Home » Ellen Alpsten interviews The Tsarina’s Daughter

Ellen Alpsten interviews The Tsarina’s Daughter

July 11, 2021 | By Women Writers Women Books | Reply More

Ellen Alpsten’s stunning new novel, The Tsarina’s Daughter, is the dramatic story of Elizabeth, daughter of Catherine I and Peter the Great, who ruled Russia during an extraordinary life marked by love, danger, passion and scandal.

Born into the House of Romanov to the all-powerful Peter the Great and Catherine I, beautiful Tsarevna Elizabeth is the world’s loveliest Princess and the envy of the Russian empire. Insulated by luxury and as a woman free from the burden of statecraft, Elizabeth is seemingly born to pursue her passions.

However, a dark prophecy predicts her fate as inexorably twined with Russia. When her mother dies; Russia is torn, masks fall, and friends become foes. Elizabeth’s idyllic world is upended. By her twenties she is penniless and powerless, living under constant threat. As times change like quicksand, an all-consuming passion emboldens Elizabeth: she must decide whether she is willing to take up her role as Russia’s ruler, and what she’s willing to do for her country – and for love.

A story of a powerful woman fighting back against all odds, a girl who is isolated and impoverished because of who she is, yet who still doesn’t give up. An epic historical tale and a sweeping romance, prepare to lose yourself in The Tsarina’s Daughter.

We are utterly delighted to feature this “interview” Ellen Alpsten did for us with Tsarevna Elizabeth…

Some people here in the UK refer to you as ‘The Other Elizabeth’…

(Laughs) I love the English sense of humour. You are not entirely mistaken. Baptised in the same name as a younger daughter of a relatively new dynasty, our royal fathers could seem, err, overwhelming to some. Though bedtime with either Henry VIII or Peter the Great guarantees never a dull moment, believe me.

We adored our beautiful mothers, despite them being derided internationally: a first, official spouse and queen survived our fathers’ whims and passions. That was a bit tricky, as we were considered illegitimate at some time in our life and were not intended to rule. But invention is the daughter of necessity, and minds shifted – like quicksand, which can be notoriously hard to survive in.

Did you ever have to deal with the deadly jealousy of an elder woman, who is in control of life and death? For a decade we both survived thanks to our cunning, our charm and desperate diplomacy. Similarities reach much further, but why spoil your suspense?

What is the difference then between the daughter of Henry VIII and the sole surviving child of Peter the Great?

Ah – the difference is delicate, yet delicious. I do not mean to be unsisterly, but Hilary Mantel described my Tudor-namesake as ‘Princess Ferret Face’. The vixen-haired Elizabeth of England bore her mother’s narrow features and had inherited her father’s colouring. When the great Tsar however invited the painter Louis Caravaque to St. Petersburg, to portray me, the man was smitten!

He called me ‘Europe’s loveliest Princess’, depicting me dewy eyed and rosy-cheeked. Apparently, there is an actress who in her younger days resembles me – Marilyn Monroe. Do send a portrait, I am curious! No wonder I had the world at my feet – for years it seemed as if I would marry King Louis XV. and rule in Versailles. Perhaps my beauty hindered my pursuit of intellectual passions? Thirst of too much knowledge can be very unhealthy in Russia.

How come then that in a time of frenzied Royal Alliances ‘Europe’s most lovely princess’ stayed single, and childless?

(Shrugs her alabaster shoulders) As I say: times like quicksand. Paradigms and proposals forever shift. My life was like a Russian Mountain, the wild sled-rides we enjoyed in winter. Sometimes I stood on the summit, sometimes I was flung off a rickety sled, barely reaching the piste’s bottom alive.

Then, I lay low, defenceless, destitute, and derided, as if hiding in a snowdrift; desperately catching breath, hoping not to be noticed, praying for the ice to blot all scent. Friends had turned foes and were hot on my heels. Countless times, I survived by the skin of my pearly white teeth. I did much more than just survive, actually. But we are not here to spoil the surprise of a good story, are we? We Russians LOVE our storytellers and reward them with pots of honey, which drips all over their chin and beard. That is how everyone should feel when hearing about my adventures…

Destitute? Apparently, you own 15000 gem studded gowns! Yet here you are, dressed as a boy. Just LOOK at those hips and legs in narrow breeches! Why the Charade?

Charade? That is another game I love to play, often all through the night. These days, I abhor sleeping – for good reason. I slumber in the early morning hours, and never in the same room two nights running. Yet this is no game, but habit. At times, I had unimaginable riches at my disposal, then, to survive, I sold my wardrobe and wore nothing but black skirts and white tops, accentuating my waist with a colourful sash.

My outfit today is an expression of my character, which is as varied as any woman’s, and as casually combining seemingly insurmountable opposites as any Slavic soul: Palaces vs camping, deep religious belief vs scandalous love affairs, adoring my family vs scarifying blood of my blood, carte balance for shopping in the gostiny dvor, the world’s first department store, vs simple riding breeches.

But if for years you had no hope of surviving or reigning, what was your saving grace?

My father dying left us all stunned. A Tsar’s will is our fate, and Russia is a riddle, wrapped in an enigma, inside a mystery. For years occupying the throne felt like sitting on a mill’s revolving grindstone – change was the only constant! – and the pursuit of power was as merciless as the same stone’s crushing force.

Surrounded by treachery I was like torn away by the currents of a swollen river, almost drowning. But to all questions, love is the answer. A big, unlikely – if not unbelievable! – love that most are never lucky enough to live. I count myself blessed. I fought for our love and overcame all obstacles. He, the love of my life, made me become who I was.

Ruling Russia is not for wimps, I gather…

(Her face darkens and she wipes a tear away) No, it isn’t. The world’s largest and wealthiest realm can have only one ruler. Taking what was mine came at the most terrible price: my paying never stops, until my dying day. I had no choice. My country bore me, it nourished me – body and soul – and it drove me on, through the darkest of days!

Only Russia’s love carried me through those moments of despair. When the moment came, I obeyed its orders. A Tsarina, too, is but a servant. I fell from riches to rags and then rose from rags to Romanov: No wonder I was called a ‘People’s Princess.’ Ah, but isn’t that funny – we come full circle? Didn’t you have that in the United Kingdom, too?

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About the author:

Ellen Alpsten was born and raised in the Kenyan highlands, before attending L’Institut d’Etudes Politiques de Paris. Whilst studying for her Msc in PPE she won the Grande École short story competition with her novella Meeting Mr. Gandhi and was encouraged to continue writing. Upon graduating, she worked as a producer and presenter for Bloomberg TV in London.