imagine why any woman whose physical constitution did not preclude maternity might hesitate to
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Terrible Tsarinas seek with another man the happiness that her husband refused her. Little by little, in her mind, the grand duchess’s adultery (which at first seemed only a futile and aberrant idea) became an obsession approaching a holy conviction, the equivalent of a patriotic duty.
Thus at Elizabeth’s instigation Mrs. Choglokov, now transformed into a very intimate confidante, was to explain to Catherine that there are situations in which the honor of a woman requires that she agree to lose that honor for the good of the country. She swore to her that nobody - not even the empress - would blame her for transgressing the rules of marital fidelity.
And so it was with the blessing of Her Majesty, Bestuzhev and Choglokov that she now found it possible to meet Sergei Saltykov for pleasures that went far beyond flirtatious conversation.
Meanwhile, the minor surgical procedure that those on high had decided should be visited upon the person of the grand duke was effected painlessly. To make sure that this flourish of the scalpel had made her nephew “operational,” Her Majesty sent the pretty young widow of the painter Groot to visit him; she was said to very apt at assessing a man’s capabilities. The lady’s report was conclusive: everything was in working order! The grand duchess would be able to judge for herself the (finally) normal capacities of her husband. Sergei Saltykov was relieved to hear this news; and Catherine was even more so. Indeed, it was high time that Peter should make an appearance, at least once, in her bed so that she could have him endorse the paternity of the child whom she had already been carrying for a few weeks.
Alas! on December 1750, during a shooting party, Catherine was racked with violent pains. A miscarriage. In spite of their disappointment, the tsarina and the Choglokovs redoubled their attentions; one way or another, they invited her to try again - with Saltykov or any other stand-in. At this point, it hardly mat«196»
Her Majesty and Their Imperial Highnesses tered who the true father might be - it was the putative father that counted! In March 1753, Catherine found herself pregnant again; and suffered a second miscarriage, after a ball. Fortunately, the tsarina was obstinate: instead of despairing, she encouraged Saltykov in his role as stud, so that in February 1754, seven months after her last miscarriage, Catherine noted that she was again showing the hoped-for signs. The tsarina was notified immediately. The pregnancy appeared to be proceeding correctly, and she reckoned that it would be wise to remove Saltykov, whose services were no longer necessary. However, out of regard for her daughter-in-law’s morale, the empress decided to keep the lover in reserve, at least until the child was born.
Certainly, looking forward to this birth, Elizabeth regretted that the result would be a bastard who, although titular heir to the crown, would no longer have a single drop of Romanov blood in his veins. But this genealogical fraud (about which no one, of course, would be informed) was better than leaving the throne to the poor Tsarevich Ivan, now 12 years old and imprisoned at Ryazan (and due to be transferred to Schlusselburg). Pretending to believe that the expected child was the legitimate offspring of Peter, she smothered with attentions the adulterous mother who was now so indispensable. Torn between remorse for pulling off this epic hoax and pride for thus ensuring the continuity of the dynasty, she would have liked to throw stones at the crafty upstart who had made it possible, and who seemed to be manifesting a sensuality, an amorality and an audacity almost equal to her own; but she had to be circumspect, because it would be the historians of tomorrow who would judge her reign. In the eyes of the court, Her Majesty awaited with pious joy to see her soaffectionate daughter-in-law bring into the world the first son of Grand Duke Peter, the providential fruit of a love blessed by the Church. It was not a woman who was to be confined, but all of
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Terrible Tsarinas Russia that was preparing to bring forth its future emperor.
For weeks, Elizabeth lodged in the apartment next to the chamber where the grand duchess waited for the great moment.
One reason she wanted to stay so close to her daughter-in-law was to prevent the enterprising Sergei Saltykov from visiting her too often, which would set tongues wagging. Let Catherine just give birth, and let her present the country with a boy! Day after day, the tsarina made her calculations, questioned the doctors, consulted fortune-tellers and prayed before the icons.
During the night of September 19, 1754, after nine years of marriage, Catherine finally felt the first pains. The empress, Count Alexander Shuvalov and the Grand Duke Peter rushed to join her. At midday on September 20, 1754, seeing the baby, still sticky and smeared with blood, in the hands of the midwife, Elizabeth exulted: praise the Lord, it was a male! She had already chosen his first name: he would be Paul Petrovich (Paul, son of Peter).
Washed, wrapped in a blanket, and baptized by Her Majesty’s confessor, the newborn baby stayed only a minute in his mother’s arms. She barely had time to hold him, to take in his softness and his scent. He belonged not to her, but to all of Russia - or, rather, to the empress!
Leaving behind the exhausted and groaning grand duchess, Elizabeth carried Paul in her arms like a treasure that had been won at great cost. From now on, she would keep him in her private apartments, under her own care; she didn’t need Catherine anymore. Having fulfilled her role by giving birth, the grand duchess was of no further interest. She could just as well return to Germany, and no one in the palace would miss her.
The infant did not exhibit any distinctive “family resemblance” at this age; and so much the better. And anyway, whether he took after Catherine’s lover or her husband, the result would be the same. From this point forward, the Grand Duke Peter, preten«198»
Her Majesty and Their Imperial Highnesses tious monkey that he was, was only taking up space in the palace.
He could disappear: the succession was assured!
All over the city, guns thundered in salute and bells rang joyfully. In her room, Catherine was quite abandoned; and not far away, behind the door sat the grand duke, surrounded by the officers of his Holstein regiment, emptying glass after glass to the health of “his son Paul.” As for the diplomats, Elizabeth suspected that in their usual caustic way they would have a field day commenting on the strange lineage of the heir to the throne. But she also knew that, even if the professionals were not taken in by this sleight-of-hand, nobody would dare to say out loud that little Paul Petrovich was a bastard and that the Grand Duke Peter was the most glorious cuckold of Russia. And it was that tacit adherence to an untruth, on the part of her contemporaries, that would transform it into certainty for the future generations. And Elizabeth cared above all for the judgment of posterity.
On the occasion of the baptism, Elizabeth decided to demonstrate how pleased she was with the mother by presenting her with a tray of jewels and an treas ury order the sum of 100,000 rubles: the purchase price of an authentic heir. Then, considering that she had shown her sufficient solicitude, she ordered (for the sake of decency) Sergei Saltykov dispatched on a mission to Stockholm. He was charged with conveying to the king of Sweden the official announcement of the birth of His Highness Paul Petrovich in St. Petersburg. She didn’t hesitate for a moment over the irony of sending the illegitimate father to collect congratulations for the legitimate father of the child. How long would such a mission last? Elizabeth did not specify, and Catherine was desperate. The tsarina had had too many romantic or sensual affairs in her life to wallow in sentiment over those of others.
While Catherine languished in her bed, waiting for the official “churching,” Elizabeth hosted receptions, balls and banquets.
