theless, needing comfort in the desert of her solitude, she allowed
him to visit her in bed from time to time. But he would have to be
satisfied with that — just an interim, before the return of the re-
gent’s authentic bed-partner. The Prussian minister, Axel of
Mardefeld, observer of the morals of the court of Russia, wrote to
his sovereign on October 17, 1741, “She [the regent] has entrusted
all matters to [her husband, Anthony Ulrich] so that she can de-
vote her time more freely to leisure and entertainment, which ren-
ders him necessary, in a way. It remains to be seen whether she
will rely on him the same way when she has a declared favorite.
Basically, she does not love him; thus he has had permission to
sleep with her only since the departure of Narcissus [Lynar].”2
While she was struggling in this sentimental imbroglio, the
men around her were only thinking about politics. After Bühren’s
downfall, Münnich was given the title of Prime Minister, a reward
of 170,000 rubles for services rendered, and the rank of second
man in the empire after Anthony Ulrich, father of the child tsar.
However, this avalanche of benefices began to irritate Anthony
Ulrich. He found that his wife had exaggerated in the display of
gratitude towards a servant of the State who was very effective,
certainly, but lowly of birth. He was joined in his criticism by
other figures whose sensibilities had been wounded by this distri-
bution of emoluments. Among those who felt they had been over-
looked by those in power were Loewenwolde, Ostermann, and
Mikhail Golovkin. They complained that they were being treated
like subalterns, when in fact the regent and her husband were
deeply indebted to them.
Obviously, the all-powerful Münnich was at the head of this
gang. However, the field marshal suddenly took ill, and had to be
confined to bed. Taking advantage of this timely indisposition,
Ostermann was quick to move in, seeking to take over various
portfolios and shunt aside his principal rival, giving orders in his
< 102 >
stead. Barely out of sickbed, Münnich tried to take control
again — but it was too late. Ostermann was well-entrenched. He
was not about to let go of anything, and Anna Leopoldovna, ad-
vised by Julie Mengden, decided that the moment had come for
her to assert all her rights, with Ostermann standing behind her
like a guardian angel. He proposed looking for international
backing and even subsidies to support a “cleansing of the monar-
chy.” Confused negotiations were initiated in St. Petersburg with
England, Austria, and Saxony for alliances that would go no-
where. But let’s admit it: nobody among the European diplomats
had faith in Russia any more, caught as it was in cross currents.
The ship had no captain. Even in Constantinople, an unforeseen
collusion between France and Turkey hinted at the possible re-
crudescence of bellicose inclinations.
Although they had been kept ignorant of developments in
the sphere of foreign relations, the army officers suffered nonethe-
less from their fatherland’s obliteration and even humiliation, in
international confrontations. The insolence and the whims of the
Count of Lynar, who allowed himself every license since his mar-
riage with Julie Mengden was concocted in the back rooms of the
palace, finished off any little sympathy the regent might have pre-
served among the people and the middle nobility. The
(the men of the imperial guard) reproached her for scorning the
military, and her humblest subjects were astonished that she was
never seen walking freely about the city as all the other tsarinas
had done. She was said to dislike the barracks as much as the
street, and that she only had time for the salons. She was also said
to have such an appetite for pleasure that she never bothered to
fasten her clothes unless she was attending a reception; that way,
she could get out of them more quickly when her lover came to
visit her.
On the other hand, her aunt Elizabeth Petrovna, although
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most of the time confined in a kind of semi-voluntary, semi-
imposed exile far from the capital, had more taste for human inter-
actions, simple and direct relations, and even reached out to the
masses. Taking full advantage of her rare visits to St. Petersburg,
this true daughter of Peter the Great was quick to show herself in
public, traveling about on horseback or in an open carriage in the
city; and she would respond to the public’s greetings with a gra-
cious wave of the hand and an angelic smile. Her approach was so
natural that, when she was passing by, everyone felt authorized to
shout out his joy or his sorrow to her, as if she were a sister of
charity. It was said that soldiers on leave would go up to the sides
of her sleigh to murmur a compliment in her ear. Among them-
selves, they called her
was proud to consider it an additional title of nobility.
One of the first to have detected the tsarevna’s discreetly
