The Princess Tarakanova
The Little Houses of Old Moscow

[The following is from The Princes Tarakanova, an historical novel which takes place in the 18th Century in Russia, during the reign of Catherine II. It concerns a mysterious woman, who appears to be the pretender to the throne (then occupied by Catherine II, a German-born princess). Catherine has had the pretender arrested and killed in the Peter Paul fortress; thus the last of the female branch of the Romanov family may have died in captivity. Radzinsky's novel has been translated into French and published last year by Denoel, in Paris, where it received favorable reviews. I am currently working on the English version for an American publisher.—T. K.]
 
 

Our languid great-grandmother's glory—
Old Moscow's little houses
You are quickly fading away
From the small crooked alleys.

Marina Tsvetaeva

Those 18th Century Moscow mansions—They hide in the crooked alleys of old Moscow. Magnificent and pathetic, they warm their colonnades in the sun, like aging Casanovas, the white paint peeling from their columns: Hemmed in tightly by towering modern buildings, they sail toward us out of history, like mirages, like daydreams.

Oh, these houses of yellow ochre! Here an antique frieze on the pediment, there, garlands, wreaths, flying genii, and behind the thick walls the cool darkness of their rooms, their round tiled stoves, a painted ceiling or two by some miracle still intact, and age-old trees behind the fences.

In my youth I lived in such a house. And on long winter evenings, when the snow was falling so wonderfully and the street lamps cast such a strange light, I liked to be in my house, careful to place that particular chandelier on the table:

How did it come to me? How has it survived all the fires, wars, revolutions and the frantic migrations of my ill-starred family? Sometime, I shall tell you that story, too . some other time. The old-fashioned bronze chandelier, its candle screened by a small lampshade in a bronze frame, stands on the table now.

I switch off the electric light, light the candle, and fleeting shadows run up the walls and over the ceiling. And a figure appears on the lampshade: a beautiful woman is sitting in front of a fire which is burning in the fireplace. There are long French windows in the backgreound. Insistently, she gazes at a small silver bowl at her feet. Tiny ships bearing lighted candles sail on the water in the bowl.

An old Venetian art of fortune-telling: On that day she decided to learn her future. Oh, if only she had learned it!

How I loved to look at her face on that old lampshade. Her hair down, languidly bowing her head, she was looking at the silver bowl, and at the candles with the tiny ships sailing in the flickering unsteady light of the candles.

The most dazzling men of the century were in love with this woman. Marie-Antoinette envied her beauty. And the romantic hetman Ogninsky, the ruling German Prince Limbourg, were at her feet. The most illustrious Don Juan of France, Prince Lausun, declared his love to her as did the most illustrious Don Juan of Russia, Count Alexey Orlov.

Then, there in that house, I gathered everything about her, fragment after fragment which was left behind.

And reading the decomposing letters of her decomposed lovers, I was whispering along with them their insane words: "Your eyes are the center of creation." "Your lips are my religion." "Your hands are the ivy of tenderness."

Yes, our bodies pass away, but love and passion remain.

And more and more frequently, the vision began to appear in my dreams:

The little house in Moscow has vanished. It has disappeared, sunk into oblivion in the snow storm.

And then the vision of St. Petersburg, the white nights of St. Petersburg, the merciless golden needle of its fortress. And the Kronstadt quay, the silhouettes of frigates in the white night.

SOME PRECISE DATES

The most incredible thing in this story is that it is true.
Iacomo Casanova

He who has not lived in the 18th Century - he has not lived at all.
Talleyrand

At the end of May, 1775, the Russian Mediterranean squadron returned to Kronstadt. And even though the sailors had not been home for a long time, nobody was allowed to disembark.
[From the personal order of the Tsar Catherine II to the General Governor of St. Petersburg, Prince Golytsin: "Prince Alexander Mikhaylovitch! Counter-Admiral Graig, and his squadron arrived in St. Petersburg from the Livonian expedition, and they have the woman known to you on board under arrest. The Counter-Admiral has been ordered not to hand her over to anybody without my personal order. I order you now."]

May 24, 1775:

It was a dark night, but in the palace of the General Governor of St. Petersburg, Prince Golytsin, nobody was asleep. Prince Alexander Mikhaylovitch, a heavy-set old man of sixty, sat in his study. Before him, standing erect, was a young officer, a Captain of the Preobrazhensky Regiment, Alexander Matveevich Tolstoy.

The heavy-set Prince got up with difficulty from his chair and went over to the door: in the small neighboring room, a lectern surmounted by a cross, and a priest in full vestments.

"Take an oath, Alexander Matveevich," the Prince said to the Captain: 'I swear to be eternally silent about the things which I shall see or carry out.'" Tolstoy's voice echoed in the silence.

"You must also have your soldiers take the oath and explain that if even a single soul should ever find out, punishment will be merciless. You are to sail to Kronstadt during the night, and return with her to the fortress at night as well. And not a soul must know of the action."

And the Prince embraced the Captain. "Go now with God!"

Night of May 24/May 25, 1775:

The yacht, with Captain Tolstoy and six soldiers from the Preobrazhensk regiment aboard, sailed out of St. Petersburg to Kronstadt with lights extinguished. On the shore and aboard the ships which were peacefully bobbing at anchor in the Neva Delta, everyone had long been asleep.

They sailed up to Kronstadt in the middle of the night. The yacht slid silently along the naval harbor: "Svyatoslav". "Africa". "The Untouchable". "Europe". "Saratov". "Thunder".The ships and frigates were lined up in the harbor, barely illuminated in ghostly light.

On reaching the 60-gun ship of the Admiral, "The Three Hierarchies", the yacht slowed down. Samuel Karlovitch Graig was already waiting for Captain Tolstoy in the cabin.

"Captain! Tomorrow you and your soldiers will stay all day in your cabins." Graig spoke in French, for he had not long been in Russian service and knew Russian poorly. "You must not speak or show yourself to anyone on the ship, and must leave only after everyone on board is asleep."

Night of May 25, 1775:

Several men and two women were brought up to the deck. One of the women was dressed in a black cape with its hood pulled well over her face.

"I must insist, ladies," Graig turned to one and said in Italian, "You are not to reveal your faces and not to talk to anyone until you have arrived at your destination. Disobedience will only worsen your situation."

Paying no attention to the Admiral, the woman in the black cape walked silently over to the edge of the deck. She was settled into a boarding sling and lowered onto the yacht. The Admiral helped her deferentially.

As the yacht arrived at the granite walls of the Peter Paul Fortress, the clocks struck twice. At a pier a dark figure looming in the dark night, garbed in cloak and three-cornered hat, stood waiting for the yacht. He was the highest-ranking officer of the fortress, Andrey Grigoryevitch Chernyshev, Major General and General Commander of St. Petersburg.

Silently, the woman in the black cloak looked at the granite walls and the merciless golden needle of the fortress.

The prisoners were quickly distributed in the artillery casemates within the Alexeev ravelin. Bolts rattled. Doors slammed shut. Silence reigned again in the Fortress as if nothing untoward had happened.

Now Commander Chernyshev led the first lady ceremoniously into spacious quarters consisting of three light, dry rooms, a rarity in the fortress which was constantly flooded by the Neva. The Commander was proud of these quarters: only specially important prisoners were accommodated here.

The lady threw back her hood, her slanting eyes bright with fury: "For what reason have you dared arrest me?" she shouted angrily in Italian.

May 26, 1775:

Early in the morning, Alexander Mikhaylovitch wrote a report in his study (there was a medallion of the Empress on her desk): "Most gracious Highness! The woman known to you and her company, consisting of two Poles, their servants, and one woman servant, were transferred and placed under arrest at two o'clock this morning in the Alexander ravelin, under the command of the General Commander and Major General Andrey Chernyshev."

Some two years passed: During the night of December 5, 1777, there was a severe frost in St. Petersburg:

The clocks in the Peter Paul Fortress had already struck midnight when General Commander Andrey Chernyshev and several soldiers carried out a casket. Torches were lit. The soldiers had great difficulty digging the frozen ground.

"Work harder!" the Commander ordered.

The grave grew deeper and deeper. The soldiers lowered the casket into the grave and quickly shoveled in the frozen earth. A heavy snostorm began at dawn on the 5th of December. Over the frozen earth, the snow was drifting, drifting.

[From the report of the General Commander and Major General Andrey Chernyshev:

"By God's will the woman known to you has died. She was buried in the Alexander ravelin on December 4 by the soldiers who had been guarding her. All took an oath to maintain strict silence with regard to this secret mission."]

The snow storm has engulfed St. Petersburg. Everything has vanished in the whiteness: the palaces, the Fortress, and the grave. By morning, nothing is visible—only the snow-covered white field at the Alexander ravelin.