Yet the foreigners mocked Potemkin’s generosity and care of his troops while complaining simultaneously about his brutal indifference. Samoilov, who lived with his forces, admitted there was an ‘extraordinary freeze but our troops did not suffer’ because Potemkin ensured that they had trench fur-coats, hats and kengi – fur or felt galoshes pulled over their boots – in addition to special tents. They were supplied with meat and vodka and ‘hot punch of Riga balsam’.45
Serenissimus distributed a great deal of money among the troops in the field, ‘which made them spoilt…without relieving their wants’, claimed Damas, with breathtaking aristocratic prejudice and disdain for the ordinary soldiers.46 Russians understood him better. Potemkin was, wrote his secretary, ‘naturally disposed to love humanity’. As for the care of the dying, Tsebrikov saw forty hospital tents that were placed beside Potemkin’s tent at his express order so they would be better treated: the Prince visited them to check, the sort of care and concern rarely shown by British generals sixty years later during the Crimean War. Yet Tsebrikov also met a convoy of carts returning from the army, each carrying the bodies of three or four men.47 The army did suffer, many died, but Potemkin’s medical care, money, food, clothes and humanitarianism, unparalleled in Russia, may explain the army’s survival.
Finally a deserter informed Serenissimus that the Turkish Seraskier (commander) would never surrender and had executed the officers with whom he had been negotiating.48 The Prince still waited.
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The Empress herself was becoming impatient. Russia was still at war on two fronts, but the Swedish front had been improved by Greig’s defeat of the Swedish navy at Gothland and by the intervention of Denmark, which attacked Sweden’s rear. In August, England, Prussia and Holland concluded their Triple Alliance. In Poland, the pent-up resentment of Russian domination exploded in a celebration of liberty. ‘A great hatred has risen against us in Poland,’ Catherine told Potemkin on 27 November.49 She tried to negotiate the treaty with Poland along the traditional lines, but Prussia outbid her by proposing a treaty that offered the Poles the hope of a stronger constitution and freedom from Russia. Catherine was losing Poland, but Potemkin could free her hands by making a quick peace with the Turks.
‘Do please write to me about this quickly and in detail,’ the Empress told the Prince, ‘so I won’t miss anything important and, after the capture of Ochakov, endeavour most of all to start peace negotiations.’50 The ever adaptable Potemkin had already warned Catherine to realign herself closer to Prussia and proposed his Polish alliance: his suggestions had been ignored and his warnings had turned out to be right. He wanted to resign again.51 The Poles, backed now by Prussia, demanded the withdrawal of all Russian troops from their Commonwealth, even though the Russian army in the south depended on Poland for its winter quarters and most of its supplies. It was a further blow. ‘If you retire…’, Catherine told him, ‘I’ll take it as a deathblow.’ She begged him to capture Ochakov and place the army in winter quarters. ‘There is nothing in the world I want more than your coming here…’, partly to see him after such a long time and partly ‘to discuss a lot with you tête-à-tête’.52
The Prince could not resist saying ‘I told you so’ to Catherine: ‘It’s bad in Poland which it wouldn’t have been of course with my project but that’s how it is.’ He proposed pulling the teeth of the Triple Alliance by putting out feelers to Prussia and England and making peace with Sweden. His letter reads like an order to an empress: ‘You’ll work out later how to get revenge.’53 The secret reports of his homme d’affaires, Garnovsky, from Petersburg suggested that the discontent about Potemkin’s handling of Ochakov had now spread to Catherine. The Court had been displeased with the delay as early as August. Alexander Vorontsov and Zavadovsky undermined Potemkin’s position and resisted his desire for rapprochement with England and Prussia. Catherine was ‘dissatisfied’.54 Only the arrival of Serenissimus himself would alleviate her state of confusion and vacillation.55
When the remains of the Turkish fleet retired to port for the winter on 4 November, leaving the garrison alone, Potemkin made his plans.56 In late November, the entire cavalry was dismissed to go into winter quarters, a miserable and often fatal march through the snowy wilderness.57 Back at the siege, the Turks made a sortie on 11 November against one of the Potemkin’s batteries and killed General S.P. Maximovich, whose head then lolled forlornly on the battlements.58 Lavish snowfalls delayed the denouement.*9
On 27 November Catherine begged him: ‘Take Ochakov and make peace with the Turks.’59 On 1 December, Potemkin signed his plan to storm the fortress with six columns of roughly 5,000 men each, which would give 30,000, but Fanshawe claimed only 14,500 were left.60 Samoilov, who led one of the columns, says the Prince had waited deliberately until the Liman itself was frozen, so that Ochakov could also be attacked from the sea.61 On the 5th, the order of battle was set during a war council. Damas was assigned to spearhead the column storming the Stamboul Gate. He prepared to die by writing an adieu to his sister, returning the love letters of his Parisian mistress, the Marquise de Coigny – and then spending the evening with his Russian one, Samoilova, until 2 a.m., when he crept back to his tent.
Potemkin himself passed the most important night of his life so far in a dug-out in the forward trenches. The Prince’s stubborn valet actually refused to admit Repnin, who had arrived to inform him that the assault was about to start, because he did not dare awaken his master: ‘an example of passive obedience unimaginable in any country but Russia’. The Prince of Taurida prayed as the men advanced.62
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At 4 a.m. on 6 December, three shells gave the signal. With shouts of hurrah, the columns charged forward towards the entrenchments. The Turks resisted wildly. The Russians gave them no quarter. Damas stormed the Stamboul Gate with his Grenadiers. The moment they were inside, ‘the most horrible and unparalleled massacre began forthwith’, earning Frederick the Great’s nickname for them – ‘les oursomanes’, half-bear, half-psychopath.63
The Russian soldiers went almost mad with ‘fury’: even when the garrison surrendered, they ran through the streets killing every man, woman and child they could find – between 8,000 and 11,000 Turks in all – ‘like a strong whirlwind’, Potemkin told Catherine, ‘that in a moment tossed people on to their hearses’.64 This was literally havoc, justified by the Russians as holy war against the infidel. The Turks were killed in such numbers and in such density that they fell in piles, over which Damas and his men trampled, their legs sinking into bleeding bodies. ‘We found ourselves covered in gore and shattered brains’ – but inside the town. The bodies were so closely packed that Damas had to advance by stepping from body to body until his left foot slipped into a heap of gore, three or four corpses deep, and straight into the mouth of a wounded Turk underneath. The jaws clamped so hard on his heel that they tore away a piece of his boot.65
There was so much plunder that soldiers captured handfuls of diamonds, pearls and gold that could be bought round the camp the next day for almost nothing. No one even bothered to steal silver. Potemkin saved an emerald the size of an egg for his Empress.66 ‘Turkish blood flowed like rivers,’ Russian soldiers sang as they marched into the next century. ‘And the Pasha fell to his knees before Potemkin.’67
The Seraskier of Ochakov, a tough old pasha, was brought bare-headed before Serenissimus, who veered between grief and exultation. ‘We owe this bloodshed to your obstinacy,’ said the Prince. If Ochakov had surrendered, they could have avoided all this. The Seraskier seemed surprised to find a commander so moved by the loss of life. ‘I’ve done my duty,’ shrugged Seraskier Hussein-Pasha, ‘and you yours. Fate turned against us.’ He had only persisted, he added with Oriental flattery, in order to render His Highness’s victory all the more brilliant. Potemkin ordered that the Seraskier’s lost turban be found in the ruins.
By 7 a.m
., after four hours of savage fighting, Ochakov was Russian.*10 Potemkin ordered a stop to the slaughter, which was instantly obeyed. Special measures were taken to protect the clothes and jewels of women and to look after the wounded. All witnesses, even the foreigners, agreed that Potemkin’s assault was ‘excellent’ and shrewdly planned in relation to the fortifications.68
The Prince entered Ochakov with his entourage and seraglio – ‘handsome Amazons who delighted’, according to the Grand Dukes’ mathematics tutor Charles Masson, ‘in visiting fields of battle and admiring the fine corpses of Turks as they lay on their backs, scimitars in hand’.69 Stories already abounded, even before detailed reports had reached Petersburg, of Potemkin’s luxurious negligence towards the wounded. ‘As they rarely report the truth about me,’ Potemkin corrected the gossip to Catherine, ‘they lie here too.’ Serenissimus turned his palatial tent into a hospital, moving to live in a small dug-out.70
Damas ran up to join Potemkin and his ‘nieces’ – especially Ekaterina Samoilova, who evidently gave him a delicious prize. ‘This particular form of happiness…has never before rewarded any man so promptly for a morning of such cruel joy. Most men have to wait until they return to their capital,’ including Samoilova’s long-suffering husband, no doubt.71
Lieutenant-Colonel Bauer, the fastest world traveller in Russia, galloped off to inform the Empress. When he arrived, Catherine was asleep, ill and tense. Mamonov awoke her. ‘I was poorly,’ said the Empress, ‘but you have cured me.’ Potemkin wrote to her the next day – ‘I congratulate you with the fortress,’ 310 cannons and 180 banners; 9,500 Turks were killed and 2,500 Russians. ‘Oh, how sorry I am for them,’ wrote the Prince.72
Massacres are easy to make and hard to clear up. There were so many Turkish bodies that they could not all be buried, even if the ground had been soft enough to do so. The cadavers were piled in carts and taken out to the Liman where they were dumped on the ice. Still moist with gore, they froze there into macabre blood-blackened pyramids. The Russian ladies took their sledges out on to the ice to admire them.73
Catherine was triumphant: ‘I take you by the ears with both my hands and kiss you, my dear friend…You’ve shut everybody’s mouths and this successful event gives you the chance to show generosity to those who criticize you blindly and stupidly.’74 No longer able to hide their incompetence behind Potemkin, the Austrians were almost disappointed. ‘Taking Ochakov is very advantageous to continue the war,’ Joseph told Kaunitz in Vienna. ‘But not to make peace.’75 Courtiers now laughed at Ligne, who had been ‘singing at the top of his voice’ that Ochakov would not be taken that year.76 Potemkin’s critics rushed to write sycophantic letters.77 ‘There’s a man who never goes by the ordinary road,’ said Littlepage, ‘but still arrives at his goal.’78
‘Te Deums’ were sung on 16 December to the boom of 101 cannons. ‘Public joy was great.’ Bauer, promoted to colonel and presented with a gold snuff-box with diamonds, was sent back bearing a diamond-set star of St George and a diamond-encrusted sword, worth 60,000 roubles, for the Prince of Taurida.79 Potemkin was exhausted but did not rest on his laurels. There was much to do before he could return to Petersburg. In one of his bursts of euphoric energy, he inspected the new naval yards at Vitovka, decided to found a new town called Nikolaev, then toured Kherson to review the fleet. But his most important job was to garrison Ochakov, send the fleet back to Sebastopol, convert the Turkish prizes into sixty-two-gun ships-of-the-line, and settle the army in winter quarters. This was no easy task, since Poland was increasingly hostile, emboldened by the Anglo-Prussian alliance.
The Prince called again for détente with Prussia. Catherine disagreed and suggested western European affairs were her department. ‘My lady, I am not a cosmopolitan,’ replied Potemkin. ‘I don’t give a jot about Europe but, when it intervenes in affairs entrusted to me, there’s no way I can be indifferent.’ This is clear evidence of the partners’ division of responsibilities and Potemkin’s refusal to be bound by even that. As for the Prussians, ‘I’m not in love with the Prussian King’ nor afraid of his troops. He just thought ‘they should be disdained less than the rest’.80
At last, Serenissimus headed towards Petersburg. ‘I shall take you there myself,’ he told Damas. ‘We mustn’t be separated. I myself will undertake the arrangements.’81 The sledges were ready. The Prince and Damas climbed into those cockpits like baby’s cradles and wrapped themselves in furs and leather. ‘Are you ready?’, Potemkin’s muffled voice called to Damas. ‘I’ve ordered that you are to stay close to me.’ A lackey jumped on to the seats on the back of the sledges and whipped the horses, which sped into the night, escorted on all sides by Cossacks holding burning torches. Damas was left behind, only catching up at Mogilev. He just wanted to sleep; but, wherever the Prince arrived, the local governors and nobility had the garrison on parade and a fête awaiting him. Damas was led straight out of his sledge and into a ‘magnificent ball’, where ‘the whole town were assembled’. The Prince waved aside Damas’ worries about either his clothes or his fatigue, summoned all the girls and ‘without further ado, he brought me a partner, whereupon…I danced until six in the morning’. By noon, they were on the road again.82
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Petersburg awaited the Prince’s return with the dread and excitement of the Second Coming. ‘All the town is worried by waiting for His Highness,’ reported Garnovsky. ‘There is no other conversation except this.’ The diplomats watched the road – especially the Prussians and the English. A British diplomat got drunk at Naryshkin’s and shouted a toast to Potemkin. One disappointed but ever hopeful American corsair, John Paul Jones, also eagerly anticipated the Prince, who would decide his destiny. ‘The Prince has not yet arrived,’ Zavadovsky complained to Field-Marshal Rumiantsev-Zadunaisky. ‘Without him – nothing.’83
Catherine followed his swift journey, which reminded of her of a bird’s migration, ‘and you wonder why you get tired. If you arrive here ill, I’ll pull your ears at our first encounter – however glad I am to see you.’84 But Catherine remained edgy, besieged on all sides by wars, coalitions and Court intrigues. Mamonov was a comfort but little help in affairs of state: besides he was now always ill. Catherine fretted about her consort’s welcome – especially when she realized that she had raised triumphal arches to Prince Orlov and Rumiantsev-Zadunaisky yet forgotten Serenissimus. ‘But Your Majesty knows him so well that she does not need to keep accounts,’ replied her secretary, Khrapovitsky. ‘True,’ she said, ‘but he’s human too and maybe he’d like it.’ So she ordered the marble gate at Tsarskoe Selo illuminated and decorated with an appropriately ambiguous ode by her Court poet, Petrov: ‘You’ll enter Sophia Cathedral with clapping.’ This referred to Istanbul’s Agia Sophia again. Catherine mused that Potemkin might ‘be in Constantinople this year but don’t tell me about it all of a sudden’.85 The road was lit up for six miles, day and night. The guns of the fortress were to be fired – the prerogative of the Sovereign. ‘Is the Prince loved in the town?’, she asked her valet, Zakhar Zotov. ‘Only by God and You,’ he bravely replied. Catherine did not mind. She said she was too ill to let him go to the south again. ‘My God,’ she murmured, ‘I need the Prince now.’86
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At 6 p.m. on Sunday, 4 February 1789, Serenissimus arrived in Petersburg in the midst of a ball for the birthday of Grand Duke Paul’s daughter. Potemkin went straight to his apartments in the house adjoining the Winter Palace. The Empress left the festivities and surprised the Prince as he was changing. She stayed with him a long time.87
Skip Notes
*1 Today, though the fortifications are gone, one can stand on the ramparts where the walls stood and look down on the length of the Liman and the encampments of the Russian besiegers. Far to the left is the mouth of the Bug. Opposite on its own narrow spit stands the Russian fortress of Kinburn. Near by to the right, at the end of the Ocha
kov spit, the Hassan-Pasha Redoubt still has an awesome power. The cobbles of the streets are almost all that remain. The modern town of Ochakov is behind.
*2 Since it became a rule of Russian history that Suvorov was a genius, it followed that he was simply trying to begin the storming of Ochakov out of frustration at Potemkin’s inept hesitancy. This is possible but unlikely, since Suvorov had no artillery behind him. It was a bungled operation by a tipsy and fallible general who was capable of costly mistakes as well as brilliant victories.
*3 Most of the heroes of 1812 fought under Potemkin – the future Field-Marshal and Prince Mikhail Barclay de Tolly, Minister of War and Commander of the First Army under Kutuzov at Borodino, also served at Ochakov.
*4 Yet even Ligne had to admit to Joseph II that the camp was tidy, the soldiers well paid and the light cavalry in excellent state, even if they did no manoeuvres or practice.
Catherine the Great & Potemkin Page 64