"You are very foolish, Claire! You know how greatly such a breach of
etiquette annoys the Emperor. Why do you speak with such people?"
"Because I like to," she answered defiantly. "If I have the misfortune
to be born an Imperial Archduchess and am now Crown Princess, it need
surely not preclude me from speaking to people who are my friends?"
"Oh, he is a friend, is he? Who is the fellow?" inquired the Prince,
raising his eyebrows.
"Steinbach. He is in our Ministry of Foreign Affairs."
"You really possess some queer friends, Claire," the young man said,
smiling. "They will suspect you of being a Socialist if you go on in
this way. You always shock them each time you come back to Vienna
because of your extraordinary unconventionality."
"Do I?" she laughed. "Well, I'm sure I don't care. When I lived here
before I married they were for ever being scandalised by my conduct in
speaking to people. But why shouldn't I? I learn so much them. We are
all too narrow-minded; we very little of the world beyond the palace
walls."
"I heard yesterday that you'd been seen walking in the Kamthnerstrasse
with two women who were not of the nobility. You really oughtn't to do
that. It isn't fair to us, you know," he said, twisting his moustache.
"We all know how wilful you are, and how you love to scandalise us; but
you should draw the line at displaying such socialistic tendencies
openly and publicly."
"My dear old George," she laughed, turning her bright eyes to him,
"you're only my cousin and not my husband. I shall do exactly what I
like. If it amuses and interests me to see the life of the people, I
shall do so; therefore it's no use talking. I have had lots of lectures
from the Emperor long ago, and also from my stiff old father-in-law the
King. But when they lecture me I only do it all the more," she
declared, with a mischievous laugh upon her sweet face. "So they've
given me up."
"You're incorrigible, Claire--absolutely incorrigible," her cousin
declared as he swung along at her side. "I only _do_ hope that your
unconventionality will not be taken advantage of by your jealous
enemies. Remember, you are the prettiest woman at our Court as well as
at your own. Before long, too, you will be a reigning queen; therefore
reflect well whether this disregard of the first rule of Court
etiquette, which forbids a member of the Imperial family to converse
with a commoner, is wise. For my own part, I don't think it is."
"Oh, don't lecture me any more for goodness' sake," exclaimed the Crown
Princess with a little musical laugh. "Have this waltz with me."
And next moment the handsome pair were on their way down the great room
with all eyes turned upon them.
When, ten minutes later, they returned to join the Imperial circle about
the Emperor, the latter motioned his niece towards him.
"Come to me when this is ended," he said in a serious voice. "I wish to
talk to you. You will find me in the white room at two o'clock."
The Crown Princess bowed, and returned to the side of her father, the
Archduke Charles, a tall, thin, grey-haired man in a brilliant uniform
glittering with orders.
She knew that his Majesty's quick eye had detected that she had spoken
with the commoner Steinbach, and anticipated that she was to receive
another lecture. Why, she wondered, was Steinbach there? Truth to
tell, Court life bored her. She was tired to death of all that intrigue
and struggle for place, power, and precedence, and of that unhealthy
atmosphere of recklessness wherein she had been born and bred. She
longed for the free open life in the country around Wartenstein, the
great old castle in the Tyrol that was her home, where she could tramp
for miles in the mountains and be friendly with the honest country folk.
After her marriage--a marriage of convenience to unite two royal
houses--she had found that she had exchanged one stiff and brilliant
Court for another, more dull, more stiff, and where the etiquette was
even more rigid.
Those three years of married life had wrought a very great change in
her.
She had left Vienna a bright, athletic girl, fond of all sports, a great
walker, a splendid horsewoman, sweet, natural, and quite unaffected; yet
now, after those three years of a Court, smaller yet far more severe
than that of Austria, she had become rebellious, with one desire--to
forsake it all and live the private life of an ordinary citizen.
Her own world, the little patrician but narrow world behind the throne,
whispered and shrugged its shoulders. It was believed that her marriage
was an unhappy one, but so clever was she that she never betrayed her
bitterness of heart. Like all her Imperial family, she was a born
diplomatist, and to those who sought to read her secret her face was
always sphinx-like. Her own Court saw her as a merry, laughter-loving
woman, witty, clever, a splendid dancer, and with a polished and
charming manner that had already endeared her to the people over whom
she was very shortly to reign. But at Court her enemies looked upon her
with distrust. She exhibited no sign of displeasure on any occasion,
however provoking. She was equally pleasant with enemies as with
friends. For that reason they suspected her.
Her charming ingenuousness and her entire disregard of the traditional
distinction between the Imperial house and the people had aroused the
anger of her husband's father, the aged King, a sovereign of the old
school, who declared that she was fast breaking up all the traditions of
the royal house, and that her actions were a direct incentive to
Socialism and Anarchism within the kingdom.
But she only laughed. She had trained herself to laugh gleefully even
when her young heart was filled with blackest sorrow; even though her
husband neglected and despised her; even though she was estranged for
ever from her own home and her own beloved family circle at the great
mountain stronghold.
Next to the Emperor Francis-Joseph, her father, the Archduke Charles,
was the greatest and wealthiest man in Austria. He had a Court of his
own with all its appendages and functionaries, a great palace in the
Parkring in Vienna, another in Buda-Pesth, the magnificent castle of
Wartenstein, near Innsbruck, besides four other castles in various parts
of Austria, and a beautiful villa at Tivoli, near Rome. From her birth
the Princess Claire had always breathed the vitiated air of the courts
of Europe; and yet ever since a girl, walking with her English governess
at Wartenstein, she had longed and dreamed of freedom. Her marriage,
however, was arranged for her, and she awakened from the glamour of it
all to find herself the wife of a peevish prince who had not finished
the sowing of his wild oats, and who, moreover, seemed to have no place
for her in his heart.
Too late she realised the tragedy of it all. When alone she would sit
for hours in tears. Yet to no living soul, not even to her father or to
the dark-haired, middle-aged Countess de Trauttenberg, her
lady-in-waiting and confidante, did she utter one single syllable. She
kept her secret.
The world envied her her marvellous beauty, her exquisite figure, her
wealth, her position, her grace and ineffable charm. Yet what would it
have said had it known the ugly truth? Surely it would have pitied her;
for even an Imperial archduchess, forbidden to speak with the common
world, has a human heart, and is entitled to human sympathy.
The Crown Prince was not present. He was, alas I seldom with the
Princess. As she stood there in the Imperial circle with folded hands,
laughing merrily and chatting vivaciously with the small crowd of
Imperial Highnesses, no one would have guessed that she was a woman
whose young heart was already broken.
Ah yes! she made a brave show to conceal her bitterness and sorrow from
the world, because she knew it was her duty to do so--her duty to her
princely family and to the kingdom over which she was soon to be queen.
The Emperor at last made his exit through the great white-and-gold
doors, the Imperial chamberlains bowing low as he passed out. Then at
two o'clock the Crown Princess managed to slip away from the Imperial
circle, and with her rich train sweeping behind her, made her way
rapidly through the long, tortuous corridors to his Majesty's private
workroom, known as the White Chamber, on the other side of the great
palace.
She tapped upon the door with her fan, and obtained entrance at once,
finding the Emperor alone, standing near the great wood fire, for it was
a chilly evening, close to his big, littered writing-table. His heavy
expression told her that he was both thoughtful and displeased. The
chamber, in contrast to the luxury of the splendid palace, was plainly
furnished, essentially the workroom of the ruler of a great empire--the
room in which he gave audiences and transacted the affairs of the
Austria-Hungarian nation.
"Claire," he said, in a low, hard voice, "be seated; I wish to speak to
you."
"Ah, I know," exclaimed the brilliant woman, whose magnificent diamonds
glittered beneath the electric light, "I know! I admit, sire, that I
committed an unpardonable breach of etiquette in speaking with
Steinbach. You are going to reprove me--I know you are," she pouted.
"But do forgive me. I did not reflect. It was an indiscretion."
"You never reflect, Claire; you are too irresponsible," the Emperor said
in a tone of distinct displeasure. "But it is not that. I have called
you here to learn why the Crown Prince is not in Vienna with you."
He fixed his grey, deep-sunken eyes upon hers, and awaited her answer.
"Well--" she faltered. "There are some Court dinners, and--and I
believe he has some military engagements--anniversaries or something."
The Emperor smiled dubiously.
"You are shielding him, Claire," he said slowly; "I see you are. I know
that Ferdinand is estranged from you. Of late I have learnt things
concerning you--more than you imagine. You are unloved by your husband,
and unhappy, and yet you are bearing your burden in silence, though you
are a young and beautiful woman. Now, Claire," he said in a changed
voice, placing his hand tenderly upon his niece's shoulder, "tell me the
truth. I wish to hear the truth from your own lips. Do you know what
they say of you? They say," he added, lowering his voice--"they say
that you have a lover!"
"A lover!" she gasped hoarsely, starting from her chair, her beautiful
face as white as the dress she wore; "a lover! Who--who told you so?"