Terrible tsarinas

by Henri Troyat

  Johanna cut short her daughter’s fun and entertainment and, on Mardefeld’s advice, set off at the end of January to meet the court in Moscow. La Chetardie escorted them. Elizabeth had set a date to receive them at the Annenhof Palace, in the eastern sector of the second capital, on February 9 at 8:00pm. After keeping them waiting, she gave orders to open the doors to the audience hall and appeared at the threshold, while the two visitors sank into their deepest curtseys. She took in the future fiancee in a glance - a slender, pale young girl, in a pink and silver gown with a plain skirt - no pannier. The toilette was inadequate but the girl herself was darling. Standing next to this scrumptious young lady, Peter - who had come to take delivery of this princess that had been shipped to him - looked even uglier and more disagreeable than usual.

  His provocations recently had reached a new height, as he had taken up with Brummer, the minister from Holstein, and a clique of schemers all of German extraction. Furthermore, instead of being pleased that Her Majesty had named him a colonel in the Preobrazhensky Regiment, he now had the gall to invite a regiment from Holstein to come and demonstrate what was meant by discipline and efficiency - two qualities that were, in his view,

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  Terrible Tsarinas sorely lacking in the Russian military.

  Elizabeth had long mourned her inability to produce an heir for Russia herself, but given all these annoyances from her Germanophile nephew she must have been glad, in the end, that he was in fact not her own son. This disastrous successor resembled her neither in mind nor spirit. She began to pity the poor girl she was about to throw at the feet of such an unworthy man. She would have to do whatever she could to help the new bride win over, and control, the stupid and fanatical young fellow who was destined to become emperor one day. If only Sophia could still rely on her mother to guide her and comfort her in her disappointment; but with all her airs, Johanna appeared to be as irksome as Sophia was pleasing, with her aura of sincerity, health and good cheer.

  Some relationships can be sized up in a flash. Elizabeth sensed that the bond between Johanna and Sophia was more form than feeling, based on circumstance and need rather than on affection and sympathy. Maybe Elizabeth could take the girl in hand; maybe it would be a pleasure to do so. While she had not been able to do much to mold the Grand Duke, perhaps she could help Sophia to develop into a happy, clear-headed and independent woman - without impinging on the husband’s traditional authority.

  As a start, she had Razumovsky bring her the insignia of the Order of St. Catherine, and had two ladies-in-waiting pin them to the bodice of Sophia’s dress. Razumovsky was aware of her feelings in regard to this unequal but so necessary match, which had no hope of providing its protagonists with the satisfaction Elizabeth had found in her de facto marriage.

  In the days that followed, Elizabeth watched closely and had her ladies-in-waiting report as well on the conduct of the young

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  An Autocrat at Work and Play couple. While Sophia seemed to be waiting for her suitor to undertake some sort of gallant initiative, the foolish grand duke talked about nothing but the fine qualities of the Prussian Army, on parade as well as in combat, while systematically denigrating everything about Russia, from its customs to its history to its religion. Was he simply trying to assert his independence? As though in compens ation, Sophia began to display the contrary view on every point, and seemed to find the history and the traditions of her new homeland more and more appealing.

  Both Vasily Adadurov and Simon Todorsky, the tutors appointed by Her Majesty to instruct Sophia in the Russian language and religion, praised her diligence. Enjoying the intellectual effort, she would study the most difficult problems of vocabulary, grammar and theology until late at night. Then she caught cold, and took to bed with a fever. Terrified that they might fail in their objective, after coming so close, Johanna accused her of shirking her duties as a princess preparing herself for marriage; she told her to get up and get back to work.

  The Francophile clique took this development as a positive sign. If the perspiring, shivering Sophia should fail to recover, a replacement bride would have to be found - and another candidate might be more inclined to favor an Anglo-Austrian alliance.

  Elizabeth hotly declared that she would refuse any Saxon candidate, come what may.

  The men of medicine recommended bleeding the patient;

  Johanna was against it. Elizabeth, under pressure from her personal physician, Lestocq, cast the deciding vote and Sophia was bled 17 times in seven weeks. That was how they saved horses, and that is how they saved her. Back on her feet but still very weak, she went straight back into the fray.

  She was to celebrate her 15th birthday on April 21, 1744, but she was so pale and thin that she was afraid she would make a

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  Terrible Tsarinas poor impression on the public, and maybe even on her fiance.

  Moved by an uncharacteristic solicitude, Elizabeth sent her some rouge and suggested she touch up her face in order to appear to better advantage. Impressed by Figchen’s courage, she found the charming girl (who was unrelated to her, but was so eager to become Russian) far more worthy than her pitiful nephew and adoptive son (who was adamant in remaining German).

  Meanwhile, Johanna was busily engaging in high politics and covert diplomacy. She received visits from all the traditional enemies of Chancellor Alexis Bestuzhev, the inveterate Russophile. La Chetardie, Lestocq and Brummer held clandestine meetings in her apartments. Perhaps Sophia, under her mother’s direction, could influence Peter and maybe even the tsarina, who was visibly impressed with her, to get rid of Bestuzhev.

  But Russia’s top diplomat was hardly sitting idly by while these conspiracies were being spun. His personal spies had succeeded in intercepting and deciphering encrypted correspondence from La Chetardie to various foreign ministries all over Europe.

  With these incriminating documents in hand, he presented himself to Elizabeth to prove his case. He had a portfolio full of damning letters, which Elizabeth read with horror: “Recognition and attention from such a dissipated princess [the tsarina] mean nothing.” “Her vanity, lack of seriousness, bad conduct, weakness and obstinacy make any serious negotiation an impossibility.”

  Elsewhere, La Chetardie criticized her excessive interest in clothing and frivolous pursuits, and stated that she was totally ignorant of the major issues of the day, which she found “annoying rather than interesting.” In support of these calumnies, La Chetardie cited the opinion of Johanna, whom he portrayed, furthermore, as a spy in league with Frederick II.

  Elizabeth was shocked by these revelations; she no longer knew who were her friends - if, indeed, she had any. She had

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  An Autocrat at Work and Play turned her back on Maria Theresa because of Ambassador Botta, who had called her a diplomatic crook; would she now have to part with Louis XV because of that scoundrel, La Chetardie? She ought to throw him out of the country forthwith. But wouldn’t that offend France, which had to be dealt with as a man more than as a nation?

  Before making such an unequivocal gesture, Elizabeth had Johanna called in and, screaming with rage and indignation, showed her the letters. Sophia’s mother was directly incriminated. The young princess from Anhalt-Zerbst, stunned to see her dreams of grandeur flushed away so suddenly, expected to be chased out of Russia forthwith. However, she was granted an unexpected reprieve. Out of respect for her nephew’s innocent fiancee, Elizabeth consented to allow Johanna to stay on, at least until the wedding. This charity did not cost the tsarina anything, and she felt that it would turn to her own benefit in due course. She was sorry for the young lady, who seemed to have a most unnatural mother; and she hoped, by this demonstration of generosity of soul, to earn the girl’s gratitude and, perhaps, even her affection.

  The deleterious climate of St. Petersburg suddenly felt intolerable to Her Majesty and, yielding to one of the mys tical whims that would strike her from time tot time, she dec
ided to make another pilgrimage to the Troitsky-St. Sergievsky Monastery. She would take her nephew, Sophia, Johanna and Lestocq. Before leaving town, she instructed Alexis Bestuzhev to deal with the ignoble La Chetardie however he saw fit, saying that she approved, in advance, of whatever action he chose to take. Having thus washed her hands of the entire sordid affair, she departed on the road to God with an unburdened heart. As the pilgrimage got under way, Elizabeth noted that, while Johanna, Sophia and Lestocq were quite upset over the awkward business of La Chetardie’s letters, Peter was completely unfazed. He seemed to

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  Terrible Tsarinas be quite oblivious to the fact that this s candal involved his fiancee, soon to be his wife, and that everything that involved her must affect him as well.

  At the monastery, the traveling party discussed the young couple’s future, in religious and not very religious terms; meanwhile, in St. Petersburg, a party of officers and armed guards presented themselves at La Chetardie’s residence and informed him that, in view of his defamations against Her Majesty, he had 24 hours in which to take his leave. Kicked out like a dishonest servant, the Marquis protested, argued, raged, and claimed that he would lodge a complaint with his government; finally, he accepted his fate and quickly packed up.

  When he reached the first coach house along the way, an emissary from the Empress caught up with him and demanded that he give back the Order of St. Andrew, and the snuffbox with her portrait enameled in miniature on the lid which he had received some years before - while he was in good standing with the court. He refused to part with these relics. At the next stage, Bestuzhev conveyed to him, by another courier, a comminatory sentence from Elizabeth: “The Marquis de La Chetardie is not worthy of receiving personal commissions from Her Majesty.” At this sudden fall from grace, La Chetardie thought he was losing his mind. He asked Versailles to intervene in a matter that, in his view, insulted France as much as it insulted him. This time, it was Louis XV who set him in his place. As punishment for his maladroit initiatives, he should withdraw to his estate in Limousin, and stay there until further notice.

  As for Elizabeth and her fellow pilgrims, after paying a pious visit to the monastery, they made their way back to Moscow where the ladies from Anhalt-Zerbst strove to appear natural in spite of their shame and dis appointment. Johanna was in a rage, knowing that she was now quite unwelcome in Russia and guess«168»

  An Autocrat at Work and Play ing that she would be invited to take her ship out as soon as her daughter was wed. Sophia, for her part, tried to get over this series of setbacks by preparing for her conversion to orthodoxy with all the zeal of a neophyte. While she was scrupulously attending to everything said by the priest charged with initiating her into the faith of her new compatriots, Peter was off on a hunting excursion, merrily scouring the surrounding forests and plains, with his usual comrades. They were all from Holstein, they spoke only German among themselves, and they encouraged the Grand Duke to resist Russian traditions and stand fast to his Germanic origins.

  On June 28, 1744, Sophia was finally received into the bosom of the Orthodox Church. She gave her baptism vows in Russian, without stumbling, and changed her first name to become Catherine Alexeyevna. She was not shocked at being required to give up her own religion - she had long understood that that was part of the price to be paid if one wished to marry a Russian of quality.

  The following day, June 29, she presented herself at the imperial chapel for the engagement ceremony. The empress slowly stepped forward, under a silver canopy held aloft by eight generals. Behind her the Grand Duke Peter advanced, smiling idiotically all around, with the new Grand Duchess Catherine by his side, pale and deeply moved, her eyes lowered. The service, celebrated by Father Ambroise, was four hours long. Despite her recent illness, Catherine never faltered. Elizabeth was pleased with her future daughter-in-law. During the ball that brought the festivities to a close, Elizabeth noticed once more the contrast between the girl’s elegance and simplicity and the brazenness of the mother, who talked nonstop and was always putting herself forward.

  Shortly thereafter, the entire court removed to Kiev, in great

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  Terrible Tsarinas array. The young couple and Johanna came behind. Once again there were receptions, balls, parades and processions and, at the end of the day, for the tsarina (accustomed as she was to the social whirl), the strange feeling of having wasted considerable time.

  During this three-month voyage, Elizabeth had pretended to be unaware that the world outside was on the move. England, it was said, was preparing to attack the Netherlands, while France was spoiling for a fight with Germany, and the Austrians were on the verge of confronting the French army. Versailles and Vienna were cunningly competing to secure Russia’s assistance, and Alexis Bestuzhev was straddling the fence the best he could, while awaiting precise instructions from Her Majesty. The empress, alarmed no doubt by her chancellor’s reports, decided to head back to Moscow. The court immediately picked up and moved, in a long, slow caravan, back to the north. Arriving at the old city of coronations, Elizabeth certainly expected to enjoy a few days of rest; she claimed to have been tired by all the celebrations in Kiev.

  But as soon as she took in the stimulating Moscow air, her appetite was piqued for further entertainment and surprises. At her initiative, the balls, suppers, operas and masquerades started up once again, and at such a pace that even the youngest socialites started to bow out.

  As the wedding date approached, Elizabeth decided to move back to St. Petersburg to oversee the preparations. The engaged couple and Johanna followed her, a few days behind. But, stepping down from the carriage at the stage house in Khotilovo, the Grand Duke Peter began to shiver. Pink blotches had broken out on his face. There could be no doubt: it was small pox - and few people survived that dread disease. An urgent message was sent to the empress. Elizabeth was terrified, hearing of this threat to her adoptive son’s life. Who could forget that, less than fifteen years earlier, the young tsar Peter II had succumbed to that very

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  An Autocrat at Work and Play peril on the eve of his wedding? And by a strange coincidence, the bride-to-be, back in 1730, a Dolgoruky, was also called Catherine.

  Was that name an evil omen for the Romanov dynasty?

  Elizabeth refused to believe it, just as she refused to believe that the illness would be fatal. She gave orders to prepare the horses and took off for Khotilovo, to be near her heir and to ensure that he was receiving proper care. Meanwhile Catherine, thrown into a panic, had left Khotilovo for the capital. Along the way, she came upon Elizabeth’s sleigh. United by their anguish, the empress (who feared the worst for her succession), and the bride-tobe (who feared the worst for her own future) fell into each other’s arms. By now, Elizabeth had no more doubt that the Good Lord had guided her to place her confidence in this diminutive 15-yearold princess. Catherine was indeed the right wife for that simpleton, Peter, and the right daughter-in-law to enable her to enjoy life and end her days in peace. They set out again for Khotilovo, together. Arriving in the village, they went to see the Grand Duke, who was racked with fever, perspiring and shivering on a miserable cot. Was this pitiful scene the end of the dynasty of Peter the Great? And was this the end of Catherine’s aspirations? The empress was anxious to avoid infecting the girl before the wedding, so Catherine, at her request, set out again for St. Petersburg with her mother, leaving Her Majesty at the Grand Duke’s bedside.

  For weeks, in a primitive and poorly heated hovel, Elizabeth watched over the stupid and ungrateful heir who had played such a nasty trick, trying to back out of the game just when they were both on the point of winning. And little by little, Peter’s fever diminished and he began to achieve some relative lucidity.

  By the end of January 1745, Peter had recovered from the fever and the empress escorted him back to St. Petersburg. He had changed so much during his illness that Elizabeth was afraid the

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  Te
rrible Tsarinas bride-to-be would be shocked - her fiance, never handsome, was now revolting. The small pox had disfigured him terribly. With his shaved head, swollen face, bloodshot eyes and cracked lips, he was a caricature of the young man he had been just a few months before. Catherine was sure to be horrified. Elizabeth put a big wig on Peter’s head in an attempt to improve his disastrous appearance, but topped with a cascade of false curls, he looked even worse. There wasn’t much to do but allow destiny take its course.

  As soon as the travelers had arrived and settled into the Winter Palace, young Catherine rushed to visit her miraculously recuperated fiance. Elizabeth, heart in throat, presided over their reunion. At the sight of Grand Duke Peter, Catherine froze. Her mouth half-opened, her eyes wide, she stammered out some pleasantry to congratulate her fiance on his recovery, dropped a quick curtsey and fled as if she had just met a ghost.

  February 10 was the Grand Duke’s birthday. The empress, dismayed by his appearance, even advised him against showing himself in public. However, she still harbored the hope that, over time, his physical flaws would begin to fade. What concerned her more, for the time being, was the little interest he showed in his betrothed. According to people in Catherine’s entourage, Peter had boasted to her of having had mistresses. But was he even capable of satisfying a woman? Was he “normal,” in that regard?

  And would the delightful Catherine be charming enough, inventive enough to awaken the desire of such an odd husband? Would she give children to the country that was already impatient for them? What could remedy the sexual deficiency of a man who found the sight of a well-trained regiment more exciting than that of a young woman lying languidly in the shadows of the bedroom?