Love affairs of the Courts of Europe Part 5

While the Princess Aly was practising piety and cultivating Cardinals in Rome, with an empty purse and a pain-racked body to make a mockery of her claim to a crown, away in distant Russia Catherine II. was nursing a terrible revenge on the woman who had dared to usurp her position and threaten her throne. The succession of revolutions, at which she had at first smiled scornfully, had now roused the tigress in her. She would show the world that she was no woman to be trifled with, and the first victim of her vengeance should be that brazen Princess who dared to masquerade as "Elizabeth II."

She sent imperative orders to her trusted and beloved Orloff, fresh from his crushing defeat of the Turkish fleet, to seize her at any cost, even if he had to raze Ragusa to the ground; and these orders she knew would be executed to the letter. For was not Orloff the man whose strong hands had strangled her husband and placed the crown on her head; also her most devoted slave? He was, it is true, the biggest scoundrel (as he was also one of the handsomest men) in Europe, a man ready to stoop to any infamy, and thus the best possible tool for such an infamous purpose; but he was also her greatest admirer, eager to step into the place of "chief favourite" from which his brother Gregory had just been dismissed.

When, however, Orloff went to Ragusa, with his soldiers at his back, he found that the Princess had already flown, leaving no trace behind her.

He ransacked Sicily in vain, and it was only when Sir William Hamilton's letter to his Leghorn banker came to his hands that he discovered that she was in Rome, a much safer asylum than Ragusa. It was hopeless now to capture her by force; he must try diplomacy, and, by the hands of an aide-de-camp, he sent her a letter in which he informed her that he had received her ukase and was anxious to pay due homage to the future Empress of Russia.

Such was the "Judas" message Kristenef, Orloff's emissary, carried to the Princess, whom he found in a pitiful condition, wasted to a shadow by disease and starvation--"in a room cold and bare, whose only furniture was a leather sofa, on which she lay in a high fever, coughing convulsively." To such pathetic straits was "Elizabeth II." reduced when Kristenef came with his fawning airs and lying tongue to tell her that Alexis Orloff, the greatest man in Russia, had instructed him to offer her the throne of the Tsars, and, as an earnest of his loyalty, to beg her acceptance of a loan of eleven thousand ducats.

In vain did Domanski, who was still by her side, warn her against the smooth-tongued envoy. She was flattered by such unexpected homage, her eyes were dazzled by the near prospect of the coveted crown which was to be hers, at last, just when hope seemed dead. She would accept Orloff's invitation to go to Pisa to meet him. "As for you," she said, "if you are afraid, you can stay behind. I am going where Destiny calls me."

This revolution in her fortunes acted like magic. New life coursed through her veins, colour returned to her cheeks, and brightness to her eyes, as one February day in 1775 she left Rome, with the devoted Domanski for companion and a brilliant escort, for Pisa, where Orloff greeted her as an Empress. He gave regal fetes in her honour and filled her ears with honeyed and flattering words.

Affecting to be dazzled by her beauty, he even dared to make pa.s.sionate love to her, which no man of his day could do more effectively than this handsomest of the Orloffs; and so infatuated was the poor Princess by the adoration of her handsome lover and the a.s.surance of the throne he was to give her, that she at last consented to share that throne with him, and by his side went through a marriage ceremony, at which two of his officers masqueraded as officiating priests.

Nothing remained now between her and the goal of her desires, except to make the journey to Russia as speedily as possible, and a few hours after the wedding banquet we see her in the Admiral's launch, with Orloff and Domanski and a brilliant suite of officers, leaving Leghorn for the Russian flagship, where she was received with the blare of bands and the booming of artillery. The crowning moment arrived when, as she was being hoisted to the deck in a gorgeous chair suspended from the yard-arm, her future sailors greeted her with thunders of shouts, "Long live the Empress!"

The moment she set foot on deck she was seized, handcuffs were snapped on her wrists, and she was carried a helpless captive to a cabin. At the same moment Domanski was overpowered before he had time to use his sword, and made a prisoner.

The Princess's cries for Orloff, her husband and saviour, are met with derision. Orloff she is told is himself a prisoner. He has, in fact, vanished, his dastardly mission executed; and she never saw him again.

Two months later the victim of a man's treachery and a woman's vengeance is looking with tear-dimmed eyes on "her capital" through a barred window of a cell in the fortress of Saints Peter and Paul.

Over the tragic closing of her days we may not dwell long. The scene is too pitiful, too harrowing. In vain she implores an interview with Catherine, who blazes into anger at the request. "The impudence of the wretch," she exclaims, "is beyond all bounds! She must be mad. Tell her if she wishes any improvement in her lot to cease the comedy she is playing." Prince Galitzin, Grand Chancellor, exerts all his skill in vain to force a confession of imposture from her. To his wiles and threats alike she opposes a dignified and calm front. She persists in the story of her birth; refuses to admit that she is an impostor.

Even when she is flung into a loathsome cell, with bread and water for diet, she does not waver a jot in her demeanour of dignity or in her Royal claims. Only when she is charged with being the daughter of a Prague innkeeper does she allow indignation to master her, as she retorts, "I have never been in Prague in my life, and if I knew who had thus slandered me I would scratch his eyes out." Domanski, too, proves equally intractable; even the promise of marriage to her will not wring from him a word that might discredit his beloved Princess.

But although the Princess keeps such a brave heart under conditions that might well have broken it, her spirit is powerless against the insidious disease that is working such havoc with her body. In her damp, noisome cell consumption makes rapid headway. Her strength ebbs daily; the end is coming swiftly near. She makes a last dying appeal to Catherine to see her if but for a few moments, but the appeal falls on deaf ears.

When she sends for a priest to minister to her last hours, and, by Catherine's orders, he makes a final attempt to wrest her secret from her, she moans with her failing breath, "Say the prayers for the dead.

That is all there is for you to do here."

Four days later death came to her release. Catherine's throne was safe from this danger at least, and she was left to dalliance with her legion of lovers, while the woman on whom she had wreaked such terrible vengeance lay deeply buried in the courtyard of her prison, the very soldiers who dug her grave being sworn to secrecy. Thus in mystery her life opened, and in secrecy it closed.

CHAPTER VIII

THE KING AND THE "LITTLE DOVE"

A savage murmur ran through the market-place of Bergen, one summer morning in the year 1507, as Chancellor Valkendorf made his pompous way along the avenues of stalls laden with their country produce, his pa.s.sage followed by scowling eyes and low-spoken maledictions.

There could not have been a more unwelcome visitor than this cold-eyed, supercilious Chancellor, unless it were his master, Christian, the Danish Prince who had come to rule Norway with the iron hand, and to stamp out the fires of rebellion against the alien rule that were always smouldering, when not leaping into flame. Bergen itself had been the scene of the latest revolt against oppressive and unjust taxes, and the insolent Valkendorf, who was now taking his morning stroll in the market-place, was fresh from suppressing it with a rough hand which had left many a smart and longing for vengeance behind it.

But the Chancellor could afford to smile at such evidences of unpopularity. He knew that he was the most hated man in Norway--after his master--but he had executed his mission well and was ready to do it again. And thus it was with an air, half-amused, half-contemptuous, that he made his progress this July morning among the booths and stalls of the market, with eyes scornfully blind to frowns, but very wide open for any pretty face he might chance to see.

He had not strolled far before his eyes were arrested by as strangely contrasted a picture as any he had ever seen. Behind one of the stalls, heaped high with luscious, many-coloured fruits and mountains of vegetables, were two women, each so remarkable in her different way that, almost involuntarily, he stood rooted to the spot, gazing open-eyed at them. The elder of the two was of gigantic stature, towering head and shoulders over her companion, with harsh, masculine face, ma.s.sive jaw, coa.r.s.e protruding lips, and black eyes which were fixed on him in a magnetic stare, defiant and scornful--for none knew better than she who the stranger was, and few hated him more.

But it was not to this grim, hard-visaged Amazon that Valkendorf's eyes were drawn, compelling as were her stature and her basilisk stare. They quickly turned from her, with a motion of contempt, to feast on the vision by her side--that of a girl on the threshold of young womanhood and of a beauty that dazzled the eyes of the old voluptuary. How had she come there and in such company, this ravishing girl on whom Nature had lavished the last touch of virginal loveliness, this maiden with her figure of such supple grace, the proud little oval face with its complexion of cream and roses, the dainty head from which twin plaits of golden hair fell almost to her knees, and the eyes blue as violets, now veiled demurely, now opening wide to reveal their glories, enhanced by a look of appeal, almost of fear.

The Chancellor, who was the last man to pa.s.s by a flower so seductively beautiful, approached the stall, undaunted by the forbidding eyes of the giantess, Frau Sigbrit, by name, and, after making a small purchase, sought to draw her into amiable conversation. "No," she said in answer to his inquiries, "we are not Norwegian. We come from Holland, my daughter and I, and we are trying to earn a little money before returning there. But why do you ask?" she demanded almost fiercely, putting a protecting arm around the girl, as if she would shield her from an enemy. "You are in such a different world from ours!"

Little by little, however, the grim face began to relax under the adroit flatteries and courtly deference of the Chancellor--for none knew better than he the arts of charming, when he pleased; and it was not long before the Amazon, completely thawed, was confiding to him the most intimate details of her history and her hopes.

"Yes, my daughter is beautiful," she said, with a look of pride at the girl which transfigured her face. "Many a great man has told me so--dukes, princes, and lords. She is as fair a flower as ever grew in Holland; and she is as sweet as she is fair. She is Dyveke, my "little dove," the pride of my heart, my soul, my life. She is to be a Queen one day. It has been revealed to me in my dreams. But when the day dawns it will be the saddest in my life." And with further amiable words and a final courtly salute, Valkendorf continued his stroll, secretly promising himself a further acquaintance with the dragon and her "little dove."

This was the first of many morning strolls in the Bergen market, in which the Chancellor spent delightful moments at Frau Sigbrit's stall, each leaving him more and more a slave to her daughter's charms; for he quickly found that to her physical perfections were allied a low, sweet voice, every note of which was musical as that of a nightingale, a quiet dignity and refinement as far removed from her station as her simple print frock with the bunch of roses nestling in the white purity of her bosom, and a sprightliness of wit which even her modesty could not always repress.

Thus it was that, when Valkendorf at last returned to Upsala and the Court of his master, Christian, his tongue was full of the praises of the "market-beauty" of Bergen, whose charms he pictured so glowingly that the Prince's heart became as inflamed by a sympathetic pa.s.sion as his mind by curiosity to see such a siren. "I shall not rest," he said to his Chancellor, "until I have seen your 'little dove' with my own eyes; and who knows," he added with a laugh, "perhaps I shall steal her from you!"

It was in vain that Valkendorf, now alarmed by his indiscretion, began to pour cold water on the flames he had lit. Christian had quite lost his susceptible heart to the rustic and unknown beauty, and vowed that he could not rest until he had seen her with his own eyes. And within a month he was riding into Bergen, with Valkendorf by his side, at the head of a brilliant retinue.

As the Prince made his way through the crowded avenues of the Bergen streets to an accompaniment of scowls punctuated by feeble, forced cheers, he cut a goodly enough figure to win many an admiring, if reluctant, glance from bright eyes. With his broad shoulders, his erect, well-knit figure clothed in purple velvet, his stern, swarthy face crowned by a white-plumed hat, Christian looked every inch a Prince.

To-day, too, he was in his most amiable mood, with a smile ready to leap to his lips, and many a gracious wave of the hand and sweep of plumed hat to acknowledge the grudged salutes of his subjects. He could be charming enough when he pleased, and this was a day of high good-humour; for his mind was full of the pleasure that awaited him. Even Frau Sigbrit's scowl was chased away when his eyes were drawn to her towering figure, and with a swift smile he singled her out for the honour of a special salute.

When the Prince at last arrived in the market-square, he was greeted by a procession of the prettiest maidens in Bergen who, in white frocks and with flower-wreathed hair, advanced to pay him the homage of demure eyes. But among them all, the loveliest girls of the city, Christian saw but one--a girl younger than almost any other, but so radiantly lovely that his eyes fixed themselves on her as if entranced, until her cheeks flamed a vivid crimson under the ardour of his gaze. "No need to point her out," he whispered delightedly to Valkendorf, "I see your 'little dove,' and she is all you have told me and more."

Before many hours had pa.s.sed, a Court official appeared at Frau Sigbrit's cottage door with a command from the Prince to her and her daughter to attend a State ball the following evening. If the poor market-woman had had a crown laid at her feet, her surprise and consternation could scarcely have been greater. But she would make a bigger sacrifice of inclination than this for the "little dove" who filled her heart, and who, she remembered, was destined to be a Queen; and decking her in all the finery her modest purse could command and with a taste of which few would have suspected she was capable, the market stall-keeper stalked majestically through the avenue of gorgeous flunkeys, her little Princess with downcast eyes following demurely in her wake.

All the fairest women of Bergen were gathered at this ball, the host of which was their coming King, but it was to the fruit-seller's daughter that all eyes were turned, in homage to such a rare combination of beauty, grace, and modesty. Many a fair lip, it is true, curled in mockery, recognising in the belle of the ball the low-born girl of the market-place; but it was the mockery of jealousy, the scornful tribute to a loveliness greater than their own.

As for Prince Christian, he had no eyes for any but the "little dove"

who outshone all her rivals as the sun pales the stars. It was the maid of the market whom he led out for the first dance, and throughout the long night he rarely left her side, whirling round the room with her, his arm close-clasped round her slender waist, not seeing or indifferent to the glances of envy and hate that followed them; or, during the intervals, drinking in her beauty as he poured sweet flatteries into her ears. As for Dyveke, she was radiantly happy at finding herself thus transported into the favour of a Prince and the Queendom of fair women, for whose envy she cared as little as for the danger in which she stood.

If anything had remained to complete Christian's infatuation, this intoxicating night of the ball supplied it. The "little dove" had found a secure nesting-place in his heart. She must be his at any cost. She and her mother alone, of all the guests, were invited to spend the rest of the night at the castle as the Prince's guests; and when he parted from her the following day, it was with vows on his part of undying love and fidelity, and a promise on hers to come to him at Upsala as soon as a suitable home could be found for her.

Thus easily was the dove caught in the toils of one of the most amorous Princes of Europe; but it must be said for her that her heart went with the surrender of her freedom, for the Prince, with his ardent pa.s.sion, his strength and his magnetism, had swept her as quickly off her feet as she had made a quick conquest of him.

Thus, before many weeks had pa.s.sed, we find Dyveke installed with her mother in a sumptuous home in the outskirts of Upsala, queening it in the Prince's Court, and every day forging new fetters to bind him to her. And while Dyveke thus ruled over Christian's heart, her strong-minded mother soon established a similar empire over his mind.

With the clever, masterful brain of a man, the Amazon of the market-place developed such a capacity for intrigue, such a grasp of statesmanship and such arts of diplomacy that Christian, strong man as he thought himself, soon became little more than a puppet in her hands, taking her counsel and deferring to her judgment in preference to those of his ministers. The fruit-seller thus found herself virtual Prime Minister, while her daughter reigned, an uncrowned Queen.

When the Prince was summoned to Copenhagen by his father's failing health, Frau Sigbrit and her daughter accompanied him, one in her way as indispensable as the other; and when King James died and Christian reigned in his stead, the women of the Bergen market were installed in a splendid suite of apartments in his palace. So hopeless was his subjection to both that his subjects, with an indifferent shrug of the shoulders, accepted them as inevitable.

For a time, it is true, their supremacy was in danger. Now that Christian was King, it became important to provide him with a Queen, and a suitable consort was found for him in the Austrian Princess, Isabella, sister of the Emperor Charles V., a well-gilded bride, distinguished alike for her beauty and her piety. Isabella, however, was one of the last women to tolerate any rivalry in her husband's affection, and before the marriage-contract was sealed, she had received a solemn pledge from Christian's envoys that his relations with the pretty flower-girl should cease.

But even Christian's word of honour was seldom allowed to bar the way to his pleasure, and within a few weeks of Isabella's bridal entry into Copenhagen, Dyveke and her mother resumed their places at his Court, to his Queen's unconcealed disgust and displeasure. More than this, he established them in a fine house near his palace gates; and when he was not dallying there with Dyveke, he was to be found by her side at the Castle of Hvideur, of which he had made her chatelaine.

The remonstrances of Valkendorf and his other ministers were made to deaf ears; his wife's reproaches and tears were as futile as the strongly worded protestations of his Royal relatives. Pleadings, arguments, and threats were alike powerless to break the spell Dyveke and her mother had cast over him. But Dyveke's day of empire was now drawing to a tragic close. One day, after eating some cherries from the palace gardens, she was seized with a violent pain. All the skill of the Court doctors could do as little to a.s.suage her agony as to save her life; and within a few hours she died, clasped to the breast of her distracted lover!

Such was Christian's distress that for a time his reason trembled in the balance. He vowed that he would not be separated from her even by death; he threatened to put an end to his own life since it had been reft of all that made it worth living. And when cooler moments came, he swore a terrible vengeance against those who had robbed him of his beloved. She had been poisoned beyond a doubt; but who had done the dastardly deed?

The finger of suspicion pointed to the steward of his household, Torbern Oxe, who, it was said, had been among the most ardent of Dyveke's admirers, and had had the audacity to aspire to her hand. It was even rumoured that he had had more intimate relations with her. Such were the stories and suspicions that pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth in Christian's clouded Court before Dyveke's beautiful body was cold; and such were the tales which Hans Faaborg, the King's Treasurer, poured into his master's ears.

Hans Faaborg little dreamt that when he was thus trying to bring about the downfall of his rival he was sealing his own fate. Christian lent an eager ear to the stories of his steward's iniquities; but, when he found there was no shred of proof to support them, his anger and disappointment vented themselves on the informer. He had long suspected Faaborg of irregularities in his purse-holding, and in these suspicions found a weapon to use against him. Faaborg was arrested; an examination of his ledgers showed that for years he had been waxing rich at his master's expense, and he had to pay with his life the penalty of his fraud and his unproved testimony.

But Faaborg, though thus removed from his path, was by no means done with. Rumours began to be circulated that a strange light appeared every night above the dead man's head as he swung on the gallows. The city was full of superst.i.tious awe and of whisperings that Heaven was thus bearing witness to the Treasurer's innocence. And even the King himself, when he too saw the unearthly light forming a halo round his victim's head, was filled with remorse and fear to such an extent that he had Faaborg's body cut down and honoured with a State funeral.

He was still, however, as far as ever from solving the mystery of Dyveke's death; and the longer his desire for vengeance was baffled, the more clamorous it became. Although nothing could be proved against Torbern Oxe, Christian was by no means satisfied of his innocence, and he decided to discover by guile the secret which all other means had failed to reveal. He would, if possible, make his steward his own betrayer. One day, at a Court banquet, he turned in jocular mood to the minister and said, "Tell me now, my dear Torbern, was there really any truth in what Faaborg told me of your relations with my beautiful Lady!

Don't hesitate to tell the truth, which only you know, for I a.s.sure you no harm shall come to you from it."