Russka - Edward Rutherfurd [315]
But the general had scented the kill.
‘Very good,’ he said with lethal blandness. ‘Yet since his writings have caused such trouble, would it not be better if they were removed from the eyes of those dangerous gentlemen?’ And he looked around the little group with a smile.
‘You mean censorship?’ the countess cut in sharply.
‘I do.’
‘Censor the great Voltaire?’
‘Perhaps the empress will decide to make a bonfire of all his books, my dear countess. But no doubt Alexander Prokofievich would not agree to it?’
The countess stared first at the general, then at Alexander, in horror. It was one thing to ban a few seditious tracts, even if she disapproved of it; but to burn the entire works of the great Voltaire, to cut off civilization itself … ‘Unthinkable,’ she murmured.
But it was not. How cunning the old general was. A trap within a trap. For only a few days before, a friend who frequented the court had whispered to Alexander that the enemies of the Enlightenment were secretly pushing for just such a terrible act. ‘And with the empress in her present mood, they may get their way,’ he had said. ‘Before a year is out, Voltaire may be banned.’ Clearly the general hoped Alexander did not know this. A denunciation of the idea was all he needed: then Alexander would be an enemy of the government. There was no way out. The general had trapped him and he knew it.
‘Well, Alexander Prokofievich?’ the old man gently enquired.
‘I am the loyal servant of the empress,’ Alexander lamely replied.
The general shrugged; but from the countess there was a little gasp, then a terrible silence. The little group around her watched in fascination; the old general gazed at them all with contemptuous satisfaction. Then at last Countess Turova spoke.
‘I am interested to learn, Alexander Prokofievich, that you would burn the works of Voltaire. I had not known this before.’ She stared down at her hands thoughtfully. ‘I am sure that your wife must be waiting for you. So we will bid you goodnight.’
It was a dismissal. He bowed his head, and left.
A few days later, when Alexander called at her house, he was told that she was not receiving. Two days after that, when Tatiana went at her usual time, she was told the countess was not at home. A third time, the servant at the door informed Alexander insolently that he was not to call again; and that very day, he received the following ominous message from Adelaide de Ronville:
I must tell you, dear friend, that the countess
absolutely refuses to see you. She also says
she intends to cut you out of her Will. I can
do nothing with her. But you should know that
her lawyer, who is in Moscow, will return in
three days, and if she does not change her
mind, he will be sent for as soon as he is
back. I fear the worst.
Alexander looked at the letter with dull horror. The children’s inheritance – gone. The entire business was insane, but he knew the old lady too well to think she would change her mind. He had insulted her idol; that was all she knew, or cared about. He showed the letter to Tatiana, remarking with shame: ‘See what your foolish husband has done.’
She would not let him take the blame, however. ‘The old woman is mad, that’s all,’ she said firmly, and even in his distress, Alexander smiled to himself as he embraced her. How much closer they were nowadays.
But what could be done? The first day he wrote the countess a letter. It was returned. On the second, Tatiana wrote to her. That, too, was returned. Early on the morning of the third came a message from Adelaide.
I have spoken again on your behalf – to no
avail. She is obdurate. The lawyer has been
sent for and he comes tomorrow. If you wish
to talk, if there is anything I can do, I shall
be at the Ivanovs’ all evening. So you can find
me there.
Alexander sighed. What was the point? There was nothing to be done now. Sadly he told Tatiana: ‘It’s no good. I’m afraid we’ve lost it.’ The stupidity of