you gave me your word of honor that you would grant me the first request I should make to you.”
“I know, I know,” said Biron, with a sly smile, thoughtfully pacing the room with his hands behind his back. But, suddenly stopping, he remained standing before Munnich, and, looking him sharply in the eye, said: “Shall I for once interpret your thoughts, Field-Marshal Count Munnich? Shall I for once tell you why you used all your influence to decide the Empress Anna to name me for the regency? Ah, you had a sharp eye, a sure glance, and consequently discovered that Anna had long since resolved in her heart to name me for the regency, before you undertook to confirm her in this resolve by your sage counsels. But you said to yourself: ‘This good empress loves the Duke of Courland; hence she will undoubtedly desire to render him great and happy in spite of all opposition, and if I aid in this by my advice I shall bind both parties to myself; the empress, by appearing to be devoted to her favorite, and the favorite, by aiding him in the accomplishment of his ambitious plans. I shall therefore secure my own position, both for the present and future!’ Confess to me, field-marshal, that these were your thoughts and calculations.”
“The regent, Sir Duke of Courland, has a great knowledge of human nature, and hence I dare not contradict him,” said Munnich, with a constrained laugh. “Your highness therefore recognizes the service that I, from whatever motive, have rendered you, and hence you will not refuse to grant my request.”
“Let me hear it,” said the duke, stretching himself out on a divan, and negligently playing with a portrait of the Empress Anna, splendidly ornamented with brilliants, and suspended from his neck by a heavy gold chain.
“Name me generalissimo of all the troops,” said Munnich, with solemnity.
“Of all the troops?” asked Biron. “Including those on the water, or only those on land?”
“The troops on the water as well as those on land.”
“Ah, that means, I am to give you unlimited power, and thus place you at the head of all affairs!” Then, suddenly rising from his reclining position, and striding directly to Munnich, the duke threateningly said: “In my first observation I forgot to interpret a few of your thoughts and plans. I will now tell you why you wished for my appointment as regent. You desired it for the advancement of your own ambitious plans. You knew Biron as an effeminate, yielding, pleasure-seeking favorite of the empress—you saw him devoted only to amusement and enjoyment, and you said to yourself: ‘That is the man I need. As I cannot myself be made regent, let it be him! I will govern through him; and while this voluptuous devotee of pleasure gives himself up to the intoxication of enjoyments, I will rule in his stead.’ Well, Mr. Field-Marshal, were not those your thoughts!”
Munnich had turned very pale while the duke was thus speaking, and a sombre inquietude was depicted on his features.
“I know not,” he stammered, with embarrassment.
“But I know!” thundered the duke, “and in your terror-struck face I read the confirmation of what I have said. Look in the glass, sir count, and you will make no further attempt at denial.”
“But the question here is not about what I might have once thought, but of what you promised me. Your highness, I have made my first request! It is for you to grant it. I implore your on the strength of your ducal word to name me as the generalissimo of your troops!”
“No, never!” exclaimed the duke.
“You gave me your word!”
“I gave it as Duke of Courland! The regent is not bound by the promise of the duke.”
“I made you regent!”
“And I do not make you generalissimo!”
“You forfeit your word of honor?”
“No, ask something else, and I will grant it. But this is not feasible. I must myself be the generalissimo of my own troops, or I should no longer be the ruler! Ask, therefore, for something else.”
Munnich was silent. His features indicated a frightful commotion, and his bosom heaved violently.
“I have nothing further to ask,” said he, after a pause.
“But, I will confer upon you a favor without your asking it!” proudly responded the duke. “Count Munnich, I confirm you in your offices and dignities, and, to prove to you my unlimited confidence, you shall continue to be what you were under the Empress Anna, field-marshal in the Russian army!”
“I thank you, sir duke,” calmly replied Munnich. “It is very noble in you that you do not send me into banishment for my presumptuous demand.”
Clasping the offered hand of the duke, he respectfully pressed it to his lips.
“And now go, to kiss the hand of the young emperor, that you may not be accused of disrespect,” smilingly added Biron; “one must always preserve appearances.”
Munnich silently bowed, while walking backward toward the door.
“We part as friends?” asked the duke, nodding an adieu.
“As friends for life and death!” said Munnich, with a smile.
But no sooner had the door closed behind him than the smile vanished from his features, and was replaced by an expression of furious rage. He threateningly shook his fist toward the door which separated him from the duke, and with convulsively compressed lips and grating teeth he said: “Yes, we now part as friends, but we shall yet meet as enemies! I shall remember this hour, sir duke, and shall do my best to prevent your forgetting it. Ah, you have not sent me to Siberia, but I will send you there! And now to the Emperor Ivan. I shall there meet his parents, the shamefully-slighted Ulrich of Brunswick, and his wife Anna Leopoldowna. I think they will welcome me.”
With a firm step, rage and vengeance in his heart, but outwardly smiling and submissive, Field-Marshal Count Munnich betook himself to the palace of the Duke of Brunswick to kiss the hand of the cradled Emperor Ivan.
COUNT OSTERMANN
Four weeks had passed since Biron, Duke of Courland, had commenced his rule over Russia, as regent, in the name of the infant Emperor Ivan. The Russian people had with indifference submitted to this new ruler, and manifested the same subjection to him as to his predecessor. It was all the same to them whoever sat in godlike splendor upon the magnificent imperial throne—what care that mass of degraded slaves, who are crawling in the dust, for the name by which their tyrants are called? They remain what they are, slaves; and the one upon the throne remains what he is, their absolute lord and tyrant, who has the right to-day to scourge them with whips, to-morrow to make them barons and counts, and perhaps the next day to send them to Siberia, or subject them to the infliction of the fatal knout. Whoever proclaims himself emperor or dictator, is greeted by the Russian people, that horde of creeping slaves, as their lord and master, the supreme disposer of life and death, while they crawl in the dust at his feet.
They had sworn allegiance to the Regent Biron, as they had to the Empress Anna; they threw themselves upon the earth when they met him, they humbly bared their heads when passing his palace; and when the magnates of the
