An Imperial Lover by Mary Imlay Taylor

THE few weeks that followed were eventful. I received the long-expected summons from France to return, for as yet the hour for a Russian alliance was not ripe, and Peter was not held in high esteem until after the victory of Poltava, which was yet to come. At this time Charles XII. was in Poland intriguing with the Primate Radziejowski, and intimidating the Diet at Warsaw. Augustus of Saxony had been deposed, and Charles was engaged in selecting a sovereign for Poland who would be his creature. It was already apparent that his choice would be Stanislas Leczynski; and in the following July, in the field of Wola near Warsaw, a few electors, surrounded by Swedish troops, proclaimed Stanislas King of Poland. It was one of the comedies of the King of Sweden, and the two dupes, Augustus and Stanislas, continued their rôles, quarrelling for the Polish crown and being, in fact, mere puppets, while Russia and Sweden wrestled for supremacy. Meanwhile the Neva, precious to the heart of the czar, had been threatened by land and sea, and there was the promise of sufficient occupation to keep the northern princes out of the War of the Spanish Succession.

I was anxious to depart, for my own position at court was embarrassing. Prince Dolgoruky and the faction opposed to Mentchikof were intensely angry at my successful manœuvre, and M. Zotof and madame his wife were feeding the flames. They had returned from their fruitless pursuit, frantic with rage and disappointment, and both desired to wreak some vengeance upon my devoted head. Indeed, madame lost no opportunity of assailing me with her sharp tongue, -- an annoyance which, while failing of great harm, was yet offensive; however, I could endure it with serenity since I had received the tidings of M. de Lambert's safe arrival in France with his bride. I did not lose the opportunity to inform madame of her niece's safety, and she replied that Najine would doubtless soon be as glad to run away from France and her French husband as she had been eager to leave her guardians. To which sally I replied that it was a fair land, full of brave men and gentle women; and madame, finding that the shaft was intended for her, darted a glance of withering scorn at me, and swept on. In my heart, I was sorry for the "prince pope," for his wife cast all the blame upon him, making him the scapegoat of the faction. Her protégé Apraxin was in exile, -- a miserable tale-bearer and spy, not worth the angry contempt that Peter felt for him.