The Girl Who Fought Napoleon: A Novel of the Russian Empire (4 page)

Chapter 7

Gatchina

August 1789

When he reached the age of twelve, Alexander was permitted to spend more time with his parents at Gatchina, a luxurious fortress, its massive limestone facade stately, if not elegant. Flanked by two lakes, the White and the Silver, Gatchina was isolated in the depths of a thick forest, sixty versts from St. Petersburg and a half-day ride from the summer palaces of Tsarkoe Selo, the imperial village where the St. Petersburg Court spent the months of June through August.

The vast southern facade of the palace, its central block adorned with pilasters, open galleries, and two towers, loomed in a semicircle over the parade ground. Here Paul drilled his twenty-four hundred horse soldiers obsessively, cultivating the Prussian precision of a military cavalry.

Alexander reveled in the military colors and pageantry of maneuvers. Soon, his father began to teach him how to command the troops, how to issue the orders for the complex and precise formations. The young boy didn’t care about horsemanship, but orchestrating the movement of thousands of horse soldiers was another matter. While other Russian children were content with toy soldiers, Alexander had his own live cavalry with which to play.

Paul frowned at his son.

“Your heels should be down,” muttered the grand duke, who sat astride a large-boned warhorse. “And you sit too far back in the saddle, like an old man. There should be a plumb line from the tip of your nose to your knee to your heel.”

The young boy shifted discreetly in the saddle, so as not to signal his father’s criticism to the hundreds of horsemen he commanded in Gatchina’s vast drill yard. Glancing up, he saw the heavy curtain move in the window of the duchess’s apartments. His mother was watching.

She wishes to know what kind of commander I will be.

Grand Duke Paul looked his son up and down with disapproval.

“Does the empress not insist on daily equitation classes? Your riding must improve. One day you will be expected to lead men into war—”

“I do practice daily equitation. But I am commanding now, Father, not riding—”

“You are on a horse. And do not dare interrupt me! I am your father. Do not forget that. You will not usurp my position. Not at this moment and not ever!”

Alexander straightened in the saddle.

Does he know that Grandmama wants me to take the throne after her death?

“Watch me!” said Paul, his horse prancing. “Company! To the right, face!”

Alexander swallowed hard. He saw his mother’s curtains draw closed.

At ten o’clock in the morning, the pale pink of a winter sunrise competed with the oil lanterns and convex gold sconces of the Winter Palace. Frederic-Cesar La Harpe paced slowly across the parquet floor of the study, hands clasped behind his back as he lectured.

“The noble savage is Rousseau’s antidote to modern society and social class,” said the Swiss tutor. “Our modern world—especially that of the aristocrat and nobility—removes man further and further from nature and simplicity, thus from inherent goodness. In doing so we forfeit our natural instincts, removing us from what is naturally good and right.”

As La Harpe lectured, Alexander leaned on his elbows, his head resting in his hands. Had his father been in the room, the grand duke would have knocked his son’s arms from the table in rage. No Romanov should sit with his head propped in his hands like an insolent serf, he would say.

But Monsieur La Harpe recognized his student’s pose as total concentration. Alexander listened raptly, drinking in the philosophers—Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau. These ideas of freethinking, of the rights of man—even commoners—were radical, even dangerous. Yet his grandmother, Catherine the Great, had selected La Harpe herself.

“
Tabula rasa
,” said Alexander. “The innocence at birth before corruption by society or government.”

“The term
tabula rasa
was John Locke’s, not Rousseau’s,” answered La Harpe. “But the precept is the same in Rousseau’s philosophy. Before civilization can stain a soul, it stands as a blank slate, neither good nor bad. There is no innate desire to steal, lie, or murder, Mr. Locke would argue. Only when society, culture, or adverse circumstances make their ugly cuts into tender wood does the sapling bend or die. Each scar results in vices that erode a man’s character and the way the trunk will bend, either toward or away from the light.”

La Harpe looked at the sunrise, stillborn on the horizon.
It barely makes an effort to rise. Even the sun can’t face a Russian winter.

“Monsieur La Harpe,” Alexander asked, toying with his quill. “I have heard it said that you organized the French cantons of Switzerland to revolt against Bern. That your ideas are radical.” Alexander did not meet his tutor’s eyes but sought out another sharpened quill from his writing box. He tested the point against his fingertip. “Is this true, Monsieur?”

“Yes,” said La Harpe, his back stiffening. “The Empress Catherine knows as much. I am dedicated to the liberation of Bern.”

“So you foment revolution?” La Harpe noticed a mischievous smile tugging at Alexander’s lips.

“Only when it is just,
Tsarevitch
. As in the American revolution against the English. Thomas Jefferson borrowed John Locke’s words: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

“Ah! I so admire this Thomas Jefferson.”

“Perhaps you shall meet him some day as tsar,” said La Harpe. “But the point is when there is a long history of abuses it is not only the right of a people to revolt, but in fact their obligation.”

“And the Russian people?” asked Alexander. “Do they not have a right to revolution, Monsieur? Or the Poles?”

La Harpe’s eyes shot to the gilt-framed door.

“Tsarevitch, I merely teach the doctrines of our most progressive thinkers, according to the express wishes of our gracious empress, Catherine,” the tutor answered in a loud voice. “She has charged me with giving you an enlightened and liberal education. I follow her orders explicitly.”

Alexander caught his lower lip between his teeth.

“I have heard that my grandmother expressed the keen desire to liberate the serfs when she first came to power.”

La Harpe did not answer. He fingered his wide lapels.

“But the aristocracy persuaded her to refrain,” continued Alexander.

“The empress did succeed in liberating many serfs,” said La Harpe, sniffing. “That was no small feat.”

“But many more were enslaved as spoils of war in Lithuania and Poland. The nobility say Russia would collapse without the serfs.” Alexander looked intently at his teacher. “Do you think that is true, Monsieur La Harpe? What would Locke or Rousseau say of that?”

La Harpe leaned toward his student, whispering, “I think that the great philosophers would say that the question would be answered entirely differently if posed directly to the serfs. Or the Poles.”

“When I am emperor,” said Alexander, his sapphire eyes glittering, “I will liberate the serfs as my grandmother intended. And I shall study the matter of the Polish people—that much I promise you.”

La Harpe drew a deep breath.
What more could I hope for in a student? To change the course of the most vast empire on Earth?

He released his breath and a shadow crossed his face.

He is almost tabula rasa now. With my tutelage, there are the first chalk marks of respect, the etching of human kindness. But what hands will seize the chalk after me?

Two German princesses of Baden, Louise, age thirteen, and Frederika, age eleven, arrived at the final rest stop exhausted, their gowns powdered with fine dust. The coach had traveled with few stops between Karlsruhe and St. Petersburg. While Frederika chattered incessantly about Russia’s golden palaces and the barbarous tales of Cossacks, Louise remained silent. She gazed out the coach window at the scarfed heads of the serfs, men and women carrying loads of grass and fagots for their fires, strapped on their backs.

“Are these old people slaves?” Louise asked her chaperone.

Frau Weiss sniffed. “Never use that word in Russia. They are serfs. They belong to wealthy landowners and royalty who care for their needs.”

Louise looked out at an old woman who dared to raise her eyes to meet Louise’s own. For one second their gazes met. Then the serf dipped her head in humility.

“That grandmother is too old to be carrying sticks on her back!” said Louise. “Where is the wealthy landowner to lighten her load?”

Frau Weiss said, “Beware of what you say. The footman may understand German. Never mention the serfs again in Russia.”

Inside the rest stop, their chaperone ordered the valet to brush their garments and bring a washing bowl and pitcher so that the two little girls could wash their faces and hands before arriving at the Winter Palace.

“You must kiss the feet of the great Empress Catherine,” said Frau Weiss. “Do not lift your heads until she gives you permission to rise.”

“Yes,
madame
,” said Louise.

“Must I rub my nose on the rug?” asked little Frederika. “Will it be very dirty from men’s boots? Will it be quite smelly?”

Frau Weiss smoothed back the little girl’s hair, not addressing her. It was too easy to become tangled up in little Frederika’s imagination.

“Do not look the young grand duke in the eye. It would be considered exceedingly forward,” said Frau Weiss, wetting a wooden comb and running it through Louise’s ash-blonde hair.

How could the empress and the young grand duke not fall in love with this charming girl? Her almond-shaped blue eyes, the melodious voice, her height and carriage. And her intelligence and sensitive nature.

Frau Weiss said a silent prayer that this Russian grand duke would be kind to her precious charge.

“And me, Frau Weiss?” said Frederika, tugging at her guardian’s sleeve. “Should I keep my eyes lowered as well?”

“Of course,” said Frau Weiss.

“I shan’t look at him at all,” said Frederika, feisty as always. “I shall pretend he is not there. Poof!”

Frau Weiss laughed. Empress Catherine had expressly ordered both young princesses be sent.
But this little girl! What a nuisance.

“Everything I tell your older sister applies to you, Frederika.” She signaled to the servant that the basin and pitcher should be removed.

“All right,” she said, her fan tapping at the coach door. The footman nodded.

The horses, refreshed with their draft of water, pulled the carriage forward at an energetic trot.

When the girls were admitted to the great hall of the Winter Palace, they did as they had been schooled. They fell at the feet of the empress, studiously ignoring the handsome blond young grand duke.

“Oh!” said the empress. “Look at this glorious cap of blonde hair! Like an angel. Do rise, princesses.”

The two girls rose and curtsied in unison.

“
Très charmante!
”
exclaimed Empress Catherine, nodding her head. “Now, little one . . . Mademoiselle Frederika, you may return to your governess.” She turned to a lady-in-waiting, “But first take the young princess to see the musical peacock.”

“Music? Does it sing?”

“After a fashion. It is a precious treasure, quite unique in the world. It is made of solid gold. Go along with the mademoiselle and she will show it to you as it sings on the hour. You must hurry.”

Frederika took the hand of the Russian lady and hurried from the room to visit the strange mechanical fowl.

“Princess Louise, let me look at you.”

Louise smiled becomingly as she had been coached to do.

“Such large blue eyes! And so tall for a thirteen-year-old!” Empress Catherine exclaimed. “Turn around. Oh, look. Such a fine figure and carriage. A Baden princess indeed!”

Alexander wasn’t sure how to approach this German princess but did so to please his grandmother.

And Louise also did as she was told, not looking at the boy who seemed, at very least, indifferent.