such a policy. Potemkin rose and walked out of the room.
There was one foreign policy decision Catherine made at this time in which Potemkin played no part. In the summer of 1775, King George III of England requested the loan—the rental, actually—of Russian troops to fight in America against his rebellious colonial subjects. London’s first instruction on this matter came on June 30, 1775, from the Earl of Suffolk at the Foreign Office to Sir Robert Gunning, the British ambassador:
The rebellion in a great part of his Majesty’s American colonies is of such a nature as to make it prudent to look forward to every possible exertion. You will endeavor to learn whether, in case it should hereafter be found expedient to make use of foreign troops in North America, His Majesty might rely on the Empress of Russia to furnish him with a considerable corps of her infantry for that purpose. I need not observe to you that this commission is of the most delicate nature. In whatever method you introduce the conversation, whether with Mr. Panin or the empress, you will be very careful to do it unaffectedly, so as to give it quite the air of an idle speculation of your own and by no means that of a proposition.
Soon, the British government was more specific. What was wanted was a Russian force of twenty thousand infantry and one thousand Cossack cavalry, for which Britain was prepared to meet all expenses—transport to America, maintenance, and pay. Catherine considered the request. She was indebted to the king and England for the assistance rendered five years before when the Russian fleet made its passage from the Baltic to the Mediterranean—the voyage that had led to Russia’s naval victory over the Turks at Chesme. She was flattered that her soldiers were respected by England. And she was strongly sympathetic to George III’s difficulties—she herself had just dealt with a massive rebellion in Pugachev’s uprising. She nevertheless refused the king’s request. When she did so, Gunning appealed to Panin and then tried the new man, Potemkin, but Catherine was adamant. Even a personal letter from King George could not persuade her. She wrote back a friendly letter, wishing the king success, but still saying no. An important but unexpressed reason was that she considered that Russia’s future lay in the south, along the Black Sea. Despite the peace treaty with Turkey, she sensed that the settlement would not be permanent and that another war would be coming. When this war began, Catherine knew that she would need the twenty thousand soldiers herself.*
61
Catherine and Potemkin: Separation
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
