The Daughter of an Empress | Page 9

emerge from it. That
person, who now made his appearance, was a shrunken, trembling,
coughing old gentleman; his small, bent, distorted form was wrapped in
a fur cloak which, somewhat tattered, permitted a soiled and faded
under-dress to make itself perceptible, giving to the old man the
appearance of indigence and slovenliness. Nothing, not even the face,
or the thin and meagre hands he extended to his servants, was neat and
cleanly; nothing about him shone but his eyes, those gray, piercing eyes
with their fiery side-glances and their now kind and now sly and subtle
expression. This ragged and untidy old man might have been taken for
a beggar, had not his dirty fingers and his faded neck-tie, whose
original color was hardly discoverable, flashed with brilliants of an
unusual size, and had not the arms emblazoned upon the door of his
chair, in spite of the dust and dirt, betrayed a noble rank. The arms were
those of the Ostermann family, and this dirty old man in the ragged
cloak was Count Ostermann, the famous Russian statesman, the son of
a German preacher, who had managed by wisdom, cunning, and
intrigue to continue in place under five successive Russian emperors or
regents, most of whom had usually been thrust from power by some
bloody means. Czar Peter, who first appointed him as a minister of
state, and confided to him the department of foreign affairs, on his
death-bed said to his successor, the first Catherine, that Ostermann was

the only one who had never made a false step, and recommended him
to his wife as a prop to the empire. Catherine appointed him imperial
chancellor and tutor of Peter II.; he knew how to secure and preserve
the favor of both, and the successor of Peter II., the Empress Anna, was
glad to retain the services of the celebrated statesman and diplomatist
who had so faithfully served her predecessors. From Anna he came to
her favorite, Baron of Courland, who did not venture to remove one
whose talents had gained for him so distinguished a reputation, and
who in any case might prove a very dangerous enemy.
But with Count Ostermann it had gone as with Count Munnich. Neither
of them had been able to obtain from the regent any thing more than a
confirmation of their offices and dignities, to which Biron, jealous of
power, had been unwilling to make any addition. Deceived in their
expectations, vexed at this frustration of their plans, they had both
come to the determination to overthrow the man who was unwilling to
advance them; they had become Biron's enemies because he did not
show himself their friend, and, openly devoted to him and bowing in
the dust before him, they had secretly repaired to his bitterest enemy,
the Duchess Anna Leopoldowna, to offer her their services against the
haughty regent who swayed the iron sceptre of his despotic power over
Russia.
A decisive conversation was this day to be held with the duchess and
her husband, Prince Ulrich of Brunswick, and therefore, an unheard-of
case, had even Count Ostermann resolved to leave his dusty room for
some hours and repair to the palace of the Duchess Anna Leopoldowna.
"Slowly, slowly, ye knaves," groaned Ostermann, as he ascended the
narrow winding stairs with the aid of his servants." "See you not, you
hounds, that every one of your movements causes me insufferable pain?
Ah, a fearful illness is evidently coming; it is already attacking my
limbs, and pierces and agonizes every part of my system! Let my bed
be prepared at home, you scamps, and have a strengthening soup made
ready for me. And now away, fellows, and woe to you if, during my
absence, either one of you should dare to break into the store-room or
wine- cellar! You know that I have good eyes, and am cognizant of
every article on hand, even to its exact weight and measure. Take care,
therefore, take care! for if but an ounce of meat or a glass of wine is
missing, I will have you whipped, you hounds, until the blood flows.

That you may depend upon!"
And, dismissing his assistants with a kick, Count Ostermann ascended
the last steps of the winding stairs alone and unaided. But, before
opening the door at the head of the stairs, he took time for reflection.
"Hem! perhaps it would have been better for me to have been already
taken ill, for if this plan should miscarry, and the regent discover that I
was in the palace to-day, how then? Ah, I already seem to feel a
draught of Siberian air! But no, it will succeed, and how would that
ambitious Munnich triumph should it succeed without me! No, for this
time I must be present, to the