Terrible Tsarinas: Five Russian Women in Power (8 page)

On January 6, 1730, at the time of the traditional blessing of the waters of the Neva, Peter arrived late at the ceremony and positioned himself behind the open sledge in which Catherine was seated. In the frozen air, the chanting of the priest and the singing of the choir resonated weirdly; vapor rose from the mouths of the singers. Peter shivered throughout the interminable service. Returning home, he could not stop shaking; he was put to bed. They thought he’d gotten a chill. And anyway, by January 12, he had recovered. But, five days later, the doctors detected symptoms of small pox, which was often fatal at the time. Receiving this news, all the Dolgorukys gathered together at the Golovin palace in terror. They already foresaw the worst and started looking for ways to avert the catastrophe. Amid the general panic, Alexis Dolgoruky stated that only one solution existed, should the tsar die suddenly: to crown his chosen bride Catherine, little Katya, without delay. But this claim struck Prince Vasily Vladimirovich as exorbitant, and he protested in the name of all the family.

“Neither I nor any of mine will wish to be her subjects! She is not married!”

“She is promised in marriage!” retorted Alexis.

“That’s not the same at all!”

A heated debate erupted. Prince Sergei Dolgoruky suggested raising the Guard to support the cause of the tsar’s fiancée. Turning toward General Vasily Vladimirovich Dolgoruky, he exclaimed: “You and Ivan control the Preobrazhensky regiment. Together, the two of you can make your men do whatever you want!”

“We would be massacred!” retorted the General; and he walked out of the meeting.

After he left, another Dolgoruky, Prince Vasily Lukich, a member of the Supreme Privy Council, sat down by the fireplace where an enormous wood fire as burning and, on his own authority, drafted a will for the tsar to sign - while he still had the strength to read and sign an official document. The other members of the family flocked around him and suggested a sentence here, a word there to refine the text. When he was done, someone in the group spoke up, voicing the fear that their adversaries would dispute the authenticity of the document. A third Dolgoruky, Ivan, Peter’s little friend and the fiancé of Natalya Sheremetiev, came to the rescue. Did they need the tsar’s signature? Aha! He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to his relatives.

“Here is the tsar’s handwriting,” he said, cheerfully. “And here is mine. You yourselves would not be able to tell them apart. And I know how to sign his name as well; I often did so as a joke!”

The onlookers were flabbergasted - but not indignant. Dipping a quill into the inkwell, Ivan signed Peter’s name at the bottom of the page. They all leaned over his shoulder and murmured with wonder.

“That is exactly the hand of the tsar!”13 they exclaimed.

Then the conspirators exchanged half-reassured glances and prayed God that they would be spared the necessity of actually using this forgery.

From time to time, they sent emissaries to the palace for an update on the tsar’s condition. The news was grimmer and grimmer. Peter died at one o’clock in the morning, Monday, January 19, 1730, at the age of 14 years and three months. His reign had lasted just over two and a half years. January 19, 1730, the day of his death, is the date he had set a few weeks before for his marriage with Catherine Dolgoruky.

Footnotes

1. Cf. Brian-Chaninov:
Histoire de Russie
.

2. A traditional term designating the daughter of the tsar.

3. Cf. Daria Olivier,
Op. Cit.

4. Cf. Waliszewski,
L’Héritage de Pierre le Grand
.

5. Cf. Daria Olivier,
Op. Cit.

6. Details provided by Essipov: “L’Exil du prince Menshikov,”
Annales de la Patrie
, 1861, and cited by Waliszewski,
Op. Cit.

7. Almost 2500 lbs.

8. Waliszewski,
Op. Cit.

9. Menshikov’s two other children, his son Alexander and his daughter Alexandra, were recalled from exile only under the following reign.

10. The future Peter III, who would marry Catherine the Great.

11. Cited by Soloviov:
Histoire de Russie
, quoted by K Waliszewski,
Op. Cit.

12.
Ibid
.

13. Details found in the State Archives (Moscow) file on the Dolgoruky scan dal, and quoted by Kostomarov in his
Monograph
and by K. Waliszewski,
Op. Cit.

The same uncertainty that had embarrassed the members of the Supreme Privy Council upon the death of Peter the Great gripped them again in the hours following the demise of Peter II. In the absence of a male heir and an authentic will, who could replace the late ruler without sparking a revolution among the aristocracy?

The usual notables were gathered at Lefortovo Palace in Moscow, with the Golitsyns, Golovkins and Dolgorukys at the center. But nobody had the nerve, at first, to voice an opinion - as if all the titled “decision-makers” felt guilty for the tragic decline of the monarchy. Taking advantage of the general confusion, Vasily Dolgoruky chose his moment and, hoisting his sword, gave a rallying cry: “Long live Her Majesty, Catherine!” And he cited the recently fabricated will, to justify this proclamation of victory. Thanks to this intrigue, the Dolgorukys had a chance of attaining the highest position in the empire. The goal was worth a little cheating. But the clan of those who opposed that choice struck back at once: Dmitri Golitsyn stared down Vasily Dolgoruky and sharply asserted that the will was false.

And he looked as though he could somehow prove it. The Dolgorukys, fearing that the document would not stand up to serious examination and that they would then be liable to serious charges of counterfeit, decided not to push their luck any further.

That was the end of it for Catherine; there was no more talk of giving her a throne. Just as she was poised to take her seat, it was whisked out from under her. Pressing his advantage, Dmitri Golitsyn declared that in the absence of a male successor directly descended from Peter the Great, the Supreme Privy Council should turn to the offspring of the elder branch and offer the crown to one of the children of Peter I’s brother Ivan V (known as “the Simple”; although sickly and indolent, he had been “co-tsar” with Peter the Great during the five years when their sister Sophia had served as regent).

But, as luck would have it, Ivan V had produced only female progeny. So that even in that case, they would have to accept a woman ruler for Russia. Wasn’t that dangerous? Another harsh debate broke out over the advantages and disadvantages of a “gynocracy.” Admittedly, Catherine I had recently proven that a woman can be courageous, determined and clear-minded when circumstances require. However, as everyone knows, “that sex” is slave to the senses. Thus a female sovereign would be likely to sacrifice the grandeur of the fatherland for the pleasures dispensed by her lover. Those who supported this thesis bolstered it by citing Menshikov who, they pointed out, had led Catherine by the nose. But wouldn’t a tsar be as weak as the tsarina had been in the hands of the Most Serene, if he had a lover who was as adept and skilful at both loving and intrigues? Didn’t Peter II himself demonstrate complete abdication of authority under the wiles of female seduction? So that what mattered, when it came to choosing whom to place on the throne, was not the gender per se so much as the character of the individual in whom the country was placing its confidence. Under these conditions, asserted Dmitri Golitsyn, a matriarchy would be entirely acceptable, provided that the individual being offered such an honor was worthy to assume it.

This principle having been accepted by everyone present, he went on to consider the remaining candidates. From the very beginning, he brushed aside the absurd idea of installing Elizabeth Petrovna, Peter II’s aunt, since in his opinion she would have given up the success ion implicitly by leaving the capital to live as a recluse in the countryside, bad-mouthing all her relatives and complaining about everything. All three daughters of Ivan V seemed more promising, to him, than this daughter of Peter the Great. However, the eldest, Catherine Ivanovna, was known for her strange moods and crotchety temperament. Moreover her husband, Prince Charles Leopold of Mecklenburg, was a nervous and unstable man, an eternal rebel, always ready to fight - be it against his neighbors or his subjects. The fact that Catherine Ivanovna had lived apart from him for ten years was not a sufficient guarantee for, if she were proclaimed empress, he would return to her at a gallop and would never stop dragging the country into costly and useless wars. The youngest, Praskovya Ivanovna, rickety and scrofulous, had neither the health, the clear thinking, nor the moral balance required to manage public affairs. That left the second, Anna Ivanovna. She admitted to being 37 years old, and seemed to have plenty of energy. Widowed since 1711 by Frederick William, Duke of Courland, she was still living in Annenhof, near Mitau, in dignity and destitution. She had failed to marry Maurice of Saxony, but had recently become enamored of a small landed proprietor in Courland, Johann-Ernest Bühren. During his presentation, Dmitri Golitsyn glossed over this detail and promised that, in any event, if the Supreme Council required it, she would drop her lover without regret and come running back to Russia.

This suggestion seemed to be convincing. Golitsyn then pressed his point, saying, “We agree on Anna Ivanovna. But we should trim her wings a bit!” Golitsyn had in mind subtly reducing the ruler’s powers and extending those of the Supreme Privy Council; everyone agreed. The representatives of Russia’s oldest families, brought together in a conclave, saw this initiative as a God-sent occasion to reinforce the political influence of the old-stock nobility vis-a-vis the hereditary monarchy and its temporary servants. By this juggling act, they could relieve Her Majesty of a share of the crown, even while pretending to help her adjust it on her head. After a succession of Byzantine discussions, the initiators of this idea agreed that Anna Ivanovna should be recognized as tsarina, but that her prerogative should be limited by a series of conditions to which she must subscribe beforehand.

Upstairs, the members of the Supreme Privy Council removed to the grand salon in the palace, where a multitude of civil, military and ecclesiastical dignitaries awaited the results of their deliberations. Learning of the decision taken by the supreme advisers, Bishop Feofan Prokopovich timidly recollected the will of Catherine I according to which, after the death of Peter II, the crown should revert to his aunt Elizabeth, as a daughter of Peter I and of the late empress. Never mind that the child was born before the parents were married: her mother had transmitted to her the blood of the Romanovs, he said, and nothing else counted when the future of Holy Russia was concerned! Dmitri Golitsyn, indignant at such a speech, shouted, “We will not have any bastards!”1 Shocked by this attack, Feofan Prokopovich swallowed his objections; the discussion moved on to a consideration of the “practical conditions.” The enumeration of the limits to imperial power ended with an oath to be sworn by the candidate: “If I do not keep these commitments, I agree to forfeit my crown.” According to the charter envisaged by the supreme council, the new empress would commit to work to expand the Orthodox faith, not to marry, not to designate an heir and to work closely with the Supreme Privy Council - whose assent would be required in order to declare war, to conclude peace, to raise taxes, to interfere in the affairs of the nobility, to fill key positions in the administration of the empire, to distribute lands, villages, and serfs, and to monitor her personal expenditure of State funds.

This cascade of interdicts astounded the assembly. Wasn’t the Council going too far? Weren’t they committing a crime of lèse-majesté? Those who feared that the powers of the future empress were being reduced without regard for tradition ran afoul of those who were delighted to see this reinforcement of the role of the real boyars in the conduct of Russian political affairs. The second group very quickly drowned out the first. Even the bishop, overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of the majority, kept his mouth shut and ruminated over his fears, alone in a corner. Sure that they had the entire country behind them, the Supreme Privy Council charged Prince Vasily Lukich Dolgoruky, Prince Dmitri Golitsyn and General Leontiev with bearing a message to Anna Ivanovna, in her retirement at Mitau, specifying the conditions under which she would accede to the throne.

Meanwhile, however, Elizabeth Petrovna was being kept abreast of the discussions and the stipulations being bandied about at the Supreme Council. Her doctor and confidant, Armand Lestocq, warned her of the machinations going on in Moscow and begged her “to take action.” But she refused to make the least effort to exercise her rights to the succession of Peter II. She had no children and did not wish to have any. In her eyes, her nephew Charles Peter Ulrich, the son of her sister Anna and Duke Charles
Frederick of Holstein, was the legitimate heir. But little Charles Peter Ulrich’s mother had died, and the baby was only a few months old. Drowning in sorrow, Elizabeth hesitated to look beyond this mourning. After a number of disappointing adventures, broken engagements, evaporated hopes, she had taken a dislike to the Russian court and preferred the isolation and even the boredom of the countryside to the bustling din and superficial glitter of the palaces.

While she reflected thus, with a melancholy mixed with bitterness, on an imperial future that no longer concerned her, the emissaries of the Council were hastening to bring word to her cousin Anna Ivanovna. She received them with a mocking benevolence. In truth, her spies and the well-wishers that she still had at the court had already informed her of the contents of the letters which the delegation would bring her. Nevertheless, she did not indicate in any way what her intentions might be; without batting an eye, she read the list of rights that the guardians of the regime dictated she should renounce, and said that she would agree to it all. She did not even seem to mind being required to break with her lover, Johann Bühren.