It had already been settled, some little time ago, that his Eminence
Cardinal d’Orsay would leave Vienna on the day following--Thursday--to
take two or three weeks’ relaxation from his diplomatic duties, under
the strictest incognito, somewhere among the mountains of Bohemia. He
had terminated his mission from his Holiness Leo XIII. to his Catholic
and Apostolic Majesty Franz Jozef I. with that ease and tact which
characterised all his Eminence’s methods of procedure, whether
diplomatic or otherwise, and would presently be going to St.
Petersburg also on a diplomatic mission, but one of a most intricate
character, which would require all his Eminence’s skill and knowledge
of the world and of that Imperial enigma--the Czar.
Iván Volenski had been kept incessantly at work all that day, ever
since his Eminence had returned from Low Mass, classifying and
arranging the diplomatic correspondence relating to the concluded
mission, and preparing the documents that the Nuncio would require
when, having returned from his well-earned holiday, he would be ready
to start for St. Petersburg.
Iván had worked hard, chiefly to calm his agitation and force his
mind to wander away from visions of various possible occurrences on
the dreaded Russian frontier, which had haunted him during the night.
Also he was anxious to conclude all his duties connected with the
Legation; he was eager to start as soon as possible, to hand over the
terrible responsibility of the papers, which already was weighing him
down heavily.
It was late in the afternoon when his Eminence returned from his final
leave-taking of his Majesty. Iván, who was waiting for him, noticed
at once the look of annoyance that seemed to ruffle the Cardinal’s
placid features.
“Cardinal proposes and Emperor disposes!” said his Eminence wearily,
after he had with the greatest care deposited his precious burden on
the table. “Iván, my son, I have bad news to tell you.”
“Bad news, your Eminence?”
“Don’t look so scared, my son; it is merely a matter of a great
inconvenience and of a bitter disappointment. I shall not be able to
go to Carlsbad to-morrow.”
“Oh?”
“No; I am to be Cupid’s messenger instead. Truly a novel form of
diplomacy, even after my years of experience. And this,” added his
Eminence, pointing to the bulky parcel on the table, “is the message I
am to take.”
“But I do not understand. Where is the message to go to?” asked
Volenski, somewhat amused at the clerical diplomat’s ruffled
composure.
“All the way to St. Petersburg, my son, to be laid at the most
beautiful feet in the world--those of the Princess Marïonoff--on
behalf of his Catholic and Apostolic Majesty Franz Jozef I.”
“And your Eminence has undertaken to convey this unwieldy parcel all
the way to St. Petersburg, and are giving up your holiday in order to
satisfy the Emperor’s caprice?” asked Volenski in astonishment.
“What could I do?” said the Cardinal impatiently. “You know how
insinuating the Hapsburg family can be--its respected chief more so
than anyone in the world. His Majesty had extracted a promise from me
and forced these things into my hand before I had fully recovered from
the astonishment in which his request had plunged me.”
“So now your Eminence intends putting off your trip to Carlsbad
indefinitely and delivering the Emperor’s message, first of all?”
asked Iván, who suddenly became nervous as to how these altered plans
would affect his own movements.
“Yes! I am anxious to get rid of these brittle things--for brittle
they are to an alarming degree--I should never know a moment’s peace
till they were out of my hands, and safe in those of the fair
sorceress, who has succeeded in inveigling Franz Jozef into giving her
so precious an heirloom. We will start for St. Petersburg to-morrow.”
“We?”
“Yes, my son! I am afraid you must, like myself, find your holiday
indefinitely postponed. Having once got so far, I shall push on to
Peterhof at once, and see his Majesty the Tsar, for whom his Holiness
has entrusted me with a memorial, and settle all my work in Russia,
with your help, as quickly as possible.”
Volenski did not reply. In his mind there arose the fact of the great
additional safety to his own secret mission, if he were actually
travelling in attendance upon his Eminence. Clearly this change of
plans was for the good of the cause.
“I shall be quite ready to start to-morrow,” he said at last with
ill-concealed alacrity, and an involuntary sigh of relief.
“Well! you take it more philosophically than I do, my son,” said the
Cardinal sadly.
“After all, your Eminence,” said Volenski, with an attempt at
consolation, “your holiday and mine are only postponed; in a month’s
time the spring will be upon us--the weather altogether more
propitious for pleasure trips.”
“In a month’s time, my son,” said the Cardinal, whose gloom could not
so easily be dispelled, “there will no doubt have cropped up some
work, that again will brook no delay. There was no time like the
present.”
“In the meanwhile,” said Iván, “will your Eminence allow me to give
the parcel to Antoine that he may pack it in one of the boxes?”
“Gently, my son, gently; ah! you do not know the double annoyance
these things are causing me: for not only do they necessitate the
postponement of our holiday, but they are of such brittle nature that
the conveying of them all the way to Petersburg will be one prolonged
anxiety to two bachelors like ourselves.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, cut the string, my son, and look at the _bibelots_; you can
feast your eyes on the most charming works of art it has ever been my
good fortune to see, truly a fitting gift of an Emperor to a
Princess.”
Volenski had already opened the parcel, and, with the eyes of a
connoisseur, was admiring the exquisite workmanship, the grace of
design, of these truly unique _bibelots_.
“Their history,” added his Eminence, “as his Majesty told me, is as
interesting as the works of art themselves. The candlesticks are not
entirely what they seem, and there is a charming secret about them.”
“A secret?”
“See,” said his Eminence, explaining to Iván the intricacies of the
hidden spring, “history has it, that Queen Marie Antoinette used these
candlesticks as a means of sending private messages to her relatives
in Vienna. The secret, apparently, has been well kept, for until now
the Hapsburgs never allowed these treasures to stand anywhere but in
the Hofburg chapel, and no one, I believe, until this day, has ever
seen these mysterious receptacles.”
Volenski had turned pale with suppressed excitement; his hand slightly
trembled as, with unwonted eagerness, he now once more examined the
Emperor’s candlesticks. He listened to his Eminence with an
earnestness which was not wholly that of a mere connoisseur. A wild, a
grand idea had suddenly surged in his brain. Here was safety at last:
complete, unassailable. A place wherein to deposit the valuable papers
that not the most far-seeing Russian official could dream of;
moreover, the candlesticks themselves would be in his Eminence’s
keeping, and who would dare to touch the belongings of the Papal
Nuncio? Now for a little simple diplomacy, and then peace, comfort,
freedom from anxiety, till, arrived at St. Petersburg, the papers
safely across the frontier, he will have exercised the finest stroke
of strategy ever done by any member of the secret society.
“Well, Iván, and what do you think of them?” his Eminence’s voice
broke in, on Volenski’s meditations.
“They are certainly most exquisite works of art,” said the young man,
pulling himself together, “but I do not wonder that your Eminence is
anxious about them; they seem so brittle, so fragile, that one fears
damage even in the packing.”
“That is why I dare not trust them to Antoine, and had hoped, Iván,
that you would see to the packing for me yourself; my own fingers are
old and clumsy: it really requires a woman’s hand.”
“No woman’s hands can be more careful than mine shall be,” said Iván
eagerly; “I will see about these things at once. They will be safest,
I think, in your Eminence’s own valise, which can then be placed in
the _coupé_, and remain under our own eyes the whole length of the
journey.”
“You certainly will be relieving my anxiety very considerably, my dear
son, by taking charge of these candlesticks for me. I can assure you,
that no diplomatic burden has ever weighed so heavily on my shoulders,
as these fragile _bibelots_.”
Fate seemed definitely to have placed herself in league with
Volenski’s project. Being a Pole, he was superstitious, and sought for
the mysterious workings of some supernatural agency, in this most
ordinary event.
He was brave in danger, with control over his nerves and fears, but
this was an eager kind of emotion--that of joy, relief, triumph--and
his arms shook, as he carried the precious candlesticks up to his own
private room.
He wished to be alone, to think quietly over the matter, not to allow
his eagerness to run away with his reason. His comrades’ safety was
the important fact to bear in mind, and _that_ he would undoubtedly be
furthering, by concealing the papers in the secret receptacle.
He was excited, enthusiastic!
“God’s hand,” he thought, “protects the cause. He placed this secret
within my reach. And now, in two days, Taranïew can have the papers.
His Eminence will have charge of them. The Papal Nuncio himself will
unwittingly convey them across the frontier.”
His Eminence could not be “a suspect,” that was clear; if he declared
a parcel to contain works of art belonging to himself, not the chief
of the Third Section in person would dare to lay hands on the
Cardinal’s property.
And feverishly he touched the secret spring of one of the
candlesticks, and gazed, almost lovingly, into the velvet-lined
receptacle within. Once more assuring himself that his door was safely
locked, he took, from out of his breast-pocket, the papers entrusted
to him yesterday by the committee, slipped them inside the hollow of
the tree-trunk, and carefully closed the spring again. He then
minutely examined the two candlesticks, and ascertained that the china
Cupid, who was now guarding the papers, had a slightly damaged arm,
from wrist to elbow, which made it easily recognisable from its twin.
He then wrapped them up carefully in many layers of cotton wool, and
multitudinous soft papers, and, taking the precious parcel to the
Cardinal’s room, he locked it up in his Eminence’s valise, side by
side with the episcopal ring, and other insignia of his sacred
calling.
“Yes,” your Eminence, “you shall take our papers to St. Petersburg for
us, hidden in the gift of an Emperor to a Princess; they will be safe
enough there, I think.”
Five minutes later Iván, calm once more, sought out the Cardinal in
his study; he handed him over the key of his valise, and gave him the
assurance that the Emperor’s candlesticks were quite safely packed,
without fear of the slightest damage.
“I am infinitely grateful to you, my son,” said his Eminence; “and
now, as I am myself dining out, I think I may safely give you this,
your last evening in Vienna, to dispose of, and say good-bye to any
friends you may wish to see. You will have to leave instructions about
our intended departure by the morning’s express, and be ready yourself
for the journey. Good-night, Iván, and thank you.”
Volenski retired with a low bow, glad to think that he was off duty
for the rest of the day. He hoped, that sometime during the evening,
he would meet one or the other of his comrades, and be able to tell
him to communicate with the others, that, owing to most propitious
circumstances, he would start for Petersburg twenty-four hours sooner
than was anticipated. They might, therefore, rest fully assured that
the papers would be safe in Taranïew’s hands, by the Saturday morning
at latest, more especially as he would now be travelling actually with
his Eminence the Nuncio, and that, therefore, there was not the
slightest fear of his being asked unpleasant questions, or having his
papers examined. Those, belonging to the brotherhood, he had placed in
a hiding-place, that was unparalleled for safety, and defied the eyes
of the keenest-sighted Russian official in the Empire.