by Henri Troyat
Three hundred silent men followed the matushka along the still-deserted Nevsky Prospect, heading for the Winter Palace.
Passing by the Admiralty, she thought that the great sound of marching feet and the neighing of the horses must surely catch the attention of a sentinel or some townsman who suffered from insomnia. Descending from her sleigh, she thought of making it the rest of the way on foot. But her ankle boots sank deep in the snow. She faltered. Two grenadiers dashed forward to help, picked her up in their arms and carried her all the way to the entrance of the palace. Having arrived at the guard post, eight men from the escort, detached by Lestocq, advanced with grim faces and gave the password that had been communicated to them by an accomplice, disarming the four sentries planted in front of the gate. The officer who commanded the guard shouted, “Na Karaul! (“To arms!”). One of the grenadiers pointed his bayonet at the fellow’s chest, ready to slit him open at the first sign of resistance.
But Elizabeth set aside the weapon with a sweep of her hand.
This gesture of leniency completely won over the detachment charged with ensuring palace security.
Meanwhile, a few of the conspirators had reached the “private apartments.” Coming to the regent’s room, Elizabeth sur«114»
One Anna after Another prised her in bed. Her lover still being away, Anna Leopoldovna was sleeping beside her husband. She opened her frightened eyes to find the tsarevna staring down at her with a disconcerting gentleness. Without raising her voice, Elizabeth said to her, “It’s time to get up, little sister!” Stupefied, the regent did not move. But Anthony Ulrich, having awakened in his turn, protested loudly and called for the Guard with all his might. Nobody came running. While he continued to holler, Anna Leopoldovna was first to realize that she had been defeated; she accepted this with the docility of a sleepwalker, and only asked that she not be separated from Julie Mengden.
While the couple self-consciously dressed, under the suspicious eye of the conspirators, Elizabeth went into the child’s room. There lay the baby tsar, resting in his cradle all draped with voile and lace. A moment later, disturbed by the commotion, he opened his eyes and let out an inarticulate wail. Leaning over him, Elizabeth cooed with feigned affection - or was she truly touched? Then she picked up the infant in her arms, took it over toward the guards (all melting at this tender sight), and said in a tone that was distinct enough to be heard by one and all, “Poor little dear, you are innocent! Your parents alone are guilty!”
As a seasoned actress, she did not need the applause of her public to know that she had just scored another point. Having pronounced this sentence, which she (rightly) judged historical, she carried off the child in his diapers, robbing the cradle, and mounted once again her sleigh, still holding little Ivan VI in her arms. The first light of dawn was just gracing the city; the weather was very cold. The sky was heavy with fog and snow.
Some rare early risers, having caught wind of great events, ran to see the tsarevna drive by; they howled out a hoarse hurrah.
This was the fifth coup d’etat in fifteen years in their good city, all with the support of the Guard. They had become so ac«115»
Terrible Tsarinas customed to these sudden shifts of the political wind that they did not even speculate anymore as to who was actually running the country, among all these high-ranking persons whose names were honored one day and drawn through the mud the next.
Awakening to hear the news of this latest upheaval in the imperial palace cum theatre, the Scottish general Lascy, who had long been in the service of Russia, did not show any hint of surprise. When his interlocutor, curious to know his preferences, asked him, “Whom are you for?” he philosophically retorted, “For the one who reigns!” On the morning of November 25, 1741, this response might have s poken for all the Russians, except those who lost their positions or their fortunes due to the change.10
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One Anna after Another
Footnotes 1. Letter dated 13 October 1741, published by Soloviev, Histoire de Russie, and cited by K. Waliszewski, op. cit.
2. K. Waliszewski, Ibid.
3. Cf. Mirnievitch: La Femme russe au XVIII siecle, and Waliszewski, op. cit.
4. Ibid.
5. Cited by Daria Olivier, op. cit.
6. Cf. Soloviev, op. cit.
7. Letter from La Chetardie to his minister, Amelot de Chailloux, dated 30 May (10 June) 1741; cf. Waliszewski, op. cit.
8. Ibid.
9. Cf. Miliukov, Seignobos and Eisenmann, Histoire de Russie. 10. Elizabeth’s coup d’etat and the remarks made at the time were reported in numerous documents dating from that period, including Les Archives du prince M. L. Vorontsov, and collected by K. Waliszewski, in L’Heritage de Pierre le Grand.
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Terrible Tsarinas
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Peter the Great, by G. Kneller. London, Kensington Palace.
Photo A. C. Cooper (copyright reserved).
St. Petersburg in the time of Peter the Great.
The Neva Embankment, the Admiralty, and the Academy of Sciences.
Bibliotheque nationale de France, Prints Division. Photo B.N.
View of the Isaakievsky Bridge and St. Isaac’s Cathedral, the Winter Palace, and the Hermitage, in St. Petersburg.
Photo Giraudon.
The Winter Palac e, St. Petersburg, 1843.
Russian School, Sodovnikov.
Preserved in Peterhof Library. Photo Josse.
The grand palace and the park at Tsarskoye Selo.
Engraving by Damane-Demartrais.
Catherine I (1682-1727), wife of Peter I (The Great).
Empress of Russia (1725-1727).
Empress Anna Ivanovna on her coronation day (1730).
After an engraving printed in Moscow.
Portrait of Elizabeth Petrovna,
Empress of Russia (1741-1762), daughter of Peter the Great.
Copper engraving, 1761, by Georg
Friedrich Schmidt (1696-1772), after a 1758 painting by Louis Toque (1696-1772).
Elizabeth 1st (1709-1762) on the anniversary of her coronation day.
The soldiers swear their fidelity to her. Russian School (1883).
St. Petersburg, The Hermitage Museum. Photo Josse.
Elizabeth Petrovna, Empress of Russia (1741-1761).
“Tsarina Elizabeth Petrovna, Portrait on horseback, with a Moor.”
Painted in 1743 by Georg Christoph Grooth (1716-1749). Detail.
Painted on canvas, 85 x 68.3 cm.
Moscow, Tretyakov Gallery.
Catherine II the Great (17291796) in her coronation gown.
By Stefano Torelli (1712-1784),
Italian School.
St. Petersburg, The Hermitage
Museum. Photo Josse.
Catherine II the Great. Empress of
Russia (1729-1796).
“The Coronation of Catherine II.”
Painted in 1777 by Stefano Torelli.
Oil on canvas. Moscow. AKG Photo.
VII
ELIZABETH’S TRIUMPH
Coups d’etat having become a political tradition in Russia, Elizabeth felt morally and historically obliged to follow the protocol that usually applied in such extreme moments: solemnly proclaiming one’s rights to the throne, arresting one’s opponents en masse, and showering rewards upon one’s supporters. She must not have slept more than two hours that agitated night - but in moments of euphoria, the thrill of success is more reinvigorating than a simple nap could ever be. She was up at the break of day, beautifully dressed and beautifully coifed, smiling as if she had just enjoyed a refreshing sleep. Twenty courtiers were already squeezing themselves into her antechamber, seeking to be the first to pay homage to the new ruler. In a glance she discerned which of them were genuinely delighted by her victory and which were merely prostrating themselves before her in the hope of avoiding the punishment that they deserved. Deferring the pleasure of acting upon that judgment, she showed a pleasant face to all and,
waving them aside, stepped out onto the balcony.
Below stood the regiments who had come to swear their al«127»
Terrible Tsarinas legiance to her. The soldiers, in parade formation, howled with joy - without breaking ranks. Their eyes shone as savagely as their bayonets. To Elizabeth, the cheers shattering the icy early morning air were an eloquent declaration of love to the “little mother.” Behind this rampart of gray uniforms, the people of St.
Petersburg crowded together, as impatient as the army to express its surprise and its approval. Facing this unanimous joy, it was very tempting for a sensitive woman to forgive those who had misplaced their loyalties. But Elizabeth stiffened her resolve against an indulgence that she might come to regret later on. She knew, through atavism if not through personal experience, that authority precludes charity. With a cold-minded wisdom, she chose to savor her happiness without giving up her resentment.
To avoid any confusion, she dispatched Prince Nikita Trubetskoy to bring the various embassies the official news of Her Majesty Elizabeth I’s accession to the throne; most of the foreign ministers had already been apprised of this event. No doubt the most pleased was His Excellency Jacques-Joachim Trotti de La Chetardie, who had made this cause his personal mission. Elizabeth’s triumph was to some extent his triumph, and he hoped to be suitably rewarded both by the principal interested party and by the French government.
He went by barouche to the Winter Palace to greet the new tsarina; along the way, the grenadiers who had taken part in the heroic tumult of the day before, and who were still wandering about in the streets, recognized him as he went by and gave him a formal escort, calling him batiushka frantsuz (“our French papa”) and “Guardian of Peter the Great’s daughter.” La Chetardie was moved to tears by this touching warmth. Seeing that the Russians had more heart than the French, and not wishing to let them down, he invited all these brave military men to come and drink to the health of France and Russia on the embassy grounds. How«128»
Elizabeth’s Triumph ever, when he related this little anecdote to his minister, Amelot de Chailloux, the latter reproached him sharply: “These compliments from the grenadiers, which you unfortunately could not avoid, have exposed the role you played in the revolution,”1 he wrote to him on January 15, 1741.
In the meanwhile, Elizabeth had ordered a Te Deum and a special religious service to unders core the troops’ oath of loyalty.
She also took care to publish a proclamation justifying her accession “under the terms of our legitimate right and because of our blood proximity to our dear father and our dear mother, the Emperor Peter the Great and the Empress Catherine Alexeyevna; and also in accordance with the unanimous and so humble request of those who have been faithful to us.”2 The reprisals announced in tandem with all this celebration were severe. The secondary players in the counter-conspiracy joined the principal “instigators” (Munnich, Loewenwolde, Ostermann and Golovkin) in the cells of the Peter and Paul Fortress.
Prince Nikita Trubetskoy, charged with judging the culprits, wasted no time with pointless formalities. Magistrates were named on the spur of the moment to assist him in his deliberations, and all their sentences were final. A large crowd of spectators, eager to applaud the misfortunes of others, followed the sessions hour by hour. There were many foreigners among the accused, which delighted “the good Russians.” Some of these vengeful spirits took particular pleasure in stating, with a laugh, that in this it was Russia suing Germany. Elizabeth is said to have sat behind a curtain, listening to every word of the proceedings. In any case, the verdicts were largely (or entirely) dictated by her.
Most of the defendants were sentenced to death. Of course,
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Terrible Tsarinas during the coup d’etat just the day before, she had sworn she would end capital punishment in Russia; therefore, Her Majesty allowed herself the innocent pleasure of granting clemency at the last minute. She considered that such sadism tinged with leniency was part of her ancestral instinct, since Peter the Great had had a record of mixing cruelty and lucidity, entertainment and horror. However, each time the court chaired by Nikita Trubetskoy issued a death penalty, it had to specify the means of execution. Trubetskoy’s men were most often satisfied with decapitation by axe; but when it came to deciding Ostermann’s fate, voices in the crowd protested that such humanity would be out of place.
At the request of Vasily Dolgoruky, who had just been retrieved from exile and who was frothing with a desire for revenge, Ostermann was condemned to be tortured on the wheel before being beheaded; Munnich was to be drawn and quartered before the death-blow was delivered. Only the most humdrum criminals would be spared torture and arrive before the executioner intact.
Until the very day and hour that had been set for the execution, Elizabeth kept her compassionate intentions secret. The hour had arrived. The culprits were dragged to the scaffold before a crowd that was baying for the “traitors’” blood. Suddenly, a messenger from the palace brought word that, in her infinite kindness, Her Majesty had deigned to commute their sentences to exile in perpetuity. The spectators, at first disappointed at being deprived of such an amusing spectacle, wanted to attack the beneficiaries of this imperial favor; then, as though suddenly enlightened, they blessed their matushka who had showed herself to be a better Christian than they were by thus sparing the lives of the
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Elizabeth’s Triumph “infamous perpetrators.” Impressed by her clemency, some ventured to suggest that this exceptional restraint was due to the deeply feminine nature of Her Majesty and that a tsar, in her place, would have shown far greater rigor in expressing his wrath.
They even proposed that Russia would be better off in the future if it were always ruled by a woman. In their opinion the people, in their misery, were more in need of a mother than a father.
While everyone was celebrating the fact that these big political criminals had finally been brought down, and praising the tsarina for her heart of gold, Munnich was shipped off to end his days in Pelym, a Siberian village 3000 versts from St. Petersburg;
Loewenwolde died in Solikamsk, Ostermann in Berezov, in the Tobolsk region, and Golovkin - well, exactly where he was to be sent was not clearly indicated on the passenger waybill, so he was simply ditched in some Siberian village along the way. The members of the Brunswick family, with the ex-regent Anna Leopoldovna at their head, received better treatment because of their high birth; they were consigned to Riga, before being dispatched to Kholmogory, in the far north.
Having eliminated her adversaries, Elizabeth now had to hurry to replace those experienced men whose removal had left key positions vacant. Lestocq and Vorontsov were the chief recruiters. They invited Alexis Petrovich Bestuzhev to succeed Ostermann, and his brother, Mikhail Bestuzhev, replaced Loewenwolde as Master of the Royal Hunt. Among the military men, the most brilliant promotion was granted to Dolgoruky, newly returned from exile. Even subordinates (the most conscientious of them) did well during this period when reparations were being made for the injustices of the preceding reign. The new benefici«131»
Terrible Tsarinas aries of imperial largesse shared the spoils taken from those who had lost. Commenting on this waltz, Mardefeld wrote to Frederick II: “Count Loewenwolde’s clothing, underwear, hose and linens were distributed among the empress’s chamberlains, who were naked as a hand. Of the four most recently named gentlemen of the chamber, two had been lackeys and a third had served as stableman.”3 As for the leading protagonists, Elizabeth rewarded them far more than they could have hoped. Lestocq became a count, private counselor to Her Majesty, premier doctor to the court, and director of “the college of medicine” with a 7,000-ruble annual retainer for life. Mikhail Vorontsov, Alexander Shuvalov and Alexis Razumovsky awoke the next day (and a beautiful morning it was) as grand chamberlains and knights of St. Andrew. At the same time, the entire company of grenadiers of the Preobrazhensky Regiment, which had contributed to the tsarina’s success on November
25, 1741, was converted into a company of personal bodyguards for Her Majesty under the Germanic name of the LeibKompania. Every man and every officer of this elite unit was promoted one level; their uniforms were adorned with an escutcheon bearing the device “Fidelity and Zeal.” Some were even brought into the nobility, with hereditary titles, together with gifts of lands and up to 2,000 rubles. Alexis Razumovsky and Mikhail Vorontsov, who had no military knowledge whatsoever, were named Lieutenant Generals, with concomitant rewards of money and domains.
Despite all this repeated generosity, the leaders of the coup d’etat were always asking for more. Far from appeasing them, the tsarina’s prodigality turned their heads. They thought she “owed them everything” because they had “given their all.” Their worship for the matushka devolved into familiarity, even impertinence.
Within Elizabeth’s entourage, the men of the Leib-Kompania were
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Elizabeth’s Triumph called the “creative grenadiers,” since they had “created” the new sovereign, or “Her Majesty’s big kids,” since she treated them with an almost maternal indulgence. Aggravated by the insolence of these low class parvenus, Mardefeld complained in a dispatch to King Frederick II of Prussia, “They [the empress’s grenadiers] refuse to get out of the court, they are well-entrenched,… they walk in the galleries where Her Majesty holds her court, they mingle with people of the first quality,… they stuff their faces at the same table where the empress sits, and she is so nice to them that she has gone as far as to sign an order to print the image of a grenadier on the back of the new rubles.”4 In a report dating from the same month and year Edward Finch, the English ambassador, wrote that the bodyguards assigned to the palace had deserted their stations one fine day in order to protest the disciplinary action inflicted upon one of them by their superior officer, the Prince of Hesse-Homburg; Her Majesty was indignant that anyone should have dared to punish her “children” without asking her authorization and she embraced the victims of such iniquity.