Great Catherine
Page 19
Fortunately for Catherine, the chancellor had burned his papers before Alexander Shuvalov and his army of agents and informants had time to find them. Catherine too burned her correspondence, but she knew that simply destroying all evidence of secret dealings with Bestuzhev would not be sufficient to save her. Bernardi, Elagin and Adadurov were banished from court, Bestuzhev was divested of his offices and honors and handed over to a special commission of inquiry.
In April Catherine was summoned to the empress's apartments. She had been expecting, and no doubt dreading, this moment for weeks. She had already begun to feel the empress's cold hand reaching out toward her. Alexander Shuvalov appeared one morning at the door of Catherine's apartments and took away with him Madame Wladislava, Catherine's servant of long standing. She wept so bitterly at the loss of this trusted intimate that she melted the ferocious Shuvalov's heart, and he, in tears, assured her that the empress would speak to her about the matter herself. Catherine felt compelled to warn her other servants that they too might find themselves in peril, and became so agitated that she could do nothing but pace back and forth, unable to eat or sleep.
Catherine's interview with the empress took place after midnight. Alexander Shuvalov came to escort her through the torchlit corridors to the antechambers of the imperial apartments. Just as they reached the door of the gallery, Catherine saw Peter entering the empress's suite by another door. She had not seen him for a long time; like most of the other courtiers, he had been avoiding any contact with her—a sure indication, she thought, that she was under suspicion and at risk of arrest. She could only imagine what role he might play in determining her future fate. He wanted her out of the way, so that he could marry Elizabeth Vorontzov. Of that she had no doubt. He was full of long-held grievances and resentments. He would say anything to be rid of her.
Desperate to circumvent him, and in anguish, as soon as Catherine saw the aged empress she threw herself at her feet and begged her with tearful urgency to send her home to her relatives.
Elizabeth, disarmed by Catherine's capitulation, urged her to get up but she remained where she was, abasing herself before the empress like a repentant child.
"How can I send you back?" Elizabeth asked her, tears now standing in her own eyes. "Remember, you have children."
"My children are in your hands and could not be better cared for," Catherine replied. "I hope you will not abandon them."
"But how could I explain sending you away?"
"Your Imperial Majesty will simply explain, if you think it appropriate, that I have disgraced myself in your eyes and brought upon myself the hatred of the grand duke."
So far Peter had said nothing. Both he and Alexander Shuvalov continued to be silent as the conversation between the two women continued. There was no one else in the large room, though Catherine thought other witnesses might be hidden behind some screens that shielded the tall windows.
The empress insisted that Catherine get up and face her.
"God alone knows," Elizabeth said, "how I cried when you first arrived here and fell deathly ill. If I hadn't loved you, I never would have kept you here."
Catherine thanked her for all she had done for her. She would never forget her goodness, she said, and would always consider it her greatest tragedy that she had incurred the empress's disgrace.
But Elizabeth was no longer to be placated. Her eyes were dry as she accused Catherine of overweening pride, of imagining herself cleverer than everyone else.
"If I believed myself clever," Catherine retorted, "nothing could more strongly convince me otherwise than the state in which I find myself at present—this very conversation, in fact."
Peter began whispering to Shuvalov. Presently the empress joined their private conversation, adding her whispers to theirs. Catherine couldn't hear much of what they were saying, as they were a long way from her and the room was very large. She did, however, distinctly hear Peter say "She is dreadfully ill-natured, and terribly obstinate."
"If you are referring to me," Catherine replied, addressing Peter, "I am quite comfortable stating in Her Imperial Majesty's presence that in fact I am ill-natured toward those who advise you to act unjustly, and that I have become obstinate since I observed that my being agreeable brought me nothing but your hostility."
"There," Peter cried, "you see for yourself how ill-natured she is. She admits it."
The verbal sparring continued, but gradually Catherine came to be aware that Elizabeth's attitude was softening. Peter, however, was more alienated than ever when he discovered that, in an earlier conversation with the empress, Catherine had blackened his beloved Brockdorff. Other accusations were made.
'You have meddled in many things which have nothing to do with you," the empress said, coming close to Catherine. "I wouldn't have dared to do such things in the Empress Anna's time." She pointed to several letters in a large gold basin, and accused Catherine of having written to Marshal Apraxin—who had become one of Catherine's supporters—while he was leading the army the previous year. The grand duchess denied having done anything disloyal. She wrote to Apraxin solely because she was fond of him and took an interest in his well being. Besides, she added, one of the letters wished him a happy New Year and the other congratulated him on the birth of his son.
"Bestuzhev says that there were many others," Elizabeth said menacingly.
"If Bestuzhev says that, then he lies."
"Well then, since he lies about you, I'll have to have him tortured."
Catherine knew that Elizabeth was hoping to shock her, but she remained impassive. For an hour and a half the accusations flew, and Catherine parried them. The empress, wide awake, her physical symptoms in abeyance, hammered away at Catherine. She entered and left the room several times, now addressing Catherine, now Peter, and even more often conferring with Alexander Shuvalov. Peter and Shuvalov kept up a running conversation, most of which Catherine could not hear.
Peter, growing more and more rancorous, was quite carried away. In frequent angry outbursts he did his best to rouse the empress's ire against Catherine. Yet she could tell that the empress was far more impressed by her well-reasoned answers than by Peter's impassioned spoutings. "She listened," Catherine later wrote in her memoirs, recalling the scene in detail, "with particular attention and a sort of involuntary approval to my firm, even-toned answers." Elizabeth knew perfectly well that Peter wanted to dethrone his wife and replace her with his mistress, and she was not about to indulge his whim. Still, there were serious issues to be discussed.
Finally, at about three in the morning, the empress spoke in low tones to Catherine. "I have much to tell you, but I can't speak, because I don't want you to become more embroiled than you already are." Catherine took heart, and whispered back that she wanted nothing more than "to open her heart and soul" to Elizabeth.
Catherine had won, for the moment. Once again she saw tears of sympathy glistening in the empress's eyes before she abruptly took her leave. Without so much as a glance at Catherine, Peter marched out and retured to his rooms. Catherine herself, her mind still whirling with all that had happened, made her way back to her apartments. Once there, while her women were preparing her for bed, she heard a knock at the door. It was Alexander Shuvalov, who had stayed behind to confer with Elizabeth.
"The empress sends her compliments," he said gravely, "and begs you not to be distressed. She will confer with you alone."
Enormously relieved, Catherine bowed deeply to Count Shuvalov and sent her compliments in return. In the following days Catherine's spies repeated to her what Elizabeth was saying to everyone: "She's brilliant, my niece," she insisted. "She loves truth and justice. But my nephew is an idiot."
* * *
Photographs
The triumphant Catherine leading her troops against Peter III in June 1702.
Engraving by Cockerel, from a portrait by Vigilius Ericksen.
Photograph courtesy or Hulton Deutsch.
Medal struck to
commemorate the accession
of Catherine II
Photograph courtesy of
Hulton Deutsch.
Sergei Saltykov, Catherine s
first lover and father of Paul I.
Photograph courtesy of
Hulton Deutsch.
Peter III. Engraving from a painting by G. C. Grooth. Pnotograpn courtesy or Hulton Deutscn.
German Glass commemorating a
Russian victory over the Turks.
Photograph by Ivor J. Mazure, Dealer
in Russian Antiques, London.
Medal struck to commemorate Alexis Or/ov s victory over the Turkish fleet at Chesme. Photograph courtesy or Hulton Deutsch.
Gregory Potemkin, the
great love oj Catherine's life ana
her trusted partner in the
work of governing.
Photograph courtesy or
Hulton Deutsch.
Catherine in middle age,
dressed with "English
simplicity ' and accompanied
by one of her greyhounds as
she walks in the park at
Tsarskoe Selo. Engraving by
Borowikowsky.
Photograph courtesy or
Hulton Deutsch.
Alexander Lanskoy, Catherine's beloved
favorite who but for his tragically early death
would have been "the comfort of her old age. "
Photograph courtesy or Hulton Deutsch.
Catherine's portfolio or briefcase, with the
monogram "E" for Ekaterina. For Catherine,
work always came first.
Photograph courtesy or Hulton Deutsch.
Catherine at 57, a popular engraving after a painting by Schibanoff. Photograph courtesy or Hulton Deutsch.
The elderly Catherine.
Photograph courtesy or
Hulton Deutsch.
Emperor Paul I.
Photograph hy Ivor J. Mazure, Dealer
in Russian Antiques, London.
Chapter Fifteen
THE WAR AGAINST PRUSSIA WAS IN ITS THIRD YEAR, AND THE Russian troops, once thought to be ill equipped and in disarray, were proving to be more than a match for the soldiers of Frederick II.
The business of soldiering consumed the capital. The roads were full of troops, soldiers spilled out of the taverns, singing and brawling and taunting one another while at court, little was talked of save the army and its fortunes.
Though her frequent attacks of illness made her involvement intermittent, the empress followed the course of the war with great vigor. No expense was too great, no sacrifice too extreme when it came to the well-being of Russia's fighting men, she declared. To finance the war she would, if necessary, sell all her clothes and jewelry. (She had vast stores of both, having replenished her wardrobe in the years since the burning of the palace.) When the Russians won a battle, Elizabeth ordered medals struck to commemorate it and issued decorations to the victorious officers. They strode about proudly, gold and silver flashing on their chests, talking of their exploits—and avoiding, if possible, any contact with the pro-German grand duke, with his Holstein guard and his ring-portrait of the Prussian ruler.
After each battle, the courtiers came together to discuss which officers had shown the greatest bravery, which had been promoted, which had suffered wounds or had died in combat. At times the losses ran high. In the grisly Battle of Zorndorf, a scene of horrifying slaughter, tens of thousands of Russians and Prussians were killed. When news of the outcome reached Petersburg there was great consternation, and for weeks afterward the courtiers met in anguished little circles to mourn their dead and dying; nearly everyone in the imperial household lost at least one relative or friend. It was difficult to believe, as the empress claimed, that the Russians had won the battle and that celebrations were in order.
Amid the lamentations there was one bright episode. People repeated to one another the remarkable story of a certain Gregory Orlov, an artillery officer in the elite Ismailovsky regiment.
A giant of a man whose broad shoulders, long muscular legs and rocklike torso made him the most formidable soldier in his regiment, Orlov had shown not only daring but phenomenal stamina at Zorndorf. With men dying all around him, he hurled himself into the thick of the melee, into the very teeth of the murderous Prussian fire. His comrades, seeing him fall, called out to him to save himself. To their amazement he rose again and, instead of seeking safety, returned to the fray. Three times he was wounded, and three times he overcame his pain to dare death once again.
Orlov's praises were sung wherever soldiers gathered—in the taverns of the capital, in the guards barracks, even in the drawing rooms of the royal palace. His exploits were not limited to the field of battle, it was said; he took huge risks at the gaming tables, was an audacious hunter, and had survived many a bloody tavern brawl. Women fell at his feet, charmed by the lure of his strong body and handsome face. It was whispered that he was indefatigable in bed.
One woman in particular had not been able to resist him. She was Helen Kurakin, the beautiful mistress of the colonel of Orlov's regiment, Peter Shuvalov. With consummate audacity Orlov had abducted Helen, risking—at the very least—execution at his powerful colonel's hands. Yet as always, by defying death Orlov defeated it. Before he could take vengeance on Orlov, Shuvalov died, leaving Orlov free to enjoy his lovemaking and greatly enhancing his reputation for fearlessness and invincibility.
Gregory Orlov came to Petersburg in the spring of 1759, in the retinue of an eminent Prussian prisoner of war, Count Schwerin, former adjutant to Emperor Frederick. The count was housed in splendid comfort, and became a frequent guest at the palace, where he spent his time with the grand duke. There Catherine saw Orlov—no doubt having heard of his remarkable war record, as everyone in the capital had, in advance of his arrival.
She was overawed by what she saw. Not only was the magnificent Orlov the bravest man in the war, he was obviously the best looking. So tall he towered over his brother officers, and so strong he could wrestle most of them to the ground, Orlov was an antique hero come to life. No ancient Roman could be more admirable, Catherine thought, than this intrepid guardsman with his dogged courage and bold warlike spirit—not to mention his reputed virility. She was enthralled, and she singled the tall Orlov out for special favor.
Catherine had reached an impasse. Her former political allies, chief among them ex-chancellor Bestuzhev, had been disgraced and exiled. She herself had narrowly escaped arrest, and held on to her status at court only at the empress's whim. Her lover Poniatowski had been sent away, and she knew that it would be unrealistic of her to hope for his return. She was in great need of supporters, yet to recruit or encourage them exposed her to more political danger. And though still attractive, she was no longer young; in the same month that Gregory Orlov arrived in Petersburg, the grand duchess turned thirty, and was, by the standards of the time, well past the prime of her beauty.
Jean Louis Favier, a French informant who saw Catherine often at this time, wrote his impressions of her—impressions based on close observation and shrewd assessment. Favier was no partisan of Catherine's, indeed he was resolutely opposed to the Young Court and inclined to debunk the rather exaggerated praise heaped on the grand duchess by her admirers.
As to her personal attractions, Favier wrote, Catherine was, "to say the least, dazzling." Her waist was slender, but not supple; she walked with a noble carriage yet lacked grace, affecting the grand manner and rather overdoing it. Her breasts were lacking in fullness, and her long, thin face with its faint blemishes, its prominent chin, flat mouth and nose "with a tiny little hump," was also too narrow for real beauty. Her eyes, "alert and pleasant," were not particularly lovely. On the whole Favier concluded that Catherine was "pretty rather than ugly," but without exceptional beauty.
As for her abilities and character, Favier dismissed the "unfounded praise" of others but noted that, because of the enforced isolation
imposed on her throughout her time in Russia, she had become exceptionally well read; her mind, though not brilliant, was well furnished. She had educated herself in the expectation that she would one day need to serve as her husband's chief adviser. "Reading and reflection were for her the sole means to that end," it seemed to Favier. And she had done a creditable job not only of informing herself about many things but of teaching herself to think.
Catherine was nothing if not a speculative thinker; abstract questions and philosophical issues were meat and drink to her curious, lively mind. However, it seemed to the Frenchman that in indulging this pronounced intellectual taste she was making a fundamental error. "Instead of acquiring theoretical and practical knowledge of state administration," he wrote, "she devoted herself to the metaphysics and moral systems of current thinkers." (Apparently Favier was not aware that for some years Catherine had in fact been serving a useful apprenticeship in practical administration, governing Peter's Holstein estates.) From her reading of Montesquieu, Voltaire, and Diderot's Encyclopedic she had acquired lofty ideas about reforming the uneducated, edifying them and teaching them to reason and to think judiciously; she envisioned being able to govern them, not as Russians had traditionally been governed, through fear, brute force and superior strength, but through persuasion and the rigor of impartially administered law.
Catherine had evolved, Favier believed, "a code of political convictions, quite elevated, but unworkable in practice." It would be not only impossible but quite dangerous to try to apply such high-minded concepts to the harsh realities her husband would face—with her help—when he became emperor. The Russians were, after all, a barbarous people, according to Favier, "a rude people devoid of ideas and rich in superstition, lacking cultivation and accustomed only to dumb and fearful enslavement." The barbarity of Russia was immemorial, it would be the height of folly to attempt to teach the Russian people new traditions.