For his part, Dmitri Golitsyn charged his son-in-law, the elegant and none too scrupulous Alexander Buturlin, with engaging His Majesty in varied enough pleasures to keep his mind off politics.
But Elizabeth and Natalya suspected what the Dolgorukys and Golitsyns were up to. Together, they tried to open the young tsar’s eyes, alerting him to the dangers that lurked behind those pleasant smiles with the sharp teeth.
However, Peter had inherited his ancestors’ inability to tolerate any restraint, and he took every argument as an insult to his dignity. He rebuffed his sister and his aunt. Natalya did not insist; as for Elizabeth, she went over to the enemy. As a conse«46»
Machinations around the Throne quence of spending so much time with her nephew’s friends, she fell in love with the very same Alexander Buturlin that she had intended to combat. Giving in to the unrestrained license of her nephew, she readily joined him in every manifestation of frivolity.
Hunting and lovemaking became, for her as well as for him, the two poles of their activity. And who better than Buturlin could satisfy their common taste for the unpredictable and the provocative? Of course, the Supreme Privy Council and, through it, all the court and all the embassies, were kept abreast of the tsar’s extravagances. They began to think it was high time to give him the crown and make him settle down. It was in this atmosphere of libertinage and infighting that the political leaders of Russia prepared the coronation ceremonies in Moscow.
On January 9, 1728, Peter set out at the head of a procession as grand as one can imagine for such an exodus, with all of St. Petersburg in his wake. Through the cold and the snow, the nobility and the high officials of the new capital slowly headed off for the pomp and celebrations at the old Kremlin. But in Tver, halfway to Moscow, the tsar was taken ill. It was feared that he might have measles; the doctors recommended at least two weeks’ bed rest.
Only on February 4 did the young sovereign, finally recovered, make his solemn entry into a Moscow bedecked in flags and bunting, overflowing with cheers and thundering with cannon blasts and the ringing of bells. His first stop, according to protocol, was to pay a visit his grandmother, the empress Eudoxia. He felt no emotion toward this old woman, tired and driveling, and he was even irritated when she reproached him for his dissolute life and recommended he marry as soon as possible a wise and wellborn girl. Cutting short the interview, he curtly sent her back to her prayers and her good works. This reaction did not surprise the wife repudiated by Peter the Great. It was clear to her that the teenager had inherited his grandfather’s independence of mind,
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Terrible Tsarinas cynicism and cruelty. But his genius? She feared not!
It was the Dolgorukys who organized the ceremonies. The date of February 24, 1728 was selected for the coronation of the tsar, in the heart of the Kremlin, in the Cathedral of the Assumption. Tucked away in a latticework booth at the back of the church, the tsarina Eudoxia watched her grandson don the crown and take in one hand the scepter and in the other the sphere, complementary symbols of power. Blessed by a priest who seemed to have stepped right out of one of the icons, in his double-gilded and embroidered chasuble, lofted to the high heavens by the singing of the choir, wreathed in clouds of incense, the tsar waited for the end of the liturgy and, as he had been told to do, went up to his grandmother and kissed her hand. He promised her that he would see to it that she would be surrounded by all the chamberlains, pages and ladies-in-waiting that her high rank deserved, even if, as seemed desirable, she should choose to settle somewhere outside the capital to avoid the agitation of the court. Eudoxia got the message, and she removed to another residence.
Everyone in Peter’s retinue heaved a sigh of relief: no major incident had occurred to mar the festivities.
However, a few days after the coronation, the police at the Kremlin gates discovered some anonymous letters denouncing the Dolgorukys’ turpitude and inviting people of good heart to demand the rehabilitation of Menshikov. Public rumor attributed these letters to the Golitsyn family, whose animosity towards the Dolgorukys was well-known. But the Supreme Privy Council, not having any proof to give to the board of inquiry and following the lead of the Dolgorukys, decided that Menshikov alone must be behind this call to rebellion; they ordered that he and his family be exiled to Berezov, deep in Siberia. Just when the former court favorite thought he was done with the tsar’s justice, two officers presented themselves at his house of Orenburg, within the for«48»
Machinations around the Throne tress, read him the sentence and, without giving him time to turn around, shoved him into a carriage. His terrified wife and children climbed in beside him. They were all preemptively dispossessed, and were left with only some farm animals and a bit of furniture, out of charity. The convoy straggled along the route, escorted by a detachment of soldiers - with weapons drawn, as if they were transferring a dangerous criminal.
Berezov, located more than a thousand versts (675 miles) from Tobolsk, is a godforsaken hole in the middle of a wasteland of tundra, forests and marshes. The winter is so s evere there that the cold, they say, kills birds in full flight and shatters the windowpanes of the houses. Such misery, after so much wealth and honor, was not enough to undermine Menshikov’s fortitude. His wife, Daria, died of exhaustion along the way. His daughters wept over their lost dreams of love and grandeur, forever gone, and he himself regretted having lived through so much woe.
However, an irrepressible instinct of self-preservation impelled him to keep his head during this adversity. Accustomed as he was to preening in palaces, he labored with his hands, as a simple workman, to put together an izba for hims elf and his family. The neighbors, informed of his “crimes” against the emperor, shunned him and even threatened him with violence. One day a hostile crowd gathered, shouting insults and throwing stones at him and his daughters in the street; he shouted back, “If you’re going to throw stones, only throw them at me! Spare the women!”8 Nevertheless, after a few months of these daily affronts, he did begin to deteriorate; finally, he gave up the fight. An attack of apoplexy carried off the colossus in November 1729. One month later, his elder daughter Maria, the tsar’s little fiancee, followed him to the grave.9 Indifferent to the fate of those whose demise he had precipitated, Peter II went his merry way, continuing his pleasure-filled
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Terrible Tsarinas and chaotic existence. Not having to account to him for any of their decisions, the Dolgorukys, Golitsyns and the clever Ostermann utilized the opportunity to impose their will at every occasion. However, they were still wary of Elizabeth’s influence over her nephew. She alone, they believed, might be able to neutralize the power that the darling Ivan Dolgoruky was gaining over His Majesty, which was so essential to their cause. The best means of disarming her, obviously, would be to marry her off at once. But to whom? Thoughts turned once again to Count Maurice of Saxony.