‘Who told you that? Who said so?’ cried the prince. ‘Suvorov!’ He flung his plate away and Tikhon caught it deftly. ‘Suvorov! . . . Think again, Prince Andrey. Here we have two men – Frederick and Suvorov . . . Moreau? Moreau would have been a prisoner if Suvorov’s hands hadn’t been tied behind his back – by that Hofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-rath. 47 That lot would stop the devil himself. Oh, you’ll soon find out about these Hofs-kriegs-wurst-schnapps-raths! Suvorov couldn’t cope with them, so how can Mikhail Kutuzov? No, my dear fellow,’ he went on, ‘you and your generals won’t get past Napoleon. You’ll have to get hold of some Frenchmen – set a thief to catch a thief! That German, Pahlen, has been sent off to New York in America to get that Frenchman, Moreau,’ he said, having in mind that Moreau had been invited to enter the Russian service that year. ‘It’s marvellous, isn’t it? All those Potyomkins, Suvorovs and Orlovs, they weren’t Germans, were they? No, my boy, either you’ve all lost your wits, or I’ve outgrown mine. God help you, but we’ll see what happens. So now they’ve got Napoleon down as a great general, have they? Pah! . . .’
‘I’m not saying that all our preparations are perfect,’ said Prince Andrey; ‘but I can’t see how you can judge Napoleon like that. You can laugh all you want, but Napoleon
‘Mikhail Ivanovich!’ the old prince shouted to the architect, who was enjoying his meat and rather hoped they had forgotten about him. ‘I told you Bonaparte was a master tactician? Now he says so too.’
‘Ah well, your Excellency,’ replied the architect.
The prince gave another chilling laugh.
‘Napoleon was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. He’s got some splendid soldiers – and besides that he picked the Germans to attack first. You’d have to be pretty slow not to beat the Germans. Since time began everybody has beaten the Germans. And they’ve never beaten anybody – except each other. He made his name fighting them.’
And off went the prince analysing all the blunders he thought Bonaparte had perpetrated in his wars and even in politics. His son made no objection, but it was clear that whatever arguments he might have to face, he was as unlikely to change his mind as the old prince himself. Prince Andrey listened, managing not to object. He couldn’t help wondering how this old man, who had spent so many years alone in the countryside, never going anywhere, could keep abreast of all the military and political developments in Europe over recent years and discuss them in such detail and with such accuracy.
‘You think I’m an old man and I don’t know how things stand, don’t you?’ he said, drawing things to a close. ‘I’m telling you I do! Sometimes I can’t sleep for nights on end. Anyway, where is this great general of yours? Where has he proved himself?’
‘That would be a long story,’ answered his son.
‘Go on with you, you and your Napoleon. Mademoiselle Bourienne, here’s someone else who admires your country bumpkin of an emperor!’ he cried in excellent French.
‘You know I am not a Bonapartist, Prince.’
‘ “God knows when we’ll see him . . .” ’ the prince hummed tunelessly, and his laugh was even more grating as he rose from the table.
The little princess had sat through the whole argument and the rest of the dinner without saying a word, looking in some alarm from Princess Marya to her father-in-law. When they left the table she took her sister-in-law’s arm and led her off into another room.
‘What a clever man your father is,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that’s why I’m so scared of him.’
‘Oh, he is so kind!’ said Princess Marya.
CHAPTER 25
It was the next evening, and Prince Andrey was preparing to leave. The old prince, not one to disrupt his regular routine, had retired to his room after dinner. The little princess was with her sister-in-law. Prince Andrey had put on his civilian travelling coat and spent some time cloistered with his valet, packing. After making a personal inspection of the carriage and the stowing of his trunks he gave orders for the horses to be harnessed. In the room there was nothing left but a few things that Prince Andrey always carried with him: a travelling case, a silver canteen, two Turkish pistols and a sabre, the last a present from his father brought back from Suvorov’s siege of Ochakov.48 All of these travelling essentials were in excellent order; everything was spick and span, covered with cloth and meticulously taped up.
