Poniatowski Tells It All
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rheinsbergOne source we've been pointed to from various angles, most recently by Hahn analyzing Fritzian policies in the 7 Years War, are the memoirs of Stanislaw August Poniatowski, the last King of the Polish Commonwealth. Poniatowski is a fascinating figure in his own right, and one of the key issues of his life, the Partitioning(s) of Poland, will never cease to be studied intensely, so what follows is by no means meant to be as an overview of either him or Polish history. I simply excerpt passages of particular interest from a Prussian history angle from his memoirs. The memoirs themselves, btw, were written in several stages, starting in the early 1770s and continuing till Poniatowski's death in Russian exile as a glorified state prisoner. What Ive been reading is a German translation of the first two volumes, edited by A. v. Guttry, covering the years until Poniatowski's second departure from St. Petersburg in the August of 1758. As a Polish nobleman who visited Berlin as a youth (along with most other European capitals), became a diplomat in service of King August III of Saxony at the court of St. Petersburg just in time to protest against the Prussian invasion of Saxony at the start of the 7 Years War, and as the long time lover of the Grand Duchess Catherine, later to become Catherine II, Poniatowski has a unique first row seat to key events of the era, as well as a highly readable, often sarcastic writing style (and of course his own bias).
)
Young Poniatiowski visits Berlin for the first time in 1749.
The courts of the queen mother and the queen shared twice weekly the duties of etiquette, to receive strangers of distinction, the ladies of the country and the small number of subjects of the King of Prussia who weren't members of the military. (...) Since the behavior of the women in Poland was back then much more restrained than it is now, I was amazed about the behavior of the women in Berlin: it seemed to me as if the Voltairemania everyone pretended more than actually feel, and their bold speeches which they thought were the expression of wit, as if all this gave them the aura of artifice, as if they wanted to appear much freeer than they actually were; perhaps all of this just resulted from the impulse caused by the writings and sayings of the philosopher of Sans-Souci.
He had been in Prussia when I arrived in Berlin, and returned there only three weeks later; I've seen him twice; both times, he adressed me. I thought he came across as awkward, and as feeling himself obliged to always talk better than anyone else in the room while being afraid he might fail at this. He had a restless gaze, disturbed eyes, an insecure attitude, unclean wardrobe and the entire figure not having much in the way of nobility. I've often heard others say similar things about him, but these are just external factors. This is neither the place or time to paint a complete and thorough portrait of this prince. Every day, I have heard his subjects of every social background talk out loud badly about him, which he knew very well, and which he had gotten used to so much that it didn't matter to him in the least.
Before he had returned from Prusisa, I had visited Charlottenburg, Potsdam, the little palace of Sans-Souci, and the room in which he lived and usually worked. It seemed to me an utter mess: books and writings thrown together, everywhere, on all sides, verses written by the King's own hand, a lot of furniture mixed together; the women who have been entrusted to show strangers the royal palaces of this country and whom one calls "Chatelaines" there told me they had strict orders to leave everything in its place where they had found it when the master had left; so I saw in Charlottenburg a marble bust of Julius Caesar beneath a canapee, and the chatellaine assured me she'd never dare to remove it.
In all the bedrooms of the King of Prussia, I saw a richly endowed waistcoat tailored for the figure of the King, made of expensive clothing; but people swore that he did not wear it. This waistcoat attracted my attention since it seemed to have been put there deliberately in contradiction of the idea one had of the dressing gown of a warior and philosopher.
In his bedroom in Sans-Souci, I saw two small beds in exactly the same size, standing close together; in Berlin, there had been various rumors about the use of these two beds, but the chatelaine told me that the King switched from one bed to the other whenever he got too hot; and yet he loves the heat; the room in which he lives in summer lies to the southside, and there isn't a single day in the year in which there isn't a fire lit in his fireside; they even told me that anyone he calls into his room nearly faints from the heat. I have seen the cabinets of his library in Sans-Souci, but the chatelaine said she didn't possess the keys. The cuppola of this small palace, made of exquisite marble, illuminated through a round window above, and the Mercury by Pigalle in the garden are the two most beautiful things I have seen there.
Since it is not my intention to talk here about the cheapskate poverty in which the Queen and her entire court are being kept, nor about the strict force to which the entire lives of the King's brothers are subjected to, nor about this troops and his financial practices, I shall restrain myself to observing that in Berlin, I made the aquaintance of the Chevalier Charles Hambury Williams, who was then the British envoy at the court of the King of Prussia, who even then gifted me with many courtesies and who later became my great friend.
If young traveler Poniatowski was less than overwhelmed by Friedrich II's wit and manners, Saxon envoy and later King of Poland Poniatowski is withering about Fritz' mobster tactics to finance Prussia through the 7 Years War by bleeding Saxony and Poland dry:
Worth bearing in mind: Poniatowski, as a Pole employed by the Saxon government (holding a fiery "behold what Fritz the bastard just did to us, AGAIN!" speech to Elizabeth as the Saxon envoy was one of his first big profile opportunities) at the time and later as the next King, does have a bias and numbers to back him up, i.e. he knows whereof he speaks, while speaking of it loathingly.
The usual income of Saxony was then around nine million Taler; one can assume the King of Prussia extorted through additional taxes three times as much. 7 x 9 is 63, 3 x 63 is 189 - as many million Taler was Saxony worth to the King of Prussia; additionally, he received 700 000 Pound Sterling of annual English subsidies; and that made it possible what had seemed impossible: that an Elector of Brandenburg resisted for seven years the united countries Russia, Austria, France and Sweden.
Moreover, this prince gained a profit one can't understimate by inventing - as the first among all rulers - the custom of clipping coins with the stamp of another monarch; but he wasn't content with making the Saxon coinage print coins with the image of August III., no, he even had the stamps imitated in his own states and reduced the content bit by bit, to a degree that the coins at last didn't have a third of the worth they were supposed to have.
Since the main field of this war was in Saxony and since he, armed by weapons, only bought what he didn't deign to take for free anyway, he made up for his expenses with a third of the usually assumed sum.
But he didn't only damage Saxony by this; Poland suffered as much, which happened thusly: the treaty of Wehlau had added to the advantages which the House of Brandenburg already possessed in East Prussia yet another, which was that both states should dictate the coinage after agreeing to it. This of course was disregarded; the ruling princes of the House of Brandenburg were content to print coins in their own right which were bearing the same names as the Polish Tymphs and Sixes and were supposed to carry the same worth; consequently, these Prussian coins were used in Poland as much as Polish coins were. (...)
Using the pretense of simply continuing the Saxon print and the prints of his own Prussian Tympths and Sixes, the King of Prussia managed to bring about a hundred million of his devalued coins into circulation in Poland, before the majority of my countrymen (...) even wanted to believe in the possibility of a devaluement. They got into circulation so quickly becuase Poland was to the King of Prussia a store; he bought corn, horses, cattle, salpeter, rough linnen and even cloth, nearly everything he needed. Silesia and the other states ruled by the King of Prussia had been exposed to so many attacks and devastations in the course of this war that Poland was back then able to replace all he used to get from Silesia in the last two listed items. When the Poles finally realized that they had been deceived regarding the value of these Prussian coins, they heightened the prices of their articles, but the substance of theese coins was lessened even more for about the same sum, and always a time passed until one had realised the renewed and even greater deception, so that by the year 1763, at the end of this war, over 200 million Gulden of these false coins were circulating in Poland.
While Poniatowski, for understandable reasons, has it in for the Prussians, he can also dish it out in other directions. He was fond of one particular Englishman, the "Chevalier Williams", who seems to have been his Suhm from their first encounter in Berlin onwards; when Williams seriously argues for the first time with him in St. Petersburg, Poniatowski is ready to jump from the balcony, Rokoko guy that he is, but Williams pulls him back, and they reconcile. Hover, re: as for the British nation in general...
The most amazing thing is their education; contrary to what I've seen everywhere else, where people try to raise their children well, a sense of honor seems to be neglected entirely in English schools. The whip and only the often used whip seems to be the deciding instrument there, and experience speaks of success to the English. (...) When they have finally completet their eighteenth year, sometimes even earlier than that, they should, so everyone there agrees on, go travelling(...). So they go forward, the brain packed with good Latin and some English classics and the conviction that government, the earth, the morals, the taste, and practically everything is better in England than anywhere else in teh world. Thus equipped and full of disregard for all the nations they visit, they are very amazed when they are stared at like one stares at savages whereever they go, because they can't even greet anyone properly, they don't know how to enter a room and how to leave it; since they always have regarded the "shallow French exercises" with contempt and usually can't talk in any language but their own, they by necessity become a burden to everyone, and consequently to themselves as well.
He's nicer about the Austrians, while giving the caveat he's written these positive assessments pre-First Polish Partitioning. A passage about Maria Theresia's first minister Kaunitz, aka the one who hit on the idea of the Diplomatic Revolution, leading into a passage about MT:
It can be regarded as one of the great qualities of Maria Theresia's character and government that she knew how to esteem Herr von Kaunitz rightly and to put him into the correct position, on her own initiative and despite of all the voices talking against him, and that she has kept him there, without him having tried in particular to win the favour of his fellow noblemen; nor did he fake a hypocritical devotion in order to keep the favour of his pious princess. She tried a few times to make him feel her displeasure at him keeping actresses as mistresses. He replied: I have to give my Empress and Queen account regarding my attitude as her minister, as her subject, but in no other way. If my princess is not content with my service, I will gladly give up my work and business and withdraw to my estate of Rietberg."
Such a reply would have caused Madame de Maintenon - mistress and morganatic wife of Louis XIV, very pious - to throw out whoever gave it. Herr von Kaunitz even has allowed himself to ignore courtly etiquette; to the officers who pointed this out to him because they thought he had simply forgotten (the dress code), he replied: "I won't go where my furcoat isn't welcome, either."
Since nineteen years, Kaunitz is in office and seems to be destined not to leave it any time soon. And if I was to be born a subject and could choose among any of the currently living rulers, Maria Theresia would be my Queen. When she ascended to the throne, she found the troops and the finances of her state in utter disarray. In the middle of three nearly always miserable wars, she has managed to restore both and to put them on a higher level than they have had under any of her ancestors, and yet her subjects do not get oppressed. She is generious; nearly all public buildings in vienna, nearly all the roads of her provinces have either been built by her or renewed by her, and she's still rich, and she proves it through making huge and regular presents; she is faithful, she has never given into the temptation to go against her principles, and yet she isn't just compassionate, let alone soft, but she has reduced the arrogance of the Church, she has improved the education of the youth in all her states. Her politics were skillful without being false; so far, she has only conducted war to defend herself. And thus she has experienced the happiness to be truly loved by her subjects. For thirty years of her government, no action of hers has been known to go against the principle of justice.
May such a beautiful example not fall from its pedestal and keep itself pure to be imitated by posterity! And may my fatherland never have to complain about the lack of consistency of human virtues!* *Footnote: I wrote these words in the February of 1772. (I.e. before the Polish Partitioning.)
P: as disappointed in MT as Voltaire was in Fritz when Fritz invaded Silesia!
Poniatowski turns out not to be a believer in "De mortuis nihil si bene" at all. It's doubtful that he'd have had much sympathy for his lover's husband, the ill-fated Peter III, under any circumstances. As the circumstances included Peter's Fritz admiration in all likelihood preventing Prussia's defeat in the 7 Years War...
His grandmother was the sister of Charles XII, his mother the daughter of Peter the Great, and yet nature had made only a coward out of him, a wastrel and such a funny personality that one couldn't help but exclaim "Look there! the arlechino finto principe" when one saw him.
I suppose that his nurse and all his first teachers in his own country were Prussians, or otherwise bribed by the King of Prussia, for he had such an extraordinary and downright ridiculous veneration and tenderness for this prince from early childhood onwards that this passion - and it really was a passion - caused even the King of Prussia to remark: "I am his Dulcinea. He has never seen me, and yet he fell in love with me like Don Quixotte."
He had been twelve or thirteen years old when Elizabeth had hi brought to Russia, made him convert to the orthodox religion and appointed him her successor. But he always kept a strong attachment to the Lutheran faith in which he had been raised, a strong idea of the importance of his state of Holstein and the conviction that the troops which he had there and which he - as he claimed - had led to I don't know how many victories were after the Prussian troops the best in the world, and much more able than the Russians.
One day, he told Prince Esterhazy, the Viennese envoy at his aunt's court: "How can you hope for a success against the King of Prussia, when your troops can't even be compared to mine, and I myself have to admit that my soldiers are far less able than those of Prussia!"
And to me he said in one of those outpourings with which he often bothered me: "Don't you understand how unhappy I am! I should be in the service of the King of Prusisa; I would serve him with all my enthusiasm and all my vigour; I am sure that I'd be in possession of a regiment today, would have the rank of Generalmajor or even of a Generalieutenant. But no, they brought me here, made me Grandduke in this godforsaken country!"
Then he held a diatribe about the Russian nation in the grotesque way of speech which was his, though sometimes even amusingly so, for he didn't lake a certain type of wit; he wasn't stupid, he was just mad, and since he loved to drink, he contributed his share to the utter destruction of what little reason he was endowed to begin with. Additionally, he kept smoking tobacco, was of a very thin and measly figure, usually wore the uniform of Holstein and rarely anything else, and was in general dressed so ridiculous and tasteless that he ever looked like a Capitano or like something that escaped an Italian farce.
This was the heir presumptative chosen by Elizabeth.
He was always the target of mockery of his future subjects, sometimes also of dark prophecies and always the misfortune of his wife, who either had to suffer through him or die of embarassment about him. In his head, he confused everything which he had ever heard of the late King of Prussia (Grandfather of the currently ruling one, i.e. the one whom his brother-in-law, King George II of England, used to call "King Corporal") with the idea he had of the then current King of Prussia. Consequently, he assumed one wronged the later if one claimed that he profered books to the pipe, and especially if one said that he loved to make verses. Whereas the Grand Duchess, like so many othres, couldn't stand the smell of tobacco smoke, and she was an avid reader; this was her husband's main complaint about her.
He did feel very differently regarding Peter's wife. Whether Poniatowski fell in love with Catherine for purely romantic reasons or already with an eye to potential mutual non-romantic benefits is debated (though the net result was that she used him, not the other way around), but she was undoubtedly the woman with the most influence on his life, and he gives her a starring role in his memoirs, starting with the first time they met (courtesy of his friend Williams, by then the British Ambassador in Russia):
She was twenty five years old. Only a short time ago, she'd risen from giving birth the first time, and her beauty was in full bloom at this point which to most women graced with beauty means the highest peak. Her white skin and vivid colours contrasted with her black hair; she had large blue and very expressive eyes, black and very long lashes, a thin nose, a mouth inviting kisses, completely beautiful hands and arms; she was slender, more tall than small, her walk was graceful and yet full of majesty, the sound of her voice pleasant and her laughter as bright as her mood; with ever balanced ease she returned from childish games to communicating in cyphres, she was never afraid of the physical demand of deycphring chiffere or of the text, no matter how important or dangerous the message.
The oppression she'd been subjected to since her marriage, the lack of any equal-minded company had led her to the joy of reading. She knew much; gifted with a seductive nature, she could assess anyone's weaknesses, and she was already accumulating the love of the people who would be her way to the throne which was later to surround with so much glamour.
This was the woman who was to rule my destiny; my whole life was dedicated to her, far more literally than by what people usually mean when they make such claims in a similar position. And through an odd circumstance, I, despite being twenty two years of age, could give her something which no one had had before she did.
Firstly, a strict education had kept me from any debauched company; on my travels, my ambition to rise in so-called "good society" had protected me, and despite the many liasons I had started abroad, at home and even in Russia, several accidents of fate had made it possible that I had inadvertendly saved myself for the woman who was to govern my fortune later.
I cannot abstain from the pleasure of describing even the dress she was wearing when I met her that day; a simple dress made of white satin, with pink ribbons and some lace as its only decoration.
Given all these entertaining descriptions, how did Poniatowski see himself as a young man? It's 1756, and Grand Duchess Catherine challenges her admirer to write a self portrait for her. Which he does:
I would be content with my figure if I was an inch taller and had more beautifully shaped legs, not such a pronounced beak of a nose, less hips, a sharper gaze and more pronounced teeth. Not that these corrections would make me an Adonis, but I wouldn't ask for more, because I find my physiognomy to be noble and quite expressive, my gestures and my whole attitude distinguished enough to get anyone's attention anywhere. My shortsightedness gives me a sometimes awkward or sinister expression, but it doesn't keep, and once the first moment is over, I often make the mistake of striking a too proud attitude.
The excellent education I've enjoyed helped me to overcome the mistakes in my figure and my mind. I have enough wit to match anyone's conversation, but I don't have enough of an imagination to carry it over an extended time, except if my sentiment is deeply involved, or my well trained sense for anything to do with the arts.
I often notice the ridiculous and false in any area, and the flaws people have, and often I let them notice this too soon. I hate any bad company. A considerable laziness has prevented me from developing my talents and my knowledge as far as my abilities would allow me to. When I work, I do so in a fit of inspiration, I do a lot at once, or nothing at all. I don't easily trust people and thus come across as more sophisticated than I actually am. As far as businesses are concerned, I often am too eager and too sincere and thus put my foot in my mouth at times. I have a good judgment, easily find the mistakes of a project or of the one who leads it; but I need counsel and someone to restrain me in order not to make mistakes myself. I'm extraordinarily sensitive and tend to grieve more easily than I feel joy, and would feel too much of the first sensation if a precognition of the second didn't live in my heart. Burning and insatiable ambition lives within me, and my ideas for various reforms for the honor and the use of my fatherland are at the heart of all my projects and my entire life.
I thought I was not suited for women; my earliest attempts were just owed to a necessity owed to circumstance for me. Finally, I have at last encountered tender love, and now I love with such a passion that I feel a change of my fortune would make me the unhappiest of men and drive me into despair. The duties of friendship are sacred to me, and I carry them very far. If my friend should wrong me, there is nothing in the world I would not do to prevent a breakup; and long after he has insulted me, I would remember that I owe him much. I believe that I am a very good friend. It is true, I count only a few people as intimate friends, though I am of course grateful for anything good someone has done for me. (...)
I am generous, I hate dirty avarice, but I'm not capable of administrating my worldly goods. I can't keep my own secrets as well as I can keep those of others which I treat carefully. I am very compassionate. I have such a strong desire for love and approval that my vanity would grow into infinity if I wasn't so afraid of making myself look ridiculous. Furtherly, I don't lie, both out of principle and out of a natural dislike against falsehood. I'm very far from being devout, but I dare say I love God; I often address him, and I have the flattering conviction that he loves doing good as we ask it of him. I am fortunate to love my father and my mother, not just out of duty but out of affection. I would not be capable of carrying out a revenge scheme even if in my first anger I thought of one; I believe that pity would win in me. One forgives out of a certain weakness just as one does out of greatness, and I fear that for this reason, one day I shall have to give up many of my plans. I leave myself to my thoughts and possess enough imagination to not get bored if I'm alone and without a book, mainly since I now love.
Lastly, here's Poniatwoski as seen by someone else, to wit, Ernst Ahasverus, Count Lehndorff, diarist extraordinaire. It's the lovely month of May 1781, Lehndorff, using his retirement to at last travel for as long as he wants to, likes Warsaw just fine, though he thinks the palace is a bit too overbudget for the Poles. He successfully angles for an invitation at court.
On the 9th at 10 am, I get presented to the King of Poland. He asks me to join him in his study and greets me with charming amiablity. He is still a beautiful man. He rises from his desk and tells me several pleasantries, while recalling that he has met me thirty years ago in Berlin. The conversation extends for quite a while. Finally, he tells me that he wants to show me his country seat himself. I must admit: even leaving his royal dignity aside, he is the most charming and witty man his kingdom has to offer, and he has a nice figure besides.
In conclusion: between this and their mutual fondness for Heinrich, one can make a case for Lehndorff and Catherine II having the same taste.
)
Young Poniatiowski visits Berlin for the first time in 1749.
The courts of the queen mother and the queen shared twice weekly the duties of etiquette, to receive strangers of distinction, the ladies of the country and the small number of subjects of the King of Prussia who weren't members of the military. (...) Since the behavior of the women in Poland was back then much more restrained than it is now, I was amazed about the behavior of the women in Berlin: it seemed to me as if the Voltairemania everyone pretended more than actually feel, and their bold speeches which they thought were the expression of wit, as if all this gave them the aura of artifice, as if they wanted to appear much freeer than they actually were; perhaps all of this just resulted from the impulse caused by the writings and sayings of the philosopher of Sans-Souci.
He had been in Prussia when I arrived in Berlin, and returned there only three weeks later; I've seen him twice; both times, he adressed me. I thought he came across as awkward, and as feeling himself obliged to always talk better than anyone else in the room while being afraid he might fail at this. He had a restless gaze, disturbed eyes, an insecure attitude, unclean wardrobe and the entire figure not having much in the way of nobility. I've often heard others say similar things about him, but these are just external factors. This is neither the place or time to paint a complete and thorough portrait of this prince. Every day, I have heard his subjects of every social background talk out loud badly about him, which he knew very well, and which he had gotten used to so much that it didn't matter to him in the least.
Before he had returned from Prusisa, I had visited Charlottenburg, Potsdam, the little palace of Sans-Souci, and the room in which he lived and usually worked. It seemed to me an utter mess: books and writings thrown together, everywhere, on all sides, verses written by the King's own hand, a lot of furniture mixed together; the women who have been entrusted to show strangers the royal palaces of this country and whom one calls "Chatelaines" there told me they had strict orders to leave everything in its place where they had found it when the master had left; so I saw in Charlottenburg a marble bust of Julius Caesar beneath a canapee, and the chatellaine assured me she'd never dare to remove it.
In all the bedrooms of the King of Prussia, I saw a richly endowed waistcoat tailored for the figure of the King, made of expensive clothing; but people swore that he did not wear it. This waistcoat attracted my attention since it seemed to have been put there deliberately in contradiction of the idea one had of the dressing gown of a warior and philosopher.
In his bedroom in Sans-Souci, I saw two small beds in exactly the same size, standing close together; in Berlin, there had been various rumors about the use of these two beds, but the chatelaine told me that the King switched from one bed to the other whenever he got too hot; and yet he loves the heat; the room in which he lives in summer lies to the southside, and there isn't a single day in the year in which there isn't a fire lit in his fireside; they even told me that anyone he calls into his room nearly faints from the heat. I have seen the cabinets of his library in Sans-Souci, but the chatelaine said she didn't possess the keys. The cuppola of this small palace, made of exquisite marble, illuminated through a round window above, and the Mercury by Pigalle in the garden are the two most beautiful things I have seen there.
Since it is not my intention to talk here about the cheapskate poverty in which the Queen and her entire court are being kept, nor about the strict force to which the entire lives of the King's brothers are subjected to, nor about this troops and his financial practices, I shall restrain myself to observing that in Berlin, I made the aquaintance of the Chevalier Charles Hambury Williams, who was then the British envoy at the court of the King of Prussia, who even then gifted me with many courtesies and who later became my great friend.
If young traveler Poniatowski was less than overwhelmed by Friedrich II's wit and manners, Saxon envoy and later King of Poland Poniatowski is withering about Fritz' mobster tactics to finance Prussia through the 7 Years War by bleeding Saxony and Poland dry:
Worth bearing in mind: Poniatowski, as a Pole employed by the Saxon government (holding a fiery "behold what Fritz the bastard just did to us, AGAIN!" speech to Elizabeth as the Saxon envoy was one of his first big profile opportunities) at the time and later as the next King, does have a bias and numbers to back him up, i.e. he knows whereof he speaks, while speaking of it loathingly.
The usual income of Saxony was then around nine million Taler; one can assume the King of Prussia extorted through additional taxes three times as much. 7 x 9 is 63, 3 x 63 is 189 - as many million Taler was Saxony worth to the King of Prussia; additionally, he received 700 000 Pound Sterling of annual English subsidies; and that made it possible what had seemed impossible: that an Elector of Brandenburg resisted for seven years the united countries Russia, Austria, France and Sweden.
Moreover, this prince gained a profit one can't understimate by inventing - as the first among all rulers - the custom of clipping coins with the stamp of another monarch; but he wasn't content with making the Saxon coinage print coins with the image of August III., no, he even had the stamps imitated in his own states and reduced the content bit by bit, to a degree that the coins at last didn't have a third of the worth they were supposed to have.
Since the main field of this war was in Saxony and since he, armed by weapons, only bought what he didn't deign to take for free anyway, he made up for his expenses with a third of the usually assumed sum.
But he didn't only damage Saxony by this; Poland suffered as much, which happened thusly: the treaty of Wehlau had added to the advantages which the House of Brandenburg already possessed in East Prussia yet another, which was that both states should dictate the coinage after agreeing to it. This of course was disregarded; the ruling princes of the House of Brandenburg were content to print coins in their own right which were bearing the same names as the Polish Tymphs and Sixes and were supposed to carry the same worth; consequently, these Prussian coins were used in Poland as much as Polish coins were. (...)
Using the pretense of simply continuing the Saxon print and the prints of his own Prussian Tympths and Sixes, the King of Prussia managed to bring about a hundred million of his devalued coins into circulation in Poland, before the majority of my countrymen (...) even wanted to believe in the possibility of a devaluement. They got into circulation so quickly becuase Poland was to the King of Prussia a store; he bought corn, horses, cattle, salpeter, rough linnen and even cloth, nearly everything he needed. Silesia and the other states ruled by the King of Prussia had been exposed to so many attacks and devastations in the course of this war that Poland was back then able to replace all he used to get from Silesia in the last two listed items. When the Poles finally realized that they had been deceived regarding the value of these Prussian coins, they heightened the prices of their articles, but the substance of theese coins was lessened even more for about the same sum, and always a time passed until one had realised the renewed and even greater deception, so that by the year 1763, at the end of this war, over 200 million Gulden of these false coins were circulating in Poland.
While Poniatowski, for understandable reasons, has it in for the Prussians, he can also dish it out in other directions. He was fond of one particular Englishman, the "Chevalier Williams", who seems to have been his Suhm from their first encounter in Berlin onwards; when Williams seriously argues for the first time with him in St. Petersburg, Poniatowski is ready to jump from the balcony, Rokoko guy that he is, but Williams pulls him back, and they reconcile. Hover, re: as for the British nation in general...
The most amazing thing is their education; contrary to what I've seen everywhere else, where people try to raise their children well, a sense of honor seems to be neglected entirely in English schools. The whip and only the often used whip seems to be the deciding instrument there, and experience speaks of success to the English. (...) When they have finally completet their eighteenth year, sometimes even earlier than that, they should, so everyone there agrees on, go travelling(...). So they go forward, the brain packed with good Latin and some English classics and the conviction that government, the earth, the morals, the taste, and practically everything is better in England than anywhere else in teh world. Thus equipped and full of disregard for all the nations they visit, they are very amazed when they are stared at like one stares at savages whereever they go, because they can't even greet anyone properly, they don't know how to enter a room and how to leave it; since they always have regarded the "shallow French exercises" with contempt and usually can't talk in any language but their own, they by necessity become a burden to everyone, and consequently to themselves as well.
He's nicer about the Austrians, while giving the caveat he's written these positive assessments pre-First Polish Partitioning. A passage about Maria Theresia's first minister Kaunitz, aka the one who hit on the idea of the Diplomatic Revolution, leading into a passage about MT:
It can be regarded as one of the great qualities of Maria Theresia's character and government that she knew how to esteem Herr von Kaunitz rightly and to put him into the correct position, on her own initiative and despite of all the voices talking against him, and that she has kept him there, without him having tried in particular to win the favour of his fellow noblemen; nor did he fake a hypocritical devotion in order to keep the favour of his pious princess. She tried a few times to make him feel her displeasure at him keeping actresses as mistresses. He replied: I have to give my Empress and Queen account regarding my attitude as her minister, as her subject, but in no other way. If my princess is not content with my service, I will gladly give up my work and business and withdraw to my estate of Rietberg."
Such a reply would have caused Madame de Maintenon - mistress and morganatic wife of Louis XIV, very pious - to throw out whoever gave it. Herr von Kaunitz even has allowed himself to ignore courtly etiquette; to the officers who pointed this out to him because they thought he had simply forgotten (the dress code), he replied: "I won't go where my furcoat isn't welcome, either."
Since nineteen years, Kaunitz is in office and seems to be destined not to leave it any time soon. And if I was to be born a subject and could choose among any of the currently living rulers, Maria Theresia would be my Queen. When she ascended to the throne, she found the troops and the finances of her state in utter disarray. In the middle of three nearly always miserable wars, she has managed to restore both and to put them on a higher level than they have had under any of her ancestors, and yet her subjects do not get oppressed. She is generious; nearly all public buildings in vienna, nearly all the roads of her provinces have either been built by her or renewed by her, and she's still rich, and she proves it through making huge and regular presents; she is faithful, she has never given into the temptation to go against her principles, and yet she isn't just compassionate, let alone soft, but she has reduced the arrogance of the Church, she has improved the education of the youth in all her states. Her politics were skillful without being false; so far, she has only conducted war to defend herself. And thus she has experienced the happiness to be truly loved by her subjects. For thirty years of her government, no action of hers has been known to go against the principle of justice.
May such a beautiful example not fall from its pedestal and keep itself pure to be imitated by posterity! And may my fatherland never have to complain about the lack of consistency of human virtues!* *Footnote: I wrote these words in the February of 1772. (I.e. before the Polish Partitioning.)
P: as disappointed in MT as Voltaire was in Fritz when Fritz invaded Silesia!
Poniatowski turns out not to be a believer in "De mortuis nihil si bene" at all. It's doubtful that he'd have had much sympathy for his lover's husband, the ill-fated Peter III, under any circumstances. As the circumstances included Peter's Fritz admiration in all likelihood preventing Prussia's defeat in the 7 Years War...
His grandmother was the sister of Charles XII, his mother the daughter of Peter the Great, and yet nature had made only a coward out of him, a wastrel and such a funny personality that one couldn't help but exclaim "Look there! the arlechino finto principe" when one saw him.
I suppose that his nurse and all his first teachers in his own country were Prussians, or otherwise bribed by the King of Prussia, for he had such an extraordinary and downright ridiculous veneration and tenderness for this prince from early childhood onwards that this passion - and it really was a passion - caused even the King of Prussia to remark: "I am his Dulcinea. He has never seen me, and yet he fell in love with me like Don Quixotte."
He had been twelve or thirteen years old when Elizabeth had hi brought to Russia, made him convert to the orthodox religion and appointed him her successor. But he always kept a strong attachment to the Lutheran faith in which he had been raised, a strong idea of the importance of his state of Holstein and the conviction that the troops which he had there and which he - as he claimed - had led to I don't know how many victories were after the Prussian troops the best in the world, and much more able than the Russians.
One day, he told Prince Esterhazy, the Viennese envoy at his aunt's court: "How can you hope for a success against the King of Prussia, when your troops can't even be compared to mine, and I myself have to admit that my soldiers are far less able than those of Prussia!"
And to me he said in one of those outpourings with which he often bothered me: "Don't you understand how unhappy I am! I should be in the service of the King of Prusisa; I would serve him with all my enthusiasm and all my vigour; I am sure that I'd be in possession of a regiment today, would have the rank of Generalmajor or even of a Generalieutenant. But no, they brought me here, made me Grandduke in this godforsaken country!"
Then he held a diatribe about the Russian nation in the grotesque way of speech which was his, though sometimes even amusingly so, for he didn't lake a certain type of wit; he wasn't stupid, he was just mad, and since he loved to drink, he contributed his share to the utter destruction of what little reason he was endowed to begin with. Additionally, he kept smoking tobacco, was of a very thin and measly figure, usually wore the uniform of Holstein and rarely anything else, and was in general dressed so ridiculous and tasteless that he ever looked like a Capitano or like something that escaped an Italian farce.
This was the heir presumptative chosen by Elizabeth.
He was always the target of mockery of his future subjects, sometimes also of dark prophecies and always the misfortune of his wife, who either had to suffer through him or die of embarassment about him. In his head, he confused everything which he had ever heard of the late King of Prussia (Grandfather of the currently ruling one, i.e. the one whom his brother-in-law, King George II of England, used to call "King Corporal") with the idea he had of the then current King of Prussia. Consequently, he assumed one wronged the later if one claimed that he profered books to the pipe, and especially if one said that he loved to make verses. Whereas the Grand Duchess, like so many othres, couldn't stand the smell of tobacco smoke, and she was an avid reader; this was her husband's main complaint about her.
He did feel very differently regarding Peter's wife. Whether Poniatowski fell in love with Catherine for purely romantic reasons or already with an eye to potential mutual non-romantic benefits is debated (though the net result was that she used him, not the other way around), but she was undoubtedly the woman with the most influence on his life, and he gives her a starring role in his memoirs, starting with the first time they met (courtesy of his friend Williams, by then the British Ambassador in Russia):
She was twenty five years old. Only a short time ago, she'd risen from giving birth the first time, and her beauty was in full bloom at this point which to most women graced with beauty means the highest peak. Her white skin and vivid colours contrasted with her black hair; she had large blue and very expressive eyes, black and very long lashes, a thin nose, a mouth inviting kisses, completely beautiful hands and arms; she was slender, more tall than small, her walk was graceful and yet full of majesty, the sound of her voice pleasant and her laughter as bright as her mood; with ever balanced ease she returned from childish games to communicating in cyphres, she was never afraid of the physical demand of deycphring chiffere or of the text, no matter how important or dangerous the message.
The oppression she'd been subjected to since her marriage, the lack of any equal-minded company had led her to the joy of reading. She knew much; gifted with a seductive nature, she could assess anyone's weaknesses, and she was already accumulating the love of the people who would be her way to the throne which was later to surround with so much glamour.
This was the woman who was to rule my destiny; my whole life was dedicated to her, far more literally than by what people usually mean when they make such claims in a similar position. And through an odd circumstance, I, despite being twenty two years of age, could give her something which no one had had before she did.
Firstly, a strict education had kept me from any debauched company; on my travels, my ambition to rise in so-called "good society" had protected me, and despite the many liasons I had started abroad, at home and even in Russia, several accidents of fate had made it possible that I had inadvertendly saved myself for the woman who was to govern my fortune later.
I cannot abstain from the pleasure of describing even the dress she was wearing when I met her that day; a simple dress made of white satin, with pink ribbons and some lace as its only decoration.
Given all these entertaining descriptions, how did Poniatowski see himself as a young man? It's 1756, and Grand Duchess Catherine challenges her admirer to write a self portrait for her. Which he does:
I would be content with my figure if I was an inch taller and had more beautifully shaped legs, not such a pronounced beak of a nose, less hips, a sharper gaze and more pronounced teeth. Not that these corrections would make me an Adonis, but I wouldn't ask for more, because I find my physiognomy to be noble and quite expressive, my gestures and my whole attitude distinguished enough to get anyone's attention anywhere. My shortsightedness gives me a sometimes awkward or sinister expression, but it doesn't keep, and once the first moment is over, I often make the mistake of striking a too proud attitude.
The excellent education I've enjoyed helped me to overcome the mistakes in my figure and my mind. I have enough wit to match anyone's conversation, but I don't have enough of an imagination to carry it over an extended time, except if my sentiment is deeply involved, or my well trained sense for anything to do with the arts.
I often notice the ridiculous and false in any area, and the flaws people have, and often I let them notice this too soon. I hate any bad company. A considerable laziness has prevented me from developing my talents and my knowledge as far as my abilities would allow me to. When I work, I do so in a fit of inspiration, I do a lot at once, or nothing at all. I don't easily trust people and thus come across as more sophisticated than I actually am. As far as businesses are concerned, I often am too eager and too sincere and thus put my foot in my mouth at times. I have a good judgment, easily find the mistakes of a project or of the one who leads it; but I need counsel and someone to restrain me in order not to make mistakes myself. I'm extraordinarily sensitive and tend to grieve more easily than I feel joy, and would feel too much of the first sensation if a precognition of the second didn't live in my heart. Burning and insatiable ambition lives within me, and my ideas for various reforms for the honor and the use of my fatherland are at the heart of all my projects and my entire life.
I thought I was not suited for women; my earliest attempts were just owed to a necessity owed to circumstance for me. Finally, I have at last encountered tender love, and now I love with such a passion that I feel a change of my fortune would make me the unhappiest of men and drive me into despair. The duties of friendship are sacred to me, and I carry them very far. If my friend should wrong me, there is nothing in the world I would not do to prevent a breakup; and long after he has insulted me, I would remember that I owe him much. I believe that I am a very good friend. It is true, I count only a few people as intimate friends, though I am of course grateful for anything good someone has done for me. (...)
I am generous, I hate dirty avarice, but I'm not capable of administrating my worldly goods. I can't keep my own secrets as well as I can keep those of others which I treat carefully. I am very compassionate. I have such a strong desire for love and approval that my vanity would grow into infinity if I wasn't so afraid of making myself look ridiculous. Furtherly, I don't lie, both out of principle and out of a natural dislike against falsehood. I'm very far from being devout, but I dare say I love God; I often address him, and I have the flattering conviction that he loves doing good as we ask it of him. I am fortunate to love my father and my mother, not just out of duty but out of affection. I would not be capable of carrying out a revenge scheme even if in my first anger I thought of one; I believe that pity would win in me. One forgives out of a certain weakness just as one does out of greatness, and I fear that for this reason, one day I shall have to give up many of my plans. I leave myself to my thoughts and possess enough imagination to not get bored if I'm alone and without a book, mainly since I now love.
Lastly, here's Poniatwoski as seen by someone else, to wit, Ernst Ahasverus, Count Lehndorff, diarist extraordinaire. It's the lovely month of May 1781, Lehndorff, using his retirement to at last travel for as long as he wants to, likes Warsaw just fine, though he thinks the palace is a bit too overbudget for the Poles. He successfully angles for an invitation at court.
On the 9th at 10 am, I get presented to the King of Poland. He asks me to join him in his study and greets me with charming amiablity. He is still a beautiful man. He rises from his desk and tells me several pleasantries, while recalling that he has met me thirty years ago in Berlin. The conversation extends for quite a while. Finally, he tells me that he wants to show me his country seat himself. I must admit: even leaving his royal dignity aside, he is the most charming and witty man his kingdom has to offer, and he has a nice figure besides.
In conclusion: between this and their mutual fondness for Heinrich, one can make a case for Lehndorff and Catherine II having the same taste.
