His companion Dimitri Petrov worked the lever on the adjoining awning, shading the duke’s reception room. He sniffed the air and turned to his friend.
“You should visit the bathhouse, Igor Ivanovich! You stink of cabbage and pork trotters.”
Igor lowered his nose to his own armpit and smiled.
“I’ll keep the smell. It reminds me of who I am. A humble serf from the country sent to serve his emperor. A true Russian. And I like pork.”
“Mercy! Here comes the grand duchess! Now she is an early riser.”
“No one disturbs her sleep. If you know what I mean.”
“How will Russia ever have an heir?” whispered Igor. “Such a beauty, too.”
The two servants bowed low, studying the pebbles of the pathways, as Grand Duchess Elizabeth passed by on her morning walk with her lady-in-waiting Countess Golovine.
The morning heat had begun to seep through the lush leaves and grasses of the garden, infusing the paths with a heady perfume. Elizabeth could detect a delicate scent of rot—decaying petals not yet raked by the palace gardeners?
When she walked with her lady-in-waiting, all others were ordered to vacate the gardens, thus the consternation of Igor Ivanovich and Dimitri Petrov. Of course the order did not extend to the emperor himself or to his officers.
And certainly not to his best friend, Adam Czartoryski.
When Elizabeth came around the sharp bend of the hedgerows, she almost ran into the Polish nobleman.
“I beg your pardon, Grand Duchess,” said Czartoryski, reaching out to catch her arms and steady the young woman.
“Monsieur! I beg you!” admonished Countess Golovine at the sight of Czartoryski’s hands on her mistress.
“Oh, forgive me!” said Czartoryski, blushing beet red. “I—I ask a thousand pardons, of course. Are you sure you are quite all right?”
“Of course, I am perfectly fine, Prince Czartoryski,” said Elizabeth, collecting herself. She laughed. “I’m really not the delicate violet the Romanovs make me out to be!”
“So clumsy of me, all the same, Your Highness,” said Czartoryski. “I was deep in thought. I should have heard your steps.”
“Deep in thought?” said Elizabeth.
“The smell of the jasmine in the gardens. My memories of Paris, Your Highness. I was there right after the revolution, with my mother. What swift changes, reforms. And now Napoleon brings changes again! It makes one’s head spin.”
“You were in Paris?” said Elizabeth, brightening. “Were you really? Would you be so kind as to describe it to me, monsieur? I think I shall never see the grand city now given this nasty business with the Corsican.”
Adam Czartoryski drew in a quick breath.
“I should love to describe Paris to you, Grand Duchess! If you will permit me.”
Elizabeth turned to her companion.
“Comtesse Golovine, s’il vous plaît. If you would escort us from five—no, ten paces behind. I should like to continue my conversation with Prince Czartoryski.”
“Of course, madame.”
The young couple walked ahead, Czartoryski’s hands gesturing in delighted animation.
The lady-in-waiting saw her mistress’s face in profile as she turned to listen to the stories of Paris. The grand duchess’s eyes crinkled in merriment, a smile gracing her delicate mouth, so often downcast in sorrow.
Countess Golovine, who loved her German-born mistress with all her heart, rejoiced in the floral scent of Tsarkoe Selo. She could detect no rot whatsoever.
Grand Duke Alexander invited—required—Adam Czartoryski, his best friend, to spend the summer wherever Alexander and Elizabeth were in residence: Alexander Palace or Catherine’s Palace or even Stony Island in the Neva.
Most evenings Alexander disappeared to be “at home,” as he called it, with his Polish mistress. The grand duchess took her evening meal at the palace and was delighted when Czartoryski accepted an invitation to join her table that very same evening, after their walk in the garden.
“Tell me more about Paris,” she implored her guest. “What would I see if I could travel there?”
The Polish prince bowed his head.
“A city of lively people, thirsty for change, for liberty. For enlightenment! The main streets are lined with enormous palaces gleaming with the magical green patina of copper roofs. Ah, the majesty of that city! Classical, Roman, Gothic, Renaissance—layer upon layer of history.”
“Not like St. Petersburg, then,” said the Grand Duchess.
“No, though St. Petersburg is majestic.”
“Oh, really, Monsieur Czartoryski. You do not have to flatter St. Petersburg for my sake. It was a swamp before Peter the Great. As beautiful as it is now, it hasn’t the history of the rest of Europe!”
Czartoryski smiled. “Well, then. Paris. Fine carriages carry ladies and gentleman across the many bridges—themselves exquisite monuments. The avenues and boulevards are flanked by the most exquisite palais, with mansard roofs, their copper trim colored with a green patina. Boats line the Seine and fishermen stand along the banks. And intoxicating aromas fill the air, such cookery! The French are great appreciators of beauty and taste, much like the Italians. The poorest meal composed of the simplest ingredients is made savory by the culinary sorcery of the Parisians.”
“If you could take me there,” ventured Elizabeth, taking a sip of wine, “where would you choose to walk?”
Czartoryski blushed. He wet his lips, considering such an unimaginable delight.
“Ah, what a pleasure to contemplate. The winding roads of Paris are a hopeless tangle where a wanderer can stumble into colorful markets, street hawkers, cemeteries, or even circuses. But the streets that line the Seine, flanking the Notre Dame, rising with Gothic splendor—that is where we would walk. In the shade of the great plane trees.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes, imagining.
“We’d walk along the Seine on a summer evening and smell the sweetness of lilies or blue-flowered rosemary from the gardens. Below us water laps against the banks. We’d taste the scent of spun sugar and crepes from the vendors in the river breeze. Young men and women laugh as they walk near us, bursting into song, patriotic hymns of their newfound liberty.”
Elizabeth drew in a deep breath.
“We would go in plain clothing,” said Czartoryski. “We’d speak French just as we are doing now. No one would know us. We would walk in secret, a part of the republic.”
Elizabeth looked into her companion’s eyes.
No one would know us. If only this fantasy were true!
“We’d watch the swallows dart and swoop over the Seine as the last of the light faded. Along the embankment we’d see the silhouettes of lovers embracing in the moonlight.”
Czartoryski watched the grand duchess’s blue eyes shine in the candlelight. Something he said had brought tears to her eyes.
“Forgive me, Grand Duchess,” he said, his languid smile disappearing. “I have upset you.”
“Oh, no,” said Elizabeth, dabbing her eyes. “I think I might be coming down with a bit of a cold.”
Prince Czartoryski said quietly, “Grand Duchess. Please excuse the servants. I must speak to you in private.”
Elizabeth made a gesture with her hand. The three servants who stood against the walls bowed and retired to the antechamber.
Czartoryski moved his chair close to his hostess’s. He quietly took her hand, holding it as gently as if it were an injured dove.
“Let me tell you more about Paris, my dear grand duchess. Privately. There is so much more I want to express.”
Countess Golovine dismissed the servants. She alone peeked into the grand duchess’s bedchamber.
Two lovers, dark and fair, were entwined in embroidered linen. The woman’s white neck turned as gracefully as a swan to kiss her lover, his curly dark hair matted with perspiration from lovemaking.
The woman laid her head on her lover’s chest.
“I can hear your hea
rt beating,” she said. “Adam, it is racing!”
“It beats with passion. With joy,” he said, looking down at her. “I love you and have always loved you, Elise. Since the morning I arrived and saw you walking along the Neva with Alexander—”
The grand duchess raised her white finger to his mouth. She touched his lips with her fingertips.
“Adam, we both love my husband,” she said.
Czartoryski drew a deep breath.
“Yes, we both love your husband. Alexander is my best friend.”
This time it was the grand duchess’s turn to sigh. “He is my best friend too. There lies the problem.”
Czartoryski stroked her cheek. Lifting her gently from his chest, he rolled her gently into the feather mattress. Then he smothered her mouth with kisses.
“Elise, my love,” he whispered. “There is not room for our mutual best friend in this bed. Surrender to me, to us.”
There was no more talk of friends that night.
Chapter 15
Winter Palace, St. Petersburg
May 1799
On the twenty-ninth of May, Grand Duchess Elizabeth delivered a baby girl. She was named Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna.
Alexander was delighted. His Elise was in full bloom in her maternity, joyful at last. Alexander craved peace and equilibrium above all. With the arrival of the baby into the Romanov dynasty, his father and mother would be at least temporarily appeased, although with Paul’s decree of primogeniture, Alexander knew that a son must be produced.
Still, Alexander, who was deeply in love with his Polish mistress, smiled down at the infant he held in his arms.
“Do you love her?” whispered Elizabeth.
“Of course I love her. I love you,” Alexander answered. “I love the joy that fills your spirit, that blossoms on your face.”
Elizabeth felt the milk begin to flow in her breasts. She turned away blushing.
Countess Golovine did not approve of the enduring liaison between the grand duchess and Adam Czartoryski.
A night’s visit, a month’s dalliance … Bien sûr! But this … this continues, almost a year now! It will never do, not for a grand duchess who must provide a legitimate heir!
Countess Golovine had become very attached to Elizabeth since her arrival at the Russian Court and harbored a jealousy of the Czartoryski affair. She found it astonishing that Grand Duke Alexander doted on his newborn daughter. Could he not guess it was not his? Of course, anyone could see!
And this Polish prince, Alexander’s best friend!
Still, she held her tongue. For royal dalliances, affaires du cœur, Countess Golovine knew how to be discreet. Tant pis for the grand duke who left his teenage wife alone every night in bed.
And in the end, it was not Countess Golovine who destroyed the peace Alexander so craved. It was Count Tolstoy who whispered the truth to Alexander’s mother.
The empress had never cared for her daughter-in-law who was so adored by Catherine the Great. Grand Duchess Elizabeth was the niece of Emperor Paul’s first wife. Moreover, Elizabeth’s sister, Frederika, had married King Gustav of Sweden, the young king who had refused to marry thirteen-year-old Alexandra, causing the great consternation that contributed to Catherine II’s stroke.
The gossip that a Polish prince was the father of her granddaughter sent the empress into a rage. But she controlled herself just enough to wreak careful destruction.
When the infant grand duchess Maria Alexandrovna was three months old, the empress requested that the child be brought to her apartments. Alone, unaccompanied by Grand Duchess Elizabeth, she insisted. The ladies-in-waiting dressed the infant in her best satin and swaddled her in a fine white lamb’s-wool blanket and brought her to her grandmother’s chambers.
Then the empress carried the infant girl to the emperor’s study.
In the antechambers she smiled at the emperor’s staff, including Count Rostopchin and Count Koutaissov.
“Isn’t she a delightful child?” said the empress, pulling down the blanket so the military men could see the little grand duchess.
“But such curious coloring,” said the empress. “Such dark eyes and hair.”
A quarter of an hour later, the empress emerged, hurrying out of the study, carrying the bawling child. Count Koutaissov was summoned to the emperor’s study. When he reemerged, he muttered to Rostopchin, “What made this wretched woman come to upset the emperor with her atrocious insinuations!”
When Count Rostopchin entered the room, he found the Tsar in a black rage.
“Go, sir, and write an order to immediately send Adam Czartoryski to the regiments in Siberia!”
“Your Majesty?”
“The empress has given me reason to doubt the paternity of my own grandchild! Count Tolstoy knows as much about it as anyone—at least we have a faithful servant in him!”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. Please give your order consideration. If you send Czartoryski to Siberia, it will reflect on the virtue of the grand duchess, who is as virtuous as she is innocent. There is no proof of this accusation—”
“Have you seen the black eyes and jet-black hair of the infant girl?”
“Yes, she is indeed a beauty, Your Majesty.”
“How do two blond, blue-eyed parents produce such a child? Hmm?”
“Your majesty, did Peter the Great not have dark hair and eyes?” said Count Rostopchin. “Your Majesty, I beg you, as your advisor, think carefully upon this order. Adam Czartoryski is the grand duke’s best friend and advisor. The grand duke is wildly content with his newborn daughter. Surely he would be the first to notice if the paternity was in question. You will cast aspersions upon Grand Duke Alexander if you post Czartoryski in Siberia. Tongues will wag.”
Paul fumed, pacing the Persian carpets.
“What would you advise me to do, then? I never want to see that Pole’s face again in this court!”
“We need an ambassador at the Sardinian Court. The king’s secretary has written several times remarking of our diplomatic absence.”
“Fine! Send Czartoryski away … Immediately!”
When Alexander learned of Czartoryski’s assignment to Sardinia, he rushed to his wife’s apartments in Pavlovsk Palace. Before the door shut behind him, Elizabeth saw the consternation on his face.
“Alexander! Whatever is the matter?”
“Adam Czartoryski is to be sent away!”
“Sent away?” said Elizabeth, her lips turning white. “Where? Whatever for?”
“An ugly rumor has filled my father’s ears. He doubts my paternity of little Maria.”
Husband and wife exchanged looks.
“He’s being sent as ambassador to Sardinia.” He took her hand in his. “Rostopchin declares my father insane with fury.”
The two sat across from each other.
“Perhaps it is best Adam is sent away,” said Alexander. “At least until my father has calmed down.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, squeezing her husband’s hand. “If his fury persists, Adam might be killed.”
“I will tell him to leave at once,” said Alexander, releasing his wife’s hand. “Before it is too late.”
“I must see Elise before I leave!”
“No! Your life is in jeopardy. You must leave. Now.”
“I must see her. She is the mother of my child. She is the love of my life!”
Alexander gripped his friend’s shoulders.
“Look at me, Adam. No, look at me!” Alexander grasped Czartoryski’s shoulders tighter, shaking him. “If my father learns you are still here, worse yet, that you visited Elise, you will be seized by the Imperial Guards and shot.”
“I must see her! I must see my daughter—”
“I will not let Elise witness your death, Adam. She has suffered enough.” Alexander’s voice rose, the last words pinching high in his throat. “I will convey all to her. All. I promise that, my friend. Just leave before it is too late for all of us.”
Pa
rt 2
Leaving Youth Behind
Chapter 16
Sarapul, Russia
September 1806
The night before my saint’s day—St. Sophia, September 17—I prepared myself. My trunks were already packed for the journey to the Ukraine and my mother meant to send me off within two days’ time.
The Cossacks had returned and I knew my chance had come. I couldn’t wait any longer, living in this hell my mother had created for me. I took my saber off the wall, the one that Astakhov had given to me as a plaything, though it was quite real.
“I will wear you in honor,” I said, kissing the flat of the blade, which I then returned to its scabbard.
The next day my mother gave me a gold chain. My father, who came as soon as dawn’s pink tinged the horizon, presented me with three hundred rubles. My little brother Vasily gave me a watch.
I spent the day with my girlfriends: Raya, who fidgeted constantly with her fat yellow braid; Olga, haughty and full of herself for no reason except that she was a distant cousin of a wealthy prince; and Veronika, who hardly said a word but listened intently, her pretty white brow puckered.
Olga and Raya gossiped about the Cossack regiment stationed fifty versts from town to the west. Some days the men came in for supplies, ogling the girls of the town.
“Ah, but they are not like the southern Cossack tribe that rode through town a year ago,” Veronika said. “Those men were dusky, dressed in red. They shaved their heads, leaving one long lock hanging on their forehead.”
“Those Cossacks are Zaporozhian! The ones stationed here are Don Cossacks, from the Don River in the Ukraine.”
Raya, who tended to stutter when she got excited, said, “The devils shave their head so that if they are k-k-killed and go s-s-straight to hell, the Lord can pluck them from the fiery furnace by their f-f-f-orelock, to save their barbaric s-s-s-souls.”
“Why do you call them barbaric?” I asked.
“Because they are,” said Olga, sniffing with indignation. “None of the Cossack tribes follow the Orthodox Church. They are heathens, Nadezhda! And they are known for pillage and raping innocent women. On horseback!”
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