The life of this unfortunate son had been full of disappointment and sorrow, almost from the moment of his birth. Born as the son of Peter the Third, he was almost openly repudiated by his reputed father as a bastard. Quite often Peter the Third had declared in the presence of gentlemen and ladies of the court that the little Grand-Duke Paul was not his son, but either Alexis or Gregor Orloff’s, and that he had no right to the succession. Catherine, however, insisted that Paul was Peter’s son, and as the boy grew up, his many peculiarities of mind showed such a remarkable similarity to those of Peter the Third, that the legitimacy of his birth could hardly be doubted. It was really the manifestation of these peculiarities that filled the mind of the mother with that insuperable aversion, not to say hatred, for the son, which would have been incomprehensible but for the remorseful recollections which the traits of the father necessarily awakened in her mind. The boy could not fail to notice this aversion and hostility on the part of his mother, especially since the courtiers, modelling their conduct toward him on the sentiments of the Czarina, treated him with the same coldness and contempt. His whole education was carefully arranged on a premeditated plan to keep him as much as possible in ignorance of those very things which might be useful to him as a ruler, while his character was rendered distrustful and suspicious to such a degree that he became a misanthropist of the blackest hue. Not a day passed but he discovered espionage, treachery, ingratitude and intentional hostility among those whom the Empress had placed near his person as his tutors, teachers and confidants. They shamelessly deceived him, betrayed him, and lied about him. They cautiously instilled into his mind the story of the assassination of his father and of his mother’s knowledge of the crime, and when the young man, horror-struck at this disclosure, clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth, they reported to their imperial mistress that the young Grand Duke had manifested dangerous symptoms of impatience and independence, which would require even greater care and watchfulness on the part of his tutors and a more severe isolation of the young prince. Their only intention was, of course, to show their indefatigable zeal in the task entrusted to them and to make themselves absolutely indispensable to their imperial employer or her favorites; but the effect on his mind was most disastrous. Burdened with the suspicion that his own mother was a murderess, and with the evidence afforded by thousands of little occurrences of her hatred toward himself, and of the treachery of his attendants, in constant fear of impending assassination,--is it not almost wonderful that his mind, not naturally strong, did not absolutely give way?