The first among her admirers to capture her fancy was Sergius Soltykoff, her chamberlain, high-born, “beautiful as the day,” polished courtier, supple-tongued wooer, to whom the Grand Duchess gave the heart her husband spurned.  But Soltykoff’s reign was short; the fickle Princess, ever seeking fresh conquests, wearied of him as of all her lovers in turn, and his place was taken within a year by Stanislas Poniatowski, a fascinating young Pole, who returned to St Petersburg with a reputation of gallantry won in almost every Court of Europe.

Poniatowski had not perhaps the physical perfections of his dethroned predecessor, but he had the well-stored brain that made an even more potent appeal to Catherine.  He could talk “like an angel” on every subject that appealed to her, from art to philosophy; and he had, moreover, a magnetic charm of manner which few women could resist.

Such a lover was, indeed, after her heart, for he brought romance and adventure to his wooing; and whether he found his way to her boudoir disguised as a ladies’ tailor or as one of the Grand Duke’s musicians, or made open love to her under the very nose of her courtiers, he played his role of lover to admiration.  Once Peter, in jealous mood, threatened to run his rival through with his sword, and, in his rage, “went into his wife’s bedroom and pulled her out of bed without leaving her time to dress.”  An hour later his anger had changed to an amused complaisance, and he was supping with the culprits, and with boisterous laughter was drinking their healths.

When at last a political storm drove Poniatowski from Russia, Catherine, who never forgot a banished lover, secured for him the crown of Poland.

Thus the favourites come and go, each supreme for a time, each inevitably packed off to give place to a successor.  With Poniatowski away in Poland, Catherine cast her eyes round her Court to find a third favourite, and her choice was soon made, for of all her army of admirers there was one who fully satisfied her ideal of handsome manhood.

Of the five Orloff brothers, each a Goliath in stature and a Hercules in strength, the handsomest was Gregory, “the giant with the face of an angel.”  Towering head and shoulders over most of his fellow-courtiers, with knotted muscles which could fell an ox or crush a horse-shoe with the closing of a hand, Gregory Orloff was reputed the bravest man in Russia, as he was the idol of his soldiers.  He was also a notorious gambler and drinker and the hero of countless love adventures.

No greater contrast could be possible than between this dare-devil son of Anak and the cultured, almost feminine Poniatowski; but Catherine loved, above all things, variety, and here it was in startling abundance.  Nor was her new lover any the less desirable because he was some years younger than herself, or that his grandfather had been a common soldier in the army of Peter the Great.