‘Yes, of course,’ the prince muttered, with an almost perplexed look. ‘Your memoirs would be ... extremely interesting.’
The general was, of course, merely repeating what he had told Lebedev the day before, and so had it off pat; but now once again he looked at the prince out of the corner of his eye, with mistrust.
‘My memoirs,’ he said with redoubled pride, ‘write my memoirs? That has not tempted me, Prince! If you want to know, my memoirs are already written, but ... they lie in my desk. Let them appear when my eyes are sprinkled with earth, and no doubt they will be translated into other languages, not because of their literary merit, but because of the importance of the most tremendous facts of which I was an eyewitness, although I was a child; but
tant pis:
as a child, I penetrated to the most intimate, so to speak, bedchamber of the great man! At nights I heard the groans of that “giant in misfortune”, he could have no pangs of conscience about groan
ing and weeping in front of a child, though I already understood that the cause of his sufferings was the silence of the Emperor Alexander.’
‘Yes, after all, he did write letters ... with peace proposals,’ the prince confirmed.
‘We don’t actually know just what the proposals were, but he wrote them every day, every hour, and in letter after letter! He was terribly wrought up. One night, when I was alone with him, I rushed to him in tears (oh, I loved him!): “Please, please ask Emperor Alexander for forgiveness!” I shouted to him. You see, I should have expressed it as: “Make peace with Emperor Alexander!”, but, like a child, I naively came out with all that was on my mind. “Oh, my child!” he replied — he was pacing up and down the room - “Oh, my child!” - at the time he seemed not to notice that I was ten, and even liked to hold conversations with me. “Oh, my child, I am ready to kiss the feet of Emperor Alexander, but for the King of Prussia and the Emperor of Austria, oh, for those men nothing but eternal hatred, and ... in any case ... you know nothing of politics!” He suddenly seemed to remember who he was talking to, and fell silent, but his eyes continued to flash long after that. Well, were I to describe all those facts - and I was a witness of the very greatest facts-were I to publish them now, all those critics, all those literary vanities, all that envy, partisanship and ... no, sir, your humble servant!”
‘With regard to partisanship you are, of course, correct, and I agree with you,’ the prince replied quietly, after a moment’s silence. ‘I also very recently read Charasse’s book on the Waterloo campaign.
6
It’s obviously a serious book, and the specialists assert that it’s written with an exceptional knowledge of the subject. But on every page his joy in Napoleon’s humiliation shows through, and were it possible to dispute the existence of the slightest sign of talent in Napoleon with regard to his other campaigns as well, then one feels that Charasse would be extremely glad about it; but that is not a good thing in a serious work of this kind, for it shows partisan spirit. Were you kept very busy in your service with ... the emperor?’
The general was delighted. With its seriousness and simplicity, the prince’s remark dispelled the last remnants of his mistrust.
‘Charasse! Oh, I was so indignant! I wrote to him at the time, but ... actually, I can’t remember now ... You ask if I was kept very busy in my service? Oh no! I was called a pageboy, but I didn’t take it seriously then. What’s more, Napoleon very soon lost all hope of bringing the Russians closer to him, and, of course, would have forgotten about me, too, whom he had brought close to him for political reasons, had ... had he not become personally fond of me, I boldly say that now. As for myself, my heart was drawn to him. My service made few demands: I sometimes had to present myself at the palace and ... accompany the emperor on horseback when he went out riding, that was all. I was not a bad rider. He used to ride out before dinner, the retinue was composed of Davoust, myself, Mameluke Rustan ...’
7
‘Constant,’
8
the prince suddenly let slip.
‘N-no, Constant wasn’t there at that time; he was taking a letter to ... to the Empress Josephine; but in his place there were two orderlies, a few Polish Uhlans ... well, that was the whole retinue, apart from the generals, of course, and the marshals, whom Napoleon took with him in order to inspect the terrain, the disposition of the troops, to consult with them ... Most often Davoust would be with them, as I remember now: an enormous, stout, cool-headed man in spectacles, with a strange look in his eyes. It was with him that the emperor most often took counsel. The emperor valued his thoughts. I remember that they had already spent several days in consultation; Davoust would come both in the morning and in the evening, often they even engaged in arguments; at last Napoleon seemed to begin to agree with him. They were alone together in the study, with myself as a third person, almost unnoticed by them. Suddenly Napoleon’s gaze happened to fall on me, and a strange thought fleeted in his eyes. “Child!” he said to me suddenly. “How do you suppose: if I accept Orthodoxy and free your serfs, will the Russians follow me?” “Never!” I exclaimed in indignation. Napoleon was struck. “In the eyes of this child, shining with patriotism,” he said, “I have read the opinion of the entire Russian people. Enough, Davoust! This is all fantasies! Let me hear your other plan.” ‘Yes, but that first plan contained a powerful idea!’ said the prince, visibly interested. ‘So you ascribe that plan to Davoust?’ ‘Well, at any rate they discussed it together. Of course, it was a Napoleonic idea, an aquiline idea, but the other plan was also an idea ... That was the famous
“Conseil du lion”,
as Napoleon himself called Davoust’s plan. It consisted in them barricading themselves inside the Kremlin with all the troops, building barracks, digging fortifications, positioning cannon, slaughtering as many horses as possible and salting their flesh; obtaining or plundering grain, and holding out all winter until the spring; and in spring, breaking through the Russian lines. This plan strongly attracted Napoleon. Every day we rode round the Kremlin walls, he would indicate where we should demolish, where we should build, where we should construct the lunettes, the ravelins, the blockhouses - one glance, then swiftness and thrust! At last, it was all decided; Davoust pressed for a final decision. Again they were alone together, and I was the third person present. Again Napoleon paced up and down the room, his arms folded. I couldn’t take my eyes off his face, and my heart was thumping. “I’m going,” said Davoust. “Where to?” asked Napoleon. “To salt the horses,” said Davoust. Napoleon shuddered; his fate was being decided. “Child!” he said to me suddenly. “What do you think of our plan?” Of course, he asked the question in the way that, on occasion, a man of the greatest intellect, will at the last moment resort to heads or tails. Instead of Napoleon, I turned to Davoust and spoke like one inspired: “Go home, General!” The plan was ruined. Davoust shrugged his shoulders and, as he went out, said in a whisper:
“Bah! Il devient superstitieux!”
9
And next day the order for a retreat was given.’
‘This is all extremely interesting,’ the prince said, in very hushed tones. ‘If that’s how it all really happened ... that’s to say, I mean ...’ he hurried to correct himself.
‘Oh, Prince!’ exclaimed the general, intoxicated with his own story to a point where he might now be unable to hold back even the most extreme indiscretions. ‘You say: “It all happened!” But there was more, I assure you, there was much more! All that is just wretched political facts. But I repeat to you, I was a witness of that great man’s nocturnal tears and groans; but absolutely no one saw that, except me! Towards the end, it’s true, he didn’t weep at all, there were no tears, he merely groaned sometimes; but his face seemed more and more clouded by darkness. It was as though eternity were already spreading her dark wing over him. Sometimes, at night, we spent whole hours alone, in silence - the Mameluke Rustan would be snoring in the next room; that man slept awfully soundly. “But he’s loyal to me and to the dynasty,” Napoleon would say of him. On one occasion it all became too terribly painful, and he suddenly noticed the tears in my eyes; he gave me a look of tender emotion: “You feel sorry for me!” he exclaimed. “You, a child, and perhaps there’s another child who will feel sorry for me - my son,
le roi de Rome;
all the others, they all hate me, and my brothers will be the first to sell me into slavery!” I began to sob and rushed to him; at that point he himself broke down; we embraced, and our tears mingled. “Write, write to the Empress Josephine!” I sobbed to him. Napoleon gave a shudder, thought, and said to me: “You have reminded me of another heart that loves me; I thank you,
mon ami
!” He sat right down and wrote the letter to Josephine with which Constant was dispatched the next day.’
‘You did well,’ said the prince. ‘Amidst cruel thoughts, you led him to kind feeling.’
‘Exactly, Prince, and how well you explain it, in keeping with your own heart!’ the general exclaimed rapturously, and, strangely, genuine tears began to glisten in his eyes. ‘Yes, Prince, yes, it was a great spectacle! And you know, I almost followed him to Paris and, of course, would have shared with him “the sultry island of confinement”,
10
but alas! Our fortunes diverged! We went our separate ways: he to the sultry island, where once, at a moment of dreadful sorrow, he perhaps remembered the tears of the poor boy who had embraced him and forgiven him in Moscow; as for myself, I was sent to the Cadet Corps, where I found nothing but drilling, the vulgarity of my companions and ... Alas! Everything had turned to ashes! “I do not wish to remove you from your mother and will not take you with me!” he told me on the day of the withdrawal. “But I would like to do something for you.” He was already mounting his horse. “Write me something in my sister’s album, as a keepsake,” I said, timidly, for he was very gloomy and distraught. He turned round, asked for a pen, and took the album. “How old is your sister?” he asked me, as he held the pen. “Three,” I replied.
“Petite fille alors.
” And he scribbled in the album:
“
Ne mentez jamais!
Napoléon, votre ami sincère.“
11
Such advice, and at such a moment, you will agree, Prince!’
‘Yes, it was full of portent ...’
‘That page, in a gold frame, under glass, hung in my sister’s drawing room all her life, in the most conspicuous place, right up until her death - she died in childbirth; where it is now, I do not know ... but, oh, goodness me! It’s two o’clock already! How I’ve detained you, Prince! It’s unforgivable.’
The general rose from his chair.
‘Oh, on the contrary!’ mumbled the prince. ‘You’ve entertained me so much, and ... after all ... it’s so interesting. I’m so grateful to you!’
‘Prince!’ said the general, again pressing the prince’s hand until it hurt and staring at him with glittering eyes, as though he had suddenly recollected himself and was stunned by some sudden thought. ‘Prince! You’re so kind, so open-hearted that I even feel sorry for you sometimes. I look on you with tender emotion; oh, God bless you! May your life begin and blossom ... in love. My own is finished! Oh, forgive me, forgive me!’
He quickly left, covering his face with his hands. Of the sincerity of his agitation the prince could have no doubt. He also understood that the old man had left intoxicated by his own success; but he still had a foreboding that he was one of that category of liars who, though they lie to the point of sensuality and even self-forgetfulness, at the very highest point of their intoxication none the less have a private suspicion that they are not believed, and cannot be believed. In his present position the old man might recollect himself, be inordinately ashamed, suspect the prince of excessive compassion for him, feel insulted. ‘Was it not bad of me to lead him to such a pitch of inspiration?’ the prince worried, and suddenly could not restrain himself, but burst into the most hilarious laughter, that lasted for some ten minutes. He began to reproach himself for this laughter; but instantly realized that there was nothing to reproach himself for, as he felt infinitely sorry for the general.
His forebodings were realized. That very evening he received a strange note, short but determined. The general informed him that he was parting from him for ever, that he respected him and was grateful to him, but even from him would not accept ‘marks of compassion, lowering the dignity of a man who is already wretched’. When the prince heard that the old man had locked himself up in the home of Nina Alexandrovna, he almost felt reassured about him. But we have already seen that the general had caused some sort of trouble at Lizaveta Prokofyevna’s, too. Here we cannot report the details, but will observe briefly that the essence of the encounter consisted in the general’s having frightened Lizaveta Prokofyevna, and brought her to indignation by bitter allusions to Ganya. He had been shown the door, in disgrace. That was why he had passed such a nigh
t and such a morning, gone off his head completely, and run out into the street almost insane.
Kolya still did not understand the matter completely, and even hoped to save the day by taking a stern line.
‘Well, where are we going to go trailing off to now, do you suppose, General?’ he said. ‘You don’t want to go to the prince, you’ve quarrelled with Lebedev, you’ve no money, I never have any: so here we are without a bean, in the middle of the street.’
‘It’s more pleasant to sit with the beans than to be without one,’
12
muttered the general. ‘With that ... pun I used to arous
e delight ... in the officers’ mess ... in forty-four ... in eighteen ... forty-four, yes! ... I do
n’t remember ... Oh, don’t remind me, don’t remind me! “Wher
e is my youth, where is my freshness?” As that fellow said ... who said that, Ko
lya?’ ‘That’s from Gogol, in
Dead Souls,
13
Papa,’ replied
Kolya, looking out of the corner of his eye at his father, in apprehension.