e of the man, but was, nevertheless, sincere
and from the centre, was able to compliment her on the freedom from "the
decencies and virtues, the worn-out rags of her sex." She had no fund of
theoretical cynicism on such matters, nor, on the other hand, the
slightest moral pretence. The revolutionary _Moniteur_ branded her as
Messalina. "_Cela ne regarde que moi_," she said haughtily, and the
sheet circulated throughout the empire. Such is the summary of the
gallons of printers' ink that have soiled paper on this account. It is
the aspect of her allowed to escape no one, and therefore we say no more
of it here. How easy it is to "hint and chuckle and grin" with the
"_chroniques scandaleuses!_" easier still to be incontinent of one's
moral indignation. The truth is that this back-stair gossip misses, on
the whole, that just proportion necessary if you would not only see but
also perceive. Catharine, whom her generation called "the Great," had
one absorbing passion; it was the greatness of Russia, and of herself as
ruler of Russia--"_mon petit menage_," as she would call it, with her
touch of lightness--and she desired to be the first amateur of "_la
grande politique_" in Europe.

"_Elle brillait surtout par le caractere_," says Waliszewski, whose
volumes, collecting most of what is known about Catharine, I have freely
consulted. It is only natural that her biographer should regard her as a
strikingly complex and exceptional being. _Nous sommes tous des
exceptions._ Yet she is not essentially different from the "woman of
character" you may meet in every street. Given her splendid physical
constitution there is nothing prodigious about her except her
good-fortune in every crisis and important action of her career. In one
of his Napoleonic fits of incoherence, Patiomkin said vividly enough
that the Empress and himself were "the spoilt children of God." For
herself, she says in that introductory page, which Sainte-Beuve has well
compared with Machiavelli, that what commonly passes for good-fortune is
in reality the result of natural qualities and conduct. If that
satisfies, it is so much to her credit. Certainly, "the stars connived"
with her from the day in 1762 when she galloped in her cuirassier's
uniform through the streets of St. Petersburg. "_Toute la politique_,"
she said, "_est fondee sur trois mots circonstances, conjectures et
conjonctures_;" and like many leaders of action she was in her moments a
fatalist, for the