Lopukhin?,” he cried. “It is a lovely piece, and I am selling it
cheap! One ruble for the tongue of the beautiful Mrs. Lopukhin!”4
This was a common type of joke from executioners in those days,
but this time the public paid more attention than usual, for Nata-
lya Lopukhin had just fainted from pain and horror. The torturer
revived her with a large knout. When she came to her senses, she
was thrown into a carriage and shipped off to Siberia! Her hus-
band would soon join her in Seleguinsky, after being severely
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whipped, himself. He died there a few years later in a state of to-
tal abandonment. As for the Bestuzhevs, Madame lingered on for
many miserable years in Yakutsk, suffering a life of hunger, cold
and the indifference of her neighbors (who were reluctant to com-
promise themselves by looking after someone who had been re-
jected) while, in St. Petersburg, her husband Mikhail Bestuzhev
(brother of Chancellor Alexis Bestuzhev) went on with his diplo-
matic career, and their daughter was a reigning beauty at Her
Majesty’s court.
In settling the Botta matter, Elizabeth thought she had
gained control over the volatile situation within her empire.
Alexis Bestuzhev, having preserved his ministerial prerogatives in
spite of the disgrace that had befallen most of his kin, had reason
to think that his prestige had even been enhanced. However, in
Versailles, Louis XV persisted in his intention to send La Chétar-
die on a reconnaissance mission to the tsarina, who (according to
his advisors) would not mind engaging in a playful new fencing
bout with a Frenchman whose gallantries she had once found
amusing. But she was so flighty that, according to the same
“experts on the Slavic soul,” she was liable to be upset over a trifle
and to over-react to any misstep. To spare the sensitivities of this
sovereign so susceptible to changing humors, the king gave La
Chétardie two letters of introduction to Her Majesty. In one, Ver-
sailles’s emissary was presented as an ordinary person interested
in everything that related to Russia, and in the other, as a plenipo-
tentiary delegated to represent the king to “our very dear sister
and absolutely perfect friend Elizabeth, empress and autocrat of
all the Russias.”5 La Chétardie could decide on the spot which
formula was best suited to the circumstances. With this double
recommendation in his pocket, how could he help but succeed?
Traveling as quickly as possible, he arrived in St. Petersburg
on the very same day when the empress was celebrating the tenth
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anniversary of her coup d’état. Amused by La Chétardie’s eager-
ness to congratulate her, Elizabeth granted him a part-friendly,
part-protocol interview in the evening. She found him tired, fat-
ter, but so well-spoken that he thought he had charmed her com-
pletely, making her forget her past complaints against France.
But, just as he was preparing to deploy every seductive wile in his
possession, in came the titular Ambassador of France, Monsieur
d’Allion. Mortified by what he considered unfair competition,
d’Allion was anxious to stick an umbrella in his spokes. After a
series of harsh statements, Louis XV’s two representatives ex-
changed insults, slapped each other, and drew their swords. Al-
though he was wounded in the hand, La Chétardie kept his dig-
nity. Finally, realizing how silly it was for two Frenchmen in for-
eign territory to quarrel, the adversaries reluctantly reconciled.
This took place just before Christmas. As it happens, it was
precisely then, at the end of 1743, that the news Elizabeth had so
much hoped for arrived from Berlin. The King of Prussia, solicited
by various emissaries to find a bride for the heir to the Russian
throne, finally presented a pearl: a princess of adequate birth,
pleasant appearance and good education, who would be a credit
to her husband without trying to eclipse him.
That was exactly the kind of daughter-in-law the empress
had dreamed of finding. The candidate, just 15 years old, was born
in Stettin; her name was Sophia of Anhalt-Zerbst (
family). Her father, Christian Augustus of Anhalt-Zerbst, was not
even a reigning prince; he merely ruled over his small hereditary
prerogative under the condescending protection of Frederick II.
Sophia’s mother, Johanna of Holstein-Gottorp, was a German
cousin of the late Charles Frederick, father of the Grand Duke Pe-
ter, whom Elizabeth had made her heir. Johanna was 27 years
younger than her husband and had great ambitions for her daugh-
< 160 >
ter. Elizabeth considered this all very good for the family, very
German, and very promising. Just going over the genealogy of the
fiancée, branch by branch, Elizabeth felt herself back on familiar
ground.
While she was predisposed in favor of the young lady, she
was very disappointed in her nephew, whom she had come to
know all too well. Why wasn’t he more interested to learn the
