Writ in blood : a novel of Saint-Germain Read online

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  This is a work of fiction, although some of the characters are based upon or are composites of actual historical persons; they, and all locations and institutions used fictitiously, do not and are not intended to represent persons living or dead, or existing places and institutions past and present.

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  Elizabeth Miller Dennis Miller

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  Daniel Richler

  Canadians in Transylvania

  Authors Notes

  From the end of the nineteeth century into the first decade of the twentieth, the three most powerful nations in Europe were ruled first by an uncle and two nephews: Edward VII of Britain, Czar Nicholas II of Russia, and Kaiser Wilhelm II of Prussia and Germany, then by three cousins when George V succeeded Edward VII. Through their mother/grandmother, Queen Victoria, the bonds of family were used— with varying degrees of success—to supersede the ambitions of military and political power brokers alike, providing the appearance if not the reality of continued cordial relations among those powers. This did not mean that there was always accord—no family can make such a claim, and when the family in question controls nations, the problems inherent in these relationships are even more fraught with difficulties.

  Because of this and because of an escalation of social changes brought about by emerging technology, the peace and prosperity of the time were more fragile than they looked, and the diplomatic balance was more precarious. The Ottoman Empire was crumbling, and many of the European powers were waiting to rush into the vacuum its collapse would create. During the two years in which this novel takes place (1910-1912) there was a brief opportunity to secure a negotiated peace without resorting to armed aggression in Eastern Europe and the soon-to-be-former-Ottoman territories; the possibility of war, at first unthinkable, became increasingly likely as the chances for peace slipped away. Hapsburg (Austro-Hungarian) interests were the most crucial ones in Eastern Europe at the time, although there were Russian involvements as well. Instability in the Balkans had reached a level that made negotiations unlikely to achieve any lasting peace, and given the complex state of treaties and ethnic stresses in Europe, the concern that the Balkans would provide a flashpoint for trouble proved to be all too real; as the starting-place of World War I, the ongoing conflicts in the Balkans spilled across Europe through a bewildering maze of treaties and alliances that caught up the Continent and then the world. Ironically, the Balkans continue to be a center of ethnic hostility to this day,

  Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  as though neither World War—nor any of the earlier centuries of conflict—had resolved anything in that troubled region.

  Although most of the major technological and scientific developments were still European, the widening of the world stage had eroded the preeminence of Europe in global affairs. America and Asia were gaining a prominence that had not been apparent a generation earlier; the expansion of the New World was starting to have an impact on the Old, both in terms of immigration and in terms of innovation.

  As is usually the case in many of these novels, there are a number of actual persons appearing as characters: Czar Nikolai/Nicholas Alexan-dreivich Romanov and his family: Czarina Alexandra Feodorovna, Grand Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, Marie, and Anastasia, and Czareivich Alexei; further references are made to several other relatives, household members, government officials, and court figures, including Grigori Efimovich Rasputin-Novyhk, the charismatic priest whose presence exercised so much influence on the Russian royal family; Edward VII and George V, Kings of England, with passing reference to such figures of the day as Prime Minister Herbert Henry Asquith; President of the Board of Trade, Winston Churchill; theatrical luminaries mentioned in passing include Sir Henry Irving; his manager, Bram Stoker, author of Dracula ; Sarah Bernhardt and her leading man, Jean Mounet-Sully; divas Mary Garden and Nellie Melba; among the Germans and Austrians Alois, Graff Lexa von Aehrenthal; Helmuth von Moltke; Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg; the late Otto von Bismarck; automotive designer Wilhelm Maybach, and his daughter Mercedes for whom his automobile was named; Austro-Hungarian Emperor Franz Josef; his heir, Franz Ferdinand and his morganatic wife, Sophie Chotek; and the German Kaiser Wilhelm II contribute to the historicity of the story. Of all historical figures in this novel, however, no one has more impact than Sidney Reilly, the British (and possibly Russian) spy, whose many identities and aliases (including, as well as the name Oertel Morgenstern used in this story, Mister Constantine, Nicholas Steinberg, Mister Massino, Senor Pedro, Comrade Relinsky, and Karl Hahn) rival Saint-Germain s. For the sake of the story, I have assumed that he continued as an agent of the British, under the control of “C”— Sir Mansfield Cumming, head of British Secret Service—during the time he had supposedly resigned; it is certainly as possible that he did as that he did not. What the truth may have been is anyone’s guess, for a more perplexing, contradictory figure would be hard to find, making him well-nigh irresistible for this novel.

  Of necessity, I have simplified—as complex as the story is, it is sim-

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  plified—much of the political and diplomatic skulduggery of the time, limiting myself largely to the blood relatives ruling major nations, as well as the most prominent members of their respective governments. I have dealt only in passing with the French, the Italians, the Ottoman Empire, the Swedes and Danes, Africa, India, the Americas, and China; the sprawl of including so much tangential information in what is a story about families was beyond the scope of the tale, and the characters in it. I have done all that I can in preserving the personalities of the historical figures appearing in the book as accurately as accounts of them and my research will permit, with one exception: I have occasionally put them in places at times they were not actually there. For these lapses, I plead exigencies of story rather than deliberate misrepresentation.

  All automobiles and other technological advances mentioned in the story actually existed in 1910-1912; for roads and similar references, I have used maps and travel guides of the period: some of the streets identified no longer exist or have new names, and a fair number of the buildings referred to do not appear now as they did at the time depicted in this book, due, in many instances, to the massive destruction wrought in World War II. Tourist references and magazines of the period supplied most data in terms of railroads, geographic features, and road conditions as well as schedules and travel times.

  In the first decade of the twentieth century social unrest was rampant; many old notions of nations, laws, and government were changing, often through violent public demonstrations. For the first time mass communication and its step-child fame played a significant role in governmental politics. The status of the working classes, including child labor, was being altered, as was the position of women. If some of the issues discussed by characters in this story seem anachronistic, too modern in tone, I encourage you to read journals of the day, as I did, to see how many of the social debates affecting the end of this century began.

  Thanks are due to (as always) Dave Nee for an exhaustive research bibliography; to Robert Eighteen-Bisang of Transylvania Press for the crucial information regarding the publishing and performance history of Dracula; to Alicia Rosen for her expertise on early twentieth-century jargon, slang, and journalistic style; to Patrick McCarthy for records of military preparedness and materiel of the period; to H. V. Martin for access to his grandfathers and great-grandfathers journals; to Jonathan Stimmer for the loan of
his great-grandparent s address in Berlin; to Sandhya Whaley for the information on Sidney Reilly; to my father,

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  Clarence Erickson, for loan of the Kalevala, and help with my rusty Finnish; and to Dale Midkiff, whose insightful remarks threw light on a perplexing aspect of Rupert s character. Any foot in my mouth is mine and not theirs.

  Thanks are also due to the First World Dracula Congress, and Nico-lae Paduraru of the Transylvania Society of Dracula, whose brainchild it was, for having me as their novelist-guest in 1995; to Lindig Harris for the newsletter; to my agent, Donald Mass, for his energetic efforts on Saint-Germain’s behalf; to my attorney, Robin Dubner, for continuing her vigilance; to Maureen Kelly and Megan Kincaid, who answered a good number of questions for me, as well as to Holly Dodge-son, Stephanie Moss, and Jerry White, all five of whom read the manuscript for clarity; and to Thomas Adams, who read it for historical accuracy; to my editor, Greg Cox; and to Tom Doherty and Tor Books for continuing to give life—if that is the word I want—to Ragoczy Saint-Germain.

  Berkeley, California March 1996

  PARTI

  Sidney Reilly

  ^q/q/qj

  JL ext of a letter from Sidney Reilly to “C”, sent in code using Key 43, from St. Petersburg, Russia, to London by diplomatic courier, delivered 7 January 1910.

  To answer your inquiries of 9 December last, I have met Franchot Ragoczy but once, and that was at a gala for the ballet, where all we exchanged was half a dozen pleasantries on the evenings performance. My investigations, and they have not been aggressive in order to ensure confidentiality, so far have not revealed much about the man that would be useful to you. He is not Russian and apparently has no Russian relatives—this in spite of his obvious wealth. His erudition is of legendary proportions. His titles, of which he claims several, have not successfully been disputed by anyone at court: attempts to discredit him have been made but none have prevailed. He lives stylishly and elegantly but there is no talk of debauchery, not even from those who might be expected to make such claims. If he has a mistress or lover of either sex, I have not been able to discover who it is. He has a large house here in St. Petersburg and another in Moscow; he owns several factories and is said to provide a free education to the children of his workers. He has endowed two hospitals that I know of, and it is possible there are others. I am told he owns an impressive collection of paintings and original manuscripts, some rumored to date back four and five hundred years. He has given generous sums to artists of all stripes and is said to be a creditable musician himself. Whatever the truth of that may be, I have learned he does possess a fine collection of instruments and an enormous

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  library which occupies most of a large room adjoining his study. They say he maintains a private laboratory in his house, but no one I have spoken to has ever seen it, and therefore I tend to discount its existence as another of those tales that cling to foreigners in Russia.

  Why the Czar should wish to employ him in his dealings with his uncle, King Edward is not clear to me, or even if he is going to be employed in any fashion whatsoever, which I take leave to doubt until I have more reliable confirmation. The relationship of Edward and Nicholas is sufficiently close that it is outwardly absurd to think any intermediary is required. You say your information is reliable, but you must allow me my reservations about it; things in Russia are never so clearly defined as things in England. There are rumors, of course, but rumors are common at court, and it would not be sensible to believe all one hears. Currently there has been a suggestion that Ragoczy is a spy for Franz Josef. Of course, Ragoczy has said nothing about such dealings, either with the Emperor or the Czar, which is to be expected no matter what commission he may be offered, or what his intentions might be in regard to that supposed commission. The trouble at the heart of it is, of course, that Nicholas seems to like him. He has achieved a degree of acceptance from Nicholas that is not shared by his ministers, most of whom consider Ragoczy an interloper and a meddler. A few fear he may be in the employ of other governments with the purpose of harming Russia; these men exhibit the most extreme of Russian fear and hatred of foreigners and their opinions are generally discounted for that reason. Although I have yet to ascertain who has employed them, I have discovered that there are three other men who are also assigned to watch Ragoczy. I can, of course, learn to whom these men have allegiance, but that may bring my own efforts into scrutiny. I will not pursue the matter unless you instruct me to do so.

  For the most part the man Ragoczy is a mystery. If you do not object, 1 will try to gather more information about him and report my findings to you, particularly any information in regard to his possible mission in London.

  Sidney Reilly (Capt.)

  This wing of the house overlooked the Nevsky Prospekt, although at this time of night the heavy silken draperies were drawn across the windows blocking out the storm that swathed Saint Petersburg in snow; the two rooms were lit by gaslights, their soft glow imparting the illusion of warmth to the upper floor where Franchot Ragoczy received this guest. He had chosen the study instead of his library for this meeting: the study was cozier and far more private than the library behind it. It was also less than a third the size of the library with its twelve thousand volumes as well as a harp, two violins, a viola, harpsichord, virginals, and a grand piano. The study had three overstuffed chairs, a pair of hassocks, four tables, and an efficient stove to hold the winter at bay.

  “I’m sorry to inconvenience you at such a late hour,” said Nikolai Alexandreivich Romanov as he nodded in response to Ragoczys old-fashioned bow. His greatcoat was dusted with snow and a few flakes clung to his beard; he brushed these away impatiently and turned to his host.

  Ragoczy gestured to indicate his lack of concern. “I am often up late into the night; an early morning call might be less readily accommodated.” He signaled to his manservant to take the Czars greatcoat and hat.

  Nikolai shrugged out of the garment and handed his hat to the sandy-haired, middle-aged man who accepted them and withdrew from the study. “Then I will not apologize, since the hour suits my purposes so well. I forget precisely where I am supposed to be at this hour, but I am sure one of my aides will tell me, or Sunny will.” This mild joke brought an amused crinkle to the Czar’s eyes, but it faded quickly to be replaced by a more somber expression. “I am grateful to you for saving this time to receive me.” He was not a man who smiled easily, but he did his best. “At three in the morning, who will notice I have come here? Or that I am in Petersburg at all?”

  “Your escort? My manservant?” Ragoczy suggested with a touch of amusement in his dark eyes. “The gates of my house may be watched, of course. They usually are.” Unlike the Czar, he was clean-shaven, his dark, slightly wavy hair fashionably cropped. Though less than average

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  height, he gave an impression of being tall; he possessed a presence that compelled without being intrusive. When he spoke his voice was well-modulated, his Russian unflawed but for a faint, unidentifiable accent. His movements, from his stride to his posture in a chair, were commanding and graceful, in accord with his elegant surroundings. He wore a long smoking coat of black brocade with lapels and lining of deep dull-red satin, though he indulged in neither pipe or cigarette. Beneath it, his pin-tucked white silk shirt was open at the neck, black tie discarded, his black woolen trousers of fashionable Parisian cut, designed for formal evening wear: all revealed his recent return from the theatre or ballet. His shiny low boots were flawless black, their soles and heels thicker than current tastes approved.

  “Not tonight,” said Czar Nikolai.

  “Ah. And your men?” Ragoczy inquired more out of good form than genuine doubts.

  “The two men will say nothing,” Czar Nikolai declared, and took a chair as Ragoczy indicated the most elegant of those around the small stove at one end of his study. “I have employed them confidentially in the past, and have ne
ver had cause to regret it.”

  “Then I will not mention the matter again,” Ragoczy said, waiting for the Czar to give him permission to sit.

  It was accomplished with a single flick to his hand. “For Gods sake, Count, we are not at court. There is no reason to bother—” He stopped. “But this is not the issue.” For a long moment he scowled at the tiles around the stove. “Its Dutch, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” said Ragoczy without any sign of discomposure. “I had it shipped from Antwerp four years ago.”

  “Very pretty,” said Czar Nikolai in a distant tone. His meticulous evening clothes were not quite enough to banish the insidious presence of the storm; he pulled the chair a bit nearer to the stove. “Better.” Ragoczy regarded his guest carefully but unobviously; in time the Czar would tell him if the reason for this private meeting at this unusual hour was the one Ragoczy supposed it to be. In the meantime it was useless to try to hurry him. Watching Nikolai, Ragoczy was reminded of another winter night, more than three hundred years ago, when another ruler had commissioned him to secure relations with a difficult neighbor: then the king was Istvan Bathory, the Transylvanian reigning in Poland, and the ruler Ragoczy had been sent to negotiate with was Ivan Grosny of Russia. Concealing a swift, sardonic smile, Ragoczy leaned back in his leather-upholstered chair, saying, “There is no reason to be uncomfortable, not in this room. If you like I will bring

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  a lap rug for you. Or I can add more coal to the fire, if you are not warm enough. I am not often cold, and at present, I am more snugly dressed.” He nudged a brass scuttle with his foot to indicate there would be no disruption to their privacy for such a service.

  “This will do,” said the Czar. He sighed again, the sound wistful as well as tired, and stared around the room as if he had never seen it before. “You have some wonderful things, Count.”