While a Mecklenburg princess had attained to the regency of Russia, and
while her son was hailed as emperor, the Princess Elizabeth lived alone
and unnoticed in her small and modestly-furnished throne, and yet in St.
Petersburg was living the only rightful heir to the empire, the daughter
of Czar Peter the Great! And as she was young, beautiful, and amiable,
how came she to be set aside to make room for a stranger upon the throne
of her father, which belonged to her alone?
Princess Elizabeth had voluntarily kept aloof from all political
intrigues and all revolutions. In the interior of her palace she passed
happy days; her world, her life, and her pleasures were there. Princess
Elizabeth desired not to reign; her only wish was to love and be loved.
The intoxicating splendor of worldly greatness was not so inviting to
her as the more intoxicating pleasure of blessed and happy love. She
would, above all things, be a woman, and enjoy the full possession of
her youth and happiness.
What cared she that her own rightful throne was occupied by a
stranger--what cared she for the blinding shimmer of a crown? Ah, it
troubled her not that she was poor, and possessed not even the means of
bestowing presents upon her favorites and friends. But she felt happy
in her poverty, for she was free to love whom she would, to raise to
herself whomsoever she might please.
It was a festival day that they were celebrating in the humble palace of
the emperor's daughter Elizabeth--certainly a festival day, for it was
the name-day of the princess.
The rooms were adorned with festoons and garlands, and all her
dependants and friends were gathered around her. Elizabeth saw not the
limited number of this band; she enjoyed herself with those who were
there, and lamented not the much greater number of those who had
forgotten her.
She was among her friends, in her little reception-room. Evening had
come, the household and the less trusted and favored of her adherents
had withdrawn, and only the most intimate, most favored friends now
remained with the princess.
They had conversed so long that they now recurred to the enjoyment of
that always-ready, always-pleasing art, music. A young man sang to the
accompaniment of a guitar.
Elizabeth listened, listlessly reclining upon her divan. Behind her
stood two gentlemen, who, like her, were delightedly listening to the
singing of the youth.
Elizabeth was a blooming, beautiful woman. She was to-day charming
to the eye in the crimson-velvet robe, embroidered with silver, that
enveloped her full, voluptuous form, leaving her neck and gorge free,
and displaying the delicate whiteness of her skin in beautiful contrast
with the purple of her robe. Perhaps a severe judge might not have
pronounced her face handsome according to the rules of the antique, but
it was one of those faces that please and bewitch the other sex; one of
those beauties whose charm consists not so much in the regularity of
the lines as in the ever-varying expression. There was so much that was
winning, enticing, supercilious, much-promising, and warm-glowing, in
the face of this woman! The full, swelling, deep-red lips, how charming
were they when she smiled; those dark, sparkling eyes, how seducing
were they when shaded by a soft veil of emotional enthusiasm; those
faintly-blushing cheeks, that heaving bosom, that voluptuous form, yet
resplendent with youthful gayety--for Elizabeth had not yet reached her
thirtieth year--whom would she not have animated, excited, transported?