Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed.
No attempt has been made to correct or normalize the spelling of non-English words.
Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the text.
(note of etext transcriber.)
MEMOIRS
OF THE
EMPRESS CATHERINE II.
WRITTEN BY HERSELF.
WITH A PREFACE BY A. HÉRZEN.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
346 & 348 BROADWAY.
M.DCCC.LIX.
PREFACE.
Some hours after the death of the Empress Catherine, her son, the
Emperor Paul, ordered Count Rostoptchine to put the seals upon her
papers. He was himself present at the arrangement of these papers. Among
them was found the celebrated letter of Alexis Orloff,[1] in which, in a
cynical tone and with a drunken hand, he announced to the Empress the
assassination of her husband Peter III. There was also a manuscript,
written entirely by the hand of Catherine herself, and enclosed in a
sealed envelope, bearing this inscription:--"_To his Imperial Highness,
the Cesarewitch and Grand Duke Paul, my beloved son._" Under this
envelope was the manuscript of the Memoirs which we now publish.
The manuscript terminates abruptly towards the close of the year 1759.
It is said that there were with it some detached notes, which would have
served as materials for its continuation. Some persons affirm that Paul
threw these into the fire; but nothing certain is known upon this point.
Paul kept his mother's manuscript a great secret, and never entrusted
it to any one but the friend of his childhood Prince Alexander
Kourakine. The Prince took a copy of it. Some twenty years after the
death of Paul, Alexander Tourgeneff and Prince Michael Worontzoff
obtained copies from the transcript of Kourakine. The Emperor Nicholas
having heard of this, gave orders to the Secret Police to seize all the
copies. Amongst them was one written at Odessa, by the hand of the
celebrated poet Pouschkine. A complete stop was now put to the further
circulation of the Memoirs.
The Emperor Nicholas had the original brought to him by the Count D.
Bloudoff, read it, sealed it with the great seal of state, and ordered
it to be kept in the imperial archives, among the most secret documents.
To these details, which I extract from a notice communicated to me, I
ought to add that the first person who spoke to me on the subject was
Constantine Arsenieff, the preceptor of the present Emperor. He told me,
in 1840, that he had obtained permission to read many secret documents
relative to the events which followed the death of Peter I, up to the
reign of Alexander I. Among these documents, he was authorized to read
the Memoirs of Catherine II. (At that time he was teaching the Modern
History of Russia to the Grand Duke, the heir presumptive.)
During the Crimean war, the archives were transferred to Moscow. In the
month of March, 1855, the present Emperor had the manuscript brought to
him to read. Since that period one or two copies have again circulated
at Moscow and St. Petersburg. It is from one of these that we now
publish the Memoirs. As to their authenticity, there is not the least
room for doubt. Besides, it is only necessary to read two or three pages
of the text to be quite satisfied on the point.
We have abstained from all corrections of the style, in every case in
which it was not evident that the copy presented some fault of
transcription.
Passing to the Memoirs themselves, what do we find?
The early years of Catherine II--of that woman-Emperor, who occupied for
more than a quarter of a century all contemporary minds, from Voltaire
and Frederic II to the Khan of the Crimea and the Chiefs of the
Kirghis--_her young days described by herself!_ ... What is there for
the Editor to add to this?
In reading these pages, we behold her entering on the scene, we see her
forming herself to that which she afterwards became. A frolicsome girl
of fourteen, her head dressed "_à la Moïse_," fair, playful, betrothed
of a little idiot, the Grand Duke, she has already caught the disease of
the Winter Palace--the thirst of dominion. One day, while "perched" with
the Grand Duke upon a window-sill, and joking with him, she saw Count
Lestocq enter: "Pack up your things," he said, "you are off for
Germany." The young idiot seemed but little affected by the threatened
separation. "It was pretty nearly a matter of indifference to me also,"
says the little German girl; "_but the Crown of Russia was not so_,"
adds the Grand Duchess.
Here we have, in the bud, the Catherine of 1762!
To dream of the crown, however, was quite natural in the atmosphere of
that court; natural not only for the betrothed of the Heir Presumptive,
but for every one. The groom Biren, the singer Rasoumowsky, the Prince
Dolgorouky, the plebeian Menchikoff, the oligarch Volynski--every one
was anxious for a shred of the imperial mantle. The crown of Russia,
after Peter I, was a _res nullius_.
Peter I, a terrorist and reformer, before all things, had no respect for
legitimacy. His absolutism sought to reach even beyond the tomb. He gave
himself the right of appointing his successor, and instead of appointing
him, he contented himself with ordering the assassination of his own
son.
After the death of Peter, the nobles assembled for deliberation.
Menchikoff put a stop to all discussion, and proclaimed as empress his
old mistress, the widow of a brave Swedish dragoon, slain upon the field
of battle, the widow of Peter also, to whom Menchikoff had resigned her
"through devotion" to his master.
The reign of Catherine I was short. After her the crown passed from head
to head as chance directed: from the once Livonian tavern-keeper, to a
street-boy (Peter II); from this street-boy who died of small-pox, to
the Duchess of Courland (Anne); from the Duchess of Courland to a
Princess of Mecklenburg (wife of a Prince of Brunswick), who reigned in
the name of an infant in the cradle (Ivan); from this boy, born _too
late_ to reign, the crown passed to the head of a woman born _too
soon_--Elizabeth. She it is who represents legitimacy.
Tradition broken, the people and the state completely separated by the
reforms of Peter I, _coups d'état_ and palace revolutions were the order
of the day; nothing was fixed. The inhabitants of St. Petersburg, when
retiring at night, knew not under whose government they should awake in
the morning; they consequently took but little interest in changes,
which, after all, did not essentially concern any but a few German
intriguers, become Russian ministers, a few great nobles grown gray in
perjury and crime, and the regiment of Preobrajensky, which disposed of
the crown like the Pretorians of old. For all others, everything
remained unchanged. And when I say others, I speak only of the nobles
and officials; for as to the great silent people--that people prostrate,
sad, stupefied, dumb--it was never thought of. The people was beyond the
pale of the law, and passively accepted the terrible trial which God had
sent it, caring little for the spectres which mounted with tottering
steps the ascent to the throne; gliding like shadows, and disappearing
in Siberia, or in the dungeons. The people was sure to be pillaged in
any case. Its social condition therefore was beyond the reach of
accident.
What a strange period! The imperial throne, as we have elsewhere
said,[2] was like the bed of Cleopatra. A crowd of oligarchs, of
strangers, of panders, of minions, led forth nightly an unknown, a
child, a German; placed the puppet on the throne, worshipped it, and, in
its name, gave the knout to all who presumed to question the
arrangement. Scarcely had the chosen one time to become intoxicated with
the delights of an exorbitant and absurd power, and to condemn his
enemies to slavery or torture, when the succeeding wave raised up
another pretender, and the chosen of yesterday, with all his followers,
was ingulphed in the abyss. The ministers and generals of one day, were
the next on their way to Siberia, loaded with chains.
This _bufera infernale_ carried away people with such rapidity, that
there was not time to get accustomed to their faces. Marshal Munich, who
had overturned Biren, rejoined him on a raft, stopped upon the Volga,
himself a prisoner, with chains on his feet. It is in the struggle of
these two Germans, who disputed the empire of Russia as if it had been a
jug of beer, that we may retrace the true type of the _coups d'état_ of
the good old times.
The Empress Anne died, leaving the crown, as we have just said, to a
child only a few months old, under the Regency of her lover Biren. The
Duke of Courland was all-powerful. Despising everything Russian, he
wished to civilize us with the lash. In the hope of strengthening
himself, he destroyed with a cold-blooded cruelty hundreds of men, and
drove into exile more than twenty thousand. Marshal Munich got tired of
this; he was a German as well as Biren, and besides a good soldier. One
day, the Princess of Brunswick, the mother of the little Emperor,
complained to him of the arrogance of Biren. "Have you spoken on this
subject to any one else?" asked the Marshal. "I have not." "Very well,
then; keep silent, and leave everything to me." This was on the 7th of
September, 1740.
On the 8th, Munich dined with Biren. After dinner he left his family
with the Regent, and retired for a moment. Going quietly to the
residence of the Princess of Brunswick, he told her to be prepared for
the night, and then returned. Supper came on. Munich gave anecdotes of
his campaigns, and of the battles he had gained. "Have you made any
nocturnal expeditions?" asked the Count de Loewenhaupt. "I have made
expeditions at all hours," replied the Marshal, with some annoyance. The
Regent, who was indisposed, and was lying on a sofa, sat up at these
words, and became thoughtful.
They parted friends.
Having reached home, Munich ordered his aide-de-camp, Manstein, to be
ready by two o'clock. At that hour they entered a carriage, and drove
straight to the Winter Palace. There he had the Princess awakened. "What
is the matter?" said the good German, Anthony Ulrich, of
Braunschweig-Wolfenbüttel, to his wife. "I am not well," replied the
Princess.--And Anthony Ulrich turned over and slept like a top.
While he slept, the Princess drest herself, and the old warrior
conferred with the most turbulent of the soldiers in the Preobrajensky
regiment. He represented to them the humiliating position of the
Princess, spoke of her future gratitude, and as he spoke, bade them load
their muskets.
Then leaving the Princess under the guard of some _forty_ grenadiers, he
proceeded with _eighty_ others to arrest the chief of the state, the
terrible Duke of Courland.
They traversed without impediment the streets of St. Petersburg; reached
the palace of the Regent; entered it; and Munich sent Manstein to arrest
the Duke in his bed-chamber, living or dead. The officers on duty, the
sentinels, and the servants looked on. "Had there been a single officer
or soldier faithful," says Manstein, in his memoirs, "we were lost." But
there was not one. Biren, perceiving the soldiers, endeavoured to escape
by creeping under the bed. Manstein had him forced out: Biren defended
himself. He received some blows from the butt-ends of their muskets, and
was then conveyed to the guard-house.
The _coup d'état_ was accomplished. But something stranger still was
soon to follow.
Biren was detested; that might explain his fall. The new Regent, on the
contrary--a good and gentle creature, who gave umbrage to no one while
she gave much love to the Ambassador Linar--was even liked a little
from hatred to Biren. A year passed. All was tranquil. But the court of
France was dissatisfied with an Austro-Russian alliance which the Regent
had just concluded with Maria Theresa. How was this alliance to be
prevented? Nothing easier. It was only to make a _coup d'état_, and
expel the Regent. In this case, we have not even a marshal reverenced by
the soldiers, not even a statesman. An intriguing physician, Lestocq,
and an intriguing ambassador, La Chétardie, are sufficient to carry to
the throne, Elizabeth, daughter of Peter I.
Elizabeth, absorbed in pleasures and petty intrigues, little thought of
overturning the government. She was led to believe that the Regent
intended to shut her up in a convent. She, Elizabeth, who spent her time
in the barracks of the guards, and in licentious excesses ... better
make herself Empress! So also thought La Chétardie; and he did more than
think; he gave French gold to hire a handful of soldiers.
On the 25th of November, 1741, the Grand Duchess, dressed in a
magnificent robe, and with a brilliant cuirass on her breast, presented
herself at the guard-house of the Preobrajensky regiment. She exposed to
the soldiers her unhappy condition. They, reeking with wine, cried out,
"Command, mother, command, and we will slaughter them all!" The
charitable Grand Duchess recoils with horror, and _only_ orders the
arrest of the Regent, her husband, and their son--the _baby_-Emperor.
Once again is the old scene repeated.
Anthony Ulrich, of Braunschweig, is awakened from the most profound
slumber; but this time he cannot relapse into it again, for two soldiers
wrap him up in a sheet and carry him to a dungeon, which he will leave
only to go and die in exile.
Again is the _coup d'état_ accomplished.
The new reign seems to go on wheels. And once more nothing is wanting to
this strange crown ... but an heir. The Empress who will have nothing to
do with the little Ivan, seeks one in the Episcopal palace of the
Prince-Bishop of Lubeck. It is the nephew of the Bishop whom she
selects, a grandson of Peter I, an orphan without father or mother, and
the intended husband of the little Sophia Augusta Frederica, Princess of
Anhalt-Zerbst-Bernburg, who resigned all these sonorous and illustrious
titles to be called simply ... _Catherine II_.
And now, after all that has been said, let the reader picture to himself
what must have been the nature of the medium into which destiny had cast
this young girl, gifted, as she was, not only with great talent, but
also with a character pliant, though full of pride and passion.
Her position at St. Petersburg was horrible. On one side was her mother,
a peevish, scolding, greedy, niggardly, pedantic German, boxing her
ears, and taking away her new dresses to appropriate them to her own
use; on the other, the Empress Elizabeth, a coarse and grumbling
virago, never quite sober, jealous, envious, causing every step of the
young Princess to be watched, every word reported, taking offence at
everything, and all this after having given her for a husband the most
ridiculous Benedict of the age.
A prisoner in the palace, she could do nothing without permission. If
she wept for the death of her father, the Empress sent her word that she
had grieved enough. "That her father was not a king, that she should
mourn him longer than a week." If she evinced a friendship for any of
her maids of honour, she might be sure the lady would be dismissed. If
she became attached to a faithful servant, still more certain was it
that that servant would be turned away.
Her relations with the Grand Duke were monstrous, degrading. He made her
the confidante of his amorous intrigues. Drunk from the age of ten, he
came one night in liquor to entertain his wife with a description of the
graces and charms of the daughter of Biren; and as Catherine pretended
to be asleep, he gave her a punch with his fist to awaken her. This
booby kept a kennel of dogs, which infested the air, at the side of his
wife's bed-chamber, and hung rats in his own, to punish them according
to the rules of martial law.
Nor is this all. After having wounded and outraged nearly every feeling
of this young creature's nature, they began to deprave her
systematically. The Empress regards as a breach of order her having no
children. Madame Tchoglokoff speaks to her on the subject, insinuating
that, _for the good of the state_, she ought to sacrifice her scruples,
and concludes by proposing to her a choice between Soltikoff and
Narichkine. The young lady affects simplicity and takes both--nay,
Poniatowsky into the bargain, and thus was commenced a career of
licentiousness in which she never halted during the space of forty
years.
What renders the present publication of serious consequence to the
imperial house of Russia is, that it proves not only that this house
does not belong to the family of Romanoff, but that it does not even
belong to that of Holstein Gottorp. The avowal of Catherine on this
point is very explicit--_the father of the Emperor Paul is Sergius
Soltikoff_.
The Imperial Dictatorship of Russia endeavours in vain to represent
itself as traditional and secular.
One word before I close.
In perusing these Memoirs, the reader is astonished to find one thing
constantly lost sight of, even to the extent of not appearing
anywhere--it is _Russia and the People_. And here is the characteristic
trait of the epoch.
The Winter Palace, with its military and administrative machinery, was a
world of its own. Like a ship floating on the surface of the ocean, it
had no real connection with the inhabitants of the deep, beyond that of
eating them. It was the _State for the State_. Organized on the German
model, it imposed itself on the nation as a conqueror. In that monstrous
barrack, in that enormous chancery, there reigned the cold rigidity of
a camp. One set gave or transmitted orders, the rest obeyed in silence.
There was but one single spot within that dreary pile in which human
passions reappeared, agitated and stormy, and that spot was the domestic
hearth; not that of the nation--but of the state. Behind that triple
line of sentinels, in those heavily ornamented saloons, there fermented
a feverish life, with its intrigues and its conflicts, its dramas and
its tragedies. It was there that the destinies of Russia were woven, in
the gloom of the alcove, in the midst of orgies, _beyond_ the reach of
informers and of the police.
What interest, then, could the young German Princess take in that
_magnum ignotum_, that people _unexpressed_, poor, semi-barbarous, which
concealed itself in its villages, behind the snow, behind bad roads, and
only appeared in the streets of St. Petersburg like a foreign outcast,
with its persecuted beard, and prohibited dress--tolerated only through
contempt.
It was only long afterwards that Catherine heard the Russian people
seriously spoken of, when the Cossack Pougatcheff, at the head of an
army of insurgent peasants, menaced Moscow.
When Pougatcheff was vanquished, the Winter Palace again forgot the
people. And there is no telling when it would have been again remembered
had it not itself put its masters in mind of its existence, by rising in
mass in 1812, rejecting, on the one hand, the release from serfdom
offered to it at the point of foreign bayonets, and, on the other,
marching to death to save a country which gave it nothing but slavery,
degradation, misery--and the oblivion of the Winter Palace.
This was the second _memento_ of the Russian people. Let us hope that at
the third it will be remembered a little longer.
A. HERZEN.
LONDON, _November 15th, 1858_.
MEMOIRS
OF THE
EMPRESS CATHERINE II.
WRITTEN BY HERSELF.
PART I.
FROM 1729, THE YEAR OF HER BIRTH, TO 1751.
Fortune is not so blind as people think. Her movements are often the
result of precise and well-planned measures, which escape the perception
of common minds; still oftener are they the result of personal
qualities, character, and conduct.
To render this more evident, I will propose the following syllogism:
Qualities and character shall form the major
Conduct, the minor;
Good or evil fortune, the conclusion.
Here are two striking illustrations:
PETER III.
CATHERINE II.
PETER III, HIS FATHER AND MOTHER.
The mother of Peter III was a daughter of Peter I. Two months after the
birth of her son she died of consumption, in the little town of Kiel, in
Holstein, a victim to grief at finding herself established in such a
place and married so badly. Charles Frederic, Duke of Holstein, nephew
of Charles XII, King of Sweden, was the father of Peter III. He was a
weak prince, ugly, little, sickly, and poor (see the Journal of
Berkholz, in Busching's Magazine). He died in 1739, leaving his son, not
quite eleven years old, under the guardianship of his cousin, Adolphus
Frederic, Bishop of Lubeck and Duke of Holstein, since elected King of
Sweden, in consequence of the peace of Abo, and the recommendation of
the Empress Elizabeth. The education of Peter III was placed under the
superintendence of the Grand Marshal of his Court, Brummer, a Swede by
birth, under whom were the Great Chamberlain Berkholz, author of the
journal just alluded to, and four chamberlains, two of whom, Adlerfeldt,
author of a history of Charles XII, and Wachmeister, were Swedes, and
the other two, Wolff and Madfeldt, natives of Holstein. The Prince was
educated for the throne of Sweden, in a court too large for the country
which contained it; and this court was divided into several factions
mutually hating each other, each seeking to obtain an ascendancy over
the mind of the Prince, instead of endeavouring to form his character,
and all bent upon inspiring him with an aversion for those opposed to
them. The young Prince cordially hated Brummer; nor did he like any of
his attendants, because they kept him under restraint.
Even from the ago of ten, Peter III showed a fondness for drink. He had
to submit to numerous presentations, and was never out of sight night or
day. The persons he most liked during his childhood and the first years
of his residence in Russia were two old valets de chambre--Cramer, a
Livonian, and Roumberg, a Swede. The latter was the favourite; he was a
somewhat rough and vulgar person, who had been a dragoon under Charles
XII. Brummer, and consequently Berkholz, who only saw with the eyes of
Brummer, was attached to the Prince Guardian and Administrator; all the
rest were dissatisfied with this Prince, and still more so with his
adherents.
When the Empress Elizabeth ascended the throne of Russia, she sent the
Chamberlain Korf into Holstein to demand her nephew. In consequence, the
Prince Administrator immediately sent him off, accompanied by the Grand
Marshal Brummer, the Chamberlain Berkholz, and the Chamberlain Decken,
nephew of the former. The Empress received the Prince with great joy,
and soon after his arrival set out for Moscow to be crowned. She had
determined to declare him her heir; but, first of all, it was
indispensable that he should be received into the Greek church. The
enemies of the Grand Marshal Brummer, and particularly the Great
Chamberlain Count Bestoujeff and the Count M. Panin, who was for a long
time Russian minister in Sweden, pretended to have in their possession
convincing proofs that Brummer, from the moment he found the Empress
determined to declare her nephew heir presumptive to her throne, took as
much pains to corrupt the mind and heart of his pupil as he had before
taken to render him worthy of the crown of Sweden. But I have always
doubted this atrocity, and looked upon the education of Peter III as a
conflict of unfortunate circumstances. I will relate what I have seen
and heard, and even that will explain a great deal.
I saw Peter III for the first time when he was eleven years old. He was
then at Eutin with his guardian, the Prince Bishop of Lubeck, some
months after the death of his father, the Duke Charles Frederic. The
Prince Bishop had assembled all his family at Eutin, in 1739, in order
to meet his ward. My grandmother, mother of the Prince Bishop, and my
mother, his sister, had come from Hamburg with me. I was then ten years
old. Prince Augustus and the Princess Anne, brother and sister of the
Prince Guardian and Administrator of Holstein, were also there; and it
was then I heard it stated, in the presence of the assembled family,
that the young Duke was inclined to drink, his attendants finding it
difficult to prevent him from getting intoxicated at table; that he was
restive and impetuous; without affection for those about him, and
especially disliking Brummer; that, otherwise, he was not wanting in
vivacity, but that he was of a weak and sickly constitution. In point of
fact, his complexion was pale, and he appeared thin and delicate. To
this child his attendants wished to give the appearance of a complete
man; and for this purpose he was tormented with restraints only
calculated to teach him falsehood as well in character as in deportment.
The little court of Holstein had not long been settled in Russia when an
embassy arrived from Sweden, requesting the Empress to allow her nephew
to be placed on the throne of that kingdom. Elizabeth, however, had
already announced her intentions by the preliminaries of the peace of
Abo, as previously mentioned; and she replied to the Swedish diet that
she had declared her nephew heir to the throne of Russia, and that she
adhered to the preliminaries of the peace of Abo, which gave to Sweden,
as heir presumptive to the crown, the Prince Administrator of Holstein.
(This Prince had had an elder brother, to whom the Empress had been
affianced at the death of Peter I. The marriage had not taken place, as
the Prince died of small-pox a few weeks after the betrothal; but the
Empress retained much affection for his memory, as she showed by many
marks of favour to all the family.)
Peter III, then, was declared heir to Elizabeth and Grand Duke of
Russia, after having previously made his profession of faith according
to the rites of the Greek church. His instructor on this occasion was
Simon Theodorsky, since Archbishop of Pleskov. The Prince had been
baptized and brought up in the Lutheran creed in its most rigid and
least tolerant form. He had always been refractory under instruction of
every kind; and I have heard his attendants say that, while at Kiel,
they had infinite trouble in getting him to church on Sundays and
holidays, and making him perform the acts of devotion required of him;
and that most of the time he displayed his irreligion in the presence of
Simon Theodorsky. His Royal Highness took it into his head to dispute
upon every point, and his attendants had often to be called in to check
his ill-humour or impetuosity. At last, after giving a deal of trouble,
he submitted to the wishes of his aunt the Empress; though, whether from
prejudice, habit, or the spirit of contradiction, he frequently took
care to let it be seen that he would rather have gone to Sweden than
remain in Russia. He retained Brummer, Berkholz, and his Holstein
attendants until his marriage. Some other masters were added to these as
a matter of routine: Mr. Isaac Wesselowsky for the Russian language; he
came but rarely at first, and finally not at all; the other was the
Professor Stehlein, who was to teach him mathematics and history, but
who, in reality, only played with him, and served him as a buffoon. The
person who was most assiduous was the ballet-master, Laudé, who taught
him dancing.
1744.
At first, the sole occupation of the Grand Duke, when in his private
apartment, was to make the two servants who attended him there to go
through the military exercise. He gave them titles and ranks, and then
again degraded them, according to the whim of the moment. It was truly
child's play, and a constant childhood. In general, indeed, he was very
childish, although at this time he was sixteen. In 1744, while the court
was at Moscow, Catherine II arrived there with her mother, on the 9th of
February.
The Russian court was at that time divided into two great sections or
parties. At the head of the first, which now began to recover from its
previous depression, was the Vice-Chancellor Count Bestoujeff Rumine. He
was a man far more feared than loved, excessively intriguing and
suspicious, firm and resolute in his principles, not a little
tyrannical, an implacable enemy, but a steady friend, never abandoning
those who did not first turn their backs on him. He was, besides,
difficult to get along with, and apt to stand upon trifles. He was at
the head of the department of foreign affairs. Having to contend with
those immediately about the Empress, he had been kept down before the
journey to Moscow; but now he began to gain an ascendancy. He leaned to
the court of Vienna, to that of Saxony, and to England. The arrival of
Catherine II and her mother gave him no pleasure; it was the secret
work of the faction opposed to him. The enemies of the Count were
numerous, but he made them all tremble. He had over them the advantage
of his position and character, which gave him great weight in the
politics of the ante-chamber.
The party opposed to Bestoujeff were in favour of France, her protégée
Sweden, and the king of Prussia. The Marquis de la Chétardie was the
soul of this party; the courtiers from Holstein its prominent
personages. They had gained over Lestocq, one of the principal actors in
the revolution which had placed Elizabeth on the throne of Russia. He
had a large share in her confidence. He had been her surgeon since the
death of the Empress Catherine I, to whose household he had also been
attached, and had rendered essential services to both mother and
daughter. He was not wanting either in shrewdness, skill, or intrigue;
but he was malicious, and had a bad heart. All these strangers supported
him, and put forward Count Michael Woronzoff, who had also taken part in
the revolution, and had accompanied Elizabeth on the night she ascended
the throne. She had made him marry the niece of the Empress Catherine I,
the Countess Anna Karlovna Skavronsky, who had been brought up with
herself, and was very much attached to her. To this faction also
belonged the Count Alexander Roumianzoff, father of the Marshal, who had
signed the peace of Abo with Sweden--a peace in which Bestoujeff had
been but little consulted. The party also counted upon the
Procurator-general Troubetzkoy, upon the whole Troubetzkoy family, and,
consequently, upon the Prince of Hesse-Homburg, who had married a
princess of this family. The Prince of Hesse-Homburg, who was much
thought of at that time, was personally of little consequence, his
importance being wholly derived from the extensive family to which his
wife belonged, and of which the father and mother were still living: the
latter enjoyed great consideration.
The remaining portion of those who were about the Empress consisted at
that time of the family of Schouvaloff. These balanced in all respects
the Master of the Hounds, Razoumowsky, who, for the moment, was the
acknowledged favourite.
Count Bestoujeff knew how to make these latter useful, but his chief
reliance was on the Baron Tcherkassoff, Secretary of the Cabinet to the
Empress, and who had previously served in the cabinet of Peter I. He was
a rough and headstrong man, an advocate of order and justice, and one
who wished to see everything in due form and system. The remainder of
the court took sides with one or other of these parties, according to
their several interests or personal feelings.
The arrival of my mother and myself seemed to give the Grand Duke much
pleasure. I was then in my fifteenth year. During the first few days he
showed me great attention. Even then, and in that short time, I could
see that he cared but little for the nation over which he was destined
to rule; that he leaned to Lutheranism; that he had no affection for
those about him; and that he was very childish. I was silent, and
listened, and this gained me his confidence. I remember his telling me,
among other things, that what most pleased him in me was, that I was his
cousin, as he could therefore, from our near relationship, open his
heart to me with entire confidence; and hereupon he went on to inform me
that he was in love with one of the maids of honour to the Empress, who
had been dismissed from court in consequence of the misfortune of her
mother, a Madame Lapoukine, who had been exiled to Siberia; that he
would have been very glad to have married her, but that he was resigned
to marry me instead, as his aunt wished it. I listened with a blush to
these family disclosures, thanking him for his premature confidence;
but, in reality, I was astounded at his imprudence and utter want of
judgment in a variety of matters.
The tenth day after my arrival in Moscow, it was Saturday, the Empress
went to the convent of Troïtza. The Grand Duke remained with us at
Moscow. Three masters had already been assigned me: Simon Theodorsky, to
instruct me in the Greek faith; Basil Adadouroff, for the Russian
language; and the ballet-master, Laudé, for dancing. In order to make
greater progress in the Russian, I used to sit up in bed when every one
else was asleep, and learned by heart the lessons which Adadouroff had
left me. As my room was warm, and I had no experience of the climate, I
neglected to put on my shoes or stockings, but studied just as I left my
bed. The consequence was, that from the fifteenth day I was seized with
a pleurisy which threatened to kill me. It commenced with a shivering,
which seized me on the Tuesday after the departure of the Empress for
the convent of Troïtza, just as I had dressed for dinner. My mother and
myself were to dine that day with the Grand Duke, and I had much
difficulty in getting her to allow me to go to bed. On her return from
dinner, she found me almost without consciousness, in a burning fever,
and with an excruciating pain in the side. She fancied I was going to
have the small-pox; sent for the physicians, and wished me to be treated
in consequence. The medical men insisted on my being bled, but she would
not listen to the proposal, saying that it was from being bled that her
brother had died of the small-pox in Russia, and that she did not wish
me to share the same fate. The physicians, and the attendants of the
Grand Duke, who had not had the disease, sent to the Empress an exact
report of the state of matters, and in the mean time, while my mother
and the doctors were disputing, I lay in my bed, unconscious, in a
burning fever, and with a pain in the side which occasioned intense
suffering, and forced from me continual moanings, for which my mother
scolded me, telling me that I ought to bear my sufferings patiently.
Finally, on the Saturday evening, at seven o'clock, that is, on the
fifth day of my disease, the Empress returned from the convent at
Troïtza, and, on alighting from her carriage, proceeded to my room, and
found me without consciousness. She had with her Count Lestocq and a
surgeon, and having heard the opinion of the physicians, she sat down at
the head of my bed, and ordered me to be bled. The moment the blood
came, I recovered my consciousness, and, opening my eyes, found myself
in the arms of the Empress, who had lifted me up. For twenty-seven days
I lay between life and death, and during that period I was bled sixteen
times, on some occasions as often as four times in the day. My mother
was scarcely ever allowed to enter my room. She continued opposed to
these frequent bleedings, and loudly asserted that the doctors were
killing me. She began, however, to believe that I should not have the
small-pox. The Empress had placed the Countess Roumianzoff and several
other ladies in attendance on me, and it seemed that my mother's
judgment was distrusted. At last, under the care of the physician
Sanches, a Portuguese, the abscess which had formed in my right side
burst. I vomited it, and from that moment I began to recover. I soon
perceived that my mother's conduct during my illness had lowered her in
every one's estimation. When she saw me very bad, she wished a Lutheran
clergyman to be brought to me. I have been told that they brought me to
myself, or took advantage of a moment of returning consciousness, to
propose this to me, and that I replied, "What is the good? I would
rather have Simon Theodorsky; I will speak to him with pleasure." He was
brought, and addressed me in a manner that gave general satisfaction.
This occurrence did me great service in the opinion of the Empress and
of the entire court. There was also another circumstance which injured
my mother. One day, towards Easter, she took it into her head to send me
word by a maid-servant that she wished me to give up to her a piece of
blue and silver stuff, which my father's brother had presented to me on
my departure for Russia, seeing that I had taken a great fancy for it. I
replied that she could, of course, take it, though I certainly prized it
very much, as my uncle had given it to me because I liked it so much.
The persons about me perceiving that I parted with it unwillingly, and
considering how long I had hovered between life and death, having only
got a little better within the last two or three days, began to complain
of my mother's imprudence in giving any annoyance to a dying child,
saying, that so far from depriving me of my dress, she ought not even to
have mentioned the matter. The circumstance was related to the Empress,
who instantly sent me several superb pieces of stuff, and among them one
of blue and silver, but the circumstance injured my mother in the
estimation of the Empress. She was accused of having no affection for
me, nor any discretion either. I had accustomed myself during my illness
to lie with my eyes closed. I was supposed to be asleep, and then the
Countess Roumianzoff, and the ladies who were with her, spoke their
minds freely, and I thus learned a great many things.
As I began to get better, the Grand Duke often came to spend the evening
in my mother's apartment, which was also mine. He and every one else
seemed to take the greatest interest in my condition. The Empress had
often shed tears about me. At last, on the 21st of April, 1744, my
birthday, whence commenced my fifteenth year, I was able to appear in
public for the first time after this severe illness.
I fancy that people were not much edified with the apparition. I was
wasted away to a skeleton. I had grown; but my face and features had
lengthened, my hair had fallen off, and I was deadly pale. To myself I
looked frightfully ugly; I could not recognize myself. The Empress sent
me, on the occasion, a pot of rouge, and ordered me to use it.
With the return of spring and fine weather, the assiduities of the Grand
Duke ceased. He preferred walking and shooting in the environs of
Moscow. Sometimes, however, he came to dine or sup with us, and then he
continued his childish confidences to me, while his attendants conversed
with my mother, who received much company, and with whom many
conferences took place, which did not fail to displease those who were
not present at them, especially Count Bestoujeff, all whose enemies were
in the habit of assembling with us, and particularly the Marquis de la
Chétardie, who had not yet put forth any character[3] from the court of
France, though he carried in his pocket his credentials as ambassador.
In the month of May, the Empress again visited the convent of Troïtza,
whither the Grand Duke, myself, and my mother followed her. For some
time the Empress had begun to treat my mother with much coldness. At the
convent of Troïtza, the reason for this became apparent. One afternoon,
when the Grand Duke was in our room, the Empress entered suddenly, and
desired my mother to follow her into the other apartment. Count Lestocq
followed there also. The Grand Duke and I sat upon a window-sill,
waiting. The conversation lasted a long time. At last, Count Lestocq
came out, and, in passing, came near the place where the Grand Duke and
I were sitting laughing, and said to us, "This merriment will soon
cease." And then, turning to me, he added, "You may pack up: you are
going to set off home at once." The Grand Duke wished to know the reason
of this. "You will learn afterwards," was the reply of the Count, who
departed to fulfil the commission with which he was charged, and of the
nature of which I was ignorant. The Grand Duke and myself were left to
ruminate on what we had heard. His commentaries were in words; mine in
thoughts. "But," he said, "if your mother is in fault, you are not." I
answered, "My duty is to follow my mother, and do what she orders me." I
saw plainly that he would have parted from me without regret. As for
myself, considering his character and sentiments, the matter was nearly
indifferent to me also, but the crown of Russia was not so. At last the
door of the bed-room opened, and the Empress came out with a flushed
face and an angry look. My mother followed her, her eyes red, and filled
with tears. As we scrambled down from the window where we were perched,
and which was rather high, the Empress smiled. She then kissed us both,
and departed. When she had gone, we learned pretty nearly how matters
stood.
The Marquis de la Chétardie, who formerly, or, to speak more correctly,
in his first diplomatic journey to Russia, had stood very high in the
favour and confidence of the Empress, found himself, in his second
journey, fallen from his hopes. His conversations were more measured
than his letters; these were filled with the most rancorous bitterness.
They had been opened, deciphered. In them were found the details of his
conversations with my mother, and with many other persons, relative to
the affairs of the empire, and to the Empress herself; and as the
Marquis had not displayed any character,[4] the order was given for
expelling him from the empire. The badge of the order of St. Andrew and
the portrait of the Empress were taken from him; but he was allowed to
retain all the other presents of jewels made him by her Majesty. I do
not know whether my mother succeeded in justifying herself in the mind
of the Empress, but at all events, we did not go away. However, my
mother continued to be treated with much reserve and coldness. I do not
know what passed between her and La Chétardie, but I know that one day
he complimented me on my having my hair arranged _en Moyse_. I replied
that to satisfy the Empress, I would dress my hair in every style that
could give her pleasure. When he heard this he turned on his heel, went
off in another direction, and did not again speak to me.
On our return from Moscow with the Grand Duke, my mother and I were more
isolated. Fewer people came to see us, and I was being prepared for
making my profession of faith. The 28th of June was fixed for this
ceremony, and the following day, the Feast of St. Peter, for my
betrothal with the Grand Duke. I remember that Marshal Brummer, several
times during this period, complained to me of his pupil, and wished to
make use of me for correcting or reproving him; but I told him it was
impossible for me to do so, and that were I to attempt it I should only
render myself as odious to him as his attendants were already.
During this period, my mother became very intimate with the Prince and
Princess of Hesse, and still more so with the brother of the latter, the
Chamberlain Retsky. This connection displeased the Countess Roumianzoff,
Marshal Brummer, and, in fact, every one; and, while she was engaged
with them in her room, the Grand Duke and I were making a racket in the
ante-chamber, of which we were in full possession; we were neither of us
wanting in youthful vivacity.
In the month of July, the Empress celebrated, at Moscow, the peace with
Sweden. On this occasion, a Court was formed for me, as an affianced
Grand Duchess of Russia; and, immediately after the celebration, the
Empress sent us off for Kiev. She set out herself some days later. We
made short stages--my mother and I, the Countess Roumianzoff, and one of
the ladies of my mother's suite in one carriage; the Grand Duke,
Brummer, Berkholz, and Decken in another. One afternoon, the Grand Duke,
tired of being with his pedagogues, wished to join my mother and me.
Once in with us, he would not leave our carriage. Then my mother,
wearied with being always with him and me, took a fancy to augment our
company. She communicated her idea to the young people of our suite,
among whom were Prince Galitzine, since Marshal of this name, and Count
Zachar Czernicheff. One of the carriages, containing our beds, was
taken, benches were ranged all round it, and the next morning the Grand
Duke, my mother and I, Prince Galitzine, Count Czernicheff, and one or
two more of the youngest of the suite, entered it. And thus we passed
the rest of our journey very gaily, as far as our carriage life was
concerned; but all who were not with us protested against the
arrangement. It extremely displeased the Grand Marshal Brummer, the
Great Chamberlain Berkholz, the Countess Roumianzoff, the
Lady-in-waiting on my mother, and, in fact, all the rest of the suite,
because they were never admitted; and, while we laughed through the
journey, they were grumbling and wearied.
In this manner we reached Koselsk, at the end of three weeks, and there
remained three other weeks waiting for the Empress, who had been delayed
on her route by several occurrences. We learnt at Koselsk that during
her journey several persons of her suite had been sent into exile, and
that she was in very bad humour. At last, about the middle of August,
she reached Koselsk, and we remained there with her till the end of the
month. While there, the people played at faro from morning till night,
in a large hall in the centre of the house, and they played high. We
were all much cramped in point of space. My mother and I slept in the
same room, the Countess Roumianzoff and the Lady-in-waiting on my mother
in the ante-chamber, and so on with the others. One day, when the Grand
Duke came into our room, my mother was writing, while her casket lay
open at her side. The Duke, from curiosity, wanted to rummage in the
casket; my mother told him not to touch it; and, in point of fact, he
moved away and went capering about the place. But while leaping here
and there in order to make me laugh, he caught the lid of the casket and
upset it. Then my mother got angry, and hard words passed between them.
She accused him of having upset the casket on purpose; he denied this,
and complained of her injustice. Both appealed to me. Knowing my
mother's temper, I was afraid of getting my ears boxed if I did not side
with her; and, on the other hand, I did not wish to tell a falsehood or
displease the Grand Duke, so that I was between two fires. However, I
told my mother that I did not think the Duke had done it intentionally,
but that, while leaping, his dress had caught the lid of the casket,
which stood on a very small stool. Then my mother took me in hand, for
when she was angry she must have some one to find fault with. I was
silent and began to cry. The Grand Duke finding that all my mother's
anger fell upon me, because I had testified in his favour, and seeing me
in tears, accused her of injustice and of being mad with passion; to
which she retorted by calling him a very ill-behaved little boy. In a
word, it would have been difficult to go farther than they did without
actually coming to blows. From this moment the Grand Duke took a dislike
to my mother; nor did he ever forget this quarrel. She, on the other
hand, retained a grudge against him, and their behaviour to each other
tended to produce restraint, distrust, and bitterness. They seldom
concealed their feelings when with me, and it was in vain that I sought
to soften them towards each other. I never succeeded beyond the moment,
and that but rarely. They had always some sarcasm ready for annoyance,
and my situation became every day more painful. I tried to obey the one
and please the other; and, indeed, at that time the Grand Duke gave me
his confidence more completely than he did to any one else; for he saw
that my mother often took me to task, when she was unable to fasten upon
him. This, of course, did me no harm in his estimation, for he felt that
he could count upon me.
Finally, on the 29th of August we reached Kiev. We remained there ten
days, and then set out for Moscow, travelling in precisely the same
manner as before.