In 1771, a catastrophe struck Russia that was beyond even Catherine’s control. As it had in 1570 and 1654, plague hit Moscow. At the height of the epidemic in August, nine hundred Muscovites were dying every day. Moscow’s Governor-General Saltykov, the city’s nobles, and anyone else who could afford to fled the former capital. Amidst the chaos, a rumor quickly spread about an icon of the Virgin thought to possess miraculous healing powers. Desperate peasants and workers rushed to the icon, which hung above the Varvarskiye Gates near the Kremlin. Of course, the crowds spread the disease even further. In an effort to control the contagion, Moscow’s Archbishop Ambrosius (an appointee of Catherine), ordered the icon moved inside the Kremlin’s Chudov Monastery. In mid-September, a disapproving mob stormed the Kremlin and broke into the 14th-century monastery, hunting down the old prelate and literally tearing him to pieces.
Gregory Orlov volunteered to manage the crisis. “. . . [H]e was convinced the greatest misfortune at Moscow was the panic which had seized the highest as well as the lowest . . . and that he intended to set out to morrow morning to endeavor to be of what use he could . . . ,” wrote British ambassador Lord Cathcart. “He said . . . that he had long languished for an opportunity to do some signal service to the Empress and his country . . .”1 By the time Orlov and his entourage of doctors and military men reached the city in late September, over 20,000 people had died that month.
It was Orlov’s finest moment. He went to work, implementing a series of anti-plague measures and restoring order to the stricken city. His efforts included burning several thousand contaminated houses, disinfecting thousands more, establishing orphanages, reopening public baths, and supplying clean food and clothing. On Orlov’s orders, victims were buried in special cemeteries and assemblies were prohibited. Orlov increased the number of quarantine stations and hospitals, and offered his own home as a hospital. By late November, the death rate was falling and order had been restored. The plague’s final toll was nearly 57,000 people, roughly a quarter of the city’s population.2
When Orlov returned to St. Petersburg in early December, Catherine waived the thirty-day quarantine and gave him a hero’s welcome. She ordered a medal struck in his honor: “For Delivering Moscow from the Plague” and hired Antonio Rinaldi to design a commemorative arch and triumphal gate at Tsarskoe Selo and Gatchina. At the same time, Catherine was furious with Moscow’s fleeing nobility—especially its absent governor. “The weakness of Field Marshal Saltykov passed all understanding,” Catherine wrote Alexander Bibikov, marshal of her 1764 Legislative Commission. “I forgot to say in my letter that that old sod of a Field Marshal has been dismissed.”3
With the plague contained and in remission, Catherine turned her attention to ending the Russo-Turkish War. In late April 1772, a week after Catherine’s forty-third birthday, Orlov left for Fokshany in Moldavia as her chief negotiator at the peace talks. “The handsomest man of his generation” is how Catherine described Orlov after seeing him leave for the talks in an embroidered and diamond-studded suit she’d given him. “There is no one whom my plantomania amuses more than Count Orlov,” Catherine wrote Frau Bielke, “he spies on me, he imitates me, he mocks me, he criticizes me; but before leaving he left his garden in my charge for this summer, and this year I will be able to commit indiscretions there in my own way. His grounds [Gatchina] are very near here, and I am very proud that he has recognized my merit as a gardener.”4
But Catherine had more than gardening on her mind. Threatened by Russia’s gains in the Black Sea, Austria and Prussia were demanding compensation. Maria Theresa’s son and co-ruler Joseph II was so concerned about Russia’s expansion, he negotiated an Austro-Turkish alliance and deployed troops to Hungary to deter further Russian advances in Moldavia and Wallachia. To avoid an Austro-Russian war, Catherine agreed to Frederick the Great’s proposal for the First Partition of Poland. Catherine had jokingly referred to Stanislaus Poniatowski, her former lover, as her “wax doll” on the Polish throne. Now he watched helplessly as the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth lost 30 percent of its territory and half of its population to placate other warring monarchs. In August 1772, Russian, Prussian, and Austrian troops entered Poland and occupied the agreed-upon territories. The Habsburgs extended their rule into Galacia, less the city of Krakow; Frederick the Great took land between Pomerania. Catherine gained 1.3 million subjects, expanding Russia’s territory to the W. Dvina River (near the port city of Riga) and to the Dnieper River, halfway to Minsk.
Meanwhile, the issues at Fokshany were proving too complex for Orlov’s diplomatic skills. It didn’t help that Catherine was unwavering on Crimean independence. At one point, Orlov astonished Turkish officials by threatening to resume hostilities and hang Russia’s Field Marshal Rumianstev for privately expressing concern over his war weary soldiers. To further complicate matters, Sweden’s new King Gustav III interfered, encouraging Turkey to keep fighting. Orlov responded by issuing an ultimatum to the Turks, who proceeded to walk out of the peace talks.
As the war with the Ottomans continued, Orlov became preoccupied with his mistresses. “There was hardly a maiden at Court . . . not subjected to his importunings,” said Prince Shcherbatov.5 Though Orlov’s licentiousness was common knowledge among foreign diplomats and courtiers, Catherine claims to have learned about his infidelities only after he’d left for Fokshany. After receiving word from his brother that Catherine had taken a new lover, Orlov abandoned his post and raced back to St. Petersburg. This time, instead of a hero’s welcome, Orlov was stopped at the gates of the capital at Catherine’s order and directed to Gatchina.
A few days earlier, Catherine appointed 28-year-old Alexander Vasilchikov, an ensign in the Horse-Guards, her adjutant general. From an old family of Moscow noblemen, the handsome cornet had caught Catherine’s eye while on guard duty at Tsarskoe Selo. When Vasilchikov escorted her carriage, Catherine gave him a gold snuffbox engraved “For the good bearing of the bodyguards.” Soon, Catherine awarded him the Order of St. Alexander Nevsky and named him gentleman of the bedchamber and chamberlain. In addition to a gift of 100,000 rubles, Catherine gave Vasilchikov an annual salary of 12,000 rubles, jewels, a wardrobe, servants, and a country estate.
Catherine’s eleven-year relationship with Gregory Orlov was finally over. As part of a generous settlement that coincided with their breakup, Gregory Orlov received an annual pension of 150,000 rubles, 100,000 additional rubles to establish his household, the Marble Palace in mid-construction, 10,000 serfs, and many other treasures. Though Catherine had commissioned the extraordinary 3,000-piece Roettiers silver service for her own use, she presented it to Orlov as part of the package. He received the first shipment in September 1772 and continued to accept deliveries until 1776.
Meanwhile, to the delight of her art agents, Catherine had become one of Europe’s most determined art collectors. Denis Diderot wrote Catherine about a pair of imaginary battle scenes by Adam Frans van der Meulen. The works were painted in 1657 before the Flemish artist left Brussels for Paris to become court painter to Louis XIV and tapestry designer at Gobelins. Diderot had noticed Cavalry Engagement and The Battle (1657) several years earlier when they were in the collection of painter Louis-Michel van Loo (Carle van Loo’s nephew). Diderot wrote Falconet that he’d found Catherine two large van der Meulens in pristine condition. But the asking price of 24,000 francs was exorbitant even for Catherine. Patience paid off. At an auction following van Loo’s death in 1771, Diderot bought the two scenes for 10,000 francs. Even at this price, the van der Meulens were the priciest pictures at the sale, fetching more than paintings by Rubens and Rembrandt.
With her new paintings arriving by the boatload, Catherine faced a shortage of wall space in the two galleries of the Small Hermitage. In May 1770, she engaged Yury Velten to build another addition to the Winter Palace. When finished in 1784, Velten’s three-story Large Hermitage would harmonize with the adjoining North Pavilion of the Small Hermitage. In addition to spacious first floor picture galleries, Velten added a cabinet to show off the empress’s prized medal collection, an elegant Oval Room for drawings, engravings and books, and a billiard room with busts of Russian naval officers. Catherine’s new galleries could not come soon enough. She was about to snatch one of the most extraordinary collections in the history of the Hermitage.