Secret Lives of the Tsars

by Michael Farquhar

  Natalya and her son Peter were spared the streltsy’s violent retribution, though certainly not the terror that accompanied it. Other members of their family weren’t so fortunate. One of the regent’s brothers, Afanasy Naryshkin, was slaughtered after a court dwarf led a pack of soldiers to his hiding place behind the altar of the Church of the Resurrection. Another, the despised Ivan, was tortured for hours before he, too, was torn to pieces.

  With the death of these hated Naryshkins, the bloodlust of the streltsy had at last been satiated. But not their preening sense of self-importance and instinct to survive. In addition to their demands for enormous pay arrears, as well as amnesty for the revolt, they insisted a triumphal column be erected in Red Square celebrating their recent deeds—with the names of their victims attached to it on bronze plates. The streltsy also sought to correct what they perceived to be a gross mishandling of the royal succession, when Tsarevitch Ivan was bypassed in favor of his younger half-brother Peter. Threatening further violence, they demanded that the throne be shared by both boys, with Ivan serving as the senior tsar.

  Sophia, who had emerged as the royal family’s representative during the three days of unrest, heard the streltsy’s demands—and acquiesced to them. Summoning the victorious regiments before her, she praised them for their loyalty and feted them with food and vodka. Then, after a show of reluctance, Sophia accepted their petition that she rule as regent while her younger siblings remained incapable due to the tender age of one and the multiple disabilities of the other. Thus, on June 25, 1682, Ivan V and Peter I were crowned together as co-tsars.

  It was a strange tableau, unprecedented in European royal history: two sibling monarchs, in full ceremonial regalia, sharing the same throne. Seated listlessly on one side was the drooling half-wit Ivan V; on the other was his infinitely more robust half-brother Peter. “Nature develops herself with advantage and good fortune in his whole personality,” the Dutch ambassador wrote of the younger tsar in 1685. “His stature is great and his mien is fine; he grows visibly and advances with as much in intelligence and understanding as he gains the affection and love of all. He has such a strong preference for military pursuits that when he comes of age we may surely expect from him brave actions and heroic deeds.”

  Missing from the scene, but controlling it nonetheless, was Sophia, sister of the tsars and the power behind them—literally—for at the back of Ivan and Peter’s two-seated throne, hidden from view, was a chair upon which big sister Sophia or one of her representatives sat, whispering instructions to the young co-monarchs through an opening cut out for the purpose. Sophia was now Russia’s de facto ruler; the young tsars merely props. “It is clear as day to many people that she is gifted with a high degree of talent for governing,” one foreign correspondent reported. It was also clear that Sophia possessed a degree of ruthlessness that helped sustain her lofty position for seven years.

  Within just three months of assuming power, at the age of twenty-five, Sophia demonstrated her might by taming the same force that had helped elevate her. The streltsy swaggered with increased confidence in the wake of their murderous revolt, as did the newly appointed director of their department, Prince Ivan Khovansky. So Sophia chopped off his head. The once-rabid streltsy was now left a writhing, leaderless mass that now sought only conciliation. “We have no evil intentions, nor shall we have,” they assured the tsars in a statement. Thus a delegation of streltsy was permitted to go to Trinity Monastery, where, amid much weeping, the members humbled themselves before the royal family and swore to obey a stringent set of regulations set out before them. It was a triumph for Sophia, punctuated not long after when the column recently erected in Red Square at the streltsy’s insistence was torn down.

  Though Sophia was now Russia’s undisputed ruler, her strength and position depended entirely on her brothers—the co-tsars Ivan and Peter—remaining ineffectual puppets. Peter could one day rise to challenge her, as indeed he did, but for now his youth kept him at bay. Sophia was content to have him away from court while she attempted to build a power base around her ever pliable brother Ivan. “She guards Ivan so well that he never goes anywhere and no one visits him without her leave,” one observer reported.

  Like Sophia, Ivan was a Miloslavsky. And she needed her brother to sire more Miloslavskys to ensure that the succession would be perpetuated by their side of the family before Peter grew old enough to have his own sons. Accordingly, Sophia arranged a marriage for her decidedly less than sprightly sibling. The Austrian envoy, for one, was doubtful the marriage would be fruitful, writing, “In my humble opinion this seems a lost cause insofar as Tsar Ivan is very infirm and congenitally blind, with a growth of skin right over his eyes.” Yet despite his numerous handicaps, Ivan V did manage to father three girls—including the future Empress Anna—but this was not enough to permanently secure Sophia’s position. She needed to reign as well as rule.

  The regent gradually began behaving as if she was in fact the third sovereign, adopting many of the monarchical trappings of the tsars themselves. Her face was stamped on coins. Portraits featured her in full royal regalia, which she often adorned herself with when meeting foreign visitors. In 1684, for example, after a Swedish delegation was received by the two enthroned tsars, Ivan and Peter, they were taken to another chamber to see Sophia, “who was seated on her royal throne which was studded with diamonds, wearing a crown adorned with pearls, a cloak of gold-threaded samite [a luxurious, heavy silk fabric] lined with sables, and next to the sables an edging of lace. And the sovereign lady was attended by ladies-in-waiting, two on each side of the throne … and by female dwarves wearing embroidered sashes and gold sable-lined cloaks.”

  Sophia’s name was always included with her brothers’ on all official documents, but in 1686 she began sharing the title of autocrat with them. The following year, she actually tried to get herself formally crowned—an effort that never gathered much momentum as no one was prepared to elevate a woman quite that high. Big sister would have to content herself looking and behaving like the sovereign, and for seven years she did. But then, in a most unwelcome development, half-brother Peter began to assert himself.

  While Sophia was busy ruling Russia, Peter was often away from court at his late father’s country estate, Preobrazhenskoe, happily pursuing his own interests—particularly war games, which became increasingly sophisticated, and, later, shipbuilding. The young tsar only came to Moscow, most reluctantly, when his presence was required at various ceremonials. Otherwise, he lived almost entirely free, indulged in his interests by an ambitious half-sister who was pleased to have him out of her way. It was an ideal state of affairs, but, inevitably, change was coming.

  “Tsar Peter has already grown taller than all the gentlemen of the court,” the Dutch ambassador recorded in July 1688. “We are convinced that this young prince will soon undertake the duties of a sovereign. If those changes do take place, then we shall see affairs taking a new direction.”

  Urged on by his adherents, including his mother, Natalya, Peter did gradually begin to take more of an active part in governing. Early in 1688, for example, it was reported that he joined Sophia and Ivan at a council meeting for the first time, and soon after he appointed some of his Naryshkin relatives to powerful posts. But it wasn’t until the following year that Peter finally took on his sister, at a time when her regime was particularly vulnerable.

  Sophia’s chief minister (and reputed lover), Vasili Golitsyn, had led two disastrous military campaigns against the Crimean Tatars. But rather than acknowledge defeat, Sophia instead treated Golitsyn—“my lord and light and hope”—as a conquering hero. In the name of both tsars, Golitsyn was to be richly rewarded “for the glorious and splendid victory over the infidel.” Peter, however, was having none of it. For a week he refused to sanction the gifts to Golitsyn and his officers, and only later reluctantly agreed under pressure.

  “Everyone saw plainly and knew that the consent of the younger Tsar had not been extorted wi
thout the greatest difficulty,” wrote General Patrick Gordon, a Scottish soldier in the Russian service, “and that this merely made him more excited against the generalissimo [Golitsyn] and the most prominent members of the other party at court; for it was now seen that an open breach was imminent.”

  On the night of August 7, 1689, Peter was roused from his sleep at his country retreat at Preobrazhenskoe and told that the streltsy were marching out from Moscow to kill him and his family. Wearing just his nightshirt, the terrified tsar leapt onto his horse, raced to a hidden copse, and waited for his clothes to be brought to him. Then he rode all night to the Trinity Monastery, where, it was reported, “he immediately threw himself upon a bed and fell a weeping bitterly relating the case to the abbot and desiring the protection and assistance of them.” The wounds left seven years earlier, when the ten-year-old boy watched in terror as those closest to him were torn to pieces, were still raw.

  Several accounts from the period insist there really was a plot hatched in the Kremlin to kill the young tsar, although some historians have asserted that it was Peter’s own party—eager to force a confrontation with Sophia—that raised a false alarm. If so, it was an effective, though utterly heartless, ploy. The uncrowned regent now faced a formidable threat from an anointed tsar whose ire had been (perhaps artificially) aroused.

  A week after arriving at the monastery, Peter sent a written summons to the colonels of all the streltsy regiments, ordering them to attend him there. Sophia tried to stop such a disastrous exodus with what Patrick Gordon described as an “eloquent oration,” urging the streltsy to disobey and not “meddle themselves in the differences betwixt her and her brother.” When several voted to go anyway, she “took them up very sharply, telling them that if any went thither, she would cause [to] interrupt them, and strike off their heads.”

  It was imperative to Sophia’s survival that she quickly resolve the conflict that had so suddenly erupted. She set off with several of her sisters to see Peter, but before they could reach the monastery, the party was intercepted by a messenger from the tsar with orders to proceed no farther. When Sophia defiantly announced that she would continue the journey, another messenger arrived to inform her that she would be dealt with “dishonorably” if she continued to disobey.

  The next day Peter stepped up his offensive by ordering that Feodor Shaklovity, director of the streltsy department and one of Sophia’s most fervent supporters, be sent to him to face charges that he and his troops “intended to march to the village of Preobrazhenskoe and murder us, our mother, our sister and our courtiers.” The order clearly implicated Sophia in Shaklovity’s plot and so incensed her that she ordered the messenger bearing it to be immediately beheaded. Fortunately for him, an executioner could not be found on such short notice.

  As Sophia’s power ebbed away, she gathered the streltsy before her and delivered a series of rousing speeches, but to little effect. Shaklovity was arrested and, under torture, admitted to having considered killing the younger tsar and his family. Now, as the exodus to Peter’s camp became a stampede, Sophia was left alone at the Kremlin, stubbornly resistant to whatever fate awaited her. Peter addressed the Sophia problem in a letter to his co-ruler, Ivan, with whom he had no quarrel, and indeed declared, “I shall be ready to honor you as I would my father.” Ivan would continue to serve as the senior tsar, but Sophia had to go.

  Realistically, Ivan V had little choice in the matter, and soon enough Sophia was hauled away to a convent—never to emerge again. It was perhaps worse than death for the woman who had dared assert herself outside the terem and for a brief period wielded unprecedented, intoxicating power. She was “a princess endowed with all the accomplishments of body and mind to perfection,” Peter the Great later said of his half-sister, “had it not been for her boundless ambition and insatiable desire for governing.”

  * * *

  *1 As historian Grigorii Kotoshikhin wrote, “Princes and noblemen are their [the tsarevnas’] slaves. And it would be considered an eternal disgrace if a lady were to be given away in marriage to a slave.”

  *2 Old Believers were those who refused to adopt the new church rituals decreed by Tsar Alexis—see footnote, this page.

  *3 A Russian’s first name was often followed by a patronymic—a variation of his or her father’s given name. Thus, Ivan V, son of Tsar Alexis, was called Ivan Alekseevich. In the interest of simplicity, the author has avoided the use of patronyms, except in source quotations and in Chapter 5.

  Peter I (1696–1725): The Eccentricities of an Emperor

  … debauchery and drunkenness so great that it is impossible to describe it.

  —PRINCE BORIS KURAKIN

  After the fall of the regent Sophia in 1689, Peter I continued to rule jointly with his half-brother Ivan V until the latter’s death in 1696. Then, as sole autocrat, Peter proceeded to utterly transform Russia. He had grown to be a giant of a man, standing nearly seven feet tall, with grand ambitions to match his stature. With relentless will, he opened his insulated realm to the rest of Europe, eagerly adopting new ideas and customs while forcing his often recalcitrant subjects to do the same. Having transformed the army and building a navy from nothing, the tsar was able to crush the power of the Swedish Empire, seizing its Baltic possessions and, in so doing, achieving for his kingdom open access to the sea for the first time. In the process, he built his magnificent new capital of St. Petersburg—known as Russia’s “window to the West”—undeterred by the marshy, inhospitable condition of the land he had chosen. It was these stunning accomplishments, among many, that earned Peter his sobriquet, “the Great.” But there was another side to this most dynamic monarch, when he behaved more like a depraved maniac than the enlightened ruler he so wanted to be.

  Mary Hamilton had a date with the executioner, and her escort to the fatal rendezvous was none other than her ex-lover, Peter the Great himself. She had hoped her past relationship with the tsar, as well as her status as one of his wife’s favorite ladies, might save her from her fate. But not even the beguiling white silk dress she wore for the occasion, adorned with black ribbons, was enough to move the implacable monarch—even as he stood by her side—for Mary’s crimes were unpardonable. Not only had she stolen the tsarina’s jewels and mocked her ruddy complexion, but, far worse, she had done away with a succession of unwanted children immediately after delivering them.

  “I cannot save you without breaking laws both human and divine,” Peter whispered in his former mistress’s ear. “Accept your punishment in the hope that God will pardon you if you repent.” Although the tsar’s final words to her were delivered with a kiss, it was certainly not the reprieve Mary hoped to hear.

  Having bid her farewell, Peter turned away while the headsman completed his grisly task. But the tsar wasn’t quite finished with the woman who had once shared his bed. There was a lesson to be learned and, ever the eager instructor, Peter didn’t waste the opportunity. Approaching the bloody heap that had been Mary Hamilton, he reached down and grabbed her head, lifted it up, and addressing the gathered spectators, began pointing out some of the anatomical features that had been exposed by the decapitation—the neatly sliced vertebrae, the gaping windpipe, and the draining carotid arteries. Having finished this impromptu lecture, Peter brought Mary’s cold lips to his, kissed them, then tossed her head back to the ground and strode away.

  Perhaps it was the lingering horror of a ten-year-old boy, his own fate uncertain, being forced to watch as his uncles and other close family associates were torn to bits by a crazed mob of streltsy. Or maybe it was some kind of neurological disorder, manifested in those disconcerting episodes when the tsar’s eyes would roll back in their sockets while his body convulsed in severe tremors. Whatever the cause, Peter the Great showed himself to be decidedly unbalanced at times—his most impressive attributes often mingled with bizarre, sometimes vicious behavior.

  Here was a sovereign whose insatiable curiosity drove him admirably to learn and master innumerable
crafts—from shipbuilding to carpentry—but woe to that poor subject with a toothache, say, for he might find the wild-eyed tsar coming at him with a pair of pliers, ready to rip out the offending tooth as he honed his dentistry skills. There was no option but to submit. And while most monarchs left the death penalty to their professional executioners, Peter was known to hack off a few heads himself—yet another art mastered.

  Absorbing and implementing the knowledge of the West was one of Peter the Great’s most ardent passions, and to that end he embarked on a tour of Europe in 1697. Hoping to avoid all the ceremony that would normally be due his rank as a visiting sovereign, the tsar traveled incognito. And though his identity was hardly a secret, he did manage to utilize his time learning rather than enduring endless cycles of hospitality. Peter was entranced by all the scientific, mechanical, and artistic wonders at his disposal. But at one point, during an anatomical lecture in Holland, he became infuriated at the squeamishness of his companions when a human corpse was dissected. In retaliation, he made each man march up to the dead body and take a bite out of it.

  After long days of learning, the tsar liked to unwind a little—much like a Viking. While Peter was visiting England during his extended European tour, the diarist John Evelyn’s elegantly appointed home was made available to him and his traveling companions for three months. It ended up in shambles, laid waste by a horde of drunken Russians led by their monarch. Windows were smashed, floors so stained with ink and grease that they had to be replaced, portraits used as target practice, feather mattresses and pillows shredded, furniture reduced to firewood. And that was just inside. Evelyn had spent years cultivating beautiful lawns and gardens, only to find them trampled into mud and dust, “as if a regiment of soldiers in iron shoes had drilled on [them].” Neighbors even reported seeing the drunken tsar pushed along in a wheelbarrow—a then-unknown contraption in Russia—right into the estate’s carefully cultivated hedges.