Despite the severe put-down, La Chetardie clung to the hope that a reconciliation could be effected. He protested, he wrote to his government, and he begged Lestocq to intercede with Her Majesty Elizabeth I once more. Didn’t she have full confidence in his prescriptions, be they medical or diplomatic? Lestocq had, sometimes, provided medicines that seemed to be effective against the mild complaints from which she suffered, but his political exhortations fell flat. Elizabeth had stopped listening; she was
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Terrible Tsarinas stony in her resentment. All that La Chetardie managed to secure, with all his maneuvering, was the opportunity to have a private audience with her. He went in with the intention of redeeming himself with a few smooth words and charming smiles, but this time he hit a wall of icy scorn. Elizabeth assured him that she intended to cool Russia’s relations with Versailles, while preserving her own regard and friendly feelings for a country that had shown itself incapable of appreciating her favorable disposition towards the French culture. La Chetardie withdrew, empty-handed and heavy of heart.
The ambassador’s personal situation was further worsened, at that very moment, by Frederick II’s abrupt about-face; he had turned his back on France, and begun to get closer to Austria.
Now La Chetardie could no longer count on Mardefeld, the Prussian ambassador, to support his efforts to conclude a pact between France and Russia. His cause was lost… or was it? He suddenly had the idea of giving the throne of Courland, that had been freed up the previous year when Buhren was disgraced and exiled, to someone who was close to France - specifically, to Maurice of Saxony. And then one could go one step further - miracles are always possible on the banks of the Neva, cradle of madmen and poets! - and suggest that Saxony ask for Elizabeth’s hand. If, via a French ambassador, the empress of Russia were to be married to the most brilliant military chief in the service of France, all of yesterday’s minor affronts would evaporate like the morning dew. A political alliance between the two states would be replicated in a sentimental alliance that would make the union unassailable.
Such a marriage would represent an unprecedented triumph, for the diplomat and for peace.
Resolving to bet everything on this last card, La Chetardie went after Maurice of Saxony; he had entered Prague as a conqueror, at the head of a French army, just a few months before.
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Elizabeth’s Triumph Without revealing to him his precise plans, he urged Saxony to come quickly to Russia where, he claimed, the tsarina would be very happy to receive him. Enticed by this prestigious invitation, Maurice of Saxony could not say no. He soon arrived in Moscow, still glowing with his military successes. Elizabeth, who had long since guessed what was behind this unexpected visit, had some fun with this semi-gallant, semi-political rendezvous dreamt up by the incorrigible French ambassador. Maurice of Saxony was a handsome man and a fine talker; she was charmed by this belated suitor that La Chetardie had pulled from his sleeve. They danced together, and chatted for hours on end, in private; Elizabeth strolled about town at his side, dressed in men’s clothes; watched the “commemorative” fireworks with him, and sighed languorously by the moonlit windows of the palace; but neither she nor he expressed the least sentiment that might commit them for the future. They allowed themselves to enjoy a pleasant game of flirtation, as a respite from their daily lives, both knowing that this exchange of smiles, intimate looks and compliments would lead to nothing. La Chetardie fanned the coals in vain; the fire would not take. After a few weeks of playing at love, Maurice of Saxony left Moscow to shape up his now sloppy and disorganized army, which was rumored to be on the verge of evacuating Prague.
As he headed out to achieve his destiny as a great soldier in the service of France, he wrote love letters to Elizabeth praising her beauty, her majesty, and her grace, evoking one “particularly successful” evening, a certain “white moire gown,” a certain supper where it was not the wine that was intoxicating, the nighttime ride around the Kremlin… She read the letters, melted, and was a little bit saddened to find herself alone again after the exaltation of this artificial courtship. When Bestuzhev advised her to enter into an alliance with England (a country that, in the opinion of the empress, had the flaw of too often being hostile to Ver«143»
Terrible Tsarinas sailles’ policies), she replied that she would never be the enemy of France, “for I am too much beholden!” Whom could she have had in mind, in making a pronouncement that so exposed her intimate feelings? Louis XV, whom she had never met, to whom she had been promised in marriage only by chance and who so often had betrayed her confidence? The crafty La Chetardie who, likewise, was about to leave her? Her obscure governess, Mme. Latour, or the part-time tutor, Mr. Rambour, who in her youth at Ismailovo had taught her the subtleties of the French language? Or Maurice of Saxony, who penned such beautiful love letters but whose heart remained cold?
La Chetardie was at last recalled by his government, and he was preparing for his final audience before leaving the palace when Elizabeth called him in and spontaneously suggested that he accompany her on the pilgrimage she wished to make to the
[Holy Trinity] Troitsky-St. Sergievsky Monastery, just north of Moscow.* Flattered by this return to grace, the ambassador traveled with her to this high holy place. Lodged very comfortably with the tsarina’s retinue, he did not leave her side for eight days.
To be frank, Elizabeth was delighted by this discreet “companionship.” She took La Chetardie with her to visit the churches as well as in the drawing rooms. The courtiers were already whispering that the “Gaulois” was about to replace Maurice of Saxony in Her Majesty’s favor.
But, as soon as the little imperial band returned to St. Petersburg, La Chetardie had to admit that once more he had begun to rejoice too soon. Getting a hold on herself after a brief and very feminine lapse, Elizabeth once again took a very cool, even distant, tone with La Chetardie, as in their earlier conversations. Time * Ed. note: This was one of the earliest and most influential religious centers in Russia and, indeed, helped to concentrate power in Moscow during the Middle Ages.
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Elizabeth’s Triumph and again, she made appointments with him and then broke them, and one day when he complained to her about Bestuzhev, whose ostracism of France was close to an obsession (according to the Fernchman), she set him in his place with a few sharp words. “We do not condemn people before proving their crimes!”6 However, the day before La Chetardie’s departure, she sent him a snuffbox studded with diamonds, with her portrait in miniature in the middle.
The day after this necessary separation from a character who charmed and irritated her by turns, Elizabeth was as sad as if she had lost a dear friend. While La Chetardie was stopped at a stagehouse along the way, an emissary from Elizabeth caught up with him. The man handed him a note in a sealed envelope, bearing only the words: “France will be in my heart forever.”7 That sounds like the wail of a lover who has been forsaken - but by whom? By an ambassador? By a king? By France itself? Her feelings must have been quite confused, by now. While her subjects may have been entitled to dream, that innocent diversion was off limits for her. Abandoned by someone whom she had always claimed was of no importance, it was time to come back to reality and to focus on the succession to the throne, rather than thinking about her life as a woman.