Curse Not the King (34 page)

“It is what I beg,” she corrected him, and her rare humility touched him. Still he was silent, until she asked him, “Are you angry, Paul?”

“Not angry, my darling, only thinking. It's been done before, many times. I didn't wish to marry her, I have never loved her, nor she me.… And for a long time I've mistrusted her.”

“She's not loyal to you,” Anna said fiercely. “She is a hypocrite, who would betray you to-morrow if it favoured her son! That's the one she loves, Paul: Alexander—and I've always hated them both, you know that; I dared to tell you so from the beginning, and if you really want to safeguard yourself, you'll cease thinking of danger from without and look to your enemies in the palace. That's where you'll find the assassin you've always dreaded, not among the people!”

“Then you suspect my wife and my son, is that what you tell me?”

“I do,” she answered, “and not only them. Above all, my heart distrusts von Pahlen! For the love of God, don't trust him as you do!”

“No, Anna, you're wrong,” Paul told her firmly. “The Empress and the Grand Duke, yes, but not Pahlen. I'd stake my life that he is loyal.…”

“That's exactly what you
are
staking! Your life! Oh, Paul beloved, even if you don't want to make me your wife, get rid of them. Get rid of them all, before they do you some harm.…”

“Imprison Marie and Alexander? By God, Anna, you give terrible advice! My wife and my heir.…”

“Traitors, both!” she interrupted. “Listen to me, my King. I love you, and in the last twelve months I've not been idle. Nor has Rastopchine, who
is
your friend. We've set spies, and from their reports I believe there is a conspiracy, headed by Pahlen, whose arm you lean on and whose counsel you follow; Pahlen is in this plot against you and many others with him. And they have the approval of your wife and your son!”

He had turned pale, and his mouth, so recently smiling and gentle, was drawn into a tight line of savagery and fear. He moved aside from her and began walking up and down, frowning, his blue eyes becoming almost black in colour as the pupils dilated; he struck his fast against his forehead on which the veins were swelling visibly, so that Anna knew that an attack of pain was just beginning.

Lately these attacks had grown worse; at times he became quite violent, raging and incoherent, until he fell into his servants' arms, almost unconscious, and while the spasms lasted, he sometimes looked at her with a stranger's eyes and called her by an alien name. Natalie.… Koutaïssof had told her what that meant, and received a furious box on the ear in return for the unwelcome information. Now she watched Paul, as frightened in her way as Katya Nelidoff had been, but the strength of her purpose did not waver.

“What mercy would they have shown you, if the old Empress hadn't died suddenly?” she persisted. “None at all. And that's what you should show them!”

“What proof have you of all this? What is it but hearsay, Anna?”

“Do you need evidence against that miserable, snivelling son of yours, when you know he had agreed to your deposition in his favour? And Marie Feodorovna … how many hours does she spend with him, what does she ever do but lie to you to ingratiate him.… She's tried with me, Paul, many times. Presents, jewels, little notes full of promised friendship, if only I will speak in favour of the Grand Duke! You don't need proof against them, you have it! As for that devil, Pahlen, give me a little time and I'll get proof enough to hang him ten times over!”

“Stop it, Anna, stop it!” he roared. “Pahlen is my friend; I won't listen to you trying to poison me against him. God's blood and death, would you take even that away from me … making me a man accursed, without one human soul that he can trust.…”

He held his burning head between his hands, and immediately she went to him, steeling herself to pursue the subject to the end, however much she hurt him or even endangered her own place in his affections. She put her arms around him and rested one cold palm against his throbbing forehead.

“There are many who love you, Paul Petrovitch. Millions of your people, all over Russia. The Father of so many children can never be alone … remember that. Remember also that there is one who loves you more than life. And warns you for your own sake.”

“I know that,” he said slowly. “And I listen to you, Anna. I've been thinking a great deal about my eldest son. And my wife. But for the last time, don't accuse Pahlen unless you can prove him false. And if that day comes, I promise him a death that will satisfy even you, Anna Petrovna!”

“I am satisfied,” she said. “You shall have evidence. Now, come, sit down. I'll ring for some wine.”

He sat within the circle of her arm, sipping a little wine, with his eyes closed against the glow of the fire that blazed in the carved marble grate, his head resting against her breast.

“How is the pain?” she whispered.

“Not too bad,” he muttered. “I shall go to bed, I think. Only my thoughts race round and round, like mice on a toy treadmill.… There's not room in my head for them all. Anna?”

“Yes, my beloved?”

“I think I'll send my wife to the Novo Diévichy Convent.… Then you can have your marriage with Gagarine annulled.… Do you know that it's nearly seventy years since Russia had an Empress Anne? …

She did not answer him; her triumph and joy were so intense that she could find no words, but in her emotional way she wept with happiness. And within a few weeks the rumour crept through Petersburg that a cell in the Novo Diévichy was being prepared for a new and illustrious occupant.

16

Alexander and his mother were alone in the Empress's apartments. He had come in answer to an urgent message and found Marie Feodorovna sitting straight-backed in one of her gilt chairs, embroidering, apparently quite placid. A closer inspection showed him that she was haggard and pale, and that her hands, usually so skilful, wielded the embroidery needle with trembling clumsiness.

When he bent to kiss her she threw the piece of framed cloth to the floor and clung to him.

“What is it, Mother, what's the matter? …”

Marie Feodorovna stared up at him in open terror.

“I had to send for you, my son.… Alexander, have you heard this rumour?”

“What rumour?” he asked her.

“The rumour that a cell is being got ready in the Novo Diévichy Convent.… They say it's being prepared for me!”

He knelt beside her and took her hands in both his own.

“Oh, my God,” he said slowly. “Then the rumour that he is going to marry Princess Gagarine must be true.… That's what I was afraid you had heard.…”

Marie Feodorovna held on to him and it was the first time that he had ever seen her show real fear.

“You warned me long ago that this might happen, my Alex, and I didn't believe it,” she quavered. “But now I think it's come at last. And when he's got rid of me and made this whore his consort, what will become of you, my darling? If she bears him a child, what will happen to all my children?”

“I dare not think,” he answered, and this at least was true. If Anna Gagarine became Empress of Russia his life would not be worth a kopeck; she was ruthless, she hated him, and adored his detested father; lacking Pahlen's insane prejudice, he saw and recognized the strength of her love for Paul, and he knew that she would get rid of him at the first opportunity. Already Marie Feodorovna's days were numbered.

He put his arm round his mother's shaking shoulders, and comforted her, assuming the rôle of protector which she had filled so long and faithfully for him.

“I'll never let him do that to you, Mother.… Never! Even if he is my father, I would kill him first!”

“Jesu forgive me, my son, but it may be necessary to do so.… For your sake as well as mine,” she answered and he nodded. Then he began to talk to her quietly.

Late that night, the Grand Duke approached his father's Minister during the interval of a play performed in the royal theatre, and murmured that the Empress Marie was ready to give full support to their plan.

Pahlen smiled, but said nothing. Then he hurried to the side of the Emperor who waited for him and took his arm affectionately. But afterwards he added Marie Feodorovna's name to a long list he had compiled of persons wishing to dethrone the Czar.

That list was a piece of indiscretion that he could not bear to destroy; it gave him the keenest pleasure to look down the column of names, and to add another to their number, indulging in a vindictive fancy that he was passing the death sentence on his enemy. His spite and his passion for order kept the document from the flames to which he should have consigned it months before, and provided Anna Petrovna Gagarine with the proof she had promised her lover.

By the end of 1800 the war with France was over, and even skilful diplomatic sabotage could not any longer prevent the threatened friendship between the Corsican First Consul and the Czar of Russia. Paul and Rastopchine prepared to abandon their old ally England, to whose advantage they found they had been fighting, and the Emperor confided to his friend von Pahlen that plans for the invasion of India were already forming in his mind. Pahlen listened and echoed his master's enthusiasm, while his uneasiness increased.

It would be difficult enough to kill the peace-maker, but impossible to murder a Czar who had seized one of the richest prizes in the world for Holy Russia. The popular picture of a ferocious madman which his propaganda had induced in men's minds would be replaced by an image not far removed from the early Catherine Alexeievna, an image which had earned her the sobriquet ‘Great'. No, Pahlen decided, while he agreed with Paul's suggestions, they would have to act quickly before this tremendous project fired the imagination of even those who had previously sworn to take their sovereign's life.… There were dozens of conspirators, he thought angrily, who were capable of abandoning the plan and even betraying the ringleaders if popular feeling switched in favour of Paul Petrovitch. He needed men like the Zubovs as well as the adventurer Bennigsen.

It was then that the solution came to him. It emerged in his mind with perfect clarity, and with the daring and single-mindedness that had defeated all his enemies so far. Pahlen turned to the Czar in the middle of their conference and risked his whole future on a suggestion.

“Sire, I have an idea! Why not increase your glory by an act of mercy on the eve of this great operation? Peace with France, an alliance with Bonaparte, the capture of India.… Why not grant a general amnesty to prisoners and exiles and have all your subjects at your side when you go out to conquer?”

Paul looked at him and hesitated. “An amnesty … No, my friend, you're too kind-hearted. Pardon would never change my enemies.”

“But think what a gesture it would be, Sire,” he urged. “You can afford mercy; as the greatest monarch in the world, what have you to fear?”

“Assassination,” came the answer, and for a moment Pahlen's colour deepened; then he smiled.

“If you allowed me to supervise the list of pardons, I would take care who reached Petersburg and who remained behind. You can trust me, Sire, to guard your life as if it were my own.”

Paul leant back in his chair and rubbed his forehead; Pahlen watched him and wondered coldly how severe his headache was that day.

“I should like to be merciful,” he said. “Above all I should like to rule as if my mother had never polluted this Court, turning everyone about her into traitors, lechers and thieves! Most of her intimates have gone, thank God, Pahlen. They're either dead or banished. As you say, some could be overlooked.… An amnesty. It might indeed bring down God's blessing on this enterprise!”

“As His anointed, Sire, I think it would be fitting,” the Count said simply.

“I think so too. Once again, my dear friend, I'm indebted to you for an excellent suggestion. There shall be an amnesty. All those punished since my accession may return! I leave the arrangements in your hands.”

When he left him, Pahlen's mind was much relieved, and not even to the Grand Duke Alexander did he reveal that he had sent a secret summons to the Zubovs, Nicholas and Plato, to come to Petersburg as quickly as they could.

On the first of November, Paul issued the decree of general pardon. The purging, the vengeance and punishments were over, people whispered, and this impression was confirmed by the news that Alexei Araktchéief, whose cruelty had made the Czar responsible for so much bloodshed and brutality, was not among the penitents called back to Court.

By the end of a week the roads into the capital were choked with exiles, some travelling in battered carriages, while others, whose punishment had ruined them, came on foot. A small proportion of them reached the Czar, and then the general air of relaxation ceased abruptly with the news that Pahlen's troops were arresting the remaining unfortunates at the gates of the city. By order of the Emperor.

In ignorance of the travesty being enacted in his name, Paul held his Court and reinstated many who had lost his favour, unaware that Pahlen's casual reference to a few incidents of disorder among the crowds covered so much human misery for which his Minister was seeing that he got the blame. No one disputed it; Rastopchine, too busy with his plans for France, dismissed it, and Anna Petrovna, preparing for the annulment of her marriage, scarcely heard of it at all.

At the same time, messengers arrived to tell the Czar that the last stone of the Michael Palace had been laid in place.

“Gentlemen, Prince Plato Zubov!”

The conspirators were gathered together in a house which was situated some versts outside Petersburg, and it was here that Plato Zubov and his brothers were living since their return from exile.

“I have explained the situation to the Prince,” Pahlen was saying, “and he and Count Nicholas Zubov are prepared to join us. Let us sit down, gentlemen. I have some good news for you.”