The Winter Palace (10 page)

“So you’ve seen her, Varvara?”

I nodded.

“Does Princess Sophie look tired?”

“She looks tired,” I said. “But she is anxious to meet Your Highness.”

“Not as tired as her mother, I presume.”

Was there a mean note in her voice? Did I hear a touch of jealousy already, before she had even seen Johanna?

The newcomers arrived a few moments after I had been waved aside, having merely discarded their outerwear. Both were visibly moved and gasped at the sight of their hostess. Princess Sophie wore a tight-fitting pleated dress adorned with plain yellow ribbon; her mother had chosen a modest and bulky outfit, which made her look awkward and dumpy.

A clever touch
, I thought.

Resplendent in her hooped gown of silver moiré embroidered with triple gold braid and clusters of glittering diamonds, a single black feather in her hair, the Empress stood patiently while Princess Johanna recited her obviously rehearsed speech. She mentioned her profound gratitude, sacred bonds between their two families, and her joy at finally being able to express it. She asked for continued protection for the Anhalt-Zerbsts, but most of all “for the child whom Your Majesty has deigned to allow to accompany me to your court.”

Pleasure glimmered in Empress Elizabeth’s eyes. She kissed Princess Johanna on both cheeks and embraced her. There came promises of favors, gasps and praises, a frenzy of protestations followed by more assurances and pledges.

“Now, let me take a good look at her,” I heard Elizabeth say.

Sophie stood behind her mother, her hands folded.
No, she is not pretty
, I decided, noting how long and pale her face was, how pointed her chin. It was not a face that would attract, although she had a beautiful complexion, milky white and translucent. The Princess was very slim, too slim. Her bony shoulders stuck out awkwardly in spite of the double thickness of her shawl. And yet there was something appealing about her, something I could not yet define.

Sophie smiled, a timid, girlish smile, and lowered her eyes.

“I’ve never been so happy, Your Highness,” she began softly, in French. “You are even more beautiful than I’ve been told.”

“Oh, but she is
charmante
!” the Empress exclaimed as she embraced the Princess again and again, kissing her on both cheeks.

Chancellor Bestuzhev stirred. I saw him brush invisible specks from the front of his velvet waistcoat.

“And my nephew?” Elizabeth asked, pointing to Peter. “Is he as handsome as he was when you saw him last? Or are you too shy to say it?”

I saw a touch of pink on Sophie’s cheeks.

“Enough of this ceremony,” the Empress announced, pleased with Sophie’s silence. “Come, join me in my suite, where we can be alone.”

The Princesses and the Grand Duke followed her out of the Throne Room. The door leading to the Imperial Suite closed with a thump, and soon the courtiers—including the Chancellor—began to leave.

There was a small antechamber outside the Imperial Suite, where, in a garlanded niche, a white-marble bust of Peter the Great stood. Beside it, a tapestry showed fountains of light illuminating the entwined initials of the Empress. I lingered there. I do not know what I was waiting for—a chance opening of the door, perhaps? An order I could offer to fulfill? A piece of knowledge I could carry to the Chancellor?

Sometimes I heard the Empress laugh or Princess Johanna speak, sometimes the Grand Duke. Only Sophie seemed to be silent.

After an hour or so, the door did open and the Empress stepped out, alone. She took no notice of me but stood by the window and parted the curtains. In the long, silent moment that followed, I saw her wipe a tear from her eye.

After the official greetings, the imperial guests were left to themselves. Lent had already begun, the time of confessions, of asking forgiveness of those wronged. For six weeks Orthodox believers would touch no meat, no fish, no butter or cream, not even with tea or coffee.

Yes, it was the time of Lent, but the guests were Lutheran and thus free from Orthodox observances. No fast for them, no morning prayers. They were told to rest after their monthlong journey, to regain their strength.

By then, I had been to Princess Sophie’s room.

Her toilet kit was covered in rare French shagreen. Inside, there were porcelain jars and bottles decorated with cameos. Some contained water smelling of barley, some milk of sweet almonds, one was full of
poudre de violette
for her hair, and one had three different shades of rouge. The perfume bottles were most elaborate. There was the one with a carved cupid aiming an arrow into the distance, another with a nymph standing by a tree—the gifts of the Empress, all. I heard the chambermaids say that the German princess came with four chemises only and a dozen pairs of thick stockings.

I had opened the little silver box. Some of the black taffeta beauty spots within were round, some shaped like a heart or a crescent. I placed one of them on my cheek, but it wouldn’t stick.

A green notebook with a flimsy lock easily gave in to a hairpin. Too easily, perhaps.

The Grand Duke’s eyes are brown and shiny, just like his grandfather’s.

The Empress of Russia is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And the kindest. She cares little for ceremony.

She was clever, I thought. There was nothing in this room—no evidence of doubt, no fear of loneliness at this foreign court where a newcomer has no friends.

The Chancellor would not like these dutiful displays of her virtue, I decided, anticipating his sour look, his fingers tapping the table with annoyance. There would be more complaints about drafts, more shots of vodka emptied in one gulp.

The thought gave me an unexpected jolt of pleasure.

Princess or not, Sophie was just a girl. There was nothing she could do to stop the Chancellor from sending her back where she came from. He might let her take the gifts, mementos of her futile dreams but nothing more. Until the end of her days, she would mourn what she had lost, this brief glimpse of a life that could have been hers.

You could be her friend
, the Empress had told me in January as we all waited for the Princess to arrive. It was the first week of March and I was still peeking through the spying hole of this Moscow palace, watching Sophie and her new maids-of-honor, four Russian girls from the provinces, daughters of low-ranking nobles.

I saw how the maids-of-honor clustered around Sophie, asking her how she liked Russia and what she thought of their dresses and hairdos. I saw how gracious the Princess was with these trivial questions, how eagerly she praised their taste, their choice of trinkets.

Even for a petty German princess, they were better company than a bookbinder’s daughter.

A few days later, from the murky dusk of a walled-up service room, I watched Princess Sophie of Anhalt-Zerbst, sitting on her bed, alone, in a silvery muslin dress, too light for the Russian winter, a shawl around her narrow shoulders, rocking her body to and fro.

I watched her pick up a book and begin to read. I made a note to check for letters between its pages as soon as I got a chance.

The dead air in the service room was making my head spin. From between the cracked boards of the floor seeped the smell of cooked cabbage and dried mushrooms. I tugged at the tight collar of my court dress, thinking of the elephant parade in St. Petersburg I would miss this year.

When I peeked again, Sophie stood in front of an opened door, not into the main hallway but to the corridor used by her servants. Footmen and maids rushed every which way with breakfast trays, coffeepots, baskets. One of the maids was trying to tell her in Russian that she was not supposed to open that door, that this was not the right passageway for her.

“Please, please, Your Highness,” the maid pleaded, her cheeks rosy with excitement. I could imagine the stories she would tell in the servants’ hall that evening.

“
Spasiba
. Thank you,” Sophie kept repeating, but she did not move.

The main door opened, and I saw Princess Johanna come into the room. Or rather whirl inside, with the nervous energy of a storm. She had bruised shadows under her eyes, not yet masked with powder. “What are you doing, foolish girl?” she screamed at her daughter. “Close that door at once!”

Princess Johanna accused her daughter of indifference, lack of charm, absence of feminine lightness. The Grand Duke had not been pleased lately, and she could see why.

“Why don’t you show more interest in what he has to tell you?”

“But all he wants to talk about is Holstein, Maman.”

“Then talk about Holstein, stupid girl.”

More accusations followed. Her daughter was not walking with enough grace. She was neglecting her duties to her father, though what duties these were it was impossible to tell. Sophie stood, head bowed, her fingers fondling the small pendant around her neck.

The main door opened again, and Bairta came in, crying loudly. She was a little Kalmyk girl the Empress had given Princess Sophie as a welcoming gift, after hearing the child singing in the street. Her voice, the Empress declared, was like the purest of chimes. Bairta’s father had asked only for a good horse in exchange for his daughter.

Seeing her, Princess Johanna snapped, “Why can’t you keep this wretch in your own room, Sophie? She is giving me a headache with her constant wailing.”

Bairta scurried into a corner and made herself invisible.

Luckily, Princess Johanna got exhausted by her own tirade. Stretching her lips in a forced grin, she took a close look at herself in her daughter’s mirror, adjusting her hair and a beauty spot on her chin. For a moment she stood motionless, listening to something I could not hear. “Don’t tell me that I didn’t warn you,” she said to Sophie before leaving.

As soon as her mother was gone, Sophie wiped her eyes and shook her head like a wet dog. She made a few hesitant steps around the room, practiced curtsying in front of a mirror.

You could be her friend
, the Empress had told me.
An older friend she could trust
.

In the corner of the room, Bairta began to sob.
This is my chance
, I decided.

I slipped out of the service room and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” I heard. I entered.

Princess Sophie smiled at the sight of me, a smile of recognition I did not expect.

“You read to the Grand Duke, don’t you?” she asked me. “What is your name?”

“Varvara Nikolayevna.”

“Varvara Nikolayevna,” she repeated. On her lips, my Russian name seemed oddly harsh. “Has the Duke sent you?”

“I was just passing by, Your Highness,” I lied. Disappointment flickered across the Princess’s face but quickly vanished. “I thought I heard someone crying,” I added.

She pointed to Bairta. The poor child was squatting, her face hidden between her knees. “She cries all the time. I try to ask her what’s wrong, but she doesn’t understand me.”

Bairta made a sound that was half sigh, half sob, her shoulders hunching.

I knelt beside her.

“Why are you crying?” I asked in Russian.

Reluctantly, the weeping girl lifted her eyes. “I want to go to my Mama,” she sobbed.

There was little comfort in the silent look Sophie and I exchanged then. How do you tell a child that not even a princess can oppose the wishes of an empress?

“Tell her I’ll show her something if she stops crying,” the Princess said.

I did.

Bairta watched, curious but still teary, as the Princess puffed up her cheeks and narrowed her eyes. She growled, meowed, and hissed like angry cats readying for a fight. Then came the screech of the battle, so real that if I closed my own eyes I would think two of the Empress’s cats had crept into the room unobserved. Sophie’s face flushed with the effort, but she didn’t stop until the tears on Bairta’s face stopped flowing.

I still remember that first sweet warming of my heart, lingering like perfume.

“How did you learn to do it?” I asked in amazement.

When Sophie laughed, her whole face lit up. Her blue eyes brightened. She didn’t look like a little
Hausfrau
, I decided, and her chin was not that pointed.

“My father taught me,” she answered.

And then she added, “But I won’t tell you about him, for it will make me sad. And it would be pretty useless if I began to cry now, wouldn’t it?”

Professor Stehlin had been ordered to shorten the time the Grand Duke spent on his lessons. The two children, the Empress said, were to be given time alone, before the court returned to St. Petersburg.

She told me to watch them.

The Grand Duke visited his fiancée every day, in her rooms, for two full hours, just as the Empress wished, but there was little to report.

Sophie asked him if he would take her for a sleigh ride, but he said it would only bore her.

“Would you teach me a Russian dance, then?” she asked.

“I don’t like dancing.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.”

The only time the conversations lasted for a while was when Sophie asked Peter about Holstein, just as her mother had told her to.

The best news I had to report was when the Grand Duke placed an awkward kiss on his fiancée’s cheek, a kiss followed by a race down the corridor to see if they could make a Palace Guard on duty laugh.

I was on my way to the Grand Duke’s study when Bairta stopped me.

“Come,” she lisped, taking hold of my hand. “Mistress wants to see you.”

I followed Bairta in silence. The day before I had heard her play the harp in the antechamber to Sophie’s bedroom. I didn’t ask the child if she still missed her mother.

Sophie was waiting for me, alone, sitting by the window, a book on her lap. I recognized the foot warmer she rested her feet on; the Empress did not think fur blankets enough for Russian winter chills.

I was cautious at first, for I half expected her to start asking me questions about the Grand Duke or the Empress. I wondered what I could tell her without revealing my own secrets. From the adjoining room, I heard Princess Johanna’s chirping voice, echoed by a man’s laughter.