To Dream of Snow (37 page)

On 23 December Elisabeth suffered a severe stroke and two days later she died. The glorious new Winter Palace from which she had intended to continue her reign stood ready at last, but now that was not to be. Peter was exultant at her death and would have moved into the Palace that same day.

‘It would not be seemly, Your Imperial Majesty,' his ministers protested. ‘We beg you to wait until after the funeral.'

‘Very well,' he conceded. ‘We'll see the old bird in her tomb first.'

They left, shocked by his disrespect. But later that same day they were further appalled and also infuriated to learn that he had sent a peace agreement to Frederick II, whose armies had been about to surrender unconditionally. Not only had he ended the war at entirely the wrong moment, but he had restored to his hero all the captured lands, including the entire German empire, for which thousands of Russians had given their lives. He then installed a Holsteinian regiment to replace the Imperial Guard, who were ordered with every other Russian regiment to wear the hated German uniform, causing rage among them to simmer and burn. Meanwhile Catherine had sent for Paul and had her son with her at last.

Although Elisabeth's embalmed body, wearing a gold crown and magnificently gowned, lay in the Palace for six weeks, Peter held celebratory parties where he crowned his mistress as empress and everyone invited had to wear their brightest clothes to dance and drink the night away.

In contrast Catherine, now in real fear of what her future might hold, realized she must guard her every move from now on and not raise the slightest public criticism. She wore deepest mourning and behaved in an exemplary manner, spending a great deal of time in prayer by the coffin. Afterwards, when the body had been moved to Kazan Cathedral, she appeared every day to kneel for hours beside the catafalque as the public filed past it in respect. Through her constancy she gained the high approval of the bishops, her devout presence emphasizing the fact that Peter had not been near.

The funeral route was packed with people when the day came, but Peter shocked everybody by laughing raucously and shouting as well as dancing about and pulling faces like a naughty child, both in the funeral procession and at the solemn service itself.

Peter had not yet given much thought to his coronation, apart from having decided to wear the filigreed gold, bejewelled and fur-rimmed crown of Tsar Ivan the Terrible, which he considered would be quite a joke. Drunk with power, he turned his attention to the wealthy Church, interfering in its affairs and infuriating its bishops, not caring that he was creating new enemies. Inevitably as the weeks went by the tide of opinion began to turn against him. In contrast Catherine was gaining friends and Gregory and his brothers were prepared to give their lives for her.

The month of May found Catherine living in constant dread. She and Peter had taken up residence in the new Winter Palace. Every part of it delighted her with its beautiful decor that had taken thousands of artists and craftsmen countless hours to complete, but since many of the hundreds of rooms were still empty the choice of furnishings was left to her. Daily she received French cabinetmakers and agents with books and drawings of what they could supply. She saw them all in her own apartment, which was at the opposite end to that of Peter's in the vast Palace. One of his first acts had been to banish her there.

‘It will save me from having to see your face more often than is necessary,' he had sneered vindictively. ‘I am totally sick of the sight of you. The sooner I'm rid of you the better!'

As soon as Catherine had moved into her allotted apartment it was announced from there that she had sprained her ankle and had to rest for several weeks. Through Marguerite's skills she had concealed her pregnancy so far, for Peter would know he was not the father, and now those who came to visit always found her lying on a couch with a silk coverlet over her. Her isolation enabled her eventually to give birth secretly to Gregory's baby, aided by her loyal maid. The newborn infant was immediately whisked away to foster-parents, who would never know their charge's true parentage. Nobody in the Palace even suspected that anything untoward had happened.

Yet Catherine's fear of Peter never left her. Mercifully she had still been resting with her supposedly sprained ankle when he had given Elisabeth Vorontsova the title of Mistress of the Court and ordered that homage be paid to her. This was deeply resented by the courtiers, particularly the ladies, who already loathed everything about Vorontsova from her ugly facial looks to the way she spat as she talked, showering saliva or, which was worse, bits of food when she laughed while eating. Her new title completely turned her head that evening and, flinging out her arms to all present, she made a foolish declaration.

‘In my honour at becoming Mistress of the Court on this auspicious occasion, all gentlemen shall curtsey and all the ladies bow to me!' She and Peter thought it a hilarious joke, particularly when two elderly courtiers fell, one having to be helped away after breaking his arm. It was reminiscent of the late Empress's cruel games and filled the courtiers with trepidation.

At one important social and political banquet when Catherine was present Peter humiliated her most cruelly. He was seated with Elisabeth Vorontsova at his right hand at the long and glittering banqueting table, and she rose with everyone else to drink the loyal toast to the imperial family. As his empress, Catherine also remained in her seat, but as the guests sat down again he sprang up, his face contorted with hatred, and shouted at her, ‘You should have stood for the toast too, you idiot!'

The shock that prevailed was almost palpable as guests gasped or stared at him. His insult had amounted to a declaration that he no longer saw her as his rightful wife.

On yet another public occasion he humiliated Catherine even further by demanding in a loud voice that she surrender the insignia of the Order of Saint Catherine. All present knew it was one of the greatest honours in Russia since only tsarinas and the wives of heirs to the Russian Throne could wear it. Catherine had an inherent right to it until the end of her life.

Catherine, already pale, felt the last vestige of colour drain from her face. She had always been intensely proud of having been awarded the Order by the late Empress on her betrothal day. To her it had been particularly symbolic, making her feel truly as one with the vast country that she had come to make her own. In silence and with great dignity she removed the decoration and handed it to a footman, whose expression was as shocked as that of everybody else. Only Peter and his mistress were unaware how once again he was being despised for yet another of his outrageous actions.

Nor was Peter's next move popular with people in general when he decided without consultation and for no imminent reason to go to war with Denmark. Although the army was still made up of vast numbers of men, there were many hundreds of families, highborn and low, who were mourning sons, husbands, lovers and fathers lost in the recent conflict from which nothing had been gained. Peter was excited by the prospect of this war since it was not against Frederick II, whose health he would toast on every possible occasion and whose likeness he wore in a large ring on his finger. Now and again he ordered the defences of the city to fire volley after volley of cannon fire just to heighten the atmosphere. It was an extension of the many war games that he had played so often.

Catherine watched from a window when he reviewed every one of the regiments before they went marching off to the port of Kronstadt, where they would await the order to sail when the time was right. She had not been idle in gathering support through the Orlov brothers to counter whatever Peter had planned for her, but for that she needed money. When King Louis of France refused her request she turned instead to the British Ambassador. Through him the financial aid that she wanted came through speedily from England, cementing a future good relationship, which was France's loss.

By now it was June and Catherine had no doubt that soon Peter would want to marry his mistress. She hardly dared guess what her own fate might be if everything went wrong. Even now, at any moment of the day or night, she could expect to be bundled away and shut up behind bars at some far distant location. She might even be smothered by a pillow over her face while she slept or murdered in a so-called accident.

Her alarm increased when Peter ordered her to Peterhof Palace, not far from where he would be staying with Vorontsova at Oranienbaum. Catherine knew that there she would be an even more vulnerable target away from the city. Once again she was separated from her son.

Although others from the Court went with her to Peterhof she did not know if Peter had sent assassins among them. Upon arrival she let them take up their accommodation in the Palace with its labyrinth of rooms in which an attack on her could come from any direction. Instead, as Gregory had advised her, she stayed in a pretty little pavilion in the park with just her maid, Chargorodskaya, and a manservant she could also trust implicitly. Every time she heard carriage wheels and the clip-clop of hooves she summoned up her courage, determined not to show her fear should the worst be about to happen. She trembled with relief when they went safely by.

Marguerite came to see her at the pavilion and upon entering her presence curtseyed deeply. She had not spoken to Catherine since before the old Empress had died, although she had seen her kneeling black-veiled by the catafalque in the cathedral. Out of respect for court mourning, she had waited a suitable time before coming to see what Catherine would wish to have designed for her.

‘How good to see you, Marguerite!' Catherine swept forward with a rustle of her black mourning gown to raise her up by the hands and greet her fondly, relieved that this time the carriage wheels had brought a friend and not someone intent on her arrest. She was more anxious than ever today, having received a letter from Peter to say that he would be coming from Oranienbaum to see her the following day. She was convinced that he would arrive with soldiers and it was then she would be taken away. The Frenchwoman's arrival was a welcome diversion. ‘It's been a long time since we last met. You must stay to dine. Now tell me your news. I need to be cheered at the present time.'

Marguerite thought to herself that she had little to tell. She could not talk about Jan, who had failed to return in the spring. Saskia had received no news of him, but promised to let her know if he should appear. Her heart ached every time she passed the gallery, which remained closed, and she tried in vain to keep him from her thoughts. Tom, who since that first evening had made no reference to having come back to see her, seemed to find consolation in talking about Sarah. As a result, in their mutual sorrow, they were building up a new relationship. It was as if they were beginning again and they saw each other frequently, which eased her loneliness.

‘I've been sketching a lot for myself recently,' Marguerite said, having related whatever news she had been able to give about mutual acquaintances, and was glad to have a topic that would lead to the purpose of her visit. ‘Having time on my hands since no longer designing for the late Empress, it has given me the chance to draw a few buildings and landscapes.' She shook her head in smiling regret. ‘The results are very amateurish.'

‘I have no talent in either sketching or painting, although my French governess did her best to encourage me when I was a child. I could see no point in sitting at an easel out of doors when I could have been riding over the land I was expected to paint.' Catherine gave a little laugh at the memory. ‘You have a gift for creating beauty in the sphere of embroidery and design. Did you bring any mannequin dolls with you today?'

‘No, because I thought you would wish to discuss your coronation gown.'

A flicker of anguish crossed Catherine's face. It would not be she who would be wearing a coronation gown, no matter that ever since coming to Russia she had worked constantly towards the day of sharing power with justice and wisdom as Peter's empress. ‘It's a little too early to think of that. As yet I'm still in mourning for the late Empress. But if that coronation day ever comes for me it will be your design that I shall be wearing.'

Marguerite hid her surprise that Catherine should have spoken so strangely and indecisively. She had expected to find her full of enthusiasm and eager to talk of fabrics and motifs and colours, but she seemed very tense, her hands full of nervous little movements. Their conversation turned as it invariably did to the arts, Catherine commenting on many people's disappointment that the Dutch painter had not returned this year. Then, as usual, she wanted to know about the concerts Marguerite had attended and the plays she had seen at the new theatre. Each time Marguerite had been with Tom and she mentioned that he had finished his project on the roof garden.

‘Ah! The English gardener. I remember him at Oranienbaum.' Catherine gave a little sigh. ‘I had planned to have a beautiful little palace on that lovely plateau one day.'

‘It's an old saying that dreams can come true,' Marguerite said, puzzled by Catherine's mood, for this new tsarina should always be able to have anything she desired. Was it that she believed that her husband would always consider his mistress's wishes before hers? Everyone with any connection with the Court, however indirectly, knew of the vulgar Vorontsova and how he doted on her.

‘Which palace park is the English gardener working on now?' Catherine asked.

‘He had no further imperial commissions, but he is busy all the time on other private parks.'

They talked on. Then, as it was such a beautiful day, a damask-covered table, glinting with crystal and silver, was set out under the trees, and they ate alone. Afterwards some courtiers, both men and women, who were staying at the Peterhof Palace came across the lawns to the pavilion. They had brought a violinist with them and there was an impromptu recital. Somehow the day trickled away into an evening of cards, still out of doors, until at last everyone departed. Catherine had already insisted that Marguerite should stay the night, and the maid supplied her with everything she needed.