Rebel Princess (3 page)

And the Grand Duke whom she was to marry, he was German like herself, a nephew of the Empress, adopted only because she had no heir. He was not even a foreigner, she reassured herself over and over again. He was a young man, and gossip declared him very fond of soldiering and an admirer of Prussia. She determined that she would make him fall in love with her.

To Augusta the image of the Grand Duke Peter was that of the handsomest of men, endowed with all those qualities of charm and wit that she had admired secretly in some of Frederick's courtiers, and the inherent generosity of her nature responded to the mirage she had created.

“I shall love him,” she declared to her governess Mademoiselle Cardel one day. “I shall devote my life to pleasing him and making him love me! Even now, Mademoiselle, I can hardly believe that I am really leaving Germany; that I shall never go back to Stettin; that I shall soon be married … and living away from mama!”

Mademoiselle Cardel turned from her charge, avoiding those bright, candid blue eyes. With a hand that trembled slightly she stroked Augusta's black hair.

“I am sure that he will love you, in fact I think many men will …” she said.

Poor little one, so eager to escape from one prison into another, the Frenchwoman thought sadly. To exchange the execrable Johanna for none other than His Imperial Highness Peter of Russia. God help her! But she managed to smile and send her pupil away on some pretext. It was not for her to shatter the illusions of the bride.…

Augusta lay awake in her bed all that last night. She was too excited, too disturbed by traitorous qualms of homesickness. She passed some of the time in prayer, but the stiff, formal phrases failed to bring her comfort and never had her cold Lutheran God seemed so far away as in those long hours before daybreak.

At dawn the next morning, two carriages waited outside the castle, one for the Princess Johanna and her daughter, the other smaller one for their little retinue of servants, a proper escort having been forbidden by the Empress for reasons of her own. The Prince of Zerbst, his wife and family, stood with Christian to bid the travelers farewell.

Johanna gave her husband a dutiful good-bye, promising to keep him informed of their progress. Then Christian turned to the daughter he would never see again and embraced her for the last time.

“God protect you, Augusta,” he said gently. “Conduct yourself well, and above all with caution, and you will have nothing to fear.”

These were not the parting words she would have wished to hear, and her father's solemnity cast a cloud over her spirits. Surely she had nothing to fear? In the morning light, the terror of the darkness put aside, her future seemed to hold nothing but happiness and success. She kissed her father and her uncle and for a moment tears came to her eyes. Then she turned quickly and followed her mother, the newly recruited spy, into the dim interior of the carriage.

She looked out and saw the figure of Mademoiselle Cardel at an upstairs window. Etiquette had barred her from this final gathering in farewell. Bravely Augusta waved to her, choking back a sudden sob, then the door was slammed shut and the coachman whipped up the horses. With a great clatter of hooves the carriages began to move out of the courtyard, swaying clumsily as they gathered speed.

Throughout the long hours of that first day's journeying, Augusta occupied her mind with thoughts of Russia and the Grand Duke Peter, while her mother stared out of the window.

When Johanna glanced at her daughter she noted the expectant look upon her face. She shrugged inwardly and dismissed Augusta's feelings from her mind. They were not of the least importance.

As they traveled towards Stargard the roads became increasingly bad, and the two passengers clung to their seats as the carriage lurched over potholes and ruts. Their nights were spent at inns and posting-houses on the way, often in great discomfort, and the indignant Princess was sometimes forced to share the landlord's quarters, for there was no fuel to warm the freezing guest rooms.

When they reached Memel the weather became so severe that they had to wear masks to protect their faces from the icy air; weeks of traveling under such conditions, with little sleep, tormented by cold, cramp and fatigue, reduced the future Grand Duchess to terror and despair.

On the 6th February, 1744, the battered procession entered Riga, where the emissaries of the Empress of all the Russias awaited them.

They were magnificently received, and Johanna found herself lodged in sumptuous rooms in the castle, a train of servants placed at her disposal, the attention of the whole Russian garrison centered on herself and her daughter.

Elizabeth's advance reception promised great things, and Johanna accepted greedily the superb furs that were presented to them with the Empress's compliments.

But too much delay was not encouraged, and the last stage of their journey began. In the few days at Riga Augusta had been bewildered by the extravagance and splendor she had witnessed, but the most fantastic sight of all awaited her when she accompanied her mother from the castle.

A train of sledges stood drawn up in the snow, piled high with baggage. A mounted military escort pranced about them, and at the head of the procession stood an enormous golden sledge, covered in crimson. Even Johanna's haughty airs could not take this complacently, and, her eyes were as wide as Augusta's own as she was led to the vehicle.

The sledge was designed as a huge bed, piled with mattresses and cushions upon which the two princesses lay at full length, wrapped in silken coverlets lined with sable.

Their journey to Moscow was carried through with the maximum speed, but in perfect comfort, and in the last stage, when the city lay seventy versts distant, sixteen horses were harnessed to the royal sledge and it flew over the ice at a tremendous speed, arriving in Moscow within three hours.

They were driven straight to the Wooden Palace, where Elizabeth and the court were in residence. It was eight o'clock in the evening. Snow was falling steadily from a dark, leaden sky as the Princess Augusta alighted from the sledge.

She gazed at the great palace, its hundreds of windows ablaze with light, and shivered despite the furs that enveloped her. It reminded her of a picture-book fortress, seen and remembered through nights of childhood fear.

The interior of the palace dispelled the momentary shadow of oppression, for gracious figures, gorgeously dressed, hastened to welcome them in the Empress's name. The great staircase was thronged with men and women, extravagantly jeweled and clothed, who stepped aside as they approached, staring at them with open curiosity. With great ceremony they were conducted through the palace to apartments specially prepared for them, lofty, firelit rooms, magnificently furnished. Gratefully Johanna approached the great fire that burned in their bedroom and spread her hands to the blaze. The courtier who had first welcomed them bowed courteously.

“I hope you find these rooms comfortable, Your Highness,” he said.

“They are charming,” replied Johanna condescendingly, anxious not to appear overwhelmed by her surroundings. The smiling Russian bowed again, but there was just a hint of mockery in his voice as he answered:

“Her Imperial Majesty will be gratified at your approval.… Now, Highness, I have orders for the Princess Augusta to accompany me elsewhere! If you will excuse us!” Without another word he motioned Augusta to the door, and with one startled glance at her nonplussed mother, she obeyed and walked into the corridor.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked. “To the Empress?”

“No, Highness,” came the answer. “To the Grand Duke Peter.”

It seemed an age to Augusta as they walked past many doors, each guarded by a huge uniformed lackey, and her legs were trembling with weakness and excitement. The Russian seemed to sense her nervousness, for suddenly, without a trace of ceremony, he turned to her and remarked, pleasantly: “It is not far now, Highness, and do not be afraid. He is expecting you.”

Dumbly she nodded in thanks, her mind busy with frantic thoughts. “He will not like me.… Oh, I know he will not … Please God, make him pleased with me. I must look awful, my hair is not even dressed properly and I am still bundled in these furs. I should not have come when this man said.… Oh, what shall I say to him, I have forgotten everything.…”

Suddenly, faced with the reality of her future husband and the importance of this first crucial meeting, all her courage deserted her and in her desperate need for support she put out a trembling hand and clutched Elizabeth's courtier by the arm.

Instantly a warm hand patted her cold one with a friendly, comforting gesture. “I am Leo Narychkin,” he whispered. “Courage, little one, we are almost there.”

As they approached a great archway, barred by a massive door, Augusta heard the muffled tread of marching feet, the yelling of commands in her own German tongue, and curses—foul, barrack-room language such as she had overheard in the military stables at Zerbst.

Before she had time to ask a question the door was flung open and she stood on the threshold of a long, high room, which at first sight seemed to be filled with an army of marching men. The whole place shook with noise as three lines of uniformed giants paraded up and down with military precision.

For a moment Augusta stood motionless, until, slowly, her gaze rested upon a figure standing at the head of the room nearest the doorway. A small, stunted, ill-shapen figure, dressed in a baggy green uniform, wearing an out-size wig on its large head, the face below contorted with rage. It was the figure of a youth, callow and undeveloped, but the expression in the staring eyes was the ageless glare of madness.

She had no need of Leo Narychkin's cautious whisper. This was Peter. She knew it. This was the Grand Duke.

Like a person in a dream she allowed herself to be guided towards the future Emperor, and, as if it were from a great distance, heard Narychkin's voice ring out above the din.

In a moment the noise ceased, the sweating, gasping men stood at attention and there was an utter silence, through which her betrothed's voice cut like a knife.

“How dare you halt them! They were just getting it right. Clumsy fools, I've been drilling them for hours, they're so stupid.… But what can you expect from Russians! What? Who?” She saw the dilated blue eyes turn upon herself and automatically she dropped a trembling curtsy. When she raised her head, Peter stood before her.

“You're Augusta Fredericka, the one whom my aunt says I'm to marry?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Well, I bid you welcome,” he said rudely. “How was your journey, are you well? No, don't answer, because I've not the least desire to hear. I only say what I've been bidden. And now, Princess, excuse me! These are my servants and I have to teach them military drill, the Godforsaken, Russian louts! One thing”—Peter looked at her narrowly for a moment—“you're not as ugly as I expected anyway.” With that he turned his back, and, guided by Narychkin, Augusta stumbled from the room.

As the door closed behind her, she heard a shrill voice raised in furious command, and the exhausted servants commenced their “military training” once more.

Blinded by tears, she walked beside the silent Russian courtier till he stopped before the apartments the Empress had assigned her. He bent down and picked up something dark and soft. “You've dropped your muff, Highness,” he said gently.

“Thank you,” Augusta sobbed, and, thrusting past the lackey who opened the door, she ran into the room and fell into Johanna's arms.

The Princess of Anhalt was not surprised at the tears and hysterics that followed, for she was far from ignorant of the character of the Grand Duke; but ambition had long since destroyed any squeamishness or sympathy, and her reaction to Augusta's misery was swift and brutal.

Gripping her daughter by the shoulders she shook her violently. “Stop it … stop it at once. How dare you cry and complain? What did you expect besides a crown, a handsome lover? Control yourself, you little fool, or I shall beat you. This is no time to waste on tears and weakness. The Empress has sent for us! Take off your cloak and furs. Go wash your face and cease that wailing!”

Still sobbing, Augusta got up and did as she was told. Then Johanna surveyed her appearance with hard eyes. “Very well, now come,” she ordered.

With dragging steps she followed her mother from the room. Now it was the mighty Empress herself that she had to face. God knew what that would mean.…

Chapter 2

A member of the Grand Duke's household, the Prince of Homburg, escorted Augusta on her second journey, while none other than Peter himself appeared to offer an unwilling arm to her mother. He neither spoke to, nor looked at, his future bride.

For most of their progress Augusta walked with her eyes on the floor, nodding absently to the polite comments of her companion, whose shrewd glances perceived very quickly that the young Princess of Anhalt had already been in tears. Wisely he guided her along the remainder of the route to Elizabeth's apartments in diplomatic silence so that she had time to recover herself, for a weeping bride would scarcely find favor with the Empress, and it was vital to the plans of the whole Prussian faction at court that Frederick's protégée should make a good impression.

At length he turned to her and smiled.

“His Majesty King Frederick bade me deliver this message to you on your arrival. He sends his most cordial wishes to you and reminds you, in all earnestness, that the way to the Empress's heart lies through meekness!”

Augusta looked up at him with wretched eyes. As they approached the carved portals of Elizabeth's state bedchamber, the Prince of Homburg added his last word:

“Remember our King's advice, Highness, if you would one day sit upon the throne of Russia!”

With that injunction still sounding in her ears, Augusta made her deepest curtsy on the threshold of the Empress's chamber.