“Good-morning to you, squire of dames,” he said lightly, waving his hand to me as he passed on.
I was puzzled, not only by the remark, but by the stir that my entrance made. I saw Homyak dodging away amidst the crowd, and there was a little hush in the murmur of talk, and more than one stranger craned his neck to gaze at me over another’s shoulder. Without heeding this unusual demonstration, I crossed the room to the reception hall, where two rhinds, or guards of honor, in white satin and silver uniform, stood on either side the door, and one of the chamberlains ushered in the visitors.
The Czarina Natalia was seated on a throne-like chair at the end of the apartment, and the ex-Chancellor Matveief stood at her right hand. Her robe of silver brocade, covered with white lace and trimmed with sables, made her a splendid figure. She was still a young woman, and as I looked at her that morning, I was more than usually impressed with the contrast between the tall and graceful form of Alexis’ widow and her short and ill-proportioned step-daughter Sophia. Natalia was handsome; her fine features and black hair were striking, and her large dark eyes had a fire and beauty which suggested the attraction that had won the heart of Alexis the Most Debonair. Only a czar could afford to marry as he pleased; every other sovereign of Europe had his consort selected for reasons of state, but the Autocrat of Russia could wed his own subject and make her an empress. Matveief’s wife was a Scotchwoman, and had introduced the freedom of western manners into the household; and she and her husband’s ward, Natalia Naryshkin, served the vodka and caviare when Alexis was visiting his chancellor, thus giving the czar an opportunity to observe the young girl. A short time after this interesting social occasion, the daughter of old Kirill Naryshkin became the Czarina and Grand Duchess Natalia Kirilovna of all Great and Little and White Russia. At the death of Alexis, Natalia as the dowager czarina was, by virtue of the old Russian law, the head of the imperial family.
It was the first time that I had ever seen the czarina’s former guardian, the man whose influence and diplomacy had firmly established his ward as Alexis’ wife in the teeth of as bitter opposition as was ever met by a bride of Russia, and it was a peculiarly terrible ordeal to be selected as the imperial bride. The custom was time-honored and unique. When a czar desired a spouse, the maidens of Moscow and the provinces were assembled, summoned according to certain restrictions in regard to rank and beauty, and the autocrat made his choice. After the imperial decision, came the hour of tribulation; the fortunate (?) candidate was attacked by the malice and envy of every faction at court, and more than one imperial bride-elect was drugged into the semblance of illness, one having her hair twisted up so tightly by her affectionate ladies-in-waiting that she fainted. The immediate result of such accidents was the charge that the young woman was afflicted with an incurable disorder; and as it was regarded in the light of treason to present such a candidate, the unfortunate and her family were sent to Siberia, if she did not die suddenly, as did the Princess Marie Dolgoruky. So it may be seen that to be an aspirant for the imperial matrimonial diadem was to be also a candidate for exile, imprisonment, painful hair-dressing, and poison.
Artemon Sergheievitch Matveief was now an old man of commanding presence. He wore the rich, flowing robe of a boyar, and his white hair and full beard added a dignity to a countenance at once astute and benevolent. He had tasted the stinging humiliation of political defeat, and eaten the bitter bread of exile in the province of Archangel; he had been pardoned by the Czar Feodor, and was on his way home at the time of Feodor’s untimely death; but it remained for Natalia to summon him, in an hour of great difficulty and peril, once more to grasp the helm of state. Was it too late? Alas! for him that question was to be too certainly answered in a few short days, on that Red Staircase which he had ascended to-day in the joyful emotion of reunion with his kindred, and the exhilaration of a return of political prestige and power, sweeter than ever to a long banished statesman. At this moment, he was conversing earnestly with the patriarch, and a group of nobles stood at a little distance waiting his convenience. The czarina was speaking to her own brother, Ivan Naryshkin.
On the other side of the room, I saw Viatscheslav and Ramodanofsky, and in the group nearest me recognized, to my surprise, one of the opposing faction, Larion Miloslavsky. He greeted me with the same air of raillery affected by Prince Galitsyn, and I observed the smiling glances cast at me by the young noblemen about him.
“Have you heard the rare bit of gossip that is afloat this morning, M. le Vicomte?” he inquired gayly.
I replied that having just reached the Kremlin, I was ignorant of the news. At this, he glanced archly at his companions, and there was a smile which annoyed me not a little.
“I do not understand the drift of your humor, gentlemen,” I said, a trifle sharply.
“Is it possible that you do not observe the black looks of Ramodanofsky and Viatscheslav Naryshkin?” Miloslavsky asked, with more gravity.