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In Petersburg at that time a complicated struggle was being
carried on with greater heat than ever in the highest circles,
between the parties of Rumyantsev, the French, Marya Fedorovna,
the Tsarevich, and others, drowned as usual by the buzzing of
the court drones. But the calm, luxurious life of Petersburg,
concerned only about phantoms and reflections of real life, went
on in its old way and made it hard, except by a great effort,
to realize the danger and the difficult position of the Russian
people. There were the same receptions and balls, the same French
theater, the same court interests and service interests and intrigues
as usual. Only in the very highest circles were attempts made
to keep in mind the difficulties of the actual position. Stories
were whispered of how differently the two Empresses behaved in
these difficult circumstances. The Empress Marya, concerned for
the welfare of the charitable and educational institutions under
her patronage, had given directions that they should all be removed
to Kazan, and the things belonging to these institutions had already
been packed up. The Empress Elisabeth, however, when asked what
instructions she would be pleased to give- with her characteristic
Russian patriotism had replied that she could give no directions
about state institutions for that was the affair of the sovereign,
but as far as she personally was concerned she would be the last
to quit Petersburg.
At Anna Pavlovna's on the twenty-sixth of August, the very
day of the battle of Borodino, there was a soiree, the chief feature
of which was to be the reading of a letter from His Lordship the
Bishop when sending the Emperor an icon of the Venerable Sergius.
It was regarded as a model of ecclesiastical, patriotic eloquence.
Prince Vasili himself, famed for his elocution, was to read it.
(He used to read at the Empress'.) The art of his reading was
supposed to lie in rolling out the words, quite independently
of their meaning, in a loud and singsong voice alternating between
a despairing wail and a tender murmur, so that the wail fell quite
at random on one word and the murmur on another. This reading,
as was always the case at Anna Pavlovna's soirees, had a political
significance. That evening she expected several important personages
who had to be made ashamed of their visits to the French theater
and aroused to a patriotic temper. A good many people had already
arrived, but Anna Pavlovna, not yet seeing all those whom she
wanted in her drawing room, did not let the reading begin but
wound up the springs of a general conversation.
The news of the day in Petersburg was the illness of Countess
Bezukhova. She had fallen ill unexpectedly a few days previously,
had missed several gatherings of which she was usually ornament,
and was said to be receiving no one, and instead of the celebrated
Petersburg doctors who usually attended her had entrusted herself
to some Italian doctor who was treating her in some new and unusual
way.
They all knew very well that the enchanting countess' illness
arose from an inconvenience resulting from marrying two husbands
at the same time, and that the Italian's cure consisted in removing
such inconvenience; but in Anna Pavlovna's presence no one dared
to think of this or even appear to know it.
"They say the poor countess is very ill. The doctor says
it is angina pectoris."
"Angina? Oh, that's a terrible illness!"
"They say that the rivals are reconciled, thanks to the
angina..." and the word angina was repeated with great satisfaction.
"The count is pathetic, they say. He cried like a child
when the doctor told him the case was dangerous."
"Oh, it would be a terrible loss, she is an enchanting
woman."
"You are speaking of the poor countess?" said Anna
Pavlovna, coming up just then. "I sent to ask for news, and
hear that she is a little better. Oh, she is certainly the most
charming woman in the world," she went on, with a smile at
her own enthusiasm. "We belong to different camps, but that
does not prevent my esteeming her as she deserves. She is very
unfortunate!" added Anna Pavlovna.
Supposing that by these words Anna Pavlovna was somewhat lifting
the veil from the secret of the countess' malady, an unwary young
man ventured to express surprise that well known doctors had not
been called in and that the countess was being attended by a charlatan
who might employ dangerous remedies.
"Your information maybe better than mine," Anna
Pavlovna suddenly and venomously retorted on the inexperienced
young man, "but I know on good authority that this doctor
is a very learned and able man. He is private physician to the
Queen of Spain."
And having thus demolished the young man, Anna Pavlovna turned
to another group where Bilibin was talking about the Austrians:
having wrinkled up his face he was evidently preparing to smooth
it out again and utter one of his mots.
"I think it is delightful," he said, referring to
a diplomatic note that had been sent to Vienna with some Austrian
banners captured from the French by Wittgenstein, "the hero
of Petropol" as he was then called in Petersburg.
"What? What's that?" asked Anna Pavlovna, securing
silence for the mot, which she had heard before.
And Bilibin repeated the actual words of the diplomatic dispatch,
which he had himself composed.
"The Emperor returns these Austrian banners," said
Bilibin, "friendly banners gone astray and found on a wrong
path," and his brow became smooth again.
"Charming, charming!" observed Prince Vasili.
"The path to Warsaw, perhaps," Prince Hippolyte
remarked loudly and unexpectedly. Everybody looked at him, understanding
what he meant. Prince Hippolyte himself glanced around with amused
surprise. He knew no more than the others what his words meant.
During his diplomatic career he had more than once noticed that
such utterances were received as very witty, and at every opportunity
he uttered in that way the first words that entered his head.
"It may turn out very well," he thought, "but if
not, they'll know how to arrange matters." And really, during
the awkward silence that ensued, that insufficiently patriotic
person entered whom Anna Pavlovna had been waiting for and wished
to convert, and she, smiling and shaking a finger at Hippolyte,
invited Prince Vasili to the table and bringing him two candles
and the manuscript begged him to begin. Everyone became silent.
"Most Gracious Sovereign and Emperor! " Prince Vasili
sternly declaimed, looking round at his audience as if to inquire
whether anyone had anything to say to the contrary. But no one
said anything. "Moscow, our ancient capital, the New Jerusalem,
receives her Christ"- he placed a sudden emphasis on the
word her- "as a mother receives her zealous sons into her
arms, and through the gathering mists, foreseeing the brilliant
glory of thy rule, sings in exultation, 'Hosanna, blessed is he
that cometh!'"
Prince Vasili pronounced these last words in a tearful voice.
Bilibin attentively examined his nails, and many of those
present appeared intimidated, as if asking in what they were to
blame. Anna Pavlovna whispered the next words in advance, like
an old woman muttering the prayer at Communion: "Let the
bold and insolent Goliath..." she whispered.
Prince Vasili continued.
"Let the bold and insolent Goliath from the borders of
France encompass the realms of Russia with death-bearing terrors;
humble Faith, the sling of the Russian David, shall suddenly smite
his head in his blood-thirsty pride. This icon of the Venerable
Sergius, the servant of God and zealous champion of old of our
country's weal, is offered to Your Imperial Majesty. I grieve
that my waning strength prevents rejoicing in the sight of your
most gracious presence. I raise fervent prayers to Heaven that
the Almighty may exalt the race of the just, and mercifully fulfill
the desires of Your Majesty."
"What force! What a style!" was uttered in approval
both of reader and of author.
Animated by that address Anna Pavlovna's guests talked for
a long time of the state of the fatherland and offered various
conjectures as to the result of the battle to be fought in a few
days.
"You will see," said Anna Pavlovna, "that tomorrow,
on the Emperor's birthday, we shall receive news. I have a favorable
presentiment!"
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