Her Gracious Majesty was going to permit him to go to Siberia.

He arose, bowed, said: "I pray you give me back my wig," calmly put it on the head he had not lost, buttoned his shirt, replaced his gown, and started to join his company of friends--and of enemies--in exile.
Elizabeth was a vain voluptuary.

If any glory attaches to her reign it came from the stored energies left by her great father.

The marvel is that in this succession of vicious and aimless tyrannies by shameless women and incompetent men, Russia did not fall into anarchy and revolution.

But nothing was undone.