Alexander I- the Tsar Who Defeated Napoleon

by Marie-Pierre Rey

  I am guilty, but not as much as one might think. When unfortunate circumstances troubled my domestic happiness, I attached myself, it is true, to another woman; but I imagined, wrongly no doubt (and I feel it only too much now), that the appearances that united us, my wife and I, were without our participation, and so we were free before God, although joined in the eyes of men. My rank obliged me to respect these appearances, but I thought I could dispose of my own heart, and for fifteen years it was faithful to Madame Naryshkina. I do not have any seduction to reproach myself for. I can say truthfully that the idea of dragging someone to act against her conscience has always horrified me. She found herself in the same situation as me and fell into the same error. We simply imagined we had nothing to reproach ourselves for.56

  By her marriage and her immense fortune, Maria Naryshkina occupied a privileged position at court; her liaison with the emperor only reinforced it. Always dressed in white, wearing no finery or jewels, Maria displayed a wise and reserved allure, like Madame Récamier in France, that contrasted with the extravagant costumes and insolent luxury of the aristocratic women who surrounded her. As owners of a castle in Florence, a villa in Fiesole, a palace in St. Petersburg (on the Fontanka), and a summer residence on Krestovski Island (located quite close to Alexander’s summer residence on Kammeny Island), the Naryshkin couple led a grand life, giving resplendent parties whose gaiety and good taste entranced their contemporaries. However, while Maria drowned herself in partying, she behaved throughout her liaison with the emperor with great discretion, never participating in intrigues or imposing her views on a political level. In this she disappointed those who hoped that, due to her origins, she would serve the Polish cause. As for Alexander, he proved always very discrete, concerned not to expose to the public eye his second home and his children. Two little Elizabeths, born in 1803 and 1804, both died at an early age, as did Zenaide, born in 1810; surviving were Sophie (born in 1808) and a boy Emmanuel (born in 1814). So the sovereign had founded a second family, and it was as an affectionate father that he behaved with his illegitimate children.57 He led a conjugal life, going to Maria Naryshkina’s every day and spending the evenings there. In the archives of the Hermitage Palace is a short note in English, studiously written in big letters by little Sophie (then aged five), that attests to the tender feelings:

  My dear papa,

  I am very sorry that you hurt yourself. I hope you will soon be well for I long to see you.

  I think of you every day. I send you my love and a kiss.

  Your little affectionate Sophy 58

  Later, even when fickle Maria was deceiving him (and it is not certain that little Emmanuel was really Alexander’s son), the emperor wanted to ensure in a generous and permanent way the material and financial future of his illegitimate children. One month after Emmanuel’s birth in 1814, Alexander sent a letter to her husband, Dimitri Naryshkin, that was unambiguous:

  Taking a sincere interest in the well-being of your family, I have decreed in conformity with your desires the following provisions: 1) All the goods and property left upon your death will be divided between the brother Emmanuel and his sisters Marina [Naryshkin’s older daughter] and Sophie, according to the law. 2) Consequently there will be an estimate of the property given to Emmanuel and Sophie, and the equivalent amount will be paid to your older daughter Marina by my office. […] If I cannot in my lifetime myself execute these provisions, I charge my heirs with fulfilling this obligation so dear to my heart.59

  But while Alexander felt no remorse, this radiant and happy family life proved particularly painful for the childless Elizabeth.

  Officially, appearances were saved, and the tsar continued to proclaim tenderness and respect for Elizabeth. But the simplicity of the life they led at court—the emperor and his family only appeared in regalia on festival days and Sundays, returning from mass and taking dinner inside their apartments, away from courtiers—and Alexander’s lack of interest in ceremonies and splendor kept Elizabeth very isolated, on the margins not only of power and honors but also of the simplest family pleasures. No doubt she carried her own share of responsibility. In her memoirs, a former lady of honor drew a severe portrait of Elizabeth, implicitly exonerating Alexander from any fault.

  A burning and passionate imagination was combined in her with a cold heart incapable of true affection. These few words explain her story: the nobility of her sentiments, the loftiness of her ideas, the virtuous penchants, and a ravishing face all made her the idol of the crowd—without her being able to bring back her husband. But the praise that flattered her pride could not suffice to make her happy, and it was only at the end of her life that this princess finally recognized that the affection that alone embellishes existence is won only by giving affection.60

  Whatever the case, Elizabeth resigned herself as best she could to the existence of the other household, but with no children of her own she found it difficult to bear the repeated pregnancies of Maria Naryshkina. They reminded her of her own maternity, particularly since she had lost a daughter in August 1800. In a letter to her mother (dated June 1804), Elizabeth evoked the suffering caused by the two successive births of the little girls who were the fruit of Alexander’s extramarital relationship:

  You have probably not yet received our letters, for Amelia says she told you of the confinement of that Lady,61 who gave birth to a girl. They say she thinks she is pregnant again; I don’t know if this is true, but I will no longer have the goodness to care as I did the first time. Did I tell you, dear Mama, that the first time, she (madame had the impudence to tell me of her first pregnancy, which was so little advanced that I would not have been aware of it, at a ball, and the thing was not as notorious as it is now. I spoke to her as to any other when I asked for news of her health) she told me that she was not well, “since I think I am pregnant.” Don’t you think, Mama, this was the height of effrontery? She knew very well that I was not ignorant of how she got pregnant. I do not know what will happen and how it will end, but I do know that I will not alter either my character or my health for a creature who is not worth it, for if I have not become misanthropic and hypochondriac, there is some happiness.62

  A few months later, in December 1804, Elizabeth announced to her mother that the newborn was dead like the previous baby girl. This was an opportunity for the empress to speak obliquely of her jealousy of Maria Naryshkina at the same time as of her own distress, diminished by the solicitude shown by Maria Feodorovna:

  I do not know if Amelia has written to you of an event that has struck me, and would make me believe in a just Providence, if I did not already. It is the death of that baby, whose existence and birth had caused me so much pain. It really seems that Providence does not want to suffer an illegitimate child in this family. It was in August that this death occurred, and I felt sorry for the emperor from the bottom of my heart because he was keenly and deeply afflicted for almost a week, but the mother consoled herself quickly, because without that he would not be consoled either. Moreover, she lost another child last winter—and danced three weeks later. The friendship that I showed on that occasion, without effort (for she is and will always be in my heart on his account), and the way I shared in his pain earned me almost tenderness on his part, but for two weeks only. Moreover, he is very good for me when we are together, but these moments are neither long nor frequent. As for my manner toward him, Mama, I cannot give you better testimony than to convey the opinion of his mother, who certainly must be more partial than any other woman, who constantly tells me that she finds me perfectly good for him. She says she has a great desire to see him entirely back with me, and I cannot believe she is not sincere, judging from the really loving advice that she gives me.63

  Despite everything, despite the praise she always received from observers at court, the young empress, then aged 25, suffered terribly from not being a mother. In 1802 she did return to Adam Czartoryski, who had come back to Russia at Alexander’s request, but their liaison remain
ed sterile—to Elizabeth’s great distress.

  In the course of 1803, Elizabeth met at court a handsome captain of the Guard, then aged 23, Alexis Okhotnikov. She started to be interested in him, and he fell under the charm of the empress, but their mutual passion was only declared at the end of 1805 or the start of 1806.64 Elizabeth then broke off with Adam Czartoryski and became this young man’s mistress, but this ardent love affair ended tragically. In October, leaving a St. Petersburg theater, Okhotnikov was stabbed by an unknown person. After having seen Elizabeth several times come to his bedside incognito, he died of his wounds in January 1807. Constantine was no doubt the one who ordered the murder without his older brother’s knowledge: for him, this passion was all the more degrading because the empress had become pregnant by the captain, and so it was an unbearable insult to the prestige of a brother to whom he professed immense affection. So while Okhotnikov was dying in prolonged agony, Elizabeth gave birth in November 1806 to a daughter, also given the name Elizabeth. This birth, which everyone in the imperial family knew was illegitimate (Alexander had confided to his mother and those close to him that he had not had sexual relations with Elizabeth for several years), was received coldly. However, appearances were maintained at court since the birth was greeted with an official announcement. Deeply affected by the death of Okhotnikov, Elizabeth focused all her tenderness and love on the baby girl. However, in May 1808, eighteen months after her birth, little Lisinka died of a dental abscess, leaving her mother brokenhearted. In a few short years Elizabeth’s life had tipped into tragedy, at the very moment that Alexander on his side was enjoying marital and family happiness.

  The years from 1801 to 1805 were thus dense years in the life of Emperor Alexander. Placed politically and socially under the aegis of reform, they brought about modest but concrete reforms, emblematic of a desire for change. On the personal level they were dominated by a love affair that, outside the ties of marriage, gave the sovereign a full but discrete family life. But they were also marked by intense diplomatic turmoil: the international context was becoming increasingly uncertain and arousing growing worries.

  CHAPTER 7

  On the International Stage

  1801–1805

  Confirming his first declarations in 1801, Alexander I made himself the herald of a pacifist European policy—at least until 1804–1805. For the tsar, the moment belonged to domestic reforms and to a lesser extent to territorial advances toward the south. But this neutrality could not resist the rising power of Napoleonic ambitions, and from 1804–1805 the tsar launched into political and ideological combat (as well as diplomatic struggle) against Napoleon.

  Pacifist in Europe, Expansionist to the South

  Between 1801 and 1804 Alexander I wanted to be a resolute partisan of a cautious and pacifist policy in Europe. Viktor Kochubey, his vice-minister of foreign affairs, thought the same: Russia should hold herself apart from conflicts in which in the past she had got imprudently and expensively involved. Rather than going astray on the international stage, it was necessary to engage in major interior reforms. However, this credo did not prevent the tsar from observing with a sharply critical mind the political evolution of France and the diplomatic evolution of Europe.

  From his accession Alexander wished to reestablish peaceful relations with all countries of Europe—in particular with Britain and France. He declared himself ready, if necessary, to serve as mediator between the two warring powers. But this facade of neutrality did not prevent the emperor from expressing preferences: in his instructions in July 1801 to Count Morkov, his new minister plenipotentiary departing for Paris, Alexander specified that “it is with the courts of Vienna, London, and Berlin that the general interest, as well as that of my empire, brings me to desire a solid union.”1 The statement was unambiguous.

  On June 17 the tsar signed a maritime convention with Britain, prepared at the instigation of the Anglophiles at court, Count Panin and Ambassador Simon Vorontsov. With two separate articles and another secret one, it constituted a de facto peace treaty, achieved at the cost of mutual concessions.2 Russia renounced any attempt to reinforce the Second League of Armed Maritime Neutrality founded by Paul I in 1800 with Prussia, Denmark, and Sweden. Nevertheless, Britain did not manage to entice Russia alongside it into a war against France, despite the pressure exerted in July 1801 by Panin, who thought the interests of the two countries were convergent: British maritime and commercial power was not a danger to Russia, whereas the despotism and ambitions of France represented a great threat to all of Europe.3 He wrote in a memorandum to the tsar in July 1801 that “political and commercial relations between our Court and that of London are based on a perfect identity of interests, and the impossibility that they might clash as long as both follow healthy policies.”4 But Alexander chose not to go further, in order to keep his hands free. He did not share Panin’s Anglophilia; influenced by the Enlightenment and his French education, he felt no particular attraction to the British political model.5 In 1801 it was reasons of state that dictated this rapprochement, and he had to remain cautious.

  In parallel, the new sovereign tried to establish relations of trust with Austria. In September 1801 Count Razumovsky was named ambassador to Vienna and was supposed to obtain for Russia a cooperation with Austria over German matters—preserving the interests of small German states from any foreign ambition, whether French or Austrian—as well as Turkish affairs, to ensure the territorial integrity of the Ottoman Empire.

  Finally, while he did not wish to go so far as the alliance to which Paul aspired at the end of his reign, the tsar sought peace with France too. In April 1801 Alexander granted a pleasant interview with Duroc, the aide-de-camp sent by the First Consul to the court of St. Petersburg, conveying these views:

  I have always desired to see France and Russia united; they are two great and powerful nations that have given each other proof of esteem; they should agree to put a stop to the small divisions on the continent. […] I would very much like to speak directly with the First Consul, whose loyal character is well-known to me.6

  In the course of this meeting, the tsar called for the reestablishment of peace in Europe; for this purpose, he proved understanding about the occupation of Egypt by the French armies, but he also reasserted, due to treaties and commitments previously made by Russia, his position as “protector” of the kings of Sardinia and Naples. In the July 1801 instructions to his envoy Morkov, who was heading for Paris, the tsar said he was favorable to peace with France, which he saw as a pledge for the restoration of peace to Europe.7 But his instructions were very clear on this point: there would be no question of concluding a rapprochement at any price whatever, nor of appearing to admit any weakness. He wrote with an assurance and firmness surprising on the part of a young man who had just arrived on the throne and had little experience on the diplomatic level:

  If the First Consul of the French republic continues to make the maintenance and firmness of his power depend on the discord and troubles that agitate Europe […], if he lets himself be carried away by the torrent of revolution, if he trusts in fortune alone, then war might be prolonged. […] In this order of things, if my concern for the reestablishment of general tranquility is only feebly endorsed, then the negotiator in charge of my interests in France should confine himself to observing the march of the government and chatting to pass the time until more propitious circumstances allow the use of more effective means.8

  In this spirit a peace treaty was signed between France and Russia on October 8, 1801, followed two days later by a secret convention. Article 1 of the agreement reestablished “normal” diplomatic relations on the model of relations prior to 1789. Each party promised to grant no support, military or financial, to internal or external enemies of the other. Russia recognized French territorial acquisitions, and France agreed to pay the King of Sardinia compensation in exchange for his possessions lost in Piedmont. The accord guaranteed the independence of the Ionian islands, forbidding any foreig
n power from keeping troops there. The French army would withdraw from the Kingdom of Naples as soon as the fate of Egypt was decided; the latter’s neutrality would be recognized and guaranteed by the two powers; Russia would try to obtain from Great Britain and the Ottoman Empire their recognition of this neutrality. Finally, the two countries declared themselves in favor of cooperation on the matter of what territorial compensation to grant to German principalities that had lost possessions on the left bank of the Rhine.

  But signing this agreement changed nothing about the order of imperial priorities: for Alexander I the entente with Britain was prime. In October he did refuse a military alliance proposed by Britain, judging it premature. But an Anglo-Russian rapprochement remained his goal, as he stressed in a letter to Ambassador Vorontsov in November 1801. Alexander authorized him to inform the British government of the tenor of the accord concluded with Paris, including if necessary its “secret” clauses—which speaks volumes about the emperor’s double game—and he stressed his intention not to engage further in special relations with France: