Major-General Michael Ismailoff, one of Peter’s most intimate and most trusted friends, was the bearer of this valuable document, which seemed to satisfy Catherine, but was not equally satisfactory to Count Gregor Orloff, who hoped to secure the hand of the Empress when Peter had been put out of the way. Orloff’s secret design was to assassinate Peter and then take his place by Catherine’s side. The Orloffs therefore took hold of General Ismailoff, after he had handed the Czar’s letter to the Empress, and induced him by supplications and brilliant promises to come over to their side, and to assist them in making Peter a prisoner as the only means of restoring peace and avoiding civil war. At first Ismailoff resisted their offers, but at last he yielded. He returned to Peterhof and played the part of a traitor to perfection. He told Peter that he had delivered his letter to the Empress, and that she would, as a matter of course, grant the request he had made, but that she was overcome with sorrow at the turn things had taken, that she was perfectly willing to admit him to a co-regency and to be reconciled to him, and that she was anxious to meet him in a private interview at Oranienbaum in order to arrange matters to their mutual satisfaction.
Peter fell easily into the trap. He immediately accepted the invitation and got ready to go to Oranienbaum. At first he proposed to go there under the escort of his Holsteiners, but Ismailoff persuaded him to let them stay at Peterhof, because it might look as though he distrusted the Empress and might offend her. Peter therefore went to Oranienbaum, accompanied only by Ismailoff, who encouraged him in his most extravagant expectations of a brilliant career still in store for him. But there was a sad and sudden awakening from this dream of greatness. On his arrival at Oranienbaum he found the courtyard filled with forty or fifty kibitkas; and Ismailoff, changing his conduct and tone suddenly, told him that he was a prisoner. Peter, without arms and without friends, resigned himself to his fate almost without a word of protest. He was led to one of the kibitkas, already occupied by two strong officers armed to the teeth, and then all the kibitkas started at once in as many different directions as there were roads leading to Oranienbaum. This was done in order to deceive the spectators as to the direction which Peter’s kibitka had taken. He was conveyed to Robzak, a country villa near the village of Kraskazelo, a short distance from Petersburg, but rather isolated and out of the way of the regular traffic. Moreover precautions were taken to surround the villa with soldiers. Peter was treated almost with cruelty in his solitary confinement. He was not permitted to communicate with anybody, and his friends were kept in profound ignorance as to his whereabouts. Many of them believed that he was either at Peterhof or at Petersburg. He addressed a pitiable letter to the Empress in which he humbly petitioned her to send him his negro servant, with whom he liked to play, his favorite dog, his violin, his Bible and a few novels. But the letter remained unanswered, and none of the things asked for were sent.
In the forenoon of July seventeenth, Alexis Orloff, accompanied by several officers, arrived at Robzak. They had an order from the Empress admitting them to Peter’s presence. Orloff and an officer named Tepelof—both men of herculean strength—entered the deposed Emperor’s room, and found him in a despondent mood. They carried some delicacies,—among them bottles of old Burgundy wine, which was poisoned. They announced to Peter that his term of imprisonment would soon be ended, and that he would then be permitted to return to Holstein, his native country. Peter was overjoyed at this announcement, and invited the officers, whom he treated as his guests, to take dinner with him; they readily consented and produced the delicacies and the wine they had brought. At the dinner-table Orloff presented a glass of Burgundy to Peter, who swallowed it rapidly; but the wine was so strongly poisoned that he felt the effect almost instantly. He jumped from his chair, screaming and howling with pain. “I am poisoned! I am poisoned!” he cried, “give me milk, give me oil!” The two assassins terrified with what they had done sent for milk and oil, which he swallowed eagerly. But after a few minutes they took courage again and resolved to complete their murderous work. Peter’s cries had attracted two or three officers, who entered the room; but instead of protecting him, they assisted the conspirators. All at once Alexis Orloff rushed upon Peter, who had thrown himself upon his bed, writhing in pain, and tried to choke him. Peter himself was a man of herculean strength, and defended himself with the courage of despair. The iron grasp of Orloff’s fingers did not release his throat, and the Czar’s face became as black as a negro’s. At last, by a terrible blow, he freed himself from Orloff, but while he tried to take breath, the four or five assassins rushed upon him all at the same time; they dragged him from the bed, and when he fell into an arm-chair, they threw a large napkin round his neck and strangled him until he was dead. He fell from the chair to the floor and expired in a few minutes. A number of officers had witnessed the terrible scene from a terrace which afforded a full view of the prisoner’s room.
The admirers of Catherine have often denied her active participation in the crime of Peter’s assassination; but they have never succeeded in making the world believe in her innocence. In fact, how could she be innocent, since the assassins were admitted to Peter’s presence upon a direct order issued by her, with no other business for them to do than to kill him? And then her conduct after the horrible crime had been perpetrated is sufficient evidence of her guilt. She did not regret the murder, and she rewarded the murderers. Even in the announcement of Peter’s sudden death she manifested a brutality which defied decency and common-sense. In a few words, without adding one word of sorrow at the death of one who, as she asserted, was the father of her son, she announced to the Russian people and to the foreign ambassadors at St. Petersburg that the dethroned Czar Peter the Third, had suddenly died from the effects of a hæmorrhoidal colic, to which he was subject, and which had caused a stroke of apoplexy. This cool declaration was to account for the horrible appearance of Peter’s countenance, which looked almost black even in death, and which could not be concealed from the people. It had always been customary to exhibit to the public the corpse of a deceased Czar and to place him on a catafalque where the people could see him and pay their respect to him. This public exhibition could not be avoided without immensely strengthening the suspicion of foul play; and Catherine boldly underwent the ordeal. The black hue of the countenance could not be changed, but Peter’s neck was entirely covered up with a very high and stiff stock, which concealed the finger-marks of his assassins. Among the spectators was the old field-marshal, Prince Trubetzkoi, well known for his rudeness and sincerity. He rapidly stepped up to the bier, where Peter lay in state, and exclaimed in a loud tone of voice: “Why, why, Peter Fedorowitch, what ridiculous kind of necktie have they bundled around your neck? You never wore such a thing in your life; why should you wear it now when you are dead?” And he began to open the stock, and would have exposed Peter’s throat to public view, if the guards, in spite of the high rank of the Prince, had not forcibly dragged him away.
Unfortunately for the memory of Catherine the Second the assassination of her husband was not the only assassination caused by her usurpation of the Russian throne. It will be remembered that Peter had repeatedly threatened to disown, and consequently to exclude from the succession, Paul, the son whom Catherine had borne to him, and whom he openly branded as a bastard, and to this threat he added the declaration that he would name as his successor the young ex-Emperor Ivan the Sixth, who had been dethroned by the Empress Elizabeth, and who was still imprisoned at Schlüsselburg. This threat was fatal to the poor young Prince, who during his long seclusion had become half-idiotic and had lost the knowledge of his identity. But nevertheless the fear that he might be used by her enemies as a legitimate pretender, with better rights to the crown than her own, haunted Catherine’s mind, and she did not rest until he had fallen a victim to the assassin’s dagger.
Strict orders had been issued to the commandant of the fortress of Schlüsselburg that on the first attempt to liberate Ivan he should be immediately put to death. And then a new infamy was committed which very likely sprang from Catherine’s own diabolical genius. There was a young and poor lieutenant named Mirowitch, in the garrison of Schlüsselburg who was infatuated with admiration for the Empress and anxious to render her a service. He was approached by one of his superior officers (probably an Orloff) and his attention was directed to Ivan. “If he were out of the way,” he was told, “the Empress would never forget it, and would reward the service in an imperial manner.” Mirowitch took the hint and resolved to merit the Empress’s gratitude by assassinating Ivan. Under some pretext he really came to the door of the room in which Ivan was kept a prisoner. Two officers were on guard there, but when they heard Mirowitch’s voice demanding admittance and threatening to break open the door, they rushed upon Ivan and put him to death. Then they opened the door, and finding Mirowitch before them, they showed him Ivan’s corpse and arrested him. Mirowitch was put on trial. The crime he was charged with was an attempt to abduct the imprisoned Ivan and to proclaim him Emperor of Russia. Mirowitch did not defend himself. He only smiled. He knew who stood behind him and would protect him from injury. He was found guilty and sentenced to be beheaded. He laughed at the sentence and never lost courage. With a smile he ascended the scaffold and looked around, wondering why the imperial messenger with the pardon and the reward was not coming. The priest approached him and prayed for him. He listened with little attention, and still a smile hovered on his features. But suddenly the executioner took hold of him, held him in his iron grasp, and threw him down. It was the last moment and no messenger appeared yet; and then only Mirowitch realized his terrible fate. With a scream of mad rage he commenced wrestling with the executioner, and while uttering a cry of execration against Catherine, his severed head rolled upon the scaffold. The assassination of two czars—one of them her own husband—was the bloody price which Catherine paid for the throne which she was to make great and renowned by a long and glorious reign. How easily great crimes are forgotten if committed by sovereigns of genius!
CHAPTER XVII
GUSTAVUS THE THIRD OF SWEDEN
