Terrible Tsarinas: Five Russian Women in Power (13 page)

However, this avalanche of benefices began to irritate Anthony Ulrich. He found that his wife had exaggerated in the display of gratitude towards a servant of the State who was very effective, certainly, but lowly of birth. He was joined in his criticism by other figures whose sensibilities had been wounded by this distribution of emoluments. Among those who felt they had been overlooked by those in power were Loewenwolde, Ostermann, and Mikhail Golovkin. They complained that they were being treated like subalterns, when in fact the regent and her husband were deeply indebted to them.

Obviously, the all-powerful Münnich was at the head of this gang. However, the field marshal suddenly took ill, and had to be confined to bed. Taking advantage of this timely indisposition, Ostermann was quick to move in, seeking to take over various portfolios and shunt aside his principal rival, giving orders in his stead. Barely out of sickbed, Münnich tried to take control again - but it was too late. Ostermann was well-entrenched. He was not about to let go of anything, and Anna Leopoldovna, advised by Julie Mengden, decided that the moment had come for her to assert all her rights, with Ostermann standing behind her like a guardian angel. He proposed looking for international backing and even subsidies to support a “cleansing of the monarchy.” Confused negotiations were initiated in St. Petersburg with England, Austria, and Saxony for alliances that would go nowhere. But let’s admit it: nobody among the European diplomats had faith in Russia any more, caught as it was in cross currents.

The ship had no captain. Even in Constantinople, an unforeseen collusion between France and Turkey hinted at the possible recrudescence of bellicose inclinations.

Although they had been kept ignorant of developments in the sphere of foreign relations, the army officers suffered nonetheless, from their fatherland’s obliteration and even humiliation in international confrontations. The insolence and the whims of the Count of Lynar, who allowed himself every license since his marriage with Julie Mengden was concocted in the back rooms of the palace, finished off any little sympathy the regent might have preserved among the people and the middle nobility. The gvardeitsy (the men of the imperial guard) reproached her for scorning the military, and her humblest subjects were astonished that she was never seen walking freely about the city as all the other tsarinas had done. She was said to dislike the barracks as much as the street, and that she only had time for the salons. She was also said to have such an appetite for pleasure that she never bothered to fasten her clothes unless she was attending a reception; that way, she could get out of them more quickly when her lover came to visit her.

On the other hand, her aunt Elizabeth Petrovna, although most of the time confined in a kind of semi-voluntary, semi-imposed exile far from the capital, had more taste for human interactions, simple and direct relations, and even reached out to the masses. Taking full advantage of her rare visits to St. Petersburg, this true daughter of Peter the Great was quick to show herself in public, traveling about on horseback or in an open carriage in the city; and she would respond to the public’s greetings with a gracious wave of the hand and an angelic smile. Her approach was so natural that, when she was passing by, everyone felt authorized to shout out his joy or his sorrow to her, as if she were a sister of charity. It was said that soldiers on leave would go up to the sides of her sleigh to murmur a compliment in her ear. Among themselves, they called her
Matushka
, “little mother”; she knew that, and was proud to consider it an additional title of nobility.

One of the first to have detected the tsarevna’s discreetly rising star among the ordinary people and the middle aristocracy was the French ambassador, the marquis de La Chétardie. He very quickly understood the advantages he could derive for his country and himself by winning Elizabeth Petrovna’s confidence, and even friendship.

He was assisted in this campaign of diplomatic seduction by the princess’s designated doctor, a Hanoverian of French origin, Armand Lestocq, whose ancestors had settled in Germany after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. This man, about 50 years old, skilled in his art and absolutely amoral in his private conduct, had been introduced to Elizabeth Petrovna when she was only an obscure young girl, flirtatious and sensual. The marquis de La Chétardie often called upon him to try to penetrate the tsarevna’s varying moods and the shifting public opinion in Russia. What stood out, in Lestocq’s comments, was that unlike the women who had preceded her at the head of the country, this one found France very attractive. She had learned French and even “danced the minuet” in her childhood. Although she read very little, she appreciated the spirit of that nation that was supposed to be courageous, and at the same time, rebellious and frivolous. She surely could get over the fact that, in her early youth, she had been offered in marriage to Louis XV, before being offered (without any greater success), to the prince-bishop of Lübeck and finally to Peter II, who had died prematurely. The mirage of Versailles continued to dazzle her, despite the many disappointments in love that she had suffered. Those who admired her grace and her expansive exuberance, as she entered her thirtieth year, claimed that in spite of her plumpness she “made men hot,” that she her skirt was very light and that, in her vicinity, one had the sensation of being surrounded by French music. The Saxon agent Lefort wrote, with a mixture of respect and impertinence, “It seems that she was, indeed, born for France, as she likes only superficial glitter.”3 For his part, the English ambassador Edward Finch, while recognizing that the tsarevna was very spirited, judged her “too fat to conspire.”4

However, Elizabeth Petrovna’s penchant for the French refinements of fashion and culture did not keep her from reveling in Russian rusticity when it came to her nightly pleasures. Even before she held an official position at her niece’s court, she took as her lover a Ukrainian peasant who had been named cantor in the choir of the palace chapel: Alexis Razumovsky. His deep voice, athletic physique and crude ways were all the more appreciated in the bedroom, coming as they did after hours spent amid the affectations and the mincing ways of the salons. An avid consumer of simple carnal satisfactions and elegance as well, the princess expressed her true nature through this contradiction. A full-blooded man, Alexis Razumovsky had a weakness for drink, often for too much drink, and when he had had his fill he would sometimes raise his voice, utter coarse words, and toss about the furniture, while his mistress was a little bit frightened and very much amused by his vulgarity. Hearing about this “misalliance,” those fastidious advisers who were in close communication with the tsarevna recommended she conduct herself with prudence, or at least discretion, in order to avoid a damaging scandal. However, both the Shuvalovs (Alexander and Ivan), the chamberlain Mikhail Vorontsov and most of Elizabeth’s partisans had to admit that, in the barracks and on the street, the news of this liaison between the daughter of Peter the Great and a man of the people was greeted with indulgence and even good-naturedness - as if the folks “at the bottom” liked her all the more for not scorning one of their own.

At the same time, in the palace, the Francophile party was getting cozier with Elizabeth. That rendered her suspicious to Ostermann who, as a declared champion of the Germanic cause in Russia, was unlikely to tolerate the least obstacle to his plans. When the British ambassador Edward Finch asked his opinion of the princess’s overt preferences in international relations, he peevishly retorted that, if she continued to exhibit such “ambiguous conduct,” she would be “locked up in a convent.” Reporting this conversation in one of his dispatches, the Englishman observed ironically: “That could be a dangerous expedient, for she is not at all suited to the life of a nun and she is extremely popular.”5 He was right. From one day to the next, dissatisfaction was escalating within the regiments of the Guard. The men secretly wondered what they were waiting for, in the palace, to drive out all the Germans who were lording it over the Russian. From the humblest of the gvardeitsy to the highest officers, they decried the injustice done to the daughter of Peter the Great, sole heiress of the Romanov line and lineage, by depriving her of the crown. Some dared to insinuate that the regent, her outsider of a husband Anthony Ulrich and her baby of a tsar were all usurpers. Contrast to that lot the luminous goodness of the
matushka
Elizabeth Petrovna, who, as they said, showed “the spark of Peter the Great.”

Already, seditious cries could be heard in the city outskirts. In the depths of their barracks, the soldiers muttered among themselves, after an exhausting and pointless review, “Isn’t there anyone who can order us to take up our weapons in favor of the matushka?”6 Despite the frequency of these spontaneous demonstrations, the marquis de La Chétardie still hesitated to promise France’s moral support for a coup d’état
.
But Lestocq, supported by Schwartz (a former German captain who had gone over into the service of Russia), decided that the moment had come to acquaint the army with the plot. However, at the same time, the Swedish minister Nolken let La Chétardie know that his government had given him a credit line of 100,000 ecus to help consolidate Anna Leopoldovna’s hold on power, or, “according to the circumstances,” to bolster the aspirations of the tsarevna Elizabeth Petrovna. It was his call. Put in an awkward position by a decision that was beyond his competence to make, Nolken relied on his French colleague for guidance. La Chétardie, a prudent man, was terrified by such a responsibility and, no more able to make up his mind than Nolken had been, answered evasively. On this subject, Paris urged him to go along with Sweden and to quietly support the cause of Elizabeth Petrovna.

Having been brought up to date on these unexpected developments, it was Elizabeth’s turn to hesitate. Should she take the plunge? She could already see what would happen if she failed - she would be denounced, thrown into prison, have her head shaved, and end her days in a loneliness worse than death. La Chétardie shared a similar concern for himself and admitted that he no longer closed his eyes at night, and that at the least noise he would “run to the window, believing that all was lost.”7 And furthermore, he had already incurred the wrath of Ostermann, recently, following an alleged diplomatic
faux pas
; he had been invited not to set foot again in the Summer Palace until further orders. He took refuge in the villa that he had let at the gates of the capital, but he did not feel safe anywhere. He took to receiving Elizabeth’s emissaries on the sly, preferably at nightfall. He believed he had been politically excommunicated, for good; but, after a period of penitence, Ostermann authorized him to tender his letters of accreditation - provided that he presented them to the baby tsar in person. Once again admitted to the court, the ambassador took the opportunity to meet Elizabeth Petrovna and to murmur to her, during an aside, that France had great plans for her. Serene and smiling, she replied, “Being the daughter of Peter the Great, I believe I remain faithful to my father’s memory by placing my confidence in the friendship of France and in asking for its support in exercising my proper rights.”8 La Chétardie was careful not to reveal these subversive remarks, but the rumor of a conspiracy began to spread throughout the regent’s entourage. At once, Anna Leopoldovna’s supporters were aflame with vindicatory zeal. Anthony Ulrich, as her husband, and the count of Lynar, as her favorite, both warned her of the risk she was running. They urged her to increase the security at the gates of the imperial residence and to arrest the ambassador of France at once. Impassive, she shrugged off these rumors and refused to overreact. She doubted her informants’ reports; but her chief rival, Elizabeth, having heard of the suspicions that swirled around her undertaking, was alarmed and begged La Chétardie to take greater care. Bundles of compromising documents were burned and Elizabeth, out of prudence, left the capital. She found some early conspirators in friendly villas close to Peterhof.

On August 13, 1741, Russia went to war with Sweden. The diplomats may have known the obscure reasons behind this conflict, but the people did not. All that was known, in the countryside, was that on the grounds of some very convoluted questions of national prestige, borders, and the succession, thousands of men were going to die, far from home, at the hand of the enemy. But, for the moment, the imperial guard was not involved. And that was all.

At the end of November 1741, Elizabeth sadly noted that a plot as adventurous as hers would go nowhere without solid financial backing. Called to the rescue, La Chétardie scraped up what funds he could, and then called for the court of France to extend an additional advance of 15,000 ducats. As the French government persisted in turning a deaf ear, Lestocq prodded La Chétardie to take action, come what may, without waiting for Paris or Versailles to give him the go-ahead. Pressured, pushed, and with Lestocq twisting his arm, the ambassador went to the tsarevna and, painting a darker than necessary picture, asserted that according to the latest information the regent was preparing to have her thrown into a convent. Lestocq, who was there to back him up, confirmed without so much as raising a brow that she might be taken away and imprisoned any day. Such an eventuality was, indeed, precisely the nightmare that tormented Elizabeth. To convince her fully, Lestocq (who had some artistic talent) took a scrap of paper and made two sketches: in one, a sovereign was taking her throne, acclaimed by all the people, and in the other the same woman was taking the veil and walking, head bowed, toward a convent. He placed the two drawings under Elizabeth’s nose and barked: “Choose, Madam!”

“Very well,” the tsarevna answered; “I leave it to you to determine the moment!”9 She did not say anything, but one could read her fear in her eyes. Without regard for her pallor and her quaking nerves, Lestocq and La Chétardie drew up a detailed list of all her adversaries who would have to be arrested as soon as the victory was hers; at the top of the list, of course, was Ostermann. But there was also Ernst Münnich, son of the field marshal; Baron Mengden, father of Julie, so dear to the heart of the regent; Count Golovkin, Loewenwolde and some of their associates. However, they did not yet pronounce themselves on the fate that awaited, in the final analysis, the regent, her husband, her lover and her baby. Everything in its own time! To urge on the tsarevna, who was too timid for his liking, Lestocq affirmed that the soldiers of the Guard were ready to defend, through her, “the blood of Peter the Great.” At these words, she suddenly took heart and, galvanized, dazed, declared: “I will not betray that blood!”