The Enchanted Waltz Read online

  A few days later, however, the spark of interest had reignited itself.

  “Wanda, I want you,” she called one morning. “Come here and close the door.”

  Wondering, Wanda had obeyed.

  When she drew near to the bedside, her mother stretched out and took her hand in hers.

  “Listen, my darling,” she said. “I have a plan. I have learned that there is to be a Congress at Vienna.”

  “Everyone knows about that,” Wanda answered. “They are to plan a lasting peace in Europe.”

  “Let’s hope they can achieve it,” her mother said, “but do you know what that means? There will be balls, parades, masques, dancing and music. I am determined that you shall be there.”

  “But that is impossible, Mama. How can I?”

  “It can be arranged,” she had answered. “It must be arranged!”

  It became an obsession with her during those last weeks when she lay dying, forcing a reluctant permission from her sisters-in-law, telling Wanda what she should do, writing her letter to Prince Metternich with the last remaining strength of her frail body and finally taking the turquoise pendant from a secret place and laying it in her daughter’s hands.

  “Give my letter to the Prince yourself,” she said. “Trust it to no one else. I know how in those vast Chancelleries the servants and secretaries lose these things or do not trouble their employers with them. If he will not see you, send him this pendant. He will recognise it.”

  Wanda had felt faint with terror when the moment came and the Prince had refused to see her, and in a last despairing gesture she had drawn the pendant from her neck.

  As she laid it on a gold salver where a supercilious servant had looked at it suspiciously, she had known then what a gambler feels when he stakes his entire wealth on the dice or a single turn of the cards.

  She closed her eyes as she remembered how her heart had leapt when the servant returned to say that the Prince would see her.

  Once again she felt the touch of his lips on her fingers. Was she to fail him now or was she to be so fainthearted that she would not go on when already she had achieved so much?

  She gripped her fingers together to stop them trembling and as she did so she realised that the carriage was now turning into a narrow semi-circular drive.

  In the darkness the grey-turreted schloss seemed immense and grimly unwelcoming.

  Then the front door opened.

  Wanda steeled herself to descend and the obvious surprise of the servants as they viewed the travel-stained coach as she walked up the steps and into the marble hall did nothing to calm her anxiety.

  “I have a letter for the Baroness Waluzen,” she explained. “Kindly convey it to her.”

  A powdered footman took the note, another showed her into a small anteroom and hastily lit the candles.

  There was no fire and Wanda felt herself shiver.

  Suppose the Baroness would not see her, suppose she could not stay here! Must she go back to the Chancellery or should she try to find an inn where she could be accommodated for the night?

  She had been told that all Vienna was full, that every hole and corner was occupied and that unexpected visitors had to sleep in their carriages or, if they were not wealthy enough to possess one, on a seat in the Prater, the great Park of Vienna.

  Despite every resolution she began to tremble. She realised now that she was very tired and, although she had told Prince Metternich that she had eaten before visiting him, she had only been able to force herself to swallow a mere mouthful. She had been much too excited to feel either cold or hunger.

  But now it was different. This waiting was intolerable, she thought, and turned to see a footman in the doorway.

  He led her across the hall and down a long corridor hung with portraits. Then a door was opened and she found herself in a brilliantly lit salon.

  It was the strangest room that Wanda had ever seen, for it was so crowded with furniture, china, ivories, glass and silver that it was difficult to know how one could cross it without bumping into something.

  For a moment she thought, in all the jumble of treasures, that the room was empty, till she saw, sitting by the fireplace, an old woman.

  She had a wrinkled face and white hair piled high on her head in the fashion that had been the vogue at the end of the eighteenth century. Despite her age she carried herself as stiff and straight as a ramrod. She wore a profusion of sparkling jewels round her neck and on her wrists, and the hand that she held out towards Wanda was glittering with rings.

  “So you are Carlotta Schonbörn’s child!” she said in a voice deep and rasping, rather like the croak of some exotic bird.

  There was something birdlike too in the turn of her head and in the bright inquisitive stare of her eyes, which seemed younger than the rest of her body.

  “Yes, madame,” Wanda answered, as she sank into a deep curtsey.

  “You’re pretty too. I remember your mother when she was first married. I never expected her to be happy, as your father was far too old for her and a monstrously dull man.”

  Wanda did not know what to reply to this and so she said nothing, merely standing before the Baroness, finding it hard not to keep glancing at the chains of diamonds and sapphires which encircled her neck or at the tinkling bracelets of rubies and emeralds which glittered with every movement she made.

  “You are not in the least like him,” the Baroness said, speaking as if to herself, “Blue eyes. I wonder! Yes, I wonder!”

  “Wonder what, madame?” Wanda enquired.

  “Was I speaking aloud?” the old lady said sharply. “It is a bad habit I have acquired through living so much alone. You must help me be rid of it, for I understand that you have come to stay with me.”

  “If you will have me, madame!”

  The Baroness laughed at that, a little cackling laugh that seemed somehow to have little humour in it.

  “The Prince Metternich has decreed it!” she said. “Don’t you know that anything the Prince wants he gets? We all obey him here in Vienna. You will find that out before you have been here very long. And now, you had better rest, for I understand we are to go to the masked ball tonight.”

  “You are going too, madame?”

  “Of course! Did you think to leave me behind? I may be old, but not so old as to prefer my bed when I might be watching other fools enjoying themselves. There will be plenty of time to rest when I am in the grave. Away with you, child, and sleep if you can. You haven’t much time!”

  “But – madame – what shall I wear?” Wanda asked.

  In answer the Baroness picked up the Prince’s letter, which lay in her lap, and, lifting a diamond-framed quizzing-glass, looked at it again.

  “The Prince says that you are to be suitably dressed. How like a man! Where does he expect me to conjure up a robe at this hour of the night?”

  “I-I – have two ball gowns – madame,” Wanda faltered. “One of them is white gauze, trimmed with turquoise blue ribbons – it seemed very lovely when we had it made – but now that I have come to Vienna – I am not so sure.”

  “Your mother chose it?”

  “Yes, madame.”

  “Carlotta’s taste was good. I think we can be sure it will pass muster for tonight or if not, you can always wear a domino. I will find a mask for you.”

  “How can I thank you?” Wanda asked. “I feel that there is so much I ought to say and yet I don’t know how to say it.”

  “There is nothing to say, child,” the Baroness answered. “I obey the Prince and, if I am to enjoy obeying him, then so much the better. I think it is about time I had someone young about me. When one is old, nothing is so ageing as being alone.”

  “Thank you, madame – thank you!”

  *

  Some hours later, when Wanda was dressed, she realised that she need not have been afraid that her white dress with the turquoise ribbons tied beneath her small pointed breasts, would disgrace her.

  It was simple and
unsophisticated, but it became her better than anything more elaborate could have done.

  She clasped her mother’s turquoise pendant round her neck, carried her gloves of the same colour and went down to the salon to meet the critical eyes of the Baroness, holding her head high and no longer afraid.

  She had slept peacefully, the exhausted relaxed sleep of a child and now her eyes were shining and her hair, brushed by the Baroness’s maid, had dancing red-gold lights in it as it caught the gleam of the tapers in the crystal sconces.

  If the Baroness had seemed fantastic before, her appearance was now breath-taking. She wore an elaborate gown of green satin in the very latest fashion from Paris, cut exaggeratedly low over her withered chest and revealing her thin blue-veined arms and bony shoulders.

  But her neck was hidden by row upon row of fabulous diamonds, the bodice of her dress was positively armoured with them, while a tiara of great height and brilliance decorated her white hair.

  Wanda was so awestruck at the Baroness’s jewellery that she forgot for a moment that she was waiting for a verdict on herself.

  “You look very nice, my dear,” the Baroness said in a surprisingly gentle tone and then added with a cackle of laughter, “This will give them something to talk about – Spring and Winter side by side!”

  “We shall be masked?” Wanda enquired.

  “I doubt if a mask will prove a sufficient disguise where I am concerned,” the Baroness answered drily, “but at your age you want to hide as little of your face as possible. You will see that it is the older women tonight who wear the heaviest disguise, hoping to ensnare some man who would not look at them otherwise. Fancy dress is for those who need to be fancy. Here is your mask.”

  She held out as she spoke a minute little mask of velvet.

  It was only a strip of cloth with its two large holes for the eyes and, when Wanda had fixed it on her face, she realised that it gave a subtle allure to the whiteness of her skin and brought out the fiery depths of her hair. It was provocative, a challenge in its very brevity.

  “And now let us have dinner,” the Baroness said and preceded Wanda into a huge dining room where footmen in red and gold uniform stood waiting to serve them.

  It was a meal such as Wanda had imagined existed only in books, chosen for its subtle flavours with sauces that left no doubt that the chef had a genius all his own. There was a different wine with every course.

  The Baroness ate with relish and Wanda realised that this type of elaborate dinner was prepared for her always whether she was alone or had guests.

  It was almost laughable to remember the simple meals that they had enjoyed at home and which she had thought so good. There was no comparison between them and what she was eating now and yet she had been trained to appreciate good taste whether she met it in art or music or cuisine.

  It was nearly nine o’clock when at length they rose from the table and, when the carriage was announced at the door, they left at once for the Hofburg where, as the Baroness told Wanda, the ball was taking place.

  As they joined the long rows of carriages and coaches, all travelling in the same direction, Wanda felt an almost breathless sense of excitement within her.

  It was as if the curtain were rising on a play at the theatre, but this time she had a leading part to play.

  She had not mentioned to the Baroness that there was any reason for her going to the ball save to enjoy herself. But she thought perhaps the old woman’s intuition had told her that the Prince had other reasons for wishing her there.

  Wanda knew that the Baroness was watching her with those shrewd twinkling eyes that seemed to miss nothing and, as they drew near to the Palace, she said,

  “Don’t be afraid, girl. People who are afraid are no use to themselves or to anyone else. It is courage that wins battles.”

  “I am not afraid now,” Wanda said. “There was only that one moment before I arrived at your house when I wanted to run away.”

  “But you didn’t,” the Baroness pointed out.

  “No, of course not,” Wanda said.

  “That is all that matters. A man or a woman who tells you that they have never felt afraid is a liar.”

  There was no time to say more, for the footmen were letting down the steps and opening the door of the coach.

  Inside the Hofburg all was light and colour and the chatter of a thousand tongues.

  The ancient residence of the Kings of Austria had been specially chosen for these ingenious character masques in which the incognito of the domino often lent itself to the masterpieces of intrigue that were rife in the Capital.

  Wanda saw a huge hall magnificently lit and exquisitely decorated with garlands of flowers. Running round it there was a circular gallery giving access to many rooms arranged for supper.

  On the floor seats covered in red and gold were disposed like an amphitheatre and seated on them, watching some of the dancers, were crowds of guests, some of whom wore dominoes, while others were attired in elaborate and often fantastic fancy dress.

  There were several orchestras playing waltzes and polonaises and in the adjoining galleries minuets were danced.

  Everyone was masked and it was obvious at the first glance that pomp and ceremony had been laid aside and that there was almost an air of Bohemianism in the great ballroom.

  Women were laughing provocatively, defying their partners to guess whether they were of honourable birth or merely courtesans from the streets outside.

  Men in strangely painted masks and completely enveloping dominoes might be Emperor or prentice, courtier or knave.

  The music, which was incessant, seemed to throb in everyone’s veins and, for the first time in her life, Wanda saw people dancing with an abandonment that had something almost pagan about it.

  The Baroness led the way across the ballroom. As they passed between the dancers, Wanda realised that the Baroness was correct in thinking that everyone would recognise her despite the mask of green satin she was wearing to match her gown.

  People spoke to her on all sides, some respectfully, some with a note of jesting familiarity in their voices as if a long acquaintance entitled them to special intimacies.

  “I have just said,” one man remarked with a wink at his friends, “that Vienna presents a panorama of Europe and no panorama of Europe would be complete, my dear Baroness, without you.”

  “You were never distinguished either as a flatterer or a wit, my dear Count,” the Baroness replied crushingly and went on again before her discomfited admirer could think of a suitable answer.

  At last she came to rest and seated herself at the top of the room where, Wanda guessed, other ladies as distinguished as she was herself had gathered together deliberately and then, before Wanda could speak, the question that trembled on her lips, someone asked it for her.

  “Are the Sovereigns here yet?” a woman in a yellow domino enquired.

  “I think I can see them coming now,” was her companion’s reply, a big man with a red beard, which must have made it easy for his friends to identify him.

  “How can you know?” the woman asked.

  “They have come to mingle with the hoi polloi,” her companion remarked, “but they appear very conscious of their condescension. Watch for the King of Prussia. He has on these occasions the heavy self-consciousness of a bull entering a field of cows.”

  “Hush, hush!” the lady in yellow said hastily.

  Then Wanda heard a voice in her ear.

  “The Czar,” it whispered, “is wearing a black cloak spangled with stars over a white uniform on which he wears only one decoration.”

  The voice was so low that for a moment she could hardly believe her own ears and then, as she glanced swiftly round, she saw the mask of a monkey slipping away from her side into the gyrating crowd. It was a man who had spoken, but now he was gone! The Baroness had heard nothing.

  “There is the Duchess of Oldenburg,” she said, pointing out a woman dancing past, “sister to the Czar. She
thinks she is disguised, but I would recognise those pearls anywhere. They are too fabulous to be imitated.”

  “Does that mean the Czar is here?” Wanda asked.

  “I expect so,” the Baroness answered indifferently and then, as Wanda looked about her, a clown wearing a painted mask bowed low before her.

  “Fair nymph, honour me by dancing with me. Refuse and I die!”

  Without asking the Baroness’s permission, Wanda accepted the invitation as she wanted to have a chance to look round and she wanted to find the Czar, yet she wondered what, when she had found him, she should do next.

  She was whirled away in a jogging polonaise and just as her companion swept her round, she saw him – she saw a cloak of black covered in silver stars, saw too that it was thrown back a little to reveal all too clearly to anyone who was looking the sparkle of diamonds against a white uniform.

  With a cleverness Wanda had not believed possible of herself, she managed to slip from her partner’s arms, lose him on the crowded floor and make her way back again through the encircling couples to where she had seen the Czar standing alone regarding the throng.

  *

  Richard, as it happened, was feeling cross and uncomfortable.

  The Emperor’s coat was too tight for him and, having agreed to this masquerade, he had, at the last moment, taken a dislike to it.

  They had dined well and he should have been ready to enjoy himself with the abandonment that comes from good food and plenty of wine.

  The Emperor Francis was by every count a generous host. The Congress was costing him an incredible sum, for all the expenses of the guests at the Hofburg were paid by him.

  He was entertaining month after month five Sovereigns, two hundred and sixteen Heads of Families and a host of lesser Princes, Ambassadors, Envoys and their hangers-on. Almost every day dinner was laid on forty tables.

  On nights like this not only those who were staying in the Palace were wined and dined, but a host of other guests were invited to the banquet that preceded every ball.

  Richard had never cared for mass entertainment and tonight was no exception. What had put him in an ill humour, too, was that at dinner he was not seated, as he had expected, next to Katharina, but between two Ladies-in-Waiting, neither of whom interested him in the slightest.