Historical Fiction:
3rd June 1762
Grigory,
I write to you from my room, my candle burns low and the night’s darkness will cover up our communication. I am so time-conscience at this very moment that I did not even allow myself time to properly prepare for bed, I am still in my corset and my hair is still curled and un-brushed. Peter is out drinking, I can smell the stench of his drunkenness from my room, even the smell of my perfume cannot mask his foul odor.
I know how dangerous this is to write to you like this, but I need to make sure you and your brothers understand the operation of the coup; I do not want any mistakes.
Your loyalty and love to me is a gift from God, if anyone found out about this; I could be put to death. So I beg of you to burn this letter after your eyes have looked upon it.
I don’t waste my love on somebody who doesn’t value it. If you agree to partake in this sinful manner, then I will be forever grateful, you will be named as a Count and perhaps my new husband.
My “beloved” husband Peter, is an idiot, a drunkard from Holstein, he is good-for-nothing. A frightful man and a terrible Czar, he is not a leader he is still an immature child that gains enjoyment from playing with toy soldiers, he is like a toddler trapped in a man’s body. I even question if he is a human being (as ludicrous as that sounds), but I caught him trialling a rat, convicting of it being guilty and then hanging the poor creature. I wonder if he has ever thought of hanging me. He seems to have an absence of morality, sanity and is definitely not a gentleman, he terrifies me.
Every day the mistrust shared between us grows, one day that mistrust will be acted upon. I fear this. Peter has grown enormous mistrust after I refused to raise my glass in honour of him at a large social event; I strongly believe that he is planning to imprison me.
I dream of becoming Empress both at night and during the day. I think of it while I write in the morning, when I read Voltaire and study Russian history. It is the first thing I dream about when I wake up, and the last thing I reflect upon before I sleep, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane and the only reason that I stay miserably married with Peter.
One day I will sit on the throne and all shall call me Empress. The coup is the only option, and it has to work perfectly. Peter must be overthrown not just for my desire to rule, not for us, not even for the welfare of the whole of Russia, but also for the safety of my son, Paul. I do not wish to see him get imprisoned or killed because Peter has questioned and announced his illegitimacy, I must protect my son from Peter. Peter has stupidly already made Paul’s illegitimacy a controversial topic when he spoke, "God knows where my wife gets her pregnancies. I really don't know if this child is mine and if I ought to recognise it.”
We have been married since 1745, and although all those years were the equivalent of being tortured, both mentally and physically, he is still, legally, my husband so I wish for him not to be viciously slaughtered like a farm animal; I am not a bloodthirsty woman. In some peculiar way, I almost have a fragment of sympathy for him, as the way he was raised, made him the man he has become now. Elizabeth was a horrible, cruel and vicious woman, and she was the main carer for a young boy. A woman like her should never be responsible for raising a young child. Peter is almost a reflection of Elizabeth; he embodies some of her characteristics and traits. Elizabeth used to be a role-model, and a guardian angel to me however, that was before she exiled my mother from me and banned basic communication between us, and she even verbally assaulted, and nearly physically assaulted me, over the topic of my “lack of duty” to produce an heir with Peter for the Russian throne, that was the day she became dead to me.
I am glad she is dead.
On the 28th of June, I want you, your brothers and trusted guards to capture Peter. I do not care how this is done, but make sure you do not damage him too much. Peter will be in Ropsha, and he will remain captive there until we have made a treaty or a decision regarding what to do with him. He will, most likely, remain imprisoned in Schlüsselburg, which will eliminate majority of his threat to me, and to us.
I understand that you have your own reasons and motives to overthrow Peter, but I beg you to not let these reasons and motives control your actions. You must follow my plan, and not create your own.
I do not want to be questioned whether I conspired and commanded Peter’s arrest, so please do not share this letter, discuss our plan for a coup to anyone (but your brothers and trusted guardsmen), and do not mention my name when referring to the coup, ever. I shall put on a brave face, as I have been doing through the difficult times I’ve experienced throughout my life as Grand Duchess, and act as though I’m a clueless, sorrowful and a grieving wife.
Once Peter is imprisoned, and I gain the throne, we can be together, I promise. Peter was always the obstacle stopping us, but he soon won’t be.
Peter’s days are short, and numbered.
Thank you, good luck, and be safe,
Catherine
I write to you from my room, my candle burns low and the night’s darkness will cover up our communication. I am so time-conscience at this very moment that I did not even allow myself time to properly prepare for bed, I am still in my corset and my hair is still curled and un-brushed. Peter is out drinking, I can smell the stench of his drunkenness from my room, even the smell of my perfume cannot mask his foul odor.
I know how dangerous this is to write to you like this, but I need to make sure you and your brothers understand the operation of the coup; I do not want any mistakes.
Your loyalty and love to me is a gift from God, if anyone found out about this; I could be put to death. So I beg of you to burn this letter after your eyes have looked upon it.
I don’t waste my love on somebody who doesn’t value it. If you agree to partake in this sinful manner, then I will be forever grateful, you will be named as a Count and perhaps my new husband.
My “beloved” husband Peter, is an idiot, a drunkard from Holstein, he is good-for-nothing. A frightful man and a terrible Czar, he is not a leader he is still an immature child that gains enjoyment from playing with toy soldiers, he is like a toddler trapped in a man’s body. I even question if he is a human being (as ludicrous as that sounds), but I caught him trialling a rat, convicting of it being guilty and then hanging the poor creature. I wonder if he has ever thought of hanging me. He seems to have an absence of morality, sanity and is definitely not a gentleman, he terrifies me.
Every day the mistrust shared between us grows, one day that mistrust will be acted upon. I fear this. Peter has grown enormous mistrust after I refused to raise my glass in honour of him at a large social event; I strongly believe that he is planning to imprison me.
I dream of becoming Empress both at night and during the day. I think of it while I write in the morning, when I read Voltaire and study Russian history. It is the first thing I dream about when I wake up, and the last thing I reflect upon before I sleep, it’s the only thing that keeps me sane and the only reason that I stay miserably married with Peter.
One day I will sit on the throne and all shall call me Empress. The coup is the only option, and it has to work perfectly. Peter must be overthrown not just for my desire to rule, not for us, not even for the welfare of the whole of Russia, but also for the safety of my son, Paul. I do not wish to see him get imprisoned or killed because Peter has questioned and announced his illegitimacy, I must protect my son from Peter. Peter has stupidly already made Paul’s illegitimacy a controversial topic when he spoke, "God knows where my wife gets her pregnancies. I really don't know if this child is mine and if I ought to recognise it.”
We have been married since 1745, and although all those years were the equivalent of being tortured, both mentally and physically, he is still, legally, my husband so I wish for him not to be viciously slaughtered like a farm animal; I am not a bloodthirsty woman. In some peculiar way, I almost have a fragment of sympathy for him, as the way he was raised, made him the man he has become now. Elizabeth was a horrible, cruel and vicious woman, and she was the main carer for a young boy. A woman like her should never be responsible for raising a young child. Peter is almost a reflection of Elizabeth; he embodies some of her characteristics and traits. Elizabeth used to be a role-model, and a guardian angel to me however, that was before she exiled my mother from me and banned basic communication between us, and she even verbally assaulted, and nearly physically assaulted me, over the topic of my “lack of duty” to produce an heir with Peter for the Russian throne, that was the day she became dead to me.
I am glad she is dead.
On the 28th of June, I want you, your brothers and trusted guards to capture Peter. I do not care how this is done, but make sure you do not damage him too much. Peter will be in Ropsha, and he will remain captive there until we have made a treaty or a decision regarding what to do with him. He will, most likely, remain imprisoned in Schlüsselburg, which will eliminate majority of his threat to me, and to us.
I understand that you have your own reasons and motives to overthrow Peter, but I beg you to not let these reasons and motives control your actions. You must follow my plan, and not create your own.
I do not want to be questioned whether I conspired and commanded Peter’s arrest, so please do not share this letter, discuss our plan for a coup to anyone (but your brothers and trusted guardsmen), and do not mention my name when referring to the coup, ever. I shall put on a brave face, as I have been doing through the difficult times I’ve experienced throughout my life as Grand Duchess, and act as though I’m a clueless, sorrowful and a grieving wife.
Once Peter is imprisoned, and I gain the throne, we can be together, I promise. Peter was always the obstacle stopping us, but he soon won’t be.
Peter’s days are short, and numbered.
Thank you, good luck, and be safe,
Catherine