THE EMPEROR PAUL
ACCESSION OF THE EMPEROR PAUL -- HIS ARBITRARY RULE -- HIS
CIVILITY TO THE AUTHORESS -- A MAN WHO DID NOT KNOW THE EMPEROR'S
ADDRESS -- PAUL'S KINDNESS TO FOREIGNERS -- HIS FEAR OF
ASSASSINATION -- HIS PERSONAL APPEARANCE -- THE EMPRESS MARIA --
VAGARIES OF A HALF-MAD EMPEROR -- A NOBLE PRELATE.
The Emperor Paul, born October 1, 1754, ascended the throne on the
12th of December, 1796. What I have related touching Catherine's
funeral is sufficient proof that the new Emperor did not share the
national sorrow; it is well known, besides, that he bestowed the order
of St. Andrew upon Nicholas Zuboff, who brought him the news of his
mother's death. Paul was clever, well-informed and energetic, but his
whims bordered on insanity. In this unhappy Prince generous emotions
were often followed by outbreaks of ferocity; approval or anger,
favour or resentment, were with him altogether a matter of caprice.
One night I was at a court ball; every one except the Emperor was
masked, both men and women wearing black dominos. One of the doorways
between two rooms became crowded, and a young man in haste to pass
elbowed a woman, who began to scream. Paul at once turned to one of
his adjutants, saying, "Take that gentleman to the fortress, and come
back to tell me that he is safe under lock and key." The adjutant soon
came back to tell the Emperor that he had executed his order; "but,"
he went on, "Your Majesty must know that the young man is very
short-sighted. Here is the proof." And he produced the prisoner's
eye-glasses, which he had brought with him. Paul, after trying the
eye-glasses, was convinced, and said with feeling: "Go for him quickly
and take him to his parents; I shall not go to bed until you have come
back with the information that he is at home again."
The least infraction of Paul's commands was punished with exile to
Siberia, or at least with imprisonment, so that, unable to foresee how
far lunacy and arbitrariness combined would go, one lived in a state
of perpetual fear. It soon came to one's not daring to invite company
to one's house. If one would see a few friends, one was very careful
to close the shutters, and when a ball was given it was agreed that
the carriages should be sent home so as to attract less attention.
Everybody's words and actions were watched to such an extent that I
heard it said there was no social circle without a spy. Allusion to
the Emperor was usually abstained from altogether. I remember how one
day, joining a very small gathering, a lady who did not know me and
who had just ventured upon this subject, cut her words short when she
saw me coming into the room. Countess Golovin was obliged to tell her
that she might continue. "You may speak without fear," she said; "it
is Mme. Lebrun." All this seemed extremely burdensome after living
under Catherine, who allowed every one to enjoy entire liberty
without, however, using the word.
It would take a long time to recount to what futilities Paul practised
his tyranny. He ordered, for instance, that every one should make
obeisance to his palace, even when he was absent. He forbade the
wearing of round hats, which he looked upon as a symbol of
Jacobinism. The police knocked off with their sticks all the round
hats they saw, to the great annoyance of people whose ignorance of the
regulation exposed them to being thus unhatted. On the other hand,
every one was obliged to wear powder. At the time when this regulation
was made I was painting young Prince Bariatinski's portrait, and he
had acceded to my request that he come without powder. One day he
arrived pale as death. "What is the matter with you?" I asked him. "I
have just met the Emperor," he replied, all a-tremble, "I barely had
time to hide in a doorway, but I am terribly afraid that he recognised
me." There was nothing surprising in Prince Bariatinski's fright. All
classes were likewise affected, for no inhabitant of St. Petersburg
was sure one night that he would sleep in his bed the next.
For my part, I avow that in the reign of Paul I experienced the
greatest fear of all my life. I had gone to Pergola to spend the day,
and had with me M. de Riviere, my coachman, and Peter, my faithful
Russian servant. While M. de Riviere was walking about with his gun to
shoot birds or rabbits--to which, by the way, he never did great
harm--I remained on the shore of the lake. All of a sudden I noticed
the fire that had been lit to cook our dinner communicate itself to
the trees and spread with great rapidity. The trees were close
together, and Pergola was close to St. Petersburg! I began to scream
dreadfully, calling upon M. de Riviere, and, aided by fear, the four
of us succeeded in extinguishing the blaze, though not without
severely burning our hands. But we thought of the Emperor, of Siberia,
and it may well be imagined how this filled us with zeal!
I can only explain the terror that Paul inspired me with from the fact
that it was universal, since I must admit that toward myself he was
never anything but civil and considerate. When I saw him for the first
time at St. Petersburg he was amiable enough to remember that I had
been presented to him in Paris on the occasion of his visit there. I
was very young then, and so many years had since gone by that I had
forgotten the incident; but princes as a rule are gifted with a memory
for faces and names. Among the various queer ordinances of his reign,
one, to which obedience was very troublesome, compelled both men and
women to alight from their carriages whenever the Emperor drove by.
Now, I must add that Paul was to be met with very frequently in the
streets of St. Petersburg, as he travelled them perpetually, sometimes
on horseback with but slim attendance, and sometimes in a sledge
without an escort, without any sign by which he might have been
recognised. You were nevertheless obliged to obey his command, under
pain of incurring his severest displeasure, and it will be agreed that
it was cruel to have to jump out into the snow and stand there,
however extreme the cold. One day when I was out driving, my coachman
not having observed his approach, I scarcely had time to exclaim:
"Stop! it is the Emperor!" But, as my door was opened and I was about
to get out, the Emperor himself descended from his sledge and hastened
to stop me, saying in the most gracious manner that his order did not
concern foreign ladies, especially Mme. Lebrun.
The reason why even Paul's most favourable whims were not reassuring
for the future was that no man was ever more changeable in his tastes
and affections. At the beginning of his reign, for instance, he
loathed Bonaparte. Later on he conceived such a great tenderness for
him that a portrait of the French hero was kept in his sanctuary and
he exhibited it to every one. Neither his dislike nor his favour was
lasting. Count Strogonoff, I believe, is the only person he always
loved and esteemed. He was not known to have favourites among the
gentlemen of the court, but was very fond of a French actor called
Frogeres, who was not without talent and rather clever. Frogeres went
into the Emperor's study at all hours unannounced; they were often
seen walking together in the gardens arm in arm, chatting on the
subject of French literature, for which Paul had a strong fancy,
particularly our drama. This actor was often invited to the small
court gatherings, and as he was highly gifted in the art of joking, he
made the greatest lords the object of jokes, which amused the Emperor
very much, but which probably were very slightly amusing to those at
whose expense they were made. The Grand Dukes themselves were not safe
from Frogeres's naughty pleasantries; in fact, after the death of
Paul, he did not venture to appear at the palace. The Emperor
Alexander, walking alone one day in the streets of Moscow, met him and
called to him. "Frogeres, why have you not been to see me?" the
Emperor asked him with affable air. "Sire," replied Frogeres, freed
from his fears, "I did not know Your Majesty's address." The Emperor
laughed a great deal over this piece of nonsense, and munificently
paid the French actor some arrears in salary which the poor man had up
till then not dared to claim.
After dealing for a long time with Paul, it was indeed natural that
Frogeres should dread the resentment of a sovereign, for Paul was so
vindictive that the greatest share of his wrongdoings was attributable
to his hatred for the Russian nobility, against whom he had had a
grievance during Catherine's lifetime. In this hatred he confused the
innocent with the guilty, detesting all the great nobles and taking a
delight in humbling any of them he did not exile. To foreigners, on
the other hand, and especially to the French, he showed remarkable
kindness, and I must here affirm that he always received and treated
well all travellers and refugees coming from France. Of these last
some were even generously assisted by him. I will mention as an
instance the Count d'Autichamp, who, finding himself in St. Petersburg
without any resources whatever, had hit upon the idea of making a very
pretty elastic shoe. I bought a pair, which the same evening I showed
to several women of the court at Princess Dolgoruki's. They were
pronounced charming, and this, together with the sympathy inspired by
the refugee, resulted in immediate orders for a large number of pairs.
The little shoe eventually came under the notice of the Emperor, who,
as soon as he learned the name of the workman, sent for him and gave
him a fine position. Unfortunately, it was a confidential post, and
the Russians were so offended that Paul could not leave the Count
d'Autichamp in it for long. But he made amends in such a way as to
secure him against poverty. Several facts of this kind, I confess,
made me more indulgent toward the Emperor than the Russians were,
whose peace was incessantly disturbed through the extravagant caprices
of an omnipotent madman. It would be difficult to convey an idea of
the fears, the discontent and the secret murmurings of his court, that
I had formerly seen so placid and happy. It may be said with truth
that as long as Paul's reign lasted terror was the order of the day.
As one cannot torment one's fellowmen without being tormented oneself,
Paul was far from leading an enviable life. He had a fixed idea that
he would die by steel or by poison, and this conviction explains much
of his queer conduct. While going about the streets of St. Petersburg
alone at all hours of the day and night, he took the precaution to
have his broth made in his room, and the rest of his cooking was
likewise done in the secrecy of his apartment. The whole was
superintended by his faithful Kutaisoff, a confidential valet who had
been to Paris with him and was in constant attendance upon him. This
Kutaisoff had entertained an unlimited devotion for the Emperor, and
nothing could ever change it.
Paul was exceedingly ugly. A flat nose, and a very large mouth
furnished with very long teeth, made him look like a death's head. His
eyes were more than vivacious, though they often had a soft
expression. He was neither stout nor lean, neither tall nor short, and
although his whole person was not wanting in a sort of elegance, it
must be admitted that his face suggested opportunity for caricature.
Indeed, a number were made, in spite of the danger that such an
amusement threatened. One of them represented him holding a paper in
each hand. On one was written "order," on the other "counter-order,"
and on his forehead "disorder." At the mere mention of this caricature
I still feel a little shiver; for it must be understood that there
were lives in jeopardy, in which the artists' and the purchasers' were
included.
But all I have said did not hinder St. Petersburg from being a
pleasant as well as profitable place of sojourn for a painter. The
Emperor Paul loved and patronised the arts. A great admirer of French
literature, he munificently subsidised the actors to whom he owed the
pleasure of seeing our dramatic masterpieces performed.
Doyen, my father's friend and the historical painter I have already
mentioned, was distinguished by Paul as he had been by Catherine II.
Though very old at the time, Doyen, who had imposed a simple and
frugal manner of living upon himself, had accepted but a portion of
the Empress's generous offers. The Emperor continued in the path of
Catherine, and ordered a ceiling for the new palace of St. Michael, as
yet unfurnished. The room where Doyen was working was close to the
Hermitage. Paul and all the court passed through it on their way to
mass, and the Emperor rarely returned without stopping to chat for
more or less time with the painter in quite amiable fashion. I am
hereby reminded how, one day, one of the Emperor's
gentlemen-in-waiting stepped up to Doyen and said: "Permit me, sir, to
make a slight observation. You are painting the hours dancing round
the chariot of the sun. I see one there, in the distance, smaller than
the rest; the hours, however, are all exactly alike." "Sir," replied
Doyen with cool self-possession, "you are perfectly right, but what
you point out is only a half-hour." The first speaker nodded in
assent, and went off greatly pleased with himself. I must not forget
to record that the Emperor, wishing to pay the price of painting the
ceiling before it was finished, sent to Doyen a bank-note for a large
sum--how much I do not now remember. But the bank-note was enclosed in
a wrapper, upon which Paul had written with his own hand, "Here is
something to buy colours with; as for oil, there is a lot left in the
lamp."
If my father's old friend was pleased with his life at St. Petersburg,
I was none the less pleased with mine. I worked without relaxing from
morning till evening. Only on Sundays I lost two hours, which I was
obliged to grant people wishing to see my studio, and among these
there were frequently grand dukes and grand duchesses. Besides the
pictures I have already spoken of, and an endless succession of
portraits, I had sent to Paris for my large portrait of Queen Marie
Antoinette, one in which I had painted her in a blue velvet dress, and
the general interest it provoked yielded me the sweetest delight. The
Prince de Conde, then at St. Petersburg, on coming to see it, uttered
not a word, but burst into tears.
In respect of social amenity St. Petersburg left nothing to be
desired. One might have believed oneself at Paris, so many French were
there at the fashionable gatherings. It was thus that I saw the
Duke Richelieu and the Count de Langeron again. They were really not
residents, the first being Governor of Odessa and the other always
travelling on military inspections, but it was different with a host
of other countrymen of mine. For instance, I made acquaintance with
the amiable and dear good Countess Ducrest de Villeneuve. Not only was
this young woman very pretty and very well built, but she had a
special charm coming from her great goodness of heart. I often saw her
at St. Petersburg, as well as at Moscow, by which I am reminded that
one day, when I went to dine with her, an instance occurred of a kind
not rare in Russia, but which frightened me excessively. M. Ducrest de
Villeneuve came for me in a sledge, and it was so cold that my
forehead was quite frozen. I exclaimed in terror, "I shall be able to
think no more!" M. de Villeneuve hurried me into a shop, where my
forehead was rubbed with snow, and this remedy, employed by the
Russians in all similar cases, soon banished the cause of my despair.
[Illustration: MARIE ANTOINETTE.]
I did not neglect the natives who treated me so well, for my French
friends and my relations with Russian families were constantly
increasing. Besides the numerous persons I have already mentioned, I
often saw M. Dimidoff, the richest private gentleman in Russia. His
father had left him a heritage of richly productive iron and
quicksilver mines, and the enormous sales he made to the government
kept on enlarging his fortune. His immense wealth was the cause of his
obtaining in marriage Mlle. Strogonoff, a member of one of the most
aristocratic and oldest families of Russia. Their union was very
happy. They left only two sons, one of whom lives in Paris most of the
time, and who, like his father, has a great love for pictures.
The Emperor ordered me to make a portrait of his wife. I represented
her standing, wearing a court dress, and a diamond crown on her head.
I do not like painting diamonds; the brush cannot render their
brilliancy. Nevertheless, in taking for a background a large crimson
velvet curtain, I succeeded in making the crown shine as much as
possible. When I sent for the picture to finish the details at home,
the Empress wanted to lend me the court dress and all the jewels
belonging to it, but they were so valuable that I declined to accept
the trust, which would have given me too much anxiety. I preferred to
finish my painting at the palace, whither I had the picture taken
back. The Empress Maria was a very handsome woman; her plumpness kept
her fresh. She had a tall figure, full of dignity, and magnificent
fair hair. I recollect having seen her at a great ball with her
beautiful locks falling at each side of her shoulders and a diamond
tiara on the top of her head. This tall and handsome woman walked
majestically next to Paul, on his arm, and a striking contrast was
thus presented. To all her loveliness was added a sweet character. The
Empress Maria was truly the woman of the Gospel; her virtues were so
universally known that she perhaps affords the only example of a woman
never attacked by slander. I confess I was proud to find myself
honoured with her favour, and that I set great store by the good-will
she showed me on all occasions.
Our sittings took place immediately after the court dinner, so that
the Emperor and his two sons, Alexander and Constantine, were
habitually present. These august spectators did not annoy me in the
least, especially as the Emperor, who alone could have made me feel
any diffidence, was exceedingly polite to me. One day, when coffee was
being served, as I was already at my easel, he brought me a cup
himself, and then waited until I had drunk the coffee to take back the
cup and put it away. Another time, it is true, he made me witness a
rather comical scene. I was having a screen put behind the Empress in
order to obtain a quiet background. In this moment of intermission
Paul began cutting up a thousand antics, exactly like a monkey,
scratching the screen and pretending to climb up it. Alexander and
Constantine seemed pained at their father's grotesque behaviour before
a stranger, and I myself felt sorry on their account.
During one of the sittings the Empress sent for her two youngest sons,
the Grand Duke Nicholas and the Grand Duke Michael. Never have I seen
a finer child than the Grand Duke Nicholas, the present Emperor. I
could, I believe, paint him from memory to-day, so much did I admire
his enchanting face, which bore all the characteristics of Greek
beauty.
I remember, too, a type of beauty of an altogether different kind--an
old man. Although in Russia the Emperor is the supreme head of the
church, as well as of the government and the army, the religious power
is held, under him, by the first "pope," called "the great
archimandrite," who is about the same to the Russians that the Holy
Father is to us. While living in St. Petersburg I had often heard of
the merit and virtues of the divine occupying this post, and one day
some of my acquaintances who were going to visit him, proposing to
take me with them, I eagerly accepted their invitation. Never in my
life had I been in the presence of such an imposing man. His figure
was tall and majestic; his handsome face, whose every feature was
endowed with perfect regularity, expressed at once a gentleness and a
nobility difficult to describe; a long white beard, falling below the
chest, added to the venerable appearance of his magnificent head. His
dress was simple and dignified. He wore a long white robe, divided in
front, from top to bottom, by a broad strip of black material, which
made the whiteness of his beard stand out admirably. His walk, his
gestures, his glance,--everything about him commanded respect from the
very first. The great archimandrite was a superior man. He had a
profound mind and great learning, and spoke several languages;
besides, by reason of his virtues and kindness he was cherished by all
who knew him. His grave vocation never prevented him from being
affable and gracious toward high society. One of the Princesses
Galitzin, who was very beautiful, seeing him in a garden one day, ran
to throw herself on her knees before him. The old man at once picked a
rose and gave it to her, accompanying it with his blessing. One of my
regrets on leaving St. Petersburg was my not having done the
archimandrite's portrait, for I believe no painter could ever meet
with a finer model.