The decree of January 9 instructed Saltykov to transport the family of the former ruler at night, without stopping in Riga, “across the lakes to the Pskov road.” The convoy’s transportation was overseen by Captain-Lieutenant Vyndomsky. In his initial reports, he indicated the final destination as “Orenburkh” or “Arenburkh.” In St. Petersburg, there was fear that this “expert” in Russian geography (as is known—geography is not a noble science!) might take his prisoners to Orenburg. Therefore, a special “enlightening” letter was sent to him from Her Imperial Majesty’s Cabinet, stating: “If you understand Orenburg to be the one on the Yaik River, built by the former state councilor Kirilov, then you are mistaken, for the one you are sent to is Oranienburgh, located 60 or 70 versts from Skopin, as named in Her Imperial Majesty’s specific decree given to you upon dispatch, called Oranienburgh, not Orenburkh.” Naturally, the entire operation was kept in the strictest secrecy, although, as often happened, foreign diplomats in St. Petersburg received almost exhaustive information about the relocation of the unfortunate family, and it was unequivocal: Anna Leopoldovna and her family would not be allowed to leave Russia.

The train set off from Livonia on January 31, 1744, in bitter cold. The wagons carried Anna Leopoldovna, who had not yet recovered from childbirth, and the infant Elizabeth. As the princess Elizabeth later recounted as an adult, according to her father’s memories, the carriages provided by Saltykov were cold and unsuitable for winter travel; the six-week-old girl’s swaddling clothes froze, and her nurse, covering the child with her own body, “froze her back but saved her from death.” It is unlikely that Elizabeth consciously wished for the prisoners to endure such suffering. Most likely, it was the cold and heartless Russian state machine at work, for which not only basic mercy, minimal comfort, but even human life itself was meaningless noise.

Oranienburg (Ranenburg, now Chaplygin) is a fortress city built in 1702 to defend the Voronezh shipyards area from the Turks; it once belonged to Menshikov. Saltykov was instructed to transport the former emperor separately from his parents, not even allowing them to meet. It is unknown who came up with the idea to separate the mother from her four-year-old son, but Elizabeth approved this cannibalistic order, while Saltykov did not immediately understand it. On January 15, he asked for clarification: “When we set off, and Princess Anna will not give Prince Ioann from her hands as usual, what is to be done?” On January 19, he received an answer clearly reflecting the cruel will of the empress herself: “In response to your report, we order you, if the princess does not give the prince from her hands upon departure, to proceed according to our previous decree, for she cannot do as she wishes…” The last words seem to have been written by Elizabeth herself. Notably, having issued such a harsh decree to exile Anna with her family deep into Russia, the empress demanded that Saltykov report to her whether Anna Leopoldovna and her husband were “sad, angry, or content” when leaving for their new place of exile. It is hard to understand why the empress needed to know such details. This only proves once again that behind all the trials that befell the unfortunate family stood the empress herself. From her gilded distance, she seemed never to take her eyes off her victims, savoring their suffering. I will speak below about the motives that guided Elizabeth in this matter.

In response to the sovereign’s inquiry, Saltykov reported that when the family members saw that they were to be seated in different carriages upon departure, they “cried for a quarter of an hour,” thinking they were to be separated. “Then, having come out, they politely told him that it was in Your Imperial Majesty’s will… (and) said nothing more and showed no sign of anger.” It should be noted that the threat of separation now hung over them like the sword of Damocles, and from then on their lives passed in anticipation of worse turns. Soon, those came. The idea to transport the child separately from the mother and not allow them to see each other became the beginning of their forced permanent separation. “When you arrive in Oranienburgh,” the decree-instruction stated, “assign Prince Ioann with his nurses to chambers at the Kozlovsky gates, on the right side… assign the princess with her husband, children, and servants to chambers at the Moscow gates… And do not allow Prince Ioann to be carried to his father and mother, nor them to visit him.” At the same time, the number of servants accompanying the prisoners was sharply reduced, “since the princess’s retinue has many superfluous people.” In the fortress, all family members and their retinue lived under strict guard, numbering 264 people. Soldiers stood watch both inside the buildings and outside. Saltykov asked to be transferred to Moscow from Oranienburg, and Major Guryev took his place.

Decrees from St. Petersburg demanded strict isolation of the prisoners: “And since all chambers have their back walls facing the rampart, it is necessary to have a guard on the rampart behind the chambers; also guards on the boulevards and at the drawbridges, and no servants of the princess are ever to go to the city, nor anyone from your team to go into or out of the city without your knowledge.” The bridges were raised at night, gates and wickets locked, and the keys kept by the team commander. The prisoners were guarded by nearly three hundred soldiers selected from all four guard regiments. Soldiers stood watch both inside and outside the buildings. The tsar’s decree to the Senate even ordered the fair to be moved from Oranienburg to the neighboring Lebedyan. However, as often happens in Russia, foreign diplomats soon knew the secret location of the prisoners’ detention…

Saltykov sent away those he considered superfluous servants: “…the footman Wulf with his wife and mother, footman Stampel with his wife, daughter, and mother-in-law, and all who were with them, were sent by me to Mitava to Colonel Voyekov for dispatch abroad, since they were natives of different lands. Those born in Russia were sent to these places: footman Schumacher with his wife and children to Dorpat, coachman-scribe Wunderlich and footman Loman to Reval, footman Taliande to the district of Wilmanstrand to the village of Toksmoer, to whom passports were given by my hand to live hopelessly in those places; and two girls, Sophia and chamber-maid Margarita, were sent with the same confirmation to live in the village of Rozhdestvenskoye, which is 90 versts from St. Petersburg, since they are blood sisters and were born in that village, and I wrote about all of them to Vice-Governor Prince Dolgorukov to send them from Riga to the indicated places, from where they were sent from Riga. And the girl Marya, of Kalmyk origin, in our law (that is, of Orthodox faith — I.K.), was sent to Riga to that vice-governor and ordered to be kept and fed there until further notice; Julie’s girl Sophia was given to Julie’s mother because that girl was a native of a Livonian manor, and the princess left chamber-maid Sturm,” he reported to the empress in January 1744. But even after this, the prince’s and princess’s “court” remained large — 55 people, including an adjutant, table-decker, mouthpiece, coffee server, dwarfs, and valets; spiritual care and consolation for Anna Leopoldovna were provided by the palace protopope Rodion Nikitin.

The dull days of imprisonment dragged on in provincial wilderness. The surviving papers of the Braunschweig family case are silent about their daily life in the “red” wooden chambers with tiled stoves and chairs and tables brought from Moscow. The detention regime was clearly harsher than in Dinamünde; in March 1744, by a special decree of the empress, the guards were allowed “to open the courtyard windows upon the request of Princess Anna.” However, in summer she could walk in the garden and swing on swings — but always under the supervision of six soldiers led by an officer.

The prolonged assignment undermined Saltykov’s health. “My chest aches, phlegm has thickened in my chest,” he complained to the sovereign. Soon he asked to be transferred to Moscow, and Major Ivan Guryev of the Izmailovsky regiment took his place. The new head of security began repairing the neglected premises. No instructions came from St. Petersburg about tightening the regime for the detainees — as if they had been forgotten. It seemed the life of the closed world of exiles was settling as much as possible in the prison-like environment of the small fortress. “To Your Imperial Majesty, my most gracious sovereign, I most humbly report that the team is well,” Guryev reported. But on August 10, 1744, Court Chamberlain Nikolai Andreevich Korf arrived in Oranienburg. The sovereign’s trusted person (Korf was married to her cousin Catherine Skavronskaya) was to take over the leadership of the prison team and deliver the prisoners “where ordered by our decree.” Previously, the baron had completed two very responsible tasks: he brought the empress’s nephew Karl Peter Ulrich from Holstein to Russia, and then brought the heir’s bride, Princess Sophia Augusta Frederica, from Zerbst, who later became Empress Catherine the Great. Now he was entrusted with a secret operation resembling a military one. He brought with him a new secret decree of Empress Elizabeth dated July 27, 1744. It was a cruel, inhumane decree. Korf was obliged to take the ex-emperor Ivan out of the fortress at night and hand the boy over to Captain Miller, who was waiting for him three versts from the city. Miller was to transport the four-year-old child in a closed carriage to the north, under no circumstances showing the boy to anyone or letting him out of the carriage even once. Notably, from this moment Miller was required to call Ivan by a new name — Grigory. Perhaps the name was chosen at random, or perhaps not — in Russia’s dynastic history, the name Grigory has a negative “trace” — it was the name of the impostor Otrepiev, who seized power in Russia in 1605 and whose adventurism doomed the country to unprecedented suffering and severe devastation. In this way, Elizabeth seemingly degraded the former emperor to the level of such an impostor. The final destination of the journey was the Solovetsky Monastery.

Sources:

Igor Vladimirovich Kurukin: Anna Leopoldovna

Evgeny Viktorovich Anisimov: Secrets of the Forbidden Emperor