War and Peace by graf Leo Tolstoy
CHAPTER IV
1095 words | Chapter 129
Prince Andrew arrived in Petersburg in August, 1809. It was the time
when the youthful Speránski was at the zenith of his fame and his
reforms were being pushed forward with the greatest energy. That same
August the Emperor was thrown from his calèche, injured his leg, and
remained three weeks at Peterhof, receiving Speránski every day and no
one else. At that time the two famous decrees were being prepared
that so agitated society—abolishing court ranks and introducing
examinations to qualify for the grades of Collegiate Assessor and
State Councilor—and not merely these but a whole state constitution,
intended to change the existing order of government in Russia: legal,
administrative, and financial, from the Council of State down to the
district tribunals. Now those vague liberal dreams with which the
Emperor Alexander had ascended the throne, and which he had tried to put
into effect with the aid of his associates, Czartorýski, Novosíltsev,
Kochubéy, and Strógonov—whom he himself in jest had called his
Comité de salut public—were taking shape and being realized.
Now all these men were replaced by Speránski on the civil side, and
Arakchéev on the military. Soon after his arrival Prince Andrew, as a
gentleman of the chamber, presented himself at court and at a levee. The
Emperor, though he met him twice, did not favor him with a single word.
It had always seemed to Prince Andrew before that he was antipathetic
to the Emperor and that the latter disliked his face and personality
generally, and in the cold, repellent glance the Emperor gave him, he
now found further confirmation of this surmise. The courtiers explained
the Emperor’s neglect of him by His Majesty’s displeasure at
Bolkónski’s not having served since 1805.
“I know myself that one cannot help one’s sympathies and
antipathies,” thought Prince Andrew, “so it will not do to present
my proposal for the reform of the army regulations to the Emperor
personally, but the project will speak for itself.”
He mentioned what he had written to an old field marshal, a friend
of his father’s. The field marshal made an appointment to see him,
received him graciously, and promised to inform the Emperor. A few
days later Prince Andrew received notice that he was to go to see the
Minister of War, Count Arakchéev.
On the appointed day Prince Andrew entered Count Arakchéev’s waiting
room at nine in the morning.
He did not know Arakchéev personally, had never seen him, and all he
had heard of him inspired him with but little respect for the man.
“He is Minister of War, a man trusted by the Emperor, and I need not
concern myself about his personal qualities: he has been commissioned to
consider my project, so he alone can get it adopted,” thought Prince
Andrew as he waited among a number of important and unimportant people
in Count Arakchéev’s waiting room.
During his service, chiefly as an adjutant, Prince Andrew had seen the
anterooms of many important men, and the different types of such rooms
were well known to him. Count Arakchéev’s anteroom had quite a
special character. The faces of the unimportant people awaiting their
turn for an audience showed embarrassment and servility; the faces of
those of higher rank expressed a common feeling of awkwardness, covered
by a mask of unconcern and ridicule of themselves, their situation, and
the person for whom they were waiting. Some walked thoughtfully up and
down, others whispered and laughed. Prince Andrew heard the nickname
“Síla Andréevich” and the words, “Uncle will give it to us
hot,” in reference to Count Arakchéev. One general (an important
personage), evidently feeling offended at having to wait so long, sat
crossing and uncrossing his legs and smiling contemptuously to himself.
But the moment the door opened one feeling alone appeared on all
faces—that of fear. Prince Andrew for the second time asked the
adjutant on duty to take in his name, but received an ironical look and
was told that his turn would come in due course. After some others had
been shown in and out of the minister’s room by the adjutant on duty,
an officer who struck Prince Andrew by his humiliated and frightened air
was admitted at that terrible door. This officer’s audience lasted a
long time. Then suddenly the grating sound of a harsh voice was heard
from the other side of the door, and the officer—with pale face and
trembling lips—came out and passed through the waiting room, clutching
his head.
After this Prince Andrew was conducted to the door and the officer on
duty said in a whisper, “To the right, at the window.”
Prince Andrew entered a plain tidy room and saw at the table a man of
forty with a long waist, a long closely cropped head, deep wrinkles,
scowling brows above dull greenish-hazel eyes and an overhanging red
nose. Arakchéev turned his head toward him without looking at him.
“What is your petition?” asked Arakchéev.
“I am not petitioning, your excellency,” returned Prince Andrew
quietly.
Arakchéev’s eyes turned toward him.
“Sit down,” said he. “Prince Bolkónski?”
“I am not petitioning about anything. His Majesty the Emperor has
deigned to send your excellency a project submitted by me...”
“You see, my dear sir, I have read your project,” interrupted
Arakchéev, uttering only the first words amiably and then—again
without looking at Prince Andrew—relapsing gradually into a tone of
grumbling contempt. “You are proposing new military laws? There are
many laws but no one to carry out the old ones. Nowadays everybody
designs laws, it is easier writing than doing.”
“I came at His Majesty the Emperor’s wish to learn from your
excellency how you propose to deal with the memorandum I have
presented,” said Prince Andrew politely.
“I have endorsed a resolution on your memorandum and sent it to the
committee. I do not approve of it,” said Arakchéev, rising and taking
a paper from his writing table. “Here!” and he handed it to Prince
Andrew.
Across the paper was scrawled in pencil, without capital letters,
misspelled, and without punctuation: “Unsoundly constructed because
resembles an imitation of the French military code and from the Articles
of War needlessly deviating.”
“To what committee has the memorandum been referred?” inquired
Prince Andrew.
“To the Committee on Army Regulations, and I have recommended that
your honor should be appointed a member, but without a salary.”
Prince Andrew smiled.
“I don’t want one.”
“A member without salary,” repeated Arakchéev. “I have the
honor... Eh! Call the next one! Who else is there?” he shouted, bowing
to Prince Andrew.
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