Closer to evening, a large four-seater carriage harnessed with several horses departed from the Peterhof Palace. Its windows were tightly curtained, and armed grenadiers stood on the steps, the footboards, and the footrests. A mounted escort galloped behind the carriage. The cortege was led by A. G. Orlov, accompanied by four officers (apparently including F. S. Baryatinsky). They were taking Peter III to Ropsha. Only the chamberlain-lacquey Maslov remained with him. In a letter to Poniatowski on August 2 of the same year, Catherine put forward another version of what she intended to do with her deposed husband. She wrote that Peter would stay in Ropsha only briefly. Just for the time “while good and decent rooms were being prepared in Shlisselburg and while the horses for him were being arranged on the stand.” What a display of care! But this version was as false as the assurances about preparing a ship for Peter Fedorovich’s departure to Kiel. The conspirators and Catherine understood better than anyone that there was no turning back from what had been done. A living Peter, whether far away in Kiel or even closer in Shlisselburg, was equally dangerous to them. He had become superfluous, and from now on, his fate could only be one thing — death.

Catherine was right only in one thing when reporting her benevolent plans to Poniatowski: indeed, “the place called Ropsha is very secluded and very pleasant.” She knew this for sure because several years before the events described, Elizabeth Petrovna had gifted this place to her nephew, where both he and Catherine sometimes visited. The palace intrigues began in Ropsha during the times of Peter I, who discovered a mineral water spring here, the healing properties of which he regarded with great attention and respect. At the very beginning of the 1710s, an estate of Peter I was built on the Prince’s Hill, which he granted in 1714 to the diplomat Golovkin. Nearby was the estate of Prince-Cesar Fyodor Romodanovsky, head of the dreaded “torture” office. Marrying his granddaughter, Golovkin Jr. united both estates in 1722. But not for long: as an opponent of Elizabeth Petrovna, after her accession to the throne, Golovkin was arrested and exiled to Siberia, and his property passed into imperial ownership. However, unlike his father, who valued the place mainly for hydrotherapy, Elizabeth turned Ropsha into a place for hunting amusements. The former stone house of the Golovkins began to be rebuilt under the guidance of the same Rastrelli.

What the Ropsha Palace looked like when the carriage with the arrested Peter Fedorovich approached it can be imagined from a drawing by Quarenghi himself from an engraving of the 1780s, discovered by local historian Duzhnikov in the “Rossica” collection of the Russian National Library with the help of its senior employee Yakovleva.

The explanation to the engraving says: “View of the palace and apartments in Ropsha, where Peter III was killed. So, let us give the floor to the author of this find: ‘In the center of the engraving are the chambers of Golovkin, which apparently had not undergone significant changes by the middle of the century. The chambers were an elongated building consisting of a large central two-story body, side one-story galleries ending with two one-and-a-half-story wings. In front of the chambers was a rectangular terrace with a balustrade and three staircases leading to the Lower Park. This is the eastern, main facade. West of the chambers, we see the trees of the Upper Park… On the sides of Golovkin’s chambers, additional wings — one-story galleries — have already been added… Between the palace and the Lower Garden, on the slope of an earthen terrace raised at the same time by four arshins, two water cascades and three stone staircases were created. In the southern part of the picturesque park, three intricate greenhouse buildings are shown.’”

Even now, when the palace is in a semi-ruined state, it is visible that together with the adjoining wings it forms a large square, bounded at the back by a fence. Inside it, in the 18th century, the so-called Private Garden was laid out. The further the convoy with the captive emperor moved away from Peterhof, the more the marshy wasteland, overgrown here and there with shrubs, gave way to trees. The road gradually ascended, and turning into a dense forest, the trees closely surrounded it on both sides, creating a sense of threat and unease. On the horizon, heights shimmered with the gleaming mirrors of small lakes and streams in the approaching bright twilight of the white night. Occasionally, solitary houses and small villages flickered in the distance. But none of this could be seen by Peter Fedorovich from his carriage. Finally, the horses gradually slowed their pace, and the carriage, turning off the Peterhof road, gently rolled along the alley of the Upper Park and stopped. It was about eight in the evening.

The guards flung open the doors and briskly dragged out the prisoner. The entire palace was cordoned off by soldiers; sentries stood at every window, and at the doors even two at a time: the forcibly deposed monarch was still so feared! Understanding this, Catherine, having selected, in her own words, “reliable and obedient soldiers,” ordered to say: all of them and the non-commissioned officers were paid six months’ wages in advance — more than a thousand rubles were allocated for these purposes. Peter III was hurried somewhere. Most likely not to the main entrance of the palace, since then it would have been necessary to go around all the buildings outside, which might have seemed dangerous. It was better to go through the Private Garden to the back entrance. The prisoner was placed in a bedroom with a wide canopy bed. A small room adjoined the bedroom, in which Peter III, according to his letter to Catherine, could barely move. A guard was constantly present with the former emperor, not leaving the room even when the prisoner attended to natural needs — he also reported this to Catherine. At first, some consideration was shown to him. Thus, on the morning of June 30, Peter Fedorovich complained that he had slept poorly and asked to bring his favorite bed from Oranienbaum. It was sent immediately. The next request seemed more complicated: to bring Elizaveta Romanovna, along with her dog, the black servant Narcissus, and a violin. “But,” Catherine reported to Poniatowski, “fearing to cause a scandal and stir unrest among the people guarding him, I sent him only the last three things.” She did not want to “send” such a “thing” as “Romanovna.” And not out of fear of the guards’ complaints. But, faithful to her chosen tactic, she tried to convince Poniatowski that she acted not on her own initiative but by the will of circumstances. Therefore, she added: “He had everything he wanted except freedom.” However, it seems Peter Fedorovich asked nothing more from his wife.

In the following days, the officers guarding the prisoner became increasingly rude. They felt that because of “this man,” they themselves were turning into prisoners for an indefinite time. Only A. G. Orlov seemed to maintain external decorum. It was said that during a card game, upon learning that Peter had no money (the sincerity of this is doubtful: he could not have been unaware!), he lent some sum and said he would arrange to send as much money as Peter wanted the next day. Alongside this touching scene, there was another. The emperor wanted to walk in the garden. Orlov allowed it but discreetly winked at the guards standing at the doors. When Peter Fedorovich approached them, the soldiers crossed their bayonets, preventing the prisoner’s intention. And Orlov looked meaningfully upward! If this story is true, and it is quite plausible, does it not reveal a kind of double game by Alexei Grigorievich? While the deposed emperor was alive, anything could happen and change. And if Catherine covered herself with references to other executors, why could not one of them, the main one, follow this tactic? At least in the operation with Peter III, she directly named Alexei Orlov as such. Those involved in the betrayal of their sworn loyalty to the monarch, willingly or unwillingly, bound each other by complicity in a state crime. But an even stronger and irreversible form of such mutual responsibility was binding by blood, by the death of the prisoner. And this did not take long.

Contemporaries understood that the officially declared cause of Peter III’s death was ridiculous. But what happened in the Ropsha Palace could only be guessed. Thanks to documents I discovered, it seems possible, if not to fully, then at least partially to lift the veil over this mystery.

In the manuscript department of the Royal Library in Stockholm is kept a manuscript in German titled “The History of the Overthrow and Death of Emperor Peter the Third.” Its study showed that it contains the text of the memoirs of the Danish diplomat Andreas Schumacher (1726–1790), who lived with small interruptions in Saint Petersburg from 1757 to 1764 and was therefore a witness to the turbulent events of those years. Since Schumacher’s notes were published in Hamburg by the firm “P. Salomon and Company” (1858), the Stockholm manuscript I found would not deserve special attention if not for the note on its flyleaf of the library code: “Drottningsholms Bibl. Kat. No. 117. 1854.” Let us explain its meaning. The first word is the name of the royal palace near Stockholm, still owned by the Swedish royal family. Then comes the manuscript’s catalog number, followed by the date of its receipt into the royal personal library (1854). But this means that the copy of Schumacher’s memoirs arrived here four years before their publication in Hamburg! And this significantly changes the attitude toward the copy, making its comparative analysis with the printed text advisable.

Although in his notes Schumacher characterized the overall picture of Peter Fedorovich’s life, first as Grand Duke and heir to the throne, and then as emperor, he focused mainly on his overthrow, arrest, and death in Ropsha. Not everything reported by the Danish diplomat is accurate — which is not surprising since he was not an eyewitness to the Ropsha events. However, he managed to collect and systematize a day-by-day chronicle of events from Peter’s arrest to his murder, and he regarded the prisoner not only with sympathy but also with understanding. This despite the fact that relations between Peter III and the Danish court were complicated, and after Peter Fedorovich’s accession to the Russian throne, even hostile: a war between Russia and Denmark over Schleswig was brewing. Therefore, the Danish diplomat’s sympathetic attitude toward the emperor’s fate encourages trust in his notes, which, of course, does not exclude cross-checking (where sources allow) the information he provides.

Let us limit ourselves to one fragment describing events that played a key role in the denouement of the Ropsha tragedy. Since there are some discrepancies between the Hamburg edition and the Stockholm copy, we will refer to the latter. It reports that on July 1 a courier arrived in Petersburg with news that the former emperor was ill. Since the oral order to the court physician, surgeon Luders, to send medicine was not carried out, Catherine, according to Schumacher, ordered the doctor to personally go to Ropsha “as soon as possible.” Luders hesitated, fearing to be imprisoned indefinitely along with the prisoner. Only on July 3 did he set off “in a shabby Russian carriage” with Peter Fedorovich’s beloved pug and no less beloved violin. On the way to Ropsha, the doctor accidentally met the emperor’s devoted chamberlain-lacquey Maslov. According to Schumacher, Maslov, who was constantly in Peter’s room, was tricked into the garden, arrested, and immediately sent to Petersburg.

There is much curious in what the memoirist reports. Catherine learns that her husband has fallen ill but does not send a doctor to him; learning that the medicines she ordered instead were not delivered, she commands the former court physician (and surgeon) of the former emperor to go himself; but not immediately, as one would expect, but as soon as possible. And this strange meeting of Luders with Maslov, who was arrested and sent to the capital on the very day Luders left Petersburg for Ropsha. However, some light on the background of the brewing events is shed by the first of the surviving semi-literate notes from Alexei Orlov to Catherine, dated the eve of that day — July 2. It reported that Peter Fedorovich was so severely ill with colic (what kind is not specified) that he would most likely die that very night. At the same time, Orlov described a touching scene in which the guard soldiers and non-commissioned officers, with tears in their eyes, asked to convey their thanks to the empress for paying them six months’ wages in advance! This note is more than a brief report on the state of affairs. It is an obvious sign that everything was prepared for the desired denouement. Not without reason, masking the plan, Catherine at that time was actively spreading the version about preparing a ship to send her husband to Kiel, his German duchy.

So, back to Schumacher’s notes. The chamberlain-lacquey is removed, and his master is completely in the hands of his worst enemies. And the inevitable happens immediately: both in the printed edition and in Schumacher’s manuscript, it is said that Peter was strangled with a rifle strap, and the main killer was somehow named Shvanovich, although judging by the description (“a tall and strong man”), this was, as confirmed by other sources, the polite Alexei Orlov. Between the two texts, some discrepancies arise: in the Stockholm manuscript, “Shvanovich” is called a foreigner who converted to Orthodoxy, while in the printed text — retaining the same description — he is somehow called Swedish. Orlov let the killers into the tsar’s presence, and that was his guilt. But he considered the immediate killer of Peter to be the son of Martin Shvanvitz — the guard officer Shvanvich, whose son was later convicted as one of the main accused in the Pugachev rebellion, although many nobles served Pugachev, not only personal ones from soldiers, Cossacks, and soldiers’ children but also hereditary ones like Shvanvich… Allegedly, Shvanvich strangled the former emperor with a rifle strap when the poison given by Teplov did not work. The fate of Mikhail Shvanvich may be connected with the fact that he knew something about Peter III’s death.

German historian Elena Palmer claimed that no matter how desperate the guards were, it was still difficult for them, Russian soldiers, to raise a hand against the emperor to whom they had sworn allegiance. Killing Peter contradicted the officer’s code of honor. Perhaps Alexei experienced moral difficulties, although his fellow conspirator Dashkova later called him a “misanthrope.” Presumably, Alexei Orlov, who knew the guard’s code of honor firsthand, understood that it was unlikely to find a volunteer among his guards. Therefore, the idea arose to involve two civilians in this action — Grigory Teplov and Fyodor Volkov. The assumption that Teplov was entrusted with physically destroying the emperor was expressed both by researchers and contemporaries of the events.

Grigory N. Teplov’s main activity was secretarial work at court, as he was brilliant with pen and word. Using his closeness to the ruling couple, he became notorious for his immorality. “Recognized by all as the most cunning deceiver of the entire state, however, very clever, ingratiating, greedy, flexible, willing to employ himself for money in all affairs,” characterized Teplov the Austrian ambassador to Russia, Count Mercy d’Argenteau. In 1757, Teplov, considering himself a great musician, asked the violinist and musician Peter for permission to participate in opera productions in Oranienbaum. Peter did not allow it, as the professional level of musicians and actors in the Oranienbaum theater was extremely high, and there was nothing for the amateur Teplov to do there. Teplov was offended and insulted the Grand Duke, for which he was arrested for three days.

Fyodor Grigorievich Volkov received the same refusal for creative reasons. Arriving in Moscow in 1752 with his theater from Yaroslavl, he pleased Empress Elizabeth and was invited to stay and work as director of the court theatrical troupe. The Oranienbaum opera was extremely popular in those years, and Volkov was very vain. Perhaps he perceived the Grand Duke as his direct competitor on stage, or maybe he simply wanted to be the head of the Oranienbaum theater. Peter did not allow Volkov near his theater. Volkov openly slandered Peter’s productions and Peter himself. The entire court knew of Volkov’s hatred for the Grand Duke.

The inclusion of actor Volkov from the very beginning in the Ropsha guard group can be explained by the fact that he was given the task of killing the deposed emperor (to simulate the murder by theatrical means to prevent a counter-coup in favor of Peter).

The situation in Ropsha gradually intensified. Someone from the guards warned Peter that an order had been received to poison him, and he began going out for water in the garden, where there was a stream. On July 3, court surgeon Paulsen arrived in Ropsha with surgical instruments, including a saw for opening corpses — Peter could not fail to notice this. With the same carriage on July 3, Peter’s lacquey Maslov was sent back to Petersburg — thus they got rid of a witness. Grigory Orlov sent Teplov to Ropsha. Presumably, he was entrusted with persuading to kill. Palmer, who first substantiated this version, writes: “The participation of actor Volkov in Peter’s tragedy gives the whole drama Shakespearean depth.” “The coincidence of Peter’s death is so fortunate for the conspirators that it is hard to shake off the impression: it was also staged. It remains to add that Fyodor Volkov was present at the murder, sitting at the same table with the villain and the victim. Was he the one dictating to the tongue-tied handsome Orlov his virtuoso message, exquisite in its deceit?”

Historian Kryuchkova believes that Fyodor Volkov, brought up as an officer in the Landed Noble Corps, did not kill, and “Peter III’s death in Ropsha on July 3 was a staging, a theatrical performance directed by Catherine II’s ‘chief director’ Fyodor Volkov with the help of several amateur actors from the Ropsha guard. It was an illusion intended to extinguish possible revanchist sentiments in Petersburg and give Catherine time to decide the further fate of the deposed husband.” Other participants or at least witnesses of the murder are unknown by name. This is very telling: Orlov attached such a list to one of his notes to Catherine. She carefully preserved Orlov’s notes, but the list disappeared without a trace! Again, probably just in case. Bilbasov, who dealt with this issue, tried to restore these names using data from various sources. With confidence, Baryatinsky and most likely Teplov can be included here. Regarding others, only suppositions are possible: Guard Sergeant Engelhardt; Nikolai, brother of Alexei Orlov; actor Volkov. It is also known that two guard sentries, a courier, and Bressan, the very one favored by Peter, were present in the room where the murder took place: there is information that he rushed to save the emperor.

According to Schumacher, the driving force behind the Ropsha tragedy was Teplov, an actual and then honorary member of the Saint Petersburg Academy of Sciences, botanist, and writer. A zealous supporter of Catherine when she was Grand Duchess and an opponent of Peter Fedorovich, he was briefly detained in March 1762 for “disrespectful remarks” about him. Joining the conspiracy, Teplov became the author of Catherine II’s first manifestos, for which she rewarded him with a large sum of 20,000 rubles. She knew whom to send to Ropsha to ensure her plan. According to Schumacher, Teplov “went to Ropsha on July 3 and immediately took measures to kill the emperor. Early in the morning of July 4, Lieutenant Prince Baryatinsky arrived and reported to Ober-Hofmeister Panin that the emperor was dead.” But how so? According to official documents, Peter III died on July 6, and this date has been reproduced in all encyclopedic references for one and a half centuries. But this is nothing more than repeating Catherine’s lie. With it, however, another lie is connected. Smaller, but therefore more cynical: the permission to send Peter, at his request, the black servant Narcissus, a dog, and a violin. They, but without Narcissus, were carried by Luders to Ropsha when he met the carriage with the interned Maslov, who was being taken from Ropsha. It turns out that partially satisfying Peter Fedorovich’s request, Catherine knew that neither the dog nor the violin would be needed. And Narcissus was clearly out of place: an extra person, a dangerous witness.

So, the main point: the grandson of Peter the Great was sent to the other world not on the 6th but on July 3, 1762, three days earlier than commonly believed. And certainly not because of “severe colic” and a “hemorrhoidal attack” did he part with life, but by strangulation. “That,” Schumacher noted, “he died exactly such a death is shown by the condition of his corpse, on which his face blackened as it should be in hanging or strangulation. That the strangulation occurred immediately after Maslov was taken away from him follows from the fact that not only court surgeon Luders but also the court surgeon Paulsen, sent on that very day with his instruments and things, was ready for autopsy and embalming of the emperor’s body.”

The urgent dispatch of Teplov to ensure the intended goal was, presumably, a last resort, since initially they tried to use another, less noticeable and shocking means — poison. “It is assured,” we read in the Stockholm copy of Schumacher’s memoirs, “that State Councillor Doctor Kruse prepared a deadly drink, which he (that is, Peter III) did not want to take.” In the Hamburg edition, the same idea is expressed more diffusely and somewhat softened: “It is credibly assured that another means was also tried to get rid of him, which, however, did not succeed, and that among other things, State Councillor and Doctor Kruse prepared a poisoned drink which the emperor did not want to drink.” The poisoning version of Peter Fedorovich was also found in other contemporary sources. Thus, in the work “Secret News about the Character, Life, and Death of Peter III,” kept in the Royal Archive of Sweden, it was stated directly: “Peter was either strangled or consumed by poison.” As we know, the first is most likely.

Andreas Schumacher reported: “State Councillor Doctor Kruse prepared poisoned drink for him, but the emperor did not want to drink it. I hardly err in considering this State Councillor and also the current cabinet secretary of the empress Grigory Teplov the main initiators of this murder…” The fact that the poison drink option failed deserves reflection: the reason was the ex-emperor’s refusal to take the offered drinks. Someone from the guards warned Peter that an order had been received to poison him, and he began going out for water in the garden, where there was a stream, although according to official memoirists, the prisoner spent all days in Ropsha only in drunkenness. And Alexei Orlov supposedly strangled Peter accidentally during a drunken fight with him. But in reality: he was strangled because the prisoner steadfastly refused to drink the offered poison. So, another lie, in this case about the emperor’s pathological alcoholism? It turns out he was not drunk in Ropsha, did not start a fight with the giant Orlov in a drunken state, which is absurd to admit. Was Peter III the instigator of the fight? And was there such a fight at all? It is more likely that Orlov, despairing of poisoning the deposed emperor with poison, began to strangle him, and the prisoner simply defended himself desperately. Thus, through the veil of lies, the outlines of the last moments of the unfortunate emperor’s life gradually emerge; no, now simply a man desperately and hopelessly fighting for his own life.

Rumors about an earlier date of death than announced apparently immediately spread in society, although they were not accurate. Thus, in the diary entries of academician Shtelin, close to Peter III, there is a laconic note: “July 5, the death of the emperor.” Shtelin was mistaken, as he relied on unclear rumors. But in the light of Schumacher’s information, previously unclear documents sounded anew. Curiously, they are dated the same day as Shtelin’s note: July 5.

In the first, General-Poruchik V. I. Suvorov and Major of the Voronezh Infantry Regiment Peutling were ordered to immediately arrive in Saint Petersburg. Neither the purpose of the summons nor the reasons for the urgency were mentioned. However, there was a reference that the order to go to the capital came directly from Catherine II, communicated by a letter from Count Kirill Razumovsky dated July 4. Apparently, the matter was considered urgent and secret. What it consisted of can be understood from the second document sent by Suvorov from Petersburg to Oranienbaum: “Secret. Order to Major Peutling, who is on guard in Oranienbaum. Upon receipt of this, immediately remove from the rooms together with State Councillor Bekelman the former sovereign’s uniform — Holstein cuirassier, or infantry, or dragoon, whichever you can find sooner, and reseal your and the councillor’s rooms with seals, and send this uniform immediately with this messenger. When removing the uniform, try to ensure that besides you two, no one else sees it, note who could, and send it here, placing it in a bag and sealing it. And it should be transported secretly, and if Mr. Bekelman does not know in which rooms the uniform can be found, ask those who were at the wardrobe. General-Poruchik V. Suvorov.”

But for what purpose and why was Peter Fedorovich’s clothing urgently required to be taken to the capital? And why was all this surrounded by secrecy, emphasized not only by the “secret” stamp but also by the note on the document: “The entire order is written in the hand of General V. I. Suvorov”? They clearly feared correspondence by a clerk because of possible information leaks. Why such precautions?

Remaining within the framework of official reports, it is difficult to answer such questions. Indeed, the deposed emperor stays in Ropsha and indulges in unrestrained drunkenness; the empress is busy preparing a ship to send her husband to Kiel as soon as possible… This is if one believes Catherine’s manifestos and official correspondence. But what if one relies on the information contained in Schumacher’s memoirs?

Let us again pay attention to the date of the first of the two orders issued by the empress: the oral instruction to Razumovsky was given no later than July 4, since the first document is dated that day. Recall that, according to Schumacher, on that very morning Baryatinsky arrived from Ropsha to Petersburg to report to N. I. Panin (and actually to the empress) about Peter III’s death. In other words, the chronology of Russian documents and Schumacher’s information coincide completely, making the overall picture of the events described reliable.

From the moment the news of the emperor’s murder arrived in the capital, the course of events split. What happened in Ropsha was kept strictly secret; the empress “knew nothing” about it. Both in Russia and abroad, it was believed that Peter III was alive and, under Catherine’s caring protection, would soon sail from Petersburg to Kiel. Peter Fedorovich himself hoped for this. Although, note, in correspondence with Poniatowski, the empress unambiguously speaks of the planned imprisonment of her husband in Shlisselburg. But the public does not know this, and the “sea” version still lives. Under this smoke screen, the group that seized power hurried: they needed to invent some explanation (essentially, its outlines are already found in Orlov’s first note — “colic”), write a manifesto, give the disfigured body of the deceased a proper appearance (and Schumacher speaks eloquently about this), dressing him in a military uniform. Moreover, necessarily not Russian but Holstein — any, but only Holstein, to visually emphasize the propaganda cliché of Peter Fedorovich’s alienation from Russia. In short, it was necessary to urgently fabricate a legend!

How it was created before the eyes of the court public was testified by the story of lady-in-waiting Golovina, which we have already cited: A. G. Orlov, coming to Catherine II with a “confession,” says the word “finished,” the empress naively asks: “Has he left?” And “learning” the truth, she faints. She played her role so convincingly that those around even feared for her life!

German writer Johann Meding (1829–1903), in an author’s digression concluding his novel, shared thoughts about Catherine II’s attitude toward the events in Ropsha. These thoughts deserve to be recalled. Even if accusations against the empress of complicity in her husband’s murder are unjust, the German writer reasoned, the cause of this strange mystery is the empress herself. And further: “By all means provided to her by her high position and all possible measures, she surrounded Peter Fedorovich’s death with secrecy; she fiercely persecuted the publication of any information regarding this sad event, she even attacked works that only described the events accompanying Peter Fedorovich’s death and did not mention her involvement. Moreover, at the moment of the catastrophe itself, the empress could not control herself so that malicious tongues, even if given rich fodder, were forced to be silent. Upon receiving the notification from Alexei Orlov, Catherine Alekseevna immediately convened a secret meeting, at which it was decided to keep the incident secret for a day. After this meeting, the empress appeared repeatedly before the courtiers, and there was no sign of the slightest agitation on her face. Only after the manifesto published by the Senate did the empress pretend to hear about her husband’s death for the first time: she cried for a long time among her close ones and did not appear before the courtiers that day at all. Then a shadow fell on the empress also because neither Alexei Orlov nor Teplov nor anyone else was brought to trial; thus, the crime was shifted as if onto her.” It is hard not to agree with this.

And yet Catherine not only acted but also took measures for the future. After all, she kept all of Alexei Orlov’s notes all her life, ordering them to be handed over after her death, along with the manuscripts of her memoirs, to Pavel Petrovich. In fact, Orlov’s notes compromised not her but the author of these notes, and at the same time those whom he mentioned or hinted at as witnesses of the “drunken fight.” And these notes, on the one hand, seemed to justify Catherine herself, and on the other — became a means of blackmail not only of A. G. Orlov but also his brother and Catherine’s lover — Grigory. Again, just in case: so that he would not go too far in possible claims against her and her power.

…Meanwhile, Catherine II Alekseevna felt relieved. Let one legitimate Russian emperor, Ivan VI Antonovich, still live and languish in the casemate of the Shlisselburg fortress. But she got rid of the main rival, also a legitimate emperor, Peter III Fedorovich. Or did she? Peter’s disappearance gave rise to another version — that he was alive. This rumor reached different corners of the Russian Empire and the world and led to the appearance worldwide of a series of impostors. In historical science, this version was initially recognized as having no relation to reality, similar to the salvation of Dmitry and the False Dmitrys in the Time of Troubles. It was not seen as an echo of the real events of 1762. Candidate of Historical Sciences M. A. Kryuchkova proves that the source of this version is quite rational, and it was precisely for revealing this that Mikhail Shvanvich was subjected to civil execution and eternal exile by the Pugachevites. He became the prototype of Shvabrin — the antihero of Pushkin’s story “The Captain’s Daughter.”

Sources:

Mylnikov Alexander Sergeevich “Peter III”

https://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/%D0%A1%D0%BC%D0%B5%D1%80%D1%82%D1%8C_%D0%9F%D0%B5%D1%82%D1%80%D0%B0_III

https://topwar.ru/163240-imperator-petr-iii-ubijstvo-i-zhizn-posle-smerti.html