Similarly, during a trip through the countryside Aksakov, one of her last buffoons, thought it would be funny to show her a porcupine in his hat - he had just captured it, alive; Elizabeth shrieked with horror, fled to her tent, and gave orders for the insolent entertainer to be tortured to death for the crime of “having frightened Her Majesty.”1 These disproportionate reprisals were counterbalanced by sudden exercises of religious devotion; she could be easily enraged or spontaneously repentant. She would take it upon herself to make pilgrimages, on foot, to various holy places, testing the limits of her strength. She would stand for hours on end during church services, and she observed fasts scrupulously, to the point of sometimes fainting after leaving the table without having eaten anything. The following day she would suffer from indigestion while trying to make up for lost time. Her conduct was excessive and unpredictable. She enjoyed surprising others and being surprised, herself (only, not with porcupines). She was chaotic, odd, and only half-civilized. She scorned fixed schedules, was as quick to punish as to forget, fraternized with those of humble station and sneered at the great. She had a habit of dropping in at the kitchen to enjoy the smells of the simmering dishes. She would laugh or shout unexpectedly, and gave those who knew her well the impression of being an old-fashioned housewife whose taste for French frills had not stifled her healthy Slavic rusticity.
In Peter the Great’s day, the courtiers had had to suffer
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Terrible Tsarinas through “assemblies” convoked by the tsar in order to introduce his subjects to Western customs. They were more like tedious meetings of poorly-groomed aristocrats, condemned by the Reformer to obey, to dissimulate and to show obeisance. Under Anna Ivanovna, these assemblies had deteriorated into nests of intrigue and worry. Unspoken fear was rampant, under the mask of courtesy. The shadow of the devilish Buhren was on the prowl.
And now a princess who loved dressing up, dancing, and playing games was insisting that they come to her palace purely for enjoyment’s sake. Certainly, the Empress was known to have fits of anger sometimes, or to come up with strange innovations, but all her guests had to admit that, for the first time, the palace was suffused with a blend of Russian good-naturedness and Parisian elegance. Instead of being a chore, these visits to the temple of monarchy finally seemed to offer an occasion to enjoy oneself socially.
Not satisfied with organizing “new style” events at her own many residences, Elizabeth obliged the greatest families of the empire to host masked balls, in turn, under their own roofs. The French ballet master de Landet taught everyone at court the graceful moves of the minuet. He soon made the claim that, under his direction, gallantry and civility were more in evidence along the Neva than anywhere else in the world. The parties would start at one mansion or another at 6:00 in the evening; dancing and card-playing would go on until ten o’clock. Then the Empress, surrounded by certain favored individuals, would sit down at table for supper; the other guests would eat standing up, elbow to elbow, struggling to avoid dropping anything on their fancy clothes. Once Her Majesty had downed her last mouthful, the dancing would begin again; and it would go on until 2:00 in the morning. To please in the leading lady, the menu would be both abundant and refined. Her Majesty liked French cuisine and her chefs (first Fornay, and then Fuchs, an Alsatian) were paid 800
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An Autocrat at Work and Play rubles per annum to make it a success at these great suppers.
Elizabeth’s admiration for Peter the Great stopped short of imitating his enthusiasm for enormous feasts and drink-to-death binges; however, she did inherit his appreciation for the robust national gastronomy. Her favorite dishes, aside from gala feasts, were blini, kulebiaka and buckwheat kasha. At the solemn banquets of the Leib-Kompania, which she would attend dressed as a captain of the regiment, she would give the signal to drink by emptying large glasses of vodka in one draught.
This penchant for rich food and strong drink conferred upon Her Majesty a premature plumpness and annoying red blotches on the cheeks. After eating and drinking her fill, she would allow herself to nap for an hour or two. To facilitate this rest, a kind of sleepy meditation, she employed the services of a few women who would take turns sitting by her side, speaking softly and scratching the bottoms of her feet. Elizabeth Ivanovna Shuvalov, the sister of Her Majesty’s new lover Ivan Shuvalov, was a specialist in this soporific tickling. She would hear all the tsarina’s confidences during these foot-rubbing sessions, so that she began to be known at the court as “the real Minister of Foreign Affairs.” When the tsarina had finished resting, the foot-scratchers would give way to the favorite of the moment. Sometimes that was Ivan Shuvalov, sometimes the chamberlain Basil Chulkov, sometimes Her Majesty’s eternal suitor Simon Naryshkin, sometimes Shubin (a private in her guard), and sometimes the indestructible and ever so accommodating Alexis Razumovsky, the most assiduous and honored of all.
The people around Elizabeth called him “the night emperor.”
She often deceived him, but in the end she could never stand to give him up. Only in his arms could she feel that she was both dominant and dominated at the same time. He had a deep voice,
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Terrible Tsarinas and used to be the cantor in the imperial chapel; he spoke with a heavy Ukrainian accent, only said simple things, and - a rarity in the ts arina’s entourage - never asked for favors. At most he consented to have his mother, Natalya Demianovna, share the fortune that he was enjoying. He was concerned that contact with the court would harm a woman of her condition, accustomed to discretion and poverty. Natalya Demianovna’s first visit to the palace was an event. Seeing this muzhik’s widow stepping into her apartments, wedged into a formal gown, Elizabeth forgot all modesty and exclaimed with gratitude, “Blessed be the fruit of your entrails!” But her lover’s mother was not an ambitious woman.
Hardly having been named lady-in-waiting and installed in the palace, “Razumikhina”2, as she was contemptuously called behind her back, requested permission to leave the court. Returning to obscurity, sheltered from scandalmongers, she once again donned her peasant clothing.
Alexis Razumovsky understood very well how frightened this “woman of the people” must have been by the excesses of those at the top. He insisted that Her Majesty spare his mother the signs of honor that others around her were so keen to receive.
As for himself, in spite of his rising stature and fortune, he refused to consider himself worthy of the good fortune that had come to him. The more his influence over Elizabeth increased, the less he wished to be involved in politics.
His lack of interest in intrigues and rewards only gave his imperial mistress greater confidence in him. She made many public appearances with him, and she was proud of this companion whose only claim to respect from the nation were the titles that she had given him. When she presented him she was presenting her own handiwork, her personal Russia that she offered to her contemporaries for their assessment. He owed his elevation to
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An Autocrat at Work and Play her, and she was gratified to see her favorite receiving further honors. Scornful as he was of official distinctions, she was delighted, as much for herself as for him, when he was named count of the Holy Roman Empire by Charles VII. When she made him a field marshal, he smiled ironically and thanked her in terms that give a clear picture of the man he was: “Liz, you can do whatever you like, but you will never make anyone take me seriously, even as a simple lieutenant.”3 Soon, all the court considered Razumovsky not only the “night emperor” but a Prince Consort, as legitimate as if his union with Elizabeth had been consecrated by a priest. Moreover, rumors had been circulating for months that they had married, in great secrecy, in the church of the little village of Perovo, outside of Moscow. The couple supposedly had been blessed by Father Dubiansky, the empress’s chaplain and guardian of her deepest secrets. No courtier attended these clandestine nuptials. Nothing changed, outwardly, in the tsarina’s relations with her favorite. If Elizabeth had wanted this secret sacrament, it was simply to keep God on her side. Debauched and unruly as her lifestyle was, she needed to believe that the Almighty was with her in her everyday life and in her exercise of power. This illusion of a supernatural partnership helped her maintain some semblance of equilibrium in the midst of the many contradictions that shook her from all sides.