The Girl Who Fought Napoleon: A Novel of the Russian Empire (9 page)

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.”

Part 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!”

Something about what she said made me recall a dream I had a few nights earlier. I touched my fingers to my lips, trying to recall.

“Nadya! Are you even listening?” said Olga, shaking me. “You look as if you are sleepwalking!”

The dream flew from my mind. I slapped at her hands. “We Russians are known for such treachery too! I have heard that in Lithuania, the Russian armies raped those girls and their mothers. They stole. Even the Imperial Guards!”

“No!” said Olga, pulling back her head like a viper ready to strike. “How dare you insult—”

“And as far as pillage, my father said, it is because the Cossacks are not paid enough to eat or given forage for their horses. They are promised the spoils of battle, that is all they have as payment.”

My three friends stared at me.

“How dare you say such a thing about our country . . . our tsar!” sputtered Olga. “They must have provided for the Cossacks, for all their soldiers.”

“I do not criticize the Tsar. But neither he nor his commanders nor any Russian in history has paid the Cossacks anything but a few token kopeks. The Cossacks depend on the spoils of war to feed their families.”

My girlfriends had no answer to this. They knew I had been raised in the cavalry ranks.

“There is one Cossack more dashing than the others,” ventured Veronika quietly. “Blond, with a fair complexion. He wears a blue tunic. His eyes are green as the summer grass.”

“He has the most striking bearing,” said Raya. “He w-w-walks like a centaur, noble in his bearing.”

“You must be mistaken. The Cossacks are all Mongols,” sniffed Olga. “Nobility! They are heathen barbarians. Stay away from them or they’ll burn your soul!”

I stared at her, unable to speak. I had dreamt of a Cossack. Tall with green eyes. I was riding Alcides on Startsev Mountain . . .

I was tired of my girlfriends’ company, their tedious gossip. The conversation was laced with ignorance. But how could they know anything beyond their noses? They had never left the town of Sarapul.

I kept thinking of my saber and Alcides awaiting me.

I kissed my friends good-bye and returned to my room.

I can’t wait to be rid of this constant chatter! To hear the wind in the trees, the snort of my horse.

I could not wait to be rid of them, free of society and its rules for women
.

I cut wide strips of linen to bind my breasts. Never being a particularly buxom girl, I could flatten my chest with little trouble.

I could bring little with me so I had chosen carefully. In my chest were five fine embroidered handkerchiefs my Ukrainian grandmother had made me, a dowry present.

Marriage! I will never marry, ever. What would marriage do but to bind me further into female slavery.

I folded the dainty handkerchiefs carefully and put them into my small bundle.

That night I knew I was saying a significant farewell to my parents—although they had no idea what I was about to do. At eleven o’clock in the evening I went upstairs to my mother.

This may be the last time I ever see her.

I kissed her hands and clasped them to my heart—something I had never done before. She was so surprised at my display of affection she kissed me on the forehead.

“Go with God,” she said.

Does she have a premonition I am leaving forever?

I clutched her blessing to my heart and crossed the garden to my rooms. I was relegated to the ground floor of the garden house now—for our family had grown. My father, who had permanently tumbled from grace in my mother’s eyes, had his apartment on the second floor of the garden house. When he was home.

What I could not fit into saddlebags was stuffed into a cloth satchel that could be rolled across the back of the saddle or slung across my back. I pulled the saber from its scabbard, studying it.

Would I actually kill a man with this blade?

When I heard footsteps outside, I started, nearly slicing my finger. I put the sword back into its scabbard and opened the door.

“Papa!”

“What is wrong with you, daughter? You look pale.”

“I am fine, Father. Quite fine indeed.”

“It is getting cold and damp. Why do you not have the servants heat your rooms?”

Then he paused and gave me a stern look.

“Why do you not order Efim to run Alcides on a lunge? There’s no getting near him. You haven’t ridden him for a long time, and you won’t permit anyone else to do it. He’s so restive. He rears up even in his stall. You must exercise him, Nadezhda. This is not good horsemanship.”

I looked into my papa’s eyes. This was my last good-bye.

“I will ride Alcides tomorrow. I promise, Papa.”

“You seem melancholy, my friend. Good night, go to bed,” said Papa. He kissed my forehead. His eyes were soft and loving. He pulled me to his chest with warm arms, pressing me to his heart.

I began to tremble. I stepped back from his embrace so he couldn’t feel me shaking. I grabbed his hands and kissed them.

“See! Your lips are like river ice! You are chilled through,” he said.

I laughed, kissing his hands again.

“Then let me freeze your fingers with my kisses, dear Papa!”

He snatched his hand away, pulling me back to his chest in a hug.

“
Spokoynoy nochi
,” he said softly. Good night.

He left and I listened to his boots strike each wooden step as he climbed to his apartments.

I knelt to the ground, my tears falling where his boots had rested just moments before.

How he will grieve when he realizes I am gone!

Later, when all was quiet in the little house, I took out my scissors, opened its jaws, and captured a long lock of my hair between the sharp blades. I took a deep breath. There would be no turning back now. Hair spilt in swirls to the floor.

I brushed the bits of hair from my shoulder and donned the Cossack uniform. I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like a young man with light-brown hair, a somewhat swarthy complexion, and hazel eyes.

No one would recognize me as a woman.

I stretched my arms out to the icon above my hearth, the Mother of God, though I had never been particularly religious. “Bless me,” I asked. Then I closed the door of my family home, wondering if I would ever see it again.

The moon was full, illuminating the forests and filling the lakes with liquid silver.

Efim the stable boy met me at the edge of the forest on the road to Startsev Mountain. He had been easy to bribe. A serf had little chance of ever earning money. He had taken the coins eagerly. Now he stood, waiting, my beloved horse beside him. Alcides snorted, seeing me approach on foot.

“He is restless,” said Efim. “He reared twice as I stood here waiting for you. You might get hurt.”

“Then help me mount him quickly. I will gallop the vinegar out of him on the hill road. He will settle down quickly enough.”

I dug in my cloth satchel. “Here’s the rest of the money I promised you. Now help me strap the bag behind the saddle.”

He bowed and took the money. Then, as he tied the knots fastening the bag, he asked, “Is there . . . is there a message I should give your parents?”

“Help me up, Efim.”

“But what shall I say?”

“Nothing, Efim. No message.”

I reined Alcides around and took off at a gallop. Away from home.