Terrible Tsarinas: Five Russian Women in Power (14 page)

This secret, decisive meeting took place in great secrecy on November 22, 1741. The following day, a reception was held at the palace. Hiding her anxiety, Elizabeth presented herself at the court wearing a ceremonial gown calculated to pique all her rivals and a smile calculated to disarm the most malevolent spirits. Greeting the regent, she was apprehensive that she might hear some affront or an allusion to her friendships with gentlemen of not very suitable opinions, but Anna Leopoldovna seemed even more gracious than usual. She must have been too preoccupied with her love for the count of Lynar (who was away on a journey), and her fondness for Julie Mengden (whose wedding trousseau she was preparing), and the health of her son (whom she was coddling “like a good German mother,” as they said), to let herself get carried away with the endless rumors that were circulating about an alleged plot.

However, taking another look at her aunt, the tsarevna, so beautiful and so serene, she recalled that in his last letter Lynar had warned her that La Chétardie and Lestocq were playing a double game and that, impelled by France and perhaps even by Sweden, they seemed to have in mind overthrowing her in favor of Elizabeth Petrovna. Suddenly shaken, Anna Leopoldovna decided to clear the air. Seeing that her aunt was seated nearby, playing cards with some of the courtiers, she walked over, drew her aside, and asked her to follow her to a private room. Once alone with her, she spelled out the accusation that she had so recently heard. Elizabeth was thunderstruck - she blenched, panicked, protested her innocence, swore that Anna had been misinformed, odiously misled - and threw herself at her niece’s feet, in tears. Anna, upset by Elizabeth’s apparent sincerity, burst into tears, herself. Thus, instead of clashing, the two women embraced each other in a mingling of sighs and promises of good feelings. By the end of the evening, they parted like two sisters who had been brought closer by a shared danger.

But, as soon as the incident became known among their supporters, it took on the significance of a call to action. A few hours later, dining in a famous restaurant where oysters from Holland were sold as well as wigs from Paris, and which was moreover a meeting place for some of the best-informed men in the capital, Lestocq learned, via well-placed informers, that Ostermann had given orders for the Preobrazhensky Regiment (which was entirely behind the tsarevna) to move away from St. Petersburg. The pretext for this abrupt troop movement was the unexpected outbreak of war between Sweden and Russia; actually, it was as good a means as any other to deprive Elizabeth Petrovna of her surest allies in the event of a coup d’état.

The die was cast. They had better move quickly. Ignoring protocol, an impromptu meeting was held clandestinely, right in the palace, in the tsarevna’s apartments. The principal conspirators were all there, surrounding Elizabeth Petrovna, who was more dead than alive. At her side, Alexis Razumovsky gave his opinion on the question, for the first time. Summarizing the general opinion, he declared in his beautiful, deep voice, “If we drag our feet now, we will only bring about a great misfortune. I feel it in my soul - we are on the verge of great chaos, destruction, perhaps even the ruin of the fatherland!” La Chétardie and Lestocq agreed, vociferously. There was no way out, now. Her back to the wall, Elizabeth Petrovna sighed and reluctantly acquiesced: “Alright, since if you push me to do it.” And, not even completing her sentence, she made vague gesture and left it to fate to decide the rest.

Without a moment’s hesitation, now, Lestocq and La Chétardie assigned roles; Her Highness would have to go to the
gvardeitsy
in person to enlist them in her aid. And just then, a delegation of grenadiers from the Guard, led by Sergeant Grunstein, had just turned up at the Summer Palace to request an audience with the tsarevna: these men confirmed that they, too, had just received orders to leave for the Finnish border. In extremis, the insurrectionists were condemned to succeed. Every minute lost would decrease their chances. Faced with the most crucial decision in her life, Elizabeth withdrew to her own room.

Before jumping into the breach, she knelt down before the icons and swore to revoke the death penalty all across Russia, should they succeed in their enterprise. In the next room her partisans, gathered around Alexis Razumovsky, fretted over these delays. She wasn’t going to change her mind again, was she? At the end of his patience, La Chétardie returned to his embassy.

When Elizabeth reappeared, standing tall, radiant and proud, Armand Lestocq placed a cross of silver in her hands, pronounced a few more words of encouragement, draped around her neck the cord of the Order of Saint Catherine, and pushed her out the door. A sleigh was waiting. Elizabeth took her seat, with Lestocq; Razumovsky and Saltykov settled into a second sleigh, while Vorontsov and Shuvalov rode along on horseback. Behind them came Grunstein and ten grenadiers. The entire group set
out, in the night, toward the barracks of the Preobrazhensky Regiment. They halted briefly in front of the French embassy, where Elizabeth sought to inform her “accomplice” La Chétardie that the denouement was at hand; but a secretary affirmed that His Excellence was not in. Understanding that this absence was essentially diplomatic, intended to clear the ambassador in case of failure, the tsarevna did not insist. She merely relayed the message, via an embassy attaché, that she was “dashing to glory under the aegis of France.” And to her merit she affirmed, loud and clear, that the French government had just refused her the 2,000 rubles that she had asked for, as a last resort, from La Chétardie.

Arriving at the barracks, the plotters ran into a sentinel whom no one had had time to forewarn; doing his duty, he pounded out an alarm on his drum. Quick as lightning, Lestocq slashed the drum with his sword, while Grunstein’s grenadiers hurried to inform their comrades of the patriotic act that was expected of them. The officers, who lodged in the city, nearby, were also alerted. Within minutes, several hundred men formed up, ready for action. Gathering her courage, Elizabeth stepped down from the sleigh and addressed them in a tone of affectionate command. She had prepared her speech well.

“Do you recognize me? Do you know whose daughter I am?”

“Da,
matushka
!” the soldiers answered in unison.

“They plan to send me to a monastery. Will you follow me, to prevent that?”

“We are ready,
matushka
! We will kill them all!”

“If you speak of killing, I must withdraw! I do not want anyone killed!”

This magnanimous answer disconcerted the
gvardeitsy
. How could anyone ask them to fight, while sparing the enemy? Was the tsarevna less sure of her rights than they had thought? Understanding that she had disappointed them with her tolerance, she
held up the silver cross that she had received from Lestocq and exclaimed: “I swear to die for you! Swear to do as much for me, but without spilling any blood unnecessarily!” That was a promise the
gvardeitsy
could give without reserve. They swore their fealty in a thunder of enthusiasm and advanced, in turn, to kiss the cross that she held out to them like the priests do in church. Seeing that the final obstacle had just come down, Elizabeth embraced with her gaze the regiment lined up before her, its officers and its men, took a deep breath and declares in a prophetic voice: “Let us go forth and bring joy to our fatherland!” Then she mounted the sleigh once more and the horses sprang forward.

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 surprised 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’état in fifteen years in their good city, all with the support of the Guard. They had become so accustomed 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 spoken for all the Russians, except those who lost their positions or their fortunes due to the change.10

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 Chétardie 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’état 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’Héritage de Pierre le Grand
.

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 allegiance 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.