Serf's Up!

Our attention turns briefly, dear reader, to developments in the Grand Duchy of Kurland; or, more specifically, to events occurring in the ducal palace. Having been very recently elevated to the position of Grand Duchess, Kurland's ruler, Catherine, must now conduct for the first time a formal meeting of her court. She doesn't seem entirely enthusiastic about this prospect.

'I am not entirely enthusiastic about the prospect of meeting the court', declares Catherine, morosely. She is currently in an antechamber, along with her most significant advisors - the Grand Patriarch of Mittelheim, Alexi Pushimov; the Minister of the Interior, Gregori Plinkiplinsk; the Minister of Artillery and Police, Konstantin Borisov; and the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Arkady Ignyshin.

The Duchess pulls uncomfortably at her dress, trying to get the bits that don't fit, to fit less badly.

'Why must I wear this formal attire! I am the Grand Duchess Catherine! I can have men executed at the drop of my hat, and yet you are telling me that I can't wear britches?'

'It would be unseemly, my lady, for any in the court to see your ankles,' replies the Grand Patriarch Pushimov.

Pushimov had  been taken from his post as priest in a tiny Siberian village and had been appointed Patriarch of all of Mittelheim. It wasn't a promotion.

Catherine fixes the Grand Patriarch with a steely look. 'Pushimov, I don't think that you are entirely behind my new regime. It can't be for love of my husband, the previous Duke. I know that you to had reservations about his suitability'.

'There was something about him', nods the Patriarch.

'I agree: something about his britches ...' agrees Plinkiplinsk.

'You mean the way that he never put them on?' adds the Borisov.

'Exactly', says Plinkiplinsk.

'Madame', says Pushimov carefully, 'of course, I am the loyalist of your most loyal servants but ... it is your modernising agenda ...'.

Catherine snorts. 'Patriarch, I seek only to remove the burden of arbitrary tyranny'.

'But your commitment, my lady, to ending the torture of serfs ...'

The Grand Duchess grimaces. 'No, no - I have no intention of doing that. I just want to replace arbitrary tyranny with a much more focused and efficient form of oppression. Why should torture be arbitrary when I can create a very specific list of reasons for applying hot implements to my social inferiors'.

The Patriarch winces. 'Madame - these are dangerously liberal views'.

'I fear, Patriarch, that you take too much pleasure in hurting my non-Orthodox subjects'. 

'It's not pain, my lady', says Pushimov earnestly. 'It's just Catholicism leaving the body'.

Catherine seems unmoved. 'As the first woman to rule Kurland, it is my duty to change things for the better! To smash the patriarchy!'

'Is that a good idea?' asks the patriarch. 'Aren't there other things that you might prefer to do, my lady. Other woman's things like ... ah ... talking to other women?' Moving swiftly onwards before he is tested on other things that women might do, Pushimov bows. 'Madame - if you are ready, then I shall go through and announce your arrival'. Pushimov bows again, and leaves the room, followed by a young altar boy.

There is a moment of silence before Catherine then says: 'That little boy that follows the patriarch around ...'

There is some embarrassed shuffling of feet on the part of the remaining ministers, and some very studious examination of the ceiling.

'It's his son' says Borisov finally.

The Grand Duchess frowns. 'But isn't the Grand Patriarch supposed to be celibate ...'

'Technically, yes', replies Borisov.

'How can one be technically celibate?', asks Catherine.

'Well, my lady', says Plinkiplinsk. 'You know when Duke Kloshavin wasn't supposed to marry his horse, on account of him already being married; and also, you know, the new bride being a horse'.

'Yes'.

'But he then actually married his horse anyway and kept bringing her to palace balls in a dress'.

'Yes'.

'But we just agreed not to talk about it?'

'Yes'.

'Well, I think that that is the definition of 'technically' not doing something'.

The Grand Duchess nods grimly. 'Ah, so 'technically' none of my courtiers are backstabbing treacherous dogs planning to depose me as soon as they can catch a glance at my ankles'.

Plinkiplinsk considers this for a moment. 'Well, yes, madame. Exactly. Technically'.