‘Blockhead!’ And Nicholas turned away and continued his walk, and began uttering aloud the first words that came into his head.
‘Kopervine … Kopervine —’ he repeated several times (it was the name of yesterday’s girl). ‘Horrid … horrid —’ He did not think of what he was saying, but stifled his feelings by listening to the words.
‘Yes, what would Russia be without me?’ said he, feeling his former dissatisfaction returning. ‘What would – not Russia alone but Europe be, without me?’ and calling to mind the weakness and stupidity of his brother-in-law the King of Prussia, he shook his head.
As he was returning to the small portico, he saw the carriage of Helena Pávlovna,19 with a red-liveried footman, approaching the Saltykóv entrance of the palace.
Helena Pávlovna was to him the personification of that futile class of people who discussed not merely science and poetry, but even the ways of governing men: imagining that they could govern themselves better than he, Nicholas, governed them! He knew that however much he crushed such people they reappeared again and again, and he recalled his brother, Michael Pávlovich, who had died not long before. A feeling of sadness and vexation came over him and with a dark frown he again began whispering the first words that came into his head, which he only ceased doing when he reentered the palace.
On reaching his apartments he smoothed his whiskers and the hair on his temples and the wig on his bald patch, and twisted his moustaches upwards in front of the mirror, and then went straight to the cabinet in which he received reports.
He first received Chernyshov, who at once saw by his face, and especially by his eyes, that Nicholas was in a particularly bad humour that day, and knowing about the adventure of the night before he understood the cause. Having coldly greeted him and invited him to sit down, Nicholas fixed on him a lifeless gaze. The first matter Chernyshóv reported upon was a case of embezzlement by commissariat officials which had just been discovered; the next was the movement of troops on the Prussian frontier; then came a list of rewards to be given at the New Year to some people omitted from a former list; then Vorontsov’s report about Hadji Murád; and lastly some unpleasant business concerning an attempt by a student of the Academy of Medicine on the life of a professor.
Nicholas heard the report of the embezzlement silently with compressed lips, his large white hand – with one ring on the fourth finger – stroking some sheets of paper, and his eyes steadily fixed on Chernyshóv’s forehead and on the tuft of hair above it.
Nicholas was convinced that everybody stole. He knew he would have to punish the commissariat officials now, and decided to send them all to serve in the ranks, but he also knew that this would not prevent those who succeeded them from acting in the same way. It was a characteristic of officials to steal, but it was his duty to punish them for doing so, and tired as he was of that duty he conscientiously performed it.
‘It seems there is only one honest man in Russia!’ said he.
Chernyshóv at once understood that this one honest man was Nicholas himself, and smiled approvingly.
‘It looks like it, your Imperial Majesty,’ said he.
‘Leave it – I will give a decision,’ said Nicholas, taking the document and putting it on the left side of the table.
Then Chernyshóv reported about the rewards to be given and about moving the army on the Prussian frontier.
Nicholas looked over the list and struck out some names, and then briefly and firmly gave orders to move two divisions to the Prussian frontier. He could not forgive the King of Prussia for granting a Constitution to his people after the events of 1848, and therefore while expressing most friendly feelings to his brother-in-law in letters and conversation, he considered it necessary to keep an army near the frontier in case of need. He might want to use these troops to defend his brother-in-law’s throne if the people of Prussia rebelled (Nicholas saw a readiness for rebellion everywhere) as he had used troops to suppress the rising in Hungary a few years previously. They were also of use to give more weight and influence to such advice as he gave to the King of Prussia.
‘Yes – what would Russia be like now if it were not for me?’ he again thought.
‘Well, what else is there?’ said he.
‘A courier from the Caucasus,’ said Chernyshóv, and he reported what Vorontsóv had written about Hadji Murád’s surrender.
‘Well, well!’ said Nicholas. ‘It’s a good beginning!’
‘Evidently the plan devised by your Majesty begins to bear fruit,’ said Chernyshóv.
This approval of his strategic talents was particularly pleasant to Nicholas because, though he prided himself upon them, at the bottom of his heart he knew that they did not really exist, and he now desired to hear more detailed praise of himself.
‘How do you mean?’ he asked.
