Elizabeth knew she was beautiful and attractive, and this was her
pride and her joy. She could easily pardon the German princess, Anna
Leopoldowna, for occupying the throne that was rightfully her own, but
she would never have forgiven the regent had she been handsomer than
herself. Anna Leopoldowna was the most powerful woman in Russia, but
she, Elizabeth, was the handsomest woman in Russia, which was all she
coveted, and she had nothing more to desire.
But at this moment she thought neither of Anna Leopoldowna nor of her
own beauty, but only of the singer who was warbling to her those Russian
popular songs so full of love and sadness that they bring tears into the
eyes and fill the heart with yearning.
Elizabeth 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?"