Great Catherine (Whom Glory Still Adores) | Page 7

party of ten. His coat, encrusted with diamonds, is on the floor. It has
fallen off a chair placed near the other end of the table for the
convenience of visitors. His court sword, with its attachments, is on the
chair. His three-cornered hat, also bejewelled, is on the table. He
himself is half dressed in an unfastened shirt and an immense
dressing-gown, once gorgeous, now food-splashed and dirty, as it

serves him for towel, handkerchief, duster, and every other use to
which a textile fabric can be put by a slovenly man. It does not conceal
his huge hairy chest, nor his half-buttoned knee breeches, nor his legs.
These are partly clad in silk stockings, which he occasionally hitches
up to his knees, and presently shakes down to his shins, by his restless
movement. His feet are thrust into enormous slippers, worth, with their
crust of jewels, several thousand roubles apiece.
Superficially Patiomkin is a violent, brutal barbarian, an upstart despot
of the most intolerable and dangerous type, ugly, lazy, and disgusting
in his personal habits. Yet ambassadors report him the ablest man in
Russia, and the one who can do most with the still abler Empress
Catherine II, who is not a Russian but a German, by no means
barbarous or intemperate in her personal habits. She not only disputes
with Frederick the Great the reputation of being the cleverest monarch
in Europe, but may even put in a very plausible claim to be the
cleverest and most attractive individual alive. Now she not only
tolerates Patiomkin long after she has got over her first romantic
attachment to him, but esteems him highly as a counsellor and a good
friend. His love letters are among the best on record. He has a wild
sense of humor, which enables him to laugh at himself as well as at
everybody else. In the eyes of the English visitor now about to be
admitted to his presence he may be an outrageous ruffian. In fact he
actually is an outrageous ruffian, in no matter whose eyes; but the
visitor will find out, as everyone else sooner or later fends out, that he
is a man to be reckoned with even by those who are not intimidated by
his temper, bodily strength, and exalted rank.
A pretty young lady, Yarinka, his favorite niece, is lounging on an
ottoman between his end of the table and the door, very sulky and
dissatisfied, perhaps because he is preoccupied with his papers and his
brandy bottle, and she can see nothing of him but his broad back.
There is a screen behind the ottoman.
An old soldier, a Cossack sergeant, enters.
THE SERGEANT [softly to the lady, holding the door handle]. Little
darling honey, is his Highness the prince very busy?
VARINKA. His Highness the prince is very busy. He is singing out of
tune; he is biting his nails; he is scratching his head; he is hitching up
his untidy stockings; he is making himself disgusting and odious to

everybody; and he is pretending to read state papers that he does not
understand because he is too lazy and selfish to talk and be
companionable.
PATIOMKIN [growls; then wipes his nose with his dressing-gown]!!
VARINKA. Pig. Ugh! [She curls herself up with a shiver of disgust and
retires from the conversation.]
THE SERGEANT [stealing across to the coat, and picking it up to
replace it on the back of the chair]. Little Father, the English captain, so
highly recommended to you by old Fritz of Prussia, by the English
ambassador, and by Monsieur Voltaire (whom [crossing himself] may
God in his infinite mercy damn eternally!), is in the antechamber and
desires audience.
PATIOMKIN [deliberately]. To hell with the English captain; and to
hell with old Fritz of Prussia; and to hell with the English ambassador;
and to hell with Monsieur Voltaire; and to hell with you too!
THE SERGEANT. Have mercy on me, Little Father. Your head is bad
this morning. You drink too much French brandy and too little good
Russian kvass.
PATIOMKIN [with sudden fury]. Why are visitors of consequence
announced by a sergeant? [Springing at him and seizing him by the
throat.] What do you mean by this, you hound? Do you want five
thousand blows of the stick? Where is General Volkonsky?
THE SERGEANT [on his knees]. Little Father, you kicked his
Highness downstairs.
PATIOMKIN [flinging him dawn and kicking him]. You lie, you dog.
You lie.
THE SERGEANT. Little Father, life is hard for the poor. If you say it
is a lie, it is a lie. He FELL downstairs. I picked him up; and he kicked
me. They all kick me when you kick them. God knows that is not just,
Little Father!
PATIOMKIN [laughs ogreishly; then returns to his