Immortal Muse (49 page)

Gabriele laughed gently at that. “Please, call me Gabriele. And no, I'm not modern at all. These ideas of morality people call modern are mostly old ones that have just been rediscovered. Gustav is a good man, but I'm afraid that if you're genuinely interested in him, you're going to have to be ‘modern' yourself. I'll also tell you this: he won't be faithful to you, no matter what he says, and I say that only so you know what awaits you. He is a fascinating person, a loyal friend, and a fabulous talent, but when it comes to women, he's only the weakest of men. He'll be yours and yours alone in everything but physical intimacy—and you will need to accept his flaws as well as his virtues if you wish to keep him.”

Emilie had unbuttoned the dress, and Gabriele turned to Emilie as she slipped the sleeves down her arms. “Gustav wants you, Emilie, more than he wants anyone else.” Emilie was staring at her. Gabriele reached out to softly touch her cheek, as an older sister might. “What is most important is whether
you
want
him
. That's what you need to decide.”

She let her hand drop, and Emilie blinked. “I'll pack the dress for you, Fra—” She stopped, gave a shake of her head. “Gabriele.”

“Thank you,” Gabriele said. “I'll tell Gustav that you're looking forward to seeing your portrait, if you'd like.”

“Do,” Emilie said. “And thank you, Gabriele, for talking with me.”

Gabriele laughed again. “We muses must lean on each other,” she said. “Otherwise, it's a lonely life.”

 * * * 

Vienna, as it approached the 20th century, could hav
e supplied a thousand muses like Gabriele with sustenance. The old fortifications of the ancient city had been demolished, replaced by the wide boulevard of the Ringstrasse, fringed with grandiose public buildings and private palaces, a magnet for Vienna society, where all flocked to see and be seen.

It was as if the destruction of the last vestiges of Vienna's medieval past had somehow ripped open its artistic consciousness to expose riches buried underneath. Creative endeavors flourished everywhere in the rich humus of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Even as the empire floundered in unstable European politics, even as her people continued to mourn the terrible death of their beloved Crown Prince Rudolph two years previously, boundaries in the arts were being pushed and bent and shattered: in the Fine Arts, Gustav Klimt was very popular, certainly, but no less was his brother Ernst and their usual companion Franz Matsch, as well as Koloman Moser, Max Kurzweil, and dozens more. The architects Adolph Loos, Josef Hoffmann, Joseph Maria Olbrich, and Otto Wagner were bringing a new vision to the buildings being designed and built. In music, there were always the old lions Johannes Brahms and Johann Strauss, Jr., the Younger, but there were also the new lights in the musical landscape: Gustav Mahler, Anton Bruckner, and Richard Strauss, whose operas seemed to recapture the muscular strength of Richard Wagner. In literature, many of the writers of Vienna gathered in the Café Griensteidl: Arthur Schnitzler, Hermann Bahr, Felix Salten, Karl Kraus. There was the new alienist, Sigmund Freud, whose theories on the mind were fascinating many of the intelligentsia.

Vienna was a Muse's dream city, as vibrant and alive as Paris. Perhaps, for this moment in time, even more so.

Another aspect of life for which Vienna had no significant rival at all was its balls. There were well over a hundred significant balls during the course of the carnival season. Every guild and group had its ball: the Vienna Skating Club, the Industrialists, the Hotelkeepers, the Danube Steamship Company, the Physicians, the Master Bakers, the Cobblers, the Laundrymaids, and the various artists' associations with their “Gschnas” balls—the “false magic” balls which were always fantastical and strange.

It was already late in the ball season, which began with the New Year's Eve Imperial Ball, the first major ball of the year. In early March, the last of the balls in which the
haute bourgeoisie
might reasonably expect the appearance of some of the aristocracy was the Opera Redoute Ball, where the ladies were expected to come masked and mysterious, at least until the grand unmasking at midnight—after which the ball would continue to rollick on until a new dawn painted the eastern sky over the Ringstrasse. Gustav was making a rare appearance at the ball—despite his publicly stated distaste for them—and he'd asked Gabriele to attend as his guest.

“And why have you decided to grace the Opera Redoute with your presence?” Gabriele asked Gustav as she stepped into the carriage he'd hired.

“There's a man attending that I wish to meet,” Gustav replied. Sitting across from her, he looked rather elegant in his coat and tails, a brushed and shiny top hat on the seat alongside him. Gabriele raised her eyebrows at that. Under her fur-trimmed long coat, she was wearing the dress that the Flöges had made for her. She held her mask on her lap for the moment: a black domino adorned with peacock feathers and a green satin ribbon. “He said he can supply me gold foil for my paintings at half the price of my current supplier.”

“Half the price? That's impossible, Gustav—at least legally.”

“Indeed. But he says he can do it, nonetheless, and entirely within the bounds of the law. He had a certificate from the Ministry of Commerce, and a letter from Archduchess Gisela herself recommending him.” Gustav shrugged. “Why not talk to the man?”

Of late, Gustav had taken to decorating his canvases with pieces of gold foil, incorporating them into the painted work and lending the compositions a shimmering allure. He was also beginning to abandon the strict realism of his earlier work, lengthening and distorting his figures. Gabriele wasn't certain yet that she entirely approved of the changes he was making, but she could feel the passion and fury in the energy of his soul-heart. Whatever he was doing, it was at least partially due to her influence and the artistic expression within him that she had unleashed. So she smiled and reached over to pat Gustav's knee.

“Why not?” she answered. “Will the Flöge sisters be there as well? It was Emilie and Pauline who made this dress; I should like them to see me in it.”

He didn't look directly at her, but stared out into the night through the carriage's door. “I believe they will be,” he said.

“Fräulein Emilie is delightful and enchanting, I think. You captured her well in her portrait.”

Gustav grunted in reply, still seemingly fascinated with the scenes along the Ringstrasse.
You should have asked her to accompany you, not me,
Gabriele thought, but kept the admonition to herself.

They arrived at the Redoute in a line of carriages and fiacres disgorging the bejeweled and dazzling well-to-do of Vienna. Gustav tied the mask's ribbon carefully around Gabriele's upswept coiffure, and they descended from their carriage to join the crowd. Few people arrived on foot—that was simply not done, no matter how close one lived. The opera house was brilliant with electric lights, and a new parquet floor had been erected over the opera seats, while on the stage none less than Eduard “Edi” Strauss, son of Johann Strauss the Elder and younger brother of Johann Strauss, Jr., led his waltz orchestra. Gabriele took Gustav's arm as they entered the crowd and gave their tickets to the white-tailed doormen, who pointed them toward the entrance to their room.

Gustav was stopped several times by men wishing to speak with him; she noticed he deliberately never introduced her to anyone. She could see them peering at her and her masked features, wondering who the well-known Klimt might be escorting: some well-known person, perhaps: she heard one man whisper to his companion that she must certainly be Adele Bloch-Bauer, the wife of Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer, the wealthy industrialist.

The masked women smiled openly at Gustav, and to Gabriele as well; afraid, perhaps, that they might be slighting someone whom they wouldn't wish to anger. Until the grand unmasking, this was a night of anonymous flirtations, both in play and in earnest. Here, her identity hidden by her mask, a woman could dare to touch a man's face with her gloved hand, or place that hand on his arm—several women did so with Gustav. He was besieged, and—making excuses—made his way quickly to their table in a room just off the main dance floor. Franz Matsch was already seated at the table, escorting Theresa Anna Kattus, daughter of a wine merchant—several bottles of her father's sparkling wine were already chilling in ice buckets on the table. Gustav's brother Ernst was standing to one side, watching the dancers with his wife Helene. With him also were the other Flöge sisters, Pauline and Emilie, both unescorted and both masked. As Gabriele and Gustav entered the curtained-off room, with its far end open to the dance floor, Gabriele could see Emilie's mouth frown slightly under her blue domino, adorned with red glass spangles.

The orchestra was just starting a quadrille; out on the floor, groups of couples bowed to each other as they began the dance. Gabriele disengaged her arm from Gustav's as he greeted Franz and Theresa, and Gabriele went to stand next to Emilie as the bright strains of the quadrille shimmered in the air of the hall. “You look lovely tonight, Fräulein Tietze,” the young woman said. Her eyes glittered behind the mask, but the mask hid whatever expression they held.

“Call me Gabriele,” she reminded Emilie. “And if that's true, it's mostly due to your wonderful dress.” She swayed her hips in time to the music so that the dress swirled out, displaying the embroidery. “Gustav keeps remarking on how talented you and your sisters are.” Under the mask, Emilie smiled momentarily at that, and Gabriele leaned toward her, whispering so that only she could hear. “I think you should ask him to dance with you. He won't be able to refuse.”

“You wouldn't mind?” Her voice was light with hope.

Gabriele laughed. “I'm only here because he didn't dare ask you. On the way here, he asked me three separate times if I thought you'd be here. Can't you see him staring at you now, even while he's talking to Herr Matsch?”

Emilie glanced back into the room, and Gabriele saw her smile widen slightly as she quickly glanced away. “His look makes me shiver,” she said.

“It's him that's shivering,” Gabriele said. “Tonight he's in
your
world. You're his empress. You control him, not the other way, and don't let anything in the world tell you differently. Listen—the quadrille's nearly over and they'll be calling a new dance in a moment. Go and ask him to take you out to the floor.”

Emilie stared at her for a moment through the mask, then nodded once. Gabriele watched her walk up to Gustav, who bowed as she approached and took her hand. They spoke for a few moments, then Gustav looked up and found Gabriele's eyes. She smiled at him and gestured with her open fan to the dance floor. Still holding Emilie's hand, Gustav moved past his brother, Helene, Pauline, and Gabriele and out into the ballroom. Gabriele watched them go (and felt Pauline and Helene's gazes on her also), taking a place with several other couples as another quadrille began. They bowed and entered the formal turns and steps of the dance.

Gabriele watched, and applauded when the dance ended. Gustav and Emilie remained on the floor, their heads inclined toward each other. Gabriele could feel the long, bright tendrils of Gustav's soul-heart bending toward Emilie, her own grasp on them now stretched and thin. It was difficult to keep down the flash of jealousy she felt, watching them, but she forced it away.
I'm only using him; I don't want him that way. She's his true muse, not me . . .

As Emilie and Gustav conversed, Gabriele saw a man approach the two. She couldn't see his face, but something about him, about the way he walked and the way he held himself . . . She
knew
, knew without seeing that face. Her breath left her, making her feel light-headed. Her stomach churned, and she could taste bile in the back of her throat. Then the man turned to profile, and she knew for certain.

Nicolas.

Despite the fact that this was what she'd wanted, she wasn't ready. Not tonight. She had nothing with her to protect herself, and she didn't wish to talk with him or let him know she was here. Not yet; not until she could do so on her own terms and in a place where she felt safe. He couldn't
know
she was here; not yet. He would suspect it, might even be relatively certain, but he couldn't
know
, not until he'd seen her with Gustav. They were still talking, and she saw Gustav introduce him to Emilie; she thought she saw disappointment cross Nicolas' face. Gustav waved a hand; he gestured in the direction of their open room, and Nicolas looked that way.

Gabriele took a step farther back in the room, happy for the mask that hid her features and shielding herself behind Ernst and Helene. “I'm afraid I'm not feeling well,” she said to them. “Tell Gustav that I'm taking a fiacre back to my rooms. I'll talk to him sometime tomorrow.”

They murmured polite noises, though she knew that they were both thinking that this sudden illness had something to do with Emilie. She hurried from the room, took her coat from the checkroom, and hurried into the lobby, telling one of the doormen to summon transportation for her.

He's here. You've found him. You've sighted your quarry; now you can plan the kill.

The realization made her simultaneously thrilled and frightened.

 * * * 

Verde
tte purred on her lap as she worked, dressed in her nightgown.

Even when she'd been Perenelle, she'd often wished that she possessed Nicolas' affinity for spells. While she'd been able to master some of the spells in the books and scrolls they'd acquired, she'd never managed the ease and power he'd been able to acquire. After taking the elixir, she'd been able to use only the most simple of spells. She'd hoped, with the centuries of practice open to her, that she could match him, but it seemed that part of her mind had been burned and scarred by the elixir. While her skill with alchemy and chemistry had slowly returned and even blossomed, while she still found the Tarot to be a useful tool, she remained eternally a novice with magic and spells.