Some hours later the _elite_ of the higher Russian nobility were
assembled in the magnificent halls of the regent. Princes and counts,
generals and diplomatists, beautiful women and blooming maidens, all
moved in a confused intermixture, jesting and laughing with each other.
They were all very gay on this evening, as the regent had herself set
the example. With the most unconstrained cheerfulness, radiant with joy,
did she wander through the rooms, dispensing smiles and agreeable words
among all whom she approached. She bore in her bosom the glowing and
cherished letter of her lover, and at its lightest rustling she seemed
to feel the immediate presence of the writer. That was the secret of her
gayety and her joyous smiles. People, perhaps, knew not this secret, but
they saw its effects, and, as the all-powerful regent deigned this day
to be cheerful and smiling, it was natural for this host of slavish
nobility, who breathe nothing but the air of the court, to adopt for
this evening’s motto, “Gayety and smiles.”
As we have said, only smiling lips and faces beaming with joy were to
be seen; all breathed pleasure and enjoyment, all jested and laughed;
it seemed as if all care and sorrow had fled from this happy, select
circle, to give place to the delights of life. They had, with submissive
humility, repressed all discontent and disaffection, all envyings and
enmities; they chatted and laughed, while every one knew or suspected
that they were standing on a volcano, whose overwhelming eruptions might
be expected at any moment, and yet every one feigned the most perfect
innocence and unconstraint. The ladies scrutinized each other’s
magnificent and costly toilets, jesting and exchanging amorous glances
with the gentlemen displaying orders and diamond crosses.
A movement suddenly arose in the rooms, the crowd divided and
respectfully withdrew to the sides, and through the rows of smiling,
humbly bowing courtiers passed the Princess Elizabeth, followed by her
chamberlain Woronzow, her private secretary Alexis Razumovsky, and
her physician Lestocq, in the splendor of her beauty and grace, all
kindness, all smiles. She was to-day wonderfully charming in her
gold-spangled lace dress, which flowed like a breath over her
under-dress of heavy white satin. Her widely-bared, full and luxuriant
shoulders were partially covered by a costly lace mantelet, the present
of the French queen, and her long, floating ringlets were surmounted by
a wreath of white roses such as only Parisian artistic skill could offer
in such perfect imitation of nature. Thus enveloped as it were in a veil
of white mist and floating vapors, Elizabeth’s beauty appeared only the
more full and voluptuous. She looked like a purple rose standing
out from a cloud of fluttering snow-flakes, wonderfully charming,
wonderfully seductive. Princess Elizabeth was fully conscious of the
impression she made, and this internal satisfaction manifested itself
in a sweet smile which increased the charm of her appearance. With pride
and pleasure she enjoyed the triumph of being the fairest of all the
beauties present, and this triumph contented her heart.
The princess now approached her cousin, the Regent Anna, who came from
the adjoining room to meet and welcome her, and for one short moment the
courtiers forgot her smiles and her inoffensiveness. All eyes were
with the most intense anxiety directed toward those two women; all
conversation, jesting, and laughing were at once suspended. There was
a deep pause, all breathing was smothered, all feared that the
loud beating of their hearts might betray them and cause them to be
suspected.
The two princesses now approached each other--Princess Elizabeth would
have bent a knee to the regent--Anna, with charming kindness, raising
and kissing her, tenderly reproached her for coming so late.
“I feared coming too early,” said Elizabeth, pressing the regent’s hand
to her lips, “for I doubted whether my fair cousin would find time to
bestow a friendly word upon her poor relation, Princess Elizabeth!”
“How could Elizabeth fear that, when she knows I love her like a
sister?” tenderly asked the regent, and, taking the arm of the princess,
she made with her a round through the rooms.
Now again came life and movement in this lately so silent and anxiously
expectant assemblage; they now knew how they were to deport themselves:
Princess Elizabeth was in the good graces of the regent, and therefore
they could receive her polite greetings with the most reverential
thankfulness; they could approach her and admire her beauty without
incurring suspicion. The stereotyped smile had reappeared upon all
faces, cheerful and lively conversation was again resumed, and wherever
the two arm-in-arm wandering princesses appeared, they were greeted with
endless shouts of ecstasy.
As we have said, it was a gay and very splendid festival. Only
occasionally did something like a dark shadow pass through the rooms;
only here and there did the chattering guests forget their wonted
smiles; only occasionally did the mask of cheerfulness fall from many
a face, discovering serious, anxious features, and suspicious, lurking
glances. Every one felt that a catastrophe was impending, but, as no one
could know its result in advance, all wished to keep as clear of it as
possible, and seem perfectly unconscious and unaffected by these things.
As they could not foresee which party would triumph, they found it
advisable to join neither while awaiting coming events, after which they
would hail as lords and masters those who might succeed in attaining to
power.
For the present, Anna Leopoldowna was the ruler, and, as they were
her subjects, they must in humble submission pay homage to her; but
Elizabeth might become empress, and therefore they must likewise pay
homage to her, with a prudent avoidance of the too much, which might
cause them to be suspected in case the regent should still continue in
power.
These were the dangerous rocks between which this proud and elegant
assemblage had to find their winding way, and they did it with smiles
and outward ease, with open admiration of both princesses, before whom
they bowed to the ground with slavish submission.
But suddenly something like a panic-terror, like an unnatural awe, flew
through all these splendid halls; the smiles were arrested on all faces,
the harmless jests on all lips; the pallor of beautiful women became
visible through their paint, and generals staggered to and fro as if a
thunderbolt had fallen. As if touched by a magic wand, every one stood
motionless like statues modelled in clay, no one daring to speak to his
neighbor or make a sign to a friend. They would not see, they would not
hear, they only wished to seem to be indifferent and unobserving.
As we said, a panic-terror pervaded the halls, and like an
evil-announcing night-spectre passed over the heads of the stiffened,
lifeless crowd the dismal rumor--“The regent and the princess are at
variance; the regent is speaking to her with vehemence, and the princess
weeps!”
This certainly was a terrible announcement. But if the regent was angry,
it must be because she knew of the intrigues and machinations of the
princess, and knowing them she could counteract and nullify them;
consequently the plans of the princess were upset, Anna Leopoldowna
would remain ruler, and her son Ivan the Czar of all the Russias.
Now the touch, the vicinity of Elizabeth’s friends became an
evil-breathing pest, a death-bringing terror; they anxiously avoided
the vicinity of Lestocq, they crowded back from Woronzow and Razumovsky,
whom they had before sought with every demonstration of friendliness;
they even avoided looking at the French ambassador; for, if the regent
knew all, she must know of the intimate relations of Lestocq with the
Marquis de la Chetardie, and he was therefore doomed like the other
three.
And moreover, this pernicious rumor had not lied; the two princesses
were at this moment no longer so tender and friendly disposed as shortly
before.
They had long wandered through the halls, confidingly chatting and
smiling, and Anna, leaning upon Elizabeth’s arm--Anna who this day
saw every thing _couleur de rose_--felt a sort of disquiet that people
should suspect her who was walking by her side with such innocent candor
and unconstraint, seeming not to have the least presentiment of the dark
cloud gathering over her head.
“She is inconsiderate,” thought the regent; “she allows herself to be
carried away by her temperament, and behind her inclination and her
weakness for handsome grenadiers and soldiers, her enemies seek to
discover an insidious and well-considered conspiracy; this is cruel and
unjust! This good Elizabeth must be warned, that she may become more
cautious, and give her numerous enemies no occasion for suspecting her.
Poor innocent child, so gay and ingenuous, she plays with roses under
which serpents lie concealed! It is my duty to warn her, and I will.”
Wholly penetrated with this noble and generous resolution, the regent
drew her cousin Elizabeth into the little boudoir which lay at the end
of the hall, offering a convenient resting-place for a confidential
conversation.
But at this moment Anna’s eyes fell upon the lace mantelet of the
princess, and quite involuntarily came to her mind the warning words of
Ostermann, who had said to her: “The French ambassador, by command of
his government, provides the princess not only with money, but also
with the newest modes and most costly stuffs.” This lace mantelet could
surely only come from Paris; nothing similar to it had been seen in St.
Petersburg; it certainly required especial sources and especial means
for the procurement of such a rare and magnificent exemplar.
A cloud drew over the regent’s brow, and in a rather sharp and cutting
tone she said; “One question, princess! How came you by this admirable
lace veil, the like of which I have not seen here in St. Petersburg?”
While putting this question, the regent’s eyes were fixed with a
piercing, interrogating expression upon the face of the princess: she
wished to observe the slightest shrinking, the least movement of her
features.
But Elizabeth was prepared for the question; she had already considered
her answer with the marquis and Lestocq. Her features therefore betrayed
not the least disturbance or disquiet; raising her bright and childlike
eyes, she said, with an unconstrained smile: “You wonder, do you not,
how I came by this costly ornament? Ah, I have for the last eight days
rejoiced in the expectation of surprising you to-day with the sight of
it!”
“But you have not yet told me whence you have these costly laces?” asked
the regent in a sharper tone.
“It is a wager I have won of the good Marquis de la Chetardie,” said
Elizabeth, without embarrassment, “and your highness must confess that
this French ambassador has paid his wager with much taste.”
The regent had constantly become more serious and gloomy. A dark,
fatal suspicion for a moment overclouded her soul, and in her usually
unsuspicious mind arose the questions: “What if Ostermann was right,
if Elizabeth is really conspiring, and the French ambassador is her
confederate?”
“And what, if one may ask, was the subject of the wager?” she asked,
with the tone of an inquisitor.
“Ah, this good marquis,” said the princess, laughing, “had never yet
experienced the rigor of a Russian winter, and he would not believe that
our Neva with its rushing streams and rapid current would in winter be
changed into a very commodious highway. I wagered that I would convince
him of the fact, and be the first to cross it on the ice; he would not
believe me, and declared that I should lack the courage. Well, of course
I did it, and won my wager!”
The regent had not turned her eyes from the princess while she was
thus speaking. This serene calmness, this unembarrassed childishness,
completely disarmed her. The dark suspicion vanished from her mind;
Anna breathed freer, and laid her hand upon her heart as if she would
restrain its violent beating. The letter of Lynar slightly rustled under
her hand.
A ray of sunshine became visible in Anna’s face; she thought of her
beloved; she felt his presence, and immediately all the vapors of
mistrust were scattered--Anna feared no more, she suspected no more, she
again became cheerful and happy--for she thought of her distant lover,
his affectionate words rested upon her bosom--how, therefore, could she
feel anger?
She only now recollected that she had intended to warn Elizabeth. She
therefore threw her arms around the neck of the princess, and, sitting
with her upon the divan, said: “Do you know, Elizabeth, that you have
many enemies at my court, and that they would excite my suspicions
against you?”
“Ah, I may well believe they would be glad to do so, but they cannot,”
said Elizabeth, laughing; “I am a foolish, trifling woman, who,
unfortunately for them, do nothing to my enemies that can render me
suspected, as, in reality, I do nothing at all. I am indolent, Anna,
very indolent; you ought to have raised me better, my dear lady regent!”
And with an amiable roguishness Elizabeth kissed the tips of Anna’s
fingers.
“No, no, be serious for once,” said Anna; “laugh not, Elizabeth, but
listen to me!”
And she related to the listening princess how people came from all sides
to warn her; that she was told of secret meetings which Lestocq, in
Elizabeth’s name, held with the French ambassador, and that the object
of these meetings was the removal of the regent and her son, and the
elevation of Elizabeth to the imperial throne.
Elizabeth remained perfectly cheerful, perfectly unembarrassed, and even
laughingly exclaimed--“What a silly story!”
“I believe nothing of it,” said Anna, “but at last my ministers will
compel me to imprison Lestocq and bring him to trial, in order to get
the truth out of him.”
“Ah, they will torture him, and yet he is innocent!” cried Elizabeth,
bursting into tears. And, clasping the regent’s neck, she anxiously
exclaimed: “Ah, Anna, dear Anna, save me from my enemies! Let them not
steal away my friends and ruin me! They would also torture me and send
me to Siberia; Anna, my friend, my sovereign, save me! You alone can do
it, for you know me, and know that I am innocent! The idea that I should
conspire against you, against you whom I love, and to whom, upon
the sacred books of our religion, I have sworn eternal fidelity and
devotion! Anna, Anna, I swear to you by the soul of my father, I am
innocent, as also is my friend. Lestocq has never passed the threshold
of the French ambassador’s hotel! Oh, dear, dear Anna, have mercy on me,
and do not permit them to torture me and wrench my poor members!”
With a loud cry of anguish, with streaming tears, pale and trembling,
Elizabeth sank down at the regent’s feet.
It was this cry of anguish that rang through the hall, and spread
everywhere astonishment and consternation. And this shrieking,
and weeping, and trembling, was no mask, but truth. Elizabeth was
frightened, she wept and trembled from fear, but she had sufficient
presence of mind not to betray herself in words. It was fear even that
gave her that presence of mind and enabled her to play her part in a
manner so masterly that the regent was completely deceived. Taking the
princess in her arms, she pressed her to her bosom, at the same time
endeavoring to reassure and console her with tender and affectionate
words, with reiterated promises of her protection and her love.
But it was a long time before the trembling and weeping princess
could be tranquillized--before she could be made to believe Anna’s
asseverations that she had always loved and never mistrusted her.
“What most deeply saddens me,” said Elizabeth, with feeling, “is the
idea that you, my Anna, could believe these calumnies, and suppose me
capable of such black treason. Ah, I should be as bad as Judas Iscariot
could I betray my noble and generous mistress.”
Tears of emotion stood in Anna’s eyes. She impressed a tender kiss upon
Elizabeth’s lips, and with her own hand wiped the tears from the cheeks
of the princess.
“Weep no more, Elizabeth,” she tenderly said--“nay, I beg of you, weep
no more. It is indeed all right and good between us, and no cloud shall
disturb our love or our mutual confidence. Come, let us smile and be
cheerful again, that this listening and curious court may know nothing
of your tears. They would make a prodigious affair of it, and we will
not give them occasion to say we have been at variance.”
“No, they shall all see that I love, that I adore you,” said Elizabeth,
covering Anna’s hand with kisses.
“They shall see that we love each other,” said Anna, taking the arm of
the princess. “Be of good cheer, my friend, and take my imperial word
for it that I, whatever people may say of you, will believe no one but
yourself; that I will truly inform you of all calumnies, and give you
an opportunity to disarm your enemies and defend yourself. Now come, and
let us make another tour through the halls.”
Arm in arm the two princesses returned to the nearest hall. This was
empty, no one daring to remain there lest they might incur the blame of
having overheard and understood some word of the princesses, and thus
acquired a knowledge of their private conversation. People had therefore
withdrawn to the more distant rooms, where they still preserved a
breathless silence.
Suddenly the two princesses, arm in arm, again appeared in the halls,
pleasantly conversing, and instantly the scene was again changed, as
if by the stroke of a magic wand. The chilling silence melted into an
agreeable smile, and all recovered their breaths and former joviality.
All was again sunshine and pleasure, for the princesses were again
there, and the princesses smiled--must they not laugh and be beside
themselves with joy?
Elizabeth’s tender glances sought her friend, the handsome Alexis
Razumovsky. Suddenly her brow as darkened and her cheeks paled, for she
saw him and saw that his eyes did not seek hers!
He stood leaning against a pillar, his eyes fixed upon a lady who had
just then entered the hall, and whose wonderful beauty had everywhere
called forth a murmur of astonishment and admiration. This lady was the
Countess Lapuschkin, the wife of the commissary-general of marine, from
whose family came the first wife of Czar Peter the Great, the beautiful
Eudoxia Lapuschkin.
Eleonore Lapuschkin was more beautiful than Eudoxia. An infinite magic
of youth and loveliness, of purity and energy, was shed over her regular
features. She had the traits of a Hebe, and the form of a Juno. When she
smiled and displayed her dazzlingly white teeth, she was irresistibly
charming. When, in a serious mood, she raised her large dark eyes,
full of nobleness and spirit, then might people fall at her feet with
adoration. Countess Lapuschkin had often been compared and equalled
to the Princess Elizabeth, and yet nothing could be more dissimilar or
incomparable than these two beauties. Elizabeth’s was wholly earthly,
voluptuous, glowing with youth and love, but Eleonore’s was chaste
and sublime, pure and maidenly. Elizabeth allured to love, Eleonore to
adoration.
The princess had long hated the young Countess Eleonore Lapuschkin,
and considered her as a rival; but that this rival should now gain an
interest in the heart of her favorite, that filled Elizabeth’s soul
with anger and agitation, that caused her eyes to flash and her blood to
boil.
Staringly as Alexis Razumovsky’s eyes were fixed upon the countess, she,
unconscious of this double observation, stood cheerful and unembarrassed
in the circle of her admiring friends and adorers.
Anna Leopoldowna followed the glance of the princess, and, observing
the beautiful Lapuschkin, said, without thinking of Elizabeth’s very
susceptible vanity:
“Leonore Lapuschkin is an admirably beautiful woman, is she not? I
never saw a handsomer one. To look at her is like a morning dream;
her appearance diffuses light and splendor. Do you not find it so,
Elizabeth?”
“Oh, yes, I find it so,” said Elizabeth, with a constrained smile. “She
is the handsomest woman in your realm.”
“Yourself excepted, Elizabeth,” kindly subjoined the regent.
“Oh, no, she is handsomer than I!” murmured Elizabeth.
Poor Leonore! In this moment hath the princess pronounced your sentence
of condemnation, and in her heart subscribed the stern order for your
execution.
A longer view of this triumph of the countess became insufferable;
alleging a sudden attack of illness, she immediately took leave of the
regent, and ordered her carriage.
Tears of anger and love stood in her eyes as Razumovsky approached to
aid her in entering it. Hurling away his hand, she entered the carriage
without assistance.
“And may I not accompany you in the carriage as usual?” asked Alexis,
with tenderness in his tone.
“No,” she curtly said, “go back into the hall, and again admire the
handsomest woman in the empire!”
Then, jealousy getting the better of anger, she beckoned to Alexis, who
was about departing in sadness, and commanded him to enter the carriage
without delay.
As soon as the carriage door was closed, with an angry movement she
seized both of Razumovsky’s hands.
“Look at me,” said she--“look me directly in the eye, and then tell me,
is Eleonore Lapuschkin handsomer than I?”