Terrible tsarinas

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Terrible Tsarinas held up the silver cross that she had received from Lestocq and exclaimed: “I swear to die for you! Swear to do as much for me, but without spilling any blood unnecessarily!” That was a promise the gvardeitsy could give without reserve. They swore their fealty in a thunder of enthusiasm and advanced, in turn, to kiss the cross that she held out to them like the priests do in church. Seeing that the final obstacle had just come down, Elizabeth embraced with her gaze the regiment lined up before her, its officers and its men, took a deep breath and declares in a prophetic voice: “Let us go forth and bring joy to our fatherland!” Then she mounted the sleigh once more and the horses sprang forward.

Three hundred silent men followed the matushka along the still-deserted Nevsky Prospect, heading for the Winter Palace.

Passing by the Admiralty, she thought that the great sound of marching feet and the neighing of the horses must surely catch the attention of a sentinel or some townsman who suffered from insomnia. Descending from her sleigh, she thought of making it the rest of the way on foot. But her ankle boots sank deep in the snow. She faltered. Two grenadiers dashed forward to help, picked her up in their arms and carried her all the way to the entrance of the palace. Having arrived at the guard post, eight men from the escort, detached by Lestocq, advanced with grim faces and gave the password that had been communicated to them by an accomplice, disarming the four sentries planted in front of the gate. The officer who commanded the guard shouted, “Na Karaul! (“To arms!”). One of the grenadiers pointed his bayonet at the fellow’s chest, ready to slit him open at the first sign of resistance.

But Elizabeth set aside the weapon with a sweep of her hand.

This gesture of leniency completely won over the detachment charged with ensuring palace security.

Meanwhile, a few of the conspirators had reached the “private apartments.” Coming to the regent’s room, Elizabeth sur«114»

One Anna after Another prised her in bed. Her lover still being away, Anna Leopoldovna was sleeping beside her husband. She opened her frightened eyes to find the tsarevna staring down at her with a disconcerting gentleness. Without raising her voice, Elizabeth said to her, “It’s time to get up, little sister!” Stupefied, the regent did not move. But Anthony Ulrich, having awakened in his turn, protested loudly and called for the Guard with all his might. Nobody came running. While he continued to holler, Anna Leopoldovna was first to realize that she had been defeated; she accepted this with the docility of a sleepwalker, and only asked that she not be separated from Julie Mengden.

While the couple self-consciously dressed, under the suspicious eye of the conspirators, Elizabeth went into the child’s room. There lay the baby tsar, resting in his cradle all draped with voile and lace. A moment later, disturbed by the commotion, he opened his eyes and let out an inarticulate wail. Leaning over him, Elizabeth cooed with feigned affection - or was she truly touched? Then she picked up the infant in her arms, took it over toward the guards (all melting at this tender sight), and said in a tone that was distinct enough to be heard by one and all, “Poor little dear, you are innocent! Your parents alone are guilty!”

As a seasoned actress, she did not need the applause of her public to know that she had just scored another point. Having pronounced this sentence, which she (rightly) judged historical, she carried off the child in his diapers, robbing the cradle, and mounted once again her sleigh, still holding little Ivan VI in her arms. The first light of dawn was just gracing the city; the weather was very cold. The sky was heavy with fog and snow.

Some rare early risers, having caught wind of great events, ran to see the tsarevna drive by; they howled out a hoarse hurrah.

This was the fifth coup d’etat in fifteen years in their good city, all with the support of the Guard. They had become so ac«115»

Terrible Tsarinas customed to these sudden shifts of the political wind that they did not even speculate anymore as to who was actually running the country, among all these high-ranking persons whose names were honored one day and drawn through the mud the next.

Awakening to hear the news of this latest upheaval in the imperial palace cum theatre, the Scottish general Lascy, who had long been in the service of Russia, did not show any hint of surprise. When his interlocutor, curious to know his preferences, asked him, “Whom are you for?” he philosophically retorted, “For the one who reigns!” On the morning of November 25, 1741, this response might have s poken for all the Russians, except those who lost their positions or their fortunes due to the change.10