Catherine I (1682-1727), wife of Peter I (The Great).
Empress of Russia (1725-1727).
Empress Anna Ivanovna on her coronation day (1730).
Portrait of Elizabeth Petrovna,
Empress of Russia (1741-1762), daughter of Peter the Great.
Copper engraving, 1761, by Georg
Friedrich Schmidt (1696-1772), after a 1758 painting by Louis Toque (1696-1772).
Elizabeth 1st (1709-1762) on the anniversary of her coronation day.
The soldiers swear their fidelity to her. Russian School (1883).
St. Petersburg, The Hermitage Museum. Photo Josse.
Elizabeth Petrovna, Empress of Russia (1741-1761).
“Tsarina Elizabeth Petrovna, Portrait on horseback, with a Moor.”
Painted in 1743 by Georg Christoph Grooth (1716-1749). Detail.
Painted on canvas, 85 x 68.3 cm.
Moscow, Tretyakov Gallery.
Catherine II the Great (17291796) in her coronation gown.
By Stefano Torelli (1712-1784),
Italian School.
St. Petersburg, The Hermitage
Museum. Photo Josse.
Catherine II the Great. Empress of
Russia (1729-1796).
“The Coronation of Catherine II.”
Painted in 1777 by Stefano Torelli.
Oil on canvas. Moscow. AKG Photo.
VII
Coups d’etat having become a political tradition in Russia, Elizabeth felt morally and historically obliged to follow the protocol that usually applied in such extreme moments: solemnly proclaiming one’s rights to the throne, arresting one’s opponents en masse, and showering rewards upon one’s supporters. She must not have slept more than two hours that agitated night - but in moments of euphoria, the thrill of success is more reinvigorating than a simple nap could ever be. She was up at the break of day, beautifully dressed and beautifully coifed, smiling as if she had just enjoyed a refreshing sleep. Twenty courtiers were already squeezing themselves into her antechamber, seeking to be the first to pay homage to the new ruler. In a glance she discerned which of them were genuinely delighted by her victory and which were merely prostrating themselves before her in the hope of avoiding the punishment that they deserved. Deferring the pleasure of acting upon that judgment, she showed a pleasant face to all and, waving them aside, stepped out onto the balcony.
Below stood the regiments who had come to swear their al«127»
Terrible Tsarinas legiance to her. The soldiers, in parade formation, howled with joy - without breaking ranks. Their eyes shone as savagely as their bayonets. To Elizabeth, the cheers shattering the icy early morning air were an eloquent declaration of love to the “little mother.” Behind this rampart of gray uniforms, the people of St.
Petersburg crowded together, as impatient as the army to express its surprise and its approval. Facing this unanimous joy, it was very tempting for a sensitive woman to forgive those who had misplaced their loyalties. But Elizabeth stiffened her resolve against an indulgence that she might come to regret later on. She knew, through atavism if not through personal experience, that authority precludes charity. With a cold-minded wisdom, she chose to savor her happiness without giving up her resentment.
To avoid any confusion, she dispatched Prince Nikita Trubetskoy to bring the various embassies the official news of Her Majesty Elizabeth I’s accession to the throne; most of the foreign ministers had already been apprised of this event. No doubt the most pleased was His Excellency Jacques-Joachim Trotti de La Chetardie, who had made this cause his personal mission. Elizabeth’s triumph was to some extent his triumph, and he hoped to be suitably rewarded both by the principal interested party and by the French government.
He went by barouche to the Winter Palace to greet the new tsarina; along the way, the grenadiers who had taken part in the heroic tumult of the day before, and who were still wandering about in the streets, recognized him as he went by and gave him a formal escort, calling him batiushka frantsuz (“our French papa”) and “Guardian of Peter the Great’s daughter.” La Chetardie was moved to tears by this touching warmth. Seeing that the Russians had more heart than the French, and not wishing to let them down, he invited all these brave military men to come and drink to the health of France and Russia on the embassy grounds. How«128»
Elizabeth’s Triumph ever, when he related this little anecdote to his minister, Amelot de Chailloux, the latter reproached him sharply: “These compliments from the grenadiers, which you unfortunately could not avoid, have exposed the role you played in the revolution,”1 he wrote to him on January 15, 1741.
In the meanwhile, Elizabeth had ordered a Te Deum and a special religious service to unders core the troops’ oath of loyalty.
She also took care to publish a proclamation justifying her accession “under the terms of our legitimate right and because of our blood proximity to our dear father and our dear mother, the Emperor Peter the Great and the Empress Catherine Alexeyevna; and also in accordance with the unanimous and so humble request of those who have been faithful to us.”2 The reprisals announced in tandem with all this celebration were severe. The secondary players in the counter-conspiracy joined the principal “instigators” (Munnich, Loewenwolde, Ostermann and Golovkin) in the cells of the Peter and Paul Fortress.
Prince Nikita Trubetskoy, charged with judging the culprits, wasted no time with pointless formalities. Magistrates were named on the spur of the moment to assist him in his deliberations, and all their sentences were final. A large crowd of spectators, eager to applaud the misfortunes of others, followed the sessions hour by hour. There were many foreigners among the accused, which delighted “the good Russians.” Some of these vengeful spirits took particular pleasure in stating, with a laugh, that in this it was Russia suing Germany. Elizabeth is said to have sat behind a curtain, listening to every word of the proceedings. In any case, the verdicts were largely (or entirely) dictated by her.
Most of the defendants were sentenced to death. Of course,
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Terrible Tsarinas during the coup d’etat just the day before, she had sworn she would end capital punishment in Russia; therefore, Her Majesty allowed herself the innocent pleasure of granting clemency at the last minute. She considered that such sadism tinged with leniency was part of her ancestral instinct, since Peter the Great had had a
