has never been so clearly established. It is an embarrassing episode
for the Prussian historian to explain. To assert, as Schlözer does,
that Frederick only gradually and reluctantly consented is an attempt
to whitewash the hero in a way which makes him slightly unheroic. To
ascribe the initiative to the Russian Empress is to place the great
Frederick in a secondary position which is inconsistent with the
invincible front he has always presented to history. Nevertheless the
actual idea, that is, the execution of the idea seems to have occurred
first of all to Catherine. The expectation of the disaster had long
existed in Poland, which had been forewarned a century before by one of
its Kings, Jan Casimir, who said that one day the thing would happen
just as it actually did happen. The dismemberment of Poland had been
seen as a possibility by all the international politicians of Europe
for more than a century before it became a definite picture in the mind
of Catherine the Second. She alone had the energizing image that leads
to action, and was undoubtedly responsible for the first Partition of
Poland, although Frederick the Great shared the guilt for the second
and third partitions which followed logically on the first.
The steps by which Catherine came to this decision are not difficult
to trace. Soon after her accession to the Russian throne, the King of
Poland lay down to die. After a series of false alarms, he actually
did die in September, 1763. The King of Prussia and the Empress of
Russia, who had been misled so often by false reports, were both upset
by the event when it finally occurred. Frederick sprang up from the
table with the remark, “I hate those people who always do things at
the wrong time.” Catherine also sprang from her chair when the news
came, galvanized for action. She had hoped for it so long. Her long
deferred plans to make Stanislas Poniatovsky King of Poland required
instant attention. She had already instructed her Ambassador, Count
Kayserling, concerning his duties in the present crisis. He had in fact
been selected for the post with this event in view. “I am sending Count
Kayserling without delay as Ambassador to Poland,” she had written to
Poniatovsky, “in order to make you King after the death of August III.
If my Ambassador is not successful in making you King, then I desire
that Adam Czartorisky shall become King.”
Adam Czartorisky was the uncle of Stanislas, a representative of the
same family, and was also devoted to the Empress of Russia. Catherine
was willing to allow Poland a second choice from this family. This
did not mean, however, that she strove any less efficiently and
determinedly to place the handsome Stanislas upon the throne. She told
Kayserling that if he could not manage it for less to spend as much as
a hundred thousand rubles on the election. Nor did she put her faith
in the influence of money alone. Russian regiments were marched into
Poland to camp ominously near the electoral convocation. The Empress
wished, however, to avoid bloodshed. She preferred to enlist the aid
and influence of the Prussian King in order that Poland might feel its
eastern and western neighbors closing in upon its existence like a
gentle but inevitable vise.
Catherine gave presents quite unblushingly. No sooner was the
Polish King dead than couriers with messages and gifts began to
enliven the road from Petersburg to Berlin. Knowing Frederick for a
_Feinschmecker_, Catherine sent him melons from Astrakhan and grapes
from the Crimea. Frederick gallantly replied, “There is a great
distance between watermelons from Astrakhan and the electoral assembly
of the Polish provinces, but you know how to comprehend all in the
sphere of your activity. The same hand which presents watermelons
distributes crowns and preserves the peace in Europe, for which I
and all who are interested in the affairs of Poland shall eternally
bless you.” Catherine’s gifts continued. Russian caviar and sterlet
were followed by Russian furs, black fox and marten. And finally, when
Frederick expressed an interest in the dromedaries so commonly used
by the peasants in Russia, the Empress had two of the best animals to
be found in Ukrainia sent with her compliments to the master of Sans
Souci. As the first watermelons had been heralds of Poniatovsky as
King, the dromedaries were harbingers of the first partition of Poland.
Not wholly unlike the late Czar of Russia, Poniatovsky was made King
against his will. Catherine, the King-maker, forced this unwelcome
distinction upon him. He believed and many others believed with him
that Catherine intended, after making him ruler of Poland, to marry
him and annex his country to her own. The Pforte of Turkey was one of
those who suspected this to be the plan of the Russian Empress and
who accordingly set about to defeat it. He opposed the election of
Stanislas on the ground that he was not married. Poniatovsky’s family,
the Czartoriskys, saw the logic of the Pforte’s objection and urged
the Count, who had certainly reached a marriageable age, to choose a
suitable consort. But Poniatovsky stubbornly refused to take the fatal
step. The utmost that he would consent to do, and this was only after
an emphatic message had arrived from Catherine at Petersburg, was to
sign an undertaking that he would at least never marry any but a Roman
Catholic. This promise quieted the Turkish opposition and the election
was allowed to proceed. It took place by immemorial custom in the
open field by a vote of voices. It was a fine day and there was no
disorder. Poniatovsky wrote in his journal, “The election was perfectly
unanimous and so tranquil that many ladies were out on the electoral
field.” He became, at the age of thirty-two, King Stanislas August of
Poland.
The country had vindicated its cherished republican system and
enthroned an elected King. The courts of Europe hastened to send
acknowledgments and congratulations. The last country to be heard from
was Russia. As soon as Catherine had got her King elected with her
military pickets and her hundred thousand ducats, she lost all interest
in the Polish situation and left the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Count
Panin, to send the flowers. “The thing seems incredible,” wrote the
Prussian Ambassador to his master, “nevertheless I assure Your Majesty
that this is so. The notification of Poniatovsky lay unanswered for
six weeks on Panin’s well-known work-table.” This seemed amazing to
Frederick the Great to whom promptness and system were fetiches. To
Catherine such things were conveniences.
That Poniatovsky, a king in spite of himself, never thoroughly enjoyed
his reign is only to be expected. His country was torn by internal
dissensions, political and religious. The new King was a man who
had been bullied all his life, first by his mother and then by his
mistress; in short, a man of charm but no force. There was nothing
within him with which to cope with the turbulent conditions of his
realm. Catherine had a genius for reconciling what seemed to be
opposites; but the Polish King, who had run away from his mother to
his mistress and had then run away from his mistress to his mother
again, could not hold two antagonistic interests in his mind at the
same time. Poland was a cauldron of conflicts: district with district,
status with status, religion with religion. Under Poniatovsky, the old
familiar feuds blazed higher and higher. His health suffered and he
was miserable. After three years of such devastating responsibility,
he wrote to his Ambassador in Russia, “The last orders given by
Prince Repnin [the Russian General] to introduce legislation for the
dissidents [Greek Catholics] is a real thunderbolt for the country and
for me personally. If it is still humanly possible, try to make the
Empress see that the crown which she procured me will become for me a
shirt of Nessus. I shall be burnt alive and my end will be frightful.”
Thus the King wailed on his comfortless throne, a gentle mouse
trembling under three watchful pairs of eyes belonging to three of the
most greedy monarchs of the century. Perhaps it would be more accurate
to say that the three watchful pairs of eyes were trained upon each
other and that they rather overlooked as negligible the victim cowering
at the center of the stage. Maria Theresa, the Austrian widow who never
laid aside her weeds; Frederick the Second, the shabby bachelor who
wore patches on his clothes; and Catherine the Second, the parvenu
sovereign who painted her face--the conjunction of these three arch
aggressors boded no good for Poland, weakened as she was by incessant
domestic tremors. Yet the catastrophe which had been gathering for
years and which was inherent in the circumstances, was precipitated at
last as if by an accident.
In the autumn of 1770, Catherine entertained a distinguished foreign
guest. He was a short man with a stiff pompous carriage and a silent
inexpressive demeanor. He had come to Petersburg rather reluctantly
at the request of his brother who felt that any invitation from the
Empress of Russia should be accepted and exploited. There was no
knowing what might be hidden behind the advances of this woman. The
stiff, silent guest whom she entertained this autumn was Prince Henry
of Prussia, the brother of Frederick the Great. Prince Henry was almost
as unsociable as his brother but he had a sharp eye and sensitive
perceptions. He was ideally qualified to sniff around the wood-pile of
the Russian monarch.
Catherine, who never lost an opportunity of displaying all her riches
before this family, entertained Prince Henry regally. She installed
him and his retinue in a palace facing the Alexander Nevsky monastery,
an edifice so huge and magnificent that it was later converted from
a residence into a school for imperial pages. The modest, unassuming
Henry moved about with considerable discomfort in the rich and colorful
setting which the hospitable Empress provided for him. His appearances
were punctual and meticulous but it was impossible for anyone to look
at him and fancy that he enjoyed the balls and masquerades which were
given for his entertainment. The Russians did not like him and made
fun of his solemnity and coldness. With the Empress, however, he got
on extremely well. Their conversations were carried on at great length
and an intellectual sympathy developed between them which led to a long
and interesting correspondence. Prince Henry’s letters to the Empress
do not contain the over-strained flattery with which his brother,
Frederick the Great, always addressed her. There is evidence in their
letters to show that Prince Henry of Prussia was one of the people of
her own generation who understood this woman perfectly. In her old
age, she turned against him violently, but he cherished no resentment
against her. He respected Catherine sincerely, and was never afraid of
her as the great Frederick always was, not because she was an Empress
but because she was a woman.
Prince Henry stepped sedately through all the gorgeous festivities of
a Russian Christmas and New Year in Petersburg. The Winter Palace had
never been so gay at this season since Catherine had become Empress,
for the visit of the Prussian Prince had provided an excuse to outdo
anything she had ever done before. In January, just about the time when
things began to quiet down a bit, a disturbing rumor came over the
snows from Moscow. It was said that Maria Theresa had sent Austrian
troops across the border to occupy a little piece, a very little piece
of Poland. The Austrian monarch had ready her excuse but the Russian
monarch did not think well of it. Neither of these august ladies ever
gave the other the benefit of the doubt in any situation. Catherine
dropped this casual remark in the presence of Prince Henry: “It seems
that in this Poland, one has only to stoop and help one’s self.” Prince
Henry regarded her words as a significant message for his brother
to whom he reported them, adding, “Although this was only a chance
pleasantry, it is certain that it was not said for nothing and I do not
doubt that it will be very possible for you to profit by this occasion.”
And so began the three famous Partitions of Poland. In the first
partition, Poland lost four thousand square miles and the three
partitioners felt equally well treated. Twenty years later, the second
partition took place in which the Russian Empress profited immensely
more than her partners in the looting. Poland raised up national
heroes, chief of whom was the romantic Kosciuszko, who came to her
defence. But their exploits only served as an excuse for the third
invasion, which reduced Poland to a mere remnant, and finally and
utterly deprived Poniatovsky of his throne.
For a time the ex-King lived in Poland under the protection of Russia
and later he went back to Petersburg where he found asylum until his
death. He outlived by several years the mistress of his youth, who had
first given him a throne and then taken it away again. Poniatovsky
was no hero but he was a good deal of a philosopher; he accepted his
decline and fall without any great gestures of tragedy. He had never
wanted to be King anyhow. His star went down in peaceful obscurity,
while the national hero Kosciuszko impersonated for the world the
tragedy of Poland. Both of them were supported by pensions from the
Russian government. Catherine’s estimate of the ex-King of Poland is
illustrated by a legend which is believed even to this day. The story
goes that she brought his lost throne from Poland and used it for a
water-closet in her apartment at Czarskoe Selo.
4
In the eighteenth century, Russia took her census every twenty years.
It was an autocratic revision carried on in a slipshod way under
military orders. When Catherine ascended the throne it was time for
such a census to be taken. The new Empress was impatient for the
results; she wanted to know how many souls she had and how much of the
earth’s surface she owned, for it was in such personal terms as these
that she pictured her possessions.
Returning from Moscow in June, 1763, just after the fiasco of her plan
to marry Orlov, she turned her attention to the census. The Senate
was preparing to go ahead according to precedent. Although Pastor
Wagner had been a specialist in geography, his pupil the Empress was
nevertheless very vague about Russia. She was obliged to ask the
Senators to tell her how many cities there were in her kingdom and
discovered to her horror that not one of them knew. Without a moment’s
hesitation she took five rubles from her pocket and sent a messenger
post haste to the Academy of Science which had published an atlas of
Russia to be had for this price. The Empress presented the atlas to the
Senate with her compliments.
The discussion of the census proceeded. Catherine learned that it was
customarily taken by military troops and cost almost a million rubles,
and that it invariably sent the peasant population into a panic. They
evaded the lists by hiding in swamps and forests and fleeing across the
border into Poland. The consequence was that trials, investigations,
and punishments followed in the wake of every census in such numbers
that the Senators dreaded to undertake the job at all. Sadly they
shook their bewigged heads and deplored the necessity of causing so
much commotion among the terror-stricken people. They made speeches
one after the other without offering any suggestion as to how these
regrettable consequences could be prevented. The attentive Empress
listened until she was tired and the discussion finally came to a dead
end. Then she asked a few questions.
“Why have such a number of troops and pile up these heavy costs for
the treasury? Is there no other way?” She was told that there was no
other way; it had always been done so. “But this plan seems better to
me,” she persisted. “Publish throughout the Empire that every place
shall send a list of its souls to its chancellery, the chancelleries
to the governments, and the governments to the Senate.” Four Senators
spoke up at once to tell her that it was impossible. The people would
not report themselves voluntarily and a show of military force was
therefore necessary. The Empress pursued her plan. “Offer to all those
who have not yet registered freedom from punishment and order the local
authorities to accept the former evaders upon the present list.” The
elderly Prince Shakovsky sprang to his feet. “That is not justice,” he
shouted. “The guilty shall be handled exactly like the innocent! I have
always carefully reported from my district and no one has been omitted.
But whoever has enjoyed the advantage of omissions will now stand just
where I do!” But one of the younger Senators had got the Empress’s idea
and came to her support so handsomely that the plan was adopted and
carried into execution. Henceforth, the Empress’s method was always
followed, with the result that migrations to Poland and outlawry in the
woods and swamps which once followed every census gradually disappeared
altogether.
Catherine left a memorandum of the worst internal tangles which she
had to undo at the beginning of her reign. The army had been unpaid
for many months. The taxes of the Empire had been mortgaged by the
senate. There was a scarcity of currency; only a million gold rubles
were in circulation in the whole empire. The Empress Elisabeth had
handed over nearly every branch of business and all the mines of the
country to monopolists, chief of whom were the Shuvalovs. At the time
of Catherine’s accession, the peasants who worked in the mines were in
revolt. The Empress regarded these monopolies with great disfavor and
the rebellious peasants with even greater disfavor. Like the German
_Hausfrau_ that she was, she enjoyed the wielding of a new broom and
of giving the country a real spring cleaning. By hook or crook, she
managed to pay the army; she restored the taxing power to the tax
officers; she reformed the currency and introduced paper money into
common use; she abolished at one stroke all monopolies and followed the
example of Peter the Great in encouraging private business enterprise.
Finally, she sent her colonels and her cannons down to the mines where
strikes had broken out during the reign of the late Czar and bombarded
the strikers so thoroughly that they were glad to seek safety in
the mines again. Well satisfied with all these cleanings, she wiped
her hands on her apron and sat down to her silk embroidery. She was
working on a gorgeous robe, with stitches as delicate and perfect as
the Chinese can make them, to be presented to the Archimandrite of the
Troitsky monastery.
5
Catherine took considerable interest in the status of her sex and
questions of morality. She once said that she did not know or
understand women. She wrote to Madame Bjelke, “From my fifteenth to
my thirty-third year, I never really had the opportunity to converse
with women; I only had handmaidens about me. When I wished to speak
with anyone, I had to go into another room where there were only men.
So it is due partly to habit and partly to my taste that has been so
formed that I really understand only how to carry on a conversation
with the latter.” It is true that she had few women friends. The
Princess Dashkov who had ridden beside her on the night of the Peterhof
campaign was never really in her confidence. She was a lay figure. In
old age, the Empress became more and more dependent on the friendship
of Countess Bruce and Countess Protassov. But her intimacies, emotional
and intellectual, of which there were many, were intimacies with men.
She always had a free and jovial way with them.
The Empress initiated some reforms for her sex which foreshadowed
typical aspects of the woman problem--a problem which was not really
born until the next century. From this point of view, very significant
are the steps which she took. Prostitution was a well-developed trade
in the Petersburg of those days. In one quarter of the city girls of
the town were especially numerous, and venereal disease flourished
among them. It was a malady in which the Empress took a vast interest.
Whether she herself had had an unfortunate experience or whether she
merely remembered that Peter the Great had been prematurely carried
off by it, the Empress was horribly afraid of this contagion. A
well-authenticated story has it that each of her lovers was required to
submit to a physical examination by her English physician, Rogerson.
Nor did her interest stop entirely with herself. She built a fine
hospital for the sufferers from this infection, of which Major Masson
says: “One hospital, however, founded by Catherine deserves to be
mentioned as a characteristic establishment. It is destined for
the reception of fifty ladies infected with a certain disease. No
question is asked either as to the name or the quality of those who
present themselves, and they are treated with equal care, respect, and
discretion. This last word is even marked on the linen appointed for
their use.”
Another institution still remaining as a monument to Catherine’s reign
was the great Foundling Hospital which she built on the banks of the
Moscow. Lying against the river, it stands out as one of the most
prominent features of the city next to the Kremlin. Its tradition has
not faded, as it still houses the maternity welfare work of Moscow. The
Empress made it originally a home for foundlings and planned it for the
discouragement of infanticide. Her institution has the name of being
the first of its kind which sprang up in Europe; at any rate, it was
the most famous and served as a model for many which came afterwards.
Not all of Catherine’s subjects were pleased with her innovation. A
citizen named Smolin wrote a letter to express his discontent. He
reproached her for these foundling homes which only served for the
encouragement of immorality. Vice, he said, would show itself more
openly and shamelessly as a result; more and more illegitimate
children would be born. From this it may be seen that the Puritan ideal
of the repression of vice did not lack representation even in Russia in
the eighteenth century.
The Empress’s efforts to educate her sex met with more approval. A
cloister known as the Smolny Convent and founded by Elisabeth Petrovna
was taken over by Catherine and converted into a school for young
ladies. She gave her personal attention to this experiment which was
the pride of her heart. She wrote to Voltaire, “You know, for nothing
escapes you, that five hundred young ladies are being educated in a
house which was formerly designed for three hundred brides of heaven.
These young ladies I confess far surpass our expectations. They make
astonishing progress and every one admits that they are as lovable as
they are knowledgeable. Their conduct is justly regarded as blameless
without having at the same time the strict and stern manner of the
cloister. For the last two winters they have begun to play comedies and
tragedies, and they have done better with them than those who make a
profession of acting.”
Proud as she is of these five hundred faultless damsels, there is one
problem which troubles her. All the French plays including Voltaire’s
own, which she can find for the school turn on the theme of love. What
is to be done about it? She asks Voltaire’s advice. Catherine feels
that her girls’ attention should not be called so early to the subject.
Voltaire agrees and helpfully suggests that as far as his own plays
are concerned the matter can be remedied. Ten lines here and twelve
lines there, to be obligingly selected by the author, can be stricken
out without damage to the composition and all the proprieties will be
satisfied.
In a gallant sentence, he refers to the Smolny damsels as Amazons.
The Empress rejects this title firmly, informing him that they are
not intended to become Amazons at all but honest wives and mothers.
It appears, however, that this admirable institution had overlooked
the problem of dowries. After twelve years of careful cultivation, the
young ladies emerged as paragons of virtue but entirely penniless and
homeless. Many of them became governesses. Others still were snared by
the officers of the guards whose barracks adjoined the convent. “They
watched every term of dismissal,” says Major Masson, “to ensnare the
prettiest. It would be more practical to save, out of the immense cost
of their education, a sufficient sum to portion them or at least to
keep them till they were provided for.” The Empress apparently did not
foresee this difficulty. As penniless Princess Fike of Anhalt she had
come to Russia and had got a husband without a dowry. The Smolny young
ladies might do the same.
6