The Daughter of an Empress

Two years had elapsed since Elizabeth's accession to the throne; for

her, two years of pleasure and enjoyment, only troubled here and there

with occasional small clouds of ill-humor--but those clouds overshadowed

only her domestic peace. It was not the affairs of state, not the

interests of her people, that troubled and saddened Elizabeth; she asked

not how many of her subjects the war with Sweden had swept away; how

many had fallen a sacrifice to hunger in the southern provinces of

her realm. She had quite other cares and anxieties than those which

concerned only her ministers, not herself. What have princes to do with

the happiness of their people.

Elizabeth was a consummate princess; she thought only of her own

happiness, only of herself and her own sorrows. And it was a very

severe, very incurable sorrow that visited her--a sorrow that often

brought tears of anger into her eyes and curses upon her lips. Elizabeth

was jealous--jealous not of this or that woman, but of the whole sex.

She glowingly desired to be the fairest of all women, and constantly

trembled lest some one should come to rob her of the prize of beauty.

And were there not, in her own court, women who might venture to enter

the lists with her? Was there not, before all, one woman whose aspect

filled the heart of the empress with a thirst for vengeance, of whom

she was compelled to say that she was younger, handsomer, and more

attractive than herself--and this one, was it not Eleonore Lapuschkin?

For two long years had Elizabeth borne about with her this hatred and

jealousy; for two long years had she in vain sought to discover some

punishable fault in her rival; for two long years had she in vain

reminded Lestocq of his promise to find Eleonore Lapuschkin guilty of

some crime. She had come out pure from all these persecuting pursuits,

and even the eyes of the most zealous spy could find no blot upon

her escutcheon. Like a royal lily she proudly bloomed with undisputed

splendor in the midst of this court, whose petty cabals and intrigues

could not soil her fair fame. Her presence spread around her a sort

of magic. The most audacious courtier, the most presumptuous cavalier,

approached her with only reverence; they ventured not in her presence to

use such words and jests as but too well pleased the empress; there was

something in Eleonore's glance that commanded involuntary respect and

awe; an elevation, a mildness, a soft feminine majesty was shed over

her whole being that enchanted even those who were inimical to her.

Elizabeth had perceived that, with her eyes sharpened by jealousy; her

envy was yet more mighty than her vanity, and her envy told her Eleonore

Lapuschkin is handsomer than the Empress Elizabeth; wherever Eleonore

appears, there all hearts fly to meet her, all glances incline to her;

every one feels a sort of ecstasy of adoration whom she greets with a

word or a smile, for that word or that smile sanctifies him as it were,

and enrolls him among the noblest and best.