In the closing days of Catharine’s reign she found a lower deep into which to plunge. When upward of sixty, she took into office, as her favorite, Zuboff, who was not quite twenty-five. She now formed the Society of the Little Hermitage. This was a picked company of wits and libertines, of both sexes, over whose scenes of debauchery and revelry the empress presided. An inner penetralia even of these orgies was established, and called the Little Society.
The pernicious influence of such an example, set for so long a period of time by a sovereign distinguished for ability, and whose reign had been rendered famous by its successful foreign enterprises, was the almost universal corruption of the Russian court and aristocracy of both sexes. The women, in imitation of her majesty, kept men, with the title and office of favorites. This was as customary as any other piece of fashion, and was recognized by husbands. Tender intrigues were unknown; strong passion was still more rare; marriage was merely an association. There was a club, called the club of natural philosophers, which was a society of men and women of the highest classes, the object of whose meetings was indiscriminate sexual intercourse. The members met to feast, and after the banquet they retired in pairs chosen by lot. This club was afterward put down by the Russian police, in common with all other secret societies. A hospital was founded by Catharine for fifty ladies affected with venereal disease. These were all to be taken care of; no question was permitted as to name or quality, and the linen of the establishment was marked with the significant word “discretion.”
Catharine’s end was sudden and frightful. She had grown corpulent, and her legs and body had swollen and burst. She moved about with considerable difficulty, although her imperious will would not allow her to give way in her career either of ambition or profligacy. She was at the Little Hermitage November 4, 1796, in remarkably high spirits, and even joked her buffoon, Leof Nauskin, among other things, as to his death and his fears thereupon. The next morning the dread messenger, of whose advent she had made sport, brought his orders for her. She fell into an apoplectic fit, and, after thirty-seven hours of insensibility, died unblessing and unblessed, to be succeeded by Paul, her detested son by her first lover Soltikoff.
The emperor, or as he was better known by Napoleon’s sobriquet, the mad Emperor Paul, was too remarkable for his eccentricities to make himself conspicuous for his gallantries. Even in this particular he preserved his eccentricity. He neglected his wife, an amiable and handsome woman, the mother of Alexander and Nicholas, for an ugly mistress, Mademoiselle Nelidoff, and for another, Mademoiselle Lapukhin, who would not accept his addresses, but to whom he nevertheless professed the patient devotion of Don Quixote. The most noteworthy circumstance, in this connection, of Paul’s life was the indirect effect of female frailty in procuring his murder. The enemies who subsequently plotted his downfall and destruction procured their return from banishment through the offices of a certain Mademoiselle Chevalier, a French actress who ruled Kutaisoff, who on his part ruled the Czar.
As we approach our own times, the description of historical characters becomes liable to the tinge of prejudice or partiality.
Alexander, the son and successor of Paul, was distinguished by the amenity of his disposition and the philosophical tone of his political theories. He was married at an early age by order of his grandmother Catharine, who in his case insisted on making him a good husband, and took numerous precautions for that purpose, all of which her example neutralized or belied. The selection made for him might, under the conditions of humble life or a free choice, have turned out happily. As it was, he preferred the society of the ladies of his court, and in particular of the Countess Narishkin, by whom he had three children. The countess proved inconstant, and all his children by her died, to Alexander’s deep grief.
After the loss of these illegitimate children, the affections of Alexander were turned toward the empress, whose true worth he recognized when it was too late. She was struck with disease, and he was on a journey to Southern Russia to select a suitable spot for a residence for her, when he was seized with the fever of which he died.
If Alexander’s mild character had but little influence on his subjects, the name of his successor, Nicholas, has been identified with the very existence of the Russian people, as much as any sovereign since Peter the Great. His example and expressed will have had immense effect, both for good and evil. It is almost impossible to arrive at the true character of Nicholas at the present time, for the reasons just mentioned. In his private life as husband and father, and in his public life as ruler and politician, writers are diametrically opposed to each other. Party prejudice denies him all worth, or makes him a very Socrates. Golovin and authors of the democratic school affirm, in addition to his other offenses, that Nicholas had several illegitimate children, and also “that no woman could feel herself secure from Nicholas’s importunities;” while writers like Von Tietz, Jermann, and other panegyrists of the Russian court, describe Nicholas as an exemplary husband and father, a model to his subjects in his domestic relations. They allege farther, that the gross immorality which has been the chief feature of Russian society was very much discouraged, and rendered altogether unfashionable by the estimable manners of the imperial family.
Truth is rarely found in extremes. The prevalent usage among sovereigns in this century has been “to assume a virtue if they have it not,” and to maintain a respectable exterior for the sake of public opinion. So politic a ruler as Nicholas was not likely to reject this. He did all that could be done to bring virtue into good repute at court. But too many little incidents are told of him to justify a belief in his perfect spotlessness. The characters of individuals, even as rulers, would be unimportant to us were it not that in Russia society is in a transition state, and shows itself plastic in the hands of an energetic emperor. “The state! I am the state!” was perfectly true in the mouth of Nicholas. By his subjects he was held in an esteem little short of idolatry, and he was, in every sense of the word, the most remarkable man in his vast dominions.
Thompson, an English traveler, who has spoken very favorably of the personal worth of the Emperor Nicholas, says of the morality of the upper classes among the Russians, “Denied the advantages of rational amusement and innocent social enjoyments, deprived of those resources which, while they dispel ennui, elevate the feelings, the mind resorts to sensual indulgences and to the gratification of the passions for the purpose of finding recreation and relief from the deadening pressure of despotism. Immorality and intrigue are of universal prevalence, and (in a social sense) are hardly looked upon as criminal acts, while gambling and debauchery are the natural consequences of the tedious monotony from which all seek to escape by indulging in gross and vicious excitement.”