Alexander stepped onto the float, the platform bobbing with the weight of his foot. He could not help but admire the style and flourish the French had produced so quickly.
How do I address this little man who has decimated my armies—and those of Austria and Prussia? He will never be my equal, yet I must secure peace.
“I hate the English as much as you do,” said Alexander, addressing Napoleon without as much as a salute.
“In that case,” said Napoleon, “peace is as good as made.”
Chapter 34
Winter Palace, St. Petersburg
August, 1807
“How could you make peace with that barbarian!” said Ekaterina, throwing a gold-plated fork to the ground. A servant scurried to recover it. Another swiftly gave the princess a new one.
“Katia!” admonished the dowager empress. “Your manners. The servants observe us.”
Ekaterina’s round face took on a fierce aspect. “How can you embrace this Corsican who demeans nobility, murders our—”
“I have no choice, Katia,” said Alexander, putting down his fork. “Our armies and the Prussians were destroyed by Napoleon’s Grand Armée—”
“Don’t call it that!” said Ekaterina.
“What?”
“Grand Armée! It’s as if you tip your hat in obeisance every time you say it! And how could our Russian army be defeated by the French? I simply do not understand.”
“No, you don’t,” said Alexander. “You did not see shreds of flesh, shards of human bones sharp enough to cut into the horses’ hooves. You did not look down into a bloody hole that was a soldier’s head just minutes before. Or children younger than you fighting among the front ranks.”
“Alexander!” said the dowager empress. “We are at the dinner table.”
Empress Elizabeth made a move to catch her husband’s hand. He snatched his fingers from her grasp, clenching his fists in emotion.
“I cried, Katia! I held my head in my hands and wept! I led the Imperial Army into battle, haughty and full of bravado. Instead of a victory, I opened the bloody door of hell for tens of thousands of souls. One by one they died for Russia, for me. I led them into hell.”
Alexander pressed his knuckle into corners of his eyes to stop the new flood of emotion.
“Yes, dear sister. I made peace with Napoleon so that a serf could return home to his family. I signed the filthy treaty and drank champagne with a monster so that a nobleman could once again oversee the lands to bring in the harvests so that hundreds of thousands don’t starve. I made peace in Russia’s name so that we might survive another day.”
He wadded his napkin, hurled it to floor, and strode out of the room, his riding boots clicking on the magnificent parquet.
“The Tsar wishes to be received,” said one of Ekaterina’s ladies. The duchess looked up from her book of Kant, the German words still filling her head.
“Of course, show him in at once.” She placed her book on the table among the many others written in an array of foreign languages.
As her brother entered her study she remained determinedly seated, arching an eyebrow at her visitor.
“Ah!” said Alexander, kissing her cheeks three times. “I see you do not observe proper court etiquette by standing when the Tsar of Russia enters the room, Katia.”
“I see that you have done everything to abolish proper court etiquette and the court itself, dear Alexander, ” she replied.
Alexander took a seat next to her, settling back into the stuffed chair.
“Did you put our mother up to writing that damnable letter?” he said, pulling the paper from the pocket of his jacket.
“Which damnable letter do you refer to?” she asked, laughing. “I cannot accept blame for every letter our mother writes. Do let me see it.”
Alexander passed the letter to her. While she read, he examined the pile of books on her table.
“I see you are reading Kant,” he said. He lifted another book, scanning the spine. “Rousseau. And what’s this? Locke and Hobbes?”
“Shhh!” said Ekaterina. “Yes, I am reading. Ah! Here she makes reference to me. A motive for respecting myself by attending balls—which she means meeting a future husband, I am sure. Oh, that is rich!”
“Did you say as much?”
“No!” said Ekaterina. “I simply notice your absence. You have withdrawn from all of us, not just the court. But yes, a ball or two might enhance your popularity amongst the nobles.”
“Bah! The nobles. They hate me as do the commoners since the Tilsit accord.”
Ekaterina cocked her head. “And Mama is right. We do miss Grandmama’s elegant parties.”
Alexander smiled. “You enchant me, little sister.”
“If I so enchant you, dear brother, then I ask you, why do you not spend more time with us?”
“I need time to think,” he said, shaking his head. “To pray.”
“What? Pray? To whom?” Ekaterina laughed. “To your Polish mistress, perhaps?”
He shook his head vehemently. “You are too young to understand.”
“Alexander! Do not be a fool. I am nineteen years old.”
Alexander looked down at his hand. “Which brings me to business.” A shaft of light cast his profile into shadow.
“Oh, no. You are about to be serious, aren’t you, dear brother? If it is about marriage, I mean to marry Francis of Austria.”
“No!” said Alexander, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Do not talk nonsense. I would never consent to it. He is nearly forty years old! Besides Austria is a fickle ally.”
“I would be the empress of Austria and of the Holy Roman Empire, Alexander! Yes, I know Francis is no Adonis, but he is a decent man.”
Alexander shook his head vehemently.
“I forbid it,” he said. He leaned over and took his youngest sister’s hand. “I could not bear to have you be unhappy.”
“You have read too many French plays, I think,” said Ekaterina, though she did not withdraw her hand from his warm grasp.
“You are my conscience, my rudder in all these turbulent seas of war, of leadership,” he said. “Ah, I see in your eyes you think me flattering you.”
“Only because you will not allow me to be empress of Austria,” she said, pressing his hand. “I think you rather selfish.”
“Ah, dear sister. Your spirit, your light is beyond me. I cannot fathom its depths. You share my blood. I see myself in you, our father, and most of all our grandmother, God rest her immortal soul. You have her vivacity, her wisdom—”
“So am I to remain a spinster then, good brother? So that you can worship at my feet, Alexander? Really. Do you think I have no ambition?”
Now he dropped her hand, ever so gently.
“I do have a proposition for you, dearest Katia. You say you have ambition. All right. Prepare yourself.”
Ekaterina crinkled her eyes at him, laughing.
“Whatever must I prepare my—”
Alexander waved his hand for silence.
“The emperor Napoleon has asked for your hand.”
“What?”
“He has divorced Josephine in order to find a wife to give him an heir. He wanted to wed our little sister Anne, but Mama of course protested.”
The blood drained from Ekaterina’s face, her jaw slackening in horror.
“You cannot be serious, Alexander!”
“Yes. I mean to discuss it with Mama this afternoon.”
“But! No, I will not! I would rather marry the lowest Russian serf than that Corsican!”
Alexander drew a deep breath into his lungs. He held it for several seconds before he expelled it, his shoulders shrinking.
“You know that if we refuse, our tenuous alliance with Napoleon will rupture. We will return to the battlefields where—”
“You will not marry me to that monster! You who said I was your conscience. You are in great need of a conscience this very minute!”
Alexander r
ubbed his brow hard. “Your refusal will be war. He will take it as a colossal insult, a rejection of our alliance.”
“I do not give a damn what Napoleon thinks! Do not pander to that boastful peasant! Russia shall prevail.”
“We haven’t the troops, Katia! We cannot defeat—”
“You disgrace our ancestors, Alexander! You would prostitute your own sister to that Corsican swine?”
Alexander said nothing. He stood up and walked to the door. As always an Ethiopian serf turned the handle, opening it for the Tsar and bowed low.
Alexander spoke to Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna that afternoon.
“Mama, you must speak to her. Convince her it is for the sake of Russia.
“No! Categorically, no!” she answered. “I will not have my brilliant daughter married to that peasant. We have discussed it.”
“Then how shall we approach Napoleon?” Alexander asked. “What excuse can we give him that he does not engage us in war?”
“Stand up to him, Alexander!”
“Mama, you do not understand. It would mean the slaughter of our army, a massacre—and still we would not win! Napoleon would seize Russia.”
The dowager empress turned away, gazing out the window toward the Neva. Then she looked from her son to the little gold casket that held Tsar Paul’s bloodstained nightshirt.
She raised her eyes slowly again to her son’s.
“I shall make it impossible!”
“Mama! You can’t!”
Maria Feodorovna shook her head, dismissing his protest.
“Do not contradict me, Alexander. I will arrange a marriage this very day. Who is available?” An idea brightened her eyes. “Ah, Count George of Oldenburg!”
“Mama! Her first cousin? Hardly an attractive man. Nor very imposing,” sniffed Alexander. “He is too old for Katia.”
The dowager empress glanced at her son. “I would almost think you jealous, Alexander, dear.”
“Nonsense!” said Alexander. He rubbed his forehead aggressively. “It is just the comparison of Napoleon to a Prussian count is, well—”
“The Count of Oldenburg is a decent man and will make a good husband. I shall write to him immediately.” She rang a bell, immediately soliciting a servant. “Please send for Duchess Ekaterina immediately.”
The dowager empress Maria Feodorovna looked at her son, whose shoulders were huddled in defeat.
“I know how you love her, Alexander. At least this way she will be safe from that tyrant. My beloved daughter shall not be a sacrificial lamb to that Corsican usurper!”
Alexander threw up his hands. “How can I negotiate peace now?”
Maria Feodorovna stared at her son as a crow eyes a button on the ground.
“What, Mama?”
The dowager empress shook her head. “What worries me now, Alexander, is how you are changing. Where are your ethics, your moral grounding?”
Alexander shook his head vehemently, his cheeks scorching under his mother’s rebuke. “I have seen death. I have seen the horrors of war firsthand. I’m trying to maintain peace for Russia, Mama!”
The dowager empress met his eye. “At the cost of your very soul.”
Alexander blanched under her withering look. He watched his mother’s gaze shift to the golden casket and closed his eyes in anguish.
Part 4
A Namesake
Chapter 35
Polotsk, Russia
August 1807
After the Treaty of Tilsit, we returned from the Lithuanian frontiers to old Russia.
Peacetime required a new etiquette from all of us, one that I never learned when we were thrown into battle. The captain sent for Wyszemirski and me. He instructed us to observe all formalities of rank, coming to attention for officers and presenting arms to them—drawing our sabers—when we were on duty. We had to respond to roll call in a barking gruff voice, something I was forced to practice, as it did not come naturally.
We were required to clean the placowka—the square where sentries assembled in front of the guardhouse—and to stand watch, guarding the church and powder magazine.
Our regiment, the Pskov Dragoons, was combined in one camp with the Ordensk Cuirassiers. The tents—instead of housing only ten—were as big as ballrooms, with a platoon in each. Among so many men I kept to myself, working hard to disguise my gender by changing my underclothes silently in the cover of night. I washed my intimates in the river when I watered Alcides, stuffing them inside my jacket—and then rolling them tight in my wool blanket and letting them dry while I slept.
They were never completely dry and chafed me, especially the linen pads for my monthlies. I developed a rash that itched like the devil. I longed for quarters where I might have more privacy to tend to my personal hygiene.
As I stood sentry or cleaned the placowka with a spade, my mind wandered to my parents, to my home in Sarapul. The captain urged me to write to my father to confirm my station as part of the nobility so that I might be given an officer’s rank. Without proof I was condemned to never rise above the rank of Cadet Durov, essentially an enlisted soldier.
How I longed to write my father! And how long could I endure being a common soldier, especially in peacetime?
Finally I decided I had to write him, if only to let him know I was still alive.
Alcides frisked about now, well rested and putting on weight after battle. I had a difficult time keeping him under control as I led him to the river for water.
“Ah, Alcides!” I said to him, stroking his neck. “You deserve an officer astride you, noble Alcides! How we survived Heilsberg and Friedland is a miracle. Let us hope Papa is proud to have a … son, serving the emperor.”
Alcides seemed unconcerned, nibbling at the sweet grass growing in clumps along the riverbank.
I was summoned to report to Major General Kachowski’s headquarters.
“Durov, I want you to tell me the truth. Do your parents know that you enlisted in the army?”
I swallowed, biting my lip.
“No, sir,” I admitted. “They never would have given me permission.”
“I see,” said the major general. He drew a deep breath, saying nothing more. He went to his desk, leafing through some papers.
“You are to be sent to Vitebsk, accompanied by my adjutant Neidhardt. Please surrender your saber, lance, and pistols.”
“Sir?” I gasped. “Yes, sir.”
I fought back tears. Was he sending me back to my parents? Had my father demanded my return?
General Kachowski looked at me with such compassion I almost embraced him. But I stood rooted to the carpet.
“You are a brave soldier, Durov,” the general said. “Despite your bad judgment, you have proved that to all of us. We will miss you.”
He turned away from me, looking out the window. I was sure he had tears in his eyes.
“Dismissed!” he said, without turning around.
Neidhardt and I left Polotsk by carriage, Alcides tied to the back. At first Neidhardt did not speak with me—he appeared aloof and dined alone in the post stations, leaving me outside to watch over the change of horses.
I wondered what he might know or even where we were going, but I dared not ask.
By the time we arrived in Vitebsk, Neidhardt’s demeanor had softened. I was invited to his quarters, and he hosted me to coffee and breakfast. Though we still had not exchanged any meaningful words, I felt more camaraderie.
“Durov,” he said. “I must leave you to report to the commander in chief, Count Buxhowden. Please ready yourself to meet him this afternoon.”
“Count Buxhowden!” I said. “But—why?”
“This is a matter I cannot discuss,” said Neidhardt. I must have looked as desperate as I felt, for he added, “If it comforts you at all, I am ignorant of the matter. I am simply obeying Major General Kachowski’s orders.”
I checked a sob that rose in my throat, turning away from Neidhardt. I already suspected I was being sent home
.
Chapter 36
Winter Palace, St. Petersburg
October 1807
Adam Czartoryski requested a private audience with the tsar.
“What brings you here so formally, my friend?” asked Alexander.
“Exactly that, Your Highness,” said Czartoryski. “I want to talk to you as a friend.”
Alexander waited silently while Czartoryski gathered his courage.
“I think you have been misled by your advisors, particularly Prince Dolgoruky.”
Alexander raised his chin.
“I do not like your tone, old friend. One might think you are jealous of your comrades-in-arms.”
“Your Majesty! My sources inform me that he was deliberately rude to Napoleon before the Battle of Austerlitz. A battle that swept away nearly thirty thousand lives.”
“Austerlitz? Why return to old history? We are at peace with Napoleon.”
“Peace? What kind of peace can Russia have with that tyrant?”
Alexander held up his hand, stifling any further comment on his new ally.
“What do you mean, attacking Prince Dolgoruky?” he asked.
“You sent him as an envoy, instead of me. He stuck his finger in Napoleon’s eye.”
“Dolgoruky is not a sycophant to—”
“Sycophant! He is precisely that to you, Alexander. You surround yourself with faux amis! At Austerlitz, you seized General Kutuzov’s command with their urging and flattery! You galloped to advanced positions, to the front of the columns.”
“We have already discussed this. I want all my generals to lead by example—at the front of our armies.”
“You should have left the army in the hands of an experienced commander in chief.”
“Kutuzov? That old blind bumbler—”
“He tried to warn you not to proceed with the attack until reinforcements arrived. He tried to save the Russian army—”
“Czartoryski! You have made your point too many times. You are dismissed. Permanently. I am replacing your position as foreign minister with Baron Andre Budberg.”
The Girl Who Fought Napoleon: A Novel of the Russian Empire Page 19
