The Tsarina's Lost Treasure

It's an absolute pleasure to welcome Gerald Easter and Mara Vorhees to the salon today. Gerald and Mara are the authors of the wonderful new book, The Tsarina's Lost Treasure, all about the search for the ship Vrouw Maria, which was lost in 1771. When the ship went down, it took with it Catherine the Great's priceless collection of art. Two and a half centuries later, the Vrouw Maria and her cargo have been found deep beneath the waves. This gripping book tells the full - sometimes mindboggling - tale.

Read more about the book and its remarkable story by clicking here.

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An Excerpt from

The Tsarina’s Lost Treasure 

Catherine the Great A Golden Age Masterpiece, and a Legendary Shipwreck

 

Gerald Easter and Mara Vorhees

 

In the 18th century, Catherine the Great set out to make the Imperial Russian court in Saint Petersburg a great cultural power of Europe, and in so doing, became one of the continent’s most voracious art collectors. The 1771 auction of the Braamcamp estate in Amsterdam was the art event of the era, attracting aristocrats and art lovers from far and wide to vie for the European masterpieces in the celebrated collection. Catherine’s agents outbid and outspent all of her competitors, snapping up Braamcamp’s most desirable Dutch paintings for her own growing collection (which would become the foundation of the Hermitage Museum). 

 

Catherine scored a dozen invaluable paintings, which were loaded onto the merchant ship Vrouw Maria for transport to Saint Petersburg. In a late autumn squall, the ship crashed off the stormy Finnish coast, taking the historic cargo to the depths of the Baltic Sea. The Tsarina’s Lost Treasure recounts the fascinating tale of the Vrouw Maria – her loss and discovery – delving into the history and fate of Catherine’s precious cultural treasure. 

 

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In ancient Rome, Minerva was goddess of wisdom and culture. The daughter of Jupiter, she inspired and defended those dedicated to knowledge and creation. For Catherine, myth became muse. The empress viewed herself as the “Russian Minerva, Patroness and Protectress of the Arts.” She encouraged the likeness. Images of Catherine wearing Minerva’s high-crested winged helmet were cast into commemorative coins, carved in ivory cameos, and painted onto fine porcelain plates. She even commissioned Flemish sculptor Jean-Pierre Tassaert to carve a life-sized marble figure of herself and Italian painter Gregorio Guglielmi to paint a ceiling fresco of herself in the guise of her favorite goddess. But the empress lacked a proper venue in which to play Minerva.

 

When the ship arrived with Catherine’s first major purchase, two-hundred-plus paintings from the Gotzkowsky collection, the empress fretted: she had no suitable space to display her spoils. Frederick the Great of Prussia had his Sanssouci; Catherine would have her Hermitage. The more she heard about Frederick’s Potsdam retreat, the more she coveted her own stylish sanctuary: a place removed from state affairs and court intrigues; a place reserved for stimulating conversation, soothing music, and exquisite artwork; part salon, part stage, part trophy room. 

 

Just twenty miles outside the capital were the gilded gardens of Tsarskoe Selo, where Empress Elizabeth had her favorite builder Bartolomo Rastrelli fashion a swanky rotunda for entertaining purposes. The inside was a modern marvel, with each dining table fitted with mechanical dumbwaiters. Following aristocratic fashion, Elizabeth gave her garden rotunda a French nickname, l’Ermitage. Catherine considered this site for her art collection, but it was both too far away and too flamboyant. Catherine wanted to keep her stash close by. So she decided to

build her own “Little Hermitage” along the Neva Embankment next to the Winter Palace, where she lived and worked.

 

Like Elizabeth, Catherine loved to build. She confessed to Grimm: “We have a mania for building. It is a fiendish thing and consumes so much money, but the more I build, the more I want to build. It is as addictive as alcohol.” Unlike Elizabeth, Catherine loathed ostentation in her buildings. For her new Hermitage, the tsarina passed over Rastrelli, whose rococo creations were like whipped cream, she said. Instead, she gave the commission to Yury Velten, Rastrelli’s longtime assistant. 

 

In a restrained Baroque style, Velten produced a two-story South Pavilion, bordering

Palace Square. At this time, construction was also underway on a new gallery for the Academy of Arts on Vasilievsky Island. Catherine viewed its progress from her palace windows. She was so taken by this building’s elegant simple lines that she commissioned its Classical Revivalist architect, Villain de la Mothe of France, to design the next phase of her Hermitage. Mothe crafted a three-story neoclassical North Pavilion, along the riverfront. He then connected the two facing pavilions with long open galleries, surrounding a hanging garden courtyard. This structural ensemble became Catherine’s salon, the Little Hermitage.

The Small Hermitage, built by Catherine the Great to display her art collection, now part of the State Hermitage Museum.

The empress paced the halls of her new playhouse in solitude. She contemplated the plaster walls, an empty canvas to be filled. She envisaged various arrangements for her artworks. Catherine alone decided which of her favorites would be displayed, and how. The Flemish masters Rubens, Bruegel, and van Dyck adorned one gallery wall; the Italian masters Tintoretto and Veronese the opposite side; while Dutch masters Hals, Rembrandt, and Steen were placed where everyone who entered would see them. The smaller scale Dous were grouped together and hung low, so visitors could admire the lifelike detail of the Leiden fijnschilder. When new

acquisitions arrived, the empress took care and pleasure to find their right place among her treasures.

 

The empress’s days were full of formality—counsels, ceremony, correspondence; but the evenings were given to informality—conversation, games, entertainment. Intimate parties of a dozen or so select guests gathered at night in the Little Hermitage. To assure the proper atmosphere, Catherine composed a list of ten rules For the Behavior of All Those Entering These Doors:

1) All ranks, swords and hats shall be left at the door;

2) Haughtiness in all forms shall be left at the door;

3) Act merry, but do not upset or break anything;

4) Sit, stand or walk as you please, regardless of others;

5) Do not talk loud, or give others an earache or headache;

6) Do not argue too passionately or angrily;

7) Do not sigh, yawn or anything that fatigues and bores others;

8) Agree to participate in any innocent games suggested by others;

9) Eat and drink as you please, but always leave on your own legs;

10) All that is said and done here must stay here after you leave.

 

As punishment for those who violated the rules one through nine, the empress made them guzzle a glass of ice water and recite passages of poetry. Those who trespassed against the tenth rule, however, were forever banned from the premises.

Portrait of Empress Catherine the Great, née Princess Sophie of Anhalt-Zerbst, Fyodor Rokotov (?), 1780s, State Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, Russia.

“My pictures are beautiful,” the empress told Falconet. “When can you come see them?” Catherine was most comfortable in this combined setting of high culture and casual socializing. Philosophers discussed, musicians played, poets recited, and actors performed. While Frederick composed his flute sonatas at Sanssouci, Catherine tried her hand as a playwright, using the Hermitage theatre to stage her comedies. Invited guests played whist and bridge and other gambling games. Catherine was always eager to make a wager, even though she most often lost. Silver serving trays of food were laid out, alongside brimming crystal decanters of wine and vodka. Inevitably, at some point in the evening, the empress escorted guests to the galleries to view her most recent Old Master triumph. Here in the Little Hermitage, Catherine was indeed the Russian Minerva.

The Tent-Roofed Hall in the New Hermitage, now part of the State Hermitage Museum, displays 17th century Dutch paintings.

In mid-March 1771, the empress sat down with her vice chancellor for the morning

briefing. Through the tall palace windows, she could see the Neva River was finally stirring, as late winter ice crackled and churned. Alexander Golitsyn read to Her Majesty a letter just arrived from cousin Dmitry in The Hague: An extraordinary opportunity, the Amsterdam merchant Braamcamp is dead. His famous Temple of Arts, filled with rare and precious Old Masters, soon will go to auction.

 

 

An Unhappy Empress

Those of you who follow me on Twitter already know that I love to share gorgeous, cheeky and downright saucy images from the long eighteenth century using the hashtag, #gloriousGeorgians. Not everybody uses Twitter, of course, so I'll be sharing some of my favourite finds here at the salon.

When Catherine the Great saw Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun's portrait of her granddaughters Alexandra & Elena Pavlovna, she was NOT happy. "Not only is there no resemblance, but the two sisters are so disfigured that people will ask which is [which]." What a critic!

The Death of Elizabeth of Russia

Elizabeth of Russia (Elizaveta Petrovna, Moscow, Russia, 29th December 1709 - St Petersburg, Russia, 5th January 1762)

Elizabeth of Russia by Charles-André van Loo, 1760

As we celebrate a new year, spare a thought for Empress Elizabeth of Russia, who did not have much to celebrate as January dawned in 1762. After two decades on the Russian throne she enjoyed the love of her people, respected for her refusal to capitulate to the policies of Prussia as she stamped her mark on her own country.

Elizabeth seized the crown after orchestrating a bloodless coup in 1741 and promised at the time that she would sanction no death sentences during her reign. It was a promise that she kept and one that only added to her popularity amongst her people, as did the certainty with which she steered the country through the Seven Years' War.

However, as we have seen so many times, all the grandeur and political success in the world were of little import when the time came to depart this mortal coil, and things were no different for Elizabeth. As she entered her fiftieth year, the Empress became aware that her health was beginning to fail and as her dizzy spells became more frequent and debilitating, the court physicians were summoned to tend to their monarch. Elizabeth, however, was not willing to submit to their treatments and instead she decided to soldier on, coping as well as she could with her ailments even as she became increasingly paranoid about the fate that awaited her, even going so far as to forbid her courtiers to use the word death.

Of course, forbidding discussion of death and avoiding medical treatment are not appropriate remedies for illness and the Empress declined further as the winter of 1761 deepened. Years of high living caught up with Empress and though she finally agreed to take her medicine, it had to be dipped in marmalade or otherwise sweetened; when bleeding or other interventions were discussed, she recoiled in horror at the very thought of it.

Confined to her bed, she gathered her most trusted friends to her and said her final prayers, finally passing away on 5th January 1762. After more than a month of lying in state Empress Elizabeth of Russia was laid to rest, her popular reign at an end.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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The Death of Anna of Russia

Anna of Russia (Anna Ioannovna, Moscow, Russia, 7th February 1693 – St Petersburg, Russia, 28th October 1740)

Anna of Russia by Louis Caravaque, 1730
Thomas Carlyle compared her large cheeks to a “Westphalian ham” but, sadly, this painting doesn't appear to do them justice!

Today we find ourselves back in Russia to share the final days of another famed and, in this case, feared Empress. Just as we peeked in at the death of Catherine the Great, now we are afforded a glimpse into the death of Anna of Russia, an autocratic and strong-minded ruler.

After an iron-gripped decade as the Empress and Autocrat of all the Russias, it was becoming increasingly clear to Anna that her health was in somewhat speedy decline. With one eye on the future she appointed Regent from her circle of favourites and selected her infant grandnephew as a successor, determined that the descendants of Peter the Great would never again sit on the Russian throne.

For many years Anna had suffered from debilitating gout and as the years passed, so too did the symptoms of her ailment grow worse and worse until her mobility began to suffer. Not only this, but she was beset by initially unexplained pains in her torso that were later diagnosed as an ulcer on one kidney and this was the start of the kidney trouble that would eventually kill her.

As 1740 wore on, the pain grew more pronounced as Anna was beset with kidney stones and she was forced to retire to her bed. Here she remained in increasing pain until she died as a result of kidney failure at the age of 47, leaving her carefully-laid plans for the succession to fall into failure.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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The Lost Treasure of the Vrouw Maria

It is a well known fact that I am never happier than when gadding about near the coast and whenever I get the chance, I like to disappear to spend some time beside the sea. A becalmed ocean is a place of tranquillity, the mightiest body of water as calm as a millpond and yet, when that calm surface is disturbed by storms, many a vessel can be lost beneath the waves.

One such vessel was the Vrouw Maria, a Dutch merchant ship under the command of Captain Raymund Lourens. Her hold full of merchant cargo and, crucially, valuable artworks including items from the collection of Catherine the Great, she set sail from Amsterdam on 5th September 1771 but was destined never to make her intended destination of St Petersburg. 

As Autumn wore on and conditions at sea worsened, a storm on 3rd October drove her aground not once but twice, with the rudder of the Vrouw Maria damaged beyond repair. As water poured into the stricken ship, efforts went on through the night to save the stricken ship but by dawn all hope was lost and Lourens gave the order to abandon her.

Mercifully the crew all escaped the vessel and a passing boat took them on board and attempted to save the Vrouw Maria. With coffee beans from the cargo hold clumping and clogging her pump, there was nothing that could be done and by the afternoon of 9th October, the Vrouw Maria had disappeared beneath the waves around the island of Jurmo. When she went down she took her priceless cargo with her, consigning it to what seemed to be an eternity at the bottom of the sea.

Over two centuries later the wreck of the Vrouw Maria was discovered in 1999; so far the cargo has not been disturbed but when that day comes, I cannot wait to see the state of Catherine the Great's collection!

The Great Fire of Moscow

On this day over two hundred years ago, the terrible fire that swept through Moscow for days finally calmed, leaving behind vast swathes of utterly destroyed city. The true cause of the blaze remains unknown but the fact that the blaze coincided with the departure of Russian forces and the arrival of French led a lot of people to suspect that those retreating soldiers had set the fires themselves, leaving a warm welcome for the new arrivals.

On 14th September 1812, the Governor General of Moscow, Count Feodor Rostopchin prepared to lead his troops out of Moscow and apparently gave orders that all major public buildings should be burned or otherwise destroyed, whilst he ensured that the fire services had been relieved of any firefighting equipment that might vex his plans. At the same time, several smaller and unexplained fires began to spring up around the city as they had for several days leading up to the Russian retreat. However, the fires set on Rostopchin's orders were not helped by further, smaller blazes started by the Grande Armée as they set up camp in Moscow.

The French in Moscow, 1812 

The French built campfires all over the city and as these began to burn out of control, the city was soon on fire.  Although the majority of citizens had already left the city ahead of the French arrival, thousands had no choice but to stay behind and as these people fled their homes, looting broke out and seen the streets were in chaos. Napoleon watched the city burn from the Kremlin until, with concerns for his safety growing, he left Moscow to take refuge outside the city.

More than 6000 homes, 800 shops and 100 churches burned, whilst 12,000 people died in the conflagration, with many precious buildings and treasures also consumed by the fire that Rostopchin was adamant he had not ordered. The process of rebuilding was slow and expensive and for years thereafter, the city and its people continued to count the cost.

The Walking Sticks of Catherine the Great

Whilst perusing the wardrobe of Catherine the Great in preparation for my post yesterday, I happily stumbled upon this gloriously sparkly pair of walking sticks. Since we are already at The Hermitage to admire Catherine's wonderful Lady Mundirnye gown, then let us linger and admire these lovely accessories too.

These two walking sticks were made by an unknown craftsman in Russia in the late 18th century. They are a far cry from my old grandpa Gilflurt's simple wooden walking stick although, it must be said, he was never a showy man and unshowy isn't a description one might apply to Catherine the Great! 

Eschewing simplicity in favour of glitter, the Empress and Autocrat of All the Russias has plumped for walking canes topped by ornate gold handles, each decorated by diamonds. Catherine's monogram is picked out in yet more diamonds against a royal blue enamel enamel bearing, creating a suitably imperial finish!

I cannot fault Catherine's taste in these ornate canes; to me, they are so quintessentially 18th century that I could look at them for hours!

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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A Military Frock for Catherine the Great

As I gad about town I often find myself treated to some most splendid sights one can imagine thanks to the fabulous fashions of the Georgian era. I have long-posited that military uniforms reached their most wonderful peak in the 18th century and one lady who certainly agreed that the military look could be stylish was our old friend, Catherine the Great.

fripperiesandfobs.tumblr.com

Known for her shrewd political maneuverings and a watchful eye on the lands she governed, Catherine made favourites of high-ranking military officials and took a great interest in the direction and leadership of Russian's armed forces. In this Lady Mundirnye gown we can see the military influence seeping into Catherine's clothing, to great effect.

I love the style of this dress that blends fashion and femininity with traditional elements of military dress, with the colours chosen reflecting those used by the Cavalry from 1764 until they were disbanded in 1796. The Empress would have worn this striking outfit to attend parades or other military-themed events that called for a little pizzazz. 

I am sure she cut quite a dash!

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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The Flintlock Pistols of Catherine the Great

When I am not gadding about in pursuit of stories of the long 18th century, I can often be found setting quill to paper to tell tales of romance, adventure and all sorts of scandalous behaviour. Whilst researching a little something recently on my Pinterest boards, I came across the image of a pair of ornate flintlock pistols that once belonged to Empress Catherine the Great, and thought I would share a little about these remarkable weapons here.

http://www.metmuseum.org

The pistols were made by Johan Adolph Grecke in Saint Petersburg in 1786 and were accompanied by a fowling piece and a rifle. Although the rifle has been lost, the pistols and fowling piece remain as testament to the remarkable work of the gunsmith.

With stocks of ivory, Catherine's initial is marked on the grip and she later made a gift of the guns to Prince Stanislas August Poniatowski, a favourite of the Empress. The weapons were hugely fashionable at the Russian court and now reside at the Met Museum in New York. 

I cannot help but admire the exquisite workmanship of these pistols and the significance of Catherine passing them along to the prince cannot be underestimated. It sent a clear message of the strength of her respect for this particular courtier, who she supported throughout his career.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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A Fatal Experiment: The Death of Georg Wilhelm Richmann

Georg Wilhelm Richmann  (Pernau, Estonia, 22nd July 1711 – St Petersburg, Russia, 6th August 1753)

To Estonia today for the tale of a Baltic German gentleman of learning whose professional fascination with electricity proved to be the death of him. Georg Wilhelm Richmann was a pioneering physicist who conducted experiments on natural electricity and, as you can probably guess, met a sticky end thanks to it!

Death of Georg Wilhelm Richmann from Les Grand Inventions by Louis F Gueir, 1863

One summer day, Richmann was involved in a meeting at the Imperial Academy of Sciences and Arts in St Petersburg when he heard the sound of distant thunder. At his home he had a device named an electrical gnomon, with which he measured the strength of atmospheric electricity and in every storm he made and recorded readings using this item. Keen to employ the device in this particular storm he excused himself and rushed home to begin his experiments.

Whilst closely examining an electroscope, a bolt of ball lightning struck the device and travelled straight into the physicist's head. The electricity rushed through Richmann and left via his foot, blowing a hole in his shoe and sending him flying across the room. The gnomon was destroyed and the physicist was killed instantly, the first scientist to die whilst experimenting with electricity.

The Alexander Column

By special request for a friend with an interest in Russian history, today I am pleased to share the dramatic figure of the Alexander Column. The work of French architect, Auguste de Montferrand, the Alexander Column is a monumental structure intended to honour Emporer Alexander I

The Alexander Column and the Winter Palace

The Alexander Column stands at the centre of Palace Square in St Petersburg, Russia, a permanent monument to Russia's victory over Napoleon. Montferrand designed the Column before passing on responsibility for the building in 1830 to Swiss Antonio Adamini. The column stands at 155 ft 8 in and is topped with a statue of an angel holding a cross designed by Russian sculptor Boris Orlovsky, with the angel bearing the face of Emperor Alexander I, for whom the column is named and it was unveiled on 30th August 1834.

The Alexander Column in Scaffolds by Grigory Gagarin, 1832

The column is formed from one single piece of granite that was sourced in Finland and transported by sea to Saint Petersburg, where 3,000 men erected it. The enormous pedestal on which the column stands depicts winged figures holding up a plaque bearing the words "To Alexander I from a grateful Russia" and shows iconic items of armour from the history of the country, a reminder of the rich heritage of Russia. On other sides are depictions of virtuous acts and courageous tales, designed by Giovanni Battista Scotti. The casting of the bronze was done at Charles Baird's works in Saint Petersburg and was, as you might imagine, a monumental undertaking.

Over the decades that have passed since the Column was finished Russia has sent its share of upheaval and change. Through it all the Alexander Column has stood solidly by, a reminder of the country's past victories and rich history.

Grand Duchess Natalia Alexeievna: A Duchess, A Duke... and His Best Friend

Grand Duchess Natalia Alexeievna of Russia (Princess Wilhelmina Louisa of Hesse-Darmstadt; Prenzlau, Russia, 25th June 1755 – St Petersburg, Russia, 15th April 1776)

Natalia Alexeievna of Russia by Alexander Roslin, 1776

After our diversion into the inns and taverns of London, we find ourselves back in the grand continental courts to meet a last of noble birth. Married to the man who would one day be Tsar Paul I of Russia Grand Duchess Natalia Alexeievna lived a short but somewhat sparkly life. She made an impact on courtiers and public alike but her time in the spotlight was all too brief.

Born Princess Wilhelmina Louisa of Hesse-Darmstadt to Louis IX, Landgrave of Hesse-Darmstadt and Caroline of Zweibrücken, Countess Palatine, there was never any question that she would be anything but a powerful political bride for some lucky noble. She was one of three unmarried daughters of the Landgrave and when news reached Louis and Caroline that Empress Catherine II was casting her net wide in the search for a bride for her son, Grand Duke Paul, the 18 year old Wilhelmina was certainly on the shortlist.

When news reached Prenzlau that the Empress would like to meet the three girls, they were put through a crash course in courtly behaviour and made into the image of perfect royal brides before they were dispatched for Russia on a ship captained by the Grand Duke's best friend, Count Andrei Razumovsky, of whom we shall hear more later. Less than 48 hours after the young ladies arrived in St Petersburg, Paul made his choice: he wished to marry Wilhelmina. An enormous wedding ceremony was held on 29th September 1773 and Wilhelmina, now named Natalia Alexeievna, became a Grand Duchess.

The bubbly young woman lit up the Russian court and found favour with Catherine yet this honeymoon period was not to last. It began to be apparent that the new bride was far from an innocent abroad but was, in fact, highly ambitious on behalf of her husband and when he did not share her love for scheming and intrigue, she sought her thrills elsewhere. Soon gossip began to spread that Natalia was involved in a passionate affair with Razumovsky and she became the talk of the court though Paul remained blissfully unaware of the talk about his wife and best friend. In a somewhat bittersweet show of devotion, when efforts were made to exile Razumovsky, it was the blissfully unaware Paul who stepped in to ensure his friend could remain at court!

When news emerged of Natalia's pregnancy, more than a few eyebrows were raised on the matter of paternity but as far as the Empress was concerned, if the baby were a boy, then she would consider the child as the rightful heir to the throne. 

Natalia's long and agonising labour resulted in the birth of a stillborn son on 15th April 1776; her doctors hesitated to perform a Caesarian and neither mother nor child stood a chance of survival. At the loss of his wife, Paul was distraught and for a short time refused to release her body for burial; five months later, he had married again.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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The Assassination of Paul I

Paul I (St Petersburg, Russia, 1st October 1754 – St Petersburg, Russia, 23rd March 1801)

Paul I of Russia by Vladimir Borovikovsky, 1800

After a pastoral turn around the gardens of Sheffield and a scientific sojourn, it is time to travel to Russia to witness a most dark moment in the history of that country. On this day, Emperor Paul I of Russia was five years into his reign and had made powerful and influential enemies. He believed that the noble class should behave in a chivalrous and honourable fashion and made efforts to deal with corruption in the highest government offices. Not only that, but he also increased rights for poorer citizens and put in place laws that ensured the poorest workers on estates could expect better treatment from their employers.

Paul feared assassination and was right to, for in the last months of Paul's life, a conspiracy was being planned against him by our old acquaintance, Count Pyotr Alexeevich Palen, Count Nikolay Zubov, Count Nikita Petrovich Panin and Admiral José de Ribas, who died before the assassination could be carried out.

As the night of 23rd March drew on, Paul hosted a dinner party in St Michael's Castle at which he was joined by his son, Grand Duke Alexander, who did not appear to enjoy the company of his father that evening. Presently Paul retired to his bedroom and began to prepare for rest as elsewhere, the conspirators waited for the appointed hour to strike. They spent the evening drinking and were admitted to the Castle by a member of staff who had been recruited to their cause, with the group making their way swiftly to the Emperor's chambers, where they easily overwhelmed domestic staff. Palen, meanwhile, made his way to Alexander's room where he and Paul's heir waited for the gruesome deed to be carried out.

St Michael's Castle

Hearing a commotion in the hallway, Paul took refuge behind a screen in his room as General Levin August, Count von Bennigsen and Prince Vladimir Mikhailovich Yashvil burst into the chamber with their supporters. Finding the bed empty, they turned the room over and dragged the terrified man from his hiding place. Forcing him to sit at his desk, they instructed Paul to sign abdication papers, which he refused to do. Paul's refusal enraged his attackers and when he tried to resist, he was struck with the blade of a sword by one of the band and then viciously attacked. In the ensuing chaos, the Emperor was strangled to death with a scarf and terribly beaten by his attackers. So did the reign of Paul I end in violence and Alexander I rise to power.

Alexander I of Russia by Franz Krüger

None of the conspirators faced real punishment for their part in the plot and Palen's influence and reach ensured that much of the conspiracy remained mired in mystery. Whether Alexander was involved we can never be sure and while some of those who visit the salon say that he was part of the plot, others hold that he knew of the scheme but believed his father would be forced to abdicate, and no blood would be shed. Whatever the truth of the matter, the young man always felt a sense of shame for winning the throne through his father's violent death and would later develop a paranoia that his own life might be threatened, a worry that would plague the final years of his reign.

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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The Scandalous Life of Princess Juliane of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld

Princess Juliane Henriette Ulrike of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld (Coburg, Germany, 23rd September 1781 – Elfenau, Switzerland, 15th August 1860)

Princess Juliane of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld by Louise Élisabeth Vigée Le Brun, 1795

The most dashing Edinburgh doctor I have previously mentioned is nothing if not well-travelled and one place he knows very well is Russia; indeed, he is on medically intimate terms with many of the royals of that vast land but that is a story for another time. It was the always-welcome presence of Doctor Dillingham in my salon this weekend that set me thinking of Russia and Princess Juliane of Saxe-Coburg, who was to become known as Grand Duchess Anna Feodorovna, wife of Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovich, a marriage that was destined to be considerably less happy than the devoted union between the good doctor and his lady. 

Juliane was born to Franz Frederick Anton, Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld and his wife, Countess Augusta Caroline Reuss of Ebersdorf. With illustrious family connections throughout Europe, Juliane's parents were determined that their daughter would continue to increase their dynastic influence and began searching for a husband for the girl, known for her beauty and her musical acumen. As they cast their eye over the royal houses of Europe, Empress Catherine II of Russia was likewise looking for a match for her grandson, Grand Duke Constantine. She was searching for a very particular sort of girl and dispatched General Andrei Budberg to compile a shortlist, the matter of marrying the second in line to the Russian empire a very serious one indeed.

Taken ill whilst passing through Coburg, Budberg immediately added Juliane and her sisters, Sophie and Antoinette, to the list of likely candidates, much to the delight of their parents. However, not everybody shared their enthusiasm. For some there was disappointment that their own daughters had not been chosen whilst for others, the concept of a German princess marrying a Russian Duke was unthinkable, the young women viewed almost as lambs to the imperial slaughter.

Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovich of Russia by George Dawe, 1834

The three girls travelled to Russia with Countess Augusta and found themselves welcomed by Catherine, whilst Constantine was somewhat cooler in his reception. Far from keen on the idea of marriage to anybody, he eventually took his grandmother's advice and agreed to marry Juliane, the 14 year old girl taking the name Anna Feodorovna in preparation for her new life. Baptised in a Russian Orthodox ceremony, the young Princess married the Duke on 26th February 1796, securing the strength of the Saxe-Coburg dynasty.

Although the marriage may have been politically astute, it was utterly miserable. Bad-tempered and disinterested in his wife, Constantine grew resentful of the young lady's popularity at court and he exercised a tight control over his bride. She was confined to her rooms, denied friends other than Elizabeth Alexeievna, and rarely appeared at court. Desperately unhappy, when Juliane fell ill in 1799, she seized the chance for escape with both hands.

Juliana travelled to Coburg, ostensibly for medical care, and initially intended to remain there but she found her family utterly unsupportive. Horrified at the damage a marital breakdown might do to the reputation and influence of the family, they pressured the Grand Duchess to return to her unhappy life in Russia. Once again she was confined to her rooms, utterly in the control of her husband and almost immediately, her health declined again.

Princess Juliane of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld by Franz Xavier Winterhalter, 1848

By 1801 it became apparent that Juliane was in desperate need of a change of air and her mother finally consented to a trip back to Coburg. This time Juliane flatly refused to leave her native land and began divorce proceedings against Constantine. With the divorce hampered by legal and constitutional considerations, Juliane found unexpected support from the royal houses of Europe, their sympathies gained by the conduct of Constantine and his intransigent family. Trapped in a web of legality, the unhappy Grand Duchess indulged in extra-marital affairs and in 1808 gave birth to a son, Eduard Edgar Schmidt-Löwe. Four years later she had a daughter, Louise Hilda Agnes d'Aubert with Rodolphe Abraham de Schiferli, a Swiss surgeon.

Though Constantine's family constantly pursued a reconciliation between the estranged couple, Juliane utterly refused to even countenance it, the memory of her unhappy years in Russia too keen. Instead she made a life and home of her own in Switzerland, her house on the Aare River becoming a beacon of art and music. She and Rodolphe maintained a lifelong friendship, though their daughter was adopted by a French family in order to protect Juliane's already somewhat tarnished reputation.

Nearly two decades after she fled to Coburg, Emperor Alexander I finally dissolved the marriage of Juliane and Constantine, allowing the Grand Duke to remarry. This small victory was followed by years of unhappiness as Juliane's life was beset by tragedy. One after the other she was plunged into mourning for her parents and siblings, her illegitimate daughter and Rodolphe, her devoted friend and former lover. Juliane never quite recovered from these losses and lived on in quiet solitude, throwing herself into charitable works. Loved and respected by those who knew her, the princess passed away peacefully at home at the age of 79. She lived a life beset by scandal and unhappiness yet one cannot underestimate the strength it took to leave the powerful Russian court and strike out alone, resisting all efforts to force her back to the life she hated. 

Life in the Georgian Court, true tales of 18th century royalty, is available at the links below.

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