Before I knew what was happening, the men had seized me and lifted me on their shoulders, spinning around and wreaking havoc on the neat gravel, shouting and laughing. I screamed, first with surprise and then with joy, and just about avoided being thrown into the air. As I pleaded for mercy, laughing, they let me down and Feofan joined us: he gamely asked about the mothers’ wishes and the children’s needs. Christenings were expensive; Feofan always had an open purse and tended to forget and forgive a debt.
Generosity, I learned, was an invaluable trait in a tsarevna.
Lunch was simple: borscht and marinated herring, served with hard cheese, sourdough bread, boiled eggs and chives, all washed down with Italian white wine and chilled vodka. Pudding was a towering honeyed medovik tart, and Feofan set the samovar to boil, ready to lace the chai with vodka, nutmeg and cinnamon.
‘How good of the soldiers to consider me as their children’s godmother,’ I said. ‘Surprising that they remember me at all.’
‘Russia has never forgotten you,’ he said. ‘Especially not now. I see a lot of both your parents in you.’
His words were balm to my wounds. ‘I don’t think Count Ostermann shares that opinion.’
Feofan cut two generous slices of the medovik, its crust breaking perfectly and honey dripping. ‘Oh, cranky old Ostermann. He loved but twice in his life. First your father, who adored you. Then Petrushka, who adored you even more. The German’s vindictiveness blinds him, which is astonishing for a man as level-headed as he is. At least you are aware of his calibre.’
‘Father was a match for him. Peter the Great! Who dared oppose him? But my chances against Ostermann… ’
‘Your father was not born Peter the Great. When he and I first met, Russia was in dire straits and Moscow almost under Swedish siege. He was a young man crushed by the weight of history. But he rose above that. I sense a change in you. Has something happened?’
I decided to be honest. ‘Yes. I have met a man. I think he’s the one.’
‘That is a tall order for any mortal. Does he feel the same?’
‘Yes. Still, I don’t know how to make him mine.’
Feofan chuckled. ‘That should not be a problem for you, the most beautiful princess known to Christianity. You have the natural warmth and the spirit your father adored in your mother.’
I blushed. ‘That’s not the problem. He is a soloist in the Tsarina’s choir, brought here from Kiev when she heard of his talent. Anna has already taken Izmailov from me, so what will be his fate? Everything is done to keep me in check. I am not her heiress yet and might never be.’
‘Her ways are unfathomable. Moscow rules Russia. The Kremlin rules Moscow. The Tsarina rules the Kremlin. God rules the Tsarina. How did you meet this man?’
‘During my last pilgrimage. An angel spoke to me.’ I halted, surprised: I had used the Leshy’s words with neither fear nor hesitation.
Feofan licked the honey off his fingers, as a boy would. ‘God Himself has put the two of you together. Man should not presume to interfere.’
‘I have not seen him since moving to Annenhof,’ I said.
‘That was only a couple of days ago. Send for him,’ Feofan urged.
‘He doesn’t know who I am. I mean, he doesn’t know who I really am.’
‘Oh,’ he said and leaned back. ‘I see. And he still loves you?’
‘Surprisingly enough, yes,’ I said, my voice small.
‘If he is so good, it is natural for the Tsarina to want him in her choir. Russia’s best is hers by birthright.’
Even the cup of hot, spiced tea that Feofan placed in my hands could not fight my sudden icy fear. ‘I need him, Feofan,’ I pleaded. ‘I long for him every day. How can he be part of my life?’
He sipped his chai pensively. ‘In the long run, it might mean that the Tsarina will not pronounce you her heiress. Everything comes at a price. Are you willing to pay it?’
‘I shan’t sell my soul,’ I told him. ‘Otherwise, yes.’
‘That is what I hoped to hear. Then, Tsarevna, there is a way to get him. But will his love for you survive what you need to do?’
‘I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t.’
‘That about sums it up,’ he said, eyes full of pity. His words were like bricks, walling me inside the choice I had to make.
72
Winter came suddenly. Steady snowfall shrouded the city. As all the sounds and smells of summer were suffocated, others took over: the scent of caramelised hazelnuts, roast chestnuts and hot beeswax that dripped from costly candles, filled the air. In the coffee houses surrounding the Red Square, spiced wine was served next to hot chocolate and the house’s dark sooty brew.
Feofan served up all those drinks – and more! – adding crunchy almond biscuits and moist date bread at each christening of a Preobrazhensky Regiment infant. Thanks to his generosity, I donated a golden ducat each time. ‘It’s well invested.’ He smiled benignly at them all, and soon, if I was out and about in town, soldiers would jump on my sled’s skids, chatting with me, joking and hitching a ride before hopping off again, to carry on with the day’s duties.
I would meet Alexis at the Inn of the Four Frigates, which was notorious amongst wayward couples. I hired a sled at dusk and came draped in a cloak, the hood drawn deep over my forehead. What was not clear to him – a shepherd from the Ukrainian Province – was glaringly apparent to anyone else: I was a lady of high standing who did not wish to be recognised. The innkeeper smirked when I paid for the chilly, dank room; Lestocq provided the funds more than unwillingly, but I left him no choice. I hated the situation: we were neither harlot and customer, nor husband and wife. Yet this had to suffice for the moment, whatever the future held. Being with Alexis was the only thing that made me feel complete. I forgot all about my life’s unbearable no-man’s-land when I lay in his arms after the love, talking and laughter.
As the Yuletide festivities drew close, we met one last time. The choir was practising every day, as the Chinese delegation was expected soon after Epiphany. Winter was at a turning point as the longest night had passed. I twined my arms around Alexis’ neck and shoulders like a creeper on a tree, holding him, whispering, caressing his hair. He countered my tenderness with all the sweet nothings in the world as we held each other. ‘I want to spend my life with you, whatever it takes,’ he whispered. ‘I want to sing your praise as long as I live. You know that nothing makes me as proud as my voice. Let me dedicate it to you.’
I smiled; my body was still flushed, my face glowing, feeling both invincible and more vulnerable than ever. Had anyone ever felt like this before? I kissed him to silence him and so that I could avoid taking that vow.
He had no idea of the price I would need to make him pay for our love.
73
How garish the Kremlin must have seemed to the five Manchu envoys who had left Peking over a year ago. Delayed by Petrushka’s death, they had wished to be alerted to Anna’s accession officially only upon their arrival, in order to keep face. Peking’s aim was Russian neutrality in its struggle with the Mongols; Ostermann hoped to institute better trading relations. He worked meticulously towards his goal, as always. Throughout the Chinese advance over Russian territory, the journal Primechaniya published a series on the history of China, so that people were better informed about the country and its people, and everything was at the mission’s disposal: food, drink, houses, horses and girls. As the delegation’s nine carriages finally entered the Red Square, thirty-one gun salutes and the three regiments’ drum corps welcomed them. Unusually, there was no delay in meeting the Tsarina. She invited them into the Great Hall immediately.
Her sister Ekaterina Ivanovna had excused herself because of a swollen stomach: she was still young enough for there to be a ripple of scandal – Whose is it? – so Christine and I joined the Tsarina on our own. At her behest we dressed simply, while her forty-three ladies-in-waiting dripped with diamonds and wore magnificent dresses: lace foaming on sleeves and
collars, gemstones and pearls crusting stomachers. While we were waiting, Anna said to me. ‘Watch me well. This is something your father never achieved.’
Trumpets sounded as the doors were flung open. The court gawped at the gifts that were carried in – certainly no second-rate goods here but eighteen trunks and boxes of silver sable skins, rolls of brocade and china, as well as priceless lacquered boxes.
‘T’o-Shih, head of mission of the Emperor of China, and his retinue,’ the chamberlain boomed. T’o-Shih entered, holding his scroll of appointment high above his head. His almond-shaped eyes took it all in, calmly and without discernible expression: the throne room’s burgundy velvet and silver brocade tapestries patterned in petit point flowers; the ceiling groaning with frumpy gold galloon. Upon reaching the throne, the Chinese delegation kneeled: five sleek figures, dressed in severe black-and-grey heavy satin calf-length robes. Even as they bowed low, they retained their sable-skin caps. Utter silence reigned as T’o-Shih climbed the steps on his knees to reach Anna’s feet. He congratulated her on her succession, his speech sounding coarse and chopped to Russian ears. All five men kowtowed three times, showing utter humility. It was to be the first and only time that Chinese officials prostrated themselves before a foreign ruler. Yet I sensed they would fulfil their mission without offering much in return.
In the evening, I left Annenhof to pick up Christine ahead of a Masquerade in the Kremlin. The Tsarina’s new palace had been finished just in time for winter, but its vast rooms and corridors teemed with rats. The rodents spilled inside from the park and the countless canals in the vicinity linked to the River Yauza. Anna had cats set free; any servant caught feeding them was flogged. In the splendid gardens – Annenhof Grove – de Biron, as a surprise for the Tsarina, had hundreds of full-size trees planted overnight.
I was dressed up for the evening as a hunter, my curly hair adorned with feathers. On the way to the Kremlin, I sounded out the darkness inside me. My new path led me towards the light, I felt sure: Alexis had turned a key in my soul, allowing me to step into the secret room within. One I never wished to leave.
I sat snug, wrapped in furs with hot copper pans placed at my feet. The snow danced in front of the lanterns that now also lit Moscow’s streets, as they did St Petersburg’s. Coming in from Annenhof, Moscow’s first houses lay in darkness, yet the roads grew livelier and the Red Square was teeming. People had met in the many coffee houses ahead of the Masquerade. Officials and their ladies moved like ants towards the mighty fortress walls; at the Red Staircase, gravel and sand had been strewn to prevent anyone from slipping.
Once inside, I turned away from the well-lit way leading to the state rooms. The windowless passage to Christine’s apartment in the former terem, the women’s quarters, was dusky; a couple of dim lights hung suspended from brackets, more staining the corridor than lighting it, the illumination as oppressive as the idea of locking women away. Footmen and maids flitted in and out of rooms, like pigeons into their nests, bearing quickly altered robes, freshly curled hairpieces, trays of food and drink, and baskets filled with firewood.
Christine’s apartment was hidden deep inside the terem. At her door I halted, ready to knock. Instead, my hand hovered and I held my breath. Giggles and muffled voices came from inside: low but clear conversation.
‘Do stay,’ Christine pleaded.
‘I can’t. As much as I wish I could,’ a woman answered.
‘Why ever not? Are you afraid?’
‘Who wouldn’t be? If the Tsarina finds out about us… ’ That was a man speaking.
‘She won’t.’ Christine again.
‘If so, I’ll be done for.’
‘We will be done for.’ The woman again. ‘I am not sure my uncle will vouch for me once I am useless to him.’
‘Ostermann will not vouch for anyone but himself,’ Christine said.
There was a moment of silence, which allowed me to retreat into an alcove, pulling my cloak’s hood deeper over my forehead. Christine’s door opened a gap and a man slipped into the dusky corridor, pulling a woman behind him.
I pressed myself flat against the panelling. ‘Come. There is nobody here,’ Count Lynar whispered. His pale skin gleamed pearl-like above a turquoise suit and his white-blond hair formed a halo around his skull. ‘We’ll come back later tonight.’
‘Please do,’ Christine whispered, sounding tearful. She was dressed in an Amazon warrior’s elaborate costume, embroidered with pearls, crystals and emeralds, while a wide leather belt gathered a pleated, diaphanous skirt. Ostermann’s niece, Julie von Mengden, was Lynar’s companion. I held my breath: was Ostermann trying to get his claws into the Tsarina’s niece as well? Julie rearranged Christine’s gathered top and skirt and gave her a little push. ‘Look at yourself. Go and fix your make-up before Elizabeth comes.’
‘Gently,’ Count Lynar told Julie, tenderly kissing her hand before stroking Christine’s hair. ‘Julie is right, my angel. While I do not care what that illegitimate upstart thinks, I would hate to see Elizabeth looking lovelier than you. Go and powder your nose and we will see you in the Great Hall.’
‘I shall,’ Christine promised, and closed the door.
Count Lynar and Julie stared at one another for a moment before she collapsed against his chest, muffling a giggle behind cupped hands. ‘Shh!’ urged the Count, holding her gently and stroking her upper arms. ‘I wouldn’t have minded staying in there with the two of you.’ He kissed her then recoiled, touching his mouth in disbelief. ‘Ouch! You bit me!’
‘Never again tell me off in front of her!’ Julie hissed, grabbing him between his legs, holding him captive in her clenched fist. ‘If you do, I’ll have your balls. Ostermann is my uncle, not yours. If we tire of you as the envoy of the Saxon Court, Christine will tire of you as a lover. Then you can return to Dresden, your wardrobe of lovely little pastel outfits in tow. Understood?’
‘Understood,’ he said. ‘Let go of my cock. I still need it tonight.’
Julie went on tiptoe, giving him a peck on the cheek. ‘We both do. Your costume is just too lovely. We shall tear it off after the Masquerade, using our teeth.’ She smiled and slid away from him. As her steps faded, Count Lynar leaned briefly against the wall, gathering himself. Finally, he straightened his coat and patted his hair before hurrying past without seeing me.
Only then did I dare to stir, cooling my burning cheeks with my palms. I tasted bile. Illegitimate upstart? This was surely Ostermann’s scornful name for me; was it fitting for those two to repeat it? Yet I also pitied Christine: was Lynar her first love and von Mengden their go-between? I thought of the warm companionship I had shared with Augustus; even my lust for Buturlin seemed straightforward in comparison to this twisted ménage. What Alexis would make of these self-indulgent people was anyone’s guess.
When I finally knocked at her door, Christine’s powder had been applied, and she slipped out of her room quickly to join me, linking elbows. ‘Lizenka, how good of you to pick me up. Let us show the Chinese how to celebrate!’
‘How do you like my Masquerade?’ Anna Ivanovna, who was dressed as Helen of Troy, asked the Chinese. T’o-Shih weighed his head, pensive eyes resting on Prince Alexis Dolgoruky, who wore an especially elaborate feathered costume inside his cage. The long tail fanned out like a peacock’s, swaying each time he kowtowed, which he did ceaselessly, giving hoarse cries.
‘Is not all here a Masquerade?’ T’o-Shih asked, his answer a riddle in itself. I wondered how he would sum up his Moscow experience upon his return to the Forbidden City.
De Biron, dressed as a Friesian sailor – an insult to my father, whose costume of choice this had always been – tried to make light of the situation. ‘Look at the lovely ladies. Whom do you think is the most beautiful?’ he asked, jovially elbowing T’o-Shih. The Manchu shrank back, horrified at the physical contact, but politely considered the surrounding ladies, who chatted and compared their splendid jewellery while assessing better-dressed competitors and eyei
ng the men present from behind lowered lashes.
Anna smiled triumphantly. The verdict seemed a foregone conclusion to her – of course he would choose the Tsarina herself. Yet T’o-Shih bowed to me. ‘Well, if her eyes weren’t quite so large or so blue, I’d say that the Tsarevna Elizabeth, despite looking like a man of the forest tonight, is the most beautiful.’
The Tsarina gave a short, incredulous laugh. She adjusted the golden laurel-leaf circlet in her greying locks – her French hairdresser Pierre Loubry had kept adding fake curls that sent it lopsided. ‘Who has lent you that green jacket, Elizabeth?’ Anna asked.
‘The officers of the Preobrazhensky Regiment.’
‘Why is that? I have not made you my heiress yet. Careful.’
‘As a mark of their long-standing loyalty to the Imperial family,’ I said, thinking of the men’s anger at the entirely foreign new Izmailovsky Regiment and its German Colonel, Count Loewenwolde. I had chosen my costume so as to attract as little attention as possible, which had spectacularly failed. ‘May I?’ I said, and had the interpreter ask T’o-Shih, ‘What is the most astonishing thing to you here in Moscow?’
Things went from bad to worse.
The Manchu smiled, his ivory skin looking like parchment. ‘To see a woman on the throne.’
74
Anna Ivanovna went ahead with planning her opera performance where Alexis would sing. To me, this meant only one thing: it was inevitable that he would learn the truth about me. Just the thought of it was terrifying. ‘I am expecting five intermezzi,’ she would say, loving the word as it made her sound learned, even though she, too, had just learned it from Ristori, the company’s director. As my father’s theatre inside the Kremlin had fallen into total disrepair, he had had a portable stage built in only five weeks. The skill of the Moscow carpenters, who crafted the revolving stage with their simple axes and chisels and no input from engineers, was miraculous.
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