CHAPTER XIX

ASSASSINATION OF PAUL THE FIRST OF RUSSIA

(March 24, 1801)

Those who have followed the preceding chapters will remember that Catherine the Second of Russia got possession of the throne by the murder of her husband, fortified that possession by the murder of another Czar imprisoned in the fortress of Schlüsselburg (the weak-minded Ivan the Sixth), and finally, haunted by the constant fear of being dethroned by some new pretender, sacrificed all those whose claims might become dangerous to her security. History, which is filled with the crimes of remorseless rulers, furnishes, however, abundant proof that such crimes, although successful at first, are frequently visited upon their authors or their authors’ children, and that blood cruelly and unjustly shed will blossom forth in a new crop of crime and bloodshed. It was so in the case of the murders committed by Catherine the Second; and while she, very likely, personally suffered from a mental agony which made her life on the throne miserable in the extreme, it was her son who finally paid the penalty.

The life of this unfortunate son had been full of disappointment and sorrow, almost from the moment of his birth. Born as the son of Peter the Third, he was almost openly repudiated by his reputed father as a bastard. Quite often Peter the Third had declared in the presence of gentlemen and ladies of the court that the little Grand-Duke Paul was not his son, but either Alexis or Gregor Orloff’s, and that he had no right to the succession. Catherine, however, insisted that Paul was Peter’s son, and as the boy grew up, his many peculiarities of mind showed such a remarkable similarity to those of Peter the Third, that the legitimacy of his birth could hardly be doubted. It was really the manifestation of these peculiarities that filled the mind of the mother with that insuperable aversion, not to say hatred, for the son, which would have been incomprehensible but for the remorseful recollections which the traits of the father necessarily awakened in her mind. The boy could not fail to notice this aversion and hostility on the part of his mother, especially since the courtiers, modelling their conduct toward him on the sentiments of the Czarina, treated him with the same coldness and contempt. His whole education was carefully arranged on a premeditated plan to keep him as much as possible in ignorance of those very things which might be useful to him as a ruler, while his character was rendered distrustful and suspicious to such a degree that he became a misanthropist of the blackest hue. Not a day passed but he discovered espionage, treachery, ingratitude and intentional hostility among those whom the Empress had placed near his person as his tutors, teachers and confidants. They shamelessly deceived him, betrayed him, and lied about him. They cautiously instilled into his mind the story of the assassination of his father and of his mother’s knowledge of the crime, and when the young man, horror-struck at this disclosure, clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth, they reported to their imperial mistress that the young Grand Duke had manifested dangerous symptoms of impatience and independence, which would require even greater care and watchfulness on the part of his tutors and a more severe isolation of the young prince. Their only intention was, of course, to show their indefatigable zeal in the task entrusted to them and to make themselves absolutely indispensable to their imperial employer or her favorites; but the effect on his mind was most disastrous. Burdened with the suspicion that his own mother was a murderess, and with the evidence afforded by thousands of little occurrences of her hatred toward himself, and of the treachery of his attendants, in constant fear of impending assassination,--is it not almost wonderful that his mind, not naturally strong, did not absolutely give way?

When Paul had grown up to manhood, he was married to a lovely young German princess; but since his mother had selected this wife for him, he regarded her with constant suspicion. She died without having succeeded in overcoming his distrust. A second marriage, which he was compelled to contract, had no happier results, although his wife bore him four sons. By special order of the Empress these sons were taken away from him and educated under the special supervision of Catherine herself, while Paul was ordered to proceed to Gatschina, a country-seat near St. Petersburg, where he amused himself with drilling a battalion of soldiers and arranging sham battles, just as Peter the Third, his father, had done before his elevation to the throne. But rarely was he permitted to receive his children, and when they came to see him, he was always afraid that some secret danger might surprise him.

In this manner thirty-five years had elapsed since the death of Peter the Third. During these thirty-five years the name of Peter had hardly ever been heard at the court, or at least not in the presence of the Empress. Then Catherine herself falls a prey to the grim destroyer; and Paul inherits the crown. His mother’s body is laid out in state on a catafalque, by whose side stands another coffin, magnificently ornamented and with an imperial crown on its top. It is the coffin of Peter the Third, whose remains had been deposited in a vault of the Alexander Nevski Monastery. It was one of Paul’s first official acts to proceed to this convent, to open the vault and the coffin containing his father’s mortal remains. One of the gloves of Peter the Third was still well preserved. Paul took it out of the coffin, knelt down in the presence of the whole court and reverently kissed it. Then he ordered the coffin to be carried to the imperial palace where the body of his mother lay in state, and an imperial crown to be placed on it. It was, perhaps, the most unique coronation which ever took place in history. But Paul wanted not only to honor his father’s memory; he wanted also to punish and to hand over to public contempt his murderer. He therefore ordered Alexis Orloff, who had planned the assassination of Peter the Third, to act as chief mourner at the funeral. Orloff obeyed: but immediately after the obsequies, during which he was the target of the contemptuous eyes of the whole people, he was thrown into a kibitka and sent into exile. Such was the opening of Paul’s reign.

In his physical make-up Paul bore not the slightest resemblance to Peter the Third, and this circumstance seemed to give confirmation to the circulating rumors that he was not Peter’s son. But if, as a great historian has pointed out, Catherine’s intense hatred of her son could have left any doubt in that respect, Paul’s personal acts of government, almost from the very first day after the funeral of his mother, absolutely removed it. For, intellectually and morally, never a son bore a greater resemblance to his father than Paul the First did to Peter the Third. Paul had good qualities, and with proper education and assistance, he would very likely have made a good ruler; but without both, his well-meant but ill-timed plans of reform failed to do the people any good, while they created untold enemies for him. Exactly like Peter the Third, he had prepared a number of plans of reform, which he immediately promulgated without consulting with any one about their opportuneness or advisability. Like Peter’s reform plans, Paul’s turned mostly on trivialities,--on the style of hats or coats or military uniforms,--and by strenuously trying to enforce these edicts he made himself odious. He hated anything that might remind him of the French Revolution, and would not permit a Frenchman to enter the Russian Empire without a passport signed by one of the French Bourbon princes (then living in exile); like his father he idolized the Prussians and wanted Prussian military regulations, uniforms and equipment introduced into the Russian army; in these efforts he was strongly opposed by the Russian officers and soldiers. They made fun of the imperial ordinances and (admitting then that he was Peter’s son) said that he had inherited Peter’s Prussomania and insanity. Citizens and peasants were equally indignant at Paul’s arbitrary interference with their personal rights and liberties. He also tried to introduce church reforms, which irritated the clergy and caused angry protests throughout the Empire. In attempting to introduce these “reforms” he sometimes manifested symptoms of real insanity. He declared war upon round hats, which he considered revolutionary and hostile to the government. He carried this war to such an extent that he ordered the police and even the soldiery to confiscate the obnoxious hats and arrest the owners, even while the latter were promenading in the streets, and without any regard to the weather. In this manner it was not long before he had estranged the good feelings of the aristocracy, the army, the clergy and the people at large. They began to regard him as a trifler and maniac, who was imbued with an excessive idea of his own authority, who defied national sentiment and prejudice, and who would not counsel with anybody because he distrusted everybody.

In his foreign policy he was selfish and vacillating. He subordinated the national interests of Russia entirely to his own personal whims and prejudices. He formed alliances and cancelled them without cause, and thus made enemies of all foreign powers. The most prominent statesmen and generals became convinced that Russia, which under Catherine’s rule had won a commanding position among the powers of Europe, would lose all prestige if forced into a state of political isolation by the foolish policy of Paul the First.

Plots and conspiracies were formed, of which the most prominent court officials in immediate attendance on the Emperor became members. Some of these men he hated because they had been favorites and counsellors of his mother; others he had in his sudden fits of passion abused and insulted. Most prominent among these were Count Pahlen, the brothers Zubow, and Count Talizin, commander of the Imperial Guards. They added their personal grievances to the public dissatisfaction, and joined hands in bringing about Paul’s dethronement. They commenced working on the Grand Dukes, Paul’s sons, and especially upon the oldest of them, Alexander, whom Count Pahlen convinced that the Emperor held in readiness an order for the arrest of the Grand Dukes, with the exception of Nicholas, his third son, whom he had designated for the succession to the crown. Alexander was of a sentimental turn of mind. For a while he resisted the tempting offers of the conspirators, but when the reports of his impending arrest and transfer to Schlüsselburg were confirmed by others, he finally consented to the arrest of the Emperor and to the demand for his forced abdication. This he did with tears and heart-rending supplications not to harm his father and to treat him with becoming respect. Having received this consent, the conspirators proceeded to work with great promptness and energy. The time was propitious for the immediate execution of their conspiracy; for they knew very well that what originally had been planned only as dethronement by abdication might easily lead to the assassination of the Czar, and they had taken precautions and measures tending towards such a result.

It was during the Masnaliza, the Russian Carnival, that the conspirators resolved to carry their plot into execution. The whole population was in a state of frenzy, drunkenness, and wild excesses. The conspirators knew that during these days they could meet and make all necessary arrangements without attracting the least attention. Paul the First resided in the palace of St. Michael, which he claimed to have built on a direct order of St. Michael himself. He had entirely isolated himself; his most faithful servant, Count Rostopchin, and his wife, whom he had really loved, had been banished from his apartments. It was this Rostopchin who twelve years afterwards burned the city of Moscow. He distrusted them as well as all others. His only confidante (and, as is asserted, his mistress at the same time) was an ugly old cook, who prepared his meals in a kitchen adjoining his bedroom, that he might be secure against poison. The Empress Maria, distinguished by the gentleness and tenderness of her sentiments, who had given him innumerable proofs of her affection and devotion, was in his eyes a traitress who he supposed was plotting with his enemies against his life. He had therefore ordered the doors leading from his own apartments to hers to be walled up.

The assassination itself presents some points of resemblance to that of Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland. On the evening of March 23, 1801, General Talizin, chief of the Imperial Guards, gave a brilliant party, to which only gentlemen of great intrepidity and resoluteness, all of whom were known to be personal enemies of the Emperor, had been invited. When the guests were heated with wine and in a condition of semi-intoxication, Count Pahlen entered the _salon_ in which the guests were assembled; he referred in a few impressive words to the despotism and tyranny of the Emperor, to the widespread spirit of rebellion, to the dissatisfaction prevailing among officers, people, and clergy, to the public disorders and disturbances breaking out on all sides, and closed his inflammatory harangue by appealing to his hearers to make an end of these intolerable conditions. He knew his speech would be enthusiastically received, and for several minutes there was perfect bedlam among the guests. Some of them hurled chairs above their heads, others grasped their knives or swords, and swore that they would kill the insane fool who had already too long disgraced the imperial throne.

The plan according to which the conspirators proceeded had been carefully projected. Pahlen, who was Governor-General of St. Petersburg, left the palace in the general confusion, but returned soon with a detachment of cavalry and guarded the one side of the Winter Palace. Talizin marched up from the other side with a regiment of grenadiers. When these soldiers marched through the botanical garden of the palace, their loud and heavy steps frightened away many thousand crows, which were sleeping upon the high lime-trees of the garden. The loud croaking of this immense army of black birds ought to have aroused Paul from his sleep and warned him of his impending danger. But he slept on.

After the palace was fully surrounded, the conspirators crossed the ditch on the ice. A battalion of soldiers, who were not in the secret, and who were on guard on the outposts, offered some resistance, but were easily overpowered and disarmed. Not a shot had been fired. After having passed the gates of the palace, the conspirators were joined by Colonel Marin, the Commandant of the palace, who conducted the riotous throng, among whom were hardly any sober persons, over winding-stairs up to the door of the Emperor’s bedroom. On the threshold of the door the guard was asleep, and when aroused and trying to resist, was very rudely handled and barely escaped alive. He ran down the stairs and called the guards to arms. They demanded to be taken to the Emperor’s rooms, but Marin interfered. He made them present arms, and in this position no Russian soldier dares move a limb or speak a word.

The crowd entered the bedroom. Prince Zubow and General Benningsen--the latter a Hanoverian by birth, but of great authority in the army on account of his energy and reckless audacity--stepped up to the bed of the Czar, brandishing their swords. “Sire,” said Benningsen, “you are my prisoner!” The Emperor stared at them in speechless surprise. “Sire,” continued Benningsen, “it is a question of life or death for you! Yield to circumstances and sign this act of abdication!” The room was becoming filled up with drunken conspirators, all of whom wanted to see what was going on, and tried to get in. In a moment of confusion caused by this pushing and crowding in, which others tried to prevent, the Emperor sprang from his bed and took refuge behind the screen of a stove, where he staggered over some obstacle and fell to the ground. “Sire,” exclaimed Benningsen once more, “submit to the inevitable! Your life is at stake!” At this moment a new noise was heard from the anteroom, and Benningsen, who so far had been the only protector of Paul’s life, turned to the door, to see whether the new-comers were friends or enemies. Paul was, for the moment, alone with his assailants. His courage returned. He ran up to a table upon which lay several pistols. He reached for them, but some of the conspirators had watched the motion of his hand; one of them almost severed it from his arm by a stroke of his sword. Agonized with pain the Czar rushed upon his enemies. A short struggle, a heavy fall, and it was all over.

The murder of Peter the Third was brought about by the use of a napkin; his son, Paul the First, was strangled with an officer’s sash. There is another point of resemblance in the assassination of the two Czars, father and son. Alexis Orloff and Nicholas Zubow, the murderers of the two Czars, had both taken dinner with their victims on the day of the murder.

When the death of their father was reported to the Grand Dukes, Alexander especially, the heir to the crown, was almost overcome with emotion and terror. The details of the murder were carefully concealed from him; on the contrary, he was made to believe that a fit of apoplexy brought on by the excitement of the scene had caused the Czar’s death. After much lamentation he was finally persuaded to address a proclamation to the Russian people in which apoplexy was given as the cause of the sudden and unexpected death of Czar Paul the First during the night of the twenty-third of March. Quite early next day this proclamation was promulgated throughout the city of Petersburg by military heralds. But the people were not deceived by these official lies. Everybody knew in what manner Paul the First had died. The news of the murder in all its details had spread with lightning-like rapidity through the streets and alleys to the remotest corners of the city.

The conspirators, far from denying their guilt, boasted of the crime as of an act of heroism and patriotism. Many officers who were at the time miles away from the palace of St. Michael claimed to have been witnesses of the tragedy and to have lent a helping hand in slaying “the tyrant.” It is recorded that Count Münster, the Prussian ambassador at the court of St. Petersburg, a short time after Paul’s assassination, spoke with horror and indignation of the catastrophe at a dinner party at which a number of the most prominent army officers and state officials were present; one of these officers quite unconcernedly defended the crime, saying: “Count, you should not blame us for defending ourselves! Our Magna Charta is tyranny, or if you prefer to call it so, absolutism, tempered by assassination, and our rulers should regulate their conduct accordingly!” And this state of affairs has existed in Russia to the present day.