At 4 a.m. on 24 July 1791, Potemkin set off from Tsarskoe Selo. As the Prince was galloping south at breakneck speed, the Empress sent a note after him filled with the loving warmth of their old friendship: 'Goodbye my friend, I kiss you.'58 They never met again.
THE LAST RIDE
His niece wanted to know... 'What news do you bring?' 'I bring you great sorrow Put on black Your uncle has died
Lying on a coat in the midst of the steppes.'
Soldiers' marching song, 'The Death of Potemkin'
The ringing of bells, the firing of cannons and the cloud of dust raised by his carriages marked Potemkin's arrival in Mogilev on his way south. Civil servants and nobles from distant corners of the province, and the ladies in their best clothes, waited at the Governor's house.
When his carriage pulled up, the crowd rushed to the bottom of the steps: the Prince of Taurida emerged in a flowing summer dressing gown, covered in dust, and strode through the crowd without glancing at anyone. At dinner that night, Serenissimus invited a noble Polish Patriot, Michel Oginski, to join his entourage and cheerfully treated him to a virtuoso performance, discussing Holland, 'which he knew as if he'd lived his whole life there; England, of which the Government, customs and morals were perfectly known to him', and then music and painting, 'adding that the English knew nothing of either'. When they talked about the art of war, the Prince declared the key to victory was breaking the rules, but studying strategy was not enough: 'You've got to be born with it.'1 This was hardly the reception of a fallen politician and scarcely the behaviour of a broken one.
As Potemkin approached Moldavia, Prince Repnin was already negotiating with the Grand Vizier in Galatz. Potemkin cheerfully told Catherine that preliminaries had been agreed on 24 July, but on the 31st, when he was only one day away, Repnin signed a truce. Potemkin was said to be furious with jealousy that Repnin had stolen his thunder. But Repnin's reports show that Potemkin was perfectly happy for him to negotiate the preliminaries, though not necessarily sign them. Potemkin's rage was political and personal - but hardly based on jealousy. Repnin, whom Catherine called 'worse than an old woman', was the late Panin's nephew, a Freemason of the Martinist sect and part of Paul's Prussophile Court, yet he had become Potemkin's submissive workhorse. 'The Bible unites them,' Ligne explained - the Martinism of one and the superstition of the other 'fit together marvellously'.2 No more. Repnin's trick was surely encouraged by letters from the capital, claiming that Zubov would protect him from Potemkin's fury. 'You little Martinist,' Potemkin shouted in one version. 'How dare you!'3
Repnin had signed the wrong deal at the wrong time: ignorant of the latest agreement with Fawkener, he had agreed an eight-month armistice, which allowed the Turks an ample breather to rebuild their forces, and a Turkish demand that Russia should not fortify ceded territory. Nor did Repnin realize Potemkin was waiting for news of Ushakov and the fleet: if they succeeded, the terms could be raised. It just happened that Ushakov had defeated the Ottoman Fleet on the very day Repnin had signed the terms; Constantinople was in panic. Catherine too was over the moon when Potemkin informed her about the peace, but both she and Bezborodko immediately denounced Repnin's clumsy mistakes. When Catherine learned of Ushakov's triumph, she was angry.4 Potemkin could have used Ushakov's victory to force the Turks to fight again and therefore free Russia from the Fawkener deal.5 This was still possible, but Repnin's concessions made it harder.
Serenissimus rushed down to Nikolaev to inspect his new battleships and Palace and almost flew the 500 versts back to Jassy in thirty hours. He then fell ill, as he often did after months of nervous tension, debilitating debauchery, overwork and exhausting travel. There was plague in Constantinople and an epidemic of fevers across the south. 'I've never seen anything like it,' he told Catherine, who was fretting over his health like old times.6 Jassy was riddled with 'putrid marsh miasma'.7 Everyone was falling ill.
Granz Vizier Yusuf-Pasha collected yet another Ottoman army of 150,000 over the Danube. His envoy began the negotiations by testing Potemkin's resolve, asking if there was any chance of keeping the Dniester. The Prince broke off talks. The Vizier apologized and offered to execute his own envoy. Potemkin demanded independence for Moldavia, Russian approval for the appointment of the Hospodars of Wallachia, and the cession of Anapa.8 He was raising the stakes, daring the Turks to fight again and free him from Fawkener's deal. Then came an ominous omen.
On 13 August 1791, one of his officers, Prince Karl Alexander of Wiirt- temberg, Grand Duke Paul's brother-in-law, died of the fever. Potemkin, who had become friendly with Paul's wife, laid on an elaborate royal funeral for her brother. The Prince, already haunted by premonitions of death, was fighting his own sickness. He followed the cortege for miles on foot in the stifling heat and took two glasses of iced water at the burial site. As the hearse passed him in the midst of the funeral, the delirious Potemkin thought it was his carriage and tried to climb into it. For a superstitious man, this was the tolling of the bell. 'God is my witness, I am tormented.' He collapsed and was borne out of Galatz, ordering Repnin to evacuate the army from the unhealthy town.9
Potemkin rested in nearby Gusha, where Popov finally persuaded him to take his medicine, probably cinchona, the South American bark, an early form of quinine. He recovered enough to appoint Samoilov, Ribas and Lazhkarev as Russian plenipotentiaries - but Catherine sensed that she could lose her indispensable consort: 'I pray to God that He turns away this misfortune from you and saves me from such a blow,' she wrote to him. She wept for several days. On 29 August, she even prayed for Potemkin's life at the night service at the Nevsky Monastery, to which she donated gold and diamonds. Alexandra Branicka was summoned to attend her uncle. But ten days later: 'I am better,' Potemkin told Catherine, 'I did not hope ever to see you again, dear Matushka.'10 He headed back to Jassy - but he could not shake off the fever.
'I don't understand how you can move about from one place to another, in such a state of weakness,' Catherine wrote, adding that Zubov was 'very worried and for one day he didn't know how to ease my sorrow.' Even a sick Potemkin must have rolled his eye at that, but until his last days he always sent his regards to the 'tooth' he had failed to extract. For four days, he suffered more fevers and headaches, which improved on 10 September. 'I am in God's power,' Potemkin told the Empress, 'but your business will not suffer until the last minute.'11
This was true: he supervised the peace talks, sent the Vizier presents,12 positioned the army in case the war broke out again and reported that the fleet had returned to Sebastopol. Nor did he cease Polish intrigues. He secretly summoned his Polish allies, General of the Polish Artillery Felix Potocki and Field-Hetman of the Polish crown Seweryn Rzewuski: 'I have the honour to propose a personal interview,' at which he would make known the Empress's 'sincere intentions' and 'specific dispositions'.13 They set off at once. Throughout the summer, he never neglected his colonization, his shipbuilding or his own entertainment.14 He wanted harmonious music and vibrant company, writing on 27 August to the French politician and historian Senac de Meilhan, whose thoughts on the French Revolution and Ancient Greece 'are such amiable things that they merit a discussion in person. Come and see me in Moldavia.'
Musically, Potemkin convalesced by writing hymns: 'And now my soul, fearing and hoping in the abyss of its wickedness, seeks help but cannot find it,' went his 'Canon to the Saviour': 'Do give it your hand, Purest Virgin .. .V5 But he also was about to hire a new and more accomplished composer. 'I want to send you the first pianist and one of the best composers in Germany,' suggested Andrei Razumovsky, Russian envoy in Vienna, to the Prince. He had already offered the job to the composer, who agreed to come: 'He's not happy with his position here and would be eager to undertake this journey. He's in Bohemia now but is expected back. If Your Highness wishes, I shall hire him for a short time, just to listen to him and keep him for a while.'16 Potemkin's answer is lost. The composer's name was Mozart.[109]