On November 7, 1742, she published a proclamation solemnly dubbing Duke Charles Peter Ulrich of Holstein-Gottorp Grand Duke, crown prince and Imperial Highness, under the Russian name of Peter Fyodorovich. She took this occasion to confirm her intention not to marry. In fact, she was afraid that if she married a man of lower rank, or a foreign prince, she would be letting down not only the brave men of the Leib-Kompania but all the Russians who were so attached to the memory of her father, Peter the Great. Better to remain unwed, s he thought. To be worthy of the role that she intended to play, she would have to forego any
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Terrible Tsarinas union officially sanctioned by the Church and remain faithful to her image as the maiden-tsar, “the imperial Virgin,” already celebrated by Russian legend.
On the other hand, she was beginning to see that the youth whom she had selected to be her heir, whom she had had baptized into the Orthodox faith under the name of Peter Fyodorovich and who had so very little Russian blood in his veins, was never going to forget his true fatherland. In fact, despite the efforts of his mentor, Simon Todorsky, Grand Duke Peter always returned instinctively to his origins. Besides, it was hard not to continue worshiping his native Germany when everything about the society, the streets and the shops of St. Petersburg reflected its influence so strongly. It was clear that the majority of influential people in the palace and in the ministries spoke German more fluently than Russian, and along the very luxurious Nevsky Prospect, many of the stores were German; elsewhere, signs of the Hanseatic League were in evidence, and there were plenty of Lutheran churches. When Peter Fyodorovich showed up at a barracks guardroom, during a walk about town, the officer he addressed would often answer him in German. And with every reminder of his homeland, Peter regretted being exiled in this city that, despite its splendors, meant less to him than the most trivial village of Schleswig-Holstein.
Forced to acclimatize himself, he took an aversion to the Russian vocabulary, Russian grammar, and Russian ways. He resented Russia for not being German, and he took to saying, “I was not born for the Russians, and I do not like them!” Living at the center of this great land of foreigners, he chose his friends from among the declared Germanophiles, and put together a little homeland to console himself. He surrounded himself with a close circle of sympathizers, and pretended to live with them in Russia as if their mission were to colonize that backward and unculti«146»
Elizabeth’s Triumph vated country.
Elizabeth looked on helplessly as this young man, whom she had sought to forcibly integrate into a nation where he felt completely out of place, developed an obsession. Apparently, a sovereign’s so-called absolute power has its limits. Believing she had acted for the good of all, she wondered whether she had not made the gravest error in her life in entrusting the future of Peter the Great’s empire to a prince who clearly hated both Russia and the Russians.
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Footnotes 1. Cited by Daria Olivier, op. cit.
2. Ibid.
3. Letter dated 27 February 1742; cf. Brian-Chaninov, op. cit.
4.
Letters from Mardefeld, dated 12 and 19 December 1741, quoted by Simievski: “Elisabeth Petrovna”, in Parole russe, 1859, cited by K. Waliszewski in La Derniere des Romanov, Elisabeth Ir e.
5. Letter dated 16 December 1741; cf. Daria Olivier, op. cit.
6. Cf. Daria Olivier, op. cit.
7. Ibid.
VIII
AN AUTOCRAT AT WORK AND PLAY
Elizabeth’s main challenge was to enjoy herself fully without neglecting the interests of Rus sia too much. That was a difficult balance to achieve in a world where temptations, romantic and otherwise, were rife. Given Louis XV’s obstinate refusal to extend a hand to her, should she not rather follow her nephew’s example and seek the friendship of Prussia, which was more favorably disposed to her? Although her adoptive son was just 15 years old, she felt it was time to give some thought to finding him a bride - a German bride, preferably - or at least one who had been born and raised on Frederick II’s territory. At the same time, she still preserved the hope that good relations could be restored with Versailles; she charged her ambassador, Prince Kantemir, with discreetly notifying the king that she regretted the marquis of La Chetardie’s departure and that she would be happy to receive him at her court again. He had been replaced in St. Petersburg by an ambassador plenipotentiary, Mr. d’Usson d’Allion, a strait-laced character whom the empress found neither attractive nor impressive.
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Terrible Tsarinas With the French continually letting her down, she comforted herself by imitating (in her own way) the fads and fashions of that country that she so admired. This fancy resulted in an unrestrained passion for clothing, jewels, bibelots and conversational tics that seemed to have a Parisian cachet. She never missed a chance to round out her wardrobe; indeed, since dancing made her perspire profusely, she would change her garb three times during a ball. As soon as a French ship arrived in the port of St.
Petersburg, she would have the cargo inspected; and the latest innovations of Parisian dressmakers were brought to her first, s o that none of her subjects might know the latest fashions before her. Her favorite gowns were of colorful silk, preferably overlaid with gold or silver embroidery; but she would also dress as a man to surprise her entourage by the pleasing contour of her calves and her trim ankles. Twice a week, a masquerade ball was held at the court. Her Majesty would participate, in the costume of a Cossack hetman, a Louis XIII musketeer, or a Dutch sailor. Judging that she was more attractive in male clothing than any of her usual female guests, she instituted masked balls where the women were required to dress in Parisian-style jackets and knee-breeches and the men in skirts with panniers.
She was overweaningly jealous of other women’s beauty and could not brook the slightest competition. Once, she arrived at a ball wearing a rose in her hair, only to notice with indignation that Madame Natalya Lopukhin, famous for her social successes, was also wearing one. No mere coincidence, thought Elizabeth; she considered it an obvious attack upon the imperial honor.
Stopping the orchestra in the middle of a minuet, she made Mrs.
Lopukhin kneel, called for a pair of scissors, furiously clipped the offending flower and the tresses that had been cleverly curled around the stem, slapped the unfortunate woman on both cheeks
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An Autocrat at Work and Play in front of a group of stunned courtiers, and signaled to the orchestra to go on with the dance. At the end of the piece, somebody whispered in her ear that Mrs. Lopukhin had fainted with shame. Shrugging, the tsarina muttered, “She only got what she deserved, the imbecile!” And immediately after taking this little revenge, she returned to her usual serene mood, as if it had been some other person who had been so upset just a moment before.