Serenissimus also patronized the best English artist in Petersburg, Richard Brompton, a Bohemian 'harum-scarum ingenious sort of painter', according to Jeremy Bentham, whom Catherine rescued from debtor's prison. Potemkin almost became Brompton's agent, even advising him what to charge. He commissioned him to paint Branicka: the splendid full-length canvas, now in the Alupka Palace in the Crimea, catches Sashenka's pert prettiness, her clever haughtiness. Brompton also painted the Empress but, Potemkin personally ordered changes to her hair. Joseph II bought the painting, only to complain that this 'daubing' was 'so horribly painted that I wanted to send it back'.54 Brompton often appealed to Potemkin in scrawled unpublished letters that fret about money and imperial patronage.55 When he died leaving 5,000 roubles' debts, Potemkin gave his widow 1,000 roubles.56
The enthusiasm with which Potemkin and Catherine shared their artistic tastes is another charming aspect of their relationship. When the two of them retired alone for two hours in 1785, the diplomats thought a war had started, until they learned that the couple were happily perusing some Levantine drawings brought by Sir Richard Worsley, an English traveller. Given their shared enjoyment, it was fitting that, after the Prince's demise, his collection joined Catherine's in the Hermitage.57
Meanwhile, on 28 July 1785, Jeremy Bentham set out from Brighton, bearing Shelburne's wordly advice: 'get into no intrigues to serve either England or Russia, not even with a handsome lady'.58 He met up with Logan Henderson and the two lissom Miss Kirtlands at Paris and travelled on via Nice and Florence (where he spotted a 'poor old gentleman' at the opera - the Young Pretender). The group sailed from Leghorn to Constantinople. Thence Jeremy sent Henderson and the two Miss Kirtlands by sea to the Crimea. He made his own way overland: after a dramatic journey with the sister of the Hospodar of Moldavia and twenty horsemen, he reached Krichev in February 1786.59 It was a joyous reunion: the Bentham brothers had not seen each other for five and a half years.
Once the party was complete, the Belorussian village seemed to turn into a Tower of Babel of quarrelling, drinking and wife-swapping. The recruits were as ragged a crew as could be expected, and few were quite what they claimed: Samuel tried to control this 'Newcastle mob - hirelings from that rabble town'.60
Jeremy confessed to Samuel that Henderson's milkmaid 'nieces', who had so impressed him with their femininity and knowledge, were neither cheese- makers nor any relation to the gardener: they were apparently troilists. Henderson did not turn out successfully. Potemkin settled the gardener and the two milking 'nieces' in the Tartar house near Karasubazaar. The sentimental Prince remembered his recovery from fever there in August 1783 and bought it. However, he soon learned that Henderson was a 'shameless impostor' who had not even 'planted a single blade of grass and Mamzel [one of the girls] has not made a single cheese'.61
Roebuck, another recruit, travelled with his 'soi-disant wife', who turned out to be a thorough slattern. She offered 'her services to either of the Newcastle men', wishing to be rid of her ruffian husband.62 Samuel managed to pass her on to Prince Dashkov: these Russian Anglophiles were grateful for a gardener's wench - if she came from the land of Shakespeare. Samuel suspected 'the very quarrelsome' Roebuck of stealing diamonds at Riga - he was 'not the most honest'. When Potemkin summoned Samuel, Jeremy was left in charge, which led to more bad behaviour. Dr Debraw, the bee sexologist, proved an utter nuisance. He stalked into Jeremy's study 'with a countenance of a man out of Bedlam' and demanded a pass to leave. This stew of crooks even stole Samuel's money to pay off their debts.63 There were rebellions against the Benthams led by Benson the general factotum, who again 'like a man let loose from Bedlam' abused Jeremy, who had never seen him before in his life.64 Then 'the termagant cook-housekeeper' joined 'the male seducers' by luring 'old Benson' to her bed.65 The word 'Bedlam' appeared with ominous and appropriate frequency in the Benthams' letters.
Despite the capers of these expatriates, the Benthams achieved an immense amount, both literary and mercantile: 'The day has an abundance more hours in it at Krichev or rather at our cottage three miles off where I now live,' wrote Jeremy. 'I rise a little before the sun, get breakfast done in less than an hour and do not eat again until eight ... at night.' He was working on his Code of civil law, a French version of the Rationale of Reward and the Defence of Usury. But he had also 'been obliged to go a begging to my brother and borrow an idea ...'. This was the Panopticon - Samuel's solution to supervising this rabble of Russians, Jews and Geordies: a factory constructed so that the manager could see all his workers from one central observation point. Jeremy the legal reformer could immediately see its use in prisons. He worked from dawn till dusk on the Panopticon,66
Both Jeremy and Samuel were also pursuing another great ambition that was close to Potemkin's heart: to become landowners in the Crimea. 'We are going to be great farmers,' announced Jeremy. 'I dare say he would give us a good portion of land to both of us if we wish it.. Л67 But despite Potemkin's cruelly teasing Samuel - 'you have only to say of which kind'68 - the Benthams never became Crimean magnates - though they did get a share in one of Korsakov's estates.
Samuel meanwhile was running the factories, trading with Riga and Kherson in foreign exchange (changing Potemkin's 20,000 roubles for ducats) and English cloth, and building baidaks (riverboats) for the Dnieper. Despite the 'Bedlamite' behaviour of his recruits, he often praised other workers who helped him to achieve so much. In the first two years he had already built two big vessels and eight baidaks; in 1786, he produced an impressive twenty baidaks.69 It was all so dramatic and exciting that old Jeremiah Bentham decided he might to come out too. But two Benthams were enough.
In 1786, Potemkin's orders changed. Since 1783, Catherine and Potemkin had been debating when the Empress should inspect her new domains in the south. The trip had always been delayed but now it looked as if it would actually happen. Samuel was already an expert at building barges and baidaks for the Dnieper. Now Potemkin ordered him to produce thirteen yachts and twelve luxury barges in which the Empress could cruise down the Dnieper to Kherson. Samuel had been experimenting with a new invention which he called 'the vermicular', which is best described as 'an oar-propelled articulated floating train, a series of floating boxes cunningly linked together'.70 Samuel set to work and managed to fulfil Potemkin's massive order, to which he added an imperial vermicular - a six-section barge, 252 feet long, driven by 120 oars.
Jeremy Bentham, who wanted to meet the famous Potemkin, was waiting for Serenissimus to visit the estate while Samuel was away, testing his ships. Since it seems that most of Russia spent much of this period feverishly anticipating the arrival of the 'Prince of Princes', this was not surprising. Meanwhile, that incongruous British community, the rebellious Belorussian Bedlam, behaved worse than ever now that they were being nervously managed by the philosopher of utlitarianism on a part-time basis.