‘Do the Russian people know now what an opera is?’ Anna asked de Biron. ‘Has the article I ordered been published in the St Petersburg Gazette?’
‘Yes, my dear. “An opera is a musical composition, comparable to a comedy, sung in verse, including a number of dances and extraordinary stage effects.”’
‘Good. Count Lynar must write to Saxony right away, telling Augustus all about its success. Nobody can say I have not tried to educate my people.’
Alexis had held me for the last time a week earlier: he had been full of stories about both the rehearsals and the Tsarina’s secret visits. ‘She is a big woman, Lizenka. Handsome, I’d say, though not everyone would agree,’ he said. ‘She certainly inspires fear.’
‘She was called Anna Ivanovna the Terrible as a young woman,’ I said.
‘How do you know?’
‘Oh. Everybody does,’ I said evasively.
These days Lestocq refused to stray far from my side. ‘You might need me at any time,’ he said darkly.
The opera was scheduled for the first Friday in March. The Great Hall was bathed in candlelight, flames dancing in the dozens of full-length mirrors in their heavy, ornamented gilt frames. Six hundred people poured into the hall: foreign envoys, German, Swedish and Baltic military, Russian aristocrats, the Chinese guests, all splendidly clad in costly finery paid for by secret sources, feigning any interest other than their true purpose for being there, which was to flatter the Tsarina. Lynar, swathed in pistachio-green brocade, chatted with Count Loewenwolde, who sported the bright red uniform of his Izmailovsky Regiment. Julie von Mengden tried to catch her uncle’s every word, storing them away as a field mouse might grain, hovering about him while he ignored her. The Russian boyars, counts and princes looked on glumly: they were not only still reeling from my father’s costly reforms, but seeing their incomes dwindle even further, thanks to the new taxes levied by Anna to pay both for her buildings and for the now impending Polish war: Russia was to face France in Danzig. Families were forced to sell estates to fund new liveries. To the cloth woven for Russia, gold and silver were added by the ounce in Lyons as the Tsarina abhorred dark colours.
Even I did not wear my customary black skirts tonight: Feofan raised his glass, toasting me, when I entered the hall. He had made me a gift of a bale of lilac-coloured silk, as well as yards of foaming, creamy lace to ornament the cleavage and sleeves. A touching note accompanying the fabric read, ‘The soldiers of both the Russian Regiments send their beloved Tsarevna Elizabeth this cloth. Wearing this, you can face fate; any man will forgive you any deed.’ I returned Feofan’s smile: the officers’ gift was daring, as I must never appear more popular than the Tsarina. Yet feeling loved made me happy; that had been a terribly rare occurrence for me.
*
The beginning of the opera was just moments away. I sat in the front row, next to the Tsarina and Christine, and readied myself to see Alexis. If there had been a moment to disclose my identity to him, I had missed it. The stiff bodice held me up although I was feeling faint; my heart pounded, and the blood raced through my veins. My fingers trembled too much to hold a glass of the deliciously chilled Champagne offered by Moorish pageboys clad in red velvet. People mingled, searching for seats that allowed them to see and to be seen. The hall swirled in a maelstrom of lights, sounds, colours. Anna had swept in, followed by de Biron, d’Acosta and her retinue. Prince Dolgoruky, who sat chained to a celebratory giant nest by the door, crowed with delight, wearing a rooster costume, making Anna say icily, ‘One more time and I’ll wring his neck.’ The court howled, complimenting the Tsarina on her wit, passing on her words. The Chinese sat in their simple dark satin gowns, faces inscrutable and posture rigid. Seeing the general amusement, they clapped their thighs and laughed hysterically. Prince Dolgoruky took great care not to make a further straw rustle. There was wisdom in T’o-Shi’s observation: Is not all here a Masquerade?
Alexis’ voice rose from the choir to the heavens. The Tsarina singled him out with her gaze, her eyes moist, applauding in between pieces or whenever she felt like it. He stood tall and handsome; his music was like one of his caresses. Even the Italian actors bowed to him at the end of each of the intermezzi. Anna wiped away large tears of emotion.
I, however, yawned and fiddled with my gloves and fan. At the end, as applause, shouting and stamping rose to the stuccoed ceiling, I got up, my expression bland, as if ready to leave. Now or never. Forgive me, my love, for what I must do to you, I silently prayed, as I felt Alexis’ hot gaze find me. He gave a muffled sound and recoiled in shock.
Anna turned to me in surprise, her voice stern. ‘Why the haste, Tsarevna Elizabeth? Were you not pleased by the rendition?’
The court fell quiet. Julie von Mengden cast an excited glance towards Ostermann. Clearly, they hoped that I, the harlot, the illegitimate upstart, should utterly disgrace myself. How they would love a misstep from me! I would not do them the favour.
‘It was charming enough.’ I shrugged, looking towards the door, as if I had a more pressing engagement.
‘Charming enough? Are you then used to better?’ Anna’s eyes fixed on me, as if I were crossing the Red Square at dawn; an unwitting, perfect target for her shooting practice. I could hardly breathe.
Up on stage, Alexis stepped to the edge so as to see me better. Any moment now he could give us away and all would be lost. I had to pull us both through this.
‘Possibly the bedbugs in Izmailov are more entertaining?’ Julie giggled, relish in her eyes.
I froze. Had she spied on Alexis and me?
‘I see that wit runs in your family, Fraulein von Mengden. The opera was pleasant,’ I said.
‘Pleasant? No more than that?’ Anna Ivanovna rose, her height and width more impressive than ever thanks to her ostrich feathers, state robes and jewellery. The courtiers fell silent. Alexis, I thought. Give me strength. Yet I did not look up at the stage; I would not meet his gaze. Feofan had been clear: this was a gamble I might lose. If so, I should slice my wrists that very night. The other singers joined Alexis, curious. His gaze scalded me, as he slowly, painfully, put two and two together.
Sweat trickled down my neck. I smiled, saying casually: ‘No, beloved cousin. It was simply unworthy of the Russian Court. Perhaps the King of Saxony allowed himself a jest when suggesting a performance such as this one?’ I locked eyes with Count Lynar, who paled more than ever. ‘Your dear mother, the Tsaritsa Praskovia, my aunt Pasha, taught me many things about plays and music. After all, she left her trunks full of costumes and props to me alone,’ I said, playing my trump card. ‘I feel I am able to judge music.’
The Tsarina tugged on her satin evening glove. ‘True. I had forgotten about that.’
‘Your Majesty, my King would never—’ Count Lynar hastened forward, his icy blue eyes popping: no wonder. Russia’s favour was a saving grace for Saxony. Lynar would not want to take responsibility for any diplomatic frodieur. Anna waved him off: who cared what the fat and greedy Elector of Saxony did? She turned to the stage. ‘Come forward. All of you. Now.’
The Italian actors and the choir swapped anxious glances. They were exhausted; sweat glistened below their wigs and had made their thick, pasty make-up dissolve. Madame Lodovica and Signor Ristoli held hands, stepping forward.
Despite Alexis’ surprise to hear my faint praise of him, he was still elated after singing, his eyes sparkling. His gift truly came straight from Heaven. He closed his eyes briefly then opened them again, shaking his head as waking from a dream. I ignored him, pain searing me: I had relished our love for its truthfulness. Alexis had loved me, not the princess I was, from the beginning. Wasn’t that reason, and excuse, enough for me to try and hang onto this rarest of emotions? The next moments were crucial.
‘Come on, then, Lizenka,’ said Anna. ‘Tell us. Who was best?’
‘Signor Ristoli is a genius,’ I said. ‘His stage is a movable feast and his voice flawless.’
The Italian bowed. Everybod
y clapped.
‘Who was the worst performer then?’ Anna tapped her folded fan against her gloved palm. ‘Say it. I shall not be angry. Promise.’ Already her voice trembled with suppressed fury.
‘To be honest, the male soloist did you no honour.’ I locked eyes with Alexis, who faltered as if I had swung my fist square into his stomach. ‘Best to return him wherever you plucked him from.’
‘Ha!’ Anna snorted, furious with me, but could not help flicking her wrist in a gesture of dismissal. ‘Away with him then.’
‘But you just called him to court,’ Ostermann said. His hooded gaze found me, the cogwheels of his gloriously sharp mind whirring into motion. ‘He was herding sheep close to Kiev.’ He limped up to de Biron’s side. I had to be faster than them.
‘That was obviously a mistake as the Tsarevna Elizabeth so kindly pointed out,’ Anna snapped.
‘What should happen to him then?’ Ostermann asked.
Julie von Mengden chirped, ‘What is not good enough for the Tsarina should be adequate for the Tsarevna Elizabeth, my uncle. Why not place the singer in her retinue? He shall delight her every day with his mediocrity. It takes one to know one.’
‘Oh, yes, it does. It does!’ laughed d’Acosta, looking at me.
Anna’s eyes lit up. ‘Wonderful idea, Fraulein von Mengden. See, Lizenka: wisdom, too, runs in that family. Take him and enjoy him.’
Oh, and how I would! But I made a show of shaking my head and looking aghast. ‘No, really, I am not sure… ’
‘That is an order,’ Anna said sharply. ‘I do not wish to see him any more.’
‘Bundle him up as if this were the gostiny dvor,’ d’Acosta teased: he knew, I understood. Nothing much was hidden from the creatures who roamed the secret passages and servants’ staircases of the palaces at night.
‘Shut up,’ Anna said. ‘Or will you be the next one clucking on a nest?’
‘Oh, if so, I promise to lay you an egg a day. D’Acosta knows how to make himself useful.’ He circled the Tsarina, flapping his arms. De Biron kicked him and d’Acosta somersaulted away as the hall emptied rapidly in Anna’s wake.
It was time for her birthday banquet, six hundred dishes to a course.
Alexis stood dumbstruck.
75
‘What have you done?’ he asked, sitting opposite me in my sled. His face was ashen and his bare knuckles white as he clutched his few possessions, pressing himself into a corner as far from me as possible. His dismissal had been instant: he still wore his embroidered costume from tonight’s performance. If he had not been in shock, Lestocq would have been unable to bundle him in with us. Now, the brightly painted sled flew through the Moscow night, devouring the miles out to Annenhof.
‘I have saved you,’ I said, tearing back the curtain and sucking in the icy air. I felt l should suffocate on despair. The freezing wind bludgeoned my forehead, clearing my thoughts. Snow whirled inside, settling in our hair and clothes. ‘I have saved us and our love.’
‘By hiding your true self and fooling me for weeks on end? Is that what you call love? Well, no more of it, thank you very much.’
‘I never hid my true self. On the contrary,’ I said, tears in my eyes. ‘Only my identity. I’d hoped to be able to separate the two.’ I reached for him but he recoiled as if scalded by my touch.
‘I would have loved you the same had I known,’ he said, his whole frame sunken with sadness. Why did he speak in the past? Fear overwhelmed me. We could be together now: people would ridicule us, underestimating the strength of our bond. I did not care. Everything came at a price, but I was ready to pay. The reward would be the greater: a life together with Alexis. ‘You would never have dared to meet me,’ I said. He shrugged, pulling his gloves up over his wrists where the wind was biting his bare skin.
‘Tsarevna, please, close the curtain. Your catching a deadly cold is not the plan,’ Lestocq pleaded, but I would not care if I did.
Alexis sneered: ‘What is the plan then? And who are you in the first place? You hardly work for the Tsarina, or, should I say, Lizenka’s wealthy and influential cousin, do you?’
‘He works only for himself,’ I said. ‘And possibly for his King and country.’
‘That makes too many masters,’ Alexis mocked him.
‘You are mistaken, Tsarevna. I work only for your benefit and have long done so,’ Lestocq said with dignity. ‘So, yes, I have many masters but only one mistress,’ he said, as the sled turned into Annenhof’s poplar allée. At its end, the illuminated palace awaited the Tsarina’s return, looking like a two-storey colourful cake. The sled came to a halt; the coachman got down from his box, patting the steaming animals. Footmen came running but Lestocq waved them away. We needed no witnesses.
‘You might have arrived. I need to travel further,’ Alexis said stiffly, climbing out of the sled. I ached for him. Oh, to hold him and to be held! Beloved. Without looking at me, he walked away, stepping on my heart as he withdrew from my company. I was mute with fear, shaking.
It was Lestocq who scrambled out of the sled and called after him: ‘Where are you off to, Razumovsky?’ As I, too, stepped out, Alexis slowed and looked back at us. Snow thickened on his shoulders and hair. The sled’s torchlight illuminated him as it turned up the allée. He clutched his bag, shivering with cold and emotion. ‘I am going home,’ he said.
‘Home!’ Lestocq laughed. ‘To be with the sheep?’
‘I am your home. We are. Our future together is.’ I sobbed and wrung my hands.
‘There is no we and there is no future for us. I will do whatever I can. Go and live with Father Gregory, the village priest. Help my brother.’
‘Don’t!’ I cried. ‘Please stay!’
He shook his head, stepping away into a darkness that would soon swallow the memory of our happiness. ‘Please!’ I begged, shaking with tears.
He hesitated.
Lestocq was at his side in the blink of an eye. ‘She is asking you to stay,’ he said, grabbing Alexis’ elbow. ‘Don’t you hear her, man?’
Alexis shook him off, dark-eyed, snowflakes melting on his hot skin. What else could I have expected from him? He was proud. I would not have him any other way. ‘I have loved a different woman. The Lizenka I knew would never have done that to me.’
‘I am Elizabeth Petrovna Romanova. I am the Tsar’s and the Tsarina’s daughter. Yet everything I told you is the truth: my story and my suffering.’
‘You are the Tsarina’s daughter but I am a free man.’ He backed away. ‘I can’t stay here now even if I wanted to. What man could?’ He wiped away tears. ‘It breaks my heart. Meeting you made me complete. I have never known such love. Tomorrow morning, I shall catch a sled back home, for my father to thrash me daily and my voice to compete only with birdsong. You have robbed me of my greatest gift.’
‘Stay!’ I begged, sinking to my knees. ‘I have hurt you. I know. For that I beg your forgiveness. One day, God willing, you will understand why I acted as I did.’ Clouds straggled across the huge, pale moon. The stars made a fleeting appearance, as brief as human happiness, while a breeze caught the imported trees’ stiff branches, making the thin, glossy icicles hanging from them, chime in eerie concert. An owl swooped by, its golden eyes glinting and wings wide, to settle among the beams of the palace’s vaulted roof. Still Alexis hesitated. My life hung in the balance. I tasted bitter fear: he clutched his bundle and shook his head. Still I kneeled, dumbstruck, despite the frost biting into my kneecaps.
Lestocq grabbed Alexis by his lapels, furious with him. ‘Your gift, you say? What are you talking about? Fool.’
‘My voice. My singing.’ Alexis tried to shake him off in vain.
The Frenchman leaned in, spittle flying as he explained matters as he saw them. ‘I’d beat some sense into you if I were not a gentleman, stupid shepherd boy! The greatest gift God ever made you is her. Your voice and your meeting the messenger who happened to hear you sing – that was all His plan. Can’t you see that? Who are we
to doubt him, Razumovsky?’
Alexis hesitated and Lestocq swept on: ‘Do you think anyone – anyone – will ever remember you for your voice? Oh, you angel of naivety!’ Alexis flinched in the face of Lestocq’s scorn while I hiccupped in surprise. ‘You know the answer to that. Give or take a couple of decades, maggots will be gnawing on your precious throat soon enough. Yet if you stay tonight, I promise you, you shall not be forgotten, ever. You will always be remembered for her sake!’ Lestocq was like a hound stalking a noble beast, cornering it: if Russia needed me, then I needed Alexis – and Lestocq knew it. ‘Make her become who she is!’ he urged. ‘That is the only thing you may be remembered for.’
Make her become who she is. The night’s crystalline breath froze the tears on my cheeks as the wind bit us to the bone.
‘Let me pass.’ Alexis pushed Lestocq aside and placed his bundle on the frozen walkway. He came up to me, gravel crunching beneath his feet. ‘Get up, Tsarevna, or you will indeed catch a deadly cold.’ He helped me to rise. This might be the last time I felt his touch. ‘I may be a feeble and flawed man, but I do not wish your death on my conscience.’
I shook with cold and emotion. I kissed his hand, not daring to ask what his decision was. Time was running out. Soon, other sleds would return from the Kremlin in a snowy, glittering throng; we would have an audience of people, hooting, screaming and laughing.
‘Go to bed, Lizenka. Let Lestocq make you a hot milk with vodka and honey. I shall sleep in the stable tonight,’ Alexis said.
‘In the stable? But… ’ I thought of the soft bed that a maid was warming with her body for me as we spoke. If he were not to share it with me, ever again, I might as well die. ‘How should I sleep? What about tomorrow?’
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