visit to the monastery, they made their way back to Moscow
where the ladies from Anhalt-Zerbst strove to appear natural in
spite of their shame and disappointment. Johanna was in a rage,
knowing that she was now quite unwelcome in Russia and guess-
< 168 >
ing that she would be invited to take her ship out as soon as her
daughter was wed. Sophia, for her part, tried to get over this series
of setbacks by preparing for her conversion to orthodoxy with all
the zeal of a neophyte. While she was scrupulously attending to
everything said by the priest charged with initiating her into the
faith of her new compatriots, Peter was off on a hunting excur-
sion, merrily scouring the surrounding forests and plains, with his
usual comrades. They were all from Holstein, they spoke only
German among themselves, and they encouraged the Grand Duke
to resist Russian traditions and stand fast to his Germanic origins.
On June 28, 1744, Sophia was finally received into the bosom
of the Orthodox Church. She gave her baptism vows in Russian,
without stumbling, and changed her first name to become Cath-
erine Alexeyevna. She was not shocked at being required to give
up her own religion — she had long understood that that was
part of the price to be paid if one wished to marry a Russian of
quality.
The following day, June 29, she presented herself at the im-
perial chapel for the engagement ceremony. The empress slowly
stepped forward, under a silver canopy held aloft by eight gener-
als. Behind her the Grand Duke Peter advanced, smiling idioti-
cally all around, with the new Grand Duchess Catherine by his
side, pale and deeply moved, her eyes lowered. The service, cele-
brated by Father Ambroise, was four hours long. Despite her re-
cent illness, Catherine never faltered. Elizabeth was pleased with
her future daughter-in-law. During the ball that brought the fes-
tivities to a close, Elizabeth noticed once more the contrast be-
tween the girl’s elegance and simplicity and the brazenness of the
mother, who talked nonstop and was always putting herself for-
ward.
Shortly thereafter, the entire court removed to Kiev, in great
< 169 >
array. The young couple and Johanna came behind. Once again
there were receptions, balls, parades and processions and, at the
end of the day, for the tsarina (accustomed as she was to the social
whirl), the strange feeling of having wasted considerable time.
During this three-month voyage, Elizabeth had pretended to be
unaware that the world outside was on the move. England, it was
said, was preparing to attack the Netherlands, while France was
spoiling for a fight with Germany, and the Austrians were on the
verge of confronting the French army. Versailles and Vienna were
cunningly competing to secure Russia’s assistance, and Alexis
Bestuzhev was straddling the fence the best he could, while
awaiting precise instructions from Her Majesty. The empress,
alarmed no doubt by her chancellor’s reports, decided to head
back to Moscow. The court immediately picked up and moved, in
a long, slow caravan, back to the north. Arriving at the old city of
coronations, Elizabeth certainly expected to enjoy a few days of
rest; she claimed to have been tired by all the celebrations in Kiev.
But as soon as she took in the stimulating Moscow air, her appe-
tite was piqued for further entertainment and surprises. At her
initiative, the balls, suppers, operas and masquerades started up
once again, and at such a pace that even the youngest socialites
started to bow out.
As the wedding date approached, Elizabeth decided to move
back to St. Petersburg to oversee the preparations. The engaged
couple and Johanna followed her, a few days behind. But, step-
ping down from the carriage at the stage house in Khotilovo, the
Grand Duke Peter began to shiver. Pink blotches had broken out
on his face. There could be no doubt: it was small pox — and few
people survived that dread disease. An urgent message was sent
to the empress. Elizabeth was terrified, hearing of this threat to
her adoptive son’s life. Who could forget that, less than fifteen
years earlier, the young tsar Peter II had succumbed to that very
< 170 >
peril on the eve of his wedding? And by a strange coincidence, the
bride-to-be, back in 1730, a Dolgoruky, was also called Catherine.
Was that name an evil omen for the Romanov dynasty?
Elizabeth refused to believe it, just as she refused to believe
that the illness would be fatal. She gave orders to prepare the
horses and took off for Khotilovo, to be near her heir and to ensure
that he was receiving proper care. Meanwhile Catherine, thrown
into a panic, had left Khotilovo for the capital. Along the way, she
came upon Elizabeth’s sleigh. United by their anguish, the em-
press (who feared the worst for her succession), and the bride-to-
be (who feared the worst for her own future) fell into each other’s
