e governed by large social
conceptions; has it not been said even elsewhere that the politics of
women are proper names? You may say what you will: she saved the
European tradition of Peter the Great, and was in a sense the creator of
modern Russia.

But to her philosophic friends at Paris it mattered little whether her
designs were in the parchment or any other stage. Since Voltaire had
hailed her as the "Northern Semiramis," no adulation was enough to
translate their enthusiasm: the "charms of Cleopatra," for example, were
united in her to "the soul of Brutus." On her side she "distributed
compliments in abundance, gold medals also (but more often in bronze?),
and from time to time even a little money." La Harpe, Marmontel, Volney,
Galiani, and many others fallen silent in these days were sharers in
her bounty. She would buy the books of some specially favored and instal
them at home again as "her librarians." Only one or two, D'Alembert,
Raynal, stood aloof, with the mistrustful Jean Jacques, who refused the
demesne of Gatschina. Diderot came to St. Petersburg in those days,
declaiming for two, three, five hours with unmatched copiousness of
discourse, astounding Catharine with his large argument and fiery
eloquence, and entertaining her hugely by his oblivion of everything
once fairly launched on his foaming torrent. The philosopher who, borne
on spiritual hurricanes, would leap from his chair at Princess
Dashkoff's, striding to and fro as he spat upon the floor in his
excitement, forgot himself equally in the presence of "Semiramis." "In
the heat of exposition he brought his hands down on the imperial knees
with such force and iteration" that Catharine complained they had turned
black and blue. But for all that she would egg on this strange
wild-fowl. "_Allons_," she would exclaim, a table once set safely
between them, "_entre hommes tout est permis!_"

As for Voltaire, his proudest title was that of "lay preacher of the
religion of 'St.' Catharine." Her correspondence with him, which begins
the year after her accession and continues until his death, is in truth
a kind of journalism, written partly by herself, partly by others. Its
object is to keep the friend of princes and dictator of literary opinion
_au courant_ with her ideas, measures, and general policy. She is not
content now, however, with the applause of her generation; she aims at
commanding the sources of history itself. Here she motions posterity to