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 vexation of Munnich, that he may not put all Russia in his pocket! The good man has such large pockets and such grasping hands!”
Nodding and smiling to himself, Ostermann opened the door of the anteroom. A rapid, searching glance satisfied him that he was alone there, but his brow darkened when he observed Count Munnich’s mantle lying upon a chair.
“Ah, he has preceded me,” peevishly murmured Ostermann. “Well, well, we can afford once more to yield the precedence to him. To-day he—to-morrow I! My turn will come to-morrow!”
Quite forgetting his illness and his pretended pains, he rapidly crossed the spacious room, and, throwing his ragged fur cloak upon Munnich’s mantle, said:
“A poor old cloak like this is yet in condition to render that resplendent uniform invisible. Not a spangle of that magnificent gold embroidery can be seen, it is all overshadowed by the ragged old cloak which Munnich so much despises! Oh, the good field-marshal will rejoice to find his mantle in such good company, and I hope my cloak may leave some visible memento upon its embroidered companion. Well, the field-marshal is a brave man, and I have given him an opportunity to make a campaign against his own mantle! The fool, why does he dislike these good little animals, and would yet be a Russian!”
As, however, he opened the door of the next room, his form again took its former shrunken, frail appearance, and his features again bore the expression of suffering and exhaustion.
“Ah, it is you,” said Prince Ulrich, advancing to meet the count, while Munnich stood near a writing-table, in earnest conversation with Anna Leopoldowna, to whom he seemed to be explaining something upon a sheet of paper.
“We have waited long for you, my dear count,” continued the prince, offering his hand to the new-comer, with a smile.
“The old and the sick always have the misfortune to arrive too late,” said Count Ostermann, “pain and suffering are such hinderances, your grace. And, moreover, I have only come in obedience to the wishes of your highness, well knowing that I am superfluous here. What has the feeble old man to do in the councils of the strong?”
“To represent wisdom in council,” said the prince, “and for that, you are precisely the man, count.”
“Ah, Count Ostermann,” at this moment interposed Munnich, “it is well you have come. You will be best able to tell their excellencies whether I am right or not.”
“Field-Marshall Munnich is always right,” said Ostermann, with a pleasant smile. “I unconditionally say ‘yes’ to whatever you may have proposed, provided that it is not a proposition of which my judgment cannot approve.”
“That is a very conditional yes!” exclaimed the duchess, laughing.
“A ‘yes,’ all perforated with little back doors through which a ‘no’ may conveniently enter,” laughed the prince.
“The back doors are in all cases of the greatest importance,” said Count Ostermann, earnestly. “Through back doors one often attains to the rooms of state, and had your palace here accidentally had no back door for the admission of us, your devoted servants, who knows, your highness Anna, whether you would on this very night become regent!”
“On this night!” suddenly exclaimed Munnich. “You see, your highness, that Count Ostermann is wholly of my opinion. It must be done this night!”
“That would be overhaste,” cried the duchess; “we are not yet prepared!”
“Nor is the regent, Biron of Courland,” thoughtfully interposed Ostermann; “and, therefore, our overhaste would take Biron by surprise.”
“Decidedly my opinion,” said Munnich. “All is lost if we give the regent time and leisure to make his arrangements. If we do not annihilate him to-day, he may, perhaps, send us to Siberia to-morrow.”
The duchess turned pale; a trembling ran through her tall, noble form.
“I so much dread the shedding of blood!” said she.
“Oh, I am not at all vain,” said Ostermann. “I find it much less unpleasant to see the blood of others flowing than my own. It may be egotism, but I prefer keeping my blood in my veins to exposing it to the gaping curiosity of an astonished crowd!”
“You think, then, that he already suspects, and would murder us?”
“You, us, and also your son, the Emperor Ivan.”
“Also my son!” exclaimed Leopoldowna, her eyes flashing like those of an enraged lioness. “Ah, I should know how to defend my son. Let Biron fall this night!”
“So be it!” unanimously exclaimed the three men.
“He has driven us to this extremity,” said the princess. “Not enough that he has banished our friends and faithful servants, surrounding us with his miserable creatures and spies—not enough that he wounds and humiliates us in every way—he would rend the young emperor from us, his parents, his natural protectors. We are attacked in our holiest rights, and must, therefore, defend ourselves.”
“But what shall