From The Hovel To The Throne


The reign of Peter the Great was signalized by two notable instances of

the rise of persons from the lowest to the highest estate, ability being

placed above birth and talent preferred to noble descent. A poor boy,

Mentchikof by name, son of a monastery laborer, had made his way to

Moscow and there found employment with a pastry-cook, who sent him out

daily with a basket of mince pies, which he was to sell in the streets.

/> The boy was destitute of education, but he had inherited a musical voice

and a lively manner, which stood him in good stead in proclaiming the

merits of his wares. He could sing a ballad in taking style, and became

so widely known for his songs and stories that he was often invited into

gentlemen's houses to entertain company. His voice and his wit ended in

making him a prince of the empire, a favorite of the czar, and in the

end virtually the emperor of Russia.



Being one day in the kitchen of a boyar's house, where dinner was being

prepared for the czar, who had promised to dine there that day, young

Mentchikof overheard the master of the house give special directions to

his cook about a dish of meat of which he said the czar was especially

fond, and noticed that he furtively dropped a powder of some kind into

it, as if by way of spice.



This act seemed suspicious to the acute lad. Noting particularly the

composition of the dish, he betook himself to the street, where he began

again to exalt the merits of his pies and to entertain the passers-by

with ballads. He kept in the vicinity of the boyar's house until the

czar arrived, when he raised his voice to its highest pitch and began to

sing vociferously. The czar, attracted by the boy's voice and amused by

his manner, called him up, and asked him if he would sell his stock in

trade, basket and all.



"I have orders only to sell the pies," replied the shrewd vender: "I

cannot sell the basket without asking my master's leave. But, as

everything in Russia belongs to your majesty, you have only to lay on me

your commands."



This answer so greatly pleased the czar that he bade the boy come with

him into the house and wait on him at table, much to the young

pie-vender's joy, as it was just the result for which he had hoped. The

dinner went on, Mentchikof waiting on the czar with such skill as he

could command, and watching eagerly for the approach of the suspected

dish. At length it was brought in and placed on the table before the

czar. The boy thereupon leaned forward and whispered in the monarch's

ear, begging him not to eat of that dish.



Surprised at this request, and quick to suspect something wrong, the

czar rose and walked into an adjoining room, bidding the boy accompany

him.



"What do you mean?" he asked. "Why should I not eat of that particular

dish?"



"Because I am afraid it is not all right," answered the boy. "I was in

the kitchen while it was being prepared, and saw the boyar, when the

cook's back was turned, drop a powder into the dish. I do not know what

all this meant, but thought it my duty to put your majesty on your

guard."



"Thanks for your shrewdness, my lad," said the czar; "I will bear it in

mind."



Peter returned to the table with his wonted cheerfulness of countenance,

giving no indication that he had heard anything unusual.



"I should like your majesty to try that dish," said the boyar: "I fancy

that you will find it very good."



"Come sit here beside me," suggested Peter. It was the custom at that

time in Moscow for the master of a house to wait on the table when he

entertained guests.



Peter put some of the questionable dish on a plate and placed it before

his host.



"No doubt it is good," he said. "Try some of it yourself and set me an

example."



This request threw the host into a state of the utmost confusion, and

with trembling utterance he replied that it was not becoming for a

servant to eat with his master.



"It is becoming to a dog, if I wish it," answered Peter, and he set the

plate on the floor before a dog which was in the room.



In a moment the brute had emptied the dish. But in a short time the

poor animal was seen to be in convulsions, and it soon fell dead before

the assembled company.



"Is this the dish you recommended so highly?" said Peter, fixing a

terrible look on the shrinking boyar. "So I was to take the place of

that dead dog?"



Orders were given to have the animal opened and examined, and the result

of the investigation proved beyond doubt that its death was due to

poison. The culprit, however, escaped the terrible punishment which he

would have suffered at Peter's hands by taking his own life. He was

found dead in bed the next morning.



We do not vouch for the truth of this interesting story. Though told by

a writer of Peter's time, it is doubted by late historians. But such is

the fate of the best stories afloat, and the voice of doubt threatens to

rob history of much of its romance. The story of Mentchikof, in its most

usual shape, states that Le Fort, general and admiral, was the first to

be attracted to the sprightly boy, and that Peter saw him at Le Fort's

house, was delighted with him, and made him his page.



The pastry-cook's boy soon became the indispensable companion of the

czar, assisted him in his workshop, attended him in his wars, and at the

siege of Azov displayed the greatest bravery. He accompanied Peter in

his travels, worked with him in Holland, and distinguished himself in

the wars with the Swedes, receiving the order of St. Andrew for

gallantry at the battle of the Neva. In 1704 he was given the rank of

general, and was the first to defeat the Swedes in a pitched battle. At

the czar's request he was made a prince of the Holy Roman Empire.



As Prince Mentchikof the new grandee loomed high. His house in Moscow

was magnificent, his banquets were gorgeous with gold and silver plate,

and the ambassadors of the powers of Europe figured among his guests.

Such was the bright side of the picture. The dark side was one of

extortion and robbery, in which the favorite of the czar out-did in

peculation all the other officials of the realm.



Peculation in Russia, indeed, assumed enormous proportions, but this was

a crime towards which Peter did not manifest his usual severity. Two of

the robbers in high places were executed, but the others were let off

with fines and a castigation with Peter's walking-stick, which he was in

the habit of using freely on high and low alike. As for Mentchikof, he

was incorrigible. So high was he in favor with his master that the

senators, who had abundant proofs of his robberies and little love for

him personally, dared not openly accuse him before the czar. The most

they ventured to do was to draw up a statement of his peculations and

lay the paper on the table at the czar's seat. Peter saw it, ran his eye

over its contents, but said nothing. Day after day the paper lay in the

same place, but the czar continued silent. One day as he sat in the

senate, the senator Tolstoi, who sat beside him, was bold enough to ask

him what he thought of that document.



"Nothing," Peter replied, "but that Mentchikof will always be

Mentchikof."



The death of Peter placed the favorite in a precarious position. He had

a host of enemies, who would have rejoiced in his downfall. These, who

formed what may be called the Old Russian party, wished to proclaim as

monarch the grandson of the deceased czar. But Mentchikof and the party

of reform were beforehand with them, and gave the throne to Catharine,

the widow of the late monarch. Under her the pastry-cook's boy rose to

the summit of his power and virtually governed the country. Unluckily

for the favorite, Catharine died in two years, and a new czar, Peter

II., grandson of Peter the Great, came to the throne.



Mentchikof had been left guardian of the youthful czar, to whom his

daughter was betrothed, and whom he took to his house and surrounded

with his creatures. And now for a time the favorite soared higher than

ever, was practically lord of the land, and made himself more feared

than had been Peter himself.



But he had reached the verge of a precipice. There was no love between

the young czar and Mary Mentchikof, and the youthful prince was soon

brought to dislike his guardian. Events moved fast. Peter left

Mentchikof's house and sought the summer palace, to which his guardian

was refused admittance. Soon after he was arrested, the shock of the

disgrace bringing on an apoplectic stroke. In vain he appealed to the

emperor; he was ordered to retire to his estate, and soon after was

banished, with his whole family, to Siberia. This was in 1727. The

disgraced favorite survived his exile but two years, dying of apoplexy

in 1729. Four months afterwards the new czar followed in death the man

he had disgraced.



The other instance of a rise from low to high estate was that of the

empress herself, whose career was very closely related to that of

Mentchikof. There are various instances in history of a woman of low

estate being chosen to share a monarch's throne, but only one, that of

Catharine of Russia, in which a poor stranger, taken from among the

ruins of a plundered town, became eventually the absolute sovereign of

that empire into which she had been carried as captive or slave.



It was in 1702, during the sharply contested war between Russia and

Sweden, that, while Charles XII. of Sweden was making conquests in

Poland, the Russian army was having similar success in Livonia and

Ingria. Among the Russian successes was the capture of a small town

named Marienburg, which surrendered at discretion, but whose magazines

were blown up by the Swedes. This behavior so provoked the Russian

general that he gave orders for the town to be destroyed and all its

inhabitants to be carried off.



Among the prisoners was a girl, Catharine by name, a native of Livonia,

who had been left an orphan at the age of three years, and had been

brought up as a servant in the family of M. Gluck, the minister of the

place. Such was the humble origin of the woman who was to become the

wife of Peter the Great, and afterwards Catharine I., Empress of Russia.



In 1702 Catharine, then seventeen years of age, married a Swedish

dragoon, one of the garrison of Marienburg. Her married life was a short

one, her husband being obliged to leave her in two days to join his

regiment. She never saw him again. She could neither read nor write,

and, like Mentchikof, never learned those arts. She was, however,

handsome and attractive, delicate and well formed, and of a most

excellent temper, being never known to be out of humor, while she was

obliging and civil to all, and after her exaltation took good care of

the family of her benefactor Gluck. As for her first husband, she sent

him sums of money until 1705, when he was killed in battle.



It was a common fate of prisoners of war then to be sold as slaves to

the Turks, but the beauty of Catharine saved her from this. After some

vicissitudes, she fell into the hands of Mentchikof, at whose quarters

she was seen by the czar. Struck by her beauty and good sense, Peter

took her to his palace, where, finding in her a warm appreciation of his

plans of reform and an admirable disposition, he made her his own by a

private marriage. In 1711 this was supplemented by a public wedding.



Catharine was soon able amply to reward the czar for the honor he had

conferred upon her. He was at war with the Turks, and, through a foolish

contempt for their generalship and military skill, allowed himself to

fall into a trap from which there seemed no escape. He found himself

completely surrounded by the enemy and cut off from all supplies, and

it seemed as if he would be forced to surrender with his whole force to

the despised foe.



From this dilemma Catharine, who was in the camp, relieved him.

Collecting a large sum of money and presents of jewelry, and seeking the

camp of the enemy, she succeeded in bribing the Turkish general, or in

some way inducing him to conclude peace and suffer the Russian army to

escape. Peter repaid his able wife by conferring upon her the dignity of

empress.



The death of the czar was followed, as we have said, by the elevation of

his wife to the vacant throne, principally through the aid of

Mentchikof, her former lord and master, aided by the effect of her

seemingly inconsolable grief and the judicious distribution of money and

jewels as presents.



For two years Catharine and Mentchikof, whose life had begun in the

hovel, and who were now virtually together on the throne, were the

unquestioned autocrats of Russia. Catharine had no genius for

government, and left the control of affairs to her minister, who was to

all intents and purposes sovereign of Russia. The empress, meanwhile,

passed her days in vice and dissipation, thereby hastening her end. She

died in 1727, at the age of about forty years. In the same year, as

already stated, the man who had grown great with her fell from his high

estate.



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