Great Catherine (24 page)

Gregory Potemkin, the

great love oj Catherine's life ana

her trusted partner in the

work of governing.

Photograph courtesy or

Hulton Deutsch.

Catherine in middle age,

dressed with "English

simplicity ' and accompanied

by one of her greyhounds as

she walks in the park at

Tsarskoe Selo. Engraving by

Borowikowsky.

Photograph courtesy or

Hulton Deutsch.

P^AggjtQ,

(ATMI'.RINK. \ I/AMITIK

Alexander Lanskoy, Catherine's beloved

favorite who but for his tragically early death

would have been "the comfort of her old age. "

Photograph courtesy or Hulton Deutsch.

Catherine's portfolio or briefcase, with the

monogram "E" for Ekaterina. For Catherine,

work always came first.

Photograph courtesy or Hulton Deutsch.

Catherine at 57, a popular engraving after a painting by Schibanoff. Photograph courtesy or Hulton Deutsch.

The elderly Catherine.

Photograph courtesy or

Hulton Deutsch.

Emperor Paul I.

Photograph hy Ivor J. Mazure, Dealer

in Russian Antiques, London.

Partly to placate her choleric husband, and partly to impress her rivals and observers watchful for signs that the Young Court might be in eclipse, Catherine gave a grand ball in July of 1757. Entertainments of this sort were always looked on favorably by the empress, who had herself wheeled in, coughing and clutching her side, to watch the festivities from behind a screen.

Catherine outdid herself in planning her fete, and nature cooperated. It was the season of the long "white nights," and on the appointed evening the air was balmy. Long supper tables were laid in the sweetly scented garden, and the hundreds of guests arrived to find the Great Walk lit by thousands of lanterns, brightening the twilit night with such a blaze of illumination that objects appeared with the clarity of day. At the end of the first course a wide curtain was drawn back to reveal, in the distance, an immense wheeled vehicle pulled by twenty garlanded oxen. Seated on the huge cart were sixty musicians and singers, performing music and poetry specially commissioned for the occasion from the court poet and the singing master of the imperial chapel. Hundreds of dancers capered along beside the musicians as the cart rolled majestically toward the gathered company. Just as it reached the vicinity of the supper tables, the huge yellow moon rose behind it, as if orchestrated to match the unfolding spectacle.

Later in the evening, a fanfare sounded and the diners were invited to help themselves from little shops giving away fans, gloves, sword-knots, ribbons and china—fripperies each worth less than a hundred rubles, Catherine wrote in her memoirs, but which gave the recipients great delight. Still later, when vast quantities of wine had been served and the risen moon flooded the grounds of the mansion with silvery light, the dancing began. Forgetting for the moment all but their pleasure, intoxicated by the wine, the warmth and the moonlight, the guests whirled and stomped and gyrated until long after cockcrow the following morning.

The fete was a huge success, untarnished by spiteful carping or petty intrigues. In its immediate aftermath everyone, from the

empress to the lowest servitor, lavished praise on the grand duchess and professed to be ecstatically happy with the fine wines, the excellent food, the entertainment and generous gifts. Even Peter, his rowdy Holsteiners and Catherine's bitterest enemies were temporarily won over by the great banquet and ball, and displayed their souvenirs proudly.

"This was given to me by Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess," people told one another, holding up their trophies. "She is goodness itself, she gave everyone presents." "How charming she is; she smiled at me quite pleasantly." "It pleased her to see us dance and eat and enjoy ourselves."

The talk went on for days, reported to Catherine by her informants and recorded by her later in her memoirs. Her good cheer and good humor were remarked on. It was noted that she went out of her way to make a place at her ball for everyone, even those with little or no social standing. A thousand new virtues were discovered in her.

"I disarmed my enemies," Catherine wrote. "That was my goal. But it was not to be for long." She spent a sum equal to nearly half her annual income on the entertainment—relying on money given her by England, through the good offices of Charles Hanbury-Williams, to make up the deficit. Yet her political cause was all but lost. Her great friend and mentor Sir Charles was recalled to England a month after Catherine's extravagant ball, his mission a failure, and was replaced by the mediocre diplomat Lord Keith who from Catherine's point of view could not even begin to take his place. Catherine wrote Sir Charles a tender letter, thanking him for all that he had taught her and for his invaluable support. "Farewell," she wrote, "my best, my dear Friend."

English influence was at its nadir; instead, the French had moved into preeminence at the Russian court. A new French ambassador, the Marquis de L'Hopital, arrived at Petersburg in the summer of 1757, bringing with him not only a large staff and household but a host of spies. Now that Russia was allied with

France against the Prussians, and with Russian arms proving to be victorious in the field, the political interests of the Young Court were in decline. Catherine, Peter and the Chancellor Bestuzhev continued to look to England as Russia's staunchest and most advantageously placed friend, but the Shuvalovs and their ally Michael Vorontzov sided with the French, and they had the empress's ear. Elizabeth had always hated Prussia and the Prussians, and she had never really liked Bestuzhev; she despised Peter, and while she had from time to time shown affection for Catherine, it was nearly always barbed and at best intermittent. Clearly the political shift toward France was a threat to Catherine's security, no matter how many balls she gave.

And she had another grave concern. She was nearly five months pregnant with Poniatowski's child, and on the afternoon of the day she gave her ball, while riding in a carriage to inspect the preparations, she suffered a jarring fall. All that evening, while entertaining her guests and impressing them with her affability, she was afraid that she might miscarry. Fortunately she escaped danger, yet her hidden worries must have been great as she moved among her guests, choosing carefully which ones to caress and which to snub, the image of regal serenity.

Her pregnancy advanced smoothly, though the court plunged from rejoicing at the summer's military victories to anxiety when the empress had another stroke—a more severe one—in September. Since Catherine had already'borne a son, her second pregnancy was not looked on as crucial to the succession. Yet precisely because of this, the issue of the child's paternity was an uncomfortable one. Peter, perhaps out of pride, refused to swear that the child was not his, but everyone at court knew that Poniatowski was the father.

Beyond this, Catherine had another worry. What if the empress died while she was in labor, or in the first few weeks after her delivery, when she would be too weak to defend her interests and put into effect the contingency plan she had been polishing for several years? Her enemies might then take advantage of her—or