By the time Potemkin’s liaison with the empress had lasted two and a half years, the storms were worsening. He constantly reproached her for condoning intrigues against him and permitting his enemies to remain in her entourage; she complained that he was no longer loving, tender, and cheerful. Moments of truce were followed by continued fighting. Sometimes, his truculent behavior so completely exasperated her that she, normally quick to forgive and take the first step toward reconciliation, would indulge in an outburst of her own. But her anger never lasted, and when Potemkin continued sulking for days and she did not see him, she was miserable. A turning point in their relationship was approaching. Catherine understood this:
Your foolish acts remain the same; at the very moment when I feel safest, a mountain drops on me.… To a madcap like you … tranquillity is an unbearable state of mind.… The gratitude I owe you has not vanished and I suppose there has never been a time when you haven’t received signs of this. But now you take away all my force by tormenting me with new fabrications.… Please tell me whether I should be grateful to you for that. Until now I always thought that good health and restful days were esteemed for something in this world, but I would like to know how this is possible with you.
In an embittered effort to analyze their discord, she began with sarcasm:
Listening to you talk sometimes, some might say that I am a monster who has every possible fault: I am frightfully two-faced when I am in pain; when I cry, this is not the result of my sensibility, but something entirely different. And therefore you must despise me and treat me with contempt. Such an exceedingly tender way of behaving can only have a positive effect on my mind. Yet this mind, as wicked and horrible as it may be, knows no other way of loving than to make happy the one it loves.… Pray tell, how would you behave if I continuously reproached you with the faults of all your acquaintances, all those whom you respect or whose services you employ, if I held you responsible for their silly blunders? Would you be patient or impatient? And if, seeing you impatient, I were to be offended, get up, stomp away, slamming the doors behind me, and if, after that, I were to be cold to you, refuse to look at you, and to add threats to all that? … For God’s sake, please do all in your power to keep us from quarreling again for our quarrels always arise from nothing but irrelevant rubbish. We quarrel about power, never about love. This is the truth.
This was, indeed, the truth; it was the crux of the problem. The question of power constantly gnawed at Potemkin. He had always craved power, and it had always come to him easily. This had been true when he was a small boy, an only son, and the idol of a mother and five sisters. It had been his goal when he was at the university and declared that he would command either soldiers or monks. It was to seek recognition that he had spurred forward to present the new empress with his sword knot, and when he mimicked Catherine’s voice and accent and made her laugh. It was his objective when he left the army and hurried to St. Petersburg, hoping to become the favorite. Now, he had acquired titles, wealth, land, and high office. The empress had raised him to unprecedented heights and even perhaps had sealed their union by marriage. What more did he want? What more power could Catherine bestow? He was the first man in the empire, but he remained unhappy and unfulfilled. He had made clear that all the customary rewards of his position—titles, orders, money—were not enough. He wanted supreme power in an unrestricted sphere.
The problem was that despite everything he had done and everything he had been given, his position rested entirely on Catherine. He knew this. He saw that if their quarreling continued, there was a possibility that, one day, the empress might triumph over the woman and turn on him and dismiss him. He would then be no more than the stumbling Orlov and the pitiable Vasilchikov. He was not willing to risk this. The moment had arrived when he had to choose between love and power. He chose power. It meant withdrawal from love and from Catherine. Not complete withdrawal, however. Mysteriously to all who were watching, even as the nature of their physical relationship was changing, the bonds between the two remained strong, so strong that his political power did not seem to decline. Rather, it seemed to grow.
