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One day while she was sitting in her peignoir during her morning toilette, she commanded her hair to be combed…. And what do you think? The lady-in-waiting passed the comb through, and sparks of electricity simply showered out! Then she summoned to her presence the court physician Rogerson, who happened to be in waiting at the court, and said to him: ‘I am, I know, censured for certain actions; but do you see this electricity? Consequently, as such is my nature and constitution, you can judge for yourself, as you are a doctor, that it is unjust for them to censure me, and they ought to comprehend me!’ The following incident remained indelible in Alexey Sergeitch’s memory. He was standing one day on guard indoors, in the palace–he was only sixteen at the time–and behold the empress comes walking past him; he salutes … ‘and she,’ Alexey Sergeitch would exclaim at this point with much feeling, ‘smiling at my youth and my zeal, deigned to give me her hand to kiss and patted my cheek, and asked me “who I was? where I came from? of what family?” and then’ … here the old man’s voice usually broke … ‘then she bade me greet my mother in her name and thank her for having brought up her children so well. And whether I was on earth or in heaven, and how and where she deigned to vanish, whether she floated away into the heights or went her way into the other apartments … to this day I do not know!’

More than once I tried to question Alexey Sergeitch about those far-away times, about the people who made up the empress’s circle…. But for the most part he edged off the subject. ‘What’s the use of talking about old times?’ he used to say … ‘it’s only making one’s self miserable, remembering that then one was a fine young fellow, and now one hasn’t a tooth left in one’s head. And what is there to say? They were good old times … but there, enough of them! And as for those folks–you were asking, you troublesome boy, about the lucky ones!–haven’t you seen how a bubble comes up on the water? As long as it lasts and is whole, what colours play upon it! Red, and blue, and yellow–a perfect rainbow or diamond you’d say it was! Only it soon bursts, and there’s no trace of it left. And so it was with those folks.’

‘But how about Potiomkin?’ I once inquired.

Alexey Sergeitch looked grave. ‘Potiomkin, Grigory Alexandrovitch, was a statesman, a theologian, a pupil of Catherine’s, her cherished creation, one must say…. But enough of that, little sir!’

Alexey Sergeitch was a very devout man, and, though it was a great effort, he attended church regularly. Superstition was not noticeable in him; he laughed at omens, the evil eye, and such ‘nonsense,’ but he did not like a hare to run across his path, and to meet a priest was not altogether agreeable to him. For all that, he was very respectful to clerical persons, and went up to receive their blessing, and even kissed the priest’s hand every time, but he was not willing to enter into conversation with them. ‘Such an extremely strong odour comes from them,’ he explained: ‘and I, poor sinner, am fastidious beyond reason; they’ve such long hair, and all oily, and they comb it out on all sides–they think they show me respect by so doing, and they clear their throats so loudly when they talk–from shyness may be, or I dare say they want to show respect in that way too. And besides, they make one think of one’s last hour. And, I don’t know how it is, but I still want to go on living. Only, my little sir, don’t you repeat my words; we must respect the clergy–it’s only fools that don’t respect them; and I’m to blame to babble nonsense in my old age.’