Imperial Splendour

by Barbara Cartland

  When she had made her curtsey, she had seen him clearly behind the Princess, who was apparently unaware of his presence.

  Then, as she came into the White Salon, she had been aware of him in a manner that seemed still a part of the music that her father had composed.

  It was not what she felt about people ordinarily, it was something different, odd, yet in a way not odd, only familiar.

  It was like a melody that she listened to with her heart as well as with her mind and that conjured up within her the desire to create.

  That was what she felt she was doing when she danced nothing set or nothing that had been taught her, merely that which came from within herself.

  Her father had always understood so well what she felt.

  “When I compose, my dearest,” he had said, “I feel sometimes as if I have opened a door within me and let the music come in. Then I only have to listen and it requires no other effort on my part.”

  “I listen too, Papa,” Zoia had added. “And then I know what to do.”

  They had smiled at each other, knowing that there was no need for words to explain what happened because they understood.

  ‘The Duke understands too,’ Zoia thought as she reached the piano.

  She sat down and played a few bars of her father’s composition that she had played to him.

  Then suddenly, as her father had said, the door within herself opened and she began to play something very different, something she heard in her heart and something that flowed through her and into her fingers so that she could interpret it into music.

  She played and, as she did so, she saw the Duke, his eyes looking into hers when they had met. Then she saw the expression on his face when she had finished playing to him.

  She had known in that second that he had understood what she was trying to convey and had seen what she had seen.

  ‘How is it possible?’ she asked.

  And yet there was no question that it was indeed possible and that it had happened.

  She played on and suddenly it was no surprise, but somehow inevitable that, as her music filled the room, he should come into it and walk towards her.

  She glanced at him and went on playing and he stepped onto the dais and leaned on the piano as he had done the day before.

  Only after two deep chords when she lifted her hands from the keys did the Duke say,

  “I knew that I should find you here alone.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes on his.

  “How – did you know – that?”

  “I learnt last night that the Princess and her daughter would call at The Winter Palace this afternoon and I had a distinct feeling that you would not be included.”

  There seemed to be no answer to this and Zoia was silent.

  “I may be wrong,” the Duke went on, “but, when I came up the stairs and heard what you were playing, I had the strangest feeling that you were thinking of me.”

  Once again Zoia’s eyes were on his and she replied softly,

  “I – was thinking of you – just as I felt yesterday that when I – played what Papa had composed you – understood.”

  “I did,” the Duke answered. “I fought against it, but I did understand.”

  There was silence and then he asked her,

  “Did you compose what you were playing just now.”

  “I heard it for the – first time when I was – thinking of you.”

  The Duke drew in his breath.

  There was a simplicity in the admission that robbed it of everything but the truth and yet because it was the truth it was all the more poignant.

  “What have you done to me, Zoia?” he asked. “I have never felt like this in my life before.”

  “L-like – what?” she asked beneath her breath.

  “Seeing things – hearing things. Being mystic, or any other word you may like to call it. It is completely foreign to my nature.”

  “How can you be so – sure of that?” Zoia asked. “And if it was – you would not have understood as you did – understand yesterday.”

  “Why should it happen?” the Duke enquired almost harshly. “Is it something to do with Russia or would this have occurred if we had been elsewhere, in London or Paris?”

  Zoia looked down at the keyboard before she answered,

  “I think – when things happen to us – as you are trying to say – it is because we are – ready for it. We may hear the same music – look at the same picture – see the same lovely view and it can mean nothing. And then suddenly – ”

  Her voice ceased as if she could find no more words and the Duke finished,

  “ – suddenly there is something else, a vision that I was convinced was only imagination until I came here today.”

  Zoia waited and he went on,

  “The moment I saw you again I knew that it had been real. That is why I am asking, what have you done to me? Why should I feel like this?”

  She gave him a smile that was the most beautiful smile that he had ever seen.

  “It has – happened,” she murmured, “and explanations are – quite unnecessary.”

  “But, of course, I am curious. Has this happened with other men?”

  There was a sharpness in his voice as if he half-suspected that she was using hypnotism or some such other means of creating an effect.

  Having asked the question, he waited, knowing that her reply was of importance out of all proportion to what it should have been.

  “Only with Papa,” Zoia answered. “He understands – he and I feel the same – but with no one else.”

  The Duke felt himself relax.

  He had been afraid of what she might tell him.

  “Shall we talk about it?” he asked, “or will you play to me?”

  “Which would you prefer?”

  “Both,” he replied with a smile.

  He leaned against the piano while Zoia lifted her hands and then looked down at them. And unexpectedly she dropped them back into her lap.

  “Y-you are – making me shy,” she said. “I-I cannot think of the music – because you are here.”

  “In other words you are thinking of me,” the Duke responded in his deep voice.

  “You – you want me to – play to you.”

  “Let it wait. Come and sit down on the sofa and tell me about yourself.”

  He straightened himself ready to move away from the piano.

  For a moment Zoia did not rise.

  “I think that Her – Highness would be annoyed if she knew that you – came here when she was – out,” she stated slowly, as if she had just thought of it, “and we are – alone.”

  “Does it matter” the Duke asked. “Perhaps she will not know.”

  “She will know,” Zoia answered, “because the servants will tell her. Everything is – known in Russia.”

  That was true, the Duke thought, just as Katharina had known yesterday that he had left The Winter Palace to visit the Princess.

  He told himself that it was not important and he could not care what she said or thought.

  Then he remembered that it concerned Zoia too and for the first time he realised that, in his desire to see her again, he had been incredibly selfish.

  The Duke was so used to thinking only of his own interests and his own pleasures that he never considered how they might affect other people.

  For the very first time in many years he found himself concerned with the effect of his actions on another human being and most especially on the girl facing him.

  “I suppose the correct thing for me to do would be to leave at once,” he suggested.

  He looked at her and went on,

  “I want to stay, God knows I want to stay! There is so much I want to talk to you about and so much I want you to tell me. But in case it should hurt you in any way, in case there should be unfortunate repercussions, I will give you a message for the Princess and leave.”

  Zoia clasped her hands together and it was an instinctiv
e little gesture that made the Duke draw in his breath.

  ”I want you to – stay,” she stammered in a low voice. “I should so much like to – talk to you – but I suppose it would be correct for me to ask you – to go.”

  “Let us compromise,” the Duke proposed quickly. “I will stay a little longer, but we must not waste one second of our time together.”

  He put out his hand over the piano towards her.

  “Come. Let us sit down comfortably and make the most of our time alone.”

  She rose and, as she did so, she put her hand in his.

  As they touched each other, they were both aware of the vibrations that passed between them that were inescapable and compelling.

  They had been about to step down from the dais, but now neither of them moved.

  Zoia only raised her eyes, looked into the Duke’s and for a moment time stood still.

  “That is what I might have expected,” he muttered.

  His voice broke the spell.

  She took her hand from his and walked across the room to sit on the satin-covered sofa that stood between two marble pillars.

  He found himself watching the grace that she moved with and it was almost as if she floated rather than walked and there was music in every movement.

  He sat himself down beside her, turning so as to look at her and searching her face.

  “I heard a great deal about you last night,” he started when she did not speak. “They tell me that you are called the Ice Maiden.”

  Her eyes dropped a little shyly and a faint touch of colour came into her cheeks.

  “It is – a foolish name thought up by a – foolish person.”

  “Why should you say that?” the Duke asked.

  “Because I am not really – enclosed in ice,” she answered, “except to one – particular person.”

  “The Grand Duke!”

  “Yes – I don’t like him and he attempts to – threaten Papa.”

  “In what way?” the Duke asked sharply.

  “He told Papa that he would have him driven out of Russia and that he would not be allowed to conduct here, unless – unless I did as he – wished.”

  “That is intolerable!” the Duke reacted angrily. ‘The Grand Duke has no right to behave in such an uncivilised manner.”

  “That is what – Papa said and he told the Grand Duke that he had no jurisdiction ‒ over him. At the same time – I am afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “The Grand Duke is a very obstinate and determined man. I have a feeling that he could also be – wicked and – unscrupulous if it suited him.”

  “You will be safe here in St. Petersburg.”

  “I – hope so,” Zoia answered. “Her Highness is – very kind to me.”

  “I am sure she will protect you at any rate and, if you are in any trouble, I am also here.”

  Zoia looked at him and he had the feeling that she looked deep into his heart as if she was searching for something.

  Then she said quietly,

  “You must not be – involved in anything that might make – trouble for you with the Czar. I have heard how – fond he is of you – and Russian affairs should not concern you – personally.”

  The Duke smiled and answered.

  “But you are not Russian, not entirely. You are half-French.”

  “That makes it worse! England is at war with France.”

  “So is Russia at the moment,” the Duke added.

  “I am very worried about Papa in Moscow. If the French reach it, the fighting will be – terrible.”

  “I feel certain that the Russians will do everything in their power to prevent the French from getting as far as Moscow,” the Duke said slowly.

  “It is all so – horrible – so unnecessary. I loved Paris when I was a little girl and we lived there – and it breaks Papa’s heart to think of all the men who have been killed senselessly and for no reason ‒ except for the insatiable ambition of one man who is not even French – but Corsican!”

  It was a cry, the Duke thought, he had heard so many Frenchmen make and he had no answer to it.

  Instead he said,

  “I know I shall involve you in a great many difficulties if I stay here any longer, but I will see you again and, if you are really in any trouble, do not hesitate to let me know.”

  He paused and then he added,

  “Promise me you will do so.”

  “I – promise,” Zoia murmured softly.

  He thought it was typical that she did not prevaricate and did not try to dramatise what he had said as so many other women might have done.

  They both rose and the Duke took Zoia’s hand in his.

  She felt his lips on the softness of her skin.

  “Take good care of yourself,” he said quietly and walked away leaving the room without looking back.

  She stood for a moment staring after him.

  Then, as if she would still the tumult within her, her hands went to her breasts.

  Chapter Four

  Princess Ysevolsov and Tania called first on an ancient member of the Ysevolsov family, who lived in a fabulous Palace on the banks of the River Neva.

  She was so old and had lived through so many dramatic events in her life that she was not particularly interested in what was happening at present.

  She was, however, a tremendous admirer of the Czar and talked incessantly of his charm and his commanding appearance.

  She had recently been visited by Madame de Staël, the French writer who had extolled him to all and sundry, saying that she was deeply affected by the noble simplicity with which he entered upon the great interests of Europe.

  “Alexander,” the old lady went on, “is exactly the type of Czar that the Russians have wanted for many centuries and you will see that history will grant him the place he deserves.”

  Tania found the visit to be rather boring, but contented herself with admiring the many attractive objets d’art that The Palace possessed.

  When they left her, mother told her,

  “At least one person is satisfied with the way that Russia is being ruled, but I cannot help feeling that such praise of his Imperial Majesty is exceptional.”

  “I think everybody admires the Czar, Mama,” Tania answered. “He is so handsome and looks so commanding in his uniform.”

  The Princess bit back the rather bitter words that came to her lips and instead started to talk once again of the Duke.

  “You must show him every attention, Tania. Smile at him and ask his opinion but, above all things, don’t bore him with commonplace observations.”

  “What are they, Mama?”

  The Princess, looking at her daughter, admitted to herself that, while Tania was indeed exceedingly lovely, her brains were not likely to entertain such a sophisticated gentleman as the Duke.

  Their next call was at The Winter Palace where they enquired if it was possible to have an audience with the Czarina.

  Elizabeth Feodorovna had always been extremely fond of the Princess and it was not surprising when the message came back that she would be delighted to see her.

  The Princess and Tania were led to her private apartments and here again Tania was beguiled by all the attractive little ornaments in the private rooms.

  The Czarina was, however, talking very seriously to the Princess.

  She was, owing to the crisis, happier with the Czar than she had been for some time.

  He no longer frittered away the hours with Maria Naryshkina. Instead he looked for the support of his wife, which she gave him wholeheartedly.

  The Princess thought that the Czarina remained magnificently resolute.

  “You are very courageous, ma’am,” she declared.

  “I try to be,” the Czarina replied simply, “but how can I tell you of my inner emotions when my dear and well-beloved Russia, for whom I feel at this hour as for a darling child, is wretchedly sick?”

  She gave a deep sigh and went on,

  “
I am certain that God will not abandon her, but she will suffer and I with her, sharing every spasm of her anguish.”

  The Princess put out her hand to press the Czarina’s and make her understand how much she sympathised in her suffering.

  Then in a quiet voice the Czarina went on to talk of her fund for war orphans and how she herself had handed over nine-tenths of her annual allowance to worthy charities.

  It was growing late in the afternoon and the Princess was thinking that the Czarina would indicate that their interview was at an end when the door burst open and one of the Ladies-in-Waiting came rushing in with a distraught look on her face.

  “Your Majesty, ma’am!” she cried.

  The Empress rose to her feet, an apprehensive expression on her face as she asked,

  “What is wrong? What has happened?”

  “They are saying, ma’am,” the Lady-in-Waiting answered almost incoherently, “that the French are starting a diversion in the direction of St. Petersburg.”

  “It cannot be true!” the Czarina exclaimed.

  “I was told this by the Captain of the Golden Guard, ma’am, who had been informed that the Government are planning the evacuation of valuables.”

  “I just don’t believe it!” the Czarina cried. “I must go to His Imperial Majesty at once!”

  She went from the room and the Princess, taking Tania by the hand, started to make her way to the entrance of The Winter Palace.

  The corridors were already full of people running hither and thither, talking at the tops of their voices and yet saying little that made any sense.

  There were Chevalier Guards in gilt breastplates, Bishops wearing the white klobouk or high white veils falling from the crown of their hats to their shoulders and Court Arabs who were actually gigantic black men in skorohods.

  The Princess bumped into a friend and she cried out,

  “It is intolerable and inconceivable that we should be threatened here! Surely someone will stop the enemy before they reach us?”

  “I am quite sure that is what will happen,” the Princess said soothingly.

  “I swear that I would tear out my tongue rather than speak the French language again!” her friend screamed hysterically, “and every Frenchman and woman in St. Petersburg should be expelled from the City immediately or sent to Siberia!”