Terrible tsarinas

by Henri Troyat

  She always tried to give preference to Russians when making appointments to sensitive positions, but she was often forced to call upon foreigners to fulfill functions requiring a minimum of competence, despite her good intentions. Thus, given the lack of qualified personnel, one after another of Munnich’s former victims reappeared in St. Petersburg to populate the ministries and chancelleries. Devier and Brevern, back in the saddle, brought in other Germans including Siewers and Fluck.

  To justify these inevitable offenses to Slavic nationalism, Elizabeth cited her model Peter the Great who, in his own words, had wanted to “open a window on Europe.” France was, certainly, at the center of this ideal Europe, with its light take on life, its fine culture and philosophical irony; but there was Germany,

  «133»

  Terrible Tsarinas too - such a thoughtful, disciplined, industrious nation, so rich in military and commercial professionals, so well-endowed with princes and princesses in need of marriage partners! Could Elizabeth fish, according to her needs, in both of these ponds? Should she really refrain from employing experienced men, simply in order to Russianize everything? Her dream would be to reconcile the local customs with new ideas from abroad, to enrich the ways of the Russophiles, so much in love with their past, by bringing in contributions from the West, to create a German or French Russia without betraying the traditions of the fatherland.

  While pondering which way to turn, under pressure from the Marquis de La Chetardie (pleading in favor of France), Mardefeld (promoting Germany’s interests), and Bestuzhev (a resolute Russian traditionalist), she had to decide on domestic policies of every sort, questions that seemed to her to be of great importance as well. She therefore reorganized the old Senate so that it would wield the legislature and the judiciary powers from that point forward; she replaced the dysfunctional Cabinet with Her Majesty’s private Chancellery, and she increased various fines; she raised the octroi taxes and encouraged settlement by foreign colonists to populate the uninhabited regions of southern Russia. But these strictly administrative measures did not ease her main worry.

  How could she ensure the future of the dynasty? What would become of the country if, for one reason or another, she had to “pass on the torch”?

  Since she did not have a child of her own, she was deeply afraid that after she died - or as a result of some conspiracy - the young ex-tsar Ivan VI, now dethroned, would succeed her. For the moment, the baby and his parents were safely tucked away in Riga. But they were liable to come back into favor some day, through one of those political upheavals that had become so common in Russia. To preclude any such possibility, Elizabeth could

  «134»

  Elizabeth’s Triumph only think of one possible course of action: she would have to name an heir now, and have him be accepted. However, the candidates were few and the choice seemed apparent: the only appropriate recipient of this supreme burden was the son of her deceased sister Anna Petrovna, the young prince Charles Peter Ulrich of Holstein-Gottorp.

  The boy’s father, Charles Frederick of Holstein-Gottorp, had died in 1739; now the orphan, who was about 14 years old, had been placed under the guardianship of his uncle, Adolf Frederick of Holstein, Bishop of Lubeck. After making initial inquiries about the child’s fate, Elizabeth had never really dealt with him.

  She suddenly felt obliged to make a sacrifice to the family spirit and to make up for lost time. As for the uncle-bishop, there could be no problem. But what would she say to the Russians? Oh well, this would hardly be the first time that a sovereign who was three-fourths a foreigner would be offered for their veneration! As soon as Elizabeth set her mind to this plan, committing the entire country to support her, secret negotiations began between Russia and Germany.

  Despite the usual precautions, rumors of these talks quickly spread through the foreign ministries all across Europe. La Chetardie panicked and hunted around desperately for a way to head off this new Germanic invasion. Surmising that certain portions of the public would be hostile to her plan, Elizabeth decided to burn her bridges: without informing Bestuzhev or the Senate, she dispatched Baron Nicholas Korf to Kiel in order to bring back the “heir to the crown.” She did not even bother to make inquiries beforehand to find out how the youth had turned out. As the son of her beloved sister, he would have to have inherited the most delightful personality and visual characteristics. She looked forward to this meeting with all the emotion of an expectant mother, impatient to lay eyes on the son that Heaven was about to pres ent

  «135»

  Terrible Tsarinas to her after a long gestation.

  Baron Korf conducted his mission with such discretion that Peter Ulrich’s arrival in St. Petersburg on February 5, 1742, almost went unnoticed by the hangers-on at the imperial Court. Seeing her nephew for the first time, Elizabeth, who had been prepared to feel a lightning bolt of maternal admiration, froze in consternation. In place of the charming adolescent Adonis that she had expected, here stood a skinny, scowling, runty fool who only spoke German, could not put two thoughts together, had a habit of laughing in an insinuating way and walked about with the look of a cornered fox. Was this the gift that she was about to spring upon an unsuspecting Russia?

  Stifling her dismay, Elizabeth showed a good face to the newcomer, awarded him with the medal of St. Andrew, and appointed tutors to teach him Russian; and she asked Father Simon Todorsky to instruct him in the basics of the Orthodox religion, which would be his from now on.

  Russia’s Francophiles were already concerned that the admission of the crown prince to the palace would strengthen Germany’s hand against France in the contest for influence. The Russophiles, clearly xenophobic, were disturbed that the tsarina still retained certain prestigious military leaders of foreign origin like the prince of Hesse-Homburg and the English generals Peter de Lascy and James Keith. Now, such high level emigres, who had clearly demonstrated their loyalty in the past, should have been above suspicion. One had to hope that sooner or later, in Russia as elsewhere, common sense would prevail over the proponents of extremism. Unfortunately, this viewpoint was not very widespread.

  La Chetardie’s minister, Amelot de Chailloux, was certain that Russia was “sliding from their grasp;” to reassure him, La Chetardie reaffirmed that despite appearances “France enjoys a

  «136»

  Elizabeth’s Triumph warm welcome here.”5 But Amelot did not have La Chetardie’s reasons for succumbing to Elizabeth’s charms. He did not see Russia as a power to be treated as an equal anymore; and he considered that it would be dangerous to count on the promises of a ruler as fickle as the empress. His hands tied by his recent commitments to Sweden, he preferred not to have to choose between the two and sought to stay out of their dispute, thus compromising his future neither with St. Petersburg nor with Stockholm.

  France prayed that the situation would resolve itself, and in the meantime played both sides of the game, making plans to bolster Sweden by arming Turkey and by supporting the Tatars against Ukraine; and all the while, Louis XV was assuring Elizabeth, via his ambassador, that he entertained feelings of fraternal understanding towards the “daughter of Peter the Great.” Despite the disappointing history of her relationship with Paris and Versailles, the tsarina gave in one more time to the seduction of that strange nation whose language and spirit were so alluring. Never forgetting that she had just missed being wed to this partner with whom she now wanted to sign a formal treaty of alliance, she refused to believe that France, ever so ready with a smile and ever so slick in getting away, could be playing a double game.

  Her confidence in the promises of the French did not, however, prevent her from proclaiming that no threat, from any quarter, would ever force her to yield an inch of Russian soil for, she said, her father’s conquests were “more precious to her than her own life.” Having convinced her compatriots to accept her, she was now anxious to persuade the nearby states that she was firmly enthroned; and she believed that a formal coronation ceremony would do more for
her international reputation than any gossip among diplomats. Once the religious solemnities in the Kremlin were over, no one would dare to dispute her legitimacy nor to confront her power. To lend further weight to the cere«137»

  Terrible Tsarinas mony, she decided to bring along her nephew so that, in his role as recognized heir, he could attend the coronation of his aunt Elizabeth I. Peter Ulrich had just turned 14; he was old enough to understand the importance of the event that was so carefully being prepared.

  More than a month before the beginning of the festivities in Moscow, all the palaces and embassies in St. Petersburg emptied out (as was the custom in such instances), flowing like a tide to the tsars’ old capital. An army of carriages took to the road, which was already threatening to soften in the waning winter. Some say there were 20,000 horses and 30,000 passengers at the very least, accompanied by a caravan of wagons transporting dishes, bed linens, furniture, mirrors, food and clothing - enough to furnish men and women alike for several weeks of receptions and official balls.

  On March 11, Elizabeth departed from her residence at Tsarskoye Selo, having taken a few days’ rest before tackling the wearying tasks that come with triumph. A special carriage was built to enable her to enjoy every conceivable convenience during the journey - which was expected to last nearly a month, taking into account the frequent stops. The vehicle was upholstered in green and was bright and airy, with broad picture windows on both sides. It was so spacious that a card table and chairs could be set up, along with a sofa and a heating stove. This traveling house was pulled by a team of twelve horses; twelve more trotted along behind, to facilitate the changes at every stage. By night, the road was lit by hundreds of resin torches placed at intervals along the route. The entrance of every insignificant village was marked by a festive gateway decorated with greenery. As the imperial carriage approached, the inhabitants, who were lined up in their holiday garb (men on one side, women on the other), bowed down to the ground, blessing the appearance of Her Majesty by making the

  «138»

  Elizabeth’s Triumph sign of the cross and cheering Her with wishes for a long life.

  Whenever the cavalcade came within sight of a monastery, the bells would ring and the monks and nuns would come out of their sanctuaries in a procession to display their most prized icons before the daughter of Peter the Great.

  Elizabeth never tired of the repetition of this folksy homage; to her, it already seemed like just a pleasant routine. Still, she did permit herself a few days’ respite at Vsesvyatskoye before completing the trip. At dawn on April 17, 1741 she made her entrance into Moscow, with every bell in the city chiming a greeting. On April 23, heralds proclaimed at the crossroads the news of the upcoming coronation. Two days later, announced by a salvo of artillery fire, the procession was formed.

  In a gesture of supreme coquetry towards France, to which she still had no lasting ties, Elizabeth had entrusted to a Frenchman by the name of Rochambeau the responsibility fo r ensuring the elegance and brilliance of the event. To get from the famous “red staircase” that decorated the facade of her palace to the Cathedral of the Assumption across the plaza inside the Kremlin, she advanced, hieratic, under a canopy. Twenty pages in white livery embroidered in gold carried her train. Every region of the empire was represented by its delegates, who made up a silent but colorful escort, matching its pace to that of the priests at the head of the procession. The Reverend Father Ambroise, assisted by Stephan, Bishop of Pskov, made the sign of the cross and welcomed the procession into the immense nave. Sprinkled with holy water, enveloped in the fumes of incense, Elizabeth accepted the sacramental signs of the apotheosis with a studied blend of dignity and humility. The liturgy proceeded according to an immutable rite: it was the very one that had honored Peter the Great, Catherine I and, barely eleven years ago, the pitiful Anna Ivanovna who was guilty of trying to pull the throne out from under the

  «139»

  Terrible Tsarinas only woman who now had the right to sit on it.

  The religious ceremonies relating to the coronation were followed by the traditional rejoicing. For eight days, illuminations, feasts and free wine were given to the crowds, while the more distinguished guests dashed from ball to banquet to masquerade.

  Carried away by the atmosphere of sincere cordiality with which she was surrounded, Elizabeth distributed further benefices to those who had served her so well. Alexander Buturlin was named a general and governor of Smaller Russia, while shimmering titles - count, chamberlain - rained down upon obscure relatives belonging to the maternal branch of the empress’s family. The Skavronskys, Hendrikovs, and Yefimovskys were elevated from the status of wealthy peasants to newly-recognized nobles. It was as if Elizabeth, to excuse her own very great pleasure, were trying to make everyone, each in his own corner, as happy as she was on this wonderful day.

  However, in Moscow such festivities and the accompanying fireworks significantly increased the risk of fire. Thus it was that one fine evening the Golovin Palace, where Her Majesty had elected to reside temporarily, caught fire. By chance, only the walls and the furniture were burned. This little accident didn’t slow the revelers down one bit. A new structure was immediately raised on the half-charred ruins and while it was hastily being rebuilt and refurnished, Elizabeth moved to another house that she maintained in Moscow, at the edge of the Yauza River, and then to another of her houses in the village of Pokrovskoye, five versts away, which had belonged to an uncle of Peter the Great. Some 900 people would gather on a daily basis to celebrate with her, dancing, feasting and laughing, and the theaters did not go dark for a single night.

  However, while the court was applauding an opera, The Clemency of Titus, by the German director Johann-Adolf Hasse, and an

  «140»

  Elizabeth’s Triumph allegorical ballet illustrating the return of “The Golden Age” to Russia, La Chetardie was terrified to learn that a letter addressed by Amelot de Chailloux to the French ambass ador in Turkey had been intercepted by the Austrian secret service; the letter contained insulting criticism against the tsarina and prophesized the collapse of the Russian Empire, “which cannot help but dissolve into complete nothingness.” Horrified by this diplomatic blunder, the silver-tongued La Chetardie hoped that he could find a way to attenuate its impact on the mood of the very sensitive empress; but she felt deeply wounded by the minister’s faux pas. Lestocq intervened, making valiant efforts to defend France by asserting that La Chetardie and Amelot were devoted to the idea of a French-Russian agreement, but Elizabeth refused to take the bait this time. She had finally lost confidence entirely in the ambassador and the country that he represented. When La Chetardie arrived, to plead his innocence in a misunderstanding that he “deplored and renounced” as much as she did, Elizabeth kept him waiting for two hours in her antechamber, among her ladies of honor; then she came out of her private apartments to tell him that she could receive him neither that day nor in the days to come, and that henceforth he would have to address himself to her foreign minister, in other words to Alexis Bestuzhev, since “Russia does not need, Sir, any intermediary” in dealing with any country whatsoever.

  Despite the severe put-down, La Chetardie clung to the hope that a reconciliation could be effected. He protested, he wrote to his government, and he begged Lestocq to intercede with Her Majesty Elizabeth I once more. Didn’t she have full confidence in his prescriptions, be they medical or diplomatic? Lestocq had, sometimes, provided medicines that seemed to be effective against the mild complaints from which she suffered, but his political exhortations fell flat. Elizabeth had stopped listening; she was

  «141»

  Terrible Tsarinas stony in her resentment. All that La Chetardie managed to secure, with all his maneuvering, was the opportunity to have a private audience with her. He went in with the intention of redeeming himself with a few smooth words and charming smiles, but this time he hit a wall of icy scorn. Elizabeth assured him that she intended to cool Russia’s relations
with Versailles, while preserving her own regard and friendly feelings for a country that had shown itself incapable of appreciating her favorable disposition towards the French culture. La Chetardie withdrew, empty-handed and heavy of heart.

  The ambassador’s personal situation was further worsened, at that very moment, by Frederick II’s abrupt about-face; he had turned his back on France, and begun to get closer to Austria.

  Now La Chetardie could no longer count on Mardefeld, the Prussian ambassador, to support his efforts to conclude a pact between France and Russia. His cause was lost… or was it? He suddenly had the idea of giving the throne of Courland, that had been freed up the previous year when Buhren was disgraced and exiled, to someone who was close to France - specifically, to Maurice of Saxony. And then one could go one step further - miracles are always possible on the banks of the Neva, cradle of madmen and poets! - and suggest that Saxony ask for Elizabeth’s hand. If, via a French ambassador, the empress of Russia were to be married to the most brilliant military chief in the service of France, all of yesterday’s minor affronts would evaporate like the morning dew. A political alliance between the two states would be replicated in a sentimental alliance that would make the union unassailable.