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Catherine’s Reign: A Flash of Flamboyance by a great prince of France. A few months after her husband’s funeral, Catherine showed herself receptive to Campredon’s suggestions. Matrimonial discussions were thus picked up again at the point where they had been dropped upon the death of the tsar.
In April 1725, the rumor spread that the infanta Maria Anna (the 7-year-old daughter of King Philip V of Spain), who was supposed to have been engaged to the 15-year-old Louis XV, was about to be sent back to her country because the French regent, the Duke of Bourbon,3 considered her too young for the role. Inspired, Catherine called for Campredon; he could only confirm the news.
Catherine then waxed sympathetic over the fate of the unfortunate infanta, but declared that the regent’s decision did not surprise her, for one cannot play with impunity with the sacred candor of childhood. Then, wary of Naryshkin, the grand master of the court who was present during this meeting, she went on in Swedish. Praising Elizabeth’s physical and moral qualities, she stressed the importance that the grand duchess would have on the international chessboard in the case of a family accord with France. She did not dare to state her thoughts outright, opting merely to assert, with a prophetic gleam in her eyes: “We would prefer friendship and an alliance with the King of France over all the other princes in the world.” Her dream: that her dear little Elizabeth, “that little royal morsel,” should become Queen of France. How many problems would be resolved smoothly, from one end of Europe to the other, if Louis XV agreed to become her son-in-law! If need be, she promised, the fiancee would adopt the Catholic religion. This offer struck Campredon very much like a declaration of love; he dissolved in thanks and asked to be given time to transmit the details of the proposal to his superiors. For his part, Menshikov went to the ambassador and swore to him that Elizabeth’s intelligence and grace were “worthy of the French
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Terrible Tsarinas genius,” that “she was born for France” and that she would dazzle Versailles from her first appearance at the court. Persuaded that the Regent would not be able to withstand these arguments, dictated by sincere friendship, he went even further and suggested supplementing the marriage of Louis XV and Elizabeth by marrying the Duke of Bourbon with Maria Leszczynska, the daughter of King Stanislaw of Poland, who was currently exiled in Wissembourg. Indeed, someday this deposed sovereign might find his way to the throne, if Russia did not find it too disadvantageous.
Secret memoranda went back and forth between the chancelleries for three months. To Catherine’s great surprise, no resolution seemed to be forthcoming from the French. Could they have misplayed their hand? Would they have to consider other concessions, other compromises in order to take the top prize?
Catherine was lost in conjecture, in September 1725, when the news broke like a thunderclap in the misty skies over St. Petersburg: confounding all predictions, Louis XV would marry Maria Leszczynska, the empty-handed 22-year-old Pole, whom the Empress of Russia had thought of offering as a token to the Duke of Bourbon.
This announcement was a superb snub to the tsarina. Outraged, she ordered Menshikov to discover the reasons behind such a misalliance. He caught up with Campredon on his way to an appointment between seconds, preliminary to a meeting of the sword. Pressed with questions, the diplomat tried to hedge, fell into rambling explanations, spoke of reciprocal inclinations between the fiances (which seemed somewhat implausible), and ended up implying that the House of France was not lacking in applicants with whom the pretty Elizabeth might be satisfied, in the absence of a king. Certain princes, he insinuated, would be better partners than the sovereign himself.
Clutching the last hope that was offered, Catherine, disap«22»
Catherine’s Reign: A Flash of Flamboyance pointed by Louis XV, decided to try for the Duke of Charolais.
This time, she thought, no one could accuse them of aiming too high. Informed of this haggling, Elizabeth’s pride was hurt and she begged her mother to give up her ill-considered ambitions, which dis honored them both. However, Catherine claimed to know better than anyone else what would be good for her daughter. Although she believed she was finally betting on a winning horse, she suddenly ran into an even more humiliating refusal.
“Monseigneur is pledged to another,” declared Campredon, with pained courtesy. The ambassador was truly distressed by the series of affronts that he was charged with inflicting upon the empress. The court of Russia was becoming unbearable to him. He was ready to leave his post. But his minister, the Count de Morville, enjoined him to remain in place, warding off, on the one hand, debates over Elizabeth’s marriage prospects and, on the other hand, any attempt to bring together St. Petersburg with Vienna.
This double responsibility worried the prudent Campredon. He no longer understood his country’s erratic political course. Learning that Catherine had invited the High Council to break off relations with France, which clearly wanted nothing to do with her, and to prepare an offensive and defensive alliance with Austria (which was disposed to help Russia, come what may), the diplomat - disappointed, cheated, and sick at heart - demanded his passports and on March 31, 1726, left the banks of the Neva, never more to return.
After his departure, Catherine felt like someone who has been misled in a youthful love affair. France, whom she adored so much, had rejected her and betrayed her for another. It was not her daughter who had been spurned, it was she, with her scepter, her crown, her army, the glorious history of her fatherland and her disproportionate hopes. Wounded to the quick, she sent a representative to Vienna with the charge to negotiate the alliance that
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Terrible Tsarinas she had so often refused. From now on, Europe would be divided into two camps: Russia, Austria and Spain on one side; France, England, Holland and Prussia on the other… Certainly, the lines might shift and influences might be felt across the borders, but, overall, in Catherine’s eyes, the map was now drawn for the years to come.
Amidst all this diplomatic intrigue, her advisers clashed, making proposals and counter-proposals, haggling, arguing and reconciling. Since joining the Supreme Privy Council, Duke Charles Frederick of Holstein had distinguished himself by the boldness of his demands. His need to regain possession of the territories that once belonged to his family had turned into an obsession. He viewed all the history of the globe through that of the tiny duchy that he claimed was still his prerogative. Aggravated by his continual claims, Catherine finally made an official request to the King of Denmark to return Schleswig to her son-in-law, the Grand Duke of Holstein-Gottorp. Encountering a categorical refusal on behalf of the Danish sovereign, Frederick IV, she called upon the friendship of Austria and obtained its support for the gadfly Charles Frederick’s claims to that parcel of land that, so recently, had been part of his heritage and that he so shamefully had been deprived of by the treaties of Stockholm and Frederiksborg. England then weighed in, making this imbroglio all the more delicate.
The more vexing these knotty foreign affairs issues became, the more the tsarina resorted to her favorite solace, drink. But, far from relieving her torment, the excesses at the table began to undermine her health. She stayed up partying until nine o’clock in the morning and collapsed, drunk dead, on her bed, in the arms of a partner whom she hardly recognized. The reverberations of this disorderly existence dismayed her entourage. The courtiers began to murmur among themselves, predicting the destruction of the