Terrible Tsarinas: Five Russian Women in Power (24 page)

Having joined the chancellor in the pro-England clan, she was less liable to attack. The odious espionage to which she had been submitted, on behalf of the empress, was removed. The only reports Elizabeth now received from Oranienbaum were in regard to the pro-Prussian extravagances of her nephew.

In this atmosphere of reciprocal surveillance, cautious bargaining and courteous deception, a first treaty was concocted in St. Petersburg in an effort to specify how the various powers would respond in the event of a French-English conflict. But suddenly, following secret negotiations, a new accord was signed in Westminster, on January 16, 1756. It stipulated that, in the case of a generalized war, Russia would join France in its fight against England and Prussia. This abrupt inversion of alliances shocked the uninitiated and appalled Elizabeth. Without a doubt, Bestuzhev, better paid by someone else, had sacrificed Russia’s honor-bound commitments to Prussia. And Catherine, that hare-brained young lady, apparently was very happy to follow Bestuzhev in this scandalous about-face. She always had shown herself to be too much impressed with the French spirit! Her Majesty’s fury was a combination of political frustration and wounded personal pride. She regretted having trusted Bestuzhev to conduct the international talks, when the vice-chancellor, Vorontsov, and the Shuvalov brothers had been advising her to bide her time.

In order to try to limit the damage, she hastily convened a “conference” in February 1756, where Bestuzhev, Vorontsov, the Shuvalov brothers, Prince Trubestkoy, General Alexander Buturlin, General Apraxin and Admiral Golytsin met under her effective presidency. All these minds, working together, would find a way out of this mess - if anyone could! In the worst case they had to decide whether, assuming a confrontation did take place, Russia could accept “subsidies” in exchange for its neutrality. Draped in imperial honor, Elizabeth said no. But then came word that Louis XV was on the verge of signing a pact of reciprocal military assistance with Maria Theresa, in Austria. Bound by its former engagements to Austria, Russia became, at the same time, an ally of France.

Trapped in spite of herself by Louis XV and Maria Theresa, Elizabeth was obliged to take on Frederick II and George II. Should she be pleased or frightened? All around her, the courtiers were divided between national pride, shame at having betrayed their friends of yesterday, and fear that there would be a high price to pay for this unnecessary change of course. Behind closed doors, it was said that the Grand Duchess Catherine, Bestuzhev, and perhaps even the empress had been bribed to launch the country into a useless war.

Indifferent to these rumors, Elizabeth was astonished to find herself in the position of an unalienable friend of France. Standing tall in the face of misfortune, she hosted a reception on May 7 in honor of Mackenzie Douglas (who was back in St. Petersburg after a brief diplomatic eclipse), and acknowledged him with attention, respect and promises. A few days later, the rather weird Charles de Beaumont (called the Chevalier d’Eon de Beaumont) arrived. This ambiguous and seductive character had already made an initial appearance in Russia; he had worn women’s clothing at that time. The elegance of his gowns and the brilliance of his conversation had so impressed the empress that she occasionally had invited him to come and “read” to her. However, now the Chevalier d’Eon was parading in front of her in men’s clothing.

But whether he presented himself in a skirt or in breeches, she still found him brimming with grace and spirit. Which was his real gender? Elizabeth didn’t much care - she showed up both ways, herself, at court masquerades! The main thing was that this gentleman embodied French intelligence and taste. He brought with him a personal letter from the Prince de Conti. The cordial terms of the message touched her more surely than the usual flattery from the ambassadors. Without a moment’s hesitation, she declared to him: “I do not wish for any third party or any mediators in a meeting with the King [Louis XV]. I ask of him only truthfulness, sincerity and perfect reciprocity in what we decide between us.” This was a straightforward and unambiguous declaration: more than a testimony of confidence, it read like an international declaration of love.

Elizabeth would have liked to take some time to savor this honeymoon with France, but her insomnia and ill-health no longer left her any respite. The repeated bouts of illness made her fear that she might even lose her wits before winning a decisive victory in the war in which she had been involved, against her wishes, by the game of alliances. And here was Frederick II, taking his enemies by surprise and opening hostilities by invading Saxony without notice.1 The first engagements were to his advantage. Dresden was taken by storm, the Austrians were defeated in Prague, and the Saxons in Pirna. Forced to stand by her Austrian allies, Elizabeth was resigned to intervening. At her command, General Apraxin, appointed Field Marshal, left St. Petersburg and massed his troops in Riga. When Louis XV dispatched the Marquis de l’Hôpital to exhort the tsarina to take action, she entrusted to Mikhail Bestuzhev (the chancellor’s conveniently Francophile brother) the task of signing Russia to the treaty of Versailles. This was done on December 31, 1756.

Secretly embarrassed by taking this ostentatious stand, Elizabeth still hoped that the spreading conflict would not set ablaze all of Europe. She was also afraid that Louis XV might be using her in order to secure a rapprochement, no longer provisional but permanent, with Austria. As if to prove her right, in May 1757 Louis XV proclaimed the need to confirm his commitment to Maria Theresa, in a new alliance intended to bar Prussia from possibly compromising the peace in Europe. Elizabeth surmised that, under this generous pretext, the king was dissimulating a more subtle intention. While declaring solidarity with Russia, he most particularly wanted to ensure that Russia would not seek to expand at the expense of its two neighbors, Poland and Sweden, who were traditional allies of France. As long as Louis XV was playing this double game, he could not play squarely with Elizabeth. She would have to keep stringing along the envoys from Versailles. She wondered whether Alexis Bestuzhev, hobbled by his British sympathies, was still qualified to defend the interests of the country. The chancellor, steadfastly proclaiming his patriotism and integrity, would prefer to see an Anglo-Prussian coalition triumph over an Austro-French coalition (thanks in particular to Russia’s inaction); but meanwhile, the empress’s lover Ivan Shuvalov had never disguised his penchant for France, its literature, its fashions and, far more important, its political interests. Elizabeth was caught as never before in the struggle between her favorite and her chancellor, the inclinations of her heart (which leaned toward Versailles) and the objections of her mind, which stumbled over her obligations to Berlin.

Critical decisions had to be made, but the daily worries and the recrudescence of her illness undermined her physical stamina a little more every day. She sometimes had hallucinations; she moved to a different bed-chamber because she felt threatened by a faceless enemy; she implored the icons to come to her aid; and once, when she blacked out, she had considerable difficulty pulling together her thoughts again after she regained consciousness. Her fatigue was so profound that she would have liked to give up; but circumstances obliged her to go on.

She knew that behind her back they were already murmuring about the question of her successor. If she were suddenly to die the next day, who would receive the crown? According to tradition, her successor could be only her nephew, Peter. But she rankled at the idea that Russia should go to pieces in the hands of that half-mad, malicious maniac, who paraded around from morning to night in a Holstein uniform. It would be better to declare him incompetent, right now, and to designate the grand duke’s two-year-old son, Paul Petrovich, as sole heir. However, that would mean offering the role of regent to Catherine, whom Elizabeth hated as much for her good looks as for her youth, intelligence and many intrigues. Moreover, the grand duchess had lately teamed up with Alexis Bestuzhev. Those two would soon make a mess of all her carefully-laid plans.

This prospect profoundly aggravated the tsarina - then, suddenly, she stopped caring. What difference did it make for her to be concerned with the events of the future, since she presumably would not be there anymore to suffer from them? She was unable to make decisions even concerning the immediate future, and put off the tiresome burden of deciding whether to depose her nephew and hand over the reins of power to her grandson and daughter-in-law, or to allow Peter to accede to the highest seat in the land, at great risk to Russia. She rather hoped that events would take care of themselves.

Precisely at that time, Field Marshal Apraxin fortuitously made up his mind (after she had begged him many times to take action) to launch a vast offensive against the Prussians. In July 1757, Russian troops captured Memel and Tilsitt; in August of the same year, they crushed the enemy at Gross Jaegersdorff. These victories reinvigorated Elizabeth and she celebrated with a Te Deum, while Catherine, to please her, organized festivities in the gardens of Oranienbaum. The only sad face in this rejoicing nation was the Grand Duke Peter’s. Never mind that he was heir to the throne of Russia and that this series of Russian successes should delight him; he could not get over the defeat of his idol, Frederick II.

The devil must have heard his recriminations - at the very moment when the jubilant crowds in St. Petersburg were shouting “On, to Berlin! On, to Berlin!” and demanding that Apraxin continue his conquest until the very destruction of Prussia, news came that transformed the unanimous enthusiasm into utter amazement. Couriers dispatched by the command affirmed that, after a brilliant beginning, the Field Marshal was beating a retreat and that his regiments had abandoned the occupied terrain on the spot, leaving behind equipment, ammunition and weapons. This flight seemed so inexplicable that Elizabeth suspected a plot. The Marquis de l’Hôpital, who (at the request of Louis XV) was assisting the tsarina to formulate her opinions in these difficult moments, was not far from thinking that the surprising defection of the Field Marshal might not be news to Alexis Bestuzhev and the Grand Duchess Catherine, both in the pay of England and favorable to Prussia.

The ambassador made comments to that effect, and his remarks were reported at once to the tsarina. In a burst of energy, she set out to punish the culprits. To begin with, she recalled Apraxin and assigned him to house arrest, naming his second lieutenant, Count Fermor, to head the army. However, she reserved her principal resentment for Catherine. She would like to prevail, once and for all, against that woman whose marital infidelities she once had tolerated but whose political scheming was beyond the pale. Elizabeth should put an end to her meddling and to all the nonsense kicked up by the comical Prussian clique that was gathered around the grand-ducal couple at Oranienbaum.

Too bad - this was not the time to strike. Catherine was pregnant again, and therefore “sacred” in the eyes of the nation. She was off limits, for the time being. Whatever her flaws, it was better to leave her in peace until she gave birth. And again, who was the father? Surely not the grand duke who, since his little operation, had reserved all his attentions for Elizabeth Vorontsov, the niece of the Vice Chancellor. This mistress, who was neither beautiful nor spiritual, but whose vulgarity was reassuring to him, completely took his mind off his wife. And he didn’t care one bit that his wife had a lover, and that it was he who had made her pregnant. He even joked about it, in public. Catherine was nothing to him now but an annoying woman who brought him dishonor, to whom he had been married in his youth, without anyone asking his opinion. He put up with her and tried to stay away from her during the day - and especially at night. She, for her part, feared that Poniatowski, the child’s natural father, would be dispatched to the end of the world by the tsarina. At her request, Alexis Bestuzhev interceded with Her Majesty to persuade her to delay Poniatowski’s “new assignment” (to Poland) until the birth of the child. He managed to convince her; and Catherine, relaxed, prepared for the event.

Significant contractions gripped her during the night of December 18, 1758. Alerted by her groans, the grand duke was first at her bedside. He was dressed in a Prussian uniform, with boots and sword, spurs at the heels and a commander’s sash across his chest. Staggering and mumbling, he declared in a wine-soaked voice that he had come with his regiment to defend his legitimate wife against the enemies of the fatherland. He quickly departed, not wishing to have the Empress discover him in such a state, and went off to ferment in his alcohol. Her Majesty arrived soon after, just in time to see her daughter-in-law delivered by the midwife. Taking the baby in her arms, she examined it like a connoisseur. It was a girl. Too bad - they would have to make do. This was not the end of the world, since the succession was ensured by little Paul. Catherine, seeking to sweeten up her mother-in-law, proposed naming her daughter Elizabeth. But Her Majesty was in no humor for flattery. She said that she preferred to name the child the child Anna, after her elder sister and the grand duke’s mother. Then, having had the baby baptized, she savagely took it away, as she had done four years earlier with the brother of this useless infant.

Having gotten past this family episode, Elizabeth devoted herself to settling the Apraxin affair. The Field Marshal, discredited and dismissed after his incomprehensible reversal vis-a-vis the Prussian army that he had just conquered, was struck by a severe attack of “apoplexy” just at the conclusion of his first interrogation. Before dying, and while denying his culpability, he admitted having corresponded with the grand duchess, Catherine.

However, Elizabeth had formally forbidden her daughter-in-law from writing to anyone without informing those who were charged with keeping watch over her; this was, therefore, an unforgivable crime of rebellion.

Those close to the tsarina stoked her suspicions against the grand duchess, Chancellor Alexis Bestuzhev and even Stanislaw Poniatowski, who were all suspected of intelligence on behalf of Prussia. Vice Chancellor Vorontsov, whose niece was the grand duke’s mistress and who, for a long time, had dreamed of replacing Bestuzhev, singled out Catherine - he blamed her for all of Russia’s diplomatic and military misfortunes. He constantly attacked the Shuvalov brothers (whose nephew Ivan was Elizabeth’s favorite). Even the ambassador of Austria, Count Esterhazy, and the ambassador of France, the Marquis de L’Hôpital, supported the denigration campaign against Alexis Bestuzhev.