“I drew Peter [the Great’s] last will from my sleeve and the scroll lay in my lap, so close to the flames. Its letters blurred as my tears came: real, heartfelt tears, despite the sense of relief. I still had a long day and longer weeks ahead of me and I would need many tears. The people, and the court, would want to see a grief-stricken widow with tousled hair, scratched cheeks, a broken voice, and swollen eyes. Only my show of love and grief could make the unthinkable acceptable, render my tears more powerful than any bloodline. So I may as well start weeping now. The tears weren’t hard to summon: in a few hours I might be either dead, or wishing I was dead, or I’d be the most powerful woman in all the Russias…”
- Ellen Alpsten, Tsarina: A Novel
One of the most powerful aspects of historical fiction is its ability to step beyond the historical record, into the shadows and absences of the known world, and to fill in the gaps in a satisfying way. The result is not, of course, historical fact, but if done right, it certainly feels honest. If it is not necessarily the truth, it is a truth, one that brings us closer to people who lived and struggled, loved and fought and died long before we came into being.
In that respect, Ellen Alpsten’s choice of a protagonist in Tsarina: A Novel is truly inspired. Martha Skavronskaya’s life followed one of the more remarkable trajectories in history. Born a peasant, Martha somehow – through twists and turns that exist mainly as myth and lore – became the mistress of Tsar Peter the Great, the titanic world-historical figure who bloodily wrenched Russia toward modernity. When Peter the Great died, Martha – now called Catherine Alexeyevna – surmounted the throne herself, as Catherine I, Empress of Russia.
(Side note: Russian nobility tended to share the same handful of names, reusing them like socks. To avoid any confusion, I should emphasize that Catherine I is not Catherine the Great, who came to power some thirty-five years after Catherine I’s death).
The thing that makes Martha/Catherine such a wonderful focal point for a novel is that while we can trace the broad outlines of her life, especially after becoming entangled with Peter, many details (both large and small) are either unknown, obscure, or hotly contested. As Robert Massie wrote in his prize-winning biography, Peter the Great: His Life and World, Catherine’s “life before meeting with the Tsar in 1703, when she was nineteen, is only conjecture.” By utilizing the dramatic license of fiction, Alpsten is able to mold this conjecture into a viable tale of Catherine’s origins, rise, and ascendancy, while also spinning a really entertaining yarn, carefully choosing which legends to discard, and which to treat as true.
(For example, a history book might quibble about the true relationship between Catherine and Willem Mons, her comely chamberlain. Rumor and gossip have long held that the two were lovers. Evidence for this, however, is thin, and historians such as Massie – for instance – do not credit the proposition. Alpsten, free from any documentary constraints, chooses a different interpretation).
Tsarina begins with a prologue that covers the death of Peter the Great, who had not designated an heir. It was a fraught moment for Catherine, pregnant with both danger and opportunity.
From this jumping-off point, the book goes back in time, presenting itself as an extended flashback, told in the first-person from Catherine’s perspective. She recounts her life as an illiterate serf in modern-day Estonia, her time as a servant in the home of Lutheran pastor Ernst Gluck, her marriage to a Swedish dragoon, and her capture by Russian forces following the seizure of Marienburg, after which she came into the orbit of the towering, mercurial Peter Romanov (who is given a marvelous characterization that neatly captures his contradictions).
Occasionally, Alpsten interrupts the flashbacks by returning us to St. Petersburg, where Catherine and Prince Alexander Danilovich Menshikov plot to take advantage of a fluid situation where a misstep could mean death. Eventually, these two plot threads merge into one.
The reputation that proceeds Tsarina is that it is sexually graphic (reviews have run the gamut from “bodice ripper” to “smut” to “soft-core porn”). There are certainly more sex scenes in this novel than in most popular fiction these days, though it is hardly pornographic. On a continuum of Ken Follett in Night over Water to John Updike in Rabbit Redux, I would put this squarely in the middle.
I have learned, recently, that many – if not most – readers prefer that canoodling takes place offstage. I don’t hold with this position, obviously, but reasonable people can disagree. Thus, this should serve as a warning that you might want to skip this one, since there are probably five or six real set-pieces involving adult activity, with shorter passages scattered throughout.
Nevertheless, I will say that the scenes of unclothed intimacy described by Alpsten all serve a true narrative purpose. There is a scene of explicit sexual violence early on that becomes an important motivation for Catherine’s character. A later, more tenderer love scene is a balm, while her boudoir behavior with Peter gives her an important bit of leverage. There is definitely a certain level of detail to these encounters, but that is in keeping with the book’s purpose. After all, we know – since it is a fact nearly 300 years in the making – how Tsarina ends. In order to compensate for our cognizance of the already-written past, Alpsten has to avoid dwelling on what happens next, and instead emphasize how it felt to live these times. Tsarina is not about the what and when, but tries to divine the why and how. The tactility of her details helps in that regard.
It should be noted, however, that the graphic descriptions are not relegated solely to maneuvering between the sheets. There are also some grimly painted word-pictures involving torture and illness, both harsh realities in 18th century Russia. Indeed, of all the horrors recounted in Tsarina, the most poignant turns out to be infant mortality. Catherine gave birth to twelve of Peter’s children, and ten of them shuffled off this coil before adulthood. The psychological toll that takes – a thing not likely be discussed in a nonfiction work – is minutely examined here.
Tsarina is by no means a perfect novel, or even a great one. The plot is very episodic, and at times, Catherine’s meteoric rise seems almost too easy. The writing, occasionally, relies on cliched phrasing that takes you out of the otherwise wonderfully recreated world (Alpsten’s obvious research is woven seamlessly into the story).
Furthermore, there are times when Catherine just doesn’t make any sense. That, however, is not entirely Alpsten’s fault. There is a saying that writing fiction is harder than writing history, because fiction has to make sense. The difficulty with historical fiction is that you are straddling that line, where you have to follow a person’s acknowledged course, while reverse engineering believable motivations. Still, there were several times in Tsarina – especially the section starring Willem Mons – where Catherine engaged in some plot-required stupidity that totally did not fit with her character (and was not required by agreed-upon history, either).
Having some background with Russia in this period was certainly helpful in reading Tsarina. It definitely heightened my enjoyment to see how Alpsten connected the dots of Catherine’s life in a way that – barring a time machine – only a novelist can accomplish.
Unlike that other Catherine, the woman who began as a peasant named Martha Skavronskaya never got a cool descriptor after her forename. The second Catherine, as well as the first Catherine’s husband, have both survived the ages as “the Great.”
And yet, whose life was most extraordinary?
Both Peter and Catherine II had their own obstacles to hurdle, but Peter was a Romanov, and Catherine a Pomeranian princess. They were born with legitimate visions of thrones in their heads. The transformation of Martha into Catherine, from a “soul” to an empress, from a nothing to the ruler of one of the largest nations on earth, is one of the more stunning – and forgotten – climbs a person has ever made.