in life, she had also been beautiful in death and the King knew that her loveliness was imprinted on his heart and was what he sought in every woman but had never found.
Suddenly appalled by the future that lay ahead of him, he felt as if, when he had least expected it, a chasm had opened at his feet.
He was no longer secure and complete in himself, but must embark on a strange treacherous route, which he felt with an unmistakable conviction would destroy his peace of mind and contentment forever.
He rose from the chair he had been sitting in to stride restlessly across the room and back again.
Then, as if he must escape from his own thoughts and could bear them no longer, he walked down the staircase up which he had come to the study.
He felt for the key he had put in his waistcoat pocket, but then he hesitated.
However, he knew that, although it was a palliative like wine and a very transitory one at that, only La Belle could for the moment help him to forget.
*
The door of the schoolroom opened, but Princess Zita, who was curled up in the window seat reading, did not turn her head.
She was in fact deep in one of her fantasy worlds, which engulfed her completely when she was reading a boo, and into which she entered in her thoughts at night and anytime during day when she was not interested in what was going on round her.
Now she had closed her ears against intruders and it was not until she was suddenly aware that somebody was standing beside her that she looked up and saw her elder sister, Sophie.
“What do you think has happened?” Sophie asked.
Reluctantly, because she was much more interested in what she was reading, Zita forced herself to enquire,
“What has happened?”
She did not expect it to be anything exciting, but she knew it must be at least unexpected otherwise Sophie would not have come back to the schoolroom to interrupt her.
Sophie sat down in the window seat opposite her before she replied,
“I can hardly believe it and yet Mama is quite certain that is why he is coming here.”
“Whom are you talking about?” Zita enquired. “Who is coming?”
“King Maximilian of Valdastien has informed Papa that he is making a tour of the countries neighbouring his own and wishes to stay with us for a few nights during the course of his journey.”
Sophie spoke in the rather precise, expressionless voice that she always used, but her blue eyes were very expressive and, as she finished speaking, she stared at her sister apprehensively.
For a moment Zita seemed speechless, then she exclaimed,
“King Maximilian? Are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” Sophie replied, “and Mama thinks he is coming to ask for my hand in marriage.”
“It cannot be true!” Zita said in an incredulous tone, as if to herself. “We have always been told that the King is a born bachelor, determined to marry nobody, although many women would have been only too willing to share his throne with him.”
Then, as Sophie did not reply, she went on,
“I am sure I know why he has changed his mind. Papa was speaking only the night before last to Baron Meyer about Bismarck’s determination to enlarge Germany.”
She paused before she went on positively,
“Yes! That will be why King Maximilian not only wants to make sure our country will stand with him against Germany but must also have an heir.”
As Zita thought it out for herself, she did not expect her sister to respond, knowing that Sophie was not in the least interested in politics and, not only made no attempt to listen to the conversations when their father entertained visiting Statesmen, but never even read the newspapers.
Zita enjoyed newspapers, just as she enjoyed books.
She often thought that her brain was divided into two compartments, one was concerned with politics and the problems that were besetting all the countries in Europe and the other half was filled with her fantasy world where everything was beautiful and fairy-like.
There were no problems there, other than those that arose between the nymphs and the satyrs, the goblins and the elves or the sirens, who with their beauty and their songs lured sailors and their ships to destruction.
This was the basis of the story she had been reading when Sophie interrupted her and for a second it was difficult to turn from the sirens, with their long fair hair floating on the waves, to King Maximilian and his search for a wife.
Then she thought the two were not so very dissimilar after all.
Her mother, the Grand Duchess, would have been horrified to know that Zita was aware that King Maximilian had the reputation of having had under his protection the most glamorous and beautiful women who had ever appeared in the theatre.
The music master who came to teach Zita to play the piano had once been a professional concert pianist in Paris.
He had therefore been familiar with the theatrical world, which fascinated Zita, living in the quietness of her father’s country of Aldross.
“Tell me about it, tell me more, monsieur!” she would beg when her lesson was over and the Professor was only too willing to talk to such an attentive audience.
He told her about the great personalities in the theatre and, because he went to Paris frequently to stay with two of his children who were married and lived there, Zita learnt about the latest shows.
The Professor described the Prima Donnas who drew crowds to the Opera, the stars of the Café concerts and the exquisite women who fascinated and enslaved men who spent fortunes on their gowns, jewels, carriages, horses and anything else they desired.
Because she was so interested, the Professor brought with him the French newspapers that, not only described what was seen on the stage, but also gossiped frankly and often scandalously about those who filled the theatre boxes and constituted the audience.
King Maximilian’s name appeared frequently and to Zita he was interesting because, from the portraits of him that she saw in magazines and sketches in the newspapers, he looked exactly as she thought a King should.
Exceedingly handsome, with an omnipotence and authority different from ordinary men, he was also very different from her Royal relations.
Because the Professor was carried away by his own verbosity and Zita knew how to prompt him into being very much more indiscreet than he intended, she learnt of the actresses whom the King entertained and soon after La Belle was installed in the Château in Valdastien she was aware of it.
“Tell me what she is like,” she begged the Professor.
“Beautiful, with a figure like a Goddess!” the Professor replied. “When she walks onto the stage wearing a diaphanous robe that reveals the perfection of her form, the audience is silent. There is no greater compliment an actress can receive than the silence of those who are spellbound by her looks and by what she is portraying.”
Zita was fascinated, but she found it hard to understand how, even for a King, La Belle could have given up the applause the Professor said she received night after night at the theatre.
“But will she not feel lonely living such a quiet life in the country, which I understand is rather like ours?” Zita asked.
The Professor smiled.
“She will have the King to applaud her.”
“Do you mean she will dance for him?” Zita asked.
Her words made the Professor realise that he had said far too much to a girl as young as the Princess, who should be unaware that women such as La Belle even e
xisted.
“The lesson is over, Your Royal Highness,” he said in a very different tone of voice. “Tomorrow we will concentrate on the compositions of Liszt and not waste time in idle gossip.”
“But you must realise, Professor,” Zita said in her most beguiling voice, “that, when we talk together, you open new horizons for me and music, if it comes from the heart as well as the mind, cannot be constrained.”
As she spoke, she knew that this was the sort of language the Professor would understand and appreciate.
“Your Royal Highness is very gracious,” he said. “At the same time I should not speak of such women.”
“If such women can dance as well as you say, then they are bringing beauty to the world and that is what we all seek,” Zita replied.
“That is true, very true,” the Professor agreed, “but I must talk to Your Royal Highness of Rachel, who is a brilliant actress and one of the great Prima Donnas who sing the music of the Operas of which we have not yet completed our study.”
“Yes, of course, Professor,” Zita agreed. “Equally, I am interested in La Belle and if you can find me a picture of her in one of the newspapers or magazines, I would love to see it.”
As she spoke, she knew it was obvious that she was not thinking of the artistic ability of La Belle, but rather of her association with King Maximilian.
‘I wonder why he finds her so attractive?’ Zita asked herself.
She decided that she would continue to prompt the Professor into finding her a picture of La Belle so that she could satisfy her curiosity as to what particular allurement, apart from her dancing, had made the King take her away from Paris and keep her in Valdastien.
Now, incredibly, when she had never thought of such a thing happening, if her mother was right, King Maximilian was coming to Aldross to marry Sophie.
As the full impact of what her sister had said swept over her, Zita gave a little cry of sheer delight.
“Sophie, you are the luckiest girl in the whole world!” she sighed. “Have you any idea how exciting and handsome King Maximilian is? Papa said there is no Monarch in the whole Continent to equal him in looks or athletic ability. He climbed the Matterhorn one year and you will have the most marvellous and spirited horses to ride in Valdastien.”
A King In Love Page 2