第 一百一十 章 · 第110章

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.