Curse Not the King (36 page)

“Three days, then. That will be
long
before Easter, my friend!”

As Pahlen left the room he heard the Emperor laughing, and the sound of that fierce, crazy laughter followed him as he literally ran down the corridor, with the two death warrants and the list of traitors stuffed safely into his breast pocket.

That afternoon he arranged a hurried meeting with the Grand Duke Alexander, and when they met in a private part of the new palace, Pahlen wasted no words but opened the signed warrant for the arrest and death of Paul's heir and handed it to him.

He watched the Grand Duke's fair skin flush and then drain to an extreme pallor; then he held out the document condemning Marie Feodorovna to the Schüsselburg and execution.

“Take that to the Empress, your Highness. You have three days before the sentences are carried out.”

“Why this … so suddenly? Why, Count?” Alexander's voice was shaking.

“The plot is discovered. He has everyone's name, including my own. I've managed to clear myself for the moment but it's only a matter of time till he thinks again and I follow you to the scaffold. No sane man would have believed me, but thank God, he's more than a little mad.… Delay or panic now will cost us all our lives! Within forty-eight hours we must act! Have I your permission to give the word, Highness?” he demanded.

Alexander looked down at the warrant in his hands and folded it carefully. It occurred to Pahlen that after the first shock of the revelation he seemed very calm. In a man of tougher mettle, such composure might almost have been termed cold-blooded.…

“You have my authority, Count. I will answer for the Empress, my mother. God go with you!”

Pahlen bowed very low. “Highness, by the twelfth of March, you will be on the throne of Russia!”

In the few hours that remained of that day and throughout the one following, messengers informed the scattered conspirators that they must be prepared to put their plan into action. The date fixed by Pahlen was the eleventh of March and the hour, just before midnight. They were to assemble in the house of General Talysine, in an annexe of the old Winter Palace, there form into three groups, and set out for the Michael Palace.

The eleventh was a beautiful day, the temperature milder with the first softening of the Russian spring, and a pale golden sun shone down on the city of Petersburg.

Even the Czar's new palace seemed less grim and out of place, for the outside walls were painted and gilded in the Baroque style that distinguished Tsarskoë Selo and many public buildings, where the Czarist passion for colour and ornamentation assumed real splendour because of the immense proportions. Paul's fortress was set in a parkland, surrounded by trees where hundreds of birds nested, the main building ringed by a wide moat and spanned at intervals by drawbridges, the whole place honeycombed with guardrooms through which an intruder would have to fight his way. And never, as on that eleventh day of March, did the Czar of all the Russias feel so happy and secure.

In the morning he worked as usual, smiling sometimes as a tender thought of Anna Gagarine distracted him; his whole personality soothed and softened after the night they had spent together. Several times he laid down his pen and allowed his mind to dwell on her, and he thanked God for his happiness. The treachery of Marie, whom he had already determined to repudiate, no longer hurt him, and the betrayal by his eldest son was only what he had a right to expect of Catherine Alexeievna's grandson and disciple.

They did not love him, and they had no claim on his pity or his duty any longer, now that their names had appeared on that list.

Within a few days his treacherous wife and son and a host of others would be dead, and before setting out to conquer India, Paul would make Anna Petrovna his wife.

Thinking of her he shook his head, amazed at the power of her fascination for him, the perfect fusion of inflammable desire and practical tenderness that characterized their whole relationship, until he wondered how he could have ever thought of anything but marrying her and placing her on the throne at his side where she belonged.

That afternoon he dined with the Princess, and took her into his room to show her where workmen had bricked up the door which communicated with the Empress Marie's apartments, a link that had only been a formality. But, on Pahlen's advice, Paul was taking no risks with his wife, and the doorway was blocked.

“What's the matter?” Anna Gagarine implored him, “you never told me what Pahlen said to you, and yet you talk of a secret that I shall soon know.… Tell me, my beloved, please tell me.…”

For a moment he hesitated and then shook his head.

“No, Annushka, my curious one. You'll know soon enough. Come riding with me before it grows dark.”

And together they spent what was left of the day, laughing and lighthearted in their enjoyment of each other.

Meanwhile word reached the Grand Duke Alexander that the reign of Paul the First would end that night.

“Go to your rooms and sleep,” Pahlen instructed. “And when it is done, I will come for you.”

That evening the Imperial family dined together as usual, and Paul, who had been so happy that day, became moody and preoccupied at the sight of his wife and son. He sat in silence, glancing from one to the other, his face twitching with anger, and he noticed that Marie Feodorovna's hands were shaking. His rage with them was dull and deep; it boiled in him, but he controlled it, believing truly they were in his power. Thank God for Pahlen, he said to himself, while his considered stare turned from Marie to his son; they had not counted on the loyalty of his friend.…

Alexander avoided his father's glance; his pale blue eyes were concentrating on his plate for fear that even at the last moment Paul might intercept the hatred and excitement that seethed in his heart. Never had he loathed his father more or wished so fervently for his death; with the climax so near his self-deception failed him, and he acknowledged freely that he longed for the moment when Pahlen and the Zubovs would make certain that that ugly, crazed, detested man would give up his life as well as his throne.

After dinner the Emperor walked down the Gallery of Apollo which led to his own apartments, and Princess Gagarine followed him. The palace was very quiet; even the guards stationed in front of the enormous main staircase were less active than usual, and the warmer temperature of the day had increased the humidity of the damp walls, producing a haze that seeped through panelling and tapestry. In the library preceding his bedroom, Paul stopped before the guardpost. The troops were Horse Guards, commanded by Colonel Sabloukof, and they sprang to attention at the Sovereign's approach.

The Czar looked at them in silence for a few minutes, then he felt in his pocket for a note sent him before dinner.

“The guards on duty in the library are not to be trusted with your safety. I beseech your Majesty to dismiss them this evening. You have nothing to fear, everything is in my hands. Pahlen.”

He turned to their colonel.

“The post is relieved! I wish the regiment to leave Petersburg to-morrow. Have two footmen take their place for tonight.”

Then he passed through the library door into the closet leading to his own apartments.

In Paul's bedroom a bright fire was burning, and the high-ceilinged chamber was comparatively cheerful; it was panelled in white wood, and some magnificent paintings, which were the Emperor's joy, glowed on the walls. At the entrance to his apartment there was a little staircase leading to Anna Petrovna's private suite.

She went in with him, and the Emperor's valet closed the door behind them, and prepared to doze; from his knowledge of the Emperor and his mistress the Princess would not emerge from his bedroom for several hours, if indeed she left before dawn.

When they were alone Paul held out his arms and enfolded her closely; she reached up and drew down his head, kissing him on the mouth, her fingers caressing his face.

“You looked so gloomy to-night,” she said at last. “I longed to do that all through that dismal meal.… Pavlouchka, when can I know this secret of yours, why won't you tell me now?”

“You shall know it to-morrow, my Anna. Come to the window with me; shh! Do you hear the birds out there? What a noise they're making … I wonder what's disturbing them.…”

“Probably they're changing the guard,” she said carelessly, but with his arm round her waist she walked to the window and pulled back the brocade hangings. Outside it was very dark and raining.

“You ought to have those trees cut down,” she remarked. “That'd get rid of the birds.… Listen to them! My God, no wonder you don't sleep!”

“It's not usual,” he muttered. “Something's frightened them.…”

He was often suspicious, she reflected, often disturbed by sounds and fancies, especially when his head troubled him. Even there, surrounded by guards, cut off from the city by a system of medieval fortifications, he still kept a sword in his bedroom, insisting that he might one day need to defend himself.

She turned in his arms and embraced him, and this time her slim arms tightened round him as if she held a child to her for comfort.

“I had better stay with you here,” she whispered. “To-night we can sleep, my darling; our ride has tired you out.…”

“My head's aching again,” he admitted, resting his cheek against her hair. “But I'm restless to-night, Anna. I don't know what's the matter with me.…”

“You'll feel better to-morrow. Come, let me ring for your valet and get you to bed. It's after eleven, your clock is just striking.”

He held her without answering, while the delicate chimes of the last hour to midnight sounded and were still.

Then he looked at her, and touched her face very gently with his finger, so that the great sapphire he wore flashed in the candlelight.

“I love you, Anna Petrovna. You've given me all the happiness I've ever known …” he said quietly.

“Why do you say that … why do you look at me in that way? We might be parting, to hear you.…” She was trembling suddenly and her hands caught at his coat and clung to him tightly.

“I want you to go up to your own room, Anna. Go up and in a little while I'll come to you. But leave me alone now, my darling. I want to be alone now.”

Slowly she released him, and then, with a flash of her usual spirit, she smiled, and kissed the hand that rested on her shoulder.

“I'll go, and I'll wait for you. But come to me quickly.”

At the door she turned to look at him, smiling, with some endearment on her lips, and found him standing by the window watching her. She mounted the stairs to her bedroom and slowly undressed; then she sat down to wait.

The conspirators had been gathered in General Talysine's house for several hours before Pahlen arrived. Most of the officers who were going to the Michael Palace to depose their sovereign had been drinking steadily, but Plato Zubov and Bennigsen were coldly sober.

“I wish to God these fools would stop drinking!” Bennigsen said. “One sound at the wrong moment and we might ruin everything.”

“They haven't the stomach for revolutions that their fathers had,” Plato sneered. “The thought of a little bloodletting and they fly to the wine bottles for courage.…”

“Well, he
is
the Emperor,” the Hanoverian shrugged.

“Bah! Sovereigns are only human beings, my dear fellow. Very human, believe me. I slept with one for nearly seven years and I assure you they're just like anybody else. Look, there's Pahlen! You're late, my friend; these stalwarts'll soon be too drunk to stand up, if you don't stop them.”

Pahlen looked round him and frowned. The crowd was noisy and drunken, when stealth and precision were so vital to the success of his plan. He stood on a chair and shouted for silence.

“Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Listen to me, please! Listen carefully. This is the outline of our plan for to-night.”

They were all quiet then, and Pahlen continued.

“There are three parties; General Talysine will lead one, Prince Zubov the second, and I'll take the third. Now, this is what we have to do. Talysine, you march to the Michael Palace and spread your troops through the outer gardens—deal with any sentries you meet, but for God's sake do it quietly—and be ready to repel any rescue attempt from the town. At the same time, Prince Zubov and his men will approach the Saskaïya drawbridge. You, M. Argamakof, will demand admission. You say there'll be no difficulty?”

Paul's equerry stepped forward out of the crowd.

“None, Sir. It's my duty to report to the Czar if anything goes wrong in the city. I often go to him at night. I'll be admitted without question.”

“Excellent,” Pahlen said. “Prince Zubov and the rest of your party go with you, overpower the guards on the drawbridge, raise it, and enter the palace by a side door which I have arranged shall be unlocked. Thanks to the Emperor's fancies, that part of the building's still so damp that not even a servant can sleep there, and the inside staircase leads to the White Salon. Adjoining is the library. Usually, there's a strong guard posted in there,” Pahlen paused dramatically and then smiled. “But I sent our Emperor a note advising him they weren't to be trusted, and told him to dismiss them.… So you'll meet no opposition there. The library leads into the Czar's bedroom. After that, I leave it to you, Prince Zubov. In the meantime, I'll take a small body of men and march to the main drawbridge. They'll certainly let
me
in, and when they do some of my men will seize control of the drawbridge, and I'll lead the rest upstairs. We'll join up with the Prince in the Emperor's suite.

“I must impress upon all of you,” he continued, “that the slightest noise would be enough to give the alarm. The whole point of this plan is that it's both quick and silent. Your route into the Palace is deserted, and you ought to be able to dispose of the few men at the Saskaïya drawbridge without letting them cry out. If you should meet anyone on your way to the Czar's room, kill them! But do it quietly. That's all. With Talysine outside in the gardens, our men in control of both drawbridges, no one can get in or out. It should be all over just after midnight. Are you satisfied, gentlemen? Has anyone a question?”