asking his opinion. He put up with her and tried to stay away
from her during the day — and especially at night. She, for her
part, feared that Poniatowski, the child’s natural father, would be
dispatched to the end of the world by the tsarina. At her request,
Alexis Bestuzhev interceded with Her Majesty to persuade her to
delay Poniatowski’s “new assignment” (to Poland) until the birth
of the child. He managed to convince her; and Catherine, relaxed,
prepared for the event.
Significant contractions gripped her during the night of De-
cember 18, 1758. Alerted by her groans, the grand duke was first at
her bedside. He was dressed in a Prussian uniform, with boots
and sword, spurs at the heels and a commander’s sash across his
chest. Staggering and mumbling, he declared in a wine-soaked
voice that he had come with his regiment to defend his legitimate
wife against the enemies of the fatherland. He quickly departed,
not wishing to have the Empress discover him in such a state, and
went off to ferment in his alcohol. Her Majesty arrived soon after,
just in time to see her daughter-in-law delivered by the midwife.
Taking the baby in her arms, she examined it like a connoisseur.
It was a girl. Too bad — they would have to make do. This was
not the end of the world, since the succession was ensured by lit-
tle Paul. Catherine, seeking to sweeten up her mother-in-law,
proposed naming her daughter Elizabeth. But Her Majesty was in
no humor for flattery. She said that she preferred to name the
child the child Anna, after her elder sister and the grand duke’s
mother. Then, having had the baby baptized, she savagely took it
away, as she had done four years earlier with the brother of this
useless infant.
Having gotten past this family episode, Elizabeth devoted
herself to settling the Apraxin affair. The Field Marshal, discred-
ited and dismissed after his incomprehensible reversal vis-à-vis
the Prussian army that he had just conquered, was struck by a
< 210 >
severe attack of “apoplexy” just at the conclusion of his first inter-
rogation. Before dying, and while denying his culpability, he ad-
mitted having corresponded with the grand duchess, Catherine.
However, Elizabeth had formally forbidden her daughter-in-law
from writing to anyone without informing those who were
charged with keeping watch over her; this was, therefore, an un-
forgivable crime of rebellion.
Those close to the tsarina stoked her suspicions against the
grand duchess, Chancellor Alexis Bestuzhev and even Stanislaw
Poniatowski, who were all suspected of intelligence on behalf of
Prussia. Vice Chancellor Vorontsov, whose niece was the grand
duke’s mistress and who, for a long time, had dreamed of replac-
ing Bestuzhev, singled out Catherine — he blamed her for all of
Russia’s diplomatic and military misfortunes. He constantly at-
tacked the Shuvalov brothers (whose nephew Ivan was Eliza-
beth’s favorite). Even the ambassador of Austria, Count Ester-
hazy, and the ambassador of France, the Marquis de l’Hôpital,
supported the denigration campaign against Alexis Bestuzhev.
How could the tsarina fail to be impressed by such eager denun-
ciations? After having listened to this concert of reproaches,
Elizabeth made her decision.
One day in February 1759, while Bestuzhev was attending a
ministerial briefing, he was accosted and arrested without expla-
nation. During a searching of his residence, investigators discov-
ered some letters from the grand duchess and Stanislaw Ponia-
towski. Nothing compromising, certainly; however, in this cli-
mate of obscure revenge, the pettiest evidence was sufficient for
settling scores. Of course, in every country, anyone who meddles
in high politics runs the risk of being cast down as quickly as he
may have risen to the top. But, among the so-called civilized na-
tions, the risks are limited to a reprimand, dismissal or early re-
tirement; in Russia, the land of disproportion, culprits could be
< 211 >
condemned to ruin, to exile, torture, even death. Catherine, as
soon as she felt the chill air of repression tickling the nape of her
neck, burned all her old letters, rough drafts, personal notes, and
lists of accounts. She hoped that Bestuzhev had taken the same
precautions.
In fact, while the Empress condemned her former chancellor,
she also wished that he could get away with nothing more than a
serious fright and the loss of some privileges. Was this excess of
forgiveness due to her age and fatigue, or to the memories of a life
of struggle and vice? She decided that this man, who had worked
at her side for so long, merited a half-hearted punishment rather
than a crushing conviction. Once more, she would be lauded as
“the Lenient.” Her moderate action against Bestuzhev was all the
more meritorious since the other members of the “Anglo-Prussian
plot” appeared to have no excuse at all. She maintained a stony