lery fire, the procession was formed.
In a gesture of supreme coquetry towards France, to which
she still had no lasting ties, Elizabeth had entrusted to a French-
man by the name of Rochambeau the responsibility for ensuring
the elegance and brilliance of the event. To get from the famous
“red staircase” that decorated the façade of her palace to the Ca-
thedral of the Assumption across the plaza inside the Kremlin, she
advanced, hieratic, under a canopy. Twenty pages in white livery
embroidered in gold carried her train. Every region of the empire
was represented by its delegates, who made up a silent but color-
ful escort, matching its pace to that of the priests at the head of
the procession. The Reverend Father Ambroise, assisted by
Stephan, Bishop of Pskov, made the sign of the cross and wel-
comed the procession into the immense nave. Sprinkled with holy
water, enveloped in the fumes of incense, Elizabeth accepted the
sacramental signs of the apotheosis with a studied blend of dig-
nity and humility. The liturgy proceeded according to an immuta-
ble rite: it was the very one that had honored Peter the Great,
Catherine I and, barely eleven years ago, the pitiful Anna Ivanovna
who was guilty of trying to pull the throne out from under the
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only woman who now had the right to sit on it.
The religious ceremonies relating to the coronation were fol-
lowed by the traditional rejoicing. For eight days, illuminations,
feasts and free wine were given to the crowds, while the more dis-
tinguished guests dashed from ball to banquet to masquerade.
Carried away by the atmosphere of sincere cordiality with which
she was surrounded, Elizabeth distributed further benefices to
those who had served her so well. Alexander Buturlin was named
a general and governor of Smaller Russia, while shimmering ti-
tles — count, chamberlain — rained down upon obscure relatives
belonging to the maternal branch of the empress’s family. The
Skavronskys, Hendrikovs, and Yefimovskys were elevated from
the status of wealthy peasants to newly-recognized nobles. It was
as if Elizabeth, to excuse her own very great pleasure, were trying
to make everyone, each in his own corner, as happy as she was on
this wonderful day.
However, in Moscow such festivities and the accompanying
fireworks significantly increased the risk of fire. Thus it was that
one fine evening the Golovin Palace, where Her Majesty had
elected to reside temporarily, caught fire. By chance, only the
walls and the furniture were burned. This little accident didn’t
slow the revelers down one bit. A new structure was immediately
raised on the half-charred ruins and while it was hastily being re-
built and refurnished, Elizabeth moved to another house that she
maintained in Moscow, at the edge of the Yauza River, and then
to another of her houses in the village of Pokrovskoye, five versts
away, which had belonged to an uncle of Peter the Great. Some
900 people would gather on a daily basis to celebrate with her,
dancing, feasting and laughing, and the theaters did not go dark
for a single night.
However, while the court was applauding an opera,
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allegorical ballet illustrating the return of “The Golden Age” to
Russia, La Chétardie was terrified to learn that a letter addressed
by Amelot de Chailloux to the French ambassador in Turkey had
been intercepted by the Austrian secret service; the letter con-
tained insulting criticism against the tsarina and prophesized the
collapse of the Russian Empire, “which cannot help but dissolve
into complete nothingness.” Horrified by this diplomatic blunder,
the silver-tongued La Chétardie hoped that he could find a way to
attenuate its impact on the mood of the very sensitive empress;
but she felt deeply wounded by the minister’s
intervened, making valiant efforts to defend France by asserting
that La Chétardie and Amelot were devoted to the idea of a
French-Russian agreement, but Elizabeth refused to take the bait
this time. She had finally lost confidence entirely in the ambassa-
dor and the country that he represented. When La Chétardie ar-
rived, to plead his innocence in a misunderstanding that he
“deplored and renounced” as much as she did, Elizabeth kept him
waiting for two hours in her antechamber, among her ladies of
honor; then she came out of her private apartments to tell him
that she could receive him neither that day nor in the days to
come, and that henceforth he would have to address himself to her
foreign minister, in other words to Alexis Bestuzhev, since
“Russia does not need, Sir, any intermediary” in dealing with any
country whatsoever.
Despite the severe put-down, La Chétardie clung to the hope
that a reconciliation could be effected. He protested, he wrote to
his government, and he begged Lestocq to intercede with Her
Majesty Elizabeth I once more. Didn’t she have full confidence in
