Quite idyllic, this post-nuptial love-making between the great Emperor and his low-born Queen, who has so possessed his heart that no other woman, however fair, could wrest it from her.  And in her exalted position of Empress she practised the same diplomatic arts by which she had won Peter’s devotion.  Politics she left severely alone; she turned a forbidding back on all attempts to involve her in State intrigues, but she was ever ready to protect those who appealed to her for help, and to use her influence with her husband to procure pardon or lighter punishment for those who had fallen under his displeasure.

Nor did she forget her poor relations in Livonia.  One brother, a postillion, she openly acknowledged, introduced to her husband, and obtained a liberal pension for him; and to her other brothers and sisters she sent frequent presents and sums of money.  More she could not well do during her husband’s lifetime, but when she in turn came to the throne, she brought the whole family—­postillion, shoemaker, farm-labourer and serf, their wives and families—­to her capital, installed them in sumptuous apartments in her palaces, decked them in the finest Court feathers, and gave them large fortunes and titles of nobility.

When the Tsar’s quarrel with his eldest son came to its tragic denouement in Alexis’ death, her own son became heir presumptive to the throne of Russia.  And thus the chain that bound Peter to his Empress received its completing link.  It only remained now to place the crown formally on the head of the mother of the new heir, and this supreme honour was hers in the month of May, 1729.

Wonderful tales are told of the splendours of Catherine’s coronation.  No existing crown was good enough for the ex-maid-of-all-work, so one of special magnificence was made by the Court jewellers—­a miracle of diamonds and pearls, crowned by a monster ruby—­at a cost of a million and a half roubles.  The Coronation gown, which cost four thousand roubles, was made at Paris; and from Paris, too, came the gorgeous coach with its blaze of gold and heraldry, in which the Tsarina made her triumphal progress through the streets of the capital from the Winter Palace.  The culminating point of this remarkable ceremony came when, after Peter had placed the crown on his wife’s head, she sank weeping at his feet and embraced his knees.

Catherine, however, had not worn her crown many months when she found herself in considerable danger of losing not only her dignities but even her liberty.  For some time, it is said, she had been engaged in a liaison with William Mons, a handsome, gay young courtier, brother to a former mistress of the Tsar.  The love affair had been common knowledge at the Court—­to all but Peter himself, and it was accident that at last opened his eyes to his wife’s dishonour.  One moonlight night, so the story is told, he chanced to enter an arbour in the palace gardens, and there discovered her in the arms of her lover.