“The sole intention on the part of Sweden,” observed the manifesto, “is to defend herself by arms against the oppressions exercised against her by the arrogant foreigners, the ministers of the Russian court; and at the same time to deliver the Russian nation from the yoke which these ministers have imposed on it, by assisting the Russians to regain their right of electing for themselves a lawful ruler.” The foreigners particularly pointed at in this manifesto were Munich and Ostermann. The allusion, towards the close, of the design of Sweden to deliver Russia from the yoke of those ministers and to assist her in her right of electing a lawful ruler, touched upon topics which were well calculated to disturb the minds of the people, and to suggest to them notions of independence which they had been hitherto prevented by coercive institutions from entertaining. But there was either a stolid apathy on the part of the Russians, an indifference to or ignorance of the nature of liberty, or a national jealousy at the interference of other countries in their affairs, which rendered this ingenious and inflammatory document perfectly harmless. It was disseminated and forgotten; but, although Sweden could not create a revolution in Russia, there were elements of discord within which rendered revolution inevitable.
The assertion of the right of the sovereign to nominate his successor was productive of inconvenience in a variety of ways: (1) as it constantly brought the new monarch into collision with the authorities, who were thus deprived of the privilege of election; (2) as it was almost certain to dissatisfy some party, and to produce continual feuds; (3) as it led to dissensions and attempts to vindicate the ancient principle, whenever the sovereign, as we have seen, happened to die intestate; and (4) as it was calculated to perpetuate in particular families the inheritance of the patronage and the power of government. But the chief danger arose from the fatal precedent of its interruption, which was seized upon with avidity as a justification, on all future changes, of those revolutions which so frequently originated within the walls of the palace. Alterations had now followed each other so quickly in the persons to whom the administration of the government was committed, and they were conceived so rapidly, and executed with such suddenness and decision, that it was no longer surprising to find the imperial authority vested in the morning in different hands from those which exercised it the night before.
These bold transactions were, of course, founded upon some plausible pretext—the unpopularity of the late ruler, the more authentic claims of the new, the support of the army, or, perhaps, the rare argument of the national will, which it would be mockery to designate public opinion. The overthrow of Biron was effected by a combination of circumstances: the hatred in which he was universally held, his cruelty and rapacity, the obscurity of his origin, and the fact that he was an alien by birth. But the last of these objections lay with almost equal force against the young emperor Ivan, and might be employed with still greater truth against his father, the duke of Brunswick, who, as husband of the regent, exercised considerable influence at court. A stronger motive than this was not required to inflame the prejudices of a powerful section of the nobility, and to yield a satisfactory apology for removing the regent and her son, who was not considered a true Russian, from power. The project was not slow in arriving at maturity; and the term of authority permitted to the guardian of Ivan was, all circumstances considered, of little more duration than that extended to Biron, who held his perilous elevation only two and twenty days.
Successful Conspiracy against the Regent
These designs against the throne were greatly facilitated by the strange conduct of the princess Anna and her husband. Since they had attained their wishes in the government, their behaviour towards each other had undergone a most remarkable change. Harmony and confidence seemed to have ceased between them; and, no longer acting in concert, but, on the contrary, opposing each other by conflicting views, the affairs of the state unavoidably fell into perplexity and confusion. The rivalry that had been produced between Ostermann and Munich in consequence of the favour shown, in the first instance, by the duke to the latter, contributed to increase that disagreement in action which was imperceptibly dividing the government into two parties. Ostermann, finding himself displaced to make way for Munich, attached himself still more closely to the duke, for the purpose of supplanting his rival upon the first opportunity; while Munich, on the other hand, smarting under the mortification he endured by the duke’s repeated refusal of the office he solicited, sought to ingratiate himself in the good opinion of the regent. The consequence of this spirit of opposition, fed by the jealousies of those able ministers, was the daily counteraction by one party of the measures projected by the other.
The regent was a woman of serene temper and lenient disposition; she regarded severity with aversion, and always resorted to the prerogative of mercy where it was possible she could do so consistently with justice: but her desires were so completely thwarted by Ostermann that the public results of the administration bore a very different character from that by which they would have been distinguished had her own opinions been allowed their proper weight. Perhaps it was to this undercurrent of resistance that the indifference concerning the government into which she fell ought to be attributed. But, to whatever cause it might be referred, she gradually neglected the duties of her station, and suffered them to be discharged at hazard by the advisers of the duke. Totally estranging herself from her husband, she retired for weeks together from public affairs, and shut herself up with a Countess Mengden, who obtained so great an ascendency over her mind as to withdraw her attention almost wholly from the responsibility of her position. This circumstance produced considerable dissatisfaction, and heightened the antipathy with which the people regarded the German party that was now growing up at court. The aversion entertained towards foreigners now broke out with more violence than ever. It seemed as if the administration of affairs had completely passed out of the hands of the Russians. The convention that had been formed on the demise of Peter II, by which the supreme authority was vested in the council, which was composed almost exclusively of members of native families, would have had indirectly the effect of excluding strangers from the government; but the evils with which it was pregnant, and its immediate interference with the privileges of the empress, led to its abrogation. The ascendency of foreigners was then resumed with greater force than ever. Biron the insolent guardian, Ostermann the experienced politician, and Munich the able commander rose to the summit and swayed the destinies of the empire.
Nor did Ivan himself possess a much better claim to be considered as a Russian. He was but a remote descendant of the house of Romanov; his father was a German prince, his mother the daughter of a German prince; and the only member of the imperial house to whom he could refer his lineal descent was his grandfather Ivan, stepbrother to Peter I. The family, therefore, that occupied the throne, was almost exclusively of German blood, which was rendered still more repugnant to the people by the fact that all the most important offices under government were filled by foreigners. There was in these circumstances, and in the desire to arrest finally the influence of strangers—which appeared to progress with increasing certainty in each successive reign—a sufficient ground for protest; and the extraordinary indolence of the regent, her utter neglect of state affairs, her discouragement of Russian customs, and her lavish patronage of her immediate adherents, who were all obnoxious to the people, furnished the ready pretext upon which a plot was formed to expel her from the throne.
The princess Elizabeth, daughter of Peter I, residing at St. Petersburg, was the person in favour of whose claims this conspiracy was got up. By birth, she was closer to the throne than either the young emperor or the regent; and the habits of her life were much more congenial to the feelings of the country. She might have preferred her pretensions on the death of Peter II, when there was a strong probability that they would have commanded the suffrages of the council; but at that time she expressed no desire to enter upon the cares of sovereignty, choosing rather to cultivate the repose of a retired and tranquil life. Throughout the reign of the empress Anna she observed the same quiet course, kept aloof from politics, and avoiding, as much as possible, all intercourse with the great men or distinguished families at court. Her conduct was so entirely free from suspicion that she enjoyed the closest intimacy with the empress, who, believing that the princess was averse to the toils of power, bestowed her full confidence upon her; and even Biron, who distrusted almost everyone about him, never contemplated any measure to her prejudice. She enjoyed the immunities of a private person; never made any display of her rank in public; and was in truth, as she was in appearance, without a party in the country. The only exception to the privacy of her life was the attachment she showed for the soldiery, particularly the guards; which she did not hesitate to exhibit by frequently standing sponsor for their children.
Yet, although her conduct was so exempt from reproach, the Dolgoruki were accused of an intention of placing her upon the throne—an intention which they might have entertained without her knowledge or sanction; for there was sometimes as much violence committed in forcing the dignity upon unwilling shoulders as in deposing the possessor. That aspiring family fell under the displeasure of Biron, and its members were put to the torture towards the close of the year 1739; when they confessed that they had planned an insurrection, the purpose of which was to carry off the empress, the princess Anna, and her husband, to expel the Germans from Russia, to proclaim Elizabeth empress, and to bring about a marriage between her and one of the Nariskins. This confession might be true, or it might have been wrung from the accused by torture, which, in those times, was too often persuasively employed to make its victims confess more than the truth; but it was satisfactory for the ends of Biron, who, proceeding to capital punishment at once, broke one of the victims on the wheel, decapitated three others, and sentenced two more to a dungeon for life.