It was late evening when they entered the palace in Olmütz which was occupied by the two Emperors, each with his entourage. Earlier that day a council of war had been held, attended by the members of the Hofkriegsrath and the two Emperors. They had decided to ignore the advice of the older generation, Kutuzov and Prince Schwartzenberg, to advance immediately and mount a general offensive against Napoleon. The council of war had just finished when Prince Andrey walked into the palace with Boris to see Prince Dolgorukov. All the staff at headquarters were still under the spell of today’s triumph by the younger party at the council. The voices of delay that said wait, do not advance, had been so unanimously shouted down and their arguments refuted by such convincing evidence of the advantages to be gained from an attack that the main business of the council, the coming battle and certain victory, seemed to belong not to the future but to the past. All the advantages were on our side. Our immense forces, undoubtedly superior to Napoleon’s, were concentrated in one place, morale had been raised by the presence of the two Emperors and they were straining to go. The commander of the troops, the Austrian general Weierother, knew the overall battle plan in minute detail. As it happened, the Austrian forces had been on manoeuvres last year on the very terrain where they were now proposing to fight the French, and every feature of the locality was known and mapped. Napoleon, meanwhile, was evidently weakened and doing precisely nothing.
Dolgorukov, who had been one of the most passionate advocates of attack, had just come back from the council, weary and exhausted, but excited and proud of his victory. Prince Andrey introduced his protégé, but although Prince Dolgorukov shook hands politely and warmly, he said nothing to Boris, and, obviously unable to contain the thoughts which now obsessed him, he spoke to Prince Andrey in French.
‘Well, my dear fellow, what a battle we have won! I pray to God that what happens next will be just as victorious. Anyway, my dear fellow,’ he blurted out in his enthusiasm, ‘I must admit I owe them an apology, the Austrians, and especially Weierother. The accuracy, the eye for detail, the knowledge of the locality, the anticipation of everything, every development, every last point! No, my dear fellow, better conditions than these could never have been devised. Austrian planning combined with Russian courage – what more could you want?’
‘So we definitely are going to attack?’ said Bolkonsky.
‘And do you know, old fellow, I’m sure Napoleon doesn’t know what day it is. Did you know the Emperor heard from him today?’ Dolgorukov gave a knowing smile.
‘No! What did he say?’ asked Bolkonsky.
‘What could he say? Tiddly-om-pom-pom or words to that effect – he’s just playing for time. I tell you we’ve got him, haven’t we? Oh, but you’ve not heard the funniest bit,’ he said with a burst of friendly laughter. ‘They couldn’t think what to call him when they wrote back. Not “Consul”, definitely not “Emperor” – I think I’d have said “To General Bonaparte”.’
‘But there’s a world of difference between refusing to recognize him as Emperor and calling him General Bonaparte,’ said Bolkonsky.
‘That’s the point,’ Dolgorukov burbled on, still laughing. ‘You know Bilibin – such a bright fellow – he suggested addressing it, “To the Usurper and Enemy of Humanity”.’ Dolgorukov roared with happy laughter.
‘And that was it?’ observed Bolkonsky.
‘Well no, Bilibin thought up a proper form of address. He lives by his wit, and his wits.’
‘What was it?’
‘ “To the Head of the French Government”,’ said Dolgorukov with some satisfaction, now speaking seriously. ‘That’s quite good, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, very good. He’s bound to hate it,’ observed Bolkonsky.
‘I’ll say he will! My brother knows him, he’s had dinner with him – the Emperor we should call him nowadays – more than once in Paris, and he used to tell me he’d never seen a sharper and more crafty diplomat – you know, a combination of French finesse and Italian showmanship! You know all those stories about Napoleon and Count Markov? Count Markov was the only man who had the measure of him. Have you heard the one about the handkerchief? It’s a gem!’
Dolgorukov was now in full flood and kept turning from Boris to Prince Andrey as he told his story: to test our ambassador, Markov, Napoleon deliberately dropped his handkerchief in front of him and stood watching, probably expecting Markov to pick it up for him, but Markov just dropped his own handkerchief beside it and then picked it up again without touching Bonaparte’s.
‘Lovely story,’ said Bolkonsky. ‘But listen, Prince, I’ve come to ask a favour for my young friend here. It’s like this . . .’ But before Prince Andrey could finish, an adjutant came into the room to summon Prince Dolgorukov to the Emperor.
