Catherine the Great & Potemkin

by Simon Sebag Montefiore

  Throughout the fun, the Russian ministers and the diplomats were on edge as they sensed vast yet so far invisible changes. When the party returned to Petersburg, Joseph encountered Nikita Panin. ‘This man’, noticed the Kaiser, ‘has the air of fearing that one address oneself to his antagonist Prince Potemkin.’ By early July, the Prince himself was working between Emperor, Empress and the Austrian envoy, Cobenzl, on the beginning of a more formal relationship ‘to re-establish the old confidence and intimacy between the two courts’. Catherine could see the Emperor’s Janus-like personality, but, in the semi-public arena of her letters to Grimm, she declared his mind ‘the most solid, most profound and most intelligent’ she knew. By the time he left, the sides were closer, but nothing was decided. Maria Theresa still reigned in Vienna.12

  After Joseph’s departure, in the midst of the bidding for Russian alliance from Austria, Prussia and Britain, Daria, Potemkin’s estranged mother, died in Moscow. When the Empress heard, she was on her way to Tsarskoe Selo and the Prince was at his nearby summer residence, Ozerki. Catherine insisted on telling him herself, so she changed route and joined him. The loss of a distant parent is often more painful than that of a close one: Potemkin wept copiously because ‘this prince’, observed Corberon, ‘combines the qualities and faults of sensitivitéé’.13 There was an understatement.

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  Joseph’s successful visit truly put the cat among the pigeons. The Prussian party, Panin and Grand Duke Paul, were in disarray. Frederick the Great decided to send a Prussian prince to Petersburg to counteract the Habsburg success. Well before the Mogilev meeting, his envoy Goertz had been discussing such a visit with Potemkin and Panin. Instead of Prince Henry, who now knew Potemkin well, Frederick sent his nephew and heir, Frederick William. This was not a good idea. Joseph, for all his pedantry, was an impressive companion, but Frederick William, who had special instructions from the King to flatter Potemkin, was an oafish and stout Prussian boor without any redeeming social qualities. Prince Henry dutifully wrote to Potemkin asking him to welcome the uncouth nephew – in the tone of a man who reluctantly sends a cheap present but apologizes in advance for its disappointing quality.*

  Potemkin and Panin welcomed the Prince of Prussia together on 26 August. However, Potemkin pointedly decreed that Alexandra Engelhardt would ‘not give him a supper’,14 and Catherine nicknamed the ‘heavy, reserved and awkward’ Prussian, ‘Fat Gu’. The Hohenzollern was soon boring the entire capital except for the Grand Duke, who was so impressed with Frederick the Great and his military drill that any Prussian prince would do. Besides, Frederick’s plan had already been undermined by the arrival of Joseph II’s secret weapon – the Prince de Ligne.15

  Corberon and Goertz convinced themselves, with wishful thinking, that nothing would come of Joseph’s visit. However, the Frenchman then went to dinner with the Cobenzls ‘and the new arrivals, the Prince de Ligne and his son’. Corberon dismissed this ‘grand seigneur of Flanders’ as an ‘amiable roué’, but he was much more than that.

  Charles-Joseph, Prince de Ligne, now fifty, was an eternally boyish, mischievous and effortlessly witty aristocrat of the Enlightenment. Heir to an imperial principality awarded in 1602, he was raised by a nurse who made him dance and sleep naked with her. He married a Liechtenstein heiress but found marriage ‘absurd for several weeks and then indifferent’. After three weeks, he committed his first infidelity with a chambermaid. He led his Ligne regiment during the Seven Years War, distinguishing himself at the Battle of Kolin. ‘I’d like to be a pretty girl until thirty, a general…till sixty,’ he told Frederick the Great after the war, ‘and then a cardinal until eighty.’ However, he was eaten by bitterness about one thing – he longed to be taken seriously as a general yet no one, from Joseph to Potemkin, would ever give him an independent military command. This rankled.16

  Ligne’s greatest talent was for friendship. The charmer of Europe treated every day as a comedy waiting to be turned into an epigram, every girl as an adventure waiting to be turned into a poem, and every monarch as a conquest waiting to be seduced by his jesting. His flattery could be positively emetic: ‘What a low and brazen sycophant Ligne is!’, wrote one who observed him in action. But it worked. Friends with both Joseph II and Frederick the Great, no mean feat in itself, as well as with Rousseau, Voltaire, Casanova and Queen Marie-Antoinette, he showed how small the monde was in those days. No one so personified the debauched cosmopolitanism of the late eighteenth century: ‘I like to be a foreigner everywhere…A Frenchman in Austria, an Austrian in France, both a Frenchman and an Austrian in Russia.’

  Ligne’s letters were copied, his bons mots repeated, across the salons of Europe – as they were meant to be. He was a superb writer whose bitchy portraits of the great men of his time, especially Potemkin, who fascinated him, were never bettered. His Mélanges are, along with Casanova’s Histoire, the best record of the era: Ligne was at the top and Casanova at the bottom of the same faro society. They met the same charlatans and dukes, prostitutes and countesses at balls and card tables, operas and bordellos, roadside taverns and royal courts, again and again, across Europe.

  Ligne entranced Potemkin. Their friendship, bringing together two of the best conversationalists of the age, would wax and wane with the intensity of a love affair, chronicled in Ligne’s many unpublished letters contained in Potemkin’s archives, written in his tiny hand but dripping with wit and intelligence before sinking again into illegibility. This ‘jockey diplomatique’, as he called himself, was invited to all the Empress’s private card games, carriage rides and dinners at Tsarskoe Selo. The bovine Prince of Prussia did not stand a chance against the man Catherine called ‘the most pleasant and easy person to live with I’ve ever known, an original mind that thinks deeply and plays all sorts of tricks, like a child’.

  Grand Duke Paul alone took trouble with Frederick William, which only served to alienate him from Catherine and Potemkin all the more. When the Empress gave a spectacle, ball and supper at the Hermitage Theatre in the Prince of Prussia’s honour, the Grand Ducal couple accompanied the guest but Catherine sighed to Harris, ‘I want you to defend me from boors,’ and did not bother to attend the show. Diplomats wondered where the Empress had gone. It turned out she was playing billiards with Potemkin and Ligne.17

  Empress and Serenissimus were relieved when Frederick William finally departed, having achieved nothing. He had noticed the cold shoulder: as king, he would take his revenge. But the Russians almost refused to let Ligne go. Ever the gentleman, the ‘jockey diplomatique’ stayed a little longer. Finally, in October, he insisted, so Potemkin went with him to show off one of his regiments and only let him leave with a deluge of presents – horses, serfs and a box encrusted with diamonds. Potemkin missed Ligne and kept asking Cobenzl when he was returning.

  This was exactly what the Austrians wanted. They fired a barrage of compliments at Potemkin: in a little illustration of the lubricious nature of diplomatic flattery, Cobenzl asked his Emperor to mention Potemkin favourably in as many of his en clair despatches as possible. The Russian, he flattered Joseph in turn, rated a word from the Kaiser more highly than anything from the Kings of Prussia or Sweden. But the direct compliments of the Emperor should be saved for special occasions. And Joseph should also send regards to the Engelhardt nieces.18

  On 17/28 November 1780, Joseph was liberated from the sensible restraints of Maria Theresa. Her death, after a reign of forty years, gave Joseph the chance almost to ruin the Habsburg legacy in a way that even Frederick of Prussia could not have imagined. In the lugubrious letters of sorrow that passed between Vienna and Petersburg, the grins were only just concealed behind the grief. ‘The Emperor’, Ligne joked to Potemkin on 25 November, only a week after her death, ‘seemed to me so profoundly filled with friendship for you…that I have had real pleasure to remonstrate with him on your account in all regards…Have me told from time to time that you have
n’t forgotten me…’.19 There was no question of that.

  When the Empress–Queen’s body was laid in the Kaisergruft – imperial vault – of Vienna’s Capucin Church, Joseph knew he could embark on his rapprochement with Russia. Potemkin declared both his ‘keenness’ and ‘seriousness’ to Cobenzl. Catherine made sure that all the details went directly to her and not to Panin, ‘that old trickster’, as she called him to Potemkin.20 Catherine and Joseph turned their attention to the coming struggle against the Sultan.

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  Sir James Harris, who thought an Austrian alliance would help his own mission, still could not understand Russia’s reluctance to ally with Britain, even after Potemkin’s return from Mogilev. The Prince cheerfully blamed Catherine’s refusal on a raft of flimsy excuses, including the ‘imbecility of the tale-bearing favourite’ Lanskoy, her weakness induced by her ‘passions’ and the ‘adroit flattery’ of the Habsburg Emperor, who made her think she was the ‘greatest Princess in Europe’. This diatribe displayed Potemkin’s genuine frustration with the effort of managing Catherine, but it also rings of Potemkinian mischief. This is a clear example of Potemkin ‘playing’ poor Harris, because the couple’s secret letters prove they were both pinning their entire political system on an alliance with Austria.21 Harris at last realized the mistake of backing Potemkin against Panin, because the former was now uninterested, if friendly, while the latter was openly hostile.

  Harris requested recall in the face of Panin’s hostility. But London was still pressing him to find a way to win the Russian alliance. So in nocturnal conversations with Potemkin the ever resourceful Harris conceived an ambitious scheme. Potemkin’s imagination was the source of what became official British policy. Britain, suggested the Prince, should offer Russia ‘some object worthy of her ambition’ to join the war. In cypher, Harris explained to his Secretary of State, Viscount Stormont, in November 1780: ‘Prince Potemkin, though he did not directly say so, yet clearly gave me to understand that the only cession, which would induce the Empress to become our Ally, was that of Minorca.’ This was not as far-fetched as it might sound because, in 1780, Potemkin was building his Black Sea Fleet and promoting trade through the Straits and out to Mediterranean ports such as Marseilles. Port Mahon in Minorca might be a useful base for the fleet. Russia had occupied Greek islands during the last war – but not kept any at the peace; Potemkin regularly offered Crete to France and England in his Ottoman partition plans; and Emperor Paul later occupied Malta. Besides he was careful, as Harris emphasized, never to suggest it directly. This was one of those fantastical empire-building games that Potemkin loved to play – at no cost to himself.

  Potemkin was excited about the idea of a Russian naval base on Minorca, especially since Britain would leave large stores of supplies, worth £2,000,000, which would be at Russia’s or Potemkin’s disposal. He met Harris daily to discuss it and arranged the envoy’s second tête-à-tête with Catherine on 19 December 1780. Before Harris was summoned, the Prince went down to see the Empress for two hours, returning with a ‘countenance full of satisfaction and joy’. This was the climax of Harris’s friendship with Serenissimus. ‘We were sitting alone together very late in the evening when he broke out of a sudden into all the advantages that would arise to Russia…’. We can hear Potemkin’s child-like delight, chimerical dreams and febrile exhilaration, as he lazed on a divan in his rooms, strewn with bottles of Tokay and champagne, cards on green-baize tables: ‘He then with the liveliness of his imagination ran on the idea of a Russian fleet stationed at Mahon, of peopling the island with Greeks, that such an acquisition would be a column of the Empress’s glory in the middle of the sea.’22

  The Empress saw the benefits of Minorca, but she told Potemkin, ‘the bride is too beautiful, they are trying to trick me’. It seemed that she could not resist Potemkin’s excitement when they were together but would often think better of it when he had gone. Russia, with an unbuilt fleet, could hold it only at Britain’s pleasure. She turned down Minorca. She was right: it was too far away and Britain itself soon lost the island.

  Potemkin grumbled that Catherine was ‘suspicious, timid and narrow-minded, but again this was half play acting. Harris still could not resist hoping that the Prince was committed to England: ‘Dined on Wednesday at Tsarskoe Selo with Prince Potemkin…he talked upon the interests of our two Courts in such a friendly and judicious manner that I regret more than ever his frequent lapses into idleness and dissipation.’ He still had not registered that Potemkin’s strategic emphasis was not western at all but southerly. Nonetheless, as the Prince secretly negotiated with the Austrians, Sir James kept trying.

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  Joseph and Catherine had meanwhile agreed the terms of a defensive treaty, including the secret clause aimed at the Sublime Porte – but Potemkin’s grand enterprise now hit a snag that was very much of its time. This was the so-called ‘alternative’, a diplomatic tradition by which monarchs signing a treaty put their name first on one copy and second on the other. The Holy Roman Emperor, as Europe’s senior ruler, always signed first on both copies. Now Catherine refused to admit Russia was lower than Rome, while Joseph refused to lower the dignity of the Kaiser by signing second. So, amazingly, the realignment of the East ground to a halt over a matter of protocol.

  This was one of those crises where the difference between Catherine and Potemkin was clearest, because, while the Empress was obstinate, the Prince begged her to be flexible and get the treaty signed. The bickering of the partners echoes through their letters and Cobenzl’s despatches. Potemkin rushed back and forth between the two sides. Catherine at one point told him to inform Cobenzl ‘to give up such nonsense which will imminently stop everything’. Everything did stop.

  The tension was not helped by Potemkin’s demands for favours for his nieces Alexandra and Ekaterina, both of whom were about to get married. Soon even Catherine’s favourite Lanskoy was embroiled in the rows. But Catherine devised an inspired solution for Potemkin to suggest to Joseph: they would each exchange signed letters, setting out their obligation to each other, instead of a treaty.23

  The highly strung Prince, faced with this crisis in the scheme of a lifetime, collapsed with ‘bad digestion’. Catherine visited Potemkin’s apartments to make up and spent the evening with him ‘from eight till midnight’. Peace was restored.

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  Just as the crisis over the Austrian treaty reached its climax, on 10 May 1781, Potemkin ordered Count Mark Voinovich, a Dalmatian sailor, to mount a small invasion of Persia. He was pursuing a secret Persian policy while he was trying to smooth the obstacles from the path of his Greek Project.

  This scheme had run parallel to the Austrian negotiations for a full year. Ten days before Joseph II had suggested the Mogilev meeting with Catherine, on 11 January 1780, Serenissimus ordered General Alexander Suvorov, his ablest commander, to assemble an invasion force at Astrakhan. He ordered the ships he had been building at Kazan on the Volga since 1778 to move southwards. The alliance with Austria might take more years to accomplish. In the meantime, Russia would probe the Persian Empire instead of the Ottoman.

  The Persian Empire in those days extended round the southern end of the Caspian to include Baku and Derbent, all of today’s Azerbaijan, most of Armenia and half of Georgia. The Armenians and Georgians were Orthodox Christians. As with the Greeks, the Wallachians and the Moldavians, Potemkin longed to liberate his fellow Orthodox and bring them into the Russian Empire. At the same time, he was meeting Armenian representatives in Petersburg, discussing the liberation of the Christians of Armenia from the Persian yoke.

  The Prince was one of the few Russian statesmen who understood commerce at that time: he knew that a trading post on the eastern Caspian was just ‘thirty days’ march from the Persian Gulf, just five weeks to get to India via Kandahar’. In other words, this was Potemkin’s first and
admittedly minor blow in what came to be called ‘The Great Game’. We know that Potemkin was juggling his Greek Project with a Persian one because he talked about it with his British friends. The French and British watched Potemkin’s secret Persian plans with interest. Indeed, six years later, the French Ambassador was still trying to discover its secrets.

  In February 1780, Sasha Lanskoy had fallen ill and Potemkin delayed his final orders to Suvorov, who was left to kick his heels in drab provincial Astrakhan. Once the anti-Ottoman Greek Project, and Joseph’s visit, was confirmed, it would have been foolish for Potemkin to spread his forces too thinly. So the plan was changed. Early in 1781, the Prince cancelled the invasion and instead persuaded Catherine to send a limited expedition, commanded by the thirty-year-old Voinovich, ‘a dangerous pirate’ from Dalmatia to some, a ‘sort of Italian spy of the ministers of Vienna’ to others, who had fought for Catherine in the First Russo-Turkish War and temporarily captured Beirut, now the capital of Lebanon.

  On 29 June 1781, this tiny naval expedition of three frigates and several transports sailed across the Caspian to found a trading post in Persia and lay the foundations of Catherine’s Empire in Central Asia. Persia was in disarray, but the Satrap of the Askabad province across the Caspian, Aga-Mohommed-Khan, was playing many sides against the centre. This chilling and formidable empire-builder, who had been castrated as a boy by his father’s enemies, hoped to become shah himself. He welcomed the idea of a Russian trading post on the eastern shores, perhaps to fund his own armies with Russian help.