CHAPTER IV.THE LIVONIAN PEASANT GIRL.
Inthe next few days matters went from bad to worse. M. de Lambert found it impossible either to see mademoiselle or to communicate with her, and I saw that he was chafing under the restraint and would break out into some act of folly. For my own part, I regarded his case as desperate. The czar was not the man to let his wishes be thwarted; his temper was as violent as his rule was absolute, and it grew more clear every day that his preference for Najine was a fact, and not fancy. That the Zotofs would be complaisant was apparent enough, and mademoiselle’s own feeling was, after all, of little consequence. Watching the affair in its slow development, and being a constant witness of M. Guillaume’s anxiety and disappointment, I found myself becoming almost as interested as my wife. So it was that I promised M. de Lambert to aid him, if I could, knowing that my chances of seeing mademoiselle would be far better than his, even though Madame Zotof regarded me with an eye of suspicion and was openly hostile to Madame de Brousson, having previouslydiscovered her championship of mademoiselle’s lover. Zénaïde was a little chagrined that she had betrayed herself by too much zeal, but was the more urgent for me to embrace the opportunities that she had lost. Having all her friends among the women, she heard the gossip of the hour and was able to aid me with many suggestions. Indeed, it was to her that the King of France owed the greater part of the information about the intrigues with Augustus of Saxony and the negotiations with the Republic of Poland; her quick eye and attentive ear caught the drift of the undercurrent. She was the first to see Catherine Shavronsky, and returned from Mentchikofs house with her mind full of the singular peasant girl.
“You must see her,” she said to me; “she is not so poor a rival for Najine as I supposed.”
“Is she so charming?” I asked, amused at my wife’s change of sentiment; for she had been contemptuous of this woman.
“It is not altogether that,” Zénaïde replied thoughtfully, “but there is something that I cannot define. She is uneducated, she cannot write, and she wears odd clothing, which does not fit her; yet she has a certain power of fascination. After all, the czar is not over-fastidious.”
“Have a care, madame,” I said, smiling; “he is a good judge of beauty, they tell me.”
Madame’s lip curled scornfully. “There isenough of physical beauty, and it is said that he admired her before he saw Najine.”
“Then it is the less likely that he will return to her, since mademoiselle must be far more lovely,” I remarked.
“That is true,” my wife admitted; “yet do I think that this Catherine would suit his fancy better,—she is of coarser mould. Young enough too, poor child! only seventeen, and has been a slave of the Marshal Sheremetief! And now the czar stoops to admire her. May the saints have mercy on the souls of such men! I would have none!”
I laughed a little, in spite of Zénaïde’s angry glance. “It is well that you are not to judge his imperial Majesty,” I said quietly.
“I pity the girl,” she replied sternly; “but she has no conception of the misery of it—the shame of it! An ignorant peasant girl, how happy would it be for her if she could garner the sheaves in the field! Poor, wretched soul, may the Holy Virgin show her that mercy which man has not shown, and woman cannot show.”
“Your sympathy is wasted, Zénaïde,” I said dryly; “she is not dreaming of garnered sheaves, but of a crown.”
“That may be; yet the woman in my heart pities her,” my wife replied gently, “although I doubt not she would laugh at my pity. Ignorant as she must be, young as she is, I thought hershrewd and, I feared, not over-scrupulous in her ambitions. You must see her and judge for yourself. I do not think you will fall under the glamor of her charms.”
I saw the amusement in her eyes and answered her in kind.
“You mock me, madame,” I said; “my gray hairs—”
“Are no safeguard,” interrupted my wife, laughing softly, “but a loyal heart—” and she made me a graceful curtsy.
I kissed her hand with gallantry. “Madame’s confidence shall not be betrayed,” I said in the same tone.
“We are a couple of fools, Philippe,” she exclaimed gayly.
“True enough, madame,” I responded calmly; “but now I thought it fortunate that our children were in France.”
“It is the old atmosphere, M. le Vicomte,” she rejoined; “we forgot the twenty-one years and the young officer in the king’s guards.”
The next day, following her advice, I went to visit Mentchikof in his own palace for the sole purpose of obtaining a view of Catherine Shavronsky.
Alexander Mentchikof was a man of immense wealth and great influence. He was one of the czar’s early companions, having as a boy enlisted in Peter’s play regiment at Preobrazhensky. Inthe years of the Regency, the Czarina Natalia and her two children, the little Czar Peter and the Princess Natalia, were obliged to live in retirement in a villa at the village of Preobrazhensky. There was spent Peter’s childhood and youth, and there he organized those military sports which were the delight of his boyhood, and formed that famous regiment which was to be the nucleus of the Russian army. The boys that were on its muster-rolls were his life-long friends, and became the men who shared his councils. It was near Preobrazhensky, at Ismailovo, that he discovered the ancient English boat belonging to Nikita Romanoff that was to suggest to his mind the future Russian navy. From such humble beginnings unroll the destinies of nations, because He who holds in the hollow of His hand the world, works out His will with a mysterious wisdom that beholds the usefulness of even a grain of wheat or a drop of dew.
Mentchikof was the object of much jealousy, for men saw the czar’s increasing affection for him and that he would probably succeed to the place of the dead Lefort, Peter’s Swiss favorite, and they both envied and feared him. His palace at Moscow showed every evidence of that extravagance which kept him embarrassed with debts and which sometimes threatened to end his career in disgrace. On the day on which I presented myself, he was entertaining a large party of his friends, and I was ushered into asalonthat was Oriental in its magnificence.It was a common custom to have dinner at noon, and continue the feasting and gayety well into the night, and even until the next morning, the amount of liquor consumed making the last hours wildly riotous. Russian amusements were not always delicate; at one entertainment at which I had been present, the representative of Bacchus walked naked in the procession, crowned with a miter; the rout of Bacchanalians following with great bowls of wine, mead, beer, and brandy. I found it in my heart to pity the lean and long-limbed Bacchus, who must have felt the chill of the weather, even in his effort to please the czar; for Peter loved coarse and common amusements.
The new etiquette was in force at the house of Mentchikof, and the women mingled freely with his guests. His sister, Madame Golovin, was near him when I entered, and greeted me with effusion, warmly seconding his cordiality. I saw at once that I was not only a welcome guest, but that they desired to win me over to their interests. Madame Golovin immediately presented me to Daria Arsenief, who, it was rumored, was soon to wed Mentchikof. Mademoiselle Arsenief was a handsome and clever woman, and I should doubtless have soon been interested in her conversation if I had not been more curious to observe the candidate for the czar’s favor, whom I had noticed, as soon as I entered, standing at the further end ofthesalon, surrounded by a little court of her own. She was of medium height, and finely formed, her figure being extremely graceful, her complexion beautiful, and her hair of a flaxen color. She had dark brows, and large bright dark eyes, and a charming mouth, which made her smile most winning. Youth and a certain vivacity of manner completed an attractive picture. I found myself immediately comparing her with Mademoiselle Zotof. Najine’s face was fair, intellectual, spiritual, with a charm of its own difficult to define, while Mademoiselle Shavronsky had the beauty of the flesh, the brilliant eye, the rosy cheek, the red-lipped mouth. It was impossible to imagine which would command the heart of the imperial lover. So full was my mind of all these speculations that Madame Golovin rallied me on my preoccupation, and I was at a loss for a suitable reply. However she laughed gayly.
“It is not difficult to understand you, M. le Maréchal,” she said, shaking her finger at me; “your mind has been following your eyes, but we cannot permit that. Catherine Shavronsky has already become too important a figure, and we poor mortals, Daria and I, cannot suffer her to draw all attention away from us.”
“And yet,” added Mademoiselle Arsenief, smiling, “we understand the temptation. Is she not beautiful, monsieur?”
“Very beautiful, mademoiselle,” I replied gallantly;“she might appear even more so alone, but by the side of two other beauties she cannot reign undisputed.”
Mademoiselle Arsenief made me a curtsy, but Madame Golovin caught at my words.
“‘Reign alone’!” she repeated; “ah, monsieur, you see it? She looks an empress, does she not?”
Here was a shaft shot fairly at the mark, and I felt an inclination to smile, but commanded my countenance and regarded madame with composure.
“Every beautiful woman is an empress of our hearts, madame,” I said with the tone of a courtier; and she bit her lip, a little chagrined, I thought, at the ease with which I had blunted the point of her remark.
“Monsieur desires to be presented, no doubt,” she said after a moment.
“Madame, it would give me much pleasure,” I replied; and at my words she turned and led the way down the longsalonto the spot where Catherine was holding her court.
There were two mirrors at the end of the apartment which reflected the entire scene. As I approached, I could read the faces of the men who were standing with their backs towards me talking to the beauty, and I saw in their mirrored images the attention and rivalry of courtiers eager to propitiate a rising power. How often had I witnessed similar scenes at Versailles with LaVallière, with Madame de Montespan, and now the same sycophants pulled long faces to suit the more subdued taste of Madame de Maintenon. Yet this was a brilliant picture; here were some of the gayest rufflers of the court, with their velvet coats and satin breeches and jewelled swords; and in their midst was Catherine Shavronsky, in a gay robe that had a suggestion of that tawdry imitation of European fashion upon which my wife had commented. Even I could see that she had not the appearance of a Frenchwoman, yet no attire could disguise her fine figure, and she held herself with imperious dignity, as if she already tasted the sweets of the power that she coveted, felt in imagination the imperial diadem on her head. For some reason the thought flashed upon me of the forlorn Eudoxia in her postcart going to Suzdal, and of the faithless Anna Mons, and I bowed low over Catherine’s hand to hide my smile. How poor a thing is an emperor’s favor!
She greeted me with conspicuous kindness, and I was not a little amused at her assumption of importance,—this poor Livonian peasant girl, who had been a servant in the family of Pastor Gluck and one of Sheremetief’s prisoners at the fall of Marienburg! A poor little orphan girl and grasping now at a crown! However, I saw at once that here was a strong character, and that she would be no mean rival for the other candidates; moreover, her beauty was of that material and dazzlingtype that seemed to me most likely to attract the czar’s admiration. She talked to me eagerly, and I found her manner engaging, and her voice was soft and gentle; she asked many questions about my country and my journey, showing a ready wit. She amused me by inquiring, in a direct fashion, about M. de Lambert; betraying that she was acquainted with a little of the intrigue that was in progress, but I doubted if she knew much of Mademoiselle Zotof. Mentchikof was probably too shrewd a man to trust an impulsive girl with all the particulars of the czar’s wavering and uncertain fancies. So eager was she to propitiate me that she neglected her circle of attendants, and more than one gallant cast an angry glance at me, until at last I reminded her, in an aside, of their presence.
“Mademoiselle,” I said softly, “your courtiers are angry because you are so gracious to an old fellow. I have noticed many a black look in my direction.”
She gave me a charming glance. “They are not worth a thought,” she said in her sweet tones; “it is only men like you, M. le Maréchal, who are wise enough and brave enough to merit a woman’s admiration.”
“Mademoiselle does me too much honor,” I said lightly, “but it is some young soldier who will win her heart.”
For an instant she was disconcerted, and Iremembered that rumor had it that she had been betrothed to a Swedish soldier; however she recovered herself and laughed gayly.
“Ah, monsieur,” she said, “my heart will never be given except to a great man—brave—noble—generous, a soldier, a statesman—a—” She hesitated, her cheek mantling with color. She had read the expression in my eye.
“A prince, mademoiselle!” I concluded softly.
She flushed crimson, and held out her hand with a charming gesture of candid good-will. I took it in mine and looked into her kindling eyes.
“May mademoiselle be as fortunate and happy as her beauty deserves!” I said in a low tone, and then, kissing her fingers, made my way through the throng to Mentchikof, and so took my leave.
Pierrot was waiting for me in the lower hall, and followed as I went out. My mind was much preoccupied by the scene that I had just witnessed. I had the key to the situation, but it was none the less a difficult one. At present no danger threatened Mademoiselle Zotof. I had no doubt that Mentchikof and his party would use every fair means before they resorted to foul; but I saw also that they were determined to accomplish their purpose, and could only anticipate trouble for the young girl whose beauty was an undoubted obstacle to their success. Peter’s speech to me in regard to M. de Lambert was sufficient to carry conviction as to his own feeling, and I was notsure that Catherine Shavronsky’s charms could equal mademoiselle’s in his eyes. Meanwhile, M. de Lambert was in the unenviable position of a rival of the czar, and I was most anxious about the hot-headed young man. So absorbed was I in my own reflections that I walked on unseeing, and found myself in the Kremlin close to the Cathedral of the Assumption, before I was aware of it. My attention was immediately attracted by two closely veiled women who were just leaving the cathedral. There seemed to be something familiar in their aspect, and I was observing them with interest, when Pierrot approached.
“That is Mademoiselle Zotof, M. le Vicomte,” he said quietly. “I know her woman Neonila, and that is she in the rear.”
I saw my opportunity, and thought of M. de Lambert’s anxiety. In a moment I crossed over and addressed the more slender of the two figures.
“Mademoiselle Zotof,” I said quietly, “I am fortunate!”
She stopped, startled and confused, and stood a moment irresolute and then walked on at my side, her woman falling behind.
“M. le Maréchal,” she said softly, “I—I did not think to meet you.”
“I trust, mademoiselle,” I said gravely, “that you do not desire to avoid me.”
“Oh, no—no!” she exclaimed earnestly. “Iam happy in seeing a friend, for lately I have seen but few.”
“That is not their fault, mademoiselle,” I replied. “I know of at least one who has been most unhappy since he has been denied your presence. His sun is obscured.”
I was watching her narrowly, and saw her nervous hands and her whole air of confusion.
“It is not my fault, either, monsieur,” she said gravely. “My uncle has forbidden me to appear in public at present, and I find myself without even my usual liberty. It is a privilege to be allowed to go to church with my woman.”
“This is unnecessarily rigorous treatment, mademoiselle,” I said, “and, of course, I understand it. You will permit me to say so much?”
She had put her veil a little aside, and I could see her face. She raised her eyes to mine now with a half-roguish glance.
“I regard you as my friend, monsieur,” she said softly, and then added with a smile and a blush, “you are a Frenchman.”
“And so is M. de Lambert, mademoiselle,” I exclaimed, quick to seize my opportunity. “May I not take him some little message to reassure him? Is it not possible to arrange this matter—to see him?”
She started, and I saw that she was puzzled and confused by the unexpected proposition.
“Come, mademoiselle,” I said, “speak freely tome. My own daughter is of your age, and indeed I think of her when I look at you. Is it not possible for you to pass this way at this hour again?”
She gave me a quick glance.
“Would you wish it if I were your daughter, monsieur?” she asked, smiling.
“Were you my daughter, mademoiselle,” I replied with decision, “there is one who should not approach you, no matter how exalted his rank.”
Her face was grave in an instant, and her cheek flushed. I followed up my advantage.
“At this hour to-morrow, mademoiselle,” I said gently, “you will be here?”
She looked up at me with a suspicion of mischief in her dark blue eyes.
“Ah, M. le Maréchal,” she said softly, “I comprehend now how you won Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky. You are excellent—you are determined.”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” I said, smiling; “but you forget that I dine and sup with a disconsolate lover, and truly it destroys my appetite. Therefore be merciful to us both.”
She hesitated a moment longer, and then she smiled.
“At this hour to-morrow I shall be in church, monsieur,” she said demurely, “unless madame my aunt desires my presence elsewhere.”
“Mademoiselle,” I said quietly, “I cannot thank you for one who can, and will, thank you for himself.”
As I spoke, she cast a startled glance behind her and veiled her face. Looking back, I saw the same man who had jostled Touchet when M. de Lambert and I were departing from Zotof’s house.
“Mademoiselle is alarmed,” I remarked.
“I am foolish, monsieur,” she replied, slightly agitated. “I saw the man before, as I entered the cathedral, and felt as if he watched me. Adieu, M. le Maréchal, I must leave you.”
She gave me her hand at parting, and I followed her a little way with Pierrot until I saw her and her woman safe in the Zotof carriage, which was in waiting across the square.