The Daughter of an Empress

And such refractory conduct toward a Russian master, had it not in all

times been a terrible and execrable crime--a crime for which banishment

to Siberia had always been considered a mild punishment?

Poor Anna! called to rule over Russia, she lacked only the first and

most necessary qualification for her position--a Russian heart! There

was, in this German woman's disposition, too much gentleness and

mildness, too much confiding goodness. To a less barbarous people she

might have been a blessing, a merciful ruler and gracious benefactor!

But her arm was too weak to wield the knout instead of the sceptre

over this people of slaves, her heart too soft to judge with inexorable

severity according to the barbarous Russian laws which, never pardoning,

always condemn and flay.

It was this which gradually estranged from her the hearts of the

Russians. They felt that it was no Russian who reigned over them; and

because they had no occasion to tremble and creep in the dust before

her, they almost despised her, and derided the idyllic sentiments of

this good German princess who wished to realize her fantastic dreams by

treating a horde of barbarians as a civilized people!

The slaves longed for their former yoke; they looked around them with a

feeling of strangeness, and to them it seemed unnatural not

everywhere to see the brandished knout, the avenging scaffold, and the

transport-carriages departing for Siberia!

Much as Ostermann importuned her, often as her own husband warned her,

Anna nevertheless refused; she would not banish Field-Marshal Munnich

to Siberia, but remained firm in her determination to leave him in

possession of his liberty and his dignities.

But when Munnich himself, excited and fatigued with these never-ending

annoyances, and moreover believing that Anna could not do without

him, and therefore would not grant his request, finally demanded his

dismission, Anna granted it with joy; and Munnich, deceived in all

his ambitious plans and expectations, angrily left the court to betake

himself to his palace beyond the Neva.

Anna now breathed easier; she now felt herself powerful and free, for

Munnich was as least removed farther from her; his residence was no

longer separated from hers only by a wall, she had no longer to fear his

breaking through in the night--ah, Munnich dwelt beyond the Neva, and a

whole regiment guarded its banks and bridges by night! Munnich could no

longer fall upon her by surprise, as she could have him always watched.

Anna no longer trembled with fear; she could yield to her natural

indolence, and if she sometimes, from fear of Munnich, troubled herself

about state affairs and labored with her ministers, she now felt it to

be an oppressive burden, to which she could no longer consent to subject

herself.

Satiated and exhausted, she in some measure left the wielding of the

sceptre to her first and confidential minister, Count Golopkin. He ruled

in her name, as Count Ostermann was generalissimo in the name of her

husband the Prince of Brunswick. Why trouble themselves with the pains

and cares of governing, when it was permitted them to only enjoy the

pleasures of their all-powerful position?