Rebel Princess (4 page)

Johanna's miniature had not lied; the woman who sat upon the raised scarlet and gold throne was far lovelier than her image, for no painter's brush could capture the delicacy of feature, the brilliance of coloring, or the indefinable touch of the Oriental that marked Elizabeth apart as a beauty at once fragile and voluptuous.

Diamonds glittered on her throat and arms and winked from the folds of her enormous hooped gown. A single magnificent jewel fastened a sweeping black ostrich feather to her powdered head.

At that moment the majesty and wealth of a Russian Empress ceased to be a symbol as Augusta advanced towards the throne; they became a fierce reality and a burning desire. One day the obscure princess from Zerbst would share that power, and somehow even Peter seemed to be worth enduring for such a prize.

Elizabeth's reception was typical of her emotionally unstable nature, and she greeted Johanna and Augusta with extravagant embraces and tears of sentimental joy. The two German princesses were overwhelmed with her graciousness, and the Empress expressed herself delighted with the looks and demeanor of her nephew's future bride. Augusta blushed under such unaccustomed praise, and her shyness melted in a genuine glow of warmth towards Elizabeth. Surely there was no need for all the hinted warnings of her father, and the Prince of Homburg's cautionary words?

As she stepped back from the throne, her eyes saw a remembered figure, conspicuously small and twisted among the splendid towering Russians, and, in spite of all, her heart filled with a strange, momentary pity for the callow, shiftless youth whose glance rested upon his imperial aunt with a look of loathing and fear that his scowls and posturings did nothing to conceal.

In the midst of that great assembly the terrifying lunatic, who had greeted her less than two hours previously, appeared only an ugly, feeble-minded boy, ill at ease and strangely nervous. Who would be cruel enough to oppress a youth whose wits were obviously none too stable and whose pallor and physique proclaimed him delicate and miserably immature? Augusta looked once more at the Empress, engaged in pleasant conversation with the voluble Johanna.

Surely the tyrant could not be Elizabeth. But a small frightened voice inside her asked persistently, if not the Empress, who else? And Augusta could not answer.

Long after they had been dismissed and lay resting in their own apartments, Augusta relived the audience in her mind with the Prince of Homburg's words echoed in her uneasy brain.

“The way to the Empress's heart lies through meekness.” Lying there in the darkness, while Johanna snored, Augusta thought of the vast, snow-covered land that Elizabeth had seized for herself one night less than four years ago, marching at the head of her devoted Russian Guards to overthrow the Regent.

It was said in Germany that the throne of the Czars had always been occupied by means of bloodshed and revolution. With God's grace and her own good sense she would succeed to it peacefully by marriage, and for this end she determined to be meek indeed.…

And upon that resolution the future Catherine, whom history would style the Great, fell into a weary sleep.

At midnight the sleeping princesses were roused by an army of waiting women and lackeys bearing gifts from the Empress and a command to attend the state banquet which was to begin during the small hours. Elizabeth's presents were magnificent: dozens of beautiful gowns, heaps of embroidered underclothes and innumerable pairs of shoes were laid out for Johanna's approval, while a whole wardrobe was placed at Augusta's disposal.

Johanna, finally gowned in purple satin over an immense hoop, paused to look at her daughter and felt a pang of envy at the picture of loveliness that met her critical eye. Augusta had chosen a dress of pink brocade which gleamed with silver thread, and a necklace of rubies out of Elizabeth's own jewel box glittered round her throat.

Johanna's suppressed jealousy gave vent to an angry summons and her hand itched to box her daughter's ears as in the old days at Stettin, but too many pairs of Russian eyes were upon her and she promised herself that satisfaction another time.

Not less than a thousand guests sat in the vast Banqueting Hall of the Wooden Palace, and the scene that greeted Augusta was a strange mixture of Western luxury and barbaric splendor. She had never seen such myriads of candles, such a glitter of gold plate upon the long tables burdened with elaborate dishes; even Frederick's stately Berlin court paled almost to shabbiness before the magnificence of Elizabeth's imperial setting. The very lackey who pulled out her chair wore a uniform more gorgeous than any possessed by Christian of Anhalt.

Immediately opposite her sat the Grand Duke, weighed down with jeweled orders. He returned her greeting with marked ill grace, glancing constantly at the empty chair that stood at the head of the table. The furtive hatred in his expression alarmed Augusta more than ever.

Elizabeth had not yet appeared, and something of Peter's unease crept into her as she played with the spicy Russian food and sipped at the wine in her golden goblet. She watched the Grand Duke push his platter to one side and drain his wine cup again and again, till at length he began cursing the impassive servants and shouting for good German beer. Suddenly the spectacle of Peter drunk revolted her, so that her poor pretence of gaiety fell to pieces and she turned away, sick with disgust.

Farther down the room, a thin-lipped, expressionless Russian regarded the German interlopers with cold dislike, and his hostility was not lost upon Augusta, for she knew him to be none other than Count Rjumin Bestujev, Vice-Chancellor of Russia, and bitter opponent of her coming marriage. She might have been afraid indeed, had she known that this was the man whom her foolish mother had undertaken to bring down in disgrace.

At three o'clock in the morning a blast of trumpets resounded through the great hall, and instantly the hundreds of courtiers rose to their feet as the Empress entered, leaning on the arm of a superbly handsome Russian.

Elizabeth's vanity was insatiable and her toilette occupied hours, while she shouted and aimed blows at her luckless waiting women, but the result was dazzling.

Out of the fifteen thousand dresses that comprised her wardrobe, Elizabeth had chosen a heavily jeweled gown in the French style she copied so slavishly, and she walked slowly down the huge room smiling graciously, or scowling suddenly at some unfortunate who had incurred her displeasure and doubled his offence by catching her eye.

Augusta smiled eagerly in the Empress's direction, and Elizabeth presented her to the handsome Rasumovsky, who sat by his royal mistress's side. He spoke little, this son of poor Ukrainian peasants and former church singer whom the Empress had chosen to solace her lonely hours. His adoration for Elizabeth was open and unfeigned; fortunately for Russia, his passion for the woman left no room for ambition at the ruler's expense, and so it was to remain to the end of his life; love of the Czarina filled his simple soul to the exclusion of all else. He had many rivals but few enemies at court.

At that moment the Grand Duke began to laugh; the sound was shrill and grotesque, and Augusta saw the Empress frown with anger. She snapped a few words in Russian to her nephew in a voice of fury, but the wine had done its work too well and the wretched youth rose to his feet, swaying helplessly, his sallow face flushed with belligerence and a courage denied him in sobriety. When he spoke it was in German, and the words came out in a bellow of defiance.

“I'll not be silent! Why should I not laugh, Madame, as the whole sniveling court does behind your back! Is he not a good joke, that pretty peasant of yours? I'll bet he leaves lice in your bed, for all the gold braid you may pin on him!”

Peter leaned farther across the table towards Elizabeth and leered at her.

“Permit me to advise you, my most gracious aunt. If you want a worthy lover, forget your serfs and oafish guardsmen. Take a German!”

There was complete silence at the imperial table, while Augusta paled with terror; then Peter spoke again. This time his bloodshot eyes paused for a moment on Johanna, before they rested maliciously upon the shrinking figure of his betrothed.

He flung out an accusing hand that suddenly became a fist and descended with a crash among the table ware.

“See what has been chosen to wed me,” he shouted. “See that vixen and her daughter! Nobodies, miserable beggars that lick at your hands, Madame, but not fitting for the Prince of Holstein! Not fitting, I say!”

He ceased on a hiccough, breathing heavily from the violence of his outburst, then a sudden shade of fear passed across his fuddled brain and his arrogance shriveled away visibly as Elizabeth raised herself slowly and stood facing him.

Augusta watched the Empress's countenance contort with fury. For one brief second nephew and aunt resembled one another, as the demon of Romanov insanity showed on the faces of both.

Then the Empress lifted her wine cup and flung the contents directly at Peter's head. The liquid struck him full in the face and streamed over his wig and upon his coat like blood.

A torrent of profanity in Russian and French poured from Elizabeth's painted lips, and the Grand Duke cowered under it, suddenly brought to his senses by the terrible anger his drunken insults had aroused. Wiping his streaming face on his sleeve, he burst into tears and, with a look of mortal hatred at the Empress and Augusta, rushed from the banqueting hall, crying out to be returned to Prussia. His last words rang out in a wail of defiant entreaty:

“Send for Ivan! Make him your heir, I want none of this damned country or your throne! Send for Ivan, Ivan!”

In the midst of her rage Elizabeth paled under her rouge. At Peter's challenge she sank back upon her throne while Rasumovsky tried to comfort her. Watching them, Augusta forgot her own humiliation as she sensed that in that innocent name lay Peter's talisman of safety from his aunt. Who was this Ivan, that the mere mention of him could make the Empress of Russia tremble?

It was almost dawn as Augusta confronted her mother in the privacy of their own apartments, aware that the scene had left its mark upon Johanna, for she was pale and restless.

For a few moments the mask of charming benevolence had slipped from Elizabeth's lovely face, revealing a furious barbarian beneath the trappings of Western dress and manner. Despite herself, Johanna shivered; suddenly the task set her by Frederick of Prussia seemed both difficult and dangerous. She turned impatiently upon her daughter, that innocent bait that she had helped to thrust into the merciless trap of imperial politics.

Augusta's voice was only a whisper as she asked the question that thousands of humbler people had suffered torture and banishment for voicing.

“Mama, who is Ivan? What did the Grand Duke mean?”

Johanna gripped her in fierce anxiety.

“Hold your tongue, in God's name! Did you not see the Empress at the mention of him? Do you want us to be banished, perhaps imprisoned, for your foolish curiosity? Were it not for the succession, I'll swear she'd have Peter's head as satisfaction for his words tonight.…” The Princess of Zerbst glanced fearfully over her shoulder, then bent down to the shrinking Augusta and whipered quickly:

“For all our safety I must warn you never to speak that name. Ivan is but a child, yet a child anointed and crowned rightful Czar of all the Russias! The Empress seized his mother, the Regent, and dethroned him; the boy is confined in some fortress, but already rebellion has broken out in his name. 'Tis said that a lady-in-waiting had her tongue torn out for being implicated in the plot. Let that satisfy you, little fool, and remind you that it is safest to forget what you have heard!”

But Augusta did not forget and, during the long hours of the night when sleep eluded her, hideous images besieged her bed. This then was the true nature of her changed estate; a cruel young imbecile, himself haunted by fear, was the man to whom she must give her heart and body, and the prize for this fearful bargain was to be a usurper's crown. Somewhere in the blackness of a dungeon the rightful lord of Russia lay captive, and the shuddering Augusta recalled that her mother described him as only a child.

For the second time within twenty-four hours of her arrival in Moscow, Princess Augusta Fredericka wept, unhappy, hysterical tears.

During the days that followed the young princess found herself involved in an endless round of pleasure, the recipient of almost daily gifts from the Empress Elizabeth who overwhelmed her with favor, and the subject of universal attention at court.

Her early pleas to Johanna to return to Germany had been savagely refused, and it came to the Czarina's ears that on the morning after her arrival in Moscow, the elder German princess had begun it by slapping the future Grand Duchess.

Elizabeth, who struck her own servants and intimates for the slightest fault, was filled with indignation, for the open admiration of the young Princess of Anhalt had flattered her vanity, and something of the girl's warmhearted charm had touched her own childless heart. On the instant the Empress had approved her, and with the single-mindedness of her nature she pursued this new enthusiasm, lavishing affection upon Peter's future bride, unable to be without her company for a single hour.

At night Elizabeth Petrovna turned to that other occupant of the gaps spinsterhood had left in her emotional life, so that the time of the most powerful woman in Europe was divided equally between her humble lover and the fourteen-year-old Princess of Anhalt Zerbst.

In return for all this favor, Augusta responded to her protectress with a whole-hearted love and loyalty which would admit no wrong in the magnificent Elizabeth.

Whatever her fears on that first night, her disappointment in the Grand Duke, her horror at the story of Ivan, Augusta absolved the Empress from all blame. What Elizabeth had done was best forgotten, the past must not be permitted to overshadow her future of betray her into cowardly misgivings about her marriage. And at first that marriage did not obtrude too much into her mind, for the Grand Duke was confined to his apartments as a punishment for his behavior at the imperial banquet, and not for some time could she bring herself to ask the Empress's permission to visit him.