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Despite the fiancee’s tears, the wedding took place on July 14, 1739. The majestic ball that followed the bridal blessing bedazzled even the most bilious diplomats. The bride wore a gown of silver thread, heavily embroidered. A diamond crown shone with the light of a thousand flames in her thick dark hair, with luscious braids. However, she was not the star of the ball. In her fairytale toilette, she looked out of place in this company. Among all the joyful faces, hers was marked by melancholy and resignation. And she was eclipsed by the beauty, the smile and the poise of the Tsarevna Elizabeth Petrovna who, according to protocol, had to be invited to temporarily come out of retirement at Ismailovo. Dressed in a gown of rose and silver, very much decollete, and scintillating with her mother’s jewels (the late Empress Catherine I), it seemed as though it was she, and not the bride, who was enjoying the most wonderful day of her life. Even Anthony Ulrich, the brand new husband so little appreciated by Anna Leopoldovna, had eyes only for the tsarevna, the unwanted guest, whose defeat this ceremony was supposed to confirm.

Obliged to observe her rival’s triumph, hour after hour, the tsarina’s hatred only grew. This creature that she thought she had

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The Extravagant Anna cut down was still rearing its head.

As for Anna Leopoldovna, she suffered like a martyr, knowing she was only a puppet with her aunt pulling the strings.

What distressed her most of all was the prospect of what awaited her in bed, after the candelabra were extinguished and the dancers had dispersed. An expiatory victim, she understood very well that while all these people were pretending to be happy over her good fortune, nobody was in fact concerned about her feelings, nor even her pleasure. She was not there to be happy, but to be inseminated.

When the so-dreaded moment arrived, the highest ladies and the wives of the leading foreign diplomats accompanied Anna Leopoldovna, in procession, to the bridal suite to participate in the traditional “bedding of the bride.” This was not exactly the same ceremony as that which Anna Ivanovna had imposed on her two buffoons, condemned to freeze all night in the “house of ice”; and yet, the effect was the same for the young woman, forcibly married. She was shaken to the bone, not by cold but by fear, at the thought of the sad destiny that awaited her with a man that she did not love. When the ladies in her retinue finally withdrew, she gave in to deep panic and, giving the slip to her chambermaids, she fled to the gardens of the Summer Palace. And there, in tears, she spent the first night of her married life.

Hearing of this scandalous marital truancy, the tsarina and Buhren called in the poor girl and, preaching, reasoning, begging and threatening, demanded that she carry through at the first opportunity. Sequestered in the next room, a few young ladies of honor observed the scene through a crack in the door. At the height of the discussion, they saw the tsarina, flushed with anger, slap her recalcitrant niece full in the face.

The lesson bore fruit: one year later, on August 23, 1740, Anna gave birth to a son. He was immediately baptized as Ivan

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Terrible Tsarinas Antonovich (son of Anthony). The tsarina, who for several months had been suffering from a vague ailment that the doctors were hesitant to put a name to, was suddenly reinvigorated by “the great news.” Transported with joy, she required that all Russia rejoice in this providential birth. As always, accustomed to obey and make believe, her subjects celebrated riotously.

But among them, several prudent thinkers asked themselves by what right a brat of thoroughly German origin (since he was Brunswick-Bevern by his father, and Mecklenburg-Schwerin by his mother), and whose only connection to the Romanov dynasty was through his great-aunt Catherine I, wife of Peter the Great (herself of Polish-Livonian origin), should be promoted right from the cradle to the rank of true heir to the Russian crown? By virtue of what law, what national tradition was the Tsarina Anna Ivanovna assuming the power to designate her successor? How could it be that she had no advisor at her side with enough respect for the history of Russia to hold her back from taking such a sacrilegious initiative? However, as usual, they kept these offensive comments to themselves, not wishing to run afoul of Buhren who, although he was German too, claimed to know better than any Russian what was appropriate for Russia.

At one time, he had vaguely thought of marrying his own son, Peter, to Anna Leopoldovna. This plan had failed because of the princess’s recent union with Anthony Ulrich; now, the favorite was anxious to ensure indirectly his future as acting Head of State. He considered it all the more urgent to advance his pawns on the chessboard since Her Majesty’s health was worsening by the day. There was a concern that she was suffering from a complicated renal impairment due to the effects of “being over the hill.” The doctors talked of “stones.”

Despite her sufferings, the tsarina still had periods of lucidity. Buhren took advantage of this to ask one last favor: to be

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The Extravagant Anna named Regent of the empire until the child - who had been just proclaimed heir to the throne - came to majority. This brazen request unleashed the indignation of the dying empress’s other councilors: Loewenwolde, Ostermann and Munnich. They were soon joined in their palace plot by Cherkassky and Bestuzhev.

After hours of secret discussions, they agreed that the greatest danger ahead was by no means their compatriot Buhren, but the clique of Russian aristocrats, who still had not accepted being brushed aside. In the final analysis, they reckoned, given the danger that some champion of the old-stock nobility would make an attempt to seize power, it would be preferable, for the German clan, to support their dear old accomplice Buhren. Thus, these five confederates (three of whom were of Germanic origin while the two others had ties to foreign courts) decided to place the destiny of the empire in the hands of a character who had never shown any concern for the traditions of Russia and who had not even taken the trouble to learn the language of the country that he claimed to govern. Having come to this resolve, they so advised Buhren - who had never doubted that they would see things his way.

Now they were all reconciled, united around a common interest, and they strove to convince the empress. Rocked between bouts of pain and delusion, she never left her bed anymore. She must hardly have been able to hear Buhren as he tried to explain to her what he wanted: a simple signature at the bottom of a page. Since she seemed too tired to answer him, he slipped the document under her pillow. Surprised by this gesture, she whispered, “Do you need that?” Then she turned her head and refused to speak anymore.

A few days later, Bestuzhev drafted another declaration, by which the Senate and the Generalite implored Her Majesty to entrust the regency to Buhren, in order to ensure the continuation of

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Terrible Tsarinas the empire “under whatever circumstance may arise.” Once more, the patient left the paper under her pillow without deigning to initial it - nor even to read it. Buhren and “his men” were dismayed by this inertia - which was likely to be final. Would they have to resort again to forgery to avoid trouble? What had happened on January 1730 when the young tsar Peter II had died was not encouraging.* Considering the ill will of the nobility, it would be dangerous to repeat that game with every change of reign.