The Intriguers

Nello bowed. Evidently this personage, to whom he had not been introduced, knew what was going on. He must certainly be an official of some importance, and appeared to be quite at his ease in Golitzine’s presence.

The Count resumed his conversation with Nello, and the other man quitted his lounging position by the fire-place, and walked down the long room to the deep bay window, from which he pretended to look out. But all the while he was listening intently to the other two.

“And now, Signor Corsini, I have a little surprise for you, and one which I hope will be welcome,” were the Count’s parting words. “The present Director of the Imperial Opera has for some time contemplated retirement. He is growing a little deaf, and finds that the infirmity militates against the proper performance of his duties. He will relinquish his post next week, and I have much pleasure in conferring the appointment upon you. I do so with the sanction of my Imperial Master, to whom I have shown the Baron’s strong letters of recommendation.”

Nello felt the room going round. Could he believe his ears? Only a few hours in St. Petersburg, and promoted to one of the most coveted posts in the musical world! Why, he was as great as Degraux. Truly, the white-haired Salmoros was a wizard, masquerading under the guise of a benevolent financier.

With a great effort he pulled himself together and stammered his thanks. “I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude, your Excellency. I shall do my best to justify your kindness. But I feel it will be no easy task to follow in the footsteps of such an illustrious predecessor.”

As soon as Nello had retired, the man who was lounging in the bay window turned round to Golitzine and shot at him the abrupt question, “Well, what do you think of him, eh? Is that shrewd old fellow Salmoros right? Will he be useful to us?”

The Count replied in respectful tones. “It is rather early to form a judgment, your Majesty; but I must own I am very favourably impressed with the young man. I think he would be as true as steel to those who had befriended him.”

Nello had little suspected that the tall middle-aged person, dressed in civilian attire, whom he had taken for an official of the Court or a personal friend of the Count’s, was the Emperor Alexander himself, the autocrat of all the Russias, supposed to be the strongest man in Europe, who could bend a horse-shoe between his fingers.

“The one thing to do now is to bring this young Italian and La Belle Quéro together.” The Emperor spoke in a musing tone. “That is what the Baron intends. And we know besides that she is suspected by our secret police. Half the men who go to her little parties are in their black books; about Zouroff, we have already pretty convincing evidence. My own belief is that she is one of the prime movers in the affair.”

“So far, of course, nothing has been brought home to her. She entertains these men, I know, but she is a foreigner, a Spaniard, and cannot be well acquainted with our domestic politics,” interjected the Count, who was rather favourably impressed with the beautiful contralto. “Still, in this direction, Corsini may be very useful. He may be able to worm something out of her.”

“Well, Golitzine, we will bring matters to a head as soon as possible, so far as these two people are concerned,” commanded his Majesty. “Let your wife give a concert before the week is out and engage La Belle Quéro and this young Corsini for it.”

The Count bowed. “I will execute your orders, Sire. I agree it would be politic to introduce them under social auspices, rather than strictly business ones. Next week he will be installed at the Opera, and must at once come into touch with her in pursuance of his professional duties.”

“Precisely. That is just what I wish to anticipate. You have, as always, most accurately taken my meaning.”

A gleam of anxiety came into Golitzine’s eyes as he ventured to give a word of warning.

“I trust that your Majesty does not propose to do me the honor of attending this function?”

“Why not? I had rather thought of coming, in order to learn from you how the first act of the comedy was going. What are your objections?”

“You will remember, Sire, the solemn warning Salmoros has given me: that you should show yourself in public as little as possible. I would beseech your Majesty to pay heed to that warning. I cannot bar the suspects from my house. Zouroff, for example, who arrives to-morrow, must receive an invitation.”

The Emperor indulged in an angry gesture. “It has come to something when I have to slink away and hide myself from a traitor like that! But you are right, Count; Salmoros is right. We must bide our time until we can catch them red-handed. Then, Heaven help them! No, I will not attend your wife’s concert, from motives of prudence. But you will let me know early next morning if the scheme is progressing?”

Count Golitzine accompanied his Royal Master to the door; then he returned to his seat to meditate profoundly over what was happening.

CHAPTER XI

It wanted two days to Nello Corsini’s assumption of his post as director of the Imperial Opera, and to-night was the night of Countess Golitzine’s concert.

Nello was to play to-night in his private capacity of violinist, his fame having already spread abroad through the good offices of the Count. As soon as he took up his office as director he would not be able to take on many private engagements. To use the language of Degraux, he would be one of the exploiters rather than one of the exploited.

The saloons of the Countess were very crowded. A rumour had gone around that the Emperor himself would grace the function with his august presence. This rumour, as the previous chapter has revealed, was a false one; but its circulation had provided the hostess with many guests who otherwise would not have put in an appearance.

Nello Corsini, at present unrecognised by the fashionable crowd which had only heard of him by name, made his way amongst the beautifully attired men and women. There was no familiar face amongst this vast throng. For a moment he felt just a little home-sick; he thought of his little sister Anita. Oh, why could he not have brought her?

And then, suddenly, his glance brightened. Standing a foot in front of him were the grey-haired Princess Zouroff and her radiant, charming daughter.

Nada stretched out a welcoming hand. “We must have raced each other across Europe. I see you have your violin-case with you. You are going to play.”

“Yes, and I shall certainly play your favourite. I arrived just a day or two in front of you, and of course, you have not heard of my good fortune. Through the offices of Count Golitzine, I have been appointed to the post of Director of the Imperial Opera.”

The young girl opened her eyes wide; and turned to her mother. “What do you think of that, dearest? Signor Corsini is appointed to the directorship of the Imperial Opera.”

The elder woman smiled, and replied in her calm, quiet accents, directing her gaze at the young Italian.

“I told you, Signor, that the name of Salmoros was one to conjure with in Russia.”

Nello was about to reply, when the young Princess put her finger to her lips. A sudden hush had spread over the assembly. A beautiful young Spanish woman had just ascended the small platform – a young woman known by the affectionate nickname of La Belle Quéro.

She sang the well-known song from Lucrezia Borgia, “Il Segreto per esse felice,” in her deep, resonant, contralto tones. She sang it with a vigour and abandon which placed beyond question the fact that she was a superb artist, as well as a beautiful woman.

When she had finished, there was tremendous applause. An encore was insisted on and granted by the obliging prima donna. The Count Golitzine himself led the great singer from the platform to a seat. His keen eye had already observed Corsini in attendance on the Zouroffs. He beckoned to the young man, who made a hasty apology to the Princess and her daughter.

“I have the pleasure of presenting one great artist to another,” said the Count in his suavest tones. “Signor Corsini, who will presently enchant us on the violin, to Madame Quéro, who has already captivated us with her liquid notes. You have no doubt already heard, Madame, that next week Signor Corsini takes over the post of Director of the Imperial Opera.”

Madame Quéro – she had a husband knocking about somewhere in Spain, who never came into her calculations or scheme of existence – flashed at the handsome young Italian a very charming and provocative smile.

“We shall have to work together very soon, shall we not, Signor? I am afraid you will find me a somewhat difficult person. It is just as well we should meet first on neutral ground. Perhaps when we do quarrel, we may be disposed to forgive each other the more readily for that fact.”

Nello was becoming quite a man of the world in this rarefied atmosphere into which he had been so suddenly projected. He replied to the raillery of the beautiful singer in becoming language. She swept an approving glance over him.

“I think we shall soon be very good friends,” she said in a gracious voice. “Our present Director is a bit of a bully, and I believe hates women.” She shrugged her shapely shoulders. “Well, he is ancient and cantankerous. You are young; I am sure you do not hate women, just because they are the inferior sex.”

The smile that accompanied the words became more seductive. Corsini was a little put to it to preserve his equilibrium. He had been welcomed cordially by a Princess and her charming daughter. Here was a celebrated prima donna of great beauty, openly declaring that she was ready to flirt with him – ready to be made love to, if he were disposed that way.

He paid her some gallant compliments, of the kind that come readily to the lips of members of the Latin races; but, as he did so, his glance stole unconsciously to the lovely young Princess, and involuntarily there came into his eyes a light that was noted by the observant Spanish woman.

“You admire the Princess Nada Zouroff immensely. Is it not so? You have a good excuse; she is certainly very beautiful. An exquisite bud rather than a full-grown rose, eh, my friend?”

“Perhaps, Madame,” replied the diplomatic Italian. “But all flowers are beautiful, whether in bud or full blossom.”

“For myself, were I a man, I should not be very greatly attracted by immaturity. We are using flowers in the form of an allegory. Of course we are really speaking of women.” She threw at him one of her most dazzling smiles. There was nothing immature, nothing of the ripening bud about the opulent beauty of La Belle Quéro.

Corsini, seeing what was expected of him, returned that alluring smile with a glance of respectful admiration. He had already gathered that she was a popular idol, and wielded great influence in the musical world.

Personally, he preferred the simpler and more modest loveliness of the charming young Princess. But it was politic to win the good opinion of such an influential personage, and she was evidently not the sort of woman to tolerate rivalry.

For the next five minutes he made himself as agreeable as possible, and the handsome singer was obviously impressed. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the conductor of the concert, who intimated to Corsini that his would be the next turn.

Madame Quéro rose. “I must not keep you. Well, I hope we shall be very great friends. I shall stay to hear your solo and then I shall leave. I feel just a little fatigued to-night; not quite in the mood for this sort of scene, gay and brilliant as it is.”

With a gracious inclination of her handsome head, she walked with her graceful, swimming gait to the entrance of the big saloon. Arrived at the doors she waited till Corsini was on the platform and listened attentively to his performance. There was great applause when he had finished, and she clapped her hands enthusiastically. The artist in her responded to the artist in him. It would not be true to say that she had not heard greater masters, but there was a subtle quality in his playing that revealed true genius. He always excelled in the appealing and sentimental passages.

But while she was listening, to all appearances with the closest attention, her glance was ever roaming through the open doors, down the grand staircase. It was evident that she was looking for somebody, and restless and disappointed because of his non-arrival.

And then, just as she was preparing to leave, a sudden light came into her beautiful eyes. The tall soldierly figure of Zouroff was ascending the stairs.

Her smile was just a little cold, her tones reproachful.

“I was just going; you promised to be here in time to hear me sing. Why are you so late?”

The Prince drew her a little out of earshot. He spoke with his usual ease and assurance. He admired the beautiful singer more than any woman of his acquaintance, but he never spoiled any member of the gentler sex with too great a display of politeness or solicitude.

“Is it so very difficult to guess? There are certain things that must always come first in a man’s life.”

“Spare me that ancient platitude. You have indulged in it so often.” Her voice was restrained and low, but there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Zouroff appealed in many ways to her passionate but rather hard nature, but there were times when his indifference, his brutal frankness, cut her to the quick.

But the Prince was not a man to pay more than passing heed to the symptoms of a woman’s gathering displeasure. By nature he was a savage. To a certain extent he was susceptible to female beauty and fascination, but deep down in his heart he had a profound contempt for women, for their uncontrolled feelings, their little tricks of sentiment, their abject subservience to their emotions.

“Things go well,” he said, in his hard, level tones. “I trust we shall not have to wait very long now. We held a very important meeting to-night; it was prolonged beyond the hour I expected. That is why I am late and could not get here in time to hear you sing.”

The beautiful singer seemed but half appeased by this rather curt apology. It confirmed what he had told her so often before, that overwhelming ambition, the advancement of his political schemes, were all powerful influences in his life; that a woman’s devoted affection weighed but as a feather in the scale against these.

“Let us talk of other things,” she said, speaking in a tone of assumed lightness.

“But I thought you took a great interest in these matters. At any rate you have pretended to.” His voice was hard and rasping, and there was a sneer in it, an angry gleam in his eyes. He could not bear to be crossed.

“At the proper time and place. But I don’t choose to talk of just one subject every moment we spend together. I am pleased, my friend, that the prospects are so good. And now, for a few seconds, shall we talk of those other things which are not quite so unimportant to the world in general as they appear to you.”

“And those other things?” inquired Zouroff in his surliest and most repellant manner.

“Well, for example, we have just been listening to our new Director of the Opera, Signor Corsini. He has played some very beautiful things; he is a fine artist. Have you met him yet?”

Zouroff frowned heavily. “Yes, I have. The fellow played once at the Embassy in London, and my mother and sister raved about him. You know I am no judge of instrumental music – rather dislike it than otherwise. And this young man seemed to me particularly objectionable.”

“I wonder why?” inquired the prima donna with a most innocent expression. “Just because your mother and sister admired his genius? What a very insufficient reason.”

Zouroff vouchsafed no reply to this delicate raillery, and Madame Quéro continued in the same detached, indifferent tones. “The Count introduced him to me; we had a long chat together. I think he is a most charming young man, quite unaffected, with delightful manners and very handsome. I predict he will be excessively popular.”

“I wonder if you realise how much you are annoying me when you talk in this manner?” asked the Prince roughly.

La Belle Quéro held out her hand. “My friend, it seems to me you are in rather a savage mood to-night, and I am not in the best of tempers myself. If we talk much longer we may have a serious quarrel. I will say good-night.”

“Good-night,” said the Prince in a low and harsh voice. “Perhaps it is as well we should separate. There are a lot of people here I must speak to.”

Madame Quéro turned towards the staircase. He strode after her and laid his big, strong hand none too gently on her arm.

“And please listen once and for all to me. If it pleases you to amuse yourself with this young Corsini, or for the matter of that with any other effeminate foreigner, you need fear no interference from me. Understand that.”

Tears of rage came into the beautiful eyes. “Take your hand away, you savage, you are hurting me. As for what you have just said in your usual brutal manner, I perfectly grasp your meaning. And please also to understand this from me. If I choose to turn my fancy in that or any other direction, I shall not trouble to consult you, much less beg for your permission.”

With a muttered curse Zouroff released her arm, whose delicate flesh he had bruised, turned on his heel and re-entered the concert saloon.

And next morning, Golitzine, whose sharp eyes had noted the pleasant talk between Corsini and the beautiful singer, also the way in which Zouroff had flung away from her as she descended the grand staircase, was able to report to his Imperial Master that the first act in the little comedy had opened well.

CHAPTER XII

The relations between the handsome singer and the new Director, so pleasantly established on the night of the Countess Golitzine’s concert, progressed very smoothly. La Belle Quéro was unwontedly gentle and submissive in her acceptance of any professional suggestions from the handsome young Italian.

It was the general gossip that she was a good deal in love with Corsini, and wavering in her allegiance to the masterful and tyrannical Prince. Nello himself took the situation very calmly. In the first place, Madame Quéro was a married woman; to fall in love with her, were he so disposed, would be hopeless, unless he resolved to risk a scandal that might adversely affect their respective careers.

And more important still, although he felt for her a quite warm friendship, he was not the least in love. Her full and opulent beauty possessed little attraction for him.

Although at present he did not fully realise the fact, the serene loveliness of the young Princess Nada, combined with her girlish esprit, her air of rank and position, had cast a spell over him that he could not shake off. She would always be the lady of his dreams, although by the exigencies of their different stations, he would be compelled to worship her in secret and from afar.

She was surrounded with the halo of birth and great position. Madame Quéro, although a woman of genius and considerable brain power, had sprung from the peasant class. Her husband, whom she had married when little more than a child, had been a poor fisherman. She made him a handsome allowance, on the condition that he never intruded his rights nor exposed her to the annoyance of his presence.

Her glorious voice had lifted her from grinding poverty and obscurity, her quick mentality had enabled her to acquire much, to adapt herself, with more than fair success, to her new environment. But certain traces of her humble origin showed themselves very plainly at times, especially in moments of excitement – vulgarity of gesture, some common terms of speech, picked up from the gutter where she had played with other bare-footed children like herself.

To a man of Corsini’s naturally refined and elevated temperament, these unconscious revelations came as a disturbing shock. And the more intimate he became with her, the more frequently she revealed herself, having no longer occasion to wear a protecting mask.

In a palace or a fashionable drawing-room, with that careful mask on, La Belle Quéro was one personage, most careful as to speech and manner. In her dressing-room, or in familiar intercourse with a fellow artist, not of the great world, only belonging to the aristocracy of talent, she was quite another being, with the solecisms, the occasional coarse flashes of humor, of the Biscayan peasant.

No; although La Belle Quéro was so much nearer to him from the social point of view, for his origin had not been so much more distinguished than her own, he could not feel fascinated, in spite of her obvious liking for him.

Golitzine, who had spies everywhere, in the dressing-rooms of actresses, in the boudoirs of great ladies, knew all there was to know about the friendship of the conductor and the prima donna. Was Corsini taking advantage of his opportunities to acquire the woman’s confidence, so that it might serve his employer’s interest?

But Corsini was only being used as a pawn in the game. He did not even know that he was being used even in this humble capacity. He must have guessed that there were some subtle motives behind this sudden and unexpected preferment; but how could he possibly guess what these motives were?

If the young Italian was going to be made really useful, he would have to be enlightened. Salmoros, in his letter, had made a point of his being kept in the dark, fearful probably of some scruples on his part on being told that he was to play the rôle of a spy.

He, Golitzine, was loath to go against the advice of Salmoros, but astute and shrewd as the financier was, he could not have thought out the situation with his usual judgment. The time had certainly arrived when Corsini must be told frankly the part he was expected to play.

After all, there was nothing in the least dishonourable in what he would be asked to do. Salmoros and the Count between them, with the sanction of the Emperor, had set him on the high road to fame and fortune. Their enemies were a band of traitors, headed by Zouroff, assisted by Madame Quéro. He must and would, in honour bound, prove his allegiance to his benefactors.

Having made up his mind, it was not long before the energetic Count summoned the young Italian to a private interview in the Winter Palace. As on the previous occasion, the same tall stranger was present, lounging about the room – the stranger in whom Nello was later on to discover the Czar of all the Russias.

Golitzine did not introduce them, but he made a brief allusion. “We are going to have a rather confidential conversation, Signor, but you can speak freely before this gentleman. He is perfectly in my confidence.”

Nello bowed, feeling a little embarrassed. He would have been more at his ease if the tall stranger had not been present.

The Count proceeded in his smooth, conciliatory accents. “I hear very flattering accounts, so far, of your directorship. You have excited less envy than I expected, under the rather unusual circumstances. And you have also won some golden opinions. I am told that Madame Quéro, in particular, has distinguished you with a somewhat marked friendship. And she is reported to be a rather difficult woman to get on with. I know our late Director found her so, to his frequent annoyance.”

Nello blushed deeply. He was very sensitive, and it vexed him to find that his friendship with the handsome Spanish woman had been already commented on. If these comments had reached Golitzine, they had probably also reached the Princess Zouroff and her daughter.

“The relations between Madame Quéro and myself are, I am pleased to say, most cordial. Being the most distinguished member of the company, as she certainly is, it insures smooth working all round,” answered the young Italian.

“Quite, quite,” assented the suave Count. “Of course you have many opportunities of meeting and chatting. I hear that our friend, Prince Zouroff, is much chagrined that the charming lady in question is friendly with you. You have met the Prince, I presume. I should like to know your real opinion – of course in the strictest confidence.”

The flush on Corsini’s face deepened. He had met the Prince now on several occasions at different houses in the city, and that arrogant nobleman had always treated him with marked hauteur, hardly taking the trouble to acknowledge his polite salutation.