War And Peace

Then suddenly in the middle of this political discussion Anna Pavlovna launched forth in great excitement. ‘Oh, don’t talk to me about Austria!³ Perhaps it’s all beyond me, but Austria has never wanted war and she still doesn’t want war. She’s betraying us. Russia alone must be Europe’s saviour. Our benefactor is aware of his exalted calling and he’ll live up to it. That’s the one thing I do believe in. The noblest role on earth awaits our good and wonderful sovereign, and he is so full of decency and virtue that God will not forsake him. He will do what has to be done and scotch the hydra of revolution, which has become more dreadful than ever in the person of this murdering villain.⁴ We alone must avenge the blood of the righteous. And whom can we trust, I ask you? England, with that commercial spirit of hers, cannot understand the lofty soul of our Emperor Alexander, and never will. She has refused to evacuate Malta.⁵ She keeps on looking for an ulterior motive behind our actions. What did they say to Novosiltsev? Nothing. They didn’t understand, they’re not capable of understanding, how altruistic our Emperor is – he wants nothing for himself but everything for the good of mankind. And what have they promised? Nothing. And what little they have promised, they won’t carry out. Prussia has already declared that Bonaparte is invincible and that the whole of Europe is powerless to oppose him . . . I for one don’t believe a single word from Hardenberg or Haugwitz. That much-vaunted Prussian neutrality is just a trap. I put my faith in God and the noble calling of our beloved Emperor. He’ll be the saviour of Europe!’

She stopped suddenly, amused at her own passionate outburst.

‘I think if they had sent you instead of our dear Wintzengerode,’⁶ said the prince with a similar smile, ‘an onslaught like that from you would have got the King of Prussia to agree. You are so eloquent. May I have some tea?’

‘Yes, of course. By the way,’ she added, calming down, ‘there are two very interesting men coming here tonight – the Vicomte de Mortemart, a Montmorency through the Rohan line, one of the best French families. He’s the right kind of émigré, one of the genuine ones. And the Abbé Morio – such a profound thinker. Do you know him? He’s been received by the Emperor. Have you heard?’

‘Oh, it will be a pleasure to meet them,’ said the prince. ‘But tell me,’ he added, with studied nonchalance, as if an idea had just occurred to him, though this question was the main reason for his visit, ‘is it true that the Dowager Empress wants Baron Funke to become First Secretary in Vienna? They do say he’s a miserable creature, that baron.’

Prince Vasily wanted this post for his son, but other people were working through the Empress Maria Fyodorovna to get it for the baron. Anna Pavlovna half-closed her eyes to indicate that neither she nor anyone else could pass judgement on what the Empress might feel like doing or want to do. ‘Baron Funke has been recommended to the Dowager Empress by her sister,’ was all she said, in a dry, lugubrious tone. As she pronounced the name of the Empress, Anna Pavlovna’s face took on an expression of profound and sincere devotion mixed with respect and tinged with sadness, which invariably came upon her when she had occasion to mention her exalted patroness. She said that her Majesty had been gracious enough to show Baron Funke great respect, at which her face once again dissolved into sadness.

The prince said nothing and showed no feeling. Anna Pavlovna, with all the sensitivity and quick thinking of both a courtier and a woman, decided to rebuke the prince for daring to refer in such a way to a person recommended to the Empress, and at the same time to console him. ‘But, on the subject of your family,’ she said, ‘do you realize how much your daughter has delighted everyone in society since she came out? They say she’s as beautiful as the day is long.’

The prince bowed as a mark of his gratitude and respect.

‘I often think,’ Anna Pavlovna resumed after a short pause, edging closer to the prince and smiling sweetly to indicate that the political and social conversation was now at an end, and personal conversation was in order, ‘I often think that good fortune in life is sometimes distributed most unfairly. Why has fate given you two such splendid children? I don’t include Anatole, your youngest – I don’t like him,’ she commented in a peremptory tone and with raised eyebrows. ‘Such charming children. And I must say you seem to appreciate them less than anyone. You really don’t deserve them.’

And she smiled her exuberant smile.

‘What can I do? Lavater would have said that I have no paternity bump,’⁷ said the prince.

‘Oh, do stop joking. I wanted a serious talk with you. Listen, I’m not pleased with your younger son. Just between ourselves,’ her face went all gloomy again, ‘his name has been mentioned in her Majesty’s presence, and people are feeling sorry for you . . .’