War!

In the anteroom, the ministers are joined by Countess Yakenup, a prominent member of the faction of traditionalists. In the centre of the room there now stands a large painting of a woman on horseback, dressed in martial fashion.

'No, no, no, no!' says the Grand Patriarch in alarm. 'This won't do! A woman! Astride a horse! Legs akimbo! Ankles on show! What modern perversion is this? A lustful panoply of pleasure! Madame Duchess, to save you, I shall need to take this back to my chambers where I can examine it in detail, more fully to determine the ways in which it offends the Church!'
'The rider does look familiar, though', says the countess.
'Yes', says Plinkiplinsk. 'But I just can't place her'.
'Perhaps', says Grand Duchess Catherine, 'I might in a moment provide you with a clue. But first, to business!'

'Now, ministers', says Catherine decisively. 'There are reasons why it is that Kurland currently is a nonentity in Europe! And most of those reasons were standing before me previously in the audience chamber, bleating! It is time to instill some purpose into them! We shall galvanise! We shall reorganise! Will shall modernise! And we shall, most of all, pulverise!
'War!' shouts Ignyshin.
'War! War!' shout the others.

Catherine waves a calming hand. 'War, yes. But we need a war that we can win. So, who is the weakest power in Mittelheim?'
Ignishyn, the foreign minister bites his lip in concentration. 'Oooh, a quiz! I like it!'
Catherine sighs. 'You are the foreign minister - you're supposed to be an expert. Isn't that the point of foreign minsters?'
'Madame, this is a dangerously radical line of thought', says the patriarch worriedly.
'Yes', says Ignishyn. 'Because if, as foreign minister, I'm supposed to know about foreign affairs, then that would imply ...'
'... a meritocracy', adds Countess Yakanup in deathly tones. 'Appointments on the basis of knowledge. expertise and competence instead of hereditary privilege'.
There is horrified silence
'Expertise might improve our foreign policy, though' says Borisov.
'You take that back!' shouts the patriarch.

'Enough!' says Catherine, heading off what might otherwise descend into a long and bloody altercation. 'Enough! We shall begin by building our military reputation. We need to commence with easy victories against a useless military opponent'.
'Wurstburp!', everyone says in unison.

'Indeed!', says the Grand Duchess, 'my choice also. Now, our priority is to mobilise our troops and commence the campaign as quickly as possible'.

'But who shall command the army?' asks Pushimov.
'Me! Me!' says Ignyshin putting his hand up. 'Pick me!'
'Don't start, Ignyshin', says Borisov wearily. 'You know as much about war as Pushimov does about a woman's physique'.
'Possibly more than we think, then?' says Plinkiplinsk, nodding towards the altar boy.
Borisov pulls a face. 'One can climb into a carriage, Plinkiplinsk, without knowing how it is constructed'.
'Again, enough!' cries Catherine. She gestures to Borisov. Borisov bows before turning to the others and says: 'Ministers! The Grand Duchess will retire for a short while, before returning presently. Our sovereign has a very important announcement to make!' 

With that, Catherine leaves, Borisov in tow.

Time passes. There are some polite attempts at small-talk, but there is only so long that a shared interest in cruelty to the poor can be stretched.
Then, there is the neigh of a horse and the sound of clopping hooves. Borisov enters and bellows: 'Behold, good folk of Kurland! Bow before the Grand Duchess Catherine the Great - our leader and commander of all our armies!'
Catherine enters upon a white steed.

'Satan's shiny bell-end!' croaks Pushimov in horror. Countess Yakenup covers the ears of the altar boy.