The Daughter of an Empress. L. Muhlbach

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СКАЧАТЬ had forgotten all around her—she heard only him, saw only him; her whole soul lay in the glances with which she observed him, and around her mouth played one of those bewitching smiles peculiar to her in moments of joy and satisfaction, and which her courtiers knew and observed.

      He was very handsome, this young singer, and as Elizabeth saw him in this moment, she congratulated herself that her connoisseur-glance had quickly remarked him, when, some weeks previously, she had first seen him as the precentor of the imperial chapel.

      Surprised and excited by the beauty of his form and the sweetness of his voice, Elizabeth had begged him of the lord-marshal for her private service, and since then Alexis Razumovsky had entered her house as her private secretary and the manager of her small estate.

      While Alexis was singing with his sweetly-melting tones, Elizabeth turned her swimming eyes to the two men who were standing in respectful silence behind her.

      “You must acknowledge,” said she in a low tone, and as if oppressed by internal commotion, “that you never saw nor heard say any thing finer than my Alexis.”

      “Oh, yes,” said one of these men, with a low bow, “we have seen you!”

      “And did we not yesterday hear you sing this same charming slumber-song, princess?” asked the other.

      Elizabeth smiled. “It is already well known that Woronzow and Grunstein must always flatter!” said she.

      “No, we do not flatter,” responded Woronzow, the chamberlain of the princess, “we only love truth! You ask if we have ever seen any thing more beautiful than your private secretary, and we answer that we have seen you!”

      “Well, now, you have all so often assured me that I am the handsomest woman in Russia, that at length I am compelled to believe you. But Alexis is fortunately a man, and therefore not my rival; you may, then, fearlessly confess that Alexis is the handsomest of all men! But how is this?” exclaimed the princess, interrupting herself, as the handsome young singer suddenly sprang up and threw his guitar aside with an indignant movement; “do you sing no more, Alexis?”

      “No,” frowardly responded the young man, “I sing no more, when my princess no longer listens!”

      “There, see the ungrateful man,” said the princess, with a charming smile—“he was occupying all my thoughts, and yet he dares complain! You are a malefactor deserving punishment. Come here to me, Alexis; kneel, kiss my hand, and beg for pardon, you calumniator!”

      “That is a punishment for which angels might be grateful!” responded Alexis Razumovsky, kneeling to the princess and pressing her hand to his burning lips. “Ah, that I might oftener incur such punishment!”

      “Do you then prefer punishment to reward?” asked Elizabeth, tenderly bending down to him and looking deep into his eyes.

      “She loves him!” whispered Grunstein to the chamberlain Woronzow. “She certainly loves him!”

      Elizabeth’s fine ear caught these words, and, slowly turning her head, she slightly nodded. “Yes,” said she, “Grunstein is right—she loves him! Congratulate me, therefore, my friends, that the desert void in my heart is at length filled—congratulate me for loving him. Ah, nothing is sweeter, holier, or more precious than love; and I can tell you that we women are happy only when we are under the influence of that divine passion. Congratulate me, then, my friends, for, thank God, I am in love! Now, Alexis, what have you to say?”

      “There are no words to express such a happiness,” cried Alexis, pressing the feet of the princess to his bosom.

      “Happiness, then, strikes you dumb,” laughed the princess, “and will not allow you to say that you love me? Such are all you men. You envelope yourselves with a convenient silence, and would make us poor women believe the superabundance of feeling deprives you of utterance.”

      At this moment the door was softly opened, and a lackey, who made his appearance at the threshold, beckoned to Woronzow.

      “What is it, Woronzow?” asked the princess, while, wholly unembarrassed by the presence of the lackey, she played with the profuse dark locks of the kneeling Razumovsky.

      “An invitation from the Regent Anna to a court-ball, which is to take place fourteen days hence,” said Woronzow.

      “Ah, our good cousin is, then, so gracious as to remember us,” cried the princess, with a somewhat clouded brow. “It will certainly be a very magnificent festival, as we are invited so many days in advance. How sad that I cannot have the pleasure of being present!”

      “And why not, if one may be allowed to ask, princess?” asked Woronzow.

      “Why?” sighed Elizabeth. “Ask my waiting-woman; she will tell you that the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of the great Czar Peter, has not one single robe splendid enough to render her presentable, without mortification, at a court-ball of the regent.”

      “Whatever robe you may wear,” passionately interposed Alexis, “you will still be resplendent, for your beauty will impart a divine halo to any dress!”

      That was precisely the kind of flattery pleasing to Elizabeth.

      “Think you so, flatterer?” asked Elizabeth. “Well, for once I will believe your words, and assume that the Princess Elizabeth may be fair without the aid of splendor in dress. We therefore accept the invitation, Woronzow. Announce that to the regent’s messenger. But still it is sad and humiliating,” continued Elizabeth after a pause, a cloud passing over her usually so cheerful countenance, “yes it is still a melancholy circumstance for the daughter of the great Peter to be so poor that she is not able to dress herself suitably to her rank. Ah, how humiliating is the elevation of my high position, when I cannot even properly reward you, my friends, for your fidelity and attachment!”

      “You will one day be able to reward us,” significantly remarked Grunstein. “One day, when an imperial crown surmounts your fair brows, then will your generous heart be able to act according to its noble instincts.”

      “Still the same old dreams!” said Elizabeth, shaking her head and letting Razumovsky’s long locks glide through her fingers. “Pay no attention to him, Alexis, he is an enthusiast who dreams of imperial crowns, while I desire nothing but a ball-dress, that in it I may please you, my friend!”

      “Oh, you always please me,” whispered Alexis, “and most pleasing are you when—”

      The conclusion of his flattering speech he whispered so low that it was heard by no one but the princess.

      Patting his cheek with her little round hand, she blushed, but not for shame, as she did not cast down her eyes, but answered with a glowing glance the tender looks of her lover. She blushed only from an internal passionate excitement, while her bosom stormily rose and fell.

      “You are very saucy, Alexis,” said she, but at the same time lightly kissing him upon the forehead, and smiling; but then her brow was suddenly clouded, for the door was again opened and once more the lackey appeared upon the threshold.

      “The French ambassador,” said he, “the Marquis de la Chetardie, begs the favor of an audience.”

      “Ah, the good marquis!” cried the princess, rising from her reclining position. “Conduct him in, he is very welcome.”

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