Rulers of kings: A novel

by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton

XXXI

She slept well, and late; then being already long past her early hour of rising, lay for a time, half in pleasure of that narrow world wherein she still could confuse dreams and life, half in dread of the realities into which she must step with her clothes. Should she go to Budapest that day? It occurred to her too late that it is more difficult to return to the associations identified with the intense or tragic moments of life even than to remain among them. Should she stay in Vienna for a few days? The Hofburg had never seemed so dreary; her own rooms were musty and chill. In Buda, at least, she would be companioned, and she should find novel work to do immediately upon her return. She remembered Fessenden’s early suggestion to conciliate the Independents by inviting their wives to the palace. Many of these men were her slaves, but of them several would not come to Buda, and others held wholly aloof. She should persuade to her cause, as soon as she returned, the patriotism of the influential women of the aristocracy. And there were charities to organize, subtler methods of conquest to be conceived, now that society had been won by gayeties and pleasure. As soon as the winter broke she would make her progress through the country; she had made the impression she desired on the crowds that had met her at the stations in Transylvania. It was all easy enough, this brilliant preliminary, but what of the future? Would she have her great public career, and would it console her for the renunciation of what she wanted at that moment more than the career of a Maria Theresia or even the triumph of cold duty? As she awoke fully the tenderness and passion, roused and stimulated, yet so little satisfied in these past weeks, which for two days and nights had been quiescent under the sullen despair of her brain, now, after long hours of refreshing sleep, rushed in tumult through all her channels of emotion; and all her soul and body shook with longing and regret. Why should she not see him once more? And would it always be once more, and once more? Would her life be bearable if his expulsion from it were final? She had not seen so far into the future while with him, but now it looked as empty and cold as space. Could this be the end? She almost cried the words aloud as she sprang from her bed in a frantic desire to take some step—at once—before it was too late. He could not have sailed, for he had told her he should spend some days in Berlin, and his yacht was at Trieste. She should see him again if the world stood still. In all the emotions that had rent her, even after the terrible deaths of her brother and mother, she had never so faced the awful vista of finality; and she discovered that it was the one for which she had no power in her to endure. Of course he must leave her at last, but not yet! It is all very well for the old and the wise to argue with the accents of fatigue that love is not the only thing in life; so it is not, for those that argue.

She rang. Her women came in and dressed her in a travelling costume. She sent a note to the Princess Sarolta, asking her to be ready an hour hence, and another to her father expressing a wish to bid him Aufwiedersehen. The Emperor replied that he would call upon her as soon as she had finished her coffee, and that it was with regret he was obliged to inform her that her Obersthofmeisterin had caught a severe cold the night before and was unable to leave her bed. He had sent a messenger to Maria Leopoldina, who was at Baden, asking her to resume for the moment her old duties; and doubtless she would arrive in the course of the day.

It was a long message, and the Emperor had taken the trouble to write it, when a simple announcement by a chamberlain that he would call upon her immediately would have sufficed. Ranata left her breakfast-room abruptly, and stood alone in her dressing-room removing her hat with shaking fingers. For what was he preparing her? What pathway smoothing for himself? Had Piroska tattled? Was she to receive the paternal fiat that she must never see Fessenden Abbott again? Her father might require her submission before permitting her to return to Hungary. Had the world come to an end? She felt as if the floor were swaying and sinking.

She heard the Emperor’s voice in the salon, and controlled herself and went in to meet him. Her eyes met his squarely in the manner he detested. He kissed her, however, and congratulated her upon her improved appearance. She had rarely looked better than in this frock of green cloth and steel and sable, so simple and closely fitting that on her slim yet heroic figure it gave her a somewhat warlike appearance. The Emperor himself was looking remarkably well, in his parade uniform with its sky-blue coat and black and scarlet trousers. He had been in the saddle for two hours inspecting his troops, and the fresh color was in his cheeks, his well-exercised body was almost as free and elastic as his daughter’s. He sat erect and alert like the good soldier he was; but with the wariness of the diplomat he had taken the precaution to seek this interview on the enemy’s territory that he might retreat if a sudden lapse in the negotiations seemed wise; he knew that he would be physically unable to expel Ranata from his apartments until she chose to go.

He began with diplomacy, also, asking her of the pilgrimage of the night before; complimented her on her courage and piety—and no man could turn a compliment more neatly. But as Ranata answered him in monosyllables and preserved an upright attitude of expectancy, he felt himself driven towards the point.

“My dear,” he began delicately, “it has come to my knowledge that you are more interested than is prudent in the brother of your friend.” He paused, but as Ranata made no reply, nor even changed color, he continued. “Of course it is to be expected that a girl as beautiful as you are will captivate many men, aloof as you must hold yourself; but I am surprised that you have permitted a devotion so conspicuous as to create gossip. A princess can never be sure that gossip will stop short of scandal; for where a woman may not select her own husband, the idle and the envious are always on the lookout for an irregular connection to gloat over. I am very sorry to seem to reprove you—”

“I have expected it, of course. I knew that the little Zápolya was a spy; and she also wished to marry Mr. Abbott.”

“I hope you will give me the credit of having lived long enough to sift evidence before I decide, of making due allowance for circumstances, and of accepting no evidence unsupported. You and Mr. Abbott have been much in public together; your mutual interest has been commented upon far and wide. I have been warned from more sources than one. If I had known that Count Zrinyi had invited Mr. Abbott—and scarcely any one else!—to accompany you to Transylvania, I should have forbidden the visit. It had long been a part of your programme, and I inferred, as a matter of course, that you would be accompanied by a full court and a large number of guests. There is no doubt in my mind that Zrinyi made this opportunity for you, and he must take the consequences—”

“I doubt if he gave my private affairs a thought. He may have cared to entertain me as a princess, but his first object was to see as much of Alexandra alone as possible—in romantic surroundings.”