by P. G. Glynn
“Welcome to our little gathering!” Otto greeted him warmly. “We’re delighted you could spare the time from your busy life to join us, Mr Brodie.”
Charles was not looking at his host. He was looking at Marie. “I came to wish you well,” he said, drinking her in and trying to imprint her image indelibly on his memory, “and happiness.”
“There’s a darling you are,” she responded, suddenly sounding very Welsh. Then, dropping the accent, she succeeded in smiling and saying in her normal voice: “I haven’t sounded like Sarah Siddons in a long while, have I?”
The last time was when she came to his office offering to take over from Dolly. “No, you haven’t,” he agreed, recalling every detail of that day as if it were yesterday. “I chided you then for your Welshness, but shan’t tonight.” He was horrified to find that tears were welling up in his eyes. “Tonight finds me somewhat … lost for words and more than a little … tired.”
“You are bound to be, after rehearsing all day with the new Nancy,” Otto said sympathetically, “and on top of that this evening’s performance, of course. Not that Dolly Martin is new, exactly. I trust that she remembers the part?”
The rehearsal had been a disaster. From start to finish Dolly had proved such a poor substitute for Marie that Charles had cursed his decision to risk having her back in the cast. “She’s … slightly rusty,” he answered, “but tomorrow’s rehearsal should help her find her feet.”
“It’s to be hoped so,” said Otto. “If it were not that Marie will be rather busy tomorrow, I’m sure she could be persuaded to come to the Company’s rescue as she did once before. Think of us at eleven, won’t you? We’d ask you to the wedding but for the fact that you’ll be rehearsing. It would be most appropriate for you to be there … ” Otto left these words hanging on the air before continuing “ … since you contributed so handsomely to Marie’s decision to marry me quickly.”
“The kid’s not his!” Hannah Hamilton hissed.
Giving no indication of having heard Hannah, Otto grinned broadly and said to the assembly: “Mr Brodie was kind enough to convince my bride-to-be that there was no need for us to wait until she had worked out her notice. He had the perception to see that for us love takes precedence over things theatrical and that we were in a hurry to start honeymooning … and settling into wedded bliss. Marie and I are both grateful to him for his … understanding. Now, let’s all just celebrate, shall we?”
Celebrate they did, in that convivial atmosphere, with the ever-flowing champagne contributing to the conviviality. Charles wished he could drink himself into a stupor, thus shutting out his wretchedness. How had he made such a fiasco of things? Here was Otto Berger, laughing at him, and he could do nothing. Nor could he do anything to stop the foreigner marrying Marie and acting as father to Charles’s baby – or, if he could stop this, he lacked the guts to do it. Impossible to face up to the fact that he was such a weakling. He held his glass as Sarah again filled it for him. Soon, he would have to make the presentation and people would be expecting a little speech. He had rehearsed a few words, but could not now remember what these were. He would far sooner stick a knife in the smiling Otto Berger than wish him a long life and happiness with his bride. Would that Fate had been kinder! Would that Marie were about to become Mrs Brodie!
Clapping his hands finally for silence, Charles knew that he must be brief since his sole hope was brevity. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said then, “and, more importantly, Marie and Otto who are to be … married tomorrow, you will be relieved to know that I have it in mind to use just a few moments of your time. This hospitality is so lavish that I’m sure you are wanting to make the most of it, since the Tavistock is not known for its lavishness,” he paused for a ‘hear hear!’ from Clive’s corner, “except of course in terms of drama. It is some months now since Marie Howard arrived to light up our theatre as my leading lady and few could dispute that she has been an immense asset to the acting profession as well as to us in our Dickensian Company. Where did the time go? As we question the speed of its passage, we would ask her to return as soon as marriage permits, if not to the Tavistock – though she is always assured of a warm welcome here – then at least to the theatre. Meanwhile we and her public will miss her immeasurably. Her departure marks a sad day indeed.”
Realising he had stupidly omitted mention of the wedding present that the Company had bought for Marie, he indicated the wrapped package on the table in front of him, stating: “This comes to you with our love and best wishes. We hope it will prove useful and that when using it you’ll sometimes think of us.” For the first time since starting his speech, Charles turned his attention to Otto, ending: “Be good to her, once she is Mrs Berger!”
“That last bit came from the heart,” Clive observed to Michael, his speech slurring a little. “It’s hurting him, for sure, to be with the turtledoves – but, my, isn’t the bridegroom having fun?”
As Marie numbly removed the wrapping paper from a box containing a silver tea service, Otto addressed the gathering, thanking for the gift and saying: “While sipping our early morning tea, we’ll certainly think of you and your generosity. As for being good to Marie … I intend to be a very loving and attentive husband. Once she is my wife she will want for nothing – even her own theatre, should such an acquisition please her.” He paused here, giving his audience time to register awe, before ending: “Marie and I are so eager to travel life’s highway together that I must ask your indulgence if we now leave you to continue the celebrations without us. We have some last-minute packing to do, for our honeymoon – but please don’t let our absence spoil things for you.”
Charles had not been expecting them to leave quite so soon. Before they left he must somehow give Marie the letter. He should have given her this earlier, to be sure of her having something of him to take with her. He could have wept as he remembered that she was already taking two things of his. His heart would go wherever she went and his child would too so, with or without the letter, Marie was taking the very essence of him.
His opportunity came as everyone surged forward to say ‘farewell’ and see the bridal pair off the premises. Clutching Marie’s arm in a vice-like grip, Charles gave her a last kiss on her willing lips, thrusting the letter into her hand and whispering: “This says everything … yet nowhere near enough. God speed, my love!”
+++++
When Marie undressed for bed she saw that her arm was bruised where Charles had grasped it. His fingers had each made an imprint so that it was almost as if his hand were touching her still. Unfolding his letter after removing it from its envelope she read in his distinctive script:
‘‘My Marie
There are no words in existence that could adequately express my feelings of love and regret. Should
you ever doubt how much I love you, look no further than this letter which testifies to the fact that no
matter what happens in the future, you and I are one.
We were from the moment our eyes met and registered a sense of belonging that neither time nor
distance can alter. I might be married to Madeleine and you might be marrying Otto Berger, but
our souls are wed to each other. It is the soul that truly speaks, Beloved, and ours will speak
- I know – in dreams. When each day is done, I shall run to you spiritually and shall exult as I
see you running to me. How sweet, our nightly reunions: how hard, to awaken from these!
Please remember that wherever you are you will be safe in my heart and arms. You might
through necessity be another man’s bride but you will always be my true wife … and next
spring you will bear our child. After she is born (I pray that she will be the daughter I’ve longed
for) hurry back to the theatre, since almost more than with me that is where you belong. How
heavily I feel the weight of responsibility for having robbed audiences of your sparkling stage-presence
for the time being!
To my eternal regret I have done so much that is wrong, but professionally I did right by
offering you the chance to shine. You shone so brightly that in your absence it will
be as if the lights have gone out over London Town.
But we shall not speak of partings because we cannot be parted, you and I, and until we are by
some means together again physically I shall live in the expectation of that togetherness. There is no
other way in which I can live.
Let Khalil Gibran express the rest: ‘I kiss you with my soul and I hope you will remember me
in silent hours’.
Forever your Charles’
+++++
For her wedding Marie wore a dress Otto had bought her. It was made from silver lace flounced over rose pink satin, with a tiered skirt, draped bodice and wide pink cummerbund. Staring at her reflection in her dressing table mirror, she thought back to Charles’s letter. Not that Marie had to think far back, having spent the night thinking of it and wishing she were marrying him. How excited and alive she would feel then, instead of how she felt! Should she be marrying Otto, feeling flat and half dead? If only she could ask Pa what his views were! In a very real sense it was at least partly thanks to Pa that she was taking this step. Had Mam not mentioned him disowning her …
There was a tap on the door and then Uncle John was in the room, staring at her too. “You look so beautiful!” he told her as she turned to face him. “Far too beautiful to … oh, what’s the use? The car will be coming for us at any minute and I don’t want to waste my last precious moments with you going over old ground – especially not when your mind is obviously made up. Is there anything I can say to change it, before it’s too late?”
“Nothing … but it’s a wedding we’re going to, not a wake,” Marie told him with a tragic quality to her smile. “So stop sounding as if you’ve heard the death knell.”
“Perhaps I have heard it,” he said, looking smart in his Sunday best. “Do you know where you’re honeymooning yet?”
“Yes.”
“You do? When did Otto tell you?”
“In the car coming home last night – and only after I told him that I wouldn’t go unless I knew.”
“Yet you never mentioned it before going to bed.”
It had not seemed worth mentioning – not when she could think of little else except reading Charles’s letter. “Didn’t I?”
“You know very well you didn’t! Put me out of suspense. Where is it you’re off to, then?”
“Somewhere,” Marie answered bleakly, “that should finally teach me never to say ‘never’: Vienna.”
-----oo0oo-----
PART II
22
Vienna, 1919
Wien bleibt Wien said the song and Otto had to admit that despite everything Vienna remained Vienna. War had changed much but had relinquished his city’s essential spirit – its unique character. The heart that beat here for Austria had not stopped beating with the loss of her Empire. Otto felt its gentle throb and experienced a surge of patriotism following his return with Marie on his arm. Austria was vastly poorer and she mourned Franz Josef yet she had not lost hope and rightly so, since her fundamental optimism was integral to her charm. Assuredly Kaiser Karl’s exile would be short-lived and the Hofburg and Schoenbrunn Palace would soon be welcoming him.
The sad fact had to be faced, though, that Austria was now a Federal Republic diminished to a mere fraction of her size pre-war. For Franz Josef, as well as being Austria’s Emperor, had been crowned King of Hungary and had ruled over Galicia, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Dalmatia and Croatia until these were forfeited to Poland and to the new Slav state of Yugoslavia. Back in the days when Bohemia and Moravia also belonged to her, Austria’s frontiers extended right to Russia and Rumania whereas now she bordered Czechoslovakia, Hungary and Yugoslavia to the east, Germany, Switzerland and Italy to the west. It was as well that the proud old Emperor had not lived to see this indignity.
There were many indignities for Austria. Her people were poor, her currency virtually worthless with a cup of coffee costing a million kronen, and she was on the brink of a revolution such as Russia was just emerging from, so those Austrians who were still rich now risked being stripped of their estates. It was fortunate for Otto that his family estate, thanks to Bohemia having become Czechoslovakian, was safely outside Austria. Post-war land reforms had reduced the Berger lands to five thousand hectares but at least these were not in danger of being seized by the State or by the people, as they would have been had they remained Austrian. Otto too would have enjoyed far fewer advantages than he enjoyed as a Czech.
So he was patriotic as far as it suited him. Otto was Austrian in his heart but not in his pocket, which bulged with koruna and with letters of credit. Unlike kronen the koruna was sought after, so Otto was a big spender in a city needing people with spending power. He blinded his eyes to the poverty and to the beggars that seemed to be everywhere – though it was not easy to blot from his consciousness these brutally wounded men without limbs or without distinguishable faces – and thanked his lucky star. This had invariably protected him from harm. He had been saved from having to fight just as his funds had been saved from Austria’s runaway inflation. Czech currency was stable and the koruna purchased so many kronen that he could overlook resentment from the less fortunate. Bad feeling had, in fact, always simmered between the factions that had constituted the Austrian Empire.
The Czechs and Slovaks had bitterly resented the Emperor honouring the Hungarians by becoming their King with the crown of St Stephan while scorning the crown of St Wenceslas. His subjects had then further slighted the Czechs by treating them as servants rather than equals and by dismissing their history and language as inconsequential. Their desire to be independent within the structure of the monarchy had also been denied so it was hardly surprising that at the end of the war Czechoslovakia, under President Masaryk, had lost no time in establishing a republic.
And Czech troops, seeing latterly which way things were going, had deserted in droves to join the Russians. Feeling no debt of loyalty to Austria they did not care when the collapse of the sovereign state was attributed to their actions – the Serbs, Croats and Poles having been encouraged by Czechoslovakia’s example to seek equal independence. No, they were not in the wrong for they had been provoked beyond endurance. It was deeply satisfying, instead of being the poor provincial relation, to have become affluent in a country that had no choice but to welcome affluence.
Otto had effectively changed sides in the age-old conflict between the nations and was neither proud of his new status nor dismayed by it. He was just a pawn in the game that, crucially, was being played to his advantage. So, to salve any misgivings, he gave generously of alms to the beggars littering Vienna and then closed his mind to their plight. Better to be buoyed by one’s generosity than burdened by the sight of women pleading for the price of a crust: women holding babies made docile by drugs.
As for the limbless, faceless men sleeping on the pavements: best not to think about them nor see that some had at the front of their heads, instead of features, a coagulated hotchpotch of broken bones and scar tissue. Often there were no eyes in their sockets. Otto had formed the awful impression that they had holes where their eyes had been and that through those holes – as the beggars lolled on paving slabs and park benches, or raided refuse-tips – one could see into their hollow heads. He could not seem to banish the belief that anyone looking in would see the most desolate space ever seen. Wien bleibt Wien – but with differences!
Otto wished he could have shown his city to Marie sooner. If she could have been here pre-war she would have liked it better. He could not expect her to like it yet, when still tired from the rough crossing on an ill-equipped paddle steamer and the subsequent train journey through Holland and Germany. Once she recovered Vienna would endear itself to her despite its current difficulties. Otto felt as sur
e of this as he did that in time she would be glad to be his wife. Marie was not yet proving a responsive bride but he must make allowances for her sea-sickness and disgust at German being the national language. She would soon recover – and until she learned his native tongue Otto was happy to converse with her in English.
He was happy about many things, not least his marriage. Marie’s beauty attracted attention wherever they went and it was an unending source of pride to him that she was now virtually his. Their arrival at the Sacher Hotel last night had created a stir, with the manager settling them personally into the bridal suite and with gentlemen guests eying Otto enviously. (They might be less envious to know that once in the big bed Marie had promptly fallen asleep.)
Otto had been relieved to see that the Sacher – the Viennese equivalent of Claridge’s – still maintained its high standards, providing faultless comfort and cuisine for the discerning. And the whisper had reached him that girls from the demi-monde still sauntered in pairs along the Kaerntnerstrasse after attending twelve o’clock mass in St Stephan’s Cathedral. Not that there was a cocotte in existence to rival Marie but, if she kept him waiting too long, there was always a house of assignation to fall back on.
So, with these blessings and the well-remembered fine Gothic and Baroque buildings, the giant Ferris wheel still turning and with wine-cellars and coffee-houses contributing to Vienna’s old ambiance, there could be no doubting Otto’s happiness. A few glasses of Sekt and he could even forget the war-wounded. Mutilated men did not feature in Haydn’s and Mozart’s city, where Beethoven’s piano-playing disturbed his neighbours. They were not part of Franz Josef’s Empire, nor of the scene that Schubert, Gluck, Brahms and Hugo Wolf knew. Therefore they were unimportant. Otto, seated opposite Marie in a lamp-lit Grinzing wine-garden, drank to that. “Ja, Wien bleibt Wien – Gott sei Dank!”
