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Updated: May 3, 2025
This lustful and ambitious empress waded to the throne through her husband's blood bloodshed was necessary to establish her rule; infamous cruelties characterised her whole reign, and no princess ever succeeded in making herself more heartily detested by her subjects than the vicious daughter of Anhalt Zerbst.
Bernard died in 1212, and Anhalt, separated from Saxony, passed to his son Henry, who in 1218 took the title of prince and was the real founder of the house of Anhalt. On Henry's death in 1252 his three sons partitioned the principality and founded respectively the lines of Aschersleben, Bernburg and Zerbst.
With what a quaint inconsequence her truer self appeared at the Revolution! She, who will foresee Napoleon, was rudely shocked by the fall of the Bastille. The Revolution touched her in her tenderest point. With every year, in spite of her sentiments and cosmopolitan culture, this Princess of Zerbst became more and more fervently autocratic and Russian.
With that they both rose to their full height in the car and together bellowed: "Zerbst! Zerbst! Zerbst!" No answer came to it; no one came from the path to the knoll. On his sunny bank on the side of the knoll Sir Maurice said carelessly: "He seems to be growing impatient." "He isn't calling us. And it's no use our going back without either the princess or the count," said Miss Lambart quickly.
He appealed to the chauffeur for advice; but the chauffeur, a native of Rowington and ignorant of Beaumarchais, could give him none. At half past twelve the archduke rose to his full height in the car, bellowed: "Zerbst! Zerbst! Zerbst!" and sank down again panting with the effort. Zerbst! The chauffeur looked at him with compassionate eyes.
She executed forty portraits of women for the "Hall of Beauty" at Zerbst. One of her portraits, painted in 1770, is in the Gallery at Brunswick. She travelled in Holland in 1766, but was too much occupied with commissions to find time for foreign journeys.
Shortly after midnight, while passing through a little town called Zerbst, half-way between Dessau and Magdeburg, I heard a loud shouting behind me, and, turning, saw a policeman approaching hurriedly. "Where are you from?" he inquired breathlessly. "From Berlin," was my prompt answer. "I left there at six o'clock this evening." I know a little German, and made the best use I could of it.
Miss Lambart with infinite pleasure explained that for her too an expensive path must be hewn, and went on to declare that if they reached the knoll, there was not the slightest chance of their finding the princess in its caves. The archduke frowned and grunted fiercely in his perplexity. Then he struck the table and cried: "Count Zerbst shall do eet! To-morrow morning!
The chauffeur rose to his full height in the car and bellowed: "Zerbst! Zerbst! Zerbst!" No answer came to the call; no one came from the path to the knoll. In three minutes the archduke was grinding his teeth in a black fury. Then with an air of inspiration he cried: "I shout you shout all ad vonce!" "Every little 'elps," said the chauffeur politely.
I don't know what the present Grand Signior's name is, Osman, or Mustapha, or what, but I am extremely on his side against Catherine of Zerbst; and I never intend to ask him for a farthing, nor write panegyrics on him for pay, like Voltaire and Diderot; so you need not say a word to him of my good wishes.
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