The Empress's petit lever. The central doors are closed. Those who
enter through them find on their left, on a dais of two broad steps, a
magnificent curtained bed. Beyond it a door in the panelling leads to
the Empress's cabinet. Near the foot of the bed, in the middle of
the room, stands a gilt chair, with the Imperial arms carved and the
Imperial monogram embroidered.
The Court is in attendance, standing in two melancholy rows down the
side of the room opposite to the bed, solemn, bored, waiting for the
Empress to awaken. The Princess Dashkoff, with two ladies, stands
a little in front of the line of courtiers, by the Imperial chair.
Silence, broken only by the yawns and whispers of the courtiers.
Naryshkin, the Chamberlain, stands by the head of the bed.
A loud yawn is heard from behind the curtains.
NARYSHKIN [holding up a warning hand]. Ssh!
The courtiers hastily cease whispering: dress up their lines: and
stiffen. Dead silence. A bell tinkles within the curtains. Naryshkin and
the Princess solemnly draw them and reveal the Empress.
Catherine turns over on her back, and stretches herself.
CATHERINE [yawning]. Heigho--ah--yah--ah--ow--what o'clock is it? [Her
accent is German.]
NARYSHKIN [formally]. Her Imperial Majesty is awake. [The Court falls on
its knees.]
ALL. Good morning to your Majesty.
NARYSHKIN. Half-past ten, Little Mother.
CATHERINE [sitting up abruptly]. Potztausend! [Contemplating the
kneeling courtiers.] Oh, get up, get up. [All rise.] Your etiquette
bores me. I am hardly awake in the morning before it begins. [Yawning
again, and relapsing sleepily against her pillows.] Why do they do it,
Naryshkin?
NARYSHKIN. God knows it is not for your sake, Little Mother. But you see
if you were not a great queen they would all be nobodies.
CATHERINE [sitting up]. They make me do it to keep up their own little
dignities? So?
NARYSHKIN. Exactly. Also because if they didn't you might have them
flogged, dear Little Mother.
CATHERINE [springing energetically out of bed and seating herself on
the edge of it]. Flogged! I! A Liberal Empress! A philosopher! You are a
barbarian, Naryshkin. [She rises and turns to the courtiers.] And then,
as if I cared! [She turns again to Naryshkin.] You should know by this
time that I am frank and original in character, like an Englishman. [She
walks about restlessly.] No: what maddens me about all this ceremony
is that I am the only person in Russia who gets no fun out of my being
Empress. You all glory in me: you bask in my smiles: you get titles and
honors and favors from me: you are dazzled by my crown and my robes: you
feel splendid when you have been admitted to my presence; and when I
say a gracious word to you, you talk about it to everyone you meet for
a week afterwards. But what do I get out of it? Nothing. [She throws
herself into the chair. Naryshkin deprecates with a gesture; she hurls
an emphatic repetition at him.] Nothing!! I wear a crown until my neck
aches: I stand looking majestic until I am ready to drop: I have to
smile at ugly old ambassadors and frown and turn my back on young and
handsome ones. Nobody gives me anything. When I was only an Archduchess,
the English ambassador used to give me money whenever I wanted it--or
rather whenever he wanted to get anything out of my sacred predecessor
Elizabeth [the Court bows to the ground]; but now that I am Empress
he never gives me a kopek. When I have headaches and colics I envy the
scullerymaids. And you are not a bit grateful to me for all my care of
you, my work, my thought, my fatigue, my sufferings.
THE PRINCESS DASHKOFF. God knows, Little Mother, we all implore you
to give your wonderful brain a rest. That is why you get headaches.
Monsieur Voltaire also has headaches. His brain is just like yours.
CATHERINE. Dashkoff, what a liar you are! [Dashkoff curtsies with
impressive dignity.] And you think you are flattering me! Let me tell
you I would not give a rouble to have the brains of all the philosophers
in France. What is our business for today?
NARYSHKIN. The new museum, Little Mother. But the model will not be
ready until tonight.
CATHERINE [rising eagerly]. Yes, the museum. An enlightened capital
should have a museum. [She paces the chamber with a deep sense of the
importance of the museum.] It shall be one of the wonders of the world.
I must have specimens: specimens, specimens, specimens.
NARYSHKIN. You are in high spirits this morning, Little Mother.
CATHERINE [with sudden levity.] I am always in high spirits, even when
people do not bring me my slippers. [She runs to the chair and sits
down, thrusting her feet out.]
The two ladies rush to her feet, each carrying a slipper. Catherine,
about to put her feet into them, is checked by a disturbance in the
antechamber.
PATIOMKIN [carrying Edstaston through the antechamber]. Useless to
struggle. Come along, beautiful baby darling. Come to Little Mother. [He
sings.]
March him baby, Baby, baby, Lit-tle ba-by bumpkins.
VARINKA [joining in to the same doggerel in canon, a third above]. March
him, baby, etc., etc.
EDSTASTON [trying to make himself heard]. No, no. This is carrying a
joke too far. I must insist. Let me down! Hang it, will you let me
down! Confound it! No, no. Stop playing the fool, will you? We don't
understand this sort of thing in England. I shall be disgraced. Let me
down.
CATHERINE [meanwhile]. What a horrible noise! Naryshkin, see what it is.
Naryshkin goes to the door.
CATHERINE [listening]. That is Prince Patiomkin.
NARYSHKIN [calling from the door]. Little Mother, a stranger.
Catherine plunges into bed again and covers herself up. Patiomkin,
followed by Varinka, carries Edstaston in: dumps him down on the foot
of the bed: and staggers past it to the cabinet door. Varinka joins
the courtiers at the opposite side of the room. Catherine, blazing with
wrath, pushes Edstaston off her bed on to the floor: gets out of bed:
and turns on Patiomkin with so terrible an expression that all kneel
down hastily except Edstaston, who is sprawling on the carpet in angry
confusion.
CATHERINE. Patiomkin, how dare you? [Looking at Edstaston.] What is
this?
PATIOMKIN [on his knees, tearfully]. I don't know. I am drunk. What is
this, Varinka?