Saint Petersburg, Winter Palace.
Nicholas I's attitude was nowhere near so complicated; he felt only pure delight.
"Nesselrode did well! What excuse do the Ottomans have left now? What will those cowards use to fob me off this time?
"This truly is God's will! It seems Heaven has decreed that the House of Romanov shall reclaim Constantinople in my generation!"
"Congratulations, Your Majesty. Russia's sacred mission is finally about to be fulfilled. I propose that the Senate bestow upon you the title of Great Emperor."
Prince Menshikov was the first to speak, and his bootlicking was exquisitely timed. Nicholas I was moved by his own grand words as well, and at that moment he was nearly moved to tears.
"Menshikov! I promote you to field marshal. You and your army shall carry holy icons and eagle banners across the Danube River, to drive out the evil heathens."
Prince Menshikov immediately dropped to one knee.
"Great Tsar, to serve you and the Russian Empire is my supreme honor. Your trust overwhelms me. I shall never disappoint your expectations.
"I, Alexander Sergeyevich Menshikov, swear that I will plant Russia's flag atop the walls of Constantinople!"
Nicholas I and Menshikov, sovereign and minister, were both so moved they could scarcely contain themselves. Yet although the other high-ranking Russian officials echoed them on the surface, inwardly they were full of disdain.
Prime Minister Chernyshev did not care about this so-called sacred mission. He still preferred the fertile black earth of Poland and Ukraine, where drought and flood alike brought in a harvest.
The land revenues the Tsar had previously promised the great families in the Balkans were almost negative. The barren land and violent populace deeply displeased traditional great nobles such as Chernyshev.
They still preferred obedient, well-behaved Russian serfs, along with the easily