Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [296]
The old man felt sure of his ground here. Over ninety-five per cent of the population were peasants – half state peasants, with a few, insignificant rights; and half privately owned serfs, like Bobrov’s. During that century, their rights had diminished even further: they could be bought and sold like cattle. Even the enlightened empress had only dared to recommend the nobility to be kind to them. And Countess Turova herself, to the general’s knowledge, owned more than four thousand souls. It seemed to him he had won the argument.
The countess looked at Alexander anxiously. He smiled faintly. It was time for the kill.
BOBROV:
Permit me to disagree. Voltaire showed us the absurdity of superstition – which I take, General, to be a belief in that which Reason shows us cannot be so. And Reason, General, does not oblige me to pretend that my serf is an animal and deny him his human rights. Perhaps my serf is not ready to be a free man yet; but his children may be. Reason does not oblige me to say that peasants who are free will not work my land. How are estates worked in other countries, where the peasants are free? You say that if a peasant has any education, he will deny all authority and try to overthrow the empress. Then why do we, educated men, gladly serve an autocracy ourselves? Because Reason tells us it is necessary. I suggest rather that Reason gives us wise laws, and as much freedom as is good for us. I am happy to know that my empress will decide these matters, and that she also allows rational men, without censorship, to discuss them. In short, I am content to serve my empress and, to take my inspiration from the great Voltaire, I have nothing to fear.
With which he made a pleasant bow to the Countess.
It was perfect. It was exactly what Countess Turova wanted to hear. Like the empress with her subjects, she would decide what was best for the four thousand rational beings she currently owned; and no doubt they would be grateful that their owner should be so enlightened, in this best of all possible worlds.
The little circle burst into applause. He heard the old lady murmur: ‘Ah, my Voltaire.’ The general remained silent.
And did Bobrov believe what he had just said? Yes, pretty much. He wished his serfs well. One day perhaps they would be free. And meanwhile, the enlightened era of Catherine was a fine time to be alive, if you were a noble, in St Petersburg.
At last the moment had come. As always at such gatherings, the main part of the evening, after the gladiatorial debate, had been devoted to cards. He had played for an hour, and played badly. For how could he concentrate? Every few minutes his eyes strayed back to the table where the countess sat, as he waited for a break in the play. As soon as he could, he excused himself and then stood discreetly at the back of the room, watching her. How small and bent her back looked, seen from that angle, how strangely frail. And yet, when at last he saw her rise and turn towards him, all his nervousness of her instantly returned as he stepped forward.
‘Daria Mikhailovna, may I speak with you privately?’ She started to frown. ‘It is a matter of great importance.’
If he had thought his conquest of the general would earn him a good reception now, it seemed he was wrong. Obviously, having served his purpose, he was no longer of interest to her that evening. She gave him a cold little stare, muttered, ‘Oh, very well,’ and started to move towards an ante-room. As he followed just behind her, he noticed that she was beginning to walk with a slight shuffle. Having reached the room, she sat down on a small gilt sofa, very erect, and did not offer him a seat.
‘Well, what is it you wish, Alexander Prokofievich?’
This was the moment. He had prepared himself, of course. But even so, how the devil did one ask an old woman tactfully if one was in her Will?