3
FIRST MEETING: THE EMPRESS’S RECKLESS SUITOR
The Horse-Guards came, in such a frenzy of joy as I have never seen, weeping and shouting that the country was free at last.
Catherine the Great to Stanislas Poniatowski, 2 August 1762
Of all the sovereigns of Europe, I believe the Empress of Russia is the richest in diamonds. She has a kind of passion for them; perhaps she has no other weaknesses…
Sir George Macartney on Catherine the Great
The newly acclaimed Catherine II, dressed raffishly in a borrowed green uniform of a captain of the Preobrazhensky Guards, appeared at the door of the Winter Palace on the night of 28 June 1762, accompanied by her entourage, and holding a naked sabre in her bare hands. In the blue incandescence of St Petersburg’s ‘white nights’, she walked down the outside steps into the crowded square and towards her thoroughbred grey stallion, who was named Brilliant. She swung into the saddle with the ease of a practised horsewoman – her years of frantic exercise had not been wasted.
The Guards, 12,000 who had rallied to her revolution, were massed around her in the square, ready to set off on ‘The March to Peterhof’ to overthrow Peter III. All of them must have peered at the thirty-three-year-old woman in her prime, with her long auburn hair, her bright-blue eyes, her black eyelashes, so at home in the Guardsman’s uniform, at the moment of the crucial drama of her life. Among them, Potemkin, on horseback in his Horse-Guards uniform, eagerly awaited any opportunity to distinguish himself.
The soldiers stiffened to attention with the Guards’ well-drilled pageantry – but the square was far from silent. It more resembled the bustling chaos of an encampment than the polished stiffness of a parade. The night resounded with clattering hooves, neighing horses, clinking spurs and swords, fluttering banners, the coughing, muttering and whispering of thousands of men. Many of the troops had been waiting there since the night before in a carnival atmosphere. Some of them were drunk – the taverns had been looted. The streets were littered with discarded Prussian-style uniforms, like the morning after a fancy-dress party. None of this mattered because every man knew he was changing history: they peered at the enchanting vision of this young woman they were making empress and the excitement of it must have touched all of them.
Catherine took Brilliant’s reins and was handed her sword, but she realized that she had forgotten to attach a dragonne, or sword-knot, to the sabre. She must have looked around for one because her hesitation was noticed by a sharp-eyed Guardsman who was to understand her better, more instinctively, than anyone else. He instantly galloped over to her across the square, tore the dragonne off his own sword and handed it to her with a bow. She thanked him. She would have noticed his almost giant stature, that splendid head of auburn-brown hair and the long sensitive face with the cleft chin, the looks that had won him the nickname ‘Alcibiades’. Grigory Potemkin could not have brought himself to her attention in a more daring way, at a more memorable occasion, but he had a talent for seizing the moment.
Princess Dashkova, also dressed dashingly in a Guardsman’s uniform, mounted her horse just behind the Empress. There was a distinct element of masquerade in this ‘petticoat revolution’. Now it was time to move in order to strike at dawn: Peter III was still at large and still emperor in name at Oranienbaum, a night’s march away. Yet Alcibiades was still beside the Empress.
Catherine took the dragonne from Potemkin, fixed it to her sword and urged Brilliant forward. Potemkin spurred his mount back to join his men, but his horse had been trained in the Horse-Guards to ride, knee to knee, in squadron formation for the charge. The beast stubbornly refused to return, so that for several minutes, as the fate of the Empire revolved around this little scene, Potemkin struggled to master his obstinate horse and was forced to talk to the new Empress. ‘This made her laugh…she noticed his looks…she talked to him. Thus’, Potemkin himself told a friend when he was Catherine’s co-ruler, he was ‘thrown into the career of honour, wealth and power – all thanks to a fresh horse’.1
All accounts agree on the way he met Catherine but differ on the detaiclass="underline" was it the dragonne or the upright plumage for a hat, a sultane?2 What mattered for the superstitious Potemkin was the way the horse would not leave the imperial side, as if the beast sensed their joint destiny: this ‘happy chance’, he called it.3 But it was not chance that had made him gallop up to offer his dragonne. Knowing Potemkin’s artifice, love of play-acting and fine horsemanship, it is quite possible that it was not the horse that delayed his return to the ranks. Either way, it now obeyed its rider and galloped back to his place.
The long column of men, marching around two mounted women in male uniforms, set out into the light night. Military bands played; the men sang marching songs. Sometimes they whistled and shouted: ‘Long live our little mother Catherine!’
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At 3 a.m., Catherine’s column stopped at Krasni-Kabak to rest. She lay down on a narrow, straw bed beside Dashkova, but she did not sleep. The Orlovs pushed ahead with their vanguard. The main body set off again two hours later and were met by the Vice-Chancellor, Prince A. M. Golitsyn, with another offer from Peter. But there was nothing to negotiate except unconditional abdication. The Vice-Chancellor took the oath to Catherine.
Soon the news arrived that Alexei Orlov had taken peaceful possession of the two summer estates, Oranienbaum and Peterhof. At 10 a.m., Peterhof received Catherine as sovereign empress: it was only twenty-four hours since she had left in her lace nightcap. Her lover Grigory Orlov, accompanied by Potemkin, was already at nearby Oranienbaum forcing Peter to sign the unconditional abdication.4 When the name was on the paper, Grigory Orlov brought it back to the Empress. Potemkin remained behind to guard this husk of an emperor.5 A disgusted Frederick the Great, for whom it might be said that Peter III had sacrificed his Empire, remarked that the Emperor ‘let himself be driven from the throne as a child is sent to bed’.6
The ex-Emperor was guided into his carriage accompanied by his mistress and two aides. The carriage was surrounded by a guard. Potemkin was among them. The milling troops taunted the convoy with hurrahs of ‘Long live the Empress Catherine the Second.’7 At Peterhof, Peter handed over his sword, his ribbon of St Andrew and his Preobrazhensky Guards uniform. He was taken to a room he knew well, where Panin visited him: the ex-Tsar fell to his knees and begged not to be separated from his mistress. When this was refused, an exhausted, weeping Peter asked if he could take his fiddle, his negro Narcissus and his dog Mopsy. ‘I consider it one of the great misfortunes of my life that I had to see Peter at that moment,’ Panin remembered later, ‘the greatest misfortune of my life.’8
Before he could be taken to his permanent home at Schlüsselburg, a closed Berline carriage with guards on the running-boards, commanded by Alexei Orlov, transferred the ex-Emperor to his estate at Ropsha (about nineteen miles inland). Potemkin is not mentioned among this guard, but he was there days later, so he was probably present. Catherine granted her husband his fiddle, blackamoor – and dog.9 She never saw Peter again.
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A few days later, Princess Dashkova entered Catherine’s cabinet and was ‘astonished’ to see Grigory Orlov ‘stretched at full length on a sofa’ going through the state papers. ‘I asked what he was about. “The Empress has ordered that I open them,” he replied.’ The new regime was in power.10