is not a temptation to me, prince! If you will have it, my memoirs are already written, but . . . they are lying in my desk. When my eyes are closed for ever in the grave, then they may be published, and no doubt they will be translated into foreign languages, not for the sake of their literary value, no, but from the importance of the tremendous events of which I have been the eyewitness, though as a child; the more for that indeed. As a child I had the entry into the private bedroom, so to speak, of the ‘Great Man.’ I heard at night the groans of that ‘Titan in agony,’ he could not feel ashamed to groan and weep before a child, though I understood even then, that the cause of his distress was the silence of the Emperor Alexander.”
“To be sure, he wrote letters . . . with overtures of peace …” Myshkin assented timidly.
“We don’t know precisely with what overtures he wrote, but he wrote every day, every hour, letter after letter! He was fearfully agitated! One night, when we were alone, I flew to him weeping. (Oh, I loved him!) ‘Beg, beg forgiveness of the Emperor Alexander!’ I cried to him. Of course, I ought to have used the expression: ‘make peace with the Emperor Alexander,’ but, like a child, I naively expressed all I felt. ‘Oh, my child!’ he replied — he paced up and down the room. ‘Oh, my child!’ He did not seem to notice at that time that I was only ten, and liked to talk to me. ‘Oh, my child, lam ready to kiss the feet of the Emperor Alexander, but then the King of Prussia, and then the Austrian Emperor. Oh, for them my hatred is everlasting and … at last. .. of course you know nothing of politics.’ He seemed suddenly to remember to whom he was speaking and ceased; but there were gleams of fire in his eyes long after. Well, say I describe all these facts — and I was the eye-witness of the greatest events — say I publish my memoirs now, and all the critics, the literary vanities, all the enw, the cliques … no, vour humble servant!”
“As for cliques, no doubt your observation is a true one, and I agree with you,” Myshkin observed quietly after a moment’s silence. “I read not long ago a book by Charasse, about the Waterloo campaign. It is evidently a genuine book, and experts say that it is written with great knowledge. But on every page one detects glee at the humiliation of Napoleon; and if it had been possible to dispute Napoleon’s genius in every other campaign, Charasse would be extremely glad to do it. And that’s not right in such a serious work, because it’s the spirit of partisanship. Had you much to do in waiting on the Emperor?”
The general was delighted. The earnestness and simplicity of Myshkin’s question dissipated the last traces of his mistrustfulness.
“Charasse! Oh, I was indignant myself. I wrote to him myself, at the time, but … I don’t remember now. . . . “Vbu ask if I had much to do in Napoleon’s service? Oh, no! I was called a page-in-waiting, but even at the time I did not take it seriously. Besides, Napoleon soon lost all hope of winning over the Russians, and no doubt he would have forgotten me, whom he had adopted from policy, if he had not. .. if he had not taken a personal fancy to me; I say that boldly now. My heart was drawn to him. My duties were not exacting; I had sometimes to be present in the palace and to . . . attend the Emperor when he rode out, that was all. I rode a horse fairly well. He used to drive out before dinner. Davoust, I, and a mameluke, Rouston, were generally in his suite….”
“Constant.” The name was pronounced almost i nvolunta ri ly by Myshki n.
“N-no, Constant was not there then. He had gone with a letter… to the Empress Josephine. His place was taken by two orderlies and some Polish uhlans . . . and that made up the whole suite, except for the generals and marshals whom Napoleon took with him to explore the neighbourhood, and consult about the position of the troops. The one who was oftenest in attendance was Davoust, as I remember now; a huge, stout, cold-blooded man, in spectacles, with a strange look in his eyes. He was consulted more often than anyone by the Emperor, who appreciated his judgment. I remember they were in consultation for several days; Davoust used to go in to him morning and evening. Often they even argued; at last Napoleon seemed to be brought to agree. They were alone in the Emperor’s study; I was present, scarcely observed by them. Suddenly Napoleon’s eye chanced to fall upon me, a strange thought gleamed in his eye. ‘Child,’ said he to me, ‘what do you think? if I adopt the Orthodox faith, and set free your slaves, will the Russians come over to me or not?”Never!’ I cried indignantly. Napoleon was impressed. ‘In the patriotism shining in that child’s eyes,’ said he, ‘I read the verdict of the whole Russian people. Enough, Davoust! That’s all a fantasy! Explain your other plan.’”
“But there was a great idea in that plan too,” said Myshkin, evidently growing interested. “So you would ascribe that project to Davoust?”
“At any rate, they consulted together. No doubt, the idea was Napoleon’s, the idea of an eagle. But there was an idea too in the other plan. . . . That was the famous ‘conseil du lion,’ as Napoleon himself called that advice of Davoust’s. That advice was to shut himself up in the Kremlin with all the troops, to build barracks, to dig out earthworks, to place cannons, to kill as many horses as possible and salt the flesh, to procure by purchase or pillage as much corn as possible, and to spend the winter there till spring; and in the spring to fight their way through the Russians. This plan fascinated Napoleon. We used to ride round the Kremlin walls everyday; he used to show where to demolish, where to construct lunettes, ravelins, or a row of block-houses — he had a quick eye, swift judgment, a sure aim. Everything was settled at last. Davoust insisted on a final decision. Once more they were alone except for me. Again Napoleon paced the room with folded arms. I could not take my eyes off his face, my heart throbbed. ‘I am going,’ said Davoust, ‘Where?’ asked Napoleon. ‘To salt horse-flesh,’ said Davoust. Napoleon shuddered, it was the turning-point. ‘Child,’ said he to me, suddenly, ‘what do you think of our intention?’ No doubt he asked me as sometimes a man of the greatest intelligence will at the last moment toss up to decide. I turned to Davoust instead of Napoleon and spoke as though by inspiration: ‘You’d better cut and run home, general!’ The plan was abandoned. Davoust shrugged his shoulders, and went out, muttering in a whisper: ‘Bah, il devient superstitieux!’ And the next day the retreat was ordered.”
“All that is extremely interesting,” Myshkin murmured in a very low voice, “if it really was so. … I mean to say..,” he hastened to correct himself.
“Oh, prince,” cried the general, so carried away by his own story that perhaps he could not stop short even of the most flagrant indiscretion, “you say, ‘if it really was so’! But there was more, I assure you, far more! These are only paltry political facts. But I repeat I was the witness of the tears and groans of that great man at night; and that no one saw but I! Towards the end, indeed, he ceased to weep, there were no more tears, he only moaned at times; but his face was more and more overcast, as it were, with darkness. As though eternity had already cast its dark wings about it. Sometimes at night we spent whole hours alone together, in silence — the mameluke Roustan would be snoring in the next room, the fellow slept fearfully soundly. ‘But he is devoted to me and to the dynasty,’ Napoleon used to say about him. Once I was dreadfully grieved; and suddenly he noticed tears in my eyes. He looked at me tenderly. ‘\bu feel for me!’ he cried, ‘you, a child, and perhaps another boy will feel for me — my son, le roi de Rome; all the rest, all, all hate me, and mv brothers would be the first to betray me in misfortune!’ I began to sob and flew to him. Then he broke down, he threw his arms round me, and our tears flowed together. ‘Do, do write a letter to the Empress Josephine!’ I sobbed to him. Napoleon started, pondered, and said to me: ‘You remind me of the one other heart that loves me; I thank you, my dear!’ He sat down on the spot, and wrote the letter to the Empress Josephine, which was taken by Constant next day.”
“You did splendidly,” said Myshkin. “In the midst of his evil thoughts you led him to good feelings.”
“Just so, prince, and how well you put it! How like your own good heart!” cried the general rapturously, and, strange to say, genuine tears stood in his eyes. “Yes, prince, yes, that was a magnificent spectacle. And do you know I very nearly went back with him to Paris, and should no doubt