Among the many legends surrounding Russia’s formidable Empress Catherine II, one of the less dramatic but oddly persistent tales is her aversion to smoking and fondness for snuff—a finely ground tobacco inhaled through the nose. Historical records confirm that Catherine, a ruler known for her Enlightenment-era sophistication, considered smoking vulgar and instead embraced snuff, a habit popular among 18th-century European elites. According to courtiers, the empress’s frequent use of the powder left a lingering aroma in her wake, as if her imperial presence came with its own olfactory fanfare.
Snuff tobacco, stored in ornate boxes and often flavored with rose, bergamot, or citrus, was a status symbol in Catherine’s Russia. The empress owned dozens of snuffboxes, some gifted by foreign dignitaries, others commissioned as works of art. Her preference for snuff over smoking pipes—a habit she reportedly deemed “peasant-like”—aligned with her efforts to westernize Russian nobility. Court etiquette required nobles to offer snuff to one another as a sign of respect, a ritual Catherine allegedly performed with such frequency that her entourage grew accustomed to the scent of tobacco dust clinging to her gowns. One diplomat quipped that following her through the Winter Palace was like “trailing a perfumed comet.”
The claim about the “scented trail” likely stems from memoirs of her contemporaries. French ambassador Louis-Philippe de Ségur wrote that Catherine’s snuff use was “prodigious,” and her sneezes—loud and deliberate—became a quirk tolerated by even the stuffiest courtiers. Modern historians note that while the image of a tobacco-scented empress is poetic, it’s probably exaggerated. Snuff’s aroma, though potent, dissipates quickly. Yet the anecdote endures because it humanizes a ruler often depicted as either a visionary or a tyrant. After all, even the woman who expanded Russia’s borders into Crimea and Alaska had a habit that made her sneeze like the rest of us.
Catherine’s snuff obsession also had political undertones. By promoting snuff over smoking, she subtly distanced Russia from the Ottoman Empire, where pipe-smoking was entrenched in culture. Her snuffboxes, many featuring portraits of Enlightenment thinkers like Voltaire, doubled as propaganda tools, signaling her intellectual ambitions. Of course, the habit wasn’t without risks: snuff stained teeth, irritated sinuses, and occasionally led to awkward moments when a sneeze disrupted a state meeting.
The humor here lies in the contrast between Catherine’s lofty reputation and the mundanity of her vice. Imagine a monarch who corresponded with philosophers, patronized the arts, and modernized legal codes—yet couldn’t get through a diplomatic negotiation without a quick nasal hit of nicotine. It’s a reminder that even history’s “greats” had their quirks.
So, did Catherine the Great leave a scented trail of snuff? Probably not literally. But the legend captures her larger-than-life persona—a ruler who turned even her personal habits into statements of power. And if her ghost haunts the Hermitage today, let’s hope it carries a snuffbox. Some traditions are too iconic to die.
