PART II. (continued 3)

Some time after this we learned that Marshal Apraxine, far from profiting by his success after the capture of Memel and the victory of Gross-Jægersdorf, to push onwards, was retiring with such precipitation, that his retreat resembled a flight, for he threw away or burned his carriages and spiked his guns. No one understood these operations: his friends, even, could not justify him, and on that account it was suspected that there must be some foul play. Although I do not myself know to what exactly to attribute the precipitate and inconsistent retreat of Marshal Apraxine, never having seen him since, yet I think the cause of it may have been that he received from his daughter, the Princess Kourakine, always connected by policy, though not by inclination, with Peter Schouvaloff, from his son-in-law, Prince Kourakine, and from his friends and relatives, very precise news of the health of the Empress, which was constantly getting worse and worse. At this time it began generally to be conceived that she had very violent convulsions every month, regularly; that these convulsions visibly enfeebled her faculties; that after every convulsion she was for three or four days in a state of weakness and exhaustion which resembled lethargy; and that during this period she could not be spoken to on any subject whatsoever. Marshal Apraxine, perhaps thinking the danger more urgent than it really was, did not judge it advisable to advance farther into Prussia, but thought it best to make a retrograde movement, in order to draw nearer to the frontiers of Russia, under pretext of want of provisions, foreseeing that, in the event of the Empress’ death, the war would be brought at once to a close. It was difficult to justify the proceedings of Marshal Apraxine. But such may have been his views, and the more so as he believed his presence necessary in Russia, as I have already mentioned, when speaking of his departure. Count Bestoujeff informed me, through Stambke, of the turn which the conduct of Marshal Apraxine had taken, and how the Imperial Ambassador, and that of France, loudly complained of it. He begged me to write to the Marshal, as being his friend, and join my persuasions to his, to induce him to retrace his steps and put an end to a flight to which his enemies gave an odious and injurious interpretation. I did write to him, and informed him of the reports current at St. Petersburg, and of the difficulty which his friends found in justifying the precipitancy of his retreat, and begged him to retrace his steps and fulfil the orders he had received from the Government. This letter was sent to him through Bestoujeff, but I received no reply to it. Meanwhile General Fermor, Director-General of Works to her Imperial Majesty, came to take leave of us on his departure from St. Petersburg. We learned that he was appointed to the army. He had formerly been Quarter-master-general to Count Munich. The first thing which he asked for was to have with him his employés or superintendents, at the board of works, the Brigadiers Reaznoff and Mordvinoff; and with them he set off for the army. These were soldiers who had scarcely ever done anything but make contracts for building. On his arrival he was ordered to take the command, in place of Marshal Apraxine, who was recalled, and who, on his return, found at Trihorsky an order to await there the commands of the Empress. These were long in reaching him, because his friends, his daughter, and Peter Schouvaloff moved heaven and earth to calm the anger of the Empress, fomented as it was by Counts Voronzoff, Boutourline, John Schouvaloff, and others, who were urged on by the ambassadors of the courts of Vienna and Versailles, who were anxious to have the Marshal brought to trial. At last, commissioners were named to examine him. After the first interrogatory, the Marshal was seized with a fit of apoplexy, of which he died in about twenty-four hours. In this trial, General Lieven would assuredly have also been included. He was the friend and confidant of Apraxine. I should have had an additional grief, for Lieven was sincerely attached to me. But whatever friendship I may have had for Apraxine and Lieven, I can swear that I was entirely ignorant of the cause of their conduct, and even of their conduct itself, although a good deal of trouble was taken to circulate a report that it was to please the Grand Duke and me that they had retreated instead of advancing. Lieven occasionally gave very singular proofs of his attachment to me; among others, the following. The Ambassador of Austria, Count Esterhazy, gave a masquerade, at which the Empress and all the court were present. Lieven, seeing me pass the room where he was, said to his neighbour, who was Count Poniatowsky, “There is a woman for whom a fellow might take some blows of the knout without complaining.” I have this anecdote from Count Poniatowsky himself, since King of Poland.

As soon as General Fermor had assumed the command, he hastened to fulfil his instructions, which were precise. He instantly moved forward, in spite of the rigour of the season, and occupied Königsberg, which sent deputies to him on 18th January, 1758.

During this winter I suddenly perceived a great change in the behaviour of Leon Narichkine. He began to be disrespectful and rude; no longer visited me except unwillingly, and talked in a manner which made it evident that some one was filling his head with prejudices against me, his sister-in-law, his sister, Count Poniatowsky, and all who held to me. I learned that he was constantly at the house of John Schouvaloff, and I easily guessed that they were turning him against me, in order to punish me for having prevented his marriage with Mademoiselle Hitroff, and that they would certainly go on until they had led him into indiscretions which might be injurious to me. His sister-in-law, his sister, and his brother were equally angry with him on my account, and, literally, he conducted himself like a fool, and took delight in offending us as much as he could, and that, too, while I was furnishing, at my own expense, the house in which he was to live when married. Every one accused him of ingratitude, and told him that he had no interest in what he was doing; in a word, that he had nothing whatever to complain of. It was evident that he was a mere tool in the hands of those who had got possession of him. He was more regular in paying court to the Grand Duke, whom he amused as much as he could, leading him on more and more to courses which he knew I disapproved of. He sometimes pushed his incivility so far as not to reply when I spoke to him. To this very hour I cannot conceive what could have offended him, for I had literally loaded him with favours and friendship, as also all his family, from the first moment I knew them. I fancy he was also induced to cajole the Grand Duke, by the advice of the Schouvaloffs, who told him that the Duke’s favour would be more advantageous than mine, since I was in ill odour both with him and the Empress, neither of whom liked me, and that he would interfere with his own prospects if he did not detach himself from me; that as soon as the Empress died, the Grand Duke would put me into a convent; and other such like statements which the Schouvaloffs made to him, and which were reported to me. Besides, they showed him in perspective the order of St. Anne as the symbol of the Grand Duke’s favour. By these and such like reasonings and promises, they obtained from this weak-minded young man, all the little treacheries they wished; indeed, they made him go not only as far, but even farther than they wished, although now and then, as will hereafter be seen, he had his fits of repentance. He also endeavoured, as much as possible, to alienate the Grand Duke from me, so that his Imperial Highness manifested an almost continuous ill-humour towards me, while he again renewed his connection with the Countess Elizabeth Voronzoff.

In the beginning of the spring of this year it was rumoured that Prince Charles of Saxony, son of Augustus III, King of Poland, intended to visit St. Petersburg. The prospect of this visit appeared no pleasure to the Grand Duke, for many reasons. In the first place, he feared that it would be an additional restraint upon him, as he did not like that the course of life which he had traced out for himself should be in the least disturbed. In the next place the house of Saxony stood opposed to the King of Prussia, while a third reason may have been that he feared to suffer by comparison; if so, this, at all events, was being very modest, for the poor Prince of Saxony was a mere nonentity and wholly devoid of education. Except hunting and dancing, he knew absolutely nothing, and he told me himself that in the whole course of his life he never had a book in his hand except the prayer-books given to him by his mother, who was a great bigot. The Prince, in short, arrived at St. Petersburg on the 5th of April, in this year. He was received with much ceremony, and a great display of magnificence and splendour. His suite was very numerous, and he was accompanied by many Poles and Saxons, among whom there was a Lubomirsky, a Pototsky, a Rzevusky, who enjoyed the appellation of “the handsome,” two princes, Soulkowsky, a Count Sapieha, the Count Branitsky, since Grand-General, a Count Einsiedel, and many others, whose names do not now occur to me. He had a kind of sub-governor or tutor with him, named Lachinal, who directed his conduct and his correspondence. The Prince took up his residence in the house of the chamberlain, John Schouvaloff, which was recently finished, and on which its owner had exhausted his taste, notwithstanding which the house was tasteless and inconveniently though richly furnished. There were numerous paintings, but the greater part were only copies. One of the rooms was ornamented with tchinar wood, but as this wood does not take a polish it had been varnished; this turned it yellow, but of a very disagreeable hue, and, this being pronounced ugly, they sought to remedy it by covering it with very elaborate carvings, which they silvered. Externally, this mansion, though imposing in itself, resembled in its decorations, ruffles of Alençon lace, so loaded was it with ornament. Count John Czernickeff was appointed to attend on Prince Charles, and the Prince was provided with everything he required at the expense of the court, and waited on by the servants of the court.

The night preceding the day of Prince Charles’s visit to us, I suffered so severely from a violent attack of cholic, with such looseness of the bowels that they were moved more than thirty times. Notwithstanding this, and the fever consequent upon it, I dressed the next morning to receive the Prince of Saxony. He was presented to the Empress about two o’clock in the afternoon, and, upon leaving her, was presented to me. The Grand Duke was to enter a moment after him. Three arm-chairs had been placed side by side along the same wall, the centre one was for me, that on my right for the Grand Duke, and the one on my left for the Prince of Saxony. The task of keeping up the conversation devolved entirely upon me, for the Grand Duke had hardly a word to say, and the Prince had no conversational powers. In short, after a brief interview of a quarter of an hour’s length, Prince Charles arose to present his immense suite to us. There were with him, I think, more than twenty persons, to whom were added, upon this occasion, the Polish and Saxon Envoys who resided at the Russian Court, together with their employés. After half an hour’s interview the Prince took leave, and I undressed and went to bed, where I remained three or four days in a very violent fever, at the end of which I showed some signs of pregnancy. At the end of April we went to Oranienbaum. Before our departure we learnt that Prince Charles of Saxony intended to join the Russian army as a volunteer. Before leaving for the army, he went with the Empress to Petershoff where he was fêted. We took no part in these festivities, or in those given in the capital, but remained at our country-house, where he came to take leave of us, and then departed on the 4th of July.

As the Grand Duke was almost always in very bad humour with me, for which I could find no other reasons than my not receiving either M. Brockdorf or the Countess Voronzoff, who again was becoming the reigning favourite, it occurred to me to give a fête to his Imperial Highness in my garden at Oranienbaum, in order, if possible, to mitigate this ill-feeling. A fête was a thing always welcome to his Imperial Highness. Accordingly, I ordered an Italian architect who was at that time in my service, Antonio Renaldi, to construct, in a retired spot in the wood a large car capable of containing an orchestra of sixty persons, singers and instrumentalists. I had verses composed by the Italian poet of the court, and set to music by the chapel-master, Araja. In the large avenue of the garden was placed an illuminated decoration with a curtain, opposite to which a table was laid out for supper. On the 17th of July, at the close of day, his Imperial Highness, and all who were at Oranienbaum and numerous spectators from St. Petersburg and Cronstadt, assembled in the gardens which they found illuminated. We sat down to table, and, after the first course, the curtain which concealed the grand avenue was raised, and in the distance the ambulatory orchestra was seen approaching, drawn by twenty oxen, decorated with garlands and surrounded by all the dancers, male and female, that I had been able to get together. The avenue was illuminated, and so bright that everything could be plainly distinguished. When the car stopped, it so happened that the moon stood directly over it—a circumstance which produced an admirable effect and took the company quite by surprise; the weather, besides, was most delightful. The guests sprang from table, and advanced nearer to enjoy more fully the beauty of the symphony and of the spectacle. When this was ended the curtain dropped, and we sat down again to table for the second course; after which a flourish of trumpets and cymbals was heard, and then a mountebank cried out, “This way, ladies and gentlemen; walk in here, and you will find lottery tickets for nothing.” At each side of the curtained decoration two small curtains were now raised, displaying two small shops brightly illuminated, at one of which tickets were distributed gratis for a lottery of the porcelain it contained; and, in the other, for flowers, fans, combs, purses, ribbons, gloves, sword-knots, and other similar trifles. When the stalls were empty dessert was served, and afterwards came dancing, which was kept up till six the next morning. For once in the way, no intrigue or ill-will occurred to mar the effect of my fête, and his Imperial Highness and every one besides was in ecstasies. Nothing was to be heard but laudations of the Grand Duchess and her fête; and, indeed, I had spared no expense. My wine was pronounced delicious; the repast the best possible. All was at my own expense, and cost from 10,000 to 15,000 roubles; it must be remembered that I had 30,000 roubles a-year. But this fête was near costing me still more dearly; for, during the day of the 17th of July, having gone in a cabriolet with Madame Narichkine to see the preparations, and wishing to descend from the carriage, just as I placed my foot on the step, a sudden movement of the horse threw me on my knees on the ground. I was then four or five months advanced in pregnancy. I pretended to make light of the accident, and remained the last at the fête, doing the honours. However I was very much afraid of a miscarriage, but no ill result occurred, and I escaped with nothing worse than the fright.

The Grand Duke, and all his coterie, all his Holstein retainers, and even my most rancorous enemies, for days afterwards, were never tired of singing my praises, and those of my fête, there being no one, either friend or foe, who did not carry off some trifle or other, as a souvenir; and as at the fête, which was a masquerade, there was a numerous assemblage of all ranks, and as the company in the garden was very mixed, and as among them were a number of women who could not elsewhere have appeared at court, or in my presence, all made a boast and display of my presents, which were, in reality, mere trifles, none of them, I believe, exceeding a hundred roubles in value; but they came from me, and every one was delighted to be able to say, “I received that from her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess; she is goodness itself; she has made presents to every one; she is charming; she gave me a kind smile, and took pleasure in making us all eat, dance, and divert ourselves; she was always ready to find a place for those who had none, and wished every one to see all that was to be seen. She was very lively,” etc.

In short, on that day I was found to possess qualities which had not before been recognized, and I disarmed my enemies. This was what I wanted; but it did not last long, as will shortly appear.

After this fête, Leon Narichkine renewed his visits to me. One day, on entering my boudoir, I found him impertinently stretched on a couch which was there, and singing an absurd song; seeing this, I went out, closing the door after me, and immediately went in search of his sister-in-law, whom I told that we must get a good bundle of nettles, and with them chastise this fellow, who had for some time past behaved so insolently towards us, and teach him to respect us. His sister-in-law readily consented, and we forthwith had brought to us some good strong rods, surrounded with nettles. We took along with us a widow, who was with me, among my women, by name Tatiana Jourievna, and we all three entered the cabinet, where we found Leon Narichkine singing his song at the top of his voice. When he saw us he tried to make off, but we whipped him so well with our rods and nettles, that his hands, legs, and face were swollen for two or three days to such a degree that he could not accompany us to Peterhoff on the morrow, which was a court day, but was obliged to remain in his room. He took care, besides, not to boast of what had occurred, because we assured him that on the least sign of impoliteness, or ground of complaint from him, we would renew the operation, seeing that there was no other means of managing him. All this was done as mere joke, and without anger, but our hero felt it sufficiently to recollect it, and did not again expose himself to it, at least, not to the same extent as before.

In the month of August, while at Oranienbaum, we learnt that the battle of Zorndorff, one of the most sanguinary of the century, had been fought on the 14th of that month. The number of killed and wounded, on each side, was calculated at upwards of 20,000. Our loss in officers was considerable, and exceeded 1,200. This battle was announced to us as a victory, but it was whispered that the loss was equal on both sides; that for the space of three days neither army ventured to claim the victory; that finally, on the third day, the King of Prussia, in his camp, and the Count Fermor on the field of battle, had each caused the Te Deum to be sung. The vexation of the Empress and the consternation of the city were extreme when they learned all the details of this bloody day, in which so many people lost relatives, friends, or acquaintances. For a long time all was sorrow; a great many generals were slain or wounded or taken prisoners. At last, it was acknowledged, that the conduct of Count Fermor was anything but soldierly and skilful. He was recalled, and the command of the Russian forces in Prussia was given to Count Peter Soltikoff. For this purpose he was summoned from the Ukraine, where he commanded, and in the interim the command of the army was given to General Froloff Bagreeff, but with secret instructions to do nothing without the concurrence of the Lieutenant-Generals Count Roumianzoff and Prince Alexander Galitzine, his brother-in-law. A charge was brought, to the effect that Fermor, being at no great distance from the field of battle, with a force of 10,000 men upon the heights, whence he could hear the cannonade, might have rendered the action more decisive, had he attacked the Prussian army in the rear while engaged with ours. He neglected to do this, and when his brother-in-law, Prince Galitzine, came to his camp after the battle, and detailed the butchery that had taken place, he received him very ill, said many disagreeable things to him, and refused to see him afterwards, treating him as a coward, which Prince Galitzine by no means was, the entire army being more convinced of his intrepidity than of that of Roumianzoff, notwithstanding his present glory and victories. At the beginning of September the Empress was at Zarskoe Selo, where, on the 8th of the month, the day of the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin, she went on foot from the palace to the parish church to hear mass, the distance being only a few steps towards the north from the palace-door to the church. Scarcely had the service commenced, when, feeling unwell, she left the church, and descended the little flight of steps which turns towards the palace, and, on arriving at the re-entering angle of the side of the church, she fell down insensible on the grass, in the midst of, or rather surrounded by, a crowd of people who had come to hear mass from all the neighbouring villages. None of her attendants had followed her when she left the church; but being soon apprised of her condition, the ladies of her suite, and her other intimate attendants, ran to her assistance, and found her without consciousness or movement in the midst of the crowd, who gazed upon her without daring to approach. The Empress was tall and powerful, and could not fall down suddenly without doing herself a good deal of injury by the mere fall. They covered her with a white handkerchief, and went to fetch the physician and surgeon. The latter arrived first, and instantly bled her, just as she lay on the ground, and in the presence of all the crowd. But this did not bring her to. The physician was a long time in coming, being himself ill, and unable to walk. He was obliged to be carried in an arm-chair. The physician was the late Condoijdij, a Greek by nation, and the surgeon, Fouzadier, a French refugee. At last screens were brought from the palace as well as a couch, on which she was placed, and by dint of care, and the remedies applied, she began to revive a little; but, on opening her eyes, she recognized no one, and asked, in a scarcely intelligible manner, where she was. All this lasted above two hours, at the end of which it was determined to carry her Majesty on the couch to the palace. The consternation into which this event threw all who were attached to the court may easily be imagined. The publicity of the affair added to its unpleasantness. Hitherto the state of the Empress had been kept very secret, but in this case the accident was public. The next morning I was informed of the event at Oranienbaum by a note from Count Poniatowsky. I immediately went and told the Grand Duke, who knew nothing of it; because, generally speaking, every thing was carefully concealed from us, and more especially all that concerned the Empress herself. Only that it was customary, whenever we happened not to be in the same place as her Majesty, to send every Sunday one of the gentlemen of our court to make inquiries after her health. This we did not fail to do on the following Sunday, and we learnt that for several days the Empress had not recovered the free use of speech, and that even yet she articulated with difficulty. It was asserted that during her swoon she had bitten her tongue. All this gave reason for supposing that this weakness partook more of the nature of convulsions than mere fainting.

At the end of September we returned to the capital, and as I began to get large, I no longer appeared in public, believing that the period of my confinement was much nearer than it really proved to be. This was a source of annoyance to the Grand Duke, because, when I appeared in public, he very often complained of indisposition, in order to be able to remain in his own apartments, and, as the Empress also rarely appeared, the burden of the reception days, the fêtes, and the balls of the court devolved upon me, and when I could not be there, his Imperial Highness was teased to be present, in order that some one might represent her Majesty. He, therefore, began to be annoyed at my pregnancy, and one day took it in his head to say, in his apartment, before Leon Narichkine, and several others, “God knows where my wife gets her pregnancies, I don’t very well know whether this child is mine, and whether I ought to take the responsibility of it.” Leon Narichkine came running to me with these words, fresh from the Duke’s lips. I was naturally enough alarmed at such a speech, and said to him, “How stupid you all are. Go and ask him to swear that he has not slept with his wife, and tell him if he will take this oath, you will go immediately and give information of it to Alexander Schouvaloff as grand inquisitor of the empire.” Leon actually went to his Imperial Highness, and asked him for this oath, but the answer he got was, “Go to the devil, and don’t talk to me any more about that.” This speech of the Grand Duke, made so indiscreetly, gave me great pain, and I saw from that moment that three paths almost equally perilous presented themselves for my choice: first, to share the fortunes of the Grand Duke, be they what they might; secondly, to be exposed every moment to everything he chose to do either for or against me; or, lastly, to take a path entirely independent of all eventualities; to speak more plainly, I had to choose the alternative of perishing with him, or by him, or to save myself, my children, and perhaps the empire also, from the wreck of which all the moral and physical qualities of this Prince made me foresee the danger. This last choice appeared to me the safest. I resolved, therefore, to the utmost of my power to continue to give him on all occasions the very best advice I could for his benefit, but never to persist in this, as I had hitherto done, so as to make him angry; to open his eyes to his true interests on every opportunity that presented itself; and, during the rest of the time, to maintain a gloomy silence; and, on the other hand, to take care of my own interests with the public, so that in the time of need they might see in me the saviour of the commonwealth. In the month of October I was informed by the High Chancellor, Count Bestoujeff, that the King of Poland had just sent Count Poniatowsky his letters of recall. Count Bestoujeff had had a violent dispute upon this subject with Count Brühl and the Cabinet of Saxony, and was annoyed that he had not been consulted in the matter as heretofore. He learned at last that the Vice-Chancellor, Count Voronzoff, and John Schouvaloff had, with the assistance of Prasse, the resident minister of Saxony, secretly manœuvred the whole affair. This M. Prasse, moreover, often appeared to be well informed of a number of secrets which it puzzled every one to conjecture whence he had obtained them. Many years afterwards their source was discovered. He carried on a love intrigue, though very secretly and very discreetly, with the Vice-Chancellor’s wife, the Countess Anna Karlovna, whose maiden name was Scavronsky. This lady was the intimate friend of the wife of Samarine, the master of the ceremonies, and it was at the house of the latter that the Countess saw M. Prasse. The Chancellor Bestoujeff had all the letters of recall brought to him, and sent them back to Saxony under pretext of informality.

In the night between the 8th and 9th of December, I began to feel the pains of childbirth. I sent to inform the Grand Duke by Madame Vladislava, and also Count Schouvaloff, that he might announce the fact to her Imperial Majesty. In a short time the Grand Duke came into my room, dressed in his Holstein uniform, booted and spurred, with his scarf round his body, and an enormous sword at his side, having made an elaborate toilet. It was about half-past two in the morning. Astonished at his appearance, I inquired the reason of this grand dress. He replied that it was only on an emergency that true friends could be discerned; that in this garb he was ready to act as duty demanded; that the duty of a Holstein officer was to defend, according to his oath, the ducal palace against all its enemies, and that as I was ill he had hastened to my assistance. One would have supposed him jesting; but not at all, he was quite serious. I saw at once that he was intoxicated, and advised him to go to bed, that the Empress when she came might not have the double annoyance of seeing him in such a state, and armed cap-a-pie in the Holstein uniform, which I knew she detested. I had great difficulty in getting him to leave; however, Madame Vladislava and myself finally persuaded him, with the help of the midwife, who assured him that I should not be delivered for some time yet. At length he went away, and the Empress arrived. She asked where the Grand Duke was, and she was informed that he had just quitted the room, and would not fail to return. When she found that the pains abated, and that the midwife told her I might not be confined for some hours yet, she returned to her apartments, and I went to bed and slept till the next morning, when I got up as usual, feeling however occasional pains, after which I continued for hours together entirely free from them. Towards supper time I felt hungry, and ordered some supper to be brought. The midwife was sitting near me, and seeing me eat ravenously, she said, “Eat, eat: this supper will bring you good luck.” In fact, having finished my supper, I rose from the table, and the moment I did so was seized with such a pain, that I gave a loud scream. The midwife and Madame Vladislava seized me under my arms, and placed me on the “bed of pain,” and went to seek the Empress and the Grand Duke. Scarcely had they arrived when I was delivered (between ten and eleven o’clock at night), on the 9th of December, of a daughter, whom I begged the Empress to allow me to name after her. But she decided that she should be named after her eldest sister, Anne Petrovna, Duchess of Holstein, mother of the Grand Duke. His Imperial Highness appeared much pleased at the birth of this child; he made great rejoicings over it in his own apartments, ordered rejoicings to be made in Holstein also, and received all the compliments paid to him on the subject with great manifestations of pleasure. On the sixth day the Empress stood godmother to the child, and brought me an order on the cabinet for 60,000 roubles. A similar present was sent to the Grand Duke, which added not a little to his satisfaction. After the baptism the fêtes commenced, which were very magnificent, according to report. I saw none of them, but remained in my bed, very delicate and quite alone, not a living soul to keep me company; for no sooner was I delivered than the Empress not only carried off the child to her own apartments as previously, but under the plea of my requiring repose, I was left there and abandoned like any poor wretch, no one entering my apartments to ask how I was, or even sending to inquire. As on the former occasion, I had suffered a great deal from this neglect. I had this time taken all possible precautions against draughts, and the other inconveniences of the place; and as soon as I was delivered I arose and went to my bed, and as no one dared to visit me, unless secretly, I had also taken care to provide for this contingency. My bed stood nearly in the middle of a rather long room, the windows being on the right side of the bed. There was also a side door, which opened into a kind of wardrobe, which served also as an ante-chamber, and which was well barricaded with screens and trunks. From the bed to this door I had placed an immense screen which concealed the prettiest little boudoir I could devise, considering the locality and the circumstances. In this boudoir were a couch, mirrors, moveable tables, and some chairs. When the curtains of my bed on that side were drawn, nothing could be seen; but when they were pulled aside, I could see the boudoir, and those who happened to be in it. But any one entering the room could only see the screens. If any one asked what was behind the screen, the answer was, the commode; and this being within the screen, no one was anxious to see it; or even if so, it could be shown without getting into the boudoir, which the screen effectively concealed.

1759.

On the 1st of January, 1759, the court festivities terminated with a grand display of fireworks between the ball and the supper. As I still kept my room, I did not appear at court. Before the fireworks were let off, Count Peter Schouvaloff took it into his head to present himself at my door, to show me the plan of them before they were let off. Madame Vladislava told him I was asleep, but however she would go and see. It was not true that I was asleep; I was merely in bed, and had my usual little party, which then, as formerly, consisted of Mesdames Narichkine, Siniavine, Ismaïloff, and Count Poniatowsky. The latter, since his recall, had given out that he was ill, but came to visit me, and these ladies loved me sufficiently to prefer my company to the balls and fêtes. Madame Vladislava did not exactly know who was with me, but she was a great deal too shrewd not to suspect that there was some one. I had told her early that I should go to bed, as I felt weary; and then she did not afterwards disturb me. Upon the arrival of Count Schouvaloff, she came and knocked at my door. I drew the curtain on the side of the screen, and told her to enter. She came in, and brought me the message of Count Peter Schouvaloff, and I ordered her to admit him. While she went to execute this order, my friends behind the screen were bursting with laughter at the extreme absurdity of the scene—my being about to receive Count Schouvaloff, who would be able to swear that he had found me alone, and in bed, while there was only a curtain which separated my gay little party from this most important personage, who was at that time the oracle of the court, and possessed the confidence of the Empress to a very high degree. In, therefore, he came, and brought me his plan for the fireworks. He was at the time Grand Master of Artillery. I began by making apologies for keeping him waiting—only having, I said, just awoke; I rubbed my eyes, saying that I was still quite sleepy. I told a story, not to make Madame Vladislava out a story-teller. After this, I entered into a rather long conversation with him, so much so even, that he appeared anxious to leave, in order not to keep the Empress waiting for the commencement of the fireworks. I then dismissed him. He took his departure, and I again drew aside the curtain. My company, from laughing so heartily, was beginning to feel hungry and thirsty. “Very well,” I said, “you shall have something to eat and drink; it is only fair that while you are kind enough to give me your company, you should not die of hunger or thirst.” I closed the curtain and rang; Madame Vladislava presented herself. I told her that I was starving, and desired her to bring me some supper. I said I must have at least six good dishes. When it was ready it was brought to me, and I had it placed by the side of my bed, and told the servant not to wait. Then my friends from behind the screen came out like so many famished creatures to eat whatever they could find; the fun of the thing increased their appetite. In fact, this evening was one of the merriest I have ever passed in the whole course of my life. When the supper had been devoured, I had the remains cleared away in the same manner as it had been served. I fancy however the servants were a little surprised at my appetite. About the time the court supper had concluded, my party retired also very well pleased with their evening. Count Poniatowsky, when going out, always wore a wig of fair hair and a cloak, and to the question of the sentinels, “Who goes there?” was accustomed to answer that he was a musician to the Grand Duke. This wig made us laugh a good deal that day.

This time my churching, after the six weeks, took place in the Empress’ chapel; but no one assisted at it except Alexander Schouvaloff. Towards the end of the Carnival, and when all the fêtes of the city were finished, three weddings took place at court: that of Count Alexander Strogonoff with the Countess Anne Voronzoff, daughter of the Vice-Chancellor, was the first; and, two days after, that of Leon Narichkine with Mademoiselle Zakrefsky; and, on the same day, also, that of Count Boutourline with the Countess Marie Voronzoff. These three young ladies were Maids of Honour to the Empress. At the celebration of these weddings, a bet was made at court between the Hetman Count Rasoumowsky and the Minister of Denmark, Count d’Osten, as to which of the three newly-made husbands should be first cuckolded, and it turned out that those who had bet that it would be Strogonoff, whose bride appeared the plainest of the three, and at the time the most innocent and childlike, won the wager.

The evening preceding the day on which Leon Narichkine and Count Boutourline were married, was an unfortunate one. For a long time, it had been whispered that the credit of the Grand Chancellor was wavering, and that his enemies were getting the upper hand of him. He had lost his friend, General Apraxine. Count Rasoumowsky, the elder, had for a long time supported him; but ever since the influence of the Schouvaloffs had preponderated, he scarcely meddled with anything, except, when occasion offered, to ask for some trifling favour for his friends or connections. The hatred of Schouvaloff and Voronzoff against the Chancellor was still further increased by the efforts of the Ambassadors of Austria and France, Count Esterhazy, and Marshal de l’Hôpital. The latter thought Count Bestoujeff more disposed for an alliance with England than with France, and the Ambassador of Austria caballed against him, because, while he wished Russia should adhere to her treaty of alliance with the Court of Vienna, and give aid to Maria Theresa, he did not wish that she should take a leading part in a war against the King of Prussia. The views of Count Bestoujeff were those of a patriot, and he was not easily led; whereas the Messrs. Voronzoff and John Schouvaloff were the tools of the two ambassadors to such an extent that a fortnight before the Grand Chancellor’s disgrace, the Marquis de l’Hôpital, Ambassador of France, went to Count Voronzoff, despatch in hand, and said to him, “Monsieur le Comte, here is the despatch of my court, which I have just received, and in which it is said that if, within a fortnight, the Grand Chancellor is not displaced by you, I am to address myself to him, and treat with no one but him.” Then the Vice-Chancellor took fire, and went to John Schouvaloff, and they represented to the Empress that her glory was suffering from the credit which Count Bestoujeff enjoyed throughout Europe. She ordered that a conference should be held that very evening, and that the Grand Chancellor should be summoned to it. The latter sent word that he was ill. This illness was represented as a disobedience, and word was sent to him to come without delay. He went, and, on his arrival, he was arrested in full conference. He was deprived of his offices, his titles, and his orders, without any one being able to say for what crimes or delinquencies; the first personage of the empire was thus despoiled. He was sent back to his house a prisoner. As all this was pre-arranged, a company of grenadiers of the guard was called out. These, as they passed along the Moïka, where the Counts Alexander and Peter Schouvaloff lived, said to one another, “Thank God, we are going to arrest those cursed Schouvaloffs, who do nothing but invent monopolies.” But when the soldiers found that it was Count Bestoujeff whom they had to arrest, they gave evident signs of displeasure, saying, “It is not this man, it is the others, who trample on the people.”

Though Count Bestoujeff had been arrested in the very palace of which we occupied a wing, and not very far from our apartments, we heard nothing of it that evening, so careful were they to keep from us all that was going on. The next day (Sunday) I received, on waking, a note from Leon Narichkine, which the Count Poniatowsky forwarded to me by this channel, which had long since become of very questionable security. It commenced with these words:—“Man is never without resources. I employ this means of informing you, that last night, Count Bestoujeff was arrested and deprived of his offices and dignities, and with him your jeweller Bernardi, Teleguine, and Adadouroff.” I was thunderstruck upon reading these lines, and, having read them, I felt that I must by no means flatter myself that this affair did not affect me more nearly than yet appeared. Now, to make this understood, a few comments are necessary. Bernardi was an Italian jeweller, not without talent, and whose business gave him the entrée to every house. I think that there was scarcely one which did not owe him something, or to which he had not rendered some little service or other, as he went continually to and fro everywhere. He was also intrusted sometimes with commissions from one to the other. A note sent through Bernardi always reached its destination sooner and more safely than if sent by the servants. Now the arrest of Bernardi interested the whole city, since he executed commissions for everybody, and for me among the rest. Teleguine was the former Adjutant of the Master of the Hounds, Count Rasoumowsky, who had had the guardianship of Beketoff. He had remained attached to the house of Rasoumowsky. He had also become the friend of Count Poniatowsky. He was a man of integrity, and one who could be relied on; and when once his affection was gained it was not easily lost. He had always shown a predilection for me, and zeal in my interest. Adadouroff had been formerly my master in the Russian language, and had remained much attached to me. It was I who had recommended him to Count Bestoujeff, who, within the last two or three years only, had begun to place confidence in him. Formerly, he did not like him, because he held to the party of the Procurator-General, Prince Nikita Youriewitch Troubetskoy, the enemy of Bestoujeff.

After the perusal of the note, and the reflections which I have just made, a crowd of ideas, one more disagreeable than another, presented themselves to my mind. With the iron in my soul, so to speak, I dressed, and went to mass, where it seemed to me that the greater part of those I saw had faces as long as my own. No one made any remark to me during the day; it was just as if every one was in total ignorance of what had happened. I was silent also. The Grand Duke, who had never liked Count Bestoujeff, appeared to be rather gay on this occasion, yet behaved without affectation, though he rather kept away from me a good deal. In the evening I was obliged to go to the wedding; I changed my dress, was present at the benediction of the marriages of Count Boutourline and Leon Narichkine, at the ball, and at the supper, during which I approached the Marshal of the wedding, Prince Nikita Troubetskoy, and, under pretence of examining the ribbons of his marshal’s baton, I whispered to him, “What do all these fine doings mean? Have you found more crimes than criminals, or more criminals than crimes?” To which he replied—“We have done what we were ordered; but as for crimes, they are still to be discovered. Thus far, the search has not been successful.” Having finished with him, I approached Marshal Boutourline, who said to me—“Bestoujeff is arrested, but we have yet to learn why he is so.” Thus spoke the two commissioners appointed by the Empress to investigate the causes that had led to his arrest by Count Alexander Schouvaloff. I also perceived Stambke at the ball, but at a distance, and I saw that his countenance wore an expression of suffering and of despondency. The Empress was not present at either of these two marriages, neither in church nor at the feast. The next day, Stambke came to my apartments, and told me that he had just received a note from Count Bestoujeff, which begged that he would inform me that I need be under no apprehension concerning what I knew; that he had had time to burn everything, and that he would communicate to him (Stambke), by the same channel, the interrogatories which might be put to him. I asked what that channel was? He told me that it was by a horn-player in the Count’s service, who had brought him the note, and that it had been arranged, that for the future, any communications it might be desirable to make should be placed in a particular spot, among some bricks, not far from the Count’s house. I told Stambke to take care that this dangerous correspondence was not discovered, though he appeared to be suffering great anxiety himself. However, he and Count Poniatowsky still continued it. As soon as Stambke had left, I called Madame Vladislava, and told her to go to her brother-in-law, Pougowoschnikoff, and give him the note I was writing to him. It contained only these words:—“You have nothing to fear; there has been time to burn all.” This tranquillized him; for, it appears, that ever since the arrest of the High Chancellor, he had been more dead than alive. This it is which occasioned his anxiety, and what the Count Bestoujeff had had time to destroy.

The weak state of the Empress’ health, and the convulsive fits to which she was subject, very naturally made all eyes turn to the future. Count Bestoujeff, both from his position and abilities, was certainly not one of the last to do so. He knew well the antipathy that had long been excited against him in the mind of the Grand Duke. He was also well aware of the feeble capacity of this Prince, born heir to so many crowns. It was only natural that this statesman, like every one else, should wish to maintain himself in his position. For several years past he had seen me laying aside my prejudices against him; perhaps, also, he regarded me personally as the only one upon whom at that time the hopes of the public could rest, in the event of the Empress’ death.

These and such like reflections had induced him to form the plan that, on the decease of the Empress, the Grand Duke should be proclaimed Emperor of right, but that at the same time I should be declared a participator with him in the administration; that all existing offices should be continued, and that, for himself, he should receive the lieutenant-colonelcy of the four regiments of guards, and the Presidency of the three Colleges of the Empire, of that of foreign affairs, of War, and of the Admiralty. His pretensions were consequently excessive. He had forwarded me, through Count Poniatowsky, the draught of this project, written by the hand of Pougowoschnikoff. I had agreed with the former that I should thank him verbally for his good intentions towards me, but that I regarded the plan as difficult of execution. He had had this project written and re-written several times, had altered, amplified, retrenched, and appeared to be quite absorbed by it. To speak the truth, I looked upon it as the effect of mere dotage, and as a bait which the old man was throwing out in order to obtain a firmer hold on my friendship; but I did not catch at this bait, because I regarded it as prejudicial to the Empire, that every quarrel between my husband (who did not love me) and myself should convulse the state; but as the occasion for such a course did not yet exist, I did not wish to oppose an old man who, when once he took a thing into his head, was self-willed and immovable. This, then, was the project which he had found time to destroy, and concerning which he had sent me word, in order that I might tranquillize those who had been privy to it.

In the mean time, my valet de chambre, Skourine, came to tell me that the captain who guarded Count Bestoujeff was a man who had always been his friend, and who dined with him every Sunday, when he left court and went home. I said that if this were the case, and if he could be relied on, he should endeavour to sound him, and see if he would allow any communication with the prisoner. This had become the more necessary as Count Bestoujeff had communicated to Stambke, by the mode already mentioned, that he wished Bernardi to be told from him to speak the simple truth when interrogated, and to let him know what were the questions asked. When I perceived that Skourine willingly undertook to discover some means of communicating with Count Bestoujeff, I told him also to try and open some means of communication with Bernardi as well, and see if he could not gain over the sergeant or some soldier who kept guard in his quarter. On the evening of the same day, Skourine told me that Bernardi was guarded by a sergeant of the guards named Kalichkine, with whom he was to have an interview on the morrow; but that having sent to his friend the captain, who was with the Count Bestoujeff, to ask if he could see him, the latter had informed him that if he wished to see him he must come to his house; but that one of his subalterns, whom he also knew, and who was his relation, had cautioned him not to go there, because if he did, the captain would arrest him, and would make a merit of so doing at his expense, and that of this he had boasted to a confidant. Skourine therefore kept away from his pretended friend. However Kalichkine, whom I had ordered to be gained over in my name, told Bernardi all that was necessary; besides, he was only asked to speak the simple truth, and to this both willingly lent themselves.

At the end of a few days, very early one morning, Stambke came into my room, very pale and greatly frightened, and told me that his correspondence and that of Count Bestoujeff with Count Poniatowsky had been discovered; that the little horn-player had been arrested, and that there was every reason to fear that their last letters had fallen into the hands of Count Bestoujeff’s keepers; that he himself expected every moment to be dismissed, if not arrested; and that he had come to tell me this, and to take his leave of me. This information caused me no little anxiety. However, I consoled him as well as I could, and sent him away, not doubting but that his visit would tend to augment against me, if that were possible, all kinds of ill-feeling, and that I should, perhaps, be shunned as a person suspected by the Government. I was, however, well satisfied in my own mind that I had nothing to reproach myself with against the Government. With the exception of Michel Voronzoff, John Schouvaloff, the two Ambassadors of Austria and France, and those whom these parties made to believe whatever they wished, the general public, every one in St. Petersburg, great and small, was persuaded that Count Bestoujeff was innocent, and that there was neither crime nor delinquency to be laid to his charge. It was known that the day following the evening of his arrest, a manifesto had been concocted in the chamber of Ivan Schouvaloff, which the Sieur Volkoff, formerly first commissary of Count Bestoujeff, and who, in the year 1755, had absconded from his house, and after wandering some time in the woods, had allowed himself to be taken, and who was at this moment first Secretary to the Conference, had to draw up, and which they intended to publish, in order to make known the reasons which had constrained the Empress to act towards the Grand Chancellor in the way she had done. Now, in this secret conference, in which they had to torment their brains to discover offences, they agreed to state that it was for the crime of high treason, and because Bestoujeff had endeavoured to sow dissension between her Imperial Majesty and their Imperial Highnesses; and it was their wish, the very day after his arrest, to banish him to one of his estates, and deprive him of the rest of his property, without trial or judgment. But there were some who thought that it was going too far to exile a man without crime or trial, and that it was, at least, necessary to look about and see if some crime could not be laid to his charge; and if not, that, in any case, it was indispensable to make the prisoner—who, for some unknown reason, had been shorn of his offices, dignities, and decorations—pass under the judgment of Commissioners. Now, these Commissioners, as I have already stated, were Marshal Boutourline, the Procurator-General Prince Troubetskoy, the General Count Alexander Schouvaloff, and the Sieur Volkoff as Secretary. The first thing these Commissioners did was to give directions, through the department of foreign affairs, to the ambassadors, envoys, and employés of Russia at foreign courts, to send copies of the despatches which Count Bestoujeff had written to them since he had been at the head of affairs. The object of this was to discover in these despatches some crime or other. It was alleged against him that he wrote just what he pleased, and made statements opposed to the orders and wishes of the Empress; but as her Majesty neither wrote nor signed anything, it was difficult to act against her orders; and, as to verbal orders, she could hardly have given any to the High Chancellor, who for whole years had no occasion to see her; and, as for verbal orders delivered through a third party, they might as easily be misapprehended, as they might be imperfectly delivered, as well as imperfectly received and understood. But nothing came of all this except the order I have mentioned, because none of the employés gave himself the trouble of examining papers ranging over twenty years, and then copying them for the purpose of discovering crimes committed by one whose instructions and orders he himself had followed out, and with whom, therefore, however well meant his efforts, he might become implicated in any faults which might be traced in them. Besides, the mere transmission of these papers would put the crown to a considerable expense; and when, after all, they reached St. Petersburg, there would be enough in them to try the patience of many persons for many years in their attempts to discover and unravel something which, after all, they might contain. The order therefore was never executed; nay, even those who sent it at last grew tired of the business itself, and at the end of a year it was concluded by the publication of the manifesto, which they had begun to compose the day after the Chancellor’s arrest.

On the afternoon of the day on which Stambke had come to take leave of me, the Empress sent an order to the Grand Duke to dismiss him, and send him back to Holstein, for that his correspondence with Bestoujeff had been discovered, and that he deserved to be arrested, but that out of consideration for his Imperial Highness, whose minister he was, he should be left at liberty, provided he was immediately sent away. Stambke was immediately sent off, and with his departure ended my interference in the affairs of Holstein. The Grand Duke was given to understand that the Empress was not pleased at my having to meddle with them, and his Imperial Highness was himself inclined that way. I do not well remember who it was that succeeded Stambke, but I rather think it was a person named Wolff. In the next place, the Empress’ ministry formally demanded of the King of Poland, the recall of Count Poniatowsky, as a letter of his, addressed to Count Bestoujeff, had been discovered. It was innocent enough, in fact, but nevertheless was addressed to a so-called prisoner of state. As soon as I heard of the dismissal of Stambke, and the recall of Count Poniatowsky, I prepared myself to expect nothing good, and this is what I did. I summoned my valet de chambre, Skourine, and ordered him to collect and bring to me all my account books, and everything among my effects which could in any way be regarded as a paper. He executed my orders with zeal and exactitude, and when all were brought into my room I dismissed him. As soon as he left the room, I threw all the books into the fire, and when I saw them half-consumed, I recalled Skourine, and said to him, “Look here, and be witness that all my papers and accounts are burnt, in order that if you are ever asked where they are, you may be able to swear that you saw me burn them.” He thanked me for the care I took of him, and told me that a singular alteration had been made in the guard over the prisoners. Since the discovery of Stambke’s correspondence with Count Bestoujeff, a stricter watch had been kept upon him, and with this object they had taken from Bernardi the sergeant Kalichkine, and had placed him in the chamber and near the person of the late High Chancellor. When Kalichkine saw this, he asked to have some of the trusty soldiers who were under him when he was on guard at Bernardi’s. Here, then, was the most reliable and intelligent man we had introduced into the very apartment of Count Bestoujeff, without having lost all means of communication with Bernardi. In the meantime the interrogatories of the Count were going on. Kalichkine made himself known to him as a man devoted to me, and, in fact, he rendered him a thousand good offices. Like myself, he was convinced that the Chancellor was innocent, and the victim of a powerful cabal—and such, also, was the persuasion of the public. As for the Grand Duke, I saw that they had frightened him, and had led him to suspect that I was aware of the correspondence of Stambke with the state-prisoner. I perceived that his Royal Highness was almost afraid to speak to me, and avoided entering my apartment, where I remained for the time, quite alone, seeing no one. I would not, in fact, allow any one to come to me, fearing to expose them to some misfortune or inconvenience, and when at court, in order to be avoided, I refrained from approaching any one I thought likely to be compromised by my notice. On the last days of the Carnival there was to be a Russian play at the court theatre, and Count Poniatowsky begged me to be present, because rumours had been spread that it was intended to send me back to my own country, to prevent my appearance in public, and I know not what besides, and that every time I did not appear at court or at the theatre, every one was anxious to know the reason of my absence, as much perhaps from curiosity as from interest in me. I knew that the Russian drama was one of the things his Imperial Highness least liked, and even to talk of going there was enough to displease him seriously. On this occasion, too, in addition to his dislike of the national drama, he had another and more personal objection, namely, that it would deprive him of the company of the Countess Elizabeth Voronzoff; as she was in the ante-chamber along with the other maids of honour, it was there that his Imperial Highness enjoyed her conversation or her company at play. If I went to the theatre these ladies were obliged to follow me—a circumstance which annoyed his Imperial Highness, who had then no other resource than to retire to his own apartments to drink. Notwithstanding all this, as I had promised to go to the play, I sent a message to Count Alexander Schouvaloff, desiring him to order a carriage for me, as I intended that day to go to the play. The Count came and told me that my intention of going to the theatre was anything but agreeable to the Grand Duke. I replied that as I formed no part of the society of his Royal Highness, I thought it would be the same to him whether I was alone in my room or in my box at the theatre. He went away, winking his eyes, as he always did whenever anything disturbed him. Some time afterwards, the Grand Duke came into my room. He was in a fearful passion, screaming like an eagle; accusing me of taking pleasure in enraging him, and saying that I had chosen to go to these plays because I knew he disliked them; but I represented to him that he ought not to dislike them. He told me that he would forbid my having a carriage. I replied that if he did I should go on foot, and that I could not imagine what pleasure he could find in compelling me to die of ennui in my rooms, with no other company but my dog and my parrot. After a long and very angry dispute on both sides, he went away, in a greater rage than ever, and I still persisted in my intention of going to the play. When it got near the time for starting, I sent to ask Count Schouvaloff if the carriages were ready; he came and told me that the Grand Duke had forbidden any to be provided for me. Then I became really angry, and told him that I would go on foot, and that if he forbade the ladies and gentlemen from attending me I would go alone; and, besides, that I would write and complain to the Empress, both of the Duke and of him. “What will you say to her?” he asked. “I will tell her,” I said, “the manner in which I am treated, and that you, in order to secure for the Grand Duke a rendezvous with my maids of honour, encourage him to prevent my going to the theatre, where I might, perhaps, have the pleasure of seeing her Imperial Majesty; and besides this, I will beg of her to send me back to my mother, because I am weary of, and disgusted with, the part I play here: left alone and deserted in my room, hated by the Grand Duke, and not liked by the Empress, I want to be at rest, and a burden to no one; I want to be freed from the necessity of making every one who approaches me unhappy, and particularly my poor servants, of whom so many have been exiled, because I was kind to them, or wished to be so. It is thus that I shall write to her Imperial Majesty, and I will see, moreover, whether you yourself will not be the bearer of my letter.” My gentleman got frightened at the determined tone I assumed; he left me, and I sat down to write my letter to the Empress in Russian, making it as pathetic as I could. I began by thanking her for the kindness and favours with which she had loaded me ever since my arrival in Russia, saying that, unfortunately, the event proved that I did not deserve them, since I had only drawn upon myself the hatred of the Grand Duke and the very marked displeasure of her Imperial Majesty; that as I was unhappy and shut up in my own room, where I was deprived of even the most innocent amusements, I begged her earnestly to put an end to my sufferings, by sending me to my relations in any manner she judged proper; that as for the children, as I never saw them, though living in the same house with them, it made little difference to me whether I was in the same place with them or some hundreds of leagues distant; that I was well aware that she took better care of them than my poor powers would enable me to do; that I ventured to entreat her to continue this care of them; that confident of this, I would pass the rest of my time with my relations, in praying for her, the Grand Duke, my children, and all those who had done me either good or evil; but that my health was reduced by grief to such a state, that I did what I could to preserve my life, at least; and that with this object I addressed myself to her for permission to go to the waters, and thence to my relations.

Having written this letter, I summoned Count Schouvaloff, who, on entering, informed me that the carriages I had ordered were ready. I told him, while handing him my letter for the Empress, that he might inform the gentlemen and ladies who did not wish to accompany me to the theatre, that I would dispense with their attendance. The Count received my letter, winking his usual wink, but as it was addressed to her Imperial Majesty, he dared not refuse it. He also gave my message to the equerries and ladies, and it was his Imperial Highness who decided who was to go with me, and who was to remain with him. I passed through the ante-chamber, where I found him seated with the Countess Voronzoff, playing at cards in a corner. He rose, and she also, when he saw me—a thing which, on other occasions, he never did. In this ceremony I replied by a low curtsey, and passed on. I went to the theatre, where the Empress did not come on that occasion. I fancy it was my letter which prevented her. On my return, Count Schouvaloff told me that her Imperial Majesty would have an interview with me herself. The Count would seem to have informed the Grand Duke of my letter and the reply of the Empress, for, although from that time he never set foot in my room, he used his utmost endeavours to be present at the interview which the Empress was to have with me, and it was considered that this could not well be refused. While waiting for this interview to take place, I kept myself quiet, in my own apartments. I felt persuaded that if the Schouvaloffs had had any idea of sending me home, or of frightening me with the threats of doing so, I had taken the best method of disconcerting the project; for nowhere were they likely to meet with greater resistance to it than in the mind of the Empress herself, who was not at all inclined to strong measures of this kind; besides, she remembered the old misunderstandings in her own family, and certainly would not wish to see them renewed in her time. Against me there could be only one point of complaint, which was, that her worthy nephew did not appear to me the most amiable of men, any more than I appeared to him the most amiable of women; and, as regarded this nephew, her opinions exactly coincided with my own. She knew him so well that for many years past she could not spend a quarter of an hour in his society without feeling disgust, or anger, or sorrow, and in her chamber, when he happened to be the subject of conversation, she would either melt into tears at the misfortune of having such a successor, or she would be unable to speak of him without exhibiting her contempt, and often applied to him epithets which he but too well merited. I have proofs of this in my hands, having found among her papers two notes written by her own hand, to whom I do not know, though one of them appears to have been for John Schouvaloff, and the other for Count Rasoumowsky, in which she curses her nephew, and wishes him at the devil. In one occurs this expression, “My damned nephew has greatly vexed me;” and in another she says, “My nephew is a fool, the devil take him.” Besides, my mind was made up, and I looked upon my being sent away, or not, with a very philosophic eye. In whatever position it should please Providence to place me, I should never be without those resources which talent and determination give to each one according to his natural abilities, and I felt myself possessed of sufficient courage either to mount or descend without being carried away by undue pride on the one hand, or being humbled and dispirited on the other. I knew that I was a human being, and, therefore, of limited powers, and then incapable of perfection, but my intentions had always been pure and good. If from the very beginning I had perceived that to love a husband who was not amiable, nor took any pains to be so, was a thing difficult, if not impossible; yet, at least, I had devoted myself both to him and his interests with all the attachment which a friend, and even a servant, could devote to his friend and master. My counsel to him had always been the very best I could devise for his welfare, and, if he did not choose to follow it, the fault was not mine, but that of his own judgment, which was neither sound nor just. When I came to Russia, and during the first years of our union, had this Prince shown the least disposition to make himself supportable, my heart would have been opened for him, but when I saw that of all possible objects I was the one to whom he showed the least possible attention, precisely because I was his wife, it is not wonderful I should find my position neither agreeable nor to my taste, or that I should consider it irksome, or even painful. This latter feeling I suppressed more resolutely than any other; the pride and cast of my disposition rendered the idea of being unhappy most repugnant to me. I used to say to myself, happiness and misery depend on ourselves; if you feel unhappy, raise yourself above unhappiness, and so act that your happiness may be independent of all eventualities. With such a disposition I was born with a great sensibility, and a face, to say the least of it, interesting, and which pleased at first sight, without art or effort. My disposition was naturally so conciliating, that no one ever passed a quarter of an hour in my company without feeling perfectly at ease, and conversing with me as if we had been old acquaintances. Naturally indulgent, I won the confidence of those who had any relations with me, because every one felt that the strictest probity and good-will were the impulses which I most readily obeyed, and, if I may be allowed the expression, I venture to assert, in my own behalf, that I was a true gentleman, whose cast of mind was more male than female, though, for all that, I was anything but masculine, for, joined to the mind and character of a man, I possessed the charms of a very agreeable woman. I trust I shall be pardoned for giving this candid expression of my feelings, instead of seeking to throw around them a veil of false modesty. Besides, this very writing must prove what I have asserted of mind, disposition, and character.

I have just said that I was pleasing, consequently half the road of temptation was already traversed, and it is in the very essence of human nature that, in such cases, the other half should not remain untracked. For to tempt, and to be tempted, are things very nearly allied, and, in spite of the finest maxims of morality impressed upon the mind, whenever feeling has anything to do in the matter, no sooner is it excited than we have already gone vastly farther than we are aware of, and I have yet to learn how it is possible to prevent its being excited. Flight alone is, perhaps, the only remedy; but there are cases and circumstances in which flight becomes impossible, for how is it possible to fly, shun, or turn one’s back in the midst of a court? The very attempt would give rise to remarks. Now, if you do not fly, there is nothing, it seems to me, so difficult as to escape from that which is essentially agreeable. All that can be said in opposition to it will appear but a prudery quite out of harmony with the natural instincts of the human heart; besides, no one holds his heart in his hand, tightening or relaxing his grasp of it at pleasure.

But to return to my narrative. The morning after the play, I gave out that I was unwell, and kept my room, waiting patiently for the decision of her Imperial Majesty upon my humble request. However, the first week in Lent I judged it prudent to go to my duty, in order to show my attachment to the Orthodox Church. The second or third week of Lent brought me another bitter affliction. One morning after I had risen, my servants informed me that Count Alexander Schouvaloff had sent for Madame Vladislava. This I thought somewhat strange. I waited her return anxiously, but in vain. About an hour after noon, Count Schouvaloff came to apprise me that her Majesty the Empress had thought fit to remove Madame Vladislava from me. I burst into tears, and said, that of course, her Imperial Majesty had a right to remove or place with me whomsoever she pleased, but that I was grieved to find, more and more, that all who came near me were so many victims devoted to the displeasure of her Imperial Majesty; and that in order that there might be fewer such victims, I begged and entreated him to request her Majesty to send me home to my relations as soon as possible, and thus put an end to a state of things which compelled me to be continually making some one or other miserable. I also assured him that the removal of Madame Vladislava would not serve to throw any light upon anything whatever, because, neither she nor any one else possessed any confidence. The Count was about to reply, but hearing my sobs, he began to weep with me, and told me that the Empress would herself speak to me on the subject. I entreated him to hasten the moment, which he promised to do. I then went to my attendants, related what had occurred, and added that if any duenna I happened to dislike took the place of Madame Vladislava, she might make up her mind to receive from me the worst possible treatment, not even excepting blows; and I begged them to repeat this wherever they pleased, so as to deter all who might wish to be placed about me from being in too great haste to accept the charge, for that I was tired of suffering, and as I saw that my mildness and patience had produced no other result than that of making everything connected with me go from bad to worse, I had made up my mind to change my conduct entirely. My people did not fail to repeat all I wished.

The evening of this day, during which I had wept a great deal, walking up and down my room, much agitated both in mind and body, one of my maids, named Catherine Ivanovna Cheregorodskaya, came into my bed-room, where I was quite alone, and said to me very affectionately, and with many tears, “We are all very much afraid you will sink under these afflictions; let me go to-day to my uncle—he is your own confessor as well as the Empress’—I will talk to him, and tell him everything you wish, and I promise you he will speak to the Empress in a manner that will give you satisfaction.” Perceiving her good disposition towards me, I told her without reserve the state of matters; what I had written to her Imperial Majesty, and everything else. She went to her uncle, and, having talked the matter over, and disposed him to favour my cause, she returned about eleven o’clock to tell me that her uncle advised me to give out in the course of the night that I was ill, and wanted to confess, and thus send for him, in order that he might be able to repeat to the Empress what he should hear from my own lips. I very much approved of this idea, and promised to carry it out, and then dismissed her, thanking both herself and uncle for the attachment they displayed for me. Accordingly, between two and three o’clock in the morning, I rang my bell. One of my women entered. I told her I felt so unwell that I wished to confess. In place of a confessor, Count Alexander Schouvaloff came running to me. In a weak and broken voice I renewed my request that my confessor should be sent to me. He sent for the doctors, and to these I said that it was spiritual succour I stood in need of; that I was choking. One felt my pulse, and said it was weak; I replied that my soul was in danger, and that my body had no further need of doctors. At length my confessor arrived, and we were left alone. I made him sit by the side of my bed, and we had a conversation of at least an hour and a-half in length. I described to him the state of things past and present; the Grand Duke’s conduct to me, and mine towards him; the hatred of the Schouvaloffs, and the constant banishment, or dismissal, of my people, and always of those who had grown most attached to me, and, finally, the hatred of her Imperial Majesty, drawn upon me by the Schouvaloffs; in short, the whole present position of affairs, and what had led me to write to the Empress the letter in which I demanded to be sent home, and I begged him to procure me a speedy reply to my prayer. I found him with the best disposition possible for serving me, and by no means such a fool as he was reported to be. He told me that my letter did and would produce the effect I wished; that I must persist in my demand to be sent home, a demand which most certainly would not be complied with, because such a step could not be justified in the eyes of the public, who had their attention directed towards me. He agreed that I had been treated very cruelly; that the Empress, having chosen me at a very tender age, had abandoned me to the mercy of my enemies; and that she would do far better to banish my rivals, and especially Elizabeth Voronzoff, and keep a check upon her favourites, who had become the blood-suckers of the people, by means of the new monopolies which the Schouvaloffs were every day devising, besides which, they were daily giving the people cause to complain of their injustice, as witness the affair of Count Bestoujeff, of whose innocence the public were persuaded. He concluded by telling me that he would immediately proceed to the Empress’ apartments, where he would wait until she awoke, in order to speak to her on the subject; and that he would then press for the interview which she had promised me, and which ought to be decisive; and that I would do well to keep my bed: he would add, he said, that grief and affliction might cause my death, if some speedy remedy were not applied, and I was not removed, by some means or other, from my present condition where I was left, alone and abandoned by every one. He kept his word, and painted so vividly to the Empress my unfortunate state, that she summoned Count Alexander Schouvaloff, and ordered him to inquire if my condition would allow me to come and speak to her the following evening. Count Schouvaloff came to me with this message, and I told him for such an object I would summon all the strength I had left. Towards evening I rose, and Schouvaloff informed me that, after midnight, he would accompany me to the apartments of her Imperial Majesty. My confessor sent me word by his niece, that everything was going on well, and that the Empress would speak to me that evening. I therefore dressed myself about ten o’clock at night, and lay down fully dressed upon a couch, where I fell asleep. About half-past one, Count Schouvaloff entered the apartment, and told me that the Empress had asked for me. I arose, and followed him. We passed through several ante-chambers, entirely empty, and on arriving at the door of the gallery, I saw the Grand Duke enter by the opposite door, and perceived that he too was about to visit the Empress. I had never seen him since the day of the play; even when I had given out that my life was in danger, he neither came nor sent to inquire after my health. I afterwards learned that on this very day he had promised Elizabeth Voronzoff to marry her if I happened to die, and that both were rejoicing greatly at my condition.

Having at last reached her Imperial Majesty’s room, I there found the Grand Duke. As soon as I perceived the Empress, I threw myself at her feet, and begged her earnestly, and with tears, to send me back to my relations. The Empress wished to raise me, but I remained at her feet; she appeared more grieved than angry, and said to me, with tears in her eyes, “Why do you wish me to send you home? Do you not remember that you have children?” I replied, “My children are in your Majesty’s hands, and cannot be better placed, and I trust that you will not abandon them.” She then said to me, “But what excuse should I give to the public in justification of this step?” “Your Imperial Majesty,” I replied, “will state, if you think fit, the causes which have brought upon me your Majesty’s displeasure, and the hatred of the Grand Duke.” “But how will you manage to live when you are with your relatives?” I replied, “As I did before your Majesty did me the honour of bringing me here.” To this she answered, “Your mother is a fugitive; she has been compelled to retire, and has gone to Paris.” “I am aware of this,” I said; “she was thought to be too much attached to the interests of Russia, and the King of Prussia has therefore persecuted her.” The Empress again bid me rise, which I did, and she walked away from me to some distance, musing.

The apartment in which we were was long, and had three windows between which stood two tables, containing the gold toilet-service of the Empress. No one was in the room but myself, the Empress, the Grand Duke, and Alexander Schouvaloff. Opposite the Empress were some large screens, in front of which was a couch. I suspected from the first that John Schouvaloff certainly, and perhaps also his cousin Peter, were behind these. I learnt afterwards that my conjecture was in part correct, and that John Schouvaloff actually was there. I stood by the side of the toilet-table, nearest to the door by which I entered, and noticed in the toilet-basin some letters folded up. The Empress again approached me, and said, “God is my witness how I wept when you were dangerously ill, just after your arrival in Russia. If I had not liked you, I should not have kept you.” This I looked upon as an answer to what I had just said in reference to my having incurred her displeasure. I replied by thanking her Majesty for all the kindness and favour she had shown me then and since, saying that the recollection of them would never be effaced from my memory, and that I should always regard my having incurred her displeasure as the greatest of my misfortunes. She then drew still nearer to me, and said, “You are dreadfully haughty: do you remember, that at the Summer Palace, I one day approached you, and asked if you had a stiff neck, because I noticed that you hardly bowed to me, and that it was from pride you merely saluted me with a nod.” “Gracious heavens! madame,” I said, “how could your Majesty possibly suppose that I should be haughty to you? I solemnly declare that it never once occurred to me that this question, asked four years ago, could have reference to any such thing.” Upon this she said, “You fancy there is no one so clever as yourself.” “If I ever had any such conceit,” I replied, “nothing could be better calculated to undeceive me than my present condition and this very conversation, since I see that I have been stupid enough not to understand, till this moment, what you were pleased to say to me four years ago.” During my conversation with her Majesty, the Grand Duke was whispering to Count Schouvaloff. She perceived this, and went over to them. They were both standing near the middle of the room. I could not very well hear what they were saying, as they did not speak loud, and the room was large. At last I heard the Grand Duke raise his voice and say, “She is dreadfully spiteful, and very obstinate.” I then perceived they were talking about me, and, addressing the Grand Duke, I observed, “If it is of me you are speaking, I am very glad to have this opportunity of telling you, in the presence of her Imperial Majesty, that I am indeed spiteful to those who advise you to commit injustice, and that I have become obstinate because I see that I have gained nothing by yielding, but your hostility.” He immediately retorted, “Your Majesty can see how malicious she is by what she says herself.” But my words made a very different impression on the Empress, who had infinitely more intellect than the Grand Duke. I could plainly see as the conversation progressed, that although she had been recommended, or had herself, perhaps, resolved to treat me with severity, her feelings softened by degrees in spite of herself and her resolutions. She, however, turned towards him, and said, “Oh, you do not know all she has told me against your advisers, and against Brockdorff, relative to the man you have had arrested.” This must naturally have appeared to the Duke a formal treason on my part. He did not know a word of my conversation with the Empress, at the Summer Palace, and he saw his dear Brockdorff, who had become so precious in his eyes, accused to her Majesty, and that by me. This, therefore, was to put us on worse terms than ever, and perhaps render us irreconcilable, as well as deprive me, for the future, of all share in his confidence. I was thunderstruck when I heard her relating to him, in my presence, what I had told her, and, as I believed, for his own good, and found it thus turned against me like a weapon of destruction. The Grand Duke, very much astonished at this disclosure, said, “Ah! here is an anecdote quite new to me; it is very interesting, and proves her spitefulness.” I thought to myself, “God knows whose spitefulness it proves.” From Brockdorff her Majesty passed abruptly to the connection discovered between Stambke and Count Bestoujeff, and said to me, “I leave you to imagine how it is possible to excuse him for having held communication with a state-prisoner.” As my name had not appeared in this affair, I was silent, as if the matter did not concern me. Upon which the Empress approached me, and said, “You meddle with many things which do not concern you. I should not have dared to have done so in the time of the Empress Anne. How, for instance, could you presume to send orders to Marshal Apraxine?” I replied, “I, madame? Never has such an idea entered my head.” “What!” she said, “will you deny having written to him? There are your letters in that basin,” and she pointed to them as she spoke. “You are forbidden to write.” “True,” I replied, “I have transgressed in this respect, and I beg your pardon for it; but since my letters are there, these three letters will prove to your Imperial Majesty that I have never sent him any orders; but that in one of them I informed him of what was said of his conduct.” Here she interrupted me by saying, “And why did you write this to him?” I replied simply, “Because I took a great interest in the Marshal, whom I like very much. I begged him to follow your orders. Of the two other letters, one contains only my congratulations on the birth of his son; and in the other I merely presented to him the compliments of the new-year.” Upon this she said, “Bestoujeff asserts that there were many others.” I replied, “If Bestoujeff says that, he lies.” “Very well, then,” she said, “since he has told lies concerning you, I will have him put to the torture.” She thought by this to frighten me, but I answered that she could, of course, act according to her sovereign pleasure, but that I had never written more than those three letters to Apraxine. She was silent, and appeared to be meditating.

I relate the most salient points of this conversation which have remained in my memory; but it would be impossible for me to recollect all that was said in the course of an interview which lasted an hour and a-half at the least. The Empress walked to and fro in the apartment, sometimes addressing herself to me, sometimes to her nephew, but more frequently to Count Alexander Schouvaloff, with whom the Grand Duke conversed the greater part of the time, while the Empress was speaking to me. I have already said that I remarked in her Majesty’s manner less of anger than of anxiety. As to the Grand Duke, during the whole interview he manifested much bitterness, animosity, and even passion towards me. He endeavoured as much as he could to excite the anger of her Majesty against me, but as he did it so stupidly, and displayed more anger than justice, he failed in his object, and the penetration and sagacity of the Empress disposed her rather to take my part. She listened, with marked attention and a kind of involuntary approval, to my firm and temperate replies to my husband’s outrageous statements, from which it was perfectly evident that his object was to clear out my place, in order to establish in it the favourite of the moment. But this might not be to the Empress’ liking, neither might it suit the fancy of the Messrs. Schouvaloff to give themselves Count Voronzoff for a master; but all this transcended the judicial penetration of his Imperial Highness, who always believed in what he wished, and never would listen to anything which appeared the dominant idea of the moment; and on this occasion he dwelt so much upon it that the Empress approached me and said, in a low voice, “I have many other things to say to you, but I do not wish you to be embroiled more than you are already.” And with a look and a movement of her head, she intimated that it was on account of the presence of the others that she would not speak. Perceiving this mark of sincere good-will at so critical a moment, my heart was moved, and I said to her, in a similar tone, “And I also am prevented from speaking, however earnest my desire to open to you my mind and heart.” I saw that this made a favourable impression on her. Tears came into her eyes, and to conceal her emotion, and the extent to which she was moved, she dismissed us, observing that it was very late; and, in fact, it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. The Grand Duke went out first, I followed, and just as Alexander Schouvaloff was passing out after me, her Majesty called him back, and he remained with her. The Grand Duke strode on rapidly, as usual, but on this occasion I did not hurry myself to follow him. He entered his apartments, and I mine. I was beginning to undress, in order to go to bed, when I heard some one knocking at the door by which I had entered. On asking who was there, Schouvaloff replied that it was he, and begged me to admit him, which I did. He desired me to dismiss my maids. They left the room. He then told me that the Empress had called him back, and that, after talking to him for some time, she had charged him to bear to me her compliments, and to tell me not to distress myself, and that she would have another conversation with me quite alone. I made a low bow to the Count, and begged him to present my most humble respects to her Imperial Majesty, and thank her for her kindness, which had restored me to life. I told him that I should look forward to this second interview with the utmost impatience, and entreated him to hasten its time. He requested me not to speak of it to any one whatever, especially the Grand Duke, who, her Majesty saw, with regret, was greatly irritated against me. This I promised; though I could not help thinking to myself, “But if she regrets his irritation, why increase it by repeating our conversation at the Summer Palace, concerning those people whose society was brutalizing him?”