On our arrival in May we had been introduced to the new court, and soon became acquainted with the alteration in the manners and customs of the people. One of the greatest changes seemed to me to be the freedom permitted to the women, who now appeared at court and at all the festivals. It was no longer difficult to become acquainted with the families of the nobility, and M. de Lambert met Najine at the house of her uncle, M. Zotof. Najine was an orphan, the daughter of Zotof’s brother Alexis; and, to my discomfiture, my secretary promptly fell in love with her. At first the incipient romance troubled me but little, and I thought that his suit would prosper, since I had no doubt that Mademoiselle Zotof would reciprocate his affection, and the uncle seemed inclined to regard the young French soldier with favor. M. de Lambert was noble, brave, and handsome, and there was no reason to foresee any obstacle to his suit. I was even disposed to regard it with amusement, as an example of the ease with which some men march on the road to happiness and fortune. Time was to undeceive me.
My own mission progressed but slowly. The czar was arrogant and arbitrary, a difficult man to meet on diplomatic grounds and full of a hot, ungoverned temper. Many times my mind recurred to my old friend Dr. von Gaden’s estimate of him as a child: ‘a Tartar’ he used to call him, and a Tartar I found him, though a far different man from the one pictured by the exaggerated reports current in Europe, which made him an uncouth and ferocious monster. He was restless,—sometimes at Preobrazhensky, where he had spent his early manhood; sometimes at Voronezh, superintending his fleet, for ship-building was his mania; and sometimes at St. Petersburg, his new city on the Neva, which the nobility hated. In December he had returned to Moscow, and I was endeavoring to make the best of my opportunities. In 1698 he had sent his wife, the Czarina Eudoxia, to the Pokrofsky Convent at Suzdal in an open postcart, and ten months afterwards she was compelled to take the vows as the nun Helen,—a practical divorce. Since then his mistress Anna Mons, a German woman, had been discarded, and there were rumors that he would marry again. His son by Eudoxia, the Czarevitch Alexis, who was destined to cause him so much trouble, was already out of favor; and in fact the shining light at court was the new favorite, Alexander Danilovitch Mentchikof, who claimed to be descended from a noble Lithuanian family, but was said to be the son of a pastry-cook. Mentchikof was the only one who seemed likely to take the place of Lefort in the czar’s regard.
The difference between the old days and the new was great. My friend Prince Basil Galitsyn had been sent into exile at the fall of the regency, and was to die in poverty and obscurity. The old régime was swept away. I found myself in a network of intrigue and malice, beset with a thousand annoyances, for the French at that time were regarded with suspicion at Moscow; the Russians had never forgiven what they imagined to be the bad treatment received by Sophia’s embassy to Versailles, which was in reality due to the Russians’ ignorance of French and their violation of all the etiquette of embassies. I had asked the king for my recall again and again, but he would not hear of it, and I was still struggling with my difficulties.
It was near Christmas, and I had been all day at the Kremlin wrangling with the court officials over the minor articles of an agreement which had consumed six months in the making and was unmade in six hours. The obstinacy and the distrustfulness of the Russians made me think of the Duke de Cröy when he exclaimed at the battle of Narva, “The devil would not fight with such soldiers!” The Duke de Cröy was the prince of the Holy Roman Empire into whose hands Peter confided his forces too late to save them from defeat, and the Russians suspected the foreign officers of betraying them into the hands of the Swedes.
I returned to my quarters sick at heart and in no pleasant humor. Madame de Brousson was that day visiting at the house of a friend, and I found that Pierrot had prepared my supper and had the tapers burning. I sat down wearily, at first scarcely noticing the absence of M. de Lambert; but presently I inquired if the young gallant had been there during the day, but Pierrot replied in the negative.
“He went out early, M. le Maréchal,” he said, “and he has not yet returned. Touchet attended him.”
“Humph!” I muttered, “little use is Touchet. He stands gaping when a Russian speaks to him.”
“He is trying to learn the language, monsieur,” Pierrot replied discreetly, “and he was ever better with his sword than with his tongue.”
“Just as you were ever better with your tongue than with your sword, you knave!” I retorted with amusement.
As I spoke, I heard steps in the hall, and Touchet opened the door for M. de Lambert. The young man came in, arrayed in the richest of court costumes, his coat of blue velvet and his white satin waistcoat ruffled with lace, his graceful figure showing to advantage; but his brow was like a thunder-cloud, and he barely controlled himself to salute me with respect.