61 
DESPITE THE INTENSITY of their early passion, the relationship between Catherine and Potemkin was never smooth. After their first winter and spring together, the notes she wrote to him began spelling out her emotional journey from passion to disappointment, disillusion, frustration, exasperation, and pain. Catherine burned most of his notes to her, but in what she wrote to him, there is evidence of both sides of their arguments:
My dear friend, I don’t know why, but it seems you are angry with me today. If not, and I’m mistaken, so much the better. And as proof, run to me. I’m waiting for you in the bedroom. My soul hungers for you.
Your long letter and stories are quite excellent, but what’s foolish is that there isn’t a single affectionate word for me. What need do I have to listen to the huge lies … [told you by] other people which you reported to me in such detail? It seems to me that, while repeating all this nonsense, you were obliged to remember that there is a woman in this world who loves you and that I, too, have a right to a word of tenderness.
You were in a mood to quarrel. Please inform me once this inclination passes.
Precious darling, I took a cord with a stone and tied it around the neck of all our quarrels, and then I tossed it into a hole in the ice.… And should this please you, pray do the same.
I wrote you a letter this morning devoid of all common sense. You returned this letter to me, I tore it in pieces in front of you and burned it. What more satisfaction could you desire? Even the church aspires to no more once a heretic has been burned. My note has been burned. You should not want to burn me too.… Peace, my friend. I stretch out my hand to you. Do you wish to take it?
Do me this one favor for my sake: be calm. I am a bit merrier after my tears, and only your agitation grieves me. My dear friend, my darling, stop tormenting yourself, we both need peace so our thoughts can settle down and become bearable, or else we’ll end up like balls in a game of tennis.
It was on January 13, 1776, that Catherine wrote to her ambassador in Vienna, instructing him to ask Emperor Joseph II to grant to her favorite the title of Prince of the Holy Roman Empire. This title, which did not require the holder to profess Catholicism, was awarded to Potemkin in March 1776; thereafter, he was addressed as “Prince” and “Your Serene Highness.”
On March 21, 1776, she signed a decree permitting him to use the title. Something between them went wrong, however, and a few days after sending him an angry note, she wrote a plea.
Such rage ought to be expected from Your Highness should you wish to prove to the public as well as to me how great is the extent of your unruliness. This will of course be an indisputable sign of your ingratitude toward me, as well as your slight attachment to me. For this fury is contrary to both my desire and to the difference in our affairs and stations. The Viennese court has no equal and it will now be able to judge how reliable I am in recommending people for their highest honors. And so this is how you show your concern for my reputation.
Then she reversed her approach and made another appeal:
My Lord and Dear Husband! I shall begin my answer with that line which touches me most of all: who ordered you to cry? Why do you give greater authority to your lively imagination than to the proofs which speak in your wife’s favor? Was she not attached to you two years ago by the bonds of Holy Matrimony? My dear, you suspect the impossible of me. Have I changed my tune, could you be unloved? So now consider for yourself: were my words and deeds in your favor stronger two years ago than now?
Should you not find pleasure in constantly quarreling with me … then I beseech you to dampen your hot temper.… I am truly someone who loves not only affectionate words and behavior but an affectionate face as well.… I remain full of hope, without which, I, like all other people, could not live.
May God forgive you … the injustices you’ve shown me.… Catherine was never insensitive. Even now she is attached to you with all her heart and soul.… I don’t understand why you call yourself unloved and repugnant, and me gracious to everyone but you.… Repugnant and unloved you can never be. I believe that you love me, though quite often your words lack any trace of love. Who desires your peace and tranquility more than I?
In May 1776, Potemkin replied to a letter from her regarding a lack of oversight in the Preobrazhensky Guards. Her letter had spoken of a “blind eye” being turned to the affairs of the regiment. Deeply offended by her probably unintended reference to his physical defect, Potemkin replied:
Your Most Gracious Majesty, when I direct my sight in any direction, then it’s not with a blind eye. I renounce any position in which matters will be removed from my oversight. However, should my talents and desire at some time cease, then someone better can be selected to which I shall readily and fully consent.
Catherine responded:
I read your letter.… For God’s sake, come to your senses.… Is it not in your power to do away with this discord? Even the opinion of the foolish public depends on whatever respect you intend to give this matter.
To Catherine, Potemkin now always seemed angry, whereas the theme running through her letters was her desire for peace and harmony. There were moments of reconciliation and assurances of continued affection. Over time, however, she wearied of Potemkin’s outbursts. Eventually, she reached the point where she warned that if he did not change his behavior, she would have no choice but to withdraw her love—as a means of self-preservation. She was simply too fatigued by the never-ending quarrels. She had sought in Potemkin a refuge from the pressures and loneliness of exercising power, but now their relationship had become another burden. His bad-tempered anger had started to take on a public face. He had begun talking to his relatives, even describing his fights with Catherine. She wrote to him:
To present this comedy to society is highly regrettable for it’s a triumph for your enemies and mine. I did not know till now that they were so thoroughly informed of what goes on between us. I have no confidant in matters that concern you for I honor our secrets and do not disclose them to anyone for discussion.… I repeat and have repeated this to you a hundred times: stop your raging so that my natural tenderness might return, otherwise you will be the death of me.
Potemkin replied:
Matushka, here is the result of your agreeable treatment of me over the past several days. I clearly see your inclination to get along with me. But you have let things go so far that it is becoming impossible for you to be kind to me. I came here to see you since without you life is tedious and unbearable. I noticed that you were incommoded by my arrival. I do not know whom or what you are trying to please; I only know that it is not necessary and to no purpose. It seems to me you have never before been so ill at ease. Your Most Gracious Majesty, I shall go through fire for you. But if it has finally been decided that I am to be banished from you, then at least let it not be before the entire public. I do not tarry to withdraw, although this is equal to losing my life.
By the time Potemkin’s liaison with the empress had lasted two and a half years, the storms were worsening. He constantly reproached her for condoning intrigues against him and permitting his enemies to remain in her entourage; she complained that he was no longer loving, tender, and cheerful. Moments of truce were followed by continued fighting. Sometimes, his truculent behavior so completely exasperated her that she, normally quick to forgive and take the first step toward reconciliation, would indulge in an outburst of her own. But her anger never lasted, and when Potemkin continued sulking for days and she did not see him, she was miserable. A turning point in their relationship was approaching. Catherine understood this:
Your foolish acts remain the same; at the very moment when I feel safest, a mountain drops on me.… To a madcap like you … tranquillity is an unbearable state of mind.… The gratitude I owe you has not vanished and I suppose there has never been a time when you haven’t received signs of this. But now you take away all my force by tormenting me with new fabrications.… Please tell me whether I should be grateful to you for that. Until now I always thought that good health and restful days were esteemed for something in this world, but I would like to know how this is possible with you.
In an embittered effort to analyze their discord, she began with sarcasm:
Listening to you talk sometimes, some might say that I am a monster who has every possible fault: I am frightfully two-faced when I am in pain; when I cry, this is not the result of my sensibility, but something entirely different. And therefore you must despise me and treat me with contempt. Such an exceedingly tender way of behaving can only have a positive effect on my mind. Yet this mind, as wicked and horrible as it may be, knows no other way of loving than to make happy the one it loves.… Pray tell, how would you behave if I continuously reproached you with the faults of all your acquaintances, all those whom you respect or whose services you employ, if I held you responsible for their silly blunders? Would you be patient or impatient? And if, seeing you impatient, I were to be offended, get up, stomp away, slamming the doors behind me, and if, after that, I were to be cold to you, refuse to look at you, and to add threats to all that? … For God’s sake, please do all in your power to keep us from quarreling again for our quarrels always arise from nothing but irrelevant rubbish. We quarrel about power, never about love. This is the truth.
This was, indeed, the truth; it was the crux of the problem. The question of power constantly gnawed at Potemkin. He had always craved power, and it had always come to him easily. This had been true when he was a small boy, an only son, and the idol of a mother and five sisters. It had been his goal when he was at the university and declared that he would command either soldiers or monks. It was to seek recognition that he had spurred forward to present the new empress with his sword knot, and when he mimicked Catherine’s voice and accent and made her laugh. It was his objective when he left the army and hurried to St. Petersburg, hoping to become the favorite. Now, he had acquired titles, wealth, land, and high office. The empress had raised him to unprecedented heights and even perhaps had sealed their union by marriage. What more did he want? What more power could Catherine bestow? He was the first man in the empire, but he remained unhappy and unfulfilled. He had made clear that all the customary rewards of his position—titles, orders, money—were not enough. He wanted supreme power in an unrestricted sphere.
The problem was that despite everything he had done and everything he had been given, his position rested entirely on Catherine. He knew this. He saw that if their quarreling continued, there was a possibility that, one day, the empress might triumph over the woman and turn on him and dismiss him. He would then be no more than the stumbling Orlov and the pitiable Vasilchikov. He was not willing to risk this. The moment had arrived when he had to choose between love and power. He chose power. It meant withdrawal from love and from Catherine. Not complete withdrawal, however. Mysteriously to all who were watching, even as the nature of their physical relationship was changing, the bonds between the two remained strong, so strong that his political power did not seem to decline. Rather, it seemed to grow.
The court, observing the changing relationship between the lovers, assumed that Potemkin would soon be dismissed. On June 22, 1776, when it was learned that the empress was presenting him with the Anichkov Palace, which Empress Elizabeth had built on the Nevsky Prospect for Alexis Razumovsky, it was believed that this gift was in order to provide Potemkin with a town residence when he moved out of the Winter Palace. This was partially true. In preparing for a physical separation, the question had arisen as to where Potemkin would live. Catherine had encouraged him to remain in the Winter Palace, but she also set about finding another place for him, should he prefer that. Potemkin, having repeatedly threatened to leave, complained when she began to take him at his word. She responded:
God knows I don’t intend to drive you out of the palace. Please live in it and be calm.… If you wish to divert yourself by traveling around the provinces for a while, I shan’t stand in your way. Upon your return, pray occupy your quarters in the palace as before. As God is my witness, my attachment to you remains firm and unlimited, and I’m not angry. But do me one favor: spare my nerves.
Potemkin thanked her, but with a quibble:
Your Most Gracious Majesty: Having learned … of my being presented with the Anichkov house, I kiss your feet. I express my humblest gratitude. Most merciful mother, God, having given you all resources and power, did not give you, to my misfortune, to know human hearts. God Almighty! Make known to my sovereign and benefactress how grateful I am to her, how devoted I am and that my life is dedicated to her service. Your Most Gracious Majesty, keep in your protection and care a person devoted to you body and soul, who remains in the most sincere manner till death.
Your Majesty’s most loyal and most devoted servant,
Prince Potemkin
Potemkin never lived in the Anichkov Palace. Once it had been repaired, he used it for evening entertainments when he was in St. Petersburg. Two years later, he sold it.
The Orlovs, who had introduced Potemkin to Catherine, had grown to hate him. Believing that the favorite’s dismissal was imminent, Alexis Orlov, taking advantage of his permanent privilege of speaking frankly to the empress, told her that she should realize the damage her favorite was causing and go ahead and dismiss him. Orlov went further: “You know, Madam, I am your slave. My life is at your service. If Potemkin disturbs your peace of mind, give me your orders. He shall disappear immediately; you shall hear no more of him.” Catherine mentioned this conversation to Potemkin, and the generally unexpected result was that, under pretext of illness, Alexis Orlov resigned from his offices and withdrew from court.